Appearance: At just over six feet of a petite, yet lean build, Sam’s presence is generally never missed, even when she would rather remain invisible. Her wardrobe is generally of a “90s grunge/punk” influence, from black denim and leather pants cut to accentuate her frame to cloth tank tops and plaid shirts varying in color and inked with custom artwork from local artists. Her shoes are little more than leather & steel “shit kicker” boots, which is probably the only style she'd ever wear for one reason or another. Her head is kept shaved most of the time, rarely allowing it to grow out for no other reason than because she can. And various piercings adorn her ears, lips, nipples, and other places you'd need to get to know her better to find out. Her love of the mystical and fantastic extends to several tattoos, ranging from dual serpents along her left forearm, to ancient glyphs and tribalistic symbolism that may or may not hold any real significance to her past or perhaps her present.
Personality At first meet, Sam tends to come off as brash, with little regard for those around her, and using sarcasm to hide emotional baggage. But, once the hard shell of insecurity is breached, she can be more bearable to have around, perhaps even confiding in another. If mention of her past -specifically with regard to her father's demise- came up, she would quickly snuff out the topic, unless the person in question persisted, which then it would be seen as outright disrespect and a challenge.
Bad Habit/Vice: A drug user prior to being taken, her body still craves certain drugs to counter the mental pain that her abilities cause on a daily basis.
Procedure Sam felt like a pincushion for most of her time naked and strapped to a cold surgical table, her body and mind being subjected to constant injections of some experiment serum that was to drastically alter her forever. As the hours passed, her body continued to reject the chemicals, her veins feeling as though electricity was coursing through them rather than blood, and her mind unfortunately aware of everything that was happening. Her cries for something to numb the pain went unheard as the scientists toiled, refusing to sedate her considering that would make the synchronization of the foreign chemical and her DNA impossible. The patient had to be awake for it all.
After what felt like an eternity, the poking and prodding into every area of her life had ended, and the tattoos which had once been mere static images inked onto her body, were now an extension, coming to life in strange and unusual ways through a telepathic link. The ink itself formed various tendrils that lashed out in fury, a few injuring scientists within close proximity by wrapping itself around throat and appendages in an attempt to constrict and strangle. All the while, Alex, its host, scream in agony as the mental strain took its toll. If she was to survive, the girl would have to learn to control the beasts within.
Modifications ▷ Body Art Manipulation: Telepathic ability that allows her limited control over the ink properties of tattoos. Each tattoo “comes alive” in the form of inky tendrils, lashing out in offense or perhaps being used as an extra appendage.
▷ Can manipulate target tattoos (up to approx 10ft away) with varying results.
▷ Defense Mechanism: Her body is covered with various designs which can temporarily augment to protect her from physical damage. This happens generally in dire stress, as though the body knows that it needs to protect itself.
▷ Drawbacks: Each time her ability is used, it causes varying degrees of mental fatigue, and the longer it is sustained, the more lethargic she can become, to the point of unconsciousness if not careful. There are instances where her own body art might “resist”, and if not kept in control, could turn on her and become violent until it dissipates on it’s own.
▷ Natural ink created by plant dyes, animal minerals, salts and various other natural sources, etc work the best. Synthetic inks are generally weaker.
Talents ▷ She has an extensive artist background as well as being a tattoo artist and street muralist.
▷ Some basic combat skills taught partly by being the daughter of a cop and simply the will to survive.
Backstory
“At what point, Padre, do we forget who we are, what we stand for, and where the fuck we're going?”
The young girl, stained in grime, blood, and soot sat on the floor at the base of the church altar, her head resting against the severely outdated wood paneling that had most likely existed when the building was constructed almost a century ago. Black mascara that once accentuated her emerald eyes ran down both cheeks like diluted ink on canvas, mixing with the tears and soot. Her head, shaven out of a rebellious heart and hatred for the man she once called “father", stained with what could only be assumed as the same blood found on the rest of her body. Her eyes darted back and forth until finally resting on the elderly priest sitting and listening intently in the pew across from her, doing his best to keep from shifting nervously from the horrific news of what she'd done shortly before arriving.
“I'm not ashamed of what I did.” She finally blurted out, her strained voice echoing through the great sanctuary. “The bastard had it coming. So think whatever sick shit you want to come up with and I guarantee you won’t even be close to the truth.” The girl flashed a wry grin before averting her eyes from the other and staring blankly at the stained glass ceiling. “You think I’m just some junkie from the slums, yeah?” She accused in a mocking tone, trying to hold back any tears that would never come, while the events from earlier still played back in her head as a nightmare on an endless loop. “And I bet all us tattooed freaks look the same to you.” She forced a pathetic laugh, running a dirty hand across her stubbled head. “Besides, you only ever tolerated me because of him...”
The priest leaned forward in the bench and gazed for a moment at the adolescent he knew as “Sam”, the tall yet slim girl who was now in her late teens and very different than what he’d remembered her as, appeared pale, and almost lifeless now. A black “Alice in Chains” tank top and tight jeans riddled with small holes and tears was all she’d had on. Even her shoes were missing for whatever reason, which exposed mud-covered feet and black toenails. The old man’s attention turned to the twin serpent-like tattoo interlocked on her arm which appeared as though it could strike out at any moment. And then to the tribal designs along her petite chest with wings that spanned as though it would launch into the sky. Several areas of her body, from what he could see, had various tattoos of myth and fantasy, or ancient glyphs which seemed more to be of a paganistic nature.
The Priest knew who she was, or who she had been at one time, and possibly even what she was if he believed in that sort of thing. Although with a history of drug use, he couldn't tell if she was suffering the effects of substance abuse, or something more. In either case, however, knowledge of anything didn’t make being in her presence any less awkward…
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Sam grew up to a mother she lost way too early, and to a father -the honored ex-military police captain who was hailed as some hero from years ago- she was simply known as “Some kind of Damaged” for most of her childhood, never living up to his expectations and rebelling against him at every turn. His love was to the job and upholding laws that apparently didn’t apply to him either. But no matter how often the beatings came, or the sexual assaults attempted, or even how many days she was locked in her room without food, his only daughter wouldn’t change. She couldn’t be normal like he wanted. But it didn’t matter. He was gone now. Nothing but a charred corpse and a hollow building she once called a home.
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“It’s God’s job to judge, not mine” The priest finally responded, trying to avert his eyes from following the path of the women’s ornate body art, which lead into areas he deemed inappropriate for a young lady to defile with such imagery. “And...yet you being here, confessing, allowing me to listen, is a step in the right direction to redemption. So I applaud you for that my child. I just wished you’d come to me more often for guidance, as it’s God’s Will to see justice and mercy granted.”
“God?” She snorted. “How is it that the God you believe in allows such monsters to roam the earth?” Her hand beat against her own chest, driving the point of the comment meant for herself. She knew what she’d done, and didn’t know how to cope with it.
The main sanctuary doors at the other end of the aisle quickly burst open revealing a handful of uniformed Military Police officers, flashlights and assault firearms poised at the ready as they spread their ranks to cover all exits and entry points.
“Samantha Helisaria, you’re under arrest for the murder of your father, Captain Jorgio Helisaria” The lead officer held the girl at gunpoint, the muzzle of the assault rifle only inches from her dirt and blood-riddled visage. “You sick junkie.” He mumbled under his breath, but still loud enough to be heard. “Why’d you have to burn him alive?”
The girl, her eyes wide with a mix of anger and fear, looked back at the priest, whose somber expression gave away too much.
“Y-You called them?” She exclaimed, her voice echoing throughout the sanctuary hall. “Bastard!...I knew I shouldn’t have trusted you! What the hell happened to that ‘seal of confession’, or whatever bullshit doctrine you’re supposed to follow?”
The priest shifted uncomfortably as he spoke. “I didn’t tell them anything, except that you were here. They already knew the rest Samantha. Witnesses saw you running from the burning building, so it was just a matter of time...”
The girl, enraged, lunged out toward the priest from her sitting position “You son of a b-...” She was caught by one of the officers mid-way, spun around, and pushed back down onto the floor.
“Fuck! The fat ass deserved it! You pricks knew he was corrupt and abusive-” Her words caught in her throat, as the lead officer pushed her face against the cold floor and clasped her wrists with handcuffs, taking extra care to tighten them until she screamed. The lead officer quickly followed up by pulling out a syringe filled with enough sedatives to knock out an elephant, and immediately stuck it in the girls neck, unloading the entire vial.
“Shut your mouth or I swear I’ll shut it for you!” The arresting officer snarled as he pulled the empty syringe from her skin, his knee still pressed firmly against her back. "Cop-killer scum like you don’t have rights. And where you’re going, you’ll wish I’d put a bullet in your head right here...”
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And so the rest is history. Sam ended up being taken in by Daedalus Corp as an unwilling volunteer, circumventing the prison system completely, but wishing she had been killed rather than having been exposed to the long and excruciating processes by which the demented scientists seemingly took immense pleasure in putting her through.
Looking Deeper
▷ What do you value most? What (or who) are you most afraid to lose?: Being an independent person for a good part of my life, I most value my freedom, which is the one thing fear to lose.
▷ What was your favorite thing to do, before you were taken?: Art has always been a passion of mine, and it was a way for me to sink into another world for a time being, hoping that the real world would drift away.
Lord Wyron
Dion
Heat
Lady Arya
