This week's Mr. Johnson was portly, balding, and overweight, in a bad suit that didn't fit, too much jewelry, and an ancient commlink with transceivers scewed into his ear and taped to his throat. I pictured myself cutting his throat as he gulped his double scotch, the blood black under the neon...and then snapped back to reality as he slid a hologram across to me.
Time skipped a beat. I knew that face. That happy, smiling grin. The little chin beard. Not quite the same, no...more crows feet around the eyes, the hair a little thinner, a little whiter, but not as old as he should be. I traced the scars on his face. Surgery. Implant surgery. Had to be. Only way the fucker could survive.
"This, uh, this gentle-uh, gentlemen is a problem to me. Us. Our business. I-We want him taken care of. Um, killed. I can't be implicated. His name is..."
"Dr. What." I finished for him.
"Right, right." Mr. Johnson was smiling and sweating a little more. "You know your stuff. Right on top of things. That's good. That's very good. Um. We're, uh, we're willing to pay..."
"Your cred's no good here. This one's on me."
Oh, Doctor. After all this time. How many people get the chance to kill someone again? This is going to be so sweet.
Dr. What (from the original Harlequin campaign) has crawled his way back from the grave and Mr. Johnson hires you to take him out.
Full Version: Your Dream Run
There are some people who are just too annoying to stay dead.
I much prefer the, "You see Dr. What crossing the street carrying a bag of groceries." You don't even need to have a run prepared for the evening.
QUOTE (Ancient History @ Mar 29 2008, 06:41 PM) 
"Dr. What." I finished for him.
My players hated him more than Halbestram. They would indeed do this one for free.
Ahhh, memories ...
I like the idea of just running into him.
Personally I think I'd shoot him swhere it would hurt, liek knee caps and albows, and leaving him in a nice loft, and make a few calls for who wants to bid on finishing him off.
Personally I think I'd shoot him swhere it would hurt, liek knee caps and albows, and leaving him in a nice loft, and make a few calls for who wants to bid on finishing him off.
QUOTE (Ancient History @ Mar 29 2008, 11:41 PM)
This week's Mr. Johnson was portly, balding, and overweight, in a bad suit that didn't fit, too much jewelry, and an ancient commlink with transceivers scewed into his ear and taped to his throat. I pictured myself cutting his throat as he gulped his double scotch, the blood black under the neon...and then snapped back to reality as he slid a hologram across to me.
Time skipped a beat. I knew that face. That happy, smiling grin. The little chin beard. Not quite the same, no...more crows feet around the eyes, the hair a little thinner, a little whiter, but not as old as he should be. I traced the scars on his face. Surgery. Implant surgery. Had to be. Only way the fucker could survive.
"This, uh, this gentle-uh, gentlemen is a problem to me. Us. Our business. I-We want him taken care of. Um, killed. I can't be implicated. His name is..."
"Dr. What." I finished for him.
"Right, right." Mr. Johnson was smiling and sweating a little more. "You know your stuff. Right on top of things. That's good. That's very good. Um. We're, uh, we're willing to pay..."
"Your cred's no good here. This one's on me."
Oh, Doctor. After all this time. How many people get the chance to kill someone again? This is going to be so sweet.
Dr. What (from the original Harlequin campaign) has crawled his way back from the grave and Mr. Johnson hires you to take him out.
Time skipped a beat. I knew that face. That happy, smiling grin. The little chin beard. Not quite the same, no...more crows feet around the eyes, the hair a little thinner, a little whiter, but not as old as he should be. I traced the scars on his face. Surgery. Implant surgery. Had to be. Only way the fucker could survive.
"This, uh, this gentle-uh, gentlemen is a problem to me. Us. Our business. I-We want him taken care of. Um, killed. I can't be implicated. His name is..."
"Dr. What." I finished for him.
"Right, right." Mr. Johnson was smiling and sweating a little more. "You know your stuff. Right on top of things. That's good. That's very good. Um. We're, uh, we're willing to pay..."
"Your cred's no good here. This one's on me."
Oh, Doctor. After all this time. How many people get the chance to kill someone again? This is going to be so sweet.
Dr. What (from the original Harlequin campaign) has crawled his way back from the grave and Mr. Johnson hires you to take him out.
Thank you. I hope you don't mind me using this for a friend's character eventually?
That, or the Pulp Fiction-y variant. But I do like the hit more.
I so have to find this adventure to see what the goodness is all about!
I so want to use this guy now if he's so hated by folks!
Once again, I lament not being able to get into the game until now. I so wish I could have started when I wanted to.
I so want to use this guy now if he's so hated by folks!
Once again, I lament not being able to get into the game until now. I so wish I could have started when I wanted to.
My group took him out right in the place where he was "working" on one of them. They burned him alive. Nothing left but ashes.
YES! God, I HATE that guy! He left a hole in my fraggin' cheek! I wish the campaign where we encountered him was still going on, because I've been ranting for years about how we needed to track him down and wreak vengeance upon him. At the time, the best we could do was destroy the house with an armada of drones.
[ Spoiler ]
Good thing the GM didn't read the (really stupid) line that read "characters won't ever beat this uberelf", so our troll got to knock the elf out and drag him to Harlequin. We should have capped the bastard.This is a "lo-fi" version of our main content. To view the full version with more information, formatting and images, please click here.