Jaroslav Armenov

''Character Name: '' Jaroslav "Jay" Armenov (Jay_Armenov)

''Age: '' 26

''Species: '' Human

''Gender: '' Male

''Alignment: '' Lawful Neutral

Bio:

Jay blinks slowly as a light is pointed into each of his eyes. Memories of childhood rush through him, and he smiles slightly as he remembers an incident one early morning. He is aware of others around him, and they seem to be speaking, though who they are talking to is a mystery. Wiping the sleep from his eyes, he rubs the bridge of his nose and fully opens his eyes. Instead of waking up in his own bed, in a familiar place, he is greeted by a stark white room not far off from some sort of infirmary.

Fear grips him as he quickly looks around. Several people dressed in smocks and white gloves look back at him with an almost amused expression. He appears to be in one piece.

A voice rouses him out of his own thoughts, saying, "I know all of this must be strange for you. Your cubatom stream was intercepted and you have been remade here. Can you recall to us what happened immediately prior to your death?"

He tries to speak, but his vocal cords do not comply, as if they had not been used in a very long time. Struggling to find his voice, Jay responds, "I-I... I'm dead? I died...?"

A woman checking a machine to the left of him replies casually, "Yes. You died, and by the looks of your cubatom stream, not very recently. What do you remember?"

The shock of the revelation hits him like a sledgehammer as he tries to remember. After a moment, Jay speaks. "My name is Jay Armenov. I'm from the town of Yugon, of the Azalec province on Malakor III. Where... where am I?"

"You are on the captured Cubatom Interception and Indoctrination Facility, in Syndicate States of New Ephebe. I do not recognize the name Malakor III... where was this located, exactly?" says another smock-clad doctor.

"I haven't heard of New Ephebe... do you have a star map handy?" Jay replies. A feeling of despair settles over him as he slowly realizes what is going on.

The woman monitoring the machine to his left hands him a star map. "I am from here," Jay says, while pointing at an arm on the other side of the galaxy.

"Strange indeed that you ended up here," replies a tall doctor while stroking his beard, "and stranger still the body our cubatom reassembler was told to build. Are you supposed to have titanium implants in your shoulders, spine and rib cage?"

Jay rubs his shoulder, feeling the familiar bump of the titanium plate embedded there. "Yes, that is correct. Where I come from, it is a rite of passage to get these implants. They help us work our exosuits."

"Fascinating," replies another doctor as he writes on a clipboard. "Are you able to recall what happened prior to your death?"

Thinking deeply once more, Jay responds. "I am 26 years old. I was a Commodore in Malakor III's defense force..." Jay stops as he suddenly remembers. "Have you gotten any other people like me recently?"

The doctors take a moment to respond. "No, I don't think that we have. Are you thinking of someone specifically?"

Jay rubs his chin in thought. "I was on leave with a friend in the capital of Azalec. We were sitting at a bar when I remember seeing a wall burst into dust. I was reaching for my pistol, when..." Jay stops. He looks into the distance blankly. "I saw my friend die at my feet, along with many of the people in the bar. And then... blackness."

It didn't take very long to move up the social rungs of the ladder. After a brief introduction to this new world, Jay began working for the then Triarii Corporation, a small manufacturing company that was in need of mercenaries to defend its frequently raided assets. It wasn't the most glamorous or luxurious life, but he gained respect where respect was due. Within the company he was known as a ruthless but not unreasonable man who stuck to his own set of starkly black and white morals. By chance, he happened to be present at a corporate meeting when a SoB force attacked. Admittedly it was not a very powerful flotilla, far from it, but the other defense forces were slow to respond and he was in the right place to help. He defeated the flotilla with help from some of the more observant pilots and the image of his white on black ship cutting through the SoB flotilla was an iconic symbol of defiance among the corporation. He was proclaimed a war hero, whether for good press or otherwise, and launched a political career soon after. Propelled by his status as a hero, or as it was whispered, due to subtle help from powerful people at the top of the ladder, he was elected Chairman of the Board and eventually Chancellor after the formation of the Triarii Conglomerate.

A military man by nature and trade, he found the political life strange. At the young age of 26 he was already Chancellor of a Syndicate State, an office many did not achieve until they were in their 40s-50s. He was not very well versed in politics, and thus kept a large cabinet of advisers. Strangely for a leader of a state, he often piloted ships alongside his fellow people, which gained him respect with his friends and infamy with his enemies.

Like most leaders, he has great personal wealth, but tends to spend less on lavish accessories and more on technology development and defense. Deep down, he feels he needs to insure the safety and continuation of his state and companies, and the means he feels are most efficient to do so are by becoming the most well armed organization on this side of the galaxy. Sinister to some, benevolent to others; and yet, he's not nearly the most strange personality in the Syndicate States.