Welcome to Gaia! ::

*Braaaaaaaap! ... Braaaaaaaaaaaaap! ... Braaaaaaaap!*

A hideously large, horrendously complex brass time mechanism screamed into the morning air. Movement. A slender, ashen hand slid along a thin frame, coming to rest on an impossibly beautiful face. Too beautiful that is, for a male. It was almost feminine, much to its owner's chagrin. That face didn't mind in the slightest, however; it was perfectly satisfied making ladies swoon. Ha.
As the loathsome steam-powered alarm clock blared, that face contorted with annoyance and anger, yawning from sleep, twitching as an impossibly sharp mind came soaring out of REM state.
The snowy hand blurred, releasing a home-made blade that could only have come from underneath a stained pillow, gray with use. The silver thing sped through the air like a bullet and came to a screaming halt, burying itself in the metal guts of the clock. The small gears moving a tiny hammer that were battering a set of bells making that obstreperous commotion ground to a halt. A voice.
"******** hell! See what you get then, you bloody thing!?"
Lips almost as pale as the rest of the face they were attached to curled upwards into another yawn, and the frame, lips, hands and every other aforementioned and non-aforementioned body part for that matter lurched upwards into a sitting position and stretched. These all belonged to the young thief known only as Punker Bill, and as he wiped the last remaining shreds of sleep from his hooded eyes, he finally felt the tiniest bit of humanity creeping back into his body. Not a morning person, obviously.
Iceberg-hued eyes glanced at the clock, still grinding away as the sharp tool impeded its progress. 4:00. Ah well. The price of being a freedom fighter. The job came with perks, yet every morning that infernal buzzer woke him from sleep to get ready for another mission, he couldn't help but think that early mornings were not one of them. He doubted it would be so bad if it was HE who had set the damn thing, and not simply tripped every time one of the higher ups pushed a button to send him, with hardly any prep time, on his way.
Automated music began to play an ancient track he'd ripped from the Matrix. Music always helped him wake up. Dim lights, also automated, brought definition to the small apartment the young man slept in.
He surveyed his surroundings, taking his mundane home in. Dingy, thick sheet metal covered the deck and attached to even thicker steel bulkheads built into the rocky wall in the outskirts of Zion. The bulkheads of his sleeping quarters were dressed in rusty nails holding assorted knives and damaged Sentinel parts (Trophies); as well as an old metal bathroom cabinet/mirror combo he salvaged from the dump. He had made sure to make the kitchen, den and head just as cozy. Home sweet home!
A quick shower, shave and equipment check later, Bill throws open the thick door leading into the rest of the city.
"On to it, then."
The brief awaited. He knew that today the mission was important. Something about Temporary Assigned Duty with another ship. He was to serve as extra muscle or some such drivel.


Bill's heavy boot-falls were drowned out by the noise of the surrounding city..