Mind Benders, a short story showcasing SR4 concepts Options

[Oracle]

Elf pr0n! ^^ Great stuff Backgammon! Keep on writing!

[eidolon]

I gotta catch some sleep for work, so I've only read the first part (I'll have to finish tomorrow).

Looking good so far. One minor nitpick though. I know you're working on showcasing the world and the fact that it's shadowrun, but maybe lay off the "said the shadowrunner"..."the shadowrunner sat down"..."looked at the shadowrunner". I think stories set in well known settings work so much better when the keys are much less forced.

I've leveled the same critique at a lot of fanfic, so don't take it personally. I just think that showing us that he's a shadowrunner is ten times as effective as telling us that he's one. It's the difference between "Job, the Street Samurai^tm, ran a quick diagnostic of his smartlink system, knowing full well that he might have to use it later in the day", and "Job ran a quick diagnostic of his smartlink system...".

It makes your reader feel as though he or she is being coddled, as though the reader needed pop-up text to follow the story. You have to take into account what your most likely audience already knows. In this case, your audience (DS members) is likely intimately familiar with the concept of a shadowrunner. They don't need the constant reminder, and after one or two times, it quickly becomes annoying. Also, when using these kinds of "helpers", you have to ask yourself if they really are self explanatory. For example, a reader that isn't familiar with Shadowrun isn't having their understanding of the story furthered by being told that the character is a "shadowrunner". (You would have had to establish this at some point, if the audience was the general public. However, in this particular case, I would think that a blurb about what a shadowrunner is and does in the synopsis would be enough. Once you've established there that the character is a shadowrunner, one who performs criminal acts in the shadows of society [or however you chose to describe it to the reader], you've provided them with the context needed to discern that the main character is a shadowrunner, simply from his actions in the story.

Sorry if this is too long winded. Again, it's pretty minor, and I'm liking the story. I'll catch up tomorrow. :)

[Backgammon]

Hmm, I appreciate that critique, eidolon. I'm not using it to remind, or enforce the thought, that James is a shadowrunner. I'm just trying to avoid saying "James did this, James did that" all the time, you know, not say 'James' all the time. "The shadowrunner" is the only alternative I could find. What other ways of refering to him do you think I could use?

[Aaron]

[Aaron]

[X-Kalibur]

[PH3NOmenon]

Excellent addition to the story, i mean come on... porn... what's not to like?


(apparently you thought this bit was good too, as there are a few typos in there... ;) )



keep up the good work B!

[Pallantides]

Excellent stuff B (and I'm not just talking about the porn :grinbig: ).

Looking forward to the next addition.

[GB1]

wow!! "...a common effect of combat stress."

IMO: many ppl can't pull off a good car chase. Even more ppl can't write a good sex scene (look how unrealistic mainstreamTV and Hollywood makes them).

You owned on both counts.

Car chase:
a) I like that it wasn't breaking all kinds of laws of averages and physics as they drive for 16hrs in downtown traffic at rush hour, while making hairpin turns that would break a car's axel in RL.
b) The reader had no problem visualising and felt "the rush" of the chase.

Sex:
a) I like that you didn't have to resort to only swearing to describe the actions.
b) Sometimes guys can feel self-conscious that we find women beautiful in hardcore sexual positions, i'm glad James didn't.
c) I love the fact that you added that she finished herself off. Too often fiction forgets that women can cum, too.

Nicely done, B!

[Backgammon]

Ah, good to hear GB1. This was indeed the hardest scene to write, and I think also the most challenging piece i've ever written. All the points you bring up are things I was aiming for.

BTW, my style of writting for this story if heavily influenced by Richard Morgan's books. I highly recommend the Kovaks trilogy, starting with Altered Carbons. IMO the best post-cyberpunk literature out there.

[Backgammon]

They made love again, in the middle of the night. It was slower this time, she on top, the blankets wrapping around her buttock. She clenched and clawed his chest in the passion of her climax, then they slumped back down and slept soundly till morning.

When James woke, he saw there was a box of McHugh’s Morning Muffins on the table. One muffin wrapper was left discarded on the table, a few muffin crumbs around it. The shower was running.

He got up and rummaged through the box. Healthy food. I hate healthy food for breakfast, his lazy morning mind complained. He grabbed a brown muffin and took a bite. Oh, wait, she’s an elf, can’t eat meat. Images of sausages and bacon faded from his mind.

He was naked, but needed to take a shower also, so he sat on the corner of the bed and waited. He was too groggy to do anything, so he simply stared outside while he waited for Krissy to finish her shower.

It didn’t take long. She emerged, towel around her. He looked up at her. She smiled embarrassingly and looked away. “Don’t look at me, I don’t have any makeup on” she said, blushing. But he did. She did look different. Without the black lining of her mascara and the purple of her lipstick, she looked much... softer, vulnerable, now. Her lips were a pale shade of pink. It reminded him of her other pink parts. He felt his dick stiffen just a bit. Since he was sitting naked on the bed, she noticed. Neither said anything though.

“I gotta take a shower too” he mumbled shyly, and went towards the bathroom.

“I left you a towel. And did you see the muffins I got?”

“Yeah” he called back from the bathroom. “I had one. Was alright.” He peed, then turned on the shower to wash. He put it hot, steaming up the small room. It felt good, invigorating him. He took a long shower, passing long moments letting the water wash over his face. He was thinking. The night had allowed his subconscious mind to analyse the rushed events of the previous day, and to find hidden truths. A lot was going on. This run was going to be very complicated. Something about Rosio. Something... about.. Ro.. sio. Doesn’t add up. He’s connected. Someone else is involved here. The hit team... the painting. His mind then passed into a non-verbal sort of thinking, analysing sensations rather than conscious thoughts. Then there’s Krissy. Krissy...

He ended his showering and went back into the room to change. Krissy was fully dressed into new clothes, and was applying the final touches to her makeup. She looked again like the girl he knew.

“I went back to my room to get some clothes. It’s grey outside. I think it’s going to rain. Take more muffins if you like, I don’t eat much...” She was back into talking-machine mode. She jumped subject to subject as she applied lining to her lips, smacking them together when she was done, checking herself out in the mirror. James was calmly putting on his clothes, not saying anything. She kept talking anyway.

He interrupted her. “You’re not an adept, are you.”

She paused. His non sequitur stunned her. He turned to look at her. She held her lining pencil loosely in one hand, lips parted, eyes wide and searching his. She couldn’t say anything. He waited for her to answer.

“Whu, I... I...” she started, blinking.

“You’re not an adept. I know. You lied so I would take you” are you even an elf?, he felt like adding, but thought it perhaps out of line.

She snapped her mouth shut and looked sideways at the floor. “So. You know. Are you going to throw me away, now? Was that the plan all along?” she gained momentum, getting angry as thoughts and hurt swirled in her head. “Did you just want to fuck your elf and then tell her to fuck off, is that it? Get some elf pussy? You look at my ears as much as you look at my tits, you think I don’t know?”

James narrowed his eyes at her. He hadn’t been angry at her, but... she was a dangerously unsettling mix of out of line and hitting close to home. He swallowed the urge to slap her across the face. “Why would I get rid of you, liars make great shadowrunners. The way you played me, you should be a pro at this in no time”

He was mean. He just wanted to cause some hurt to her. It succeeded. Her eyes, moist before, now swelled with tears. She wiped a hand across them, smudging her mascara a bit. “Fuck you” she said intently in a low voice, then rushed out the motel room.

James watched her go. He felt like there was a lump of something mushy and warm inside his chest. He swallowed. There was a pause. Then he roared and ran his arm over the desk, sending a clock and what else was on it flying through the air to crash against the wall. “FUCK!” he bellowed in frustration. Smooth James, real smooth. He kicked the leg of a chair, tipping it over. He sighed, calm returning to him.

He left his room and walked to Krissy’s. He stood before it, unsure how to proceed, then raised a fist to knock. But the door opened just then, and he was face to face with Krissy. She was startled to see him. Her teary mascara had leaked lines down her cheeks. She had her bag in her arms. She stared at him.

“Krissy...” he said, looking away, running a hand through his hair. She said nothing. “Look, I didn’t mean to... I’m sorry, this isn’t what I wanted.” She relaxed her pose a little, looking away also. “I don’t want you to leave.”

“I don’t need you, you know” she started, afraid to open up, protecting herself with words of strength. “I’m not just gonna be your fuck whore while you go and do the shadowruns, so if you think it’s going to be like that –“

He cut her off “No, no, that’s not... We’re partners. I need your help. It’s not like I’m an adept either, you know. It’s not a requisite to do this job.”

She lowered her eyes, defences going down. She looked back at him, made a small smile. “Okay.” She nodded. “Partners, then.”

“Okay” he echoed. They stared at each other, the rest of the conversation that should have happened, left silent. Where does that leave us, romantically? James didn’t know. Maybe I do know. Maybe I’m afraid. The thought, a tiny voice in the back of his head. He ignored it.

“Well then, let’s plan crime” he said, cheerfully. She smiled and laughed a little.

[Lagomorph]

heh so much for krissy having kinisics! (Kinesics, or how ever it's spelled)

[Backgammon]

“So you’re saying Rosio has backing? Who?”

Krissy and James sat around the small table in his room. Their commlinks were on the table, both looking over the documents and research they had acquired about the job. He had the cyber to display his Augmented Reality overlay, but she was using store bought trodes. They were Panasonic ones, trendy. She’d asked him the question after James had shared his conclusions with her.

“That’s the thing, I don’t know. But it just doesn’t add up” He said, trying to figure it out as he thought about it. “I checked with my sources. Good sources. No Zoltaire has been stolen. Most are privately owned though. But there’s no way Rosio, even fanciful art collector that he is, could have gotten his hands on a Zoltaire. They’re expensive, for one, but you also have to be somebody, you know, respectable, to get one.” He tilted his head, acknowledging his own counter argument. “Could be, though, that he bought it from a previous owner, but I doubt that. I think it’s a gift. And whoever gave him that, whoever is close enough to a fucked up drug dealer to give him something like that, can’t be all that much of a nice person. The kind that tried to kill you when you sniff too close to Rosio.”

James leaned back into his chair, crossing his arms, thinking. Krissy mimicked his movement.

“So... do we need to know who it is, really? I mean, when we steal the painting, whatever, he won’t find us” she articulated, in a way that let James easily dismiss her thought if he chose to.

He took her words seriously, however. “Yeah, maybe. But if we fuck up somehow, well, we’re gonna end up with more trouble than we bargained for.” He exhaled. “Maybe we just have to not fuck up, then, huh?”

“I’m not afraid of any goon squad. Rosio is a fuck. Let’s just get the painting. Not fuck up. And if we do, we’ll deal with it” she said with bravery. James thought it over. “Or do you want to run up some leads, try to figure out who’s the mysterious backer is?” she added when he didn’t immediately answer.

“No, I think you’re right. Fuck it. If we start asking questions, we might attract even more attention, and that might lead to Rosio beefing up security, and if we’re really unlucky, moving the painting. Right now, we got some heat on us, but no one knows we’re going after the painting. We’ll grab it, and hopefully vanish without any trouble.” He tapped his hands against the table, involuntary gesture signalling his decision made. He put his hand on her’s and smiled. She smiled back.

“Now, let’s get prepared. We’re gonna need to get some stuff. Guns, thief gear, that sort of stuff.”

“Oh, guns! Let me do guns, I can do guns! I know tons of guys. One guy owes me a favour, I can get some good stuff” she piped in cheerfully, glad to be able to cover something.

“Yeah?” Did you sleep with him?, crossed his mind, but it was unfair. He discarded the thought.

“Yeah!” she answered happily.

“Ok, you do that. I got my usual guy for some of the more high-end thief shit, but if I give you a list of street stuff, can you get that too?”

“Sure!”

He wrote down the types of weapons he wanted, for both of them, and some more items they would need. She left, James reluctantly letting her take the car and handing her some money for the gear. He hoped she wouldn’t get killed. It was a sucky thought to have, but in the shadows, it was always a possibility, even when you went out for a proverbial milk run. Meanwhile, James delved in the Matrix in full Virtual Reality mode, heading for the virtual room where he met his supplier.

The matrix room’s metaphor was a pond. A lake. Whatever. In the middle of it bobbed a small, wooden boat. James appeared in the boat. His icon was that of a normal person. Not himself. His features were anonymous. He wore fishing clothes, baits and other gear attached to his khaki vest. His line was in he water. There were no ripples on the surface of the water, no wind. The sky was the thin grey overcast type that still let diffuse sunlight through.

James narrowed his eyes and looked at the distant shore, all trees. He tugged his line a bit, causing the water to ply and ripple at the movement. He wondered if there was anything in the water. He wondered how deep the water was. He wondered if there were any monsters in the water. It made him uneasy. A fear stirred at the bottom of his stomach. James felt silly. What am I, a child, afraid of bedtime monsters? This isn’t even real! He laughed at himself, chuckling. But the fear did not go away.

After what was either minutes or hours, he suddenly became aware there was someone sitting in front of him, immobile as he, staring into the water where his own line was cast.

“Figaro.”, greeted the man. His icon was similarly dressed as James’, but his was an old man, white hair. He also had far more detail in his face, the wrinkles, the detail of each hair.

“Terrence.” James greeted back. They sat in silence for a few minutes more. James knew not to rush him. After a while, the old man pulled his line, and half stood to cast it further, somewhere else in the water. James took the breaking of the placidity as a cue.

“Need some gear, old man” he said.

“Of course you do” answered his supplier, his voice old and throaty.

James mentally uploaded the list of things he needed. Terrence’s gaze lost its focus for a second as he mentally and near seamlessly analysed the request.

“Eight thousand” stated the supplier. James nodded. He didn’t have to argue, he knew the price fair, as they had been doing business for a long time now. “Okay.” He uploaded the funds.

“You got yerself a partner, Fig? Everything in double...” casually dropped the fisherman, rearing his line in.

James couldn’t help but smile. It felt good, for some reason. “Suppose I did, Terrence. Suppose I did.”

“Ah” nodded the old man nonchalantly.

James was about to will himself out of the room, but stopped himself. “Say, old man... are there monsters underneath all this water?” he asked quizzically.

The old fisherman didn’t answer at first, simply reeling his line. Then he looked at James, for the first time, serious. “All lakes have monsters” he answered, deadpan.

James stared back. The old man returned his stare out at the lake. James logged out of the host, and returned to reality.

He checked the clock. He’d been gone for ten minutes real time, though it had felt like hours. Krissy wouldn’t be back for some time, so James went ahead and opened up his AR overlay and started tracing a plan of entry for Rosio’s complex, scribbling what security he’d seen, as well as analysing the surrounding neighbourhood to plan their escape route.

Hours later, a knock on the door startled James awake. It was evening. He’d fallen asleep watching the trid. He noticed Krissy wasn’t back yet. Maybe that was her now. Maybe it isn’t, his shadowrunner’s mind warned him. He grabbed his gun and tiptoed to the door. Looking out the eyehole, he saw a big ruddy orc face. He readied his gun. He was about to lock in the security chain, but he realised it wouldn’t do much against an orc. Shitty motel. He opened the door a crack, his gun pointing at the orc’s chest trough the door. “Yes?”

The orc was simply the motel manager demanding more money for the rooms. James made a grumpy noise and paid the man, watching him leave, still suspicious. However, just then, he saw headlights illuminate the parking lot, followed by a car pulling in to park right in front of James’ door. The headlights blinded him for a split second before his eye’s cybernetic flare compensation kicked in. The car was then turned off, and Krissy emerged. She waved at him. “Hi baby!” she said. James cocked an eyebrow.

He stepped outside, looking left and right to see if anyone was around. All was quiet. He approached her. She giggled. “Misshion accomplished, boss” she said, saluting. He narrowed his eyes again, detecting a slight slur in her speech. “You been drinkin?” he asked her?

“Only a little... I SWEAR!” she exclaimed, seeing his distrustful look. “With K-Lang... For the guns!” her eyes widened and she lowered her voice, realising she shouldn’t be yelling about guns. “For the guns!” she re-stated, less loudly. “Look!” she said, moving towards the car’s trunk.

James, still gun in hand, tried without avail to find a hiding place for his weapon on himself. He walked close to the car and kept the firearm between his legs and the vehicle’s body, where it could not really be seen. He checked inside the trunk Krissy had opened.

There was a jumbled mess of items, all the things that were on the list, and a few others too. In forefront were the two black-with-red-lining HK 227X submachine guns he had asked her to get. He lifted his eyebrows. “Wow, good job. Now close the freakin trunk and get inside before someone sees us”

“Okhay” she stated, and did so.

James returned inside his room, Krissy in tow. At the door’s threshold, he turned around to face her and blocked the way in. She smiled seductively and bit the corner of her lower lip. “Uh, I think tonight you should sleep in your own room, Krissy.”

Her face took an innocent, hurt expression. “You don’t like me anymore?” she squeaked.

“No, no, it’s not that Krissy, we have a big day tomorrow, and you look kinda plastered, so...”

She took it well. “Okhay! I’ll see you tomorrow then, partner!”. She quickly leaned in and kissed him on the lips wither her warm mouth, biting his lower lip a little. She retracted and giggled, then headed for her room. James watched her go. He looked down at the sway of her butt. She gave him a final smile before going into her room.

James sighed, then closed his door and went back into his room. Did I just NOT fuck the shit out of this girl? Is there something wrong with me? He turned on the trid. It was news. He tried to listen, but couldn't. He grunted, giving in to the obvious. He thought of Krissy and masturbated, then surfed the matrix a bit before going to bed.

[UndeadPoet]

Good fanfiction. I would hand this to any new SR player to introduce him into the world. God, I would hand it to any player in my group to let them finally get a clue.
They think it's all dragons and magic.
Anyway, I, personally, do not like this playing with stereotypes. Still the best way to introduce newbies, especially with this style. You get a great feeling of the shadowrun world(which has to be shown throughout stereotypes first, of course), and that, I believe, is your aim.

[Cang]

That was really good. I can't wait to hear the rest. I really enjoyed it! :cyber:

[Backgammon]

James woke with a start from a nightmare. It had been a despondent dream that left him with a residual feeling of darkness. He lay in bed for a moment, listening to the quiet. His senses slowly expanded outwards, till he heard the traffic of the nearby highway outside, and then pass that to the city itself and far away perpetual sirens. His clock indicated the wee hours of the morning.

James uncovered himself from his blankets and swung his feet to the edge of the bed and got up. He poured himself some alcohol that he fished out of his luggage, the motel room having no liquor bar. Any good shadowrunner always had a supply of liquor around. It was good for thinking.

And thinking is what James did. Again, his mind wrestling with images of the soft skinned elf. At the bar, the first time. In his car, talking about nothing. In his bed, her hot flesh wrapped around his. But of his dream had emerged new thoughts and calculations that hadn’t hit consciousness till now.

What if she’s a planted agent, gaining my trust till... what? She works for a past enemy, back for revenge? She’s cop? She’s working for Mr. Barrow? Would explain how easy she got me in. All a play from him to bleed me money, somehow. Working for Rosio’s mysterious backer, been on to me since Vikov gave me the job? What?

The possibilities, frankly, were endless. “In my line of work... how can I ever trust her?” James realised he was speaking his thoughts out loud now. He sipped his liquor. His thoughts ran, half his mind playing his own devil’s advocate. But I want to trust her. So bad. I WANT to (I want to fuck her). I keep coming up with reasons not to. And I keep seeing she’s done nothing to indicate she’s out to betray me (maybe she’s that good). There’s no reason ever to have trusted her. But I’ve let her so close to me (in love)...

...(in love)...

In love.

I am. I’m in love ( a death sentence to a shadowrunner). I can’t trust her, not now. That’s settled then. But what if I had her sit this one out. Her timing, if she is out to betray me, it’s almost assuredly for this job. So I have her sit it out. If she’s out to betray me, it’ll force her hand early, and I can get her. If not, she won’t mind sitting it out that much, and I’ll know (or will I). Or will I? Maybe it’s just about gaining my trust, whatever means. Anything I do will lead me into her hands (soft hands).

He turned his head and stared out the window. He had a good view of the cityscape from here. Tall shadows with lit squares. The luminous path of the street lamps lining the highway, curving into the city, seemingly feeding it light. He swallowed more of his drink.

What life have I chosen that I must deny myself love. What’s left for me, then? Money. He closed his eyes and the images of her came to him, a kaleidoscope of the smell of her hair, the feel of her skin and the raging of his own heart at her moans and adorations. Intoxication.

Shall I deliver myself to my death? For her skin? (Of course not). Why do I want to?

No conscious plan, resolution or decision reached his mind. His mind, defeated and confused, sat this one out and relinquished control to his body. Obediently, devoid of sense or affection, his body carried him though the motions. He packed his gear. He wrote her a note. The words nearly broke into the wall his mind erected to protect him, but somehow didn’t. They were honest. The words were, not he. He wasn’t there.

He left with the car.

[GB1]

can't wait for more...

[ZenOgre]

Please Back, tell us how the story ends?!?
Tell us more, hope you haven't forgotten about this (not so little) thread.

[PH3NOmenon]

soooooooooooooooo, gooooooooooooooooood.


More! :)


(please?)

[Backgammon]

Oh no I haven't forgotten! Just very busy of late. There will be more, I promise!

[Backgammon]

“So that’s it, Moz”, finished James, taking a sip of his beer. It felt good to unload his story on someone. Moz was a good friend of James, as far as shadowrunners had friends. In any case, Moz knew James’ real name and not simply ‘Figaro’, which in the shadows is certainly a testament of trust.

The orc grunted and nodded his head in sympathy. They drank their beer silently for a while in the smoky sports bar, shifting their gaze to the football game on the trid. The place was crowded enough. It was a mainstream establishment, the clientele mostly groups of friends eating ribs or chicken wings, watching sports on big screens. It was a place favoured by orcs, perhaps because the owner was one, but definitely because the portions were impressive.

James knew Moz from way back, when the orc first made the jump from ganger to shadowrunner. ‘Moz’ was short for Mozzarella, which he earned on account of being Italian-American and his fondness for automatic weapons and riddling people full of holes. In theory his name should probably have been ‘Swiss’, but the education level of street gangers being what it is, ‘Mozzarella’ was what he got. The orc liked the name though, so he still used it.

“Well it’s short notice, but I ain’t got nothing to do tonight...” he finally said. James turned his head and met his eyes. Moz winked at him in camaraderie and slapped him on the back. James smiled and chuckled.

“Alright, I was hoping you’d say that. I hope I don’t need you, but if things turn sour there’s no one I’d rather have covering my A.” James took a small white wire out of his pocket and handed one end to Moz, plugging the other end into his datajack. Moz did the same. The secure network established, James and Moz went over the plan details in a virtual room in their heads.

A few hours later, night fallen, they sat in the car, staring at Rosio’s building. The same barrel fires made small bulbs of light here and there. Even for seasoned professionals such as themselves, there was always a nervousness and anxiety right before stepping through the threshold of no return of a job. James took a deep breath and closed his eyes, the world slowing down to a few slow moving images in his mind, the space of a heartbeat. Rosio. The painting. A firefight. Death. No. The painting. Payment. Krissy. Krissy. No.

“Okay” he said, and quickly got out of the car in synchronicity with Moz. They had parked a small distance from the building, just out of the light of the barrel fires. They walked quickly towards the building. Moz carried a large sports bag that held all their gear. For now, they approached under the cover of innocence; just two guys come to buy drugs.

They entered the building, drawing only the attention of a few wretched junkies who weakly watched them walk by. Inside, the two passed by the main stairwell and headed for the elevators. The inside of the building was unlit, but both runners had the proper cybernetic vision enhancements to see just fine, though all there was to see was broken graffiti walls. They forced the elevator doors open and revealed the shaft. There was no power to the lifts, so of course no one ever used the elevators.

Having reached the second phase of the plan, James quickly began to change into his Chameleon suit, while Moz took out the HK227X, slapped a clip in and extended the stock. Getting in the skin-tight suit made James think of the second one he had gotten for Krissy. He chose not to think about that. They both finished pocketing the rest of the gear they would need, and then quickly and silently set up their climbing gear, and began their ascent.

They climbed two levels higher than Rosio’s floors, and forced open the elevator door. Moz swung himself out the door first, weapon shouldered and ready. The hallway was dark and still. James came out.

James looked at Moz, and the two silently exchanged words via wireless networking. Moz nodded, went back into the shaft and began closing the door. James activated his Chameleon suit, becoming a vague outline, and quickly made his way to the door of the apartment above Rosio’s room. He raised the monofilament chainsaw he carried and sliced effortlessly into the door, then entered the room. Confirming his positions on the map overlay his AR was running, he then went to work slicing up a manhole into the floor. He cut through the carpeted wooden floor, and also some wiring and small pipes. After just a few seconds, his sawed circle fell down into the floor below with just a bit of noise. James lowered himself down after it, landing with a soft thud.

This floor, the one right above Rosio’s, was patrolled. That was why he had begun his incursion on the floor above, and why his heart raced now. He stood immobile for very, very long seconds, listening intently. His hearing amplification cyber was cranked so high he though he would split the firmament and hear into astral space. He did discern the faint sounds of what might be footsteps in the hallway outside the apartment he was in. But if they were, they sounded like the normal slow pacing of a bored guard. So either I’m not even hearing anything, or the guard didn’t notice. Either way, no sound of alarm. Keep going.

He withdrew his silenced pistol from a fold in his chameleon suit and placed it down next to him, for quick access, just in case the guard did decide to come his way. Next part was the tricky part. He took out his micro drill and made a small hole, all the way through. Then he slid in a fibre optic cable, taking a glove off to touch it with his bare hand. The skinlink network complete, he opened a small screen in his AR overlay and piped in the cable’s feed.

As expected, Rosio was there. He sat behind his big mahogany desk, his feet raised on it. He was talking out loud, in a language James didn’t know, to no one. Hmm, he’s talking out loud into his commlink. James thought it extravagant behaviour. Most people, who didn’t have the hardware to communicate via thought, at least had the habit of subvocalising their speech when on the phone.

James frowned behind his chameleon mask. Shit, wasted opportunity. Could’ve just hacked his commlink to get rid of him had I known. Oh well. Bad or missing intelligence was a way of life for shadowrunners. It would require changing too much to do things this way, so James decided to stick to the plan. He mentally signalled Moz.

A few seconds later, the window giving into Rosio’s room shattered, accompanied by the zipping and thud sound of a bullet flying in and embedding itself in the wall. Rosio jumped up, confused, staring at the broken window. Then another bullet, and another flew in. The drug dealer screamed and hit the floor. The door leading into his room, the one James had come through when he met the dealer, swung open as his bodyguards rushed in, alarmed. A couple more bullets came in through the windows, causing Rosio to scream in anger at his guards to do something. One of the oiled up muscular leather-clad guard ducked and ran to grab Rosio and quickly ushered him out of the room, while the other left the room, yelling at other guards to get organised and to go find the sniper.

Once everyone had left, James waited a few seconds more, then quickly grabbed his monosaw and went to work on the floor. He made four quick interconnecting slices. The debris fell down into the room. James tossed his saw and picked up his gun, replacing it in the folds of his suit. He then took the rope he carried, it too coated with ruthenium, attached one end inside the room, threw the line down and then lowered himself into Rosio’s office.

The sniper rifle mounted on the Smart Firing Platform they had set up outside would not distract them for very long. As soon as Rosio’s soldiers found it, they would figure out it was a diversion. James scurried to the far wall behind the desk, and looked at the painting. He expertly began checking for alarm traps, sliding his hand along the bottom of the frame. The painting was set up too high for him to check the sides and tops, so he grabbed Rosio’s chair and used it as a boost. He continued his careful inspection, but found nothing. James then reached into an internal pocket and took out his tiny radio signal scanner, checking the painting for bugs. Still he found none. Careless, Rosio, careless. Or maybe you thought no one would be dumb enough to steal this from you. Hmm. That last thought worried James for a second, Rosio’s mysterious backer coming back to haunt him. Too late for that now.

Just as James was about to lift the painting frame to bring down so he could remove the canvas, one of Rosio’s men walked in, speaking loudly into his commlink. James snapped his head in his direction at the surprise, and then stood completely still. He was standing on a chair, one hand under the frame, the other on the side, in the motion of raising and tilting. He would’ve looked ridiculously red-handed, had it not been for the chameleon suit’s invisibility effects.

The guard walked fast, crossing the room, heading towards the side door near the desk. Don’t see me, don’t see me, don’t see me thought James, repeating the wishful command like a mantra. But the goon didn’t see him, and opened the door and went in the room. James still stood immobile. What. The. Fuck. Shit, shit... can’t move, he’ll be back... his eyes focused on the debris on the floor, then on the hole in the ceiling. He could still hear the goon talking, just past the door’s threshold. Slowly, ever so slowly, James moved his right hand from under the painting towards the fold in his suit.

Just then, the goon said “Ok” with finality and headed back into Rosio’s office. He stopped halfway, looking at the small pile of wood debris on the floor. Then his eyes logically traced the route back up, to the hole in the ceiling. He emitted a puzzled “Whaaa the...?” then “SHIT!” as he figured it out. James swiftly pulled his silenced pistols out and shot the man several times. He fell.

“Moz, get ready” he communicated to his teammate. Without any further delay, he quickly got the frame off the wall and unceremoniously unclipped the canvas from it, rolled it up and stuck it in the ruthenium coated tube he had for it, then slung it onto his back. He ran back to under the hole and swung his hands around until he hit and caught the invisible rope. Grabbing it, he began climbing the distance upwards.

Just as he was about to reach the floor above, several guards came running into the room. After spotting their dead comrade, they looked around in confusion, until one looked up at James and yelled “There!”. Shit! James rushed the rest of the way. Evidently, only the one guard had thermal or ultrasound vision, so it bought him some times as the rest of the guards hesitated, not seeing anything themselves. However, the guard decided to simply open fire in James direction, and his buddies followed suit. James pulled himself into the room above just as bullets began smacking in the wood all around the hole. They did not penetrate through the roof/floor. Thankful for that, James rolled to his feet, picked up the saw and ran straight for the door. He plunged his saw into the wood and sliced it open.

Rushing into the hallway, he stopped dead and actually jumped back into the room when he saw the hallway guard, a heavy looking orc, facing him, assault rifle shouldered. The orc must’ve also been confused a split second by what his thermal overlay was showing that his normal sight wasn’t, giving James enough time to dodge for cover. The orc didn’t hesitate long though, as James heard the crack of automatic gunfire and the doorframe exploded into wooden shards, making an impressive fist-sized hole. Great, explosive rounds. James blindly stuck his arm out and returned fire with his pistol. “MOOOZ!” he screamed in his head.

Another volley of rounds blew big holes in the wall James used for cover, close to where he was. The situation reminded James too much of the ambush he had faced just a few days before. Maybe today it’s me, huh Sammy he thought, thinking of the gunman he had killed that day. He thought of the blood pouring out from the man’s eye. We can’t live in sin everyday and not bleed it all out in the end. James gritted his teeth and forced his concentration back again. Vague poetry. Combat stress. Stay with me, James he told himself.

Another volley of rounds razed the wall, lower, forcing James to throw himself on his back to avoid being cut in half. However, a different gunfire noise came to mingle with the loud rifle’s own, overtaking it. A brief moment of silence, then the voice of Moz in his head saying “Ok, let’s go man” .

James, back on the floor, pushed with his feet until his head popped just out the door and looked down the hallway. Moz, big black leather trench coat, submachine gun pointing down on the still form of the orc gunman sprawled out in the hallway, beckoned James to move it. James breathed a sigh of relief and got up, running down towards Moz and the elevator shaft.

Once there, they clipped themselves to the climbing rope. Moz quickly checked James' harness and gave him a thumbs-up. James jumped into the shaft and quickly rappelled down. He reached the bottom in three large jumps. Moz followed him, doing the same.

At the bottom, James picked up the crowbar they’d left there while Moz pressed his ear against the closed door. He glanced at James and nodded his head quickly. James pressed the tip of the crowbar against the door crack while Moz grabbed a grenade from himself. They waited a second, Moz nodded, and James forced open the door about half a meter. Moz threw his grenade in, and then they both plastered themselves against the unopened side of the door.

A hollow “poof” sounded, drowning out some screams, as the frag grenade went off, sending a bit of smoke flowing into the elevator shaft through the gap in the door. James wheeled and finished forcing the door open. Moz wheeled out, gun ready. James followed him. Two guards, burnt and bloodied from the explosion, crawled around confused on the floor. The two runners ignored them and rushed for the exit.

Kicking the door open, they came up against the back of a trio of goons standing about. At the sound of the door violently being opened, they made to turn, but Moz unmercilessly mowed them down with automatic fire. However, a second group, three dozen meters away from the building, turned and jumped for cover behind barrels and returned fire at the pair. Their fire was rushed and inaccurate, missing James and Moz but piercing two slow to react junkies, turning their chests into red volcanoes as the explosive rounds punched through their frail bodies.

Moz fired back a short burst, cursing as his clip ran out of bullets. James crouched and fired some rounds with his pistol, the silenced weapon somehow sounding elegant compared to the loud staccato of automatic fire. He got sparks from the barrel, and one hit on the arm of a goon. The flesh wound wouldn’t slow the thug down, James knew.

Amidst returning fire from the guards, Moz and James retreated towards their car. Moz turned to spew out covering fire every few meters. Not slowing to return fire, James made it to the car first. The thugs were giving chase, following in crouches and jerky dodges, as Moz fired on them. The orc managed to nail one good on his last burst. James saw the orc grimly smile in triumph as he ran some more towards the car, reloading at the same time. “More fun than a barrel of monkeys!” proclaimed James’ friend as he finally reached the car, crouching next to the hood for cover.

“Get in, I’m going to – SHIT!” James cut his instructions abruptly as a hail of bullets tic-tocked against the car, one lucky round clipping Moz in the throat. The orc samurai fell, grabbing at his throat. Wide eyed, Moz gurgled blood out of his mouth. James entered the car from his side, opened the door to Moz’s side and pulled the orc in with a mighty effort onto the passenger seat. Close to the orc, he could see the panic in his cybernetic eyes as he gasped for air, spewing blood out like a fountain on James. One bloody hand reached for him while the other clasped his throat. Turning his head to avoid blood in his eyes, James grabbed at the seat and reclined it all the way, giving room to swing the orc’s feet so he could close the door.

James sat back into a crouched driving position, seeing in front of him the muzzle flash from several weapons, as numerous bullets sparked against the hood or shattered his windshield. He threw the gear into reverse and slammed his foot down on the gas, turning at the same time, so that he quickly faced away from Rosio’s building. Setting the car back into drive, he pushed on the gas and accelerated away, towards the city.

James kept throwing looks into the rear view mirror as he made his escape, but he doubted Rosio’s men would get a car pursuit up. He set the car on automatic pilot and returned his attention to Moz. The orc had trashed around, gurgling and bleeding, so that his head now half rested on James’ lap. He was beginning to lose strength and didn’t move around much now. “Shit, hold on buddy, you’re gonna be ok, hold on, you’ll be fine” James spewed non-stop the typical reassuring bullshit as he applied pressure to the wound. He reached out with one hand to the medkit lying in the backseat of the car. Messily emptying it to get at the medical freeze foam canister, he did his best to spay up the wound close. Moz’s eyes finally rolled to the back of his head as he lost consciousness.

James disengaged the puny law-abiding autopilot and raced full speed towards a street doc he knew, placing a call at the same time to warn her of their arrival.

"Hang in there Moz. Hang in there."

[hobgoblin]

:)

[Backgammon]

James crashed his car more than parked it, the front half ripping threads in the unhealthy looking lawn in front of the small suburban bungalow. Melissa, James’ street doc, came rushing out of the front door as James was opening his door, about to scream for her. He waited till she neared the car before rapidly explaining what had happened, trying his best to include as many medically pertinent details he could. Melissa seemed to ignore him, as she bent into the car, over Moz, flashing a pen light into his eyes and gauging the wound. James felt silly, probably half of what he was saying was totally useless to the medic.

“Alright, let’s get him inside” she said. “Help me move him on the ground. Gently”.

James ran around the car and opened the passenger door so he could handle the orc’s feet. They awkwardly set him on the ground. “I’ll take it from here”, she said. She then touched the wounded man, and he began to levitate. She jogged back towards the house, Moz, seemingly laying flat as a board against nothing, floated next to her.

James stood for a few seconds, unsure as to what he should do next. He looked back into car, to where the carrying tube for the painting lay. The white inactive ruthenium covering was smeared with blood. The job wasn’t over. But his conscience tugged at him, and he decided to stay with Moz a bit longer. Besides, I’m covered in blood. Need to change too. He headed inside the bungalow.

He walked down the hallway inside Melissa’s makeshift community clinic and home. The first had a very old lady in it, asleep in the bed. Probably on her last miles. The second room was free, while Melissa had taken Moz into the operating room. He came in time to see Melissa perform her healing magic. She lay hands on Moz’s neck, gently and closed her eyes. A faint glow emanated where she had her hands, a glimpse of the softest, most beautiful light James had ever seen. The effect was shaking, nearly bringing tears to his eyes, bringing a sentiment of overwhelming goodness. It quickly faded, making James doubt it had ever even happened. Back into the harsh cold world.

After applying magical healing, Melissa turned to conventional medicine. She removed the medical freeze foam covering the wound with solvent, and then plugged a blood transfusion into the orc. James could see though that the gushing wound had been reduced to just a small, fresh scar. The street doc wrote some notes on a medical pad, which she hung at the head of the small bed, before turning to James.

She was pale, and moisture dampened her forehead and made some strands of hair cling. “He’ll be ok. He just needs some rest. You look like hell too, Figaro. You can freshen up in the bathroom” she told him, in a calm, caring voice. James did so.

The water from the stainless steel sink washed the blood off his hands. He noticed he was shaking, just a little. He concentrated on scrubbing, getting the dried blood out from under his nails. He looked up, into the mirror. He stared at himself blankly. Don’t even say it. Don’t even. He finished up and dried his hands on a towel.

He walked back, slowly towards the kitchen, where Melissa was smoking a cigarette. Melissa was a real community type. Looking at her, it was impossible not to think of her totem, Snake. Her long curly brown hair swirled, more than a little serpentine-like, down to her breasts. She was in her late twenties, a beautiful woman, without any makeup. She was entirely dedicated to the community, a guide to the people of this dirt-poor neighbourhood. Everyone, including the most violent of gangers, respected her and all felt as if she were their mother. She was however at odds with the local clinic. Her healing, magical and performed without a license, was viewed by doctors as disruptive and dangerous. She didn’t care, and the community protected her from authorities that tried to shut her down.

James didn’t give a shit about her neighbourhood, her community of her patients. He pretended to, and gave lots of money to her and other local outreach programs. In return, Melissa treated wounds without asking questions. He suspected, every time her saw her, that she knew the truth, that he was a cold, heartless self-centered bastard. But still, she always had a warm smile for him. He didn’t know if he adored her or feared her.

“Thanks, Melissa. Sorry for waking you in the middle of the night” he said, wearily drawing a chair to sit in, next to the shaman.

She smiled, and puffed out some smoke. “Don’t mention it” she said, eying him. She added nothing else.

They sat in silence for a while. James stared at his knuckles. So tired. So... tired. He felt like he’d lost all momentum, the weight of the world crushing him without sympathy. He felt alone and cold. He forced some energy into himself.

“I gotta go, Melissa. I’ll be back to check on Moz later”. He got up, pushing the chair back with his legs.

“Something on your mind?” she said, in a knowing tone. James turned his head towards her to gauge her. She had the power to push into his mind, he figured. Anger suddenly raised in him. If she dares, if she fucking dares, I’ll fucking kill her. But she stared back, with so much... what? Potential... understanding? She wouldn’t force him to say anything. She’d respect him entirely.

“Yeah. Maybe” he said, weakly. He didn’t know how to say what he wanted to say. He didn’t even know what he wanted to say. He didn’t know anything.

“You ever... wonder. Where... if there’s a line somewhere. If existing simply isn’t enough?”

She said nothing. She waited, patiently, as an angel, for him to run down his own thoughts. He stared at her. He felt tears run down his cheeks. He sniffled, clenching his jaw, holding it back. He laughed and grinned. “Yeah... yeah...” She looked at him tenderly, then smiled.

“Alright, I gotta go.” He sniffled again, regaining control. “I’ll see you.” He began heading down the hallway towards the front door.

“Love’s always worth it, Figaro. Even if it hurts you. Even if it kills you.”

He turned back to look at her. He nodded, slowly.

“Moz is going to be alright. You take care of yourself. And Figaro, your aura can’t hide it. You go see her.”

James smirked at that. He felt rejuvenated. He went back to his car. He had a smile on his lips.

[GB1]

cool street doc.

Happy Canada day, btw.

[Backgammon]

James had a plan. Everything, at last, was worked out fine in his head. First, he had to take care of the package. That was simple enough. All that was left for him to do was to go back and see Aleister, the owner of the magic shop, to authenticate the painting. The old man had the Sight and had seen a real Zoltaire before. Zoltaire paintings were uniquely valued not because of the aesthetics of the colours, but because the painter created astral art as well. The painting had an aura of immense beauty, for those who could see it. It was an extremely rare talent, to be able to create astral art. Each Zoltaire painting had a unique aura, but all the auras shared certain similarities. It was impossible to fake a Zoltaire, but any who had seen one painting would recognise the distinctive signatures of any other. Hence, Aleister could authenticate, without the shadow of a doubt, that the stolen painting was legitimate.

Once that was done, James could return to his Johnson and get his pay. The second part of his master plan was a bit trickier. He had to find Krissy, and convince her to take him back after having abandoned her. His mind was made up about her. He needed faith in her, to trust her. He would never prove, one way or another, if she were out to get him or not. But he made the decision that he wanted to trust her. And that was all.

Now, driving towards Aleister’s shop, having called him and arranged for the man to be there at this hour, James was anxiously running over speeches in his head, trying out phrases that he thought would sound good and make Krissy forgive him. He felt ridiculous, a little. Like being a teenager again, hoping the cute girl would like him. With consternation, he remembered of course that the cute girls had never liked him. Tired from the night’s events and distracted as he was, he never saw it coming.

Driving fast on a boulevard in Aleister’s neighbourhood, something appeared, bare meters in front of his car. In the dim light of the wee hours of the morning, in the two seconds he had, James' brain couldn't make sense of what it saw, a shape that shouldn’t be there. It took too long for him to recognise the danger. At the very same moment his eyes widened in understanding, his vehicle slammed in full force into the materialised earth elemental. The impact was jarring. The hood of his car literally wrapped around the magical creature. The thing bellowed, an unnatural sound, resonating, adding to the cacophony of the metal crashing and windows shattering. Safety foam inundated the vehicle as James was propelled forward, hitting his foamy dashboard hard.

James gasped hard, the air in his lung having been forced out by the impact. He was totally dazed, barely conscious. His senses reported pain from everywhere in his body. He flailed his arms around clumsily, freeing himself of his seatbelt and bashing foam away from himself. He clawed off foam from his door and kicked. The door, twisted by the impact, moved a bit but would not open. James kicked, with all the force he had left, till it gave.

He pushed himself out of the car, flopping like a newborn calf onto the pavement. Moments later, sound suppressed automatic gunfire riddled his car, each bullet making a dull metallic sound as it penetrated the chassis. Two bursts sounded. James awkwardly fumbled for his pistol. He painfully lifted his head to take in his surroundings. His vision was blurry and his senses muddled. The gunfire was coming from the other side of the car. In front of him, an alley between two red-bricked buildings offered escape. He groaned. The painting was in the car.

He got to his knees and tossed his arm limply over the hood of his car, returning fire in the general direction of his assailant. He also saw that the elemental that had served as roadblock had departed, leaving a strange groove in the middle of the twisted remains of his car hood. His gunfire having hopefully bought him a few seconds of respite, he reached in his car and grabbed the tube holding the painting. However, gunfire quickly resumed and bullets punched in the car, inches away from his hand and arm. He pulled out the tube and fired shots over the hood, this time sticking his head up above just enough to try to see where the bullets were coming from. Ducking back, he thought he’d seen an orc taking cover behind a dumpster, in an alley on the other side.

This isn’t good, James thought. They’d gotten him in quite an ambush. He didn’t believe there was just this one gunman. There had to be more of them. He still hoped he could escape this place, but he came up with a plan B, just in case. He would run for the alley in front of him and turn on the tube’s ruthenium camouflage. He could then toss the thing if he had to. If he were captured with the tube, he’d be dead for sure. But if his attackers couldn’t find the tube, he could use it as a bargaining chip. Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that...

He waited for another burst of gunfire to his the car, this time seemingly aimed more towards him than the car. He immediately returned fire with greater precision than before, then started sprinting towards the alley.

Again, he never saw it coming.

A great force slammed into his chest, literally sending him flying into the air for a few meters. He landed, very hard, onto the pavement. Flat on the ground, he squirmed in pain. His right elbow had hit the pavement first. Pain shot up from it, indicating a pretty bad fracture. Again the wind had been knocked out of him. He could only grimace and roll around in confused pain.

It began to rain, droplets falling down onto his face.

Moments later, he became aware of a presence overlooking him. He tried to focus his vision. He could only discern the shape of a person, towering above him. His hand reached for his gun, lying on the floor next to him. He was of course far too slow, and never had a chance. He felt a boulder, a large stony weight, press down on his gun hand. He yelled out in pain as bone shattered. His hand rendered useless, the boulderish weight was removed.

He heard the click of a pistol being readied as the barrel of a gun was pressed into his cheek.

“I could kill you, but I was only paid to retrieve the painting”, came a female voice. It was a calm, jazzy voice. James turned his head, pushing against the gun barrel and squinted, trying to see through the haze and the raindrops falling down into his eyes. He could only discern a leather-clad woman with much long curly red hair. “whooo...?” he weakly managed.

The woman moved, reaching over him and grabbing the tube with the painting in it. James lay there, looking at her from the corner of his eye. The gun hesitated an instant longer against his cheek, then was removed. James heard the footsteps of the woman as she left.

James was left, alone, lying broken on the pavement, rain falling down on him. He stared up at nothing.

He wanted to give up. He wanted to have had some sort of classical “fooled you” plan in which the villain had walked away with the wrong tube, or something like that. But it wasn’t so. He could lie here, until the cops showed up. It wouldn’t be hard. Just... lie... here.

The temptation was very strong, but something inside him still stirred. It took him a few minutes, but he started to get up. He moaned and growled as pain shot up from various parts of his body. One arm painfully fractured, the other completely shattered. He limped towards his car, and somehow managed to retrieve the medkit. It still had some of Moz’s blood on it. “Cheers, brother!” he said, as he swallowed a handful of painkillers from the kit.

He arranged himself as best he could, and stumbled away from the scene as far as he could. When he could no longer walk, he called a cab. He made sure to get one of the automated ones without a human driver.

He passed out during the drive. When he awoke, the cab was idling. He’d racked up quite a bill from the cab, charging as it patiently waited for him to pay and get out. He moaned, paid the huge bill, and stepped out. It was morning now, the sun shining through a morning mist. The air was very humid from the recent rain, the pavement around him still wet. He stumbled up the few stairs to the front door, and rang the bell. No one came, so he ran again, and then once more.

Eventually, the door opened.

She stared at him. James could see she was struggling with quite a few complex emotions. He gave her time and didn’t say anything either. Tears welled up in her eyes, and her head twitched between nodding and negation.

“It appears it may be best if I did have a partner” he finally said, in the most even and understating tone he could manage.

She slammed him with a vicious slap. He couldn't help but drag out an “Owwwww!” as his head rang and his vision blurred from the hit, the pain somewhat muffled by the large dose of painkillers currently swimming in his system.

“That hurt? Good!” Krissy said with enthusiasm. She crossed her arms before her chest, and her demeanour softened a little. “So, what the hell happened to you?” she asked, her tone indicating a mix of “not that I care” and “oh my god!”.

James grimaced, passing his tongue over his teeth inside his mouth. He spit out some blood. “I was hit by an epiphany”.

She smirked. Just a little.

He steadied his gaze at her feet. “I love you Krissy. I’ve had some problems trusting you cause I suspect you’re an assassin out to kill me, or some shit like that. Maybe you are, maybe you aren’t, but I realise I don’t want to live a life without you. My life’s been shit and you’re the only person that’s ever made me think maybe there can be better.” He paused, she said nothing. “And maybe one day you have to sink a blade in my back, but you do what you have to. I love you and I want you as a partner and.. as my girl, you know”, he finished, and looked up into her eyes. “Besides, I need you to help me cook up a plan to get the damn painting back.”

She lowered her gaze, brought it back to meet his eyes, then lowered again, then looked him in the eyes. “Yeah? Well, you look like shit, so what makes you think I’d want to be with you, huh?” she said with a smile. James tried to laugh but it hurt, so he just wheezed a little. She saw that maybe now was not the best time to make jokes.

“Okhay, come in...” she said cutely, moving aside to let him in. “I don’t forgive you yet for leaving me behind like that. It better never happen again, Figaro.”

“Call me James", he said. "My real name is James”