Name: Mortimer Mene.

Appearance:

Roughly six feet tall generally weighing up to 160 pounds with medium length black straight hair and blood brown eyes for now. All of his limbs and parts of his torso have had new parts sewn onto him, some parts having spent a longer time on him than others.


Equipment:

"Psychic!"

Coming off the street into the school he wears brown cargo pants, a black t-shirt, a long brown leather trench coat and a grey scarf that is often hiked up to hide his decaying features. All of these clothes he currently possesses were bought from a homeless guy who was too drunk to notice Mortimer's condition.

He also carries a spool of wire and a sewing needle.


Age: 17


Power: Living-Dead.

His body might be long dead with some body parts that didn't belong to him but it lives, moves, walks, all animated by the power of his mind. No matter if he is shot, stabbed, bashed or cut so long as his brain remains intact the rest of him moves all the same if it's still attached to the body as long as the body is connected to his head with the brain still in it. Much like a magnet though, his brain can only control so much as the strength of his brain's control extends only as far as the diameter of his original body.


Sexual Preference: Straight


Personality:

He is not much for talking. Living the kind of existence he has lived has taught him to keep to himself and avoid others. He tends to feel as though people take their own lives too much for granted. He doesn't like anyone forcing their ideals on others either though so when someone gets to know him better he still tends to remain the strong silent guy type, The kind of guy who doesn't make much of a fuss and gets things done. He is curious to learn more about himself whenever he gets the chance to.


History:

He was dead once. He woke up in a graveyard under a tombstone who's name had been scratched off it. He had no memory of his past, but that was the least of his worries when he noticed his flesh had gone rotten. He stumbled through the cemetery for a few days in the bloodstained clothes he was wearing during his death. Not knowing who he was, where he was or most importantly, what had happened to him, he decided to adopt the name of the grave next to his, Mortimer Mene for now since he lacked memory of any other name. After that he had to move on from the cemetery before anyone discovered him.

Skip to a few months later of living the hard un-life in the big city. He's avoided being seen by the public for the most part, forced to live in the darker alleys and more abandoned parts of town for the sake of safety. The closest he usually got to civilization was when he would make forays into cemeteries to dig up freshly buried bodies and steal their nice, healthy, recently departed limbs. He doesn't know why his limbs keep decaying like they do, only knowing that he can replace them with other parts from other dead bodies.

This was all interrupted one fateful night as he was on his way to go grave robbing once more. As he was passing by a convenience store he noticed a robbery in progress. The masked man with the gun had just stole the money from the register and was now making an escape from the store. Naturally this was no place for Mortimer to intervene so he didn't but as misfortune would have it a cop car was in close pursuit of the criminal or so he thought. Not wanting to be spotted, Mortimer tried to dash out of view of the police cruiser but this produced the opposite effect for him. The police had assumed he was the criminal and were now pursuing him! He ran as hard as his legs could carry him, immune to fatigue, but little could help him as he was cornered by a building by the cops who, given the opportunity that had presented itself, had gotten out of their car and pointed guns at him. Busted for a crime he didn't commit, Mortimer was taken to the local prison by cops who were less than thrilled when they realized just who they had to have ride in the backseat of their patrol car. He spent that night in a cell by himself for the other inmates were moved out from that cell as a show of mercy to them on the cops behalf.

The morning came and Mortimer was released from his cell, free of penalties. He did not understand why until he was handed a letter on his way out the door. An invitation from Psy Prep. The decision to accept the offer and enroll was a clear one for him. He was no optimist but even if the other students probably wouldn't welcome his differences at least this would give him the opportunity to find someone who might understand him better than he understands himself.

The time has come to see if this sanctuary for societies abnormalities could even accept an aberration such as him.