[hider=]
[center][img]https://i.pinimg.com/564x/b2/5e/52/b25e5237b9f45c229a7b9bbeb39068de.jpg[/img]
[color=008000][b][Proctor Ryke]
[47] | [Male] | [5’11] | [A-][/b][/color][/center]


[color=008000][h3][i]General Information[/i][/h3][/color]

[b]NAME: Proctor Ryke[/b]

[b]ALIASES // TITLES: Richter Gamble
Jonesy
Cyborg[/b]

[b]SEX:Male[/b]

[b]AGE:60[/b]

[b]APPEARANCE:[/b] Usually dressed utilitarian clothing, combined with his favorite collared jacket, Proctor keeps a low profile. His body is on the more toned side, or, really, his torso is. His arms and legs are all cybernetic, so they keep their toned shape no matter what, keeping overall slim and tall. His augments, however, are visibly aged, both by being covered by nicks, scratches and dents from years of fighting and abuse, and also from being generally older models. His limbs, while still being in the classic sleek, attractive APEX style, are still distinctly outdated, but still well operating, despite their wear, still command the same respect that augments usually do.
 
His hair is a bright white, indicative of his age, but his eyes glow an augmented bright blue, having changed from his natural-born brown eyes. He has a large augmentation encompassing much of the back and sides of his head, covered in glowing lights and different colored steel, also covered in it’s fair share of scratches and scuffs. The skin around his augment is scarred and warped, but the rest of his face is surprisingly free of defects, other than the obvious wrinkles setting in, and a few moles and other signs of old age. Most of his face, though, is covered by a large white beard, which is growing increasingly unkempt as time goes by. You’d probably describe him as a “Robo-Grandpa” if you saw him.

[b]OCCUPATION:[/b] [i]”Streetjack, Pavement Pusher, whatever you want to call it. I make money.”[/i]

[b]CAMPAIGN TEAM POSITION:[/b] Fundraising Manager


[color=008000][h3][i]Psychological Profile[/i][/h3][/color]
[center][b][color=008000] Confident | Anxious | Cunning | Self-Involved | Pessimistic | Distrustful[/color][/b][/center]

[b]PERSONAL GOAL:[/b] Proctor’s only aim is to keep himself alive. Whatever it takes to make sure he can get what he needs to stay afloat, Proctor will do it.The ever looming fear of his demise helps keep the haze in his mind at bay, but with every day that passes, Proctor can feel the noose around his neck tightening, the blade press closer into his neck, and the energy powering his limbs slowly seeping out of him. Even though he hasn’t much to live for, Proctor desperately wants to live. He doesn’t want to be another nameless corpse left to rot in the streets amongst the vermin and trash. Proctor would rather die trying to get rich than to go out on his ass, broke, and without any say in the matter.


[b]CAMPAIGN GOAL:[/b] When you live the life and come from the kind of work that Proctor has, you know that money can be rung from any rag you can find in the streets. The Reclaim Zone is laden with opportunities for anyone a little loose on their morals or quick on their trigger, so why he decided to start working with Campbell, even Proctor isn’t quite sure of yet. Mostly, he supposes, it’s the money that could potentially be earned on the winning side of a mayoral run. Money, and access to the drugs he needs to keep his SPECS at bay. At the same time, however, if Campbell’s promise holds true, and he does his best to clean the streets up, Proctor sees a good opportunity to wipe a lot of former competition off the map. A double win for the aging cyborg.

If anything, perhaps this campaign could give him some sort of purpose other than just to keep breathing. If he must finally face his own mortality, at least he could do [i]something[/i] before he dies, right? Proctor’s never been one to worry about leaving a mark on the world, but you’re never too old to actually ambitions, are you?

[b]PERSONAL PHILOSOPHY:[/b] Ever since Proctor began to learn about all humans’ tendency, no matter how self sacrificing or generous they are, to value themselves over everyone else, he’s lived and survived by that school of thought. He’s not a heartless animal willing to get one over on or kill anyone at any turn, he believes in treating people with at least a modicum of respect and decency, but, no one is above him in importance. If it means his life or death, sink or float, Proctor works for himself and only himself. The Reclaim Zone has taken more than enough lives, right before Proctor’s eyes, and now, survival is the greatest high Proctor can feel.

It’s been a very long time since Proctor made any major moves, subsisting on odd jobs and petty pushing for decades. Seeing what semblance of a foundation he had ripped away from him taught him that worrying about others or trying to carry some sort of following is a pipe dream for him. Collaborative efforts, while sweet for a while, do eventually crumble. He just hopes that maybe he can get away from this one with more than he did the last one.

[b]POLITICAL PHILOSOPHY:[/b] Proctor has spent so much time wallowing with the denizens of the Reclaim zone that he never felt the need to dabble or pay attention to politics, at least not past knowing who swung around the most power, or which street gangs controlled the most territory. Due to his augments, he’s had a few run ins and discussions with some Neo-Transhumanists and HyperHuman monks, developing a bit of connection with both groups. After putting up with his fair share of unwarranted hatred for being “an abomination of man and machine”, it was a pleasant change of pace to speak with people that embraced his choices and encouraged him to continue his work on perfecting his form and replacing his human weakness with mechanical dominance. While the spiritual side of the various movements never interested him much, their unconditional support of augmenting the human body is good enough reason for Proctor to give them his support.

The obvious is not lost on Proctor, that the mega-corporations rule many aspects of life, the government is mostly corrupt with a few good souls trying to do good, but most of it flies under his radar. What matters to him the most is what happens on the street level, his level. The difference between people is negligible, everyone is equal to Proctor in that he doesn’t care much for anyone. The effort it takes to rally for a purpose, or to carry prejudice against others, or to try and uplift entire demographics, is all an effort in futility for Proctor.

[b]SECRETS:[/b] Well, really, his identity is a secret in and of itself. He’s got a lot of enemies, and powerful ones at that, but Proctor hasn’t tried to make any major moves for decades. The heat has been off for a while now, but if his name were to reappear in the spotlight, Proctor is sure he’d have a bullet in his skull in no time at all. Even those who don’t want to kill him might not exactly enjoy or appreciate his presence, as his criminal past has made him somewhat of an infamous character in the local lore. Better to just give a fake name and hope his aging face hides who he used to be.

[b]FEARS:[/b] 
Number One at the top of that list is easily Death. The concept of it, the act of dying, all of it shakes Proctor to the bone. Life has caught up very quickly with Proctor, and all of a sudden, he’s dealing with his very real mortality, despite all the measures he took to try and avoid it when he was young. 

Nothing much else scares Proctor much, other than the thought of the forgotten bounties on his head that are still floating around. As much as he likes to put on a tough guy front, he does often peer over his shoulders, wondering if one of his old rivals is going to send a shooter after him. Most things that pull some fear and anxiety from Proctor, like heights, often just have to do with his overwhelming fear of death.

[b]REPUTATION:[/b] Proctor is a sort of ghost story in the streets of the Reclaim Zone at this point. He’s not a household name or anything like that, but there are still stories that float around about the the guy that tried to rival The Knights back in the day. Most people think he’s dead, and aging and further augments have made Proctor’s looks a far cry from what they used to be, helping conceal his continued presence in the Reclaim.

The men which used to work with Proctor know the truth, though, and most still hold Proctor in high esteem, as their former leader, charismatic and kind, but never destined to be powerful. Those who need to work with or know Proctor respect him, but his name doesn’t really garner fear anymore, just simple interest. He was never in it for the fame, just the money, but he doesn’t have much of anything anymore.

Even though not many people talk about him anymore, there are still a select few that want him dead, namely Jackson Rott, and men of his ilk. Some men still remember Proctor as the man who wanted the Reclaim Zone for himself, and would like to kill him just to tie up another loose end from the old days.


[b]LIKES:[/b] Taking walks through bustling city streets.
A bout of recreational drugs when he can spare the cash.
The rush of making money.


[b]DISLIKES:[/b] Losing money.
The fog of SPECS.
Contemplating his mortality.
People who are rude to people who work in customer service.

[b]QUIRKS:[/b] When sitting in chairs, Proctor will mindlessly rock back and forth in his seat. Not [i]hard[/i] but just slightly enough for someone to notice.

No matter where he is or what he is doing, Proctor will sometimes stop, stand in one place, and just stretch everything out. His arms, legs, back, jaw, everything, just to try and loosen up and relax. Even though, you know, most of his limbs are… metal.

[color=008000][h3][i]⌑Background Information[/i][/h3][/color]
	[i]”I tried to never let this place define me, I just made the best of what I was given. I did what I wanted to, fucked and fucked over whoever I felt like, and the same got done to me, but I never let it stop my work, my hustle. I never really needed a ‘meaning’ or a ‘purpose’ past just surviving, because that’s enough by itself.”[/i]

Somewhere unimportant in the Reclaim Zone, Proctor was brought into an uninterested and uncaring Angel City. Most of his memories of his early life and his parents are fading away from him, whether it be the early stages of SPECS, his age, all the blows he’s taken to the head, or perhaps a combination of both. He remembers his parents being rather plain people, neither very abrasive nor soft. They were just another pair of people driven by their primitive human need to keep breathing and walking, led not by passion or desire, but rather, blind autonomous survival.

Early on in his life, the importance of protecting himself was imprinted heavily on him by his parents, whether it be by the lectures and speeches he can’t quite remember anymore, or the many times he saw what failure to survive looked like. He wasn’t coddled or made to believe maybe he could leave the Reclaim Zone someday in the future, he was shown exactly what life does to anyone who loses their way. People die, people suffer, and the only one who could change that is the individual.

Goodness and Evilness weren’t real, they were just words people made to describe the positive and negative they had to work with. The world was disinterested in its inhabitants, with the Zone providing nothing but shade to those that dwelled within its walls. Life, day in and day out, writhed it’s way in and out of the streets, in and around their homes, all in their autonomous need to stay above ground. They didn’t stay alive because of their passion for life or joy in living, they stayed alive because that’s all they knew how to do. Even then, some of them failed, and Proctor was vigilant to learn from others’ failure.

Solidifying all his learnings in the Art of Survival, the day his parents were killed did well to shape up the then young Proctor. Though he’d never dare admit it, the day is still a sort of sensitive topic for him, so after doing a good job of compartmentalizing the whole ordeal, the details are fuzzy, but the important details are still there. A standard home burglary gone wrong, except as soon as the fatal danger presented itself, his parents fled, leaving the then 9 year-old Proctor alone cowering in his room. Of course, they were never allowed to get very far before each were shot to death. Whether the shooter hadn’t the resolve to murder a child, or saw it as a waste of time or ammunition, Proctor was left alone in the house after it had been stripped of all it’s valuables.

The Reclaim Zone seemed unbothered as another orphaned child turned into a street urchin, as Proctor took to the streets in search of ways to keep himself alive. Whether it was digging in the trash cans behind restaurants, stealing and selling pieces of technology, Proctor found a way to survive. He learned the value of a credit, how to stretch a credit for all it was worth, and all the tragic normalities that come with living on the street. He became insignificant member of the festering biomass that surged in and out of the streets everyday, learning to be one with the ever moving tides of life and death, always managing to keep mostly dry, even if Death’s putrid scent always lingered around him.

Nothing that Proctor built ever came easy or quickly. Between knife fights with junkies in alleyways, or “repurposing” stashes of drugs he in no way stole from anyone, Proctor managed to keep his chin above water, making a bit of a name for himself amongst the local clan of urchins. Even though it was out of character, it seemed like the eyes on the walls finally concentrated on someone, that maybe, just maybe, someone was peeling themselves off the pavement, not a common sight in the Reclaim Zone. As much as Proctor knew about survival, the city that had remained standing around Proctor, after millenia of mistreatment and abuse, knew more than him, and it was time to prove himself.

For once, the kid knew ambition, and it began to manifest itself in interesting ways. Instead of trying to consume him, the streets embraced him, and his fellow urchins knew power when they saw it. Even if it could’ve ended up in his back, Proctor knew that a second knife was always stronger than just one, and soon enough, he had his own gang of people who were trying to make it through the shifting tides, just like him.

The Gamblers were the Zone’s newest collection of like-minded miscreants, and the Zone was quick to take notice. What used to be petty robbery and knife fights turned into small scale heists and drug dealing. Credits weren’t a new language to Proctor, but he was suddenly becoming much more fluent than he used to be. Surviving was finally feeling easier than it had before. The walls around the Zone had finally loosed up, and the waves were splashing lower down on Proctor’s legs, the stench of Death that followed him was beginning to disperse.

With this newfound money and power, Proctor began to take even more drastic measures to ensure that his chin stayed above sea level, and took to replacing his weak, imperfect organs & limbs with ones made of black metal. Flesh and blood gave way to steel and copper, lungs and heart extracted and replaced with machines that could do their jobs more reliably and for a much longer time. Slowly, Proctor was becoming more machine than man, but those fears that made him human were still woven deeply in him, whether they were woven with flesh or fiber optic.

The paranoia that crept deep within him made him wonder, were there other standouts from the Zone that would try to get rid of him? He and his gang had made their space in the Zone, but he was doubtless that there were others who wanted to push them out. There were plenty of other gangs that had their eyes on the space he occupied, but none of them posed as big as a threat as the Knights, the most aggressive, assertive gang in the Zone.

Despite their penchant for violence and subjugation, the Knights still wanted to maintain stability and freedom, and the Gambler’s and their disregard for most of the residents presented an issue for Jackson Rott and his Knights. For the most part, issues remained simple disagreements or scuffles in alleyways, but as each gang grew larger and more vicious, these small squabbles slowly became more serious dust-ups and fights.

Soon, it was full-on turf war, and, to spare the details, The Gamblers came out the losers. Most of the men and women Proctor had just begun to call his friends now stained the streets with their blood. Suddenly, the waters began to rise up around Proctor, and now, they were stained red and carried a stench on them that Proctor couldn’t even escape in his weak slumber. Many of Proctor’s memories have become muddled and fuzzy over time, but he remembers the day his Gamblers failed to survive very clearly.

Removed from his spot amongst the Zone’s special survivors and presumed dead, Proctor went into hiding, taking what little he had left and, like he had done so many years before, melded back into the writhing masses of the Zone, shrouded in the anonymity of street survival. He was driven by neither passion nor joy, but instead, his primitive, human drive to breathe and walk. 

After years in obscurity, living from job to job, surviving one way or anything, a new job presented itself to Proctor. The rising campaign of Dexter Campbell, and the multiple open positions to help him dethrone Mayor Gatch felt like a stroke of incredible luck. Campbell needed someone to raise funds, and if Proctor knew how to do anything, it was to make money. He gave them a fake name, Richter Gamble, and joined the campaign as Dexter’s Fundraising Manager. Coming up with money for a campaign was difficult, but Proctor was sure he’d be able to use the skills he’d spent his whole life building to find his way into more money and power than he’d ever had before.


[color=008000][h3][i]Operative Information[/i][/h3][/color]

[color=steelblue][center][b]▩AUGMENTATIONS▩[/b][/center][/color]

[center]Two (2) APEX Model 35-S Cybernetic Arms, One Left and One Right[/center]
Both are Proctor’s arms are outdated, APEX-made pieces of machinery. Together, they give the operator the strength to lift about half a ton, but since Proctor is still stuck with a normal human spine, he doesn’t really have the ability to support that weight. That doesn’t nullify all the strength granted by his arms, as he can still punch a hole through most brick walls, and has some serious throwing capability to add too.

Both of his arms, as stated above, are, at this point, approximately thirty years old, and while they don’t carry and suite of tools or make him quite a superhuman, they are still strong and reliable pieces of technology, top-of-the-line back in their heyday. Even decades old APEX are something to behold, but he won’t be stopping traffic anytime soon with these aging arms.

[center][color=steelblue]Two (2) FuryTech Strider-Class E.R.L Legs[/color][/center]
Capable of outrunning a bullet train, deliver kicks that could kill an elephant, or supporting, at most, a full ton of weight, Proctor’s Strider Legs were intended to be the only cybernetic legs you’d ever need for the rest of your life, available at a price for which wouldn’t take you that time to pay back, too. Of course, now being about twenty-five years old, they aren’t quite the glamourous, impressive legs there were advertised to be back in their heyday, but they work.

Age and use haven’t been good to them, and when not wearing pants, these legs look drastically different than most cybernetic limbs today, as they don’t really try to imitate human limbs in their looks. Black metal, adorned with scratches and dents, are all that greets the eyes when they see Proctor’s legs. Open joints, robotic imposters of toes, audible mechanical whirring sometimes, they are very obviously some worn legs. Maybe a little bit of exposed wiring here and there, but nothing too big. 

While the legs were certainly capable of delivering on their claims when they were first released, time has not been good to their performance. Not to say they haven’t held up well enough, but Proctor, while he can propel himself much faster than the ordinary man, hasn’t been able to outrun a bullet train in a long time. He can still kick the head [i]almost[/i] completely off a man, but he’d probably just sooner shoot them than do that.

[center][color=steelblue]One (1) FuryTech C.O.R.E Heart[/color][/center]
While not exactly bulletproof, the FuryTech Cardiac Organ Replacing Enhancement is still a very hardy and reliable piece of machinery. While, technically, pumping blood [i]harder[/i] than an organic heart can isn’t exactly beneficial, being able to do that job much longer and with less problems is FuryTech’s strength. The unit is much, much less likely to deal with irregular heartbeats, is 99% likely to never be stricken by arrest, and can negate many of the effects of arteries afflicted with cholesterol build up, which isn’t exactly ideal, but still means a much better life than otherwise. When the unit was made, blood purification systems weren’t quite off the ground yet, so the most this heart can do is help alleviate the effects of blood-borne illnesses or poisons, but nothing much past that.

You may be wondering if the unit is vulnerable to EMP blasts, which would be critical flaw, but thankfully, it’s not. Even twenty or so years ago when Proctor acquired his limbs, the ability to shield them from outside blasts was already pretty commonplace, so his heart, and other augments for that matter, are all fairly well protected against any sort of anti-electronic measures. At least, they were when they were produced. As for how the shielding has held up over time, that remains yet to be seen.

[center][color=steelblue]One (1) FuryTech R.O.R.E Set of Lungs[/color][/center]
[color=slategray]To accompany and take advantage of having an enhanced heart, Proctor also has an enhanced set of lungs, also from FuryTech. They’re meant to allow much longer stamina when it comes to vigorous activity, as the blood in one’s body can be oxygenated and pumped much faster than with a standard set of organs. Combine that with a set of Cybernetic Arms and Legs, and it makes for someone who can keep moving, quicky, for a long time.

Being made of metal and fiber optic and materials of tha sort, many of the common worries that come with regular lungs don’t apply to these Respiratory Organ Replacing Enhancements. Lung Cancer is almost a non-issue, being punctured or crushed presents much less of an issue, as the lungs can support life with just one side, or can expand and contract with much greater force when under great pressure. This might mean pushing a little bit against a few other organs, or breaking a few ribs, but that’s only in the most extreme situations.[/color]

[center][b][u]---[/u][/b][/center]


[center][color=steelblue][b]▨EQUIPMENT▨[/b][/color][/center]
F. HeavyTech .45CAL Caseless Machine Pistol: to be expanded
F. HeavyTech Low Profile Body Armor

[b]SKILLS:[/b] Street Intuition
Silver Coated RoboTongue
Network of Lucrative Connections

[b]FLAWS:[/b] (Aim for three or so. Equal or greater to your number of skills.)
SPECS
Extreme Fear of Death
Loss of Dexterity and Finesse in Age
Memory loss and mad memory

[b]NOTES:[/b]
[/hider]