Jax Vindle

Jax “Patchwire” Vindle
He/Him

Physical appearance

• Ribbet/Clank mixed ancestry
• Age: 31
• Height: 180 cm
• Weight: 107 kg
• Skin color: Teal / White underside. Metallic parts are dark grey iron.

Other:

• Robotic limbs, metallic pieces spreading out from the bio torso. one arm is bigger than the other(robotic, think Hellboys arm).
• A religious mark on the upper chest area.
• Usually wears a trench coat, and some ragged pants, more ripped than whole.
• His main weapon is his robotic arm.
• His voice is on the deeper end with a little bit of the frog like ribbit sounds.
• He sits in a frog squat if he doesn't find a chair, if he does sit on a chair its usually with legs crossed in one way or the other.

Origin

Jax Vindle was born in the Gutterspires , a swampy labyrinth of street and channels beneath the gleaming towers of Downtown Atlantis. The area where the high-rises of the Downtown turn into the watery jungle of the Dripline.

As a young frogling, he was taken in by Mother Vexline, a mysterious matron who was know by everyone at the district. As old as anyone's memory, she was the one who judged on neighbors disagreements, took care of finding medicine the families could not afford and she provided sanctuary for the lost and hiding place for the weak. Jax was both.

She had found him after he’d lost most of his siblings in the cruel initiation rites of the The Murmuring Folds—a gang that believed survival was proof of worth. Vexline saw something else in him: a survivor’s cunning without cruelty. She raised him among other orphans in her cluttered shack teaching him how to survive in the Dripline.

Life in the Gutterspires was a constant negotiation with danger. Floods carried disease, gangs fought for inches of territory, and the city watch descended like hawks on anything that moved too freely. For Jax, the trade of choice smuggling. Running medicine, relics, or illicit Arcanum tech through the canals and underbridges that threaded the swamp. He knew every tunnel and patrol schedule by heart. It wasn’t heroism; it was survival for a few crumbs and the thrill of movement.

Fate takes a turn

Everything changed the night he was caught by Bloom Index field agents. He’d been smuggling black-market biomods, Bloom’s own designs, to be re-sold to desperate in Favelas.

They made an example of him.

Drugged, restrained, and cut open, Jax was turned into a living experiment: limbs replaced with grafted Arcanum prosthetics, sensory nodes wired into his skull. He became both specimen and weapon, his body humming to the same rhythm as the city’s machines.

For months, he obeyed their commands under the haze of obedience serums and drugs. Then something glitched. The neural control lattice faltered, maybe a flaw in the Arcanum flow, maybe the will of a stubborn Ribbet refusing to drown. Jax’s mind snapped back into clarity mid-operation, memories returning like fire through whey field.

He was still trapped in the Bloom Index facility though, and it was at this time he met a girl.

The girl

Their first meeting begun in silence. She noticed his circuits pulse out of sync with the garden’s hum. a broken rhythm only someone attuned closely to her surroundings could feel.

“You don’t belong to them anymore,” she whispers without looking up.
“Neither do you,” Jax replied.

It’s not defiance. It’s recognition.

Over several recovery cycles, they meet again, always in that same spot, under the artificial willow. They share fragments of their pasts. She cannot remember much, and her memories seem to shift between their meetups. Sometimes she is scared, sometimes she remembers Jax and sometimes he has to reintroduce himself. As time progresses she becomes more lucid and more aware of her surroundings. She starts to remember more. Jax can feel her desire to get away.

Jax's own trials continue aswell. He never let his captors know that his mind is out of their grasp. Sometimes he is so drugged that he might as well be. He learns that he is part of the prosthetic behavioral control series, designed to create mechanical enhancements. And phycological obedience. Perfect soldiers.

Together, they have said no word of escape, but the idea of freedom has started to take shape in the Patchwire mind. He just needs an opportunity.