Cyrano Cavalier
![Picture](/uploads/1/4/5/9/14590338/_4808640.jpg)
Cyrano Cavalier
Strength Acquisition
Cyrano is a bully. Not one of those "give me your lunch money' types, but one of those that exists only on others' misery Literally. There have been others like Cyrano, those with the power of strength acquisition in which one gains strength from others. His strength feeds on others' misery. At first, Cyrano, surprisingly, used his strength for good. When he was twelve, he saved his little sister when she was trapped under a fallen tree during a tornado - channeling her misery and throwing the tree off- and when he was sixteen, he would follow cops and firemen to accidents and help pull people out of impossible situations. His downward spiral began around that time. Just with words. He was told so many times, over and over again, that he wasn't needed. He tried to show the people his talent, but was immediately written off as evil. After all, misery is never a good thing.
Strength Acquisition
Cyrano is a bully. Not one of those "give me your lunch money' types, but one of those that exists only on others' misery Literally. There have been others like Cyrano, those with the power of strength acquisition in which one gains strength from others. His strength feeds on others' misery. At first, Cyrano, surprisingly, used his strength for good. When he was twelve, he saved his little sister when she was trapped under a fallen tree during a tornado - channeling her misery and throwing the tree off- and when he was sixteen, he would follow cops and firemen to accidents and help pull people out of impossible situations. His downward spiral began around that time. Just with words. He was told so many times, over and over again, that he wasn't needed. He tried to show the people his talent, but was immediately written off as evil. After all, misery is never a good thing.
Errock Cavalier
![Picture](/uploads/1/4/5/9/14590338/_6991650.jpg)
Hamza Urdu
![Picture](/uploads/1/4/5/9/14590338/_7951590.jpg)
Hamza Urdu
Unraveling Fate
Hamza means 'foul taste' and supposedly that's what his family thought of him. Nothing but a foul taste left in their mouths. So they cursed and spit upon him and drove nails through him. Fueled with an insatiable hunger to tear him, the suffering lasted years till he found the means to escape. He still wonders what sort of thing could have driven his family to despise him so, but the answers remain elusive. Hamza is a Mutant. He was always aware that he was different. Besides his general appearance, his supposed mother always held extreme aversion and hatred for him. Eventually, his father also turned on him, till both his mortal parents became the worst tormenters he ever faced in his young life. They were far more powerful and oppressive than any bully he may have faced or criminal he may have encountered, since they were always with him, day and night, and he was in constant fear of his life. Home was a thing to abhor, a place to cower from. When he was sent to school, he always dreaded returning to the house. Eventually he was pulled from school as his parents didn’t want others to discover the abuse. He was all but forgotten then. When relatives or visitors came, he was sent to the basement to play with toys or some other meaningless thing to pass the time. Even his siblings were cruel to him. It wasn’t entirely their intention or their wish, for children are often far too innocent at that age to understand right from wrong. They saw Hamza as a thing, as a horrible terrible thing that mommy and daddy hated. So they too, hated him. He was beaten, mistreated, and abandoned. He was forced to eat his meals in the confines of the basement or at different times of the day when the family wasn’t around to see the revolting creature. Revolting creature indeed. Bruised, scarred, and a face disfigured by their actions. He had a crooked nose, a slacked jaw, one eye almost permanently half closed, and weak, twisted fingers. He could hardly do anything properly but forced himself anyway since he could never rely on anyone else’ help. He was always weak of body, but not of mind. He learned to adapt, to shift, to change. He learned to block pain and ignore hatred. He learned to numb his soul and created his own world in his head. In his own world he was happy. The basement became a sanctuary for him to escape to his world in Him and his little toys would run and play and fight dragons in his secret world. He would weave elaborate tales and fantasies, all for himself. They would always start with the little ugly boy in the basement, and end with the little ugly boy receiving a great reward or being praised as a hero. And he dreamed and lived in those worlds, until he quite forgot reality altogether. His family took notice and declared him mental. He couldn’t communicate with them or anyone else anymore. He never talked or wrote or made any gestures. His strange red gaze wandered, and he never seemed able to focus. He seemed to revert to more infantile ways. He was finally taken to see doctors, probably for the first time in his life. They found nothing wrong with him but said his behavior was like that of a severe autistic. His parents were convinced he had gone mental and found that as only more of an excuse t hate and reject him. Now they had an ugly, stupid boy to feed and shelter. The basement became his permanent residence, and he was forbidden to go outside. But he wasn’t mental, he was merely lost. Lost in his head, in a world of imagination, where no one could hurt him. Where he couldn’t hear his screams and couldn’t shed any tears because no such things existed in his world. In his world he could move his fingers. In his world he could eat at a table and sleep in a big, soft bed. He preferred his world and that is where he stayed. He stayed there for years until he turned thirteen when he was violently ripped, screaming and clawing, from his beautiful, flawless world and into a reality more unimaginable than he could have dreamed in his worst nightmares. His father hurt him. It’s a dreadful thing that can’t be described in words, but his father took away Hamza’s last shred of security, a security he never knew he had until he lost it. And then Hamza seemed to wake up from his dream world. He woke up and murdered his father. He took hold of everything that was his father and unmade him. Then he fled. He came alive with energy and fled the horrible house that held all his nightmares and untold stories. He fled to the cruel and harsh world. And it was there he cried. He cried because the world was so beautiful and he was too fragile to exist in it. He was weak, ugly, broken. A deformed, demented creature without any shred of spirit left in him. He let his pain consume him, and he almost died from it. When he finally awoke, he awoke with the dawn. The darkness, the misery, it all vanished with the rising of the sun. And from that, Hamza found some strength left. He begged God for peace and forgiveness. He made his promises. He took his vows. He found his strength and he found his resolve. And with that, he walked away. Away from his old life, away from everything that made him who he was and he entered a new world as a new being. Such was not to last long. Innocent of the cruel and divided world he was unwillingly a part of, he was not prepared for the sudden appearance of mutants. He wasn’t prepared for anything. Vehicles and other technologies baffled and terrified him to be sure, having been trapped in a basement for years on end. He could barely grasp the concept of running water let alone the way a child could fly or move objects with their minds. And he could not stand the cruelty. Oh, the horrible cruelty of the plastic, beautiful world all mankind lives in. Any who took a look at Hamza would shudder and feel bile rise in their throats. Some had the decency to remain silent and avert their gazes. A few even gave him spare change when he begged for it or pieces of bread, but the majority? They laughed, they taunted, they insulted. Hamza had lived with it for so long, but even so it affected his heart. Eventually he couldn’t take it anymore and left for un-owned territories, taking to the woods and abandoned buildings. It was in one of these forests where he first encountered a mutant face-to-face. What seemed to be a relatively peaceful swim in a forest lake while on his wanderings, soon turned for the worst when a mutant appeared: a young man with the power to poison his targets with his teeth and fingernails. He would have killed Hamza, surely, had not there been an intervention: another mutant who could physically alter any living organism. She came and rescued him, whisking him away where he would be safe for the time being. He had been terribly injured by its poison, his entire body shifted and grossly deformed, destroying itself from the inside out. The savior went to great lengths to restore him to original form, and even went beyond the call of duty. Hamza was healed. Completely. When he awoke in the savior’s cave –the savior herself gone- he saw himself in a mirror. His face no longer bore the ugly visage he gained from his abuses. His fingers were no longer weak, his body no longer thin and unreliable. No longer was he damaged. He was completely healed. Made anew. When he awoke, he was shocked and stunned by the face he viewed in the mirror. It was… beautiful. His skin was soft and smooth as a baby’s. He was strong and lean. Immediately, he hated and loved it. He hated it for he did not believe he deserved it, but loved it, for it was such an act of mercy and compassion, an act only a divine, benevolent creature could have performed for something like him. It was another one of those rare moments when he truly cried. Almost as hard as the day he escaped his old life and was reborn. Reborn in spirit and now reborn in flesh. It was then the savior revealed herself to him and told him that he too was a mutant. Not through her power, but she had sensed it while he healed him. It was also revealed that he was her son. The man he lived with had been his father, but the woman was not his mother. This savior was. She stayed with him for a month; teaching him what she knew of surviving as well as the condition of the world. Through her guidance, he learned of his own abilities and became stronger. He asked to journey with her, but she denied, saying that dark times were ahead and she had important duties to see to. After they parted ways, he abandoned his old family for good, never to return or refer to them as such, only remaining as an echoing memory in the void of his mind. The woman he once called mother was not truly a relative of his, and his father was dead. Seeing no ties to them, he cut them off from him. He severed them as an executioner severs the heads of the guilty. If anyone even asked him who his family was, he would claim he never had any, allowing them to assume he was an orphan or street child. Hamza bears a twisted gratitude towards the mistreatment his parents put him through, as it better prepared him for the brutal reality he has to face day-to-day on his own in the outside world. Whether running from mutants, man, or his own inner demons, he is both mentally and physically prepared for the encounters and fated outcomes the world and its devices have to offer. He has gained enough survival skills to adapt to any given situation and is never afraid of the risks these situations may pose. Hamza is a mental puzzle. Often times his morals and beliefs clash with his actions and intentions. Not so much that he can be labeled as a hypocrite, but enough to keep others guessing and surprise them. He has a love for violence and is not afraid to kill, but he hesitates and is actually conflicted with ending a life. It goes hand in hand with his power, more on that later. He values life. He believes it to be precious and the worst thing to waste. Life is a gift. Life is a treasure. He has such a strong love for life that it almost outshines his love of violence. But it must be noted that violence is not the opposite of life, hence, this is not one of his contradictions. Violence is the opposite of gentleness, and he is not malevolent normally. He finds that peace is more quickly attained through violence and that the best way to neutralize a threat is to kill it. Permanently. No matter the risks, no matter the journey, the outcome is what is important and so he will sacrifice all to reach that outcome. He holds a sanctity in life, yet will trample others underneath him to reach his goals. If he cannot finish the job and reach the end, then he considers himself worthless and his self-esteem lowers even further. He has a very unstable confidence in himself because of this struggle but doesn't seem ready to overcome it. His gentleness shines through when peace has been reached. He is only kind and gentle to those who are weaker than him, taking on some sort of guardian role. He will not pamper and baby the weak, but he will be kind to them. Sometimes. The rest of the time he will strike and drive the weak until they become strong. He will force them into finding their strength and then use his own methods to amplify that. He believes his childhood and the suffering he endured was the best form of training and he will imitate it when he trains others. This can cause problems for him, seeing as no one else thinks that physically life-threatening abuse is a good form of training. He doesn't really understand people that well from the get go. Often making passive aggressive statements that he sees as truths and blunt statements of fact where others find them provoking. There are occasions where he seems to understand people down to their core, which can be arrant frightening. He seems to read their minds, speak from their hearts and souls. He lays their emotions bare before them, picks and pokes and displays every detail, every moment of them as if he was simply inside their heads. He can see the fates of others, and then, he can unravel them. That is how he kills people. It is like he is associated with the Fates of Greek myths. One winds the thread of fate, one weaves it, one snips it. And he? He is there in between them all, pulling out the strings and un-working the weave. Unraveling. Unraveling fate. He sees the entire future, past, present of the person. He sees their fears, their memories, their choices, their decisions, their actions, their intentions. He sees all the possibilities their futures hold. And then he tears it apart. He reworks the fabric of their lives and makes them die. Right there, right then. By his hand. They say the worst weapon to use is a sniper rifle. If one used a pistol or a machine gun, they pull the trigger, and they see a body drop to the ground. With a sniper, they see the face, they see the body: every detail before their eyes in crystal clarity. Up close. Personal. Such is unraveling fate. He is up close. Personal. For a moment he is inside that person. For a moment he is that person. And then he is not. And then he is Hamza once more, and the incredible surge of life he cherished for an eternal moment screams and twists and dies in his arms. And not even gods could undo what Hamza has done.
Unraveling Fate
Hamza means 'foul taste' and supposedly that's what his family thought of him. Nothing but a foul taste left in their mouths. So they cursed and spit upon him and drove nails through him. Fueled with an insatiable hunger to tear him, the suffering lasted years till he found the means to escape. He still wonders what sort of thing could have driven his family to despise him so, but the answers remain elusive. Hamza is a Mutant. He was always aware that he was different. Besides his general appearance, his supposed mother always held extreme aversion and hatred for him. Eventually, his father also turned on him, till both his mortal parents became the worst tormenters he ever faced in his young life. They were far more powerful and oppressive than any bully he may have faced or criminal he may have encountered, since they were always with him, day and night, and he was in constant fear of his life. Home was a thing to abhor, a place to cower from. When he was sent to school, he always dreaded returning to the house. Eventually he was pulled from school as his parents didn’t want others to discover the abuse. He was all but forgotten then. When relatives or visitors came, he was sent to the basement to play with toys or some other meaningless thing to pass the time. Even his siblings were cruel to him. It wasn’t entirely their intention or their wish, for children are often far too innocent at that age to understand right from wrong. They saw Hamza as a thing, as a horrible terrible thing that mommy and daddy hated. So they too, hated him. He was beaten, mistreated, and abandoned. He was forced to eat his meals in the confines of the basement or at different times of the day when the family wasn’t around to see the revolting creature. Revolting creature indeed. Bruised, scarred, and a face disfigured by their actions. He had a crooked nose, a slacked jaw, one eye almost permanently half closed, and weak, twisted fingers. He could hardly do anything properly but forced himself anyway since he could never rely on anyone else’ help. He was always weak of body, but not of mind. He learned to adapt, to shift, to change. He learned to block pain and ignore hatred. He learned to numb his soul and created his own world in his head. In his own world he was happy. The basement became a sanctuary for him to escape to his world in Him and his little toys would run and play and fight dragons in his secret world. He would weave elaborate tales and fantasies, all for himself. They would always start with the little ugly boy in the basement, and end with the little ugly boy receiving a great reward or being praised as a hero. And he dreamed and lived in those worlds, until he quite forgot reality altogether. His family took notice and declared him mental. He couldn’t communicate with them or anyone else anymore. He never talked or wrote or made any gestures. His strange red gaze wandered, and he never seemed able to focus. He seemed to revert to more infantile ways. He was finally taken to see doctors, probably for the first time in his life. They found nothing wrong with him but said his behavior was like that of a severe autistic. His parents were convinced he had gone mental and found that as only more of an excuse t hate and reject him. Now they had an ugly, stupid boy to feed and shelter. The basement became his permanent residence, and he was forbidden to go outside. But he wasn’t mental, he was merely lost. Lost in his head, in a world of imagination, where no one could hurt him. Where he couldn’t hear his screams and couldn’t shed any tears because no such things existed in his world. In his world he could move his fingers. In his world he could eat at a table and sleep in a big, soft bed. He preferred his world and that is where he stayed. He stayed there for years until he turned thirteen when he was violently ripped, screaming and clawing, from his beautiful, flawless world and into a reality more unimaginable than he could have dreamed in his worst nightmares. His father hurt him. It’s a dreadful thing that can’t be described in words, but his father took away Hamza’s last shred of security, a security he never knew he had until he lost it. And then Hamza seemed to wake up from his dream world. He woke up and murdered his father. He took hold of everything that was his father and unmade him. Then he fled. He came alive with energy and fled the horrible house that held all his nightmares and untold stories. He fled to the cruel and harsh world. And it was there he cried. He cried because the world was so beautiful and he was too fragile to exist in it. He was weak, ugly, broken. A deformed, demented creature without any shred of spirit left in him. He let his pain consume him, and he almost died from it. When he finally awoke, he awoke with the dawn. The darkness, the misery, it all vanished with the rising of the sun. And from that, Hamza found some strength left. He begged God for peace and forgiveness. He made his promises. He took his vows. He found his strength and he found his resolve. And with that, he walked away. Away from his old life, away from everything that made him who he was and he entered a new world as a new being. Such was not to last long. Innocent of the cruel and divided world he was unwillingly a part of, he was not prepared for the sudden appearance of mutants. He wasn’t prepared for anything. Vehicles and other technologies baffled and terrified him to be sure, having been trapped in a basement for years on end. He could barely grasp the concept of running water let alone the way a child could fly or move objects with their minds. And he could not stand the cruelty. Oh, the horrible cruelty of the plastic, beautiful world all mankind lives in. Any who took a look at Hamza would shudder and feel bile rise in their throats. Some had the decency to remain silent and avert their gazes. A few even gave him spare change when he begged for it or pieces of bread, but the majority? They laughed, they taunted, they insulted. Hamza had lived with it for so long, but even so it affected his heart. Eventually he couldn’t take it anymore and left for un-owned territories, taking to the woods and abandoned buildings. It was in one of these forests where he first encountered a mutant face-to-face. What seemed to be a relatively peaceful swim in a forest lake while on his wanderings, soon turned for the worst when a mutant appeared: a young man with the power to poison his targets with his teeth and fingernails. He would have killed Hamza, surely, had not there been an intervention: another mutant who could physically alter any living organism. She came and rescued him, whisking him away where he would be safe for the time being. He had been terribly injured by its poison, his entire body shifted and grossly deformed, destroying itself from the inside out. The savior went to great lengths to restore him to original form, and even went beyond the call of duty. Hamza was healed. Completely. When he awoke in the savior’s cave –the savior herself gone- he saw himself in a mirror. His face no longer bore the ugly visage he gained from his abuses. His fingers were no longer weak, his body no longer thin and unreliable. No longer was he damaged. He was completely healed. Made anew. When he awoke, he was shocked and stunned by the face he viewed in the mirror. It was… beautiful. His skin was soft and smooth as a baby’s. He was strong and lean. Immediately, he hated and loved it. He hated it for he did not believe he deserved it, but loved it, for it was such an act of mercy and compassion, an act only a divine, benevolent creature could have performed for something like him. It was another one of those rare moments when he truly cried. Almost as hard as the day he escaped his old life and was reborn. Reborn in spirit and now reborn in flesh. It was then the savior revealed herself to him and told him that he too was a mutant. Not through her power, but she had sensed it while he healed him. It was also revealed that he was her son. The man he lived with had been his father, but the woman was not his mother. This savior was. She stayed with him for a month; teaching him what she knew of surviving as well as the condition of the world. Through her guidance, he learned of his own abilities and became stronger. He asked to journey with her, but she denied, saying that dark times were ahead and she had important duties to see to. After they parted ways, he abandoned his old family for good, never to return or refer to them as such, only remaining as an echoing memory in the void of his mind. The woman he once called mother was not truly a relative of his, and his father was dead. Seeing no ties to them, he cut them off from him. He severed them as an executioner severs the heads of the guilty. If anyone even asked him who his family was, he would claim he never had any, allowing them to assume he was an orphan or street child. Hamza bears a twisted gratitude towards the mistreatment his parents put him through, as it better prepared him for the brutal reality he has to face day-to-day on his own in the outside world. Whether running from mutants, man, or his own inner demons, he is both mentally and physically prepared for the encounters and fated outcomes the world and its devices have to offer. He has gained enough survival skills to adapt to any given situation and is never afraid of the risks these situations may pose. Hamza is a mental puzzle. Often times his morals and beliefs clash with his actions and intentions. Not so much that he can be labeled as a hypocrite, but enough to keep others guessing and surprise them. He has a love for violence and is not afraid to kill, but he hesitates and is actually conflicted with ending a life. It goes hand in hand with his power, more on that later. He values life. He believes it to be precious and the worst thing to waste. Life is a gift. Life is a treasure. He has such a strong love for life that it almost outshines his love of violence. But it must be noted that violence is not the opposite of life, hence, this is not one of his contradictions. Violence is the opposite of gentleness, and he is not malevolent normally. He finds that peace is more quickly attained through violence and that the best way to neutralize a threat is to kill it. Permanently. No matter the risks, no matter the journey, the outcome is what is important and so he will sacrifice all to reach that outcome. He holds a sanctity in life, yet will trample others underneath him to reach his goals. If he cannot finish the job and reach the end, then he considers himself worthless and his self-esteem lowers even further. He has a very unstable confidence in himself because of this struggle but doesn't seem ready to overcome it. His gentleness shines through when peace has been reached. He is only kind and gentle to those who are weaker than him, taking on some sort of guardian role. He will not pamper and baby the weak, but he will be kind to them. Sometimes. The rest of the time he will strike and drive the weak until they become strong. He will force them into finding their strength and then use his own methods to amplify that. He believes his childhood and the suffering he endured was the best form of training and he will imitate it when he trains others. This can cause problems for him, seeing as no one else thinks that physically life-threatening abuse is a good form of training. He doesn't really understand people that well from the get go. Often making passive aggressive statements that he sees as truths and blunt statements of fact where others find them provoking. There are occasions where he seems to understand people down to their core, which can be arrant frightening. He seems to read their minds, speak from their hearts and souls. He lays their emotions bare before them, picks and pokes and displays every detail, every moment of them as if he was simply inside their heads. He can see the fates of others, and then, he can unravel them. That is how he kills people. It is like he is associated with the Fates of Greek myths. One winds the thread of fate, one weaves it, one snips it. And he? He is there in between them all, pulling out the strings and un-working the weave. Unraveling. Unraveling fate. He sees the entire future, past, present of the person. He sees their fears, their memories, their choices, their decisions, their actions, their intentions. He sees all the possibilities their futures hold. And then he tears it apart. He reworks the fabric of their lives and makes them die. Right there, right then. By his hand. They say the worst weapon to use is a sniper rifle. If one used a pistol or a machine gun, they pull the trigger, and they see a body drop to the ground. With a sniper, they see the face, they see the body: every detail before their eyes in crystal clarity. Up close. Personal. Such is unraveling fate. He is up close. Personal. For a moment he is inside that person. For a moment he is that person. And then he is not. And then he is Hamza once more, and the incredible surge of life he cherished for an eternal moment screams and twists and dies in his arms. And not even gods could undo what Hamza has done.
Norio Sakayama
![Picture](/uploads/1/4/5/9/14590338/_2243994.jpg)
Norio Sakayama
Ability Contraction
Describe Norio in one word: honorable. The highest value of his ancestors that was passed down to him through who knows how many centuries. He was born and raised in Japan, you see, taken to the island when he was twelve. He still speaks with a Japanese accent, and sometimes, he falls back to speaking in the actual language. He has a habit of giving everyone nicknames, even if he just met the person. He seems quite optimistic, but don't let him fool you. He can be a very, very deadly person when need be. His happy nature contradicts his history. Shortly after their move to America, his mother was abducted and his father was killed in a freak car accident. Norio was sent to live with an aunt who lived in Salem. He didn't mind living there at first, but then he began noticing things, strange things. He didn't know about mutants or that the strange people were such. He didn't find out till he was fourteen. He was just leaving school when he got into a fight with a group of gang members. As a result, he was brutally stabbed and left to die in some forgotten alley. He was found by the "strange people" and brought to their hideaway. From what he remembers, he saw flashes of scenes go by, though mostly all of it was darkness. He remembered seeing the "strange people". One in particular was very beautiful and had a lovely voice. Then he remembers the feeling of something like cold knives sliding into his neck, then the feeling of burning, excruciating pain that lasted for what seemed like endless lifetimes. Then darkness. Then waking. Waking surrounded by the strange people, and being told what they were, that they had healed him, and then that he was a mutant too. At the time, he was too shocked to care, but after a few hours he suffered a mental breakdown and became very sick. It was as if everything he had ever experienced that was horrible and painful just flooded over him in dark, supressing waves. But he remembered the girl mutant with the beautiful voice, always beside him through those wretched, painful nights and days. When he recovered, she had gone. He has never seen her again, only in his dreams, and he longs to meet her, though he doesn't know if it's possible. Being trapped on the island now and whatnot. For all he knows, she's a figment of his imagination. He hopes she's real though. He hopes for a lot of things, like a cure to this stupid mutant thing that has been nothing but a curse to him. It's been a year or so since he discovered his true nature, and he has since gotten used to it and returned to being bright and optimistic, no longer wallowing in self pity and loathing. He is more than optimistic and honorable and all that noble stuff, he's a very interesting guy all around. He likes to wear fashionable clothes that speak "neat" and "comfortable", but even though he goes for the semi formal attire, he alwasy wears mismatching socks. He is a very passionate singer and writes his own music as well as poetry. He did a lot of martial arts and gymnastics, so his movements are always described as graceful but powerful. He is always apologizing and saying "I'm sorry" and has a bad habit of running into people. He absolutley loves to drink different flavors of milk that he would buy at gas stations and stores, like chocolate, strawberry, orange, etc, but rarely will he drink normal milk. Even stuck on the island, he always asks for it at the cafeteria, but they seldom have it if not ever. He always seems to be going for some kind of walk, a true nature lover to be sure. He also adores small and fluffy animals and will randomly bring them home as pets if he manages to find them. So what does Norio look like? Well, he has straight black hair, always done in a neat style. His eyes are a coal black, like the dark of an abyss but as warm as flames. He has smooth features and asian-tanned skin. He is very lithe from the martial arts and the gymnastics, but he also has hardcore muscles. He's around fifteen, almost sixteen years old. Don't be afraid to go up and talk to him, he really is nice and can easily become your best friend. But wait: he is a mutant after all, so what can he do? That is the deadly side to him, the side he really doesn't care for people to know about. He has an ability that was so cleverly called Ability Contraction. It is the power to temporarily gain another's abilities, wether they be powers or simply physical capabilities, even knowledge. He can only gain them by drinking their blood or eating their flesh. The person does not have to be alive for this to work. When he gains their abilities and stats, it is for a limited time only, but as he grows in power, the longer he is able to maintain it. This is where the dark side comes in. If he eats or drinks to much of his target, they can die. Then of course there's always risks of infection, bleeding out, shock, and so forth. Norio seldom ever uses this ability, for he fears it and what it has the potential to do. Not necessarily the acquiring of another's abilities, but the part where he has to eat and drink from someone's body. It disgusts him, and that is why he wants to stop it. He may accept himself for what he is and learn to deal with it, but that doesn't mean he wants this horror to continue.
Ability Contraction
Describe Norio in one word: honorable. The highest value of his ancestors that was passed down to him through who knows how many centuries. He was born and raised in Japan, you see, taken to the island when he was twelve. He still speaks with a Japanese accent, and sometimes, he falls back to speaking in the actual language. He has a habit of giving everyone nicknames, even if he just met the person. He seems quite optimistic, but don't let him fool you. He can be a very, very deadly person when need be. His happy nature contradicts his history. Shortly after their move to America, his mother was abducted and his father was killed in a freak car accident. Norio was sent to live with an aunt who lived in Salem. He didn't mind living there at first, but then he began noticing things, strange things. He didn't know about mutants or that the strange people were such. He didn't find out till he was fourteen. He was just leaving school when he got into a fight with a group of gang members. As a result, he was brutally stabbed and left to die in some forgotten alley. He was found by the "strange people" and brought to their hideaway. From what he remembers, he saw flashes of scenes go by, though mostly all of it was darkness. He remembered seeing the "strange people". One in particular was very beautiful and had a lovely voice. Then he remembers the feeling of something like cold knives sliding into his neck, then the feeling of burning, excruciating pain that lasted for what seemed like endless lifetimes. Then darkness. Then waking. Waking surrounded by the strange people, and being told what they were, that they had healed him, and then that he was a mutant too. At the time, he was too shocked to care, but after a few hours he suffered a mental breakdown and became very sick. It was as if everything he had ever experienced that was horrible and painful just flooded over him in dark, supressing waves. But he remembered the girl mutant with the beautiful voice, always beside him through those wretched, painful nights and days. When he recovered, she had gone. He has never seen her again, only in his dreams, and he longs to meet her, though he doesn't know if it's possible. Being trapped on the island now and whatnot. For all he knows, she's a figment of his imagination. He hopes she's real though. He hopes for a lot of things, like a cure to this stupid mutant thing that has been nothing but a curse to him. It's been a year or so since he discovered his true nature, and he has since gotten used to it and returned to being bright and optimistic, no longer wallowing in self pity and loathing. He is more than optimistic and honorable and all that noble stuff, he's a very interesting guy all around. He likes to wear fashionable clothes that speak "neat" and "comfortable", but even though he goes for the semi formal attire, he alwasy wears mismatching socks. He is a very passionate singer and writes his own music as well as poetry. He did a lot of martial arts and gymnastics, so his movements are always described as graceful but powerful. He is always apologizing and saying "I'm sorry" and has a bad habit of running into people. He absolutley loves to drink different flavors of milk that he would buy at gas stations and stores, like chocolate, strawberry, orange, etc, but rarely will he drink normal milk. Even stuck on the island, he always asks for it at the cafeteria, but they seldom have it if not ever. He always seems to be going for some kind of walk, a true nature lover to be sure. He also adores small and fluffy animals and will randomly bring them home as pets if he manages to find them. So what does Norio look like? Well, he has straight black hair, always done in a neat style. His eyes are a coal black, like the dark of an abyss but as warm as flames. He has smooth features and asian-tanned skin. He is very lithe from the martial arts and the gymnastics, but he also has hardcore muscles. He's around fifteen, almost sixteen years old. Don't be afraid to go up and talk to him, he really is nice and can easily become your best friend. But wait: he is a mutant after all, so what can he do? That is the deadly side to him, the side he really doesn't care for people to know about. He has an ability that was so cleverly called Ability Contraction. It is the power to temporarily gain another's abilities, wether they be powers or simply physical capabilities, even knowledge. He can only gain them by drinking their blood or eating their flesh. The person does not have to be alive for this to work. When he gains their abilities and stats, it is for a limited time only, but as he grows in power, the longer he is able to maintain it. This is where the dark side comes in. If he eats or drinks to much of his target, they can die. Then of course there's always risks of infection, bleeding out, shock, and so forth. Norio seldom ever uses this ability, for he fears it and what it has the potential to do. Not necessarily the acquiring of another's abilities, but the part where he has to eat and drink from someone's body. It disgusts him, and that is why he wants to stop it. He may accept himself for what he is and learn to deal with it, but that doesn't mean he wants this horror to continue.
Zoo Morgan
![Picture](/uploads/1/4/5/9/14590338/_6728227.jpg)
Human
Zoo is average in appearance. He has spiky, blue-black hair, surprisingly soft in texture, and perfectly straight. His dark eyes are a deep brown, to the point of black. He is only 6', not too tall, not too short, just average for fifteen years old. He has tanned skin, and somewhat narrowed features, being of Filipino and Korean descent. He is lean, maybe a bit more on the skinny side, but he has a good amount of strength packed in that body of his.
Zoo is average in appearance. He has spiky, blue-black hair, surprisingly soft in texture, and perfectly straight. His dark eyes are a deep brown, to the point of black. He is only 6', not too tall, not too short, just average for fifteen years old. He has tanned skin, and somewhat narrowed features, being of Filipino and Korean descent. He is lean, maybe a bit more on the skinny side, but he has a good amount of strength packed in that body of his.
Rhaegar Baratheon
![Picture](/uploads/1/4/5/9/14590338/_7915965.jpg)
Mutant
Solar Channeling
________________
"Coming in! Echo-Charlie-Hotel-Echo-Lima-Oscar-November. Friendlies at 2-0-0 Mark South-Southwest of your position! Repeat: Friendlies opening fire on your position from 2-0-0 Mark!"
That day...
"Disengage! Drop back and return to base!"
"We've been locked on!"
"Break away!"
'I can't! I can't!"
"Move to intercept!"
"We've been hit! Mayday! Mayday! Status Code Red! Mayday! Air support! Please assist!"
I can't forget that day...
"Delta! What's your position!"
"Rounding in on the ship at Mark 2-0-1."
"Prepare to engage!"
"I've been locked on!"
"Break away, Delta!"
"I can't! I can't! Oh my God! Fuck!"
"Break away, Delta! Break away!"
What happened there has been engrained in my memory.
I bear the consequences on my body. In my head.
I've been affected with Soldier's Heart.
Is that what this is?
This endless torture... this endless madness?
The emptiness. The fear A Solder's Heart.
I want to rip it out of my chest, but I lack the strength.
I lack the strength to live.
I lack the strength to die.
So I exist.
Rhaegar Baratheon was once a soldier. Not a full time one. Not officially at least. All the legalities were swept under the rug and his placement and usage were kept confidential. His existence was wiped off the face of the earth. His life became a lie.
Rhaegar was special. Everyone wants to be special. Even Rhaegar did at a certain point, but eventually he regretted ever knowing the word. Being special meant he would be noticed. Being noticed got him into all sorts of hell. With an outstanding IQ, he was accepted into high performance schools, but even then, the tests just bored him. When he was in fourth grade, he would finish a test halfway, then spend the rest of the time drawing pictures or writing stories. He had an extensive imagination and was always trying to feed it with books and movies and sketchpads. He entered a military school program but was eventually picked up by a more secretive and extensive military school that specially invited him and several other children to be inducted into their program. With a large compensation given to his guardians (his real parents were dead), Rhaegar was shipped to the school where he spent years training and preparing for future military work. It was hard and often cruel, but he was never mistreated severely or had to do anything life threatening.
Solar Channeling
________________
"Coming in! Echo-Charlie-Hotel-Echo-Lima-Oscar-November. Friendlies at 2-0-0 Mark South-Southwest of your position! Repeat: Friendlies opening fire on your position from 2-0-0 Mark!"
That day...
"Disengage! Drop back and return to base!"
"We've been locked on!"
"Break away!"
'I can't! I can't!"
"Move to intercept!"
"We've been hit! Mayday! Mayday! Status Code Red! Mayday! Air support! Please assist!"
I can't forget that day...
"Delta! What's your position!"
"Rounding in on the ship at Mark 2-0-1."
"Prepare to engage!"
"I've been locked on!"
"Break away, Delta!"
"I can't! I can't! Oh my God! Fuck!"
"Break away, Delta! Break away!"
What happened there has been engrained in my memory.
I bear the consequences on my body. In my head.
I've been affected with Soldier's Heart.
Is that what this is?
This endless torture... this endless madness?
The emptiness. The fear A Solder's Heart.
I want to rip it out of my chest, but I lack the strength.
I lack the strength to live.
I lack the strength to die.
So I exist.
Rhaegar Baratheon was once a soldier. Not a full time one. Not officially at least. All the legalities were swept under the rug and his placement and usage were kept confidential. His existence was wiped off the face of the earth. His life became a lie.
Rhaegar was special. Everyone wants to be special. Even Rhaegar did at a certain point, but eventually he regretted ever knowing the word. Being special meant he would be noticed. Being noticed got him into all sorts of hell. With an outstanding IQ, he was accepted into high performance schools, but even then, the tests just bored him. When he was in fourth grade, he would finish a test halfway, then spend the rest of the time drawing pictures or writing stories. He had an extensive imagination and was always trying to feed it with books and movies and sketchpads. He entered a military school program but was eventually picked up by a more secretive and extensive military school that specially invited him and several other children to be inducted into their program. With a large compensation given to his guardians (his real parents were dead), Rhaegar was shipped to the school where he spent years training and preparing for future military work. It was hard and often cruel, but he was never mistreated severely or had to do anything life threatening.