Bork Lazer

Straits of Steel (A South East Asian Cyberpunk Thriller)

Loving the posts so far. Just remember that there's no official posting time or posting order so just keep working at your posts while you're at it, guys!

Straits of Steel (A South East Asian Cyberpunk Thriller)

@Bork Lazer I just noticed there isn't a description for the orange key zone. What is that area?

@silvermist1116

Aw piss, I probably need to change that. I didn't notice that error in MS Paint. Ignore that orange zone for now. It's nothing of any importance.

Probably.

Maybe.

Anyway, I'll replace it with an edited version soon.

Straits of Steel (A South East Asian Cyberpunk Thriller)

So, the IC post is out. Here are a few clarifications.

- The first round is just for you to establish your character. There is no general posting order that will be gathered from whoever replies first and last.

- Despite this not being mentioned, you are encouraged to make pre-existing relationships with other players. This is optional, however.

Please ask me if you think there are any concerns or confusions I should clear up.

Straits of Steel (A South East Asian Cyberpunk Thriller)

---

JUNE 15th 2099 - 27 C - 15 MPH - 1:00 PM

VIRAL CONTAMINATION IN MYCO VATS FORCES RECALL OF ALL HONGYANG PRODUCTS - SOMALIAN PIRATES SPOTTED NORTH - PLATINE-TAKAHASHI HEIR ANNOUNCES DIVORCE

---

Chew Law Cafe , Canton Canal

The evening clouds wept over New Malacca, yet, the neon fire kept burning in the sea.

At least, that’s how Marcus sees it. Pearl of the orient. Jewel of the South China Sea. Hah. The only jewel of the sea he ever saw was one at the bottom of a ceramic mug. Speaking of which……….

“ Kopi Kosong. Susu soy ” Marcus speaks in a clipped voice to the robotic waiter - an old 2030 model that’s more of a tourist attraction now rather than something functional. Its old hydraulic joints shift and clack as the holo-screen glued to the front of its chassis reads out his order before grinding on to the next table on its treaded tires. Chew Law Cafe is in a paradoxical state of being packed and empty at the same time, customers filtering in and out at a dizzying rate. It reminds Marcus of a factory line, automated, precise, efficient. The sad truth for most in New Malacca is that to live here is to be on the move constantly. Marcus sighs, shakes his head and looks outside the kopitiam while mindlessly rifling through his afternoon paper.

There are two things that Marcus believed were a part of Hibiscus Lanel. First was the nosy hawkers that got in your way and second was the rain. The latter was on the forefront today as the sky thundered above. It rattled on the corrugated tin roofs that were a staple of the district and poured down the gutters onto the syncrete walkways, pooling into puddles. All of it flowed down towards the central river that snaked its way through New Malacca.

The main headline almost made Marcus puke. The 70th anniversary of New Malacca isn't something to celebrate about, no matter how much Mayor Yokgan touts it around like a political bat. New Malacca isn't rising above its bloody past. It’s sunken already and anyone who tells themselves otherwise in Marcus’s mind is a fool. He flips over to the next page. Corpo adverts. Independent journalism hidden behind mountains and mountains of useless drivel. He’s lucky that his order arrives fast enough to distract him and even luckier that the kopitiam has a refill policy.

5 hours pass in a tumble of odd passerbys, more cups of kopi and crossword puzzles. He looks at the clock when the sun streams onto his table top. 6:30 PM. It’s only a fifteen minute walk anyway. Marcus folds the paper two times into a bundle and tucks it underneath the crook of his elbow. He sets out on a stroll on the east side of the Canton Canal. The sunset turned the Canton Canal from its blue countenance into a river of rust, its oily glimmer rippling over the surf. It has darkened into the color of brick, eddies of red swirling as if something lived underneath the great wreck, with gnashing jaws, waiting to grab him by the neck.

Marcus takes his time walking. Life is meant to be savored, not rushed into a pit of needles and gunfire. All the while, he stares at the set of coordinates stuck within the bottom right hand corner of his cyber-optic along with a single name.

Suraiboshen. Silver Ocean.

The distance doesn’t matter. 1 kilometer, 200 meters, 10 feet. Only one number matters.

500,000.

He crosses over an old bridge, past a young tourist couple who were politely haggling passersby to take a photo. He walks past a labyrinthian alley of drooling AR addicts with a pile of burnt out sim-chips on their side. Past a lazing gang of motorboat racers lounging on their rides. Past the thick heavy fume of incense and myrrh from street shrines that were plastered to the sides of old buildings. His joints creak and crack. His lungs feel like they’re on the verge of popping like over-inflated balloons. The metal glued to his flesh repulses him, even after all these years. His mind tries to focus on the destination but his body pulls him back with doubt.

His left hand, flesh and blood, not the plastic fake on his right, tightens, nails biting into his palm. He can do it. He still has to. New Malacca will have to die first if he doesn’t.

It’s only when he crosses over 34th Mcgonagall Street and turns the corner of a conga line of antsy hover rickshaw drivers does Suraiboshen finally come into view.

Situated near the borders between the Canton Canal and Hibiscus Lane, it’s awfully quaint for its popularity. For one, it’s not plastered with enough holo-adverts to make him puke nor is it like the multi-story high rises of the tradeplex. The restaurant settles for being a relic of a past with its squat temple-like facade and terraced bamboo eaves. Paper lanterns dangle on the corners as a wind blows through the area. It’s bold in its unassuming nature. Marcus respects that.

A single rope bridge connects it from the side of the canal to a set of sliding lattice doors with Japanese iconography. Two men, with sloping shoulders and tower like frames, are waiting side by side to each other at the front of the entrance as he walks closer to them. Each of them have clean-shaven heads, save for the top-knot sprouting from the back,a web of circuitry and metallic sutures lining the sides of their skull. Their hands rest on a blocky handgun that looks more like bricks of metal. Both of them wear clean-pressed dark suits with polarized shades that fail to hide their red optics.

" Are we just going to stand here? " Marcus holds out his hands to the side, nodding at them. " Or are you going to search me?"

The left guard holsters his heavy-calibre sidearm and pulls out a oblong device that screeches intermittently every so once in a while as it passes along each and every corner of his body. He pauses, checking the instrument. His eyes glow meanwhile, a minute long conversation taking place in the span of seconds inside his head. He then nods, " You're clear to go through. Don't go in waving your heat around and you'll be fine."

" Surprised you're letting me keep my weapon." Marcus says sarcastically. " Seems like a high-class joint like this should practice more stricter security standards."

" Our employer believes that our client should have adequate insurance." Big and Large to the right gruffly sighs in annoyance. " To a reasonable extent, of course. If you had any explosives or packed something much larger than that dinky little thing...." His voice trails off as he lets out a snort of amusement. "Besides, you're not much to write home about, old man."

" What my partner means to say, sir,...." The left guard softly speaks in a more diplomatic tone. "...is that Suraiboshen operates with the open-carry firearm laws of New Malacca. We trust that you understand the consequences if you discharge your weapon in this place. Many guests are fond of this place." He emphasizes the last word. “ That being said, please wait in the hallway. You will be called by our employer once the others have arrived.”

Others? Marcus did his best to not show his surprise and merely raised an eyebrow. “ I thought this was going to be a solo job.”

“ Our employer never specified otherwise.” There was a sharkish smirk on the guard’s face that was quickly replaced by a stoic mask of professionalism. Marcus wondered how they entertained themselves if their job was to stand around and look intimidating all day. All right. He’s willing to play along. Marcus enters into the building and the door shuts with a soft click behind him.

A lacquered wood hall greets him with long benches on either side. Two people have arrived already, sitting a fair distance from each other. One is as small as him, dressed slick in a stylish long coat that is adorned with heavy metal buckles. Marcus immediately doesn’t like him. The toothpick in his mouth doesn’t do him any favors. The other is still, spine straight like a sign post, with their legs locked at a 90 degree angle. The hijab covers her features so that only her face is revealed. Her dimpled grin is offset by the black rims around her twitching eyes. He makes note of the curved scabbard behind her back, barely visible underneath her polyester cloak. How did they allow thatin?

Marcus ignores the piercing stares he gets. Let them judge. He understands that in terms of appearances, he’s practically endangered as it gets. 30 is the new 90 in the age of Paradigm organics and other bioware startups. One telomere therapy is all you need to turn back the clock. He sits down, brushes the dust off his pants and rolls his shoulders, taking in a deep breathe.

He just needed to do one job. Even if it meant working with other people, one job. 500,000 asyuan. The door at the end of the hallway was the key to his future and he'd be stupid to let as something as trivial as teamwork get in the way of that.

Forsaken

“ Ah, fresh air!” Lak Lok lifted out his arms and basked in the glow of the sun. “ Thank goodness we don’t have to taste the food of this establishment anymore.” He momentarily retched, his face curdling as if he’d sucked a raw lemon, shuddering at the memory of that abomination of an owlbear steak.

Lak Lok watched in silence, keeping his scaly lips sewn shut, as the genasi and moon elf interacted. As much as he felt as he was wrong in his assumptions, he could still sense a lingering spark between the two of them. It was true that Kobold coupling consisted of both the wife and husband attempting to murder each other during their honeymoon but Lak Lok saw the hints of affection between the both of them. Why, the genasi was positively glowing with passion.

Or was it anger? Lak Lok couldn’t differentiate between the two. As soon as the Genasi and Moon Elf walked away, Lak Lok turned around to speak to Nemorad and Graves.

“Well, gentlemen, I’m not occupied with anything at the moment, so, let’s say, all three of us meet at the morgue in about an hour? I am quite eager to see…...……”

Lak Lok’s voice trailed off as his nostrils flared, an intoxicating aroma filling the air around him. It was heavenly, saliva pooling in his mouth, as he could taste the dozens of different spices that were suffused in it. He eventually located the source of the smell, a single solitary cart of meat buns being carted around by a warthog. Two elderly gnomes held the reigns, egging the beast forward every so often.

Is that…...sunlight saffron glaze?

Marbled unicorn buns.

Concentrate, Lak Lok.

Marbled unicorn buns.

You need to focus on the -

I NEEEDDDDDD IT!

Lak Lok wiped the drool off his chin and stammered. “ O-on second thought, I just remembered.” Lak Lok’s eyes trailed as the cart of deliciousness was escaping from him.

His stomach rumbled.

“Seeyoulaterinanhourgottago!” Lak Lok sprinted off down the road, waving for the cart to stop.

---

One afternoon supper later, Lak Lok arrived at the morgue, plumper than he had been in the morning. It was a squat building that was located relatively far away from the rest of the town, secluded underneath the shadow of a great husk of an elder tree that saw better days. The kobold patted his slightly distended gut and burped. Oh, that was a good snack. Lak Lok stared around for any sight of the necromancer or Nemorad before growling in impatience.

He wasn’t one to wait around. If the others weren’t here yet, he might as well take the initiative then. He walked out towards the entrance and then, a large war club slammed into the earth in front of him. A large burly orc had stepped out from behind a guard post. His right hand held the beefy looking weapon while the other scooped out trail mix from a small satchel and tossed it into his mouth.

“ Yes?”

“ Ahem.” Lak Lok cleared his throat before speaking. “ I am here on behalf of Mister Garrick. We require access to your morg-” He then eyed what the orc was holding and spoke in a horrified tone of voice “ Excuse me, are those dried grapes in your trail mix?”

The orc raised an eyebrow, staring back at the kobold and back at his snack.

“ Yeah. Ya got a problem wit’ it? “

“ No, nothing. It’s just that, um - “ The kobold coughed, cursing his lack of tact. “ Couldn’t you substitute it with something more palatable?”

“ I’ll have ya know that mah great grandmummy made this fer me!”

“ Your great grandmother fed you poison?!” Lak Lok’s eyes widened and covered his mouth before giggling nervously as the orc raised the club over his shoulders, his large shadow looming over his minuscule form “ I mean, your great grandmother fed you passion……..”

Straits of Steel (A South East Asian Cyberpunk Thriller)

Alright, after thinking through, I have made my final decision on what the roster will look like.

@Opposition - Xiaolan Dagon

@Shiva - Nadia Kumara

@Rapid Reader - Tamara Malikova/Toma

@BingtheWing - Nicolas Rosa

@vietmyke - Raymond Cheng

@silvermist1116 - Xia Lang

If you want more detailed feedback on why your sheet didn't or did get accepted, please PM me in private. Otherwise, thank you to all of those who submitted character sheets. Your interest and enthusiasm is appreciated, even if you didn't ultimately make it into the final roster. If an empty space pops up in the future, don't be afraid to message me about whether or not you can join!

On a side note, the IC will be up by most likely next week. I'm half-way done with the initial post.

Straits of Steel (A South East Asian Cyberpunk Thriller)

Applications are now over. I will review all current applications and post the roster list sometime soon. If your name is on the roster list, please post your CS into the CS tab.

Straits of Steel (A South East Asian Cyberpunk Thriller)

Zhang San

//YOUR SELF

Name: Xui Lin "Marcus" Yao

Age: 87

Gender: Male

Affiliation: Former officer of the New Malaccan Authority, the official state sanctioned police force of New Malacca. Currently retired as a Char Kway Teow street hawker in the Canton Canal, albeit with some connections to some unsavory groups.

Appearance: More metal than man, Marcus is a curmudgeonly and ancient octogenarian who looks the part unlike most of his other contemporaries who've used gene editing and telomeric enhancement sessions to stave off the inexorable tide of time. He is distinct in a city where the old are rare and the young are plenty.

From an up close glance, it's easy to see that Marcus is indeed old. Liver spots dot his wrinkled face with sagging cheeks pulling away at his sun-tanned skin. His bloodshot eyes are speckled with dots with jagged grey scleroses and a minor twitch in his left. Most of his lower right jaw and right face has been haphazardly replaced by cybernetic counterparts that look as if they were bolted on to his skin. The rest of his body hasn't been spared either with ceramic plates and circuitry having been welded into him randomly with no pattern. In spite of this, Marcus looks spry as ever and possesses a stout, strong build for a man of his age.

In the public, Marcus favors a simplistic poly-ester singlet, an apron and moth-eaten sandals that give him a grandfatherly look. In his more private affairs, Marcus wears a beanie along with a long-sleeved dark business trench coat and grey slacks.

//YOUR SOUL

PERSONAL GOAL: Marcus is primarily concerned with the economic wellbeing, safety and happiness of his family in New Malacca, no matter the cost to himself or others outside his family. He has no illusions about the illicit activities that he participates in and makes no excuses for himself. However, this is at odds with his code of honour and decency which has been tempered and tested over many decades.

LIKES:

- Curry Laksa
- Naps
- Cooking
- Professionalism
- Hanging out with his grandchildren
- Mahjong

DISLIKES:

- Durian
- Zaibatsus, mega-corporations, anything corporate really.
- Arrogance
- Collateral damage
- Unnecessary cruelty
- AR/VR addicts
- Threatening his loved ones

REPUTE: Marcus has two reputations to uphold: one as a kindly, old grandpa who makes an honest living on the Canton Canal and another as a no nonsense cleaner and investigator who will do any job for the right price.

In the public’s eye, Marcus is one of the foundations of the daily lunch rush at the Canton Canal with numerous workers and corpos scrambling to get a plate of Char Kuey Teow from his stall.

In the eye of the criminal underworld and his clients, Zhang San is an efficient and reliable problem fixer that may stick to old habits and traditions but always gets the job done.

HEEL: Marcus harbors extreme love for his grandchildren and will sacrifice anything to provide for them. Family is the most important thing in Marcus’s mind and he will not settle for anything lesser other than the outcome that benefits his family the most. Threatening his immediate family is a good way to convince him to work for you up until he decides to put a bullet in your head.

CODE: Marcus is morally flexible and possesses a sense of understated compassion and honor that’s downright endangered within New Malacca. He’ll help those he feels that are in need. He’ll spare people even though they were witnesses. It’s a miracle that Marcus has managed to survive this long in New Malacca. Perhaps, it’s his way of making amends or to fulfill some twisted sense of redemption. Over the years, his compassion has evolved from a rarity to a nuisance that bites him in the back. The next person that he spares might shoot him in the back after all.

QUIRKS:Marcus is oddly fond of whistling dainty tunes in public to amuse himself. During long stakeout operations or when on the job, Marcus can always be found sipping from a hot thermos full of ginseng tea to pass the time.

//YOUR PAST

Part of the first wave of migrants that came to New Malacca, Xui Lin was part of a Taiwanese family that had come to New Malacca to escape the job insecurity and wage cuts that had befell Taiwan’s economy. Xui Lin worked in his father's syncrete paving business for most of his childhood and fled away from his nest to join the New Malaccan Authority, , a group of PMCs that had been given official jurisdiction to enforce the law in New Malacca. Xui Lin adopted the name of Marcus and began working as a officer, moving his way up to Lieutenant.

Over 30 years of faithful service came to an end one fateful Wednesday. During a patrol, a IED blew up in Marcus’s face when he opened up the back of a suspicious looking jet ski. Waking up in a hospital later, Marcus’s body was completely ravaged with most of his internal organs being perforated not to mention the fact that all but one of his limbs were completely mangled. His health insurance wasn't enough to cover the staggering cost of the implants. Appeals to his healthcare providers failed. Pensions couldn't cover the cost. He was expected to be another body in the pile that had built up New Malacca to its heights.

Therefore, Marcus eventually resorted to criminal means to settle his debts. His talents accrued from twenty years in the New Malaccan Authority served him well in the criminal underworld and thus the trademark of Zhang San was born, an alias for Marcus to use to shield him from any potential blow-back that he might suffer. For the last two decades, Marcus has been accumulating a trust fund for both of his grandchildren to receive when he finally passes away along with staving off the worse of his chronic illnesses caused by the degradation of his cybernetics.

//YOUR PERSON

ATTRIBUTES:

Getting Down and Dirty: Marcus is a skilled marksman and knows how to handle himself in a shootout as well as in close quarters brawl. Due to his advanced age, he usually relies on more dirty tricks to gain an upper hand on the more youthful.

A Hunch: Marcus is a skilled investigator, partly thanks to his training within the New Malaccan Authority and the fact that no one expects an old grandpa to be capable of such things like noting down the different shift times of a parking booth.

Do It By The Books: Being part of a law enforcement PMC doesn’t just teach you to shoot things first and ask questions later. Marcus possesses a wide encyclopedic breadth of knowledge about rules, procedures and the inner general workings of modern law enforcement within New Malacca along with a decades worth of knowledge on how to conduct criminal operations.

BODY MODS:

Haoyang 2040 Full-Body Enhancement Package - Haoyang 2040 Full-Body Enhancement Package - More for life support rather than functionality, this ancient suite of cybernetic augmentations, ranging from limb replacements, pacemakers, inbuilt artificial myofibers and respiratory assistors, is what has kept Marcus alive all these years. Marcus’s enhancements allow him to hit faster, move faster and take more physical punishment than a man of his age could without suffering severe damage. A disadvantage of these ageing augs is that Marcus is required to consume a heavy amount of immunosuppressant drugs in order to ensure that his elderly body does not reject his augmentations.

EQUIPMENT:
Gao-Zhong Dragoon HA-12: Sometimes, actions speak louder than words, or in this case, getting your head blown off will. Once the standard issue sidearm of the New Malaccan Authority, the Dragoon has been phased out in lieu of more cheaper models of firearms. The Dragoon is a semi-automatic heavy pistol chambered to fire a custom modified 12mm teflon-coated gyrojet round capable of penetrating through most modern subdermal body armor. Marcus's model comes with an integrated silence to reduce the deafening noise it makes to manageable levels.

Monofilament Garrotte: When you need to strangle a fool stealthily, except no substitute but this 10 inch long boron-carbon hybrid nanotube garotte.

Disposable Burnerphones: The old school method of ensuring that someone doesn't trace you. Marcus has a pack of these to ensure that whatever call he makes will be private. Permanently private.

HongYang Vacuum Thermos: Able to keep any substance at room temperature for more than 24 hours thanks to its patented hydraulic seal vacuum tech coupled with a biometric security system. Marcus mostly uses it to store his favorite ginseng soups.

Straits of Steel (A South East Asian Cyberpunk Thriller)

You know, what, fuck it, sheets are due by the 3rd of September, 11:00 PM GMT -5 Eastern Time.

Straits of Steel (A South East Asian Cyberpunk Thriller)

@Bork Lazer I'm interested in joining and I have a lengthy homebrew black market organization my character is affiliated with. Can I PM you my character sheet to run my idea by you?

@silvermist1116

Be my guest.