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#Post#: 20476--------------------------------------------------
RIFTS Earth WIP: Thomas "Tommy" Dalton
By: Raven Tepes Date: November 21, 2025, 1:27 am
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“Ah yes, cybernetic enhancements—because nothing says ‘quality
of life’ like rebooting your left arm mid-battle and hoping the
warranty covers demon claw damage. Still, I gotta admit… once
you get past the blinking error messages and the occasional
system shock, it’s kinda nice being part toaster in the 41st
century.”
~ Thomas Dalton
“Fight a hundred battles for the Coalition, they pin a medal on
you. Fight a hundred more, they turn you into a walking science
project. Nothing boosts morale like realizing your ‘mandatory
upgrades’ cost more than your entire squad… and somehow you’re
the one paying for them.”
~ Thomas Dalton
“I didn’t walk away from the Coalition because of politics or
pay. I left because one day they pointed at a quiet little
village in the Michigan wastes and told us it was a threat. All
I saw were families… scared kids hiding behind their mothers. If
that’s what they call ‘the enemy,’ then I’m fighting on the
wrong side. Simple as that.”
~ Thomas Dalton
“Swapped the Coalition’s marching orders for Neo-Tokyo’s neon
chaos, and honestly? Best glitch I ever followed. Joined up with
the New Star Rifters—geniuses, weirdos, and dimensional
thrill-seekers with more degrees than common sense. They’re a
mess… but they’re my mess. And for the first time in a long
time, I feel like I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.”
~ Thomas Dalton
“People think I fight sloppy because I cr@ck jokes while dodging
laser fire. Truth is, I’m disciplined to the bone—just prefer my
battlefield with a side of sarcasm. Keeps the nerves steady, the
aim sharp, and the monsters confused long enough for me to put
‘em down clean.”
~ Thomas Dalton
“Dalton? Yeah, I survived him… somehow. Thought he was screwing
around the whole fight—cr@cking jokes, rolling his eyes, acting
like he was late for lunch. Then he moved. Clean. Precise. Like
every sarcastic word was just a countdown to the moment he took
you apart. Trust me… you don’t realize how scary discipline is
‘til it’s smiling at you.”
~ An enemy Coalition soldier who survived a battle in the
Michigan wastelands
Blaster fire erupts through the ruined corridor of an abandoned
tech bunker. Sparks rain down as Tommy Dalton slides behind a
shattered console. A Coalition soldier—helmeted, armored, and
furious—advances. Coalition Soldier: Dalton! Traitor! You
should’ve stayed with your unit!
Tommy: He ducks a burst of gunfire. Yeah, well, I got tired of
the dental plan. And the whole “shoot innocent people” perk
wasn’t really my thing.
Coalition Soldier: He charges. You abandoned your oath!
Tommy: He blocks the soldier’s vibro-knife with his cybernetic
arm. I abandoned you guys after you forgot what an oath actually
means.
Coalition Soldier: He grunts, pushing harder. All supernaturals
are threats! You know that!
Tommy: Buddy, you’d call a kid with a third eye a WMD if it
blinked too fast.
Coalition Soldier: He pulls back to strike again. Doesn’t
matter. We’ll tear out those implants and remind you what
loyalty is.
Tommy: He dodges, delivering a lightning-fast counterstrike.
Good luck. The implants and I have a pretty committed
relationship. Therapy and everything.
Coalition Soldier: He stumbles, bleeding. You think your sarcasm
will save you?
Tommy: No, but it does make beating you way more fun.
Coalition Soldier: Desperate, firing wildly. The Coalition will
hunt you forever!
Tommy: He vaults over debris, landing a precise blow that knocks
the rifle away. Get in line. Monsters, warlords, rogue AIs, my
landlord—everybody wants a piece of me.
Coalition Soldier: On one knee. You… should’ve died with honor.
Tommy: He aims his sidearm calmly. Nah. I think I’ll live with a
conscience instead.
A final disarming strike sends the soldier collapsing to the
floor as Tommy steps back, breathing hard but composed.
Tommy: Told you—discipline and sarcasm. Killer combo.
Neo-Tokyo’s skyline glows in neon blues and magentas beyond the
balcony of the Rifters’ loft. Hovercraft hum in the distance.
Tommy leans against the railing, tinkering with a small
cybernetic component. Feling Tigress pads over quietly, tail
swaying with casual rhythm. Feling: You’re poking that implant
like it insulted your mother, Tommy. Everything functioning in
there?
Tommy: Smirking. Define “functioning.” If you mean it only
shocks me twice a day now, then yeah—I’m thriving.
Feling: Light laugh, fangs flashing briefly. You humans and your
tiny electric problems. Try growing up with a ringmaster who
thought “training day” meant dodging exploding knives.
Tommy: Sounds like a fun childhood. Real Hallmark stuff.
Feling: Oh, absolutely. Nothing builds character like dodging
knives and demons before breakfast. But you… You look tense
tonight. Not your usual charmingly sarcastic self.
Tommy: He shrugs, still fiddling with the part. Just thinking.
Coalition’s still out there. Ran into another patrol last week.
They’re getting closer.
Feling: She leans beside him, warm but firm. Let them come.
You’re with the New Star Rifters now. We handle angry things
from angry places on a weekly basis. Some guys from your old
squad aren’t that scary in comparison.
Tommy: Yeah, well, they usually travel in packs. Packs with rail
guns.
Feling: And we travel with a genetically engineered tiger-lady,
a psychic botanist, two quantum physicists who keep trying to
explode reality on purpose, and you.
I like our odds.
Tommy: He finally laughs softly. Point taken. Honestly… never
thought I’d find a crew this mismatched and still feel like I
belong.
Feling: She nudges him with her shoulder. That’s the trick,
Dalton. Everyone here belongs because they don’t fit anywhere
else. You? You’re perfect for us—sarcastic, loyal, weird tech
bits and all.
Tommy: You’re gonna make me blush. My circuits might short out.
Feling: She grins, tail swishing. If they do, I’ll just get our
tech-mage to glue you back together. Now come inside. The others
ordered takeout and I can smell the noodles. Even with your
human senses, you should be able to, too.
Tommy: He pushes off the railing. Lead the way, Boss Tigress.
Feling: Please—call me Feling. Or “the warm, cuddly nightmare
that runs this place.” Either works.
Tommy: He follows her in. Yeah… I definitely joined the right
team.
Name: Thomas Dalton
Nicknames: Tommy, Tom
Age: 29 years old
Species: Cybernetically Enhanced Human
Gender: Male
Height: 6'1"
Weight: 215 lbs
Organization: New Star Rifters
~ Rank: Member, Combat Expert
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