Calamari & Lies
Aug, That Cranky Old Bastard
With my big black boots and an old suitcase
I do believe I’ll find myself a new place
I don’t wanna be the bad guy
I don’t wanna do your sleepwalk dance anymore
I just wanna see some palm trees
I will try and shake away this disease
-Everclear, “Santa Monica”
No, there’s no such thing as an uplifted cow. Honestly. Of all the things one could raise to sapience, slime molds might actually be better candidates (just look at the Factors).
Uplifting, however, isn’t the only way to get a truly unusual biomorph. You could, for example, get cut in half by a plasma cannon while serving as a bodyguard to Yu Ping Dalton, the infamously eccentric genetic engineer best known for creating real, living versions of cryptids and mythological beasts. She could then, to continue the example, pop your stack and resleeve your consciousness into an untested prototype biomorph that she just created, so you can stand back up and keep protecting her. And, theoretically, she could let you keep this one-of-a-kind morph as a combination of hazard pay and thank-you present. Of course, the free advertising of having you walk around the inner system in one of her creations wouldn’t hurt.
You know. Just theoretically.
The Minotaur morph that Aug’s called home for most of the last decade is about what you’d expect given the name: an anthropomorphic bull. It shares a lot of the same genetic code with a stock-standard Fury morph, and honestly most of the obvious differences are just cosmetic. There’s remarkably little bovine DNA rattling around in there. But he has an elongated face ending in a flat nose with outsize nostrils, brown fur, and horns. The horns are capped in titanium, for style as much as protection, and he sports a big brass ring between the nostrils just to play to the archetype. His large hands have digits functionally identical to a human, but when relaxed the muscles tend to pair the ring and small finger together, as well as the middle and forefinger; combined with their squarish mass, it passes for a hoof at a glance. The feet are even more hoof-like, the wide bottoms making excellent supports but doing him no favors for zero-G dexterity.
That’s his day-to-day body. Over the years, he’s sleeved enough morphs for enough jobs that the novelty’s worn off at this point and he’s pretty comfortable in everything from a sylph to a novacrab. So if circumstances mean he needs to ride in a different shell for a while, that’s fine. Just don’t expect him to loan out his Minotaur morph while it’s not occupied. He’s fond of it.
His soldiering background usually carries in his posture. It’s also obvious if you see him handling weapons. He had one custom rifle he was so fond of, he paid a mechanically-minded friend to reverse engineer it and make a fabber blueprint that he keeps copies of. That way if his favorite gun ever meets an unhappy end, he can make another just like it with a quickness. I mean, it’s got a missile launcher, an axe blade, and all the tech-gadgets you could want, all built around a rock-solid traditional assault rifle frame. What’s not to love?
He likes apples, funk and instrumental jazz music from way before the Fall, and his minion smart-raccoons, Inky, Blinky, Pinky and Clyde. He likes personal freedom, and has surprisingly little patience for bureaucracy given how much time he spent as a soldier. He may or may not like making hypercorp assets explode. He’s recently taken an interest in cooking and has quite a talent for making maker-goo more edible, and can do even better when he gets real ingredients. He thinks he’d like long walks on the beach, but finding a beach is hard these days and sims feel like cheating.