Redneck Runs (GMs ONLY - SPOILERS), All ah need is mah truck an' mah thirty-thirty. Options

[Koekepan]

In the Green Grocer mark-up thread, discussion turned to all sorts of wonderful runs which the food production industry could give rise to.

This is a topic with so much potential for wonderful options, that I decided to call upon the GMs of Dumpshock to throw together a few collaboratively designed runs, and to kick it off, I'll try my hand at one.

Background:

This run is a data steal, but not your daddy's data steal, no sir. It's all about genes and technology.

The parties:

Big Billy Hendrickson is an independent holdout, standing against the encroachment of Big Ag with a combination of sass and savvy. He wears his coveralls and a straw stetson like his grampaw did in '04, but he's a smart sumbitch even though he drawls like a West Texas redneck - which is precisely what he is.

Western Organics is a joint venture between two subdivisions of Aztechnology, and is dedicated to increasing stakeholder value in cooperation with civil authorities and public interest watchdogs well funded by forward-looking, public-spirited corporations like Aztechnology. They wait for farms to go broke because of drought, mismanagement, or unfavourable market conditions, or simply get sold to pay crippling estate taxes, which companies like Aztechnology will certainly pay, but only when they turn mortal and die.

The problem:

Big Billy Hendrickson grew him a bull, a bull the likes of which Zeus turned into when he wanted to get some serious seduction done. Six foot at the shoulder, if it's an inch, broader than Auntie May's ass, muscled like Bubba, but with an appetite like Lean Carson, who just lives off chaw and rye. A bull like this means good times, a new truck and a prom dress for Li'l Candy which ain't handed down.

The funny thing is that not long after that bull (named Lester, after Bubba's uncle who opened on the high school defensive line) started growing his horns out, a bunch of steers looking mighty close to Lester started showing up on poor ol' Skeeter's farm, which now belongs to Western Organics. Real close, down to the white star on the muzzle.

The proposition:

"Boys, I know they done stole Lester's genetics. They musta. No way this is coincidence. Lester's from mah own herd, bred his whole line mahself. Ol' Skeeter never had nuthin' on his land but them crazy Brahmin cattle, and I'd swear at the altar they never trucked in no herd. Somehow they copied Lester, an' they're turnin' out steers like funnelcake."

"I don't want them steers. I want samples so I can get a lab to check 'em. And I want some kinda records, proof what they did an' how. Mah cousin's a real good lawyer, an' ah figger on gettin' them punitive damages. Yes, sir, ol' Skeeter's land'll be mine afore we're through here."

The facts:

The steers are clones, of course. Lots and lots of clones, and the only way one turns out clones like that is if one has the source material. Western Organics pulled a run of their own, took a quiet little flesh sample off Lester, and started their biotech engines. Their only problem was being dog-ass dumb enough to do it right next to where they found Lester. That's because they thought they'd roll right over Big Billy.

There's an installation built inside Skeeter's old barn, where the stalls were converted to stacked clone tanks, and there's a central system which retains a base reservoir of pluripotent cells. In addition, flesh samples from the steers will confirm Lester's genetics.

The data showing the plans of the corp are elsewhere, on the commlink based in ol' Skeeter's house, which is now under expansion to be the farm manager's hacienda, and occasional resort and dude ranch for corp execs. This means that is a higher security building, although the ongoing construction offers entries.

Records of data still available make it pretty clear that the farm manager was instructed to get Lester's genetics by hook or by crook, with the signature of a pretty senior corp boss on it.

Some complications:

Billy can't easily pay them wads of cash, but he can pay them in kind: a few thousand pounds of real meat, in a refrigerated truck, which they can resell for their own purposes in the location of their choice. How they achieve this is up to them. Also, he can offer them some of his own distilled fuel alcohol, for personal use, resale, or ... personal use. He can also offer a discreet place in a gully to put an old trailer if they need a place to lie low.

Awakened critters. Even if it's only one in ten thousand, ten thousand is nothing when they also have chicken barns of two hundred thousand birds apiece. Also, they haven't realised what Big Billy has dealt with for years, in terms of managing the rattlers. Venomous snakes? Maybe some of them are awakened too.

Transport. This, folks, is the sticks. Way out in the middle of nowhere, so freaking remote that one can still clearly see the stars.

Medicine. If you're in a hurry, there's the horse doctor. If you're in a bit less of a hurry, maybe a Navajo medicine man, and if you have lots of time, what the hell's the problem?

Aftermath ideas:

Maybe Western Organics doesn't want to play nice, and it comes down to a test of wills and firepower. Maybe Billy will have another job for them, clearing out a den of rattlers.

Maybe Western Organics takes li'l Candy for an unscheduled trip, and Billy wants her back.

Maybe one of Billy's neighbours wants someone to investigate the unearthly lights and howls on a remote corner of his property, or there's a garbled message coming through about blood-worshippin' priests?

This is just my first idea. Anyone want to put some bones on it? Maybe stat out some of the players, the Matrix stats of the equipment on the Western Organics farm?