Voice Jan 6, 2015 23:56:46 GMT -5
Post by Voice (OOC) on Jan 6, 2015 23:56:46 GMT -5
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Voice (Name Unknown)
Voice is generally your cliche quiet persona who sheds few words. You've got a better chance of escaping the Menagerie than of seeing more than one expression out of him, most days. A thinking man, everything around him poses social questions or needs closer examination. Inhabitants seem more like lab rats for him to study, to learn about their interactions and to be able to better himself at reading, reacting, and therefore, surviving in this world. The most simple of interactions may demand the deepest of examination from him, which seems to alienate most people. Other inhabitants pose more use as targets for his internal research, rather than friends - leaving him few acquaintances. Ironic, considering that he abhors the Keepers for their research.
When his demeanor does finally change, he's generally extremely sarcastic and exhibits extreme notions of narcissism. These come out as subtle cues during conversation, his rigid body language, or just general distrust of everything around him.
On the extremely rare occurence that he becomes angry (although maybe not as rare as he'd like people to believe), he's generally apt to keep his wits about him rather than see red and become belligerent. Inexperience and incompetence tend to hit his nerves the fastest and, given the previous mention of narcissism, he doesn't have a hard time finding either at fault in most individuals around him.
This portrays a general outline of Voice's usual demeanor. However, he's very much a maverick or unorthodox person, subject to change based on the environment or situation around him. No matter what, survival is the most important motivator.
Ah, the difficult section. The whole reason behind the alias of "Voice" is that he does not remember much of his past. Mental blocks and the power of an emotionally damaged mind are extremely powerful factors when it comes to the psychological persona, which has led him to unknowingly refuse to remember much of it. The Keepers ran experiment after experiment on him, some while under the power of an anesthetic and others... not so much. During the latter experiments, Voice was eventually able to disassociate himself mentally so as not to remember the torturous ordeal or the pain involved. Think of him as an onion... You have to peel it back layer by layer, and there is a lot of crying involved - Not to mention the smell :3
The experiments themselves were a bit more intensive than many Anthromorphs, given that his father was a shifter as well and the Keepers chose to track him down and analyze the both of them as a father-son combination. Though Voice doesn't know of his father's survival or the reason behind their intrigue, the Keepers wanted to see what sort of traits may transcend any particular species of shift or if there may be a connection between two people due to their blood relations.
So it begins...
His father and his mother split at an early age, with him being the oldest of three children. His father abandoned the family, being long sought-after by German law enforcement due to his felonial ways and believed organized crime connections. Voice does not remember much of his father given this detail, choosing instead to loathe the idea of him for leaving the family on hard times. His mother, more of a maternal figure than a worker, couldn't do much to provide for the family. Yvonne did what she could, but children of lower socio-economic strati have to find ways to survive one way or another. Voice and his brethren did just that, often times in illegal manners.
In an attempt to remove himself from his mother's depression and the broken household, Voice fled to a nearby town at the age of thirteen, where he was forced to fend for himself. It was at that point that he shifted for the first time, while trying to outrun a couple of local street thugs who were after him late one evening. He had rounded a corner in a rush, having a good few steps on them thanks to his generally nimble movements. However, Fate would have it that he would slip on the air itself, crashing roughly to the ground. The footsteps shook the ground as the thugs rumbled closer, screaming and shouting obscenities from the alleyway. They were surely going to beat him severely for the coin he had stolen, ironically not long after they had extorted it from a local family. Fear took hold of him and his insides seemed to squeeze themselves so tightly that he thought he was shrinking.
Until he realized that he was shrinking. His body was rapidly elongating, and his skin cracked and splintered, hardening into polygonal plates that would turn out to be scales in a few moments. His eyes narrowed, his pupils following suit. His tongue split, quite painfully he must add, down the middle and shrunk into the forked tongue of a serpent. Within moments, he found himself underneath a nearby dumpster. Except that he couldn't quite make it out. But with every flick of his tongue, multitudes of sensations gripped his mind. He could taste the smell of the trash, of the metal, of the rust. The moisture and humidity in the air shocked his mind as his body's temperature tried to fluctuate and adjust accordingly. It was going to rain, and he could tell, yet he couldn't make out the slighest cloud in the sky. His body seemed to act and function on its own accord, as if he had done this before. The power of instincts, he would later presume.
The thugs had stopped nearby, astounded that Voice had disappeared. He could taste their disappointment, and even a hint of anxiety? Or was it fear?
Fear. They were afraid that he was hiding nearby, unsure how he had eluded them in an alley devoid of hiding places or nooks to shove into. He could feel them pacing around, feel the change in the air and taste the beads of sweat on their brows. It was strange that he could sense such a subtle scent, being that it was so far above him. Until it wasn't. One of the thugs had bent over to throw a glance beneath the dumpster, directly in front of Voice's head. Without another thought, Voice struck out like a streak of lightning. His fangs sunk deep into the flesh of the thug's jawline, injecting venom before he recoiled just as quickly. Seemingly stunned by his own actions, Voice actually paused while the thug scrambled backwards screaming and yelling while grasping at his face.
What had he done? He didn't even think about striking the young man; It just happened.
Before Voice could think any further, he had struck again - This time at a groping hand beneath the dumpster. They were trying to investigate what had happened, unsure of whether the previous victim was babbling nonsense (Come on... A snake in the city?) or actually telling the truth. Before any others could investigate, Voice was gone.
From there, Voice wandered Germany in search of something, but unsure of what. He had no ambition to go to university or gain a career. The streets were providing more than enough food and monetary funds now that he was able to sneak into areas undetected and kill without being seen. Killing others did not even phase him - If they were in his shoes, he would be dead. So why shouldn't he do the same and make sure that he survived to see the next day? Why should he allow himself to starve if he had a means of putting food in his stomach? It was just... nonsensical.
Besides, if he wanted a book or novel, he could just steal it.
This same course of aimless survival persisted until just after his 22nd birthday, when he was picked up working his way out of Germany on some other aimless venture. Voice had thought himself safe by keeping to small towns throughout the country, but instead had attracted the attention of UNIT trackers that were using that exact logic to find shifters. Apparently, he was neither the first to think of it nor as smart as he believed himself to be.