| Attributes | Body: | 6(7) | Quickness: | 6(8) | Strength: | 6(8) | Charisma: | 3 | Intelligence: | 5(7) | Willpower: | 4 | Essence: | 1.16 | Essence Index: | 4.16 | Body Index: | 3.73 | Reaction: | 5(10) | Initiative | 5+1D6(10+3D6) | Dice Pools | Combat: | 8 | Karma: | 1 |
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| Cyberware | Type | Rating | Grade | Essence | Commlink | 4 | standard | .15 | Radio | -- | alpha | .6 | Transducer | -- | standard | .1 | Cybereyes | -- | standard | .2 | Electronic Image Enhancement | 3 | standard | -- | Flare Compensation | -- | standard | -- | Low-light | -- | standard | -- | Protective Covers | -- | standard | -- | Orientation System | -- | standard | .25 | Internal GPS | -- | standard | .1 | Smartlink | 2 | alpha | .4 | Boosted Reflexes | 3 | alpha | 2.24 | Bone Lacing | Kevlar | alpha | .8 | Bioware | Type | Rating | Grade | Bio Index | Cerebral Booster | 2 | cultured | .8 | Enhanced Articulation | -- | standard | .6 | Muscle Augmentation | 2 | cultured | .6 | Muscle Toner | 2 | cultured | .6 | Orthoskin | 3 | cultured | 1.13 |
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| Skills | Active | Assault Rifles: | 6 | Athletics: | 3 | Car: | 4 | Edged Weapons: | 4 | Electronics: | 3 | Etiquette (tribal): | 3(4) | Launch Weapons: | 4 | Pistols: | 6 | Projectile Weapons: | 5 | Rifles: | 5 | Rotor aircraft: | 3 | Small Unit Tactics: | 4 | Stealth (sneaking): | 5(6) | Submachineguns: | 5 | Unarmed Combat: | 4 | Knowledge | Street | Gang Identification: | 4 | Smuggler's Havens | 3 | Pushers: | 4 | Academic | Chemistry: | 4 | NAN Patrol Tactics: | 4 | Salish Tribal History: | 4 | Small Unit Tactics | 4 | Sixth World | Salish Council Politics: | 3 | Background | Interests | Languages | English: | 4 | English R/W: | 2 | Salish: | 6 | Salish R/W: | 3 |
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| Edges | Quick Healer (+2) | High Pain Tolerance (+3) | Resistance to Toxins (+1) | Flaws | Addiction (-4) [synthetic methamphetamine] | Bad Reputation (-2) |
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| Contacts | Fury (level 1): | female human fixer | Louis Wildelk (level 1): | male human, sympathetic tribal councilman | Jekyll (level 1): | male human smuggler |
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| Gear |
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History
Blood clatters through your veins like steam through rusty pipes, and you raise your face to the refreshing rain that falls from the turgid Seattle skies. Leaning up against a burned out bus shelter, you rest for a moment, your breath ragged in your ears. Any moment now the demon will come calling, the demon that hides in your mind, in your blood. And you will be powerless to resist his call. Just as powerless as you were on that night not so long ago.
Hissing, you stumble to your feet and stagger onward into the concrete jungles of the city. How you miss the pure green of your tribal lands. But you know you'll never set foot there again. At least, not legitimately, and not if you want to make it out alive. The junkies and chipheads that litter the street stare vacantly as you pass them, unwilling or unable to display a response to the apparition that steps among them. The need strikes you suddenly and you collapse to your knees, mouth open in a silent scream. The demon boils out from the dark corners of your mind, bringing with it the horrible, blood red memories.
The little colored lights danced across the console in front of you, blinking and changing from red to green to amber as you watched. They danced just for you, they liked you. You smiled at them, laughed, clapped your hands. The empty vial on the floor next to you shone in the light cast by the fires through the open door. Fires from the anti-personnel missiles. The calls and screams of your comrades over the Tac channel went unheaded, the desperate pleas for backup and artillery support unheard. For the deaths of twenty three members of your unit, you were cashiered out of the service and banished from tribal lands forever.
Slowly, slowly the demon retreats into slumber again, and you stare at the yellow pool of vomit on the pavement in front of you. It takes a moment for you to realize that the pair of boots standing just on the other side of it aren't an illusion. Wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, you stagger to your feet.
"Scott Bloodstone?"
"You lookin' for a fight, chummer?" The threat is empty and hollow.
The figure smiles to herself.
"My name is Fury, and I have a business offer you might be interested in."