P H Y S I C A L P R O F I L E P H Y S I C A L P R O F I L E
▼ P H Y S I C A L T R A I T S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ► Build - Athletic ► Ethnicity - Caucasion ► Hair Colour - Blonde ► Eye Colour - Blue ► Other - None -
C H A R A C T E R N O T E S C H A R A C T E R N O T E S
▼ C H A R A C T E R I T E M S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ► Cars/Clothes - Multiple (Prefers bikes) ► Weapons - Multiple MilSpec (katana 'Dākusutā') ► Safehouses - Multiple unknown
▼ K N O W N A S S O C I A T E S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ► Varied - Obvious contacts throughout Night City, lesser known contacts outside it
▼ S K I L L S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ► Linguistics - She has a tongue for languages without needing software ► Bankrolled - Either those behind her or she, herself, has deep pockets ► Mechanical/Technical - Knows her way around machines and the circuitry that guides them ► Edgerunner - An experienced Solo with weapons and combat skills to back it up ► Survival - Someone who spent a lot of time surviving out on their own
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C H A R A C T E R B I O C H A R A C T E R B I O
"Let me preface this information with the following warning: you aren't going to be satisfied. Most of the information here is from trustworthy sources, talking corporate counter-intel agents, talking NCPD investigators, some netrunners, and the high dollar Fixer or two outside of Night City itself (all those in Night City just say ask her yourself). Still...
It may go without saying, "Eddie" is not their given name. No one knows what is. One of the European Fixers I contacted claims it's Etta, but they didn't have a surname to go with it. Etta, Eddie? Maybe, if you're going for an alias to use in Night City it's not the worst. Where is she from? We know she's not from Night City. We know she wasn't born in NUSA, or any other corporate zone. Arasaka counter-intel believes she's from a former Free State, where it's easier to make all records of people disappear. Why would you want to make someone disappear? Your guess is as good as mine, choom. She ain't Asian, she ain't a Euro.
Her history is a little more known. You can tell just by watching her and reading her this is a former Corpo. The weird thing here is the same Arasaka source that believes she's from a Free State also believes she ain't former Arasaka, or Militech. NCPD believes she's never operated out of Night City before, so she's a new kid to the Night City streets. Biotechnica, maybe? Another European Corp? Hard to say, but one of those high dollar Fixers can tell you for certain she was at one time an Edgerunner operating within Europe.
So, to review: probably some kind of military or law from a Free State, maybe even a Nomad. She has some level of mechanic and technician skill, some basic first aid, and is very familiar with weapon handling. None of that in isolation is all that telling, but not many backgrounds combine all of those self-sufficiency skills in the kind of package that also includes a wiped identity, and mystery Edgerunner work in Europe. So...military, law, Nomad. Take your pick. We know from a Fixer that claims to have worked with her in Europe she has chrome, and serious fucking chrome, but in the European style it's all very concealed. I'd rule out Mantis Blades, wrist-launchers, Gorilla arms...but the rest is on the table.
That's background. What about current? 'Eddie' is a new Fixer to the scene. Not unusual given the explosion of new Fixers and Mercs running through the door V smashed open by showing what a single Merc and some good Fixers could achieve with the all-but-downfall of Arasaka. One of those netrunners I contracted claim Arasaka is worried about her, giving me part of a data file supposedly written by an Abernathy that was a list of 'must watch' individuals in Night City. She was on the list. (The rest of the file got corrupted, probably the netrunner had to slide from Black ICE before they could get the rest.) She isn't on NCPD's radar at all, which seems really odd to me. Read between those lines what you will.
The streets tell of a Fixer who appeared, got some shadowy contracts done, helped some low-level Mercs take a leap in terms of employment. But 'shadowy' be the operative term there; whatever her clientele she's not saying. She typically uses low to mid-level Mercs, but everyone who has worked for her says she has them very prepared and well stocked. Pay is good, terms are fair. She was too mysterious for high level Mercs to work with, but she's now been around long enough that some of them want to. But weird thing...she doesn't want to work with those high level Mercs. And after you hit a certain Street Cred, she doesn't work with the Mercs she's worked with before.
Makes sense if you're keeping a low profile, or wanting to avoid egos and primadonnas. Or want to make sure you set the terms, not the talent. But still weird. Put it together with everything else we found out, and it's a bit suspicious.." - Unknown Source, datashard for Dino Dinovic
D E T A I L E D A P P E A R A N C E D E T A I L E D A P P E A R A N C E
'Eddie' carries herself like someone full of the kind of confidence that only comes with knowing something few others do; or someone who's hiding a gun just under the table. She's mostly seen in the expensive threads of a Corpo executive, except the rare times she's been spotted using a more 'hands on approach'; when that happens it's all black quilted leather and tights. Armored, modified, but the subtle kind of armor you wouldn't know until bullets and blades started.
At five feet and seven inches, flat-footed, she's closer to average than tall but doesn't shy away from a heeled boot or a fancy high-heel. When she has been spotted with iron it's always MilSpec, but nothing customized in appearance or gaudy in decoration. Her hair is a darker blonde, straight, and usually shoulder-length or pinned tight to the scalp. Sunglasses are black, square framed, classic but not as cliched as a set of aviators. Her walk is graceful, her shoulders straight and head up high. Fond of not speaking much in a crowded room, and anything above a few people seems to classify as crowded to her. No overt chrome, but everyone just assumes it's there.
According to the Afterlife's resident Netrunner, Nix, he's only seen her wear three colors: white, grey, or black, "Colors of truth...something to that shit, I think."
P L O T ( S ) & G O A L ( S ) P L O T ( S ) & G O A L ( S )
Her past, in true Night City fashion, will come back to find her eventually. Her current will either lead to a new beginning, or a final ending of her story. The mysteries around her will fade, revealing a woman who has dug lies deep enough to bury her soul in.
From a meta-perspective, 'Eddie' is a Fixer in the Rogue-vain. An Edgerunner in her own right, trying to escape to a higher calling. She can guide characters, both in personal quests or larger group efforts, and isn't afraid to enter the field from time-to-time, but at the end of the day she answers to clientele. Both for her own actions, and the actions of those she employs.
P H Y S I C A L P R O F I L E P H Y S I C A L P R O F I L E
▼ P H Y S I C A L T R A I T S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ► Build - Petite ► Ethnicity - Japanese ► Hair Colour - Black ► Eye Colour - Brown ► Other - Nothing she's revealing -
C H A R A C T E R N O T E S C H A R A C T E R N O T E S
▼ C H A R A C T E R I T E M S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ► Katana - Luxury ► Rifles - MilSpec, various types ► Handguns - MilSpec, various types ► Cyberware - Bleeding edge Arasaka chrome
▼ K N O W N A S S O C I A T E S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ► Michiko Arasaka - Arasaka 'patron' ► Yui Hayami - Mother ► Kaoru Fujioka - Chief Arasaka POC in Night City
▼ S K I L L S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ► Investigate - Sora has a natural detective's mind ► Combat - An expert in how to kill with nearly any weapon ► Technical - A high level technical operator ► Stealth - Emphasis on 'ninja' in Arasaka ninja
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C H A R A C T E R H I S T O R Y C H A R A C T E R H I S T O R Y
A native of Yokohoma, Japan, and daughter to two Arasaka lifetimers. Her father was nothing more than a production manager after a long life of being a machine operator. Her mother began life as a teacher, before eventually gravitating to a low-level accounting clerk within Arasaka, eventually making it to mid-level accounting clerk later in life. A model student, but a poor daughter; while self-discipline and intellect were no problems for Sora, the girl would always buck at the traditionalist society in which she found herself. More than once she brought dishonor by breaking the hand of a man in the female-only train car touching her, or blackening the face of a bully.
The grades may not have been enough to counter-balance the bad, but the fact that Sora was a truly gifted athlete more than made up for all of that to her father. Though he wished she'd been a boy, there was no denying the immense pride he gained from watching his daughter excel at every single athletic venture. From tennis, golf, to martial arts, to football and field hockey. Despite success in everything, despite representing her nation on an international level, it was martial arts where Sora would find a true passion. More than anything, she enjoyed the empowerment of martial arts. She wasn't just a girl, she was a weapon.
Her combative, aggressive attitude would do her no favors. Due to various non-disclosed incidents, she would be booted from international competition teams. Despite her mother's understanding due to the nature of the incidents, her father would beat her savagely in rage at the loss of his pride in her. What was he to be proud of now? The immense shame she had brought them by not getting-along? She was ornery, fickle, ill-tempered, and far too aggressive. It wasn't, he would tell her as she allowed him to beat her, his fault that she wasn't born a boy. When she corrected him based on the science of genetics, the resulting temper explosion would be enough to have her mother throw herself over Sora, begging the man to have mercy.
Sora wasn't thrown out, per-se, but she was no longer welcome. Her mother acted behind her father's back to set-up a bottom-level clerical job for Sora in an Arasaka accounting branch in Tokyo. It was barely enough for Sora to afford a room, feeding herself off left-overs and office food spreads, mostly. Her attention to detail and intelligence gained her attention, she believed, and most notably by a mid-level accounting manager. In truth, the male manager had eyes on her as a new mistress. From the day she began her new role as his personal assistance, the sexual harassment and degrading treatment was nearly unending. Unwilling to fight back and risk not being able to pay for the most meager of lives, Sora used her brain. The man's attempts to impress her by talking more than he should led her to a suspicion that he was embezzling Arasaka funds in order to pay for a life that, he believed, would position him to one day be a low or mid-level executive. His goal of executive level promotion was what he often told her, how likely that was, and how lucky Sora would be just to be his mistress when that happened.
Her access to his documents as his assistant, in combination with resources her mother's mid-level accounting position could get her, was enough for Sora to detective the case. She never showed an ounce of gratification when she presented the evidence of the man's embezzlement to his superiors, and word of her harassment would never had come out had one of the superiors not specifically asked about the man's behavior in the office. It didn't shock Sora when the harassment was largely dismissed out of hand, but the embezzling was a different matter. It allowed Sora a ticket to reassignment. Using that ticket and the recognition of her former athletic achievements, Sora was permitted reassignment to counter-intelligence.
Sora would send the now fired and jailed man a video of her fucking his wife and other mistress in his own bed, at the same time, as a final fuck you. The next phase of Sora's time in Arasaka would see her crisscross between counter-intelligence and military assignments. Finally, Sora had found her calling in life; using the natural investigative detective skills and her intellect, combined with the natural athletic gifts and propensity for violence, Sora would rise quickly. When her father tried to reach out, having heard of his daughter reaching a height in Arasaka he never could, she denied him the pleasure. Sora began funneling money into a secret bank account, in her mother's name. Last Sora heard, her mother had left the man. At a time when most in her position would be offered a prestigious assignment within Arasaka, Sora was offered the training of an Arasaka ninja, but not the assignment that usually followed such training.
In it's place would come an unusual offer from an unusual, if notable, source: Michiko Arasaka needed talent for her Danger Gal venture. Talent that could get anything done, talent as smart as they were dangerous. Michiko would arrange for Sora to retain Arasaka employ, but in truth she would begin working for Danger Gal as a problem-solver. The blood and money that followed Sora's new role would help build the very foundation of Danger Gal, and by extension, place Michiko Arasaka into new levels of respect within Arasaka. When Michiko returned to the Arasaka board, Sora requested a return to Arasaka's active employ. The request was granted, and Michiko offered Sora the prestigious position that was denied her before: Michiko's personal bodyguard.
Sora declined, opting for a position of her own making within counter-intelligence. Here Sora would be a lone-wolf for Arasaka, surprsingly empowered by Michiko's grandfather, Saburo. Whatever task she wanted to pursue, with nearly unlimited resources at her disposal. Sora immediately launched into a campaign to stop hemorrhaging of Arasaka influence and money in Europe. There she would begin a cat-and-mouse game with a group of Edgerunners used by European corporations to hamper Arasaka's ambitions for the Continent. The chase would lead around the world, into space, and back. While she was able to eliminate most of the group, two of the Edgerunners would ultimately escape her and disappear. Obsession, lust, competition, respect, violence, money...it is hard for Sora to know where the lines between any of these stopped and others began.
Sora has come to Night City in the wake of the failures of other Arasaka security and counter-intelligence operatives, at the personal request of Michiko Arasaka. Though her true reason for coming to Night City has more to do with personal business than Michiko's request: the obsession of the Edgerunners she never got to. A mysterious new Fixer in Night City might just be one of those former rivals, and Sora is determined to fuck, fight, or kill to a satisfying ending of the obsession. Even if it means the death of her.
D E T A I L E D A P P E A R A N C E D E T A I L E D A P P E A R A N C E
Sora is a tall, lithe figure. A world-class athlete in almost any metric, even before the Arasaka cyberware modifications. Her beauty is classic, her dark hair straight and long, her dark eyes sharp and unflinching. She carries herself with a non-chalance that belies just how incredibly aggressive and dangerous she really is. A bit understated, but sarcastic to the bone.
There's a too-cool-for-school nature to her appearance. Unlike Arasaka ninjas, she doesn't load up on Arasaka logos, or the Japanese ultra-modern style. In fact often times she looks like she's walked straight out of a Tarantino movie: slender cut suit, tie, black and white, synth-leather boots with a cigarette hanging from her lips or fingers. Sora has a fitting attitude to match, often she appears outwardly bored and disinterested in Arasaka or luxury settings. It isn't uncommon to find her in a dive-bar, enjoying solitude and her own thoughts.
The only obvious sign of her cyberware are thin rosegold lines along her arms, legs, and chest. She favors katanas, and sneers at mantis-blades as clumsy attempts to make-up for a lack of real skill. She hasn't settled on a single katana just yet, as her original, 'Dākusutā', was "stolen." A pistol and a sniper rifle are her other traditional kit, though she has easy access to whatever the job calls for.
P L O T ( S ) & G O A L ( S ) P L O T ( S ) & G O A L ( S )
In a game where Arasaka seems to be on the ropes, Sora Hayami represents a top tier of their talent that other characters to date just haven't lived up to. Easily one of the most capable characters in the game, and unlike most corporate characters she doesn't glorify the corporate world and sees it's flaws and weaknesses for what they are. Where one corpo may be fooled by a neat trick or blinded by arrogance or pride, Sora will see right through it. Sora is an antagonist that can create struggle for our protagonists in ways few others in the setting can, with the ultimate goal to turn strength into weakness and force your characters into hard choices regarding the soul and future of your characters, and Night City itself.
Sora is no devil. She has been a victim for most of her life, her own strengths more of a weakness in the society in which she was born and raised. She has people she cares for, such as her mother, and people she is linked with for good or bad, such as Eddie. A dangerous past is dangerous for Eddie and the Merc group, but it's also dangerous for Sora. In her own way, she's kind of a hero, as her aims aren't evil by nature and there are certainly darker forces in the Cyberpunk setting than her.
"There are no clean hands. But it is important how they become dirty."
C H A R A C T E R P O R T R A I T C H A R A C T E R P O R T R A I T
C H A R A C T E R S U M M A R Y C H A R A C T E R S U M M A R Y
Kansaki Shimada Masako _________________________________________________________ 42 | ♀ | Bisexual _________________________________________________________ Single | Yakuza Solo | Kanzaki/Arasaka (Former), Night Corp (Current)
P H Y S I C A L P R O F I L E P H Y S I C A L P R O F I L E
▼ P H Y S I C A L T R A I T S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ► Build - Shapely ► Ethnicity - East Asian (Japanese) ► Hair Colour - Dark Brown ► Eye Colour - Hazel ► Other - Tattoo as described. Extensive jewellery, usually gold but sometimes with jade or ruby elements. -
C H A R A C T E R N O T E S C H A R A C T E R N O T E S
▼ C H A R A C T E R I T E M S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ► Augments Mantis blades: Metal appears gold plated, blade colour is jade with gold script. Gecko Pads: On her hands and feet, enables enhanced grip, bone and muscle density activive modification and skin hardening. Advanced occular and cortex modifications.
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C H A R A C T E R H I S T O R Y C H A R A C T E R H I S T O R Y
The youngest child of the Kansaki oyabun, Shimada lived a life of relative freedom among the higher echelons of Night City society, a life supported by the sweeping business interests of the Yakuza in Night City. While she was born in Night City, when she was 16 she was sent to study in Japan, an opportunity only open to her due to the connections of her family and clan. While a deeper understanding of her native culture was surely an important aspect of this to her family, it was not its principle aim. While back in the home nation of the clans, Shimada was fully integrated into the workings of the Arasaka Corporation, the principle partner of the Kansaki clan in Night City. The majority of her time was truly spent studying (with the usual distractions of any student body) however it was during these years that she was first ingratiated with the Taka faction of Arasaka, and eventually it's leading voice in Yorinobu Arasaka. While several decades older than her in the purest sense of time, the more dynamic, tradition shirking, man was far more appealing in sensibilities than the same voices who had done such damage to the world a short time before. When Shimada returned to Night City following a string of qualifications ending in her Masters degree in Business and Public Policy, she did so with the intention of aligning the Kansaki as best she could with the Taka faction.
Small time crime in Japantown might have been the work of a dime a dozen gangs, most recently the Tyger Claws, but anything worth any real amount of eddies worked through the Yakuza and their fixers and the Kansaki were the first among equals, working directly with representatives of Arasaka to turn Japantown into one of the most economically successful and safe districts of Night City outside of Corpo Plaza. Shimada was present for this, taking on an official role with the local Night City civil service to better facilitate the work of her family, and by extension, Arasaka. In truth, her work did more than simply facilitate business, actually benefitting the denizens of Japantown in many ways, albeit simply to further establish the clan under the false pretence of philanthropy. Aside from this, Shimada lived a comfortable life, attending parties, conferences (sometimes the difference between these are merely academic) and enjoying the best that Night City has to offer a young and successful person. This was not to say she was entirely removed from the violence of her family's work, she was still suitably augmented for her own defence, and trained by the finest instructors Arasaka could provide her family, but it was rare this had to put into practice beyond making a point of someone who had underestimate her. Not everything was simply business as usual for Shimada, as Yorinobu began to put in place his final plan to bring about the end of his father's version of Arasaka, he began to reach out to his allies in Night City. This included Shimada, who's role in the plot was rather simple, use the Kansaki network to move those loyal to Taka into the city without drawing the notice of the rest of Arasaka. It was this action that would bring about the fall of the Kansaki.
When the murder of Saburo took place, the initial reaction from Arasaka was swift and retributive. Despite promises made to the contrary, the involvement of the Kansaki was revealed to the wider corporation, one of many scapegoats Yorinobu was willing to provide to secure his own position as he worked to bring an end to the corporation. Falsely accused of being bribed by outside actors (even rumoured to be Militech), the Kansaki were set upon by loyalist Arasaka Yakuza, or more truthfully, those who looked to gain the Corp's favour to replace the Kansaki as their primary point of contact with the Yakuza. Shimada's family were slaughtered, along with their closest friends and confidents, in a series of brutal retaliatory attacks. Shimada only survived by apparent coincidence, a change to her schedule placing her away from her intended duties that day and thus avoiding a bomb attack which destroyed her office. She has suspected this was more due to some last favour from her previous ally in Yorinobu, and act that does not come close to brushing away the cost of betrayal. It mattered not that she had physically survived, Shimada Kansaki would have to remain dead. Thankfully as with any family rooted in crime, the Kansaki were not so integrated into the Arasaka mould that they had not planned for such and so Shimada still had access to at least some of the resources her family had stockpiled over the years, bounced through so many transfers and accounts as to be utterly removed from her identity.
Thankfully for Shimada she was, in many ways, already prepared for a life of solo survival. With combat training from Arasaka’s tutors, the same individuals who had developed the Troy Exterminator program and possessed substantial self defence augmentations. While the Kansaki had previously looked down on the ‘small time’ criminals of the Tyger Claws, Shimada was quick to reach out to Wakako Okada as the most capable fixer she was aware of, and to who they now shared an emnity towards Arasaka. There were no favours done for free, but Wakako had little compunction putting Shimada’s skill set to good use, and to the embittered woman, Shimada’s history with Arasaka was a benefit rather than a risk.
Shimada had little involvement in the diasterous (for Arasaka) events of the recent past, but still very much took personal satisfaction in the crippling of Arasaka’s presence in the city. Shortly afterwards, however, Shimada was approached by representatives from Night Corp, using her well hidden family name with ease. The offer was simple, to make Arasaka’s downfall in the city permanent. With the eddies on offer and a chance at a personal revenge, there really was no reason to turn it down. The risk of having her identity exposed and the bounties that would come with it remained an unspoken, unnecessary threat.
D E T A I L E D A P P E A R A N C E D E T A I L E D A P P E A R A N C E
Despite being born in Night City, Shimada’s appearance aligns more with the neo-future Japan of her family’s homeland. This would hardly be considered subdued by modern standards, but it lacks some of the riot of colour that the Tyger Claws have made famous across Night City. The most ostentatious aspect of Shimada’s appearance comes in the form of of a sweeping dragon and lotus tattoo which rises from the foot of her right leg up to her right shoulder. While often dulled, the interactive ink can shine or alter colouration at her will. Shimada’s cybernetics are subtle in appearnce, most being subdermal. Exceptions come in the form of her hands and feet, the digits, palms and soles of which are marked out in jade. While certainly capable of brutal force when neccesary, Shimada’s outward appearance tends not to give this away, soft and elegant, she moves with the poise taught to her by her tutors in Japan. Despite avoiding the garish clashing of colour many in Japantown favour, Shimada is hardly conservative, her corpo-esque attire often doing much to show off and enhance the fairness of her features and curves of her form. Once this had simply been a preference of style, now it is a trap to ensnare the kill. While she changes her look with as much whim as any individual of fashion, Shimada’s hair is usually kept it’s natural brown, and her eyes hazel, she can certainly be spotted with alterations to both on occassion, however. As with anyone trained in the art of Japanese courtly behaviour, Shimada is quite used to expressing herself through gestures and facial expressions as much as she is words, a trend that can make her seem higly emotive at times, or incredibly stoic at others.
P L O T ( S ) & G O A L ( S ) P L O T ( S ) & G O A L ( S )
Shimada’s goals are for the short term rather simple. While originally her aims had little to do with Night Corp itself and everything to do with retribution she has since become emotively tied to the success of the plan to ensure Night City’s indendence from either Arasaka or Militech. Whether she truely believes Night Corp is the means to achieve this remains to be seen, but for the meantime, it is her best chance at both.
" Do no harm. Protect the client. Follow the rules.
That's what we were taught.
Awful hard to stand by that rule when everyone in this city's out to harm you."
//NAME: Connie Zhu / Hui Jiang
//STREET NAME: Scalpel
//GENDER: Female
//AGE: 36
//AFFILIATIONS
- Trauma Team International (10 Years)
- Tyger Claws (3 Years)
- Afterlife Mercenary (Current)
//APPEARANCE: Connie embodies the spirit of a rough and tumble street hooligan caged by professionalism and conduct. Her curled hair is cut precisely in a bob cut, various knots interspersed throughout. Black bangs frame an angular face rimmed with eyebags and a pensive frown. Memories of a misspent youth mark her wiry body as dysfunctioning light-tattoos scribed in a fit of paternal rebellion blink all over her arms alongside a grievous burn mark on her neck as a result of hazing at TT bootcamp.
Scars of his time as a Trauma Team EMT riddle her body, dimpled pockets of faded bullet wounds glazing her chest, with a grievous jagged line of mottled skin crossing the flat of her belly By far, the most pressing reminder of her time in Trauma Team International is the sleek blue chrome that makes up most of her left arm and shoulder.
In terms of tactical gear, Connie uses a modified version of her old TT gear that has been jury-rigged by various techies over the years into something that looks downright primitive. When she’s not flatlining gangsters or busy resuscitating gonks, Connie wears an unassuming combination of chic gear, preferring a poncho hoodie that allows her to hide within crowds.
//HISTORY:
Connie was 14 years old when she saw a Trauma Team aerodyne for the first time.
It was early noon on a Friday, the type of day that would call for a trip into the Upper Marina. Unfortunately, her mother had other plans,namely, going on a tour of the academic quagmire she would be getting stuck into her the next five years or so of her life. Getting into a prestigious pre-med program sponsored by BioTechnica was one thing but being a first-gen uni student was the cherry on top of the cake. Part of her was convinced it was sheer luck whilst her mother, being a stickler for tradition, believed it was a sign of blessing from our ancestors. Lucky stars and other crappy astrological palm-reading nonsense that she’d babble on to her.
A tour guide dressed in a sleek silver dress and wearing a neon smile was leading them along through the skeleton of an empty pavilion that was currently undergoing reconstruction. Connie watched as construction drones skittered about on legs, briefly turning noon into early morning with the glow of their plasma torches, before moving onto the next spot. Reconstruction was petering off in the ten or so years that had passed since the Red. Her mother told her of days when the sunset seemed to bleed orange and the rain that poured from those scab-like clouds corroded through the steel skyline. Now, all that remained of the mid-century holocaust was a faint rusty mist that cloyed to the blue sky.
“ Connie! For the life of me, could you not spend one moment staring at that device of yours? ” Her mother hissed, pulling at Connie’s ear, whilst she was busy parsing through my socials on the Agent. “ You should be excited. You are the first Zhu to enter a prestigious institute such as NCU!”
“ C’mon, ma ma.” Connie pulled her agent away from the prying hands of her mother as she rolled her eyes. “ This is boooooring. Couldn’t we have waited until next week to do this?”
“ And spend time with your gwai lo boyfriend at that ridiculous concert? “ My mother scoffed. “ I think not. Besides, this is a far more useful way to spend a Friday.”
Connie scowled. Those advance tickets she got on the night market was the sweetest hitch she ever got in her life! Getting seats at a crim-zone concert was notoriously hard to begin with alongside the secret crypto-seal which they used to hide the secret location of their concerts in the abandoned underground metros of Night City.
“ Whatever.” The teen’s cheeks were reddened with embarrassment as she tucked herself further into her Agent. “ I’ll probably flunk out in the first term anyway.”
“ Don’t you say such slander. Did I truly raise my daughter to believe so little in herself?” Connie wanted to scream internally as she sensed the signs of another incoming lecture. “ If I was your age, I would be grateful to stand here with Night City’s brightest. Instead, you want excitement- ”
The explosion then hits her like a freight train. Her eardrums pop painfully as she feels her feet being launched off the ground, agent shaking loose from her grip. Connie’s world becomes a storm of pain and dizziness, vision quaking as sounds of terrified screams and the staccato of lead begin to fill in the void of her senses. Her ears make out the faint noises of someone speaking as she groans out, struggling to stand up on her own two feet.
“ Fuck, what the hell was that for, Rory!”
“ You said to cause a distraction. I caused the distraction! Now, NCPD’s gonna be busy cleaning up this situation while we make our getaway.” “ You idiot! Do you want Max-Tac breathing down our necks?”
“ Hey, this one’s still breathing, Jimmy. What should I do with her?”
“ Just ice her and put her out of her misery.”
“ Right-o.”
The click of a receiver wakes her up to the sight of a barrel pointed downwards at her, laser sight trained on her forehead. Behind it is an arm leading up to a face that’s more metal than meat, the jaw replaced crudely with a fanged maw that resembles a bear-trap. There’s a hoarse reverberating chuckle as Connie begins begging for her life.
“ Please, no, fuck, I can pay you, please, don’t shoot - “
Her voice then becomes drowned in the sound of loud klaxons and the hungry roar of AV turbines. A shadow comes over the both of them as an aerodyne hovers above the both of them, a spotlight illuminating their figures in the darkening noon. Scratches and bullet holes cover the bulky blue-striped hull as the front of the aerodyne narrows towards the lunatic threatening to zero her out.
“ LANDING IMMINENT. STAND CLEAR. INITIATING SECURITY PROTOCOLS. “
Two hatches then open at the bottom of the armored hull and a set of barrels emerge, spinning together at the ready. Connie screams and closes her eyes as gunfire erupts again. A metallic gurgle cries out and then, the wet audible thuds of a body smacking on the concrete. She opens her eyes back up again to see the man cut in half, twisted legs and a vacated torso connected by a bridge of guts and blood. The stench hits her and morning’s breakfast comes tumbling out onto the pavement. As she wipes away the bile, the AV lands on the ground with a soft thud, pressurized gas hissing out as the aerodyne doors open up. Trauma Team personnel begin flooding the chaotic smoky scene, clad in blue neoprene suits with sterile kevlar plating covering their vital organs. One, the commander, Connie presumes, begins barking out orders and pushing back onlookers onto the ground.
“ PLEASE FOLLOW ALL INSTRUCTIONS.” The speaker blares once more. “ DO NOT APPROACH THE VEHICLE AND VACATE THE AREA IMMEDIATELY. ANYONE WHO INTERFERES WITH THE DUTIES OF TRAUMA TEAM INTERNATIONAL PERSONNEL WILL BE REMOVED FROM THE PREMISES.”
It’s a series of firsts for Connie today as one of the Trauma Team EMTs strides past her in a sprint, sliding downwards on her knees to a stop next to one of the students caught in the explosion. A female voice begins barking out in a radio in a calm and precise fashion, hands moving in a blur. Connie watches her pull out a suitcase that mechanically unfolds itself into a workbench two times bigger than what it previously was, various medical tools and equipment hanging on the side.
“ This is TT-570. 3 platinum and one gold confirmed. One pulmonary hemorrhage. Two in shock. One cranial fracture. Prep two freezers on the double ASAP.” The Trauma Team EMT grabs onto two handles in the workbench and pulls out a blocky device to place onto the student’s chest. Interlocks on each side of the device clamp down as the EMT taps buttons on it in a furious hurry. “ Administering 30 ccs of dopamine and 50 ccs of midazolam. Beginning installation of venous catherer.”
The EMT continues chattering into the radio, using her left hand to stick a airhypo down into the woman’s shoulder whilst jabbing the catheter straight into the chest. Connie wonders whether it’s TTI training or experience that allowed the EMT to know precisely where to enter the catheter into the subclavian without much training. She’s seen experienced doctors take 30 seconds. She’s seen techies who treat their gear with more care than how this EMT treats their patient.
Her eyes then narrow as a shadow appears deep within the fog. It stumbles out, the dusty mist parting in hacking coughs. It’s one of the gangsters. The graze on his left shoulder bleeds onto his ragged sleeveless shirt as he blinks blearily. His face lights up in vicious glee as he lifts up his pistol, taking aim at the unaware Trauma Team officer in front of him.
“ Behind you!,” Connie shouts, pointing over the EMT’s shoulder.
The EMT’s head perks up just in time for a round to spark off her helmet. She grunts in momentary annoyance In one smooth motion, the paramedic twirls around, raising her iron underneath her cheek, before pulling the trigger. Connie watched as a line of bullets stitched itself up from the thug’s chest to his cheek, sending him down onto the ground in a mist of blood. Walking over to the still breathing body, Connie flinches as the Trauma Team EMT fires two more shots in the guy’s dome, legs twitching with every bullet. The EMT then continues to work on stabilizing the patient, not minding the growing pool of blood on the ground behind her, as Connie feels the gills grow green.
Connie sees another shadow in the fog and braces herself in fear. It’s the Trauma Team commander, fortunately. She notices that his pristine helmet is now covered in splatters of blood as he walks to the EMT who folds out a stretcher to lay the patient out on.”
“ Max-Tac is gonna be here soon to mop up what’s left. Finish up before we get flatlined by those psychos.” The commander then nudges his head to the AV. “ Exit is 2 minutes unless you want to walk back to Watson all by yourself.”
“ Clear. Get Dobbs to help me with the stretcher.” The EMT replies back. The commander nods, satisfied before moving back into the fog.
It’s just the two of them. The EMT is still busy securing the patient to the stretcher, tying velcro straps and securing a breathing mask onto them. Once she’s done, there’s a brief moment of silence that’s interrupted by brief bursts of gunfire and cries in the distance. The EMT turns her head to look at Connie and she freezes up. Was Trauma Team going to zero her for interfering? Hell, why didn’t she run away? The EMT scratches the back of her head, unsure for a moment of what to say.
“ Thanks, kid.” The EMT softly says before digging into her belt and tossing her a nozzle tube. It slips in Connie’s hand as she catches it. Before Connie can ask what it’s for, the EMT points to her head. “ Something for the cut. Make sure it doesn’t go septic, right.”
Connie’s brow furrows in confusion as one of her hands reach towards her forehead. She feels the warm trickle of blood as she looks at her fingers, now doused in red. Connie doesn’t get the chance to say thank you as another one of the EMT’s emerges from the smoke. They crouch down, one on each side of the stretcher, before hoisting the patient up and carrying them to the AV.
“ Connie! CONNIE!”
Connie feels her mother’s arms wrap around her in a crushing hug. Whilst her mother continued checking her little angel’s face erratically for any signs of damage, Connie watched the AV slowly hover upwards, jets buffeting away the trash and litter that filled the courtyard. The turbines then angled forward, little jets of gas puffing out from the sides to stabilize the rectangular craft. The AV dove before transitioning into a soundless glide, swerving left behind the university’s library out of sight.
She didn’t speak a single word as her mother took a bus home to their sequestered little copse in Little China. Baba came back late from work at and began another one of his lectures on safety and responsibility before mother shut him up with a pointed glare. After they finished their dinner of crappy pre-pack, it was only until she was alone and by herself in the shower that she collapsed on the wet floor. Her skin felt foreign to her as she began digging into it with her nails, hyperventilating, as she saw the speckled drops of dried blood that were on the underside of her fingers.
She never wanted to feel like that again.
Never again.
She was twenty when she signed up for TTI. She was the only one out of her entire cohort who decided to listen to the TT recruiter and signed up. None of the corpo heirs or her chooms that she’d made in med-school wanted to join. They all looked at her as if she was insane and now, her parents were the new ones to join that crowd.
“ Hui Jiang - “ Connie trembled for a moment as her father spoke her Chinese name, the one that had been shedded to survive in Night City. “ - please cease this foolishness. Do you really think you can make a difference out there? You’re just another uniform, a tool for these corporations to use as they see fit! Trauma Team earned its reputation for a reason! You’ll die out there! ”
“ Trauma Team’s different. They operate on an objective code of neutrality. We serve all our clients equally, no matter their background. They’re the best of the best, baba. I don’t want to languish in NCMC until I turn into a mummy.”
“ Best of the best.” Her father repeated in a mocking tone. “ Trauma Team serve whoever shells out the most eddies for their platinum packages. Do you understand what that means? What if you’re forced to save a murderer? A crime lord? A cyber-psycho? What then? Are you ready for that burden?”
“ It’s part of the job.” Connie sighed, looking down onto the table. “ This argument is moot, baba. I’m shipping out to Seattle next Monday.”
“ Very well.” Her father’s voice hitched for a moment, his voice more hoarse than ever. “ Leave. If you are determined to end up on the front page of NCT’s obituary, then, I will not stop you.”
And thus, began Connie’s 20 weeks of hell. The first week, she couldn’t take shits properly as her body struggled to adjust to the near sadistic physical regimens her TO’s put through. TT bootcamp for her was a mixture of NCPD SWAT training and studying for a medical PhD. A TT EMT was expected to know the exact location of every single spinal nerve within the vertebral column and where exactly to administer epidural stims without a proper scan whilst being versed enough to commit hostage-rescue ops.
By the time Connie made it out and started her tours, she was tossed in the meat-grinder of NC’s combat zones. TTI was beginning to regrow the roots it had lost since the 4th Corpo War and with their growth in profits came the installation of new FOBs and offices across Night City and most of NUSA. Recruitment grew and after five years of service, Connie was promoted to the role of Senior EMT in the TTI. Connie grew in renown in TTI for both her compassionate treatment of non-clients as well as her almost suicidal tenacity to rescue her clients, the former of which her COs viewed as her being “ emotionally compromised on the line of duty”.
Then, it all came to shit one day. It was a normal call. A group of mercs who’d managed to pool together their eddies for one license in Heywood. A standard TT unit was assembled and when they got there, things seemed odd. No bodies on the ground. No signs of a firefight.
That was until their AV was crippled with a Kang-Tao EMP munition that sent Connie and her team tumbling down onto an electronics shop.
The situation had just transformed from a rescue to a firefight. The license was true and the client was injured but TTI had never considered that their client might have injured themselves on purpose. A group of Maelstroms had lured them into a trap with the goal being to hijack and commandeer their AV for their own use. Their comms were jammed thanks to Maelstrom netrunners.
Somehow, Connie and her team made it back to Watson with her team mostly unblemished and alive thanks to her leadership. However, with an arm missing and only a biro worth of blood left in her, Connie ended up on medical discharge for a month or so, receiving a new cybernetic arm courtesy of company policy and with over 2000 eddies of newly synthesized blood in her system.
Naturally, as TT began to reshuffle its books, Connie got axed off her position as Senior EMT. Elucidating the reasons behind her termination has been a constant source of frustration for Connie. Was it corporate backstabbing? One client complaint too many? Did her COs see her as a potentia liability? Regardless, she threw her generous severance package on the ground and with it, her company’s privileges. Whether out of good will or good luck, TTI didn’t stick to the standard protocol of removing company cybernetics, allowing Connie to retain much of her dignity as she packed her belongings and moved back to her familiar hometown of Little China in Watson.
No longer being a TTI employee, Connie hitched up with the Tyger Claws as a lone merc for a while under the employ of Wakoko Okada. Then, in 2077, when Arasaka Tower got hit for the second time in the 21st century, Connie found herself scratching the bottom of the barrel to find gigs and contracts to pass the time as mercs flooded the street, eager to pick up the remains of the Arasaka empire.
Nowadays, you can find her in some seedy corner of the Afterlife, schmoozing away on sake and reminiscing about the good old days of the 2050s.
//PLOTS AND GOALS:
CONNIE ZHU’S TO-DO LIST
1) Find out whoever fucking axed me from TTI and put their ass permanently in a cryo-bag.
2) Pay rent
3) Try to stop Dad’s hawker business from going under (and repair relationship?)
4) Find a good gig and fast.
//SKILLS: You don't become a senior Trauma Team EMT by pulling a few strings to work your way up the corporate hierarchy. Under Carrie Lachanan's guidance, the only way to move up the ladder is to prove yourself. Connie is a skilled paramedic and emergency surgeon, able to conduct routine amputations and open air surgeries to save an individual's life. If you don't want to be flatlined, she's the gun-toting angel you can rely on to save your ass from entering the pearly gates too early and having your sins judged by whatever cruel god made this sick joke of a world.
In addition, Connie is also trained in urban combat situations and hostage rescue operations, having coordinated a Trauma Team unit of her own for a period of five years before being terminated by TTI. Things often go pear-shaped in every Trauma Team call which has fostered a sense of adaptive intuition and reactive planning in Connie to allow her to respond to every situation with a calm and steady countenance.
//EQUIPMENT:
KT G-75 Submachine Gun - "Xiao" : The bastardized inbred cousin of the tried and true iron of Trauma Team International. This sucker performs admirably in your typical firefights but without the fun of automated reloading , custom porting to ensure zero heating issues and hyper-spectral radar guidance system. It sure does sucks that your guaranteed, free company supply of guided 5.45 mm hollow-point gyro-ammo runs dry after you terminate your contract, doesn't it?
Don't answer that question.
Medkit - A titanium toolkit containing all the bells and whistles needed to conduct back-alley surgeries and med ops in the most hazardous of environments. From air-hypos filled with various stimulants, pressurized tanks full of liquid oxygen, bonesaws, scalpels, stents and the works. Just don’t expect Connie to work as a ripper doc. It’s not her specialty.
Modified Trauma Team BDU - Connie’s old TT uniform, now with several more holes, scratches and with that classic logo scratched off, lest, she wants to risk a corporate lawsuit. The shins and elbows of the suit have been reinforced with kevlar padding with a thick plate of ballistic armor-gel at the front to support her vitals.
//CYBERWARE:
TTI-ECP-G-2060-V4.5 Articulating M-Class Cyberlimb (Modified) - The best that the nano-surgeons and biosculpters of Trauma Team International have to offer. Composed out of a mixture of lightweight ceramics and hybrid alloy poly-laminates, this cybernetic limb allows a higher degree of rotation and flexibility than normal organic homologues, allowing full 360 degree rotation of ulnar-radial joints. In addition, the synthetic carbon-myofilaments allow Connie to crush metal in her grip.
In addition, this cyber-arm still contains the full integrated suite of surgical and medical equipment that Trauma Team International gives to veteran Trauma Team paramedics including but not limited to: a broad spectrum medscanner, a high-voltage defibrillator, a selection of automated hypodermic syringes and a suture applicator.
Biomonitor - A built-in biomonitor on Connie’s left arm that reads out her vital signs. Can be customized in a variety of 64 colors.
Defunct Smart-Link - Allows a user to interact with smart-weaponry if it was operational. Thanks to TTI's built in ICE, no ripper doc thus far has been able to crack through it to allow Connie to use it.
M A C K I E R A N I C E N I M A C K I E R A N I C E N I
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"The longer I live, the stronger my notion that this is the world we deserve."
C H A R A C T E R P O R T R A I T C H A R A C T E R P O R T R A I T
C H A R A C T E R S U M M A R Y C H A R A C T E R S U M M A R Y
Mac Kieran Iceni _________________________________________________________ 31 | ♂ | Heterosexual _________________________________________________________ Single | Solo | Ex-Iceni/Ex-UK Penal Legionnaire/Ex-Raffen Shiv
P H Y S I C A L P R O F I L E P H Y S I C A L P R O F I L E
▼ P H Y S I C A L T R A I T S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ► Build - Stocky ► Ethnicity - White British ► Hair Colour - Dark Brown ► Eye Colour - Brown ► Other - Blade scarring across forehead and right cheek. Bullet wound scarring on upper chest and lower back. Blade scarring on stomach and hip. Facial tattoo that shows forced conscription into the United Kingdom's Penal Legion and years served. Many tattoos covering arms and torso. No piercings. No visible cybernetics. -
C H A R A C T E R N O T E S C H A R A C T E R N O T E S
▼ K N O W N A S S O C I A T E S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ► Sebastian Ibarra - Mac's primary source of work since coming to Night City. ► Lisa Fletcher - A fellow ex-tribesmen of Del Lobo's and the closest thing to a friend that Mac has in N.C. ► Nic Aisling "Ash" Iceni - A 26 year old woman and former friend and clan member of Mac's. They looked out for each other both as kids and in prison. For an unknown reason Aisling left England and came to Night City.
▼ C H A R A C T E R I T E M S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ► Malorian Overture (Expensive) - A double-action .42 calibre heavy revolver. ► M-10 AF Lexington (Basic) - A lighter automatic handgun, usually worn with a suppressor attached. ► Kukri (Basic) - A machete-esque curved blade with a razor sharp cutting edge and tip. ► Thorton Mackinaw Larimore (Expensive) - One of the few luxury items Mac owns. This truck is his main form of transport and his home away from home. He keeps a sleeping bag, tent and a few essential supplies in the rear. ► Muscle and Bone Weave (Expensive) - Biomodification that uses nanites to thread microscopic artificial fibres through muscle and bone tissue, making the recipient stronger and more resistant to damage.
▼ S K I L L S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ► CQB Training and Experience - Growing up in a tribe of literal eco-warriors, surviving his teenage years in wars and free fire zones, living through four years on a brutal prison island and then not only surviving, but excelling after conscription into a military force used mostly as cannon fodder has left Mac an efficient, if not unorthodox warrior. He excels at getting the job done even without high level equipment or intel, having had to survive everything in life so far on his wits and weapons alone. He is quick and aggressive in a fight, able to strategize calmly even under extreme pressure and often turn the tide of a fight he's on the wrong side of. To both his credit and detriment, he has very rarely been on the advantageous side of a battle. He's the perpetual angry underdog and fights as such. ► Educated - Mac is one of the shrinking minority lucky enough to have been given something of an education. The Iceni knew very well that the ruling class and corporations controlled the population in large part thanks to their attacks on education and idealism. The ignorant were easiest to control and corral after all. To combat this The Iceni modelled themselves keepers, collecting and distributing to the tribe all pieces of knowledge they could get their hands on, largely in the form of old college textbooks and scientific journals. Going even further they accurately surmised that the present would be misrepresented just as the past had been, so they started writing it down. When it was inevitably twisted they kept and remembered the truth. As a result Mac has a better understanding of both the past and present than many folk, as well as a basic knowledge of maths, science and literature. -
C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T
Mac grew up in the United Kingdom, a lifelong member of a tribal and nomadic faction called the Iceni. With the islands increasingly being torn apart by corporations, gangs and governmental politics and poisoned and polluted; mostly in the name of profit the majority never saw, a large demographic of the island's inhabitants became sick of this status quo and longed for simpler, environmentally cleaner and less corrupt days.
A group of such people became the Iceni, a faction inspired by the Brittonic tribe of the same name, and especially its queen Boudica. At first they simply wanted to be left alone to wander the countryside, making their homes in what remained of the forests, hills and lakesides of the kingdom. They were a mostly peaceful tribe outside of the small wars and skirmishes they had with more aggressive nomadic groups. As more and more of the island was taken by corporations to be exploited and polluted and their way of life became threatened they started becoming far more antagonistic however.
It wasn’t long before they were attacking corporate interest sites and fighting back against what they believed to be a blight to all natural good. These activities put all sorts of hunters on the clan's trail, so to make their hunt as difficult as possible they largely stuck to living in free fire zones. This was a double edged sword, as the extremely dangerous areas protected them from outside excursions but also made it so they had to be extremely combat efficient and wary to survive inside of them.
They fought a good fight against the corps for a time, even taking out especially insidious corpo’s in London once or twice, but the forces they were up against were simply too well funded and too well trained and armed for them to have any long term hope at impeding their progress. The more corpo's they killed and sites they destroyed the more the forces after them grew. Gradually more and more of The Iceni were killed or imprisoned, as they were hounded to the ends of the isles by corporate funded military and police forces alike.
By the time Mac was 21 most of the tribe had been annihilated, and he himself was caught and imprisoned during a raid. He was sentenced to life but only ended up locked up for four years, refusing to give up any information on the hideouts or possible plans of what remained of his clan during that time, despite frequent physical and psychological torture. Once the cops and corpo's were sure they wouldn't get anything out of him they shipped him off to the Isle of Wight, a prison island.
It was more like a city run by prisoners, with crime of every kind, a lot of which being cannibalism a daily, if not hourly occurrence. Eventually almost all of the Iceni were killed or captured and they quickly became a governmental afterthought, with some hilarious bigwig corpo-cunt having the idea to release Mac after a compulsory four year period of indentured soldiering. Apparently he thought it'd be funny having Mac do the work of those who had caught him.
Mac agreed, so long as the children of the Iceni the government had imprisoned on the Isle would be pardoned at the end of his service. Probably not expecting Mac to last even a few months, the government capitulated. He was to be part of an initiative the government had put in place to put violent, combat-skilled offenders to work in small military units to quell the ever-present and uncontrollable gangs in the many urban centres throughout the kingdoms. The idea was to free up a little space in the UK's massively overcrowded prison system whilst also gaining a foothold in chaotic areas.
The chosen prisoners were to be tattooed, chipped and tracked during jobs, with even the suspicion of escape plans or any transgression taken as proof of the impossibility of rehabilitation and punishable by summary execution. The government called them Penal Legionnaires. After surviving the first year of conscription with good behaviour and supposed dutiful service he was "rewarded" with standard UK Combined Forces biomodification, something he didn't want, especially as a reward from the government but didn't exactly get a say in.
His conscription finally ended three years later and he was released along with the few Iceni children, now teens who had been lucky enough to survive. Refusing continued military service as a free man despite the offer of a very lucrative contract, Mac tried to move on, mostly by helping the kids as much as he could to settle somewhere as safe as possible.
His clan dead, imprisoned or scattered to the wind and everything they had hoped and fought for ruthlessly crushed, Mac found himself free but alone, a lost soul without a map. To see and live among the isles now caused him great pain, like watching as the last fragment of home and beauty was tortured and lost and not being able to do a thing for it. He made the decision to leave the country, having heard that the N.U.S.A was large enough for a person or even a clan to get lost in.
In the following two years Mac travelled across the ocean, fell in with a raider type nomad group called Del Lobo's and then left not so long after in disgust when they started doing jobs for the corporate bitches they had previously fought against. He'd done similar in the past to save his own life, but he sure as hell wasn't going to do so again just for profit. Especially if it meant attacking those who had no way to defend themselves.
Finding himself not far from Night City upon leaving Del Lobo's he decided to head there, it being a place where a man of his specific talents could find plenty of work. The city innately repulsed him, but at this point so did the world. He’d found no evidence that his version of happiness or peace could be found on Earth, not outside of a few happy but now corrupted by loss and sadness memories anyhow.
D E T A I L E D A P P E A R A N C E D E T A I L E D A P P E A R A N C E
Mac is a man of average height with an athletic, leanly muscled build who generally finds it quite easy to blend in most places. The scars and military tattoos on his face are among his most conspicuous visible features, but being scarred and tattooed is far from uncommon, especially among the company mercs tend to keep. His features are hard and angular, with slight wrinkles already forming at his mouth and up on his forehead, despite his relative youth. Dark brown head and facial hair blend well with chocolate brown eyes to altogether form a rather attractive visage. Not that it matters much, for Mac wouldn't know the first thing about using sex to his advantage.
His unclothed body reveals by far his most distinct characteristics, with both his torso and arms being covered in Celtic and pagan tattoos. His back is covered almost entirely by a Tree of Life, his chest is a mural of ravens and an artistic interpretation of The Morrigan. His arms are an amalgamation of triskele, spirals, wheel of Taranis, triquetras, knots and animals made up of spirals and ancient pagan inspired design. The artistry is interrupted only by the occasional scarring of past bullet, blade and bludgeon wounds.
Stylistically as relates to clothing Mac wouldn’t seem too out of place in the west at any point in the last century. His wardrobe mostly consists of various vintage-seeming leather jackets, jeans, boots and sneakers. The only thing really distinct about his style are the ballistic vests he invariably wears underneath his jackets, or perhaps the bulky handle of a revolver or handgun jutting out somewhere, but even those don’t get much of a second glance in Night City.
Possibly the only thing perceptive folk really find off about Mac is his composure. He’s unusually and coldly confident and rather direct for a man in a world and profession of extreme violence. He walks among gangers, killers, psychopaths and sadists alike with a reserved, almost tranquil disposition some find eerie. Employers often expect their hired killers to be quick to anger or at least annoyance, but with Mac they get the opposite. People are generally quite wary of unpredictability in a world of extreme risks.
P L O T ( S ) & G O A L ( S ) P L O T ( S ) & G O A L ( S )
Mac is a man almost completely ideologically at odds with the world he finds himself in. Raised to treasure and live off of the earth and land, he sees it polluted and slowly dissipated. Raised to put loyalty to friends and family above everything and to see a corporate or government paycheck as dishonourable, he finds himself in a world where friends murder each other for the latter and folk like him are forced to degrade themselves or be crushed by those who will. It is a life he despises, yet one he must learn to live with… Or not.
Mac must try to find a way to live as a mercenary whilst staying as close to his beliefs as possible, or else do away with them and become someone he doesn’t recognise. Night City doesn’t suffer principles in its survivors for very long, so Mac must find a balance between who he has always strived to be and who he must actually be and hope that he can live with what that eventually makes of him.
Currently Mac is taking what jobs he’s offered and hoping against hope that they don’t put him into a moral spiral, and maybe, just maybe that he’ll meet people in such a hellscape of a city that don’t continue to fuel his suspicion that humanity was an unfortunate misstep in evolution. Deep down he wants to feel the sense of belonging and idealism he felt in his youth, and if human goodness can exist in a place that wages constant, unyielding war against it perhaps there’s hope, however small for people somewhere.
"Trust issues in this line of work should be inevitable."
//C H A R A C T E R P O R T R A I T //C H A R A C T E R P O R T R A I T
//C H A R A C T E R S U M M A R Y //C H A R A C T E R S U M M A R Y
Conrad Louis-Callaghan _________________________________________________________ 35 | ♂ | Bisexual _________________________________________________________ Single - Widower | Solo | Afterlife Merc / Ex-NetWatch
//P H Y S I C A L P R O F I L E //P H Y S I C A L P R O F I L E
▼ P H Y S I C A L T R A I T S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ► Build - Athletic, average build, tall ► Ethnicity - White-European ► Hair Colour - Black ► Eye Colour - Faded Blue ► Other - Old, small burn mark on right cheek, small blunt-force-trauma scarring on back and blade scar on left shoulder. -
//C H A R A C T E R N O T E S //C H A R A C T E R N O T E S
▼ K N O W N A S S O C I A T E S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ► Elyse Louis-Callaghan - Conrad's younger sister, and only living family member. She works at a small electronics store in Westbrook.
► Norman Reiner - An old NetWatch agent, still within the group. Sometimes fixed Conrad up with Merc work or assisted in netrunner-based jobs.
▼ C H A R A C T E R I T E M S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ► Constitutional Arms Liberty (Expensive) - A robust 12-round, semi-automatic handgun. Conrad's choice of carry, typically tucked in an underarm holster.
► Militech M221 Saratoga (Basic) - A famous, albeit common, submachine gun. A reliable fire rate saved for jobs that require more firepower. Not for concealed carry.
► NetWatch NetDriver Mk. 4 (CorpSpec) - Although considered CorpSpec, this out of date cyberdeck of the far more powerful NetWatch NetDriver Mk. 5 in current use holds its own as a comparably useful Merc tool. Installed w/ Cyberware Malfunction, Breach Protocol, Short-Circuit and Ping
► Tire Iron (Basic) - A reliably shaped club for desperate beatdowns. Good for incapacitation, but can typically be fatal.
► Old Ballistic Vest (Basic) - A hand-me-down of sorts. Wearable under and above shirts, but does a better job at withstanding blunt-force than stopping anything high-calibre. Once stopped a pistol bullet - once...
▼ S K I L L S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ► NetWatch Trained - Having served NetWatch for just over a decade, necessary skills surrounding the Net and Quickhacks are part and parcel with the portfolio.
► Dexterous Hand - NetWatch typically required fast hands to make for quick work. Another quick trick he learned was his way around handguns above all other forms of weaponry, being a personal favourite for concealment and reliability.
► Negotiator - Though he lacks the spirit of his happier days, he still knows that words and bargains can make for bloodless reward. Handy for fixer negotiation, job offers and anything that can bring out an extra Eddie or two. A lack of trust, however, is always at odds with this, and can combat it when he needs it the most.
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//C H A R A C T E R H I S T O R Y //C H A R A C T E R H I S T O R Y
Conrad Louis-Callaghan's heritage was all over the place, but concentrated from two areas in particular: North America and Western Europe, most likely France. Early on in life, he lived an almost anti-nomad lifestyle, in that his family were constantly on the move, but were never attached to a clan of any sorts during such times. He was the eldest of two children, the other being his sister Elyse, and despite financial hardships, his mother and father retained a healthy relationship. Wherever in France he was born, a few months later they'd left, and such an early detachment from any sort of land had set a precedent for what constituted as a home for the young boy. Back then, a home was the people he could be surrounded by. Nowadays, Conrad's view has warped.
At age sixteen, his family finally found a place to stop running. Night City - City of Dreams. Such an ever-enticing slogan. Life was difficult at first but a sudden boom in financial stability for the family landed them with the first real apartment they'd had in years. His mother went on to work as a Doll on the opposite side of the city and his father distanced himself with work under the radar. Ironically, family settlement was what tore the family in two. Elyse kept close tabs on Conrad as he fell in and out of small street life, working odd-jobs, such as an important step at a cyberware store. After he was fired at age nineteen, he swiped a cyberdeck and fell into bad blood with the owner, who in turn made do with a partnered netrunner to financially ruin and disrupt the family in which he hailed from. Things spiralled out of control a little. Conrad's father took to pursuing the netrunner and booked himself a body bag. It was only when NetWatch picked up on the week-long spree when they came across Conrad, who was halfway on his trip to foolishly go after the netrunner through The Net.
Though NetWatch did the work, the Agent on call - one Najee Chabani - saw to help alleviate the family's financial collapse. He offered Conrad a job and training under NetWatch, arguing that his desire to go after the netrunner was full of all the spunk and drive of an Agent, just without the necessary skills. Conrad agreed fairly quickly and soon detached his life from Elyse and his mother.
Conrad spent years working his way up as a trainee to certifiable Agent. Along the way, he fell in love in a volatile working environment. Beatriz Soria - another NetWatch Agent stationed near his regular beat. Her job was centred around Blackwall protection. Of course, the height-of-his-life Conrad and her hit off rather well, and five years later, they were married. All romance, probably the best and only great thing he could think of happening in Night City besides the stable yet dangerous career path he'd taken. But, two years into their marriage, the cold hand of NetWatch espionage played its deck. Beatriz began working with the Voodoo Boys in breaching the Blackwall. A two week game of cat and mouse ensued, and eventually Conrad reached her before the assigned agent in pursuit. He was still caught in the belief that she could be reasoned with. Yet, despite their time together, her beliefs were too steadfast, and in violent confusion, a gunfight broke out. Seconds later, Beatriz was dead. Conrad's life soon spiralled downward.
In 2074, Conrad left NetWatch two months after Beatriz's death. He fell into a long-felt depression. His home, the one he dedicated to be around, had done everything behind his back, and it edged him into a dark place. For two years, he became addicted to Glitter, and spent the first year stumbling around in brood. It wasn't until his mother died of a drug overdose in 2076 that he was hit with a sensory restart. In eight months, he'd been funded by Elyse to get off of Glitter and to seek employment. Another month later, he discovered of his father's actual line of work as a Solo Merc in Night City, albeit an ill-fated one. Without too much money to his name, he made his dive just before the turn of 2077, with his skills as an ex-NetWatch employee to bolster his porftolio. Unfortunately, it's seemed that, even still, he never really healed from the scars of Beatriz.
//D E T A I L E D A P P E A R A N C E //D E T A I L E D A P P E A R A N C E
Back in his prime, there was a lot more professionalism, and arguably more Merc, to the look of Conrad. But the last few years had their toll on the man. Longer, shaggier hair now coats his skull and neatly organised stubble has been replaced with a less-stylised moustache and beard. The smoothness to his face has been doused in rugged coarseness. And worst of all, the life in his eyes has dimmed and dulled in the face of struggle. Thus, he appears to be a brooding individual, one who sometimes comes across as uncaring, both in attitude and appearance, but to those who garner more than a minute with him, the looks often can seem deceiving.
Fashion was never a big game, even before his downward spiral. Corporate business wear was replaced by long coats, practical sets of cargo trousers, jackets and plain button shirts to hook holsters underneath his arms. He never stands out for anything, though he does still own a business suit, just in case. If any is provided, he clenches on to the NetWatch setup of putting protective vests underneath his main shirt, though they're more for assurance and second-chances than anything else.
Cybernetically, the somewhat well-built Conrad is surprisingly bare for most NetWatch agents. Apart from a barely functional Ballistic Coprocessor - which itself acts more as plating on his hand than its original intended function - his pride and joy comes from an out of date NetWatch NetDriver Mk. 4; a heft downgrade from what NetWatch runs presently but on par with competitive Mercs. Other than that, he's only managed to remain mostly barebones on enhanced cybernetics that are beyond netrunning, for the cost was always just out of reach.
//P L O T ( S ) & G O A L ( S ) //P L O T ( S ) & G O A L ( S )
Conrad Louis-Callaghan is your man who'd risen from hardship, only to go crashing back down. Trust and personal connections are the mainstay of his contribution to the cast, whilst also adding the ex-Corp layers of connections that come of use to a Merc. The betrayal and death of his wife is still a very real trauma that haunts him, and his side-gigs may involve him investigating more and more into the remnant mess of the Voodoo Boys, of whom were supposedly ransacked at the turn of the year. However, his main function among the sea of Mercs is finding personal meaning left in life and reviving the once told motto of his family: Home is those in which you are with. It's a lot more reserved in terms of the grand scale of the city, being more of a micro-personal journey to recovery through those he may end up working with, or the very real and potential threat of slipping further down the rabbit hole as the Merc life eats him up.
Incidentally, another potential side-gig would be figuring out as an individual what he believes in. NetWatch was his life, but once out, there's a gaping hole left in ones life. As a Merc, should he still do what he did before, or should he detach himself completely until he can build a new Conrad, one who's defined not by the badge he wore but the marks he leaves in the Merc Life, and for the impacts he makes on others he may grow to love, hate or collaborate with.
C H A R A C T E R P O R T R A I T C H A R A C T E R P O R T R A I T
C H A R A C T E R S U M M A R Y C H A R A C T E R S U M M A R Y
Edward “Ned” Kelley AKA Dead Kelley _________________________________________________________ 29 | ♂ | Pansexual _________________________________________________________ Single | Assassin | Afterlife Mercenary
P H Y S I C A L P R O F I L E P H Y S I C A L P R O F I L E
▼ P H Y S I C A L T R A I T S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ► Build - Tall, Lean, Athletic ► Ethnicity - Caucasian ► Hair Colour - Brown/Red ► Eye Colour - Blue ► Other -Cybernetics, Scar on his throat, multiple tattoos on his back, arms and chest -
C H A R A C T E R N O T E S C H A R A C T E R N O T E S
▼ C H A R A C T E R I T E M S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ► Techtronika SPT32 Grad AKA - Whisper - Ned’s pride and joy. Heavily modified, it can fire explosive and armour piercing rounds, with bullets also being able to ricochet off of surfaces.
► Midnight Arms SOR-22 - The SOR-22 is a high precision, semi-automatic, mid to long range rifle. It holds nine rounds and possesses a high fire rate, though suffers from high recoil and a slow reload speed.
► Constitutional Arms Unity - The Unity is a semi-automatic, magazine-fed pistol, with a capacity of 12 rounds
► Electric Baton - An electrical charged club often used by Militech personnel
► Yaiba Kusanagi CT-3X - Ned’s primarily mode of transportation, stolen from a Tyger Claw he assassinated.
▼ K N O W N A S S O C I A T E S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ► ”Pathfinder” - a mysterious figure from Ned’s past. The mere mention of his name makes the usually stoic Ned lose his composure.
► Richard ”Dirty Dick” Van Sutter - Ned’s former CO and current contact within MaxTac.
►”Black” Alice Akane - A Netrunner and information broker that Ned often works with.
▼ S K I L L S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ► Sharpshooter - Ned is arguably one of the top snipers in all of NC. A patient and precise killer. He is not adverse to waiting days or even weeks for the perfect shot. With his gun and personal modifications, he rarely misses a target.
►Stealth- Part in parcel of being a sniper means moving around quietly and hiding to wait for the perfect chance, having made a career of this Ned has essentially turned himself into a ghost. He is fleetfooted, able to silently and easily move around areas be they slippery rooftops of NC or the dust filled canyons of the badlands.
►CQC - Having worked both NCPD and MaxTac he has seen his share of the action up close and personal, so Ned is well versed in hand to hand combat but he does prefer the time and space to line up a shot.
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C H A R A C T E R H I S T O R Y C H A R A C T E R H I S T O R Y
Edward “Ned” Kelley got his name from the famous Australian outlaw from the early 19th century.
By all accounts, he was born and raised in Adelaide but somehow wound up in Night City at the age of eleven with his mother Esther; one of the earliest dolls to ever work at Clouds. She rarely had time to look after her son, so Ned was often left in the care of “Padre” Sebastian Ibarra. In Ned, Padre found a willing student in the studies of the good book and the two spent hours pouring over religion and philosophy amidst the comings and goings of the Padre’s other disciples, the Valentino’s and Mercs of Heywood. These early encounters set within Ned an appreciation for the so-called outcasts of society. They were just as human, if not more so than everybody else. It was just a shame that people neglected to see that. As he matured, Ned would venture into deeper territory when it came to his spirituality and began to adapt a variety of different ethos from different walks of life into his own code of honour and conduct; essentially building his own personal faith.
After earning enough of a nest egg, Esther Kelley opened up her own little bar in Heywood called “Outback”. It wasn’t anything special and would never rival the likes of the Afterlife or El Coyote Cojo but it was a small slice south of heaven that made Ned feel like he was home. Not by design, Outback became a resting place for the cops of Night City, a safe place away from the corpo’s and scavs that dwelled within the NC that they had to to deal with on a daily basis. It would be through this connection that Ned would find his next path in life.
When he came of age, the young man from Heywood signed on with the Night City Police Department. As with most, he started on the beat and began his career being the lowest form of shit there possibly was. Thankfully, due to a superior knowledge of the street and an aptitude for firearms, Ned would soon be recruited into MaxTAC. Things did not go according to plan for Ned during his first MaxTAC mission. Called down to Pacifica for a Cyberpsycho sighting, he and his team infiltrated a factory. Unfortunately politics had been at play the entire time, as it too often was in NC. The entire mission turned out to be an ambush. One of the team members had gotten on the wrong side of the wrong mayoral candidate which resulted in the hiring of the Animals to take out the squad and make it look like a failed mission. Everybody was zeroed, save for Ned and his CO Dick Van Sutter, who had survived by sheer luck. Although Ned did briefly flatline for a short amount of time. During his recovery, Ned leaned heavily into his faith and rediscovered himself somewhat. When he returned to active duty, the boys at MaxTac had rechristened him from Ned to “Dead Kelley”. H Upon his return to the field, “Dead Kelley” began to make a name for himself as one of the top sharpshooters that MaxTac had to offer. Very few were as deadly with a rifle as him and he swiftly began to rack up the body count. Many began to believe that he had lost a part of himself after he was zeroed, a part that made him more human. Ask Ned, and he’d say he found something. After a few years cleaning up after the cyberpsychoes, Dead left MaxTac, the exact reasons of which he has never shared. He began working as a merc for his old mentor Padre as well as various other fixers in Night City.
Slowly but surely, Dead has been building a reputation for himself as an absolute professional.
D E T A I L E D A P P E A R A N C E D E T A I L E D A P P E A R A N C E
Ned is a tall, lean young man with thick, long auburn hair and luminous cybernetic blue eyes. He stands around 6’2 and weighs in at a trim 220lbs. Sans garb he is in tremendous physical condition with tight strong muscular definition on his arms and torso. He does not like to rely just on his cybernetics so being in top shape can only work to his benefit.
Ned has multiple tattoos, each representing a different aspect of his belief system. His left arm is covered in ink that depicts Japanese kanji, cherry blossoms and a samurai clashing with an oni. He has a cross on his left pectoral to represent Christianity and a bullseye on his left hand. Ned’s back carries the face of a demon and his right arm is etched with Nordic tribal symbols. On his throat is a small scar which he refuses to cover up.
As far as his body modifications are concerned, Ned has tried to keep it fairly minimalist. Both eyes have been replaced with experimental optics which enchanted Ned’s vision even more than many could believe possible. When working in conjunction with certain cyberware, it allows him to see around corners and with different displays. He has a built in optimal camo but this is currently malfunctioning and not in use. He also has various other generic enhancements that allow for him to survive the harsh conditions of Night City.
Clothing wise, Ned dresses well in cheaper versions of a corpo style. He enjoys looking good in suits and smart clothes as it makes him feel more like a professional. However when working as the assassin Dead Kelley, he conmbines some left over MaxTac gear with a triweave hood to make blending in that much easier. He carries both his rifles on his back with his side arm and baton strapped to each thigh.
When conversing, Ned is quite personable and even warm which is in direct contrast to when he is working, when everything becomes matter of fact and blunt. He always speaks calmly with a monotone almost fluid voice which harkens to his spirituality.
P L O T ( S ) & G O A L ( S ) P L O T ( S ) & G O A L ( S )
Dead Kelley is a character whom I’ve designed to be the quiet man. He has little care for the politics and bravado of the Night City regulars. He is someone who has honed his entire body into a deadly weapon but has complete and utterly disconnected his soul from what he is doing. The Ned on a gig is a dangerous tool that can be used from a distance or up close and personal, making him a valuable asset to any crew. Outside of that, he is a man of faith living in a society that has none. He believes in the afterlife and God, yet he does not believe that his actions have any merit to where goes when he eventually catches a bullet to the head. It is Ned’s body that does the killing, not his soul. Life is but a dream.
Storyline wise, Ned’s side gig surrounds the events of his leaving MaxTac and the mysterious Pathfinder. He is trying to leave all of that behind him and move forward with his new career but the past keeps coming back to chase him down. He considers himself a ghost bit right now he is a ghost that is being haunted.
Name: John Brown Age 30| Male | Heterosexual Marital Status: Single | Occupation: Mercenary/Ex Corpo Agent | Affiliation: Militech (former) ► Build - Well toned, physically fit, appears mostly human with little sign of augmentation. ► Ethnicity - Caucasian ► Hair Colour - Black ► Eye Colour - hazel ► Other - None of note aside from standard augmentation that everyone would need in night city.
Character History: Born into a family of soldiers his ties to Militech was not to far from what you would have expected from the start. His family history of serving in the United States army sustained even through into the New United States. Growing up around military styled soldiers, and business strongmen John's experience around guns, and weapons were nothing to scoff at. As a child he received a through education in both literacy, and arms bonding with younger children that were like him as they were raised to enforce the new status quo of 'order' as it was in the modern day. He grew to enjoy the process of training, learning, bettering yourself to become a better overall individual. A reward for training was that you knew mistakes you could make, and avoiding them in real life. As a teenager he started to go along to fight off gangs who tried to make moves on family, and friends of the Brown Family, and Militech. He dreamed of a better America one day but...soon that young man who though of a better day started to grow more and more disinterested in dreaming. As he ended life after life from a range with his guns, and with groups of well trained individuals he thought of how wretched the existence was of people. He gradually became more use to ending human life to the point where it barely even registered anymore.
Many would have called him a psycho, others around him just started calling as it was, normal. After taking the lives of many individuals he eventually came into the job of a Corpo Agent of Militech once he came of age. He was more willing to talk than others, and his ice cold personality and lack of real care of what others though of him made him an excellent field agent, and someone who could assist executives, and other less military inclined individuals to keep moving without fear of being executed. He received upgrades, and tech from his employers however unlike others he refrained from over augmentation taking what he needed such as implants in his retinas to help him shoot, in his feet, and legs to increase speed, and his hands and wrists to assist in hand-eye coordination and overall physical strength. While some would call him weak he grew to dislike machines. While there was a place for everything he hated the concept of being so replaceable that a broken motherboard would just get him thrown in a trash heap. Humans, as he preferred to think of them as, were unique individuals and while he had no qualms with ending them, or hurting them he respected them more than machines. Human error can be a hell of a thing but they were much less replaceable, and much more prone to being reasonable. As he saw it a single wrong code in the mainframe of machines would cause them to turn on allies, kill people they were meant to assist. Humans had reasons for turning money, betrayal, and or attitude. Thus making them predictable easier to take into account. As such he refused to become too much of a machine himself. He managed to sustain this with a track record of being quiet, and following orders.
After a period of service recent events in night city caused a disruption with Arishoka fleeing into the darkness those within Militech were quick to try and take control. As an Agent charged with getting rid of individuals he made the mistake relying on his commissioner. After a job he returned to Militech to find he had eliminated a notable member with the assistance of his team. His commissioner had taken a bribe from a higher up in command who was found out, and subsequently taken out. Caught in the crossfire he peacefully surrendered and was found to have only been following orders. He was given the boot from the company for PR's sake and his more advanced implants removed he found himself as mercenary taking bids for body guard jobs, and hit jobs on gangsters.
Character Appearance: A Caucasian male with pale white skin, black sunglasses, and clean cut hair he is an anomaly in the unusually rough Night City. Even after being booted from his Corpo Job he maintained his clean, and professional appearance to the best of his ability. He stands upright, and doesn't slouch and typically wears suits of the black variety. He holds himself with a sense of professional pride not wanting himself to be seen as nothing but the best. He is usually calm most of the time seeing outbursts of emotion as unreasonable, and a sign of weakness or frustration. He wants to show that he is the best by exuding a calming, and relaxed aura be it in killing another person, or threatening them. He tends to move his fingers when agitated by another individual.
Goals: Apex of Humanity - John's goal is a rather simple one to reach a point where he unquestionably one of the best warriors on the planet. He is already well trained but he believe he can be more. Having already done his best to learn control over his emotions he believes that his own inclusion, and interest in his previous system has blinded him to areas that would've made him stronger. He doesn't truly care if he is a leader, or has a home. He just wants to be better than everyone else. He takes jobs to live as any human does but in the end his goal will always be to improve himself even in the smallest of ways. Perhaps learning how to shoot better, or to fight better in closer combat, which he despises viewing it as barbaric and annoyingly personal. Perhaps it could simply be he wants to truly understand if he has real emotions or if his trip down the corpo step ladder has made him more machine in personality than he would like.
Militec Hand Eye Coordinator MK 1 - Out of date purchased from an old friend after his leave from militech. This cyberware assists in quickening the reflexes of the body to move quicker in response to an enemy. In other words it increases the response time, and natural reflexes of the user. It only makes him slightly faster than the average human however with his training already there is enhances his already honed skills further.
Vehicle: Quartz EC-L R275
Skills:
Eye of the Storm: Has the cool, and calm collectiveness of a trained killer. He ruthlessly dispatches his foes mercilessly, and does so with minimal fear, and calm. He is always level headed waiting for the right chance to erase a target.
Agent: Is a capable talker what he lacks in energetic, and rousing speeches he makes up for in how eerily professional he is about everything he does. Terrifying to those who take him seriously, hilarious to those who do not he knows how to handle a business contact, or someone raised in the upper echelon of humanity's social classes. He is always ready to make the kill having been trained to shoot if taken by surprise or attack with his hands if not.
Soldier for Hire: Trained by military soldiers, and honed in the heat of the Corpo world as an assassin he understands a wide variety of weapons and how they work. From Snipers, to sword, to pistols, and assault rifles it was a tool of the trade to be capable of bringing harm to enemies in every form possible. This extended to being able to torture someone for information when the need arose.
The Humanoid Terminator: His reflexes honed to a sharp point he is deadly in his accuracy with his shots. His few implants help him be able to precisely, and effectively eliminate a target with minimal shots, or stabs.
P H Y S I C A L P R O F I L E P H Y S I C A L P R O F I L E
▼ P H Y S I C A L T R A I T S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ► Build - Short/Petite ► Ethnicity - Multi-Ethnic ► Hair Color - Jet Black ► Eye Color - (Natural) Hazel ► Other - A few scars on her body from the accident -
C H A R A C T E R N O T E S C H A R A C T E R N O T E S
▼ C Y B E R W A R E ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ NOTE:- Due to genetic anomalies in her body unable to sustain implants, anti-rejection drugs are administered twice daily to normalize usage and lower the risk of cyberpsychosis. Typical side-effects can sometimes include suppression of emotions, loss of appetite, and lack of sexual stimulation. Weekly medical checkups are required per employer. ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ► Biotech MK.2- Cyberdeck with increased RAM recovery rate. ► Synaptic Signal Optimizer (SSO)- Enhances natural resistances and performance. ► Reinforced Tendons- Interfaces with SSO to help Qiara use her legs normally for a short time, pending any rejection. ► Self-ICE- Intrusion Detection, prevent hacking from enemies. ► Memory Boost- Optimize sync between brain and cyberware. ► RAM Upgrade- Support better processing speeds. ► EX-Disk- Increase in brain storage and processing.
▼ S K I L L S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ► Quick Study - She was blessed with epic study habits as well the ability to pick up new information at a greater pace. ► Cool Under Pressure - Probably more so in the Net than in the physical realm. ► Mental Alertness - Both in and out of the Net. ► NetSec Specialist - Well versed with the ins and outs of data fortress infrastructures, security protocols, and implementations in the Net. ► Low-level Techie - Knows enough to fix minor issues with her gear, but anything more requires expertise.
▼ E X T R A S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ► Trauma Team Status - Silver Status: funded by NightCorp as part of their medical benefits package.
▼ K N O W N A S S O C I A T E S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ► Name - Description/Relevance
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C H A R A C T E R H I S T O R Y C H A R A C T E R H I S T O R Y
No one ever said that just because technology was evolving, life would be that much simpler. And even in the virtual world of the Net, while a girl with physical handicaps could be anything she wanted, there was always that looming thought of having to return to her real life. To the aches, pains and rollercoaster of emotions...
Night City had been a place of dreams for the child who was born and raised in the bright lights and big sprawling city that never seemed to sleep. A girl who imagined herself as perhaps a beautiful dancer like the many she witnessed in the virtual world and in person at performances she had been treated to. If not a dancer, then a professional artist, painting wonderful portraits and landscapes for all to enjoy. Or music, yes! Music was the very soul of the city and its people, so why wouldn't a child of ten years want to contribute to such joy? To truly enjoy and be passionate enough to delve into the arts, bringing fresh ideas, inspiration, and a slower pace to a place that seemed to always be in a hurry was something of wonderment.
But, “dreams” were just that, and as her mother would later succumb to mental illness and eventually a brain aneurysm that took her life, Qiara felt alone and lost. It was then that the father she barely knew -the once councilman and mayor of Night City, Lucius Rhyne- stepped in to fill that void, knowing that his daughter needed love and guidance. He deemed that her mind needed to steer away from fantasy and fairy tales, and take root in what really mattered: innovation and growth. Or, better read as: “Work for a large and successful corporation and you'll make something of your life”.
Twenty-four years ago, Qiara was conceived out of an affair that Lucius had with a woman named Samantha Helios, who was not only a co-worker during his Cybernetic Law years, but a trusted friend. However, it was an affair that never surfaced for a variety of reasons -even after his unexpected death- and yet Lucius cared for his illegitimate daughter nevertheless through financial support, the best education opportunities, and visits when he could slip away from the public eye.
Among the many stories that her father would share, it was those that revolved around his mother, Vivian Rhyne, that genuinely gained her attention. Perhaps it was the way Lucius spun the narrative as though it were an adventure novel, but Q’s grandmother was a person who she began admiring and taking a deeper interest in as she got older. Not much was known about the woman’s personal life except through the accounts of her son, but what could be ascertained was she had been a loving and hard-working mother, a top-tier Netrunner, and brilliant Netwatch Agent. She was also known to be quite the “anonymous” patron for certain charities that fought homelessness and hunger, especially in the case of the City’s children.
However, the story tragically ended with her sudden capture by what was considered one of Rache Bartmoss’s rogue AI’s, while on a mission in the Net, and most likely now locked behind the Black Wall. However, with the help of Netwatch, Lucius had his mother’s physical body kept on life support and eventually put into a cryo chamber, hoping that one day her mind could be retrieved from the dark net.
By late adolescence, Qiara’s interest in the Net, and cybersecurity grew as she was enrolled in classes specific to the discipline, as well as absorbing as much information as she could through topical forums, deep dives into encrypted lockers that were designed for more advanced runners, and games that challenged her mind and reflexes while in the Net. But, there was no better experience than simply adventuring throughout the various networks, sometimes learning the hard way, but always finding a way out in the end.
Eventually needing an online persona, she took on the handle and likeness of “Kasumi Goto” from the Mass Effect series. A strong female archetype that stood for independence, and a skilled infiltrator and hacker who let her abilities do the talking, since she herself said very little otherwise.
A turning point in her life changed not only her physiological makeup, but her whole outlook on the future, as a stroll along the city streets resulted in a hit and run accident that left the girl in a coma. She awoke in the hospital, cut, scrapped, bruised, and without any feeling from the waist down. Unfortunately, the damage was too serious for surgery to be of help, or any cure possible, that would allow her to walk again without mechanical assistance. Cybernetic augmentations would have been a viable option, however, her genetic makeup for whatever reason rejected many conventional limb replacements that could have made walking possible again. So, as it happened, implants along her spine and neural network were placed, allowing her to maintain control of her legs for a short while. Although, she was, for the most part, resigned to a powered wheelchair.
Years passed, and a surprise invitation came to join the ranks of NightCorp, specifically as a Netrunner in their cybersecurity division, overseeing all of NightCity. Apparently, Lucius Rhyne had put in a good word for her with the company for two reasons: The first being that he was confident in her abilities as a “whitehat Netrunner with a conscience”, and the second, he hoped that she could use her own knowledge and the resources available to locate and retrieve his mother’s consciousness from the fragmented Net. It was a task that would be no easy feat, but Q had a few runner contacts she could call on for aid, including one whose life had been cut short.
T-Bug had been considered one of her closest friends, and while they had never met in person over the handful of years they knew one another, they chatted via the Net in some capacity almost daily. Unsurprisingly, Bug herself was quite the enigma, which is how she liked it considering her line of work, but she was good at what she did and much less reckless than the typical runner. Sadly, however, before Qiara had the chance to speak to her about the issue regarding her grandmother, T-Bug’s last job ended her life.
As if the death of one of her closest friends hadn’t been enough, her father -Lucius Rhyne- died unexpectedly, leaving an even larger void in the girl’s heart. It was clear that both the death of Bug and Lucius were no accidents and things were being set in motion in Night City that the young netrunner hoped to uncover, if for no other reason, to put their souls at final rest and her own mind at ease.
It was only after the death of Lucius Rhyne that NightCorp intervened, and took over funding Vivian Rhyne’s cold storage; perhaps out of respect for Lucius and Qiara, or for their own interests. In either case, she vowed to find her grandmother’s consciousness buried somewhere in the deep net and hopefully bring back one of the only family members she may have left in Night City.
When a break can be had in her otherwise busy work life, she enjoys the simpler things from those early years of “dreaming”. A few hours on piano or a cityscape painting from the balcony of her Heywood condo would set her mind at ease and realign the chaos within to at least sleep and make it through the next day. While she enjoys the perks of cyberware implants, specifically those that augment her already fine-tuned intelligence, the technology doesn’t always play nice with her biological makeup, and her reliance on antirejection drugs is something she absolutely despises about herself. But, the threat of cyberpsychosis or other mental illnesses were constantly looming like a dark cloud ready to swallow her whole.
Tech dependency was just part of living, especially with the career path she had chosen, but she simply hoped each day that she would not lose herself and hold onto humanity for as long as possible.
D E T A I L E D A P P E A R A N C E D E T A I L E D A P P E A R A N C E
Standing at just under five feet, Qiara doesn’t mind the fact that her smaller, petite stature keeps her hidden in plain sight which compliments her introverted nature. And being rather on the androgynous side, she leans toward gender neutral and simple wardrobes, especially those that don’t draw unwanted attention. She keeps her dark hair short most of the time, and a few ear piercings. Bound to a wheelchair since a vehicle accident rendered the lower half of her body paralyzed, she is forced to look up at most people regardless. Scars left over from the accident cover parts of her body, but those areas aren’t normally exposed. The most striking features -or so she’d been told on many occasions- are her hazel eyes, which seem to give off an iridescence depending on the lighting; perhaps a side-effect of her optical implants.
P E R S O N A L I T Y P E R S O N A L I T Y
Qiara is highly intelligent, yet introverted for the most part, and the social awkward side isn’t too far behind. Not to mention obsessive compulsive tendencies; she likes things the way she likes things, and there is usually very little you can do to dissuade her otherwise. But over time, and under the right conditions, she can be less rigid and a little more talkative to those she trusts. She tends to feel more at home jacked into the Net, and would more likely engage in conversations with a machine -cyborgs included- than any actual flesh and blood being.
She exudes confidence in her work life, but never attempts to flaunt or boast, leaving the accolades for others to revel in. However, don’t ever mistake her friendly disposition with weakness, as she will quickly remind you otherwise by disabling access to any technology you might deem important to your livelihood.
She was a long-time friend of T-Bug before her unexpected death during a job, and Qiara has had a tough time reconciling what had happened to her fellow runner. But while she knows Bug would never have worked a contract she couldn't handle, Q still blames the fixer Dex, as well as Jackie and V for her own personal reasons.
P L O T ( S ) & G O A L ( S ) P L O T ( S ) & G O A L ( S )
Her primary directive has always been to do what’s best for Night City, especially working for a company like NightCorp who are fully invested in its future welfare. She believes in the vision of the late Richard Night, as well as countless other “dreamers” who wish to only see their city and residents prosper.
Qiara is at her strongest behind a computer terminal or diving head first into the Net, and its many variations, providing support for field personnel in as many capacities as deemed possible while “jacked in”.
She is also very much invested in finding her grandmother, Vivian Rhyne, whose consciousness is (allegedly) still trapped in the Deep Net after being captured by one of Bartmoss’s rogue AIs decades prior. NightCorp does seem to have an interest in her as well, whether out of respect for Lucius, or the fact that she may have valuable information. Perhaps both?
“‘So few want to be rebels anymore. And out of those few, most, like myself, scare easily.'”
C H A R A C T E R P O R T R A I T C H A R A C T E R P O R T R A I T
C H A R A C T E R S U M M A R Y C H A R A C T E R S U M M A R Y
Silvain Cellier De Roos _________________________________________________________ 24 | ♂ | Homosexual _________________________________________________________ Single | Prostitute/Technician | Mox
P H Y S I C A L P R O F I L E P H Y S I C A L P R O F I L E
▼ P H Y S I C A L T R A I T S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ► Build - Tone ► Ethnicity - Caucasian ► Hair Colour - Brown ► Eye Colour - Green ► Other - A right arm sleeve tattoo going from the shoulder to the hand featuring a bluejay in the center -
C H A R A C T E R N O T E S C H A R A C T E R N O T E S
▼ C H A R A C T E R I T E M S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ► DR-12 Quasar (Basic) - A semi- automatic revolver. ► Tsunami Nue (Luxury) - A semi- automatic pistol with a XC-10 Alecto silencer. "Obtained" from a client that happened to be a Tyger Claw member. ► Xiphos (Basic) - A bronze one-handed shortsword from a past life. ► Tetratronic Mk.3 (Expensive) - System Reset, Reboot Optics, Sonic Shock, Synapse Burnout, and Memory Wipe ► Camillo RAM Manager (Expensive) - Enhanced with a RAM Upgrade ► Archer Quartz EC-L R275 (Basic) - An affordable sports car for the working people.
▼ K N O W N A S S O C I A T E S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ► Xian Zexian - Former member of the Tyger Claws and a netrunner for hire ► Marina Galanili - Stripper at Lizzie's Bar, member of the Mox, and a "close" friend ► Anatoliy "Crimson Iron" Kadnikov - A high-ranking Maelstrom member and frequent client
▼ S K I L L S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ► Gun In My Hand - The sheer determination that drives Silvain to do what he does best every single day. Whether it's pulling the trigger or meeting with a client, there's that willpower keeping him going until it's time to rest for the day. ► Sweet Tooth - Of course, willpower isn't enough for a person like Silvain to live one day at a time. Drugs, more specifically marijuana and happy pills, are sometimes the necessary push to wrap up an eventful day or get through the night with another client. And it hasn't stopped persisting in his mind for a long while. ► Dance in the Dark - Silvain witnessed his entire family being torn apart, overdoses, deaths, and even a cyberpsychosis or two. There were things that used to frighten him well, but an incident changed everything. Now that lack of fear is what drives him during a firefight regardless of his wellbeing. Of course, he isn't stupid and won't rush off into a fight without a plan. However, he won't have second doubts about killing someone or witnessing some terrible shit from a scavs' hideout. ► Ghosting - Given up by his mother, abandoned by his intended parents, and then witnessing the destruction of his chosen family caused Silvain to develop attachment issues towards any relationship—platonically and romantically. Back in New York City and Detriot, he often ghosted folks that he felt were getting close so as to avoid the headache of the inevitable demise. And being a sex worker ensured he was disparaged by society. The attachment issue is still persisting at Night City even among the Mox, with which he has only a few acquaintances. But he is slowly working on it with some help. -
C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T
Silvain Cellier De Roos was born in the heart of the European Union, Brussels, to a surrogate mother and delivered to her close friend and his husband. Both of them worked for Euro Business Machines—a megacorpration that generalized in the manufacture of computer products, information technology and electronics—as project managers for the various departments. Working for a prestigious European-based megacorporation guaranteed them a luxurious life.
But for Silvain, he was never able to truly experience it.
In 2061, the hacker collective, r4n, leaked classified documents that tied EMB to a bloody coup attempt in Germany. Public support for the megacorporation quickly fell along with its stocks as investors began pulling out. Eventually, the European Union unanimously approved plans to prevent EMB from going bankrupt by transferring ownership to the German government. In addition, warrants were issued to individuals responsible for the coup attempt.
Silvain and his surrogate parents fled Brussels and sought sanctuary from the authorities in Sparta. Whatever wealth left was spent in brides and living arrangements, leaving them dirt poor with an outstanding warrant on the parents. Given he didn't remember much of his early childhood, Silvain wasn't struggling as much as his parents were to adjust to their new lives. But, it was his teenage years proved to be challenging.
At the start of his third year at gymnasium, one of his parents was abducted and coincidentally ended up in the hands of the German authorities. A few months later, the other parent ended up overdosing on smash and nearly committed suicide due to its destructive side effect. Fortunately, paramedics responded quickly enough to save his life at a nearby hospital; and yet, the authorities were alerted and soon apprehend him upon his recovery.
Silvain was all by himself and living on the streets.
That all changed when the Sacred Band bought Silvain into their life. It was one of the many gangs within Sparta constantly fighting for control and influence. Unlike the other gangs, Sacred Band was a refuge for the marginalized and oppressed folks across Greece. And that made them frequent targets for the police state and rival gangs. Silvain had to pull his own weight and soon found his knack with technology, which was highly appreciated by other members.
By 2071, Silvain was routinely repairing or modifying cyberware, weapons, gear, whatever required his talents. Sometimes he had to play the role of a ripperdoc to patch up a busted cybernetic on a wounded gang member. Still, despite the hardships and struggles, he loved being the technician of the gang. Plus, it paid extremely decently given his circumstances. Unfortunately, the golden age came to a sudden and brutal climax with the murder of the Sacred Band's leader.
Sacred Band and the other gangs of Sparta were rapidly and brutally targeted by the military police and mercs eager to claim the bounties during the early 2070s. Silvain, realizing that his life was in jeopardy, gathered his hard-earned eurobucks and used much of it to book passage to North America. He left behind the gang and his home country without a farewell to avoid drawing attention from the authorities and bounty hunters.
The first three years in the New United States were difficult but survivable compared to Grecce. Silvain operated a back-alley clinic in New York City as the local ripperdoc before moving west. In Detriot, he found decent work as a prostitute for two years while tinkering with braindances on the side. And then, he left further west after being nearly beaten to death by a powerful client and found himself in Night City.
Night City, despite being overrun by corporations and gangs, was easy for someone like Silvain to adjust rather fast. But what he didn't expect was learning about the Mox. Seeing the similarities between them and Sacred Band, Silvain didn't waste any time approaching them to offer his talents. At first, Susie "Q" wasn't looking for "any more strays" and not "running a charity." That was until their own braindance technician and editor left town out of the blue.
Nowadays, Silvain works for the basement of Lizzie's Bar with the leftover equipment for the last occupant as the Mox's own technician. On the side, however, he recently returned to sex work and started working for fixers in Night City to earn a little extra eddies. And with the uncertainty that comes with living in Night City, 2078 is going to look like an eventful year to Silvain.
D E T A I L E D A P P E A R A N C E D E T A I L E D A P P E A R A N C E
Silvain Cellier De Roos is an average height person whose body type is between skinny and tone. Being a Mox and a prostitute has made sure that eddies are spent on maintaining a fashion style between kitsch and entropism. Gender roles be damned as long as the final product looks sensational to the client and functional in case of a firefight. And once in a while, you might be able to see his right arm sleeve tattoo (featuring a bluejay in the center) out for all to marvel at.
There won't be an easy way of figuring out Silvain and that's done on purpose. His attachment issues make him effortlessly dodge any question about him with utter absurdity or performative distractions (that goes extra on men). And he isn't for one to hide his attraction to the same-sex including members of Maelstrom. But he will show his disdain towards police officers and those in positions of authority pretty loud and clear.
P L O T ( S ) & G O A L ( S ) P L O T ( S ) & G O A L ( S )
Silvain Cellier De Roos is still young and filled with potential despite his rough beginnings. While Night City doesn't treat new arrivals kindly, he is built differently and has been handed worst situations. Still, his primary is survival while the secondary is The Mox, which I hope to explore more than what the game provides. I am especially interested in its leader, Susie "Q", and the rivalry with the Tyger Claws.
Of course, I also want to explore and develop Silvain as he slowly finds his place in this chaotic world. And who knows, maybe a few familiar faces will be allowed to pop up.
“What the fuck do you mean I’m not allowed to smoke in here?"
C H A R A C T E R P O R T R A I T C H A R A C T E R P O R T R A I T
C H A R A C T E R S U M M A R Y C H A R A C T E R S U M M A R Y
Yaḥyā ‘John’ Valentine-al’Hakim _________________________________________________________ 43 | ♂ | Bisexual _________________________________________________________ Single - Divorced | Mercenary - Ex-Trauma Team Field Doctor | Unaffiliated (Formerly British Army)
P H Y S I C A L P R O F I L E P H Y S I C A L P R O F I L E
▼ P H Y S I C A L T R A I T S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ► Build - Lean and Wiry ► Ethnicity - Mixed: Syrian and White British ► Hair Colour - Black ► Eye Colour - Dark Brown - Faintly visible cybernetic components, especially in the lens and iris of his eye. ► Other - Left Shoulder: Major scarring from burns, shrapnel, and subsequent surgery, all located around the junction between flesh and cyberware. - Right bicep: Black Ink Tattoo: Insignia and Arms of the Royal Corps of Signals, bearing the text ‘CERTA CITO - MAGNA CLARA’. Above the coat of arms is a number, reading 181. - Oral Cavity: Subtle, faded, residual scarring from cuts caused by a sharp object.
-
C H A R A C T E R N O T E S C H A R A C T E R N O T E S
▼ C H A R A C T E R I T E M S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ► Militech EuBP-65 - A reliable and compact bullpup pattern assault rifle, chambered in a relatively powerful intermediate calibre, and well known to be similar in design to the primary service rifle of the British Army. This is the cheap and mass produced version of what might be considered exotic by NUSA standards, and it excels in little - although it is favoured by some for its good ratio of power to size, making it well suited for action in an urban environment.
► PD Engineering ‘Man-at-Arms’ V4 Cyberarm - An almost completely unremarkable cyber arm, standard issue for members of Her Majesty’s Armed Services who either suffer traumatic amputations in the line of duty, or who suffer wounds that necessitate a medical amputation later. Like most cyberware it can be considered something of an upgrade over the organic equivalent - it is stronger, can hit harder, is more durable - but there is genuinely nothing special about it. This iteration was originally designed for army engineers, and possesses a better degree of fine motor control than previous and later versions - at the expense of armour and temperature sensation. It is known colloquially as the ‘Sapper’s Handjob’ for this reason.
► Militech M10-AF Lexington - Valentine’s daily carry piece, the Lexington is an almost ubiquitous weapon on the streets of Night City, and has a well deserved reputation for its ease of use and reliability - if not for its power. Valentine also owns a suppressor designed for use with this pistol, but tends to carry it separately in order to keep the draw quick.
► ’In Arduis Fidelis’ Field Surgeon’s Bag - Partially the result of a favour from a very old friend, and partially the result of improvisation and opportunistic military surplus purchases, the Fidelis Kit is an approximation of the materials the Valentine used to work with. The bag contains extremely basic first aid supplies in a separate, detachable pouch - designed for concealed carry - but is remarkably lacking in that department; instead, the Fidelis Kit’s true purpose is essentially full scale field surgery. It contains fluids, anaesthetics and painkillers, surgical tools - including a general purpose surgical endoscope - and two sets of re-usable sterile drapes, designed to be spread across the ground and over the patient in order to provide a sterile field. The Fidelis Kit is not a true first aid kit and is not designed for that purpose - it is designed for use in conjunction with other medical supplies, ideally in the company of a fellow professional… when one is available. Most notably, the Fidelis Kit is intended to contain a shielded X-ray source, although the original one is almost expired and no longer emits enough radiation to assess anything other than gross abnormality or large fractures. The kit itself is the size of a large hiking pack - though it’s more bulky than it is heavy.
► TT-Kiroshi ‘Rubicon Lens’ Cybereyes. - A genuinely remarkable piece of ocular engineering developed in a joint venture between Trauma Team and Kiroshi, the Rubicon Lenses are top tier cybereyes with extremely powerful magnifying lenses, and the unique ability to perceive a greatly expanded spectrum of radiation - from infrared to X-ray, specifically. In theory this ability can be used as a sort of night vision or thermal vision, as Valentine has discovered and made good use of, but it far from excels in this area; the true purpose of the expanded spectrum is to aid in the assessment of patients. The magnification and resolution of the Rubicon is good enough to perform basic microscopic analysis of blood samples, and Valentine can also use the Rubicon Lenses to accurately and (almost) instantly assess the temperature of almost any physical object or biological entity, as long as it is moving slowly enough for the lens to focus and to avoid significant red or blue shift. The high energy spectrum capability is intended for use with a radioactive source, to perform field imaging - however, the source Valentine currently has is almost useless for this purpose, so he will depend either on earning enough to buy a fresh one, or scavenging something. The Rubicon also comes with a series of serious disadvantages, however; being under the influence of anything other than a stimulant renders the advanced functions of the eyes totally inert, and the intensity of the stimuli they provide makes Valentine prone to severe headaches and migraines after prolonged use, which makes their advanced functions something that cannot be used continuously without consequences. The Rubicon is also completely incompatible with any kind of smartlink or smart weapons system, and - as a proprietary system - it cannot easily receive unlicensed modifications, if it can receive them at all. At the moment they also cannot be safely removed, due to the extensive hardware integration with his optic tracts - to take them out would almost certainly blind him permanently, without access to the same sort of facilities and expertise that installed them. Access he will probably never have again.
▼ K N O W N A S S O C I A T E S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ► Abby Garcia Etienne - The sole and exclusive reason he is still alive - although he’s not sure she’s human enough yet to know it. They’ve worked together in the past, more extensively than most mercs do without being part of a regular team, and both have proven themselves to the other, over, and over, and over. Valentine was coming to the end of his tether around the time they started her rehab and de-transhumanification programme, and it was the sense of duty and purpose that helping her provided him that enabled him to pull himself back from the brink and avoid spiralling permanently. He looks at her and sees everything that’s wrong with the world - and he is reminded that he is not powerless against it. They currently live together as well as work together.
► Eddie - Valentine’s relationship with Eddie is a bit of a touchstone, for him, even though it is by no means an emotional one. He has worked with her for a number of years now, and has earned himself a solid reputation for professionalism, drive, and competency. Numerous times he has been injured well beyond the call of duty in pursuit of the objectives she has set him, and nonetheless continued with the job, completing it successfully. To her, he is a dual purpose agent - a broad skillset capable of filling both techie and solo roles, though he has specialisations in both that limit just how good he can be at either; Valentine’s technical skills and combat experience make him a good choice for single-agent operations, and his people skills make him just as adaptable to group work. He’s a solid choice, and always eager to be chosen. Eddie will also almost certainly be aware that he has several addictions, a number of vices besides them, and a history of military service - but most crucially, she knows the name of his ex-Wife, something he shares with nobody.
► Andreas ‘Espadaverde’ Mendez - Andreas the Green Blade was a young Valentino when Valentine met him - a young and extremely drunk Valentino, who needed to be walked home because he couldn’t piss straight. By escorting the young ganger Valentine accidentally created a sort of honor debt between them, and earned the favour of not only the boy but his mother - and by extension, a small section of the Valentinos themselves. Andreas was known as the Green Blade for his inexperience, youth, and obsession with edged weapons - but they met a long time ago, shortly after Valentine left Trauma Team, very shortly after his divorce. Andreas is older now, and a fully fledged, red hot blooded, significantly more chromed up Sicario now. Their friendship was solidified after he let Valentine sleep on his couch after his wife kicked him out, and Valentine made sure to do some discount merc-work for the Valentinos in return. They hang out when time permits, and routinely get fucked up drunk when they do. Andreas is also the reason Valentine initially became a mercenary - the contact that set him up with his first fixer, and thereby his first job.
►Victor Straid - Not a friend. Barely even a contact - certainly not the sort of person Valentine would contact himself, for his own purposes - Victor Straid is a touch of both, manipulative cultish predator, and genius ripperdoc. He knows him through Abby, and sincerely doubts that Straid is really that ‘attached’ to her. For this reason Valentine has ensured that Straid knows just what will happen to him if he doesn’t help Abby in the ways Valentine can’t. He represents a symptom of the diseased world Valentine has found himself in, an obligation more than an opportunity, a sort of cost more than a resource. Valentine’s hatred of him mellows the further they get through Abby’s procedures, however, and he has recently started to assist the Ripperdoc with some of the longer, more complex surgeries - though he’s still not decided whether or not to kill him when they’re done. Valentine is blind to the parallels between them, and the irony those parallels cause.
▼ S K I L L S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ► A Vi et Viribus - Dr. John Valentine was once a member of the 181st Signals Squadron, a section of the Royal Corps of Signals dedicated to supporting special forces operations run by the Army. Commando qualified and thoroughly dedicated, 181 SIG were responsible for the establishment and maintenance of lines of communication in some of the hottest combat zones the United Kingdom had to offer, and had an excellent record of success in this role - even when in direct and protracted contact with their most vicious enemies. Valentine was among their more decorated members during his military career, and has all the training and experience that come with it. He might be a doctor - but he is too a killer.
► Medicinae et Chirurgiae - Not called Doctor Valentine for nothing, he was once a consultant level Emergency Doctor. This entails a knowledge and skillbase both deep and broad regarding all sorts of medical and surgical catastrophes - and vitally, how to treat them. Permanent, salaried practice was never for him - but he remains capable and cool headed in any emergency, and is well known for saving fellow edgerunners from the brink, especially when others were giving up on them.
► Certa Cito - Magna Clara - The unit Valentine served with was a part of the Royal Corps of Signals, and it is not for nothing that their motto in 2077 is what it is; Swift and Sure, Loud and Clear! Words he learned to love, words he loved to live by - even if the Latin is a tad pretentious. Radio and Comms tinkering is still a hobby of Valentine's to this day, and while he's got no skill as a hacker, he is still well versed in the assembly, disassembly, maintenance, and sabotage of electronics; especially as he served first as an enlisted soldier rather than an officer, Valentine has experience in all the above. Given a little time and a set of tools, there's very little that he can't at least break cleverly. Usually, he can fix it too - but that bit is far from a guarantee.
► Verba sunt Actio - People skills are a critical part of any clinician's training, and the same is true for military officers. His charisma has certainly declined since arriving at this latest, most troubled part of his life, but when the chips are down and it matters most Valentine can still make good on them. He is particularly well suited to information gathering, able to tease pieces of otherwise sensitive information out of people who otherwise wouldn't tell you, usually through regular conversation. Especially when he's both calm and sober - which is rare - Valentine has a remarkably trustworthy demeanor, and people tend to offload their problems and their stress directly to him. People tellhim things. Things they shouldn't. Probably because when he's in his most natural state, he really does want to help. -
C H A R A C T E R H I S T O R Y C H A R A C T E R H I S T O R Y
Labour lasted sixteen hours and approximately thirty two minutes, proceeded naturally and without incident, baby given vitamin K with parental consent, all screening negative. Ms. Al-Hakim declined epidural anaesthesia, citing religious reasons and a desire to be 'totally there' for the process. Entonox offered and accepted once contractions had been regular for half an hour. No trauma or tears to the perineum, blood loss approximately 400ml. No evidence of retained materials or ragged membranes. Midwife and doctor in mutual agreement that there are no concerns relating to Ms. Al-Hakim or baby's health, thus due for discharge in the morning.
Birth at 0023 hours, date is 4th of March, 2035. We are glad to offer our congratulations to the parents, and a warm welcome to Baby Valentine-al-Hakim.
John Valentine - as he often goes by in English speaking communities - had been fascinated with the medical world since as long as he could remember. When his parents found him having broken into their records cabinet to look through the notes they'd requested from the hospital after he was born, he told them he was just curious - that he wanted to know how it all worked. They were as ecstatic at his reasoning as they were awkward with the explanation, and promptly enrolled him in extra classes to sate his hunger for education - a hunger that would always serve him well.
Valentine excelled in school, working through the standard British curriculum and his extra teaching with a relentless drive, matching each challenge that was thrown at him with gusto and grace. He was often disruptive - but despite that, he was well liked by the staff at Hedingham Hill Comprehensive School, and his childhood was decidedly normal. He was talented, intelligent, and charming - if boisterous and occasionally mischievous.
He had his first beer at 15, smoked his first joint in secret behind the gym at school when he was 16, and found his first girlfriend at 17. Very pleasant, and for him of course very exciting - but as far as the world was concerned it was nothing really special.
Then, at the age of 18 he enlisted in the army as part of his compulsory national service, preferring to get it out of the way rather than let the threat of it linger by deferring until after university - and, he reasoned, so he could get the army to pay his tuition fees too. It was not something he had looked forward to, and certainly not something he had expected to enjoy. No. He had expected to chafe under authority and initially adopted an approach of keeping his head down and trying to stay out of trouble - like he hadn't in school.
He surprised himself. Or rather, the army did.
Valentine had expected the officers commanding him to be pompous and arrogant, unconcerned with his or any other soldier's wellbeing, and happy to issue blatantly foolish orders at the expense of the soldiery. In part, this was why he expected to fit in poorly - since he had issues with unwarranted authority. Instead he found a cadre of competent and charismatic officers, many of whom were real deal - lead by example, put the men first, neither get into a pointless fight nor back away from a worthwhile one, those sorts of ideals.
Ideals he found he agreed with. Ideals he found he could embrace.
His career shone. Unlike most conscripts, and perhaps for lack of another cause to devote himself to, John Valentine’s two years in the army were something he relished. He put in the effort, he took on the extra training courses when they were available, and he pursued a specialty within his field. At the age of 19, John Valentine passed selection for the 181st Squadron, Royal Army Corps of Signals. This was a feat. He was by no means the youngest in this squadron - there were those who had entered it directly as volunteers rather than be conscripted - but he distinguished himself nonetheless. He would go on to serve in active duty, passing the commando course as prerequisite for field operations with the 181, and then enter combat across Britain - but never more often than in the London Combat Zones.
After his tour of duty was up, he made the difficult choice to pursue an education and qualify as a doctor, while remaining an army reservist. He would also eventually earn a commission as an officer - the first in his known family history to do so - and become Lieutenant Valentine. Addicted to the rush of combat and the cold focus of adrenaline, he took what he had learned and applied it to his medical career equally - he specialised in emergency medicine at the very same hospital he’d been born at, St. Bart’s, once the largest and greatest trauma centre in Western Europe. He met a girl, he fell in love, started dating and eventually got married. He lost an arm in the line of duty while deployed during a crisis - at this point, Captain Valentine - and accordingly was allocated a spare from Porton Down Engineering. He studied, he worked, he fought, he lived - he sat exams and failed them the first time, then failed them again, and passed only on his third try. He learned from his mistakes and took time away from the army to continue with his medical career, eventually attaining the rank of SAS Doctor - then after that, Emergency Consultant.
He had a son. Rupinder, named after his wife’s late brother - but Ruby for short.
He was happy.
But it couldn’t - no, it wouldn’t last.
Al-Hakim is a title as much as it is a name, hereditary by his generation, but once earned by one of his ancestors. It means ‘The Wise’.
His greatest failure was that he could never live up to it.
Blinded by ambition and enthralled with the idea of seeing real action again, when Trauma Team came knocking he didn’t even hesitate. He uprooted his family and shed his friends like a thin coat of skin, and moved to Night City. This is where his marriage troubles began - it’s where he started to lose his grip on his life.
Not to say he wasn’t good at his job, of course - it was probably the one part of his life where he kept up all the appearances and never once slipped up. Trauma Team were good to him, and whether it was taking on AeroDyne shifts or covering an Emergency Department for a double shift when he was meant to be resting, he did what he was told. He found common purpose in his colleagues - some of whom had similar backgrounds, and shared his ideals of medicine, healthcare, and glorious progress. He took part in the new Rubicon Programme - a sort of cybernetics trial, looking at the value of augmenting senior doctors and nurses with what essentially amounted to in-built imaging equipment. It was a resounding success.
At home, he was a resounding absence.
Thing came to a head when his AeroDyne responded to a call and essentially lost the fight. Not his first defeat, nor his first injury, but certainly his first time being taken alive. A group of Edgerunners had been planning for the Trauma Team response unit their client had paid for, and their aircraft was blown out of the sky with anti-tank weapons that had been rigged to a ballistics co-processor and a small quantum CPU. Years later he would applaud their ingenuity - but over the next two days, he would curse the fact that they’d not even been good enough to make sure they were dead.
If they had died, he wouldn’t have been taken by Scavs.
Sometimes he wonders if there are still braindances being sold of what they did to him. He wakes up in the middle of the night, clutching his throat, reliving the drowning sensation, fearing for his life.
Yasmina - his wife - gave him an ultimatum. He leaves Trauma Team, or she leaves him and takes Ruby with her.
As if Ruby even recognised him to begin with.
But he did the right thing for once. He discussed matters with the friends he’d made in the company - the corpo rats he’d used to hate, when he was infantry - and made arrangements for his departure. They were very understanding, and some strings were pulled so that he wouldn’t need to go through any more surgery before leaving. Somebody probably got in serious trouble - but they were good at finding a fall guy, and even if he did care about who it was, his marriage was more important.
It lasted a year.
Nothing changed, is the worst part. No relapsing into his old ways, no more fighting and gunplay, no more long shifts - nothing. Sometimes he wonders if it was the nightmares that finally pushed her away - if he’d become so broken that he could no longer be dealt with - but he knew the truth.
She’d given him one more chance - but it was a chance that came after the damage had been done. Dealing with him in his current state didn’t help of course - might have even been the straw that broke the camel’s back, so to speak - but it probably didn’t matter. He would never know how long it had been since she loved him; he would never know how long it had been since he truly ruined the best thing that had ever happened to him, and pushed away the one person who loved him the most.
The divorce was quick, and technically amicable - Ruby stayed three nights at his place, and four at his mother’s - but it was just too obvious who was to blame. When Valentine started drinking, Yasmina saw it for what it was - the start of a death spiral - and pulled Ruby out. Valentine lost his visitation rights after the first pill, then lost his apartment after he nearly burned it down after trying to cook while he was high.
He was homeless for a bit - a bit too vicious to be a victim, a bit too unstable to find a home. His cyberware started to creak and groan - no eddies means no maintenance - and he started to get truly desperate. Desperate for warmth, for food, for money, for an escape.
For what it’s worth, he never once blamed his wife. Not ever. He knew what he’d done. He hated himself more than any criminal or terrorist he’d ever been deployed against, more than any lowlife scav stealing bits from his clients’ bodies, more than- well, more than anything.
His instincts saved him - but not the ones you’d expect.
Out of everything he could have done when he found a young Valentino passed out in the gutter one night while he was stalking around and going through withdrawal, he kept the boy safe. He stayed with him, giving psychotic death glares at anyone who so much as looked at him - he even barked at a Tyger Claw. Like a dog. Less than a dog.
But he could do this - he could keep him safe. One last thing, he thought, just this one last thing.
The kid woke up eventually and pulled a sword on him - but after he was disarmed and they had a moment to talk, Espadaverde (a name he had invented, thought Valentine) realised he wasn’t going to get home safe alone, and let Valentine walk him there.
Valentine got some food and a sofa. It was the first good he’d gotten since everything went to shit, and it was all he could do to not break down and cry. From there the rest is history - Andreas moved out and took Valentine with him, found him a weapon and some work - through which he eventually met Abby, too - and helped him realise he couldn’t die just yet.
What would his son think, if the story ended here?
There were ups and downs, many more of the latter - and he never kicked his newfound habits - but things were stable enough, even if the persistent thought of just quitting plagued him still. Abby had her turn to save his life too - Andreas could give him reasons, but the Valentinos weren’t a purpose.
He never told her that he’d already taken the pills when she knocked on his door. It was difficult, finding an antidote in time, especially secretly - but he did it. He had someone to live for again - someone to recover for again.
That was enough.
His life started to get better again. It was a long process - something that even today, he remains near the start of - but John Valentine could once again imagine living a life that he enjoyed having. Having somebody he could be accountable to and accountable for meant he had more drive - he had more purpose by default, he was less dependent on finding it elsewhere, and he had more energy and wherewithal to spare once he didn't have to. He started to wake up a little earlier, get out of bed a little faster - he started exercising again, not that he lived the sort of lifestyle where he could afford to be unfit to begin with.
At least on some days, he felt like a doctor again.
When Eddie proposed that he work as one on retainer to her, in a clinic she could put together for him, he took the chance and said yes. He moved - with Abby - into a place more or less adjacent to the clinic, and he started setting a portion of the time he wasn't working on her other jobs aside so he could be on-call when one of her guys needed him. A part of him suspected that she was doing this for a reason - after all, Fixers don't often start a healthcare plan for their mercs without one - but it actually didn't matter too much if there was. It was a bit more money doing the exact sort of thing he'd always loved, and that was enough.
But there's always a catch, even when it's worth it.
He could never have imagined just how entangled he would actually get.
D E T A I L E D A P P E A R A N C E D E T A I L E D A P P E A R A N C E
John Valentine is a tall, lithe, lean looking man. He was stockier and fuller once - but his addictions have taken a toll, even if it’s not immediately obvious that’s what it is. His skin is a pale sort of olive tan, and his hair is dark and thick. He has scars around his cyberarm - from the blast that took off the original - and smaller, white, thin scars inside his mouth, from the implements used by the Scavs. One tattoo, bearing the insignia of his old comrades, and his motto - Certa Cito, Magna Clara.
P L O T ( S ) & G O A L ( S ) P L O T ( S ) & G O A L ( S )
John Valentine is like Abby - in recovery, not always stable, and struggling almost every day. He represents the difficulty of it, and the balancing act it often requires - especially when one’s occupation is a part of one’s vices. I’m certainly hoping that there will be room for him to learn how to be on his own again, and find something to live for that isn’t as volatile as a person - but tragedy can also be art, and while I think I would prefer him to ultimately be successful (even if it ultimately means trying to step away from the life of a merc entirely), I’m certainly not counting on it. His and Abby’s story are also tied together - they live together, work together, and essentially treat eachother. It’s an interesting dynamic, even if it isn’t always healthy.
P H Y S I C A L P R O F I L E P H Y S I C A L P R O F I L E
▼ P H Y S I C A L T R A I T S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ► Build - Tall, broad shoulders, well muscled ► Ethnicity - White suntanned ► Hair Colour - Auburn hair and beard ► Eye Colour - Brown eyes ► Other - Cuts, marks, and burns dot his body, mostly healed. -
C H A R A C T E R N O T E S C H A R A C T E R N O T E S
▼ C H A R A C T E R I T E M S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ► Custom Quadra Type-66 Avenger "Clydesdale" - Custom tuned Nomad Cruiser, faster and more durable, it's been armored more than average. Built for border jumping, ramming Shiv off the road, and out running anything that it doesn't like though it eschews onboard weapon systems other might enjoy. Hand built and tuned by Dusty. Milspec ► Nomad .44 Magnum Revolver "Sam" - A rebuilt and retooled Colt fourty-four, old and tested with modern actions and equipment onboard it's as lethal as anything you'd pay an overblown gun store for. Basic ► Nomad gun kit - This kit carries the part for two unfinished guns, a grenade launching platform and high end anti-vehicle rifle. As well most tools to service and strip guns even basic spare parts for many fire arms. Expensive ► Nomad .44 Magnum Lever-Action Rifle "Henry" - A common rebuild these shorted rifles are more commonly seen on the bike holsters with cut down barrels for Outriders. Featuring stronger lever with a larger ring allows Dusty to spin it forward then back. Basic ► Jodes Leather Jacket and Bullet proof vest - Nomads gotta Rep there families, their rides and their looks are designed to do just that. Jodes especially take care of their own who range far from the family, as such Dusty has a proper Kevlar vest in with the heavy leather jacket. Basic ► Grafted Muscle - Grown muscled implanted into the body, increasing strength basically undetectable. Basic ► Muscle & Bone Lace: - The result is that the tissue is both stronger (physical strength is enhanced) and more resistant to damage. Muscle and bone lace will enhance overall strength and durability, but not to the degree of an actual artificial cyberlimb. Expensive
▼ K N O W N A S S O C I A T E S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ► Name - Description/Relevance
▼ S K I L L S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ► Nomad Mechanic - From guns to cars to generators or more, Dusty has fixed them all time and time again. Life among Nomads means everyone has to help however they can, Dusty found his talent for gunsmithing and automotive work early and quickly had many fast friends among the convoy. Guns, Bikes, and Cars are what Nomad life revolves around, thus Dusty's skill meant he became someone they depended on greatly. Nomad mechanics are often asked for in town and cities, the Jodes have some of the best from mostly farming and rural background they know how to fix and keep things going long after the corps have intended them to fail. ► Tire Squeal'n Smuggler - Most of the best drivers have to chip in and run the car with their chrome and if you knock systems it out suddenly their as shit as they come. Manual control, hands on the wheel shifting it up and down at just the right moment. A symphony of engine whines and gear changes or quiet long hauls across empty highways, Dusty can do it all and happily. ► Jodes Cowboy Charisma - Charming and none to easy on the eyes, Dusty has the Jodes backing for his job and knows how to sweet talk his way through. Unlike many others he is really that generous, polite, sensitive about how he makes others feel. The Jodes are more welcoming than most other nations, many link to the remnants of their southern hospitality in trying to make everyone comfortable and welcome over fretting over little things. ► Fast hands, strong hands - The Bioware isn't just for bar fights and mechanic work, his increase strength of hands means his well practice lighting draw is backed up the strength to it on target if they prefer to get closer a mean bash to the skull with three pounds of steel in hand. Practiced in brawling with his siblings and family back home he knows how to throw hands. Shooting and brawling are things you learn growing up, though he's made more friends than corpses in bar fights. ► Pic'n and Grinning - Music is something else that differs between nomad tribes but with their roots firmly placed the South and agriculture. Jodes have loved the sounds of guitars, mournful songs, and other sweet melodies played in that old classic country style. So the music that Dusty brings with him is often different to much of the Night City life, almost alien yet he finds many with Noamd connections or true lovers of sound are quick to ask him about it. He'll sing and play a song a too from his own ability on occasion if asked by a friend. He prefers Blues, Bluegrass, and just about any variation of older country tunes.
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C H A R A C T E R H I S T O R Y C H A R A C T E R H I S T O R Y
Born North West territories Duston's earliest memories is of the open road, endless fields of crops, cows, chickens, pigs and more. Early years were spent moving around, as his folks moved between the harvests and the job sites. Taking work everywhere, he never lacked for company and his mother under his constant pestering during their time trapped in the RV together would teach him about how guns worked. The middle child of five his mother was realized when he would sit quietly as watch her work on repairing and servicing the guns of the clan.
By the time Duston was ten he had started to repair and build guns right there next to his mother when they were on the road. When they were in camp he spent his time learning about the vehicles they operated, he was incessant so soon when ever vehicles were getting repaired you'd find Duston right next passing tools and asking questions. His siblings took to farm work, gunslinging, and ranching like he did to cars and gunsmithing as his parents proudly watched them all grow up. The other four still with the clan, when Duston declared he wanted to become a smuggler for the clan.
By sixteen he was learning to tear rubber and shoot Shiv out windows, he'd taken to riding shotgun in convoys like many of the younger members he was eager to take of the Raffen Shiv. Learning to throw grenades, shoot guns, and lead targets while moving at more than a hundred miles per hour. When he wasn't on the road, working on guns, or tuning up his car, he was singing music around the campfire or helping herd cattle. Duston was fast tracking his career after they had taken Quadra Avenger off some Wraiths he'd set to work trying to get it running.
It took him nearly two years, more parts, swearing, and whacking the damn thing with a wrench when it wouldn't listen to him than he ever thought it would. However when it was his baby, his pride and joy "Clydesdale" he called it after the big fucking charger horses Knights to bear down on people with, this beast of a car could matched the name. While a normal Javelina is refined for speed, combat, without losing it's racing pedigree Dusty took the car to it's logical extra adding extra too in the interior for rear seating/storage, increasing truck space, and up armoring it. Of course if you increase the weight you need more power, so adding two turbo chargers to the Avengers much more massive engine. Finally changing out the automatic gearbox for a manual and getting a proper old school wheel in the thing.
The Clydesdale is one of those nomad vehicles where people look it and drool, with it's better shocks, fuel economy, and ride comfort it has become the perfect mile muncher for Duston to cruise between home and Night City. Of course, opting to run without weapon systems and targeting computers like others meant that he had to depend on speed and armor to make up the difference. Or whatever weapons he brought with him, as he modified the passenger windows to be able to open up, mostly for being able to pick up fast food but shooting is good too. As such before he set out on first run to night city, his mother presented him with a Militech Cowboy Grenade launcher they had acquired for him to defend himself.
Taking his older sister with him on his first trip to Night City they were moving shipment Nomad made firearms for the city's gun dealers. As restored older firearms are fairly popular on the second hand market, especially among those not looking to pay corporate prices for guns they don't have the chrome to handle. The goods made it safely across with no issue, during his first trip he got the bioware upgrades he wanted turning an already well built farm into an impressively muscled and strong young man. His sister spent most of the trip in the Aldercado's camp trading news and gossip while Duston got to work making contacts in the big city.
It was during his first trip he met 8ug 8ear, or as he would to know her Bea, a good Netrunner with a penchant for merc work. Though he would meet a few others over the years T-Bug and Jackie Welles a pair of mercs who worked with on separate occasions during the coming years. Panam was another he remembered from the Afterlife and her partner Nash, in reality though he found himself around the middle of the rung for mercs and that was where he liked it. He came into town to make cash and send it home for when times got back they had a stash to rely on. Over the years, he drifted in and out of the city, but found himself working for just one fixer more and more, Rogue. Rogue lied that she had someone who kept a low profile, who did the job the right way and if it went bad got out of the city for a few months. Dusty was someone she could depend on to handle problems and never bring any to her door.
Unfortunately the problem with a seasonal Merc is that they aren't always here when you could use'em and the problem when you go in and out, is that when things get really bad and you go back your never quite sure what you're walking into. However, Duston didn't stay away long, making yet another trip in to the city chatting with 8ug 8ear most of the way in only to find out most of his contacts were missing, dead, or gone. So... He got in touch with the Aterlife's bartender Claire sent her over a his Resume, namely a list of completed jobs, NCPD reports, payment records, and more on his previous jobs smuggling, solo work, and driving jobs.
This Eddie character, he knew nothing about her or really if they even carried that he was one Rogue's regular Mercs. Most of the people who could vouch for him weren't around anymore and Bea wasn't gonna be able to help she was more on the info gathering side than anything. Especially after her close encounter with the Tyger Claws, he'd need a new Net Runner backing him up at least. Maybe he could look up some of T-bug's friends she was the best he'd met in the business, hell maybe even get answer on what happened to her from someone.
Whatever happens next, Duston has what a nomad needs to survives guns and his ride.
D E T A I L E D A P P E A R A N C E D E T A I L E D A P P E A R A N C E
Duston stands around six foot six inches, well muscled from years of labor combined with his bioware has made him strong as an Ox, with broad shoulders to match he's handsome in the classic way tall, broad, and strong. Along his face a well trimmed auburn that matches the slightly shaggy short hair he keeps bundled up under his broad Stetson hat. Moving down across his chest is usually a plain black T-shirt with a kevlar vest over it. Over his shoulders a heavy set brown duster of leather with the Jodes symbol emblazed across the back for all to see. As his hip sits his revolver and on his back rest the lever action both ready for use at a moments notice.
A pair of heavy steel work boots with worn syn leather adorns his feet, if you watch him long enough you'll him produce a cigarette and twirl it between his fingers, he's trying to quit smoking again. A flask hidden in the pocket over his heart holds whiskey in it for when things in the city weight him down to much. Occasionally he'll tap the wood finished handles of his pistol just to occupy himself also like a nervous tic. Regularly running his fingers through his beard he is often slow to start a conversation but sincerely interested and intent once he does speak with someone.
P L O T ( S ) & G O A L ( S ) P L O T ( S ) & G O A L ( S )
Duston has a handful of goals at the moment, one rebuild connections here in the city, two find out what happened to all the folks he used to and give them a send off, find a new Netrunner to run support for him someone whose not gonna sell him out either, make good money to send him to the folks and earn some good will from other mercs and fixers once again.
"I’m a blank slate in a broken body wearing a dead woman’s face. Past that? I don’t know who I am."
C H A R A C T E R P O R T R A I T C H A R A C T E R P O R T R A I T
C H A R A C T E R S U M M A R Y C H A R A C T E R S U M M A R Y
Svetlana Petrovna Shaposhnikova _________________________________________________________ Age 29 (b.d. 2048) | ♀ | Sexuality Bisexual _________________________________________________________ Single (Divorced) | Muscle | Former USSR Netrunner, links with the Valentinos
P H Y S I C A L P R O F I L E P H Y S I C A L P R O F I L E
▼ P H Y S I C A L T R A I T S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ► Build - Toned and chromed ► Ethnicity - Russian ► Hair Colour - White ► Eye Colour - Heterochromic cybernetics, amber and light blue ► Other - Extensive cybernetics, predominantly older models. Prominent scarring on face, neck, and other parts of body. Tattoo on thigh. -
C H A R A C T E R N O T E S C H A R A C T E R N O T E S
▼ C H A R A C T E R I T E M S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ► Constitutional Arms Unity (Basic) - a 12-round capacity semiautomatic handgun in .45 caliber. ► Katana (Expensive) - A skillfully crafted katana taken from the body of a dead Tyger Claw. Shaposhnikova’s favored weapon. ► Cyberware (Poor) to (Expensive) - Attempting to list every piece of chrome in Shaposhnikova’s body would be a truly Sisyphean task. It might be easier to list what isn’t artificial. Approximately 60-70% of Shaposhnikova’s body has been replaced with augmetics, and most of them were top of the line, too - thirty years ago. Most of her body has been through at least one, and more likely five or six previous owners before making its way to her. Most of it is incompatible with modern connectors and requires frequent tuneups just to stay functional. As it stands, the cybernetics certainly put her well above the ability of an unaugmented human - but she’d be so much scrap metal against someone packing the equivalent amount in new corp gear. ► Archer Hella EC-D i360 (Basic) - Cheap and reliable.
▼ K N O W N A S S O C I A T E S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ► Josefina Costa - Shaposhnikova’s former wife, affiliated with the Valentinos. Zero combat skill, black market connections.
▼ S K I L L S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ► + Combat - Despite no formal training, Shaposhnikova displays excellent combat skills and is skilled at using her extensive augmentation in melee or at range. The primary and probably only reason you might want to hire her. She’s good. ► + Intelligence - Curiously, Shaposhnikova retains her excellent logical thinking abilities and skill at mathematics. ► + Fearlessness - Shaposhnikova seems completely immune to fear. ► - Language - Shaposhnikova is almost completely unable to write, displays significant difficulty in typing, and struggles to remember many words. ► - Charisma - Though not a cyberpsychosis risk, Shaposhnikova’s odd mannerisms and general “weirdness” make her ill suited to lead any sort of interpersonal assignment.
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C H A R A C T E R H I S T O R Y C H A R A C T E R H I S T O R Y
This one? Hah. A true tragedy, fitting for the stage plays of Ancient Greece.
Born in the city of Novosibirsk in the Union of Sovereign Soviet Republics to midranking employees of SovOil, Svetlana Petrovna Shaposhnikova was easily set up for a relatively comfortable life at first. My sources say she was a bona-fide little tech whiz from day one, and apparently young Svetlana could often be found tinkering with scrap electronics or in the midst of a deep dive into the local net while other children were playing. Raised by loving parents who nurtured her interests from day one, there were, even then, inklings that young Svetlana might have something of the troublemaker in her blood. You see, young Svetlana was not only enamored with technology, but like many of the passionate youth of the world possessed a fierce sense of right and wrong and a determination to enforce it whenever she could. You knew who to call on for righteous vengeance, and vengeance would be swift and uncompromising, it seems. Svetlana picked up more than a few injuries as a result of angering the wrong people or ending up too far in over her head, but never seemed to learn the lesson.
Despite all of this, she blossomed into what seems a genuinely skilled Netrunner with the skill and gumption to, according to some, maybe one day break into the big leagues. She found employ first in small time gigs, nothing much I can dig up there, but quickly attracted the attention of SovOil - in part due to her parents’ connections within the corp. Quickly she proved her worth and her skill, and secured generous pay for her hard work. Everything seemed lined up perfectly for the young woman, and she was poised to coast into an easy life. But as before, she could not leave well enough alone. With her newfound skills she redoubled her miniature vigilante crusade, hiding behind skillfully constructed layers of defensive ICE and anonymized signatures. Guy I contacted was genuinely impressed by it at the time. All the same, she was working on borrowed time, and it was not long before she drew the ire of the regional Organitskaya, who placed a price on her head.
Left with little in the way of recourse and living every moment with a target painted on her back, our young Svetlana fled the USSR. She had no real destination in mind, distraught over the upending of a comfortable life and like a fish out of water, desperately out of her element. Like detritus from all over the world, she wound up in our absolutely lovely City of Dreams - where, by all accounts, she settled in pretty quickly and established herself as a freelance netrunner of considerable skill. She found a wife, too, Josefina Costa, married her after a year. Everything I found suggests it was nothing less than the perfect picture of a happy marriage. She was a rising star in the netrunning scene and was fielding jobs from the corps in the city, had a nice apartment, a well padded savings account. Even found some inquiries with a local IVF clinic. Wholesome shit.
Naturally, it couldn’t last.
The hamartia of this little Greek tragedy, dear Svetlana’s justice-dispensing streak crept back up, and seems she spent more than a few of her off hours trawling the net looking for wrongs to right. And boy howdy, she apparently found one. What it was? I can’t figure it out. She didn’t want to say what whenever she did mention it, and she was good at hiding her tracks. ‘Course she can’t answer that question herself, now. Whatever it was, though, she wouldn’t let go. Everyone warned her to drop it. That pursuing it further would only end poorly for her. All the same she kept at it. Persistent, if nothing else. Whatever she was doing it seems to have pissed off some powerful people. Again - girl covered her tracks well, but near I can tell she dodged two prior assassination attempts before they got her.
The peripeteia of our little tragedy occurred on June 7th, 2075, at approximately 7:43 PM in her apartment’s living room. Skilled netrunner to the core, they never got her while she was plugged in. A spiked BD though? That’s another story. Should’ve killed her by all accounts, but she survived - just barely.
I’ll take Shaposhnikova’s own words here, next.
”I- I woke up on couch. Covered in blood. Someone was lean over me? I… what is word… I did not know who she was.” unintelligble muttering in Russian “She say to me she is my wife. I did not understand. It is… was, difficult.” a momentary pause as Shaposhnikova wipes away a tear. “I still do not remember her. Only how hurt she was. Pained. I remember Novosibirsk. I remember some of childhood. But it is like memory is… what is term… secondhand? I forget all netrunning. I remember all math. Ripper-doctor says that brain damage affects language portions of my brain. Is why I cannot speak English good anymore. Doctor tells me I am paralyzed and have two options.”
Poor thing.
She suffered extensive retrograde amnesia. Can barely remember a single thing about Night City. Woke up paralyzed with a stranger standing over her. Can’t even remember her own passwords. Ripper was right - she can’t even write her own name in English or in Russian. Can barely type. Takes a minute to string a simple sentence together and forgets key words anyway. Speaking to her you’d think she was a simpleton among simpletons. She can hold a sword in those antique store find hands of hers just fine, though. Apparently she can still do complex mathematics, too - can even write it just fine. Moment she tries to write actual words? Boom. Nothing. Brain’s a hell of a thing isn’t it?
You can probably piece together the rest of what happened next. She and her wife divorced. Shaposhnikova’s big fat savings account was entirely wiped out overnight to pay for whatever chrome she could get - I suppose when your alternative is being bedridden with most of your nerves fried, chrome that’s older than you are is less of a problem isn’t it? ‘Course, the money only partly went to the chrome. The rest of if ensured she was actually able to use it all. Apparently large chunks of her nervous system had to be patched up - and that, at least, seems to be good quality. Guess she was already thinking of future upgrades. Something like 60-70% of her body is cybernetics? She’s pretty much skin stretched over chrome and a few surviving organs at this point so I can’t say it doesn’t make sense.
Oh, and all that netrunning skill? Gone. Completely. Seems to have damaged that natural knack for it, too. She’s gone and picked up a sword now. And that’s why I wrote all this up. Despite everything - she’s good with that sword. Real good. Even on chrome old enough they wouldn’t get carded if they were people, she’s good. And good thing too, or she wouldn’t be paying her bills.
You might be wondering - that much chrome? That vintage? This chick sounds like if she hasn’t already shown up on a headline with MaxTac she’s due for it any second. That’s the funny thing. Far as I and everyone else in contact with her can tell, she’s perfectly stable - or at least as stable as anyone in her position can be. I have a hypothesis - I don’t need to explain cyberpsychosis to you, hopefully, so I’ll skip over that part of the lecture. She’s talked about clinging to any sense of self she can - she’s already dissociated. Unlike those lovely chums in Maelstrom she didn’t choose to get that extreme, nor did she ever exhibit signs of ever being anything but a genuinely pleasant person beforehand. Now, hear me out - but I think she won’t start seeing us fleshies as beneath her because she mourns what she has already lost, and doesn’t want to lose any more. Heh, something poetic about that. Clinging so hard to any sense of self remaining that it gives her a stronger grip on reality than some people with a quarter of the chrome she’s packing.
D E T A I L E D A P P E A R A N C E D E T A I L E D A P P E A R A N C E
Svetlana Petrovna Shaposhnikova is a woman of average height, with piercing cybernetic eyes of mismatched color. Catching a glimpse of her on the street might not betray much about the true extent of her augmentation. A long black coat conceals most of her arms, and her hands are usually gloved to conceal any trace of the cybernetics beneath. Baggy pants likewise conceal that her legs, too, are artificial. She is the spitting image of a woman who wishes not to have the extent of her augmentation noticed. By anyone. Unlike most of her body, her leg chrome is actually from this decade, rather than dad’s three times recycled hardware. Some of the only cyberware installed before her ‘accident’, the legs were accompanied by what was at the time a humorous tattoo on her thigh, an in-joke between her and her at the time wife. Now, it serves only as a reminder of what she’s lost.
Persuade her to take off the jacket and things change, and drastically. Her arms, legs, most of her organs, and large patches of her torso have been replaced with cybernetics. Svetlana is less “a woman who is part machine” and more “a machine into which a woman has been haphazardly inserted”. Most of this cyberware is self evidently old. Certainly, when it was released, it was top shelf stuff - but that was in the Time of the Red, when Night City denizens were simply happy not to have died in a nuclear firestorm. Now? Outdated is pushing it. Obsolete might be a better term to use. But it still functions - and it was what was affordable for a desperate former netrunner.
Her face and body are well adorned with numerous scars and battle injuries, almost all of them recent. Exactly what you might expect of a mid tier solo with a lack of self preservation.
Shaposhnikova is certainly pleasant enough in how she carries and presents herself. She’s even genuinely fun, some times. A lovely sense of dark humor, too. However interacting with her is… strange. As though her personality is a painting of the old one, painted purely from memory alone. Certainly there is a resemblance - but it’s fundamentally wrong. She might be described as an empty slate. An incomplete person trying to recover what has been forever lost.
P L O T ( S ) & G O A L ( S ) P L O T ( S ) & G O A L ( S )
Despite everything, Shaposhnikova is young and full of energy and determination. Maybe she doesn’t have much of a bright future laying in store - maybe the best she can hope for is to become a mid-level merc patching together a new life from the old. Maybe the bottom will fall out, and we’ll see her on the headlines being gunned down by MaxTac. Maybe, just maybe, she might find closure and resolve whatever it was that brought about such an unpleasant turn of events for her. And then, maybe, she can finally put to rest a dead woman’s past and become her own person.
