Creed grew up isolated, surrounded by castoff electronics and silence. With no clean lab, no mentor, and no easy path out, he scavenged broken radios, cracked laptops, and dead batteries until he built a crude question console from scraps. Night after night he fed it problems, and each answer trained him to hear systems inside noise. He learned that failure was rarely empty; it was unread code. On a stormy ride home, carrying the device beside him, Creed skidded on wet pavement, split his skull, and shattered the machine. Battery chemicals mixed with his blood across exposed circuitry. The ruined console sparked once, then his mind did.
He lived, to the disbelief of his doctors, but survival came with seizures he later named Glitches. During them the world seemed paused while his awareness stayed awake, giving him impossible seconds to map danger, motive, and consequence before time resumed. The episodes were painful, unpredictable, and never clean. Creed could have hidden or let the condition define him as a victim. Instead, he built protocols, armor, and discipline around it, turning catastrophe into protection. As Processor, he studies first, adapts fast, and uses every widened moment to keep others from being trapped by panic, ignorance, or bad odds the way he once was.
Abilities
Primary
Audit
Processor enters a widened state where time seems to drag and violet fault lines expose motives, limits, and ripple effects. He runs mental simulations, then shares the strongest play with allies. Audit predicts from available data, not certainty, and cannot force outcomes.
Secondary
Mimic
After seeing a technique once, Processor can reproduce its mechanics and refine it fast. Mimic lets him fill gaps, counter specialists, and adapt mid-fight. It works on visible, learnable skills, not unique biology or artifact-bound powers, and repeated use strains focus.
Ultimate
Overlock
In crisis, Processor sends a surge through nearby minds. Allies feel thought accelerate and solutions snap into place, while enemies drown in more input than they can organize. Overclock can break a stalemate, but the backlash risks violent Glitches and neurological burnout.
He answered a machine until it answered something back.
Before there was armor, Creed sat alone with scrap-built circuitry and a hunger no isolation could blunt. He kept feeding questions into a homemade console assembled from dead laptops and broken radios, refusing to accept that discarded things were finished. The moment that defines him first is not the crash but the obsession before it: a boy proving that patience, pattern, and stubborn thought could pry open a future no one had prepared for him.
During a Glitch, he chose people over the perfect play.
In one early crisis, Processor entered a Glitch and saw the clean solution immediately: seal a route, save the majority, and abandon the few who would not make it out in time. He had the numbers. He had the proof. When time resumed, he rejected the optimal loss curve, improvised a riskier path, and dragged everyone through alive. The pressure did not reveal weakness. It revealed the line he will not cross, even when logic tempts him to become less human.
He burned his own mind to make an entire battlefield think.
At his highest cost, Processor faced a collapse no single fighter could solve fast enough. Instead of trying to outplay it alone, he triggered Overclock and pushed accelerated cognition across every nearby mind. Allies found answers at once, the enemy line drowned in unusable data, and victory came through shared clarity. Processor won, but the backlash left him shaking and half-blind. The moment canonizes his conviction: power means little unless it multiplies other people.
