Neutrino

Player: @First Player

NAME: Nathan Page
KNOWN ALIASES: Neutrino
AGE: 23
PLACE OF BIRTH: Attikan, Alaska
OCCUPATION: 23
ABILITIES:

• Density control
• Flight
• Cold manipulation
• Radiation emission

Nathan Page never wanted to be anything more than a guy who could keep a pizza warm on the way to a delivery through an Alaskan blizzard. Attikan wasn’t a town where dreams grew; it was a place where they froze in the air, brittle and quiet. He was twenty-three, a high school dropout juggling late-night deliveries and community college courses, just trying to make rent and maybe, someday, leave the state. But the night everything changed, he took a shortcut through the pine forest behind the old survey station—a stretch of frostbitten ground he’d crossed a hundred times before. Beneath that forest, something forbidden was stirring.

Deep underground, an unauthorized research facility had been experimenting with a new form of nuclear energy: endothermic fusion. Unlike normal fusion, which blazed with heat, this reactor absorbed energy, devouring warmth to stabilize exotic isotopes. It was supposed to be the future of cold power—a miracle of thermodynamic inversion. But that night, for whatever reason, the experiment failed. Containment ruptured. Energy imploded instead of exploded. A pulse of impossible radiation—something that shouldn’t exist—erupted upward through soil, rock, and snow.

Nathan was caught in its path.

The radiation should have vaporized him, but instead, it recognized him—or perhaps his biology simply resonated with it in some freak quantum coincidence. His atoms phased with the radiation’s frequency, and where the world burned away, he became the one thing that stayed. For a few endless seconds, Nathan was a conduit between matter and energy, absorbing the field instead of perishing in it. Then, silence.

He woke in a crater that shouldn’t have been cold—but was. The trees were crystallized in place, branches coated in glassy frost. Streetlights were entombed in rime. The air shimmered with static, humming faintly, like an old television searching for signal. Nathan’s breath hung motionless in the air. When he looked down, his skin glowed faintly from beneath, veins pulsing with blue-white light. He touched a fallen lamppost, and his fingers passed through it. That’s when the panic hit.

He stumbled home, but his reflection was translucent in the windowpane. His body temperature had dropped to near zero. He stopped leaving footprints in the snow. At night, he heard a faint hum—the same cosmic whisper that had filled the forest crater. His molecules were no longer entirely his own; they flickered, half here, half somewhere else.

In the following days, the town called it a disaster, a containment breach, a radiation event. They didn’t know the truth—that the experiment had rewritten a human being. Nathan buried his best friend, Eli—his delivery partner, a comic-book geek who used to say heroes were “just people who don’t run from the weird stuff.” Eli had been driving the other delivery car that night. He didn’t survive the blast.

Grief and guilt settled into Nathan’s bones colder than any winter. But beneath that numbness was something else: purpose. The facility hadn’t been alone—rumors surfaced of other black-ops labs, of energy experiments conducted in secret across the Arctic frontier. Nathan realized what the government refused to admit: if this reactor existed, there were others. And if one experiment had birthed him, others might have created things far worse. So he took the name Neutrino—after the ghostlike particles that slip through the universe unseen.

He wears the cold like armor now. His touch drains warmth, his footsteps leave no trace, and his eyes glow with the same spectral light that once tried to erase him.

❄️Cold Manipulation
Neutrino’s command of cold isn’t the flashy “ice magic” you see in comic books—it’s a direct consequence of his body’s endothermic nature. He doesn’t generate frost; he erases heat. The air around him constantly shifts toward absolute zero, condensing moisture into ice crystals that seem to bloom midair. He can focus this energy inversion into devastating attacks—freezing projectiles, temperature shockwaves, or walls of glacial armor that form faster than bullets can travel. When his emotions flare, so does his reach: rooms dim, metal warps, and breath crystallizes in throats. It’s not just cold—it’s entropy incarnate, the universe winding backward toward stillness. Yet this same power isolates him; his touch can frost glass, and prolonged contact with others can cause hypothermia. His strength is the paradox of his curse—the colder he becomes, the less human he feels.

🧊Intangibility
At the molecular level, Neutrino exists in a fluctuating quantum phase, allowing his atoms to partially decohere from normal matter. He can deliberately loosen that coherence, slipping through solid objects as though they’re mist. When phasing, light bends around him, sound dulls, and even gravity feels optional—like he’s walking through the world’s shadow. However, this isn’t without risk: each passage destabilizes his atomic structure, making it harder for his molecules to “agree” on where he belongs. Staying intangible too long leaves him weakened and mentally adrift, detached not just from matter but from meaning. For him, walls are no barrier, but reality itself is a door that doesn’t always close properly behind him.

☢️Radiation Emission
The energy that rebuilt him left Neutrino with an aura of exotic radiation—part neutrino flux, part Cherenkov glow, and part something science can’t classify. It leaks from his skin in faint blue luminescence, sometimes pulsing with his heartbeat. He can concentrate this radiation into focused bursts, capable of disrupting electrical systems or stunning opponents by overloading their nervous impulses. In high-stress moments, his emissions spike uncontrollably, bleaching color from the world around him and flash-freezing everything within meters. Yet his radiation isn’t purely destructive—it can stabilize unstable energy fields, neutralize reactors, or “cool” volatile technology on the brink of meltdown. It’s both weapon and cure, depending on how he wields it.

Nathan Page—is a paradox of warmth trapped in a body that no longer remembers it. Before the accident, he was the kind of guy who’d shovel his neighbor’s driveway unasked, someone with a dry sense of humor and a knack for making bad situations survivable with sarcasm. After the meltdown, that same empathy hardened into quiet resolve. He lives in constant tension between detachment and compassion: a guy who wants connection but fears hurting others by getting too close. His manner is reserved, almost meditative, but his eyes—those faintly glowing blue orbs—betray a constant awareness of things others can’t sense. He speaks little, acts deliberately, and thinks in terms of systems and balance. The world sees him as cold, but in truth, he’s preserving what little warmth he has left by giving it away through action, not words. Beneath the frostbit stoicism, Nathan is driven by guilt, loyalty, and a need to mean something in a universe that’s already tried to erase him.

• Stoic Empathy: Rarely shows emotion outwardly, but deeply feels the suffering of others; he just doesn’t trust himself to express it safely.
• Protective Instinct: His guilt over his friend Eli’s death manifests as a near-compulsive need to protect others, especially those who remind him of who he used to be.
• Isolationist Tendencies: Keeps physical and emotional distance to avoid harming others or destabilizing himself.
• Scientific Curiosity:** Fascinated—and quietly horrified—by the physics of his own existence; he studies himself to understand what he’s become.
• Dry Humor: Wields sarcasm like armor, using it to defuse tension and remind others he’s still human.
• Detached Calm: In crises, he becomes eerily composed; emotion burns away, leaving pure focus.
• Existential Awareness: Conscious of his tenuous place between life and physics, he often wonders if he’s still entirely human—or something colder trying to remember how to be.