I had recently found an old story I wrote set in the Shadowrun universe while digging through an old hard drive and figured, stories like to be told (and criticized!), so maybe I should post it up here for anyone bored at the desk to read and possibly comment on. Enjoy! [ Spoiler ]
Star Shine
***
"Her name is Lina sér Cinarúú."
Osprey nodded. "Lina, Falling Sky."
The Johnson raised his eyebrows in surprise. "You speak Sperethiel."
Osprey shrugged. "My old man was an elf. Picked up a few words from the language while I was growing up."
"It is quite an honor to have elven blood running through your veins," the Johnson said.
"Yeah, tis why I became a runner,” Osprey said. “So I can get shot at and bleed all that honor all over the floor for folk to admire."
Widget snorted, trying her best not to crack a smile.
"So, this elf slitch…she’s a Ghost, you say?" Boomer said.
The Johnson nodded. "One of the best. It was unfortunate that she decided to go rogue, and even more unfortunate that she absconded with some highly classified information on her person, information that the Council of Princes would prefer not to fall into the wrong hands. Your job is to find her and bring her in alive."
Boomer grinned, baring his tusks. "Hunting down one little girl shouldn’t be too hard."
The Johnson smiled, and produced a small data chip from his pocket. "This is the most recent video recording of the target. It contains footage of her last engagement with a military unit that tried to contain her."
He slotted the chip into the holoprojector on the table, and a fuzzy three dimensional image blinked into view. The recording was of poor quality, but the team could make out a slender elven woman with golden hair standing on a shipping dock, surrounded by a group of Tir soldiers. The woman was carrying a sheathed sword in one hand, and the soldiers had their rifles leveled at her.
"There's nowhere to run, Lina," one of the soldiers said, his voice distorted by static across the electronic medium. "Throw down your weapon and put your hands in the air, and maybe today won't be the day you die."
The woman didn’t respond. Suddenly, she moved, twirling on the floor like an acrobat. The soldiers hesitated, and Osprey understood why - having made the rookie mistake of surrounding their quarry while armed with guns, they didn’t want to catch a squad mate in the crossfire. Their hesitation gave the woman enough time to draw her sword from its scabbard...then she vanished. For a brief moment, nothing happened. Then, one by one, the soldiers began to drop, crumbling to the ground as wounds inflicted by an unseen assailant opened up on their bodies, soaking their armor with blood. Some of them fired wild shots into the air, but it was a futile effort. Seconds later, it was over.
The image fizzled out as the recording came to an end.
"Those soldiers underestimated Lina, and they paid for the mistake with their life," the Johnson said. "I hope that you will not make the same error."
"If my eyes don't fool me, her movements weren't natural," Osprey said. "Is she an adept?"
The Johnson nodded. "Initiated to the highest order. But the true threat is that blade she carries. Unarmed, Lina is a dangerous enemy, but with that sword, she is untouchable. If you hope to have a chance against her, you must not let her draw her blade...if she does, you're finished."
"What is it, like an anchored Invisibility spell?" Osprey asked.
"That's part of it, yes, but it's much more than that," the Johnson said. "I repeat...it is imperative that you do not let her draw."
He paused. "Two hundred thousand nuyen. That's the payment you will receive upon completion of this job."
Boomer whistled. Osprey leaned in and gave the Johnson a questioning look.
"You'll have to excuse me, Mister J, but I'm a bit of a curious cat, and I'm all a'wondered about something. You told us that you're a Tir Ghost yourself, tasked with the mission of recovering this lady renegade of yours. From what I know of you spooks, you're supposed to be one of the most highly trained special forces in the world. That kinda brings up a question...namely, why would you want to work with a bunch of wet-behind-the-ears, amoral, mentally unstable, and in Boomer's case, ass ugly shadowrunners like us?"
"Hey!" Boomer protested. "I heard that! I'm sitting right here, you know."
"Of course," Osprey said. "I would never be so discourteous as to insult you behind your back."
The Johnson smiled. "If there's one thing I've learned over the years, it's that when you're in a foreign land, your greatest resource is the locals who make it their home. I managed to follow Lina's trail to Seattle before I lost her, and I thought it might be wise to recruit some of the local talent to assist me in tracking her down."
"Local talent, he calls us," Boomer said. "I feel like a goddamn simsense starlet."
Osprey nodded at the Johnson. "That's a lot of money, Mr. Johnson, but I'm still going to need to confer with my team. Can you give us a minute?"
"Absolutely," the Johnson said.
The three of them stepped outside the private room into one of the back hallways of the Penumbra. The music playing out in the main bar area could be heard as the faint tunes of an old Maria Mercurial song drifted merrily through the air, accompanied by the savory smell of beer and deep-fried potatoes.
"So, what do you guys think?" Osprey asked.
"Two hundred is a big wad of dough," Widget said. "Ozzy, I think that's more than what we made in the last six months!"
"Yeah, it is," Osprey said. "But this woman is a Ghost, and if we're going to take this job, that's something that we can't afford to forget. You saw how she made mincemeat out of those soldiers. I kind of wish we had Kat and Sebastian with us. We could use Seb's mojo, and Kat's always handy to have around when there's a throwdown."
"I hope they're having fun on their honeymoon," Widget said.
Boomer snorted derisively. "Runners on a honeymoon...gimme a break. I ain't never heard of no sillier thing."
"Aw, you're just jealous," Widget teased. "Anyways, I hacked into the jay's commlink while you boys were busy with the negotiations."
"God dammit Widge, how many times do I have to ask you to stop doing that?" Osprey said. "If you get busted, the job's over before it even began."
The dwarf girl flashed him a broad grin. "I've never been busted before, now have I? Anyway, if you're gonna be such a grouch, I'm not gonna tell you what I found."
Osprey rolled his eyes. "Fine, I'm sorry for being a meanie poopyhead. What did you find?"
"Actually, nothing," Widget said, her smile growing wider. "The guy's good. He's only got a dummy 'link on him, and it's got nothing interesting on it."
Osprey stared at her in disbelief, and sighed. "You're a mighty big tease for a half pint, you know that? Anyway, we still need to address the whammy: do we want to take this one?"
"You know I'm in," Boomer said. "Money that good, the only way you can get me to turn it down is to pay me even more."
"Me too," Widget said. "I could use some new drones. My last batch got blown up when some dummy tossed a grenade into the room when there was no one there."
"I thought I heard voices!" Boomer said.
"Yeah, they were probably the ones in your head," Widget shot back.
"Are you two done taking chomps out of each other?" Osprey asked. "Yeah? Then it's decided. All right then, let's head back inside and tell the jay that we're game."
The Johnson smiled when told that they would accept the job.
"Excellent. I've just beamed you my commcode...give me a call when you've ascertained Lina's whereabouts."
Osprey nodded. "We'll do that."
---
It took two weeks for the team to uncover a lead on their mark. Tapping their usual contacts for information drew nothing but air, there were no new financial transactions made in the public system under Lina's name or any of her known aliases, and putting in copious amounts of literal legwork to scour the Emerald City's usual underworld haunts for transients and people on the run proved fruitless. In fact, it was only through a lucky break that they managed to score the first clue on their manhunt - Widget somehow picked the elven woman's face out of the bustling crowd on a strip of footage while she was mindlessly pouring over SeaTac's camera feeds from the day Lina was suspected to have landed in Seattle. From there, it was just a matter of piggybacking through downtown's extensive Big Brother network to follow Lina's movements through the city, but unfortunately, the hacker lost her trail when she entered the Tarislar ghetto. Still, the intel allowed the team to narrow the beam of their searchlight, and after calling in a few favors and banging a few heads together, they had a name: Adam Dearborn, a mid-level crime boss in the Laésa ethnic syndicate.
Osprey studied the middle aged elven man sitting across the table from him. They had sent Dearborn an anonymous message requesting a personal audience with him, and had dropped Lina's name. The name evidently meant enough to Dearborn that he agreed to meet them at a local pizzeria, which made it obvious that he was lying when he said, bald-faced, that he had no idea who she was. He knew that they knew he was lying, and so far hadn't shown any signs of caring one bit.
"So, tell me, why are you looking for Lina anyway?" Dearborn asked.
Out of the corner of his eye, Osprey saw Boomer's hand drift lazily towards his gun. Dearborn had come to the restaurant accompanied by four burly bodyguards, who were now staring at the two of them with not the least bit of humor on their faces. If it came down to a tussle, things could get real ugly real fast.
Osprey shrugged. "One of her uncles died and left her a million nuyen inheritance. We're investigators hired by his legal executor to find out where Miss Lina's tucked herself so we can go tell her that she's a very rich woman."
Boomer coughed.
Dearborn smiled, and said, "That's very amusing. Now, will you tell me the real reason why you're trying to track her down?"
"Nope, not unless you tell us what you know about her," Osprey said. "But it looks like that's not going to happen, so I suppose our business here is concluded."
"I suppose it is," Dearborn replied.
They stared at each other for a few tense seconds, but it looked as if neither of them was going to make the first move. Osprey brushed himself off, stood up, and turned around to leave.
"Let's go, Boomer."
Suddenly, he was shoved in the back and sent sprawling to the ground right before the explosive staccato of automatic gunfire tore through the air. Osprey turned the fall into a roll and came up with his own pistol in hand, ears ringing. Screams drowned out the sound of gunfire as the customers in the restaurant began to flee en masse to the front door, knocking down and stepping over one another in sheer, animalistic panic. He saw a flash of muzzle fire and dove behind the nearest table.
#Widget, kill the fucking lights!
#Yessir.
A tick later, the room went black. Osprey switched on his thermographic vision, locked the aiming reticule of his smartlink onto a target, and opened fire, blowing two holes through the bodyguard's chest. His own muzzle fire gave away his position to one of the other gunmen, who sent a hailstorm of bullets to tear to shreds the place where he was taking cover a split second before. Moving with superhuman agility, Osprey vaulted over the table and returned fire. One of the bullets split right through the other man's forehead, and he dropped, lifeless. Breathing hard, Osprey looked around. The other two had been taken care of by Boomer, and Dearborn was standing with his back flush against the wall, his eyes darting rapidly from side to side in the darkness.
"Give it up, Dearborn," Osprey said. "Your four biceps are dead."
"Fuck you."
Osprey sighed and walked towards the man to apprehend him. Suddenly, Dearborn reached into his coat, drew a hold-out pistol, and fired a shot down the direction where he heard footsteps. The bullet whizzed so close by Osprey's ear that he could feel the heat of its flight, and in two quick strides, he moved up to Dearborn, broke his wrist, and punched him in the face. The elf's head snapped back, hitting the wall with a nauseous crack, and he slid down the floor like a rubber tube, unconscious.
"Widget, find the storage drive for the security camera feeds in this place and wipe them," Osprey said. "Boomer, help me haul this son of a bitch back to the Bulldog. We're going to find out what he knows whether he likes it or not."
---
They were in a small, dimly illuminated room with no windows. There was a rusty operating table in the middle of the room, and next to it was a single chair. Bound to the chair wrist-and-ankle was a gagged Adam Dearborn. Osprey untied the gag from his mouth and kneeled down in front of him. The elf glared at him, his eyes ablaze with unbridled fury.
"Last chance, ears," Osprey said. "You going to tell us about Lina?"
"Go fuck a troll," Dearborn spat.
"You know, I actually did that once," Boomer offered. "It was the only sex I've ever had in my life that I didn't enjoy."
Osprey stood up and sighed. "Okay, it looks like we're going to have to do this the hard way. Boomer, he's all yours."
The ork bared his teeth into an ugly grin. He picked up a duffel bag off the floor and set it down on the table. Unzipping it, he began to remove the various types of instruments inside and laid them down one by one on the table...even the most naïve eye could tell that they were tools designed to inflict pain, and a great deal of it. Boomer picked up a small canister with a nozzle, and gave the trigger a test pull. A short blast of sizzling blue flame seared out, leaving a burnt smell lingering in the air. Widget watched him with wide, frightened eyes.
Osprey laid a hand on her shoulder. "Widge, it might be better if you're not here for this."
She swallowed, nodded, and left the room, closing the door behind her. Boomer approached Dearborn, who glared at him defiantly.
"Make it quick, Boomer," Osprey said.
It wasn't quick...in fact, it took two full hours before the elf broke.
At the end, his face was barely recognizable, and both his captors had come to discover within themselves a reluctant respect for the man - for his will, but even more than that, for his loyalty. It was a rare thing to find someone on these streets who wouldn't sell out a friend to turn a quick buck, and the one before them had sacrificed much more than that before he sold out his own. But every mind has a threshold, and no one was unbreakable...when it was all over, Dearborn had given them Lina's address.
The door squeaked opened and Widget walked in. She stopped dead in her tracks and stared at Dearborn's mutilated face, horrified. Boomer was busy packing his tools back into the duffel, and Osprey spent a moment to compose a quick message to the Johnson, informing him of their discovery and notifying him that they were going to make their move immediately. He killed the connection after he fired off the message, pocketing his commlink and turning towards the door to leave.
"Wait..." Dearborn whispered, his voice frail and trembling. "Kill me. Please."
Osprey turned and looked at him. He nodded, walked up to the elf, drew his gun, and shot him in the head.
Widget sucked in her breath, her eyes wide. Even Boomer looked surprised.
"Boomer, clean up the mess and meet me upstairs. We have to get to the target before she gets spooked and decides to move to a new location."
Boomer nodded, zipping up his bag. As Osprey began to leave the room, Widget ran up to him and gripped the sleeve of his long coat.
"Why did you do it, Ozzy?" Widget demanded. "You already got what you wanted. Why did you kill him?"
Osprey stopped and kneeled down so he was looking directly into her eyes. He put a hand on top of her head, and when he spoke, his voice was strangely tender. "He wanted it, Widget. It was a mercy killing. After what we made him do, he wouldn't have been able to live with himself."
He stood up and walked out of the room. There was work to be done.
---
It was a frosty night with a full moon hanging from the sky, and Osprey could see their target in her apartment from his perch on the rooftop across the street, his vision magnified by his optical cybereyes. She was sitting on the couch reading a paperback novel, with her legs tucked beneath her and her sword propped up on a cushion beside her. Even at this distance, the elven woman was a breathtaking beauty. Osprey closed his eyes briefly as the calm before the storm washed over him, stilling his nerves. He felt his remaining four senses heighten...his ears tuning into the never-ending urban buzz echoing through the city, his nose picking up the smoky and acidic aroma of the Seattle night air, his tongue tasting bittersweet bile inside his mouth, and his skin feeling the gritty caress of his form-fitting body armor. He opened his eyes.
#Is everybody in position?
#Yup, I'm ready to go.
#Just tell me when it's time to stomp some ass.
Osprey launched the hook of his smart grapple across to the roof of the other building and felt it clamp onto the railing. Numbers and symbols flashed across his AR overlay as his commlink computed the distance, angle, and trajectory of the swing. It relayed the final calculations over the PAN to his grapple gun's primitive computer system, which controlled the auto-adjusting cable.
#Widget, disengage the door's maglock.
#Done.
Osprey took one more deep breath and released it as mist.
#Boomer, do it.
He leapt off the building, gripping the grapple gun tight. He swung through the air, high up above the city streets, and crashed through the window of the apartment the same instant Boomer came barreling through the door, tearing it clean off its hinges. The elven woman had reflexes of the devil, snatching up her sword and springing to her feet even before she had time to realize what was going on. But she wasn't fast enough, because Boomer didn't stop his charge. Osprey landed on a pile of finely shattered glass and rolled up to a knee, bringing his Ingram Smartgun up on its sling. At the same time, Boomer slammed into the elven woman with brutal force, all two hundred and eighty pounds of pure ork muscle lending their bulk to the impact, sending her sailing off her feet.
Osprey trailed her body's movement through the air with the sights on his submachine gun and opened fire as soon as she hit the wall. The gel rounds peppered her torso with bone-crushing blunt force, and by the time she hit the ground, it was finished. She laid motionless on the floor, her eyes closed and her breathing ragged.
Widget poked her head through the door. "Did you guys get her?"
Boomer grinned. "Oh yeah, we got her all right."
Osprey moved closer to the woman, careful to keep his weapon trained on her. She groaned and raised her head, opening her eyes to look at him groggily.
"You...you're not from the Tir," she said. "Who sent you?"
"That would be me, Lina."
Osprey turned to see their Johnson walk through the door. The elf studied the scene before him and nodded in approval.
"Julian," Lina said. "You've finally found me."
"So it seems," the Johnson said. Osprey was surprised to hear a tinge of sadness in his voice.
"Are you going to take me back to the Tir?" Lina asked.
"I am," the elf replied. "I have no choice. You never should've left, Lina. You're a sworn swordmaiden of the Council of Princes. Your place is in the Tir, and only in the Tir."
Lina sat up straighter, clasping one hand to her stomach and grimacing in pain. "If I go back, they will destroy it. You know that."
The Johnson nodded. "I do, and it's a sacrifice that must be made. A swordmaiden can have no loyalty higher than that of the Prince she serves."
Lina stared at him, her eyes hard. "How can you say that, Julian? It's my child...our child."
The Johnson shrugged. "What must be done, will be done."
Osprey saw Widget turn towards him, her face an expression of shock and horror as the meaning of the exchange between the two elves dawned on her.
#Ozzy, she's pregnant! That's why she ran from the Tir, she didn't steal any data!
Osprey ignored her and kept his attention trained on the woman. The Johnson turned to him with a broad smile on his face.
"This was a job well done, shadowrunner. I have friends in Seattle, and I'm sure that once I speak to them of your exemplary performance under my hire, you will find yourself with many lucrative business propositions in your future."
#Oz, you can't seriously be thinking of letting him take her away. Oz?
"I believe we agreed to a payment of two hundred thousand nuyen. Forward me the account where you want me to wire the funds, and you will find yourself a great deal wealthier in few short seconds."
#Oz, please!
Her eyes were desperate.
The Johnson gave him a curious look. "Are you alright?"
Osprey nodded. "Oh, I'm doing just dandy, thank you for your concern, Mr. Johnson. Unfortunately, we've decided to decline your offer."
"What?" the Johnson said.
"What?!" Boomer said.
Osprey shrugged. "Yeah, because you sort of weren't being entirely honest with us when you were giving us the details of the job. You see, you hired us to find one person, not two. Two costs extra. You tried to rip us off."
The Johnson raised his eyebrows in disbelief. "You have got to be joking. Is this your idea of a negotiation? Fine, how much more money do you want?"
Osprey shook his head. "Sorry, Mister J, but you misunderstand me. You see, despite my dazzling good looks, I happen to be a very petty and insecure kind of bloke. I have a tendency to throw a hissy fit when someone decides to screw us over, and I'm having me one such fit right now, which has caused me to decide to refuse your offer altogether. You can keep your money, Mr. Johnson, but the damsel is coming with us."
The Johnson narrowed his eyes. "Foolish play, shadowrunner. Do you honestly think I'll let you leave here without a fight?"
"Nope," Osprey said cheerfully. "That's why I'm going to shoot you now."
He pivoted his gun towards the elf and fired a burst at him, but the Johnson dove out of the way, drew his own pistol, and returned fire in one smooth motion. The bullet clipped Osprey in the shoulder, sending him lurching backwards. He cursed as blood spurted violently out of the wound. Widget screamed and took a step towards him.
"Widget, stay back! Come on, Boomer, I could use a little help here!"
Boomer sighed mournfully. The ork took two long steps to bring him right up to the Johnson and swung his ham-sized fist in a wide, powerful arc. It connected square with the elf's jaw, sending him toppling backwards over the couch, his gun spinning out of reach to clatter uselessly on the floor a few meters away. Osprey gripped his wound tight and staggered over to where the elf was crumpled up on the floor. The Johnson sat up, spat the blood out of his mouth, and glared at him.
"You know, I have half a mind to pump the rest of this clip into you," Osprey said. "But shit, I figured getting cold-clocked by Boomer is enough punishment for anyone for one day. If you know what's good for you, you'll drag your pointy eared ass back to Tir Tairngire and forget this ever happened."
Suddenly, the elven woman was there, standing right next to him. Osprey recoiled in surprise, but her attention was focused only on the Johnson. She was looking at him with sad, regretful eyes, and in her hand she had recovered her sword.
"Julian, I beg you, listen to my plea...end your pursuit here," she said. "Do not follow me."
For a moment, Osprey thought he saw a flash of emotion in the Johnson's eyes, but it was gone as quickly as it came, dispersed by the winds of unyielding duty.
"I can't do that, Lina," he said softly. "You know I will never stop coming for you."
"I know," Lina said. "And I forgive you, Julian."
She fell silent, and when she spoke again, her words carried the burden of a heavy heart. "I hope you will forgive me."
In one graceful, almost tender motion, the elven woman drew her blade and slashed open the Johnson's throat. His hands flew up reflexively to clutch his neck as dark red blood poured out of the wound. His eyes bugged out in shock, and he gurgled for a few seconds before falling to the floor. A few spasms coursed through his body before it finally stilled, never to move again. Lina turned around, sheathing her blade. Her head was bowed low, and her shoulders were slumped. Osprey could not see her face, and did not want to.
"Thank you, shadowrunners," she said. Her voice was steady.
And like that, she was gone.
The melancholic silence in the room was eventually broken as Boomer walked over to the Johnson's body and nudged it with the toe of his boot.
"So, we just gonna leave him here like this?" Boomer asked.
"Well, if you want to keep him as a souvenir, I'm not going to stop you," Osprey said.
"You know, Oz, this is why we never make any money," Boomer said. "Cause you always gotta go and have yourself a fucking attack of conscience every time we're about to score the big payday."
"Well, I think he did the right thing," Widget declared. "I'm proud of you, Ozzy. Anyway, why do you always care so much about money anyway, Boomer? The only things you spend your cut on are food, alcohol, and hookers."
"That's not true," Boomer said. "Just last month I donated a hundred yen to the Allison G. Cunningham Breast Cancer Foundation."
"What?" Widget asked in disbelief. "You? Donating to a breast cancer charity? Why?"
"Well, you know me," Boomer said. "If there's one thing I hate, it's seeing a good pair of tits go to waste."
"Ugh," Widget said, disgusted. "I don't even know why I bothered to ask. You're a pig, you know that?"
Boomer shrugged. "Why do you care, anyway? It's not like you have anything of a rack to speak of."
Widget glared at him, blinking back furious tears. "Screw you, Boomer."
Osprey shook his head as she rushed out the door, sobbing. "You're an asshole, you know that, right Boomer?"
"What?" Boomer said. "It's not like I insulted her."
They stood there for a moment with a deep quiet hanging in the air between them, but it was the comfortable silence of two longtime teammates who've been through enough together to know that there were worse things in the world than a few seconds of peace, unbroken by the sounds of gunfire, screams, and savage violence.
"So, you mind telling me why you saved the slitch?" Boomer asked eventually. "We both know you don't give a flying fuck about some unborn elfling fetus. Two hundred thousand is a lot of money, Oz. Why'd you turn it down?"
Osprey stared out the open doorway to the empty corridor beyond. "Honestly? I did it for her, Boomer. Because out of all of us, she's the only one who still holds on to something pure, something true. If she's going to stay in this life, she's going to have to let go of it someday, but I don't want to be the one responsible for making her do that."
He sighed as he heard the familiar blare of Lone Star sirens wailing in the distant streets. "The cops are going to be here soon. Come on, let's blow this dive and go get ourselves shitfaced."
"You know I'm always up for that," Boomer said, following him out the door. "Especially since all the drinks tonight are gonna be on you."
***
"Her name is Lina sér Cinarúú."
Osprey nodded. "Lina, Falling Sky."
The Johnson raised his eyebrows in surprise. "You speak Sperethiel."
Osprey shrugged. "My old man was an elf. Picked up a few words from the language while I was growing up."
"It is quite an honor to have elven blood running through your veins," the Johnson said.
"Yeah, tis why I became a runner,” Osprey said. “So I can get shot at and bleed all that honor all over the floor for folk to admire."
Widget snorted, trying her best not to crack a smile.
"So, this elf slitch…she’s a Ghost, you say?" Boomer said.
The Johnson nodded. "One of the best. It was unfortunate that she decided to go rogue, and even more unfortunate that she absconded with some highly classified information on her person, information that the Council of Princes would prefer not to fall into the wrong hands. Your job is to find her and bring her in alive."
Boomer grinned, baring his tusks. "Hunting down one little girl shouldn’t be too hard."
The Johnson smiled, and produced a small data chip from his pocket. "This is the most recent video recording of the target. It contains footage of her last engagement with a military unit that tried to contain her."
He slotted the chip into the holoprojector on the table, and a fuzzy three dimensional image blinked into view. The recording was of poor quality, but the team could make out a slender elven woman with golden hair standing on a shipping dock, surrounded by a group of Tir soldiers. The woman was carrying a sheathed sword in one hand, and the soldiers had their rifles leveled at her.
"There's nowhere to run, Lina," one of the soldiers said, his voice distorted by static across the electronic medium. "Throw down your weapon and put your hands in the air, and maybe today won't be the day you die."
The woman didn’t respond. Suddenly, she moved, twirling on the floor like an acrobat. The soldiers hesitated, and Osprey understood why - having made the rookie mistake of surrounding their quarry while armed with guns, they didn’t want to catch a squad mate in the crossfire. Their hesitation gave the woman enough time to draw her sword from its scabbard...then she vanished. For a brief moment, nothing happened. Then, one by one, the soldiers began to drop, crumbling to the ground as wounds inflicted by an unseen assailant opened up on their bodies, soaking their armor with blood. Some of them fired wild shots into the air, but it was a futile effort. Seconds later, it was over.
The image fizzled out as the recording came to an end.
"Those soldiers underestimated Lina, and they paid for the mistake with their life," the Johnson said. "I hope that you will not make the same error."
"If my eyes don't fool me, her movements weren't natural," Osprey said. "Is she an adept?"
The Johnson nodded. "Initiated to the highest order. But the true threat is that blade she carries. Unarmed, Lina is a dangerous enemy, but with that sword, she is untouchable. If you hope to have a chance against her, you must not let her draw her blade...if she does, you're finished."
"What is it, like an anchored Invisibility spell?" Osprey asked.
"That's part of it, yes, but it's much more than that," the Johnson said. "I repeat...it is imperative that you do not let her draw."
He paused. "Two hundred thousand nuyen. That's the payment you will receive upon completion of this job."
Boomer whistled. Osprey leaned in and gave the Johnson a questioning look.
"You'll have to excuse me, Mister J, but I'm a bit of a curious cat, and I'm all a'wondered about something. You told us that you're a Tir Ghost yourself, tasked with the mission of recovering this lady renegade of yours. From what I know of you spooks, you're supposed to be one of the most highly trained special forces in the world. That kinda brings up a question...namely, why would you want to work with a bunch of wet-behind-the-ears, amoral, mentally unstable, and in Boomer's case, ass ugly shadowrunners like us?"
"Hey!" Boomer protested. "I heard that! I'm sitting right here, you know."
"Of course," Osprey said. "I would never be so discourteous as to insult you behind your back."
The Johnson smiled. "If there's one thing I've learned over the years, it's that when you're in a foreign land, your greatest resource is the locals who make it their home. I managed to follow Lina's trail to Seattle before I lost her, and I thought it might be wise to recruit some of the local talent to assist me in tracking her down."
"Local talent, he calls us," Boomer said. "I feel like a goddamn simsense starlet."
Osprey nodded at the Johnson. "That's a lot of money, Mr. Johnson, but I'm still going to need to confer with my team. Can you give us a minute?"
"Absolutely," the Johnson said.
The three of them stepped outside the private room into one of the back hallways of the Penumbra. The music playing out in the main bar area could be heard as the faint tunes of an old Maria Mercurial song drifted merrily through the air, accompanied by the savory smell of beer and deep-fried potatoes.
"So, what do you guys think?" Osprey asked.
"Two hundred is a big wad of dough," Widget said. "Ozzy, I think that's more than what we made in the last six months!"
"Yeah, it is," Osprey said. "But this woman is a Ghost, and if we're going to take this job, that's something that we can't afford to forget. You saw how she made mincemeat out of those soldiers. I kind of wish we had Kat and Sebastian with us. We could use Seb's mojo, and Kat's always handy to have around when there's a throwdown."
"I hope they're having fun on their honeymoon," Widget said.
Boomer snorted derisively. "Runners on a honeymoon...gimme a break. I ain't never heard of no sillier thing."
"Aw, you're just jealous," Widget teased. "Anyways, I hacked into the jay's commlink while you boys were busy with the negotiations."
"God dammit Widge, how many times do I have to ask you to stop doing that?" Osprey said. "If you get busted, the job's over before it even began."
The dwarf girl flashed him a broad grin. "I've never been busted before, now have I? Anyway, if you're gonna be such a grouch, I'm not gonna tell you what I found."
Osprey rolled his eyes. "Fine, I'm sorry for being a meanie poopyhead. What did you find?"
"Actually, nothing," Widget said, her smile growing wider. "The guy's good. He's only got a dummy 'link on him, and it's got nothing interesting on it."
Osprey stared at her in disbelief, and sighed. "You're a mighty big tease for a half pint, you know that? Anyway, we still need to address the whammy: do we want to take this one?"
"You know I'm in," Boomer said. "Money that good, the only way you can get me to turn it down is to pay me even more."
"Me too," Widget said. "I could use some new drones. My last batch got blown up when some dummy tossed a grenade into the room when there was no one there."
"I thought I heard voices!" Boomer said.
"Yeah, they were probably the ones in your head," Widget shot back.
"Are you two done taking chomps out of each other?" Osprey asked. "Yeah? Then it's decided. All right then, let's head back inside and tell the jay that we're game."
The Johnson smiled when told that they would accept the job.
"Excellent. I've just beamed you my commcode...give me a call when you've ascertained Lina's whereabouts."
Osprey nodded. "We'll do that."
---
It took two weeks for the team to uncover a lead on their mark. Tapping their usual contacts for information drew nothing but air, there were no new financial transactions made in the public system under Lina's name or any of her known aliases, and putting in copious amounts of literal legwork to scour the Emerald City's usual underworld haunts for transients and people on the run proved fruitless. In fact, it was only through a lucky break that they managed to score the first clue on their manhunt - Widget somehow picked the elven woman's face out of the bustling crowd on a strip of footage while she was mindlessly pouring over SeaTac's camera feeds from the day Lina was suspected to have landed in Seattle. From there, it was just a matter of piggybacking through downtown's extensive Big Brother network to follow Lina's movements through the city, but unfortunately, the hacker lost her trail when she entered the Tarislar ghetto. Still, the intel allowed the team to narrow the beam of their searchlight, and after calling in a few favors and banging a few heads together, they had a name: Adam Dearborn, a mid-level crime boss in the Laésa ethnic syndicate.
Osprey studied the middle aged elven man sitting across the table from him. They had sent Dearborn an anonymous message requesting a personal audience with him, and had dropped Lina's name. The name evidently meant enough to Dearborn that he agreed to meet them at a local pizzeria, which made it obvious that he was lying when he said, bald-faced, that he had no idea who she was. He knew that they knew he was lying, and so far hadn't shown any signs of caring one bit.
"So, tell me, why are you looking for Lina anyway?" Dearborn asked.
Out of the corner of his eye, Osprey saw Boomer's hand drift lazily towards his gun. Dearborn had come to the restaurant accompanied by four burly bodyguards, who were now staring at the two of them with not the least bit of humor on their faces. If it came down to a tussle, things could get real ugly real fast.
Osprey shrugged. "One of her uncles died and left her a million nuyen inheritance. We're investigators hired by his legal executor to find out where Miss Lina's tucked herself so we can go tell her that she's a very rich woman."
Boomer coughed.
Dearborn smiled, and said, "That's very amusing. Now, will you tell me the real reason why you're trying to track her down?"
"Nope, not unless you tell us what you know about her," Osprey said. "But it looks like that's not going to happen, so I suppose our business here is concluded."
"I suppose it is," Dearborn replied.
They stared at each other for a few tense seconds, but it looked as if neither of them was going to make the first move. Osprey brushed himself off, stood up, and turned around to leave.
"Let's go, Boomer."
Suddenly, he was shoved in the back and sent sprawling to the ground right before the explosive staccato of automatic gunfire tore through the air. Osprey turned the fall into a roll and came up with his own pistol in hand, ears ringing. Screams drowned out the sound of gunfire as the customers in the restaurant began to flee en masse to the front door, knocking down and stepping over one another in sheer, animalistic panic. He saw a flash of muzzle fire and dove behind the nearest table.
#Widget, kill the fucking lights!
#Yessir.
A tick later, the room went black. Osprey switched on his thermographic vision, locked the aiming reticule of his smartlink onto a target, and opened fire, blowing two holes through the bodyguard's chest. His own muzzle fire gave away his position to one of the other gunmen, who sent a hailstorm of bullets to tear to shreds the place where he was taking cover a split second before. Moving with superhuman agility, Osprey vaulted over the table and returned fire. One of the bullets split right through the other man's forehead, and he dropped, lifeless. Breathing hard, Osprey looked around. The other two had been taken care of by Boomer, and Dearborn was standing with his back flush against the wall, his eyes darting rapidly from side to side in the darkness.
"Give it up, Dearborn," Osprey said. "Your four biceps are dead."
"Fuck you."
Osprey sighed and walked towards the man to apprehend him. Suddenly, Dearborn reached into his coat, drew a hold-out pistol, and fired a shot down the direction where he heard footsteps. The bullet whizzed so close by Osprey's ear that he could feel the heat of its flight, and in two quick strides, he moved up to Dearborn, broke his wrist, and punched him in the face. The elf's head snapped back, hitting the wall with a nauseous crack, and he slid down the floor like a rubber tube, unconscious.
"Widget, find the storage drive for the security camera feeds in this place and wipe them," Osprey said. "Boomer, help me haul this son of a bitch back to the Bulldog. We're going to find out what he knows whether he likes it or not."
---
They were in a small, dimly illuminated room with no windows. There was a rusty operating table in the middle of the room, and next to it was a single chair. Bound to the chair wrist-and-ankle was a gagged Adam Dearborn. Osprey untied the gag from his mouth and kneeled down in front of him. The elf glared at him, his eyes ablaze with unbridled fury.
"Last chance, ears," Osprey said. "You going to tell us about Lina?"
"Go fuck a troll," Dearborn spat.
"You know, I actually did that once," Boomer offered. "It was the only sex I've ever had in my life that I didn't enjoy."
Osprey stood up and sighed. "Okay, it looks like we're going to have to do this the hard way. Boomer, he's all yours."
The ork bared his teeth into an ugly grin. He picked up a duffel bag off the floor and set it down on the table. Unzipping it, he began to remove the various types of instruments inside and laid them down one by one on the table...even the most naïve eye could tell that they were tools designed to inflict pain, and a great deal of it. Boomer picked up a small canister with a nozzle, and gave the trigger a test pull. A short blast of sizzling blue flame seared out, leaving a burnt smell lingering in the air. Widget watched him with wide, frightened eyes.
Osprey laid a hand on her shoulder. "Widge, it might be better if you're not here for this."
She swallowed, nodded, and left the room, closing the door behind her. Boomer approached Dearborn, who glared at him defiantly.
"Make it quick, Boomer," Osprey said.
It wasn't quick...in fact, it took two full hours before the elf broke.
At the end, his face was barely recognizable, and both his captors had come to discover within themselves a reluctant respect for the man - for his will, but even more than that, for his loyalty. It was a rare thing to find someone on these streets who wouldn't sell out a friend to turn a quick buck, and the one before them had sacrificed much more than that before he sold out his own. But every mind has a threshold, and no one was unbreakable...when it was all over, Dearborn had given them Lina's address.
The door squeaked opened and Widget walked in. She stopped dead in her tracks and stared at Dearborn's mutilated face, horrified. Boomer was busy packing his tools back into the duffel, and Osprey spent a moment to compose a quick message to the Johnson, informing him of their discovery and notifying him that they were going to make their move immediately. He killed the connection after he fired off the message, pocketing his commlink and turning towards the door to leave.
"Wait..." Dearborn whispered, his voice frail and trembling. "Kill me. Please."
Osprey turned and looked at him. He nodded, walked up to the elf, drew his gun, and shot him in the head.
Widget sucked in her breath, her eyes wide. Even Boomer looked surprised.
"Boomer, clean up the mess and meet me upstairs. We have to get to the target before she gets spooked and decides to move to a new location."
Boomer nodded, zipping up his bag. As Osprey began to leave the room, Widget ran up to him and gripped the sleeve of his long coat.
"Why did you do it, Ozzy?" Widget demanded. "You already got what you wanted. Why did you kill him?"
Osprey stopped and kneeled down so he was looking directly into her eyes. He put a hand on top of her head, and when he spoke, his voice was strangely tender. "He wanted it, Widget. It was a mercy killing. After what we made him do, he wouldn't have been able to live with himself."
He stood up and walked out of the room. There was work to be done.
---
It was a frosty night with a full moon hanging from the sky, and Osprey could see their target in her apartment from his perch on the rooftop across the street, his vision magnified by his optical cybereyes. She was sitting on the couch reading a paperback novel, with her legs tucked beneath her and her sword propped up on a cushion beside her. Even at this distance, the elven woman was a breathtaking beauty. Osprey closed his eyes briefly as the calm before the storm washed over him, stilling his nerves. He felt his remaining four senses heighten...his ears tuning into the never-ending urban buzz echoing through the city, his nose picking up the smoky and acidic aroma of the Seattle night air, his tongue tasting bittersweet bile inside his mouth, and his skin feeling the gritty caress of his form-fitting body armor. He opened his eyes.
#Is everybody in position?
#Yup, I'm ready to go.
#Just tell me when it's time to stomp some ass.
Osprey launched the hook of his smart grapple across to the roof of the other building and felt it clamp onto the railing. Numbers and symbols flashed across his AR overlay as his commlink computed the distance, angle, and trajectory of the swing. It relayed the final calculations over the PAN to his grapple gun's primitive computer system, which controlled the auto-adjusting cable.
#Widget, disengage the door's maglock.
#Done.
Osprey took one more deep breath and released it as mist.
#Boomer, do it.
He leapt off the building, gripping the grapple gun tight. He swung through the air, high up above the city streets, and crashed through the window of the apartment the same instant Boomer came barreling through the door, tearing it clean off its hinges. The elven woman had reflexes of the devil, snatching up her sword and springing to her feet even before she had time to realize what was going on. But she wasn't fast enough, because Boomer didn't stop his charge. Osprey landed on a pile of finely shattered glass and rolled up to a knee, bringing his Ingram Smartgun up on its sling. At the same time, Boomer slammed into the elven woman with brutal force, all two hundred and eighty pounds of pure ork muscle lending their bulk to the impact, sending her sailing off her feet.
Osprey trailed her body's movement through the air with the sights on his submachine gun and opened fire as soon as she hit the wall. The gel rounds peppered her torso with bone-crushing blunt force, and by the time she hit the ground, it was finished. She laid motionless on the floor, her eyes closed and her breathing ragged.
Widget poked her head through the door. "Did you guys get her?"
Boomer grinned. "Oh yeah, we got her all right."
Osprey moved closer to the woman, careful to keep his weapon trained on her. She groaned and raised her head, opening her eyes to look at him groggily.
"You...you're not from the Tir," she said. "Who sent you?"
"That would be me, Lina."
Osprey turned to see their Johnson walk through the door. The elf studied the scene before him and nodded in approval.
"Julian," Lina said. "You've finally found me."
"So it seems," the Johnson said. Osprey was surprised to hear a tinge of sadness in his voice.
"Are you going to take me back to the Tir?" Lina asked.
"I am," the elf replied. "I have no choice. You never should've left, Lina. You're a sworn swordmaiden of the Council of Princes. Your place is in the Tir, and only in the Tir."
Lina sat up straighter, clasping one hand to her stomach and grimacing in pain. "If I go back, they will destroy it. You know that."
The Johnson nodded. "I do, and it's a sacrifice that must be made. A swordmaiden can have no loyalty higher than that of the Prince she serves."
Lina stared at him, her eyes hard. "How can you say that, Julian? It's my child...our child."
The Johnson shrugged. "What must be done, will be done."
Osprey saw Widget turn towards him, her face an expression of shock and horror as the meaning of the exchange between the two elves dawned on her.
#Ozzy, she's pregnant! That's why she ran from the Tir, she didn't steal any data!
Osprey ignored her and kept his attention trained on the woman. The Johnson turned to him with a broad smile on his face.
"This was a job well done, shadowrunner. I have friends in Seattle, and I'm sure that once I speak to them of your exemplary performance under my hire, you will find yourself with many lucrative business propositions in your future."
#Oz, you can't seriously be thinking of letting him take her away. Oz?
"I believe we agreed to a payment of two hundred thousand nuyen. Forward me the account where you want me to wire the funds, and you will find yourself a great deal wealthier in few short seconds."
#Oz, please!
Her eyes were desperate.
The Johnson gave him a curious look. "Are you alright?"
Osprey nodded. "Oh, I'm doing just dandy, thank you for your concern, Mr. Johnson. Unfortunately, we've decided to decline your offer."
"What?" the Johnson said.
"What?!" Boomer said.
Osprey shrugged. "Yeah, because you sort of weren't being entirely honest with us when you were giving us the details of the job. You see, you hired us to find one person, not two. Two costs extra. You tried to rip us off."
The Johnson raised his eyebrows in disbelief. "You have got to be joking. Is this your idea of a negotiation? Fine, how much more money do you want?"
Osprey shook his head. "Sorry, Mister J, but you misunderstand me. You see, despite my dazzling good looks, I happen to be a very petty and insecure kind of bloke. I have a tendency to throw a hissy fit when someone decides to screw us over, and I'm having me one such fit right now, which has caused me to decide to refuse your offer altogether. You can keep your money, Mr. Johnson, but the damsel is coming with us."
The Johnson narrowed his eyes. "Foolish play, shadowrunner. Do you honestly think I'll let you leave here without a fight?"
"Nope," Osprey said cheerfully. "That's why I'm going to shoot you now."
He pivoted his gun towards the elf and fired a burst at him, but the Johnson dove out of the way, drew his own pistol, and returned fire in one smooth motion. The bullet clipped Osprey in the shoulder, sending him lurching backwards. He cursed as blood spurted violently out of the wound. Widget screamed and took a step towards him.
"Widget, stay back! Come on, Boomer, I could use a little help here!"
Boomer sighed mournfully. The ork took two long steps to bring him right up to the Johnson and swung his ham-sized fist in a wide, powerful arc. It connected square with the elf's jaw, sending him toppling backwards over the couch, his gun spinning out of reach to clatter uselessly on the floor a few meters away. Osprey gripped his wound tight and staggered over to where the elf was crumpled up on the floor. The Johnson sat up, spat the blood out of his mouth, and glared at him.
"You know, I have half a mind to pump the rest of this clip into you," Osprey said. "But shit, I figured getting cold-clocked by Boomer is enough punishment for anyone for one day. If you know what's good for you, you'll drag your pointy eared ass back to Tir Tairngire and forget this ever happened."
Suddenly, the elven woman was there, standing right next to him. Osprey recoiled in surprise, but her attention was focused only on the Johnson. She was looking at him with sad, regretful eyes, and in her hand she had recovered her sword.
"Julian, I beg you, listen to my plea...end your pursuit here," she said. "Do not follow me."
For a moment, Osprey thought he saw a flash of emotion in the Johnson's eyes, but it was gone as quickly as it came, dispersed by the winds of unyielding duty.
"I can't do that, Lina," he said softly. "You know I will never stop coming for you."
"I know," Lina said. "And I forgive you, Julian."
She fell silent, and when she spoke again, her words carried the burden of a heavy heart. "I hope you will forgive me."
In one graceful, almost tender motion, the elven woman drew her blade and slashed open the Johnson's throat. His hands flew up reflexively to clutch his neck as dark red blood poured out of the wound. His eyes bugged out in shock, and he gurgled for a few seconds before falling to the floor. A few spasms coursed through his body before it finally stilled, never to move again. Lina turned around, sheathing her blade. Her head was bowed low, and her shoulders were slumped. Osprey could not see her face, and did not want to.
"Thank you, shadowrunners," she said. Her voice was steady.
And like that, she was gone.
The melancholic silence in the room was eventually broken as Boomer walked over to the Johnson's body and nudged it with the toe of his boot.
"So, we just gonna leave him here like this?" Boomer asked.
"Well, if you want to keep him as a souvenir, I'm not going to stop you," Osprey said.
"You know, Oz, this is why we never make any money," Boomer said. "Cause you always gotta go and have yourself a fucking attack of conscience every time we're about to score the big payday."
"Well, I think he did the right thing," Widget declared. "I'm proud of you, Ozzy. Anyway, why do you always care so much about money anyway, Boomer? The only things you spend your cut on are food, alcohol, and hookers."
"That's not true," Boomer said. "Just last month I donated a hundred yen to the Allison G. Cunningham Breast Cancer Foundation."
"What?" Widget asked in disbelief. "You? Donating to a breast cancer charity? Why?"
"Well, you know me," Boomer said. "If there's one thing I hate, it's seeing a good pair of tits go to waste."
"Ugh," Widget said, disgusted. "I don't even know why I bothered to ask. You're a pig, you know that?"
Boomer shrugged. "Why do you care, anyway? It's not like you have anything of a rack to speak of."
Widget glared at him, blinking back furious tears. "Screw you, Boomer."
Osprey shook his head as she rushed out the door, sobbing. "You're an asshole, you know that, right Boomer?"
"What?" Boomer said. "It's not like I insulted her."
They stood there for a moment with a deep quiet hanging in the air between them, but it was the comfortable silence of two longtime teammates who've been through enough together to know that there were worse things in the world than a few seconds of peace, unbroken by the sounds of gunfire, screams, and savage violence.
"So, you mind telling me why you saved the slitch?" Boomer asked eventually. "We both know you don't give a flying fuck about some unborn elfling fetus. Two hundred thousand is a lot of money, Oz. Why'd you turn it down?"
Osprey stared out the open doorway to the empty corridor beyond. "Honestly? I did it for her, Boomer. Because out of all of us, she's the only one who still holds on to something pure, something true. If she's going to stay in this life, she's going to have to let go of it someday, but I don't want to be the one responsible for making her do that."
He sighed as he heard the familiar blare of Lone Star sirens wailing in the distant streets. "The cops are going to be here soon. Come on, let's blow this dive and go get ourselves shitfaced."
"You know I'm always up for that," Boomer said, following him out the door. "Especially since all the drinks tonight are gonna be on you."