Shadowrun RP (characterinfo+gameplay)

littleRED · 2012-02-06T22:24:50-01:00

1. NeoStriker as N: Spoiler:PICTURE: STATS: (3) Body (5) Mind (4) Soul (35) Health Points (45) Energy Points (7) Shock Value (4) Combat Attack (2) Combat Defense (16) Max. Possible Unarmed Damage DESCRIPTION: Name: N Shadowname: N Gender: N/A Race: N/A Age: N/A Looks: Wears a white mask and a white jacket with a hood to obscure all of N's features, making it impossible to tell what gender, race, or age N is. Personality: Happiness-oriented and utility-oriented. Plays a support role on missions, and does not talk. Skills/Powers: Rigger Weaknesses: Mute Background: N first appeared five years ago, at a cafe drinking tea. N now works there as a waiter, cook, and cashier. N spends time playing with the neighborhood kids, tutoring students, repairing nearby buildings, and general odd jobs that could be considered community service. During this "civilian" state, N is generally considered as a natural phenomenon of good will and reliable help. Unknown to the civilians, N is also a shadowrunner, specializing in rigging. 2. Wordmangler2000 as Harrison Carruthers: Spoiler:PICTURE: STATS: (2) Body (7) Mind (7) Soul (45) Health Points (70/100/130) Energy Points (9) Shock Value (5) Combat Attack (3) Combat Defense (23) Max. Possible Unarmed Damage DESCRIPTION: Name: Harrison Carruthers, Ph.D. Shadowname: "The shadows"? Oh my. That sounds rather dicey. No thank you. Gender: Hm. Well you see, that's rather hard to express just now. Race: [shaking head] I'm really finding this form very difficult to fill out. I'm sorry, is it permissible to write in the margins? Age: I'm well over 100, I can attest to that. I actually have a paper birth certificate, can you imagine such a thing, in this day and age? Looks: I don't entirely look myself, these days. Personality: I may seem a bit stiff at first, but after a glass of fine sherry you'll find me the jolliest of fellows. Or, um...whatever. Skills/Powers: I am extremely persuasive. When I make a case, people come to agree -- provided, of course, I am allowed the requisite time to make my argument. That may take a while. But if I am allowed to make a rigorous appeal to reason, no one can resist. I have a comprehensive knowledge of prehistory and legends. People today think all knowledge is available on the Matrix. But there's a level of knowledge beneath/behind the Matrix, and among the folk tales and half-remembered dreams and legends of improbable heroes one can find real wisdom -- and solutions to current problems that seem insoluble. I have a theory about what happened to our world, why magic broke out. An essential principle at the heart of reality has been tainted, and the fate of the world hangs in the balance. My secret ambition is to excise the poison and heal the world. I know poisons and potions for all purposes. When the ingredients are not readily available I tend to make substitutions that seem reasonable to me, but these ad hoc recipe revisions often backfire, with consequences ranging from humorous to disastrous. I read a page with a single blink, an entire book in less than a minute. And I have a photographic memory. This may seem to be of limited use in the era of the Matrix, but could come in handy if we find ourselves outside the Matrix's sphere of influence (yes, such spots do still exist on earth) or if the Matrix goes down for some reason. And, as I have hinted before, not all wisdom was allowed into the Matrix by the gatekeepers who set it up. They had an agenda, and it wasn't entirely for our benefit. Weaknesses: I am easily distracted. It's hard to keep me working toward an agreed-upon goal because I am always looking about and finding new interests. I am of very little good in a fight. A good punch in the nose is all it takes to make me retire to the corner and cry like a little girl. I may join your team, but you can never be sure my goals are entirely aligned with yours. I have my own agenda, and I'll play along with you as long as they are consistent. My powers of deceit are immense...you'll never suspect that my commitment is temporary and provisional. Oh, and one more thing. As far as the Matrix is concerned, I don't exist. This is inconvenient -- I can't use global positioning to find out where I am or gain directions to another location, for instance. But it does mean that I can conduct even the most sensitive of inquiries without being traced. Background: Ah. Here we go. I was human when all this began, so many years ago. I was teaching literature and classics at Yale when the first metahumans began to appear among us. I petitioned the university and was awarded permission to launch a series of classes and seminars about the historical and philosophical grounding of the phenomena that were shaking the world. I found it particularly interesting that the new races appearing among us were types that had been thoroughly explored in literature from around the world. They weren't new -- it was almost as if we had a racial memory of them. They conformed to archetypes that underlay our understanding of the world. Had we created them out of our collective unconscious? And if so, what more might we create? I assembled a cross-disciplinary panel of the world's leading academics and we began detailing the correspondences between world events and folk traditions. We saw immediately that this was no random series of events. There was a pattern to what was happening, a clear progression, and -- probably -- a coordinating intelligence behind it all. I was preparing to summarize these findings in the keynote address (and several subsequent lectures) of our worldwide group's first annual conference...when I was abducted. I have no memory of where I was taken or what was done to me there. I know that when I returned to consciousness, thousands of miles from Yale, three years had passed. The world had been altered, as you know from your history books -- er, history nodules on the Matrix. The scheme was proceeding as my colleagues and I had predicted. I tried to locate my colleagues, but they were nowhere to be found. In fact, all trace that they had ever existed was gone. The Internet -- and later, the Matrix -- held no trace of them. It was as if they had never been born. Yale had never heard of me. My birth records were gone. I had been erased from the infosphere. Oh, and one more thing. I wasn't an overweight, balding, middle-aged college professor anymore. I was a dryad. A blue-skinned female elf. I'm about a meter tall (or three feet, as we would have said in the good old days). My hair color varies. (If you pay close attention you can tell my mood and energy level by reading my hair color.) I wear it in a single long braid down my back. Dryad. Of the nymph variety. More specifically, a naiad. More specifically still, a potamide. You can look it up. Yes, I have my own freshwater home/shrine. No, I won't tell you where it is. All of my human personality traits and knowledge are intact as far as I know -- and what a chilling thought that is, that I must append "as far as I know" to such an assertion! I find that I also have knowledge of elf-lore. I can perform limited spells, craft potions and poisons, understand the speech of animals and the slow dreams of trees. I can't spend much time in cities. It's as if I'm allergic. My skin burns, my thoughts turn jumbled, eventually I lose consciousness. I'm sure if I stayed too long in an urban environment I would die. I find it endlessly fascinating to have awakened in a female body. I retain my male-hetero viewpoint; I am attracted to other females. The only change, if any, is that my libido is much stronger in this body than it was in my middle-aged male form. I guess you would call me a lesbian. Or something. My knowledge of the ancient myths and legends that underlie our current world gives me a limited foreknowledge of what is to come. In my dryad form, this knowledge is augmented by prophetic dreams. My dreams show what is to come. They are not always 100 percent accurate, however. With great effort (or with the participation of chance, which turns out to be one of the elemental forces of the modern world), fate can be changed. I am not prepared to reveal my stake in all of this. Not yet. Suffice it to say that I have been granted a glimpse of the future, and I am unwilling to accept it. I'm looking for comrades to help me save the world. And they must be willing to accept this task on faith...because I cannot yet reveal all of what I know and I suspect. That knowledge is a heavy, heavy burden, and for now I must carry it alone.3. ToyManC as Rudy the Rat (NPC): Spoiler: PICTURE: STATS: (5) Body (7) Mind (4) Soul (45) Health Points (55/85) Energy Points (9) Shock Value (5/10) Combat Attack (3/8) Combat Defense (21/41) Max. Possible Unarmed Damage DESCRIPTION: Name: Rufus Allen Detweiler Shadowname: 'Rudy the Rat,' slang for his initials R.D. and his fondness for his cyber-enhanced pet rats. Gender: male Race: Dwarf Age: 62 (One of the first Dwarfs (dwarves?) born in the Seattle area. He has never left this city. Looks: Average height (for a Dwarf); Brown hair and beard (both trimmed short) starting to turn gray; Pale coloring, from being inside all the time; Has a long scar running from the top of his head down the side of his face, to just below his right ear; His face looks pinched and angry, when in public; Physically fit, but not muscular, he avoids cyber-enhancements, as they interfere with his natural cyber connection. Personality: Has almost a dual personality. In person, he is a dour, introverted type, prone to mono-syllabic responses to questions. In the Matrix, however, he is a person of influence and status. Within the Matrix, he is communicative and outgoing. A skilled multitasker, he is capable of running his daily life, while also handling his business on the Matrix, without breaking his outside persona. Seldom shows anger, except when approached by religious personages [Am unfamiliar w/ state of religion in Shadowrun, but assume it still exists]. Extremely discomforted in the presence of women, to the point of almost shutting down. Is kind to children, and has little problem relating with them, but that changes when they grow up. His main fondness is for his rats (he has many!), which he raises as pseudo-members of his family. An orphan, he has no knowledge of his birth family (if they survive?) and no interest in finding them. He is also very sensitive about his scar. Will work with others, but only as a behind-the-scenes cyber entity. He will not meet others personally, unless forced or in disguise. Skills/Powers: A Technomancer Hacker, he always has his mind connected to the Matrix. He has a cyber connection to all his enhanced rats, and uses them to help him infiltrate places that he cannot access through the Matrix. He can guide them just like drones, but leaves their survival instinct intact. He is so attuned to the Matrix, that he always knows when someone is looking for him there, and can either respond or hide his presence. He is also quite skilled as a mechanic and is capable of repairing/building some types of machines. Weaknesses: Extremely antisocial, except with animals and children, he never interacts with people personally except in the most basic manner. In person, he is more likely to talk with simple yes/no statements, or more likely a grunt. Distrustful of women, except on the Matrix, he will avoid them whenever possible. He is so emotionally tied to his rats, that he will always place their safety above his own, or others. If someone should kill one of his rats, intentionally, it will spark an intense hatred and desire for revenge. His revenge is always i the Matrix, however. He has been known to hack people, and cripple their accounts, simply for shooing his pets away! Background: One of the first Dwarfs born in the Seattle area, he was placed in an orphanage run by Nuns. The strict discipline of the orphanage helped him form his extreme mental discipline, but stunted his emotional development. To this day, he cannot interact with women on a personal level, and has absolutely no tolerance for religion. He grew up hating his birth parents for leaving him in that environment, and wants nothing to do with them now. As a youth, he was the victim of a hit-and-run driver, causing massive head trauma which made his mental state even more stunted, and gave him his facial scar. The accident helped in other ways, though, for he found that he could now interact with computers on an almost subconscious level. He immersed himself in the internet, and early Matix, and found that knowledge is truly power. As soon as he was old enough, he fled the orphanage and began to exercise his control over computers. It is widely believed that he had a hand in the Computer crash of 2029, but it is impossible to know for sure and he'll never speak on the subject. Taking on the persona of Rufus, the maintenance guy, he lives in the basement of an apartment complex [I will let you decide the location] with his rats carefully hidden within the walls of the building. He feeds them, and makes sure they do not forage in peoples apartments, but he also uses them to spy on the residents. He knows almost everything about the people in his building, and will know instantly if someone tries to infiltrate his operation from within. Under the guise of 'Rudy the Rat,' he takes jobs over the Matrix and performs hacking operations that others don't want traced back to themselves. Very honest, in his way, he will always strive to fulfill any contract that he accepts. All money is payable to offshore accounts, and routed through a labyrinth of computer transfers so no one can trace it back to Rufus, the maintenance guy. Having his rats cyber-enhanced, however, is expensive, so he is constantly seeking funds to feed and adapt his 'family.' As far as he knows, nobody knows that Rufus Detweiler and Rudy the Rat are the same person, and he means to keep it that way. 4. Flaser as Dussack: Spoiler:PICTURE: STATS: (5/8) Body (4/6) Mind (3) Soul (40/55) Health Points (35/45) Energy Points (8/11) Shock Value (7/8) Combat Attack (5/6) Combat Defense (39/45) Max. Possible Unarmed Damage DESCRIPTION: Name: Paul Kovacs Shadowname: Dussack Gender: Male Race: Dwarf Age: 24 Looks: Mousy brown hair, brown eyes... average looks. Surprisingly tall for a dwarf, in fact he's usually mistaken for a human. Keeps his chin almost religiously clean-shaven. He hates ale, in fact his favorite drink is whiskey on the rocks. Tends to dress smartly, usually going for a wage-slave look, blending into the crowd. As most dwarfs he's strong and hardy... but going against the stereotype he's insanely fast, almost twitchy. Personality: Sarcastic with a penchant for outbursts of profanity, tends to keep his cool when on The Run. Is in the midst of an identity crisis and for all the intellectual acceptance of dogma, he's finally having a personal experience of what Trans-humanism might entail... he's not taking it well. It's one thing to know something on an intellectual level, it's another to experience it as something happening, changing you. Skills/Powers: [color=green]Here's the deal. You want some suit wiped? Call me, put down a deposit, the mark gets his accident then you pay the rest. You want security? Deposit, delivery, payment. Like clock-work. I get the job done. Most of the time you won't even know I was there. I'm fast, you see. Faster than the eye can track, faster than your average street-sam on the trigger, fast like a juiced up otaku on his hot-sim raid of the Playboy Mansion. I don't use force... I don't need it. I don't use firepower... I don't need it. A double-tap, Death clapping the mark on the shoulder that it's time to go. Hi-Vel express delivery into the cranium, right through the eyes. Hiss!-fwoop!-fwoop!-thuum... the holdout's already back in its holster, or better yet, lies discarded on the pavement and I'm already just another terrified passerby. Heck, they could put me through screening then and there most of the time... I don't have much cyber, just the usual jack & slot with the comlink below. They can put me under the scanner and I'll look like just another Joe Average. That's me, your silver bullet for hire. No mess, no fuss, just slotted marks and a job well done... well usually. Sometimes things get messy. I still deliver. Big mess, big fuss, marks very much slotted and no clues to tie the mark to you. Tends to happen when you Johnsons play with cards too tight to your chest... that'll cost you extra by the way.[/color] Weaknesses: Has a pretty sophisticated AI in his cranial computer that edges ever closer to self-awareness. Said AI also uses his own gray matter for computing. Some big players out there are looking for him to get the thing... is living pretty much on the run. Lately has taken up drinking to numb the existential horror of getting swallowed up by the thing in his head. Background: [color=green]OK. Since I'm stuck with you, I might as well get my money's worth. You're supposed to be good at this navel-gazing shit. So here goes... Being the son of an B+ company's CEO (read: Cranky Evil Ogre) is hard enough nowadays, what with cutthroat competition for the few supplier contracts, usually in areas deemed too mundane (read: deadbeat) by Triple-As. Being a metahuman son of said CEO who takes each & every opportunity to remind you how much of a disappointment you are (read: not a towering jock like the "Big Manâ„¢" used to be) is harder still. I still wouldn't have given a shit, if not for a little incident my Da's ego brought me. I'd been content living my life, being just another suit. But no, the Big Cheese had to open his goddamn mouth, and make a stand. He'd show them! Never mind that his dumb ass couldn't even afford me a scholarship at a proper school with a dedicated security guards, tweed suits and all of the Dead Poets Society crap. No, I had to go to some community school for the gifted, where any fucking salary-man's son in the area could attend... and thus it wasn't altogether hard for someone to arrange my "accident"... if you wanna call being beaten into a quadriplegic an accident. Most guys would've been hooked on BTLs, drugs or something... it's not like you can do a lot when the only change in your day is when you nurse comes to swap diapers. I took up brooding instead. You see, my Da choose this moment to realize he's a family man. After all those years, he realized that I'm the only son he's going to get. So every day he came into my room and started yapping about how sorry he is... Intentionally ignoring him while doing nothing, that must've hurt. There was no polite excuse that I'm busy, that there's anything keeping my mind off what's going on. There I was, staring at the ceiling, not saying a word, while the man was literally tearing himself to pieces... God, I was such a bastard. You see, my Da, God bless his mono-maniac soul, couldn't take no for an answer. At the time regrowing spinal tissue was impossible and full-body-cybernetics were blacker than the inside of a troll's asshole. It seemed like I'd live my life slurping corn starch through a straw. Da wouldn't have that. With his usual fervor he scoured the world for a solution... Enter Berger Streissman, (posthumus) sainted evangelist of the Church of Trans-Humanism Unchained, Matrix millionaire with an up and coming solo-A company of his own. Most folks at the time and even today, view tech as stuff that lets you do shit better and that's it. It might take you places, it might give you new insights but all in all it's just tech as usual, tools at your disposal. Not to Trans-humanists. To them, tech is something that changes you first and foremost. The Metalheads preach about the weakness of the flesh, the transcendence of cybernetic bodies. Wireheads preach about leaving your body behind altogether and living in the world of digital perfection... and us Holistics claim that there's no hard barrier to the self. I'm a convert, you see... The only man to ever receive Streissman's "blessing", before AzTek or some other triple-fucking-A took 'im and the whole wing of the hospital out. Nowadays tech that can do what I got is common place... back then, well it was truly revolutionary. It still is. Most guys on my level look like a fucking Terminator or a reject from the Thing. Me? I'm normal. Why put in a dozen separate systems, when a single, general purpose computer could do all you want as long as its properly wired up? The answer is most folks would be terrified to live their whole life with an AI sharing their skull. To achieve that level of control, the thing has to be able to take over the majority of your functions. It has to breath, look, hear, move, jump, leap... the works. A separate nervous system, a separate "digital you", that's like you, but not quite. ...I was out in physico-rehab when the bombs hit. Lucky me, the guy in the room over, my Da helping Streissman sell his spiel, the prophet himself and the hundred other patients... not so. High-tailing out of there seemed like a good idea, and I've been on the run ever since... but you know that. So tell me Saul, when will I go completely bonkers, when will you take over the rest of my life? You've been there, sharing my gray matter for processing, using the neural shunts they put in to boost my body beyond its threshold when we wipe a mark. You're there when I'm taking a shit, you're there when I'm having sex... ...you're there when I look into a mirror and wonder if this piece of crap, psychotherapy program I just loaded into active memory is doing anything! Are you listening Saul? Of course you are... and the hell of the thing is, I no longer know whether the hand reaching for the gun is yours or mine... we've got company...[/color] [color=blue]For we know in part, and we prophesy in part. But when that which is perfect is come, then that which is in part shall be done away. When I was a child, I spoke as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child: but when I became a man, I put away childish things. For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known.[/color] 5. Damienthedevil as Shadow Fang: Spoiler:PICTURE: STATS: (5) Body (5) Mind (5) Soul (50) Health Points (50/70) Energy Points (10) Shock Value (5/8) Combat Attack (3/6) Combat Defense (20/40) Max. Possible Unarmed Damage DESCRIPTION: Name: Cronis Kierd Shadowname: Shadow Fang the 2nd Gender: Male Race: Elf (Night One) Age: 29 Looks: Roughly 195cm with short blue hair. Has dark brown skin and golden coloured eyes that glows in the dark(like a cat). Normally dones black leather body tight suit with tight black leather pants. Personality: Mostly cold and distrusting. He doesn't trust strangers and only trust people after a long time. Skills/Powers: - Sneaking and Stealth. As an Assassin, he has to blend into the shadows to kill his targets. Many years of training and experience made him almost undetectable with the use of the latest technology. - Weapon Mastery. As an Assassin, he had trained and used many different types of weapons from High-Tech Rifles to the simplest of knives. He can use them all. Although his preference is still his Retractable Claws. - Standard Magic Mastery. His heritage as a Night One gave him talents in Magic but due to him having no master, he could only use very basic magic such as Minor Healing and the like. He could also use magic that enhances his physical abilities fairly easily, it seems that it was his aptitude. Weaknesses: He is weak in the morning and has to be in the shade thanks to his allergy to the Sun. Background: Cronis was born as a 2nd generation elf in the town of Gora. Orphaned when he was 5, he had to learn to survive all by himself. He had scavenge food and picked pockets for more than 5 years until he picked the pocket of a famous assassin that goes by the name of Shadow Fang. Shadow thought Cronis had talent for being able to steal from him and thus took him in and taught him the ways of assassination. Training him vigorously for 7 years, Shadow thought Cronis was ready and gave him his first job; To kill a mid-class noble. Cronis did his job splendidly and earned himself his first kill. Following that success, Shadow took Cronis along on many jobs and Cronis made a name to himself as the disciple of Shadow Fang. Exactly 10 years later however, Shadow Fang was caught on when he completed his job to assassinate a high-ranking member of S-K. Shadow Fang was caught and killed instantly. Since then, Cronis inherited the Shadow Fang name and had called himself as such. Fast forward 2 years into the future, Cronis had worked under many Corporation as an assassin-for-hire. He is paid good money and is now famed for his skill and high success rates. His current job brought him to Seattle and is now settling in one of the many hideouts he have in Seattle. 6. Kheldar as Traitor: Spoiler:STATS: (4) Body (4) Mind (4) Soul (40) Health Points (40) Energy Points (8) Shock Value (4) Combat Attack (2) Combat Defense (16/26) Max. Possible Unarmed Damage DESCRIPTION: Name: Marcus Anderson Shadowname: Traitor Gender: Male Race: Human-British Age: 19 Looks: A tall guy, Marcus is around 6ft 2 in height. He has a slightly slimmer build than most, though rather than being weedy he is better described as toned. His left arm is, from the elbow down, a cybernetic replacement. High quality and normally concealed under a long sleeved shirt and glove its quite hard to notice. Long, ruffled brown hair that refuses to stay in any specific style no matter how hard he tries to keep it there. While not handsome, he’s not ugly, high cheekbones and gaunt cheeks being his prominent features. Slate grey eyes combined with his usual zoned out expression mean most people see him as distant. He’s bad at smiling, tending to grin and look sadistic instead. When around friends he laughs little but smiles alot. Past times have left him with very faint laughter lines. Dresses smartly but not without due nods to fashion he also has a pocket watch (I'll admit that this is just because I wear one ;D) Personality: Sometimes seen as cold and aloof (Reasonable assumptions considering his background) he is nevertheless a relatively happy outgoing person for the most part. However he tends towards massive mood swings (as teenagers are) and ends up in deep depressions occasionally. Having had little dealings with women as a whole in the past he’s awkward whenever one shows affection towards him. He can talk to them and be quite charming but as soon as the women or girl, for example, so much as lean toward him, he is likely to make some excuse and get some distance between himself and her. Unfortunately he also has a social problem with other races. Having been raised in an exclusively human area he is for the most part scared of other races and has difficulty dealing with them normally. Marcus has a bad habit of judging people at first sight and depending on his assessment of a person will be overly trusting or completely paranoid around them. Skills/Powers: A natural affinity with nearly any weapon, within minutes of obtaining it he’s most likely figured out exactly how to employ it. Little to no really power with magic he has however had to attend some magical based lessons in the past. As such he knows vaguely how to cast some high end spells. He’ll only try it in a desperate situation and to be honest it’s more likely going to make the situation worse considering his incompetent flailing of magical power. Inventive if not a genius he should be able to throw together just about anything as long as you give him time and a rough idea of how it works. Pistons in his bionic replacement allow for a bone crushing grip. Also while fighting without a weapon is something Marcus avoids at all costs he can throw a decent kick after a small amount of training with his families bodyguards though his fist fighting lets him down. Remember though he’s only a human and while not weak he is certainly not strong. He also knows a smattering of Japanese as his family traded with Japan for some simple mechs which they used to improve their own brand of bioarmour. Weaknesses: Easy to get to emotionally. Perhaps because he was sheltered or maybe it’s just something in his personality but various things can either set him off or utterly break him. Things of nature to break him tend to include threats to friends or children and mutilation/mutations which horrify him. He can be set off by either insults that are accurate about himself (e.g spoilt brat knows nothing of our problems, your pathetic with girls you virgin bastard), breaking his stuff (He’s a tad materialistic) and violence of any kind towards a women. Using these things you can quite easily manipulate him and force him into situations he would rather not be in. He has trouble working with people of other races as he is still confused and scared of this new world he’s entered. Also he’s only human and has a slim build so getting a hit on him will severely impact on his ability to fight or even function normally. Compound that with the fact that he will keep on trying to get back up and he’s a risk to himself after being injured. Also he is ignorant of some knowledge that would be common information among locals and as such may find himself easily lost or making a faux pas in conversation that most others would not. This also goes for the Matrix system; his family distrusted such things for the most part allowing their personal techmancers to deal with it on their behalf. However he finds the idea very interesting and has almost instantly started researching it as soon as he arrived in America. Vanity is one last thing that could be taken advantage of. Flattery and drawn pictures of himself can be used to distract him and get the better of him. He even carries around a small drawing of himself done by an old friend of his to this day but he won’t admit it. Background: Born and raised in Anglesey, an island in the northwest of Britain, Marcus is part of Anderson family, a small corporation in their own right. Having produced numerous forms of bio armour (A type of removable cybernetic enhancement.Think of a small mech hardwired into your body allowing for organic style movement and quick responses) and selling them across the world for past 4 centuries the family is made of old and new money alike. Exercising an iron grip on its lands the family got rid of all mutants as they appeared preserving, as they put it, a true society. Marcus was brought up to respect these ideals and fight for them. Put through classes of every kind to ensure he was good enough for the family, Marcus endured a lot as a child even if he did live in the lap of luxury. However as part of the family he was also a target and during one of his combat classes (Anderson’s were expected to protect the families interests by any means necessary) a shadowrunner made her way into the mansion. Attacking from the shadows she managed to slash Marcus’ arm as he fell away from her. Marcus’ instructor a former soldier managed to drive her off but the blade she had been using was poisoned. Seeing no other alternative he cut off part of Marcus’ arm to save him. Marcus and the shadow runner survived that day. The instructor was put to death by the family for his brash actions. Ever since Marcus hated his family but he kept up with his classes, biding bis time so he could change the family peacefully and from within. But during his 18th year he stumbled upon one of the families darker secrets. That night he barred up the family mansion lit it on fire and left. Taking some of his family’s wealth and enough supplies for the journey he started making his way to America to avoid revenge from some of his father’s more influential friends. Marcus has recently arrived in New Seattle and taken residence in a hotel in one of the seedier districts as he has little idea of where to actually go in the city of in his life in general. Free falling through life he’s desperately looking for a hand hold no matter what or who it is. 7. Rise-chan as Victorique: Spoiler:PICTURE: STATS: (7) Body (8) Mind (8) Soul (95/125) Health Points (80/110) Energy Points (19) Shock Value (7/10) Combat Attack (5/8) Combat Defense (30/53) Max. Possible Unarmed Damage DESCRIPTION: Name: Riselotte Alexandre Shadowname: Victorique Gender: Female Race: My apologies but, you're not allowed to know yet. Age: You don't ask a lady's age! Appearance: Riselotte has white and smooth skin and is a "proper" lady. Her shiny blond hair is the perfect combination with her face for her looks. A man would think, "This is too good to be true!" after gazing upon the feminine air that shrouds her. Vermillion-ish purple eyes which are quite rare can be seen when one looks at her face. Surprisingly, the eyes not only add to her beauty and grace, they can also bring in the horror to the minds of those who witnesses her sadistic and darker side after the hidden nature is revealed, which usually contradicts the enchanting smile she puts up around people in order to associate with them to eventually use them for benefits. Personality: When one would first meet Riselotte, or at least meet her the first few times; they'd find themselves graced by an usual aristocrat: well-manners, proper etiquette, eloquence in speeches, and a radiant smile flaunting pure confidence to top it off. Though, one would realize that she almost never apologies for just about anything to mere commoners. She feels that she'd belittle her image too much if done so. She is always polite when getting to know people and strangers, someone close to her would see a more different side of her, though. But getting close to her in itself can prove to be a tedious task. On the inner side, she has a sadistic side to herself. She can be very mean and not even for a moment would she hesitate to use people to have her way; commoners are merely pawns on the chessboard, all she has to do is to use them efficiently in order to achieve victory. She has a superiority complex, and as such, she looks down on everyone excluding certain top-classed people of novelty of whom are mostly elves, none else have won her true respect so far. This has caused her to have a low opinion of the beings on the world. And of course, if the people of the world is practically lower than her, then she has to look good yes? She can't possibly dress up and act like everyone else, that's equal to being a mere mongrel! And hence, she will always cater to her looks, dresses, and keep up utmost elegance anytime, even when none looks up to her. For it is to not show people that she is better, it is to keep it true to herself that she is above the people of the world. Skills/Powers: The capability to manipulate certain elements. Weaknesses: - Hate towards commoners. - Her socializing skills to manipulate people can be broad sometimes, Riselotte tends to end up making bad connections. Basically, she ends up trying to use people who comes back to cause her nothing but unnecessary trouble. - Insults. If it's one thing that can cloud Riselotte's judgement, it's her pride crumbling apart. Background: Riselotte was born long ago. One would say "countless" to describe this. One of the country she enjoyed living in was England, which always exudes the feeling of novelty and grace. Riselotte was born to a family of special beings. More so, her parents were these inhumans beings who masked themselves as humans perfectly under the society while at the same time; they had quite the high status along those of the higher-classed society. In order to properly blend in with the humans, Riselotte was taught proper etiquette, manners, socialization skills, even acting and fighting - this explains her current personality. Fighting as in, fighting with magic, after all Riselotte is a magician. Weapons exactly were not her forte at that time. Riselotte's parents one day disappeared due to reasons that were unknown to her at that time. She waited, waited, and waited, but they never returned. Riselotte tried desperately to find her parents, even going as far as hiring people to find her missing guardians, only to find their corpses laid on a large pond far away from her home. Her parents dying was already a fact hard to swallow, now she had to face the fact that she was no longer living with her family. She was now practically alone on her mansion, along with her maids. Even though she was technically not "alone," her maids never seemed to provide much feeling of presence around her, due to them not being blood-related. And hence, the mansion felt like a desolate place; an empty home. A large, gloomy shelter. Riselotte soon a decided that she should stop mourning in grief and prepare for the worst that haunted her. Her parents died, and it was definitely not an accident, it was a scheme, a plot well-played from behind the curtains, like a puppeteer having his dolls dance at the whim of his will. Whoever killed her parents may come after her one day. Riselotte thus hits the house that her family once constructed years ago, though it was old and locked, she managed to find the key to it at home, on her parents' room. It was well hidden. The house presented Riselotte it's collection of books, many shelves and stacks of old books of magic, all wrapped under dusts and cobwebs. Riselotte was first forced to just go back home and call upon her dutiful maids to clean the place for her. Once cleaned, she finally started reading all the books. Upon reading the books, some of them contained same knowledge, and hence, she went over some facts, stories, strict rules and magics, over and over as she read through them, later having practically inscribed under her brain. After several years, Riselotte was still undone with the books, there were too many of them, and just to review some facts, she re-read some of them from time to time. She spent what felt like months, no years on just reading. Time was uncounted for and her maids started to worry about her so much that they decided to keep an eye on her everyday and deliver lunch, food and other necessities to her when required. Riselotte could hardly care about the anxiety and devotions of her maids. Now that she found something so interesting and... addictive. Riselotte was utterly engrossed. Yes, she grew passion for reading and learning. While it's true that she entered the library with the intention of learning magic in the first place, she ended up reading old novels and stories in there too. She made the ideal objective to read through every single books and see through to it. Time passed and before one would know, it was already 2011, the time of Awakening. This was when Riselotte had the chance to put her vast knowledge to use and practice her spells, she was already done with the old library. She later decided to finally venture out of her home for good; rather than stay on this terribly old mansion, even though it's where lots of memories lied, especially those of family, but this is what she needed to take a long or perhaps an eternal break from. Her maids who had already turned into half-inhuman beings by the aristocrat girl, did lots of researching for her and searched out the best place for her; Seattle. Rather than traveling around the world, which seemed like a tedious task that would be done at the absence of a mansion as a home most of the time, she felt the need to just move to a better and more advanced city. Though by the time she shrugged off her laziness... or better explained; busyness, it was past 2017 when she actually moved to the city. Once moved, Riselotte had a harsh time getting used to the environment, it took years to get accustomed to the shiny place. Riselotte spent lots of time to blend in with the society as someone with a concrete social standing with money. After all, her old location weren't very trendy, she barely had knowledge about the changes of the world as she barely kept record of time until her maids started filling in the details. She used to barely watch the television too, her interest regarding it were piqued after being done with the books from the library. While being the sage of magical knowledge due to the literary contents and informations from the books; she felt outdated, so felt left-behind, and she wanted to get back on the track, associate with people, and get to know things. Riselotte hence started working hard to understand people. She decided to redo her education and in doing so, she learned lots of new things. She tried taking on many types of lessons at once, such as singing lessons, dancing lessons and even martial arts. But martial arts was going a little too far and thus proved to not fit her style. So she made the decision to forgo learning such lethal arts and techniques. But she took her time with learning many things, since she fancied reading, she visited many libraries and borrowed books everyday. She borrowed so many books that she ended up creating a library of her own new at home and thus her passion strived through the new generation, that is, until she realized that most of the novels and stories were boring. Much of these books barely contained the type of text which used to move her heart and spirit so much. Granted, they provided more and more knowledge. Knowledge is indeed power, but without the drive that encourages one to gain it; it's only a matter of time until she stops dealing with it. By the time Riselotte completely adapted to the humans, she lived years too peacefully in Seattle for years until starting to get associated with the corporations as they deemed her to be someone very useful, or so the rumors surrounding her pointed them. They hired her, only because they felt the wish to put her magic to use and see the results. Throughout the years, she went on many "missions," or so her contractors liked to call them; for her gains. And her abilities allowed her to gain respect. Now she held great influence and respect not only in the outside, but also on the inside, with the name Victorique. 8. Bartre as Charon: Spoiler:STATS: (4) Body (5) Mind (5) Soul (45) Health Points (50/70) Energy Points (9) Shock Value (4) Combat Attack (2) Combat Defense (18) Max. Possible Unarmed Damage DESCRIPTION: Name: William Fornier Shadowname: Charon (I decide when you get on this boat to hell buddy. Whats that? No thats not Hades, and no I don't think I'm a major god, maybe a minor one though.) Gender: Male Race: Human SURGE, Changeling Age: 28 Looks: I was one of the lucky ones, SURGE gave a lot of my friends characteristics they wish the didn't have, things that made them impossible to miss: Wings, horns, tails, hell one of them even got an exoskeleton, a damned Corinthian helmet, guys impossible to headbutt but it doesn't really matter when a stab to the thigh puts him down just the same. But I digress, midnight blue hair(natural) cropped short and brown eyes. I've been told that I look a little above average, but I guess that comes from the rest of me. At five foot ten inches, I spend a lot of time crafting myself, making myself as atheletic as possible, I don't run incredibly fast but I can run for a long time, I can't punch a hole through a wall, but I sure as hell can dent it. Yeah it's not really what people look for in body guards, they want that giant hulking build, Harlequin bless evolutionary psychology. In my opinion being big, bulky and mean looking means you just get shot, blasted, evaporated, eviscerated or even melted first which is fine by me, when you inevitably bring in the big muscles I'll probably be the only one left to collect my pay, you can bet I'll be charging extra. Personality: Calm and quiet, Charon excels at hiding his real emotions. He can see both sides of an argument and often moves to create a compromise and is always willing to lend a hand to aquaintences and hear people's problems. Underneath the acquiescing mask lies a wit begging to snark at everything and anything. Despite the nature of the world he is determined to give people the benefit of the doubt, probably just to spite it. Slow to anger and easy to forgive, he has difficulties letting past mistakes go, often spending countless hours agonizing over things that were often out of his control and even more about things that were. He can count on one hand how many people he considers true friends, but he can say with certainty that if those few needed his arm he would give it in an instant. Hates racists, speciests, classists, people with an unjustfied sense on entitlement and morons, not that those people would know. Events have forged him to be emotionally resillient and world saavy.Has an unreasonable fear of Nutella but curiously not peanut butter. Given his specialty as a bodyguard, Charon has learned when to be forceful when needed, but only when necessary, being pushy all the time tends to burn more energy after all. Skills/Powers: Powerful senses, I can smell what someone has had for dinner a day after, see far beyond most humans, hear the quietest mouse. (Thanks SURGE!) I pick up things a bit easier than most do for some reason, don't know why. A mystical adept, I tend to use both schools for different purposes. On the Adept side I do my damned best to make sure I'm harder than hell to take down and fast enough to dance away from whatever can take me down. On the Hermetic side lies all of my flashier options, I'm a firm believer in the best offense is a good defense, thus, I focus more on shield/armor effects and the occasional healing spell. My only directly offensive spells tend to be the most basic of spells, but when all you got is a hammer you either get really good with a hammer or you learn subtle things that make the hammer blow up between you and the other guy, good thing you got that armor huh? Still don't hold a candle to most offensively minded mages, I'm no miracle healer and a pure defensive mage will out barrier me, but I'm talking PURE defensive mage here. So whats a defensively minded body-guard supposed to do when he can't magic someone to death? Well, you could just shoot him. I put some long hours into my marksmanship, I'm not a crack-shot with pistols, but I get by. If that fails you could try to close and take him hand to hand, that shit is painful, but most mages react poorly to you getting in their face. Weaknesses: Perfume, no seriously. One job had me guarding some jumped up whore, it was some easy money, most runners who would take the bounty are chumps. Turns out he almost got his job done when he threw a bottle at me in desperation, stupid of me for not modifying the solid barrier in front of me to stop it but it happened. It broke on my face and I swear I almost died, the smell was just that powerful. I still pushed the bastard out the window but it took all my willpower to not just tear off my nose. I try not to guard whores, only classy courtesans now, the ones with the sense to put perfume somewhere where scruffy bodyguards like me don't knock them down. On that note I don't take super bright light or super loud noises very well, which unfortunately occurs more than it should, stupid flashbangs, making me spend mana on wards. (READ: LUDICROUS SMELLS IN A SHORT PERIOD OR THINGS THAT OVERLOAD SENSES.) I'm no specialist, I can't flay a fool with my mind that well, I can't regrow an arm (maybe a nub, that counts right?), and I can't shield a damned idiot from the combined powers of three combat mages, I dabble in the first two and actively pursue the third but I just don't put as much time others do. In the same vein, my personal enhancments aren't S tier, but I'd be willing to say they're above average. I'm a generalist in most of my fields, you want a sniper that gets flayed magically, you don't hire me, you want a wall making machine that can't defend himself that well when the walls come down, you don't hire me, you want a walking apocalypse with the constitution of paper, you don't hire me, you want a master martial artist who can't fight at long range, you don't hire me. I'll be the first to admit it, I'm not a grizzled veteran, I don't have ALL the experience in the world, but I'm still pretty damn good. Background: SURGE meant a lot of things for different people. For a kid like me, born a mite before Halley's Comet came hurtling through space to visit Earth's general area it meant a drastic change to society, one that barely settled down before fate decided to fuck with us again. My parents were relieved that I only had blue hair and enhanced senses, but my friends weren't as lucky. I couldn't believe it as I grew up, UGE and Goblinization already happened, why were people, yeah thats right PEOPLE, being put down for something out of their control? I was a bully hunter as a kid, I didn't care if you were as ugly as troll, sported a helmet exoskeleton, had talons, giant wings (but man was I jealous of those that did), or were born poor or rich, asian or black, if you hurt people I hurt you, didn't hurt that most people never expected that really quiet asian kid to suddenly go berserk after seemingly befriending you. Word got out and I somehow I found myself leading a gang of kids and teens, we watched for our own, the rest of the world could go fuck itself as long as we weren't bothered. I like protecting people, I liked being that valiant knight that seemed to have vanished from the world, didn't hurt that chicks were attracted to me for being awesome and manly. At least Mia thought so. Me at the head, Garm as my right hand, Aegis as the brains (and the legs, but I'd never say that to her face, or to Garm for that matter), and Mia as our heart, we were best friends. I'd give my arm for those nuts, and they'd give me theirs. I think I liked being this sorta Hero of Justice the most because it meant I was sticking a middle finger to the world that seemed to take sadistic joy in making people's lives as shitty as possible. Still, life wasn't super easy, but we were satisfied with our lot, we had family in the form of our little gang and the few families that didn't hate their kids for being different, food in our bellies, places to sleep and the Matrix. Naturally, it got worse for us as it's wont to do, come 2069, and a pair of earthquakes put down our little town. My family, Garm, Aegis, Mia, and Nexus' families were safe in Florida on a trip we all saved up money for, the rest? Not so lucky. The worse part? the Corporations in the area and the wealthy? They did jack shit, just enough to give the impression they were doing something. I was 19 then, (and with the benefits of hindsight, dumb as a brick)and I hated them more than I hated anything else. I'm not proud to admit that we did stupid shit. Domestic terrorism says hi but at least we only targeted wealthy "humanitarians" we weren't the only ones. You don't go attacking the economic elite without learning some skills from people who hate them just as you do. Still we got luckier than a god damn leprechaun when we tried to take our revenge, but even leprechauns get caught. It cost us Mia, our heart, and more than that. We stopped doing stupid shit and began to gear ourselves for the future but we Never.Stopped. Hating. Not just the corporations, but ourselves and the world. Eventually we moved on but it was hard, especially for me. I will always hate myself for getting her killed but I will live, I promised her. I don't blame her pops for trying to kill me , but I promised. Eventually we made up, but he will never forgive me, just as I will never forgive him for beating her and his wife. I became a Runner with some of the skills I acquired, gradually acquiring more as I attended lessons on damn near everything magical and pistol related while refining what I already learned. Garm and Aegis got hitched and are average citizens, working for Horizon. What the future holds I don't know but I will live until I'm old as shit. I promised. IMPORTANT NPCs: Sandman: [spoil][b]PICTURE: DESCRIPTION: Name: Sandy, Rua, Ginger or simply RED (pun intended) Shadowname: Sandman Gender: definitely female Race: human, more or less Age: 35 Looks: Long thick wavy red hair, poison green eyes, pale skin and freckles make her a true gaelic Rua (irish for "redhead"). Wearing mostly tight clothing, showing off her "qualities", but still trying to keep it simple by sticking either to black, khaki green or army patterns. Personality: Seems generally unpredictable and instable, constantly drinking, smoking and swearing like ... well ... a drinking and smoking sailor. Half of her swears indicate her irish heritage. Seemingly gets off on simple pleasures like steak, pear cider and havanitas. Likes to flirt with everything and everyone, including lascivious and seductive behavior even in her fighting style. Skills/Powers: She's a walking tank and killing machine, stuffed with cyberware. The impact of her fist equals the one of a bullet shot from a heavy pistol in close range. Her favorite weapons are a huge custom made revolver, which is linked to her cyberware and shoots sniper-bullets, which she lovingly calls her "babby" (irish slang for "baby"), and a monofilament wakizashi, which was a gift from one of her former team-members for her 30th birthday. Weaknesses: The amount of cyberware tends to make her psycho-physically instable, up to the point of dozing off in the middle of doing or saying something. Background: Not much is known about her, most of the Shadowtalk actually considers her to be male. She's in business for about 15 years and got her Shadowname due to the fact, that she's "putting people to (eternal) sleep". Sandman is said to be extremely dangerous and most wouldn't want to cross guns with this almost legendary 'runner.[spoil]

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NeoStriker

12 years ago

Just smile and nod, N, just smile and nod. "I'm not needed here right? You two seem to have the...situation...under control, so I think I'll just go on ahead and leave you two to it."

The Doc can apparently heal and distort people's behavior with her...mixtures. Leblanc's unconscious and not in her room. I can only assume an attack occurred while I was asleep. Well, grats to them for getting the situation under control. I just do the driving. I give them a smile and wave before leaving the room and closing the door behind me. I breathe another mute sigh of relief.

I look around the suite and I see Tailor's already up. I yawn and wave a hello to him before going over to my drone to check up on it. Guess I'll wait for the Doofus to come back. This mission's getting a little crazy, hm?

Kheldar

12 years ago

"Thanks for that Rudy." It must have happened when we left Leblanc to go upstairs as our shift ended.Why didn't I just stay untill the next shift got there? My face colours out of a mixture of embrassment and anger. I've pretty much failed before I've started. I glance back at the bedroom wondering whether I could retreat into that dream state and have a few moments more of comfort. I remember that Sandman and the Doc had gone in there with Leblanc recently. I almost go in to drag them out so they wouldn't disturb N's sleep but I shake my head at the notion. While a nice idea in my head I'd imagine that in reality it wouldn't go over as well as I'd like. A cheeky grin from Sandman, N or both and more likely than not I would just be told to get out of the way again.

Atcually as I look she exits the room and waves to me. I wave back, mind instantly bugging me to ask a million different things. I hold my toungue though, not wanting to disturb her as she goes to check on her drone presuambly

Moodily I start pacing the room, unable to hid my exasperation with myself. I finally walk over to the living space and sit myself down on the couch. I pull my gun from its holster and set it down on the table in front of me. Slowly at first, with shaking hands I begin to take it apart. Then put it back together. I repeat this action. Apart, together,apart, together, each time slightly quicker with firmer hands. Finally after taking it apart for the sixth time I slam home the magazine and holster the pistol. My thoughts were clearer now. I'll move on for now and do whatever I can in the immediate future. That still leads a fuzy patch around N though, I've had little expierence in that department and my emotions at the moment were hard to name. However my body was starting to slump, reminding me I've only had 2 hours sleep.

I slump across the sofa, and close my eyes. I jerk myself awake every so often, glancing across the common room. I'll only sleep once a couple more people get back here so that they can wake me up if something happens. I'm determined to try and do my part here.

Flaser OCD Hentai Collector

12 years ago

The only sign of Dussacks furious thoughts were the slight narrowing of his eyes. In a corner of his vision, image-in-image, the call that turned the night elf's life upside-down played. Damn... That's some nasty shit... I wonder how he was tracked down to begin with..

But that'd have to wait. For now he had to assume the assassin was compromised. He pinged Sandy:
>Fang's compromised. I'm bringing up the rear, you'll have to be the pincer.
There wasn't time for more, as the elevator pinged and they were already at the top.

He pretended to dally a bit shifting the paramedic on his shoulders, so Shadowfang left the cabin with the other guy first. He motioned for Rudy to take the rear with Charon.

"This was a rather eventful day..."

"Uh-hum." - came the non-concomitant reply. They stepped through the threshold.

"So, what was so urgent you had to leave your post without notice?" came the question from the shorter solo, as the door closed behind them. In front of the night-elf, Sandman stepped into the foyer.

Dussack dropped the paramedic, by the time the body hit the floor, the Colt was already conjured into his hand and trained on the elf.

littleRED

12 years ago

Sandman was still pinching the bridge of her nose about the dryad letting the bellman go, when she got the message from Dussack.

Great, even more shit in a day. What's next? She winced inwardly and then let out a small laugh: The end of the world?

The red-haired solo got on her feet and lifted a warningly pointing finger at the dryad: "You better shut your little mouth about letting the guy run and let ME deal with Dussack! You just agree with whatever I tell him about that!"

She snorted angrily and then walked out of the room, approaching Traitor, pulling out the Guardian she gave him and walked towards the foyer.

The moment she released the safety hatch, Fang and Dussack were already entering the suite. She just lifted the point at the night-elf.

Kheldar

12 years ago

Sandman walks up and takes my pistol. No time to question she looks like shes in a hurry. I follow her to the foyer, being to sure to keep out of her way just in case. Once there she aims the pistol at Shadowfang who has just arrived with Rudy and Dussack. Hefting the body aside, Dussack already has a pistol pointed at Shadowfang. I relax into a fighting pose,hands up, feet light on the floor. My replacement hand clecnhes and relaxes, a half ton of pressure at my finger tips. I scan the room trying to assess the situation. Two pistols trained on Shadowfang,but he may be armed. Wary of the threat of impending action I slowly back out of the room. Without a gun I would proably be useless at the moment. Instead I dart around through the common room and posistion myself next to the media room door, ready to intercept any attempt at flight.

There is no thought, only anaylsis.

Cinia Pacifica Ojou-sama Writer

12 years ago

When Riselotte woke up... everything was hazy. She could barely think. Her vision was still a bit blurry. She looked around, opening and closing her eyes repeatedly; blinking, in the bed after sitting up and rubbing her eyes. Then an ugly looking woman came into the room, with a boy she didn't know and then... she got hugged.

So, why was someone hugging her? She pondered to herself. She gave a faint smile despite not knowing what's what in the situation. She couldn't think about all. She didn't knew what she'd usually do, whether she'd push the person away or hug him back. She stayed there, unmoved. Almost lifeless. Not knowing what in the fucking world is going on.

littleRED

12 years ago

//Joint post for ShadowFang, Dussack, Rudy the Rat, Charon and Sandman//

"Did it even occur to you to discuss your evening call with us?" asked Dussack.
"...what are you talking about?" replied the night-elf.
"The one with your girlfriend all brutalized..." was the retort.

Cronis was a little surprised but didn't change his expression. He considered attacking him but then decided against it. "...how did you know about that?"

"Your cyber-security really sucks" - was his answer. Sandman couldn’t hide a grin at that statement. The night elf clicked his tongue hearing that.

That fucking rat, he thought. Out loud he said, "it has nothing to do with you..."

The hit man switched to an iso-scale stance from the point-shot he'd been using so far.

"Oh sure..." - he remarked. The laser on his gun came to life and danced over the assassin’s forehead. "Get real," he growled.

Sandy narrowed her eyes, muscles tensing up ... lowering the gun point just a tiny bit, for a not-so-lethal shot. She cleared her throat and started talking, slowly and calmy.

"How about you tell us, what is going on, kiddo?"

”Not yet,” inteerupted the hit-man, pausing to think. “Put your hands up, and Sandy will search you and take all your weapons.”

Rudy!" - he called out loud, so he could be heard throughout the suit. Cronis realized he was only doing this for his conveniece, he could've just used his built in com-link. “Are we secure yet?" - he went on.

Cronis considered Sandman's words and thought it best to follow their instructions for now. He slowly lifted up his hands.
"To think that the Rat was the one that got me. I should've listened to Nikki about upgrading my comm security."

Sandman glared at Dussack and secured the Guardian as silently as possible, putting it away behind her back. She stepped up slowly behind Fang, one arm wrapping around his chest, squeezing down until he had trouble breathing and started to remove his weapons with her free hand. First the two Predators then she slid down his right arm to check for any hidden weapons there.

"Well, I guess, this has some perks. I get to feel the boobs of a sexy woman," was the elf’s remark and he gave a little laugh as he adjusted his breathing.

As Sandy moved around the elf to check his back, Dussack moved in tandem, like the gears in a the laser always dancing over the elf’s skull. The red-head found the first set of claws and pulled back Fang's sleeve to unhooks the toy from his arm, tossing it to the side.

"Hey now, those claws are my favourite. Don't just throw them away like that," complained the night one in a hearty way.

The red headed solo changed arms around his chest, keeping a tight grip, so he couldn't move without her noticing and felt down his other arm, finding the other set of claws and the knife ignoring his hearty comments.

Unnoticed, her pheromone pumps started working. Her touches became calculated, as she felt down the sides of his ribs and down to his thighs, searching for more hidden weapons.

Dussack's breathing was becaming deeper, more labored too... pheromones don't pick their targets. Cronis was really glad his gun didn't have a physical trigger. He felt himself getting a bit aroused but he tried to ignore it.

He turned to Sandman, "You think it's a good idea to feel me up in front of Romeo there?" he remarked to counter Sandman's allure. "Looks to me, lover boy's getting horn," he went on, a smirking at the hit-man.

"Keep it up Midnight and I'll have Traitor give you a cavity search without vaseline," - came the retort, delivered in with a flat tone... and no deniel of his arousal.

Sandy flashed Fang a smug grin and blew gently into his ear, sending a jolt of all kinds of nice feelings down his spine. Then she stepped away, so fast he didn't even get the time to blink - the Guardian already pointing at him again.

"He's clean now, Dussack," she announced. Cronis glared some more at Sandman as she pointed the gun at him.

"Good... to the media room,” instructed the killer. ”Good thing it's already sound proof," he remarked.

As he opened the door behind, Shadow Fang saw Traitor's been there the whole time. He walked slowly into the room and gave the kid a withering stare.

"Sit on the coach" - came the instruction.

It's harder to rush someone when you'd have to stand up to even start, so Cronis was well aware he was doing him no favours. He walked on nonchalantly and sat as instructed. Dussack waited for him to comply then he entered the room too, Sandman following him, careful to stay out of the other solo's sensory radius, so he wouldn't get any more incapacitated.

>Rudy, get the Doc to wake Charon, we need some wards here, - he texted the other dwarf.
>On it, chief. And security on ALL commlinks is is up and running. - was the technomancer acknowaledgment.
> That was fast... remind me to never fuck with you outside a null zone... make it never fuck with you period.

“So what now? You're just gonna kill me or something? If possible, I would like to at least send a message to Leila and apologize," pleaded the elf.
"For an asssassin you're not that bright... why the fuck would we go to all this trouble just to slot you, when I could've just done it in the elevator and take you out to the bay with the wagon then and there?"

>The Doc used her voodoo, but Charon's gonna need a few minutes... he's a bit... outa it…, interjected the technomancer over his comlink.

"We're gonna have a talk... but not until we've had Charon put some wards up," explained the tall dwarf.

Cronis just shrugged at the words. Dussack opened the sliding door to the wetbar and sat on the edge, switching back to a point hold as he rumaged for his cigs. Sandman nodded at Dussack as she said:

"Keep an eye on him, would ya ... I don't like it having him sitting around that freely."

With that she reached for one of her bags close to the door, pulling out ropes.

"Mind passing a cig? Need to relieve a little of the tension," inquired Cronis, trying his best to appear nonchalant. "Don't mind me Sandy, I know what I'm dealing with,” he said to placate the cyberpunk.

"Not into S&M mind you," he added when he was ignored.

Dussack lit his own cancer stick first then eyed the assassin for moment... he shrugged, a move that never reached his arm holding the gun, and was about to toss the pocket when Sandy interrupted him.

"You can have one, when I'm done with you, gobshite."

She was already grabbing him by the upper arm, communicating that she could break it with one squeeze if she wanted to and pushed him face down on the floor, starting to tie his hands behind his back, hand to hand and elbow to elbow.

With his hand secure, she dropped him back on the couch, tying his feet and knees.

She walked over to Dussack and took two cigs from the pack. One for her and one for the night-elf. Lighting them up, she took a seat beside the elf.

"Here ya go, boy..." she said as she held the cig to his lips.
Charon was entered the media room, just as Fang was finished it cig with the help of Sandy.

"Here I am. Waddaya need?" he asked the two solos.

"We need this room warded..." explained the male on. ”Fang here is making a confession and I'd rather not have unwelcome guests eavesdrop."

"I think I should get another one. The cig tasted better with a hot woman holding for me." was Cronis’ cynical remark. The cig dropped from his lips into his lap... that's no fun when you're tied up!

Charon sat on the floor on the other side of the room, leaning against the floor and kicked his commlink alive. The holo emitter came alive and all kinds of runes and fancy symbols started projecting all over the room.

He took a deep breath and focused. The air started glimmering and a small glow formed on all the walls around as well as the floor and ceiling.

Meanwhile Sandman fished the gleeming butt of the cigarette out of Fang's lap:

"Whoops ... I hope this didn't hurt."

"All done," excalimed the chaos mage.

"I'm starting to like you, Reddy," interjected the elf.

"...but don't make me move now," admonished the changeling.

"OK, let's start at the beginning," was Dussacks opening. "When did you receive the call?" he asked.

He stood up, and turned one of the easy chairs around, propping his legs on the pedestal the sofa and the two others chairs rest on.

"I got the call earlier today," he replied. He leaned back on the couch trying to get comfortable, but felt his arms getting numb and sat up straight. ">Sigh<. Can't even get comfortable with these on."

Sandman ran a lazy finger down his chest, purring into his ear: "You're not supposed to get comfortable."

This annoyed Cronis to no end "You know, you're getting a little annoying..... Mind stopping that?" he exclaimed and gave her a glare.

"When exactly, can you be more specific?" inquired the male solo, ignoring the intermission.

"Well, it was slightly after sunset Romeo. I didn't look at the time," replied the elf.
"Hmm... Who was the caller? Did you know them?" was the follow up question.

The air was getting thick with the smoke, Dussack already on his second stick. Charon coughed due the irritation, starting to turn green, the intense smell of the cigarettes getting to his heightened senses. The solo ignored the changeling's plight, still focused on the tied-up elf.

"I have a long list of people wanting my neck, from Triple-As to Cs but none of them would know about Leila... and anyway, this guy wanted Leblanc dead," was the assasin tirade.

Growing restless he gave another shrug. "I'd imagine this has something to do with Madame there," he said while jutting his chin in the studio’s direction. Damn French bitch....

Sandman sat up, looking dead serious all of a sudden "They want you to kill Leblanc?" she interjected. "You say guy... Did you see his face?" continued Dussac, seemingly ignoring the outburst, the two questions blurring together.

Cronis was a little startled, but answered them all the same

"Yes, Reddy, they wanted french bitch dead," he admitted. To Dussack he said, "He was wearing a mask, from the looks of it, he's a man but who knows? Could be a manly woman," with another shrug.

"Was the voice modulated, you know distorted?" probed the solo.

"No, it sounded genuine, or rather masculine, again, it could be a well made modulator," replied the elf with some uncertainty.

"So out of the blue you had this call from an unknown number?" was the dwarf’s next next question.

Dussack's probing was getting Cronis irritated by but he swallowed his rising anger and answered him.

"I gave Leila a comm so she could contact me during an emergency."

"Right... but what does that have to do with getting a call from this guy?" was Dussack reply to non-sequitor.

"He's taken them hostage, dammit!! Leila and the kids! Fuck!" shouted the assassin, the recalled the scene in the church robbing him of his cool and ignoring the quesiton.

"Hey!" Dussack patted Fang on the shoulder. "Focus. The call. What does that have to do with you giving Leila a comlink?"

Cronis was still a little agitated but he continued on: "That bastard called me through Leila's comm..."

"Right. So who's this Leila chick?"

"She's a … good friend of mine. She takes care of the orphanage at Redmond Ridge. I'm the one sponsoring them financially, you get it now right? He'll kill them if I don't kill Leblanc!!" Cronis totally broke down. He shut his eyes hard as he imagined their corpse

"So he called you that if you don't kill Leblanc he's going to kill her and the kids?"

"Yes, dammit!!" Cronis shouted at Dussack.

Sandman stood up from the couch and walked behind it, so Fang couldn’t see her. The expression on her face was serious. She lowered her head, pinching the bridge of her nose in her typical manner.

"Then why did you leave the hotel instead killing Leblanc right there in her room?" he went on, adamant to set the record straight... and further unhinge the night-elf.

"They told me to go to the orphanage immediately. I didn't know. Ask the bastard if you wanna know why," admitted the elf.

"They told you to go to the orphanage? Why would they do that if they said they want you to kill Leblanc?" said the solo with incredulity.

"Like hell I would know! I only saw Leila hurt. Dammit! I'm gonna kill every single one of those motherfuckers!!!" exclaimed the assassin, now totally outraged at the dwarf’s seeming obtuseness.

"After you killed Leblanc? I have my doubts!” retorted Dussack.

“I'm gonna step out for a smoke until you calm down..." he said and got up and opened the room's sliding door, letting in some fresh air, much to Charon's relief.

Fang glared at Dussack as he left and tried to turn to Sandman: "So?! You happy now?! I said everything I knew!!"

Sandman bent over to Fang, so he can see her face while glaring over his shoulder: "Look, sweety, this doesn't make sense. They called you and told you via commlink to kill Leblanc, but come to the orphanage first?"
"No...I was only told to kill Leblanc after I got to the orphanage."

Dussack turned back, leaning on the door frame: "So they call you and they told you to ..." he trailed off, indicating Fang was supposed to continue.
"Kill Leblanc or Leila and the kids die. They had explosive slave collars on them, and there were 8 fully armed guards. I couldn't do anything, they would have died if I did..."
"Stop. We'll get there. I'm still talking about the initial com call. You recieve a call from your girlfriend. It's some guy in a mask he tells you..."
"Come unarmed in an hour or they die."
"So the masked man says you must come to the orphanage in an hour or they die... what else?"
"Nothing else..."
"So you take the call and it's a masked man who tells this, and that's all?"
"I saw Leila's bloodied face and I heard her screams, that was enough for me."
"...OK. Let's leave the call for now. So you went straight to the orphanage?"
"Yeah, I'm not about to risk their lives."
"...and there they demanded that you kill Leblanc or they kill her and the kids?"
"Yes."

The short hitman took a whiff from the cig: "OK Cronis, we could carry on this for a while, but that wouldn't change anything. Did you really think that giving in to their demands would solve anything? No, think is what you did not."

"So what was I supposed to do? Fight them and let Leila and the kids die?! Is that what you're saying?!" Cronis screamed at Dussack.

"No. That'd have been stupid. You did the right thing in in ceding to their demands.... or appearing to do so. Not telling us later on?" The solo gave him a smirk to show what he was thinking about that.

Cronis merely stayed silent at Dussack's words.

"Anyway. Suppose you did the deed. Suppose you survived without either me or Sandy killing you through some act of God ... and then what?" Cronis knew. He knew that even if he killed Leblanc, it wouldn't change the fact that Leila and the kids were still hostages, but he was desperate and he wasn't exactly thinking rationally.

"I know that. I know, but ..."

"If you knew, why did you carry on this stupid charade?"
"I won't put their lives in danger. I won't gamble with their lives. Not after all that ..."

Cronis trailed off and remembering a distant scene about 2 years ago when he had met Leila for the first time. That memory was vivid in his mind, like it were yesterday. He had sworn he would protect them, right then and there, and that wasn’t going to change anytime soon.

Sandman sighed and sat down on one of the armchairs, motioning to Dussack to give her another cig: “He knows what would have happened. He is not that stupid. He is just stupid enough to have real life ties as an assassin.”

Dussack passed his pack of cigarettes to Sandy and went on: "Here is what would've happened if you did as I outlined: you'd have tried some heroic stunt and get them all killed. Or you wouldn't have tried some heroic stuff ... either way, they'd probably end up dead. Those bastards would've killed the kids, put a bullet in brain and make it all seem like the work of this unhinged killer. A killer with two Ares handguns, a bunch of blades and years of violence on his rep-sheet. You've heard such bulletins over the news. Sounds familiar, ain't it?"

Cronis knew all that. He may not have been on his own for long but he had been in the business for 9 years. When he was under his master, he's heard all kinds of news about these incidents, shadowtalk or not: "I don't have anyone I can ask for help, unfortunately."

Sandman took a drag from the cigarette and blowed smoke into the elf's direction, her typical smug grin spreading on her face. Fang glared at her: "What?"

Dussack can't help but palm his face in frustration: "There are dozens of security firms in the city that deal with *exactly* this kind of shit! You may have forgotten, but this is still UCAS territory and kidnapping and black mail are against the law! Didn't it even *occur* to you to turn yourself in?"
"....funny thing you mention. When I'm on every one of their wanted lists."
"And then what? Let Leila and the kids die?"
"So they nail you and you end up in the chair or in an orbital prison.... even Lone Star wouldn't have let a bunch of piss-ant gangsters blow up a whole orphanage of children!"
"But you were wrong on your first assumption anyway: You're not alone."

"What are you implying.....?" Cronis gave Dussack a questioning look, but the solo just looked exasperated at Sandy, as if it should be painfully obvious. Sandman just stood up in answer, holding her cig with her full lips and walked over, starting to untie Fang.

Cornis felt the ropes falling away and asked confused: "Wha ... what are you doing?"

Sandman sighed deeply: "Seems like I got myself another kohai aside from Traitor." And Dussack completed with: "You happen to have a whole team of Runners at your disposal, dipshit."

"Even if we were a bunch of hardened psychos, it would still be in our best interest to nail these guys."

Sandman finished untying the elf and then turned to Charon, leaving Dussack to explain Fang they fine aspects of a business relationship: "Yo, boatsman, how long can you keep this up?"

Charon forced a smile on his face: "Not ... very ... long."

Sandy looked at Dussack: "We better finish this before the field collapses."

"Why would you help me? I would've killed you too to finish it." Cronis asked, skill skeptical about the unexpected turn of events.

Dussack rolled his eyes: "Oh, boy. You really are dense. Didn't you listen? We'd need to help you even if we were a bunch of soulless cyber-zombies! I don't know about the rest of the team, but I still happen to have some notions of meta-human decency in me."

"So are you with us or not?" He asked, offering his hand to the assassin.

Cronis considered a few second but took the hand all the same.

The red-headed solo turned her head to Fang: "So how much time did you get to finish it?"

"Until sharp 10PM tomorrow. If not, they die by the hour."

Sandman checked the time on her commlink ... it was shortly before 8PM: "OK, we have 26 hours to do something."

Dussack took a deep breath: "Here's the idea: have Rudy drop him into a hot-sim in the company of an interrogation program I liberated from Dassum employee a couple of months ago."

"What are you thinking Dussack? It doesn't seem relevant." Cronis felt insecure about the words "hot sim" and "interrogation program" in a single sentence.

Sandman grinned at the nightelf: “You’ll get a pretty hairnet for your pretty hair.”

"Don't get your panties in a twist... the program's been vetted by the state department, so it will only run you through a basic question & answer session. They use it for co-operative suspects and witnesses to get the info fast."

Cronis just listened silently, implying that way that Dussack should elaborate further, while Sandman was already digging through her bags, looking for something.

"It's the same shit I've been putting you through."

"Why would you do that again? It doesn't make sense." Cronis couldn't understand Dussack's intention.

"Because you still know a lot more than what you told us. You know stuff you're not even aware of. The soft has can help you recall stuff ..."

".. and do it fast! Unless you want to waste hours and hours of time you DON'T have on us trying to figure out the details, before we do something." Sandman finished the explanation.

Fang pondered for a moment and then gave in: "Fine, I'll do it, if it means I can save them."

Dussack nodded: "I will go get Rudy to set it up ... wait, he's a technomancer? He doesn't need this shit anyway ... er..." He scratched the back of his head, at a bit of a loss what to do.

Sandman sighed: "Not even technomancers can hack wetware ... we need nanopaste ..."

"Since I'm chipped I don't need the stuff," stated the hit-man simply.

Sandy finished digging through her bags and finally handed the nanopaste over to the other solo: "You can lube him up, shorty."

"Great, what am I? The cybernetic barber? Just smear the shit over your head in a thin layer, I'll be here in a moment" Dussack snapped back and handed the stuff over to Shadow Fang.

Cronis just looked on as the conversation went ahead. Taking the paste and starting to put rub it into his hair he thought to himself: I kinda feel like I just asked for the wrong bunch to help

Dussack left the room and soon Sandy and Fang could hear him through the talking in the other room: "Hey Rudy! I've got a job for you."

"What now chief? I'm kinda busy ..." Answered Rudy, unhappy to be interrupted yet again, while playing with his sprites.

"We're wiring up Nightfag to a sim-unit, I thought you might have a hot-wired one." Of course the only reason, why the two could hear him was because they both had enhanced senses.

Sandman grinned widely: "Nightfag."

Cronis made an annoyed face and mumbled: "Says the paranoid fag."

"I've wired this one up for the task," said the technomancer, pulling out a piece of hardware.

Dussack put a chip into the commlink, and then wired it up to the sim-unit, and that again to the electrodes of the nanopaste.

"Buckle your seatbelts Dorothy..."
"... because Kansas is going, bye-bye!"

The world faded and ShadowFang found himself in a non-descript room, with a blurry outline. It changed shape as he tried to focus on it, until finally an attractive looking girl was sitting in front of him.

Outside, Dussack was staring into nothingness as he input the programs parameters through his wireless link. "There, we can leave him to it now."

Kheldar

12 years ago

Woodenly I take in everything that Shadowfang says, standing unoticed in the corner. My emotions rise as he talks about the plight of the children. It fills with me an anger. Anger that has risen in my gut only once before. It burns me, forcing my descions and reforging my will into a hammer. Sandy's right, the elf isn't alone. Those attackers shall be punished and if I can catch one of them and put his head between my mechanical fingers, all the better.

Walking over to Sandy I motion that I would like her to pass the gun back to me presuming shes done with it. Voice smouldering with passion and a new energy I ask "What use do you have for me now? How are we going to kill them?" Enthusiasam is the wrong word for what I feel. I feel like a hammer arcing down to a nail. The arc that will end in one short and violent clash has already started its swing. Nothing will get in its way.

Silently I glance over at Shadowfang's face remembering his earlier outburst. Quitely I whisper under my breath "Whatever it takes comrade, whatever it takes." My promise to this elf who I had only met early today. My words will be the iron that binds me.

Damienthedevil

12 years ago

*Bzzt* a little static sound went off in the background. Cronis opened his "eyes" and looked around. He found himself sitting in a chair in the centre of a dark room.

"Well this is quite realistic. Guess that's why simsense is so popular."

As Cronis looked around, a policewoman in a body-tight uniform walked towards him.
"Well, pretty boy, I'm going to make you puke out E-V-E-R-Y single information you know <3."

Cronis shakes his head and sigh, "Why do I have to go through this....?"

Cinia Pacifica Ojou-sama Writer

12 years ago

Riselotte stared into the space; lost in thought. Gazing at the wall, doing nothing. She soon cut herself out of it. What am I doing here sitting and doing nothing? was her initial thought.

She slowly and lazily pulled her body out of the bed. Then went straight to the lounge, sitting down once again...

Staring into the space, again. She wondered what was the difference in her mind. She felt as though she changed, but at the same time; the other half of her thought otherwise.

She thought that it was probably nothing and discarded the thought. She then abruptly remembered what happened to her before she lost her consciousness last time as she gasped.

But she now waited for someone to appear here, and ask what had transpired, she didn't know what happened after that guy stabbed her with a dart in Leblanc's room after all. Perhaps she was saved? She better thank whoever that helped her.

For a moment, the thought about thanking someone seems seriously weird and wrong. But then the thought went away in the blink of an eye. Thanking someone who helped and saved her is a must!

littleRED

12 years ago

Leblanc woke up a few minutes after Sandman hat left the master bedroom. She took her time, staying on the big bed and thinking the situation through. The classical: what happened, what is the next thing to do, what still could happen ...

It took her about a while to sort her thoughts and then she got up and went to the common room - there were the technomancer, the not-so-obedient girl and the princess (seeming a bit zoned out).

She walked to the fridge in the kitchen and asked Rudy casually for a status update. She got it immediately.

She finished making herself a sandwich and looked up: "So ... where is the bellboy, who put me to sleep?"

Rudy pointed at the studio: "He's tied up in the bathroom over there."

She nodded, picked up her sandwich and proceeded to the studio-bathroom, curious about the man who tried to kidnap her. Rudy didn't follow, he knew that people should avoid looking over their chef's shoulders.

Leblanc disappeared into the studio - only to come back 1 minute later, looking somewhat annoyed: "There is no one there."

Rudy's eyes widened and he ran over to the same bathroom ... and came back with the same annoyed look on his face: "There is no one there!!!"

He sighed deeply and reached for Dussack's commlink:
> Uhm, chief ... you're not gonna like this ...

Bartre

12 years ago

I sigh as the wards come down. Why was it that useful noncombat spell's energy costs were proportional to how useful they were? Logic, how does it work?

"I don't suppose my gear is still in that room is it?" I said to no one in particular.

littleRED

12 years ago

//Joint post for Dussack, Rudy, Leblanc and Sandman//

Dussack felt a headache building behind his eyes. If only he could get five minutes without something going FUBAR, he might have had time to catch up with the situation

"You won't believe this, the assailant got away," he informed Sandy.

"He didn't get away," she answered calmly, "I let him go."

"WHAT!?"

"I let him go," she repeated a bit louder, like he asked her because he had trouble with his hearing.

"Why the FUCK would you do that?"

Sandman turned to Traitor and smiled at him: "Sweety, would you help Charon over there to get to the lounge? He doesn't look so good ... and please help him find his stuff."

She waited until Traitor and Charon left the room and then leaned against the wall, taking one of the cigs from the package Dussack had given her before, ignoring the plugged Shadow Fang, who was still sitting in the room. Plugged up and drooling like that he wouldn’t hear anything they talked about.

"He didn't know anything," she stated.
"And you know this, because … ?" Dussack asked with growing incredulity.

Sandman light up the cig, emphasizing her calm posture: "The Doc checked him out and told me." She didn't look at the other solo, not even for a moment. "His memory is wiped."

"Oh great... the *Doctor* told you!" His words were dripping with sarcasm. "Did you even interrogate the guy?"

"What for? So I get the great result you got with the poor paramedic? What did he tell you again? I believe it was a load of horse-shit and … uhm … ah, now I remember: *n o t h i n g*!"

"Are you always this dense or is this just obfuscating stupidity?" The male solo opened the balcony's sliding door, pulling Sandman with him. He knew too that the night-elf couldn’t hear anything, but it still felt better ... and he needed the cold air to cool his nerves.

"You see how I've grilled nightfag,” he continued, “do you think that little chat in the forest was anywhere near what I consider 'thoroughly'?" He lit another narcotic laced cig and the read-head pondered for a moment if he did it with a lighter or the sheer force of his anger.

She let him pull her with him, only to snap away her arm the moment she stepped out on the terrace: "Oh did I hurt you inflated and paranoid ego, shorty, by doing something without asking you? You know, this whole Napoleon act *is* getting tiresome ..."

He slumped against the railing and let out a short guffaw, somewhere between a laugh and a snort: "Na ... Napoleon act? Well, tell yourself that if that makes you sleep at night. This shit blindsided you just as much as the kids, using the precog to aid your fears."

Sandman took a long drag from her cancer stick: "You should get a ladder and climb up a chair, so we can have a face to face conversation - the air up here might clear your thinking." She was still looking and sounding very calm, the typical smug grin on her face.

"Your tough and impeccable act might fool the kids, but I know you're just as perturbed by this as I am." He turned to the bay, resting his head on his crossed hands on the guard. "I'm not doing this detective shit to fan my own ego and I'm not belittling the Doctor out of my own sense of inferiority either."

He finished his cig and flicked the butt into the deep. He seemed really tired at that moment.

"Is this the first precog you've ever met?" He asked out of the blue, still gazing over the bay.

She was silent for a moment.

"No."

"No?” He turned to the female solo, focusing on her with the feeling that he might finally get through to her. “What was the other one like?"

Her gaze was stone-cold: "Lonely."

He lunged out, grabbing cyborg-girl's collar and shaking her: "So what? You're going let this one make you just as blind, deaf and stupid as she is, so you can keep her company!?"

Something flashed through her eyes, a promise of violence and blood. Her muscles twitched, ready to stomp him into the ground, but then she relaxed and the cold expression on her face returned. When she spoke again, she sounded even more distant than before: "You know it all, don't you?" It was a rhetorical question with the ring of a "been there, done that" to it.

"No, I *don't* and that's the … whole … fucking … POINT!" He started to rage: "You can't help her! No one can until she goddamn wakes up and starts once again *living* life instead playing it."

Sandman wrapped her fingers around the wrist of the hand he was holding her collar with and squeezed down, something cracking in the joint. Her eyes were fiercely green, finally flashing with anger: "Lower your voice, dwarf, I'm neither one of your jobs nor one of your fuck bunnies."

The tone of her voice was still calm and controlled, which made it all the more threatening. She forced him down on the knees, towering over him, her red hair flowing over her shoulders like fire.

He was straining under the load, she was obviously a *lot* stronger than him. He was faster though. Letting himself drop, rolling onto his back, he pulled her down with him, faster than her booster could kick in; but he knew that by the time he hit the tiles, she would be already boosted and that he didn't have time for anything fancy. The male solo twisted at the last moment, pinning her below him. He had the upper hand for the moment, but she could throw him any moment now. He had to act before she did.

He hurled his hand forward, aiming for her throat, but his eye caught something in hers (fear?). It was gone in a millisecond, but it was enough to unbalance him. His hand rammed into the tile next to her head, making the sound of a loud crunch that promised broken bones.

He stared into her clear green eyes, feeling her grip still on his gun-hand, bones creaking under the strain, while his other one colored the tiles in crimson.

She didn't even try to defend herself as he raised his hand, her breathing heavy with the strain of keeping her instinctive fight-response under control. Fear licked through her mind, but it wasn’t fear of injury or pain – or even even death for that matter. Death had been her best friend as far as she could remember …

No, she wasn’t afraid of the hit-man on top of her. Inside her head were far darker things to fear. The look in her eyes grew more and more distant, as her mind wrapped around shadows from the past she didn't want to remember. Her grip loosened around his wrist until her hand just dropped away lifelessly.

There she was – the great Sandman, the angel of death and bringer of the everlasting dream – surrendering without a fight.

He blinked, taken aback, and then rolled off her. This was just … so stupid!

Cradling his broken hand, he took a deep breath and started talking: "It was years ago, I was just an errand boy. Back then I was in awe of them. It was my mentor, who got the job. The precog hired him, because he seemed like someone who could cheat fate.”

He fished around with one hand for his cigs, but he was clumsy and helpless with his left. He sighed, before he continued: “The prophet foresaw his death, you see? He was still killed. Thanks to him, now I know. The signs were all there, if only he'd bothered to look, he could've avoided it, but he was too used to letting life go as ordained. They're rarely wrong, you know, it's just that the longer they live the less and less they even bother to look anymore. I mean, *really* look. They no longer see things beyond their prophecies, even when it's right there in front of them." He chuckled to some joke that was only in his head. Sandman was just lying there, staring at the ceiling of the terrace. It was hard to tell, if he was listening at all.

Her lips parted, like she wanted to say something ... but she stopped and closed her mouth. She was lying there for a few more moments and then she took a deep breath and sat up all of a sudden. She was on her feet in a matter of a second: "I'll be right back."

She walked into the media room without waiting for his answer ... and came right back, as promised, carrying a medkit. She sat down in front of him and started attending to his injuries.

Everything was quiet for a while, the wind blowing into their hair, carrying the distant noise of the city and the calming sound of waves licking the shore.

"I wasn't that lucky," she whispered.

"I simply didn't believe."
"Do you believe now?"
"No, but I don’t want to make the same stupid mistakes over again."

"His name was Caruso. Frank Caruso." He blurted out. She looked at him questioningly. She didn't know that name, she never did, yet the words flashed the image of a tall man, in a gray suit with supple leather shoes through her mind. The smell of cologne. The hiss of yet another ale being opened …

"The prophet got him killed. If not for Frank, I'd have bought it too. He cheated death, all right, but he didn't have enough change to bribe the boatman for both our souls."

"Leblanc is collecting rare artifacts; artifacts that aren't just expensive collection items, but powerful tools. Very powerful tools indeed." She stated, like it was supposed to explain anything …

She continued attending to his lacerations, avoiding any eye contact.

"I killed him," she said in a voice merely above a whisper, “and he knew I would.”

"He knew and he let you close?"

She lowered her head, her hair falling into her face, covering her eyes.

"I thought I had figured it all out, but ..." Her voice cracked and he could feel her hands trembling on top of his.

Finally, she sighed and looked up at him, forcing a grin on her face. "Life is a bitch - and then you marry one."

He merely grinned at her, his hand brushing the locks away ... and then his lips were already joining hers in a gentle union.

Her eyes widened and she tensed up instantly, the image of Victorique leaving the master bedroom coming alive in her head. Her hand was already moving to push him away, but he grabbed her, holding her close.

"What's wrong?"

She regarded his question with an ice-cold look: "Don't bother with me, Casanova; you have plenty of other meat around. Little Miss Princess is waiting for sure to be comforted after all the shit she’s been throu ..."

He cut off her rant by pressing his lips on hers. She winced, protesting into the kiss, but she didn't fight him. He just held her, kissing her deeply, and finally her eyes closed and her body relaxed into his.

"I already told you I'm not into jailbait," he growled gently, breaking the kiss. She just looked at him, her eyes big and deep, like a helpless little kitten.

He laughed out loud: "The little stuck up princess is probably still a virgin and I have no desire to be the one to change that." She narrowed her eyes and then pushed forward, silencing his laugh by sealing his lips with hers, her tongue pushing into his mouth. Her arms wrapped around his neck and she moved closer, climbing on top of him. His hand circled her hips and nuzzled her spine and leaned back, pulling her with him.

She was moving slowly and gently, careful not to hurt him anymore than she did already, as she rubbed her body against his. He reached for her shirt, pulling it slightly up, stroking along her side – and she shivered, the cool air sending chills down her spine. A gale blew in from the bay, reminding them that it was still February and rather cold outside. They shared a look and she grinned at him: "Any suggestions?"

He nodded, pushing her gently back, while getting up at the same time. Back on his feet he offered an arm to her: "I don't know about you, but I'm cold," he stated the obvious and glanced at the hot tub.

She smiled at him and pushed to her feet, using more her own muscles than his offered arm. She knew better than to rely on people guessing her true weight.

The red-head turned towards the Jacuzzi and pulled off her shirt, exposing her perfectly shaped white back to him. His eyes roamed her body, his own visibly reacting to the sight of her naked flesh. She flashed him a smug grin over her shoulder and wiggled out of her pants and panties before she hurryingly climbed into the warm water.

She was almost completely in, as she froze in the middle of her movement, her face showing a slightly concerned expression. Luckily, he couldn’t see it …

"I have a better idea," she blurted out.

She almost slipped as she climbed out of the tub and grabbed his arm, pulling him towards and into the pitch dark master bedroom, inwardly facepalming herself: Damn ... I hope Dussack never finds out that Doc was in the tub the whole time ...

She closed the glass door of the bedroom, stepping quickly up to him and pressing her lips on his, starting to push him towards the large bed before he could even think of asking any questions ...

He shook his head. "Wait, gotta tell the rat that he's on watch." The last time they indulged themselves the whole ops had fallen apart ...

Spoiler:

Outside in the kitchen, a very nervous Rudy got a short text from the male solo. Leblanc was still staring at him and waiting to hear what was going on with the vanished bellboy. The technomancer swallowed as he read the message.

“He … uhm … says that they need more time in there and that I … uhm … should lock down the suite and keep an eye on security.”

Leblanc locked her cold eyes on the man: “And what is so important in there that they cannot come out?”

“I … uhm … I don’t know … I mean … he didn’t tell me.”
“Well, then you should use your talent and find out.”

Rudy swallowed once more, nodding in defiance. Dussack was scary, but this woman was even scarier. He closed his eyes and reached for Dussack’s cyberware – and turned bright red just a moment later, his eyes flashing open.

“I … uhm … they … uhm … in the bedroom …………..” His shoulders slumped and he covered his face with his hands, wincing inwardly: Oh gawd, what in the world ever made me accept this job?

Surprisingly, Leblanc didn’t seem to mind. She bit of a piece of her sandwich and walked over to the lounge area, sitting down next to Victorique, though completely ignoring her. The French woman smiled to herself: “Oh well, I’m sure they will explain when the time comes.”

Wordmangler2000

12 years ago

The visions fade away and I find myself at the bottom of the pool again.

All the futures I see are bleak. Unmitigated horror. Unacceptable.

I launch myself over the balcony railing and into space. I plunge downward toward the ground below and certain death.

Good luck to everyone, I think to myself...and then all is blackness.

Damienthedevil

12 years ago

As Cronis finished the interrogation program, he woke up and looked around him. He was still in the media room and it looks like no one is around. Cronis took out his comlink and checked the time. It was around 9.00PM already, meaning an hour had passed while he was in that state.

About 24 hours left, huh....? Not much time left... Cronis walked out of the media room and saw Victorique and Leblanc in the living room.

"So you're awake. Should you be walking around? You did get shot by a drug you know?" Cronis didn't feel like getting cynical with Victorique as he wasn't in the mood.

Cinia Pacifica Ojou-sama Writer

12 years ago

"I'm fine! Thank you for worrying about me!!" she said with a radiant smile on her face.

littleRED

12 years ago

//Joint post Dussack, Sandman, Leblanc//

Sandman shifted beneath the male solo, moaning softly as she slowly came to herself. Her head hurt and she was feeling dizzy and disoriented. She needed a whole minute just to figure out that someone was lying on top of her ... and another minute to remember it was Dussack.

She carefully pulled herself out from underneath him, rolling onto her back and taking a deep breath, waiting for the room to stop spinning. The man was stirring too, her movements having broken his stupor.

"Were we drinking?" he asked, likewise nursing his head. It felt like the mother of all hangovers.

Sandy opened her eyes and the image of a ceiling flashed through her inner eye, the feeling of feeling nothing from the neck downward. She sat up abruptly as if to prove to herself that it was only imagination.

"I think we ... exchanged again a bit more than just simple body fluids," she said.

He eyed her naked form: the supple curves, the wondrous interplay of toned muscles shifting as she moved – and recalled a similar form, glimpsed in a mirror. Breasts just budding, limbs still awkward – it was a lifetime ago, when she was still untouched. A sickness formed in his stomach, a knot. He was grateful that he couldn’t recall more, but that feeling of impending certitude was every bit as numbing as his ordeal.

Sandman looked at him, her ever-changing green eyes shining even in the dark of the room: "I wonder what this will turn us into." She reached out to him, running her fingers through his hair and then sliding her fingertips down his neck, feeling along his scars. He curled into the hand, and then wrapped an arm around her, bringing her into an embrace. In his head flashed a lingering image of hands not so gentle holding her just as he did now.

She leaned her forehead against his temple, whispering into his ear: "There is a way I would usually deal with anyone being as close to ... knowing."

She sighed once again and finally decided to kick her commlink alive, checking the time.

"It's almost 9PM. The night-elf should be done by now."

"Yeah, time to climb back into the saddle,” he agreed and reluctantly parted from her. Back on his feet, he started to hunt for his clothes, thinking that he’d better get fresh ones later on. Smart fabric or not, these were starting to smell – mostly of sex.

"Oh, yeah, an idea!" he exclaimed while sealing his shirt.

She was already on her feet, standing by the sliding door that led to the terrace - stretching her slender body in the moonlight: "Yes?"

"Next time we get the loonies, how about we just fuck first and argue later?" he suggested.

She turned halfway toward him, the moonlight just bright enough to let him see her face. There was a pondering and somewhat lost expression on it. Her eyes were ... sad? It lasted only for a moment and then it was gone, her lips curling up into her typical smug grin. She turned back to the door and slipped out on the terrace to get her clothing ... and screamed out.

He dove through the doorway, the Elan hold-out already in hand, scanning for threats, but there was nothing. All he saw was … a Sandman pointing towards the railing with a shaking hand, pale as a corpse.

He ran up to the railing and peered out over the edge. It took a couple of seconds for his eyes to adjust to the darkness, his heat-vision kicking in at least and then he saw …

The dryad had told God that he couldn't fire her, she was quitting the job.

If not for the night-vision of blazing yellow blood painting the pavement, he would have had trouble seeing the little body.

"Ni tama de tianxia suoyou de ren duo gaisi! (Fuck everyone in the universe to death!)" he pressed through gritted teeth. Behind him, Sandman just dropped to the ground, staring in front of her. Her eyes were a dirty cloudy green, like she wasn't really there anymore.

"Hey! Stay with me!" He dropped to one knee, reaching out for her shoulder in order to give her a gentle shake.

"I can't do this without y..." The moment he touched her, something tore through his brain, clawing, ripping it open and starting to pour into it.

A man. A book. A chain. Green eyes, just like hers. A smug grin. The taste of irish ale and whiskey. Feathers. Good damn feathers everywhere. Blood. A name. Clandestine. The feeling of something old. Something ancient. Something cast away and forgotten. The feeling of loneliness. Pure dark despair. The smell of death and blood. SO MUCH FUCKING BLOOD!

The gun clattered to the floor as he pushed through the curtain of memory-flashes, grabbing her with both hands, locking her into an embrace, clinging to her. He rocked her, holding her tight, telling her over and over to hold on, that everything would be all right. He wasn’t sure who he was comforting at that moment …

The stream of memories started to fade away, leaving him with a dull pain behind his eyes. She shuddered and blinked, a drop of blood trickling out of her nose. Her eyes cleared up and she looked at him questioningly: "What happened? Did I run into a door?"

He held her even tighter, with all he got. "Almost ... no one's come back from where that door leads though.”

She blinked, confused: "Oook... ? Uhm … are you alright? Did you bump into a door too?" She didn't seem to know what just had happened or what the heck he was talking about.

"Me? Well, I've had worse. So yeah, I should be just fine, though the Doc chose the worst time to quit life."

The red-head’s eyes widened: "The Doc ... wait … what are you talking about?"

“Let's talk inside,” he said gently as he pushed her to her feet and toward the bedroom. She nodded, a confused expression on her face, grabbing her pile of clothes on the way in. Once inside the bedroom she started dressing.

"So what did the Doc do now again?"

He made sure he was between her and the sliding-door before he answered.

"She jumped off the balcony."

Sandman just finished pulling on her sweater. She looked at him and laughed out nervously: "Yeah, good one ..."

"Sandy, I'm so sorry ... she must've been struggling with this for a long time ... apparently it was too much." He seemed clumsy, tact and empathy not really amongst his strengths.

The redhead’s grin faded away and she shook her head. Not believing what he was telling her, not wanting to. Her eyes were already clouding as her muscles twitched and she started trembling again. The coming breakdown was as obvious as it was inevitable.

"You should've let her forget." Leblanc’s voice tore his helpless gaze from Sandman toward the bedroom’s entrance. The French woman was just standing there, completely calm. She had appeared – again – out of nowhere.

She looked at Sandman and sighed. She didn’t waste any time and stepped up to the female solo, touching her forehead with a finger. The redhead went limp immediately, sinking into Leblanc's arms.

He narrowed his eyes and picked up his Colt from the floor, brandishing it casually in his hand, not even bothering to do anything as crass as point it at the woman. They were professionals, there was no need.

“Ok, Lady, you better start talking now …”

The French Johnson smiled a cold smile, not even bothering to look at him: "The less you know, the better for you."

She shifted an arm under the redhead’s thighs and lifted her like a bag of feathers. She put the female solo carefully down on the big bed.

"I can tell you why I hired her though,” she said, gently brushing the red locks out of Sandy’s face. “I hired because she has something in her head I am going to need in Lagos."

She turned her head to look at him. "And you ... you’re the one who can tickle it out."

He gave her a withering glare: "What about what she's going to... tickle out of me in turn? Is Saul also part of your plan? And the Doctor giving fate the finger? That too?"

Leblanc stood up and made a step toward him, the temperature dropping in the room. Suddenly she looked taller. Less human. More dangerous.

"Do you think it is pure coincidence that two solos so similar meet on the same job?"

He couldn’t care less about the subtle threat at that moment: "Fools believe in coincidence, the weak cling to fate ... the brave search for cause and effect, bidding their souls on the capricious chance that the truth may set them free."

"You can't handle the truth, Paul. Not yet."

"You take me lightly, lady. The brave cling to the truth ... the wise know it may damn you just as surely as ignorance." He growled, shoving the gun back into its holster, walking over to Sandman – feeling the need to protect her from this ... spider that had caught them in its web.

"I'm no fool – haven’t been for a long time. I'm not brave either – haven’t been for a while. Wise I have yet to become."

Leblanc took a deep breath and let out a sigh, the room temperature normalized instantly. She didn't turn around to face him, but her voice was gentle, almost motherly: "You have to take care of her. She may seem strong and invincible, but she'll break easily."

She nodded towards the balcony: "Tell her the Doc left."

"More lies? She deserves better."

"You saw just a tiny glimpse of what she has been through, Paul. You don’t know what she deserves."

"I saw more than enough! No more lies. Not from me. I couldn't lie to her any more than I could lie to myself."

"If you tell her now, she'll break."

"If I lie to her it might be worse later on."

Leblanc turned to him: "Later on I might be able to help her. Just to clarify one thing: I could make you forget as easily, but I won't." She moved to walk out of the bedroom and back to the living room, from where she probably came from in the first place. "I leave the choice to you. The physical evidence is already gone." With that she vanished into the darkness of the hallway.

He breathed out and sat on the bed waiting for the redhead to come around. She looked like she was sleeping.

The muscles, the servos underneath, the iron hidden beneath the fragile visage of the girl ... they were at rest now. Her brow was smooth and her breathing deep and even. She looked at peace; and he caught himself wishing – with all his might – that he could see her like this when she was awake too.

Those pouty lips, so given to mischievous grins or sneers were relaxed now. No, not exactly. There was this alluring curve, a smile like the one given to a lady of the Renaissance, graced her lips. His body moved on its own as he leaned forward pressing his own against hers, feeling the need to taste whatever sweetness made her smile like this.

She stirred at the touch, her lips parting instinctively. She moaned softly, slowly opening her eyes.

He grinned at her: "Good morning, sunshine."

She grinned right back: "What happened? Did I run into a door?"

"Yep. It hit you harder than you can imagine," he replied cringing inwardly at the feeling of déjÃ vu ... and sadness. His eyes cleared of humor and he looked firmly into her eyes.

"The Doctor's gone."

She narrowed her eyes: "Gone? You mean like ... packed her stuff and vanished?"

He lowered his head. Should he tell her? Should he lie? Damn that black widow and her dirty tricks!

"Do you trust me?" he asked the girl who was becoming something a lot more than girlfriend with an alarming pace.

The redhead narrowed her eyes even more: "Well, I am absolutely certain that one of the two of us is trustworthy."

"While you were out I promised myself not to lie to you." Turning his face to the bay, he watched the city, lights coming on, settling into yet another neon-filled night, while waiting for the sun to return.

"But I can't tell you. Not yet." He looked at her and his eyes held a certainty that made her wonder what the heck happened while she had been out.

She was quiet for a moment, pondering, and then nodded: "Alright, Kovacs. I'll trust you on this one."

She took a deep breath and then she tapped against her temple, indicating the implanted commlink in her head: "And now we should move. We have to rescue some orphans."

"Right." He slid off the bed and helped her to her feet, both pretending that he was actually able to assist her. But then he held her back, feeling the need to tell her something … anything.

"Do you know what Dussack means?" he blurted out.

She blinked: "I have no idea."

"It's a Polish saber, a weapon ... just like you and me." Taking out a cig, he lit it up as he wondered what the hell he actually wanted to tell her.

"You know, life has dealt us blows that took chunks out of both our sanity and soul. We both dealt with it, by denying ourselves, letting others use us like tools."

Taking a long drag from the nicotine stick, he let the smoke fills his lungs, and then stepped closer to her, his hand cupping her cheek.

"If I'm a saber, then you're a rapier ... no, you’re a tuck, a straight blade that can cut through even the hardest of armors. It’s rigid, unbending and powerful, but capriciously fragile in the hands of a layman. It takes a master swordsman to use it."

Letting his hand drop from her face to her shoulder, he pulled her into an embrace, whispering into her ear: "We're tools in the hands of a powerful master. Let us remain so ... just a while longer. Let her deliver the strike. She has a strong hand and I’m afraid that implements finding their own volition will only snap in the thrust or get mangled by her grip. For now, let’s be content with the knowledge that, unlike cold steel, we still have life within us and that we will have our chance to turn against the hand that has us in its grasp.”

Sandman needed a few moments to grasp his little speech. When she finally spoke, her voice cut the silence as sharply as the blades he had mentioned: "But what are we really, blacksmith? What the fuck are we really?" She didn't sound like she wanted to know the answer – and then she just slipped away from him, turning around and walking out of the room.

"Why do I have the feeling that Leblanc's just as scared to find that out as I am?" he asked himself.

He sighed and moved to join her and others. Before he could get any answers they had to finish the next forlorn quest and save some orphans …

//So once again, none of you, except for Dussack, Sandman and Leblanc will remember that the Doctor ever existed. Even her stuff is gone.

The stuff the Doc gave Victorique evaporated too, so she is back to normal, without remembering that she as ever feeling different.

@ everybody who is sitting in the living room before Sandman and Dussack come in: Leblanc never left the common room. She was sitting the whole time beside Victorique and ate her sandwich.//

Damienthedevil

12 years ago

Cronis was a little surprised by Victorique's cheerful gesture but was a little tired to point it out.

"I see....Well, it's good that you're fine now. I...May I ask for your help? The more people I have, the better it is after all. I know either Dussack or Sandman would've told you about it later but, this is something I should say on my own." Cronis took a deep breath and resume talking.

"My...family is being held hostage by a bunch of guys that wants Leblanc dead. If possible, I would like to ask for your assistant to help me. Please.

He gave her a look of sadness and try to appeal to her using his cute looks.

Kheldar

12 years ago

I walk Charon into the common room, standing close but not trying to force my help on him. Wearily he starts searching through the suite for his stuff, to be honest I'm not really sure what I should be looking for but I help anyway. Eventually my apparent uselessness in helping find objects that remain anoyomous from me prevails and I simpily sit down on the sofa staring off into the distance. After that sudden surge of emotion conjuring feelings feels like I'm expending effort.

Sitting back I close my eyes and think. My mind roams from one idea to the other ,at times aimless and sometimes with intent.But every thought draws me back to the same problem. I sigh as I realise I know too little (I tend to sigh alot). Dussack and Sandman eventually enter the room again. I turn to face them and look expectantly at them. I am without direction at the moment, I've never worked in a team before but now it seems that we will face our first challenge as a team realtively soon. "So how are we going to go about this?" I ask.

Flaser OCD Hentai Collector

12 years ago

Dussack threw the question right back. "How would you go about it, kid?"

The solo seemed a tad preoccupied and there were new worry lines on his face, brow knit in concentration as if he was still thinking about something unpleasant.

"Sorry, didn't meant to be so flippant about it."

Plopping down into an armchair by the sofa, he rubbed his face, as if to brush away whatever trouble was tormenting him and looked at the young Runner straight in the eye.

"Actually, going through this step by step might be a good exercise for you. What's out primary objective?"

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