Tox wanders the sewers and shadowy back-alleys of Empire City, shunning prying eyes, standing beside his fellow Outcasts when needed.
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 simply Tox, or at least that was the name the street people gave him when he scared off the ones trying to harm them.
Fragments of blurred memory threaten to break free at times, of a small man he thought of as a friend, and pain like no other, then blackness. Tox desperately tries to grasp those wisps of recollections but they quickly drift from his hold. Each time the memories fade, a sadness looms in his heart that he will never remember who he was and what made him Tox. And in his more lucid moments, he wonders if that is for the best.
Tox has made a place for himself in the city, among the lost and the broken, the outsiders and those hiding from view. The Outcasts aren’t a team like the Covenant or other do-gooders, and not like the Shadow Axis or the Crime Masters.
The Outcasts 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.
Tox has found some peace with his new friends, and maybe he will one day find answers too.
“Hrrn. Man wrong. Wrong man.”
Tox – The Outcasts #7