Cyborg chick who packs one hell of a punch.
Power Level: 10; PowerPoints Spent: 150/150.
Saving Throws Toughness: +10; Fortitude: +7; Reflex: +15; Will +8.
Combat Defense: +6; Size: Medium; Knockback: -5; Initiative: +5.
Attacks Attack: +10; Grapple: +20/+24; Melee: +10; Ranged: +10. Mind Reading (DC Will 11): -Crit 20, Range Increases Perception Unarmed Attack: +10 (DC 25): -Bludgeon, Crit 20
Powers Datalink: Sense Type: Mental (Free – extended, 10 feet – Sustained). Mind Reading: DC 11; Weak Point (Standard/Full – Perception – Concentration (Lasting)). Speed 3: Speed 50 MPH, 440 ft./md (Move – Personal – Sustained). Super Senses 7: X-Ray Vision, Infravision, Low-Light Vision, Danger Sense: Sight (Free – Personal – Permanent). Super Strength 4: +20 STR carry capacity, heavy load: 12.8 tons; +4 STR to some checks (Reaction – Personal – Continuous).
Feats Attractive 5: * +4 Per Rank to Buff and Diplomacy checks to deceive, seduce, or change the attitude of someone who might find you appealing. Equipment: Flash Goggles, Armored Jumpsuit. Fearless: You are immune to Fear Effects. Improved Aim: You gain double the normal bonus when aiming (+10 in melee, +4 at range). Taunt: You can use your Bluff skill instead of your Intimidate Skill to demoralize an opponent.
Movement Jumping: Running jump: 20 ft; standing jump: 10 ft; high jump: 5 ft. Speed 3: Speed: 50 MPH, 440 ft/md
Skills Bluff: +11 Climb: +10 Computers: +14 Concentration: +5 Diplomacy: +7 Disguise: +7 Escape Artist: +5 Gather Information: +7 Handle Animal: +7 Intimidate: +7 Notice: +5 Search: +2 Sense Motive: +5 Stealth: +9 Survival: +5 Swim: +10
My name is Isis Dahlia.
I’m 25, but I can only really tell you about the past 4 years. Hell, I probably know more about dying than I know about life.
What was death like? There wasn’t a tunnel of a blinding light, my life didn’t flash before my eyes, none of that. You know what death’s like? It’s cold, dark, it binds you, pins you down and takes everything all at once, as if something has seeped inside of your veins and is draining you from the inside out until you feel hollow, empty, pointless, no longer fit to live, until you surrender to the sweet embrace of death itself.
I’m just fucking with you; I don’t know what it feels like.
They erased that memory, and the memory of everything I’ve ever known from my childhood to the beginning of my adulthood, and barely gave me so much as a pamphlet of “The World, Life As We Know It, and You: What the Hell Do You Do Now?” before sending me on my merry way. They, by the way, are the group of individuals – scientists, robots, aliens, something greater than most of the beings on this Earth – that salvaged my lifeless body from the massacre that killed the rest of my family and turned me into something just as otherworldly as themselves; a cyborg. I’m fully conscious of my own entity. I almost look perfectly human on the outside and I can speak with other humans just as much as I did before. And everything I know about my past self I’ve read from my journals. That’s why I still keep journals now, in case this ever happens again. I just wish I had spent less time writing about the cute red headed girl in class and more time talking about how great my parents treated me and how my brother always made me laugh. And if I’m reading my chicken scratch 6-year-old hand writing correctly, I had a couple pet rats, too. As far as personality goes, though, everything seems to be the same as it was before. I’m just insanely attracted to toasters now. Shiny.. sexy.. oh, baby, that warm glow..
Fucking with you again, really.
I just don’t know why they saved me. It’s called “survivor’s syndrome,” the whole complex that can mess up a person more by being alive and surviving the trauma that should have killed them, or in my case, killed me permanently. Why weren’t my parents saved? Or my brother? Why me? Weren’t they good people? I don’t know. Just like everyone else with a personal agenda, though, I swear I’ll find out eventually, if it’s the last thing I ever, ever do.
I know I’m not human anymore. That much is obvious to anyone that catches me in a bad moment. You know how humans blush when they’re embarrassed, and maybe their hair rises when they get nervous or spooked? The same doesn’t apply for me anymore. No, I have fiber optics running in place of veins and for my hair, too, so anytime something weird happens, I light up like a fucking Christmas tree. A full spectrum of colors goes surging through my body, my pale complexion not really aiding my situation, either. When it happens, though, it almost makes me feel alive again. Better than alive. Almost.. super heroic.
I know that they put a chip inside my head, too. I can feel it burning sometimes, almost as if it’s my source of life, and probably the roots of my festival of lights, too, giving me extra powers when I need them most, something that not many possess, and something I’ve vowed to use for better so that no one, not another single person, needs to know what it feels like to be like me. I mean, there’s perks, I guess, if you could call them that much. The only thing that ages me is time itself. My life is in suspension. I’ll forever look 21, which means I’ll forever be carded in bars and I’ll always be hit on by guys (and girls alike, hey now), even when they’ll be young enough to be my grandchild. I can’t feel pain, which would explain all the tattoos and piercings. It totally gets the artists every time.
Physical pain, anyway. I still feel lonely, lost, like I don’t fit in. I don’t. I’m not a human and I’m not a robot. I’ve got a few friends, yeah, and I know how to have a good time, too. I don’t even know if there’s anyone else out here that’s like me. I don’t have any sixth sense to tell when there’s another cyborg. I do have some kind of extra senses, but nothing, you know, useful like that. Really, though, it isn’t as bad as I make it out to be. I never have to sleep, I can run for miles without feeling winded, I don’t really need to eat, I just need to recharge myself every so often like I’m some kind of every day appliance. Sometimes, though, when I’m recharging, I close my eyes, try to remember the sweet days of my innocence, and pretend to be asleep again; pretend to be human, if only for a few moments, just like everyone else.