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Name: Prim Pierce
Psionic Aptitude: Vitalist
Weapon Style: Grenades, Explosives
Career: Psychiatrist
Height 5'7"
Weight 130
Eye: Hazel
Hair: Brown, curly (dyed dark red, ride side of head is shaved)
Birth Date: January 30th ???? (age 27)

    "Where are they, Prim?" Aya's small voice tugged at my heart, as it always did. "Why aren't they here yet? We called hours ago..." A wave of fear and anxiety rolled off her and hit me. As I choked back tears and swallowed the lump in my throat, I put up a mental wall to block out the brunt of Aya's emotions.
    "They will be, I promise." I lied. I knew they weren't going to come. They'd never showed up before when it mattered, why would they now? Her death wouldn't mean anything to her parents. It might even be days before they bothered to come and collect her belonging. If they even did that. I took her hand in mine, careful of the newly placed catheter, and sent a dose of calming feelings toward her. I normally never physically touched my clients, or interacted with them at all besides standing in the corner and acting as a feel-good emotional radiator. But Aya was a special case. I'd come in on my days off just to check in on her. I couldn't get enough of the ecstatic feelings that would blanket the room whenever she saw my face.
    I'd become so tired of dealing with depressed adults, that when the hospital offered me the chance to work with a child, I practically jumped at it. Even though I hadn't worked with anyone under the age of 18 since receiving my license. I needed a change of pace. And Aya provided one. She didn't care that she was dying. Everything was always new and exciting, a great opportunity to learn and tell stories. As long as she was allowed to color, talk about her coloring, and show everyone her drawings, nothing else mattered. She could die happy knowing that she'd left behind hundreds of crayon scribbles, each with their own name and fairy tale. Even in the last few weeks, as her body rotted away and she could no longer eat without a feeding tube, she never felt sorry for herself. The only times I'd ever felt sadness from her was when her parents failed to show up as promised. And they always failed to show up, even now, when it mattered the most.
    "Excuse me." one of the nurses knocked softly on the doorway frame, motioning for me to follow her out in the hall. I could sense the anxiety from across the room, and batted it back so it wouldn't interfere with me calming down Aya. I gave the little girl a confident smile and one last dose of calmness before I got up and walked into the hall.
    "They're not coming." I stated the fact coldly, already knowing what the nurse was dreading to tell me. "They're too busy, and they've given you permission to proceed without them, right?"
    Anger and disgust shaped the nurse's face as she nodded, and her anger seeped through the wall I had put up. "How could.... I know they aren't the nicest people, but... at a time like this..."
    "It doesn't matter. We're going to lie to her. Tell her we're giving her something to make her more comfortable until her parents get here." I steeled myself, forcing a feeling of excitement as I reentered Aya's room. "Good news!" I cheered as I sat down and took the girl's hand again. "You're parents will be here any minute! The nurse is just going to give you something to make you feel better until they come."
    The feeling of relief and happiness that poured out of her flooded my senses, knocking down my wall and overwhelming me. My smile turned genuine, and tears welled up at the corner of my eyes. I held onto that feeling as the nurse administered Aya's last medication through the IV line. I held onto that feeling as I watched, as I felt, the life drain out of her. I held onto that feeling as another nurse came and carted her away to the morgue. And I kept holding onto that feeling until I laid down in my own bed to sleep. Before losing consciousness, I promised myself I'd hold onto that feeling as I splattered Aya's parents' bodies all over the walls of their home.