Youth is an entertaining little thing, full of wild desires and pulls towards strange adventures, and it comes with something of a psychological elasticity that's lost as age settles in, allowing us to bounce back from all but the most horrifically crippling of traumas. Some are more capable of others, still others luck out when they are struck by tragedy, Trevor was more lucky thank capable. At the ever clear age of 20 Trevor took it upon himself to go adventuring, joining up with a PMC (private Military Corporation/mercenaries) with bright eyes, and a hunger for glory. Of course 6 months of training had provided him with more context, a better understanding that that real war wasn't a video game, that bad things happened, but he was a young Drake (hoji if were working within the context of the starlight chronicles), and the universe was his for the taking.

He quickly found himself on a small operation, aiding a police force in pacifying a riot that had gone days out of control, it was more than he had anticipated, he had been taught about war, urban war yes, but fighting a trained force was different from fighting pissed off people, they knew their home better, they had nothing to lose, and fought harder, it was a nightmare. He pushed through it however, working to show he was made of better stuffing than anyone though an effeminate figured drake could be made of. That was until a Local fired an RPG off into his squad.

He woke up in the hospital, surrounded by doctors with a sense of absence, and soon came to the horrible realization that his left arm was gone! When it rains it pours, and he found out that his leg had been so damaged by shrapnel it was essentially a lump of twisted flesh, useless. Shortly thereafter he felt a 2nd absence as his right leg was amputated. The medical included with the PMC would have normally afforded some low grade prosthesis; he had however lucked into catching the eye of the man who owned the PMC, a man who had a fondness of the youth, both emotionally and... Well it wasn't entirely appropriate given the circumstances, he provided Trevor with a higher grade arm, and leg. Better articulation, with the palms bearing gel pads for flesh emulation, and even some experimental synthetic nerves. On top of that his apartment was covered for the duration of his rehabilitation, and when it was all said and done even the dark black hearts of the company’s accountants were silenced by the owner’s demands. So, with a deep breath and a new lease on life, Trevor put some distance between himself and the medical facility. The drake smiled, a roguish thing, and shoved his hands down into the pockets of slim-fit jeans. The repaired youth had centuries left to live, and viewed them with
a greater sense of appreciation than ever before.

Decades remain ahead of him, and he intended to make the most of them.

Art by the very talented https://www.weasyl.com/~UnregisteredCat