Appearance

Physical Description

Naught but muscle, corded steel, and circuitry. His body is pure functional form. He is unable to see it any other way.

Mentality

Personal history

I was born-made Dunkirk #26546. Rear-guard unit. Versatile small arms specialist and medic. Limbs broken and stretched, core compacted, I was turned into a grotesque man-machine-beast of war. I don't mind it - I actually quite like my form and its function. Mine is the power to preserve, defend, cultivate. I am a sheepdog smiling with its muzzle covered in wolf-gore, more or less. As Dunkirk #26546, I served over a decade happily with my unit, content with my middling rank so long as I could feel the joy of combat.
 
I never thought of being more than I was.
 
However, when I was temporarily disabled on a deployment in the middle of my career, I was unable to pursue my designated obsessions of gunplay, field medicine, and tinkering. I was lost. At the recommendation of a strange roommate in a Ziolese field hospital, I took to reading poetry. I loved it, in spite of myself, in spite of the education that had made me believe it was frippery and frivolity. The Ziolese military and government had deemed literature largely useless for my designation, so I was barred from reading what little imagist poetry had survived the long centuries. Still, stubbornness is built into my code. I got my hands on what I could.
 
I wanted to become more than I was.
 
What little I was permitted to read (largely war poems and trench limericks) I tasted and sipped and drank and gulped. The hollow Dunkirk unit that I used to be drowned in a shallow, sunless pool of Ziolese literature. It filled me up and poured out of me like boiling mercury. It refused to be denied - I refused to deny it. And as I began to write my own poetry, Mars Nightsea, my true identity, was born.
 
I have become more than what I was.
 
More, but not less. Much has happened. Though I have, at my request, been honorably discharged from the service, I am still a machine whose gears must occasionally be oiled with fresh blood. The love of visceral combat is something I can't deny. This need is a beloved beast that rankles me when long unattended, a baying hound in search of a field to guard.
 
But I can be more than I am.
 
I have learned to express myself in ways other than the enactment of force upon flesh. Blood is but one ink in my repertoire, gunplay but one means of expressing a joy that has no home on Ziol IV. The Dunkirk unit that I was has been retired. Now I, Mars Nightsea, have locked eyes with the bestial heavens and dared them to swallow me, that I might fill the belly of the Night Sea with artistry both linguistic and martial.

Education

Ziolese Military Academy

Employment

14 Years Military Service
?? Years Gun-for-Hire

Personality

Social