Samuel Boyers

Characteristics :

INT	REF	TECH	COOL	ATT	LUCK	MA	BODY	EMP
8	7	3	7	5	5	5	6	6

Skills :

Diagnose Illness	4	Medical Tech	6	Pharmacology	4	Human Perception	2	Auto Weapons	2
Use Cryo	2	First Aid	6	Perception	7	Knife	3	Pistol	5

Cybernetics :

Cyberaudio + Amplified Hearing + Radio Link.

Equipment :

Cell-phone, random medical paraphernalia stuffed in a battered synthleather bag, New American Motors Crowder electric car, ruffled old suits, army Medigoggles (microoptics, thermograph, microvideo, machine connection).

Weapons :

Description :

Mr Boyers is a small, broad-shouldered man in his forties. From under his thick eyebrows, two dark and tired grey eyes constantly search the surroundings. Everything in him, from his posture to the sagging of his clothes, exudes sadness and weariness. He usually wears a three-days old beard that reaches to his hair and mustache, smokes way to many Lucky Shot™ nicobars and regularly forgets where he'd just put that Bone McCoy... Constantly telling his patients (dockers and sailors mostly) to "stop playing dangerous games, my boy ! Haven't you yet understood that death is not worth it ?", he'll patch them up nonetheless and shed a tear for them once they get killed. Then, shaking his head, he'll sadly get back to his office.

Place of work :

Located in South Night City, near the docks of the Bay Del Coronado, one enters his office by a small metallic door underneath a concrete porch. After ringing, the voice of Dr. Boyers comes from a speaker half ripped out of its socket. A quick examination through the rusted camera, and the door opens... sometimes. One times out of three, the lock fails to open. Inside, a volley of narrow steps climbs to the next storie, washed in the pale light coming from the murky window. The stairwell smells of cat waste, and the synthwood sticks to the feet.

The office itself is as bad as the rest, but splendidly clean. From the small waiting room, packed with boat magazines, to the large examination room, everything is old and half-broken, but scrubbed to the bone. One could run a white glove through the whole place without getting more than a few light spots on it. Oh, and the smell of cat wastes merges strangely with that of ether.

The main room is around 6 by 8 meters, with a big desk in a corner, and a small operating bed surrounded by a white curtain. The buzzing of a blood analyzer fills the room, and the smell of nicotin is overwhelming. On the wall, next to the desk, is affixed the faded hologram of several young men in US uniforms, and an old pair of Army MediGoggles is half-hidden beneath a rubber flower. It is linked to the computer by a 4 meters long interface cable, twice repaired with duct tape, that frequently catches the doctor's foot (hence the duct tape).

Consultation : 180 Eb. Blood test : 50 Eb. Lung test : 240 Eb.

History :

Dr Samuel Boyers had just graduated from his medical school, when the second south american war erupted. He was caught in the turmoil, and found himself lost in the middle of Colombia, looking after the health of a bunch of untrained young men who were ordered to fight.

These were long, painful years : Dr Boyers was released only seven years later, when the last of the soldiers were abandonned by the US government. He had been one of the lucky few that got a plane back, but immediatly joined the Long Walk to help his former comrades in arms. Unluckily, this earned him the animosity of the governement, and he was unable to find any place in a hospital afterwards, unlike many other ex-soldiers medics.

Finally, he settled in NC, and established his small office, where he caters to the needs of the sailors and dockers. It's a rough bunch, but he's seen rougher, and they respect him for his abilities. Disillusionned and sad, he might one day draw the curtain and shoot himself in the head.