For a Decker, Traction is really low-profile with devices. When you picture a Decker you think of some vatjob so chipped up they have wires spilling from their slot, but she doesn't tote around a Deck or much of anything else aside from her SMGs and ammo. She has this impressive parlor trick where she walks into a room, does a sweeping gesture with one arm and just shuts off everybody's AR (tells everyone it's to avoid 'distractions'). At first I thought she might been one of those wizard hackers, but it turns out she just has low-profile invasive cyberware.

Ingram Smartguns: Carries two of these little beauties on both hips just under her coat. She isn't shy about slinging full-auto lead at any pawn or star that janders too close, and she carries lots of backup mags. She has her own ocular smartlink on top of what the guns have and I've seen her being chummy with the Rigger and their smartlinked minidrones, so I doubt she ever misses on account of her meat.

Knowsofts (Various): Carries around a couple dozen little datasticks. One time we ran with a file filled with drek in some language from wherever. She slotted one of the sticks and started reading it all back like she was fluent, no hemming or hawing or whatnot.

Yegor: He has a modest rap sheet of sundry crimes, mostly in the form of public disturbances and assault. Has more weapons in his stash than most would even be able to use unless they happened to have a mouth as big as his. Speaking as a person who lived in a Humanis bunkhouse for the better part of nine years, I have never heard anybody use as many slurs as frequently or casually as he does. Liable to get us all in trouble someday, and he has no heavy weapons or explosives apart from a grenades, which is infuriating. It's just as well that he has a cybereye. Easier to babysit him that way. I suppose if nothing else he makes a decent bullet catcher.

*Traction thinks of Yegor as a burden rather than an asset due to his temperament and relative lack of utility compared to the other members of the team.

Caewil McNamara: Little to no presence in the Matrix. Seems reserved, looks like she knows what she's doing and why she's here. Shaman magic is helpful and the absence of any major psychosis or baggage means she's probably going to have more longevity than the others. Good to know there's at least one other professional on the team. Those airs she puts on get tiring real quick though, and she smells funny.

*Caewil appears to have impressed Traction despite the pheromones being filtered out by Traction's augs.

Damien: This is somebody I should be taking notes from. Not too much of a presence in the Matrix, just glimpses here and there where he's had work done and in some corp reports. Just enough evidence to show he's been running and gunning for decades now. He may be a little long in the tooth, but obviously he's doing something right. Working with the sensor suites in those Lockheeds is a pure treat, and that rotor-drone is going to come in all sorts of handy.

*Traction looks up to Damien due to his combat experience and his utility as a Rigger.

Recluse: Worthless for anything other than stakeouts and, once in a blue moon, blowing things up. The best I can say about him is that at least he's quiet and doesn't get in the way. Annoying whenever we have to schedule around his sleep cycle. I've taken Long Haul a few times way back, and I cannot imagine being strung out on it all the time.

*Traction has little patience for Recluse's limited utility beyond being able to shoot straight and blow things up, and is especially irritated that his addiction directly interferes with run planning.

Kali: No information in the Matrix, no augs. Addicted to Kamikazi. Has four arms and fights like a grounded Gunship. Useful but problematic. Small miracle that she's also addicted to snuffchips, should help prevent her from creating tension with the rest of the team if their auto-delete features can be bypassed.

*Traction is extremely wary of Kali's unstable temperament.

Kyuzo at one point was a very capable, practicing wolf shaman. Because of his past however, he has renounced all things magic, forced his totem away, and refuses to even hint at it. If your character is especially attuned magically, they may sense something about him. Maybe feel his pull towards the wolf. Shit, they may be contacted BY his wolf spirit, as they bond for life and do not give up on their loved ones.

This is also a huge reason he is so hesitant to form any intimate bond with people. Those of the wolf spirit are not carte blanche, general protectors. They are fiercely loyal and protective of those they consider part of their "pack." He has severe mental issues and PTSD from past events resulting in those of his pack being harmed, especially due to his own actions, or in cases where he was unable to protect them.

In cases where he forcibly parts way with someone close, there are periods of anxiety and sometimes depression, except if there is a valid reason for the decision--such as, oh you just tried to kill me, or you sold out our team.

Suffice it to say, he often avoids forming any real bond with anyone and has developed a method of keeping business relationships separate from personal relationships.

Other runners.

“No’me” is a term Kyuzo uses that can be substituted with “I don’t,” “I won’t,” “I wouldn’t,” and so on. Essentially it’s saying “Kyuzo doesn’t…”

There is also a VEEEERY slight Russian accent under his ork speech.

Traction – “First, Yegor not trust humans. A breeders is always out for self. Humans feel weak ‘n plain ‘n whatever. An’ humans like Traction, always inside the machines ‘n matrix, too sneaky. Easy to hide things in matrix. She hide something. Yegor not see what she doing, who she talking to. Yegor not so much like Traction. She think Yegor stupid. No’me trust, not at all.”

Kyuzo doesn’t like Traction. She’s too distant, she’s shady, and something about her screams that she has no sense of being part of a pack. There’s an air of coolness about her, but it seems more like complete detachment and while not everyone in a group of runners has to get matching BFF tattoos, you have to know that someone is more willing to have your back than to turn their own. She hasn’t shown anything portraying that and Kyuzo doesn’t think it’s there.

...but Kyuzo also thinks she’s fucking hot...

Caewil – “Yegor not racist, but Yegor not really trust elfs. They live long, think they smart, always <<takes a moment to look up some words on his internal thesaurus>> conduhscendin’. Now some elfs, they ok after a while. Cath though, too feline. Cats’re like women. Not loyal. Induhpendent. Shifty. Yegor never seent a cat with one cat, and same cat next time. Give dog food, it wag tail. Give cat food, it go away. Anyway, elf bones break in fights. Who wants that? Not Yegor. So Cath, smooth talker. Can convince troll he’s half elf, you know? Better at talkin’ than fightin’ Yegor think. Cath don't think Yegor smart. Cath ok, but no’me trust her. Pretty lil’ elf though.”

Sometimes, Kyuzo looks at Caewil and see’s what could have been with him and it leaves him somewhat bitter and self loathing. However, he finds her smart and capable, albeit somewhat high-and-mighty and thinking too highly of herself. So long as it doesn’t interfere with runs though, it’s a moot point. He thinks her capable at her job, which is the most important thing.

....Kyuzo also finds her attractive...

Damien. – “No’me trust ones from Cal’forna. That place, dreg of world. And breeders from there, Yegor know humans, have breeder friends. But breeders from there, no’me like, no’me trust. Nomad though, Yegor think he from some’ere else. He quiet, n’ old, n’ have guns prolly older than Yegor, but he good enough man. He seem to Yegor, somewhat like, a knight. Or somethin’. Sometime though, Yegor think old man think Yegor too stupid.

Anyway, Yegor tell him, ‘old man, you get cyberwares! They make old, brittle human bones strong! Old eyes good. You get wares’ you be strong and tough like Yegor! Become strong like tank!’

Yegor not really trust Nomad. Too old, and from over there. Nothing good come from Cal’forna.”

Kyuzo finds Damien to be his favorite member of the group. “Favorite” used lightly. He’s solid and dependable, time tested, and he is a team player. He thinks that even if Damien doesn’t know it, there’s some wolf spirit in him. He is the member of the group that Kyuzo is most curious about because he’s aged so much and been through, presumably, a lot. Kyuzo is only 17 years old and really, only 5 or 6 of those years have been outside of his formative years. Aged wisdom and experience is something hard to come by these days, and Kyuzo respects that, although his façade doesn’t allow him to express that.

…he also does NOT find Damien attractive….

Garett – “Yegor not racist against no one, but no’me trust humans much. Recluse though, that breeder, he odd mix. He all drug this, sleep that, always on some weird astra trip. Yegor think he need to keep head in the dirt, feet on the ground ya know? No'me think Recluse thinks Yegor is stupid. Yegor like that. But, Yegor think breeder boy jus' too high to care.

Recluse not bad though. Good shot, don’t miss. Well, sometime, boollet come so close, Yegor feel it, you know? Maybe Recluse DOES miss, but tryin’a shoot Yegor, no? <<throaty laugh>>

But. No’me trust this man. Any person in drugs and playing in astra things, they hiding from something. Not sure what, but he hiding. Yegor not trust people hiding from things.”

Yegor trusts Garett but his only fear is that at some point, some run, his battle with his addictions will be something that affects the team. He can’t quite put a finger on it, but Garett seems to be out to prove something. Be it to himself, someone else, or something else, he isn’t sure.

He fully expects that one day, they’ll find Garett’s corpse after a drug binge. He doesn’t trust him because of his addiction.

Kanchana – “Ha. Yegor and Kali go back. Yegor know her well. No’me trust her. Human. Female. Four arms. That like… <<he accesses his computer for several long moments after searching formulae and seeking online help>> That like two times more hands to backstab you with.

<<he wrinkles a brow, seeming confused>> That not seem like a lot... Four arms, but only two times?

<<shrug>> Kali need some zen or hobby or something. Kali all shoot up, shoot shit, break shit aaaahhh <<makes many exaggerated hand gestures and a mocking voice>> One time. Yegor tell her, "Kali. Stop. Look. You shoot, shoot. Four guns. Bullets bullets. Kali, that man behind steel wall. Go around and shoot him!" This is called to flank.

Yegor tell Kali. “Kali, you suck at running. All shoot shoot. Not thinking. Kali have four arms. Make helluva joygirl! Make four men happy at once. Ha! That may been first time Kali shoot Yegor...

No one really like Kali. No’me think Kali even like Kali. Kali, she not smart. Come on. Lot’sa runners pay many nuyen for four arms. Yegor give right arm for four arms! Ha! Yegor make joke! Four arms mean 4 cyber arms. Kali drownin’ in so many drugs and BTLs, she doesn’t even see. Yegor see Kali fraggin’ run, Traction buzzin’ out before she know what happened. Nomad break hip and need help, Cath try to talk way past bullets, and Recluse, ha. He cold slab in meat rack.

And Yegor. Ha. Then, fun begin for Yegor. Yegor. Kill. Everything.

....Old man not cybered. Kali four-arms not cybered. Breeder buried in matrix. Cat woman all talk, no fight. Other human, so high, as well be cosmo--whatever. Be in big dark. What the frag. This why so badass to be ork, yeah?

Real Name:Caewil McNamara
Alias: Cath
Age: 60
Gender: Female
Metatype: Elf
Specialization: Shaman/Face
Totem: Cat
Appearance:

Caewil is fairly tall at 200cm with a lithe and slim body. She moves with a distinct elegance and stealthy gait, often without making much noise at all. It comes almost naturally to her, just like her ability to blend in with most social groups. Her augmented yellow cat eyes are the one feature that messes some with people’s first impressions of her, but then she has her second augmentation in tailored pheromones that usually helps smooth things over. She looks considerably younger than she is, even if a few wrinkles have appeared on her face.

Her clothing consists of older fashion garments that have been torn and tattered over the years, but that is mainly when she can pick her clothes without having to fit in. She has a number of different styles that she can dress herself in depending on the situation. Caewil’s body is covered in a number of shamanistic tattoos in places where they are easy enough to cover up.

Personality: She has a great respect for the ancient spirits, nature and is particularly fond of felines. Her cat eyes is a feature that most would likely remember, but nevertheless she doesn’t regret having them installed as she claims to sense a greater respect towards her from the cat spirits. Sometimes it appears as if she's talking to herself when she's talking with her mentor spirit.

Caewil is confident to the point of arrogance, even if she knows how to tone down some aspects of her personality and show others more prominently depending on the requirements of the situation. She can be secretive and keep information to herself unless she deems it necessary for others to know it. Sly and deceptive, but above all she can be quite cruel when it comes down to it. Both Caewil and her mentor spirit enjoys playing with their enemies. She may go out of her way to harm someone before incapacitating them.

Bio: Caewil was supposedly born to human parents in Dublin, year 2015. Whether her parents feared their own daughter or the opinions of others more remains unknown to her to this day, but they did not keep her for long either way. The divine joke that was an UGE baby was too much for them to bear. She believes that she was abandoned or handed over to an orphanage at the age of three at the latest. Her early life was never easy, and she has tried to repress most of the memories of her childhood. She picked her first name herself. It wasn’t until she was in her early teens that life took an unexpected turn for the better. Her search for purpose began to manifest itself in a black cat. The young girl didn’t understand what it truly was at first, believing she had somehow gained a cute stalker with fur. Despite everything that was going on in the world, and that she was an oddity herself, she was genuinenly shocked when the cat communicated with her. However, she grew used to it the more it happened. In a way, it was a comfort for her to have its support and friendship.

With the help of her mentor spirit, Caewil did her best to survive on the streets of Dublin. She obeyed the cat, eventually nicknamed Mirage, to the best of her abilities once she realized that it was able to affect her by giving her magic powers or taking them away when she did something it disapproved of. Caewil gave the cat the nickname Mirage after an incident that made her realize that not only could seemingly no one else hear it, but they couldn’t see it either. At the age of 17, she disappears off the grid without much trace. When she does reappear 2032 in Paris, France, the miserable elven girl that was once there is long gone. Instead, there is a noticeably competent shaman that moves in circles that she should not have been able to get invited too. There is speculation that she spent the ten years training under her mentor spirit, whom likely showed her how to cover her tracks better too.

Caewil grows more and more skilled in the magic school of conjuring under her mentor. She hones her skills as a Face during the years she spends in France too, assuming different identities in different circles until she is confident in most of them. After she begins to use her skills to con the rich in 2045, it’s a matter of time before she is forced to leave the country. She made mistakes that would teach her valuable lessons, but it was difficult for her to appreciate them back then because there were more than a few individuals that wanted her head on a plate and some of them got very close at times too. Thanks to some of her elven contacts, she is able to return home to Dublin in 2049, which has by then become Tir Na Nog.

She spends the following twenty years in Tir Na Nog, finding more luck in the politics and social life there than she had in France. It probably helped that she didn't attempt to con anyone too powerful or vindictive. It happens that she, from time to time, assists her people on the streets with her shaman skills. Her aid grows more and more rare as she gets a foot in with one of the Danaan families. Against her better judgement, she begins an affair with the wife of the head of a Danaan family. It does take a couple of years before her spouse finds out, but by then Caewil thinks she's found actual love. It makes her reluctant to leave the country as she knows would be best, but Mirage convinces her to do so just in time to avoid an early meeting with death.

Caewil isn't left with a lot of options regarding what country to travel too, and while she dislikes the idea of living in UCAS she is grateful she has any contacts left that will get her to another country. It's bad for business to mess with the Danaan. Once in the UCAS she lays low for a few years, and eventually becomes a shadowrunner.


Cyberware/Bioware:
Cat’s Eyes. Natural lowlight vision, glow in the dark.

Tailored pheromones. Cath’s body is altered to
release specially designed pheromones to subtly influence
others.
Loadout: Several sets of different clothing, wooden quarterstaff, some reagents, Ares Vibroknife, Colt Asp, fake SINs.

Real Name: Damien Strand
Alias: Nomad, Wendigo, or just Cowboy
Age: 54
Gender: Male
Metatype: Human
Specialization: Vehicle Rigger



Appearance: Damien tends to stand out in UCAS territory due to his style of dress, always in his leather coat and usually wearing the his vest beneath it. Never having tried to blend in with the locals. He moves with a sense of determination, though he's got a limp that clearly favors his right leg. Despite his active life and exercise it's his age that's starting to show the most. His face is weathered and worn from long hours on the open road. His hair and beard both graying and the former receding, and if cyber eyes were able to convey emotion Damien's would show a man who's given up on believing in things.

He's a man used to being on the move, even if he's not open carrying his rifle he's still got it nearby along with most of his worldly possessions. In fact to see him removed from either of his vehicles for any length is something of an oddity to the point that his hands might start to twitch as if he were reaching for the handlebars of his Growler.

Personality: "What's the saying? Don't fuck with an old man in a young man's game. Yeah something like that." As a long standing member of the California Rangers Damien is, by all accounts, a cowboy. Individualistic by nature, he had to survive when backup was usually far out and never timely. Always having to make due, to squeeze every ounce of life from his rides, his drones, and his guns. He's a practical person, never paying much mind to complex ideals or philosophies. Instead he judges everything and everyone by the merit of their work. Which has lead him to have a generally unwelcoming look about him. Though in reality he can be quite welcoming if others can stand his gallows sense of humor. Even though he left the Rangers he's no deserter, as far as he's concerned Cal Free gave up on him, and so long as someone's got his back he's got theirs.

To him Running is just coming out retirement, the pay is still low and the work is still dangerous. He knows he's been out of the game for a while but he still believes he's got a responsibility to pass on his hard won wisdom. Like generally trying to use non-lethal weaponry when it comes to security and civilians, though he doesn't shy away from brutal efficiency in regards to gangers (especially Yakuza) and other dregs. Dregs, of course, being anyone without his sense of discipline. Over the years he's become far more careful in his actions, well aware that he's grown physically slower, so if there's going to be violence he'd rather be seeing it through the eyes of a drone or the scope of his rifle. Though he still hopes for the Johnson that asks him to assassinate a bottle of whiskey, that'll be the first job he ever considers doing for free.

Bio: The California Free State, one colossal fuck up after another. It's like something in the soul of California requires chaos, either in culture, government or in geology. So what does that say about the men who fight for her. The Cal Guard, The Desert Rats, the Rangers, the Vistas if you wanna count a bunch of Elf hatin' loons, and about a half dozen other rag tag militias. Hell if it wasn't for Hestaby we would have the lost the Northern Crescent years ago. It's like they say "Welcome to California. Now go home."

I ran in those shadows for four years, not much other work for a kid like me at the time. Oh sure I did some odd jobs at the Oil fields, maintaining equipment, trucks, the odd drone, but the only thing worse than being poor in Cal Free is being Meta. So I did whatever it took, mostly running guns or illegal tech. Occasionally we did some Humanitarian work and helped move the Meta's out of the State. It wasn't easy, we lost a lot people between Apache raiders, Local Go-Gangs, competing warlords, and of course Corp Security. So I went to the only place that actually seemed to be holding together, I went to China Lake and joined the Rangers it wasn't any safer but at least it seemed...Stable.

Like I said though California needs chaos and stability never lasts long.

When the Ring of Fire hit Japan we all thought the Japs would fall back to their own country, give us a chance to start putting the pieces back together. No one could have expected Saito, the Cal Guard was gunned down in LA and I was still under the knife, getting a Control rig installed, when the japs headed inland. By the time we'd lost the capital the Rangers had already taken horrendous losses and we turned to hit and run, out goal turned from beating the Japs back to just stopping their advance. Still I felt like I had something to be proud of for once, we fought the Japs on both fronts, while holding back the Tir, Aztlan and the Pueblo Corporate council. California was fractured as bedrock. But She endured.

She endured for 10 years, with the Japs halted at the Central Valley.

And once again California turned mad.

With the destruction of the Monticello Dam in 2072 we earned our first victory over the Japs, it only cost 100,000 lives, trillions of dollars in damage, and thousands of acres of farmland. All the while the one's responsible, so called California loyalists, were more than willing to lynch meta's and...anyone really. It was a hard thing to admit that the Cal Free was doomed and eventually I realized that we didn't have any 'good guys' left fighting, we only had bad and worse guys. The Golden State was dead, we'd been fighting for the State of Confusion.

I'd spent most of my life in the Rangers, I was poorer then when I'd signed on, worn down, looking through a shiny new pair of cybereyes, and even less sure what was going to happen tomorrow. So I decided I'd had enough fighting for the Cal Free, I still had contacts taking the smuggling run through the UTE and Sioux nations, I could get to UCAS maybe find some work, maybe find something stable. So here's to the Cal Free may the San Andrea's crack open and swallow her whole.

Cyberware: Cybereyes (Left eye is a retinal drone, and the right is equipped with vision magnification), Vehicle Control rig
Loadout:
Weapons: Cavalier Arms Crockett EBR Sniper Rifle(with detachable imaging scope, Shock pad, and Bi-pod),
Colt American 2066 heavy pistol, and a survival Knife.
Armor: Armor Vest, Thermal resistant and Non-conductive.
Vehicles: Yamaha Growler with Rigger interface and Toyota Gopher with Rigger interface and Heavy weapon
mount (Currently empty), basic auto mechanic tool kit
Drones: 2 Lockheed Optic-X's with Sensor Suite's. 1 MCT-Nissan Roto-Drone equipped with 2 AK-97's
Bio: 4 Trauma patch's, and 3 long Haul slap patches, Medkit
Misc: Climbing gear and Survival Kit

Traction: I'll admit didn't think much of the gal when we first met. Didn't look like much of a decker to me and I'd heard some rumors that made me weary. Then again the word Yakuza makes my skin crawl. But I ain't so proud I can't admit when I'm wrong. She knows her business, hell she knows the wireless world better then I ever will. Then again, back in my day we didn't have internal decks. Anyways, between all our guns and magic it'll be nice to have someone to watch my back in the Matrix. And who knows, a couple years, some training, a few trips outside, and she could easily be the only one to retire. Not to mention she's got to be smart enough to not get back into the life.

As far as Damien can tell Traction is the one closest to being a sort of prodigy, someone he can pass on his knowledge to. He hopes to show her a few tricks outside the matrix and inside a drone. At least then if she does betray him, he'll at least have the last laugh when his lesson saves her life.

Yegor: I know the look he's throwing me, seen it plenty back in Cal Free. He's heard what California is like for Meta's and I ain't gonna pretend some of the stories ain't true, he would have been condemned to Orktown back home. It's a damned shame too, boy would have made one hell of a Jackboot in the Rangers. He's got the skill to be sure, especially considering the lack of actual training. He's got the drive, could have let the world drown him but instead...well in his case he properly just told the world to fuck off. The only thing he's missing is some discipline to keep his mouth shut and maybe teach him to pack a little lighter. Well he might not trust me, not sure he ever will, but he'll learn that even a Cal breeder can have his back. Who knows with someone watching his back kid just might make a name for himself.

Damien generally returns Yegor's outward coldness, not talking to the Ork unless he feels the need, usually to offer a point of advice or crude joke. It seems like the simplest expression of respect. Not quite sure of the Orks receptiveness to his experience. Damien intends to make damn sure the Ork lives long enough to prove he's worth betting on.

Cath: I'll be honest, I've never trusted a clever tongue, rather take an insult than a flowery compliment, and the magic? Well, out in Cal Free it's the shamans everyone trusts, the one's listening to spirits and conjurin', well not me. I've been through the Mojave, and the shit I saw there... well, lets just say I'd rather have a ball of flame to my face than having a spirit creepin' around. Still It's nice to talk to someone who remembers a...different time, was going to say simpler but that'd be a load a' shit. She thinks she better then me I'm sure, after all an Elf at my age is still in her prime, while I'm grey and senile. So long as she tries to act pleasant in conversation we get along, after all we're the only one's here that really understand how to age a good bottle of liquor.

Damien is torn when it comes to the Elf, he respects someone aged like himself but at the same time can't really judge her work. After all she doesn't really work, not that he'll say that to her face. He knows the value of diplomacy in the shadows, but considering the long standing kill-on-site order that the Japanese have on Rangers he's just not used to it being effective. The magic however just makes him uncomfortable and he regularly tries to steer clear of the topic in conversation.

Recluse: Did I ever mention I don't trust magic, I did? Well good, sure they ain't bad, plenty of 'em do good work, there's just something about it that makes my skin crawl. This kid's got some talent behind that rifle to be certain, to heavy a caliber for me, hard to stay on the move, but it's nice to know anyone creeping up on me has a cross-hair creeping up on them. Could do with some time in the desert, that'd kick his stims or get him killed, try rolling over and hope the problem will go away with Apache's around and you're gonna end up a bloody smear behind trailing behind their bikes. I've used Longhaul plenty, huntin' raiders or pulling a long stretch under the hood, but overuse is risky business, and the Deepweed that'll ruin him.

To Damien Recluse looks like the Rangers, damn good at what he does but just worth the investment of his own time. He respects the skill but simply can't get behind the shortcomings. Maybe if he could leave the stims and take some initiative he could make a name for himself in the shadows. As it stands it looks like once the team moves on Recluse will simply fall through the cracks.

Kali: What in the ever lovin' hell? I seen ten shades of crazy back home, but never thought to imagine this. And we fought a Jap Divison that called themselves 'the flesh eating mask', I ain't makin' that up. This though, gal should be twenty years dead with the way she goes off. See, this is why I don't trust magic, none of it, dries up sense like the fucking Mojave of sanity. There's no advice to give her, no helping, no standing within a ten foot radius as far as I'm concerned. Frankly I think I actually prefer her brain-dead on a BTL at least then I can get work done in peace. I mean come on, she rides a damn Suzuki, a fucking Jap bike!

If Recluse is like looking at the Rangers, Kali is the fucking Cal Free personified. Mad, fractured, and bound to get people killed. Yet somehow, and despite numerous bets otherwise, she's still alive and still a thorn in Damien's side. As long as she keep to the BTL's and far away from Damien the two can at least suffer the others existence. The minute she tries arguing that Suzuki is a better bike than...well, anything but a scooter really, is the day he startes looking for a BTL that'll instill permanent brain damage.

Real Name: Garett Brown
Alias: Recluse
Age: 25
Gender: Male
Metatype: Human
Specialization: Sniper, Demolitions, Awakened Chaos Mage (Spider Totem)

Appearance: Lanky and goofy-looking, like a teenager that never grew into his frame, Recluse is the sort of person you'd never see winning a foot race. He's the kid that needs to wear armor two sizes bigger than him just to appear well-proportioned. Like somebody wrapped a skeleton in ham and left it out in the sun for a few days... get me yet? He'd probably be a pasty white if you could ever see his skin, but it seems like he's always totally covered up one way or another. His usual attire is a rough-knit nylon-and-burlap affair, like somebody tossed a bunch of army uniforms into a bag. His head is hooded whenever he goes outside, and he's always wearing dark goggles to hide his eyes. He looks like he belongs in the middle of the desert, foraging scorpions for their meat, and he's consistently out of place in the sprawl. But because of his dark, messy appearance, he can hide in the shadows like nobody else. Even if you were to pass right by him and look at him, he'd just look like a couple of half-empty potato sacks somebody left behind.

Personality: As quiet, lazy, and immovable as a rock. Recluse will go to great lengths if it means having to avoid just a bit of work. The type that refuses to recognize when his workarounds actually resulted in more effort. Still, he recognizes his need to eat, so he knows that in a pinch, he has to work. Aside from being sleepy, stubborn, and frustrating, he is actually quite easy to get along with, especially for the type of people that always like to have things their way. Recluse is more than happy to indulge whoever, as long as it doesn't involve having to put forth much effort. He'll sit and listen to you ramble for hours on end, let you beat him over and over in Simsense games, attend your startup Post-Orksploitation Neo-Grunge concert with your three other fans, and just overall be a cool guy to hang around. Unless you wanted to rely on him, which would be a huge mistake. He's extremely trustworthy with secrets, but not with favours. Worse yet, he doesn't seem to particularly care one way or another if he breaks a promise. If it serves him in the moment to do it, he won't think twice.

Addicted to both Deepweed and Long Haul, it's no wonder Recluse seems lethargic, uncaring, and borderline narcoleptic. It seems almost like he's a dangerous chemical time bomb, ready to explode if he slips even once. But possibly his most beneficial trait is just that - He never slips. He has the steadiest hand you could ask for, and you wouldn't want anybody else handling your drugs or your bombs, nor would you want anybody else with their finger on the hair-trigger of one of the civilized world's strongest rifles in a delicate situation. If he were any kind of high-strung, he'd be a dangerous hot mess that nobody would want on their team. But instead he somehow manages to pull off the loveable dope in every situation.

Bio: Born awakened to awakened parents, it was fully expected from his birth that Garett would grow up to follow his parents' hermetic traditions. They trained him in the importance of careful rituals, proper planning, and even battle strategy from a young age. And while he was able to follow their instructions to the letter, displaying the patience and willpower needed for successful magic, it seemed like he never had any particular talent for the stuff. As though he was simply lacking in mana, or focus, or something. Nobody seemed to know what his problem was, but eventually, his parents gave up trying to lead him down their path, suddenly insisting that if he wants to, he must follow his own path, and in doing so he would find enlightenment.

As soon as he came of age, he struck out on his own. For a while, he signed up with the UCAS Navy, studying military tactics on the fast-track to become an officer, but eventually they got fed up with his attitude and shoved him onto the streets. After that, he rolled with a street gang, serving as their reluctant butt monkey for a few years. He became well-regarded as a talented shooter, but his military experience meant that when the old gang got saddled with a crate full of bombs and no expertise, it was Recluse that was put in charge. In response to this newfound responsibility, he grabbed as many explosives as he could carry and set off on his own. Finally on his own after years of following what other people wanted, he used his newfound freedom to occupy an abandoned warehouse and start tinkering with the bombs he had so recently stolen. If he could get a handle on these, he could actually be useful for something, in a way that nobody else was. But after two months of tinkering, he wasn't any further along in his independant study.

The prolonged stress on his brain turned him on to deepweed for release. Since he was technically a mage, it meant that he went astral whether he liked it or not, but it calmed his nerves (fried them, some might argue.) But it was thanks to that that he finally found his mentor spirit: the Spider. Spider taught him the value of patience, told him that his independance had more value than he realized, and that he had a hidden talent that was yet to be unlocked. She began to show him that magic was not so limited as his parents had taught him. It was so like humans to want immediate gratification for their actions. But sometimes life didn't work that way. Sometimes you had to wait for the grand payoff. And sometimes, the procedure itself was art, not the result.

From that moment, everything finally clicked. There was no reason he couldn't be his own brand of mage. His rifle was his fetish. The plastic explosives were his reagents, and he was the catalyst, drawing symbols on the ground, chanting words, and pulling the trigger. With his new philosophy, he dove headfirst into the world of Shadowrunning. He is currently notorious for his skill with demolitions, and he is known to be able to wait in a single position for days at a time for his prey to enter his web. And once they're in, there is no escape except a bullet to the head, or a building collapsed on top of them. And everything will have gone according to his plan all along.

Cyberware/Bioware: Smartlink, and accompanying cybereye on his right side, but no other augs to speak of.

Loadout:
Barret Model 121 (Silencer/Smartgun/Bipod) - Recluse's trusty right hand. Strong enough to punch through an inch of steel, and tailored to make sure he never has to fire more than one shot at a time, armored or not. This thing will punch through solid kevlar and still leave an exit wound the size of your fist. Though illegal, he never leaves home without it (if only because he rarely leaves home in the first place.) Regularly wrapped in burlap sacks, it looks like just a long extension to his pack.

C4 - A backpack full of the stuff, complete with several electric and remote detonators and a coil of conductive fiber wire to go with it. Only dangerous if he really screws up. So far, so good.

Survival Kit, Basic - Emergency rations, bandages, rope, a survival knife, and flares. Enough to get him through a few days on his own in the middle of nowhere until he can be found.

Drug satchel - One pocket for Deepweed, one for Long Haul. Do not mix.

Opinion of teammates:

Real Name: Kanchana Bhattacharya
Alias: Kali
Age: 34
Gender: Female
Metatype: Homo Sapiens sapiens (Human)
Metavarient: Nartaki
Specialization: Physical Adept/Go-Ganger

Appearance: Five-foot 'mind your own business' of kamikaze crazed, BTL addled vulgarity; a myriad of scars and obscene body graffiti warring for dominance across her auric hide. She's a visual overdose, a sight that screams she's lived life too fast for too long--even by ganger standards. Four arms and the twenty fingers between them announce what her golden hue makes obvious, this Delhiite in exile is a genuine Nartaki, the rare (And nigh homogeneously Indian) human metavariant, though she couldn't be further from the peaceful, priestly image they've cultured as a whole.

Robust and apple figured she cuts a strong but admittedly fleshly silhouette; a large bust making due where broad shoulders and narrow hips fail her. Never would have been billboard material, strictly speaking. A loose 'ombre' styled braid sags its meager length away from the feathered gradient that eats itself away to ink and stubble (left to right) a piss-poor platinum dye job failing to hide the early grays that mingle therein. Large deep set brown eyes lay pinched between dark circles and darker eyeliner, the pupils often stretched to saucers or shrunken to hateful pin pricks. The Kangchenjunga mountain range is featured prominently across her back and her hands and feet are noticeably vascular--just ugly with strength.

Personality: Murderjunkie. Full stop. Hits runs so stimmed up on freakers she's been known to take a bullet for the jollies and spends her off time zenned out on BTLs to the point of barely registering a conversation. Between this and that are moments of dreadful lucidity, usually spent agonizing over the next fix and generally being a dyed-in-the-wool bitch. Silver lining: if you need a gun pointed elsewhere, goon turned into Chinese take-out or bizzed-to-the-gills duke behind the wheel Kali's the go to gal.

Bio: When it comes to her past Kanchana isn't so much a close book as one missing a few pages, a few too many blackouts and braindances behind her to make if fit together neatly anymore. This is how she's tell it:



The short version? Somewhere along the line she became a gun-toting, trick shooting adept specialized in a cinematic (and impractical) style of run-and-gunnery. Juiced to the point of being a 'gun-berserker' she makes use of magic-assisted parkour and mystic armor get close enough that 'broadside of the barn' style accuracy isn't an issue. Preferring to fan the hammer akimbo than peer down the sights. Go. Go. Go is her mantra, an absolute hellcat behind the wheel of her tricked out Suzuki mirage.

Cyberware/Bioware: Simsense Player

Loadout: Four cavalier deputy revolvers (Nicknamed Eenie, Meenie, Miney and Moe), A tricked out Suzuki mirage motorbike, a really rad duster

Real Name: Adrian Courte
Alias: Preferential alias is Reaper; other aliases include Aurik Aldo (used while in Berlin; tends not to use this alias where Saeder-Krupp might hear), Hood, The Red, the Dancer, and Ripper, most of these coined by his enemies.
Age: 63
Gender: Male
Metatype: Elf
Specialization: Tactical Mage/Minor Adept; Mentor spirit, Dragonslayer

Appearance: Reaper stands at about 5' 10", with a slim, wiry, compact build, reminiscent of a runner, dancer, or gymnast. Dresses casually most of the time, a simple t-shirt (or button-up or polo if he's feeling slightly fancier) and cargo pants will serve him well. Favors warm colors in his clothing, especially various shades of red. Bright green eyes and blood-red hair which he protests is 100% natural (which it is- no one believes him, though). Commonly seen wearing his custom armored coat, with the excuse of, "Safety first."

Personality: To put it in Reaper's own words:

"Folks hear 'Dragonslayer' and there's an image that always comes to their heads: some brawny meathead who probably eats the iron they pump and runs face-first into every firefight they can find, no matter the risk. Stupid, naive, trying to be like some kinda hero. And heroes don't belong in the shadows, do they?

"But look at the heroes of old- Sigurd, Siegfried, Odysseus, Theseus, St. George. They all have something in common: taking down dragons, monsters, nightmares, what have you. But what's also important to note is how they do it. They don't always charge in, sword drawn, banner flying- that would get them killed like an idiot. See, heroes, they don't win because they're the biggest or strongest or fastest- there's nothing great about that.

"Heroes win because they're the smartest."

In short, Reaper takes his following of the Dragonslayer very seriously- seriously enough that he'd like to make sure he can live to fight another day. Sure, he'll get into a tussle every now and then, sticks it to the corps any chance he gets, and he's got a bit too much of a penchant for cold drinks and warm bodies on his off days. But when it's time to go to work, the Reaper stops playing. Reaper prefers to outmaneuver, outsmart, and outplay his opponents rather than facing them head-on. Someone wants to play sniper? Polar Fog, then fireball his nest. Street sam gets too close for comfort? Amp your reflexes and slip through his fingers. Reaper is a good runner for the same reason that he idolizes the heroes of legend: he always has a plan.

Bio: So, New Orleans. Born and raised there, just eight days post-Awakening. Must have been an awful shock to my parents, having a kid with pointy ears, but they were pretty chill about it- loved me just the same as any parent should love their child. Maybe that's why I got into fights so often as a kid. Didn't understand why everyone couldn't act the way my parents did toward that whole meta-nonsense. Riled me up something fierce when someone tried to hassle me or someone else for having the wrong-shaped ears, or horns, or tusks. Gave my parents no end of grief, I'm sure, but I think sometimes I could see a little pride in my dad's eyes when I came home with another bruise for someone else's sake. Don't think he minded me fighting so much if it was for a good cause.

...Where was I? Ah, right. I Awakened when I was thirteen- shoved a kid who was trying to start something with another elf kid. Didn't even shove him that hard, though the distance he flew, you'd be mistaken for thinking otherwise. He wasn't hurt too bad, I don't think, though he never could sit quite still around me from then on. It was only a couple years after that that I met Dragonslayer. Had a thing for me fighting, being the hero and stuff like that. Gave me incentives to fight even more, to punch above my weight class, maybe even make a real difference for something or someone. What, I was gonna turn that down? Dragonslayer's like that cool uncle who shows up at family gatherings and tells ya stories about wrestling bears an' drek. You just can't say no, no matter how much of the vapors it gives Mommy and Daddy.

Had my first taste of the shadows when I got out of school- ended up working for a gang of smugglers on the docks. Turns out someone who can roll in a wall of fog or flashbang a crowd of police on a whim is in pretty high demand for people who would like very much not to be noticed. Anyway, ran with them for a couple years- got a bit of a reputation once I started getting into the "play hard" part of the Dragonslayer gig. Got into a few scrapes. Heh. But yeah, I learned what I could from those guys, made my two bits, and started traveling. Did whatever job came my way, moved to Berlin when the anarchists won, just 'cause it seemed like the better fights were there. It was a pretty sweet setup up until Lofwyr and Saeder-Krupp shut the whole damn thing down. I tried East Berlin on for a while, but it just wasn't the same, and SK was starting to breathe down my neck for some of the things I'd done there. Booked a flight back to the Americas earliest chance I got.

After that, it's kinda fuzzy- I've been just about everywhere. Seattle, Denver, Chicago, even did a few odd jobs in Tir Tairngire. Eventually, though, I guess New Orleans just wanted me back. So here I am, I guess, looking for the next Big Bad that needs my boot up their ass. Got any leads on that, by the by? That'd be shiny.

Cyberware/Bioware: None. Reaper's policy toward cyberware can be summed up in one word: Don't.

Loadout:
-Ares Predator IV (a runner's best friend)
-Secure Hooded Long Coat (dark red in color, obviously)
-Machete (for when that street sam gets a little too cozy)
-Reagents (Duh.)
-Basic survival kit (First aid, rations, etc. Be prepared.)