Origins: Nigel Raskin

Nigel was born and raised in the shadows of humanity. In order to really exist in Centrana 5 one must live in the luxury of the upper city. Clean air, shiny white buildings, and millions of new exiting things to spend money on. You didn't matter unless you had the money and connections to be part of the high life. As far as the business-men, lawyers, judges and doctors were concerned, the life forms living below them in the underbelly of the city were simply taking up air and causing that awful smell that the industrial fans (that they payed for with their tax dollars) have to blow back down into the shadows of paradise.

Centrana 5 started as an experimental city, as part of the "Self Contained Human Environmental Maintenance Project" or "Schemp". After decades of re-population and power shifts it degraded into a bizzar civilization in the middle of nowhere. Fully self sufficient, but it's isolation and technology levels made for great divisions between living standards and demographics of wealth. It turned out to be an experiment in human engagment without contact to the rest of the world. The underworld of Centrana 5 was originaly used for maintenace workers and on-site record keepers. With the evolution of the society, it degraded into a slum pit, and refuse collective. Now, so many years after the birth of the project, it is home to the poor and broken citizens living enclosed from the outside world, in the self contained city of Centrana 5.

The platforms and supports to the upper city hung overhead for his entire childhood, like iron clouds shielding his unworthy eyes from heaven. Power cords the size of fallen redwoods snaked through the streets he played in as a boy. They brought precious power from the generators Centrana 5 was built on top of, to the wealthy inhabitants of the upper levels. Some of the lower city dwellers, without homes or any funds, used the gaps and cracks of the great wires as shelter from the hazards of the under city. It was always cold, always dark, and never clean.

When he was still young Nigel began to draw pictures of the world around him. He had a knack for capturing the beauty and calm of the rotting slums he called his home. Many of the scraps of paper that were dumped and wasted from the upper dwellers, he would collect and use for his beloved artwork. His mediums where what he could find. Sometimes used paints, sometimes charcoal, but his favorite was always plain pencil and paper. It gave him the powers to create, and live.

The first time Nigel caught a glimpse of the upper city he was 14 years old. He, and one of his friends (he always had many friends) had climbed for hours up one of the huge garbage tubes that dropped the waste of the upper crust down into his backyard. He couldn't believe his eyes when he witnessed real sunlight for the first time. It made his skin feel sick and his eyes hot and dry. Everything was so radiant. Hiding in the darkness of alleys they explored a tiny corner of paradise, and both were filled with awe and wonder, that is.. until they were spotted.

A handful of wealthy sons and daughters stumbled upon them inspecting a mailbox, as they returned from a day of shopping and dining (as only the upper levels could supply). Raised in mindsets of hatred and bigotry, the rich boys set upon them. The healthy young bodies of the nourished lads were devastating when enraged to the sickly unwashed bodies of young Nigel and his friend. Beaten, insulted and incapacitated, they were dragged to the edge of Platform 4, where they boys proceeded to throw Nigel's childhood friend over the ledge, back down to the under city. Over 740 feet below. Nigel pleaded and begged, and against all odds, his words moved them. One of the young girls in particular found him fascinating. She insisted that he be left alone, and that was the beginning of a new way of life for Nigel.

For years he continued to sneak up to the topside. He would visit any one of the many young girls he grew close to, or spend time with the other boys his age, learning how to really live. At age 19, as he grew into his adulthood, he began experimenting with a new drug known as Melonax. He would steal and loan money from friends above and below, and each night he would pass out in a state of super-cognitive bliss. His artwork grew surreal and dark, as he would attempt to recreate his drug educed dreams. Dreams of a place dark and cold, filled with black towers and gray skies, but so soft and welcoming.

Unable to maintain this lifestyle without more money, he began selling both his artwork and his body. He started taking his drawings and getting sub-dermal nanotech implants all over his body, making moving and dancing tattoos that depicted the dark world he dreamed of. He was always strangely attractive despite his sickly upbringing. His eyes were dark and haunting and his body was long and toned. His curly black hair was untouched by sunlight, and darker than dark. The ladies payed good money for his company, and often men as well. He didn't care. He liked to be near people. He liked to have money. He liked to experience emotions, and share them with others. He was addicted to empathy, sex, and his beloved Melonax.

The last time he ever saw the Centrana 5 was from the window of the passenger ship taking him out to orbit. His dept had caught up with him. He had left too many broken hearts and angry husbands and wives. He had to escape from both the shadow and the light of his two worlds. Using all his remaining resources he bought a large stash of drugs, some decent clothes, and a one way ticket to Clark Memorial Space Station. He knew nothing about what waited for him there, or what kind of ship would take him to his new home. He just knew that he had to get out of the city, and into the quiet of space.

He couldn't help but notice, when looking for the last time upon his city, that the glowing perfection of the upper platform was far less beautiful than the flowing sheets of darkness that spread out below, blanketing the slums. He knew there was darkness in the top side. Not in the streets or skies, but in the hearts of those who ruled. Everything was so damned beautiful. He pulled out his sketchbook and began to work.