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

r a w c s s k e l e t o n ::

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(picture here, delete everything in parentheses and replace it with the actual stuff when you make your character, btw)

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[b]n a m e :: [/b]
(include given name, street name, nickname, old callsign, etc. make it header3 size, too)

[b]d a t e & p l a c e o f b i r t h :: [/b]
(this answers the where? and when? of your character’s origin)

[b]a p p e a r a n c e :: [/b]
(write what your picture doesn’t show. this can be as long or as short as you want. i won’t require you to state your character’s fashion sense, you can show that IC, but if your image is monochrome, what color is your characters hair? what is their weight, height? briefly mention what cybernetics are visible at a cursory glance, etc.)

[b]g e n d e r :: [/b]
(this should be obvious)

[b]o c c u p a t i o n :: [/b]
(obviously your character’s job over the course of the roleplay will be their work for biotechnica, but what did they do before that point? it’s a big world out there, but try to find a job that would make sense given the nature of the scenario. often, the kinds of people hired by companies for jobs like this would be people with combat experience, technical know-how (robotics, netrunning, driving/flying), connections, medical ability, charisma, or whatever else might be useful. feel free to break or take from these archetypes as you please, as you are no way bound to having your character solely encapsulated by their ability to “shoot good”.)

[b]s k i l l s :: [/b]
(this can be used to specify your character concentration within their occupation, or connect to something that they do outside of their normal life. these skills can be as fantastical or as mundane as you wish, but i ask that you don’t get too overzealous. i also encourage you to check out how your character’s ability might mesh and complement someone else’s)

[b]c y b e r n e t i c s ::[/b]
(the real meat and potatoes of the genre. i don’t require you to have any special naming conventions regarding cyberware, or even try to keep some sort of continuity with cyberware from the cyberpunk 2020 universe or wherever. you can be as detailed as you please. cybernetics is a vast and expansive market. your can have neuralware made by apple while also sporting a bionic arm made by a start-up in russia. go wild [to a point] in the nature and names of your cybernetics: your imagination will help build up a little piece of this cyberpunk world. with that being said, don’t get too rowdy with the amount of cybernetics your character has. cyberpsychosis is a big problem in the cybernetics market. i’ll allow you to use your own discretion when creating a character. whether or not they have cyberpsychosis or are suffering from its symptoms is up to you [unless i strongly disagree with your judgement, in which case, i’ll tell you])

[b]h i s t o r y :: [/b]
(who was your character? did they have family troubles? what was their childhood like? who did they meet? did they go to school? did they strike it rich or did they bite off more than they can chew? did they cross someone? do they have a family? you get the point. go wild.)

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[u]BIOTECHNICA S.A. REGISTRANT PERSONALITY QUIZ[/u]

[i]This quiz is a way for your employer to better understand who YOU are! Your candor is important and required, as lying on this document can warrant you a $5,000 fine and 2 to 24 months in prison![/i]
(this is meant to be a partially tangent section of the CS regarding your character’s personality. you can answer it in any way you wish. you can complete it in third person, first person, etc. you can have your character strike through all the questions of this questionnaire and write “this is dumb” on the bottom in big bold lettering. do as you please, but keep this in mind: show, don’t tell)

[b]Favorite food:[/b] (What food do you like to eat?)

[b]Least favorite food:[/b] (What food [i]don’t[/i] you like to eat?)

[b]Use three words to describe yourself:[/b] (Pretty simple!)

[b]Likes:[/b] (What do you like? Do you have hobbies? Is there anything or anyone that is [i]extra[/i] special to you?)

[b]Dislikes:[/b] (What things don’t you like? I hope you’re not a Negative Nancy™, but We All Hate Mondays!™, am I right?)

[b]Values:[/b] (What means alot to you? Your religion? Your convictions? Your family?)

[b]Strengths:[/b] (What are you good at? What do people like about you?)

[b]Flaws:[/b] (Maybe you are a Negative Nancy™, but hey, at least you’re honest! Or maybe you have crippling cyberpsychosis and you need regular medication and check-ups or else you show signs of severe paranoid schizophrenia! Maybe that cyberpsychosis isn’t that bad. Your urge to send that crossing guard flying at dozens of meters per second may only come around after she makes you late to work, rather than every time you see her.)

[b]Anything else:[/b] (Don’t be shy! We have you medical records and personal history, so we would know if you left anything out that you shouldn’t have!)

[.hr]

[Didgeridont]

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n a m e ::

Catherine Voyvoda

ID# K8-109

d a t e & p l a c e o f b i r t h ::
February 3, 2022, Washington DC, United States of America

a p p e a r a n c e ::
Catherine has dull green eyes and thick, amber colored hair. She has a slim, toned figure. She is about 163 cm tall (5’ 4”), with a weight of 74 kg (163 lbs). Her ancestry is muddled, unclear, her pale skin, boring eyes, and unassuming hair hiding what could be countless European ancestries. Her silhouette is unremarkable. No pronounced features, no baggy or ostentatious nu-age clothing. She blends into her surroundings, a blank slate, able to take bits and pieces of a setting and create a new identity for herself. While her looks and complexion can be telling of a refined lifestyle, she has no quarrel about dirtying herself up to belie her true appearance. She moves with purpose and fluidity, her steps quick and her attacks quicker.

Her left arm is fully cybernetic, up to her armpit, with a sleek, polished white chassis and bright lines of light running down the frame. Her right hand is cybernetic as well, but is of a different make than her arm, made up of a light gray material with many inlets and more pronounced joints.

g e n d e r ::
Female

o c c u p a t i o n ::
Corporate Agent

s k i l l s ::
»Liquidation — Trained in combat, Catherine is a naturally agile fighter. However, she isn’t used to firefights or prolonged exchange of munitions
»Artifice — Deceptive by nature, she able to finesse herself into a given role with ease
»Obedience — Takes orders without question and without insolence

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

»AMD B4-99910 Neuralware Processor — While not the latest model of neuralware, the G4-99910 has been extensively modified with firmware from the U.S. government in order to more effectively function with her specific cybernetic enhancements as well as heighten awareness, decrease reaction time, and be able to dull or amplify senses. It serves as the bridge between Catherine’s brain and the rest of her cybernetics, giving her the ability to control them with ease.

»2 × CyberEye RX-2280 — Both of Catherine’s eyes have been replaced by the RX-2280. It allows for view magnification, thermal imaging, night vision, enhanced contrast, and photography. It is linked with her neuralware, which also stores photos taken by the eyes. It also allows for image projection directly onto her field of view with the help of her neuralware. This allows her to augment her vision by creating a veritable HUD, tracking things like her vital signs, power supply, time & date, and ammunition, as well as allowing her to have constant viewing of photos and images saved to her neuralware.

»Biotechnica Subdermal Muscle Network v1.11— A layer of wires and mesh that is suspended within her muscles and other tissue to serve as both a connector between her neuralware and the rest of her body and as a reinforcement of her own tissue. It adds a significant amount of force to her motions while also adding a few more kilograms to her body weight. However, it isn’t as though the BSMN inhibits her movement, as it multiplies the natural strength of her feet, allowing her to run much faster than she could originally and easily brush off falls from height. It also serves as a natural body armor, being able to more easily cushion small arms rounds and unarmed blows, while still providing some protection from heavier hitting sources of hurt.

»Biotechnica B-Arm Mk.4.4 — A simple yet elegant cybernetic arm. It has a sleek white exterior, which belies the powerful interior that is capable of crushing metal, wood, glass, and plastic with ease. The elbow and wrist joints are free to move in all 360 degrees, while the shoulder is connected by the natural ball & socket joint of the body.

» Biotechnica Hand-based Multi-tool Mk. 2.99 — A raw cyberhand in every sense of the word. Has the ability to turn its fingers and palm into a variety of small tools, such as a laser pointer, mechanical screwdriver, knife blade, .22LR pistol, etc. It has a dull gray color with great variation in the thickness and materials. The wrist is thin and spindly while the palm is big and blockish. Definitely a piece of hardware more suitable in its function rather than its aesthetics.

h i s t o r y ::
Born on 4:28 A.M. on February 3, 2022, she was everything her parents wanted. While the caesarian section performed on her mother was tense at first, the unease dissipated as soon as the procedure was completed and the doctors procured a beautiful, healthy little baby girl. Lucky them. Her father, a mechanic, her mother, a waitress. While funds were low, they promised each other they would make sure to raise the baby right. Dad was to give up the flask, Mom had already given up the needle when she found out she was pregnant. Things were looking up.

It was at 9:44 P.M. that agents Jimmy “Fats” O’Donnel and Gregory “Grog” Tobin pulled up into the parking lot of the hospital. They walked quickly through the automatic door of the hospital, each holding two stroller seats. They avoided the gaze and musings of the other people within the hospital and went straight for the front desk. It was almost as if two burly men in suits holding baby travel devices was strange. Jimmy procured a packet of papers from inside his suit pockets, and the two men waited impatiently for the receptionist to slowly read through the pages. Halfway through, she looked up.

“You two serious?” In sync, the two men procured their FBI badges. The woman looked shocked, but gave a quick, hesitant nod, acknowledging their business and letting them through. The two men hustled through the hallways, eventually making their way into the baby nursery. They flashed their badges to the workers there and asked for assistance in figuring out which baby was which. Things started looking down.

In Section 12 of the United States React, Replace, Remodel Act, citizens could have their lifestyle forfeit if it was, ostensibly, for the betterment of society. Section 12 Part C recognizes the necessity for families with an annual gross income below $50,000 (among others) to be willing to forfeit their children because of “how such families often have great trouble in raising children properly. This legislation allowing these families, their offspring, and those around them to live comfortably, securely, and blissfully.”

The four babies were brought to a laboratory in Kentucky, owned by the budding and expanding Biotechnica company. This transaction was, of course, done in secret, off the record, and behind closed doors. This was the start of K8-109’s new life as a test subject for the U.S. government-backed research arm of the Biotechnica company.

All four babies were female, all were fed a concoction of nutrients, fibers, sugars, and, of course, drugs throughout their early years. Two, unfortunately, did not survive to live one year old, while the third died of unknown causes at around three years old. K8-109 was the sole survivor of the second batch of babies within the Kentucky facility.

On her tenth birthday was when they began to fully begin their experiments on the child. They began with her right hand, replacing it with a rather mundane cyberhand. It was the youngest person that the doctors had ever operated on, but the surgery was, by all accounts, a success. In the week after the surgery, K8-109 showed signs of severe infatuation with her bionic hand, which the analysts had deemed symptomatic of cyberpsychosis. K8-109 was later sedated and placed into a medically induced coma for multiple months after they took off her cyberhand.

They tried again on her 13th birthday. No complications, once again, and this time, there were no signs of cyberpsychosis. This allowed for the research to perform all the screening and tests they wanted on K8-109, at least until they got bored and deemed it necessary to expand upon her cybernetics. This time, the operation was conducted on her 15th birthday, replacing her left arm and giving her a new model on her right hand to fit her growing size. No complications. No problems. More tests!

On her 17th birthday, they implanted a prototype subdermal muscle network into her legs and lower abdomen. The surgery was, once again, a success, but the anesthetic didn’t last nearly as long as the doctors had hoped, and it seemed as though K8-109 had woken up very cranky and with a very pronounced case of cyberpsychosis. The restraints were too weak to keep her legs or left arm on the operating table, and the scalpel took care of the rest. K8-109 felt compelled to move towards the window. The night sky called to her. It was calm, serene, free of the others. She kept the scalpel, limping her way towards the large window, the scars from the surgery tearing away at her but the call to escape pulled stronger than ever. She opened the window and jumped.

The fall hurt. Alot. The pain screamed white hot. It was like everything the anesthetic had dulled previously was now coming back to collect its dues of agony. No matter. This opportunity could not be wasted. A scientist was entering his car. He lingered too long. She walked up beside him, scalpel extended, motioned for him to let her in the back. He complied. She motioned for him to move. He complied. He drove quickly, fearing for his life. He had a wife, kids too. What would happen if he were to just die here?

After about twenty minutes of driving, she saw a city. She opened the door and jumped out onto the grass beside the road. The dirt felt soft, natural, organic, but the impact of the fall rekindled the flames of pain within her body. She walked onward. Three junkies stood, watching idly as this young girl walked ever closer. Their lucky day. Finally something that might allow them to take a load off, double entendre intended.

They grabbed her, but even in her stupor, she was still able to easily slit the throat of one man, chopping the fingers of another. The third fled, most likely excreting none of the fluids he intended to. At this point, cyberswat had come to the scene. She capitulated to their orders and layed down on the ground, ready for sleep. She was tired.

The laboratory kept her comatose for a long while. She received her last dose of cybernetics at the age of 21. While this did induce mild cyberpsychosis, they were able to control it with a regular routine of drugs and therapy, none of which K8-109 particularly enjoyed. It was at this point in which she was handed off to the higher-ups of the corporate ladder, ready to fulfill her true purpose.

She was trained in murder, extortion, theft, guile, disguise, escape artistry, sweet-talking, whatever else could have been useful for an agent of the corporation. She took to most of these subjects eagerly, having been bored by the mundane schooling life in the Kentucky lab had brought her. In fact, she became rather accomplished and is considered one of Biotechnica’s top cyborg agents.

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BIOTECHNICA S.A. REGISTRANT PERSONALITY QUIZ

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

Favorite food: ████████████████████████

Least favorite food: ██████████████

Use three words to describe yourself: ███████,███████████, and ████████████████

Likes: I like ████████████████████████, ████████████████, ████████, and █████████████ and ████████████████████████

Dislikes: I don’t like ██████████, or ██████████████████, or any ████████████████████████ for that matter. I also dislike ██████████████

Values: I value my ████████████████████████████████

Strengths: I am ████████████████████████ and ████████████████ and I’m especially skilled ████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████

Flaws: I have problems with ████████████████████████, it really ████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████ so much so that ████████████████████████████████

Anything else: ████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████

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[Voodoo]

Victor Santoyo

I will make Jerusalem heaps, a dwelling place of jackals; and I will make the cities of Judah a desolation, without inhabitant. - Jeremiah 9:11

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n a m e ::

Victor Santoyo

c a l l s i g n ::

Chacal/Jackal

d a t e & p l a c e o f b i r t h ::

Outskirts of Santa Marta, Colombia - August 7th, 2019

a p p e a r a n c e ::

Victor looks as one would expect a professional solo to look; huge. Standing at 6'5", and weighing in at 240lbs of muscle and metal, he's a bit more than intimidating. Bronze-brown skin, black hair, and dark brown eyes place him squarely from Latin America before his accent can. A wide grin shows off well-kept teeth under a slightly crooked nose, the result of more bar brawls and lost bets than would be considered smart. Attached to his temples are a pair of small, cybernatic implants that when activated generate a pair of lenses over Victor's eyes. His hair is generally kept short and normally just ends up thrown up into a controlled mess after the shower. The result of this lack of long hair though is that the remarkably few neural ports Victor has are visible, a 22mm neural port on the back of the neck near the base of the skull, along with a pair of 5mm ports on both sides of his neck, near the jaw and ear. Outside of an operating environment, he keeps his ports plugged.

His right arm, while not obvious cybernetic, sports several more ports; a pair of 6.5mm SmartGun ports on the inner forearm (palm-side), a Cuerpo Libre Inc. quick-inject port on the inner wrist, and three (5mm, 8mm, 10mm) general purpose ports. A pair of large, vertical scars run up Victor's sides from surgery. His torso brandishes several gunshot scars that he has refused to have removed and strange ridges where his ribs would be located. Aside from cybernetics and scars, he sports an ornate cross tattoo on his back, and the Sacred Heart on his left pectoral, both done in MoodInk. Additionally, he has a small tattoo of the name "Marie" on his left palm.

g e n d e r ::
Male

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

Messenger

Victor's been called a lot of things throughout his years. Bastard, Leadhead, Solo, Fuckface; to name a few. In jest, he calls himself a glorified delivery boy and he's not that far off. Previously under Cuerpo Libre's payroll, Victor, along with other "Escobas" were tasked with sweeping away undesirable elements within newly acquired Cuerpo Libre properties. As the corporation was aggressively expanding its international holdings, Victor spent a lot of time in North Africa and the Middle East removing criminal elements and upstart street operations as directed.

After becoming a contractor, Victor had the opportunity to engage in more varied work. With a natural flair not normally found amongst mercs, his contracts started to flow in one vein. Intimidation. Whether it was tearing through a safe house just to leave a birthday card for a capo, simply shooting an employee in front of corporate headquarters, or razing a village to the ground, this one man army had a better track record than most. Under budget, occasional equipment loss, and generally little collateral damage. No surprise that a big corp like Biotechnica would take notice.

s k i l l s ::

Lead Delivery Boy

If it shoots bullets, Victor can quickly adapt to its use. From pistols to shotguns to heavy machine guns and more, while he may not have used the specific model he finds in his hands, he's probably used something similar and can quickly get a feel for it. His specialty lies in firefights medium to close range where assault rifles, shotguns, pistols, and grenades dominate.

Anything is a Weapon if You Kill Someone with It

Victor is not a master of hand to hand combat. While trained in Brazilian Jiu Jitsu and Russian Systema, his habit of shooting someone in the chest with a shotgun before they start throwing their fists at him has let those skills wane. If Victor does, somehow, get caught with his pants down and his underwear gun unloaded, he has an unsettling knack for using just about any object in reach with deadly results. Combining brute strength, dirty fighting, and a fierce survival instinct, it would likely be less painful to just get shot and die quick.

Shock and Awe with a Lot of Loud

A natural development from his personality mixed with his line of work, Victor is not someone to call in for a quiet sneak-and-steal type of mission. He's more like a sledgehammer with three screaming airhorns attached shooting bullets and confetti. If you need a place stormed quick with a whole lot of fire and fury, he's the guy that can plan and execute it with gusto and bravado.

e n h a n c e m e n t s ::

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

Modelo 3H-B "Razón" - Perro Negro Industrial

A no-frills neural interface that does not offer many of the utilities offered by other devices. The Razón does not boost a user's mental faculties, and its boost to processing speed and sensory interpretation is average a target best. What it lacks, it makes up for in security against outside interference. Lacking wireless capabilities, an outside system must be connected by cable to the user through the sole 22mm neural port to directly communicate with the neural system. As a result, the system can not access the Internet or other outside systems without the help of peripheral attachments nor be accessed without a direct connection by cable. Networking with other cybernetics is accomplished through direct connections within the user's body. Currently, Victor uses a wireless-enabled module when accessing the Net.

Additionally, the entire unit is covered in a grounded mesh that shields the unit from EM interference rated for about 100V/m. This protects it from the effects of all but the more expensive EMP grenades but doesn't do much for larger sources of EMI such as lightning strikes, power generation facilities, and higher end fryguns.

Modelo Z31M-B "Búho Gris" - Perro Negro Industrial

This pair of implants, attached to the temples, generate a pair of lenses over the user's eyes when activated. A suitable replacement for if a user hasn't lost their eyes and doesn't want to, these lenses overlay a non-intrusive HUD over the field of vision. Due to the processing necessary to keep track of the user's eye movements and adjust the HUD, the overlay is rather simplistic in design and doesn't support some of the more advanced features one would find in a cybernetic eye such as zooming capability, and SmartGun integration.

After some aftermarket mods, the lens support infrared and night-vision along with offering protection from intense light, such as sunlight and flashbangs.

"León 5" Full Arm Cybernetic Replacement - Nuñez-Castillo Cibernética

Following the same vein as his neural gear, the León line of limb replacements place a bigger focus on security and defense from outside interference than fancy gadgets and added utility. This arm is not much more than an arm and while it has a variety of ports for SmartGun integration and other accessories, it doesn't offer much else aside from a reliable and comfortable arm replacement that auto-calibrates to mesh with the strength of a user's back and chest muscles to prevent damage due to strength mismatches. These calibrations can be overridden manually if need be either through a neural command or a small switch hidden on the upper arm.

Aftermarket additions to the limbs have been rather simple. The first is a monomolecular wire garrote hidden within the pinky finger. The second is a RealFlesh coating that helps the arm pass off as a real flesh and bone arm. Carefully crafted to look as lifelike as it can be, the real giveaways are the faint arrays of wire that can be seen under the "skin" on close inspection, the fact that the arm doesn't sweat, and the ports visible on the forearm.

b i o m o d s ::

"Enduro" Cardiovascular Reinforcement - Cuerpo Libre Inc

A combination of two surgeries that enhance a patient's cardiovascular system to Olympic levels and more. First a patient's arterial muscles are reinforced to increase their pumping action and accelerate blood flow throughout the body. Secondly, Cuerpo Libre's patented engineered virus agents modify a patient's marrow stem cells to produce red blood cells carrying the metaheme molecule in place of hemoglobin. As a molecule with a much greater attraction for oxygen than hemoglobin, this increases a users aerobic ability and allows them to hold their breaths for much longer than normal.

"Guardián" Torso Endoarmor - Cuerpo Libre Inc

Protecting the chest and upper abdomen, Cuerpo Libre's endoarmor replaces the ribcage with a custom fitted series of flexible bone plates sheathed in calcified cartilage that heals when damaged using the body's natural processes. While it won't stop armor-piercing rounds, it also won't trigger metal detection systems or reduce your agility and will protect you from small arms fire (up to .45 caliber!) from hitting you were it really hurts.

"Sobreviviante: C" - Cuerpo Libre Inc

A suite of biomods designed specifically for their Escoba-class personnel being sent into high heat climates abroad and domestically, over two invasive surgeries several new organs are implanted in the body.

In the first surgery, the stomach is modified with the addition of several small tendrils that help detect toxins within consumed food and drink. Much quicker to detect naturally derived toxins over synthetic poisons, when the tendrils sense a toxin, they trigger the vomit reflex to empty the stomach. Additionally, several lymph nodes in the vicinity of the stomach are replaced with a dense "optinode" that integrates itself into the lymphatic network and continuously monitors the fluids of the body for antigens and others foreign bacteria while serving as a reservoir for lymphocytes. When triggered, the optinode releases its stored lymphocytes, alerts the rest of the lymphatic to the infection, and begins producing lymphocytes at an inhuman rate. This results in an extremely robust immune response that fights off most natural diseases with ease.

The second surgery focuses on the intestines of the patient. First, the small intestine is modified with the addition of a new section that converts normally indigestible cellulose and proteins into a form that can be processed and absorbed by the rest of the small intestine. Secondly, the large intestine is modified by the addition of an artificial organ that coils around within the intestine and absorbs up to 70% of the water in solid waste.

In effect, this suite of biomods allows a soldier to shrug off diseases common to new environments, eat just about any sort of natural and edible product and reject poisonous material, and survive for longer without water.

h i s t o r y ::

If you don't have cash, Colombia is a shithole. Before the mega-corporations there was already a noticeably gap between the haves and the have-nots. You would have a new hotel made of white stone and glass not even a block away from a tangled mass of plywood, salvage and corrugated tin that couldn't even be called a slum. Tourists could be eating steaks, lobster, and ice cream while the nearby locals scrounged for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. The gap didn't close when the mega-corporations like Cuerpo Libre Inc and
N.C. Cibernética started buying up the land. They promised millions and a place to live for all of the poor on their holdings in exchange for ownership. They built housing, implemented infrastructure, and brought food. They let the people stay on their lands, giving the old residents first dibs on housing. Rent was low but millions spread out over hundreds of families didn't last nearly as long as those unused to money would have thought. Contracts were re-written and rules changed. A family could stay if they worked in the corporation factories conveniently nearby. WHile they worked their children would be taken care of and educated. The parents would receive a stipend and extra rations for each child.

It was working all so well, the workers that stayed didn't want to leave. Those outside, wanted to work and join the corporation communities because their own situation was terrible in comparison. Workers had three meals each day. They had clean water to drink. Their kids could be educated. It was a paradise compared to the squalor. The corporations had built themselves up to be saviors of the poor. In the long run, it's much easier to make a horse walk with carrots, rather than whips. It even lives longer that way. As this complex of the benevolent corporation became more and more ingrained amongst their uplifted workers, the prices went up and up. In time, children could be transferred into the care of the corporations themselves to help pay off debt, or even just to get a hefty bonus. Victor was one of these "corponiños" and once he was processed and moved to Cuerpo Libre's Centro de Educación para Niños things got a whole lot better; temporarily.

Up through the age of twelve, he was educated extensively in mathematics, physics, computer science, critical thinking, teamwork, social structures, and more. Literature consisted of technical manuals, the arts were non-existent. Physical education was an important component of the curriculum along with proper nutrition. As a child, Victor took to this structure well and while he was no superstar by talent, his fierce competitive streak kept him in the upper echelons of his class. He liked winning, and he worked for it with gusto. What he truly lacked a capacity for was use of the Internet. While he enjoyed playing some of the VR games, he had a strong attachment to the physical world where the "everything was actually real". This strong detachment and lack of interest proved to be a huge detriment when using the Internet for more than diversion and entertainment. It was no matter though. A single C wouldn't kill him. He was just excited to move on, to move into the teenage dorms and take the more advanced classes. He'd heard a rumor that the dorms were even co-ed.

What he didn't know was that those "teenage dorms and classes" were little more than smoke and mirrors. A carrot that led them to work hard in their schooling while making them complacent.

One morning, he didn't wake up in bed. There was no air conditioning, no food, no water, no room, no books. All he had were the clothes on his back and a small note pinned to his chest with the Cuerpo Libre letterhead. He was in something of a ramshackle hut, made of wood pallets, with no roof. The note said one thing. "Sobrevivir durante seis años", survive for six years. There was no briefing, and there was no further instruction. Before he could panic, he could already feel thirst on his lips and his stomach beginning to rumble. The sun was almost overhead and the air was thick and humid. When he exited the hut, he was surrounded with wood, plastic, and dirt. Others of his class, dazed and confused, were wandering through the trash.

It was six years of misery in "Patacon" as they called in. Even amongst the garbage, a hierarchy was present based on time within the grueling crucible. In theory, the only thing someone needs to survive is food, water, and shelter but a fourth necessity was very quickly discovered amongst the new entries to the trial, a weapon. While at first people tried to help each other to make it through, time, heat, thirst, and hunger quickly did away with that sentiment. Those that could not capture some of the game that was strangely present, or forage for food withered away. Those that could not play nice with others were more violently removed. Some would isolate themselves, some would turn to thievery and flight. Others would organize and manage resources for groups, and others would defend them from the threats. Victor found a good niche in that last category and in hindsight, it was probably that choice that led him down the path of a corporate soldier and eventually freelancing solo.

Through his six years, he learned many lessons over human nature and his own tendencies. He picked up some habits, both good and bad. When his six years were up, he came out of the forge a soldier and a survivor. Immediately, his training in firearms and tactics began. A more focused curriculum that worked to hone his strengths and blunt his weaknesses. At the age of twenty, Victor started to receive real assignments from Cuerpo Libre. Initially working under a veteran Escoba as a sort of apprentice before receiving assignments for himself. The rest; the work abroad, the injuries, the surgeries, and the freelancing all seemed to come in a frenzied blur. The letter from Biotechnica was just the latest in an uninterrupted river of lead, chrome, blood, and paperwork.

---

---

BIOTECHNICA S.A. REGISTRANT PERSONALITY QUIZ

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

Favorite food: (What food do you like to eat?)
Bandeja Paisa - Rice and avocado salted, ají for the chicharron and chorizo, chimichurri for the steak (medium rare), two eggs sunny side up

Least favorite food: (What food don’t you like to eat?)

Oatmeal - Texture is fucky with no taste
Dessert - I don't do sweets after my meals, just a a cigar is fine

Use three words to describe yourself: (Pretty simple!)

Sinning
Winning
Grinning

But for real, give us more than three words next time. Soy mucho más complicado, amigo.

Likes: (What do you like? Do you have hobbies? Is there anything or anyone that is extra special to you?)

- I like to cook
- I like seeing my bank account grow and my investments do well.
- I like shooting guns, it's fun as hell. Oh, and grenades.
- I also like it when I scare the piss out of a suit. Shit's funny.
- I like dates. The fruit and the activity.

Dislikes:

- I don't like militant atheists. We don't have to agree but don't tell me my beliefs are dumb or we'll have a problem.
- I don't like when people touch the food on my plate.
- I don't like people without a moral compass. Shit circmstances don't give you the go ahead to be a shit person.
- I really don't like human traffickers.
- I don't like Egyptians.



Values:

- My relationship with God
- Self-improvement and personal accountability
- Loyalty and good communication amongst peers
- I work not for the now but for the future I want
- I keep my personal feelings and relations seperate from my work as best I can


Strengths:

- I know my way through a battlefield and when the lead starts flying and the mortars start dropping, I'll keep my cool and help any others through the shock too. God's with us after all.
- I'm very group minded despite my stint as a lone solo, I see the value in having more eyes than mine around along with different skill sets. I try to get to know who I'm working with. A team with no trust doesn't function all that well, like a robot without oil.
- I'm strong as hell. These muscles ain't just for show ladies.
- In typical merc fashion: I shoot gud.
- Oh, I also give a shit about my team. No man left behind and all that.

Flaws:

- I've got cyberpsychosis, could be worse but it ain't exactly all candy and rainbows. My doc says I can develop delusions of grandeur with religious undertones when over-stimulated, show violent possessiveness regarding food and water and religious symbols, and can develop tendencies for self-harm in response to mental stress generally in the form of self-flagellation.

Basically, I can get a bit Jesus-freaky when shit's hitting the fan or just during a real fun firefight. I don't share my food and water, and I don't take other peoples. What's mine is mine and what's yours is yours. If you give me some of yours, then it becomes mine and, again, what's mine is mine. Lastly, I've gotten a bit carried away before with the Catholic guilt, doesn't come up too often but it happens. Nothing a doc can't fix.
- Biomods ain't free. While they don't cause mental problems, as I've mentioned below, I've gotta get a different array of nutrients than most to keep me running at 100%. At the same time, I can't eat crustaceans specifically anymore. Some people develop these sorts of reactions as a side effect of biomodification. Crustaceans don't jive with my system anymore, they'll leave me exploding out of everywhere for hours and feeling like a dumpster fire for days afterward. No seafood restaurants for me anymore, thanks.
- I only use the Net for movies, music, and entertainment. Don't ask me to do anything complicated through it because it ain't happening.
- Sneaking isn't really in my wheelhouse as a 6'5" pile of muscle and bullets. If you need a distraction though, I'm your guy.


Anything else:

-I pray every day and go to church when I can. I don't kill clergy and I don't deface holy ground.

-I don't take stock options as payment. I'll invest where I damn well want to invest. I'd also like a copy of my contract to review.

- I've got different nutritional requirements than standard. If I'm on the clock and need to get more supplements, it's gonna be on your dime. Luckily for you, I'm not gonna shit away all your money on fancy dinners and overpriced drinks.

---

[Syben]

Chiue Xu-Miao

Chiue Xu-Miao ♦ Twenty-Eight ♦ Decker

╟[ Handle.doc ] ┐

» Kid Kαndi

└ An online persona unassociated with Chiue.

╟[ Birth.doc ] ┐

» April 17, 2022

└ Qinhuangdao - China

└ A coastal prefecture along the Bohai Sea.

╟[ Gender.doc ] ┐

» Female

╟[ Description.rtd ] ┐
^{[ .NET Virtual Avatar ] [ Calling Card ]}
» Chiue Xu-Miao

A woman of obvious Asian descent, Chiue is a contemporary gal who enjoys the nightlife in the fast lane. Bright lights, bitchin' rides, and a bombastic style to match. She's often found mixing monochromatic clothing with bright, colorful accessories. When in the comfort of her own sanctum, there are no pretenses and she'll pretty much wear whatever, or very little at all. Her sense of flare seems to work well for her slim, elegant frame. She stands at about 5'6 and weighs approximately 145 pounds soaking wet. Her eyes are decidedly almond-shaped and bracket a large nose that matches some rather sizable ears. Her pert lips work wonders when she smiles, especially when coupled with her glittering, ocean-blue eyes. Appearance is everything, and Chiue predominantly keeps her hair dyed electric blue with bright, pink tips. One side of her head is shaved into two staggered layers—A style called hedging. The hedged layers of her hair serve a double purpose of being prominently fashionable, and to hide the 22mm neural ports embedded into her skull. She also has a 30mm chrome accented port centered on the back of her neck.

» Kid Kandi

Kid Kandi, commonly referred to as "K.K." or "Double K", is a figure shrouded in mystery and success. They've made a name for themselves through their online medium, an avatar by the same name. The cyber avatar is almost entirely candy pink, from the hair down to the mask and clothes. The only other real color on the avatar, other than the black that fills the ominous negative space, is a neon blue strand of the avatar's hair. Due to the overall appearance, the avatar is assumed to be female in nature, and thus the other users on the NET have theorized that the user behind the rendered figure is also a female. After all, that makes the most sense.

╟[ Occupation.doc ] ┐
» Decker Contractor

Kid Kandi does not advertise, and is not easily traced. However, if one has the proper resources then tracing Kid Kandi is not impossible, and this method is actually preferred by Double K. It ensures that only the clients who could actually afford Kid's services find their inbox. However, there is an alternative method, that's less difficult but doesn't guarantee results. Simply posting a communication request in the places Double K hangs out in the NET. Usually these can be found by asking around, and if the job is interesting, or pays well, Double K will contact them.

╟[ Skills.doc ] ┐
» The Edge of the Edge

Uncharacteristically of the stereotypical Decker, Chiue enjoys the finer qualities of meatspace, and she has a wide range of tastes. Most especially, she loves the things that set her heart pounding with adrenaline; A fancy party she has no place being at, thumping cyber-techno clubs, racing some punk on the street, and so forth. By proxy, Kid Kandi loves these things too. Big risks, high payouts and overcoming a difficult challenge. Most clients come to Double K downtrodden, either depressed that they won't see their desires come to fruition, or perhaps at the lovely price tag that comes with K's services. These are the kind of reckless pursuits that get Chiue's heart going. These monumental tasks where she could get caught, dumped, or ICE'd at any moment; Walls that seem impossible to get through; Squaring off with defense personnel on the other side of the code; Mega-corporations that would put a bullet in her without hesitation. Luckily, she's still alive. However, this kind of lifestyle is dangerous, and reckless, which is one of Chiue's major downfalls. She loves dangerous and reckless. To her, these feelings are old, sensual lovers that she just can't stay away from. Worse, she has a deep seated need to be recognized for her work, even if it is through a dissociated online medium. She, or rather Kid Kandi, has a calling card that's left behind on the victim's visual displays—A simple, animated dancing cat named Mao. In Chinese, Mao translates to "Cat" ... yea.

» Proper Asset Management

Firstly, Any self respecting decker knows how to build and upgrade their own decks. Using other people's decks is a good way to get yourself ICE'd in the permanent kind of way. That, or raided by the supercops. Chiue takes it a step further. She knows what kind of lifestyle she lives and if she's not careful it will be the kind she doesn't live long. Now, careful doesn't mean she won't stop slamming her way through code and leaving behind a huge mess. Careful means covering her ass on the way out and most importantly, not leaving a trail that will lead back to herself. She's painstakingly created cryptographic protocols, intruder detection and security systems, and interlaced her security systems with traps and decoys. Then of course, there's her pride and joy, "ACE"—Abstract Cryptography Engine. ACE runs encryption protocols that constantly change the elementary components of the engine in an arbitrary way. Things such as the symmetric-key, the block cipher algorithms, the length of the bit groups, and so on. Unfortunately, it was proven to her later that her protection was not unbreakable.

» Payout or Personal

Chiue's morals are a bit lacking in some departments, but are strong in others. For instance, she hates killing and won't ever take a job that requires her to murder someone on the net—Accidents don't count, especially those with extraneous circumstances. Additionally, she only takes two kinds of jobs; Those that interest her, or those with high payouts. Once a contract is set, she won't back-stab her employer and ruin her credibility, even if the opposition is offering up hefty sums of creds. Unfortunately, this also means that even if her target is some unfortunate soul with a sob story, she doesn't care. She sees the paycheck or the fulfillment of her personal motives.

» Eight Tiger What?

Mostly thanks to her strict upbringing, Chiue's not exactly an easy chump to hassle. While no means a master, she's reached efficient levels in modernized Baguazhang (Eight Trigram Palm) and Tai'Chi (Taiji Fist). Typically, these martial arts styles are focused on controlling not only your body, but also your opponent's. Meaning they are a combination of defensive and offensive . Since Chiue lacks any sort of strength enhancing cybernetics, she doesn't fall under the combatant category, any well-trained fighter will likely outclass her. Fortunately, Baguazhang and Tai'Chi rely mostly on balance, speed, and precision strikes. These skills have definitely come in handy against common street thugs and muggers. However, she finds it harder to concentrate the more bodies there are, especially those outside her vision.

╟[ Cybernetics.doc ] ┐
» Xian'Shang White Dragon Neural Interfacing System v2.9

While not the latest and greatest, the White Dragon system is a rather recent development from the Chinese based Xian'Shang Technology Conglomerate. The two most important features this provides for Chiue is reliable electric-surge dissipation, and high compatibility with her other cybernetics.

» Gon'Qui X-2 Retinal Overlays v0.53

A fancy name for what are essentially permanent optical lens, linked to her neuralware of course. What these do for her is allow her to jack-in to the net in real space, providing a heads-up display that overlays on top of the visual input routed through her neural ware. They don't do anything else, which is the main reason the X-2 Overlays aren't full optical replacements. If short-circuited Chiue will be subject to blurry vision, or at the very worst, temporary blindness.

» Gon'Qui X-2 Cybernetic Interfacing Arm v1.001x

Chiue's left arm is a lightweight cybernetic that connects at the shoulder. Though, this wasn't the result of a tragic accident, it was a choice... and one hell of a deal. See, the arm is meant to interface with the retinal overlays. The underbelly of the arm contains an array of link-plugs of varying size, to the point where they fit most standard ports. The arm also contains a Data-Spike plug, a last ditch attempt to brutalize your way into a system by jamming the spike into say, a mainframe or digital lock. The Data-Spike is dangerous to use and very illegal. Additionally, There is a 30mm port on the rear of her shoulder for charging purposes. Overall, the appendage is a polished chrome in color, with neon blue lights threading along its length in an aesthetic and exceptionally pleasing way.

» Bleu' Polycarbonate Nano Weave

A mesh that lies beneath the skin, the weave of nano-filaments and strategically placed sensors serve a single, simple purpose; To monitor the user's essential health components, and alert medical response teams if the user is critical and unresponsive. It's linked to her neuralware and overlays so that she can pull up diagnostic screens, or receive important alerts about her health and condition.

╟[ Background.rtd ] ┐
» The Early Years

Chiue was originally born into wealth as Tao Quiyan, the precious child to two loving parents with high expectations of her. Her father, Hao Quiyan, oversaw a small, yet prestigious company titled Quiyan Industries; Later this company would benefit from a merger and become rebranded as the Shuren'Qui Corporation. Her mother, Rin'Wei Zhihao, gave up her name to marry Hao and join her family to his. Chinese traditions had always run strong, and are still prominent in today's society. Rin'wei and her family were of a much lesser status, but Hao fell in love with her and eventually convinced her to marry him despite her waiting almost a period of two years. Rin always said she wanted to marry "For the right reasons", but it was enough for Hao.

Single-handedly, Rin raised Tao into a proper woman, or at least tried to. Tao never wanted for anything while learned discipline, respect, and how to curb her worldly desires. As a young child, Tao understood why she saw so little of her father, or why when she did see him he always appeared ragged and worn down. The years wore on him heavily, but he loved his family and worked hard to ensure that Tao had a proper future. She went to fine schools and was enrolled in a classes that taught modernized Baguazhang (Eight Trigram Palm) and Tai'Chi (Taiji Fist). Tao was schooled in proper etiquette, respect for one's elders, and all of the other requirements needed to function, and prosper, in the world's rapdily evolving society.

Unfortunately, Tao wasn't the child prodigy her parents had always hoped for. In fact, she was only beholden to an average intelligence. That wouldn't do for the would-be heir to Quiyan Industries. This meant extra classes, intensive courses, and a higher dedication on Tao's part to improving herself. Unfortunately, she was cursed to live a life as a rather standard, and normal person. Hao was not pleased. To be successful, in Hao's words, she needed to be shrewd, complex, and smarter than her rivals. Hao took it upon himself to orient her thinking into the business world, often coming up with his own problems and puzzles for her to solve. Ultimately, she was a disappointment, and they grew distant during her teenage years.

Tao fell into a spiral of discontentment. She wasn't a special snowflake, she wasn't unique, she was just the same kind of decaying organic matter as everybody else. Worse, she was bored. It seemed her life had been planned out since the day she was born. She wanted the kinds of things her family's money couldn't buy. Tao started to fall in with punks, druggies, and other low-life degenerates lurking at the bottom of the social ladder. To say her father was upset is a grand understatement, he was furious but Tao felt alive every time they got into a shouting match. It broke her mother's heart, seeing Tao spiral downwards this way, and soon they too grew distant. By the time she graduated from private school, Quinyan Industries had merged with Shuren Inc, and a prodigal pupil named Tilang Shuren was set to become the heir apparent of the Shuren'Qui Corporation. It was around this time that her father began ignoring her entirely and instead turned his attentions to Tilang.

Tao became increasingly upset at this treatment, unbeknownst to her at the time her attitude and lifestyle were only attempts at filling the void in her life. She went further down her road of darkness; Breaking and entering, theft, and multiple infractions while running the NET. Still, Hao never cut her off, but he continued to put all of his time into Tilang. Tao never understood that her father wasn't replacing her with Tilang, inside he was torn on what to do, and settled for nothing. He had hoped Tao would straighten herself out, or perhaps her mother would.

They fell out for good the night Hao had to bail her out of jail. Tao and her "crew" had played at being amatuer deckers and poked their noses into places they shouldn't. It was the fight of the century, starting from Tao's cell and ending at the front door as Tao left screaming over her mother's weeping with bags in hand. Underneath all of the rage, Tao was bubbling with excitement from what she'd just experienced. The thrill, the rush, the heart pounding adrenaline screaming through her as she had tried, and failed, to fight her way through the layers of encrypted code. There was something entrancing, something alluring about the NET and finding your way into places you shouldn't be. She was finally excited about her next step in life—Receiving a higher education.

» The Rise of Kid Kandi

Now, Tao strode headfirst into her newfound purpose, propelled by the excitement within her as she forged her own path into the world. Despite all that had transpired with her father, he still hadn't cut her off. That much was apparent when she used her family's money to pay her tuition into a prestigious university (one she had no business being at, but money solves many problems). She was sure there was no way her father was oblivious to the kind of money she was spending for her books, a vehicle, updated neuralware, the list goes on. Before her first month in the Zhao'long Technological Institute was over, Tao was gifted her own account from her father, which had money desposited into it every month. It was an act of kindness that made her cry as regret washed over her, but what was done was done. She had to move on with her life. One day she would return and show that she had made something of herself.

There was only one thing Tao was interested in: The NET. Predictably, her classes revolved around this primary goal. Cyber Technology, Programming, Code Infrastructure, and much more. She also continued her childhood education on the world's most dominant language, American English. Tao stayed until she had achieved a masters degree in Cyber Technology. But, during this time she simply wasn't content with attending classes. No, she needed live practice, demonstrations, expertise. How can you create a proper firewall without knowing how to break it first? How can you encode a systems defense algorithm without knowing how its vulnerable? Through legitimate means like proper study, right? Wrong.

Thus, Liumang_x (Rogue) was born—And quickly died, as Tao's first attempt at cracking a local business's defenses went awry. She was traced faster than she could have anticipated, and dumped from the NET. By the time she awoke, she was in the back of a cruiser. An angry phone call later, and she was back at the university on bail. With all the money her father threw out to make the problem disappear, Tao found herself once more seated into the path she had chosen. xX_Shouge'Zhe_Xx (Reaper), ~Mao_Renzhe_2020~ (Cat_Ninja), (\x_Shanguang_Huichen_x/) (Glitter_Dust), and various other aliases: All failures. Time and time again she was caught, and her father dealt with the backlash she was causing.

This cycle she was creating didn't last. Despite her skills growing at a rapid pace, she wasn't learning fast enough. By the time she had earned her masters in cyber technology, she was operating under yet another alias: -_`Master!Zhu`_- (Master-Master). It was to be the last problem her father ever dealt with. Confidence only soared within her as she tore her way through the NET, to the point where she was even able to made some decent money. The one thing she didn't worry about too much was covering her tracks, Daddy had been there to solve her problems after all. She was dissociated with the consequences of her actions. This time, she'd pissed off somebody important, someone with the resources to see their anger directed at Tao's father.

Hao lost everything because of his daughter. His shares in the company, his money, his assets, and his life. Not in the soberingly physical sense, but rather he was tore down so far that his status was beneath that of his Wife's family before he had married her. He left a broken, homeless man. To be so low that he had to move in with Ren's mother and father, he hated himself, and he hated that he had failed as a father. Tao was devastated. She fought her depression, and the desire to take her own worthless, meaningless life. Instead, she struggled to redeem herself and repay her father for what she had done to him. Starting with sending him almost all of her meager earnings.

She tried desperately to find a respectable job so that she could help her family more, but nobody would hire her and she couldn't blame them with the kind of record she had managed to acrue. It was amazing she wasn't locked away somewhere cold and dark already. This left her only one choice, one she had made so long ago. If she couldn't make money the right way, she'd do it the wrong way. This time, it had to be different. There was no more money to solve her problems, there was no more Daddy to lean on. In fact, she had convinced herself that it was now her family that was depending on her, and perhaps they were.

It was a couple years before Tao did anything of note on the NET. She stuck to smaller jobs as she shifted through tutorials, free courses, and data fortresses. All of which had been done in an attempt to teach herself the kinds of skills she'd need to make this plan she had work. Two years, that's how long she spent. Her equipment was a bit outdated but her mind was sharpened, her skills honed. She was ready.

She was not ready. Her first big job went up in flames, almost literal flames as she found herself faced with a firewall she couldn't crack. It actually took her months of learning, and a continuous stream of abandoned alises before she began to get really good. Fortunately, one of the first things she worked on was cleaning away her trails and protecting herself. Even then, she's quickly vacated more than a few living spaces, sometimes through a window. It wasn't until she'd be able to upgrade her equipment and get a few new, shinier things that her egotism really set in. Success after success after success. Suddenly, it dawned on her—She'd turned herself into the greatest shit to run the NET since the first lines of code had been fabricated. She was the most bitchin' boogeyman out there, a thing of corporate nightmare. A few more failures did nothing to offset this thought process.

She changed her name to Chiue Xu'Miao, moved to the states, and began working under the handle Kid Kandi. She saw great success and popularity for a little over a year and a half when Biotechnica contacted her, the real her. At first, she was absolutely flabbergasted. How could THEY find HER?! How did THEY get through ACE?! It was IMPOSSIBLE. And yet, she found herself seated before a panel of serious faces. Oh yes, it was clear they were not happy with her and what she'd done. She had sold off a few of their well-kept secrets and left quite a mess to be cleaned up in their code structures. So, these nameless, silhouetted beings gave her two choices; She goes away somewhere dark, and remains disconnected from the net for about the rest of her natural life; Or she plays nice, and goes onto their payroll. It was immediately apparent that Chiue wouldn't be running from this problem.

Still, Chiue was at home playing dangerous games. She had two conditions; Biotechnica takes care of her family so that they live comfortably; things like proper healthcare, a decent house, quality food on the table, the kinds of things needed to maintain a pleasant standard of living; and that they don't reveal that she is Kid Kandi. There were a few heated words, mostly of which how Chiue was in no position to be making demands, and her retorting with how she was the hottest shit on the NET or Biotechnica wouldn't be trying to get her on salary. The results of some serious deliberation are obvious, it was determined that Chiue's "Conditions" were, arguably, sensible and agreeable.

╟[ Other.doc ] ┐
» Pyschosis

Chiue, like many others, suffers from Psychosis. The most common of which she refers to as "White Noise", or "Glitches". Who likes to admit they're going a little loose in the head? At times white noise will fill her visual and audio feeds. Medical Professionals ascertain that this may be caused by a lapse in neural reception resulting in the failure to properly receive information, resulting in distorted static noise and visuals. This phenomena is jarring, painful, and sends Chiue into a state of near total mental debilitation. Furthermore, it's been suggested that at she may be suffering from egotism and at times, mild megalomania. These professionals predict that these symptoms will worsen without exercising some form of treatment.

♦BIOTECHNICA S.A. REGISTRANT PERSONALITY QUIZ♦

╟[ Favorite Food: ] ┐
» I Absolutely Love Pizza.

└ Extra cheese and salami! And don't forget the parmesan or pepper flakes!

» Oh! And Spicy Food!

└ Especially Thai or Sichuan! Don't fucking judge me.

» Aaaand.. Fast Food.

└ I may have a slight addiction to cheeseburgers.

---

╟[ Least Favorite Food: ] ┐
» Disgusting Stuff. Blech.

└ Like Cottage Cheese, or eyeballs, or bugs.. Huuegh.. I'm gonna be sick.

» Bland and Boring Things.

└ Instant noodles and frozen burritos just don't do it anymore.

---

╟[ Use Three Words To Describe Yourself: ] ┐
» Badass. Elegant. Posh.

└ But mostly badass.

---

╟[ Likes: ] ┐
» Thrills and spills baby!

└ Nothing like the pounding rush of adrenaline!

» Fancy Ladies and Pretty Boys.

└ Wink. Wink.

» Art and Shit

└ Do pretty colors count as art?

» Partying! Dancing! Singing!

└ You ever moonlight as an "Exoctic Dancer"?!.. no?.. oh..

» Signs.

└ Dollar Signs, to be exact.

» Breaking Laws.

└ C'mon, you know it's fun.

» Shiny Toys and Places

└ Fast Cars! Neon Clubs! Penthouse Suites! That's what I'm talking about!

» ME!

└ I'm kind of the best, ya'know?

---

╟[ Dislikes: ] ┐
» Being Controlled.

└ My whole childhood was like that man.. it's a real bummer.

» Cats, Actually.

└ See, my last name is Miao.. and that sounds like meow aaaand.. you don't care.

» People Who Don't Like Me.

└ Obviously.

» Mind Altering Medications and Drugs.

└ I'm done with drugs and I don't want no happy pills, alright?

» Getting Ripped Off.

└ Don't cheat me and we'll be cool.

» Killing.

└ I won't do it.

» Being Broke.

└ You can't do nothing in this world without creds.

» People Snoopin' Through My Shit.

└ Ahaha, right. Except for you guys, of course.

» This Quiz!

└ It's fucking lame fam.

---

╟[ Values: ] ┐
» My Family

└ I did them wrong, and I'll spend the rest of my life making it up to them.

» Money, Bread, Stacks.

└ I can hit a lick pretty quick.. but.. I'm on payroll now. Does that mean I can't do side jobs?

» Promises.

└ It's important to keep your word.

» Not Doing sHiTtY qUizES

└ -_-'

» Honesty.

└ Be straight with me, and you'll get the same in return.

---

╟[ Strengths: ] ┐
» Cyber Tech

└ I can code programs and stuff pretty well.

» Pretty Face

└ C'mon, I look pretty damn good right? I could do like.. public relations or something! Right!? ...Right!?!!

» Martials Arts

└ I could scissor-kick you in the back of the head old man.

» I'm Scrappy

└ I won't go down without a fight, in meatspace or on the NET.

» I'm The Best

└ When it comes to the NET.

» Cautious

└ I'm attentive to detail when it comes to covering my ass.. and by proxy, your asses.

---

╟[ Flaws: ] ┐
» There's MORE?!

└ I'm a little impatient, A bit of ADD, A tad Reckless, I like Danger, I spend lots of money, I'm not much of a fighter, I'm small, I'm an adrenaline junky, I'm a little crazy and I'm so done with this quiz.

---

╟[ Anything Else: ] ┐
» >:[

[Lemons]

Sariya Kuznetsova

---

n a m e ::

Sariya Kuznetsova

ID Tag--Callsign :: T-372-434-93M--ARCTURUS

d a t e & p l a c e o f b i r t h ::
Новая Москва, Россия (New Moscow, Russia), 2028

a p p e a r a n c e ::
At a glance, Sariya—she prefers Sari, on the rare occasion when she speaks up about it—looks like a figure made of wax. Her skin is pale and bloodless, and almost universally the same color. Even her lips, her nose, places where there should be more blood flow, look the same as the rest of her skin. Both of her legs and her right arm are cybernetic, scuffed-up silver and black where there should be flesh and blood. When visible behind her retractable visor of transparent blue glass, her frosty blue eyes never seem to focus; despite being entirely biological and natural, they are glassy and glazed, as though something is wrong with them. Despite this, they're still fully functional. Her left arm, while not cybernetic, is encased in a thick layer of titanium armor. The purpose for this is threefold; it provides additional protection on an otherwise vulnerable body part, it augments the punching force of that limb, and most importantly, it evens out the weight of her cybernetic right arm, thus avoiding the issue of weight imbalance.

She's quite tall, breaking six feet and ending up about 6' 1", and is incredibly slender. Though she weighs nearly 260 pounds, she moves with quick, elegant precision and often in brief spurts of incredible speed, even when knee deep in blood and guts. A bar code is tattooed across her left cheek, under which is written her ID tag and callsign.

g e n d e r ::
Female

o c c u p a t i o n ::
Government Infiltrator

s k i l l s ::
Speed -- Sariya's powerful cybernetic legs give her the capability to sprint at incredibly high speeds. Though the weight of her cybernetics makes it difficult for her to change direction quickly, she can jump and run exceptionally well.

Cold Efficiency -- Trained since she was young, Sariya is a graceful yet brutal instrument of death. She is proficient in the use of many conventional weapons and martial arts, though is a master of none.

Instincts -- Sariya is skilled at improvisation and thinking on her feet, especially in regards to unconventional weaponry.

Controllable -- There have been several quite illegal modifications done to her neuralware due to her frequent and severe episodes of cyberpsychosis. These changes allowed her superiors to remotely monitor her activity, and if she begins to run wild, to inject a large amount of sedative directly into her brain for as long as two weeks, effectively shutting her down until she's able to be collected. This is currently nonfunctional, but it is indeterminate as to whether or not that is a permanent state.

c y b e r n e t i c s ::
Павликовскы Версия 12.4.10 Neuralware -- A heavily doctored version of the civilian Версия 12.1.2, the 12.4.10 not only links her to her cybernetics, but also to her superiors in Russia. It gave them the ability to, as discussed above, neutralize her, and an assortment of other functions such as blocking nerve signals and giving her predictive senses during combat. It is, in large part, what is responsible for her exact, precise movements. This particular implant also had the effect, partially intended and partially unforeseen, of dulling much emotional response on Sariya's part, unless she finds herself in the throes of a cyberpsychotic meltdown.

2x -- Павликовскы Версия 3 Subretinal Lenses -- The reason for Sariya's dulled eyes are these lenses, implanted permanently behind her retinas. While they serve the function of giving Sariya thermal and night vision, their main purpose is to, at all times, transmit a live video feed directly from her vision back to her superiors.

2x -- Павликовскы Версия 2.27 Audial Implants -- Similar in rationale to her lenses, these tiny chips are implanted into her inner ears. Again, they serve a double purpose; while they grant her significantly better hearing than an unmodified human, they also transmit sound back to Russia, giving the complete picture of her every activity to her superiors. Neither these nor her lenses can be turned off or disabled without permanently injuring the body part that they modify.

2x -- Павликовскы Версия 4.5 Modular Legs -- Sariya's cybernetic legs are what make her a useful infiltrator. These carbon fiber and titanium machines, long and elegant, black and scratched silver, drastically increase her physical prowess and lower her center of gravity, making it much easier for her to chase or escape. There are electromagnets in the soles that can be magnetized at a signal from her neuralware, allowing her to, with the aid of her right arm and with some difficulty, stick to ferrous surfaces. The heels contain exceedingly powerful compressed air canisters that are attached to and manage the explosive extension of large titanium rambolts.

Павликовскы Версия 16 Modular Arm, Type II (Military) -- Her arm is one of Sari's greatest assets. Like her legs, it is composed of a titanium skeleton and carbon fiber. Unlike a normal appendage, the mechanized hand on the end has six fingers to allow for more dexterous control of any object—usually a weapon—Sari might happen to be holding. Speaking of weapons, her arm is a weapon all its own. The hand can unhinge, dropping down below the wrist entirely. The overall strength of her arm suffers because of this, as it is more easily fractured at the wrist than most, but it seems a small price to pay. Within the wrist is housed a combustion firearm roughly equivalent to a high-caliber pistol, loaded with four rounds of .454 Casull incendiary ammunition. She is able to reload the firearm from a small port on the silver belly of her arm. Similar to the legs, it contains electromagnets. Finally, it contains a small grappling harpoon attached to a 30ft. retractable cable of woven titanium.

Павликовскы Версия 1.5c Awareness Visor -- Originally designed in Japan, the Awareness Visor is one of Sariya's personal information thefts. It is a retractable visor of blue-tinted Plexiglass-like material light with a light blue glow. Upon it is projected her vitals. Any living animal larger than a medium-sized dog is highlighted, pinpointed via an advanced algorithm that measures sound bouncing off of various points and surfaces. The 1.5c version is slightly different to the civlian 1.5b. It also has the function of displaying the status of her cybernetic augmentations such as the ammunition present in her arm, and is responsible for controlling the injectors that manage her cyberpsychosis. When necessary, it can retract into a silver plate embedded in Sari's forehead. It remains functional, albeit largely useless, when retracted. What's important is that even in "background mode," as it were, it still controls her injectors.

This enormous amount of cybernetics doesn't come free. Since her augmentation, Sariya has been the unfortunate victim of extreme cyberpsychosis, only kept under control via a supply of subdermal injectors carried on her person at all times. It's incredibly expensive, and each injector is single use. If she'd not been given a large amount of money by the Russian government, she would be absolutely screwed. When it's unavailable, her mental state will rapidly deteriorate from a nearly preternaturally calm, collected woman to someone about to come apart at the seams, displaying the symptoms of advanced paranoid schizophrenia and, additionally, extreme violent tendencies. The first warning signs come when she begins caressing her cybernetics, whether her legs or her arms, and muttering to herself, as her eyes begin to twitch erratically. A few minutes following, she begins to develop delusions of persecution and of grandeur, and severe visual and auditory hallucinations. Various images show up of hostile targets, usually with weapons aimed at her. Oftentimes, these hallucinations aren't entirely independent, but are superimposed over ordinary civilians. She then goes on autopilot and attacks them viciously. Many of the modifications to her neuralware were put in place directly following a massacre that occurred when she had an episode during her first mission. She slaughtered over twenty-five people in a small East Asian country, and only the rapid application of contractors and tranquilizer prevented Russia from both losing an expensive infiltrator and having to deal with a massive political crisis. During her episodes, she begins to breathe heavily and, on occasion, laugh hysterically. Generally this is a good sign to get out of her way, as she almost never laughs otherwise. To put it succinctly, she loses all control of her mind.

Not only that, but the tampering on her neuralware has led to occasional glitches, where she begins to speak and move uncontrollably. Though it may seem similar to her psychosis on the surface, it's more of a case of "I'm trapped in a body that doesn't work."

h i s t o r y ::
Sariya was born to an immensely poor family in New Moscow. While she grew up on the street, she was near-indistinguishable from the ARCTURUS-callsigned Sariya of today. She was bright and vivacious, and though of course she'd been through a lot due to having to scrounge just to feed herself and was a no-nonsense, allergic-to-stupidity girl, she'd been...normal.

That all changed when the Russian government began its infiltration program. Overseas, its rivals were growing more powerful, potentially outstripping them in technology and in governance. Young people from all over Russia were beckoned to its augmentations program with the promise of an absolutely staggering sum of money. Most were turned away, whether due to being too old to be properly retrained, too cushioned to be hard, too passive to kill. Not Sariya. She'd arrived in that perfect butter zone of between her ninth and tenth birthdays. Old enough to learn, young enough to be taught. Upon her acceptance into the program, she was subjected to an absurd regiment of training. Over the next few years, her muscles grew hard, her face grew lean, her eyes grew sharp. She was slowly turning into the perfect killer. When she was approximately fifteen years old, the higher-ups decided to take the next step. Alongside the other few that had been selected into the program and had made it through the training, she was augmented heavily.

The neuralware was installed, and just like that, everything that Sari had been vanished. No more was she a lively—if now exceptionally lethal—teenager. Her emotions had been blunted, and the deadzone where they had been was filled up with a sense of servitude to the country. Though little signs here and there showed that something might not be entirely right, the government plowed on regardless. Time was running out. The technological gap that they had perceived was widening, and they needed something now, before too much time had passed. As soon as she was judged to not be a vegetable, on went the legs, one after the other. The recommended adjustment period was ignored entirely. More warning signs began to rear their heads. Finally, the arm went on, and the sensory implants were put in place. A final tattoo was placed on her face, and T-372-434-93M was finished, and immediately afterwards was sent on her first mission into Thailand. She was never taught to bow to the new corporate overlords controlling much of the world and her country. Instead, she was made to be entirely loyal to the government itself as a failsafe.

It went...poorly. The symptoms consolidated, and instead of recovering the data on manufacture of a new, more advanced arm, Sariya went insane, killing a large amount of people before the reserve contractors were able to subdue her and return her to Russia. Her neuralware was modified, destroying an even greater chunk of her emotions as it was removed and subsequently reinserted. She fully changed into what she is now: an unmoving, implacable killer. This time, her superiors were more careful. Only after they were certain she was fully adapted to her cybernetics did they send her out again, and only on the condition that she carry the cyberpsychotic injectors that she uses still today. After her initial rough start, she became one of Russia's most trusted agents. Recently, she was sent to "assist" the American company Biotechnica. Or, in plain speech, to pretend to assist them while stealing their information and sending it right back to Russia for assimilation into the cybernetics factories.

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BIOTECHNICA S.A. REGISTRANT PERSONALITY QUIZ

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

Favorite food: Protein powder.

Least favorite food: Potatoes.

Use three words to describe yourself: Loyal. Steady. Lethal.

Likes:. Successful completion of a mission. Running. The feeling of flight.

Dislikes: The feeling of a cyberpsychotic episode. Borscht. Potatoes.

Values: Loyalty, and compliance with orders.

Strengths: I am good at killing, and breaking into places where I am not welcome.

Flaws: Put simply, I am not sane.

Anything else: I will require additional pay to cover the medication used to keep cyberpsychotic symptoms in check.

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[Atrophy]

Gabriella Cohen

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n a m e ::

Gabriella “Gabby” Cohen

Maestro

d a t e & p l a c e o f b i r t h::
November 5th, 2025, Tel Aviv, Israel

a p p e a r a n c e ::
Gabby has dark features with brown eyes, black hair, and olive skin and has the fit, athletic build of someone who regularly stays active and exercises. She stands at 5’8” and weighs around 140 lbs with a pear body shape. Streaks of neon pink run through her wavy hair, and she tends to rely a little too heavily on lipgloss and eyeshadow that make her look less like a sleek runway model and more like a little girl that got into mommy’s makeup drawer. Her teeth are straight but stained a slight yellow with the telltale signs of cigarettes and coffee and her eyes have the bloodshot weariness to them of someone who doesn’t get enough sleep. A memento from her military days exist in the form of a tattoo on her left forearm that says “Thou Shalt Not Kill” in Hebrew followed by an asterisk, and her right arm is covered in an intricate web of roses and lace. Two parallel pink scars in the shape of small circles can be found on the back of her neck and she rarely removes the IDF dogtag hanging around her neck, claiming it to be “good luck”.

g e n d e r ::
Female

o c c u p a t i o n ::
Assassin

s k i l l s ::
»Pink Mist — If you need someone to quickly and cleanly put an anti-material bullet into something a mile or so away then Gabby is your girl, if you can handle the follow-up of “Did you see that? Did you see that?” shrieking over the comms. Likewise, having a person on the outside to keep overwatch and call out any incoming backup while the crew storms through swamps of cubicles is an added bonus.

»Look At Me! Look At Meeeee! — Need a distraction? The only thing Gabby loves more than vaporizing some geek from a block away is being the center of attention, and the only thing more valuable to a crew of corporate crooks than the coverfire of an expert sharpshooter is someone ready and willing to divert the attention of the guards so their partners can carry out their mission with minimal resistance or escape from a messy situation. Be it creating a scene like a nasty patron at a restaurant throwing a fit and demanding to see someone’s manager, amateurishly trying her hand at seeming seductive, or going in loud and hard with an uzi and some big booms, Gabby’s down for pretty much any plan that puts the spotlight on her.

»Au Naturel — It’s nice being all cybered up, sure, until somebody drops the EMP or starts screwing around with your neural network, then suddenly that cutting edge piece of chrome is little more than an expensive weight that is now dragging you down as the cybersquads storm in to sweep up the metallic garbage. Of course, if you don’t have any cyberware, all of that becomes a bit of a moot point. Gabby doesn’t have any of that junk. No mind hacks, no tune-ups, no going full killer robot, and no awkward moments involving metal detectors or cyber scanners. Cyber-free, it’s the way to be.

c y b e r n e t i c s ::
...are for nerds. Gabby may not have any cybernetics, but that doesn’t mean she’s a luddite. She supplements her lack of chrome with a few useful tools.

»Sony NetBuddy 3.0 — A handheld device that allows users to access the 3D space of the Net without the use of a headset, bodysuit, or having to carve out a chunk of your spinal cord so that you can jam a plug into the back of your neck whenever you want to watch cat videos. In a way, it acts as a surrogate neuralware for those who cannot or will not get one. It’s significantly slower than an actual connection through typical means, and navigation can be rather clunky and cumbersome, but it still lets the user hit up social media and combat their FOMO. Notable mostly for its terrible battery life and its lack of a 3.5 headphone jack.

»Grigori SmartOptics DX — Ultra-sleek binoculars decked the hell out with all sorts of tech that accurately predict wind speed, distance, bullet drop, and just about anything else a shooter needs to hit their target. As well, it offers thermal, sonar, and night vision, plus tagging and tracking modes that help keep a target in sight. Marketed to big game hunters, but does the job just as well for hopeful guns-for-hire. Automatically updates any information to a partnered scope (free pack-in) via Bluetooth, making it easy for shooters to put down their binoculars and pick up their rifle without losing anything. Plus, if the damn thing breaks the scope it comes with is top-of-the-line on its own.

»Mikail Second Skin — Black, form-fitting, full body armor with retractable face mask made out of the same protective nanofibers cyberfreaks put underneath their skin. Damage resistant to small arm fire and cuts from blades, and has a slightly better resistance to force than conventional bulletproof vests. The material is light and breathable, plus it can be concealed underneath a few layers of clothing and barely restricts movements. Tends to mess hair up quite a bit, so always best to carry a comb if you have a date after the firefight. A “gift” from her military days.

h i s t o r y ::
Gabby had a fairly atypical childhood in the sense that she grew up in what could have possibly been the last middle class nuclear family in Israel, let alone the entire world. She went to school and promptly slept or goofed off in her classes, watched crappy television late into the night after her parents went to bed, fought with her sister over jewelry and clothing, smoked cigarettes in a desperate attempt to appear cool, snuck pulls of liquor from Dad’s stash, went to temple on Saturday just to forget about everything she had heard by Saturday night, and generally kind of sucked as a human being. In other words, despite having a bat mitzvah, she was a kid. Of course, all of that would change when she turned eighteen and would spend the next two years in mandatory military service as part of the Israel Defense Forces. A right of passage, really. Not a big deal, though; two years of getting paid to get fit, shoot guns at paper targets, and parade around in uniforms didn’t sound so bad. Better than her current plan in life, which was nonexistent.

During training, Gabby became known for two things. The first was that she was the instructor’s favorite, although only if you consider constantly being yelled at for talking out of turn or stepping out of line for making a rude remark about someone favoritism. It seemed that Gabby could not go a single day without somehow challenging authority and, really, making everything about her. The second thing was that she was a damn good shot. Scary good. Like, she was less like a bratty teenager who had once stolen her best friend’s boyfriend just to prove to her that she could do it and more like someone who had grown up in a war-torn country, forced to fight with a rifle in hand since they were six. The daily routine would soon become Gabby does something stupid, Gabby gets yelled at for being stupid, Gabby hits ten out of ten shots, Gabby get praised for being brilliant, ad nauseam.

Part of the way through basic Gabby was pulled aside by an officer who recommended that, if she could keep her damn mouth shut around command and actually apply herself in areas outside of the shooting range, she could qualify for the special forces. Immediately hesitant, the officer began to convince her once he started appealing to her ego—best of the best, an example for all women, the pride of her nation, that sort of crap. So, training led into more training as she applied for Sayeret Matkal, an elite counter-terrorist and recon unit. It was harder, much harder, than basic. Hell, it was downright grueling, but she was still able to get away with her mouth as long as she picked and choose who heard her say what. A little bit of humor did the body good, and nothing formed stronger bonds between people than trying to pick each other back up after spending an entire day being beaten down.

She was just turning twenty by the time she passed her training, the same age most women dipped out of the service. Her first mission she was assigned to a strike force to deal with a hostage situation of Israeli executives—the IDF was more or less a puppet for a handful of Jewish corps by this point—located inside of a neighboring country’s borders. They were to go in quickly and quietly, take out the terrorists, secure the hostages, and dip back across the border before anyone was the wiser. They say you always remember your first kill, but what Gabby remembers most was the unbearable boredom as she laid on her belly for hours on end watching movement through windows in some shithole village as her squad slowly crept into position, the order for silence on the comms given almost immediately after she had begun chatting away to try and fight off the boredom. Okay, sure, and she does totally remember blasting some bastard in the face from over 800 meters and redecorating the drab walls with his viscera as her team stormed the building. But mostly she remembers the fidgeting and bitching while sweating underneath the hot sun.

And that’s how it went for a while. Her life became a spiral of infinite boredom coupled with moments of pure adrenaline, leaves that involved nights of heavy drinking and clubbing, and the not-so-private tryst she was having with her squad’s leader. Love makes people do stupid things, like write poetry that manages to slip into the wrong hands and get mockingly recited by the squad while they're stuck in a helicopter. It also makes people try to get neuralware implants in the back of their skull so that they can hook their brains up together as yet another attempt to try and make two become one, only to find out that their garbage body (painfully) rejects all cyberware. And, sometimes, it makes a person stakeout a hotel room while the entire squad’s on leave because their spotter let slip a little rumor that just ate and ate away at them, the scope of a .50 caliber rifle pointed steadily at their so-called lover’s head as he put his lips on those of another.

Jerk.

The thing about Gabby is that she has always been the jealous type; the whole “thou shalt not covet” thing never really sat well with her. Some people can see someone else be rewarded for good work and feel a sort of mutual sense of accomplishment; Gabby quickly points out where if it weren’t for her that person never would’ve been able to achieve anything in the first place. Some people get that the world doesn’t revolve around them; Gabby knows for a fact that it couldn't possibly revolve around them anyway, because she happens to be at the very center of the universe. She doesn’t want to be the best. She is the best, but some people are just to thick to realize it. And when some stupid, curly haired bitch comes in and tries to prove the opposite by sticking her tongue down her man's throat, well, that’s just not something that she can let slide.

So she pulled the trigger. One shot, two E.K.I.A. Point proven.

Of course, she could no longer stay in the military anymore. Killing your commanding officer slash lover and his civie whore was, technically, a not great thing to do. But, truth be told, the military was kind of cramping her style anyway, what with all of the rules and the secrets and the “Don’t go bragging about the latest mission”s. So lame! Flying solo, now that was the way to fame and fortune, and what better way to go indie than to go corporate? She said sayonara to the Promised Land and headed to America. Getting work wasn’t difficult; it seemed like everyone was looking for someone with a gun, and once they found out that you could actually use that gun work came in even faster. Sure, there were a few hiccups here and there—learned the hard way that her rule about picking and choosing who hears what still applied despite no longer being a part of the military—but overall she would consider it a positive life change.

She began living life underneath the moniker "Maestro", largely due to someone already claiming the tag "Messiah" a couple of millennia ago, the punk. Still, she proved herself worthy enough to be the chosen one when it came to handling a gun, assassinating a handful of high-level targets within her first year, not to mention a few dozen low-level wannabes for practically pennies. To Maestro it didn't matter who she was killing—if they had a family, if they were the last of their line, if they were a powerful figure, if they were some chump pusher, if they were good, if they were bad. Shooting someone from nearly a mile away was an impersonal act; it was less like watching a person die and more like seeing a marionette being cut from it's strings. Guilt wasn't even a thing to be considered. What Maestro wanted, what Maestro needed, was to be heard, to be known, and what better way to be heard than with the terrifying crack of a sniper rifle? Maestro leapt at the offer from Biotechnica, not even bothering to dig into the vague details.

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BIOTECHNICA S.A. REGISTRANT PERSONALITY QUIZ

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

No sweat! I'll write this whole thing sitting up!

Favorite food: Tacos. Tacos? Tacos. They aren’t just for Tuesday, you know? A tortilla is literally the perfect food vessel. You can put any meat in it, throw on some cheese, slap a little salsa on it, and boom! Awesome meal. Plus, if you put a tortilla under your taco and make a mess while you eat you just end up creating another, somewhat smaller taco. It’s genius! Top Five Tacos: octopus (seriously!), steak, the classic seasoned beef, fried avocado, and carnitas (even though it isn’t kosher).

Least favorite food: Hummus. Why is it that everyone is crazy about hummus? Can’t go to a damn restaurant without hummus being on the menu, and there’s always one person at the table who’s like, “Oh, yeah, man, I love hummus let’s totally spend like all of the money on this bowl of shit served alongside some crummy red peppers and garbage carrots” fucking dope! It taste bad. It looks bad. It is bad. I hate hummus. I hate people who like hummus. I hate saying hummus. I hate the fact that I had to even think about hummus.

Use three words to describe yourself: Amazing, Astonishing, Awe-inspiring.

Overachieving.

Likes: Dogs. I love me a good dog. And cats, while I’m at it. Animals, really, as long as they are cute. And cute things in general, also, like little pink whales you can hang from your cellphone or bracelets that are shaped like guitars or arcade cabinets when they aren’t wrapped around your wrist. Classic video games. Like, old old. I’m talking dirt old. Playstation 6 old. Any romantic comedy ever made ever. Any action movie, while I’m at it. Happy endings where the good guy gets the girl and the bad guy gets killed in a big explosion. Pop music, turned all the way up until the neighbors start banging on the walls. The banging of a rifle followed by the spray of vibrant red and bystanders scattering away from a body that is toppling over while spewing [arrow pointing to back of page] blood and brains nearly a mile away. The beach. Jazz bars. A man with stubble or a woman with dyed hair. The smell of cigarettes and the taste of alcohol, especially when it is being tasted off of someone else. Bodyshots. Headshots. Tequila shots. Dancing poorly. Karaoke. Kids. Party drugs. Getting paid for jobs like this. Getting paid for jobs not like this. Money in general. Gambling. Winning. Winning. Winning.

Dislikes: Losing and missing, two things that will never happen to me as long as I live, baby!

Values: Honestly, it’s honesty. Nothing more important in the world than being honest and true. Do it to yourself, do it to others, do it when nobody’s even watching. You don’t have to be good, you don’t have to be nice, you just gotta be honest about it. Live life as true and honestly as you can and you won’t regret a single day.

Feel free to go ahead and drop a dash and my name behind that shit, but that was honestly the deepest stuff I’ve ever seen written down on what is honestly the dumbest personality quiz I have ever taken. And I should know, because I have taken like literally hundreds on the net.

Strengths: People like me because I’m me, duh. I’m super fun, always there to break the tension with a joke, give out a high five, a pat on the shoulder, or a very warm and very good hug. I am the ace of hugs. Hugmaster. Oh, also, I’m like the greatest shot in the world, real life three-sixty no scopes all day over here, bro!

Flaws: Naturally, I make people a bit envious.

Anything else: I just really want to take the time to thank you for this opportunity and that I will be sure to give this my best shot. Get it? Get it? I won’t let you down.

Obviously you already know that, though.

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[RedGentleman]

Andrejs Kalniņš

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

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

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

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

g e n d e r ::

Male

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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BIOTECHNICA S.A. REGISTRANT PERSONALITY QUIZ

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

Favorite food: Rabbit Agnolotti

Least favorite food: Grilled Pork Chops

Use three words to describe yourself: Done with this nonsense

Likes: Quiet, men's fashion, chess

Dislikes: The incessantly, incorrigibly outgoing; inefficiency; tomfoolery

Values: Industry, precision, candor

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

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

Anything else: N/A

[JBRam2002]

Damian Jansenn

---

n a m e ::

Damian Jansenn

Some call me DJ. Others call me boss. When a client is unhappy, he calls me Hey Asshole, and I call my guards. But you can call me Damian.

d a t e & p l a c e o f b i r t h ::
May 21st, 2021. Mariehamm, Åland Islands, Finland

a p p e a r a n c e ::
5’ 10” (178 cm) and 180 lb (82 kg). Blue eyes, light brown hair, all that shit. Those who see me can tell I'm a man of the world, dressed to the nines and stacked with tech. What they don't know is most of what looks like implants is actually just cosmetic. People tend to expect a certain flair from those who run this sort of business. They expect a man to be intimately connected to the world of entertainment. So, I comply. Small price to pay when you get the creds like I do.

g e n d e r ::
Male

o c c u p a t i o n ::
I run one of the best-kept-secrets brothels around. You need a girl, a guy, or anything in between, I can get what you're looking for. Obviously, to get in a position like mine without being sniped or absorbed by the corps, I need to be business savvy, charismatic, and able to pay off the right people at the right time.

s k i l l s ::
Networking: By that, I mean the good old-fashioned definition of the word. I know almost everyone important, or can weasel my way into their worlds easy enough. If someone has a vice, it's my job to know it and sell it to them.

Phantoms: Where most people pride themselves on physical combat, my skills lie in deception. I can create illusions on someone's neural net. If they have any sort of VR tech, I can exploit it. Sometimes they see things that aren't really there. Sometimes they see something that is there, just wearing a different skin. And sometimes, I tap into the neural net and force a feedback loop that drives them insane or kills them.

Charm: What can I say? People tend to be drawn towards me. Whether it's a girl looking for work, some muscle needing a target, or a suit yearning to take it off, they flock to me. I usually can BS my way out of any situation, since they often give me the benefit of the doubt. Even if they're being paid to kill me, we usually can work something out.

Luck: Most people say there's no such thing as luck. I'm here to tell you that's complete bullshit. Ever trip a security alarm while balls-deep in a megacorps boss’s mind, surrounded by a dozen of his best guards? You ain't getting outta that alive without some god-tier luck. I did. Twice.

c y b e r n e t i c s ::
Droid Nu Yu: cybernetic uplink and persona augmentation. With the Nu Yu, you can modify your avatar and alias names on the fly while plugged in, without having to go through standard protocol. In a virtual world where clients want to see you face to face, having a believable and disposable face is a massive boon. This rare augmentation is usually available only to the highest echelons of corpdom, but I got a... let's call it a “discount” in return for services.

Geordi Cybernetic Eye: visual augmentation and virtual reality overlay. These eyes show me everything I want to know. One eye is still real, so I can avoid some of the same trickery I pull on others. The other eye has a thermal overlay, minor adjustable x-ray penetration (wood up to an inch thick, most clothing types, but no metal), and of course, all the standard VR augments, accompanied by a virtual assistant named Angel. I know what you're thinking, but no, she's no AI. She's mostly just a pretty voice and face that reads my email. Think Siri or Cortana from those old computers, and you've got an early prototype.

Cybernetic Leg Braces: mobility augmentation and neural actuators. Yeah, so... I can't walk very well. The docs wanted to completely replace my legs, but I said fuck that shit. Instead, I have braces. The upside is I get enhanced movement with more speed and precision than those with normal legs without most of that psychoshit that messes people up. The downside? I don't wear shorts on the beach. Most people never know, or just think they're complete replacements. But no, with a little effort, I can take them off and still get around. Slowly and with a cane, but it's still me.

h i s t o r y ::
The Islands were one of the last places in Finland to ban homeschooling, so I never quite got sucked into the corporate indoctrination that most kids my age did. We also traveled a lot as a family growing up. I learned more on a summer cruise in my Dad’s boat than I did all year in school.

I grew up with money. Gave me a lot of advantages most people never see. Also meant people listened to me a bit easier. I had my pick of whatever I wanted in life, whomever I wanted. Then my parents got killed in a corp raid. I never really learned why or what shit they had dug up. I wasn't smart enough then to be able to figure it out, and I'm too smart now to try.

I drifted for a year after that. I still could get almost whatever I wanted, but I had to rely on my wits instead of my cash. Turns out, there's no money in revenge if you aren't any good at it. So that led me to coming across this brothel. Got to know the old man who ran the place after visiting a few times. He said he was getting too old for it, wanted a vacation. I gave him the vacation he was looking for one night in his sleep and took over the place. Made a few upgrades, hired a few new girls, kept the same style. Soon, I was serving clients the old man would never dreamed of meeting.

---

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BIOTECHNICA S.A. REGISTRANT PERSONALITY QUIZ

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

Favorite food: Anything I can eat quickly. Who cares what nanobots McD’s is shoveling into its burgers? They still taste damn good.

Least favorite food: Anything that tastes or looks like shit.

Use three words to describe yourself: Suave, debonair, master

Likes: I'm a man of simple pleasures: anything that gets me money or gets me laid. Get me a hot chick, a good drink, then pay me for it. Hell, that's what I do for a living anyways.

Dislikes: Anything that chains me down.

Values: If someone says they're altruistic, they're either the stupidest shit in the galaxy, or they're planning to kill you later. I plan to take advantage of both situations. Being free means you don't take shit from anybody. They're usually just gonna fuck with you anyways. And if someone thinks they have one up on me, well, they don't know me very well.

Strengths: People. Running a fairly popular brothel with many intriguing girls tends to increase your standing with those who can afford it.

Flaws: I can be a bit greedy. Don't judge. If you had this much coin running through your paws, you'd snatch some too. People also tell me I can be stubborn, but look, if you can fuck with people's minds, then you get to call the shots.

Anything else: Only thing that keeps me up at night is losing it all. Could happen anytime, really. Whenever I start to think the cyberware is screwing with my head, I step back and disconnect, and just listen to some classics like Daft Punk or Skrillex. Only way I can really relax.

---

[DeadDrop]

The Old Man

"Listen in the net, I'm king. Netwatch, the corps, anyone else who tries to get in my way will be suckin' black ice."

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Birth Name





"Some people wished it stopped raining, I don't think I could live without it."
Monterey, California - April 22nd, 2000.


Goonster stands at about six feet tall, he wears a cheap bland black suit with black tie. He has no hair, as the man is old and balding at his day and age. He appears to be of a skinny build, on the back of his head are various ports - jacks for jacking into the net. He has wrinkles, of course, crows feet on his eyes. He has a nice pair of designer dress shoes on and a digi-watch on his wrist. Upon his face are a plain, bland pair of spectacles. He appears to be of 180 pounds, and facial features that would indicate him being of Slavic descent. He speaks with a slight Russian accent.


Male



"Life is simpler in the net."




Cyberdeck Building - Having been a career deck-jockey, Goonster knows how to maintain, kit and upgrade decks.

Electronic Security - He's skilled in cracking, defending, anti-personnel attacks. You name it, he can do it - in the net.

Pistols - He's handled handguns in his youth when he use to be in a gang, but that was a long time ago.



Neuralwear Processor - the baseline for neural wear cybernetics

Model 100 Plugs - plugs that fit into the back of the head, they provide some physical defense against BLACK ICE.

Pacemaker Coprocessor - A pacemaker that will restart the heart against ICE. This won't work for BLACK ICE.




_{Goonster Nato, 2020}

"Yea eat it! Zeroed the fuck quick, the Tsars sends its regards."

It wasn't a messy process for the Natos to move to the states, jumping out and away from the Russian Federation had been done before and the Natos were not the first. Both farmers, they weren't ready for the journey that awaited them. Taking a cargo ship to Seattle cost the family most of its money, smuggling was expensive back in 2000. The ship landed and the immigrants scattered, California wasn't as strict as it use to be. The Natos traveled to Monterey where they eventually found cheap housing in - a combat zone. On route to the land of the free, Goonster was conceived and he was born in April.

The combat zone was harsh on everyone and the Natos were no exception to this life rule, his father Robert Nato found himself joining a corp at the age of forty-five. His mother worked the soup kitchen in her spare time, she did have a child to raise. If only she knew her son would pick the life of crime with his father, which when he was old enough at a young teen age took up the way of the gun. He joined the Tsars - a prominent gang from the Russian Federation. The Russian gang was one of the smaller gangs plaguing the combat zone, Goonster soon found himself in combat but found a distaste for being a grunt, frontline soldier. He wanted something more, edge running comes with a risk - doesn't it?

That's when he got his first deck, it was shitty, small, didn't have many programs. Jacking in was a blast though, the net was something to be damned about. A coming from nothing kid fell in love with cyber space, like most deckers he spent most of his down time jacked in. The gang took notice when they lost a troop for patrols, then they realised his potential. Egging on his addiction to the net, the gang helped him acquire chips and gear to help boost his decking capabilities. They used Goonster to hit small corps, banks, bypass security. Despite being a means to an end, Goonster liked it - the net, not the work. It was the thrill that kept him on hopped up on life.

Under the handle Jack Frost a befitting name for a black ICE user, Goonster began to move his operations out of the combat zone. This attributed to an NCPD raid that crippled the gang as NCPD started it's operation to "recover" the district. That's when Goonster fled with his gear, he moved to Seattle where the heat would be off him. In Seattle, that's where he made a name for himself. Jacking into corps, taking their data and selling them. That was mostly his game, sell the info for the highest price. It's how he became wealthy, with the wealth he moved his parents over to Seattle with him. Over the next thirty years, Goonster would work for various corporations, gangs - anyone that would pay.

In this time, he's killed or crippled countless deckers. Some say Goonster packs only BLACK ICE for his anti-personnel setup, of course, first-hand witnesses are hard to come by. Partly because of these witnesses, the frontal lobe is liquid or their hearts stopped. His custom deck usually out guns the other deckers, he claims to be the best in Seattle but that's up for debate. Isn't that why Biotechnica hired him? He's the best, after all, he's the cyber expert you'd expect them to be begging for.

Wrong.

_{Mrs. ████, Mr. ██████████████, and Mr. ████████}

"Nato, if only you understood the problem you've just created."

The man jolted in his seat, his hands unconsciously gripping onto the arm rests of his chair. His body breaking into spasms as blood rushed out his mouth and nose, two men in lab coats ran to the man while a technician in a jumpsuit began typing on a computer. It was too late, the man succumbed to his injuries. Black Ice had crushed his heart, it was evident when the flat line hit his machine and the dull audio cued. This was the second Decker to get flat lined this month, it was then that the suits came in. Executives of Biotechnica, it had been decided this Deckjockey attacking Biotechnica would be grabbed by their security teams.

Maybe Goonster had been sloppy, he was verging on the age of fifty. Rocking forty-nine years of age in his Seattle penthouse, he went through the documents he had lifted from the mega Corp. While he ran his decrypter, he got out of the menu. Leaving the net and back to the real world, that's when he saw twelve men in security gear around him. His hands raised in the air, he was swiftly beaten to the floor and restrained before he was hauled off, down and out his apartment to Biotechnica.

It took forever, but when the had the bag removed from his head he has faced with three executives a contract. "Nato, if only you understood the problem you've just created. Those Deckers you flat lined? They were working on an important job, a mission of ours. Now we need replacements, understood? Work for us, for this job - maybe even more if you like making money. Or, we'll send you back to the net right here - and Ice you." The woman on the left says, in a kind voice just before she switches to a deeper more serious tone when she brings up "Icing Nato."

Without looking at the contract, he signed. Dotting the I's and crossing the Ts. He still had the net to live for, his family, his future. Whatever it was that needed to be done, he'd do it. Only time will tell if he'll flatline out, or cash out. One thing for sure, he'll need a new deck.

---

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BIOTECHNICA S.A. REGISTRANT PERSONALITY QUIZ

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

Favorite food: Steak.

Least favorite food: Pizza.

Use three words to describe yourself: Harbinger of ICE.

Likes: I like the net, it's better than realspace.
My family is important to me.
My friends from my youth are cherished.
My Deck is like a rifle to me.
I like to explore the net.
I like technology, it's fascinating.
I am working on creating the best black ice on the market - was working.

Dislikes Cyber-Psychosis, the people who suffer from it. If I was able too, I'd shoot them.
An unreliable crew or partner, they will be the death of me if I cannot trust them.
Nosey people, I am a quiet and reserved man. Let my work speak for me.
Gays, they are disgusting and should be kept at arm's length from me. Anything closer is threatening.
Drugs. They have no appeal.
Cyber chips. If I haven't touched them and stripped them, I don't want them in me.
Racists. The Russian Federation conquered the states in the race for technology, this is evident. If you do not like the RusFed, do not speak of it to me.
These are my major issues, there are much more, albeit small.

Values:
Loyalty, if you work with me or for me. I don't want you to leave my side.
Hard work, you must work hard. Lazy people are of no use to me.
Intellect, it's been a decade since I've had a talk with a smart human. This excludes, cyborg and anyone with smart chips.
Reliability. You need to have my back if you want my trust.
Distance. I enjoy when people know when not to go too far.
My Family. My mother and father are who I care for.
Life. I'm glad I am alive.
Humor. I like jokes good and bad.

Strengths:
I do not talk much, there is less room for conflict this way.
I'm an "deck jockey", I can do a lot of things on the net. Getting data and killing others through the net is my most esteemed accomplishments.
I work well with a team or partner if they are competent.
I don't need to rely on others, most of the time. Leave me in the net.

Flaws:
I'm a weak old man, I'm not afraid to admit this.
I am not the quick shooting gunner I use to think I was.
I can get upset easily.
I'm not patient, everything must go fast.
I am not combat capable, give me a small knife or pistol I may be ok, do not rely on me.
I forgot things, sometimes.

Anything else: Allow me to use my deck or give me the means to build a new - superior one. Thank you.

---

[Dark Light]

Jacob

r a w c s s k e l e t o n ::

---

n a m e ::

Jacob 'Jay' Hunter

d a t e & p l a c e o f b i r t h ::
May 12th London

a p p e a r a n c e ::
Sporting a thin Mohawk, tattoos can be seen from his short prison stints on his shaved head. Slightly above average height he is physically well built. He has short stubble on his defined chin, more so due to a lack of care instead of style. His clothes are often simple, worn and ragged, opting for functionality above all else. Further tattoos and scars line the bare skin of his muscular chest and torso, both a reminder of past battles.

He mostly appears 'clean' in regards to cyber-ware but his wrists hold concealed sub-dermal induction ports that feed to his neural ware. On very close inspection one might notice his left eye is cybernetic.

g e n d e r ::
Male, _{wanna check?}

o c c u p a t i o n ::
Jacob tried the monotony of modern day slavery known as work. He dabbled as a trade assistant or bouncer among other things but failed on many occasions. His short temper, violent tendencies and dislike for authority proved to continually be troublesome. Illegal street brawling and crime were his main source of income until he joined the military.
For a short time after that alcoholic or bum best described his occupation. That was until Damian Jansenn came across him and built him up, giving him a job in security. Jacob excelled here.

s k i l l s ::
He can take a punch like its nobody's business. The guy just keeps going. He has a natural tolerance, almost excitement, towards pain. He can also dish it back out, having high experience in mixed martial arts and underground brawling.
He has all the basic military training and enough live combat experience to haunt his dreams.

Beside that and being physically fit he's not skilled at much else. In fact he could be considered a bit of a slow learner. Lucky for people like him, you don't need to be a tech expert to benefit from tech.
Still bearing his military Neural chipware socket he can 'buy' and plug in skills. He currently has a chemistry skill chip installed, allowing him to understand and identify chemicals.
Thanks to the neuralware processor and additional implants, Jacob now has an extraordinarily enhanced sense of smell. He can track scents and analyse chemicals with the aid of his chemistry skill chip.

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

Neural Ware:

• Neuralware processor & Chipware socket - Implanted into the lower spine it routes signals from external cyberwear to the central nervous system. Jacob has an Oral factory and Reflex boost jacked into this offering him an advanced sense of smell and an extra edge on his reactions.
  He even has a Smart Gun Digital weapon uplink that when connected to a smart gun through his subdermal interface induction plugs, offers an advanced array of enhanced combat options and control.

Implants:

• Nasal filters & Chemical analyser- Fitted in Jacobs reconstructed nasal passages, this filters against poisons and breathable drugs. Breaks down smells into chemical components, analyses them and sends the info to a display screen.
• Adrenal booster - An artificial gland that releases adrenalin on command.
• Subdermal armor - a mesh/ballistic plastic armor inserted under the skin.

Cyberoptics:

• Cybernetic eye - Replacing his lost left eye.
  While almost indistinguishable from his real one it is far more efficient and filled with additional functions beyond normal sight. It offers an enhanced image, targeting assist, an internal scrolling information display and even a thermograph sensor.

Body weapons:

• Implanted fangs, power jaw - When his jaw was under complete reconstruction Jacob got a little enhancement. Muscle functionality was increased and he also got multiple 'fangs' implanted in place of missing teeth for that extra fierce bite.

h i s t o r y ::
Jacob grew up without a father in the slummiest of slums. Many abusive father figures came and left throughout his child hood. Surrounded by constant gangs at war, it was no surprise when he eventually slipped into that lifestyle. As a young kid Jacob wasn't the biggest, toughest, or the fastest but he was the meanest.
Intimidation became his survival tactic. He would always 'one up' his rivals. Jacob eventually got an armour mesh implanted under his skin. There was something extra terrifying about the nonchalant's of appearing unarmored.

When Jacobs gang antics eventually drew his younger sister into his lifestyle he decided to clean up his act. Hungry for a life better than the one he had, for his little sister and dear mother more so than himself, he tried to go straight. Failing at many jobs he
shortly after enlisted for the military. This lasted longer than all else but eventually even this too came to an end. While there he did well. His anger and aggression focused towards a Poitier outlet. He completed training and earned his neural ware. Did a tour that cost him his eye but was ranked up and given a cyberoptic.
It was in his new ranking position that he was kicked out for questionable behaviour and defiance. Disagreeing with corporate interjection and all the red tape.

Failing this it put him back on the streets. An angry failure, a lost wild man now trained to kill with upgrades to do just that.
Luckily for most, Jacob now spent most of his time debilitated by excess consumption of alcohol. His life quickly spiralled downwards and out of control before his past decided to catch up with him and kick him while he was down.

In his younger, dirtier gang days before joining the military Jacob had unknowingly, or uncaringly, messed up. He had ruffled the wrong people the wrong way. After overdoing another 'warning' beating and sending some punk kid to the infirmary, Jay realised his mistake. It wasn't just some wanna-be gansta trying to extend his territory. Things were different, he should have realised. This new kid on the scene came with fancy corporate parents who were connected to some pretty high up important people.

During his time in the military Jacob had almost forgotten all about that day and the cursed promises spat at him.
That punk kid didn't though.
Shortly after his discharge from the service Jacob got an urgent worried call from his mother.
Upon arriving home Jacob walked right into a trap. Ambushed and blind sighted he was beaten to near death, his jaw mangled beyond normal repair, face kicked in. The life near beaten right out of him. They stole or trashed nearly everything in his mother's house. His distraught mother was forced to watch the whole thing while Jacobs sister was went missing.

Left for dead, lucky to still be alive, and in a real bad way, Jacob was in desperate need of some immediate medical aid and surgery. Having just lost nearly everything and with not having much to begin with, Jacobs mother began her frantic bleak search for a cheap black market surgeon.

She never found one, but who she did find was Damian Jansen. And that was even better.
Still for reasons unknown to Jacob, Damien covered the costs and had the work done by one of his own guys. This is where Jacob got his Power jaw and shark tooth smile as well as an Oral factory boost. It was beyond simple healing or repair, it was a surgical upgrade.

The generosity was not for free of course, but a loan. A loan worth Jacobs life. Jacob could not argue with that. To top it off the prices were more than reasonable and Damien even offered him a job to make the money back. That was the start of a beautiful partnership that is still running today.

---

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BIOTECHNICA S.A. REGISTRANT PERSONALITY QUIZ

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

Favorite food: _{(What food do you like to eat?)}
What the FUCK has this got to do with my job? You gonna throw me a bloody dinner party or invite me around for supper to meet the family!? ... No thanks.

Least favorite food: _{(What food don’t you like to eat?)}
Corporate bullshit!

Use three words to describe yourself: _{(Pretty simple!)}
1. Go Sick
2. F@&K Of
3. Yourself This!

Likes: _{(What do you like? Do you have hobbies? Is there anything or anyone that is extra special to you?)}
Beer
Babes
Bikes
Not having my time wasted
And money

Dislikes: _{(What things don’t you like? I hope you’re not a Negative Nancy™, but We All Hate Mondays!™, am I right?)}
Bullshit psych quizzes and piss poor comedic attempts to relate to those you are belittling.

Values: _{(What means alot to you? Your religion? Your convictions? Your family?)}
F$&K religion!
Face to face interviews.
A solid job, & a heavy pay check!

Strengths: _{(What are you good at? What do people like about you?)} people love me for my bubbly personality and pearly sweet smile!...
I get shit done and don't ask dumbass questions.

Flaws: _{(Maybe you are a Negative Nancy™, but hey, at least you’re honest! Or maybe you have crippling cyberpsychosis and you need regular medication and check-ups or else you show signs of severe paranoid schizophrenia! Maybe that cyberpsychosis isn’t that bad. Your urge to send that crossing guard flying at dozens of meters per second may only come around after she makes you late to work, rather than every time you see her.)} Short patience.

Anything else: _{(Don’t be shy! We have you medical records and personal history, so we would know if you left anything out that you shouldn’t have!)}
What the hell was this all about? You got questions about my personality just ask.
I'm here coz I'm good at what I do and you need me, but fuck me around with this sort of thing again and my price doubles.

PS, I'm billing you for this time.
Love Jay

---

[Ms Ravenwinter]

Alex

:: Alejandra Ibáñez ::

◟▬ ▬ ▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬◞ :: s t r e e t - t a g :: ◟▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬ ▬ ▬◞
» Allycat «

◟▬ ▬ ▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬◞ :: s e x :: ◟▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬ ▬ ▬◞
» Female «

◟▬ ▬ ▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬◞ :: d a t e & p l a c e o f b i r t h :: ◟▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬ ▬ ▬◞
» August 17, 2036 «
» London, The United Kingdom «

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

◟▬ ▬ ▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬◞ :: j o b s :: ◟▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬ ▬ ▬◞
» Black Market Robotics Supplier «
» Underground Cyberware Tech «
» Professional Vigilante «
» Junker «

◟▬ ▬ ▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬◞ :: t h e s k i l l s :: ◟▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬ ▬ ▬◞
» Inventive «
Her primary skillset is her affinity for all things hardware. If she's got the tools, she can fix your cyberarm, improvise a weapon, build a death machine out of a scrap heap, or design a modern art-piece.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

◟▬ ▬ ▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬◞ :: h i s t o r y :: ◟▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬ ▬ ▬◞
Alex was a curious kid. She had a mind that enjoyed taking things apart and putting them back together in new and interesting ways. Without a hands-on problem to solve or a new toy to tinker with, she was utterly bored and unyieldingly rowdy. Even as an adult, she's much like that loud backstreet London kid who had more fun getting things to move with a car battery than with any doll or 'action figure'.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

BIOTECHNICA S.A. REGISTRANT PERSONALITY QUIZ

---

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

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

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

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

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

"Never had any."

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

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

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

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

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

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

The man clears his throat.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"That is correct."

"So they know about--"

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

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

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

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

---