bakerstreet | Wintermute...

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Wintermute...

Welcome to the future. Please abandon all hopes and dreams after this point, for the very definition of the term cyberpunk is "high tech, low life". The idea behind cyberpunk comes from the thought that as technology advances, so broadens the gap between social status, where becoming middle class is an achievement and anyone wanting to become anything higher suffers from pipe dreams. This life is pain, where the only person you can really trust is yourself.

These are worlds defined by poverty or absolute control, where the net is your only escape from the troubles of the world. Cyborgs, meta-humans, AI, and corporations with undisputed power are what's being served out here. Do you have what it takes to survive?

Possible roles
>The office drone: You're no one special. Day in and day out, you punch into work. You're unaware, or at least uncaring, of how shitty life around you is because at least the fistful of dollars you get keeps you from being on the streets.
>Deprogrammed: Similar to above, but a set of circumstances has made you realize just how blind you are. You don't have the savvy others may have but you have the determination to see your goals out until the bitter end. Or at least until your enemies make you a better offer.
>The muscle: You have a specific set of skills that are in high demand. Be it assassin or head-basher, you're rarely out of a job.
>Tech support: You have a way with computers that would make ABC agencies cry. Big people rely on you while even bigger ones are trying to get their hands on you.
>The talking head: Your district, your city, or your country knows you well. You're the face of propaganda, and boy, can you weave it! You're kept comfortable by the masters that feed you, though the days may be difficult as you see more and more injustices enacted.
>The Street tough: You're the lowest of the low. Life has given up on you, though you keep fighting on. You're the dealer, the gangster, the informant, the thief, and more. You know all the short cuts and the best ways to cause a stir.
>The fish out of water: Through experimentation, creation, or other factors, you've found yourself in this brave new world with no support to lean on. You need to understand the way things are if you're to survive long.
>The Hard-luck hero: Can be any of the above, though circumstance or sheer force of will has kept you from straying away from doing what's right.
>The Antagonist: Board member of a mega-corporation? G-Man with the need to stay in Power? Religious fanatic with an extremist bent? The background matters not. What does matter is that if you aren't the problem, you certainly benefit from perpetuating it.

There are so many more possible roles, so don't let this list limit you! If you think it could fit, play it out!

Prompts
>Deep Throat: One (or both) of you have managed to stumble across information that could change the way the world around you works. This could make or break the two of you, if you know how to handle the consequences of your following actions.

>The Hook Up: In the real world, people wouldn't waste their spit on scum like you. But in the net? You're a god, peddling information and resources better than Wal-Mart. Just be careful who you talk to. Not everyone thinks what you do is a good thing.

>Take a Stand: The corporations, the government, the gangs, the machines. It doesn't matter who it is, but you're tired of their interference in your life. Are the two of you ready to take them on?

>Thorns In My Side: You're the king or queen of your private enterprise. You have it all: A private army, AIs capable of placating the masses, connections even better than the government, and a demeanor that could charm Satan himself. However, there's still that little nuisance known as the underdog, and they're knocking at your door.

>What You Need is a Gramme...: You just got that newest drug shipment in, and it promises to be the biggest trip in your life. It promises to make you stronger, faster, smarter, and sexier, all in one hit. The only thing left is to try it.

>The Patchwork Man: People are disappearing, and no one seems to notice or care, except you and your partner. The only thing? They're also your worst enemy.

>Escape From...: You've just been kidnapped, and unfortunately, your partner's the kidnapper. What's their motive? Can you escape?

>Voight-Kampff: Your job is to track down and 'retire' human-like bioengineered androids who have gone rogue. Sounds simple enough, right? Not when your targets are as intelligent as any human, or more. Not only that, they are stronger, almost indistinguishable from humans in appearance. So much so it's possible one could be one and not realize it...

>Be More Human: You're a cop, a gumshoe or someone else dealing with law enforcement, a dangerous job to do alone. Good thing you have a partner, right? Only one problem, they're an android. Robots who can think and feel are a thing now, and what's more, some are starting to think they should have all the rights humans have. Whether you agree or not, you two are stuck together.

>FUCK Society: As the internet grows more advanced, so does inter-connectivity to the point whole cities are now monitored by powerful operating systems that govern all aspects of city life. You are a hacker that is out to fight the megacorps, while seeking revenge against the criminal element.

>This is the Construct: You're not just a cog in the machine, you are literally inside the machine itself, either raised from birth or a visitor (willing or unwilling) to this digital realm. Can you bend reality to your will as a User, maybe even The One, or are you a Program of the system, out to help or hinder the hero's mission? What are you supposed to do? Survive.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[Alvis is a member of the Akari priesthood, one of many strange little sects that sprung up as technology and understanding of the natural world advanced. The Akari believe that trees are the root of all life in the universe.

One of the oddities of their order is that they believe that their pain can bring others absolution, ritual scarification is not uncommon, and they are often derisively referred to as 'scarbacks'. It is polite to refer to them as 'aunt' or 'uncle', though they generally refer to each other as 'cousin'. They're a widespread order, and they've lasted as long as they have by adapting with the technology, believing that there is a time and a place for it. They are most easily identified generally by yellow traveling robes, and often by the assortment of spiked rings or bracelets they wear.

Alvis himself is one of the ones who has fully embraced this new world, with a 24/7 stream of his small cell of an apartment and a shoulder-mounted camera on the occasions that he goes outside.]

[Antagonist, of a sort. Einar is a man that sells dreams. Bespoke, exquisitely-crafted VR simulations of a usually -but not always- particularly violent nature.

You see, Einar sells murder. Or, rather, the simulation of murder, beautifully rendered, and well-enough displayed that he probably has at least a few bodies in a basement somewhere.

But of course, this isn't the sort of thing someone can just order from a catalog, but there are always ways to track someone of his talents down.]

Edited (eta header) 2022-01-18 08:29 (UTC)

[Perpetual fish out of water. He came from a wealthy family, built on technological and scientific advances, the kind of family that there were always rumors about of varying degrees.

He fell out of the public eye sometime in his early twenties, of course there's rumors about that too, that he died, that he's been in rehab, that he's started a cult, any one of these things might be true...]

[Tech Support to the extreme, this kid was raised both on and by the system, she knows her way around it and through it all like a fish through water, and she uses it all to her own advantage.

She's definitely built up a little empire for herself, or at least a little patch to call her own and while her services are entirely legitimate on the surface, there's always something going on beneath...]

[Bobby is one of the Lo-Teks, literally living off the grid by way of being an urban scavenger, living in service tunnels, abandoned buildings and the like, he's old enough to remember a time before all this though, and knows that it'll all come down again, even the walls of Jericho fell.

But he knows things, new knowledge, old knowledge, it's all the same to him and he can teach you how to plant green and growing things, or repair a pair of VR goggles all the same, if you can track him down, and give him a good reason why he should help.]

[In a world where everyone is jacked-in 24/7, actual human contact is something of a commodity, one that Companions, like Gabreel, provide.
Also possibly a companion-bot that grows feelings, I'm good with either.]

[Shuri is a member of The Outreach, a group of mostly young, mostly well-to-do individuals who are slowly but surely building a little utopia for themselves, one that they hope to make sustainable before they spread it to the general populace.
Of course, they're always looking for new members, and new residents, and there are ways to contact her, if one knows where to look and who to ask...
(also down for general hacker shenanigans, I'll roll with most things.)]

[Officially she's the CEO of Stark Industries, former weapons manufacturer turned into green energy supplier.
Secretly, however, she's Rescue, getting power, supplies and yes, even weapons, to those in need, thwarting corruption more directly from behind a mask than she can from across a board room table (though that's still plenty)]

[Sure, she's a member of the city/country government, but she's been planning to take this thing down since she was in her teens. She's actually fostered two generations of rabble-rousers and troublemakers and with the new government being taken down by outside forces, now is the time.
Also available in OG trilogy flavor.]

[It's no Ratz's Tavern, but Eliot's food truck is pretty well known, and not just because of Eliot himself -though that's part of it- and not just because both of his assistants are attractive -though that's part of it- but because he's got a reputation for a damn fine grilled cheese, and for being able to help with literally any problem.]

[She lives in the wasteland or the ruins or whatever the local city calls the uninhabited zones outside of the city's protection. She lives on the very edge of what's actually habitable and she might in fact be crazy.

But better crazy than ~~bl/IND~~ being a good little drone under the city's control. But if someone needs a rescue, a detox, or a getaway driver for a raid, she'll be there.

(Down for something semi-canonical or just whatever kind of futuristic dystopia your particular setting is)]

[She's some kind of wizard when it comes to virtual pets or playrooms, they seem more real than reality.

It's probably best not to cross her, however, because the Veldt may be more than just a cautionary tale.]

[She's got her own channel, she always has had, one of the pretty talking heads that the government employs to keep the people watching and happy -but not too happy- and entertained and more importantly, consumers. There's always a new beauty product or a new gadget that her followers just have to have, because she has it.

But as much as she likes the accolades and the adoration, she actually wants what's best for her fans, and that's the kind of thing that gets a star cancelled.

(Down for someone trying to rescue her before she can be cancelled, or her falling in with some anti-government group and passing along information, hell, we can even throw in a 'magic is real' aspect because why the heck not?)]

[Some may remember him as one of the youngest members of the group -or Clan- of techs that kept things running around Peach Trees residential tower.

More will remember him as the voice of Peach Trees information under the reign of Ma Ma Madrigal and her Clan.

But these days most people will know him just as the nervous young man with the augmented eyes, the one who has all the information, or who can repair even the most dead of electronics, both for the right price.

(Totally open to whatever sort of plot, if you just need to know something that's great, but getting him sucked into something over his head again is also great!)]

[Connor's an android created by a company called CyberLife and this is pretty close to his canon. He's made to hunt "deviant" androids who are becoming independent and self-aware. Can play him as becoming a deviant himself, being solidly loyal to his programing, or a tug of war between those. Connor is basically a deadly, malleable, awkward pawn.

Ideally he'll try to avoid hurting humans but may count them as possibly expendable. He can pair up with androids, humans/etc if he thinks it will serve his mission, but he can also be "corrupted" by them into becoming more lifelike himself.

Also okay with aus and assumed cr]

Edited 2022-01-18 09:09 (UTC)

( highlights is pretty far from a slummy strip club. there's no poles, the music is kept to a level that allows idle conversation. but there's aquatic tanks inlaid into the walls, each with a naked body arching and writhing like they're somewhere between a drowning death and absolute ecstacy. the liquor pours freely, and there's still back rooms thoroughly soundproofed for more private matters. the bar is a long stretch of polished dark oak, taking up the majority of the back wall, and the customer base reeks of wealth, or else stature. everything goes, provided one could pay for the fall out, and almost all the patrons were regulars.

striker knows why she's here. no sex drive, no appreciation for the human form, no delightful side effects from alcohol or the equally free flowing drugs. she's here for her pilots, her humans. the living creatures whom she shifts into a fully armored, 250ft battle robot for; who mesh their minds together through her machinery in order to control her limbs like weapons. who demand some sort of social respect, as military heroes and protectors of the world, and who she's eventually stolen a personality from herself — because the neural link didn't go just two ways, and the tech that landed jaegers with humanized bodies for publicity reasons wasn't thoroughly vetted. pretty faces became emotional sponges. which leads to the identity crisis that has striker sitting at the bar as her humans socialize, swirling a glass of whiskey that she isn't drinking, and just watching.

because isn't people watching fascinating? with a veritable dictionary hardwired into her code, it's easy to put emotions to faces. she can name the desperate, the horny, and the bored within the clubs populace. notices those who look more sad than the happy façade they're putting on; the human employees oh so obviously distracted by their own lives, but pretending for the sake of clientele. and then there are patrons and employees alike who are just absolutely off their own rockers on illicit substance, trying to numb some kind of existential pain. and then there's —

cops.

they obviously don't belong, and stick out like a sore thumb dressed in lack luster suits amidst the thrum of human excitement. it isn't the first time she'd seen police here, but all their past raids hadn't managed to put a dent in highlights profit margins, so she does have to wonder why they bother. still, knowing her place means staying at the bar and watching as pockets of potential subjects are broken up and questioned. it's business as usual, and the underwater strippers don't even pause their gyrating routines for breathe as it all goes down. just as laissez-faire, striker remains as the bar, going through the motions of civility until she's called upon by her pilots. or approached for questioning. )

I haven't got anything to tell you, and even less to say without my lawyer.

( jokes, of course — her (human's) lawyer is under military contract, bound to cooperate with local police, and she hasn't got any human rights anyway. )

[Connor's walk up to the bar is unhurried even as he casts the occasional, almost clinically curious look at the underwater strippers as if working out the appeal humans have with them. This isn't the first time he's been in these kinds of establishments, but it isthe first he's seen with water displays like this. He detects more than trace amounts of alcohol in the air - everyone has been drinking and heavily - as well as other substances; some bordering on illicit. Others downright illegal.

But today he isn't here for those kind of arrests.

No, he's here to question someone - or, to be more accurate, to question something, as Striker isn't classed as a human according to the CyberLife database. Connor approaches the other machine, stopping neatly in front of the bar and he'll rest his elbows on the edge of it, learning forward in mimicry of what a human would do. That part is automatic.]

Incorrect. Only a human has a right to a lawyer. [It occurs to him that Striker could be displaying genuine sarcasm, as some unregistered machines can develop such...anomalies as their programming deteriorates. Besides, she isn't CyberLife manufactured, so there's no telling how thorough quality control was when she was made] You know why I'm here, yes?

( it's truly amazing to watch the oh-so practiced human mannerisms she'd engrained into her metal work reflected in another creature. creation. does it look as stiff and perfect when she tries it? or does several years of sorting through vivid human minds mean she has a leg up on purely analytic code when it came to parroting human interaction and bar-leaning. leeching personality from the hansen's was what landed her with the australian accent; the general sour disposition, the cockiness, the bar-room-brawl-ready scowl as the cop-bot takes up space at her side.

a deep, unnecessarily, dramatically put-upon exhale, and the solid thunk of the heavy crystal whiskey tumbler on the rich oak wood of the bar. no coaster. )

I can't imagine a reason why. ( there's that sarcasm. perfectly measured, like she assumes the kilo of cocaine in the bar's cash room is too. ) But I'd wager you'll tell me.

[He has to wonder if Striker can even ingest the whiskey, if her creators opted to include that ability into her for whatever reason or perhaps she mimics it but doesn't actually drink. Surely she won't drink if it would be guaranteed to compromise whatever her internals look like. He's sure CyberLife R&D departments would very much like to have a look at what makes her tick, but today he isn't authorized to deliver a deviant such as Striker.

Most likely Legal hasn't worked out yet how to cover all bases on a forceful extraction.

Lucky her.]

You can start by taking a look at this. [Connor holds up his hand, palm out, and the air in front of it shimmers as he projects a square holo of several familiar faces.] Tell me about them.

[He already knows the basics of these men and women, their registered names; jobs; addresses. But these were frequent customers here and it's possible that Striker may have additional details. Every single one of them has gone missing.]

( to answer the question he doesn't ask: she can't. could probably swallow the liquor down, given her insides are made to weather harder stuff than a bit of alcohol, but it doesn't do anything for her. she'd probably vent the alcohol like she does coolant the second she was away from prying eyes, and find herself craving oil, thermonuclear components, and electricity. like a good robot. lucky her — america's best legal minds haven't figured out how to navigate around foreign sovereignty for a forceful extraction. for as much as it sometimes feels she's a citizen of the country, sacrificed for it's people, in the end she's property of the australian military, and the international red tape gets messy.

still, the cop-bot presents a hologram of faces, and (a distinctly un-android-like) curiosity bids her look at it. flit across the likenesses, search her core for any sign of recognition. and it's a methodical no, no, no until she fixates on the fourth face and feels a twist in her gears that feels a lot like concern. )

I know him. He busses the dishes here, and mops out the private rooms. ( and if asked to parse it out logically, she couldn't say if he's human or android. it had never mattered to her. still, on the surface he looks asian, a little pudgy around the face. black hair, brown eyes, 5'9", the hint of a tattoo under the sleeve of his work shirt. ) His name is Alec.

( and then quickly — very quickly on the uptake, in an effort to mask any waylaid thoughts: )

I'm not equipped with any surveillance tech. ( in case the next question was for any secretive recordings lodged in her memory bank. muscle memory may be on the edge of her fingertips, but that's because it's rooted in survival and that's ultimately what she was built for. hitting a target didn't require the same level of coding or tech that it did to parse out puzzles and solve mysteries. weapons don't make good witnesses. )

[Striker isn't equipped with standard surveillance tech?

Odd. Connor assumed the other machine would be recording, measuring up to the 24/7 surveillance trends with CyberLife and all its registered, many lesser competitors that have adopted the same approach. His generic brown eyes flicker, betraying his suspicion even before that LED spinning at his temple turns amber to show he's processing this additional input.]

This bar likely does. Show me everywhere that where Alec would go on his shift. And do you have access to the CCTV?

[Absently Connor wonders what would happen if he grabbed Striker's arm and tried to probe her memory like he could with any CyberLife android. She's a different model with unknown software and hardware in her: he genuinely doesn't know if he could short-circuit her or vice versa, if he could grab anything useful in audio or visual data, or if nothing at all would happen, as if he tried to connect to a non-smart appliance.]

( a non-smart appliance. how rude. underneath the already tense situation, it's not hard to draw the conclusion of judgement oozing off the android like radioactive spikes. maybe it's the lack of depth in the facial features, when she's both all too familiar with robots and humans alike after five years of service as a neural link. uncanny valley, with the added insult of feeling looked down upon. it's like asking a toaster to hoover the carpet, or a vacuum to make breakfast. different machines for different purposes, and the australians have different business standards. )

I don't have access to their security footage. I don't work here. ( a loose gesture to a back table, shrouded in shadows but simultaneously swarming with cops. human cops, sent to question her very human companions. ) My pilots are right over there, and they're patrons.

( i'm a patron, she means, but knows better than to actually think that, and even better than to say that aloud. still, being brash and standoffish doesn't directly equate to unhelpful, and striker takes a moment to process herself. )

Alec went everywhere here. He was in charge of keeping things clean up by the bar, but the VIP rooms are filthy. All the employees here get a 30 minute dinner break, but he's been gone longer than that before. Under cologne, he always smelled like cigarettes. The building's non-smoking, but there's a back alleyway.

[Odd. He would assume a machine would be working here, not as a...guest by proxy. A mechanical tag-along. Now Connor is fairly fresh off the manufacturing line but from his understanding, machines - androids and..."other", whatever Striker can be classed as - shouldn't be lounging about like human patrons.

There's a brief, blink-or-you'll-miss-it flash of confusion flitting across his face before it settles into the usual neutral mask.

She doesn't work here, true. But clearly Striker is observant and she's watched what is going on in the part to the point where she can dictate what this Alec did/didn't do. What every employee does despite it having little to no immediate impact on her pilots, her owners.

Connor's head tilts to the side as if listening to something off in the distance, his dark eyes taking a faraway look while CyberLife updates his priority list. His eyes snap back to Striker]

Then show me that. Tell me more about Alec, about how he got along with his coworkers, the patrons. The...others, if any, like you.

[He'll have to get access to the CCTV one way or another. Connor gestures at Striker to lead him to that back alley, the gesture almost insultingly human with a perfect mimicry of that flick of the wrist.]

( less than a guest, but more than a mechanical tag-along. throughout history, humans have projected personalities onto the machines they operate: decided their navel ships were akin to women carrying them safely through war, name and talk to their cars, kiss and sleep with their guns, cry openly in the company of their cell phones and share their deepest desires with their computers. and none of those items had been built with tits and a direct outlet to plug into the human psyche. she may have adopted personality traits after numerous mental drifts with the hansens, and they may still be entirely themselves; but there's some connection there. the reliance and trust bred from near death experiences.

striker likes to think it doesn't just go one way. that she might just be more than political arm candy and a status symbol, like the ppdc issue bomber jacket or military tattoos on their arms.

but yes, she's observant. it's part code (can't spot a threat if you're not looking for one) and part boredom. if you don't come to a strip club for the sex or the booze, what's left other than people watching? speaking of people watching, over his shoulder she can see the younger of her pilots getting a bit loud and aggressive with the police officer who's just told him he needs to put down his drink, and the older of the two trying to glare his son into submission. she doesn't want to leave them, honestly, but the intrigue conner's very presence suggests is inviting.

he flicks his wrist, she blinks slowly then juts her chin in the direction of the hansen's. )

I'll tell you whatever little I can. But I need orders if I'm going to leave this spot. ( aka ask two angry drunk australians if striker has permission to come out and play. )

[Connor's head swivels to check for Striker's pilots.

Their names/faces on public record and they're something of a point of pride for the Australian government: two human hotshots keeping the kaiju menace at bay, and doing it better than any of the fully automated android teams that have been sent over and over. He doesn't understand the specifics as to how they're able to consistently outperform androids, but all that matters for now as they do.

Essentially their word holds weight. If they don't want Striker to assist, then Connor has no choice but to respect that even if it's detrimental to his case.]

Okay. Wait here, I'll update you in a few minutes.

[Connor wanders over to the Hansen's as if he's asking for directions. It's a little far to make out the specifics of the conversation, but Connor's approach seems involve the following directives:

> Approach [PATROL OFFICER] GRAYTON, SAM; request GRAYTON stand down;
> Approach [ JAEGER PILOT ] HANSEN, HERCULES; touch shoulder and/or upper arm and offer calming smile;
> Approach [ JAEGER PILOT] HANSEN, CHUCK; smooth things over, in whatever way is necessary. CyberLife funds allocated in order to buy food/drink/other recreational items. (Resort to threats as last resort);

Threatening the Hansen's thankfully isn't necessary. Asking for the human officers to respect the pilot's space, offering them a whole night's tab, and sincerely apologizing seems to work well enough that they'll allow an hour of Striker's time. A second hour, if the Hansen's are feeling generous as they take their time running up CyberLife's tab, and Connor doesn't even note that as worth his own time.

CyberLife has generous funds.

Two kaiju pilots can't possibly put a dent in it.]

They gave 1-2 hours of your free time, Striker.

[As Connor returns and turns his back on the humans, his face falls back into that android's neutral mask. There's no point mimicking emotions in front of another machine, after all.]

( like a fucking piece of meat.

well, metal, of course.

part of knowing the hansen's well enough to mirror their every move in the throes of war means she can also infer exactly what passes between the father, the son, and the unholy pain in the ass cop-bot from afar. herc calms, chuck spoils for a fight but is distractable as always, and connor persuades. striker's scowl is barely concealed by the time he returns to give her that promised update; an eyeroll only contained by sheer force of will.

but there are the orders she had asked for (and the distinct swell of abandonment issues that she most certainly hadn't). )

Whatever. Let's go.

( past the edge of the bar, through a black door into a thin hallway that leads past the kitchen, dressing room, and management office. toward the faintly flickering neon green exit sign and out into the brisk evening air. striker has enough synthetic nerves to know it's cold, but doesn't feel it down in her core — even in the modest black cocktail dress she'd been presented with at the door to fit the establishments desired dress code. it definitely looks like the sort of alleyway that smelled; rotten food, slime, vomit, cat pee, and smoke. large green dumpsters are gathered along the brick wall of another building, one that dead-ends this alley. there's an abandoned painters van with chipped and scratched paint parked a few feet to their right, and past that the lights and buzz of a city street in full swing; cars and androids and storefronts and humans.

less than half a block away, but this cold, dark sliver of the world still felt claustrophobic and distant.

a mess of discarded cigarette butts is pretty obvious scattered around the exit door to the club. striker is careful to step over as many as she can before gesturing at the ground like, look, just like i said, super interesting, yeah? )

Have at it, then. Do your — ( a twirl of the finger up by her face, imitating the processing light so neatly pressed against his temple. jaegers have radioactive burning cores in their chests, but they seldom glow through the artificial skin stretched across their sternums. )

And let me know when you're done and we can go back inside. I'll be over here.

( by the stationary painters van with two flat tires and four missing hubcaps. )

[Following the Jaeger outside, Connor glances around the way that most CyberLife androids will when they're taking a good, thorough look around: stopping neatly in place and then swiveling the head and head only from one side to the other, his dark eyes taking an almost faraway look as he scans the area.

His HUD lights up with an overlay for the area, marking possibly points of interesting with glowing markers.

Rotting food, sticky soda and other drinks that will be attracting ants. Residue of the many ways humans leave biological samples wherever they go. Most of those are old from just a basic analysis. There's still likely something here, though, and his attention snaps back to Striker as she steps over the cigarette butt pile. (Mostly likely some of them are Alec's, if what she said is true).

She's very good at mimicking discomfort and annoyance, he realizes: better than any android he's ever seen. There must be a reason for that, he thinks, some tactical reason considering what Striker is and who her pilots are]

What else do you know about Alec? I can look around while you talk.

[Connor moves to the cigarettes and stoops down, the gesture neat and fluid as if he doesn't have to worry about inconvenient things like stiff joints or balance or just how eye-wateringly rank this alley would be if he had a human's sensitivities. Head tilted, he reaches down after selecting what appears to be a random, soggy cigarette butt and then brings it up to his face and....licks it.

Sampling it brings up additional information, such as: ]

Alec was out here recently: this is his on-file DNA. Judging by the size of the cigarette still remaining, he left in a hurry.

Edited (tiny change) 2022-02-10 09:52 (UTC)

[ Former heiress who was stripped of her inheritance and kicked out at 16 due to her outing as a Meta, Remilia's life became a story that was riches to rags. From there her life was an uphill struggle, dealing with constant anti-Meta prejudice, the crimes against her kind, not even scraping as much money she can get together over the past few decades was a simple matter.

The only thing that kept her going was pride. Pride in herself as a Metahuman. Starting up a Metahuman militia was, she felt, the only real choice for her. Coexisting with humans feels like an impossibility only the naïve believe in. With the rumours of a Meta registration law (a precursor to genocide if she ever saw one), she could only feel that she was proven right.

She is a technopath, able to affect technology she can see or potentially know is there.

Oh, she's an antagonist. Think IDW!Megatron meets Magneto. ]

Edited 2022-01-18 14:21 (UTC)

[ Office WoG: As for netrunners, it's hard to find someone more pro than Bug. Her consistency and persistence have brought her respect and trust in the field. As the mercs say: if Bug can't do it, who can?

But if you're lucky enough to have Bug working with you you're damned lucky. She can find you the way in, the way out and all the goodies you need to pop that party on arrival. Just stay on her good side, you don't wanna see her mad. ]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Wintermute...

Alvis | Killjoys | OTA

Einar + Inception OC + OTA

Klaus | Umbrella Academy | OTA

Nim | Modern King Arthur | OTA

Bobby Singer | Supernatural | OTA

Gabreel King | OC | OTA

Shuri | MCU | OTA

Pepper Potts | MCU | OTA

Leia Organa + OG Starwar + OTA

Eliot Spencer | Leverage | OTA

Shiny | Fabulous Killjoys OC | OTA

The Mage + King Arthur: LotS + OTA

Margo + The Magicians + OTA

Techie | Dredd | OTA

rk800 "connor" | detroit: become human

what if i abandoned all prompts and just wanted an android and mech to hang out in a strip club

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winging it, lemme know if I should change anything

this is beautiful & i love it

sorry but Connor's about to get gross with the cigarette bc canon

Remilia Scarlet (adult) | Touhou Project | OTA

carol danvers | mcu | ota

T-Bug |Cyberpunk 2077