A Day In the Life of Sticks (Bounty Hunter) was part of a series of one-shots aimed to expand on the Jackpointers in a product that you've never heard of and will never see the light of day because it sort of missed its sell-by date.
QUOTE
After his third Kirin, Sticks reckoned he could just about begin to tolerate St. Louis. The bar was called Murder Bull and was running a gothic western theme—wall to wall black leather chaps and cowboy hats with death metal renditions of Merle Haggard—but Ghost smiled on him and the place had pool tables. Sixteen games of nine ball later and Sticks was fifteen hundred nuyen in the black and had a new pair of black leather cowboy boots with silver-plated spurs to show for his trouble. Mr. Johnson still hadn’t showed.
A troll waitress with cleavage you could get lost in brought his next round just as the band started its second set, and the crowd hushed as a troll began a low, gravelly version of In the Pines. Sitcks flashed her a smile and sank three off the break. If Mr. Johnson didn’t get here soon, he might see what she was doing later. As he drained his fourth 8-ounce, Sticks was out of takers and was setting up to practice some trick shots when he heard somebody call his name and he looked up. “Yo!”
Someone else answered, too. Sticks looked over, and up.
The other guy looked like a refugee from the set of a particularly ambitious metrosexual action flick. Male, human. Southeast Asian or something like it, just over of two meters tall, bare skin under a leather vest with Vietnamese gang marking to show off a weightlifter’s build, hair gathered into a black ponytail that fell to his ass—which was hanging out of leather chaps that clung to him like a second skin, and a three-section-staff stowed in a case off his left hip.
“Who the fuck are you supposed to be?” Sticks asked, moving in close enough to poke the imposter in the chest. His head came up to the guy’s collarbone.
“They call me Sticks,” the giant said.
“That’s my handle.”
The Mr. Johnson—a particularly confused mixed-race ork in whiteface and running mascara—looked from one Sticks to the other in sudden confusion.
“You need to back down, slitchy bitch. I don’t know what your game is but this job’s mine. No poachers allowed,” the giant said, rest his hand on his staff.
In reply, Sticks grabbed the imposter’s crotch with his right hand and squeezed for all he was worth. At first the giant was too shocked to do much more than bug out his eyes, but after a couple seconds he started using elbow strikes, which Sticks fended off with his left arm. Then the giant popped a couple blades out of elbows. Sticks gave the imposter’s genitals a good-bye twist and backed away as the blades came down, left hand flicking to his nunchuku.
To his credit, the imposter wasn’t cradling his mangled testicles, but had his three-section-staff out and ready to block or strike, elbow-blades still extended. By this point the rest of the bar was on its feet and forming a circle, and Mr. Johnson was watching the fight with some interest. Sticks set his ‘chucks to spinning with his right hand, left empty, watching his opponent’s shoulders, where the attack would come from.
Sticks caught the twitch of the imposter’s muscles and fell forward as the giant whipped the three-section-staff at his head, the chain-linked segments clipping a gothic cowgirl that thought she was out of harm’s way. Sticks brought his ‘chuck around in a low sweeping attack against the imposter’s ankle as he cushioned his fall with his left hand. The blow didn’t bring his opponent down, but it hurt him—Sticks could see him favoring his other leg as he struggled. As Sticks got back to his feet and the imposter got his weapon back under control, the crowd gave them a little more room—except for the girl the giant had clipped, who was on the floor next to him, holding her face and crying. Sticks set his ‘chuck spinning again and moved in.
The giant held the far ends of the staff in either hand, blocking as Sticks feinted with his ‘chucks—opening enough room for Sticks to reach out and grab the middle section and brought his ‘chucks down on the giant’s hands, then gave a wrench: Sticks almost fell backwards when the imposter just let go of his weapon.
Then he saw why.
With his right thumb and forefinger, the giant pulled on his left thumb, the unspooling monomolecular filament nearly invisible in the dark bar. The imposter swung his left hand over his head and sent the weighted digit and its deadly trailing line into a downward arc; Sticks impulsively tossed his ‘chucks at the flying thumb. The monofilament swept right through the metal nunchuku but knocked the monowhip into a new and erratic arc that brought it back toward the imposter, who waggled his arm comically in an attempt to evade the nearly-invisible line.
Grabbing the middle section of the three-part-staff, Sticks set both sides to spinning, moving his right arm in front of him in a back-and-forth motion to avoid getting hit. The imposter was so busy avoiding the monofilament he didn’t even seen Sticks coming until the flail caught him across the face. Sticks took his time bringing the whirring sections back and forth across the giant again and again. At one point the imposter brought up his left arm to fend off the blows, and the filament—dangling from the broken stub of a thumb—sliced off part of the staff sections, so that now each flail would cut instead of bruise. By the time Stick’s arm was finally getting tired and he stopped hitting him, the imposter was nearly unconscious, both arms broken or badly bruised.
“What’s your name?” Sticks asked.
“Stghs,” the giant said through broken teeth.
“Wrong,” Sticks said, kicking the beaten giant in the stomach. “What’s your name?”
“Dunnugh,” the imposter mumbled.
“And what’s my name?” Sticks asked.
“Stghs.”
“That’s right.”
Going back to the bar, Sticks ordered a shot of single malt. The Mr. Johnson came up beside him.
“That was mighty impressive Mr. Sticks, mighty impressive.”
“Thanks.”
“Just one thing though—you know he spells his name S-T-Y-X, don’t you?”
“Not my fault if the stupider breeder can’t spell.”
A troll waitress with cleavage you could get lost in brought his next round just as the band started its second set, and the crowd hushed as a troll began a low, gravelly version of In the Pines. Sitcks flashed her a smile and sank three off the break. If Mr. Johnson didn’t get here soon, he might see what she was doing later. As he drained his fourth 8-ounce, Sticks was out of takers and was setting up to practice some trick shots when he heard somebody call his name and he looked up. “Yo!”
Someone else answered, too. Sticks looked over, and up.
The other guy looked like a refugee from the set of a particularly ambitious metrosexual action flick. Male, human. Southeast Asian or something like it, just over of two meters tall, bare skin under a leather vest with Vietnamese gang marking to show off a weightlifter’s build, hair gathered into a black ponytail that fell to his ass—which was hanging out of leather chaps that clung to him like a second skin, and a three-section-staff stowed in a case off his left hip.
“Who the fuck are you supposed to be?” Sticks asked, moving in close enough to poke the imposter in the chest. His head came up to the guy’s collarbone.
“They call me Sticks,” the giant said.
“That’s my handle.”
The Mr. Johnson—a particularly confused mixed-race ork in whiteface and running mascara—looked from one Sticks to the other in sudden confusion.
“You need to back down, slitchy bitch. I don’t know what your game is but this job’s mine. No poachers allowed,” the giant said, rest his hand on his staff.
In reply, Sticks grabbed the imposter’s crotch with his right hand and squeezed for all he was worth. At first the giant was too shocked to do much more than bug out his eyes, but after a couple seconds he started using elbow strikes, which Sticks fended off with his left arm. Then the giant popped a couple blades out of elbows. Sticks gave the imposter’s genitals a good-bye twist and backed away as the blades came down, left hand flicking to his nunchuku.
To his credit, the imposter wasn’t cradling his mangled testicles, but had his three-section-staff out and ready to block or strike, elbow-blades still extended. By this point the rest of the bar was on its feet and forming a circle, and Mr. Johnson was watching the fight with some interest. Sticks set his ‘chucks to spinning with his right hand, left empty, watching his opponent’s shoulders, where the attack would come from.
Sticks caught the twitch of the imposter’s muscles and fell forward as the giant whipped the three-section-staff at his head, the chain-linked segments clipping a gothic cowgirl that thought she was out of harm’s way. Sticks brought his ‘chuck around in a low sweeping attack against the imposter’s ankle as he cushioned his fall with his left hand. The blow didn’t bring his opponent down, but it hurt him—Sticks could see him favoring his other leg as he struggled. As Sticks got back to his feet and the imposter got his weapon back under control, the crowd gave them a little more room—except for the girl the giant had clipped, who was on the floor next to him, holding her face and crying. Sticks set his ‘chuck spinning again and moved in.
The giant held the far ends of the staff in either hand, blocking as Sticks feinted with his ‘chucks—opening enough room for Sticks to reach out and grab the middle section and brought his ‘chucks down on the giant’s hands, then gave a wrench: Sticks almost fell backwards when the imposter just let go of his weapon.
Then he saw why.
With his right thumb and forefinger, the giant pulled on his left thumb, the unspooling monomolecular filament nearly invisible in the dark bar. The imposter swung his left hand over his head and sent the weighted digit and its deadly trailing line into a downward arc; Sticks impulsively tossed his ‘chucks at the flying thumb. The monofilament swept right through the metal nunchuku but knocked the monowhip into a new and erratic arc that brought it back toward the imposter, who waggled his arm comically in an attempt to evade the nearly-invisible line.
Grabbing the middle section of the three-part-staff, Sticks set both sides to spinning, moving his right arm in front of him in a back-and-forth motion to avoid getting hit. The imposter was so busy avoiding the monofilament he didn’t even seen Sticks coming until the flail caught him across the face. Sticks took his time bringing the whirring sections back and forth across the giant again and again. At one point the imposter brought up his left arm to fend off the blows, and the filament—dangling from the broken stub of a thumb—sliced off part of the staff sections, so that now each flail would cut instead of bruise. By the time Stick’s arm was finally getting tired and he stopped hitting him, the imposter was nearly unconscious, both arms broken or badly bruised.
“What’s your name?” Sticks asked.
“Stghs,” the giant said through broken teeth.
“Wrong,” Sticks said, kicking the beaten giant in the stomach. “What’s your name?”
“Dunnugh,” the imposter mumbled.
“And what’s my name?” Sticks asked.
“Stghs.”
“That’s right.”
Going back to the bar, Sticks ordered a shot of single malt. The Mr. Johnson came up beside him.
“That was mighty impressive Mr. Sticks, mighty impressive.”
“Thanks.”
“Just one thing though—you know he spells his name S-T-Y-X, don’t you?”
“Not my fault if the stupider breeder can’t spell.”
Okay, okay, long set-up for a terrible joke, I know.
This second item, from the same aborted product, is called Spell Design and was supposed to be this regular feature where a freelancer/author would walk you through some of the rules.
QUOTE
Bobby Derie, a Shadowrun, Fourth Edition author, takes us on a walkthrough of the spell design rules. For more information, see Street Magic.
Snowblood and her team are getting owned by a group of NPCs who use an unhackable mindnet to coordinate. After getting inspiration from the wiretaps in an old spy movie and with a month of “down time” coming up between runs, Laura tells the gamemaster that her character Snowblood wants to design and learn a new spell, Mind Tap, which will let Snowblood “listen in” on telepathic conversations from Mindlink or Mindnet spells. Together, Laura and her gamemaster work out the details of the spell.
First, Laura has to pick a category. Since Mind Tap is going to be eavesdropping, Laura knows this will be a Detection spell.
Next, she has to choose the spell’s type, either Mana or Physical. Since Mind Tap affects the minds of the targets, it is obviously a Mana spell.
Third, Laura has to choose the Range of the spell, and she carefully weighs her options. A touch version of the spell would be very limiting, while an area version of the spell would listen in on any telepathic conversation in the area—both of which are interesting options, but Laura decides she’ll pick Line of Sight (LOS), allowing her to specify who she’ll be tuning into from a safe distance.
Next, she has to choose the duration. Instant and permanent don’t particularly apply, so she picks Sustained.
Now Laura has to decide how the spell affects her target, specifically whether or not the spell is resisted. Mind Tap is obviously not a passive spell—Snowblood isn’t going to be wandering around and trying to catch snippets of telepathic conversation around her, but actively listening in on a specific conversation which means the spell will be actively resisted by the target’s Willpower (+ Counterspelling, if any).
Almost done, Laura calculates the Drain Value of the spell. The basic Drain Value is Force ÷ 2 (round down) and the Drain Modifiers Mana spell (+0), LOS (+0), Sustained (+0), Complex Detection (+0), and Psychic Sense (+4) all apply, for a final Drain Value of (Force ÷ 2) + 4.
Laura could reduce the Drain Value further by adding restrictions to the spell—for example, if the target of the spell had to be voluntary that would qualify as Restricted Target (–1), or if the spell only passed along information from the Dragonspeech critter power that would qualify as a Restricted Effect (–1), or if the spell was Touch (–2) instead of LOS—but she decides not to limit the spell in this fashion.
With all the calculation done, Laura writes up her spell and presents it to the gamemaster for approval. After consideration, the gamemaster changes a few words and agrees to allow the spell in his game.
Mind Tap (Active, Psychic)
Type: M * Range: LOS * Duration: S * DV: (F ÷ 2) + 4
Mind Tap allows the subject to eavesdrop on the telepathic or empathic communications of any target individual within range, such as from the Mindnet and Mind Link spells, and the Dragonspeech and Sense Link critter powers. The subject must win an Opposed Test between the caster’s Magic + Spellcasting and the target’s Willpower (+ Counterspelling, if available, see Unaware Resistance, p. 162, Street Magic for details); if successful the subject perceives whatever conversation, emotions, or mental images that the targets sends and receives. The target of the spell is unaware of the subject eavesdropping on their conversation, though astral observers will note them being targeted by the spell with a successful Assensing Test. Mind Tap does not allow the user to perceive the target’s private thoughts or any technological or technomantic communications.
Now that Laura has the description of the spell and the gamemaster has approved it, her character Snowblood can design the formula for it.
The Design Test for a Detection spell is an Extended Arcana + Logic (8, 1 month) Test. Snowblood is a shaman with Logic 2, Arcana 3, Edge 3, and a magical lodge; certain dice pool modifiers also apply: the spell is being created from scratch (–2), the spell has a drain modifier (+4), and Laura wants the spell done yesterday so she spends a point of Edge (+3), for a total dice pool modifier of +5. Snowblood rolls 10 dice, and accumulates the four hits—unfortunately, that eats up a month of time and its time for another run, so she puts the spell design on hold.
After finishing another run, Snowblood decides its time to stop pussyfooting around and conjures a Force 5 Spirit of Water to Aid Study (p.178, SR4). Spending a point of Edge again and now rolling 15 dice, Snowblood gets the remaining four hits she needs.
After two months chanting and working in her lodge (with a small break), Snowblood has the formula for the Mind Tap spell—an elaborately painted tuxedo mask with blue and red glass lenses over the eye holes. This mask will let any shaman learn the Mind Tap spell; magicians of other traditions will have to translate the formula to their magical paradigm before they can use it.
Now that Snowblood has the Mind Tap spell formula, she can set about actually learning the spell. Because of the hefty drain modifier, Laura decides Snowblood will learn the limited version of the spell, which requires a fetish (see p.172, SR4). Detection spell fetish in hand, Snowblood makes an Extended Intuition + Spellcasting (5, 1 day) Test—since Snowblood has Intuition 4 and Spellcasting 3, she rolls seven dice and accumulates five hits in two days. Snowblood pays 5 Karma to finalize learning the spell.
Two months and two days of study, meditation, and practice after she first began, Snowblood has a spell that—she hopes—no one else in the sprawl does.
Snowblood and her team are getting owned by a group of NPCs who use an unhackable mindnet to coordinate. After getting inspiration from the wiretaps in an old spy movie and with a month of “down time” coming up between runs, Laura tells the gamemaster that her character Snowblood wants to design and learn a new spell, Mind Tap, which will let Snowblood “listen in” on telepathic conversations from Mindlink or Mindnet spells. Together, Laura and her gamemaster work out the details of the spell.
First, Laura has to pick a category. Since Mind Tap is going to be eavesdropping, Laura knows this will be a Detection spell.
Next, she has to choose the spell’s type, either Mana or Physical. Since Mind Tap affects the minds of the targets, it is obviously a Mana spell.
Third, Laura has to choose the Range of the spell, and she carefully weighs her options. A touch version of the spell would be very limiting, while an area version of the spell would listen in on any telepathic conversation in the area—both of which are interesting options, but Laura decides she’ll pick Line of Sight (LOS), allowing her to specify who she’ll be tuning into from a safe distance.
Next, she has to choose the duration. Instant and permanent don’t particularly apply, so she picks Sustained.
Now Laura has to decide how the spell affects her target, specifically whether or not the spell is resisted. Mind Tap is obviously not a passive spell—Snowblood isn’t going to be wandering around and trying to catch snippets of telepathic conversation around her, but actively listening in on a specific conversation which means the spell will be actively resisted by the target’s Willpower (+ Counterspelling, if any).
Almost done, Laura calculates the Drain Value of the spell. The basic Drain Value is Force ÷ 2 (round down) and the Drain Modifiers Mana spell (+0), LOS (+0), Sustained (+0), Complex Detection (+0), and Psychic Sense (+4) all apply, for a final Drain Value of (Force ÷ 2) + 4.
Laura could reduce the Drain Value further by adding restrictions to the spell—for example, if the target of the spell had to be voluntary that would qualify as Restricted Target (–1), or if the spell only passed along information from the Dragonspeech critter power that would qualify as a Restricted Effect (–1), or if the spell was Touch (–2) instead of LOS—but she decides not to limit the spell in this fashion.
With all the calculation done, Laura writes up her spell and presents it to the gamemaster for approval. After consideration, the gamemaster changes a few words and agrees to allow the spell in his game.
Mind Tap (Active, Psychic)
Type: M * Range: LOS * Duration: S * DV: (F ÷ 2) + 4
Mind Tap allows the subject to eavesdrop on the telepathic or empathic communications of any target individual within range, such as from the Mindnet and Mind Link spells, and the Dragonspeech and Sense Link critter powers. The subject must win an Opposed Test between the caster’s Magic + Spellcasting and the target’s Willpower (+ Counterspelling, if available, see Unaware Resistance, p. 162, Street Magic for details); if successful the subject perceives whatever conversation, emotions, or mental images that the targets sends and receives. The target of the spell is unaware of the subject eavesdropping on their conversation, though astral observers will note them being targeted by the spell with a successful Assensing Test. Mind Tap does not allow the user to perceive the target’s private thoughts or any technological or technomantic communications.
Now that Laura has the description of the spell and the gamemaster has approved it, her character Snowblood can design the formula for it.
The Design Test for a Detection spell is an Extended Arcana + Logic (8, 1 month) Test. Snowblood is a shaman with Logic 2, Arcana 3, Edge 3, and a magical lodge; certain dice pool modifiers also apply: the spell is being created from scratch (–2), the spell has a drain modifier (+4), and Laura wants the spell done yesterday so she spends a point of Edge (+3), for a total dice pool modifier of +5. Snowblood rolls 10 dice, and accumulates the four hits—unfortunately, that eats up a month of time and its time for another run, so she puts the spell design on hold.
After finishing another run, Snowblood decides its time to stop pussyfooting around and conjures a Force 5 Spirit of Water to Aid Study (p.178, SR4). Spending a point of Edge again and now rolling 15 dice, Snowblood gets the remaining four hits she needs.
After two months chanting and working in her lodge (with a small break), Snowblood has the formula for the Mind Tap spell—an elaborately painted tuxedo mask with blue and red glass lenses over the eye holes. This mask will let any shaman learn the Mind Tap spell; magicians of other traditions will have to translate the formula to their magical paradigm before they can use it.
Now that Snowblood has the Mind Tap spell formula, she can set about actually learning the spell. Because of the hefty drain modifier, Laura decides Snowblood will learn the limited version of the spell, which requires a fetish (see p.172, SR4). Detection spell fetish in hand, Snowblood makes an Extended Intuition + Spellcasting (5, 1 day) Test—since Snowblood has Intuition 4 and Spellcasting 3, she rolls seven dice and accumulates five hits in two days. Snowblood pays 5 Karma to finalize learning the spell.
Two months and two days of study, meditation, and practice after she first began, Snowblood has a spell that—she hopes—no one else in the sprawl does.
Last, but most bizarre, we have a piece of rejected intro fiction. I love writing intro fiction, but sometimes when you're asked for something on short notice, the results can be...not quite what the developer had hoped for. Bugger that with a long stick, I still think it's fine.
QUOTE
Mr. Bonds saw the finest financial minds of his generation destroyed by a sickness, the smart drug-driven greed of dead economists whose bullshit predictions lay waste a hundred million futures (and other negotiable instruments). Black pills rain down from the clouds onto a field of sticky gray matter, brains growing from the ashen soil like ghastly cauliflower, and triggered a memory of Japan: stark men and women in grey suits, a silk pocket snagged and the spill of dead black tablets, each one engraved with a spreadsheet…
“Ghost, how long has he been like this?” Nephrine asked.
“About half an hour.” Glitch told her over the speaker. “He was ninja’d by some weird IC.”
“Psychotropics, probably.” The anarchist chemist said, rummaging around in his kit. “I’ll give him some anti-psychotics, maybe that’ll help him ride it out.”
Bare hands and feet gooey with bits of brain, Mr. Bonds stumbled into the StufferShack from hell, naked save for his Armani suit. A young Hispanic boy with a nuyen-shaped hole for a mouth was behind the counter, squawking a high-pitched squeal of binary data, the ancient death-scream of a modem processing a credit card number, the circle of life. He let out a scream of rage when he saw a cardboard stand with ceremonial gold nuyen/neoeuro “coins” minted to celebrate the anniversary of Lofwyr’s ascension as Chief Executive Dragon of Saeder-Krupp, and began savaging the display.
“He’s going ballistic.” Glitch observed. “Maybe you better give him something to knock him out.”
“No fraggin’ drek!” Nephrine yelled, as he fended Mr. Bonds’ hands away from his eye sockets again. The baby-blue slap patch with the anti-psychotics was firmly attached to the side of his attacker’s neck, but it was clear that everyone’s favorite accountant was still off in his own little world. Nephrine kicked him in the face and crawled off to his bag to prepare a sedative. He got about two steps when the former accountant caught him in the groin with an uppercut that brought the chemist down on his knees.
“Fark…Glitch, do something…” Nephrine managed through gritted teeth.
“Okay, okay…I got it!” The speaker popped suddenly and went dead. The trideo set nearest Mr. Bonds popped to life, a flickering stream of numbers caught the shadowrunners eye, and he stopped pounding on his friend’s genitalia. Around him, other screens popped to life: London, New York, Brokerage X. Millimeter by millimeter, the crazed shadowrunner began to relax, basking in the pale, cold glow.
Nephrine caught him in the base of the skull with a narcoject dart, one hand still clutching his manhood. As he slipped off into oblivion, the chemist could have sworn he heard the accountant say “Buy Renraku at 24.” Bewildered, he looked at the screen to see Renraku at 36 nuyen a share and dropping.
“Hey Glitch?” Nephrine said.
“Yep?” The hacker replied over the speaker.
“Five hundred worth in Renraku if it hits 24 and we’ll call it even for this.”
“You got it good buddy. Over and out.”
“Ghost, how long has he been like this?” Nephrine asked.
“About half an hour.” Glitch told her over the speaker. “He was ninja’d by some weird IC.”
“Psychotropics, probably.” The anarchist chemist said, rummaging around in his kit. “I’ll give him some anti-psychotics, maybe that’ll help him ride it out.”
Bare hands and feet gooey with bits of brain, Mr. Bonds stumbled into the StufferShack from hell, naked save for his Armani suit. A young Hispanic boy with a nuyen-shaped hole for a mouth was behind the counter, squawking a high-pitched squeal of binary data, the ancient death-scream of a modem processing a credit card number, the circle of life. He let out a scream of rage when he saw a cardboard stand with ceremonial gold nuyen/neoeuro “coins” minted to celebrate the anniversary of Lofwyr’s ascension as Chief Executive Dragon of Saeder-Krupp, and began savaging the display.
“He’s going ballistic.” Glitch observed. “Maybe you better give him something to knock him out.”
“No fraggin’ drek!” Nephrine yelled, as he fended Mr. Bonds’ hands away from his eye sockets again. The baby-blue slap patch with the anti-psychotics was firmly attached to the side of his attacker’s neck, but it was clear that everyone’s favorite accountant was still off in his own little world. Nephrine kicked him in the face and crawled off to his bag to prepare a sedative. He got about two steps when the former accountant caught him in the groin with an uppercut that brought the chemist down on his knees.
“Fark…Glitch, do something…” Nephrine managed through gritted teeth.
“Okay, okay…I got it!” The speaker popped suddenly and went dead. The trideo set nearest Mr. Bonds popped to life, a flickering stream of numbers caught the shadowrunners eye, and he stopped pounding on his friend’s genitalia. Around him, other screens popped to life: London, New York, Brokerage X. Millimeter by millimeter, the crazed shadowrunner began to relax, basking in the pale, cold glow.
Nephrine caught him in the base of the skull with a narcoject dart, one hand still clutching his manhood. As he slipped off into oblivion, the chemist could have sworn he heard the accountant say “Buy Renraku at 24.” Bewildered, he looked at the screen to see Renraku at 36 nuyen a share and dropping.
“Hey Glitch?” Nephrine said.
“Yep?” The hacker replied over the speaker.
“Five hundred worth in Renraku if it hits 24 and we’ll call it even for this.”
“You got it good buddy. Over and out.”
