Robert Matinga was a happy young man. His father George was a respected business man and tribal leader. His mother Rosetta was a prosperours and cheerful trader of telesma in the local markets. His sister T'linda was well on her way to becoming a powerful medicine woman, she often held long animated conversations with the spirits who seemed to follow her everywhere she went. But for Robert none of these things held as much joy and lure as the powerful pulsing beat of music. He often went to many clubs in a single night, only returning to his home in the early morning hours. His mother would often chastise him for this, but Robert's father always turned to his wife and said "The boy is young, let him have his fun while he can." Before Robert's sixteenth birthday his father had promised that no matter the white man's laws, his son would be a man. George Matinga had also promised his son any gift within his power to grant, so Robert had begged, pleaded and done everything he could to get a pair of new Saeder-Krupp cybereyes. Two days after his sixteenth birthday Robert and his father went to the local cyber clinic, looking at the doctor over two fresh nanobandages he said "The Saeder-Krupp cybereyes with low-light, image link, and eyerecording unit"

The Zulu man walked through the slums of Cape Town with an arrogant air. The assegai at his belt and the scars on his arms marked him as a bwana or big man. He worked for one of the local crimelords, and was known as a terrible person to cross. No dog escaped his kick, no beggar his wrath. As he stalked the streets like a modern lion, he went about his masters errands, collecting protection from shopkeepers, shaking down debtors. No one noticed the shadowy figure trailing him on his sinister course. He checked the greasy scrap of paper in his pocket, "All done for the night" he thought. Tuning down one well known strreet he stopped at one of the brothels.

June fifteenth would be a date engraved on Robert's heart forever. But he did not know this yet, exiting one of the clubs down town he started home. Although it was early for him at only midnight and a lovely young elven woman had clearly wanted him to stay, his mother would kill him if he was not awake to visit his grandfather's grave on the old man's birthday tommorrow. Although, Robert loved his late grandfather and it was always fun to listen to the old man and his sister talk. He turned the last corner toward his neighbourhood, he smelled the oder of burning "Some fool has left his clay oven burning" he thought. But he was wrong, standing in front of his home he saw the source of the smell. His home had been burnt to the ground. He fell to his knees weeping, "who would do such a thing" he cried. One of his neighbours came out of their home, "They thought you were home too Robert, if they find out you were not they will surely kill you too" the woman said "You must flee and seek vengance later" Struggling to his feet the now orphaned boy ran, he ran hard and fast, not knowing where to go. Finally his mind caught up to his heart, "Mama D'zingo will know, she always knows" Finding the witch woman was not hard if you knew who to ask, fortunatly T'linga had studied with her for a time, so Robert knew who to ask. "Come in child, I know your pain, your sister's spirits have come to me searching for her.", the large woman said. "But who would do this Mama D'zingo" the youth wept. "We shall find out child, but not tonight" In the weeks that folloed Robert learned that a death squad had benn sent to his home, they had killed his parents, his sister and his sister's promised husband Dangi. They had assumed that Dangi was Robert and burnt the home.

The Zulu man exited the brothel "Next time find me a willing whore" he shouted at the madam. He stumbled down the street and turned into an alley. Relieving himself in the alley, he heard a small sound turning he called "Is some one there?" Without a word a shadow detached itself from the alley wall. It rushed at the bwana, striking him hard in the solar plexus. Gasping as the air was driven from his lungs the bwana reached for his assegai, but the shadow was like a blur as it knocked the spear from his hand. It struck hard and fast, faster than the bwana could deal with. He felt bones break, flesh tear, finally the big man could not stand from the pain and the injuries. He collapsed backwrds in the alley, crawling away from the shadow he gasped through broken lips "W-w-whoo a-a-are you" The shadow stepped into the pale moonlight, revealing a strange figure which blended the ancient and modern. Stout street shoes, faded denims, a black tee shirt, covered by a half jacket which left the arms and body free to move, a collection of necklaces and charms worked in bone, bead and silicon. A face out of a nightmare, tribal scars on the cheeks, mirrored lenses where eyes should be, hair cut neatly except for the single braid in the back with strange ornaments worked into it. A young, familair face, "M---M-a-tinga" gasped the bwana "But-t-t y----ou were" "Robert Matinga is dead" said the youth in a toneless voice. Approaching the beaten bwana the youth moved with liquid smoothness, in a state of pain and confusion the bwana almost missed the sibilant "snik". In a single move, the youth slammed his fingers in to the sides of the bwana's neck piercing the arteries with the diamond hard razors on the tips. The youth watched the life flow from the man's eyes. "My name is Rave"

Alex Quintero stood alone at 2101 NW 23rd Street, staring at the remnants of the “Schoolhouse to the Future.” The fire squad was unable to save the house, arriving with only enough time to contain the fire, preventing any collateral damage to the neighboring houses. ALEX had chased away the remaining bystanders, and in the wealthy neighborhood just a few blocks east of the Westview Country Club there would be no looters.

He stepped through what had once been the front door of a beautiful house, into the living room, which for the past 13 years had served as a small classroom. Alex turned right, walking past the desk and through a small door into the office of Professor Sage. His eyes turned moist at the sight of the charred desk and empty bookshelves. What had once been a library of knowledge was now nothing but ash.

He returned to the classroom and wove through the four rows of five desks. Three different classes of 20 students had occupied those chairs over the years, each receiving a four-year high school education. The make-up of the students was also the same: 15 were wealthy children who paid a hefty tuition, 5 were scholarship students, hand-picked by Professor Sage amongst the underprivileged and SINless.

Stepping through the remnants of another doorway, Alex found himself in what used to be the dining room in Professor Sage’s private quarters. Professor Sage was one of the first awakened individuals in Miami. A sorcerer and an adept, he had taught himself much of the same hermetic theory now taught in many universities. A runner in his early years, Professor Sage retired in 2057 in order to give the underprivileged the opportunities at a bright future that he never had – so he opened the Schoolhouse to the Future.

Alex had been one of those underprivileged. Living alone on the streets after his prostitute mother was beaten to death by one of her clients, he had been taken in by Professor Sage as a scholarship student in his second class. Along with two of his classmates, he lived in the “barracks” – a large upstairs room in Professor Sage’s house. After graduating, Alex decided to stay on as the aging professor’s apprentice, helping to instruct the incoming class in the “special lessons.”

The “special lessons” were what placed the “Schoolhouse to the Future” in such high demand. They included a strict exercise regime, combat training, firearms training, stealth training, magical training for any awakened students, and even technology lessons. Alex underwent that training for four years and had helped provide it for the last five. Now it was time to put it to the test.

When classes started last September, Pietro Salazar decided he wanted his son enrolled. Sage explained the that his son was two years too young, and that the class was already full. A week later, one of the students died under mysterious circumstances. When Salazar expressed his regrets, asking for admittance for his son, he was again told the child was too young. After that, the school year went relatively smoothly; until just last week, when Salazar called, explaining his son had just had a birthday and was now old enough to join the class. Sage was invited to the house to meet and interview the boy, and an armed escort was sent to accompany him. The escort was sent back, more or less in one piece, with a note that admittance had been denied.

Which brings us to tonight, when Sage’s two “barracks” students showed up at Alex’s apartment with a handwritten note from Sage: “Your in charge,” it said, “don’t let them take the equipment, and don’t let the dream die.” He ushered the kids into his room and rushed to the Schoolhouse, only to find it in flames.

Alex turned the container upside down, spilling the last few drops of gasoline. He’d already packed up the weapons, fake SINs, magical gear, and everything else useful into three large duffels and taken them up to the car to be sent off to the fence with whom he’d already made arrangements. Only one bag remained, which carried Sage’s personal armor and firearms. It was a perfect fit for Alex, and perfect gear to execute his revenge.

There was a new Dean of the schoolhouse, and it was time for Pietro Salazar to pay his tuition. Even if it meant he had to work for the family, even if it meant he had to break the law, even if it meant he had to do what Sage hoped none of his students ever would: run the shadows.

Metatype : Elf
Mundane

Attributes
Body: 5
Agility: 6 (9)
Reaction: 5
Strength: 5 (7)
Charisma: 4
Intuition: 3
Logic: 4
Willpower: 4

Edge: 5
Initiative: 8
Essence: 2,1

Cyberware
Obvious Full Arm
+ Strength (Rating 3)
+ Agility (Rating 3)
Spur (Retractable)
Cyberarm Holster
Cyberarm Gyromount
Wired Reflexes (Rating 2) Alpha

Bioware
Muscle Augmentation 2
Muscle Toner 3

Active Skills
Climbing : 1
Gymnastics : 1
Running : 1
Swimming : 1
Disguise : 2
Inflitration : 2
Palming : 2
Shadowing : 2
Computer : 1
Data Search : 1
Hardware : 1
Software : 1
Automatics (Submachine Guns) : 4 (+2)
Blades (Cyber-Implant) : 3 (+2)
Dodge : 3
Pistols (Semi-Automatics) : 4 (+2)
Unarmed Combat : 3
Perception : 3
Pilot Ground Craft (Wheeled) : 2 (+2)
Longarms (Shotguns) : 2 (+2)
Intimidation : 2

Language Skills
English: N
Spanish: 3

Knowledge Skills
SWAT Team Tactics: 3
Police Procedures: 3
Smuggling Routes: 3
Cooking Recipes: 4
Gambling Dens: 4
Mafia Politics: 3
Reggae Bands: 1

"Well, where to start? I know Sunny for half of my life. Met him when we started police training, back in the '60s. Even though he's a pointy-eared and I've made my share of bad experiences with 'em, I liked him. He's a very nice guy to hang out with, very entertaining.
Became obvious during police training that he likes games of luck too much. You know, throwin' dices and that. I'm not sure when he was in the pockets of the Mob, but it surely happened when we patrolled the streets of lovely Miami as beat cops. I heard that some of the higher ups in the Mob food chain like Sunny and don't press on him too much.
He even managed to apply for SWAT training and became a member of a unit. That was a great time for him. You know, I think he's a minor adrenaline junkie too. And a great cook, like his father. The old man owns a restaurant down in South Miami, where he caters to the locals and a few tourists. Great caribbean cuisine. Sunny is there as often as he can and even cooks from time to time. He once told me that this is his way to "come down". Yeah. When I want to get down, I go to... ah, we're not talking about me here. Ok, got it.
Shortly before Crash 2 sent Miami down to hell Sunny was subject to an Internal Affairs investigation. Somehow they heard about his relationship with the Mob. And that was not the worse thing. During the dark days after the Crash Sunny fought scavengers and other street scum, but was hit hard by an angry troll from Cuba who ripped Sunnys right arm off. Sunny blow the troll's face with a shotgun blast, but his arm was lost. He needed some time to recover (his mind, y'a know?) and decided to get an obvious cyberarm as replacement. Sort of trophy, I guess.
Shortly after that he was released from the PD and SWAT. Was hard for him.
I was still a beat cop and knew guys who were willing to hire him. That kind of guys who travel along the coast and islands and bring goods to willing customers. Heard Sunny does a good job guarding the rides and that. Even managed to get work as a runner. But don't tell his family! His dad will kill him if he ever get wind that Sunny is not only a smuggler, but also a runner.
Yeah, that's it. Sunny needs some time to make a real friendship with one, but remains a friend for a lifetime then. The only thing that is strange on this guy is his relationship with women. He never had a girl for longer than a year. Dontcha think he couldn't get one here or there - he's good-looking and can be very charismatic, really charming. But he seems to get annoyed by women very soon. Don't know. Maybe he's waiting for a girl that is his exact mirror image.
Yeah, 50 bucks and drink. Why are you so interested in him? Old friend of the family? Hm, you don't look like a local. Ah, from Newark. I see. Italian, that's how you look... "