This is somehting I wrote a backstory for a character. You can be a cruel as you want on the comments. I just posted it becuase I thought someone else might find it entertaining...and the other guy posted one here first.

* * *

The Samaritan

“You shoulda seen The Samaritan last night, Spanner. He was amazing!”

The dwarf rigger looked up at his ork friend. “Up to his usual tricks?”

“You bet,” Razz replied then paused to take a drink. The ork slammed an empty beer glass down on the bar and loudly demanded another as was his usual manner. Then he turned back to his diminutive partner. “Get this, we had Zoot open a fifteen minute window in their security, so Big C dropped us on the roof and we got in no problem. It was way late so we got down to the computer room without seeing any of the night-shift guards. I tell ya man, they were running a skeleton crew or something, cuz there was like no one there.” The bartender arrived with another glass for Razz. The ork nodded his thanks and began to guzzle it, his story aborted for the moment.

“So it was just you and Samaritan on the inside?” Spanner asked between sips of his own gin and tonic.

Razz set down his now half-full beer and wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve. “Yeah, just him and me. So we wuz sittin in the computer room, I was running a detect life spell to keep anybody from sneaking up on us and Samaritan was loading Zoot’s program into the mainframe so we could get the info we needed to get paid, y’know. Anyway, our fifteen minutes of freedom was about half gone when the program cheeses out on us. I mean it totally fragged-up.”

Spanner was really interested now. He’d heard hundreds of run stories in his time, told hundreds too. If there was one thing he’d learned from them, it was that runs that got messed up were the most interesting ones. “What’d you do, mate. Did you have to abort?”

“No way man,” Razz replied after a gulp of beer. “I got a little nervous, you know. I don’t know drek about computers and when one starts making the noises that thing did, I just want to freak out, but Samaritan was all frosty. He looks at me and says, ‘Don’t worry, Zoot told me what to do if this happens.’ So I’m watchin him and he pulls out this big freaking knife and jams it into the freaking computer.”

“He stuck a knife into the mainframe?”

“Yeah man, he did, and I just about died from the shock. I’m thinking, drek, Samaritan just lost it and I ain’t gonna get paid, right? Then he pushes the knife handle down and pops off the access panel. And I say, ‘Damn, Samaritan you coulda told me that’s all you were doing.’ And that dickhead just gives me that little smile of his then goes back to rootin around inside the computer.”

Spanner smirked; he’d seen the Samaritan’s “little smile” more than a few times himself. Sometimes that guy had a pretty sick sense of humor. “So he was going after the hardware?”

“Yeah. That fragger Zoot told him that if the program didn’t work, then we could grab the hard drive and get the info out of it manually. He just wanted to see if his new mojo could melt corporate IC or not.” The ork scowled. “Those drekheads coulda told me though, saved me a lotta grief. Anyhow, Samaritan finds the module we need and yanks it out, and the drek hits the fan.”

“It was rigged?”

“Yeah, man. As soon as he pulled it out, bunch of alarms started going off. So we hightail it outta there, but as soon as we get back to the stairwell to go back to the roof, a friggin drone is waiting for us and starts spitting at us with its loogie gun. One shot skims my side and sticks my arm to my chest, but I manage to put up a bullet barrier before it can hit us with any more.”

“It was in the stairwell?” Spanner asked. As a rigger he was always happy to hear about drones and vehicles.

“Yeah, hanging from a fragging track that ran around the outside wall off the stairwell. We’d seen it on the way down, but couldn’t figure out what it was for, so we forgot about it. So...uh, where was I?”

“You’d just put up a magical barrier to block the glue gun.”

“Oh yeah,” the ork said. “The beer must be getting to me. So the drone couldn’t hit us anymore, but we couldn’t go up the stairs either, so we had to go down. Damn man, I’ve never done fifteen stories worth of steps so fast in my life. We didn’t see any more drones, but we ran into a few guards on like the fifth floor, but they must not be gettin paid very much, cuz they got out of our way real fast after the Samaritan fired a couple smartgun bursts over their heads. We busted out the stairway into the parking garage at the exact same time their high threat response team showed up.”

“Damn,” Spanner whistled.

“Damn straight, damn,” Razz agreed. “So they pile out of their van and start blazin away at us. I thought we were toast right there. I was feelin a little drained from my spell casting and I knew I couldn’t throw up a barrier that would block that much firepower, but Samaritan tackled me and got us both out of the way behind somebody’s Americar.” Another pause for beer, then Razz continued. “I tell you chummer; those boys at ARS Security are a bunch of trigger happy hoop-holes. No demand to surrender or nothing, they just turned that car into Swiss cheese. I took a chance and popped my head up long enough to drop a guy with a mana bolt, but then the Samaritan pulled me back down, said he spotted a way out. So we wait a couple more seconds and the rate of bad-guy fire drops off as like half of them start running out of ammo. Them we pop up and each burn off a clip in their general direction while we run for the exit.”

“Did you get any of the fraggers?”

The ork shook his head, “Couldn’t tell, man. I was running so fast the other way, just firing my TMP over my shoulder. So me and Samaritan hit the emergency exit he saw and we bust out into the alley behind the building. I look and down at the end I can see Big C’s van, he had remoted it over to the building as a back-up incase we had to go out the bottom floor instead of the roof. Good thing him and the Samaritan are all about back-up plans.”

Spanner snorted, “I’m surprised that old van was able to make it more than a block.”

“Yeah I know, but that piece of drek van looked like a fraggin limo to me, it was my sweet ticket outta there. So we both tear hoop down the alley cuz we know that the drekheads with the guns are right behind us and I am so focused on getting to the van that I almost trip over a homeless guy.”

Spanner laughed, “What was he doing there?”

“I dunno, man. I ain’t homeless. He musta been sleeping there or something. Anyway if the Samaritan hadn’t caught me I woulda done a nice face plant and the fraggers woulda put a few bullets in my hoop. So we keep going and it’s just about this time that bullets start chasing us, chewing up the ground at our feet and flyin past our heads. I got to the van first and dove in the sliding door on the side and I look around and the Samaritan ain’t with me. I find him, but I think I’m seein things cuz he’s runnin back the way we came.”

“Back down the alley?” the dwarf asked with alarm.

“Hell yeah,” Razz replied. “I still can’t believe it, but that dumb keeb was running back down the alley towards the bunch of idiots who’d been trying to kill us for the past coupla minutes. So I watch him and he’s ziggin and zaggin and he ain’t getting hit. He fires back at ‘em with his Ingram, but it only spits out five or six rounds because he ain’t had time to reload it. So he drops it and lets it hang by its strap and pulls out his Deputy and starts shooting at them with that. Them he stops running and bends over. I think he got hit, but then he stands back up and he’s holdin something.”

“Oh, did he drop the computer piece?”

“No, man. He had that in a bag on his belt, he didn’t lose it. He was holdin something a lot bigger.”

“Well what was it?” Spanner was on the edge of his barstool.

“It was the fraggin homeless guy. Apparently he’d gotten up after I tripped over his legs and he got himself shot by the ARS drekheads.”

“Wait,” Spanner said. He couldn’t believe it. “I know the Samaritan’s a good guy and all, always giving money to poor people and helping out at that soup kitchen in the barrens, but you’re telling me he took on a pissed-off, trigger happy HTR team by himself, just to pull a homeless fragger out of that alley?”

Razz raised his hands and adopted a solemn expression. “I swear on my life that’s what happened, man. The Samaritan ran back into a fraggin wall of bullets and grabbed this guy, then carried him back out and threw him in the van and made Big C drive us to the nearest clinic to get the guy patched up before we did anything else.”

“And the Samaritan didn’t get hurt?”

“Not a fraggin scratch. His jacket even had a few holes in it, and there were some powder burns on his skin, but nothing a couple band-aids and shower wouldn’t take care of.”

“That’s pretty fraggin unbelievable,” Spanner said in awe.

“Yeah, no drek, chummer. And Samaritan even paid the homeless guy’s hospital bill. He says that when the old guy gets better he’s gonna try to get him into some kind of recovery program they have down at the place he volunteers at.”

“Fraggin heart of gold.”

“You said it man,” Razz agreed as he finally finished his beer. “I guess that’s why we call him the Samaritan.”

Many of us are occaisionally guilty of this, but it is right and proper tae put such things in their proper place: the Shadowrun Writer's Forum.

However, I think it's fraggin' gold. You the orc, or the Samaritan?

<nods>

I love it ..., simple, well written, and funny...

I would swear that I read that before. Did you submit it to Shapcano, or post it on the SWF?

I think it made it onto SWF. Never thought about Shapcano. Is he still posting other's works?

Lately I have been re-reading his stories that I saved on my computer. His stuff is so good...and Winterhawk is easily his equal.

Wow...fanboy...lol.

As far as I know he isn't dead yet, just stray onto his lawn to find out for sure. Send it to him and see what happens.

Freelancer as in writing freelance.

For FanPro.

That's sweet about Winterhawk.

Good news! Shapcano has read and published (or at least posted) my story! Thanks for the suggestion guys!

Here is the link to Shapcano's site, and Musashi's story:

Shapcano's shadowrun stories

Look underneath the google search tool, in the "What's New" section . There is a link that takes you directly to the story.

Thanks.

No problem, it is probably in his Other's Stories section, too. At the very bottom.

Coming of Age in the Shadows

By: Ryan C. Kolbe


Chapter 1

The funeral service was beautiful. The attendees packed the small Baptist church and many actually stood behind the final row of pews because there were no empty seats. Cole had been surprised at the number of people who were there, almost the entire town. He had visited many in their homes and places of business with his mother. She had always been so busy, caring for her small family and her multitude of friends, but now it was time for all of them to visit her, to spend a few final moments with their dear departed.

Pastor Stephen was behind the pulpit, but every time Cole tried to focus on him and what he was saying, his eyes would fall on the open casket and his mother’s serene face. The sunlight that filtered through the stained glass windows fell on her features, perfectly highlighting her dark brown hair, here caramel skin, and the dainty tips of her tusks. She was more beautiful than he could ever remember her being. Every time his eyes fell on her they would fill up with tears and he would have to look away, being brave and fighting them back down.

The six year old looked up at his father. His dad seemed to be paying more attention to what the pastor had to say. Cole could see the hard set of his father’s jaw and it helped him fight back his tears. He could be strong, just like his dad. Then Cole noticed his glistening cybereyes and became more confused than he had ever been in his entire life. His dad was the strongest man he knew, the biggest, strongest man in the entire town. He had told Cole stories of his life as a mercenary, fighting bad guys and helping people in trouble. He had even destroyed a cyberzombie! His dad always admitted that he had help from an old friend named Matador, but Cole knew that it was mostly his dad who took care of the scary thing. Now why was his dad, his hero on the verge of tears? How was Cole supposed to be strong if his dad wasn’t?

Then Pastor Stephen stopped talking and backed away from the pulpit. “Jack,” he said.

Cole did not know why the preacher had called his dad’s name, but he nearly lost control of he tears again when his dad got up from the pew and walked up next to his mom’s casket. It was the way his father moved that bothered him the most. Jack “Twelve-Ton” Thornton was a huge, even for a troll, but he had always carried his massive frame with an easy grace, now there was just something wrong about his stance. He’s…He’s…broken! Cole thought with alarm after finally finding the right word to describe what was so different about his dad. The idea frightened him and made him even sadder.

Jack stood silently next to the casket for nearly a minute, visibly struggling not to look down at his wife’s peaceful form. When he finally gathered the strength to speak, his normal, rumbling bass voice was merely a whisper that everyone in the church strained to hear.

“I want to thank you all for coming. J-,“ he almost lost his composure as he struggled to say her name, but swallowed the lump in his throat and continued. “Josephina, would have appreciated it so much.” Exhausted by saying just that much, he paused for the better part of another minute before he could move on. “I could not have asked God for a better mother for my son, or a better friend to be my…” another pause. “My w-wife.”

As he said the final word, the assembled throng could see the last bit of strength fade from his body. Unable to hold in his grief any longer, Jack Thornton broke down in sobs. Everyone was sure that he would not be able to remain standing, but just as his knees began to buckle a small voice called out from the front row, “You’re not broken, dad! I won’t let you be broken!”

With sobs just as violent as his father’s, Cole threw himself out of his seat and was in his fathers arms in a flash.

The funeral attendees witnessed a miraculous transformation. At the sound of his son’s voice, Jack seemed to gain strength. His frame straightened and he became the “Twelve-Ton” Thornton they all knew and admired. Effortlessly, he swept his boy into the air and held him close. They wept together, the tears of father and son mingling and falling on the white satin pillow next their beloved’s head. Eventually, Jack was able to finish what he had to say, and then with his son clutched tightly to his chest with his left arm, he helped the other pallbearers carry his bride out of the church and into the graveyard with his right. As they watched, no one doubted that he could have carried the hardwood casket all by himself, one handed or not.

* * *

After the burial, everyone who had attended came to the house. Many brought along food they had prepared and everyone shared. Cole was not hungry and after a few minutes of people telling what a wonderful woman his mother had been and how brave he had been to help his dad at the church, he wondered off to his room and sat on the edge of his bed, staring a poster of Mike Ironsides, his favorite combat biker, but not really seeing it, not really seeing anything.

Although the funeral had ended around lunchtime, it was not until after dark that the last guest left the house. Josephina had meant a lot to the community, participating in if not leading just about every charitable organization and always willing to visit and spend time with people in need. Even five months ago, after the biopsy confirmed that the insidious, malignant cancer was inoperable, she had not slowed down. As Jack walked down the hallway towards Cole’s bedroom he remembered how cheerful she had always been, even though he knew the treatments the doctors were using were making her sick as a dog. If only he could ever be as strong as she had been. The thoughts made his eyes wet, but he forced the tears away. I’ve cried enough for today. Now I’ve got to be strong for Cole. He got to his son’s door and found the boy sitting on the edge of his bed in the dark, staring at the wall. He had the blankest one hundred yard stare that Jack had ever seen.

“Cole,” he said softly. When there was no response he tried again, a little louder. “Cole.”

This time the six year old looked up at him. Jack slowly twisted the dimmer switch for the light and brought a low, pleasant glow to their surroundings. “Are you hungry?” he asked.

When he did not receive a response, he continued. “There’s a lot of food out here. Or we could order a pizza.” His mention of the boy’s favorite food finally provoked a response, but no the one that Jack expected.

“I’m not really hungry, dad.”

He felt that he should probably make the kid eat something, but he decided to just let Cole do what he wanted. Entering the room, Jack took a seat next on the bed. The twin-sized frame groaned and the mattress sagged a good deal on account of his great weight. He gently placed a solidly muscled arm around his son and relaxed as the six year old huddled against his side. They sat like that for several minutes and Jack had never felt closer to his child.

Cole broke the silence. “Will you tell me a story?”

“Sure Cole. You want to hear the one with Matador and the cyberzombie?”

Jack felt Cole shake his head. It was strange, he knew that story was the boy’s favorite.

“I want the one about the boy and the giant at the top of the beanstalk. I wanna hear it the way mom tells it.”

A tightness gripped Jack’s chest. He wanted so much to fulfill his son’s wish. Of course he knew the story of Jack and the Beanstalk, but Josephina, a master storyteller, had always added her own little twists and additions. There was no way he could tell it like her. The way Cole wanted to hear it. The grief clutching his chest worked its way up to his jaw and he could feel the tears coming back.

“I’m sorry, Cole,” he whispered, “I don’t know it the way your mom knew it.”

“Oh,” the boy replied, and then went silent. His shoulders began to jerk and Jack knew he was silently crying.

After a minute or two Jack said, “Why don’t- why don’t you tell the story to me so I’ll know it next time?”

The sobbing stopped and Cole wiped at his runny nose with the sleeve of his shirt. “All right.”

He took a moment more to compose himself and moved to the head of his bed. As he looked at him, Jack could not help to be reminded of Josephina. Like her, Cole had very few ork features; only a greenish tone to his skin and the tips of his tusks peeking over his lower lip. Jack quickly looked away as their eyes met and his began to leak the pent-up tears.

Ready to begin, Cole cleared his throat. “Once upon a time…”

I didn't want to start a new thread, but here is something I have come up with in the past couple days based on some ideas I have had kicking around for a while. If you think it has potential, I'll write some more. The idea is follow bits and pieces of Coles life as he learns to be a shadowrunner, then follows him on his first run.

I know that I should put it on SWF, but you guys have been pretty helpful since I posted the Samaritan story. So thanks again and I hope you enjoy.

Well, I can tell you that I was moved by this piece. I, for one, would love to hear more about Cole and his life.

Please don't hesitate to post it on SWF, and keep posting here as well. SWF may not have the traffic it used to, but the folks there are good people in general and can give you good feedback if you ask them.

Oh, and send this off to Shapcano, as well. Quite good.

I plan on writing some more so I'll send it off to Shapcano when I have a few more chapters.

Well I finished Chapter Two for anyone that is interested. Please give me some comments if you feel like it. Every little-bit helps!

Also I'm inviting suggestions for a different title. "Comeing of Age in the Shadows" seems more like a subtitle.

Chapter 2

The morning air was clear and crisp. Not chilly, but distinctly cooler than it would be in half an hour. Having just cleared the eastern horizon, the sun would heat things up in no time. The air also smelled of the forest. Texas does not have the sweeping woodlands of the lands to the north, but as Cole silently slipped from tree trunk to tree trunk he could not help but admire his father’s knack for finding perfect camping sites.

After a quick dash through a small clearing, Cole put his back to a tree and clutched his Remington 750 rifle to his chest. He slowly crouched and then eased around the side of the tree. He could see the target clearing through the foliage ahead of him. He had been there twice already during the night, painting two of the targets with shots from his rifle. Now that the sun was up it would be harder. His dad was out there and Cole could not hide forever.

The thirteen year old slid onto his stomach and began a very slow army crawl towards the edge of the target clearing. His woodland camouflage mixed well with his surroundings and because his dad had taught him how to move Cole was almost invisible to the unaugmented eye. After ten minutes of silent crawling he was in a good position to shoot. Cole stayed away from the edge of the clearing, it would be too easy to spot him there. Instead, he found a tree with its roots exposed by erosion and took a position beside them. Unless someone had been studying the roots, no one would notice that their system had grown. He leveled the rifle, its stock pressed tightly to his right shoulder, and took aim.

In the clearing were five poles of various heights. At the top of each pole Jack and Cole had attached plastic soy-milk jugs. After they were finished Cole had added facial features to the jugs with a permanent marker. Two of the fake heads had green splotches on them, courtesy of Cole’s paint-filled capsule rounds. The other three were unmarked. As he lined up his shot, Cole was tempted to quickly pop all three of the targets in rapid succession. He quickly dismissed the idea though. His father was out there somewhere and the longer that Cole tarried after each shot increased the likely-hood of Jack locating him.

With an unmarked jug in the center of his sights Cole squeezed the trigger and savored the muffled whuff of the suppressed rifle shot and the gun kicked against his body. A green splotch appeared on his target and he mentally cheered. It was the first time that he had ever taken three targets without being caught. Just as he began to slowly back away from his position to relocate there was a sharp crack in conjuncture with a dull impact against the wood above his head. He had been found!

Without a moment to lose Cole rolled away from the tree and the roots he had been hiding beside. There were more cracks and more impacts, but he was always just a bit ahead of them. Then the shoulder strap on his gun caught on something. Rather than stop moving, Cole let go of the weapon and next time he was belly-down he heaved with his arms. The powerful push-up sent his body in a different direction and he was able to get onto his knees. From there it was easy to use his momentum to rock back onto his feet and stand up. In the same movement Cole groped on his belt and pulled the Ares Lightfire out of its holster. Then he spun to the right and put himself behind a large, thick tree.

The safety of the tree gave him a moment to catch his breath and sort things out. He had not seen his dad and he had no idea where the shots had come from, but they had been close, with no discernable time between the gunshot and the impact of the bullet. It was time to move. If he stayed in the same place for too long, he would be shot for sure. Suddenly Cole felt the hard barrel of a gun tap the top of his head.

“Gotcha,” he head his father say.

Slowly, Cole holstered his weapon and turned around. Jack, holding his own Remington 750 in one hand and using the other to secure himself in the tree, was hanging upside down from a very thick branch. How does he do that? Cole thought with some shock. It’s like he has total control over how much he weighs. Sometimes he’s as massive as a mountain and other times he’s light as a feather.

“Yeah, you got me.”

“Don’t be too disappointed,” Jack said as he deftly swung himself down from his perch. “You got three. That’s never happened before.”

“I should have gotten more though,” Cole replied as he walked over to the place he had lost his rifle. “I mean with the suppressor-,”

Jack cut him off gently, “It wasn’t really the suppressor, Cole. You’ve gotten a lot better at sneaking and choosing your camouflage.” He started walking towards the target clearing and Cole fell into step beside him. “We’ve had this talk before. You can have all the newest shiniest toys and weapons, but if you don’t have the basic skills all that state of the art junk isn’t going to save you.”

They walked to each of the poles, pulling them out of the ground to take back to their campsite.

“Nice shot,” Jack said as he turned one jug so Cole could see the green paint centered on the drawn face’s nose.

“Thanks,” Cole said with a grin, proud of his work. Then he frowned slightly as he contemplated something his father had said. “But you’ve got cyberware.”

“Sure do,” Jack said with a laugh as he held up his right fist and extended a wicked looking blade from between his first and second fingers. “Nowadays I wouldn’t want anyone to go into the field without it, but I always thought long and hard about what I really needed. First of all, it costs a lot and sometimes the surgery leaves you laid-up for a while and you can’t work. Second it always felt like I was giving a little bit of myself away every time.” After saying this Jack got quiet and he began leading the way back to their campsite. “It never felt wrong or anything like that, just weird. I’ve known guys who went in to get some major work done and came back with a totally different personality.”

He went silent for a moment and then shook his head as if to clear it. The next time he spoke, his normal booming bass voice had returned. “Anyways, like I was saying before. Don’t let your gear, inside or outside, keep you from practicing and improving on your basic skills.”

Cole nodded. “So,” he said. “Pistol practice when we get back to the camper?”

“Now don’t you try to weasel out of your jobs now,” Jack said with a laugh. “It’s your turn to cook breakfast and I believe you have some homework to get done and submitted to your tutor. After that you need to catch a few hours sleep or you’ll be a wreck. Thirteen’s old, but still not old enough to stay up to all hours of the night without thinking of your health.”

With wide smiles on both of their faces, father and son hiked through the woods, visions of bacon and eggs dancing in their heads.

Well, is chapter 2 any good?