CHARACTER Callum McGrostis

[Callum]

Weigh me Down

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Callum McGrostis​

Details Background Personality Skills Cyber Emp/Hum Gear/Style History Artwork

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  B A S I C ​

  Full name:
  

  Callum McGrostis​

  Alias:
  

  Jericho​

  Age:
  

  Appears in his late 30's to early 40's.​

  Ethnicity:
  

  American/Alaskan​

  Birthplace:
  

  Night City, Vista Del Ray​

  Height:
  

  6'-4"​

  Build:
  

  Muscular, lean and imposing​

  Cyberware:
  

  Neural Link
  Kiroshi Optics (Adv)
  Subdermal Armor (Adv)
  Smart Link (Adv)
  Gorilla Arms
  Militech Berserk Implant​

  Faceclaim/Actor:
  

  Boyd Holbrok​
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  B A C K G R O U N D​

  Family Ranking:
  

  Combat Zone Poor​

  Parents:
  

  Both are deceased, killed during an incursion against Petrochem facilities​

  Childhood Environment:
  

  On a corporate controlled agrofarm in Alaska​
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  P E R S O N A L I T Y​

  Personality:
  

  Intellectual and Detached - Callum learned long ago that attachment never ends well.​

  Person You Value Most:
  

  Older Brother, Argyle McGrostis​

  What Do You Value Most?
  

  His word​

  How Do You Feel About Most People?
  

  Neutral​

  Your Most Valued Possession
  

  A gold bracelet​

  Friend:
  

  Members of the 6th Street.​
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  S K I L L S & R O L E​

  Lifepath:
  

  Solo Merc - Loosely affiliated with the 6th Street Gang​

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  Skills:
  

  Combat Sense (Special Skill) - Enhanced reflexes and intuition in dangerous situations, allowing them to sense threats, react faster, and plan tactical moves.
  To Blend In - Despite his appearance, he knows how to work a crowd. And how to blend in.
  Military Training - As a former blackop specialist for Arasaka, and a trained specialist for Militech, Callum has seen multiple brands of military and security training.
  Speakeasy - Comes with the territory of infiltrating extremist groups, he has a way with words when it's required.
  Streetsmarts - He knows his way around the muck and grunge.
  Weapon Specialist - Having spent the majority of his life drifting from one battle to the next, Callum has developed a strong affinity for weapons, tech and rustic alike.
  Combat Prowess - He's had to fight his entire life. Whether brawling, knees in the mud, or on the mat with refined martial arts, he's seen it all.​

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  Languages:
  

  English
  Russian​
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  C Y B E R W A R E​

  • Neural Link
    • HL Loss: -1
  • Kiroshi Optics (Advanced)
    • HL Loss: -3
    • Thermal Vision
    • Night Vision
    • Facial Recognition
    • Optical Zoom
  • Subdermal Armor (Advanced)
    • HL Loss: -8
    • Heavy-caliber weapon/explosive protection
  • Smart Link(Advanced)
    • HL Loss: -2
    • Heavy-caliber weapon/explosive protection
  • Gorilla Arms
    • HL Loss: -6
    • Provides a boost of momentary boost in strength during physical altercations
  • Militech Berserk Implant
    • HL Loss: -6
    • Momentarily increases physical resistance to damage and damage output
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  E M P A T H Y & H U M A N I T Y​

  Empathy: 7
  Humanity: 70 - 26 = 44
  
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  G E A R & S T Y L E ​

  • Weapons
    • 1x M-10AF Lexington Pistol-Military Issue
      • Muzzle attachment
      • Shoulder holster
    • 1x Militech Ticon
      • Thigh Holster
    • 1x Tsunami Nekomata
    
    
  • Gadgets
    • 1x Quadra Type-66 "Javelina"
    • 1x Datapad
    • 1x Cell Phone
  • Outfit
    • Standard black street clothing, generally low-key with a long coat
    • Casual street clothing
    • Specs
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  H I S T O R Y ​

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  Happiness and the Joy of Vocation...​

  
  "I died in those metal trenches, years back. Hadn't you heard?" - Argyle, Brother - Deceased
  "The environment was everything. Until it wasn't. So it goes." - Akon, Uncle - Deceased
  
  
  Ya know, it's funny how you recall things. Moments of happiness, for instance. Not the sort of happiness you get from a five minute excursion with a highend joytoy or the momentary reprieve from a color coded capsule. True happiness, like days spent with my dad, building shelters out in the reaches of the Yukon Valley. Hunting elk and living off the land. Can't do that much now, not with all the corpo bullshit and free states going the way of tax funded mega corporation subsidiaries. Given my position, doesn't seem like I'm really one to talk…
  
  Hand on the bible, I couldn't tell you when I was born. I can tell you that it was in Alaska on the McGrostis estate on a stretch of bottomland along the Yukon River. It was never much more than our home and a retreat for ecotourism and guided hunts. But as the climate warmed and off gassing revealed resources once thought unobtainable, well the corpos might as well have been pigs catching a fresh scent of shit. We should have known what was happening when we heard the squealing.
  
  They came with the eddies and they came with the preem gifts. Aerodyne flyers, plated in gold with the way they told it. But it was a shit offer, one that my old man couldn't refuse. Not if he wanted to see his family survive the night. So we got our money with the agreement that our land would be split up, cut into pieces, and divided out between Biotechnica agriculture farms and Petrochem fuel facilities. To see the change was breathtaking. Natural land and forests of spruce, knocked down and replaced with metal tin huts in the foreground of concrete and still monoliths, pumping the ground like some hopped up prostitute with a severe case of whiskey dick. And not the courteous sort.
  
  The transition of the land was brutal. The smell of crickets mass produced for alternative meats, the sound of the chirping with the hum of refineries, and the smell of ether and petrol in the air. It's enough to radicalize anyone, especially after a plant explosion destroyed our home, killing my mother and father and leaving Argyle and I for the wind.
  
  It wasn't more than a few blips before we were taken in by the ANTE. That's what they called themselves, the Alaskan Naturalist Terrorist Enclave. Setup shop, scope out the target, ante up, and engage. It was a running joke but for some reason, it never felt all that funny. And for what felt like a lifetime, we played our game of hokey pokey with Biotechnica security forces. We would dip in, wreck a facility, and move out before we could be caught. We even found ways to lure the naturalized cyberbears in to support our cause. But it never felt like anything more than poking concrete with pin needles.
  
  On a stint back into the Yukon Valley, we were caught and put before a firing squad. It wasn't Arasaka proper but their weapons and gear bore the logos. Which was all I needed to know when it came to who was pulling what strings. Argyle went down first and I followed to the sound of rifle fire and the flash of a muzzle in the once cold Alaskan night. But when I woke up, there weren't no pearly gates. No, it was rusted iron bars and stucco walls pocked with bullet holes.
  
  Apparently I had pissed someone off by surviving that bullet. After some medical treatment, I was ferried off to Russian Town along the Yukon River. Direct flight to Seattle then off to Sherman, Texas. Plopped me down like freight in a gulag full of gladiators and cannibals. But it wasn't long before they realized their mistake as it seemed working in the wild for so long had made me particularly keen on the nature of survival. And fighting.
  
  I didn't really count the number of people I killed over the years but after a while, I seemed to have disrupted out of state income enough that my contract, previously labeled as special detainment, was bought up by Militech and reclassified under spec ops. After that, my recollection gets a bit milky amidst a flurry of ripperdocs, black ops, containment zones and military incursions. As you can imagine, these weren't happy times.
  
  Formal documentation says I've got a particular affinity for cyberware and Militech were all too happy to take advantage of that. Bits and ends chopped off, portions of flesh and bone replaced with weave, steel, and nanites. Coupled that with the training from many would-be mentors, I became the thing I am today. What that is, anyone's guess is as good as mine and all of them would be fair. But it meant getting shopped out or relegated to Militech interests, depending on the way the wind blew.
  
  The Metal Wars marked the last time that I took up arms under the banner of Militech. That isn't to say that I'm no longer under contract with them. More perceived as freelance and on-call. While I wasn't particularly on deck for the mission, NUSA seemed to be the biggest proponent for de-corporating the free states. It was hell to see Alaska go the way of Utah so I was happy to take part. And after that, I was tasked with taking up arms in Night City under the cover as a solo mercenary to disrupt gangs and gang violence. To help lubricate the transition, is what they said.
  
  Problem is it's hard to call it cover when it's pretty much my vocation. And I'll be damned if I sit around on my ass while Militech wages their proxy war with Arasaka within the walls of Night City. That's why I asked them to re-assign me after that Yorinobu debacle at the tower. Sitting idle wasn't part of my process. The assignment detailed subterfuge and creating havoc for the Arasaka goal of reintegrating into Night City. By any means necessary.
  
  They gave me a long leash so I did what anyone in my position would do. I took up loose affiliations with local guardians and began targeting gangs who were vying for that fat Arasaka payroll.
  
  As I race to the end of my chain, maybe I'll find those happy times again...
  
  
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  A R T W O R K
  

  

  
  

  

  
  

  

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