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Member
Seen
6 mos ago
Name: David Andrew Ford
Age: 27
Gender: Male
Appearance: David stands at roughly 6'2, with a sturdy build. His shoulders are broad and his hands are large. He has a strong jaw with a box shaped head. He is more well built in his upper body then his lower body. He has brown skin and stark white hair that is kept cut short and un-stylish. He has a scar running across the left corner of his lips, as well as one under his eyes and across his nose. His knuckles are hardened with callouses and despite the rough look of experience in his brown eyes, there is a general softness in his features. He tends to wear simple clothing, usually black shirts and jeans, with a trench-coat. The most frivolous thing about him is that he has a tattoo of a dove on the back of his right palm.
Biography/History: Born in Seville Spain, David spent only a few years in his mothers country. He was home-schooled for this short while, until moving with his father to Germany for a year, then once again to Chicago, where his mother finally left her home to join the rest of their family. David was raised in a relatively poor household, and left high-school early on to get a job. While he was the smartest person in the world he certainly wasn't stupid, and he knew he could still do good in schooling he returned later, that being said his confidence and responsibility held him against going. By a stroke of luck he was accepted into a police foundations course quite young, and using his saved up money he was able to attend as well keep up a small job on the side. Despite loving the chance acquired, he found he didn't actually enjoy how rigid the system made him feel, either in school, or later on the force. After just a few years of working, and doing so quite well, he left to become a private investigator, where he had more control over his own actions and who he helped. His connections built buoyed him and he has been doing fairly well for himself this whole time, supplying what little extra cash he could to his family back home. That was of course until the dreams. He was rather busy in those early stages, and even when the silence hit his workflow was higher then before, until he was next. One of the few that suffered those...horrors. He was changed, and charged with a new task. Being as stubborn and level headed as he was, he could hold onto his sanity, for the most part. He hears voices and has invasive thoughts of being reckless or dangerous, but he is wise enough to argue with them. Though he can't hide his uncertainty that they will become more convincing...
Personality: David has always been a hardworking and dedicated person. He has had a clear sense of justice since day one, and while he knew not to "stir the pot" he would do what he felt he was supposed to from a moral standpoint. His naturally large build helped him with the bullies of his siblings when he was younger, as well as the bullies of the adult world later. He is a certain sort of calm, where his emotions run wild yet he hides it, and tries to tame it (with varying success) using his logic. He is somewhat simple, in the fact that he does what he thinks should be done, even if it's not what he wants. He has a deep sense of loyalty, as his actions haven't always been the best at making friends, and he lived for his family when he was younger, he holds new bonds closely. He is somewhat reckless in his actions, where he calculates the lowest possible risk, not including his own bodily health. He tries to seem at least somewhat dignified and humble, but he actually recognizes his own strength, and even thinks a little too highly of it. He likes to bear the weight of the world on his shoulders, not only by habit, but also because he loves to play the hero. Not that he would admit that.
Power: David is able to create arrows which can hover on the air or be placed onto something like a sticker. These arrows will propel whatever touches them along the direction they point at a high velocity. How fast something travels depend on how much energy David puts into the creation of one said arrow, and naturally how light the object is. The arrows can be touched by David without propelling him if he chooses, but that effect is only for him, as all other things are repelled (if possible of course). These arrows can be created at different sizes, also dependent on how much energy David can supply. They are created instantly, within a range of roughly 20 feet. David can also hold onto one then "apply" it a place later. They disperse after repelling up to two objects. The drawback from such a power is an overall sickness applied to David. It manifests itself in the form of a raspy cough, and fevers, that gets worse the more aforementioned "energy" is used to create the arrows, instead of battle this sickness. After using just a handful of arrows David will begin coughing up blood, and feeling weak. If used more, he will then vomit blood, have hazy vision, go pale, and have a very hard time being active. Further use he will soon go unconscious, and perhaps even induce seizures. If when he wakes and begins using too much power too soon, death is clearly on the table.
Anything else?: He loves sweets, and black tea. His favorite colors are black and orange, his favorite holiday is Halloween, and he is really bad at video-games. He knows a few songs on harmonica, and he hates smoking.
aviendha head of potatoes
Member
Seen
7 yrs ago
Name:
Ana Johnson
Age:
24
Gender:
Female
Appearance:
Biography/History:
Ana grew up in France, the daughter of a Rabbi and an artist. Her mother, the Rabbi, taught her the basic tenets of humanity, the instructions for a moral code, and raised her to be a respectful and helpful member of society. Her father, the artist, showed her the beauty of the world, the beauty of song, the beauty of people, the beauty, even, of the Gods. She was most captivated, though, by the beauty of the stained glass windows. One portrayed a hand, reaching down to the Earth, grazing the face of humanity with a tender touch. It was not a God- it was the Cosmos herself, lending a grace to the world, praising it for its inherent, innocent beauty. It was something special to Ana, it was something important.
She studied art history in college, driven to the study by her fascination with the visual beauty of her Synogogue. Graduating at the top of her class, Ana found work at a museum in Argentina, and moved her life to the country. They adored her there, but she was not happy; her job was to acquire new works and appraise old ones, not to express and celebrate their value in terms of beauty, but to consider everything in terms of money and status. She turned in her resignation letter after a year, turning down a six figure salary, and moved upwards to the United States of America.
There, she used the money she had acquired in Argentina to found a small kindergarten academy for gifted children. Her definition of gifted was rather all encompassing, encouraging any child to show off their interests. Soon, at the age of 22, she was the headmaster and favorite teacher at a thriving school for tiny children. The kids absolutely loved her, showering her with praise, and gifts, and love. She was everything to them, and they were everything to her.
Then, she fell asleep, one fateful day.
When she awoke, she was changed. She knew the truth of the world- there was no beauty, none that could be preserved, not even in the pure heart of a child. She still had a reason to live. She still had her children. She still had her school. She still had her empathy. She went to work.
Police tape lined the outside of the establishment. Each step closer got more and more difficult, as she saw why there were so many emergency vehicles surrounding the building. As she saw the little girl, no more than four years old, lying dead on the sidewalk. She had had the Dream. And she had climbed to the roof. And she had jumped. Devastated, Ana broke. She cried for what felt like hours, weeping incessantly into the shoulder of a policeman. He drove her home, and gave her a small apology. It wasn't enough.
Ana went to sleep that night, but woke, to find herself atop a skyscraper, with no recollection of how she got there. Peering down at the street below, she walked to the edge. And she let herself fall. A net, near the upper edges of the building, caught her, the sort meant to protect and ensure the safety of window washers and painters and the like. She laid there, still, watching the empty sky with eyes devoid of tears.
Ana walked down the dozens of flights of stairs, and found herself alone, on the streets. She flung her body in front of a truck, and let it slam into her, defenseless. Somehow, she woke in a hospital bed, the nurse smiling over her with pity in her eyes.
Ana took a syringe of air, and injected it into her IV. An embolism formed, and she felt consciousness slipping away. But, still, a medical miracle occurred- and she survived, with her doctors none the wiser.
Ana drank bleach, ate arsenic, stabbed herself, slit her wrists, everything she could think of, without getting a gun. And still, she survived, everyone looking at her with that awful pity in their sympathetic eyes.
So she resigned to her fate, and accepted. The Gods granted her twofold, a mission, and a power. It was then that she felt the pain. Every single aspect of her person throbbed with a pain she had never known, the natural pain of being human, the pain normally kept hidden from our perception. For the first several days, she could not move, it was so severe. Even breathing- especially breathing- forced her bones to move, her chest and stomach and throat to tense up... everything was excruciating.
Finally, she could stand. Hours later, she learned to walk. And she walked into a police station, and grabbed an officer's gun.
And shot herself, in the head.
And nothing happened.
Personality:
Before the Dream, Ana was a kindergarten teacher- she was the model of empathy. She loved her children with all her heart, and they loved her back in equivalent strength. She was soft and gentle, and outspoken about human rights. Her entire belief system was founded on the basis of a peaceful morality.
After the Dream, she lost her mind completely to the pain. She is incredibly depressed, and shows little emotion at all, seeming to be resigned to a fate of eternity. Her eyes are empty, and her soul is gone. She still maintains her empathy, clinging to that one last piece of humanity inside, but it only causes her pain to intensify. She cannot sleep, so she sits awake at night, staring into an empty sky. That lack of rest has taken a toll on her- she sees hallucinations, and speaks to them, believing them to be real; she has a short temper, but when angry, remains calm. To the poor observer, she always seems to be at peace- it is only those who know her pain, the pain that cannot be soothed, that can see the emptiness inside.
Power:
Ana cannot die. She is conscious, always, and feels every single pain normally dulled to human senses. Even when her body has been completely destroyed, her mind can still feel the pain as each cell tries to knit her body back together, the pain of each part's reconstruction. The weight of her body straining each bone and muscle, the pull of her hair on her scalp, each individual process of digestion crawling in her intestines, the pounding of a persistent heart against her chest... She lives in absolutely horrid pain every day of her life, a pain which can never cease.
Theme Song:
This Year by the Mountain Goats
Ana Johnson
Age:
24
Gender:
Female
Appearance:
Biography/History:
Ana grew up in France, the daughter of a Rabbi and an artist. Her mother, the Rabbi, taught her the basic tenets of humanity, the instructions for a moral code, and raised her to be a respectful and helpful member of society. Her father, the artist, showed her the beauty of the world, the beauty of song, the beauty of people, the beauty, even, of the Gods. She was most captivated, though, by the beauty of the stained glass windows. One portrayed a hand, reaching down to the Earth, grazing the face of humanity with a tender touch. It was not a God- it was the Cosmos herself, lending a grace to the world, praising it for its inherent, innocent beauty. It was something special to Ana, it was something important.
She studied art history in college, driven to the study by her fascination with the visual beauty of her Synogogue. Graduating at the top of her class, Ana found work at a museum in Argentina, and moved her life to the country. They adored her there, but she was not happy; her job was to acquire new works and appraise old ones, not to express and celebrate their value in terms of beauty, but to consider everything in terms of money and status. She turned in her resignation letter after a year, turning down a six figure salary, and moved upwards to the United States of America.
There, she used the money she had acquired in Argentina to found a small kindergarten academy for gifted children. Her definition of gifted was rather all encompassing, encouraging any child to show off their interests. Soon, at the age of 22, she was the headmaster and favorite teacher at a thriving school for tiny children. The kids absolutely loved her, showering her with praise, and gifts, and love. She was everything to them, and they were everything to her.
Then, she fell asleep, one fateful day.
When she awoke, she was changed. She knew the truth of the world- there was no beauty, none that could be preserved, not even in the pure heart of a child. She still had a reason to live. She still had her children. She still had her school. She still had her empathy. She went to work.
Police tape lined the outside of the establishment. Each step closer got more and more difficult, as she saw why there were so many emergency vehicles surrounding the building. As she saw the little girl, no more than four years old, lying dead on the sidewalk. She had had the Dream. And she had climbed to the roof. And she had jumped. Devastated, Ana broke. She cried for what felt like hours, weeping incessantly into the shoulder of a policeman. He drove her home, and gave her a small apology. It wasn't enough.
Ana went to sleep that night, but woke, to find herself atop a skyscraper, with no recollection of how she got there. Peering down at the street below, she walked to the edge. And she let herself fall. A net, near the upper edges of the building, caught her, the sort meant to protect and ensure the safety of window washers and painters and the like. She laid there, still, watching the empty sky with eyes devoid of tears.
Ana walked down the dozens of flights of stairs, and found herself alone, on the streets. She flung her body in front of a truck, and let it slam into her, defenseless. Somehow, she woke in a hospital bed, the nurse smiling over her with pity in her eyes.
Ana took a syringe of air, and injected it into her IV. An embolism formed, and she felt consciousness slipping away. But, still, a medical miracle occurred- and she survived, with her doctors none the wiser.
Ana drank bleach, ate arsenic, stabbed herself, slit her wrists, everything she could think of, without getting a gun. And still, she survived, everyone looking at her with that awful pity in their sympathetic eyes.
So she resigned to her fate, and accepted. The Gods granted her twofold, a mission, and a power. It was then that she felt the pain. Every single aspect of her person throbbed with a pain she had never known, the natural pain of being human, the pain normally kept hidden from our perception. For the first several days, she could not move, it was so severe. Even breathing- especially breathing- forced her bones to move, her chest and stomach and throat to tense up... everything was excruciating.
Finally, she could stand. Hours later, she learned to walk. And she walked into a police station, and grabbed an officer's gun.
And shot herself, in the head.
And nothing happened.
Personality:
Before the Dream, Ana was a kindergarten teacher- she was the model of empathy. She loved her children with all her heart, and they loved her back in equivalent strength. She was soft and gentle, and outspoken about human rights. Her entire belief system was founded on the basis of a peaceful morality.
After the Dream, she lost her mind completely to the pain. She is incredibly depressed, and shows little emotion at all, seeming to be resigned to a fate of eternity. Her eyes are empty, and her soul is gone. She still maintains her empathy, clinging to that one last piece of humanity inside, but it only causes her pain to intensify. She cannot sleep, so she sits awake at night, staring into an empty sky. That lack of rest has taken a toll on her- she sees hallucinations, and speaks to them, believing them to be real; she has a short temper, but when angry, remains calm. To the poor observer, she always seems to be at peace- it is only those who know her pain, the pain that cannot be soothed, that can see the emptiness inside.
Power:
Ana cannot die. She is conscious, always, and feels every single pain normally dulled to human senses. Even when her body has been completely destroyed, her mind can still feel the pain as each cell tries to knit her body back together, the pain of each part's reconstruction. The weight of her body straining each bone and muscle, the pull of her hair on her scalp, each individual process of digestion crawling in her intestines, the pounding of a persistent heart against her chest... She lives in absolutely horrid pain every day of her life, a pain which can never cease.
Theme Song:
This Year by the Mountain Goats
Silver Carrot Wow I've been here a while
Member
Seen
3 hrs ago
Name: Tabitha 'Tabby' Sanderson
Age: 20
Gender: Female
Appearance: Tabby is an average 20 year old girl of average height, average weight and average build. She has short blonde hair and fairly, freckly skin. Once upon a time, she would have been unremarkable, but her face is always frozen in a twisted grin, or some distracted amusement or wonder. The most noticeable thing, however, is the black silk blindfold she wears at all times to cover up the bloodstained dressing that covers what used to be her eyes. It's very hard to discern whether or not she used to be pretty, but the blindfold and the now twisted face have ruined any trace if that was the case. Tabby usually wears clashing clothes, committing crimes against fashion, but whatever she wears is always comfortable and practical in the current weather
Biography/History: Tabitha was the daughter of a Canadian mother and an English father, though they were no longer together, so she always had two homes, one in Winnipeg, and one in Newcastle, and she loved to travel between them, though both these upbringings cancelled out many of each other's traits, and by the time she was in high school, she was friendly but had a very cynical outlook on life. She knew that anything after high school would be a waste of time with the availability of current jobs and wouldn't really help her chances of getting a job she enjoyed.
She found work in a supermarket near her dad's house, though during on of her trips to Canada, she met and became romantically involved with a boy there, so she quit her job and recklessly moved. Now much poorer, and currently looking for a job, she spent the next two years practically living off the money from her new boyfriend in return for cooking and looking after his third floor flat. Not exactly the feminist dream, but it was keeping a roof over her head and food in her belly, and she was happy to have a life she didn't mind waking up for, with a man she loved.
Then she dreamed a dream worse than the mass nightmare everybody had when she was a little girl. This one was of an indescribably, horrific being telling her a mission but not in words. It gave her the thought, and the thought became a priority. If she had woken up fine, she would have cried in her boyfriend's shoulder about the horror of her nightmare, but when she opened her eyes, there was a worse horror in store for her.
The way most people sense and control their body is something they take for granted. With Tabitha, that had now been completely changed. Her body became her senses, and her senses became her body. She could navigate the house just by the feel of wind on her skin and the floor under her feet. She could tell what floor she was on just by the workings of her inner ear; the organ also associated with balance. But she couldn't see the house, or smell the flowers on the windowsill, or hear any of the ambient sounds with her ears, even though she could know where she was going, and feel the sounds of the outside world perfectly fine, including every word of a conversation next door.
What were her senses doing? All she could 'hear' was her own heartbeat, her own pulse, and her own digestion. All she could 'see' were her own eyes. She started to chuckle, then she started to laugh, then, as she descended the stairs with an athletic catlike grace she'd never had before, she started to cackle. Taking a knife from the draw, she cut out both of her own eyes, screaming at the pain but feeling immediate relief and even pleasure of feeling her body get to work clotting the blood and beginning to heal the damage. She'd never felt so good before.
She immediately left the house, and none of her friends of relatives ever saw her again.
Personality: Tabby's mind is a total enigma, as are many of the things she says. It's a testament to how incomprehensible her mind now is that everything she does and says makes perfect sense to her, yes will often come across as the riddles and ramblings of a giggling, demented witch. Any trace of what kind of person she might have been before the dream is gone now. She doesn't hear voices in her head or see visions, as she cannot see or hear by our definitions anymore, but she can remember the dream. It's the only memory of sight she has left, and she'll always know what it means, that the being from her dream wants her to kill a similar being. She doesn't know it's name, but she'll know it when the time comes. It's her purpose, after all.
Power: Tabby has the power of total body feedback and mastery. She can utilize her body to the fullest of it's potential; enhances senses and reflexes, and full control of her body's movement and flexibility giving her above-average acrobatic prowess. However, despite this, she is still an ordinary 20 year old woman. She is not particularly athletic, nor strong. The downside of this power is that her body controls her mind as much as the other way around. Her heartbeat, her pulse, her digestive system working, they all distract her, and she obsesses over the workings of her body to the point where paying any attention to reality outside herself is of secondary importance. Also, ailments that we wouldn't notice, such as catching a cold and letting our body heal us, become painful battles requiring complete attention and devotion to her. This drawback led to her gouging out her eyes the day she discovered her power, meaning that she is permanently blind.
Age: 20
Gender: Female
Appearance: Tabby is an average 20 year old girl of average height, average weight and average build. She has short blonde hair and fairly, freckly skin. Once upon a time, she would have been unremarkable, but her face is always frozen in a twisted grin, or some distracted amusement or wonder. The most noticeable thing, however, is the black silk blindfold she wears at all times to cover up the bloodstained dressing that covers what used to be her eyes. It's very hard to discern whether or not she used to be pretty, but the blindfold and the now twisted face have ruined any trace if that was the case. Tabby usually wears clashing clothes, committing crimes against fashion, but whatever she wears is always comfortable and practical in the current weather
Biography/History: Tabitha was the daughter of a Canadian mother and an English father, though they were no longer together, so she always had two homes, one in Winnipeg, and one in Newcastle, and she loved to travel between them, though both these upbringings cancelled out many of each other's traits, and by the time she was in high school, she was friendly but had a very cynical outlook on life. She knew that anything after high school would be a waste of time with the availability of current jobs and wouldn't really help her chances of getting a job she enjoyed.
She found work in a supermarket near her dad's house, though during on of her trips to Canada, she met and became romantically involved with a boy there, so she quit her job and recklessly moved. Now much poorer, and currently looking for a job, she spent the next two years practically living off the money from her new boyfriend in return for cooking and looking after his third floor flat. Not exactly the feminist dream, but it was keeping a roof over her head and food in her belly, and she was happy to have a life she didn't mind waking up for, with a man she loved.
Then she dreamed a dream worse than the mass nightmare everybody had when she was a little girl. This one was of an indescribably, horrific being telling her a mission but not in words. It gave her the thought, and the thought became a priority. If she had woken up fine, she would have cried in her boyfriend's shoulder about the horror of her nightmare, but when she opened her eyes, there was a worse horror in store for her.
The way most people sense and control their body is something they take for granted. With Tabitha, that had now been completely changed. Her body became her senses, and her senses became her body. She could navigate the house just by the feel of wind on her skin and the floor under her feet. She could tell what floor she was on just by the workings of her inner ear; the organ also associated with balance. But she couldn't see the house, or smell the flowers on the windowsill, or hear any of the ambient sounds with her ears, even though she could know where she was going, and feel the sounds of the outside world perfectly fine, including every word of a conversation next door.
What were her senses doing? All she could 'hear' was her own heartbeat, her own pulse, and her own digestion. All she could 'see' were her own eyes. She started to chuckle, then she started to laugh, then, as she descended the stairs with an athletic catlike grace she'd never had before, she started to cackle. Taking a knife from the draw, she cut out both of her own eyes, screaming at the pain but feeling immediate relief and even pleasure of feeling her body get to work clotting the blood and beginning to heal the damage. She'd never felt so good before.
She immediately left the house, and none of her friends of relatives ever saw her again.
Personality: Tabby's mind is a total enigma, as are many of the things she says. It's a testament to how incomprehensible her mind now is that everything she does and says makes perfect sense to her, yes will often come across as the riddles and ramblings of a giggling, demented witch. Any trace of what kind of person she might have been before the dream is gone now. She doesn't hear voices in her head or see visions, as she cannot see or hear by our definitions anymore, but she can remember the dream. It's the only memory of sight she has left, and she'll always know what it means, that the being from her dream wants her to kill a similar being. She doesn't know it's name, but she'll know it when the time comes. It's her purpose, after all.
Power: Tabby has the power of total body feedback and mastery. She can utilize her body to the fullest of it's potential; enhances senses and reflexes, and full control of her body's movement and flexibility giving her above-average acrobatic prowess. However, despite this, she is still an ordinary 20 year old woman. She is not particularly athletic, nor strong. The downside of this power is that her body controls her mind as much as the other way around. Her heartbeat, her pulse, her digestive system working, they all distract her, and she obsesses over the workings of her body to the point where paying any attention to reality outside herself is of secondary importance. Also, ailments that we wouldn't notice, such as catching a cold and letting our body heal us, become painful battles requiring complete attention and devotion to her. This drawback led to her gouging out her eyes the day she discovered her power, meaning that she is permanently blind.
Name: Clyde Leonard
Age: 28
Gender: Male
Appearance: Clyde is tall and thin, almost more a pale skeleton than a person. He’s let his hair grow out since the dream, resulting in a thin beard and tangled mess of brown hair that tends to sit in a heap on his head. Underneath the ragged hoodie that he wears at all hours of the day, his chest and back are a tapestry of scars, and a thin layer of dirt and a strange sort-of-sticky grey substance cover him from head to toe. In summary, he looks like a complete mess, and looks aren’t really deceiving in this case.
Biography/History: It’s getting hard to remember. He was born in Boston, that’s something he’s fairly sure of – he remembers being an only child in a rich household, his Mom and Dad always busy with something else. They’re still alive, as far as he can remember, but he hasn’t seen them in a while.
His parents paid his way to higher education in spite of his lack of motivation, and his easygoing and likeable personality combined with his background to basically guarantee a cushy job in finance was waiting for him right out of school. He remembers being successful, well-liked, and alone, and then everything changed.
It told him that he was going to be very special. He thrashed in his sleep and screamed as its voice skittered inside him like a thousand chattering insects. He would be important, he would be needed, and he would never be alone again.
Immediately his life began to degenerate alongside his mind. He stopped going to work, ate less, got evicted from his apartment. His few friends that came to check on him thought he’d gone completely mad, and the few that had tried to get help for him had been torn apart by his pets for their trouble – had to be done, the hive told him. They were a threat.
Finally, the Hive told him to build, and he did so. He found a warehouse in a crappy part of town and took up residence there, converting it into a full-blown nest for his pets within a few days. He lives their now, breeding his family, muttering to himself, and awaiting further instructions.
Personality: Back in the day, Clyde was a likeable, extroverted, and good-naturedly lazy person. Now, of course, that’s all taken a backseat to the fact that he’s completely out of his skull. He’s twitchy, paranoid, he can barely remember his life before the dream, his sense of humor has become morbid at the best of times and he has no sense of hygiene whatsoever. He still tries to be friendly, but his ability to interface with people who aren’t bugs has been shot to hell, resulting in a lot of non-sequiturs and generally weird behavior. Finally, he hears a voice in his head he calls ‘The Hive’, which is basically the rampant id of his powers made manifest – it’s what tells him to breed, to build, to find food and grown his nest and all sorts of bizarre requests, and while it has no technical power over him, he’s not good at ignoring it.
Power: Clyde makes bugs. The cells of Clyde’s skin contain microscopic eggs that, when shed, quickly grow and after about a day hatch into large insectoid creatures which obey his orders. The vast majority, the ‘drones’, are about a foot in length and resemble huge ants with spiky brown carapaces and serrated pinchers, and are capable of secreting a bizarre grey substance that hardens after an hour or so, which the hive uses to build structures. One in five will be born as a ‘warrior’, which have a much greater variety in size and form – some are as big as cats, some as big as dogs, some have claws, some have stingers, and so forth, but they basically all resemble some form of insect or arachnid and they all have one purpose – to kill for the hive. Very, very rarely, an insect will be born as a ‘Queen’ – a fat sack of goo capable of producing eggs at a slightly slower pace than Clyde does. Only three of these have been born so far, and Clyde guards them closely.
The main weakness of the power is that it’s driving Clyde completely out of his mind, but that’s not all. He can’t turn it ‘off’ in any sense, so any place he stays for more than a day is going to be filled with bugs before long. Growing these eggs has also taken a severe toll on Clyde’s body, causing him constant pain and near crippling him. Finally, the hive and all the insects are intensely flammable, and the influence of ‘The Hive’ has guaranteed that Clyde shares his pets’ primal fear of fire.
Theme Song:
I'm Only Joking by KONGOS
Age: 28
Gender: Male
Appearance: Clyde is tall and thin, almost more a pale skeleton than a person. He’s let his hair grow out since the dream, resulting in a thin beard and tangled mess of brown hair that tends to sit in a heap on his head. Underneath the ragged hoodie that he wears at all hours of the day, his chest and back are a tapestry of scars, and a thin layer of dirt and a strange sort-of-sticky grey substance cover him from head to toe. In summary, he looks like a complete mess, and looks aren’t really deceiving in this case.
Biography/History: It’s getting hard to remember. He was born in Boston, that’s something he’s fairly sure of – he remembers being an only child in a rich household, his Mom and Dad always busy with something else. They’re still alive, as far as he can remember, but he hasn’t seen them in a while.
His parents paid his way to higher education in spite of his lack of motivation, and his easygoing and likeable personality combined with his background to basically guarantee a cushy job in finance was waiting for him right out of school. He remembers being successful, well-liked, and alone, and then everything changed.
It told him that he was going to be very special. He thrashed in his sleep and screamed as its voice skittered inside him like a thousand chattering insects. He would be important, he would be needed, and he would never be alone again.
Immediately his life began to degenerate alongside his mind. He stopped going to work, ate less, got evicted from his apartment. His few friends that came to check on him thought he’d gone completely mad, and the few that had tried to get help for him had been torn apart by his pets for their trouble – had to be done, the hive told him. They were a threat.
Finally, the Hive told him to build, and he did so. He found a warehouse in a crappy part of town and took up residence there, converting it into a full-blown nest for his pets within a few days. He lives their now, breeding his family, muttering to himself, and awaiting further instructions.
Personality: Back in the day, Clyde was a likeable, extroverted, and good-naturedly lazy person. Now, of course, that’s all taken a backseat to the fact that he’s completely out of his skull. He’s twitchy, paranoid, he can barely remember his life before the dream, his sense of humor has become morbid at the best of times and he has no sense of hygiene whatsoever. He still tries to be friendly, but his ability to interface with people who aren’t bugs has been shot to hell, resulting in a lot of non-sequiturs and generally weird behavior. Finally, he hears a voice in his head he calls ‘The Hive’, which is basically the rampant id of his powers made manifest – it’s what tells him to breed, to build, to find food and grown his nest and all sorts of bizarre requests, and while it has no technical power over him, he’s not good at ignoring it.
Power: Clyde makes bugs. The cells of Clyde’s skin contain microscopic eggs that, when shed, quickly grow and after about a day hatch into large insectoid creatures which obey his orders. The vast majority, the ‘drones’, are about a foot in length and resemble huge ants with spiky brown carapaces and serrated pinchers, and are capable of secreting a bizarre grey substance that hardens after an hour or so, which the hive uses to build structures. One in five will be born as a ‘warrior’, which have a much greater variety in size and form – some are as big as cats, some as big as dogs, some have claws, some have stingers, and so forth, but they basically all resemble some form of insect or arachnid and they all have one purpose – to kill for the hive. Very, very rarely, an insect will be born as a ‘Queen’ – a fat sack of goo capable of producing eggs at a slightly slower pace than Clyde does. Only three of these have been born so far, and Clyde guards them closely.
The main weakness of the power is that it’s driving Clyde completely out of his mind, but that’s not all. He can’t turn it ‘off’ in any sense, so any place he stays for more than a day is going to be filled with bugs before long. Growing these eggs has also taken a severe toll on Clyde’s body, causing him constant pain and near crippling him. Finally, the hive and all the insects are intensely flammable, and the influence of ‘The Hive’ has guaranteed that Clyde shares his pets’ primal fear of fire.
Theme Song:
I'm Only Joking by KONGOS
Name: Spencer L. Black
Age: 22
Gender: Female
Appearance:
Biography/History: Spencer doesn't remember the first sweep of dreams that plagued the world and began this horrible chain of events, because at the time, she was only ten years of age, and a lot of what happened, both in the waking world and that of her dreams, has been obscured by time and flames, and her own stubborn refusal to dig any of it to the surface. The only real solid piece of memory she holds is that of the lingering smell of smoke, like burning tires, thick and smokey, which she often recalled smelling at night before she went to sleep in her childhood home, despite there being no real explanation or source to the smell. Aside from that small detail, the dreams do not affect Spencer while she grows up, only ever coming to the forefront of her thought when she smelt something similar- bonfires, grilling, all of it left a close impression, but nothing as exact as what she remembers. She always supposed that it was because it was just an old memory, probably long faded into obscurity now. Sadly, she was very wrong...
Twelve years later, Spencer is attending college in pursuit of a business degree, but still lives with her parents and younger brother out of convenience. Her bedroom sits on the ground floor, unlike everyone else who's slept somewhere upstairs. She would always claim it was for the best, as she was the most capable of chasing out a burglar, having been a devoted kickboxing but since she was 15. She has grown to become a strong and confident young woman, and is intent on not letting anything keep her down. That night she chambles into bed like she might any night, and slowly drifts to sleep, unaware of the obscure, scarring dream that would occur that night, bringing with it the birth of newfound abilities in the form of a destructive curse. In her unconscious, paralyzed state of horror, watching as the horrific images in her dream unraveled and tortured her mind. In the real world, however, she was actually lashing out, and with unconscious effort, began to light herself and her bed on fire.
The blaze grew quickly, swallowing the first floor of the house in bright orange long before anyone had noticed the fire. By the time that firefighters and first responders were on the scene, the second story was already alight, and no one sat outside. By the end of the night, it was determined that only one person survived the fire with severe burns, while the rest of her family perished in the heat and smoke. The story hit news the next morning, revealing the survivors identity as Spencer Black, a now orphaned college student who was somehow being accused of starting the fire.
Spencer herself woke up in the ICU of the city hospital, feeling dizzy and out of it, and loosely sore and warm. She recalls drifting in and out while nurses and doctors checked on her every once in awhile, or food was given. Mostly, she only remembers the food, and how strangely delicious and energizing it made her feel. She must just have been too tired, she thought then, but recalls feeling much more lively after a couple days of solid meals and rest. The doctors and nurses seemed to note the faster-than-usual pace of her healing as well though, seeming alarmed and confused at first, but didn't push the matter as they were a busy place already, and could always use a free bed sooner rather than later. Spencer ended up checking herself out within the week, receiving ugly green replacement garments from a nurse before leaving, as her previous ones had been burned in the fire, along with her hair, mostly melted, so the had to shave the rest off. As she healed though, it began to feel as though it might grow back, if allowed to.
Without a home or family to really go back too, and with the police asking questions about the cause of the fire, Spencer ended up skipping town after collecting what she could from what few friends she had to rely on. It was enough for clothes and food, at least, so she didn't complain. No, instead she would focus on the dream she had had, the one that had caused all of this carnage to occur, hoping to figure out and decode that it had done to her, and what it had all meant.
Personality: After the dreams and the death of her parents, events that happened so quickly together, Spencer has become quite clammed up and distant towards others, often seeming lost in her own thoughts or irritated with something. The latter moods often lead her to lashing out at others with harsh comments and sometimes even the occasional flash of fire and sparks. She can be very blunt with how she talks, and filters it all through a general, bitter sarcasm that comes with having seen all that she has. She can't exactly say she's lost her mind, but she certainly isn't so sure of how stable she is after everything thus far. Sometimes she has nightmares of dark caves filled with smoke and flames, echoing with the screams of her family. Sometimes she'll wake up in a bed of cinder and smoke, flames climbing up whatever was closer to her while she slept. The fear of harming others or being harmed herself has left her reeling from people, and often drifting through cities at night, and camping whenever she can.
Power: Spencer is able to create, manipulate, and spread fire from thin air, often beginning by sprouting it from somewhere on her body, such as her arms or legs. Her skin is not immune to burning, however, only built to slow the process, so the longer she uses her abilities to create fire, the worse her own burns will be. She has noted that, if she receives treatment quickly enough after fighting and then binges on calorie rich snacks, she ends up healing several times faster than the normal rate of a human, as well as leaving behind no visible scarring or remnants of ever being burned. as if she herself too became a fire that only needed fuel to continue to burn on.
Anything else?: Spencer has spent years before the final dreams occurred learning how to kickbox, which has proven to translate very well with her newer abilities, to the point that she sometimes thinks of it as a sick type of fate. She is currently drifting through cities, like a bum, dumpster diving and hunting small animals to survive, and mostly avoids people like the plague unless it'll serve her some purpose to be interested.
Theme Song(s): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qDtTaoUgZJc
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FoJD-ArBKZ8
Age: 22
Gender: Female
Appearance:
Biography/History: Spencer doesn't remember the first sweep of dreams that plagued the world and began this horrible chain of events, because at the time, she was only ten years of age, and a lot of what happened, both in the waking world and that of her dreams, has been obscured by time and flames, and her own stubborn refusal to dig any of it to the surface. The only real solid piece of memory she holds is that of the lingering smell of smoke, like burning tires, thick and smokey, which she often recalled smelling at night before she went to sleep in her childhood home, despite there being no real explanation or source to the smell. Aside from that small detail, the dreams do not affect Spencer while she grows up, only ever coming to the forefront of her thought when she smelt something similar- bonfires, grilling, all of it left a close impression, but nothing as exact as what she remembers. She always supposed that it was because it was just an old memory, probably long faded into obscurity now. Sadly, she was very wrong...
Twelve years later, Spencer is attending college in pursuit of a business degree, but still lives with her parents and younger brother out of convenience. Her bedroom sits on the ground floor, unlike everyone else who's slept somewhere upstairs. She would always claim it was for the best, as she was the most capable of chasing out a burglar, having been a devoted kickboxing but since she was 15. She has grown to become a strong and confident young woman, and is intent on not letting anything keep her down. That night she chambles into bed like she might any night, and slowly drifts to sleep, unaware of the obscure, scarring dream that would occur that night, bringing with it the birth of newfound abilities in the form of a destructive curse. In her unconscious, paralyzed state of horror, watching as the horrific images in her dream unraveled and tortured her mind. In the real world, however, she was actually lashing out, and with unconscious effort, began to light herself and her bed on fire.
The blaze grew quickly, swallowing the first floor of the house in bright orange long before anyone had noticed the fire. By the time that firefighters and first responders were on the scene, the second story was already alight, and no one sat outside. By the end of the night, it was determined that only one person survived the fire with severe burns, while the rest of her family perished in the heat and smoke. The story hit news the next morning, revealing the survivors identity as Spencer Black, a now orphaned college student who was somehow being accused of starting the fire.
Spencer herself woke up in the ICU of the city hospital, feeling dizzy and out of it, and loosely sore and warm. She recalls drifting in and out while nurses and doctors checked on her every once in awhile, or food was given. Mostly, she only remembers the food, and how strangely delicious and energizing it made her feel. She must just have been too tired, she thought then, but recalls feeling much more lively after a couple days of solid meals and rest. The doctors and nurses seemed to note the faster-than-usual pace of her healing as well though, seeming alarmed and confused at first, but didn't push the matter as they were a busy place already, and could always use a free bed sooner rather than later. Spencer ended up checking herself out within the week, receiving ugly green replacement garments from a nurse before leaving, as her previous ones had been burned in the fire, along with her hair, mostly melted, so the had to shave the rest off. As she healed though, it began to feel as though it might grow back, if allowed to.
Without a home or family to really go back too, and with the police asking questions about the cause of the fire, Spencer ended up skipping town after collecting what she could from what few friends she had to rely on. It was enough for clothes and food, at least, so she didn't complain. No, instead she would focus on the dream she had had, the one that had caused all of this carnage to occur, hoping to figure out and decode that it had done to her, and what it had all meant.
Personality: After the dreams and the death of her parents, events that happened so quickly together, Spencer has become quite clammed up and distant towards others, often seeming lost in her own thoughts or irritated with something. The latter moods often lead her to lashing out at others with harsh comments and sometimes even the occasional flash of fire and sparks. She can be very blunt with how she talks, and filters it all through a general, bitter sarcasm that comes with having seen all that she has. She can't exactly say she's lost her mind, but she certainly isn't so sure of how stable she is after everything thus far. Sometimes she has nightmares of dark caves filled with smoke and flames, echoing with the screams of her family. Sometimes she'll wake up in a bed of cinder and smoke, flames climbing up whatever was closer to her while she slept. The fear of harming others or being harmed herself has left her reeling from people, and often drifting through cities at night, and camping whenever she can.
Power: Spencer is able to create, manipulate, and spread fire from thin air, often beginning by sprouting it from somewhere on her body, such as her arms or legs. Her skin is not immune to burning, however, only built to slow the process, so the longer she uses her abilities to create fire, the worse her own burns will be. She has noted that, if she receives treatment quickly enough after fighting and then binges on calorie rich snacks, she ends up healing several times faster than the normal rate of a human, as well as leaving behind no visible scarring or remnants of ever being burned. as if she herself too became a fire that only needed fuel to continue to burn on.
Anything else?: Spencer has spent years before the final dreams occurred learning how to kickbox, which has proven to translate very well with her newer abilities, to the point that she sometimes thinks of it as a sick type of fate. She is currently drifting through cities, like a bum, dumpster diving and hunting small animals to survive, and mostly avoids people like the plague unless it'll serve her some purpose to be interested.
Theme Song(s): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qDtTaoUgZJc
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FoJD-ArBKZ8
Xavier Moon
For the majority of his childhood and adolescence, Xavier was a short, pudgy kid with an incurable sweet tooth. But instead of dooming him to a lifetime of ridicule, it seemed like fate had other plans for him. Suffice to say, puberty hit little Xavier like a freight train. Almost overnight, the chubby, acne-ridden fifteen-year-old vanished, leaving in his place a tall, young man worthy of a magazine cover. His skintone is a light olive, with a light smattering of freckles across his nose, and countless scabbed-over nail marks covering his arms and legs from a compulsive urge to claw himself open. His stature is smack dab in the middle of average for someone of his background, but truth be told, he’s not as fit as he used to be - a tall, lean build giving way to just a tiny bit of fat. More often than not, he prefers to remain unmoving, if only to dissuade any chances of tripping over his own feet.
Prior to the Dream, Xavier had what most people called a Resting Bitch Face™; sharp, chiselled features seemed to be perpetually arranged in an expression of annoyance. He wasn’t trying to look like he hates his life - not intentionally, anyway - and he’s been told multiple times that he can appear truly terrifying when he wants to be. His “angry eyebrows” didn’t do much to help, either. Coupled with his penchant for speaking in a bored, tuneless monotone, Xavier earned a rather unfortunate reputation amongst his peers for being unapproachable. His voice is a deep, rumbling timbre - the kind of thing you’d hear playing over a nature documentary while a cheetah tears apart its prey in the Sahara (okay, maybe that’s a little too specific). On the occasion that he does crack a smile or laugh, it’s like he’s a completely different person. His voice raises a full octave, straight, white teeth bared in a lopsided grin, eyes twinkling with near manic glee.
...He does that a lot now, actually - smile. His parents would be proud of him. Probably.
In spite of everything, Xavier always makes sure to keep up with the latest fashion trends, and he’d never be caught dead wearing anything that was considered passé, but no one can deny his fondness for loud, gaudy prints. He is always immaculately garbed, all dress shirts and made-to-measure slacks even in the most casual of situations. You’ll never see him dressed down below the threshold of “smart-casual”, something he accomplishes through sheer force of will, and more tangibly, his rather sizeable income. If it isn’t the best, he doesn’t like it, and this scrutiny doesn’t just include himself, but also the people around him. What is she wearing? Is that Gucci? But Marc Jacobs is in season, and those shoes with that dress? God, some people had no taste at all, did they?
Age: 29 and a half
Gender: Male
Biography/History: Born in Sitka, Alaska on a rainy Friday morning, Xavier never expected to do anything special. His father ran the local grocery store, and his mother was a teacher at a secondary school. They lived together in a nice house right on the docks, complete with a breathtaking view of the sea, a crisp, green backyard, and a yapping black labrador. Suffice to say, he never wanted for anything, and every year, along with a too-sweet birthday cake, he would get a nice present wrapped in vivid colors - usually the latest video games. Lord knows he hated going outside.
The young Xavier was always just a tad different from his peers. Creative and free-spirited, he didn’t fare well in structured classroom settings, and so, he always seemed to catch onto the material just a hair slower than those around him. All the same, he read avidly, and thus, in his own obscure way, he proved quite an intelligent child. Nevertheless, he could never seem to focus his abilities in any clear direction. Xavier remained more concerned with why two and two made four and not how to do the addition on a test paper. Moreover, his near-constant streams of unrelated questions and scattered ponderings frustrated both educators, and his parents throughout his academic career.
All the same, he was a friendly, almost unfailingly polite child, and while he wasn’t necessarily shy, he did have difficulty interacting with people his own age. Chubby, soft-spoken, and pacifistic, he became a bullying target young, and at home, his parents offered very little refuge. Xavier could use some roughing up - they said - learn to stand up for himself. As a result of this “tough love” technique, by the time his younger brother Tristan was born, Xavier had turned almost completely inward, spending more time reading, painting, and with the family dog than with other human beings.
In many ways, Tristan became the family’s golden boy as the years passed, leaving Xavier the black sheep. Academically-gifted, athletic, and outgoing, the younger brother stood poised to blossom into a popular and well-liked teenager, even at the young age of twelve. At age seventeen, Xavier, however, found himself a social outcast with no real higher education prospects - uninvolved in extracurricular activities, uninterested in his studies, and working minimum wage as a busboy at a local diner. Still, he was a dedicated employee, and interacting with older people and more cosmopolitan travelers passing through his dusty little hometown, he found an audience with which to discuss literature, philosophy, and the arts.
It wasn’t until years later - after he finally scraped through the purgatory that was community college - that a chance encounter with an art dealer from New York changed his life. For better or worse? Not even Xavier himself knew, but it was a change, nonetheless. The man called himself Mr. Coin, and he thought Xavier would be a good fit in the art-dealing business, or at least that’s what he said to his face, anyway. With what money he had squirrelled away, he made the move to New York City, sharing a Sunset Park apartment with two others.
For the first few months, Xavier worked for Mr. Coin, doing odd jobs and running errands. The few time he attended an auction on his mentor’s behalf, he was fascinated by the pieces up for bidding, though even more so by the minute differences which separated a good painting from a great one. When Xavier bought and sold his first piece, he was ecstatic, even when he had to give his mentor a whole seventy-percent of what he earned. That was how he got his start, and he dove into his research with a newfound ferocity. There was so much to learn, but he didn’t mind. Finally, he was doing something he loved; he dreamt of one day opening his own gallery, showcasing pieces from artists all over the world, and maybe even some of his own.
But instead of a dream come true, what Xavier got was a rude awakening. Dear, old Mr. Coin was found guilty of art forgery, banking about 20-million dollars in his career. Xavier wasn’t personally involved, but his association with the man was enough to cast a shadow of suspicion upon him. He had a hard time doing anything in the art industry after that. People thought he was the same as his mentor - a fraud. Far too many times, Xavier thought about returning home, resigning himself to a life of mediocrity, but he always managed to snap out of it. Little by little, people forgot about Mr. Coin, and Xavier finally had the chance he needed. Whatever little savings Xavier had went into fuelling his career, though he did have to swallow his pride and take out a few loans here and there. Eventually, he actually started to make money. He’d always had a discerning eye for art, and it was finally starting to pay off.
Years later, Xavier was still living in New York City, though he’d long since moved out of the tiny two-room apartment. He did manage to open his own gallery in Lower Manhattan, and even bought himself a nice place in Greenwich Village. But of course, as the saying went, all good things must come to an end. That fateful night, Xavier would up from his slumber drenched in cold sweat, an ominous churning deep within his stomach . He didn’t make it to the bathroom before he started puking his guts out. Literally. Saliva turned into bile, and bile into blood - chunks of intestine, spleen, and stomach lining spewed from his lips onto the hardwood floor. The pain was immense, like red-hot knives slicing through his abdomen, but that was nothing compared to what he saw in his dreams. When the sun finally emerged from beyond the horizon, and the fire burning through his nerves settled into a dull throb, it was over.
The first thing he noticed was how the carpet was ruined. The second was the hole stretching from where his diaphragm would be to the tip of his sternum. The third and final thing were the four three-inch tentacles sprouting from said hole. They seemed to have a will of their own, but not really, for once he thought of cleaning up, one of the tentacles reached over and tore the bathroom door right off its hinges.
That was when Xavier felt a smile spread across his lips.
Personality: Anyone who knows Xavier understand that he’s always been a bit… eccentric. A recluse by nature, Xavier did not often associate with his peers, and had the unfortunate tendency to adopt a patronising or cold demeanour simply because it was expected of him. But to those he considered friend, he was the person you wanted by your side when times got rough. Xavier’s sense of humor tended to lean towards dry and sardonic, often taking the role of the “sidekick” in interpersonal relationships; it can be argued that he subconsciously yearned to be in the spotlight, but always found himself stuck in a supporting role.
After the Dream, however, his moral compass is no longer pointing exactly straight. At first glance, Xavier might seem like someone you could easily befriend. He’s usually affable, polite and good-natured, but that’s only if you have something he needs. To those with a discerning eye, they’ll find that he’s more than a little off his rocker. Going from an almost saccharine geniality to a tepid monotone in two seconds flat is a specialty of his. He doesn’t abide by anyone’s rules apart from his own, though he likes to think he’s very good at pretending otherwise (he's not). Venomous, aloof, and ever so slightly erratic, he has no issues with doing whatever he has to to achieve the means to an end. Interestingly, while he has a rather obnoxious habit of grandstanding, he has very little tolerance of the habit in others. Xavier frequently admonishes others to get to the point. But with a penchant for absurdism, topped off by a horrifyingly macabre streak, you get the sense that he always has a snicker hidden at the corner of his mouth, even if everyone around him is a little afraid to join in.
Used to getting his way for most of his younger years, he still finds it hard to let go of anything once he has a grasp on it. But whatever one might be led to believe, Xavier is an extremely passionate, and emotional person, and he’s definitely the kind of person who’d rather start throwing punches than hash things out. If there’s one thing he can’t stand, it’s being talked down to. When he truly does take an interest in something, he puts all of himself into it, and momentarily forgets about almost everything else. He’s very often obsessive about the things he does, and the people he chooses to follow. While he might not be the wisest, nor the most knowledgeable, he’s a good judge of character, and it takes little time for him to classify a person.
Power: “Crazy monsters under his skin - oh no! A parallel dimension of unsavory feeling. I count three of them with exciting names. Impossible to pronounce!”
To put it gently, Xavier’s body is literally riddled with extra-dimensional creatures, the largest of which is a purple, thousand-eyed, tentacled abomination that has since replaced his stomach and half his intestinal tract. Outwardly, he looks perfectly fine - well, apart from the tentacles that extend from a gaping slit down his torso, and how he bleeds a sticky, green fluid that smells suspiciously like french fries whenever he’s injured. But other than that, he’s totally normal! A real upstanding guy, for sure.
...Right, I should probably elaborate on the tentacles, shouldn’t I? They look for all the world like a regular octopuses’ (octopi’s?), lined with two rows of suckers allowing for prehensile grip. On a usual day, three, maybe four tentacles are visible, acting as an extra set of limbs for Xavier, though he can reabsorb them into his body for an hour or two if he concentrates. Nobody really knows how all this works, but he’s psychokinetically connected to the creature (let’s call it Kevin), and thus, has full control of its tentacles unless he’s totally shitfaced after one too many vodka shots. They’re good for daily tasks - cooking, cleaning, etcetera - but know what they’re even better at? Smashing, destroying, and of course, squishing the life out of people.
Each tentacle can exert up to 2 tonnes of pressure, but their range leaves something to be desired. Currently, they’re only able to reach up to 5 metres, and when severed or destroyed, regenerate slowly. As a result of this symbiotic relationship, Xavier has to eat a lot, like ridiculous amounts. To put things into perspective, six cheeseburgers, two large pizzas, and three chocolate milkshakes is just a nice, teatime snack for him; so he ends up spending a good portion of his day just eating to make up for the energy he burns off acting as a host to Kevin. Every now and then, he even gets a craving for raw meat. But hey, at least he doesn’t have to poop anymore. That’s gotta to be hands down one of the best parts of getting your spleen and digestive tract taken over by eldritch abominations.
Theme Song: All Alone - Gorillaz
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