Bork

Redshift Blues

Chef History Like so many exsols born in this day and age, Rol's story, or rather his parents, began within the towering, convulsing strata-communes of Schiaparelli Crater, an arcology tracing its history from Australian and Indonesian colonists that had arrived in the first red waves of 2050. His father, Bo Emberg, was the breadwinner, grinding long and dangerous hours, whilst his mother, Ahn Emsberg , worked as an associate algae farmer at the ponic fields. Life in Schiaparelli Crater was difficult, based on the few anecdotes that his mother told him. The rate of emigration between Earth and Mars was increasing exponentially as conditions on Earth declined. Unfortunately, the rate of terraforming projects and arcology construction was unable to keep up with the demand, resulting in dozens of ramshackle pop habs bordering Martian townships. Populist beliefs of secessionism and separatism were beginning to grow popular again after the Jovian Secession in 2127. In spite of all that, his mother and father afforded a decent life with their combined paychecks. Whilst Bo, a staunch fed nationalist, was content with living life on Mars, Anh saw the stars as the future for their family, fascinated by the adverts of offworld life and prosperity in Jovian propo-mags and wild tales about colonist paradise and freedom on the edge of the Sol Federation from her strata neighbours. It was nothing more than a wild dream and a dream without a catalyst is just a mirage. Had nothing happened, Rol would have grown up a perfectly happy citizen of the Sol Federation. Unfortunately, it took one day for his parent's life to come tumbling down. Decades of lax maintenance and refusals by the local strata council to refurbish and renew a last gen helium-3 reactor facility where Rol's father worked at led to a fatal leakage of radioactive tritium-3 waste. Approximately three quarters of Schiaparelli Crater was rendered uninhabitable for five years by the incident. To make matters worst, Rol's father was one of the few that had been exposed to the worst of the radioactive fallout. With bioengineering too expensive for them to purchase and medical bills slowly racking up, Bo's fervent nationalistic pride in the Sol Federation was long gone and with another child in the way in the form of Rol, any chance of a peaceful life in the Sol Federation was long gone. He agreed to his wife's urgings to move to the Jovian Commonwealth where they perhaps had a chance of enrolling corporate health insurance that could pay for his bills. Using what remained of his savings, Bo used what contacts he had to purchase an colony bond under Klooseward Inc, a small to medium sized agro-corp that was making waves on Ganymede. It was with one small catch, though, one that Anh only found out at the immigration terminal as oil-slicked rain drowned the black tarmac around them on the spaceport strip. He'd only had enough money for one ticket. So, it was onboard a damp and crammed Walden-class shuttle cruiser where Rol's first breath were taken. Upon landing on Ganymede, a quick geneburn and oath ceremony made him an official citizen of the Jovian Commonwealth. The next day, Anh Emberg with Rol swaddled up in a blanket was ushered into a commmunal bunkroom by a Klooseward HR agent and told to attend work orientation in the evening. In a matter of 24 hours, his mother got placed in the role of an administrative agronomist whilst Rol would be nursed in a corporate trade school, subsidised by Klooseward, on learning how to become a colony hand. Compared to most kids his age, Rol learnt more practical subjects that were geared towards transforming him into a child labourer such as how to don an EVA suit in low oxygen environments, how to grow gene-modded spirulina in a bioreactor, how to weld a titanium quarry strut in a pinch and operating a autolifter. When Rol turned ten, he began helping his mother in the agronomical needs of the growing colony. As an agro-tech , life was grueling as he worked from dawn to dusk, refiltering algae tanks, seeding rows of ponic fields and welding structural hab beams with little to no adult supervision. The work was so taxing that fresh blisters would erupt on his skin on a daily basis and welts would sprout where his oversized EVA suit rubbed uncomfortably against his skin. Throughout this gruel punishment, Rol and his mother kept each other company by sharing in their love of cooking as they spent countless evenings skimming off substandard produce and organic ingredients from their colony's harvest to cook for one another in the evening, sometimes cooking meals for their . When Rol asked his mother one day why they didn't hoard the food for themselves or sell it on the market, his mother simply replied by silently pointing her ladle at the crowds of workers happily talking and eating with one another and said " You can't buy this moment with heliodollars.". At the age of 20, Rol's efforts eventually led to him becoming the team leader of a 100 man strong colony team where his job changed from maintaining and refurbishing current colony activities to establishing a new colony site on the equator of Ganymede. The effort would involve six years of constant terraforming and construction in a remote, barren ice filled wasteland. Though it would mean seperation from his mother, the opportunity and chance to prove himself in the eyes of his employers did excite him. Rol earned a reputation amongst the agro-colonists of Klooseward as a decent leader who was unpretentious about the rigors and reality of the work they were engaged in. To the consternation of his supervisor and manager, Rol ensured that the life and safety of his subordinates were of the utmost security. His concern for his coworkers was so paramount that he lost his left eye in a space debris shower whilst protecting one of his workers during routine EVA activity. Whilst the work was slow and , the sites managed to pass the regulatory inspections of the Jovian Commonwealth. Life was harsh but consistently so at his colony and for a while, Rol was satisfied. However, just like his father before him, disaster struck on 2168 when Klooseward Inc was acquired by Gali Agrodynamics, a planetary agricultural conglomerate owning nearly 65% of all agricultural production in the Jovian System. The primary reason for this was the emergence of the Bloc Crisis, the cold war between the two superpower polities decreasing the stock valuation for Klooseward Inc which relied heavily on partnerships with vendors based in the Sol Federation. Upon the day of the acquisition, Gali Agrodynamics announced they would be laying off roughly 75% of their workforce to reconsolidate Klooseward's assets and 'reinvest in autoamted technology in a bloated sector'. Rol's team unfortunately were unlucky as they were one of many who were fired. As they watched years of their hard work being scrapped and systematically repossesed by Gali Agrodynamics transition officers, Rol pondered his next move and upon discussing with his mother a risky idea. With the funds they had accumulated and with the help of a variable rate loan negotiated with the Jovian Corporate Bank, Rol decided to recruit his former coworkers as staff in a new farm to table eatery serving Jovian and Martian fusion cuisine. The first few months were good but finances began to go into the red as operational and regulatory costs ramped up. Without his mother's knowledge, Rol made a deal with local Ganymedean trafficking operations to use his restaurant as both a money laundering and fencing operation. Although he despised the business altogether and tried to keep it out of sight, Rol saw it as a necessary and hopefully, temporary evil as he held out hope one day that he could be rid off it once the restaurant business became stable. Disaster struck for the third time yet again when Rol's fencing racket were revealed in an undercover sting operation by the Jovian Civil Authority just a year after it was established. Thanks to the help of his loyal staff who remembered the sacrifices he made for them on Klooseward, Rol managed to escape just as officers surrounded his restaurant and bashed their way through the doors. His mother's ignorance of his illicit behaviours led to no charges being laid against her but half of his restaurant staff were arrested under charges of fencing and illegal trafficking of unauthorised goods. A warrant was issued out for Rol's arrest. Rol fled to the edges of the Kuiper Belt, hiding in a seedy orbital hotel until the coast was clear. Upon reacquiring intersystem radio communications with his mother, Rol found out to his horror that the variable rates on the loan had increased to the point where it would lead her to ruin unless he did something. Rol turned to gig-hunting, primarily in the catering and agro-business on the Kuiper Belt, working two jobs as a japanese food truck cook and a greenhouse operator. His salary was enough to staunch the proverbial flow of blood but it wasn't enough to sew the wound. He needed more heliodollars. On a ride to his strata-shanty from another long shift at work, Rol chanced upon an advert whilst browsing for jobs on the solar net. The information was brief but it seemed that a trading vessel by the name of the Dullahan was in need of crew members. Urgently. Seeing as he had nothing to lose, Rol sent in his resume and slept, thinking that nothing would come of it. A call and a meeting the week after had Rol packing his bags once more. The rest, as they say, is history. Personality & Reputation Rol is a man of quiet calm and focus, finding a meditative peace and calm in his work, whether it's tending to algae bioreactors or cooking up a feast for his guests. His first and foremost priority is to others instead of himself, viewing himself as a provider and a worker first rather than a friend, sometimes to an worrisome degree. His penchant for his work is passionate enough that he works long hours, sometimes skipping sleep, just to complete the next task. But behind the cheery smiles and the offers of a hot meal for anyone's hungry stomach, Rol is a man who struggles to remain optimistic in life. His civic values of meritocratic work and benevolence have been eroded over time by countless compromises and having been punished by life two times in a row. Having lived through a life of hardship and laborious work, the former colony hand struggles to reconcile his current status as a wanted criminal and the simple, honest man he wants to be for his mother. Rol is respected but never to the point of admiration by his former coworkers and his current crew thanks to his dedication to his work and his nature as a work. His relationship with his mother remains fraught, as his omission of his restaurant's illegal operations has resulted in a rift between them, in spite of his attempts to resolve their financial debt. In spite of all this, his unconditional love for his mother knows no bounds and he would do anything to ensure that she remains safe and happy. Appearance From miner trash to colonist rat, Rol has heard all manner of comments on his roughspun and unrefined appearance which he couldn't give less than one heliodollar about. A thick crop of copper hair covers his head like moss and below that, an easy smile scythes through a coarse and unshaven beard. Years of hard life working as a colony hand on Ganymede have bestowed Rol with a stocky and stout figure, usually hidden by his baggy dirt-encrusted poly-aramid slacks. His pan-sized palms are mapped with a canyon of scars and calluses earned from a lifetime of rough work. Rol keeps a functional and spartan wardrobe, consisting of his old EVA gear from his time on Ganymede and a pile of frayed and bleached colony uniforms. The only constants in his daily apparel are his father's Mars Landing Day anniversary beanie and a chipped necklace of Ganymedean las-cut chondrite. Strengths & Limitations Strengths Planetary colonisation is a dangerous field and Rol is no stranger to it. Rol's years of experience on Ganymede as a colony hand and later, as a colony project supervisor for Klooseward Inc makes him one an expert in the construction and management of colony habitats, particularly regarding the installation, modification and maintenance of colony agri-tech systems such as algae bioreactors, protein myco-vats, vermiworm farms and a host of other common technologies used to support colonisation.Thanks to his experience supervising construction of his colony in the Ganymedean equator, Rol is savvy in responding to practical problems with ad hoc solutions and limited resources, remaining calm and even-tempered in dire situations. His education at Klooseward, whilst not equivalent to university education, has given him passing familiarity with cultivation of common crops and rearing of livestock used in both the Sol Federation and Jovian Commonwealth alongside basic skills in operating heavy construction machinery and limited resource management. Rol also is a capable chef thanks to his mother, specialising in various localities of Martian and Jovian cuisine. His business management skills, however, leave something to be desired. Given his rough and tumble life in all sorts of manual labour, Rol has an hitherto inhuman amount of physical endurance and stamina, able to commit to long periods of physical work without the slightest hint of fatigue. Limitations Rol's relationship with his mother and the threat of a looming debt hanging over their heads remains a constant in any decision he makes. He is extremely secretive of providing information about his mother and remains mum whenever moments of conversation or discussion touch upon matters of his family. His current financial situation is also a potential vulnerability if the wrong individual with ill intentions were to be informed about it. Rol is also completely impotent in combat situations, being about as useful as a wet napkin in any situation that involves violence. Don't ask him to pick up a coil rifle, a gun or anything related to combat situations as Rol is likely to misfire and hit you just as likely as he is to hit the enemy. Whilst Rol may be wanted for criminal activity in the Jovian Commonwealth, he is also a veritable greenhorn when it comes to the finer workings of the underworld, preferring to leave it to others to sort out dirty business and is not familiar with some of the subtleties of operating with criminal elements. Everest Mclaine God, I think he would give Mom a aneurysm. Heard about the stories of how she had to deal with upper management back when she was a fed. Personality of his reminds me too much of those Klooseward heliocounters before they got the shaft during the M&A. You see their ilk all the time. Rich europan or mercurians with minds high in the sky, yet, can't pick up a damn irri-pick to save their life. One thing he's got going for him is a vision. It isn't one that revolves around dhim relaxing in some holi-world with a bowl of organic caviar by his side, I'll give him that. Who am I to judge him? I tried a dream that didn't end in a lifetime of chronic pain and it got eight of my coworkers arrested. He's got the stomach to try something that none of us have dreamed off. That, and he pays better than my last two jobs. So what if he requests for some weird crap like jovian baked trout or martian six spiced duck? His dream is paying my bills and he's amusing at worst. I've dealt with worst on Ganymede and his worst gives me a good challenge from time to time. As long as he stays out of my kitchen, he can lead the crew. Gravel I respect any man who's seen the rough side of life but crime's a shade of black I'm not tempted to wander into. Ganymede taught me that. I look at him and I see the compromise I had to make. I try not to show my discomfort but the man makes it hard. Still, he gives me a chance to experiment with cocktails every now and then. Got to thank Yerry for showing me that on Ganymede before he got thrown into an iso cube. I'd rather not talk to him much. I worry that he could find out about my past if he pokes hard enough but I haven't given him any reason to yet. Best to just keep things distant between us with a couple of martian high-orbit coolers as a stick. Laughtrack The kid's spunk and moxie is good, don't get me wrong, but I worry for him sometimes. Back in my crew, the type of shit he pulls would get him put on rotation until he got himself sorted out. I respect the principles of flexibility and improvisation but the guy's got a death wish, anyone can tell that from a mile away. Reminds me of myself when I was a young man, pushing myself, thinking that the body was nothing. Admirable but mistaken. Need to keep an eye and make sure he's eating enough. Keema Seen too many broken men and women like her back on Ganymede. If the work shifts didn't kill you from a hydro-burst or a EVA breach, stims and cheap jovian amesac got you. She's a fun talker in the galley, keeps things from being monotonous and tries out all my new dishes but I'm surprised her liver's still functioning with all the brewed kombucha I keep throwing at her. Her approval kind of makes me feel embarassed since I'm enabling some sort of addict now. Vinh Solid and capable as a chondrite. She's got better wits and wills than most of my crew back then on Ganymede and then, some. We're both working as hard as we can to keep things afloat in this ship in the small ways and I think some people aren't appreciative of her efforts as I am. I think she does more work than I do but it's not a competition. Her borged up behaviour sometimes set up me on the edge though. She's loaded with enough chrome that's worth several lifetimes of my old salary. All I got is this crappy callisto-ware eye and she looks like some old holo-drama supersoldier come to life. I think Vinnie's got to realize that she's more than just the metal glued to her limbs. Don't bring it up in conversation, though, if it doesn't pose any problems. Sides that, been trying to experiment with more Martian cuisine thanks to an old cookbook she provided. Ringworm First time interacting with a mil type. Didn't get many of those on Ganymede. Most of them had been PMCs, exsols, orbiters, spacers, jovians, martians, anyone looking to make a dime. Not as drugged out as the rest of the crew but he's wound tighter than a restraining nut on a space hab. He's got a look in his eyes sometimes when I walk by him in the hallways. Distant, searching for something missing or something in the past. Not my business to loiter around the minds of other people. Haven't seen him explode and frankly, I don't want to be around when that happens. A guy going angry I can handle. A mil-type armed with heavy weaponry and borged up with mil-spec chrome does make me nervous, even though I try to ignore it. Everyone in the galley's my guest, though, regardless of their past. Big eater though and loads up heavy on the protein. Have to make a request to Vinh to stock up extra on the soy and the other myco-vat substrates when he reach the next port. Desna There's a saying about guys who make it past 50 as a colony-hand back on Ganymede. It's a meatgrinder and the corps turn the handle. Either, your mind gets grinded or your body gets grinded on the way out and sometimes, it's both. She speaks little of the past but we both got screwed over by the corps and from what I've heard about Venus; it makes Ganymede look like some upper-crust mercury arco in comparison. Other than Vinh, she's the one I've talked to most on this ship since half of the kitchen keeps malfunctioning most of the time. I know how to keep things working but when it comes to fixing crap that breaks, she's my go to. She's a sour grump like Gravel but she keeps the ship alive to keep us alive. That's enough in my books to make me serve her extra sides every once in a while come meal time. Bambi I never got a pilot's license. Too expensive around my parts. Plenty of kids my age dreamt of becoming a hotshot like Tam Selvagen or Kiirsten Nov. I prefer my feet to be on the ground rather than in a vessel and a preferably slow one at that. Makes me respect Bambi more and her nerves. We both come from different worlds. Saying that we're both focused on the job is like saying a crab and a fish can both breathe underwater. I'll probably never understand what she goes through but I understand the drive for hard work, for discipline. Notice that she can't seem to loosen up during dinner. Enjoys a meal like a person being pumped nutri-fluid via IV in a trauma center. Big Mo Big, strong and dependable. Every ship needs one of these guys. Isn't too bad as a hand in a pinch. I always need help with moving our supplies in the walk-in. Brenko Another loner with a sordid history that I don't care about fishing. At least he comes to the galley every once in a while. Dr Treschow Back on Ganymede, there are some people you just don't mess with in a colony. Doctors are one of them. I'm not talking about the useless dickweed corpo doctor who gives you some prescription and calls it a day but an actual one that cares about you. Lucky that we have one. Can't count the number of times I've had to ask him to fix some cut or burn I was too embarrassed about to admit to the rest of the crew. Miscellaneous Possesses a malfunctioning cybernetic eye provided by Klooseward Inc as a part of his medical insurance benefits. Due to dissolution and acquisition of Klooseward Inc, standard parts for the implant no longer exist and constant error messages fill his vision. Known as Chef because that's what everyone keeps calling him, even when he's off duty. Possesses a hatred towards Avaloanian and Mercurian luxury cuisine. Is lactose intolerant. Is an avid homebrewer and connoseuir of hard kombucha. Keeps a bottle of his own supply within a locker on the ship.

____________________________________________________________________________ ◤ “ Live life by the second. That's how you focus on the future. ” Full Name: Rol 'Chef' Emsberg Age: 38 Homeworld: Ganymede Occupation: Chief Steard/Agro-Tech of the Dullahan Affiliation(s): Klooseward Inc (Former), The Little Giant Eatery (Former)

Bork Lazer's Storage Bunker

CS

Chef History Like so many exsols born in this day and age, Rol's story, or rather his parents, began within the towering, convulsing strata-communes of Schiaparelli Crater, an arcology tracing its history from Australian and Indonesian colonists that had arrived in the first red waves of 2050. His father, Bo Emberg, was the breadwinner, grinding long and dangerous hours, whilst his mother, Ahn Emsberg , worked as an associate algae farmer at the ponic fields. Life in Schiaparelli Crater was difficult, based on the few anecdotes that his mother told him. The rate of emigration between Earth and Mars was increasing exponentially as conditions on Earth declined. Unfortunately, the rate of terraforming projects and arcology construction was unable to keep up with the demand, resulting in dozens of ramshackle pop habs bordering Martian townships. Populist beliefs of secessionism and separatism were beginning to grow popular again after the Jovian Secession in 2127. In spite of all that, his mother and father afforded a decent life with their combined paychecks. Whilst Bo, a staunch fed nationalist, was content with living life on Mars, Anh saw the stars as the future for their family, fascinated by the adverts of offworld life and prosperity in Jovian propo-mags and wild tales about colonist paradise and freedom on the edge of the Sol Federation from her strata neighbours. It was nothing more than a wild dream and a dream without a catalyst is just a mirage. Had nothing happened, Rol would have grown up a perfectly happy citizen of the Sol Federation. Unfortunately, it took one day for his parent's life to come tumbling down. Decades of lax maintenance and refusals by the local strata council to refurbish and renew a last gen helium-3 reactor facility where Rol's father worked at led to a fatal leakage of radioactive tritium-3 waste. Approximately three quarters of Schiaparelli Crater was rendered uninhabitable for five years by the incident. To make matters worst, Rol's father was one of the few that had been exposed to the worst of the radioactive fallout. With bioengineering too expensive for them to purchase and medical bills slowly racking up, Bo's fervent nationalistic pride in the Sol Federation was long gone and with another child in the way in the form of Rol, any chance of a peaceful life in the Sol Federation was long gone. He agreed to his wife's urgings to move to the Jovian Commonwealth where they perhaps had a chance of enrolling corporate health insurance that could pay for his bills. Using what remained of his savings, Bo used what contacts he had to purchase an colony bond under Klooseward Inc, a small to medium sized agro-corp that was making waves on Ganymede. It was with one small catch, though, one that Anh only found out at the immigration terminal with the downpour of acrid smoke-addled rain around them on the spaceport strip. He'd only had enough money for one ticket. So, it was onboard a damp and crammed Walden-class shuttle cruiser where Rol's first breath were taken. Upon landing on Ganymede, a quick geneburn and oath ceremony made him an official citizen of the Jovian Commonwealth. The next day, Anh Emberg with Rol swaddled up in a blanket was ushered into a commmunal bunkroom by a Klooseward HR agent and told to attend work orientation in the evening. In a matter of 24 horus, his mother got placed in the role of an administrative agronomist whilst Rol would be nursed in a corporate trade school, subsidised by Klooseward, on learning how to become a colony hand. Compared to most kids his age, Rol learnt more practical subjects that were geared towards transforming him into a child labourer such as how to don an EVA suit in low oxygen environments, how to grow gene-modded spirulina in a bioreactor, how to weld a titanium quarry strut in a pinch and operating a autolifter. When Rol turned ten, he began helping his mother in the agronomical needs of the growing colony. As an agro-tech , life was grueling as he worked from dawn to dusk, refiltering algae tanks, seeding rows of ponic fields and welding structural hab beams with little to no adult supervision. The work was so taxing that fresh blisters would erupt on his skin on a daily basis and welts would sprout where his oversized EVA suit rubbed uncomfortably against his skin. Throughout this gruel punishment, Rol and his mother kept each other company by sharing in their love of cooking as they spent countless evenings skimming off substandard produce and organic ingredients from their colony's harvest to cook for one another in the evening, sometimes cooking meals for their . When Rol asked his mother one day why they didn't hoard the food for themselves or sell it on the market, his mother simply replied by silently pointing her ladle at the crowds of workers happily talking and eating with one another and said " You can't buy this moment with heliodollars.". At the age of 20, Rol's efforts eventually led to him becoming the team leader of a 100 man strong colony team where his job changed from maintaining and refurbishing current colony activities to establishing a new colony site on the equator of Ganymede. The effort would involve six years of constant terraforming and construction in a remote, barren ice filled wasteland. Though it would mean seperation from his mother, the opportunity and chance to prove himself in the eyes of his employers did excite him. Rol earned a reputation amongst the agro-colonists of Klooseward as a decent leader who was unpretentious about the rigors and reality of the work they were engaged in. To the consternation of his supervisor and manager, Rol ensured that the life and safety of his subordinates were of the utmost security. His concern for his coworkers was so paramount that he lost his left eye in a space debris shower whilst protecting one of his workers during routine EVA activity. Whilst the work was slow and , the sites managed to pass the regulatory inspections of the Jovian Commonwealth. Life was harsh but consistently so at his colony and for a while, Rol was satisfied. However, just like his father before him, disaster struck on 2168 when Klooseward Inc was acquired by Gali Agrodynamics, a planetary agricultural conglomerate owning nearly 65% of all agricultural production in the Jovian System. The primary reason for this was the emergence of the Bloc Crisis, the cold war between the two superpower polities decreasing the stock valuation for Klooseward Inc which relied heavily on partnerships with vendors based in the Sol Federation. Upon the day of the acquisition, Gali Agrodynamics announced they would be laying off roughly 75% of their workforce to reconsolidate Klooseward's assets and 'reinvest in autoamted technology in a bloated sector'. Rol's team unfortunately were unlucky as they were one of many who were fired. As they watched years of their hard work being scrapped and systematically repossesed by Gali Agrodynamics transition officers, Rol pondered his next move and upon discussing with his mother a risky idea. With the funds they had accumulated and with the help of a variable rate loan negotiated with the Jovian Corporate Bank, Rol decided to recruit his former coworkers as staff in a new farm to table eatery serving Jovian and Martian fusion cuisine. The first few months were good but finances began to go into the red as operational and regulatory costs ramped up. Without his mother's knowledge, Rol made a deal with local Ganymedean trafficking operations to use his restaurant as both a money laundering and fencing operation. Although he despised the business altogether and tried to keep it out of sight, Rol saw it as a necessary and hopefully, temporary evil as he held out hope one day that he could be rid off it once the restaurant business became stable. Disaster struck for the third time yet again when Rol's fencing racket were revealed in an undercover sting operation by the Jovian Civil Authority just a year after it was established. Thanks to the help of his loyal staff who remembered the sacrifices he made for them on Klooseward, Rol managed to escape just as officers surrounded his restaurant and bashed their way through the doors. His mother's ignorance of his illicit behaviours led to no charges being laid against her but half of his restaurant staff were arrested under charges of fencing and illegal trafficking of unauthorised goods. A warrant was issued out for Rol's arrest. Rol fled to the edges of the Kuiper Belt, hiding in a seedy orbital hotel until the coast was clear. Upon reacquiring intersystem radio communications with his mother, Rol found out to his horror that the variable rates on the loan had increased to the point where it would lead her to ruin unless he did something. Rol turned to gig-hunting, primarily in the catering and agro-business on the Kuiper Belt, working two jobs as a japanese food truck cook and a greenhouse operator. His salary was enough to staunch the proverbial flow of blood but it wasn't enough to sew the wound. He needed more heliodollars. On a ride to his strata-shanty from another long shift at work, Rol chanced upon an advert whilst browsing for jobs on the solar net. The information was brief but it seemed that a trading vessel by the name of the Dullahan was in need of crew members. Urgently. Seeing as he had nothing to lose, Rol sent in his resume and slept, thinking that nothing would come of it. A call and a meeting the week after had Rol packing his bags once more. The rest, as they say, is history. Personality & Reputation Rol is a man of quiet calm and focus, finding a meditative peace and calm in his work, whether it's tending to algae bioreactors or cooking up a feast for his guests. His first and foremost priority is to others instead of himself, viewing himself as a provider and a worker first rather than a friend, sometimes to an worrisome degree. His penchant for his work is passionate enough that he works long hours, sometimes skipping sleep, just to complete the next task. But behind the cheery smiles and the offers of a hot meal for anyone's hungry stomach, Rol is a man who struggles to remain optimistic in life. His civic values of meritocratic work and benevolence have been eroded over time by countless compromises and having been punished by life two times in a row. Having lived through a life of hardship and laborious work, the former colony hand struggles to reconcile his current status as a wanted criminal and the simple, honest man he wants to be for his mother. Rol is respected but never to the point of admiration by his former coworkers and his current crew thanks to his dedication to his work and his nature as a work. His relationship with his mother remains fraught, as his omission of his restaurant's illegal operations has resulted in a rift between them, in spite of his attempts to resolve their financial debt. In spite of all this, his unconditional love for his mother knows no bounds and he would do anything to ensure that she remains safe and happy. Appearance From miner trash to colonist rat, Rol has heard all manner of comments on his roughspun and unrefined appearance which he couldn't give less than one heliodollar about. A thick crop of copper hair covers his head like moss and below that, an easy smile scythes through a coarse and unshaven beard. Years of hard life working as a colony hand on Ganymede have bestowed Rol with a stocky and stout figure, usually hidden by his baggy dirt-encrusted poly-aramid slacks. His pan-sized palms are mapped with a canyon of scars and calluses earned from a lifetime of rough work. Rol keeps a functional and spartan wardrobe, consisting of his old EVA gear from his time on Ganymede and a pile of frayed and bleached colony uniforms. The only constants in his daily apparel are his father's Mars Landing Day anniversary beanie and a chipped necklace of Ganymedean las-cut chondrite. Strengths & Limitations Strengths Planetary colonisation is a dangerous field and Rol is no stranger to it. Rol's years of experience on Ganymede as a colony hand and later, as a colony project supervisor for Klooseward Inc makes him one an expert in the construction and management of colony habitats, particularly regarding the installation, modification and maintenance of colony agri-tech systems such as algae bioreactors, protein myco-vats, vermiworm farms and a host of other common technologies used to support colonisation.Thanks to his experience supervising construction of his colony in the Ganymedean equator, Rol is savvy in responding to practical problems with ad hoc solutions and limited resources, remaining calm and even-tempered in dire situations. His education at Klooseward, whilst not equivalent to university education, has given him passing familiarity with cultivation of common crops and rearing of livestock used in both the Sol Federation and Jovian Commonwealth alongside basic skills in operating heavy construction machinery and limited resource management. Rol also is a capable chef thanks to his mother, specialising in various localities of Martian and Jovian cuisine. His business management skills, however, leave something to be desired. Given his rough and tumble life in all sorts of manual labour, Rol has an hitherto inhuman amount of physical endurance and stamina, able to commit to long periods of physical work without the slightest hint of fatigue. Limitations Rol's relationship with his mother and the threat of a looming debt hanging over their heads remains a constant in any decision he makes. He is extremely secretive of providing information about his mother and remains mum whenever moments of conversation or discussion touch upon matters of his family. His current financial situation is also a potential vulnerability if the wrong individual with ill intentions were to be informed about it. Rol is also completely impotent in combat situations, being about as useful as a wet napkin in any situation that involves violence. Don't ask him to pick up a coil rifle, a gun or anything related to combat situations as Rol is likely to misfire and hit you just as likely as he is to hit the enemy. Whilst Rol may be wanted for criminal activity in the Jovian Commonwealth, he is also a veritable greenhorn when it comes to the finer workings of the underworld, preferring to leave it to others to sort out dirty business and is not familiar with some of the subtleties of operating with criminal elements. Miscellaneous Possesses a malfunctioning cybernetic eye provided by Klooseward Inc as a part of his medical insurance benefits. Due to dissolution and acquisition of Klooseward Inc, standard parts for the implant no longer exist and constant error messages fill his vision. Known as Chef because that's what everyone keeps calling him, even when he's off duty. Possesses a hatred towards Avaloanian and Mercurian luxury cuisine. Is lactose intolerant. Is an avid homebrewer and connoseuir of hard kombucha. Keeps a bottle of his own supply within a locker on the ship.

____________________________________________________________________________ ◤ “ Live life by the second. That's how you focus on the future. ” Full Name: Rol 'Chef' Emsberg Age: ... Homeworld: Ganymede Occupation: Chief Steard/Agro-Tech of the Dullahan Affiliation(s): Klooseward Inc (Former), The Little Giant Eatery (Former)

Book Quotes

The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation. What is called resignation is confirmed desperation.

— Henry David Thoreau , Walden

Crossover of Shadowrun & Vietnam War

You piqued my interest with Shadowrun and you further piqued my interest with the Vietnam War. I'm imagining a troll wielding a M60 listening to Fortunate Son in Da Nang. Anyway, putting my general interest here.

@Passable Writer get in on this.

Ultimate One Universe: Resistance

@Bounce

The hierarchy of power in the Ultimate One Universe is about to change.

Ultimate One Universe: Resistance

Shock To the System

S T A T I C
S T A T I C

^{"Lightning always strike twice when I'm around, baby."}

C H A R A C T E R P O R T R A I T C H A R A C T E R P O R T R A I T _________________________________________________________ _________________________________________________________ C H A R A C T E R S U M M A R Y C H A R A C T E R S U M M A R Y _________________________________________________________ Virgil Ovid Hawkins _________________________________________________________ 18 | Single _________________________________________________________ N/A(s) [If Applicable] | African American N O T A B L E A B I L I T I E S & T O O L S N O T A B L E A B I L I T I E S & T O O L S _________________________________________________________ [+] - A B I L I T I E S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ◼ ENHANCED ELECTROPHYSIOLOGY Exposure to the chemicals involved in the Big Bang Incident have enhanced Virgil's physiology to handle large amount of electricity, beyond what normal humans are able to tolerate. Virgil's innate electric resistance can be overcome by large electric currents of sufficient voltage, although this has never been explored. Virgil's cells also act as bioelectrical 'batteries', allowing him to drain, store and release electricity for later use. Virgil's bioelectricity can be depleted if he generates electricity for extended periods of times and must be recharged from nearby electric power sources. Virgil's innate electrophysiology results in a higher bodily static charge which can lead to unintended effects when contacting machinery, objects or living beings. ◼ ELECTROMAGNETIC MANIPULATION Virgil's primary ability is to manipulate electromagnetic phenomena, primarily in the form of electricity. Virgil can achieve simple effects such as manipulating static attraction to enable him to cling to objects and levitating metallic objects to more esoteric effects such as generating electromagnetic forcefields and manipulating electrons at the subatomic level. More advanced applications of his powers require higher concentration and effort to achieve. Usage of his abilities also drain his bioelectricity and Virgil abilities are severely limited if he does not have a sufficient reservior. ◼ ELECTROMAGNETIC DETECTION Virgil can detect and sense electromagnetic waves and currents in his surrounding environment up to three blocks, perceiving it as music. - T O O L (S) ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ◼ Dakota Municipal Manhole Cover Stamped with the symbol of the Dakota City Municipal Department, this 3 foot diameter cast iron disc is used by Virgil as a makeshift electromagnetic surfboard to move around the city in style. It also comes in handy as a makeshift weapon. Hey, 100 pounds of cast iron steel flying at 60 miles per hour will make any mugger throw their hands up. - N O T A B L E S K I L L S & T A L E N T S N O T A B L E S K I L L S & T A L E N T S _________________________________________________________ [+] - S K I L L (S) ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ◼ Electrical Engineering It was a complete coincidence that Virgil planned to study Electrical Engineering at N.Y.U before he got his powers. I mean, all you have to do is not put the screwdriver in the charging port and boom, you're a qualified electrician. Just don't look at that C on his Physics mid-term. - T A L E N T (S) ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ◼ RAPPING N.W.A and Eminem got nothing on this boy. He spits electric tunes and got his own album at the age of 18, even though he isn't a rapper. Because rappers are lame. He's definitely not a rapper. -

T H E S T O R Y S O F A R... T H E S T O R Y S O F A R... ________________________________________________________________________________________ "What really happened that night? Really, Rubberband? You wanna go over it all again? You want to know the truth? Alright, cuz this is the 100 percent unverified truth. Static style. I'mma hear None of that bull served by those pigs on the TV. 'Gang war'. 'Robbery'. Buncha bullshit. Only thing we all agree with was that it started with the Big Bang. Triple G's to blame for that stupid ass nickname. I'll just call it for what it is. Same old story of protests and police that's always happened in America. I was out there that night protesting. Yeah, you heard me. You think you remember who I was, I say come fuckin get me. We were out there that day because of Marvin. Media probably forgot about him now but they were sure quick to offer their sympathies that day. You remember him too, Rubberband. Marvin. 16 yyears. Perfect SAT scores. Got a Stark Industries internship. Genius. One of those guys you knew who could change the world. Two weeks before the protest, he got wasted by the friggin' cops for taking out his smartphone the wrong way.  We wanted to have our voice heard. Cops didn't. So, an hour into the protest and we're in the docks when all of a sudden, we hear sirens. Couple of the stragglers bounce but we try and keep chill. We let the authorities know we're organizing. Having a peaceful protest. Things was different, though. Before, everyone was all loose and calm. Now, with a couple of glorified mall cops peeking over our shoulder, we all felt as though we were a dog in a cage. People were getting antsy and fritzy. Couple of those corpo freaks from AlvaTech lended a couple of Reach tech to the police. Called it a enhanced non-lethal crowd dispersal tool. I'mma just call a duck a duck. It was tear gas. Not the usual, onion in your eyes crap but different. It didn't make you cry but it made you freeze up, locked all your muscles in place. Some of my buddies called it like having glass shoved down your bones and your legs turn to rubber- no offense, Rubberband.  We know now in the Agency papers that the gas they used was an experimental nanotech gas that was meant to subtly change your genetic makeup over time. Hypothesis from the feds was that it was an experiment to see if the meta gene could be slowly introduced over a period of time in a general population. One guy could just run fast, his son would run at the speed of sound, you get the drift. What those Reach guys didn't plan that day was the shipment of chemicals that had arrived on the port that day. I've thought so many times about what went wrong that day. Maybe, it was one asshole in our crowd, some carrying iron when they weren't supposed to....Anyway, protest took a turn. Police began to call SWAT. They began unloading that tear gas on us, they call it quantum gas now. Then, the Bang happened. Some bullet hit a gas tank and the gas tank exploded with all the chemicals stored at the dock. I don't remember what happened much until I woke up with a bunch of tubes hooked up to me. Few weeks later, people start developing powers. You probably know all the famous ones by now. Ebon....Kangorr.....Talon....Shiv......Media started calling us Bang Babies, Triple G gets all the credit for that one. Agency locks Dakota City out and turns it into a quarantine zone. Blah blah blah blah, go search up Wikipedia if you want to write an essay on this. So, why do I do this, Rubberband? I do it cause I want to make something out of myself. We all only got one life on this earth. Before the Big Bang, I was nothing, hear me. Now, I get to be something. What's the use of power if you don't use it to help the little guy on the street?" Born the child of Robert and Sarah Hawkins, Virgil's life was just as ordinary as it could be for a teenager until one bad day, when he got caught in the middle of the Big Bang. The incident changed Dakota City forever, giving rise to a new breed of meta-humans dubbed by the media as Bang Babies. Manifesting electromagnetic abilities from the incident, Virgil became the vigilante known as Static to control the outbreak of bang babies and chaos that ensued after the Big Bang. One year after the Big Bang, the Agency declared Dakota City a quarantine zone on account of a disturbing new trend. There were reports of spontaneous development of metahuman powers within Dakota City, a phenomenon known as bang bloomers. Until the effect was fully studied and understood, Dakota City would remain closed off from the world. Virgil managed to escape in time alongside his family and hopes to make a new life for himself in New York City. Unfortunately, the shadows of Dakota won't leave as more meta humans from Virgil's city flock to New York in search of a new home..... P L O T ( S ) & G O A L ( S ) P L O T ( S ) & G O A L ( S ) ________________________________________________________________________________________ Static is back, baby! So, after some mulling and some time spent off the character, I decided to return back to Virgil with a fresh lens. I feel that Static's overall history (limited as it is) and the themes that have resonated from both the show and the comic with me fit well with the overall meta-narrative of resistance and government overreach in this universe. We aren't telling the origin story of Static this time around. Static has been operating in the public eye for a good two or three years now. He can't quite return back to his home city as it is the site of the Big Bang and therefore, has served as a metahuman quarantine zone. Static managed to sneak out for reasons that will explored later in the story and is now based in New York City alongside a couple of other stragglers from the Big Bang Incident. The key element that I want to reframe significantly in this version of Static's story is the villains. Static villains are the same people that participated in the protest that led in the Big Bang. What happens when you give a bunch of young people, disillusioned with the powers that be, actual superpowers? Certainly not heroes but certainly not villains either. I think that's something I want to explore in this RP.

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Ultimate One Universe: Resistance

Posted after 2 weeks. I'm definitely tired and I could have finished this post faster but between getting a cold and doing work, I had to scrap some parts of the intro post I wanted to do.

Things should pick up faster during this first arc. If anyone wants to do any collabs, please reach out to me.

Ultimate One Universe: Resistance

Economos hated Mondays, especially Mondays in Arlington. Traffic had been a nightmare thanks to the new roadworks down near the outer boulevards.

Everyone was on edge in the room. It smelt damp. In the middle of the table sat a ash tray. The silver bowl was a graveyard of cigarette butts, wafts of light grey smoke wisping out from the mound. Chatter was abuzz as usual around the room. Meaningless small talk about missions, domestic details, vacations, not in that order. Economos kept to himself, sipping in his coffee cup. As a data analyst, He was sandwiched in between two agents. Stillwell sat to his left, taking a drag of a cigarette whilst Johnson was kneading her eye with a manicured fist.Stillwell was the definition of a braggadocio. Theree was an unspoken hierarchy at the agency where hotshots like Stillwell, gunning for their next promotion, were the talk of the town at the mess hall whilst low level techs and admin staff like Economos were busy twiddling their thumbs, satisfied with their paycheck and benefits they got. Economos was alright with that. Stillwell was a man who demanded results whilst Economos was a man who calculated and waited for results. Two different philosophies. Only one seemed to get all the attention though.

Economos peered around the room. Avery from Analytics. Carson from Investigations. Tactical. Administration.

Why would Hill call a meeting from different departments? As though he had summoned her, Maria Hill burst through the door, the chatter ceasing in the room. Her spine was straight as a railroad spike, iron and unbending, as she walked to the front of the tabl. A crowd of assistants and secretaries congregated around her, like ducklings.  Wordlessly, she  nodded to an red-faced assistant who was struggling with a mountain of files in her arms who began passing it out to each agent. 

" Good morning, everyone. Yes, I know how unusual it is for us to have an early meeting, especially on a Monday." Maria nodded in acknowledgement to Economos and he raised his coffee mug in reply. " I wouldn't gather all of you if this wasn't a matter of national security."

" Gentlemen, I'd like you to meet the face of the mark we're targeting over the next few months." The projector turned on and Economos thought what he saw was some sort of photo editing glitch. It was a mugshot of a person, well, as best as he could make it out. The shadow held a sign reading "DAKOTA CITY POLICE DEPARTMENT - IVAN EVANS". Before anyone could ask a question,Economos heard a snide giggle from his left side. Maria's head turned towards his direction, her gaze owlish.

" Something funny, Agent Stillwell?," Maria asked.

" Seriously, this is who we're worrying about? I've read his file before, Hill." Stillwell eyes rolled, laying back in his chair with a smug grin. "A metahuman gangbanger? Low level gang wars over territory and cocaine? Can't we just leave this to the feds?" Some other agents in the room let loose a few sniggers and wry grins. Economos remained impassive, rolling his yellow pencil in between his fingers, observing Hill instead. The senior agent didn't so much flinch, remaining stony faced. Well, attempting to. Economos had worked with Amanda Waller long enough to know to spot a copycat. He could see the chinks in how her fists tightened, the way her shoulders tensed. The power suit she was wearing was the same as the one Waller wore during her inaugration speech at D.C.

" Really?" Maria raised a single eyebrow. " Since you're so outspoken, do you mind telling me who the Agency should be more worried about?"

The laughs died off. Stillwell shrugged his shoulders, now speaking in a patronising tone.

" Director Waller's directive has been to concentrate on Superman -"

" Correction. "  Maria cut him off . " Superman is one of our primary focuses but he is not the only one out there. Big Blue is a paper tiger. He is only one man and with our friends at LexCorp, he'll be kept busy in Metropolis for a good while. He is fundamentally an outsider and effectively has no political bearing on what goes on domestically. Until he starts becoming a threat, he's a nuisance and a useful one at that."

Grabbing a remote to the table, Maria pointed it to the television, turning it on with a flick of the switch. Black and white static faded into a live broadcast on WHIH News.  It looked like there was some protest in Chicago judging by the large crowds of people wielding signs. Only these weren't any ordinary people.There was a winged woman standing on power lines and holding a megaphone. A towering giant of pure energy waving a flag that was carved out of a small tree. They were metahumans. 

" This is Christine Everhart, live at Washington D.C where the Meta Breed is continuing their third day of public protests this week.  Mr Ebon, this is the second demonstration your Meta-Breed. What are you hoping to gain out of this discussion?"

The shadow talked. There was no mouth in the blackless expanse of that living shadow, only two slivery beads of moonlight that shimmered as though they were on the surface of a lake. He spoke in a vaguely brouguish east-coast accent, harsh and unrefined. There was a second tone glued to the first, an oily slick static that seem to cling to every syllable.

" Hope that the fine people of New York be more willing to let us be in their neighborhood  without havin' a rock thrown at us."

" Are you willing to come to any compromise with Governor -"

" Compromise?"  Ebon's voice grew angry. " 'Scuse me? Ain't no word I hate anything more in the dictionary than compromise. Instead of being forced to suck their dick, we get a dollar each time we suck their dick. Lord ain't anyone new. Same as the last administration in fact. No matter if it was the most woke ass liberal up there or the most racist pig standing on that their podium, it's a mould. The president fits that damn mould. You think this power makes me different? We just the same as everyone else. Powers ain't gonna be anything new in the equation if some people on the other side got powers too. We ain't meta if you're fighting for the same old things. Way I see it, you meta if you fightin' for a new meta, baby. A new meta that's free - "

The television clicked off. The temperature in the room had changed. The boredom on everyone's faces had been wiped away by Ebon's speech and now, a stoic grimace filled their furrowed eyebrows and frowns. Economos glanced to his left.  Stillwell looked as though he had swallowed a prune. Maria stared, laser-focused, at the agent, a savored look in her eyes, before regarding the silence of the room with a commanding voice.

" This protest was just over 6 hours ago. The Meta Breed are growing fast and have the potential to become one of the greatest threats this nation has ever faced.  They had only a few dozen people in their ranks 8 months ago and now, their ranks have swelled to the hundreds across the east coast. Mr Evans here has the potential to unite the mutant, the metahuman, the vigilante and all superpowered individuals into something new that could threaten the stability of this great nation. We must prevent his rise before he can start a metahuman revolution." Maria paused to let the gravity of her statement sink in. " The first and last one we'll live through. "

Agent Harcourt, a blonde agent in her mid thirties, was the first one to break the silence, leaning forward on her elbows.

" Why not just get a sniper? He's not bulletproof as far as the files tell me."

"We kill him now and we'll make him a martyr." Maria replied, her face grim. "The movement will continue on without him.  We need to kill his image, his reputation in the eyes of the public, and then, we can properly kill him. "

" So, what do you propose, Hill?," Stillwell said, irritated.

" We need a patsy. We can't fight a meta but if we make a meta fight another meta, well....."  Maria said, a slight curl on her lip. " And I just know the perfect one...."

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⚡

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STATIC SHOCK

JUMPSTART

PART ONE

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⚡

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Robbery was never something Terry Erwell took joy in. As he wedged the bolt cutters in between the steel iron chain behind the F.E.A.S.T community centre, he was wondering how the hell he had ended up here in the first place. His partner, Turk Barrett, had proposed the job a week ago. Erwell wouldn't have even dreamt of it. Hell, he crashed at F.E.A.S.T a few times when the landlord kicked him out for inspections and had supper there when he didn't have enough left over to pay the loan sharks. He disagreed to it but when the electricity bills came in, Erwell succumbed to the pressure.

" Come on, man," Turk was behind him, egging him on. He held a crowbar in his arms that was for forcing the door open once He looked over his shoulder for signs of any cops. " How long is it going to take for you to snap through, man?"

" Just gimme a second." Erwell grunted, feeling the metal slowly give way. " It'll take 5 minutes, tops."

" Well, hurry up." Barrett stood on the balls of his feet, holding the crowbar like a lifeline. " We stand out here. Pretty soon, someone's gonna spot us in our dumb masks -"

" Dude, what the hell are you two doing behind here?"

The two criminals jumped. The voice was young and sounded like your typical teen. Erwell knew immediately who it was. It was a face that you would have seen plastered on signboards, graffitied in subway tunnels and in blurry afterimages on late night talkshows. An overly large parka shadowed his head but two gimlets of blue lightning sparked within them. His hair stood on the end as all the lights in the alleyway seem to dim in the figure's presence. Two plastic grocery bags, stretched in the seams, were held in his hands.

Static.

The vigilante dropped the bags and took off his hood. His dreadlocks coiled outwards like stretched springs and the lightning faded from his eyes, revealing bloodshot irises.

" Erwell, I swear to god I told you off last week. " Static said, exasperated. " Don't tell me what I think you're doing. For fuck's sake, man, what if the cops spotted you?"

" Uh, Static, look, this is all a misunderstanding." Barrett raised his arms up, trying to defuse the situation. You see, we were just doing late night repairs -" The hero signed. Blue electricity began to drip from his right hand and with a wave, the crowbar his partner was holding leapt out like a frog and skittered on the concrete.

" Look, look, guys." Static pinched his nose. " It's 11:30, I got chores I need to run and I don't got time to send you two fools down to the station. " Static lifted up the bags invitingly. " How's about you help me distribute these hoagies to all the folks in the shelter and I'll let you two have a bite?"

Mavgoran Nights

**FILE TYPE:** CLASSIFIED
**FILE REF:** [AGT-████-████-XX]
**ACCESS LEVEL:** TOP SECRET — SIERRA CLASSIFICATION
**SUBJECT CODE-NAME:** ******_********_********_
**REAL NAME:** MIKLOS CORBREAU
**ALIAS(ES):** N/A
**CURRENT COVER IDENTITY: ALEKSEI MOSKOVOI**

### I. BIOGRAPHICAL DATA

- **DATE OF BIRTH:** 10th September, 1945

- **PLACE OF BIRTH:** Hungary

- **CITIZENSHIP:** American, Hungarian

- **GENDER:** Male

- **ETHNICITY:** Caucasian

- **HEIGHT:** 6'1

- **WEIGHT:** 180 pounds

- **EYE COLOR:** Green

- **HAIR COLOR:** Red

- **DISTINGUISHING FEATURES**

Individual possesses mole under left eye and scar tissue approximately 4 centimeters in length under his left ear from a prior field injury. Individual requires prescription glasses during field operation.

* * *

### II. EDUCATION & TRAINING

- **ACADEMIC BACKGROUND:**

- Institution: Eotvos Lorand University

- Degree(s): Bachelor of Engineering

- Field(s) of Study: Chemical Engineering

- **MILITARY SERVICE (if any):**

- Branch: Hungarian People's Army, 3rd Army Corps

- Rank/Role: Corporal

- Service Date: 1950 - 1956

- **TRAINING RECORD**

- CIA - CO101 (Agent Orientation Course) - 1960

- CIA - SERE (Survival Escape Resistance Course) - 1960

- SAD - 221 (Improved Chemical Demolitions and Hazardous Materials) - 1962

- CIA - COINTEL (Counterintelligence Course) -1963
- CIA - INFILSEC (Infiltration and Security Course) - 1964
- CIA - CQCA (Close Quarters Combat A) - 1964
- CIA - LRMKSM (Marksmanship) - 1964 
- FBI - ESPNIII(Espionage III) - 1970 

### III. BACKGROUND/OPERATIONAL HISTORY

Aleksei Moskovoi was born in Nograd, Hungary to Sachashky Nisfard and Kol Mskovoi. After the He attended Eotvos Lorand University and graduated with a Bachelor of Engineering with a specialization in Chemical Engineering from Eotvos Lorand Univeristy. Due to a lack of employment opportunities as most of Hungary's infrastructure was still recovering after the conclusion of WW2, Moskovoi joined the HNP as a sapper. During the Hungarian Revolution, Moskovoi's sympathies with anti-soviet revolutionaries and pro-nationalist elements in his regiment led him to defect to the side of the counter-revolutionaries in 1955 (NOTE: Extensive interrogation and assessment of personal reading material reveal no ties to the U.S.S.R or any communist groups of interest. So far.) During the events of November the 4th to 9th, Aleksei was captured by Soviet forces during the siege of Budapest and later escaped from a train into the Baltic Sea. Reports indicate sightings at Austria. Acquiring fake papers,Moskovoi departed on a oil tanker (SEE: CF-071962-U.S.S Arkansas) on route to San Francisco.  Moskovoi worked for a brief period as a orange picker in San Bernandino before operating as an arms trafficker with Cuban insurgents. Upon his capture by the C.I.A, Special Agent XXXXXX recommended the agency to recruit Moskovoi as a probationary officer. For the last fifteen years of service, Moskovoi has operated as a CIA field agent, primarily specializing in operations based in Eastern Europe. 

<ins>Operational History</ins>

[REDACTED]

### IV. PSYCHOLOGICAL PROFILE

Evaluator: Dr Shakovska Yorge 

General Disposition: Operative presents as composed, calm and an highly analytical procedure. Displays extroverted emotional behaviour, although, operative displays ability to adapt emotional response according to present social context and cues. Subject displays complete focus on execution of mission parameters in both qualitative dialogue tests and test scenarios but is unable to adapt to changing circumstances relative to baseline agents. Operative displays highly agitated state when working alongside other operatives in group exercises under observation. 

Risk Assessment: Internal loyalty and alliance to C.I.A still nebulous. Need to improve ennagrams and psychological profiling should be accelerated. 

Recommendation: Recommending shift from solo deployment to team operations with limited autonomy. 

**NOTE:** Unauthorized access or duplication of this file constitutes a violation of federal law and will trigger counterintelligence review under Directive 9-13B.

Mavgoran Nights

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MAVGORAN NIGHTS

_{A Historical Espionage Thriller}

^{Starring @Bork Lazer and @Shu}

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TBA