Hi everyone. I'll give a shot at a spot in the team with a bioware enhanced human gunman. He's an old character I tried to update to 5th Edition.
Concept: Four months since waking up in this street clinic, The Frenchman still doesn't remember much of his past. But he has found a life he's striving in. One of risk, vices, and high stake adventures. How he got those expensive enhancements he doesn't know but his aptitudes with a gun are exceptional and he has managed to put it to good use, landing a few runs that paid him enough to enhance his lifestyle to a more natural state. The Frenchman turned out to be a socialite who like women, drinks, and the occasional recreational drug and chip. And he has abused of all since his rebirth. But he knows why. Though many like to forget, all he wants is to remember; but he is afraid, afraid of who he was. He knows he has the skills of a cold-blooded killer. Maybe the ones who left him dead had a good reason.
[spoiler="Story & Background (a bit long, sorry)"]
Runner Name: The Frenchman
Age: 34
Gender: Male
Metatype: Human
He suddenly stood up on his bed, pulling with him the tubes that connected his nose and left arm to various cannisters and machineries. His artificial grayish green eyes opened up wide and he let go a scream, a mix of fear, pain, and surprise. Though of usually light complexion, he was paler than normal, his mid-length dark brown hair wet with sweat from a fever and terrifying nightmares. His toned and defined shirtless body was only covered with bandages running across his chest.
- "NON!" he screamed
- "Easy Pal, easy. Welcome to the world of the living." Said another man, in a deep comforting voice.
He felt a pair of strong hands on his shoulders, carefully pushing him back onto the bed; the humid cover perfectly cushioning his frame, sign he had been there for a while already.
His cybereyes could have focused instantly but he didn't thing about turning on any system and he could only distinguish the features of the deep voiced man. A dark form appeared before him, and something set upon his noise and mouth, perfectly fitting.
- "Here, you need some more rest, you'll soon be back to shape." Said the other man.
A few breaths in and consciousness escaped him. Everything went black, again.
***
He slowly opened his eyes and they auto-focused. The ceiling's light was dimmed down, and he could hear a regular beeping on top of the soft buzz of machineries. He heard a door opening and turned his head toward the extra light that appeared in his field of vision and saw an imposing shadow but unable to distinguish the man's features.
- "Well, well, well. Our Frenchman is awake."
- "Ou suis-je? He said in a rather weak voice."
- "Oh Boy! Recognizing French doesn't mean I can speak it Frenchman. Do you speak any English?"
- "Je crois... I mean, I guess, I understood you.... where am I?"
- "Welcome to Dr. Henry's private clinical facilities, Frenchman. The man said joyfully as he approached close to the bed. I'm Dr. Henry"
This time he could finally see that Dr. Henry. A bulky black man with a more prominent belly. He wasn't really dressed like what he would expect from a doctor but after all the place didn't look much like a regular hospital room either.
- "What happened? ... what am I doing here? and why you keep calling me Frenchman?"
- "Whao, that's a lot, let's start with the easy part. Frenchman is because I don't know your name, and you kept mumbling in what I recognize as being French during your time asleep, which has been quite a while now... so what's your name?"
- "I am.... I ... I don't know... " He seemed concerned and looked at the doctor with a very worried look.
- "The trauma may have cause a temporary amnesia, it should come back with time."
- "Trauma?"
- "Nasty wound, you barely made it alive, you know." Dr. Henry said pointing at the bandages on the Frenchman's chest.
"The bullet was about two millimeters away from your heart, and you lost a lot of blood. Without that treated skin you've got you'd be dead for sure! A friend of mine found you on a backstreet a few blocks from here."
- "Here. Where is here? Where am I?"
- "No memories at all? "
- "It's all black... the only picture in my head is this room. And..."
- "And?"
- "I'm not sure... surgery room... lighter than here... it's more like feelings... struggle, fear..."
- "Well from what my scan showed me you were under the knife more than once, light cyber, most notably your jack and a datalock I noticed, and some fancy pair of eyes, maybe some bioware enhancements too other than that Orthoskin. Your subconscious may just be remembering those evens...You've been out for two weeks now. You need to take it slowly, stress won't help you here. As for your question,
here is my own little private clinic. So don't worry, don't know what got you here, but cops ain't coming to ask unwanted question. Here is Seattle."
The Doctor was telling the truth, he could smell it. Olfactory Booster certainly. The same two questions kept pounding in his head. Who was he? What had happened?
***
The Frenchman looked at his reflection in the mirror. His beard had grown thick for his time spent in Dr. Henry's clinic. His skin had regain some color. The wound on his chest had almost closed up now; pretty quickly according to the Doc. He ran a finger over it; just as his life could have ended, he felt like being born again. It had been almost a month now since he got shot and still no memory of his life before that. It was scary. He took a deep breath, still looking at himself, his arms holding and supporting him on each side of the sink. He stood there, silently, his mind trying to make sense of the blackness inside.
Yet he was healed now, at least physically, and the doctor had given the green light to get out. He owed Dr. Henry a lot. Not only for keeping him alive, but for the time he had spent in his clinic. And he had nothing to pay him back... his only possession a key card, that looked like a locker keypass. No clue to where the locker was either...
That could however be the only clue he may get from his life before getting shot, he had to find it. The report the doc gave him of the cyber and bioware modifications his body had sustained was scarying him. Some would allow him to be a good courier, like the datajack and lock, enhanced muscles, or synaptic boosters. But the extand of some modifications and wares just didn't make sense, for this job at least... thinking of it, some would be great additions for job like... assassination?
He watched his reflection, he wasn't sure he liked what he saw or what he could see rather.
- "I brought you some street clothes." Dr. Henry said as he interrupted the silence, entering the small room.
The Frenchman wasn't surprised though, he knew the doc was coming. He had smelled him...
- "Thanks. For everything, I owe you a lot. I wish I could pay you back."
- "Don't worry about the money. I'm sure with all the skills you have I'll find some useful favor to ask you one day. Plus just refer me to your kind when they'll need some care or surgeries."
- "My kind? what do you mean?"
- "You got no SIN, Frenchman. Yet you're superfit with enhancements that'd make some sammies envious. There's no doubt, you belong to the shadows. And if you didn't before, well maybe it's time for you to consider."
The Frenchman stayed silent, still deep in his though, then spoke up.
- "Well, how about I keep that in mind, for now I need to know more about myself, I'll look for that locker, it may contain information about me."
- "Sure thing Friend, just keep in touch..."
***
There it was. Locker 2632, King Street Station. His still bearded face partly hidden under the hood of the sweater he was wearing, the Frenchman could feel his heart beat accelerate. It only took him a couple days to find the location of the locker and he found out that he had his way with people. Even wearing old street clothes. Somehow he felt he'd rather be wearing a suit or something much more fancy than the very casual attire he was now wearing. Was that because that's what he used to always wear? or because he never could wear it and spend his life envious of those who were? Memories would disappear, habits wouldn't, good and bad.
There he was in front of the locker. With both hands inside the pockets of his hoodie, he was fondling with the keycard inside his left pocket. People were walking around him, living their own lives. Commuting, traveling, escaping, nobody was really paying him any attention. He swiped the key through the old lock and the small door opened. The space was only filled with a shoebox. Should he open it now? what if the content was just too overwhelming? or what if no one should see what's inside? The Frenchman grabbed the box and left the station.
Less than five minutes later passed a back alley, he stopped, a gun pointed at his face. And somehow, he wasn't afraid, not even worried. He had smelled the two others circling him from behind already. Punks. That's all they were. And he wasn't worried because he knew exactly what to do.
- "Give me your 'link, and that box!" Shouted the punk with the gun. A young ork, his leather jacket carrying the emblem of a gang he didn't know or remembered.
Muscle memory took over consciousness. His right foot pumped a strong kick in the kid's knee as his left hand, still carrying the shoebox slammed the light pistol to take it out of alignment with his face. Without waiting for the ork to fall or react he bashed at his target, sending a strong punch in the ribs followed immediately by a side hook on the ork's left temple. His assailant was out before he could even realize he'd been attacked. Yet the Frenchman, didn't stop. He used the momentum of his side punch to rotate toward the two behind him. They were humans of native american decent, also wearing a leather jacket but apparently just armed with clubs. They raised their weapon and launched at the French...
Removing the dust off the shoebox, the Frenchman gave a last look at the punks that tried to mug him. Two were out while the other was rolling on the ground with barely enough strength and breath left to cry out his pain. It was more a like mumble. It had been an easy fight, it shouldn't have been. His fighting skills were way above average, not only he just proved it, but somehow he also knew it, even before the fight had started. Memories and knowledge, quite different.
He hushed his way back to the coffin he had been renting for the week.
He needed to take a deep breath before opening the box. Not sure what he would find in it, maybe answers, maybe disappointment. He popped the lid open. A pistol in it's holster, some ammos, a credstick and commlink. And most interestingly, an ID. Which he picked up first. It looked pretty real, his picture displayed along some data lines and electronics chips for more information. But more importantly a name: Remy LeBeau.
He stared at it for some time, whether real or not he had a name. He glanced at the other items. He grabbed the gun. And muscle memory and coordination kicked in, along the with the smartlink. He rolled the gun, charged it, pointed it, rolled it back like he had done that all his life. He knew it was just a combination of his enhanced agility, both fine and gross motor skills, but together it was deadly. Who was he? What was he?
He emptied the box on the bed and looked inside hoping for more clues, but none were found. He thought about what Dr. Henry had said. He was but a shadow of himself... a Shadow, maybe that's were he belonged, in that shadowy world of intrigues, action and betrayals. He'll be the Frenchman, Shadowrunner.
Background:
Four months since waking up in this street clinic, The Frenchman still doesn't remember much of his past. But he has found a life he's striving in. One of risk, vices, and high stake adventures. How he got those expensive enhancements he doesn't know but his aptitudes with a gun are exceptional and he has managed to put it to good use, landing a few runs that paid him enough to enhance his lifestyle to a more natural state. The Frenchman turned out to be a socialite who like women, drinks, and the occasional recreational drug and chip. And he has abused of all since his rebirth. But he knows why. Many like to forget, all he want is to remember; but he is afraid, afraid of who he was. He knows he has the skills of a cold-blooded killer. Maybe the ones who left him dead had a good reason. [/spoiler]
[spoiler="Character sheet"]
~PRIORITIES~
A: Resources (450,000Y)
B: Attributes (20)
C: Skills (28/2)
D: Metatype (Human,3)
E: Magic (N/A)
~STATS~
Attributes:
Bod: 3(6) [+2]
Agi: 6(8 ) [+5]
Rea: 5(7) [+4]
Str: 3(5) [+2]
Wil: 2 [+0] [+1 Karma]
Log: 2 [+0] [+1 Karma]
Int: 4 [+3]
Cha: 5 [+4]
Edge:5 [Human +3]
Essence: 0.85
Initiative: 11+3d6
Limits:
-Mental: 4
-Physical: 8
-Social: 5
Condition Monitors:
-Physical: 11
-Stun: 9
-Overflow: 6
~QUALITIES~
Positive:
-Aptitude (pistol) (14)
Negative:
-Addiction (alcohol, moderate) (9)
-Addiction (Gambling, mild) (4)
-Weak Immune System (10)
~SKILLS~
Active:
-Athletics 2
---Gymnastic
---Running
---Swimming
-Pistol (Semi-automatics) 7(9)
-Unarmed (savate) 4(6)
-Sneak 4
-Etiquette 4
-Con (seduction) 3(5)
-Perception 3
-Longarms 1
-Computer 1
Street Knowledge:
Criminal Organization 3
Vices 2
Interest Knowledge:
Firearms (pistols) 2(4)
Language:
-French N
-English 4
~GEAR~
Weapons:
-Colt America L36 (320)
-- Internal Smartgun System (320)
-- Silencer (500)
-- 4 Spare Clip (20)
-- APDS x50 (600)
-- Regular Ammo x60 (120)
-Ruger Super Warhawk (400)
-- Internal Smartgun System (400)
-- APDS Round x50 (600)
-- Explosive Rounds x50 (400)
-Knife (10)
Total: ¥3,710
Clothing:
-Chameleon Suit (1700)
--- Chemical Protection R3 (750)
--- Fire Resistent R3 (750)
--- Isulation R3 (750)
-Auctioneer Business Clothes (1500)
--- Non-Conductive (750)
-Lined Coat (900)
--- Chemical Protection R3 (750)
--- Fire Resistent R3 (750)
--- Isulation R3 (750)
Total: ¥9,350
Electronics:
Commlink: Hermes Ikon R5 (3000)
-Micro-tranceivers x2 (200)
Total: ¥3,200
IDs:
-Fake SIN 4: Remy LeBeau(10000)
--Licenses (2400)
---- Concealed Carry License 4
---- Smartgun License 4
---- Private Investigator 4
Total: ¥12,400
Misc Gear:
-Medkit 3 (750)
-Respirator R6 (300)
-Gecko Tape gloves (250)
-Zen (dose)x12 (60)
Total: ¥1,360
Augmentations:
Cyberware [total: ¥49,000 essence:1]
- Datajack (1000, 0.1)
- Datalock R6 (6000, 0.1)
- Sound link (1000, 0.1)
- Olfactory Booster R4 (16000, 0.2)
- Cybereyes R4 (25000, 0.5, [10/16])
---- Flare Compensator [1]
---- Image Link [-]
---- Low-light Vision [2]
---- Smartlink [3]
---- Thermographic Vision [2]
---- Vision Magnification [2]
---- Camera [-]
Bioware [total: ¥386,000 essence:4.15]
- Damage Compensator R4 (8000, 0.4)
- Sleep Regulator (12000, 0.1)
- Synaptic Booster R2 (190000, 1)
- Bone Density augmentation R3 (15000, 0.9)
- Muscle Augmentation R2 (62000, 0.4)
- Muscle Toner R2 (64000, 0.4)
- Orthoskin R3 (18000, 0.75)
- Platelet factories (17000, 0.2)
Total: ¥435,000
Lifestyle:
-Middle, 1 months (5000)
Total: ¥5,000
~CONTACTS~
Armorer: Eduardo Estevez
Connections: 5
Loyalty: 1
Estevez is a Dwarf Armorer who has frequented Dr.Henry's clinic on the occasion. He was impressed with the Frenchman skills with a pistol and with his connection to the shadows was the one who got the amnesic human his first run. The two are slowly establishing a decent business relationship.
Street Doc: Dr. Henry
Connections: 3
Loyalty: 3
The Frenchman owes the good doctor quite a lot as he (apparently) saved his life and helped him get a back to shape. Dr. Henry has a foot in the Shadows and likes to remind the Frenchman of the proper runner's etiquette.
Stripper: Lara
Connections: 2
Loyalty: 4
Hot Human Stripper at a club the Frenchman frequents. He loves women and sex and has no qualm paying for it. He has paid, tipped and took good care of Lara who came to trust him, and the two exchange gossip and information, on top of some good time.
~KARMA~
Starting 25
Positive Qualities -14
Negative Qualities +23
Karma to Nuyen -10 (+¥20,000)
Logic 1->2 -10
Willpower 1->2 -10
Longarms 1 2
Computer 1 2
Total Left 0
Total Nuyen Spent: ¥470,000
Starting Money: (4d6x100)
[/spoiler]
