Mousey The Iron Slave Printer (Dystopia Rising)

Name: Mousey
Race: Iron Slave
Status: Free
Job: Printer
Skills: Teach. Literacy
Body Defense: 10
Armor Defense: 33

Mouse grew up on a farm with other Iron Slaves, owned and alone. She was given the name Mouse long after she was free, as Iron Slaves don't have names, but numbers. There on her right cheek, almost as bright as her red pulsing veins, is the number 864 branded with a hot coal iron. For most of her life, that number was her name. She was Iron Slave 864, the Printer. Her talent was simple. Read the papers given to her, and copy them exactly as they were. Every last scribble was to be exactly copied, every last line of the blueprints. Everything. And for every time she messed up, her back would bleed with the whippings.

It wasn't long before she met Clare, the Iron Slave Tinker. Clare had come to the farm with a name, being sold after an owner had given the name to her. Clare made things, she built what Mousey drew. Soon, they had become good friends. Well, as good of a friend you could get when they were the only ones you saw.

Mousey, by the owner's fear that she would run away and never return, was left alone in a cold dark room about the size of a broom closet to do her work. Her veins, being an Iron Slave, glow in the dark to give her the light she needed to Print. But the sunlight, that was a treat. So when the owner decided to move them, moving all the Iron Slaves he owned, to a new farm, Mousey was delighted.

Her pale skin met sunlight for the first time in years and the sight hurt her eyes, it burned her skin quickly, and she hurt for most of the trip.

However, before they could reach their destination, a Zed Tank smashed into the side of the caravan, throwing the Iron Slaves from their Ironsides. Mousey tumbled forward, burning in the sun as she bolted. Stuff like this didn't happen every day, and the Tank was still alive chasing others. She lost sight of Clare in all of the brightness and just began running. Mousey didn't care where she ran, or what direction she was headed, until she stopped.

Something, big and strong moved into her path and she struck it hard. Iron Slaves, being designed stronger than most, can crash though a tree trunk and bring the tree down quicker than an axe. This man that she ran into tumbled to the ground, but was okay. He stood, helped Mousey to her feet and grinned at her. The lantern etched into his armor exclaimed him to be a priest. And the armor he wore was his saving grace.

Valor, as the man explained to be his name, quickly looked Mousey over. Her sunburnt skin, her bloodshot eyes, and it made him laugh. He had taken a bolting Iron Slave to the chest and all it did was knock him down. However, looking at her again, he reached into his duffle and pulled out a hoodie to cover her arms where her tank top had stopped, a pair of gloves to cover her hands, a hat to cover her face, and a pair of sunglasses for her eyes.

From that day forward, Valor was her protector. He watched over her and took care of her, fought the Zed with her on his back, and kept her safe. She was free, and she wasn't alone. After a few months, she started to speak with Valor, learning more of the world she was secluded from. How to find food, how to socialize. How to be kind.