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DATA LOSS // LOG 01: Fresh Flesh, Old Scars
They say death is a transition. Around here, it just sounds like a dial-up modem screaming inside your cerebral cortex before the cloning vat spits you back out onto the cold metal floor. Welcome to the campaign diary of 2400 DATA LOSS, a rules-light cyberpunk RPG where survival is cheap, but keeping your mind intact is damn expensive.
THE CHARACTER SHEET
Before we pull the trigger, here is the poor bastard we're piloting through this industrial hellscape. Say hello to Janse.
NAME: Janse
BACKGROUND: TK (Telekinetic Ex-Laborer)
INTEGRITY: d6
SKILLSETS:
- Strength: d6
- Logic: d6
- Speed: d6
- Will: d8 (TK Background)
ONE CLEAR MEMORY: A guy named Ty—absolute piece of trash—holding his bleeding face and shouting, “You broke my nose!” The rest of the puzzle is completely missing.
LOOK IN THE MIRROR: Leathery skin cracked from ozone exposure, framing a permanent, cynical wry smirk. The look of someone who has heard every corporate lie in the book.
GEAR & MODS:
- TK Implant: Grants arms-strength telekinesis. (Can push limits by taking a hindrance).
- TK Mod - Shatter: Focus Will to quickly break an item or robot limb.
- PsychOut (1 use): Synthetic drug. Boosts TK power for a short time, highly addictive.
SESSION START: REBOOTING...
YOU DIED.
Your previous body is currently meat-paste somewhere in the lower sectors. Digital Rights Management protocols have already disintegrated your flesh and your gear into fine ash. But your SOUL—the Sapience Optimized Uplink Log—survived the wireless bounce. It shot through the smog, slammed into the nearest backup terminal, and cooked up a brand-new clone.
Janse gasps, sucking in a lungful of synthetic, nutrient-tank fluid. The glass doors of the backup station hiss open. I stumble out onto the cracked concrete of the Outskirts, wiping slime from my eyes. The sky is a bruised violet color, dominated in the distance by the terrifying skyline of the City. High above the skyscrapers looms XIPE—a colossal, six-armed mechanical nightmare sitting on a throne of twisted girders.
The air tastes like rust. I don't have a weapon. I don't even have shoes. But I've got a killer headache and a phantom itch in my brain where my telekinetic rig sits.
ROOM 1: THE RESIDENTIAL BLOCK (ENCOUNTER)
I clear the smoke out of my vision and take a look around. This used to be a working-class residential zone, now it's just hollowed-out concrete husks. I'm not alone. Two Corrupted Workers—meat-puppets whose minds have been completely scrambled by the metaminds—are shambling toward me. One of them is dragging a heavy iron pipe, leaving a jagged line in the dirt. They aren't talking. They just have that blank, violently hollow stare.
They spot me. The one with the pipe lifts it up and lunges, aiming to paint the walls with my new skull. I don't have the gear to fight hand-to-hand, so I'm relying on my TK implant. I'm going to reach out with my mind, lock onto the iron pipe, and use my Shatter mod to snap the metal right out of his hands before he can swing.
To avoid the risk of getting brained by the pipe, Janse needs to roll. Since this utilizes telekinesis, we use the Will skillset. Janse's Will is a d8.
Rolling 1d8... Result: 4 (Setback)
The GM Renders the Verdict: A 4 is a Setback. I get partial success, but there's a catch.
I extend my hand, veins bulging on my temple as I tap into my Will. A resonant hum vibrates through the air, and *CRACK*—the iron pipe snaps into two useless, jagged shards. But the sheer force of the feedback snaps back into my skull. The telekinetic whiplash hits me hard. I'm caught off guard, stumbling backward into a pile of industrial scrap, completely winded and hindered for my next move as the second worker closes the distance with a rusted shiv.
We're alive, but we're already cornered, empty-handed, and nursing a psychic migraine. Welcome to the planet. Tune in next time to see if Janse can survive long enough to find some actual boots.
