Exposure
| |
| Unknown | |
| Player: | |
| Origin: | Mutation |
|---|---|
| Archetype: | Brute |
| Security Level: | 50 |
| Server: | excelsior |
| Personal Data | |
| Real Name: | Julia Monroe |
| Known Aliases: | Ex |
| Species: | Human |
| Age: | 29 |
| Height: | 6,7 ft |
| Weight: | 89 |
| Eye Color: | Brown |
| Hair Color: | Brown, when active mutation, greenish |
| Biographical Data | |
| Nationality: | Canadian |
| Occupation: | Maintenance worker, Private corporation |
| Place of Birth: | Quebec |
| Base of Operations: | Confidential |
| Marital Status: | Confidential |
| Known Relatives: | Confidential |
| Known Powers | |
| Street Justice / Radiation Armor | |
| Known Abilities | |
| Experimentation (SoS) | |
| Equipment | |
| Visor | |
| No additional information available. | |
“You don’t need to glow to be dangerous.”
She never planned to be a hero.
She worked maintenance at a private research facility contracted to handle radiological cleanup and containment—the kind of place that quietly fixes mistakes no one is supposed to know about. Her job wasn’t science. It was survival: heavy doors, reinforced gloves, manual overrides when automated systems failed.
One night, they failed badly.
A containment breach flooded an underground wing with unstable radiation. Alarms screamed. Evacuation protocols locked down the wrong sector. She was trapped inside with no protective suit—only reinforced work gear and raw instinct.
She didn’t run.
She held the line.
Dragging injured coworkers out one by one, forcing jammed bulkheads open with her bare hands, she stayed in the hot zone far longer than anyone should have survived. By the time responders reached her, the radiation should have killed her twice over.
It didn’t.
Something in her changed instead.
⸻
The Mutation
The radiation didn’t burn her. It bonded.
Her body adapted—cells rebuilding faster, muscle fibers reinforcing themselves under stress. Wounds closed almost as quickly as they opened. Fatigue stopped meaning what it used to. She didn’t feel stronger in the flashy way. No glowing skin. No energy blasts.
Just this quiet certainty:
She could keep going… longer than anyone else.
Doctors called it impossible. Researchers called it priceless. She called it enough.
She walked away before anyone could decide what to do with her.
⸻
Why She Fights the Way She Does
Exposure doesn’t punch to show off.
She punches to end things.
No wasted movement. No dramatic wind-ups. Every hit is tested, followed by another, then another—pressure building until something gives. The radiation inside her feeds off momentum, turning endurance into power. The longer the fight lasts, the worse it becomes for whoever’s standing across from her.
She doesn’t explode into combat.
She wears it down.