yea I mod on a RP server jubi owns
Is it on something else besides discord?
nope, least for me mate
Oof
Now this is a story all about how…
Tanake came into the SSRD (Shadow Shrikes Racing Division.) I think its fun.
Tanake was never born per se, but more like made.
In a world…
Where France has this huge inexplicable desire for world domination, one girl was part of a French science experiment in the French Alps. Created through genetic experimentation to be a murderous soldier, she was improperly coded to be a regular human in psychology and build.
The girl is 5’6," white-haired (like snow or clean porcelain) and with eyes blue enough to hypnotize you. Aaron describes them as such:
Her eyes - oh, her eyes - are hypnotically blue. I once stared into them for what I thought was ten seconds, and before I knew it, a minute had passed.
The girl was no stranger to the many pains a human can experience - she once had romantic interest in a prisoner the French had in the cell next to her. After they met, confessed their affections, and started dating as often as they could in a prison - the boy was executed outside the girl’s cell as a prison guard forced her to watch the whole thing.
She hated life at this point. She was always starving - always on the verge of death. Her cell was in the worst possible spot - outside, exposed to the snow of the mountain whilst also next to the boiler. She was either freezing cold, or burning hot. She preferred the cold, thinking that if she died from its sub-zero temps, she wouldn’t feel a thing as her body shut down.
The girl was also mercilessly beaten by the facility staff - her medical exams often consisted of more needles than anything else, the prison staff had no care for her as they used electric stun-sticks to force her from her cell, her firearms instructor would beat her for every shot not on-target, her stealth teacher would attempt to mutilate her if he spotted her during stealth training, and prison enforcers would beat her over the head for looking at them at all.
The girl was miserable. She would sometimes attack enforcers in the hopes that they would kill her. She would purposely leave her wounds untreated until her immune system betrayed her, fighting off the infections that she wanted to die from.
Sometimes, to giver herself hope, she would look at her cell door and imagine a handsome angel - with wings whiter than her own hair - throwing her cell wide open, and rescuing her on a dove’s wings.
To quote Aaron:
I learned something from [Drifter] - that the hope you find is merely an illusion. He’s right on that. Your brain always realizes that the hope you give yourself is manufactured - no realer than your dreams at night. What [Drifter] forgot was that you don’t have to make your own hope - you can find it in other people - even in the darkest of nights or the wettest of prisons.
One fateful night, the girl awoke in her cell to find an assailant forcing his way through the prison block. He was heavily armed - two handguns that he would sometimes dual-wield, an AR-15 that would take people out without mercy, and a shotgun for giving enemies a single, hard-hitting slug at close range.
The assailant loaded his shotgun, blowing the cell doors wide off the cell next to the girl. She flinched, and in doing so, attracted the attention of the assailant.
The man poked his eyes through the hole in her cell door, seeing the girl shiver on the ground. In that moment, the man made a choice - his contract was to kill the prisoners in mercy, to let them die instead of living in such inhumane conditions.
The man winced from some non-existent pain, and racked the slide on the shotgun.
“Shi-kack!” "BLANG!"
The cell door fell down beside her, scaring her out of her wits - if she hadn’t soiled the rags she had for clothes before, she would’ve then.
“Hey.” The man said. She looked up.
He was not inherently ‘cute,’ and he wasn’t the handsome angel she had imagined so often, either. His face was quite friendly, and he couldn’t have been two years older than herself! He was dressed in a black leather jacket that was simple, yet cool - the only prominent feature was that the collar was flipped up. He was dressed neck-to-foot in lightweight armor.
“You’re free. Go.” He said.
The girl teared up. She had longed to be rid of this place - whether by escape or by death, she didn’t care. Now, an opportunity had arrived, and had blasted her cell door off its hinges.
She bolted past the man, and turned to run down the hall.
“STOP WHERE YOU ARE AND GET BACK IN YOUR CELL!” A voice railed at her.
She stopped where she was. She knew this voice. It was of Mikhail - the head enforcer of the facility - known for his merciless and unrelenting torture of prisoners who were not perfectly in line.
The girl’s tears of joy were drowned out with sorrow. She would undoubtedly be tortured and killed now.
She fell on her knees, awaiting a single bullet to bridge the gap between her eyes.
Quoth Aaron:
“You know what’s strange about that dimension? You know the Geneva Conventions? France helped sign them. And yet, in that dimension, France broke the convention they originally proposed to the meeting. ‘No harm shall come to civilians or any non-combatants.’ They also broke another rule, that prisoners should not be harmed, killed, or maimed in any way, but that they should, in fact, be treated humanely and in a civil manner. People ask me how I could stand up to protect someone I don’t know, and that I’m tasked with killing. They call me a hypocrite for protecting her when I refuse to protect other people I’m tasked with eliminating. It’s simple, really. I’m a hypocrite. At one level or another, everyone is. Life is full of hypocrisy.”
The man sped in front of the girl, firing his handgun at the enforcer with an apparent panic in the pace of his shots.
She heard this, and thought she was dead. She looked up at the man with the gun, and saw that he had shot the enforcer in the chest eight times - blood spilling from his torso and already pooling on the cold concrete below.
“G…” The enforcer said. “Go…”
The man with the gun leveled his pistol at him once more.
“Go…” The enforcer said again. “Good luck when I’m gone.”
She looked at the enforcer. With the last breath of his life, he reached for his chest, undoing a ‘glisser vers le bas’ pin. It was a French warfare tool - created to allow soldiers to kill their attackers by detonating a chest-mounted suicide bomb. Due to the ‘revenge’ nature of the device, the Englishmen often called them ‘drag-down’ bombs.
The man with the gun saw this, and grabbed her, running away from the human bomb as fast as he could.
Next thing the girl knew - she was outside, on the ground, looking up at a sky full of stars and smoke. She was covered in ash, blood, and soot.
She could tell the blood was her own. She felt pain. Intense, but she had grown dull to pain a long time ago. She could feel what was causing it too - she had been impaled through the thigh with a sharp piece of broken rebar.
Only an hour before, she wouldn’t have moved from the spot. She would’ve let the wound gush and bleed, killing her slowly but surely.
Now, she had found hope. Real hope. For survival, for a life free of the compound she had loathed since she awoke in a chamber full of pro-biotic fluid.
She got up, removed herself from the rebar, and scrounged the ruins of the base for some cloth with which to close her wound.
Once she had made a makeshift tourniquet, she searched the ruins for the boy from earlier, finding him beneath a pile of rubble and concrete. She dragged his body to somewhere safe.
She found the mouth of a small cave somewhere on the mountain (she had lost her sense of direction in all the snow) and used what clothes she had left to make a fire.
The heat of the fire made the boy’s coming-to much more peaceful.
Quoth Aaron:
What was the first thing I noticed about her when I woke up? Oh, other than she had burnt her clothes? Okay, that makes me feel more comfortable answering this. Uhh… To be honest, it was her face. When I came to, she had taken my guns and had been inspecting them with a sort of fascinated curiosity. It was truly adorable, and probably the first thing I noticed about her romantically. Before I knew I liked her, of course.
The girl was inspecting the boy’s handgun. It was a Glock 18, chambered in .45 ACP and capable of firing in full-auto. He had done extensive mods to it - everything from the trigger to the magazine was different from the base model.
“Uhh…” She heard, and flipped the gun in her hands to grab it by the handle.
She pointed the gun at the source of the sound, and, after discovering it to be the boy, she promptly put the gun down and silently apologized.
The boy came over to her, taking off his jacket and resting it over her shoulders. She accepted it, and felt that it was warm.
“So…” The boy said. “What’s your name?”
For the first time in a long time, the girl spoke. Trembling and cold, she spoke the words quietly before raising her voice to talk to the boy.
“I…” She said. “Don’t… Have one…”
The boy tilted his head, confused.
“You don’t?” He said. His voice was stable, and it was somewhat deep, like a grown man. “What should I call you, then?”
The girl was silent before she spoke again. “Whatever… You want.”
The boy reached into his pocket, and pulled out a small metal plate shaped like a rectangle. He tapped on its smooth, glassy surface, turning it horizontal and vertical as it glowed with a light that gave off no heat.
The boy stared at the surface of the device for a second, then pressed a button.
“Tanake.” He said. “Can I call you ‘Tanake?’”
The girl was silent. Laconic. Then she looked at the boy, and spoke.
“Yes.”
The boy smiled. He was excited to meet the girl he had named Tanake.
“Nice to meet you, Tanake.” He said. “My name is Aaron.”
It was the start of a marvelous and amorous relationship.
Thanks for reading. I hope you enjoyed Tanake’s origin story. I’m super-proud of this story, as it is one of the biggest pivoting points for Aaron’s story. I’m also super-glad to share this on the internet, as the ideas and inspirations in my head rarely ever get uploaded off my laptop. I’m super proud of this piece and I am happy to know that at least some of my work will live beyond me. Thank you again, and if you want any more of this, if you have any questions, or if you just want to see pictures, just send me an email at [email protected].
Thank you, and have a great day. 
I feel like every day there are more low effort posts on this forum that don’t really have anything to do with Destiny lore.
If you want to tell an interesting story about the world of Destiny — great!
But if you want to share the backstory of your own character, much of which has nothing to do with Destiny lore, and in some cases even directly contradicts the lore of the Destiny universe, this forum is not the place for it.
Also, just a reminder that Rule #5 says “Don’t post anything obscene or sexually explicit.”.
4 Likes
And Jubi said that we would leave out the explicit details. Don’t worry. Some humans have (heh. Ishtar) common sense.
If you guys no longer want to talk to me for that, I completely understand. I’ll also see about getting ourselves a private Forum or something.
Nothing posted here was explicit, I just added that last line as a reminder. 
To answer @Crystal, people can share characters in PMs if they want, but I do think setting up a forum for this purpose is a great idea.
The forum software we use at Ishtar is called “Discourse”, and you can find hosted servers for about $20/month. If 5 people are willing to share the cost of that, it’s only $4/month! I found this one that looks good: https://www.discoursehosting.com/pricing/
@baxter
Baxtyboi! I hope its not a problem if I call you that. I appreciate the link! I’m also thinking about making us all a dropbox account so that we can all edit a single file - such as a .txt or .docx in which we specify our username, date of typing, and our message all for free over the dropbox.
