Punk's Not Dead.

[iva wolf]

Again, the image and the character belong to me. They are only meant to be used by me and no one else. Here is the link to where I uploaded my artwork:
https://www.weasyl.com/submission/215606

× B I O P U N K .

× Mechair

>> 22-23 years old<<
>> male <<
>> Machairodus Kabir <<
>> Hybrid <<
>> Pansexual <<
>> Single <<
>> Calm// Laid-back \\Cautious <<

N A M E :;

× Bars Gatura

A G E :;

× 22-23 years old

G E N D E R :;

× male

P E R S O N A L I T Y :;

x "Brats are brats. They yell, they shout, they throw a tantrum and act as if the world is theirs. At the end of the day, they're the same little kids that cry for their mothers when what's right gets to them. They would do anything to raise their level and guard their pride to the point of being utter imbeciles. Last time I checked, pride doesn't count when you're dead."

× In contrast with the majority of his comrades, this person is like a black and white spotted ram in a flock of completely black ones. While most members, including the higher-ups, are cruel, twisted and vicious, he is calm, even-tempered, maybe even too much for his own good. Preferring to have a quiet evening than a bloodbath night, he's well aware that the only thing violence solves is power disputes. Considering how frequent they are in his gang, it is indeed hard not to get in the middle of them. However, with his status of an 'old dog' there is a certain dose of respect he carries among the group. That doesn't stop others from thinking he's useless or cowardly, basing their accusations on the fact that he's laid-back and doesn't answer to challenges with an attack. If somebody were to try and provoke him, Bars simply brushes it off, but would more often just give a silent cold stare with that sharp amber gaze of his and, if he dubs needed, utter a short cold comment in response. The usual "I don't feel like it" or "I don't give stupid kids candy" are some of his daily lines. Despite the deep chilly rumbling in his voice, as if there was a low echoing roar in his throat, what actually does the trick is his appearance. When noting his height of approximately 197cm, muscly body and the huge scar on his right side that allows his fang to be completely visible, it is no wonder why people avoid confronting him.

x If you were to look past his gruesome outside, you would notice that Bars is unusually helpful and kind on the inside. Of course, not the girly childish form of kind. It's more like a "I'll help you up, but I'll crush you if you do something stupid" type of thing. He's one of the possible guides for new members, offering them advise about how to behave and with whom not to pick a fight. Still, not many really go to him for rather obvious reasons. Even so, this man isn't the sort who would leave someone behind just because they've shown a weakness. If it proves to be dangerous for the gang, he would, yet doesn't completely obey the rule "The strongest survive and the weak must be left to die". He isn't the one who would take orders from just anybody either. Raptor is the only one whom he never questions, but when it comes to the rest...Fang would be the second he is prone to listen to, although the wolf's personality sometimes makes him doubt his logic. Sydney he outright rejects as a second-in-command, due to his 'dark childishness' and rarely even listens to him. Not that that spider would ever really give a straight demand, but even when Bars is being shouted at by the poison fanboy, he would just stare at him like a stone and perhaps even say something similar to "It's not polite to talk with a full mouth." The guy isn't looking for a fight in any of the cases. He merely wants to reduce those bothersome events to a minimum. The leader he has not dared to oppose ever since the day of his fight with him, however, his distaste for some of that lizard's actions still remains, yet he hides it and simply continues on living. He learned that it didn't concern him all that much who would sit on top, as long as it didn't kill him. Not that much of a reaction can be gotten out of him by Raptor's taunting. It's due to getting used to it that he rarely gives it any mind at all. Instead, he has accepted the joke and allows the rest to have a laugh as well before he makes a bad comment about them in return. But if it's the boss, he has nothing to say. Only obedience can come from him, since he was shown how seriously dangerous that person is and will be reminded of that fact until the rest of his days.

x Having had his fair share of battles, this person often feels too grown-up among the rest of Biopunk, most of which are still teenagers, although he himself isn't past the age of 25 years. This sense of being some sort of veteran can easily be explained by his past. Since he has been running in the slums ever since he learned to walk, those two eyes have seen quite a lot of scenes that might make the normal human vomit or lose consciousness. Because of that, he has hardened, forming a good layer of protective wall, from the top of which he surveys the surroundings and examines any trespasser with a long cold look. His habit of lending a hand to the newbies or wana-be-members is also a way of protection. He inspects anyone who wants to set foot in his territory, although the methods of inspection vary depending on his mood. Although it might seem like being too quick to judge, the sketchy profiles he is capable of making are often outstandingly correct.

x Indeed, in the end, Bars is one of the few calm collected individuals in Biopunk. He rarely does anything violent, but manage to tick him off and you will most likely lose a limb or two. That set of knife teeth aren't just for show.

H I S T O R Y :;

× It is curious to say that Bars isn't remotely similar to what he used to be. True enough, he was still not easily provoked when he was young, but had a burning rage in his eyes which seemed like it could burn anything his sight fell upon.

The beginning of this person's journey was in a place not too far off from his current surroundings, both appearance and location wise. He was born into this world with only his mother by his side. Not a trace was seen by the father which wasn't surprising, considering the situation. Whoever he was, it would have most likely caused an uproar and trouble for him. To hear that the prostitute he slept with once or twice had a son from him would be quite the shocker, after all.

Although one of the parents never even poked his nose around, probably because he was never told, the other made sure to be closer than anyone else. His mother contrasted her co-workers just like he contrasts his comrades in the present. She was a sale's girl and a mighty fine one at that, yet unlike the women among whom she lived, who discarded their children and even prevented them from coming into existence through vile painful acts and concoctions, she took care of her son and made sure he grew up as finely as she could provide.
Until her first month she continued to serve men in her chambers, but after that she quit, tossing the job in the dustbin along with all the drugs, alcohol and cigarettes she used to have on her daily list. For that short period of time her savings had reached a decent sum, but weren't enough to last her throughout the whole pregnancy, so she had to depend on her friends for support.
When he was born, Bars had not only one, but fire or six other women surrounding him. They crowded around him, playing and giggling as he made all sorts of sounds and moved his little legs. Even when his mother wasn't around, there was always at least one set of eyes watching over him. Those were needed, for he often got into things he shouldn't.
Adventurous and cheerful, the boy played on the streets of the Slums with a pack of kids around his age ever since he could walk. He could never stop himself from venturing far from the old hotel where his residence was. It was actually a brotel, so he was capable of seeing all the things the pitiful children in the cradle of Tektron could not even dream of until they entered the middle of their teens. This was the reason why he never drooled over the bare bodies of the women at home. Growing up in that habitat makes you grow accustomed to such scenes, thus you take it for something normal, not even interesting at times. Just because he grew up among prostitutes didn't lead to him to become girly or lusty. Loud and rebellious, he loved fighting in the black alleys. Something about rolling in the dirt of those junk-filled puddle streets made his heart race with excitement. It was one of the most enjoyable things he ever did during that early stage.
At the age of 13 he knew he couldn't live with his mother anymore. She had started work after his first year, but had continued caring for him. Hugging him when he was sad, singing him a song to sleep, eating together whenever there was food, laughing and telling dirty jokes, she was always kind and gentle and never raised a finger against him. Most children with such mothers simply ran away or caused a ruckus as an excuse to leave without a note. Bars cherished his and found it difficult to strip himself from being together with his only parent. Yet rules were rules. A boy such as himself was supposed to already be on his own and he couldn't disagree. For one, it would take a huge load off of the woman's back. Not to mention he wouldn't be called a mommy's boy. Thus he set out and started a new chapter of his story.
For the first few months he did the same as the rest of the youngsters in his situation. Steal. Forming a small group from the time they were mice, Bars and his bunch of rambunctious friends fount that teamwork lead more often to success than going alone. Working together, they easily robbed different people either on the street or when transporting cargo. When out of a mission, the lad felt like he was an animal out on a hunt with the pack, watching the latest victim closely before initiating a precise deadly attack. A load of little brats, despite the many times they failed, their skills improved and all was well, as long as they didn't steal from each other. Whenever a fight would break out between the bugs of this ruffian swarm, the dreadlocks boy was usually the one to break them apart, often by simply beating up both sides. Despite their petty disputes, together they spent a long time roaming, causing trouble and teasing people. They were a merry band of hooligans, happy to be together as family, always helping each other out when needed.
Not even a year had passed and that house which was built was already crumbling down. There were many other little gangs out there, but there were also ones which were greater in number and notorious in every corner of the Slums. Some of the boys left in order to join some of those strong gangs and so the last childish days were over. The group of jolly youngsters dispersed and they headed their separate ways in order to fulfill their own wishes. Bars and two others went to join Biopunk. Not only because of their rumored powers did he agree upon this decision, but also because he loved animals. While most kids beat up any critter that dared come into their field of vision, he liked to feed, pet or simply watch them. It was because he understood what it was to be like that. Often feeling like a mutt when spotting people from outside the Slums, the guy had problems getting over his low standing when he was younger, but his bright attitude made him feel less depressed about the matter compared to many others, who shouted and thrashed whatever place they were at simply out of anger, without at form of provocation. Another important reason why Bars joined the Biopunks was their boss, a tall young man, well-built, with golden hair and sharp eyes. That person had a powerful aura around him, with a firm voice and strong opinion, he was the perfect portrayal of a king. Many, along with the lad as well, saw that and were instantly attracted towards him. That confident character, with fine leadership skills and a thoughtful mind, was like honey to a bee. Of course, the boy was warned about the low acceptance and necessary 'trial'. At first he backed up a bit, but after considering the offer, he accepted. The feeling of being an animal never left him, in fact, that feeling never left most of the residents of the Slums. The Hive always reminded them that they were insignificant, like some stray dog nobody wants. If he had to be honest, although he was still frightened by the thought of becoming like them and just looking at them, somewhat, the appearance of the mutants didn't shake him that much. Convinced that this was the gang he was meant to be in, he entered the testing facility with the thought that he would never leave this gang until it crumbles, even if times prove hard and burdens become heavy. He would find out just how hard times could become.
Bars' DNA was merged with that of a Mechairodus Kabir. Because the animal itself had been extinct for thousands of years, the samples used were precious. Not many people survived when their generic code was edited, even less were those who pulled through after being given the data of an ancient animal. He was an even greater experiment than the rest, one of those who would be a complete disaster if they failed, for precious material would be lost, or would become an irreplaceable specimen if successful. The youngster managed to hang onto life, but his body would never be the same. The main aspect of the mechairodus kabir were its huge fangs, which were not as long as that of a Smilodon, they reached exactly to the end or a very little bit below the chin, however, they were not as delicate as those of its cousin's. The two canines were long, thin and flattened from side to side but broad from front to back like the blade of a knife. They were rooted into the mouth and fitted comfortably into the jaw, being exactly the needed length to be lethal for hunting, yet easy to live with while not killing, while sleeping for instance. In order to have such dangerous weapons, the skull itself also had to be designed properly. Although his couldn't get narrow as it was with the great predator, his forehead flattened and as his head became larger, it also got longer. In addition, in order to carry the heavy head which had to support the teeth, the bones and with them the musculature had to grow rapidly. This is the reason why from 172 cm Bars became 189 cm in less than a month while he was still in the examination rooms. With such a huge structure, his lungs and other insides also had to increase their size. His arms and legs did not become remarkably long, but this was due to the fact that the mechairodus kabir was meant for jumping high than chasing continuously. They were proportionally correct and indeed his climbing and jumping abilities improved dramatically when he was awake. Along with these changes, he also grew a tail and ears. Again, unlike the Smilodo, which had a short tail, this feline had a long tail for balance, proof for it not being meant to rival a cheetah. Strangely enough, only his feet changed to resemble that of a cat. His fingers became retractable claws which were nearly as sharp as his teeth. By the time he was ready to stand with his new body, Bars had grown astonishingly and continues to even to this very day, only in more even temps.
Once he had gotten out of the 'hospital', his new comrades welcomed him warmly. There was quite a bit of trouble at first, since the lad didn't know how to control his new strength. While he was having difficulty with his height by bumping into door lintels, one of the friends he entered the Biopunks with only had the difficulty of holding his venom in his mouth when he talked, since he had gotten the DNA of a spitting cobra. Their second friend had died on the operation table while they were trying to inject the code of an Andrewsarchus. That fierce ghostly carnivore proved to be deadly even after extinction. For the following two years and a half, the two boys who remained had the time of their lives. Drinking and having parties until they dropped from exhaustion. Getting higher than the glass done which stopped them from seeing the true sky. Fighting and ripping skins and crushing bones. Not to mention the girls. Bars never set his foot in a brotel. It always reminded him of home and he felt slightly embarrassed when he remembered his mother was exactly like those girls. Despite all the hooligan business and orders he had, the already 16-year-old still visited his parent from time to time. Whenever she lacked money, he gave her. If there was medicine she needed, he found it and delivered it quickly and if he heard some man had given her a hard time or hit her, well, than man wouldn't live for long. Although he had left the nest long ago, the knew there was a debt to be payed and he gladly payed it. His mother was as gentle as ever. She accepted his new looks and told him that if he truly believed that this was what he wanted, then the choice was the rightest one he could ever make. Her gentle hands made him feel like a kitty than a monster. Still, he couldn't purr around his mum for too long. There were responsibilities other than having fun, but every order he was given seemed like a game to him. It was enjoyable, as if he wasn't being an underling but some participant in a childish trick. Everything was going smoothly. The boss was harsh, yet joined in the party while only his gang members were around and slowly his true outgoing nature was coming to show. Those happy days they spent as a 'family' ended as well, just like the first time, but in this case, the final curtain would be pulled in a much more vile manner.
When he was 16 years old, Bars witnessed the arrival of a new member. That boy was only 14 years of age, yet had been given amazing features. He was just like him, an extinct species, only his animal dated from an ear far behind the arrival of the first felines. He was a dinosaur, a raptor, with green hair and darker scales all over his body. With eyes of a serpent and a strange smiling expression, he entered the gang with great enthusiasm. Bars had heard about some kid who had went to the king head on and asked to join, but he never expected that to be the actual one. That brat had guts to ask, he had guts to endure and to survive. It was impressive. However, the lad didn't hurry to befriend this individual. While the rest gathered around him to inspect him, he stood at the side, watching closely with a cold glare. There was something, something out of place. He didn't know what it was, but he could smell it. It wasn't dead fish and no one had let out gas. It was something different. A feeling this hybrid had never felt before. His tail twitched in annoyance like with any cat. He couldn't explain, nor identify this sensation. Only the root of the problem was known and that was the newbi. That person had something eery about him, a specific scent or maybe an aura that just told Bars to be careful. After his head started pounding, the youngster decided not to look into the matter any further. Simply staying away from him would be enough. He couldn't be more wrong.

[!Warning! The following text contains a little amount of violence.]

The following three months went through them all like a storm. The new member, named Maddock, nicknamed Raptor, was living up to both of his names. He was as mad as a hatter and as despicable as that lizard. The first person who tried to make a joke about him, the usual treatment the green sprouts received, got his throat cut on the spot. The companions of the guy who got killed also suffered a similar death and perished. For that amount of time, the numbers of the gang dwindled down to less than 20. Whoever raised their voice against the maniac were reduced to a pile of rags, leftovers from the torment of being prey. Bars was given an even greater reason to stay clear of that guy's way. He stayed in the dark with a small group and watched as the lunatic spilled one blood after another. The DNA samples weren't lost, well, most of them, but it was clearly going too far. The long-fanged feline hybrid was also given an interrogation, but got away, strangely, without a fight. Reasons for that were either the fact that he proved to be less interesting than the other short-fused people or that the hot-tempered members distracted the interrogator enough for him to let go of the conversation. The leader had tried convincing the older members not to mess around with the psycho, since he was visibly still unstable after all the tricky operations he had gone through. Of course, after the second-in-command was also killed and the total of victims reached 15, enough was enough. The king faced him off. The most respected person in the district, the "Golden Prince", the lion whose roar was loud and ferocious. That roar still echoes through the streets of the East Slums, only it's often painful to listen, because it resembles a cry than a warning. A painful yawn of one's long lost glory as they fall to the ground, helpless and exhausted, ready to have their head chopped off. It is unknown what exactly happened. Rumors and evidence state that the battle had been done through the entire territory, every street had something broken or blood spilled and people young and small had seen them clashing and tearing each other to shreds. Yet in the end, Maddock proved yet again that his name wasn't given my mistake. The leader, whom everyone loved, was dead. (SIDE NOTE:god, the music I'm listening to just reached that slow sad part where it makes you feel the emotion deep in your core T_T Anyway, my suggested song for the fight it "Ignition" by TobyMac or "Acceletant" by Blue Stahli)

This turn of the circumstances completely crushed the mental stability of the gang. One half was petrified, barely standing out of fear, uncertain what to even say. They were like little marionettes, incapable of moving on their own without being given a kick by somebody else. The rest were switching between anger and sadness. They broke something and then cried like little kids. Each of the remaining Biopunks was a mess, including Bars. He couldn't explain it, just like he couldn't tell before, only this time it came from himself. He was broken, incongruous or just plain wrong. There was nowhere to go, nowhere to hide and there was no need to. Only one thing came to his mind and all the reason he had in his head couldn't help him in that situation. Two days after the lion's murder, the long-toothed went on a hunt.
It all began so quickly, like a shooting star in the night sky. They were all at the usual hangout in their territory. It was one of the places they liked gathering at other than Limbo. Raptor entered the stage, confident and proud, with a strange twist to his expression, as usual. That smile with a full set of sharp teeth was terrifying to gaze at and even more was his laughter, which sounded like that of some maddened scientist, who had finally completed his greatest experiment. That sly young man, with his quick whip tongue, threw a couple of rude or joke-like comments towards the few members who had been left alive by him. He was the boss now, thus no one dared to oppose him. Clenching their jaws together, a word was not uttered by any of them. There was only silence for the clever lizard's answer. Until a cold comment was heard from one of the corners. Everybody spun around and all of them had shocked expressions, except for Maddock, whose huge grin expressed his wholehearted contempt and happiness. Finally, after being so stubborn, the person who was as big as him in size had taken up the challenge. Bars' voice was clearly recognizable, but there was an unusual deep growl in the words that made even those who were thinking of pulling him aside shiver and back off. Of course, the new leader went for intimidating him first than straight on attacking straight on. For the short time he still stood in one place, the feline hybrid actually thought he could keep calm, yet when the opponent began to outright mock the previous leader, the lad quite honestly snapped. Just as he was standing, seemingly calm, he sprang and opened his mouth, extending those muscles to the fullest in order to deliver a killing blow. His lips lifted upwards, the two huge upper canine teeth were like flying knives. Fortunately, the reptile's senses were not dim and he swiftly avoided the assault. Landing on the ground, Bars used the crouched position to thrust himself forward. Yet again, the boy who was 2 years younger than him escaped his grasp. He was fast and perhaps prepared. One thing was certain: from the beginning to the very end, Maddock was going to enjoy each and every moment of this battle. After dodging the first few blind attacks, the leader himself went and collided with the furious freak. They clashed, separated and crossed again. Each time they hit and spun around, sometimes even looking as if they were dancing. Raptor had claws on his hands to use, but Bars' were on his feet, thus he was quickly able to discard his shoes, which were also handy for distractions. In the mean time, he managed to land a few scrapes with his teeth, but they barely made the cold-blooded individual bleed. And with good reason. If they actually hit, a reasonable chuck of meat would be pulled out. Whenever he landed on the ground without hitting, the youngster knew he was going to get attacked from behind, thus he had to frequently stand on his hands rather than on his feet so that he could either escape or counterattack. In comparison to the dinosaur, he was built to jump high in various directions from different positions. This in turn did not make Maddock sluggish. Despite the length of his tail, it was still a vital weapon, potentially dangerous when swung. Two hours were spent in circling and clashing again and again. Kicks and fists were thrown in the air most of the time while they avoided each other. The younger of the two proved more eager to attack, but he was being entertained, he was having pleasure, while the other was fighting from pure wrath, anger and loyalty. The both of them had a deadly concoction of mental state and emotions which drove them to a level beyond just lethal to one another, but also to anyone who got in the way. Those who came too close either got their face crushed or guts spewed. In this crazy tornado or claws, spit, blood and hits there was no room for outsiders. In the long run, Bars knew he was at a certain disadvantage. The other competitor had both teeth, tail and two sets of claws at his disposal. To counter that, he had his own claws on his feet, his outrageously big fangs and the strength of his muscles. So far each had landed plenty of hits on the other. He had managed to cut the lizard's side and leg, while he himself had received plenty of cuts on his back and arms. Blood had spilled on the floor and the walls after they had hit them a couple of times. There were even cracks, which seemed like red roses. The useable materials, such as rubbish, were already broken to the point of dust. Wooden sticks with blood stained needles, bottles shattered in million crimson pieces, metals too crushed for use. Somehow, from all that going left and right, up and down, sideways and backwards, the lad finally found some sort of opening. He jumped in the matter of milliseconds and bit hard into the reptile's tail. Maddock swung him around and since he was incapable of reaching him like that, he threw him at the walls, splashing a new shade of bright red over the already darkened dried one. It felt like a wild roller coaster. With a spinning head and leaping heart, the guy had the feeling he could barf any moment. However, there was no way he would let go. Not until another chance was opened in front of him. If he were to lose his grip, the split second he would need to recover from taking his canines out of there would be enough for the other to snap his neck with his razor sharp teeth. But quickly enough, the lady of luck smiled upon him. A plan. Use the wall as a platform to full the fangs out quickly enough to use the pressure in your feet to jump and crush the person's skull. It was legit. Doing just that, the next time he was swung at a wall, Bars used his still strong legs as a metal spring and leap at him. He believed. Both in himself and in justice. All those killings needed vengeance or at least a reason. If this one soul was able to pay for the losses, so be it. Unfortunately, there was a little problem. Despite being completely nuts, Maddock was no fool. He knew exactly what his opponent was intending, so he used his craws to counterattack. His plan included cutting the throat or at least shredding the eyes to bits. In both cases they failed. Raptor had a heavily bleeding tail and cuts from every side, but was still alright and breathing, although heavily. The same can not be said about Bars. He himself had injuries everywhere, yet nothing could compare to the wound on his face. An enormous opening, half of the cheek as well as a long line across his mouth all on the left side was gone. A chunk of meat was missing and his teeth were completely exposed. There were hanging pieces of muscle, not to mention the waterfall of blood which flowed down his face and formed a stream on the ground below. He was a freak, a mess of wild dreadlocks, some over his eyes and beside the fresh wound, like dead snakes sprouting form his head. Breathing heavily, with so much bloodloss, that amber gaze was still sharp and burning with rage. Indeed, his spirit could keep going, maybe even until eternity itself was over, but his body was going to abandon him soon. Disregarding all the throbbing pain, he leaped again for his green and red enemy, but was avoided swiftly and kicked to the side. Rolling down in the bloody dust, he knew it all too well. It was over. Not only the fight, his life as well.

It can't be said if Maddock was intending to kill him at all. Only that lunatic knows. But he was slower to react. Maybe because of the wounds he had also suffered, notably the one on his tail, which would prevent any animal from moving properly. From what Bars heard later on, the splicers from the lab had come to break them up, using the excuse that they were both precious samples. Even then the head could have killed him on command, yet no such was given. Although the scientists wanted to close up the wound, the guy refused, both because it was the boss' order not to and since he didn't want to be experimented on again. From that day, Bars carries his burdens on his face, reminding himself that loyalty and pride have no great meaning. He didn't grow scared of Raptor, but knows to keep his moth shut around him...as much as possible, at least.

T H E M E . S O N G :;

× "Nibyoukan" cover done by Soraru
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FYlU-EdfNXQ

A N Y T H I N G . E L S E ? :;

× What a Mechairodus Kabir is http://carnivoraforum.com/topic/9493580/1/
x Bars has a huge 'smile' on the right side of his face which enables his fang to be completely visible. Although tissue has grown here and there, the muscles can't grow themselves back and he refused to receive any 'special' treatment. Whet it comes to eating, he mainly chews on his left side, but liquid sometimes spills when he drinks. Since it is still prone to infection, he has to clean it regularly with different anti-bacterial medicine.
x He's just one centimeter below the leader. Maddock has warned him that if he grows taller than him, he'll chop his legs to make him shorter.
x Alcohol. He prefers vodka, whiskey or cognac.
x Drugs. He began when he was 10, but stopped when he was 16 after seeing the boss get high. The thought of it being dangerous for him if he was 'hazy' and his leader was 'hard' passed his mind and he hasn't touched the stuff ever since.
x When it comes to having 'partners', Bars was a very 'playful' guy at the age of 16, but after the fight with Raptor, he's hardly touched anyone. He's never gone to brotels for obvious reasons.

[Fatal Star Syndrome]

× S T E A M P U N K .

× >>TINK .

11
Male
Amateur Inventer>>Toys
Undecided
Single
Curious, odd, doubtful

N A M E :;

× Uriah Deveny Wickham

A G E :;

× Eleven years old

G E N D E R :;

× Male

P E R S O N A L I T Y :;

× To the odd, young boy, Uriah, personality is a made up code to distract from what is underneath. He believes it to be a wall, a jumble of feelings that serve no other job than to cover the ugly core of a person. Since each is a living, breathing mass of lies, fear, and fury, at least, in his calculating eyes. What may be taken as cold and stand-offish attitude, is simply a boy who has become far too observant and perceptive. Uriah may get excited, happy, sad, angry... but to him, they are all simple lines to fit in. He goes through the verses so he does not go out of tune with the rest, but he has the ability to by pass and completely shut them off. If you wanted to get to know the real Uriah, you'd be sitting and talking with a boy who would be staring back at you, pointing out your faults, guessing your reactions before you make them. An utterly robotic boy who expects the same from everyone.

When Uriah is "fitting in" he is a very curious boy who becomes excited over new contraptions and machines, since they are the only things he really knows how to trust, inside and out. He develops a shield, using a more innocent personality to cover himself with. If you mistake this side of him as vulnerability, as some do, calling him strange and giving him hurtful nicknames, he will simply smile and shrug it off, sometimes even answering to the name's he's called. He's not easily offended, and to this day the only time he has ever cried was when a small toy of his he'd made was destroyed. It is perhaps the only time he was confronted with "real" emotion, and has since denied its happening.

H I S T O R Y :;

× Uriah Deveny Wickham is a boy of just eleven years, one of the youngest to show interest in The Old Age. Orphaned at the impressionable age of five, he was left to care for himself on the streets, lead to believe most human beings could not be trusted, like his parents. He began to see how terrified people were of commitment, and that they hid themselves behind lies and cowardice, all from simply observing. Uriah became very perceptive of people, able to judge their emotions by a twitch of their lips or how they held eye contact. It made him a great number of enemies on the streets, when everyone who ever tried to swindle him or make deals were always chewed out as being liars. While it certainly wasn't his fault that most of the street kids and even adults were complete failures at being standard, decent people, he'd often get treated like it was. When they didn't simply yell and storm off for his good eye and intuition, they'd take it out on him. Especially if they were caught for their scandals in front of anyone else. Uriah was beat head to toe, often left with scrapes and bruises, but it was near impossible to make the young boy cry out. Because of his views on humans and their emotions, he had always been able to control them, and would not let his attackers feel the satisfaction of him showing weakness. This would sometimes only make them angrier, but he would black out before crying, all but one time. Rather than take it out on him, one man had chosen to smash a small toy attached to his belt, and left Uriah there in tears, sniveling like the child he was.

From the moment he could find himself the tools, Uriah had been making small gadgets, tinkering with things of all shapes until he knew how they worked. He was a studious little boy, curious of things beyond his years and incredibly smart. He found that little gadgets and toys were more easily trusted than a person, something he made with his own hands that he could understand inside and out, with certainty. Even when it came to the technology of The Hive, while they were not emotion based like the human, he always felt disconnected with them, like they served a purpose beyond what they were made for. They were eerie and could not be trusted, in his eyes, just like people. Uriah began to use scrap metal and pieces from things of a time he could hardly even dream of. He became well versed in the makings of small toys and machines, all running on cogs and steam.

It was if fate had seen him working when he bumped into Zamira Peperudkina. Her style, everything about her, was like one of his creations come to life. She must have seen it too, for she told him all about the place she'd come from, about the gang she lead, people who called themselves Steampunk. Uriah was adopted into the gang and given the name Tink. He is well adapted enough, fascinated by their works, yet still unable to react well with other people, always judging them, unable to look past all the details, and really look at them.

T H E M E . S O N G :;

× A Steampunk Opera - Overture

A N Y T H I N G . E L S E ? :;

× Uriah's biggest make is a machine he keeps on him at all times, strapped over his shoulder by leather. It's a multi-purpose machine, with add-on's being built all the time. Currently it is fitted with a magnifying glass, clock, and radio, with its main bulk being used as a miniature weather maker. It's capable of producing waves of heat, cold, bursts of wind and precipitation in small areas. Uriah is still perfecting it.
x Since he's so troubled when it comes to trusting and understanding people, Uriah loves making small toys and robots, and has covered his room in the underground with them. He may even talk to them, if he's sure he's alone.
x He has a scar across his right eyebrow, stopping the hair growth in the middle, and various other marks from living on the streets. They are usually hid beneath loose, bulky clothing.

[karkadorr]

× C Y B E R P U N K image credit to Charlie Bowater @ Deviantart.com

× N E F E L I B A T A

>>19<<
>>female<<
>>hacker<<
>>heterosexual<<
>>single<<
>>perceptive - proud - indifferent<<

N A M E --

× Nefara Vodianova

A G E --

× 19

G E N D E R --

× female

P E R S O N A L I T Y --

× Nefelibata Vodianova, one of the hackers of Cyberpunk, possessing genius intelligence. Her rave name is the opposite of what her actual personality is. Nefelibata means "cloud-walker", or dreamer. Quite the opposite with Nefara, but she likes being an oxymoron, unpredictable and unexplainable to others. Despite belonging to Cyberpunk, she is almost incapable of relating to other people's emotions - lacking sympathy and empathy. She's a partygoer but rarely becomes the highlight of the party. She belongs amongst the bright lights but only to blend in. Things that take effort are not her style unless she absolutely has to do it. Her demeanor is indifferent but intimidating - she's a proud soul and she has a lot of dignity to uphold. She can't let go of any of it. Humiliation is her number one fear and she'll do anything to make sure it never happens. Her inability to relate to the emotions of others has an advantage to her as a hacker. She is able to do anything without regrets, without shame. If it hurts someone, so be it. If it betrays someone, very well. It has raised her up in the rankings of the hackers. She is not so good socially but at her profession, she is one of the very best.

× Nefara (her nickname, as you may have guessed) is not your sparkling conversationalist. Introvert, indifferent, emotionless, she is definitely not the typical Cyberpunk partier. Her cool demeanor is both off-putting and intimidating. She has no emotion in her stormy blue eyes which in turn creates an imposing aura. Not that she's aware of it. Her brain is hardwired to numbers and crunching figures, figuring out solutions and equations. Her forte is logic and realism, fantasies and dreams are beneath her. She fits in just fine, just almost without any feelings. She has them - not to worry she isn't a robot. She just keeps them deep in the darker crevices of her mind to protect herself and more importantly her sanity. The ideals that she lives by are to the point and curt. If something is unneeded and takes energy that could be saved and used for other things, she will not do it. If it requires her to go out of her way without reward or gain, she will refuse. She has no time for nonsense. Don't ask stupid questions, don't make her repeat herself.

H I S T O R Y --

× In all honesty Nefara doesn't have time to dwell on the past. She finds it time and energy consuming, not needed to progress forward and move on. She has no time for nonsense, and she considers the past nonsense, obviously. However, if you really must know she is the daughter of Olivia and Harold Vodianova, born on the 17th of May. All she remembers of her past is doting parents that were too restrictive, too protective, making her rebellious and - eventually - unfeeling and indifferent to the world around her. Bright lights was what attracted her to Cyberpunk, the loud noises, the parties. All so much more alive and different than the peace and the silence of her parents' home. Not that she minds silence. But the stark contrast of the two was what drew her to Cyberpunk, and she's here now.

T H E M E . S O N G --

× Zombie - The Cranberries

A N Y T H I N G . E L S E ? --

× eyes are stormy blue
× hair is raven black
× build is lean and slender
× tattoos of sound waves on her wrist and an eye between her shoulder blades
× piercing on her helix (right ear) and two her left ear's earlobe, as well as another on her right ear's earlobe

[R0be0]

× S P L A T T E R P U N K .

× >> ARTIFICE .<<

>> Nineteen (19) <<
>> Male <<
>> Leader <<
>>Heterosexual <<
>>Single <<
>> Spiritual, Broody, Diplomatic <<

N A M E :;

× >>insert full name<<

A G E :;

× >>insert age<<

G E N D E R :;

× >>insert gender<<

P E R S O N A L I T Y :;

× >>insert personality<<

H I S T O R Y :;

× >>insert history<<

T H E M E . S O N G :;

× >>insert theme song<<

A N Y T H I N G . E L S E ? :;

× >>insert anything else<<

[lesbian]

× E L F P U N K .

I designed this girl but I borrowed someone elses lineart; here's the link to their lineart x.

× Delilah

18
Female
Fairy
Bisexual -- With a preference towards femles
A crush upon Adeline Sayln
Kind -- Realistic -- Self-doubting

N A M E :;

× Delilah Rose Hardy

A G E :;

× 16

G E N D E R :;

× Female

P E R S O N A L I T Y :;

× Dell is a dreamer but is also a practical girl, and is a complete perfectionist, she has an air of traditionalism about her but likes a lot of modern things too.
x She is artistic and focused and finds it difficult to stop something she has started. She has a less practical more fluffy side about her too though; she is a kind, hard-working girl, she is passionate and faithful, her loyalty is often described as second-to-none.
x She is as kindly as she is ignorant though, she has an ability to undermine and offend people, though she doesn't mean it she is always quick to apologise.
x Dell lacks foresight and often makes silly mistakes which could be completely avoided if she wasn't so rash or impulsive.
x She is self-conscious, though she's beautiful and she often doubts her own abilities all of the time.
x Dell is passionate when it comes to love as she falls in love all-too-easily but her passion is also a strong point because she is able to choose people who love her in an equal way.

H I S T O R Y :;

× Dell was conceived into a well-to-do family who had a stable income and relatively simple lives, though her father, Harley, worked, her mother, Fionna, was a stay-at-home mum, but she was forced into marriage by her parents, she was fairly lucky because Dell's father was a kindly man, he loved his children and his wife, even if she didn't reciprocate the feeling she deeply cared for him. Fionna wanted to break free of the shackles that were her marriage but her mother and father disallowed this, so in spite she ran away; found a week later high on fluff, she refused to tell anyone where she had been.

But nine months later, Dell was born and with the mark of her real father, she has beautiful butterfly wings, though Harley cried silently he smiled, and then once he had seen 'his' newborn daughter, his heart broke and he would never look at Fionna in the same way again. Harley loved Dell as much as he could, he was a good father he cared for her and adored her as though she was his own, he knew she wasn't though, and everyone except Dell knew it too, she didn't understand why she was different and when she was treated differently the person who could comfort her was Harley, her mother was not a whole person, she had a broken mind; she loathed herself for hurting Harley, and eventually that led to her killing herself but not before her daughter left.

But soon though, Harley's true feeling broke free, he got angry with Fionna, she has said something stupid and hit her. He broke her heart too, and Dell witnessed the whole thing, she was only 10. Both of her siblings Aaron and Jace also watched on; they were older {both 14} and understood what happened, they understood why their mother was in her current mental state and why their father got angry, but Dell didn't she was scared, and confused; to her, her father was a kind man, he was a good man, but good men don't hit people, especially not her mum. She felt sick and wanted to leave, she was scared of her father and worried for her mother.

Dell waited several years, 3 exactly, and she planned the whole thing out, she would pack all of her things when she went to bed, hide the bag away and then in the evening she would climb out of the window and leave. Five things she didn't count on were her bag being so heavy and dislocating her shoulder, where she would go and Jace coming after her. Her shoulder ached, she screamed when it happened, it happened because she decided to jump out of the two story house with the heavy bag over her shoulder, her scream must've awoke someone she thought, little did she know it would be one of her brothers, she panicked and threw the bag over her other shoulder and tried to run away, her brother was quicker, he caught up with her in next to no time.


"What are you doing?" He asked harshly.
Tears streamed down her face, she hugged up to him, "I don't want to live with him anymore."
Jace understood but was a bit angry, "I know, but you can't just run away."
"I'm leaving..." Dell's voice was adamant.
Jace sighed, "Wait," he paused as if to think, "wait until you are old enough to leave, it's only 3 more years."
"I want to leave now!" She got angry.
"If you wait," he was begging, "I swear I'll look after you and when you leave, I'll go with you!"


Dell agreed and 3 years later she and Jace sat and wrote out a letter to their mother and father as Aaron had already left to go to work and got himself a home. The siblings ran away and to this day regret nothing.

They chanced upon a group of people similar to Dell, and apparently she was very lucky that the accepted her, but the refused Jace. He encouraged her to stay with them, because he could fit in elsewhere, she would never fit in anywhere else... But they hadn't heard of Biopunk at that point.

T H E M E . S O N G :;

× The Only Hope for me is You -- My Chemical Romance
x The Ghost of You -- My Chemical Romance

A N Y T H I N G . E L S E ? :;

x Dell doesn't use Fluff because after learning her mother's usage led to her, an illicit child, she grew to hate her mother.
x She self-loathes for being awful to her father in the last few years of living with him.
x Dell and Jace have a close relationship, often finding it difficult to split from each other.
x Dell is a gynandromorph based butterfly; they are basically both genders and are split directly down the middle. And gynandromorphs cannot reproduce, which is fine as her sexuality is a preference towards women.
x Though she is a gynandromorph, she has a human female body.

Thanks for considering my Form!

[king_bear]

× S P L A T T E R P U N K .

faceclaim;; charlotte wessels, lead singer of Delain

× >>. S C A R L E T T .<< x

>> Seventeen years old <<
>> Female <<
>> Second-in-command/Musician/Poet <<
>> Bisexual <<
>> Single and not crushing <<
>> Daring, stubborn, impulsive <<

N A M E :;

x Isobelle Roseana Hapsley-Grey. Quite a mouthful for someone who simply goes by "Scarlett". She didn't choose her Splatterpunk name herself - her original name was, once, Ravyn, but at the moment she dyed her hair a bright, bloody red colour, she was renamed Scarlett, and the name stuck.

A G E :;

× At the age of seventeen, Scarlett has a long life in front of her.

G E N D E R :;

× Female. Although it is a general prejudice that girls may not be as strong and daring as boys, this is untrue and Scarlett shows it. She's more boy than girl, although she has her girlish flaws.

P E R S O N A L I T Y :;

× Daring, cunning and independent, careless, impulsive and stubborn, dark-minded, short-tempered and sly, intelligent, charismatic and slightly psychopathic: those are all words that describe Scarlett. Point is, they are just words and do not form a complete picture, only her actions do. Scarlett is, besides all those terms, determined to get to any goal she sets herself, distrusting of strangers and distant acquintances, but she'll bite and fight like a girl when approached uncarefully. Quickly bored, snappy and sometimes selfish, Scarlett is a personality that's hard to handle.

H I S T O R Y :;

× After the tragic death of not only her father and mother, but her two brothers as well, Scarlett was out on her own. Nobody really knows what happened - she herself was eleven, and she's banned it from her thoughts so she couldn't retrieve it if she wanted to, and everyone else who was present is, well, dead. Scarlett lived on the streets for quite a while, making little money by writing songs and making music, singing and sometimes playing the piano for people. She's been running from the government as well, who wanted to grab her so they could put her in an orphanage, but she knew the right places to hide and they didn't found her.

Scarlett did not exactly choose to be a part of the Splatterpunk gang, they kind of noticed her when she was writing a song and humming some tunes, and thus they found out about her musical talents and asked her to join them. Now, Scarlett basically gets around writing her own melodical rock and macabre lyrics, many of them melancholical or with a touch of murder and death. She sometimes plays the piano on request, but she can't seem to make her songs less dark - even if she wanted to.

T H E M E . S O N G :;

× Nightwish: Crownless
x Delain: We Are the Others
x Emilie Autumn: Fight Like a Girl

A N Y T H I N G . E L S E ? :;

× She's got a stray cat that follows her everywhere, that practically adopted her. The animal that she's named Inkheart wouldn't leave her and she eventually just let the cat follow her. They got used to each other.
Cat tattoo on her right calf, black wings on her back, three nose piercings and a medusa piercing in her face, dragon piercing in right ear and some simple piercings in her left ear.

[Iilyda]

× S T E A M P U N K .

>> <<

× >>NEMO.<<

>>26 <<
>>Male<<
>> BARTENDER/INFORMANT<<
>>Heterosexual <<
>>Single << ( CRUSHING ON >ANYTHING WITH LEGS< )
>>WHIMSICAL, EDGY, SIMPLE-MINDED<<

N A M E :;

× >>Michael Oten<<

A G E :;

× >>26<<

G E N D E R :;

× >>Male<<

P E R S O N A L I T Y :;

× >>His head is full of fantasy, while the ground falls out from beneath his feet. He is very trusting of people, but past experience has made him wary. Smoking cigarettes has become a nervous quirk of his, a trait which has grown with more frequency the longer he has worked for Limbo. Like his father before him, he is very charismatic, likable, and makes friends easily. His philosophy is very optimistic. He believes that if he can earn the trust of the Tektron slums, he can unite it as well. But the game he finds himself playing is a slippery one. And Nemo has never been a very good liar.<<

H I S T O R Y :;

× >>Michael Oten has always been a drifter. The product of a rival gang relationship, he was raised split between his Techno dad and Tinker mother. His parents were teens when he was born, and went to great lengths to keep the nature of his birth a secret from the other members of their own gangs. For the first two years of his life, his mother, Tamara “Tim Tam” Baker was able to raise him in joint with her best friend, Alicia “Clogs”, and still have him visit his father. They met together in neutral territory such as Limbo. Some of his earliest memories are of music, watching the DJs spin ancient vinyl and tap touch-screen turntables in tandem with the tastes of rivals and allies alike, and of the smells of sickly-sweet fluff, tar-hot nicotine, and earthy hand-rolled cigarettes.

His father, Franklin “Dell” Oten, was a raver of peculiar tastes. Though Nemo remembers him as being high-strung and charismatic, he had a soft way about him in the presence of his son and girlfriend. Franky Dell had bright pink hair, was olive-skinned, and pierced from head to foot. Tim Tam was fair of skin and hair, much like Nemo. But strangely, the two made a beautiful couple.

Before Nemo reached his third year, his parents were betrayed by his mother’s friend Alicia. It took him many years to work this out on his own. At the time, Alicia took him on his first trip out of the Tektron slums to visit her grandparents. They fed him cookies, cake, and ice cream, gave him a proper bath, and tucked him in bed. Nemo was used to being looked after by Alicia, and she often left him in the company of kind strangers within the Steampunks while she left to have a good time.

Alicia came by two days later. Her face was flush and her eyes lined red with grieving.

“Is mummy coming?” he asked her.

Alicia looked ready to burst into tears.

“No,” she choked, wiping the soggy mascara from her eyes. “No, sweatheart, your mummy isn’t coming.”

Nemo stayed with Alicia’s family for another two weeks, but the longer he was away from the Underground and his parents, the more questions he asked, and the more unruly he became. It came to the point where Alicia’s grandparents were unwilling to have him in their house any longer, despite their desire to look after another child, and Alicia was forced to take him back.

“Where are we going?” he had demanded. “I want daddy.”

“That’s where we’re going, sweetie,” Alicia replied, her voice thick with sadness and impatience. “Just hold on.”

Alicia brought him to Limbo, and after so much time away, it was a comforting sight. There she brought him to a man named Craven Wonderbot – a nickname of course. They sat down at a booth together and Alicia ordered Nemo French fries and a box of crayons. While Nemo was drawing, Alicia passed a stack of colourful bank notes over the table to Craven.

“That’s more than my asking price,” the man had said, rifling through the stack with his thumb.

“Take care of him,” Alicia said stiffly, and Nemo had wrinkled his nose in confusion. “He’s a good kid. I want him to go to a good home.”

“Then why not just keep him?”

Alicia’s face had gotten very hot. Craven just shrugged.

“I’m not judging. You almost wrapped up there, kiddo?”

It took Nemo a moment to realize Craven was speaking to him.

“Can I finish my picture?”

“Sure, kid. Take your time.”

At that point, Alicia got up to use the bathroom. When Nemo was done, Craven stood and held out a hand for him to grab. As he led Nemo out of the club, he craned his neck to look for Alicia.

“Don’t worry, kid,” Craven said, his dark face both sullen and soft. “Clogs knows her way around.”

As it turned out, Craven Wonderbot was a fairly substantial member of the Cyberpunks – not anyone in command, but someone who commanded a fair amount of respect. He had been a friend of his father’s, he told the boy. He guided Nemo through the slums, and escorted him to the West side. That night, he brought him to his flat, right above one of the less used night clubs. It was a one-bedroom affair with a small kitchenette where none of the appliances seemed to work, but Craven had an assortment of inventions scattered about the place. He let Nemo sleep on the bare mattress in the bedroom – there was no bedspring – while he took the floor.

Nemo persisted with questions. He wanted to know where his father was, and why he wasn’t allowed to go back to the Underground. Craven had him shut up in the apartment, and didn’t allow him to go out onto the street. After a while of asking, whenever a question was posed, Craven would just ignore him. He sat quietly and went on with whatever he was doing. Nemo cried himself to sleep most nights. Craven didn’t seem to hear.

A couple weeks after moving in with Craven, Nemo began to wander out of the building while Craven was away. He meandered through the streets, streaming with Technos of various professions and colourful auras, walking into stores and roadside stalls. He kept an eye out for pink-haired people, and whenever he saw such a person he approached them. They were never his father. But he asked if they had seen his dad, whom he had only known as Franklin, and it was a common enough name. No one had any answers for him. But a lot of the constants on his street became familiar with him. He told them his name was Mikey. But they took a liking to calling him Finding Nemo. Everyday, he came to the same people to ask them again if they had seen his dad.

One night, as he and Craven were eating dinner, Craven asked him if he thought the lady who worked at the LP store was pretty. Before realizing what his answer had betrayed, Nemo replied.

“I thought you were here in the apartment all day,” Craven said with subtle intimidation.

Nemo became very quiet. He picked at his food and sniffled.

“I miss mum.”

There was a long moment of silence.

“Your mum is dead.”

Nemo’s head snapped up.

“I’m only telling you because no one else seems to have the guts to do it, so don’t look at me that way. I know it’s hard to understand, kid. But your mum and dad, they were never supposed to be together. They were breaking the rules, and they had been doing it for a long time. They pissed off the wrong people, and they paid the price.”

“But my dad, he…” Nemo trailed off as Craven shook his head, shutting his mouth with a harsh swallow.

“You need to stop looking for him, kid. They’re gone. The both of them.”

Nemo had sat very quietly for a very long time. For a while, Craven went on eating. But then he stopped. And he could feel the man’s eyes on him.

“…kid?”

Nemo stood up from the table and went into the bedroom, closing the door softly behind him. He curled up in the covers, but he did not cry. He just shook, very hard. As if all the anger, pain, and sadness was vibrating from his body.

Later that night, Craven opened the door to the room. He sat down on the edge of the mattress.

“Scooch over,” he grunted, and Nemo did so. Craven laid down next to him. And when the sun began to rise, and Nemo finally started to sob, Craven sat up and held him, patting his back. “You’re alright, kid,” he muttered softly, running his fingers through Nemo’s long blonde hair. “You’re alright.”

Nemo grew up in Craven’s apartment. For the first year, Craven kept him under close watch, but with time he became less paranoid about having the kid seen. It seemed whatever messy business and happened with his parents had finally been forgotten. Craven taught him a thing or two about programming, which was his speciality, and gave the kid an allowance for helping around the place. Nemo spent most of his money on LPs, and a lot of his time on Craven’s computers learning how to pirate songs from the Internet. As it turned out, the two had a similar taste in music – a crossover between the rave beats that the Technos favoured and the twangy rock n’ roll his mother used to love, from that old classical era.

At some point, Nemo realized that Craven had never meant to raise him. Alicia had paid him in full to deliver him to the Cyberpunks, a group so well known for easily accepting the plentiful and anonymous runaways of Tektron. That was Craven’s role – he was a liaison, a guide that bridged the often tenuous relationship between the Cyberpunks and all of the other gangs of the Tektron slums. Even their rivals. His role had been fulfilled the moment Nemo had stepped foot in Techno territory. He had no idea what had brought on this charity. Craven was a good man, but he knew the rules of the slums. He looked after himself.

There came a day, when Nemo was twelve, when Craven didn’t come home. He waited a full day before he went out and began to ask after him. One of his friends, a hacker who Craven partied with often, told him that he’d gone to the Underground to escort a Bug back home. It was a dangerous job, and one which his friend had warned him against. Nemo left the West side to go out and look for him. No one else was willing to try.

Accompanied by a very vague memory of his old home and armed only with a flashlight, Nemo made his way into the labyrinth of caverns. He found old subway lines, buried in rubble, rusted in the years since tramway had become an absolute form of transportation, and followed them through. This was the way Alicia had led him out to her grandparents home.

He found Craven and another young girl maybe three years his senior hanging by a makeshift gallows over the tracks. The blood had drained from their faces. Their lips were blue. Below them, a group of Tinkers were lifting one of their own onto a stretcher. Craven had been waylaid. An ambush had been waiting for him on his way out – the Tinkers had known about the Bug. Though he hadn’t gone down without a fight.

Eyes streaming with tears, Nemo followed silently behind the Tinkers at a fair distance, finding his way by their weak torchlight. They led him back to the heart of the Underground. Nemo blended in. He didn’t know what else to do. His first thought was to look for Alicia. He knew of no one else who would take him in. But she wasn’t at her old address. He asked around for her, referring to her as Clogs.

“Clogs?” a barkeep answered him the next day. “The one with the trip wire tied snug around her neck? In the west tunnel? That Clogs?”

Nemo went back through the subway tunnels he had come through until he found the place where Craven hung. And sure enough, he realized, it was Alicia that was strung up beside him – not nearly so young as she had seemed at first glance.

His face slick with snot and tears, Nemo found a way to cut the two down. He wasn’t strong enough to carry them any further, so he positioned the bodies by the side of the rails and built them both a cairn out of the rubble around the subway tracks. He sat by the side of Craven’s grave for a long time, resting his head on the chunks of asphalt, his shoulders heaving.

“’Lo?”

Nemo jumped to his feet. There was a girl standing on the tracks, a kerosene lantern in her hand. She looked from Nemo, wiping his nose on his sleeve, to the two cairns curiously.

“You know her?”

Nemo glanced back at the graves. He realized she must mean Alicia. He nodded, searching for the right words to explain himself. But the girl just motioned him forward.

“C’mon,” she said, her mouth twisted grimly. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

She brought Nemo back to the Underground. He was established with a foster family of sorts – a group of runaways about his age, who had made a home here with the Steampunks. Nemo spent the rest of his teenaged years very quiet and polite, adjusting his past experience as a programmer to help tinker with the old technology the Steampunks collected. He grew a particular fondness for music. He salvaged old vinyl and record players and built his own portable sound system out of junkyard scraps.

Though he kept to himself, secretly Nemo worshipped the people he had lost. He strived to become more like Craven and his parents. He wanted to break free of the gang oppression, to fight against it as he imagined they had done. For a while, he considered becoming a Stinger. He spent a lot of his time partying at Limbo, where he felt free to chat up Tinkers, Technos, Slashers, and Splicers alike without fear. He felt alive there. Connected with his loved ones, rather than burdened by their memory.

His time in Limbo built him many contacts. He still hung around with some of Craven’s old friends. They asked a lot about what life was like living in the Underground. What started out as casual conversation became secrets shared. A lot of people had questions for him – they saw the people he hung out with, which was everyone. With time, as he became more popular, he also become confidant, spy, and observer all in one, for all the gangs of Tektron.

When he turned twenty-six, he officially got a job in Limbo as a bartender. He has his eye on becoming a DJ, however. But the life he leads has him constantly on edge. As tensions grow between rival gangs, he finds himself in greater danger. People treat him as their CI, and informant that can be bought off and easily fooled. Although he has very little affiliation with the Tinkers anymore, they still know of him. He is stuck in the middle, a triple-agent who is forced to pass along information both ways. People come to him for almost everything.

Nemo wants to think that what he is doing is good. That he has finally found the happy-medium in his life. But the line he walks is a fine one. And the fall, on either side, is steep and treacherous.

Still, he follows in his parents footsteps. For better, or for worse.<<

T H E M E . S O N G :;

× >>Royals, Lorde<<

A N Y T H I N G . E L S E ? :;

× >>Works in Limbo as a bartender
Anyone who is anyone knows Nemo. That’s what makes his job so dangerous. If you need info, he’s your man.
He also has his own homemade hoverbike which he uses to get back and forth from Limbo to his apartment. It's an old road bike which he attached hoverjets to. Most of the time he just likes to cruise with the pedals. But the jets come in handy in a pinch.<<

{Sorry about the length. ^-^ I hope it doesn't drag too much.}

[Stray Dog]

{(Updated the member's list. If your character isn't on there, it's because I am awaiting their form's completion.

Cyberpunk is well-balanced, in both genders and numbers. Steampunk is faring alright. Biopunk is definitely not in need of members; however, all current members are male, which can create a bit of imbalance but oh well. Splatterpunk has no definite members. Mythpunk is also doing alright.

Cyber, Splatter and Myth's leaders are awaiting completion. The other three are set.

Cyber has enough room for a second second-in-command. Steam currently has no seconds. Bio is set like jelly. Splatter's second is awaiting completion; still room for another. Elf has no seconds. Myth needs the position of Poseidon to be taken.

That's all for updates, really. Got any questions? Please do message me.

There are some gaps in the knowledge for Elf and Myth in the first post! If you are struggling with and/or interested in making a form for either of those two, I highly recommend messaging me for help.

Also, if I am ever in absence, I've appointed Harlequin Prince to take charge without informing him of this little arrangement but oh well, he'll get over it.

I hope everyone is just as excited as I am to get this started! Which will, hopefully, be not too long now! Thank you for your time, interest and patience. Much love to you all. <3)}

[Iilyda]

× S P L A T T E R P U N K .

>> <<

× >>MORDECAI .<<

>>19<<
>>Male <<
>> WRITER<<
>>Heterosexual<<
>>Single << ( CRUSHING ON >Sylvia< )
>>BROODING, INTROSPECTIVE, DETACHED<<

N A M E :;

× >>Mordecai Nazary<<

A G E :;

× >>19<<

G E N D E R :;

× >>Male<<

P E R S O N A L I T Y :;

× >>Mordecai is a shut-in. He rarely leaves his apartment, and when he does, his interactions with other people are forced and cold. His sister Sylvia is one of the only people who are able to get a colourful reaction from him. To most he comes off as unfeeling and distant.<<

H I S T O R Y :;

× >>Mordecai Nazary and his sister Sylvia come from a long line, descending from the Aboriginals that used to live on the native continent once called home. Reportedly few, their numbers dwindled even further after the collapse of Australia, and the construction of the biodomes. The Hive was loathe to let what families survived the quarantine into their haven city. But at the time of the Outbreak, tensions rode high, and the Hive wished to be well remembered for their graciousness. A few choice families were allowed inside the dome. Among them, the Nazary’s.

In the centuries that have passed, their kind have not been treated with anymore respect, despite their forced assimilation. In a ghetto on the edge of the east side of the slums, Mordecai’s family and the rest of the late Aboriginals lived in tenant houses that were falling to ruin. On his floor of the apartment, he lived with his mother and father, two uncles and aunts, grandparents, and eight other cousins.

Born three years apart, Mordecai and Sylvia have always been close. It started, he supposed, when his mother and father tasked him as her babysitter, as they were too preoccupied most days to look after the child. Both of his parents worked multiple jobs, which they were always losing. They blamed the government for their sorrows. There were no affirmative action laws set in place since the Hive rose to power to guarantee them a peace of mind. Mordecai and Sylvia were not able to attend good schools.

During their youth, a lot of their time was spent inside the apartment. Mordecai was very good at amusing himself. He and his sister played games of pretend. They made dolls out of the recycling. The two read a lot of books together – his parents had a collection of yellow-stained dog-eared paperbacks that had been in the family for decades – novels from the Old Age.

With years, his family became more and more bitter. They did not let their children mingle with the rest of society. Mordecai was not allowed to stay after school for sports, clubs, or extra help. He was not allowed to bring home friends and talk to girls. And so he became fairly distant from everyone who knew him. Everyone but Sylvia. His sister was quick-witted, sharp, and lively. She was one of the few people who could get him to smile.

Mordecai watched as the two oldest of his cousins – Adoni and Kulan – grew of age. Adoni was a talented girl, of a mind for science. She was offered an internship at a Hive research lab. But as soon as she turned 18, her parents married her off – to Kulan, her younger brother.

“There will be no bad blood in this family,” Grandmother Nazary spat when the girl protested. “I forbid it.”

After that, Mordecai looked at his sister a little differently. He began to wonder if he would mind being matched up with Sylvia. And the answer was, quiet plainly, he would be glad for it. There was no one he loved more.

As time past, and Sylvia experienced her first bleeding, officially becoming a woman in their grandmother’s eyes, Mordecai meant to tell her how he felt. They were seeing less of one another. She was thirteen, and had acquired a horde of friends from school, all Goths who seemed easily accepting of Sylvia’s background, and very supportive of her desire to rebel. He told her one day after school to meet him on the track so that they could talk. When she didn’t show, twenty minutes late, he went looking for her.

He found his sister in the girls’ bathroom, making out with one of her friends – a red-head that went by the name of Amber Lightly.

“Mord, just let me explain,” Sylvia had called after him, but she hadn’t followed him as he left. He walked the rest of the way home, his throat thick.

When Sylvia finally got home that night, she found Mordecai reading in his bed – in the room that they shared with three other cousins.

“You want to grab a cuppa?” she’d asked. Reluctantly, Mordecai followed her to her favourite café. Over tea and coffee, Sylvia confessed that she and Amber had been going out for quite some time. She didn’t really love Amber, she explained. Not in any serious way. But she made Sylvia feel good about herself.

“What?” she had demanded, staring back at Mordecai over the table. He was given her a pained look. “What is it? Aren’t you happy for me?”

Mordecai could feel that this was meant to be the moment he told her what he was feeling. That he loved her, and wanted desperately for them to see if they had something together.

“Grandmother will never allow it.”

Sylvia looked crushed, but after a moment she nodded thoughtfully. Mordecai pursed his lips, his heart hammering with grief. He had let the moment pass. He was too afraid to lose her.

“I’ll think of something,” his sister said.

A month later, his father came to him and told him that he and Sylvia were meant to be engaged. When Mordecai told Sylvia, he tried to convince her that it would not be so bad. He tried to assure her that even in marriage he would not keep her from being with her girlfriend, although it pained him greatly to promise such a thing. But it was not good enough for Sylvia.

“This is it, Mord. We’re leaving.”

Mordecai had frowned at her.

“Leaving where?”

Sylvia straightened her shoulders, looking at him boldly. “Amber talked to one of the recruiters down at the Library. The Splatterpunks are going to take us in. Amber too.”

Mordecai had stared at her open mouthed.

“Slashers?”

Sylvia had looked at him with disdain.

“Don’t be so derogatory. We don’t have another choice, Mord. And even if we did, I think you’ll like it there. It’s full of creative people, just like you. Other writers and artists and poets. You’ll finally be able to make real friends.”

Mordecai did not know how to tell Sylvia that he did not want to make new friends, at the risk of sounding like a child. So he clamped his mouth shut. For the first time, Sylvia seemed to see how hard all this was on him.

“I’m sorry,” she said, “I’m not going to force you into this, that’s wrong. But I have to go, Mord. I’m not living here any longer.” She gave him a pleading look. “But I really wish you’d come with me.”

Mordecai looked into his sister’s sweet eyes. After a moment, he bowed his head. Whatever awaited his sister, he could not abandon her now. Not even if she didn’t return his love.

They ran away together in the middle of the night and were initiated into the Splatterpunks. His sister got an apartment with Amber in the Library and found Mordecai a flat on the next floor. But the distance felt like a noose, tightening around his chest. He has been living in this way for the past three years, drifting on the edge of Splatterpunk society, mostly keeping to himself. He has been trying to write a novel of his own for quite some time. But he can’t seem to get it right.

And though he thinks about it ceaselessly, he can never seem to find the right moment to tell Sylvia that he is still in love with her.<<

T H E M E . S O N G :;

× >>Breath of Life, Florence + the Machine<<

A N Y T H I N G . E L S E ? :;

× >>Because he is such a reluctant member of the Splatterpunks, he never took a Goth name. A lot of the people who are a little fed up with his attitude refer to him as “Morbid” Mordecai.<<

[Fatal Star Syndrome]

Also, if I am ever in absence, I've appointed Harlequin Prince to take charge without informing him of this little arrangement but oh well, he'll get over it.)}

(( E-Excuse me? ; A ; Wah...Well thanks for letting me know, sweets.
I'll be here then if people need help.
I'm over it. ))