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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Flaser OCD Hentai Collector

12 years ago

Dropping off monorail at Seattle Center, Paul decided to hoof it the rest of the way. He could afford to amble and wander around like a tourist, it's not like he could get lost, the Needle was visible wherever one went.

He strolled down 5th Avenue, window shopping, the sea of meta-humanity flowing around him even at this late hour. If one was content to merely watch without seeing, they could believe all was well with the world with the Great Crash a distant myth in the pass. Deep, brassy rythms were spilling onto the street from glass dance floors of (Dante's) Inferno, the youth living it up, not a care about the world. He always wondered how they could get their permit what with the Downtown Library just a street down... enough bribes to Metroplex a street further down wis his guess.

At a whim, he switched over to the 4th to browse the classifieds at Dassurns. Not like going 'corp was in his plans, but it was good to keep tabs on the competition. Some drunk students were calling it a night, returning to the YMCA, the Dassurn guards eying them warily. Lonestar's Blue pyramid loomed above, reminding all whom the *real* enforcers of the city were.

He returned to the 5th at Union street, the Post Office on the corner just as decrepit as the Unions all around the world. Elven bouncers ambled by the doors of Westin, the hotel getting a fair number of visitors even at such late hours. Some further streets down business was booming in Nukit, but he had something better in mind than fast-food. From here, Tam's was already visible to those who knew what to look for. The Needle dominated the area. Crossing the small park by Tam's he descended the abandoned Subway station on Cedar street.

Real tobacco fumes hit him as he descended the streets. Old Russian Avate Guarde blared from the speaker, Nautilus Pompilius and classics like Vysotsky's Paper Soldier. The National Bolshevik posters were just as authentic as the barman and the vodka. He collapsed onto a barstool and barked, "Sto Grammu".

"...I won't give you slavs any of the good stuff, even if you ask in Russian" - came the gruff reply.

Vladimir hated his guts. The Russian, like a lot of his ethnicity was stocky and sturdily built. Graying at the temples, he kept his hair short-cropped, so the scars the FSB interrogators left him stood out.Parallel lines bit into his cheekbone and left a gap in the furrow of his brows. The right eye was obviously cybernetic, worn like a badge of honor.

"Then, just give me a damn whiskey on the rocks, Communist pig!"
"Fucking slav!" but Vlad was pouring the stuff anyway, and good stuff too.

Vlad used to be an opposition activist, until things heated up way too much and he had no choice but leave the country. That was around the time when FSB executed Limonov and the prominent heads of the opposition.

"Just pour! ...and I'm telling you for the last time, I'm no slav!"
"You lived among slavs, you fucked slavs... you're slav as far as I'm concerned!"

The glass came hurtling down the bar, almost knocking over the drinks of other patrons.

"I'm Finn-Ugor, you dumb Cossack, you just pretend I'm a slav since my Finnish brothers kicked your ass." ...the glass hurtled over the edge, and several voices gasped in outrage.

He caught it midair with ease. The on-lookers approved with quiet murmur. Russians took alcohol seriously. Several bore scars from bar-fights that broke out over such matters. Vlad included, a criss-cross of scars prominent on the hand that tossed the drink.

"...the devil you are, you Hungarians are slavs, you have to be after a thousans years. We beat you after all!"

Vlad guffawed, as if he just told a good joke. In case you wonder, he hated the Russians' guts in turn. Downing the last drops, he slammed the glass down.

"Just pour, you Commie."

Refilling, Vlad raised his own and the glasses clicked with a musical chime. Their ritual done and over with, they could now turn to business. They hated each other's guts, but respected each. In this strange age, one had to nurture hatred almost as much as love... it was precious, the knowledge that somehow the other was giving a damn about you.

"So..." - he started.
"So what?" - came the flippant retort.

An annoyed look plastered on his face, he gave the barmen the evil eye... then shrugged. It's better not to get riled up, or the Russian would've derived all too much pleasure from the deal. Lighting a Blue Calm laced cig, he leaned back on his stool, nursing the drink for now. His fun cut short, Vladimir settled for swiping a cig from his pack on the counter, and finally giving the spiel straight as the smoke swirled around them... so much for eavesdropping on laser.

"...so I heard some little bird whisper, you might have some stuff for me."

Puffing on the cig some more, he balanced his options. Little bird meant, the job was confidential, even more so than usual and he'd likely never even meet the Johnson. Stuff meant something more involved than a hit or plain wet-work.

"Little birds are like that, they sing all kinds of promising songs, yet winter still comes." ...he brought the box out of his pocket while speaking.

Flipping the lid open, Vlad was browsing the stuff as he replied:

"The bird was right in this case... You're a fucking slav, but you know your... cigars."

...so Vlad didn't know anymore about what the job might entail. If he did he would've said Havanas or Cuban cigars.

"Yeah, yeah... now about my part...."
"Easy slav... you sure, this will be enough? A dozen cigars?"

So the job didn't come cheap. Fine.

"Puh-lease... Who do you take me for? It's the sample, the rest are sealed."

The fixer will get the rest his payment when he confirmed the job.

"Harumph... They better be. I prefer my stuff, moist and tender..."

So it's a well paying job, but the barman agreed to the setup.

"Will you take Malt or Rye? I don't have any of the Corn shit on me."

Will you take the job? No look & see... take it or leave it... darn. He didn't like jobs like these.

"Depends on the vintage."

How much do they pay?

"Both are straight."

They pay much... but passing this by might be wise... hmm...

"How old is the malt?"

How reliable is the source?

"Five year old, you rascal... I gotta give it to you slav, you know your whiskey."

So they're reputable. Reputable for what though? Here goes nothing.

"Gimme the malt, oh and here's another dozen for the age." - he gave the barman another box of cigars.
"Right. Don't suck up to me slav, I hat brown-nosers."
"...and I hate Russian sons of bitches who water their malt. Think of it as down payment on the next one."
"Sure, whatever..."

Vlad ducked below the counter, and Paul could hear the spin-clack of his safe. A moment later the bottle stood on the counter.

"There, it's waste on slavs like you, but honest man no longer appreciate a proper drink nowadays."
"Sure, my heart bleeds for your troubles Vlad, cry me a river. It's not like you don't sell syntohol to most your patrons as the noobs won't know the difference either way."
"Get out of here slav!"
"Get stuffed, Commie!"

Downing the last of his malt, he retrieved his cigs before Vlad could bum yet another one and he sunk the bottle into his coat. The details of the job will be on the chip embedded in the bottle's cork. As far as on-lookers were concerned, all they saw was some smuggling exchange... which was true. The straight malt was five years old, and if he was looking forward to getting plastered by it. So were the cigars... it'd take a particularly curious soul to match the lot numbers on the boxes to certain bank accounts. An AI could do that... if it had wide-spread access to several banking systems. The brand of the cigar dictated which bank, the kind - royal, quarter, half - the type of the account. Vlad will get his real payment when he releases the money in those accounts for whomever has the access number that happens to be the lot number of his whiskey.

NeoStriker

12 years ago

Spoiler:

Damienthedevil wrote...

Cronis felt the comm vibrating and checked the message. Council Island? I have a bad feeling about this. was Cronis' first thought. He could smell the bad vibes from a mile away. His instincts from his many years as a runner told him this job is nothing but trouble. No details, big reward, Council Island. That must be the worst combination ever.

Cronis had done several similar jobs like this. Each of them almost meant the end for him. If he had only refused it, he wouldn't have to go through it but as he already accepted, he will do it. That's his code; To finish the job once started.

Cronis made his way to his apartment at Union Hill taking a cab. When he reached his apartment, he went on to his bed and opened up a hidden compartment that contained many of his equipment. He put in his equipment and shut it back in. After that, he went on to his wardrobe and picked out a brand new leather jacket and a branded pair of trousers. He went to the washroom and cleaned himself up. He has to keep up appearances after all.

He took his car keys and headed down to the parking lot. He unlock his Honda-GM 3220 ZX Turbo and started the engine. He bought the car quite a while ago when he managed to get a good deal on it at 33,000ï¿¥. He modified the car to get hidden compartments that would hold a few weapons for emergency. He had 2 pistols and a Uzi 3 hidden. Of course these are only for emergency and he had tried not to force himself to resort to having to use it when he's out with this car.

He drove along Novelty Hill road and pass Bear Creek into route 502 all the way to the junction intersecting route 405 driving south into the E Channel Bridge that heads towards Council Island.

As he drove into Council Island, he was stopped by the local guard post. He flashed his commlink that contained the visitors pass and got instant access. He drove into Mercer Way and head into the Council Island Inn. As soon as he arrived, he gave his keys to the valet and headed into the lobby. The lobby of the inn was indeed huge. It had the sort of aura saying "this is a place for the rich, bitch." He felt disgusted at the thought of the kind of customers this place tend to. He walk to the reception counter and asked for the suite under the name "Leblanc" Leblanc. Heh, corporate humor, they totally suck at it.

Cronis was shown the way to the room. Cronis took a good look at his surroundings. The hallways were ridiculously and needlessly gorgeous. One would think he might have gone into a palace by mistake.

As he reached the suite in question, he opened the door and found himself clicking his tongue again. This is gonna be one helluva job.

Council Island doesn't belong to the UCAS. It belongs to the Native American Nations. An embassy and a tribal enclave. Dangerously surrounded by the UCAS, it is heavily guarded. Arranging for a visitor's pass just like that...

Council Island Inn, often used by diplomats and ambassadors due to it's location. It is highly prestigious and has a good reputation. Reserving a suite just like that is also...

On foreign ground, in a hotel for politicians, arranging for a visitor's pass and a suite with the name "Leblanc", combined with the lack of any information regarding what the mission could entail therefore makes this a potentially devastating trap. Should I just not go? The terms are quite unreasonable...

...

It shouldn't be too dangerous if I use my mecha. I make a trip home and then proceed towards Council Island. I show the Salish-Shidhe guards my visitor's pass and I am allowed entrance. I proceed to make a small hideout amongst the trees of the nature preserve before entering the hotel with my mask and hood fastly secure to obscure my features. I also hang around my neck the monitor display that lets me communicate using pictures and images that I can send from my mind.

I enter Council Island Inn which has a pleasant exterior and interior design that keeps with the natural colors of the vibrant wilderness covering the island. I walk over to where the receptionist is and show him with the display a picture of the color white. He is unable to comprehend that I mean "Leblanc" and simply thinks that I am showing him a blank screen. I envision the words "Leblanc" directly and show it to him. He nods sheepishly afterwards, understanding now what I mean. I am directed to the suite, which I enter and find empty. The instructions said to wait, so it seems that is what I must do. I try to find some refreshments and I happen upon some oolong tea.

...It's useless to try to drink it in this state, so I stash away some of it for later. I hear the door open and a weird-looking guy with colors that aren't supposed to mix walks in. How rare, is that a night elf? He notices me as I notice him, and I give a small wave before holding up my display which is showing a picture of an invisible man in a corporate suit along with a tilt of my head to show my questioning intent.

Damienthedevil

12 years ago

As he entered the presidential suite, he felt disgusted. The big room screamed gorgeous. The ceiling was high up there decorated to the finest details, the room's furniture was something only the AAA corporates could afford and the Trideo was as big as a projector screen. Cronis could only imagine what kind of back door dealings had been going on here.

Cronis saw a hooded man with a image display as the hooded man waved at him. Cronis looked at the image displayed and pondered a few moments before answering.

"I don't know the details either."

Cronis walked towards the fridge in the kitchen and found some tea. He poured some into the glass and sat down in the lounge across the hooded man. He thought this hooded man would probably work with him and it would be polite to do a greeting even if he don't want to trust him just yet.

"I'm Shadow Fang." as he sipped the tea.

I'm assuming Neo's PC is in the lounge when I post.

littleRED

12 years ago

ToyManC wrote...

Your sprites barely made the inquiry without alarming the whole security system.

The security system is high, which means they probably have a private security contract with a reputable firm, which means inhouse security and cameras all over the place (maybe even drones patroling around). You can assume that the windows and doors have superior locks and that the Matrix systems is protected by ICs running at all times.

//You gotta wait for Batre to answer in the name of Aegis.//

littleRED

12 years ago

Kheldar wrote...

The red-head takes the oportunity to her arm into your extended one as she waits for the hostess to confirm her reservation within the grid of the restaurants private hub.

Her grip isn't less iron, but you get a few moments to take a closer look at her. She seems human, yet she has this impossible strength. She has no visible implants, not even an obvious commlink.

In the meantime a second hostess shows up and leads you straight down the hall, through a glass double-door into a serving room obviously reserved for booths only. Your look falls for a moment at the big booth right in front of you, with three guys and a handsome women sitting at the table - and then you're already lead around that booth, to the last booth in the corner on the right side.

Your "date" pushes you into the very corner seat, with the back against the wall, taking the seat beside you - so you'd have to climb over the table in order to escape.

She orders a pear cider for herself and a glass of orange juice for "the kid", not saying anything until the waiter drops off the drinks and dissappears.

Then she finally turns to you and flashes you again one wide smug grin, before her face turns serious.

"I'll make it short, kiddo. I am offering you a job:
You'll work for me, running errands and finishing whatever tasks may come up. I will cover your living costs and if you do really good, you'll get extra."

She takes a sip directly out of the cider bottle, ignoring the glass that came with it.

"If you stay put and be a good lil boy, I'll make sure that you stay safe and off the streets - 'cuz you ain't quite the brightest mind regarding those streets and you wouldn't have survived the night with your great lil plan back there.

Stick with me and I'll look after you, or walk away now. It's your choice."

And with that her smug grin returns to her face.

"So, what's your name, kiddo?"

littleRED

12 years ago

Flaser wrote...

You're barely a few minutes on your way, as someone bumps very hard into you.

You can feel a hand slipping something into your suit-pocket, and hear a deep voice murmuring a quick "'xcuse me", before the unknown male slips away from you. He disappears in the crowd around you, before you even have the time to think about looking at his face.

As you reach into your pocket, you can feel a small paper. A paper - in the 2070s ...

//I adore the Russian. :)

Anyway, the paper says:
Council Island Inn, Roanoke Way. You're expected there asap.
There's a room reservation for you on the name "Leblanc".
Check into the suite and wait there for further instructions.

The checkpoint will recognize you as a valid visitor.

The ink on the paper is enhanced, and unfolding the paper will start a chemical reaction, which renders the note unreadable after a short amount of time.//

Kheldar

12 years ago

Lifting the glass of orange juice to my lips I take a moment to think. Considering everything that has just happened this seems like a blessing. However it also seems like an invitation into some sort shady business. So it comes down to do I want to starve an honest man or do whatever this women wants and have food on my plate. Inwardly sighing I realise the choice is obvious. Even though the woman now has no hands on me she still has a vice around my free will.

I try to hide any emotions my face might betray and put on a rather feeble smile. “My names Marcus Anderson and I’ll accept your offer. Though I’m not sure how I’m going to help you” Looking round sheepishly I add “And umm... thanks.” A small moment of silence passes as I take another sip of the orange juice. “So may I ask, who are you?”

littleRED

12 years ago

Kheldar wrote...

You're being again interrupted by the waiter putting plates of fresh buffalo steak with roasted potatoes in front both of you - obviously ordered via commlink, maybe it's integrated in her tight clothing ............

The woman waits for him to walk away and then leans back into her chair and takes another sip from her cider.

"Wise choice, Marky. Very wise choice. Better choice than trying to raid a high class restaurant."

She puts down her bottle and starts cutting into her steak. It's rare, and the red meat juices are dripping out of it with every poke of the fork. She puts the first bloody bite into her mouth and eats it, eyes closed, letting out an almost pornographic moan to emphasize how tasty it is.

She looks again at you, licking her ruby lips:
"You can call me Sandy."

Cinia Pacifica Ojou-sama Writer

12 years ago

Riselotte went to her room, her maid dressed her up. The dress was put around her body, gradually having her wear it on herself as she pulled her delicate arms out through the crimson sleeves, she loves her vividly colored red dress, similar red dresses used to be worn by her parents and so she does the same and usually wears such dresses and of course, her maids are the ones responsible for the creation of these fine clothings. The yellow and black stripped ribbons with white-ish pink roses at the top were tied neatly on her chest, below the shoulders on her ankles, and her wrists; Riselotte always thought that these lovely ribbons always befitted her elegance, gold is a good color for an aristocrat, the color of royal, it shouldn't usually be mentioned that the same goes for the color red.

The belt of the color - again - yellow and black, silky fabric were tightened and knotted around her waist, she smiled when her maid did this, she could almost imagine herself completely ready, looking as beautiful as always. The headdress which was beside her bed was set properly on her hair, with the same colored ribbons on both sides under the strikingly bright red ribbons with the adorned light-pink roses occupying at the top. The glossy, light-pink lipstick was applied, guess something glossy always fits the shiny and silky ribbons and the expensive fabric materials used explicitly for her dress. Riselotte now looked beautiful and graceful, from both front and back. She was - from all directions - a walking magnanimous glamor of beauty.

The, long, silky and smooth blond hair were brushed repeatedly, the maid assured Riselotte that the ends of her hair would be shaped like in a spiral manner as she did her task gracefully. The lenses were already on place from the start... so, what was missing? Her gloves of course! She took them off before she went to sleep and now the maid picked them up from the desk beside her bed, and allowed Riselotte to put them on. She took up her long, grey and sparkling blade, sheathed under it's shiny golden scabbard, leaning on the glittering glass on the other side of the room and put it under her hair behind her back, across the smooth lines of the tightly tied ribbon on the back of her waist. One wouldn't really realize the two ends of the item barely hanging out from her golden hair; the colors blends in too well.

Now, with everything set. Riselotte was finally ready to head out. Riselotte finally decided to went out. She walked to the elevator to go to the first floor, then walked the corridor, and went past several rooms. She had little to eat and drank a glass of fresh water before going out at last under the great grand hall of finest quality. After coming outside, Riselotte stepped into the backseats of her long and flashy car, though not red in color which is her favorite color; black was thought to be quite 'cool' anyway. Her maids, were obviously not allowed to accompany her presence. She ordered the driver to lead her to the place that can take her to Council Island. Her eyes, now kept close, in deep thought. She thought to herself about her state. It's been long since she had started her search, and even now; it's hard to fetch up reliable information for what's desired.

This was beyond annoying, lots of the past informations barely helped, some of them were perhaps lies, no ways to discern the truth now, the main source would need to be confronted, which is nothing more than a pile of hassle, these corporations are not too useful sometimes. But hey, they're the only ones willing to provide her with information that can be trusted up to some extent. Riselotte was doing this because her hands were practically tied. There are no leads while searching for what's so very desirable that it hurts to even think of sometimes. Riselotte bit her tender, soft lips slowly from all the thoughts of frustration pressurizing her.

One day... one day...she will reach it! She thought. But then, will that day ever come? Will her parents' murderers reach her by the time she reaches her goal? Or has the so-called 'goal' itself had been already obliterated completely? What if the corporations lead her to it being destroyed already? She would have done all the work to reach the remains? Unforgivable... inexcusable, if that happens... Riselotte would, for sure, kill them, whoever they are. Though, whether they are still walking the earth of this world is still questionable.

Riselotte's eyes opens up abruptly as her driver notifies her that the destination has been reached. Soon, Riselotte found herself in the Council Island. She showed her visitor card on the Grand Council Lodge after the personnel, bowing before her took her there, the guarding authorities granted her access. After she informed them of her destination, she was then kindly escorted to the luxurious inn on the northern tip of the island. Once reached, she inquired the receptionist about the room with it's name, he immediately called in a man who lead her to the room reserved for her apparently, under the name "Leblanc,". Some minutes passed and before she knew it, she found herself inside the suite. Seems like two were already inside. The room certainly seemed to lack a Monsieur Dupont in it as she entered.

ToyManC Forgot my safe word

12 years ago

'Such security! In a restaurant?' the question buzzed in Rudy's mind. Even for a higher end establishment, the level of security seemed almost insanely excessive! 'This job's looks like one with a very low life-expectancy,' he grumbled to himself.

Willing his sprites to hide themselves again, Rudy pondered his situation. He hadn't gained his reputation, by running away from tough jobs, and his pride told him to see it through, but this job smelled different from his usual Hack and Grab/Field Support jobs. He hated going into situations blind, but sometimes the life of a runner is not an easy one. The pay, however, had better be worth it!

Squashing his fears, he made a show of ordering a large meal on his comlink. He hadn't eaten in hours, and the smell of the food was very distracting. He had never eaten here before, it wasn't his usual style, but he might as well make the most of it. 'Condemned men . . .' he started to think, but stopped himself with harsh mental discipline. *Caesar Salad, Porterhouse Steak (Medium Rare) with a double order of those roasted potatoes* He placed the order, through his almost useless comlink. He considered ordering a nice wine, but dropped the idea almost immediately. 'Maybe a trip to Casey's bar, after the social stuff is over here,' he mused, to himself.

He thought about hacking the comlinks of his companions, but decided the benefit didn't outweigh the risks. This was not a job where amateurish mistakes could not be tolerated. Sitting back, Rudy quieted his mind and simply focused on waiting for his food.

NeoStriker

12 years ago

Spoiler:

I picture my trademark calling sign, "N", and show it to the man, no, Shadow Fang, who is now drinking tea right in front of me, while I watch in hidden jealousy.

Damienthedevil

12 years ago

Cronis look at the screen that projected the alphabet "N". N? Sounds familiar...who was this guy again? Cronis pondered on the familiar sounding name until he heard the door opening. Expecting the client, he turned and looked at the door.

Seeing a woman wearing a very glamorous dress entering. Cronis looked on at the woman as she entered the lounge.

NeoStriker

12 years ago

I notice the newcomer as she notices me, and once again I flash the image of an invisible man in a corporate suit to her while slightly tilting my head to show my questioning intent.

Cinia Pacifica Ojou-sama Writer

12 years ago

"I'm assuming that none of you are my Monsieur Dupont? Or am I mistaken? If so, please do tell," Riselotte responded.

She then responds to the one showing the image, "This means that I'm not Mr. Johnson, err... Monsieur Dupont, whoever you are with the mask. I believe I interpreted your sign properly?"

This being though, was not human, but a robot, Riselotte couldn't see any aura on the being projecting images. It had no life. So it has to be a robot.

NeoStriker

12 years ago

Rise-chan wrote...

A black dot appears on my display, before stretching out and curving and twisting to shape out the word, "SÃ".

The image of the word fades out and I proceed to show an x-ray image of the human brain with an arrow pointing to a question mark and another arrow from that pointing to the inn.

Damienthedevil

12 years ago

Another weird sign. This N loves his sign languages. Cronis looked at the display as drank some more tea and turned to the woman.

"I'm Shadow Fang." Cronis introduced himself short and simply.

Cinia Pacifica Ojou-sama Writer

12 years ago

She kept her face unmoved from the drone, "Just as much as you do."

Riselotte then proceeded to taking a seat, after which she the introduction was made, she made a terse reply "Victorique."

She then turned to the masked bot, "And you are?"

littleRED

12 years ago

Wordmangler2000 wrote...

Sandy steps back, looks at you appraisingly and says: "Okay. I guess you could be handy - and not only because I can put you in my backpack."

She lets out a big sigh and pinches the bridge of her nose, closing her eyes for a moment. "I'm getting too old for this shit."

She takes a deep breath and looks at you.

"This is not really the place nor the time to talk business - but don't think I won't be asking you later how the fuck you dug me up here. And all your persuassion voodoo will help you shit, when the time comes. And yes, I did notice the effect."

And then she puts her hand on her hip, giving it a slight seductive roll, her common smug grin spreading on her face: "And stop imagining me naked."

She doesn't wait for your answer, but simple turns around and walks back to the table, with a lascive sway in her movements, obviously knowing that you will follow her.

Sandy sits down beside the kid again and motions with her hand into your direction.

"Marky, this is Dr. Carruthers. We're colleagues. Dr. Carruthers, as you obviously know already - this is Marcus, my new errand-boy."

She waits for you to take a seat and then leans back.

"Let's get more drinks, shall we ..."

Bartre

12 years ago

I'm immediately intrigued and more than a little nervous, Aegis has worked with other fixers before but never showed them her emotions regarding them. This either meant that she was even more nervous than she showed or that she really hated this guy.

"So, what do you know of this job?"

"Enough." Was Aegis' terse reply. "Cash is good, the meeting is late, security for the meeting place has been ramped up and it requires more than one runner. Most definitely a high risk-reward run."

Ah Aegis, laconic to strangers as always are we? You must be the life of Horizon social functions. I casually turn my head to thank the waitress, flashing her a smile while gently tapping my glass of now empty water. Probably didn't need to tell them you sussed out heightened security. Show-Off.

As the pair sit down and do things people at restaurants do.I study the one Aegis didn't address. Slightly on the short side with a scar running down his face. Fit,but doesn't seem dangerous in hand to hand, which still tells me less than I would like to know. He avoids eye contact and seems to be focused elsewhere. A quiet guy huh. Fit but a not combat specialist? Perhaps a tech? Maybe he's a mag-

Skittering. Amid all the other noise I almost missed it, having just normalized my hearing. Some sort of creature? The constantly added smells of food and drink being prepared is screwing with my ability to sniff these things out.Interesting, I'm tempted to look under the table to see exactly what the source is but that would reveal part of my hand. Can't have that now can we?

This is bad. My sense of curiosity and greed now keeping me from immediately denying the job. This was getting more interesting by the second, which probably meant something bad was probably going to happen soon. Ces le vie.

Before this Emmet can reply I interject with a question. "So...What do you do? I'm a fair hand at combat and a pretty good at keeping folks from biting it."

ooc: Apologies, on my late reply. Life decided to make me play catch-up

Flaser OCD Hentai Collector

12 years ago

Pocketing the paper without having looked at it, Paul headed for Matchstick's, pretending to be just another salary-man trying to survive his Zaibatsu's mandated drinking binge. Ordering coffee, he finally opened the paper... never read a note where others might see it or draw attention to it... sheeeeet.

It was low-tek, alright, but it's not like Vlad to just abandon SOP and contact him in such a transparent fashion... which meant he'd been tailed. Never a good, much less reassuring thing. Frankly it was infuriating and scaring the shit out of him at the same time. OK, calm down, think! ...Were you tailed? - colors shifted, and scenes of the night blurred in his vision... Anyone appearing multiple times? Facial & Gait recognition initialized... Searching... 3 matches...

Matches? Amateurs tended to panic at this moment... Let's check... He eliminated the first two matches as they were transportation employees... the third was a suit who changed lanes with him twice, but dropped away later on. No tell-tale signs of changing watch, but in the age of wireless communication that didn't mean anything... I have a nagging feeling, a black, three meter tall ork with a T-shirt that says "Gay Pride", wearing leather pants is not the most likely candidate. Corps are too homophobic, racist and tight-assed for that.

...that left Vlad. It was incredulous, but apparently the Fixer's been had. I'll take it up with the Russian later on. He ran a scan on the messenger's cloth but there was no match... so the guy hadn't been masquerading as a patron of the bar. Sheeet... and double sheeet. They must've infiltrated Vlad's cameras then... Conjecture faulty. Observer lacks relation linking Vlad to User to Johnson.. Along with the nausea always brought on by the AI borrowing his faculties came unexpected relief. So the Commie didn't unintentionally sell me out. Of course that was no guarantee Vlad didn't sell him intentionally... but for some reason he could never give the thought credence. The Russian hated him too intimately for such an impersonal betrayal. Finally it hit him: they already had him ID-d. Once Vlad sent a confirmation of the job, they didn't bother with the polite fiction of the Fixer's mediation.

I'm already neck-deep... they've probably chosen me for what they had in mind. Unless I literally change face running away won't do any good either.

Even on a determined course, freedom may yet exist... Speed. - this felt different. Not quite nausea... he didn't have a word for it. It was different... the AI never made emotional correlations before. He heard these words a long, long time ago... the only reason it could bring them up was that was the last time he'd felt this cornered.

"Speed indeed. Time to punch it to light-speed and see if I can break course." - he said aloud, as if doing so would make it true. You never knew, magic did exist after all.

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