Never Deal with a Shoggoth: A CthulhuPunk Shadowrun Story

Game Master Loup Blanc

Build Points: Standard 400 BP and its rules. You can spend up to 200 on your base attributes, up to 50 on money for gear. Extra costs as usual for maxing out an attribute or skill.
Metatypes: I'll allow all the base metatypes obviously, and if you want to play the slight variants on them, you can, although the stranger you are the more I'll want a good backstory and everything. I'd rather people stick to core here if you can. I'd also rather not deal with any exotic creatures that are way out there, so please stick to the base five and work from there.
Archetypes/Concepts: Normally you'd talk about classes here, but Shadowrun doesn't have those. Instead, just keep in mind that while you can play anything that'd normally fit in a Shadowrun game, it would be interesting to see concepts that are reminiscent or linked somehow to the kinds of characters common in Lovecraftian stories and games. Some make more sense than others--playing a runner who still considers themselves to be mainly an author would probably be strange at best, for example--but there are lots of good concepts to reflavor, rework, and otherwise play with to fit here.
As a second note on your character concept, please don't shoot too high in terms of power and prestige and all that. I'd like for people to either be fairly novice runners who have a few jobs under their belts but nothing big yet, or else entirely new to the game--maybe not even considering themselves a runner at all, at least not yet--but with some sort of past experience that gives them the edge to succeed.
Gear: You can spend up to 50 build points here as normal, getting 5000 nuyen per BP spent, and the regular Availability cap of 12 is in place. However, I'm very aware that gear more than anything else is where you can break SR six ways to Sunday. I won't actually restrict anything outright, but I'd ask that you not equip your novice runner with crazy amazing custom weapons and armor. A little bit here and there is fine, of course, but especially with weapons and armor, the more you stick to the core rulebook and off-the-rack stuff the better. You'll have plenty of opportunities to buy shiny toys in-game, no worries--and besides, if you start out with the tricked-out machine gun, where do you go but down?
Sources: I believe I have every rulebook for Fourth Edition, so pretty much everything is open within reason. Please let me know if you're grabbing something particularly obscure from an out-of-the-way book just so I can double check it and all, but you should be good to go.
Background/Backstory: I just want a good feel for the character, so don't feel you need to write a novella. Use whatever format you like: simple description, in-character narrative, the ten-minute backround format, anything that works. One thing in particular you should note, though: Why has your character come to the local Stuffer Shack late this night?

Sylive Jewel Staite, by most common metrics used in the Boston sprawl, had a nice childhood. Not an extraordinarily cushy one, by any means, but a nice one nonetheless. She was born at the level of poverty that instilled a certain amount of camaraderie between those with very little nuyen to their name, but not so desperate that her parents had to go mug neighbors in alleyways to keep her and her baby sister alive. Paul and Eve Staite, Sylvie’s parents, worked at a small, shabby Stuffer Shack on the corner of 29th Street and W c k D. Nobody in the sprawl knew what the actual name of W c k D was, so they simply took to calling it Wicked Street. (It later became general knowledge that the original name of Wicked Street was Wackman Drive, but Wicked Street was both easier to remember and appealed to the general sensibilities of its inhabitants far more, so Wicked Street stayed).

It is here, on the dirty corner on Wicked Street and 29th, that Sylvie’s story truly begins.

The little doohickey that let Eve know when a customer walked in hadn’t worked in weeks, and Mr. Reynolds didn’t have the money to repair it, so Eve didn’t even notice that the four gangers had walked into the convenience store until one waved a Predator in her face. It was her fault, really. Even though Mr. Reynolds had beaten it into her cranium time and time again, Sylvie was having her Algebra I finals in the corner on the family commlink, and the ARO which showed how she was doing while Eve was biting her nails took up the entirety of her vision. She wasn’t even really supposed to be using the trodes. Mr. Reynolds didn’t like it when the Staites touched his things.

“Hand over the money and we don’t hurt you too much, tusker,” the lead ganger drawled, his speech somewhat clouded by how he filed all of his teeth to points. Eve sat, nearly paralyzed with fear. Paul was out on a supply run, so he wasn’t there to protect her in case things went bad.

“Huh? Is your tiny little green brain too small to know what I’m saying?” The ganger, his eyes dancing with a cruel light, began to speak agonizingly slowly. “Hand over the money, or,” he cocked the gun, “I shoot you in the head.”

Sylvie set down her CMT, her posture suggesting both wrath and fear in equal measure. She said, “Nobody talks to my mom like that.”

Theme Music

One of the gangers, a scrawny-looking elf who looked like he was hopped up on enough cram to cause an overdose in anybody other than a long-time junkie, turned around and crowed, ”And what’re you gonna-”

His few remaining teeth flew across the room from the force of Sylvie’s punch. The young troll only spared a moment to look surprised, which she shared with the gangers, before following up her punch with a knee to the reeling elf’s genitals, which left him writhing on the ground.

The other two gangers, a burly ork with a lead pipe and another human with a knife, charged at Sylvie, rage and confusion plain on their faces, while the leader turned around and shot twice at the troll. One she dodged with inmetahuman swiftness. The other simply glanced off of her skin.

Sylvie’s swift sidestep took the human by surprise, who, by virtue of his momentum, crashed into the shelves of candy. A punch to the back of the head knocked him out cold. The ork, on the other hand, was not dealt with so easily. He swung at Sylvie with wire-enhanced strength, his right arm visibly rough steel. Sylvie easily blocked it, the lead cracking as it collided with her forearm, and she responded with a jab to the kidneys. Although the ork grunted in pain, he didn't go down, and took another swing at the teenager, this time to the ribs. Although the pipe cracked in half and Sylvie staggered back, the ganger was only allowed a moment of victory before Sylvie grabbed both of his shoulders and made an introduction between her right knee and his face. The ork promptly dropped after that pleasant conversation.

Stalking menacingly towards the leader, Sylvie gave an almost feral snarl. The leader frantically gave off another two shots, which both missed by a mile, before the teenager reached him. Sylvie broke his arm with brutal efficiency, before growling, “Now. You are going to drag your men out of here. You are going to go to your gangboss.” The leader was about to open his mouth before Sylvie silenced him with a single forceful index finger. “No arguments. No interruptions. You are going to go to your gangboss and you are going to absolutely, positively convince them that the Stuffer Shack on the corner of 29th and Wicked Street is not to be messed with under any circumstances. If I ever see so much as somebody tagging this place, I will be going after you personally. Understand?” It wasn’t a question. The ganger nodded frantically, before proceeding to drag all of his lackeys out of the Stuffer Shack with astounding speed for a man with one functional arm.

Of course, because of the astounding display of mojo that Sylvie had just produced, taking up the family business of working in someone else’s Stuffer Shack was now out of the cards for her. Ever since what became lovingly referred to as the Incident, Sylvie spent less time studying on her pseudo-legitimate education program and more mulling over her future. That is, until she discovered the gentleperson’s sport of Urban Brawl.

I will not bore you with the details of how Sylvie Jewel Staite became a Diamond Demon. Suffice to say, it involved numerous hi-jinks, escapades, three dirty syringes filled with an unidentifiable substance, and a Bug Spirit possessing a McHugh’s salesman, but all of that is too much for me to relay to you in the time I have allotted.

Regardless of how she got there, Sylvie eventually joined the Diamond Demons at the tender age of nineteen years. From her point of view, Sylvie was rapidly approaching middle age, and wished to make her mark on the world before she began to decline.

And indeed she did. Under the anonymous moniker of ‘Gauntlet,’ Sylvie carved a place for herself in the Boston circuit. She was offered a contract from Ares, and she almost signed it… except it was made abundantly clear that she was to take bribes. Lots of them.

Being possessed of astounding moral fiber for someone who had grown up in the sprawl, Sylvie declined, and was about to go to the press about the incident when she was brought up on false charges and disbarred from all leagues.

Fortunately, Sylvie used a large portion of the money she had saved up from her matches to buy an excellent lawyer, and she managed to evade the charges. However, now with nothing but her combat gear, a commlink, and some pocket change to her name, Sylvie drifted from job to job, even becoming, ironically, a McHugh’s employee for a few months. That is, until…

”I need a job,” Sylvie said without preamble as she squeezed into a booth clearly designed with humans in mind. The smell of frying potatoes wafted to her nostrils and her stomach growled, helpfully reminding her that she hadn’t eaten anything in sixteen hours.

The slick-looking elf tilted his shades down and looked at Sylvie, but his eyes were far away. ”I would normally at this point make some pithy remark about how you already have one, but you really do,” he said smarmily. ”What is somebody with mojo like your’s working in a McHugh’s? Shouldn’t you be doing Urban Brawl or something?”

Taking the fixer’s quick analysis of her magic in stride, Sylvie replied simply, ”I was. Now I’m not. Long story, and not one I’m inclined to share on a first date.”

”Is that what this is, then? Well, I should probably introduce myself. Mr. Fix-It, pleasure to make your acquaintance.” He extended a hand, eyes twinkling. Cautiously, Sylvie took his hand, being careful not to crush his delicate bones.

”Well, Mr. Fix-It, I need a job. You got anything coming up?” Technically, Sylvie didn’t have to become a shadowrunner. She was paying bills, feeding herself-although McHugh’s wasn’t a good diet, as her quickly growing gut attested to-and could’ve spent the rest of her life like this. Except if she had to endure another month of the soul-crushing corporate bullcrap, she would kill everyone in this hellhole, followed by herself. Bear would probably aid in the endeavor, judging by the grumbling she’s been getting from him for the past few days.

Mr. Fix-It steepled his fingers, giving her an up-and-down look. ”Welll… I would normally send you on a milk run, since this is your first job. Buuut, because I like you, I’ll give you a delivery of a somewhat exotic nature.” He casually tossed a package clearly labeled “DO NOT SHAKE” in thirteen different languages to Sylvie, who caught it easily, followed by what was obviously a detonator.

”The job is simple: you go in, clear out the zombies-the client wants collateral damage, but no collateral damage, if you catch my meaning-and walk away from the explosion looking cool. I can supply the trenchcoat and shades if you want. You can get buddy-buddy with the rest of the team at the local Inferno tonight before you do the job. Real simple. You in?”

Sylvie paused for a moment. You didn’t walk away from the shadows. Not ever. There would be no turning back if she said yes.

”Yes.”

No Rest for the Wicked

The job wasn’t real simple. Sylvie had to break two of the three fundamental rules of shadowrunning within the first hour of complications, fought her way through a horde of ghouls alongside a demented dwarven rigger and an albino elf mage, and then finally facing off against twin street sammys in a high-speed chase.

Regardless, she succeeded, and Sylvie felt at peace for a week. She still went to McHugh’s, but only for the food. Then the urge came on again, and she scheduled another job with Mr. Fix-It.

The cycle perpetuated itself, and all was well. It all got even better during Sylvie’s celebration of her first year in the shadows, where she went to the Dante’s Inferno where she first met the team for the Ghoul Job, as she now called it…

The dress stretched under Sylvie’s bulk. But then again, dresses always looked ridiculous on trolls, even if they were specifically designed for them. Sylvie didn’t even know why she decided to wear one. But, hell, she was here to celebrate and get drunk off her ass. She wasn’t there to find a date. That’s what she thought, anyways.

Jet Black Dress

Then she saw her. A pretty elven woman, with obvious cyberware implants. They weren’t combat warez. They were medical-grade, although they obviously made her at least a bit more graceful, as she twirled beneath the chandeliers with incredible grace, and an easy smile. One eye was also obvious warez, but the differing colors gave her an endearing look, and it complemented her brilliant smile perfectly.

As if entranced, Sylvie got up. She had absolutely no chance. She was a troll, for goodness’ sake! Not the prettiest one, either, and that wasn’t saying much. Bordering on obese, even, due to her steady diet of McHugh’s. But still, she got up, and lumbered over to the dance floor.

The woman was a whirlwind, dancing like a demon. Sylvie couldn’t hope to keep up. But she tried her damndest. She was surprisingly agile for an overweight troll, and that was saying quite a lot.

”Well, you’re persistent, at least,” the elf said, aiming that wicked smile at Sylvie. ”You’ve got that going for you, even if you’re dancing’s absolutely atrocious!” Sylvie gave an awkward chuckle as she continued her embarrassed shuffle. ”C’mon, let’s grab a drink. I’m dog tired, anyways.”

Sylvie followed the elven woman, lumbering while she skipped. When they reached the bar, the elf ordered some McDevitt, and Sylvie ordered a Scalper. ”I s’pose I should introduce myself,” said the elf, eyes twinkling. ”I’m Devi. What’s your name, you beautiful succubus you?”

The troll blushed slightly, replying, ”Sylvie. And thanks for the flattery, but I’m not beautiful, not by a long shot.”

Devi eyed Sylvie lecherously. ”I’d say you are.” At Sylvie’s slack-jawed expression, Devi replied, ”Oh, c’mon. One, you’re on the high-end of the troll scale. Two, being fat is attractive, at least economically. You’re not a junkie, or at least not addicted to any of the dangerous stuff, and you have enough nuyen to feed yourself well.”

”I… uh…” Sylvie was speechless, before clearing her throat. ”I suppose so. I guess.”

”And big bellies are cute.”

Sylvie snorted her drink out of her nostrils before doubling over, embarrassedly laughing. She responded with a quip, which Devi parried and riposted, and so went their night. And the next six months, as well.

BP expenditure:
Metatype: Dwarf 25 points
Attributes: 260 points
Skills: 102 points
Gear: 13 points

Attributes:
B 3
A 2
R 2
S 3
C 4
I 6
L 3
W 7

Edge 1
Essence 6
Magic 6
Initiave (Passes) 8 (1)
Astral Initiative (Passes) 12 (3)

Damage Boxes:
Physical 10
Stun 11

Active:
Assensing 5
Astral Combat 5
Banishing (Insect Spirits) 2 (+2)
Exotic Ranged Weapon 4
Perception 3
Arcana 1
Pilot: Ground Vehicles 2

Sorcery Group 1

Knowledge:
Academic:
Metaplanes 5
Resonance Planes 4
Chemistry (Neurochemistry) 5 (+2)
Magical Theory 3
Interests:
Magical Groups 4

Languages:
English N
Japanese 2
R/W 1
Souix 4
R/W 2

Negative: +35 points
Bad Reputation 5
Aspected Mage (Astral) 10
Hung Out to Dry 10
SINner (Legal; UCAS and Ares) 10

Positive: 35 points
Magician 15
Exceptional Attribute (Willpower) 20

Parashield Dart Rifle 1700Y
Parashield Dart Pistol 6350Y
100 darts of Narcojet (in 10 5 round clips and 5 10 round clips)
Renraku Sensei Commlink 2500Y
Novatech Navi OS
Microtransciever R6 1200Y
Endoscope 800 Y
Grapplegun 1470 Y
stealth Rope 1000 meters (in 200 m stacks)
catalyst stick
Actioneer Business Clothes (5/3) w/ 8700Y
r6 chemical protection
r6 fire resistance
r6 insulation
r6 Non-Conductivity
r6 Thermal Dampening
gecko tape gloves x4 pairs 1000Y

High Lifestyle (2 months paid) 20,000Y

Vehicles:
Suzuki Mirage 6500Y
Mercury Comet 14000Y

Total Nuyen Spent: 64820 Nuyen

Assensing 13 dice
Astral Combat 14 dice
Banishing (Insect Spirits) 2 dice (4 dice)
Exotic Ranged Weapon 6 dice
Perception 9 dice
Arcana 4 dice
Pilot: Ground Vehicles 4 dice
Metaplanes 8 dice
Resonance Planes 7 dice
Chemistry (Neurochemistry) 8 dice (10 dice)
Magical Theory 6 dice
Magical Groups 10 dice

Sorcery Group 1 dice for all skills

Ranged Combat Defense 2 dice
Damage Resistance 8 dice (including armor)
Cold, Electrical, chemical, and fire Resistance: 9 dice

There are few fundemental truths in this world. Gravity goes down, water is wet, and dealing with a dragon is a suckers game that you sometimes don't get a choice as to whether or not you play. Barring wierd weather-based phenomenon, another such rule is that everyone is found by the bright light of day.

This was my first thought as I realized that I was awake, and the sun was glaring at me all judgemental-like. I rubbed my hand across my face and immediately regretted it: Everyone talks about how great it is that Dwarves grow beards, but no one talks about how when that beard is growing out it the hairs are like little needles. Sitting up and looking around, I realized that it was neither daytime, nor was I in my doss. I was an a coffin motel where I occasionally did my astral travelling. The rooms weren't much to look at, but the place was run by Wata-Rengo Yakuza, and they respected a client who paid extra and up front.

I climbed out of the bathtub where I had been laying and turned on my commlink. While it was loading up I began doing stretches to get the rather significant kinks out of my body. Apparently I had been out for over 2 days, and it was currently in that magical time in-between "far too early in the morning for corporate wage slaves to be getting up" and "far too late in the evening for the clubbing or shadowrun types". I continued stretching and after a few minutes began planning my all-too-long day. As I began folding up the plastic that I sat in and rubbed down the walls for DNA evidence I noticed I kept rubbing the spot where a ring used to reside on my finger.

Damn it, the divorce was over a year ago. It was an argument that I frequently had with myself, but this morning I just didn't have the heart for it. I finished cleaning up and then stuffed the folded plastic into the cardboard box that I always brought with me and then left the building, nodding politely to the bouncer at the door. I walked to my car, which was parked in the secure lot and did my traditional vehicle check (nothing in, on or under the car). I also took an astral look around, and while there were spirits coming and going, none seemed particularly interested in me. I opened the back seat long enough to deposit the cardboard box then entered the drivers seat and started up the car.

I made it two blocks before the grumbling of my stomach forced me to turn into the stuffer shack to get something to eat.

Metatype
Human (+1 edge) (0 BP)

Attributes: (200 BP total)
Body 3 (20 BP)
Agility 4 (30 BP)
Reaction 3 (20 BP)
Strength 4 (30 BP)
Charisma 2 (10 BP)
Intuition 3 (20 BP)
Logic 2 (10 BP)
Will 3 (20 BP)
Magic 5 (40 BP)
Initiative 6
Essence 6
Edge 2

Condition Monitor:
Physical (10) [] [] [] [] [] [] [] [] [] []
Stun (10) [] [] [] [] [] [] [] [] [] []

Qualities: + total: (10 BP), - total: (-15 BP)
+ Adept (5BP)
+Mentor Spirt: Cat (+2 Gymnastics Tests) (5BP)
-Pacifist (-5 BP)
-Bad Luck (-20 BP)

Active Skills: (174 BP total)

Physical Skills:
Climbing [Str] 3+2
Gymnastics (Parkour) [Agi] 3(5)+4+2
Infiltration [Agi] 4+4
Palming [Agi] 5+4
Perception (Visual) [Int] 8(10)+3
Running [Str] 3+4
Shadowing [Int] 2+3

Combat Skills
Unarmed [Agi] 4+4
Pistols (Semi-Auto) [Agi] 3(5)+4

Technical Skills
Computer [Log] 1+2
Hardware [Log] 1+2
First Aid [Log] 1+2
Locksmith [Agi] 3+4

Social Skills
Con [Cha] 2+2
Ettiquette [Cha] 2+2

Knowledge Skills (15 points from (Int + Log) * 3)
Boston Sprawl Life 3
Urban Brawl 2
Magical Theory 2
Parazoology 1
Corporate Fashion 2
Boston Geography (Rooftops) 2 (4)
Martial Arts Trids 2
English N

Contacts[/b] (16 BP)
Joe Walsh, Human Fence (Southside) Connection 2, Loyalty 3
Sarah Morningside, Elf Fixer (Cambridge) Connection 2, Loyalty 3
Skinny Pete, Dwarf Black Market Dealer (Downtown/Waterfront) Connection 4, Loyalty 2

[i]Adept Powers
Nimble Fingers
Wall Running
Nerve Strike
Freefall (2)
Enhanced Perception 3
Great Leap 2
Improved Senses (Low-Light Vision, Thermographic Vision, Improved Scent, Flare Compensation)

Gear (15 BP = ¥75,000
Lifestyle[/]
Low x 3 Months (Summerville Housing Project Apartment)

[i]Weapons
Shock Glove [DP 8, DV 5S(e), AP -half, Ammo: 10]
Defiance Ex Shocker [DP 7, DV 8S(e), AP -half, SS, Ammo 4(m)
Survival Knife [DP 4, DV 3P, AP -1, Reach: 0]
Walther Secura Kompakt (Heavy Pistol) [DP 10, DV 5P, AP -1, SA, Ammo 9c]

w/ Concealed Holster (-3 total concealment), Laser Sight, Silencer, and 2 spare magazines
Colt Manhunter (Heavy Pistol) [DP 10, DV 5P, AP -1, SA, Ammo 16c]

w/ Quickdraw Holster, Laser Sight, and 3 spare magazines.

Ammunition
Heavy Pistol

Regular: 100

Ex-Explosive: 50 (+1 DV, -1 AP)

Stick & Shock: 50 (
Taser Darts: 20
Flash-Pak: 1
Smoke Grenade: 2

Armor & Clothing
Urban Exlorer Jumpsuit w/ Helmet
Ares Globetrotter Camo Jacket
Ares Industrious Coveralls
Ares Industrious Winterized Coveralls
Ares Hard Hat
Armor Jacket
Actioneer Business Suit

Commlink & Comm-Gear
Meta Link w/ Vector Xim OS
Erika Elite w/ Iris Orb OS & Hot Sim Module
Trodes
Micro Transceiver R6
Microphone R6
Camera R5 w/ Low-Light
Micro Camera (with helmet mount)
Binoculars R3
Contacts R1 w/ Image Link
Goggles R6 w/ Vision Enhancement 3 & Vision Magnification
Earbuds R3 w/ Audio Enhancement 3

Electronics Gear
RFID Tags (20)
Security Tags (10)
Stealth Tags (20)
White Noise Generator R6
Area Jammer R4
Certified Credstick (4)

SINs & Licenses
Fake Sin R4 (UCAS, Richard Miller, Jr)

Pistol License R4

Locksmith License R4
Fake Sin R4 (Ares Macrotech, James Klein)

Breaking & Entering Gear
Plasteel Restraints
Plastic Restraints (zip ties) (20)
Autopicker R6
Lockpick Set
Keycard Copier R6
Maglock Passkey R4
Sequencer R4
Wire Clippers
Glue Sprayer (4)
Miniwelder
Flashlight
Low-light Flashlight
Crowbar
Gas Mask
Respirator R6
Survival Kit

Climbing Gear
Climbing Gear
Gecko Tape Gloves
Rappelling Gloves
Grapple Gun
Microwire (400m total)
Myomeric Rope (50m)
Standard Rope (200m)
Stealth Rope (100m)
Catalyst Stick

Medical Gear
Medkit R3
Medkit R6
Medkit Supply Refill
Biomonitor
Stimpatch R6 (4)
Trauma Patch (2)
Basic Docwagon Contract

Vehicles/Drones
Mercury Comet

Background & Description

Twitch is a human male, aged 22. He stands 175cm tall, and weighs 75kg. He has dark brown hair, shaved except for a slightly elevated “mohawk” strip down the center, and hazel eyes. His skin is fair, weathered on his face and forearms, and he has a few tattoos. The one on his left bicep recalls the track a wet bicycle tire leaves on concrete, wrapping around the arm entirely. On his right shoulder, a round spiral pattern in alternating red and blue checks stands out brightly.

Lean of frame, Twitch is definitely both stronger and faster than he appears, and closer inspection of his hands and forearms reveals significant callous development around his fingertips, knuckles, and other striking edges commonly used in hand-to-hand fighting. He commonly wears a charcoal grey jumpsuit and triangular single-strap backpack, with tightly laced, light soled boots tucked into the pants. Pockets bulge here and there with numerous bits and baubles, and large smoked-glass goggles typically sit on his forehead.

Twitch hails from New Haven, originally. Born to low-class manufactory workers, he expressed his natural proclivities in running, climbing, and getting into places he shouldn’t be early on in life. He did not realize it, but Cat was with him in those early years, guiding him on daring and probably foolish “quests” to satisfy his curiosity and seemingly limitless energy. A “talent” scout saw him out and about one day, when he was around 17, having just scaled a sheer brick wall about 3 meters tall before jumping down it and clearing several parked cars nearly effortlessly. A few phone calls, an email or two and a face-to-face interview later, and Twitch was signing up for a scholarship to MIT&T, ostensibly for their track and field team.

While at the prestigious school, Twitch found himself bored and frankly uninterested in the mundane schooling. He sort of paid attention during magical theory classes, but only the gym and nearby parks held any sort of real interest for him. The whispers of Cat constantly goaded him to poke his nose into places, and the lure of cash, electronics, and other toys proved too much for the young man. He soon found out just how fast a well-funded and staffed school, especially one with such a large amount of magical talent, could track down a thief. Expelled, on his own, and still being driven by the insatiable curiosity of his mentor spirit, Twitch took to the streets. There’s plenty of work to be had for a man of his talents, and his youthful follies have only sharpened his skills to avoid being caught again.

He’s got plenty of fun toys, now, even packing some real firearms (almost exclusively loaded with non-lethal ammunition, unless he knows there are ghouls, dangerous paracritters, or drones about), and lots and lots of ways to break into places. He’s even amassed a small collection of “disguise” outfits, allowing him to blend with the workaday folks coming and going near his Summerville doss, as well as a decent corporate suit. His favorite remains his pocket-festooned jumpsuit, however, especially when he clips a camera to the helmet and records his runs.

While not a stranger to the streets, per se, Twitch is not a professional shadowrunner by any means. He steals to make a living, and fences his takes as he can. Things that he really likes, or that may help him continue this line of work, he keeps when able; everything else gets converted to cold hard cash. One night, out on one of his standard sunset-rooftop runs, he finds his helmet camera’s battery has died. Stepping into a nearby stuffer shack to grab a replacement, his life soon changes.

Street Name: Tall Ted
Name: Talted (fillet knife)
Movement: 10/25, Swim: 5
Karma: 0
Street Cred: 0
Notoriety: 2
Public Awareness: 0
Human Male Age 21
Height 1.78m Weight 110kg
Composure: 6
Judge Intentions: 4
Lift/Carry: 11 (90 kg/60 kg)
Memory: 6
Nuyen: 0

BOD: 5
AGI: 4 (2)
REA: 5 (7)
STR: 4 (6)
CHA: 2
INT: 2
LOG: 2
WIL: 4
EDG: 4

Essence: 1.3
Initiative: 7 (9)
IP: 1 (3)
Matrix Initiative: 6
Matrix IP: 1
Physical Damage Track: 11
Stun Damage Track: 10

Archery : 0 Pool: 1
Armorer : 0 Pool: 1
Artisan : 0 Pool: 1
Automatics : 3 Pool: 5
Blades : 1 Pool: 3
Climbing : 2 Pool: 10
Clubs : 1 Pool: 3
Computer : 1 Pool: 3
Con : 0 Pool: 1
Cybercombat : 3 Pool: 5
Data Search : 0 Pool: 1
Demolitions : 0 Pool: 1
Disguise : 0 Pool: 1
Diving : 0 Pool: 4
Dodge : 3 Pool: 10
Escape Artist : 0 Pool: 1
Etiquette : 0 Pool: 1
First Aid : 0 Pool: 1
Flight : 2 Pool: 8
Forgery : 0 Pool: 1
Gunnery : 1 Pool: 3
Gymnastics : 2 Pool: 4
Hacking : 0 Pool: 1
Heavy Weapons : 0 Pool: 1
Infiltration : 0 Pool: 1
Instruction : 0 Pool: 1
Intimidation : 0 Pool: 1
Leadership : 0 Pool: 1
Locksmith : 0 Pool: 1
Longarms : 3 Pool: 5
Navigation : 1 Pool: 3
Negotiation : 1 Pool: 3
Palming : 0 Pool: 1
Parachuting : 0 Pool: 4
Perception : 3 Pool: 5
Pilot Ground Craft : 1 Pool: 8
Pilot Watercraft : 0 Pool: 6
Pistols : 3 Pool: 5
Running : 2 Pool: 8
Shadowing : 2 Pool: 4
Survival : 1 Pool: 5
Swimming : 2 Pool: 8
Throwing Weapons : 0 Pool: 1
Tracking : 1 Pool: 3
Unarmed Combat : 3 Pool: 5

== Knowledge Skills ==
Alcohol : 1 Pool: 3
Area Knowledge: Seattle : 3 Pool: 5
Firearms : 2 Pool: 4
Korean : 1 Pool: 3
Martial Arts : 3 Pool: 5
Salish : 1 Pool: 3
Salish Lore : 1 Pool: 3

Sangre y Acero
+Reduce an opponent's 'friends in melee' bonus by 1
Clinch
Kick Attack

Gordi (2, 3) (Enemy)
Jackie Nolastname (4, 1) (Fixer)
Jorge "Kidney Beans" Ramirez (2, 3) (Fight Promoter)
Tara O'Dell (1, 4) (Med Student/Girlfriend)

Addiction (Mild) (Alcohol)
High Pain Tolerance (Rating 1)
Lost Loved One (Fraternal Twin Sister)
Wanted (Komun'go Seoulpa Ring)

== Lifestyles ==
Low 6 months

== Cyberware/Bioware ==
Bone Density Augmentation Rating 4
Cybereyes Basic System Rating 2
+Eye Recording Unit
+Image Link
+Smartlink
+Low-Light Vision
+Flare Compensation
+Thermographic Vision
+Protective Covers
Datajack
Muscle Augmentation Rating 2
Retractable Climbing Claws
Spur
Wired Reflexes Rating 2

== Armor ==
Armor Jacket 8/6
+Biomonitor
Lined Coat 6/4

== Weapons ==
AK-112
+Imaging Scope
+Vintage
Pool: 5 DV: 6P AP: -1 RC: 1
Cavalier Scout
+Plasteel Components Rating 1
Pool: 5 DV: 4P AP: - RC: 0
Colt M22A3
+Gas-Vent 3 System
+Imaging Scope
+Sling
+Smartgun System, Internal
+Folding Stock
Pool: 7 DV: 6P AP: -1 RC: 6
Colt Manhunter ("Mandi")
+Quick-Draw Holster
+Smartgun System, Internal
+Spare Clips
+Spare Clips
+Spare Clips
+Personalized Grip
Pool: 7 DV: 5P AP: -1 RC: 1
Ingram Smartgun X
+Spare Clips
+Spare Clips
+Folding Stock
+Gas Vent 2
+Smartgun System
+Sound Suppressor
Pool: 7 DV: 5P AP: - RC: 3
Minigrenade: Fragmentation
Pool: 1 DV: 12P(f) (-1/m) AP: +5 RC: 0
Retractable Climbing Claws
Pool: 3 DV: 3P AP: - RC: 0
Spur
Pool: 3 DV: 6P AP: - RC: 0
Unarmed Attack
Pool: 5 DV: 6P AP: - RC: 0

== Commlink ==
Hermes Ikon (4, 3, 3, 3)
+Iris Orb
+Subvocal Microphone
+AR Gloves
+Printer
+Biometric Reader
+Suite: Pro User [Analyze 4, Browse 4, Command 2, Edit 4]
Meta Link (1, 0, 0, 2)
+Suite: Basic User [Analyze 2, Browse 2, Command 1, Edit 2]

== Street Gear ==
Ammo: Gel Rounds (Heavy Pistols) x50
Ammo: Regular Ammo (Holdouts) x70
Ammo: Regular Ammo (Heavy Pistols) x200
Ammo: Regular Ammo (Submachine Guns) x250
Ammo: Regular Ammo (Assault Rifles) x250
Concealable Holster
Datachip x5
DocWagon Contract: Basic
Mapsoft (Boston Sprawl) Rating 6
Minigrenade: Fragmentation x20
Quick-Draw Holster
Stimulant Patch Rating 6 x5
Tranq Patch Rating 6 x5
Trauma Patch x6

== Vehicles ==
Suzuki Mirage (Racing Bike)
+Vehicle Sensor

Talted tries his best to dress in a non-descript manner, though the fact that he is built like an athlete sometimes leaves a mark on those he meets. He always wears clothes that cover as much skin as possible to conceal scars and wounds from his pit fights and keeps his hair and nails clipped short also due to his fighting career. When not working on runs he wears an armored duster of a style popular back home in Seattle.

Talted tries not to be the hothead he was in his youth, hoping to project the image of a calm young shadowrunning professional. He prefers to stay silent during social interactions related to running work, knowing that his lack of training in such realms could cost him a payday. Despite that, Talted is friendly once on the job and enjoys chatting up women when he isn't working.

Originally born in the Redmond Barrens of Seattle to a BTL addicted mother and a dealer for a father, Talted had a harsh childhood, punctuated by the occasional trip to visit his uncle who provided him with some sense of his tribal history in a small Salish community close to the Sound. When his father was imprisoned for a murder at the age of 15, he was forced to provide for his little sister Amanda by joining a small crew of displaced Salish and Tsimshian enforcers who performed some work running drugs and collecting debts for the Komun'go Seoulpa Ring. This arrangement worked for Talted and his sister for several years, and Talted managed to save quite a bit of money in the process. Around the age of 17 he began to spend his off-time competing in underground pit fighting for some extra income. By this point he was paying for his sister to attend a corporate school run by Mitsuhuma in the hopes she would not become the itinerant, drug-addicted, prostitute that their mother was. This was about the time that he began to seek surgical implants so he could compete better in the fights.

Around the time that he turned 20 things began to change in Talted's life. First his sister disappeared from the corp school he had enrolled her in. He could not get any details about her disappearance from the school who denied she had ever been enrolled. Even teachers who knew her for the previous few years denied knowing anything about Amanda. Desperate, he went to the cops to report her disappearance. Though detectives intially responded to his claims, as they investigated the case the question of his income sources came to their attention. This in turn lead to vice task forces beginning surveilance operations of him. He was busted a month after reporting his sister missing as he recovered from his latest implant surgery. Although he refused to become a cooperating witness, the Komun'go believed he had rolled on them. When Talted found out, he knew he had to get out of Seattle, which is just as well as the Seoulpas have placed a bounty on him.

Following up on a rumor that his sister had somehow been spotted joining some doomsday cult outside of Boston, Talted made arrangements to relocate to the East Coast with the help of his uncle and the tribal community. Since arriving in Bean Town, he has failed to pick up Amanda's trail, but has started working as a Shadowrunner for a low-rent fixer called Jackie Nolastname. Talted has also been looking to pickup some extra cash by becoming involved with the local underground fight clubs in town. He has yet to climb too far up the ranks, but has managed to seriously tick off a brash ork everyone calls Gordi who he took down during his first fight. In these clubs he has made friends with an old fight promoter named Jorge. In his social life he has been seeing a young med student named Tara O'Dell, a native of Boston with family roots going back to the city's earliest days.

The skeptical street samurai has always felt that despite the wonders of modern life the tall tales his tribe's shamans were ridiculous and primitive misinterpretations of otherwise explainable scientific phenomen. Magic exists, and spirits, sure, but that doesn't mean that talk of all gods or alien beings is actually valid. Vampires, afterall, are just people infected with a disease! Still, some legends of his coastal dwelling ancestors are repeated through oral tradition.