Quirbles wrote: ↑
Fri Mar 30, 2018 5:45 pm
J4X, or "Jax". His serial number is engraved upon the back of his neck plate. Originally, the Conscious called themselves by their designated numbers; however, whether through suggestion or due to their new-found sentience, many chose names for themselves. Jax calls himself such a name due to its similarity to his serial number.
Male, by societal standards. All Conscious seem to have male-defining facial structure and body types, and their voices are typically lower in nature.
Millennia, supposedly. The Conscious have remained inactive for thousands of years, seemingly protecting the structures that they were found in. While most fell to wear-and tear from erosion and rust, there were a select few found in preservation capsules. Each unit retained no memories before their activation.
Conscious / Awoken / "Husk", the latter being a derogatory term. Despite New Europa's relatively insignificant status in the politics of Aurelius, the planet received a spike in attention due to the reawakening of the Conscious in the pyramids beneath the planet's surface. Seeing as they were placed their by an intelligent entity [now long dead], a controversy erupted involving the considered sentience of the newly-discovered robots. The ethics problem was largely ignored in galactic politics in an effort to quell the argument and let it fade into obscurity, though this tactic ultimately backfired as many accused the Hub of ignoring the issue.
While still largely forgotten in the public's mind today, the debacle was dubbed the "Conscious Crisis" and ended up putting the Hub Authority in a negative light for that year. The "Husks", as many call them, are simply robots without purpose and were treated as such. As such, the remaining Conscious are subject to racism involving their perceived sentience. This has led to a general distrust of society in Aurelius.
So far, the only planet to contain the ancient structures in which the Conscious were found was New Europa, located just before the Frontier of Aurelius. It was largely a manufacturing planet for metallurgy and chemicals concerning the interactions with metals, as the crust of the planet contained a wide array of minerals for processing. Following the Reawakening and the Conscious Crisis, however, a negligible portion of New Europa's economy is dedicated to tourism of the pyramids the mechanical beings were found in. Research has also begun on scrapped Conscious in order to understand their biology and makings in an attempt to replicate them. Results have been inconclusive.
Completely immune to extra-sensory perceptions due to his mechanical nature, including but not limited to telepathy, suggestibility and shared empathy. The process of how J4X—or the Conscious, for that matter—are able to achieve this is still unknown, though the composition of their bodies and "robotic" makeup might contribute to this. Some say they don't have souls, which is why many see an expansive void when attempting to interact telepathically.
Jax is able to communicate in a vast array of languages and dialects due to his exposure to the galaxy since his awakening. He also shows an ability to learn languages in drastically shorter timespans. As such, he has seen employment as an armed mercenary on the Frontier planets and in areas where languages are less established.
J4X's body was crafted with resilience and adaptability in mind, and as such is designed to withstand biting cold as well as sweltering hot conditions. High pressure and low-pressure environments have little effect on him, and he requires no atmosphere to breathe in.
J4X's ESP resistance can be paired with his nearly unlimited memory, allowing for the storing of confidential information and crucial data. His mind is essentially an uncrackable safe.
Being designed as a defense unit [as evidenced by his darker grey coloring], J4X has increased durability and power than that of the passive models that were recovered. His makeup offers relatively infinite stamina, as the Conscious body does not require outside sustenance or "fuel" to keep itself operational. His body also supplies increased force to unarmed attacks, capable of breaking bone with enough windup. Along with heightened athletics and strength, J4X's exoskeleton is made of high-grade armored material. Explosive resistance is minimal, but he can take multiple high-speed projectiles and numerous hits from melee weapons before the armor's integrity gives.
When in combat, J4X favors hand-to-hand combat over all else. It provides a sort of rush for him while fighting, and it was what he was designed for thousands of years ago. Despite his completely wiped memory, the programming is still there.
One of the arguments for the Conscious being considered "alive" is due to the fact that they are able to naturally regenerate from wounds, much like a human or animal. J4X is knowledgeable of the finer aspects of his body and is able to aid in the repair process, allowing him to recover from wounds quicker. He has also implemented modifications upon his body, such as advanced plating and implemented weapons.
 Upon J4X's fingertips are sharpened metal points, acting as weapons when in combat situations. The index finger on either hand is equipped with a micro-laser, capable of making small incisions [or cauterizing] for self-repair. They're relatively low-power, and as such must be used within a few centimeters or so from the target.
 J4X's palms are equipped with 2 pieces of equipment that are able to produce a current and subsequent arcs of electricity. He is able to produce up to 300 Volts, enough to cause significant pain and incapacitation.
 The soles of J4X's feet as well as the palms of his hands are magnetic upon activation, allowing him to attract and stay oriented upon surfaces that carry a magnetic field.
J4X's awakening into a unwelcoming galaxy has led to his disillusionment with Aurelius and subsequent bitterness. His escape to the Frontier was really an escape from New Europa and anything to do with his past, as he'd sooner forget it than have to confront whoever, or whatever, created him thousands of years ago. As a result, passivity became the name of the game for him. It wouldn't matter if the galaxy didn't accept him. Whatever others thought of him— whether he was living, an object, or something in the middle — he knew who he was. And there was no sense in changing it.
The apathy of J4X has led to a bit of a drifter lifestyle, picking up jobs as a mercenary or private military contractor over the various planets on the Frontier. He made no friends, but many enemies.
"Fuckin' Husk," they'd say to me.
"Go back to whatever hole you came out of."
No problem. I'd outlive them, anyway.
Apathy turned to anger. The people that hated him, who made him feel unwelcome—they didn't know what the hell they were talking about. It was starting to piss him off, how people always spoke up for him. Like he needed
others' help. As if he was some sort of frail thing that needed protection. He became withdrawn from conversations, opting to carry on his life in solitude. When he was hired, it was a solo job. The only contact he had was when he got paid. Simpler that way. Nobody to see him, to judge him for what he was. What was he? An abomination? Why was he here?
I kept it all to myself. Picturing what I'd do to these people if I had the chance. What I'd do to the people who made me like this. I'd get my revenge. One day.
Apathy turned to resentment. He'd never done anything to the people who hate him, why did they act the way they did? Because they didn't understand him? Who the hell were they to think that they were better than him? Was it jealousy? Spite? Or was it something worse? Paranoia set in. Everyone he made eye contact with was a suspect of hatred. They judged him. Loathed him. He was different, and they were scared of him. Always judging, always looking, looking, looking, looking—
Eventually, I snapped.
Biography / Origins: It was a small tavern on the outskirts of Backwater. He'd retired for the night, opting to sit at a corner table near the back of the room. Low-profile, with a hood over his head to hide his face. Not well-hidden enough, apparently, seeing as one of the bar's patrons had ordered a drink for him. The man sauntered over to J4X motioned to the bartender jokingly, a smirk plastered onto his lightly-shaved face.
"Get a cup of motor oil for that thing over there. That's what you drink, right?"
It was automatic, the way he stood up from the table and thrown his chair at the man. Almost as if he had no control over his movements. He kept punching, and punching, and punching as the man's lineaments devolved into nothing more than a misshapen, red mass. Blood coated the shined metal of his fists and arms, pooling around the man's body and flicking over to nearby stools until he was forcefully pulled off by multiple patrons.
"WE GOT A ROGUE FUCKIN' BOT OVER HERE!"
Just like that, the fire within him was rekindled. He was scared, but he couldn't stop it. His actions were uncontrollable, his conscience forced to be a bystander to the horrifying spectacle. He'd worked his way through the entirety of the tavern's guests before he finally calmed down, turning and surveying the damages he'd caused.
When the haze of hatred finally cleared from his mind, the bodies of innocents slowly came into focus. The once-tan walls had been stained mahogany in places, his clothes and arms splattered with patches of glistening crimson.
Worst of all, it gave him relief.
Years of internalized anger had built up within him and was released within minutes of slaughter. The path to pleasure, to a feeling of contentment—it was that easy. Every punch thrown, every injury caused by him eased a minute amount of pain within himself, and it felt worth the cost. Jax glanced down at his bloodied hands, extending his fingers and flipping to his palms.
Was this what is was like? To feel? To hate?
Collapsing to his knees, he closed his eyes and covered his face with the innocent blood that he'd shed. A feeling of pain, a twisting of his insides occurred within his gut. It kept rising, increasing in intensity until it made him nauseous, and for a moment he thought that he might die. For a moment, he wanted to.
Then, it became clear. It was guilt.
He fled the tavern that night, too scared to reconcile with what he had caused. Help had been contacted, but Jax was long gone before they'd arrived.
The feelings he was experiencing, they weren't right
. They were foreign, and wrong, and he hated them. He hated suffering at his own conscience and wanted to rid himself of it, become emotionless and lessen his pain and, and...
...and become exactly what others thought he already was.
He washed himself of the blood and left the system, opting to flee to a remote corner of Aurelius and live out the rest of his days in complete solitude. A barren planet, icy in nature and devoid of life. No-one to dare follow his tracks. He'd be safe there. From himself.
Once a prosperous planet, according to the records of their history. Now, nothing more than a deadened rock orbiting a dying sun. Yes, he'd stay there. The old natives of the planet were long since dead, having abandoned Kaavri for a more suitable atmosphere.
He'd been tracked in his endeavor, and once he reached planet-side he was greeted with various gunships waiting for him. A deal,
they said to him. They knew what he had done on Backwater. A misunderstanding, they said. As if they understood him. Were he willing to help them, he'd be pardoned, free to live out the rest of his days once he was finished. Were he to disagree, they'd have him dissected and studied.
Jax agreed, reluctantly. Perhaps it would have been better if he was
J4X's burly stature is explained by the dark sheen of his metal, a reflection of his status as a defense unit for his ancient creators. He stands at just below 7 feet, the taller side of the spectrum for the Conscious' height. All of his body, save for joints or moving parts, is covered in metal that possesses incredible durability despite being relatively lightweight. His body is still quite heavy, however.
His eyes are a bright orange color, and the brightness of his irises can be controlled for dimming [or deactivation] in dark environments. He sometimes blinks with "eyelids" of sorts via the covering of a shutter over each eye. There is no real need to do this, but his adaptation to human nature resulted in this mimicry. His mouth contains no teeth or tongue, but it still able to form syllables and noises ordinarily impossible without either body part. His feet contain no toes and instead look like slim boots.
His desire to blend into regular society and not be noticed is reflected by his choice in clothing. A fur-lined blueish-black jacket with yellow, white and red accents is Jax's primary choice, and this is usually paired with sunglasses and any sort of hat to help cover his face. Under the jacket is a regular black shirt. Gloves cover his hands, and grey-black pants complete his outfit. He wears tan boots to cover the bottom of his feet, though these are commonly taken off for missions as they obstruct his magnetic ability.
Name: J4X calls it the Uplink, as it's commonly used as a hub for him to access data and perform maintenance on himself.
Role in Combat: The role of the Uplink is relatively flexible, as it can be used for reconnaissance or an agile stealth-fighter. Its lack of dense armor plating makes it a weak spearhead in an assault, and as such is suited for more passive or covert operations. At least, in its flying form.
Weapons: Standard missiles, though the propulsion system is a tesla-rail system that allows for high velocities. It also sports laser targeting systems on its front and rear, primarily for guarding blind spots and flanks.
Origin site for the Provaetus, heretofore known as the "Conscious Memorial"
The office of Hans Elmener was notably messy, though its quaint size provided a sense of homey-ness for the overseer. It was home, in a way, given how much of his waking hours he spent in it. The Conscious Crisis was just beginning, and protestors had gathered outside the temporary perimeter set around the sites for the recently-discovered pyramids. Somebody had leaked that there were beings—living, breathing beings—within them, and the public was interested. That, or scared of whatever they had found deep within the crust of this small planet.
Elmener was broken out of his thoughts when a young researcher burst into the room, the updraft from the door's opening sending sensitive documents fluttering and swirling upwards. The overseer cursed and quickly sat up from his chair to face the now embarrassed researcher, a look of disapproval cast upon him.
"What are you doing bursting in here?"
"I'm sorry sir, it's just—"
know who you're talking to, right?"
"Sir, one of those... robots... is trying to escape."
Elmener blinked once, processing what the young man had just said. A second later, he furrowed his brow.
"What?" He asked again, a hint of a chuckle in his voice. He suspected it was some sort of joke.
"One — one of the things that woke up, it, it knew the layout of the pyramid. Despite clear signs of memory loss. It locked us off from the rest of the facility. I don't know what it's planning, but--"
A harsh rumbling began throughout the facility, stretching out so far that even the protestors outside felt the tremors. Even more papers began to fall from the overseer's desk, and the old man rushed over to pick them up off the ground.
"What the hell
is happening down there? Where's your supervisor... are you listening to me?"
The young researcher stared out the transparent wall of the overseer's office that acted primarily as a window for viewing the entirety of the Conscious site. Elmener's greying eyebrows knotted together and he stood up, striding over to the slack-jawed man before finding what he was ogling at. Once he saw it, his mouth opened in surprise. Fear.
The pyramid was... opening
A light erupted from the darkness within the geometric shape, easily recognizable by the kindling of fire. Within moments a stark-white ship shot out from the darkness of the building's interior, heading straight for the office window before quickly pulling up above the building into the sky. Fearing for their lives, both the researcher and overseer dove to the ground. After realizing that they weren't being slammed into by a starship, both stood up.
Cheering was audible from outside. The protestors reached to the skies, towards the quickly escaping starship. Elmener breathed out, coughing as a result of the stress put upon his aging body.
"Those things have God-damn hangars?
Compact in size, but still to have around 4 people board before becoming cramped. The room it has for passengers offsets its offensive capabilities, as its weapons are relatively basic in nature and not combat-oriented. J4X wasn't exactly picky when searching for something to get the hell out of dodge with.
Other Features: Monitors line the inside of the passenger and pilot compartments, and Jax had the liberty of installing various game systems into the ship interface for his leisure. Seeing as he has no need for hygiene or a change of clothes, the ship is relatively spotless save for some alcohol bottles. In the passenger compartment is a repair station for J4X's needs, complete with power tools and various other pieces of tech that the owners before him had built. The ship also contains an AI, dubbed "Valentina".
Another thing that Jax had installed was a high-end stereo set. He loves music and has various tastes, though prefers ancient 1900s-2000s era Earth compositions.
Not to mention its deployment capabilities.
At the rear of the ship lies a black button. When pressed, a black-leather chair rolls out from the wall and stops once it orients itself until it faces the middle of the passenger compartments; two joysticks also extend from the wall. When sat in and a combination of buttons are pressed, the a portion of the ship converts itself into a mech form and deploys directly beneath the Uplink. J4X discovered this on accident.
The mech comes standard with a laser gatling on its right arm along with a air-pressure cannon on its left, allowing it to send other targets and debris flying from the force. On its back is a short-range jetpack, allowing it to hover a few feet of the ground for around 15 seconds before requiring a recharge.