The picture conveys it pretty well. Natural black hair, extremely pale/white skin, pink lips, tall and thin. About 5' 8". She has a weak body, literally no muscle mass. Probably from malnutrition growing up. She has generous curves and an aloof elegance about her. She does have tattoos trailing up her arm, see the picture farther down. Her eyes are a translucent silver, flecked with a darker steel gray and tiny bits of yellow and light, icy blue. The pupils aren't a dark black, they're more of a dark gray. Her eyes do tend fade when her vision does. She looks blind to the average person not looking too close.
Skylar Peyton
20 years old
Female
CIA ā Human Agent
āSolaceā
ID #02501
I donāt think I ever knew my parents. I donāt know why, exactly. I looked into my past, trying to piece it all together, but I can only stare at obscure fragments. I have a great memory, better than most would ever dream, yet somehow I canāt recall what really matters to me. Sometimes I wonder if itās because they donāt want me to figure it out. Maybe I have figured it out before, and I just donāt remember. Oh, listen to me. What nonsense. Iāll try to tell you what I know of my background.
They tell me I was an orphan, but I remember people taking care of me. I remember there was a fire, and screamsā¦ terrible, almost inhuman screams. I remember it a little too well, honestly, as many times as Iāve tried to forget. It would be easier to forget. I was quite young, maybe 15 months or almost two years. I remember how they feltāthe people who looked after me. Nothing else, just their touch. I couldnāt see when I was a childā¦ but I remembered everything I touched. Anyway, all I know is, after the screamsā¦ I never felt them again. I felt empty, too. Like something was taken from me. Never could I explain itā¦ but, thatās probably because I imagined it all. I have such a vivid imagination.
They say Will, whoās now my boss, found me on a mission. I remember his touch, sometime after the screams, so I believe they speak the truth. I was put in foster care. I donāt remember those years too wellā¦ just more fragments. The smell of blood, the sound of others getting slapped, the sting when I was hit, quiet sobbing. Yelling, there was a lot of yelling and cursing.
I think I took to cutting when I was six. I have the scarsāthough my tattoos cover the faded lines quite well. I donāt remember it, except one possible time. In the woods, I took an old rusted blade and accidentally sliced my wrist. I damn near got tetanus, or at least thatās what my records say. I donāt remember anything of the sort. I canāt even remember how the blade felt against my skin, and I could never find the scar. I donāt know. Iām probably mistaken, or perhaps it healed since I was so young.
Once, the social worker called me a problem child. I donāt know what I did, though. They tell me I was a fine childāthat I stayed with only one couple in that whole 9 years. But I know my surroundings changed frequently, the voices and skin of my family changed often. Iām not stupid, I always tell them. No, no, they always say to me, youāve just got an active imagination. I donāt know what to believe anymore.
My foster parents, they say, worked for the agency. They wanted to help the poor little orphaned blind girl, and an opportunity presented itself. The big man liked me a lot, I suppose, and funded my surgery. I went into the operating room, which I remember quite clearly, and when I woke up they had tape all over my eyes. A little while later, I saw the world for the first time. I think thatās the first time I ever felt almost completely fulfilled. The blurred light hurt like hell, for sure, but it was new. Something I had never experienced before. I had to learn everything about it.
For the next two years, I think, I underwent treatment and therapy. Iām not sure what they did to my eyes, but it only worked half the time. Sometimes my vision would be almost perfect; other times Iād be nearly blind once again. They did their best but this problem never ceased. Even today my eyesight wavers. In fact, between you and me, my vision falters more than I admit. I canāt see more than blurs about 70% of the time. Significantly higher than the 40% I have them believing.
I know they lie to me. Iāve always known. But, I can lie to them too. Ohānot that I do, though. Sometime, when I was around 10, my ādadā suggested I start training for the agency. To be a spy. He was one, and he wanted his ādaughterā to follow suit. I eagerly agreedāwhat kid wouldnātāand started juvenile training. I had an accident a few years ago that caused substantial memory loss, and perhaps some mental instability, but nonetheless Iām the top agent in my division. Iām a little troublesome with my speculation and head injury, but everyone understands. Mostly. Happily ever after, right?
Oh, if only I wasnāt so astute. They might be able to pull this shit over on me. But, I know better. I remember more than I let on, and I know what memories are fake. I donāt know what my life was like before this. Nothing beyond a few jumbled fragments. Sometimes the fake memories confuse me when I have to regurgitate what all theyāve told me. When I have to act like I donāt know any better. But if thereās one thing I remember, itās life after they picked me up. I remember a lot of fragmentsābefore and after the accident.
When I started the program, I came from foster care. I had bruises all over, and I was still blind. I slept in a small, cold, and empty room with a cement floor. I didnāt get that much to eat, but somehow I felt used to it. I remember this on my third day, a young boy about my age talking to who I now know as William, the head of this organization.
āWhat the hell are you doing with this one? She canāt even see!ā
āWatch your tone, Xavier. Donāt forget who youāre talking to.ā
āMmphāsorry, sir.ā
āSheās special, this one. Weāll make her see. Then sheāll be even more special.ā
āā¦ā
āYou donāt understand, hm? Tell me, Xavier, how is your weaponry coming along?ā
āItās, uh, just fine, sir.ā
āTake off her head.ā
āS-sir? I thought she was specialā¦ā
āTake your knife and behead her.ā
I tensed quite visibly at this. I was very weak, having not eaten in a long while, and here this little boy was coming to kill me. I had heard the screams of my neighbors for days, so I knew it was no joke. This was a terrible foster home, and I was trapped in the basement. That was my understanding of it all. Xavier took a few minutes before doing as he was told. When I heard the blade slice through the air, I did all I could, and ducked. He eventually came to try very hard to kill me, but I knew where the blade was and where it was going. It wasnāt that hard to dodge, then. I heard a laugh.
āMaybe you should be quieter,ā Will hinted.
Xavier stopped mid-swing. I could practically see his moment of understanding. My other senses where better than his. He left, utterly defeated.
That was my first real memory. After that, I was given enough food to barely keep me alive. They only gave it to me when I did what they said. So, I starved at first. Finally, though, they broke me. I did things Iām not proud of. In fact, I wish I could believe their stories. I wish I was from that foster home and all their fake memories where true. After I could kill others without much resistance, they started torture. I started by torturing others, and then they started torturing me. Then it went back to others. It was harder after I had experienced it firsthand.
Then they gave me the operation, and I could see. I had to take pills, and I still take them, to keep my vision regulated. They trained me in what I showed interest in. Computers and guns. I donāt know why I took to those. Maybe because I hate knives. I hated feeling another personās flesh offer resistance, and the blood that splattered and oozed over my handsā¦ I hated being at the tip of a knife, too. Iām afraid of knives. I hate them. Something bad happened with a knife, and I canāt remember, but it happened. I hear it. I feel it. But, I digress. I became quite skilled with guns. Iām one of the best snipers when my vision is good, and when itās bad Iām great at close range with handguns. I keep 2 handguns with me at all times. I love computersā¦ Iām a like a cybercriminal. Hacking, viruses, encryptionā¦ Iām glad I learned it all.
I wonāt talk about training anymore. It was terrible, but not too important. All thatās left is the accident. I hacked into Williamās personal computer, once. He knows, and Iām terrified. He doesnāt say anything about it. Iām afraid what heās planning for me. Heās done so much to me already. When I was 18, two years ago, they needed to alter my memory. Make me forget certain things. But I was too smart, and I guess it didnāt work too well. I killed another agent in my anger. Somehow, I was sent on a classified mission, flying a small aircraft overseas. The plan was to put it on auto pilot and eject, leaving it to crash into the target. I pressed the button, and nothing happened. God, Iāve never been so afraid. He built it without an eject and overrode the planeās AI. I was in it when it crashed into the presidentās podium. They got me, the enemy, and I went through hell when I came to. They shipped me back home and I havenāt remembered everything properly since. I donāt know when or how they put in the fake memories. Ifā¦ if they are fake. I donāt know, sometimes. Maybe I really am a little crazy.
All I really know, in the end, is this:
Kids always pretend to be me, to do what I do. They idealize it in their naive and innocent minds, not knowing just how terrible it really is. I never wanted to do what I do. Yet they think they want to. Irony sure is a bitch, donāt you think? I always thought so.
William gave me another mission today. Iām supposed to join forces with the other āchampionsā of the other āagencies.ā I tried to get some intel on them, but there wasnāt that much. I do know all of them donāt really have adulation for humans. Iām the weakest one, technically. Do I want to go hang out with threeā¦creatures that could very well consume me? No, no I donāt. Maybe this is my punishment for hacking his computerā¦
***Please note that this is very incomplete and befuddled, as she does not know her past memories. More will be revealed and clarified as life goes on***
Really? I covered this already. Mostly. God, I hate forms. Okay, I have a strong sense of touch. So strong, in fact, I can feel vibrations in the ground and changes in air currents. I can feel a personās fingerprint. My sense of hearing and smell are also well above average, though not quite as advanced as my sense of touch. Sometimes I feel as though I see so much better with my eyes closed.
Iām very skilled with firearms. I can take them apart and reassemble them in about a minuteāI know them inside and out. Iām fast at reloading and an accurate shot. Sniping is my specialty. Well, when I can see.
Iām really good with computers and programming. Not much more to say on that. I tend to keep a USB drive hidden on my person and a laptop in my ammunition bag, right next to my assault rifles.
Okay, Iām not the strongest person. Iām pretty weak, actually. My body is weak. But Iāve studied anatomy, and I know the bodyās weak points. So, other people can be rendered weaker than me. I can always find physical weaknesses in both living and non-living structures. I can always find pressure points. I depend on eyesight for this, and if I canāt see, I find them with touch. Or sound. It depends on the situation, I suppose.
Iām observant as hell, if that counts. I memorize details easily. I somewhat have a photographic memoryā¦ except, itās more like video. Like a video that lets you relive the moment in detailā¦ Anyway, I use all my senses to pick up on things normal people would be apt to miss. Details can make all the difference. Iām good at telling if people are lying. They usually have some unconscious habit that gives them away.
Personality? What is this thing you speak of? I have no personality. I might have, once, but it broke long ago. Iām an unstable statue that does as sheās told. Ask anyone, theyāll tell you. Here, take Xavierās word for itā
Donāt listen to her. Sheās got more personality than us all. Skylar can be cold and calculating, definitely. Sheās good at indifference when sheās killing people. She will do whatever sheās told. But I think sheās just afraid. She has a couple different personalities. She asked me if I thought she was crazy, once. Honestly, she is a little crazy. She gets really passionate about things. Really passionate. If something moves her enough, sheāll completely disregard all rationality. Sheās still smart as always, but at the same time she isnāt. Sheāll completely disregard her safety and literally wonāt let anything stop her. She even flipped off the boss once for making her kill a little kid. You donāt do that to the bossānot unless you want to die. Iāve seen him kill people. She has too. But she still flipped him off and told him off. Iāve seen her run into all sorts of messes. Of course, she doesnāt remember any of it. Heck, she probably barely knows who I am anymore. After everything weāve been through. Eh, back to talking about her.
Sometimes when she looks at you, itās like she knows everything about you. Even the most emotionless fall victim to her astonishingly accurate, āWhatās wrong?ā She has an odd mix of genuine cold-heartedness and compassion for others. She does care, though. I just think she tries not to show it. She doesnāt really care how low a person is, how evil they are. She doesnāt take that into account when she judges you. She either likes you or she doesnāt, thereās no middle ground. Sheās passive aggressiveā¦trust me, I would know.
Sheās really bad at hiding her emotions. Itās amusing, actually. Such a fatal flaw for someone undercover all the time. Sheās a terrible liar, too. Whenever she has to kill someone she doesnāt want to, she disappears right away. Iāve heard her crying before. So, she is a good person inside. The training hasnāt completely ruined her. It just broke her a bit, maybe. Sheās easily swayed in her thoughts by others, like she isnāt sure of herself. She can be very empathetic and is greatly affected by peopleās pain and any strong emotion. Sheās easily intimidated, unless she has it in her mind to be stubborn. Then she disregards all danger. Sheās brave, I think, in a fearful way. I could go on forever. But, to sum it upā¦ Sheās a confusing mess to anyone who tries to figure her out.