#neobio

:// AGE — 28 :// OCCUPATION — head of operations of neo seoul electric elysium branch :// CLASS — olympian

>> LOADING DEVELOPMENT …

:// MAGIC —  

slight charm. jaewon has a way with words and charming people whenever he needs to, which showed to be good to the business. not only because it makes him good in making new connections, but it also helps with that sure enough, and it has kept his father out of his toes for the last few years. when one thinks about the many missteps jaewon has made throughout his life, it makes no sense that he still maintains the position he does - and sure, his family name has a lot to do with it. but not only it. one smile, a carefully chosen string of words and he has people wrapped around his finger, willing to forget what he’s done. and what he will do.

:// MODIFICATIONS —

ballistic protection ~ using nanotechnology, it fortifies the skin from underneath so he is safe from attacks from melee weapons such as knives and smaller firearms. due to his position and importance, and the fear of terrorist attacks, he had this augmentation implanted at the age of sixteen. at the age of twenty-four, they updated this to also protect him from minor bomb explosions.

cranial bomb ~ also installed by his father once jaewon started working with him. being head of the elysium branch, his father, kwon sangwoo, had to make sure their data would be protected in case of kidnapping or of jaewon himself acting the fool. this was all done without his consent while he got his ballistic protection implanted.

cyberdeck ~ where he keeps all the important information of the company that he can use against his father. it comes with a program to defeat any hacking attempt against it. he implanted it after he became

>> LOADING BIOGRAPHY …

(28)

the music is deafening downstairs and jaewon makes his way up, away, to his room. the door closes behind him and he breathes in, relieved in his solitude. who would’ve thought the day would come he would feel better in the shadows rather than in the spotlight.

but here is the thing about when you have too much of something:

it stops being enough.

he places the glass on his counter, walks towards the window. in front of him the night sky spreads above and beyond. and seems limitless, almost – but he knows better than to believe that. now he does, at least. has learned so. there was a time he thought he could reach out and have anything in the world.

and so he did. kwon jaewon reached out and he has had everything. has tasted everything. and now he feels like there’s a hole inside of him that he cannot fill. wait, no. he can. of course, he can. this is not something wrong with him, it’s something wrong with the world. and as long as the problem is in the world, it’s something he can fix. it’s something he can change.

the world is his, anyway. he just needs to reach even further.

so he does.

(7)

power is a complicated thing in the hand of a kid.

okay, sure, it’s easy to blame it all on the parents. it makes him seem at little less at fault for what he becomes, right? not that jaewon is upset at what he becomes, or even sees it. this is the thing with power, in the first place. people don’t care what they do, what they become, as long as they have it. this is what his father had told him, since a very very young age.

when jaewon is seven, his father takes him to their company.

their. his father makes sure that is implanted on him (quite literally). once it will be his. once this building will pass on to him and it will be his job to keep it going, to keep it running.

“the world is divided, jaewon,” his father tells him on that day as they stand in front of the window of his father’s office, the blue sky above them and clouds beneath them. “there’s those who have power, and those who don’t.”

jaewon nods. “we have it, father?” he asks, and his father nods.

“yes, we do. and it will be your job to keep it.”

the kid looks up to his father, all dressed up in his pristine suit. “and what happens if i lose it?” the response to this terrifies him. not because of losing power, he’s too young to understand that, but the idea of failing his father’s wishes.

“then you become like them,” his father points bellow and jaewon looks down. he can’t see a thing. just clouds.

“but i can’t see them, father.”

“exactly. you can’t. they’re invisible from here up above. nothing,” his father kneels down. “you’ll become nothing.”

(22)

the light is dim, and there’s very few things jaewon can see in the room. but he can feel her all right, her arms around him, nails on his back. he leans in and kisses her, avid fingers making their way through her clothes. they don’t have much time for games or riddles. outside, he can hear the chatter of people, his mother’s charity dinner party going just as planned.

well.

this happening in her guest’s restroom isn’t as planned but. what she can’t see won’t break her heart.

“wait,” the girl says and jaewon pauses, annoyed. “i thought you are engaged.”

the ring on his finger weights, just a little. he places his hand on her jaw, presses, lets the coldness of the gold around his finger press against her skin. he smiles.

“does that bother you?” he asks, and the girl breathes out.

“no,” she whispers.

“good.”

he kisses her again.

(16)

“son,” someone knocks at his door and his mother comes in with a smile.

she is always smiling.

sometimes jaewon wonders if his father implanted that on her head too.

“i know you’re upset with your father,” she starts and jaewon stands up.

“mother. leave.”

“son. listen to me.”

“he implanted a bomb in my head!” he shouts and his mother closes her eyes. she is not smiling now, it lasts a second. she shivers, but when she opens her eyes she smiles again. it sickens him. it makes him want to throw up.

“i know it may look harsh now,” she says and jaewon blocks her out. he looks away, his back towards her. he was supposed to get a cranial cyberdeck implanted, and that was all. now that he was going to start working with his father he understood why that was necessary. but a bomb? “but your father only does everything to protect our family.”

“he’s a fucking asshole, mom,” he turns around to face her again. “what? do you have one too?”

she falters. jaewon breaks the mirror in front of him.

“does he even trust us?” he asks, and his mother sits down on his bed. jaewon sees when a tear streams down her face but he does nothing to comfort her. he doesn’t give a shit about her feelings right now. “why did he even put me there if he will kill me if i–”

his mother wipes her tear. “your father deals with a lot. once you’re in his position, maybe you’ll understand. there’s things he needs to do that– well. he has to. to protect us.”

jaewon snorts. “killing me would protect us?”

his mother smiles again.

“yes.”

(25)

“jaewon,” he hears, his though process cut by his faher’s voice. he looks at the man sitting at his right and his expression is cut through. jaewon smiles.

“sorry, father,” he says, looks around the table with an apologetic expression, “had trouble sleeping last night.”

“drink some coffee, then,” his father replies, and his smile seems to have worked. at least a little. at least enough.

the meeting continues around him and jaewon has trouble keeping up. one, because it’s dull as hell; two, because his head aches, the faint reminiscence of a hangover that he is not over yet. he needs to go to the doctor again and update his medication. whatever they have in his system is just not working anymore.

once it’s done, jaewon stands up as well, ready to go to his own office but his father beckons for him to stay. he sits back down, smiles even wider when his father closes the door. he doesn’t seem pleased, but when does he?

“jaewon,” his father starts, “you have to stop embarrassing me.”

“good grief, father. i spaced out. it’s not that big of a deal.”

his father doesn’t reply. the man sits down on the chair by his side, and jaewon is suddenly reminded when he was seven-years-old and he came in his father’s office for the first time. the way he looked up to him. the way he adored him.

now it all seems like some far away joke.

“i’m placing you in charge of the elysium branch of our company,” he says and jaewon furrows his eyebrows, confused. he was not expecting that.

“what?”

“I need you to start having responsibility. once, and for all.”

jaewon rolls his eyes. “you speak as though i’m doing a lousy job here.”

“you get the job done, son, but you are–”

“what?”

“too much. we have an image to keep. this place,” he gestures to the window. “you think we keep our place here just because of what we do? it’s also because of what we are. the failure of your engagement was already… a difficult hit, let’s put it like that.”

jaewon closes his eyes. “and how was that my fault? you chose her. you called the whole thing off. i was going to marry her, wasn’t, i? i didn’t want to, but i was going to–”

“all you do is whine. i raised you to be a man, and you’re still a child.”

he stands up and jaewon does as well. only his father can make a gift sound like a curse. something good sound like a sloppy second.

“what else do you want me to do? i’ve done everything you asked. you even implanted a fucking bomb in my head, and i let it go. for this fucking family. what else do you need?”

his father stops by the door and he doesn’t even look at him as he says:

“stop disappointing me.”

and then he leaves.

jaewon stays still, though he has rage enough to burn this whole building down. to kill his own father with his bare hands. he remains still. breathing hard.

what is power? he has asked his father one day and right now, even with so much, he still feels powerless.

and what are those without power?

nothing.

:// AGE — 25 :// OCCUPATION — bartender :// CLASS — elysium native

>> LOADING DEVELOPMENT …

:// MODIFICATIONS —

cybernetic eye (left)/ retinal modifications (right): after a congenital defect and a rejected implant claimed the sight in one of her eyes, her father plunged himself into debt working towards a replacement. this has been systematically upgraded over the years as she came into greater means or traded in favors, implanting vision enhancement software, cosmetic options (retinal and display), as well as a means of audiovisual recording and photographing (triggered by a double blink), and mild zoom capabilities.

memory headware and datajack: paired with her cybernetic eye enhancements, all recordings made, pictures taken, and audio stored is dumped into the memory headware installed. it acts as a blanket enhancement on long term memory, allowing near photographic memory of time periods stored within for easy access. her short term memory is unaffected by the headware. any information loaded into the memory component can be dumped into a computer via the datajack for backup purposes. files can be duplicated but not fully removed or deleted from the memory bank.

>> LOADING BIOGRAPHY …

the great god odin is once said to have given up his eye in his search for knowledge.

for katsura rio the exchange is not so straightforward. she gives up her eye for fragility first. the knowledge comes later. rio is born broken and ill. birth is the unstoppable call of nature, as implacable as the tides, but it comes too early and the hospital is ill prepared. immunocompromised is whispered where she cannot hear, but young ears have no context for language.

it is not until she is eight years old behind coke bottle glasses lenses that obscure her features, spindly wire frames clinging spider legged to protruding ears, that the young girl gains context. it is her left eye that is the most affected, a fact learned when she tells her mother of the holes in her vision and watches as the woman’s lips pull tight and thing.

they do not have the money for a sick child and in this way rio is burdensome and unsightly, an ungainly thing at odds with elysium, this fairground of all things perfected. the options are limited for a girl of her condition and further still dwindle with the finances available to them.

the first try is simple, implanted retinal corrective devices into both eyes, designed to still the degradation of her vision. she is fourteen when she undergoes the procedure and the healing process is excruciating. the heartbreak in its wake more so, when her left eye rejects the device, infection and fever spreading as her immune system attacks the foreign body first and then itself. the leave the implantation in the right eye.

she spends the next three years blind in her left eye, a milky film covered with a curtain of hair or a patch over her eye, thick framed glasses or dark tinted sunglasses. at fifteen, sixteen, seventeen she is ridiculed for the defect. she learns to become invisible. she learns powerlessness and helplessness. she learns to be resourceful. she learns to watch.

rio sees more one eyed than most do with both, an undercurrent of awareness into the lives of those around her. she reads the patterns of their body language and fixes herself to the background, a wallflower growing uprooted in the corner, spindly vines stretching towards the shadowed corners of the ceiling.

when disorder threatens her useless eye once more, her father promises a solution. but in elysium all such things come with strings, a puppeteer behind the scenes to orchestrate the outcome in their own favor. rio gains an eye and loses a father, claimed by debt and despair, having turned to the gambling tables of the shining casino to fund the implantation. rio is of two minds: to blame herself and to despise him. in the end she settles for a mixture of both, a complicated slurry of disgust that sits rancid in the pit of her stomach.

she’s nineteen, with two good eyes, more metal than flesh. she’s learned to see beyond the average and she’s learned to disappear. she’s learned, also, that debt can be passed down, and a gun in the barrel of his mouth hadn’t absolved rio of the threat of repayment. god forbid she not be ready when chronos comes knocking.

the years pass like this: an invisible girl is remade beautiful, but she’s traded an eye for wisdom. behind the shining surface of the bar is an inviting face and a listening ear, eyes that seem to glow with warmth. chameleon-like she adapts, expert in the language of nuance and the body, unflinchingly disarming and utterly nonthreatening. a waif of a creature, all thick handed blush and hollowed collarbones, a precarious creature teetering on the edge of undoing. this girl has known loss and bartered with it, a principle slowly, yet steadily applied. money is forever poured into the gaping maw of lingering debts and with each cough and each hospital visit the chasm deepens, neverending, borrowing against the promise of interest.

so an invisible girl trades in secrets and favors, intangible promises that cannot be forgotten. stored and catalogued religiously, recorded from deceptively human eyes, manicured and outlined in star studded retinas.

:// AGE — 27 :// OCCUPATION — unemployed; housewife :// CLASS — olympian

>> LOADING DEVELOPMENT …

:// MODIFICATIONS —

none

>> LOADING BIOGRAPHY …

to some, ryu seol is immeasurably lucky. to others, she’s a beast made up of snobbery. the truth? ryu seol is unhappy… and has been forever.

she has a life that many would kill for, and she knows that. she honestly feels guilt because of it more often than she’d like to admit. her mere existence holds a promise for lifelong prosperity, and those who hold judgment over her are right in that she’s never had to make plans if rent doesn’t get paid, or if she’s not able to stock her refrigerator with the freshest, most organic groceries. instead, her hunger is never neglected, her credit card never gets declined, and she lives well above the means of others her age for doing essentially nothing. it wasn’t as if she chose to be born into a life of luxury and comfort, no, and truth be told, she wishes that she wasn’t. it’s ignorant for her to think that way, as she’s never had to face the same struggles as those in elysium, but she just can’t help it, and even though she’s conflicted, she’s still able to put on a show for everyone around her. on the outside, she’s a woman dressed up in the finest, most expensive garments; a woman who’s makeup is applied stunningly—minimally—to accentuate each one of her natural born features. she’s a woman who possesses a charm similar to that of old hollywood icons from centuries ago, such as marilyn monroe; someone who thrives in a public setting due to an endless simpering charm.

though, despite there being an ever-glistening soul wrapped up in her usual opulent attire and cosmetics, most of her cohorts don’t focus on what’s within when it comes to her. she’s the second child—and the only daughter—to one of olympus’ wealthiest families. her older brother is wise, and smart, and handsome, and the heir to the family conglomerate, and her? well, she’s a natural beauty who’s reduced to how she looks rather than how she feels. it’s created a complex in her that’ll take years to repair, but she hasn’t necessarily invested any time into it. mother has always prioritized teaching her to appear meek, and soft, and submissive, in order to appeal to the long list of rival heirs that are desperate to walk her down the aisle. it isn’t only a promise of commitment, after all, it’d be a celebratory joining of businesses; an affiliation that’ll only offer more notoriety, and more wealth, to both sides of the family. at the end of the day, she’s the queen on her family’s chessboard, and the instant she’s taken down in checkmate and made a married woman, everyone’s lives would be much better. everyone would be much more affluent. everyone would feel obligated to control her even more than she already is.

so, when the day finally comes for her to tie the knot, she’s twenty years old and saying her i do’s to a man that she doesn’t love, but who her family views as the best possible candidate for her. his family is more powerful than her’s, and together, they’re a picture perfect dream in olympus. they’re the envy of many, and the shallow group of friends that surrounds her oft complains at how lucky she is, or about how they wish they could be in her place, and she wants so badly to tell them her truth, but knows that she’ll be exiled if she did. they’ll never understand what goes on within her head, and slowly, but surely, that aforementioned soul trapped within her starts to dim; starts to die. on the surface, she appears to happily stow herself away inside of her new luxe estate with the title of perfect housewife written upon her décolletage, but all of her isolation is one of the many affects of depression she can’t suppress. her desired lifestyle is much simpler, and much freer. instead of being caged in like a songbird with clipped wings, she longs to take flight into a land that accepts her for who she is; one that’s dramatically different from the one she’s living in at present.

so, five years in, ryu seol decides to be brave. she decides to disguise herself and roam into elysium.

what possessed her to take the trip is beyond her, but she was desperate for a change of scenery; replacing golden art deco inspired walls with dirty neon lights and smog. she’s not exactly known to many of the locals, so she gets away with flying under the radar, but years in, she’s discovered making sizably hefty purchases from drug dealers in town; tipping them off that she couldn’t possibly be making that kind of money in elysium. rumors begin to fly that she’s a spy of sorts, but no one’s been able to prove their guesses. after all, she uses an alias outside of olympus—lee ryujin—for a reason. sure, she despises her dull life as a housewife, but she can’t deny that the money tucked away in her bank accounts isn’t a pleasant perk. if not for that, she couldn’t live as dangerously as she’s been.

seven years after her marriage, she’s decided to scratch an itch that’s often said to occur at a certain point in a committed relationship; an itch tempting her to become entangled with other individuals that aren’t her husband. does she have his permission? of course not. is she good at concealing it? yes, to a degree, but it’s not an easy charade to repeat time after time. that said, she’s metamorphosed into someone that’s completely different from the woman she looks at in the mirror every morning. ryu seol has learned to become one of the most talented liars in all of neo seoul. she’s persuasive in a way that’s almost sociopathic, but she’s never been given a diagnosis, nor does she fit all of the determining factors to be given one. she’s just good with words, and good at telling people what they want to hear. she’s absent from home a lot, but she’s able to keep her husband’s worries at bay with fragrantly worded promises that she often keeps to continue to build his trust, as that’s what’ll keep her best supported.

to olympians, she’s the most flawless wife, daughter, and socialite. to those in elysium, she’s a tourist who generously supports the economy.

truth is, she’s an enigma wherever she is; a mystery that not many have come close to solving. hell, even she’s not close to solving the mystery herself, either. instead, she lives life on the edge, and by her own selfish needs, now that she can. she’s impulsive, and wild, and making up for the time she lost due to her prim and proper youth.

though, what happens when her mask is forced off?

:// AGE — 26 :// OCCUPATION — boxer :// CLASS — elysium native

>> LOADING DEVELOPMENT …

:// MODIFICATIONS —

cyberlimbs a standard right arm from the elbow down. however, its joints are reinforced with steel and it’s plated with titanium although the paintwork allows it to look like a normal one. paid for by dodgy methods (read: underground boxing and robbery). he uses it as an extra way to ensure he gains more money by winning all his matches to fund his revolution that’s starting to gain momentum. it’s not really fair to his opponent in the ring, but nobody says anything when they get to watch a bloody fight. audio recorder a microchip buried fairly shallowly under his right ear that he utilises when having important conversations. to obtain the recordings, he has to reopen the implant wound and take out the microchip. then he has place a new, clean one back where the old one used to be, ready for next time. (it’s messy and painful, but it does the job.) the scars formed by the numerous times he’s replaced the recorders are covered by a tattoo of a wolf head that begins at the side of his neck and ends right below his ear.

>> LOADING BIOGRAPHY …

[ case i. ]

here is a boy composed of more fire than water.

he’s going to be a troublemaker when he grows up, the nurses tell his mother with a smile. you should watch out.

she doesn’t laugh.

[ case ii. ]

kwon siwoo is dirt poor.

he wishes he could say he isn’t, but there’s no point sugar coating the eviction notices that pile up on their desk next to the pile of bills, precariously balanced as though there were any plans to pay them at all. his impatience rises each time he picks up another piece of paper shoved through their letterbox, each time he has to watch his mother come home with her hands rubbed red from work and a heavy sort of tiredness hanging on her expression. he has to bite on his tongue and hold himself back from finding a way to climb up to the very top of the ladder and ask how anything can be counted as fair when they live off scraps whilst the rich get richer.

it’s a system that he’s trapped in. maybe that’s the reason bile rises in his throat whenever he hears of how the people live in olympus, luxury stacked next to luxury in amounts he can’t count up to. he hates it, hates how he has to watch his mother’s hands shake when she picks up her phone, dialling her husband’s number, biting her fingernails. they were meant to go through their funds tonight.

siwoo counts down. one. two. three. she reaches voicemail.

[ case iii. ]

the pile of notices grows taller and he leaves his house when he’s fourteen. there’s something about the silence of the one roomed apartment, the damp that grows on their ceilings and the nights he watches his mother sit in front of the door, waiting for his father to return that twists something ugly ㅡ uglier ㅡ in his chest. he decides the disappointment on her face, the quietness when she tells him to turn the lights off (he doesn’t know why she bothers. they flicker on and off without warning anyways and sometimes, it illuminates her face and he realises with a tinge of irritation that she’s cried herself to sleep again) isn’t worth the heat that burns in his veins until it leaves him paralysed.

he wonders if absence makes the heart grow fonder. it doesn’t.

he quickly notices that the streets that elysium are comprised of aren’t too different to his own house (and that’s dirt.) the deeper he goes, the further the corruption, the more he sees his heart growing black. there’s something so common, something inherently him in the way he finds comfort within the four corners of the boxing ring. he lies and says he’s eighteen to get into his first match. he’s sixteen: lanky, more scars visible on his body than skin as the result of stealing gone wrong, the remnants of baby fats barely fading. but he thinks the crowds let him in because they’d rather see blood than no blood.

he wins, and wins, and wins and wins.

but his largest victory is finding a family at the back of the club. between bloody fists and a black and blue body, there are cheek pinches and ruffles of his hair. the neon lights that blare, even after the audience has cleared out tells him that he can breathe under the polluted sky and black ash. he finds himself content with what little he has, content with the nights consist of lying on the club’s rooftop, fingers tracing the make belief stars as they murmur about what they’ll do when they escape elysium.

they don’t make it. jaewook dies first, an accident in the ring. jisoo leaves a week after that. minjae disappears off the face of the earth like he hadn’t ever been there. the manager ㅡ a sixty year old man with a crinkled smile and gentle words in an ugly world ㅡ grows ill. it’s not something they can treat in elysium and there’s only one other place he knows. siwoo remembers the cuts on his hands when the hard gates dug into his skin, the open wounds that formed from knuckles digging into the walls, voice growing hoarse and scratchy. i need to get to olympus, he sobs.an eighteen year old who dreams too far above himself, the guard had called him. there’s no place for filth up there, no place for a boy who would bleed himself dry for the only family he had left.

(the manager dies later that week and siwoo’s the only one at his funeral. the club gets bought by some uppity businessman from olympus and the day after, siwoo quietly makes his way back to the gates. he digs the guard’s head into the concrete ground, nails clawing at him, the pained cries audible amongst the stunned crowds until he sees blood whilst siwoo screams himself voiceless with repeated chants of ‘i’m not done yet, you fucking olympians’ and ㅡ )

he traces the origins of the bitterness to his soul, the hatred, the white hot rage targeted at a system that twists the odds against the poor again and again and again until there’s nothing left of them except the bare skin on their back. he regurgitates all of that until he paints a painting on the canvas in front of him, red, red, red, red. he lands himself in prison for three years. attempted murder.

siwoo thinks they should rather charge him in advance with attempted eradication of olympus.

[ case iv. ]

it starts out small.

we don’t want to accept someone who we think is going to start something rotten in elysium. the words don’t need to be said, but it’s prominent in the way the new managers of the club look at him, prominent in the way people watch him with something he can only call a mixture of anticipation and dread, like his fingertips are thrumming with the start of something. something to flip the world around, to tilt the universe out of place until they’re left upside down. until elysium is olympus and olympus is elysium.

it boils in his mind: rebellion, unrest. it’s not difficult for him to realise the long blazing resentment against the disparities isn’t nonexistent: it’s just concealed by the blinding veil pulled over the olympians’ eyes that leaves them effortlessly clueless. there’s something he’s learned in prison besides the dimpling of his smile when he asks people over ramen if they’re frustrated with the government too, if they think they’re stuck in a cycle of nothing.

three years is a long time, even longer when it’s spent staring at concrete walls and iron bars. it’s a long time to think, time to plot, time to burn. he’s learned to hate in a way he hadn’t thought he could, fingers curling into fists, nails digging crescent moons into the palms of his hands.

the little support he starts out with grows gradually but surely, hushed and kept under the blanket from prying eyes. seven words, “don’t you think your friend would agree?” spearheads the movement. friend turns into friends, families, crowds, a tsunami wave of indignation and bitterness. he twists that devotion in a direction, until his fury festers into becomes something that he can pride himself on.

siwoo remembers burning an eviction notice when he had been six, watching it burn a brilliant orange against the black of the night sky until it turned into soot, then grinding it into the ground with the heel of his shoe. if he wants to humour himself, he could call that the start of the rebellion.

resentment begins at childhood, anyways.

[ case v. ]

the abyss swallows him up.

:// AGE — 27 :// OCCUPATION — vr designer :// CLASS — olympian

>> LOADING DEVELOPMENT …

:// MAGIC —  

it is almost inexplicable what he sees when he looks at a line of code. when he was a child they manifested as a burst of color and as he continued in his schooling, the colors started to take form. the more he learned, the more well-read he became, the more this ability of his developed. it was only natural, only logical, that he could harness his ability in the reverse. it became impossible to see the world in a non-digital means. the color of a woman’s blouse, the way a heartbeat sounds, the heat between two people it all became nothing more than code to him.  

:// MODIFICATIONS —

cybernetic nerves: his nervous system in his upper body had to be reinforced and replaced after a bad accident in his teens. the fire burned through most of his body and left permanent damage on his nerves. he had his body rebuilt with new nerves so that he can be able to feel pain, touch, and sense temperatures once again. this is a system he helped his father’s company to develop as it closely relates with his vr system.

second skin: most of his skin is discolored and despite the multiple surgeries was deemed impossible to save. taking the form as one head piece, two bracelets, and two anklets the technology creates a “second skin” onto the users body that can be customized to their liking.

smart hub: to help manage all the technology on his body and all the data that he has to process at one time, he has smart hub implanted into his body. located at the back of his head, the implant is small and practically. working as a data port the information that he slowly accumulates over the day is sent directly to his work computer at home. controlled through with a simple holowatch on his wrist he can control his second skin through this same system. this system can also connect to the internet to be used for instant translation and other helpful aids.

holo-tattoos: several cover his body as a means to help hide some of his more nasty scars. it gives him a sense of comfort knowing that under his second skin there’s something artistic to help cover his scars.

>> LOADING BIOGRAPHY …

“you were born to fly. i will teach you.”

born in the very heights of olympus there were no limits to his dreams. his world was only confined to what he could imagine. for a child who was born with the gift of imagination, in a world where anything and everything can become reality, the world was truly his playground. whispers of his talents started young. all he needed was a flash of code, some color pencils and a piece of paper to put the image together. his father pushed his education. it started with simple items. an orange on a table and in only minutes an exact replica could be produced in code. countless years of education and several thousands of tests later he could convert an image to code and vice versa like a person could add two and two.

“do not fly too high my son. do not fly to where i cannot reach.”

when he tried to move his talents towards the creative industry, the look on his father’s face could only be described as disappointment. he had been his father’s perfect son. the thought that his parents could harbor any feelings of discontent towards him had his stomach-turning. despite that, he swallowed down his discomfort and pushed forward. he refused to live under his father’s shadow. cybernetics was not his passion. in the world of olympus, passions were born to die, but he was different and he would prove it.

he still remembers that day, but very few details stand out. it is strange how fear affects a person’s memory when he could memorize several hundreds of faces in a day and recreate them with ease. he remembers the smell the most. it is nothing like the smell of meat on a grill. it assaults the senses and it lingers as the pure stench of melting flesh consumes the room. the pain had overwhelmed his senses in one moment and in another moment it was gone. the following days, months, he spent in the hospital recovering was worse. even now he can’t stand the feeling of linen on his skin. the itching. the itching had been unbearable. his skin was healing but all he wanted to do was to rip it off.

by the time he had finished his full recovery, it had been a full year since he had seen his face. his mother found him a week later, the apartment littered with pieces of broken glass, his hands covered in cuts and dried blood. as his heart broke, suffering through a heartache unlike any other he realized that he had not felt any pain in his hands at all.

“i have saved you from the waters my son. you will fly once again.”

:// AGE — 27 :// OCCUPATION — Owner of Afterlife :// CLASS — Elysium native

>> LOADING DEVELOPMENT …

:// MODIFICATIONS —  

Jinkyu, while being on the premises of the club has a live connection to The Afterlife systems, monitoring (cameras, sensors, logs), security, environmental and customer updates. He also can connect to the server (kept in a vault underneath The Afterlife) to the database of clients, sellers, information. All the info feeds into his retina displays in his eyes.

Infrared/FLIR vision - he can switch between normal and infrared vision - it is a side effect of body monitoring mod he had installed as his first augmentation. This device monitors all the telltale signs a body in front of him exhibits (temperature, heart rate, pupil dilation, muscle movement) to monitor emotional response (fear, desire, stress) and be a lie detector. A little help in negotiations. The module gives him a bare data on vitals, the emotional interpretation and usefulness depends on his own interpretations of the behaviour in connection with the data received. Only one person at a time can be scanned. 

Mono-filament wire spool mounted in the end of one finger, with a weighted, false fingernail to give it balance and swing. The monomolecular wire will cut through almost any organic material and most plastics. Can be used as a garrotte, cutter or slicewhip. It’s 1 m long and can break or be yanked out given sufficient strength is applied. It cannot cut through metals.

>> LOADING BIOGRAPHY …

Jinkyu is at home among the dirty glamour of the Elysium streets - the bastard prince of his principality -The Afterlife. The club is the beating heart of the Elysium. The stomping ground for the masses drawn to its lights and promises of wild abandon like moths to the flame.

He is a son of the Elysium native pedigree. His parents clawed their way up into prominence of sorts with a single-mindedness of survivalists. Peddlers of viral platitudes, sellers of the snake oil that cures every pain but at life’s cost. They operated in the shadows of Elysium selling viral and chemical delights across the district, thriving in the grime and dirt with the veracity of a weed that overcomes even the harshest conditions. They grew into ruthless nouveau riche (ones only Elysium can breed) when he was born - a late child, a planned child, the heir of the crooked kingdom.

He is spoiled rotten but never allowed to forget the price tag on every luxury they were denied. The never-ending song and dance routine of “you are lucky to have all of this.” Their past misery a counterpoint to his of a more covert kind. He is fed and clothed. But not loved. There is implicit aggression in each word they throw at him and each other too used to fight to know anything else, and he dares not to lash out. His father has a heavy hand and no patience, his mother a cold shoulder not meant to be used to cry on. Both without a childhood they deny him his. He grows fast into this new skin thicker than words, sticks, and stones. Amputate emotions exchanging them for earthly delights. Using and abusing all that can be bought in the dark corners of the district that sells anything and everything to numb the body and mind. He gets to know intimately whatever they selling. It’s fun only for so long.

Elysium is his. He starts with his parents’ businesses. There is no challenge there, just a never-ending line of warm willing bodies needing a fix. He has a steep learning curve and good, almost supernatural instinct in assessing and addressing needs and prices. What do they want? How much they can pay? How much they will pay? Last but not least, what is it that they truly desire and what they are willing to give to get it. He sees the inner workings of the district through the clients, native and otherwise, and seamlessly taps into the current of what‘s wanted and what’s selling. It gets boring pretty fast. Human needs in most cases are simple. Dealing with average janes and joes is not a challenge so he veers off course.

:// AGE — 26 :// OCCUPATION — bartender (con artist) :// CLASS — elysium native

>> LOADING DEVELOPMENT …

:// MAGIC —  

minor personal magic—minor luck reversal. the odds tend to start out slightly in her favour, with her marks having been a little more unlucky ( and vulnerable ) than they usually are—her version of good fortune. of course, what happens after that is up to the players of the game.

:// MODIFICATIONS —

communication link: a neural implant codes her brainwaves into written communication which interfaces onto a retinal display. this connects to others who have her specific radio frequency, and vice versa. the neural implant can be flipped to code others’ brainwaves into written communication if within a half-metre radius. the communication link is activated by blinking twice in quick succession.

autonomic arousal sensors: sensor implants in her index and middle fingers that measure the electrodermal activity and heart rate of another person when in full physical contact with them. these are voice activated with the phrase, “do you trust me?” the data is transmitted into a retinal display that codes for heightened autonomic arousal.

transcranial magnetic stimulation coil & inhibitor: neural implant that emits short bursts of magnetic energy to stimulate a positive mood in another person. this lifts mood and may affect motor and cognitive functions if within a half-metre radius. the inhibitor prevents the magnetic energy from affecting her, but prolonged use will overwhelm the inhibitor to induce the same effects in her. excessive use will result in spasms and lightheadedness and in extreme cases, seizures. the coil is voice activated with the phrase, “how do you feel?” and switched off with the phrase, “i’m happy you’re happy.”

holotattoos: a series of constellations ( cassiopeia, cepheus, andromeda, perseus, pegasus, cetus, auriga, lacerta and triangulum ) that run from the nape of her neck to the middle of her spine.

>> LOADING BIOGRAPHY …

( a survivor ) the girl looks barely fifteen and she’s shivering, paper thin in winter. you think of your eldest and your heart goes out to her, buying her a cup of hot chocolate and gently reprimanding the cashier who’d tried to chase her away. when you ask where she lives, her face crumples. your heart bleeds. you offer to take her in and she refuses it, but you see the bright hope—you think it is—and you insist, holding her hand when she cries properly and tries to find the words to thank you. your partner is confused but welcoming when you bring her home, and your children take to her easily; she is another mouth to feed and you barely have enough as is, but you cannot throw this girl to the streets. you are tired, overworked, but never resentful of your children, striving to give them a better life. she blossoms under your care and you are proud of her, this girl you think of as a daughter, who’d overcome so much hardship to become a fine young woman more than elysium deserves. she’s almost eighteen when she leaves, and she doesn’t look back.

( a specialist ) she’s impressive. you hate to admit that this young upstart whose qualifications sound too good to be true deserves to head the research and development team, but she does. her ideas are inspired and idealistic, biotechnology for healthcare that’s been conceptualised before but you’ve never seen someone come up with an actual design to develop it. it costs money, of course; this sort of experimental tech always does, and your company is hemorrhaging cash from buggy innovations and faded fads you tried to develop. but she’s insistent and she says she wants to change the world, that this is the sort of tech that could put your company on the map and solve all your fiscal issues. it takes almost a year and multiple loans from your own account before you see any fruit, right before you decide to shut down her programme. when she offers to be the first to receive the modifications, wanting to prove that her tech works, you don’t think twice to support her. she’s put on a two week recovery for the tech to take to her. she takes the patents for her tech and moves away within those two weeks, and your company goes under.

( a sweetheart ) you’ve just met, but she pulls you to her, a magnetism you’ve never understood and don’t think you can. you’ve never been in love but you love her, you think, her fingers against your pulse point warm and inviting. it doesn’t matter that you’ve known each other for only a week. you see how people are drawn to her, somehow; she has a knack for collecting strays and you think it is her bleeding heart that you love, her willingness to take care of the vulnerable. at night, she tells you her story: elysium born, second daughter and not useful enough. anger swirls in you but she calms you down as always, leaning her forehead against yours and cupping your face as love washes over you. “we’re happy,” she promises you, “we are. i’m happy you’re happy.” and you are—at least, you think you are. you feel bereft and gloomy when she’s gone, the feeling of something wrong kicking at you. you never gave her your details, but she loves you, so she has them. she tells you not to but her eyes linger on trinkets shinier than you can afford, and you dig yourself into a debt to make her happy. she smiles at you, thanks you, and takes her happiness somewhere else.