#fun fact! his armor was originally red and brown like the guttermen & guttertanks in violence

[schellis]

whoops another prime soul got loose, huh.

TERMINAL DATA ICARUS PRIME TYPE: PRIME SOUL DATA: [read more for a lil bit of lore]

Compared to the other Prime Souls, Icarus is incredibly young, having lived during the tail end of humanity, creating machines and mechanical augmentations, even going so far as to replace some of their own flesh with steel.  Humans weren't made to become more than they already are.  Icarus' father already toed the line between man and machine by creating armor for the soldiers they worked to assist, but without the necessary resources, only a few were made, laden with bugs and small errors that nobody had time to fix.  He was only supposed to be an assistant. Assisting with the final screws, making sure the wires were in place, making sure that everything was at least functional, usable. But there had to be a better way, right? Instead of just armor, why not make use of the machines that they've all been working on? Why not just mesh flesh with machine, make our own flesh and blood power the machinery that makes up our skin, become an immortal being.  When he ended up in Hell, he tried something similar. He couldn't die twice, right? So he searched through Violence, running through the wastelands, picking up bits and pieces of robots long gone, soldering the pieces together, placing it over his flesh, sticking small wires and tubes through the skin, feeding the metal his own blood. After all, he had plenty to spare, right?  The Angels took notice.  Husks shouldn't be trying to make themselves stronger. They should be serving their time in Hell. Doing their punishment.  Justice and Splendor carved through his body, slicing through both metal and flesh alike.  His blood was not enough.  Too many injuries, not enough time to heal, to pull it all back together. He screamed- or at least tried to.  The Angels pulled apart his cut limbs, separating them into locked boxes, buried deep within the levels of Hell, keeping them from ever coming back together, from ever sewing his sinew back together. His soul survived.  They didn't notice, paying more attention to his body, making sure that nothing- neither drop of blood nor shard of bone- could touch.  He ran back to the train tunnel to the labyrinth, dodging the beams of the spotlights, away from the eyes of the Angels.