Blade's a man stuck on the bridge between two worlds: night and day. The living and the dead. Monster and man. Luckily, he's chosen the side that doesn't suck blood for a living and mostly flipped the bird to the side that does. For fifteen years, Blade's been waging a one-man war against the forces of the night, safeguarding humanity from becoming prey in his hometown of New Orleans. Yet, in spite of all his efforts, Blade finds himself weary from being shunned from both worlds as an outsider, either out of fear or perceived betrayal of his heritage.
P L O T ( S ) & G O A L ( S ):
Blade will largely be a Stationary Character who will be the keystone in most of the supernatural happenings in this world. New Orleans, as well, is a rich environment that's rife with storytelling potential that will allow for a myriad of interactions amongst obscure and popular characters that anyone chooses to play. Blade's storylines will attract characters of a mystical, gritty persuasion and players who have a deep interest in urban fantasy.
Issue 1: THE SANGUINE SYMPHONY
A vampire's plot afoot in New Orleans as a string of seemingly unconnected murders all have one thing in common: paper white corpses drained of blood. Only there's a problem. It's on the eve of Mardi Gras and all local vampire sects, regardless of affiliation, declare truce with the human race for a period of two weeks. No feedings, no kidnappings, no interfering with the livestock. With a full out war between the vampire clans of New Orleans on the horizon, Eric must delve into the seedy streets of the parish and find the true murderer before eternal twilight falls over the Orient City.
Characters Involved: Blade/The Daywalker, Rag(wo)man, Morbius, Hellboy, A Whole Lot of Vampires
Number of Players: 2-3
SPECIAL ISSUE: BLOODLETTING
A vignette based narrative centered around Blade's days of yore as he vows vengeance against Deacon Frost and his master, Dracula.
Characters Involved: Blade/The Daywalker, Stick
Number of Players: Solo
C H A R A C T E R N O T E S:
Supporting Cast
Allies
- Rag(wo)man
- Hannibal King
- Anna Whistler
- Stick
- Kirk Langstrom
Enemies
- Vlad Tepes Dracula
- Baronness Blood
- Deacon Frost
- Morbius
- The Cult of Chthon
- Vampires in general
P O S T C A T A L O G:
S A M P L E P O S T:
The vampire is a creature of habit.
That was a lesson Hannibal taught him on his first proper hunt. That even monsters still had their routines. If vampires only cared about devouring humankind in the most efficient way possible, most of the country would be overrun in a couple of months by hordes of ghouls and newly Turned. No, instead, they had peeves and wonts about how they went about it. Traditions and rituals were passed down from each new generation of vampire and with every passing century, as humanity progressed, so did their palette. The Nosferati had entire ‘vinyards’ dedicated to fermenting blood into red wine. The Adze preferred congealing the blood into curds. The Yuki Onna adopted the tradition of ikizukiri - drinking humans slowly while they were still alive.
It was that singular characteristic, that weakness which had been exploited by better vampire slayers than him for centuries. So, when the trail led to yet another fishmonger this month, Eric almost could feel Hannibal berating him mentally for not spotting the obvious yet again and believing that vampires were more rational than they actually were.
It was the break of afternoon in New Orleans, when the sun began to nest in the Pontchartrain. Its orange rays bled down the dappled surface, the skyline bruised a hazy violet. It was at this hour when the French Quarter started to become alive, beating with the rhythm of jazz and dance - the oxygen of the Orient pumping and flowing through the streets from Chalamette to Jefferson. Yet, for where the music could not be heard, it casted shadows of silence across the Mississippi, where the brown waters bubbled and festered as it always had throughout the course of its thousand mile journey. And in that silence dwelled the coming night: ravenous in its zest for life.
He’d been tracking a pack of new arrivals for a month now - ten to twenty strong. They’d made their presence on the westside of Uptown, far away from the territories of other sects and the CBD where the NOPD strutted around like flamingos. The scent of the Great Lakes was smeared all over them - alpine smog and the dewy aroma of pine needles that followed in their wake. He pegged them as Krieger - maybe an Anchorite but most Anchorites preferred to stay in their wheat fields and little prariers. He had been watching them for the last few days, under the disguise of plain sight and from a fair distance as they skittered from the Garden District to the Quarter, playing themselves off as tourists. Eventually, that led him to where he was standing right now.
The Trawler was a squat olive drab block in a sparsely populated neighbourhood that was accommodated by overdebted university students and old-timers who were too fond of the past to move on. There was only a single pane of glass for the average onlooker to look at the product inside. Styrofoam boxes laid in an undignified pile near the front door with an overflowing trash bin as its neighbour, bones and fish guts attracting a horde of flies.
The bell jingled, alerting the shopkeeper who was busy wiping the counter with a stained dish cloth as Eric entered the shop.
“ Hey, buddy. Store’s closed. If you have an order, you’ll have to pick it up tomorrow.“ The fishmonger slapped his hand on the counter loudly to catch his attention. Eric ignored it, continuing to parse throughout the store, stopping to look at the rows of redfish and perch that were on display on beds of ice. Their rheumy eyes stared up at him, almost pleadingly. “ You awrite in the head, man? If you don’t leave here now, I’m going to have to call the cops on you.”
Eric turned around and lowered his shades to take a better look. He took a look at the plastic name tag on his apron, with “Barry” written in flowery cursive.
“ So….” Eric drawled as he walked closer towards Barry who was shrinking with each step he took. “ Would you believe me if I said this was a surprise inspection?”
Barry’s right shoulder shifted, warily reaching his left hand somewhere under the counter. He signed. It always seemed how things always seemed to end in his line of business.
“ Damn. That’s a shame.”
In one swift practiced motion, Barry pulled out the Mossenberg from underneath the register, barrel swiveling towards him. Were he dealing with any common human, the fishmonger would have put him in the morgue by now. Unfortunately for him, dhampir reflexes meant that the shopkeeper was moving like molasses. Eric shot his hand forward towards where Barry gripped the shotgun by the stock and jammed his thumb between the trigger and the index finger. The barrel was aimed at Eric’s forehead but all the fishmonger could feel was his index finger pushing down on the trigger uselessly. Eric ripped itout of the fishmonger’s hand and tossed it away, sending it clattering to the floor. The fishmonger’s face was now paper-white, his body frozen like a statue and paralyzed in fear.
“ You - you’re the - the - “
“ Don’t say another word.” Eric lifted the collar of the butcher’s smock upwards to reveal his neck. It was thick, succulent with flowing, rich blood that just begged to be - Eric paused and shook his head as he mustered his concentration, turning his neck to the other side. His nostrils flared in disgust when he saw a cherry-red brand on his collarbone.
“ Now, listen here and listen good, familiar.” He hissed with contempt, the tips of his canines reflected in the fishmonger’s eyes. “ You’re going to walk out of this shop and call emergency services 30 minutes from now. If you dare call the police after I let you go, I will take this shotgun and ram it so far up your ass that you’ll go through puberty again, do I make myself clear?”
“ I had no - you can’t - They’ll hunt me down.” The fishmonger blubbered, eyes fidgeting anxiously. “ They’ll kill me. My master - URK!”
His speech stopped mid-way courtesy of a steel vice grip around his throat . The vampire slayer lifted him up a inch of the ground, his feet dangling uselessly in the air.
“ Only thing you gotta worry ‘bout is me hunting your sorry ass down.” He continued on, impassive to how Barry’s face was slowly becoming more red by the second. “ Now, you promise to not associate yourself with any unholy heathens from now on?”
“ Urgh.”
“ You promise to not seek out immortality through immoral means?”
“ Urghuh.”
“ You promise to pray to your lord and savior, Jesus Christ?”
“ Urgh?”
“ Nah, I’m just shitting you with the last one.” The fishmonger was then unceremoniously dropped to the ground. As he laid on the ground, heaving for precious air, Eric craned his neck down towards him and looked at him as if he were an insect.
E R I C B R O O K S ♦ F U L L T I M E V A M P I R E H U N T E R ♦ N E W O R L E A N S
C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T:
" Vampires, man. Every motherfucker wants to ice-skate uphill to immortality these days."
Blade's a man stuck on the bridge between two worlds: night and day. The living and the dead. Monster and man. Luckily, he's chosen the side that doesn't suck blood for a living and mostly flipped the bird to the side that does. For fifteen years, Blade's been waging a one-man war against the forces of the night, safeguarding humanity from becoming prey in his hometown of New Orleans. Yet, in spite of all his efforts, Blade finds himself weary from being shunned from both worlds as an outsider, either out of fear or perceived betrayal of his heritage.
P L O T ( S ) & G O A L ( S ):
Blade will largely be a Stationary Character who will be the keystone in most of the supernatural happenings that occur in New Orleans. It's a rich environment that's rife with storytelling potential that will allow for a myriad of interactions amongst obscure and popular characters that anyone chooses to play. Blade's storylines will attract characters of a mystical, gritty persuasion and players who have a deep interest in urban fantasy.
Issue 1: THE SANGUINE SYMPHONY
A vampire's plot afoot in New Orleans as a string of seemingly unconnected murders all have one thing in common: paper white corpses drained of blood. Only there's a problem. It's on the eve of Mardi Gras and all local vampire sects, regardless of affiliation, declare truce with the human race for a period of two weeks. No feedings, no kidnappings, no interfering with the livestock. With a full out war between the vampire clans of New Orleans on the horizon, Eric must delve into the seedy streets of the parish and find the true murderer before eternal twilight falls over New Orleans.
Related too food, an unwillingness to try various types of food would be a massive pass for me.
Obviously, I don't expect everyone to eat Surströmming (or any particularly extra food), but I couldn't date someone who scoffed at the idea of having Thai food one date, Georgian food the next, and maybe Brazilin food on the third date.
Life limited to one national cuisine would be so hideously boring.
God, yes. Adding to this, anyone who doesn't like eating at a South-East Asian hawker mart can go starve if they want me to date them.Also, not liking noodles or an inability to deal with south-east asian cuisine is general will make me err on the side of caution.
There is no bigger turn off than a person who isn't willing to eat food they view as peasant or foreign. Variety is the spice of life.
At least, that was what he tried to tell himself as he stared solemnly at the cracked headlights of the Jury-Rigg, which were blinking spastically in chromatic seizures. He dropped the voltage torch onto the ground and limped away, eventually resting his body against a collapsed filing cabinet. The abandoned building was bare-bones in terms of spaces to park his ride but the Pirates had helpfully provided him with an empty refrigeration unit for him to rest in. The Reclaim Zone, like always, provided its usual din of rain that sloughed through the gutters with its petrichor aroma.
Keah glanced at the wet patch on the left side of his T-Shirt and sighed. No use putting it off now.
Grasping the tweezer in his hand, he lifted the hem of his shirt and stared down at the left side of his stomach where a piece of jagged laminate was stuck in, about the size of a grape. Sucking in a breath, he pinched it with the tongs and began the arduous process of pulling it out. The advantage of using the Octo-Dactyl was that he could shut off the impulses that his brain was screaming towards his hands, to let go, to stop. Bit by bit, he gritted through the agony as his right hand calmly pulled the shrapnel out with a wet squelch. He popped the cap off the toti-thrombin hypo and punctured it into the skin above where the blood oozed out, feeling his flesh boil as the cocktail of stem cells and steroids began to kick his metabolism into overdrive. His Iconoclast, laid on the ground next to the Jury Rigg, began to beep urgently with an alarm just as he slapped a kera-patch on the now sealed wound.
“ Shit, Demon.” A coarse, smoky voice, like burning exhaust, came out from his helmet. “ How’d you get a beaut like this totaled?”
“ Mdakwe.” He crouched next to the helmet, placing the gel cryo-pack on his bruised forehead with a wince. Staying silent, he waited as the South African dove into the Matrix and sifted through what was left of the Jury Rigg’s custom OS to inspect the damage. Every so often, there would be an unintelligible swear in Afrikaans followed by a vaguely patronising sigh and a snort.
“ So, what’s the bill?”
“ Well…..let’s start with what’s not damaged, ja? You’re so goddamn lucky that your drive shaft and engine managed to survive a hail of EP rounds. They’re perfectly intact. Surprising for someone with your reputation.”
Keah ignored the biting sarcasm at the end, inwardly relieved that all the rudiments which made the Jury Rigg run were still okay. He took the cryo-pack off and replied back as he picked up the voltage torch again and strode to the back to inspect more of the damage. The bullet holes made for a nice background against the scratches and nicks that left strips of metal peeling off like pencil shavings. Was it even salvageable at this point?
“ I’m not hearing the downsides yet.”
“ Where to begin? Your fuel-tank ruptured. All but one of your mag-wheels have been completely disconnected from your drive assembly. The smart circuitry inlaid into your sub-systems also melted like ice cream. We’ll disregard most of your cosmetics. Better less said about them.” Mdekwe paused. Keah could make out the sound of her clicking her teeth in disapproval. “ You turboblazers….Always the sentimental type, aren’t you? Are you trying to repair this hunk of junk?”
“ Say, I wanted to.” Keah traced a finger on the windshield and examined where the loose flakes of paint stained his skin. “ How much would it take.”
“You’ll have to stick with the subpar stuff for now. Oly-laminate plating’s rare as a non-myco steak on the black market. My supply of mag wheels went dry as well. I can send you the schematics for how to repair them but you might have to stick with the old frictions for now. Probably.” There was a pause whilst Keah poked around under the Jury Rigg’s belly with a flashlight. “ I hate to tell you this but it’s going to bankrupt you to try and make another one from scratch. Sure, your ride was impressive but this isn’t Detroit. There is no gearhead in a thousand miles of the Reclaim Zone that’d be willing to refurbish your ride.”
“You don’t know that.” Keah replied weakly, wriggling his fingers out from a bullet hole and wiping off the brown coolant that leaked from it like a faucet. Looking at his car this way was like dissecting a dead animal. Any repair he could have done was the equivalent of taxidermy. As hard as it was to accept, the Jury Rigg was gone. Dead.
“ Look. Keah.” Mdeke’s voice took on a gentler tone as she said his real name, like she was tip-toeing over landmines. “I’m willing to loan you a new set of wheels. Me and da boys can come over here later to scrap it after the press conference.”
“ Fine.” Keah grumbled, tossing away the voltage torch in frustration. “ At least tell me it doesn’t have one of those stupid fucking spoilers.”
Mdekwe’s silence was damning.
“ Shit.”
“ And that is all?”
“ Yes.”
“ Good. The sooner we help Petrukov with this farce of an election, the sooner we can crack open Amalgmation’s closet of skeletons. Keep doing what you’re doing.”
“ Is that all you called me for?”
“ What? Did you think this would be enough to get back into our good graces, Kaito? I do not care what these *outsiders* call you. We all know your real names. To them, you might be a legend, but to us, you’re just a lost little fool who ran away who was tempted by the ideals of these mainlanders.”
“We have always been lost ever since Hawaii sunk, brother.”
“ Do not ever call me brother. You have your orders. Complete them this time without causing a scene.”
Not a submission, since I rescinded my join request in the Discord but this is what I managed to spin out of the background for those who are interested.
The Phenoma-Forums
Safeguarding Against Strangeness Since 1998
Public Lecture Series: Pathology of the Paranormal 101
This series is an overview and analysis of common paranormal diseases and injuries which affect both humans and sapient para-species. Topics covered includes the following but not limited to: resuscitory exorcism, examination of silver toxicosis in lycantropes, vampire hematology, emergency para-species surgical procedures and histological analysis of paranormal afflictions. I hope you find these lectures an invaluable resource to supplement your own knowledge with which to arm yourself against a wide variety of ailments and afflictions, both mundane and magical.
Begin Pre-Recorded Lecture Recording?......
[Y]/[N]
Processing……..
Enter Password
************
INSERTING RUNIC FIREWALLS
INSTALLING ANTI-SPIRIT SOFTWARE
ONLINE LEY-LINE STABILITY AT 98%.
[00:02:43]
“ Welcome to the second seminar on Paranormal Pathology. I know the grimiores I prescribed to you during the last seminar are a bit barbaric but hopefully, you got a taste of what we’ll be delving into today. Today, we’ll be covering the six classes of classification and yes, It will be more of an overview but trust me guys when I say this is necessary . We’re laying out the structure of the maze you’ll be getting into and trust me, even though I’ve had 15 years of experience, I’m still stuck in the maze as far as I can tell.”
“ Now, firstly, we’ll begin with werewolf physiology. - Goddammit, I got the wrong papers. No, that’s not until- Why would I even - - God, what are you doing, Ambrose? 10 years of residency at Mayo, 5 years at St Angel’s ER and look at where you are right now. If only Chandler could see me now. They’d all think of me as a quack - “
“ Shit. I’m still recording, aren’t it? And I’m going to have to cut that one out. Great. Just great.”
[00:10:13]
“ Now, as we turn to the next slide, we can see several photos of bite marks from several para-species. In the right corner, we have a bite from a southern loup-garou and on the left corner, a bite from an Atlantic merman. Notice any patterns yet? Alright, let’s compare the inflammation across the periphery of the wound si-
“ No, Bartleby, bad boy! Bartleby, don’t touch tha - Dammit, Bartleby! Do you know how long it takes to embalm pixie corpses?”
[00:20:25]
“ A rule for paranormal infections is to distinguish between syndromes and full metamorphosis. What do I mean by this?”
“ How many of you of you know Andre the Giant? And I know all of you MDs and PhDs must be screaming right now. Yes, he’s classified as having acute hyperthyroidism. The truth is that he got bitten by a werewolf. The only reason why he didn’t tear up his match when it was a full moon was because he got a syndrome, not the full metamorphosis. Yes, you’ll notice that most creatures that rely on transforming their target due to physical contact end up causing ‘blank’ bites. The factors for this phenomenon can vary depending on the individual. You can stay asymptomatic for weeks, months at a time before you start having a craving for blood or start shooting up a meter in height.
Don’t even get me started on what happens when you get multiple blank bites. South Park didn’t come up with ManBearPig out of the blue…….
[00:50:50]
“ Take a look at this doctor’s report. Dilated pupils, elevated levels of epinephrine and norephrine, cardiac arrhythmia. Now, take a look at this ECG. 10 year old boy. Notice the tachycardia? Would you believe me if I said that he wasn’t reporting any referred pain on his shoulders? It makes one think how many overdoses, heart attacks and panic attacks are really just a phantom or spirit trying to have a crack at puppeteering your corporeal body.”
“ We’ll be covering emergency exorcisms in a later part of this series but all you need to know is that it’s a broad spectrum of possessions. If we’re talking western pagan spirits, they tend to be on the reasonable side but say your prayers if you encounter a yokai or hell, a demonic spirit. You’ll need to bust out high voltage defibrillators and do STERIS with steel clamps.”
“ One important rule of note. Never do sedation. I’ll repeat it again, never tranquilize or try to do heavy sedation if you suspect that a person is under possession. Get a priest to confirm before you use heavy sedatives. If you make a mistake…..”
“ Well….”
“ ….I’ll just say an angry family’s worst to deal with than a pissed off phantom.”
[02:01:25]
“ And we’re at the end. If any of you have any questions, please DM me about it and I’ll try to do my best to answer. As I said before, most of you aren’t going to get an answer because that’s the best type of answer.”
“ Trust me.”
“ Some things are better off not knowing and sometimes, even with all the knowledge in the world, you’ll make mistakes.”
“ God, that became depressing. Probably going to have to delete that one…..”
I think a big no-no for me would definitely be if anyone hated any of Wes Anderson's animated films. There's something fundamentally lost in your soul if you can't enjoy something whimsical like that.
" Do no harm. Protect the client. Follow the rules.
That's what we were taught.
Awful hard to stand by that rule when everyone in this city's out to harm you."
//NAME: Connie Zhu / Hui Jiang
//STREET NAME: Scalpel
//GENDER: Female
//AGE: 36
//AFFILIATIONS
- Trauma Team International (10 Years)
- Tyger Claws (3 Years)
- Afterlife Mercenary (Current)
//APPEARANCE: Connie embodies the spirit of a rough and tumble street hooligan caged by professionalism and conduct. Her curled hair is cut precisely in a bob cut, various knots interspersed throughout. Black bangs frame an angular face rimmed with eyebags and a pensive frown. Memories of a misspent youth mark her wiry body as dysfunctioning light-tattoos scribed in a fit of paternal rebellion blink all over her arms alongside a grievous burn mark on her neck as a result of hazing at TT bootcamp.
Scars of his time as a Trauma Team EMT riddle her body, dimpled pockets of faded bullet wounds glazing her chest, with a grievous jagged line of mottled skin crossing the flat of her belly By far, the most pressing reminder of her time in Trauma Team International is the sleek blue chrome that makes up most of her left arm and shoulder.
In terms of tactical gear, Connie uses a modified version of her old TT gear that has been jury-rigged by various techies over the years into something that looks downright primitive. When she’s not flatlining gangsters or busy resuscitating gonks, Connie wears an unassuming combination of chic gear, preferring a poncho hoodie that allows her to hide within crowds.
//HISTORY:
Connie was 14 years old when she saw a Trauma Team aerodyne for the first time.
It was early noon on a Friday, the type of day that would call for a trip into the Upper Marina. Unfortunately, her mother had other plans,namely, going on a tour of the academic quagmire she would be getting stuck into her the next five years or so of her life. Getting into a prestigious pre-med program sponsored by BioTechnica was one thing but being a first-gen uni student was the cherry on top of the cake. Part of her was convinced it was sheer luck whilst her mother, being a stickler for tradition, believed it was a sign of blessing from our ancestors. Lucky stars and other crappy astrological palm-reading nonsense that she’d babble on to her.
A tour guide dressed in a sleek silver dress and wearing a neon smile was leading them along through the skeleton of an empty pavilion that was currently undergoing reconstruction. Connie watched as construction drones skittered about on legs, briefly turning noon into early morning with the glow of their plasma torches, before moving onto the next spot. Reconstruction was petering off in the ten or so years that had passed since the Red. Her mother told her of days when the sunset seemed to bleed orange and the rain that poured from those scab-like clouds corroded through the steel skyline. Now, all that remained of the mid-century holocaust was a faint rusty mist that cloyed to the blue sky.
“ Connie! For the life of me, could you not spend one moment staring at that device of yours? ” Her mother hissed, pulling at Connie’s ear, whilst she was busy parsing through my socials on the Agent. “ You should be excited. You are the first Zhu to enter a prestigious institute such as NCU!”
“ C’mon, ma ma.” Connie pulled her agent away from the prying hands of her mother as she rolled her eyes. “ This is boooooring. Couldn’t we have waited until next week to do this?”
“ And spend time with your gwai lo boyfriend at that ridiculous concert? “ My mother scoffed. “ I think not. Besides, this is a far more useful way to spend a Friday.”
Connie scowled. Those advance tickets she got on the night market was the sweetest hitch she ever got in her life! Getting seats at a crim-zone concert was notoriously hard to begin with alongside the secret crypto-seal which they used to hide the secret location of their concerts in the abandoned underground metros of Night City.
“ Whatever.” The teen’s cheeks were reddened with embarrassment as she tucked herself further into her Agent. “ I’ll probably flunk out in the first term anyway.”
“ Don’t you say such slander. Did I truly raise my daughter to believe so little in herself?” Connie wanted to scream internally as she sensed the signs of another incoming lecture. “ If I was your age, I would be grateful to stand here with Night City’s brightest. Instead, you want excitement- ”
The explosion then hits her like a freight train. Her eardrums pop painfully as she feels her feet being launched off the ground, agent shaking loose from her grip. Connie’s world becomes a storm of pain and dizziness, vision quaking as sounds of terrified screams and the staccato of lead begin to fill in the void of her senses. Her ears make out the faint noises of someone speaking as she groans out, struggling to stand up on her own two feet.
“ Fuck, what the hell was that for, Rory!”
“ You said to cause a distraction. I caused the distraction! Now, NCPD’s gonna be busy cleaning up this situation while we make our getaway.” “ You idiot! Do you want Max-Tac breathing down our necks?”
“ Hey, this one’s still breathing, Jimmy. What should I do with her?”
“ Just ice her and put her out of her misery.”
“ Right-o.”
The click of a receiver wakes her up to the sight of a barrel pointed downwards at her, laser sight trained on her forehead. Behind it is an arm leading up to a face that’s more metal than meat, the jaw replaced crudely with a fanged maw that resembles a bear-trap. There’s a hoarse reverberating chuckle as Connie begins begging for her life.
“ Please, no, fuck, I can pay you, please, don’t shoot - “
Her voice then becomes drowned in the sound of loud klaxons and the hungry roar of AV turbines. A shadow comes over the both of them as an aerodyne hovers above the both of them, a spotlight illuminating their figures in the darkening noon. Scratches and bullet holes cover the bulky blue-striped hull as the front of the aerodyne narrows towards the lunatic threatening to zero her out.
“ LANDING IMMINENT. STAND CLEAR. INITIATING SECURITY PROTOCOLS. “
Two hatches then open at the bottom of the armored hull and a set of barrels emerge, spinning together at the ready. Connie screams and closes her eyes as gunfire erupts again. A metallic gurgle cries out and then, the wet audible thuds of a body smacking on the concrete. She opens her eyes back up again to see the man cut in half, twisted legs and a vacated torso connected by a bridge of guts and blood. The stench hits her and morning’s breakfast comes tumbling out onto the pavement. As she wipes away the bile, the AV lands on the ground with a soft thud, pressurized gas hissing out as the aerodyne doors open up. Trauma Team personnel begin flooding the chaotic smoky scene, clad in blue neoprene suits with sterile kevlar plating covering their vital organs. One, the commander, Connie presumes, begins barking out orders and pushing back onlookers onto the ground.
“ PLEASE FOLLOW ALL INSTRUCTIONS.” The speaker blares once more. “ DO NOT APPROACH THE VEHICLE AND VACATE THE AREA IMMEDIATELY. ANYONE WHO INTERFERES WITH THE DUTIES OF TRAUMA TEAM INTERNATIONAL PERSONNEL WILL BE REMOVED FROM THE PREMISES.”
It’s a series of firsts for Connie today as one of the Trauma Team EMTs strides past her in a sprint, sliding downwards on her knees to a stop next to one of the students caught in the explosion. A female voice begins barking out in a radio in a calm and precise fashion, hands moving in a blur. Connie watches her pull out a suitcase that mechanically unfolds itself into a workbench two times bigger than what it previously was, various medical tools and equipment hanging on the side.
“ This is TT-570. 3 platinum and one gold confirmed. One pulmonary hemorrhage. Two in shock. One cranial fracture. Prep two freezers on the double ASAP.” The Trauma Team EMT grabs onto two handles in the workbench and pulls out a blocky device to place onto the student’s chest. Interlocks on each side of the device clamp down as the EMT taps buttons on it in a furious hurry. “ Administering 30 ccs of dopamine and 50 ccs of midazolam. Beginning installation of venous catherer.”
The EMT continues chattering into the radio, using her left hand to stick a airhypo down into the woman’s shoulder whilst jabbing the catheter straight into the chest. Connie wonders whether it’s TTI training or experience that allowed the EMT to know precisely where to enter the catheter into the subclavian without much training. She’s seen experienced doctors take 30 seconds. She’s seen techies who treat their gear with more care than how this EMT treats their patient.
Her eyes then narrow as a shadow appears deep within the fog. It stumbles out, the dusty mist parting in hacking coughs. It’s one of the gangsters. The graze on his left shoulder bleeds onto his ragged sleeveless shirt as he blinks blearily. His face lights up in vicious glee as he lifts up his pistol, taking aim at the unaware Trauma Team officer in front of him.
“ Behind you!,” Connie shouts, pointing over the EMT’s shoulder.
The EMT’s head perks up just in time for a round to spark off her helmet. She grunts in momentary annoyance In one smooth motion, the paramedic twirls around, raising her iron underneath her cheek, before pulling the trigger. Connie watched as a line of bullets stitched itself up from the thug’s chest to his cheek, sending him down onto the ground in a mist of blood. Walking over to the still breathing body, Connie flinches as the Trauma Team EMT fires two more shots in the guy’s dome, legs twitching with every bullet. The EMT then continues to work on stabilizing the patient, not minding the growing pool of blood on the ground behind her, as Connie feels the gills grow green.
Connie sees another shadow in the fog and braces herself in fear. It’s the Trauma Team commander, fortunately. She notices that his pristine helmet is now covered in splatters of blood as he walks to the EMT who folds out a stretcher to lay the patient out on.”
“ Max-Tac is gonna be here soon to mop up what’s left. Finish up before we get flatlined by those psychos.” The commander then nudges his head to the AV. “ Exit is 2 minutes unless you want to walk back to Watson all by yourself.”
“ Clear. Get Dobbs to help me with the stretcher.” The EMT replies back. The commander nods, satisfied before moving back into the fog.
It’s just the two of them. The EMT is still busy securing the patient to the stretcher, tying velcro straps and securing a breathing mask onto them. Once she’s done, there’s a brief moment of silence that’s interrupted by brief bursts of gunfire and cries in the distance. The EMT turns her head to look at Connie and she freezes up. Was Trauma Team going to zero her for interfering? Hell, why didn’t she run away? The EMT scratches the back of her head, unsure for a moment of what to say.
“ Thanks, kid.” The EMT softly says before digging into her belt and tossing her a nozzle tube. It slips in Connie’s hand as she catches it. Before Connie can ask what it’s for, the EMT points to her head. “ Something for the cut. Make sure it doesn’t go septic, right.”
Connie’s brow furrows in confusion as one of her hands reach towards her forehead. She feels the warm trickle of blood as she looks at her fingers, now doused in red. Connie doesn’t get the chance to say thank you as another one of the EMT’s emerges from the smoke. They crouch down, one on each side of the stretcher, before hoisting the patient up and carrying them to the AV.
“ Connie! CONNIE!”
Connie feels her mother’s arms wrap around her in a crushing hug. Whilst her mother continued checking her little angel’s face erratically for any signs of damage, Connie watched the AV slowly hover upwards, jets buffeting away the trash and litter that filled the courtyard. The turbines then angled forward, little jets of gas puffing out from the sides to stabilize the rectangular craft. The AV dove before transitioning into a soundless glide, swerving left behind the university’s library out of sight.
She didn’t speak a single word as her mother took a bus home to their sequestered little copse in Little China. Baba came back late from work at and began another one of his lectures on safety and responsibility before mother shut him up with a pointed glare. After they finished their dinner of crappy pre-pack, it was only until she was alone and by herself in the shower that she collapsed on the wet floor. Her skin felt foreign to her as she began digging into it with her nails, hyperventilating, as she saw the speckled drops of dried blood that were on the underside of her fingers.
She never wanted to feel like that again.
Never again.
She was twenty when she signed up for TTI. She was the only one out of her entire cohort who decided to listen to the TT recruiter and signed up. None of the corpo heirs or her chooms that she’d made in med-school wanted to join. They all looked at her as if she was insane and now, her parents were the new ones to join that crowd.
“ Hui Jiang - “ Connie trembled for a moment as her father spoke her Chinese name, the one that had been shedded to survive in Night City. “ - please cease this foolishness. Do you really think you can make a difference out there? You’re just another uniform, a tool for these corporations to use as they see fit! Trauma Team earned its reputation for a reason! You’ll die out there! ”
“ Trauma Team’s different. They operate on an objective code of neutrality. We serve all our clients equally, no matter their background. They’re the best of the best, baba. I don’t want to languish in NCMC until I turn into a mummy.”
“ Best of the best.” Her father repeated in a mocking tone. “ Trauma Team serve whoever shells out the most eddies for their platinum packages. Do you understand what that means? What if you’re forced to save a murderer? A crime lord? A cyber-psycho? What then? Are you ready for that burden?”
“ It’s part of the job.” Connie sighed, looking down onto the table. “ This argument is moot, baba. I’m shipping out to Seattle next Monday.”
“ Very well.” Her father’s voice hitched for a moment, his voice more hoarse than ever. “ Leave. If you are determined to end up on the front page of NCT’s obituary, then, I will not stop you.”
And thus, began Connie’s 20 weeks of hell. The first week, she couldn’t take shits properly as her body struggled to adjust to the near sadistic physical regimens her TO’s put through. TT bootcamp for her was a mixture of NCPD SWAT training and studying for a medical PhD. A TT EMT was expected to know the exact location of every single spinal nerve within the vertebral column and where exactly to administer epidural stims without a proper scan whilst being versed enough to commit hostage-rescue ops.
By the time Connie made it out and started her tours, she was tossed in the meat-grinder of NC’s combat zones. TTI was beginning to regrow the roots it had lost since the 4th Corpo War and with their growth in profits came the installation of new FOBs and offices across Night City and most of NUSA. Recruitment grew and after five years of service, Connie was promoted to the role of Senior EMT in the TTI. Connie grew in renown in TTI for both her compassionate treatment of non-clients as well as her almost suicidal tenacity to rescue her clients, the former of which her COs viewed as her being “ emotionally compromised on the line of duty”.
Then, it all came to shit one day. It was a normal call. A group of mercs who’d managed to pool together their eddies for one license in Heywood. A standard TT unit was assembled and when they got there, things seemed odd. No bodies on the ground. No signs of a firefight.
That was until their AV was crippled with a Kang-Tao EMP munition that sent Connie and her team tumbling down onto an electronics shop.
The situation had just transformed from a rescue to a firefight. The license was true and the client was injured but TTI had never considered that their client might have injured themselves on purpose. A group of Maelstroms had lured them into a trap with the goal being to hijack and commandeer their AV for their own use. Their comms were jammed thanks to Maelstrom netrunners.
Somehow, Connie and her team made it back to Watson with her team mostly unblemished and alive thanks to her leadership. However, with an arm missing and only a biro worth of blood left in her, Connie ended up on medical discharge for a month or so, receiving a new cybernetic arm courtesy of company policy and with over 2000 eddies of newly synthesized blood in her system.
Naturally, as TT began to reshuffle its books, Connie got axed off her position as Senior EMT. Elucidating the reasons behind her termination has been a constant source of frustration for Connie. Was it corporate backstabbing? One client complaint too many? Did her COs see her as a potentia liability? Regardless, she threw her generous severance package on the ground and with it, her company’s privileges. Whether out of good will or good luck, TTI didn’t stick to the standard protocol of removing company cybernetics, allowing Connie to retain much of her dignity as she packed her belongings and moved back to her familiar hometown of Little China in Watson.
No longer being a TTI employee, Connie hitched up with the Tyger Claws as a lone merc for a while under the employ of Wakoko Okada. Then, in 2077, when Arasaka Tower got hit for the second time in the 21st century, Connie found herself scratching the bottom of the barrel to find gigs and contracts to pass the time as mercs flooded the street, eager to pick up the remains of the Arasaka empire.
Nowadays, you can find her in some seedy corner of the Afterlife, schmoozing away on sake and reminiscing about the good old days of the 2050s.
//PLOTS AND GOALS:
CONNIE ZHU’S TO-DO LIST
1) Find out whoever fucking axed me from TTI and put their ass permanently in a cryo-bag.
2) Pay rent
3) Try to stop Dad’s hawker business from going under (and repair relationship?)
4) Find a good gig and fast.
//SKILLS: You don't become a senior Trauma Team EMT by pulling a few strings to work your way up the corporate hierarchy. Under Carrie Lachanan's guidance, the only way to move up the ladder is to prove yourself. Connie is a skilled paramedic and emergency surgeon, able to conduct routine amputations and open air surgeries to save an individual's life. If you don't want to be flatlined, she's the gun-toting angel you can rely on to save your ass from entering the pearly gates too early and having your sins judged by whatever cruel god made this sick joke of a world.
In addition, Connie is also trained in urban combat situations and hostage rescue operations, having coordinated a Trauma Team unit of her own for a period of five years before being terminated by TTI. Things often go pear-shaped in every Trauma Team call which has fostered a sense of adaptive intuition and reactive planning in Connie to allow her to respond to every situation with a calm and steady countenance.
//EQUIPMENT:
KT G-75 Submachine Gun - "Xiao" : The bastardized inbred cousin of the tried and true iron of Trauma Team International. This sucker performs admirably in your typical firefights but without the fun of automated reloading , custom porting to ensure zero heating issues and hyper-spectral radar guidance system. It sure does sucks that your guaranteed, free company supply of guided 5.45 mm hollow-point gyro-ammo runs dry after you terminate your contract, doesn't it?
Don't answer that question.
Medkit - A titanium toolkit containing all the bells and whistles needed to conduct back-alley surgeries and med ops in the most hazardous of environments. From air-hypos filled with various stimulants, pressurized tanks full of liquid oxygen, bonesaws, scalpels, stents and the works. Just don’t expect Connie to work as a ripper doc. It’s not her specialty.
Modified Trauma Team BDU - Connie’s old TT uniform, now with several more holes, scratches and with that classic logo scratched off, lest, she wants to risk a corporate lawsuit. The shins and elbows of the suit have been reinforced with kevlar padding with a thick plate of ballistic armor-gel at the front to support her vitals.
//CYBERWARE:
TTI-ECP-G-2060-V4.5 Articulating M-Class Cyberlimb (Modified) - The best that the nano-surgeons and biosculpters of Trauma Team International have to offer. Composed out of a mixture of lightweight ceramics and hybrid alloy poly-laminates, this cybernetic limb allows a higher degree of rotation and flexibility than normal organic homologues, allowing full 360 degree rotation of ulnar-radial joints. In addition, the synthetic carbon-myofilaments allow Connie to crush metal in her grip.
In addition, this cyber-arm still contains the full integrated suite of surgical and medical equipment that Trauma Team International gives to veteran Trauma Team paramedics including but not limited to: a broad spectrum medscanner, a high-voltage defibrillator, a selection of automated hypodermic syringes and a suture applicator.
Biomonitor - A built-in biomonitor on Connie’s left arm that reads out her vital signs. Can be customized in a variety of 64 colors.
Defunct Smart-Link - Allows a user to interact with smart-weaponry if it was operational. Thanks to TTI's built in ICE, no ripper doc thus far has been able to crack through it to allow Connie to use it.
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[center][youtube]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uZwzbA91Yno[/youtube][/center]
[b][u]ROLEPLAY BUCKET LIST[/u][/b]
[indent]
- [s]Walmart Apocalypse Roleplay[/s]
- [s]Nightmare Gas Station[/s]
- Underrail/Fallout/Post Apocalyptic Roleplay. Codename: Clausterclysm
- Anthromorphic Grimdark Animal Fantasy Roleplay. Codename: Fallowbrook.
- Eldritch Abomination Garfield Roleplay. Codename: Lasagna.
- Infinite IKEA Roleplay. Codename: God Morgon
- Roleplayerguild High School RP. Codename: Highschool Roleplay
-[s] Cyberpunk South East Asia RP. Codename: Straits of Malacca. [CURRENTLY HAPPENING][/s]
[/indent]
[b][u]CURRENT PROJECTS[/u][/b]
- FRAYED TAPESTRY - AN EPIC FANTASY RP (WIP)
- THE LAST DEPRESSION - A RED MARKETS QUEST/PLAY BY POST RP (UNDECIDED)
<div style="white-space:pre-wrap;"><div class="bb-center"><img src="https://66.media.tumblr.com/7a64638c692ce98d06043791ae728d6b/tumblr_njtqxjDtIf1tqptlzo2_500.gifv" /></div><br><br><div class="bb-center"><iframe src="//youtube.com/embed/uZwzbA91Yno?theme=dark" frameborder="0" width="496" height="279" allowfullscreen></iframe></div><br><br><span class="bb-b"><span class="bb-u">ROLEPLAY BUCKET LIST</span></span><br><div class="bb-indent">- <span class="bb-s">Walmart Apocalypse Roleplay</span><br>- <span class="bb-s">Nightmare Gas Station</span> <br>- Underrail/Fallout/Post Apocalyptic Roleplay. Codename: Clausterclysm<br>- Anthromorphic Grimdark Animal Fantasy Roleplay. Codename: Fallowbrook.<br>- Eldritch Abomination Garfield Roleplay. Codename: Lasagna. <br>- Infinite IKEA Roleplay. Codename: God Morgon <br>- Roleplayerguild High School RP. Codename: Highschool Roleplay<br>-<span class="bb-s"> Cyberpunk South East Asia RP. Codename: Straits of Malacca. [CURRENTLY HAPPENING]</span></div><br><br><span class="bb-b"><span class="bb-u">CURRENT PROJECTS</span></span><br><br>- FRAYED TAPESTRY - AN EPIC FANTASY RP (WIP)<br>- THE LAST DEPRESSION - A RED MARKETS QUEST/PLAY BY POST RP (UNDECIDED)</div>
Charley
Antlers
Shu
Marik
Shoopuf
LimeTime966
Archazen
Cyrania
ClocktowerEchos
TrippyNightmare
