Anarchy is Dead
Human Weapon Specialist
“I tend to let my guns speak for me; especially when negotiating. I hope you talk faster than I draw.”
Hollow-eyed, disheveled, suffers from muscle twitches and phantom itches when not beetling or on a mission…mostly. His clothes speak of a better life-maybe corp-long since gone to seed. Stained sleeves and rumpled jacket, slacks mud stained, shoes scuffed. Guns are kept clean and shiny, though.
Some runners who’ve done jobs with him say the drek-head hums an off-tune “Happy Birthday” to himself when lining up a shot.
“This world, this body, don’t matter for drek.”
|+||High Pain Tolerance||Ken cares little for injuries sustained in meatspace, his aches and pains disappear when he’s inhabiting Lane’s BTL chiplife.|
|+||Indomitable (Firearms)||Lone Star only hires the best, and they only hire those they train to their exacting standards. Ken was among the best of the best; even with the shakes, he’s still up there.|
|-||Addicted to BTLs||Trauma treats people differently, some lose themselves in drink, some in drugs. Ken spends as much time as possible in someone else’s life.|
“Get the job done, die trying, or both.”
|Sgt. Jaime Graham – Lone Star Security|
|Dulce Herrera – Black Market arms dealer|
|Gidget – BTL dealer for the Scatterbrainers|
“Had a family, once. Didn’t work out.”
Ken showed up in the runner scene in 2072, mostly wetwork. The word was, you needed someone geeked, Ken could get it done. Wasn’t too long before other words came through as well, that he was into beetles, hooked deep. Brain-fragged, some said. Didn’t stop him from getting the jobs done, but Ken became less and less cheery as the chips took more and more of him. He became, well, inconsistent. Maybe not with the work, but with the Johnsons. Sometimes he counted his pay, sometimes he didn’t.
If his pay was off, and he didn’t count it…well, omae, you just got a yourself a tidy discount. If the pay was off and he did happen to choose that time to count…well, let’s say you had a few seconds to cough up the rest of the nuyen, or you’d be coughing up your guts, chummer.
These days, Johnsons ask for Ken less and less, though a few get desperate enough sometimes. Mostly his work comes from his old pal (and Lone Star badge) Jaime. Runner chat is that Jaime cheats his friend something awful on every job but hasn’t caught a bullet for it yet.