|(n) A person who is both familiar with the matrix, and personable.|
|Titles and Awards||0|
|D.O.B.||December 24th 2053|
Metatype - E
Attributes - B
Magic/Resonance - E
Skills - A
Resources - B
- 1 Character Information
- 2 In Character Information
He's just a decker that's reasonably attractive to the average metahuman of the opposite sex with a decent personality and some charm. Oh, did I mention that he's a decker? I know, it's hard to tell beneath the fire hair but he can work the grids pretty well. Sparkle, sparkle.
The endgame is simple, omae. Stay alive, stay healthy, and stay the frag out of Ares' reach.
- Stay free. Stay out of Ares Macrotech's hands. No one in the ten is worse than that one.
- Earn some nuyen, it's the only way crawl through this hell.
- Make some friends, life's short, might as well enjoy it with people you care about.
- If the opportunity arises: Deal as much damage to Ares Macrotech as possible. If they have to perform damage control, they can't find me.
- Avoid complications, for obvious reasons chummer.
((Warning. The backstory written below may cause some memories to resurface. Those who are sensitive to parental abuse please scroll past the summary section. Thank you.))
The Formative Years
You're young, fresh faced, still wearing the juices from the slot you came out of. The years after that, are supposed to be the best years of your life.
The formative years of Mr. Frost weren't bright or sunny. He was abused and neglected by a father who worked as a computer engineer for the Silicon Valley branch of Ares Cybertech Research. His mother was an auto-soft designer for the same company. He always figured that they met at work, over coffee, talking about work and whatever other drek young couples talked about. They fragged once, in the ides of march and nine months later (and some change) he came out on the eve of the corps' wet dream.
Growing up as a corporate sinner isnt' what it's all cracked up to be. The pressure they put you under from the time you can walk, to the time you can write a complete program at five is quite stressful. Sure, it wasn't the same stress that a warzone, the street, or some other locations carried but couple that with a father who was never home and a mother who abused BTLs to escape from postpartum... It gets to be more than a young kid can agree with.
Right around the seven marker, the poor bastard lost his mom to a BTL binge. His father took him to the coroner to ID the body, and after that the drek really hit the fan. If his marks dipped, he was disciplined to the Ares Standard. After all failure wasn't an option when the might of Ares Macrotech rested on the next generations shoulders. Ian Frost wouldn't have it, not after the blight that was left on the name by the recently deceased Catherine. His son would carry a great name, his son would carry the legacy.
The cycle of abuse carried on for years, through the education system of Ares. None of the teachers asked about the bruises on his face, none of them cared. They saw his marks fall, saw the imprint of his discipline the next day, and a few weeks later saw the marks rise. To them, the ethic was effective, and in business. That's all that matters.
The first thing you got to realize is the daunting task running from Ares, not for, placed in front of me. It was Mt. Olympus, and I was set to evade her ever watchful eye. I'd need help and a good helping of luck.
Mr. Frost was just an adolescent when he made the decision to leave his household for good. The seed, though, had been planted years ago when he acquired the skills necessary to at least hide some files from the eyes of the demiGODs, their spiders, and ICs. Those files were fifth world music. Yes, the fifth world was the start of the corporate take over, but at least then the music sounded more genuine and less consumer friendly. Specifically, Mr. Frost took an interest in grunge and alt-rock. This drew his attention, slowly, over the course of a few months to a certain radio station that broadcast anti-corps sentiment. A neo-anarchist station.
At this tender age, Mr. Frost was heavily influenced by the neo-anarchists especially given his treatment by Ares. It seemed as though, in his class, he'd been the only one to be completely repulsed by the serve the greater good of the company drek they'd fed the children during their upbringing. He saved whatever nuyen he could, scrape up whatever under the table work he could behind his fathers back and in between his lessons as he swiftly approached a level in which he'd be 'promoted' into the ranks of wageslave life.
He was eighteen when he met, at a cyber cafe, a man he'll only refer to now as Mr. Black. This man said, for a reasonable fee and a future favor, that he could take care of the sin embedded in Mr. Frost. The young man agreed that in two months time, he would break the corporate chains and run. There was talk that his father had managed to worm his way into the lower echelon of the black table on the topmost floor. Talks that his father would have him climbing a latter not set too far beneath his own, and that, time was running out.
He was ready.
Mr. Frost, on the night of November 24th 2071, fled Silicon Valley and met up with a suspicious group of people. He'd later come to find that this group of people he'd joined up with were a cell of shadowrunners, and that Mr. Black's favor was inside information on the programs, society and access keys for the Silicon Valley site. Without thought of the repercussions, he turned over all the information he new to them and had his SIN bricked.
Afterwards, he was heard saying after a deep breath: "This, my friends... This is Freedom."
I had a name, a first name, when I was born. But now I have many first names. I keep Frost, though, to remind me of the past that I run from and the future I run for. I use the handle Diech0t0mie for the duality of human nature, and the nature of myself.
The next seven years were hard on Mr. Frost. He had a couple of difficult choices to make. South to Los Angeles, or north to Seattle? He knew he needed a free city, a true metro, to bury himself in the sands and disappear. He chose to go north with his freedom, living on the streets and doing odd jobs until he could accumulate some semblance of an existence. It was a take-a-punch-give-a-punch life that slowly amounted to him learning two important things:
1) You don't hack stupid. Go hot when you need to for the edge, but stay cold to avoid the nasty temptation and the death. Don't frag with anything bigger than you, and you'll keep surfing the streams.
2) No one likes a fragging outsider, the drekheads that keep silent and to themselves. People that are too loud are just as bad and twice as likely to get themselves killed. What you need is balance, and at least a modicum of human decency. Just a tiny bit, though, any more and you'll become a slot for some drekhead to frag you then geek you.
So Mr. Frost took those lessons to heart into building himself up to be the man he is today. He keeps to himself, until he needs to speak and is notorious for his roke manner of speech. Much to the annoyance of the crews he's gone out with. He's spent the last few years setting up contacts and a small network for him to peruse. It just so happens that the dapper-decker of modest living is about ready to take the stage both in meatspace and cyberspace.
Narrative Significant Qualities
- Big Regret: Not that the poor drekhead could help it, but he was born into Ares Macrotechnology. Whether he regrets being born, regrets his heritage, or regrets leaving... Well, that's still left to be said. Still, get their hands on this bit of data and watch the ginger lose his soul.
- Wanted: He left Ares at a young age, managed to pull some favors to get the SIN toasted. But his dad still wants him back, and Ares certainly doesn't take kindly to the loss of an investment even if their investment is currently under ground. Reward is currently at: 27,500 Nuyen'
- Signature: Helm Split by Sword. Now whether the young decker sees it as a spit in the face of his parents, and the corp that took them away from him, he sees this symbol as his tiny fist being raised against the GODs and demiGODs.
- Erased: He still doesn't know how he talked a certain person into pulling strings for him to disappear. Maybe it was the skillset that was ingrained into him at a young age by the Ares Macrotech Cyberwatch schools, maybe it was his boyish charm and roguish features, or maybe it was just that he was damn lucky at the time. Still, it's made his life easier without having to worry about that damn SIN aiding in tracking him down.
Prequel: October 2078, after setting up contacts and some semblance of a life in Seattle. Mr. Frost is ready to take to the streets.
- Rebbeca Montez - Connection 5, Loyalty 2 - Detective
- Madame Butterfly - Connection 4, Loyalty 3 - Fixer
- Tia Skinner - Connection 5, Loyalty 2 - Street Doc
In Character Information
Symbols and Signatures
Matrix Search Table
Shadow Community Table
(Not Yet Activated) John Smith - Bugout SIN (1)
Thomas Frost (Fake Sin (2)) - Low Lifestyle, living at Lakewood Comfy Cubicle. 1 Month.
Generally Mr. Frost can be seen in good hygiene, with hair well kept. He tends to avoid eye contact with those he figures will start fights, but opens up to those who seem to be talkative or generally more on the non-firing side of an ares predator.
A) Mr. Frost can usually be seen in a casual setting with a (Snyth) Leather bomber jacket over a white shirt, with jeans and work boots. His beard at this time is trimmed short with red hair slicked back to expose a pale face. This is his casual clothing, or everyday ware. He enjoys fifth-century style.
B) Mr. Frost, in a more social setting whether at a club, formal dinner, or outing with people involved can be found wearing his trademark charcoal suit. Matching colors from neckline to feet emphasize the shock of red that is his hair and the color in his face (especially the freckles). When in the streets wearing this clothing he can be found wearing a greatcoat enshrouding his thin form in its warmth.
When I was designing dieCh0t0mie's avatar I wanted to emphasize polarity. Half of the avatar's face is a mask carved from onyx and contorted in rage. The other, pearl and contorted in bliss. Aside from that I alternate color schemes with the blazer being white, vest being black, tie being black, shirt being white, trousers being black and shoes being white with laces being black to complete the alternating scheme. I layered a voice track to flux tones so that dieCh0t0mie's speech in the matrix is both happy and sad simultaneously. The important bit though, was the spartan's helm and sword crest embroidered on the blazer pocket. - Mr. Frost.