The morning had already been full of surprises so meeting the paradigm himself, Hugo Hunghorasz, on any other day would have reduced him to fits of prostate bowing in front of a magician of astronomical caliber. Seeing Jocasta, the student that he had met in the local Stresian Guild library, was also quite a shock but that didn’t even come close to the announcements that the Arch-Zeno laid before them like a decree.
30 minutes to prepare? I can barely make a cup of Danzagg in 30 minutes!
This was a task far more suited for a Stresian diplomat or an expeditionary, not a scholar of his trade who was far more used to the bookshelf than traversing the vast opens of Constantia like a gallivanting adventurer. Onarr, however, didn’t have enough will in him to testify against an Arch-Zeno, especially one above him in the societal totem pole of Ersand’Enise. He would just have to put faith in the old mage’s wisdom and hope that he wasn’t sending students to their death in an attempt to make room for classes.
Onarr studied what he had on his person. He was currently in his evening clothes and his cloak, with a block of dried goat cheese and his trusty helmet covering his hideous face along with a few curios on his person. Good items for a day of academic study but completely lacking for excursions in foreign lands. Taking out a piece of parchment, Onarr took out a chunk of coal from his pockets and began to scrawl out a list of items for Jocasta to bring to him.
A bottle of whale oil Smithing tools underneath bed Boar jerky and a bag of nutmeg Pickled limes His satchel of Perrenchian currency His half-completed casting staff Summer clothes in his wardrobe
After completing his shopping list and handing it over to Jocasta, Onarr walked over the group, recognising a few familiar faces such as Leon Soilare, his fellow first year student who made a stunning impression at the induction ceremony. The storm of conversation and harried planning made the Joruban lose his mind but eventually, he found focus as he began to speak. “ Appropriate disguises will be needed, most assuredly,” Onarr nodded in response to Desmond’s plans, before raising a finger. “ We would need to also adopt the local slang of the region in order to better conform and reduce attention to ourselves and ingratiate ourselves with these vagabonds. I am only familiar with “ Arrrr, me maties” . Does anyone know any other local Mycormish slang?”
Onarr’s mind quickly began accelerating at all the possible items he would need. Whilst he was no stranger to seawater, his helmet was constructed of castle-forged steel. His helmet would most likely rust and fall apart whilst on this mission which would render his magnetic magicks useless. After some consideration, his mind turned to one of the many Stresian Scholars, Ioha, to be precise. Her work on construction of naval vessels was interesting but what was far more interesting were her conjectures on the application of chemical magic in metallurgy…..
“ I believe I require the most change in attire. A helmet such as this will falter in the environment we will be heading to,” Onarr rapped the steel of his helm before turning towards Hugo. “ Would it be possible to acquire a 1 kilogram block of raw zinc? For experimental purposes, of course. “
Connie couldn’t tell whether it was day or night by the time she made it back to her apartment unit safely. Evenings and mornings were blended together for TTI medics until they became one and the same. Only a schedule of mandated corpo melatonin formulas and caffeine allowed her to maintain the inhuman circadian cycle required for a TTI operative. Without her corporate pills, Connie’s body ached and screamed, every muscle pleading with her to go to sleep. Her heart pounded like a drum in her head and her bones were jelly. Only pure spite towards Regina’s sympathy kept her awake as she walked in the hallways of the sparse Mega-Building. The vendors were busy wheeling away their carts to take a rest before tomorrow’s hustle and a couple of reefers were puffing out hoops in an abandoned ice rink. Her heavy footsteps echoed through the concrete halls as she tried to recollect her apartment number.
Was it 876…..892…..no, I think it was…..
Her fingers pawed the biometric sensors of a door and it slid open. Stumbling into her room, her sleep-deprivation and punch-drunk state combined to form a potent clumsy cocktail as her hips slammed into the countertop. Bottles of synthol fell onto the ground with dull clinks as she navigated her way through sheer instinct to the bathroom. Her apartment had been a mess ever since she moved in. Bullet shells and cigarette butts were scattered like ants on the apartment floor, her boots crunching them underfoot as she strode forth.
As she splashed warm water on her face, she could already hear ma ma telling her how unclean her room was. How she wasn’t eating enough. That she needed to find a real corpo job instead of working as some back alley mercenary. She guffawed at the thought. If only she saw what being a TT medic really was like. Some merc jobs were easily more stomached than the type of grisly shit she heard employees pulled in companies like Biotechnica or Militech. Her naive self made the mistake of thinking that TTI was different and where did it get her now? Living from contract to contract in a shitty overpriced apartment was hardly the ideal of the American Dream that every newscaster seemed to hump to.
The TT uniform was off in a series of swift practiced motions as she shimmied out of it. With both her hands on the rim of the sink, Connie looked at herself. A stitch of bruises ran up her belly up to the middle of her breasts. Her fingers traced a tiny one, dark and purple, over her heart. The tenderness brought back the memory of how she earned that one five days agao, when a Tsunami nekomata nearly cored through her upper lung. The ablative kevlar plate on her uniform managed to deflect it.Her mind continued to fill in the blanks, as she opened the mirror cupboard. She ignored the sharp peaks of stinging pain as she sutured back in a stitch that she had torn open during her fight on the train.
Possible subdural hematoma…….bruising for five days……….superficial frontal cuts……..sprained wrist…..all in all, not bad, Connie
The in-built receiver in her mirror began to ring quietly. Connie recognized the number. Her fingers hovered briefly over the green ‘ACCEPT’ button, unsure, before pressing it.
“ Mom.”
“ Hui Liang….” Her mother’s pursed countenance could be heard through the receiver. Her voice carried a sharp edge to it as she continued speaking. “ ……Are you well?”
“ Yeah,” Connie lied, grinding her teeth to muffle the yelp of pain as she pulled a shard of glass out of her shoulder. “ ….Sorry if I haven’t called you enough. I’ve been busy at work -”
“ Connie, Frank told me about today. How could you not tell me that you’ve been fired from Trauma Team International for six months!”
“ It’s not like I was fired. I was…” Connie stumbled as she searched for the exact bullshit excuse her supervisor told her. “....put on reserve.”
“ And getting involved with the underworld of Night City? We raised you to be a responsible, law abiding individual, not associate yourself with brigands and hooligans - “
“ Well, I’m dealing with it. O-” Connie yelped as she applied too much pressure on a shell she was pulling out.
“ What was that?”
“ Nothing. Nothing.” Connie palmed one hand over her eye in frustration before replying back. “ Is there anything else you’re here to complain about, ma ma?”
“ It’s your father, Hui Liang.” The softness in her mother’s voice made her skin tingle in fear of the next words.
Yero was a third sibling in a family of 10 on Ionus and seemed destined to toil on a hydroponic farm for the rest of his life, helping his family harvest and sell their produce to nearby systems in the Inner Sphere. Ever since witnessing his first military parade from the shoulders of his beleaguered father on Ionus, the majesty of battlemechs stomping across ferrocrete streets captured his imagination. At the ripe, bold age of 15, Yero tried hard to enter into Ionus Military Academy to become a full Mechwarrior and reap the glories that he saw in his early childhood. However, a medical examination revealed that a cochlear defect would prevent Yero from being able to wear a neurohelmet and fully pilot a mech without suffering further injuries.
Some would say this was the catalyst for Yero’s descent into depression and full on development of imposter syndrome. However, in spite of his bitter regret, Yero signed up as a member of his provincial military. His talent and fleet-footed mind eventually propelled up the ladder to NCO status, eventually becoming a lieutenant of his own platoon. However, trouble struck during a pirate skirmish where it was discovered that several members of his platoon were running a hashish trafficking operation with the pirates. To protect his platoon (or to flee the military in his own opinion), Yero took the lion share’s of the blame and after a military tribunal, was summarily discharged for insubordination and then, arrested for collaboration with criminal elements in the Free World Leagues. Yero was then sent to live a 10 year sentence in a prison colony on Wendigo.
Spending 2 years in confinement, a mass breakout occurred Yero escaped with a group of convicts in a K-1 DropShuttle and hopped from mercenary to mercenary team across the Inner Sphere, accumulating a sizable group of people who looked towards him as a natural leader. Eventually, his crew of 25 odd people eventually made their way into Marley’s Misfits whereby he was made captain. The high casualty rates of contracts on the mercenary company’s infantry units eventually led to
Personality: Yero is a greedy, selfish man who is leading all the poor souls of the Marley Fusiliers to their doom and will be remembered in history as the single most incompetent infantry commander of the 31st century…..is what he would say to you.
Whilst bearing a confident and witty demeanor on the outside, Yero is wrought with pathological self-doubt and believes that he is not as courageous, strong or the bonafide tactical genius that his men think he is. Humble does not even begin to describe the vast depths of his self-loathing as he takes great efforts to diminish his accomplishments by either crediting them to other individuals, coincidence or just ignorance. Such is his self-loathing that he is prone to going into fetal positions of distress in private moments when he is not being observed and crying himself to sleep in order to keep functioning as a part of his company. He believes that the thought of attaining enough kerenskys to retire on some ocean world far away from the incoming crisis of the Fourth Succession War is what fuels him and not the fact that he is addicted to danger in any way possible.
In reality, Yero possesses near suicidal levels of bravery in combat as the threat of death barely manages to make him blink. In addition, Yero is also a veritable tactical genius, able to understand where his men need to be placed on the battlefield and having a knack for logistics and management. His former military background also gives him He is also a deeply empathetic and compassionate individual towards his own men, putting their own needs ahead of his, which he often regards as evidence of his talents in sociopathic emotional manipulation.
Yero has a habit for boozing up with Yangtze Pale Ale and religiously guards his private reserves from the rest of the mercenary company.
Over the years since the formation of Marley’s Fusilier’s , the lucrative financial remunerations of contracts attracted all sorts of scoundrels, savages, soldier units and wanderers from across the Inner Sphere. Today, they are known as relative nobodies in a system full of crack commandos and super soldiers. If you need a suicide bomber, someone with a jump pack to sneak up onto a Flea and plant an AV mine into a jockey’s cockpit or an extra liver for an emergency procedure, then, you can call on the Marley’s Fusiliers.
The Marley Misfit Fusiliers roughly consists of over 3 companies worth of armed infantry, numbering roughly 298 personnel in total split between 3 platoons worth of men and women. There is no formal organization, given the fact that multiple squads with different SOPs from across the Inner Sphere, can be found, but intensive pressure and management of Jero has managed to beat some sense of direction into unit cohesion. Each company is responsible for management and battle readiness of their own supplies, loadouts and equipment whilst Jero and other recruit new Fusiliers into the infantry. Mercenaries will regularly switch between companies on a chaotic basis and are given a free degree of latitude on how to conduct themselves.
Slaughterhouse Company
Total Members: 108
Commanding Officer: Lieutenant Rosar “ One-Eye” Indel - A former capellan commando who washed out after a tragic mission during the brewing years of the 4th Succession War. Converted to a highly individualized sect of Omniss during medical leave and became obsessed with bringing peace at any cost by killing those who were unpeaceful. Eventually came into contact with Marley’s Misfits and signed up.
First to enter and the last to leave when shit hits the fan. Primarily used in first strike operations or used to conduct strikes on enemy positions.
Crimson Squad: Crimson Squad is the oldest squad of the Red Shirts with multiple members having been there since the inception of Marley’s Misfits. Iago. Generally the most well balanced and mentally sane of all the squads in Slaughterhouse.
Bonebreaker Squad: An astounding number of their mercs in this squad have training in HVA insertions and are known for incurring the highest medical fees of all squads post-contract due to their tendency to break all their bones when they land.
Burgundy Squad: Rumors exist that members of Burgundy Squad are cannibals from their common tendency to distribute finger and tooth necklaces from the corpses of their fallen enemies, much to the disgust of the battalion. Otherwise, they’re reliable foot infantry. Just be wary of falling asleep next to a member.
Carmine Squad: Known for boasting members that have the best accuracy and perception which makes them lethal sharpshooters. Members regularly compete with other mercs in darts and billiards and bet ludicrous amounts of post-contract payments in casinos.
Adrenaline junkies who are prone to performing daring manuevers in the battlefield in aerial and land based transport vehicles. Suspected of taking multiple joyrides with war material in contracts and damaging company equipment.
Dove Squad - Originally used to be called Falcon Squad in the early years of the Marley Misfits before an inordinate number of mercs with both medical and vehicular pilot training were recruited into the squad. Noted for being potential sadists in Slaughterhouse Company due to their tendency to resort to amputation.
Eagle Squad - Every member of Eagle Squad learns the hard way that no, you can’t dogfight an Aerofighter with a VTOL or a transport carrier, no matter how much shells you lob in their general direction.
Turtle Squad - If you need to be transported somewhere fast on land, don’t rely on Turtle Squad.
Rat Squad - The only infantry unit with enough balls to ride on dune buggies and cycles underneath the crotch of an Atlas mech.
The only platoon in Slaughterhouse Company that is trusted with the usage of jump packs in combat. Typically collaborates with elements of Octane Platoon for high velocity HALO insertions. Stimulant usage is notably high amongst this platoon to stave off inertial stress and the nausea of using jump packs.
Thunder Squad - Jump-infantry squad noted for being particularly fond of dropping C8 explosives on enemy positions mid-jump. All mercs are noted to suffer tinnitus and hearing problems
Lightning Squad - Talented in usage of shooting with rifles and weaponry mid-jump. Informal sharpshooting competitions are held between members of Lightning Squad with more than one individual becoming horribly injured in an attempt to break company records.
MORE SQUADS TBA
Saboteur Company
Total Members: 102
Commanding Officer: “Private” Peter Lucell - Former Comstar Beta Adept who was imprisoned for deliberately hiding deliberate sabotage of mobile HPGs on trade vessels as mechanical failures in return for payment by roving pirate crews.
Consisting of a combination of foot infantry with combat engineer elements, Errant Platoon primarily serves as Saboteur’s company demolitions experts and primary anti-mech force when the Mechwarriors are unable to get the job done.
SQUADS TBA
Generally a grab bag group of scientists and combat engineers who specialize in acquiring and stealing gear from the battlefield to repurpose it for the mercenary company’s own usage.
SQUADS TBA
Serve as the general gearheads of the company, being able to fix anything with sprockets and judicious usage of plasma welding.
In times of tough situations or when the terrain is unsuitable for vehicular or mechanical reconnaissance, this platoon breast mounted infantry troopers are primarily used for stealth reconnaissance of enemy positions without alerting them of their presence.
Consisting mostly of former commandos from ComStar and the Draconis Combine, they are highly reclusive and elitist compared to the rest of the company, preferring to keep their affairs to themselves. In other words, they're complete and utter loners. Used mostly for contracts in zero gravity enviroments.
When you absolutely, positively need to bury everyone on the battlefield in caskets, Casket Platoon will reduce the entire battlefield to a bloody mist thanks to the absurd number of field guns in their possession that can raze a mountain into a flat plateau.
Slaughterhouse Company
Weaponry
Equipment
Vehicular Assets
“Mother Nest” - Karnov UR Transport AC/2 Variant
Specifications: 2 x Bulldog Minigun, 1 x Armstrong Autocannon, 2 x LSRM Launcher, Dual Interfus 155
“ Dying Light” - AC/2 Fire Support Carrier
“ Galapagos - Goblin Medium Tank
" Kangaroo" - Heavy Hover APC
"Poker" - Ignis SRM Model
“ Rat King” - 10 x Dune Buggies/Skimmers With Varying Alterations
" Excalibur" - Von Luckner Heavy Tank
" Scrapper" - Marsden II-A MBT
" Yin and Yang" - Bulldog AC/2 MBT and Bulldog LRM-20
Sabot Company
Weaponry
Equipment
Vehicular Assets
"Piggyback" - Battlemech Recovery Vehicle
13 x Flatbed Trucks
"London" - Prometheus Combat Support Bridgelayer
"The Hand of Truth" - Oppenheimer Hazardous Material Recovery Vehicle
Phantom Company
Weaponry
Equipment
Vehicular Assets
NOT FINISHED. TO BE ADDED AND EDITED OVER THE WEEK. JUST PUT HERE AS A PLACEHOLDER.
After an Category V Kaiju emerged from the Breach and unleashed a global electromagnetic storm, communication lines and power grids went offline for 48 hours. In those hours, an unprecedented surge in breach activity resulted in Kaiju flooding the entire world. Whilst the majority of economically developed nations wait with bated breath behind the Wall of Life, many countries are left to fend for themselves in the wake of this devastation.
You are a Jaeger pilot. Whether you're a veteran, a rookie or a nobody PPDC pulled off the street, your day job involves piloting a 8000 tonne war machine and beating the shit out of any kaiju to slow down the advance of humanity's doomsday. You are currently on reserve in the Lima Shatterdome on the coast of Peru, waiting for your Jaeger to receive diagnostic checks and repair, whilst the Peruvian LOCCENT tries to sort out their shit. All the while, the sounds of warning klaxons and kaiju roars are in the distance, calling on you to wage war.......
The odds for humanity right now seem insurmountable but anything can be overcome if you dream big enough.
DECOMISSIONED JAEGERS AWAITING PILOTS
- Puma Real, Mk 2, PANAMA [UNCLAIMED] - Diablo Intercept, Mk 2, CHILE [UNCLAIMED] - Solar Prophet, Mk 2, PERU [UNCLAIMED] - Eden Assassin, Mk 2, RUSSIA [UNCLAIMED]
- You don't really need to be familiar with Pacific Rim lore to get into this RP. The basic gist is of this setting is that giant monsters known as Kaiju began emerging from the centre of the Pacific Ocean in 2015. In response, the nations of the world formed the PPDC (Pan-Pacific Defense Corp) and began building giant mechanical robots known as Jaegers in response to the threat.
- I'll be accept 4-8 players for this RP. As Jaegers require two individuals to pilot it, the rules for application are slightly different. Two players can apply together as co-pilots of one of the Jaegers above in a single application or one player can sign up as two copilots. Applications must also contain details of the Jaeger.
- You are given free reign to design, edit and alter whatever Jaeger you claim to your liking because these Jaegers, despite being in canon, have little to no detail to them. More information will be given in the actual OOC but keep in mind, your Jaeger is not a Mk 5 like Striker Eureka.
- Looking for a roughly casual/advanced level of writing. Being a mecha-enthusiasts also earns you brownie points.
“ THIS IS THE KABUKI SUB-DISTRICT, WATSON. TRANSFER IS AVALIABLE TO 6A, 6B and 6D. PLEASE STAND CLEAR OF THE CLOSING DOORS, PLEASE.”
Connie rubbed her knuckles tenderly, not even noticing NCRT security wading past the doors, hollering for everyone to get down and provide identification. Whilst everyone was busy handing out their identification papers and jacking in the local netrunner to verify themselves, Connie was tussling through the pockets of one of the gangoons that she had laid out on the floor along with the other dozen or so around her who were either unconscious, in pain or a combination of both.
“ Didn’t think of you for a vulture, Zhang,” A cocky voice rang out, causing Connie to pause mid-looting and look up. The cop was burly, enormous shoulders hunched together like a log and with arms that looked almost freakish. Connie would’ve mistaken him for an Animal if it wasn’t for the laminated NCPD badge pinned on the ironed lapels of his work uniform. His eyes were mismatched, one a Kiroshi optic whilst the other was a solid ball of gold, velvet red kanji inlaid where the pupil would be located.
“ Being picky doesn’t pay bills, Frank,” Connie mused, standing up to go. However, Frank wasn’t going to have any of that, crossing his arms, and looking at her expectantly as if she’d graffitied her school principal's aerodyne. “Look, nothing serious aside from a few epidurals and the guy whose nuts I crushed. Besides, good opportunity for you to get them singing while the paras hook them on benzo.” “ Connie.., ” Frank palmed his face in embarrassment “ I can’t keep covering for you in post-ops everytime you get into an incident. I get you’re still angry about how TT treated you but it’s been 2 years. Maybe, it’s time to move on?”
Connie’s face became granite at the mention of her prior employer. Frank bit his lip, recognising a lost argument, before pulling on Connie’s shoulder and pushing her out the door of the carriage.
“ Listen, I appreciate what you did for all of us in the department when you were a senior in TT. All of us do, but do this one more time….”
“ What?” Connie asked, hostility in her voice. “ Or you’ll call MAX-TAC on me? Ask me to sign up with the crazies?”
Frank’s eyes widened, a hurt frown on his chapped lips. His fingers drummed the sides of one of the aluminum poles, unsure of what to say to his friend.
“ Stay out of trouble, Connie.”
The train doors shut and the security-holo tape sprouted from the station platform before Connie could get the last word in. The barrier of yellow warning signs and spastic red markers mirrored off Connie’s parka as security bots began ushering the general public out of the way. Connie waited until the platform was devoid of any onlookers before making her way out of the busy station. She looked down at the scratches and flecks of dried blood that crusted the polymer coating of her right prosthetic arm. Rainwater would be pissed off about the damage she’d done to the polymer coating but the guy was naturally more pissed off ever since Bucks got iced earlier in the year.
A light drizzle began to overtake Night City, her boots impacting the slick asphalt. Some took out parasols and others made their way for the cover to not let their 1000 eddie digs get ruined by a storm. Beads of rain ran down the hood of her refractive parka. The skyscrapers and concrete jungle of Night City seem to soften in the rain, almost forming an abstract painting in the sheets of gray that poured down from the gloomy skies above. Connie hunched up her shoulders, moving from alley to alley and taking care to avoid the look of any stalkers or roving gangoons.
It was a good solid half hour of walking before she made it onto the ground floor of Yaiba. It was not the tallest skyscraper in Kabuki but it was a well hidden secret amongst edgerunners who frequented the area. The lower ground floors were commercial, a few start-ups and stores here and there who were taking advantage of the low rent offered by developers. The cracks of the concrete told of the building’s history, well before the Time of the Red, and the 2030 corporate architecture had been swallowed in a colorful tide of Watson’s street artists.
Connie entered the elevator, entering in a specific combination of buttons that would seem random to anyone else who would happen to be in the elevator with her. The light over her blinked for a moment before the floor beneath her jolted and began ascending. The clear window in the elevator offered her a clear view of Watson. She could see the coast of Pacfica, the beams of light streaming out from the center of the Corpo-Plaza into the aether and the scarred expanse of the Bad Lands beyond.
The elevator dinged and she walked out into Regina’s office. The fixer never seem to take a break. Everyday, Connie would find the former WRS news jockey parked on a chair with a thermos full of recaf on her table and her eyes glued to multiple monitors displaying news feed across all of NC, the Euro Theatre and the Pacific Rim.
“ Back early.” Regina remarked, not even blinking at Connie’s disheveled, soaked appearance. “ You got the mark?”
“ Part of him, “ Connie dipped into her pocket and flicked
“ Ah.” Regina shook her head in mild disappointment as Connie hid her bangs too late to hide the grievous red cut that ran on her cheek. “ You should get that looked at.”
“ I’ll glue it.” Connie’s thumb scratched her palm nervously, trying to judge Regina’s passive expression. Was she mad? Angry? Unbothered by the fact that Connie disobeyed her instructions? “ You got any more gigs to give me, boss?”
“ I do. However - “ Regina froze Connie’s excitement with that single-eyed glare of hers. “ I’m not sure if I should give it to you.” The issue isn’t how you handled this job. It’s the fact that this isn’t sustainable. Look at you, Connie. How long have we known each other?”
“ One year,” Connie admitted.
“ One year. You’ve been slummin’ up more contracts than any other merc, all just to make sure you’re staying on the right side of the line. I only know one another choom who had the same type of ethic you had. They only had six months left to live. What’s your excuse?”
Connie looked down, away from Regina’s penetrating stare as the weight of her left prosthetic felt heavy. As much as she hated to admit it, Regina had a point. She wasn’t bought, forced or coerced into joining Trauma Team International. If she was angry about being axed, what did she have to cry about? Plenty of corpos were dropped off when the stock price fell or their floor was on the verge of bankruptcy.
“ I needed structure in my life. TT gave me structure. This is the only way to have it.”
The two continued staring at each other for 30 seconds before Regina balked and rolled to the other side of her desk, snatching a data sheet to give to Connie.
“ Well, hopefully, this is the last gig that I give you. I got a tip off from a contact in the Afterlife. Fixer there’s doing a headhunt for mercs. Someone with your skill set would stick out from the crowd. You’ve spent most of your life saving other lives, Connie. I’d reckon it’s about time you start focusing on saving yours.”
Going on the NCRT was like buying a lottery ticket.
Some days were crowded with mid-level corpos and commuters struggling to make it out from the city centers to the monolithic hab blocks. Some days were sparse whenever NCPD or MAX-TAC decided to do a district lockdown.
Today was annoyingly the former for Connie. The hydraulics in her left arm were becoming stiff from the firefights that she’d become involved in all week. The cramped moulded plastic seats in the mono-rail didn’t make things better. If she had a half a mind, she’d suspect that the city council was trying to prevent vagrants from sleeping on them if the automated security drones on the bus didn’t dispose of them first. The sun was smoldering red by the time she was five minutes away from the nearest stop in Watson. She was tired as fuck and wanted to get boozed up in her bed as soon as possible. Jone’s little gig had taken so much out of her that all she wanted was a good night’s rest that was followed up with an appetizer of sake.
Unfortunately, Night City had other plans. Muffled yelling and shouting filled the train car. Connie blearily opened one eye as she observed what was happening. The other passengers in the car began filing to the other side of the rail car, forming two crowds at the end. The newcomers were dressed in thick garish neo-kitsch jackets with diodes and canyons of circuitry running from head to toe and across their tanned cheeks. The smell of Pacifica’s briny waters was stuck to their glistening open chests which were entangled with gauche chained necklaces. Their chrome was Scandinavian quality and the iron was street level, nothing of a mil-spec quality that Connie saw in her TT days. They didn’t have the colors of the Valentinos or Tyger Claws on them. They were most likely a minor gang that rose up in the wake of the second Arasaka Tower Fire.
Please don’t look at me. Please don’t look at me.
They looked at her.
Shit.
Connie signed internally as she heard footsteps coming closer.
Couldn’t Night City just give her one hour where she didn’t have to kill someone?
“ Hey there, babe.”
One scav was leaning over, an acrid cologne of CHOO making Connie’s nose curl. He pushed his body close to Connie, pressing against her parka uncomfortably. His crew occupied the other side of the rail car. Most were just keeping silent to themselves, whilst a few others were egging him on. From this close, Connie could see the chipped jags of yellow teeth and blood-burst eyes that were the signs of synth-coke addiction. “ How’s ‘bout we get out of here and you be my output for the evening?”
“ Here’s an idea. Piss. Off, “ Connie hissed in disgust, desperately focusing her attention on the blurred skyline outside the window as the monorail cruised above the smoky streets. Hopefully, the druggie could take a hint and move on for his sake.
“ Aw, come on. Don’t be so shy. “ Connie’s fist, flesh and bone, clenched as fingers danced around her chin, making her skin crawl, as he wrenched her face forward to look at his own. “ Can’t we have a little fun - “
The scav then squealed and looked down at Connie’s fist, currently buried in his pants. 2000 newtons of force was currently pressing down around his crotch in a vice-like grip. In any other situation, this would have been considered some fucked up version of foreplay in her bathroom with someone she wanted to stuff it with. The scav tried to worm out of her grip as if he’d been caught in a mouse-trap. Meanwhile, Connie hadn’t even moved from her position, still sitting down as she stared daggers at him.
“ I can’t be an output if you don’t have any input, jackass,” Connie growled impatiently, squeezing harder as the scav’s face turned a cherry red, pointing his finger out at her face.
“ You bitch, I’ll -”
Wrong answer. A thought was all it took for the gangoon’s crotch to turn into a misshapen mess of mince meat. His lungs then proceeded to explore every pitch known to mankind. Eyes squinted in deleterious pain, the scav’s hands pawed in between his legs, frantically trying to fix what remained of his mangled manhood together. He eventually gave up, knees falling first, before his head slammed against the floor of the train.
She turned her head lazily over towards the other gangoons who were flicking out switchblades, batons, all the usual blinged crap that scavs carried.
“ I’ve got five minutes.” Connie cracked her neck, yawning. “ Try not to waste your time with me.”
It was an hour since they’d taken the call and Conrad’s body had to be left behind with the others. Connie had no choice. It was either the choice of being eaten or eaten alive by the scavs. She had a feeling that having your insides pilfered by the Maelstroms was a experience that the live-radio interviews on NC Live
Braindance addicts crowded the alley they were in, some slumped over in their drunken stupor and others waving their hands in their air as if they were trying to catch fairies. Their gaped, drooling mouths heaved out wet, mucous breathes in a quiet chorus. They were down to five personnel, including herself. Connie checked both ends of the alleyway, checking that the coast was clear, before pressing a button on the side of her helmet.
“ This is TT-S-1479 to TT-Central. Multiple 10-99, I repeat, multiple 10-99’s.”
There was a short burst of static before an elderly voice, wracked with years of smoking, took over. Connie’s shoulders sank in relief as the familiar voice of Major Dhatri took over. Things would be alright now.
“ This is Major Dhatri. Sitrep, TT-1479.”
“ Call is FUBAR, I repeat, call is FUBAR. We are currently located on 5th, Vista El Sonya, Heywood. Multiple contacts on our location. Requesting reinforcements over.”
Connie’s blood then went cold at the major’s reply.
“ All available trauma units are currently taking calls. You’re on your own, Zhu.”
“ Roger, over and out - “ Connie cancelled the call, her hand shaking, before she let loose a frustrated scream “ Fuck!”
She punched the brick wall before turning to her team. There were five of them left. She couldn’t tell their expressions under their helmet but this wasn’t a good look for her. Taking a breath in to recompose herself, she tried to assert order over her panicking squad, speaking in a clipped fashion.
“ Alright, everyone, listen up. I’m taking one out of our paychecks and calling a Combat Cabb.” Groans of disappointment could be heard in the alley. “Our pick-up is a 10 minute ETA nearly half a klick away. Now, move it on the do-”
The temperature seemed to lower by 15 degrees as the entire team heard the sound of metal scraping off concrete. Across the end of the alleyway was a Maelstrom gangoon, the entire left side of his face carved out and replaced with a hideous metallic simulacrum of itself. His red optics flickered and underneath that inhuman gaze was a curled lip of satisfaction. He ran his thermal machete against the side of the alleyway, the edge bouncing off the uneven surface.
“ Lookie what we caught here.” He giggled. “ A buncha bonesaws.”
Connie heard the click of receivers, shadows above them on the roof. She began to feel slowly like a rat in a cage as she barked out orders.
“ Oh fuck! RUN-”
“ - RUN!” Connie burst out of her blankets, gasping like a fish taken out of deep water. Her breathing slowed as she took in her surroundings. Bottles of synthetic vodka laid on the floor next to her. The orange sunrise of Night City flowed through the blinds, illuminating the dust that floated in the air. The other breathing occupant of the room murmured in annoyance, a languid arm rising out of the blankets to pull her back into her embrace.
" 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.
“ Isn't it a little late for you to be drinking Danzagg, my boy?”
The proprietor of the Hyena’s Laugh looked at Onarr worryingly as the midget poured his fifth cup of fermented black Danzagg down his helmet. Unlike normal Danzig, Danzagg had been stored within an oaken barrel for over a period of five moons. Onarr had mistaken it once for real Danzig and had drunk an entire cup when he was 10 years old. By the time he was seeing wyrms emerging from his skin and his hair being lit on fire, he realized he’d made a horrible mistake.
“ What are you talking ‘bout?” Onarr belched out a gassy burp. “ It’s never too late to drink Danzagg! Another one!”
The proprietor of the bar shook his head as he refilled Onarr’s glass. Onarr’s reddened complexion was hidden under his helmet, the kitten huddling underneath his coat. Sounds of loud partying and riotous celebration drowned out any chance of peace in his helm as the alcohol burnt in his gullet. His thumb flicked against the spoon that was buried into his now cold plate of beef stew like a flagpole.
Others around him were buried in the throes of discussion, speculation about the future of Joru and what Yibozo’s new position meant for the future of their country. Unbridled optimism and nationalism suffused the air around him like the inside of a fishwive’s tent, its aroma blinding and intoxicating. Onarr could hear the tenets of Joruban rationality being exchanged around endlessly between his folk like conkers whilst manic whispers of more extreme plans wormed around, waiting for the right time to strike.
So, was he the mad one here? If every Joruban around him was excited, why didn’t he feel victorious? Wasn’t Joruban rationality what he had been aspiring to for his entire life? Or was another man’s rationality just another man’s insanity?
“ Hail to Yibozo, brother!”
Onarr turned his head around to see a classmate, an older one by the looks of it. He’d somehow manage to accomplish what looked like a Joruban salute, even in his drunken state. Onarr returned it in kind but with two fingers behind his back.
" 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.
[center][img]https://66.media.tumblr.com/7a64638c692ce98d06043791ae728d6b/tumblr_njtqxjDtIf1tqptlzo2_500.gifv[/img][/center]
[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>
Shu
Antlers
wintersoldier
Mixtape Ghost N
TrippyNightmare
Charley
Marik
Shoopuf
Lime
Archazen
