Zedalith
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crushes
âĄdesign by stardust galaxy, coded by uxieâĄ
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- Thread starter Zedalith
- Start date
Klown
(âŽâȘà±ȘââŽ)
NAME: Genesis Oliktoro. Rarely hears it nowadays if not being chastised by her manager. NICKNAMES: Her stage name, and the name mostly everyone knows her by, Seraphina.
AGE: Twenty-five years old
RACE: Xenogenic
GENDER: Cisgender female; She/Her
FACTION: Nouveau Riche
OCCUPATION: Performer. Mainly a singer but has begun to dabble in acting.
APPEARANCE: Doll faced in both impassiveness and aesthetic features; Its one perfect imperfection being the mark on her cheek just beneath her left eye. She stands at a height of five feet and four inches with long, rippling waves of blonde hair that consumes about half of it. Her eyes are searing gold that glow in the right lightâor lack-there-ofâhooded by long lashes. Original art by me.
CYBERNETICS: Cybernetic legs per her manager's request as her authentic legs had been badly scarred. Eye implants to fix her vision as well as give them that ethereal glow. Golden hair extensions fused with her scalp. Golden plated implants against her shoulder blades which project holographic wings. They are only for show, and she rarely has them on when she is alone. A chip in her ear that allows her to make instant distress calls. General cosmetics to keep her looking ageless.
MUTATIONS: Haunting Voice: Through the use of her voiceâhumming or singingâGenesis can put someone in a sort of hypnosis that alters their perception of reality, essentially creating illusions that look and feel real, but ultimately are not. Not only must she have line of sight on the individual, but they must be able to hear her voice for it to take effect. Using it for too long gives her awful migraines. On some occasions her nose will bleed. (Status: Dormant)
Lightning scream: A quiet, static hum builds in her throat as a glowing orb of white light forms at the base of her throat, when unleashed in an ear-piecing shriek, a current of electricity shoots out of her mouth like lightning, stunning and burning anything in its path. It takes her throat a couple of minutes to recuperate from the blast. It often leaves her hiccupping little sparks, and it is not a pleasant feeling. Sheâs afraid itâll damage her vocal cords so she limits its usage, if she even uses it at all. (Status: Dormant)
DIRECTORATE NOTE: Despite the presence of the Xenogenic gene, no clear indications of Xenogenic traits, such as heightened abilities or physical changes, have been observed in Genesis. Extensive analysis of her phenotype, including assessments of physiology, neurology, and morphology, revealed no significant deviations or apparent signs of Xenogenic characteristics. It is possible that the Xenogenic gene may influence subtle physiological or biochemical processes that are not easily identifiable through standard assessments. Additional investigations are necessary to explore alternative mechanisms of gene expression. Danger Assessment: Low.
PERSONALITY: Two sides to one coin. An apt descriptor for New Libertyâs flawless angel. Sweet, congenial and devoted. A woman who loves in abundance and whose kindness knows no bounds. Genesisâ fans know the performer as their darling light who can do no wrong. A savior among the muck and disaster that cakes the darkest corners of New Liberty. Generous and charitable; a beacon of goodwill. Her pure and untouchable image is fed by her apparent disinterest in carnal pleasure and drug use. The mysterious air around her is lent by the rarity of her smile or general intrigue in anything other than singing her music.Behind the suffocating smog of celebrity propaganda lies someone incredibly unhappy. Someone who envies those that live their life without puppet strings on every limb. Someone who is bitter, judgmental, and who wants to choke anyone who voices their thoughts as if theyâre her own. The general apathy Genesis expresses during soirees brimming with influential guests isnât just for show. Conversations where she cannot convey her authentic opinions bore her to sleep, and itâs usually most of them. Every day she feels like sheâs drowning in her own shadow and is desperate to break loose.
Once her guard is down, one will find out not all her sweetness is staged. Having been forced to repress her personal feelings, Genesis struggles to verbalize them and it frustrates her to the point of lashing out. Because of this, she shows affection through gift giving or acts of service. Sheâs fiercely loyalâif not mostly stubbornâand wonât go down without a fight. Sheâs got a big ego after all, and if pushed into a corner she wonât hesitate to bite back.
RENOWN: Born to Xenogenic parents who were both abandoned by their families once their shift in DNA was discovered. Theyâd tried keeping their babyâs birth a secret for as long as possible, but there was very little that they could do. With eyes at every corner, it was only a matter of time before Genesis was tagged as Xenogenic herself. Her parents werenât the fortunate sort, both in money and fate.
Her father was brutally beaten during a street fight and died before help could arrive. This left Genesis and her mother, Diana, with a mountain of debt and no home. It was Genesis and her mother against the world. They got into a few scuffles themselves. Her mother had taken to stealing while Genesis took to performing on the streets, earning a pathetic amount from anyone generous enough. People werenât too keen on sharing what little the civil war had left them with.
One night, while the mother and daughter were cradled in a ramshackle shed and a storm raged outside, Genesis sang to comfort her mother. Her mother recorded this and sent the video to her eldest brother hoping to garner pity for their situation. It worked, but not for the reason Diana had hoped. Genesisâ uncle, Henrik, saw the budding talent in the young girl and saw first and foremost an opportunity for money. The day he came to pick up Genesis, her life would change forever.
All mentions or traces of her past were wiped from the public. She received singing lessons, lived in the big city and was given everything her childhood didnât allow. Everything about herself was ripped and shaped into somethingâsomeoneânew; Seraphina. It was exhilarating at first. A new life doing something she loved while supporting her mother who sadly could not come with her.
As Seraphina, her climb to fame was almost instantaneous. With a few steady bribes and granted favors towards the directorates, her Xenogenic lineage was wiped from the public. She sang hit pop songs as well as tear-jerking ballads, collaborated with popular artists, promoted charity and more. Seraphina was a busy body, and Henrik ensured she stayed in line. His methods werenât always orthodox. At times he got violent and lashed out both physically and verbally. Assured Genesis that her rise to fameâthat everything sheâd becomeâwas because of him; that if she threw it all away, sheâd be throwing herself and her mother back into squalor. Being young and afraid, Genesis believed him.
The majesty of everything wore off after some years, thus bloomed the starâs cynical nature and unhappy attitude. While Henrik still keeps her on a tight leash as her manager, heâll occasionally loosen it, convinced Genesis has been tamed plenty.
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Clockwork_Magic
*Gears turning*
Kyoko Hinode
Nicknames/Aliases:
Kyo (By family)
Cipher (Hacker identity)
HEIGHT: 5'6"
AGE: 24
RACE: Human (Has Xenogenic genes but they're not expressed)
GENDER: Cisgender Female
FACTION: Civilian
OCCUPATION:
Publically unemployed, though in the underworld of New Liberty she's a Freelance hacker under the alias of Cipher who often works with resistance elements
CYBERNETICS:
Neural Jack - Allows Kyoko to create a direct interface between her nervous system and a computer system, uses it mainly to hack into a system that can't be done so from a distance from an electronic device
Data Plugs - Plugs built into the back of her wrists that allow Kyoko to download data onto her Data Chip
Data Chip - Stores the data downloaded from external systems via Kyoko's Data Plugs. The chip port is near the base of the back of her neck
Neuro-Cortical Security System - Can be thought of as a very robust immune system that protects Kyoko's brain, nervous system, and cybernetics from hacking, malware, computer viruses, etc.
PERSONALITY:
Kyoko can be described as being a very jaded and cynical person who derives pleasure from the misfortune of those near the top of the societal hierarchy. She can often come off as confrontational in her interactions with other people as well as outright hostile to all members of the Directorate and most of the Nouveau Riche, should she encounter them. Due to the nature of her upbringing and heritage, Kyoko is sympathetic to Xenogenics. She views anyone who is anti-xenogenic as massive hypocrites, especially if they possess extensive cybernetic augmentations.
RENOWN:
Kyoko was born 2 decades after the end of the civil war that tore the nation apart, the release of Radiogenia and the subsequent administration of the vaccine to the populace. Kyoko's father was just a run of the mill office worker at some corporation in New Liberty, but her mother, however, was a Xenogenic with an affinity for being able to manipulate electricity. For the first few years of her childhood, things were relatively normal, a young Kyoko looking up to her mother as if she were a kind of superhero, aspiring to be just like her despite not inheriting her mother's Xenogenic traits and abilities.
As time went on, however, the less her parents could shield Kyoko from the true extent of the prejudice and discrimination against Xenogenics that plagued society, which was only ever getting more virulent in its intensity and widespread in its belief. Soon, Even despite not being a Xenogenic herself, Kyoko's peers held contempt for her solely because she shared the same genes as her mother, expressed or not. The contempt from those around Kyoko's family towards her mother's existence would soon reach its limit, with her mother dying in an "accident" so the media reports, though Kyoko was certain that her mother had been lynched by some group of anti-Xenogenic extremists.
After her mother's murder, Kyoko grew to despise the system around her and distance herself from it all, even her father. What the hell was the difference between superhuman abilities granted from some genetic mutation and those that were granted through cybernetic augmentation?! Is it not pretty much the same in the end?! And why was the latter persecuted but not the former? With this mindset, she formed a new take on her childhood aspirations. If she couldn't master the element of electricity, then why not settle for the next best thing: cyberspace.
Kyoko spent the next few years after her mother's murder learning the ins and outs of computer systems, cyberspace, and cybernetics, getting a few cybernetic augmentations herself, and eventually establishing herself as the hacker known as Cipher in New Liberty's underworld.
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TheRealAngeloftheStorm
Beyond the Red Gate
crushes
âĄdesign by stardust galaxy, coded by uxieâĄ
Nogoodname
Did nothing wrong
Sylvia Valentine
NICKNAMES: Red
HEIGHT: 5'7"
AGE: 22
RACE: Human
GENDER: Trans fem, she/her pronouns
FACTION: Civillian
OCCUPATION: Investigative Journalist
CYBERNETICS: The Full Panoptic Suite - A combination of neuralware in her eyes and ears allowing Sylvia to record footage straight from these two senses to a memory chip in the chip slot located on her neck or directly to an external device via her interface plug. Using this cyberware Sylvia has the option to either manually begin and end recording or save all of her experiences up to the past hour. The quality is middling, better than a phone camera but worse than dedicated recording equipment which is why Sylvia still carries a camera with her, however the ability to record footage on the sly without being seen with a camera is invaluable to Sylvia's line of work.
PERSONALITY: Sylvia is a bit of a free spirit, she likes the freedom of movement given to her by her occupation to get out and see the city, to meet new people and talk to them, to learn their story. It's the kind of freedom that a lot of people don't have, and she appreciates it more than anything. The long hours and sleepless nights can make Sylvia appear to be a sort of workaholic, and while that is true, she still has other hobbies. In her free time Sylvia likes to read, practice creative writing, go out with friends, she even plays the bass for a small time indie band known as Static Flood. Sylvia's the kind of person that can never really sit still in one place for too long, she always has to be doing something.
RENOWN: Growing up in the wake of the civil war and the unleashing of Radiogenia upon an unsuspecting civilian population, Sylvia is no stranger to hardship. Her father passed away shortly after her birth due to complications with the vaccine, leaving her mother Evelyne to pick up the pieces and try to care for her while working multiple jobs to keep them afloat financially. It wasn't easy, Sylvia had to learn to care for herself from a very young age to ease her monther's burder, and while they had money coming in they still went hungry some nights, it's hard to say she ever really had a 'proper' childhood. But Sylvia's mother was a strong woman, and a paragon of the community, so she was able to pull them through by sheer tenacity and strength of will, along with a couple of favors from family friends.
When she was old enough, Sylvia started taking up odd jobs in the neighborhood to help support her mother. Getting out and taking jobs like this had a real eye opening effect for Sylvia, she saw the suffering of the city from the ground level, people in a far worse situation than her, struggling to meet their most basic needs with little to no help from the city. She saw the latent effects of Radiogenia on the people who'd been hesitant or unable to take the vaccination, the terror and paranoia aimed at the newly growing Xenogenics population, the pain inflicted on the people by local gangs and an the increasingly militarized police force put in place to stop them. Sylvia desperately wanted to do something for the community who'd helped her and her mother survive up to this point, and she looked to the media as a way to accomplish just that. The media tells people's stories after all, it keeps the people informed on what's going on, maybe if she could share her stories, maybe she could accomplish something.
Her mother pulled a few strings to get her an internship at the New Liberty Press, a small time news site dedicated to 'spreading the truth to the people! No matter how shocking', their words, not hers. And while the position is far, far less glamorous than she'd initially imagined, and the pay isn't great, and they often make sweeping edits to her stories... It's still a fresh start for Sylvia. It's the chance to do some good, the ability for her to investigate the powers that make up this city and report on her findings. All she needs is her next big break, a story so groundshaking that her bosses can't ignore it, surely if she just keeps digging, she'll find something.
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Archie
Not even my final form
NICKNAMES: "The Terminator" in his MMA days. Today, most people don't know his identity but refer to the strange man coordinating "homeless" criminal activity as the "beggar king".
AGE: 28
RACE: Xenogenic
HEIGHT: 6'4"
GENDER: Male
FACTION: Civilian
OCCUPATION: Criminal. Former professional fighter.
APPEARANCE: Tulkar is a tall, imposing man with a permanently angry look and lines on his forehead from scowling. Unlike most people with any kind of money in this city, he looks older than he actually is and doesn't have any enhancements. His body is full of scars and bruises from his long career in fighting. He has dark hair and dark green eyes. For his entire career as a fighter, Tulkar had a beard, which he has since shaven off to conceal his identity.
CYBERNETICS: None. During his career he became a fan favorite for fighting with "no enhancements" besides standard issue government chips, and he's since torn out all of those chips.
MUTATIONS: Necromancy. Tulkar can raise the corpses of dead humans and creatures. Thousands of hours of research have led Tulkar to conclude that every living thing - even non-Xenogenics - has connection to an "outer plane" of existence. We all have souls - Xenogenics just have the strongest ones, and can cross into a portion of the outer plane at will. Once a living thing dies, its soul is expelled, at which point Tulkar can capture that soul and combine its power with his own to "restart" its former body. The body remains dead, but is powered by its former soul, which slowly depletes in the process.
Despite being restored to their hosts, captured souls do not have free will. They join what Tulkar calls his "well" - a resevoir of souls in the outer plane that acts like a hivemind, with each soul having a voice in proportion with its power. Living souls are stronger than dead ones, and Xenogenic souls are stronger than mortal ones. So, to retain a "majority vote" in this parliament, Tulkar makes sure that he himself only dies for short periods of time, and he never resurrects any Xenogenics.
Tulkar himself can "die", at which point his body becomes controlled by the hivemind. Dead Tulkar is a much more powerful being than living Tulkar, blessed with superhuman strength, speed, and healing. However, he can only do this for short periods of time, both because this rapidly depletes the souls of his minions, and because his dead soul is less powerful than his living one- if he spends too much time as a zombie, he runs the risk of losing power in the hivemind, and therefore control over his own body. This state of "madness" persists until enough captured souls have been drained that Tulkar's weakened, dead soul regains a "majority" in the reservoir, or until his body heals back to full life.
Tulkar is able to heal other bodies back to life as well, but this is extremely expensive in sacrificed souls, and he has yet to do so.
Tulkar is one of the few Xenos who have been able to escape government monitoring, because his father was an undocumented immigrant who received the vaccine in Mongolia. Unbeknownst to Tulkar, Bataarzorig Zhul-Sen knew of his mutation and exploited it in his combat sports career in much the same way Tulkar did, and was forced to flee his home country after experiencing an incident very similar to the one that ended Tulkar's career.
DIRECTORATE NOTE:
PERSONALITY: Tulkar is an incredibly paranoid and secretive person. He never sleeps in the same bed two days in a row. His undead have renovated parts of the abandoned system of freight tunnels under the city, which serve as his main mode of transportation and his secret hideaway whenever the police are after his imagined "organization". Few of his business associates in the underworld have actually spoken to him face to face - usually, messages are delivered by undead couriers, conveyed by payphones, or in rare cases conveyed by a few trusted people in the resistance with a direct line to him. No pictures of the "beggar king" exist, and he'd prefer to keep it that way. Occasionally, Tulkar does try to do normal people things - hook up, go out to bars and go to touristy places and the theatre, but he has to be careful. He was somewhat famous in his past life, and despite shaving off his beard, he can easily run into someone who recognizes him. Tulkar is distrustful of electronics because he doesn't understand them and knows the directorate is excellent at cyber surveillance, so he has no phone. His only internet access is from underground cribs connected to above ground internet routers through ethernet cables drilled through the earth.
Since the outside world is denied to him, Tulkar has tried to create his own world in the hidden depths of the earth, and in the forgotten, abandoned buildings of the city. With unpaid laborers attending to his needs, he has no use for utilities and can have food and water delivered. He has a taste for "grunge luxury", and renovated many secret underground and above ground hiding places into well furnished apartments. In his free time, Tulkar ("Zaid") goes to the beach to make up for his lack of sunlight during the day, trains MMA against his undead minions, and plays video games.
RENOWN: Tulkar Zhul-sen was born in New Liberty to Baatarzorig "The Giant" Zhul-sen and Sandra Freemont. His father, an undocumented Mongolian immigrant who was that country's national wrestling champion, died when he was 8. His mother struggled to support the family of 5 thereafter, and was forced to move to the inner city. There, she got into an abusive relationship with a local drug dealer, and all the kids got involved in petty crime except Tulkar. Taking after his father, Tulkar became a champion wrestler and had something to distract himself. Tulkar's stepfather, seeing the huge youth as a threat to his authority frequently tried to hit him, but lost every resulting fight. Tiring of this, the drug dealer finally tried to kill Tulkar when the boy was 16 using a gun. Tulkar successfully shot a double leg takedown on the man, however, and pistol whipped him several times in the skull. It wasn't until Tulkar recovered his senses that he realized his stepfather was dead.
Knowing he was about to go to jail, Tulkar began hurriedly packing his bags while his mom was trying to argue with him. Their argument was cut short when the corpse of Tulkar's stepfather, its skull still dented, stood eerily next to them in total silence. Tulkar realized after several seconds that he could telepathically control the corpse, at which point he acted quickly to preserve his life. He ordered the corpse to go outside, then shoot itself publicly in the head so its death would be ruled a suicide.
Tulkar's mom loved her new husband despite his flaws, and their relationship completely broke down in the aftermath of his death. Tulkar's siblings, however, appreciated what he had done. The whole family agreed they should keep Tulkar's ability a secret, because even though his mom hated him, she knew that the discovery of his powers would only bring unwanted attention to the family. Besides, Tulkar was starting to be something of a breadwinner in the aftermath of his discovery. He resurrected the corpses of drug addicts that had died in the street, stray dogs killed as roadkill, and victims of shootings and had them beat up corner drug dealers and seize their stash, which Tulkar's brothers would resell.
Colton would go on to win the fight, but in the post-fight interview was completely incoherent and was rushed to the hospital. Tulkar already knew what was going to happen next: the doctors would declare that Colton had been dead for half an hour, the Directorate would immediately determine Xenogenic powers were at work, and agents would be swarming all over the team to figure out who was responsible. Tulkar knew what he had to do. Leaving the hospital, he consumed a debilitating amount of alcohol and crashed his car full-speed into the highway median. His death was ruled a drunk driving incident, and he was buried the next day, only to be dug up by his minions the day after.
Thereafter, Tulkar had to basically start over. His family had cleaned out all of his assets, and though there were still a few of them he cared about, he couldn't make contact with them for their own protection. At least now they had his money. Nearly all his minions had been sacrificed in his own, long healing and resurrection after a serious injury. Finally, he was legally dead and had no state ID in a society where state documents were everything.
Tulkar knew what he needed to do - it was a blast from the past. Returning to the slums where his family no longer lived, he resurrected the corpses of the unfortunate victims of street crime and drug abuse, and started shaking down drug dealers and reselling package. Whenever the police showed up, he made sure his resurrected minions attacked and were gunned down, so that no one suspected necromancy was at work. Eventually, through his contacts, he found gang leaders willing to buy inventory in bulk, sleazy businesses willing to launder his cash, and white collar criminals willing to forge him a new identity as "Zaid Nabil". Shortly thereafter, he started getting into "legitimate business", buying distressed real estate through proxies, which would then be renovated using the free labor of his undead, and investing in bars to wash his drug money.
In the process, Tulkar created a network of unregistered, black market businesses and contacts which became a base for the resistance against the government. Contra popular belief, the "beggar king" didn't start as a revolutionary, but was forced into it. The need to conceal his powers meant his minions could never be arrested, and always had to fight the police to the death. He was, in effect, at war with the government by default.
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Clockwork_Magic
*Gears turning*
Hanabi Kage
Nicknames/Aliases:
Hana (By family)
Blaze (Resistance code name)
HEIGHT: 5'5"
AGE: 26
RACE: Xenogenic
GENDER: Cisgender Female
FACTION: Civilian
OCCUPATION:
CYBERNETICS:
Agility Enhancement System - A series of implants that grants Hanabi with an exceptional amount of stamina as well as greatly enhances her athletic abilities, such as parkour and climbing, making it pretty useful to have in a quick escape or maneuvering around an environment
Mutations:
The universe is often more fragile than many think. Everyone knows the story of the atomic bomb, of radio active elements being put into weapons and unleashing destruction the world hadn't yet seen before the Radiogenia Outbreak, but has the thought ever crossed anyone's mind that similar explosive reactions are possible with matter found in everyday objects?
That is the power that Hanabi Kage possesses, the power to manipulate any ordinary object she touches at a molecular level, enables her to do.
If she so chooses with any object she has physical contact, she can choose initiate what is known as Induced Molecular Instability which spreads from the point of contact to the rest of the object, turning that object into an improvised explosive hidden in plain sight.
The intensity of the explosion, which can range from the size produced from hand grenades to several tons of TNT, will depend on the size and mass of the object that is converted. The size and mass of the object also determine how fast the molecular instability spreads, with small handheld objects reaching instability in a few seconds whereas large objects like a car would take up to a few minutes.
There are 2 ways for these objects to be detonated. The first method could essentially be described as a time bomb that detonates after a set amount of time has passed as determined by Hanabi. As for the second method, if a timer hadn't been set on unstable objects for detonation, then Hanabi would have to be within a 1 mile radius of the objects to detonate them herself from a distance.
Although not nearly as fun as the explosions, instead of detonating an object, Hanabi can decide to alter the physical properties of an object or even simply disintegrate it instead, useful for when things need to be done quietly. These were the abilities that Hanabi first learned how to do and used in her normal civilian life before turning to the resistance, with her discovering the ability to essentially create explosives when she was testing out to what extent can she manipulate matter in the weeks following the subtle purge of her family.
Directorate Note:
PERSONALITY:
Hanabi, due to her upbringing, is very distrustful of most normal humans and carries a deep seeded hatred for the Directorate and the Chrome-Hounds that work for them and will stop at nothing until all that remains of the Directorate are fire and ashes, just like they are trying to do with her kind. The speeches she gives to those she leads can be described as anti-Directorate xenogenic-populist rhetoric. In contrast to her distrust of normal humans, she is very sympathetic to Xenogenics and Xenogenics that interact with Hanabi describe her as pretty friendly and amicable. The only humans she has the same demeanor for are human members of her extended family and those that have earned her trust through time and their actions.
RENOWN:
Growing up as a Xenogenic in New Liberty certainly was never gonna be without its fair share of persecution, isolation, and brutality, however nowhere was this more apparent in New Liberty than in Unity Park, a well off neighborhood whose population was predominantly human who possess a fervent distrust of Xenogenics. It comes as no surprise, then, that much of Unity Park residents are supporters of the anti-Xenogenic movement. A good place to grow up or raise a family, granted you weren't a Xenogenic, and unfortunately for Hanabi Kage, whose parents moved there to start new jobs, she was.
Throughout her childhood, those around her had always viewed her as an alien, an outsider, one who neither could nor should be integrated into their little community. Bullying and harassment was an everyday occurrence in Hanabi's life, and whenever she thought she'd finally found a group of people to connect, eventually they too would toss her aside and treat her as less than worthless. It wasn't long before the Directorate itself came for her and her family too.
Following her the simultaneous "accidents" of her parents as well as several distant relatives, including one Ayaka Hinode, she figured the Directorate's next target for "an unfortunate accident" would be her and instead of waiting for a Chrome-Hound to come and mow her down she'd go out on her own terms. A few weeks after the murders of her parents, a massive explosion at the local cybernetics factory shook Unity Park. A majority of the bodies that littered the ruins of the factory could not be identified due to the magnitude of the explosion, but it was assumed that all hands of the shift at the time of the explosion were killed, including Hanabi Kage.
A few months following the explosion at the Unity Park, attacks on Directorate facilities saw a considerable increase in frequency and intensity, with many facilities being severely damaged or outright destroyed. The intensity of these attacks in comparison to many other rebel attacks pointed to a worrying conclusion for the Directorate: what if the rebel cell they were dealing with was primarily composed of Xenogenics? Of course, such a proposition wouldn't have been unheard of but due to profiles of known resistance elements in the city, such propositions were dismissed as merely rumor with not much evidence to back them up.
As time went on, however, the chances that such a scenario was reality seemed to increase as the attacks mounted. Whispers among the populace say they call themselves Daybreak headed by a figure known as Blaze, who will stop at nothing until the Directorate is overthrown.
Nogoodname
Did nothing wrong
code by @Nano
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Soviet Panda
Red Panda Commanda.
NAME: Connor J. McKinley
NICKNAMES: Father
APPEARANCE:
UNIQUE IDENTIFIERS: Burn scars acquired during the first activation of his Xenogenic powers and heavy scarring on his throat caused by a back alley cybernetic surgery.
HEIGHT: 5'10"
AGE: 35
RACE: Xenogenic
GENDER: Male
FACTION: Civilian
OCCUPATION: Cult Leader
CYBERNETICS: The most only implant is one that amplifies Connor's voice with a thought. This is used most often while giving sermons. He otherwise remains surprisingly unaugmented, believing highly in the sanctity of the human body.
MUTATIONS: Fire Manipulation
DIRECTORATE NOTE:
PERSONALITY: Reborn and baptized in the fires of his power, Connor is a zealot of his own making. With spittle flying from his lips, he will decry the folly of man and their insistence that they are the superior species and that it is the Xenogenics that aught to be exterminated like vermin. That the rightful place of all Xenogenic, no matter how powerful, is at the top, elevated to god hood and served upon and and foot by the mortal dregs. For it is the Xenogenic, not the Homo Sapien, that is the future of their species.
Zealous rhetoric aside, he is able to keep a lid on it when attempting to work with attempting to form a mutually beneficial bond with other factions, particularly those headed by Xenogens such as himself.
RENOWN: Connor keeps his past purposefully shrouded in mystery, it wouldn't do if it became common knowledge that even he did not know he was a Xenogen until after his power awoke within him. What is known is that he was a member of a family that straddled that fine line between middle and lower class. Whether this is a fabricated background to make him appear more approachable to his fellow untouchables or not is unknown.
It is theorized that his power awakening was the cause of the massive fire several years ago in the outskirts of the city, though once again this cannot be confirmed or denied as surveillance in these regions is poor at best. Though his appearance shortly after these fires as a charismatic figure is perhaps to coincidental. Further investigation is encouraged, but held at a lower priority. What is a religious nut job going to do that is more dangerous than some of the other, more well established organizations seeking to topple the status quo?
Connor's cult, dubbed the Order of the Flame, has increased in popularity over recent weeks. Their symbol, a hand held palm out and fingers together set ablaze, has begun to appear more often and in more obvious places. Either Father McKinley is expanding his territory, or his more zealous fanatics are claiming it in his name. Either way, more converts means more fuel for his fires of revolution.
NICKNAMES: Father
APPEARANCE:
UNIQUE IDENTIFIERS: Burn scars acquired during the first activation of his Xenogenic powers and heavy scarring on his throat caused by a back alley cybernetic surgery.
HEIGHT: 5'10"
AGE: 35
RACE: Xenogenic
GENDER: Male
FACTION: Civilian
OCCUPATION: Cult Leader
CYBERNETICS: The most only implant is one that amplifies Connor's voice with a thought. This is used most often while giving sermons. He otherwise remains surprisingly unaugmented, believing highly in the sanctity of the human body.
MUTATIONS: Fire Manipulation
DIRECTORATE NOTE:
PERSONALITY: Reborn and baptized in the fires of his power, Connor is a zealot of his own making. With spittle flying from his lips, he will decry the folly of man and their insistence that they are the superior species and that it is the Xenogenics that aught to be exterminated like vermin. That the rightful place of all Xenogenic, no matter how powerful, is at the top, elevated to god hood and served upon and and foot by the mortal dregs. For it is the Xenogenic, not the Homo Sapien, that is the future of their species.
Zealous rhetoric aside, he is able to keep a lid on it when attempting to work with attempting to form a mutually beneficial bond with other factions, particularly those headed by Xenogens such as himself.
RENOWN: Connor keeps his past purposefully shrouded in mystery, it wouldn't do if it became common knowledge that even he did not know he was a Xenogen until after his power awoke within him. What is known is that he was a member of a family that straddled that fine line between middle and lower class. Whether this is a fabricated background to make him appear more approachable to his fellow untouchables or not is unknown.
It is theorized that his power awakening was the cause of the massive fire several years ago in the outskirts of the city, though once again this cannot be confirmed or denied as surveillance in these regions is poor at best. Though his appearance shortly after these fires as a charismatic figure is perhaps to coincidental. Further investigation is encouraged, but held at a lower priority. What is a religious nut job going to do that is more dangerous than some of the other, more well established organizations seeking to topple the status quo?
Connor's cult, dubbed the Order of the Flame, has increased in popularity over recent weeks. Their symbol, a hand held palm out and fingers together set ablaze, has begun to appear more often and in more obvious places. Either Father McKinley is expanding his territory, or his more zealous fanatics are claiming it in his name. Either way, more converts means more fuel for his fires of revolution.
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Naril
Tinker, tailor, lover, thief
NAME: Katherine âKitâ Maria Ortegas
APPEARANCE: Despite being of a rather small stature, itâs hard to not notice Kit. In a world where cybernetics, bioengineering, and genetic drift have driven the average height ever upward, Kit stopped growing when she was a teenager and has seen the world from 152.4 cm - and that .4cm is important - ever since. The lines of her body describe easy strength and tremendous dexterity, along with the effort to maintain both, all complimented by an unmistakable femininity. Her body language speaks to bone-deep confidence, if not a little weariness, wrapped in the spring-coiled tension of a person just barely keeping the first part of âfight or flightâ in check. Her eyes are large, intense, and mismatched; the right a crystalline green and the left a bright metallic gold, both with the piercing quality of deep intelligence. Kitâs hair is a dark, dark brown, kept in a short pixie cut, out of both practicality and because she enjoys the half-androgynous profile it gives her face. A child of immigrants, her skin is a rich, sun-kissed dusky shade, her complexion clear - at least, save for the scars and marks of artificial intrusion. A sparse network of fine surgical scars surrounds her left eye, almost invisible unless the light is exactly right. Her entire left arm, shoulder, and part of her back are artificial, replaced with a ceramic and metal prosthesis, deliberately designed to be sculptural and lovely rather than lifelike. She has a bullet wound scar on the right side of her abdomen, and a matching mark from the exit on her lower back. Her right leg, from the heel to just above the knee, has not been replaced but is supported by an implanted exoskeleton-like structure that is flush with, and moves with, her living skin. The lines of the implanted structure follow the outlines of major muscle groups and serve to reinforce and repair muscle and nerve damage in the limb, but do not grant additional strength or speed.
Kitâs usual dress sense is practical and professional, even outside of work - slacks, well-made boots, button-downs and a long jacket, all tailored and flattering. She smokes, and almost always has a cigarette case in the inside pocket of her coat, along with an old-fashioned flint-and-butane lighter.
UNIQUE IDENTIFIERS: See above.
HEIGHT: 152.4cm (5 feet 0 inches)
AGE: 38
RACE: Xenogenic
GENDER: Female-presenting (She/they)
FACTION: Directorate (officially); Daybreak/Rebel (covertly)
OCCUPATION: Detective
CYBERNETICS:
Landsman Biokinetics Neural Lace: A high-end brain-computer interface, permanently installed in Kitâs skull. It coordinates communication with her implants and prostheses, can act as a ânet connection, and internal phone/text communication system. The model was âgrownâ from an implanted nanomachine seed, and its physical, functional, and electrical properties can be updated with firmware-level patching. Presently, in addition to the active structures on and within her brain, the lace has grown a conductive, conformal structure on the inside of Kitâs skull and left ocular cavity, strongly attenuating or eliminating entirely the effects of EMP weapons. Currently under a lifetime support subscription from Landsman Biokinetics. Installed when Kit was 16.
Io by Toren Ocular System: Like most ocular implants, Kitâs is bespoke. She chose the color, finding the heterochromatic effect entertaining. Her fully artificial eye has all the capabilities of its organic counterpart, enhanced with an ability to see and illuminate in infrared. Her living eye has an implanted infrared receptor array in the retina to enable depth perception using this infrared vision capacity. The necessary machinery to interface with her artificial eye allows her to receive camera data streams, although more than two or three gives her a massive headache. Information from her neural lace, including texts, call information, and some augmented-reality capabilities, can be displayed in her field of view, summoned or dismissed with a thought. The connection points in her left eye socket were formed by extensions of her neural lace, and can be adjusted for replacements or upgrades. Kit has thus far not had a reason to replace or upgrade her eye, but the process takes some time and is, by report, intensely uncomfortable. Installed when Kit was 30.
Tabora-Yamano Research Upper-Limb Prosthesis: Manufactured by a company that prizes aesthetic no less than function, Kitâs arm has simply been a part of her for a long, long time. Because the rest of her body is not meaningfully enhanced, the limb is not configured to confer exceptional speed or power, and automatically conditions itself to match her bodyâs expected parameters. It is, however, bulletproof, and few conventional bladed implements can mark it, let alone get through it. The limb has a tremendous resilience to electricity, heat, and cold, though the Kit attached to it does not. Since joining the Directorate, the current version of her arm is additionally EMP-hardened. The materials feel cool to the touch and the prosthesis has a full sensorium, which Kit can adjust with a mental effort. This is the fourth version Kit has had installed, the first being implanted when she was 16 following a severe injury and the current version having been installed three years ago.
Haden Integrations Support Lattice: A common implant for athletes suffering from muscle or nerve degeneration caused their chosen sport, chemical exposure, or any other condition where biological systems fail. Like the rest of Kitâs implants, it doesnât do much more than allow her body to work the way she wants it to, and confers no exceptional strength, durability, or speed. The visible portion of the support lattice is designed to be aesthetically pleasing, and Kit doesn't mind showing it off on those occasions when she wears a dress. Like her other implants, this is extensively EMP-hardened, though the structure of the device presents challenges - the long metal spars make excellent antennae. Installed when Kit was 24.
Class D-9 Subdermal Transponder: The Directorate knows when youâre sleeping; they know when youâre awake. They certainly know if youâve been bad or good, but itâs not up to you to decide if itâs been for goodnessâ sake. Accurate to within 1 meter even deep underground or in ionizing radiation fields. Kitâs has been disabled; the Directorate can choose to re-enable it if someone decides they want to, but Kit will be aware that itâs been switched back on.
EQUIPMENT:
Kit lives alone, in a not-especially-expensive part of town that has yet to slump into a slum or ghetto. Her place is furnished largely with thrift-store or secondhand finds, but is comfortable and cozy. She takes care to make sure it's clean and organized, even if all of her cups don't match. Her parents are mortified, but they also barely acknowledge her existence, so that's no particular issue.
Kit's service weapon is a Faden Armory Model 64; a medium-caliber, high-capacity, semi-automatic, magazine-fed handgun. It is keyed to her handprint, and fits in her shoulder holster. The specific weapon issued to Kit, and at her request, is the "Target" model, which features a heavier barrel and adjustable sights. She has won her precinct's marksmanship contest twice with it.
The current car issued to Kit is a Kineema 875, which is a generation behind the Directorate's newest fleet requisition. It is an all-wheel-drive, all-wheel-steering, electric pursuit vehicle, low and wide, fitted with the full suite of driver-assistance and hazard avoidance systems. The car is unmarked, though it has been fitted with deployable lights and sirens. Kit drives fast and uses her car hard; one reason she has an older vehicle is that this is her third car in five years. The first caught fire, the second was damaged beyond the insurance payout during a security event at one of the Directorate's fundraisers. At present, the car's tracking and data collection systems are disabled.
Her badge and credentials are kept in the traditional leather bifold, which she keeps on her at all times, usually in an inside jacket pocket. Kit's badge is number 177.
MUTATIONS:
Kitâs powers are tightly bound with the physical process of life and death. This manifests in several ways:
Come and See: Kit possesses a powerful psychometric talent - she can touch an object involved in a death and its history springs to life for her. This can take several forms, from simple intuitive understanding of what happened (for example, this person used this pipe to impale that person) to a full, ghostly projection of the minutes before and after the event. She almost always uses this ability in its most subtle capacity, especially on the job.
The Sound of Her Wings: Though not attuned to every death that happens in her vicinity, Kit can feel the unnatural departure of life within a substantial distance from where she is. She may not be able to do much about it, but for those times when something mobile and dangerous is happening, it can be a substantial early-warning system.
A Habit Thatâs Hard to Break: So far, Kit hasnât died. That isnât sarcasm - Kit cannot die. At least, not for long. Catastrophic damage, such as being shot in the head or bleeding out will render her âapparentlyâ dead for a period of time. The thing is, she will recover - and be no particularly worse the wear for it. Poisons tend not to affect her much, unless they are in enormous doses. Alcohol and most drugs seem to work fine, but leave little trace on her behind - dependence and cirrhosis are things that, apparently, happen to other people. Note that this doesnât mean that she doesnât feel pain, or the panic of drowning, or any number of things that are awful but that arenât necessarily lethal. Notably, she has no idea if this will result in lost body parts returning - sheâs never been blown up or had her body integrity damaged other than by choice. Keep reading, this has some limitations that are coming up in the next paragraph.
O Death: By far the most dramatic of Kitâs capabilities, and the one she deploys only in extremis. She has, in fact, used it exactly three times in her life - and it has cost her, respectively, an arm, most of the nerves in her right leg, and an eye. Put simply: Kit can end a life. With a snap of her fingers, synapses break down in their totality, proteins unfold, DNA unspools. The self-replicating chemical reactions of cells, the machinery of metabolism, the electrical potentials that make a mind, all come to an end.
This ability comes with a tremendous cost - part of Kit dies at the same time, and itâs a part that doesnât ever come back. In addition, her power doesnât reach very far - a dozen meters perhaps. She has to see the person she intends to use her power on, and know where they are. And most confoundingly, Kit has to know the person in order to end their life. Not a passing acquaintance, not someone she exchanges words with once a year; in the curious way of these things, it has to be someone Kit has a reasonable familiarity with. A work friend, or a first date; someone whose favorite coffee order she might know, or the names of their kidsâ pets. There is no set amount of time, or interactions, or kisses that permit this power - Kit simply, and suddenly, has the uncomfortable knowledge that she could. She cannot direct what part of her is destroyed when she employs this power, and Kit is very sure that if she does make use of this ability, it will kill her before long.
Kit does not particularly want this power, and the times she has made use of it have been terrifying and desperate, where she saw no other way out. She has been attacked, betrayed, and cornered, and each time, has paid the price. She is not keen to do so again, and will do almost anything to avoid it.
DIRECTORATE NOTE: LEAVE SPACE FOR THIS IF YOUR CHARACTER IS A XENOGENIC. I WILL GIVE SOMETHING TO PLACE HERE ONCE ACCEPTED
PERSONALITY: Kit is casually brilliant, hypervigilant by trauma and necessity, and filled with the kind of quiet, smooth anger that topples civilizations. That anger does not lead her down the road of hot-headed fury; it instead informs a cool, goal-oriented mind that when faced with a task, will follow through to the end. Her rage comes through in calm detachment, careful consideration, and ruthless action - but that font of emotion is not all she is. She is, by long and intense practice, collected, calm, and practical. People close to her know a gentler person, whose humor is dry but never cutting, whose happiness can shine even through the weariness her life saddles her with. Few in New LIberty are all that well-adjusted, and Kit spends what is likely an unhealthy amount of time at bars and trying to pick up whoever catches her eye - she hasnât had a steady partner in years, but is a connoisseur of New Libertyâs mid-priced hotels. She does, after all, have some standards.
While she comes from a very wealthy family, Kit is not especially connected to them. Her mother and father, beyond having payed exorbitant bribes and arranged clandestine record destruction, want little or nothing to do with her. The choices they made were always to protect the family - if word got out that they had a Xenogenic child, their lives would become very difficult. Kit benefits from that paranoia, but has no access to family money, property, investments, or estates. Her relationship with her family is, expectedly, strained at best. Her younger sister, Isa, does know Kit's secret, but has kept it for these many years. Isa and Kit do get along, but they don't spend a lot of time with one another - Isa is firmly entrenched within the family, and she can't be seen with her black-sheep sister with any frequency, lest someone wonder why.
Kit is not a fan of the Directorate, and would be happy to see the Governor fall in a hole. Despite - or perhaps, because - of that, Kit does her job with professionalism, practicality, efficiency, and skill. The level of autonomy sheâs earned, and carefully maintains, only allows her more avenues for slowing down the Directorateâs goals. She is never overt and takes care to never appear to bungle cases, but few of her actions are in the unalloyed service of the Directorate. Whether that takes the form of demonstrating how her intel was faulty, getting other detectives nabbed by Internal Affairs to disrupt investigations, or any number of other ways to sabotage the Directorateâs political machine, Kitâs probably up for it. Sheâs in this to pick her moment and cut the legs out from under the organization - and she knows that day is coming soon.
RENOWN:
I smelled smoke and tasted copper in my mouth. Not the tang of blood - though there was some of that - but an actual lump of copper, heavy against my tongue. I worked my jaw, turned my head, and spat out a flower of metal, which hit the pillow with a soft thump. I knew without looking that it was a bullet, hollow-point, and until some indeterminate time not long ago, it had been somewhere in my skull. It says a lot about my life that this was a common enough experience that it had stopped being shocking some time ago. It was, I had to admit, the first time that I had come to, naked, and with my last memory having been of a kind of post-orgasmic glow. I coughed, licked my lips, and pulled in another long breath.
âThose are my cigarettes,â I said, opening my eyes. The ceiling was dark, washed by the lights of the city outside the window.
âHard to get down here,â came a bright, perky voice, touched with a French accent. Sheâd told me her name was Mia. I wasnât sure I quite believed that, at the moment. âThe electronic versions are just not the same, wouldnât you agree?â
I blew out a sigh and pushed myself up onto my elbows. Across from me, dressed, and draped in my jacket, sat a woman no taller than I was; her figure all lean, dangerous lines. Her short hair was mussed, and she smiled, a half-burned cigarette between her lips. In one lazy, chrome hand lay a pistol with a long silencer, not pointed anywhere particular. Next to her, a small end table held a half a bottle of mid-shelf scotch, a pair of tumblers, and a single bright brass shell casing. She took a long drag on the cigarette and closed her eyes in obvious pleasure before blowing the smoke out in a long stream.
âSo itâs true,â Mia said with a grin, âWe had heard rumours.â
âYouâre telling me Daybreak runs on the word of the vox populi?â I said.
âYou could say that we read the writing on the wall, yes,â Mia replied, shifting in her seat. Her grin never faded, âThough not all of them seemed soâŠwell. Impossible, and at the same time, so well backed up by evidence.â
My blood went cold. âEvidenceâ was not a word I wanted to hear in this particular context. I swallowed and sat up a little straighter. I moved to pull the covers to myself, but decided against it. They were in no fit state.
âWe hear about impossible things all the time, Detective,â Mia continued, taking another drag, âSome of them turn out to be true. Mostly the horrible ones, what the Directorate - your bosses - plan to do next, or what they do in secret. I would pay quite a lot for some of the others to be true. The ones about safe places, where the water is clean, and where nobody hunts you for your genetic code. But we take the world as it is, and we work to make it what it could become.â
âYeah?â I said, shifting my weight a little, bringing my legs a little further toward myself, âAnd what have you heard about me?â
âThere are always stories about people trying to pull the Directorate down from the inside. Were I to guess, most of them are probably fabrications from the Directorate itself, false hope to lure in the gullible.â She smiled, âBut you, ah. When you contacted us, most of us thought it was another trap. A decoy. But when you look closely, well, it doesnât feel quite right. The way I figured, either the Directorate has upped its game for honeypots, or you may be genuine. And what a story we found, Detective.â
I stayed silent.
âTwenty years at the Directorate, and the whole time, youâre an XG,â Mia said, âOh, donât look like that. Your parents paid for the best craft money could buy, but itâs been decades since they did that work. The forgeries are good, the payoffs are intact - but you see, Detective,â Another long, luxuriating pull on the cigarette, âAh. We are better. Itâs your good luck that youâve kept your nose so clean, and theyâve never had a reason to investigate you. I wonder how well your file holds up these days.â She waved a hand, âThough, to tell the truth, probably just fine. We were looking. Your bosses arenât.â
âThen why all of that?â I asked. I stopped myself from pointing at the gun, and just tilted my head toward it, âIf you know all about me already.â
âMmn,â Another drag, this one all the way to the filter. Mia put the cigarette out, âThat you are an XG is one thing. What that means is another. Impossible stories, you know?â She giggled, hefted the pistol, âThey told me toâŠfind out about you. This is how I chose to do it. For what itâs worth, you have very good taste in bars. And I certainly canât argue about yourâŠtechnique.â
âYouâre not so bad yourself,â I said, âSo what now? Blackmail?â
âNothing so crude.â She set the gun on the table, gave it a little push away from herself, âYou want to help us, fine. I believe you. Youâre not stupid, you know what that will cost in the end. Your family can has enough money to keep themselves safe, at least for a while, because thatâs how things work in this city. But youâre the black sheep of the family at best; the disgraceful secret, hm?â
âThe Directorate made it that way,â I spat, âThey put me in the Academy before I understood what was really going on, and by the time I did get it, I had no idea what to do next. And itâs only getting worse. The whole fucking thing needs to come down, and that prick Vincent has to come down with it.â I met Miaâs eyes, âBut heâs not the only one. Thereâs a dozen like him waiting in the wings.â
âSpoken like a revolutionary.â Mia grinned.
âI can get you places you canât get on your own,â I said, âPeople you wouldnât normally be able to touch. Theyâre not as untouchable as they want everyone to believe.â
âRelax, Detective,â Mia said, raising one hand a little, âI told you: Iâm in. I believe you. Besides, I couldnât blackmail you. Youâre already willing to pull the triggers and light the fires. All I would do is move up your timeline.â
âWork with me,â I said, âGet the rest of Daybreak to listen. We can hurt them, really hurt them - but we have to work together.â
Miaâs smirk, never far away, came back, âYes we can, Detective.â She met my eyes, her smile widening again, and stood.
âLet me guess,â I said, watching her, âItâs been fun, and youâll call me?â
âDetective,â Mia said, âI wonât call you. But you might find me in your bed, wearing nothing but a handful of rose petals.â She winked, and turned toward the door.
âIâll call that an even trade,â I laughed, âThis is not how most of my first dates go.â
âI bet you say that to all the girls.â I could hear the smile in her voice.
I reached behind me, picked up the bullet, and tossed it to her, âNext time, just dress to kill.â
She caught the bullet, nodded, and keyed the door open. A few moments later, I was alone in the room. I looked at the time - just after midnight. I swung my legs over the edge of the bed, one hand rubbing at the wet, matted hair behind my head, and entertained the idea of showering, paying for the room damage, and going home for a real nightâs sleep. By the time I stepped into the bathroom, though, I felt a call coming through. I answered, audio-only.
âOrtegas, weâve got an incident,â the male voice on the other end was crisp, sharp. âPair of stiffs, both armed to the teeth but neither of âem fired a shot. Youâre gonna want to come check it out.â
âClemens, I just got laid,â I said, deciding to split the truth a little, âCanât this wait till morning?â
âKick âem out of bed and get down here, Kit,â Clemens said, âTheyâll get over it. Iâll have coffee waiting. Chiefâs hot on this one for some reason, he said to ring you specifically, since youâre working the XG beat.â
âShit,â I said with a sigh, âYeah, Jack, fine. Give me ten to shower and Iâm on the way.â
âYou really do get âem gone, donât you,â Clemens said, âNot even a goodbye drink?â
âFuck you, Jack,â I said, and closed the connection.
I stepped into the hot water and scrubbed the blood out of my hair, something else that had lost its shock a long time ago. There wasnât any going back now - Mia knew what she knew, and by extension, Daybreak would know not long after. So far, the Directorate had done a terrible job tracking down anyone who mattered with the underground, but if that changedâŠwell. Like Mia said, all it would do would be to move my timeline up. The Directorate had taken decades of my life, my self-respect, and my innocence. I wouldnât let it take my soul, or my conscience. At least, thatâs what I kept telling myself.
I dried myself off, dressed, and realized Mia had walked away with my jacket. She had, at least, emptied the pockets - my badge, wallet, and cigarette case were laid out neatly on a table. I stuffed them into my pants, wrapped my shoulder holster around my chest, and sighed. My world had always been a ticking time bomb, but now the clock seemed so much louder. Maybe I was just listening for the first time in a while.
I got into my car, the familiar lights from its panels and gauges flickering on in the never-quite-night of New Liberty. I pulled out onto the highway while the motors hummed, the neon flashed, the thousand advertisement boards turned the low clouds into a technicolor thunderstorm. I drove into the city, a city that killed, and took, and built, and gave, and that I hated so, so much about. I wouldnât burn this city to the ground.
But I would tear out its heart.
APPEARANCE: Despite being of a rather small stature, itâs hard to not notice Kit. In a world where cybernetics, bioengineering, and genetic drift have driven the average height ever upward, Kit stopped growing when she was a teenager and has seen the world from 152.4 cm - and that .4cm is important - ever since. The lines of her body describe easy strength and tremendous dexterity, along with the effort to maintain both, all complimented by an unmistakable femininity. Her body language speaks to bone-deep confidence, if not a little weariness, wrapped in the spring-coiled tension of a person just barely keeping the first part of âfight or flightâ in check. Her eyes are large, intense, and mismatched; the right a crystalline green and the left a bright metallic gold, both with the piercing quality of deep intelligence. Kitâs hair is a dark, dark brown, kept in a short pixie cut, out of both practicality and because she enjoys the half-androgynous profile it gives her face. A child of immigrants, her skin is a rich, sun-kissed dusky shade, her complexion clear - at least, save for the scars and marks of artificial intrusion. A sparse network of fine surgical scars surrounds her left eye, almost invisible unless the light is exactly right. Her entire left arm, shoulder, and part of her back are artificial, replaced with a ceramic and metal prosthesis, deliberately designed to be sculptural and lovely rather than lifelike. She has a bullet wound scar on the right side of her abdomen, and a matching mark from the exit on her lower back. Her right leg, from the heel to just above the knee, has not been replaced but is supported by an implanted exoskeleton-like structure that is flush with, and moves with, her living skin. The lines of the implanted structure follow the outlines of major muscle groups and serve to reinforce and repair muscle and nerve damage in the limb, but do not grant additional strength or speed.
Kitâs usual dress sense is practical and professional, even outside of work - slacks, well-made boots, button-downs and a long jacket, all tailored and flattering. She smokes, and almost always has a cigarette case in the inside pocket of her coat, along with an old-fashioned flint-and-butane lighter.
UNIQUE IDENTIFIERS: See above.
HEIGHT: 152.4cm (5 feet 0 inches)
AGE: 38
RACE: Xenogenic
GENDER: Female-presenting (She/they)
FACTION: Directorate (officially); Daybreak/Rebel (covertly)
OCCUPATION: Detective
CYBERNETICS:
Landsman Biokinetics Neural Lace: A high-end brain-computer interface, permanently installed in Kitâs skull. It coordinates communication with her implants and prostheses, can act as a ânet connection, and internal phone/text communication system. The model was âgrownâ from an implanted nanomachine seed, and its physical, functional, and electrical properties can be updated with firmware-level patching. Presently, in addition to the active structures on and within her brain, the lace has grown a conductive, conformal structure on the inside of Kitâs skull and left ocular cavity, strongly attenuating or eliminating entirely the effects of EMP weapons. Currently under a lifetime support subscription from Landsman Biokinetics. Installed when Kit was 16.
Io by Toren Ocular System: Like most ocular implants, Kitâs is bespoke. She chose the color, finding the heterochromatic effect entertaining. Her fully artificial eye has all the capabilities of its organic counterpart, enhanced with an ability to see and illuminate in infrared. Her living eye has an implanted infrared receptor array in the retina to enable depth perception using this infrared vision capacity. The necessary machinery to interface with her artificial eye allows her to receive camera data streams, although more than two or three gives her a massive headache. Information from her neural lace, including texts, call information, and some augmented-reality capabilities, can be displayed in her field of view, summoned or dismissed with a thought. The connection points in her left eye socket were formed by extensions of her neural lace, and can be adjusted for replacements or upgrades. Kit has thus far not had a reason to replace or upgrade her eye, but the process takes some time and is, by report, intensely uncomfortable. Installed when Kit was 30.
Tabora-Yamano Research Upper-Limb Prosthesis: Manufactured by a company that prizes aesthetic no less than function, Kitâs arm has simply been a part of her for a long, long time. Because the rest of her body is not meaningfully enhanced, the limb is not configured to confer exceptional speed or power, and automatically conditions itself to match her bodyâs expected parameters. It is, however, bulletproof, and few conventional bladed implements can mark it, let alone get through it. The limb has a tremendous resilience to electricity, heat, and cold, though the Kit attached to it does not. Since joining the Directorate, the current version of her arm is additionally EMP-hardened. The materials feel cool to the touch and the prosthesis has a full sensorium, which Kit can adjust with a mental effort. This is the fourth version Kit has had installed, the first being implanted when she was 16 following a severe injury and the current version having been installed three years ago.
Haden Integrations Support Lattice: A common implant for athletes suffering from muscle or nerve degeneration caused their chosen sport, chemical exposure, or any other condition where biological systems fail. Like the rest of Kitâs implants, it doesnât do much more than allow her body to work the way she wants it to, and confers no exceptional strength, durability, or speed. The visible portion of the support lattice is designed to be aesthetically pleasing, and Kit doesn't mind showing it off on those occasions when she wears a dress. Like her other implants, this is extensively EMP-hardened, though the structure of the device presents challenges - the long metal spars make excellent antennae. Installed when Kit was 24.
Class D-9 Subdermal Transponder: The Directorate knows when youâre sleeping; they know when youâre awake. They certainly know if youâve been bad or good, but itâs not up to you to decide if itâs been for goodnessâ sake. Accurate to within 1 meter even deep underground or in ionizing radiation fields. Kitâs has been disabled; the Directorate can choose to re-enable it if someone decides they want to, but Kit will be aware that itâs been switched back on.
EQUIPMENT:
Kit lives alone, in a not-especially-expensive part of town that has yet to slump into a slum or ghetto. Her place is furnished largely with thrift-store or secondhand finds, but is comfortable and cozy. She takes care to make sure it's clean and organized, even if all of her cups don't match. Her parents are mortified, but they also barely acknowledge her existence, so that's no particular issue.
Kit's service weapon is a Faden Armory Model 64; a medium-caliber, high-capacity, semi-automatic, magazine-fed handgun. It is keyed to her handprint, and fits in her shoulder holster. The specific weapon issued to Kit, and at her request, is the "Target" model, which features a heavier barrel and adjustable sights. She has won her precinct's marksmanship contest twice with it.
The current car issued to Kit is a Kineema 875, which is a generation behind the Directorate's newest fleet requisition. It is an all-wheel-drive, all-wheel-steering, electric pursuit vehicle, low and wide, fitted with the full suite of driver-assistance and hazard avoidance systems. The car is unmarked, though it has been fitted with deployable lights and sirens. Kit drives fast and uses her car hard; one reason she has an older vehicle is that this is her third car in five years. The first caught fire, the second was damaged beyond the insurance payout during a security event at one of the Directorate's fundraisers. At present, the car's tracking and data collection systems are disabled.
Her badge and credentials are kept in the traditional leather bifold, which she keeps on her at all times, usually in an inside jacket pocket. Kit's badge is number 177.
MUTATIONS:
Kitâs powers are tightly bound with the physical process of life and death. This manifests in several ways:
Come and See: Kit possesses a powerful psychometric talent - she can touch an object involved in a death and its history springs to life for her. This can take several forms, from simple intuitive understanding of what happened (for example, this person used this pipe to impale that person) to a full, ghostly projection of the minutes before and after the event. She almost always uses this ability in its most subtle capacity, especially on the job.
The Sound of Her Wings: Though not attuned to every death that happens in her vicinity, Kit can feel the unnatural departure of life within a substantial distance from where she is. She may not be able to do much about it, but for those times when something mobile and dangerous is happening, it can be a substantial early-warning system.
A Habit Thatâs Hard to Break: So far, Kit hasnât died. That isnât sarcasm - Kit cannot die. At least, not for long. Catastrophic damage, such as being shot in the head or bleeding out will render her âapparentlyâ dead for a period of time. The thing is, she will recover - and be no particularly worse the wear for it. Poisons tend not to affect her much, unless they are in enormous doses. Alcohol and most drugs seem to work fine, but leave little trace on her behind - dependence and cirrhosis are things that, apparently, happen to other people. Note that this doesnât mean that she doesnât feel pain, or the panic of drowning, or any number of things that are awful but that arenât necessarily lethal. Notably, she has no idea if this will result in lost body parts returning - sheâs never been blown up or had her body integrity damaged other than by choice. Keep reading, this has some limitations that are coming up in the next paragraph.
O Death: By far the most dramatic of Kitâs capabilities, and the one she deploys only in extremis. She has, in fact, used it exactly three times in her life - and it has cost her, respectively, an arm, most of the nerves in her right leg, and an eye. Put simply: Kit can end a life. With a snap of her fingers, synapses break down in their totality, proteins unfold, DNA unspools. The self-replicating chemical reactions of cells, the machinery of metabolism, the electrical potentials that make a mind, all come to an end.
This ability comes with a tremendous cost - part of Kit dies at the same time, and itâs a part that doesnât ever come back. In addition, her power doesnât reach very far - a dozen meters perhaps. She has to see the person she intends to use her power on, and know where they are. And most confoundingly, Kit has to know the person in order to end their life. Not a passing acquaintance, not someone she exchanges words with once a year; in the curious way of these things, it has to be someone Kit has a reasonable familiarity with. A work friend, or a first date; someone whose favorite coffee order she might know, or the names of their kidsâ pets. There is no set amount of time, or interactions, or kisses that permit this power - Kit simply, and suddenly, has the uncomfortable knowledge that she could. She cannot direct what part of her is destroyed when she employs this power, and Kit is very sure that if she does make use of this ability, it will kill her before long.
Kit does not particularly want this power, and the times she has made use of it have been terrifying and desperate, where she saw no other way out. She has been attacked, betrayed, and cornered, and each time, has paid the price. She is not keen to do so again, and will do almost anything to avoid it.
So, I know that this power is wild. You, dear readers and fellow players, have my sincere promise that it will only ever be used (if it ever is) at narratively appropriate points. My hand is not the only one on this, and I don't want this to be in my sole control. We'll agree, we'll engage, and maybe it'll never come up. Or maybe it will, and that'll be Kit's Terrible, Horrible, No-Good, Very Bad Day.
DIRECTORATE NOTE: LEAVE SPACE FOR THIS IF YOUR CHARACTER IS A XENOGENIC. I WILL GIVE SOMETHING TO PLACE HERE ONCE ACCEPTED
PERSONALITY: Kit is casually brilliant, hypervigilant by trauma and necessity, and filled with the kind of quiet, smooth anger that topples civilizations. That anger does not lead her down the road of hot-headed fury; it instead informs a cool, goal-oriented mind that when faced with a task, will follow through to the end. Her rage comes through in calm detachment, careful consideration, and ruthless action - but that font of emotion is not all she is. She is, by long and intense practice, collected, calm, and practical. People close to her know a gentler person, whose humor is dry but never cutting, whose happiness can shine even through the weariness her life saddles her with. Few in New LIberty are all that well-adjusted, and Kit spends what is likely an unhealthy amount of time at bars and trying to pick up whoever catches her eye - she hasnât had a steady partner in years, but is a connoisseur of New Libertyâs mid-priced hotels. She does, after all, have some standards.
While she comes from a very wealthy family, Kit is not especially connected to them. Her mother and father, beyond having payed exorbitant bribes and arranged clandestine record destruction, want little or nothing to do with her. The choices they made were always to protect the family - if word got out that they had a Xenogenic child, their lives would become very difficult. Kit benefits from that paranoia, but has no access to family money, property, investments, or estates. Her relationship with her family is, expectedly, strained at best. Her younger sister, Isa, does know Kit's secret, but has kept it for these many years. Isa and Kit do get along, but they don't spend a lot of time with one another - Isa is firmly entrenched within the family, and she can't be seen with her black-sheep sister with any frequency, lest someone wonder why.
Kit is not a fan of the Directorate, and would be happy to see the Governor fall in a hole. Despite - or perhaps, because - of that, Kit does her job with professionalism, practicality, efficiency, and skill. The level of autonomy sheâs earned, and carefully maintains, only allows her more avenues for slowing down the Directorateâs goals. She is never overt and takes care to never appear to bungle cases, but few of her actions are in the unalloyed service of the Directorate. Whether that takes the form of demonstrating how her intel was faulty, getting other detectives nabbed by Internal Affairs to disrupt investigations, or any number of other ways to sabotage the Directorateâs political machine, Kitâs probably up for it. Sheâs in this to pick her moment and cut the legs out from under the organization - and she knows that day is coming soon.
RENOWN:
I smelled smoke and tasted copper in my mouth. Not the tang of blood - though there was some of that - but an actual lump of copper, heavy against my tongue. I worked my jaw, turned my head, and spat out a flower of metal, which hit the pillow with a soft thump. I knew without looking that it was a bullet, hollow-point, and until some indeterminate time not long ago, it had been somewhere in my skull. It says a lot about my life that this was a common enough experience that it had stopped being shocking some time ago. It was, I had to admit, the first time that I had come to, naked, and with my last memory having been of a kind of post-orgasmic glow. I coughed, licked my lips, and pulled in another long breath.
âThose are my cigarettes,â I said, opening my eyes. The ceiling was dark, washed by the lights of the city outside the window.
âHard to get down here,â came a bright, perky voice, touched with a French accent. Sheâd told me her name was Mia. I wasnât sure I quite believed that, at the moment. âThe electronic versions are just not the same, wouldnât you agree?â
I blew out a sigh and pushed myself up onto my elbows. Across from me, dressed, and draped in my jacket, sat a woman no taller than I was; her figure all lean, dangerous lines. Her short hair was mussed, and she smiled, a half-burned cigarette between her lips. In one lazy, chrome hand lay a pistol with a long silencer, not pointed anywhere particular. Next to her, a small end table held a half a bottle of mid-shelf scotch, a pair of tumblers, and a single bright brass shell casing. She took a long drag on the cigarette and closed her eyes in obvious pleasure before blowing the smoke out in a long stream.
âSo itâs true,â Mia said with a grin, âWe had heard rumours.â
âYouâre telling me Daybreak runs on the word of the vox populi?â I said.
âYou could say that we read the writing on the wall, yes,â Mia replied, shifting in her seat. Her grin never faded, âThough not all of them seemed soâŠwell. Impossible, and at the same time, so well backed up by evidence.â
My blood went cold. âEvidenceâ was not a word I wanted to hear in this particular context. I swallowed and sat up a little straighter. I moved to pull the covers to myself, but decided against it. They were in no fit state.
âWe hear about impossible things all the time, Detective,â Mia continued, taking another drag, âSome of them turn out to be true. Mostly the horrible ones, what the Directorate - your bosses - plan to do next, or what they do in secret. I would pay quite a lot for some of the others to be true. The ones about safe places, where the water is clean, and where nobody hunts you for your genetic code. But we take the world as it is, and we work to make it what it could become.â
âYeah?â I said, shifting my weight a little, bringing my legs a little further toward myself, âAnd what have you heard about me?â
âThere are always stories about people trying to pull the Directorate down from the inside. Were I to guess, most of them are probably fabrications from the Directorate itself, false hope to lure in the gullible.â She smiled, âBut you, ah. When you contacted us, most of us thought it was another trap. A decoy. But when you look closely, well, it doesnât feel quite right. The way I figured, either the Directorate has upped its game for honeypots, or you may be genuine. And what a story we found, Detective.â
I stayed silent.
âTwenty years at the Directorate, and the whole time, youâre an XG,â Mia said, âOh, donât look like that. Your parents paid for the best craft money could buy, but itâs been decades since they did that work. The forgeries are good, the payoffs are intact - but you see, Detective,â Another long, luxuriating pull on the cigarette, âAh. We are better. Itâs your good luck that youâve kept your nose so clean, and theyâve never had a reason to investigate you. I wonder how well your file holds up these days.â She waved a hand, âThough, to tell the truth, probably just fine. We were looking. Your bosses arenât.â
âThen why all of that?â I asked. I stopped myself from pointing at the gun, and just tilted my head toward it, âIf you know all about me already.â
âMmn,â Another drag, this one all the way to the filter. Mia put the cigarette out, âThat you are an XG is one thing. What that means is another. Impossible stories, you know?â She giggled, hefted the pistol, âThey told me toâŠfind out about you. This is how I chose to do it. For what itâs worth, you have very good taste in bars. And I certainly canât argue about yourâŠtechnique.â
âYouâre not so bad yourself,â I said, âSo what now? Blackmail?â
âNothing so crude.â She set the gun on the table, gave it a little push away from herself, âYou want to help us, fine. I believe you. Youâre not stupid, you know what that will cost in the end. Your family can has enough money to keep themselves safe, at least for a while, because thatâs how things work in this city. But youâre the black sheep of the family at best; the disgraceful secret, hm?â
âThe Directorate made it that way,â I spat, âThey put me in the Academy before I understood what was really going on, and by the time I did get it, I had no idea what to do next. And itâs only getting worse. The whole fucking thing needs to come down, and that prick Vincent has to come down with it.â I met Miaâs eyes, âBut heâs not the only one. Thereâs a dozen like him waiting in the wings.â
âSpoken like a revolutionary.â Mia grinned.
âI can get you places you canât get on your own,â I said, âPeople you wouldnât normally be able to touch. Theyâre not as untouchable as they want everyone to believe.â
âRelax, Detective,â Mia said, raising one hand a little, âI told you: Iâm in. I believe you. Besides, I couldnât blackmail you. Youâre already willing to pull the triggers and light the fires. All I would do is move up your timeline.â
âWork with me,â I said, âGet the rest of Daybreak to listen. We can hurt them, really hurt them - but we have to work together.â
Miaâs smirk, never far away, came back, âYes we can, Detective.â She met my eyes, her smile widening again, and stood.
âLet me guess,â I said, watching her, âItâs been fun, and youâll call me?â
âDetective,â Mia said, âI wonât call you. But you might find me in your bed, wearing nothing but a handful of rose petals.â She winked, and turned toward the door.
âIâll call that an even trade,â I laughed, âThis is not how most of my first dates go.â
âI bet you say that to all the girls.â I could hear the smile in her voice.
I reached behind me, picked up the bullet, and tossed it to her, âNext time, just dress to kill.â
She caught the bullet, nodded, and keyed the door open. A few moments later, I was alone in the room. I looked at the time - just after midnight. I swung my legs over the edge of the bed, one hand rubbing at the wet, matted hair behind my head, and entertained the idea of showering, paying for the room damage, and going home for a real nightâs sleep. By the time I stepped into the bathroom, though, I felt a call coming through. I answered, audio-only.
âOrtegas, weâve got an incident,â the male voice on the other end was crisp, sharp. âPair of stiffs, both armed to the teeth but neither of âem fired a shot. Youâre gonna want to come check it out.â
âClemens, I just got laid,â I said, deciding to split the truth a little, âCanât this wait till morning?â
âKick âem out of bed and get down here, Kit,â Clemens said, âTheyâll get over it. Iâll have coffee waiting. Chiefâs hot on this one for some reason, he said to ring you specifically, since youâre working the XG beat.â
âShit,â I said with a sigh, âYeah, Jack, fine. Give me ten to shower and Iâm on the way.â
âYou really do get âem gone, donât you,â Clemens said, âNot even a goodbye drink?â
âFuck you, Jack,â I said, and closed the connection.
I stepped into the hot water and scrubbed the blood out of my hair, something else that had lost its shock a long time ago. There wasnât any going back now - Mia knew what she knew, and by extension, Daybreak would know not long after. So far, the Directorate had done a terrible job tracking down anyone who mattered with the underground, but if that changedâŠwell. Like Mia said, all it would do would be to move my timeline up. The Directorate had taken decades of my life, my self-respect, and my innocence. I wouldnât let it take my soul, or my conscience. At least, thatâs what I kept telling myself.
I dried myself off, dressed, and realized Mia had walked away with my jacket. She had, at least, emptied the pockets - my badge, wallet, and cigarette case were laid out neatly on a table. I stuffed them into my pants, wrapped my shoulder holster around my chest, and sighed. My world had always been a ticking time bomb, but now the clock seemed so much louder. Maybe I was just listening for the first time in a while.
I got into my car, the familiar lights from its panels and gauges flickering on in the never-quite-night of New Liberty. I pulled out onto the highway while the motors hummed, the neon flashed, the thousand advertisement boards turned the low clouds into a technicolor thunderstorm. I drove into the city, a city that killed, and took, and built, and gave, and that I hated so, so much about. I wouldnât burn this city to the ground.
But I would tear out its heart.
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Archie
Not even my final form
AGE: 77
RACE: Human
HEIGHT: 6'8" by necessity of his skeletal replacement, previously 6'2"
GENDER: Male
FACTION: Directorate
OCCUPATION: Commissioner for Public Safety
APPEARANCE: Liao pays less attention to anti-aging than most of the city's elite. He usually looks like he's in his late thirties, though he is actually around twice that age. His defining feature, besides his lanky-like physique, is an eyepatch covering his left eye.
CYBERNETICS:
Metal Skeleton: Liao's skeleton from his skull to his feet is made entirely of solid steel. It is many times heavier than a normal human skeleton, and requires constant magnetic draws to move around. The skeleton is coated in insulative material so as to shield organic tissue from the current flows.
Vampire Drive: The small generator implanted in the commissioner's hipbone is only powerful enough to move his skeleton on a day to day basis. To make up the difference when he has to use a huge amount of power, Liao relies on his "Vampire Drive" (officially the "Focused Tesla Coil Drive"), which is capable of sapping electricity from his surroundings.
Mag Drive: The metal implants in Liao's hands, feet, and left eye are capable of generating magnetic fields that can manipulate nearby objects, and his own skeleton. Since this is essentially triangulation of forces with 5 starting points, the further an object is away, the less range of motion Liao can inflict upon it.
MUTATIONS: None.
DIRECTORATE NOTE: NO NOTES AVAILABLE FOR THIS FILE. YOUR ATTEMPT TO ACCESS THIS FILE HAS BEEN TRACKED AND NOTED.
PERSONALITY:
Liaoâs demeanor is a scary contradiction. He is friendly and gregarious, but also threatening, direct, and menacing. He could be complimenting your tie one moment, then threatening to strangle you with it the next unless you cough up a 2 million credit bribe to a Board member you supposedly offended. A product of his long career, Liao has spent six decades either as an operative of one country or anotherâs secret police, or as a mercenary fighting on the battlefield. He has a very casual attitude towards violence and death, and sees killing enemies of the state as no different than slaughtering cattle â preferably an industrialized, efficient operation. Conversely, he also has long come to terms with the inevitability of his own violent death, and consequently is a grounded person with a sense of perspective. He pays little attention to the niceties, business ventures, and gossip that most of the elite likes to immerse themselves in, and focuses only on a single obsession: undermining the God-Emperor of his home country.
New Liberty is just a means to an end for the chief of its secret police, a fact known by none of his associates outside his sponsoring company. Day by day, Liao dreams of one thing: finding or creating Xenogenics strong enough to fight the Emperor and his magistrates, and all of his mysterious and secretive actions are dedicated to this vendetta. Despite his cruelty, Liao does not see himself as a villain, but rather the one man on the planet who can bring down a madman who both has the will and the means to conquer the world. All the squabbling New Liberty politicians and billionaires whining about policing priorities, all the dissidents making noise outside, all the annoying journalists trying to find out what's actually going on in the medical ward of Central Prison - all these to Liao are the same. People who are too caught up in their own little worlds and petty ambitions to see the threat looming over the horizon. In Liao's mind, other people's small ambitions, dreams, hopes, and happiness are insignificant compared to the battles to come, and he feels no remorse in crushing them if they get in the way.
RENOWN:
How many people do you need to kill before youâre satisfied?â Roared the defiant prisoner.
The commissioner stared at his captive with no discernable expression.
âI donât want to kill peopleâ he replied.
âI want to kill a Godâ
It was during this period that agent Liao was dispatched on increasingly dangerous and frequent missions, often direct interventions in war zones. One of the MSSâs best performing agents, he was marked for further cybernetic enhancements, including a series of magnetic implants - each more powerful than the last - and an energy-draining feature in the third variant of the device that allowed recharging using local unprotected power sources. Despite working for intelligence, he was often dispatched on direct war zone interventions, as his implant made him useful on the battlefield, and the cybernetic factions of the security apparatus were desperate to outdo Heavenly Wrath.
The cybernetic factionâs âvictoryâ, however, would not be won by outdoing Heavenly Wrath, but failing to. No cybernetically enhanced soldier could match the golden child of the xenogenic special forces unit - Gong Daochuang. A former taxi driver, Gongâs life had completely changed when he was blessed with arguably the most powerful mutation on the planet: the ability to manifest whatever he was dreaming of the night before into reality. Terrified of the power of Gong, and the unitâs future-seeing Chief of Staff, the party ordered them exterminated. Of course, Chief of Staff Ruo foresaw all of this, and set in motion a coup dâetat that deposed the party and installed Gong as Emperor the day before. The cybernetic units tried to counterattack, but were all destroyed. Liao attempted to personally fly towards Gong and kill him with magnetically hurled vehicles, but the latter mockingly destroyed this plan by mutating his left eye into a small octopus, terminating his depth perception and ability to aim.
Defeated, Liao spent the next seven years as a mercenary, making use of his enhancement to be a key battlefield asset in a number of conflict zones. With the help of a certain executive at Horizon Biotechnologies, however, he was able to gain asylum in New Liberty twelve years ago. Almost immediately, Liao joined New Liberty police, where he quickly rose through the ranks of the Central Investigative Bureau: his experience as an MSS agent, in a city that was relatively new to the whole totalitarian police state act, was essential. Talent alone, however, could not explain Liao's rise - rivals and coworkers frequently complained that he was, for some reason, a favorite of City Hall despite having no pre-existing relationships with the Directorate Board.
Four years ago, Liao was appointed interim Commissioner for Public Safety after his predecessor utterly failed to control rising gang violence, drug trafficking, and the Xenogenic insurgency. Liao tackled these problems by multiplying the number of secretive âspecial unitsâ operating in the security apparatus, who did not follow constitutional procedures and were not subject to normal oversight. Rumors abound as to the extent of his machinations: it is alleged that there is an entire unit filled with mind-wiped Xenogenics who hunt their own, and another unit specifically dedicated to âsuicidingâ enemies of the state who are too high profile to arrest. However, no one could argue with results: Liaoâs first year in office saw a 25% reduction in the cityâs murder rate, thanks largely to a truce he had enforced upon the gangs and cartels, and he quickly earned a full term as Commissioner. Against the Xenogenic insurgency, his record is more mixed. While Liao has been able to crush the more centralized and moderate rebel groups, more secretive and radical groups like Daybreak and Fuego have only gotten stronger. Some âin the knowâ allege that Liao has deliberately overlooked their activities, but no one knows why this could be. Only one hint exists as to his motivations: the commissioner, a difficult man to reach, never misses a call from Horizon Biotech.
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TheRealAngeloftheStorm
Beyond the Red Gate
crushes
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