Faces

Roll d66 (two dice, first as tens and second as units, 11 to 66). Thirty-six people the Crew runs into and can lean on. Any of them drops into a Score as a Supporting Character, with a Help they offer and a Flaw that comes with it.

d66	Who You Meet
11	Ghost. A silent, dead-eyed rider from a rival crew who never showboats, never smiles, and rides the single most technically perfect line anyone's ever seen, like the city bends slightly to make room. A nod from Ghost is a standing ovation the whole scene talks about for a week. Help: ride alongside Ghost once and the Crew's next stunt inherits some of that impossible poise, +1 to a big move. Flaw: nobody knows where Ghost lives, sleeps, eats, or came from, and asking twice ends the friendship.
12	Sparky. A compact metro driver in grease-stained overalls who smuggles small goods in the gaps behind her cabin: wire, nozzles, fuse, anything Talos watches but won't chase onto a moving train. Help: a safe, rolling delivery of contraband across three sectors, no logs, paid in art not Cash. Flaw: she will not, cannot, physically stop talking about her ex, the whole route, in detail, and expects the Crew to weigh in with a verdict before the terminal.
13	Thanasis the Scrap Artist. A wiry old man with burn-scarred hands who lives invisible inside the salvage yard, hand-rolling perfect launch tubes and impossible metalwork from pure junk by the light of one bulb. Help: +1 to any metalwork or improvised engineering, and gear better than money can buy. Flaw: he will not leave the yard, not for a fire, not for a favour, not for the best Score in the city, because it's his home, his history, and his hiding place, and out there is where the world took everything else.
14	The Historian. A wildly over-excited researcher obsessed with the old tunnels the city was built on top of, hauling maps, crumbling documents, and absolutely no sense of danger into places sensible people flee. Help: +1 navigating anything underground, plus a running commentary of genuinely useful lost history. Flaw: stops dead to admire "historically significant" rubble mid-getaway, gasping, pointing, refusing to move, while the patrol the Crew was fleeing catches all the way up.
15	The Night Shift Worker. A warehouse hand with paint under her fingernails and a faded crew tag on her bag, one of us, working a Vivid job to eat. She knows where everything's stored, which cameras are decorative, and which supervisor naps. Help: +1 to find or move anything inside a facility she's worked. Flaw: one panic button on her belt and a lifetime of being told to press it, so spook her at the wrong moment and reflex does the rest before her heart can vote.
16	Nikos "Saltpetre" Pavlidis. A retired chemistry teacher running a failing cleaning-supply shop, who's spent fifteen years behind the register waiting for someone with guts to walk in and ask the right question. Help: +1 to anything involving chemistry, explosives, or firework work, plus a network of favours from before the ban. Flaw: he lectures, endlessly, joyfully, on the exact composition of a chrysanthemum shell and the good old days, and the Crew will learn more than they ever wanted while a clock they forgot about runs down.
21	The Nostalgic Guard. An older Talos officer worn thin, who remembers real Easter on his yiayia's roof and quietly, achingly hates what the chrome has made him. Help: he'll look the other way exactly once, and point out the one thing the Crew needs, with his eyes, without a word. Flaw: if his fellow Dogs clock the favour he's finished, memory-wiped and gone, and so is the source, so the kindness the Crew spends here can never, ever be spent twice.
22	The Lost Shopper. A slow-moving old woman and former mall employee who knows every back corridor, service tunnel, and forgotten stair, with an ancient master access card buried somewhere in a handbag the size of a small car. Help: +1 navigating any facility's back ways, and a card that opens doors that shouldn't still open. Flaw: she announces "the old entrance" and "the secret door, dear" loudly, cheerfully, and repeatedly, in public, to anyone, including, twice now, actual Talos.
23	The Kid. Maybe twelve, fearless, on a beat-up board, always somewhere in the crowd daring somebody to land something impossible. Help: knows the neighbourhood's every ledge, gap, rail, and shortcut better than the people who built it. Flaw: will absolutely, one hundred percent, try the impossible trick themselves the second the Crew looks away, and eat concrete doing it, and get straight back up asking if anyone filmed it. Somebody has to watch the kid. Nobody wants the job. The job is important.
24	Ice Cream. A sleek, chocolate-furred cat that belongs to a heartbroken kid and answers to no law of physics, gravity, or common feline decency. Turns up underfoot at the exact worst moment, bolts through the exact tightest gap, and somehow ends up precisely where the Crew needed a distraction, purring. Help: a perfect, chaotic diversion nobody could have planned. Flaw: nobody planned it, nobody can plan it, and feeding Ice Cream once means Ice Cream is now, permanently, terrifyingly, family.
25	The Candle Woman. An old woman in a dark coat who climbs, somehow, to wherever the Crew is working, no matter how high or how sealed, hands them a battered tin of hand-rolled red Easter candles, and sits down on something rusted to watch. No roll, no threat, no explanation. Help: every Hero who takes a candle gains 1 Flow and remembers what all this is for. Flaw: she has none, and that's the unsettling part, because nobody that certain, that calm, that able to reach a locked rooftop should exist, and yet.
26	Deka. A courier who's memorised every legal and illegal address in the sprawl and delivers anything to anyone on a battered cargo bike, no questions logged, no package refused. Help: +1 to get a package or a person across the city unseen, fast, and intact. Flaw: owes a debt to three different fences, and any one of them might be listening when the Crew talks, because Deka's other great talent is owing money to precisely the wrong people at precisely the wrong volume.
31	Mama Roula. A widow who runs a bootleg taverna out of her ground-floor flat, feeds half the block on credit, and hears every single word said over her tables, which is most of the words in the sector. Help: a hot meal, a safe back room, and the week's real gossip, sifted and ranked. Flaw: she will not let the Crew leave until they've eaten, properly, seconds included, no matter what's chasing them, no matter how loud the sirens, because in her house you eat first and die later.
32	Static. A twitchy signals kid who taps Vivid camera feeds from a nest of salvaged screens and narrates patrol movements like a manic sports commentator who's had too much frappe. Help: +1 to know exactly where the Dogs are right now, this second, in real time. Flaw: sees a conspiracy in every dropped frame, every flicker, every shadow, and will, with total conviction, send the Crew sprinting after ghosts, glitches, and one memorable time a pigeon he was sure was a drone.
33	Father Dimitri. A priest of a crumbling half-abandoned church who quietly shelters runaways, hides gear under the altar, and disapproves, out loud, of every single thing the Crew does. Help: sanctuary nobody thinks to search, and the key to a bell tower with the best view in the South. Flaw: he lectures like it's a sacrament and keeps a ledger of favours he expects repaid in good behaviour, and he will read from that ledger, at length, at the worst possible moment, usually mid-crisis.
34	Bolt. A former Vivid delivery-drone tech who got fired for developing feelings, and now reprograms the little machines to carry paint instead of parcels. Help: +1 to anything involving drones, sensors, or making a machine do the exact opposite of its job with great enthusiasm. Flaw: talks to the drones like beloved pets, has named all of them, and will abort a job, blow a getaway, and fight the Crew to save a single fist-sized machine called Gerald from a fate it fully signed up for.
35	The Twins. Two identical sisters who run rival stalls at opposite ends of the market and pretend, loudly, publicly, to despise each other, as cover for a single smuggling operation. Help: goods vanish in one stall and reappear across the city in the other, clean, untraceable, gone. Flaw: the feud is half real, older than either remembers, and about a boy from twenty years ago, and picking the wrong twin's side, or the right one, sours both and gets the Crew barred from the whole market.
36	Grandmaster Vlachos. An ancient man who plays speed chess for coins under the overpass and has watched the neighbourhood for sixty years without once appearing to look up from the board. Help: he saw who did it, whatever it was, wherever it happened, and he remembers everything in perfect, pitiless detail. Flaw: he trades information only for a game, he does not lose, he is not remotely quick, and the Crew will sit there, sweating, while the sector burns, losing at chess to a man who has all the time in the world.
41	Kyra Lena the Fixer. A sharp woman in a spotless tracksuit who can source anything for a price and knows, to the last coin, exactly what that price should be. Help: a shopping list becomes a pickup address by morning, no matter how strange the list. Flaw: everything is transactional, she keeps meticulous receipts, and a favour left unpaid becomes leverage the instant it suits her, which is always, eventually, at the moment it hurts the most, with a smile.
42	Wheels. A wheelchair-racing legend who builds custom rigs in a garage under a tower block and has, at some point, rebuilt half the Crew's boards better than they came from the factory. Help: +1 to repair or upgrade any Ride, and a screaming-fast loaner when yours is wrecked. Flaw: he desperately wants to come along, he is genuinely faster than all of them, and stairs, the one thing this whole vertical city is made of, are the single obstacle that stops him cold, which makes him furious, which makes him reckless.
43	The Understudy. A stage-school dropout who forges Vivid IDs and does dead-on voice impressions of half the corporate management, unprompted, at parties. Help: a single phone call in an exec's exact voice opens doors no keycard can touch. Flaw: cannot resist improvising extra flourishes, a backstory, a limp, a dramatic pause, and the more they're enjoying the role, the more certain it becomes that they will, right at the climax, add one flourish too many and bring the whole beautiful lie down laughing.
44	Old Tasos. A retired tram driver who spends his pension riding his own old lines all day, greeting every regular by name, so completely invisible to Talos that he's basically furniture with a moustache. Help: he'll carry a message or a small parcel across three sectors in total plain sight, unsearched, unsuspected. Flaw: half deaf, tells the same four stories on an endless loop, and physically cannot keep a secret he finds interesting, and he finds everything interesting, and he will tell the whole tram.
45	Mosaic. A muralist who paints Vivid-commissioned corporate art by day and buries coded messages for the crews inside every official piece, right under the client's nose. Help: a public wall can carry a hidden map, a warning, or a call to arms the whole scene can read and Vivid can't. Flaw: proud to an almost holy fault, refuses to rush a piece for any reason, and will not deface her own work, not even to save the Crew, not even with the Dogs coming up the stairs.
46	The Bookmaker. A soft-spoken man who takes bets on everything, crew races, which tower Talos sweeps next, whether the Crew survives the night, and always, somehow, knows the odds first. Help: he knows what's about to happen, because somebody always bets on it before it does. Flaw: the Crew's Score is just another line on his board, and he'll happily sell those same odds to the other side, to the Dogs, to anyone, because the house doesn't take sides, the house takes a cut.
51	Solder. A twelve-fingers-of-tape electrician who keeps the whole block's tapped, illegal, gloriously unsafe power grid alive out of pure spite for Vivid metering. Help: +1 to cut, reroute, or restore power anywhere in the neighbourhood, on command, on a timer, on a whim. Flaw: the grid is held together with prayers, chewing gum, and Solder personally, so if he's hurt or hauled off mid-job, half the sector goes dark at the exact worst moment, and it stays dark until somebody finds him.
52	The Retired Dog. A former Talos officer who walked out of the chrome, lives off-grid, and knows exactly how the machines think because she used to be one of them, down to the reflexes she can't fully switch off. Help: +1 to predict Talos tactics and spot their tricks a move ahead. Flaw: hunted by her old unit, twitchy in crowds, prone to going very still and very dangerous when a siren hits a certain pitch, and half the scene still doesn't trust her, with reason, which she knows, which doesn't help.
53	Pixel. A nonstop-energy kid who livestreams the crews to a hidden audience of millions and treats every single Score like the season finale of the greatest show ever made, because to them it is. Help: turn the Crew's night into a broadcast that swings the whole city's mood, floods a spot with witnesses, or makes a legend in real time. Flaw: films everything, including the parts that should never, ever be filmed, and will always, always choose the dramatic angle over the safe one, the getaway, or common sense.
54	Baba Yorgos. A beekeeper who somehow keeps thriving hives on a derelict rooftop garden and sells honey, herbs, and the occasional very specific chemical to those who ask nicely and aren't afraid of bees. Help: rare botanicals, a rooftop safe from every street, and remedies that clear Conditions. Flaw: protective of his bees to the point of open madness, and the garden is reachable only by a route that would give a mountain goat a stern talking-to, which he considers a feature, not a problem.
55	The Archivist. A former city librarian who saved the physical records before Vivid digitised and quietly "lost" them, now guarding a paper archive in a flooded basement that smells of damp and history. Help: deeds, blueprints, family histories, the buried truth about who really owns what and who really did what. Flaw: parts with nothing without a long, passionate argument about preservation, handling, and the sanctity of the original, and the archive floods a little more every winter, so the truth the Crew needs might be dissolving as they debate it.
56	Cinnamon. A loukoumades cart owner whose fried-dough stall is the unofficial neutral ground where rival crews call truces over a shared plate still hot from the fryer. Help: he can get two sworn enemies in the same place, calm, unarmed, and talking, exactly once. Flaw: fiercely, immovably neutral, will not take the Crew's side in anything ever, and bars for life anyone who starts a fight at his cart, a punishment the scene fears more than Talos, because a life without Cinnamon's loukoumades is not a life worth painting.
61	The Diver. A salvage swimmer who works the flooded lower levels and drowned metro tunnels nobody else will go near, surfacing with things the city forgot it sank. Help: +1 to recover anything underwater or reach a flooded route the Crew couldn't otherwise touch. Flaw: reckless below the surface, goes deaf to a countdown the second she's in the water, and deeply, seriously superstitious about which tunnels are cursed, which she will refuse to enter, no matter what's down there, no matter who's begging.
62	Manolis the Locksmith. A blind old craftsman who reads a lock by touch alone and has never met a Vivid mechanism he couldn't talk his way through, given the time and a comfortable chair. Help: +1 to open any physical lock, plus a running lecture on how shoddy and soulless modern security has become. Flaw: he is slow, he is thorough, he will not be hurried by sirens, alarms, or the sound of the Crew quietly panicking, because a lock is a conversation and he refuses to be rude to it.
63	Firefly. A pyrotechnician's apprentice who never got to practise the trade legally and now hoards a bathtub of experiments in a bricked-up flat, humming with barely-contained enthusiasm and barely-contained explosives. Help: +1 to build or safely handle anything that burns, flashes, or bangs. Flaw: wildly, catastrophically overestimates every charge, and "just a little one, trust me" from Firefly has never once in recorded history been little, and the Crew knows this, and asks anyway, because the big ones are glorious.
64	The Concierge. A doorman at a Vivid tower who's spent twenty years being invisible to the rich and now quietly, patiently, incandescently hates every one of them. Help: a way past the lobby, and the daily habits, weaknesses, and secrets of everyone who lives upstairs, filed in a memory sharpened by two decades of being ignored. Flaw: cannot be seen helping, ever, and if the Crew burns his cover he loses the only job keeping his family housed, so his help comes wrapped in a fear that makes him cautious to the point of useless right when boldness would save them.
65	Yiannoula. A tiny, ferocious grandmother who's outlasted three eviction notices and holds the corner flat overlooking the whole junction like a fortress she was born to defend. Help: a lookout post nobody would ever suspect, and coffee whether the Crew wants it or not. Flaw: she keeps a whistle and a temper of legendary proportions, and she will personally, gleefully, start the entire scene, whistle screaming, if she decides someone down there deserves it, and her judgement of who deserves it is swift, final, and occasionally aimed at the Crew.
66	The Ghost DJ. The current voice of the Underground Radio, face unknown, who narrates the crews' best nights into legend and has never once been caught, or seen, or proven to be only one person. Help: the Radio can turn a Score into a citywide event, whip a crowd out of nowhere, or feed the Crew a patrol route live mid-run. Flaw: broadcasting is a beacon, every minute on air draws Talos triangulation closer, and bringing Heat to the nest could silence the one voice holding the whole scene together, so leaning on the Radio too hard is a way to lose it forever.

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