Harmless text scrolled slowly across the contacts that Nadya wore. A friendly greeting that sent a shiver down her spine. She was wary of the Matrix. She didn't understand the Matrix. Not really. Not like she understood magic. Not like she understood violence. She didn't trust the deckers, riggers, and technomancers that lived there. And she didn't appreciate someone, even a teammate, beaming text across her eyes uninvited. She buried the small frown that followed beneath a gentle smile. Feeling her claws shifting expectantly.
Barely looking up from her cards, Nadya stretched a hand protectively over the growing pile of bottle caps, nicknacks, and small objects that were piled on the table in front of her. A collections of winnings she had acquired piece by piece from the large troll sitting across from her over the unfolding hours. Makeshift chips that they had hastily assigned Nuyen values to in a smattering of Vietnamese slang, insults, and rude gestures.
"I'm Wildfire," Nadya said, turning a steady glance towards the three strangers scattered around the cabin. Polishing off the glass of vodka she had been nursing, she offered another serene smile, "I'm the muscle."
She nodded towards Frost, "And that's Frost, she's the charmer."
Behind her mask, in the looming distance, Nadya could feel her nerves fraying. She hadn’t slept since they had accepted the job and the calm of meditation could only do so much to stave away the weariness that ate at her bones. The soft, cushioned seats offered her no respite. Comfort and class didn’t leave her with the space to relax among a rag tag group of walking uncertainties. She had eaten lightly, picking at small cuts of meat and cheese, deciding that poison or a sedative was unlikely. The puffers of Bliss she had tucked into one of the concealed pockets of her flight jacket sang their familiar siren song. Later she promised herself. When she and Frost were alone. She trusted the troll more than she trusted herself. She knew that she would keep her safe.
Picking up a Lightning Cola bottle cap in her left hand, Nadya rolled the garishly bright bottle cap across her knuckles. Holding the glowing neon disc in front of her as if examining some precious object she winked playfully at Frost, tossing it to her in a sudden flash of motion, "We said, these were worth 50¥, no? Your stack is growing unfortunately sparse, my dear sister. At this rate, I worry that you will not have any funds remaining by the time we reach Lisbon. Maybe poker's just not your game, Frost. We can always play something else..."
Unsure of how to respond, Dom offered only a faint smile watching the odd events unfolding around her. Being looked at, examined even, was one thing, but being prodded, and touched was quite another. The fog and the fearful word of the major had set a poor stage by her measure. The strange woman arguing with the knights did little to lighten the mood.
However Templar Weber seemed to know her and his annoyance seemed to suggest no real threat.
"I am the Scion of Metal, pleased to meet you, Miss...ummm...Renata," Dom said.
"Do you know much about these spirits?" She added, trying to steer the conversation away from arresting anyone, back to Sara's question, and towards the true purpose of their visit. Mad woman or not, it didn't hurt to be polite, and Dom had learned long ago that most people liked to be listened to and to have their concerns heard.
Standing 1.8 meters tall, Nadya has a lithe build, with subtle cords of muscle hidden beneath a graceful form. Fair skinned, she is ambiguous in terms of ethnicity, and it is hard to place where she exactly she is from. She has soft brown eyes set in almond-shaped frames that dance with curiosity. Her brown hair is wavy, cut with her own claws, and never reaches past her shoulders.
Gifted with a catlike elegance, Nadya moves with the steady ease of a predatory creature. Swathed in silence and shadows, she possesses an exceptional ability to move unseen and unheard.
Of two minds when it comes to fashion, Nadya alternates between corporate chic and punk styles dating from the Fifth World. Her day-to-day outfits are a rotating selection of second hand armored business suits, dress shirts, leather dress shoes, and expensive ties. For more relaxed settings, she does her best to capture an older spirit of punk through the heavy use of black jeans, torn band t-shirts, leather jackets, combat boots, and far too much black eyeliner.
Awakened
Yes
Archetype
Physical Adept
Berserk Berserker's Rage Combat Sense Counterstrike Critical Strike (Unarmed) Killing Hands Light Body Pain Resistance Rapid Healing Wall Running
Nadya is a student of the Yielding Way, more commonly known by runners as Jujitsu. This martial art is particularly useful for Nadya when she is faced with armored and armed opponents. Using the force of her foes against them, she is able to defeat such advantaged enemies even without any weapons. Her techniques center on subduing, throwing, and disarming her opponents.
- Called Shot (Disarm) - Chin Na (Catching and Locking Joints) - Clinch - Sacrificial Throw - Sweep - Throw Person
Bioware/Cyberware
Claws (Retractable) - Courtesy of her corporate creators, Nadya sports ten fingeres worth of razor sharp claws, much like those of a cat, that can be retracted or extended at her whim.
Synaptic Booster (R3) - As an experimental product, a prototype in almost every way, Nadya's entire nervous system has been heavily modified by Evo Corporation scientists. To permit lightning fast reaction times, the nerve cells of her spinal cord have been broadened and replicated with proprietary bioware, facilitating a neural bandwidth several times higher than that found in the unaugmented.
Personality
A tranquil sea in an ocean of violence, Nadya is one of the friendliest Shadowrunners that you will meet. She is a cheerful figure who will offer a smile and a polite nod, even as she prepares to cut you into smaller ribbons with her sharpened claws. Full of hope, Nadya bristles with a wild curiosity, a reckless desire to see and do more that drives her straight into the arms of fresh trouble.
Raised to serve as the personal servitor and bodyguard to high-ranking corporate executives, Nadya commands the full range of social talents required to hold such a position. She is a capable conversationalist, demonstrating a wide range of knowledge across cultural, historical, and political domains. A corporate education has subtly modeled her, permitting her to move easily through corporate and high society. She is warm, empathetic, and outwardly exhibits few of the characteristics of a vat born ninja.
Steeped in Zen Buddhist philosophy doled out by her corporate overlords, Nadya maintains a matter-of-fact approach to violence. She shows little remorse for her opponents and happily dispatching anyone that stands in the way of her objectives. However, there is a quiet honesty to her, a sense of unflinching moral strength and loyalty. She is who she is and makes no effort to pretend otherwise.
Having built a new life, Nadya cares deeply for Frost and aggressively maintains that the troll is her older sister. Arguments suggesting otherwise, no matter how well-intentioned, are liable to be very poorly received. Beyond the strength of her personal ties, Nadya is deathly afraid of being captured and returned to Evo Corporation. As a result, she will react violently and with complete abandon to any attempts to restrain or imprison her.
Qualities
Ambidextrous - Left hand, right hand, it doesn't matter all that much to Nadya, she's learned to use each of her two hands as well as the other, particularly when it comes to combat.
Biocompatibility - Designed from the ground up to be a bioware test bed, Nadya's doesn't just accept bioware implants, but slots them in seamlessly as if they were always a part of her body, lessening the impact such scientific meddling has on her to the point that it is no longer noticeable outside of exploratory surgery.
Catlike - Nadya sleeps like a cat, moves like a cat, falls like a cat, and scratches like a cat. She's stealthy. She's scarily silent. And even unarmed she has claws that HURT.
Prototype Transhuman - A walking, talking fairy tale, Nadya is a whispered story come to life. An genetically crafted, experimental post-human prototype cooked up in the deepest, darkest depths of an Evo Corporation's laboratory. Built better than a baseline human, her body has been tastefully enhanced with discreet, bleeding edge bioware that would make a back alley street doc sing with glee. The downside to such improvements is that Evo Corporation is keen, very keen to reacquire their lost arcane wonder.
Way of the Warrior - Way of the Warrior - Nadya has run, she's fought, and she's fucking bled. She's spent her life turning her body into a lethal weapon. She's got that shit. That shit that keeps her going, long after she's got no reason to."
Big Regret - Deep within her psyche, Nadya has buried a series of corporate missions. Successful in every way, they trouble her, not due to the final outcome, but rather because of what she did.
Driven - Nadya wants answers. She wants to know when she was born. She wants to know where she was born. She wants to know where her genes came from. And she wants to know what happened to her friends. This obsession drives Nadya, sometimes propelling her headfirst into danger.
Addiction - Nadya is mildly addicted to stimulants. Lacking easy access to corporate combat drugs, she relies on a carefully paced dosing and use of Cram, Jazz, Kamikaze, Novacoke, and Psyche. She is particularly fond of recreational usage of Bliss, designer Novacoke, and pharmaceutical grade Psyche.
Wanted - Having spent no small amount of money to design, develop, and train Nadya, Evo Corporation is very interested in "recovering" their lost prototype transhuman.
Equipment
Steyr TMP - Aiming to suppress enemies long enough to get up close and personal, Nadya favors a Steyr TMP loaded with 30 rounds of FMJ. To allow some volume of fire, she keeps three spare magazines tucked on her person. She stores the machine pistol in a concealable holster worn in the small of her back, helping to ensure it remains hidden from prying eyes. Given her distinct lack of a datajack or smart link capable cyberware, Nadya utilizes the built-in top-mounted laser sight to help her hit her targets. For discreet missions she has purchased a removable silencer.
Defiance EX Shocker - Acknowledging that sometimes dealing out death isn't the right choice or alternative, Nadya carries a Defiance EX Shocker, a wireless taser capable of putting down even an adult troll.
Pepper Punch Grenades x 2 - To resolve desperate situations or to buy some needed space, Nadya finds pepper punch grenades to be just the thing.
Armor Jacket - Nadya's most prized possession is a reproduction United States Air Force A-2 flight jacket. Created from ballistic fiber weave, Nadya has had the jacket modified to suit her personal tastes, affording greater protection from electrical, fire, and chemicals. Emblazoned on the back of the flight jacket is the text Flying Tigers, a squadron insignia showing a cartoon Bengal Tiger with blue wings leaping in between two blue rays, and below that the text American Volunteer Group. When asked, Nadya says that the jacket was a gift from her older sister, Frost. [Concealed Pockets] x 2 - Large enough to store a holdout pistols, commlink, or other similarly sized objects. - [6 Non-conductivity] - [4 Fire Resistance] - [2 Chemical Protection]
Auctioneer Business Clothes - Nadya owns several pairs of used armored suits that she has had tailored to fit her. She makes good use of the concealable holster discreetly sewn into the jackets. - - [4 Non-conductivity] - [2 Fire Resistance] - [2 Chemical Protection]
Gas Mask - Tucked on her person, Nadya keeps a compact but effective gas mask. It's hard to avoid eating her own Pepper Punch grenades otherwise.
Transys Avalon - Keen to avoid being hacked or jammed, for proper comms, Nadya owns a competitively priced Transys Avalon commlink.
Meta Link - Nadya has two cheap Meta Link commlinks intended only to be used as burner phones.
Micro-Transceiver - For missions, Nadya has a set of ear buds and an adhesive subvocal microphone to allow hands-free communication. Critically, the Micro-Transceiver permits voice communication via good old radio waves for when broadcasting live on the Matrix is not an advisable option.
Trodes - Uninterested in a datajack, Nadya keeps a pair of wound up trodes, for those rare times where she needs to connect to the matrix or pop up her own DNI.
Bliss x 2 - Racked by nightmares, guilt, and a host of unresolved issues, Nadya keeps a stash of Bliss to help her hit new levels of calm. It's hard to feel bad when you are floating on clouds and feeling only the warm fuzzies. The pain resistance afforded by Bliss is merely a happy side effect as far as Nadya is concerned.
Cram x 2 - Sometimes even a souped up super soldier needs an additional edge on a run and Nadya makes no bones about adding amphetamines to her arsenal.
Jazz x 2 - One of her oldest friends, Nadya turns to Jazz when she needs to turn up the noise up a notch from the usually delightful Cram fueled rush.
Kamikaze x 1 - Nadya's last resort on a run is a quick shot of Kamikaze that she keeps on her person. Dangerous in any dosage, the tailored combat drug is the closet replacement Nadya has managed to acquire to the proprietary drugs that Evo Corporation supplied her with.
Novacoke x 2 - Cast into high society, albeit as a servant, Nadya nonetheless has warm feelings concerning social drugs like Novacoke. A stimulant to keep her awake, keep her moving, and to help the good times flow seems like a wonderful thing to her.
Psyche x 1 - Purely for pleasure and to solve occasional puzzles, Nadya seeks out Psyche.
Zen x 1 - When meditation fails her, Nadya turns to Zen to enter trance-like states.
Silver Credstick Standard Credstick 2 Stim Patches (Rating 6) 1 Trauma Patch 1 Tranq Patch Medkits (Rating 3) Medkits (Rating 6) 10 Stealth tags 10 Data Chips 10 Standard tags Chisel/Crowbar Mini-welder Metal Restraints 10 Plastic Restraints
Background
"Yeah, I've heard the rumors. So what? We all have. They're just stories. You think the Megacorps could keep it under wraps if they had pulled it off? If they had managed to create something new? Something different? Something post-human?"
"Nah, don't make me laugh, Chummer. There isn't an army of super soldiers squirreled away in some bunker and kept on ice."
- Pr1nce$$
The dwarf appeared out of the shadows, ambling confidently through the crowd. In his hands were two glass mugs slopping over with beer. He made no greeting as he put down the mugs. Beer spilling with every inevitable shift of the wobbly table. He pulled out a battered pack of cigarettes with a shrug, taking his time. He had learned decades earlier to enjoy the small moments. Holding a cigarette lazily between his lips, he extended his right index finger, a small flame setting it alight. Smiling, he took a long pull, embers moving towards him as he inhaled, and then exhaled a thick cloud of smoke. His grey eyes lingered on the woman sitting in front of him.
"Let me tell you a story..."
"It starts in the Ural mountains. In an underground research facility. Yamatetsu Corporation. Course' they call themselves Evo Corporation now. There was always this idea. This pipe dream that the corporate scientists couldn't let go of...Transhumans."
"I'm told that the pitch went something like this: "What if we could build our own army? What if we could force the next evolutionary leap? What if we could go beyond humans and metahumans? What if we could create real post-humans. Our own genetically crafted soldiers. Patented, of course. No cumbersome cyberware, but bioware, special organs grown into them from their inception. Awakened, fully powered spellcasters. The perfect synergy of augmentation and magic. No weaknesses and no flaws."
"The execs ate that shit right up. And I'll give the bastards credit. It was successful. As far as corp wonder-weapon projects go, anyways."
"Most of the subjects weren't viable. So they were recycled. Turned into spare parts. Or just tossed into the blender and thrown back into the vat as fresh genetic material. Turns out it's not easy to paste together a grab bag collection of genes. Who would've thought?"
"Those that made it...let's call them potential candidates, were spirited away to a corporate creche. Raised by corp caretakers. Minded by corp minders. And watched by corp security. SOP for a serious outfit. What was a smidge more novel was running their subjects through a training program designed by some half-mad AI to maximize the rate of Awakenings."
"That was the only real hiccup. You can't force Awakening. Even the best and the brightest researchers couldn't crack that nut. So instead, they brute forced it. Probably best not to ask how many times they had to start over. How many bodies they chopped up to end up with just one Awakened. Some of the lucky failures were repurposed, stuffed with chrome and used for corp ops. The rest...ah...well, I don't need to spell it out for you."
"The successes. The vat born that Awakened were spirited off to a string of corporate academies. Finishing schools, if you want to think of it that way. They were taught how to act. They were taught how to blend in, how to fit in among the rubes and the elites. They were taught how to fight. They were coached by trusted physical adepts. They were instructed by vetted mages. They were turned into corporate weapons."
"Hard to tell though, innit?" The dwarf said, pausing to take a long pull of beer. Draining most of one mug, he grinned, nudging the other mug towards the woman. He raised a hand in her direction as he continue, "How do you know? How do you really know if you're sitting across from a souped up physical adept bristling with bioware worth more than a small mountain of credsticks?"
The woman tensed, her hands tightening into fists, and the dwarf could see the violence in her eyes threatening to travel to rest of her body. She was quicker he knew. Far quicker than he had ever been. Even in his prime, long decades ago.
"That was the point, obviously. Corp execs and socialites like to be discreet. And who doesn't want their own vat born ninja?"
"How do you know all of this?"
"Trade secrets, I'm afraid," the dwarf said with a wink, "But I don't need to convince. You know it's all true, don't you, Nadya?"
"Yes."
"How'd you get away?"
"Field ops in Beijing. A high value extraction. We were guarding a turncoat scientist willing to come over from the Big A. We were compromised. They located our safehouse. Some hotshot Azzie decker pinged it and vectored a Azzie kill squad. Most of my team was wiped out, including my handler. There didn't seem to be much point in fighting after that. The mission was a failure. And I had a chance. So I ran."
"Still, you knew they had to come looking. There was no chance they wouldn't notice you weren't dead."
"Yes, but I had a head start."
"You did! And you caused quite a ruckus. In truth, I didn't think you'd make it."
"I got lucky. Found a boat. Made a deal. Got off the mainland. And made some friends."
"Oh, I know all about your friends, particularly your large friend. And incidentally, the cannon she has pointed at me right now. I don't think she'll miss at this range. Shall we call it 1.5 km?" the dwarf said, flashing a golden smile. The metal gleamed in the half-lit darkness, as he waved nonchalantly across the beer garden.
"She won't miss," Nadya agreed.
"Wonderful! However, as I said, you needn't worry. We are on the same side."
"There are no sides. Only runs. Only corps to be avoided. And you...who are you?"
"Grimjack, my dear Wildfire, call me Grimjack."
"Why are you helping me?"
"Call it an investment."
"Who are you working for? Ares? Aztechnology?"
"Goodness, no. I serve no master, save myself, of course."
"Flux State?" She asked, reaching backwards across the years in search of motivation.
"Ha, no, they were children. I've been at this game longer than that."
He could see she had made a decision. He could sense the shift in her aura. The dwarf raised both his hands, holding palms facing forward, "Hey, hey, relax! I told you, we're on the same side."
"Hmph! You keeping speaking of sides. What side is that?"
"The only side worth fighting for, razorgirl, you just don't know it yet."
Staring across the arena, Cold Hands felt only a sense of continued peace as the gates opened. She had tried to explain to the guards that she had no intention of running. Certainly, she had no desire to fight them. They were weak and unworthy. Killing them would not have brought her closer to her goal. Besides, she could see the challenge laid out in front of her, the winding path, the red wound carved into the blood red sands of the arena by the Unfortunate Son. She accepted it. And she welcomed it.
The metal adorned man in the room with her seemed shaped for battle. There was little kindness in the work that had reforged his flesh. The guards had said little beyond threads of violence. They had said nothing of the other fated combatants. They had said nothing of her opponent.
Standing next to the other prisoner, Cold Hands kept her eyes on the arena. She wished to miss not a moment, and spoke words untouched by the growing energy of the roaring crowd, "Tell me stranger, who fights the first bout?"
Returning from my flu bout, I have wrapped up my character sheet (mostly adding adept powers and doing some quick spot checking, I didn't bother with actually calculating final PP or adept power levels since we are more RPing than going full table top, but let me know if you want me to do so).
"Hey, Ziska! Back in one piece for a change?” Marit hollered with a broad grin on her face. ”You’re awesome by the way, have I told you that? When we liberate a suitable watering hole, remind me I owe you some drinks for today. The TAG was on point."
"You can't get rid of me that easily, Marit," Ziska said, escaping Dr. Yuri's grasp in a sudden flurry of motion. Any sign of weariness or fresh pain vanished from her face in a heartbeat, as she focused all her thoughts on matters of merriment. She hadn't survived fighting off two heavier BattleMechs to die of boredom. Drinks. She wanted to drink. She wanted to party. And she wanted to...fight?
"But please, tell me more about how awesome I am, it has been too long since I received an appropriate measure of compliments, given my peerless reputation in this undoubtedly fine and heroic unit."
Matching Marit's step and avoiding the doctor's growing scowl, Ziska wrapped an arm good-naturedly over Marit's shoulder, taking small advantage in having to support less of her own weight, "Say...where is everyone else? We need some drinks to celebrate our successful mission, no?"
Not sure how well the in character background works, but I was feeling tired of writing a "history" style background. Made some tweaks to Nadya overall too (she's human now, less bioware for more or rather max magic + some totally responsible drug usage).
A plan felt good. A plan felt right to Dom. Whatever the merits of splitting up might have been, Dom was grateful to have not one, but three tasks dangled in front of her. It was something to focus on. It was something to do. She had no tongue for prophecy, nor long education in the symbols of the faith to think too deeply about the prophecy that Lucas had offered. She believed him, of course. However, her mind shifted to pragmatic concerns. She saw a design, a blueprint like that of a great ship, faintly visible. They had to follow the design the Scion of Time had woven.
All three tasks laid before them seemed worthwhile and good. Yet Dom felt herself drawn easily. For all her training, she was still no true fighter. She did not relish the idea of facing monsters. By the same measure, she was no socialite, no student used to wandering the hallowed halls of an institution of higher learning. She had no great desire to venture into the world of academia. The choice was not hers alone though. She trusted Sara and she wished to hear her thoughts. Her Templar had as much of a right to choose as she did, experienced as she was.
Shifting in her chair, Dom turned towards Sara, speaking low, "What does your heart tell you, Sara? Where do you wish us to go?"
"I believe now, more than ever, the people need their faith strengthened. Bringing peace to lost souls is a fine duty for a scion."
"I agree! I completely agree! Let us go, let us be peacemakers," Dom said, a true smile appearing on her face as she placed a hand happily on Sara's forearm, practically jumping with excitement.
Offering an apologetic cough, as she summoned a more serious posture, Dom addressed the gathered Scions and Templars once again, "We will travel with the Scion of Air and her Templar to Croia. To restore the peace and convince the spirits to return to their well-earned rest is a fine task. I am not so talented in the matter of gifts as Her Holiness Hollyhock, but I am told I am quite the listener. And none can doubt Dame Sara's faith. Such strong faith will no doubt be vital when parleying with the spirits."
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