Short, skinny, pale skin, red hair, grey eyes.
But I’m supposed to be one of the good guys.
On the outside, Zak appears to be a steady, calm and rational young woman, who wields her weapons with practised precision in combat.
Sometimes doing the right thing means people die. Let’s make sure the right people die.
On the inside, she is constantly asking herself why. She sees all the horrible things happening to innocent people, and wonders why does it happen. She sees the enormous difference between the poor and the rich, and wonders why is it so. Why is the world like this? Nobody has ever been able to give her an answer that sounds right, and this frustrates her to the point of anger. What frustrates her even more is that most of the time she can’t do anything about the suffering, injustice and outright corruption she sees. Most of the time. Turning a blind eye to petty theft costs so little; and if the chance to put a corrupt nobleman in his place is a rare one, it is all the sweeter.
She’s good at keeping a lid on this frustration and the resulting anger, but sometimes she has to vent to not explode. This usually means whenever Rezrel sticks a toe over the line, her reaction is a little stronger than what is strictly necessary.
The most important part of her daily routine is the cleaning and maintenance of her weapons and armour. If Rezrel disturbs her at this time, she will break his fingers. Again.
Zak was born poor on an old, low-grav space station, and was considered a troublemaker from a young age. From the day she was old enough to have an unsupervised moment, she would run off, sneak into the theoretically closed off parts of the station, and explore to her heart’s content. She was caught, more than once, on crawling back out, but her loud screaming and frantic kicking would convince whoever found her that this was not nearly important enough to be his problem, and so only a rumour of getting in trouble yet again would follow her home.
Then came the day her exploration of an old service tunnel led her into the armoury. For the first time in her life she saw armour and weaponry up close and without scary people in them. She took in the smell of gun oil, looked at the light reflecting off a sharp blade, admired the intricate joints in a suit of armour — and she was smitten. She would come back here at every opportunity, and she had never been happier.
Right up until the day someone stepped into the armoury as she was playing with a power sword.
This would have ended badly, very badly, if her mother did not plead with her high-ranking lover on Zak’s behalf, landing Zak in training to become an Arbitrator. What Zak’s mother have given up to be granted this favour is unknown.
Zak may or may not be the daughter of her mother’s lover, and it does not matter. She is not entitled to anything of his, and have never seen any of it. She would have died as poor as she was born if she had not become an Arbitrator, a life that was so well off compared to her old life that it felt good despite the harshness of the training.
Becoming an Arbitrator taught her discipline, but even through that she remained a troublemaker, pushing the boundaries of authority, frequently asking one too many questions, and occasionally showing a furious temper. This eventually landed her the job of watching over Rezrel Rothsman, a task she both enjoys for its relative freedom, and despises for being “gimp duty.”