He is 76 years old, lives in Nowhere and Everywhere all at once (they are lost in the Radiant Webspace a dimension outside of space and time)), and often appears as tall, ominous figure dressed in a futuristic, form-fitting body suit shimmering slightly, putting a strain on the eyes of anything trying to perceive him.
Mensk Xelnaga [13] lives in Maelstrom, a setting where videos of the supernatural go viral every day. His journal has 1 entry. His Questionnaire has 7 answers.
2 Alertness
0 Animals
2 Athletics
1 Crafts
1 Culture
1 Drive
1 Firearms
1 Influence
1 Investigation
2 Medicine
4 Melee
1 Occult
0 Performance
3 Science
2 Stealth
1 Survival
4 Technology
1 Thievery
2 Corporate
Latest 3 of 7 answers
There are places between realities where time folds like crumpled silk, where the past breathes into the future and space hums with the light of a thousand unchosen tomorrows. They call it the Radiant Veil. It doesn't offer hope or any form of physical matter, but the space shines with visions and possibilities.
Mensk Xelnaga was once a man of terrifying brilliance. A CEO, an artificer of artificial intelligence, a trillionaire tactician who played with governments and societies like others played with cards. But somewhere between the beginning and the total power to remake the world in his image, he was betrayed by his most trusted.
He barely remembers how or why.
Now he floats alone in the interstice between alternate Earths, barely alive.
His body is wrapped in the shattered remnants of his armor, its neon circuitry flickering erratically with crimson pulses. Deep scars crawl up his chest like lightning etched in flesh, and the glowing gauntlets once used to command gravitational fields now twitch with barely-contained entropy.
The goggle on his left eye is cracked. His iris behind it glows an unnatural blue, an aftereffect of his final escape. Not through a wormhole. Not a jump gate. But a shatterline: a violent tear in the fabric of reality meant to be a one-way trip.
He remembers the moment: his hands trembling over the core controls, blood trailing from a wound under his ribs. Voices screaming in his ear. The words “This is not the way.” He had smiled anyway.
Now silence.
Drifting.
Burning.
His mind spirals as it touches the Radiant Veil. Thoughts become memories. Memories become possibilities. His trauma bleeds into the dimension making him a beacon, or a curse.
He prays.
He doesn't know to whom. Gods don’t listen to people like Mensk.
And yet…
The dimension stirs.
Someone/thing is walking towards him.