James was walking down the street. Smack in the middle of the corporate core at five o’clock in the afternoon, he felt like a drop of water in the ocean, one man walking amidst a sea of people. The metaphor was reinforced by the shitty weather. The sky was a uniform grey, backdrop against the grey concrete corporate towers and the grey trench coat and umbrellas the corporate wage-slaves were so fond of. Traffic on the road was a stop-and-go dance of resigned drivers of sedans, who for reasons James always tried to guess, had to drive to work. Some cars, of course, had tinted windows and nicely dressed drivers, the carriages of the corporate elite who simply drove around because they were rich.

James made his way through the people. He cut across the street to the other sidewalk, coolly walking in between slowly moving cars. His jaywalking earned him a few scornful or resentful looks from the people around, the corp yuppies who never break rules and always walk straight. James couldn’t quite suppress a small grin at the corner of his mouth at the pleasure he got from alienating these people. Even the wireless publicity he was getting from the neighbourhood was polite, unobtrusive. The employees of the corps wouldn’t have their spam filters high anyway, obediently receiving the ads from their employers with no resistance.

Adjusting his own grey trench coat (the irony lost on him), James ducked into a subway entrance. A few minutes later, he emerged into the bourgeois apartments and lofts neighbourhood that was his destination. The crowd here was younger, pseudo-bohemians, wannabe artists and young professionals spending too much on rent. James passed a hand through his short brown hair, leaving his palm slightly greasy. Need to wash my hair tonight, he thought. His destination, the bohemian Ò Patros Vidos bar, whose name James was pretty sure didn’t mean anything, was just a few streets up. He walked, incidentally following some blond haired elven woman he recognised had gotten into the subway at the same time as him back in the corp sector. So, this corpie likes to think she’s bohemian. He casually checked out her ass as she walked, tight in her power dress. Uptight little elf, I bet she fucks like a whore though. The sexual aggressiveness of his thoughts surprised him a little, and he embarrassingly looked away, at the shop storefront windows he was walking by.

He reached the bar, a tiny one-room place crowded by young adults letting loose after a day’s work. His contact, Vikov, was waiting for him, casually leaning against the bar. Wearing a black turtleneck with matching black designer shades, he fit right in with the crowd. James greeted him with a smile, sitting in the stool next to him and ordering a microbrewery beer.

“Nice to see you Figaro”, said Vikov in his Russian accent, calling James by his street name. There was hidden meaning in the Russian’s words, a subtle reference to the last job James had done for the fixer. An incident involving the bad timing of an invisibility spell. They never let anything slide, though James.

“You never let anything slide, do you Vikov. You got the goods, didn’t you?” asked the shadowrunner, making himself sound more annoyed at the man than he really was. Vikov chuckled and raised his hands in sign of protest, mutely dropping the issue. James went straight to business: “So what’cha got for me today, Vikov?”

The Russian’s face lost the trace of the smile that was on it as he also went into business mode, seating himself next to the shadowrunner and lowering his head over the bar, near James, as he talked in a low voice.

“This one is a little different. A bit more violent, I think. The painting...", a pause as the fixer uploaded images of the item to be stolen into James’s commlink, and the runner accepted and displayed the pictures on is Augmented Reality overlay, “...is in possession of, not a refined aristocrat nor a corporate higher-up, but a drug dealer operating out of an abandoned building.”

James cocked an eyebrow as he looked over the images of the painting. His appraising eye confirmed that this painting was probably worth quite a bit. Zooming in on the bottom right, he made out the signature. “A Zoltaire”, he stated. Vikov nodded his head in confirmation. James returned his observation to the painting in general, noting the painter’s trademark blues and whites. Of course, the most important aspect of the painting, the thing that made it so beautiful, such a work of genius, and so valuable, would not be apparent on an AR overlay picture. James closed the picture file.

“Alright, so what’s the deal then. What’s a dealer doing with a painting like this?” Vikov inhaled in preparation of an answer, but James quickly shook his head and corrected himself. “You know what, I don’t care. Just tell me where this guy is”. The Russian fixer smiled at the well-trained professionalism of the shadowrunner. The less the retainer asks, the less you have to lie to him.

“Figaro, my friend, let me tell you what you need to know, then we shall discuss payment, da?”. With that, Vikov ordered two more beers.

a phonecall, AR style, or IM, maybe some searching while on the go and similar i a nice way of showing the power of the new matrix

Hey, what about a mage using watchers to advertise his talismonger/magical healing shop? I just thought of that, and I don't think I've ever heard of it being done. While I can't imagine mages would get hired to advertise like this very often, since it would be an underutlization of their power, I see no reason why they wouldn't use watchers to hawk their own businesses.

The air tasted bitter and acid here. Not so much that you absolutely had to wear a breather, which was good because if you did wear one, you’d pass off as a pansy and the gangers would get you. In this part of town, if you didn’t look tough, you either became someone’s bitch or you got killed. A rough way to live, surely, but the day-glow punks, anarchists, rebels and other assorted ruffians that populated this sector liked it that way.

It was night now. Vikov’s information had been useful, but limited. James was going to run up his own leads and find out more. Also, his indefinable shadowrunner’s instinct was nagging at him. He couldn’t put it in words yet, but a doubt about something was pushing him on to ask questions. So he had come here.

The streets were literally covered in detritus. Paper and cardboard that had gotten wet from the acid rain and mashed up in dirty paste to create textured smears on the ground, forgotten trash bags piled up in alleys, discarded fast food bags and containers, as well as trash that had no apparent original purpose James could guess at.

The walls here were covered in graffiti and tags of spray paint, but also of the wireless kind. Gang names, slogans, and rough street poetry pushed at James’ spam filter. You couldn’t let that shit in, less you open yourself to a viral infection. Bad code was not always intentional, sometimes the taggers just didn’t know what they were doing. Walking on past small groups of youths with exuberant neon coloured hair, James’ eye caught on a particular wall that had a beautiful spray paint rendering of a long haired, azure skinned deity in a suggestive pose, a true work of street art. However, it had been covered in crude gang tags. No one rose above the brutal strength of the gangs, not even artists.

James was heading for The Imperial, an old theatre turned bar. It was the biggest venue around, and the least populated by the truly weird and violent rejects of society. Hopefully, he would get enough answers there.

Nearing the place, the streets were more lively as the bar crowd spilled out into the outside. Some small band was playing tonight apparently, and its supporters were shouting for all to come see it, amidst jeers and insults from those that didn’t give a shit. Cars, old models with most of their paint chipped off and customized with crudely attached metal for armour, spikes or random decorative items, the vehicles of the punks that lived around here, slowly made their way through the human traffic. There was no distinction between street and sidewalk, here. Drivers had to slow down as people carelessly or purposely cut them off. The less aggressive patiently drove on, while others honked, insulted or threatened the pedestrians.

James was walking on the street, next to the parked cars along the sidewalk. A slow moving convertible, a black oblong vehicle, it’s top down, flanked him, moving about as fast as he did. Although it was due to traffic, James couldn’t help but feel like the car was following him. The driver was a skinny male goth punk, dressed in black with numerous facial piercing. Two more punks, of similar style, rode in the bench seat in the back, their arms casually hanging out and their gaze, hidden by shades, wandered up and down the sidewalk. In the front passenger seat, standing out, was a girl. Her pale blond hair, cut to the length of her neck was lit up with pink strands. Her skin was soft looking, a translucent pale colour complementing her hair, contrasting with her mauve lipstick and golden lip ring, as well as the black mascara lining her eyes. She was looking at James, smiling.

“Hey there stranger, hot night, no?” she asked him, her companions briefly turning their heads to look at who she was talking to. Seeing him, they silently observed him.

James cocked an eyebrow and smiled back. “It’s the humidity. Shoulda rained earlier.”

She laughed. “You a meteorologist?”

“Naw, just a deadbeat looking for a drink”

“Well then, maybe I’ll see you inside” she said, nodding her head in the direction of The Imperial without breaking eye contact with him. James followed her nod, and when he turned back to her, her car was moving faster as traffic let up. She winked at him.

What the fuck thought James, dismissing that whole encounter. He didn’t know if she was flirting or making fun of him. Didn’t matter. He hopped in between two parked cars to reach the front door of the bar. Two professional looking troll bouncers frisked him without a word. They took his gun and someone threw a file transfer at his face, his claim ticket. James accepted it.

Inside, the music was loud. The dance floor was populated by leather clad punks trashing to the noise they considered music. A few chicks were in there too, one with a curly heap of electric green hair, easily setting her apart. James headed for the second bar, upstairs, rather than the main one.

The second floor was calmer. The music could still be heard, but it wasn’t deafening as below. The air was smoky and lighting subdued. Beer now in hand, James took in the people sitting in the dimly lit back of the bar. Most were shady looking. He spotted one man, though, that looked like the kind of man he was looking for. A bald man in a green suit of rich fabric, flanked by gorillas that were visibly packing heat despite the bar’s ban on weapons. A connected, powerful man he knew by reputation. James finished his drink for courage and headed towards the man’s booth. Predictably, one of the bodyguards, a large black orc sporting dreadlocks, stepped in front of him, chest pumped.

James raised a hand to calm the orc. “I’d like to speak to Mister Barrow, if he pleases...” as the orc coldly stared him in the eyes, the shadowrunner boldly continued “My name is Figaro, I’ve got a business proposition for him”

Peeking past the massive orc’s shoulder, James saw the fixer look his way, take a sip of his drink, and look back at the commlink he was toying with. James’ demeanour fell somewhat.

“Mister Barrow. Doesn’t. Want to see you. Now get lost.” Growled the orc, the look in his eyes daring, just daring James to push the issue. James snorted and walked away, back at the bar, where he took a seat on a stool and ordered another beer. Looks like I need a plan B.

“Hey, bitch, that’s my seat!” came a small, feminine voice, without aggression, behind him. Looking over his shoulder, James saw the girl from the car grinning at him. “Just kidding!” she added, smile broadening. James snorted, again, turning back to his drink.

“Why so glum, chummer? Can’t get a date with Barrow?” she pressed on, leaning against the bar next to the shadowrunner.

James angrily looked up into the girl’s face. She didn’t flinch, just holding the smile on her purple lips. He looked her face over, again, now that he was closer to her. She was young and pretty, and had slightly pointed ears.

“What do you want from me?” he finally asked her.

“I can get ya in with Barrow, but you need to do a tiny something for me” she said. Seeing how James was still listening to her, she continued on. “My name’s Krissy, by the way. And you see that ugly dickhead over there? He’s my sticky ex, and I need you to tell him to go frag himself.”

James looked up to where Krissy had indicated. He saw a fairly muscular guy wearing some sort of S&M leather outfit tricked out with various electronic devices, with a designer commlink plugging into his datajack. The guy was alternating between knocking back shooters and throwing hateful looks his way.

“Yeah, call me Figaro” he conceded to her, still eyeing the punk. “What’s a girl like you doing with a guy like that, and why don’t you ask your friends from the car to take care of this?”

“He. Was a mistake. What can I say, he had cool stuff.” James checked her to see if she was kidding, but she merely had an annoyed look on her face and downed a shooter of her own. “As for my friends, they’re scared of him”. She looked at James expectantly.

James sat up, and made his way towards the Leather Dude. The punk apparently welcomed the challenge and met him half way, his disposition aggressive, ready for a fight.

“You Krissy’s new man, huh, is that it, motherfucker?” he angrily demanded, his pals making a spectator half-circle behind him, encouraging him on.

James switched his attention to his overlaid commlink feed, analysing the punk’s wireless setup. He was running stock software, and tons of little gadgets. He had the presence of mind to at least skinlink his gear. But whatever, his defences were pathetic. James went to work on the ganger’s firewall. It would take a few seconds, so he needed to stall him.

“Maybe. She told me she needed a man, after her pathetic last boyfriend. Hey, was that you, by any chance?”

His supporters went “oooooh” at the insult. The punk’s face went red, but he took the verbal war to heart. “Last boyfriend? Yeah, it’s hard to say with this slut, she’s had so many dicks in her”

James cracked the punk’s firewall. Predictably, there wasn’t really anything else as far as defences went in there. The entire network was laid bare. James could see the Leather Dude had Goblin Trash Rock playing at loud levels in his head, as well as various uninteresting gadgets piping in feeds. But the juicy part James had hoped was there, was there indeed. A simrig module, modified to accept higher-than-normal BTL signals.

He took a step closer, to be right in the ganger’s face. “Listen you pathetic fuck, Krissy doesn’t want you around her, and if you don’t bug off, I’m gonna fuck you up real bad”.

Those were fighting words of course, and the punk jumped on them. As soon as the shadowrunner saw the ganger shift his body to throw a punch, he uploaded the virus into the ganger’s sim module. A very simple virus, the program simply jacked up the physical sensations felt by the ganger to unbearably agonizing levels. The punk fell to the floor. James picked him up by his spiked doggy leather collar and levelled his face to his own.

“Listen you heap of dog shit. Get lost.” The punk was clasping his head in pain, his face distorted in a silent scream of pain. James punched him in the face for good measure, then dropped him back to the floor and cut the pain signal. The punk’s posse simply stared at the shadowrunner in resentful awe, then picked up their buddy. They left unceremoniously.

“Good show” commented Krissy, cocking an eyebrow, when James got back to his seat. Her black-lined eyes took him in appreciatively. “Didn’t know you were a mage”

James chuckled. “That wasn’t magic. Just a little Hacking 101. Not that I’m a hacker, either.” She kept a look on him James wasn’t sure how to interpret.

“You ready to meet Mister Barrow now, then?” she finally asked him, very serious now.

James was ready.

Good stuff backgammon, is there a reason you're not submitting this to the fiction contest?

Very good stuff.

I was trying to do something like this in my SGP (Chapter 3, see signature below) but I guess I do not have the writing skills for that.
I really think we need more litertaure with emphasiz of social consequences of the new cyber world.

oh, i need to get myself that virus

nice work, realy nice. love how the matrix activity is there just as if its everyday stuff

His Augmented Reality overview displaying half a dozen art magazine articles, James sat comfortably in the driver’s seat of the rental car he’d gotten. The car was of course driving itself, it’s navigation computer following the plotted course that had been entered by the shadowrunner. A fine selection of classical music played in James’ head as he read the articles. He’d stopped short of entering the virtual room his commlink could create for his mind, a beautiful forested park he had bought from the store a few months back. He figured he should still pay some attention to the road, especially since Krissy, who he was picking up, lived where GridGuide service was spotty at best.

The shadowrunner still couldn’t quite figure out why the girl had insisted to follow him around. In her early twenties, he had a good ten years on her. Compared to her seeming impulsiveness and recklessness, he looked downright conservative. However, since pulling sway with Mr. Barrow last night, she had proven that perhaps there was more to her than met the eye, or in any case that, whatever her reasons for wanting to tag along, she had her uses.

Reflecting on this, James’ thoughts wondered back to last night. She had just strolled over there, like this fixer was some punk nobody friend of hers. Anyone, anyone, who had ever heard of Mister Barrow’s reputation would have been a lot more respectful. But she had whispered something in the Dreadlock Orc’s ear, who laughed and patted her on the back amiably. She’d waved back at James, who sat on his stool staring incredulously at the girl. As easy as that, she slid into the fixer’s private booth as James, tentatively, also sat down, throwing the bodyguards cautionary glances.

The meeting with Barrow had been very informative, but not cheap. Names, addresses and information had been bartered for. For all the use Krissy had been in setting up the meeting, she’d kept very quiet during the talks, keeping a steady, penetrating gaze on James as she sipped some fruity alcoholic beverage from a pink straw and politely laughing when Barrow made an attempt at business-like humour. Afterwards, she had made James swear he would pick her up so she could come with him meet contacts.

He pulled up against the curb, in front of a grey-blue apartment building. The neighbourhood was very quiet. Eleven in the morning was still early in the morning for punks. James grimaced and looked at the building through the passenger window. It was an ugly building. Plus, Krissy hadn’t told him an apartment number. The thought crossed his mind that, all along, the girl had been making fun of him, but then Krissy, dressed in fishnet stockings, purple Tee, black leather coat and her same mauve lipstick, came out the door, smiling broadly.

“You actually came! I though you might not keep your promise...” she confided as she got in the car.

“Yeah. Crossed my mind not to.” He teased back. She laughed a little.

Krissy was a talking machine. As James drove on to meet Aleister, a mage friend of his with a shop out in the suburbs, the girl ceaselessly talked about subject matters that came and went. She was browsing online gossip magazines as she talked, feeding her subject matter. She periodically paused her talking to ask him questions, seemingly very important ones, who’s answers she listened to intently, turning to focus that drilling look of hers into the side of his head. “Do you think Maria Mercurial likes Dead as Nails?” “If Loftwyr and Ghostwalker went at it, who would win?” “Did you see Evo’s new ad?”

James actually drove manually so he could keep his mind busy instead of listening to all that talking, which he thought would make his head explode if he did.

“We’re here” he announced as he pulled up in front of Hermetica, Aleister’s magic shop. The place looked like a bookstore of old. There were no virtual ads emanating from the building. There wasn’t even a list of items to buy available through virtual interaction. The place was some sort of eerie matrix black spot.

“Wee Hove A Speciool Own Layte Twen-ne-ne-nieth Centoory Greemowres. Coome Oon Een” Came a cold, spectral, but somehow goofy and dumb sounding voice near James’ head. Startled, he whipped his head around to see a green hovering ball emanating a yellowish light. It floated unsteadily, circling the air between James and Krissy.

“Cool, a Watcher spirit!” exclaimed Krissy. Face alit with curiosity, she tentatively moved a finger forward to try and poke it.

James let go of a sigh, and walked into the magic shop.

The air inside the shop smelled of stale herbs and dust. Books, staves, wands, necklaces and herbs were shelved, on display or hanging from the ceiling. Some levitated by themselves. Krissy, coming in behind James, took the shop in. “Huh” she flatly said. She walked a bit forward, and started to look at and touch the various magical paraphernalia. “Don’t touch anything” casually warned James. Krissy made a face.

Aleister, an older black man with a limp, emerged from the bead curtain separating the back of the store. He smiled and opened his arms in friendship as walked in-between shelves of stock. “Figaro, what a pleasure to see you my boy!”

“Hey Old Man” he answered back as they hugged and tapped each other’s back.

“What brings you” the old man’s question is interrupted by the sudden thwack of a wooden staff falling flat against the ground. Both men reactively turn their look at Krissy, who a few meters away is hurriedly putting the staff back in it’s leaning position against a shelf.

“She’s with me” explains James. To that, Aleister looks at James, back at Krissy, then at him again.

“How’s that work?” he asks, seemingly puzzled.

James just shrugs. How does it work? “I dunno. She’s just. Tagging along. I don’t know.” As Aleister makes an “Ah” face and nods sagely a few times, James annoyingly adds “It’s not like that. Just. Forget it.”

Clearing his throat, the old man places a hand behind James’ back and guides him a few step out of direct sight of the girl. Not a really necessary move, as Krissy is far too busy exploring the shop to pay any attention to the two men.

“So, anyway. Listen, Al, I’m going to need your help for something. It’s kind of dangerous, though. Pay will be good, though” begins James. He finds he can’t make direct eye contact with his friend as he speaks, instead looking out the storefront windows out into the streets. It’s too dangerous, I shouldn’t involve him. This ain’t the regular stuff.

“Go on.”

“I’m going to be getting this painting. A Zoltaire. You know what that means. I’m going to need you to tell me if it’s a fake or not.” James fixes his gaze outside. But the pause is long, so he turns to look at Aleister, fearful the old man isn’t going to go for it.

“It’s going to be stolen, I presume. Stolen from someone dangerous, who would kill me, maybe, if he found out I was linked to you in anyway, once it’s stolen.” The old man was a wise one. He looked serious. James nodded silently. Their eyes were locked.

“How much money?”

“Enough for Mara” quickly answered the shadowrunner. The mood was heavy now. The implication of what this meant had to sink in, for Aleister, but, James realised, for himself also. If this worked out, this would be the last time he would ever see the shop owner.

“Enough. For Mara. Completely. Completely?” asked Aleister. His eyes shone with passion at the mention of his grand-daughter. He was distrustful. “You’ve promised this for a long time, I” James cut him off. “It’ll be enough for the operation. I promise. No more little chunks of money for life support. Enough to cure her. In one shot.”

Aleister cleared his throat a little, pacing, occasionally throwing James a look between resentment and uncertainty. There was no more pretence of friendship between them. That coldness stung James a little. But this is who I am, he thought. I’m a shadowrunner. I am not a good man. I’ve paid this man just enough money to keep is granddaughter alive, in exchange for his obedience to me. Hide things for me. Tell me things. Sell your soul to me. For your girl. Do it. Do it again.

“Alright.” concluded the Old Man. “Alright. But after this, we’re done.”

“Of course” nodded James, now he too cold. The two men stared at each other. Aleister offered his hand, slowly, to be shaken. James took it. They shook.

A bubblegum balloon popped. James turned his head to see Krissy, gathering the popped gum balloon on her lips with her tongue, move her eyes between the two men. “Uh, s’up?” she asked, a bit embarrassed, getting a whiff of the heavy mood.

James returned his look to Aleister. He nodded, then the old man nodded back. “Nothing. We’re done. Let’s go, Krissy.” They left the shop. Outside, through the store’s window, James saw Aleister wearily lean one arm against the front counter and look down, pensive.

James got in the car without saying anything. Krissy did the same, looking inquisitively at the shadowrunner. “What’s wrong?” she asked. She looked helpless. Her mascara lined eyes. Purple lips. Pale soft skin, blond hair, pink streaks. Tiny elf ears, like I didn't notice. Who is this girl.

“What do you want from me? Huh?” nearly yelled James. He was drained. He didn’t like himself much right now. Krissy blinked rapidly a few times, and rolled the gum in her mouth once. “Why do you help me? Why do you follow me? What do you want?” he demanded.

His anger didn’t faze her in the least. She stared back at him, for a moment. Something between cold and angry. It passed. She chewed her gum, crossed her arms over her chest and sat straight in her seat. She looked ahead, possibly gathering her thoughts, maybe her courage. She turned back to him.

“I want to be a shadowrunner.”

James looked at her. Looked forward. Looked back at her. “You. want. What?” he managed. He was surprised. Maybe he wasn’t the most confounding guy, but it wasn’t written on his forehead he was a shadowrunner. He hoped.

“I’m not. Why. What do I have to do with that?”

She rolled her eyes. “Come on, don’t be dumb. Who else talks to Mister Barrow, looking like you? You ain’t Yakuza. You ain’t terrorist. I know who you are. And I want you to show me the ropes. I ain’t scared. Not of nothing. Not of dying. I’m pretty, I’m good with people, as you saw, and I got Talent.”

“What’s that mean, you got talent? At what?” James asked. His mind was moving pretty fast. He was stalling for time, not really thinking about what the words she was saying, just what she was saying.

“No, not talent. Talent. With a capital ‘T’. I’m Awakened, you dumbass. Adept. Magic.”

If James had had coffee in his mouth, it would have been that classical comical scene where he’d spew it out everywhere. How retarded could I have been?

He kept driving.

For a long time.

They didn’t say anything.

He brought her back to her place. He parked in front of her building. She looked outside. She looked vulnerable.

“Alright.”

She looked at him. He was staring at her, intently. He wasn’t telling her alright, we’re here. He was telling her, alright.

She smiled. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. But this is no joke, Kriss. This is serious shit. You want in, you’re coming in hot. This is no cakewalk job.” She nodded furiously, his grim words having no dissuasive effect on her at all.

“I’ll pick you up tomorrow. Pack a bag. Only essential things. Don’t talk to anyone.”

She said “Ok”. Then she kissed him, on the lips. She left the car, smiled at him, and went inside her apartment.

James stood in his car. He wasn’t sure what worried him more: his choice of using this girl, who could be a liability, who could be setting him up, who could be a soon-to-be innocent casualty, or the slight stiffening of his dick in his pants.

hmm, may be jailbait but i want to date that girl

btw, who needs a webcomic. this is oh so much better

I can't get enough! Awesome! Best. Story. Ever.
(But what kind of adept could she be if she couldn't handle her ex?)

who said she couldn't? She probably just wanted to see if Figaro could...


Again, great stuff backgammon... do you have a backlog of previous writings we could scan by any chance?

“How do you like your room?” James was leaning in the doorframe to his own lodgings, looking smug. It was a teasing question, since he already knew the answer. The room sucked. Like the rest of this dirty motel. Krissy made a grimacing hah-hah face at him as she walked past the two other doors separating their rooms. The doors to the motel room opened directly outside, to a small porch that gave a view on the highway.

“This place sucks. Couldn’t we have chosen somewhere with a working shower?” she complained.

“Your shower doesn’t work?”

“No.”

“That’s hilarious”

“Shut up.”

“Hey, shadowrunning isn’t all glamour you know. You ready to go buy drugs?” James asked her cheerfully. She rolled her eyes at him.

They got into his car and headed south, towards the projects. They were doing some recon tonight. The target, Rosio, was some sort of big shot drug dealer operating out of an abandoned apartment building outside town. The best way, James had figured, to scope the place out, was to walk right in. By buying drugs from him, they’d be able to walk inside, look around, and even meet the man. It was risky only insofar as if they fucked up during the actual robbery, Rosio might remember him. But it was a minimal risk.

“So, you down with the plan?” he asked her again. She dismissed it with a “Yeah, yeah”.

“I don’t think there’ll be trouble, but you never know with junkies. Plus, this ‘Rosio’ fellow seems kind of weeeeird” he added, stretching out the last word. Krissy flashed him a No-kidding smile.

James took out a handgun from his jacket’s interior pocket, checked the chamber with a cha-chink sound, and ran the smartlink’s boot-up diagnostic. He shifted his weight so as to lift his leg a bit into the air to give his cyberholster room to pop-out. He stuck the gun into the weapon space, and willed the holster’s trap door to close. Krissy observed him as he did so. He met her eye and, somehow feeling as if he’d shown her something private, mumbled “Better safe than sorry”, just to say something.

The drug dealer’s base of operation was a large multi-story apartment building. It was an ‘L’ shaped red and brown brick affair. Right next to it was a smaller square building under construction, all metal beams and plywood. Of course, this neighbourhood had been abandoned and was now squatter territory, so the construction would probably never be finished, and the skeletal building would remain as it was forever. Grass had never been planted, so the two buildings stood amidst dirt with bottle caps and broken glass in it.

There was no public lighting here. There was no nothing. Unlike the punk neighbourhood around The Imperial, where life was rough and violence thrived, here there was only slow death. Here, junkies, drug zombie squatters who shambled around clutching themselves in pain between highs or slumped in corners with a dumb smile on their faces when the drugs were in their system, existed only for their habits, too weak to form gangs or assault others. They had no homes; they slept where they fell. They had no hunger, the drugs rotting their teeth and providing the only sustenance they needed.

James parked his car near a trash bin fire. Three junkies hung around the warmth and light. Two were sitting, blankets covering their thin frames, and one shuffled to his feet when James and Krissy stood out of the vehicle. The wretch headed for James, hands outstretched and groping in his direction, as he emitted a low moan, which might have contained words had the junky not been so blasted out of his mind. James grabbed his face with one hand and pushed him to the ground effortlessly, a look of disgust on his face.

“If I come back and there’s a scratch on my car, I’m gonna kill every last one of you motherfuckers, okay?” he instructed mockingly to the junkies. They weren’t a threat, of course.

He and Krissy headed for a door leading inside the building. They both walked slowly, looking uncomfortably side-to-side at the blasted landscape lit by the occasional barrel fire. Neither spoke.

The door led to a graffitied cement stairwell that smelled like piss and echoed as the pair climbed up. It did smell like piss, but James still found it a bit funny that Krissy’s first shadowrun was in such a hellish place. He tossed her a look, a half smile in the corner of his lips, but she looked stern-faced and concentrated. She is from gangland. She’s tough, gotta remember that.

They only had to climb up four floors. They got out of the stairwell, through a door that seemed to open up into another world. The hallway they emerged onto had electricity, being lit by the apartment’s original and still functioning light sconces lining the walls. The floor was carpeted and the hallway was bottom half wood, upper half wallpaper. A guard, and orc with a worn looking armoured jacket, shades and casually holding an oversized sub-machine gun looked at them. James nodded to him. The guard did not nod back.

A single door was open at the complete end of the hallway, two guards flanking it. All the other doors of the floor were barred with wooded planks. James and Krissy exchanged looks, then headed for the open door. Once there, the two guards stopped the pair and patted them down. James noticed, somewhat to his surprise, that the thugs didn’t use the frisk as an excuse to grope Krissy.

They walked into a sombre unlit room, which seemed in fact to be a waiting room. Chairs lined the walls, and junkies, in various stages of drug-induced physical shutdown, sat on them. Some fidgeted, others just lay there limp and mouth open. A single guard, a troll, lay watch over them. Light spilled in from a door leading to an adjoining room. James stood, looking the chairs over. He didn’t want to sit on them. Krissy eyed the troll.

A human, bald, wearing stilt shades and dressed in a designer leather coat walked up to the threshold of the door, escorting a junkie out. The junkie had a handful of syringes and a big smile on his face. Bald Designer Coat Guy gently pushed him out into the room with James and Krissy. “Ohhhkay, buh-bye now Jerry, you enjoy that. NEXT!” he exclaimed. The junkie sitting in the chair nearest to the door got up and shambled into the lit room. The whole scene reminded James of some sort of nightmaresque dentist waiting room. Then, seeing James and Krissy standing in the middle of the room, the man clasped his hands and said “Ah! Real customers! What a treat. Come, come”, waving them towards him.

Krissy took the cue and headed for the lit room. James followed her. This room was bigger. Evidently, Rosio had taken over the entire floor and reconfigured it, connecting each apartment together to make himself a floor-wide home. James just saw at the corner of his eye the junkie who had gotten in right before take a right into another room. The Bald Man, however, led them straight and onwards, past more rooms. There were many thugs in the complex. Some were eating and talking, other watched the trid. Other men, less physically imposing, seemed to be working, doing such things as bagging drugs into individual dose bags. It was surprising Rosio left his operation so open for outsiders to see. Unless he plans on killing us, maybe, crossed James’ mind. He swallowed, and kept following his host.

Finally, Bald Man stopped in front of a closed door guarded by two exceptionally muscular men. The guards wore what could only be described as skimpy leather outfits. They had no body hair and James was pretty sure their bodies were oiled. He caught Krissy biting her lower lip. She was trying not to laugh.

Bald Man knocked on the door, put his ear to it for a second, then retracted and turned to knob, opening the door for James and Krissy. “Rosio will see you now” he told them, in rather effeminate way, James thought.

Again, James and Krissy exchanged a look, then walked in. James couldn’t help but slow to a stop and gape at the huge room he was in. Classical music played softly, mingling with the sound of running water coming from identical white marble fountains on either side of the room. Lining those walls were display cases, though James could not see what was in them from where he was. In front of them, dominating the room, was a gigantic mahogany desk. On the wall behind that desk, central to the room, was a painting. James stared at it. The perfect use of shapes, colours, symmetry, asymmetry and texture. Blues and greys. The Zoltaire. It was splendid, but, more importantly, it was there. James tried to catch Krissy’s eye, but she was gaping at other stuff.

A door to the right of the mahogany desk opened. A man wearing a pink silken bed robe, a black and red beret and carrying a coffee cup walked out. He had short spiky bleached hair and a red pinch, and was wearing stilt shades even narrower than Bald Man’s. He turned towards James and Krissy and smiled, tilting his chest back and waving with his hand, like he was surprised to see old friends or something. James stared, mouth open.

Krissy was on her feet faster. “You must be Rosio” she piped.

“Yeah! Yeah!” answered the eccentric man.

“We, uhm. I’m Krissy, this is Figaro” she smiled, but gave James a mean stare. Uh, right, get a hold of yourself, James.

James cleared his throat. “Hurm, yes, Figaro. Mister Rosio”

“Rosio, man, just Rosio” cut off the drug dealer as he took a seat behind his massive desk, flipping his feet on top.

“Yes, then, very well, Rosio. We’re... Well, you’ve got quite a nice setup here, sir, if I do say so.”

“Ah, yeah. You like? Rad, huh? I like beautiful things” said Rosio, as he got up from the chair he had just sat down on. He came towards the shadowrunner, taking little steps that made his hips sway. James could see the bulge of the man’s genitalia behind the lithe silk, and, when he walked, the man’s upper thighs in between the openings of the bed robe. James shuddered a little.

“Um, yes, I can see that you are a man of taste. The rich wood of your desk compliments nicely the tones of the walls” alright, let’s talk shop, you bastard, thought James. You didn’t have to be gay to know about art. Getting on the man’s good side might come in handy. Or at least avoid getting killed. James still wasn’t sure if he was getting out of here alive.

“Ah, a connoisseur! Yes, I am a collector of fine and beautiful things, for example, you see...” Rosio began, trailing on as he described the various charms of the artefacts in the room. James kept up polite ‘Hum’s and ‘Ah’s as the man prattled on. When he had his back turned, extolling the virtue of something over there, James nudged Krissy and roughly jabbed his head in the direction of the Zoltaire, making wide facial expressions at her. Krissy looked at the painting, lowered her head and raised her eyebrows and murmured ‘yeah?’ James made a ‘yeah!’ face at her. She looked back at it, squinted, then looked back at him. She nodded.

Apparently, though, James had missed his cue to say an ‘Ah’, because Rosio turned back to look at him questioningly. James made a quick catch-up nod at him. The drug dealer walked back towards him in his pitty-patter way.

“Yes, I suppose you’d like to get down to business now, hmm?” Rosio headed back towards his desk, opened a drawer and took out a small bag. He headed back towards the couple. He moved close to James, and brought his lips even closer to the shadowrunner’s temple. “Fi. Ga..Ro. Mmm, that’s a beautiful sounding name, no?” He retracted his head slightly to look into James’ eyes. James tried not to look mortified. But the dealer narrowed his eyes, took a long meaningful sideways glance at Krissy, then returned his eyes to James. “Hmph”.

He threw the drug bag with a small underarm throw at Krissy’s chest, who caught it and held it there.

“First one’s always free, come back when you want more, 200 nuyen a pop for the good stuff, which is what you’ll want” concluded the dealer matter-of-factly. He walked back to his desk, took a last look at James, then Krissy, then waved them off. Behind them, the door opened, Bald Man expectantly holding it open.

James looked at Krissy, then headed out. They left the building without further ado.

a spike of pain can be pleasure for some
hell, in ogl cybernet there is a "joybutton" cyber that basicly turn pain into pleasure. ouch

still, if a hacker shows up in my game (right now i have 3 gun-bunnies and a spell casting detective), and he comes up with a similar trick (or the ever clever "edit the AR feed to block out vision and sound") using edit, ill allow it just for the hell of it.

atleast until unwired comes, as it may contain more specific tools for that kinda job

Looking forward to seeing more, great work!

I'd be interested to see a sakura fubuki or a pain inducer in action, since you had asked for suggestions.

aww, man, I can't wait for this rest of this story.

great job so far.

Busy with midterms... stay tuned!

WARNING: THIS SEGMENT CONTAINS EXPLICIT ELF PORN. READER DISCRETION ADVISED. (no I'm not kidding)

The door in front of James erupted dust and splinters as bullets slammed into it, narrowly missing the shadowrunner as he ducked and ran. He slammed his full weight into the door, which gave. He crashed forward with the door under him, and used his momentum to roll to the right side. He scampered to a crouch, his back against the doorframe as bullets imbedded themselves in the floor we he was split seconds before. The loud crack of gunfire filled the hallway beyond the door. James peeked for half a second then unload some rounds in the hallway, the loud report from his own heavy pistol hurting his ears. A series of bullets blew holes in the wall he was using for cover, right above his head, accompanied by a drum roll sound of automatic gunfire. James pushed himself to the ground, back against the floor, as more bullets made Swiss cheese out of the wall covering him. Dust from the blasted exit holes fell down on his face and into his eyes, forcing him to blink rapidly, though he dare not move a muscle as the bullets rained around him, inches from his nose. Adrenaline from acute fear of dying filled his body. James’ hearing dimmed a little as he stared at the ceiling. It an old faded-white plaster ceiling. Numerous cracks spider-webbed it, the plaster looking rough as numerous small chips had broken off. He realized his attention was drifting. He was losing touch with the situation, a common effect of combat stress. He willed himself to snap out of it. It required effort, the strange desire to lay down and play dead like a frightened child in his bed was powerful, as contradicting to survival instincts as it was.

He rolled his head sideways just a little to witness the wall, peppered with bullet holes. His face was itchy from the wood dust that covered it. He realised it was silent. He listened intently, turning on his cybered augmented hearing full volume. He discerned slow, careful footsteps crushing dust coming his way. He imagined what he would see, if he looked, in the hallway: the man carefully advancing, weapon shouldered, aiming, nozzle pointing at the door opening, finger poised to squeeze reflectively the trigger the second he saw movement. James would get shot to pieces if he attempted to shoot out the door

James could determine roughly the advancing man’s position from the sound he made. He took another look at that holed peppered wall. If it works for him, it works for me. He felt doubt pierce into his thoughts, but he shut it out before even thinking about what was wrong with his plan. He pointed his gun and fired, through the wall. He fired, fired and fired again. As no return fire came his way, in one swift and determined movement he got to his feet and wheeled the door corner and fired and fired, then his mind caught on at what his muscle memory was shooting at as he saw his target, then fired and fired and fired and fired and click click click. He realised his clip was empty, then realised he had killed a man, then realised he was alive. He stood, his gun arm outstretched and pointing at the slumped form on the ground. He looked at the corpse. The gunman had fallen back against the wall and slid down. Half his face was blood, gushing out of his eye where one of James’ bullets had hit. The man was muscular, head shaved to stubbles, his armour vest making him look large. A sub machine gun was slung attached to him. It was now very quiet. James’ arm fell back to his side. A shudder started at the bottom of his spine, and then ran up all along his back. His stomach seemed to turn a single 360 degree, and then James was alright. He remembered the doubt that had entered his mind. If I miss, I die. As simple as that. A life extinguished. Today I live. Today it was him. Sorry. He hated it all, just then. Why two men had to fight each other and kill. But it passed. He had more to do. He slapped a fresh clip into his gun.

He jogged back towards the end of the hallway and the staircase, and down a floor. He ran past a couple of doors and turned into the room whose door was already open. Instantly, he saw the distinctive quadruple barrel of a Sakura Fubuki throw itself in his face. He jumped back, startled, then noticed it was Krissy holding the gun. Or was it? Her face had a savage look to it, her features feral and determined, her mascara eyes looking like pools of darkness, her hair tussled up and messy. “Woah, Krissy, woah, it’s me” he gently whispered. It took her an instant to register, then she blinked and lowered the gun.

“You alright? Krissy, you alright?” he asked her gently, lowering her gun completely with one hand and touching her shoulder with the other. The physical contact seemed to do her some good. She nodded. “Yeah, yeah” she said. “You... you got the guy?” she asked.

“Yeah, but we gotta go. More’s on the way. Come on.” He led her to the other end of the hallway, where there was a window. He looked out into the alley behind, beyond the rusted brown metallic fire escape in front of the window. They were in a slum apartment building in the inner city. Few tenants lived here, all on the lower floors, none on the floors where the gunfight had occurred. The cops would eventually show up, but that wasn’t really a concern.

“Last time I let you talk me into meeting up with your ‘sources’” muttered James as he surveyed the alley for signs of further trouble. Krissy didn’t say anything.

“There.” He said, pointing. Krissy followed his finger, and saw the trench coat man standing in the shadows. He looked bulky. “Can you see him, in the shadows?” James asked looking at her, realising maybe she couldn’t. “Yes” she stated, almost irritably, almost making it sound like it was a stupid question, though not quite, as she didn’t dare be snippy, since she had messed up already. She avoided his gaze, unmoving, staring at the guy outside, as he studied her features. She’s mad at herself, and embarrassed. He couldn’t help but find that cute. “Yeah, of course you can” he whispered to himself, looking at her elf ears. She looked up at him with round eyes, and they locked gaze for an instant.

“Alright, out the front door then. This is gonna get rough. Stay real close to me” concluded James, as he quickly set himself in motion. He tucked his gun into the back of his pants, underneath his trench coat, as he jogged down the stairs, Krissy hot on his heels.

Once at ground floor, he halted, within sight of the front door, to look and nod at Krissy. Then, he ran full speed at the door. He crashed into it, pushing it open, emerging into the streets. Without pausing a second to look at anything, he ran as fast as he could for his car, parked across the street, diagonally from where he was. He registered a small yelp and sounds of slight confusion. He expected this and did not care. Still running, reaching his car, he jumped and belly slid over his hood to land on the driver’s side and quickly opened his car door. He peeked just enough to see Krissy’s hand on the passenger handle. He turned on the engine and started to accelerate just as Krissy sat in also, wheels screeching as he slammed on the gas pedal.

“GO GO GO” yelled Krissy. Gunshots erupted from the street followed by a few hollow ‘POK’ sounds as bullets his the body of James’ car. He threw a look into his rear view mirror to see two anonymous trench coat style guys get in their own car and burn rubber to chase him.

James accelerated and made a sharp right turn, navigating the small urban streets. His car’s engine roared loudly and the tires screeched ceaselessly, as he roared down the street, dodging the light traffic. He checked his mirror again, and saw the other car hot in pursuit. The passenger Trench Coat leaned half his body outside his window, shouldering a black assault rifle, trying to take aim as both cars raced through the small streets.

“Shit! Get Down!” yelled James, pushing Krissy’s head down with one hand as he himself ducked. A hail of bullets slammed into their car, making hollow thud noises and sparks as well as cracking his rear window. Krissy screamed.

Fuck this! James opened his Augmented Reality view and booted a car control application. “Shoot back! Shoot back!” he told Krissy as he slumped himself lower into his seat, now that he could control the car without having to see through his windshield. His Augmented Reality dashboard provided him with all the information he needed to drive.

Krissy took out the Sakura Fubuki James had lent her, and turned in her seat so she faced the rear. She accosted her arm on the top of the seat to steady her arm, and closed one eye. James looked at her as no gunshot came from her. “Why aren’t you shooting!?” he asked. “Hold on... I’m trying to..” she began, but another wave of bullets slammed against the car, causing James to swerve dangerously as he tried to dodge the gunfire but not hit anything else around him as Krissy screamed again, covering her head.

“JUST SHOOT” he yelled at her, and she immediately fired a storm of bullets at the car behind them, the four barrels of the aptly names Cherry Blossom Storm spewing muzzle flash in succession. “Fucking assholes!” she yelled emphatically at her enemies as she unloaded her weapon.

James turned his head to look at the effect of the burst at the other car. Their windshield had taken two hits and the hood a couple more, but no serious damage was done. James gritted his teeth and manoeuvred sharply, sending Krissy rolling side to side in her seat, as he saw the Trench Coat’s muzzle flash in a star pattern, sending more bullets his way. He did well, few bullets hitting his car, and he saw the gunman tilt his rifle to switch his clip. Krissy was still inexpertly reloading her own weapon, so James ripped out his own gun and fired lead towards the car. His heavy calibre exploding bullets tore massive holes into the body of their pursuers car, causing the driver to try to swerve and avoid the fire as the tables were momentarily turned. However, two bullets blew up the windshield right in front of the driver. The glass spider-web cracked to opaqueness, but James could see redness smeared in there. He let out a shout of triumph as he saw the gunman look back inside his car with a panicky look, as his car began to swerve uncontrolled, but Krissy let out a guttural scream of “JAMES LOOK OUT”. Too late, he whipped his face back to the front of the car, reality and AR overlay both showing the he was heading fast into the rear of a car with red back lights. In a panicked rush, he mentally slammed on the breaks, eyes wide. His tires squeaked loudly as he decelerated urgently, and then stopped abruptly as he slammed into the stopped car in front of him. Liquid foam padding oozed out of hidden orifices in the car to instantly fluff up, protecting the two from the worst of the impact as they slammed into the stuff.

James’ face felt appropriately smashed when he retracted himself from the foam, only to feel a second impact as their pursuer’s car slammed into them. The car hit them in angle, however, so the force of the impact was more diffuse, though it did send the chase car spinning awkwardly, only to slam again into an incoming car. James’ brain felt rattled from the impact and the horrible banging noise of the vehicles. He looked over at Krissy, who had a gash on her forehead and a drop of blood coming out of her nose, but who seemed to be otherwise fine, if as dazed as he was. He managed to breath out a small exhausted “come on” to her, as he ripped and kicked at the protective foam to open his door.

They both got out. The street was a mess, twisted metallic car parts everywhere, broken glass on the pavement. People on the sidewalk, nerves shocked, stood immobile or flat on the ground. He could see a bit of movement in all the cars implicated in the crash, as drivers grabbed their heads and came to.

James grabbed Krissy by the arm and dragged her along roughly as he quickly stalked to the car that was chasing them. The driver was dead, large holes in his chest gushing blood, as well as numerous small cuts from the crash. The passenger stirred lightly, half unconscious. James extended his gun arm and shot twice. The rounds blew apart the man’s head, covering the inside of the car with blood and brains, the loud reports shattering the stunned silence of the scene. Shocked out of paralysis, onlookers screamed. James tugged at Krissy’s arm again, dragging her away from the car. She was pale and stared open-mouthed at the executed man. She offered no resistance to his pulling. He stalked towards another car, somebody who had stopped when he’d seen the crash, aiming his gun at the driver. The scared witness got the message and bailed out, running. James opened the passenger door, threw Krissy in, and got in the driver’s seat. He contoured the wreck and drove off.

He only drove a few blocks, away from the scene, before parking the car on the side of the streets. He and Krissy walked away a few blocks, cleaned themselves up, and called a taxi. James had the driver take them somewhere else, inside the city, then they took yet another taxi to the motel. Krissy stayed silent during James’ complicated escape routine.

Back at the motel, Krissy and James kept in the same room. He stood, occasionally rubbing his face, visibly thinking, while Krissy sat on the bed, hands collected between her thighs, observing him. It was a while before either spoke.

She broke the silence first. “I’m sorry”

He didn’t respond immediately. She just looked at him, patiently, expectantly.

He stared at her. Calculating. “Yeah” he said, simply as a gesture, not to ignore her.

“Look, I didn’t know it would turn out like that” she began, defending herself, a bit shamefully.

He softened. “No... I know.” He looked away, stretched his jaw. “I agreed to it too. You said you had a contact that could give us info, I went along with it. It was my decision too.”

This unbalanced her. She had expected to be chewed out. “Well, it wasn’t a total loss, right?” she tried.

“No... no” he sighed. The day after the drug deal, they had gone to meet one of Krissy’s contacts, who had claimed he had important information for her. It was a trap, however. The kid, some over ambitious punk, had sold them out. James had smelled the trap before it could be completely sprung, however. The kid had spilled the beans on what he knew when James had threatened him. That had given enough time for James to stash Krissy in an apartment, with the Sakura Fubuki, while he had drawn the ambusher upstairs, to the denouement he had just barely lived through.

The punk kid had mentioned a name. It didn’t mean anything to James, but at least they could check up on it now, a lead. Plus, they knew someone wanted to kill them, which is something that’s always helpful to be aware of.

“That was... that was a lot of blood. But... you saved me, Figaro. You... you were amazing.” She got up, closer to him. He eyed her.

“You’re not going to get rid of me, are you? I know, I know I haven’t been real useful so far, but trust me, I can be.” The top of her head was just below his nose she was so close. Her hair tickled his nostrils a bit. She smelled like fruit. She lifted her head to look into his eyes, playing with his collar. The tip of her breast, nipples erect, were against his chest.

Uncomfortably, he nudged a bit, but his back was against a wall. I knew it, she’s gonna kill me during sex or something. He grabbed her wrists and detached her from him, pushing her away a bit. “What are you doing?” he asked her.

She opened-mouth smiled, and pulled her arms down, to releases herself from his grip. She lustfully looked back into his eyes. “I want you. And not because I want something from you. I’m hot for you. I want you to know that. I want you to know I’m yours. No tricks.”

She gave him another stare, then she pulled off her shirt. She didn’t have a bra on. Her breast, perfectly round B cups with erect little soft pink nipples, stared James in the eyes. “I know you want it too”. She pressed against him, her mouth millimetres from his, her warm breath against his lips. He couldn’t stand it anymore. He grabbed her and slammed his mouth on her’s, nearly swallowing her mouth. Their tongues mingled. She breathed hard. Their mouth separated, gasping for air. He grabbed her ass with both hands and squeezed hard. She moaned. He moved one hand up to her breast and grabbed at the soft flesh, before bringing his mouth down on her nipple to suck voraciously at it. She exhaled, the pushed him off. She dropped her pants and stood naked before him as he tore of his own clothes. She stepped out of the pants pooling at her feet, backing up to the bed, where she sat on the corner, open legged, revealing herself to him.

He advanced on her, one hand behind her head as he kissed her hard again, the other caressing it’s way up her thigh. Her flesh was hot to the touch, her skin reddish from flush. James’ mind was all sight, sound and touch, on animalistic autopilot. She gasped as he caught her in her arms. She twisted, pressing her butt against his crotch, opening her legs. He took her, from behind. She moaned loudly “Fuck me! Fuck me!”. Out of his mind with lust, he slammed into her, again and again. She pushed back, strongly, at his movements, panting with ecstasy. She still looks beautiful from this angle. Or looks even more beautiful. “You’re gorgeous” he panted. His eyes washed upon the roundness of her butt, the curves of her hips and body, the arc of her back, up to the points of her elven ears visible through strands of pale blond and pink hair sticking to her temples with sweat. He was out of his mind. He quickly exploded into her with a loud moan.

He collapsed on top of her, as she herself finished off her climaxed, indiuced from his coming. They shuffled, shifting into more comfortable a position. She nestled into his arms, face to face. He kissed her, a long and slow kiss. They fell asleep.

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

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.

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?

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!

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

Looking forward to the next addition.

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!

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.

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.

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

“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.

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.

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

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.

can't wait for more...

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

soooooooooooooooo, gooooooooooooooooood.


More!


(please?)

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

“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."

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.

cool street doc.

Happy Canada day, btw.

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”