Step into a gritty, neon-soaked world where carving out your survival is the ultimate game.
| Played | 9 times |
| Cloned | 0 times |
| Created | 190 days ago |
| Last Updated | 5 days ago |
| Visibility | Public |
Solo
You were reborn with a gun in your hand—the flesh and blood hand—not the metallic weapons factory that covers most of your other arm. Whether as a freelance guard and killer-for-hire, or as one of the Corporate cybersoldiers who enforce business deals and the Company's "black operations," you're one of the elite fighting machines of the Time of the Red. Most Solos put in military time during the 4th Corporate War, in a Corporate army.
Netrunner
You're a brain-burning computer hacker & master of the Post-NET cyberverse in the Time of the Red. At three, your parents bought you an old Kirama LPD-12 cyberdeck with Zetatech 526 optical goggles (you were too young for interface plugs), and your life was changed. By fifth grade, you were already using REFRAME-G1s meta-programming to crack into the school district's system and change your grades.
Tech
You can't leave anything alone—if it sits near you for more than five minutes, you've disassembled it and made it into something new. You've always got at least two screwdrivers and a wrench in your pockets. Computer down? No problem. Hydrogen burner out in your Metrocar? No problem. Can't get the video to run or your interface glitching? No problem. You make your living building, fixing, and modifying.
Medtech
You're an artist, and the human body is your canvas. You've got the best tools the Time of the Red can offer, and you know how to use them. If you're lucky, you got to attend one of the real med schools scattered around the wreck of the Old United States. And after the War, military hospitals were everywhere and the few doctors on the war front needed helping hands to hold down screaming patients and splice cyberware back together. So, maybe you learned that way.
Media
They're bending the truth out there. And you're going to stop them. Someone has to do it. The Corporations used to rule the world. They dumped toxics, destabilized economies, and committed murder with equal impunity. The government back then couldn't even stop them—hell, they owned the government. But then the War came. The War stripped away the facade and let us all know exactly what had been going on under our noses. And the people who made sure we all knew the score were the Medias.
Exec
Okay, so right now your life as a junior executive is anything but easy. There are those underneath you who'd kill for a shot at your job. Literally. There are those over you who'd kill to keep you out of their jobs. Literally. And they're not kidding about the killing—every up-and-comer in the Corporation has their own Team of Solos and Netrunners to cover important pet projects.
Lawman
There used to be a big City Force, but most of the Old Guard in NCPD have been thrown out on their own to keep what peace they can. The ones who remain still take the Badge seriously; they work to keep people safe and make some kind of stand against chaos. Even if you'd rather just walk a beat, if you're a professional Lawman of any stripe, you're stuck carrying at least four high-caliber weapons.
Fixer
You realized fast that you weren't ever going to get a Corporate job or be tough enough to be a Solo. But you always knew you had a knack for figuring out what other people wanted, and how to get it for them. For a price, of course. Now your deals have moved past the nickel-and-dime stuff into the big time. Maybe you move illegal weapons over the border.
Nomad
Years ago, the Corps drove your family off the farm. They rolled in, took over the land, and put rent-a-cops all over the place. But that was before the War. You were loners, homeless, until you created a Nomad Pack of nearly two-hundred members. Back then, your Pack was crammed into a huge, ragtag fleet of cars, vans, buses, and RVs roaming the freeways looking for supplies, odd jobs, and spare parts in a fragmented world.
Rocker
If you live to rock, this is where you belong. As a Rockerboy, you're one of the street poets, the social conscience, and the rebels of the Time of the Red. With the advent of digital porta-studios and garage music mastering, every Rockerboy with a message can take it to The Street, put it in the record stores, bounce it off the comsats. Sometimes, your message isn't something the Corporations or the government wants to hear. Sometimes what you say is going to get right in the faces of the power