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tsarbomba567 · 2 years ago

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Pavlov's Cabin

TW: Blood, Gore, Death

The human skier groaned as they slowly stirred from unconsciousness, their face covered in snow as they contemplated their decision to go off the piste for a more exhilarating experience. Laying on their chest, they attempt to stand up, only to fall back down in agony as a sharp pain irradiates from their left leg. Looking down, they scream as they see part of their tibula poking out of their skin and now torn pants, blood seeping out the wound. Tears ran down the human's face as they carefully took their skis off; gritting their teeth, they realigned the broken bone before using their skis as a splint for their leg. Their splint tightly secured, they began to crawl through the Birchwood Forest, a small trail of blood staining the pristine white snow behind them as they attempted to find help. As they dragged themself across the ground, the skier slowly became more confused and cold, shivering as they began to lose their sense of direction.

After what felt like an eternity, and dusk fastly approaching, they saw a small light in the distance, which renewed their hope in salvation as they crawled their way towards the source of the light. "Hey! I need help over here!" the human called out as they maneuvered quicker towards the shimmering yellow light, only for it to suddenly go out to their horror. "HEY! DON'T LEAVE ME HERE!" they cried as they began to feel uncomfortably hot, their misplaced hope turning into dread. In an attempt to address their abrupt hot flash, they tried to take off their winter clothing to no avail as their shivering subsided. This is the end, they sadly mused as they slowly drifted unconscious, but not before hearing what sounded like footsteps rapidly approaching them.

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The crackling of fire awaited the weary human as they awoke from their slumber, only for them to see that they weren't in the cold wilderness, but rather in what seemed to be a warm and cozy log cabin. They were lying on the floor, near the fireplace and covered in blankets in what seemed to be the living room. Wha … where am I? they pondered as a dull pain throbbed above their left knee; speaking of his left leg, he couldn't feel anything below his knee. Removing their blankets, they screamed at the sight of their missing lower half of their left leg, which was now bandaged just above the knee. What happened to me? the human internally cried, why was my left leg amputated? WHERE AM I?! Their internal monologue was cut short by the front door opening and sound of hooves clopping on the wooden floor, the mysterious figure looking around before heading into another room. From there, an aroma of berries and cheese flowed from what they believed to be the cabin's kitchen as the cabin's owner prepared something to eat. After several minutes, the scent of berries, eggs, coffee and cheese flowed from what the skier assumed to be the kitchen as their anxiety only rose. The human's fear skyrocketed when he heard the clopping exit the kitchen and enter the living room as the figure made their presence known to the human, who could stare back in awe.

The person staring back at them looked like a mix between an Anacondrai and an Oni, with regal purple scales and cream colored Oni markings. Additionally, they had vanilla colored neck and tail fur, along with having hooved legs, ears, ivory horns, scarlet eyes with white pupils, and Black Star sapphire gem on their head. "Oh good. You're finally awake," the hybrid avered in relief, their Slavic accent confusing the human skier. "Who … what are you?" the human quavered, still processing the hybrid's appearance as they sat down next to the one-legged skier. "My name is Pavlov Sokolov, an Oni/Anacondrai hybrid. My dad - Yuri - was an Anacondrai while my mother - Galina - was an Oni, though she took on the form of an Anacondrai," the male hybrid explained. "What about you?" Pavlov asked the nervous human, who replied, "Name's Dael Visser, though I do have to inquire about why the lower half of my left leg is missing." "Well, when I spotted you, I converged on your position and took you in. While your leg was splinted very well, it seemed that frostbite had taken its toll on your exposed wound, which was now black and reeked of decay. So I had no choice but to amputate it so that I could save the remaining unaffiliated part of your left leg." As Dael digested Sokolov's words, the hybrid got up to fetch the two breakfast, coming back with two plates, both with fried eggs, black bread, and some fluffy pancakes topped with blueberries. Putting them on the coffee table, they left again for the drinks as Visser pulled himself onto the couch, getting comfortable as Pavlov came back with two cups of coffee.

"So, in addition to a cup of coffee, we have fried eggs, black bread, and some Syrniki - which are just cheese pancakes - topped with blueberries," the hybrid detailed to the human amputee. "насолоджуйся своєю їжею. Bon appétit," Sokolov stated, and the two began to eat their morning meals. Taking a bite from a slice of the black bread, Dael was greeted by a mixture of molasses, brown sugar, and coffee - among other things - indulging his taste buds. Taking a forkful of Syrniki, he found himself enjoying the fat yet soft pancake, the blueberries complimenting the sweet yet mild cheese. "You know, I'm normally not fond of outsiders. I tend to be … territorial," Pavlov blurted out, breaking the silence in the living room as Visser looked up in interest. "Normally, when people lose their way and end up here, I'm initially strict and serious around the lost intruder. It's only when I get more familiar with them that I soften my stance." "So why are you immediately welcoming me with open arms unlike everyone else?" the human asked after sipping his black coffee, the hybrid taking their time to construct their response. "Well, you were gravely injured and on the verge of death, so I had to take you in and nurse you back to full health. Besides, I've seen too many instances of the corpses of those who froze to death in this forest; some of them had stripped naked because they thought that they were getting hot, when in reality their body is dilating its blood vessels to keep itself warm. By taking off their clothes, they're actually expediting their demise." The hybrid took another bite of fried egg as the skier realized that he did feel hot as he failed in his attempt to remove his clothes while freezing to death. Trying to get his mind off that dark thought, Dael inquired, "You talked about how you had an Oni mom and Anacondrai dad. Could you further elaborate on that?" "Звичайно. Sure," Sokolov immediately replied as he took another bite from Syrniki, washing it down with some of his coffee, "After all, I think you deserve an explanation for how I came into this world."

"Like I stated before, my mother was an Oni who took the form of an Anacondrai, and during her time Oni weren't welcome in Ninjago. Back then, there were many incidents of humans and Serpentine exiling or even killing Oni after their true nature was discovered. When my parents first met, Galina was tasked with spying on the Serpentine, yet Yuri instantly won her heart, with the two of them moving here in the Birchwood Forest to start a life together. One night, my dad found my mom in her true Oni form, but rather than slithering away and telling his fellow Serpentine of his revelation he comforted her by promising that he would keep it a secret between the two of them with his dying breath. So when I was born, I had no friends, or contact with the outside world for that matter; it was just me, Galina and Yuri. At the time I thought that it was strict and cruel, but now I realize that they did it to protect me. They knew that, just like Oni, Oni hybrids were also not welcome in Ninjago, so they restricted my movement outside the cabin so that I wouldn't get caught. When the First Serpentine War came, my dad and I - along with family photos and other memorabilia - went into the basement while my mom took the form of either a single human or Serpentine and lived on the main floor. Several times during the war, humans and Serpentine entered our land, either fighting each other or simply passing through, and neither side suspected that anything was off."

"Once the war was over, while we were relieved that we were spared of the death and destruction the war caused, we were shocked about the Serpentine's fate, particularly the Anacondrai whose leaders were sent to the Cursed Realm. Nevertheless, we continued with our lives in isolation, secretly trading some of our goods with the humans, who by now were suffering from economic collapse, disease and famine. Those who came to us in person kept our true nature a secret; they were desperate for food and medicine at the time, so they were willing to covertly interact with us." The hybrid paused, his mood dampening as a frown developed across his face as he continued his story. "Sometime after the war's end, my 149 year old dad Yuri suffered a sudden and fatal heart attack, and me and my mom buried him underneath the floorboards in the basement. My parents were very close with one another, so with dad's passing my mother became inconsolable and depressed as she grieved the loss of the love of her life. I tried to comfort her, but she couldn't move on, and she would continue to grieve until she died from a broken heart one year later. When my 150 year old mom Galina passed, she reverted back to her true Oni form, and like my father I buried her under the basement floor so that she could be with Yuri. After that, I spent my days and years living by myself, helping those who accidently wander onto my land while also protecting it from thieves and hooligans."

The hybrid finished the last of his black bread, looking depressed now he had recited his painful past. The human noticed the change in atmosphere as they finished the last of their coffee, the two of them having finished their meals. "Hey Pavlov, are you okay?" Dael asked, yet he got no response from the Serpentine as they gathered all of the plates, cups and dining utensils before going back into the kitchen. After several minutes of washing and putting away the dishes, the hybrid returned from the kitchen and sat next to the concerned human. The two of them sat on the couch in silent thought, the crackling fire of the fireplace the only sound reverberating throughout the room. After several minutes of the deafening silence, Dael finally found the courage to speak up, stating, "Hey, Pavlov. I know that it must be hard losing someone that's very close to you, like a friend or a family member. From what you've said, it seemed that your parents were very nice people, hellbent on keeping you safe. And while I know it hurts to lose them both in the span of a year, you should realize that they passed just about a year into the Serpentine's entombment. If they had lived to see the Serpentine reemerge from their tombs, they would have been in their 190s, which I recall is knocking on the end of a Serpentine's average lifespan of 200 years. Your father would only have ten - maybe eleven years before he probably would have kicked the bucket, with your mom following him sometime afterwards due to a broken heart."

"What are you trying to say?" the hybrid sniffed, their eyes watery as tears ran down his face and into his fur. "What I'm saying is that their time was nearing its end," Dael stated, "No one lives forever, and while death is a scary concept that we want to avoid at all costs, the sad reality is that it's inevitable. The passing of a friend or a loved one or a family member is tragic, but we can't bog ourselves down by always grieving for the past. Eventually, we have to get up and move on, leaving the heavy baggage of grief behind while keeping the memories of the dead alive in our hearts." Now having explained his point, the human hugged the crying Sokolov, burying his head into the Serpentine's warm neck fur as the snake returned the gesture. "It's okay, big guy. Let it all out," Dael whispered as the hybrid bawled on the man's shoulder; the two embraced for several minutes before pulling away. "Thanks Dael. I … I really needed that," Pavlov sniffed as he wiped the tears from his scaly face with a blue handkerchief. "You're welcome. Besides, everyone needs a good cry every now and again," the human explained as the human leaned back into the couch, trying to get comfortable.

After cleaning his face, Sokolov got up and went into his room, coming out wearing a fur coat of a bear and a bow and quiver filled with arrows, as well as an Anacondrai Spear. "Hey Pavlov. Where ya going?" the human asked as he proceeded to lie down on the couch, covering himself with a blanket. "Going to go out and hunt. Need more food, as well as go out and do something to ease my mind," the hybrid responded. "I might be gone for a while, so don't do anything either stupid or dangerous. Got it?" Sokolov simply got a thumbs up from the human as he sighed in relief, before the two said their goodbyes as the Serpentine left the cabin.

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The silence of the Birchwood Forest was shattered by a deer falling to the forest floor, the pristine white snow under it splattered by the creature's blood. An arrow had lodged itself into the animal's neck, severing its spine as their eyes rapidly scanned its surroundings, attempting to find their assailant to no avail. The animal's eyes stopped moving as their brain suffocated from a lack of oxygen; the creature now expired, Pavlov emerged from the shadows, turning visible as he carefully walked towards his kill. Crouching down, the Serpentine hybrid couldn't shake the feeling that something was off as he ripped the arrow from the corpse, throwing it onto the ground. Why does it feel … much colder than usual, he noticed as he slung the deer carcass over his shoulder as he began the long trek home. What was I thinking? Leaving my usual hunting grounds and traveling far away from - his pondering was halted when he spotted a black fog rapidly creeping towards him. The hybrid tried to run away from the mysterious cloud, but the fog was simply too fast for the snake, even if he wasn't carrying the deer carcass on his person.

Sokolov was so focused on running from the rapidly approaching dark cloud that he didn't notice the fallen log that tripped him, sending him and the deer corpse to the ground. The snake could only watch in fear as the black fog consumed him, sapping him of his energy and breath; he shivered as the surrounding temperature plummeted to arctic levels. He began to feel weak and stiff as he noticed that his body began to turn a stone gray. I'm not … going out … like this, he protested as he slowly got up, focusing on resisting the cloud's effects as he began to hear voices in the distance. "H-hello?" the snake stuttered, leaning against a nearby tree as the sound of footsteps trudging through the snowy forest, yet the fog greatly obscured his vision; he could only see 50 feet in front of him. As the mysterious figures emerge into his field of view, he discovers that the people the voices belong to are Oni, armed with spears and swords as the leader of the ten-man group. The old, gray-haired commander scanned the hybrid with a piercing glare before their neutral expression turned into one of vile disgust as they grumbled, "Great. Another one of those degenerate hybrids." The leader pushed the weak Sokolov to the ground as they continued their little rant, "Ugh. Not only are they a disgusting hybrid, but they're a Serpentine one. Is that … Anacondrai I see l? It doesn't matter. Soon Ninjago - like every realm - will be under the Omega's control." The Oni were about to leave when one spotted the deer carcass and made the move to attempt to confiscate it, only for the increasingly stone-looking serpent to throw himself onto the corpse. "You're … not … getting … my … kill," he slowly declared, much to the annoyance of the other Oni as they attempted to lift the snake off the deer to no avail.

"Get off you stupid abomination!" one of the younger, short-horned Oni grunted as they kicked Pavlov in the chest, yet the now winded serpent refused to budge. "Forget it," the older Oni ordered, "Let this … thing have its kill. We have to regroup with the Omega. After all, it is your fault that we got lost in this forsaken island." The two Oni proceeded to get into a shouting match, unaware that the gray hybrid was slowly getting standing up, chuckling to themself in amusement. "Huh. All of … you fucks … will never … conquer Ninjago," the weak Serpentine dryly laughed, only for the younger Oni to shove the snake into a tree. "Shut the fuck up, Pavlov," they yelled, sending a chill down the serpent's spine as the young Oni grinned in sadistic joy. "Oh? You don't know? Yeah, we know that your mother Galina had betrayed the Oni by wedding an Anacondrai. We've been spying on your little family ever since she failed to report back to us on the Serpentine's activities." The Oni then punched Sokolov in the gut as they boasted, "You know, I'm glad what happened to your heretical parents. Galina was always the odd one out of our forces, not loyal to the Omega; she was always a weakling, everything an Oni isn't. Her small, lovely little heart couldn't bear to be without her sweet Yuri, so it gave out and shattered so that she could be with him in death. How cute … and pathetic."

The young Oni walked away as his superior shook his head in disapproval, all the while the Serpentine hybrid looked on in shock. "Come on, Shōtohōn. It's time to regroup with the Omega's forces," Shiraga urged, yet the youngling refused to comply, all the while the snake hybrid simply stared. They laugh at … my appearance, Pavlov silently monologued as he picked himself up, They … mock my … family. They … spied on us … for years. I'll … make them … pay … for … everything. The snake's Oni markings and head gem began to glow as his skin reverted back to its normal colors, his vision clearing up and rage filling his mind. The ambitious Oni noticed that the "abomination" hadn't turned to stone like all the other humans and Serpentine that had crossed their path. "Oh. It looks like the bastard child isn't ready to give up yet," Shōtohōn laughed as he waltzed towards the Serpentine, eager to knock out Sokolov for good. "Let's see if you're as tough as those pesky Anacondrai claim they arRAHHHHH!!" As Shōtohōn wound up a powerful punch, the snake hybrid suddenly lunged towards the young Oni and bit him on his left shoulder, breaking the fool's shoulder blade. Throwing the youngling aside, Pavlov equipped his Anacondrai Spear and rushed towards one of Shōtohōn's friends, delivering a quick slice to their throat. The mortally wounded Oni clutched their bleeding throat as the others closed in on the Serpentine and began their attack, Shiraga leading the charge. Unfortunately, when he went to swing his club at the hybrid, Pavlov parried their attack with the shaft of his spear before clawing the left side of the old Oni's face. Shiraga screamed in pain, holding the left side of his face only for the hybrid to knee him in the chest, sending down to the ground.

Turning around, the enraged Sokolov slashed at the stomach of another Oni, disemboweling them as he moved on to his next target, who was attempting to leave the scene of battle. Not wanting to let anyone escape, the angry serpent threw his spear like a javelin towards the coward, hitting its mark directly in the Oni's back, destroying their heart. As he went to reclaim his weapon, the Anacondrai was ambushed by a club-wielding Oni, who knocked the snake off his hooved feet. On the ground, Pavlov rolled to dodge his foe's attacks before fiercely kicking them in the right shin, sending the Oni to the ground. The serpentine proceeds to get up and jump onto the assailant's head, cracking their head wide open and sending blood and gray matter splattering onto the snow. Great, now I have to clean the blood and brains off my hooves, the hybrid grumbled as he retrieved his spear, just in time to dodge a charge by yet another Oni. Sensing an opportunity, the hybrid took a swing at the enemy's legs, the unmatched sharpness of the Anacondrai Blade swiftly cleaving through flesh and bone as his opponent fell face first into the snow screaming in pain. Blood gushed from the now severed legs as the victim's loud cries of pain grew softer with each passing second, all the while Pavlov trudged back to his kill.

I swear, if I get jumped by another Oni I'm going to - Pavlov's grumpy musing is shattered by the war cry of an Oni charging from behind, spear in hand. The frustrated hybrid simply sidestepped his foe before grabbing them by their throat, Sokolov's eyes filled with rage. "So you want to take my kill?" the hybrid sadistically asked as his foe struggled for air, "THEN YOU CAN HAVE IT!!" Pavlov then rammed the Oni's head into one of the dead deer's antlers, piercing the foe's right eye as blood and gray matter spilling out of the fatal wound. The hybrid then broke one of the antlers off of his kill, leaving an antler in the fresh corpse's head, just as he spotted another enemy converging on his position. The sword-wielding Oni charged the hybrid, who dodged out of the approaching demon with ease, sending them into a nearby tree; the sword was now embedded into the birchwood tree. As the demon attempted to dislodge their sword, they felt two cold, scaly hands on their shoulders, which ripped them from their weapon and threw them to the ground. "Do you need a helping hand?" Pavlov sinisterly whispered, leering at the defenseless Oni that was frantically trying to crawl away from the menacing hybrid. Unfortunately for them, their efforts were in vain as Sokolov grabbed them by the throat and pinned them against a tree, a thirst for blood in his eyes. "Here. Let me help you," the hybrid dryly murmured, following it up with a ferocious uppercut to the Oni's jaw, knocking them out as the sickly crack of their mandible fracturing reverberated throughout the forest.

As the hybrid stared down the unconscious Oni, the sound of muffled breathing grabbed his attention as he turned to see an Oni tail poking out from behind a tree to his right. Getting closer, Pavlov could hear the distressed demon sobbing as they held onto their spear with an iron grip. "S-stay back! D-don't come any closer you … fucking monster," the terrified soldier cried as he began to shiver in fear, the grotesque images of his dead comrades burned into his mind. Sokolov's hands began to spark with the purple essence of Destruction, the cornered Oni dropping their weapon and closing their eyes, awaiting their total obliteration at the hands of the Serpentine hybrid. "That's enough, hybrid," a raspy voice bellowed behind Pavlov, who turned around to see an exhausted Shiraga leaning against a tree, the unconscious Oni slung over his shoulder. "You've already killed most of my forces … and sent Shōtohōn running for the hills. I think that it would be in everyone's best interest that you stop this senseless -" "Stop? Stop?!" an unhinged Sokolov hissed, "Why should I stop?! You're the ones that invaded Ninjago! You're the ones that stalked me and my family for decades! Why should I spare the three of you now when removing you from existence will serve me well in the long run?" The demented hybrid leered at the old Oni, his once scarlet eyes now as purple as the essence of Destruction crackling in his hands; meanwhile, Shiraga was mentally racing to formulate a deal that could save him and his two remaining warriors. "If you spare the three of us, we - along with other Oni - will never enter the Birchwood Forest and spy on you ever again. Whether or not the Omega's plan of conquering Ninjago succeeds, I'll be damned if another group of Oni stumble through here and be erased from existence by your hand."

The offer gave the deranged Sokolov pause, being torn between allowing the surviving Oni to withdraw from his territory, or to destroy the decimated remains of the small enemy force once and for all. The deafening silence that filled the air began to slowly kill the three Oni, with the snow starting to suck out the conscious duo's remaining energy as the frigid temperatures attacked their skin, suffocating them both in anticipation. "Go," Pavlov suddenly shouted, stunning Shiraga and the cowering Oni, "Just … go. But don't make me regret betting the cabin on your little promise." "If it means that Oni lives can be saved, then that's a promise that I'm to keep," Shiraga answered before turning to the other Oni, "Come on Sumōruhōn, let's get out of here." The scared Oni didn't hesitate to bolt toward his superior, leaving his spear behind as the duo hurried out the Birchwood Forest, constantly looking behind their backs as they disappeared into the black fog. The hybrid studied the horizon, observing the Oni retreat until the sounds of their voices and footsteps were masked by the icy winds blowing through the forest. Confident that his opponents have thoroughly left, Pavlov looked down at the purple essence of Destruction flickering in his hands.

The revelation was like getting kicked in the chest by a horse.

"FUCK! OH FUCK!!" he screamed as he began to wildly shake his hands to rid himself of the dangerous element; the purple essence fizzled out as his eyes returned to its original color. The essence of Destruction now gone, the hybrid began to take deep breaths as he took notice of the gore on his hands and hooves, along with the many Oni corpses that they came from. He attempted to form a coherent thought - any thought at all - to distract him from the slaughter that he uncontrollably unleashed, but his mind only drew blanks. "The deer," he suddenly murmured to himself, quickly taking inventory before rushing towards the carcass and picking it up, before beginning the slow journey home. The dark fog made it difficult to see where he was going, but he had a gut feeling that he was heading the right direction. As he trudged through the snow, his mind began to replay the violent and gory events of his fight with the Oni, their horrified faces as he relentlessly snuffed out the lives of six men while leaving three injured. That wasn't me, he silently repeated to himself as he finally detected his cabin, that bloodthirsty … monster isn't me.

A mixed sense of relief and dread washed over him as he entered the cabin's butchery with his kill in hand, putting it on the butcher's table as Pavlov left for the bathroom to clean himself up. Getting all of this blood out of my fur is going to be an absolute nightmare, he moaned as he entered the shower and filled a bucket with water and began to vigorously scrub off the gore staining his scales and fur. After spending thirty minutes of repetitive washing, as well as expending an entire bar of soap and dirtying a washcloth, the Serpentine wrapped a towel around his waist and exited the bathroom and headed towards his bedroom, but paused when he entered the living room. The wood in the fireplace had ceased burning, and lying on the couch was Dael Visser, his cold skin stone gray; observing his petrified friend, Pavlov noticed that the human had most likely taking a nap when the dark fog engulfed the Birchwood Forest, trapping him a deep yet pleasant sleep. At least he was asleep when the black fog petrified him, the exhausted hybrid whispered as he walked back to his room, deciding that taking a rest was more important at the moment than butchering his deer.

#ninjago #ninjago serpentine #ninjago oni #ninjago oc #pavlov sokolov #dael visser #gurando fukkatsu

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machinakrp · 5 years ago

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>> OPEN KIM TAEOH’S FILE …

:// AGE — 27 :// OCCUPATION — mechanic :// CLASS — elysium native

>> LOADING DEVELOPMENT …

:// MODIFICATIONS —

ARMS /

cybernetic arm: as a reckless teenager with a hoverbike, an accident left him with a severely shattered arm. things seemed to be healing decently, but an unfortunate byproduct of being broke and in elysium with little access to beneficial healthcare meant a serious staph infection took root and required eventual amputation. thereafter, he had his basic prosthesis replaced with a custom built (by himself) prosthetic of a more cybernetic nature. it is, however, not particularly subtle. he didn’t have the money or the expertise to manufacture any synthetic skin. instead, his arm is fully mechanical in nature, and it’s not exactly shiny chrome. he’s installed a customized shoulder socket allowing him to remove it for easier repairs, but the process is painful - both for attaching and removal - and it obviously leaves him in a precarious position.

magnetic systems: prior to losing his arm, taeoh was a street magician who used sleight of hand and a magnetic node built into his arm to manipulate metal objects, seeming to make them fly. he used this, additionally, to pickpocket from the crowds that gathered to watch his performances. after replacing his arm, he traded out the uncouth system for a more sophisticated set up, though the magnetic system in his human hand is wired only to the hand, the robotic arm has a broader range of output, though still lowgrade enough to avoid hurting sensitive equipment.

EYES /

protective covers: a retractable second eyelid designed to protect against gasses, particulates, fire/heat, and other potential damage that comes with this job as a glorified mechanic. it’s mostly geared towards being a replacement for very unsexy and clunky safety goggles, allowing him a greater peripheral vision range and more flexibility.

vision magnification: a simple enhancement to his optical range, this allows him to trigger a zoom effect, effective in close range. while he can’t zoom in on distant details binocular style, he’s able to magnify things that are in front of him, allowing him to more easily and accurately work with minute machinery.

retinal display: this retinal display doesn’t only focus on pure communications, though of course that’s a component of it. he’s also worked with adept programmers to write in a capability to sense and suggest the appropriate tools for specific problems he’s looking at, as well as an ability to quickly call up troubleshooting data or suggestions.

>> LOADING BIOGRAPHY …

tw. injury, hospitalization

the anatomy of a boy begins with

B O N E S.

the lattice work that supports the flesh, his story begins piecemeal but whole. a mother with wide eyes turned outward, skyward, away. there’s a distance in her that he never quite breaches, a gap between them that he can never close. she hangs faded maps on their walls and dreams in stories of places none of them are allowed to go. she pets his head and calls him by a twist of his name. they christen him taeoh but she twists the knife in her own gut each time she presses tongue to teeth to stress the counterpart name, theo, theo. some relic of a place she can’t go, a world closed off to them. it sounds all but the same, but she insists on scrawling it on the tags of his clothes and in the margins of his birth certificate as theo, each pen stroke carrying her dreams of eiffel towers and hover cars drifting over top the river seine at sunset.

his bones are made of dreams - his mother’s forgotten daydreams and his father’s desperate optimism. if skin could wear away his father’s fingertips would protrude shining and white from the tops of his fingers. maintenance in a city like elysium is brute work. he’s covered in oil and bone tired at the end of exhaustive shifts but it’s “honest work, theo, and you should learn to appreciate that.”

what good is being honest, in elysium?

the anatomy of a boy is layered in

M U S C L E.

as he grows, he knots together the best pieces of his parents, cherry picking useful attributes with calculating eyes, to make himself into something. like pinocchio he feels set apart from the world. a strange slant to his vision. he tinkers with his father’s old tool box, fusses with old radios and tunes into frequencies he shouldn’t be able to access.

he hears stories from worlds away and his mother never resists the chance to tell him they weren’t meant to be here, trapped in this sick city, destined to be consumed by the rot of it. it had all been an accident. an accident, in fact, of her own birth. her parents had been visiting family, infant daughter in tow, when the borders had closed and their nomadic life had come to an abrupt end alongside it. it’s nostalgia passed down with guilt, his mother’s frustration at having been the sacrificial lamb to her parents’ distress, their desire to escape exhausting their good will and finances in those early years of isolation. he’s born into hand-me-down guilt in a hand-me-down house with hand-me-down expectations layered onto his shoulders, and he resents the lot of it.

maybe that’s when the escapism begins, really. he’s a child with a light heart and quick feet, scrambles down side streets and shimmies down drain pipes. his parents get used to him “running away” and returning days later scuffed and dirty but mostly fine, all in one piece.

the anatomy of a boy is controlled in the

B R A I N.

taeoh is one of the few to attend school on the regular, even when he’s skipping out on his home life. that doesn’t stop his fascination with machinery, doesn’t keep him from finding an old motorbike and fixing it up. its a painstaking, oil staining process that leaves him with more ruined pairs of jeans than anything else in his closet, smells like petrol. he races through the streets, winding between the seemingly perpetually gridlocked traffic and skidding through narrow alleyways. curses follow in his wake as he takes corners a bit too quickly, banks a little bit hard.

he lives for the moments he can feel the wind in his hair, the ghost of a sky that barely peeks through between the cracks of looming buildings. he builds his own freedom and constructs his own stories. he takes his work from the purely mechanical to the artistic. found and salvaged sculpture plenty of peers are happy to denounce as garbage, but taeoh thinks in the frame of salvation, elevation.

it’s the cycle that takes him out in the end, barrelling down a tunnel, repurposed subway tracks, his characteristic adrenaline chasing grinds to an abrupt and screaming halt. what remains of his left arm is a mangled and shattered thing, a mash of blood and splintered bone, tangling sinew on the concrete floor.

the stain remains, long long after they cart him to a hospital he can’t afford.

the anatomy of a boy is replaced by

G E A R S.

it takes them two months to decide to amputate the arm, in the wake of an infection that renders him delirious and feverish, racing through his blood stream and eating at his heart. it’s the fault of the hospital in the first place, a botched and bungled effort, underfunded and low staffed and the sanitization protocols are clearly not up to par, but it’s not like taeoh can pay for better. h e can’t even pay for this.

he’s left with pins and needles and a sense of absence, a strange echo of a limb that once was. he’s a man who works with his hands, works with his body, and he goes home to a room full of bits and bobs he can’t build with in the same way, elements he can’t sculpt how he’s used too. everything becomes a bit more daunting, a little bit harder, and taeoh wonders what it was all for, what the point is to grind his way back up from the bottom one armed. it’s a bitter depression that tangles around him, thorns driving into his heart.

it takes months, before his father dumps a box of parts onto his bed and gruffly informs him it’s time to stop fucking wallowing and live his life.

in the end, it takes him six months, but he does it. makes an arm. it’s a labor of love and necessity and it’s not one that allows for much luxury. he’s relearning himself just as much as he’s learning to create, to apply his mechanical knowledge to the biological.

the result isn’t beautiful, but it is functional and customized. it’s removable, with a socket build into his shoulder so he can take it off for ease of repair, or to sleep without being completely miserable. it’s a very mechanical construction, bared metal and the clink clank of machinery sliding back and forth when he moves. cracking his knuckles has become a symphony of metal now. there is no shining chrome here, no paint, no synthetic skin. just mechanics on display.

he loves it.

the anatomy of a boy is driven by the

H E A R T.

even now, out on his own in the world, half man and half mechanized, with more than enough money to cover up his arm in something more palatable, more aesthetic, taeoh clings to the click clack clang of his first arm. there have been many iterations since then and many improvements, maybe additions, but the look has never changed. still raw, more machine than augmentation.

his work is careful and creative but it’s never the groundbreaking and pioneering effort from more polished figures in the industry. he’ll hack it, he’ll crack it, he’ll redesign and customize it, but first time installations are out of his wheelhouse - except, of course, on himself. he’s happy to be a bit creative in that respect, to modify and adjust himself to his fullest limits - as much as is possible of course. he is a mechanic, a handyman, an artist. he’s still that bright eyed boy chasing highs in oil stained jeans, climbing on hastily rigged scaffolding to complete a piece.

he turns his arm into a performance of it’s own, a range of magnetization in hands and arm becoming the catalyst to apparent magic, a call back to his child hood attempts of gaining pocket money through sleight of hand, a street performer with a penchant for “magic” tricks in a world where real magic exists. the magnetic fields now give him a chance to up the moves to performance piece level, a range that endlessly entertains him, though his friends might be well sick of it.

he’s an analogue creature in a digital world, negotiating the bounds of mechanic and artist, man and machine, takes on the in-between the worlds notation his mother had scrawled so often and leaves it on his work, engraves it in steel and iron, carves out his place in a world that seems to have no room for him. theo.

#neobio #neoicarus #neo kim jongin

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