A mysterious and deadly amnesiatic cyborg.

  • Rank: Heroic (60 XP)
  • Abilities
    • Agility d10 (+2 to Acrobatic maneuvers)
    • Smarts d6
    • Spirit d4
    • Strength d12
    • Vigor d8
  • Skills
    • Athletics d6
    • Fighting d10
    • Intimidation d6
    • Notice d8
    • Repair d6 (Tactile Dimming/Precision Actuator)
    • Shooting d10
    • Stealth d6
    • Throwing d6
  • Knowledge:
    • Tactics d6
    • Firearms d4
    • Cybertechnology d4
    • World Geography d6
  • Languages 4
    • English d6
    • Mandarin Chinese d6
    • Spanish d4
  • Charisma: 0 (- 2 with other races)
  • Pace: 12 (Run d10, Ignore difficult terrain)
    • Jump: 2” h / 1” v standing, or up to 4” h / 2” v with run & go, Str check adds +1".
  • Parry: Base: 7
  • Toughness: Base 9 (2 Armor-All, +2 vs. ranged)
    • Cyborg Body +2 All
    • Praetor Combat Armor +4 All
    • Traveler’s Cloak +1Torso, Arms, Legs
    • BKI Kite Shield +2 vs Ranged
  • Strain: 8/8
  • Hindrances:
    • Enemy (Minor) – Some unknown strangers attacked and almost apprehended Dagger. While Dagger has no idea who or what they were, they certainly knew who he was, and wanted him for something tied to his past. Whoever these strangers were, they were certainly gunning for him, but they have not been seen since.
    • Loyal (minor) – While Dagger’s memories are fragmented at best, it is fairly certain that he must have been a soldier at one time. His steadfast devotion to his allies and willingness to help them at great risk easily and often puts him in harms way.
    • Amnesia (Major) – His memories begin a decade ago, but it is apparent that he had a life before that. He has skills that he cannot explain and random fleeting memories that seemingly come out of nowhere. He has been hunted by soldiers for reasons he does not know. He could have friends and family from his previous life or even committed horrible crimes – if only he could remember.
  • Edges: Chromed, Ex-Soldier, Martial Artist, First Strike, Brawler, Parkour, Frenzy
  • Cyborg Abilities: Augmented, Construct, EMP Shielding, EMP Vulnerability, Metallic Alloy, Outsider, Specialized Diet, Tactile Dimming
  • Occupation: Mercenary, Cloak and Dagger Solutions
  • Contacts: Jonah, Mantis
  • Street Cred: 4
  • Load Limit: 60/120/180 (With armor 65/130/195)

Real Name: Adam, Magnus?
Height: 5-9
Weight: 345
Hair: None
Eyes: None
Sex: Male
Age: 22

Funds: 40,825 Credits
Lifestyle: Poor (2000*)


TAP Statistics


  • AOG Exo-Claw (Dmg Str+d10, AP 4, HW, Battery, Wt 30)
    • 4x Batteries
  • UP Gutterpunk .45 ACP SMG (dmg 2d6+1, AP 1, Range 12/24/48, RoF 3/3RB/FA, Top Rail SmartLink, Side Rail; Flashlight, Capacity 3, Wt 3 lbs)
  • 3x Magazine, Gutterpunk, Standard Ammo (Capacity 3)
  • 1x Magazine, Gutterpunk, Tracer Ammo (Capacity 3)
  • BKI Kite Shield (+ 2 Armor vs Ranged, + 1 Parry, +2 Dmg on Push/Shield Bash, Hypertagged, 10 lbs)
  • UP Telescoping Skewer (Str+d6(+2*) dmg, AP 3, Vicious, Telescoping Shaft, Retractable Ceramic Tip, 3/6/12, 5 lbs) Shoulder Harness
  • 8x WT Impaler (Rng 3/6/12, Rof 3, Supplemental Weapon)
  • The Gauntlet (dmg 2d4, AP 2, range 5/10/20, Ammo 5)
    • 3x Magazine, Titanium Bolt x5
    • 1x Magazine, Magnetic Bolt x5
    • Spool Monowire, 120’
  • Praetor Combat Assault Armor (+4 Armor Full, , Combat Webbing, 12 lbs)
  • Traveler Cloak (+ 1 Armor, Conceal items, 5 lbs)
  • SP Gyroc Pistol (2D6 damage/SBT, AP2, Capacity: 2, RoF 1, Range: 15/30/60, 5 lbs)
  • 4x Magazine, Deckard Gyroc, Standard Ammo (Capacity 2)
  • 1x Magazine, Deckard Gyroc, Airburst Ammo (Capacity 2)
  • 1x Magazine, Deckard Gyroc, KE Penetrator Ammo (Capacity 2)
  • 2x Grenade, Flashbang (2d10 nonlethal, MBT)
  • 2x Grenade, Smoke (-6 Obscurement, 1d4+2 rounds, LBT IR/UV)


Novice 00 – Ex-Soldier 05 – Martial Artist 10 – First Strike 15 – Agility
Seasoned 20 – Fighting/Shooting 25 – Brawler 30 – Fleet-Footed 35 – Strength
Veteran 40 – Acrobat 45 – Parkour 50 – Improved Martial Artist 55 – Strength
Heroic 60 – Frenzy 65 – 70 – 75 –
Legendary 80 – 90 – 100 – 110 –

Act I – Tabula Rasa
My story begins as I was awakened at Jonah’s Workshop. Anything before that is a chaotic jumble of fragmented memories and incoherent dreams. One evening, Jonah was digging through his usual rounds of scrap and junk yards, in Roseland, looking for some salvageable parts for use at his workshop – instead he found me. Jonah is an enigma in the district. It is evident by the work that he does, that is one of the best CyberDocs that has ever lived, but for reasons that only he knows, he chooses to work here, in the slums, doing work on clients that have little to no means to repay him, when he could be operating his own clinic downtown. While the rumors of his desire to help the helpless have followed him for the ten years he has lived here, he has never felt the need to expand on it to anyone. His reasons are his own, it is not my role to ask him. Adam is what he took to calling me, and nobody in the area took a second glance at the workshop’s new assistant.

As I stated, I remember nothing before I was activated. Evidently, my brain was alive, but in a state of suspended animation for quite some time. More than a decade, Jonah had suspected. Jonah told me that memory issues are not uncommon of a side-effect from the deep sleep I was in, and if often will return in time. Over the next several years, I helped Jonah run his workshop. While my mechanical body proved to me quite a disadvantage at the precision motor skills, my physical abilities seemed to help him well enough. Unfortunately, my memories had not returned as hoped. All I ever had was unfamiliar flashbacks and deja vu-like experiences that seemed to have no rhyme nor reason. It was evident that it had latent memories or training of sorts. Unusual things like the correct elevation of La Pez, and even things that are a bit off like mistaking the vice president of Portugal for the president.

While searching for scrap one day by myself, I came across an assault rifle. It was a sub-par Kalashnikov that had obviously been discarded when a shell casing jammed in the breach. I brought it back to the Workshop to clean and maybe sell for a bit of credit. The workshop could certainly use the funds. Jonah came upon me and, seeing me handling the weapon, he became visibly upset and insisted that the rifle leaves immediately. He clearly wanted nothing to do with the gun, and his insistence was unwavering. While I did not understand the concern, I complied and got rid of the rifle. Later that night, Jonah told me that he was sorry for his outburst. He confided that he abhorred violence, for it had caused the destruction of many close to him in the past. It would have no place for him in the future. As long as he cared for me, he has never asked me for anything in return. Now, he requested that he respect his wished and stay a path away from violence. I quickly agreed.

One fateful day, a few years later, we was in the same scrap yard that I had been discovered in, looking for parts that we could salvage, when we came across several local thugs from the neighborhood. They were evidently in a foul mood and felt like taking it out on us. Jonah, ever the peacemaker, tried to talk out way out, but they would have none of that. Laughing, they cruelly knocked him down, and started beating on him, while one of them smugly held me at bay with his machine pistol. What happened next, I will never forget. In a blur, I tore into them with a brutal and explosive violence that ended the lives of our four would-be attackers in as many seconds. Who Jonah saw before him, was not Adam, whom he had lived with for the last five years, but a savage, cold-blooded killer who effortlessly took the lives of four capable men with a feeling of sheer exhilaration. For several moments we just stood there looking at each other. It was apparent that Jonah was horrified, his expression held no doubt. I was conflicted. I felt guilty and ashamed at what I had done. I respected Jonah more than anyone, and I had let him down when I lost control. At the same time, I felt alive for the first time that I can remember. This felt right, I was not made for fixing second-hand machinery, this is what I did. A piece of my fragmented and confusing origin seemed to fall into place. Before Jonah could say anything, I fled from the scrapyard. I was conflicted – pride and shame, and could not face him.

Act II – Growing Pains
It took a while to adjust to live on my own. I wanted to go back to Jonah and apologize for my actions, and promise that I’d never do them again. But that would be a lie, something clicked, and a door was opening. My dreams were stronger now, visions lasted seconds, or minutes, all seemingly familiar and yet foreign at the same time. A snowy mountain range, a familiar voice shouting at me to hurry, a long well-lit hallway, the laughter of a child, and a tall balding man dressed in white. It was like changing the channel on the vidbox, I’d see glimpses of something and then it’d move on to something else. I often found myself down the road, or across the street in the alleys from the workshop, unable or unwilling to get closer. Jonah keeps busy, but I see him pause from work and often look in the direction of where I am hiding.

I’d taken residence in a deserted warehouse loft for a few months now. It wasn’t stylish, but no one bothered me, and I really did not want company. I awoke to the sounds of someone pulling open the door downstairs. Curious, I investigated to see several members of the Doomragers, one of the local gangs in the area. They were scared and one of them was wounded. They hid as gunfire erupted outside. Peering out the loft window, there were around a dozen Silver Jackals, one of their territorial rivals. The newcomers weren’t sure where the Ragers were hiding, so they split up to find them. I climbed out of the loft and followed one of the groups. They encountered a few people who were unlucky enough to stay out of sight. They were norms, not even any weapons on them, and the gang started bullying and threatening them. These men were dangerous, and I felt a familiar feeling work it’s way from the darker corners of my mind. This is what I do. This is who I am. This time, I left one alive, with two fractured ribs, and a broken arm. He was given a warning. Stay away, you are not welcome. This area is off-limits. Your friends return to this area, they will die. He took the message to heart, and left immediately.

I returned to the warehouse and entered from the loft. I could still hear the Ragers down there in hiding. I called down to them and said that they were safe. One of them, a woman, the only one brave enough to respond, calls me down. I comply and tell her what happened to their hunters. She sends out one of her lackeys to confirm, which they go out and do. This woman, Mantis, is their district leader, and she thanked me for my assistance. She extends an offer – they are in the midst of a turf war, and they need help. The wounded ally of theirs, was their top fighter, until he took a round in the throat, he did not survive, and his position is now open. A war? This is where, if I had a nervous system, I’d feel a chill down my spine with the opportunity of getting in touch with my inner sociopath. While I could care less about their side of their fight, the combat would most certainly be there. I tell her, I’m in, and she welcomes me by tossing me their fallen comrade’s vest.

For several months, I help them with their battles. After one such skirmish, Mantis, and a few others stand the victor in a vacant lot, when a static buzz fills the air for several moments before going eerily quiet. Suddenly, a thunderclap sounds, and a meter-sized bright circle appears. From the midst of the circle, two men emerged, and that feeling of familiarity danced just out of reach. Both look heavily armed and armored, and draw their weapons up and fire at me. The unique report of Gyroc rounds sound as explosive rounds detonate on my chassis. A quick assessment shows nothing good. My damage capacitors are red line, and I am inert, completely unresponsive. I can see my left arm has been completely sheared off at the shoulder and is lying next to me. At a casual stroll, I see the strangers approach me and stand above me. One looked at the other, and said “Imagineos Alpha, huh? I expected something better.” To which the other, while looking at some hand-held scanner over me said “It’s Magnus’s aural readout. Bag him up. Let’s take him home” Before they could move, the sound of automatic fire erupted as my group attempted a rescue. They pushed the strangers back, behind a collapsed wall, who took defensive positions and returned fire. All went dark after that.

Act III – Acceptance
Again, I awake at Jonah’s. Something is off – it ‘feels’ different. A sense of comfort. I see Jonah talking to Mantis in the hallway, and I feel a twinge of guilt for bringing bloodshed and violence into Jonah’s life again. They hear me stir, and Jonah & Mantis entered the room. He seems burdened, but happy to see me. They tell me that the strangers had been forced away by Mantis and the gang and then they simply zapped away in the bright light the same unbelievable way they arrived. When they made it to me, the knew I was beyond their ability to save. All I said was Jonah, and they took me here. When they made it here, Jonah immediately took to trying to repair me. After I stabilized, he talked to Mantis and she told him of the incident with the strangers. After much internal debate, he pulled me out of my body and had me plugged into the body which I now reside in.

Jonah continues, and says that when he found me, I was encased in a full cyborg suit of unknown make and manufacture, but of an advanced State-of-the-Art technology. While the origin remained a mystery, the purpose of the body was not. It had one clear purpose, combat. He removed me from the body after my discovery to make sure I would not be a danger to anyone. He knows what I am, a warrior. He realized that the last day we spoke, and I killed the thugs. While he stands against violence, he understands that I cannot, and that he has learned to accept. He has inserted me back into my original body, knowing that I am a better person than he could have hoped, and trusts me that I will do the right thing, in my own way. That I have my own path, but I will always be welcome here.

The gang war between the Doomragers and Silver Jackals had reached a truce with the death of Vargas, with neither side desiring to continue the fighting. While I was aligned with one side, it was initially only because my desire to fight that put me there. Over the last year, I’ve now come to define many of them as friends, but without a fight to have, my needs could not be fulfilled. I talked to Mantis, and explained my concern. She said understood, she said she knew that I was not a lifer and was only with them for my own reasons. I had help them immensely, but that she knew I had to move on. As long as we were willing to help each other when needed, she would give me her blessing to go nomad – not tied to a district, but an ally of the gang.

I spent the next few weeks learning the capabilities of my new, or original, body. It was stronger, faster and had many undiscovered features. I have only been able to re-learn a few of them so far.


Saints in the Shadows Phayt Smorgie