Auz

Cyberpunk: Rogue

JV

P E R S O N A L I N F O

Name: Jean-Vallet “JV” Sanon
Callsign: Samedi
Age: 34
Height: 6’2
Weight: 106kg

E M P L O Y M E N T : Former Voodoo Boys Enforcer

P E R S O N A L I T Y:

For as long as he can remember, JV has never thought for himself. He has rarely taken action off of his own volition having always been told what to do, led around like a dog. Sure, there were times where he was let off leash but still, he had been given a goal and a purpose. Even when it comes to his religion, he seemingly cannot take a step unless it is the will of the Loa. Perhaps his mother was right and he truly was born with no soul, no fire in him, or perhaps it was her who placed the curse upon him.

Regardless, it was easy for him to be this way being a part of the Voodoo Boys. Between Maman Bridgette and Placide, orders never ran dry, well, until V came along. With their leaders now dead and the Animals tearing apart Pacifica, his Grandmother urged him to flee, to save what little he had left. Now without the gang, he’s having to think for himself for the first time but struggles as it’s a frustrating affair. He’s turned to short term medication, spending what little they have on booze and drugs.

F L A W : Apathy: As a child, JV learned from his mother that he was cursed with no soul and that atonement would only be found in fulfilling the needs of the Loa. As such, he is apathetic towards his actions. Good or evil, he has done whatever is asked of him.

F L A W : Self-Destructive: "Never have I dealt with anything more difficult than my own lost soul."

V I R T U E : Loyalty: JV is loyal to the Loa and his family, what’s left of them at least.

V I R T U E : Modesty: Not all of his actions are negative, though even the good ones are not done by him but by "The will of the Bondye."

A R M O U R & W E A P O N R Y

Weapons:

• Side Arm:
  Revolver

  

Augmentations/Cyberware:

• Gorilla Arms: Hydraulic knuckle dusters, fused onto JV hands. Strong enough to shatter bones.
• Subdermal Armour: Skin infused plating that does the same job as medium armour.

S K I L L S

Body 14 +6 (+2 Advantage)
Reflexes 14 +6 (+2 Advantage)
Tech 8 0 (-1 Disadvantage)
Intel 12 +4 (+1 Advantage)
Cool 10 +2 (No Advantage)

Subcategory Advantages: Melee/Fist Fighting and Athleticism/Feats of Strength

Quickhacks:

Total Ram: 6

Weapon Glitch: (Uncommon/Blue Level) (Cost: 5 Ram)

• Jam's a target's weapon, rendering it temporarily unusable.
• Causes the target's weapon to malfunction, reducing its accuracy and disabling Smart-tracking and obstacle penetration.
• Spreads to the nearest enemy within 8 meter(s).

Overheat (Uncommon/Blue Level) (Cost: 4 Ram)

• Non-lethal
• Applies Burn to the target, dealing high damage over time. Less effective against drones, mechs and robots.
• Targets affected by Burn from Overheat are unable to perform any actions.

R E L A T I O N S

• Son: Jean-Baptiste Sanon - Family
• Wife: Oshun Sanon (Deceased) - Family
• Grandmother: Maman Nadège - Non-blood relative Grandmother
• Saint Moses: Former Voodoo Boys Fixer - Non-blood relative Uncle (Tonton)
• Mother: Name unknown, whereabouts unknown - Family
• Father: Name unknown, whereabouts unknown - Family

H I S T O R Y

Haiti in the 2040’s was a country under assault. Humanity's twisted treatment of mother nature had stirred her into fighting back. The small island nation was battered by a series of horrific storms, with many refugees fleeing to the states. In modern times, the majority of the Caribbean has been lost to the sea along with the lives of anyone who had dared stayed.

Bundled into a leaky dinghy, in the darkest hour of the night, JV could never remember why they left Haiti. Sure, there were the storms but something had occurred, a tipping point between his parents. His father, only referred to as 'the Pagan' by his mother, was nowhere to be seen at the time, leaving the two to island hop around the Caribbean and Central America for the next 3 years. Though never revealing why they left, his mother only ever told him that it was because JV was cursed. A child, born with no soul, incapable of being anything other than a pit of emptiness was used by his mother to get across the border in hope of a better life.

Left like garbage on the other side, she abandoned the child on the steps of the Voodoo Boy Church. "The Loa are the only ones who can grant you salvation, boy." Were some of her last words to him, leaving an ever lasting imprint on him.

Raised in an orphanage by Maman Nadège, JV grew up as an outcast among his own kind. Orphans, in lieu of their own family, tended to band together, becoming brothers and sisters bound by circumstance. Such was not the case for Jean-Vallet. He would oftentimes be caught doing nothing but sitting on his bed, staring out the window. Those around had heard the rumours, that he had been born with no soul, so most were happy to stay clear. Not Maman Nadège though.

A tough but fair woman, she pushed JV forward in childhood and adolescence, finding the young man responded well to direct guidance. He spent most of his time running errands either for her or small things for the Voodoo Boys. As puberty hit, JV shot up in size and stature, quickly daunting most around him. Maman Nadège pushed him into the gym where he took up boxing and weight training. It was there the woman finally saw a spark of personality with the young man taking to the sport like a moth to a flame.

Soon he was a local champ, fighting in rings across Night City and even making a name for himself among the amateur world of boxing. It was during this time he met and impressed Oshun, a beautiful local woman. The two quickly fell in love and the boy's grandmother was happy to see the young woman bring him even further out of his shell. The two wed only a few years after knowing each other.

Boxing didn’t last though, the gang had needs that trumped training and even matches, meaning JV could never qualify professionally and eventually had to give it up. Things became worse after the birth of his son, Oshun was diagnosed with breast cancer, a curable disease in the modern age for those who could afford it. JV couldn’t and despite his hard work for the gang, they never rewarded him well financially. The cancer spread to her lungs and Jean-Vallet could do nothing but watch the love of his life waste away. With her death, any semblance of personality faded as the man became nothing more than a grunt in the gang. Care of his now 3 year old son fell to Maman Nadège, who, as always, took pity on JV.

The final straw came when the Voodoo Boys attempted to use V to achieve their goals of godhood. Like Icarus, the gang flew too close to the sun and were killed when V let loose in their base of operations. JV didn’t even see the famed solo coming his way, a system reset left the man writhing on the floor and the merc vanished without a trace. He was lucky, V killed most of the others but the gang was now crippled. Taking advantage of their long time rival, the Animals swooped in and waged war. It was a vicious and bloody fight but even in the chaos and carnage, Maman Nadège managed to convince JV to flee for the sake of his son and the memory of his wife. Doing so, the man took his grandmother and boy renting an apartment in downtown Heywood.

Having lost almost everything, JV now spends his time and ennies on booze and drugs, for what is he but a man cursed with no soul? It is on one of these nights where he slipped out of his apartment to head to the groceries where he was set upon by Scavs. Drunk and high, he is still able to fight off a few of them but is eventually overpowered.

C Y B E R P S Y C H O

Oshun

Oshun is a goddess connected to rivers, streams, and water. She is associated with beauty and love with her followers often leaving offerings to her at river beds. Oshun Sanon, JV’s deceased wife has melded with an image of the Goddess. It’s been so long he’s not sure which statement is true, does the God resemble his wife? Or does his wife resemble the God?

Whatever the case may be, she's his opposite, full of energy, love and wisdom. She advises on the will of Bondye, God of all and is constantly out for JV to embrace her.

Cyberpunk: Rogue

Character Sheet

P E R S O N A L I N F O

Name:
Callsign:
Age:
Height:
Weight:

E M P L O Y M E N T : What did your character do before being taken?

P E R S O N A L I T Y: A small overview of them as a person.

F L A W : Each character must have at least 2 flaws and 2 virtues

F L A W :

V I R T U E :

V I R T U E :

A R M O U R & W E A P O N R Y

Primary: Primary can be a melee or cyberware if you wish. You can have all four of these options if you wish.

Side Arm: Optional

Melee: Optional

Armour: Optional

Augmentations/Cyberware: Two maximum and are to be chosen from in-game upgrades. We will allow you to create your own but it will have to be signed off by both GM’s. You will receive plenty of opportunities to upgrade your characters as we progress.

Quickhacks: Are optional and are to be chosen from in game list. We will allow creation of your own but it will need signing off by both GM’s.

S K I L L S

18 points of distribution, everyone starts at 8 and it works the same as DnD. 8=-1 disadvantage, 10 is 0 12 is +1, 14 is +2, max is 15.

Pick two sub-categories at 14 points or over to receive two dice advantages in. Two sub-categories of the same overall attribute can be chosen.

Body: The Body attribute determines your raw physical power and survivability/toughness. Subcategories: Melee/Fist Fighting, Close Quarter Ranged Combat/Heavy Weapons or Athleticism/Feats of Strength.

Reflexes: The Reflexes attribute determines your manoeuvrability. Think acrobatics, agility, quick draw, blade work, accuracy of guns. Subcategories: Assault weapons (non-tech Assault Rifles, Precision Rifles, Sniper Rifles or SMGs and Pistols), Blades (includes Cyberware blades and wires) or Agility/Acrobatics.

Technical Ability: Engineering knowhow. Explosives, tech weapons, armour expertise, repair tech, improve tech. Subcategories: All Tech Weapons, Explosives and Repair/Mod.

Intelligence: The Intelligence attribute determines your netrunning proficiency. Increase RAM and enable better access to higher levelled quickhacks. Subcategories: Hack speed or Daemon effectiveness.

Cool: Stealth and speech. Fast talking, calm under pressure and the ability to move around in the shadows. Subcategories: Speech or Stealth

Example:

Body 8 (-1 Disadvantage)
Reflexes 14 +6 (+2 Advantage)
Tech 10 +2 (No Advantage)
Intel 12 +4 (+1 Advantage)
Cool 14 +6 (+2 Advantage)

Subcategory Advantages: Blades and Stealth (2 dice rolls each time this skill check occurs, higher of the two is chosen.)

R E L A T I O N S

List who your character is close to and why.

Mum: cause she’s me ma

H I S T O R Y

Character history/background.

C Y B E R P S Y C H O

Your cyberpsychosis will manifest itself in subtle ways to begin with. Shadows that disappear the moment you turn your head, a glitch that disappears with a second take, an object that exists only in your peripherals.

Though, in time, a being will begin to appear. This creature will be of your design. Friend, foe, person of your dreams, person of your nightmares. Who they are, what they look like and what they mean to your character are up to you. Please post pictures and brief descriptions of personalities.

Cyberpunk: Rogue

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Cyberpunk: Rogue

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Please note that this is an INVITE ONLY RP and is currently FULL.

While we appreciate any and all interest, we've decided to make this a tight knit little group.

Events of Cyberpunk 2077

Gooood evening Night City!

This is your host, Stan the man, coming at you choombas with the latest in news!

Whooo boy do we have the exclusive for-you-to-night.

What a crazy year it has been (and I’m not just talking about the cyberpsycho’s). Talk about a story of rags to riches. Rising to Legend status, the Solo, V, burst onto the scene from no-where.

Rumour has it that the famous Merc was once a Corpo work for Arasaka who was fired and thrown to the bottom of Night City. After a heist gone wrong, V was stuck with the (in)famous Johnny Silverhand in his head!

A death sentence, the Solo raged a one man war against the city to save himself but ultimately decided that trust in Arasaka was best. Did the young merc have a hand in saving the princess and returning the king to his throne? We’ll never know! But Saburo is back, baby and the stocks of the world's largest Mega-Corp are cranking through the roof! I mean, maybe Saburo should’ve stolen the body of his son long ago.

Haha! I kid.

We have asked the leader of the Aldecado’s, the feisty Panam Palmer, for a comment but the Nomad crew already have Night City in their rear lights!

So what happened to the legendary Solo and his digital rocker companion? No one knows for sure, there are reports of Johnny being confiscated by Arasaka officials and V last seen at the Orbital Air Space Center.

Cyberpunk: Rogue

Night City always has a story to tell.

Arasaka, the world's foremost Mega-Corp has just staved off a coup. With the help of the legendary merc, V, Saburo returned to the land of the living, stealing the body of his son by using their famed Soulkiller program. Any anger over this has quickly fallen to the side as Arasaka’s stocks drove through the roof, making anyone who bet on their horse instantly rich.

Militech’s stocks, on the other hand, have dipped to an all time low. The company has gone dark with rumours of them working on something big.

There’s murmurs in the shadows, whispers of a 5th Corporate War brewing. Maybe it’s just the hopeful dream of the NUSA or maybe there’s some stock in it. Whatever the case, the world barely survived the last one and the people aren’t keen to try to survive another.

Despite what the NCPD claim, kidnappings are up. The Scavs are becoming bold and more numerous by the day. They’ve laid waste to Maelstrom, cutting a bloody swarve through Watson, only coming to a halt when the Tiger Claws dipped their toe in the mix. The district is a battle zone with the Police cutting off access at the bridges, hoping the two gangs will just kill each other off.

Elsewhere, Pacifica is also going through the motions. With the leadership of the Voodoo Boys decimated, the Animals moved in hard and fast. NCPD couldn’t care less about Pacifica though, their unofficial statement is “Once a hellhole, always a hellhole.”

Out in the Badlands, life stirs. The Aldecado’s may have left but bands of Snake Nation clans have been seen through the dust. One source has even claimed to see a Technomancer but those reports have gone unverified. But Nomads in the Badlands isn’t news, no, something else is out there. Liberdade is the word on the tip of everybody’s tongue. Seems some still are pissed about the soul stealing Arasaka corpos, or hell, maybe they’re just fed up with the dystopian nightmare the Mega-Corps are so fond of. Either way, claims from the NCPD say the mysterious group is responsible for several high profile net-heists, runners stealing a whole lot of dough.

While the police are yet to catch any members, the Corpos are playing it cool, for now at least.

What does all this mean? Well, if you’re a Merc, it means business is good. Jobs are a plenty, with new Fixers rising through the ranks on the daily. Bands and Solo’s are all attempting to grab the spotlight and word is that Afterlife has never seen so much activity.

But as I said, Night City always has a story to tell and this one is yours.

You’ve been kidnapped. Maybe you were jumped in an alley, maybe you drank the wrong drink, watched the wrong brain dance. Whatever you did, the Scavs got you. Now normally, you’d wake up a few augmentations lighter or never at all but you’ve lucked out. You’ve woken in a cell.

This isn’t the usual dingy type of cell found in a Scav basement. This is clean, sterilised clean; smooth with a modern, yet simple aesthetic. There’s nothing in your cell but a bed attached to the wall and a reflective forcefield along with three other walls.

Welcome to Cyberpunk: Rogue

Mass Effect: Second Vigil

Kysar Proctus

“Venator”

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The wind howled as Kysar entered his new room. With his old one given away (a little too quickly in his opinion) the staff had sorted him a last minute replacement. Gravity felt heavier than usual as every single step towards his bed proved harder than the last. Saying he had had a long night felt like an understatement the size of a Reaper. Even Outcasts' little reveal had no effect on the Turian although Janiri in her coma would have guessed that he was Cerberus. Sure, the Hierarchy had released an APB on Randall some time ago but aside from that footnote as long as his gun pointed the same way as the SRN teams, the Tinman was ok with Kysar.

The Turian exhaled with a deep, almost pain sounding noise as he finally reached his bed. Removing his gear, he made sure to put his weapons within reach, even if the armour fell to the floor, clattering away. Flopping onto the spread, he ended up on his back before bringing up his omni-tool. Connecting wirelessly to the room he shut the window and the blinds, flicking away an option to turn on the lights. Comfortable in the dim orange glow, he quickly skimmed the hospital reports from Katya and Janiri, wondering if this new President in his little hidey-hole could help. Coma or not, they were still SRN and had almost given their lives for the mission.

Sighing, he moved on, noticing that his personal items had been brought to his room and placed on his bedside table. The sight of the letter from Sarah and the kids almost made him smile. Maybe I should write back? he thought. He hadn’t sent them any sort of response although he doubted that they would’ve heard about the ambush or his capture. A wave of tiredness washed over him from head to toe, pushing the Turian’s body deeper into the mattress. He waved the idea away, opting to transfer 200 credits to them instead. They were with the Alliance in some camp in London, at least their officials could be trusted to see the money get to the family.

*Ping*

A message from the Hierarchy appeared. Kysar snorted a curt laugh. Undoubtedly they had read his report and were pissed that he hadn’t given them Weisman. The Turian’s head tilted to the side. He could always give them Randall? Pausing for just a moment, he curled his lip and shook his head. Na, not yet at least.

Without even bothering to open the message, Kysar shooed his Omni-tool away leaving the room in complete darkness. Turning on his side, he drifted off to sleep.

Mass Effect: Second Vigil

Kysar Proctus

Kysar Proctus

"Venator"

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D O S S I E R Species Turian Homeworld Palaven Age 31 Height/Weight 6’5 | 120kgs Class Sentinel Affiliation Earth’s Turian Hierarchy L O A D O U T - M-96 Mattock (Armour Piercing Rounds) I - X5 Ghost Assault Rifle I - M-3 Predator I - Electrified Omni Blade I - Medium Plated Armour, As Pictured Above I N V E N T O R Y - 2845 creds - Dextro rations - Medigel - Thermal Clips - Letter from Parker Family - Rucksack - Physical Picture of Mother and Father P O W E R S - Warp II - Overload III - Slam I - Tech Armour I - Dominate (New) II

A P P E A R A N C E Kysar is wide for a Turian. Broad shouldered and heavy set with muscles, he is a bit of a daunting figure to look at. His bone white face tattoos only serve to compound that intimidating presence. Tattooed during his time in Purgatory Prison, Kysar sees his facial markings as a spit in the face to all whoever called him barefaced. His mandibles fall long and his razor-sharp spikes cut the air at the turn of a head. His eyes, a deep ocean blue, are capable of boring holes into even the thickest of Krogan heads. A detail the females of his species are often quick to remind him of. Easy on the eyes and a bit of a mean streak, he’s the type of Turian you want to bring home if you want to piss off your Dad. As with most Turians, Kysar’s posture has been built by the military. Unrelenting in his stance, the Turian moves with powerful strides and can stand still for hours on end. During combat, he glides over terrain without so much as a peep, striking with absolute precision. The armour given to him is state of the art as despite being a criminal and part of a suicide squad, the Turian Heirarchy are still a practical bunch. Made to measure, the medium plated armour is cybernetic in appearance (only), offering as much protection as possible without hindering stealth or power capabilities. Kysar was also lucky enough to choose the decal finish of his suit, specifically requesting that ‘the carpet matches the drapes’. B A C K G R O U N D Since the Unification Wars of 500CE, Turians had worn their Colony Insignias with pride. Despite their xenophobic past, the face tattoos of their species took on a new meaning after the end of the war. Even though they were now one society, working towards one single goal, their individual homes still mattered and were something to be proud of. Barefaced was the derogatory term coined for those born without such privilege. Unlucky Turians who slipped through the gaps of their great hierarchical machine were shunned and harshly labelled as untrustworthy. Outcast, these individuals banded together to form small knit communities, often creating slums in the far corners of cities on Palaven. Despite their position and treatment, these Turians still dedicated themselves to society at large by often taking remedial roles such as cleaners, garbage collectors and menial labourers. It was here, in one of these communities on Palaven, that Kysar Proctus was born to a poor mother and ailing father. Marcellus, Kysar’s father, was born with a genetic abnormality in which his ‘exoskeleton’ like plating was significantly less dense than that of regular Turians. Doomed to a life of poor health and unable to fulfil any role in supporting the Hierarchy, the Turian was given up for adoption by a prominent family at a young age. Unfortunately, the noticeable poor formation of his plating made selection near impossible, so in the end he was given to one of Palaven’s casteless communes. It was here in this community of barefaced Turians where he met Savita, Kysar’s mother. Curious, fierce and passionate, Savita was the life of the party, full of energy and bouncing off the walls. Opposites attracted and from a young age the two were inseparable, with admiration turning to love during their adolescence. Despite their numerous adversities, the two had a whirlwind romance, the kind songs dream of, choosing to marry at quite a young age. With Marcellus unable to work, Savita took whatever jobs she could, often monkey branching from contract to contract. There, during one of her roles as a labourer to an offworld shipping yard, she fell pregnant with Kysar. They were both overjoyed at the news and even more so when Savita gave birth to a healthy baby boy. For the next two years, the family lived in absolute bliss. Sadly, Marcellus was not long for the world, developing an invasive and aggressive cancer that riddled the poor Turians body. He died not long after, leaving Savita broken-hearted and with a boy to raise all on her own. Life had handed her lemons but the woman never complained, finding solace in the life they had shared and determined to give the living reminder of her husband a better life than either of them were ever afforded. Savita did her best to preserve the memory of Kysar’s father and pushed the boy to become something more. At 15 Kysar was made to apply for the military alongside the majority of Turians his age. Life in the military would either make or break him, Savita thought but adolescence had been kind to the boy who was a foot taller and a decent chunk wider than most. Little did she know, it would do both. Barefaced. That was the name the others gave him, even his instructors. They did everything they could to bring Kysar down. On top of rigorous and gruelling training, he was given the worst duties, from latrine duty to cleaning the mess alone. Bullied wherever he went, he was constantly being physically challenged by groups of kids at a time. At first, he took it, believing that that’s what a true Turian would do. Stand with honour against the slings and arrows of others, never swaying in conviction. A noble but unrealistic view, it wasn’t long before Kysar learned the grim reality of torture, that everyone breaks eventually. One evening, after a particularly long and hard day of training, Kysar was cleaning the latrines when several other Turians entered. Fresh from a bout of hand to hand training, the group were keen to test their ability, cornering Kysar, with the leader of the clique challenging him one on one. The teenager knew it was a trap, even if he bested their leader or came close to it, the others would join in and he would return back to his cot covered in bruises. He tried to walk away but the others encircled him, their leader calling him every name in the book, throwing the odd hook here and there. It wasn’t until they began on his mother that the group really got underneath his skin. Shoving the leader back, the group pounced, fists and feet flying everywhere as they pummelled Kysar into the wall. It was there, in that moment, that the young Turian thought of his mother, ashamed that he had failed her and the memory of his father. He knew she wanted more from him but he could no longer abstain from temptation. Anger surged through him like lightning as a blue light enveloped his being. The more they punched, the stronger the light grew, finally erupting with a roar from Kysar. The others flew back through stalls and walls, each of them receiving some sort of serious injury. The Turian had just discovered he was a biotic. Branches shifted with Kysar being made to train with the Cabals. Life was harder and more physical than ever before. Here they were pushed to be the best of the best and there was no room, or tolerance, for weakness of any kind. Trainees were to be ground into dust so they could be remade from clay anew. Still an outcast, Kysar was no longer left behind. Trained in everything from infiltration to piloting, a Cabal was only as strong as its weakest link. His Kabalim, Inventus Scipio, was one of the best. The ageing Turian always seemed to churn out the cream of the crop but was often mired in controversy. He was obsessed with personal glory and seemingly clung to this feeling by constantly putting his own needs above that of hierarchy. Regardless, Kysar was finally becoming the Turian he had always dreamt of. The Cabal moved past training and into live scenarios. Their first assignment handed to them by Scipio was to infiltrate a recently formed smuggling ring. Turian military hardware was being sold to the Blue Suns by an unknown official and it was their job to find out who. Kysar was chosen to make contact with a long standing inside man they had placed within the Suns, who would then accompany him during weapon sales. The goal was to offer them the same hardware at a better price, hopefully drawing their competitor out of the shadows or at least gathering more information about them. The rest of the group would play supporting roles, keeping an eye on hand offs from the shadows and finding what they could through any other means. Kysar played the role of smuggler for years, gathering all the evidence he could but was always seemingly one step behind his faux rival. It wasn’t until a deal went wrong that the Turian found out why. Deep in the hidden corridors of the Citadel, the usual suspects met to complete the transaction. A crate of Armax Arsenal was on offer, being sold for a quarter of what they were worth on the open market. The deal unfolded just like any other until officers from C-Sec swooped in from all sides. Outgunned and outmanned, the few there surrendered, with Kysar coming in without issue. In the interrogation room, the Turian spilled out their sting operation, angry that C-Sec had interfered with Cabal operations. The officers retorted with an investigation of their own, dropping a huge vanilla folder packed to the brim with evidence. They claimed that there was no ‘other smuggling ring’, only his. Laid out before him were logs upon logs of evidence, claiming that Kysar had gone rogue due to his mistreatment in the military, highlighting the incidents reported during his youth as a root cause. They then went on to show how the report of the original smuggling ring was doctored, an excuse to launch a venture of his own. It was impossible, the Turian claimed, he couldn’t have co-ordinated this by himself as a mere trainee. Plus, the others in his Cabal could also vouch for him, they too were put on assignment and Scipio had all their proof collected. The C-Sec officers then produced further evidence; no one in his Cabal, bar Kysar, had been assigned to any such thing. The truth finally dawned on the young Turian when his Kabalim entered the room. Scipio played the victim, disgusted by his students choices, condemning him as a Turian and claiming that he knew he shouldn’t have allowed a barefaced into the program. The case was airtight and of course the money from the smuggling had disappeared into the ether. Now there was just one loose end to take care of. Invictus asked for the officers to clear the room, releasing Kysar to make it appear as if he had broken free. When asked why he did it, Scipio simply laughed, it was the money of course, the military paid like shit and… Kysar ignited, hitting his former instructor with a slam mid speech. The Kabalim hit the floor with such force, his side arm came loose. The young Turian was quick to collect it and even quicker to fire, killing the older of the two. When interviewed later, officers would ask Kysar why, if he was truly innocent, would he kill Scipio. “I knew the score.” Kysar replied. “He betrayed us all and was going to get away with it. There was no choice, not really.” With murder of a senior official added to the charge list, Kysar was sent to Purgatory. Despite the claim of the prison’s warden, the floating penal colony was easier on the Turian than his time in the military. The guards, mostly made up of his own kind, were quick to resurrect his old label of barefaced. Though, finally off the leash, any inmate who repeated such a thing was killed unless the guards got there first. Held over the course of several years, the Turian earned a reputation just shy of their meanest inmate, Jack. Perhaps inspired by the best, he also allowed other human inmates to tattoo his face, seeing it as a final ‘fuck you’ to the customs that had plagued him his whole life. He may have been clanless but at least he was now his own Turian. Freedom came shortly after, when Shepard’s release of Jack brought the entire prison crashing down around them. Overpowering a guard moments after the kerfuffle began, Kysar managed to acquire a gun, using it to force his way onto one of the few lifeboats on board. Ejecting from the doomed vessel alone, the Turian fled the system, charting a course for Palaven. Instead of choosing to go on the run, Kysar returned to the Hierarchy in a bid to honour Turian tradition and try to clear his name once and for all. Impressed with the soldier’s survivability, the powers that be promptly threw him back into military prison, resealing his case without further investigation. There he remained until the Reaper invasion. Attacking several systems at once, the Reapers moved quickly to overwhelm both the Batarian and Human forces. Striking at the Turians next, Taetrus fell before the Hierarchy could lift a finger. With the realisation of just what they were up against dawning on every species, the brass was quick to enact a sweeping declaration. All hands were needed on deck and those in military prison had a chance of freedom if they signed up for the ‘Extreme Tactical Insertion Squads’, colloquially known as suicide squads. Not wishing to die in prison, Kysar signed and was assigned to a squad of 15 others. Their first task was to wait as Fleets 29 through 32 retook the Mactare Relay then they would follow with a planet invasion of Taetrus. Warp bombs were sent via the relay to clear the enemy laying in wait on the other side. The Hierarchy’s tactic of smothering the enemy with overwhelming force was employed with the fleets performing a mass jump. What followed was horrific. Live videos were broadcasted from the Reapers as they tore the fleets apart, followed by more footage of them saturating ground forces planet side. The order for reinforcements to be sent through the relay came just as the Reapers appeared, Palaven side. Kysar’s mission was scrapped, with his new one being to report for active duty on Manae. There, he and his squad were put to the test by clearing LZ’s and scouting positions for forward bases. Unable to get a communication away from his mother on Palaven, Kysar's request to be redeployed to the surface was denied. The fighting on Manae continued, even after the assassination of their Primarch and the flight of their newly appointed General turned politician. They were ordered to hold for as long as possible until reinforcements arrived. Doing so in the most unexpected fashion, re-supply came in the form of Krogans who hit the planet's surface running. Together, ground forces on Palaven pushed back the Reapers and gained significant ground. It was a huge morale boost for the Turians with Kysar and squad being ordered to return to orbit and link up with 6th Fleet. There they’d assault the Cerberus held world of Aephus, infiltrating and downing several anti-air batteries, allowing the fleet to take back the surface and send the human terrorist organisation packing. A final order was given for the Turians dwindling squad to meet up for a final assault on Earth. Linking up with an armada of galactic forces, Kysar’s mission was to assist the human’s in a direct assault on London. They were to reach a forward base in the capital before participating in a final attack on a heavily fortified Reaper position. Saddled up, the crew made it far enough to be dropped from orbit in one of many Kodiaks. Reaper resistance was fierce as the crew approached the FOB, with flak from AA darkening the sky. Just as their target crested the horizon, the crew were winged by shrapnel, sending the carrier careening towards the ground. Crash-landing in the desolate city, they were quickly engaged by Reaper ground forces, pushing the five survivors of Kysar’s squad into a nearby office building. Doing what they could, the Turian’s barricaded the door. Attempting to establish communication with command, all they were met with was the static of white noise. Stranded on a foreign world in the middle of a warzone, the squad began to panic. Kysar tempered their fear by suggesting that they head to the roof. The building was effectively a maze, the Reapers could lose track of them and a visible line of sight would help them reconnect with their main objective. With everyone in agreement, the crew made their way up a single floor, only to bump into a small family of surviving humans. Two children, a boy and a girl, a young woman and a man begged Kysar’s squad for help. The husband was in a bad way, bleeding heavily from a gunshot to the gut, they had been caught in the commotion caused by the Turians crash landing. The others in the squad were quick to dismiss them, there was little hope for them as things were without the anchoring of civilians. Kysar, on the other hand, couldn’t help but draw a parallel between the humans. It was something about the way the wife dragged her husband along, something in her eyes that screamed determination. She wasn’t going to give up on him, just like his mother refused to give up on his father. Kysar ordered the others to go on ahead, picking up the husband and slinging him over his shoulder. He would be right behind them. Scrambling up the stairwell, everyone moved as quickly as they could. The squad had long moved ahead when Kysar began to hear shooting. Reapers had dropped in from above, with dozens upon dozens of husks scaling the side of the building and scouring it for survivors. Ducking onto the 33rd floor, Kysar burst through the door, barricading them all in an office, preparing to make a final stand. Deciding to radio into command one final time, he received word that Shepard was aboard the Citadel and was trying to activate the Conduit. His final orders were to survive and pray to the Spirits that the human could end this. With his rifle empty, Kyser made his final stand, unleashing his biotics as husks began to break through the barrier. As hopelessness closed in around them, a blinding red light rushed from on high, blanketing the city. The husks fell dead as Kysar, wounded but alive, returned to the office to celebrate. Sadly for the family, the Turian was only able to share in a bittersweet moment, finding the husband dead in his wife’s arms. Leaving them to their moment, Kysar climbed the stairwell to find the body of three of his comrades. Removing their dog tags, he pocketed them and returned once more to wrap the body of the man. Spotting the FOB, the survivors make their way across, meeting up and being processed with the few that remained. Reconnecting with what was left of High Command, Kysar came to learn that their forces had committed to the restoration of the relay. Dextro rations were finite and the stranded Turian population numbers in the millions. Without possibility of resupply on Earth, returning back to their own system was their only hope. Brought before General Invectus, Kysar was told he is one of the last biotic soldiers that remained. The Cabals were all but wiped out during their high-risk missions and the Turian is needed now more than ever. Admiral Nitesh, leader of the human forces, had been making moves that left the non-human forces wary. As such Kysar’s orders were to infiltrate the ranks of the Earth forces and report back on their movements. Finding the irony hilarious, he reluctantly agrees on the written promise that if he does it, he’ll be free from prison. Accepting their arrangement, the General detailed his mission as two-fold. Several downed Turian ships had been raided by human survivors, rations had been taken and were now being sold in a black-market rings. Kysar is to do his part in dismantling this network or expose it to the correct authorities. His other mission is to keep an eye on Admiral Nitesh Singh as the Hierarchy doesn’t trust him. He’s to report anything that is ordered of him as a part of this new group that has arisen. Time with the SRN Namibia What a walk in the park. Some doped up Drell’s meddling with Reaper tech lost the plot and began attacking anything with a pulse. Yeah we lost one of the team but as the locals say, you can’t make an omelette without breaking a few eggs. I did my part, helped take out a few of the morons, some weird bug thing and cracked open their little device. Done, easy in and easy out. Havana They tell me that this city survived almost unscathed from the war. Shit, could’ve fooled me. Purgatory was prettier than this. Eh, whatever. We’ve got to hand off what’s left of that weird Reaper tech to some Doctor. Maybe he’ll figure out how it lobotomised those Drells, who knows. Honestly, I can’t believe the Hierarchy is worried about this group, this SRN shtick is so easy it’s almost boring. M O T I V A T I O N Human’s in the clink had a famous saying, “Don't take life seriously. Either way, you won't make it out alive.” A catchy mantra that spoke to Kysar on such a deep level it revolutionised his outlook on life. For the longest time he could scarcely remember a time when something or someone wasn’t at his throat. Armed with the wisdom of some long dead human, he has since begun to roll with the punches. Sarcastic, dry and quick witted, it’s hard to catch Kysar off guard when it comes to slights, usually beating those around him to the punch with some type of asshole-ish one liner. Surprisingly the guy isn’t winning any popularity contests and is a bit of a loner. Kysar also feels no particular way when it comes to killing. He’s killed a lot of men in his time, some good, some bad, some that just needed killing. He can be both ruthless and ruthlessly efficient. He offers no respite for the Turians current predicament on Earth and freely will tell people of it. “Isn’t this the total sum of what our leaders have always preached? Death in the pursuit of something bigger than the individual? Congrats, we won the war and will be rewarded as such.” Perhaps somewhat ironically he still loosely follows orders from the Hierarchy, even though he's unsure why. Maybe it’s to prove them wrong, maybe it’s the memory of his father or the love he has for his mother, or maybe it’s just something to do. Either way, there is something else though, a seed of doubt that has begun to worm its way from the back of his mind. Sarah. Saving that woman and her family has got the Turian thinking for the first time in his life; it’s even kept him up at night once or twice. It’s possible that his mum was right and there’s more to life than being a cog in the machine or a lacky for the government. Perhaps love does exist and it’s worth the trouble. Maybe it’s high time to see one last mission through and get off this rock to find something worth having. Maybe. F L A W S Kysar tolerates the name barefaced from the higher ups in the Hierarchy but he is unafraid to challenge anyone else. This, however, leaves him with a weakness to name calling and can be exploited. The flaw has gotten into trouble many times, with some of those times ending with him getting his ass-kicked for messing with the wrong crowd. When it comes to other species finding out and mentioning the name, the Turian is somehow even less kind. Willing to kill for the mere mention of it. Though he currently serves the Hierarchy loyally, he still knows that he can never truly live a peaceful life among Turian society. This gives way to a deep seeded fear of loneliness. Listening to his mother’s stories of her and his father as a boy has left him wanting. While he has done his best to quash these feelings, they still linger somewhere deep down inside. He is afraid he’ll never experience love because of who he was born as. He is also susceptible to children, finding himself unable to say no and instantly throwing all thought of self-preservation out the window to protect them. Initially he believed it to just be Turian children but given what happened with Sarah and the kids, he now knows better. M I S C Purgatory Rap Sheet - Numerous Accounts of Treason - Numerous Accounts of Smuggling - Numerous Accounts of Sale of Illegal Goods - Numerous Accounts of Grand Larceny - 1 Count of 1st Degree Murder - 1 Count of Murder of a Military Official - Numerous Accounts of Assault - Numerous Accounts of Manslaughter - Numerous Accounts of 2nd Degree Murder War Accolades - Battle Honour Recorded for the Battle of Manae x2 - Battle Honour Recorded for the Battle of Aephus - Battle Honour Recorded for the Battle of London, Earth RELATIONS AND AFFILIATIONS◢ - General Invectus - Alive - Atticus Basilic, ETIS Squadmate - MIA - Refugee Sarah Parker - Alive - Refugee Wendy Parker - Alive - Refugee Matthew Parker - Alive - Savita Proctus - Status Unknown

Opinions

Zenn | Shadow
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Kysar doubts Zenn would punch him.

_{↳Hmmm. Zenn is short and so thin. Sometimes the little guy just blends into the background. Though I suppose what else are you supposed to do when your callsign is Shadow. He's also got a bit of pep to him in a firefight, so what should I call him? Maybe.. firework? Spark plug? Sparky? Eh, it'll come to me.}

_{↳Zenn. Not too long ago I was wondering what name to call him, didn't expect it to be friend. Now we're close, the do anything for each other type close. Spirits. I do wish he'd stop saying nice things about me and maybe say some more about himself. He deserves it. A good soldier, a better friend, the best man.}

Amina | Rogue
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Kysar thinks Amina will punch him at some point.

_{↳Aha man, what to call this one? So spoilt for choice here. Cerberus dog, space racist, reaper lacky, reaper lover, Illusive loyalty? I guess these are supposed to be shorter and catchy. Reapy? Ha! Cerberus was a funny group though, thinking aliens are assholes only out for themselves, only to become the biggest group of assholes out for themselves. But eh, what do I know, I'm also an asshole out for myself, so maybe she's not half wrong.}

_{↳I didn't expect Cerbs to be the wildcard. Zenobia had that crown fair and square. But Amina surprised me. Seems obvious the more I think about it. Our conversation has left me wanting more, to unravel the enigma. I think there's a lot we can learn from each other.}

Zenobia | Lunatic
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Kysar thinks Zenobia might karate chop a butterfly? (He doesn't know what crazy people will do)

_{↳This chick is bonkers (heh that's the name right there). Reading her dossier was creeeeepy. Me in another life shit. Ugh, gives me the shivers. Bonkers is alright though, just don't know why you'd want to be a part of the Eclipse aka the galaxy's cannon fodder but hey, maybe that's one reason why she's called Lunatic.}

_{↳Bonkers is still cool. I didn't know anyone was capable of wolfing down food like that. I knew Turian's couldn't sing, maybe that's why we're so serious. I think I saw her disappear with the Pinball towards the end of things. Ha! Classic Z.}

Solveig | Wraith
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Kysar would love to see Solveigs arm punch through someone (Not him though).

_{↳Gotta love Awks, she's got perseverance I'll give her that. Doing her best to connect with others in the group through awkward conversation. Maybe she feels bad for not reaching out more with our last team? I.. er.. guess I still don't know how I feel about her leaving. I, um, well? Ah shit, I think her foot in mouth syndrome is contagious.}

_{↳Awks is quite the woman. I've enjoyed watching her open up; her jokes, her awkward smiles, her efforts to talk even though she hates it. I admire her. I'm happy she's got someone like Zenn and Zenn has someone like her. It would be too obvious to talk about her as a soldier, it's the person underneath all that, she's the one worth applauding.}

Nadara | Sunset
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Kysar thinks Nadara might punch him if her eyes don't stop rolling at him.

_{↳This one is easy. Heels. The way she spends her time clomping around on those bad boys, I'm surprised the enemy don't hear her coming from a mile away. Such a picturesque portrait of an Asari. She's endlessly fun to annoy. I suppose I did let her down, though I heard her father was a Krogan. They dig scars right?}

_{↳If you'd asked me about Heels yesterday, my opinion would've been day and night to how I feel now. Can't say it's the opposite but it's good to know there's something rolling around up there. Seems like life might be a bit of a burden to her, so she tries to shrug the whole thing off. As long as she doesn't hand another one of us over to her mother we'll be ok. Although, word around base is that she's got that Matriarch charm. So maybe I wouldn't mind being handed off...}

Rebirth

Six years ago…

“He’s a slow eater.” Kysar sat, hunched over the table, looming over a book he had open on the desk. Sat opposite the Turian was a skinny human, his face long and bony as if he was sorely underfed. Also reading a book, the man brushed his long straight black hair behind his ear, using a finger to run along the page sentence by sentence.

“This is what you called me into the library for? To tell me Voeus has trouble with mastication?”

Kysar rolled his eyes at the unnecessary wording. “Kerry, c’mo- Ugh, no. It’s because he eats slowly. It means he's the last one out of the mess hall almost every time. The other guards get so sick of waiting for him that they all leave bar one.”

Kerry flipped the page of the book, raising an eyebrow as he did so. “So, what, you mean to tell me you’re planning on taking out one of Augutius’ top enforcers and a guard? That’s vacuous, even for you.”

The Turian growled, if only he could huff red hot steam out of his nose like a dragon. “Will you just shut up and listen?” The human held up his hands, gesturing he’d let it go. “The guards take turns on whoever stays behind in the mess to look after Voeus. Every second week of the month, on a Tuesday, it’s the Batarian, Krarvan.” Kysar flipped a page of his book, refusing to look anywhere else. “The guy’s got a bladder the size of a peanut and can’t hold in anything. I’ve got us kitchen duty, so you offer all the guards a nice big drink about 20 minutes before everyone starts to clear out and then we wait.”

The Turian cleared his throat, quickly looking around to make sure no one could hear them. The coast was clear. “He’ll radio someone to replace him but won’t be able to hang around long enough to do a proper switch. I test ran this last week. When he leaves the room, I’ll strike hard and fast. Voeus won’t know what hit him.”

Kerry smiled. “Venator.”

“What?” Kysar replied, his face screwing up with confusion.

“Venator. It was a position in the Roman army, an ancient human civilisation that conquered a decent chunk of the known world. These guys were expert hunters and trackers, had a natural gift for it as well as a lifetime of training. A very honourable job. It’s what you are, in fact, you’d be interested to know that it’s born of the latin word-”

“Kerry,” Kysar grabbed the edge of the human's book, making sure his pronged fingers were in view of the human’s peripherals. “Don’t do the encyclopaedia thing, we don’t have time.”

Though normally impressed, on the inside at least, the Turian was trying to be somewhat subtle and didn’t need Kerry getting locked on, spouting things he’d seen with his perfect photographic memory. Kysar had chosen the library especially, so as not to over stimulate his neuro-divergent friend with the overwhelming noise of the prison but he also did not want the man to draw any attention.

“Right, sorry Kysar.” Kerry turned another page with a sheepish look on his face. “I do have one question though, why do this? Why risk starting something with Augutius? I know he controls the next few blocks over but the guy is well connected. He also has a small army at his beckon, even you can’t kill them all. Something like that would take like a decade.”

“I reckon I could do it in five.” Kysar chuckled, smiling. “But er, um no, it’s not because of that. It’s because…” The Turian looked up from the book at Kerry. Life in Purgatory had been hell but both had landed on the inside at about the same time, sharing the cells next to each other. They’d decided to watch each other's back and as such had become almost friends. Well, as close to it as you could become in a place like that anyway. Kysar couldn’t be around Kerry 24/7 though and lately Voeus had taken issue with the human. Their last interaction in the shower room had left Kerry in a semi-serious condition in the med-bay.

The Turian felt his knuckles tighten as his mouth remained open, barely able to croak. The human looked up, catching Kysar’s straining hands. “Oh don’t tell me, it’s because he called you Bareface?”

There was a violent snap inside the Turian’s chest as his anger bubbled up. “Don’t.” He warned.

“C’mon Kysar, you’ve really got to do something about that temper. You’re a smart guy but that anger just steamrolls over everything. You can’t go starting a war all becau-”

The Turian stood, resisting the urge to pound his fist into the table, or the human’s face. “Kerry, shut the fuck up.” He hissed through gritted teeth. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The man watched as Kysar left the room, shaking his head. “And they tell me I’ve got issues processing emotion.”

---

Two Weeks Later…

The heavily mechanised door whirred, springing to life as a series of encryptions connected to its locking mechanics were solved and opened. The door smoothly and slowly opened to a cramped, dingy cell with no windows and a single bright light. Slumped in a corner with an empty look in his eyes sat Kysar. The plan had gone off without a hitch, Voeus was dead and the Turian had been thrown into solitary confinement. Unlocking the shackles from around his feet, the guards grabbed Kysar from under his arms and began dragging him back to his cell.

As with most fresh out of isolation, it would take tens of metres before the Turian could walk on his own two feet. He had been starved, beaten and mentally tortured. The light in his cell never shut off and the room was too small to lie down completely flat in. With no furniture or any level of stimulation, two weeks felt like two years.

Almost back at his cell, Kysar found his feet and tried shrugging off the guards grip to walk on his own. The Turian was too weak though and the two men threw him down, back into his cell. Coughing, Kysar sat up as the doors closed and put his back against the bars, calling out for Kerry.

“Hey! Ker-” The Turian was interrupted by a round of coughing, quickly remembering he hadn’t spoken to another soul in two weeks. Slowly making his way over to the sink, he cupped some water in his hand and began to gently drink. After finishing, Kysar approached the bars again, standing and leaning on them. “Kerry? Spirits; you there? Have you had too good a week without me?”

“Shut the fuck up!” A fearsome growl came deep from within the cell next door. Way too deep for Kerry or any other human for that matter. What? A Batarian?

“Where’s the human? Did they transfer him after the incident two weeks ago?”

The Batarian chuckled, a long and slimy whine from the back of his throat. “Your human friend is dead. Word is that Augutius saw to it personally. I heard they did him nice and slow, slit his cheeks open, pulled out an eye, took fingernails and teeth.” The creature stopped, his laugh interrupting him. “Ohhh that boy suffered. Augutius wanted to send a message…”

Suddenly the bars began to move, disappearing into the walls as both cells opened. Kysar backed away, moving further into his cell, his face expressionless. Deep within his mind the words of the Batarian replayed over and over. His friend was dead. His friend had been brutally tortured to death. His friend was dead and it was his fault.

A wound began to open up deep inside. As if someone had pulled the plug from a drain and now everything that had made the Turian who he was, was now circling it. One by one pieces of him fell away as an icy grip breezed over him like a dry ice mist.

Standing in the doorway, the Batarian snarled, closing in on Kysar with a makeshift shiv in his hand. Flourishing back and forth, he flipped the knife in a threatening motion. And yet, the Turian stood still, his face giving away no expression, just frozen like a statue. The stranger closed the gap between them and with a vicious thrust, the knife slipped into Kysar like butter, stabbing him in the side of the abdomen.

The Turian made no noise, only looking down to see the shiv stuck inside of him before meeting the eyes of the Batarian. The stranger smiled, his needlepoint teeth salivating. Kysar felt… nothing. No hate, no anger, there was nothing left, except death. In a flash, the Turian’s hand shot from his side, grabbing the intruder’s hand and the handle of the shiv in one swift movement. With an iron-like grip, he held both in place as he snatched the creature by the scruff of his top. Pulling the Batarian in, Kysar met his nose with his own forehead, causing a sickening crunch.

Falling to the floor, the intruder wailed out in pain. Kysar, without a word or an expression, removed the knife from his side and in one fell swoop, slashed the bastard's throat. Removing his bedsheet, he cut a small bandage for himself and twisted the rest into a kind of rope. Tying it around the Batarians ankle, the Turian went out to the balcony and tied the other end to the railing. His row of cells overlooked their wings’ yard, everybody in the whole block could see what Kysar was doing. Flinging the body over the edge, prisoners began to whoop as Batarian hung there, being bled dry.

With a message of his own, Kysar had begun a crusade of vengeance.

---

Five years later…

Warden Kuril sat high above his subordinates in the prison's control room. His chair resembled more of a throne with plush, comfortable leather, adorned with silk capes that draped from its armrests and back. The space itself was laid out in a stair-like formation, with each level down deemed less and less important. No one sat at the top level with the Warden. To even approach the Turian meant you were met with daggering eyes and a great big sneer.

Hanlen Kibbolt, the Warden’s Second in command, could never bring herself to look up as she climbed to his side. A nervous mess of a woman, she had permanent beads of sweat on her forehead. Kuril enjoyed watching her squirm and grovel at his side. “Er.. Sir, we have an issue with one of the inmates.”

The Warden snorted a laugh. “All of these beasts have issues Hanlen, it’s why they’re here.”

The woman shifted, what had begun as beads of sweat had now turned into a river. “Yes, of course Sir, sorry, Sir. It’s just that, well,” she paused, placing a datapad on the armrest of the Warden. Hanlen was never allowed to hand him something directly. “This one is causing us extra issues.”

Lazily, Kuril picked up the pad, flicking through the personnel file of inmate 14677. “Hanlen, I’m running an entire prison of these primitive animals. Why are you talking to me about one single inmate?” The Warden sighed, tossing the datapad on the ground for his Second to retrieve.

“Well, Sir,” she said, as she bent down. “His name is Kysar Proctus and he’s taken out several high profile inmates. Totally wiped out the block king, Augutius and his gang. It’s cost us quite a large chunk of investment.”

The Warden gripped the arms of his chair tightly, grumbling as he swung around to face his Second. “So?! Just bill the Hierarchy to make up the difference? Do you really need me to tell you how to do your job?”

The Second gulped, using her sleeve to wipe away the now ocean of sweat on her forehead. “Um, well, Sir, that’s the issue. The Hierarchy won’t pay up anymore for the inmate and he’s not exactly a threat to civilians like some of our other inmates are, so we’re unable to cajole them.”

The Warden roared, standing to his feet and grabbing the rail in front of him. “These disgusting creatures, can’t they see what I’m trying to do here? What I’m trying to build? They’re lucky they’re little cash cows or so help me I’d just space all of them.”

Kuril’s eyebrows raised as the Turian had an ‘aha!’ moment. Turning back to his Second, he hissed. “There’s your answer Hanlen, we simply cut our losses with the inmate. Have them tossed into the void.”

Suddenly an alert sounded off in the room as a yellow warning light flashed.

“Cerberus ship on approach, Sir.” One of the subordinates stationed near the bottom called out.

The Warden stopped, sitting back down in his chair. “Belay that request Hanlen, we can see to it after. I need to focus all our resources on this next guest. This Cerberus operative is worth more than every inmate in here combined, we need to be ready to take him by surprise.” The Second nodded, opening her omni-tool and sending out a command for the crew to be on standby.

Below the Warden, a traffic control officer radioed in. “Normandy SR-2, you’re all clear to dock.”

Mass Effect: Second Vigil

Kysar Proctus

Kysar Proctus

"Venator"

---

D O S S I E R Species Turian Homeworld Palaven Age 31 Height/Weight 6’5 | 120kgs Class Sentinel Affiliation Earth’s Turian Hierarchy L O A D O U T - M-96 Mattock (Armour Piercing Rounds) - M-3 Predator - Electrified Omni Blade - Medium Plated Armour, As Pictured Above I N V E N T O R Y - 1000 creds - Dextro rations - Medigel - Thermal Clips - Letter from Parker Family - Rucksack - Physical Picture of Mother and Father P O W E R S - Warp - Overload - Slam - Tech Armour

A P P E A R A N C E Kysar is wide for a Turian. Broad shouldered and heavy set with muscles, he is a bit of a daunting figure to look at. His bone white face tattoos only serve to compound that intimidating presence. Tattooed during his time in Purgatory Prison, Kysar sees his facial markings as a spit in the face to all whoever called him barefaced. His mandibles fall long and his razor-sharp spikes cut the air at the turn of a head. His eyes, a deep ocean blue, are capable of boring holes into even the thickest of Krogan heads. A detail the females of his species are often quick to remind him of. Easy on the eyes and a bit of a mean streak, he’s the type of Turian you want to bring home if you want to piss off your Dad. As with most Turians, Kysar’s posture has been built by the military. Unrelenting in his stance, the Turian moves with powerful strides and can stand still for hours on end. During combat, he glides over terrain without so much as a peep, striking with absolute precision. The armour given to him is state of the art as despite being a criminal and part of a suicide squad, the Turian Heirarchy are still a practical bunch. Made to measure, the medium plated armour is cybernetic in appearance (only), offering as much protection as possible without hindering stealth or power capabilities. Kysar was also lucky enough to choose the decal finish of his suit, specifically requesting that ‘the carpet matches the drapes’. B A C K G R O U N D Since the Unification Wars of 500CE, Turians had worn their Colony Insignias with pride. Despite their xenophobic past, the face tattoos of their species took on a new meaning after the end of the war. Even though they were now one society, working towards one single goal, their individual homes still mattered and were something to be proud of. Barefaced was the derogatory term coined for those born without such privilege. Unlucky Turians who slipped through the gaps of their great hierarchical machine were shunned and harshly labelled as untrustworthy. Outcast, these individuals banded together to form small knit communities, often creating slums in the far corners of cities on Palaven. Despite their position and treatment, these Turians still dedicated themselves to society at large by often taking remedial roles such as cleaners, garbage collectors and menial labourers. It was here, in one of these communities on Palaven, that Kysar Proctus was born to a poor mother and ailing father. Marcellus, Kysar’s father, was born with a genetic abnormality in which his ‘exoskeleton’ like plating was significantly less dense than that of regular Turians. Doomed to a life of poor health and unable to fulfil any role in supporting the Hierarchy, the Turian was given up for adoption by a prominent family at a young age. Unfortunately, the noticeable poor formation of his plating made selection near impossible, so in the end he was given to one of Palaven’s casteless communes. It was here in this community of barefaced Turians where he met Savita, Kysar’s mother. Curious, fierce and passionate, Savita was the life of the party, full of energy and bouncing off the walls. Opposites attracted and from a young age the two were inseparable, with admiration turning to love during their adolescence. Despite their numerous adversities, the two had a whirlwind romance, the kind songs dream of, choosing to marry at quite a young age. With Marcellus unable to work, Savita took whatever jobs she could, often monkey branching from contract to contract. There, during one of her roles as a labourer to an offworld shipping yard, she fell pregnant with Kysar. They were both overjoyed at the news and even more so when Savita gave birth to a healthy baby boy. For the next two years, the family lived in absolute bliss. Sadly, Marcellus was not long for the world, developing an invasive and aggressive cancer that riddled the poor Turians body. He died not long after, leaving Savita broken-hearted and with a boy to raise all on her own. Life had handed her lemons but the woman never complained, finding solace in the life they had shared and determined to give the living reminder of her husband a better life than either of them were ever afforded. Savita did her best to preserve the memory of Kysar’s father and pushed the boy to become something more. At 15 Kysar was made to apply for the military alongside the majority of Turians his age. Life in the military would either make or break him, Savita thought but adolescence had been kind to the boy who was a foot taller and a decent chunk wider than most. Little did she know, it would do both. Barefaced. That was the name the others gave him, even his instructors. They did everything they could to bring Kysar down. On top of rigorous and gruelling training, he was given the worst duties, from latrine duty to cleaning the mess alone. Bullied wherever he went, he was constantly being physically challenged by groups of kids at a time. At first, he took it, believing that that’s what a true Turian would do. Stand with honour against the slings and arrows of others, never swaying in conviction. A noble but unrealistic view, it wasn’t long before Kysar learned the grim reality of torture, that everyone breaks eventually. One evening, after a particularly long and hard day of training, Kysar was cleaning the latrines when several other Turians entered. Fresh from a bout of hand to hand training, the group were keen to test their ability, cornering Kysar, with the leader of the clique challenging him one on one. The teenager knew it was a trap, even if he bested their leader or came close to it, the others would join in and he would return back to his cot covered in bruises. He tried to walk away but the others encircled him, their leader calling him every name in the book, throwing the odd hook here and there. It wasn’t until they began on his mother that the group really got underneath his skin. Shoving the leader back, the group pounced, fists and feet flying everywhere as they pummelled Kysar into the wall. It was there, in that moment, that the young Turian thought of his mother, ashamed that he had failed her and the memory of his father. He knew she wanted more from him but he could no longer abstain from temptation. Anger surged through him like lightning as a blue light enveloped his being. The more they punched, the stronger the light grew, finally erupting with a roar from Kysar. The others flew back through stalls and walls, each of them receiving some sort of serious injury. The Turian had just discovered he was a biotic. Branches shifted with Kysar being made to train with the Cabals. Life was harder and more physical than ever before. Here they were pushed to be the best of the best and there was no room, or tolerance, for weakness of any kind. Trainees were to be ground into dust so they could be remade from clay anew. Still an outcast, Kysar was no longer left behind. Trained in everything from infiltration to piloting, a Cabal was only as strong as its weakest link. His Kabalim, Inventus Scipio, was one of the best. The ageing Turian always seemed to churn out the cream of the crop but was often mired in controversy. He was obsessed with personal glory and seemingly clung to this feeling by constantly putting his own needs above that of hierarchy. Regardless, Kysar was finally becoming the Turian he had always dreamt of. The Cabal moved past training and into live scenarios. Their first assignment handed to them by Scipio was to infiltrate a recently formed smuggling ring. Turian military hardware was being sold to the Blue Suns by an unknown official and it was their job to find out who. Kysar was chosen to make contact with a long standing inside man they had placed within the Suns, who would then accompany him during weapon sales. The goal was to offer them the same hardware at a better price, hopefully drawing their competitor out of the shadows or at least gathering more information about them. The rest of the group would play supporting roles, keeping an eye on hand offs from the shadows and finding what they could through any other means. Kysar played the role of smuggler for years, gathering all the evidence he could but was always seemingly one step behind his faux rival. It wasn’t until a deal went wrong that the Turian found out why. Deep in the hidden corridors of the Citadel, the usual suspects met to complete the transaction. A crate of Armax Arsenal was on offer, being sold for a quarter of what they were worth on the open market. The deal unfolded just like any other until officers from C-Sec swooped in from all sides. Outgunned and outmanned, the few there surrendered, with Kysar coming in without issue. In the interrogation room, the Turian spilled out their sting operation, angry that C-Sec had interfered with Cabal operations. The officers retorted with an investigation of their own, dropping a huge vanilla folder packed to the brim with evidence. They claimed that there was no ‘other smuggling ring’, only his. Laid out before him were logs upon logs of evidence, claiming that Kysar had gone rogue due to his mistreatment in the military, highlighting the incidents reported during his youth as a root cause. They then went on to show how the report of the original smuggling ring was doctored, an excuse to launch a venture of his own. It was impossible, the Turian claimed, he couldn’t have co-ordinated this by himself as a mere trainee. Plus, the others in his Cabal could also vouch for him, they too were put on assignment and Scipio had all their proof collected. The C-Sec officers then produced further evidence; no one in his Cabal, bar Kysar, had been assigned to any such thing. The truth finally dawned on the young Turian when his Kabalim entered the room. Scipio played the victim, disgusted by his students choices, condemning him as a Turian and claiming that he knew he shouldn’t have allowed a barefaced into the program. The case was airtight and of course the money from the smuggling had disappeared into the ether. Now there was just one loose end to take care of. Invictus asked for the officers to clear the room, releasing Kysar to make it appear as if he had broken free. When asked why he did it, Scipio simply laughed, it was the money of course, the military paid like shit and… Kysar ignited, hitting his former instructor with a slam mid speech. The Kabalim hit the floor with such force, his side arm came loose. The young Turian was quick to collect it and even quicker to fire, killing the older of the two. When interviewed later, officers would ask Kysar why, if he was truly innocent, would he kill Scipio. “I knew the score.” Kysar replied. “He betrayed us all and was going to get away with it. There was no choice, not really.” With murder of a senior official added to the charge list, Kysar was sent to Purgatory. Despite the claim of the prison’s warden, the floating penal colony was easier on the Turian than his time in the military. The guards, mostly made up of his own kind, were quick to resurrect his old label of barefaced. Though, finally off the leash, any inmate who repeated such a thing was killed unless the guards got there first. Held over the course of several years, the Turian earned a reputation just shy of their meanest inmate, Jack. Perhaps inspired by the best, he also allowed other human inmates to tattoo his face, seeing it as a final ‘fuck you’ to the customs that had plagued him his whole life. He may have been clanless but at least he was now his own Turian. Freedom came shortly after, when Shepard’s release of Jack brought the entire prison crashing down around them. Overpowering a guard moments after the kerfuffle began, Kysar managed to acquire a gun, using it to force his way onto one of the few lifeboats on board. Ejecting from the doomed vessel alone, the Turian fled the system, charting a course for Palaven. Instead of choosing to go on the run, Kysar returned to the Hierarchy in a bid to honour Turian tradition and try to clear his name once and for all. Impressed with the soldier’s survivability, the powers that be promptly threw him back into military prison, resealing his case without further investigation. There he remained until the Reaper invasion. Attacking several systems at once, the Reapers moved quickly to overwhelm both the Batarian and Human forces. Striking at the Turians next, Taetrus fell before the Hierarchy could lift a finger. With the realisation of just what they were up against dawning on every species, the brass was quick to enact a sweeping declaration. All hands were needed on deck and those in military prison had a chance of freedom if they signed up for the ‘Extreme Tactical Insertion Squads’, colloquially known as suicide squads. Not wishing to die in prison, Kysar signed and was assigned to a squad of 15 others. Their first task was to wait as Fleets 29 through 32 retook the Mactare Relay then they would follow with a planet invasion of Taetrus. Warp bombs were sent via the relay to clear the enemy laying in wait on the other side. The Hierarchy’s tactic of smothering the enemy with overwhelming force was employed with the fleets performing a mass jump. What followed was horrific. Live videos were broadcasted from the Reapers as they tore the fleets apart, followed by more footage of them saturating ground forces planet side. The order for reinforcements to be sent through the relay came just as the Reapers appeared, Palaven side. Kysar’s mission was scrapped, with his new one being to report for active duty on Manae. There, he and his squad were put to the test by clearing LZ’s and scouting positions for forward bases. Unable to get a communication away from his mother on Palaven, Kysar's request to be redeployed to the surface was denied. The fighting on Manae continued, even after the assassination of their Primarch and the flight of their newly appointed General turned politician. They were ordered to hold for as long as possible until reinforcements arrived. Doing so in the most unexpected fashion, re-supply came in the form of Krogans who hit the planet's surface running. Together, ground forces on Palaven pushed back the Reapers and gained significant ground. It was a huge morale boost for the Turians with Kysar and squad being ordered to return to orbit and link up with 6th Fleet. There they’d assault the Cerberus held world of Aephus, infiltrating and downing several anti-air batteries, allowing the fleet to take back the surface and send the human terrorist organisation packing. A final order was given for the Turians dwindling squad to meet up for a final assault on Earth. Linking up with an armada of galactic forces, Kysar’s mission was to assist the human’s in a direct assault on London. They were to reach a forward base in the capital before participating in a final attack on a heavily fortified Reaper position. Saddled up, the crew made it far enough to be dropped from orbit in one of many Kodiaks. Reaper resistance was fierce as the crew approached the FOB, with flak from AA darkening the sky. Just as their target crested the horizon, the crew were winged by shrapnel, sending the carrier careening towards the ground. Crash-landing in the desolate city, they were quickly engaged by Reaper ground forces, pushing the five survivors of Kysar’s squad into a nearby office building. Doing what they could, the Turian’s barricaded the door. Attempting to establish communication with command, all they were met with was the static of white noise. Stranded on a foreign world in the middle of a warzone, the squad began to panic. Kysar tempered their fear by suggesting that they head to the roof. The building was effectively a maze, the Reapers could lose track of them and a visible line of sight would help them reconnect with their main objective. With everyone in agreement, the crew made their way up a single floor, only to bump into a small family of surviving humans. Two children, a boy and a girl, a young woman and a man begged Kysar’s squad for help. The husband was in a bad way, bleeding heavily from a gunshot to the gut, they had been caught in the commotion caused by the Turians crash landing. The others in the squad were quick to dismiss them, there was little hope for them as things were without the anchoring of civilians. Kysar, on the other hand, couldn’t help but draw a parallel between the humans. It was something about the way the wife dragged her husband along, something in her eyes that screamed determination. She wasn’t going to give up on him, just like his mother refused to give up on his father. Kysar ordered the others to go on ahead, picking up the husband and slinging him over his shoulder. He would be right behind them. Scrambling up the stairwell, everyone moved as quickly as they could. The squad had long moved ahead when Kysar began to hear shooting. Reapers had dropped in from above, with dozens upon dozens of husks scaling the side of the building and scouring it for survivors. Ducking onto the 33rd floor, Kysar burst through the door, barricading them all in an office, preparing to make a final stand. Deciding to radio into command one final time, he received word that Shepard was aboard the Citadel and was trying to activate the Conduit. His final orders were to survive and pray to the Spirits that the human could end this. With his rifle empty, Kyser made his final stand, unleashing his biotics as husks began to break through the barrier. As hopelessness closed in around them, a blinding red light rushed from on high, blanketing the city. The husks fell dead as Kysar, wounded but alive, returned to the office to celebrate. Sadly for the family, the Turian was only able to share in a bittersweet moment, finding the husband dead in his wife’s arms. Leaving them to their moment, Kysar climbed the stairwell to find the body of three of his comrades. Removing their dog tags, he pocketed them and returned once more to wrap the body of the man. Spotting the FOB, the survivors make their way across, meeting up and being processed with the few that remained. Reconnecting with what was left of High Command, Kysar came to learn that their forces had committed to the restoration of the relay. Dextro rations were finite and the stranded Turian population numbers in the millions. Without possibility of resupply on Earth, returning back to their own system was their only hope. Brought before General Invectus, Kysar was told he is one of the last biotic soldiers that remained. The Cabals were all but wiped out during their high-risk missions and the Turian is needed now more than ever. Admiral Nitesh, leader of the human forces, had been making moves that left the non-human forces wary. As such Kysar’s orders were to infiltrate the ranks of the Earth forces and report back on their movements. Finding the irony hilarious, he reluctantly agrees on the written promise that if he does it, he’ll be free from prison. Accepting their arrangement, the General detailed his mission as two-fold. Several downed Turian ships had been raided by human survivors, rations had been taken and were now being sold in a black-market rings. Kysar is to do his part in dismantling this network or expose it to the correct authorities. His other mission is to keep an eye on Admiral Nitesh Singh as the Hierarchy doesn’t trust him. He’s to report anything that is ordered of him as a part of this new group that has arisen. Time with the SRN Namibia What a walk in the park. Some doped up Drell’s meddling with Reaper tech lost the plot and began attacking anything with a pulse. Yeah we lost one of the team but as the locals say, you can’t make an omelette without breaking a few eggs. I did my part, helped take out a few of the morons, some weird bug thing and cracked open their little device. Done, easy in and easy out. Havana They tell me that this city survived almost unscathed from the war. Shit, could’ve fooled me. Purgatory was prettier than this. Eh, whatever. We’ve got to hand off what’s left of that weird Reaper tech to some Doctor. Maybe he’ll figure out how it lobotomised those Drells, who knows. Honestly, I can’t believe the Hierarchy is worried about this group, this SRN shtick is so easy it’s almost boring. M O T I V A T I O N Human’s in the clink had a famous saying, “Don't take life seriously. Either way, you won't make it out alive.” A catchy mantra that spoke to Kysar on such a deep level it revolutionised his outlook on life. For the longest time he could scarcely remember a time when something or someone wasn’t at his throat. Armed with the wisdom of some long dead human, he has since begun to roll with the punches. Sarcastic, dry and quick witted, it’s hard to catch Kysar off guard when it comes to slights, usually beating those around him to the punch with some type of asshole-ish one liner. Surprisingly the guy isn’t winning any popularity contests and is a bit of a loner. Kysar also feels no particular way when it comes to killing. He’s killed a lot of men in his time, some good, some bad, some that just needed killing. He can be both ruthless and ruthlessly efficient. He offers no respite for the Turians current predicament on Earth and freely will tell people of it. “Isn’t this the total sum of what our leaders have always preached? Death in the pursuit of something bigger than the individual? Congrats, we won the war and will be rewarded as such.” Perhaps somewhat ironically he still loosely follows orders from the Hierarchy, even though he's unsure why. Maybe it’s to prove them wrong, maybe it’s the memory of his father or the love he has for his mother, or maybe it’s just something to do. Either way, there is something else though, a seed of doubt that has begun to worm its way from the back of his mind. Sarah. Saving that woman and her family has got the Turian thinking for the first time in his life; it’s even kept him up at night once or twice. It’s possible that his mum was right and there’s more to life than being a cog in the machine or a lacky for the government. Perhaps love does exist and it’s worth the trouble. Maybe it’s high time to see one last mission through and get off this rock to find something worth having. Maybe. F L A W S Kysar tolerates the name barefaced from the higher ups in the Hierarchy but he is unafraid to challenge anyone else. This, however, leaves him with a weakness to name calling and can be exploited. The flaw has gotten into trouble many times, with some of those times ending with him getting his ass-kicked for messing with the wrong crowd. When it comes to other species finding out and mentioning the name, the Turian is somehow even less kind. Willing to kill for the mere mention of it. Though he currently serves the Hierarchy loyally, he still knows that he can never truly live a peaceful life among Turian society. This gives way to a deep seeded fear of loneliness. Listening to his mother’s stories of her and his father as a boy has left him wanting. While he has done his best to quash these feelings, they still linger somewhere deep down inside. He is afraid he’ll never experience love because of who he was born as. He is also susceptible to children, finding himself unable to say no and instantly throwing all thought of self-preservation out the window to protect them. Initially he believed it to just be Turian children but given what happened with Sarah and the kids, he now knows better. M I S C Purgatory Rap Sheet - Numerous Accounts of Treason - Numerous Accounts of Smuggling - Numerous Accounts of Sale of Illegal Goods - Numerous Accounts of Grand Larceny - 1 Count of 1st Degree Murder - 1 Count of Murder of a Military Official - Numerous Accounts of Assault - Numerous Accounts of Manslaughter - Numerous Accounts of 2nd Degree Murder War Accolades - Battle Honour Recorded for the Battle of Manae x2 - Battle Honour Recorded for the Battle of Aephus - Battle Honour Recorded for the Battle of London, Earth RELATIONS AND AFFILIATIONS◢ - General Invectus - Alive - Atticus Basilic, ETIS Squadmate - MIA - Refugee Sarah Parker - Alive - Refugee Wendy Parker - Alive - Refugee Matthew Parker - Alive - Savita Proctus - Status Unknown

Violet Sheep Happy Hunting: A Cyberpunk Game

Time: 11am
Location: Giovanni's Pizza, 95th and Sandpoint
Interactions: Mysterious Stranger, JV and Oshun
Mentions: N/A
Equipment: Standard Gear

---

“95th and Sand Point.”

The driver laughed at him. A sharp, swift cackle that sent his head snapping backwards.

“You want me to take you that far North Side?” He laughed again. “You must be outta your damn mind.”

JV, less amused, leaned deeper through the cab window. “I can handle myself just fine.” He rumbled, opening one side of his trenchcoat and gesturing towards his revolver.

The cabbie’s head bobbed up and down like a buoy at sea. “Oh yeah, I’m sure your 10ft, bulletproof, mean muggin ass can my man, but I ain’t talkin’ bout you.” His hand dropped from the wheel, sticking out a thumb towards himself. “But this guy right here has got a life, one that he’d like to keep.”

Grunting as he pulled back from the window, JV thrust his coat closed. That was the second cab to turn away his business. Maybe that’s what he got for being cheap, trying to take human operated road only cabs like all the other broke people in the city. Muck from the tires kicked up as the car sped off. Freezing rain started to fall. The man’s fists tightened, he didn’t like the idea of crawling back to anyone but time was wasting and the decision not to wear more layers was exacerbating his sour mood.

“Oshun?” Even his thoughts came out as if he were speaking through gritted teeth. “Get me an AutoCab.” A car beeped from above the road, throwing on an indicator and making its way down. Odd. Usually she appeared in person, or well, digitally in-person. Was she mad at him? Or letting him cool off steam?

JV shook the thought loose as he entered the back of the cab. The man was on the job, who cared what the program thought. Leaning towards the empty front seat, old habits, JV directed. “Nine-” The car jerked forward, practically throwing the man against the back of the cab. A small screen on the back of the empty drivers seat lit up as a woman’s face, white as porcelain, appeared. “Good morning sir, we thank you for choosing AutoCab as your riding service today. Is this appearance to your liking?” Her lips were full, pouting with a matte red lipstick as her head tilted from side to side. Despite her oriental appearance her eyes were unnaturally wide, clearly meant to mimic an anime character.

“Sure.” He replied, shifting around in the seat to mould his own groove. “Whatever.”

“Excellent, Sir.” The image on screen zoomed out with the figure curtsying and clapping before returning to the characters face. “Our ride North will take approximately 35 minutes as traffic is considered to be ‘heavy’. Your Cybercom has already given us your destination and your preferred ridealong interaction. Please enjoy ‘general cab chatter’.”

“Huh? No?”

“Crazy weather we’re having today right, sir? Can’t believe traffic is backed up all the way to-”

Ok. She was mad.

“Just apologise to her.” A little voice from inside beseeched. JV’s hand clutched his face, squeezing it tightly as a deep exhale caught the back of his throat. Even his conscience worked against him, dubbing Oshun’s voice, torturing him. “And what about this job? Aren’t you the least bit curious as to-”. “Gah! Mute!” He snapped, causing the figure on screen to nod in compliance, dissipating into blackness. “Everything just fuckin’ shut up.”

Rain tapped on the glass as the rest of the cab held its breath in silence. A familiar sting nipped at the base of his skull. Slithering up like a snake from his spine, the feeling crawled past the cerebellum towards his frontal lobe. His hands tingled as his veins itched. His blood boiled, yearning, begging. It was only one call away. One call and he didn’t have to feel anything anymore, he could take so much it would override the detoxifier and-

“It’s ok, I’m here.”

JV’s hand dropped from his face as his head turned. There sat Oshun, smiling as her cybernetic etchings glowed a luminous, calming amber. Her hand hovered over his leg, phasing through as the cab jerked in a turn. JV slumped as his head flopped back into the headrest. He sharply inhaled as if about to speak but turned to look out the window instead. His way of saying ‘thank you’ and ‘I’m sorry’.

The cab dipped, parking on the side of the road, dinging as it reached its destination. “Keep it circling above, ready for a quick pickup.” JV said as he climbed out. Jammed together between an old timey barbershop and a dilapidated tattoo parlour sat Giovanni's Pizza. Its neon sign buzzed and flickered above the door with several letters failing to light up. “Vanni’s izza ay?” the man chuckled, turning towards his Cybercom.

“Was that an actual joke?” Oshun shot back, her hand lightly slapping the side of her cheek as a faux surprised look washed over her face. JV smirked, shaking his head. He deserved that. “5 o’clock.” She whispered, her voice suddenly becoming strained with intensity. Whipping around, he noticed several figures across the cracked and broken plasticrete road with all but one standing in the shadow of an alleyway.

Under the dim light of the neon glow, a slender, punk dressed young man stood with his eyes unmistakably bearing down on JV. The Haitian’s hand disappeared into his coat, widening his stance as he did so. A telegraphed warning. On the opposite side of the road, the man backed slowly off into the darkness of the alley, all of the figures evaporating along with him. “I don’t like this.” Oshun groaned.

“Since when is this worse than normal?” He replied, turning to head into the shop. Pushing the door open a tired, worn out digital voice welcomed him. “Benvenuto!” The pudgy Italian looking hologram flickered as it spun a virtual pizza into the air. The restaurant had an old world feel to it; diner red booths, a counter plastered with cracked and peeling vinyl, sneeze guards covering empty ingredient dishes and a silver clad kitchen in the back. Clearly, the register was the newest item in the place and even that was an outdated Cyber model. It was a homage to a world that perhaps was a simpler time, an accolade that would almost make anyone feel at ease, well, except for the decapitated body in the centre of the room.

Gore bled from the body's neck, spurting over the ground and pooling at the feet of an android. The thing had no skin, it’s body was just a twisted concoction of metal and wiring, a beast built with no love lost. Its face had been painted crimson, skeletal in appearance with ferocious fangs instead of teeth. Unmistakably inhuman. Light glinted off a katana held in the thing's right hand as drops of blood dripped from its razor sharp edge onto the floor.

Off to the Cybercoms side sat a man in a sharp looking suit. He was poised on a wooden chair with his hands clapped together as if he were watching a play. Bald and bearded, he was clearly of oriental descent with a giant dragon tattoo etched into the side of his head. A large scar formed a line that ran from his forehead to his cheek, leaving the eye in the centre that separated it blind. Looking over at JV, the man smiled devilishly. “It’s too bad you walked in.”

Electricity from the katana crackled to life, searing off the remaining blood as the Cybercoms stance changed in an instant. Drawing the sword to its hip with both hands, the android pointed the tip towards JV and charged.

Instinctually, the Haitian’s hand had dropped to the grip of his revolver from the first sight of the blood and was now whipping out the handgun. “Three shots, don’t empty it.”

Bang, bang, bang.

Alas, this was no western and hip fire was inaccurate even at the best of times. Two shots glanced, with the third missing completely. The Cybercom was on him, closing the gap and thrusting the sword out with both hands. Luckily, JV was faster, side stepping the thrust and pushing the android off balance. It wasn’t enough to knock the thing over but it was enough to gain a single moment. Bullets weren’t the only thing in the man's arsenal as he had simultaneously been hacking the target.

Hacking Target…
Hacking Target…
>Success!
>Quickhack Select:
>Sonic Shock
Run//: Sonic_shock.exe

The android jolted, frying in perceived pain before dropping to the floor, incapacitated. Flinging out his arm, JV aimed down the barrel towards the man in the chair.

“I’m just here for the pizza. Hand it over or I'll kill you.”

With his bottom lip upturned, the stranger glared back in disdain. His eyes flickered back and forth between JV and his downed Cybercom before narrowing with a sense of contemplation. The Haitian was unflinching in his stance with his triggerfinger ready to pop off at a moment's notice. Tension swelled across the room like a cloud of poisonous gas until finally, the seated man let out a sharp, forceful exhale from his nose, dismissively smiling.

“No.” His voice was deep and yet somewhat smooth. “You be a fool to shoot me.” The sentence was thick with accent as a half smirk grimaced his face. His blind eye shifted, rolling around in his head, darting back and forth.

“He’s calculating scenario outcomes.” The voice of Oshun whispered from somewhere in the ether. “If you’re going to shoot, now would be the time.”

Standing, the man continued. “My death will haunt your every move, JV.” The Haitians name lingered in the air, sounding as if that word alone had been said robotically. “Something about today, or maybe it’s tonight. It’s just… different.” Damballa’s prediction echoed through JV’s thoughts, gently tugging like strings of curiosity. Pulling just enough to stay his wrath.

Ignoring the threat of the gun the stranger continued to stir. With a hand gripped around his opposing wrist, he appeared to loosen it, causing his hand to disappear and be replaced with a sharpened sword. The metal arm flexed back and forth, limbering up for a fight. “I’ve business here. We make a deal. I don’t kill you, but you work for me now. Be a Samurai’s friend,” he shrugged, “Then, pizza is yours.”

Ah, the Samurai’s. Aunt Nettie’s favourite group of degenerate mercs. Bootlickers with lucrative contracts that paid by the bucket load. “Heh,” JV chuckled, “Sure, so long as it don’t mess with the Prophet’s business, what do I care?” The Haitian‘s gun dipped, lowering it from a potential headshot to a torso. “Hand me whatever the pizza actually is and then call when you’ve got a job.”

The strangers face twisted, conjuring up a wicked grin. Mechanical sounds from his arm whirred as the blade disappeared. “Wise choice, JV.” Dusting off his suit, the Samurai took in a deep breath, rolling his head around before looking towards the ceiling. “Pizza is all yours.” He exhaled as his arm widely gestured towards the back of the store. Still wary of the man, JV glanced across the counter and into the kitchen, spotting what looked like a stack of pizzas in the back. Snapping his attention back to the stranger, he watched as the man slowly edged his way around the Haitain, slithering out the front door like the snake he was.

“Phew.” Relief escaped JV as he brought sleeve to brow, wiping a few beads of sweat from his forehead. “Next time, we enter in the back way.”

Oshun pixelated into view, her face heaving with disappointment. “So you’re a Corpo and a gang member now?”

JV smiled, taking the opportunity to reload his gun. “You’re the one always telling me to ‘branch out’.”

The Cybercom sighed in frustration as the Haitian moved behind the counter. Blood was strewn across the floor, from pools of the stuff to violent splashes up the wall. Bodies of men in suits and kitchen hands had been left where they dropped, all decapitated. “Oh god.” Oshun whispered as JV looked ahead. There, in the corner of the room, floated a stack of pizza boxes, held in some kind of holographic warming device. Reaching them, the man thumbed his way down the pile finding the name ‘Endo’ written on the side of three of them. JV’s shoulders dipped in relief as he parted the stack, grabbing the prize with his hand.

Warping across to JV’s side, Oshun poked her head around the man’s shoulder like a cat. “Aren’t you curious as to what’s in them?” The Haitian scoffed, “I think we’ve had enough trouble for one day. Call the cab back down, let’s get these pizzas delivered.”

Violet Sheep Happy Hunting: A Cyberpunk Game

Time: 10am
Location: JV’s Apartment, McClellan Street
Interactions: JV and Oshun
Mentions: N/A
Equipment: Standard Gear

---

Ding

Steam wafted out of the microwave as Oshun opened the door.

Homely subroutine enabled…
>Outside Temperature -2°C
>Inside Temperature 20°C and Steadily Rising
>Subject Shivered Upon Morning Activation
>Warm Beverage
Run//:Inviting_tune.exe

Humming, the android reached inside grabbing a hot cup of cocoa with both hands. Sat on the opposite side of the kitchen island, JV winced. Debate had long been waged over the past few decades about Cybercom sentience. The MegaCorps flat out denied it of course, chalking up any such thought to something just as absurd as pigs flying. Human rights groups, of all things, pointed to the androids claims of loneliness and heartbreak as true human emotion.

Both were wrong.

It was the little things, you see, that meant they weren’t quite human. The way they weren’t indecisive when choosing a place to eat or were never impractically lazy when deadlines were due. JV watched like a hawk as Oshun placed the mug in front of him. “Or the way they don’t stop to wonder what the burn of a hot cup feels like.” He thought. The android stopped humming for a moment as the corner of her lips curled up into a cute smile. They weren’t sentient, humans were just gullible and lonely.

Beep.

Another quick shiver engulfed JV as the wave of heat coming from the central unit turned off. Though the temperature of the room was now stable, he had sat too close to the vent. A coolness washed over his naked body, indicating that maybe it was time to don at least some small article of clothing. Leaving the island, the man moved across the studio apartment, sifting through a pile of washing that had been left beside the bed.

“They’re clean!” Yelled Oshun, beating JV to the punch right as he was about to smell test a pair of underwear. If it wasn’t the clothing, then something else in the apartment was stale. “Maybe the tank needs a clean.” He surmised, looking across at the terrarium of snakes. They were real, to most people's surprise, both expensive to buy and maintain but well worth it to the man. Of course, this meant they also made a real mess too.

Oshun’s attention hadn’t strayed from the kitchen as a naked man was nothing new. Fixated, she was too busy crafting the perfect omelette. Half an onion, perfectly sliced at 2.5 millimetres apart across the circumference. One small sized tomato, diced into 2 cubic millimetres pieces. Herbs, spices and shredded synthetic chicken breast, all whipped together with three eggs in a mixing bowl. Poured out into…

“A job’s come through.” The words left her mouth before she could even calculate the potential ramifications of their impact. An intentional change to her programming.

“And?” JV replied, moving across to the only window the apartment had.

Oshun paused for the slightest moment, appearing to stutter in her movement. Putting down the bowl her fists balled together tightly. “It’s from the Black Prophets.” Her mouth and vocal unit refused to comply.

Error…
>Nature of Message Possesses Significant Chance of Subject Risk
>78.8% and Climbing
>Conflict of Core Directive
>Conflict of Core Directive
Patch 4.6 Override
New Primary Directive Override
Play//: Message

“A VP, Mr. Endo, has asked you to deliver pizza to his daughter’s sweet sixteen birthday party. They’re paying a grand in creds.”

JV nodded, pulling back the blinds and looking up to the sky. Frost clung to the edges of the window as the clouds above bellowed with a dark and menacing look. Across the apartment, Oshun regained control. Leaving the kitchen, she skipped across the floor, hurrying over towards her owner. Words had an infinitesimally low percentage chance of persuasion, the man wasn’t in the habit of saying no to anyone in that wretched gang of his, even if it meant serious personal risk. Though she had always detected a level of hesitation that came with her touch.

Reaching out she placed a hand on his arm, softly wrapping her fingers around his bicep. JV turned and for a moment the two locked eyes. Oshun opened her mouth to speak but the man drew quicker. “Damballa has something to say.”

Biting her tongue, the man shrugged her off, leaving her standing alone. Looking down, she watched as her thumb grazed over her fingers, hoping to hold on to the last of the warmth from the touch of his skin as it evaporated. Defeated, the android ran a Sigh.exe, enabling a Mild_sulk subroutine as she dragged her feet all the way back to the kitchen. There, she opened the pantry, fishing out a bag of flour.

JV, on the other hand, headed over to the footlocker at the end of his bed, drawing a folded white sheet from in between a pile. Unfurling it on the floor in the middle of the living room, he bent down to smooth it flat while picking bits of lint off as he went along. Moving onto the fridge, Oshun retrieved a single white egg, lightly kicking the door closed as she spun around. Leaving the sheet, the man picked up the final ingredient, a blue-eyed lucy python from the terrarium. One of four snakes, its skin was white as snow with sky blue eyes. The reptile hissed in disappointment as the man dragged it away from the warmth of its infrared heated lamp.

Kneeling on the edge of the sheet, JV placed the snake next to him, giving his pet a quick pat on the head as it’s tongue flickered back and forth. Oshun appeared beside him, handing her owner the bag of flour which he poured into a pile in front of him. Followed up by the placing of the egg on top of the mound of powder, the android laid down in the centre of the sheet, glancing up one last time to see if she could catch JV’s eye. It was too late, they were firmly shut and a soft Haitian chant had begun to flow from his mouth.

‘Commune’ subroutine enabled…
>Damballa
Run//:Serpent.exe

Oshun’s hands clapped firmly together above her head. Her body began to shift subtly, as if a gentle wave moved through her. First from her hands, rippling down through to her torso, then to her hips and finally out her feet. She repeated this movement over and over while beside her JV continued with his incantation, his hands slowly rising from his knees as if they controlled the volume of his chants. The louder he got, the more his eyelids screwed shut, squeezing the life out of his eyelashes, feeling as if the motion threatened to pull them from their sockets. The android matched the raised tone with vigorous movement as together they escalated into a burgeoning crescendo.

“Damballa, koute mwen!”

A vicious roar escaped the man before he toppled over onto the floor, wet with exhaustion. Softness clasped his cheek as Oshun roused JV from his trance. “Is… Is today the day?” He panted. The android looked back at him, her lips pursed with a slight smile while sadness glistened in her eyes. “No.” Her voice dimmed. “Not today.”

Expressionless, the man nodded. Clamouring to his feet, he returned the snake to its habitat as Oshun cleared the floor. It was time to gear up.

Jeans. Top. Holsters. Revolver. Knife. Clips. Creps. JV donned his get-up, readying himself for the day. No one in the city paid a thousand creds to drop a cake at a birthday. No one in the city paid a notoriously fanatic gang for such a remedial task. It didn’t matter, whatever needed to be done, he’d do it. He was the sword, they were the arm.

Having cleared the living room, Oshun had returned to the stove, flipping the omelette and watching over the pan. Without warning, she shuttered noticeably, catching the corner of JV’s eye. “Those attempted manual overrides are getting stronger,” he thought, “Perhaps it’s time for a program re-modification?”

“What else was there?” He chided.

Oshun’s back straightened as if she’d been struck by lightning. Words fell out of her mouth instantly without restraint. “Something is different.”

JV raised an eyebrow. This was new. Moving across the room, he grabbed one of her arms, spinning her around towards him. “What is?”

“It’s… unclear,” she replied as her eyes darted from side to side. Her lips drew back to one side as her eyebrows furrowed. “Something about today or maybe it’s tonight. It’s just… different.”

Releasing her, JV doubled back, opening a locker in the storage contraption that sat above his bed. Slinging the strap connected to his assault rifle over his shoulder, he grabbed his trench coat from the edge of the bed, covering up all of his weapons as he slipped it on.

“Please,” Oshun beckoned as desperation dripped from her voice, seemingly tugging at his coat. “You said it yourself.” JV shrugged, heading for the door. “It’s unclear. It could mean anything, good or bad.”

Plating up the food, the android shuddered as clothing digitally pixelated onto her body. “No.” The man held up a strong, stern finger. “Your unit stays, the tank needs changing.” Shifting his point from her to the terrarium, then back to her, his chin dipped towards his body with his whole head cocking to the side.

“Stay.” A stern warning.

She nodded and JV left without so much as a glance toward the now cold cup of cocoa, or the ready made omelette with baguette sat next to it. The door slammed shut as the androids' shoulders dropped. “Bye.” She whispered.

Violet Sheep Happy Hunting: A Cyberpunk Game

JV

I pledged

I read them rules

Jean-Vallet “JV” Sanon, 34
<sub>6’2 / 103kg
S T A T U S : Surplus
E M P L O Y M E N T : Gang Member, Enforcer and mild NetRunner

F L A W : Apathy: As a child, JV learned from his mother that he was cursed with no soul and that atonement would only be found in fulfilling the needs of the Loa. As such, he is apathetic towards his actions. Good or evil, he does whatever is asked of him.

F L A W : Self-Destructive: "Never have I dealt with anything more difficult than my own lost soul."

V I R T U E : Loyalty: JV is loyal to the Loa, the Prophets and those that try to guide him.

V I R T U E : Modesty: Not all of his actions are negative, though even the good ones are not done by him but by "The will of the Bondye."</sub>

---

P E R S O N A L I T Y

---

In his own view, JV is nothing but a dog kept tightly on a chain. A vicious and determined attack hound that is only let loose when something drastic needs doing. On a job, he's a force of sheer will and unwavering spirit.

Outside of work he's aimless, cut adrift in a world hurtling towards its death. He's moved on from spending most of the time with his gang, only reacting to their requests when necessary and citing a lack of fulfillment as the reason. His attempts to commune with the Loa are just as unsatisfying, feeling more further away than ever before.

Really, he is haunted by a traumatic childhood and upbringing, never knowing what it was like to have a sense of self worth. Plagued by nightmares of the past, he indulges in self destructive behaviour, fueled by various narcotic cocktails. Though this has improved of late after the habit reached a breaking point and the Prophets forcefully infused a Detoxifier into his system.

His life is not without rays of hope however, as his friendship struck up through a feeling of mutual understanding in his Augmenter, August, is not without meaning. Neither is the strange but satisfying relationship with his Cybercom, a virtual, robotic antithesis to JV's demeanor.

---

A R M O U R & W E A P O N R Y

---

Weapons:

• Side Arm:
  Revolver

  

• Knife:
  Neurotoxin Knife

  A knife that injects a paralyzing neurotoxin when pushed in deep enough. Handy for stealth kills.
  

• Primary:
  Assault Rifle

  

Augmentations:

• Adrenaline Booster: A circulatory system mod that boosts adrenaline during combat. Manually activated via a button living under the wrist.
• Cyberdeck MkII: A cerebral attachment that allows quickhacks of targets connected to the Net.
• CyberOptics: Enhances vision for scanning and hacking.
• Detoxifier: An immune system mod that detoxifies all poisons.
• Optical Camo: A skin infusion that allows the user to become transparent for 60 seconds. Light still reflects oddly through the user, so it's best used in the dark.
• Personal Firewall: A frontal cortex enhancement that either prevents or slows down enemy NetRunners from hacking the user.
• Subdermal Armour MkII: An upgraded version of skin infused plating that does the same job as medium armour.

---

S K I L L S

---

Quickhacks:

• Short Circuit: Short circuits anything from robots to hardware.
• Weapon Glitch: Causes temporary weapon malfunctions.
• Temporary Tinnitus: Causes the target to be temporarily overwhelmed with tinnitus, deafening them.

Other Skills:

• Stealth
• Firearms

---

R E L A T I O N S

---

JV's social circle consists of very few.

Bailey "August" Hawkins, his Augmenter.
Saint Moses, his puppeteer.
And Oshun, his Cybercom.

Though he has a slew of other encounters, from gang members both friend and foe to hook ups, none are worth mentioning or even remembering.

---

H I S T O R Y

---

Bundled into a leaky dingy, in the darkest hour of the night, JV could never remember why they left Haiti. His father, only referred to as 'the Pagan' by his mother, was no where to be seen at the time, leaving the two to island hop around the Caribbean and Central America for the next 5 years. Though never revealing how it came to be, his mother only ever told him that it was because JV was cursed. A child, born with no soul, uncapable of being anything other than a pit of emptiness was used by his mother to get across the border in hope of a better life.

Left like garbage on the other side, she abandoned the boy. Leaving an ever lasting imprint on him and the teachings of Voodoo. "The Spirits are the only ones who can grant you salvation boy." Were some of her last words to him.

Living on the streets, he scrounged for survival, stealing and robbing who he could to survive. Practicing his rituals earned him a warped reputation, sacrificing small animals to feed the Loa was normal back in Haiti but in the streets and slums of Seattle, it was alien. Some feared the boy while others outright hated him. Only the Black Prophets understood him. Taking them under their wing, Saint Moses and his ilk honed his skills, encouraged his worship and let him loose on the unbelievers.

Together, the Black Prophets carved a name out for themselves across the city, cementing their territory and converting others to their cause. Though they are at odds with the other gangs, they've taken an interest in robbing the MegaChurch, Heavenly Hosts (H2), who they see as a perversion of their religious ideals. JV has been at the forefront of this, from participating in virtual heists, to robbing their high profile targets.

---

C Y B E R C O M

---

Oshun

Oshun is a goddess connected to rivers, streams, and water. She is associated with beauty and love with her followers often leaving offers to her at river beds. JV doesn't like to think on why he chose her as the avatar for his Cybercom, opting to leave her android unit at home while a digital copy follows him around. A reflection only he can see.

His opposite, she is full of energy, love and wisdom. Programmed to care deeply about those around her and advise on the will of Bondye, God of all, just as all Loa do. Aside from the usual day to day perks of every Cybercom, she is also a therapy program that is trying its best to break through the hardened exterior of JV.

Violet Sheep Happy Hunting: A Cyberpunk Game

JV

I pledged

I read them rules

Jean-Vallet “JV” Sanon, 34
<sub>6’2 / 103kg
S T A T U S : Surplus
E M P L O Y M E N T : Gang Member, Enforcer and mild NetRunner

F L A W : Apathy: As a child, JV learned from his mother that he was cursed with no soul and that atonement would only be found in fulfilling the needs of the Loa. As such, he is apathetic towards his actions. Good or evil, he does whatever is asked of him.

F L A W : Self-Destructive: "Never have I dealt with anything more difficult than my own lost soul."

V I R T U E : Loyalty: JV is loyal to the Loa, the Prophets and those that try to guide him.

V I R T U E : Modesty: Not all of his actions are negative, though even the good ones are not done by him but by "The will of the Bondye."</sub>

---

P E R S O N A L I T Y

---

In his own view, JV is nothing but a dog kept tightly on a chain. A vicious and determined attack hound that is only let loose when something drastic needs doing. On a job, he's a force of sheer will and unwavering spirit.

Outside of work he's aimless, cut adrift in a world hurtling towards its death. He's moved on from spending most of the time with his gang, only reacting to their requests when necessary and citing a lack of fulfillment as the reason. His attempts to commune with the Loa are just as unsatisfying, feeling more further away than ever before.

Really, he is haunted by a traumatic childhood and upbringing, never knowing what it was like to have a sense of self worth. Plagued by nightmares of the past, he indulges in self destructive behaviour, fueled by various narcotic cocktails. Though this has improved of late after the habit reached a breaking point and the Prophets forcefully infused a Detoxifier into his system.

His life is not without rays of hope however, as his friendship struck up through a feeling of mutual understanding in his Augmenter, August, is not without meaning. Neither is the strange but satisfying relationship with his Cybercom, a virtual, robotic antithesis to JV's demeanor.

---

A R M O U R & W E A P O N R Y

---

Weapons:

• Side Arm:
  Revolver

  

• Knife:
  Neurotoxin Knife

  A knife that injects a paralyzing neurotoxin when pushed in deep enough. Handy for stealth kills.
  

• Primary:
  Assault Rifle

  

Augmentations:

• Adrenaline Booster: A circulatory system mod that boosts adrenaline during combat. Manually activated via a button living under the wrist.
• Cyberdeck MkII: A cerebral attachment that allows quickhacks of targets connected to the Net.
• CyberOptics: Enhances vision for scanning and hacking.
• Detoxifier: An immune system mod that detoxifies all poisons.
• Optical Camo: A skin infusion that allows the user to become transparent for 60 seconds. Light still reflects oddly through the user, so it's best used in the dark.
• Personal Firewall: A frontal cortex enhancement that either prevents or slows down enemy NetRunners from hacking the user.
• Subdermal Armour MkII: An upgraded version of skin infused plating that does the same job as medium armour.

S K I L L S

---

Quickhacks:

• Short Circuit: Short circuits anything from robots to hardware.
• Weapon Glitch: Causes temporary weapon malfunctions.
• Temporary Tinnitus: Causes the target to be temporarily overwhelmed with tinnitus, deafening them.

Other Skills:

• Stealth
• Firearms

---

R E L A T I O N S

---

JV's social circle consists of very few.

Bailey "August" Hawkins, his Augmenter.
Saint Moses, his puppeteer.
And Oshun, his Cybercom.

Though he has a slew of other encounters, from gang members both friend and foe to hook ups, none are worth mentioning or even remembering.

---

H I S T O R Y

---

Bundled into a leaky dingy, in the darkest hour of the night, JV could never remember why they left Haiti. His father, only referred to as 'the Pagan' by his mother, was no where to be seen at the time, leaving the two to island hop around the Caribbean and Central America for the next 5 years. Though never revealing how it came to be, his mother only ever told him that it was because JV was cursed. A child, born with no soul, uncapable of being anything other than a pit of emptiness was used by his mother to get across the border in hope of a better life.

Left like garbage on the other side, she abandoned the boy. Leaving an ever lasting imprint on him and the teachings of Voodoo. "The Spirits are the only ones who can grant you salvation boy." Were some of her last words to him.

Living on the streets, he scrounged for survival, stealing and robbing who he could to survive. Practicing his rituals earned him a warped reputation, sacrificing small animals to feed the Loa was normal back in Haiti but in the streets and slums of Seattle, it was alien. Some feared the boy while others outright hated him. Only the Black Prophets understood him. Taking them under their wing, Saint Moses and his ilk honed his skills, encouraged his worship and let him loose on the unbelievers.

Together, the Black Prophets carved a name out for themselves across the city, cementing their territory and converting others to their cause. Though they are at odds with the other gangs, they've taken an interest in robbing the MegaChurch, Heavenly Hosts (H2), who they see as a perversion of their religious ideals. JV has been at the forefront of this, from participating in virtual heists, to robbing their high profile targets.

---

C Y B E R C O M

---

Oshun

Oshun is a goddess connected to rivers, streams, and water. She is associated with beauty and love with her followers often leaving offers to her at river beds. JV doesn't like to think on why he chose her as the avatar for his Cybercom, opting to leave her android unit at home while a digital copy follows him around. A reflection only he can see.

His opposite, she is full of energy, love and wisdom. Programmed to care deeply about those around her and advise on the will of Bondye, God of all, just as all Loa do. Aside from the usual day to day perks of every Cybercom, she is also a therapy program that is trying its best to break through the hardened exterior of JV.