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Bearing teal green hair and matching eyes, the young woman known as Tsuya Ametsuchi is, for some, as beautiful as nature itself. Indeed, she seems more like a sylph or dryad than anything resembling a human. She ties her hair back with a black bow, and wears numerous clips in it for aesthetic purposes.

She stands at around 5'4", or roughly 163 centimeters, and weighs about 122 lbs (55kg). Her hair reaches roughly to her hips, and her overall build is actually rather lithe.

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Once willful and composed of an almost violent pride, the girl known as Tsuya Ametsuchi has undergone a startling transformation since her induction into the Totsuzen program. Whereas she was once prone to respond with earth and fist to unfavorable circumstance, she now responds with a cold calm and surprising docility. Yet comprised of a mind that refuses to forget any interaction unless instructed, she's shown remarkable capabilities in recognizing prior situations- and individuals- and altering her own personal responses in turn. Of course, this does little to hide the brutal truth of the girl's emotionless and brutally logical exterior- a result of the programming underwent by each Totsuzen before they're permitted into society.

In truth, her years in the program have left her rather wanting in the conversational category, and she possesses rather inept social skills. That isn't to say the girl isn't without her uses, however. In fact, with what little autonomy she's afforded that thought remains a near constant. That desire to be useful, to be able to do more than simply sit around and be forced to watch. So long as she can accomplish that, what else is there for her to devote her energies to?

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You thought you'd seen hell before.

You thought you'd experienced pain before.

How wrong you'd been.

You'd always been the outcast, the reject. You weren't like the other kids. You were colder. More primal. You scared people. Not that you cared.
Not even your parents were entirely comfortable around you, but you supposed that must've been normal.

You hated the words they threw around. How the two of them constantly fought over whose fault it was. Whose fault it was that you'd been pinned with such a word so young into your years.

Psychopath.

You were too young to know what it meant. But as you grew older, you began to understand. You realized, albeit slowly, that the thoughts in your head weren't the thoughts of those insolent space-takers around you. Those arrogant fools who paraded their so-called uniqueness and yet made fun of you for those same traits. They called you weird. For so many years you had to bear the brunt of it. Constantly moving from school to school, until eventually your parents decided it would be less of a hassle to homeschool you. After all, you'd sent more than handful of classmates to the hospital by the time you were thirteen.

Not that it had been your fault, of course. They were the ones who had thought it a brilliant idea to come and press buttons that didn't need to be pressed. Who cared what your family was involved in? Who cared that your dad was an addict and your mother a drunk? Who cared that they were divorced by the time you were seven, and that the one saddled with the responsibility of taking care of you didn't want anything to do with you?

You discovered it a week before your fourteenth birthday. If you focused, you could sense the earth around you. Intimately. It felt like you could just... reach out, and pick up a rock or pebble with just your mind. You experimented with it. Even after the falling of London, the ensuing death of your father when an unregistered barged into the house, desperate and panicking. You watched him die. And the only thing about it that you hated?

You hadn't been the one to kill him. You suppose, then, that it was a stroke of luck that the driveway leading to your house was composed of gravel. The cops had arrived to find two corpses, and your silent, deathly stare as they approached. That first kill is the one you regret forgetting the most. The feeling of excitement, the overwhelming joy. The power you felt coursing through your veins. All those months of practice had shown some sign of progress. You were inexperienced, however, and no amount of blood-induced fervor would make up for that. You only managed to injure one of the cops before they subdued you, forcing you into the gravel and handcuffing you. You didn't mind, though. The earth was welcoming, comfortable.

And no matter what anyone said, you'd were proud of what you had done. You were fifteen.

By the age of sixteen, you were a fully-fledged patient in the Totsuzen program. Registered and deemed far too dangerous to simply be left to your own devices. They'd called your mother, of course. She'd wanted nothing to do with you nor the mess you'd gotten yourself wrapped up into. That was fine, you told yourself. You'd just go after her once you got rid of everyone else there.

Unfortunately, nothing went to plan. The treatments were too thorough, the tactics employed far more than you could reasonably outmaneuver. And you tried. Gods did you try. Slowly, however, they succeeded in stripping you of the monster you'd been. Remodeling you into something far more... suitable. A tool. A weapon. You were still cold and silent, but no longer was it out of that watchful fantasy of mentally ripping everyone around you apart. Now, now it was because you needed to be useful. That was all you cared about now. Being useful.

They'd succeeded in breaking the beast, in taming it. In rewriting you. A success, they called it. A marvel of modern sciences. An extreme cure, but a cure nonetheless.

And so you, Tsuya Ametsuchi, were put to use.

...that's what you wanted. Right?

[ OOC Name Rebirae | Age 19 | Pronouns She/Her | Timezone Mountain ]