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[OOC] Rotten Spokes of the Unlawful Wheel Page 3
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@BingTheWing@DeadDrop, yes, giving you guys the verdicts and critiques on the 14th, so people submitting their sheets later this week get the same chance as everyone else.
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I did ^_^ The role-play sounds very cool, especially since my background is Indian. I've been lurking mostly because I don't know if I'd be able the commit. I'm thinking over it though.
I did ^_^ The role-play sounds very cool, especially since my background is Indian. I've been lurking mostly because I don't know if I'd be able the commit. I'm thinking over it though.
coGM
 5'8'' | Bahadur Farrukhsiyar Shiri Age: 37 Gender: Male Citizenship(s): Indian Date and place of birth: 28 February 2023, Ghazipur, India Official occupation: Food Delivery Driver |
|---|
Profile
Residence: Greater India Apartments, Dhaar
Affiliation: The Uzbek Mafia
Appearance: Bahadur looks like a figure out of some cyberpunk parody setting, with just how awfully contrasting his appearance is. His face, settled upon an oblong head, is gaunt and sunken, like a date left under the sun for far too long. His nose bends inwards in a curve with a protruding tip that’s canted slightly to the right; his eyes are large, intimidating and expressive, and he often uses eyeliner to further enhance them. His skin is that of a sickly olive color, and his eye color is also similarly a very dark green. His hair color is black, although parts of it have begun to lose color, sending grey streaks throughout.
Having to adhere to the common rules of the poor society, Bahadur’s hair is long (shoulder length) and completely unkempt, although this is also partially to hide the fact that he is balding heavily. He has a short, thick beard that curls inwards, yet to begin graying as heavily as his hair, and he twirls his mustaches to give himself a more intimidating look. When in ‘business’, Bahadur gathers his hair in a ponytail and tucks the ‘tail’ under the back of his jacket to keep his hair from distracting him or give any opening to would-be foes.
Despite his military service, Bahadur definitely is not a physically intimidating figure – he’s not tall, at about 5 foot 8, sickly thin and narrow shouldered. While his muscles are familiar with excruciating labor and exercise, malnourishment, bad living conditions and an overall unhealthy lifestyle have kept them from developing.
Being a criminal from the slums, Bahadur’s clothing manages to be gaudy and extravagant, yet cheap and makeshift at the same time. If he isn’t wearing baggy, loose tracksuits underneath a leather vest, you can often find him in ill-fitting, discount suits from sweatshops, whose owners are happy to let go of their almost hundred year old surplus. Zoot suits, coats, bell bottom pants, Cuban heels and disco shirts colorful enough to induce epileptic fits make up the backbone of Bahadur’s ‘fashion’.
Background: Like most people hailing from India, Bahadur was also doomed to poverty at birth. Born to parents of Pakistani descent, his father Hafez was a barber, while his mother Gulnoor worked in a textile factory. Bahadur was the second child of the family, which meant that, while he wasn’t as busy as his brother Massoud, he still had to do work to take care of his three younger siblings. Living a double life of school at day and work at night until high school (upon finishing high school he would end his education and begin working full time), Bahadur worked alongside his mother, although the factory was closed when he was 18, at which point he found work as a street food vendor, selling samosas and biryani prepared by her mother.
After the youngest child of the family died of dysentery, Bahadur’s mother Gulnoor had a stroke which left her paralyzed from the waist down. His mother no longer able to produce food for him to sell, Bahadur went back into the textile business, although after an argument with one of his bosses that ended in a fight, he drifted unemployed for some weeks. One day, during a family meeting, he overheard one of his uncles brag about how his son had joined the military and was making lots of money as an officer. His pride hurt by the comment, Bahadur himself joined the military soon after for the monetary benefits.
Feeling a degree of impotence because of his small stature in the Army, Bahadur applied to become part of the Ghatak Commandos to prove his worth and get further economical benefits (rumors about how those in the Ghatak were given muscle enhancing drugs may have also played a part). He succeeded – just barely, and in the Ghatak the contrast between him and his fellow soldiers more apparent. This would not last long, however; the brutal and constant training regime quickly bonded everyone closely, despite the uncountable amount of differences between each and every one of them.
Bahadur would serve in the military for almost fifteen years, and get deployed in a Pakistani border skirmish in 2048 and the Assamite Insurgency of 2050-2053, never seeing live combat. Despite the rather monotonous and tiring life, the feeling of providing well for his family helped, there was the prestige of being in the military, and life in the barracks certainly gave him much more orderly life standards. However, he was also estranged from his family, and left far away from his life as a civilian. He would learn of his sisters’ marriages and his father’s death through phone calls, and his brother Massoud getting promoted and moving to Delhi with his younger brother from a letter.
After getting discharged because of a fractured arm at the age of 34 (yet another source of frustration and resentment), Bahadur left for Delhi to find Massoud. Now an assistant manager in a technology store, Massoud was doing quite well for himself. Caring for their mother and funding their younger brother Ahmad’s engineering degree, Massoud received his brother somewhat distantly – while he himself was glad to have him around and appreciative of what Bahadur had done for them, he had to house his wife’s family, his mother and his brother in the same house, and his wife’s mother Humaira certainly did not want Bahadur around her other children. He offered to find housing and maybe a job, but Bahadur refused.
Bahadur did not hold his brother in contempt for his situation in Delhi, and moved back to Ghazipur where he had spent most his life, but found it much different – their house had been long sold and a mall had been built where their neighborhood had once been. Finding his past demolished and his memories long buried under concrete was much more depressing for Bahadur than being unable to live with his family. After meeting an amicable lad named Jahan, who claimed to be an old neighbor of his, Bahadur quickly found in him a business partner, and reentered the biryani business with a food cart attached to a three wheeler.
Jahan was a smart boy, if not somewhat naïve. Despite Bahadur not remembering him at all and thinking of him as nothing but a lonely young figure in a bad position that needed someone to do business with, and saw Bahadur as no more than a suitable candidate, he appreciated having someone around. Jahan was good with numbers, good with people too; thanks to him striking a few deals, the two could buy rice for biryani cheap, and Bahadur used what he remembered of his mother’s recipe to entice customers.
After six months, however, Jahan approached Bahadur with a proposition. He claimed that one of his uncles had set up an actual shop in Sopahn, and that he had contacted Jahan, saying that they could work with him. If Bahadur were to agree, then the two wouldn’t have to work in the streets anymore. Not wishing to keep Jahan in the gutter with his unwillingness to move on, Bahadur accepted, and the two left Ghazipur for Sopahn in pursuit of the Indian Dream.
Sopahn was really no better. Bahadur and Jahan found themselves working in a shitty food joint, with Jahan’s uncle using his family ties and the fact that ‘he brought them here’ as an excuse to emotionally blackmail them whenever they would try to complain about anything. Bahadur was annoyed, but they really had begun making more money, so he kept quiet and waited for better days. But their improving condition didn’t last long; Jahan was electrocuted to death trying to fix the joint’s air conditioner, and Bahadur, blaming the uncle, broke a chair on the man’s back before leaving.
Unable to pay for their old apartment, Bahadur moved to an even shittier housing project in Dhaar called the Greater India Apartments, a place which was, like most things made for the poor, replete with nationalist themes. Bahadur began looking for sweatshops to work in again, but with just how quickly Sopahn developed, it was impossible to find any that could compete against automated factories. Believing that he was doomed to wither here in Sopahn, Bahadur quietly resigned to his fate in the housing project, living off cheap food and waiting for his money to run out.
In one day not unlike the others, Bahadur found one of his neighbors getting beat up by some shady looking types, and in a moment of shining conscience, he asked them to stop, at which point the three thugs turned on him. What would have been a merciless beatdown for Bahadur was cut short when he smashed a bottle on one thug’s head and stabbed another with the broken bottle. Caught unaware, they ran away, screaming bloody murder, demanding revenge. Bahadur wasn’t exactly sure what to think of, but the fellow he saved from a beating quickly beckoned him to come.
He would learn that the fellow getting beat up, named Patel, was not exactly innocent, that he was one of the ‘Wheelers’ – practically an underfed slum gang based in the Greater India Apartments, named such because of the symbol of the housing project, and that the fellows that he’d had chased off were affiliated with a rival gang called the Aprons. Apparently, Patel had been peddling illicit goods and drugs in Apron territory, and that they’d caught him red-handed. Going to the police was out of the option for Bahadur, since that would mean that he’d have to leave again, and he practically had nowhere else to go. He decided to stay his ground.
The entirety of the Aprons came barging in pick-ups a few days later, about a dozen of them with cleavers in hand, looking for Bahadur and Patel. Wheeler presence that day was practically nonexistent aside from a panicking Patel hiding in his balcony. Bahadur deduced that the gang had written him and Patel off as acceptable losses – which was obviously not acceptable for him. Preparing a Molotov cocktail and grabbing a bread knife, Bahadur ambushed three of them when they finally broke into the adjacent room, and after stabbing two and throwing the other down the window, he threw the Molotov cocktail downstairs at the most well-off looking target, setting him aflame.
Having killed the Aprons’ leader and having dispersed their assault, Bahadur immediately grabbed Patel, and after finding a car key on one of the bodies, shoved him into the sole remaining car, saying that either Patel would find a way to get him out of this mess, or that he would beat the shit out of him and throw him off in front of the police station. Patel decided to help, or at least throw Bahadur into the territory of bigger fish and get away, and led him to an Uzbek mafia leader who ran a tandoori store, a man named Babur.
Babur was unwilling to listen to them at first, but after receiving news of the commotion in the Greater India Apartments and learning that it was Bahadur that caused it all, he decided to offer them a meal and hear their story. Impressed with his competence, Babur decided to help Bahadur by letting him lay low in a safe house for a while, although, he warned that, in exchange for Babur’s protection, he would have to ‘handle some business himself’. Bahadur accepted.
The two years that followed were good for Bahadur. He found a job as a food delivery driver, moved back into where he used to live in the Greater India Apartments (with the Wheelers either gone or too afraid to show their faces), and also made earned somewhat of a reputation for himself in the criminal underworld of Sopahn, being at the centre of rumors tied to the Shootout in San’s Disco alongside other things. He’s not sure if the Indian Dream was meant to be this, but nonetheless, violence has done nothing but bring him closer to heaven.
Outlook and Motivations: Bahadur could be called a confused individual – for him, life has progressed in such ways that he has been unable to form a mindset or any sort of ideological outlook, believing that he was too busy working to ever have a chance to think about things or form any sort of opinion. This has led to a very spontaneous, although in the end obedient personality, often acting in the heat of the moment unless asked not to. Having lived in rags for most of his life, Bahadur appreciates the comfort that power has brought to him, and lacking any understanding of human rights, cannot see the ‘illegal’ in illegal activity. He is a decent man, but this does not mean that he obeys the law – his only moral compass is an understanding of ‘decency’. For Bahadur, shooting a man is not something indecent, nor would he hold a grudge against someone who’d shoot him – but in comparison, insulting someone’s family, lecherousness, or a lack of charity are not decent things. Other things he just sees as part of the cycle of life, which is brutal due to its very nature.
Having spent his entire life to provide something for either himself or family, Bahadur is motivated only by comfort or luxury. His political opinions form only when politics seep into his life. If the building that he lives in was to be demolished, he would immediately side with the opposition, no matter what the reasons could be for it. He does not care for the world, the future, or other cultures. If anything, he’s somewhat xenophobic and afraid of the constant change that all these foreigners seem to bring.
Affiliation: The Uzbek Mafia
Appearance: Bahadur looks like a figure out of some cyberpunk parody setting, with just how awfully contrasting his appearance is. His face, settled upon an oblong head, is gaunt and sunken, like a date left under the sun for far too long. His nose bends inwards in a curve with a protruding tip that’s canted slightly to the right; his eyes are large, intimidating and expressive, and he often uses eyeliner to further enhance them. His skin is that of a sickly olive color, and his eye color is also similarly a very dark green. His hair color is black, although parts of it have begun to lose color, sending grey streaks throughout.
Having to adhere to the common rules of the poor society, Bahadur’s hair is long (shoulder length) and completely unkempt, although this is also partially to hide the fact that he is balding heavily. He has a short, thick beard that curls inwards, yet to begin graying as heavily as his hair, and he twirls his mustaches to give himself a more intimidating look. When in ‘business’, Bahadur gathers his hair in a ponytail and tucks the ‘tail’ under the back of his jacket to keep his hair from distracting him or give any opening to would-be foes.
Despite his military service, Bahadur definitely is not a physically intimidating figure – he’s not tall, at about 5 foot 8, sickly thin and narrow shouldered. While his muscles are familiar with excruciating labor and exercise, malnourishment, bad living conditions and an overall unhealthy lifestyle have kept them from developing.
Being a criminal from the slums, Bahadur’s clothing manages to be gaudy and extravagant, yet cheap and makeshift at the same time. If he isn’t wearing baggy, loose tracksuits underneath a leather vest, you can often find him in ill-fitting, discount suits from sweatshops, whose owners are happy to let go of their almost hundred year old surplus. Zoot suits, coats, bell bottom pants, Cuban heels and disco shirts colorful enough to induce epileptic fits make up the backbone of Bahadur’s ‘fashion’.
Background: Like most people hailing from India, Bahadur was also doomed to poverty at birth. Born to parents of Pakistani descent, his father Hafez was a barber, while his mother Gulnoor worked in a textile factory. Bahadur was the second child of the family, which meant that, while he wasn’t as busy as his brother Massoud, he still had to do work to take care of his three younger siblings. Living a double life of school at day and work at night until high school (upon finishing high school he would end his education and begin working full time), Bahadur worked alongside his mother, although the factory was closed when he was 18, at which point he found work as a street food vendor, selling samosas and biryani prepared by her mother.
After the youngest child of the family died of dysentery, Bahadur’s mother Gulnoor had a stroke which left her paralyzed from the waist down. His mother no longer able to produce food for him to sell, Bahadur went back into the textile business, although after an argument with one of his bosses that ended in a fight, he drifted unemployed for some weeks. One day, during a family meeting, he overheard one of his uncles brag about how his son had joined the military and was making lots of money as an officer. His pride hurt by the comment, Bahadur himself joined the military soon after for the monetary benefits.
Feeling a degree of impotence because of his small stature in the Army, Bahadur applied to become part of the Ghatak Commandos to prove his worth and get further economical benefits (rumors about how those in the Ghatak were given muscle enhancing drugs may have also played a part). He succeeded – just barely, and in the Ghatak the contrast between him and his fellow soldiers more apparent. This would not last long, however; the brutal and constant training regime quickly bonded everyone closely, despite the uncountable amount of differences between each and every one of them.
Bahadur would serve in the military for almost fifteen years, and get deployed in a Pakistani border skirmish in 2048 and the Assamite Insurgency of 2050-2053, never seeing live combat. Despite the rather monotonous and tiring life, the feeling of providing well for his family helped, there was the prestige of being in the military, and life in the barracks certainly gave him much more orderly life standards. However, he was also estranged from his family, and left far away from his life as a civilian. He would learn of his sisters’ marriages and his father’s death through phone calls, and his brother Massoud getting promoted and moving to Delhi with his younger brother from a letter.
After getting discharged because of a fractured arm at the age of 34 (yet another source of frustration and resentment), Bahadur left for Delhi to find Massoud. Now an assistant manager in a technology store, Massoud was doing quite well for himself. Caring for their mother and funding their younger brother Ahmad’s engineering degree, Massoud received his brother somewhat distantly – while he himself was glad to have him around and appreciative of what Bahadur had done for them, he had to house his wife’s family, his mother and his brother in the same house, and his wife’s mother Humaira certainly did not want Bahadur around her other children. He offered to find housing and maybe a job, but Bahadur refused.
Bahadur did not hold his brother in contempt for his situation in Delhi, and moved back to Ghazipur where he had spent most his life, but found it much different – their house had been long sold and a mall had been built where their neighborhood had once been. Finding his past demolished and his memories long buried under concrete was much more depressing for Bahadur than being unable to live with his family. After meeting an amicable lad named Jahan, who claimed to be an old neighbor of his, Bahadur quickly found in him a business partner, and reentered the biryani business with a food cart attached to a three wheeler.
Jahan was a smart boy, if not somewhat naïve. Despite Bahadur not remembering him at all and thinking of him as nothing but a lonely young figure in a bad position that needed someone to do business with, and saw Bahadur as no more than a suitable candidate, he appreciated having someone around. Jahan was good with numbers, good with people too; thanks to him striking a few deals, the two could buy rice for biryani cheap, and Bahadur used what he remembered of his mother’s recipe to entice customers.
After six months, however, Jahan approached Bahadur with a proposition. He claimed that one of his uncles had set up an actual shop in Sopahn, and that he had contacted Jahan, saying that they could work with him. If Bahadur were to agree, then the two wouldn’t have to work in the streets anymore. Not wishing to keep Jahan in the gutter with his unwillingness to move on, Bahadur accepted, and the two left Ghazipur for Sopahn in pursuit of the Indian Dream.
Sopahn was really no better. Bahadur and Jahan found themselves working in a shitty food joint, with Jahan’s uncle using his family ties and the fact that ‘he brought them here’ as an excuse to emotionally blackmail them whenever they would try to complain about anything. Bahadur was annoyed, but they really had begun making more money, so he kept quiet and waited for better days. But their improving condition didn’t last long; Jahan was electrocuted to death trying to fix the joint’s air conditioner, and Bahadur, blaming the uncle, broke a chair on the man’s back before leaving.
Unable to pay for their old apartment, Bahadur moved to an even shittier housing project in Dhaar called the Greater India Apartments, a place which was, like most things made for the poor, replete with nationalist themes. Bahadur began looking for sweatshops to work in again, but with just how quickly Sopahn developed, it was impossible to find any that could compete against automated factories. Believing that he was doomed to wither here in Sopahn, Bahadur quietly resigned to his fate in the housing project, living off cheap food and waiting for his money to run out.
In one day not unlike the others, Bahadur found one of his neighbors getting beat up by some shady looking types, and in a moment of shining conscience, he asked them to stop, at which point the three thugs turned on him. What would have been a merciless beatdown for Bahadur was cut short when he smashed a bottle on one thug’s head and stabbed another with the broken bottle. Caught unaware, they ran away, screaming bloody murder, demanding revenge. Bahadur wasn’t exactly sure what to think of, but the fellow he saved from a beating quickly beckoned him to come.
He would learn that the fellow getting beat up, named Patel, was not exactly innocent, that he was one of the ‘Wheelers’ – practically an underfed slum gang based in the Greater India Apartments, named such because of the symbol of the housing project, and that the fellows that he’d had chased off were affiliated with a rival gang called the Aprons. Apparently, Patel had been peddling illicit goods and drugs in Apron territory, and that they’d caught him red-handed. Going to the police was out of the option for Bahadur, since that would mean that he’d have to leave again, and he practically had nowhere else to go. He decided to stay his ground.
The entirety of the Aprons came barging in pick-ups a few days later, about a dozen of them with cleavers in hand, looking for Bahadur and Patel. Wheeler presence that day was practically nonexistent aside from a panicking Patel hiding in his balcony. Bahadur deduced that the gang had written him and Patel off as acceptable losses – which was obviously not acceptable for him. Preparing a Molotov cocktail and grabbing a bread knife, Bahadur ambushed three of them when they finally broke into the adjacent room, and after stabbing two and throwing the other down the window, he threw the Molotov cocktail downstairs at the most well-off looking target, setting him aflame.
Having killed the Aprons’ leader and having dispersed their assault, Bahadur immediately grabbed Patel, and after finding a car key on one of the bodies, shoved him into the sole remaining car, saying that either Patel would find a way to get him out of this mess, or that he would beat the shit out of him and throw him off in front of the police station. Patel decided to help, or at least throw Bahadur into the territory of bigger fish and get away, and led him to an Uzbek mafia leader who ran a tandoori store, a man named Babur.
Babur was unwilling to listen to them at first, but after receiving news of the commotion in the Greater India Apartments and learning that it was Bahadur that caused it all, he decided to offer them a meal and hear their story. Impressed with his competence, Babur decided to help Bahadur by letting him lay low in a safe house for a while, although, he warned that, in exchange for Babur’s protection, he would have to ‘handle some business himself’. Bahadur accepted.
The two years that followed were good for Bahadur. He found a job as a food delivery driver, moved back into where he used to live in the Greater India Apartments (with the Wheelers either gone or too afraid to show their faces), and also made earned somewhat of a reputation for himself in the criminal underworld of Sopahn, being at the centre of rumors tied to the Shootout in San’s Disco alongside other things. He’s not sure if the Indian Dream was meant to be this, but nonetheless, violence has done nothing but bring him closer to heaven.
Outlook and Motivations: Bahadur could be called a confused individual – for him, life has progressed in such ways that he has been unable to form a mindset or any sort of ideological outlook, believing that he was too busy working to ever have a chance to think about things or form any sort of opinion. This has led to a very spontaneous, although in the end obedient personality, often acting in the heat of the moment unless asked not to. Having lived in rags for most of his life, Bahadur appreciates the comfort that power has brought to him, and lacking any understanding of human rights, cannot see the ‘illegal’ in illegal activity. He is a decent man, but this does not mean that he obeys the law – his only moral compass is an understanding of ‘decency’. For Bahadur, shooting a man is not something indecent, nor would he hold a grudge against someone who’d shoot him – but in comparison, insulting someone’s family, lecherousness, or a lack of charity are not decent things. Other things he just sees as part of the cycle of life, which is brutal due to its very nature.
Having spent his entire life to provide something for either himself or family, Bahadur is motivated only by comfort or luxury. His political opinions form only when politics seep into his life. If the building that he lives in was to be demolished, he would immediately side with the opposition, no matter what the reasons could be for it. He does not care for the world, the future, or other cultures. If anything, he’s somewhat xenophobic and afraid of the constant change that all these foreigners seem to bring.
Capabilities
Language(s): Urdu, Hindi
Skills:
Cook: Bahadur has memorized his mother’s recipe and knows how to cook a mean biryani, and he’s also pretty good at making lamb korma. Thanks to his sensitive mouth and good taste, he can easily add flavor to his limited knowledge in cuisine.
Quick: Bahadur is known for the speed at which he handles things. He thinks fast, acts fast, and is also very quick on his feet. He prides himself on this, and is not unwilling to get unconventional, dirty and 'out of the box' to solve problems even faster and make up for his small stature when necessary.
Commando: Bahadur has served with the Ghatak Force for fifteen years, having gone through tons of grueling training and constant drill. He has basic wilderness survival skills and knows how to operate and maintain certain firearms, has a good conceptual grasp of close combat, climbing and stealth, and is also a quite good shot and a quick draw.
Flaws:
Not Left Handed: Bahadur, having almost crippled his left arm, cannot extend it wholly for long amounts of time, and doing anything quick means it’s going to hurt like hell. Holding onto things with his left arm or throwing punches are bound to leave him sore in the morning.
Scrawny: Bahadur does not bend easy under pressure, and he recuperates quickly, but he’s easy to uproot. With his unfit stature, bad arm and short height, he can get thrown around quick, and cannot lift heavy objects off the ground easily.
Small World: Bahadur has a small world and has no opinion of what’s going on outside it, and in fact actually avoids it. Any sign of important change unnerves him – the sight of skyscrapers, tilt-rotors and the upper classes can be downright terrifying, and he has an innate dislike for Westerners and the higher classes.
Connections:
Accomplishments:
Crimes:
Skills:
Cook: Bahadur has memorized his mother’s recipe and knows how to cook a mean biryani, and he’s also pretty good at making lamb korma. Thanks to his sensitive mouth and good taste, he can easily add flavor to his limited knowledge in cuisine.
Quick: Bahadur is known for the speed at which he handles things. He thinks fast, acts fast, and is also very quick on his feet. He prides himself on this, and is not unwilling to get unconventional, dirty and 'out of the box' to solve problems even faster and make up for his small stature when necessary.
Commando: Bahadur has served with the Ghatak Force for fifteen years, having gone through tons of grueling training and constant drill. He has basic wilderness survival skills and knows how to operate and maintain certain firearms, has a good conceptual grasp of close combat, climbing and stealth, and is also a quite good shot and a quick draw.
Flaws:
Not Left Handed: Bahadur, having almost crippled his left arm, cannot extend it wholly for long amounts of time, and doing anything quick means it’s going to hurt like hell. Holding onto things with his left arm or throwing punches are bound to leave him sore in the morning.
Scrawny: Bahadur does not bend easy under pressure, and he recuperates quickly, but he’s easy to uproot. With his unfit stature, bad arm and short height, he can get thrown around quick, and cannot lift heavy objects off the ground easily.
Small World: Bahadur has a small world and has no opinion of what’s going on outside it, and in fact actually avoids it. Any sign of important change unnerves him – the sight of skyscrapers, tilt-rotors and the upper classes can be downright terrifying, and he has an innate dislike for Westerners and the higher classes.
Connections:
- Mirza Muhammad Babur, Owner of the ‘Bagh-e Babur’ Restaurant, prominent figure in the Uzbek Mafia
Accomplishments:
- Service in Indian Army, 2043-2057, Honorable Discharge as Naik (Corporal)
Crimes:
- Murder x12 (suspect for two)
- Breaking and Entering x2 (not prosecuted)
- Bodily Injury x3 (not prosecuted)
Inventory
Cash, saving and debts:
Tools and weapons:
Electronic devices:
Apparels:
Credentials and ID cards: Citizenship ID, Delivery Service Card, Firearms License
Jewelry and valuables: Mechanical Watch
Consumables: Miswak Chew Stick
Load bearing equipment: None
Illicit goods: None
Vehicle: Auto Rickshaw
Pet and animals: Caged Budgie (At Home)
Other: A Phonebook
- R2000 in Cash, hidden in apartment
Tools and weapons:
- Ishapore .410 Enfield Shotgun Conversion (not on person)
- Hi-Power Centennial 9x19mm Pistol, unlicensed (gift from the Uzbeks)
- Bear Spray
- Switchblade
- Windproof Lighter
Electronic devices:
- Portable Signal Jammer
- LG Cellphone
Apparels:
- Leather Vest
- Tracksuits and Polos at home and on business
- Cheap suits when on ‘business’
Credentials and ID cards: Citizenship ID, Delivery Service Card, Firearms License
Jewelry and valuables: Mechanical Watch
Consumables: Miswak Chew Stick
Load bearing equipment: None
Illicit goods: None
Vehicle: Auto Rickshaw
Pet and animals: Caged Budgie (At Home)
Other: A Phonebook
BingTheWing menace to society
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Seen
12 mos ago
Stumbled across this article, felt it might be relevant.
Atrophy Meddlesome Kid
Member
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0-24 hrs ago
Okay! A week ahead of deadline. That means in precisely 169 hours I will notice a terrible, terrible spelling error or an incomplete senten
In 2030, the UK based Iris Medical Technologies and the Japanese based Sakamoto Group merged together and form the Iris-Sakamoto Corporation. The company’s vision was to create a international medical corporation that, with the help of cutting edge technology, would build a better world for tomorrow if by building a better world it meant building a bigger bank account for its investors. In its early days the company was known for following the letter of the law to help with its expansion, driving up prices through handshake deals without forming actual monopolies or lobbying to gain political support for their goods without directly bribing politicians. Thanks to their strong legal team, the company managed to tread the line of legality fairly unscathed.
Still, by 2050 the corporation was almost universally hated by human rights activist and other bleeding hearts, but it wasn’t until their stock started to dip that they did anything to change their methods. Once it hit red the board replaced its CEO, rebranded its vision, and renamed itself to ISSOco. The new CEO, Ingrid Robertson, was a young, charismatic, public-facing figure that gave off the persona of a visionary, openly admitting to the company’s past mistakes and promising to do better in the future through a series of very explicit interviews. A number of charities were formed under her leadership and overall she improved the public’s impression of the company, although little actually changed when it came down to how it conducted business.
ISSOco is a medium sized medical corporation with joint headquarters located in both London and Tokyo as well as a number of research labs and factories located in Cape Town, Tehran, Hong Kong, and Sopahn. They employ around 100,000 people worldwide, from legal and sales to research and security. They are a publicly traded company that is run by a board of twelve individuals split between the two HQs. Since the switch in CEOs, the company has begun to provide employees with housing and transportation on top of their salary, and most employees report a high-level of job satisfaction.
ISSOco contracts are notably dense and fairly restrictive, and employees are very discreet when it comes to their work. The corporation is broken up into various levels of access. Level 1 Access is for the baseline employees, giving entry only into public areas and the floors focused on sales, HR, and IT. Level 2 Access is broken up into three separate divisions: 2A is for legal, 2B is for security, and 2C is for research. Level 3 Access is restricted to board members and people chosen by their discretion.
The company has pulled in quite a bit of assets from its past predatory business practices, and the charities they now run are also for-profit and add a little bit of revenue to the company’s coffers. However, they still largely make most of their profit through selling medical supplies and technology to hospitals, although in the past few years they have begun to branch out and sell supplies directly to consumers. Occasionally they will partner with governments or other businesses, but largely they operate independently. The company has a few factories that allow them to produce some of their materials, but largely they partner with local distributors to lower cost and “support local economy”.
Part of the reason that they have begun to sell directly to consumers is because the company’s past actions of price gouging and having a negative reputation has slightly burned them when it comes to dealing with some medical conglomerates. This is largely true when it comes to the West. Their market in Europe is fairly small and their presence in the Americas is almost nonexistent. Therefore, the company has shifted its focus to the developing world and has doubled-down on its African and Asian markets, selling cheaply produced and highly marketed over-the-counter antidepressants, cold medicine, skin injections, and “male enhancements in addition to the various projects its research teams are working on. As of late, they have recently begun business talks with various private security companies and military tech developers.
 5’10” | Sashi Shah Age: 35 Gender: Female Citizenship: Indian Date and place of birth: July 15th, 2024. Mumbai, India. Official occupation: Head Researcher & Biomedical Engineer for ISSOco’s Sopahn Division |
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Profile
Residence: The Northern Pointe, penthouse apartment. The name is a bit of a misnomer, as the Northern Pointe apartment building is located in the west end of Harbourfront. The ridiculously expensive rent is coupled with a ridiculously gorgeous view of the ocean; it's arguably the most beautiful sunrise money can buy. It also offers a rather sobering view of the flooded parts of the city, although some tenants find that there is something powerful about looking down at all the desolation from the safety of their ivory tower.
Affiliation: Corporate - ISSOco
Appearance: Nobody’s perfect, but that hasn’t stopped Sashi from crusading against the natural faults of her body and try to transform herself into something statuesque. Anti-aging cream, injections, and experimental gene therapy has kept her skin smooth and relatively healthy looking. Precise surgeries fixed the shape and size of her nose, improved her lips, straightened her teeth, lifted her brows, widened her brown eyes, shaped (or rather, gave) her breasts, flattened her belly, tightened her butt, and defined her arms and her legs. Sashi is the human ship of Theseus, and everything that expensive surgeries, creams, and pills cannot fix she hides underneath clothing or makeup. Still, despite all of this, she walks with her head down, folds into herself in public, smiles with her mouth closed, and generally tries to imitate wallpaper.
Background: The bad thing about being born rich is that all of your accomplishments are met with someone exasperatedly sighing and saying, “Well, no shit, they have money.” The good thing about being rich is that, well, no shit, you have money. If Sashi wanted to she would never have had to work a day in her life, coasting off of trust funds and, later, inheritance. Of course, Sashi’s parents made it clear from the beginning that they expected a lot out of their daughter. However they didn’t expect the best, only for her to just try the best she could. They were supportive. Sashi knew that she was lucky, that karma smiled upon her, that she was born privileged, and she knew this because her parents instilled that sense in her. She wasn’t born better, she was born with a better chance. And, since she had it so good, it was her duty to do good. That’s what they wanted.
Of course, just because she was dealt a winning hand that does not mean she didn’t have struggles throughout her life. Much like everyone else in the whole entire world, Sashi can look back and pick out key moments in which it felt as if her life was hanging, if not plummeting head first without a bungee cord, over the edge of ruin. Unlike everyone else in the entire world, Sashi can look back and pick out those moments with a perfect memory. Like, an actual perfect memory. Ever since puberty she was able to remember nearly everything that she had experienced. So, while other people were eventually able to bury and forget all of their horrible, awkward teenage years, Sashi to this day can vividly remember every pimple, every period, every bad kiss, every sweaty hand.
She might remember it all, but what she focuses on the most from her youth is the bullying. Sure, children are monsters, but taken from a bystander’s point of view it honestly wasn’t even that bad—but, since the memory is fresh even twenty-something years later it feels worse than it really should. Sashi was convinced that she was ugly by a peer back in middle school, and that thought has permeated inside of her ever since. And, let’s be clear, Sashi was ugly back in middle school; she looked like a long two by four with bad hair, greasy skin, and braces. Let’s also be clear: she didn’t have a lot of friends, but she didn’t try to have a lot of friends, either. Much easier to just read a book or watch a film than to actually try and talk to someone.
Yet, the lonely girl convinced herself that she would be happier with friends, even if she did not want to put in the effort to make them, and so she decided to get rid of the one issue that she believed was holding her back from blossoming into this beautiful social butterfly. That one issue just happened to be her whole entire body. Fortunately, Mumbai had a burgeoning cosmetic surgery scene. Her first surgery was to take care of acne scars, and it would only be the start. Throughout her undergraduate at the University of Mumbai she went to the plastic surgeons multiple times; it seemed as if after every break she would come back with some part of her body changed. Boys would even talk to her now. Naturally she didn’t know what to do in those situations, so they would often move onto somebody who could at least have a proper conversation, but it was a start.
Maybe it would go better next time if she got a rhinoplasty.
Of course, everything would change when she went to America. Sashi did want to honor her parents and do some good in the world, and so she decided to study biological sciences with hopes of becoming a biomedical engineer. The girl had lofty dreams of editing genes to improve the well-being of all humanity and other idealistic bullshit that would eventually be mostly beaten out of her by reality some years later. She got a scholarship to MIT and saw it as an opportunity to further change herself. No longer would she be the Sashi, who ate lunch alone in the bathroom with her feet up on the toilet seat so that nobody would know that she was there, or Sashi, the girl whose breasts grew three cup sizes over a weekend. Instead she became Sashi, the quiet girl who, after spending a semester sitting next to you, would eventually warm up enough to talk to you about the last movie she saw.
Still, with only so many people in the program and a large number of them being other international students who now all shared the common, terrifying problem of being in a foreign country she was able to make a small group of friends. She finished her program, took a tour of Europe as the third wheel for two of her friends that had become an item, and then went back home to India without a single fucking clue of what to do next.
Mumbai did not have many opportunities for a young geneticist, but salvation came in the form of a job offer from a company establishing itself in Sopahn. ISSOco was the name of the company, a Japanese and UK based medical company that had recently made headlines through a series of further and further floundering business moves by its now former CEO. The new CEO was looking to expand the company out to different markets, especially ones that did not associate the name instantly with the company that had bought the manufacturing rights to a new kind of cancer-treating drug and then price gouged the ever loving shit out of it. Sashi had heard about all of the nastiness associated with the company’s name, but she was convinced that they were trying to turn over a new leaf.
Plus, she was truly enticed by their offer. Sashi was offered a position where she would be the head of a lab developing and testing new technology. Considering all of the other work opportunities she had were entry level at best and overpaid coffee runner at worst this was a huge deal to her, and after talking it over with a few people she took the gig. She got her corporate picture taken, got her biometrics all scanned and filed away into their corporate system, moved into her corporate apartment in Sopahn, met her corporate team, and setup pictures of her college mates on her big, wooden corporate desk. Then she went to work on what she declared would be the start of her solving all of the world’s problems through genetics, with the first issue on the table being the greatest problem that currently plagued society: ugly kids.
Well, that’s how she sees it when looking back on Project Cybele. During the development cycle of the project she was a bit less cynical about the whole thing, remembering with red, embarrassed cheeks how she used to think that the device would be a godsend to parents everywhere. Project Cybele was ISSOco’s attempt at making an artificial womb, a piece of tech that was already being used in some hospitals, that could be purchased and operated by consumers. Then, with the help of a CRISPR and a simple user interface, would-be parents could pick and choose traits that they would want their child to have or, in other words, Sashi was making a machine that made designer babies. Oh, she told others that the project had so much potential to help parents who were unable to have children naturally or to help guarantee that a consumer’s child would be born without any complications or prematurely. However, ISSOco intended to market the machine as a premium product and sell it at a premium price.
So in short, no more ugly rich kids. Perfect.
Time passed. Tests followed by tests followed by tests followed by tests. The first year and a half was fairly banal, focusing on programming and experimenting with genetic modification on a granular level, making sure that every i was dotted and every t was crossed. Then, the prototype was manufactured, followed by a second and finally a third that actually worked. After that, Sashi’s world turned into a Cronenberg film as she watched life try to grow inside of the artificial womb. She cannot look back on it today without getting sick to her stomach when she thinks about how many failed attempts of which they had to discretely dispose, harvesting stem cells from lumps of flesh before sending them into the incinerator.
Eventually her team made a breakthrough and the first child, Manu, was successfully born from the consumer-grade artificial womb. A dozen other child would be created shortly thereafter, raised in the laboratory so they could be monitored for any defects or issues later down in life. However, an early project document was leaked onto the Internet and soon the company came under heavy fire from conservative and religious groups and were accused of violating basic ethical rights by liberal groups. Artificial wombs were already somewhat controversial when in the hands of trained medical professionals for the use of assisting with childbirth; the thought of turning one into a luxury item for rich people that wanted perfect babies was reprehensible. Common belief in the company was that a rival medical corporation had bribed a member of the lab to leak the information, but no rat was ever found. An ethics committee was called against the company, and investigators came and picked over the lab with a fine tooth comb.
They didn’t find much. ISSOco had dealt with controversy in the past, and over the years they had perfected their method of crisis control. They clearly implicated that if Sashi did not assist in the clean up efforts that she would certainly be made to fall on this sword. Almost immediately after the leak the lab had been scrubbed clean, any information outside of the original project document burned from the servers and dropped into oblivion. Prototypes were destroyed, equipment was repossessed, and personnel was shifted around to different labs in different countries. Mock projects were generated, some pulled from other labs, others completely fabricated on the spot, anything to make the lab look more like a medical think tank than a place that had been solely focused on one project for several years. As for the children? They never existed. The company avoided a disastrous turn of events, and Sashi avoided being crucified in front of the medical world. As a reward for her being so complicit, the company gave her a six-month paid sabbatical.
During her time off her mood fell into a dark hole, a type of postpartum depression. Project Cybele had been her baby, her world, her entire life, and now that it was canned she could only look back on the past few years and realize how unfulfilling they had been—every day had been the same, someway or another consumed entirely by work. Now that she had nothing to work on, she had nothing period. Two weeks remain on her sabbatical, and all that she has accomplished on her break so far was the consumption of several cases of wine, around fifty half-watched TV series, twenty dogeared books, a tummy tuck, and an overwhelming sense of existential dread. With the threat of a new, life consuming project looming over her head in the not so distant future Sashi has promised herself that she will make something out of her last few days of freedom.
Starting tomorrow.
Outlook and Motivations: Sashi is an idealist struggling against the tides of reality, moments away from giving into exhaustion and letting the current pull her under. She wants to use her knowledge to help improve society, and tends to have a borderline transhumanist ideas when it comes to what improving society means. She tries to do good, and if doing good is not an option then she tries to be good at it. Still, she almost constantly doubts her actions, both in her personal and professional life, and has lately found it more difficult for herself to get motivated. Seemingly, the only motivator in her life right now is fear that she would inconvenience others and warrant their disapproval, which is something that certainly crush her.
Affiliation: Corporate - ISSOco
Appearance: Nobody’s perfect, but that hasn’t stopped Sashi from crusading against the natural faults of her body and try to transform herself into something statuesque. Anti-aging cream, injections, and experimental gene therapy has kept her skin smooth and relatively healthy looking. Precise surgeries fixed the shape and size of her nose, improved her lips, straightened her teeth, lifted her brows, widened her brown eyes, shaped (or rather, gave) her breasts, flattened her belly, tightened her butt, and defined her arms and her legs. Sashi is the human ship of Theseus, and everything that expensive surgeries, creams, and pills cannot fix she hides underneath clothing or makeup. Still, despite all of this, she walks with her head down, folds into herself in public, smiles with her mouth closed, and generally tries to imitate wallpaper.
Background: The bad thing about being born rich is that all of your accomplishments are met with someone exasperatedly sighing and saying, “Well, no shit, they have money.” The good thing about being rich is that, well, no shit, you have money. If Sashi wanted to she would never have had to work a day in her life, coasting off of trust funds and, later, inheritance. Of course, Sashi’s parents made it clear from the beginning that they expected a lot out of their daughter. However they didn’t expect the best, only for her to just try the best she could. They were supportive. Sashi knew that she was lucky, that karma smiled upon her, that she was born privileged, and she knew this because her parents instilled that sense in her. She wasn’t born better, she was born with a better chance. And, since she had it so good, it was her duty to do good. That’s what they wanted.
Of course, just because she was dealt a winning hand that does not mean she didn’t have struggles throughout her life. Much like everyone else in the whole entire world, Sashi can look back and pick out key moments in which it felt as if her life was hanging, if not plummeting head first without a bungee cord, over the edge of ruin. Unlike everyone else in the entire world, Sashi can look back and pick out those moments with a perfect memory. Like, an actual perfect memory. Ever since puberty she was able to remember nearly everything that she had experienced. So, while other people were eventually able to bury and forget all of their horrible, awkward teenage years, Sashi to this day can vividly remember every pimple, every period, every bad kiss, every sweaty hand.
She might remember it all, but what she focuses on the most from her youth is the bullying. Sure, children are monsters, but taken from a bystander’s point of view it honestly wasn’t even that bad—but, since the memory is fresh even twenty-something years later it feels worse than it really should. Sashi was convinced that she was ugly by a peer back in middle school, and that thought has permeated inside of her ever since. And, let’s be clear, Sashi was ugly back in middle school; she looked like a long two by four with bad hair, greasy skin, and braces. Let’s also be clear: she didn’t have a lot of friends, but she didn’t try to have a lot of friends, either. Much easier to just read a book or watch a film than to actually try and talk to someone.
Yet, the lonely girl convinced herself that she would be happier with friends, even if she did not want to put in the effort to make them, and so she decided to get rid of the one issue that she believed was holding her back from blossoming into this beautiful social butterfly. That one issue just happened to be her whole entire body. Fortunately, Mumbai had a burgeoning cosmetic surgery scene. Her first surgery was to take care of acne scars, and it would only be the start. Throughout her undergraduate at the University of Mumbai she went to the plastic surgeons multiple times; it seemed as if after every break she would come back with some part of her body changed. Boys would even talk to her now. Naturally she didn’t know what to do in those situations, so they would often move onto somebody who could at least have a proper conversation, but it was a start.
Maybe it would go better next time if she got a rhinoplasty.
Of course, everything would change when she went to America. Sashi did want to honor her parents and do some good in the world, and so she decided to study biological sciences with hopes of becoming a biomedical engineer. The girl had lofty dreams of editing genes to improve the well-being of all humanity and other idealistic bullshit that would eventually be mostly beaten out of her by reality some years later. She got a scholarship to MIT and saw it as an opportunity to further change herself. No longer would she be the Sashi, who ate lunch alone in the bathroom with her feet up on the toilet seat so that nobody would know that she was there, or Sashi, the girl whose breasts grew three cup sizes over a weekend. Instead she became Sashi, the quiet girl who, after spending a semester sitting next to you, would eventually warm up enough to talk to you about the last movie she saw.
Still, with only so many people in the program and a large number of them being other international students who now all shared the common, terrifying problem of being in a foreign country she was able to make a small group of friends. She finished her program, took a tour of Europe as the third wheel for two of her friends that had become an item, and then went back home to India without a single fucking clue of what to do next.
Mumbai did not have many opportunities for a young geneticist, but salvation came in the form of a job offer from a company establishing itself in Sopahn. ISSOco was the name of the company, a Japanese and UK based medical company that had recently made headlines through a series of further and further floundering business moves by its now former CEO. The new CEO was looking to expand the company out to different markets, especially ones that did not associate the name instantly with the company that had bought the manufacturing rights to a new kind of cancer-treating drug and then price gouged the ever loving shit out of it. Sashi had heard about all of the nastiness associated with the company’s name, but she was convinced that they were trying to turn over a new leaf.
Plus, she was truly enticed by their offer. Sashi was offered a position where she would be the head of a lab developing and testing new technology. Considering all of the other work opportunities she had were entry level at best and overpaid coffee runner at worst this was a huge deal to her, and after talking it over with a few people she took the gig. She got her corporate picture taken, got her biometrics all scanned and filed away into their corporate system, moved into her corporate apartment in Sopahn, met her corporate team, and setup pictures of her college mates on her big, wooden corporate desk. Then she went to work on what she declared would be the start of her solving all of the world’s problems through genetics, with the first issue on the table being the greatest problem that currently plagued society: ugly kids.
Well, that’s how she sees it when looking back on Project Cybele. During the development cycle of the project she was a bit less cynical about the whole thing, remembering with red, embarrassed cheeks how she used to think that the device would be a godsend to parents everywhere. Project Cybele was ISSOco’s attempt at making an artificial womb, a piece of tech that was already being used in some hospitals, that could be purchased and operated by consumers. Then, with the help of a CRISPR and a simple user interface, would-be parents could pick and choose traits that they would want their child to have or, in other words, Sashi was making a machine that made designer babies. Oh, she told others that the project had so much potential to help parents who were unable to have children naturally or to help guarantee that a consumer’s child would be born without any complications or prematurely. However, ISSOco intended to market the machine as a premium product and sell it at a premium price.
So in short, no more ugly rich kids. Perfect.
Time passed. Tests followed by tests followed by tests followed by tests. The first year and a half was fairly banal, focusing on programming and experimenting with genetic modification on a granular level, making sure that every i was dotted and every t was crossed. Then, the prototype was manufactured, followed by a second and finally a third that actually worked. After that, Sashi’s world turned into a Cronenberg film as she watched life try to grow inside of the artificial womb. She cannot look back on it today without getting sick to her stomach when she thinks about how many failed attempts of which they had to discretely dispose, harvesting stem cells from lumps of flesh before sending them into the incinerator.
Eventually her team made a breakthrough and the first child, Manu, was successfully born from the consumer-grade artificial womb. A dozen other child would be created shortly thereafter, raised in the laboratory so they could be monitored for any defects or issues later down in life. However, an early project document was leaked onto the Internet and soon the company came under heavy fire from conservative and religious groups and were accused of violating basic ethical rights by liberal groups. Artificial wombs were already somewhat controversial when in the hands of trained medical professionals for the use of assisting with childbirth; the thought of turning one into a luxury item for rich people that wanted perfect babies was reprehensible. Common belief in the company was that a rival medical corporation had bribed a member of the lab to leak the information, but no rat was ever found. An ethics committee was called against the company, and investigators came and picked over the lab with a fine tooth comb.
They didn’t find much. ISSOco had dealt with controversy in the past, and over the years they had perfected their method of crisis control. They clearly implicated that if Sashi did not assist in the clean up efforts that she would certainly be made to fall on this sword. Almost immediately after the leak the lab had been scrubbed clean, any information outside of the original project document burned from the servers and dropped into oblivion. Prototypes were destroyed, equipment was repossessed, and personnel was shifted around to different labs in different countries. Mock projects were generated, some pulled from other labs, others completely fabricated on the spot, anything to make the lab look more like a medical think tank than a place that had been solely focused on one project for several years. As for the children? They never existed. The company avoided a disastrous turn of events, and Sashi avoided being crucified in front of the medical world. As a reward for her being so complicit, the company gave her a six-month paid sabbatical.
During her time off her mood fell into a dark hole, a type of postpartum depression. Project Cybele had been her baby, her world, her entire life, and now that it was canned she could only look back on the past few years and realize how unfulfilling they had been—every day had been the same, someway or another consumed entirely by work. Now that she had nothing to work on, she had nothing period. Two weeks remain on her sabbatical, and all that she has accomplished on her break so far was the consumption of several cases of wine, around fifty half-watched TV series, twenty dogeared books, a tummy tuck, and an overwhelming sense of existential dread. With the threat of a new, life consuming project looming over her head in the not so distant future Sashi has promised herself that she will make something out of her last few days of freedom.
Starting tomorrow.
Outlook and Motivations: Sashi is an idealist struggling against the tides of reality, moments away from giving into exhaustion and letting the current pull her under. She wants to use her knowledge to help improve society, and tends to have a borderline transhumanist ideas when it comes to what improving society means. She tries to do good, and if doing good is not an option then she tries to be good at it. Still, she almost constantly doubts her actions, both in her personal and professional life, and has lately found it more difficult for herself to get motivated. Seemingly, the only motivator in her life right now is fear that she would inconvenience others and warrant their disapproval, which is something that certainly crush her.
Capabilities
Language(s): Hindi, English, and very stilted sounding Japanese.
Skills:
Unforgettable - Sashi has hyperthymesia, a condition that gives her an incredible autobiographical memory that allows her to recall in vivid detail just about every day of her life since she was a preteen. This ranges from the mundane, like being able to remember what podcast she was listening to while making breakfast sixteen years ago, to the useful, like being able to recall the entire text of a case study she read three months ago.
In The Flesh - While Sashi has an expansive knowledge of human biology, her first and foremost focus is on genetic engineering and modification. Given the right amount of time and the proper equipment Sashi can easily recode DNA, cutting away the undesirable trait of an unborn child and replacing it with a wanted one or modifying cells to better combat cancer and other diseases.
Save Me - Although she is not a health practitioner, Sashi does have an above decent ability when it comes to first aid thanks to corporate mandated certification classes. She can easily take care of minor scrapes and bruises, help clean and stop the bleeding of moderate wounds, and attempt to resuscitate and stabilize seriously wounded individuals.
Flaws:
Blue Monday - Time heals all wounds unless those wounds are constantly being torn at by the talons of an uncanny ability to remember. Sashi is obsessed with the past, and cannot go a single day without regretting the minor actions she has taken years ago. This has helped cultivate a heavy level of depression and self-loathing in the woman, and so often feels low on energy as a result of it.
Dancing With Myself - Sashi isn’t great with other people. She backs down from confrontation almost immediately and tends to overthink even the simplest of conversations when it comes to having ones with strangers. She seems to be unable to maintain simple eye contact, and is the office wallflower when she is forced to make appearances at company parties. She may know a few languages, but she is truly only fluent in the art of mumbling.
I Wanna Be Your Dog - Sashi may not be great with people, but that doesn’t mean she’s misanthropic or antisocial. In fact, she almost constantly seeks the approval of others, and a little bit of praise or an unexpected kindness is all it takes to win over Sashi’s trust.
Connections:
Corporate - ISSOco is an international organization and a medical giant, and Sashi has access to their vast network of corporate resources and contacts. However, ISSOco primarily plays in the light, meaning that any help Sashi gets from within will likely be heavily documented and under surveillance. After all, the reputation of the company is greater than that of one individual, and any person found acting unbecoming as an employee of the corporation will soon sense the ax above their head.
Collegiate - Sashi was able to make a small group of friends while studying abroad. They have drifted apart over the years as they grew older, delved into their careers, and (some) got married and had kids, but she still communications semi-regularly with them online. Of course, with most of them living in the States still they cannot offer much more than morale support.
Anonymous - Sashi is a member of a forum that was originally designed to assist bounty hunters named 3B, and like all things on the Internet it has since been twisted and corrupted into an absolute hellhole full of memes and shitposting. Most posts that aren’t just complete filler or spam are just people gushing over both bounty hunters and the wanted criminals, although there is the occasional post with actual useful information every once in awhile. Still, Sashi’s been an active member of the board for a few years now, and she regularly chats with a few members about rumors surrounding their favorites.
Accomplishments:
Project Cybele - ISSOco was primarily concerned with shifting to commercial products, and Sashi worked nonstop with her team of researchers and engineers on “Project Cybele”. The goal was to create an artificial womb with a user-friendly interface so that they could bypass hospitals and directly market the device to consumers. As well, consumers would be able to easily pick and choose which traits their child had, even if neither of the parents had it in their own DNA. Simply put, she created a designer baby machine that was about as complicated to use as a dishwasher. Although it was completed, the project was scrapped before going to market and the publicly issued statement regarding the device was that it never even made it to the prototype phase.
Crimes: Although she and her team had been under investigation, no charges were ever brought to them and as far as the law is concerned she is an innocent woman. Sashi, as an employee of ISSOco, is contractually obliged to agree with that statement.
Skills:
Unforgettable - Sashi has hyperthymesia, a condition that gives her an incredible autobiographical memory that allows her to recall in vivid detail just about every day of her life since she was a preteen. This ranges from the mundane, like being able to remember what podcast she was listening to while making breakfast sixteen years ago, to the useful, like being able to recall the entire text of a case study she read three months ago.
In The Flesh - While Sashi has an expansive knowledge of human biology, her first and foremost focus is on genetic engineering and modification. Given the right amount of time and the proper equipment Sashi can easily recode DNA, cutting away the undesirable trait of an unborn child and replacing it with a wanted one or modifying cells to better combat cancer and other diseases.
Save Me - Although she is not a health practitioner, Sashi does have an above decent ability when it comes to first aid thanks to corporate mandated certification classes. She can easily take care of minor scrapes and bruises, help clean and stop the bleeding of moderate wounds, and attempt to resuscitate and stabilize seriously wounded individuals.
Flaws:
Blue Monday - Time heals all wounds unless those wounds are constantly being torn at by the talons of an uncanny ability to remember. Sashi is obsessed with the past, and cannot go a single day without regretting the minor actions she has taken years ago. This has helped cultivate a heavy level of depression and self-loathing in the woman, and so often feels low on energy as a result of it.
Dancing With Myself - Sashi isn’t great with other people. She backs down from confrontation almost immediately and tends to overthink even the simplest of conversations when it comes to having ones with strangers. She seems to be unable to maintain simple eye contact, and is the office wallflower when she is forced to make appearances at company parties. She may know a few languages, but she is truly only fluent in the art of mumbling.
I Wanna Be Your Dog - Sashi may not be great with people, but that doesn’t mean she’s misanthropic or antisocial. In fact, she almost constantly seeks the approval of others, and a little bit of praise or an unexpected kindness is all it takes to win over Sashi’s trust.
Connections:
Corporate - ISSOco is an international organization and a medical giant, and Sashi has access to their vast network of corporate resources and contacts. However, ISSOco primarily plays in the light, meaning that any help Sashi gets from within will likely be heavily documented and under surveillance. After all, the reputation of the company is greater than that of one individual, and any person found acting unbecoming as an employee of the corporation will soon sense the ax above their head.
Collegiate - Sashi was able to make a small group of friends while studying abroad. They have drifted apart over the years as they grew older, delved into their careers, and (some) got married and had kids, but she still communications semi-regularly with them online. Of course, with most of them living in the States still they cannot offer much more than morale support.
Anonymous - Sashi is a member of a forum that was originally designed to assist bounty hunters named 3B, and like all things on the Internet it has since been twisted and corrupted into an absolute hellhole full of memes and shitposting. Most posts that aren’t just complete filler or spam are just people gushing over both bounty hunters and the wanted criminals, although there is the occasional post with actual useful information every once in awhile. Still, Sashi’s been an active member of the board for a few years now, and she regularly chats with a few members about rumors surrounding their favorites.
Accomplishments:
Project Cybele - ISSOco was primarily concerned with shifting to commercial products, and Sashi worked nonstop with her team of researchers and engineers on “Project Cybele”. The goal was to create an artificial womb with a user-friendly interface so that they could bypass hospitals and directly market the device to consumers. As well, consumers would be able to easily pick and choose which traits their child had, even if neither of the parents had it in their own DNA. Simply put, she created a designer baby machine that was about as complicated to use as a dishwasher. Although it was completed, the project was scrapped before going to market and the publicly issued statement regarding the device was that it never even made it to the prototype phase.
Crimes: Although she and her team had been under investigation, no charges were ever brought to them and as far as the law is concerned she is an innocent woman. Sashi, as an employee of ISSOco, is contractually obliged to agree with that statement.
Inventory
Cash, saving and debts:
Inconsequential. Between personal investments, inheritance, and a company credit card money will not be an issue for Sashi unless, somehow, she manages to break her contract and lose her job. She typically pays via her phone or through biometrics scanners, but carries enough paper rupees on her to buy an expensive meal and pay for a cab fare home for emergencies.
Tools and weapons:
Pepper spray. She’s yet to use it, but she never leaves the house without it.
Electronic devices:
The JNH Atlas, only the most top notch smart device that will be on the public market coming this December. It has all the bells and whistles of any modern device, a biometric locking system, a holographic projector, an integrated headphone jack, and comes installed with the newest version of Cookie Cranks. It can also, allegedly, make phone calls. Being a prototype, it’s battery always seems to fall instantly to the twenty-percent panic zone, and it’s too big for most pockets.
Apparels:
Sashi style of dress falls on the conservative side of business casual, expensive but not flashy. Button-ups and blouses, tailored pants, modest heels, the occasional cardigan depending on the weather, and thick-framed glasses for reading. Color scheme is almost always black, white, or grey. She wears a labcoat while on the clock. There are some traditional clothing tucked away in her closet for certain occasions, but largely her dress is influenced by the West.
Credentials and ID cards:
ISSOco Level 2C Access Card, ISSOco ID Card, Non-Drivers ID card, Passport (locked away in home safe).
Jewelry and valuables:
Sashi’s only worn jewelry is a watch with a blue face and silver band. Otherwise, she doesn’t bother with necklaces, rings, or bracelets, and has never gotten her ears pierced. She does carry a jeweled compact mirror that would probably fetch a decent price in a pawn shop.
Consumables:
A pack of sugar-free gum to keep herself from chewing pens and biting fingernails.
Load bearing equipment:
A black purse cluttered with makeup, prescription medication, napkins covered in notes and doodles, and a variety of other useless shit.
Illicit goods:
None.
Vehicle:
None. Sashi relies on company cars, taxi apps, and the occasional public transportation to get around.
Pet and animals:
Sashi doesn’t have any pets, but she does see a cat going through the dumpster behind her apartment building every couple of nights. This cat she has affectionately named “Garbage Cat” and has on more than one occasion left food out for him.
Inconsequential. Between personal investments, inheritance, and a company credit card money will not be an issue for Sashi unless, somehow, she manages to break her contract and lose her job. She typically pays via her phone or through biometrics scanners, but carries enough paper rupees on her to buy an expensive meal and pay for a cab fare home for emergencies.
Tools and weapons:
Pepper spray. She’s yet to use it, but she never leaves the house without it.
Electronic devices:
The JNH Atlas, only the most top notch smart device that will be on the public market coming this December. It has all the bells and whistles of any modern device, a biometric locking system, a holographic projector, an integrated headphone jack, and comes installed with the newest version of Cookie Cranks. It can also, allegedly, make phone calls. Being a prototype, it’s battery always seems to fall instantly to the twenty-percent panic zone, and it’s too big for most pockets.
Apparels:
Sashi style of dress falls on the conservative side of business casual, expensive but not flashy. Button-ups and blouses, tailored pants, modest heels, the occasional cardigan depending on the weather, and thick-framed glasses for reading. Color scheme is almost always black, white, or grey. She wears a labcoat while on the clock. There are some traditional clothing tucked away in her closet for certain occasions, but largely her dress is influenced by the West.
Credentials and ID cards:
ISSOco Level 2C Access Card, ISSOco ID Card, Non-Drivers ID card, Passport (locked away in home safe).
Jewelry and valuables:
Sashi’s only worn jewelry is a watch with a blue face and silver band. Otherwise, she doesn’t bother with necklaces, rings, or bracelets, and has never gotten her ears pierced. She does carry a jeweled compact mirror that would probably fetch a decent price in a pawn shop.
Consumables:
A pack of sugar-free gum to keep herself from chewing pens and biting fingernails.
Load bearing equipment:
A black purse cluttered with makeup, prescription medication, napkins covered in notes and doodles, and a variety of other useless shit.
Illicit goods:
None.
Vehicle:
None. Sashi relies on company cars, taxi apps, and the occasional public transportation to get around.
Pet and animals:
Sashi doesn’t have any pets, but she does see a cat going through the dumpster behind her apartment building every couple of nights. This cat she has affectionately named “Garbage Cat” and has on more than one occasion left food out for him.
The Iris-Sakamoto Corporation
In 2030, the UK based Iris Medical Technologies and the Japanese based Sakamoto Group merged together and form the Iris-Sakamoto Corporation. The company’s vision was to create a international medical corporation that, with the help of cutting edge technology, would build a better world for tomorrow if by building a better world it meant building a bigger bank account for its investors. In its early days the company was known for following the letter of the law to help with its expansion, driving up prices through handshake deals without forming actual monopolies or lobbying to gain political support for their goods without directly bribing politicians. Thanks to their strong legal team, the company managed to tread the line of legality fairly unscathed.
Still, by 2050 the corporation was almost universally hated by human rights activist and other bleeding hearts, but it wasn’t until their stock started to dip that they did anything to change their methods. Once it hit red the board replaced its CEO, rebranded its vision, and renamed itself to ISSOco. The new CEO, Ingrid Robertson, was a young, charismatic, public-facing figure that gave off the persona of a visionary, openly admitting to the company’s past mistakes and promising to do better in the future through a series of very explicit interviews. A number of charities were formed under her leadership and overall she improved the public’s impression of the company, although little actually changed when it came down to how it conducted business.
Personnel & Structure
ISSOco is a medium sized medical corporation with joint headquarters located in both London and Tokyo as well as a number of research labs and factories located in Cape Town, Tehran, Hong Kong, and Sopahn. They employ around 100,000 people worldwide, from legal and sales to research and security. They are a publicly traded company that is run by a board of twelve individuals split between the two HQs. Since the switch in CEOs, the company has begun to provide employees with housing and transportation on top of their salary, and most employees report a high-level of job satisfaction.
ISSOco contracts are notably dense and fairly restrictive, and employees are very discreet when it comes to their work. The corporation is broken up into various levels of access. Level 1 Access is for the baseline employees, giving entry only into public areas and the floors focused on sales, HR, and IT. Level 2 Access is broken up into three separate divisions: 2A is for legal, 2B is for security, and 2C is for research. Level 3 Access is restricted to board members and people chosen by their discretion.
Resources, Relationships, & Associations
The company has pulled in quite a bit of assets from its past predatory business practices, and the charities they now run are also for-profit and add a little bit of revenue to the company’s coffers. However, they still largely make most of their profit through selling medical supplies and technology to hospitals, although in the past few years they have begun to branch out and sell supplies directly to consumers. Occasionally they will partner with governments or other businesses, but largely they operate independently. The company has a few factories that allow them to produce some of their materials, but largely they partner with local distributors to lower cost and “support local economy”.
Part of the reason that they have begun to sell directly to consumers is because the company’s past actions of price gouging and having a negative reputation has slightly burned them when it comes to dealing with some medical conglomerates. This is largely true when it comes to the West. Their market in Europe is fairly small and their presence in the Americas is almost nonexistent. Therefore, the company has shifted its focus to the developing world and has doubled-down on its African and Asian markets, selling cheaply produced and highly marketed over-the-counter antidepressants, cold medicine, skin injections, and “male enhancements in addition to the various projects its research teams are working on. As of late, they have recently begun business talks with various private security companies and military tech developers.
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GM
ButtsnBalls Goderator
Member
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3 days ago
Ok guys, locations have been updated. Check out the neighborhoods and landmarks of Sopahn.
@Greenie, Dervish said great things about you and we'd also love to have your familiarity with Indian culture. We aren't a speedposting group, so you don't have to commit too much in terms of volume.
About joining, I like to quote a wise person:
@Greenie, Dervish said great things about you and we'd also love to have your familiarity with Indian culture. We aren't a speedposting group, so you don't have to commit too much in terms of volume.
About joining, I like to quote a wise person:
1x Laugh
@Gcold I'm definitely thinking about it (and stalking like a creepy person). :D
Can't ignore the wisdom of wise people either :O. I'll give everything another read through and start planning out a character sheet. ^_^
Can't ignore the wisdom of wise people either :O. I'll give everything another read through and start planning out a character sheet. ^_^
Dervish Let's get volatile
Member
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1 mo ago
GM
ButtsnBalls Goderator
Member
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3 days ago
*raises hand*
I have a question about the inventory. Do I write what my character has on her actual person at the start of the roleplay, or to things at home count as well?
I have a question about the inventory. Do I write what my character has on her actual person at the start of the roleplay, or to things at home count as well?
coGM
*raises hand*
I have a question about the inventory. Do I write what my character has on her actual person at the start of the roleplay, or to things at home count as well?
Things of importance at home would be nice to mention I'd argue, just in case you need to take them on your person for something.
1x Thank
Dervish Let's get volatile
Member
Seen
1 mo ago
@Gcold I'll see if I can whip something up before the deadline broseiden of the brocean.
I managed to finish up my character sheet. Hopefully, it's all fine. ^_^
 5'1 | Kamala Khan Age: 21 Gender: Female Citizenship(s): Indian, Canadian Date and place of birth: November 11th, 2038 | Sopahn, India Official occupation: Housecleaner |
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Profile
Residence: Ghaverdasanna Townhomes, Southside
Affiliation:
Appearance: Kamala is around 5'1 and weighs approximately 110 lbs. Her skin tone is a dark tan, or as she likes to describe it, the colour of milk tea. Her face is long and narrow, as is her nose, upon which she sports a simple cubic zirconia stud. Her eyes are large and a dark brown, with long eyelashes. Her black hair is thick and straight, reaching the middle of back. She usually has it open or tied in a ponytail.
She likes to wear Indo-Pak clothes like shalwar kameez and kurtis. Kamala also wears Western-style clothes like full sleeve tops along with long flowing skirts or jeans. She isn't too picky about colours or patterns, usually just picking what's in front of her and clean. For footwear, she tends to wears sneakers or slip-on shoes.
She wears a loose scarf (dupatta) over her head, but she isn't too strict about covering her hair.
Background: Kamala was born in India, though her parents and grandparents were in fact Canadian. Her great-great grandfather and his wife had moved with their son to Canada back when North America was the ideal place to live. No one would have ever believed that India would be the place the family would ever return to. However, 2035 was the year Kamala's parents Jameel and Hira decided they would return to their roots and settle down in India. It helped that things seemed to be booming there. Her father moved first, securing a house in Dightings, and thereafter called his wife, his three-year-old son Zaki, and of course, his old seventy-five-year-old mother. She didn't actually want to come along, but there was really no one else who would take care of the old woman if she stayed in Canada. Hira had suggested an old folks' home but Jameel was quite opposed to it.
November 2038 was when Kamala was born. Her name was neither of her parents' choice, rather an imposition from her grandma who had read of a certain Marvel Muslim superhero. As a child she didn't have to face any poverty, growing up in a supposedly wealthy family. Just a simple search of the internet would show her how much nicer her house was compared to what she would have lived in if she had been in Canada, or for that matter, anywhere else in India. It was hard not to let things get to her, especially when her father and grandmother would spoil her and give her whatever she wished for. Not to say she was a bratty child, rather she was a naive one.
Her first encounter with harsh realities of life was when she started high school. She had been homeschooled for her primary education, but her parents decided she needed to go to school for her secondary education, especially since neither of them could teach her what she required to learn. At first Kamala was quite happy at school, meeting new people and making friends. However, this was where she came in close encounters with those of other religions, namely Hindus. As her parents and grandmother were Canadian, she had been taught to be politically correct at all times from a very young age. Unfortunately for her, it seemed many of her classmates didn't seem to see things the same way. Dealing with personal attacks based on her beliefs was something she had never even thought she would face. It didn't help that her dear old granny passed away just a few months after she started high school.
One thing Kamala did realize, however, was that the world was not as she had perceived it to be. While she didn't enjoy being made fun or even verbally abused, she came to understand that she had been living in a bubble wrapped world. Her parents insisted that they would take her out of school and send her someplace better, but she refused, deciding she wanted to stay in one place and complete her high school there.
It seemed Kamala's bubble wrapped world was already tearing apart from the inside, however. Hira discovered that Jameel wasn't being very faithful and had a mistress on the side. Despite him begging her to stay, she was too devastated and demanded to be sent back home to Canada. She wanted Kamala to come along with her but the latter couldn't think of having to restart life once more, especially when she was just a year away from completing high school. Her mother left in a rather embittered state, refusing to answer calls, texts or emails from her only daughter.
Life seemed to spin out of control for Jameel. His mistress had left him soon after, and now he was left with no one. He began to slack in his duties, giving into depression and drinking. Zaki was already out of the house, supposedly studying in college, though by now Kamala knew that wasn't the case; he was busy being a delivery boy for some underground group in Dhaar. It was up to her to take control of the household, though as a seventeen-year-old who wasn't too good at counting money, this was a rather difficult and overwhelming task.
It wasn't long before bills piled up. Kamala urged her father to do something about them. She wasn't sure what he did, but it seemed for the time being things were getting back to normal. That is until it turned out that her father had actually borrowed money from the wrong sort of people. Loan sharks were soon at their door. With no money to pay them, their house was taken from under their feet, and Kamala and her father were literally on the streets for a whole day until she finally managed to contact Zaki. He lived with a roomie who he managed to convince to allow Kamala and their father to stay there until they managed to find a place of their own.
With no way to pay tuition and frankly having a rather imposing mess on her hands, Kamala left school, searching for jobs. It hurt her pride, but the easiest job she could find was that of being a housecleaner. Her dreams of studying and eventually working with big cats in Africa were pushed to the side as she trudged off to work for the next few months, saving up enough money so she could rent a room for herself and her father. While it was nice to have her brother close by, she didn't quite like the look of his roommate, nor did she enjoy the looks that came her way. Zaki had offered her some of his money, and though it was very tempting, she declined his aid, determined to make it one her own... until their father passed away. Kamala didn't have enough money for his shroud or coffin, so she left the burden of that upon Zaki.
At present, Kamala is renting a room in a house in Southside, hoping to make enough money to eventually get her own studio apartment.
Outlook and Motivations: Once upon a time, Kamala had her entire life planned before her. However, all that came to an end with the downfall of her parents marriage and her father's disastrous money problems.
She know looks at life in a very glass halfempty view, not expecting much goodness to come in her direction. According to her, it's the safest way so that she doesn't build up her hoped only to have them break into smithereens. And if something good does come her way, then it's a boon that would be appreciated.
For the moment, standing on her own two feet and being free of debts and money problems in general is her number one priority. If she can manage that much, she will be a very happy individual.
Affiliation:
- Rakesh and Aditi Iyer
- Abdul-Quddus and Falak Chopra
Appearance: Kamala is around 5'1 and weighs approximately 110 lbs. Her skin tone is a dark tan, or as she likes to describe it, the colour of milk tea. Her face is long and narrow, as is her nose, upon which she sports a simple cubic zirconia stud. Her eyes are large and a dark brown, with long eyelashes. Her black hair is thick and straight, reaching the middle of back. She usually has it open or tied in a ponytail.
She likes to wear Indo-Pak clothes like shalwar kameez and kurtis. Kamala also wears Western-style clothes like full sleeve tops along with long flowing skirts or jeans. She isn't too picky about colours or patterns, usually just picking what's in front of her and clean. For footwear, she tends to wears sneakers or slip-on shoes.
She wears a loose scarf (dupatta) over her head, but she isn't too strict about covering her hair.
Background: Kamala was born in India, though her parents and grandparents were in fact Canadian. Her great-great grandfather and his wife had moved with their son to Canada back when North America was the ideal place to live. No one would have ever believed that India would be the place the family would ever return to. However, 2035 was the year Kamala's parents Jameel and Hira decided they would return to their roots and settle down in India. It helped that things seemed to be booming there. Her father moved first, securing a house in Dightings, and thereafter called his wife, his three-year-old son Zaki, and of course, his old seventy-five-year-old mother. She didn't actually want to come along, but there was really no one else who would take care of the old woman if she stayed in Canada. Hira had suggested an old folks' home but Jameel was quite opposed to it.
November 2038 was when Kamala was born. Her name was neither of her parents' choice, rather an imposition from her grandma who had read of a certain Marvel Muslim superhero. As a child she didn't have to face any poverty, growing up in a supposedly wealthy family. Just a simple search of the internet would show her how much nicer her house was compared to what she would have lived in if she had been in Canada, or for that matter, anywhere else in India. It was hard not to let things get to her, especially when her father and grandmother would spoil her and give her whatever she wished for. Not to say she was a bratty child, rather she was a naive one.
Her first encounter with harsh realities of life was when she started high school. She had been homeschooled for her primary education, but her parents decided she needed to go to school for her secondary education, especially since neither of them could teach her what she required to learn. At first Kamala was quite happy at school, meeting new people and making friends. However, this was where she came in close encounters with those of other religions, namely Hindus. As her parents and grandmother were Canadian, she had been taught to be politically correct at all times from a very young age. Unfortunately for her, it seemed many of her classmates didn't seem to see things the same way. Dealing with personal attacks based on her beliefs was something she had never even thought she would face. It didn't help that her dear old granny passed away just a few months after she started high school.
One thing Kamala did realize, however, was that the world was not as she had perceived it to be. While she didn't enjoy being made fun or even verbally abused, she came to understand that she had been living in a bubble wrapped world. Her parents insisted that they would take her out of school and send her someplace better, but she refused, deciding she wanted to stay in one place and complete her high school there.
It seemed Kamala's bubble wrapped world was already tearing apart from the inside, however. Hira discovered that Jameel wasn't being very faithful and had a mistress on the side. Despite him begging her to stay, she was too devastated and demanded to be sent back home to Canada. She wanted Kamala to come along with her but the latter couldn't think of having to restart life once more, especially when she was just a year away from completing high school. Her mother left in a rather embittered state, refusing to answer calls, texts or emails from her only daughter.
Life seemed to spin out of control for Jameel. His mistress had left him soon after, and now he was left with no one. He began to slack in his duties, giving into depression and drinking. Zaki was already out of the house, supposedly studying in college, though by now Kamala knew that wasn't the case; he was busy being a delivery boy for some underground group in Dhaar. It was up to her to take control of the household, though as a seventeen-year-old who wasn't too good at counting money, this was a rather difficult and overwhelming task.
It wasn't long before bills piled up. Kamala urged her father to do something about them. She wasn't sure what he did, but it seemed for the time being things were getting back to normal. That is until it turned out that her father had actually borrowed money from the wrong sort of people. Loan sharks were soon at their door. With no money to pay them, their house was taken from under their feet, and Kamala and her father were literally on the streets for a whole day until she finally managed to contact Zaki. He lived with a roomie who he managed to convince to allow Kamala and their father to stay there until they managed to find a place of their own.
With no way to pay tuition and frankly having a rather imposing mess on her hands, Kamala left school, searching for jobs. It hurt her pride, but the easiest job she could find was that of being a housecleaner. Her dreams of studying and eventually working with big cats in Africa were pushed to the side as she trudged off to work for the next few months, saving up enough money so she could rent a room for herself and her father. While it was nice to have her brother close by, she didn't quite like the look of his roommate, nor did she enjoy the looks that came her way. Zaki had offered her some of his money, and though it was very tempting, she declined his aid, determined to make it one her own... until their father passed away. Kamala didn't have enough money for his shroud or coffin, so she left the burden of that upon Zaki.
At present, Kamala is renting a room in a house in Southside, hoping to make enough money to eventually get her own studio apartment.
Outlook and Motivations: Once upon a time, Kamala had her entire life planned before her. However, all that came to an end with the downfall of her parents marriage and her father's disastrous money problems.
She know looks at life in a very glass halfempty view, not expecting much goodness to come in her direction. According to her, it's the safest way so that she doesn't build up her hoped only to have them break into smithereens. And if something good does come her way, then it's a boon that would be appreciated.
For the moment, standing on her own two feet and being free of debts and money problems in general is her number one priority. If she can manage that much, she will be a very happy individual.
Capabilities
Language(s):
Skills:
Flaws:
- English
- Urdu
- Hindi (the latter would be what normal speak rather than classical Hindi that has Sanskrit)
Skills:
- Writing- While Kamala may not have been a math lover, she always loved to read, and from there came her interest in writing, especially fiction. She is quite good at explaining what she is thinking by writing as opposed to talking.
- Cooking- She may not have a lot of ingredients, but she can still cook well with what little she has.
- Cleaning- It took a little practice, but Kamala has learned to use her time and products efficiently.
Flaws:
- Inarticulate- Kamala is not very good at articulating herself when she has to speak out loud. She will get nervous, stutter, and be unable to get her point across, causing her to seem less intelligent than she actually is.
- Low self-confidence- The above, accompanied with the fact that she has not been able to complete her schooling has caused Kamala to more often than not doubt herself. Even if she does something well, she won't really believe it and find some fault in it.
- Social ineptitude- Due to the above two points, Kamala has a hard time dealing with people in general. She will find any excuse to not actually talk to people unless it is very necessary. Even then, she could take literally take fifteen minutes to actually call someone or knock on a door due to indecision and fear of making a fool of herself.
- People pleaser- Despite the rest of her flaws, perhaps her biggest flaw is that she wishes to please all those around her. She doesn't want to be the cause of anyone's pain or annoyance, and if she does anything for herself, she feels guilty and selfish.
Inventory
Cash, saving and debts:
Tools and weapons: Aside from cleaning products at work...
Electronic devices:
Apparels:
Credentials and ID cards:
Jewelry and valuables:
Consumables:
These are all foods she has at home
Pet and animals: At home- A grey/black tabby cat named Elsie (or rather LC, an accronym for Little Cat)
- Cash: R3500 (R1000 in her wallet)
- Saving: 30,000
- Debt: Approximately R2,000,000
Tools and weapons: Aside from cleaning products at work...
- Carried in a handbag- A sheathed kitchen knife
- At home- A screwdriver kit
- At home- A spanner
Electronic devices:
- A hand me down cell phone.
- At home- A second-hand tablet
Apparels:
- A lightly floral patterned kurti
- A pair of faded jeans
- A pair of sneakers
- A thin black dupatta
Credentials and ID cards:
- At home- Indian passport
- At home- Canadian passport
- National ID card
Jewelry and valuables:
- A nose stud
Consumables:
- Carried in a handbag- A couple of 500ml bottles of clean water
These are all foods she has at home
- A sack of rice
- A bag of wheat flour (atta)
- A couple of bags of lentils
- Spice packets (including chili powder, ginger, garlic, turmeric and salt)
- A five-liter canister of cooking oil
- A six pack of tinned fix
- A bottle of Thumbs Up (Taste the Thunder)
Pet and animals: At home- A grey/black tabby cat named Elsie (or rather LC, an accronym for Little Cat)
GM
ButtsnBalls Goderator
Member
Seen
3 days ago
Lots of interesting submissions so far; 14 is gonna be good.
@Rilla, saw you on the interest check. Wanna check out our main thread here?
@Rilla, saw you on the interest check. Wanna check out our main thread here?
coGM
 5'11 | Peter Hannegy Age: 32 Gender: Male Citizenship(s): United Kingdom, Taiwan (Work Visa-Expired), China (Work Visa), India (Work Visa) Date and place of birth: 07 April 2028, London, United Kingdom Official occupation: Procurement Specialist for Anderson-Ford Pharmaceutical |
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Profile
Residence: Lions Residences, Apartment D-3, Room 373, Bholi
Affiliation: Anderson-Ford Pharmaceutical, the Uzbek Mafia
Appearance: Peter looks dreadfully average. His oval head is home to an awfully bland looking face, with a thin nose that flares wide and thick by the nostrils, an inconspicuous, round jaw with a slightly protruding chin, large, sunken eyes with dark circles underneath and a small mouth. His hair color is a shade of brown, although his bushy eyebrows seem to be lighter. His only facial trait worthy of attention is the color of his eyes – a fairly light blue. His skin, while not smooth and perfect, is still fairly light – something that attracts attention in India.
His hair is often disheveled despite its regular length, thanks to his tendency of waking up late, his ‘overheating’ at work (which ends up with him holding his head underneath the sink in the bathroom), and his tendency to not use any sort of hair styling products, having had a rather embarrassing incident during his teenage years, which has since shaped his opinion against all of them. While he’d almost always been clean shaven, shaving every morning because of his rather fast beard growth, lately he’s been unable to keep up because of rather unfortunate events and occasionally sports a stubble.
He is fairly regularly built – he has broad shoulders, but he lacks any important muscle growth, and has a naturally thin figure. He does not work out or have any sporting tendencies, but he’s used the contacts he’s earned from his position as Procurement Specialist to keep some of the ‘wonder drugs’ that he supplies through Anderson-Ford to himself. This, combined with his naturally healthy lifestyle, has left him with a figure which, while lacking in muscle strength, can at the very least pull its own weight around with ease, and run for fairly long distances.
Peter has a fairly conventional, if not old-fashioned, sense of fashion; despite its fashion being in the decline, he still wears conventional suits to work, although the patterns of his suits and shirts seem to be somewhat protest – his ‘power ties’ are often laughably out of place, and he seems to forget to iron his clothes.
Background: Peter’s life has often been that of a dilettante; he’s never been fit for, nor has he found the opportunity to, work hard – yet, he has not been able to find a way to get out of this lifestyle and live a leisurely life either. Ever since his childhood he’s lived on a threshold, and as with most people living there, he hasn’t been able to fully appreciate either part. Thus, he has spent most of his life in a dreadful purgatory.
While born in London, he and his family moved to Sussex not long after – nonetheless, Peter proudly describes himself as a Londoner in small talk, despite having spent most of his life elsewhere.
His parents were fairly rich (his mother was a self-help author, and his father was a shareholder in a company supplying electrical appliances), although they weren’t rich enough to let him live the life of a spoiled brat. However, being sent to the better off schools of the country because of this wealth caused him to live with a gap between his friends. Most of them were folks who were getting groomed to become the heirs of family holdings and sitting on piles of wealth, while Peter himself was likely going to get no more than enough money to buy himself a house and a car. Too poor to peacefully exist amongst this elite portion of society, and too rich to not be immediately held in contempt by the lower class, Peter spent most of his childhood and adolescence trying to ‘fit in’.
This is not to say that he wasn’t getting along, however; Peter’s personality had the perfect mix of cheeky impudence and shy naiveté, which led to rather active, if not shallow, teenage years (something that he often brags about to his close friends is the fact that he once got laid with the current President of the LaVoye Conglomerate, and a celebrity in her own right, Clarissa Townshend-LaVoye). Nonetheless, his desire to fit in still got curbed by sheer economical gaps between him and his classmates – he simply did not have enough cash to spend as vacuously as they did. This led to him being brasher in terms of appearance and personality, in an attempt to compensate for the economical difference.
Then one day, his hair gel got set aflame when he stood under a lamp for far too long in the middle of a lesson.
It wasn’t anything crucial; it wasn’t even dangerous or wounding (one of his friends had immediately poured a water bottle down his head, saving him, and ruining his hairdo further), and being the smooth talker he is, Peter managed to make fun of it before anyone else could beat him to it and turn him into a butt monkey. While the incident actually boosted his popularity, deep down it broke something in his heart. Perhaps he realized that trying to fit in so was not doing him all that good. He grew more and more insecure, and slowly faded out of his youthful brashness as time went on (something that may have saved his life, given some of his friends would later die in an elevator accident in a nightclub that he'd also once frequented).
However, Peter wasn’t all that bright (he never has been, admittedly), and without his social drive, he immediately drooped down to mediocrity, getting admitted to a program that he practically had no interest in. After graduating with a degree in Business Management and coming face to face with adult life, Peter realized something – he was rather dissatisfied in life, but had no passions to follow, nor, it seemed, any talent to actually cultivate. He went on a tour of Europe to forget this existential dread of realizing, but having no way to overcome, one’s own mediocrity, and found that he didn’t have much of an interest in art or technology either. If anything, his time in Europe further reinforced the idea that he was a failure, an infertile, drone-like mind in a constantly advancing and changing age.
Thus, Peter did what every person faced with oneself did, and found a lifeless, droll job, one that would keep him busy and tired enough to make sure he wouldn’t have to face himself when he went to bed. Earning a position in NuPharma as Manager of Logistics, partially thanks to his father’s influence, Peter moved to Brighton, although after rumors of involvement in an embezzlement scandal, the company sent him to Taiwan for his ‘excellent behavior’, citing that ‘his outgoing, tenacious personality was sure to help the company expand abroad’.
Peter did not take to his exile kindly. After a year in Taiwan, he quit his position in NuPharma, and after spending about three months doing nothing but fooling around in VR (his contract prevented him from joining any rival company for the duration), he took up a lesser position at Anderson-Ford Pharmaceutical. This new company relocated him to China, where he spent the most desolate six months of his life, moving from one industrial nightmare to another to follow up on his duties, inspecting shipments and trying to make sure that every shipment held true to the ledgers.
China was horrible; a country that had lost its culture and flavor to advancement – to Peter, felt more like an overextended, bloated dystopian movie set than an actual nation with a past. He thought of quitting the job, but, believing it wouldn’t look excellent on his resume and doom him to similar places such as China, he decided against it, and opted to extend his skill set instead, to have a chance of saving himself from this line of work in the future.
He’d already gotten some VR experience in Taiwan, however carnal and unproductive it may have been; after hearing of how some airline companies let people with no formal piloting training take their exams, provided they showed competence in certain VR programs, Peter decided to make this his focus, and immediately upgraded his headset to standard, throwing himself into the world of virtual cockpits.
Soaring through the digital, clear skies was a much more enjoyable experience compared to the unending grey smog of Chinese cities for Peter, and it gave him something to look forward to when returning home from port, after a long day of double-checking container cargo. Not to mention that it turned out he wasn’t half bad at the whole flying business; he’d managed to go through about 25 combat missions without getting shot down in a military simulator, and also could handle VTOL flights in more commercial and utility oriented games.
He was reassigned to Sopahn after six months in China, as part of Common Development Asia’s gradual expansion program. Sopahn, said the employee orientation consultant, was an Eastern gem in the making. As with everything that his superiors lauded and sugarcoated, Peter expected a huge letdown, and found it a pleasant surprise when his expectations were proven wrong. Sopahn wasn’t half bad, compared to his time in China. Plus, Common Development Asia’s overwhelming presence in the city meant that he was a privileged individual anywhere.
Well, almost anywhere.
After a car accident in Dhaar, the bad part of town, Peter found himself responsible for the death of two gangsters. It wasn’t the fact that they were gangsters that made this a problem, for they were the survivors of a small gang with no power (which, Peter would later learn, was practically destroyed that day after their leader got a Molotov to the face). It was just that one of them was the son of a local, politically controversial figure, which got Peter knee-deep in shit when the press jumped on the incident like sharks, claiming how Peter’s callous behavior was not unlike that of the British invaders of long past. Allusions to colonialism, foreign oppression, and similar buzzwords flew everywhere.
Miraculously, he was not fired from Anderson-Ford, but he had to pay a good amount of money to the public prosecutor to drop the case. Things thus once again got in the clear, although Peter made a mental note as to never go through Dhaar again and try to use public transport more. It wouldn’t take much longer anyway, he thought to himself – with some more VR experience, he’d be qualified for a couple of airliner exams, and he could just leave this shithole and get away. He’d heard that Air Taxis were becoming a thing in Munich.
Then one day, he got mail. In it were photos of him handing a snazzy watch and a card to the public prosecutor. Either he was to do as they complied, the mail warned, or these photos would reach plenty of news sites and activist groups. There was no doubt that Anderson-Ford wouldn’t be as forgiving this time, and neither would the law.
What they asked for in return was not much, the letter said – some changes in the shipment ledgers when necessary, and some occasional extra trips to different parts of town. Plus, there was compensation in the business for him. It was a no-risk kind of deal, or so said the letter.
Peter himself thought that he just couldn’t catch a break.
And thus, he found himself shackled to this ‘side business’ of letting Uzbeks nibble away at his ledgers and shipments, and occasionally letting them pay him for compensation. Peter himself suspects with good reason that this is just another way to give him more of a stake to comply, and to get more dirt on him if he ever fucks up. Nonetheless, it seems, he has to play along to get along. God knows what else.
Outlook and Motivations: Peter has a pretty pessimistic outlook on life and practically no motivation to continue further. What could have been a suicidal figure has been repressed by antidepressant usage, a shallow social life that he tries his best to immerse himself in, and personal lack of acceptance. To a more literary and scholarly onlooker, Peter would come across as petty and shallow, even meaningless – to close friends, he comes across as quite similar, but that only means he’s amongst fellow company. His circle of friends is borne of a practically Darwinist necessity; they need each other as to not bear their own company.
He is marked by a lack of passion and lack of interest. His only personal skill being his keen edge when it comes to observation, Peter often comes face to face with the fact that he’s practically living for money, and has gradually accepted his condition as a slave to wages. His money is often spent on hedonistic purposes and adrenaline rushes to make it easier for him to forget about the situation that he’s in.
Affiliation: Anderson-Ford Pharmaceutical, the Uzbek Mafia
Appearance: Peter looks dreadfully average. His oval head is home to an awfully bland looking face, with a thin nose that flares wide and thick by the nostrils, an inconspicuous, round jaw with a slightly protruding chin, large, sunken eyes with dark circles underneath and a small mouth. His hair color is a shade of brown, although his bushy eyebrows seem to be lighter. His only facial trait worthy of attention is the color of his eyes – a fairly light blue. His skin, while not smooth and perfect, is still fairly light – something that attracts attention in India.
His hair is often disheveled despite its regular length, thanks to his tendency of waking up late, his ‘overheating’ at work (which ends up with him holding his head underneath the sink in the bathroom), and his tendency to not use any sort of hair styling products, having had a rather embarrassing incident during his teenage years, which has since shaped his opinion against all of them. While he’d almost always been clean shaven, shaving every morning because of his rather fast beard growth, lately he’s been unable to keep up because of rather unfortunate events and occasionally sports a stubble.
He is fairly regularly built – he has broad shoulders, but he lacks any important muscle growth, and has a naturally thin figure. He does not work out or have any sporting tendencies, but he’s used the contacts he’s earned from his position as Procurement Specialist to keep some of the ‘wonder drugs’ that he supplies through Anderson-Ford to himself. This, combined with his naturally healthy lifestyle, has left him with a figure which, while lacking in muscle strength, can at the very least pull its own weight around with ease, and run for fairly long distances.
Peter has a fairly conventional, if not old-fashioned, sense of fashion; despite its fashion being in the decline, he still wears conventional suits to work, although the patterns of his suits and shirts seem to be somewhat protest – his ‘power ties’ are often laughably out of place, and he seems to forget to iron his clothes.
Background: Peter’s life has often been that of a dilettante; he’s never been fit for, nor has he found the opportunity to, work hard – yet, he has not been able to find a way to get out of this lifestyle and live a leisurely life either. Ever since his childhood he’s lived on a threshold, and as with most people living there, he hasn’t been able to fully appreciate either part. Thus, he has spent most of his life in a dreadful purgatory.
While born in London, he and his family moved to Sussex not long after – nonetheless, Peter proudly describes himself as a Londoner in small talk, despite having spent most of his life elsewhere.
His parents were fairly rich (his mother was a self-help author, and his father was a shareholder in a company supplying electrical appliances), although they weren’t rich enough to let him live the life of a spoiled brat. However, being sent to the better off schools of the country because of this wealth caused him to live with a gap between his friends. Most of them were folks who were getting groomed to become the heirs of family holdings and sitting on piles of wealth, while Peter himself was likely going to get no more than enough money to buy himself a house and a car. Too poor to peacefully exist amongst this elite portion of society, and too rich to not be immediately held in contempt by the lower class, Peter spent most of his childhood and adolescence trying to ‘fit in’.
This is not to say that he wasn’t getting along, however; Peter’s personality had the perfect mix of cheeky impudence and shy naiveté, which led to rather active, if not shallow, teenage years (something that he often brags about to his close friends is the fact that he once got laid with the current President of the LaVoye Conglomerate, and a celebrity in her own right, Clarissa Townshend-LaVoye). Nonetheless, his desire to fit in still got curbed by sheer economical gaps between him and his classmates – he simply did not have enough cash to spend as vacuously as they did. This led to him being brasher in terms of appearance and personality, in an attempt to compensate for the economical difference.
Then one day, his hair gel got set aflame when he stood under a lamp for far too long in the middle of a lesson.
It wasn’t anything crucial; it wasn’t even dangerous or wounding (one of his friends had immediately poured a water bottle down his head, saving him, and ruining his hairdo further), and being the smooth talker he is, Peter managed to make fun of it before anyone else could beat him to it and turn him into a butt monkey. While the incident actually boosted his popularity, deep down it broke something in his heart. Perhaps he realized that trying to fit in so was not doing him all that good. He grew more and more insecure, and slowly faded out of his youthful brashness as time went on (something that may have saved his life, given some of his friends would later die in an elevator accident in a nightclub that he'd also once frequented).
However, Peter wasn’t all that bright (he never has been, admittedly), and without his social drive, he immediately drooped down to mediocrity, getting admitted to a program that he practically had no interest in. After graduating with a degree in Business Management and coming face to face with adult life, Peter realized something – he was rather dissatisfied in life, but had no passions to follow, nor, it seemed, any talent to actually cultivate. He went on a tour of Europe to forget this existential dread of realizing, but having no way to overcome, one’s own mediocrity, and found that he didn’t have much of an interest in art or technology either. If anything, his time in Europe further reinforced the idea that he was a failure, an infertile, drone-like mind in a constantly advancing and changing age.
Thus, Peter did what every person faced with oneself did, and found a lifeless, droll job, one that would keep him busy and tired enough to make sure he wouldn’t have to face himself when he went to bed. Earning a position in NuPharma as Manager of Logistics, partially thanks to his father’s influence, Peter moved to Brighton, although after rumors of involvement in an embezzlement scandal, the company sent him to Taiwan for his ‘excellent behavior’, citing that ‘his outgoing, tenacious personality was sure to help the company expand abroad’.
Peter did not take to his exile kindly. After a year in Taiwan, he quit his position in NuPharma, and after spending about three months doing nothing but fooling around in VR (his contract prevented him from joining any rival company for the duration), he took up a lesser position at Anderson-Ford Pharmaceutical. This new company relocated him to China, where he spent the most desolate six months of his life, moving from one industrial nightmare to another to follow up on his duties, inspecting shipments and trying to make sure that every shipment held true to the ledgers.
China was horrible; a country that had lost its culture and flavor to advancement – to Peter, felt more like an overextended, bloated dystopian movie set than an actual nation with a past. He thought of quitting the job, but, believing it wouldn’t look excellent on his resume and doom him to similar places such as China, he decided against it, and opted to extend his skill set instead, to have a chance of saving himself from this line of work in the future.
He’d already gotten some VR experience in Taiwan, however carnal and unproductive it may have been; after hearing of how some airline companies let people with no formal piloting training take their exams, provided they showed competence in certain VR programs, Peter decided to make this his focus, and immediately upgraded his headset to standard, throwing himself into the world of virtual cockpits.
Soaring through the digital, clear skies was a much more enjoyable experience compared to the unending grey smog of Chinese cities for Peter, and it gave him something to look forward to when returning home from port, after a long day of double-checking container cargo. Not to mention that it turned out he wasn’t half bad at the whole flying business; he’d managed to go through about 25 combat missions without getting shot down in a military simulator, and also could handle VTOL flights in more commercial and utility oriented games.
He was reassigned to Sopahn after six months in China, as part of Common Development Asia’s gradual expansion program. Sopahn, said the employee orientation consultant, was an Eastern gem in the making. As with everything that his superiors lauded and sugarcoated, Peter expected a huge letdown, and found it a pleasant surprise when his expectations were proven wrong. Sopahn wasn’t half bad, compared to his time in China. Plus, Common Development Asia’s overwhelming presence in the city meant that he was a privileged individual anywhere.
Well, almost anywhere.
After a car accident in Dhaar, the bad part of town, Peter found himself responsible for the death of two gangsters. It wasn’t the fact that they were gangsters that made this a problem, for they were the survivors of a small gang with no power (which, Peter would later learn, was practically destroyed that day after their leader got a Molotov to the face). It was just that one of them was the son of a local, politically controversial figure, which got Peter knee-deep in shit when the press jumped on the incident like sharks, claiming how Peter’s callous behavior was not unlike that of the British invaders of long past. Allusions to colonialism, foreign oppression, and similar buzzwords flew everywhere.
Miraculously, he was not fired from Anderson-Ford, but he had to pay a good amount of money to the public prosecutor to drop the case. Things thus once again got in the clear, although Peter made a mental note as to never go through Dhaar again and try to use public transport more. It wouldn’t take much longer anyway, he thought to himself – with some more VR experience, he’d be qualified for a couple of airliner exams, and he could just leave this shithole and get away. He’d heard that Air Taxis were becoming a thing in Munich.
Then one day, he got mail. In it were photos of him handing a snazzy watch and a card to the public prosecutor. Either he was to do as they complied, the mail warned, or these photos would reach plenty of news sites and activist groups. There was no doubt that Anderson-Ford wouldn’t be as forgiving this time, and neither would the law.
What they asked for in return was not much, the letter said – some changes in the shipment ledgers when necessary, and some occasional extra trips to different parts of town. Plus, there was compensation in the business for him. It was a no-risk kind of deal, or so said the letter.
Peter himself thought that he just couldn’t catch a break.
And thus, he found himself shackled to this ‘side business’ of letting Uzbeks nibble away at his ledgers and shipments, and occasionally letting them pay him for compensation. Peter himself suspects with good reason that this is just another way to give him more of a stake to comply, and to get more dirt on him if he ever fucks up. Nonetheless, it seems, he has to play along to get along. God knows what else.
Outlook and Motivations: Peter has a pretty pessimistic outlook on life and practically no motivation to continue further. What could have been a suicidal figure has been repressed by antidepressant usage, a shallow social life that he tries his best to immerse himself in, and personal lack of acceptance. To a more literary and scholarly onlooker, Peter would come across as petty and shallow, even meaningless – to close friends, he comes across as quite similar, but that only means he’s amongst fellow company. His circle of friends is borne of a practically Darwinist necessity; they need each other as to not bear their own company.
He is marked by a lack of passion and lack of interest. His only personal skill being his keen edge when it comes to observation, Peter often comes face to face with the fact that he’s practically living for money, and has gradually accepted his condition as a slave to wages. His money is often spent on hedonistic purposes and adrenaline rushes to make it easier for him to forget about the situation that he’s in.
Capabilities
Language(s): English, Hindi (fluent), Mandarin Chinese (moderate)
Skills:
Pilot: Peter’s got plenty of experience in virtual cockpits, be it flying 120 year old propeller planes in combat, or flying VTOL Air Taxis and helicopters through aerial traffic and skyscrapers in city life simulators. He actually likes it too; one of the few things he’s enthusiastic about, and he’s not half bad at it.
Pitcher: Peter’s broad shoulders and some sort of innate skill have allowed him to become a fairly skilled person at throwing things. He can pitch objects over long distances with considerable accuracy, and pitch them hard. He is simply an unfair fight at darts.
People Person: Peter, with years of white collar life and shallow friendship experience under his belt, finds a way to have ultimately meaningless but still substantial conversations with practically everybody. He’s no orator, but still, he manages to find just the right topics to talk about with everyone, and is smooth enough to keep people listening.
Flaws:
Balls in a Vice: If the Uzbek mafia wished so, Peter would probably get defaced in a corruption scandal, get lynched by Indians, and then get fired, in that order. He doesn’t have much choice but to help them in their businesses when they ask him to, and he constantly has to change his ledgers.
Hey, it’s That Guy: Indians HATE him! Find out how he earned the ire of an entire ethnicity with one simple trick – become a scapegoat for the media! Peter has somewhat of a bad reputation amongst Indians, for good reason, and the poorer classes don’t treat him all too well. God forbid if he’s recognized in a crowd.
Job on the Line: If Peter’s not trying to please the Uzbek Mafia, he’s trying to please Anderson-Ford. He’s got a lot of bad publicity in the job after that car accident business, and he rightfully feels that the company isn’t all that enthusiastic about keeping him around. Without the job, he’s got nothing.
Connections:
Accomplishments:
Crimes:
Skills:
Pilot: Peter’s got plenty of experience in virtual cockpits, be it flying 120 year old propeller planes in combat, or flying VTOL Air Taxis and helicopters through aerial traffic and skyscrapers in city life simulators. He actually likes it too; one of the few things he’s enthusiastic about, and he’s not half bad at it.
Pitcher: Peter’s broad shoulders and some sort of innate skill have allowed him to become a fairly skilled person at throwing things. He can pitch objects over long distances with considerable accuracy, and pitch them hard. He is simply an unfair fight at darts.
People Person: Peter, with years of white collar life and shallow friendship experience under his belt, finds a way to have ultimately meaningless but still substantial conversations with practically everybody. He’s no orator, but still, he manages to find just the right topics to talk about with everyone, and is smooth enough to keep people listening.
Flaws:
Balls in a Vice: If the Uzbek mafia wished so, Peter would probably get defaced in a corruption scandal, get lynched by Indians, and then get fired, in that order. He doesn’t have much choice but to help them in their businesses when they ask him to, and he constantly has to change his ledgers.
Hey, it’s That Guy: Indians HATE him! Find out how he earned the ire of an entire ethnicity with one simple trick – become a scapegoat for the media! Peter has somewhat of a bad reputation amongst Indians, for good reason, and the poorer classes don’t treat him all too well. God forbid if he’s recognized in a crowd.
Job on the Line: If Peter’s not trying to please the Uzbek Mafia, he’s trying to please Anderson-Ford. He’s got a lot of bad publicity in the job after that car accident business, and he rightfully feels that the company isn’t all that enthusiastic about keeping him around. Without the job, he’s got nothing.
Connections:
- Pudoo Vijay Pratap, Public Prosecutor, Corrupt Government Official
- Aubrey Millwood, Logistics Manager of Anderson-Ford Pharmaceutical
- Mirza Muhammad Babur, Owner of the ‘Bagh-e Babur’ Restaurant, prominent figure in the Uzbek Mafia
Accomplishments:
- Diploma in Business Management, University of Sussex
- NuPharma Manager of Logistics, 2053-2058
- Winner of the NuPharma Managers’ Board Annual Dart Competition, 2058
Crimes:
- Manslaughter x2 (case dropped)
- Bribery x1 (not prosecuted)
Inventory
Cash, saving and debts:
Tools and weapons:
Electronic devices:
Apparels:
Credentials and ID cards: Passport (at home), Anderson-Ford ID Card, Driver’s License, VR Flight License
Jewelry and valuables: None
Consumables: Packs of ReBreeze! Non Melting Ice Cream, Strawberry, Kiwi and Mango Flavors (kept in poly cooler)
Load bearing equipment: Wallet, Poly Cooler (kept in the automobile)
Illicit goods: None
Vehicle: Hyundai Coils Hybrid Automobile, Four-Door
Pet and animals: None
Other: Notebook, pen
- R3500 in Cash
- R60.000 in Savings at Khariboli Bank International
- R80.000 Overseas
Tools and weapons:
- Pepper Spray
- HandOut Multipurpose Monopod
Electronic devices:
- Haze Gaming VR Headset (at home)
- MicroSoft Folding Holographic Pad
- Samsung SmarTime Electronic Watch
- Samsung SmartEar Headpiece-Translator
- Huawei Holographic Smart Phone
Apparels:
- Classic suit with ‘power ties’ for work
- Casual/relaxed apparel for free time
Credentials and ID cards: Passport (at home), Anderson-Ford ID Card, Driver’s License, VR Flight License
Jewelry and valuables: None
Consumables: Packs of ReBreeze! Non Melting Ice Cream, Strawberry, Kiwi and Mango Flavors (kept in poly cooler)
Load bearing equipment: Wallet, Poly Cooler (kept in the automobile)
Illicit goods: None
Vehicle: Hyundai Coils Hybrid Automobile, Four-Door
Pet and animals: None
Other: Notebook, pen
@Peik Hey-hey-hey, same age as my character!
@Gcold Apologies for the delay, I got set back pretty badly by the realization that my writing was really, REALLY bad. I should have a revised product available by the end of the day, tops. (Aren't I just the best at deadlines?)
That being said though, I've got my work cut out for me o_o)...all of the other characters are really well done. Congrats to all so far and good luck come judgement day!
@Gcold Apologies for the delay, I got set back pretty badly by the realization that my writing was really, REALLY bad. I should have a revised product available by the end of the day, tops. (Aren't I just the best at deadlines?)
That being said though, I've got my work cut out for me o_o)...all of the other characters are really well done. Congrats to all so far and good luck come judgement day!
coGM
32 ain't that bad at all!!!
*looks at calendar and cries a little*
*looks at calendar and cries a little*
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