Physical Description: A jet black cube of glossy metal, with short rounded support prongs sticking out of the corners. A single orange glowing eye sits just off center to the left on the leading face of the black box, whilst the sides have small cooling vents. The rearmost face has little but a long dangling interface cable, made from the type of wire that curls in on itself. He cannot move or even talk under his own power, but the 'prongs' actually double as antennas, giving him lightning fast polysentience connection speeds.
Indeed, several disconnected parts of the rest of his ship, the Skeleton Ensemble, function as externally stored parts of his brain.
Polysentience Description: A bizarre ragged figure somewhere in between a vagabond guru and a old-timey pirate ship crewman, the appearance that Jack takes on when representing himself through the virtual reality means is strange to say the least. Often sitting in a meditative pose and bathed in golden light, they jangle with ropes, chains and a multitude of uncouth talisman. The 'flesh' visible is extremely thin but wiry with dense muscle, through the head is permanently obscured by a large pumpkin-like object bearing little but a row of spikes and a single camera-like eye.
He seems to smell of charcoal at all times, and carries an old sailing ship's wheel as his badge of office.
Personality: Slow and ponderous, Jack can seem mercurial and hopelessly forlorn a great deal of the time, as if consistently lost in thoughts of the past. Despite this, moments of macabre humor or deft insight can bubble to the surface out of nowhere, especially if he happens to observe feats of true comradery or compassion by those before him. He dislikes those who stick to blindly to ideals, often going as far as berating or toying with them, but also has a huge capacity for forgiveness and understanding, in no disillusion about the suffering his own lifetime has brought about.
Often, it can simply be said that he prefers to observe and cherish others, rather than interact and 'taint' the situation. He prefers to be considered a ghost, rather than a real person.
* Likes: The singing of others, honest hard working people, bravery, corny or savage puns, macabre art.
Mothership “The Sprawling Dark” cloning tank and genetic samples.
Cloned into a fleet which directly supported the Wired Rovers, Jack once had a different body and alias, a type three organic with a much more macho attitude towards violence and feats of daring. Many in his squad greatly respected the Nepleslian's way of life, and clamored to become one of the fighter pilots which made the organisation so famous.
At the start of the genocide, with his home fleet rapidly dwindling in numbers due to prolonged sprees of intense combat, the management of the newly formed Independent Worlds League began to experiment with mentally backing up their pilots before missions, much in the same way that their enemies the Yamatai Star Army did. The basic question was if better soldiers could be created by allowing them to recover from their early fatal mistakes, and learn from experience no matter how terminal or suicidal the missions they engaged in became.
The bright young Type Three lived, died, and lived again. The limited available space for their increased memory bank sizes meant that only the most successful were brought back. At first, he blamed the nekovalkyrja for his friends dropping like flies around him… But as the savage missions dragged on and on, a despairing realization clutched his heart. That he was slowly beginning to hate his own kin, too.
A pointless war of raiding and subterfuge reduced his sorties to mere piracy, as the mainstay of the Free State chose to forgive the bloodshed and renew their pacifistic ways. But the Freethinkers just kept dragging him back out of the grave. He knew he could end it simply by no longer being useful. But that felt like admitting to his careless machinators that he was nothing but a mere plaything. The freedom to except death was an insult to the very concept of the Free State.
One day, in a fit of desperation, he managed to hack polysentience server so that it transferred his original program onto a Phantasm Gunship rather than a newly formed copy. Part of him felt like throwing himself at the enemy and destroying himself once and for all, but instead, he just sort of drifted aimlessly, waiting for a meaningful death… What he found instead was a charred hulk, a corvette that sat alone and empty since the worst days of the genocide. A solitary druidess on the polysentience answered his calls for its identification, through she did not know it's true original identity either.
All he knew is that it felt like a sign. He would sell his old tired warbody, and become the new spirit of that noble, peaceful undead shell.
In the case primitive_polygon becomes inactive: