TC - Hazmat

Poison-immune adept running out of Glow City.


== Info ==
Street Name: Hazmat
Name: Eric Turner
Movement: 10/20
Karma: 0
Street Cred: 0
Notoriety: 3
Public Awareness: 0
Composure: 10
Judge Intentions: 8
Lift/Carry: 10 (45 kg/30 kg)
Memory: 10
Nuyen: 390

== Priorities ==
Metatype: C – Human, Dwarf, Elf, or Ork
Attributes: A – 24 Attributes
Special: B – Adept, Magician, or Technomancer
Skills: E – 18 Skills/0 Skill Groups
Resources: D – 50,000¥

== Attributes ==
BOD: 7
AGI: 5
REA: 4 (5)
STR: 3
CHA: 3
INT: 5
LOG: 3
WIL: 7
EDG: 2
MAG: 5

== Derived Attributes ==
Essence: 5.0
Initiative: 9 (10) + 2d6
Rigger Initiative: 10 + 2d6
Astral Initiative: 10 + 2d6
Matrix AR Initiative: 10 + 2d6
Matrix Cold Initiative: 5 + DP + 3d6
Matrix Hot Initiative: 5 + DP + 4d6
Physical Damage Track: 12
Stun Damage Track: 12

== Limits ==
Physical: 6
Mental: 6
Social: 6
Astral: 6

== Active Skills ==
Assensing : 1 Pool: 6
Gymnastics : 1 Pool: 6
Longarms : 6 Pool: 11
Navigation : 1 Pool: 6
Perception : 6 Pool: 11
Running : 1 Pool: 4
Sneaking : 6 Pool: 13
Survival : 1 Pool: 8
Swimming : 1 Pool: 4
Throwing Weapons : 4 Pool: 9
Tracking : 1 Pool: 6

== Knowledge Skills ==
Architecture : 3 Pool: 6
Area Knowledge: Seattle : 2 [Redmond] Pool: 7 (9)
Chemistry : 6 Pool: 9
English (N) : N Pool: 0
Sprawl Life : 2 Pool: 7
Street Drugs : 2 Pool: 7

== Contacts ==
Dr. Fisher; Bellevue; Corporate Scientist (2, 4)
Molly; Redmond Barrens; Fixer (3, 1)

== Qualities ==
Bad Rep
Black Market Pipeline (Toxins & Drugs, Dr. Fisher)
Distinctive Style
Dry Addict (Mild) (Long Haul)
In Debt III
Jack of All Trades Master of None
Mentor Spirit (Rat)
Records on File (Aztechnology)
Resistance to Pathogens/Toxins
Resistance to Toxins
Thermographic Vision
Vendetta (Toxic Mage)

== Powers ==
Astral Perception
Attribute Boost (BOD) Rating: 2
Attribute Boost (AGI) Rating: 2
Combat Sense Rating: 1
Enhanced Accuracy (skill) (Longarms)
Improved Reflexes 1
Natural Immunity Rating: 5
Traceless Walk

== Lifestyles ==
Polluted Ruins 1 months

== Cyberware/Bioware ==
Nephritic screen Rating 6
Thickened Digestive Tract Lining
Toxin Extractor Rating 3

== Armor ==
Chameleon Suit 9
+Chemical Protection 6
+Nonconductivity 1
+Thermal Damping 2
Helmet 2
+Chemical Protection 6

== Weapons ==
Defiance T-250
+Laser Sight
Pool: 11 Accuracy: 6 DV: 10P AP: -1 RC: 2
Grenade: Gas
Pool: 9 Accuracy: 6 DV: Chemical (10m Radius) AP: – RC: 2
Grenade: Smoke
Pool: 9 Accuracy: 6 DV: (10m Radius) AP: – RC: 2
Unarmed Attack
Pool: 4 Accuracy: 6 DV: 3S AP: – RC: 2

== Commlink ==
Sony Emperor (ATT: 0, SLZ: 0, DP: 2, FWL: 2)
+Subvocal Mic

== Gear ==
Ammo: Flechette Rounds (Shotguns) x30
Ammo: Stick-n-Shock (Shotguns) x30
Contacts Rating 3
+Image Link
+Vision Magnification
+Flare Compensation
CS/Tear Gas x25
Fake SIN (Fake ID) Rating 3
+Fake License (Adept License) Rating 3
+Fake License (Hunting License) Rating 2
Grenade: Gas x30
Grenade: Smoke x5
Neuro-Stun VIII x5
Pepper Punch x25
Qi Focus (Bonded Foci) (Astral Perception) Rating 4
Respirator Rating 6
Slap Patch, Antidote Patch Rating 6 x5


It’s not easy being a SINless dwarf in the Barrens. Especially when you’re the youngest of seven brothers and five sisters. Especially when a strange virus rips through your tenement, slaying half your family with terrible, weeping sores before you can even find a doctor, let alone pay one. Especially when your father takes up the bottle rather than dealing with the funeral arrangements. Especially when the 162s hit your apartment block a few months later, finally putting a bullet in your father’s booze-addled head and carrying off three more of your siblings.

No, young Eric Turner’s life wasn’t easy. Now the oldest of his surviving family, he knew it fell on himself to provide for his two surviving sisters. That’s why, when Eric got word of a AA-rated corp that was willing to hire even the SINless for some special project, he jumped at the chance. Anything had to be better than this.

The company was called Pacific Greenovation Solutions. They were trying their damnedest to get picked up by Aztechnology, and had a reputation of calculating cruelty to match. Eric knew what he was signing on for; you didn’t disposable SINless unless you were comfortable with and actively planning on disposing of them. But he was desperate and had three mouths to feed, including his own. After a perfunctory interview that was really more of a doctor’s physical (not that Eric knew, he’d never been to a doctor or a job interview before), he was an official “Environmental Technician” with PGS.

PGS had landed a contract to decontaminate and clean up the outskirts of Glow City, to make the lands at least habitable enough for industrial use again. Most of the heavy radiation clean-up was done ahead of time by real PGS employees, ones with proper hazmat suits, hazardous environment mitigation deltaware implants, and so on. That was the expensive part on the clean-up. The cheap and easy part? That’s what Eric and his co-workers were for.

After signing his contract, he was loaded up with (relatively) cheap bioware designed to keep him alive even as he breathed carbon monoxide, toxic heavy metals, and other dangerous pollutants (these implants were funded by PGS, but the implants were performing at an Aztechnology facility, granting him the Records on File quality from his time recovering there). Then, he and his co-workers were given a few haul-drones, some rations and water, plenty of Long Haul so they could stay on schedule (Dry Addict NQ) and sent into Glow City to clean things up. No security detail, little equipment, even less oversight or backup. It was back-breaking labor in environments where, even with your nephritic screen working overtime, the tiniest tear in your hazmat suit could still prove lethal.

Attrition was common among “Environmental Technicians,” whether from long-term exposure to toxins overcoming the crew’s various counter-measures, or from cave-ins, workplace accidents, or even the occasional enterprising ghoul or latent toxic spirit. Eric Turner, over the course of working for PGS for two years, was sent on seventeen sorties into the edge of Glow City. He returned all seventeen times (in and of itself a remarkable accomplishment). On six different occasions, he was the sole survivor.

The pay for this highly dangerous job was not commensurate with the agony. Being SINless and fully expected to die in the line of duty, PGS paid only in corp scrip redeemable at the company store. Eric was expected to pay for his room and board, as well as pay back the cost of his bioware implants in installments (he still owes PGS some for the remainder, giving him his In Debt NQ). Still, Eric was able to buy enough essentials at the company store to get some smuggled back to his surviving sisters. He sent little care packages of toiletries, excess food rations, sometimes even medicine or credsticks. He continued to toil away in the darkness and sludge, until eventually his older sister sent him a confessional email: their younger sister had died about six months after Eric accepted the PGS job, shot up at a house party that erupted in gang violence. She’d been coasting off his care packages for as long as she could, but now she was ready to move on. She was joining up with a go-gang (she neglected to say which one), and asked Eric to stop sending those packages and start looking out for himself. “That’s what I intend to do,” she said.

He kept sending the packages for three weeks after reading that, out of sheer habit. And he continued working for PGS, risking life and limb as even security measures were relaxed and dead technicians went months without replacement, leaving Eric’s crew dangerously understaffed. At first he continued on in a state of numbed depression, going through the routine of hauling metal slag and chunks of contaminated plasticrete out of the bowels of the earth, simply waiting for his time to die. Soon, though, Eric began to realize he was taking a strange sort of pleasure in the work. There was an odd tranquility down here in the deep and polluted places. Though mankind ravaged these lands, nature was slowly but surely reclaiming them, conquering it by millimeters with timid scavengers, moss and fungus. There was a strange satisfaction to be found in the Sisyphean task of rehabilitating these shattered ruins. Sometimes, when disaster met his crew and forced the other PGS employees to abandon a project, Eric would solider on alone, relishing the solitude.

As his work-crew was whittled away to only a few surviving members, what at first seemed to be luck began to seem suspicious to PGS superiors. Why was Eric coming back when everyone else died in that cave-in? How did he survive when everyone else suffocated in that previously-undetected natural gas leak? PGS never knew, never even suspected, that Eric might have Awakened. That the wise and ancient voice that told him when to run and where to hide was the reason for his continued and increasingly unlikely survival. They simply didn’t have the imagination for that. Or maybe they didn’t care; he was effective, after all. What was clear was that the project was failing, that PGS simply couldn’t fulfill the terms of the cleanup contract they’d accepted with the few resources they were willing to allocate to the project. After working for PGS for about three years, Eric returned from a month-long mission to find the field office shuttered and stripped bare of supplies. And just like that, PGS’ sole surviving Environmental Technician was unemployed.

With nowhere else to go, Eric decided to stick to the polluted ruins at the edges of Glow City he knew the best. No longer content to move around debris and scrub away contaminants, Eric spends his time “cleaning up” the worst part of Redmond in a far more direct way. Toxic mages have long used Glow City as a base of operations, either coping with the radiation and pollution through their strange magic, or being too bug-eyed crazy to care. Eric hunts them out a strange, cold sense of duty even he has trouble articulating. Rat screams within him to leave, to flee, but Eric is convinced that this is where he’s supposed to be. This is where all rats belong, scratching out an existence in even the toughest places, hiding in the forgotten shadows of the world.

TC - Hazmat

2075: Stormy Waters spencertsisson