Hi all,
I have started writing some Shadowrun fiction based on the life of a Rat Shaman. I would like some feedback, as I am a fairly slow writer, and I would like to know whether it is worth my time continuing in any form.
-Ok, if this works it should be below.
Some notes: The text is intentionally disjointed, it is based on hopping around different memories, the present, and quotes from Novatech.
bits in [square brackets] are notes to myself to add some details, normally a date/time stamp, or something which I have to look up, or create from scratch.
The working title of the book is "Urban Rat", and is based on a shadowrun character that I created (+ copious back story, which is rare for me), and never used.
-Oh, and I haven't worked out what his second name is...
It begins:
Title?: Urban Rat in the Corporate Jungle
Chapter one:
Corporate Extraction: One year on.
[time/date stamp]
I spend my life ducking and diving, saving my skin and trying to make the occasional honest Nuyen. Unfortunately, dishonest ones are easier to find, but harder to get. I suppose this lifestyle is suitable for a rat. Whatever else I am, I prefer to think of myself as an accountant. Profit and loss, income and expenditure. I know that I have lost a lot recently.
I was not always an urban rat, I started in one of the mega corps, Novatech to be precise, in one of their safe secure nests for people like me. I was once one of their favourites, now I am now hunted for what I know, and what I am.
[Novatech corporate statement – in official looking writing]
They try to come over as the ‘nice’ corp, the one who helps small corner shops and people in need. What they don’t tell you about are the ones who don’t toe the line, the renegades, the non conformists, the ones who don’t add up.
Novatech has its weaknesses, and like any corporation, it tries to hide these. Assets, and the acquisition of, are the main activities of all corporations. Assets in all forms are used to create strength, mitigate weakness, and above all, increase profit and loss. Since the events of 2012AD, when the world shook, and creatures and powers which were only heard about in fairytales started to come into reality, like any other new development, these changes were viewed by the powers that be to be a tool, a new refinement, a weapon.
Races from old started to appear, 8’ muscle bound trolls, tough orks, mechanically minded dwarfs, and the elegant elves. Other things started to happen. There was a resurgence of magic. This last one stepped up the ongoing arms race between corporations. Each spell researched, each technique to attack, each new way of channelling mana meant that someone had to think some way to stop it.
You are either born with magic, or you aren’t. Sure, there are plenty of mage wannabees with their trinkets, their faux magical symbols, and pretend voodoo words. If they knew what it was really like, they wouldn’t be so keen, all they see is the flash bangs on the tri-d films, and think Awesome!! And other words with exclamation marks at the end. They don’t know the other side of it like I do.
Chapter two: The first spell
[Time / date stamp – when he was 18]
A promotion is always exciting, particularly when it comes with a pay rise, a new office and perks. It is even better when you are 18 – hormones flying about, and the world of accountancy opening new vistas. I opened the email,
--------------------------------------------------------------------------
To: simon kjhafga
From: William Matthews: wmatthews@novatech-development
Subject: congratulations
Dear Simon,
I wanted to be the first to tell you, it looks like you are going up in the world. I have just had word that you are being promoted. You are going to be “Accounts Assistant to the Deputy head of [Something] Development�.
Your job reference is: [some job reference made from random numbers]
You will be missed. Your current job terminates as of 16:30.00 today, and your next post starts in three days, enjoy your time off.
Yours,
William.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
Like most things on that day, the email was burned into my brain. I see it when I am stressed, the last link to my life of normality and stability. I hated it. Despite the human friendliness of it, it was written by a robot. William Matthews was the nonentity who wrote the human resources program for promotions – some kind of joke by a programmer trying to be remembered.
The corp suits thought it added a friendly touch and kept it.
Even the time off is calculated to make us feel warm and fuzzy towards the corporation. In reality, it meant the rest of the day to say goodbye to everyone in the office, go home, pack, a day to travel to the new place of work (Or ‘constructive fun’ as one slogan put it), a day to acclimatise, unpack, and then start work in the new place.
Human resources – that is what we are, bought, sold and traded. Some have higher prices than others.
Around the office, everyone gave the obligatory ‘well dones’ kisses goodbye from some of the female colleagues, promises to keep in touch from everyone, and other goodbye related things. I went home literally buzzing. Everything seemed much more exciting, real, and anything was possible. The friendly smiles of workers seemed like a ray of happiness, the trees planted in the campus seemed greener and more natural than when I last looked, and the rust on cars seemed to scrape at me personally.
This heightened sense of awareness carried on until I got back to my rooms. Being a clerk meant that I had to share rooms with another colleague – something else that would change with my new job.
As I began to pack, I started to feel thirsty, going to the small nutri-dispensor, I drew out some juice, as I started to drink, the heightened senses extended to taste. It was as if I could sense all the microbes and minerals and nutrition in the drink. It was a taste explosion with more sensation than I had ever felt.
At the peak of the explosion, my room mate Steven burst through the door making me jump. My senses spinning, something detonated within me. This force came from my core and blasted outwards.
The last thing that I remember before darkness is the stunned face of Steven as he was burned by the blast.
I am a mage.
[Time / date stamp + 5 mins]
I now have full mastery of my powers, and there is no danger to others from that, but my life is no less dangerous now as I have renounced the corporate world and turned to the shadows to earn my keep.
Shaken out of my reverie, I started on the drudgery of the next run. Catching the haven of anonymous travel – the [train] – I was on full alert. Assensing the astral plane of existence, looking into the souls of everyone in the vicinity, I was pretty sure that there was no one watching me.
I got off the [train] and got on one going in the opposite direction, checking to see if anyone followed. Doing the same routine with the new inhabitants, still no interest. Good.
Getting off the train I headed to a news stand, bought a paper and started walking to the retail multiplex, “Seattle Live!� owned by Ares I think, and went to the toilet.
Checking it was empty, I went into a cubicle, took some coins and food wrappers and conjured a spirit. As a Shaman, my Totem is Rat in the urban form. Most of the shamans of the world are greenie naturites, only happy when they are surrounded by trees - not me, born and bred in the Seattle city sprawl, I am quite happy with a roof over my head thank you. The nature spirit I conjured looked like a large toilet, which was suitable for the environment. I commanded it to guard my meat bod. Once secure with the spirit watching over me, I took a deep breath and left my body.
Explaining astral projection to a mundane is like explaining flight to a Neanderthal blind person – outside anything in their experience. It is complete freedom with a lifeline to your body. You don’t so much see things as feel where and what they are and what they mean. This plane of absolute freedom has its limitations, for while you are in this plane, your body is growing cold, and eventually, the lack of an astral presence kills your meat bod, and you become nothing more than a cooling corpse.
The meet with the Johnson was going to take place in a private room in the north restaurant and it is part of my job to check it out on the Astral plane to check for oddities.