[Shadowjack]

Anyone that likes can write a little history or description on the character to give people ideas. Once we have a decent history, description etc we can move on to the stats. At that point you could choose his Body, give him a skill with a rating, buy him a piece of gear etc. If you update the character, do it in your own post.

Who wants to start this off?

[rasmusnicolaj]

It was a dark and stormy night. [name] pulled the reverse of his armored jacket up to keep the wind and rain at bay. He really wanted to light a smoke byt the glow would give him away to his target. [Name] glanced up at the silhuet in the window and wished he was sitting at the pub with a nice beer. Sometimes it really sucks to be a shadowrunner but you have to work to be able to pay the rent.

Next

Rasmus

[Shadowjack]

His street name was Backtrack and he'd been up to his usual tricks for weeks hunting this guy. And that time had finally come. This would be his biggest score yet and he earned it the hard way. The only problem was, Mr. Yakamoto knew he was looking for him... but was he really prepared? We would find out... soon.

[foolofsound]

He sniffed, then wrinkled his nose. A scent bomb. Looked like the bastard scientist knew about his olfactory augment. Worse, it looked like he knew just how close he was. He drew his old service Thunderbolt, back from Lone Star, from the hidden lining in his coat. As the familiar targeting overlay appeared in his vision, he wondered just what sort of trouble this cornered rat might throw at him.

[Shadowjack]

He crept closer towards his mark, making sure to stay low alongside the shadows of the old building. Backtrack could now not only see his mark, but two other men in the room with him beyond the window. Luckily they didn't see him... not yet, or so it would seem. Backtrack was never really much of an Assassin, he was known for making an entrance... a big one. He opened the container holding his collection of grenades and began pondering which one he would use this time.

[foolofsound]

Alerts sprung across his vision; his radar had detected multiple movements converging on him. Must be Yakamoto's thugs; nobody else should be in these abandoned condos. He felt sudden heat flowing through him as his auto-injectors released a hit of liquified Jazz. As the fire reached his chest, his world slowed, and he let a rasping gasp as his heart leaped. Good thing these artificial hearts could survive a speedball of Cram and Jazz; he had seen good cops kill themselves on the stuff.