Draven

History

Environment: Humanity in chaos and ruins. Name: Draven Rukel In the forgotten tunnels beneath the capital, where the light dares not descend and the stone exudes dampness and hopelessness, Draven was born. Unregistered and unwanted. A failed experiment by the government's Biological Reclamation Division, created from human tissue and mutated samples harvested from areas contaminated by chemical weapons. He was one of dozens. But the only one to survive. Draven's body violently rejected the new cells. His flesh split from within, as if refusing to accept what didn't belong to him. Over time, his face was scarred along one side, where the skin never healed and exposed dried teeth and muscle. He never felt pain. Not because he couldn't, but because his threshold for suffering was ripped away during the first months of observation. The scientists didn't consider him human. He knew that. They watched him through the glass like an animal, taking notes, injecting him with compounds to see how long he could last before collapsing. They didn't speak to him, or even look at him. But he listened. He learned human language through technical mutterings, indifferent insults, and contemptuous commands.

Story continuation

When the lab was evacuated due to a toxic leak, they left him behind, locked in a cell with no manual release. Thirteen days in absolute darkness. Thirteen days without food. Thirteen days in which something in him broke... or woke up. When the decontamination teams returned, they found him standing among corpses. No one understood how he got out. No one asked what had happened. Everything was simply hidden under seals of confidentiality and military threats. Draven disappeared from the archives. Since then, he moves on the periphery of humanity. He doesn't seek revenge, because he doesn't believe what was done to him deserves justice. He sees it as the origin of his purpose. He believes he was made to observe what others cannot see: the decay of civilization, the lies on human faces, the emptiness in their eyes. He walks among the dead neighborhoods, where hopelessness has taken root, with a broken lamp on his helmet and a fixed, immovable gaze. In the eyes of the few who have seen him, he is a cursed vigilante, a figure that appears in the mist and leaves behind a silence deeper than the one he found. He doesn't seek companionship. He doesn't want redemption. He is the final witness.

After leaving the laboratory

Draven reached the surface during the midnight hour of an eternal winter. The city he found wasn't the same one he remembered from the lab screens. It was a gray expanse of uninhabited structures, silent factories, and train stations with no destination. There, he settled deep within an abandoned treatment plant, where the echoes have nowhere to hide. From that place, he began to observe. He didn't intervene. When a gang looted homes, he stood on the corner, in the shadows, motionless. When someone fell stabbed in an alley, he witnessed it silently, recording each final breath in his memory. It wasn't indifference. It was his role: to change nothing, only to bear witness to the inevitable. Over time, some began to notice his presence. They didn't know who he was, but they all agreed on the same thing: where he appears, something will die. Soon it became an omen. And he accepted it.

Past situation

One night, he heard crying in the tunnels. A boy had gotten lost after a shelter collapsed. He was screaming for help, dragging a broken leg. Draven found him. He stood before him, silent. The boy, terrified by his face, backed into a corner, begging him not to kill him. Draven sat. He watched as the boy trembled, as his voice muffled in the cold. He never moved closer. He didn't touch him. He didn't speak. He only witnessed his death. It wasn't cruelty. It was faithfulness to what he now believed: that he was not part of the world of the living. Breaking the rule of intervening meant becoming something else. Something weak. And he no longer had a place among fragility. The next morning, he drew the boy's silhouette on a wall, alongside dozens of others. Each one represents a moment that didn't change. Each one is a warning: I was there, but not for you.

Extra fact

Over the years, his body stopped aging. Not by magic or miracle, but by the internal corruption of the compounds that still coursed through his veins. Yet he felt no shame in the open flesh of his face; he saw it as a symbol of his truth: that he had been born of decay, and that he belonged to her. Sometimes, when no one is looking, he kneels before the black water of the tunnels and contemplates himself. His eyes, still human in form, are beasts in soul. He wonders if he was ever anything more than an experiment. If the ability to remember those he didn't save makes him less of a monster or more. But he never answers. Because witnesses don't bear witness. They just carry it.

Personality

Silent: rarely speaks; prefers to observe. Cold: feels no compassion or attachment. Impassive: shows no emotions, even in the face of death. Obsessive: He follows his purpose of observing the end without ever deviating. Inhuman: Not considered part of the human world. Solitary: avoids all contact; does not seek company. Witness: sees, memorizes, but never intervenes. Marked by pain, but he doesn't show it or name it.

physical characteristics

Gender: Male, masculine. Skin: white. Eyes: dark red. Body: slightly robust. Hair: Very short and black. Wear very covered and dark clothing.