La femme a serré ses dents en s'asseyant et a regardé le petit écran sur le datapad, la qualité de l'image était sous-par, mais encore assez claire pour identifier son frère Jaysen, nu, battu, ensanglanté, et attaché dans une vieille chaise haute en bois. La personne qui tenait la caméra s'approchait, obtenant une bonne image de son expression effrayée, puis retirèrent un grand coup, avant de placer la caméra sur un trépied pointé sur la chaise. Une main est entrée en vue pendant un moment, faisant un geste du majeur, et disparaissant rapidement. La bouche de Jaysen bougeait, disant quelque chose, mais sans son pour prendre sa voix.
Je m'excuse, mais il n'y avait pas d'audio dans la copie qu'ils nous ont envoyée.
Pendant plusieurs minutes, il n'avait été que lui seul dans une pièce avec une lumière halogène suspendue au-dessus de sa tête, mais ensuite une demi-douzaine de figures, certaines minces construites et d'autres musclées, se promenaient en tous portant des masques de costumes de diverses créatures mythologiques.
Ces putains de malades, elle s'est moquée pendant qu'elle se fendait les crans. Ils savaient qu'il était dans la merde de type fantasy, des trucs de siècles en arrière qui n'existe même plus. Pricks pensait que ce serait drôle de jouer à la robe juste pour lui.
C'est là que tu as eu les idées pour tes tatouages? De Jaysen?- Kordano demanda, en regardant le prisonnier dont les yeux émeraudes restaient fixés sur l'écran faiblement éclairé.
Elle chuchotait après une longue pause.
Pendant que la vidéo passait, la foule pouvait être vue autour de son frère, prenant des coups de pot sur lui avec des chaînes, des corbeaux et des bullwhips électrifiés. L'une des figures s'est rapprochée, a enveloppé ce qui semblait être du fil barbelé autour de leur main gantée, et a frappé Jaysen dans la poitrine, et le côté de sa tête, provoquant de minces lignées de sang pour renverser son visage et son torse. Il a crié, que beaucoup était apparent sans le besoin de son, et plus il a lutté le pire de ses coups est devenu. L'un après l'autre, chaque membre du cercle est entré pour prendre une autre balle sur l'homme autrement sans défense, ajoutant chacun une autre blessure sanglante profonde, des meurtrissures foncées, ou une grande souillure sur son corps.
Nous n'avons pas besoin de regarder n'importe quel-
Czigani l'a grondé, frappant la chaise en métal avec son poing. Juste. Laisse tomber.
Une silhouette masculine plus grande et foncée marchait derrière la chaise, plaçait ses mains des deux côtés de la tête de Jaysen, et créait instantanément des veines bleues d'électricité qui causaient à son corps cible de convulsions et de cris en silence. Chaque membre du groupe a pris un tour, employant une démonstration horrible de puissance surnaturelle qui, à chaque attaque, a causé plus de douleur et de souffrance. Une lame de rasoir a été utilisée pour raser sa tête jusqu'à la peau, ne laissant que des taches de cheveux, des coupures et des lignes de sang courantes.
Le docteur Kordano, ayant déjà vu la brutalité des images quelques fois, s'est agrippé. Madame Salahori, je crois que vous avez compris.
Si vous éteignez ça, je passerai par ce putain de champ d'énergie qui se trouve entre nous et étrangler votre vieux cou jusqu'à ce que vous soyez mort.
Alors que la femme continuait à regarder son frère ensanglanté utilisé comme outil de vengeance, l'une des figures masquées, peut-être une femme, portant un haut en chaîne, des bas en maille et des talons hauts de stiletto, marchait devant Jaysen et s'agenouillait entre ses jambes tremblantes. Elle avait une longue queue qui pouvait être vue balayer comme un serpent, et des rasoirs métalliques à l'extrémité qui a glissé dans le mauvais éclairage. La créature a levé son masque assez pour exposer sa bouche, a mis une main griffée sur son genou, et a mordu dans sa cuisse, le faisant reculer dans la douleur et la terreur. Un bassin de sang formé au pied de la chaise pendant que la bête lâchait sa main et tournait vers l'appareil photo pour clignoter un sourire ensanglanté à travers des dents tranchantes et ensanglantées. Elle a plongé son doigt griffé dans la piscine de sang, et a commencé à former lentement des lettres grossières sur sa poitrine qui lisent:
Les enfants survivront
Czigani s'est déplacée incomfortablement dans son siège, fermant les yeux pendant un moment, avant de les rouvrir. Les enfants, a-t-elle supposé, se référaient au nom offensif donné à ceux qui sont nés différents dans la ville de Domino. Cependant, il convient certainement comme une meilleure description. Czi tenait la tête entre ses mains, essayant de comprendre les raisons d'un tel comportement erratique et brutal parmi les enfants. Mais au fond, elle le savait, et son père a été celui qui avait initié des représailles aussi vicieuses. Malheureusement, ceux qui souffrent vraiment de ses transgressions passées étaient ses propres enfants.
Je suis l'un de ces monstres Elle a bourdonné sous son souffle, regardant l'écran pour la dernière fois.
Comme un jab final dans le cœur même de la moralité et une énorme queue a poussé le cul de la R&D et c'est la corruption, la vie des frères de Czigani a pris fin avec une décapitation rapide par une sorte d'épée imprégnée de laser plasma. Le bourreau masqué a arraché la tête du reste du tissu du cou carbonisé et l'a tenu jusqu'à l'appareil photo, souriant à travers des dents tachées jaune, avant que l'image ne devienne noire.
Czigani cria au sommet de ses poumons, se levant de sa position assise et jetant la chaise à travers la cellule, seulement pour crier un peu plus jusqu'à ce qu'il n'y ait plus de souffle dans ses poumons à dépenser. Elle voulait tellement libérer ses propres pouvoirs et toute la rage qui allait suivre, pour que l'encre soit libérée de son corps, arrachant dans une frénésie chaotique et sanglante, mais elle ne pouvait pas. Les médicaments qui ont été pompés dans son système, couplés à des inhibiteurs neuraux attachés à son cerveau, ont épuisé toute autre utilisation de son pouvoir, supprimant tout ce qui a déclenché la manifestation jusqu'à ce que la R-D soit prête.
Doc, tu dois me sortir de cet endroit pour que je puisse trouver ces connards! Elle s'est exclamée, se rapprochant autant de l'écran d'énergie qu'elle pouvait sans toucher à sa charge électrique. Je ferai tout ce qu'il faut, mais je ne peux pas rester ici pendant que les connards qui ont fait ce voyage libre.
Le docteur s'est levé et a éteint le datapad, lui retournant le regard avec un sourire à lui.
C'est une excellente nouvelle, Mlle Salahori. Excellent en effet.
Name: Czigani Salahori
Nickname: “Ink”
Age: 28
Gender: F
Appearance: Czi stands taller than an average female. Her wardrobe is kept generally simple, from black denim pants covered in various belts, chains, and buckles that serve no purpose to simple leather and cloth tank tops varying in color and inked with custom artwork. Leather & steel “shit kicker” boots...if she’s wearing shoes at all. Depending on her mood, her head is shaved at times, or grows it out on one side about shoulder length and keeps the other side shaven to reveal a circular tribal tattoo. Various piercings adorn her ears and lip, and her body is mostly covered with black tattoos ranging from tribal patterns, to more elaborate mythical creatures.
Height: 6`1
Weight: Approx 150lbs
Personality: Czi has a tough exterior, and is even harder to please. She tends to come off as pushy and can be impatient with most people, even though she is a tattoo artist (lol). Her real only “joy” is delving into her artwork, whether it’s a simply doodle on a napkin in a restaurant, to a large mural on the side of a building, she takes it seriously enough.
Bio: (see below)
Skills:
Tattoo artist & street mural artist,
Raised in Industry Ring, has small tattoo shop and also specializes in airbrushing designs on prosthetics/cybernetics
Power:
- Art Manipulation (specializing in body art)
- Essentially, a telepathic ability that allows her limited control over tattoos on skin and (to an extent) the paint used on prosthetics, and to a smaller degree, black ink sketches on paper or solid objects can be made substantial and controlled.
- Natural ink created by plant dyes, animal minerals, salts and various other natural sources, etc work the best. Synthetic inks are generally weaker.
- If manipulating her own body art, then the results are more successful and effects stronger and longer lasting (i.e. a crow tattoo can fly off her and attack, but damage is minimal) or she could manipulate a drawing on the wall to reach out and grab an assailant, helping her to escape, or beat the pulp out of them.
Can manipulate targets tattoos (up to 30ft away) with varying results
Her body is covered with various tribal & cultural designs which can temporarily augment to protect her from physical damage (more out of self-preservation than willful act, i.e. defense mechanism)
Drawback: Each piece of artwork causes varying degrees of mental fatigue, and the longer it is sustained, the more lethargic she can become, to the point of unconsciousness if not careful. There are instances where art, if not conjured properly and kept in control, could turn on her and become violent until it dissipates on it’s own.
Possessions: messenger bag full of art supplies, namely ink vials, several pen tips, sticks, and reams of paper.


“At what point, Padre, do we forget who we are, what we stand for, and where the fuck we're going?”
The young woman, stained in sweat, blood, and soot sat on the floor at the base of the church altar, her head resting against the severely out-dated wooden paneling. The black mascara that once accentuated her emerald eyes ran down her cheeks like watercolor on canvas, covering the several cuts and bruises she’d suffered only an hour earlier. Her dark hair, shaven on one side revealing a circular tribal tattoo pattern, and on the other side hanging roughly jaw length tangled and wet with sweat, obscured her direct line of sight to the priest sitting and listening intently in the pew across from her.
“I'm not ashamed of what I did. He had it coming. So think whatever sick shit you want to conjure up in your small brain.” The girl flashed a wry grin, a slight cough building up from smoke inhalation earlier. “I bet you think I’m just some mutant street shit from the Indi, yeah?” She accused, trying to hold back any tears. “I bet all us tattooed freaks down in the slums look the same to you...” She forced a pathetic laugh, pushing her bangs behind her ear. “I know they did to...him...that prick I once called ‘family’.”
The priest leaned forward in the bench and gazed for a moment at the olive-skinned woman with the slim build, her dark-red tank top dotted with black soot and torn, and her jeans riddled with small holes. She had no shoes, which exposed her mud-covered feet and black toenails. He noticed several large dark symbolic and bestial tattoos that covered her arms were slowly moving, mesmerized, almost as though they wanted to peel away from her skin. A long dragon-like creature on her arm slithered in a hypnotic motion, and a crow on her chest with wings spanned from shoulder to shoulder, appeared as though it would launch at any moment. Most of her body, from what he could see, had various tattoos of tribal or cultural significance, many of which she inked herself as was her profession. He knew who she was. What she was. But it didn’t make being in her presence any less awkward.
Her kind were distastefully known as “Children of the Dark”, and their existence to many were a blight within the community. To a mother she never knew, possibly, but to her father, an honored ex-military police captain who was hailed as some hero from years ago, she was simply known as “Some kind of Damaged”. His love was to the job, and if that job meant keeping the Children in line, then his eye was ever fixed on his only daughter. No matter how often the beatings came, or being locked in her room for days without food, she wouldn’t change. She couldn’t be normal like he wanted. But it didn’t matter. He was gone now. Nothing but a charred corpse and a hollow building she once called a home.
“It’s God’s job to judge, not mine” The priest finally responded, trying to avert his eyes from following the path of the women’s ornate body art, which lead into areas he deemed inappropriate for a young lady to defile with such imagery. “And...yet you being here, confessing, allowing me to listen, is a step in the right direction to redemption. So I applaud you for that, child.”
The girl snickered “Child? I’m almost a hag...geez pushin’ thirty, bro. Meh, it doesn’t matter, you’re still way older than me, am I right?” She forced yet another snicker causing her husky cough to return.
The main sanctuary doors at the other end of the aisle quickly opened revealing a handful of uniformed Military Police officers, flashlights and assault firearms poised at the ready.
“Czigani Salahori, you’re under arrest for the murder of your father, Captain Jorgio Salahori” The lead officer held the girl at gunpoint “You sick piece of gypsy trash” He mumbled under his breath, but loud enough to be heard “Why’d you have to burn him alive…”
The girl, her eyes wide with a mix of anger and fear, looked back at the priest, whose somber expression gave away too much.
“Y-You called them?” She exclaimed, her voice echoing throughout the sanctuary hall. “Bastard Gadjo!...I knew I shouldn’t have trusted you! What the hell happened to that ‘seal of confession’, or whatever bullshit you assholes are supposed to follow?”
The priest shifted uncomfortably as he spoke. “I didn’t tell them anything, except that you were here. They already knew the rest Czigani…”
The woman, enraged, lunged out toward the priest from her sitting position “You son of a b-...” She was caught by one of the officers mid-way, spun around, and pushed back down onto the floor. “Fuck! He deserved it! You pricks knew he was corrupt and abusive-” Her words caught in her throat, as the lead officer pushed her face against the cold floor and clasped her wrists with handcuffs, taking extra care to tighten them until she screamed.
“Shut your whore mouth!" The arresting officer snarled, his knee pressed firmly against her back. "Cop-killer scum like you don’t have rights. And where you’re going, you’ll wish I’d put a bullet in your head right here.”
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The long trip to the R&D Ring was anything but pleasant, but why should it be? Thrown in the back of a police cruiser, chained to the seat, with two heavily armed and armored officers flanking doesn’t usually mean you’re being brought in on a misdemeanor charge. Although her snarky comments and sarcastic disposition did nothing to help her, and only awarded her a swift elbow in the jaw. No, this was some real damage Czigani had done, a scar to not only the community, but to the Military Police force. Her father, warts and all, was a well-respected and upstanding officer within the R&D, and his brutal death sent a ripple that would never be mended so easily.
They just didn’t see in him what she saw throughout most of her life.
The transport pulled up to the precinct, and the woman was practically dragged into the building by the two officers and tossed into a holding cell where she sat, swearing and banging on the cell door, until a few hours later was visited by a large figure she hoped to never see again.
“Hello Miss Salahori” The towering beast, more machine than man as he appeared, leaned against the barred door holding a holopad with a series of scrolling information, his expression painted with a hint of amusement, and his eyes glowed with an almost sinister intent.
“I see you’ve been a very bad girl.
“You!” Czigani’s eyes widened and mouth agape, but no sound came out.
“Officer Reinhardt actually, but you can call me Drei, or whatever...”
“Asshole”
“That works too” He grunted, keying in a few digits on the holopad before continuing. “So, you’ve got quite the rap sheet: petty theft, some vandalism, oh...and mostly graffiti related on private property…”
“Pfft, it’s not ‘graffiti’ you dick..” She interrupted, laying her head back against the stone wall. “It’s artwork, something you’ll never get through your cyberfreak neanderthal head”.
Reinhardt, paying little attention, continued scanning through the list until he stopped at a particular section.
“Ah, so that explains all the ink - you call “artwork” - covering that pretty little body of yours. The genetic mutation gave you power over them. A sort of ”Art Manipulation”, if you will. And I suppose that would also explain the black ink markings around your father’s neck”
“Yeah, I strangled his sorry ass for laying hands on me.” She lifted her right arm into the light, revealing a reptilian creature tattoo wrapped from her wrist to her shoulder. “This one here, he’s a nasty bugger when he wants to be, and it knows when to step in. So, it was your beloved ‘Captain’s’ own damn fault for touching me”
Reinhardt nodded, intrigued to a point, but trying his best to keep from putting his fist through her skull. “So, a defense mechanism? Interesting.”
“Look numbnuts, are we going to be here all fucking day? Isn’t there a quiet corner you could put me in so I don’t have to listen to your droning voice?”
The cell door suddenly slid open, and before Czigani could react, the large cybernetically enhanced officer had her pinned up against the cold wall, his metal hand slowly clamping down around her neck. The woman’s face was a mixture of surprise and anger, but she was helpless to do anything at that moment.
“Do you think this is a game? I could kill you right here, right now, and no one would give two shits about it” His voice was low, gritty, and a raging fire seemed to erupt in his cybernetic eyes.
“In fact, I would love nothing more than to tear you limb from limb and let those mutant shit-hounds that scour the lower sections feast on your pathetic remains. No one will remember you ever existed. And all of that precious work you call ‘art’?...well...it’ll be nothing but a bad memory. But you’re not going anywhere. Oh no, you’re not getting out of this as easily as death. You will get what is coming...”
Reinhardt gave her a swift elbow in the stomach and released his grip, causing her to double over onto the floor. He remained still for a moment before walking away.
“That was only a warning, bitch. Hard times will be ahead and one way or another you are going to cooperate with us.”
A slight chuckle replaced the previous heated anger.
“Re-Education is coming, my dear...”