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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 ::


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.