Before he was Tox he remembers little. He suspects he wasn’t always a walking mass of chemical muck, that he was someone else once. A life ago. He awoke one day and he was just Tox, or at least that was the name the street people gave him when he scared off people trying to harm them. Fragments of blurred memory threaten to break free at times, of a small man he thought friend, and pain like no other, then blackness.
Tox has made a place for himself in the city, among the lost and the broken, the outcasts and those hiding from view. The Irregulars aren’t a team like the Covenant or other do-gooders, and not like the Shadow Axis or the Crime Masters. They help each other when they need to. And Tox has found friends there. Like the always-angry Roughneck, who does his best to protect his neighbourhood, but still managing to get mixed up in bad things. Or Graymalkin, on the run, but stopping still long enough to notice that Tox‘s colour changes with his mood despite the strange regulator device on his chest. He has found some peace with these friends, and maybe he will one day find answers too.