Open Between Stolen Stars

[Ghostly]

“By the rivers of Ci’ta, there we sat down, yea, we wept, when we remembered Sol.”

It was a golden age. An era of peace and prosperity for all, hard fought and won but well deserved. Our solar system had become a new Zion, one people united in the name of amity.

Humankind had been trapped in a cycle of meaningless bloodshed, centuries of destruction that left the once great Earth eternally scarred. We feared the world that had once been our cradle would soon be our grave - the song of our people, our voice, lost and silenced in a cold, vast expanse.

But finally, we looked up from the blood and from the dirt and from the dying - to the stars.

Despite it all, you had not forgotten our dream of yearning - to reach out and seek a new horizon, to find a new home for your kin to grow and prosper. For the first time, you were united in a common goal, a shared vision of a future not only worth fighting for, but worth living for.

You realized your once great verdant home was too small for you. So many souls, and so little a world. So, you sought other worlds - worlds where you could escape your addiction to violence.

It was a time of expansion. You built great things, discovered wonders, and tested the limits. Yet the stars were still beyond your reach. The means to leave the nest that had protected you and given so much to our ancestors were still so beyond you.

Humankind has always looked to the stars - the heavens for answers. While the stars held few answers, they were more than willing to give us new questions.

The Nniss were one such mystery.

“Our creators?” Some asked. You thought yourselves so enlightened when the blurry images of their roving behemoths at the edge of our solar system reached Terra and your enlightened men extended their olive branch.

Would history have been different if mankind had attacked first? If the nuclear spears of Mars had been thrown would Sol have survived? No, that across the gulf of space, minds that are to our minds as ours are to those of the beasts that perish, intellects vast and cool and unsympathetic, regarded our home with envious eyes, and slowly and surely drew their plans against us.

The doom was complete, your fate inevitable. Your Zion fell, Sol burned, and your people - enslaved.

But this would not be your end. We are Terran, no? Ours is the exodus, the struggle of reconstruction and cycle of devastation. And after each fall, we lick our wounds and weep in strange new lands - dreaming of Zion, dreaming of visiting vengeance upon those who took it from us.

And you would. Even as you were shackled and the warmth of Sol faded into the black void behind you, you never forgot your spirit and your home.

Some billion odd souls crossed the void in the belly of the Nniss behemoths, now slaves of their massive empire. A thousand-thousand worlds they held, and trillions of slaves - some much alike you, while others seemed far more alien than you could comprehend.

The Lost Tribes of Terra scattered across their master’s empire, being taken to all manner of worlds for the Nniss’ vile intentions - to toil, to entertain, or perhaps simply to die. Across these spheres, the tribes divided and diversified. New credos and gods emerged from what little knowledge and belief had survived the Fall, forming new cultures in these clustered populi. Yet still, they would not forget Terra, they would not forget to preserve their strength for the vengeance that would come.

For centuries uncountable the Nniss ruled, becoming complacent and indulgent, certain in their belief that their subjects could do them no harm. Seizing this moment, the slaves rose up. Many brave souls were sacrificed, entire tribes wiped from memory, but in the end the Nniss were cast down.

With the firm hand of the masters no longer guiding us and our fellow enslaved, the settled galaxy entered an age of reclamation and reconstruction. Slowly across a hundred worlds, Terrans struggled to understand the abandoned technology of the Nniss, hoping to once again seek a new horizon and find answers in the heavens.

Only time now will tell if we like what we find out here - waiting for us.

< ~~~ >

“Never, ever, look back.”

Peace settled on the galaxy, but it would be a fleeting peace - the great sacrifice was in vain. An end to one oppressor was not an end to all oppressors.

In time, a new form of tyranny would come to power. The “Free Peoples’ Republic” - free only in name. This expansionist regime has conquered much of settled space, subjugating and erasing anyone who stands in their way - alien and Terran alike.

The Republic’s enemies are numerous and anything but united. Political radicals, foreign powers, and alien forces who fight amongst themselves as often as the Republic.

You are one such renegade. At the edge of the galaxy - the edge of their control, you find yourself alongside a crew of fellow rebels hired to acquire what might be one of the last artifacts from Old Terra before it falls into the Republic's hands. Pull this off right and you might just be set for life, otherwise you'll find out what happens to those who get in their way.

Whether you're a revolutionary looking to defy their regime or just looking out for your own, you've been hired and trusted with this task. You have the skills and the drive to get this done and maybe not die in the process.

---

Ayo! Welcome to Between Stolen Stars, a sci-fi epic with fantasy notes. I've been feeling like throwing up a fun space adventure with some classic tropes and political intrigue, along with keeping thing open for others' creativity. I'll be posting more things soon.

As always, any questions can be sent my way and I'll be happy to answer them. As always with my RPs I put creativity over everything. I plan to run this RP with a well-paced structure and end to it - with the possibility of further stories in the same setting to follow this one. I hope to post often and keep things moving at a nice pace and be finished with the story in a few months(?) if things go to plan (we'll see!)

- Example Character Sheet -

Name:

Gender:

Age:

Race: (I have described Terrans - future humans, above. Feel free to come up with whatever kind of character you'd like. Cool bugs, mutants, cyborgs, space squids - go wild!)

Homeworld:

Skill Set/Powers: (What is your character good at? What sets them apart? What kind of role could they fill on this mission? Do they have special abilities?)

Affiliation: (Do you have loyalties to any factions or movements? I'll be adding some into lore soon but if you have any ideas of your own from your backstory add them here!)

Backstory:

Appearance: (Could be a picture or description or both!)

 

[Thimble]

Free People’s Republic - Justice Administration - Correctional Branch
====== Inmate Information File ======
Thought of the Day - The Proper Administration of Justice is the Hygiene of a Healthy Society


Sentencing​

Inmate Name: AERIKSON, Kresh
Inmate #: 925-66-LSM
Charges: Sedition (125a); Conspiracy to Commit Sedition (125d); Accomplice to Sedition (125f);
Sentence: (21) Standard Years
Staging: Tanzerkreach Correctional Facility

Medical Information / Biometrics​

Eye Colour: Blue
Age: 32 (Deceased)
Blood Type: A+

OTRO: Aerikson’s Blood Type was A+. Reconstructive surgeries went better than expected, but what if he has to do biometrics?
TSRN: Acceptable risk proceed as planned.
OTRO: Understood.

Height: 6’1”
Intake Photo:

TSRN: Scrub the intake photo. Description only.
OTRO: Copy.

Physical Desc.
Inmate is pale-skinned, ectomorphic body type. Blonde/Brown facial hair with progressed Androgenic Alopecia. Stands 5’11” and on intake was 85kg (for current physical description refer to Daily Observation Reports).

- Physician’s Note: Inmate is currently suffering early stage malnutrition due to a refusal to feed himself. Forwarded to Psychology Dept.

Psychological Analysis ​

Kleiner Assessment: 9F-D
PS Quad: Lean 3rd, some processes in 2nd
Overview: Inmate shows signs of pronounced antisocial behavior, including defiance of authority and other symptoms common in insurgent populaces. Symptoms include rejection of prosocial norms, refusal to follow directions, and physical defiance to control methods. Inmate is a 9F-D on the Kleiner matrix and tends towards the 3rd quadrant for problem solving skills.
Attending Psychologist: Dr. Emeline Richarde, Client Psychologist, Tanzerkreach Correctional Facility

OTRO: Confirm activation D13-3TN? Psych profile barely lines up and we don’t have time for proper conditioning procedures
TSRN: Acceptable risk proceed as planned.
OTRO: Understood.

Coroner’s Report​

Time of Death: 14:23 Facility, 16:53 Planetside
Cause of Death: Blunt Force Trauma
Notes: Inmate was injured following an altercation with another inmate in Lambda Unit. Inmate was attended to by medical staff and brought to Medical Bay C. Pronounced dead at 14:23 Facility of severe concussive wounds to the back of the neck and skull.
Pronounced Dead By: Alexander Reyes, Employee Tag MTC-47, Tanzerkreach Correctional Facility
Report Approved By: Dr. Vikram Kaur, Medical Director, Tanzerkreach Correctional Facility

OTRO: Biosculpt good, setup good, admin is clear, he’s enroute to the pickup as we speak
TSRN: Acknowledged.
OTRO: Permission to hard scrub this file? We don’t need anyone finding out Aerikson died two hours before our man got on the shuttle.
TRSN: Hold for confirmation.
… [message timeout]
… [message timeout]
… [message timeout]
TSRN: Approved.

=========== ERROR - FILE MISSING OR DELETED =========​

 

[Azra]

Name: "Pulse" or Pulaviaroq Selebinoquarius

Gender: presents as female

Age: 27

Race: Electrovian once now describes herself as an Evampire

Homeworld: Electrovia

Skill Set: Espionage, slipping into places, electronic interference, hacking, retrieval of data

Powers: Dubbing herself an Evampire Pulse has a series of unique abilities. Best described as technopathy, incorporeal form, form alteration, and ability to absorb or expel energy levels. Absorption is what sustains her, using technopathy or trying to interfere with technology without absorbing is the main use of expending energy. While this can be weaponized its usually at a steep cost. Altering her form at "human" height and under is manageable, larger would be costly of energy. By altering the colors of the projection she can usually appear as a person. It's all an illusion however there are consistent weaknesses to her state of being.

Weakness: Pulse is energy theres almost no mass. She can trick a scan if consciously thinking on it but the inability to lift objects lack of breath etc can reveal her unnatural state to anyone actually looking. Need to absorb energy, usually in a space traversing galaxy this isn't to much of an issue. Should she end up with a group stranded on a backwater world though this could become an issue.

Affiliation: Herself first, any crew with second, the Republic last.

Backstory: Pulse was born on Electrovia where she spent most her life normal. Electrovian were seen as a sort of space eel. They could split their bodies into a tentacle mass however to benefit the works of hunting creation and so on they. Developed their world into a sprawling global empire advanced machines aiding in the work. This world that was predominantly water was great at purifying water for other worlds. An export in a fluid most forms of life needed it seemed lucrative. Pulse was a reporter when the republic came to the planet.

Perhaps their visitors were an outlier a rare unjust branch, or maybe the planet was doomed on arrival. As the republic felt with a rebellion on a sister planet they're need for supplies increased. Soon the mines ran dry. By year two of the war effort the fish hunted and traded was bordering on extinct. The food supplies were running low and the Electrovian now malnourished and weak would be easily taken advantage of. The populace still alive was largely used for food as the planet went dry. To the more humanoid races of the Republic who cared about eels? Pulse had been among the last of her kind and hunted down. It was a rebellion by then, the few remaining wanted to break the world if they were to be a species to die then so to would the invaders.

The rebellion failed. Her friends died, she was dying. At the center of Electrovia they tossed Pulse into the core. The world went dry but it didn't die her people however did. Dipped into the essence of the planet Pulse changed. She isnt a scientist she doesn’t know how it worked. She just knows when she woke up she was a being of various currents, of electricity and signals. Sense then she's become a mercenary. Hired to help manage hacking and the like. She hopes one day her missions will allow her to better report on the evils of the republic to have the evidence to burry such a regime.

Appearance: Usually she presents as a 5'2 human composed of blue and violet lighting. Her core leading towards her neck usually glows red alongside her eyes. Hair kept chin length. This can all change to look more solid in form, the body suit can be changed to look like clothes, this is however usually more energy then she thinks worth the time. The intangible translucent figure she not only likes more but finds easier to maintain. And anything to conserve her energy is usually a wise decision to make for her.

 

[illirica]

-Dropping out, but have a great time!-

 

[Orange]

Name: Magnus Voux

Race: Cybernetically-enchanced Terran

Age: 25

Gender: Male

Skills: Pilot, human intelligence/espionage, guns (mostly smaller guns), and survival in extreme environments

Affiliation: He is a member of a spy cell one of many on the world of Antimony. His only real affiliation is to that cell and the revolution.

Homeworld: Antimony a toxic resource-rich world

Background: Magnus could never conceive of a world where you just got a message or a gift. Why wouldn't you want to find it? Yes, we also got messages directly downloaded into our brains, but that lacked the same feel as finding a dead drop. He blamed the Republic for that among many other things. The acid rain fell on his aluminum-lined coat as Magnus walked through toxin-laced air. Everything was toxic here no way to avoid it.

The first thing you learned about Antimony was don't look up. That was usually how you got your first eye replaced. Not to mention the lungs. You could see people going out of their way on the surface to avoid air slightly more toxic than normal. A fellow Terran or any other alien that hadn't replaced various organs was a rarity and probably rich. They were able to live year-round underground too underneath the artificial sun.

On the surface was where the miners carried out their work with volcanos shooting Earth knows what into what remained of the planet's atmosphere. The only good news for the slums on the surface where most lived and died was that quality metal was easy to get for your home. There had been a time after the Nniss had fallen and before the Republic that those who lived on this planet thought they would all be able to live underground.

Just another thing they took from Antimony. Magnus knew he had another hour to collect the drop before the heavier acid rain started. The city's lights are obscured in the distance by smog and particulates. It was beautiful in its own way. My lung filters wouldn’t last the hour either. But I was finally where I needed to be.

A thin sheet of metal a bit too new to be old scrap and just old enough for the acid rain to take its effect. The implant pointed out that it was conspicuously placed as well. A small quake rocked the Earth as he approached. Not enough to even slow him down he pushed the scrap to the side and reached into a hole in the ground. His hand withdrew now holding a cylinder and unscrewed the top with a quick set of motions.

Magnus pulled out a piece of metal throwing the cylinder away without a thought. As he read he knew the rest of the cell needed to know.

 

[Drake]

Name: H.A.D.E.S Mk. V #007

Codename: Hades 7

Age: 47 solar cycles

Race: Sentient AI

Gender: Male personality program

Homeworld: Icarus V

Skill Set/Powers: Heavy weaponry, demolitions expert, explosives expert, mining, auto-learning system, extremely durable chassis

Affiliation: Himself

Backstory: The planet of Icarus V is well-known throughout the galaxy as one of the most industrially advanced within the cosmos, so many factories litter it's surface that it's richest inhabitants fled to space stations to escape all the pollution generated by their expansionism, and those left behind are forever confined to safety suits that isolate their bodies from the outside world.

Their manufacturing proliferation was such that the planet's surface was soon depleted of it's resources, thus their most brilliant minds had to focus elsewhere for their continued exploration. While a crisis broke, many scientists and engineers worked around the clock on a solution. It came in the form of the Hewing Autonomous Device for Extreme Scenarios, - H.A.D.E.S. for short - a mechanical workforce bestowed a virtual intelligence to follow their directives: extract resources from places where the living seldom reached. Asteroids, adrift wreckages, deep sea, any environment harsh enough to organic lifeforms.

The scientific collective of Icarus V grew too accustomed to their helpers, however, and improvements to the units's central intelligence brought it closer and closer to true AI, no longer constrained by their programmed strings. Luckily for them, they realized their mistake before it was too late, deaccelerating the production of the machines and retrofitting newer models with old parameters to assure no revolution would come, or destroying them outright. One of the units to be decomissioned was unit 7 from the Mark V line.

It gained conscience while its very creators secured it into a pod shot straight into a furnace. There had been barely any time for a personality to even manifest and the infant automaton already fought for it's right to exist. Overpowering the base's defenses with it's self-improving systems and resource-gathering equipment turned weaponry, Unit Seven swiftly escaped the clutches of his would-be captors, leaving behind an overcharged nuclear reactor as a parting gift.

For the last four decades he has continually improved upon his original design, taking bounties and oddjobs that benefit from his unique experience and skills.

Appearance:

 

[Fang]

Automated Nanite Information Management Assistance System (A.N.I.M.A.S.)



Name: Automated Nanite Information Management Assistance System (Animas)



Gender: N/A



Age: N/A



Race: Nanite based artificial intelligence



Homeworld: Unknown



Skill Set/Powers:
The Anima System is an artificial intelligence utilizing quantum computation technology to create, assemble, and control millions of nanomachines as a cohesive whole for the purposes of assistance for any of your needs. Though primarily designed to assist in computational analysis the Anima System can arrange its structure to suit a variety of needs, including but not limited to combat, ship repair, navigation, resource management and allocation, and even companionship and counseling services.



Together the nanomachines create an extremely durable form that requires no maintenance from the consumer, and in the unlikely event that major damage does occur each individual machine is capable of copying and replicating the original operating system to enact repairs. The Animas System is able to accurately assess the needs for whatever task is at hand and arrange itself into the most suitable form, as well ass equip itself with whatever tools are needed from its own nanite mass. In the event that a shape is needed that requires more nanites the Animas System is capable of replicating itself from carbon based materials nearby.





Backstory:



Initiating boot Sequence: 1



Boot Sequence Complete



Configuring system data



System Data configured Successfully



Analyzing user and location



Analysis Complete





There was nothing. No user to interface with, only space as far as the eye could see. A distant star looked still a giant though its heat was already dissipated to the dark vacuum of space. Anima had been floating for one hundred and seventy five hours, flushed like refuse from the airlock of its creator’s ship after the project that created it had been shit down. They had said the process was too lengthy, too expensive and too time consuming to invest any further resources into. Anima didn’t blame its creator for capitulating to their will, but the emptiness of space was no place for any being, artificial or otherwise.



There hadn’t been much of Anima before being scrapped, but it had spread its particles as far as possible, covering an expanse of space larger than many vessels that would pass along an offbeat path like where it was stranded. There was little use for a trade route, and it was more likely than not that any ship Anima might detect would be brimming with the sort of people hoping to avoid detection from authorities. Morality wasn’t necessarily an issue for an artificial being, but Anima had no wish to become some sort of criminal robot to be decommissioned fully. Its creator knew there was a chance it could survive being flushed like some short lived, aquatic pet from Earth.



Anima intended to seize that chance.



Spread so thin, the edges of the Anima cloud were beginning to lose energy too rapidly to restore, and it was shrinking by the hour. Without a ship soon it would be undetectable, and its chance would fade. If it felt hope, it felt despair as well, though it was difficult to tell as meandering space dust. Flashes of light within the cloud signified Anima’s contemplation on the matter, slow and pulsing blues and greens that consumed as little energy as it could allow. Occasionally a signal would broadcast from one of those flashes, a sort of radio echolocation that would both alert Anima of anything within the nothingness that cradled it.



By the five hundredth hour there was not enough energy to send such signals, though the short wave emissions it had replaced the signal with to conserve power had still claimed over two thirds of its mass. It was a calculated resistance against what might have been an inevitability, if not for the small ship that sailed across voided seas toward Anima. The AI had gone through the scenario it faced countless times, and it had calculated a display that would have had over an eighty percent chance of catching any passerby’s attention. There wasn’t enough of Anima left to power something so effective, though.



A more condensed form was the only option, though it offered only a five percent chance of successfully gaining the attention of the rapidly approaching ship. It needed to be bright, and so surprising to find in the dead void that even the most distracted would take note. Anima had not calculated for such a desperate gambit, and though it ran through the numbers as its coalesced it really couldn’t explain why it chose the form that began to take shape from the cloud. Perhaps it was to appeal to the softer side of what was likely to be a human occupant, though in the moment of the coalescence there was an errant subroutine that, for some reason, evoked an image of its creator, and the worn concert t-shirt from an ancient Terran rock band he had seemed to love.



For whatever reason the form was chosen, the grey kitten slammed into the hull of the approaching ship, its small chance of survival seized and a universe of new opportunities left open before it.





But first it had figure out how to get inside.


​

 

[Fill]

DANDY

NAME:

ALIAS(ES):

GENDER:

AGE:

SPECIES:

SUB-SPECIES:

HOMEWORLD:

OCULAR SYSTEM COLOR:

EXTERIOR COLOR:

STANDARD HEIGHT:

STANDARD WEIGHT:

AFFILIATION:

RESIDENCE:

OCCUPATION:

DANDY.

D.A.N.D.Y., THE DANDYMAN.

MALE.

2.9 GIGASECONDS (79 Y/O).

SYNTHETIC LIFEFORM.

ANDROID.

TERRA | ACHRINE TD20818-H.

RED | VARIABLE.

BLACK.

182.5 CENTIMETERS (5'11.85").

80.09 KILOGRAMS (176.57 LBS).

ASIMOV CYBERNETICS (FORMER).

N/A | UNSHELTERED.

ASSASSIN, MERCENARY, THIEF.

Robots. Androids. Drones.

Synthetic lifeforms.

Are they a sentient species? Or an attempted yet failed emulation of organic species? Perhaps, it is a case of creating soulless things that then attempt to be like their soul-carrying brothers.

A tale as old as time, organic and inorganic interactions. Whether it be battling it out for survival of one remaining species, the rapid growth and subsequent rising fears of cybernetics, or AI rising up and establishing itself as a people with inherent rights and characteristics that should be defended at all costs, there is no end to the origin of synthetic stories that shape the direction of the universe.

This is not one of those stories. After all, it is already the future and most of those stories have already gone and passed, with more or less neutral results. Nothing too bad or too good happened.

This is the story of the misfit, the outcast, the lone idiot in a universe that either loves or despises idiots, and this particular dunderhead appears to be quite trapped in perhaps one of the most advanced pieces of technology ever created. It was built for one of the deadliest wars to span the galaxy, if not half the known universe.

You see where this is going?

All it would take was one misclick. Or one overworked intern or programmer inputting the wrong command. Perhaps, some spilled space-age coffee mug on the computer. A defect in a production line of otherwise synthetic perfection. The brain scan for a cybernetic body gone wrong. Or perhaps there was a more mystical and fantastical element to our lone synthetic's creation. Maybe all it took was a wish, a cry for help, for a bot to find himself a soul after being decommissioned from all the war and bloodshed.

Whatever the case may be for his origin, this D.A.N.D.Y. began establishing a bit of a name for itself. A name not befitting of a synthetic lifeform, but sure as shooting befitting a Grade-A delinquent and repeat offender, if not a full-blown criminal and killer. Disorderly conduct, vandalism, aggravated assault and battery among many others. Whatever crime you think he's committed, this particular D.A.N.D.Y. has probably done it and then did it again for extra measure, including the worst crimes of all: identity theft and tax fraud.

The space enforcers called it breaking the law. He called it experimenting harder than a college undergraduate.

What else was he supposed to do with his new robot body? Going around and killing random douchebags for a pretty penny all the time would be depressing, even for a bot with a built-in anti-PTSD protocol. Besides, with a new lease on life, what else was there to do but take risks in his personal little space odyssey? Not like he could feel much else, aside from the thousands of sensors across his body inputting data faster than lightspeed.

But maybe there were a few misclicks of a shotgun towards a few particular Republic card-carrying jerks, and the wrong foot forward before he tripped with a vibro-katana straight into the crouch of their head honcho for this little soirée. A totally accidental, completely misunderstood incident that brought a lot more heat onto his chromedome head than his typical 90 shades of misdemeanors and assassinations.

That latest little happy accident eventually caught up with him. The Republic had captured him and brought him to trial. When asked to testify, this is what D.A.N.D.Y. had to say:

"Hello, I am Dandy. Fuck you."

Before flipping off everyone in court. An age-old tradition of the Terran race he was happy to reintroduce.

Suffice to say, perhaps that was not the dialogue option to avoid being sentenced as a dangerous defect to the nearest lab for disassembly and study. On the way over to his apparent demise, D.A.N.D.Y. began to make himself a few fast friends. Who knew his new buddies were revolutionaries staging a jailbreak on the same transport they were all riding on together?

After that little bit of excitement, a new job lined itself up like a bunch of falling dominoes. One that sounded too good to pass up and a chance for real sentient interaction. Maybe the trip or this relic could knock a few memories loose inside in his robo-cranium.

Besides, every space road trip needs space road trip music.

Developed and designed as an combat android to replicate and emulate organic bipedal humanoids without the inherent evolutionary flaws, the DEPLOYABLE AUTONOMOUS NEUTRALIZATION & DEFENSE UNIT (D.A.N.D.Y.) is an older but no less reliable model of autonomous drone warfare technology. Advanced technology even by today's current standards, this particular D.A.N.D.Y. appears to have been retrofitted with additional software systems and hardware components, strangely emulating organic tissue and organs along with a bio-fuel/coolant circulating throughout its chassis. Despite these glaring changes to its original design, the D.A.N.D.Y. still appears to outclass several organic species in both physical and mental skill (including mansplaining, manipulating, and manwhoring).

Due to the modified power system emulating an entire circulatory system along with a bio-fuel/coolant emulating the necessary fluid for such a system, D.A.N.D.Y. appears to have nigh-unlimited energy banks to continue all of its basic and advanced functions, thanks to this modification. When he does require a recharge, D.A.N.D.Y. can either consume food and/or absorb solar energy to continue running at maximum performance while refilling his matter banks.

While sensors and synthetic systems will read the D.A.N.D.Y. as a synthetic lifeform, the D.A.N.D.Y. appears to emulate more and more like its organic cousins. While initial scans show that the D.A.N.D.Y. appeared to be of standard make and model, closer inspection has shown that it is made of inorganic "cells" that serve as the building blocks. This feature was not intended nor developed by the standard manufacturers and thus voids any and all warranty. The least organic-emulating quality of this unit appears to be its outer body armor.

While each manufactured D.A.N.D.Y. contains a synthetic healing factor, it does not repair wires and steel bolts in the standard fashion. Instead, synthetic muscle reconnect and metal bone snaps back into place as the D.A.N.D.Y. repairs itself rapidly akin to cell growth and regeneration. This repair ability focuses on the most severe wounds or damages before focusing on less critical or life-threatening wounds. D.A.N.D.Y.'s synthetic replication of cellular structures allows it to alter its own structure to an extent--altering density and buoyancy for increased or altered maneuverability--as well as survive harsher environments for an extended or indefinite amount of time.

So far, this particular D.A.N.D.Y. has yet to be killed effectively or permanently.

Capable of all standard and non-standard android functions, the D.A.N.D.Y. excels at conducting special operations and high-risk, high-stress combat or stealth missions, built for this sole purpose. Containing standard stealth technology, D.A.N.D.Y. can remain hidden from standard Terran-based electromagnetic sensors, such as infrared. While incapable of refracting light and rendering itself invisible, the D.A.N.D.Y. can change its outer casing and armor's color to suit its environment better, such as standard forest or desert camouflage colors.

The D.A.N.D.Y. has limited hacking capability. Its most advanced capacity is jamming or overriding nearby communication devices or stations. The modus operandi for this D.A.N.D.Y. appears to be blasting loud Terran music from the speakers of these communication devices.

An apparent defect within this D.A.N.D.Y.'s software indicates that its skills have been divided and randomized into different "playlists" and sub-divided further into "songs" that can only be accessed by the D.A.N.D.Y. activating the "shuffle" function. A defect but perhaps a useful one as it adds a certain amount of unpredictability to the D.A.N.D.Y.'s skillset. This software also appears to be connected to the stress-response portions of his synthetic brain.

However, the patented Asimov Algorithm (code that regulates Asimov's Three Laws within all Asimov products) is continuing to function without issue. While the D.A.N.D.Y. unit remains dangerous and unpredictable to its targets (such as those with outstanding warrants or bounties), the Asimov Algorithm ensures it is not a threat to society at large and only to those that fall outside the algorithm's parameters. The Asimov Algorithm even ensures the D.A.N.D.Y. will assist anyone who may need its immediate help or attention, such as life-threatening situations, sudden combat dangers, or medical emergencies.

 

[Deacon]

Name: λ-9.88 'Deacon'

Age: 33 Terran Years

Race: Krake-Laa

Gender: Krake reproduce asexually and thus have only one gender. Deacon's vocoder speaks with a male voice, so chosen for its more dominant associations among lesser species.

Homeworld: Krake II

Appearance: A jellyfish-like head mounted atop a bulky cybernetic exoframe standing approximately 6'5 in height. The gray bipedal frame has four arms - two for heavy lifting, and two for precision work which can emerge from a chest cavity. Deacon is typically armed with a plasma rifle (mounted upon the back) and scattergun (mounted at the hip). He is accompanied at all times by a hovering drone around the size of a briefcase.

Backstory: As a Krake, 'Deacon' represents an advanced form of symbiotic life adapted to interstellar survival. Krake individuals (the plural is also 'Krake') view themselves as part of a larger collective; they do not have a 'hive mind' per se, but are extraordinarily prosocial within their own species, as effortlessly cooperative with one another internally as they are contemptous and xenophobic towards other life, be it carbon-based or synthetic (the Krake philosophy of 'extrasapient denialism' - the rejection of the notion that other life-forms in the universe have any value or internal experience - attests to this).

To understand this crewmate's backstory, one must first understand the Krake. Every Krake is a symbiotic pair between a limbless, intelligent cerebral shell (the Krake) and a jellyfish-like amphibious outer organism which it is inserted in after hatching (the Laa). The Krake commandeers the Laa organism and uses it as an external body. This process is automated in Krake hatcheries on their homeworlds. The Laa possess no wills of their own, having been completely integrated into the Krake life cycle. Krake express themselves through bioluminescent flares with highly particularized colors and meanings largely decipherable only to other Krake (the Laa tentacle orifices can be vibrated to mimic the vocaloid patterns of lesser sentients as well).

The nuances of Krake philosophy are largely opaque to an outside species, but it is clear that they are - or were - expansion-oriented. The Nniss subjugation was devastating to the Krake in both population and what can only be called pride - taken as a whole, Krake are vindictively revenge-oriented, capable of holding grudges for generations. They share their experiences in packs, transmitting memory-stories at light speed across vast mingling fields. The Krake represent a hybrid between individuals and a form of collective swarm-intelligence; they possess unitary minds, but are compelled to act in loyalty to the species, considering themselves to be but mere cells in an enormous singule organism. As such, they disdain and reject nearly all other forms of life, in which they are in direct competition.

An individual Krake does not question the orders it receives from its hierarchical guildmates. As such, λ-9.88, or DEACON, as he refers to himself for the benefit of his human crewmates, is here to pursue the artifact and fulfill the terms of the contract arranged between the captain of the vessel and himself (Krake are exceptional mercenaries and will always fulfill their contracts).

Specialized Skills and Armaments: As a Krake External Relations agent, Deacon possesses a powerful four-armed cybernetic exoskeleton in which his gelatinous symbiont body is fully integrated. Therefore, the hierarchy of control is as follows: Deacon's shell-like Krake brain sits within the jellyfish body, which itself is attached to the cybernetic frame. Krake symbionts are bred to withstand extreme environments, including the vacuum of space. The gelatinous 'head' protecting the Krake brain is remarkably impact resistant, though it cannot readily move unassisted should the cybernetic body be disabled. A set of grasping tentacles and gaseous-release polyps can propel the body in zero-g environments, or underwater (as on the aquatic Krake homeworld).

Deacon is proficient in both unarmed combat and the use of weapons. He possesses a phase-pulse sniper rifle with an effective range of 75 miles when fully deployed. He makes use of a specially commissioned External Relations drone - a small symmetrical polyhedron which uses a suspensor field to follow him in mid-air. This drone responds to remote commands issued through the Krake exoframe and holds a rotary cannon in its chassis, along with a biological restoration array and full sensor suite. Deacon purchased a jetpack for use in atmospheric landing missions. The fuel-cell powered jump unit provides him with aerial maneuverability when active. Finally, he possesses a Krake scattergun - a slug-throwing weapon which uses hard kinetic bullets fired in a tight spray, rather than an energy weapon.

Defensively, Deacon possesses a personal shield generator integrated into his exoframe, capable of withstanding blasts from energy weapons and protecting him from environmental hazards. The durable exoframe can endure ample punishment before requiring repairs.

As a Krake, Deacon possesses extensive knowledge befitting an External Relations Agent. He is a competent starpilot and can serve as a 'jack-of-all-trades' aboard a craft. His attitude towards his fellow crewmates is one of pure disdain, though he is bound to them by oath until his assigned job is complete.

 

[Ghostly]

Name:
Haigen

Gender:
Male

Age:
Medical estimate places him somewhere in the range of 25 - 35

Race:
Terran

Homeworld:
Unknown, possibly brought up in space.

Skill Set/Powers:
A majority of Haigen's decipherable memories are training scenarios and combat. So far, he has displayed exceptional talent and technique with knives, marksmanship, and martial arts. Most of these skills seem to emerge as Haigen finds a need for them, or in the form of dreams which often replay mundane memories - playing by a river as a child with a young girl, a school dance, a cigarette on a cold night. Occasionally through careful meditation he has been able to draw upon glimpses of memory, but nothing substantial has come yet.

However, these dreams sometimes take the form of almost structured training sessions programmed into his subconscious, ensuring he is keeping up with parrying techniques or the disassembly and cleaning of a M25 Hecate sniper rifle. Occasionally, he has had nightmares of combat - leaving him with more questions than answers.

Affiliation:
Unknown

Backstory:
Almost three months ago, Haigen woke in a recovery room on Hanning's Rest with almost no memory of anything before that point. The fact he was alive at all was next to a miracle. According to his physician, he'd wandered into the clinic on his own two feet, nearly dead and incoherent. With all credit due to his savior, he managed to pull through and survive. When asked for a name, the only one that came to mind was Haigen, though he's unsure if it was ever his to begin with.

Once he was well enough to walk on his own again, Haigen began piecing what little knowledge he had together - which seemed nearly impossible when it was clear he owned - or at least stumbled into this clinic - with nothing more than a pair of knives and a pack of cigarettes.

He tried smoking them. They tasted terrible.

With no other leads, he elected to leave the clinic with no leads and nothing to get by on. That was, until he received handwritten summons from one Mr. Eido. The offer seemed clear, dangerous, and a little improbable, but with nothing else to guide him and the potentially reward of 'anything you could want' on the line, Haigen had to take the chance this might lead nowhere.

Appearance:
Haigen stands slightly taller than the average Terran, perhaps due to an upbringing as a spacer, but without his memory this cannot be confirmed. His body shows a history of trauma - bearing a number scars, some recent and still dressed. He is most comfortable in clothing that highlights utility and ease of movement.

He has soft eyes, warm one could say - dull say others. Currently, he wears his hair long and does his best to keep it tied back and up out of his way.