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·· ɴow...

тнere'ѕ ɴoтнιɴɢ leғт...

тo dιe ғor ··




·· ɴow...

тнey cαll ιт...

α нeαrт-ғelт ѕυιcιde ··

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·· вecαυѕe yoυ're тнe God ··

·· oғ α ѕнrιɴĸιɴɢ υɴιverѕe ··

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|| Positive ||
+Dedicated || Hey, a job is a job, right? Asche is very point and shoot—literally. He takes direction with ease and never ceases until his task is finished, no matter how long it takes or how far across the globe he has to stalk his prey.
+Analytical || With a very curious nature to begin with, it would almost make sense that someone so sharp as he is would have an amazing analytical mind. He's always had a knack for examination, especially with electronics, though he's become substantially better at reading people and social situations than he used to be.
+Attentive || So, you've wormed your way into his heart, huh? Well, this is purely on a personal level—once you've gotten in his good graces (this is nigh on impossible, though, so he probably has feelings for you), he'll go out of his way to make sure that he gets to see and be with you as much as possible. He's not about to drop his video games or target practice though, unless it's something serious. His bedside manner for those he cares about is impeccable and probably includes a heavy dose of affection. All in all, Asche makes a pretty good nurse.

|| Negative ||
-Arrogant || Maybe it stems from just being amazing at what he does, or maybe it's because he's just an ass; whatever the reason, it doesn't take much to feel cocky. Sometimes it's like the world is just the throne he sits on, and he doesn't mind talking down others to get himself that high.
-Temperamental || His moods are like a light switch—they only go two ways. Asche is either in an extremely good mood or an extremely bad mood, and more often than not, it's the latter. He has so many triggers that there really isn't any point listing them off; just know that he can snap at the drop of a hat, and when he does, someone usually gets hurt.
-Anti-social || He has a hard time opening up at all, letting alone letting people near him. Coupled with his calculating mind, his eloquent speech, his arrogance and his fragile temper, it can make him quite unapproachable. He doesn't really like people anyway, so Asche has no problem being left completely alone.... Though... it's been said that there is one way to impress him and work your way in; but that's probably just a rumour, right?

|| Likes ||
+Hot Chocolate || Most people come into work in the morning with a mug in their hand, and Asche is no exception. However, while most people prefer coffee or tea, Asche's mug has never held anything but his own special recipe for hot chocolate. Why? It's rumoured that once this liquid touches your tongue, you'll have seen the gates of Heaven. Nah, that's a lie. Asche just really likes hot chocolate.
+Briefs || The answer to that age-old question. Briefs just feel better, like all his precious equipment is actually being protected rather than just hanging around waiting for the right opportunity to get mutilated. It's a personal preference, and he seriously doesn't care what anyone else thinks.
+Target Practice || It's not what you think! He actually prefers to spend his time in the shooting range, wasting ammo on a paper target. It relieves stress and gives him the sense of solitude that soothes him.
+Video Games || His favourite being the Final Fantasy series (in specific, he loves Final Fantasy VII: Dirge of Cerberus because it's probably the best first-person shooter he's ever played); Asche finds it easy to get lost in the world of gaming and loves nothing more than to spend his nights clearing games that he's already played a hundred times. Maybe it's a form of escapism, but if you told him that he would tell you to fuck off and throw something at you, so it's just best to leave it alone.
+Gackt's Voice || He doesn't like J-Rock, really! It's just... well... Gackt's voice is.... And Asche has a very strong voice fetish that makes it difficult to function if the right person says the right thing in the right tone of voice. As it turns out, Gackt is always the right person, at the right time, and always says the right thing. Kind of like Kimura Ryohei singing Devil's Spire with the inserts of speech that sound like he's breathing right against your neck and.... Devil's Spire definitely is not his ringtone, and for God's sake, don't ask him what an M Neko-chan is. Okay, he's slightly otaku, but don't talk about it.

|| Dislikes ||
-Bananas || They are disgusting, mushy masses somehow held together into a bright yellow phallus-shaped skin. He used to love them if only for the sexual connotation they held, but then one day someone blended one into a smoothie with strawberries and ever since then he's been a changed man.
-Ear Buds || He doesn't like having things stuffed in his ears at any other time; why would he want to stuff his own ears with something hard and uncomfortable just to blare music into them? He's good enough at ignoring people on his own thanks. Nope; it's over the ear headphones or nothing for him.
-Cities || Oh hoh, where to start? Let's see.... There's smog, traffic jams, people, subway stations, buses, no elbow room, some creep breathing down your neck in a back alley, street sweepers, garbage collection, accidents, buildings five hundred times his height, stray cats, predatory birds that shit on unsuspecting passersby; it's loud, there's no privacy, and there's too many taxis and not enough police. Enough said.
-Cold Weather || When it drops below six Celsius, expect Asche to start bundling up. He hates cold weather with a passion, and with it usually comes long johns and leggings under his jeans and a tank top, t-shirt, long-sleeved button-down, a pull-over sweater, a zip-up hoodie, and then his winter jacket. This is no exaggeration, either. In the spring and summer, if there's a cool breeze, he'll throw on a light sweater or jacket over a tank top because he hates feeling cold. Nights for him usually consist of curling up under a blanket with his old-school Playstation 2 for a few hours. Asche... you're doing it right.

|| Dreams ||
Really, he just wants to be finished with work, get a job as a video game tester, maybe find himself a boyfriend and live in a small house in the country. He doesn't enjoy being dragged around the world hunting people that he may or may not even be able to haul back in for Sirion to torture. It's not that he really cares what happens, more that he just feels like he's wasting his time.

|| Fears ||
Asche is actually petrified of quite a few things—just because he's a hard-ass doesn't mean he isn't just like every other human, right? The list starts with porcelain dolls with their little glass eyes just staring unblinkingly in that creepy way that they do, and ends somewhere around small Asian children—The Grudge was a bad idea, okay? Fuck logic. He's also not a fan of large dogs, airplanes give him panic attacks, if there's a balloon in the area he eyes it down so he's ready when it pops, and he's paranoid that if he forgets food in the oven that it'll catch fire. Most notably, he doesn't like to be stared at or watched—it isn't as much a fear as an aversion or a discomfort, and it has nothing to do with self-confidence issues, but it can go one of two ways depending on who it is. On the one hand, he may lash out with violent words even physically if he's been seriously offended.... On the other, it's quite possible that he'll just cover his face and tell that special someone not to look at him.

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|| Biography ||
We could go back all the way to when I was born, sure. It's quite the story to tell, actually—see, my life was quite an eventful one, right from the get-go. I'll try to keep to only the important bits, lest we be here for hours. So, let's start with my conception, shall we? That's the first time I truly became a thought in this world, an entity that was given shape by the reckless rutting of a man and the whore he supplied with cocaine. And so, six months later, I was born very premature, and very underweight even for my age; I guess my birth mother forgot about me because I spent my first few months in the ICU, and she left and never looked back. I know this through my adoptive father, a doctor working at the hospital who knew my mother—an old classmate of his—and knew what she'd been up to since she left high school. Apparently I wasn't the first kid she'd done this to, and I wouldn't be the last.

Around the time that I was born, a company called Sirion which dealt mostly in pharmaceuticals—though they had an extremely successful line of electronics and a wireless internet branch as well—were doing clinical testing of a drug that was supposedly reported to increase vitality and likelihood of survival in preemies of unfortunate circumstance like me. For a while, I was given injections at the hospital where I was born, but when my adoptive father was offered a job developing these drugs for Sirion in a lab in Burma, he got his work visa, packed up what little he needed, sold his house, and arranged for my safe transport to the new location. That's where I was raised, in the residential sector of the lab. I didn't see anything wrong with it. Lots of other doctors were there, had families and pets, and there were tons of other kids to play with... I just was not, under any circumstances, to ever leave the residential sector. The more that Dad drove that home over the years for me, the more curious I became, of course; because whenever I asked why, there was always some excuse as to why he couldn't tell me. It grew increasingly frustrating, and I've always been pretty irritable, let me tell you that much.

It wasn't until I was about seven or so that I could really start enjoying life. With the help of Sirion's mystery drug—which had ceased testing due to a huge number of fatalities due mostly to brain tumours or the deterioration of internal organs such as the heart, stomach, and lungs—I had flourished despite all odds. So what? I was a stunted, underweight cocaine baby that didn't just sprout, but exploded into childhood a little taller than average and with enough energy to power the lab for a week. Not literally, but sometimes I felt like it—a kind of electric tingling beneath my skin, which sometimes coincided with such occurrences as flickering lights and electronic malfunctions. Of course, it also coincided with the most curious phase of my life, in which I was able to devise the sort of plan a seven-year-old does to escape from unwanted circumstances... usually that is, adhering to authorization. In this case, I was superbly interested in what lay beyond the doors of the residential sector, and I turned out to get a lot more than I bargained for.

First of all, the halls were constructed in a very labyrinthian manner, so getting around on it's own was a task. Then, most of the doors were locked, so I'd never know what was inside them and that was very disappointing. And the worst of it was when I'd wandered for what felt like hours but was probably no more than thirty minutes or so, I found a sort of playroom filled with kids as young as three and as old as sixteen; I wanted to know how they were allowed of of the residential sector and I was not; I realised that I still tended to get sick easily and needed my daily injection to keep from completely deteriorating in health, but that didn't mean that I shouldn't be allowed to come out and play.... Except that the other kids there didn't want anything to do with me. Maybe it was because my clothes were nicer in comparison to their plain paper gowns, or maybe it was just because they didn't feel like including another kid. Either way, I made a point of coming here whenever I could to make friends though it never quite went as I expected. As the years dragged on there seemed to be a smaller and smaller number of kids here until I walked up to the glass wall one day and there were only four left. I was seventeen, pretty much had lost all hope of making friends, and now I just came here out of habit. I'd gotten to know a lot of the doctors and expressed an interest in what Sirion was doing if only to gain access into the world I was ever curious about, always wanting to know more and intrigued by the stories of these four who remained.

It didn't take me long to see that this lab deep in the Burmese jungle was solely dedicated to human experimentation, some of the most rigorous and disgusting that I've seen even to date. The worst of it was that... having been given the go-head to start apprenticing under my Dad, I was able to sit in on some of the tests, on the other side of the one-way glass, and I felt nothing for what happened to these four. Whether they knew it or not, I felt rejected by them and it caused some feelings to fester into hideous blackness—not to say it's directly their fault I'm an asshole, but they and their kind... all those years and not a single word to me. I was almost happy that they were being tested on like this.

Of course, emotions like these often lead to mishaps in the workplace, and a rather bad one including the short-circuiting of some very important equipment had Dad and I packing up and moving to one of Sirion's labs in the far north of Russia where, wouldn't you know it? they had a facility much better equipped to do tests on the adoptive son that had been volunteered by his daddy dearest. Through this, I found that I'd had something unusual, something that caused me to be able to manipulate technology, though it was usually for the worse, and as long as my mood stayed fairly even I didn't have to worry about it. Not that I'm one to talk about emotional control since my mood can turn on a dime. Here they were able to do some other testing with me, discovered that I had exceptional vision and hearing, and had me start training in Tae Kwon Do to get my agility, speed, dexterity, and stamina up. When I was nineteen they put a gun in my hand for the first time, and it just felt right. I've always been a prodigious marksman, but that was all small time stuff; holding a real gun made me feel so important, so powerful....

And then they told me what all this had been for. Two years prior, an explosion at the lab where I'd once lived had allowed four of the test subjects to escape; four subjects whose pictures I recognized instantly. Sirion wanted them captured and brought back alive; all this time, I'd been trained for this exact purpose to one day head the task force assigned to retrieve the mutated subjects and return them to the hands of their creators. I understood fully, took my training very seriously, and when I was twenty-one I was assigned a team to help in my endeavours, a total of six years after their escape. For two years now I've hunted them, having taken over for an older man who obviously couldn't get the job done. In those two years I've had an increase of 15% in physical contact with them, running around from sighting to sighting and never quite able to get my hands on them. But that's all going to change—I will not stop pursuing until I have what I want.

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