It was an hour since they’d taken the call and Conrad’s body had to be left behind with the others. Connie had no choice. It was either the choice of being eaten or eaten alive by the scavs. She had a feeling that having your insides pilfered by the Maelstroms was a experience that the live-radio interviews on NC Live
Braindance addicts crowded the alley they were in, some slumped over in their drunken stupor and others waving their hands in their air as if they were trying to catch fairies. Their gaped, drooling mouths heaved out wet, mucous breathes in a quiet chorus. They were down to five personnel, including herself. Connie checked both ends of the alleyway, checking that the coast was clear, before pressing a button on the side of her helmet.
“ This is TT-S-1479 to TT-Central. Multiple 10-99, I repeat, multiple 10-99’s.”
There was a short burst of static before an elderly voice, wracked with years of smoking, took over. Connie’s shoulders sank in relief as the familiar voice of Major Dhatri took over. Things would be alright now.
“ This is Major Dhatri. Sitrep, TT-1479.”
“ Call is FUBAR, I repeat, call is FUBAR. We are currently located on 5th, Vista El Sonya, Heywood. Multiple contacts on our location. Requesting reinforcements over.”
Connie’s blood then went cold at the major’s reply.
“ All available trauma units are currently taking calls. You’re on your own, Zhu.”
“ Roger, over and out - “ Connie cancelled the call, her hand shaking, before she let loose a frustrated scream “ Fuck!”
She punched the brick wall before turning to her team. There were five of them left. She couldn’t tell their expressions under their helmet but this wasn’t a good look for her. Taking a breath in to recompose herself, she tried to assert order over her panicking squad, speaking in a clipped fashion.
“ Alright, everyone, listen up. I’m taking one out of our paychecks and calling a Combat Cabb.” Groans of disappointment could be heard in the alley. “Our pick-up is a 10 minute ETA nearly half a klick away. Now, move it on the do-”
The temperature seemed to lower by 15 degrees as the entire team heard the sound of metal scraping off concrete. Across the end of the alleyway was a Maelstrom gangoon, the entire left side of his face carved out and replaced with a hideous metallic simulacrum of itself. His red optics flickered and underneath that inhuman gaze was a curled lip of satisfaction. He ran his thermal machete against the side of the alleyway, the edge bouncing off the uneven surface.
“ Lookie what we caught here.” He giggled. “ A buncha bonesaws.”
Connie heard the click of receivers, shadows above them on the roof. She began to feel slowly like a rat in a cage as she barked out orders.
“ Oh fuck! RUN-”
“ - RUN!” Connie burst out of her blankets, gasping like a fish taken out of deep water. Her breathing slowed as she took in her surroundings. Bottles of synthetic vodka laid on the floor next to her. The orange sunrise of Night City flowed through the blinds, illuminating the dust that floated in the air. The other breathing occupant of the room murmured in annoyance, a languid arm rising out of the blankets to pull her back into her embrace.
" Do no harm. Protect the client. Follow the rules.
That's what we were taught.
Awful hard to stand by that rule when everyone in this city's out to harm you."
//NAME: Connie Zhu / Hui Jiang
//STREET NAME: Scalpel
//GENDER: Female
//AGE: 36
//AFFILIATIONS
- Trauma Team International (10 Years)
- Tyger Claws (3 Years)
- Afterlife Mercenary (Current)
//APPEARANCE: Connie embodies the spirit of a rough and tumble street hooligan caged by professionalism and conduct. Her curled hair is cut precisely in a bob cut, various knots interspersed throughout. Black bangs frame an angular face rimmed with eyebags and a pensive frown. Memories of a misspent youth mark her wiry body as dysfunctioning light-tattoos scribed in a fit of paternal rebellion blink all over her arms alongside a grievous burn mark on her neck as a result of hazing at TT bootcamp.
Scars of his time as a Trauma Team EMT riddle her body, dimpled pockets of faded bullet wounds glazing her chest, with a grievous jagged line of mottled skin crossing the flat of her belly By far, the most pressing reminder of her time in Trauma Team International is the sleek blue chrome that makes up most of her left arm and shoulder.
In terms of tactical gear, Connie uses a modified version of her old TT gear that has been jury-rigged by various techies over the years into something that looks downright primitive. When she’s not flatlining gangsters or busy resuscitating gonks, Connie wears an unassuming combination of chic gear, preferring a poncho hoodie that allows her to hide within crowds.
//HISTORY:
Connie was 14 years old when she saw a Trauma Team aerodyne for the first time.
It was early noon on a Friday, the type of day that would call for a trip into the Upper Marina. Unfortunately, her mother had other plans,namely, going on a tour of the academic quagmire she would be getting stuck into her the next five years or so of her life. Getting into a prestigious pre-med program sponsored by BioTechnica was one thing but being a first-gen uni student was the cherry on top of the cake. Part of her was convinced it was sheer luck whilst her mother, being a stickler for tradition, believed it was a sign of blessing from our ancestors. Lucky stars and other crappy astrological palm-reading nonsense that she’d babble on to her.
A tour guide dressed in a sleek silver dress and wearing a neon smile was leading them along through the skeleton of an empty pavilion that was currently undergoing reconstruction. Connie watched as construction drones skittered about on legs, briefly turning noon into early morning with the glow of their plasma torches, before moving onto the next spot. Reconstruction was petering off in the ten or so years that had passed since the Red. Her mother told her of days when the sunset seemed to bleed orange and the rain that poured from those scab-like clouds corroded through the steel skyline. Now, all that remained of the mid-century holocaust was a faint rusty mist that cloyed to the blue sky.
“ Connie! For the life of me, could you not spend one moment staring at that device of yours? ” Her mother hissed, pulling at Connie’s ear, whilst she was busy parsing through my socials on the Agent. “ You should be excited. You are the first Zhu to enter a prestigious institute such as NCU!”
“ C’mon, ma ma.” Connie pulled her agent away from the prying hands of her mother as she rolled her eyes. “ This is boooooring. Couldn’t we have waited until next week to do this?”
“ And spend time with your gwai lo boyfriend at that ridiculous concert? “ My mother scoffed. “ I think not. Besides, this is a far more useful way to spend a Friday.”
Connie scowled. Those advance tickets she got on the night market was the sweetest hitch she ever got in her life! Getting seats at a crim-zone concert was notoriously hard to begin with alongside the secret crypto-seal which they used to hide the secret location of their concerts in the abandoned underground metros of Night City.
“ Whatever.” The teen’s cheeks were reddened with embarrassment as she tucked herself further into her Agent. “ I’ll probably flunk out in the first term anyway.”
“ Don’t you say such slander. Did I truly raise my daughter to believe so little in herself?” Connie wanted to scream internally as she sensed the signs of another incoming lecture. “ If I was your age, I would be grateful to stand here with Night City’s brightest. Instead, you want excitement- ”
The explosion then hits her like a freight train. Her eardrums pop painfully as she feels her feet being launched off the ground, agent shaking loose from her grip. Connie’s world becomes a storm of pain and dizziness, vision quaking as sounds of terrified screams and the staccato of lead begin to fill in the void of her senses. Her ears make out the faint noises of someone speaking as she groans out, struggling to stand up on her own two feet.
“ Fuck, what the hell was that for, Rory!”
“ You said to cause a distraction. I caused the distraction! Now, NCPD’s gonna be busy cleaning up this situation while we make our getaway.” “ You idiot! Do you want Max-Tac breathing down our necks?”
“ Hey, this one’s still breathing, Jimmy. What should I do with her?”
“ Just ice her and put her out of her misery.”
“ Right-o.”
The click of a receiver wakes her up to the sight of a barrel pointed downwards at her, laser sight trained on her forehead. Behind it is an arm leading up to a face that’s more metal than meat, the jaw replaced crudely with a fanged maw that resembles a bear-trap. There’s a hoarse reverberating chuckle as Connie begins begging for her life.
“ Please, no, fuck, I can pay you, please, don’t shoot - “
Her voice then becomes drowned in the sound of loud klaxons and the hungry roar of AV turbines. A shadow comes over the both of them as an aerodyne hovers above the both of them, a spotlight illuminating their figures in the darkening noon. Scratches and bullet holes cover the bulky blue-striped hull as the front of the aerodyne narrows towards the lunatic threatening to zero her out.
“ LANDING IMMINENT. STAND CLEAR. INITIATING SECURITY PROTOCOLS. “
Two hatches then open at the bottom of the armored hull and a set of barrels emerge, spinning together at the ready. Connie screams and closes her eyes as gunfire erupts again. A metallic gurgle cries out and then, the wet audible thuds of a body smacking on the concrete. She opens her eyes back up again to see the man cut in half, twisted legs and a vacated torso connected by a bridge of guts and blood. The stench hits her and morning’s breakfast comes tumbling out onto the pavement. As she wipes away the bile, the AV lands on the ground with a soft thud, pressurized gas hissing out as the aerodyne doors open up. Trauma Team personnel begin flooding the chaotic smoky scene, clad in blue neoprene suits with sterile kevlar plating covering their vital organs. One, the commander, Connie presumes, begins barking out orders and pushing back onlookers onto the ground.
“ PLEASE FOLLOW ALL INSTRUCTIONS.” The speaker blares once more. “ DO NOT APPROACH THE VEHICLE AND VACATE THE AREA IMMEDIATELY. ANYONE WHO INTERFERES WITH THE DUTIES OF TRAUMA TEAM INTERNATIONAL PERSONNEL WILL BE REMOVED FROM THE PREMISES.”
It’s a series of firsts for Connie today as one of the Trauma Team EMTs strides past her in a sprint, sliding downwards on her knees to a stop next to one of the students caught in the explosion. A female voice begins barking out in a radio in a calm and precise fashion, hands moving in a blur. Connie watches her pull out a suitcase that mechanically unfolds itself into a workbench two times bigger than what it previously was, various medical tools and equipment hanging on the side.
“ This is TT-570. 3 platinum and one gold confirmed. One pulmonary hemorrhage. Two in shock. One cranial fracture. Prep two freezers on the double ASAP.” The Trauma Team EMT grabs onto two handles in the workbench and pulls out a blocky device to place onto the student’s chest. Interlocks on each side of the device clamp down as the EMT taps buttons on it in a furious hurry. “ Administering 30 ccs of dopamine and 50 ccs of midazolam. Beginning installation of venous catherer.”
The EMT continues chattering into the radio, using her left hand to stick a airhypo down into the woman’s shoulder whilst jabbing the catheter straight into the chest. Connie wonders whether it’s TTI training or experience that allowed the EMT to know precisely where to enter the catheter into the subclavian without much training. She’s seen experienced doctors take 30 seconds. She’s seen techies who treat their gear with more care than how this EMT treats their patient.
Her eyes then narrow as a shadow appears deep within the fog. It stumbles out, the dusty mist parting in hacking coughs. It’s one of the gangsters. The graze on his left shoulder bleeds onto his ragged sleeveless shirt as he blinks blearily. His face lights up in vicious glee as he lifts up his pistol, taking aim at the unaware Trauma Team officer in front of him.
“ Behind you!,” Connie shouts, pointing over the EMT’s shoulder.
The EMT’s head perks up just in time for a round to spark off her helmet. She grunts in momentary annoyance In one smooth motion, the paramedic twirls around, raising her iron underneath her cheek, before pulling the trigger. Connie watched as a line of bullets stitched itself up from the thug’s chest to his cheek, sending him down onto the ground in a mist of blood. Walking over to the still breathing body, Connie flinches as the Trauma Team EMT fires two more shots in the guy’s dome, legs twitching with every bullet. The EMT then continues to work on stabilizing the patient, not minding the growing pool of blood on the ground behind her, as Connie feels the gills grow green.
Connie sees another shadow in the fog and braces herself in fear. It’s the Trauma Team commander, fortunately. She notices that his pristine helmet is now covered in splatters of blood as he walks to the EMT who folds out a stretcher to lay the patient out on.”
“ Max-Tac is gonna be here soon to mop up what’s left. Finish up before we get flatlined by those psychos.” The commander then nudges his head to the AV. “ Exit is 2 minutes unless you want to walk back to Watson all by yourself.”
“ Clear. Get Dobbs to help me with the stretcher.” The EMT replies back. The commander nods, satisfied before moving back into the fog.
It’s just the two of them. The EMT is still busy securing the patient to the stretcher, tying velcro straps and securing a breathing mask onto them. Once she’s done, there’s a brief moment of silence that’s interrupted by brief bursts of gunfire and cries in the distance. The EMT turns her head to look at Connie and she freezes up. Was Trauma Team going to zero her for interfering? Hell, why didn’t she run away? The EMT scratches the back of her head, unsure for a moment of what to say.
“ Thanks, kid.” The EMT softly says before digging into her belt and tossing her a nozzle tube. It slips in Connie’s hand as she catches it. Before Connie can ask what it’s for, the EMT points to her head. “ Something for the cut. Make sure it doesn’t go septic, right.”
Connie’s brow furrows in confusion as one of her hands reach towards her forehead. She feels the warm trickle of blood as she looks at her fingers, now doused in red. Connie doesn’t get the chance to say thank you as another one of the EMT’s emerges from the smoke. They crouch down, one on each side of the stretcher, before hoisting the patient up and carrying them to the AV.
“ Connie! CONNIE!”
Connie feels her mother’s arms wrap around her in a crushing hug. Whilst her mother continued checking her little angel’s face erratically for any signs of damage, Connie watched the AV slowly hover upwards, jets buffeting away the trash and litter that filled the courtyard. The turbines then angled forward, little jets of gas puffing out from the sides to stabilize the rectangular craft. The AV dove before transitioning into a soundless glide, swerving left behind the university’s library out of sight.
She didn’t speak a single word as her mother took a bus home to their sequestered little copse in Little China. Baba came back late from work at and began another one of his lectures on safety and responsibility before mother shut him up with a pointed glare. After they finished their dinner of crappy pre-pack, it was only until she was alone and by herself in the shower that she collapsed on the wet floor. Her skin felt foreign to her as she began digging into it with her nails, hyperventilating, as she saw the speckled drops of dried blood that were on the underside of her fingers.
She never wanted to feel like that again.
Never again.
She was twenty when she signed up for TTI. She was the only one out of her entire cohort who decided to listen to the TT recruiter and signed up. None of the corpo heirs or her chooms that she’d made in med-school wanted to join. They all looked at her as if she was insane and now, her parents were the new ones to join that crowd.
“ Hui Jiang - “ Connie trembled for a moment as her father spoke her Chinese name, the one that had been shedded to survive in Night City. “ - please cease this foolishness. Do you really think you can make a difference out there? You’re just another uniform, a tool for these corporations to use as they see fit! Trauma Team earned its reputation for a reason! You’ll die out there! ”
“ Trauma Team’s different. They operate on an objective code of neutrality. We serve all our clients equally, no matter their background. They’re the best of the best, baba. I don’t want to languish in NCMC until I turn into a mummy.”
“ Best of the best.” Her father repeated in a mocking tone. “ Trauma Team serve whoever shells out the most eddies for their platinum packages. Do you understand what that means? What if you’re forced to save a murderer? A crime lord? A cyber-psycho? What then? Are you ready for that burden?”
“ It’s part of the job.” Connie sighed, looking down onto the table. “ This argument is moot, baba. I’m shipping out to Seattle next Monday.”
“ Very well.” Her father’s voice hitched for a moment, his voice more hoarse than ever. “ Leave. If you are determined to end up on the front page of NCT’s obituary, then, I will not stop you.”
And thus, began Connie’s 20 weeks of hell. The first week, she couldn’t take shits properly as her body struggled to adjust to the near sadistic physical regimens her TO’s put through. TT bootcamp for her was a mixture of NCPD SWAT training and studying for a medical PhD. A TT EMT was expected to know the exact location of every single spinal nerve within the vertebral column and where exactly to administer epidural stims without a proper scan whilst being versed enough to commit hostage-rescue ops.
By the time Connie made it out and started her tours, she was tossed in the meat-grinder of NC’s combat zones. TTI was beginning to regrow the roots it had lost since the 4th Corpo War and with their growth in profits came the installation of new FOBs and offices across Night City and most of NUSA. Recruitment grew and after five years of service, Connie was promoted to the role of Senior EMT in the TTI. Connie grew in renown in TTI for both her compassionate treatment of non-clients as well as her almost suicidal tenacity to rescue her clients, the former of which her COs viewed as her being “ emotionally compromised on the line of duty”.
Then, it all came to shit one day. It was a normal call. A group of mercs who’d managed to pool together their eddies for one license in Heywood. A standard TT unit was assembled and when they got there, things seemed odd. No bodies on the ground. No signs of a firefight.
That was until their AV was crippled with a Kang-Tao EMP munition that sent Connie and her team tumbling down onto an electronics shop.
The situation had just transformed from a rescue to a firefight. The license was true and the client was injured but TTI had never considered that their client might have injured themselves on purpose. A group of Maelstroms had lured them into a trap with the goal being to hijack and commandeer their AV for their own use. Their comms were jammed thanks to Maelstrom netrunners.
Somehow, Connie and her team made it back to Watson with her team mostly unblemished and alive thanks to her leadership. However, with an arm missing and only a biro worth of blood left in her, Connie ended up on medical discharge for a month or so, receiving a new cybernetic arm courtesy of company policy and with over 2000 eddies of newly synthesized blood in her system.
Naturally, as TT began to reshuffle its books, Connie got axed off her position as Senior EMT. Elucidating the reasons behind her termination has been a constant source of frustration for Connie. Was it corporate backstabbing? One client complaint too many? Did her COs see her as a potentia liability? Regardless, she threw her generous severance package on the ground and with it, her company’s privileges. Whether out of good will or good luck, TTI didn’t stick to the standard protocol of removing company cybernetics, allowing Connie to retain much of her dignity as she packed her belongings and moved back to her familiar hometown of Little China in Watson.
No longer being a TTI employee, Connie hitched up with the Tyger Claws as a lone merc for a while under the employ of Wakoko Okada. Then, in 2077, when Arasaka Tower got hit for the second time in the 21st century, Connie found herself scratching the bottom of the barrel to find gigs and contracts to pass the time as mercs flooded the street, eager to pick up the remains of the Arasaka empire.
Nowadays, you can find her in some seedy corner of the Afterlife, schmoozing away on sake and reminiscing about the good old days of the 2050s.
//PLOTS AND GOALS:
CONNIE ZHU’S TO-DO LIST
1) Find out whoever fucking axed me from TTI and put their ass permanently in a cryo-bag.
2) Pay rent
3) Try to stop Dad’s hawker business from going under (and repair relationship?)
4) Find a good gig and fast.
//SKILLS: You don't become a senior Trauma Team EMT by pulling a few strings to work your way up the corporate hierarchy. Under Carrie Lachanan's guidance, the only way to move up the ladder is to prove yourself. Connie is a skilled paramedic and emergency surgeon, able to conduct routine amputations and open air surgeries to save an individual's life. If you don't want to be flatlined, she's the gun-toting angel you can rely on to save your ass from entering the pearly gates too early and having your sins judged by whatever cruel god made this sick joke of a world.
In addition, Connie is also trained in urban combat situations and hostage rescue operations, having coordinated a Trauma Team unit of her own for a period of five years before being terminated by TTI. Things often go pear-shaped in every Trauma Team call which has fostered a sense of adaptive intuition and reactive planning in Connie to allow her to respond to every situation with a calm and steady countenance.
//EQUIPMENT:
KT G-75 Submachine Gun - "Xiao" : The bastardized inbred cousin of the tried and true iron of Trauma Team International. This sucker performs admirably in your typical firefights but without the fun of automated reloading , custom porting to ensure zero heating issues and hyper-spectral radar guidance system. It sure does sucks that your guaranteed, free company supply of guided 5.45 mm hollow-point gyro-ammo runs dry after you terminate your contract, doesn't it?
Don't answer that question.
Medkit - A titanium toolkit containing all the bells and whistles needed to conduct back-alley surgeries and med ops in the most hazardous of environments. From air-hypos filled with various stimulants, pressurized tanks full of liquid oxygen, bonesaws, scalpels, stents and the works. Just don’t expect Connie to work as a ripper doc. It’s not her specialty.
Modified Trauma Team BDU - Connie’s old TT uniform, now with several more holes, scratches and with that classic logo scratched off, lest, she wants to risk a corporate lawsuit. The shins and elbows of the suit have been reinforced with kevlar padding with a thick plate of ballistic armor-gel at the front to support her vitals.
//CYBERWARE:
TTI-ECP-G-2060-V4.5 Articulating M-Class Cyberlimb (Modified) - The best that the nano-surgeons and biosculpters of Trauma Team International have to offer. Composed out of a mixture of lightweight ceramics and hybrid alloy poly-laminates, this cybernetic limb allows a higher degree of rotation and flexibility than normal organic homologues, allowing full 360 degree rotation of ulnar-radial joints. In addition, the synthetic carbon-myofilaments allow Connie to crush metal in her grip.
In addition, this cyber-arm still contains the full integrated suite of surgical and medical equipment that Trauma Team International gives to veteran Trauma Team paramedics including but not limited to: a broad spectrum medscanner, a high-voltage defibrillator, a selection of automated hypodermic syringes and a suture applicator.
Biomonitor - A built-in biomonitor on Connie’s left arm that reads out her vital signs. Can be customized in a variety of 64 colors.
Defunct Smart-Link - Allows a user to interact with smart-weaponry if it was operational. Thanks to TTI's built in ICE, no ripper doc thus far has been able to crack through it to allow Connie to use it.
“ Isn't it a little late for you to be drinking Danzagg, my boy?”
The proprietor of the Hyena’s Laugh looked at Onarr worryingly as the midget poured his fifth cup of fermented black Danzagg down his helmet. Unlike normal Danzig, Danzagg had been stored within an oaken barrel for over a period of five moons. Onarr had mistaken it once for real Danzig and had drunk an entire cup when he was 10 years old. By the time he was seeing wyrms emerging from his skin and his hair being lit on fire, he realized he’d made a horrible mistake.
“ What are you talking ‘bout?” Onarr belched out a gassy burp. “ It’s never too late to drink Danzagg! Another one!”
The proprietor of the bar shook his head as he refilled Onarr’s glass. Onarr’s reddened complexion was hidden under his helmet, the kitten huddling underneath his coat. Sounds of loud partying and riotous celebration drowned out any chance of peace in his helm as the alcohol burnt in his gullet. His thumb flicked against the spoon that was buried into his now cold plate of beef stew like a flagpole.
Others around him were buried in the throes of discussion, speculation about the future of Joru and what Yibozo’s new position meant for the future of their country. Unbridled optimism and nationalism suffused the air around him like the inside of a fishwive’s tent, its aroma blinding and intoxicating. Onarr could hear the tenets of Joruban rationality being exchanged around endlessly between his folk like conkers whilst manic whispers of more extreme plans wormed around, waiting for the right time to strike.
So, was he the mad one here? If every Joruban around him was excited, why didn’t he feel victorious? Wasn’t Joruban rationality what he had been aspiring to for his entire life? Or was another man’s rationality just another man’s insanity?
“ Hail to Yibozo, brother!”
Onarr turned his head around to see a classmate, an older one by the looks of it. He’d somehow manage to accomplish what looked like a Joruban salute, even in his drunken state. Onarr returned it in kind but with two fingers behind his back.
" Do no harm. Protect the client. Follow the rules.
That's what we were taught.
Awful hard to stand by that rule when everyone in this city's out to harm you."
//NAME: Connie Zhu / Hui Jiang
//STREET NAME: Scalpel
//GENDER: Female
//AGE: 36
//AFFILIATIONS
- Trauma Team International (10 Years)
- Tyger Claws (3 Years)
- Afterlife Mercenary (Current)
//APPEARANCE: Connie embodies the spirit of a rough and tumble street hooligan caged by professionalism and conduct. Her curled hair is cut precisely in a bob cut, various knots interspersed throughout. Black bangs frame an angular face rimmed with eyebags and a pensive frown. Memories of a misspent youth mark her wiry body as dysfunctioning light-tattoos scribed in a fit of paternal rebellion blink all over her arms alongside a grievous burn mark on her neck as a result of hazing at TT bootcamp.
Scars of his time as a Trauma Team EMT riddle her body, dimpled pockets of faded bullet wounds glazing her chest, with a grievous jagged line of mottled skin crossing the flat of her belly By far, the most pressing reminder of her time in Trauma Team International is the sleek blue chrome that makes up most of her left arm and shoulder.
In terms of tactical gear, Connie uses a modified version of her old TT gear that has been jury-rigged by various techies over the years into something that looks downright primitive. When she’s not flatlining gangsters or busy resuscitating gonks, Connie wears an unassuming combination of chic gear, preferring a poncho hoodie that allows her to hide within crowds.
//HISTORY:
Connie was 14 years old when she saw a Trauma Team aerodyne for the first time.
It was early noon on a Friday, the type of day that would call for a trip into the Upper Marina. Unfortunately, her mother had other plans,namely, going on a tour of the academic quagmire she would be getting stuck into her the next five years or so of her life. Getting into a prestigious pre-med program sponsored by BioTechnica was one thing but being a first-gen uni student was the cherry on top of the cake. Part of her was convinced it was sheer luck whilst her mother, being a stickler for tradition, believed it was a sign of blessing from our ancestors. Lucky stars and other crappy astrological palm-reading nonsense that she’d babble on to her.
A tour guide dressed in a sleek silver dress and wearing a neon smile was leading them along through the skeleton of an empty pavilion that was currently undergoing reconstruction. Connie watched as construction drones skittered about on legs, briefly turning noon into early morning with the glow of their plasma torches, before moving onto the next spot. Reconstruction was petering off in the ten or so years that had passed since the Red. Her mother told her of days when the sunset seemed to bleed orange and the rain that poured from those scab-like clouds corroded through the steel skyline. Now, all that remained of the mid-century holocaust was a faint rusty mist that cloyed to the blue sky.
“ Connie! For the life of me, could you not spend one moment staring at that device of yours? ” Her mother hissed, pulling at Connie’s ear, whilst she was busy parsing through my socials on the Agent. “ You should be excited. You are the first Zhu to enter a prestigious institute such as NCU!”
“ C’mon, ma ma.” Connie pulled her agent away from the prying hands of her mother as she rolled her eyes. “ This is boooooring. Couldn’t we have waited until next week to do this?”
“ And spend time with your gwai lo boyfriend at that ridiculous concert? “ My mother scoffed. “ I think not. Besides, this is a far more useful way to spend a Friday.”
Connie scowled. Those advance tickets she got on the night market was the sweetest hitch she ever got in her life! Getting seats at a crim-zone concert was notoriously hard to begin with alongside the secret crypto-seal which they used to hide the secret location of their concerts in the abandoned underground metros of Night City.
“ Whatever.” The teen’s cheeks were reddened with embarrassment as she tucked herself further into her Agent. “ I’ll probably flunk out in the first term anyway.”
“ Don’t you say such slander. Did I truly raise my daughter to believe so little in herself?” Connie wanted to scream internally as she sensed the signs of another incoming lecture. “ If I was your age, I would be grateful to stand here with Night City’s brightest. Instead, you want excitement- ”
The explosion then hits her like a freight train. Her eardrums pop painfully as she feels her feet being launched off the ground, agent shaking loose from her grip. Connie’s world becomes a storm of pain and dizziness, vision quaking as sounds of terrified screams and the staccato of lead begin to fill in the void of her senses. Her ears make out the faint noises of someone speaking as she groans out, struggling to stand up on her own two feet.
“ Fuck, what the hell was that for, Rory!”
“ You said to cause a distraction. I caused the distraction! Now, NCPD’s gonna be busy cleaning up this situation while we make our getaway.” “ You idiot! Do you want Max-Tac breathing down our necks?”
“ Hey, this one’s still breathing, Jimmy. What should I do with her?”
“ Just ice her and put her out of her misery.”
“ Right-o.”
The click of a receiver wakes her up to the sight of a barrel pointed downwards at her, laser sight trained on her forehead. Behind it is an arm leading up to a face that’s more metal than meat, the jaw replaced crudely with a fanged maw that resembles a bear-trap. There’s a hoarse reverberating chuckle as Connie begins begging for her life.
“ Please, no, fuck, I can pay you, please, don’t shoot - “
Her voice then becomes drowned in the sound of loud klaxons and the hungry roar of AV turbines. A shadow comes over the both of them as an aerodyne hovers above the both of them, a spotlight illuminating their figures in the darkening noon. Scratches and bullet holes cover the bulky blue-striped hull as the front of the aerodyne narrows towards the lunatic threatening to zero her out.
“ LANDING IMMINENT. STAND CLEAR. INITIATING SECURITY PROTOCOLS. “
Two hatches then open at the bottom of the armored hull and a set of barrels emerge, spinning together at the ready. Connie screams and closes her eyes as gunfire erupts again. A metallic gurgle cries out and then, the wet audible thuds of a body smacking on the concrete. She opens her eyes back up again to see the man cut in half, twisted legs and a vacated torso connected by a bridge of guts and blood. The stench hits her and morning’s breakfast comes tumbling out onto the pavement. As she wipes away the bile, the AV lands on the ground with a soft thud, pressurized gas hissing out as the aerodyne doors open up. Trauma Team personnel begin flooding the chaotic smoky scene, clad in blue neoprene suits with sterile kevlar plating covering their vital organs. One, the commander, Connie presumes, begins barking out orders and pushing back onlookers onto the ground.
“ PLEASE FOLLOW ALL INSTRUCTIONS.” The speaker blares once more. “ DO NOT APPROACH THE VEHICLE AND VACATE THE AREA IMMEDIATELY. ANYONE WHO INTERFERES WITH THE DUTIES OF TRAUMA TEAM INTERNATIONAL PERSONNEL WILL BE REMOVED FROM THE PREMISES.”
It’s a series of firsts for Connie today as one of the Trauma Team EMTs strides past her in a sprint, sliding downwards on her knees to a stop next to one of the students caught in the explosion. A female voice begins barking out in a radio in a calm and precise fashion, hands moving in a blur. Connie watches her pull out a suitcase that mechanically unfolds itself into a workbench two times bigger than what it previously was, various medical tools and equipment hanging on the side.
“ This is TT-570. 3 platinum and one gold confirmed. One pulmonary hemorrhage. Two in shock. One cranial fracture. Prep two freezers on the double ASAP.” The Trauma Team EMT grabs onto two handles in the workbench and pulls out a blocky device to place onto the student’s chest. Interlocks on each side of the device clamp down as the EMT taps buttons on it in a furious hurry. “ Administering 30 ccs of dopamine and 50 ccs of midazolam. Beginning installation of venous catherer.”
The EMT continues chattering into the radio, using her left hand to stick a airhypo down into the woman’s shoulder whilst jabbing the catheter straight into the chest. Connie wonders whether it’s TTI training or experience that allowed the EMT to know precisely where to enter the catheter into the subclavian without much training. She’s seen experienced doctors take 30 seconds. She’s seen techies who treat their gear with more care than how this EMT treats their patient.
Her eyes then narrow as a shadow appears deep within the fog. It stumbles out, the dusty mist parting in hacking coughs. It’s one of the gangsters. The graze on his left shoulder bleeds onto his ragged sleeveless shirt as he blinks blearily. His face lights up in vicious glee as he lifts up his pistol, taking aim at the unaware Trauma Team officer in front of him.
“ Behind you!,” Connie shouts, pointing over the EMT’s shoulder.
The EMT’s head perks up just in time for a round to spark off her helmet. She grunts in momentary annoyance In one smooth motion, the paramedic twirls around, raising her iron underneath her cheek, before pulling the trigger. Connie watched as a line of bullets stitched itself up from the thug’s chest to his cheek, sending him down onto the ground in a mist of blood. Walking over to the still breathing body, Connie flinches as the Trauma Team EMT fires two more shots in the guy’s dome, legs twitching with every bullet. The EMT then continues to work on stabilizing the patient, not minding the growing pool of blood on the ground behind her, as Connie feels the gills grow green.
Connie sees another shadow in the fog and braces herself in fear. It’s the Trauma Team commander, fortunately. She notices that his pristine helmet is now covered in splatters of blood as he walks to the EMT who folds out a stretcher to lay the patient out on.”
“ Max-Tac is gonna be here soon to mop up what’s left. Finish up before we get flatlined by those psychos.” The commander then nudges his head to the AV. “ Exit is 2 minutes unless you want to walk back to Watson all by yourself.”
“ Clear. Get Dobbs to help me with the stretcher.” The EMT replies back. The commander nods, satisfied before moving back into the fog.
It’s just the two of them. The EMT is still busy securing the patient to the stretcher, tying velcro straps and securing a breathing mask onto them. Once she’s done, there’s a brief moment of silence that’s interrupted by brief bursts of gunfire and cries in the distance. The EMT turns her head to look at Connie and she freezes up. Was Trauma Team going to zero her for interfering? Hell, why didn’t she run away? The EMT scratches the back of her head, unsure for a moment of what to say.
“ Thanks, kid.” The EMT softly says before digging into her belt and tossing her a nozzle tube. It slips in Connie’s hand as she catches it. Before Connie can ask what it’s for, the EMT points to her head. “ Something for the cut. Make sure it doesn’t go septic, right.”
Connie’s brow furrows in confusion as one of her hands reach towards her forehead. She feels the warm trickle of blood as she looks at her fingers, now doused in red. Connie doesn’t get the chance to say thank you as another one of the EMT’s emerges from the smoke. They crouch down, one on each side of the stretcher, before hoisting the patient up and carrying them to the AV.
“ Connie! CONNIE!”
Connie feels her mother’s arms wrap around her in a crushing hug. Whilst her mother continued checking her little angel’s face erratically for any signs of damage, Connie watched the AV slowly hover upwards, jets buffeting away the trash and litter that filled the courtyard. The turbines then angled forward, little jets of gas puffing out from the sides to stabilize the rectangular craft. The AV dove before transitioning into a soundless glide, swerving left behind the university’s library out of sight.
She didn’t speak a single word as her mother took a bus home to their sequestered little copse in Little China. Baba came back late from work at and began another one of his lectures on safety and responsibility before mother shut him up with a pointed glare. After they finished their dinner of crappy pre-pack, it was only until she was alone and by herself in the shower that she collapsed on the wet floor. Her skin felt foreign to her as she began digging into it with her nails, hyperventilating, as she saw the speckled drops of dried blood that were on the underside of her fingers.
She never wanted to feel like that again.
Never again.
She was twenty when she signed up for TTI. She was the only one out of her entire cohort who decided to listen to the TT recruiter and signed up. None of the corpo heirs or her chooms that she’d made in med-school wanted to join. They all looked at her as if she was insane and now, her parents were the new ones to join that crowd.
“ Hui Jiang - “ Connie trembled for a moment as her father spoke her Chinese name, the one that had been shedded to survive in Night City. “ - please cease this foolishness. Do you really think you can make a difference out there? You’re just another uniform, a tool for these corporations to use as they see fit! Trauma Team earned its reputation for a reason! You’ll die out there! ”
“ Trauma Team’s different. They operate on an objective code of neutrality. We serve all our clients equally, no matter their background. They’re the best of the best, baba. I don’t want to languish in NCMC until I turn into a mummy.”
“ Best of the best.” Her father repeated in a mocking tone. “ Trauma Team serve whoever shells out the most eddies for their platinum packages. Do you understand what that means? What if you’re forced to save a murderer? A crime lord? A cyber-psycho? What then? Are you ready for that burden?”
“ It’s part of the job.” Connie sighed, looking down onto the table. “ This argument is moot, baba. I’m shipping out to Seattle next Monday.”
“ Very well.” Her father’s voice hitched for a moment, his voice more hoarse than ever. “ Leave. If you are determined to end up on the front page of NCT’s obituary, then, I will not stop you.”
And thus, began Connie’s 20 weeks of hell. The first week, she couldn’t take shits properly as her body struggled to adjust to the near sadistic physical regimens her TO’s put through. TT bootcamp for her was a mixture of NCPD SWAT training and studying for a medical PhD. A TT EMT was expected to know the exact location of every single spinal nerve within the vertebral column and where exactly to administer epidural stims without a proper scan whilst being versed enough to commit hostage-rescue ops.
By the time Connie made it out and started her tours, she was tossed in the meat-grinder of NC’s combat zones. TTI was beginning to regrow the roots it had lost since the 4th Corpo War and with their growth in profits came the installation of new FOBs and offices across Night City and most of NUSA. Recruitment grew and after five years of service, Connie was promoted to the role of Senior EMT in the TTI. Connie grew in renown in TTI for both her compassionate treatment of non-clients as well as her almost suicidal tenacity to rescue her clients, the former of which her COs viewed as her being “ emotionally compromised on the line of duty”.
Then, it all came to shit one day. It was a normal call. A group of mercs who’d managed to pool together their eddies for one license in Heywood. A standard TT unit was assembled and when they got there, things seemed odd. No bodies on the ground. No signs of a firefight.
That was until their AV was crippled with a Kang-Tao EMP munition that sent Connie and her team tumbling down onto an electronics shop.
The situation had just transformed from a rescue to a firefight. The license was true and the client was injured but TTI had never considered that their client might have injured themselves on purpose. A group of Maelstroms had lured them into a trap with the goal being to hijack and commandeer their AV for their own use. Their comms were jammed thanks to Maelstrom netrunners.
Somehow, Connie and her team made it back to Watson with her team mostly unblemished and alive thanks to her leadership. However, with an arm missing and only a biro worth of blood left in her, Connie ended up on medical discharge for a month or so, receiving a new cybernetic arm courtesy of company policy and with over 2000 eddies of newly synthesized blood in her system.
Naturally, as TT began to reshuffle its books, Connie got axed off her position as Senior EMT. Elucidating the reasons behind her termination has been a constant source of frustration for Connie. Was it corporate backstabbing? One client complaint too many? Did her COs see her as a potentia liability? Regardless, she threw her generous severance package on the ground and with it, her company’s privileges. Whether out of good will or good luck, TTI didn’t stick to the standard protocol of removing company cybernetics, allowing Connie to retain much of her dignity as she packed her belongings and moved back to her familiar hometown of Little China in Watson.
No longer being a TTI employee, Connie hitched up with the Tyger Claws as a lone merc for a while under the employ of Wakoko Okada. Then, in 2077, when Arasaka Tower got hit for the second time in the 21st century, Connie found herself scratching the bottom of the barrel to find gigs and contracts to pass the time as mercs flooded the street, eager to pick up the remains of the Arasaka empire.
Nowadays, you can find her in some seedy corner of the Afterlife, schmoozing away on sake and reminiscing about the good old days of the 2050s.
//PLOTS AND GOALS:
CONNIE ZHU’S TO-DO LIST
1) Find out whoever fucking axed me from TTI and put their ass permanently in a cryo-bag.
2) Pay rent
3) Try to stop Dad’s hawker business from going under (and repair relationship?)
4) Find a good gig and fast.
//SKILLS: You don't become a senior Trauma Team EMT by pulling a few strings to work your way up the corporate hierarchy. Under Carrie Lachanan's guidance, the only way to move up the ladder is to prove yourself. Connie is a skilled paramedic and emergency surgeon, able to conduct routine amputations and open air surgeries to save an individual's life. If you don't want to be flatlined, she's the gun-toting angel you can rely on to save your ass from entering the pearly gates too early and having your sins judged by whatever cruel god made this sick joke of a world.
In addition, Connie is also trained in urban combat situations and hostage rescue operations, having coordinated a Trauma Team unit of her own for a period of five years before being terminated by TTI. Things often go pear-shaped in every Trauma Team call which has fostered a sense of adaptive intuition and reactive planning in Connie to allow her to respond to every situation with a calm and steady countenance.
//EQUIPMENT:
KT G-75 Submachine Gun - "Xiao" : The bastardized inbred cousin of the tried and true iron of Trauma Team International. This sucker performs admirably in your typical firefights but without the fun of automated reloading , custom porting to ensure zero heating issues and hyper-spectral radar guidance system. It sure does sucks that your guaranteed, free company supply of guided 5.45 mm hollow-point gyro-ammo runs dry after you terminate your contract, doesn't it?
Don't answer that question.
Medkit - A titanium toolkit containing all the bells and whistles needed to conduct back-alley surgeries and med ops in the most hazardous of environments. From air-hypos filled with various stimulants, pressurized tanks full of liquid oxygen, bonesaws, scalpels, stents and the works. Just don’t expect Connie to work as a ripper doc. It’s not her specialty.
Modified Trauma Team BDU - Connie’s old TT uniform, now with several more holes, scratches and with that classic logo scratched off, lest, she wants to risk a corporate lawsuit. The shins and elbows of the suit have been reinforced with kevlar padding with a thick plate of ballistic armor-gel at the front to support her vitals.
//CYBERWARE:
TTI-ECP-G-2060-V4.5 Articulating M-Class Cyberlimb (Modified) - The best that the nano-surgeons and biosculpters of Trauma Team International have to offer. Composed out of a mixture of lightweight ceramics and hybrid alloy poly-laminates, this cybernetic limb allows a higher degree of rotation and flexibility than normal organic homologues, allowing full 360 degree rotation of ulnar-radial joints. In addition, the synthetic carbon-myofilaments allow Connie to crush metal in her grip.
In addition, this cyber-arm still contains the full integrated suite of surgical and medical equipment that Trauma Team International gives to veteran Trauma Team paramedics including but not limited to: a broad spectrum medscanner, a high-voltage defibrillator, a selection of automated hypodermic syringes and a suture applicator.
Biomonitor - A built-in biomonitor on Connie’s left arm that reads out her vital signs. Can be customized in a variety of 64 colors.
Defunct Smart-Link - Allows a user to interact with smart-weaponry if it was operational. Thanks to TTI's built in ICE, no ripper doc thus far has been able to crack through it to allow Connie to use it.
A large, furry tick. The tick hung onto him relentlessly. It had caused him no end of pain throughout this Pandes as he tried to work his way through the unceasing amount of assignments and tasks his tutors gave him. Having a furry critter that constantly clawed and have its tail swaying in front of you whilst trying to draw out voltage or cook a souffle wasn’t the most conducive for focusing. The tick was stuck to him like a barnacle. Attempts to leave it within his dorm were unsuccessful as the tick somehow managed to stay glued to his cloak without his knowledge.
Such was life in Ersand’Enise. Especially when you had a feral kitten for a pet.
As Onarr dove into his luncheon, the kitten sought to lift out its paw through his visor and take a swab of the lamb chop. He batted away the hand as if it was an errant fly before conceding to his pet’s demands and shoving a small piece of meat through his helmet much to its delight and his classmate’s confusion.
Well, at least, there was the Conclave to look forward to.
Nothing could possibly happen.
“ Alainiye Iore!” Onarr swore as he exited into a wide fence of hedges, trying to part from the bustle of students who were filtering out of the Arboretum. His fists swung by his side furiously as he went under the shade of the many great oak trees that cloistered the arboretum with their leafy curtains. “Alainiye lore! I knew there was something fishy but dragging me into all of this? ”
Out of frustration, the Joruban kicked the roots of the great oak, expecting the bark to split under his heel. He quickly regretted it as pain shot up his foot, causing him to fall back and sending one very frustrated kitten toppling off his shoulders.
“ MEOW!” The kitten yowled out before giving him the stink-eye and briefly batting his helmet with a dainty paw. Its complaints ceased once Onarr began scratching its back where it began to curl up and purr.
“ Reneging on his promises,” Onarr snorted. “ Of course, the neo-revisionists in the Stresian Order were right about us. It took the better part of a century but by Shune’s saggy tits, did our President pick a better time to wield executive powers.” Palming his helmet for a moment, Onarr thought briefly of Anesin. How in Shune’s grace was he supposed to look her in the face now? The Eskandish had been booted off the Conclave like the last Yoruban blood mages and Yibozo acted as if his political ascendance was the will of the people.
Then again, the scholar in him wanted to believe those naive propagandist tales of the antiquated nations of the world picking up Joru's model of impeccable governance and forward-thinking philosophies. After all, you couldn't achieve progress without greasing the gears with blood and cruelty. Perhaps, this was for the good of Joru after all and for him and people like his brother.
But, that sure by Shune didn't mean he was going to turn a blind eye to it all.
“ Spitting on the face of Eskand at a time like this…aren’t we supposed to be a nation of thinkers?," Onarr asked no one in particular, leaning his head back against the tree trunk.
“ Meow,” The kitten blithely replied back.
Onarr’s hand reached into his pocket and pulled out the letter that he’d been putting off his mind for the last couple of hours. A sour expression scrunched up his face as he read it. He began to let current flood into the paper, the edges beginning to smoke as the corners lit on fire. The flames burnt inwards, turning the ink into flaky ashes that flew away on the evening winds into the black cosmos above.
“ Well, I suppose I should worry about more important things.” Onarr sarcastically commented as he picked up his kitten by the scruff of its neck. “ Like getting you a name.”
It was then that Onarr realised that picking up cats that way was a sure method towards suicide.
“ MEOW!”
“ Ow! Do you realise you scratched heirloom - OW!”
Onarr found his classes at Ersand’Enise today to be the equivalent of the training courses provided to novices at the Joru Stresian Guild. He split up from his primary group of classmates who filtered out of Zeno Latvar’s room like a school of fish. Their last lesson had by far been the most boring and the most difficult. Instilling hunger within smaller creatures had been somewhat challenging for him to adapt to. He was used to small rabbits and the various fare the Stresian Guild would catch for their chemistry lessons. Focusing his efforts on a praying mantis was akin to threading a string through a needle.
Mozaru and Colloy were the most efficient and least taxing of his abilities. Onarr thanked Shune that he wasn’t born a Truecaster like most from Joru were. It would have been embarrassing to demonstrate in front of the Zeno that his ability to draw and sense magical energies was zero to none. Colloy’s was the most dangerous yet easiest for him. Focusing the ambient magnetic energy in the atmosphere into his lightning rod seemed child’s play at first but he’d quickly found out it was more difficult than it appeared. The rod was unwieldy at first but the Joruban adapted to it after a minute of fiddling around with the current. He had been using his helmet for so long as a conductor that his magnetic talents had been honed towards using it. It was like using a sword right-handed instead of left-handed.
It was now that the Joruban found himself wandering the empty cobblestone vistas of Parade Street at night. He could hear the cacophony of music and raucous shanties being sung by his drunk classmates. He had enough alcohol with his Zeno group yesterday. Addling the mind was not something he could do to relax under his new circumstances, especially with the political wrangling that his President was trying to achieve. Onarr’s shoulder sagged as he sat on a nearby bench, the activity of the day finally sinking into his bones. He wondered for a moment whether he was prepare to bear the enormity of the task before him. The penance for his journey.
His brother would never forgive him if he dawdled in Ersand’Enise.
“ Mrrrreeeeeooooowwwww”
Onarr’s head perked up. What was that? Was it the goose again? He quickly disregarded the question as he felt a velvety sensation brush against his feet. He looked down and saw a cat. Well, a child of its kind, a kitten would be the proper terminology. It was coal black with luminous brown eyes with its coat of tawny fur draped over its tiny body. It moved one of its paws and began to bat curiously at Onarr’s boot.
“ Intriguing, ” Onarr then knelt down, gingerly lowering his hand towards its head. The kitten flinched away first before gently leaning into his touch, emanating soft purrs as he continued to scratch behind his ears. Strange. Feral, undomesticated cats were usually skittish. He hadn’t approached it with foodand he was sure he didn’t step in any catnip.
The kitten then leapt towards his helmet in a blur, his view briefly obscured before it curled around the base of the cone. He could hear the screeching sounds of claw on metal as the kitten found purchase. Its tail swayed in his eyes like an errant fly as he considered the absurdity of what just happened.
Would he have to report new pets to his Zeno?
“ Well, I can't tell whether you're a bad or good omen.” Onarr paused before asking the feline currently resting on top of his helmet. "What about you?"
Onarr blushed under his helm at Sienna’s teasing, slightly abashed by the fact she’d revealed to the others the purpose of his sojourn. It wasn’t everyday that you dined with the leader of your nation, especially if you weren’t a noble. His father would have described it as the largest honour a Yidlob had ever received. His mother would have believed it to be an opportunity to engage in a Streisand dialogue with one of Jody’s most accomplished free thinkers.
Onarr was just grateful he could finally get some genuine Joru stew in his stomach after surviving Perrench and Rettanese fare for the better part of the last few weeks. Onarr’s concern at getting wrapped up in the personal politics of the Joru president was muddled. On the one hand, the abolition of class was something he had fiercely held a strong opinion for its presence in Streisand debates and with his mother who was against it.
Then again, failed revolutions were the plenty and Onarr had read multiple times of the failed instigated revolutions that Streisand philosophers had tried to instill in Perrene, Rettand and Torragon. Disorganisation and corruption had been their downfall as well as internal sabotage from the nobles. Seeing Ersand’Enise without the atrocious class politics that held it back appealed to Onarr but… would his fellow apprentices see it the same way?
Luckily, he had vast amounts of alcohol to bury his worries in.
Now slightly tipsy from his overindulgence, Onarr felt his tongue more looser in conversation than he would normally have been comfortable with, telling several crude jokes in Belzagg and Joruban to those who could understand and attempting to explain the underlying principles of the Five Magics to his fellow female students in an informal manner. Now that his Zeno had settled them all down, he considered her question for a moment before awkwardly asking his own query.
“ Are you sure it isn’t possible to take more than 4 electives?” Onarr paused before giving a justification. “ I mean, they’re all so interesting. It would be a shame to not take a subject such as…ahem….painting..”
He grit out the last few words with some disdain as he steepled his fingers together.
The tour would have been fascinating for Onarr if he hadn’t made an effort to walk around the grounds a week before the ceremony. The Treacle and Habregon buildings naturally excited him, a feeling of wonderment bubbling up inside his chest as his mind imagined the glassware, the alchemical ingredients, the safety apparel that he would have access to concoct his studies. He breathed a sign of relief that the tour didn’t extend to the Arboretum. He already had enough bad memories of that horrible goose and didn’t want to relive them.
The other issue of notice was those horrible course requirements. Onarr had already made up his mind about the courses he wanted to select. There were only a few which had gathered his interest, although he was appalled by the electives requirement. Although he wasn’t close minded as to decry the possibility of broadening his academic knowledge, he was undoubtedly chuffed that he could not take all of the courses in the academic stream and that he was forced to take motley domestic courses.
When they finally reached Arc-en-Ciel hall, Onarr was lame and tired, his legs feeling like lead as he trudged forward to keep up the pace with his companions. Now, Onarr was no gourmand but the selection of dishes and appetizers made me salivate. Torragonese egg tarts. Belzagg beef stew. Perrench plum duck. Onarr jumped up and down to see more as waiters and cooks passed by, spits of roasted meat hanging on their food carts alongside various dishes of sumptuous delicacies. By Shune’s light, he could have died happy and full here.
Just as he was about to scramble to grab a dish, Onarr stopped a hair breadth from grabbing a kebab stick loaded with roasted peppers and signed. He forgot about his appointment! Onarr coughed out loud to his fellow group of apprentices to catch their attention.
“ My apologies but I’m afraid I must bid you well for now. I’m required elsewhere for the moment. ” Onarr paused as he pointed at a cart to the left of him and spoke to Anesin and Linah. “ Please try the Joru monkfish over there. It looks well cooked”
Onarr stifled his desire to just grab a Torragon cookie as he split quietly from his apprentice group and made his way to the Aquilline Fountain. He sincerely hoped that his private soiree would have cuisine that would be up to par with what he had seen. Preferably, good hearty Joru cuisine. The Revidian fare of Ersand’Enise was fine for sublimating one’s hunger but he missed the tastes of his homeland, the place where he grew up.
I met a traveler from an antique land Who said: "Two vast and trunkless legs of stone Stand in the desert. Near them, on the sand, Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown, And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command, Tell that its sculptor well those passions read Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things, The hand that mocked them and the heart that fed: And on the pedestal these words appear: "My name is Ozymandias, king of kings; Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!" Nothing beside remains. Round the decay Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare The lone and level sands stretch far away.
Onarr woke up to the metallic fumes of rain-dew perforating the sodden earth around him. He blinked, touching his helmetless face. Joru. How did he get here? He shakedly stood up on his two legs looking around him. It was his home village of Rutumbo, but different. The streets were empty. The houses were not lighted with oil lamps nor torches to keep them warm in the storm.
“ Onarr.”
He turned around to see the source. There, standing under the shade of a desiccated baobab, was Aldrr. Only one person in Joru could have that shade of red.
“ Aldrr?” Onarr replied cautiously. His brother’s back was still turned to him as he approached slowly, feet scrunching on the wet dirt. Onarr didn’t notice fog erupting from the earth around him, surrounding the both of them like a hedge maze.
“ Aldrr?,” he repeated once more, his hand near his brother’s shoulder. It all then happened in a blink. Onarr’s back on the ground, lungs winded. His brother on top of him, eyes rotten yellow and face twisted like a weathered statue. Before Onarr could talk, meaty palms the size of pumpkins wrapped around his throat.
“ GIVE ME BACK WHAT YOU TOOK.”
Onarr struggled to breathe as his brother’s hand laid an iron vice grip on his throat.
“ LET ME TAKE WHAT YOU TOOK IN RETURN.”
Butterflies began swimming into his vision as his lung flared, the last thing he would see before he passed out was his brother’s cruel smirk -
DING! DING!
Onarr blearily blinked his eyes open at the sound of the bell. He rubbed his forehead, the rays of Ersand’Enise dawn cutting through the closed blinds. It took another second for him to realise he had fallen on the floor in the middle of his sleep, his blanket sprawled around his tiny form. He signed as he stood up, closing his eyes and breathing out to compose himself. The bascinet glimmered invitingly to him on the night-stand. As he set it on himself, his mind gained clarity in its cool, metallic grip.
His head pounded achingly as he touched the spot where he fell down and then, cringed. Perhaps, it would be prudent to see if there were any apothecaries nearby and whether they had any sleeping medicaments.
Breakfast was a temporary, delicious solution. Onarr preferred Joru cuisine compared to the more quaint flavors of Ersand'Enise but food was food and he had heaped his plate with a mountain of scrambled eggs, sausages and toast. A mind like his required vast amounts of energy if it didn't want to starve after a busy session theorizing. Just as he was finishing off the last dabs of yolk on his plate, Penny came down the stairs in a mad hurry. He currently had his helmet off as he continued to eat, his unkempt hair in a messy state as it ran down the length of his chair like an unpruned plant. He grunted at Sienna’s question, eager to get on with the day.
His fists clenched when his Zeno mentioned the last task they would at to do before the end of today. Ah, course selections. The next step of his journey. Onarr distinctly knew what he wanted but it seemed that he would be best to make an informed decision rather than let his biases rule him. He raised a stubby hand up in the air and then, spoke.
“ Would there be any courses you would recommend for us to do?”
[center][img]https://66.media.tumblr.com/7a64638c692ce98d06043791ae728d6b/tumblr_njtqxjDtIf1tqptlzo2_500.gifv[/img][/center]
[center][youtube]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uZwzbA91Yno[/youtube][/center]
[b][u]ROLEPLAY BUCKET LIST[/u][/b]
[indent]
- [s]Walmart Apocalypse Roleplay[/s]
- [s]Nightmare Gas Station[/s]
- Underrail/Fallout/Post Apocalyptic Roleplay. Codename: Clausterclysm
- Anthromorphic Grimdark Animal Fantasy Roleplay. Codename: Fallowbrook.
- Eldritch Abomination Garfield Roleplay. Codename: Lasagna.
- Infinite IKEA Roleplay. Codename: God Morgon
- Roleplayerguild High School RP. Codename: Highschool Roleplay
-[s] Cyberpunk South East Asia RP. Codename: Straits of Malacca. [CURRENTLY HAPPENING][/s]
[/indent]
[b][u]CURRENT PROJECTS[/u][/b]
- FRAYED TAPESTRY - AN EPIC FANTASY RP (WIP)
- THE LAST DEPRESSION - A RED MARKETS QUEST/PLAY BY POST RP (UNDECIDED)
<div style="white-space:pre-wrap;"><div class="bb-center"><img src="https://66.media.tumblr.com/7a64638c692ce98d06043791ae728d6b/tumblr_njtqxjDtIf1tqptlzo2_500.gifv" /></div><br><br><div class="bb-center"><iframe src="//youtube.com/embed/uZwzbA91Yno?theme=dark" frameborder="0" width="496" height="279" allowfullscreen></iframe></div><br><br><span class="bb-b"><span class="bb-u">ROLEPLAY BUCKET LIST</span></span><br><div class="bb-indent">- <span class="bb-s">Walmart Apocalypse Roleplay</span><br>- <span class="bb-s">Nightmare Gas Station</span> <br>- Underrail/Fallout/Post Apocalyptic Roleplay. Codename: Clausterclysm<br>- Anthromorphic Grimdark Animal Fantasy Roleplay. Codename: Fallowbrook.<br>- Eldritch Abomination Garfield Roleplay. Codename: Lasagna. <br>- Infinite IKEA Roleplay. Codename: God Morgon <br>- Roleplayerguild High School RP. Codename: Highschool Roleplay<br>-<span class="bb-s"> Cyberpunk South East Asia RP. Codename: Straits of Malacca. [CURRENTLY HAPPENING]</span></div><br><br><span class="bb-b"><span class="bb-u">CURRENT PROJECTS</span></span><br><br>- FRAYED TAPESTRY - AN EPIC FANTASY RP (WIP)<br>- THE LAST DEPRESSION - A RED MARKETS QUEST/PLAY BY POST RP (UNDECIDED)</div>
Megsychan
Butteryicarus
DeadDrop
Theyra
Thayr
Antlers
EpicRoleplay
Eviledd1984
Jumbus
Izurich
