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Let's see if this goes anywhere at all.…
Natural Portrait.


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Thank you for the interest. I have all my notes in order, so things can proceed shortly.
<Snipped quote by Reactionary>

Here's the official link to their website.

I'm sure you could find something there.

Wow, there is a whole section dedicated to 'media lies'. Truly amazing. I feel the Holy Spirit already.
Looks comfy. Is there an application form?
🇯​ 🇦 ​ 🇲 ​ 🇪 ​ 🇸​ 🇦 ​ 🇱 ​ 🇻 ​ 🇪 ​ 🇾​

38 Male 6'3
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❝By whatever means, by whatever word.❞


Five years of aimless escape. Dark roads, immoral leisures, deadening pursuits. That time before his tragedy, when life was passable with a wife and daughter, was a period of personal prosperity and growth. A security contractor provided generous benefits and housing in exchange for armed services. It was his line of work for many years during the family life, but all of it came to a swift end when the wrong nerves were pushed. His daughter of five years disappeared soon thereafter. His wife of eight years followed that trend only a few months passed. Madness became an indulgence.

James ended his contract with the security firm. Vengeance consumed him. Those fragile nerves attached to a wealthy and powerful were bashed upon with burning rage. Alas, he was but one man against an invisible army, a network of shadows, an untouchable monarch. His body was destroyed and left to rot. Miraculously, the disenfranchised and discarded found the man at the brink of death, a corpse to the bystander, and brought him back. A man of his aggressive experience was too valuable to be cast aside. They offered him a chance to fight back in exchange for a service.

The courier career had begun. James was tasked to deliver sensitive goods across the country for high level corporations through an independent mediator. The mediator was a man with a network of ten military-grade cars and drivers. James was offered further training and augmentations, weapons and wealth. As a man with no connection to the world, he was the epitome of an attractive employee to the mediator. Yet, James demanded information in exchange for his service, rather than monetary value. The mediator agreed as long as it was off the record.

For the past three years, the man has been obsessed with piecing together bits of information about the fate of his family. Most hints of success has only led to rotting corpses or empty hallways. However, a new job issued by an obscure company has sparked a new hope. James has never seen these names and orders before. They are intimately connected to Dynocore, which is the corporation with the fragile nerve that he assaulted so many years ago. Now, as a changed man, an infinitely more dangerous man, he might stand a chance against his personal demons haunting him night after night.


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It sang the Song of Engines. That marvelous machine, explosive and furious, roaring and screaming throughout the vast emptiness of the wilderness, yet muffled by frigid white and stale Death. The murmuring, the vibration, the power; all of it was the opium of his being; an instrument of endless strife and spiteful conflict. The engine and its shell was plated and protected from the outside forces of the world and of Man. Dents, textures, and chains clad its tires capable of Omnitraversal. Suspension, structure, and drive assured the man behind the wheel guaranteed passage wherever his eyes rested. A myriad of horses, lustful gas, and heavy feet surely conquered any distance and competition with mocking velocity and precision. Superior exhausts, hardened exoskeleton, and a hive of gadgets and modifications made his second nature a unique endeavor, a sight not forgotten, a haunting memory forever pestering the enemies of that intimidating Engine. It had been the tip of his supremacy on the roads of the desolate memory of a once great Nation. Scavengers, outcasts, rejects, and other vermin knew the sound of his approach wherever they found themselves. If he decorated their nightmares, it would have been to no surprise.

He had come out of Cascadia. The north-western most mega-region was unlike any other. Of all the places in this New World, the region bordering the Alaskan cold seemed optimal for permanent residence. Yet, this was not his destiny for the time being. The driver of that splendid Engine was a courier. His task was to deliver message and packages of sensitive nature across the country. It was information that could not fall into the hands of criminals and degenerates. The clients handsomely rewarded those who had chosen this utmost dangerous profession. It was a line of work that demanded discretion, anonymity, and precision. The driver had since long abandoned many of the conventional securities and interactions of social life. He had never been able to amply express how far disconnected from worldly things his being had become over the past years. Sorrow and vengeance clouded his sense of direction and empathy for the next of kin on the street. Past faults, injustices, and futile rage had created for the driver a new existence in which he would for all eternity suffer sinister remorse. Now, the only focus was upon the task at hand. Each successful delivery granted him a further step into the Light of things. Information, hidden knowledge, and mechanical power were his favored currencies. These were the typical thoughts of the road. Hours upon hours of nothing else but the mind to take decrepit pleasure in. Fortunately, such would not be the case this day. After nourishing the Engine at Snoqualmie Summit, heading down the nine-zero-six, the driver came upon a bizarre display. It was not the first time he had witnessed such a scenario.

Bereft shadows pursued a pale stranger. Dark stone and deep pine towered their descent along the white road. The engine blazed past the spectacle, a seemingly staged appearance to deceive the mind, and carried no intention of offering halt or respite. Too many times had the wretched roads of the wilderness attempted such trickery only to fling crude contraptions and rusty bullets in attempted robbery. The driver knew well enough not to bother, yet doubt forcefully burrowed itself into his steady pulse. What if… the question asked. Those individuals upon this road were an uneven fit, a distasteful stain, a mismatch worthy of recognition. The pale stranger seemed far too meek, fragile, and pure to ever find herself in such a predicament. The shadows, or men, heavily augmented in their spastic motion, uncomfortable for the naked eye to rest upon, present yet distant, were unlike anything the driver had seen before. A faint distortion surrounded their being, tearing at their silhouettes, blending with the terrain behind them. The details were obscure. He could only register so much in the split second that the Engine passed them. The latent decision to offer relief came at a cryptic price. The female in duress reminded him of those dearly who had been part of his life in the distant past. She was a mysterious blend of them all, an enticing combination that assaulted his inner most empathetic core. He cursed beneath his breath as determination came upon him.

The Engine halted dead in its tracks. Long, dark slid marks dusted clean the frigid asphalt. He would regret this decision at some point, the driver thought to himself. The man reached across the gear and panels of the cabin to unlock and open the passenger door. His composure remained steady, on a set course, unmoved by the hurricane of the void chasing what he assumed to be innocent prey. The driver motioned out of the enclosed armor of the Engine and retrieved an extensive rail, firing mechanism, and scope from a series of attachments in the exoskeleton interior. The assembly was rapid. The man had performed these actions many times before. The protective hood of the Engine became to be the bedrock upon which the man would make stable his aim. Heat from the still scorching metal dissuaded the falling white crystals to ever take root. The weapon was firmly embraced by a set of augmented arms, obsidian void in their texture, shining gold in their accentuations. The pale stranger was the first apparition to appear within his esoteric view of the world through the scope of the rifle. The shadowy predators soon followed. The clutch of the trigger was amply balanced between weight and speed, as one would suspect from something mechanical. The explosion of the large caliber bullet exiting the comprehensive rail was loud, echoing far and wide between the murky forests and silent mountains. The force of moving air around the shot whizzing through space and time was strong and close enough to shock the pale stranger in her path. It impacted the predatory shadow nearly at pouncing distance from the girl. Crimson liquid violently burst out of his chest as a gaping hole revealed crushed organs and bone. The horrifying chain of events gave the other shadow a surge of hesitation. The man slowed down in his pace, seemingly staring right at the driver, and then made the decision to retreat into the dank tree line not an arm’s length away from the edge of the road.

The driver disassembled the rifle with haste and accuracy. By the time that the pale stranger reached the open passenger door, the man was ready in his seat to liberate them both from these unpleasant set of events. She seemed young, lost, and in great anguish. Picking up walkers, if one could call this alien figure any such thing, was not one of the driver’s usual habits, to say the least. The roads of this gruesome world were not to be trusted at any turn. Someone who claimed to be an ally one day, was the enemy the very next. Other horror stories were frequently whispered among patrons of state sanctioned havens across the country. They were tales of rampant torture, cannibalism, and men turning to their most fundamental primal instincts. No, the roads were not to be welcomed akin to an old friend visiting from afar. Nevertheless, the driver had witnessed enough atrocities and undecipherable circumstances to know when something could not be categorized as such. This girl, whoever she would claim to be or attempt to do, was not a threat to him. From somewhere across the vast abyss of departed souls or in the lost and confused consciousness of those yet remaining, his wife and daughter sang reassuring tones that resonated well with his steadfast pulse. If they would have been in the Engine with him, they would never have hesitated about the pale stranger as he did.

The Engine thundered to life at his command. The aggressive tires gripped the road akin to abductors clinging on to their victims. Yet, the armored cabin, in which the now two travelers sat, remained perfectly steady and unmoved by the dents and cracks of the road. The driver had glanced over the pale stranger upon her initial entry, but ever since that moment his gaze had remained on the horizon ahead. Everything she had seemed to be during the miniscule window of inspection while passing the attempted hostility was unlawfully amplified. The girl appeared much younger, much paler, and infinitely more disturbed and torn. The terrain of the wilderness had not been kind to the poor stranger. The driver reached for a small medical kit in the back seat and handed it to her—whatever disinfectant, needle, and bandages needed could be found within it. There was no time to stop. There was no place to stop for the purpose of comfort. The driver had made a lot of noise with that rifle. Whatever and whoever within a vast distance could have heard it. The only priority was to get away, and fast. Regardless of her silence or inquiries, the man did not speak a single word before a specific issue came to mind.

“Do you have a phone?” His gruff, hoarse, and nearly crumbling voice uttered. Talking was not something he engaged in very much these days.

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