The Worth of a Bird Out of Hand



The fragger slit my throat and my body sprawled out on the ground. That should have been it, the end of the road, the final warbles of the fat lady. But, due to unforeseen complications, the bastards had to hurry. They didn’t take the time to follow the rule: when you frag someone, make sure you actually frag them. I guess I shouldn’t blame them too much: I was bleeding like a stuck pig and I didn’t actually know that rule myself then. I didn’t know a lot of things back then… just enough to get my throat slit, really.

But, I guess I get ahead of myself. Most stories don’t start with a death…or an attempted death. I am not really sure myself which one happened. But, I’ll get to that.

I was a night security guard for Comtech. Just your run-of-the-mill wage slave. Cushy night job, decent pay. Had a nice little 4 room apartment in Renton. A sweet, nearly new Suzuki Mirage; all the perks that make up a psuedo-life. And really, I had few complaints. I was 26, a real slacker, and had spent the last 6-7 years working a nothing job that kept me in those 4 tidy rooms and eating food better than that packet soy slop. And kept me out of the sun. I’d had issues with that since childhood. Admittedly, not a huge deal in Seattle, but I’d always felt more alive at night.

Then, one night, it all changed. I had just come on-shift at the complex and was starting my rounds when I heard noises coming from one of the executive suites. Checking my log, I saw it was supposed to be unoccupied, so, hand to my weapon, I entered, notifying the switchboard of my movements. 

When I entered the room, I saw senior associate Mr. Clayton and several street types. By their long coats, steely gazes and the wide and varied assortment of impossibly legal weaponry, I judged them quickly to be shadowrunners. Real life shadowrunners! Sure, the trids yap about them all the time. There’s all the movies. But really, at a little nothing company like Comtech? Their heads jerked up from the business they were attending to stare at me. Naturally my eyes drifted to the now visible “business.� They had a man gagged and tied to a chair, his eyes wild with terror. From his moans and the copious amounts of red staining his once white dress shirt, I took it that they were performing a very hostile interrogation. Then, there was a pffft sound. The man strapped to the chair jerked and slumped. A fine bit of crimson spray had stained Mr. Clayton‘s own white dress shirt. One of the ‘runners, a rather gangly ork wearing dark shades opened his mouth and said in shocked tones that he hadn’t meant for that to happen, gesturing with his still smoking and silenced Predator.

Mr. Clayton stood dumbfounded. Evidently, he hadn’t meant for that to happen either. Just then, another of the ‘runners, this one a hooded man, leaned over and whispered something in Mr. Clayton‘s ear. He nodded and then addressed me, telling me that if I valued my career, I should leave the room immediately, tell the switchboard that everything was fine…that a trid unit had simply been left on and if I did all those things satisfactorily, I could expect a very nice Christmas bonus. The hooded man then added in a harsh low tone, “Also, relieve your partner at dispatch in precisely 15 minutes and shut off the cameras for this hallway. And if you whisper a word of this to anyone, I’ll slit your throat and let you watch yourself bleed to death.�

Now, you might wonder what you would do in a situation like that. A lot of people like to puff up their chests and talk about taking a high road; that they can’t be bought. Yeah, whatever. Those drekheads probably have never just watched the killing of a man and been stared at by several very large, very violent men that were prepared to do the same to them in a heartbeat. I stammered out a “Yes sir,� turned and left the room, closing the door behind me.

I walked down the hallway and radioed in to dispatch that there had been nothing… a trid unit had been left on and I had entered and shut it off, no need to even log the event. My dispatcher, Jerry (always a lazy man) agreed. Fifteen minutes later I convinced Jerry to go get soycaf and donuts from the vending machine on the other side of the building by paying for them. I then ran a diagnostic on the cameras in the hall outside Mr. Clayton’s office that took them offline for several minutes.

The next few days went normally. There were no more sinister sounds coming from any of the rooms in the building and aside from some remodelers that stayed late working on Mr.Clayton’s office the next day, everything was quiet.

_________________________

Two weeks went by and I was almost to the point of not thinking every minute about the grisly event when a big news story hit the trid waves. A very prominent corp exec’s body had been found in an abandoned warehouse near the docks. Every major channel was carrying it. I happened to be in the break room at the office when the story came on. There, huge on the screen, was the face of the man I had seen murdered two weeks earlier. I broke out in a sweat. Reporters were talking; detectives were talking. Evidently there were clues. They had DNA and astral signatures that would lead them to the culprits “soon.� The wife of the old guy, a rather handsome looking woman probably in her mid-fifties, sobbed to the reporters. The man’s grown children took turns crying and denouncing angrily the culprits of such a horrible event.

Sure enough, the next day the complex was crawling with the Star and the Feebs. I don’t know how they managed to pull off the warrants and permissions to search the enclave like that, but they had. Next thing I knew, they had scheduled “interviews� with all the security. Interestingly enough, Mr. Clayton had “taken some personal time.� I was in a panic. I had heard tales about Feeb Mages and how they could just dig right through your memories. I was early on the list and they had me come into a small room they had requisitioned from the company. I sat down at the table with two investigators. One asked me a lot of questions while the other seemed to just listen and watch me. They asked me about the night the murder had taken place. I lied; I told them nothing eventful had happened. They pressed me a little, told me that Jerry had mentioned the trid unit in Mr. Clayton’s office. I replied with an “Oh yeah, I had forgotten… it was nothing.� The quiet one had a look in his eyes, tho’, that made me feel like he believed otherwise. And I was developing quite the headache. They continued questioning me and at some point I realized I had been here a lot longer than anyone else had. 

Finally, the quiet one spoke up and said, “Look, I know what you saw. I know what you did. If you persist in lying, we are gonna include you in conspiracy charges. You would be looking at 20 years if you were lucky. An electrical charge through your brain if you aren’t. However, if you tell the truth, we’ll give you a slap on the wrist… failure to notify authorities of a death. It’s the lowest class felony and we’ll get the judge to suspend prison time. It’s your choice Mr. McClane. We’ll let you think on it.� The left me alone in the tiny, airless room.

A lot of things went through my head: The fact that I would probably never work as a security guard again if I squealed. The tortured faces of the family of the old exec. For some reason the trivial fact that I probably wouldn’t be getting my Christmas bonus popped in there as well. The idea of spending 20 or more years in a maximum security prison for murder was there as well. But, mostly what filled my mind was:

“And if you whisper a word of this to anyone, I’ll slit your throat and let you watch yourself bleed to death� The hissed words echoed in my mind. 

After a couple minutes they returned. I quietly said “Put it in writing and I will take your deal.�

_________________________

The Feebs were good to their word. I explained to them exactly what had happened that night. They cut me a deal on the spot. I was taken in front of a judge, pleaded guilty to the felony and was held over-night. My boss was arrested and brought in. I saw him through the little window in my cell door as they led him into the cell across from me. He looked a wreck. It was the best moment I had experienced in the last 48 hours. I was waiting to be mind-read the next day, both cyberneticly and magically. It had been part of my deal. I fell asleep in the cell, actually somewhat relaxed finally. Things just might work out. That was probably the last time in my life I have ever felt that stupidly optimistic.

That night I was rudely awakened. Dark hands had me, dragged me out of my dim cell and into the more lit corridor. Clayton’s cell across from mine was open, as well. As I was jostled around, I saw the Star guards laying in the hall. I was hustled out through security doors that had obviously been blown. Next thing I knew, I was sitting in the back of a ratty Bulldog, gagged and zip-stripped. Next to me was Clayton, who looked like he had taken one hell of a beating. As we drove off, I heard explosions in the background, large enough to shake the moving van. 

Sometime later, the van stopped and Clayton and I were hauled roughly from the back. The figures were all heavily cloaked, an assortment of gear shielding their faces. I glanced around our surroundings. We were in some underpass under a highway, the sounds of the drone-controlled semis whooshing overhead.

Clayton was dragged over to one of the concrete reinforcements while a couple of my abductors guarded me. A minute’s worth of muffled conversation was heard and then…I saw one of the figures make a violent motion. Clayton jerked around a bit and then finally slumped. The two that had dragged my former boss to the wall came back.
The hooded one leaned down and rudely jerked the rag out of my mouth. 

A whisper came from this person… one that I had heard often in my mind ever since that night in Clayton’s offices. “I told you, if you whispered a word, I’d slit your throat.� I eyed the hooded man. I was cold inside… I knew that this was it. If someone had told me three weeks ago, my life would be ending under some highway on the edge of the Barrens, I would have scoffed at them. As I was contemplating my life or lack there of, something caught my eye. A dark fluttering. A huge dark bird landed next to the body of Clayton. It nosed around before jabbing at Clayton’s face. Something white appeared in its beak and it tossed its head back and swallowed. I was so transfixed by this grotesque and surreal image that I missed out on whatever Mr. Hood was whispering to me. 

My soon-to-be executioner noticed my lack attention and he glanced at what had captivated my eyes. With a low, hoarse chuckle he said “How fitting… his final worth is as a meal for some scavenger. I knew we should have never taken his contract. He was nothing but a bottom feeder. Well, the same fate is for you, McClane; in a minute you will be nothing more than a meal for the crows and devil rats. Not too different from the rest of your life, I imagine. Rather sad. If you have a god, make a prayer now that he finds your life more interesting than I.�

I looked at the hooded man, his face in shadows, his eyes covered by a pair of reflective goggles. I could see my face in them, distorted in the reflection. I was barely recognizable. “Just do it and go frag yourself.� I tried to work up a ball of spit but my mouth was too dry. Oh well, why should I get to make that final symbolic gesture? Nothing else had worked out real well recently.

The hooded man’s hand grasped my hair, jerking my head back and in his other hand appeared a very bright shiny curved blade. Time slowed. The blade raised and then came sharply at my exposed throat. I saw on that hand a shiny ring with a dark stone. A blood-red dark stone. Some sort of ruby, perhaps. The dark bird took this moment to let out with a loud caw. I felt pressure but no real pain as the hooded man finished his sweep and let go of my head. I fell back, warm stickiness already making my prison jumpsuit stick to my chest. My vision swam and I couldn’t breathe. Someone sitting in the van said to hurry, that there was gang activity in the area. I was vaguely aware of the dark figures that brought me here getting in the van and driving away. Then the bird, still sitting on Clayton, tilted its head at me and slowly trotted over and perched on my chest. That was the last of my conscious memories.

_________________________

I had dreams. Impossible to relate dreams. Dark. Agitated. Black and red. But, a sense of peace came as well. Something was taking care of me. Something promising me more. Something promising me that I would be just fine. They were feelings, not words. Feelings like my mother embracing me when I was 6 and had broken my arm.

I awoke later. I was in a little drainage pipe and could see the area below where the execution of Clayton had taken place. Where my execution had taken place. Only, it hadn’t. I didn’t think. Cause, if I was dead, then death really sucked. My head hurt and my throat hurt and I could barely swallow. I brought my hands up, and they were free of the zip strips previously tying them. Those restraints had sure left some nasty marks, tho’. I felt at my throat. I winced when I encountered the slash, but, it was closed. Ithad already massively healed. I looked down at the orange jumper I was wearing. The chest was stiff and dark from my own blood. I gently raised myself up. It was dusk. Looking down into the overpass area, I could see that Clayton’s body was gone. I never would find out what happened to it. Not that I really cared.

Finally, I staggered to my feet and stumbled my way out of the tiny drain. As I did, I heard a commotion and saw a large dark bird land a few feet in front of me. It eyed me and tilted its head. I cautiously approached it. It let out a caw and shuffled away. I continued towards it and it continued shuffling in front of me, flittering, cawing. Finally it took flight. For some reason I followed. 

It led me down along the underpass. Finally, after a quarter of a mile or so, it alighted on the hood of a vehicle, some taxi that looked like it had recently taken a header off the highway above. The bird walked about, then stopped and called to me. I shambled towards it. When I got near, it fluttered to the roof and let out another of its obnoxious caws. Now, closer to the vehicle, I saw it was occupied. There was a corpse inside. The slot had been dead for at least a few hours. The bird fluttered into the open window and emerged, apparently eating something that I preferred not to even try to guess. I opened the door of the taxi and checked the dead guy. He was an elf, and besides missing both of his eyes, seemed relatively unblemished... well except for the large piece of glass from the windshield piercing his neck and his head laying at an odd angle. I dragged the corpse out of the car. He was dressed in normal street clothes. The dark bird cawed at me. I looked at my bloody orange jump suit and then at the body. Very remotely, I began undressing the corpse. 

A few minutes later I was changed. A fairly clean shirt with only a smattering of dried blood on it, cargo pants, a pair of combat boots that fit pretty well and an armored duster. Rummaging around in the car itself, I turned up a comlink and a credstick and in the glove box… SCORE! A Predator. I was beginning to feel like I might make it out of this yet. I thumbed the power and the stick’s display showed a couple hundred nuyen on it. The comlink was thankfully unlocked and on. I slipped on the set of ‘trodes that were with it. Thank god for those! I’d never had a ‘jack bolted into me. The docs that gave me my physical when I was hired on by Comtech said it could cause problems. Something about a higher something or another in my body would cause rejection. I logged on the com and accessed its GPS. Just as I had thought, I was on the edge of the Barrens. The sun was almost completely down and I knew I needed to get a move on. Using the comlink, I searched up a nearby coffin motel. There was one only about half a mile away. I switched off the com and stuck it in the duster’s pocket. As I did so, I discovered a little packet of white tablets tucked in the seam. I opened the packet and gave one a lick. Bitter! Instantly my tongue tingled a little. Cram. We had these stashed in the desk at Comtech…�just in case.� I had occasionally used them while on rounds when I was lacking sleep and have to admit I was pretty partial to the way they made me feel. Evidently my deceased benefactor liked a little boost while he was driving his hack. Here’s to ya, chummer, at least you had good taste in vices, I thought. I tossed one back, struggling to swallow with my extremely sore throat. I checked the Predator. It had a full clip. It got stuck in my waistband and was covered by the longcoat. Just as I started to make my way to the motel, the bird flew off. I thought a silent thanks to my benefactor. 

_________________________

I managed to get to the motel without any incident. A couple human street punks eyed me on one corner, but evidently something in my look made them to decide on other prey. I surprised myself by thinking that a bit unfortunate. 

Upon checking in, I discovered my voice had taken on a rather hissy, raspy quality, evidently from my throat being slit. The proprietor, a rather mangy, surprisingly petite ork didn’t even give me a second glance, just slotted my newly acquired credstick and jerked a thumb down the hall. The Cram was really starting to cook in me. I wandered down the corridor and checked the little tube. It was pretty vile. Probably last cleaned sometime in 2062. The clock blinking countdown on the wall inside the hatch said I had 11 hours, 56 minutes left to use it. I was suddenly ravenous. I made my way out of the dingy interior of the motel in search of food. I had seen a noodle stand just down the street on my way here. As I headed in that direction, a dark shape fluttered down in front of me. It was that damn bird again! It cocked its head, eyeing me curiously. I noticed it held something shiny in its beak. It hopped over to my feet and dropped whatever it was with a metallic clink. I bent over and picked it up. It was a ring. Platinum or silver and it held a large, blood-red stone. I had seen this ring before! Anger washed up inside me. This ring had been on the hand of the man that had killed me… tried to kill me... whatever. I felt confused. The raven let out a caw and fluttered off, circling a few times, before disappearing over the rooftops.

A voice startled me.

“You’s got the way aboutcha.� 

“Huh,� I croaked?

An old black man shuffled from out of the shadows. “I says you’s got the way boutcha.� His rheumy eyes looked a bit vacant as he looked me up and down crookedly. I suddenly realized the old man was blind. “Oh, you’s ARE a strong ‘un. And fresh. Ol’ Blackiebird, he does like ‘em fresh.� 

“Look, old man, mind your own fraggin’hoop. I’ve had a long, long couple days. Go find yourself a bottle and climb into it.� My own voice made my throat feel like it had been gargling gravel. 

The old man just cackled. “Aren’t you’s a surly slot? You’s don’t know who you’s are, does ya? Well, Ol’ Blackiebird… he knows. He told me you’s be round here. Been waitin’ on ya. I’s got some stuff to show you’s.�

I was about to just push past the old man, but something made me reluctant. 

“Oh yeah, you’s wanna go-go, but you’s know you’s shouldn’t. That’s Ol’ Mr Blackiebird. You’s best listen ta him. Ya think you’s be alive now if he didn’t want something from you’s? You’s need ta listen to that dark whisperin’, boy.�

I paused there. I was tired, wired, sore, angry… and hungry. 

The old man gave an eerie chuckle. “Tells ya what… give ol’ Ramses a chance to talk to ya… yous’ll understand then. I’s already got some noodles inside from that store you’s headin’ off to. And a couch that’s a mighty fine more comfy than that coffin you’s plannin’ on sleepin’ in tonight. Safer too.�

I looked the old black man up and down. He was right. Something inside me was telling me to go with him. 

I glanced down at the ring in my hand. The ring that bird had dropped off to me… the bird that had been my companion since I’d had my throat slit. It seemed so very heavy in my palm, heavier than it should be. The dark stone in it seemed to have an unnatural inner glow the longer I stared at it. 

The old man seemed to be staring right through me, like he could see my very thoughts. Well, the bird hadn’t steered me wrong yet.

“Alright, old man. I’ll eat your noodles and listen to you.�

The old black man gave a huge, surprisingly white-toothed grin. “That’s right, You’s just listen to ol’ Ramses! C’mon. I’s gots so much stuff to show. I’s tell you’s about that little sparkly in your hands, too.�

I followed the old, blind man down the dirty alley. I squeezed the ring hard in my grasp. From somewhere I heard my own voice creak out softly “Oh, I’ll be whispering plenty from now on, you slotting bastard. Plenty of dark whispers. You’ll be watching your own blood drain out.� The voice was mine, but the thought… the thought seemed to come from something dark and warm, both soft and hard that was just out of my sight. 

I shook my head. Either I was going insane or… nah… I was just hungry. I’d never wanted a bowl of noodles so bad in my life.