vietmyke
MurderVictim
Lith
Nortee
Ol Judgeent
Kuro
Krasnaya
Mae
Bluetommy
INterested
Ok let me know if you are making a sheet.
Ronan SmithβAnd here was Ronan, like a heart attack that never stopped.βLOOKS
Either nearly bald or has a very short haircut
Sometimes will let his hair grow out, but not by much
Sharp features
Cheekbones that could cut someone
Metal stud in his left ear
White, clean teeth he takes pride in
Shark eyes. The kind you can look in and only see bloodlust
PSYCHE
Violence and rage was something Ronan grew into. He didn't have it as a child, but after beating a kid half to death he decided he liked the feeling. He's unapologetic and angry but doesn't mean he doesn't lack empathy. He hates most people, but the people he does like he treats like family and will protect them until the very end. He doesn't ever back down from a fight or challenge, but he never plays fair. Ronan has no respect for the law and does whatever he wants whenever he wants to. Ronan craves violence like a drug and can start a fight in an empty room.
HEAT
The owner of a small corp. (that no longer exists, thanks to Ronan's efforts) that he helped take down and steal from. They can't do too much, but they hold a serious grudge.
Local police, mainly because he's known for starting brawls and disturbing the peace.
STREET CRED
Small-Time
He's known by local police as someone who likes to start fights, whether it's in a bar, on the street, or in a home. He's also hated by a small corporation owner, but other than that he's not known for much.
THE STORY
Ronan is from a family of wandering gypsies. When he was little, his mother, Irene took him around the country. They only settled down in Studio City when she got sick. Irene found out she had lung cancer when Ronan was about 16 and didn't tell him about it until he asked why they had a permanent home. He tried to get a basic job, but his efforts combined with the small trickle of income the gypsy business gave wasn't enough. Ronan began selling drugs for a small-time dealer. He got 25% of his sales, but it was enough to pay for his mom's treatments and then some. Although, his efforts were in vain. Cancer got her, and Irene died a few years later.
After his mother's death, his violent tendencies got worse. He actually had something to fight about. Ronan used the funds he got from selling drugs to get him out of trouble, but after fighting with a few customers the dealer dropped him. He had no dignity, no pride, and nothing to keep him out of trouble. He began stealing, which quickly escalated to him becoming a mugger. Ronan used the pay for food and a cheap house, but spent the rest on drugs to ease his pain. He doesn't do anything that would mess him up too badly, just things that keep him high enough to keep him from thinking about his mom.
Ronan now takes out his anger on his targets. He's a mercenary that doesn't really care who he needs to take down. He'll kill anyone, except for kids. He draws the line at children, although that won't stop him from taking their parents. He still does drugs, but they're mostly party drugs now. His memories of his mother are fading, now that is the focus is on his work, along with staying alive. Ronan also tries not to take contracts that are put on his friends, but he only has a few. He'll take down those he's less attached to, or he'll just break them apart and tell them to never come back. Ronan prefers to take, "teach them a lesson," jobs. Those are the ones where he can really let himself go, although he sometimes forgets that he's not meant to be beating them to death. Most of his friends are in the blood business or they're owners of bars and clubs. His friends aren't powerful, but they're family, and he wouldn't trade them for the world.
ARMED IN THE ONE AND TWENTY
Butterfly knife
Metal baseball bat he's named after his mother, the center of most of his anger.
Basic gun, used for his hits.
Synthetic Nerves. They aren't as good as normal nerve endings, but they fix the damage that drugs caused.
Electronic Contacts. A pair of contacts that make darkness less of a problem. Less light is needed to see in the dark with the help of the contacts.
...AND THE REST"Local ones at least, the corporate police stay in their corporate zones while the big boys do the rest of the work. NCPD is funded by Night City's city council which seems to have an endless fund for the police department. The corps pitch in, probably to keep the NCPD off them and off their corporate police. That isn't the problem though, they are too spread thin as it is. So many districts, most rookie officers are sent off to the combat zones where they fight the booster gangs, the crazies and the occasional corporate security team. For the most part, they are well trained, brutal and don't take any shit. Some can be nice, but can you really trust anyone these days? They use to be on the corner of every street, but look what the city is doin' to them? They've turned into savages."
-People to be wary ofSolos - are ex-military, killers, hitmen, assassins. All for hire, they live and die by the sword and the gun. You point and they shoot. Doesn't matter who if the money is right, they pull the trigger and don't look back. Allegiance is from wire transfer to wire transfer, they usually work for the corps some on contract while others as security forces.
No issues but please specify the gun, is it a pistol, rifle just need it for logistical purposes.
Then I'll review it briefly.
So I know it's probably too early to submit a CS for review, but here's my character :)Vincent "Sixer" Royalt"How's about we shake on it?"
LOOKS
Sixer is a weasel in every sense of the word. Taller than most at 6'3, his dark eyes constantly flit over his surroundings hunting for shadows in the perpetual night. A shadow of a beard lies over his face and clashes terribly with his gleaming white teeth. He slicks back his thin black hair, but you'd never be able to tell because of the worn grey newsboy cap he wears at all times. His prized possession is his "lucky jacket" which on closer inspection reveals dozens of hidden compartments and holsters sown into the bulletproof fabric. His defining trait is his deformed right hand, which has an additional 6th finger on it.
PSYCHE
Most people wouldn't be able to tell you about Sixer, not even his real name. At the very most they could you in which backstreet alley they met up with the strange, beanpole of a man. In truth he's a Fixer who doesn't rip people off, which is a weird and rare breed these days. His wits and charm are the only thing keeping him alive, since his looks certainly aren't doing any favors. Vinny prefers to stay out of the limelight, and would prefer to be on his enemies good side before the fight even starts.
HEAT
If you've even heard of Sixer, chances are you're buying from him.
STREET CRED
Oh maybe just a small timer now, but he's got plans.
THE STORY
Vincent was never a special kid, born by a prostitute without money for the pill. He grew up alongside the other faceless urchins that fed off of each other to stay alive. Really just typical in every way, that is until they started to take notice of his "defect". The teasing was bearable at first, but then the beatings started and poor 10 year old "Sixer" had no favors left to cash in. Starving and alone he wandered into a dark alleyway and witnessed what would be his retribution.
A deal gone bad, some small time booster gang wanted quickstimms, and fast. Unfortunately this particular Fixer was a bit too trusting and instead of some scratch in his outstretched hand he got the business end of a shiv. The punk had taken everything of value from the poor upstart, but left his jacket behind. Quickly the kid scurried over to the still warm corpse and tugged the jacket off the waster.
From then on Vincent Royalt was no more. Instead, small timers in the ghettos spoke about a new supplier on the streets. Nothing more than another Fixer, competing for resources and money just like everybody. Except this time the handshake was a bit different. Sure he may just be a street peddler now, but he has plans of greatness. And all Sixer needs is a gang.
ARMED IN THE ONE AND TWENTY
-jacket filled with various contraband, drugs and other small tools
- 10 mm glock, 3 extra cartridges
- Butterfly knife, dubbed "Slick"
...AND THE REST
Has connections with several small, lesser known gangs and a various assortment of other Fixers, dealers, and suppliers. Has a strong belief that the number 6 is lucky.
Go ahead and post, no issues.
Hope this is ok. ^^;Eva Fosfograv Vasilev"Orders...?"
LOOKS
A woman of average height of 167cm, her toned body contrasts heavily against the chrome she sports; cyberwear lacking subtlety and finesse, black metal against skin. Her hair changed colors by the day, sometimes by the hour, though the light and colors can be muted if she so wished. Black segmented balance tail would swish behind her as she walked, poking through either a hole in her clothing, or just poking out from under her skirt if applicable. The chrome she sports are obviously milspec to anyone casually inspecting them. Tends to wear clothing similar to what Edgerunners wear; militant looking, well used clothing with the odd holes here and there. Not out of any real desire to show off, but simply because she couldn't find money to spare to have them repaired.
PSYCHE
She was the type of person that rarely emotes, speaks little, and does orders as she was told. The kinda person one would expect a low classed grunt would be. 'Cept she wasn't a low class grunt or doorstopper, she was one of the foolish kids who went willingly into the Cyberwars, lured in by the prospect of looking swish. First it was just the tail and eyes, but the repeated tours as a Covertgrunt took more than just her limbs from her. Annabelle was quiet, suffering from PTSD, and barely spoke a word, but once ordered to do something, she would tear apart any drekhead foolish enough to step in her way without a second thought. She seemed to actively seek conflict, as if trying to drown her thoughts in more conflict to avoid thinking about it. A self destructive behaviour to be sure, one she was aware of, but one she cannot stop herself from doing.
HEAT
Some boosters perhaps, she had done some wet works on them before. Probably the government as well, though she wasn't actually any important grunt.
STREET CRED
Small time. She had just started getting back into the swing of things.
THE STORY
A young girl, still naive and innocent, joins the Cyberwars as part of the covert Elite Mechanized Combat Force.
For what reasons, Eva had long forgotten. The blood on her hands, the people she had killed, the people she had fought beside, the people who died in her arms, none of those technically exists. She did not exists. Cybergrunts were, after all, simply hogwash. They never sent her to fight in far away countries in covert wars. Even if they did, it was all for the country's interest, for the good of all in it. Patriotism, my girl! Ask not what your country can do for you, but what you can do for your country! Look, free cybers. All you needed to do was just one tour, and all of these will be yours for no charge at all.
Just one more tour, and you can leave.
Just one more tour, and she can go home.
Always one more tour. One more tour did not seem at all that daunting when she was lying in a pool of her own blood, one of her torn limbs lying on her own lap. Go home a cripple, or do just one more tour and get a spanking new cyberlimb free. It wasn't long before she got stuck in a vicious cycle of these, each tour taking a piece away from her. Both figuratively and literally. There was no leaving as well, considering the chips they installed in one of her cybers to ensure her obedience.
Soon enough, she was resigned to the life, having now a few tours under her belt, with only her torso and head being meat. Eva had, by now, racked up a reputation in her unit for being efficient at heavy weaponry, and close quarters combat. She did have some skills in jacking security and netrunning, but she wasn't anywhere close to be any sort of hot shit tiger at it. Instead, she ran the panzers, if there was any given to them; she was supposed to be covert ops after all.
Oddly enough, her salvation came in the form of a mission gone FUBAR. One where she took several shots to the body before an ACPA damn near crushed her arms before one of her more trigger happy colleagues unloaded a warhead on it. She woke up later on, just barely alive amidst the corpses left there. After patching herself up, she waited there for quite some time before realizing no one was going to come for her. Even her comms were silent. Whatever happened during the fight had fried or damaged the chips embedded in her body enough to make them think she was dead.
To cut a long story short, she salvaged what she could from there, and managed to scrape enough together to repair herself, and remove any of those chips still left in her body. After long years of being on tour, she finally returned home. However, she was unable to really find work she was able to do, and just scraping enough together for a coffin and some kibbles wasn't the life she wanted to live. Without any other real skills to work with, she turned back to murdering for euros. She didn't have much in gears, considering she sold everything on her out of her eagerness to escape that life, and she certainly wasn't fond of killing more when she finally escaped her life. But hey, anything was better than having to become a meat puppet.
ARMED IN THE ONE AND TWENTY
Her most prominent equipments were the cyberwares she sports. Both arms had been replaced with obvious bulky Soviet looking black cybers, complete with the hydraulic rams they commonly have, and ripper hands. The balance tail looks skeletal in design, as well as being bulky as well. It can be used as an extra limb, but its intended use was for housing the cybermodem link on it, allowing her to jack into the net or a vehicle. Her no frills blackened cyberlegs were standard. All cyberlimbs are covered with ballistic plastic. The only subtle parts of her chromes are the bone and muscle lacing, and the speedware installed on her body. Other than that, she has a heavy jacket, a light autopistol(the Dai Lung Cybermag 15) and a few boxes of ammo for it.
Gotta start from somewhere, right?
...AND THE REST
She has a backpack for all her other miscellaneous things like kibbles and credchips. Generic prepacks were hidden deep inside it like treasure.
[quote=@GreenGoat]
Hope this is ok. ^^;
Liked the story, me and my co-gm read it twice.
Just to clarify a few things before a verdict.
Did she finish her tour or did she desert?
Did she fight for the U.S and where?
Thanks :)