Post by Adam Jensen on Sept 13, 2011 19:10:43 GMT -5
real big fan of yours ,
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"burn my shadow away"[/center]
quite the joke to you ,
[/color][/font][/center]"so, hon. welcome to the distorted world.
what's your name?"
"Adam Jensen."
"ey, that's pretty cute. how old are you, and where are ya affiliated?"
"Yeah. I’m thirty four years old. I guess, I don’t even know whose side I’m on anymore. ( Neutral. )"
"young'un, are you? well then, i can deal. so... how bout you and me go on a date?"
"I’m not interested, in you or anyone for that matter."
"aaand.. what is your specialization?"
"I’m stealth tech. I can take a few hits thanks to these augs, but I prefer to stay hidden and out of fire fights if I can."
"cool, cool. i guess youre a little talented filly? i like 'em like that."
"That’s an interesting way to put it."
kissed me in your room ,
[/color][/font][/center]"and on to the second section! how tall are you, exactly?"
"I’m six foot one."
"ah, just three inches taller. hm. so, what's under your clothes? not that i wont find out for myself."
"Augs. You won’t find much else."
"okay, sorry. let's talk about some.. non - crude things? what's your personal style?"
"Mostly black. I wear a lot of the same things everyone else in Detroit does, well, at least the people who support the idea of human augmentation. I don’t like to follow trends, but it’s hard not to when you’re sporting Sarif’s equipment."
"hey, you look like that celebrity... what was the name...?"
"I’m not a celebrity. I’m just me, Adam."
"right! i remember now. you look just like them. except better, heh heh..."
"What, were you mistaking me for J.C. Denton?"
replied i love you too ,
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"soo, do you like or dislike anything?"
"I don't really like much of anything. If we were talking material objects I guess. . . Cigarettes? Whiskey? Drinking really isn't enjoyable, it just passes the time. I like dogs, I used to own one a year or so ago. I don't like doing yard work, I procrastinate a lot when it comes to that, especially putting up fences. I don't like mirrors and honestly, I don't like augmentations. Not even my own."
"ohmyjonas, me too! wow, thats such a coincidence. so have any dirty habits or secrets?"
"I can get the yard work thing, but I doubt you've heard of augs. Drinking, that's my dirty habit. The Neuropozyne too. I swore once I was done with my rehabilitation that would be the last of it. I guess I was just lying to myself."
"coolness, yo. umm. home dawg. anyways. describe yourself."
"I’ve been told I have a temper. I don’t think so, but I guess I’m not the one viewing it from the outside. I guess I’m pretty anti-social too. I don’t have much of a life outside of working for Sarif. I usually just dig up information now, or chase down dead-end leads. Basically, whatever David tells me to do."
"like dude! we're so compatible..."
"I don’t think so."
a little bit insecure ,
[/color][/font][/center]"okay, let's rush through this. i'm thinking dancing? then, we can talk about rooms."
"I’m not interested."
"shh, if my boss knew about our secret romance... so. what's your heritage?"
"Heritage? You mean my parents, right? I have a mom and dad, Margie and Arthur Jensen."
"wow, your family would love me! have anyone else in your family?"
"I don’t know about that, but I’m an only child.."
"oh. sounds horrible. haha. anything else important happen in your life?"
"I don’t think it’s so bad. That could just be me. My life was relatively normal before the incident at Sarif happened. I attended the University of Pheonix, got an Associates degree of Criminal Justice. I did what I had to before I joined the force. I was pretty green back then, just twenty-one and fresh out of school. Four years passed and I was accepted into the local SWAT team in Detroit. It didn’t last long. I quit after two years. I picked up some jobs, working as private security, and eventually I ended up working for Sarif Industries. That’s where I met Megan, a researcher at Sarif. We were pretty close, well, really close. It’s not like that anymore, and from what I know, she’s dead. You see, Sarif was attacked by some augmented black ops team. During the attack they took Megan, messed me up in the process, pretty badly too. It was so bad that Sarif had to replace my arms and heart with augmentations. I should probably explain what those are. You’d be surprised how far prosthetics have come. I guess the year twenty-twenty seven is a time of great innovation. I should be glad that is all they replaced, but they outfitted me with some other augs too, like head mounted sunglasses, nanoceramic blades fitted into my arms, and they even replaced my eyes. That’s just naming a few. After my surgery I was placed into physical rehabilitation for six months, which wasn’t much of anything at all. They had me hyped up on so much Neuropozyne that I couldn’t feel a thing, and when I came off of that painkiller you can’t begin to imagine how much pain I was in. Having to deal with that, it’s something no one should ever experience. The detoxing, the withdrawals, and learning to live with the augs, it was terrible. Once David, the ceo of Sarif Industries, thought I was ready I went back to work. That’s when all of this happened, when everything really went south. So here I am, still looking for those bastards that did this to me, that killed Megan. I don’t know who they are, or what they were after, but I’ll never stop looking for them. They’re the reason I’m like this, why I have these augmentations. Don’t think I’m only in it for revenge. A lot of lives are at stake here and I don’t want to see anyone get hurt. I don’t want any one to end up like me."
"hey, look! we're done. so, i would ask you on a second date, but i'm about to explode. no, really. please step back."
"I never asked for this."
of this mistreatment ,
[/color][/font][/center]name. noah.
age. twenty.
rp experience. 8+ years.
rules. thundaga
rp sample.One of the things Adam hates most about his augmentations is when he opens his eyes during the night. Everything is as bright as day and the shadows that line the walls remain unchanging, save for the passing plane. It as though his very life is stagnating and there is no true sense of time. The other thing he hates is his Neuropozyne addiction. It’s something he’s trying to kick, something he’s trying desperately to stop but he can’t seem to go cold turkey. He blames the pain. The hot lances that streak up and down his spinal column, or the burning sensation that rims around his shoulders and the gaping holes where his arms should be but augments replace. This in turn gives him a serious case of phantom limb. So when he tries to lift his arm to bring his cigarette to his mouth and those neural receptors aren’t working he’s left gasping like a fish out of water.
He hasn’t left his apartment in weeks, maybe months. He hasn’t had a reason to check his digital calendar so its purpose is now to collect dust, like many other objects in his house. The only thing remains constant is his tired ritual of waking up and dragging himself to his overstuffed couch to watch the television. His eyes drink in the visuals but nothing really sticks. The words don’t really sink in. For a while he’s lost and thinks he will remain as such, stuck in this quagmire of information that his brain cannot process. Adam desperately wants to break free. Instead he clumsily pours himself another shot glass full of whiskey and punches four Neuropozyne out of their aluminum pockets.
Stuffing them in his mouth he takes the shot, choking down the pills. In a while they’ll race through his blood stream, blot his vision out and he’ll feel absolutely nothing. He’ll let his brain rot for the rest of the evening as the pictures slide by and the voices slip through his deaf ears. He doesn’t see anything wrong with this and grabs for the package of crumpled cigarettes on the side table littered with empty bottles of alcohol. Slowly he lowers his gaze to his hands, the sleek onyx appendages pinching the end of a cigarette’s filter. Adam has never hated himself more.
Bringing the filter to his lips he holds the cigarette in place as he looks for his Zippo. He looks down and his eyes drink in the crisscross weaving of bandages around his stomach, covering up his belly button and the patches of scar tissue that hold his organs in place. Sometimes he remembers the ‘incident’ and it comes in flashing colors and screams, sometimes there is pain too. His mind has never recovered from the ‘incident.’ Sometimes when he sleeps he relives it all with his hands a bloody mess, clutching his lower intestine that has fallen out of the hole of his abdomen. Usually his arms are screaming with pain and he can see his own face, contorted with pain, reflected in the pieces of glass embedded in the thick material of his coat. He’s reliving that moment right now. Shutting his eyes everything remains so bright and it’s like he can feel the fire around him, burning everything, and she’s screaming for them to stop. They don’t and he looks up and bam. The next things he manages to recollect are blurred beyond recognition. There is just pain. There is always pain.
Adam finds his lighter on the edge of the couch and snaps it open. The flame flickers under his nose as he inhales. The taste of tar and tobacco isn’t enough to overwhelm his senses and he reflexively exhales. It’s billows out in a cloud, up and away from his mouth, obscuring his vision. He leans back, slides down a bit and rolls his shoulders and turns his attention back to the television screen.
