RedGentleman

n e w - a g e - 2 0 5 0 :: a cyberpunk dystopia

I don't know how this machine works so I'll just leave it to you guys and follow whatever goes on.

n e w - a g e - 2 0 5 0 :: a cyberpunk dystopia

I felt as though a collab would be more open for allowing dialogue between characters in a way that might flow easier, so that people aren't shafted to say a few lines per post and each person having to respond separately.

@Didgeridont

That's what I'd figured, but it doesn't seem to be happening so I'm feeling hopelessly lost. Oh well; these little things have a habit of working themselves out.

n e w - a g e - 2 0 5 0 :: a cyberpunk dystopia

Sorry for the delay (I'm currently working on my post); it's been a hectic week.

Can someone please explain the purpose of the collab pad to me? The concept is new.

n e w - a g e - 2 0 5 0 :: a cyberpunk dystopia

@LemonsThere he is! ily 2 bbycaks. And please don't think that I didn't spy that sneaky little edit. <Insert quip about English majors here>

By the way, @Didgeridont, I don't actually have a problem with your writing; I'm just being a melodramatic ass because that's the only way I know how to talk to people.

n e w - a g e - 2 0 5 0 :: a cyberpunk dystopia

@Dark Light

Beep beep
Take your Character Sheet
Put it in the Tab
So I can be real glad

@Didgeridont

AABB assonance? You just became my second least favourite person. Number one: you know who you are.

n e w - a g e - 2 0 5 0 :: a cyberpunk dystopia

<Snipped quote by Lemons>

If he can tolerate Chiue, they'll likely be friends. She likes fancy.

@Aeonumbra

Andrejs has a problem with tolerating... people.

n e w - a g e - 2 0 5 0 :: a cyberpunk dystopia

@Atrophy

Spooky dooky.

n e w - a g e - 2 0 5 0 :: a cyberpunk dystopia

"Mmmm, decisions..." he said to nobody in particular. Ceramic fingers, kept in immaculate polish, performed a slow ballet down a rack of ties before finally stopping on a satin lilac. Having finally set up his various properties in the new apartment, this was Andrejs' first night to himself, and he planned to spend it in style; who knows, perhaps he could even find some fine feminine specimen and show her a good time. Manhattan, eldredge, half-windsor, trinity... No, he thought, unraveling the tie once again, his fingers repeating a practiced motion and assembling a crisp rose knot around his neck. Andrejs tightened the knot with a small grunt. Content with his work, he then reached into the tall cabinet built into the wall next to his mirror, revealing row upon row of artificial flowers. Performing the same finger-ballet as he examined his options, Andrejs took but a few seconds to select what, in the loosest possible terms, seemed a mock carnation. As he fit it to his lapel, the white base and gentle lavender bleeding along the fabric's edges made for a contained yet powerful contrast against a navy suit. Andrejs took much less time to select a pocket square, having already visualised the tame blue pindot in a reverse puff while he was tying his tie.

Little remained to do in the way of suit assembly; Andrejs had already spent the requisite hour obsessing over the slim, but not too slim, fit of his jacket and the pressed, but not outwardly stiff, collar of his shirt. With a quick look in the mirror and a smile at the dashing man looking back, he took a step towards his closet and looked down. After a moment of consideration he reached for the black—no, black is too formal... brown—brown derby—no, derbies are too bland... brogue—brogue shoes to the left of the black oxfords and the right of the brown derbies. A moment later, he was ready to go, and with one more quick look in the mirror and a nervous run through his hair to ensure its tidiness, he opened the door—

—to a man. The man looked surprise for a moment, but he took less than a second to regain a perfectly unaffected composure. A delivery man. Andrejs was puzzled for a few seconds, but soon after nodded his head in understanding. "Ah, the new shirts I had tailored. I must say, your delivery is quite prompt; I'm impressed. Alright, show me where to sign." The man didn't offer any pen or paper. He simply extended his arms with a small package in hand. Andrejs' puzzled countenance returned as he accepted the package. His mouth opened to speak, and to support it rose a single inquiring finger, but the delivery man turned and left. He did not run, in fact, he did not even walk particularly quickly, but something in his gait exuded a confidence, or a fear, or a something that told Andrejs not to follow or protest. Instead, he took a step back inside of his apartment and locked the door. He opened the package, and where he expected a bomb, death threat, or at least something that might offer an answer, there was only another question. This question took the form of a list of instructions and a little model house. No, it wasn't a house; it was a warehouse. Taped to the side of it was a small piece of paper that, in a pleasantly neutral font contained one of the most pleasantly neutral messages that it could, and Andrejs' was terrified: GO HERE. Andrejs swallowed his built-up saliva and began his practiced ritual of converting anxiety to motivation and fear to indignation. He rose.

He took perhaps twenty steps into a bedroom, kept in perpetually pristine condition. He reached into a drawer next to the bed, and withdrew its contents. They shone a bit in the mellow lighting, letting off a very muted glint along the corners. He placed the larger piece on the bed while examining the other, counting the little golden cylinders that ran up its frame. Nine. Perfect. Andrejs then mated the two objects and let out a small sigh, both of exasperation and relief as he felt the familiar weight of something he'd not held in a long time and hoped to never hold again. Reaching back into the drawer, he withdrew a holster and slung it about his torso, placing the handgun by his left hip. With that, he put his jacket back on, concealing the weapon, and wheeled about to face his apartment door. Another sigh. A pause. Hesitation? Where lies the difference between contemplation and avoidance, between caution and fear? No matter. Regardless, it ends now. Andrejs took a step; it felt a bit shakier than usual. One more sigh, but this time more focused and focusing: tranquil, ready. The next step was firm. Another step. Another. Soon, Andrejs was out the door, his face almost as hard as the neatly pressed lines of his suit.

---

It wasn't a long walk. Twenty minutes, perhaps, though Andrejs walked quickly. Whether this was a consequence of anger, fear, or purpose was not written on his face. When he reached the warehouse, Andrejs looked around. There were quite a few suspicious characters lurking about the general area, but then again just about everyone in this city looked suspicious to him. As for persons who actually seemed concerned with the warehouse itself, Andrejs could find none. No more instructions. Andrejs started towards the first doors that he noted, his steps a touch lighter and deliberate. What came next was hardly light or deliberate. There was a pause once he reached the door and considered his options. However, this moment of calculation was short-lived. A sort of giddy rage sprung upon him, and though it was tamed by habitual tranquility and professionalism, it still bled from his face at the eyes and lips. The feeling was familiar. The indignation at being told what to do and knowing that it was dangerous, without knowing exactly what the task would entail or how dangerous it was; paired with the thrill, that shameful leaping passion that came with the prospect of adventure, that horrible joy that came whenever death didn't touch Andrejs, didn't even open the door, but only looked through the window, smiled, and waved. Andrejs loved that rush, and hated to love it. So while it was neither the anger nor the primitive excitement in totality that drove Andrejs to kick open the door, the passion was certainly fueled by both. He raised one hand in a wave and kept the other gently resting on his sidearm.

"Honey, I'm home! Now what the fuck do you want?"

That's when he saw the others, standing around and not doing much in particular. They looked calm. Whoops. Andrejs headed over, keeping his head high and a hand on his gun, though his grip loosened. Quietly now, "Hello, all. But really, what the fuck do you want?"

n e w - a g e - 2 0 5 0 :: a cyberpunk dystopia

Andrejs Kalniņš

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Dr. Andrejs Joseph Kalniņš::
ID: E-11A.14; Callsign: Kakapo 1

d a t e & p l a c e o f b i r t h ::
Riga, Latvia; 2013

a p p e a r a n c e ::
Dr. Kalniņš is a fairly typical man for his age and background, if not a bit on the leaner side. At 5'11 and 158 pounds, his movements carry a combined quickness and subdued athleticism, betraying the ever-present conflict between tranquility and neuroticism in his mind. The suits do some good to cover this, of course; Andrejs is hardly ever seen sporting anything less than a full suit, tailored to a slim fit and decorated—sometimes modestly, though more often not—with a complimenting tie, pocket square, and lapel flower. Bolstering and bolstered by the confidence exuded by his suits is Andrejs' face, a bit aged by a decade of taxing work both physically and psychologically, but nonetheless adorned with a sharp gaze held in brown eyes and muted half-grin, hanging on frequently-chapped lips.

Andrejs' manual cybernetics are nearly unnoticeable to the undiscerning eye, notable only by a thin black line wrapping around each wrist, and several hair-thin separations in the flesh trailing up to and along his fingers. His skin subtly reflects a pale blue sheen in hexagonal patterns under intense light.

g e n d e r ::

Male

o c c u p a t i o n ::
Security Engineer

s k i l l s ::
Systems Engineering: Software - Andrejs has an extensive knowledge of systems engineering, specialising in security and antivirus programming.

Systems Engineering: Hardware - Andrejs is also quite adept with physical tools and, having a near-encyclopedic knowledge of security systems, is rather skilled both in anticipating security systems' construction and in their assembly, disassembly, circumvention, and manipulation.

Wit - Between a native quickness, inscrutable pokerface, and cerebral efficiency enhancements, Andrejs possesses a razor wit, as useful for quick deception as it is for telling off coworkers.

c y b e r n e t i c s ::

Myrmidon A5.113V5 Neuralware Processor — As a combined aspect of the company health insurance policy and their Employee Integration Program, all employees are "gifted" with a free Neuralware Processor, directly connected to Myrmidon company servers until severance. While not the most impressive hardware on the market by any stretch of the imagination, it is equipped with several ports for modular additions, which Andrejs has fully outfitted with various connection and cerebral efficiency boosters, allowing him to execute precision work with his other cybernetics and slightly boosting his cognitive speed.

IBM E.Derm.3b — Marketed towards company engineers, IBM's E.Derm.3b is a slightly updated version of the E.Derm.3a: a graft of insulating fibers into and over the flesh of the recipient. As such, it renders the engineer in question resistant to medium levels of electrical and thermal conduction, allowing them to handle potentially dangerous components and environments without bulky equipment.

IBM E.Dex.2f — Another tool for engineers, the E.Dex.2 series replaces the hands with externally identical machines, which in addition to having marginally greater grip strength and dexterity, can shed their plating to reveal dozens of concealed precision tools. From variable-bit screwdrivers, to a soldering iron, to a low-intensity CO2 laser, the hands are designed to be the engineer's best friend, replacing a tool box with one's own hands.

h i s t o r y ::
Cold, was its first experience. The welcome was not friendly. It was not joyful. Love was nowhere to be found in this place; in its stead, only screams of pain from the woman and lamentation from the man. Its parents didn't want it; they couldn't have it. Living only in a small village outside the capital of Latvia, they were left behind during the rapid technological growth of the 21st century's increasingly globalised, corporate, digital world. The child's birth was an unwanted, yet unavoidable consequence of incaution, with its parents being deeply religious and fearing divine retribution if they'd attempted to terminate the pregnancy. So, the child was born into cold. Yes, the wind outside raged and yes, icicles hung like teeth from the hospital window, but the room itself was well heated; outside was a fleeting cold, a cold that does not scar. This child was born into a different type of cold.

In order to feed this unwanted mouth, the family's patriarch ventured into the modern business world and found occupation with ExxonMobil, rising through corporate management positions as his son learned to walk and speak. Eventually, in order to continue his career's progression in an increasingly competitive world, the father had to make a difficult decision; he took his family to the United States.

Here, the family continued rising in prosperity, reveling in the new and novel world of corporate America and its curious emerging markets. Still, though, they held on to their cultural heritage, oft recalling their fond days in the cooler, quieter villages of Latvia. All of them, save one.

The boy, now accustomed to the warmth of a southeastern American city grew a disdain for the cold, and rejected it. Despite having little interest in its spiritual implications, he began to go by his more Anglican middle name. He hardly spoke to his family. Thus, a terrible irony struck as the unwanted child, only now beginning to be loved by his family turned his affections instead to his studies. He came to love the numbers. As the boy learned, numbers were not "cold," as so many described them. They weren't anything. Numbers didn't care. They didn't feel. They weren't warm, but they certainly weren't cold. No, the boy knew the cold well—better than these egocentric, Romantic Americans, at least—and there was no cold here: only a tranquil nothing.

Accepted to a university of little prestige or renown, the boy—now a young man—was nonetheless ecstatic to accept his emancipated status and begin autonomous living as a productive member of the corporate engine. When he said his final goodbyes, his father wept. The young man paused. For a moment, he was blank. His mouth opened to speak, but instead hung agape for a few seconds before curling into a nervous smile, bouncing in a single, uncertain chuckle, and disappearing from view as he turned and left.

Exceptional academic performance earned the young man transference to Carnegie-Mellon University, where he concluded his undergraduate studies in systems engineering and programming. Feeling liberated from that freezing gale that he had caught and unwittingly clutched throughout his early childhood, the young man's expression exploded, he believed. Bright colours began cropping up on his breast and collarbone in the form of pocket squares and flowers, adorning immaculate suits, the fit of which could only be attained through the combined efforts of excellent tailors and a suitably obsessive client. Seeing his personal tastes flourish, the young man felt emotionally liberated; he was finally able to emote, express, and be. Classmates and professors, of course, saw him for what he was: a frigid mirror of his earliest memories, which regardless of all the bright colours and polish remained just as wintry.

Years later, the man concluded his graduate studies in system engineering, dabbling in psychology and military studies in preparation for a career offer as a security engineer at a young arms company. Following several years of service, he rose in position, until eventually, a superior made an odd request.

"I need you to go with one of our data recovery teams and aid them in bypassing certain security systems."
"What? Data recovery—you mean corporate espionage?"
"There is certain information that a rival company possesses that would be incredibly valuable to us. Call it what you like, however regardless of what name you assign the task, it remains the same, as do the consequences for refusal to perform your obligations as my employee."
"Consequences?"
"Failure to accept this task will make you a company liability. Your employment will immediately be terminated and all references will be denied. The higher-ups will make some phone calls, and all tax history pertaining to us will be deleted. You will have never worked for us, and I suspect you'd find some difficulty finding employment elsewhere at your age and with zero confirmable work experience."

Left with little choice, the man complied. Assigned the mocking callsign of Kakapo 1 by the professional operatives, he served as an on-site expert in security engineering, trailing behind the men with guns only to open a door here or deactivate a motion detector there. Unfortunately for the man, the mission went off without a hitch. His new position was set. Every five months, perhaps, the same conversation would ensue, and he go somewhere dangerous, do something illegal, and cash an exorbitant bonus check the following weekend.

"I have another assignment for you," started the last conversation.
"Actually, I have some news. I don't think I'll be going on this assignment."
The Chief Security Officer signed and rubbed his eyes. "Just because you've proven yourself competent doesn't mean that you've gained some sort of leverage. You may be good, but you're replaceable."
The man chuckled, and for a rare moment, his eyes flashed humour. "Then replace me. I have a new job offer. Maybe they won't have me doing this stupid, crazy shit."

With that, Andrejs left, clutching in his heart a warm glint of optimism that this new Biotechnica job would be wonderful and insipid.

---

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BIOTECHNICA S.A. REGISTRANT PERSONALITY QUIZ

This quiz is a way for your employer to better understand who YOU are! Your candor is important and required, as lying on this document can warrant you a $5,000 fine and 2 to 24 months in prison!

Favorite food: Rabbit Agnolotti

Least favorite food: Grilled Pork Chops

Use three words to describe yourself: Done with this nonsense

Likes: Quiet, men's fashion, chess

Dislikes: The incessantly, incorrigibly outgoing; inefficiency; tomfoolery

Values: Industry, precision, candor

Strengths: I would consider my greatest asset to be, naturally, my intellect. I am, of course an engineer. However, my skills extend beyond the traditional engineering intelligence; I am adaptable, intuitive, and retain my cognitive abilities under extreme duress.

Flaws: I don't exactly, oh how best to put this... I don't play well with others. I can do it, and I can muster a smile that'll keep HR happy, but I won't have a very good time.

Anything else: N/A

n e w - a g e - 2 0 5 0 :: a cyberpunk dystopia

Hey, @Lemons? Bud?