Post by infidelzombie on Oct 17, 2010 18:36:03 GMT -7
Real Name: Anatole Dupre
Street Name: Snake Eyes
Race: Human
Attributes
Body:3
Agility:4
Reaction:3
Strength:2
Charisma:5
Intuition:4
Logic:3
Willpower:4
Edge:2
Essence:6
Magic/Ressonance:5
Initiative:7
Ini passes:1
Matrix Ini:
Astral Ini:8
Skills:
Acitve:
Knowledge/Language:
Qualities:
Positive:
Magician -15
Mentor Spirit: Snake -5
Negatie:
Sensitive Neural System +5
SINner (criminal) +10
Records of File +10
Moderate Addiction: Cigarettes
Lifestyle, ID, Licenses:
Low Lifestyle: 3 Months
Rating 6 Fake Sin
Rating 6 Fake Firearms Licence
Spells/Adept powers/Complex forms:
Cyberware/Bioware (Essence cost):
Weapons:Morrisey Alta
+Concealable Holster
+Silencer
Morrisey Elan
+Hidden Arm Gunslide
Armor:Greatcoat (6/4)
Commlink:
Model:NovaTech Airwave
OS:Mangadyne Deva
Signal: 3
Response: 3
System: 3
Firewall: 6
Programs:Edit 2, Browse 2, Encrypt 3
Vehicles/Drones:Mercury Comet
Other Gear:
Force 8 Magic Lodge
Force 4 Sustaining Foci
AR Glasses
+Image Link
+Flare Compensation
+Vision Enhancement (3)
+Vision Magnification
Autopicker (6)
Maglock Passkey (4)
Maglock Sequencer (6)
4 Doses of Aisa
Contacts (Loyalty/Connection):
Badger (2/4)
Dmitri Dugashvili: Vory Information Broker (2/3)
Catherine Stahl: Talismonger (2/2)
Misc:
Force 4 Spirit of Man: 2 Services
Force 3 Spirit of Air: 2 Services
Part I
As it stood, I was royally fucked. I'd been sitting in one of the mafia interrogation rooms for lord knows how long, but it had to have been days. It was the kind of room you always think about when it comes to interrogation, a cross between a sleep deprivation chamber, and a torture chamber. Everything was a stark white, from the unadorned walls and ceiling, and the easy clean ceramic tiled floor, the the glaringly bright lights.The floor even had a grated drain so they could just hose everything down when they were done. Right now, those pristine white tiles where marred with crimson flow of my blood. I myself as it was, was sitting in the middle of the room, nailed to the chair by my hands with my hamstrings cut. Thankfully that had happened while my pain editor was still online. They'd had a techie come in and fix that right quick; and now dull agony throbbed through my hands and legs with the unceasing consistancy of the tide breaking against a cliff. But I wasn't alone, oh no. Two bruisers, orks the pair of them flanked me, working me over the good old fashioned way. A fist wrenched my vision to side and I reeled, spitting out a tooth and thick glob of half congealed blood and spit.
"C'mon Tom, you gonna talk or what? Fun as it is to beat the living shit outta you, I don't got all night." Said the slab of muscle to my left, a drek headed S.O.B. named James.
"Why, you're wife's still probably busy getting boned by that elf." I spat at him, literally. The spittle hitting his cheek. I never liked the bastard, but maybe I could get him angry enough to just kill me. These goons weren't about to break me, but I didn't want to see who the Consigliere sent in after them. I wasn't disappointed. The ork was about to go for a haymaker that probably would have snapped my neck. I should have been so lucky.
"Gentlemen, please! That's quite enough." A voice called out from behind me, and not anyone I knew in the biz,and I made it a point to know everyone. The tuskers looked up surprised, appearing almost even cheated; but they backed down without argument to my new antagonist. Like I said, royally fucked. The voice turned out to be a suit, dressed in a fine dark great coat and under that a midnight blue set of trousers and a jacket, white dress shirt underneath and what looked like real leather shoes. Surprising considering he was here to cut me up. I hope I ruined those fancy threads.
"Mr. Edner I presume?" He asked with a soft voice, another surprise, but I wouldn't get caught wrong footed.
"Just skip the pleasantries and get to it already, fucking butcher." I growled, trying work up something to spit at him, but the blood in my mouth had dried. Leaving my throat cracked and sore.
"I'm afraid you're under the wrong impression Mr. Edner, I'm your interrogator, not your torturer. I need nothing so base as bloodshed to get what I want from you, and such measures have proven futile thus far. However your former and my current employer is in something of a hurry, so you'll forgive me if I do indeed skip the pleasantries as you so eloquently suggested." He had moved in front of me now and was puling off his driving gloves, and it was now that I got my first good look at him. He was tall and slight of build, older than I would have thought. Wrinkled at the corners of his eyes and with Salt and Pepper hair. I'd place him at about 45-50 years old.
Stuffing his gloves into the pocket of his greatcoat, he placed his hands to either side of my head. I tried to thrash out of his reach, but he had an iron grip, and soon my thrashing ceased as a hot poker was shoved into my brain. I lost track of time again as he rumaged through my mind, searching out anything useful and discarding the rest, memories of my first love, the night I lost my virginity, growing up, the birth of my son, my fondest and most treasured possesions, all his to see. And all he did was cast them aside like so much garbage, searching for the one thing that mattered to him at that moment. What had I told Knight Errant, and who had I told it too. It took him all of three minutes.
Street Name: Snake Eyes
Race: Human
Attributes
Body:3
Agility:4
Reaction:3
Strength:2
Charisma:5
Intuition:4
Logic:3
Willpower:4
Edge:2
Essence:6
Magic/Ressonance:5
Initiative:7
Ini passes:1
Matrix Ini:
Astral Ini:8
Skills:
Acitve:
- Spell casting 4
- Counter casting 3
- Conjuring 4
+Summoning
+Binding
+Banishing - Assensing 3
- Etiquette 3
- Negotiation 3
- Leadership 3
- Infiltration 2
- Pistols 2 (Semi-automatics)
- Dodge 2 (Ranged)
- Perception 2
Knowledge/Language:
- Psychology 4
- Underworld Politics 3
- Arcana 3
- Information Brokers 4
- Black Markets 3
- Gang Turf 2
- Scotch Whisky 2
- French N
- English 3
- Japanese 1
Qualities:
Positive:
Magician -15
Mentor Spirit: Snake -5
Negatie:
Sensitive Neural System +5
SINner (criminal) +10
Records of File +10
Moderate Addiction: Cigarettes
Lifestyle, ID, Licenses:
Low Lifestyle: 3 Months
Rating 6 Fake Sin
Rating 6 Fake Firearms Licence
Spells/Adept powers/Complex forms:
- Analyze Truth
- Clairvoyance
- Clairaudience
- Mindprobe
- Physical Mask
- Phantasm
- Improved Invisibility
- Influence
- Increased Reflexes
Cyberware/Bioware (Essence cost):
Weapons:Morrisey Alta
+Concealable Holster
+Silencer
Morrisey Elan
+Hidden Arm Gunslide
Armor:Greatcoat (6/4)
Commlink:
Model:NovaTech Airwave
OS:Mangadyne Deva
Signal: 3
Response: 3
System: 3
Firewall: 6
Programs:Edit 2, Browse 2, Encrypt 3
Vehicles/Drones:Mercury Comet
Other Gear:
Force 8 Magic Lodge
Force 4 Sustaining Foci
AR Glasses
+Image Link
+Flare Compensation
+Vision Enhancement (3)
+Vision Magnification
Autopicker (6)
Maglock Passkey (4)
Maglock Sequencer (6)
4 Doses of Aisa
Contacts (Loyalty/Connection):
Badger (2/4)
Dmitri Dugashvili: Vory Information Broker (2/3)
Catherine Stahl: Talismonger (2/2)
Misc:
Force 4 Spirit of Man: 2 Services
Force 3 Spirit of Air: 2 Services
Part I
As it stood, I was royally fucked. I'd been sitting in one of the mafia interrogation rooms for lord knows how long, but it had to have been days. It was the kind of room you always think about when it comes to interrogation, a cross between a sleep deprivation chamber, and a torture chamber. Everything was a stark white, from the unadorned walls and ceiling, and the easy clean ceramic tiled floor, the the glaringly bright lights.The floor even had a grated drain so they could just hose everything down when they were done. Right now, those pristine white tiles where marred with crimson flow of my blood. I myself as it was, was sitting in the middle of the room, nailed to the chair by my hands with my hamstrings cut. Thankfully that had happened while my pain editor was still online. They'd had a techie come in and fix that right quick; and now dull agony throbbed through my hands and legs with the unceasing consistancy of the tide breaking against a cliff. But I wasn't alone, oh no. Two bruisers, orks the pair of them flanked me, working me over the good old fashioned way. A fist wrenched my vision to side and I reeled, spitting out a tooth and thick glob of half congealed blood and spit.
"C'mon Tom, you gonna talk or what? Fun as it is to beat the living shit outta you, I don't got all night." Said the slab of muscle to my left, a drek headed S.O.B. named James.
"Why, you're wife's still probably busy getting boned by that elf." I spat at him, literally. The spittle hitting his cheek. I never liked the bastard, but maybe I could get him angry enough to just kill me. These goons weren't about to break me, but I didn't want to see who the Consigliere sent in after them. I wasn't disappointed. The ork was about to go for a haymaker that probably would have snapped my neck. I should have been so lucky.
"Gentlemen, please! That's quite enough." A voice called out from behind me, and not anyone I knew in the biz,and I made it a point to know everyone. The tuskers looked up surprised, appearing almost even cheated; but they backed down without argument to my new antagonist. Like I said, royally fucked. The voice turned out to be a suit, dressed in a fine dark great coat and under that a midnight blue set of trousers and a jacket, white dress shirt underneath and what looked like real leather shoes. Surprising considering he was here to cut me up. I hope I ruined those fancy threads.
"Mr. Edner I presume?" He asked with a soft voice, another surprise, but I wouldn't get caught wrong footed.
"Just skip the pleasantries and get to it already, fucking butcher." I growled, trying work up something to spit at him, but the blood in my mouth had dried. Leaving my throat cracked and sore.
"I'm afraid you're under the wrong impression Mr. Edner, I'm your interrogator, not your torturer. I need nothing so base as bloodshed to get what I want from you, and such measures have proven futile thus far. However your former and my current employer is in something of a hurry, so you'll forgive me if I do indeed skip the pleasantries as you so eloquently suggested." He had moved in front of me now and was puling off his driving gloves, and it was now that I got my first good look at him. He was tall and slight of build, older than I would have thought. Wrinkled at the corners of his eyes and with Salt and Pepper hair. I'd place him at about 45-50 years old.
Stuffing his gloves into the pocket of his greatcoat, he placed his hands to either side of my head. I tried to thrash out of his reach, but he had an iron grip, and soon my thrashing ceased as a hot poker was shoved into my brain. I lost track of time again as he rumaged through my mind, searching out anything useful and discarding the rest, memories of my first love, the night I lost my virginity, growing up, the birth of my son, my fondest and most treasured possesions, all his to see. And all he did was cast them aside like so much garbage, searching for the one thing that mattered to him at that moment. What had I told Knight Errant, and who had I told it too. It took him all of three minutes.