|"Not gettin' paid near enough for this drek."|
|Titles and Awards||0|
|D.O.B.||Sept. 24th, 2052|
Metatype - C
Attributes - B
Magic/Resonance - E
Skills - C
Resources - B
- 1 Character Information
- 2 In Character Information
Yet Another Ork Street Samurai. Fresh Out The Barrens Y'all Better Make Way. Likes To Think He's Funny.
Keep an eye behind him for any Corpsec with a wrench or a power saw. Make enough to buy a nice place of his own. Enjoy running the shadows - just broke into the big-time, might as well have fun with it. Figure out what to do next with a big pile of nuyen under him (maybe enough to buy an island. A small one.)
Let's face facts. Javier wasn't exactly unique in Seattle's Redmond Barrens. Dad a ganger, mom a joygirl, him grow up big strong ork, break dandelion-eater over knee hurr durr. So natch, when he got his first real teeth he was snapped up as an ammo-lugger for a go-gang - Da Horde (no, they were not subtle). He humped bullets and grenades, got his first kneecap shot out at an entirely too young age, and learned fast on those mean streets that down there, life was cheap. He learned that lesson so damned well, that the second time he ran into those Suzuki-riding bastards, and the lieutenant who'd popped that shot into his knee - he stole a blooded member's Roomsweeper and blew him clean off his damn bike.
That sort of set the tone for his continuing career.
See, he wasn't exactly unique, but he did have a few things going for him. One - he wasn't stupid. Uneducated, sure - but not stupid. A rough cunning that only got better as time went on, sharp eyes that picked up things here and there, the sorts of things the ones who rise to positions of power in the feral urban wasteland have in their back pocket. Two - he had a crew he could trust; even if the go-gang were made up of the sort of dime-a-dozen meatheads shadowrunners blew away by the truckload, he was still blood to them, and vice versa. Lot of time out there, man can't take a wiz without feeling a dozen knives hangin' over his back. Helps a man live longer, having blood you can trust. And three - he actually had ambition. No, not the sort that said "I'm gonna run this town", because that's a dream every man in Redmond has. Nah; he was gonna get out.
See, it's easy to be the top of the heap when the heap's small and made of trash, and everyone's shooting at the top so they can be on it. But it's a lot harder to get out of the trash and to somewhere where what you do means something. So he started learning. Got his first chrome bits here and there. Wired up, made a few friends in Touristville - not hard when you're a good six feet plus and packing enough muscle to bench a troll. Started listening more, bullshitting less, at his pick of bars. Wasn't all sunshine and rainbows, mind - got a nasty little fondness for BTLs from a dealer who started dating his sister, took him almost a year to get clean when he realized how much he was spending on that shit.
All in all, he mighta made something of hisself in a few years, if Da Horde hadn't gotten stupid lucky.
See, Da Horde had a nice bit of turf not far off from the old highways. Good place to hit a convoy or two, if they were lightly guarded. Corps wrote off a bunch of shit there anyway, price of doing business. But they never expected a haul like the one they found ran straight off the asphalt. Three massive trucks, loaded with shit they'd never seen before. Quality, damn near milspec, buff-with-turtle-wax chrome. Ignoring the stacked-up corpsec bodies with no identifying markers and the weird-ass dudes in really weird-ass gear lying in various states of dead, along with the burning truck cabins and a pack of torched step-vans with, oh look, no identifying markers.
They hauled that loot off hooting and cheering, thinking this was their big break, this was what'd bring Da Horde to the top of the heap. The big boss, a frakhuge troll by the name of Kilrogg, was the first to get his bits chopped off by a ripperdoc and have a massive set of murder-arms bolted to him. Even got them gold-plated - because of course he did.
Samuro went over his share of the loot - a lieutenant now, go figure. Nice matte-black arm. Nothing super-special like the real fancy bells and whistles loaded kit his brothers were strapping onto themselves, getting tweaked out, souping up (he swore one guy was getting flame decals and blowers on his cyberlegs). Something simple. Something he ran a tag cleaner over. Something he packed into a box and thought about real careful for a couple days. He thought about telling Kilrogg about what he was thinking, but then thought that over again when he saw them roaring about going and cleaning house on the gang turf next door. He thought about warning a bunch of his blood brothers. Watched them shoot up the roof and laugh and spit and booze it up with their new toys. Then thought twice about that too.
Javier did try talking to a couple of the boys, but - nobody really wanted to listen. Coked up, boozed up, blood up, an' all. And who knows, maybe he was wrong and that hinky feeling (why was this stuff so easy to grab? Why were those fancy dudes all shot up?) was just that, a hinky feeling. Still.
He told the boss he was going to visit a joygirl in Touristville for a few days, come back with a clear head. And he did. Nice girl, open heart (and legs). Stayed at an old coffin motel, alternating between her, smoking, reading a few old copies of Great Western Shadowrunner Amerika-San, and staring out into the Barrens. Just thought it was a bout of paranoia, when he saw the glow on the horizon one morning.
When his Ford pulled up to the battered old strip mall his crew had used as a home, it'd have been a lie to say Javier was surprised to see it was nothing more than a smoking hole in the ground now. So - basically the same, 'cept a lot of bits were now on fire. Smouldering corpses, missing limbs and head pieces and - well, you get the idea. The ork didn't cry, but he sure as shit didn't smile. Vindication may be a warm feeling, but so's pissing in a set of black pants. Either way, the warm feeling's replaced fast by disgust. Little bit with his buddies, but more with himself.
Bit of cash squirreled away by a few of his old brethren did for him, along with a couple of guns stashed outside the burned-out mall. Tossed 'em in the back, and threw himself into the driver's seat - heading back for Touristville. Nothing left for him here now; like it or not.
Time to move on up.
Narrative Significant Qualities
- Knight In Rusty Armor (Code Of Honour: Warrior's Code)
- Wicked Fast (Agile Defender)
- Tough As Barrens Boot Leather (High Pain Tolerance)
Food Fight! - Joined in a raid on a mob-run Stuffer Shack, flying lariat'd a mook into unconsciousness. With skimmers. It was awesome.
Don't Copy That Floppy - Assisted in setting up an enhanced Matrix connection for the Ork Underground. Collected a devil rat pet. His name is Basil.
Da Horde - Barrens Go-Gang (Formerly) (+0 Reputation)
Ork Underground (+2 Reputation)
- Alessa P - Connection 4, Loyalty 2 - Fixer (Networking)
- Crazy Hassim And His Van Of Guns And Kebabs - Connection 3, Loyalty 2 - Armorer (Swag)
- Vanessa Pearce - Connection 5, Loyalty 1 - Street Doc
In Character Information
Symbols and Signatures
Matrix Search Table
Shadow Community Table
Julio Jiminez - Bodyguard (Aztechnology)
They build 'em sturdy in the Barrens. Tough as nails, solid hard-packed muscle with very little fat, long ork limbs and abs you could grind meat on. Black shaggy hair and a roughly cut beard barely hiding his tusks, he looks every inch the scruffy ganger fresh out of Redmond and on the make - doubly so with the solid matte-black cyberarm hidden under his jacket sleeve, and the cyber-mirrorshades that cover a pair of whirring eyes. Oh yeah, he's a walking airport alarm waiting to happen with all that metal crammed onto his frame.
Armored buckskin jacket, old (but sturdy) boots, tough shirt and blue jeans. Usually.