1310 has a minion!

the Defeye

Legacy Name: 1310

The Common Experiment #1031
Owner: Cheshire

Age: 14 years, 7 months, 1 week

Born: September 15th, 2009

Adopted: 14 years, 7 months, 1 week ago (Legacy)

Adopted: September 15th, 2009 (Legacy)


  • Level: 367
  • Strength: 900
  • Defense: 911
  • Speed: 901
  • Health: 900
  • HP: 272/900
  • Intelligence: 916
  • Books Read: 885
  • Food Eaten: 70
  • Job: Getaway Driver

The One-Hit-Kill
Rreign Eye
Cyborg Soldier BFG

Give me your lunch money...

(( TW: Story contains mentions of death, possession,
bad parenting, self harm and lots of foul language. ))

Against the dim blue green light of the basement laboratory, a glowering demon in a tattered lab coat gave a dismissive shrug. As it did, the tenuously hanging threads tugged sickeningly along the coat and the creature's own seams.

“Symbiotic, until it isn't.”

Doctor Scorn’s voice scraped like sandpaper in one's ears, disconcertingly dripping with a demonic accent that would make unfamiliar parties nauseous to hear. “There's nothing I can do. Just ride it out, as long as you can. Then, like all things, eventually succumb and perish."

“What the FUCK does that mean?!” The medical tray beside the operating table erupted onto the floor, scattering its contents across the stone. Bio seethed with clenched fists, rising to stand. “This is all your fault, old man! Why would anyone keep this shit sitting around anyway? You fucking psychopath. Just shut the hell up and pull it out already!”

Bio grabbed a scalpel in what would have been a swift motion if not for the fact that, for the second time that day, he found himself frozen. Against his will his arm was stopped, held in place by an unseen force. He attempted to direct the blade toward his forehead, using as much conviction and force as one with their life on the line could possibly muster. But still, his arm did not move. Hollering in rage, Bio grabbed his frozen arm with his other hand and pushed, struggling, fighting, summoning every ounce of strength he had. His forehead felt as if it were splitting, but the blade was still far from its mark.


Searing. Popping. As if he’d laid his head on a skillet warmed by lava. No, it was brighter and hotter than lava. There came a sudden sharp crack, and a burst of light blurred the room. Doctor Scorn twisted its head back around to see Bio now slumped helplessly against the wall, the scalpel slipping from his limp hand to join the other implements on the floor. It stared apathetically at the smoking mess, contemplating what it had just witnessed. From the squirming mass burrowed in Bio's forehead, there had come a very real spark of energy. For the first time since creating the disappointment that was experiment #1310, Doctor Scorn was intrigued.

“Now that's something...”

A scent akin to burning flesh mixed with an electrical fire permeated the room. A thick, black, tar-like substance had begun leaking from Bio’s nose and eyes. He lifted his head, spit some blood on the floor and sneered up at Scorn. “Don’t tell me… Now you want it…back.”

This comment caused Scorn to twitch and wheeze in its uncomfortable version of laughter. “Do Gena a favor. Die off property. I’ve no use for a corpse missing so many vital parts.” With that the demonic entity and self proclaimed doctor slid out of the room faster and more silently than anyone of its size had any right to.

Bio doubled over, attempting to cling to consciousness amidst the scattered medical utensils and moldy stone tiles. His vision was blurry. Blinking felt sticky.

A voice whispered:
“Heed the beast christened in poison, lest ye succumb to folly.”

theme: Infected Mushroom - artillery

Profile by FallenSamurai - | Art by Cheshire | Story by Cheshire with edits from Syfyri, TY!

Pet Treasure

Metal Workers Kit

Shadow Spiked Gloves

Sawed Off Double Barrel Shotgun

Four Barrel Ripgun

Rusty Broken Pipe

Rusted Crescent Wrench

Little Escarcha Favorite Baseball Bat

Elegant Gunblade

Hearts Revenge Gunblade

Rattling Spider Gun Harness

Vial of Dark Water

Rift Queen Toxic Drum


Supercritical Core

Radioactive Zombie Foot

Lollipop of DEATH

Toxic Socks

Pet Friends

Have some accountability, old man.

Disturbingly reliable, but you're still holding out on me.

Do you ever shut up?