Voodoo

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

@Didgeridont

Done! Ready for the party to get started!

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

Night City was an apt name. It was dreary place during the day with not all that much going on. The food scene was lackluster and if you wanted a good beach, you'd best believe that there were better elsewhere. The nightlife was what more than made up for all the bad. As the sun set and all of the streetlights came on, you'd see the denizens below migrating toward the downtown area. The bars were numerous, the drinks plentiful, and the girls....yeah. Made him happy that he hadn't settled down yet. Victor took a drag on a cigarette and watched the cloud lazily disperse above the glittering city. He could hear the distant din of music mixing with the cars driving through the street below his balcony. He rubbed his beard idly, as he passed the cigarette over to his buddy Glen. The man was monstrous for lack of a better term. Damn near lost his entire face during some work in Yemen and had it replaced with pure metal. Reminded him of those Terminators from those movies back in the day. His right arm was a hulking mass of metal and cables and he'd seen him crush weapons and people like grapes on more than one occasion. It was odd seeing how easily he could manipulate the cigarette with it.

The sliding glass door slid open behind before as a brown haired woman, fitted dress and cybernertic arms, bottle of vodka in hand spoke at them with a thick Southern drawl.

"Y'all coming in?"

"Yeah, yeah. But pass me that real quick?" replied Victor as he motioned for Glen to finish off the cig.

"So you can keep it asshole? Get your own," Susan fired with a smile, hugging the bottle closer and rejoining the others inside.

Victor laughed as he rejoined the others inside. Susan, him, and two others along with Glen outside made up the group pregaming at Victor's
hotel room. At first, this hadn't been a plan but while they tried to figure out what to do it had become pretty clear that his hotel room was the only one among them that would fit all of them. Mercs were a bunch of cheapskates if it didn't involve guns, bombs, armor, and tech. Victor walked over to the bar, faux-wood counters that despite the plastic-like texture still looked pretty alright, and grabbed a bottle marked with red tape over the label. If there was anything that stood out about this room though, it was that the sound system was top notch and the pumping beats shook their bones and metal to the core. Definitely unexpected for the price he paid and when Art started fiddling with it, it had damn near made him piss his jeans and go full flashback; the boom was that loud. As he sat down on the couch between Susan and Troy, he took a swig of the rum in hand. Troy was regaling everyone with his last assignment. Something to do with some anti-corporate cult in Congo and how he got stuck in the back of an RV hiding under some poor schmuck who got himself shot. Over the laughs and bass, it was Art who noticed the pounding on the door first.

Victor got up to get it as Glen turned down the music. Victor couldn't keep a straight face looking at the guy. Even with his God-damned terminator face, Victor could see the worry in his bio eye. This guy could punch through plateglass and he still got scared over getting in trouble. With laughter barely being held back, he opened the door to find two men, one in hotel uniform and a cop. Confusion flashed over his eyes as he looked them over. His frame blocked the doorway but that didn't stop the other mercs from trying to peek around at the surprise visitors.

"Yo, are you the stripper?!" shouted Troy from the peanut gallery as soon as he saw the badge.

Now in his line of work, and most any lines of work, that's what would be called a mistake. The cop's face turned into a frown as the hotel employee started to fumble over his words. I guess he hadn't expected someone that towered over him.

"Oh, uh, w-we received some c-c-complaints about the noise coming from this room. We want your guests to l-leave and for you to t-turn the music down for the night. Quiet hours are in effect."

What'd that peachpuff say there?" shouted Susan from the couch as she finished off her vodka, not breaking eye contact with the hotel employee.

Victor stepped aside as the cop came forward, "Alright, everybody out. Just get to downtown already."

Victor looked over at the others inside. While he had not notion that Glen would refuse, Troy and Susan were a different story. Especially after the drinks. Mouthing at them to get the hell out while Glen meekly shuffled out with Art not far behind, Troy couldn't help but get one last jab in by stomping loudly on the ground as he walked out. Asshole. Susan followed close behind cradling a beer.

"I'll text you guys when I'm on my way. Go ahead and find a good spot."

"Get a fuckin' implant for that ya caveman," she said as she passed before leaning over and probably whispering some vulgar, hedonistic temptations into the hotel employee's ear.

Victor motioned toward the empty room, "Anything else officer?" The cop ignored the question as he scribbled onto a sheet of paper. "How about don't get me called up here again?" he said as he shoved the paper into Victor's hands and exited the room and closing the door behind him.

Malparido, he thought as he looked at the ticket before realizing that most of it had been left blank. "Pero que es con esto?" he mumbled as he flipped the paper and found it blank there too. Flippng it back and examining closely he noticed the comments section was filled out. "Red Warehouse. Docks. Now."

---

• [20:10] I'm out for tonight. Gotta deal with the ticket you guys got this crooked cop to give me.
• [20:10] Sorry man, thanks for the cig btw
• [20:11] Sucks to suck
• [20:18] I think I left my pinky in your couch fuck
• [20:22] Sucks to suck heathen

Victor changed out of his nice jeans and into some darker ones. While he didn't have the gut feeling of walking into a trap, if he was gonna get shot at tonight, his going out clothes would not be casualties. Simple grey t-shirt, jeans, boots. Wishing he could wear his tac gear while he made his way into the unknown, he knew that if he wore any of it, he'd probably get flagged down by an actual crooked cop and held up for way too long. Didn't mean he couldn't bring any of his toys though. Holstering a pistol in a non-intrusive holster, Victor stuffed a small bag with several grenades, and, after giving it a kiss, a rifle with several loose mags. Putting on a leather jacket, he stuffed some extra mags into an inside pocket and then put on his rosary and tucking it into his shirt. Slinging the back of hardware on his shoulder, Victor headed out.

The ride was mostly uneventful though he wistfully looked out the window at all of the people getting to go out to the clubs instead of working. Lucky them. Sucks to suck indeed, he thought as the lights began to fade. The cabbie had given him a bit of an odd look when Victor had told him to take him close to the docks but not wanting to question the man in dark clothes and a suspiciously bulky duffel, the cabby did well by focusing on the road and avoiding the smalltalk. Victor's heart beat faster and faster as the lights of downtown faded behind them and the dreary industrial area engulfed them. He wouldn't call it nerves. It was more like excitement. The moments before hitting the stage, the pause before the beginning of the futbol game when everyone is waiting for the whistle. Victor left after giving the guy a healthy tip and put his boots to pavement for the last four blocks. It was lonely out there, seemed like Saturday night at the docks was not what many people considered a good time. It helped though, made anything outside of his footsteps and breaths stand out that much more.

It took a while to find the warehouse. Knowing it was a red warehouse without any other direction wasn't as helpful as one would have thought but hey, the walk itself was nice. The cool night breeze streaming in from the water was refreshing with a hint of salt. It wasn't a beach and "long walks on the docks" didn't have quite the same ring to it, but it was nice all the same. It was peaceful and it really made him want some junkie or thug to try and jump him so he could get the blood flowing. Walking up to the warehouse, a pair of yellow lenses appeared over his eyes. Reaching to his pistol he pulled a small plug-like piece out from the handle and plugged it into his arm. The number of rounds in the mag popped up in front of him before fading to the corner. As he approached, he kept out of the lights above as best he could, hugging the shadows as his steps quieted. He approached the nearby car and examined it. His overlay shifted vision modes to observe the electronics of the vehicle. Car bomb was not how he wanted to go and when he found nothing out of the ordinary he went up to the warehouse and took a deep breath.

Pushing the door in, his right arm twitched in anticipation. When he entered and no rounds started flying, he exhaled. A feeling like disappointment filled him but so did a touch of relief. His lenses disappeared as he approached the others. Some men, some ladies. An old guy, an really augmented woman, two ladies on their phones, a suit and a merc, and another suit. A really nice suit actually. Almost made him feel underdressed for the occasion. Oh well. With a wave to the group as a whole, he sat down on a crate amongst them. Nearby was a concrete column. If the bullets began to fly, he knew where he'd jump to first. It was a really strange collection of people. Just what exactly were they getting themselves into? He looked over at the two suits in coordinated outfits. Seems as though they were still waiting for more.

"So I just had my night out shot. When's this party getting rolling?" he asked aloud, accent on display, as he looked over at whatever game the two women were playing. Looked kinda fun.

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

It's going. I'm a bit hungover today so I haven't been writing but I think I'll have my bit written up Sunday. :D

~Chrono Asylum: Devil's Plague

Doh. I like the idea but I have a feeling I won't be able to use some of the stuff I started on for this collab post. When I get home from work, I'll see what I can integrate well. 👍🏽👍🏽

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

Victor Santoyo

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

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n a m e ::

Victor Santoyo

c a l l s i g n ::

Chacal/Jackal

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

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

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

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

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

g e n d e r ::
Male

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

Messenger

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

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

s k i l l s ::

Lead Delivery Boy

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

Anything is a Weapon if You Kill Someone with It

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

Shock and Awe with a Lot of Loud

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

b i o m o d s ::

"Enduro" Cardiovascular Reinforcement - Cuerpo Libre Inc

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

"Guardián" Torso Endoarmor - Cuerpo Libre Inc

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

"Sobreviviante: C" - Cuerpo Libre Inc

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

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

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

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

h i s t o r y ::

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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BIOTECHNICA S.A. REGISTRANT PERSONALITY QUIZ

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

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

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

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

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

Sinning
Winning
Grinning

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

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

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

Dislikes:

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



Values:

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


Strengths:

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

Flaws:

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

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


Anything else:

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

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

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

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

Dude this music is the bomb. Where did you get this stuff?

EDIT: FUUUUUUUUK DOOD THE END ON THE SECOND SONG GOT ME HYPED

As Darkness Fell - A dark fantasy story

But little did the minotaur know, the halfling was only pretending to be dead as his innards spilled out onto the ground. Never underestimate the powers of an actor!

:P

As Darkness Fell - A dark fantasy story

Time to deploy the tactical squirt bottle.

Tactical Spray Bottle

As Darkness Fell - A dark fantasy story

It's up. Sorry for the delay cuz it was definitely me dropping the ball there but I'm over my block and ready to rumble with that terror bull.

As Darkness Fell - A dark fantasy story

A call of "There is some in there!" was all the warning Andin had before the priestess' backpack hurtled toward him. With a surprised yelp he caught the pack two-handed, swinging around and clubbing a corpse with the pack in one opportunistic motion. The body stumbled back and tripped backward over a bottle. With a hard thud it hit the floor, slowly getting back up. Andin turned back around and opened the bag, caring not for what was inside aside from his goal. The brew on the bar started to sizzle and pop with greater aggression as he rummage through Nimue's pack, sniffing with a trained nose until he found a small pouch. He pushed the pack to the side as he retrieved a small pinch of the bright green herb and threw it into the bowl. With a loud crackling, the herb disintegrated and brought the brew to greater life.

Andin focused intently on the bowl, watching the salve congeal. Turning from an sulfurous yellow, slowly, to a rather pale grey as the liquid solidified to sort of paste like consistency, Andin was focused with all of his senses on making sure that despite the chaos around them, this brew would come out as cleanly as it would in a calm lab. Or rather, as close as it could be. The Angel's Feather, as good of a catalyst as it was in this case, would likely lead to some intensified side effects if not counteracted in the aftermath of their fight. Andin took a second to turn and see how much space he had from the undead. Just in time to see the heads of all of their undead tavern-goers reduced to dust. The halfling's eyes widened.

"Maybe I should've been a priest." he thought as he whipped around and dropped a sprinkle of white powder into the bowl. The grey paste settled immediately as he stirred it in. As Andin went to grab the small bowl, the tavern shook with a tremendous roar as a fireball struck the building, aimed for their archer above. The wood creaked and moaned as if in pain, this building wasn't meant to take such an assault. Andin quickly packed up his supplies. His movements were mechanical and precise, honed by discipline and training more familiar to a soldier in the field than an alchemist in his lab, and in no time his and Nimue's bags were packed and ready to go. With a bowl in one hand, the priestess' pack in the other, and his own backpack on his back, he jumped off the stool and over a corpse before handing Nimue her pack back.

With a quick movement, he dipped his free hand's thumb into the paste and inserted it into his mouth, swabbing it on the inside of his cheeks. The halfling grimaced. The taste was, kindly put, horrendous. Like a mix of bad breath, grape, and black pepper, the taste stabbed at the tongue and sinuses for several agonizing moments before it became muted, slowly being absorbed through the thin lining of the cheeks. Andin's mind wandered back to the time he tested this type of brew and how he had been left dry heaving for nearly a week, first drafts were always full of stories. With another swipe of his thumb, he offered a dab of the paste to Sirgala and pointed the bowl toward the priestess, "Swab this on the inside of your cheeks. Do NOT swallow until the taste begins to pass, and see me after this kerfluffle is over," he shouted as he looked outside at the wizard and knight beating back the undead horde, "Are you hurt? We've gotta move!"

---

Nimue held a hand to her chest, to steady her raging heart. The adrenaline was still coursing through her veins and the glow on her circlet slowly faded. The spell had done its purpose and the magic was fading from the room. All that remained as evidence were the corpses, now headless spread about in strange positions across the inn. Some in mid action, their weapons released from their lifeless grip, others had returned to the floor from where they'd risen. She stepped around the bodies carefully, while making her way over to the potion maker Andin. The young woman was about to speak up when he handed her back her traveling bag. She swung it carefully across her shoulders, leaving it to hang on her side. The sounds of battle going on outside were unsettling. She looked through the broken windows, but couldn't clearly make out the position of the others after their departure.

Nimue wasn't sure if there was anyone left inside, she didn't want to leave anyone behind before venturing outside. This was a dangerous fight, they would have the best chance at survival by staying together. The halfling man offered her a bowl filled with a substance she again did not recognize, though that wasn't a complete surprise. She knew a fair bit about herbs but she was not an alchemist by any means. She followed his intructions without objection, though her taste buds fiercly objected to the taste of the muddy paste. It made her eyes water, she drew in a sharp breath and tried to hold back the sensation of having to throw up.

"Are you sure there isn't anyone left inside?" Nimue asked sounding concerned. The vile taste was fading, but it still made her mouth twist. She looked at Andin and the wizard Mulad. Nimue knew, as dangerous and scary as it might be, that she was most useful outside. She could keep the company safe and ward against the undead army. Eventually however they needed to find the source of this dark magic.

"I think one of us needs to go outside and aid Sir Gerhard and the others" She offered calmly.

---

Andin let out a hearty laugh as the priestess' face puckered up in disgust. "You're right! The guide is still upstairs," he said as he followed her gaze to the meat grinder outside. "I'll get the guide and meet you outside. Take this and if they can't swab it into their mouths, just rub it onto exposed skin, the thinner the better for a quicker effect," he shouted over the growing thunder of groaning undead, handing over the bowl of brownish-grey sludge. With a quick motion he drew a small thimble from a pocket on his chest and took some of the paste to go as he started to run up the stairs, cursing the undead, and human architecture alike as he ascended the many stairs.

---

Nimue rushed outside, clutching the bowl with the foul tasting potion close to her chest. Her eyes darted around the trading post, trying to locate the knight and his comrades. They were in the midst of battle beating back the relentless army of undead. Everywhere she looked the dead were rising, beating down anyone who opposed with their magic infused strength. It would be impossible to close the distance between her current position at the inn to Sir Gerhard and the others without being seen. She decided to make a run for it, running as fast as she could without tripping over the bottom of her robes. As the priestess was running to rejoin her allies one of the undead singled her out. When she rushed past, too closely, it suddenly went after her in a frenzy, trying to grab onto her cloak, arms swinging wildly.

It caught her and knocked her to the ground forcefully, making her drop the bowl the potion maker gave to her. She was just in time to keep herself from falling face first into the earth by pushing her hands down. It was trying to keep her down by grabbing onto her limbs and Nimue struggled to break free. Her heart started to beat faster and her breathing came in short panicked gasps. She forced her mind to stay calm and think of a way out. With a grunt she managed to twist around on the ground, now face to face with the undead. Its eyes glowed with an unnatural glow, its ruined face held a manic expression which made her whole body tingle with fear. It was too strong to overpower, without the element of surprise. The young woman let out an involuntary whimper as it held her wrists, forcing them to the ground.

---

While he was no tracker, it did not take too long to find the guide as all it took was to follow the burning aftermath of a fireball that had missed its mark. The halfling shouted in alarm at the spreading flame and was quick to draw a vial of blue liquid, identical to the ones he had carelessly left downstairs. "Hopefully I won't be needing anymore." he thought as he threw the vial in the burning rubble. With a loud hiss, the vial shattered and exploded into a light blue foam, coating the wood and smothering the encroaching flame. The fire was spreading but at least the shortest path was blocked. "We gotta get outta here, guide!" Andin shouted as he approached the young man, "Also put this in your mouth and don't swallow until the taste is gone!" Placing the thimble of sludge near the young man, Andin took a piece of rubble in hand and cleared the windowsill of any remnants of jagged glass. Looking out, he visibly paled at the sight of the hell-touched Minotaur. He did not have anything in his bag for that.

---

The undead did not have a chance to go for her throat, it was too occupied by keeping her pinned down, Nimue was literally fighting for her life. Her resistance was getting less fierce and her strength was starting to fade. Subconsciously her magic awakened to protect her. Threads of white shimmering fog started to form a link between Nimue and the undead. A magical cord which tied them together. She could feel its grip getting loser and it started to let go of her bruised wrists. At the same time she felt herself getting stronger, her strength was returning rapidly.

The stone in the center of her circlet glowed intensely until she could push the near lifeless body of the undead away from her. It ceased to move its once grasping limbs, now only able to blink at the dark sky. Nimue however was standing strong, restored to her full strength, bruises on her wrists completely faded away, the cuts in her face healed over. She bent down next to the undead, to retrieve what was left of the potion. With a troubled last look at her attacker she turned away to join her comrades.

---

Andin hurried as he snaked a rope out of his bag and out the window. While it didn't reach the ground, it left a manageable six foot jump, though bad luck or a sloppy landing could easily cause a twisted ankle. Retrieving a small clay container from a pouch on his belt, the halfling smashed it on the rope on the windowsill. A thick goo oozed across the rope and wood before quickly hardening, anchoring the line. "C'mon! The corpses shouldn't pay you any mind while you find another place to shoot!" shouted the halfling with a wave as he went through the window and quickly rappelled down to the bottom of the rope. Letting go, he let out a yelp as he landed on his feet and then onto his bum, his pack dragging him to the ground. He took a quick mental note "Get longer rope", before he got up, brushed off the dirt and ash, and ran over to rejoin the others.

---

Shrouded by the foul tasting potion Nimue was able to reach Sir Gerard and the wizard Mulad.
"Grand wizard, Sir Gerard!" She called out to the two men. The knight was beating back the undead with steel, the wizard shielded them with magic. She held up the bowl to them, relaying the instructions Andin had given her.
"It is a potion, you have to swab it on the inside of your cheeks but you must not swallow it. Unfortunately, there is only enough for one of you" She added, sounding regretful. It was her fault much of the potion had been wasted.

Andin joined them, pointing out the minotaur in the distance. With a bit of a crack in his voice he yelled, "I don't have Minotaur repellant!"

The sight of the creature made Nimue quake where she stood, but she tried to remain composed. The Gnoll was struggling back to his feet, partially buried by the remnants of a small building. A winged warrior was perched on top of the back of the enormous beast. It was a lot to take in for the young priestess. She didn't know where to go or what to do. A battle of this scale was completely unfamiliar to her. She usually dealt with the aftermath of these battles, taking care of the survivors and guiding the souls of the departed. Right now she was in the fray herself.

The halfling stood nearby, a wild look in his eyes as he tried to account for all the things available to them. Something of a plan was forming in his head but the moaning of the undead made it quite hard to concentrate. He didn't know much about the hell-touched minotaur as a species but perhaps that same hellish corruption which gave it strength could be its downfall.

"Mulad, would holy water weaken that thing?!"