What follows in the beggining of a peice of SR fiction. This is background fiction about a running team, consiting of a hacker (who leads the team), a Troll Magician, a human fixer, a dwarf weapon specialist, a human (maybe elven) rigger, and Elven razorgirl (more or less). In the future I may get character sheets up for them. Being completely new to the system I would appreaciate it if you pointed out idiosyncracies in setting, as well as any feedback. What I am posting is the initial work for two characters, both will have further elaboration in later fiction, especially the fixer. Cheers
To understand Archelaus you have to understand about Kyla. While the lightning was cackling overhead they met in an old and dilapidated bus station in the year 2065. While we are being clique, lets say that he was in the right place at the right time. Now no one knows exactly what Archelaus was up to before 2065, his history with us began that night as the train was still speeding Westward towards the Seattle slums. In that red-orange jumpsuit he always wore, Archelaus was relaxing on a threadbare seat, little specs pf yellow padding jumping out with every bump and rattle. But he was unconcerned. The scenery whipped past but he couldn't care less about those ephemeral forms which collected and dissipated behind the dirt-smeared window.
What Archelaus was interested in was the young ork sitting beside him. She appeared to be about 14 and pretty in an orkish kind of way. Like many who underwent goblinization there was hurt in her soul and pain drawn in deep lines on her young face. It struck Archelaus deeply to see such wounds, for their struck harmony with certain resonance deep within him. In this moment the small train car, enclosed by piss-coloured walls of a cheap plastic that was already cracking, was filled with a kind of power. Not a magic like the mages toss about, or the machine resonance of the Technomancers. Something of a deeper mystery, and far more human. It filled Archelaus and it was like a door into the ork teen, and soon they felt as if no secrets existed between them.
Or so he tells it.
Kat, that was her name, was explaining how she was finally returning home, finally returning to her best friend, though doubtfully her family. Kat explained that she was born a human in a good family, but turned into an ork when she was only Nine. Her family sent her away in shame. Archelaus heard it all, as he had heard a thousand such tales in his many years. Almost subconsciously, he flexed the fingers in his cyberarm, imagining that he could feel every seperate, cold, metal, component move.
Rumor was he lost his arm in the Night of Rage. He was certainly old enough for it to be true.
Back to Kat. He shared in Kat's delight that she was finally returning to her hometown and her best friend. They had been apart for five years, a lifetime for girls that age. She gossiped about everything, especially her best friend's new boyfriend, who she didn't like. Archelaus' leathered, brown face creased deeper at his smiled expanded at how Kat scrunched her nose at the mention of the boyfriend. The person across shot him a “you-dirty-old-man” look and Archelaus ended the notion with rather loaded look of his own. The rest of the trip progressed peacefully.
Kat was abuzz when the train finally pulled into the station. She insisted that Archelaus had to meet her best friend. Archelaus smiled and agreed, smiling as Kat’s strong orkish grip virtually dragged him along. His smile ended when he saw something in a dark corner of the bus station. Under the flickering neon tubes there was a large male form pressing itself against a much smaller female one, and muffled protests from said female could be heard under the “shutup!” of the man. The brute’s hand wandered the woman’s protesting body. Ever notice how people like these tend to be invisible to the masses? As far back as almost a century women in cities were trained to call “Fire” instead of “Rape!” Even Kat, when she saw what Archelaus was seeing, started to pull him away.
“Listen my friendly-friend, I have to help here,” he explained with a shake of his graying head. “If it turns even more unhappy, you can be certain I’ll keep the attention on me, and you take our unfortunate away and you call the Lone Star.”
“We don’t know her, it’s none of our business, and you might get yourself killed,” Kat said, counting off fingers.
“Well, my dear fountain of cliques, I can tell you this. Before I sat down beside you on the train some 4 hours earlier I did not know you. And on the topic of what is clique, I can honestly say I would count myself among the dead if I walk away from this without trying to help. ” Saying this, Archelaus removed his specticles and tucked them safely into their protective case.
“I never heard that before, let alone have it be a clique,” Kat said with a tilt of her head, reluctantly releasing Archelaus’ arm.
“Ah, how tragic,” Archelaus slung his back over his should with his left arm and approached the uphappy couple. As he listened to the sound of his footsteps on the cess coloured floor Archelaus fond himself offering a silent prayer to the Forces-That-Be that he was about 30 years younger, and his body still fit and young. Nostalgia aside he tapped the brutish fellow on the shoulder.
“’Scuase me son, but I happened to notice that you were takeing a few to many liberties with that young woman without her permission.” Archelaus’ voice was flat. The boy, sixteen and human from the look of him, clapped a hand over the mouth of the girl, early teens and elven, to cut off a cry and spat in Archelaus’ face.
“She’s mine.” He grunted and turned back to the girl. She was so petite he could pin her with one arm.
“Ownership of people was abolished before my grandpapy was in the womb, now you better reassess the situation,” A darkness swept across the brutes black eyes, and he flicked back his shaggy red hair so he could stare down Archelaus properly.
“You wanna make something out of it old man?”
“Not really, but I have a feeling that you are going to.” A ham sized fist lurched out and cracked Archelaus across the face. He spat a little blood onto the floor, but it was instantly consumed by the crud already coating the ground. The girl bolted and Kat screemed.
“Kyla!?!?” The two girls grabbed each other and took off into the night, hopefully to call Lone Star.
“Get back here!” the brute called and swung his mass around toward the fleeing girls.
“Best you pay them no mind,” Archelaus said. He got punched again. Real hard. Square in the face this time, and blood started to flow from his nose.
“Not bad, I’ve had worse though. You wind up to much though. Can’t control it as well as you should.” A sloppy uppercut knocked Archelaus off his feet. He started up but a kick in the kidneys turned him over.
“Got a bit of cyber there fellow, try the face again,” Archelaus was kicked in the face. The boot tasted of salt, urine and feces. “There, that’s the only spot that will get you anywhere.” The brute growled and drew a switchblade. He seemed to have forgotten his words.
“Sure you want to bring man-tools to the table, little boy?” The brute popped the knife, and a gel round burst on his hand, shattering it. He didn’t even see Archelaus draw his Aries Predator IV.
At least, that’s how Archelaus told it, and Archelaus does love to tell a good story. He can have his quirks, cause he is still the best fixer in town.
There are millions of myths about Kali. The runner, not the goddess. Well, I’m sure there are myths about Goddess Kali as well, but that’s not our concern here. They say she was a rising starlet, a true beauty, brilliant, talented, Elven and timid as all get out. Afraid for her safety, she went to a wetwear shop, a nice, legal high-class one own by an AA level corporation and had a legal, much toned down version of an adrenal pump put in so she could defend herself if she was attacked.
Something went wrong,
I’m a hacker, not a biotech, so I couldn’t say. What I can say is that she wasn’t timid no more. She gained some fire, to much fire. She would have wild mood swings, usually from anger to something else then back to anger, and seemed incapable or controlling or suppressing her emotions. Obviously she could no longer act. Before long she had a team of crack lawyers threatening to ram a lawsuit down the Corp’s throat for botching a simple job and ruining a fabulous career before it got far off the ground. Two high profile to whack, the Corp settled for a large cash settlement, a supply of a semi reliable drug to suppress and control her emotions, and a 50% discount on further services. Kali handed them the money right back and had her body almost completely redone into a genuine killing machine.
Some versions of the legend hold that the doctor vomited when he saw the list of what she wanted done.
All legends agree that virtually nothing of her original flesh and blood remained.
The name and the black skin is the fault of Alec, our rigger. He’s a Kali worshiper, the Goddess, not the runner, and was trying to explain about his Goddess to her. Next day she showed up with a full body dye so dark that her features lost all sense of depth; just the black shape of a face, stormy blue eyes with startling whites and deep red lips with ivory teeth.
This is the problem with Kali. She is too high profile and to damn unpredictable. She is almost impossible to apply with finesse.
So why do I keep her on my team?
Well, if you hop her up enough on that special drug, I don’t know where he gets it from now, she can be a surgical laser. Invisible, precise, and above all deadly. But if the glad swings into a double overtime, or the drug is diluted, or the run takes too long, it’s bad. Some stories say that during the middle of a run the drug ran off and she finished the rest of it naked.
Personally I find its best to keep her in the back of the van as a last resort, trump card when its all or nothing anyway.