No longer a wip!
NAME: Nathan
GENDER: Male
FACTION: Frumentarii
APPEARANCE: Nathan's somewhere in the dusk of his life, but despite the fact that his lifestyle should've had him aged prematurely he somehow retains a certain youthfulness to him, a shine to his slightly tanned skin, and only a few streaks of grey in his shaggy brown hair - often as unevenly cut as his beard, since he simply takes a knife to both of them when they grow excessively unruly - which, given his past being homeless and careless, is a point that takes quite a while to reach. Adding to the destitute look are his eyes, silvery irises covered in a milky white which, combined with his often deadened stare, might lead to think he is blind - and perhaps even to assuming that it's related to the two thick lumps of scar tissue, one just above one of his eyebrows, the other on his temple; both of them often covered by unkempt hair. Nothing further from the truth, though, as Nathan can see perfectly well, his eyes as honed as the rest of his body - through no effort of his own, really, but he's gifted with strong muscles and sturdy bones despite his subjectively short height and wiry build.
Clothing-wise, he wears a heavy hood, made out of the leather of some nameless creature from Metropolis, heavy but worn gloves and boots, and sweatpants that have definitely seen better days. He tries to keep both his attire and himself in reasonable hygene, but the Metropolis is not a very accomodating place, so they're often caked in dirt or mud.
PERSONALITY: Nathan is a bitter man, disappointed with the world and, to a certain extent, with himself. The way he sees it, everything he's ever had he's fought for, earned with the sweat of his brow, his blood, his tears - and he's had it taken away from him. As such, he's deeply pessimistic now, expecting every good turn to be part of a ruse, every lucky streak to lead into a worse situation. It's not very suprising then that Nathan does not enjoy the company of other humans and can seem downright hostile - though, deep underneath all his anger and bitterness, there's a good person. Very, very deep.
TALENT: Survival
PURVIEW: Endurance
PURVIEW ABILITIES:
Instinct: Nathan's survival instinct almost has a consciousness of its own. No signs of a threat will go unnoticed even if he does not consciously pay them attention, and on rare occasion threats will be noticed even without any signs of presence. This instinct, however, is very raw, and only provides a sense of dread towards its source, without any further information.
Resilience: Nathan's unnaturally tough. Passively, this reflects in his ability to endure adverse circumstances - he can push through pain, hunger, heat, and the such and keep his full functioning ability for far longer than a human. Actively, if he is given enough time, peace, and food, he can focus on healing a specific injury, standing completely still as he does so. The time it takes to heal the injury will depend on how serious it is but, for reference, a broken rib would take around twelve hours.
Denial: Last but not least, Nathan can deny something from happening to him. This is an active skill that requires him to be aware of and prepared for what he's denying, and he can only deny the portion that affects him. As such, he can't deny a building being on fire, but he can deny being burnt by said fire. Nathan can only deny one thing at a time, and switching up requires a few seconds. For the time being, this only works with "natural" circumstances so, using the same example as before, he'd be able to prevent burning if the fire was due to a gas leak, but not if the fire was being summoned by someone.
BACKGROUND: Nathan's background touches many fields, very few of them happy. Born in the wrong part of town, life's twisting paths saw Nathan and his elder brother running from home and joining a gang as soon as they could, choosing the streets over their broken family.
It wouldn't last long. A year later, the gang bit off more than it could chew, hit the wrong target, got the wrong man's attention. The police turned a blind eye as the youths were exterminated with professional coldness. Nathan crawled out from under his brother's corpse that night, and never returned.
Another city, another name. A real job, a crappy job, but it paid for the rent, and for ocassional forays into clubs and bars. Get a drink, toast to his brother, maybe find someone to take home for a night. Some became more than just a night, some didn't - but he wanted to have a family of his own. Somewhere to call a home.
One particular night became a month, then two, then a year. A discreet wedding in the town hall, and before he knew it new life was blooming. A baby girl, beautiful and perfect in his father's eyes. Elena. Her arrival was the happiest moment of Nathan's life - and a month later, he was laid off.
A temporary crisis, a local deceleration. The result of too much technology, or not enough, or lazy people, or bad work ethics, or unethical behaviour. Everyone had their theory, and he cared for none of them. Money had never been abundant, and with Elena arriving, it was tighter than ever. There simply wasn't enough to go about for all of them.
So Nathan left his family behind with a tearful hug, and joined the army. Some people, perhaps those with the right friends, got to stay in the country. Nathan found himself flying into a warzone.
Soon he'd grown fame as a bad omen. Success came wherever he went, true, but paid in the blood of his comrades. Still, Nathan survived, struggled. Every day he lived meant more money for his daughter to eat. Every dangerous mission, every volunteered task, perhaps a toy, or a new dress. With the amount of money he was earning, his family could live comfortably.
He flew back home several years later, and spent even more in hospital. He woke up alone, with not a penny to his name. The scheduled payments to his family had continued until his bank account had run dry; at which point he'd been disconnected from life support - and at that moment was when he'd woken up. In the delirium, trapped in his own mind, he'd seen things. Felt things. Words could not describe just what he'd felt, but he knew something was wrong.
But none of that mattered at the time, because he was back home, he was alive. He could go see his family after so many years. Perhaps they hadn't even been told he was back in the country, hospitalized. That would explain why they hadn't stopped the payments, why they weren't there.
When he arrived home, the lock on the door had been changed. His key didn't work, but perhaps it'd been a theft. He knocked, and another man opened the door. A wide knowing grin, as he looked down onto Nathan. Shouts, threats, Elena crying, scared of the father she didn't remember.
A new city, a new job. Work all day, work all night. With no time to think, life was bearable. A drink now and then made it more so. Bouncing from one work to another, without much time to spend his money, Nathan's bank account grew once more. One Tuesday as any other, a letter changed that.
Paying his daughter's hospital bills was expensive, but there was nobody else that could do so after the car crash. Living together with her was a challenge, but Nathan'd never backed away from something just because it was. Their relationship grew, and even though they'd met during Elena's rebellious teen years, they slowly grew closer. She went to a good college, far beyond the possibilities of a single father - so he just worked harder. For the first time in far too many years to remember, he had a reason to.
And then one day, he didn't. Everyone was intoxicated, said the other youths. There were no signs of struggle or unconsensual relations, said the forensics. There was no definitive proof that she hadn't taken the drugs by her own hand, said the lawyers. She'd asked the boys to, said the witnesses. And with all the right hands greased, it didn't matter how much money Nathan bled onto the legal system, until he had no more money to bleed, and no more drive to get any.
Alcohol made the next years blurry, though he'd never forget the cold of the streets, the familiar smells of the slums. He couldn't get drunk enough to stop feeling cold. There was barely enough money to eat - the odd job here and there, some petty theft, in rough spots even begging. A lucky find scavenging in a dump put a metallic roof over his head. Letting his mind wander became a habit, and if before he'd had a feeling that something was wrong, now he knew. A thought wormed into his mind, a purpose for his purposeless life.
The more he considered it, the more he knew what he had to do. One day, he caved in. Nothing would be lost if he failed, nothing won if he didn't try - and as purpose returned so did strength. Soon, he had the money to afford what he needed.
AWAKENING: A flash of pain as he pulled the trigger. A infinitely long moment where everything made sense, the world laid bare before him. The cogs in his head ticked slowly - and then something snapped, reeled. The ticking grew faster, louder, until it was an unbearable noise, piercing through his covered ears.
He jerked up into a sitting position, and immediately winced from a bolt of pain that shot down his spine. He couldn't see out his right eye, unsurprisingly, and he didn't dare look at the place he'd been laying a moment ago. He moved out, through the alleyways, ignoring the alarmed looks, the gasps, the mothers covering their children's eyes. They'd been coming after him before. Now that he knew, it was a certainty they'd be trying again. Eventually, he stopped running into people, the air heavier, the masonry speaking of decay and threat. And then he pressed on, knowing they'd be coming after him.
Scavenging as he walked, through ruined buildings where light was but a distant memory, avoiding the little sounds, the retching smells, the sense of dread. Where others would've stopped and fought off his persecutors, he lead them through the Metropolis on a wild chase. Speed may not have been on his side, but Metropolis' winding alleys and ruined buildings gave many chances to lose a tail, and he took as many as he could.
He struggled on until he couldn't anymore and then, exhausted and surrounded by monstrosities on all sides, he found a hole to crawl in and rest. He woke up that time, as he did the next. He realized that somewhere along the line he'd shaken off his pursuers without ever seeing them - if they'd even existed. And, with that, he was satisfied for a while, wandering through Metropolis without any further aim than surviving.
Putting his thoughts in order took time. Survival consumed most of his day, and even though he now knew about the Lie, he wasn't too sure what to do about it. It wouldn't be until he ran into a Frumentarii outpost that he realized he did not have to fight alone this time, and once the idea of safety in numbers was in place, there was no better option. And once he proved his value as a scout, there was no hesitation from the Frumentarii either.
That's not to say his only goal was to keep safe. To a certain extent, his goals coincided with the warriors'. Everything he'd gone through, everything he'd lost, he'd learned it was due to the machine. Its keepers. Survival was priority one, but revenge could take up all the time it left free.
