Player: Gasmask

Website: http://www.furaffinity.net/user/gasmask

Character Name: Donovan Ballard

Age: 44

Sex: Male

Species: Hybrd

Height & Weight: 6'0" / 170 lbs

Social Status: UniClass

Physical Description:
This hybrid, a tired-looking, slightly scruffy middle-aged tiger-horse man with handsome features, seems interesting enough. And that's about it, really. Nothing stands him apart from the crowd, but at the same time, he doesn't come across as boring. Merely... average. A fan of several unarguably good movies, books, and sports, Donovan always seems to be able to relate to someone about something, provided they live anything near a slightly normal life. An avid fan of the climbing wall, swimming, track, and biking, he's built to last, his body finely muscled without being bulky, his slender, tall frame often carries about it a calm, relaxed stance. Just like his body hints at an athletic lifestyle, the glasses perched on his long nose and his accentless, eloquent speech hint at a more learned personality as well; indeed, it's not odd to find him lost in the pages of a book or newspaper, though one would never call him outright bookwormish.

Broad shoulders flow elegantly into a slightly equine neck, though his thick fluffy fur is akin to his feline heritage. In color, the hybrid ranges over a delectable range of chocolates and persimmon oranges, the whites of a tiger pattern instead replaced by his original purebred color of deep chestnut, cut in bold sweeping stripes of black. The only white on his form is the large snip marking covering his nose, making him easily identifiable from similarly mixed hybrids.

Background:
For all his rich coloration and active lifestyle, Donovan is unnotable. Not that he's unattractive, or boring, or uncharismatic- he just seems to fade out into the low din of white noise and shifting forms that make up the background of each room or street he passes by. He never looks like he has anywhere he particularly wants to be or anything he's got to do, nor does he ever seem to have time to relax- almost as though he's busy with lounging around. Cursed to continue his strolling path through the city, through the skywalks of the Toride, through various bookstores, coffee shops, fitness centers, theaters and Unity Associations... the middle-aged man is like a perpetual motion machine, muscular but lean legs carrying him like a quiet spectator through millions of different scenes, his eyes like the lenses, his brain the film... and that metaphor is more literal than anyone could ever guess.

The tiger-horse hybrid has a perfect, crystal clear, photographic memory. There is nothing he can't remember from his slow ambles through the metropolis, be it a face, a voice, a name, a location, or any other snippet of information that he scrutinizes from behind thin-framed, rectangular glasses. Every glance saves itself in infinite freeze-frames that he can call back at any point; time-stamped, flawless recollections.

Just as his memory is spotless, so is his clear-headedness. This skill, usually beneficial as he tracks his keen vision over the world, at one time was Donovan's greatest curse. His brain is completely immune to mind-altering substances, which he was unfortunate enough to discover during his hellish eight day cycle of excruciating genetic reassignment, when the horse named Samuel Rieker was finally accepted to hybridization. While the other purebreds around him dozed in their catatonic state during this period, Donovan thrashed through the antiseptic liquid that he was suspended in, screamed as best he could around the pipe lodged down his larynx, clawed his gradually morphing fingers so hard against the tank walls over those treacherous eight days that gouges began to form down the thick plastic, and his new heavy tigerish claws tore from their sheaths in bloody clouds through the green liquid. When it came time for the memory "fixes", he felt each wire inserted into his skull, felt his body spasm as they attempted to remove unwanted memories, and realized swiftly that he remembered everything; none of their methods seemed to work. But in that stretch of agony, Donovan discovered he had access to his thoughts like a user on a computer did over their files, and with fear of rejection in his heart, he swiftly began to lock down any memories of his life previous to hybridization away from prying eyes. His motives were naïve, almost child-like: if they thought they erased the memories, maybe they'd let him stay, maybe he could be an important part of the Unified Dream. Maybe if he hid all of the flaws, they could accept him as one of the family.

It worked too well.

Donovan passed all exams with flying colors. He remembered each part of every single inspirational and motivational speech that had been shown to him in the classrooms. He even offered corrections for a passage from one of the most acclaimed essays on the virtues of Unity, drawing surprised stares from his instructors. The change was implemented for future versions, as it used doublespeak so cleverly and perfectly that it seemed to hold quadruple meanings, all working together to explain Unity that much more clearly. He gently rebuked his peers when they seemed unsure about Unity at any point. He recalled details about others that made him cross from observant, to downright spooky, to everyone in his class.

The hybrid hid any and all errant thoughts and memories that could be at all questionable to the Unified goal, and his monitors were astounded. He seemed... perfect. Regular scans showed not a single negative thought in his head at any point during training, no secretly discriminatory remarks floating behind his consciousness, in his skull seemed to be a beacon of untainted thought and Oneness. It was too good to be true. So good, in fact, that it drew suspicion from echelons so far up the ladder that even Donovan couldn't conceive of their motives or methods. He was immediately hushed away into a grueling mindpick that lasted three sleepless days, painful surgeries and chemicals tests that proved yes, he was fully organic; no, he was not a spy; no, he had no knowledge of paranormal meetings, and he most importantly was not above-average in any way whatsoever other than his peculiar lack of ill-will. They erased his memory of the mindpicking (or so they thought), and Donovan discretely and dutifully locked it away as well, pretending he knew nothing at all of the subjects they decided he was not allowed to know. He was let go into daily UniClass life, given a nice job at a low-level paper shuffling business, and quietly began to absorb every single factoid that passed under his nose. Donovan lived a normal, healthy, UniClasser life.

Until Seven showed up to collect Donny's debt.

Weapons/Equipment:
Donovan is a civilized man, he has no need for weapons when words can do! Well, and the Ministry to cover your ass when the need arises.

Misc Info:
Donovan, AKA Feast, is the go-to for all followers of The Underqueen and Seven, as his granted powers allow him to shed light on cryptic or senseless messages from the two monsters. Being the Prototype, the first-ever Drone, makes Donovan very slightly proud in a twisted way, though he is not haughty or self-absorbed. He treats those who come to him with patience and understanding, whether they're normal people, or secret followers. He does not seem to hold racism towards Outer Class, but prefers the kindness and intelligence reflected in the UniClass, like any sane person would. He does not seem to have an opinion on the police state that they enforce, as he's personally not threatened by it.