A struggling pseudo-artist and writer said by many to be constructed entirely out of sawdust, vague hate, and boredom, Ashton wastes most of his time doing relatable human activities that none of you slopping bags of meat juice would find at all alarming. 

Blending into the crowd as if he actually belongs there, he makes the money and hates his job, doing the teamwork exceptionally because he's definitely a pack animal that evolved from billions of years of collaborative orgies and hive-building.

He absolutely believes in many things that serve only to protect his fragile meat and water based processor from realities that humans find terrifying, like their absolute irrelevance, the vast ever expanding uncaring void filled with infinite doom that surrounds them, and total lack of value surrounding anything in regards to the human perspective or existence.