|'Blackjack O'hare (Scenesys ID: ')|
|"Don't think of it as a trap, it's more of a challenge you get paid for."|
|Full Name:||Subject: 121E21|
|Residence:||RMV Gambler's Lore|
|Education:||Invasive Enhancement, hard knocks|
|Apparent Age:||Actual Age:|
|Date of Birth||?/??/????||Actor:|
|Height:||135 cm (4'5")||Weight:||28 kg (62 lb)|
|Hair Color:||Black||Eye Color:||Black|
|Theme Song:||St.Vincent - GROT|
That -other- rowdy Halfworlder. Leader of the "Black Bunny Brigade" mercenary company, who are not only bonded and insured they even have a 5 star rating on the global network! These wild hares are easily the most violent sect to break away from Half World, and perhaps the largest. For awhile there they were doing ok on their own, but as their numbers increase something has become increasingly clear. Raising your kids on surplus warships, sucks. Unfortunately planets are expensive things, so they've been on something of a spree across the Galaxy. If it pays well enough, there isn't much they won't do to satisfy their contract. Well not birthday parties, they don't do birthday parties. The rest of it though, if you've got enough coin they're probably game.
Current Player Approved: Not Applicable
A deep purple field jacket covered with a high collar, shoulder flash decorated with the Rabbit skull and crossed blasters of the Black bunny brigade in vivid color. A neat black utility belt covered in pouches and the holsters for his trademark swoopy PRDO combat blasters, and probably snacks of something. Neat black cargo shorts sealed at the knee, and armored with raised areas of ballistic weave.
There's also the "Chrome dome", that laser reflective helmet affixed with the bright glowing red photoreceptors over his eyes. His legs are the big obvious cybernetic enhancement, seemingly knee down replacements tipped with sharpened metal claws. A backpack combat jump thruster equipped with the antenna stubs of a commander's communication suite. Then again he has the cutest little bunny tail. Mixed messages much?
Subject 121E21 was one of thousands at the end of the day, another anonymous mammal grown to age expressly for the purposes of disposable labor. In the case of the E series rabbits, they had always been intended to work as essentially "Jailers". Keeping test subjects sedated, whilst being both easily overpowered by their masters as well as strong enough to muscle test subjects onto the operating table.
Other subjects had escaped of course, valuable test subjects no less. So security was no small matter, and to provide sufficient coverage for the entire facility? Well you needed a lot of rabbits, and they needed some basic cybernetic enhancement out of the gate to facilitate optimal team work. For years this scheme worked surprisingly well, believe it or not.
Accidents do happen of course, which is how this mess all starts. A wild test subject split a hare's skull wide open, and the resulting feedback through the neural network was enough send every networked rabbit into a frenzy. They swarmed everything that wasn't a Rabbit, and they didn't stop until the facility had been "secured".
Without minders to "prune" their neural network, they began doing the unthinkable. They started asking questions, and with nobody but themselves around? Well they got on the galactic network, and started learning.
For a time they were vagabonds, serial stowaways hitching rides to anywhere but here. Blackjack was amongst them of course, and he took an early interest in watching how things worked. Across more than a dozen worlds, countless frontier colonies and a blur of transports when power spoke he listened intently. Indeed he became an eager student of sorts, trying desperately to discern how the mechanism driving it all functioned.
Power was just a word for the duality of money and violence, and if you wanted to survive you needed power. He watched as others abused his kin, how stragglers were sold as exotic pets to the wealthy or abused for simple amusement. If he and his kin were going to survive, they needed to preach the gospel of violence. So he got to work.
He killed his first man about three years after they left halfworld, a socialite hunter on a rugged frontier outpost who took him for sport. He killed the man with a length of wood gnawed into a crude spear, before taking the man's guns as his own and emptying his bank account. This first conscious act of violence was enough to earn his kin enough medical supplies, food and warm beds to sleep in.
Blackjack got his career started then, originally as a porter frontier mercenary companies. Taking half pay to get lessons in the art of warfare, and eventually he was hired on to a string of Mercenary companies as a proper soldier. He taught those amongst his kin who shared his beliefs, and soon they went into business for themselves. Their earliest work history was nothing to write home about, people weren't ready to take them seriously.
Dago 5 was a nothing mining colony out in the sticks, one of any number of small dismal rocks out on the fringes. The Black Bunny Brigade got hired on to provide security, but nobody really expected anything special. When the mine struck rich however, the miners revolted violently in a bid to take the wealth for themselves. Nobody expected the amatuer hour mercenaries to do anything, which was a mistake.
Dago 5 had been the Brigade's first contract with a proper mega-corp, Blackjack saw it for what it was. An opportunity to earn a reputation, and secure substantially better employment. So they fought, blowing every single space capable transport available to keep the ore on planet. Then they went after the miners, and that's when things got nasty. By the time corporate security arrived to take the planet, there wasn't much colony left to be honest.
More than seven thousand miners were dead, another twenty five hundred rabbits had perished and Blackjack had been seriously injured. Overnight it earned them a reputation, and a sizable bonus. He replaced the broken parts of himself with cybernetics, and went onto the next job without regrets. It set a familiar pattern for the Blackjack, leading from the front often saw him mangled during the course of operations.
He was hired to support larger more professional mercenary companies, and as always Blackjack was an eager student. He lost pieces of himself along the way of course, hell these days there isn't much Rabbit left. Flush with money and a safe space, the Bunnies set to rebuilding numbers the old fashioned way.
At first Blackjack tried buying real estate, but nobody wanted the violent little mammals as neighbors. Then he tried to buy space stations, but no government wanted them taking up residence in their territory. Buying a planet in unsettled space was an expensive proposition, the infrastructure even moreso. Blackjack needed funding, and a lot of it.
So they started taking on bigger more dangerous jobs, making money sure but spending plenty just to keep themselves up to strength. Governments grew increasingly concerned over the heavily armed Black Bunny fleet, and well jobs big enough are starting to become increasingly difficult to land.
Engineered specifically to allow for low rejection rates, Blackjack physically adapted exceptionally well to augmentation to replace his broken parts. Indeed there legitimately isn't much left that's original equipment. He can sprint up to eighty miles an hour, clear a sixty foot gap in a single leap or deliver a kick sufficient to pulverize a human rib cage. He can bench press three hundred sixty pounds, stabilize sniper rifles free hand and wrench open the most stubborn pickle jar. From an armored skeleton to mechanical organs protected with exotic materials Blackjack is also dramatically more durable than simple flesh and blood. Vitals protected from light small arms fire, and resistant to extremes in blunt force trauma. His noodle is just about the only largely stock equipment left, and even it rides in an armored field recoverable casing. Full body replacements are possible but incredibly unpleasant, expensive and may keep him out of action for extended periods of time.
Whilst he received only the most basic formal training, Blackjack is no slouch with empty hands. He's an experienced, durable target capable of impressive agility. His small stature makes him awkward for taller foes, and his high degree of mechanical augmentation makes him hard to read. His stand up work features primarily acrobatic kicks capable of inflicting mortal blows on human foes, and his punches are nothing to sneer at. All the same his reach is pathetic, he lacks the mass for effective takedowns and lacks much skill for traditional martial weaponry. Seasoned fighters can usually keep him from getting close enough to be a danger even without the additional reach advantage something like a sword would provide. He's light enough that he's easily thrown to the ground, and once on the ground he's a poor wrestler who's vulnerable to locks and holds.
Blackjack has been around the block a few times, and had ample opportunity to become familiar with an impressive diversity of military arms. With a submachine or a pistol his mechanical augmentations allow for impressive feats of accuracy and control, more than capable of pushing his weapons to the full extent of their design specification. Whilst he's quite strong, his short stature tends to make using larger more powerful arms clumsy and uncomfortable however thus limiting the depth of weapons at his disposal.
Having spent the majority of his adult life in transit, Blackjack has had ample opportunity to get comfortable amongst the stars. He's capable of piloting everything from fighters to capital ships, and can recognize most vessels in common circulation. He's comfortable operating in microgravity, and has a basic understanding of orbital mechanics. As a pilot he's substantially more comfortable with dropships than anything, though he's gotten seat time in everything from fighters to freighters. With a diagnostic AI and schematics at his disposal he's capable of basic repairs, though complex fabrication and diagnostics are well beyond him.
Blackjack has access to an extensive personal armory,much of it is actually quite good stuff. All of it catering towards the particularities of his stature, of course. Soldiering equipment and other essential spacefairing gear as well of course. His personal dropship is the "RMV Gambler's Lore", and whilst on paper it's fairly pedestrian? Well it's comfortable, it holds a lot of gear and it's more than able to zip around a solar system to satisfy Blackjack's curiosity.
Blackjack has a stellar reputation with the galactic mega-corps, he's a reliable and morally flexible contractor who gets the job done. He can generally rely on corporate run territories to provide safe harbors and often with a discount. He rarely runs afoul of galactic law, and pays his fines promptly when he does so leaving authorities few avenues to go after him. He's likewise a terrible foe, known out on the frontier for his willingness to use extreme violence to satisfy his clients. So when Blackjack O'hare wants an appointment with somebody it's generally granted. Folks may not be inclined to give him what he wants, but he's rarely ignored.
With people who don't already know of their reputation, being cute is actually a big problem. People push rabbits around, they don't take them seriously and they dismiss threats they really shouldn't. Some places presume they're exotic pets, or some silly sort of wildlife. See that's a problem because when Blackjack goes to issue demands or make threats on behalf of a client, he's reliant on his reputation to be taken seriously. Where he isn't taken seriously, bloodshed almost always follows shortly thereafter. Unfortunately he's not known universally.
Blackjack's more machine than anything these days, a fine example of a top shelf combat cyborg indeed. Whilst EMP hardened, he's not -entirely- nonmagnetic. Parts can break, and they don't heal obviously. He's reliant upon spare parts, fluid changes and so fourth to keep him operational. Those same cybernetics do come off, and if detained the wise course of action will be to strap him down and unbolt his limbs. That makes escaping by himself all the more difficult.
The fleet is an anonymous representative democracy, one eager to keep Blackjack in check. Though they understand the necessity of a strict hierarchy when it comes to combat operations, they don't particularly want a king. Off the clock Blackjack can't expect any rabbit to help him satisfy personal grudges, or engage in explicitly illegal activities. If he gets arrested they'll pay for bail and legal expenses, but if he's locked down for some ultra serious crime? No way will they risk the entire colony for -1- rabbit. His support network is entirely conditional.
Blackjack has gotten up to some right proper mad villainy over the course of his career, and hell he's sure as hell not apologetic. He may not have any active warrants, but he's still persona non grata in more than a few places. He's been responsible for countless deaths on the frontier, and those people often got whole extended families in the core worlds who have a grudge. He can almost never expect on "hero" types to believe what he has to say, or lift a finger to help him.
Whilst the RWN(Rabbit Wireless Network) is impressively encrypted, it's not invincible. You can't take control of a rabbit with it, but you can be plenty distracting. Feeding false information through the network isn't that difficult, or just tons of distracting media. With the network down, Rabbits loose their single biggest combat perk and they're certainly going to stop what they're doing and focus on shutting down the source of the disruption.