ʀᴇᴀᴘᴇʀ ˚.༄

A flush creeps along the base of his neck at the obvious. Eating... Right. Anyone with eyes would be able to see that. Curly feels as if he'd just asked a person cloaked in orange what their favorite color is. Worse yet, he's disturbed this persons meal, and their silence.
            
            A fresh start not off to a good one.
            
            He keeps his gaze fixed on the Reaper, blue eyes undeterred by the whiteness staring back at him. If he notices a fuse, his demeanor doesn't change. It's more likely that the blond thinks of this as an everyday conversation between two co-workers, and nothing more.
            
            The fact that no one has appeared to chastise him, and that his company hasn't torn him asunder, makes him comfortable enough to continue speaking,
            
            “ I didn't think there was anything wrong in saying hello. Seems pretty lonely around here. ”

kirima paused mid-bite, the cheap ration bar halfway to his mouth. the corridor was dim and rarely used, exactly why he'd chosen it. away from the usual foot traffic and the stares that always followed. white eyes flicked up slowly, locking onto the newcomer without any readable expression. his long black hair, streaked with faint blue, fell slightly over one shoulder as he tilted his head just a fraction.
            
            most people didn't approach. they skirted around him like he carried the plague, or worse, like he might vanish into the shadows if they got too close. this one... this curly-haired guy looked fresh. still carrying that wide-eyed tension of someone who hadn't learned the rules yet.
            
            a slow breath left kirima's nose. he lowered the ration bar, fingers tightening around it for a second before relaxing. the dark markings along his pale skin stayed dull, unmoving. no glow. no threat. just the quiet weight of someone who wasn't entirely there anymore.
            
            "eating," he answered, voice low and flat, almost hollow. it wasn't unfriendly, but it lacked the warmth most humans carried naturally. he gestured vaguely with the half-eaten bar toward the empty stretch of hallway. "thought this spot would stay quiet."
            
            kirima's completely white eyes didn't blink as he studied the other pilot. something almost like curiosity stirred behind them. buried deep, but there. it had been a while since anyone spoke to him without that careful distance. not fear exactly, but the kind of hesitation reserved for ghosts.
            
            "you're new," he added after a beat, not a question. his lean frame stayed relaxed against the wall, though the unsettling presence lingered around him like static. "most don't walk up and ask questions. they just... pass by."
            
            he took another small bite, chewing mechanically, waiting. the short fuse was there, coiled tight, but for now it stayed dormant. this felt... almost normal. almost human. he wasn't about to chase the guy off. not yet.
            
            ━ ⌗ ⠂⠄ @tulparscaptain 

^_^

@shadowscythe 
            
            Welp gotta have an intro plz 

—— BRIEF BACKGROUND . . .
            
            kirima was taken young. selected, not trained.
            
            his genetic compatibility made him a candidate for the modification program long before he understood what it meant. his family didn’t fight it. didn’t question it. they let him go, cutting ties as if he had already died.
            
            the process didn’t just enhance him.
            it rewrote him. the markings came first. then the eyes. then the things no one could see. he became one of the few capable of piloting the reaper-class machines. experimental weapons that demanded more than skill. they demanded transformation.
            
            he rose gradually through the ranks, eventually assigned to a high-level combat unit where he co-piloted early prototypes. sharing the physical strain with a partner.
            
            until the fourth deployment.
            
            a deep-sea engagement that nearly ended everything. the victory came at a cost, and his partner didn’t survive.
            kirima barely did.
            
            he spent nearly two years in recovery. not just healing but stabilizing. the modifications had reacted violently under stress, pushing his body past its limits.
            
            when he woke, something had changed. not just physically. whatever remained of the person he used to be … felt distant. like a memory he couldn’t quite reach anymore.
            
            he returned to service anyway. there was never another option. now assigned to a solo unit, piloting a fully realized reaper-class mech, kirima continues to fight. 
            
            not for glory,  family fame, or whatever else pushed men back into the horrors of war and battle ...
            but because it’s the only thing that still made sense. where he felt whole.
            
            ✧･ﾟ: *

—— PERSONALITY . . .
            
            kirima is… unsettling.
            
            there’s something off about him now. something hollow behind those white eyes. people often struggle to tell where he’s looking, or what he’s thinking. his expressions are muted, distant, like emotions have to travel further to reach the surface.
            
            he still has that short fuse, though. that hasn’t changed. if anything, it burns sharper now. far more dangerous.
            
            once, he was warm. extroverted. human.
            
            now he keeps people at arm’s length, not just by choice, but because something in him no longer connects the same way. conversations feel like echoes. relationships like memories he didn’t live.
            
            he prefers solitude. controlled environments. one-on-one interactions at most. anything more becomes… overwhelming.
            
            sleep rarely comes easy. when it does, it’s filled with fragments, memories, or maybe something else. the modification left more than physical changes. there’s always something lingering in the back of his mind. watching.
            
            he buries it in work. in the machine. in the missions.
            
            because when he’s inside the mech, everything feels right. like he is made whole.
            
            those closest to him still see it, though. beneath everything.
            a protective nature. a quiet care.
            a soft heart … trapped inside something no longer entirely human.
            
            ⛧·˚ ༘

—— MECH DESIGN . . .
            
            a towering purple-class mech, built not just for combat, but demolition.
            
            its most defining feature is the massive tail attachment extending from the spine where the nape of the neck attaches to the head. it is segmented, armored, and powerful enough to lift the entire mech off the ground with a single motion.
            
            at its end is a colossal 3-pronged claw:
            • capable of crushing enemies with overwhelming force
            • able to anchor, grip, or pierce through armor and bone
            • equipped with a focused beam emitter that fires a concentrated laser capable of cutting through even the thickest leviathan hides
            
            this machine does not respond to ordinary pilots due to safety measires implementedin these machines.
            its systems reject the unmodified to protect them from the physical strain that would be otherwise required to operate it.
            only those altered to be a "reaper-class" can synchronize with it.
            
            ⛧·˚ ༘