Malcolm Hunt

Name: Malcolm Hunt	Nature: Martyr	Concept: Defected Cyborg
Player: Stephen	Essence: Pattern	Mentor: Elizabeth Hunt
Chronicle: UVa Fall 2002	Demeanor: Bravo	Cabal: None
Attributes
Physical	Social	Mental
Strength	Charisma	Perception
Dexterity (Coordinated)	Manipulation	Intelligence
Stamina	Appearance	Wits
Abilities
Talents	Skills	Knowledges
Alertness	Do	Computer
Athletics	Drive	Cosmology
Awareness	Etiquette	Culture
Brawl	Firearms (Submachine)	Enigmas
Dodge	Leadership	Investigation
Expression	Meditation	Law
Instruction	Melee	Linguistics
Intuition	Research	Lore
Intimidation	Stealth	Medicine
Streetwise	Survival	Occult
Subterfuge	Technology	Science
Spheres
Correspondence	Life	Prime
Entropy	Matter	Spirit
Forces	Mind	Time
Advantages
Backgrounds	Enlightenment	Merits: Ability Aptitude (Firearms), Acute Senses, Ambidextrous, Eidetic Memory, Lightning Calculator, Time Sense, and True Love Flaws: Offensive to Animals, Otherworldly Taint, Probationary Member, and Rogue
Allies
Cloaking
Hypercram	Willpower
Resources

Description

Malcolm exudes “soldier” both in dress and manner. His hair is always neatly crew cut and his demeanor is serious and professional. Unless he’s under cover, he generally wears camo pants and a black muscle shirt, which tends to accentuate his impressive physique. Most noticeable, however, is his left arm, which appears to be covered with metal strips from the elbow down. In reality, this is a cybernetic prosthetic that sports a number of impressive features.

Backstory

“Director, Doctor Einsburg is here to see you.” The secretary’s voice resounded clearly through the crisp office air.

“Send him in, Emma,” the Director said as he sat in his chair, coolly twirling his pen in his hand. The good Doctor had been most insistent on acquiring some new staff lately, and Control had finally decided to make his day.

The door opened, and Charles Einsburg strolled in. He was an old gentleman with long silver hair and a light build. His lab coat sported the popular “CBR” logo of the company that acted as his front. Beneath his arm he clutched a stack of heavy manila folders. “Good day, Director,” he said in an almost jovial voice.

The Director raised an eyebrow. “Good morning, Doctor. In an especially cheery mood, are we?” he asked.

Einsburg perked up. “Indeed I am. I have word that my requests for new personnel have finally been approved, and you know how I love new hardware.” He beamed at the Director, who managed a light smirk.

“I guess good news is hard to keep under wraps,” the Director replied. “Of course, all recruitments need my approval first.”

“Of course, of course,” Einsburg said, sitting down across the desk. “I wouldn’t presume to think otherwise. Still, I have some candidates here that I think you’ll find most promising.” He hefted the stack of folders onto the desk and pushed them toward the Director.

The Director reached forward and plucked the top folder, rifling through its contents in a manner that bordered on disinterest. “I hope you realize that Control’s benevolence only goes so far. This,” he said, gesturing to the stack, “will have to be edited down quite a bit.”

“I realize that, Director,” the Doctor stated matter-of-factly. “That’s why I took the liberty of placing my first choices at the top of the stack.”

Still rifling through the first folder, the Director looked up. “That’s uncharacteristically meticulous of you, Doctor. If that’s the case, though, I have to ask why you placed this candidate first.” He passed the folder back to Einsburg.

The Doctor took one look at the cover and grinned. “Ah yes, Lieutenant Malcolm Hunt. Well,” he began, clearing his throat, “we’ve recently been engaged in a number of military operations hosted by other Conventions and my colleagues and I decided it would be prudent to hire a field expert.”
“That’s all good and well, Doctor,” the Director replied, “but why this particular individual. Surely there are others more qualified.”

Einsburg opened the folder and retrieved several pieces of paper from within, handing them across the desk. “Lieutenant Hunt has more commendations than I can count, he’s an exceptional marksman, and his psych profile suggested a high degree of loyalty and mutuality.” The Director scrutinized the papers as he talked, furrowing his brow in consideration. “Additionally, he recently suffered an accident while touring in Afghanistan.”

The Director picked the last paper out of the bunch and held it up, adjusting his glasses. “Shrapnel embedded in the cerebrum. Massive damage to the left eye and optical nerve. Blasted surface tissue. Left arm amputated at the elbow,” he read carefully, stopping when he reached the end of the page. “Let me guess…”

“‘Gentlemen, we can rebuild him. We have the technology… Better than he was before. Better … stronger … faster,’” the Doctor quoted, cutting him off. His eyes gleamed. “He exceeds our needs in every way, his old life is effectively over, and he can be persuaded with a minimum of effort.”
The Director glanced through the assorted papers on his desk, at last looking impressed. “Very well,” he said, clicking his pen again. “Where do I sign?”

Malcolm lay in the hospital bed gazing out the open window. “Why did this happen to me?” he thought for the thousandth time. He looked about the room. Cards and flowers and all manner of gifts littered the furniture; gifts from his platoon, their families, and at least half a dozen high-ranking officers. He would surely be given more medals than he knew what to do with, but it didn’t matter. His career was over.

Malcolm blinked his good eye and touched the bandage around his left, wondering how bad it looked underneath. He wiggled the stump that remained of his left arm. What would he do now? He was in his mid-20′s and forcibly retired. The thought was almost enough to make him weep. Just then, a knock came at his bedroom door.

“Come in,” Malcolm muttered in a low voice. The door swung lightly open and a tall woman in a lab coat walked in carrying a briefcase. “Are you from the Navy?” he asked.

“No, Lieutenant Hunt,” the woman said, managing a pleasant but obviously tense smile. She involuntarily looked up and down his bed at the damage; Malcolm was used to the reaction by now. “Your superiors referred me to you. My name is Elizabeth Baird.”

Malcolm looked up at her in puzzlement. “Referred you to me? What could anyone possibly want with a crippled vet?” he asked with a sardonic hint in his voice. “You’re not another reporter, are you?”

Elizabeth smiled, more genuinely this time. “Not at all, Lieutenant. You were actually referred to us as a very capable solider.” Malcolm involuntarily grimaced; people had been hitting that nerve far too often lately. “More to the point, however, your situation makes you uniquely qualified.” She moved to the chair beside his bed and laid the briefcase across her knees.

“Perhaps I should explain. I represent a research company named CyberBioRobotics.” She flipped open the briefcase and pulled out a large stack of papers. “We’ve been apprised of your condition and would like to offer you a unique opportunity.”

Malcolm still felt confused. “You want me to be a guinea pig?” he inquired dubiously, taking the papers as she handed them to him. He glanced through the first few pages of what appeared to be a contract.

“Not quite, Lieutenant. We want to offer you a job as our chief tactical operative. Your experience and commendations make you an ideal candidate. Additionally, we’d like to offer you certain… replacements, to compensate for your injuries.”

Malcolm raised his eyebrow, looking through the stack in more detail. Several titles caught his attention: “Implantation Agreement”, “Medical Disclosure”, “Terms of Augmentation and Maintenance.” He looked at Elizabeth, wondering if this was some sort of cruel joke. “So what? You want to turn me into the Six Million Dollar Man?” he quipped.

“It’ll take more money than that, I’m afraid, but you’ve got the basic idea,” she said without a hint of joviality in her voice. She looked at Malcolm with business-like calm. He hadn’t been prepared for such a serious response; maybe there was some truth to this deal after all.

“Do you mind if I take a closer look at this and get back to you?” he asked. “I also wouldn’t mind some information about these ‘replacements.’”

“Not at all, Lieutenant.” Elizabeth rifled through her suitcase again, producing several transparencies. “Here are some of the technical illustrations. Your models will be significantly different, but this should give you some idea of what to expect.” She handed over the transparencies and rose to leave. “If you have any questions, please call the number on the contract. We look forward to your reply.”

Malcolm was already scanning over the transparencies by the time the door closed. Cybernetic limbs, artificial organs and tissues, optronic sensors… it was almost too good to be true. Maybe his career wasn’t over after all…

“Lieutenant, can you hear me?” The gentle female voice cut through Malcolm’s thick haze. Slowly, gradually, he regained consciousness. “Doctor Einsburg, he’s coming to.”

Malcolm opened his eyes… both of them! He looked up at the ceiling, wondering if the accident had been a dream. Involuntarily he lifted his arm to touch his eye, but stopped. A metal hand hovered over his face, shifting to and fro for his inspection.

“The operation was a success, Mr. Hunt,” Elizabeth said, moving into his field of vision. “How do you feel?”

“I feel,” Malcolm paused, blinking, “great.” Elizabeth smiled at him as he rose to a sitting position. He couldn’t move his eyes away from the arm. His left arm from elbow to fingertip was solid metal, but it moved as if it were flesh and bone. The feeling was indescribable. “I feel… whole…”

“Is the resolution acceptable?” Elizabeth asked, and Malcolm almost laughed. His fields of vision merged seamlessly; he couldn’t tell where the organic ended and the digital began. He looked at her in wonderment.

“One moment while I bring the ADEI online,” came a male voice from behind Malcolm. Before he could turn his head, words appeared in the air in front of him.

The read-out scrolled down at tremendous speed. Malcolm blinked involuntarily, shaking his head. The words remained constant. He clutched at his head and ground his eyes shut, but the words remained visible.

“Calm down, Mr. Hunt,” Elizabeth said, resting a hand on his shoulder. “It only takes a few seconds to boot up. After that it won’t be so confusing.”

The information flooded through his vision at a dizzying rate. Malcolm felt as if he might faint. And then, as suddenly as it had began, the process ended. Malcolm opened his eyes and looked at Elizabeth, who smiled knowingly.

Cautiously, Malcolm slid off the operating table and looked about the room. Strange readouts appeared as his vision passed over different objects. He looked at Elizabeth and smiled as the information pattern shifted.

“So,” Malcolm inquired jovially, “does it come with a screen saver?”

“Congratulations on another successful mission, Mr. Hunt,” came the all-too-familiar male voice over the intercom.

“Piece of cake, Doc,” Malcolm responded, slinging his rifle up in the weapon locker. “The credit should really go to Elizabeth, though. I would’ve never known where to shoot if she hadn’t gotten a beat on the hostiles so quickly.”

“Yes… Elizabeth….” Doctor Einsburg’s voice trailed off. “About that. I’m afraid you won’t be working together any more.”

Malcolm stopped mid-step. “What?” he asked with no small amount of shock evident in his voice. Something about the good Doctor’s tone didn’t feel right.

“I just found out myself, Malcolm. Shortly after the mission ended, a man from Control came to pick her up. He said she’s being… reassigned.” The Doctor’s voice betrayed a hint of dread.

“Have they already left? Where is she, Doctor?” Malcolm asked quickly. A brief warning appeared in his vision.

Malcolm dismissed the message with a thought. “Doctor, where have they taken Elizabeth?”

“They’re leaving right now. If you hurry…” The remainder of the message was cut off as Malcolm bolted out the door. Apprehension raged through his mind. If Control had stepped in, it couldn’t mean anything good.

Malcolm reached the garage just as Elizabeth disappeared into the rear seat of a black sedan, her head forced down by the hand of a man in a crisp black business suit. “Wait!” he yelled, jogging forward.

The man looked up as Malcolm approached. No emotion was evident from behind his dark sunglasses. “Can I help you, Agent Hunt?” he asked formally.

Malcolm came to a halt in front of him and gave an equally formal salute. He was about to announce his name and designation when he realized that the Man in Black had already done so for him. In the back of his mind, he realized that, whatever his purpose, he had been briefed about Malcolm.

“I’d like to inquire as to new status of Elizab… Agent Baird, sir. I’ve heard she’s being reassigned,” Malcolm said, trying to conceal his anxiety behind the mask of a good soldier.

From his dour expression, the Man in Black was apparently not amused. “Agent Baird is none of your concern. I suggest you return for debriefing.”

“Like hell, sir,” Malcolm said, venting some of the animosity he had been feeling. Men like this made Malcolm’s blood boil. “You’ve got my field tech in there, and I’m not about to let you take her out of here without a fight.”

Malcolm had not said this with intent toward physical confrontation, but the Man in Black seemed to react as such. Taking a quick step back, the man drew out his gun and trained it at Malcolm’s head.

The read-out came as no surprise. Malcolm stared down the barrel of the gun coolly, silently deciding that his term of service would be over one way or another.

“You’re out of line, Agent. If you walk away now I might let you off with a reprimand,” the Man in Black said, smirking. Malcolm calmly returned the stare and, with a thought, set his implants to work.

The information collected and processed at blinding speed, filtering through Malcolm’s nervous system until, seconds later, it reached a strategic decision. Malcolm stared steadfastly at his adversary, waiting for an opportunity.

It all happened in a flash. Another car came screeching through the gate at the end of the garage. Instinctively, the Man in Black took his eyes off of Malcolm. This was his chance. In one motion, Malcolm sent his cybernetic arm in an uppercut. Three sets of scythe-like blades sprung from the sides, slicing through the gun like butter. The Man in Black had no time to react before Malcolm used this momentum to swing around and plant his army boot firmly in his enemy’s diaphragm.

The Man in Black tumbled to the ground, the wind knocked out of him. He gritted his teeth at Malcolm, who was now slamming his bladed arm down into the sedan’s engine manifold. “It doesn’t look like you’ll be going anywhere, now,” he said with a smirk, ignoring the damage assessment read-out.

“Your lack of mutuality is quite disturbing, Mr. Hunt,” the Man in Black said, reaching into his pocket and drawing out a small control device. “I’m afraid your service here is terminated.” Malcolm rushed forward, but it was already too late.

Blinding pain shot through Malcolm’s head. He collapsed to his knees, clenching his right hand. His left arm convulsed momentarily and fell to the ground with a resounding clang.

“That’s more like it,” the Man in Black said with a hint of malice, standing over Malcolm. “Hardware really has no place rebelling against its masters, after all.” Malcolm scarcely felt the fierce kick as it knocked him on his back.

“…no…,” Malcolm whispered through gritted teeth, struggling against his own entrapped nervous system.

“I’ll see to it that Dr. Einsburg repairs you.” The Man in Black’s voice barely managed to break through Malcolm’s painful haze. “Perhaps he can reprogram you to be a little more obedient. If not, I’m sure these implants of yours can be salvaged. We wouldn’t want to lose our investment, after all.”

You bastard! Malcolm thought desperately. I don’t give a damn about my implants! Elizabeth! “…you… won’t…,” Malcolm managed to voice the words, shaking with effort.

“What’s that?” the Man in Black said, amused. “Still determined to stop me, are you? Your profile suggested affection for Agent Baird, but I didn’t expect you to be so determined.” A sharp pain shot through Malcolm’s right hand, and he realized that the Man in Black had just broken his fingers.

“Don’t worry about her,” the man whispered to Malcolm, stooping low. “She’ll be dealt with for her deviance. I’ll see to it, personally.”

“…no… I won’t… let you,” Malcolm said, forcing his eyes open. Every muscle in his body strained and, with a great force of will, he stared up at his enemy.

Malcolm’s display flashed to life. Garbled messages cycled through his vision. Electricity arched from his cybernetic arm. The Man in Black retreated a step, an expression of concern evident on his face.

Malcolm rose to his feet, his bionic eye glowing with a righteous fury. “You won’t take her,” he repeated, strength returning to his voice. “I won’t let you.”

“How… how did you?” the Man in Black exclaimed, hitting the button on his controller repeatedly.

New data, foreign but strangely familiar, fed through Malcolm’s mind. He lifted his bionic arm, clenching his fist.

A device appeared on top of Malcolm’s forearm, humming with a deadly charge. His arm lifted toward the Man in Black.

“But, you can’t. Only Enlightened agents can…,” the Man in Black yelled, horrified, just as the beam pierced his torso. He fell to the ground, limp and lifeless. Malcolm looked on the crumpled form with new eyes.

Without thought or effort, Malcolm tore the passenger door from its frame. “Come on, Elizabeth. Let’s get out of here.”

This entry was posted on Thursday, August 29th, 2002 at 11:10 am and is filed under Tabletop RPGs. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.