Spencer D. Hidgefield

Spencer Hidgefield

Codename: Tin Can



Age: 34

Ethnicity/Race & Species: American/Hawaiian || Cyborg

Occupation(s)
-Past: Mechanic/Biomechanical Engineer
-Present: Mechanic/Biomechanical Engineer

Class(es): Machinist

Allegiance: N/A ((Could and probably will change in the future))

Language(s) English

Residence(s)
-Past: Atlanta, Georgia
-Present: Detroit, Michigan

Appearance: Spencer is not anything like he used to be. He may be human, but he certainly doesn't look a lot like one. His left arm is a rather large, beefy mechanical arm. On its shoulder is a solar panel that is connected by long wires to his brain in the back of his head. Same with his right hand. On the back of it is a solar panel that connects to his brain. His fingers are thin, metal rods that have joints like regular fingers and rubber pads on the tips. He can't get a good grasp around things, but he can make precise movements holding things between his fingertips.

His right leg is much like his left arm. It's a chunky and blocky mechanical leg with a solar panel on the upper part of the leg. The panel is connected to the brain by wires as well.

He doesn't really have a left eye anymore, and it's powered by a solar panel and a series of gears and circuits located behind his ear. It glows a blue-green color just like the color of his other eye.

Over his face, he wears a gas mask. Mostly because the mutations from The End had mutated his lungs; making it hard for his lungs to take in fresh air. The fact that the air is already polluted isn't helping him. In fact, he'll only take the mask off when he's calm. But still, that's on rare occasion.

Because of the hunky chunk of metal for an arm, he will only occasionally put on a shirt because of how hard it is for him to get it on. Especially considering the butterfingers he has.

He has a stubble look to his jaw, and his hair is brown. Skin tone is palish.

Personality: Spencer is most definitely a psychopath, and he does have his moments. Around certain people, he might talk erratically, around others he might find everything funny, and around others, he might be angry for every second or not talk at all.

Of course, he isn't that hard to get along with, but very easy to make enemies with as well. Once an enemy, it's going to be hard to become his ally.

Spencer has a hard time keeping himself from situations he probably shouldn't be in. In fact, he tends to push situations to extreme limits. Sometimes it'll lead him to getting serverely injured.

Anybody he hates and can get his hands on is somebody he relies on as an experiment. He will attempt to replace your limbs with old, failed prosthetic plans of his that never worked correctly.

Biography: As a child, Spencer was always fascinated with anything that needed a motor to run. He experimented with just about anything. Rats, old computers, television sets, and things of the sort; rigging them to the next level. He's very literate--getting all of the brains of his from books he'd read about doing the things he enjoyed. By the age of twelve, he'd known how to completely take apart a television set and put it back together again--working or not.

He'd wanted to take his aspirations to another level; designing futuristic machines that mankind would most likely never come across. Large, hovering cargo ships that were far more efficient than that age's current ships. All of his childhood he spent either in a garage or up in his bedroom reading through books that taught him new things each time he read them.

Time was flying. He was seventeen then and the close calls were surfacing the news like there were aliens trying to invade earth. People were beginning to lose their minds more than they had been. Although it wasn't as rough as it soon would be, it was beginning to shove him into what reality was and how it was tumbling down on him. He almost didn't know what to do. He wasn't reading books as much as he used to. Instead, he was waiting and watching for the day to come when the world actually did meet it's fate. His eyes were glued to the small TV set up in his room. His hands were busy working on designs for anything that would help mankind after the world ended.....if there was still any such thing in existence.

Eighteen years. He failed at making the perfect airship for man's survival, but....he'd taken an odd interest in biomechanics. Advanced prosthetics that acted like any flesh-bearing limb anybody would have. It got screwed into his brain so hard, that he was actually tempted to trying it out. And eventually, he did.

Twenty years. Just months before the world met its horrible fate. With an unreadable grin on his face, he continued to admire the brand new, pin-fingered fake limb that replaced his right arm from his elbow all the way down to the rest of his hand. It was painful, but he couldn't help but feel successful at how well it was working without a real power source other than his nerves. He'd had other prosthetics in assembly too. A full left arm and a full right leg. And eventually, he had the courage to test them out. Only....he had to have somebody to help him with it.

With no hesitation and a spark of insanity, he dragged his father into the mess. He had been a surgeon for quite a few years, and he was willing to do it. Only because Spencer had threatened to harm or kill him if he didn't. And once they were installed, the nerves weren't enough to power the machinery, so he had to turn to something else--Connectivity to his brain. That was the only thing he could do to keep them working. And being the soon-to-be psycho that he was, he did it himself almost not thinking.

A burning pile of nothing was all that was left. As well as what was left as a passenger jet that had fallen out of the sky was what was replacing where his trailer used to be. So was the rest of Atlanta. Skyscrapers were chimneys spewing smoke and overturned cars were protruding through buildings like bullets and traffic poles became kebabs for trash and rubble from the streets. He didn't think he had anywhere to turn. His parents had passed away and the streets seemed bare of anything living and breathing.

27 years of age. Spencer had started losing the ability to breathe the air around him and ended up having to turn to something to help him breathe. Rummaging through abandoned homes and rubble, he finds anything that could keep him alive and breathing. Leather from an old coat. Household objects like plastic lenses and other things led him to create a gas mask keeps him from suffocating from earth's contaminated air. But, in the process of finding materials, a beam that was careening from the old building's doorway swing over after a cable snapped and got him clean across the face; damaging his eye and leaving him blind. And being the person he was, he got to work building a replacement.

34 years of age. 7 years he'd been traveling and setting up base in different locations that he saw fit; traveling by bicycle the whole time. Eventually, he made it to Detroit. He's gone back to his old plans on a traveling vehicle that runs on a power source still available to him--solar power. And just to be sure it would work, he attaches solar panels to his prosthetic limbs and tests them out. His reflexes were far faster and he was more precise with his movements alone.

Misc. If any cable is cut that travels from the prosthetics to his brain, his reflexes will slow down in that limb and he won't be as accurate with his movements as he was say a few seconds ago.

He can take off the gas mask in areas that he knows has easier air to breathe. In fact, he enjoys taking the mask off.

What year, on site, did the world end? 2014~