[CHAR] Shadows in the Dread City- A Cyberpunk RolePlay

Noteworthy NPCs, and other plot-centric characters.

Knox

Knox Haynesworth

Name/Nicknames:

Knox Haynesworth.

Gender:

Male.

Age:

115

Appearance:



Knox is a towering giant of a man, infused with state-of-the-art cyber and bio augmentations. A seven foot beast, bound in both muscles and metal, Knox’s body has been meticulously molded to create a gargantuan killing machine. Nanobots have carefully woven monomolecular fibres through his flesh, giving his skin highly increased defensive capabilities, and his bones have been bolstered by robust alloys.

His features are hard and brutish; stoney flesh having been intertwined with cybernetics. His eyes have been replaced with a more advanced prototype model of the optic implants used by Peacekeeper special forces, and his left arm has been swapped out for a massive prosthetic limb

Personality:

Knox is a hateful, bitter man. Years of mockery and isolation twisted his brilliant mind into something cruel and heartless, and he fiercely despises mankind. He holds no real loyalty to Osi-Corp, and instead uses his position as an excuse to satiate his sadistic urges.

There was once a complex and ingenious man buried beneath his heinous exterior, but Knox has since devolved into monstrous degenerate, who lives only to kill.

Bio:

Born over one hundred years ago, Knox Haynesworth was considered to be one of the greatest minds of his generation. An Oxford graduate, entrepreneurial genius, and cunning thinker, Haynesworth co-founded Gallo and Haynesworth pharmaceuticals with childhood friend Roberto Gallo, and the pair grew to become exceedingly wealthy and successful.

Achieving immense prosperity early into his young adulthood, Haynesworth married internationally renowned supermodel Norma Jacquet, and lived an exceedingly happy life, until his health rapidly began to deteriorate, and doctors diagnosed him with ALS.

Knox’s life fell apart.

His wife left him for his Roberto, those he had considered his friends drifted away, and Haynesworth became tragically aware that those who remained in his life were vying for his vast wealth. With mere months to live, Knox made arrangements to have his body cryogenically preserved in liquid nitrogen, in hopes that he would one day be revived, once a cure for his condition had been discovered.

In the last few months of his natural life, Knox devolved into a vicious, sour man. He despised those who had left him, and hated those who had stayed to pick over his carcass.

Knox died, and his body was frozen, as per his wishes. Roberto assumed control over Gallo and Haynesworth, continuing to run the company until it was was consumed by the business conglomerate which would one day grow to become Osi-Corp.

Knox Haynesworth was brought back to life some eighty odd years later, and his body was restored. Using a portion of the boundless wealth which had accumulated during his years as a dead man, Haynesworth commissioned construction of a massive, barbarous body, which his brain was then grafted into.

He tried to adjust to life in the future, but was still plagued by a fiery hatred for all human life, and was constantly getting arrested for assault, and other such crimes. An Osi-Corp executive took notice of Knox’s particular case, and devised a plan to weaponize his bitterness in order to forward his own ambitions.

Haynesworth was offered a job as part of Osi-Corp’s private security sector, which he accepted. He was outfitted with new cybernetics, and special forces training; quickly molding him into a weapon for Osi-Corp. Knox has spent a few years putting his skills to use, on whatever grim task Osi-COrp needs him to fulfill, and has now been assigned to retrieve the Golden Disk of Arcadia.

[ElRey814]

Name: Casio Flores

Nickname: The Florist

Gender: Male

Age: 68, appears early 40’s

Appearance:

Best known by his pseudonym, The Florist stands at a little under six feet, carrying what appears a fairly nondescript, average build. At a glance he would scarcely stand out amongst a crowd of degenerates. But with a carefully trained eye one might glean that he is no commoner. Even beneath an unruly tousle of graying hair and a face covered in unkempt scruff he cannot fully mask the sculpted bone structure of Earth’s highborn society. Were you to catch his eyes in a certain light, you might notice the circuitry hidden within the soft blue iris, or the faded scars which seem to carefully line his musculature. Most obvious clue of his augmentation is the Neural Nub above his left ear.

Casio isn’t flashy, he wears whatever allows him to blend easiest, generally favoring whatever would draw the least amount of attention in a particular situation; usually that means long sleeves and a hat, but he is just as comfortable in a three-piece suit, lab coat or a stolen delivery uniform.

Personality:

One doesn't spend their life lurking amongst the criminal elite, the insanely wealthy, their hired killers, corporate goons and an ocean of hopeless junkies without learning how people tick. Casio understands people, and his body language drips with an apathetic confidence, casually drifting through any number of social situations with ease.

Bio:

Born into a world of gratuitous luxury, self indulgence and backstabbing, Casio learned very quickly how to avoid conflict and play people against one another. His father, Desmond Flores, a politician and gun manufacturer had become one of the wealthiest men on Earth from capitalizing on various global conflicts and selling to both sides. While this placed his family in a tenuous position among the old-money of high society, money is still money and as a boy it would grant him all kinds of opportunities and the best education it could buy. He quickly showed an aptitude for engineering and chemistry, a gift only enhanced by the expensive litany of bio-implants he received as he grew. Chasing his father’s promising political career, the family relocated to the growing colony of Mars in 2066; leaving their native planet in favor of the sprawling metropolis of Eden, the older, larger, sister city to Arcadia.

After attending a number of prestigious academies across Mars, Casio found himself working for NuBio Ltd. One of the largest corporations on Mars which competes at the cutting edge of pharmaceutical and augmentation technologies. His naturally affinity towards machinery and chemistry was quickly honed to a razor’s edge while working on the highest grade experimental cybernetics and performance enhancers the UEA had to offer. By the time of his 30th birthday, he was more machine than man, virtually every facet of his body enhanced or otherwise altered to further his research.

In the coming years he would push the envelope on both fronts, being placed onto the board of NuBio’s R&D branch. His relentless pursuit in the name of science would catapult NuBio’s stock values and help solidify them as one of the most powerful subsidiaries of the UEA; eventually leading he and his team to develop a drug that would change life on Mars forever : Transdermal Reduction and Neural Consciousness Enhancer or Trance

The drug’s use would quickly spin out of control, government and corporate oversight ratcheting down heavily on any bold or foolish enough to continue pursuing its applications. Flores was one such casualty, refusing to abandon his brainchild for what he believed to be nominal side effects.

NuBio would waste no time in cutting ties with their golden goose, landing Flores promptly out on his golden ass with very little to show for it. His assets were seized, his credit accounts frozen for “redistribution” as he was scapegoated for being the sole originator of what was now considered a societal bane. The blacklisting extended to his family, now as sitting Chancellor of Economy in Eden, Desmond Flores would disown his “delinquent son” to save his own image.

Try as they might, no power in human history has been able to snuff out the desire to change consciousness and the damage was already done. Demand for the drug in subsequent years has only grown, and with what is arguably the most intimate knowledge of the drug’s development available, whoever deals with Flores has access to some of the purest form of Trance and with it a constant flow of capital.

As a man in high demand, Flores has used his one of kind knowledge as a shield. Now free of oversight committees and nursing a grudge against the corporate oligarchy, he has busied himself cozying up to whichever underhanded organizations or well-connected gangs would grant him use of their facilities.
The Black Brethren, Iron Salamanders, even The Machine Cult of Vir’tsung have contracted with The Florist, receiving his signature bright blue ultra-refined Trance, or his advanced knowledge of augmentation and implants, which he can use to enhance, replace or repair.

The Florist has been quietly orchestrating and encouraging a coordinated attack on the Os-Net Server Hubs, in an attempt to expand the influence of The Warp.
News of the Golden Disk changes things, with access to the legendary item, he could crash the entire grid, cutting off Mars and granting him a direct say in how the red planet would be rebuilt.

Other:

- Casio is master chemist. Give him the products under your sink, he'll give you a bomb. Give him access to a janitor's closet, he'll give you a liquid that can melt straight through augmented flesh. Give him a lab? There's virtually nothing he couldn't create. Steroids to the modern equivalent of a healing potion.

- The Florist is augmented, but not for combat. While he's a little bit quicker & noticeably stronger than an average man his age, and the optical enhancements & hand/eye sync programs technically provide a mild benefit when using a firearm, they are far more suited for careful, dexterous work like cybernetic repair. A skin integrated bioweave, standard issue for high-level R&D experts due to the dangerous nature of working with robotics monitors organ function & blood circulation and makes him slightly more resilient to chemical, burn and blunt trauma. An experimental and highly illegal Neural Lace allows him to interact, reset or undermine certain security precautions or checkpoints, typically with little to no register on the firewall systems of Os-Net.

- To say Flores is generally the smartest person in the room would be a gross underestimation. In a world inundated by technology, he is a man who has had his practiced hand firmly gripped on the blade creating the bleeding edge of it's capabilities for longer than an average life-span. This lifelong involvement in all things augmented and cybernetic mean he has a encyclopedian knowledge of their capabilities, hidden or otherwise, allows him to do more with less when acting as a benevolent creator; and when the situation arises, grants him an intimate familiarity with their most glaring weaknesses. Weaknesses he is all too happy to exploit. Coupled with the illegal Neural Lace he designed, he is a formidable opponent, quite literally capable of taking one apart, piece by piece.

[FoxFire]

Samantha

Samantha Anand Rojas

“Trust only in that I can finish the job.”

Name/Nicknames: Samantha Anand Rojas

• “Sam” - Only her last four of her five lovers (all deceased)
• “Anand” – Only her first lover (deceased)
• “Sammy” – Only her mother (deceased)
• “The Wicked Bitch of the Waste(land)” – Other assassins
• “The finest assassin money can buy” – Her presentation card

Gender: Hermaphrodite

• ZZ-Chromosome human
• Born female
• Fully functional down to biomolecular level

Age: 27 Earth-years old.

Appearance: Samantha flaunts physical perfection through her feminine looks both in health and appearance thanks to the many Biomods she has installed in her body. It can be easily and correctly stated she is more technology than biological parts at this stage in her life.

As most people, Samantha started her life as a baseline human and kept her normal appearance until around her fifteen years of age, in which time she might have been called beautiful but was nothing truly remarkable. Around that time, she became an assassin and initiated her transformation into the hybrid being she is now. These upgrades, up to this point, include among other things, a practically symbiotic nature with technology due to the nanomachines in her veins, techno-organic muscular tissue; bones, cartilages and joints made from organic multi-layered nanotubes (o-MLCNs), many specialized big-data-programmer-level ports distributed throughout the surface of her skin and hidden blades in different parts in her body made from MLCNs. Apart from the ports, in her 210 cm. of height there are no markings of any kind in contrast to most of the population of Arcadia.

The Biomods and the low gravity of the formerly red planet explain her height and the fact that despite her line of work, she wears her hair ankle length. Of course, she braids it and has it inside of her suit on missions.

Personality:

“Trust only in that I can finish the job.”

Samantha is extremely mistrustful, even though she is sincerer than many others in her line of work. This is mostly thanks to the murder of all her lovers; she has learned that she can only trust herself as most other people aren’t out there only for themselves, but against you just for existing.

“I do not stab people in the back, I do so in the front and with ample warning.”

The sincerity part comes from the simple but remarkable fact that the assassin has the power to give herself the luxury to state she is in risk of betraying you directly to your face, but of course, only after the job is done. After all, that’s always how the business has worked and continues to work, only Samantha takes care to be polite and remind you.

“Think and believe whatever you want. At least, up to this point, in our minds we are mostly free.”

She believes in freedom in theory and in practice mostly lacks a solid moral compass beyond pragmatism and what she desires at the moment. Samantha might have left the majority of her worst depravities behind, but one is never fully separated from one’s past. She doesn’t want to do those excessive things just for excessiveness’ sake anymore but has no qualms about utterly destroying a completely innocent person.

The assassin was formerly often prone to extreme bursts of unjustified sadism, now they are mostly gone. There are few things that can push her in either direction.

“It would be philosophically better if any superior power didn’t exist. Have you heard of Epicurus’ Problem of Evil?”

Samantha is thoughtful and philosophical. While she has no major far future dreams that hasn’t impeded her thinking about everything she can comprehend. She is both an extremely concrete person in her day to day life, but the moments she dedicates to contemplation are so many and so vital to her that the reverse is also true without contradiction.

Samanatha doesn't believe in any form of superior power nor in any form of reward or retribution in life.

Thanks to her many hours of meditation, she is quite a measured person too in what she says, always trying to reconcile stating what’s necessary with what she thinks. To do so, she practically never swears. An oddity in Arcadia. She, on the other hand, considers it childish. Words are just vibrations in the air, how can you really be offended by a group of culturally inappropriate terms?

“I’ve lived ten lives of Sparrow in depravity. Yes, The Sparrow. I’ve tried everything. Sex means nothing to me anymore.

Samantha doesn’t believe nor wish for sex or any kind of intimacy without a profound emotional connection. As she is completely alone in the romantic facet, she has no intimacy, no real trust in anyone nor anyone to confide her thoughts into.

Bio:

Despite her eastern European appearance, Samantha comes from a long line of refugees from the once over populated and currently sunken Bangladesh. India, as the most powerful nation on Earth during the time when the last vestiges of the poles melted, took care of the situation in Bangladesh by erecting gargantuan walls on the Bengal Delta, which left millions to die but, supposedly was worth it, by also saving countless more millions. This is where Samantha’s great-grandparents came from: India took many of the refugees and used them to colonize many of its projects in the Solar System, in that time, in early stages of development. While that was a welcome change for many, as it gave them opportunities, soon the situation turned for the worse and the effects was profound as there were millions of emigres to Mars and other colonies who ended up there to make sovereignty without a rupee on their pockets.

Of these refugees, many communities emerged and found in the earliest times, that cooperation was the key to staying afloat… But this wouldn’t last either as the ethnicities, languages and religions drew lines in the sands and the groups that once supported the populations became mafias and gangs. It was a strange and perverse symbiosis by that point in time as the new groups needed the support from the population to recruit members and have their business prosper while the population needed the groups to protect itself from other groups that they also, both directly and indirectly, helped nurture and create. Of all these groups, few, if any, ever ascended to a higher social class and the resentment that this caused is a great part of what fuelled the machinery as a whole.

While some peoples coalesced, other drifted and joined with other human groups. This was the case with the father of Samantha, who had a child with a Latin-American woman after they moved to a quieter city than India’s settler colonies. In this case, the chosen place was Puerto Nueva Esperanza, a satellite city of the multinational colony of Arcadia. They would move to the central city when their daughter was but a few years old, something Samantha would curse and damn up to this day. It caused her to lose her father soon to one of the many pandemics that extended through the lower levels every few years. She could perfectly remember everything about him, but could never make it mean anything to her. Her mother would follow when she was around fourteen, collateral damage in a firefight between two minor mafias.

By that point in time, Samantha was the main means of income for the family thanks to her innate piloting skills. She participated in many tournaments, races and stunt shows, nevertheless, due to the corruption, she never won anything as she didn’t have connections but still managed to make her and her mother live comfortably. She was always the stereotype of good girl and the hope among the lower classes, thus she sold tickets and participated in more events, but was always just a point behind the winner, a single mistake from a trophy or a medal. Then her mother died, and everything spiralled down.

She was exploited in almost every way conceivable by the people she was indebted to until she managed to escape a year later. Desperate, she unknowingly took a job as a driver for a very high-profile assassination mission and was suddenly involved in a disaster as the professional she was transporting was killed by a competitor. One of many… She was into the game without her consent and through sheer innate ability managed to come out on top, killing many high-profile professional assassins and the target without being found. On the other hand, this was at a terrible price as the last woman she had to fight with for the target managed to leave her in such a pitiful state she welcomed the darkness when she closed her only remaining eye.

When she woke up, the original contractor welcomed her with open arms, showering her on praise. She found she had been reconstructed as a gift and, of course, as a way of getting her indebted to the woman that ordered the assassination in the first place. She might not have known what she was getting into, but the fact was she found where her abilities laid even better than in piloting.

The rumours spread like wildfire and soon she had many contracts available to her and the enough inner fire to annihilate the whole city to the ground. The city that took her mother and her childhood away. She let her rage loose on her targets, never asking why, no need to hear the truth or the lies. Samantha was said during that time to be able to make Lamya Sparrow rise her eyebrows if they didn’t tell her it was to look like it was an accident. In her depraved adolescence she tried more than a little bit of everything, unknowingly looking to soothe her pain and the terrified inner child that was afraid to remember any yesterday or think that tomorrow likely might be worse. She tried to erase herself of herself, changing her skin and eyes, changing everything she could of her body. She became addicted to the Trance by instable periods of recovery and relapse.

Samantha erased the minor gangs which killed her mother down to the last member, including initiates who had nothing to do with it. But her revenge continued. She slowly tortured to death dozens of times over* the people who had abused her if they were lucky, for those who weren’t, they suffered even more gruesome fates. These facts became widely known among the elite assassin community, so much so that after one point they stopped sending people to get rid of her. Following that, any person who thought had any power over her trembled as she crowned her achievements by murdering the magnate that had had her under her thumb for having reconstructed her in the first place: a person nobody thought was even close to being able to be killed.

By the time she was twenty, Samantha woke up one day and decided that it was enough. She had seen and done the worse mankind had to offer. She was living in a penthouse surrounded by gardens, overlooking the Martian horizon that seemed to end so soon compared to Earth’s and finally accepted what she was and what she had done. Little by little she got rid of the habits that had made her an urban legend. It took years of pain of almost every kind, but finally the only reprehensible thing she did was cleanly kill people for money. No more fireworks, no more blood, no more glamour. She was a monster, but at least a monster that accepted herself and to reach to the point she was now, everyone had their hands with so much blood and tears that she was simply another brick in the wall. At least, no matter how horrible it was, Samantha could say she was somewhat better than them.

*Yes, I meant killing several times, as Samantha simply transferred their consciousness over to new bodies to begin her perversities anew.

Other:

• She loathes smoking, people smoking and the smoke itself, whatever drug it might be. Her contractors know this and never smoke close to her due to, in most cases having lost contracts and, in almost all, arms to an angry Samantha.
• The same is true for alcohol but in a much milder manner. Anything that clouds her perception of reality is immediately discarded as useless and an parasitic entity for the human race in her worldview.
• Her Biomods grant her abilities that are beyond what any Olympic athlete of our time could do at their best, but that is the norm in her line of work. She just has more money than most to purchase the best upgrades.
• She, at least philosophically, doesn’t think that the state has right over the life itself of the people. Empirically she doesn’t care all that much, she knows she can’t change the world.
• Samantha doesn’t consider a violation a “special” or “different” kind of offense nor a point of no return. She knows there are many, many worse things that can happen and be done to a person.
• In the past, sometimes Samantha had televised her torture sessions, but not for snuff enthusiasts. No. Instead she managed to get some of the largest screens throughout Arcadia hacked. You can imagine the rest.
• If there is anything that can make Samantha feel vulnerable, is music.
• Samantha has no mementos of her childhood of any kind, only her Biomodded eidetic memory. Why would you need a holo-picture when you can remember even being born itself?
• Her first surname means “joyful” or “blissful” in Hindi. Only her mother and her first lover may call her that. They are both dead. Don’t tempt her to make you join them.
• Her second surname means “red” in Spanish.
• Together her two surnames remind her of the terrible things she did and not of the opportunities that the (formerly) Red Planet offered her as they did in her childhood.
• She knows how to speak Spanish.

[NoriWasHere]

Ardur

Name/Nicknames:

Ardur “po-po” Sage

Gender:

Male

Age:

Thirty-Five

Appearance

Standing at a height of six-foot three inches tall, Ardur looks every bit the workout enthusiast as a lean, but toned, muscular frame fills his tall body with ease. His hair is dark brown in color and he wears it freely while he takes meticulous care of his beard, styling it to a point while also using copious amounts of beard oil and shampoo on the daily. He has dark brown eyes that never seem to grab the compliments he expects. On a normal day you will find him wearing any combination of simple khaki shorts and odd colored shirt to pair with it, sometimes with last night's drinks still stained on them. When he is working a case, however, you will find him wearing dark pants, a white shirt, high grade combat boots, and a dark brown leather jacket that appears to have seen one winter too many.

Personality:


A consummate tracker and collector, raised in a time where the contracts rained aplenty and desperation ran high, Ardur is constantly scanning his surroundings and is unwavering focused on the task at hand. Well versed in using his charm to his advantage, he knows how to not only talk his way into places that are usually not privy to outsiders, but also to help people through rough spots as well. That’s not to say he is boisterous, though. While he’s often quiet and reserved around others, he is well spoken which surprises a few people due to his addiction. His demons haunt him greatly, and he has taken to alcohol to keep them at bay. While high-functioning he may be, his addiction is still carried around everywhere he goes. Even though he never works a contract under the influence, he can feel the cold whispers of sweet relief creeping into his mind whenever he is not under the influence. Ardur has a high sense of honour and decency, and he carries it like a badge in a city overrun by all the bad that life offers.

When the horns of battle are sounded, however, Ardur is ferocious and savage. His life has made him prepared for this after all.



Bio:


Ardur is the son of a former peacekeeper and a drug addict, a strange marriage and one that was cut too short. His mother’s side of the family had a long history of drug addiction that seemed to flow in their blood. His father, a morally straight peacekeeper who left the force because of rampant corruption, lost his faith in the service after being written up for attempting to arrest a known mobster. A few threats were thrown around, though not enough to stick and certainly not enough to convict a mobster, after all. He dragged himself away from it all, and settled down in Arcadia with the goal of starting a family. Ardur remembers little of his father as the mobster he crossed made sure he paid for his moral code in blood, and when Ardur was just three years old his father was taken from him. Ardurs’ mother, at the time a young woman, tried to take care of the young boy herself with help from her family and friends, but she was too preoccupied getting high to truly get it right. And so, at the ripe age of just ten, Ardur began to explore the city around while his mother was chasing the dragon. Of course, as he was still a child, he never drew too much attention from the people on the streets. He blended in.

For the next decade, his life was one in the streets; only returning home to sleep and shower. He played, watched, and learned. Eventually his talents were noticed by memebers of the Miliata and he started to do work for them as a runner, as well as a lookout. The Milita was unlike any gang in Arcadia, for a time at least. They were warriros of the downtrodden, fighting back agianst oppresive corporations as well as ruthless gang members. This stuck out in the still-young mind of Ardur. From what he has seen in Arcadia, and from what he was told about other Megacities like it, there was little good for the honest folks. With the milita, he was finally granted a stable life; he was given a family. Up until his twentyfith birthday, Ardur spent his days training and fighting back for the commoners.

The Militia, however, would eventually succumb to the darkness that inhabits the soul of Arcadia. They began to tolerate more and more criminal behavior, with the group quickly losing any and all shred of decency. Ardur, and those close to him, saw this as a problem. The small group attempted a coup to take over the leadership and failed, with Ardur badly injured in the fighting. He awoke a few days later in a hospital, arms replaced by metal, and not a clue in the world as to how he afforded it. Someone took pity on him for his stance, he guessed, and saw the stand he took against the corrupting influence of power. Knowing that nothing in Arcadia is ever free, Ardur knew that whomever granted him this gift will eventually come for a repayment; and he wants to be ready in case they want their payment in blood.

After his release from the hospital, Ardur started down a new career path; one of a Private Investigator mixed with that of a bounty hunter. He operates under the nick name “po-po” in reference to the father he never knew. Over the next decade he did not make a big name for himself with the investigations, mostly because he refused over half his potential clients on a moral ground. He is, however, somewhat known as a bounty hunter. And with this talk of a golden disk, one that Ardur could use to even the playing field between commoner and mobster, has Ardur excited. This is one bounty that cannot be passed up.


Equipment:

Python Arsenal Modular 14.5mm Battle Rifle:-

Ardur uses the state of the art PA-19 Battle Rifle for most, if not all, situations. The gun itself is a recoil dampened, modular system that shifts between three modes. The first and most standard mode is that of a bullup-style battle rifle with a barrel length of just over 32 inches. The 14.5mm cartridge used provides more than enough stopping power, with the recoil of said round being handled by a "deject" style dampener that allows for full automatic fire while enabling the user some semblance of control. The second, and frequently used, module is the EBPA-19 modification kit that extends the barrel to allow for more accurate fire over range. The EBPA-19 extends the barrel of the gun to a length of just over 42 inches, while also providing a "stand alone" model smart bipod that deploys without the user's input. Included with this modification is the "Schmidt" optical kit that acts as the sights for the weapon; working with or without the EBPA-19 modification. Attached to the side of the main body of the gun, a 6.5-20x40 Wang zoom camera is mounted and provides the user a comprehensive and effective sight for the weapon. The zoom is on par with most Peacekeeper rifle modifications allowing the user to place a tight grouping at ranges of up to 500 yards. The gun sight works in conjunction with the contact lens provided that directly overlay the zoom, with the distance controls adjusted with the use of a companion implant in the fingers that allow the wielder total control over their weapon. The gun sight will, in normal use, show the user where, in real time, their gun barrel is aiming to better assist the user. The third module is less a overall and more of an addition, with two suppressors that fit either mode with ease. It's recommended to always use the suppressor as the PA-19 fired without it has been shown to cause hearing impairments when fired around unprotected ears.

Depending on the situation, the weapon can fire two separate types of rounds.

-PA-195 Armor-piercing Incendiary Anti-Material round.

Intended for use on hardned target, the PA-165 has a weight of 70 grams and a length of 58 millimeters long.

-PA-201 Armor-piercing incendiary tracer full metal jacket round with a steel core

Intended for use of 'soft' targets. The PA-201 has a weight of 59 grams and is 50 millimeters long.

Unknown Manufacturer - Cybernetic Arms -

His cybernetic arms are a little less impressive than most on the market. Not stronger, faster, or better connected than most designs, it's simplicity in function and use leaves little desire for Ardur to upgrade to a better model now that he has the funds to do so. He is strong enough to wield his weapon, fight off un-upgraded enemies, and fast enough to assist in hand to hand combat. Though those with more cybernetic implants, and better parts, will always beat him in that arena; forcing Ardur to keep with his gun to avoid those situations. His arms, are however, very resistant to most forms of munitions. He has not tested it's true resilience yet, out of a fear of damaging them outright, but he has seen a stray low caliber bullet fail at damaging it.

Ardur has attempted to I.D the manufacture of his cybernetic arms, but to date he has yet to match it to any known manufacturer.

Colt .45 caliber Service Pistol -

Standard pistol for generations, the Service pistol is a common to find and easy to maintain option for self-defense, and the occasional offense. While it lacks many of the modern features that newer platforms have, it's rugged charm and high-powered ammunition have meant that the Service is still capable in the right hands.

VC - assistant model:

Ardur has a semi-modern VC, or Virtual Companion, model installed in his home and office. The unit consists of an ear implant that allows the VC to communicate with the user, a software package that allows the VC to have access to what ever you grant it access to (finances, social media, etc,), as well as a choice of both voice and personality of the VC itself. Ardur chose the assistant model as it had more advanced features when it comes to running his finances. The assistant model can pay bills with security features that make it very hard for any outside party. The VC unfortunatly stays at home as the brains of it are rather bulky and not easy to transport.

Holo-gen Holotable:

Ardur has built a very powerful Holotable into the standard, regal looking oak desk in his office. By day, it looks like your standard oak desk with a very clean finish. At the press of a button, located on the left side of the desk, the sides collapse allowing the top to flip over and reveal the holotable itself. The table has numerous abilities that assist Ardur with both his lines of work. The table has the power to produce scaled down versions of locations, allowing Ardur to plan out his bounty strikes in advance. It also has the power to show, if connected, live feeds in real time in a three dimensional way that gives Ardur the ability to see a scene more clearly than a still or traditional video.

Other:

-Pack a day smoker
-Drinks whisky normally but anything will do in a pinch, even Something Else
-Something Else is an alcoholic drink that is awful
-Has a flask on him at all times
-While drunk, Ardur likes to listen to Classic Earth music.

Three weeks prior to the start of the RP: A job starts

Ardur tried to ready himself for what was coming for him, and he knew in his mind he was never going to be. It was twelve thirty in the afternoon as a bright, sunlit sky illuminated the office portion of his apartment. His apartment was originally like your standard Arcadia style two room set, with the main door being connected to a living area (in this case his office) that was also connected, via a hallway, to two separate rooms; one being his living area while the second is his bed room; though, he frequently gets the two mixed up at night. His office was well kept with a regal but polished oak desk situated on the far side of the room just in front of a large, single pane, window that provided sufficient natural light for his office during the day time when he was open. His floor was clean and polished while the walls were adorned with both modern and reproduction classic art from the early two-thousan's on Earth. This “job” as he calls it is a simple one, people would go missing or they would have something priceless stolen from them and Ardur would consider helping them locate them. Consider, a loose word, as he is very strict when it comes to the clientele that he chooses to serve. His rules were simple, if either the client or the potential missing person belonged to a gang he would refuse them. If either the client or the potential missing person was currently wanted for murder, rape, kidnapping as well as various other serious charges, he would not help them. If both the client and the potential missing person was of good moral standing, but could not pay Ardur's fee, he would work the case for free if he felt he could complete it.

Simple rules for a simple business. Sure, Ardur was forced to constantly carry his pistol in his office just in case some unruly mobster got offended that he couldn’t hire him.

Today wasn’t simple, however. Today was scary. The bright sky that illuminated his office had already caused a splitting headache to form in his hungover mind, and a distant pounding that drew closer every second did not help it’s cause. To make matters even worse, he had misplaced his normal hangover cure, the “hang-OVER” pill that he takes every morning after yet another heavy night of drinking and was forced to use an older, cruder, hangover cure, the “Pain-Away Anti-Hangover Smoothie”. It’s not just the taste that Ardur hated, though the fact that they had the audacity to label it a smoothie and not something more accurate like “tar” or “sewage water” for the sludge like consistency and taste that it had, he hated how long it took to work. Already, fifteen minutes into the day and he still felt the throbbing pressure building in his head as thirst for more and more water plagued his mind like a rabid infestation of mice plagues a crop field. This was problematic as his first client, a young lady whose brother went missing a few days prior, who mind you was scheduled to arrive at one-o'clock, had arrived thirty minutes early.

She knocked on the door every..other...minute, each pound of what Ardur assumed was either pure muscle or a cybernetic implant pulled on a press that was growing tighter, and tighter, and tighter, around his brain before he was left with little option but to answer the door; or face the splitting migraine that was threatening to spiral out of control. As Ardur threw the door open, he was brought face to face with the enclosed fist of his client, nearly finishing yet another crude knock on the door with her armored cybernetic implant. The girl had, thankfully, stopped the momentum of her arm just inches in front of Ardur’s face.

“Can I help you,” Ardur asked coldly as he slowly shifted his eyes from the fist, to the young woman’s eyes. Though she did not accept the eye contact, and shifted her gaze to the floor as her hands came together.

“Yes, I am your one o’clock apoint-” She started.

“I know,” Ardur interrupted, “how can I help you right no-*hiccup* right now?” Ardur finished as he used his hand to shield his eyes from the somehow brighter lights of his apartment's hallway.

“I thought we could meet earlier, as my matter is very ur-” She started.

“And my hours are how they are for a reason,” Ardur paused, “I’ll be ready here soon enough, take a seat right there,” he said as he gestured to a simple wooden stool that sat right next to the door frame, “and I’ll be ready for you when I am ready,” he said as he quickly pulled himself back into the office and locked the door behind him. He dealt with that a lot. He walked slowly, and with a bit of a stutter step here and there, across the room and sat down at his desk. He looked around and examined the familiar scene in front of him, and reflected on the glory days of his private investigator business.

Once upon a time his office was open from eight in the morning until he decided to close down at night. Simpler times, for a simpler Ardur. While he was always a heavy drinker, the pills and his focus on doing a good job always helped him weather the storm in those early years. He had clients lined up at the crack of dawn, hoping that he could be the savior that the Peacekeepers weren't. While he was good at what he did, he refused more clients than he accepted, and those that he did accept were often enough not able to pay the bills. After running behind on his rent for the third time in four months, and a threat of eviction, Ardur had to change his lifestyle for the better. He did that by using his other skills by becoming a bounty hunter. His method was simple, he would find a number of scum-bags wanted on a Dead or Alive bounty, and bag them at range and tag them with the PA-195's on-board camera system that was sufficient enough in the eyes of the peacekeepers. Though that meant he had to stay out late. That also meant he stayed up later drinking. He quickly realized that even with the hangover cure, he was not very effective running on just a few hours' worth of sleep. That’s why he opens later now. He knows his weakness.

And he knows when the hangover cure, as bad as it may be in comparison, starts to take hold. The pained fangs of dehydration are gently soothed away by warm, angelic like, streams of chemicals and other overly-engineered means of curing a simple problem fast. The intense weights placed on his minds are lifted, and thrown aside to allow normal mind functions to resume. And most of all, his focus returned. “Cybernetic arm, seemed decades old and in a state of disrepair, grease and mud stains on hands, head and clothes,” he paused his thought for a second, “mechanic? Unlikely but a scavenger more so,” he paused again as he let out a small chuckle, “not getting paid if I accept this one,” he whispered.

That was alright for Ardur. Last night he bagged a big bounty and had plenty of money to waste before he needed another one.

[Legion of TV Heads]

Miranda

Name/Nicknames: Miranda Wright
Gender: Female
Age: 23
Appearance: Short, Svelt, Black, Her eyes are cybernetic and very obviously so, from the black sclerae and flickering green-gray holo-Iris. She tends to wear fairly non nondescript ElecVend clothes, the better to blend in with the crowd.

Personality: Miranda is best described as brashly gregarious, the sort of person who tries to act like everybody's friend, even when addressing people who one she really ought to not. This is a calculated effort on this part, to her trust is priceless, and that's very important to somebody who's trying to sell everybody everything.

Bio: Miranda was born in the ill fated city of Xanadu, a burgeoning boom town that went bust sometime before she came of age. Exactly what drove Xanadu into insolvency is hard to say. Some parties believe it was demand for the particular minerals it exported ran dry. Others, suggest it was a lack of supply. Still others blame it on the Mechanization completely tearing out the workforce. All however agree that it could have continued puttering along, had corners not been cut, and safety protocols not relaxed, and if the entire damned mine hadn't collapsed, bringing the city above down with it.
Orphaned by this catastrophe, young Miranda was taken from her home and put into the Arcadian Foster Care system. Which promptly abandoned her, leaving her to survive on the street. To her credit, she learned a lot. How to get in places, to get out, but more than anything, she learned how to talk to people. How to sell to them. If it was on the street, Miranda had it, could get it, or could point you out to who had it. Or even, introduce you. For a price, or a just a favor. All things have a worth, all people have a price. Living by these words, Miranda profited. Or at least stayed out of the red.
That isn't to say there haven't been bad days. Like the time she ran into a group of Awakened, and tried to talk her way out of receiving their ministrations. They tore her eyes out, made her beg them to replace them, before she escaped. This left her blind, hunted, helpless and alone. To this day she isn't entirely certain how she managed to keep out of sight of the Awakened, to her best guess, she managed to luck into a group of concerned citizens (possibly Militia or Neanderthals) who set upon the Awakened. Or they started fighting among themselves. It's hard to keep these sort of details straight when you're newly blind. She came to in an alleyway, only a block or so away, a strange man standing over her, an older fellow covered in Cyberware she'd only heard stories about. It took her a moment for her to register that she could see him, that she had her eyes again. It took her even longer to accept that he did it for nothing. Since then, she's put her skills at his disposal, setting up meets with the scum of the Underworld to offer his services. Miranda herself insists she does this in service of profit. Some days, she can fool herself into actually believing it. Now, the only person she's ever thought of as her boss has set his sight on some new thing, a Disc. Almost all of what's involved is well over her head. All she understands is it's priceless, and the man who gave her back her sight is looking for it. So, so is she. And she'll find it, however dear the cost.

Other: In addition to her gift of gab, Miranda is skilled at sneaking into places and running like hell from them. She's pretty handy with a firearm, though Wild Bill she is not.
With her, flight generally comes before fight.
Her eyes, are functional even underwater, but not in darkness, Casio was working with some MacGyver level resources at the time. She has contacts and connections all over Arcadia, mostly on the Lowborn side, 'cept for Casio, obvs.

Archive of dumb pet names

Casio Flores: C, boss

[Decadent]

Mike Knowles

Name: Mike Knowles

Gender: Male

Age: 42

Appearance: Mike is a rugged, ugly son of a bitch. Looking at him, one can imagine what kind of hideous creatures humans of the past must have been before science became advanced enough that being ugly became a choice. His face is wrinkled beyond his years, and his unkempt graying hair comes down just far enough to shade his permanently bloodshot eyes and a nose that has been broken probably a dozen times over the decades. He is not tall, standing at only 5'10, and weighs close to two hundred pounds; though very little of it is fat. He has no cybernetic enhancements, but is missing his left leg. In it's place is an old 20th century tech prosthetic, that is simply a titanium limb and foot with a series of spring shock absorbers.

Bio: Mike grew up in relative paradise. He grew up on Earth in a nature preserve, where there were trees, grass, and occasionally he'd glimpse a blue sky. He was raised the old fashioned way, by a mom and pop who believed in traditionalism. By the age of thirteen he was coming to realize how dark humanity had become outside of his small paradise. Mega cities had slowly but surely taken land from the nature reserve over the years, taking away the grass and trees and the rare blue skies. At fifteen, The preserve was down to nothing but Mike's home. He and his family were being suffocated by progress. When they were told their land had been seized and that they were to vacate, his parents had snapped. Mike's dad was killed fighting back. Authorities took Mike to a local shelter. He was later told that his mother died in the demolition of the house, protecting his father's body.

The trauma of losing his home and family shaped the Mike that now searches for the golden disk on Mars. After years of assimilation and adjustment to humanity's progress, he still finds himself a low-tech man in a high-tech world. His strange understanding of both worlds led him to performing odd jobs, sometimes criminal and sometimes not. He grew up learning that there were many advantages to being raised the old fashioned way on Earth. He was resilient, knew how to take some dirt to the eye. He found he possessed deep levels of critical thinking in the face of adversity that most people had abandoned in favor of technological help.

At the age of 37, he heard rumors that Arcadia's Disk was on Mars. He knew that if he got his hands on the disk, he could finally show humanity what they had lost in their journey for technological progress. He could avenge his parents. He could shut down Os-Net. Mike found a smuggling ship to take him from Earth to Mars (During this trip, he learned they planned to enslave him and use him a cheap labor. He made it to Mars alive, but lost his leg in the conflict.). Now on Mars, he spends his days seeking the map. He often affiliates himself with the Militia to help further his goals, as they tend to relate to his beliefs the most. He is not a member, but will work closely with them on jobs that require his expertise.

Other: Mike's arsenal is as antiquated as he is. He carries a Glock 19 in a shoulder holster, and four spare magazines in a separate shoulder holster. Tucked low into his waistband at the small of his back he keeps a smaller pistol, a Ruger LCP (compact .380). Besides a standard pocket knife, the only other weapon Mike has is an explosive device hidden in a false compartment in the knee cap of his prosthetic leg. Back in the old days on Earth, this explosive device was known as a fragmentation grenade.

His clothing is also reminiscent of older days. Mike will typically wear a faded pair of jeans or khakis, graphic tee representing long forgotten relics like the Rolling Stones, Star Wars, or Reagan & Bush campaign ads. Though Mike will never be without his leather jacket. He likes leather jackets.

Hi! This is my first attempt at joining a roleplay (and my first post ever). I hope I've done everything correctly and that I'm posting this in the right forum, but let me know if there are any obvious mistakes or improvements to be made! I dabble often in writing so I believe I can catch on quick to how things are done around here. I really like the idea behind this one; can't wait to get started!

[Sierra]

192.168.17.221:\ access_DB personnel_records
accessing ...
successful.
192.168.17.221:\ getRecord 10135441-6630
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ACCESS_ID: wtcard8184
ACCESS_DATE: 2351.08.04

NOTICE:
* “All information contained is proprietary, under the umbra of Panopticon Securities L.L.C., and is considered confidential unless otherwise noted.”
* “This record requires RED-2 clearance or above to view.”
* “Parts of this record have been redacted for security purposes. Contact Jian Group for more information.”

NAME: TAKEDA, KIRIDO
ALIASES: TAKEDA, KIRA, [REDACTED]
OP_ID: 6844323168
CLEARANCE: RED-4
STATUS: 01 - OPERATIONAL
DOB: 2317.08.22
SEX: F
RACE: ASIAN
HGT(CM): 165
WGT(KG): 78
EYES: HAZEL
HAIR: BLACK

MED_EVAL: AVAILABLE
PSYCH_EVAL: AVAILABLE
PERF_EVAL: AVAILABLE
EQMT_MFST: AVAILABLE
MISS_LOG: LOCKED

192.168.17.221:\ getRecordDetail 10135441-6630 MED_EVAL
loading ...

SUBJECT: TAKEDA, KIRIDO
EVALUATOR: ANDERSON, VIVIANNE
STATE: PASS

Hider

IMPEDING CONDITIONS:
* Severe nerve damage - left arm, left leg
* Corneal scarring - both eyes

NONIMPEDING CONDITIONS:
* Missing finger - left ring & pinkie

IDENTIFYING MARKS:
* Burn scarring - left eye, face, arm, torso and hip.
* Cherry blossom tattoo - right shoulder blade, torso, arm and wrist.

AUGMENTATIONS:
* Synthetic bare metal digits - left ring & pinkie
Includes concealed data chip
* Synthetic synapse system - full body
* Class VI neurocontroller (license ID [REDACTED]) - wireless integration & accelerator module
Military grade hardware licensed through Panopticon Securities LLC.
Direct integration with synapse system for enhanced reflex function, system redundancy, and partial electric shock resistance.
Wireless integration allows secure short-range pairing with wireless devices through Jian proprietary protocol including drones and sensors.
Integrated neuroaccelerator module is interfaced with the synapse system to facilitate enhanced reflex and motor control.
* Augmented reality corneal displays - both eyes
Neurocontroller-integrated for military grade HUD overlay directly in vision field. Includes limited telescoping, enhanced focus, and nonvisible spectra interpolation.

NOTES:
Miss Takeda depends heavily on the full operability of the implanted synapse network in order to pass physical evaluation. The nerve damage to her left side is extensive and occurs primarily at key junctions for extremity motor control. Miss Takeda exhibits minimal control over her left arm and moderate retardation of motor control in the left leg. Though she can walk, she does so with a pronounced limp. Though the system has some hardening against electric shock, upgrade to military specification is strongly recommended to eliminate potential vulnerabilities.

The implantation surgery for Miss Takeda’s corneal implants has already repaired the clouding. However, the replacement of the natural lens with machinery has incurred a dependence on basic device operability. The basic focusing capability must be operational for Miss Takeda to have unimpaired vision. This basic function is not susceptible to direct disabling and is independent of more advanced functions. Its security is dependent on the neurocontroller.

The comparatively small number of augmentations and acceptably moderate dependence thereupon makes Miss Takeda a reliable operative. However, this also makes her moderately fragile, lacking many of the direct combat-enhancing augmentations of other operatives. She will be more prone to injury and fatigue. The training regimen Miss Takeda observes and the discipline with which she conducts herself can safely be considered mitigating factors to this caution.

192.168.17.221:\ getRecordDetail 10135441-6630 PSYCH_EVAL
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SUBJECT: TAKEDA, KIRIDO
EVALUATOR: RODRIGUEZ, DIEGO LOPEZ
STATE: PASS

Hider

DISPOSITION:
Miss Takeda presents herself gently, though this is reminiscent of her interrogation style: leverage her non-threatening appearance to gain trust rather than immediately resorting to intimidation. She takes solace in her work, unlike most operatives. This creates some concerns about the lack of a personal life, though this currently presents no noticeable dangers to her mental state.

Miss Takeda does not like being put on the defensive. When pressured, she most often pressures back to assert some control over the situation. In previous assessments this was considered a concern. However, her promotion to a supervisory position nullifies this. Though she is receptive to warranted critique, she is a decisive and commanding authority.

CONCERNS:
Miss Takeda, being a special agent of Jian Group, is trained in the skills of persuasion, manipulation, interrogation, deception and impersonation. As with any special agent, the accuracy of psychological evaluation is entirely dependent on the willingness of the evaluee. Relating to Miss Takeda, deception is not presently expected.

Miss Takeda is not responsive when approached with certain subjects relating to her past. It is my professional opinion that she harbors an unhealthy amount of emotional baggage. Due to her closed-off disposition on the subjects, it is impossible to determine if Miss Takeda is sufficiently stable to operate in the lower Kyoto District. For further reference, see case file [REDACTED].

NOTES:
Miss Takeda holds a conflicting set of values. Some of these are a product of her early life. Some of these have been adopted well after her recruitment (see record [REDACTED]). In my professional opinion, this is a conflict between a desire to shun her past and her ingrained culture. This is, as of yet, not a significant point of concern, though further assessment and monitoring is advised.

192.168.17.221:\ getRecordDetail 10135441-6630 PERF_EVAL
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SUBJECT: TAKEDA, KIRIDO
EVALUATOR: CARD, WILLIAM THOMAS
STATE: PASS

Hider

NOTES:
Agent Takeda’s performance following her promotion to supervisory special agent can be summarized in two words: ruthless efficiency. As one of the primary advocates for her initial recruitment so many years ago, I could not be more proud of her. A sample mission report (record ref. 6391673226-5441) has been attached. Her mission execution is swift and decisive, although sometimes bloodier than necessary. Despite any concerns over the loss of potential interrogation subjects, the swift efficiency with which her assigned strike operations are carried out speaks for itself.

Her promotion has greatly reduced the amount of time spent operating by herself. Previous psych evals suggest that this time spent alone is valuable to Agent Takeda. Thus it is my recommendation going forward that she be trusted with the total oversight & management of a level 3 case. As her supervising agent, I fully endorse this recommendation.

192.168.17.221:\ getRecordDetail 10135441-6630 EQMT_MFST
loading ...

SUBJECT: TAKEDA, KIRIDO
STATUS: APPROVED

Hider

FIREARMS:
* M-201C Special Operations Assault Rifle
Specialized carbine chambered in 4.5x39mm RFHV rounds. Sensor cartridge launcher requested on bottom rail.
* Renolds-Klepper Firearms P557 handgun
Magnetic-ballistic sidearm chambered in 5.7x28mm ferromag-AP rounds. Tactical optics package requested on bottom rail. Holographic optics modification requested.

ARMOR:
* Ballistek polymer-ceramic composite armor - slim series
Class IV ballistic armor rated for up to 5.56x45 ferromag-FMJ. Integrated power systems for energy weapon & device recharge requested.

EQUIPMENT:
* Panopticon Detection Systems Mk85 sensor beacon
Remote-link sensor node with surface-penetrating ultrasonic and microwave 3D imaging for real-time surveillance.
* Raiju P30 taser pistol
Cartridge-driven stun weapon delivering 50,000 volts for 10 seconds per round. Accurate to 50 meters. Company issued, against wishes of the operative.
* Stinger series collapsible stun batons
Deployable stun batons capable of delivering both heavy blows and stunning electrical shocks. Despite recommendations to the contrary, civilian model is requested by the operative.

---

Supplemental Lore:

Jian Group

Jian is a secretive company that, as far as anyone curious is concerned, doesn’t really exist. Jian is one of those companies that is deliberately buried to give its personnel the freedom to accomplish their tasks however they see fit. What are their tasks? Whatever assignment comes down from the corporate overlords. Jian operates above the average corporate security outfit with a higher level of discretion. Where O-Sec is trusted with defense, Jian is one of the divisions that goes on the attack.

Panopticon Securities L.L.C.

Panopticon Securities is the parent company to Jian ... if that is you’re willing to go through a paper trail longer than the proof that all humans are related. Panopticon is the child corporation of Osi-Corp much in the same way. The evidence exists, but bureaucratic tedium is a far stronger defense than obfuscation. Panopticon is officially in the financial sector, managing funds. However, they own a multitude of companies to facilitate a strong, yet clandestine, presence in the defense, intelligence, surveillance, and covert operations sectors. This makes them one of Osi-Corp’s top security subsidiaries.

Kyoto District

To call it a district is an improper use of the word realistically, as the technical area encompassed is larger than many 21st century cities in their entirety. The region is characterized by a blend of east Asian cultures from Earth, melded together in some areas and fiercely segregated in others to “preserve purity.” Kyoto is essentially Arcadia’s version of chinatown, with a multitude of languages being spoken including japanese, chinese, korean, vietnamese, thai, and even nepali. Many areas in the district also embrace an amalgamation sometimes referred to as “Kyoto creole”: a blend of whatever languages are common in that particular block.

[Fading Memory]

The Voice of the People

image

Due to her nanite enhancements, her hair, skin, and eye coloration are subject to change at whim, as well as hair length and facial structure. The above is simply her 'standard' and 'go-to' appearance

Name/Nicknames
Saturnina Asseylum
Vox Populi - Militia codename; Additionally the name of her talk show on the Warp

"I get what I want. You'll see. I always do."

Song I listened to while making the sheet//Her Theme

Gender
Female

Age
32 - Physically 18 for the last 14 years

Appearance

The woman's appearance is malleable, though she does favor a few parameters to operate within. She loves hair and exotic styles, and always has some sort of crazy new trend to set for hair. Bright and strange colors are better as well.

Her height fluctuates, but only within four inches of her natural height of five foot four inches. She doesn't seem capable of going beyond this spectrum of heights.

Her 'standard' appearance is shorter than her natural height, at the paltry size of five foot two inches. She weighs a delightful 105 pounds. She is athletically toned, casual exercise and an excellent diet lending to a highly attractive and well maintained figure that is the envy of almost every other woman in Arcadia- especially those in her socialite and political circles. Gracious curves and luxurious hair, coupled with exotic and dazzling skin tones? Truly the lady Asseylum knows how to keep all eyes on her.

Personality

A Machiavellian schemer put into the body of a barely legal debutante, graced with the charisma of a pop idol, the intuition of a woman twice her age, and the intelligence expected of a high end education and stellar breeding to back it all up. This woman is dangerous- but not in a 'Rip you limb from limb' way.

Her plans are long-form, looking for results years down the line rather than in the here-and-now. She is a well known and loved socialite, quite popular amongst the upper class citizenry she associates with on a daily basis, and maintains these connections with the exemplar skill of a social spider. Everything and everyone on her web of communication leads back to her, every tremor and secret at her beck and call.

She is also a vocal philanthropist, currying favor with the masses through frequent charity auctions of artifacts and goods in her possession, as well as vying for legislature to help deal with the crime and poverty in the city. For all intents and purposes, all who know of her name and deeds associate Saturnina Asseylum with Arcadia itself; She lives and breathes the city, and has her teeth buried in its pulse.

Bio

Summary

Asseylum.

Old name. Old money. Old power. The Asseylum family traces its lineage back to the first colonies of mars, when the planet was still red and rusty. The Asseylums were a wealthy industrial family, bringing with them the first terraforming projects intended to harvest the raw materials that humanity's new home had to offer. Since that first step, the Asseylum family has done little if not flourish during Mars' infancy, and thrive well into its present adolescence.

that fortune of industrial might carried forward into decadence and luxury, but the family did not sit idly by. The Assylums are a name of politics and social weight, almost nobility upon the red planet. While their original corporate enterprises have long since been sold off, the family maintained a strong economic base through excellent forward planning and thorough exercising of their right to buy and trade stocks along the companies that showed up over the years.

Ultimately, the family has become one of the wealthiest and most well known names on the planet.

In recent years, however, the name has become intertwined with the fate of one city in particular; Arcadia. Arcadia, the original seat of the Asseylum estate- a personal biodome from the original colony, long since adapted into a near fortress-like pleasure dome- and the current seat of the head of the family; Saturnina Asseylum.

Saturnina

Saturnina, oh Saturnina. A shining star in a city of debauchery and death- a woman who breathes in that debauchery, thrives in it, and wields it more expertly than any soldier could dream of wielding a rifle. Fangs firmly embedded in the pulse of the city- social, political, and corporate pulses alike- Saturnina is the face of the future in the city.

And with word on the streets about the Golden Disk...Well, that little relic might just be the thing she needs to finally rise to power over the city- and even the planet- directly.

The Militia

The Asseylums have always had an eye and ear for business and power alike, and these days that keen sense of power has turned to recognize The Militia for the useful entity that it is. Representing the working class of Arcadia, Saturnina has directed a large amount of her philanthropy in their direction and has become quite enamored with their cause, if for her own reasons. Sympathetic to the average joe, Saturnina earnestly seeks to better the lives of those in the city even as she lives her own luxurious life. As The Vox, she strives to tell the people of the city the truth about the goings-on, and endeavors to see the megacorporate claws removed from her city at any cost.

For once their control is crushed, who better to pick up the pieces than 'The voice of the people' herself?

Vox Populi is broadcasted securely out of the Asseylum estate, all of Saturnina's security staff being members of The Militia, and is likely one of the most highly protected and difficult to track signals on the planet.

Saturnina Asseylum

Saturnina crossed her legs.

"...This quarter's profit margins are..."

She uncrossed her legs, then crossed them the opposing direction as before.

"...Quality control, our product levels have begun to..."

She lifted a hand and brushed the pink strands of hair behind an ear, fully framing her face in the blue/pink halo she seemed to enjoy with her 'standard' appearance. She was listening- really! she was!- but this man wasn't telling her anything she didn't already know. And thus, her mind split into two facets. Half of her digested his words mechanically to sort them for unexpected occurrences, the other half delved into her own preparations for later that night.

For on this night, Saturnina Asseylum planned on opening the doors to the Asseylum estate for the first time in several months. Extensive renovations had gone through the building, and many exotic wonders had to be imported from Earth in order to complete her latest fashion trend- '2050's Chic'. She wasn't so retro as to risk a fashion faux-pas and go back another hundred years, but the styles of seventy years ago had caught her attention and she had refit a few rooms in the house to accommodate events of such stylistic vision.

And tonight was a throwback bash- she'd even invited the Du Paraquette family, and she abhorred them!- where she was going to treat all the upper echelon to a taste of the Asseylum life.

She tilted her head as if in thought.

"...The higher ups of..." her brain couldn't be bothered to hear some details of his ramblings, they bored her at the moment. The numbers were exactly as predicted, nothing to be concerned about just yet. "...Such and such corporations have squeezed so-and-so this quarter, meaning that blah blah blah's..."

Hmm...I wonder which dress I'll wear tonight... Oh, bother, I know I'll be going with that adorable little piece of gothica. I'll never understand the women born in the 30's, did their free time manifest itself with nothing but death poetry and kink fiction?...Perhaps the gothic style will make me come off too much like a vampire...but I do enjoy my pale complexion, it makes me feel refined!....Hm, I could go for a more homely sun dress I suppose, but then I'd be going against my own theme! Bah!

As she thought, the individual speaking- one of many at the board- kept droning on about reports and finances and how her portfolio had adapted to meet this quarter's shift in economic climate-- yes! yes! Anyone with two eyes and half a brain could've seen that stack falling, you buffoon!. His impertinence frustrated her, but she needed people like him to keep the paperwork in order. She lifted a hand to silence him after a few moments of his voice rattling through her skull, and put him at ease with a soft smile.

"Please skip to the Osi-corp briefing if you will. I'm quite busy today."

"Of course! of course! Forgive me, mistress Asseylum…"

...Who am I kidding, vampires were all the rage back in the day. I'll get to be refined AND sexy, and it's my party so anyone who thinks otherwise can be damned!

She smiled at the thought as the man flipped through several pages of his notes, the others in the room all amusedly watching him struggle under Saturnina's gaze. she often thought that her aides pulled straws behind her back to dump all the work on one person like this. It'd be amusing enough if they did, so she didn't question why only one person ever seemed to talk at these meetings besides herself. They all did their work well enough individually so she wasn't concerned about who felt like talking.

Perhaps I should change the theme to be a costume party after all-- oooo, and not tell the Du Paraquette's. Yessss, that's just what I'll do! That'll teach them for not greeting me personally at their party last Christmas. Gothic Lolita it is for me!

"Osi-corp has released its quarterly report for the city of Arcadia. Compared to last quarter, their profits have risen by ten percent--"

"Excuse me?" That got her attention. She had anticipated some marginal increase in the profit margins, but a ten percent jump was far outside of her projected mathematics. "Can anyone in this room besides myself see anything wrong with that?"

All of the people shifted uncomfortably and mumbled affirmations to her statement.

"If anything, word of the golden disk should be--" She cut herself off and grinned excitedly. "Oh! Well played, Osi-corp, well played. You're all dismissed."

She waved her crew away and spun in her desk chair while giggling. Any company who's greatest asset- the Osi-grid was an omnipresent force in Arcadia! People got everything from their food to the news on it!- was rumored to have its greatest weakness on the streets would be losing stock prices like there's no tomorrow. Such a strong bluff about increasing profits was necessary to keep shareholders invested and interested. It was a bold move- something she'd have done if she were in charge. In order to have achieved those kinds of numbers, even remotely to excuse a few percentage point errors in calculations to reach 10%, there would have had to have been layoffs and pay cuts across the entire city.

But there wouldn't have been anything quite that obvious, no. It'd manifest as shorter lunch breaks, less time off, a holiday removed from the calendar...

She'd have to keep an ear to the ground to see if her gut feeling was right, that this was all a bluff, but if it was...

It'd mean the disk was real, and that Osi-corp was scared. Saturnina grinned.

"Perfect."

But first, tonight's party. I think I'll 'accidentally' have a new batch of Trance supplied. I wouldn't want the only fun of the evening to be the Du Paraquette's embarrassment...

The Vox Populi

Darkness. Shadows moving. A silhouette- barely discernible, the shadows too heavy. This is the sight that greets those who first sign onto The Vox Populi late at night on the Warp. This familiar silhouette of a woman.

Then, the voice.

"They call us terrorists because they're afraid. That, my friends, my good people of Arcadia, means we're winning. Conquerors don't envenom their foes with titles and names. Struggling regimes do. They call us terrorists to instill fear in the very citizenry we serve and protect, the very people we fight for. Welcome, dear people of Arcadia, to 'the voice of the people'."

Then lights; a flare of brightness that finally reveals the pleasant scenery of the chamber. The Vox, a young woman with long, flowing, blonde hair and powerful grey-blue eyes sits behind a desk, her WASP breeding apparent through her angular bone structure and height. A beautiful woman, who's smile made everyone her friend.

"We here at the Vox Populi, as I say every night, endeavor to bring the truth to the people. We've proven time and time again that Osi-corp's talons pull the strings of the mass media, of the news we sit down and watch with our families over dinner, of the very networks we use to communicate and use as a public forum on the grid. The truth, dear viewer, has never been more obscured than now."

As she speaks panels begin to appear around her in the video feed, highlighting several topics of interest for the night. The Vox leans back in her chair and swivels to face one of these panels, gesturing towards it with a hand.

"Two nights ago The Militia set out to disrupt a mass import of off-world goods, intending to seize various key resources being shipped directly to Arcadia from Earth. The intended targets included rations, water, medicine, and cybernetic repair parts. If, like myself, you were paying attention to your news feeds yesterday..."

The woman laughs and throws her hands up as if dealing with something ridiculous.

"You were told they'd failed, that the brave security forces of Osi-corp repelled the terrorists who were trying to steal weapons! Well, dear citizen, I'm here to show you that this is yet more propaganda, more lies being strewn to keep you held down."

The woman's modulated voice, the mechanical disruption covering a matronly and stern tone, stopped at that word and the woman rose up. She walked away from the desk, the camera panning to follow her movements- her dress-uniformed [See: Military uniform] body elegantly leading the viewing device's lens. Soon more lights flashed into existence, and The Vox was shown to be standing amongst several large industrial pallets of crates- dozens lined up just behind her.

She lifted a hand and tapped at one of the sealed container's panels, a hiss of a seal being broken sounding through the air before the crate opened. She stuck her hand in and pulled out several bags of rations, and other forms of space-dried goods meant to be shipped across interplanetary lanes.

"These 'weapons' we requisitioned seem to be hidden beneath all this food. How interesting, don't you agree, dear viewer? These goods will be distributed and handled safely, and will trickle into donations and charities for those who can't afford to put food on their own tables. From the hands of the corporate executive, to the mouths of the hungry people, via the Militia. I don't know about all of you, but I'm extremely tired of having to constantly prove Osi-corp's media wrong- so let's move on to some more interesting stories for tonight."

She returned the goods to the crate and dusted her hands off, before returning to her desk. Next she indicated towards one of the other panels, causing it to expand and encompass part of the screen. Within the new video panel's confines was a scene that very few had witnessed; A group of protestors standing in the outskirts of Arcadia, surrounded by armed security forces.

"Osi-corp has a narrative it wants heard, but here at the Vox Populi we believe in a freedom of expression. Since Osi-corp is denying the people we all refer to as 'The Neanderthals' a platform, I'm here to give them one. I know what you're thinking, dear citizen, and I'll ask you all the question you're undoubtedly asking me; 'why should we give bigots a platform? The Neanderthals don't deserve to be heard!'...Well, they do. They do deserve to be heard. Just because we disagree with their point of view doesn't mean that they don't have the right to express it. Osi-corp disagrees with ours, and The Militia will share our platform with anyone who has a message that needs to be heard. Dear viewer, please watch the following video with an open mind and witness the atrocity that is oppression with your own eyes."

As The Vox finished speaking the video began to roll. The video was of an evangelical sort. A preacher-man who had been forced to the edge of the city by way of fines and extraneous clauses in city regulations stood upon the precipice of two crowds; to one side was the wall of law and order of osi-corp's security forces, shields and weapons in hand, and to the other was a mass of human mass, not a speck of chrome in sight. The man stood between the two sides, speaking loudly and clearly, trying to disperse the hostilities brewing without violence, but still clearly speaking out against human augmentations. It was clear that he had very few parishioners amongst his people, and that the Neanderthals themselves had crawled out of the woodwork at the possibility to bash some cyber'd heads, but it created a very clear dichotomy between the Osi-corp forces and the people opposing them nonetheless.

Then chaos erupted with the crack of a grenade launcher, smoke flooding the streets as Neanderthals and security forces alike began a skirmish in the streets. The video feed cuts just as one of the corporate soldiers raises his rifle to the priest, and the screen fades to show The Vox shaking her head.

"This video is from two weeks ago. The time it took us to get it on our show should speak volumes of the money and power that went into covering the scene up. That preacher was found out to be dead, killed in the ensuing riot. All because he tried to speak his mind to like-minded folk. I'll leave you all to stew on it and come to your own conclusions- I'd love to hear from you all tomorrow about how you feel about this story. I'll talk more on it then. I do love our little chats, dear citizens... Speaking of which, the night drags on. Let's go ahead and skip to our Q&A section."

The woman indicated with a hand behind the camera, and suddenly the show's conversational feeds filtered into view alongside The Vox. Hundreds of questions and conversations filtering through, sectioned and grouped, and compiled into questions that the woman would answer directly.

Tonight there was only one question on the minds of the people, however. As The Vox read the question, she smiled a gorgeous smile.

What about the Golden Disk? You haven't talked about the Golden Disk!

"Oh? The Golden Disk?...Well, I suppose I can talk about that...but I'm afraid I don't have much to say."

She leaned forward and laughed at the camera in an absolutely adorable manner.

"We're not going to let it stay in the hands of Arcadia's criminals, that's for sure. You can rest easy, good citizens, knowing that the Militia will do all in their power to seize the Disk, and restore power to the people."

Other

Other - Nanite Augmentation

Saturnina's primary augmentations lie within the realm of nanites and nanocyberware modifications. She possesses almost no modifications beyond those that grant the following benefits;

Nanites that assist in the breakdown and management of proteins and nutrients, thusly allowing her to maintain a desired weight and appetite with no effort. Additionally, this allows an immensely efficient energy conservation and transferring system to be in her body, meaning that the typical limits of stamina and exhaustion simply do not apply to the woman. She needs only a few hours a sleep a week, and can easily survive off of one meal in the same time span- though eating and sleeping more definitely does not harm her.

Additionally, this same system of nanites works to advance and assist the regeneration of her cellular structure, making her immune to most diseases that spread through viral and bacterial means, as well as effectively negating her aging process. Money, indeed, does make one effectively immortal these days.

The primary accoutrement of nanomachine enhancements she possesses fall within the realm of social strata, and serve purely social purposes:

She can change her eye, hair, and skin color almost at will due to the machinery lacing her bones and filling her body.

She can modulate and change her voice.

She possesses a tailored pheromone structure; She constantly emanates a scent that tailors itself to the recipient to make her seem as if she smells completely desirable and pleasant to the individual who smells her. A powerful manipulative tool that has served her well.

She can also restructure her bones to a moderate extent; small shifts in height, changing her face, other small things of this caliber.

Finally, pertinent to the enhancement directly above, she is capable of recovering from physical injuries exceptionally quickly thanks to the nanites in her blood. They stitch together wounds, expel foreign objects such as shrapnel and bullets, and her bones knit back together exceptionally quickly. She's not a scrapper or fighter, but she hates the idea of scars being left behind and has long since eliminated that possibility with these regenerative properties. She is by no means unkillable, she'll simply recover quite quickly from injuries that don't put her in the ground.

Other - Notable information

Worthwhile Mentioning in Skills
She is easily understood to be an extremely sociable, intelligent, and capable woman. Her ability to read situations, persuade, connive, manipulate, seduce, and coerce are that of legend, if hyperbole is excusable. Additionally her talents in business and economics, and handling her own personal finances, are exceptional.

However it is to be noted that, while not an expert in any sense, she is basically trained and capable of keeping up with her fellow Militiamen in a combat situation should she be called to one.

These, naturally, are not her only skills, but they are the ones worth particularly distinguishing and making clear. She can also drink most men under a table and is no slouch when it comes to recreational narcotics, but compared to the above such things are barely worth mentioning.

Notable Equipment Notes
Saturnina carries a 'sporter' handgun; In short, a small fashionable pistol marketed towards women meant to act as an accessory to most of her outfits. It is coated in a nanite skin that changes to match the pattern and coloration of her outfits, not only helping the handgun blend in and become more difficult to spot, but also allow it to fashionably match her attire should she actually need the weapon to be used. Her handgun in particular is modified to fire Cutter ammunition.

Cutter ammunition - Bullets laden with nanomachines that devour and rip apart what they come into contact with. These bullets leave gaping holes in whatever they hit, and chew through armor to eat through the target beneath. They have an exceedingly short lifespan however, to avoid structural and collateral damage. She's so wealthy she's got the cash to spare to use microscopic robots as ammo. Deal with it.

She has such wealth that her attire is not worth describing in a concrete fashion on a character sheet

----
Business Notes

Rather than running a business of her own, or being a member of a corporate office directly, Saturnina has cleverly shifted her assets and money around to buy up massive amounts of stock amongst the various corporations plaguing dominating Arcadia. She is a prime shareholder of numerous small corporations/subsidiaries as well as an ambitious gambler in regards to megacorporate shares, making her a notable figure of wealth and influence amongst the corporate elite of Arcadia just as she has much social and political clout amongst the upper class of the city more publicly.

----
Militia Notes

Vox Populi - 'The Voice of the People' is a large scale, well known, Warp operation on the grid. Spearheaded and funded primarily by Saturnina- called 'The Vox' by the Militia- the underground news outlet acts as both a means to let freedom of speech thrive, but also a way for the Militia to get word out about the truth of the happenings in the city. Saturnina herself runs the show, under her alias and a disguise of course, and is an extremely charismatic face and voice for the militant group. The people need to know the truth, and hers is the voice that gets it to them.

Her role within the organization is not that of a fighter or soldier, but rather a beneficiary and supplier. All of her personal guards and security teams are picked from amongst the ranks of The Militia, and at times she is indeed required to serve as all other members are. She does not shirk from these moments, but it is by and large not her primary role.

[Atrophy]

Calypso

Name/Nickname: Callie “Calypso” Graham

Gender: Female

Age: 23

Appearance: In her line of work it’s preferred to be forgettable, and fortunately for Calypso she doesn’t have to put in too much effort to pull that off. Decently built at five and a half feet and with the almost athletic build of someone who subs fries for salad most days, Calypso is still only the most attractive person in the room is when she’s the only one there—unless there’s a particularly hot statue. Her skin is the olive tint of someone whose roots were in the Mediterranean, although she sure as sugar doesn’t know exactly where her heritage lies besides an “I ‘unno, Earth?”

Her face is plain and relatively inexpressive, with a hooked nose and thick eyebrows. The only makeup she really bothers with is around her eyes, which are brown and match her hair that she generally keeps up in a ponytail. Calypso prefers to wear casual clothes—leggings, jeans, tank tops, tees, zip-ups, hats, sneakers—over anything else, especially when working, and can safely say that the last time she wore a dress was fifteen years ago. She walks with the hurried importance of a person not wanting to be stopped and bothered by people handing out flyers or asking for handouts, stands up straight enough without seeming like the military-type, and tends to default to a quiet, calm tone when speaking.

Personality: Calypso is the kind of person who would go to a party; she is not the kind of person that would bring the party. The young woman is sociable, friendly, and mildly outgoing, but she never seeks to be the center of attention and tends to keep her excitement at a muted level. She’s fun enough to be around without being insufferable, listens well to others, respects their opinions, and tries not to offend when she talks while still not giving in on her own beliefs. Amongst her friends, or at least the ones who only know her as Callie, she is viewed as mature, thoughtful, reliable, and “has her stuff together”, but this is largely because Calypso surrounds herself with hopeless wretches that make herself look better in comparison. The truth of the matter is, the woman absolutely loves being depended upon by others because it is just one more way she is able to exert power. In a world where weak limbs can be chopped off and replaced in the blink of an eye, a useful person is an irreplaceable person.

Calypso carries with her an unbridled, perhaps even an unhealthy amount of ambition. Her ambition is coupled with a certain level of greed and fueled by a burning jealousy for that which she doesn’t or cannot have. Despite not wanting to be in the limelight, she does want to hold control over whatever court she finds herself in. She’s not above taking shortcuts, but patience is often in play when she is trying to seize a bit more influence over her peers and she positively exudes confidence when she is dealing with people. Calypso believes that weakness is something of which to be ashamed, to be kept hidden in the dark, or to be exploited in others. While she is willing to trust others with tasks and with their word, it is rare for her to share her feelings or fears. Often, when she does, it is only to let their guard down so she can rip more control from them.

However, that does not mean that she is some kind of narcissistic, antisocial megalomaniac. True, while she primarily cares only for herself and certain astute individuals can see the wolf inside of her, she isn’t utterly heartless. The woman has empathy and knows right from wrong, and if the high road is an option that still works in her favor then she will take it almost every single time. She would never directly harm someone unless in self-defense, although empty threats have been uttered by her before. Perhaps the most dangerous thing about Calypso is that she is extremely self-aware and knows how she measures up against other people. More importantly, she is capable of setting her pride to the side and accepting the fact that she will meet people who are better than her. Although she might not be as capable of hiding the fact that she doesn’t like them.

Bio: Callie Graham was born into insignificance, just another poor kid born destined to amount to nothing and grow up to be a waste if she wasn’t wasted first. She could stare into a bottle or grab a needle and whine about how she was never given the options that other people were, but Callie looks at her rough upbringing as something that pushed her to become stronger instead of crippling her. Thanks to her mother being in a perpetual Trance limbo she had to learn how to be independent, making crappy meals and washing her own clothes in the sink. Thanks to the failure to properly staff the schools in the poorer districts of Megacity Arcadia, the lessons she learned on the streets stuck with her instead. Thanks to her friend that overdosed at the age of twelve, she learned that maybe it was better to be a teetotaler and deal with the pain instead of trying to bury it with powder.

However, even though she avoided the fatal traps that most of her peers fell for, she was still stuck in a living hell. More specifically, as she entered her teenage years and whatever supply of money her junkie mother was pulling in had fallen off, she was being pushed to the edge of desperation. Originally, Callie had intended on finishing high school because even having an education from a piss-poor school was better than having nothing, but she needed to start making money and she needed to do it fast. The unstoppable march of technology moving forward had eliminated the need for most part-time jobs fit for a untalented teenage punk, so she figured she’d turn to a job in sales. Of course, the only thing people in the area that would be interested in what she was selling would either be drugs or herself, and she had no desire to be a gangbanger or in gang bangs. Instead, she took a third option and signed up to become a runner for Capri.

Capri had been around for a few years on the Warp and had recently grown in popularity as a courier service for those who desired secrecy and valued their package enough that they didn’t want to risk it with a hackable drone. The service was simple and streamlined with a no-questions asked policy, allowing people to deliver anything, legal or otherwise. Capri protected the identities of the senders and recipients through a number of techy-crap that Callie did not understand, but it was clear from the sign-up page that any problems with the law would fall solely on the shoulders of the courier. In other words, it was a scapegoat service. Want to move some guns but not sure if the heat has been keeping eyes on your operation? Time to call for a Capri. The risks were clear, but the pay was promising. Typing “Calypso” into the blank space for username, Callie’s life toeing the line of crime truly began. It’s also when the jealousy that fueled her ambition first began to fester.

She had seen how the other side lived through television through years, but it wasn’t until she had delivered a package to her first penthouse or dropped one off behind the toilet in the bathroom of a bumping club that she realized what she had been missing out on. Up until now, money had been something that was a necessity, something that was sacred. To simply put it, without the meager amount of money she had she would die. After working for Capri for a few months not only did she know that she would be eating that week, but that she had enough to store away in hopes of moving into a nicer place or putting her mother into a rehab clinic. For what seemed like the first time in her life, she started to know what it felt like to have control over the things around her.

However, while it might’ve been her best option, being a professional patsy wasn’t the best of careers for anyone to pursue. She avoided the cops and corporate security officers like the plague, but there were still nights where the calls were too close for comfort. Every now and then she would have a client who would harass her or try to pay her extra to do something that wasn’t part of her job description—Calypso was a delivery girl, not an assassin. She had been shot at several times, but still less than if she had been flying colors of a gang. Plus, unlike those who ran in a gang, she still had some deniability since she didn’t know what she was delivering either. She could go to bed at night not certain if she was a good person, but at least knowing that she wasn’t an awful person, and sometimes that is enough.

And then she woke up one morning to find out that the cybernetics clinic that she had dropped a package off out back had blown up several hours later in an attack claimed by the Neanderthals, leaving a few dozen people wounded and several killed. If the guilt of being instrumental in a terrorist attack wasn’t enough, the images of her from a camera feed dropping off the football were plastered over screens all over town. Word on the Warp was that the Awakened were on the hunt for the still-unknown bomber (thankfully, her face had remained hidden by her hat), not to mention the authorities were also searching for the suspect. Calypso laid low for several weeks, and eventually the buzz surrounding the attack diminished. Instead, everybody started chattering about some stupid map. Although it wasn’t any old stupid map, it was a stupid map so valuable that if Calypso got her hands on it and found the right buyer she’d never need to live another day serving as the tool for someone else ever again.

Sounds like a good deal to her. Maybe she'd reconsider her stance on joining with a gang after all.

Other: As previously mentioned, Capri is a courier service primarily used by Warp users to deliver illegal goods while keeping their hands clean and their identities mostly anonymous, leaving all the fault on the delivery boy if they get caught. Despite her last job leaving an awful taste in her mouth, Calypso is still an active runner for the time being.

Calypso believes that the smartest way to fight is to avoid confrontation in the first place. She’s uncomfortable around guns and has never shot one in her life. That said, she does carry a Static Pick, a stiletto-like knife that is as useful for stabbing assailants as it is for temporarily disrupting electronics with an electronic pulse.

While she isn’t opposed to cybernetics in anyway, the woman does not have any herself.

Calypso was originally just her Capri handle, but it has grown to be pretty much how most people know her these days—it seems like the only one who still calls her Callie is her mom.

Capri is her main form of income, but Calypso bartends part-time as well. People still enjoy having a bartender listen to them moan about work, even if she’s just pushing a button when it comes to mixing their drinks. It used to be called Bar 451, but ever since the Black Brethren moved into the neighborhood the locals started to call it the Black Hole. Fun place to drink if you don’t mind a stabbing or two.

*Now missing her right pinky thanks to bad business.

[cider]

Donovan Juilliard

Name:

Donovan Juilliard

Gender:

Male

Age:

60

Appearance:

Donovan is an old man who has been incarcerated for the past thirty years, and it shows. While a daily workout in his cells has made sure he's quite springy for his old age, it has done little for his bad posture, pale and dotted skin or his unchecked hair growth. In short, Donovan looks like a bum. Once a vain man of providence and style, Donovan now carries little of other's perception of him. Unless he needs to play dress up in order to be let into a bar or a meeting, Donovan wears scraps and rags. Yet perhaps the most noticable fact is Donovan's lack of cybernetics. He sports none, nada, zip.

Personality:

Foolish arrogance with a very harsh punishment has made Donovan a very sober man. He views people in general with mistrust, and holds nothing but contempt for the mega corps, their associates and their supporters. He holds little self-value, and has no qualms in giving his life as long as he gets to drag corporate to hell with him.

That being said, Donovan is surprisingly charismatic. Not in a charming, crowd pleasing kind of way, but as a tour-de-force of personality, a confidence and determination that spread to those around him. Before being imprisoned, he led leading scientists, held conferences and board meetings, and how you perceived him depended much on your own personality. Some envied his talent, some detested his crude behaviour and yet others admired his vision and spirit. Today Donovan is much the same, but instead of energetic, passionate and rude, he is reserved and bitter yet tactful. He is remarkably intelligent, and it tends to come across in casual conversation as well.

All being said, Donovan has few interests and hobbies. He may drink or socialize to pass time, but he has no heart in it. He has no "heart" left, really. It shrivelled and died in an old prison cell, and what you'll find standing in front of you know is and old man with an old axe that is fevereshly aching for grinding.

Bio:

Brought up in the upper middle class of Arcadia, Donovan was a gifted child excelling at his hobby of fiddling with cybernetics and electronics. He was so promising that the New Anselm Institute, a private research university in Arcadia, offered him enrollment at the age of 14. While always a socially awkward child (not in the shy sense, but in an arrogant and misanthropic one), his skill and fearlessness would put him in leadership positions at the R&D department of the university before he'd even turned 20. Specialising in microelectronics and its use in cybernetics, Donovan spearheaded the development of the now infamous Vanguard 83, V-83, a technology capable of making an individual incapable of operating cybernetic implants - including already implanted ones.

The dangerous technology had officially been developed as a form of last resort fail-safe in malfunctioning cybernetic, but in reality the project was funded by corporate entities interested in a weapon that could render even the most cybernetically enhanced human a non-threat. Donovan was clued in on this following his success, but a schism quickly developed as the proud (or megalomaniacal, according to some) Donovan refused to sell his technology. Moreover, Donovan was unimpressed by the competence of the individuals behind the project as well as the mega corps scientific community at large, and had little interest in furthering its causes unless given a significant power increase himself through a BIG promotion. Subsequently, Donovan was stripped of everything he had by the NAI and its backers.

Following this utter humiliation, Donovan was left to fend for himself amongst the bottomfeeders of society. He rose above the challenge and used his engineering skills to create cybernetics for criminals, affiliating himself with the Militia - then an organization sharing his views on corporate society. Together they conducted a string of terrorist attacks on corporate targets while using and spreading the V-83 technology that was supposed to be a secret high-end corporate tech only. Eventually, Donovan was found and captured by the authorities. V-83 was by know in widespread use throughout Arcadia, causing a host of problems for the Peacekeepers. The technology was banned and being found in possession of it resulted in extreme punishments.

First the Peacekeepers, then the NAI itself, thouroughly interrogated and tortured Donovan for years. Partially as punishment, partially to try and find out if Donovan had managed to create variants of the technology that might've survived the purge. He maintained innocence to the brink of death, and was left to rot in a prison devoid of all things cybernetic and electrical. Partially simply to spite him, given his love for these things, and partially because corporate was concerned about sending Donovan to a prison filled to the brim with the kind of technology he'd spent his life learning to overcome. Moreover, all his achievements and records where expunged, and those he'd associated with - including his family - were quietly taken and murdered. All to give Donovan the ultimate punishment - that of an extremely prideful, attention-seeking man being erased from the memory of mankind.

And so there he sat. Forgotten by society in a dirty stone cell with zero human contact for a full thirty years. Then, luck would turn. A bit too little too late for the now utterly embittered and hateful Donovan, but it nevertheless did. The owner of the prison turned out to be a very incompetent businessman. He had neglected running it properly many years ago, and had in fact not had a new prisoner incarcerated since 2100. When his other business ventures went sideways, he found himself bankrupt and all his assets seized by the authorities, including the prison. The new owner found himself with a golden opportunity. He now had dozens and dozens of hardened criminals, many with no record of even existing, including Donovan. Delusions of grandeur caused him to not realize the double-edged blade as he employed the men he found still capable, only to within days find himself being murdered by one of them - Donovan.

Having searched and found his old hidden V-84 weapons, Donovan forged the identity he uses today - Donovan Juilliard - and tried to contact his old associates. He found they were nearly all dead, but a young girl he'd known thirty years ago had survived and was now a leader in the Militia, an organization very different from the idealist one Donovan had worked with. They reached an agreement to help each other - Donovan was to help the Militia in creating and modifying more powerful implants while he himself was put in a smaller leadership role in the organization, giving him his own wretched patch of turf and henchmen.

In reality, Donovan has zero interest in helping the Militia doing anything. His goal is very different. With nothing to lose but a life not even Donovan himself values any longer, the only thing left to do before saying his earthly goodbye is to sacrifice said life in a mission to exact vengeance on as many of those who have wronged him as possible. And what better way to do it than to help the criminal scum of Arcadia get a hold of the fabled Golden Disc, thus turning Arcadian society on its head?

Long ass fucking bio

Raised in a relatively well off family, "Donovan" (an assumed name and not his real one) was one of those fortunate enough to get a proper education. He applied himself well enough in school as a child, though was not seldomly noted and reprimanded for his rebellious nature. Donovan's father was a corporate middle man with a penchant for tinkering with cybernetics, robotics and their like. Donovan found it interesting and would often spend his evenings fiddling around in his fathers workshop while showcasing a natural aptitude for his father's hobby. Upon reaching adolescence Donovan was given the opportunity of studying at the New Anselm Institute (NAI), a research university specialising in finding and promoting young talent.

Donovan performed admirably and eventually developed an interest in electrical engineering. Guided by some of the more gifted individuals in Arcadia, Donovan was made part of the Research & Development team at NAI before he turned 18. As intelligent as he was, however, Donovan continued to struggle with obedience. The fights he'd get into with class mates where easily overlooked, even that one time when Donovan hospitalized a girl for "challenging him". More problematic was Donovan's ignorance of authorities in the form of professors and corporate associates. Under normal circumstance an individual might well be thrown out of NAI for such behaviour and see themselves ostracised from the scientific community (and usually far worse, though that was less often talked about), but exceptions were frequently made for Donovan due to his skill and the eventual results his fruits of labor garnered the institute.

At twenty years of age Donovan was given his own small team of scientific engineers as he started up a microelectronics department in the institute dedicated to the research of control systems in cybernetics. The task had been given to Donovan by the headmaster himself - Simo Zouari. The man was a stern individual Donovan had long since assumed had strong corporate ties. The purpose of the study was said to be to develop a more efficient fail-safe in malfunctioning cybernetics, though Donovan had his doubts about the legitimacy of that claim. The NAI was, after all, like all other universities in Arcadia privately held and seldomly dedicated to the good of the public.

The project did well, and ended up a success. It didn't take long for Donovan to realize he was right about his suspicions. As the head developer of the new fail-safe technology there was little Zouari could do other than to either inform Donovan of his plans or replace him. The latter was never a real option considering the kind of groundbreaking design in question. Donovan gladly accepted the opportunity of being part of the "real" community, the one dictating research. As it turned out, the plan behind the fail-safe was to develop a weapon capable of seizing control of operative implants - as in other people's cybernetics. Similar products had existed in the past before cybernetics were as advanced as they had now become, but the NAI was interesting in creating a more potent system that could be sold to trusted associated in Arcadia and elsewhere.

Work continued, and while Donovan's fail-safe, now labelled Vanguard 83 or V-83, would never reach the goals the NAI had in mind, it did somewhat achieve the intended goals - rather than controlling cybernetics it nevertheless proved capable of shutting them down temporarily, potentially permanently. The system itself was a form of electrical gadget that similarly to EMP's of old used disruptive bursts of energy, but V-83 was inserted into the spine of the object, connecting with the central nervous system and targeting the biological computer of the host - the brain - by disturbing the CNS and causing a discord between brain and cybernetics. As such cybernetics were rendered effectively useless unless purely mechanical in nature as the brain would not detect them as anything but chunks of metal and wires.

Donovan was protective of his design, however, and that along with his resistance to listening to his peers - or indeed even considering them peers - made for a delicate situation. To put it bluntly; corporate entities wanted to use Donovan's design as nothing more than a tool to cull the masses while Donovan himself wasn't sure at all he considered the modern mega corporations fit to rule society to begin with. In his life he had seen nothing but incompetence interspersed with the occasional spike of mediocrity in those deciding the fate of Arcadia, and more than once he'd found himself thinking that he himself could do so much better.

His relationship with the NAI tensed beyond salvaging when he thus simply refused to give up V-83 without considerably more influence - the NAI moved against him and within a few months Donovan found himself on the streets, publically humiliated and personally bankrupt at the age of 24. He fell into depression and mixed with the lowest in society - underachieving roaches he'd held nothing but contempt for his entire life. He plied his trade at the black market, constructing and selling various cybernetic implants. He even went so far as to try implanting them himself, but one botched surgery too many saw him stay clear of that particular type of work.

Concurrently he would bitch and moan about the corporations to any who wanted to listen - and often those who didn't - until he was eventually approached by the Militia. He didn't share their ideals of challenging injustice and helping the downtrodden in the slightest, but he did share their corporate hatred and saw a potent tool. His engineering skills to practice made him a valuable asset to the Militia, and while his anything but social demeanour ensured he was never properly included in the Militia, the relationship did see beneficial use for both parties as Donovan orchestrated a string of terrorist attacks against the corps in general and the NAI in particular. He supplied the Militia with V-83, a tool proving very effective against the often more-machine-than-man-security that corporations utilized. The technology obviously made authorities aware of who was responsible, and was probably the main reason why Donovan was caught.

Donovan was put in literal chains - his jailers too concerned about Donovan otherwise finding a way of tampering with the security of the corporations' state-of-the-art prisons. Instead, Donovan was chucked in a dark cell of iron and stone. The Peacekeepers interrogated Donovan for several years with their "direct methods". At first they were mainly probing for more information about the Militia and other dissidents even though Donovan had already given them all the information he had straight away. He had no qualms about giving up his "colleagues". They were worth as little to him as anyone else he'd ever met now that he had no use of them.

Since Donovan introduced V-83 to the Militia the technology had quickly spread throughout the bowels of Arcadia and became a real menace through its short lifespan. V-83 was banned even in the higher echelons of society and destroyed on site when found, and soon enough a tracking technology was integrated with Os-Net, capable of recognizing and pinpointing the activation of a V-83. It was a situation that Donovan had long since prepared for. In fact, he had himself helped engineered the groundwork of what would later become the tracking technology back when working at the NAI but given all credit to another, very baffled, scientist. Meanwhile Donovan had developed a variant, V-84, in but a few handmade weapons, very well hidden years before he was caught. Someone had come to suspect a variant might exist him/herself, and eventually Donovan's interrogators were swapped for more familiar faces as Donovan found himself being "interrogated" (tortured, to be clear) by Simo Zouari on a regular basis. He never talked, however, and Zouari ultimately lost interest after deciding that having Donovan being locked and forgotten in a cell for the rest of his life was satisfying enough. Zouari made sure all trace of Donovan having ever existed was eradicated, including Donovan's family and associates. Being completely forgotten and written out of history was after all a punishment worse than death for someone like Donovan - someone craving attention and recognition.

The years and decades went by. There were no cell mates and no guards. A small window, too far up for Donovan to see anything but the sky, was the only source of light while the only sign of human life was the daily food tray delivered by a tiny four-wheeled robot, perhaps in mockery of Donovan. At times he felt as if he losing was his sanity and in truth he probably was too, but he always found a way back somehow. He would scratch the date on the stone floor and walls with his nails to keep time, and in order to pass it dream up fictional storys, eventualities and outcomes, sometimes losing track of what was real and not.

And then one day the food robot never came. Then a second day, and then going on a third. Donovan had already been drinking his urine and was seriously contemplating eating his feces when he heard other human voices for the first time in thirty years. It turned out his prison was not made for him alone, but hosted a rather large number of former dissidents. It was a large stone building situated in Old Town, a small tourist section of Arcadia dedicated to history, full of stone and wood buildings built in the style of those the Earth was filled with centuries ago. The owner of the prison had long since neglected it, and no new prisoner had arrived in the past twenty or so years. The files on inmates, deliveries and everything else was either lost or never kept properly in the first place and while the owner had done a good job of covering his failings this all came to light when he filed for bankruptcy after his other ventures went south.

As such, the Peacekeepers had simply seized his assets - including the prison robots - and left the prisoners to starve until the new owner came to the prison a few days later. Joven Harris was an ambitious criminal posing as businessman (like most ambitious criminals) and considered the old pile of stones a jackpot - here he had hundreds of criminals deemed extraordinarly dangerous by corporations, all forgotten by the authorities, and all now owing him their life should he free them. He had already erased what remained of their prison files, leaving the men nothing but unidentified non-citizens until a new identity was forged for them.

A month later Donovan found himself a free man for the first time since he was 30. Now twice as old, he was hired by Harris following impressing him with both keen mind and skills. Harris was on the hunt for a precious object - Arcadia's Golden Disc - and Donovan and his few still living fellow former prisoners (most of them were executed after being deemed worthless by Harris) was sent on the hunt for it. Due to renovation and construction changing the city landscape, it took Donovan three days to find the V-84 prototype he made all those years ago and use it on Harris, killing him in the progress. Thanks to Simo Zouari he was now completely free of oversight, and in the physical state Donovan was in he little problem blending in with the homeless, the junkies and the crazies as he used Harris' pocket money to forge himself a new identity - Donovan Juilliard.

He found that most of his old associates were dead or worse, but not everyone. The Militia - now little more than just another criminal entity - still retained some members from long, long ago. And boy were they surprised to find Donovan in the flesh. This included Virrian Shear, a then-girl now-grizzled woman who was said to be the leader of the Militia, to the lens sure went blurry when one tried to figure out just what the Militia leadership hierarchy actually looked like. Back in the 80's, a teenaged Virrian had idolized Donovan's careless, unapologetic attitude and presumably this (and/or a lack of intelligence) caused her to believe him when he bullshitted her about not having given the authorities anything but the bare minimum of info when caught. A bargain much like that of old was struck. In return for helping the Militia create or modify much more competitive implants, Donovan was given charge of his own gang of miscreants, Shear tricked into believing Donovan still held ambitions to make a name for himself.

Instead, with nothing to lose but a life not even Donovan himself valued any longer, the only thing left to do before saying his earthly goodbye was to sacrifice said life in a mission to exact vengeance on as many of those who had wronged him as possible. And what better way to do it than to help the criminal scum of Arcadia get a hold of the fabled Golden Disc, turning Arcadian society on its head?

Other:

* Donovan is at this point not long for this world as he has can't find a single reason to stay in it other than to get revenge. My goal storywise for this character is to have him get to a point where he can either crash and burn along his old rivals, or somehow rise above, tackle his giant sized demons and find some kind of peace. Which way it goes will depend on what transpires in the RP and how his relation with others develops, particularly other PC's. That's the basic idea, anyway.

* Donovan used to have cybernetic implants, but opted to have them all removed after developing the V-83.

[Dolerman]

The Heavy Metal Fight Promoter

Richter 'Rickshaw' Loefield

35 years old

Ex-Neanderthal, currently unaffiliated

Male

6'5

274 lbs

Richter was born without a surname. 'Loefield' came from the make of car he was found in as a child. At the South Arcadia Orphange they told him that many babies would be abandoned in old cars and they would always check them every couple of days to find children but apparently Richter was the youngest. There was a note inside the blanket he was in that said 'Richter must keep fighting'. And the assumption was that that was the name that was given to him. True enough to that letter, growing up in a tough orphanage made him a fighter indeed. By the age of 7 he was already regularly getting into street fights with those much older than him and by the time he was 15, he was known as a dangerous bruiser even among adults. As soon as he was old enough, he joined a gang, the neanderthals.

Richter was drawn to the group for their bleak outlook on the world and survivalist attitude regarding humans. Relying on technology was just like relying on a parent or an authority figure to a young Ritcher so the core message hit home for him. He spent most of his time with them as an enforcer, using his natural fighting ability to dominate rivals and opponents with a near perfect success rate. Sadly this life was not fufilling enough, he wanted to be challenged more as a combatant and he wanted to know more about combat of the body.

While still techically a member of the Neanderthals Richter started moonlighting as a kickboxing coach called 'Rickshaw' and eventually began promoting fights in the biggest underground clubs this side of mars. His gang was dissapointed but they left him be until he started promoting cyborg fights.

The problem was that the market was geared towards fighters with cybernetics fighting as they had more longetivity in the ring and their enhanced physicality meant for more 'epic' showdowns. It was inevitible that Richter was going to get involved with that side being in the scene.

Once they found out about his work promoting and training cybernetic enhanced fighters, they turned on their former enforcer, with an attempted assasination with a car bomb. Somehow Rickshaw survived the explosion but with his body almost destroyed. Luckily some of the gym staff were able to get him to a ripper doc and save his life with cybernetics.

Now with a mostly mechanical body that his heart struggles to support Richter still promotes fights but stays out of conflict as much as possible, keeping his entire life lowkey and off the radar of his former gang.

[Blubaron45]

Detective Deval

Detective Deval

^{"Life is easy enough to make things really difficult."
Theme: Embers}

Basic Information

Name: Lathaniel Andrew Deval
Age: 33
Sex: Male
Ethnicity: Caucasian, white
Height: 5'11"
Date of Birth: January 15, 2087
Place of Birth: Modern-day Illinois
Current Occupation: Detective

Detailed Personal Profile

Detailed Description:

Despite his older age, Lathaniel is blessed with a strikingly youthful appearance. His facial features are sharp and prominent as his ancestry signifying that of mostly european with a touch of some hispanic. A narrow face protrudes outward broadly and a hooked nose rests on his strong amber, military-regulation styled mustache on top of his tobacco-stained lips that still somehow manage to be radiant enough to hold color. On his head rests his long slick amber hair, combed backwards giving him a naturally better look. He has broad facial features passed downward through his Italian ancestry.

He is a man of average looks depending on the taste of the person observing him. Many regard him as a "nice-looking" man as opposed to a "handsome one" unlike his brother, David. Given his appearance by the account of others, Lathaniel appears to be more inclined to be a more prominent white collar career rather than the life of a detective in a corrupted city like Arcadia. It is without a doubt that so many would be correct about this assumption if Lathaniel had in fact chosen to continue a life in post-modern academia. His eyes are dimly lit with a shade of amber, almost mordant and hold a ghostly gaze indicating that they had once been vivid, belonging to an active young man who had once been passionate and determined but had now become a run-down ruin of an older man filled with sour disposition, completely unable to reconcile his mind.

Personality:

It is despite having the chance to live a privileged life of an intellectual did Lathaniel choose a much simpler life, a life of a detective. While Detective Deval is notably intelligent, it is the constant years of drinking that has dimmed his once exquisitely sharp mind but it is despite this that his mind is still brighter than most around him though absent-mindedness can easily could his judgement and attention to detail during times of disposition. The 'stached detective is also an autodidact, having deeply acquainted himself in Computer Science and mathematics since his years in High School.

There was a time where he was not stormed with feelings of cynicism and anti-natalyist rhetoric but in a world filled with glout and desolation like the corrupted-infested city of Arcadia, everyone is a ghost of what they once were - especially among good men which are unfortunately less common in this world than anticipated. Yet deep within him still lies a dim fire teeming a passion to make things right had it not been for his bad habits and a tribal tribulations which lay in the way. Drinking is quite often a habitual routine for Lathaniel as it helps to cope with the absurdities of the world. Sure not everyone is perfect but in a world of very imperfect people, many of which are utterly motivated by only and purly self-interest then a few flaws which are meager to the amount of unscrupulousness that occurs in the world around him are certainly nothing in comparison.

Backstory:

Born in 2087 as second in his family on Earth, Lathaniel grew up in what is today Illinois. His family belonged to a long line of military men and women and it seemed that this young man's life had been set to a course he was determined for by birth. That was of course until the day he scored an IQ of 140 at the age of eight which had seemed to have determined his route in life. Or at least what people had assumed. Living life as a professor or any man of high job status was far too complicated for Lathaniel and so he decided to chase his dream of living of course a more modest, simple life.

Though from a very young age, Lathaniel had an affinity for all things academic which needless to say he did not pursue to the utmost of his talents. Instead, the eager young man would later choose the life of a police officer shortly after serving in the Marines. Living life as a professor or any man of high job status was far to complicated for Lathaniel and so he decided to chase his dream of living of course a more modest, simple life. It was at the age of 18 that Lathaniel had aspirations to join the Marine Corps just as his forefathers before him had once also been apart of. Deval was an immensely passionate young man, he was one of the top of his class during boot camp as well as a myriad of notable ribbons and metals during his short career in the military before becoming a police officer. This would diligently lead the man to a path of becoming a detective due to his commitment as well as his cunning wits and attention to detail which are less honed than his affinity for deductive reasoning and problem solving.

It was shortly after his arrival to Mars just after ending his three year career in the Marine Corps did then Officer Deval took the role of a police officer, serving for an accumulative career of another five years in the force. This of course coincided with his occupation as he become extremely competent in this career field though little would Deval realize the severity of living in a corrupted world. During his first several years as a police officer, he had an intense obligation to aid the world and sever the bonds of corruption that had held onto so tight in this city. It is where he had experienced first hand the horrors of what feats of human cruelty can extend onto a ruined world and so just as the world around him crumbled, so did he. For the young man had bear witness to it all: corruption and public distrust in authority, unsolved and gruesome murders, an ineffective police force who abstain from keeping public order.

In his eyes later in life: passion may take a man's hopes across the skies, but little do they ever make a man grow the wings of freedom to reach the heavens and inevitably their dreams; and so a very broken city had proven to be almost irreparable, even for a man as competent as he was and a city filled with incompetence and criminal conformity, the life of a decent man was shown to be harder than anyone could anticipate. Yet this did not completely stop him and albeit possessing a distorted and jaded mind did he have a deep desire within him to solve the common good. Throughout his career, Deval tread lightly on cases in which he knew might bury him six feet under but nonetheless he still strove to protect and restore order to this world. One of them was through his affinity for computer hacking.

The man had taught himself for several years the intricacies of Information Systems and technology and while he had not gone to college to pursue a degree, he would later use this skill in order to aid in his pursuit of helping serve the public good. Information breaching and penetration testing, social engineering kits, and a handful of several different techniques to hack into the lives of criminals and expose them to the world. It is during those years of fortitude and endurance did Deval had earned the title of a Detective at the age of 26 where also an ineffective office lingered in the midst. It is despite this however that now Detective Deval would use just as he had been for years. He helped solve countless murders, expose corrupt bureaucrats and members of the police department, and many other deeds - and the best part about all of this: none of it had ever been traced back to him. Of course there are several who Deval knows are scouring Mars in order to find him and while many have come close to revealing this computer crusader, none could ever decipher his true identity.

Though as time lingers on, so are the ever growing chances of Deval becoming more tangled in the world's problems as they seem to be getting worse and Deval himself doesn't quite know when he'll be caught. It's only a matter of time. And on top of this new problem had bore from the chaos: the location Arcadia’s Golden Disk which was soon to be found in the hands of Aurora Baines. This would most certainly reveal itself to be Deval's greatest task in finding and quite possibly using it to help rid the world of depravity before its secrets before it's too late.

[Blitzy]

Damiran Cayne

Damiran Cayne

Personal Information

---

Name: Damiran Edvard Cayne
Nicknames: Dam, Cayne
Aliases: The Sheepdog
Gender: Male
Age: 42
Birthday: 1st April

Appearance

---

Cayne stands around 6 feet and 4 inches tall, and his heavily augmented frame weighs well over 200 pounds. What remains of his curly brown hair is kept short, often cut to a buzz cut and allowed to grow to just a couple of inches before being cut back down again. He maintains a scruffy brown beard that covers his jaw and chin, only failing to grow there the flesh has been replaced by metal, or on the site of a v shaped scar over the right hand side of his mouth. His robotic eyes are a lifeless shade of pale grey, which, combined with his fairly pale skin, makes him look almost dead. His face is craggy and weather beaten, giving him an appearance several years older than he actually is. The distinguishing features, however, are Cayne's face augmentations. Most of his skin has been replaced by metal, a combination of transdermal and subdermal protective modifications and neural implants that enhance various functions.

Cayne's typical attire consists of black, baggy cargo pants and large boots. He wears a vest under a baggy hoodie or jumper, covered with a large brown jacket. The idea behind Cayne's attire is to disguise his heavily modified body; much like his boss, the Sheepdog is known by reputation, but not by face, meaning as long as he keeps his distinguishable features hidden he is able to go about life without drawing attention. His face looks like any beaten down ghetto dweller wandering the streets, being one of the least augmented parts of his body. Part of protecting his identity comes from carefully concealing it while on gang operations; he wears dark grey combat pants and a black, long-sleeved combat jacket lined with bulletproof plates. His upper chest, neck and head are completely encased in an experimental helmet, resembling an enormous, opaque black dome. Cables travel from the metal casing at the back of his head, but these are a proxy; the system itself is plugged directly into Cayne's own cybernetically enhanced nervous system. This way, his attire when on the job is well-known and feared, leaving him to wander undetected when wearing normal clothes.

Personality

---

Damiran Cayne is the ruthless, fiercely loyal Chief Enforcer of the Awakened crime syndicate. He reveres his beloved Shepherd as a god-tier being, carrying out their every whim to the letter with frightening efficiency and exactness. He is well-liked among the members of the Awakened gang, and those who do not like him fear him enough to know not to try anything. Cayne is a gruff, bitter man with a barbed tongue. Many find him callous and rude. A ruthless machine, precision engineered to carry forward the Awakened gang, Damiran Cayne does not love killing. He does not revel in violence and he does not part-take in any form of torture. He does, however, see the work he does as a necessary evil, and has no qualms about killing someone if it is for a reason, even if that reason is just because he's been told to. He is capable of putting on a friendly face when he needs to if it will help divert suspicion, but it is all an act; there is not one shred of kindness in this man's heart. He sees unmodified beings as primitive and weak, and believes they must either evolve or be purged for their sins. He has recently begun running a programme through which the gang kidnaps homeless, poor and otherwise socially undesirable people, augmenting them into near fully cybernetic, mindless soldiers under the control of the Awakened syndicate. Cayne sees this as a mercy; giving sinners a path to redemption and a true purpose, able to serve the Shepherd as a humble foot soldier. Cayne is a cold, calculating, living weapon.

Bio

---

Cayne has never revealed extensive details of his childhood to anyone. He was an only child, an accidental birth, and never had a strong relationship with either of his parents. His first modifications were installed by his father, a slightly psychopathic doctor who worked for a local augmentation clinic, installing cutting0edge implants to people who had suffered terrible accidents, such as repairing the nervous systems of paralysed patients or fitting cybernetic legs for those who had lost theirs. As young as 9, Cayne had his first neural implant which heightened his sense and neural capacity for advanced decision making. He resented his father initially, but after seeing the benefits, encouraged his father to perform more. By 15, Cayne had gone through over a dozen surgeries, including skeletal reinforcements, various nervous system upgrades and a robotic hand.

Cayne's mother died in a car accident when he was 15 years old, and his father's already fragile mind snapped. One night in a fit of rage, he tried to kill Cayne, because his existed reminded his father of the woman he had loved. However, he was no match for the cybernetic monster he had created. His father had no augmentations; and six years of experimental surgery had driven Cayne to the edge of is sanity. When his father attacked him, he had no issue with killing him. Cayne beat his own father to death, with his bare hands, in the living room of the apartment he had grown up in his whole life. He was on his own for the first time in his life, but he wasn't scared. He smashed open his father's safe, and stole his father's wallet, and hit the streets.

With his father's stash, he could afford to stay in hostels and motels. It was a year later, aged 16, that Cayne first became involved with gangs. In need of money, Cayne started running messages for a small time gang, and then became a small-time drug runner. He worked enough to make the money he needed to survive, but didn't particularly enjoy the work. On a job delivering drugs to an underground warehouse rave, Cayne ran into trouble with a group of augmented gangsters who tried to mug him for the delivery. He did his best to fight them off, breaking one man's nose and knocking another unconscious before the other three were able to beat him severely and take the drugs. The leader of the group, the man who's nose he had broken, saw potential in the boy and ordered him brought along as well.

Damiran awoke in the Ghajotia district, in a warehouse, on the other side of Arcadia to where he had been raised. For the first time in his life he felt scared. He was kept in a cell for days, supplied water through a slot in the door. Eventually, he was dragged from the cell by a heavily augmented man and pulled before the director of operations of the Awakened crime syndicate in the Ghajotia district. He introduced himself as Victor, and said he had heard what he did to the gang members who tried to mug him. He saw great promise in Cayne, who already had extensive modifications and had been honing them for the last 8 years. He offered Damiran a chance; he could work for Victor, join the Awakened, or he would be executed on the spot. Naturally he chose the former.

Over the next decade and a half, Cayne worked his way up the criminal hierarchy from delivery boy to enforcer, and eventually, at the age of 35, he became director of operations for the Awakened over a three-district area, assuming control of Ghajotia, Delcos and Troia. A man of fearsome reputation, he became teasingly known as the Sheepdog after his utter devotion to their augmented leader, the Shepherd. Over time this turned from a joke to a title, the man in charge of rallying the Shepherd's flock and performing whatever task was laid at his feet. Over his career he has overseen gunrunning, drug smuggling, human trafficking and illegal augmentation operations in Arcadia, amassing a considerable amount of wealth and reputation as one of the Awakened's most prominent members.

Recently, Cayne has been given new orders. Aurora Baines, the Queen of the Black Brethren gang has supposedly gotten her hands on a disk that could grant her absolute control of Arcadia. The Shepherd has tasked Cayne, who runs gang operations in the areas where the Black Brethren are most prominent, with locating the disk and taking it for the Awakened. With Arcadia under their control, the Awakened could forcibly modify and effectively enslave the entire population, and fast-track the evolution of human kind into cybernetically enhanced machines.

Augments and Arms

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Arcadia Armstech Mk. 14 9mm Handgun - A compact, simple and reliable handgun. Cayne carries his AA14 handgun with him at all times on the streets just in case. Since he cannot use his augmented weapons without arousing too much suspicion, he has to make do with a primitive firearm while he is trying to lie low.

Eyes - Both of Cayne's eyes have been replaced with cybernetics, which allow him to receive messages to a heads-up display in his field of view, as well as allowing him to zoom in almost like inbuilt binoculars and see in the dark. When activated, a special module in his right eye can afford him thermal vision, while one in his left can afford him the ability to read human vital signs and monitor things like pupil dilation and heart rate. Only one of these modules can be active at any one time, and both have a cooldown before reactivation.

Ears - A small gyroscope has been fitted into Cayne's inner ear that feeds directly into the neural hub implanted in his brain. The gyroscope affords him superior balancing and helps prevent him from becoming disorientated. His ears have also been fitted with audio enhancers that allow him to listen in on conversations at a heightened volume from distances of up to 10 metres.

Head - A commlink has been built into Cayne's head, allowing him to communicate on various frequencies with other gang members and the Awakened safehouse. As well as this, his skull has been reinforced like the rest of his body and he has subdermal plating under the skin of his face like the rest of his body. A neural interface works between his eyes and brain to allow him to interact with computer interfaces and technology without physical interaction.

Skin - Every inch of Cayne's skin from top to toe has been replaced by an entirely synthetic material. Under this outer layer as a covering of subdermal armor plating to protect his vital organs and important internal implants. This plating is enough to stop most small calibre firearms but obviously will not stop large calibre rounds or armor piercing ammunition.

Skeleton - Cayne's skeleton has been infused with carbon fibre to provide greater strength and resilience, drastically reducing the likelihood of him suffering broken bones or fractures.

Nervous System - Cayne's nervous system has been almost entirely rewired and cybernetically enhanced for increased speed and efficiency. Bonuses form this rewiring include enhanced senses, reflexes and reaction times, at the cost of requiring considerably greater energy intake than the average human (Cayne often eat in excess of over 5000 calories a day, but the energy demand from overclocked neural system overworking his muscles prevents him from gaining weight).

Legs - Damiran's legs are no longer with him - they have been entirely replaced by an upgraded pair of hydraulic synthetic limbs, designed to allow faster movement, higher jumping, and drastically increased running time, since there are no muscles in the legs to become fatigued and they are entirely cybernetic.

Arms - Both of Cayne's arms have also been entirely replaced. They are hydraulically powered, giving him greater strength than he had before. The joints of his arms, including his shoulders, are flexible and allow him to contort his arms without suffering any long-lasting damage from doing so.

Augment Weapons - Damiran's left hand conceals a multi-tool, complete with cutters, a small knife, screwdriver etc. This arm functions mainly for utility, but the knife on the tool can also be used as a weapon if need be. His right arm houses an augment equivalent of a medium-calibre battle rifle, including capabilities for semi- and fully automatic fire. The rounds for this weapon are loaded directly into the arm and as such different ammo types can be used. This gun has a forty-round magazine. The palm of his left hand is fitted with a Sonic Repulsor Device (SORD), which fires compressed air stored in a small cartridge in his forearm in a forceful wave to repel an assailant in a hurry.

Affiliations and Contacts

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The Awakened - Damiran Cayne works as part of the Awakened crime syndicate, a powerful group of heavily-augmented transhuman fanatics who see all unmodified beings as inferior. Cayne, known both within and outside the gang as The Sheepdog, is in charge of overseeing gang operations in the three Arcadia districts of Ghajotia, Troia and Delcos. The safehouse from which Cayne runs his operations is in the Delcos district, where the Awakened have a strong criminal presence.
The Shepherd - Cayne answers directly to the Shepherd, taking orders and ensuring they are carried out to the letter by the members of the gang. Cayne has never directly met his boss but has sworn undying loyalty to them, revering them as some sort of god-like entity who's mission is to fast-forward the evolution of humanity.
Nate Dawson - Cayne's surgeon. An elderly, augmented doctor who has worked for the gang for over three decades, sourcing and fitting cutting edge, precision engineered, corp-level augmentations to members of the gang. He has personally fitted every one of Cayne's implants and upgrades, and the two have a very close working relationship.
Alex Vinchenko - Cayne's under-boss, a vassal who runs the Troia district but answers directly to Cayne himself. Vinchenko is a more aggressive, violent man that Cayne, and is often deployed by Cayne on missions that require a high body count. Vinchenko is often the one behind the 'purge' riots that the Awakened have been known to hold, where they hunt down and slaughter non-augmented humans. Recently, however, Cayne has switched the directive to capturing and harvesting these people to be turned into soldiers for the cause.
Curtis Walker - Cayne's personal informant, who spends every minute of every day plugged into the Warp, harvesting as much data and information as possible to relay to his boss, in order to aid gang operations.