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[attr="class","tbeapponetop3"]

[attr="class","tbeapponeper2"]

positive traits sharp + hyper-competent + pragmatist + charismatic + unyielding

negative traits martyr + elitist + extremist + vicious + sanctimonious + emotionally volatile void

mercer is entirely made up of sharp angles: the slope of his nose too harsh, high cheekbones over hollow cheeks, lips drawn back as if by a string to reveal too pointed teeth. he is statuesque and still, robotically jagged in movement (until he is not). he speaks directly and with no real discernible accent. there is a street-tinged vulgarity to mercer’s tone, and his speech is typically laconic and laced with a mocking lilt. [break][break]

his emotions range from clinically, dangerously, restrained to a violent outpouring of anger, frustration, and pain that leaves his throat feeling raw and his hands unsteady. in short - he is entirely too much of everything, and it is all too fast and over in moments. emotions are an indulgence for someone who keeps having to grasp in the dark, clawing at nothing, for anything to surface at all. mercer savours the fury on his tongue as one would a fine wine. [break][break]

there is a disconnect in his words, actions, and thoughts. how can someone so impervious to influence cast down his life at every opportunity, like an ultimatum? like a final challenge. mercer wears his self-destructive death wish like an inverted crown – straddling narcissism and jaded cynicism. [break][break]

mercer knows where to pick his friends (and fights), a result of hard-won experience. while he isn’t always outwardly unpleasant, don’t let that fool you into thinking that he is anything but antagonistic. just remember this: mercer trieu is not a good man.

[attr="class","tbeapponebio2"]



no matter what it sounds like, mercer was not a victim. he was born with rot in his heart – and no matter his choices, he will be lead here. a bloodied child, a barely literate toy soldier with a monster inside his ribcage. there is no redemption arc to be found in this place. [break][break]

can you remember the hunger as he did? as the feeling of blades twisting in his stomach, until it stopped hurting altogether, replaced with a strange emptiness that made his limbs feel like cotton. he closed his eyes and willed himself to sleep until the exhaustion robbed him of consciousness. mercer was raised with other orphans like him by aunts and uncles that were probably neither of those (he forgets, the days a blurred tedium characterised only by asking how many days since he ate? how many days until one "aunt" gets replaced with another?) [break][break]

the thing about wars and conflicts is that they require bodies. the thing about attrition is that you run out of them. mercer didn’t know who he was surrendering to, but it didn’t matter because he was young (much too young, and much too frail) and he just wanted to live. they put a gun in one hand, two stolen pokeballs in the other, and food in his mouth. he calls the uneasy warm disbelief gratitude, and he learns to follow order unquestioningly, to throw himself into every encounter with fervour. he calls it having a conviction. [break][break]

what happened in those years didn't matter, much like no specifics ever mattered. like broad monotone brush strokes against a ruined canvas, where the final picture is obvious before it ever nears completion. someone comes, tells them what to do and they do exactly that down to the letter, and mercer pretends he believes in the cause of whatever banner he operates under. [break][break]

he never does. but he needs an excuse to do what he does best. [break][break]

her name was ms. clementine, she was a pokemon breeder, a coordinator past her prime, wealthy beyond his imagination, and a bad person because that is what he was told. it wouldn't have mattered anyway, because all mercer knew was how to take with brute force. possessions, pokemon or lives, it mattered very little. [break][break]

(he calls his prize, an umbreon, after her. he was no stranger to morbidity and found it all quite humorous. notably, it didn't listen to him until he kicked it within an inch of its life with his heavy heel. he wouldn't have expected any less). [break][break]

“where did you even get these pokemon?” [break]
mercer inhaled the smoke of their shared cigarette until his lungs ached and smiled wryly. [break]
“mementos. don’t worry, no one needs them anymore.”[break][break]

his loyalty was dead to them before they killed the region, but we could say that was the point at which mercer turned his back on imum. from one team to another, to no doubt, eventually another. ultimately an agent that serves only himself and won't follow madness. [break][break]

but he needs conviction to survive, and outside of sheer stubbornness, mercer isn't sure what is stopping him from lying down and withering away again. by choice this time.

[attr="class","tbeapponebot2"]PLAYED BY POM

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