Dexter is quite literally built like a fridge. Rather tall, at about 6'2", he's as large, if not larger than most orks, and probably as heavy as them... which isn't all due to muscle mass. Chrome tends to weight quite a bit also. Dexter has a stronger and sturdier build than people half his age. Although still a very sturdy man, his age is starting to more than simply show. Give or take a few years, Dexter easily looks like he's in in mid to late 50s.

His hair used to be of a deep, dark brown, but with the years, it has not only come to lightened itself, but streaks of gray are starting to show. With his hairline starting to recede, Dexter has taken to keeping his head almost shaven bald. His eyes, used to be hazel. But that was a long time ago. His current eyes are obviously cyber, and both are encased in polarized protective shells. His skin is literally weathered from spending a lot of time outside and under the sun.

While not on the job, which isn't all that often, Dexter dresses in a simple and minimalist manner; faded cargo pants and a black wife beater. That's his casual attire. When he feels extra subtle, he'll sometimes throw on outrageously loud Hawaiian shirts. While out and about, he'll usually wear some sort of either navy blue, black, gray or dark green polo. What never leaves him though, is a good pair of German made combat boots. He also greatly affectionate urban brawl caps. Not that he follows the sport in any way. He just likes wearing them.

DOB: 2021

Dexter is old. Or at least, he is getting old. Had his life being that of your average corporate Joe, he would either currently be at the very prime of his time, or contemplating early retirement with a fat pension.

But it isn't the case.

Dexter might not exactly be old, but he is surely feeling so. By the time they reach his age, those that thrive in his line of work are usually one of two things: retired on some tropical island with more money then they'd ever need, or dead. Either by some incredible turn of luck, or because he literally has been cursed, Dexter is neither of those. He hasn't gloriously died for his country. He hasn't made the very last stand for freedom, holding back the odds until his last clip was dry. He hasn't caught some random stray bullet. He hasn't given his life for a noble cause or any of the ideals he believes in. No. Dexter has survived. His friends. His comrades. His brothers in arms. His squad mates. Every single one of them is dead now.

The screaming Drill Sergeant at Paris Island.

His bunk mate during basic.

All the Commanding Officers.

All the NCOs.

Every single last on of them.

Everyone is dead.

Dexter might be old, and he also might be tired. But not matter how tired and old he'll ever be, the man will always be a soldier. Even when most of what make him a human being will be gone, he will remain a soldier.

It would be a rather obvious cliche to state that Dexter started his life when he joined the CAS Marine Corps at 18. Like every single human being, he started his life by being born. Contrary to a lot of people you'll find out there, creeping around in the shadows, Dexter wasn't born in the UCAS, or CAS, or in any of those "new" country. Dexter Pope was born in a place that doesn't exist anymore, beside inside his head. He was born in 2021, in New Orleans, Louisiana, United States of America. Actually, he was born a little outside of New Orleans, in a small farming community. By the time he was old enough to get beatings from his drunken old man, the USA was in shambles, the family business wasn't fairing quite well, and redskins were causing all sorts of havoc. As much as the First Crash barely hit them, in 2029, the formation of the CAS was a whole other story.

One thing Dexter had a lot of, beside beatings from his dad, were brothers; all older. And all of them had escaped the family life, as soon as they had been able to, by joining the armed forces. When what was left of the different branches had to pick which side they would stay on, most of Dexter's brothers left for the UCAS. The others ended up fighting in Texas, and all laid their life down to defend their newly formed country. For a whole summer, working with his dad and having dropped out of school, young Dexter contemplated what he would do with his life. He sure as hell couldn't stay on the farm much longer, or he'd end up killing his father in a fit of rage. As soon as he was old enough, Dexter enlisted in the Marine Corp. That was in 2038; over 30 years ago.

Fresh out of boot camp, the young Dexter was placed, like about 90% of the country's military assets, near the Aztlan/CAS border. For the first two years, Dexter saw very little action, until things started to flare up along the border. Nothing was ever publicly disclosed, but by 2040, skirmishes with the Azzies became almost daily occurrences. They would test them, and in return, they'd try to sneak in as far into Texas as they could. But it still wasn't much. At least, it wasn't what Dexter had envisioned when he had enlisted. He wanted action. He wanted adventure. He wanted to make a difference and to take the fight to the enemy's door.

His time to shine finally came through when he was hand picked to be part of a multi-branch unit. Along with Special Forces soldiers, Dexter was sent deep inside Azzie occupied Texas to train militias and provide a little more firepower than they had. And he did exactly that; he covertly tagged and bagged a lot of Azzie troopers, up until his unit was called back to CAS soil.

Back in New Orleans, in early 2046, Dexter met a then student and waitress at a local bar; Sue Morgan. Cute, smart and most of all single. When Dexter's extended leave was over, and his unit redeployed, Sergeant Pope was not only married, but also had a baby girl; Catherine. From the swaps of Louisiana, Dexter found himself waist deep in jungle mud, as he became quite personally acquainted with Colombia... and how he could help their guerrilla fighters push back both Aztlan and Amazonian's forces. Dexter's unit, now "officially" disbanded, stayed in South America for three years, hopping from one covert assignment to the next, taking part in missions that still wake Dexter at night; doings things to people that still plague his nightmares. Dexter's last mission, as part of that covert unit, took place in 52, when a shard from a mortar shell ripped about three quarter of his right arm off, knocking him unconscious and, apparently to his squad mates, dead and gone. What did bring Dexter back to his senses, a few days later, were the rats gnawing at him. They had eaten through most of what was left of his arm, and taken a good bits of his right eye. Miraculously, Dexter survived and when the fighting died off a bit, was rescued and extracted back to mainland CAS. It took Dexter a long time to heal, and not just physically. Most of the scars from his trip down in South America are still quite there. Most of the ghosts still haunt him to this day.

In 2053, the Pope family grew faster than expected: Sue gave birth to twins: Emma and Arthur. Sue had now been out of college for quite some time, and taken up a job with mid size law firm in New Orleans. She was making more than enough money to support the now growing Pope family. For the next two years, Dexter did very little but heal; taking extended leaves, going fishing, training new Marine Recruits. He also spent his time at home, taking care of his son and two daughters, getting acquainted with the new chromed part of his body.

By 2058 all was well with the Pope family. Catherine was on her way to high school, and the twins were just starting 1st grade. Dexter had just come back from a 8 months stints doing black ops in the Caribbean League, mostly Haiti, when he decided to take the twins to the local mall. A good friend he had met in Port Au Prince, Maurice Raine, was due in town the next day and the twins had nothing fancy to wear. Sue had been working late every single day of the week. Giving his wife some well deserved rest, Dexter took Emma and Arthur with him. Until today, Dexter doesn't know what happened, or how.

To this day, Sue hasn't forgiven him. To this day, neither has he.

As Emma, energetic and giddy as usual, pulled him toward a store, Arthur's hand slipped from his father's. It lasted barely a few seconds, but it was all it took. His back turned to his son for the briefest of moment, and he was gone. Footage from security cameras revealed nothing. One second, Arthur Pope was standing right there, and then he wasn't.

From that day forward, something died inside Dexter. Something died inside Sue. After months spent in anxiety, fear and anger, the police finally gave up. Told the Pope they should grieve and put it behind them. From that day forward, there was nowhere to go for Dexter but down. He began to drink. He began to take unwarranted risks on the job. He became an unreliable loose canon of a soldier; the sort of operator no one wanted on their op.

When the summer of 2060 swung around, Sue had filed assault charges on Dexter, and the divorced procedures had started. Taking the girls with her, Sue moved to Seattle and remarried within the year. Dexter disappeared in Yucatan, doing his best to die as a mercenary on some forgotten battlefield. By 2062, Dexter Pope was already making himself a name as a reliable gun for hire… who wasn't afraid of death.

In the grueling heat of the summer of 2064, down on his luck, with no money left and nothing holding him together, Dexter was approached by a man called Morris. No first name. No origin. No reason for being in Aztlan. Dexter knew nothing about him, but Morris knew everything about Dexter. Details about missions he'd been on; missions that had never occurred. He knew about his comrades in arms, the people he had served with… people who didn't exist anymore, people who had been zeroed out of the systems 15 years ago. He came to Dexter with information no one was supposed to have. Hung over, with nothing but the desire to put a bullet in his brain, Dexter considered breaking Morris neck right then and there. But Morris played his cards well, and he still does. He said "Sergeant Major Pope, we need you."

Today, Dexter's self destructive streak is still there. Although he hasn't truly been able to put any of his past behind him, be it his actions or the disappearance of Arthur, he has decided to keep on living. If not for him, for his daughters at least. For the past 5 years, Dexter has been living in Caracas, making a grim living as a mercenary and a local "agency asset".

Dexter Pope

Stats (180BP)
Body: 5
Agility 3 (5)
Reaction 3 (5)
Strength 4 (6)
Charisma 2
Intuition 3
Logic 3
Willpower 3
Edge 2

Initiative 6/8
IP: 1 (3)
Essence: 0.07

Active Skills (198bp)
Athletics (Group) 2
Firearms (Group) 4
-Pistols 4
-Automatics (Assault Rifle) 4
-Longarms 4
Blades 3
Dodge (Ranged) 3
Heavy Weapons 3
Throwing Weapons (Grenades) 2
Etiquette 1
Infiltration 3
Navigation 2
Perception 2
Pilot Watercraft 1
Survival (Jungle) 3
Demolition 4
Leadership (Tactics) 3
First Aid (Combat Wounds) 2
Armorer 2

Knowledge & Language (36 free bp)
English N
Spanish 5
CAS Marine Corps 4
Guerrilla Warfare 4
Caracas Area Knowledge 3
Jungle Wildlife 2

Positive Qualities (25bp)
Cyberware Compatibility 10
Toughness 10
Martial Arts : Krav Magna (Free Action: Aim)

Negative Qualities (-48bp)
Mild Common Phobia (Roddents) -10
Lost Loved One -5
Cyberpsychosis -10
Alcohol Addiction (Moderate) -10

Contacts (7bp)
Morris (Caracas DSI Station Chief) L2/C5

Ressources (38 BP, 190 000 Nuyens)
Current Bank Account: 7350

Renraku Sensi, Iris Orb

Cyberware
Datajack
Olfactory Booster 3
Internal Air Tank
Wired Reflexes 2
Orientation System
Radar Sensor R4
Cybereyes R3 (flare comp, image link, recorder, low light, protective covers, smartlink, vision mag, thermographic, vision enhancement 2)
Cyberears R2 (Sound link, recorder, Damper, Audio enchancement 3, spatial recongnizer, select sound filter 2)
Obvious Full Arm (Right Arm) B8, A9, S9
-Customized Body +3
-Customized Strenght +3
-Customized Agility +3
-Agility 3
-Strength 3
-Body 2
-Retractable Spurs
-Cyberarm Gyromount

Bioware
Muscles Augmentation 2
Muscle Toner 2
Sleep Regulator
Synthacardium 1
Bone Density Augmentation 2

Cyber Essence: 5.18
Bio Essence: 0.76

Armor
Armored Jacket 8/6 (Non Conductivity 6, Chemical Protection 6)
SecureTech Leg and Arm Casing 1/1
SecureTech Vitals Protector 1/1
SecureTech Helmet 0/2
Lined Coat 6/4 (Concealed Holster)

Grenade Launcher Ammo
16x White Phosphorus
31x High Explosive
32x Fragmentation
8x Flare

Ammunition
Lots of Regular
626x Ex Ex
20x Shock Locks (Shotgun Ammo)
50x Subsonic
100x Stick N Shock
100x Flechette (Shotgun Ammo)
10x Tracker
200x APDS (M23 ammo)

Rockets
5x AV rockets
5x HE rockets

Fake SIN 3
Fake License (Security Contractor) 4

Armorer Toolkit
10x Blistpacks
GloWand
Climbing Gear
Respirator R4
Combat Load Vest
Concealable Holster
2x Quick Draw Holster
Sound Suppressor
Infrared Flashlight
Smart Pack
8x Plastic Restraints
Micro Transceiver R6
Trauma Patch
10x Jazz
RFID Geiger counter
RFID Atmospheric Sensor R3
Medkit R6
Endoscope
Weapon Watcher R3
Demoltion Toolkit
9x Micro Motion Sensors (installed at the garage)
10x Frag Claymore
10m of Detonating Cord
20x Blasting Caps
20m of Safety Fuse
5x Radio Detonator
5x Timer Detonator
10x Electrical Detonator
20kg of TNT (R4)
4x Micro Camera (with Low Light) (installed at the garage)

125 leftover

Weapons
Machete (Sword)

Walther Secura Kompakt S (integral smartlink)
Cavalier Deputy (Ammo Skip, Smartgun, Increased Cylinder, Skinlink, Trigger Removal, Electro Shocker)
2x Ares Predator IV

Ingram Smartgun X (Gas Vent 2, Smartgun, sound suppressor, detachable folding stock)
Colt M23 Carbine (Barrel Reduction, Smartgun, Folding Stock, Skinlink, Gas Vent 3)

Franchi SPAS22 (Skinlink, Additional Clip, Smartlink, Folding Stock)
PJSS Model 5S Shotgun (Barrel Reduction, Powered Easy Breakdown, Reduced Weight)

Ares Desert Strike (Extended Barrel, Rigid Stock, Shock Pads, External Smartgun, Intergral Silencer, Manual Easy Breakdown)
Ingram White Knight LMG (Integral Gas Vent V, Smartlink)
ArmTech MGL-6 (Airbust Link, SA Mode, Smartlink, Skinlink, Extended Clip, Trigger Removal)

2x Cuachicqueh Assault Rifle
Modified Colt M23
6P Damage, -1 AP, SA/BF/FA, 40(clip)
Mods: Integral Smartlink, Internal Silencer, Electronic Firing, Shock Pad, Autoadjusting Weight, Sling
Note: Cannot be further modified

Grenades
18x Flash Bangs
10x Thermal Smokes
10x CS Gas Grenades
4x High Explosives

Lifestyle (Low, 2000/month )
Comforts 1
Entertainment 1
Necessities 2
Neighborhood 2
Security 3
Hasty Exit
Worse Neighbours (Meat Puppet Parlour)

Karma
Total Karma: 15
Unspent Karma: 1
Spent Karma: 14

Armoured Jacket (with Secure Tech Leg, Arm and Vitals protectors)

Respirator
Infrared Flashlight
2x Plastic Restraints
Trauma Patch
1x Jazz
RFID Atmospheric Sensor (weaved into jacket)

Walther Secura Kompakt S (ankle holster, Ex Ex, no extra reload)
Cavalier Deputy (shoulder holster, loaded with Ex Ex except 1 tracker round)
MGL6 (small of back, loaded with 7/8 High Explosive, 1 extra clip of 8/8 Frag)

2x speeloader of Ex Ex
1x Flashbang
1x Thermal Smoke

-Carbine (loaded with normal rounds)
-Combat Vest (w/ glow wand, 9 extra carbine mags, 5 regular, 4 Ex Ex, 2x blister packs, RFID Geiger Counter linked to commlink, 2 extra MGL6 clips, 1 WP, 1 HE)

In Van
-Lined Coat
-Sawed off Shotgun (loaded with Flechette Shells, 4 extra flechette shells, 4 extra normal shell, 2 shock locks, 4 stick N Shock))
-Medkit

Many trolls are unfortunate enough to be considered ugly, but this one is downright hideous. Tiny, beady eyes of an unnatural red peer out beneath a heavy beetle brow. Where ears should be are instead two metal ridges nearly flush with the skull, shaped to catch stray sounds. The flat, broad nose has been broken many times and is now as crooked as an Aztlan exec. The scalp, nearly bald except for a short, thick mohawk of tangled black hair, has nearly a dozen small dermal deposits pushing through the skin. Two jagged stumps are all that remain of two larger horns that seem to have been broken off sometime in the past.
His left arm is a mishmash of scars and tattoos; his broad chest is banded with an armor weave, the color the soft yellow of corn silk or a snake's underbelly. Nicks and cuts in the sheath abound. His right arm is obviously, flagrantly, cybernetic--black steel with chrome accents, a well-worn densiplast plate set into it to keep the internal workings safe.
He's tall and well-built, easily over 300 kilos. He looks to be about 2.7 meters tall.

As one of the so-called Yucatan "rebels" it really pissed Esteban off when Pobre accepted Aztlan's olive branch and became governor of the peninsula. People, people with families and dreams, fought and bled and died for the Yucatan's freedom. And this fucking wyrm brushed all that aside and took credit. The dragon gets to rule the land, and gets a pawn in some goddamn game in which the scaleys hold all the pieces. And what do the people get? Fuckin' nothing. Their land changes hands from some metaphorical snake to a literal one. That's all.

It keeps him up at night.

Esteban Moreno was born as the resentment and anger of the Yucatan first boiled over into rebellion and battle. He saw cousins and uncles chewed up and killed by the Aztlan war machine. He saw crops planted to feed families and huts for shelter set aflame to roust rebels. By his ninth birthday he knew how to fire an assault rifle; by his twelfth he had lost count of how many men he had personally killed.

But all things end, good and bad; and just as the troll entered his teen years the fighting came to a stop. The loss of so many—Esteban’s own village had been razed, his parents and sisters dying in smoke and flame while he’d been fighting miles away—made the rebellion’s slight victory bittersweet. Even worse, a dragon was in charge, rather than the people; no matter how often Pobre called himself a “Mexican,” it couldn’t change the fact that the serpent had slept all through Mexico’s existence. Many dragons had been involved for the fight for the peninsula; to Esteban, they were interested only in domain, rather than changing anything.

With very few family members still living, and a teenager’s typical anger against the world, Esteban joined up with a crew of smugglers. It was glamorous; he saw more of the world than he’d ever thought possible (and all without leaving Central America). By the time he was 17 he’d served on several different crews, but had finally found his permanent place with one: the Yanqui Drowners, weapons smugglers who stuck to the rivers and inlets of the Pacific coastline when they weren’t raiding AZT camps for their product.

He was proud to be with the Drowners; they lived by their own rules and bent knee to no country or corporation. They were glad to have a soldier with them: he knew how to fight, he knew the jungles. Best of all, they gave him a chance to use his mind. Never very smart, Esteban was nevertheless a naturally intuitive mechanic, and the Drowners were not afraid to take advantage of that. He began to learn how the machines and weapons worked, and realized he enjoyed being more than just dumb muscle.

Work with the Yanqui Drowners was lucrative but dangerous. Esteban put his share into enhancements, knowing he needed every slight edge. New eyes, new ears; he got a voice modder to speak in code during ops—birdcall was great for messaging. He lost his right arm in an ambush in Panama; it wasn’t long before he came to like the new one even more.

With their attacks on, and theft of, Aztechnology property, the Yanqui Drowners were making a name for themselves. Esteban thought it was great, a sign of their rising importance. But some of the Drowners were not fond of being targets, and slowly a plea deal of sorts was arranged between the ring’s leadership and the corp.

It happened so fast that in Esteban’s mind it’s still a blur. The corpsec team burst in while he was sleeping in his Panama City flat and overtook him easily. There was a kangaroo court, and the Azzies went all out—they claimed Esteban was well-known for his war crimes during the Yucatan rebellion. They accused him of being the one that razed his village—of killing his family, of burning down what little home he had had growing up. They turned it into a circus, basking in the good PR of putting away a dangerous terrorist. And then he disappeared.

While he was imprisoned in the hellhole AZT controls on the Narau Protectorate, he heard rumors. Word came down from guards sometimes, about how he’d been set up, about how his execution had been faked for the bloodthirsty media so he could be left here to rot forever. They showed him videos, made him listen to taped conversations, proving that the Yanqui Drowners had set him up to cut the noose that was tightening around their own necks. The guards told him these things to try and break his will; but instead he hid it all inside and vowed he would have his revenge.

They made him fight in the pits to kill him, but it only made him stronger. They spread whispers to the other inmates about the Coatl, the Snake, who killed his own family; but any would-be assassin hopped-up on these lies soon found themselves dead at the troll’s hands. Esteban kept to himself and the others soon learned—stay out of his way if you know what’s good for you.

They were made to work on Narau, groups made to dive to mineral mines while armed guards kept watch. Esteban was with one of these boats when a riot began at the prison. He doesn’t know what caused it, but it was enough of a distraction that he and the others killed their guards and made off with the boat. They worked their way across Micronesia, thieving and pirating and murdering their way to Australia, away from Narau. Esteban left them in Brisbane, getting passage across the sea with a pirate crew.

From Australia to Metropole; from Metropole to Caracas. He’s been free less than a year, taking what odd jobs he can, fighting for money when he needs to. He follows rumors and ghosts. He’s heard that the Yanqui Drowners split up as an operation, but he might learn more in Venezuela. And he intends to. There’s blood on his hands and there’ll be a whole lot more before he’s through. They tried to wipe him from the Earth; he won’t rest until he does the same to them.

Esteban Moreno, In Coatl -- Troll
Squatter Lifestyle, 3 months prepaid
Starting Nuyen: 240 nuyen.gif (whoo! deep pockets!)
(Nuyen Roll: 2d6 → [1,5] = (6)) (plus 6 from Gear conversion)
Nuyen: 2040
Karma/Earned Karma: 5/15
Notoriety/Street Cred/Public Awareness: 1/2/1

ATTRIBUTES
Body - 9
Agility - 3
Reaction - 4
Strength - 8
Charisma - 1
Intuition - 2
Logic - 2
Willpower - 4

Edge - 1
Init - 6 (1 Init Pass)
Essence - 2.14

QUALITIES
POSITIVE
Guts
Martial Arts LV (Sangre y Acero)
Tough As Nails L 1
Will To Live - 10

NEGATIVE
Enemy - Yanqui Drowners (C:4(+3)/I:3)
High Maintenance Implant -Cyberspurs
Prejudiced - Aztlaners, Outspoken

ACTIVE SKILLS
Armorer 3
Automatics 4
Blades 4
Cybertechnology 1
Dodge 4
Exotic Melee Weapon 3
Gunnery 1
Heavy Weapons 3
Intimidation 2
Nautical Mechanic 2
Outdoors Group 2
Perception 3
Pilot Ground Craft 1
Unarmed 4 (Spec: Sangre & Acero)

--Sangre & Acero: +1 die to Exotic Melee Weapon tests; +1 DV to attacks with Blades
--Maneuvers: Blind Fighting, Break Weapon, Finishing Move, Set Up

KNOWLEDGE SKILLS
"Aztlaner" Spanish - N
Guns - 2
Guerilla Warfare - 2
Jungle Flora - 3
Martial Arts - 3
Prison Tattoos - 3
Smuggling Routes - 2

CONTACTS
Martin, former rebel turned Ghost Cartel Soldier: C3/L1. "Don't call me, man. I don't need Aztech hit squads coming after me because I might know where you are."
David "Skimmer", Smuggler: C3/L1. "Leave me out of this. I do not want to get involved. You're a war criminal, you're poison."

GEAR
Lined Coat (6/4)
Half Body FFBA (4/1)
Fake SIN R3 (Name: Arturo Sanz)
Respirator R2
Cybertechnology Kit
MetaLink comm w/ Vector Xim OS
-AR Gloves
Kamikaze, 6 doses
Snuff, 4 doses
M22A3 Colt, w/ internal smartlink (6P, -1 AP, 1 RC)

CYBERWARE
Voice Modulator (.2 E)
Cybereyes R2 (.3 E)
--Flare Comp, Low-Light, Thermo, Smartlink
Cyberears R1(.2 E)
--Augmented Hearing R1, Damper, Spatial Recognizer
Dermal Sheath R1 (1/2) (.6 E)
Kevlar Bone Lacing (1/0) (1 E)
Obvious Cyberarm, Customized (Body 5, Str 7, +2 Capacity) (1 E)
--Agility +2, Body +2, Strength +3
--Armor R1
--Two Retractable Spurs, one facing forward, one facing behind
--Olfactory Booster R3
--Arm's total, combined stats: Agility 5, Body 7, Strength 10
Hand Razors w/ Cybergland, Secondhand (.36E)
--Cybergland has 3 dose capacity
--Loaded with Dopadrine (6 doses)

BIOWARE (Essence halved for being less than cyber)
Muscle Augmentation R1 (.2E)
Muscle Toner R1 (.2E)

Jacobs was a Private Investigator in Seattle, up until 2 years ago. He was good at his job, focusing mainly on finding people who didn't want to be found. Of course, his luck wouldn't hold out. One day he received a message from his sister, simply, "Find me." He thought it was a joke, so he sent a spirit off to find her, thinking nothing of it. She had moved away as soon as she had turned 18, and while they kept in touch he wasn't really sure where she was staying at the moment. When the spirit returned empty handed, he sent a more powerful one. And then a more powerful one after that. Jacobs was beginning to become concerned, and the fact that he hadn't heard from his sister in several days made him even more distraught. He decided to hold off his other investigations and take on finding his sister full time, at least for a few days. He summoned the most powerful Spirit he could muster, and after fighting him for what seemed like hours, the Spirit was sent off to find his sister. The spirit returned, but said he couldn't find her precisely. Only the city she was in. Caracas. Jacobs booked the first flight out.
It was hot down in South America, hotter than he was used to. He stuck out like a sore thumb, but he didn't care. He knew there were only a few places in the world that his spirits couldn't find someone, and he was afraid, deathly afraid, his sister was in one of them. It took him several weeks; tracking her down was difficult because of the place she was in. If a person tried to think of a place where magic would become dirty and corrupted, a forced prostitution ring would spring to mind easily. Once he had his 'appointment' with her, he entered the room trying to figure how to get her out. He was too late. The surgery was subtle, but it was clear that this wasn't his sister anymore. He thought as he pressed the knife to her neck that he saw a moment of recognition, but he considered that he wanted her to recognize him, and that it was all in his head. She was safe now, but he had been too late to save her.

Metatype: Ork (20 BP)
Attributes: (220 BP total)

Qualities (Net -17.5 BP)

Spells (21 BP):

Skills (128 BP):

Gear (12 BP, 55,000 )

Contacts (17 BP):

Athleticly built, Smiley is of obvious hispanic descent and looks to stand at about 1.82 meters(5'9") tall. Short, unkempt black hair covers his head while a goatee beard covers his chin. While seemingly normal, keen eyes can spot signs of cybernetics; the blue eyes of his show a barely noticable but otherwise tell-tale glint of a cybernetic replacement, behind the left ear is a chrome datajack, and his movements can at times seem unnaturally swift. On his right arm are a pair of notable tattoo's; On his right shoulder a tattoo of a yellow smilely face with a manical grin, and another one just above the elbow depicts a shotglass filled with five spent smoking bullet casings.

Born in San Francisco, California Free State, to a lower-middle class family consisting of a white UCASian mother, Aztlaner father, and two brothers. He grew up in the shadow of the Imperial Japanese Marines, a military force ment to protect CalFree but cared little for a non-japanese people and assets such as him and even less for any non-human citizen within California. Like any decent youth, he returned such disdain in kind and became a bit of a troublemaker, defying any japanese authority when he could.

For the most part it was rather uneventful up until the year 2061 when the Ring Of Fire came to pass and the Japanese Diet decided to recall all troops deployed into foreign areas, which led to the day General Saito refused this order and decide annex California for himself. While Cesar was mostly overlooked by this regime due to being human, even he felt the oppression by strict curfews and constant raids within once peaceful neighborhoods. In little time, Cesar had joined one of the small resistance cells within The Bay area, doing small things such as sabotage and stealing supplies until Ares Macrotechnology, Mothers Of Metahumans, along with various freelance pirates and shadowrunners gave the needed muscle to take the fight to the Imperial Marines.

With General Saito more or less brought down by the late 2060's and things starting to wind down, Cesar was not exactly given free food and home alongside the liberation of his city. Life was moving on just as sure as the former regime and he needed to make ends meet, but wasn't exactly corp material. The choices narrowed down to one of the few locale non-union occupations: Smuggling and piracy. After only a couple years however, Cesar was caught and arrested transporting drugs by some newly emplaced security corporation who had been tightening up the old blind spots within The Bay area.

During his incarceration, Cesar met and befriended an orkish hacker and sometime identity forger named Dan Levitan whom authorities had managed to bring in on a technicality. After some time the two devised a plan to get out of prison; using some friends on the outside Dan would have some false paperwork sent to the prison office that would pardon the two, meanwhile Cesar would drive them both far away using a car Dan hacked. In 2069 the plan went into action and, perhaps unbelievably, it all actually worked and they were almost at the border of the Pueblo Corporate Council before the authorities realized their mistake.

The two made haste to get as far away from California Free State as they could, before stumbling upon the upcoming Tempo trade coming out of Caracas. It wasn't long until they had relocated to the city to set up shop, with Dan doing freelance matrix work while Cesar went back to his old trade of smuggling. However, that was when it was going strong. Now, with crackdowns bearing down on the Olaya Cartel, things are once again looking uncertain for Cesar.

Attributes


Skills


Qualities


Contacts


Resources

Armor Vest(6B/4I)
Form-Fitting Half-Suit(4B/1I)
(Total of 10B/5I armor)

Combat Load Vest
Medkit(R:6)
Directional Jammer R:6
Disposable Jammer
Sunglasses(R:2)
Headphones(R:2)
Respirator(R:6)
Smoke Grenade
Canteen full of Oaxaca

AA-16 Autoshotgun
/w 1 drum of flechete(32/32), 1 drum of Ex-Ex(32/32)

Colt Gov't 2066(in quickdraw thigh holster)
/w 4 clip of Ex-Ex(56/56 shots left)

Sunglasses
Novatech Airware commlink(w/ all programs)

Beep....beep....beep....

A steady rhythm. A precise timepiece until the end of the world. A finite number of sounds. When the clock stops, so will she.

A year, the doctor told her. Perhaps two. There was a hole in the heart, grown large, the doctors said, by risk, genetics, and hard celebration. Replace the heart, and things may change. As it stood, they wanted her to stay within a clinic. Bedridden. Wasting. An ignanimous end to an illustrious life.

Beep...
They had already done what they could, but without leading a life of SIN it was caught too late. That was the risk one took in the shadows, flitting from one game to the next. That was life - that should have been life in Aztlan before she left, and that is what her life turned into.

Beep...

Before the Crash, before the cancer, she was Sonora - the only way anyone could get her name. Dozens of false identities, thousands of nuyen won and lost on the right smile at the right time. A friendly touch on the arm translated to paydata for whatever team she was attached to. A whisper in the right ear gave access, and Sonora was good at it. Her signature was a small box wrapped in a red silk ribbon. The box wasn't the signature, however - it was the ribbon itself. Those who opened the box usually found nothing, or perhaps a note that simply said 'Thank you.'

It was as if she trained her whole life for the con, what little of it there truly was. The Aztechnology tutors said she had a vocal talent that few could - with the proper training, she could be influential. A politician. She could sway the masses to the Aztechnology line, and make them proud to be citizens.

It was not meant to be for her. She took the training, and disappeared at the earliest opportunity. There was no adventure in politics. She did not want to be beholden to a corp.

Beep...

She had known the risk even then, before the Crash. The Azzies had told her, trying to tie her to the company. What she didn't blow on parties, clothes, and finery she tied away on various accounts, awaiting the magic number for the operation to replace her heart, to make her whole. A broker told her of Novatech's IPO - and how she could not only have the operation to fix her heart, but enough that she would only have to run for the thrill, that her money would be secure and she could live in luxury for her newfound long life.

It was a roll of loaded dice, the broker had told her. A no-doubt proposition. Fate was smiling on them, he said. Fly to Caracas, and the doctors would start the process to grow a new, whole heart. It would be crafted free of defect, virtually no chance of rejection. A miracle of modern science.

She had landed in Caracas and was checking into her hotel when it happened. Chaos. Mayhem. After the smoke cleared, Jormungar had destroyed the Matrix and the AI Deus had 'died', she found her carefully counted nuyen was gone. As was her identity. Identities. All of them.

Beep...

The doctors were understanding. They gave her a biomonitor, and told her once she had the money again they would work quickly to restore her heart. They could not, however, do charity. For a small price, they could provide medications to prolong her life.

Only a pittance, they said.

By 2070, she had nearly given up hope. All of her money went to the medications, and they didn't seem to be slowing the decay of her heart.

The time for healing, she feels, has passed. Now it is time to bring Sonora back into the minds of the shadow community, so she would be remembered for what she was and is. It was time to play the big game, the last game. When she reached Heaven, she could perhaps convince God to send her back.

Beep...Be-be-beep...Be-

Until then, it was time to leave her mark.

Race: Elf Magic: Adept, Social
Body: 3 Agility: 3 Reaction: 3
Strength: 2 Charisma: 7 Intuition: 3
Logic: 4 Willpower: 3
Edge: 2 Magic: 6
Initiative: 6 Essence: 6
Karma: 0!
Initiation Grade: 2

Current Physical Damage: 0
Current Stun Damage: 0

Positive Qualities: - 15 BP
Perceptive II (+2 dice to Perception tests)
Adept

Negative Qualities: - 30 BP - 10 BP = -40 BP
Borrowed Time (Congenital Heart Disease)
Signature (The red silk ribbon)

Active:
Pistols 3
Blades(Knife) 2 (4)
Escape Artist 1
Leadership 3
Con(Impersonation) 5 (7)
Negotiation 4
Etiquette 3
Palming 3
Perception 5
Disguise 3
Dodge 2

Knowledge:
Fine Cuisine 2
Crook Hangouts 2
Art 1
Current Events 3
Bars 3
Fine Restaraunts 2
Coffee 1

Languages:
Spanish: Native
Sperethiel 3
English 3
Portuguese 1

Enhanced Perception 3 (+3 to perception checks I KIN SEE) (.75)
Kinesics 3 (+3 dice to social tests, hurr hurr) (1.5)
Voice Control (Just awesome. Cha + Con!) (.25)
Commanding Voice (Make a forceful command, screw folks up) (.25)
Cool Resolve 3 (+3 to Social defense) (.75)
Pain Resistance 1 (+2 to pain resist tests, ignore 1 box of damage) (.5)
Natural Immunity 1 (+1 die for resisting toxin/diseases) (.25)
Facial Sculpt 3 (+3 to disguise) (.75)
Eidetic Sense Memory (I SEE ALL. I REMEMBER ALL. I REMEMBER YOU SMELL LIKE CHERRIES.)(.5)
Iron Will 1 (+1 resist for mind control) (.25)
Melanin Control (Complex Action to change skin color one grade of brightness)
Multi-Tasking (Observe in Detail now free-action + two FA's per IP while not directly involved in combat)

Adept Divining - An extension of the regular Divining metamagic, Adept Divining requires a special combination to reach that 'critical mass' of usability. With the ability to take in a great many details on a constant basis through Multi-Tasking, remembering through Eidetic Sense Memory or the Photographic Memory quality, and having a decent enough Logic score (and character imagination) to process the details results in the capability to visualize probable paths. Think of it as Sherlock Holmes, on his usual drugs, on Awakened drugs on top of that, but still remaining lucid. A wonderful storytelling tool, Adept Divining really gives Sonora the ability to narrate ahead on certain occasions - with the caveat that the GM can simply say that the probability line she just visualized was the wrong one. Useful things can be gleaned with the suitable test.

Julio Santana (Loyalty 2, Connections 1)
A bartender at Julio's, a dive bar in Caracas. Sonora is a regular, and he prefers her company as she (at times) will soothe the savage beasts that normally inhabit his place of business. Occasionally, he knows a glimmer of information - or barring that, who might know the information she wants.

Carmen "Bunny" Santiago (Loyalty 3, Connections 1)
A streetwalker. I know, I know, the name. She's Sonora's best friend, and coincidentally her roommate. They're the same dress size and occasionally Bunny will borrow an outfit if she needs to make rent by the end of the month. Sonora helps her with her makeup, and how to handle a knife in case her Juans get too frisky. Secretly, she wants to be an actress on Telemundo.

Sergei Andreyovitch (Loyalty 1, Connections 3)
A Russian arms dealer, Sergei is a strange one. Usually wearing old Soviet-style uniforms with an ermine coat over it, he is prone to flamboyant displays of greeting, sharing stories over a bottle of vodka (or the finest mescal, when in Rome) and having a reputation of getting you something similar to what you ordered within 24 hours, no questions asked. If you can wait, he can get you what you ask for. If you can't, that motorcycle you were hoping for might be a pink Dora the Explorer bicycle, complete with training wheels. In his defense, he figures it's something the cops will never be looking for.

NodePhreak (Loyalty 2, Connections 3)
They say that hope springs eternal. NodePhreak is an example of that saying, as he's fervently hoped Sonora will go out with him for years now. A hacker and who she goes to when she needs a quality short-term forgery (emphasis on short, he's a halfer, get it?), he trades these wonders of modern technology for chaste kisses, bottles of Jarritos, and the hope someday it will be more. He'll never man up and ask her, and they both know it. Probably better for him anyway.

Sister Mary Magdalena de la Communion de Cristo (Loyalty 2, Connections 4)
Sister Mary of the Convent de la Communion de Cristo is, as one would surmise, a nun. She is beatific and serene in her years, and she is always happy to sit and talk over a cup of Abuelita (as she hates tea, it tastes like dirty water). Her convent, however, is not your typical convent. Sister Mary is Sonora's fixer, and she has been in the business for a long time. Nobody questions why the dregs go to this church (because it's a church), and why the church has money (they're Catholic, in some sense of the word).

Sonora, having hocked most of her gear over the years to pay for her medications, no longer has much left. She splits a doss with a streetwalker and only really has what she carries on her - a run of the mill commlink, an armor vest from bygone years, a Colt Manhunter in a concealed holster and a knife in her handbag, a pair of autopolarizing sunglasses, and her biomonitor. Her real money is in her clothing, having managed to maintain last year's fashions (about three years prior when they were noveau chic).

Actual gear:
Knife (2P)
Colt Manhunter (5P, AP -1, Laser Sight)
Concealable Holster
Various chic garments
Street-level garments, current cheap trend
Armor Vest
Sony Emperor running Renraku Ichi
Browse 1
Analyze 1
Edit 1
Encrypt 6
Scan 1
Stealth 3
Glasses (Vision Enhancement 3)
Biomonitor
Medical inhaler
Respirator, Rating 3
Heart medication, aerosol vector (1 month, approximately ten cartridges, 3 uses per cartridge)
Certified Credstick (silver)
Low Lifestyle, 1 month
7050 nuyen remaining, 1500 in cash

"It all started when that chica with the suit showed up.

"Don't get me wrong, ese, life is hard in the barrios, and I wasn't exactly ridin' the gravy train before that. I grew up in the slums of Caracas, and my family's been here for as long as anybody remembers. Fightin', stealin', dodgin' the cops and the cartels, and always wonderin' where the next meal was coming from is how I grew up, so when I tell you life got bad when this bruja started comin' around, I want you to know that shit means somethin', comprende?

"She was a real looker, and dressed way too good for our neighborhood. Not like some lost Yanqui tourist, neither. Like some high jefe in the cartels gone slummin'. Scary stuff, I'm tellin' you. Didn't nobody bother her, neither. She just strolled through this ghetto like it was a park. Now I ain't no fool, so I lay low. Chica like that around here don't mean nothin' good. Not to you and me, anyways. You learn real quick not to stick your neck out in my neighborhood, not if you wanna keep your head attached to it.

"So I ducks down an alley and gets behind this big pile of trash, waitin' for her to pass, but she just turns and follows me. Now, first I'm just thinkin' bad luck, right? Better skate before I'm in the wrong place an' wrong time. So I jump up to fire escape and haul ass up to the roof. Before I can even catch my breath, she just flies up after me. Really. Flying. You remember I called her a bruja? I meant it. This lady's a witch. Now me, I ain't never seen a real witch before that, and I didn't care to. I hauled ass the Hell out of there and never looked back... Chica's still huntin' me, an' I don't know why... but I hope I never find out."

Raul was born in the slums of Caracas, where the houses are stacked on top of each other like blocks and the streets are practically standing-room-only. Being good Catholics, his parents were fruitful and multiplied - multiplying the overcrowding of what was already very likely the most crowded city on earth. Four brothers and three sisters, with Raul the youngest, watching his siblings struggle against the crushing poverty. Generally, the only way out is drugs and gangs, but with million of kids trying the same thing, the odds are stacked hard against you. Three brothers and a sister died in the neverending gang squabbles, his youngest brother ODed on Bliss, and his oldest sister raped and murdered by a fifteen year old kid doing his initiation.

Feeling like he couldn't handle watching any more of his family die, he left his parents and remaining sister, Angelica, and struck out on his own at the age of seventeen. Vanishing into the seemingly infinite crowd of the poor of Caracas, he soon found that his family ties to the gang had been helping to keep him safe, and without that umbrella, life on the streets was even harder than the scrabbling existence he had known as a child. He learned the hard way how to fight, and more importantly, when not to. There are fights you can't win, and alone against a gang, that's pretty much all of them. The more important skills are running and hiding. Raul got very good at running and hiding. In Caracas, where the streets are too crowded to run in and the buildings are (sometimes literally) piled on top of one another, that means climbing.

What Raul didn't know was that at some point in his drug-addled teenage years, he had Awakened. Chalking the experience up to hallucinations, his magic developed in a less than focused manner. Rather than reaching truly superhuman levels of ability in any particular thing, his disbelief limited his abilities to that which (he believes) is achievable, giving him a mishmash of more subtle abilities.

Regardless of this, his high magic rating is easily discernible astrally, and it wasn't long before Raul was noticed by the cartels. A mage was sent out to investigate/recruit this new young adept living in the barrios, but they underestimated his ability to make himself scarce (probably not expecting he would flee from a generous offer of employment and possible ticket off the streets). Already paranoid from living on the streets all his life, Raul started seeing ghosts everywhere. Any look that lingered too long was a wizard trying to enchant him. It didn't help that anyone glancing onto the astral would see him glowing brightly and likely want to take a closer look. The attention from magic users unnerved him, and led to a seething distrust. Of course, they're probably working for that same chick who came looking for him...

Now it's four years later, and Raul, or "El Mono," is gaining a reputation as a highly skilled second-story man. Even though he's a bit jumpy and hates working with people he doesn't know, he has a knack for getting into places others can't, and for getting away again afterward. Sure, he got caught a few times as a kid, but he knows a guy on the force now, and that's useful. Even if they don't quite get along so well, he can be persuaded to look the other way or drop some good info if you toss some cash his way. He's mellowed out some over the years, and isn't as likely to bolt at the first sign of danger anymore. Still always looking over his shoulder, though, and more often than not, jacked up on Long Haul a week at a time, scared of dropping his guard for a moment. Sometimes, that's useful, though, when you need to keep an eye on someone or something for a long time.

Total Karma: 50
Current Karma: 5

280 Points
Body 5
Agility 6
Reaction 4 (5)
Strength 3
Charisma 2
Intuition 4
Logic 3
Willpower 4
Edge 3
Magic 6
Initiate Grade 1

124 Points
ACTIVE
Influence Group 1
-Con
-Etiquette
-Leadership
-Negotiation
Close Combat Group 2
-Blades
-Clubs
-Unarmed
Pistols (Light Pistols +2) 4
Automatics (Assault Rifles +2) 3
Longarms (Sniper Rifle +2) 3
Perception (Visual +2) 2
Infiltration (Urban +2) 6
Athletics Group 4
-Climbing
-Gymnastics
-Running
-Swimming

LANGUAGES
Spanish N
English (Spanglish +2) 3
Or'zet (Street +2) 3

KNOWLEDGES
Gangs 4
Local Bars 3
Police Procedures 3
Action Trids 2
Goblin Rock 2

+48 Points
Addiction (Moderate: Long Haul) +15points
Paranoid +15 points
Prejudiced (Specific, Biased: Dislikes Magicians) +8 points
SINner (Criminal) +15 points
School of Hard Knocks 5 points

Carmen (Waitress) 4/1
Rodrigo "Rojo Oso" (Fence) 2/4
Detective Hernandez (Dirty Cop) 1/4

8 points (40,000)
CASH
4,660

COMMLINK (2200)
Renraku Sensei/Renraku Ichi
Analyze 1
Browse 2
Command 1
Edit 3
Encrypt 3
Scan 2

ARMOR (1050)
Armored Jacket 8/6
SecureTech PPP Shin Guards 0/1

WEAPONS (4650)
Ceramic Knife
Brass Knuckles
Small Bat (club)
Custom Yamaha Sakura Fubuki
-Extended Clip
-Smartgun System
-Flashlight
Cuachicqueh Assault Rifle
-Modified Colt M23
-6P Damage, -1 AP, SA/BF/FA, 40(clip)
-Mods: Integral Smartlink, Internal Silencer, Electronic Firing, Shock Pad, Autoadjusting Weight, Sling
-Note: Cannot be further modified

VEHICLES (12500)
Yamaha Growler
-Engine Customization (Speed and Accel)
-Run Flat Tires

OTHER GEAR (2855)
Autopicker rating 6
Miniwelder
Wire Clippers
Glass Cutter
Climbing Gear
Rappeling Gloves
Low-light Flashlight
Goggles w/ Image Link and Smartlink
Long Haul (5 doses)
Earbuds w/ Audio Enhancement 3
Respirator Rating 6

LIFESTYLE 1 (8800)
Comforts Middle
Entertainment Low
Necessities Low
Neighborhood Squatter
Security High
-Hasty Exit +2
-Inconspicuous Housing +2
-Pest Magnet -1
-Rough Neighborhood -1
2 months

LIFESTYLE 2 (7600)
Comforts Squatter
Entertainment Squatter
Necessities Low
Neighborhood Low
Security High
-Inconspicuous Housing +2
-Escape Tunnel +3
-Trigger-Happy Landlord -1
-Poor Condition -1
2 months

Improved Reflexes 1 (1.5)
Combat Sense 3 (1.5)
Great Leap 2 (.5)
Wall Running (1)
Freefall 2 (.5)
Multi-Tasking (.5)
Mystic Armor 1 (.5)
Gliding (1)

Total: 15 Karma
Current: 3 Karma

Of obvious hispanic descent, the elf stands about 6'5" tall. The tanned skin, lean muscular body and sharply defined facial features in conjunction with his short black hair and bright green eyes definitely qualify him as handsome. At least if one doesn't mind the obvious dermal plating.
His age is difficult to judge since he looks youthful like all elves, but there is a darkness in his eyes that makes him seem older than his outside appearance suggests. He moves with the swift grace of a predator on the hunt.

Attributes: 220 BP
Body: 5
Agility: 6 (10)
Reaction: 5 (9)
Strength: 3 (5)
Charisma: 4
Intuition: 3
Logic: 2
Willpower: 3

Edge: 3
Initiative: 12
Essence: 0,14

Positive Qualities: 35 BP
Martial Arts 1 (Arnis de Mano): +1 DV Blades (5 BP)
Martial Arts 1 (Sangre Y Acero): +1 DV Blades (5 BP)
Martial Arts 1 (Krav Maga): “Take Aim” = Free Action (5 BP)
Restricted Gear: Muscle Toner 4 (5 BP)
High Pain Tolerance 3 (15 BP)

Maneuver: 4 BP
Two Weapon Style (2 BP)
Offhand-Training: Blades (2 BP)

Negative Qualities: +35 BP / +53 BP
Amnesia (10 BP)
Lost Love One (5 BP)
Big Regret (5 BP)
Enemy (10 BP)
Scorched (5 BP)

Active Skills: 122 BP / 12 Karma
Athletics Skill Group: 1 (+3 Synthacardium)
Unarmed Combat: 4
Blades (Cyber-Implants): 4 (+2)
Pistols (Heavy Pistols): 4 (+2)
Longarms: 4
Automatics (Assault Rifles): 6 (+2)
Heavy Weapons (Assault Cannons): 1 (+2)
Perception: 2
Infiltration: 1
Intimidation: 2
Etiquette: 1

Knowledge Skills
Professional: Security Systems 3
Professional: Weapons Dealers (Caracas) 2 (+2)
Professional: Ambush Tactics 3
Professional: Corporate Security Procedures 4

English: N
Spanish: 4
Portugese: 2

Alejandro Mariposa (Arms Dealer), Connections 3/Loyalty 5

42 BP = 210.000 Nuyen

Cyberware: 121.950
-Cybereyes Rating 3 + Thermographic Vision + Low-Light Vision + Flare Compensation + Smartlink + Vision Magnification + Vision Enhancement 2
-Wired Reflexes II (Alpha)
-Reaction Enhancers 2
-Dermal Plating 2 (Alpha)
-2x Retractable Spur (Alpha)
-Shock Hand (Alpha)

Bioware: 87.500
-Muscle Augmentation 2 (Second Hand)
-Muscle Toner 4 (Second Hand)
-Platlet Factories (Second Hand)
-Snythacardium 3 (Second Hand)
-Reflex Recorder (Firearms)
-Reflex Recorder (Blades)
-Reflex Recorder (Unarmed)

Armor Jacket (Trenchcoat, with holes in it)
FFBA (Half Body) (with holes in it)
A Colt Manhunter with half a clip of regular ammo and two extra clips
A short vibroblade
The remains of a commlink shattered by a bullet
An optical chip
A pack of gum
A pack of cigarettes with one cigarette left in it
A book of matches, with the words "Cat's Paw" on the front
A paper receipt from a place called Hard Times, purchases totalling just over 100 nuyen

Chaske Mato, or Chayton Wanji as he now calls himself in the bars, is a big man. He used to be as strong as any Sioux warrior before a prolonged spiral of depression and drug abuse ate away at his muscles. Chayton covers up this weakness with a long duster or bulky combat biking armor as the situation warrants, trusting in his size to deter any brawls from starting. Coupled with the dead look in his eyes and utter apathy for the rest of the world this tends to work. He has a long black braid running down the right side of his face and a large, red bandanna holding his trodes securely in place. He tends to wear a leather duster except for when he takes rides through the slums on his Mirage, for that he wears full combat biker armor.

Although a hacker himself, Chaske looks down upon other riggers and hackers that spend so much time in the Matrix their bodies waste away to skin and bone, he was born to a proud Sioux family and grew up seeing himself as such. As much as he dislikes those that refuse to care for their bodies, he saves his contempt for those he considers to be traitors, and to a lesser extent cowards. Unfortunately both of these prejudices stem from his own self-loathing and still grapples with his past. He's hoping that here in Caracas he can finally leave it all behind.

He was 24 when it hit. No warning, just a sudden and bright lance of white pain straight into his skull, frying his brain and blazing his mind. He screamed louder than he ever had, but no sound came out. Your muscle contractions and extensions are controlled by electrical impulses from the brain; dial up the electrical impulse and you contract the muscle even tighter. With all that biofeedback pouring directly into his nervous system Chaske hit the fetal position so fast he dislocated his jaw and bruised a rib. His one saving grace was the stern advice from his parents to never pollute his body with cyberware. Without a datajack Chaske had to use trodes, and they burned out in a few nanoseconds.

Still, it was almost a week before he regained consciousness. It took another week to regain control of his body. Chaske was forced to listen to doctors tell his family and friends he may never recover. Every night his mother rested her forehead against him and whispered tear-choked prayers for his recovery.

When he finally did open his eyes Chaske was greeted by the sight of his brother, Misun. Although twins, Chaske never developed the magical talents his brother did and was a mundane security spider while Misun was a tribal shaman able to commune with the spirit world, taking up Bear as his mentor spirit.

His family was overjoyed at his recovery, but after a while Chaske began to hear voices in his head. At first it was faint and mostly static, noise more than anything else. After a time it got louder, and then clearer. No matter how badly he tried to ignore it they wouldn't leave him alone. He got on his bike and drove as far as he could, as he reached the Black Hills the noise began to wane. He camped out there for a few days, finally relieved at the calm. As he returned to the city however the voices returned in force. Chaske sent his brother a message and returned to the Black Hills.

When Misun arrived Chaske told him about the voices, the short bits of conversations he could hear but not understand. Misun assensed his brother but could find no signs of magic. Although confused, Misun taught his brother some basic mental exercises to calm his mind and focus on the physical. It took Chaske a few weeks, but he gradually moved his camp closer and closer to the city, with his brother making trips into town for food and supplies.

As Chaske inched toward the city the voices returned, but thanks to his brother's instruction he learned to block them out. After a time however, he experimented with focusing his concentration on the voices rather than away from them, he found he could make out what was being said now. Bits of conversations, but this time he was able to tune in and listen to the entire thing. With practice he even learned how to follow the conversations and with proper focus make out icons. It was then that Chaske began to understand he was in the Matrix; with that insight came a deluge of insight as he exulted in his newfound abilities and flew through the wireless world like a hawk that finally learned to fly. In this new realm he came across an ultra-realistic icon: a plain, brown spider.

When Chaske approached it the spider skittered away along a barely visible strand of webbing. Chaske grinned and took chase, but the spider remained just out of reach as they both sped through the Matrix at the speed of light. Eventually the spider began to slow and Chaske gained on it, but just as he was about to overtake the spider it vanished. Feeling a presence behind him Chaske spun to see an aged Lakota man in red robes hovering silently in the VR, the stranger gave a slight smile and Chaske took a step back as recognition hit him like a bucket of cold water. "Greetings, Iktomi." Chaske said respectfully to the Trickster spirit.

Over the next year Iktomi taught Chaske to ride the webs and develop his abilities. He soon learned about others like him by piecing together news reports from around the world. Hoping to find another like him Chaske began to scour the Matrix for any leads, even breaking into corporate nodes. What he found shocked him: The corps knew all about Technomancers, and not only that they were kidnapping and experimenting on them. Disgusted, but unsure of what to do Chaske reached out to his brother, sharing with him all of the information he had gained. The two decided to free those that they could, and prepared themselves as Iktomi taught Chaske how to summon sprites to do the data-mining for him as he toned his body for the inevitable fight that would occur. Through Misun's extensive travels he made a large number of contacts throughout the NAN, and was able to equip his brother and himself with the best gear available. As a religious figure he took Chaske's tales of Iktomi with equal parts suspicion and gratitude to the capricious Trickster for teaching his brother what he could not.

Chaske trained dutifully until his sprites had returned with the necessary intel: An MCT warehouse where a pair of technomancers were to be dropped off by a runner team. Chaske and Misun hit hard and fast, Chaske sending a swarm of sprites to wreak havoc on the runner's communications and vehicles while laying down covering fire for his brother as Misun conjured up a maelstrom of debris to pelt the runner's van. As the door slid open he directed a number of cinderblocks to go flying inside before throwing a manaball right into the middle of the group. With the runners unconscious the brothers managed to drag the technomancers away and set them up in a squat in the Sioux territory.

The brothers did this for awhile: searching for possible technomancer extractions and then running an extraction of their own before the Runners could make their drop. Eventually however they were made. A routine interception turned out to be an ambush, lead was flying everywhere and the air crackled from Misun's spells. With blood trickling from his eyes at the sheer strain of the magic his shamanic mask began to grow in intensity until he called out for Chaske to run.

Blinded with fear Chaske ran until he couldn't take breath any more. He collapsed behind a dumpster and then passed out. When he awoke it was bright morning, and he came to with a start. He hurriedly pinged his brother's commlink, but it consistently timed out. Chaske rushed home and tried to ring up all of his brother's contacts, hoping he was just laying low.

A year passed, but Chaske couldn't dig up any information on his brother, he spent weeks at a time attached to an IV drip as he searched and cracked every node he thought might have a clue, but to no avail. Disgusted with himself for leaving his brother behind, when by all right he should have been the one to be captured Chaske packed up his gear and fled south on his bike, hoping to outrun his past.

He's made his way by hacking low level corp nodes for paydata and occasionally doing a stint or two in underground combat biking competitions.

Chaske's been on the move for awhile now, and his hoping to lose himself in Caracas. He's found a apartment with a garage for his bike and passes himself off as a hispanic when he's out buying groceries or paying the rent. The rest of the time he's trying to forget himself to little success; his parents raised him to be proud of his heritage, and try as he might he'll never be able to let that go. But money is starting to run tight, and he needs to pay the bills.

Chaske Mato -- Human(Sioux/Lakota) -- 0 BP

ATTRIBUTES - 200 BP


SPECIAL ATTRIBUTES - 50 BP


QUALITIES - (-35) BP



ACTIVE SKILLS - 142 BP


KNOWLEDGE SKILLS - (24 Free) 0 BP


COMPLEX FORMS - 26 BP


CONTACTS - 7 BP


GEAR - 50,000¥ :: 10 BP