The squeal of the alarm going off directly in his skull made the man start to move, he'd learned long ago that while wake up calls were a good thing, when the alarm sounds unexpectedly outside his head the first response was to take it out, silence the intrusion. Lost a couple of good alarm clocks that way, not that he needed them, but the illusion of normalcy helped sometimes. Eyes cracked open and though he could have called up the time directly to his cornea he forced them to open so he could see the digital numbers. 14:15. To early.

Time has a different meaning when you work nights, even when you only work a couple nights a week officially it makes a difference. As the alarm started to squeel once more in his ears it was silenced with a command, a single word in the gutteral language of Or'zet. People might talk about whether or not it is a real language, but they just didn't understand. Especially in this day and age, belief makes it real. It was real to the people who spoke it, and it was just as unintelligible to those that didn't. Made it as real as any other language. Closing his eyes again the man rubbed his face, he always made himself wait before he looked at any part of his own body, had to give himself time to wake up to make sure it wasn't another nightmare. He tried not to focus on the shape of his face, or the fact that his hair was far longer than it should have been. Instead he pushed large hands through his hair and tied it in a loose not behind his head so he wouldn't see the color.

He'd memorized this room, his whole pad really, since it had become his own and he knew for a fact that Jane would already be gone from the sofa. She never hung around in the mornings, gave herself a headstart to get away from him no doubt. Fraggin' pointy eared slot. Walking through his room completely nude and blinded by closed eyes he made his way to the bathroom, cursing as he stubbed his toe on one of his boots but he still didn't open his eyes. He turned to the left and took a deep breath, time to see if he was truly awake, or if this was another nightmare.

Light flooded his eyes but the flare compensation kicked in immediately and it took only a fraction of a second before he could see perfectly. Standing in front of him was an ork with black skin, so black at one time it couldn't have been natural. Long metallic blue hair was pulled back away from the orks face and hanging down his back, out of the way and showing every feature. Even as he catalogued the appearance of the ork standing in front of him, the high forehead, rounded cheekbones, strong clean-shaven jaw that never required shaving, proud nose that flattened only a bit at the tip without appearing smashed. Purple lips, green eyes, flawless ivory tusks, and a tattoo of brilliant white on the neck of the Kanji for A Comedy of Blood completed the image right before it shattered into what seemed a billion fractured images of the face. His fist had hit the mirror before he could stop himself, sometimes it didn't pay to naturally be as fast as a fraggin' samurai.

Blood trickled down the broken mirror from where glass had sliced black skin and he made himself look at the rest of the unbroken image. Clearly well muscled though more slender than many ork's, each muscle was defined by the reflection of the light across black skin. It really was an impressive physique, in perfect balance without any of the additional weight that many ork's carried but he was all ork still where it counted, the one thing he had made -sure- they didn't fraggin' touch beyond the skin and hair change. Admittedly the metallic blue short and curlies were a bit off but it was still all him. He forced himself to stare at the reflection before he verbally ordered in a replacement which he'd have to pick up later but at least it wasn't a nightmare. At least the black skin was smooth and his physique was appropriate. Sometimes when he thought he'd woken up and looked down at himself in the nightmare he was rotting, visibly, as if the dimming in his aura had affected him physically and was rotting him from the inside out. Today, he just had glass in his knuckles and that was easy to fix. Someday he would recognize himself in the mirror and not break it thinking his home had been invaded, but not today. At least the blood was still red.

He cleaned his hand up with the medkit he'd 'acquired' from his previous employer, top of the line, surgical grade really and it's computerized instructions made it easy and his hand was as good as new in a few minutes. The water stayed hot all through his shower and through washing all of that long hair though he kept expecting it to turn into it's former red, and the black to wash off to show the dark olive of what used to be hispanic skin tone. It never happened though, genetically changed to be like this, he absently wondered what his kids would look like if he ever got around to having any. The shower kicked into dry mode and he was dry in seconds without a need for towels, the hot air blowing over him left his hair just a touch damp so he could brush it out. He didn't get dressed yet, not that he needed weapons to be deadly if someone was stupid enough to try and rob his apartment.

It wasn't a bad place, up in the brighter parts of touristville, constant power, constant hot water, decent trid and the like. Not to special though in case he had to burn the fake sin linked to it. He went about making himself some breakfast as it approached 15 hundred hours and he sat down to eat. Sure enough Jane was gone, the couch looking like she'd not even been there. Fraggin' elves, so high and mighty acting like they're better than everyone else. Doesn't help they have to -try- and be ugly.  Always playing with him and even though he was beginning to hate them, he couldn't help trying but it always turned out the same, even with his new face. He'd made sure he was good looking not just for an ork but for practically everyone but it was only skin deep and they seemed to know it. At least he didn't have to work tonight, standing around and working while all those pretty dandelion eater shaman and whatnot drank and partied was hell all in and of itself.

Finally he finished eating and got dressed, the form fitting going on first, the vitals protector on over that then his clothes, shirt, pants, boots, hardliner gloves followed by his coat. He didn't look it but it'd take a machine gun or a panther cannon to rip through to the black muscle and skin beneath, just the way he liked it. All six pistols went into their places, customized warhawks on his hips, vipers under his shoulders, and the two thunderbolts at the small of his back. He hesitated for a moment as he reached for his commlink, his hand stopping of it's own accord and he had to mentally tell himself that as long as he didn't put on the trodes, it couldn't hurt him. Had to tell himself that twice and even then he had to swallow down the bile that welled up in his throat as the commlink tied into his shades. His eyes and ears were his alone, as were his weapons, no way he was letting them get on the airwaves. Using the touchpad he keyed up his messages, checked his account balance, and made his way for the door. Sun was still up but it wouldn't be for long, the shadows were calling.

...

Not to jump into the Dime Novels posting... But this has to be said:

Well done, Green Elf.  This helps flesh out your character just that much more.  I MIGHT steal this idea from you, but we'll see.