Age: Unknown (appears early-mid 20's)
Alignment: True Neutral. All things in moderation, including morals.
Over-Arching Goal: Find the truth of his past while seeking a path for his future
This male human stands just over six feet tall, appearing in the prime of his
life. His medium build hints at supple musculature beneath the near-perfectly
unblemished bronze skin, though lacks the sculpted definition so common among
those of martial inclination. Thick and straight from his crown grow silvery
strands of hair, the lustrous shade of white almost appearing metallic when a
greater amount of light is cast upon it. While the locks are worn in a simple
ponytail that reaches just between his shoulders, a few stray tresses cascade
down upon either side of a rectangular visage framed by minute, rounded ears.
Set in the center of a face composed of a narrow nose, thin lips, and faintly
arched brows are two vivid golden orbs that in lower light levels may seem as
if they were actually luminescent, like a pair of distantly burning eclipses.
A shock. The reverberating concussive force and the enveloping heat of an explosion. Ears ringing over the distant cries of distressed voices.
Shedding free the vivid immersion of some sort of dream, the mans eyes opened to find himself within what could easily be called a metal coffin, were it not for the transparent material in a square before his face. Handling the situation with a casual calm that might have perplexed him if he had thought about it at all, the man searched the containers interior for some sort of mechanism to release himself for a few moments before giving up. Slowly testing, he began to push against the walls of the box-shaped structure, metal groaning and bolts cracking in protest before the piece before him finally bent enough to let in a pure wisp of light.
Continuing to apply pressure until he could fit through one side, the man slipped free.. to see the charred remains of the inside of a warehouse. In one direction, the smoldering ashes of rubble and the haphazardly strewn debris caused by massive storage shelves being knocked over like they were childrens building blocks. In the other, ground where one wall should have been was now host to nothing more than a crater. Something looked like it had just happened, but what?
With a glance toward the coffin-like metal container he had just exited, he scanned over the words emblazoned beneath the viewing pane in a bold scarlet disclaimer:
Authorized Access Only
And of course, the script sparked.. something: The feeling that breakthroughs were just barely out of reach. The pale glow of monitors his only company while working long nights on the project. The toll those efforts had taken on what had been a great relationship with with who, exactly?
What was going on?
Vision refocusing after what couldve been either a millisecond or a millenium, the man kneaded at his temples as if it were an reflexive gesture. The sound of numerous booted footsteps - carried with unusual clarity - snapped his attention back to the moment. Rounding a toppled row of shelves was a small group of soldiers, who shifted for cover upon sight of the man with rifles trained in his direction. With an aggressive, commanding shout one of them barked out, ON THE GROUND, BASTARD!. How the man recalled that particular soldier was one Sergeant Reynolds was yet another fragmented curiosity, but it only took one glance toward the container he had just came free of to be certain that was one command he wouldnt be obeying.
Turning on a heel, he took off at a sprint for the conveniently gaping hole in the wall, with distance nearly covered faster than he could process the movement. His efforts, however, were met with the sharply cracking chorus of automatic weaponfire, and slugs pierced through his form with enough force to throw him off balance but not quite knock him off balance as he cleared the walls wreckage into the natural illumination of a dimming twilight.
Not slowing his run from the compound as he headed for the cover of a nearby forests edge, the man watched with a distracted mix of fascination and shock as the holes torn through his forearms didnt bleed. There was no sign of flesh, despite the appearance of normal skin all around the wounds. Instead, the edges of the damaged area extended in miniscule, matte metallic strands, knitting together and sealing tightly before their hue shifted in a shimmer to match the rest of his skin.
It was then that the man realized he wasnt really even a man.
Throughout the course of his overnight escape, the ..android? Robot? Cyborg? He didnt even really know what he was.. the android made his way for the outskirts of Nexus city. He didnt quite know how he knew, but he knew there was an android adept at helping others like him near there..
When he finally found Sixteen, he was at a loss to introduce himself. Why was he here? Why did he wake up? Who and what was he, really? The closest thing he had to go off of was Warden 00. But.. that wasnt him. That was something that had been locked up. Stowed away like unused holiday decorations. Still, it was the closest thing he had to go on, and it would have to do.
He would be Ward, and he would be finding answers.
- Sarason likes this