New member
- Eddies
- 2,315
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Name: Lukas Kade
Alias/Handle: Ghost
Age: 21
Ethnicity: Caucasian
Birthplace: Iron Divide, Santo Domingo, Night City
Appearance:
Standing at 6'1", Lukas has a rugged, athletic, and toned build. His short, dark brown hair is usually shaved to a fade. His amber eyes show minor Kiroshi optical upgrades, with a basic UI that can sometimes be glimpsed over the iris. He wears a worn black synth-leather jacket, reinforced boots, street-tier utility pants, and black fingerless gloves—dressed like thousands around him to blend in without needing to try.
Background:
Family Ranking: Urban Streetkid
Parents: One missing, one dead. Grew up with scattered mentors and street contacts.
Childhood Environment: Raised in the worker towers of Iron Divide, surrounded by factory workers, low-pay corpos, unions, and gang influences. Lukas learned early that survival meant thinking fast and knowing who to trust—or better, just getting out alive.
Personality:
Friendly and supportive to those he trusts. Independent and a bit of a gambler, sometimes making enemies as a result. Reliable on gig so far. Prefers the little guy on the street—he's no anarchist, but he gets on with rebels just fine. Part action junkie, part survivor, he thrives on the chaos but knows there's always fallout.
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Friends: A handful of street-level contacts, no fixers of note. An old factory worker who once looked out for him and a biker named Lefty with city-wide connections and a garage safehouse.
Enemies: A Maelstrom lieutenant he shot on a gig gone wrong. The gang doesn't like him much, and the feeling's mutual.
Past Romance: Alita—The one that got away. Young, free, and unaware of what they had. Passion burned too fast, and she moved on to the city. They lost contact not long after.
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Skills:
• Special Skill: Combat Sense - Enhanced reflexes and intuition in dangerous situations, allowing them to sense threats, react faster, and plan tactical moves.
• Handguns and small arms
• Driving
• Parkour
• Lockpicking
• Streetwise
Languages:
English, Spanish, Japanese, and Gridspeak
Cyberware:
• Neuroport (Standard) HL: 0
• Kiroshi Optics (Basic) HL: -2
• Shock Hand HL: -1
• Neural Scrambler: Ghost Module HL: -4 (Soon tm)
Ghost Module: Masks the user's biosignature, ID-tags, and radio frequency emissions from standard trackers. Interferes with netrunner pings but doesn't block deeper system scans. Expensive, needs periodic recalibration, and can be disabled by EMPs or shocks.
Empathy & Humanity:
Empathy: 8 – Mostly human, but cyberware is creeping in.
Humanity: 89 – Good-natured despite his upbringing and work. Limited cyberware due to lack of eddies.
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Gear & Style:
• Weapons: SMG: Militech M221 Saratoga with Subdermal Grip, Backup Pistol: Militech M-10AF Lexington
• Gadgets: Two MaxDocs in case of emergencies.
• Outfit: Grey t-shirt, black synth-leather jacket, reinforced combat boots, fingerless gloves, and urban camo pants. Harder to remember in a crowd.
Assets:
• None Yet
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Story to Date:
Born in the high-rise ruins of Iron Divide: IRZ-02, a failed industrial project left bleeding by corpo corruption, Lukas grew up watching friends fall into gang life, corpo work, or factory jobs. Some moved on and many didn't make it. He went his own way, mentored by a biker named Lefty. His first merc job at 17 went backwards, walking into a Maelstrom ambush instead of a 6th Street stash house. Quick thinking got him out alive, but he learned two lessons: never go in blind, and always be the first to a drop. Now he's making a name, taking street-level gigs that build a rep, pay well, or just keep him alive another day.
Roleplayed Threads:
Newest First
Putting the Crew Together: The Anarchist [Chase]
The Last Vinyl Record Bar [Social]
Iron Divided by Malestrom's Hand [Intro + AI]
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Starter Post:
At the edges of Santo Domingo the Iron Divide's skyline stretched high above him—not the glittering skyscrapers of downtown, but the cold, unforgiving metal shells of a post-industrial wasteland. Part of it found its purpose off the backs of the less fortunate; the rest was a ruin, housing those same backs.
To the suits, the Ironworks Redevelopment Zone, or IRZ-02, was still half pulling in eddies. Dusty, part-glowning neon ads tried to cling to a fading dream. The rain barely had time to settle before it was filtered, drained, or guzzled, whether by automated plants or a lucky resident's purifier. Nothing was wasted here. In other districts, you'd see trash; here, eerie efficiency ruled. Every scrap was reused, and everything, even discarded packaging, had a reusable price tag.
The gig was simple: infiltrate a factory some union workers had turned into a cooperative. Rumor had it they were developing rare cyberware for the cause that could tip the balance in the workers favor, and the suits couldn't take that risk. The job turned his stomach, but better him than some jacked-up, over-implanted psycho with no morals. Easy in and out, and spare as many lives as possible.
Only it was never easy.
The Veland Machina Factory
Inside, the fixer's intel had been off. Maelstrom had already been here, deja vu full circle, or something worse. Whether they were hired for muscle, or just scavenging for parts, this place was a warzone. Corpses of the workers slumped against the machines they had tried to build a life out of, blood and hopes smeared across rusted metal. A few around him still clung to life, barely breathing in their broken dream, now a damaged shell of a factory.
Ghost exhaled cool air, clicking the mag into his Saratoga SMG. Another night with another risk. But Maelstrom still had something worth taking. And they had it coming.
Voices were in the next room, Ghost searched for a quieter way in than the main door, jumping and pulling himself up through a damaged part of the ceiling. Staying low and wanting to look for a better vantage point, he moved as quietly as he could through the damaged factory above.
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