[hider=Xuan-Yu Lang]
[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/dmZbc0z.png[/img][h1]Xuan-Yu Lang[/h1][sub]5'8 | 139 lbs | 25 y/o | Male[/sub][/center][hr]
[b]Personality[/b][indent]What was a Chi-Mechframe but a superweapon, to be turned against civilization once the Warped were wiped? What was a human, but a vessel to be fit into the cogs of the state? What was he, but a bastard adrift, sustained by directionless spite and anchored by burdens, obligations, and debts?

Xuan-Yu is anchored by a persistent, weary hollowness, one alleviated only by the emotions he draws out of others to fill in his cute, cynical mask. Unlike those who’ve managed to survive the ruination of the world with their psyche intact, the invasion of the Warped and the measures that nations took to preserve themselves had revealed to him the nature of power and humanity, pushing him into the quagmire that his psychology persists in today. The youth with dreams of independence after graduation had been shattered into glass, leaving naught more but an empty vessel ringed with sharp edges. He knows now his worth, the price of a pound of his flesh, the limits of what his efforts could bring. There were only so many people he could hold in his hands, and to overreach, to overestimate, would mean losing more and more. Pressure mounts incessantly, even as Xuan-Yu exudes a surface-level apathy, and the provocations that dance along his tongue exist as the hot vapors that shriek out from a rusted engine. Sarcastic wit and an acerbic outlook are both things he has plenty of, and he’s always poking and prodding, seeing how far he could go with verbalized stress relief, but in the end, Xuan-Yu is undoubtedly a professional.

He will get his work done, with the diligence and focus of a conscript, a volunteer, a Frame Pilot. If all it took was a pound of his flesh to make a place in the world for the few he cares for, then Xuan-Yu would do what he must. It was what was beaten into him for the last five years, after all.[/indent]
[b]History[/b][indent]Who cared for the story of an individual, when it is through the movement of governments that one’s fate was decided? The Warped apocalypse came like a tide, every soldier sent to stall them turned to flesh or host, every country scrambling to secure their own borders or sacrificing their sovereignty to obtain security from larger neighbours. And in the chaos of imminent extinction, so came opportunity for land grabs. Islands, once protected by legislation and convention, were devoured by continental superpowers, turned into fortresses and safehouses for the wealthy and influential, all while metropolises converted themselves into barracks, taking in refugees and sending out conscripts. All for the glory of the fatherland, all for the sanctity of the motherland.

And China, seeing opportunity while the States grappled with their domestic concerns, positioned themselves as the final line of defense for humanity’s hope, shielding the cloistered experimental facilities of Japan with the bodies of the millions that it could no longer feed. Mountainous terrain and massive river systems stalled the progress of both the Warped and civilians alike, while forward cities were set up solely as massive sarcophagi to distract the monstrous horde for days, months, perhaps even a year. They all fell though, as supplies concentrated on city-fortresses that “had value”. There was no space in humanity’s survival for humanity, and individual tragedies had no place in national triumphs. For humanity would triumph through the sacrifice of the masses, just as it always had.

But miscalculations remained, and in wartime, it was the generals, not the ministers, who held the greatest powers. Those conscripted to fight for their cities, for their families, gained a pride of their own. What did they care for the directives of Beijing, when it was their commanders who tolled for them, when it was their relatives who fought beside them? A sense of pride in their own army, in their own city, spawned the first of many military factions, as those who fought on the frontlines decided that it was best to position themselves for the next stage of the war. Alliances formed between the city-states on the frontlines of the Warped War, while fallen cities were subsumed by those still standing.

And what of those refugees, seeking shelter from the Warped, willing to do whatever necessary to ensure that they had a seat in a world with scarcer and scarcer resources?

They fought at the vanguard, obviously. Fought with the lowest pay, the fewest benefits, in the most dangerous scenarios, their will buoyed only by the promise that their families could live as second-class citizens in the militarized cities. Human generosity was in short supply, rations were in shorter supply. Whatever crime against humanity was at play here was simply accepted as a consequence of having to face down the apocalypse.

Xuan-Yu was one such refugee, one such conscript, one such volunteer. Filled with spite towards the army that he had signed his life away to, yet unable to do anything to resist whatever order was sent his way. He travelled where they wanted him to be, fought where they wanted him to fight, and bled where they wanted him to bleed. For fatherland, infertile and scorched? For motherland, broken and skeletal? No, just for a handful of lives, just a letter or two sent when his deployments coincided with the movements of the army’s messengers.

And when an operation in an isolated region of China went horribly wrong, causing mass Echnida infections amongst the soldiers, Xuan-Yu found himself alive where others died. Found himself a Frame Pilot, when the military distrusted his personality, his status, too much to invest anything in him. They were under no illusions of how they’ve abused those like him, and he had made no effort to hide his hatred of them either. Still, he was a [i]collared[/i], mangy beast, and when an international organization of great repute scouted him, the army was more than willing to let him go.

After all, losing a common soldier in exchange for a king’s ransom was no-brainer of a deal, and any potential betrayal was out of the question when they still had a firm grip on his leash.[/indent]
[b]Skills[/b][indent]Xuan-Yu, like most young men with all four of his limbs and no severe physical defects, has been conscripted during the beginning of the war to fight for the national security of his country. An infantryman, but one that hasn’t been offered much in the way of proper training, he knows his way around living in a warzone, maintaining his Type 81 AR, and applying emergency medical treatment in substandard environments.

He was an experienced gymnast, specializing in the physically demanding and artistically lacking Floor Exercise. He was a bright student who studied business, back when academics meant something for one’s success. He was a hobbyist violinist, as many youths were back then, but few luthiers of noteworthy skill survived, and his skills did not merit any particular attention from the associations that hoarded what instruments remained.

He speaks Mandarin with a Guangdong accent, can use Cantonese curses, and is proficient in Japanese and Korean.[/indent]
[b]Chi-Mechframe:[/b] [i]Deathstalker[/i]
[b]Appearance[/b][indent]A pitch-black armored body suit with fluid-filled tubing stretching out from its back and scarlet flexors peeking out where the human body’s joints are, Deathstalker was craft of a massive scorpion-based Warped hunted down within the plains of Inner Mongolia. While the monster itself possessed terrifyingly powerful melee strikes, could camouflage itself to appear invisible to the naked eye, and generated poisons so noxious that it could dissolve flesh like cotton candy, it was ultimately detected through radar systems and obliterated by wide-range bombardment. Such is the fate of all assassins. Against indiscriminate destruction, it mattered little whether they truly knew you were there or not.[/indent]
[b]Abilities[/b][indent]Deathstalker possesses above average physical capabilities in exchange for eschewing all ranged weapons, energy-based attacks, and defensive measures, with particularly exceptional strength and speed. While its Warped inspiration is that of a scorpion, the artificial flexors on the limbs operate more like that of a pistol shrimp’s, able to lock into place before snapping out at supersonic speeds. It is from this that the Chi-Mechframe’s destructive potential is manifested, allowing the [b]Stinger Blade[/b], a sturdy but otherwise unremarkable sword, to rip through hardened armor like its nothing at all. However, repeated usage of these [b]‘Burst Strikes’[/b] will undoubtedly damage the human beneath, and while leg strikes are roughly three times as powerful as arm strikes, they take much longer to recover between each individual strike as well. Sustained combat is not the Deathstalker’s forte, and an opportunistic mind would make better use of this Chi-Mechframe than a true-blooded warrior.

The Deathstalker’s optical camouflage has seen some improvement compared to its Warped inspiration as well. Drawing in visuals of its surroundings, the Chi-Mechframe is able to project an illusory field over its surface, subsequently melting into the background and allowing it to operate undetected at roughly 60% of its physical capabilities. While this camouflage can be easily seen through with auditory or olfactory means, the small size of the Chi-Mechframe makes it nigh-undetectable on radar and the frame itself can synchronize with the environment’s temperatures, confounding infrared detection. Still, the performance of any physical attack would require optical camouflage be removed and energy reallocated towards more martial purposes, at least against the Warped.

Poison synthesis and generation, however, was the quality that suffered the most during the translation from Warped Core to Chi-Mechframe. While the original poisons could caused catastrophic damage  to biological matter with a single drop, the poisons that Deathstalker cultivates are debilitating but rarely lethal. Rather, it would be more accurate to consider it an anesthetic when used against the Warped, numbing their sense of touch and perhaps reducing or even completely shutting down their fine motor control. In the very best case scenario, localized paralysis can set in, but even then, such paralysis does not last long. Officially speaking, this poison’s efficacy, dubbed [b]Red Kiss[/b], has not been confirmed upon human subjects.[/indent][/hider]