Name: "Dr. Jesus Jones", apparently. Nobody knows what other names he might have had in his life, really.
Gender: Male
Species: Xanquat
Stats:
Strength: 1
Endurance: 1
Perception: 1
Finesse: 3
Technical: 3
Mind: 1
Skills:
Melee: 0
Guns: 1
Explosives: 0
Fleshtech: 4
First Aid: 2
Chemistry: 1
Hacking: 0
Robotics: 2
Vehicles: 0
Appearance: Dr. Jesus Jones presents the answer to the question no reasonable human in their lives has ever asked - what DOES a shaved Xanquat look like? The answer is apparently slightly disturbing to look upon - a leathery, light tan-gray humanoid, with its entire skin hanging slightly loosely off its body, similarly to one of those hairless cats, except with eight limbs, a non-mammalian sort of face and non-visible ears. As a result, Dr. Jesus looks quite wizened and ancient, though there is reason to believe that this might not be at all the case. He tends to walk with his lower pair of arms behind his back, and keeps his rear and front legs close together in an effort to appear more humanlike. Tends to wear inconspicuous clothing, and steers very much away from any strikingly Xanquat fashion trends, which pretty much relegates him to the fashions of the Fwimza, which are, as a rule, quite brightly colored and evocative of other races' kitsch and camp - Thunkal-style knee-length shorts, bright violet with yellow stars on them, human-style bright red pumps for shoes, a Neptunian-style poncho they would give away for free at a thrift shop if they weren't so dang greedy, navy blue with periwinkle stripes, and a human-style cowboy hat with a strap to hold it down, dark purple.
Bio: Dr. Jesus Jones, unlike many of today's Xanquat, is actually a homeworlder - quite a rare thing these days, and often a badge of pride among certain Xanquat in the pub posturing the race is so often characterized by these days now that their military has been effectively declawed by gods among men. He showed little aptitude for much of anything during his youth and, like most Xanquat who failed to distinguish themselves at something before a certain age, was thus drafted into the military, where he was trained as a medic and shown the ways of Xanquat fleshtech and methods of aiding a great variety of both Xanquat and others, for the empire did conscript far and it did conscript wide. Like at most other things, he showed no particular talent, but he worked hard and he worked long, and his skills were honed to about the level that a proper flesh technician first class (easily recognizable by their shaved bodies - no fleshtech was permitted to have hair for fear of shedding during delicate operations, and in the spirit of this Dr. Jones regularly shaves his body to this very day) was expected to demonstrate. He had been on many deployments and recruitment drives, saving lives and upgrading fresh recruits to fit the Xanquat fitness standards and possibly even exceed them.
It was during one such assignment, off in a system not very far from Thuun, that the news came of the Great Disaster - Dr. Jones was struck blind for two whole days by the news, he recalls, so unexpected they were. Despite this, he could have had it worse - his commanding officer's heart stopped from hearing the same thing, though they never bothered to investigate if that was not just some kind of suicide instead - it was thought impolite to pry, and the results could only be damaging to his reputation if they were indeed different from the version that survived among his peers. The central command of the Xanquat was destroyed, and many units, including such detachments as Dr. Jones', were never actually recalled in the massive logistics nightmare that followed. And nobody ever came to support them, or point them to any refuge, or do much else, in fact. To say nothing of the trauma of having one's entire civilian life and history destroyed just like that. The Xanquat medic detachment wandered that planet, the name of which Dr. Jones can't quite recall if he ever found out. Some of them engaged in violent crime and lashed out against the civilians around, some tried to find ways of escape and return to more Xanquat-dominated territories, but neither had much luck - within two years, most of them had met ends of some kind, whether from drinking themselves to death, being victims of anti-Xanquat riots, suicide, getting into far too much trouble with the law or something else - not Dr. Jones, though, who insisted on keeping his head down for as long as possible - and even that was not enough, for the people came after him eventually as well, just when he had moved to Thuun in hopes of starting a new life after years of saving up and doing odd jobs, they were worshipers of the Illuminary. It was only through massive bribery of the local authorities by a certain Mr. Stephen Pavlovich that he was not lynched shortly afterward - Dr. Jones recalled watching with glee as the armored police started beating the tar out of the gathered mob, their bones breaking, their blood spilling, all manner of fluids streaming from their faces from technologically sophisticated anti-crowd irritants, and their teeth flying with each blow to the face. It was pleasing to hear them scream as the hammer came down - a natural feeling, one every Xanquat worth his salt treasured.
Mr. Pavlovich, for his part, was not really motivated by any real love of the Xanquat, or particular racial politics of his to do this thing (though Dr. Jones suspected how Mr. Pavlovich may have equated him with some kind of subhuman mutant, a pitiable wreck of a being never likely to fit into society), the saving of Dr. Jones. He was more interested in the fleshtech of the race, which was, with the death, imprisonment and alienation of most Xanquat in Thuknal and human territories, quite the lost art. Mr. Pavlovich, while technically interested in humanitarian efforts above all, did have many uses for one such as Dr. Jones ("Dr. Jesus Jones" was the name Mr. Pavlovich used to identify Dr. Jones to his friends, a sort of private joke Dr. Jones didn't quite understand) - many more or less legal implants were quite useful to both him and his associates, all for the sake of activism and such, naturally, and Mr. Pavlovich did like to send Dr. Jones particularly afflicted mutants and such for alleviation of their more hideous symptoms - Mr. Pavlovich had set up a special basement for his special friend, and paid many authorities good money to ignore it to the best of their ability, and this was Dr. Jones' home for quite a while - Dr. Jones did not dare complain, as, no matter how much he detested humans, Thuknals and any other horrendous beasts (sometimes as an exotic form of bribery, sometimes for functional concerns, though the specific details Dr. Jones knew better than to ask for) sent his way, he was very much aware of the incredible difficulty a Xanquat such as him would have finding any better place to stay and not be killed.
However, now that Mr. Pavlovich is very much dead, Dr. Jones finds himself in quite a nasty situation - his meal ticket appears to be up, and his existence, if he did not figure out something fast, would quickly become both apparent and very unwanted by the locals. So that just left one reasonable possibility - visiting Mr. Pavlovich's estate, finding the contact information of his associates, and somehow offering them his services - if they were not rich like Mr. Pavlovich, perhaps they would at least see reason and get his back, or do something similar to limit Dr. Jones' terrible exposure to the vagaries of Kitanalan society.
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Topic: The Metropolis Corrupt [0/4?5?] (Read 2832 times)