"I Was Made From Broken Parts, So I Was Broken From The Start." Codename: Subject 11 | Eleven Nickname: Ori Alias: Blue Eyed Beast | The White Wolf Titles: The Pride of GenTech Species: Genetically Spliced Mutt Homeworld: GenTech Labs Faction(s): N/A Rank(s): N/A Master(s): GenTech Scientist | Amanda Lynn (Creator) Padawan(s): N/A Force Sensitive: Confirmed Alignment: Chaotic Neutral Gender: Male Age: 23 GSY Height: 5ft11 Weight: 140lbs Complexion: Fair Eye Color: Turquoise Blue Fur Color: Platinum Silver Voice Sample: N/A Appearance Details: Purity of light with a gentle kiss; Malicious artistry, ephemeral strokes of magnificent alabaster upon the bleached surface of grinning bones. Malignant remnant of era past, primeval, elegant gore beneath the savage light of the swinging pendulum, silver, ethereal within the bruised ombre of the gluttonous skies. Wisps of silvern-white, embellished in a flurry of silk strands, grasping, entangling languid paramour with the silent begging, the whispers of longing, groans of deceit. More, more, more! Elusive hunter, Monster of avid affections, the immaculate tongues of angels doth traverse, wander over perfected flesh and flawless gaze. Misty, deep like the ocean, dewy under the gaze of watchful, observant eye spying havoc upon little light. He bleeds, immortality; he sings, hymns of the divine. He, an idol of righteous purity and martyrdom, a solitary flaw. Spider veins wept, tears of malice, of sanguine wine upon the bare of fair porcelain back, china cracked and irrevocably repaired over the span of years. Still, the imperfection lies, nestled endearingly upon the slight dip betwixt lithe, feminine shoulders. Many have always questioned the carnal shape of a beast, the glorious platinum gleam, swathed in the porcelain ivory fur that covers his bodice in glistening silver. His eyes are sharpened into moon-like fervor which pierce the moons gaze with an attentive precision granted by the animalistic instincts which so furiously take one over. That birthmark placed upon his forehead as if distinguishing the creature from the others. Eyes so cold. A body so fragile it looks like glass...the creature is sometimes mistaken for a pup, soft to the touch and pretty to look at...a flaw in his design? Or perhaps a genius evolution of the beast. After all, who would fear a monster if it was disguised as an angel? Current Emotional Status: Tormented & Violent Positive Emotional Keywords: Diligent - Observant - Charitable - Merciful - Hot-headed - Cunning Negative Emotional Keywords: Foreboding - Violent - Wrathful - Unpredictable - Destructive - Untrusting Personality Breakdown: Oh tortured soul, a heart once pure of gold ; Sorrow and grief have tarnished a once pure hope with the intoxicating bite of poisoned hate. Lethargic, the enigmatic presence bleeds through, corrupting, tearing asunder the perfected veil of purity and allowing the burning gire to seep within stalwart grace. It claws, digs to fester and bury deep under the skin, glissading skeletal fingers through malign carcass to permeate and destroy the innocence lost in cruel rapture. Though radiant and scorching upon first approach, malignant and vexing in a glance, there is still an unwavering kindness about his soul. Though he may try to be harsh, to be a thorough monstrosity for the simple sake of survival, he is unable, incapable within his programming to destroy so freely, to act so harshly to those who he seeks to bestow mercy even in his self imposed path to destroy himself. The noose around his neck as he is commanded like a dog on a leash to commit acts of injustice opposite of his true nature... The fearful souls...those with no weapons to wield and he would so willingly become a martyr for, a sacrificial lamb to be lead to slaughter to save but a single face, a solitary name and save from the hardships in which he himself once faced. Loss is something that never truly heals, an instigating pain that is never satiated by the passing ripples of time as so many assure. Comforting lies are not sweetly fallen from his obsidian lips, only bitter truths of the melodious affliction that slowly eats away at the spirit and weakens the body, the mind into numb paralysis. It was like a neuron-toxic, a deadly bite administered to his heaving chest from the moment he lay eyes upon the fresh corpses who still wreaked of singed hair and flesh. Slowly, surely, he shuts down, the dim flicker within his gaze dulling, dying with each passing day. A raging fire nothing more but smoldering embers. No confidence, no self-preservation lingers within him, though his masquerade hides well what lay 'neath the surface where he furiously struggled to simply stay afloat. Sleep eludes him, staying just a single step, tauntingly out of his desperate grasp some nights. It leaves his thoughts raw, each one like raking nails over open flesh to claw at the nerves hidden just out of sight. His mind is cruel, a sick repetition of the traumatic night playing without mercy in each dream he dares to seek. No longer does he yearn for the escape of reality, no longer does he wish to open his eyes to a new day, another wretched moment within this existence. A once pure and holy thing was stripped bare, ravaged ruthlessly by those that would see him dead; his hope. The loyal optimism had been torn from his youthful frame, a far more devastating occurrence than that which marred his flesh. His body had mended, healed and all that remained upon it was the thin, ropy scar. Childish wonder and bemusement, however, had been slain in cold blood, a murder most foul. His training, the inhumane experiments had robbed him of hhis child-hood, leaving no time for other lessons to be learned within life, and while he portrays a serious demeanor to those whom require it without thought, it does without saying that others may see a different front. An act, a facade of stoic disinterest and coldness is always erect, sorrows, vexations hidden masterfully behind the porcelain of his mask as he interacts with the very few souls who may have the fortune or misfortune or coming into contact with the beast. How a bird once flapping furiously to take flight has had its wings clipped... In the end...we're all just...monsters, aren't we? Enhanced Durability: One of the only things keeping the creature alive during the brutal experiments done to him his is bodies ability to withstand surprising amounts of punishment to its physical being. His bones are extremely dense, allowing him to take blunt force trauma much easier without having every bone in his body broken like most other human species, that and his genetic mutations giving him extra adrenaline and rushes of rage prevent him from feeling massive amounts of pain that would commonly slow him down. Simply speaking, he is simply harder to damage than other weaker species. Advanced Senses: Eleven's animal-like features are not simply for show. Those massive radar-like ears atop his head are capable of hearing things at ten times the sensitivity as a humans. He can hear heartbeats, mutterings through soundproof glass as if they were right beside him, and even water running from miles away. His sense of smell is just as enhanced, making him an effective hunter. Brute Strength: The third and final addition given to him is his highly durable body. Don't let his small appearance fool you, Eleven's physical prowess is on par with that of a Wookie and as a result he is capable of doing quite the physical damage delivered through blunt force trauma. Illiterate & Uneducated: Little more than a lamb for slaughter the beast lives its life looking through a shield of glass. Never learning to read, write, or understand how the galaxy around him works. He knows nothing and thus is at a massive disadvantage. Unable to operate a control panel yet alone pilot a ship. He was designed for one thing and one thing only...to obliterate all that stands in his path. His lack of education is perhaps his biggest weakness. Mentally Dysfunctional: Once bright eyes full of hope...the naivety of love and affection. Butchered by the cruelty of science and progress. Vibrant eyes now dim like a dying star as the once innocent youth grows into a self disgusted beast wishing only for the death of himself. To curse and feel disdain for ones own existence...one must truly wonder just how far gone he is. He has no empathy, no sympathy, and no self confidence. He is incapable of weighing the differences between right and wrong and that mixed with his number of mental and physical illnesses his mind is truly fragile. Extremely Paranoid: Every sound...every sudden movement...the slightest of glances invoke fear and panic within the beast. What is it they used to say? 'It is more afraid of you than you are of it?' Truer words have never been spoken. When the monster acts only out of fear of pain to itself it becomes obvious the horrors the beast has suffered. Traumatized beyond all repair all anyone can do now is...trek carefully. Very carefully...or blood may be spilled. Weak Minded: Lacking the willpower and mental integrity Eleven is extremely weak to Jedi Mind tricks and other similar abilities since his mind is so fragile and easily molded. The only thing that makes him a threat is his predatory cunning and his incomprehensible wrath. Still, he can very easily be slowed down or stopped outright even without the use of a mind trick, simply talking to him is enough to make him hesitate or pause in his tracks as he tried to understand exactly what is unfolding before him. Break from Reality: Sometimes...the creature has trouble differentiating between reality and fantasy. He sees and hears things that are not there which can lead to unpleasant circumstances to whomever is within close proximity. That and the fact he suffers from LLI means he is incapable of shutting out information, making him incredibly anxious and nervous at all times regardless if something is happening or not. Self-Destructive: How much must a living being suffer to the point they wish nothing but death upon themselves? To desire their last breath each time they breathe, to dream of the day some slayer of monsters drives a blade through his chest. Disgusted with his very existence, young innocence murdered so brutally without remorse...and if such a young beautiful creature could be murdered...why can't a looming disgusting beast? Terminally Ill: Genetic Engineering is a dangerous business, and while they may have made a dangerous monster this force of nature suffers a crippling illness within himself. During random moments Eleven goes through intense and often brutal fits of chronic pain throughout his body, crippling him and very often leading to loss of motor functions and the ability to think clearly as his body is wracked with incomprehensible agony. It is unknown what this sickness is, or if the splicing of his DNA has given birth to a new disease, but either way there appears to be no cure or medication for it. Highly Advanced Senses: While sometimes they can be a blessing, they can also be an unpredictable curse. His sense of smell and his sense of hearing are ten times more enhanced than that of a hound. He can hear electricity running through walls and the sound of water beneath him...the thrash of heartbeats within ones chest. His sense of smell is just as advanced...and because of this it can easily be used against him. High frequency sounds can completely cripple him as can immensely foul scents similar to that of a stink bomb or simply toxic gas which can numb his senses entirely. Children are casualties of war, that is to be commonly accepted; whether through their innocence, life or other means, do they suffer. Some are dealt an unlucky, bad hand. Our story begin with subject 9, Initially, 9's outlook was murky and grim, but if she were to dwell on her progression in life, she would, without hesitation, comment that she triumphed through suffering. Yes, it was the perfect "lifestyle" that harvested all negatively-raw emotions... an upbringing befitting for a future machine of death and carnage. Born roughly around the start of a War, 9's parents appear to be an ever-elusive memory. Well, that's quite the understatement. The young woman seems completely unknowing of her immediate kin. Although she pondered of their occupations, fantasized of what they were like, she doubts their professions accounted for anything truly important. But, not even she knows. Perhaps a bastard-child to the mistress of a Grand Moff, placed into slavery while her mother executed to rid his honorable name and militaristic-prestige of such illegitimacy? She supposes time would tell, or that there are more pressing matters to attend to than deal with crap about her origins. Akin to a suppressed traumatic experience subdued by the subconscious, the childhood stage was naught but a blur. In fact, she doesn't remember much of her beginning; memories only of her peripubescent to teenage years. If asked where she was born, she'd utter coldly, "I don't know." She'd brush it off. In actuality, the specific location of her whereabouts in the past was never revealed or discovered. Her life was meant to be harnessed for combat. She felt like a test subject, and they conditioned and treated her as such. One positive thing was that they educated her on basic things. They profited off of her, surprised to see her the last one standing in the arena each time, dumbfounded that humanity was so versatile... So resilient. Unprofessional turned professional, 9 was apart of an underground fighting arena on some twisted planet; probably discarded by whomever for credits. Subjected to a cage, she never saw the luxuries of outside, the beauty of the horizon or the freedom of it all. At first, it seemed to be all a test, an experiment; maybe just careless decision to pit the inexperienced and rookies against one another. She'd never have thought her carnal instincts, teeming with adrenaline and fear, would allow her to prevail over her first competitor. Every opponent that had "challenged" her, only 'birthed' a harder, more proficient enemy in skill. Each win made her stronger, victory through the passion and rage of wanting to live, wanting to brutally murder each and every promoter of this gruesome, illegal affair. Could have faced her despair with death... But something always called to her, whispered along the confines of her cell, "Live." This was war on an individual scale, lunging for melee-weapons before the other could; making sure to strike lethally to live another day... another pitiful excuse of a day. Not that she could tell time, anyway. It still felt like an eternity. Isolation in her 'solitary confinement' allowed her aggressive emotions to fester. These deep-seated feelings led to a snark-like disobedience as well as success in the ring, but her "back-talk" often resulted in punishment. The scars and marks along her slenderly-lean frame would remind her that the past was, in fact, real. Branded and inflicted with physical pain, it fueled 21's resolve to take back her life. Slyly, she vowed to achieve revenge on her captors, for not only herself but the people who she vanquished in the ring. They'd suffer for their wrong-doing, she'd make sure of it. A few years of fighting likely progressed, but one thing didn't seem to change along with her victories. A man, a spectator, unusual and greedy, would bet on 9 each and every time; unbeknownst to the female, the man was a scientist. Unlike the majority of bystanders, he was aware of her 'special' property: the force, and oh did she teem with it. He recognized the spewing periods of malice and wrath, though instead of 'saving' her sooner, he sought to also make a profit. Once 9 was notorious for being a prized warrior and others began to bet in her favor - her skills with weaponry advanced beyond her years - the scientist decided to break her shackles and set her free from one prison and enter her into another. Ambushing those along his path, the man massacred all who stood in his way toward her cell. It seemed effortless for the male, slaughtering the guards who watched near the confinement area. The young female, the ripe age of eighteen, was utterly astounded that someone would save a person of no worth. Before her escape with the stranger, he had even tracked down the ones who hosted the arena brawls, granting her the wish to avenge her life that they stole. The scientist reveled in the girl's descent into the dark-side, her 'wounds' unleashed and pouring at the seems. Hatred, rancor... it was all permeating around her like a heated aura. Little did she know that her life was going to be subjected to pure torment. The man had scoped her out for years and now that he had her at the ripest age, he entered her into the Nexus Program. A secret project designed to take worthy candidates from all over the galaxy and genetically alter their DNA to make what they believed to be the 'Perfect Soldier'. And 9, at the time, was their grand jewel...years of research and engineering turned her into a monster of glorious design. However, after so many experiments on the girl she eventually became sick, her body littered with so many sicknesses from having so many other creatures DNA embedded into her. However, it became known that Subject 9 had been pregnant before she was taken into the program. Interest was quickly gained by the lead of Project Nexus Amanda Lynn, who began looking into the child within the womans belly as he was conceived. Much to her surprise, it appeared as if all of the genetic altering and injections done to Subject 9 had been genetically passed to her unborn offspring... Tragically, 9 grew sicker and sicker, and eventually died before she was able to give birth to her child who was still in the very early stages of development. However, Amanda Lynn would not give up to easily, and as a result extracted the barely developed child and kept him within a special form of incubator tank for him to continue to grow. And grow he did...months passed, and the small creature grew into a child of silver. Many of the genetic splicing done to his mother inherited and rather obvious such as the blue skin pigmentation as well as other features that stood out like his vibrant blue eyes. During his conception, the unnamed child was given the codename of Subject 11, replacing his failure mother as the Pride of GenTech Labs. Amanda Lynn, who took a special liking to the boy gave him the nickname 'Ori', meaning 'Little Light'. Once the child gained true consciousness and was officially 'born', he was very carefully studied and treated much more carefully than his savage mother. But the experiments on him were just as inhumane and brutal...the child would suffer, never knowing what the outside world looked like, born and raised within a laboratory. Day in and day out he would be confined to a small room...isolated and alone his thoughts began to boil as her grew older. The mental conditioning turning a once innocent child into little more than a savage animal. He was attacked daily...by the guards, by the other test subjects...by the automated weapons in the facility. It made him more than paranoid...it made him afraid. And fear, if festered enough could be far more powerful than rage. It did not take long for them to break him. The constant isolation, the drugs which dialed his lust for blood up to eleven. The blood curdling screams his victims each time she shattered their skulls. Eventually what was left of his 'humanity' was lost in cruel rapture. Fear and paranoia cloud his mind...rage and fury corrupt his broken heart as the creature backs himself into the darkest corners of his mind.