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Aberrant: Dead Rising - Character - Doctor Varroxxian

Doctor Varroxxian

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… Doctor Varroxxian ...

… Z-Day ...

Luke was a looser, and he knew it. A dropout who had probably wasted

his chances, who had been disowned by his family for the debacle at

college – and for the expulsion … or was it for the narrowly averted

stint in prison for all that pot? Pre-med, brilliant … basketball centre,

captain of the wrestling team … Harvard scholarship ... all flushed down

the toilet. All for nothing, and no real school would have him darken

their door ... ever.

He would never ... ever ... be a doctor.

So how did he end up here? Trying not to think any more about the 'this

point in my low-life life' here and considering his surroundings Luke had

no choice but to get another drink. It was a cruise in the Caribbean,

and he was there with Samantha - a sex in the city sort of woman, more

than twice his age. She wasn't bad looking, not great either - but

she liked his physical gifts. She wanted it three times a day minimum and

liked that her social circle saw him on her arm. He was up for it

because it came with a nice place to crash, and perks like the cruise. In

fact they had travelled the world in these last seventeen months.

He tried not to think about the downsides, like how all of his clothes

belonged to her except a few T-shirts and jeans. He wanted to forget

about how one long six month party had blown his college fund and got

him expelled - about how he knew his real gifts were wasted. He

laughed, and smiled, and made sure his six pack showed through this

open shirt as he sipped campaign at Samantha's side. He tried not to

think how he hated this 'soiree'.

Samantha had been under the weather, in fact the whole ship seemed to

have come down with something - nasty flu maybe. He'd read about that

happening, close quarters and all - cruise liner disaster. Still,

people had come out for the night's festivities even though they

dragged themselves around like they should be in bed. Then the

screams came, the confusion ... Mrs. Hillweather just bit someone's ear off!

For f**Ks sake what is going on?!? People look half dead! He was fine

though, aside from being bitten by old man Jimson. His head was

swimming with too much booze, and he was locked in an electrical

service room, alone, no water. There were screams outside, fighting -

thank God they had run those lines from these panels to the sound

system in a half-assed way. Otherwise this door would have been

locked, and the old people would ... have ... eaten him alive? It was

hard to even think about, and his hand really hurt. The old fella had

tried to take a bite out of him as he was pulling cables to get the

door shut. Defensive wound though, not too bad. He really hoped that

he wouldn't have to drink his own piss to survive this. He began to

fall asleep on a pile of boxes with the world going to hell outside

his door ... his watch read 1:06 AM. It had been seven hours in here,

and he had to crap in a bucket, but at least the screaming and

fighting outside had subsided. He began to fall asleep as he wept for

the first time in years.

To dream of floating in a cloud, like a nebula might look on the

inside but warm. He was calm until he realized he wasn't breathing -

he was drowning in some sort of smoke or vapour and his lungs tingled.

The panic subsided as he drew a deep breath and realized that

everything was just a bit numb, tingling inside and out. He was

unusually lucid though, he could remember pi to fourteen digits. In

fact, he was feeling better than he had in a long time. Unable to move

relative to anything in this shimmering void - just floating, he began

to notice strange and intricate patterns in the substance that

surrounded him. He began to notice his own body was - different -

made up of folds and strange shapes he could not name. Shapes he

could not draw, but could somehow see mirrored in the void. It was as

if he were in his own reality, and he could move relative to the

patters of light, even shifting his perspective relative to his own body.

"OK", he thought "I've taken something - Samantha has slipped me

something and I am tripping or something. Tibetan sex powders or some

shite". Clearly he had just started off with a bit of a bad trip, but

this was some stuff she had found. Like that time in Osaka, or the

stuff they almost got busted for in Cape Town ... oh man, there had

been good times with this lady. This stuff was hitting him hard - harder

than anything they tried in Amsterdam ... and that was a crazy week of

resorts and white powder. Making the most of it, he imagined

his arms as tentacles, he learned to swim in the void, and he reveled

in deep thoughts ... all in what seemed like a timeless state, an

eternity in some reality outside (underneath?) the regular world. He

relived his life, or so it seemed - and he could recall so much.

Every gong-fu movie fest, every class that he had half slept through,

every insanely dull book that he had edited before quitting

McGraw-Hill - an amazing wealth of self-knowledge and its context. It

was as if he lived in his own reality, but he was utterly alone - a

true master of his own form. He became exceedingly lonely.

With great effort he could 'swim' or rather kind of slither, flow,

shift ... through the nebula void. Once he even thought he saw someone

else and he willed himself toward the other. It turned out to be some

sort of refection, but also a part of him. As if he was a plant and

had shot off a rhizome that grew into a copy ... and then was gone.

That was a bit disturbing, but nothing like coming to the edge of the

nebula and facing howling madness. The void had been familiar, more

or less - sometimes more. In places, as he moved, he thought he could

almost feel places he recognized but the stark void was chaos. He had

never considered what chaos was, but it was terrible to behold, almost

impossible to comprehend. Shapes that were painful, patterns that

were not warm but suddenly hot. He had accidentally strayed into the

chaos, and felt like he had stepped one foot off a thousand foot

cliff. In reflex he retreated, recoiled from the horror and found

himself in a cooler place.

… Day 2 ...

Not only was it cooler, but he felt different and he could see (feel?

sense?) the electrical room. Then he was ‘back’. The emergency lights had

run down to a dim red, barely enough to see by. It was warm, and the

air was stale. The HVAC had gone out. Well at least he wasn't in a

sealed space - just stuffy. He was hungry though, monster hangover

hungry. He had to leave the safety of his hidey-hole ... so he

undoogged the heavy watertight hatch and stepped out. The deck wasn't

right ... the ship was about four degrees listing starboard and it was

deathly quiet. Sunlight was streaming into the ballroom and the

carnage was incredible. As he went to the buffet tables and

overturned dim-sum carts he surveyed the gore. Folding the

tablecloths into a Edo era Samurai style backpack he remembered from a

movie in his high-school Japanese class he methodically gathered up

everything that wasn't spattered with gore - passing on anything with

a moisture content that might be more prone to some sort of bacterial

contamination, everything from the bottom layers of the chafing dishes

... and some of the bottled drinks. He ate and drank like a starving

man, so hungry that the sight of his fellow passengers mauled on the

floor did not upset his stomach in the slightest.

Making his way out onto the deck he saw that the ship had run aground

on a small island, ten or twelve square miles by his estimate - and

probably no real water because there was no settlement. The ship was

firmly planted atop a reef in the shallow lagoon off what would have

been a splendid beach in less f**ked up circumstances. This ship had

sailed her last, even a typhoon couldn't unseat her from this.

Suddenly he heard a shout "You! What are you doing! Run man run!"

Looking around Luke saw the officer calling to him from the bridge

deck, and then spotted the shambling horde that was approaching from

the shuffleboard courts. They were a horrid semblance of life - not

rotten but starting to bloat slightly like corpse in tropical heat.

Here and there limbs hung at wrong angles, a steward had no jaw -

ripped off. Some of them had been partially eaten ... it was like

Night of the Living dead with a much better budget.

Running like hell - but with some sort of (drug?) flashback to that

dream ... he was somehow in is cabin. Poor Samantha, he though as he

saw several sets of her shoes. He had tried not to look, not to think

about her broken form in the once-grand ball room. He set down his

backpack and just sat down on the bed. Then he - well the other him -

rushed in through their room door and they faced each other. Then the

screaming in horror came, which also subsided as the two ... hims ...

realized that they were just as afraid of each other as, well it was

confusing. So was the exploratory touching of hands - like coming up

to a mirror to touch your own reflection but realizing its real. Even

crazier was the re-absorption, and the flood of knowledge, of

experience. As it turned out, the other him had been in a more direct

meeting with the zombies (was he really thinking the word zombies?).

Yeah, and the other him had changed into grizzly bear - the same

grizzly bear that had scared the heck out of him when it wandered into

his boy scout camp years ago. Sitting in his room, making notes on his

Palm TX PDA about what he had seen and done.

Hold crud - he could shape shift, and teleport! Somehow.

Sh*t - there is a zombie outbreak. Zombie swarm? What to call it?

Really do hope the world isn't over.

After having gathered his thoughts and made notes, he moved to drop

the PDA in its charge cradle ... realizing that there was no power.

He then made his notes again, in Samantha's diary. Inventorying the

room, securing the valuables and supplies under the bed in fairly well

hidden cache he then trashed the room. If it looks like it has been

picked clean, they won't look too hard. Carrying what he couldn't hide,

looking like some sort of Samurai-Ronin-Mad-Max-reject-cross-dresser

with his layers of light clothes and backpack with web gear made of fine

ladies handbags and purses. At least he had brought two sturdy pairs

of hiking boots, a couple pair of deck shoes and his favourite hat.

He had the eco-gimmick metal water bottles from their visit to the spa.

Good canteens. Sandra was a smoker too, so a couple of high fashion

Zippos and fluid refills meant fire. One of the ship's fire axes worked too,

can't count on these powers ...

Making his way out into the hall, he left the door closed and got a

laundry cart. from what seemed to be a dead housekeeper - kicking her

to make sure she was dead-dead, not un-dead. It seemed that there had

been some fires below decks, the air was fouled in places but he found

his body adapting. Many of the dead-dead had suffocated ... seems like

the watertight compartments had gone airtight somehow. They had

smothered to death en mass. Someone else had been picking through the

rooms - and here he was. Lost a zombie fight. From the dragging,

irregular footprints in his blood it seemed that the walking dead had

grouped up and left by the way he had come in. The fellow had a small

propane torch on him, and aluminium tape with some tools (take them).

This bastard had suffocated the sick hoping they wouldn't rise some

other way. Hadn't worked out exactly that way.

Below decks he found similar stories ... and some of the walking dead.

In his first few encounters he just ran the other way - they were

slower. Until he got cornered, then the bear came out again ... sure

it was a bear made of metal ... not sure where that came from but

whatever ... his blade like claws and metal skin made short work of

the shamblers. From a quiet lookout aft, it seemed that the horde of

dead was gathered around barricades to the upper decks - the bridge

and adjacent officers’ quarters had become a hold out for some

survivors.. The zombies seemed to sense they were there, and with slow

thudding blows seemed to be trying to break through the barricade. The

metal banquet tables had been welded in place - and still the dead

tried to get to fresh meat on the other side. Suddenly there was a

shout, and a glancing blow on Luke's shoulder ...

Again, and in rapid succession ... plink plink, he was being shot! It

was just deflecting from his metal skin. He called out, but a deep

roar came out. Right ... I am a big stainless steel bear. He took

cover, not exactly knowing how to change back right this moment as he'd

been this way since he was cornered. He had placed it though, this was

from a comic book his friend had written in his first year of college.

He was a robot bear death machine ... from Robot Bear Death Machine

Issue 1. OK, it had never made it to print - but that was what he was.

The rest of the day was spent gathering supplies, tearing zombies

apart, and relocating himself to a defensible holdout. Also dodging

the terrified survivors, who were - quite rightly - terrified of him too.

Sometime after the moon just passed its highest point he was done -

his holdout was secure, and so were the immediate decks. He managed to

change his hand enough to work tools, and had welded himself a safe

room. Then, after an adrenaline filled day ... twenty hours of work,

stress and fighting plus a belly comfortably full of the food that

would go off by tomorrow ... he fell asleep again. Then came the

dreams of the shining void.

… Day 4 …

Over what could have been hours, or days he slept. in the void he

discovered the geometry of his essential form, the shape of reality

that lay under what science or language can yet describe. He folded

space, and folded matter - but he could only affect himself for he was

all in that realm. The rest was just brilliant shadows of reality -

some recognizable as his own reality, some utterly alien. In this

space he gained knowledge of himself, he gained an understanding of

science and medicine by studying himself and all the permutations of

himself. He learned how to move, how to shift, how to shape, and he

could even mirror himself. He woke knowing he could do these things

in the physical world ... he wanted to consider it the real world, but

what if the nebula was actually real?

Dismissing those thoughts he again ate, and used the composting toilet

he'd set up. Important thing that, not having to smell your own stink

in a mostly enclosed space. Checking his watch, he had been sleeping

for thirty hours. He felt so alone, and he had to go to the survivors.

Carefully, still not in full control, he changed his shape to human. If

anyone could see, he seemed to just blink - a clean film edit in reality.

The FX people in Hollywood would probably end up adding flash, but

even Luke didn't have an outside perspective ... for him it was a

transformation in the radiant void. A mere moment later in this reality his

body was strong like the steel bear, and tough like armour plates - but

looking human. He made his way to the deck and climbed up a level.

From here he could see a bit of the survivors stronghold, and he waved

his white-linen flag. Hundred thread count sheets waving white in the

wind ... he called out. "Hello! Hello! I am Ohh Kay! Not a Zombie!",

waiting for a reply and getting none he added "Don't shoot! I am

coming over!"

With a few of the walking dead in his way he slashed and crushed his

way to the stronghold - only to discover one of the barriers had given

way. They had fought tooth and nail, but there were only two survivors

- the Comms officer and a cook. Both of them bitten, both of them

pale. They had fallen back to the bridge, and when Luke made it clear

there were no more of the dead left they let him in. For the first

time in days Luke wasn't alone, but it wouldn't last. He saw they

were infected with whatever this agent was. They wouldn't last the

night - so he shared their last few hours and then put them out of

their misery. That was the hardest thing to cope with, he had to put

them down like one would a wounded animal. At they end, they even

reminded him of rabid dogs - a loyal, good animal that had to be put

down. Then, once again, he was alone.

.... 1 Month ...

He hadn't found any people on the island. He had cleaned up most of

the ship, given the dead proper burials - even said last rites. He

wasn't Catholic, but it looked good in the movies he remembered. He

had managed to catch some of the cached online news and web pages on

various computers hooked to the satellite feed system. The news

outlets hadn't offered much but the net held out long enough to

confirm that his story had played out across the world. The world had

died that day, about a month ago ... but their must be survivors He

thought about preparing, he even stabilized the ship (it is amazing

what a few super strong clones of him can do when they cooperate). He

changed into a giant bird, something like he imagined a condor to be

if it were carved in titanium like animated alloys. In this way he

searched the surrounding islands, but he found hordes of walking dead.

The rich and well to do didn't do all that well against the locals, or

each other ... no survivors in a fifty mile radius.

He was alone for now, but he had plenty to do. He could shift into anything

but he needed practice with the forms ... some machines were actually way

easier than living things, but he didn't know as much about 'hard' tech. He

explored biology to extremes though, even testing the idea that his clones

and him (or others) could exist symbiotically .... the clone changes into a

sort of bio-suit - does all the work while he armours up and 'pilots' inside.

Fortunately his clones come from him, and he's cool with idea - so they are

too. He explored body modification, and replicating the amazing systems

found in nature - like the vision of an eagle. Nature used available

materials but he could use whatever he imagined. Birds with exotic alloy

bones, hand like claws, and composite feathers were his experiment for a

while ... and he became quite practised in making incredible flying forms

with phenomenal long-range-wide-spectrum vision ... biology already did

so much that he could compound with science ... and when he willed it, with

what he understood only as 'magic'. It was very clear to him that his

knowledge base only informed his use of power, and there was much

more to be learned.

… 2 Months ...

Luke had become quite practiced at his new-found powers. His body and

mind were changing too, accelerating. He no longer needed to eat as

much - or at all, except that it offered him some human comfort. He

had run into a lone zombie that had almost killed him, even in his

bear form ... but once he optimized his physiology for the fight that

zombie was toast. Damned thing even broke off one of his blade

claws... When he shifted back that equated to a missing finger, which

had regrown itself in four minutes. Nifty that, very handy - though it meant

shifting to a regenerative form and that might not be viable in combat.

Luke had even made it to an enclave in Jamaica - where he announced

himself as Dr. Varroxxian. Also from his days of helping with the comic

book - why not? Plus he was becoming sort of a Doc Savage type - all

web gear and cargo pants. His knowledge of science and medicine had

positively blossomed - his skills with computers and engineering remained

mediocre, but his incredible intelligence managed to fill in the pieces. In

this world gone to hell, maybe he could call himself a doctor despite the

failings of his past.

Doc Varrroxx made his visits to the enclave, and made a difference

there - but there were none like him. There were no others there who

had gained powers ... yet it was highly improbable he was alone. Not

wanting to risk falling into the "chaos zones" of the "nebula realm"

he had limited his teleportation to familiar places. If he really

steeled himself, he discovered that he could go anywhere he had been

... even if only having been there for a moment ... but the trip to

unfamiliar physical locations took him far too close to the chaos

zones. This research would take him months, and unfortunately he

could only access rudimentary equipment and supplies. Even those he

eventually donated to the local enclave - stripping areas of the ship

to set up a decent fortified clinic.

… 4 Months ...

Varro, as his friends had begun to call him - sounded Spanish so he

sort of let his features settle more that way - made his rounds. He

flew high, a silver bird surveying the land. He returned to his old

home to find New York city a ruined wasteland. Hordes of undead and

buildings ravaged by fire made for a land good only for salvaging the

relics of civilization past. Boston, the same ... even as far north as he

could easily teleport - the Alaskan Glacier where he and Samantha

had camped on the adventure package last year ... all the same. In

general, he didn't visit many enclaves in North America. Watching with

his telescopic lens hawk eyes he had seen there was more violence

than he was used to. Maybe it was the tougher conditions up here, not

like you could just go eat a palm tree, scoop some fresh crab from the

shore with a simple net, or open up a coconut as a fresh beverage.

Some annoying little things he discovered along the way led him to much

contemplation - it seemed his teeth and nails had become fixed

somewhere between the steel bear form he first assumed and human.

He had no trouble talking, eating, or with manipulation ... but he had

these metallic bits. That and his eye color was sometimes off, the

mole on his cheek came and went, and lost track of time since he

rarely slept much anymore. But his teeth and ... claws ... were the most

troubling aspect. Everything else was just habitual, or from sloppy

shape shifting. They teeth we're anything he could identify either, not

magnetic in any way, only mildly conductive, and fairly strong (though

not exceptionally so if he didn't use his juice to shift them to weapons,

etc.). He learned to hide them - wearing gloves and not speaking with

this mouth very wide. The nails *must* be associated somehow with

his blade claws, some sort of essential part of his transformation ... but

a part he could no longer bring back to 'human' norm. He learned to

stabilize them, able to effect them in a partial change ... just as he had

learned to summon massive strength by affecting a partial change. Yet

he could not restore them ... it seemed there was some things that one

could not go back on.

The worst thing was that normal people sensed he was somehow

different. Just a little bit, but enough to throw them off. Somehow, he felt

disconnected from them ... even though they listen and even obey when

he tells them too. Still it was different with his team, in school. He related

to the guys back then, he was one of them ... but now there was a divide.

His teeth, his claws, his change of perspective ... the inability to relate to the

people at the enclave. Varro contemplated, even discussed with himself,

a big question: What am I?

... 5 Months ...

Gathering supplies for the enclave was fairly easy work. Varro had mastered

a few handy forms that made raids against normal targets not a problem.

He could manage four clones, and that sort of team had facilitated a great

set-up on the island too. He had also learned to be cautious with para-humans.

One notable case was a man by the name of Harris - Emperor Harris. He had

gone a bit off his rocker, but he was like a drug. It had taken all the mental

reserves Varro had not to go back to the fellow after he absorbed the memories

of the clone scout who visited the madman. Fortunately the Emperor was

insanely focused on his tiny island kingdom - convinced it was the last refuge

for humanity. He also had a passive aggressive way of dealing with other

para-humans ... namely pitting them against each other. They didn't seem to

last too long, and his scout clone was sure he had already been slated for

the gladiatorial arena by the time that him managed to teleport away.

Varro shuddered at how strong the influence of even the second hand,

absorbed memories were. This sort of power could mandate the irrational.

Hyper-social abilities worried him, but there was little he could do except

establish a policy of isolating himself from direct contact. Then he would question

the scout clone extensively, have that other him write reports (according to a

coded format) along the way - and not absorb the memories directly. He had

begun to notice his own hyper-social capacity emerging. Was this something he

had to have ethical worries about? Physical power was one thing, but social

power ... was it too much for an individual to handle?

… 7 Months ...

Though Varro had been thinking about the cause of it all, he had been

more concerned with the state of it. He had helped the Blue Valley

enclave in Jamaica, but had declined any sort of leadership role. He

just felt unable to really relate to these people, and the tensions

really built when he broke the news that they were all infertile. He

had noted the total lack of pregnancy despite lots of unprotected sex.

Some still don't believe him, some blame him in an unconscious way,

but he doesn't show his face there too much anymore. "Perhaps", he

thought, "I am not a great community builder. Maybe I need to find one

that suits people like me." Certainly he had met 'supers' like him.

Some of them had even been OK, but they had all been little kings of

their own castles. The ones who looked like they could take him he

stayed away from, and he used clones whenever he could. A few times,

they didn't come back - most of the time his giant metalic spider form

clones, or a pack of stainless steel bears, won the day. Fortunately,

there were few super combats all in all, since he tried not to fight, and

even harder not to kill.

Along the way he found a woman, about his age - smart as a whip and

cute. Sterile like all the others so far, but she appealed to him. He

was determined to afford her some safety - even luxury - in this

world. He still felt distant from her, different - but he also felt love. At

least something more than just physical, erotic love. She'd survived

alone and so had he. She had become a scientist, and become stranded

at a research station studying the flora of tiny island for cancer drugs.

Varro ... he didn't even think of himself as Luke any longer ...

planned to strike out from his shipboard haven. With all the easy

salvage gone from the vessel it was of no real value except as a huge

empty castle. He had sealed off the top castle and the small upper rec

deck so that zombies (if they swam?) couldn't get in - heavy steel

bulkheads double deep, no vents, no lines to the rest of the ship, no

small accessible spaces for things to hide in (who knew if rats were

carriers of a potential virus?) - and lots of natural light when the

steel shutters weren't in place. There was enough water from rain

catchment (a use for the upper swimming pool) and enough chemicals to

purify years’ worth - and more than enough food stores for Weiwei to

spend her time here studying. The supplies were even cached in a

panic room in case someone got any ideas, but there was no one else

for fifty miles. Really, the place was just for Weiwei, maybe-visitors and

a little relaxation. Sometimes he just like to sit in a wing-back

leather chair or sleep in a well-appointed cabin. "There will be time

for that later" he said to WeiWei, "assembling a better library like

we've talked of would be a great thing. Maybe using botanical and

glassware level lab gear to explore some bioengineering research.

First, I’ll find a place that's actually a home for us ... a community."


They spent the last night before his trip excitedly talking about the

lab she wanted to set up, strategies for scavenging remote scientific

sites, and finding like minds - finding scientists out there. To himself,

Varro thought about how much the powers he'd seen so far - even his

own - were more like magic. He could create mass - so much energy in

that mass that it would dwarf the worlds nuclear arsenal going off in one

go for some of the shifts he had pulled off. He could survive without any

apparent intake to supply his metabolism - even oxygen seemed moot as

he had tested himself by taking extended strolls in red tide waters - with

little or no dissolved oxygen there is no way he needed anything like

respiration. Plus there was the teleportation, which was a direct effect

of the nebula realm. He has regularly been violating the laws of physics.

Even with his new-found enlightenment, an inhuman level of intelligence,

he still had only the faintest idea of how to even investigate any of it.

Clearly, Weiwei had sensed that he yearned to know more about himself.

More than once, she had been present when some new feature of his ever

evolving form became apparent. It wasn't the physical things that took

him by surprise these days - it was the things that science couldn't

explain. Like how we was able to sense the universe without senses ...

Breakfast the next day was a happy farewell - she cooked up the last

of the birds eggs along with the bao she'd made from palm flour.


When his various selves returned from their first week of searching he

found the haven empty. Tracking what might have become of Weiwei he

eventually found her. On a routine trip to the coconut palms of the

island for resupply she had been bitten by spiders. He hadn't been there

but the venom has ravaged her - the pain must have been excruciating.

Still, she had written him a farewell. For the first time in months, maybe

since Z-day he had shed tears. Alone, without the help of a community

she had died there in the jungle. She had died a senseless, painful death.

He felt the loss, deeply - even though they had only been friends and

lovers for less than six weeks. He buried her with the others, and while

saying a solemn prayer ... decided to leave the place.

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... Details ...

PC Name: Doctor Varroxxian (once Luke Smith)

Player Name: Chris Kent

Age: 22 (Born Dec 2nd, 1985)

Concept: Scoundrel Turned Lonely, Pensive Hero

Power Theme: The "Radiant Void", the "Nebula Realm" – an alternate

dimension that Varro visits where only he, what he is attuned to, and

various forms of exotic matter / energy exist in perfect harmony

(except for the chaos zones that lie outside his light-cone space). In

it, he has control over reality – mostly over himself and what little

he can bring along (Shape Shift to anything, Clone) though he hasn't tried

interacting with the exotic matter of the realm at all. At the moment he has

control over his movement relative to normal reality (teleport) but won't venture

near the chaos zones unless absolutely necessary - so that means no

telelporting blind (scares the hell out of him).

His time in this dimension is not related to the passage of real time, but

it gains him no advantage over normal time (i.e. his thoughts are 'cinematic'

in there so at this point he can ponder cosmic stuff but not work out real world

problems very well, and at most he might 'blink' out of reality for the briefest

moment while his powers are used … not long enough for any consequential

occurrence and probably too quick to observe under normal conditions). Even

before he evolved adaptability, he noted that he didn't need to breath there ...

his body in some state of homoeostasis - as if he was being supported in a

cosmic womb.

Even without specifically shifting, he has begun a permanent transformation.

An incredible superhuman stamina, the spontaneous 'Adaptability' with it,

and changes in his mind too - an incredible level of intelligence. *Most* of the

changes he rationalizes as partial transformation ... even learning to 'stabilize'

his nails as claws and summon incredible strength without a full transformation.

Equipment: TBD, he travels light at the moment, with only a backpack, light

clothes, survival supplies in web gear - and his hat. The home he spent time

making currently holds too many hard memories for him, so he abandoned it.

He still has a decent medical bag stashed - he is a 'Doc' after all.

Survival Supplies:

- 3 x Zippo Lighters (W)

- 2 x Fuel Cans (P)

- 1 x Multi Tool (W)

- 2 x Industrial Solar Flash-lights (W - used as headlights for car form

to keep the base form very simple)

- 1 x Basic Medkit (divided between W & P)

- 1 x Pocket Watch in bismuth lined case (W - diamagnetic case)

- 10 x Mylar Survival Blankets (1 Pack in W, 1 Pack in P)

- 10 x Extra Bandages (P)

- 2 x Standard Issue Canteens (W)

- 500 x Water Purification Tablets (W)

- 1 x Stainless Steel Pot (Small) (P)

- 1 x Flint, Steel & Tinder Box (W)

- 1 x 100 ft marine grade cordage spool (W)

- 3 x Bags of Beef Jerky (P)

- 1 x Bags of Candies (W - for the enclave kids)

- 4 x Bags of Candies (P)

- 1 x Pencil Box (W)

- 1 x Paper Notebook in waterproof case (W)

- 4 x Paper Notebooks (P - these are for clones, so their reports don't disappear)

- 1 x Spare Pencil Box (P)

- 3 x Red Cross Banners (W - Used to identify himself as something other than

a monstrous horror while shape changed, and it fits his usual medical mission.

The banners have sewn holes that make them wearable in a variety of ways,

as a tabbard for example.)

(W = web gear, P = Pack)

(Resources 0, but he doesn't eat, keep a vehicle or house - focusing

on keeping some simple supplies at hand instead of all that)

(He often gives candies to enclave kids, and he keeps lots and lots of notes

to try and collect data on para-humans, the pandemic, map notes, etc. ... so

candy and notes he does have stocks of ...)

Attunement Note: Without Pack, 208 lbs

Appearance: Varies, shapeshifter. See profile pic for something close

to the original Luke – with Nova physique tacked on. The only odd things

about him are the minor cosmetic fluctuations in his form, and his teeth / nails.

The teeth and nails are a dull, unnatural metallic hue with strange properties

... and a feral, wild appearance somewhere between animal and human.

Base Height: 5'7" (170 cm)

Base Weight: 158 lbs (71.6 kg)

Base Eye Colour: Green

Base Hair Colour: Black

Base Skin Tone: Caucasian, Tanned (almost, but not quite Hispanic)

In his more intimidating (read monstrous) forms, he often displays

Red Cross banners. On salvage raids, he often wears the Red Cross

as a loose tabbard over the web gear in 'Terminator' form.

IMAGE GALLERY: https://sites.google...arroxxian-image

*** Click here for fun shape shifting forms from the Doc ***

Note: the forms he favours have low complexity in terms of the base form,

he doesn't strive to get the details right every time - just a good overall form.

After all, how many steel birds or bears are there to get confused with? His focus

is on the function, not the form (i.e. intentionally allocating only one success to

the form, the rest on powers and enhancements).

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