Ms Ravenwinter — Roleplayer Guild

 :: Alejandra Ibáñez :: 

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» Allycat «

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» Female «

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» August 17, 2036 «
» London, The United Kingdom «

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Brilliantly tanned, colorful eyes, crazy hair, grungy clothing and a fuck off look on her face sums up Alejandra, or Alex, pretty well. The most obvious piece of chrome is an obtrusive contraption hitched to her left arm that serves as a detachable arm aug. The cybereyes don't seem too special, despite their glowing, technological glory. However, these eyes also change just as often as her colorful rocker-chick clothing and the wild styles of her hair. The method behind the choice of clothing tends to be rather simple. Pick whatever looked cool to the kids in the late 20th century that she finds in a thrift store, and mix it with some modern flair. The hair shifts so much overnight that it couldn't be natural. It isn't, but it's a near-perfect representation. The only tell is a how the hair feels like woven nanofibre instead of the oily strands that naturally grow out of your skull. She mostly sticks to long hair, as that's the part that takes the longest to change, but she styles and colors it in any punkish fashion that she wants on a given day. The last noticeable thing about her on first glance is how she's perpetually chewing gum. 

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» Black Market Robotics Supplier «
» Underground Cyberware Tech «
» Professional Vigilante «
» Junker «

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» Inventive «
Her primary skillset is her affinity for all things hardware. If she's got the tools, she can fix your cyberarm, improvise a weapon, build a death machine out of a scrap heap, or design a modern art-piece. 

» Resourceful «
True to her grungy upbringing, Alejandra is capable of making the best out of a drekked situation. She's a quick learner and knows how to leverage her advantages. Professionally, this mostly manifests in her ability to jury rig moderately advanced tech.

» Improvisational «
Flying by the seat of her pants is how Alejandra gets things done. 

» Balanced «
Working with many things at once, at many jobs at once, has given her invaluable multitasking experience and capability.

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» Control Rig Implant «
Surgically implanted into the skull, a control rig plugs into the visual, aural and motor control facilities of the brain to create an interface. This interface can be used to wirelessly pilot vehicles and robotics that are paired to the user, and are adapted for rigging. This has varying levels from simple driving to mentally 'sleeving into' 
the vehicle, which happens to render your own body unconscious. It is possible to pilot multiple vehicles in either fashion, though the multitasking ability required is extensive, leaving skilled drone pilots a top commodity. Alejandra's control rig in particular also acts as a typical neuralware. External versions of this technology exist, using a visor, headphones and haptic gloves, meaning that rigging adaptations are fairly common, though not universal.  

» External Cyberarm «
Having no need for a full replacement, but certainly a need for an upgrade, Alejandra installed an 'exoware limb augmentation' on her left arm. While less effective than a full cyberarm, it functions more or less the same by assisting the user with lifting strength and fine motor function. The unit plugs directly into access jacks placed on and around her left shoulder plate. It hooks under the natural limb, following the same movements, until it opens into a reinforced glove that the user must physically sleeve their hand into. Within the glove, Alex installed a tazer system that allows her to shock an object in her grasp while leaving her unharmed. 

» Cybereyes «
Of course, the first thing to go were the eyes. It wasn't only for the everyday convenience of AR overlays, but for the fascination of what the world might look like with them. They prove to be invaluable for diagnostics, as well as picking out the neat junk from the plain junk. Alex actually has a whole set of them by now, changing out entire ocular interfaces like contact lenses. 

» Artificial Glands «
Systems in place to administer drugs, of the medical sort, directly to the user, from inside the user. A recent addition, Alejandra main uses the augmentation while on the job in stressful situations. A healthy dose of an adderal, dopamine and adrenaline cocktail will get you out of that stressful situation quicker than a bullet to the head. 

» Personal Mods «
Alex has installed several modifications simply for the nonessentials. 

A media access jack lies behind the temple and beneath the hairline, and acts as a direct plug to her brain. This allows for direct sense feeds from VR as well as a method to hard-plug into a console without wireless. 

Pheromone enhancers help mask the olfactory toll on the body from long nights in the steamy workshop. They also help lots with the ladies. 

Nanowire hair fibres ended up becoming Alex's wholesale replacement for hair. They're capable of shifting color, style, thickness and length in a matter of time that progresses from former to latter. About five seconds for a simple color shift to a week or so to grow about a foot. The tensile strength of these wires are about as flimsy as real hair, and thus have no use other than for cosmetics. 

A hermaphroditic adaptor is basically what it sounds like. While unused, it appears as an unassuming chromate disc stationed over the pubic area. 

Sadly, medical reasons weren't why Alex installed the easy access I.V. port in her arm. 

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Alex was a curious kid. She had a mind that enjoyed taking things apart and putting them back together in new and interesting ways. Without a hands-on problem to solve or a new toy to tinker with, she was utterly bored and unyieldingly rowdy. Even as an adult, she's much like that loud backstreet London kid who had more fun getting things to move with a car battery than with any doll or 'action figure'. 

She seemed to take from her dad in this way. He was a top-notch robotics engineer who earned himself a one-way ticket to the pits with his alcoholism. At least, that was until he had his only daughter. At that point in his life, he was too sick to land a well-paying job, dying painfully of disease and holding on by the thin thread of his cyberware. He earned enough with odd jobs to keep his family mostly aloft. With some slips. 

It was all the same to Alejandra, though. Her father was her idol, despite his numerous, monumentous flaws. Perhaps it was helped by the environment of her schooling. She was the one ratchet-racket kid on the block, in the neighborhood, or in the schoolyard. She wasn't quite bullied, per-se, or at least not after she thwacked a boy on the nose with a socket-wrench that she borrowed from her dad's 'garage' (meaning the back room of the bar her dad frequented with the permission of his buddy, the owner). Friends, on the other hand, were quite rare. 

This developed a sort of 'fuck-off' attitude with her that stuck; as it was ever an effective, if destructive, coping mechanism. Oddly, this didn't do much to her relationship with her father other than enrichen it. Her mum didn't have the patience for her impudence, but her dad thought it was what made her unique. And that it was hilarious. 

But, when Alejandra was nine, after years of being basically inseparable with him, her dad died. 

So, she acted out. She started fights at school and snuck out of the house to vandalize things. She did this until she was about eleven. That was when a boy, one that she befriended on the street while tagging buildings, was picked up by go-gangers as a child soldier of sorts. That scared the hell out of her. 

For about a year she muddled around in her school life. Not really doing much. Always alone. At home she was uncharacteristically lethargic, like the energy had been bled from her. Her mum, despite all the shit she put her through over the last couple of years, eventually took her back to her dad's workshop. As it turns out, his old buddy didn't have the funds to refurbish it and didn't have the heart to hawk all the junk, so he left it intact. With the addition of an improvised poker table. 

The change wasn't immediate, but by the time she hit thirteen, she practically lived in the back of that pub. She got into scavenging for junked commlinks and other everyday accommodations and learned how to patch them up through trial and error. Mostly error. It would've been impossible if it weren't for the fact that net access was so readily available. There were how-to's for everything on there! So many, that she was amazed that people were willing to pay her to fix their broken stuff, or simply buy off the junk she'd already learned to fix. 

At fifteen, Alex dropped out of school, much to her mother's very vocal discontent. She'd landed a gig with a mechanic that gave her the money to help pay the steadily rising rent; she simply didn't have the time for school. Her mum was willing to take more jobs, make more sacrifices to her own health, but Alejandra didn't allow it. Whether or not this was a selfish or selfless decision was something she didn't yet understand. 

Side-gigs were always something she looked out for. If it involved solving things, especially chrome things, with her hands, she was on top of it. By the time she was seventeen, she had been introduced to three of her greatest loves in life: Sex, drugs and robotics (she figured out rock n' roll at five). At least one of them she was certainly gifted at, and it was the clunkers. 

Hooked up with a job making bots with guns for the local mob, Alex had the pay to pursue her dreams and her vices at once. She moved across town, got a new place, a shiny new workshop, and a bunch of new chrome. When she was nineteen, she met Trixie. That girl put a whole new spin on addiction for Alejandra. Maybe it was the thrill-filled nihilistic approach, maybe it was the cheerful disregard for all social convention, or maybe it was the drugs, but Alex was hooked. 

Of course, addiction always turns bad when you're indulging it with someone else. Of course, this got Alex dropped from her job. Of course, that meant that she was evicted and her workshop foreclosed. And of course, it could only end when one of them overdosed. Alejandra will never forget seeing Trix lying there, wigging out, direct sense feed plugged into her skull, eyes rolled back all pus-coated and venous, vomit idly burbling from her mouth. She'll never forget the abject terror of not knowing if pulling the plug on the sense feed would kill her or not, and not having the time to think it through. 

She was twenty then, and unplugging Trixie was easily the hardest decision she'd ever made. Trix survived, barely. But Alejandra was still too late. Pulling the feed that far into the overdose ended up shocking Trixie's system to the point where it couldn't recover, and she was stricken with permanent and overwhelming psychosis. 

Just like when her friend got kidnapped by those go-gangers, this sobered Alex right up. But a piece of her was left behind at a London asylum. 

Having, rather loudly, cut ties with her mother a few years prior, Alex went back home with her tail tucked between her legs. Her mum wasn't there, of course, after the neighborhood had all but fully gentrified by then. Guess the vibrant culture of junkyards and rat houses was appealing or something. Alex was a quick name-search and a bus ride away from her mum anyhow. Luckily, she hadn't blown it so badly that her mother wasn't willing to take her back and help her recover. 

After dealing with the constant, everyday shitshow that was withdrawal, Alex threw herself back into her work. This time, however, she started doing charity work as well. She had a reputation in town at this point, so the paying side-jobs were plentiful. Most of her time by then was spent hooking up the locals' cyberware either on the cheap or in exchange for parts. Techs of her skill usually couldn't do it so cheaply, but she had a knack for refurbishing junked parts and using them for this sort of thing. Over the course of a year, people from around the country with the creds to head into London, but not enough to get their chrome fixed, ended up paying her shop a visit. 

Maybe the public image got to her head. Maybe it was because she kept thinking about Trixie, and how she would've wanted to make a difference if she wasn't so dependent on stimulation and escape. Either way, she made a really stupid, life-risking move. Alex started hooding. A vigilante for the common people, without any form of combat training to keep her face off the pavement. By all means, she should've died in her first couple of months, but she found some friends. A team. 

There was a whole underground movement of skilled folk doing essentially paramilitary work out there. Some of them did it for the creds, some for the exhilaration, and some did it for the 'cause', whatever that cause may be for them. Alejandra didn't exactly find a like-minded team, but they were willing to work along with her goals. Hell, they even got along most of the time. 

To keep their little operation afloat, they often had to take jobs from corps. Alex famously reviled the corps, but even her knack for scraping at the bottom of the barrel wasn't enough to keep the team running in the shadows without creds. The  b i o t e c h n i c a  job wasn't supposed to be any different, but the corp picked Alex. Just Alex. Her sense of principle demanded that she didn't take the job, but the team insisted. The payroll was too huge to pass up. 

She knew they were right, in the end, so she went with it...

The registrant quiz was left with entirely blank answers besides a circle A symbol in place of the name. The following is a video interview with Alejandra "Alex" Ibáñez, aka Allycat. 

The frame is set over a table in a confined, clinically designed cuboid room. Alejandra sits at center frame, leaning her chair backward with boots to the table. The digital flicker of a corporate tablet screen booting up can be seen on the right side of the frame, as the interviewer himself sits offscreen. 

The suit says something almost entirely inaudible. The camera drone adjusts its mic accordingly.

"Never had any," Alex says bluntly, "Unless you count brand-made soykrille bars, soycaffes and nutrient paste as food."

In a small, unoffending, monotonous drone of a voice, the interviewer asks, "What is your least favorite food?"

"Never had any."

The press of a stylus and the scribbling on a shining tablet can be seen at the edge of the frame as he jots down the answers. "Use three words to describe yourself."

She rolls her eyes at the question, despite taking a moment to think on her answer. "Badass, Rigger Bitch."

"What things do you like?" He moves on through the routine, "What are your hobbies, prized possessions or loved ones?"

Alex kicks back a little more at this question. "I like girls. I like old and new rock music. I like junk." Then, cocking her brow suggestively at the camera, she says, "I like toys."

The interviewer moves swiftly on. "What are things you dislike?" He seems to carry on a leading tone at the question.

She squints her eyes at the man for a second, leaning her chair forward, back into an upright position. "Well, I don't like software glitches. Seriously, they're the worst."

The man clears his throat.

"What? Don't like my answer, chummer?"

"The penalty for dishonesty is a $5,000 fine and 2 to 24 months in prison, Miss Ibáñez."

Her teeth grit in irritation before she scoffs at him. "I am being honest, dataslave -- I mean, mister what-ever-your-face." She seems nervous. 

After few silent presses of the stylus, the man turns his tablet to Alejandra. Audio can be heard playing from the device of her yelling a speech to a violently cheering crowd about how the corps are enslaving mankind.

She slouches slightly in her chair like she just watched herself get caught in checkmate. "Okay, fine, you want to hear my opinion? You pencil-pushing fucks think you're so much better than the rest of us because you got hooked with some mind-numbing corp gig or because you were too blind to realize that after you paid off your indent contract that you were a slave the whole time, and just kept working for 'em." She goes on like this for a few moments before she sees something on the tablet that the camera can't, and she shuts up. A discerning glare is cast upon the camera drone. "Carry on, then," she says while crossing her arms, visibly regretful after seeing whatever she saw. 

"I suppose your values are rather well-known, Miss Ibáñez," the man speaks as smoothly as if he wasn't just the target of a sudden tirade, "But for the sake of this interview, what concepts matter to you? What are your principles?"

Taking a breath to calm herself, Alex eventually says, "Fairness. I care about fairness." The tone has grown significantly more sympathetic on her part. 

"What are your strengths? Not just simply the skills that biotechnica hired you for, but the things that people like about you."

She laughs a little at this. "If I bought my own bullshit I'd almost believe it was my devilish charms." She relaxes again, thinking about the answer introspectively. "Probably the part people dig most is the part that ends up pissing them off. I just don't give a fuck."

It's almost imperceptible, but it almost seems like the interviewer had himself a quiet little chuckle at that. "What are your flaws? Character flaws, mostly. Your family history has already been documented."

"Gee, that's wiz..." she trails off a moment. It's not too long before she refocuses. "I'm sure biotec already documented my history with addiction."

"That is correct."

"So they know about--"

"We're aware of your relationship to Miss Chang."

"Heh. She would've punched you in the nose for calling her that..." 

"Is there anything else that you'd like to add, Miss Ibáñez?

She seems to snap back into reality rather painfully. "I think we're done here," she says as she pushes herself away from the table and stomps out of the room. The feed cuts off.
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