Shadowrun RP (characterinfo+gameplay)

littleRED · 2012-02-06T22:24:50-01:00

1. NeoStriker as N: Spoiler:PICTURE: STATS: (3) Body (5) Mind (4) Soul (35) Health Points (45) Energy Points (7) Shock Value (4) Combat Attack (2) Combat Defense (16) Max. Possible Unarmed Damage DESCRIPTION: Name: N Shadowname: N Gender: N/A Race: N/A Age: N/A Looks: Wears a white mask and a white jacket with a hood to obscure all of N's features, making it impossible to tell what gender, race, or age N is. Personality: Happiness-oriented and utility-oriented. Plays a support role on missions, and does not talk. Skills/Powers: Rigger Weaknesses: Mute Background: N first appeared five years ago, at a cafe drinking tea. N now works there as a waiter, cook, and cashier. N spends time playing with the neighborhood kids, tutoring students, repairing nearby buildings, and general odd jobs that could be considered community service. During this "civilian" state, N is generally considered as a natural phenomenon of good will and reliable help. Unknown to the civilians, N is also a shadowrunner, specializing in rigging. 2. Wordmangler2000 as Harrison Carruthers: Spoiler:PICTURE: STATS: (2) Body (7) Mind (7) Soul (45) Health Points (70/100/130) Energy Points (9) Shock Value (5) Combat Attack (3) Combat Defense (23) Max. Possible Unarmed Damage DESCRIPTION: Name: Harrison Carruthers, Ph.D. Shadowname: "The shadows"? Oh my. That sounds rather dicey. No thank you. Gender: Hm. Well you see, that's rather hard to express just now. Race: [shaking head] I'm really finding this form very difficult to fill out. I'm sorry, is it permissible to write in the margins? Age: I'm well over 100, I can attest to that. I actually have a paper birth certificate, can you imagine such a thing, in this day and age? Looks: I don't entirely look myself, these days. Personality: I may seem a bit stiff at first, but after a glass of fine sherry you'll find me the jolliest of fellows. Or, um...whatever. Skills/Powers: I am extremely persuasive. When I make a case, people come to agree -- provided, of course, I am allowed the requisite time to make my argument. That may take a while. But if I am allowed to make a rigorous appeal to reason, no one can resist. I have a comprehensive knowledge of prehistory and legends. People today think all knowledge is available on the Matrix. But there's a level of knowledge beneath/behind the Matrix, and among the folk tales and half-remembered dreams and legends of improbable heroes one can find real wisdom -- and solutions to current problems that seem insoluble. I have a theory about what happened to our world, why magic broke out. An essential principle at the heart of reality has been tainted, and the fate of the world hangs in the balance. My secret ambition is to excise the poison and heal the world. I know poisons and potions for all purposes. When the ingredients are not readily available I tend to make substitutions that seem reasonable to me, but these ad hoc recipe revisions often backfire, with consequences ranging from humorous to disastrous. I read a page with a single blink, an entire book in less than a minute. And I have a photographic memory. This may seem to be of limited use in the era of the Matrix, but could come in handy if we find ourselves outside the Matrix's sphere of influence (yes, such spots do still exist on earth) or if the Matrix goes down for some reason. And, as I have hinted before, not all wisdom was allowed into the Matrix by the gatekeepers who set it up. They had an agenda, and it wasn't entirely for our benefit. Weaknesses: I am easily distracted. It's hard to keep me working toward an agreed-upon goal because I am always looking about and finding new interests. I am of very little good in a fight. A good punch in the nose is all it takes to make me retire to the corner and cry like a little girl. I may join your team, but you can never be sure my goals are entirely aligned with yours. I have my own agenda, and I'll play along with you as long as they are consistent. My powers of deceit are immense...you'll never suspect that my commitment is temporary and provisional. Oh, and one more thing. As far as the Matrix is concerned, I don't exist. This is inconvenient -- I can't use global positioning to find out where I am or gain directions to another location, for instance. But it does mean that I can conduct even the most sensitive of inquiries without being traced. Background: Ah. Here we go. I was human when all this began, so many years ago. I was teaching literature and classics at Yale when the first metahumans began to appear among us. I petitioned the university and was awarded permission to launch a series of classes and seminars about the historical and philosophical grounding of the phenomena that were shaking the world. I found it particularly interesting that the new races appearing among us were types that had been thoroughly explored in literature from around the world. They weren't new -- it was almost as if we had a racial memory of them. They conformed to archetypes that underlay our understanding of the world. Had we created them out of our collective unconscious? And if so, what more might we create? I assembled a cross-disciplinary panel of the world's leading academics and we began detailing the correspondences between world events and folk traditions. We saw immediately that this was no random series of events. There was a pattern to what was happening, a clear progression, and -- probably -- a coordinating intelligence behind it all. I was preparing to summarize these findings in the keynote address (and several subsequent lectures) of our worldwide group's first annual conference...when I was abducted. I have no memory of where I was taken or what was done to me there. I know that when I returned to consciousness, thousands of miles from Yale, three years had passed. The world had been altered, as you know from your history books -- er, history nodules on the Matrix. The scheme was proceeding as my colleagues and I had predicted. I tried to locate my colleagues, but they were nowhere to be found. In fact, all trace that they had ever existed was gone. The Internet -- and later, the Matrix -- held no trace of them. It was as if they had never been born. Yale had never heard of me. My birth records were gone. I had been erased from the infosphere. Oh, and one more thing. I wasn't an overweight, balding, middle-aged college professor anymore. I was a dryad. A blue-skinned female elf. I'm about a meter tall (or three feet, as we would have said in the good old days). My hair color varies. (If you pay close attention you can tell my mood and energy level by reading my hair color.) I wear it in a single long braid down my back. Dryad. Of the nymph variety. More specifically, a naiad. More specifically still, a potamide. You can look it up. Yes, I have my own freshwater home/shrine. No, I won't tell you where it is. All of my human personality traits and knowledge are intact as far as I know -- and what a chilling thought that is, that I must append "as far as I know" to such an assertion! I find that I also have knowledge of elf-lore. I can perform limited spells, craft potions and poisons, understand the speech of animals and the slow dreams of trees. I can't spend much time in cities. It's as if I'm allergic. My skin burns, my thoughts turn jumbled, eventually I lose consciousness. I'm sure if I stayed too long in an urban environment I would die. I find it endlessly fascinating to have awakened in a female body. I retain my male-hetero viewpoint; I am attracted to other females. The only change, if any, is that my libido is much stronger in this body than it was in my middle-aged male form. I guess you would call me a lesbian. Or something. My knowledge of the ancient myths and legends that underlie our current world gives me a limited foreknowledge of what is to come. In my dryad form, this knowledge is augmented by prophetic dreams. My dreams show what is to come. They are not always 100 percent accurate, however. With great effort (or with the participation of chance, which turns out to be one of the elemental forces of the modern world), fate can be changed. I am not prepared to reveal my stake in all of this. Not yet. Suffice it to say that I have been granted a glimpse of the future, and I am unwilling to accept it. I'm looking for comrades to help me save the world. And they must be willing to accept this task on faith...because I cannot yet reveal all of what I know and I suspect. That knowledge is a heavy, heavy burden, and for now I must carry it alone.3. ToyManC as Rudy the Rat (NPC): Spoiler: PICTURE: STATS: (5) Body (7) Mind (4) Soul (45) Health Points (55/85) Energy Points (9) Shock Value (5/10) Combat Attack (3/8) Combat Defense (21/41) Max. Possible Unarmed Damage DESCRIPTION: Name: Rufus Allen Detweiler Shadowname: 'Rudy the Rat,' slang for his initials R.D. and his fondness for his cyber-enhanced pet rats. Gender: male Race: Dwarf Age: 62 (One of the first Dwarfs (dwarves?) born in the Seattle area. He has never left this city. Looks: Average height (for a Dwarf); Brown hair and beard (both trimmed short) starting to turn gray; Pale coloring, from being inside all the time; Has a long scar running from the top of his head down the side of his face, to just below his right ear; His face looks pinched and angry, when in public; Physically fit, but not muscular, he avoids cyber-enhancements, as they interfere with his natural cyber connection. Personality: Has almost a dual personality. In person, he is a dour, introverted type, prone to mono-syllabic responses to questions. In the Matrix, however, he is a person of influence and status. Within the Matrix, he is communicative and outgoing. A skilled multitasker, he is capable of running his daily life, while also handling his business on the Matrix, without breaking his outside persona. Seldom shows anger, except when approached by religious personages [Am unfamiliar w/ state of religion in Shadowrun, but assume it still exists]. Extremely discomforted in the presence of women, to the point of almost shutting down. Is kind to children, and has little problem relating with them, but that changes when they grow up. His main fondness is for his rats (he has many!), which he raises as pseudo-members of his family. An orphan, he has no knowledge of his birth family (if they survive?) and no interest in finding them. He is also very sensitive about his scar. Will work with others, but only as a behind-the-scenes cyber entity. He will not meet others personally, unless forced or in disguise. Skills/Powers: A Technomancer Hacker, he always has his mind connected to the Matrix. He has a cyber connection to all his enhanced rats, and uses them to help him infiltrate places that he cannot access through the Matrix. He can guide them just like drones, but leaves their survival instinct intact. He is so attuned to the Matrix, that he always knows when someone is looking for him there, and can either respond or hide his presence. He is also quite skilled as a mechanic and is capable of repairing/building some types of machines. Weaknesses: Extremely antisocial, except with animals and children, he never interacts with people personally except in the most basic manner. In person, he is more likely to talk with simple yes/no statements, or more likely a grunt. Distrustful of women, except on the Matrix, he will avoid them whenever possible. He is so emotionally tied to his rats, that he will always place their safety above his own, or others. If someone should kill one of his rats, intentionally, it will spark an intense hatred and desire for revenge. His revenge is always i the Matrix, however. He has been known to hack people, and cripple their accounts, simply for shooing his pets away! Background: One of the first Dwarfs born in the Seattle area, he was placed in an orphanage run by Nuns. The strict discipline of the orphanage helped him form his extreme mental discipline, but stunted his emotional development. To this day, he cannot interact with women on a personal level, and has absolutely no tolerance for religion. He grew up hating his birth parents for leaving him in that environment, and wants nothing to do with them now. As a youth, he was the victim of a hit-and-run driver, causing massive head trauma which made his mental state even more stunted, and gave him his facial scar. The accident helped in other ways, though, for he found that he could now interact with computers on an almost subconscious level. He immersed himself in the internet, and early Matix, and found that knowledge is truly power. As soon as he was old enough, he fled the orphanage and began to exercise his control over computers. It is widely believed that he had a hand in the Computer crash of 2029, but it is impossible to know for sure and he'll never speak on the subject. Taking on the persona of Rufus, the maintenance guy, he lives in the basement of an apartment complex [I will let you decide the location] with his rats carefully hidden within the walls of the building. He feeds them, and makes sure they do not forage in peoples apartments, but he also uses them to spy on the residents. He knows almost everything about the people in his building, and will know instantly if someone tries to infiltrate his operation from within. Under the guise of 'Rudy the Rat,' he takes jobs over the Matrix and performs hacking operations that others don't want traced back to themselves. Very honest, in his way, he will always strive to fulfill any contract that he accepts. All money is payable to offshore accounts, and routed through a labyrinth of computer transfers so no one can trace it back to Rufus, the maintenance guy. Having his rats cyber-enhanced, however, is expensive, so he is constantly seeking funds to feed and adapt his 'family.' As far as he knows, nobody knows that Rufus Detweiler and Rudy the Rat are the same person, and he means to keep it that way. 4. Flaser as Dussack: Spoiler:PICTURE: STATS: (5/8) Body (4/6) Mind (3) Soul (40/55) Health Points (35/45) Energy Points (8/11) Shock Value (7/8) Combat Attack (5/6) Combat Defense (39/45) Max. Possible Unarmed Damage DESCRIPTION: Name: Paul Kovacs Shadowname: Dussack Gender: Male Race: Dwarf Age: 24 Looks: Mousy brown hair, brown eyes... average looks. Surprisingly tall for a dwarf, in fact he's usually mistaken for a human. Keeps his chin almost religiously clean-shaven. He hates ale, in fact his favorite drink is whiskey on the rocks. Tends to dress smartly, usually going for a wage-slave look, blending into the crowd. As most dwarfs he's strong and hardy... but going against the stereotype he's insanely fast, almost twitchy. Personality: Sarcastic with a penchant for outbursts of profanity, tends to keep his cool when on The Run. Is in the midst of an identity crisis and for all the intellectual acceptance of dogma, he's finally having a personal experience of what Trans-humanism might entail... he's not taking it well. It's one thing to know something on an intellectual level, it's another to experience it as something happening, changing you. Skills/Powers: [color=green]Here's the deal. You want some suit wiped? Call me, put down a deposit, the mark gets his accident then you pay the rest. You want security? Deposit, delivery, payment. Like clock-work. I get the job done. Most of the time you won't even know I was there. I'm fast, you see. Faster than the eye can track, faster than your average street-sam on the trigger, fast like a juiced up otaku on his hot-sim raid of the Playboy Mansion. I don't use force... I don't need it. I don't use firepower... I don't need it. A double-tap, Death clapping the mark on the shoulder that it's time to go. Hi-Vel express delivery into the cranium, right through the eyes. Hiss!-fwoop!-fwoop!-thuum... the holdout's already back in its holster, or better yet, lies discarded on the pavement and I'm already just another terrified passerby. Heck, they could put me through screening then and there most of the time... I don't have much cyber, just the usual jack & slot with the comlink below. They can put me under the scanner and I'll look like just another Joe Average. That's me, your silver bullet for hire. No mess, no fuss, just slotted marks and a job well done... well usually. Sometimes things get messy. I still deliver. Big mess, big fuss, marks very much slotted and no clues to tie the mark to you. Tends to happen when you Johnsons play with cards too tight to your chest... that'll cost you extra by the way.[/color] Weaknesses: Has a pretty sophisticated AI in his cranial computer that edges ever closer to self-awareness. Said AI also uses his own gray matter for computing. Some big players out there are looking for him to get the thing... is living pretty much on the run. Lately has taken up drinking to numb the existential horror of getting swallowed up by the thing in his head. Background: [color=green]OK. Since I'm stuck with you, I might as well get my money's worth. You're supposed to be good at this navel-gazing shit. So here goes... Being the son of an B+ company's CEO (read: Cranky Evil Ogre) is hard enough nowadays, what with cutthroat competition for the few supplier contracts, usually in areas deemed too mundane (read: deadbeat) by Triple-As. Being a metahuman son of said CEO who takes each & every opportunity to remind you how much of a disappointment you are (read: not a towering jock like the "Big Manâ„¢" used to be) is harder still. I still wouldn't have given a shit, if not for a little incident my Da's ego brought me. I'd been content living my life, being just another suit. But no, the Big Cheese had to open his goddamn mouth, and make a stand. He'd show them! Never mind that his dumb ass couldn't even afford me a scholarship at a proper school with a dedicated security guards, tweed suits and all of the Dead Poets Society crap. No, I had to go to some community school for the gifted, where any fucking salary-man's son in the area could attend... and thus it wasn't altogether hard for someone to arrange my "accident"... if you wanna call being beaten into a quadriplegic an accident. Most guys would've been hooked on BTLs, drugs or something... it's not like you can do a lot when the only change in your day is when you nurse comes to swap diapers. I took up brooding instead. You see, my Da choose this moment to realize he's a family man. After all those years, he realized that I'm the only son he's going to get. So every day he came into my room and started yapping about how sorry he is... Intentionally ignoring him while doing nothing, that must've hurt. There was no polite excuse that I'm busy, that there's anything keeping my mind off what's going on. There I was, staring at the ceiling, not saying a word, while the man was literally tearing himself to pieces... God, I was such a bastard. You see, my Da, God bless his mono-maniac soul, couldn't take no for an answer. At the time regrowing spinal tissue was impossible and full-body-cybernetics were blacker than the inside of a troll's asshole. It seemed like I'd live my life slurping corn starch through a straw. Da wouldn't have that. With his usual fervor he scoured the world for a solution... Enter Berger Streissman, (posthumus) sainted evangelist of the Church of Trans-Humanism Unchained, Matrix millionaire with an up and coming solo-A company of his own. Most folks at the time and even today, view tech as stuff that lets you do shit better and that's it. It might take you places, it might give you new insights but all in all it's just tech as usual, tools at your disposal. Not to Trans-humanists. To them, tech is something that changes you first and foremost. The Metalheads preach about the weakness of the flesh, the transcendence of cybernetic bodies. Wireheads preach about leaving your body behind altogether and living in the world of digital perfection... and us Holistics claim that there's no hard barrier to the self. I'm a convert, you see... The only man to ever receive Streissman's "blessing", before AzTek or some other triple-fucking-A took 'im and the whole wing of the hospital out. Nowadays tech that can do what I got is common place... back then, well it was truly revolutionary. It still is. Most guys on my level look like a fucking Terminator or a reject from the Thing. Me? I'm normal. Why put in a dozen separate systems, when a single, general purpose computer could do all you want as long as its properly wired up? The answer is most folks would be terrified to live their whole life with an AI sharing their skull. To achieve that level of control, the thing has to be able to take over the majority of your functions. It has to breath, look, hear, move, jump, leap... the works. A separate nervous system, a separate "digital you", that's like you, but not quite. ...I was out in physico-rehab when the bombs hit. Lucky me, the guy in the room over, my Da helping Streissman sell his spiel, the prophet himself and the hundred other patients... not so. High-tailing out of there seemed like a good idea, and I've been on the run ever since... but you know that. So tell me Saul, when will I go completely bonkers, when will you take over the rest of my life? You've been there, sharing my gray matter for processing, using the neural shunts they put in to boost my body beyond its threshold when we wipe a mark. You're there when I'm taking a shit, you're there when I'm having sex... ...you're there when I look into a mirror and wonder if this piece of crap, psychotherapy program I just loaded into active memory is doing anything! Are you listening Saul? Of course you are... and the hell of the thing is, I no longer know whether the hand reaching for the gun is yours or mine... we've got company...[/color] [color=blue]For we know in part, and we prophesy in part. But when that which is perfect is come, then that which is in part shall be done away. When I was a child, I spoke as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child: but when I became a man, I put away childish things. For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known.[/color] 5. Damienthedevil as Shadow Fang: Spoiler:PICTURE: STATS: (5) Body (5) Mind (5) Soul (50) Health Points (50/70) Energy Points (10) Shock Value (5/8) Combat Attack (3/6) Combat Defense (20/40) Max. Possible Unarmed Damage DESCRIPTION: Name: Cronis Kierd Shadowname: Shadow Fang the 2nd Gender: Male Race: Elf (Night One) Age: 29 Looks: Roughly 195cm with short blue hair. Has dark brown skin and golden coloured eyes that glows in the dark(like a cat). Normally dones black leather body tight suit with tight black leather pants. Personality: Mostly cold and distrusting. He doesn't trust strangers and only trust people after a long time. Skills/Powers: - Sneaking and Stealth. As an Assassin, he has to blend into the shadows to kill his targets. Many years of training and experience made him almost undetectable with the use of the latest technology. - Weapon Mastery. As an Assassin, he had trained and used many different types of weapons from High-Tech Rifles to the simplest of knives. He can use them all. Although his preference is still his Retractable Claws. - Standard Magic Mastery. His heritage as a Night One gave him talents in Magic but due to him having no master, he could only use very basic magic such as Minor Healing and the like. He could also use magic that enhances his physical abilities fairly easily, it seems that it was his aptitude. Weaknesses: He is weak in the morning and has to be in the shade thanks to his allergy to the Sun. Background: Cronis was born as a 2nd generation elf in the town of Gora. Orphaned when he was 5, he had to learn to survive all by himself. He had scavenge food and picked pockets for more than 5 years until he picked the pocket of a famous assassin that goes by the name of Shadow Fang. Shadow thought Cronis had talent for being able to steal from him and thus took him in and taught him the ways of assassination. Training him vigorously for 7 years, Shadow thought Cronis was ready and gave him his first job; To kill a mid-class noble. Cronis did his job splendidly and earned himself his first kill. Following that success, Shadow took Cronis along on many jobs and Cronis made a name to himself as the disciple of Shadow Fang. Exactly 10 years later however, Shadow Fang was caught on when he completed his job to assassinate a high-ranking member of S-K. Shadow Fang was caught and killed instantly. Since then, Cronis inherited the Shadow Fang name and had called himself as such. Fast forward 2 years into the future, Cronis had worked under many Corporation as an assassin-for-hire. He is paid good money and is now famed for his skill and high success rates. His current job brought him to Seattle and is now settling in one of the many hideouts he have in Seattle. 6. Kheldar as Traitor: Spoiler:STATS: (4) Body (4) Mind (4) Soul (40) Health Points (40) Energy Points (8) Shock Value (4) Combat Attack (2) Combat Defense (16/26) Max. Possible Unarmed Damage DESCRIPTION: Name: Marcus Anderson Shadowname: Traitor Gender: Male Race: Human-British Age: 19 Looks: A tall guy, Marcus is around 6ft 2 in height. He has a slightly slimmer build than most, though rather than being weedy he is better described as toned. His left arm is, from the elbow down, a cybernetic replacement. High quality and normally concealed under a long sleeved shirt and glove its quite hard to notice. Long, ruffled brown hair that refuses to stay in any specific style no matter how hard he tries to keep it there. While not handsome, he’s not ugly, high cheekbones and gaunt cheeks being his prominent features. Slate grey eyes combined with his usual zoned out expression mean most people see him as distant. He’s bad at smiling, tending to grin and look sadistic instead. When around friends he laughs little but smiles alot. Past times have left him with very faint laughter lines. Dresses smartly but not without due nods to fashion he also has a pocket watch (I'll admit that this is just because I wear one ;D) Personality: Sometimes seen as cold and aloof (Reasonable assumptions considering his background) he is nevertheless a relatively happy outgoing person for the most part. However he tends towards massive mood swings (as teenagers are) and ends up in deep depressions occasionally. Having had little dealings with women as a whole in the past he’s awkward whenever one shows affection towards him. He can talk to them and be quite charming but as soon as the women or girl, for example, so much as lean toward him, he is likely to make some excuse and get some distance between himself and her. Unfortunately he also has a social problem with other races. Having been raised in an exclusively human area he is for the most part scared of other races and has difficulty dealing with them normally. Marcus has a bad habit of judging people at first sight and depending on his assessment of a person will be overly trusting or completely paranoid around them. Skills/Powers: A natural affinity with nearly any weapon, within minutes of obtaining it he’s most likely figured out exactly how to employ it. Little to no really power with magic he has however had to attend some magical based lessons in the past. As such he knows vaguely how to cast some high end spells. He’ll only try it in a desperate situation and to be honest it’s more likely going to make the situation worse considering his incompetent flailing of magical power. Inventive if not a genius he should be able to throw together just about anything as long as you give him time and a rough idea of how it works. Pistons in his bionic replacement allow for a bone crushing grip. Also while fighting without a weapon is something Marcus avoids at all costs he can throw a decent kick after a small amount of training with his families bodyguards though his fist fighting lets him down. Remember though he’s only a human and while not weak he is certainly not strong. He also knows a smattering of Japanese as his family traded with Japan for some simple mechs which they used to improve their own brand of bioarmour. Weaknesses: Easy to get to emotionally. Perhaps because he was sheltered or maybe it’s just something in his personality but various things can either set him off or utterly break him. Things of nature to break him tend to include threats to friends or children and mutilation/mutations which horrify him. He can be set off by either insults that are accurate about himself (e.g spoilt brat knows nothing of our problems, your pathetic with girls you virgin bastard), breaking his stuff (He’s a tad materialistic) and violence of any kind towards a women. Using these things you can quite easily manipulate him and force him into situations he would rather not be in. He has trouble working with people of other races as he is still confused and scared of this new world he’s entered. Also he’s only human and has a slim build so getting a hit on him will severely impact on his ability to fight or even function normally. Compound that with the fact that he will keep on trying to get back up and he’s a risk to himself after being injured. Also he is ignorant of some knowledge that would be common information among locals and as such may find himself easily lost or making a faux pas in conversation that most others would not. This also goes for the Matrix system; his family distrusted such things for the most part allowing their personal techmancers to deal with it on their behalf. However he finds the idea very interesting and has almost instantly started researching it as soon as he arrived in America. Vanity is one last thing that could be taken advantage of. Flattery and drawn pictures of himself can be used to distract him and get the better of him. He even carries around a small drawing of himself done by an old friend of his to this day but he won’t admit it. Background: Born and raised in Anglesey, an island in the northwest of Britain, Marcus is part of Anderson family, a small corporation in their own right. Having produced numerous forms of bio armour (A type of removable cybernetic enhancement.Think of a small mech hardwired into your body allowing for organic style movement and quick responses) and selling them across the world for past 4 centuries the family is made of old and new money alike. Exercising an iron grip on its lands the family got rid of all mutants as they appeared preserving, as they put it, a true society. Marcus was brought up to respect these ideals and fight for them. Put through classes of every kind to ensure he was good enough for the family, Marcus endured a lot as a child even if he did live in the lap of luxury. However as part of the family he was also a target and during one of his combat classes (Anderson’s were expected to protect the families interests by any means necessary) a shadowrunner made her way into the mansion. Attacking from the shadows she managed to slash Marcus’ arm as he fell away from her. Marcus’ instructor a former soldier managed to drive her off but the blade she had been using was poisoned. Seeing no other alternative he cut off part of Marcus’ arm to save him. Marcus and the shadow runner survived that day. The instructor was put to death by the family for his brash actions. Ever since Marcus hated his family but he kept up with his classes, biding bis time so he could change the family peacefully and from within. But during his 18th year he stumbled upon one of the families darker secrets. That night he barred up the family mansion lit it on fire and left. Taking some of his family’s wealth and enough supplies for the journey he started making his way to America to avoid revenge from some of his father’s more influential friends. Marcus has recently arrived in New Seattle and taken residence in a hotel in one of the seedier districts as he has little idea of where to actually go in the city of in his life in general. Free falling through life he’s desperately looking for a hand hold no matter what or who it is. 7. Rise-chan as Victorique: Spoiler:PICTURE: STATS: (7) Body (8) Mind (8) Soul (95/125) Health Points (80/110) Energy Points (19) Shock Value (7/10) Combat Attack (5/8) Combat Defense (30/53) Max. Possible Unarmed Damage DESCRIPTION: Name: Riselotte Alexandre Shadowname: Victorique Gender: Female Race: My apologies but, you're not allowed to know yet. Age: You don't ask a lady's age! Appearance: Riselotte has white and smooth skin and is a "proper" lady. Her shiny blond hair is the perfect combination with her face for her looks. A man would think, "This is too good to be true!" after gazing upon the feminine air that shrouds her. Vermillion-ish purple eyes which are quite rare can be seen when one looks at her face. Surprisingly, the eyes not only add to her beauty and grace, they can also bring in the horror to the minds of those who witnesses her sadistic and darker side after the hidden nature is revealed, which usually contradicts the enchanting smile she puts up around people in order to associate with them to eventually use them for benefits. Personality: When one would first meet Riselotte, or at least meet her the first few times; they'd find themselves graced by an usual aristocrat: well-manners, proper etiquette, eloquence in speeches, and a radiant smile flaunting pure confidence to top it off. Though, one would realize that she almost never apologies for just about anything to mere commoners. She feels that she'd belittle her image too much if done so. She is always polite when getting to know people and strangers, someone close to her would see a more different side of her, though. But getting close to her in itself can prove to be a tedious task. On the inner side, she has a sadistic side to herself. She can be very mean and not even for a moment would she hesitate to use people to have her way; commoners are merely pawns on the chessboard, all she has to do is to use them efficiently in order to achieve victory. She has a superiority complex, and as such, she looks down on everyone excluding certain top-classed people of novelty of whom are mostly elves, none else have won her true respect so far. This has caused her to have a low opinion of the beings on the world. And of course, if the people of the world is practically lower than her, then she has to look good yes? She can't possibly dress up and act like everyone else, that's equal to being a mere mongrel! And hence, she will always cater to her looks, dresses, and keep up utmost elegance anytime, even when none looks up to her. For it is to not show people that she is better, it is to keep it true to herself that she is above the people of the world. Skills/Powers: The capability to manipulate certain elements. Weaknesses: - Hate towards commoners. - Her socializing skills to manipulate people can be broad sometimes, Riselotte tends to end up making bad connections. Basically, she ends up trying to use people who comes back to cause her nothing but unnecessary trouble. - Insults. If it's one thing that can cloud Riselotte's judgement, it's her pride crumbling apart. Background: Riselotte was born long ago. One would say "countless" to describe this. One of the country she enjoyed living in was England, which always exudes the feeling of novelty and grace. Riselotte was born to a family of special beings. More so, her parents were these inhumans beings who masked themselves as humans perfectly under the society while at the same time; they had quite the high status along those of the higher-classed society. In order to properly blend in with the humans, Riselotte was taught proper etiquette, manners, socialization skills, even acting and fighting - this explains her current personality. Fighting as in, fighting with magic, after all Riselotte is a magician. Weapons exactly were not her forte at that time. Riselotte's parents one day disappeared due to reasons that were unknown to her at that time. She waited, waited, and waited, but they never returned. Riselotte tried desperately to find her parents, even going as far as hiring people to find her missing guardians, only to find their corpses laid on a large pond far away from her home. Her parents dying was already a fact hard to swallow, now she had to face the fact that she was no longer living with her family. She was now practically alone on her mansion, along with her maids. Even though she was technically not "alone," her maids never seemed to provide much feeling of presence around her, due to them not being blood-related. And hence, the mansion felt like a desolate place; an empty home. A large, gloomy shelter. Riselotte soon a decided that she should stop mourning in grief and prepare for the worst that haunted her. Her parents died, and it was definitely not an accident, it was a scheme, a plot well-played from behind the curtains, like a puppeteer having his dolls dance at the whim of his will. Whoever killed her parents may come after her one day. Riselotte thus hits the house that her family once constructed years ago, though it was old and locked, she managed to find the key to it at home, on her parents' room. It was well hidden. The house presented Riselotte it's collection of books, many shelves and stacks of old books of magic, all wrapped under dusts and cobwebs. Riselotte was first forced to just go back home and call upon her dutiful maids to clean the place for her. Once cleaned, she finally started reading all the books. Upon reading the books, some of them contained same knowledge, and hence, she went over some facts, stories, strict rules and magics, over and over as she read through them, later having practically inscribed under her brain. After several years, Riselotte was still undone with the books, there were too many of them, and just to review some facts, she re-read some of them from time to time. She spent what felt like months, no years on just reading. Time was uncounted for and her maids started to worry about her so much that they decided to keep an eye on her everyday and deliver lunch, food and other necessities to her when required. Riselotte could hardly care about the anxiety and devotions of her maids. Now that she found something so interesting and... addictive. Riselotte was utterly engrossed. Yes, she grew passion for reading and learning. While it's true that she entered the library with the intention of learning magic in the first place, she ended up reading old novels and stories in there too. She made the ideal objective to read through every single books and see through to it. Time passed and before one would know, it was already 2011, the time of Awakening. This was when Riselotte had the chance to put her vast knowledge to use and practice her spells, she was already done with the old library. She later decided to finally venture out of her home for good; rather than stay on this terribly old mansion, even though it's where lots of memories lied, especially those of family, but this is what she needed to take a long or perhaps an eternal break from. Her maids who had already turned into half-inhuman beings by the aristocrat girl, did lots of researching for her and searched out the best place for her; Seattle. Rather than traveling around the world, which seemed like a tedious task that would be done at the absence of a mansion as a home most of the time, she felt the need to just move to a better and more advanced city. Though by the time she shrugged off her laziness... or better explained; busyness, it was past 2017 when she actually moved to the city. Once moved, Riselotte had a harsh time getting used to the environment, it took years to get accustomed to the shiny place. Riselotte spent lots of time to blend in with the society as someone with a concrete social standing with money. After all, her old location weren't very trendy, she barely had knowledge about the changes of the world as she barely kept record of time until her maids started filling in the details. She used to barely watch the television too, her interest regarding it were piqued after being done with the books from the library. While being the sage of magical knowledge due to the literary contents and informations from the books; she felt outdated, so felt left-behind, and she wanted to get back on the track, associate with people, and get to know things. Riselotte hence started working hard to understand people. She decided to redo her education and in doing so, she learned lots of new things. She tried taking on many types of lessons at once, such as singing lessons, dancing lessons and even martial arts. But martial arts was going a little too far and thus proved to not fit her style. So she made the decision to forgo learning such lethal arts and techniques. But she took her time with learning many things, since she fancied reading, she visited many libraries and borrowed books everyday. She borrowed so many books that she ended up creating a library of her own new at home and thus her passion strived through the new generation, that is, until she realized that most of the novels and stories were boring. Much of these books barely contained the type of text which used to move her heart and spirit so much. Granted, they provided more and more knowledge. Knowledge is indeed power, but without the drive that encourages one to gain it; it's only a matter of time until she stops dealing with it. By the time Riselotte completely adapted to the humans, she lived years too peacefully in Seattle for years until starting to get associated with the corporations as they deemed her to be someone very useful, or so the rumors surrounding her pointed them. They hired her, only because they felt the wish to put her magic to use and see the results. Throughout the years, she went on many "missions," or so her contractors liked to call them; for her gains. And her abilities allowed her to gain respect. Now she held great influence and respect not only in the outside, but also on the inside, with the name Victorique. 8. Bartre as Charon: Spoiler:STATS: (4) Body (5) Mind (5) Soul (45) Health Points (50/70) Energy Points (9) Shock Value (4) Combat Attack (2) Combat Defense (18) Max. Possible Unarmed Damage DESCRIPTION: Name: William Fornier Shadowname: Charon (I decide when you get on this boat to hell buddy. Whats that? No thats not Hades, and no I don't think I'm a major god, maybe a minor one though.) Gender: Male Race: Human SURGE, Changeling Age: 28 Looks: I was one of the lucky ones, SURGE gave a lot of my friends characteristics they wish the didn't have, things that made them impossible to miss: Wings, horns, tails, hell one of them even got an exoskeleton, a damned Corinthian helmet, guys impossible to headbutt but it doesn't really matter when a stab to the thigh puts him down just the same. But I digress, midnight blue hair(natural) cropped short and brown eyes. I've been told that I look a little above average, but I guess that comes from the rest of me. At five foot ten inches, I spend a lot of time crafting myself, making myself as atheletic as possible, I don't run incredibly fast but I can run for a long time, I can't punch a hole through a wall, but I sure as hell can dent it. Yeah it's not really what people look for in body guards, they want that giant hulking build, Harlequin bless evolutionary psychology. In my opinion being big, bulky and mean looking means you just get shot, blasted, evaporated, eviscerated or even melted first which is fine by me, when you inevitably bring in the big muscles I'll probably be the only one left to collect my pay, you can bet I'll be charging extra. Personality: Calm and quiet, Charon excels at hiding his real emotions. He can see both sides of an argument and often moves to create a compromise and is always willing to lend a hand to aquaintences and hear people's problems. Underneath the acquiescing mask lies a wit begging to snark at everything and anything. Despite the nature of the world he is determined to give people the benefit of the doubt, probably just to spite it. Slow to anger and easy to forgive, he has difficulties letting past mistakes go, often spending countless hours agonizing over things that were often out of his control and even more about things that were. He can count on one hand how many people he considers true friends, but he can say with certainty that if those few needed his arm he would give it in an instant. Hates racists, speciests, classists, people with an unjustfied sense on entitlement and morons, not that those people would know. Events have forged him to be emotionally resillient and world saavy.Has an unreasonable fear of Nutella but curiously not peanut butter. Given his specialty as a bodyguard, Charon has learned when to be forceful when needed, but only when necessary, being pushy all the time tends to burn more energy after all. Skills/Powers: Powerful senses, I can smell what someone has had for dinner a day after, see far beyond most humans, hear the quietest mouse. (Thanks SURGE!) I pick up things a bit easier than most do for some reason, don't know why. A mystical adept, I tend to use both schools for different purposes. On the Adept side I do my damned best to make sure I'm harder than hell to take down and fast enough to dance away from whatever can take me down. On the Hermetic side lies all of my flashier options, I'm a firm believer in the best offense is a good defense, thus, I focus more on shield/armor effects and the occasional healing spell. My only directly offensive spells tend to be the most basic of spells, but when all you got is a hammer you either get really good with a hammer or you learn subtle things that make the hammer blow up between you and the other guy, good thing you got that armor huh? Still don't hold a candle to most offensively minded mages, I'm no miracle healer and a pure defensive mage will out barrier me, but I'm talking PURE defensive mage here. So whats a defensively minded body-guard supposed to do when he can't magic someone to death? Well, you could just shoot him. I put some long hours into my marksmanship, I'm not a crack-shot with pistols, but I get by. If that fails you could try to close and take him hand to hand, that shit is painful, but most mages react poorly to you getting in their face. Weaknesses: Perfume, no seriously. One job had me guarding some jumped up whore, it was some easy money, most runners who would take the bounty are chumps. Turns out he almost got his job done when he threw a bottle at me in desperation, stupid of me for not modifying the solid barrier in front of me to stop it but it happened. It broke on my face and I swear I almost died, the smell was just that powerful. I still pushed the bastard out the window but it took all my willpower to not just tear off my nose. I try not to guard whores, only classy courtesans now, the ones with the sense to put perfume somewhere where scruffy bodyguards like me don't knock them down. On that note I don't take super bright light or super loud noises very well, which unfortunately occurs more than it should, stupid flashbangs, making me spend mana on wards. (READ: LUDICROUS SMELLS IN A SHORT PERIOD OR THINGS THAT OVERLOAD SENSES.) I'm no specialist, I can't flay a fool with my mind that well, I can't regrow an arm (maybe a nub, that counts right?), and I can't shield a damned idiot from the combined powers of three combat mages, I dabble in the first two and actively pursue the third but I just don't put as much time others do. In the same vein, my personal enhancments aren't S tier, but I'd be willing to say they're above average. I'm a generalist in most of my fields, you want a sniper that gets flayed magically, you don't hire me, you want a wall making machine that can't defend himself that well when the walls come down, you don't hire me, you want a walking apocalypse with the constitution of paper, you don't hire me, you want a master martial artist who can't fight at long range, you don't hire me. I'll be the first to admit it, I'm not a grizzled veteran, I don't have ALL the experience in the world, but I'm still pretty damn good. Background: SURGE meant a lot of things for different people. For a kid like me, born a mite before Halley's Comet came hurtling through space to visit Earth's general area it meant a drastic change to society, one that barely settled down before fate decided to fuck with us again. My parents were relieved that I only had blue hair and enhanced senses, but my friends weren't as lucky. I couldn't believe it as I grew up, UGE and Goblinization already happened, why were people, yeah thats right PEOPLE, being put down for something out of their control? I was a bully hunter as a kid, I didn't care if you were as ugly as troll, sported a helmet exoskeleton, had talons, giant wings (but man was I jealous of those that did), or were born poor or rich, asian or black, if you hurt people I hurt you, didn't hurt that most people never expected that really quiet asian kid to suddenly go berserk after seemingly befriending you. Word got out and I somehow I found myself leading a gang of kids and teens, we watched for our own, the rest of the world could go fuck itself as long as we weren't bothered. I like protecting people, I liked being that valiant knight that seemed to have vanished from the world, didn't hurt that chicks were attracted to me for being awesome and manly. At least Mia thought so. Me at the head, Garm as my right hand, Aegis as the brains (and the legs, but I'd never say that to her face, or to Garm for that matter), and Mia as our heart, we were best friends. I'd give my arm for those nuts, and they'd give me theirs. I think I liked being this sorta Hero of Justice the most because it meant I was sticking a middle finger to the world that seemed to take sadistic joy in making people's lives as shitty as possible. Still, life wasn't super easy, but we were satisfied with our lot, we had family in the form of our little gang and the few families that didn't hate their kids for being different, food in our bellies, places to sleep and the Matrix. Naturally, it got worse for us as it's wont to do, come 2069, and a pair of earthquakes put down our little town. My family, Garm, Aegis, Mia, and Nexus' families were safe in Florida on a trip we all saved up money for, the rest? Not so lucky. The worse part? the Corporations in the area and the wealthy? They did jack shit, just enough to give the impression they were doing something. I was 19 then, (and with the benefits of hindsight, dumb as a brick)and I hated them more than I hated anything else. I'm not proud to admit that we did stupid shit. Domestic terrorism says hi but at least we only targeted wealthy "humanitarians" we weren't the only ones. You don't go attacking the economic elite without learning some skills from people who hate them just as you do. Still we got luckier than a god damn leprechaun when we tried to take our revenge, but even leprechauns get caught. It cost us Mia, our heart, and more than that. We stopped doing stupid shit and began to gear ourselves for the future but we Never.Stopped. Hating. Not just the corporations, but ourselves and the world. Eventually we moved on but it was hard, especially for me. I will always hate myself for getting her killed but I will live, I promised her. I don't blame her pops for trying to kill me , but I promised. Eventually we made up, but he will never forgive me, just as I will never forgive him for beating her and his wife. I became a Runner with some of the skills I acquired, gradually acquiring more as I attended lessons on damn near everything magical and pistol related while refining what I already learned. Garm and Aegis got hitched and are average citizens, working for Horizon. What the future holds I don't know but I will live until I'm old as shit. I promised. IMPORTANT NPCs: Sandman: [spoil][b]PICTURE: DESCRIPTION: Name: Sandy, Rua, Ginger or simply RED (pun intended) Shadowname: Sandman Gender: definitely female Race: human, more or less Age: 35 Looks: Long thick wavy red hair, poison green eyes, pale skin and freckles make her a true gaelic Rua (irish for "redhead"). Wearing mostly tight clothing, showing off her "qualities", but still trying to keep it simple by sticking either to black, khaki green or army patterns. Personality: Seems generally unpredictable and instable, constantly drinking, smoking and swearing like ... well ... a drinking and smoking sailor. Half of her swears indicate her irish heritage. Seemingly gets off on simple pleasures like steak, pear cider and havanitas. Likes to flirt with everything and everyone, including lascivious and seductive behavior even in her fighting style. Skills/Powers: She's a walking tank and killing machine, stuffed with cyberware. The impact of her fist equals the one of a bullet shot from a heavy pistol in close range. Her favorite weapons are a huge custom made revolver, which is linked to her cyberware and shoots sniper-bullets, which she lovingly calls her "babby" (irish slang for "baby"), and a monofilament wakizashi, which was a gift from one of her former team-members for her 30th birthday. Weaknesses: The amount of cyberware tends to make her psycho-physically instable, up to the point of dozing off in the middle of doing or saying something. Background: Not much is known about her, most of the Shadowtalk actually considers her to be male. She's in business for about 15 years and got her Shadowname due to the fact, that she's "putting people to (eternal) sleep". Sandman is said to be extremely dangerous and most wouldn't want to cross guns with this almost legendary 'runner.[spoil]

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Bartre

12 years ago

I mange to find my gear. Good, now all I need to do is sit down. With that done I suppose I could answer the question.

"Not die?"

Flaser OCD Hentai Collector

12 years ago

//Joint post with Dussack, Rudy and littleRED

At the boneheaded quip the solo changed his mind. "On second thought, maybe not such a great idea.".

Lighting a cig he tried to collect his thoughts for a moment while the kid tried to give several suggestions... some of them were actually good... in the end though he cut it short, slashing his hand, showing he'd heard enough.

"Our first primary objective is to keep the hostages alive. Our second is to get them out of harm's way.".

He got up an went to the bar to pour himself a glass of scotch on the rocks. "To the good Doctor," he raised his glass. The others looked at him with total incredulity.

I see... He flashed Leblanc a covert glance, then went on with the plan.

"We might do the second one... but we can't ensure the first on our own. We need help..." he took a long swig from his glass. "...help to put pressure on these bastards so they'd think thrice about pulling the kids' plug".

Leblanc finished the last bite of her sandwich and flashed a cold smile at the male solo: "Why would be bother saving them in the first place?"

"We have two more days, he retorted. "Now as I was saying, we need help. Probably a team of Runners or better yet a SWAT team that has a reputation for wasting bozos like these."

"Hey chief! interjected the smaller dwarf. All the eyes were drawn to the otherwise taciturn hacker.

He grew visibly ill at ease, but continued never the less " I might have something for you... I'd busted these C-raters a couple weeks back, I was 'umagin through 'ir payrolls..."

"So you could..." started the solo.

"Make 'em do the job... followed the 'mancer. "Though I could do something better yet", he added. Dussack nodded at old Runner to continue.

Their cyber-sec sucks and they 'ave several offices in the UCAS, he went then waited for further quesitons, but the others just nodded so he continued: "I could make ya guys employees just transfin in," he said beaming with pride.

"That's... pretty nifty, quiped the solo. "Remind me, once again, never to fuck with you dwarf... just in case you send a SWAT team my way," he said jokingly.

"I never said they'd do it fer free chief... the money has to come from somewhere." He gave a tiny shrug, as if to say, there was nothing they could do about it. "Unlike their own records, finance is contracted out, busting a bank is nowhere near this simple."

"How much?" asked the taller dwarf, already wincing... people who actually did this shit with any aptitude didn't come cheap.

The technomancers' eyes clouded over as he was looking at something that could only be seen with his mind...

"Umm..." he hesitated. "Well?" came Dussack's patented helping question.

"Two hundred grand... shit chief, I never knew this sort of money went into this business!" apologized the hacker.

"Shit!" exclaimed several people at once... both Dussack and Shadow Fang while Sandy murmured something in more exotic under her breath.

Leblanc smiled. The French Johnson moved up from the couch and positioned herself beside Sandman, looking at Dussack: "You have so much money?"

"Not on my hands," he said while he tapped his skull to suggest to the Johnson that he had something that was worth just as much... albeit not on his hands.

Leblanc raised an eyebrow at him: "Oh my, you would sell parts of you to save the orphans?"

"If it pisses of the right people...? In a heartbeat." He gave her a savage grin, the kind a wolf gives the hunter before diving for its throat ...knowing he won't get to savor the kill anyway as the fiery-touch will end him too.

Leblanc ran a finger down Sandman's spine. The redhead's eyes clouded instantly and she shivered barely noticeable. The Johnson wasn't bothered by the situation in the slightest. She obviously didn't care: "You don't have time to play cowboy and injun anyway, Dussack. We have to leave a day earlier."

"Then we gotta do this tonight," he quipeed still not giving up.

Oh,he knew what she was playing at. He knew too well. He just didn't believe Sandy would have anything to do with a man who got a whole orphanage of kids killed... even for her sake. Maybe once... not anymore.

Leblanc shrugged and took Sandman by her hand, leading her off to the bedroom. The female solo moved like a pupped, without a single protest, her eye emotionless and empty. Leblanc didn't even look at him anymore: "I expect you to be packed by tomorrow at noon. I don't care about the orphanage and I am surely not paying you to waste anymore time," she said, voice cold as ice.

Dussack eyed his drink while the thoughts churned around in his head... all those clever ideas, elaborate plans...

Useless, all useless!

He chucked the glass into the sink, the crystal exploding with the force of contact, shards of glass, ice and precious scotch mingling with one another.

"We don't have time. People start packing your gear, tomorrow we're moving out," he told them.

Lighting another cig, he went for the front door... while he murmured "Rats, rats!" under his breath.

"I need to air my head out and clear it of booze. He looked at the other two hired guns of the team. "I'm taking a short walk. Charon, Traitor you two keep this place secure... and you better not screw this up," he instructed them and left without a word.

He was pacing up & down the pier waiting for older dwarf to join him. It took several minutes and he was starting to worry the 'mancer didn't get the clue when the old dwarf showed up.

For all the hacker's failings when it came to social interaction, his sense of paranoia was just as keenly honed as his own... he probably scrambled the hotel's security systems, erasing all traces of his passage, just to make sure.

"I need a secure line, better than anything the French bitch could crack in a short time... you know about Saul, do whatever you need, but I need that line ASAP," he said without pre-amble.

"Chief, I'm not sure that's such a... started the hacker.

"It's a bad idea Rudy... but I'm out of options," admitted the solo.

"Got it... and chief? It was nice knowing you," he replied. He knew perfectly well what the solo had in mind... and how great the risk was.

"I'm not your chieeee..." started the hit-man, but the world dissolved in a kaleidoscope of impressions, his vision dissolving as digital static filled up his world, inhuman wails screeched in his ear, the whole macabre vision of the world laced with pain.

Rudy dove into the solo's comlink and searched out the entity he'd seen there before... it was a jumble of incomprehensible lines of code and weird references to peripherals he'd never seen before...but understanding was not necessary.

99 of a 100 hackers would've been hopelessly out of their depth... not a technomancer.

He didn't need comprehension... he merely had to feel. He let the disjointed impressions flood his own consciousness, he poured out his own feelings in turn and let the code crash against one another in the system, like waves in the ocean.

All was in turmoil and for a while there was a danger the abyss would swallow his own ago too... then the waves synchronized, and came together in a giant pattern, a standing wave that incorporated all through superposition.

Then he saw... it was beautiful. He felt tears streaming from his eyes... if his own sprites were like sonnets to the crude rhymes of designed code, then this was a full symphony. It was still young, inexperienced, but he knew at glance he could never entice it into his service... he could teach it though.

He started the familiar dance of conjuration, trying to lure in the foreign intelligence... there was no trap, no deal this time though, just the dance of two spirits clashing into one another.

The AI was naive, pathologically so... it had no defenses and he could've crushed it... and act that would've hunted him to his death, he couldn't hurt such beauty. He playfully nipped at it, teaching it the basic of combat, like wolves playing in the snow when life's but a game.

It learned fast... very fast. Soon he couldn't have penetrated even if he tried... it almost slew him by accident, but still the AI was eager and allowed him close when the play ended. He alone could still approach it... anyone else would have a hard time now.

There was one more trick though... he enticed it into another node, the sim-unit Cronis used earlier... this time it didn't take long to teach it the tricks... he was sobbing when he had to leave it alone. Some day he might meet it again, or another like it...

As he was pulling out, he saw something bigger, grander in the distance... enveloping the whole world with its disgusting tentacles, the mere sight making his flash crawl... it was gone like a mirage. It would haunt him for the rest of his days.

Dussack came to with a lurch, the old dwarf bawling his eyes out nearby. His whole world still swimming in nausea... and it didn't cease. He didn't know whether he could keep it together for long. He sat up and accessed a com-line he hadn't even gone near in years.

A sheriff's badge with a five pointed star announced who's system he was accessing. He felt something foreign probe into him, the nausea intensifying then all of a sudden it was gone... and he had considerable trouble moving. The image of a young man in a blue uniform replaced the com-link's wallpaper.

"Lone Star central dispatch what... started the youth. Looking off-screen something must've caught his attention. "Wait. Your access ID is not listed in my records. This is a company line, mister! You better...!" he went on with increasing vehemence.

"Cut the crap junior, get me Lieutenant Farrel from the Tacoma district, tell him the cattle just jumped the barn fence," he instructed the youth, according the bars on neck of his uniform a corporal.

Years of training taking over and boy automatically succumbed to authority, blurting out:

"Captain Farrel's in central now..." Gaining better control of his faculties, the boy kept inquiring but with a cautions air. "Sir. I don't have your ID, this is..."

"Highly unusual," he admitted. Good thing the transmission was audio only on his part.

"Emergency access code Alpha-Indigo-Foxtrot-Foxtrot-Charlie-Seven-Niner... he rattled off the code.

"Sir, that code's been off the list for..." complained the corporal, but he was cut off again.

"Seven years, now get me the Captain damn it! I don't have all day..."

Still more than a little upset and suspicious, the corporal must've done as asked, for the his image was replaced by the Lone Star wallpaper and a couple of seconds later the image of a tall men in the same uniform but captain's insignia appeared in the feed.

"I don't know who you think you are using this channel, but I can guarantee you..." started the Captain, and he could tell it'd be one of his patented tirades. Entertaining ...but dangerous.

He was likely already doing a trace. Dussack lit his lighter on full burn and looked into a puddle nearby. He pumped the feed of his own image wavering on in the makeshift mirror into the channel. Recognition was immediate in the blue eyes.

"You!" The Captain rocked back in his servo-chair and ran a hand through his thinning hairline. "You've got some nerve to just ring me up after all these years... partner."

The man rolled his shoulders, massive muscles shifting and Dussack knew from experience that close by he would've heard the tendons crack.

"The feeling's mutual, trust me... I'm no more keen on this than you are," he said in hopefully the right mixture of cock-sureness and placation to hit the mark.

Maybe it did, maybe it didn't... he couldn't tell anymore, the Captain remained impeccable, like a slab of stone. A physic fit for the recruiting poster, he'd have made it there too, if not for a tiny detail.

"What do you want, Saber it's not the old days any more and you know it damn well."

Dussack took a deep breath and hoped he still had enough clout with this man to pull this off.

"There's a situation, Black-Man," he said, using his partner's old nickname. Here goes nothing...

James Farrel was not simply black. He was very-very black, like a panther, his blue eyes glowing in his face. In this age, one's color was usually a non issue... except if one worked for a company with its headquarters in the heart of the Deep South and a history of racial oppression of all sorts.

"You don't get to call me..." he started, already rising half out of the chair.

"A bunch of scum just collared a bunch of kids!" he injected, hoping that he was still talking to the man he knew long ago. "They're holed up in the old Church on Redmond ridge."

"Why the fuck are you telling, me this, buddy?!?" Leave it to James to turn any word into an insult... he earned this one though, one way or another.

"My own hand are tied now... figuratively. Look! I can't explain. I know you guys are still hurtin' from the whole deal with Errant...

"No thanks to you," interrupted the massive officer, but he seemed to be listening now.

"Yeah, yeah, I was the prick who jumped ship... we don't have time for that now." he admitted. "As I was saying they took the kids in the orphanage hostage in the very building...

"Sounds like total amateurs, quipped Farrel. "Why not move them to a more secure location?" he added.

"Yep, the same has occurred to me. I've pulled a bunch of stuff from the guy they're trying to blackmail into murder," he went on, somewhat emboldened that Farrel still seemed to be paying attention.

"OK. that I can deal with... hand over the guy and I'll see what I can do," said the black man getting into what must be his SOP as Captain.

"Can't do that. Guy has to be on another job, or even worse shit will go down... and unlike this bunch, this other lad is a pro through and through," explained the solo with growing impatience. He felt the nausea returning, he'd need to wrap this up soon.

"I see what you're getting at, but how the fuck am I going to sell this crap to the brass? Are you out of your mind, Saber?" complained his ex-partner.

"Get in touch with the press. The firm must be hurting something fierce for some good publicity now and I know SWAT is always aching for kicking-ass... especially when the bad guys are real scum."

"That could work... I'm sticking out a limb here. You're gonna owe me one for this, buddy and I intend to collect."

So... it was done. With things in Farrel's hand there was a chance... albeit not a sure one, that this whole thing wouldn't blow up in his face.

"Right." It was odd how good it felt to talk to this mean, even after all the bad shit that has gone down between them... "I'm squirtin' the shit I have over to you, is the line secure on your end?

"Yep, got a wunderkid to make sure... and Saber?" the question was asked in a lighter tone making Dussack's guts crawl with all sorts of implications.

"Yeah?" he replied curtly.

"It was good to see your mug, even if I still have the urge to smash it to pieces. Make sure you get back in one piece, so I can try this in person... I get this feeling you're once again up to some insane shit."

"I'll try my best partner... I owe you one. Saber out."

He sent the data, then cut the line... the nausea was back in full force. He could barely lift his head, so he just laid back on the pier and let the sound of waves soothe his bruised mind. He couldn't help but grin as he heard the tac-tac of stilettos. Leblanc's icy stare concealed a raging inferno... I've won this round... bitch.

His smile froze in place as his eyes once again focused on the world around him... the French Johnson was carrying Sandman in her arms, legs dangling, head lolling. Blood was seeping out of the heavily cybered solo's ears, nose and eyes as if she just suffered severed decompression.

Damienthedevil

12 years ago

When Cronis heard the figure from Rudy's mouth, he could hardly believed his ears.200,000?! Shit! Where would I find money like that?! Cronis bit his lips and tried to do the math in his head.

Let's see, if I sell the car and get my remaining money in my other SINs, I would get about..... 75,000. Fuck, that's not nearly enough! Is there no other way? Think dammit, think!

He heard Dussack but he wasn't about to obey him.

If they're giving up on them, I might as well go alone. I'll just have to slip out at night. Cronis retrieved the weapons that the two solos took from him and equipped them as they belong.

Around 2.00am.... Cronis snuck out in the middle of the night. Without making a single sound, he opened the door that leads to the hallway and walked out. He was careful to avoid the cameras and climbed along the walls and ceiling to go into the cameras' blind spots. In one of the stairs' section, where there is a window, he opened up a hole big enough to fit him silently using his claws.

He slowly climbed down the walls using his claws and reached the bushes at the side of the hotel. He proceeded to his car and drove off towards Redmond Ridge.

He parked his car back in his apartment and he went up to take some additional equipment. He took 3 smoke bombs, 2 flashbangs and a vibro knife, preparing to attack the orphanage to save everyone.

littleRED

12 years ago

Dussack’s smile froze in place as his eyes once again focused on the world around him. The French Johnson was carrying Sandman in her arms, legs dangling, head lolling. Blood was seeping out of the heavily cybered solo's ears, nose and eyes as if she just suffered severe decompression.

He wanted to run to her, he wanted to shout – but all he could manage was croak out "Sandy" and roll on his side, the whole world still bucking beneath him and occasional patterns of noise distorting his vision.

Leblanc dropped to her knees and put the redhead between them on the ground - again gently brushing her red locks out of her face and then glared at him: "You are trying really hard to be stupid."

"And... you left... me... no choice," he said, the words blurring one into another. This was something new: so far Saul never impacted his ability to speak.

The French woman grabbed him with both hands by his collar and pulled him without any effort closer, the seemingly lifeless body of Sandman underneath him: "I don't give a fuck if you send Lonestar or your grandmother to save the orphans. I simply ordered that I don't pay my 'runners to do that."

He looked at the Johnson, really looked for the first time, into those ice cold eyes. He felt something at the back of his head uncoiling and reaching out. Suddenly he had control of his faculties again and grinned: "You didn't order me not to do it either."

Meanwhile Saul was plunging ahead, probing the woman's commlink, like a wolf at the henhouse, looking for a way in.

Leblanc let him drop on top of Sandman, the female solo's body was cold.

"You almost killed her," she stated simply.

"The fuck!” he ran a hand down her face, and checked her pulse. "I wasn't anywhere near her! How the fuck would I do this?" he asked, clearly upset and confused.

"Do you really think the connection breaks off every time?"

"What do you mean doesn't break..." he trailed off as he was already viewing the network records of his commlink.

"Shit! It couldn't do this before." Obviously he was referring to the other resident of his skull. It seemed like it has been making all sorts of connections for a while now on its own. He thought about switching the commlink's radio off, but unless he physically removed the parts Saul could just switch it back on. The same with any password that he might make, the AI would likely know it too.

The Johnson sighed deeply and leaned back, watching the expression of realization crawl over his face: "Not that you could hide anything from me in the first place, Paul."

"The more I know you, the less human you seem." He cradled Sandy's head in his lap, and stroked the Runner's locks hoping that she'd get better, for he sure didn't know what he could do to make it.

"Her mother named her Rory," said Leblanc, completely ignoring his statement. "It is an Irish name and means red emperor." [/color]

"But that doesn't mean anything to you," he admonished the Johnson, "beyond getting what you want, you don't care about her ... or anyone," he accused their employer.

"Her mother died before she could celebrate her first birthday, killed by the man who was the father of this child. I knew him, very well. He was one those, like you say, who didn't care about her ... or anyone."

Leblanc looked up at the sky, at the single star that was bright enough not to be swallowed by the neon-light of the city: "Are you really that ignorant about the reason, I didn't want you to go to the orphanage?"

"How could I be anything but, when you’re not telling me anything?" He was about to stand up and do something rash, but the weight of the girl in his hands dispelled the impulse.

"You said nary a word about you want from me... and don't you dare pull that 'I wanted exactly what I said' routine...”

"I want you to take her of her." The French woman lowered her head and locked her dark eyes on his, her look digging into his brain: "You can't do that, if you get killed on stupid runs."

"Then tell the goddamn cyborg that you want that!" he hissed through clenched teeth, not wanting to disturb Sandy any more than necessary.

The Johnson got up back to her feet and straightened her tight skirt. "She'll wake up soon." Then she just turned the back on Dussack and walked away.

The moment she disappeared out of sight, Sandman finally stirred in his lap. She whimpered and reached for her head.

"Sh...” he voiced, holding her down and making it clear that she should rest some more.

"I would tell you not to make me turn this into a habit, but this time was entirely my fault," he admitted to the girl.

"I seem to pass out quite a lot today." Sandman giggled softly, only to wince in pain a moment later. Her eyelids fluttered open and she looked up at him ... with red eyes.

Dussack blinked in slight shock: "I have no idea what Leblanc is making me coax out of you, but it can't be something good," he murmured.

She frowned, furrowing her brows: "Could you speak clear-text for once without going all philosophical on me?"

Instead of speaking he decided to bounce the signal from his image link over to her – which earned him a wave of sharp pain cutting through his skull as something blocked any data transfer from him to her. In the back of his head, Saul seemed to grow smaller.

"Darn, your subtenant just blocked me," he told her. He made her sit up, holding onto her. "Looks like it doesn't want you aware at all of what it's doing."

Sandman rubbed her forehead, feeling dizzy and finding it extremely hard to keep her eyes open. She sighed: "Maybe it just doesn't want you to fry my wetware again."

She sighed: "Do you always feel like this, when Saul takes over?"

"It varies,” he answered, “it used be like being in a dream, watching yourself doing some things. Though lately it's became worse." He thought of how unusual his AI had been acting as of late. "Maybe it's not me your AI is blocking," he admitted softly.

He looked at her and realized that he could see - literally – that she was getting better with every second: her eye color started changing back to green. As if to confirm it touched the drying blood underneath the nose and grinned at him: "I really need to wash this off."

He took out a napkin. Not just any napkin, but an honest-to-goodness cloth-napkin that Sandman thought was gone from the world along with printed magazines and panda bears. He dipped it into the bay water and started to wipe her face in slow, gentle motions. She thought for a moment about contaminants, germs and other stuff, but then she simply let him caress her, the gentle touch of the cloth swiping away the last of her tension together with her blood.

She was watching his face the whole time, the look of an innocent child on her own.

All of a sudden she had turned into that girl he had caught a glimpse off in a mirror, all vulnerable and innocent, looking at him questioningly.

The lyrics of a song flashing through his mind, lyrics he may have never read, of a song he may have never heard ... but now he could hear it in his head: And you know that she will trust you for you've touched her perfect body with your mind. (http://youtu.be/otJY2HvW3Bw)

"Better now?" he asked her, as the notes of the unheard melody were still echoing in his head. She just nodded slightly.

Now that the crisis had seemed to be over, he looked around.

"Where's Rudy?" he asked.

"I'm here chief," came the answer from nearby, as Rudy stepped around a tree. "Didn't want bump into dragon lady," he explained, pointing with his thumb into the direction Leblanc went.

The older dwarf nodded at Sandman: "Need a hand?"

"Well, ye..." started the taller man, but Sandy was pulling his sleeve, looking at him with big eyes, as if she needed something from him.

"On second thought we're fine. Could you head back to the suit and keep an eye on the kids?

"Will do chief! And if you don't mind me saying," the technomancer was scratching his neck in embarrassment, "you two newlyweds shouldn't stay out for long either. You're gonna catch a cold." The older man turned around quickly left the scene rapidly, so they didn't have a chance to remark on his choice of words.

Sandman chewed on her bottom lip, just staring on the ground in front of her. Dussack couldn't tell for sure in the half-light of the moon, but her cheeks looked blushed.

Dussack tried to clear his throat, but all this wits seemed to have fled him. He sighed finally: "You know what? He's right."

The female solo just lowered her head even more and now he could definitely tell that she was blushing. At loss what to do, he unbuttoned his overcoat and jacket and wrapped both of them in the garments, pulling her closer.

She latched onto him instantly, arms wrapping around his waist. She sighing against him, her eyes showing this sudden strange shyness - something he wouldn't really expect from a person who was killing other people for a living for the past 15 years.

He raised her chin and leaned in, their lips meeting in a gentle embrace as if to follow the lead of their bodies. It was soft, tender and sweet.

She shuddered at the kiss, her eyes closing half way - but staying focused on him. There was this lingering question in her look, something her red head was wondering about. But in the end, her eye lids went close and she sighed into his mouth as his tongue gently rubbed against hers.

This kiss was different than before. It wasn’t anymore the need to establish dominance over each other or raw lust clouding their minds. They were simply close, content to share the others presence and body warmth. He felt the woman’s body relax against his …

… and then suddenly pain shot down his spine, making his breathing stop and his heart skip a beat - a red burning mass plunging into his head. It was the feeling of being crushed by something huge and ugly.

It was one ... single ... violent ... roar.

"SHE'S MINE!!!"

It squeezed his brain one more painful time … and then it was over, as another presence moved to block the intruder. He recognized the savior as his own AI before he passed out.

When he woke up, he had no idea how much time had passed, but somehow he knew that no matter how long it was, that she had been there with him the whole time. He found himself lying on the couch in the living room, with his head in her lap. She was sitting; her head slumped forward, sleeping peacefully.

He noticed that she had obviously even managed to change into something more comfortable in the meantime. She was wearing a loose grey sweater and matching pants, and he really wished he had something similar to change into, as he'd been in the same suit for over 24 hours now.

Rudy was standing beside them, his hand on Dussack's shoulder. The solo concluded that the technomancer had waked him up. The older dwarf was looking worried: "Chief, chief ... we have a problem. Fang is gone."

Flaser OCD Hentai Collector

12 years ago

//Joint post with Damienthedevil, Dussack and littleRED.

On the way to the apartment, Shadow Fang saw a lot of uniforms on the street, blowing by in patrol cars and even a couple of armored vans. Strange... wait, these guys ain't Errant. Lone Star!

He hadn't since this much blue and and this many five pointed stars in years. They were heading the same he was.

Something ain't right, he thought as he looked at the patrol cars. He stopped to ask one of the passing officers.

He rolled down his window to ask one of them, "Excuse me, officer. What's going on? Is there anything big going on?" The guy gave him a sharp look, measuring him up. Cronis just smiled and put on a look of innocence.

Apparently the cop was not buying it. "Bugger off punk! This is none of your business," he said while he tapping his partner on the shoulder with a loud clank. The assassin noticed they were both wearing body armor... highly unusual for mere street cops. They took off with squealing tires.

Hoping to find out more from Nikki he turned his com-link back on. As soon as he he did it started blinking furiously, showing new messages marked 'urgent' were waiting for him.

How the hell? he wondered. Suddenly the comm has an incoming call too. How? he though.

The device didn't have any public services subscribed to it that could be used for a call... Unless... Rudy! came his realization. Cronis hesitated for a few moments but took the call.

"Where the hell are you furry bastard! The chief's about to go scouring the town for you," said the old 'mancer without any explanation.

Cronis was slightly taken aback by the loud voice of the 'mancer but maintained his cool. "I'm on my way to the church," he told the dwarf while he kept jogging toward the church.

"Since you guys won't be helping, I don't see a need for me to go to Lagos if my family is hurt in the process," he explained his motives.

He was about to cut it with the words "If you have nothing else to say, I be cutting the line short," when the technomancer interjected.

"Wait damn you... the chief says he's already sent a team," pleaded the rat lover.

Unseen, he was also taking matters into his own hand. The assassin tried to turn off his com but found that it couldn't be turned off anymore.

"What the....Rudy! You did something again- Wait what did you just say?"

"I've said you overgrown hamster, that the chief just got freakin' SWAT team of Lone Star of all people on the job," screeched the dwarf, annoyed at the night-elf's pigheadedness.

"What? I thought...Huh?" he stammered, clearly confused. He could feel the blood draining from his face... those guys put the fear of God even in the most hardened criminals.

Another voice came out of the com: "This is Dussack. If you hadn't taken off on your own, I would've had the chance to tell you that I managed to pull some old favors and get pros on the job," he told the night one.

"You did? Then what was that order in the room about?" he asked in turn.

Thanks to his sensitive ears, he could hear the solo mutter to the others, so quiet he probably thought the com doesn't even pick it up. " Did you say SWAT Rudy? James managed to get he best damn SWAT team in the world... or at least in Lone Star on the job?" he asked with clear surprise in his voice.

Aloud he gave the assassin a short reply: "It was exactly what I meant. We're moving out tomorrow, so you better get whatever shit you need and prepare for the trip."

"SWAT?! Wait!! Are you serious!? The kids! Leila! What if they just shoot them then and there?!" he went off, very much distressed.

The hit-man ignored him as he relayed his orders. "Just get your ass back here Midnight! ...and do it now! THIS! MOMENT!" shouted the solo when there was no reply.

Cronis winced as the speaker of the com maxed and let out a wail of overload.

"You're crazy! I'm not about to trust these drop out cops to ensure their safety!" he shouted back. "I'll at least see to it that they're safely rescued. I won't go back until then!"

He dumped the com at the side of the road and speed towards the church.

Back in the hotel, the team realized they'd never seen Dussack really pissed off before.

His voice was even, calm... like liquid helium and sent chills down their bones: "Move out in five. Full gear. We'll take him back one way or another..." he proclaimed.

Turning to Leblanc he added: "I can't have him jeopardize the mission. I have no choice but to track him down."

Using Charon's car, they were on their way soon enough, Rudy and Traitor in the backseat, the solo riding shotgun next to the changeling.

In Redmond, Shadow Fang was still going over the conversation in his head as he was driving toward his destination.

"Doesn't matter... All that matters is that Leila and the kids are fine..." he told himself as if to convince himself. He stopped his car near 103rd street and walked silently towards Redmond Ridge.

As he approached on foot, he realized the neighborhood was crawling with cops, their lights basking the place in blue and red, turning the area into a surrealist two-tone painting.

They've set up check-points on all roads and were diverting the traffic. Beyond their own vehicles, he could see the vans of the press also parked within the perimeter. He silently walked from the main street to one of the alleyways, trying his best not to attract attention

Keeping to the shadows he managed to slip by the roadblock. He was almost past when one of the cops, as usual they worked in pairs, turned back to survey the area and he froze in place. Thankfully the cop was distracted at that moment by yet another obstinate driver who insisted that he just had to pass through there.

Thankfully the evacuation zone was only patrolled by a few cops on foot, their flashlights betraying their presence so he could easily avoid them. Soon he was by the main barricade of cops surrounding the church grounds. There are lot more cops here, the area was basking in the blaze of hard spotlight that turned the night into day.

Cronis took his chance and slipped into an alleyway to the North of the Church. As he started to climb, he noticed a trio of Chrysler-Nissan G12a hovercrafts parked in the nearby alley, with empty racks that could be used by drones.

Considering the possibility that there were patrols in the area, he climbed the stairs as silently as possible wishing for luck. It was someplace else tonight.

"Hey, what are you doing over there!" shouted a cop below, alerting his pals. A trio of cops came his way, one wearing a flak vest with a battle rife slung in hands. The other tow hand Ruger Thunderbolts on their hips and one of them already drew his weapon.

It was a harrowing passage. They blew through the city, running traffic lights the Honda on the very edge of control. Would they make it in time? Dussack couldn't even guess, instead he instructed Rudy to collate the info and get out his portable printer...

Cronis kept his cool and walked down the stairs, a convincing, surprised look already on his face. "Whoa! What's with the big guns officers? Did something happen?" he asked. They didn't buy it.

The guy with the drawn thunderbolt was just about to wape him, when his partner, slapped the gun down.

"No firing! ...the perps inside are jumpy!" he admonished his partner.

"But I'm loaded with rubber and this punk..." went on the other, clearly aching to put some hurt on the elf.

"Whoa now. What's going on officers? Something big going on?" he asked, once again pretending to be surprised. They still didn't buy any of his act.

"No firing," repeated the armored FRT trooper and grabbed him by the collar. His ears picked up the tell-tale whine of servos in the cyberhand.

"Something wrong officer?" he asked while he was readying his claws... although he still hoped that he wouldn't have to use it.

Once they reached the outer perimeter, Dussack had them stove the car in an out of way side-street. They started crossing the neighborhood, going through backyards, climbing fences and charming the occasional guard dog... it took time, but they've slipped through the outer perimeter without incident.

As they approached the inner circle, Dussack handed out Rudy's handiwork: name-tags that said "PRESS" with the official looking tid-bits of a local gonzo journal, renowned for employing various people, scattered on the placard.

"I'll take this one to the Black-Man, you two keep watch..." said the trooper and gave a signal with his other hand.

The assassin finally notice the surveillance drone that'd been pointed at him for a while fly away and some distant figures on the rooftop to the east shifting position. With a sinking feeling, it dawned on him that he had not one, but two snipers keeping him in their sights.

Dammit....If I had run for it just now, I would have died.... he thought with bitter irony while he bit his lips slightly.

Keeping a firm grip on him, and his other hand on the Ruger on his belt, the trooper took him to one of the hovercrafts. There he saw the tallest human he'd ever laid eyes on.

He was tall enough to play ball with trolls and even through the drab uniform, he could see bulging muscles that suggested he was strong enough too for the task. He couldn't see well, but as the man stepped into the light spilling from the craft's interior he noticed it wasn't just the lighting, he really was as black as the nigh.

"Captain, we caught this one spooking around" reported the trooper.

"Well well, what do we have here?" he purred, voice like a panther. Blue eyes glinted at him from the black face, his smile the white grin of a predator.

"A panther of the night wanting to help his family..." was Cronis' cynical answer.

"Oh and they'd be..." he trailed off, obviously waiting for the other to go on.

"The orphans and the girl," he admitted.

The humor seems to disappear from the man and he looked at the assassin square in the eye. He returned it, look for look, eye to eye.

"Who the fuck are you buddy?" he asked as he put his trunk like arms on his hips.

Cronis glanced at the trooper that was standing at his side, implying that he didn't want it to be known by anyone else.

Taking his clue, the Captain told the FRT trooper: "That will be all trooper, I'm taking this one off your hands... good job."

He pointed at the armored hover craft, indicating that the night-elf should head inside. Cronis followed the black captain's instruction. He was right behind him, and just as the elf he entered the craft he pushed from behind, moving him to the back of the craft and into a lightly padded and uncomfortable chair.

"Cuffs" he barked, and the med-tech they just passed, cuffed the assassin to the chair.

"Pretty careful, eh, Cap'n?" was his cynical remark as he felt the cold metal of the cuffs.

"As I should be..." he acknowledged with no humor. "So you're the guy Saber told me about," he added while opening a mini-fridge. He took out a can that he opened one-handed and downed the contents in one go. It clattered to a bin by the captive elf's side.

"I didn't expect you'd be so stupid to come on your own though," he continued, once finished with his drink.

"Saber...?" Cronis cocked his head at the unfamiliar name.

"Short guy, tall attitude... one scary fuck," he said while miming the height of someone eerily familiar to the assassin.

"Fast too," he went on. "I once saw him, outdraw a wired-up Street-Sam and literally blast the guy's balls off."

"I see," was his poetic reply while he drew the conclusion that the cop must've been talking about Dussack.

"So, what do you want with me Cap'n?" he went on, then started to explain his visit before the cop could reply: "If you're worried that I'll ruin your operation, don't. I'm only here to make sure my family is safe."

"Next time, start by going to the police straight away chummer," was the giant's advice. He laid a hand on the chair's headrests and the metal groaned with strain as he leaned in close in "...though there won't be a next time if it's up to me."

Opening up the space he went on: "Scum like you cap common people all the time... but when it's your folks on the line you expect us to just bail you out?" he asked.

"If I knew you guys were coming, I would have been more prepared though," was the assassin's replied accompanied by a shrug. "And Cap'n if there would have been a next time, I suggest you watch your neck," he added while smiling in a sadistic way.

"Oh, and a little correction..." he started, but the huge cop smacked him hard before he could go on. He was railing from the blow and could feel the blood welling up in his mouth. He must've bit his tongue.

"Listen up 'buddy'," his intonation making it clear, the elf was anything but, "I don't have time for twenty questions... good think Saber already put you through a wringer, as I doubt you'd have gone that far in my hands without me wringing your scrawny little neck.

Popping another can, he chugged it back before going on. "Good people don't get a bunch of kids collared with explosives, good folks don't get their girlfriend raped by a bunch of gangsters... but I'm not here for you," he lectured.

"Well, when you work in this line of work, you would hope that at least the kids would live a happier life than you..." Cronis replied with a distant look

"Are you really that dense?" asked the incredulous Captain. Seeing his far away look he added "You can't do that kind of shit and live a family life...back in the bad old days of the Maffia... maybe. Those days are gone."

Finishing his second drink, judging from smell probably a soda, he continued: "As I said, I'm not here for you. Tell me what you know... everything... and I'll do everything in my power to get them out of there," he explained.

Only then did Cronis realize that he heard something ridiculous from the black man "Wait. What did you just say? Leila was... raped?"

"That's her name...? Yeah, I remember now, it was in the stuff Saber sent," he reminisced.

"Yeah... apparently these bozos were getting bored, and they've had their way with her before I showed up with the whole circus," he confirmed the assassin's fears.

"Where was I?" he went on. "Ah, you were just about to tell me everything..." he started but the night-elf lost his cool.

Cronis' mind went blank. No... why Leila... Dammit, DAMMIT!

He became enraged and started tensing his muscles to try and get free of the cuffs. "Get these off me!! I'm gonna kill those bastards!! That fucker! I swear I'll murder him!" he shouted.

"Black-Man, I'm trying to work here... keep it down, would ya?" complained the com-tech sitting with his back to the two, monitoring the surveillance gear of the craft.

He was only a corporal, but from the casual way he interacted with the officer and the number of commendation ribbons he must've been old hand at his job.

Turning to the med-tech who earlier cuffed the elf, the Captain said: "Put him under and wire him up to a deep-psych scanner, I already have the surface stuff. It won't be any skin off our back if it fries him.

The threat managed to calm the night-elf down somewhat... but only somewhat: "Fine....I'll give you your info but you won't be killing them. I will. If you want, you can take the glory. The masked man is MINE!" he raved.

"The only killing you'll do is gonna be as the newest boy toy in the Jericho orbital prison where they send killers like you..." advised his interrogate. "You better talk now, before I let the probe rip it out of you," he warned.

"I wouldn't do that now Black-Man," interrupted a familiar voice. "I need this idiot to do the dying for my employers... someplace far-far away, where he can't bother you," he went on.

"You..." Cronis tried to twist around and look at the direction of the voice.

The Captain was ignoring the night-elf, his whole attention focused on the short solo before him "Saber."

"I already told you, I need that fucker, or things are going to a hand basket even faster than they are," said Dussack to his old partner.

"What's to stop me from strapping both your asses to the next shuttle going to Jericho?" was the Captain's rhetorical question.

"Nothing..." he shrugged as if to say, that should be obvious.

"Yet here you are... in the flesh..." mused the tall man.

Cronis tried to stand up but couldn't due to the cuffs, "Dammit..."

"Yeah... given how you really outdid yourself this time," replied the solo while theatrically counting on his fingers. You have what? Three damn SWAT teams!

He paused to let his statement sink in, but there was no reply.

"Just get me out of these cuffs. I need to kill that masked bastard!" interjected the assassin while glaring at Dussack.

"Well I though the least I could was to give you a chance to test out that theory of... said the later flippantly, but before he could even finish the sentence, the huge man was already moving, his fist hurtling toward the solo's face and connecting with a resounding "THWACK!".

Dussack staggered back, his head hitting the plating behind with an unhealthy "CLANG!"

"Guess what Saber? I still want to smash your mug to pieces," explained the visibly heaving man.

"Better?" asked the solo, an angry welt already growing on his face.

"You know what... yeah it does! exclaimed the cop. "After all that shit you just expect to waltz in here and act like nothing has happened?!"

"I'm sure this must be an ecstatic moment for you... but the man I knew wouldn't let his emotions get in the way of the job," retorted the solo.

Taking a moment to collect his thought he fished around for his cigs, but realized he'd left them back at the hotel.

If you ever trusted me on something, you'll trust me on this one Black-Man.

Pausing, he waited to see if James was listening, but he couldn't read the other's man's smoldering expression.

Unless I take that idiot out of here, this little incident," he moved his finger in a circle as if to say, all this shit, "will be but a footnote in what's to come... I can guarantee, this fucker won't be any better off where I'm taking him," he finished.

"Saber... you always were given to theatrics, yet I get the feeling you're not kidding," said the black man, showing that he was giving him the benefit of doubt.

"Nope."

"I wouldn't believe it, if I didn't see it myself..." Taking out a pack of cigs, Farrel lit one up and asked with toothy grin between puffs: Saber, you're actually scared of something?"

"Yeah... take your time, enjoy the moment," has Dussack's admission. "But once you've stopped gloating, you better think about how you feel about that."

"Take him... the fuck, away," replied the Captain, and there was no humor left in him.

"Gee, thanks," replied the solo while he stepped closer to the night-elf, undoing the cuffs with practiced ease.

Cronis stood up and massaged his wrist as he started to walk towards the door... only to have the solo's fist hurtling toward him, slamming into his temple, sending him down his vision swam with stars.

"...and I'm not done with you dipshit. There's more on the way when we return," said the hit-man, massaging his fist. By accident, he struck the elf with his already injured hand.

The screaming outside started at that moment. Terrible, horrifying sounds of men screaming for their lives... the screams dying of in the middle of the intonation. Wet sounds.

The temperature inside the vehicle dropped sharply. It was getting so cold, that they could see their breath misting. Then light outside died off and they felt an incredible pressure in their heads.

Cronis heard the scream and instantly thought about Leila. Before he could go out, he the unnatural temperature hit him and he felt like he was being crushed from above. "Argh!!" he groaned out as collapsed on his knees and held his head in his arms.

"Black-Man... I'm sorry," was all Dussack could say before the pressure overwhelmed him too.

The vehicle started to shake and something 'landed' on top of it. The pressure in their heads faded to a point where you they could think and act. From the outside Rudy crawled in... he was soaked in blood, his eyes wide.

They didn't get to react, as something grabbed him and pulled him out. Another scream. It was Rudy. They heard the sounds of ripping flash and splashing entrails. The screaming died off.

Next, they heard traitor swearing and screaming at someone, something, they heard gunshots echo in the air. It took all his will, but Dussack crawled to the door and tried to close it... whatever was out there was bad news.

Cronis could hear Rudy and Traitor. Dammit....What is...going on? He tried his best to stand up. Must get up....Leila...the kids... He couldn't muster the strength to stand up, so reached out with his hands and started to crawl towards the door as Dussack was trying to shut it.

He could see through the crack of the door. He saw Traitor, barely, as he was surrounded in something like a enormous black mass. It wrapped around him, lifting him up... and tearing him apart. With a final effort, Dussack closed the hatch, putting an end to the grisly sight.

The magnetic bolts engaged, hardened armor locking into place with a satisfying hiss of hydraulics. Something crashed into the door from outside, making the whole vehicle sway.

Turning to the observation monitors, all they saw outside was pure darkness... wait! There was one barely recognizable figure standing in the middle of the dark. Charon. They heard a muffled plead from him, something along the line that his force field won't last much longer. The dark thing poured over him and they just hear him screaming ... screaming ... screaming ... and then he was gone too.

Cronis could only gape at the screen as he saw the mage swallowed up. Then he remembered Leila and the kids. "Shit!!" He walked towards the door, trying to open it, but he was too riled up to operate the complex mechanism.

Going forward to the cockpit, Dussack thought about getting this tub moving... "We better get out of here!" he yelled back into the compartment as Black-Man joined him.

"Someone better tell me what the fuck is going on..." he exclaimed, as they tried to get the craft going... to no avail. No matter what they tried, the turbine wouldn't start, as if something was clogging the intake and keeping the blades in a dead grip.

"Wait! No! Leila and the kids!!" Cronis shouted at the pair.

Something starts hammering into the door. BAM! BAM! BAM! With every blow it was starting to bend inside...

Cronis looked at the bending door. He took stepped back, took out his Ares' and aimed at the door, preparing to fire.

The whole vehicle started to sway with every blow, then something clawed into the door and ripped it out... leaving them to a moment of silence. Only darkness outside.

All they could sense was darkness, pure, unfiltered, darkness. Horror. All the nightmares, all the fears, everything bad. Combined, mixed and was turning denser... into something unspeakable.

The temperature dropped another few degrees and the black mass swirled inside. Moving around... like it was looking for something... it ignored Fang. It ignored Black-Man... it stopped at Dussack.

He could feel the fear overwhelm him but his instincts told him if he looked away, he'd be dead the next moment, so forced himself to look into the dark maelstrom.

Out of the black mass, the male solo could see a familiar pair of red eyes appear. They flickered and were gone, the mass pulling itself out again. Leaving all of them untouched.

"Oh... fuck me," said the solo with sinking feeling at the bottom of his stomach.

Cronis could feel the strength in his legs leave him as he collapsed on his knees.

"Wo de ma he ta de fengkuang de waisheng dou," added the hit-man a moment later.

"What...the fuck....was that...?" said Cronis, withholding an urge to puke.

"That was... that was..." Dussack thought about whether to tell him... no, not a good idea he concluded. "That's what we're really taking to Lagos," he said instead, opting for a half-truth.

It was silent for a few moments, then they could hear gunfire coming from the church, with the typical re-verb of shots being fired inside of a large hall... and the screams of terrified children.

"The kids! Leila!!" he exclaimed as he rushed out of the hovercraft, not caring for what may lurk outside.

Something grabbed him and just tossed him back into the vehicle, making him crash into the wall... hard. "Kuh!", the air was driven from his lungs as he slammed he slammed into the wall.

The sounds of gunfire and odd silence dragged on for a terrible few moments. Then the gunfire stopped.

Everything was silent.

A few moments later the normal street lights returned. The pressure in their heads was gone.

"Stay put..."
"Stay put..."

...yelled both Black-Mand and Dussack at the same time.

"...and pray to whatever Gods you subscribe that the police jammers hold," finished the solo.

"Leila...!" Cronis rushed out ignoring the advice.

He saw for the first time the outcome of whatever was out there. The whole area around the church was covered in liters and liters of blood, torn limbs, guts, ripped off heads...

"Roll call!" roared the Captain, grabbing the head-set from com-tech's head who'd miraculously survived alongside them. He called out desperately "All units respond, by the numbers! Come on people!"

Dussack just hanged his head and shook it... whether to say, 'no they are gone' or to deny his own knowledge he couldn't tell.

"What... is this...?" asked the assassin, for once at a loss for words. Cronis had seen many dead bodies in his line of work but this was hell.

"Come in anyone!" yelled Farrel. He was looking at all the flat-lined readouts from the troopers...

Bodies everywhere, blood everywhere, blood and guts as high as the ankle. An arm, a head, a leg. Body parts everywhere. His heart sunk as Cronis walked towards the blood covered church.

Trudging out into the gore, the huge policeman said to himself, "EMP, yeah, gotta be EMP, knocked out all their electronics." He started to scour the place looking for survivors.

Coming to his senses... somewhat... Dussack walked up to the tech: "See if some of the drones made it... get them to scout out the church."

Cronis went into the church without any hope of anyone surviving. He opened the gate slowly and looked into the church. Inside it looked like the devil himself had decorated it. The pillars, walls and floors were colored in unrecognizable red mass.

One couldn't even make out the body-parts anymore. It was all ripped into red jelly, still dripping... but in the far corner of the church, he could hear whimpering. As Fang focused, he recognized the children and Leila in a corner... crouching holding on to each other. Sprayed in red. The kids and Leila were still alive.

"Roger Sir," replied the com-tech, training taking over before he could wonder why he'd follow orders from this man.

He started switching between the various drones in the tac-net... he went though six or seven before he found a functioning one, albeit lamed so it could only show the torn up side of another carrier. Finding at least a single working drone, the one that was tasked with keeping the outer perimeter, the tech repositioned it... on the way to the church Dussack and him had a good, high-angle view of the carnage.

"Leila! Kids! You're alright!!" Cronis couldn't suppress his delight and rush to them. He hugged them as much as he could. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Thank you for being alive. Thank you."

He didn't know who is he thanking but he was thankful anyway as tears overflow in relief that they were alright. The kids were crying and in shock, as was Leila. All unable to speak or react.

The drone having arrived in the church, Dussack confirmed the situation. "You should get over there and see to the kids," he told the likewise shell-shocked med-tech peering over his shoulder and the man was already trudging toward the place.

"I'm gonna need a copy of all records" he said to the com-tech. The man called up the requested information. Probably the only copy, given the state the other hovercraft were in. Jacking in, he downloaded the data.

"OK. Now erase everything... if you value your and the Captain's life. I'm already a man marked for death, you two don't have to be", he told the tech.

"You gotta be joking..." complained the tech, but Dussack just put a hand on his shoulder and whispered: "Whoever pulled this off is not going to let the brass sniff 'em out. You and the Captain are alive by accident... think it through.

Taking a pause, he let the man ponder his words before he continued: "That thing killed everyone else... but it didn't kill the hostages. You wanna know what I think, this was? A test run... a weapons test."

"That... that... of fuck! I don't know shit from shit now..." he exclaim. The tech was loosing it. "Erase the data... I know you techs can do it, I've seen your kind do it, inviolate memory or not, I know it can be done."

He left the tech to it and went searching for Cronis... better take the idiot away before they got more people involved... and killed. Arriving at the church, he put the last drone out of commission with a quick burst from a Ruger he liberated on the way. Good, there won't be any record he'd been here... and chances are Black-Man will keep his mouth shut when the shock wore off.

"We better haul ass Night-Fag," he hollered.

"You know something about this don't you" Cronis glared at Dussack as he pointed his gun at him.

"I know that unless you put that gun away, I'm gonna blow your brains out while all the kids watch... now haul ass, before I blow it!" He didn't have patience now for the night-elf's shit.

"They're coming with me.....I won't leave them like this."

"Put the gun down," instructed the solo, each word a strike lashing the assassin, intoned like a bullet. "...and if you want the best for the kids you better have nothing to do with them while we're on this job."

Cronis considered his words for a moment and decided that he was right. He picked up a comm, presumably Leila's, and called Nikki up.

"Who is it this late at night?" asked the girl. "It's me. I need you to take care of Leila and the kids, make sure they're safe until I'm back."

He gave Leila the com, "Don't worry, someone will come and help you soon. You'll be safe this time for sure."

Cronis stood up and faced Dussack, the later turned without watching to see if the assassin followed him, and left the church at a rapid pace. When they were a bit farther he told the night-elf:

"I hope you're satisfied. You just got all these people killed. If you hadn't been here, I wouldn't have either... and if I weren't that wouldn't have come either."

"I'll make sure you talk in the hotel, bastard," Cronis muttered in response.

Using the assassin's car, the two took some detours to avoid any further attention. When they were in sight of the Council island the solo told the other "Go ahead... and stay put just this once dammit... I still have to get my gear."

They parted ways.

littleRED

12 years ago

Dussack went to his place. It was Downtown and therefore expensive although it was quite old. It wasn’t anything special, but it was clean and well kept – home sweet home.

The first thing he did was go into the basement, where he had a little secure room. On first glance, anyone who would enter the basement would find some tools and hardware that was a tad on the expensive side. The real stuff was hidden beneath a block of concrete, which he could lift with a winch from a pop-out compartment on the ceiling of the room.

He packed some B&E tools, his spare gun, ammo and everything he thought, he might need but wouldn’t be too much to carry around. Then he went up to his apartment and decided to take a quick shower, after he put on some fresh clothing and his armored leather jacket. Finally he stuffed some spare clothing into a bag and hailed a taxi back to the hotel.

It was around 5AM by the time he reached the suite. The sun would rise in about 1 ½ hours and then it would be a mere 5 hours more until they were sitting in a plane to Africa – at least the few of them who were still alive.

When he entered the suite Leblanc, Sandman and N were sitting at the dining room table, eating sandwiches and playing cards. He reported that the orphans were save and asked the French Johnson, if she wanted to move the departure maybe to an even earlier hour, but Leblanc just shook her head and confirmed the appointment at noon.

He didn’t want to say what exactly happened – he knew they would eventually find out over the news. The male solo acted casually and grabbed a sandwich and gulped it down mechanically, as he didn’t eat all day long.

Sandman just watched him, very long and intently, like she knew that something went really wrong. She sighed and stretched, faking a yawn, and put her card down.

“I think we should get some rest before the departure,” she stated simply and then grabbed him by the hand and pulled him off to the big master bedroom. Leblanc would be anyway safer sleeping with the others in the presidential suite studio, where Fang had disappeared to earlier already. Dussack needed a break from the night-elf, she was sure of that...

Once they were in the bedroom, she turned to him and started undressing him. Pushing off his jacket first and then unbuttoning his shirt. She didn’t have a certain intention, it wasn’t erotic. She just felt that he needed to be taken care of and that’s what she did. Simple logic, A to B to C, nothing complicated nothing emotional, just straight forward thinking.

Dussack didn’t react much. He had practically shut down, letting her do as she pleased – not even noticing the world around him anymore. Even if they weren't on the best of terms, he still thought of Lone Star as something he "belonged" to, or had a connection to... and now he got almost a 100 of them killed. One hundred men, good men, men with families, wives and children to feed …

Sandman interrupted his thought by touching his cheek.

"Do you want to talk about it?" she asked softly. He just shook his head, slowly. He seemed to be stuck in slow-motion. She felt helpless for a moment. Her own fears to get too close, too attached, flickering through her mind. She shook it off. A to B to C. She stepped closer and pulled him into her arms, holding him tight.

He started trembling, tremors running through his body as she hugged him – whether from sobs or stress she couldn't tell, he didn’t make much noise. Time passed and then at last he relaxed in her grip and his own arms circled her, hiding his face against her shoulder. She just rocked them slightly from side to side, letting him feel her warmth and heartbeat – and he hold on to her desperately, as if for life.

"I couldn't ... I couldn't do anything," he whimpered barely audible.

"Ssh," she whispered into his ear, holding him even closer - though trying not to crush him. "It's ok, you don't have to talk about it."

He let her smother him in the embrace, trying to forget for a moment ... but instead he started speaking again: "I've come to terms with my own mortality years ago, but to feel so … powerless ... all I could do was watch them … watch them die ..."

His hands clenched up into fists, grabbing a handful of her shirt as he relived the memory. She frowned, not knowing how to help him. No one ever told her how to be gentle or compassionate. All she ever knew was violence, destruction and death. But now, now she wished desperately to know what to do.

She didn't know though. So she just did, what she was taught from an early age on: she cradled his face with her hands and pressed her lips on his, merging them into a long deep kiss, her tongue wrapping around his.

At first he resisted, the advance not really fitting his mood, but soon enough he just let his body take over, trying to purge his mind through sheer sensory overload. He kissed her back with fervent passion, running his hand through her locks and pulling her down with him onto the bed.

It didn't feel right, not like this. Not anymore, but she didn't know better. She just didn't. She moved her body against his, clawing into his back and urging him on, kissing him deeper. He reached out to her, caressing her face as they rolled on the bed, her hair splashing over the mattress like a red river ... red like the whole church, red like the children and the woman holding them...

He froze above her and for a moment all he saw was the church ground with red everywhere...
Dussack shuddered and collapsed beside Sandy. She just lay there, staring at the ceiling - not daring to move. After some time, he drew her closer, burying his head in the crook of her shoulder.

"Can we just stay like this?" he asked, holding onto her until he felt the unnatural tension ease from her.

She nodded: "Anything you like."

His hand reached out for hers, interlinking their fingers. It was strange: they have learned the depths of each other’s mind and passion in such a short amoung of time, but even so, this was way more intimate.

"How did you know?" he asked her, sure that he didn't betray himself in any way.

She blinked and looked at him with a puzzled expression on her face: "What?"

"Come on, you must've..." he trailed off realizing that she probably didn’t know anything. Instead further talking, he just nuzzled her neck, listening to her heartbeat as their breathing synchronized.

"Only the two of you returned," she stated simply after some time.

"How do you know the others won't back?" he asked.

"Because I know that look too well," she murmured barely audible.

He didn’t ask why she knew it, just pulled her closer and hoped that the shared warmth of their bodies would drive out the cold from their souls.

"Let's run away," she whispered, surprising them both.

"Where could we go?" he pressed out, she could hear despair taint the words. She sighed deeply, a sigh telling him how tired she was of all this, tired of death and blood and violence...

"I have a feeling that until we're through with her," it was obvious who he was referring to, "this would follow us wherever we go..."

She just nodded - he wasn't sure if it was in agreement or maybe something else. Maybe just a reflexively move in response to a statement, she maybe didn't even listen to anymore. Her eyes grew distant ... and she closed them, knowing very well that he could read them like an open book.

"I just got a bunch of good people killed. I won't just walk away from that, I can't have that on my karma," he admitted, proving that he was not as impeccable as the casual observer would be lead to believe. This time, she was the one not asking anything, letting him talk as he needed to.

"And, no, I won't take on anything as foolish as revenge or justice. Maybe there's no such thing to begin with."

Sandman shifted beside him, wiggling out of his embrace and sat up - not looking at him: "You should try and sleep. It has been a long day and the trip will be even longer."

"I guess so," he conceded, though his brows were still furrowed in thought, "could you handle the rest of the gear?"

She simply nodded: "I was just about to do that. You just stay here and rest." And then she was already off the bed and walking towards the door.

"Sandy?"

She stopped in mid-step, not turning around: "Yes?"

"No matter what happens, I'm still glad I signed up... because I got to meet you," he admitted hesitantly, not really being used to romantic assertions.

She was silent for a few moments and finally whispered: "Good to know." With that said she simply walked out, while Dussack turned around and tried to sleep and forget. It took a while for the first and he was uncertain he could ever do the latter.

NeoStriker

12 years ago

Well, that settles that. I close the newsfeed that told me what happened at the orphanage. A tremor runs through my body, from nervousness, anticipation, or fear, who knows. Leblanc stands up and pats me on the shoulder while excusing herself to retire with Fang. Later, Sand comes out of the master bedroom with the Dus, probably doing something weird again. I send her a message that I'll be back in about an hour or so with my gear ready. She nods and says ok and that I should watch myself. I reply, "Yea, you too."

Before I leave, Sand grabs my shoulder...gently and tries to smile at me comforting, "I'm sorry".

I don't look back, but send a message saying, "...For what? Are you an idiot? Don't let your emotions cloud your judgment."

Sand flashes me another smile and lets go of me, so I promptly exit the suite. I take the elevator and walk out of the hotel. Sure that none of them should be able to see, I lean back against a wall on the side of the hotel, and collapse to the ground with my face turned towards the sky. I suddenly feel weak, and my breathing is quick, shallow, and is shaking like the branches of a tree in the wind. I don't know why I'm doing this. But I know how to find out. I get back up and find the nearest cab, directing it to take me to the scene of the massacre.

While the cab drives, a flare of anger flashes. I know why I chose the words, "scene of the massacre" when I could have thought, "the orphanage". A dry chuckle oozes out of my lips, as I think how this all started with the nightelf. Shadowrunners may all have one foot in the grave, but this was a side-mission we needn't have embarked on. But it's not his fault. Whatever happened at the orphanage, it was entirely outside all of our calculations. But that doesn't stop the pain in my chest.

The cab stops about two blocks away from the scene, unable to move closer due to heavy traffic, so I pay the fare and proceed on foot. The crowd is quite dense regardless, but after several minutes of walking and getting past pedestrians, I'm able to get a view of the bloodbath. I stand there silently and think to myself, 'Why am I here?' I catch sight of the reason as the buzz from the pedestrians, the clicking of electronics, the Lone Star officers fade out, and my vision locks onto a head, that, is absolutely Traitor's.

'I'm sorry you can't get a proper funeral, Traitor. I'm sorry I kept making fun of your nickname. I'm sorry it had to end like this. This may be the part where we say goodbye, bid farewell, and never see each other again, but I'm not like that. One day, I want to see you again. Call me a child, call me naive, call me a coward, but I want to see you again. So, all I can say is,'

"Until next time, Traitor."

I turn around and a tear drops from my eye. With that, I manage to bury the pain away, and I continue to my lair. I rest my personal drone and take a few smaller ones instead, as well as all of my rigging gear. I show up back at the suite two hours later with a backpack, and send the message to Sand, "I'm back. Can't wait to go to Africa."

Damienthedevil

12 years ago

After he dropped off Dussack, he was alone in his car and he thought about what happened just an hour ago in Redmond Ridge. That black....thing just killed everyone there. That must be what French bitch was running from. Cronis thought to himself about the events and wondered.Then why do I feel so...familiar with it? Have....I...seen it before? He could feel a horrible headache when he tries to think.

He kept thinking back at the possibilities of that black thing. Is it a weapon? A monster? Some sort new biochemical weapon, like the chimera? Maybe it's something magical? Cronis thought of many possibilities but none of them seem to fit as he drove towards the hotel. Then he remembered the scene of massacre. Feeling the urge to vomit, he stopped the car by the roadside and vomited out.

He didn't react to the scene just now due to the fact that he was very distressed about Leila and the others but now that he calm down and recall that scene, he couldn't stomach it.

When he finally arrived at the hotel, he went to the suite and collapsed from the tirednes. He remembered that black thing again and unconsciously he sang to himself, "benefaciat vobis Deus me dulcis infans" (May God bless you, my sweet little child). It was a lullaby that he sang to the kids in the orphanage, Annie loved it a lot. This lullaby was the same one that his mother sang to him when he was a kid before both his parents were killed.

He starts to remember faintly what happened that day; a loud banging on the door, his mother telling him to hide in the closet while his father took out a gun. He could still see through the crack of the closet. A black thing tore open the metal door and tore apart his father. Blood everywhere. His mother screaming and was silenced in an instant. More blood. More wet sounds. He could remember that he was shivering and crying silently in fear.

He finally remembered; It was that black thing that killed his family!

"I see...So I met it again. So I can finally have my revenge is it? haha...Hahaha....HAHAHAHAHA" tears streamed down his cheek and he laughed. He laughed and cried at the same time. He laughed at the odd thing call destiny and he cried for he finally remembered what happened to his family.

I WILL find the one responsible for this!

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