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

[VykosDarkSoul]

That doesn't fly so well in the desert. (IMG:style_emoticons/default/nyahnyah.gif)

wait wait wait.....I thought Canada was all trees and snow!!!!!



( (IMG:style_emoticons/default/nyahnyah.gif) )

[CanRay]

We also make Napalm out of the Great Canadian Invention... INSTANT POTATOES!

[ShadowDragon8685]

Well, looks like the local yokel cops got lucky and got them good ol' boys. You gotta break 'em out of jail otherwise no one in the county is getting their 'shine.

You get paid in 'shine, BTW.

EDIT: You get some actual cash if you also break their car out of "car jail".

Wahahahahahaaahaaaaaah!

[Shortstraw]

Yeah I must admit CanRay that is pretty awesome. So season 5 missions (IMG:style_emoticons/default/biggrin.gif)

[eudemonist]

Holy smoke, this thread is awesome! Nice work. Just started a Texas-based campaign for some new players here in Houston, so I'm totally stealing some of this.

I've been working up a water-rights run, where the runners are tasked with "naturally" diverting the course of a waterway. Moving the Trinity River from the San Jacinto Basin to the Brazos River Basin, for example, would affect thousands of acres downstream, radically altering property values and production rates. At certain points, a few feet of elevation are all that separates boom from bust, for many. Rivers alter their course over time naturally, so certainly somebody out there is going to try to use this to their advantage. A few properly placed underwater boulders, a berm, and maybe a tree or two, and the river begins to cut itself a new course.

I'm not sure at this point if I want to have the PCs doing the alteration or attempting to repair it...don't have a good feel for how nefarious these guys are quite yet. Either way, I am sure the operation will take place at a remote location, there will be a free spirit (actually, probably three) of the Trinity River involved, and at least a couple of locals will have a direct and immediate interest in the goings-on.

[CanRay]

Yeah I must admit CanRay that is pretty awesome. So season 5 missions (IMG:style_emoticons/default/biggrin.gif)

Talk to Bull and order many, many copies of "Burn" in order to get me writing Missions again.

[VykosDarkSoul]

I gotta say I love this thread btw. I have taken elements from several of them and kinda mashed them together.

Oh one other thing to note, I made my group leave Seattle in a hurry, and by Car, and they had to head to Arkansas.....that is ALOT of border crossings (IMG:style_emoticons/default/nyahnyah.gif) Muahahaha

[Koekepan]

Thank you for all the good folks who spoke so kindly, and best of luck to those who are using these plans. Please do let us know how it works out.

Here's another to keep you busy:

Background:

You know what they say: when seconds count, Lone Star is only minutes away. Unless you're at the end of a dirt road up a canyon in the badlands, in which case nobody's coming.

Unless, of course, there are some hired guns around. Then maybe you can hire them. And maybe they'll work honest.

The parties:

The Anstruther household consists of Sarah, Michelle, and Dahlia. Dahlia is Sarah's daughter by genetic recombination with Michelle, who is Sarah's lesbian wife. You have a problem with that, stranger? All three are human, palefaces but as much a part of the scenery as the rocks.

The survivalists are a gang of stragglers from what was a millenial cult. Mostly second generation now, but Guru Swami Rajakrishnan (birth name: Harold Gutenmeyer) still runs them with an iron fist of love and inner light. Michelle used to be a member, but she's apostate now, and has no time for them. They kicked her out, nominally to fly with the eagles in the light of her own inner peace; practically to die of thirst and exposure in the badlands. She ran into Sarah (a rigger, at the time) who saved her and retired to the badlands to live with Michelle, and now they farm some incredibly hardy livestock, arguably even better than the survivalists.

The vultures are a go-gang from Denver who like nothing better than to go out into the back of beyond, live out the kind of hideous depravity even snuff BTL makers shudder to contemplate, and then return safe in the knowledge that nobody knows, nobody cares, and whatever they're selling for salvage or scrap won't be missed by anyone still living.

The problem:

It's hard times in the badlands. The Anstruther house is caught between the rock of the madness of the survivalists, who claim on the one hand that the chickens and goats and guineafowl and other creatures which the Anstruthers are farming, belong to them. Because ... something about Michelle being a member. Does it really matter why? It's theirs, they want it, and nobody's stopping them. Even though the survivalists nominally try to live as close to vegan as people who live off the land can.... and on the other hand there's the hard place of the vultures showing up. And what timing!

The proposition:

This depends. The Anstruthers don't have much to offer, but it might fetch a good price if you know someone in Chicago, Denver, Seattle or further afield with a taste for high quality hand-knotted rugs, or artisanal goat's-milk cheese, or whatever. Opportunities for the Face to negotiate.

The survivalists have a lot to offer - they have decades of stock in all sorts of crafts. Still needs a market, though.

The vultures offer membership (including a front row seat in the depravities they want to visit on everyone) or death.

The facts:

The runners aren't here because they want to be. They're only here because something went wrong. Badly wrong. There are minerals in the badlands - perhaps they're here for a mining concern. Maybe they were hunting Wendigo. Maybe they're just stupid, pissed off the wrong oyabun, and got dropped here to teach them humility. Any way, they're here and they probably want to live through this. Maybe they even want to be able to look themselves in the mirror in the morning.

Some complications:

Wendigo. Why not? Whether the runners were planning on it or not.

A dragon's lair. Perhaps even a dragon's nest. Good times.

Maybe some angry people (alive or dead) are following the vultures, preparing a psychic storm of epic proportions.

Maybe one of their number gets surrounded and caught by the vultures, and forced to take part in the gang rapemurder of the Anstruther household. All depends on how dark you get in your runs, and if they're only smoky-grey, why aren't you playing Candyland? If you're feeling too softhearted, have the other runners defending the Anstruthers and have the captive make a choice. Look in their eyes while they choose, and enjoy.

Aftermath ideas:

A really annoyed millenial cult run by a lunatic is in your background. Forever.

A really annoyed gang with a significantly diminished respect for the dignity of humanity is in your background. Forever, until death do you part at any rate.

That wendigo - did you catch it? Did you kill it? Are you sure? How sure are you? Oh, you're very sure. That's good. That's real good.

Did you deal with the dragon? Doesn't everyone tell you not to cut a deal with a dragon? Why did you do it? What were you thinking? Oh well, too late to cry over spilt milk.

Can you remember the way they screamed? The last, terrified begging for mercy? The promises they made, then the despair in their voices when they stopped making promises because they knew it didn't matter? More importantly, can you ever forget it?

[Koekepan]

[deleted duplicate]

[Tecumseh]

Yay, Redneck Runs are back! Koekepan, you are talented. Here are my favorites:

Guru Swami Rajakrishnan (birth name: Harold Gutenmeyer) still runs them with an iron fist of love and inner light.

What nobody bothered to tell them is that even unawakened cougar can jump to an astonishing height, and walling them out is like trying to wall out helicopters. An interesting idea, but probably futile.

"We'll clone him, dear, and I know perfectly well he's James's son, your pretence is getting tiresome."

Matt Robinson accidentally hit John-Joe MacNulty's runabout with a tractor on purpose. Then John-Joe beat the tar out of Matt, who then wasn't the one who shot John-Joe that night when he shot him.

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.

[Koekepan]

Yay, Redneck Runs are back! Koekepan, you are talented. Here are my favorites:

Thank you for the compliments. Let me know how they play out in real life? Big success, or C.L.U.E. files entry?

More to come soon.

[Koekepan]

Background:

Talking to the trees is a common activity for romantic, love-lorn folks.When the trees talk back, it's usually spirits, or drugs, or some kind of mischief. Not this time.

Timothy Norman is a logger - mostly known as Chainsaw Tim - but he's not just a simple lumberjack. He's a tree farmer. He picks out the biggest trees in a lot, each year, and just takes a few, the biggest and best, and clears some saplings. That's the way to log, when you're watched by shamans who care about sustainability. He has even learned to pray to the great tree spirits.

The parties:

Chainsaw Tim has an arrangement with the Salish. They get 75% of his profits, he keeps their shamans happy, but he cuts and sells wood with exclusive rights over 4 square miles of forest. It helps that he is from a tribal family, and is in pretty good with the elders, but the old blood is so diluted that one couldn't tell by looking at him.

The problem:

The real problem isn't the trees, nor spirits as such. It's an awakened fungal disease which is attacking the trees. Awakened to the point that it can whisper in the voice of the wind whistling through the fir needles.

The disease isn't anti-tree. It's anti-woodcutter. It is bad for trees, of course, but to it the woodcutter is competition. Worse yet, it can infect metahumans, although this is not yet apparent. It has two manifestations in people: pleural (attacking the lungs, resulting in coughing and the disease whispering in one's sleep, and one's raspy breathing) and dermal (the skin, where it looks like rather funky self-growing nanotats).

The proposition:

"There's a voice in the trees. I keep hearing it, mocking me. Laughing at me. It makes it difficult, even disorienting. The medicine men, they say it is a bad spirit of some sort in the trees, but not one they met before. Smiling Bobcat, he said I need to find an expert. Are you expert enough to exorcise evil?"

The facts:

The disease isn't particularly infectious in metahumans, so it can look entirely innocent for a while. It is however quite infectious in evergreens, and is capable of rotting a hundred foot fir from the inside out. It has a long latent period (over a year) so its actual infected distribution is far wider than it looks, and incautious screwing with it will spread it further. Perhaps even into the city. This is a great setup for having disease control authorities hunting for the source of infection (i.e. the runners) with everything at their disposal.

If the runners have a clue, they should be able to determine that an awakened disease is the problem. However, turning a profit from this will be trickier. There are some people who will pay handsomely for the information (academics, plant pathologists, and of course DocWagon's pathology team) but closing that deal will be hard. Timmy just wants it done without burning down the whole forest, but has little to offer (although the tribal heads are concerned enough to sweeten the deal).

Some complications:

It is a disease - it is infectious. It can affect runners, and once established, it is intelligent.

Awakened fungal diseases can have interesting interactions with wards.

Real wood is expensive - very expensive. Maybe someone wants them to bring some back, on the sly.

Aftermath ideas:

What's not to love? Crazy disease? Funky markings? Voices in the night?

Indian shamans? Wood smugglers? Elven jealousies? Favours to or from DocWagon?

The runners should come back from this with more baggage than a train.

[Midas]

Yay! Koekepan's back with his redneck runs! Enough to make you wish your runners weren't so doggawn attached to all the mod cons in their li'l ol' slice of unban hell ...

[Koekepan]

Thank you all for kind words. Here's a run which might get some of your more city-bound teams out from the bright lights.

Background:

Boris Yakovlev is a fixer, a fixer with a problem. He has hired a team he believes to be semi competent for a delicate run, and to get this sorted out, he desperately needs someone else, someone disposable, to run a tailchaser. Of course, he won't tell them it's a tailchaser, he'll just tell them it's a frightfully important mission, and then tip off authorities. This is where the runners come in.

The parties:

Boris is a fixer with a reasonable reputation for getting things done, and a reputation for being as cold as antarctic rock. But he is known for paying on time, in full, and even paying bonuses for good work.

The Perforated Condoms are a team of ex go-gangers who turned smuggler. Their motto? Get in, drop contraband, get out. They're not particularly subtle, but they are very good at moving very, very fast, and switching vehicles at a run to confuse pursuit.

The problem:

Boris wants the run not to look like a set-up, because that will blow his reputation, so he wants some other plausible line of blame. The Perforated Condoms are perfect, because their unsubtlety will easily give rise to pointed fingers and accusations, leaving him looking clean. All he wants is a team of runners who will keep the authorities distracted for a few hours, and then be out of town for a while, leaving the heat off the team he has doing real work.

The proposition:

"Very simply, friend, I need pick-up and delivery. Very quiet, no trouble, no headlines, no news. Very discreet. You get package whole, you deliver whole. You don't open package - what's in it, you don't want to open, just trust me. Try not shake too much, definitely do not drop."

"Pick-up is Monday, 17:47 precise, corner of fifth and Virginia. Man with red helmet and motorcycle put package on corner and leave. You take package to address encrypted in ARO. Datafile has key for encryption. Deliver package whole? Nuyen, fifteen thousand. Under twenty-four hour? Twenty-five thousand. Break package? Have address of good doctor, contact me at matrix address in datafile, do not see me in person. Do not see anybody you like in person."

The facts:

Boris needs this done. The team will be able to negotiate him up on the grounds of the package's sensitivity and personal risk to as high as 45K, but he will complain and huff about the terms of the bonus for swift delivery. The address in the encrypted ARO on the box? Anywhere you find convenient. The shores of a lake somewhere in what was once northern Ontario would do just as well as a floridian swamp.

The hand off from the Perforated Condoms should be practically seamless - let the runners think it's all on the level for thirty seconds, then the motorcyclist takes off like a drag racer in a hurry, and the heat descends. Drones, air pursuit, cars trying to cut off roads, lay it on thick. Emphasise to the team that if they don't want to be trapped and bent over the hood of a Lone Star vehicle, spreading them, that they have to floor it, and floor it hard.

Also, work on their nervousness about the package. The package itself is designed as a tailchaser package's dream - inside a basic recycled fibre box, is a metal box with tamper-evident seals, marked with warnings strongly hinting at awakened biohazards. Inside, there are faint sounds (but barely audible in the back of a speeding vehicle): occasional beeps, muffled voice warnings about out-of-specification concussions, hazardous vibrations, accelerated cellular division rates, reduced human protein nutrient rates, and sounds like clinking glassware. If they handle the package particularly roughly, or turn it wrong side up, there's a quiet but clearly audible siren whoop-whooping from inside and the voice says something about bioseals being critical.

In actual fact it mostly contains (fairly) safe but extremely foul-smelling chemicals and a few bottles of regular yeast consuming a solution of sugar and agar. A few boxes contain living fly larvae eating some rotting meat. If the runners get extremely stupid, the bottles might burst, meaning that there will be sounds of glass shattering, and the metal box will ooze bubbling fluid which smells of chemical death. Lay it on thick - they should fear for their lives.

In the drop zone? Nobody is there to take the package, it's just an old dropbox into which they can place the package. If the runners get cute and want to stake it out to find out who takes the package, leave them watching it for three days, and then get the locals interested in the runners. That should screw things up nicely. If you need the runners to stay around, have it come to light that some of the shootout during the chase has necessitated repairs, or have fuel running out, or have the environment chewing up some of their transport - be creative.

Some complications:

Boris can leave them irate messages complaining about a lack of discretion.

Maybe the destination is in the Ozarks, and they are having a hard time getting a Matrix link. Hackers should feel antsy, possibly isolated.

Feel free to lay on the matrix media news snippets. Talk about international terrorists making off with Ebola-based bioweapons. Talk about an international manhunt for apocalyptic cultists. Show trid of cities from New York to Nanjing with road blocks, police in bio-isolation suits brutalising suspects. Show Barrens areas being gone through with armoured cars and drones, show joint operations between Lone Star, Knight Errant, and the military.

If they leave their vehicles anywhere, even if only overnight? Have them return to find them stripped by acquisitive rednecks.

Aftermath ideas:

By all means, in a week or two, have a country doc look at the package, analyse it, and shit herself laughing. Make them feel like real idiots. Make them angry. Make them hate Boris and anyone who looks like him.

Have the whole scare die down, once you have the team well embedded and in over their ears in the countryside, by having someone from Aztechnology promise that nothing important was taken, just a decoy stolen by incompetent thieves, and providing clear assurances that the really important stuff is much more well protected than anyone fears.

Maybe word got out in the scene, and the runners pick up a reputation as patsies. Take them down a notch or two, if they're getting too cocky.

[Koekepan]

Background:

This is a complex situation. Environmental Extractions, Inc. is a mining concern which has identified a rich seam of copper ore in what used to be the canadian high plains. Unfortunately, this leads to some differences of opinion among people. On the one hand, copper is valuable and everyone wants some. The NAN could certainly use the cash, for instance, but on the other hand not everyone wants a great big energy-hungry, land-toxifying, water-spoiling mine where they are trying to have agriculture. There's also a small detail of there being some forgotten pioneer mines from way back when in the area, and some of those are haunted.

The parties:

Two tribes of Salish-Shidhe are the primary disputants.

There are the Broken Teeth, an Ork clan which has been accepted by the NAN. They are against mining, because on the whole they have turned their back on the modern world and would be fairly happy with neolithic technology, augmented by magic.

Lasting Footprints is the head medicine man of the Broken Teeth, a very experienced and knowledgeable animist shaman. He's actually not really anti-tech, but respects the will of his people, and recognises that there is some sort of wisdom in their desires. He doesn't want to see them lose what they have.

The Round Heads are a human tribe, and much much more influential than the Broken Teeth. At best their attachment to the area is tenuous, but because of their clout on larger councils, their views get strong hearings. They want money, and they want to live well, and if they have a resource, they want to use it.

Braun & Huebsch is a mining company which is interested in working the seam. They are a subsidiary of Saeder-Krupp, which is making the pitch that because they're run by a dragon, they care about the world and spirits and all the rest of it, and so won't despoil the earth. They will put up a bond for cleaning up, for rehabilitation, and pay substantial royalties, is their argument.

The problem:

Obviously, the disagreement is a problem. The Broken Teeth are very concerned that they will be pushed aside - a particular concern in the view of Lasting Footprints, since he thinks that they may lose their young people, and the tribe as a whole may dissolve. Worst case, he will accept royalties from the mine, but many in his tribe as ready to see that as a betrayal.

The Round Heads wish the Broken Teeth would accede, or get out of the way. They see the orks as flies in otherwise very lucrative ointment, and a certain degree of racial resentment is rising. Older and wiser heads realise that conflict will not serve them well, but again some more hotheaded factions are making it difficult to reach a solution.

The proposition:

This depends on who is making the offer. The corporation wants no trouble, because trouble is bad for business and they might lose a lot of goodwill which would be hard to win back. The corporation really wants runners to stay out of it all, except as bodyguards for their workers perhaps.

The Round Heads are less inhibited - nobody is about to question their right to be there, and while it would never be openly contemplated, quite a few faction heads might approach runners, asking them to drive off the Broken Teeth and make it look like some paleface incursion, without implicating Braun & Huebsch.

The Broken Teeth aren't stupid, and want to be guarded against misbehaviour on the parts of all others - mostly the Round Heads, although they won't openly admit this (they're sensitive about creating the appearance of dissension, regardless of actual dissension).

The facts:

If the runners don't pick up for the Round Heads, the tribe will find someone else to do their dirty work. It might take a little while, but with this much money on the line, it's inevitable. If the Broken Teeth get the deal with the runners, then it's only a matter of time before serious drek hits the fan.

If the runners decide to drive the Broken Teeth off, they're up for one hell of a fight. An angry tribe with nothing left to lose and not a few magicians is a serious opponent.

If the runners decide it's better business guarding mining personnel, it will be a constant stream of low-grade sabotage and interference.

A really brilliant team might come up with the idea of brokering an agreement. This is possible, but the Broken Teeth will want compensation with other land, access to navigable rivers, and other benefits. The runners will then also make good friends with the company, and at least have mollified the Round Heads.

Some complications:

The situation is pretty complicated already, but the miners will also come across all sorts of nasties hiding in old mine shafts and adits.

Other mining companies might quietly bribe the runners to sabotage the whole deal, so that Saeder-Krupp is out in the cold, and someone else (Aztechnology, Renraku, whoever) can try to step in later.

Aftermath ideas:

This one is all about relationships. Slick runners make friends, stupid ones make enemies.

[Midas]

For the last one, I would probably go with the runners hired by The Broken Teeth for a Seven Samuari-type run, with the need for gureilla tactics to sabotage the mining prospecting operation, and shoring up the tribe's defences against covert or overt Roundhead intimidation/raids.

[ShadowDragon8685]

Aftermath ideas:
By all means, in a week or two, have a country doc look at the package, analyse it, and shit herself laughing. Make them feel like real idiots. Make them angry. Make them hate Boris and anyone who looks like him.

Have the whole scare die down, once you have the team well embedded and in over their ears in the countryside, by having someone from Aztechnology promise that nothing important was taken, just a decoy stolen by incompetent thieves, and providing clear assurances that the really important stuff is much more well protected than anyone fears.

Maybe word got out in the scene, and the runners pick up a reputation as patsies. Take them down a notch or two, if they're getting too cocky.

This will swiftly result in their re-aquisition of their reputation of badasses not to be crossed by way of one crucified Boris Yakolev, or at the very least, they're going to perforate the condoms with bullets, if Boris successfully manages to blame the Condoms for the massive fuck-up. Remember, he can't have it both ways; if the Streets know they were played for fools, they know it. And remember that this kind of thing can and will come back on Boris too; it makes him look like a moron for hiring a bunch of unsubtle maniacs.


[e]Wait a minute, Boris Yakolev... Isn't he the guy from the Genesis SNES game? The one that was a fixer?

[Shortstraw]

Crucified? Your group plays nice.

[CanRay]

Crucified? Your group plays nice.

Telephone/power poles are there for a reason!

[Koekepan]

This will swiftly result in their re-aquisition of their reputation of badasses not to be crossed by way of one crucified Boris Yakolev, or at the very least, they're going to perforate the condoms with bullets, if Boris successfully manages to blame the Condoms for the massive fuck-up. Remember, he can't have it both ways; if the Streets know they were played for fools, they know it. And remember that this kind of thing can and will come back on Boris too; it makes him look like a moron for hiring a bunch of unsubtle maniacs.

Reputation is very fluid, so naturally it is up to the runners to re-establish their reputation. How they choose to do so is an open question. I've had some groups so passive that they would have done nothing to repair their reputation, and would have instead sulked about doing extractions of kindergartners.

Boris has his own problems. The entire point is that he's rather desperate, so the hit he might take in reputation will just be part of the price he has to pay for success where it matters - the main job the tailchaser is intended to mask.

[e]Wait a minute, Boris Yakolev... Isn't he the guy from the Genesis SNES game? The one that was a fixer?

I never played that game (never had a Genesis) so I couldn't tell you.

[Koekepan]

For the last one, I would probably go with the runners hired by The Broken Teeth for a Seven Samuari-type run, with the need for gureilla tactics to sabotage the mining prospecting operation, and shoring up the tribe's defences against covert or overt Roundhead intimidation/raids.

Will you include the part where they get picked off, one by one, by corporate goons and opposition warriors?

I prefer to let my players choose the position they take, and then make them live with their own decisions. That way they don't start out hating me, but hating each other for the way they listened to each other's bad ideas.

[Koekepan]

And now a run for the more violently inclined.

Background:

Upstate New York. A tiny town buried in the Appalachians. A lot of frustration, a lot of families who struggled here after the borders of the USA turned into the borders of the UCAS, a lot of hatred, resentment and misery. Fertile breeding grounds for the kind of upstanding people who think that Humanis had the right idea. Add a long lasting blizzard, and things get raw.

The parties:

Pappy and Gappy. Two men old enough to remember when the sinfulness of the old world brought the biblical plagues upon the world. They tell of the glories of Babylon, and the sinful pride of the men who brought down a judgement on the world. They also explain how the twisted people are possessed by demons, and how any right minded person should do away with them.

Cora Wilder. She led many of the first dwarves of the dying midwest here, and a few elves as well. So far they've largely flown under the radar of resentment, while orks and trolls took the worst heat, but times are bad and when times get bad, anyone makes a scapegoat. Especially if they look small.

Dominic Cuzco. He is an experienced, slick, capable black magician. He has three apprentices, and they are all smart enough to keep things very low key. Dominic knows perfectly well that there's nothing to gain by being overt about his capabilities, so most people in town just think of him as a nice man who made some good money in the city before early retirement.

The problem:

The snow has kept things local, with every road out closed. This includes keeping the players in, but also meant that aggressive bigots have had plenty of time to hatch plans, and the local Humanis chapter has hatched a particular plan to try to wipe out the dwarves, whom they see as an offence against all that is right and good, as well as sitting ducks.

The proposition:

<<We're in our compound. We're dug in, but they used explosives to blow open our doors. We have injured, and not a lot of ammunition or medical supplies. If you can come from the Sou>> ... LINK LOST

"Hello there, friend. You headed for the fight? Yes, I know. It's a bad business, all those poor people trapped by Humanis. I wish justice could be done, but I'm no fighting man. Godspeed. I don't know if it will help, but here, take this medical kit. It might save a life or two. Oh, and by the way, if you happen to see something I lent them, I'd be obliged to have it back before those worthless goons take it, or worse, wreck it."

The facts:

The dwarves live in low houses connected with tunnels. It makes a fine clan compound, but wasn't really designed with defence in mind. In fact, it was less designed as such than organically expanded as time passed.

The elves ran into the blizzard, and are now prowling around, hoping to achieve something, but are too tall for the tunnels and too ill armed to take on Humanis. If the players find them, they will be able to get some tactical information from them as well as layout for the compound.

Dominic is genuinely being helpful - he has absolutely no time for Humanis, and would cheerfully kill every one of them if he thought for an instant he could get away with it. The catch is that what he wants back was taken from him by the dwarves who suspect him of being of less than entirely pure intent, and don't think that he should get to keep a fetish apparently made of two ears sewn together to resemble a clam.

Some complications:

If the runners aren't all human, Humanis will know this, and will be delighted to add them to the hit list - more so because they will be in the open.

The locals are hunters (many of them, anyhow) and have substantially beefed up goggles and excellent hunting rifles. It's like wandering around surrounded by snipers who are looking for targets.

The locals have nothing fully automatic or otherwise military, but have mining explosives and know how to use them.

Aftermath ideas:

Humanis as an enemy - not in the generic sense of not liking your face, but in the sense of personally wanting to take you out of commission - good times.

Dominic always has more work to be done, and a lot of it might end very badly.

[Grinder]

Thank you all for kind words. Here's a run which might get some of your more city-bound teams out from the bright lights.

Background:

Boris Yakovlev is a fixer, a fixer with a problem. He has hired a team he believes to be semi competent for a delicate run, and to get this sorted out, he desperately needs someone else, someone disposable, to run a tailchaser. Of course, he won't tell them it's a tailchaser, he'll just tell them it's a frightfully important mission, and then tip off authorities. This is where the runners come in.

The parties:

Boris is a fixer with a reasonable reputation for getting things done, and a reputation for being as cold as antarctic rock. But he is known for paying on time, in full, and even paying bonuses for good work.

The Perforated Condoms are a team of ex go-gangers who turned smuggler. Their motto? Get in, drop contraband, get out. They're not particularly subtle, but they are very good at moving very, very fast, and switching vehicles at a run to confuse pursuit.

The problem:

Boris wants the run not to look like a set-up, because that will blow his reputation, so he wants some other plausible line of blame. The Perforated Condoms are perfect, because their unsubtlety will easily give rise to pointed fingers and accusations, leaving him looking clean. All he wants is a team of runners who will keep the authorities distracted for a few hours, and then be out of town for a while, leaving the heat off the team he has doing real work.

The proposition:

"Very simply, friend, I need pick-up and delivery. Very quiet, no trouble, no headlines, no news. Very discreet. You get package whole, you deliver whole. You don't open package - what's in it, you don't want to open, just trust me. Try not shake too much, definitely do not drop."

"Pick-up is Monday, 17:47 precise, corner of fifth and Virginia. Man with red helmet and motorcycle put package on corner and leave. You take package to address encrypted in ARO. Datafile has key for encryption. Deliver package whole? Nuyen, fifteen thousand. Under twenty-four hour? Twenty-five thousand. Break package? Have address of good doctor, contact me at matrix address in datafile, do not see me in person. Do not see anybody you like in person."

The facts:

Boris needs this done. The team will be able to negotiate him up on the grounds of the package's sensitivity and personal risk to as high as 45K, but he will complain and huff about the terms of the bonus for swift delivery. The address in the encrypted ARO on the box? Anywhere you find convenient. The shores of a lake somewhere in what was once northern Ontario would do just as well as a floridian swamp.

The hand off from the Perforated Condoms should be practically seamless - let the runners think it's all on the level for thirty seconds, then the motorcyclist takes off like a drag racer in a hurry, and the heat descends. Drones, air pursuit, cars trying to cut off roads, lay it on thick. Emphasise to the team that if they don't want to be trapped and bent over the hood of a Lone Star vehicle, spreading them, that they have to floor it, and floor it hard.

Also, work on their nervousness about the package. The package itself is designed as a tailchaser package's dream - inside a basic recycled fibre box, is a metal box with tamper-evident seals, marked with warnings strongly hinting at awakened biohazards. Inside, there are faint sounds (but barely audible in the back of a speeding vehicle): occasional beeps, muffled voice warnings about out-of-specification concussions, hazardous vibrations, accelerated cellular division rates, reduced human protein nutrient rates, and sounds like clinking glassware. If they handle the package particularly roughly, or turn it wrong side up, there's a quiet but clearly audible siren whoop-whooping from inside and the voice says something about bioseals being critical.

In actual fact it mostly contains (fairly) safe but extremely foul-smelling chemicals and a few bottles of regular yeast consuming a solution of sugar and agar. A few boxes contain living fly larvae eating some rotting meat. If the runners get extremely stupid, the bottles might burst, meaning that there will be sounds of glass shattering, and the metal box will ooze bubbling fluid which smells of chemical death. Lay it on thick - they should fear for their lives.

In the drop zone? Nobody is there to take the package, it's just an old dropbox into which they can place the package. If the runners get cute and want to stake it out to find out who takes the package, leave them watching it for three days, and then get the locals interested in the runners. That should screw things up nicely. If you need the runners to stay around, have it come to light that some of the shootout during the chase has necessitated repairs, or have fuel running out, or have the environment chewing up some of their transport - be creative.

Some complications:

Boris can leave them irate messages complaining about a lack of discretion.

Maybe the destination is in the Ozarks, and they are having a hard time getting a Matrix link. Hackers should feel antsy, possibly isolated.

Feel free to lay on the matrix media news snippets. Talk about international terrorists making off with Ebola-based bioweapons. Talk about an international manhunt for apocalyptic cultists. Show trid of cities from New York to Nanjing with road blocks, police in bio-isolation suits brutalising suspects. Show Barrens areas being gone through with armoured cars and drones, show joint operations between Lone Star, Knight Errant, and the military.

If they leave their vehicles anywhere, even if only overnight? Have them return to find them stripped by acquisitive rednecks.

Aftermath ideas:

By all means, in a week or two, have a country doc look at the package, analyse it, and shit herself laughing. Make them feel like real idiots. Make them angry. Make them hate Boris and anyone who looks like him.

Have the whole scare die down, once you have the team well embedded and in over their ears in the countryside, by having someone from Aztechnology promise that nothing important was taken, just a decoy stolen by incompetent thieves, and providing clear assurances that the really important stuff is much more well protected than anyone fears.

Maybe word got out in the scene, and the runners pick up a reputation as patsies. Take them down a notch or two, if they're getting too cocky.

Ok. I don't get it: what is Boris about to do with or against The Perforated Condoms (IMG:style_emoticons/default/question.gif)

[Smirnov]

That's pure awesome!
And wasteland pieces are a marvel. I want to run them.

[Koekepan]

Background:

Puget sound is deep. Puget sound is dark. Dangerous things dance in the deeps. But Puget Sound is also productive, full of aquaculture making it (and some corps) very rich indeed. Oysters, clams, salmon, kelp, you name it.

This much food conveniently located for a major metropolis is a huge money-spinner, and a lot of people will pay a lot of money to knife each other in the gut just to jack up their profit margin for the quarter by 0.5%.

The parties:

AquEco ventures is a small local company (who are we kidding, they're a rebranded local office partly owned by Renraku and Horizon, through stock parentage) which dangles huge strings of shellfish off floating platforms all throughout the South Sound, and make sure that moronic sararimen can impress each other by telling varieties and estuaries apart by taste at 10NY a pop. A dozen on the half shell? Yours for the low price of 100NY. Of course, you paid to get in, and you're paying for the trimmings and the other courses, but their prices are (by the standards of the time and place) very reasonable.

LoCoOp is a food charity which exists to let impoverished people throw in together to get real food into their bellies. As an organisation, they have the clout to get permits done and paperwork filed, and now they've resurrected some ancient regulations which let the filthy street trash grow their own mussels, oysters, barnacles and more.

The problem:

The local entrenched corporations are very unhappy. They don't worry about a direct loss of customers, because the LoCoOp isn't entitled to sell to the public, and isn't big enough to really challenge their position. They are worried about two things:

• The principle that a bunch of thugs can wave some papers and get to join the party? Not good. They don't want people getting ideas, see?
• If Joe Greasefinger, the Ork mechanic, can suck down oysters like an oyabun, that takes some of the special out of the treat. Prices drop. This is bad for business.

The proposition:

"We represent an ... insurance concern. You'll understand that the details are confidential. We stand to lose a lot of money owing to accidents, because the government lost sight of risk profiles. The targets are stationary, floating. We need them to vanish. Sink them, remove them, we don't care how, but they are in the way of legitimate sea travel. Someone will hit them, sink, and drown. Permitting them in the first place was an act of homicidal negligence - this is just a public service, clearing the ways. We understand that charity isn't your thing, regardless of how noble the intention. but in addition to the satisfaction of saving lives, how about we sweeten it with five grand per platform removed?"

The facts:

Johnson lies. Johnson lies like a rug. There is no insurance firm involved, other than insuring AquEco's profit margins.

The platforms are makeshift, messy things, but they are legally placed, are not in sea lanes, and frankly are too wobbly to pose much risk of sinking any craft which wasn't unseaworthy in the first place.

Sinking the platforms will be very difficult. They are made of buoyant substances, so poking holes in them is irrelevant. One could weigh them down with rocks, but that doesn't really guarantee that they will stay down. Removing them is basically a towing job.

Some complications:

Maybe the street trash leave a guard, or have some kind of monitoring on there because it's not that expensive any more, and they really like their real food.

The area is probably surprisingly well lit, even at night.

Maybe AquEco have some muscular friends who will do them a few violent favours.

Aftermath ideas:

Food riots in Seattle, or at least in the Barrens.

Legislative and regulatory drama around rewriting the regs.

Someone sneakily gets red tide toxins into AquEco's stocks.