Azmia

Her coming into the world was not gentle.

Her coming in the world was not peaceful.

Stolen DNA from Allison, combined with that of something she would never find out-would never prefer to think about, were what created her- form unstable, ever shifting, changing.

Subject P572A- a clone, an experiment gone wrong- burst into existence as a sentient, fleshy goop, cracking the test tube she was held in open with a resonating roar from her dripping maw as scientists from the Organization rushed around to subdue her, to let her develop a little longer, to fix this dripping mess that was supposed to be their latest attempt at securing Allison’s powers for the President.

Alas, she was soon considered a failure- another failure. Not even good enough to serve the Organization.

So she was thrown into the deepest, darkest depth of the Organization’s experimental laboratories.

The cells where they kept the unspeakables.

Now- these cells were pretty empty. No resources went to the creatures here, they were just here to die, essentially. Subject P572A could gather as much from the way scientists huddled around dead bodies, trying to extract as much essential materials from them- to build chimeras, almalgamates, even more clones- who knew, really.

Anything to support the President.

Subject P572A wasn’t dumb- she knew she was also being brought here to die, and honestly, she didn’t mind much. Her life had been short, and she’d only known experimentation- it was natural that she didn’t really realize what was going on here was wrong, that her existence could be so much more.

She just knew she didn’t have what they were looking for, so she should die, for that was the way of the world she knew.

Subject P572A didn’t die.

Perhaps it was because of her genetic composition, perhaps it was a stroke of luck, perhaps something else entirely.

But she didn’t die.

She watched many die, however. Saw many creatures be brought in and left to starve. Saw them struggle, plead, beg, crave. She felt pity for them, but what could she do? She didn’t even have a solid form…

One day, something else was brought in.

She did not know what it was- but it was clearly not one of the creatures the Organization created. It was all wrong, looked too complete- it didn’t look anything like the other failed clones. It didn’t have a hint of Allison in their DNA- she could sense it, sense the unfamiliarity. The pink creature was howling and screaming, something feral in the way he (how did she know it was a he?) moved, like a wounded animal that knew it was being brought to the slaughterhouse.

Through the wailing and growling, through the struggling and yelling of the scientists handling him, she heard words, words that made her freeze.

“Help me.”

She didn’t know what it was- she’d heard those exact two words again and again here, after all- but something about the way he pleaded, something about him that looked like he was ripped from somewhere he shouldn’t have been, made her boil with fury, made her want to make a stand, made her want to- want to-

Bang.

She threw herself into the forcefield.

Bang.

And again.

Bang. Bang. BANG.

It caught the attention of the scientists, of course, but it didn’t bother her right now. She knew- something about that creature, pain in his eyes, glowing pink body- made her want to see something else than the grey walls of this prison.

SHATTER.

For the first time ever, her body solidified- and with a mighty roar, the forcefield, the thing that had kept her captive for so long-

It broke into a million pieces before fizzling out of existence.

What happened after that was a blur- shouts, weapons, fighting- it’s like she wasn’t herself, only driven by her need to get out, get out-

Afterwards, she would realize her sudden fury, her sudden resolve came from the simple realization that there was something out there beyond this prison- something that the Organization was trying to destroy. The pink creature was just one of many that had been ripped out of their own world, their own dimension, taken away from what they were familiar with for the greed of the President.

Perhaps it was her ancestor’s righteousness that shined through her at that moment. Perhaps it was her own spirit.

It didn’t matter.

What did matter was that she and her new companion (Steven, he’d introduced himself) were refugees now, running, running from the Organization, nowhere to go to.

(“I ruined it. I’m a monster. I can’t go home.” Steven had told her when she suggested going to his dimension- then he got all depressed and growly, glowing pink. She dropped it quickly.)

As they travelled, Steven suggested a name for her- Azmia.

A courageous and determined person.

She decided she liked that one.

---

Azmia and Steven arrived in Sornieth after a long series of interdimensional travel- feeling the lack of influence from the Organization immediately. After travelling the dimension, they ended up settling in the clan of the Purring Winds.

2nd Generation Temporal Rifter
Allison -> Achillee -> Azmia