Today has been a day to say the least, and what you originally hoped to just be a simple one. Just take the marked capsule and run it across two districts and into the hands of a man standing outside a purple booth cloaked in red and white. However, things have gotten hard for small time "couriers" like yourself in the past decade. Ever since the Eternal City finally returned to Earth from its voyage across the stars its inhabitants have found their hands full with nightmarish terrors. Daemonic horrors that personify and prey on humanity's very own fears and phobias, cults that prowl the streets at night looking to expand their power, the eternal threat of emotional corruption turning you into a monstrous reflection of yourself, and greedy thugs are just a few problems that you know of.

Groggily peeling away your face from the paved floor you take some time to collect yourself. You are nearly there and quitting now would just leave you to the dogs. Just a bit more to go and your home free and with your pay for the d-...Wait who are you again?

>Having a name is optional, but it is preferred by many within the Eternal City. If you don't wish to have one, you will be simply referred to as ‘Courier’.
>Gender: Male/Female/Too mutated to know which one anymore
>Background: Please choose one of the below.

Drone: To some a slave to the high corporations that rule over the eternal city, but to you it was just a job to make sure your fed. You worked for a corporation that was a subsidiary of " Section Eta", a part of the Coalition that holds major sway over the Eternal City. They are renowned for their semblance of sound and which originates from an insane god. It was a decent job, and one that let you experience the true meaning of quiet. Sadly, your workplace was turned into rubble by a syndicate raid and leaving you without a job.

Faceless: You were just another thing that was wondering the outskirts of the city doomed to be forgotten, but somehow you made your way in. How exactly you got in or how long ago it was is a blur in your memory, but you remember your time there well, a bit too well. When you woke up in that place you often had to sew your detached yet living limbs together again. Drink from water that begged you to stop, breathe dead air borne from the slaughter of merciless trees, and sleep upon stone or rubble carved from a dying corpse. This place, even with all of its mayhem, is better....

Sprawlers: Sadly, what they leave out in all the songs or stories of being a sprawler is that all the freedom in the world does not pay for food on your plate. The streets are all you know, you were not fortunate enough to be born anywhere else, but it is your life to live and the only one you will get. At least you still have your soul intact and whole, however much that is worth.