Sir has three main cybernetic attachments: his right leg, his left hand, and the skull plate on his head. All three are powered by an internal power supply of of unknown type and charge. He knows it has a limited supply (in tens of years) but doesn’t know how much exactly. He just relegates himself to a timer: simply to expire when the power runs out.
On his medical knowledge:
His professional knowledge as a doctor is one of the only things that remained after waking up in the hospital. He assumes he was a doctor before but upon waking up he had no desire to pursue it as a profession. Despite the lack of title he will still hold to the creeds of being a doctor and will not intentionally let a patient die. He does not, however have any problem with refusing treatment if he see’s a justifiable reason.
Carries a rapier and a knife. Considers swords to be a “gentleman’s weapon” as opposed to the barbaric gun. Leather jacket. Bowler cap at times when it suits him.
Not much is know about Sir-… No, thats not right. I think it would be more accurate to say that “Sir doesn’t doesn’t know much” or even “Not many know Sir.” He is a strange case indeed. Always appearing at odd times and often leaving behind a trail of strange events. Standing 5’9" he has a lean sort of build. He appears to be in his late 30s but his age is not known for sure and he would chide you for asking such. On an average day he will dress in standard travelling clothes with a worn leather jacket and black shoes that have seen better days. At times he will wear a bowler cap to hide the metal plates on his skull.
Sir has an exciting history— or so he assumes it was based on his current condition and the fact that he does not remember anything previous to a waking up in a hospital bed one day. “What happened?” he asked the doctor who stood checking his charts. “You were found in the street with multiple bullet wounds and nearly dead,” replied the doctor “we had to replace your leg and hand seeing as… well, they were missing.” “Missing?” “Yessir, nowhere to be found.” Pushing back the covers revealed a robotic leg which ‘flexing’ felt to be of similar strength to his other which is why he hadn’t noticed it before, as with the hand. “There is also one other… repair… we had to do.” “Being?” “Well, sir, you received a bullet wound to the head and part of your brain was damaged. We fixed what we could but you may never regain any of your memory back.” He tapped the left side of his skull where instead of hair he found a metal plate contoured to fit, strectch from the back, up around the ear down to the previous location of his eyebrow, “What is it you keep calling me? Sir?” “Yes, uh, sir?” The doctor looked confused. Throwing off the covers he stood and began to put on his clothes, “Well my O2 levels look normal, my white blood cell count is up, and the prosethetics have fully integrated so I shall be on my way.” Before the doctor could even realize what was going on he was out the door, belongings in hand. At the checkout the lady greeted him, “Afternoon, sir.”
“Is that my name?”
“Is what your name, sir?”
“I… don’t follow,” the same look as the doctor now crossing her face.
“No, its just—”
“Well everyone is calling me that so it must be my name, and now that you have it I shall be on my way. Good day!”
He walked out the front door and just started walking. Not sure where to but it mattered little to him. Since then he has been walking ever since.