Humble Beginnings - 1.1

Everyone has to start somewhere - 1.1

The throbbing of music from the hipster dance club behind his shack began to pull him from his restless slumber.  Rain could not remember the last time he had had a decent night’s sleep, and sleeping during the day because of his chosen “profession” didn’t help.  Neither was the fact that he lived in an old re-purposed garage, in the alley behind a popular night club just added to the issue.  He glanced at his commlink, the display read 2101. 

‘Must have been tired,’ he thought to himself. ‘It took a whole minute to wake me up’.

Slowly the half-dressed elf sat up, and put his feet onto the cold cement floor.  The stark change in temperature helped him get the blood flowing.  For a few moments more, he sat, rubbing his right hand vigorously back and forth, through his hair.  It didn’t improve the unkempt condition, but it helped him focus his thoughts.

Once he was sufficiently conscious, he moved through his regular ‘morning’ routine; some reading, unarmed and sword katas, finishing up with a few minutes each of stretching and meditation.  Afterwards he cleaned himself up to get ready for the rest of the day, or, in this case, the rest of the night.  He needed to find something paying out decent Nuyen, or, despite the generosity of Samantha’s intervention, he would find himself back out on the streets.

He always started his night at the club.  Not because he enjoyed the pounding music, or the hipsters who frequented the place.  Actually, the atmosphere often left him in a bad mood, but it was loud enough that several “Johnsons” felt compelled to conduct business there, if for no other reason than it was virtually impossible to listen in on their conversations, even with audio enhancements.  They barely gave him notice though.  He was an unknown.  After all, he was still a stranger in a community that values its privacy, and trusts only in ‘known qualities’.

He waited until his head throbbed, but none of the “Johnsons” had even acknowledged his presence tonight.  ‘I think I’ll wander up into Queens again… maybe head over to the island’, Rain said to himself despondently.

“Hoi!  Rain!” The Ork bouncer at the door raised a clawed hand and motioned for him to come closer.

‘Wow… what’s his name? (1) You really got to work on that Rain’, he said to himself as he nodded his acknowledgement of the bouncer’s beckoning. 

“Sam’s lookin’ for ya!”  He had to shout just to be heard over the tumult of the club.  “She says she’s got something for ya!”

“Thanks chummer!” Rain yelled to be heard over the din.

Rain turned back into the crowd, and headed for the back of the club.  Samantha always took the bar by the dance floor.  It was always crowded with a throng of bodies, pulsating to the music, and thirsty from the exertions of the crowd.  Samantha seemed out of place.  Her emaciated appearance was a stark contrast to the healthy spectacle of metahumanity in its rawest and most sensual forms.  Often towered over, she was often looked down upon, both in reality, and figuratively.  Still – the tips back here were better than the ones closer to the front door, or so she said.  As he approached the bar, he had to look over, and around the mass in front of the counter, until he spotted her.  She was pouring drinks, and plugging credsticks, as fast as her two hands could manipulate the tools of her trade.  Despite her outward appearance, she was easily keeping pace with the demands of her clients.  When Sam spotted him, she smiled, and nodded for him to take the small gap at the end of the bar.  Rain liked it back there, close to the kitchen door.  The acoustics vented towards the floor, and he was outside the invisible cone of cacophony that passed for music here.  She motioned for one of the others to fill in on her end for a minute while she tended to some private business with Rain.

“Hoi pointy”, Sam said with a joking smile.  “I came by a piece of data that says a ‘Johnson’ over on the island is looking for a Street Sam.  Time is short, and his usual contacts are all out on runs.  If you’re interested you gotta slot and run now.”

Rain grimaced inwardly, but he needed the pay.  “You’re an Angel Sam.  Trans the data to my comm and I’ll buzz.”

Without further conversation, Rain headed back to the front of the club, hesitating for a brief obscure nod to the ork bouncer, he headed into the night, grateful for the relative peace and quiet of the streets of New York.

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Part 2

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(1)    Memory check [Logic (5) + Willpower (5) = DP 10] - [2,2,4,3,5,1,1,4,3,2 - 1 hit]

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The Path of Fate - 0.7

The Path of Fate - 0.7

The elf rode the Yamaha Growler on in solemn silence for a time.  Allowing the cool air to help him shake the memories from his dreams last night.  The last dream made no sense to him and yet, it was the most disturbing of the three.  Other than his mandatory term of service with the SDF (1) he had never been much further than the old missionary.  The mountain of steel, and glass… made no sense to him.  It didn’t look like any city he had ever seen… not even Seattle.

When he finally arrived, he knocked gently.  Mother answered the door, and bowed very slightly to acknowledge her guest, and then motioned for him to enter, but never said a word.  She quietly led him to his old room, where he found Grandfather and the mystery man from the highway.  With her obligation complete, she turned and left the room.  Rain sighed as he watched her leave.  He knew why she was angry though, and turned back to enter the room.

“Erurainon, this(2)” Grandfather said as he lifted his arm to his guest, “is Mr. Johnson.  It would seem,” he continued as he stood up to leave, “you two have much to discuss.”  And with that, the old man left the room, and shut the door behind him without saying another word.

“Erurainon?” The man inquired.

“Do not use that name.  It is not for you to speak.”  Rain replied, struggling to find the right words in English.

“Ah, ok.  Well, what should I call you then?”

“My name is Magazu Waki ya. (3)”

“Oh-kay,” the man replied hesitantly.  “Well, Magahzue as you…”

“Magazu Waki ya” Rain interrupted.

“Um, right… well, Mah-gah-zoo,” the man tried again.  “I was on a very important business trip that got… interrupted.  Your father…”

“Lala,” Rain interrupted again.  “…Grandfather” he said, struggling to find the correct English word again.

“Ok, Grandfather, told me that I have you to thank for saving my life last night.”

Rain stood impassively for a moment, “I was only using the gifts that… um… the Great Spirit, gave me.” He said dismissively.  There was something about this man that he did not like.

“Well… thank you.” The man said.  “I will not be able to complete my work,” indicating the porta-doc wrapped around his upper thigh where, Rain knew, he was missing most of the muscle and a large chunk of bone.  “I would like to offer you a job.”

Rain’s first instinct was to decline it flat, but there was an itch in his mind to hear the man out.

“I need to retrieve something… well, someone, who stole something, from my company.”  The man paused to gauge Rain’s reaction.  “I know where she is,” he said pulling out a tracker, with a small monitor screen at the top.  “She’s in New York.”

The image of the mountain made of steel, glass and light, leapt into Rain’s mind, causing him a moment of disorientation.

“I just need you to get her, and deliver her to the local Lone Star offices there.  They will do the rest.” The man finished and offered Rain the tracker.

Without fully knowing why, Rain accepted the proffered device.

“I can pay you twenty five thousand Nuyen.”

That got Rain’s attention.  Unless one worked for one of the corporations in the Sioux Nation, that kind of money was very rare.  He absentmindedly, not fully knowing why nodded his acceptance.

“That’s great,” the man said extending his arm to shake hands with Rain.  Rain looked down at the extended hand, and years of history class rushed through his brain.

“Ah, yea… sorry wasicu (4),” Rain replied.  “Your hand shake does not mean much to me, but… I will do this because Atkuku ki Wakan Tanka (5) is compelling me to.  Just give me your SIN information… and I will contact you when I am finished… then, we will see about that handshake.”

Once the man gave him the information, Rain turned to leave.

“Thank you Mayguzee”, the man called after him.  Rain ignored the mangling of the pronunciation of his name... again.

Grandfather met him in the center room.  “You have long worked to avoid your destiny Erurainon… but, it seems to have come to you.”

Rain was not sure what to say, but he acknowledged his elder’s words with a respectful nod of his head.

“Mother had these made for you… before… well, you know.” The old man said handing Rain a pair of samurai companion swords.  “She had told me that you had earned them when she had them made, but her pride is too strong to give them to you herself.”  Rain was speechless as he accepted the honored gift.  He was still staring at them, when the venerable elder held up a hand, and let drop a medallion, suspended by a sturdy chain.

“I always knew you would return one day… although… I had hoped it would have been sooner… and for a longer stay.”  The old man paused, deep in personal thought, “I had this crafted for you… it is of good quality… but, it has not been… well, never mind that,” he said as he leaned forward to loop the chain around Rain’s neck.

As his elder took a moment to move Rain’s ponytail out of the way so that he could secure the clasp, Rain held up the 75mm diameter pendant.  It was made of two different metals.  One was highly  polished platinum, the other a cobalt blue alloy.  The two were formed into a perfect yin-yang symbol.  Within the platinum circle of the blue tear drop, the cobalt blue alloy formed the Japanese kanji for 'samurai' (侍).  Within the cobalt blue circle of the platinum tear drop, platinum the Japanese kanji for 'doctor' (or, medicine) (医).  The craftsmanship was exquisite.

Rain was rendered speechless with the presentation of such honored gifts.  He respectfully remained with his head bowed to his elder, in grateful thanks.  The old man reached forward and held his arm lightly, and then turned him to the door. As he walked Rain to the exit he said, “Wakan Tanka has put within you the spirit of the yin yang… think on this as He leads you along your new path.”

Rain nodded his acknowledgement of Grandfather’s words.  He moved to leave, but then hesitated and turned, “please tell ‘mother’ that I am sorry… and that I am grateful for the gift.”  Without any further words, he turned to his motorcycle, and left.

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(1)    The Sioux Defense Force 

(2)  Speaking in English

(3)    (ma-gh-ah-zue) (wah-kee yahn)  - Lakota /// Thundering Rain

(4)    (wah-shee-chue) white person (aka Anglo in ‘modern’ form of Shadowrun)

(5)    (ah-dkue-kue kee)(wah-kahn dahn-kah) // Father God

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The Long Unwinding Road - 0.1

The Long Unwinding Road - 0.1

Like an asphalt and concrete ribbon slicing through lightly rolling grasslands, I-90 went on as far as the eye could see. Paralleling this man made scar were parallel lines of obsolete telephone and electrical wires. Behind the wheel of a lone vehicle crossing the Badlands of the Sioux Nation, was a man with a single minded purpose, to get to New York as fast as he could.  He did not rate high enough in Evo Corp to warrant a suborbital flight.  Well, officially, he did not even work for them, so.  He was the one the 'suits' came to when they needed something taken care of... "off the books".  He was only ever referred to as, "Mr Johnson".  Definitely no glory or fame, but the pay was good.  Especially when there were no records of expenses to be kept.  Normally, something like this, the retrieval of a corporate "asset", he would just put a word on the street, and the rabble crawled out of the shadows for the work.  But when an exec comes to you directly, you make sure you see to it personally. If the 'asset' proves too difficult to regain on  his own, he would just hire some local talent.

Yawning, the man shook his head and lowered the windows to try and wake himself up as he accelerated to two hundred kilometers per hour. He looked to be maybe in his mid-thirties, with a slightly thinning rumpled crop of hair.  His beard was growing thick having gone unshaven for four days now. Although he had gone nose-deaf to his situation, he sat in a crumpled casual business suit that had not been taken off of his body for longer than the beard was old. He pulled out his last pack of cigarettes, took the last one from the packet with his teeth, then crumpled up the pack and tossed it on the passenger side floorboard. It fell alongside the growing pile of empty soykaf cups, and containers from Stuffer Shack that were mostly empty.

It didn’t help that the only thing that the headlights on his SK Bentley could reflect off of were the lines along the highway, and the rumble strips along the shoulders to let you know that you’d fallen asleep. But, even in the early morning hours, the driver could tell he was coming up on a storm, and fast. To his left, right, and rear view mirror, there was the dim illumination of moonlight, but the view out his windshield was only a wall of black, punctuated with frequent brilliant flashes of cloud to ground lighting.

With a blink and twitch of his right eye to the left, he checked his tracking readout within his field of vision of his cybernetic eye.  The target marker was still solidly locked in New York, “The City that never sleeps”’, he chuckled to himself. With another twitch of the eye, he switched to the MapSoft display, and then another blink and and a flip of his right hand, he switched the display to the windshield HUD. “If I keep to just fuel and essential pit stops… I should roll into New York in just under... twenty hours”, he says aloud to the empty cabin.

Another ten kilometers down the road, and the wall of black now filled the entire view to his front, and most of the side windows. The wind wasn’t doing it for him as he fought with having gone over four days without sleep. He reached into an interior pocket of his out of date suit jacket, and pulled out a hard case, the size of a long cigarette pack. Cracking it open, it revealed five thin metallic cylinders. He pulled one out and placed it between his lips.  Once he closed the case, and returned it to his pocket he reached up to grasp the cylinder, which he was now clenched between his teeth and with a swift tug, he pulled the cylinder free from its lid. With practiced ease, he simultaneously turned his head to the left and spit the lid out through the open window, while, with his right hand he fliped the cylinder over with his fingers and then jammed the open end into his upper thigh. He was used to the sting of the spring injected needle, and didn’t flinch. He just relaxed and enjoyed the slow spread of coolness through the muscles in his leg, as the dose of ‘Long Haul’ spread throughout his blood stream. When it finally began to wind its way into his brain, the fatigue induced mental fog just melted away. With a smile crossing his lips, he tossed the empty injector vial to follow its lid and then put the windows back up.   Leaning forward he retrieved the smoldering cigarette from the small ashtray in the console, sat back to let his head lean against the head-rest, took a long drag of the cigarette, held the smoke briefly, and then let it slowly exhale from his mouth and nose. He was only twenty four hours from the biggest payday in his life, and nothing was going to stop him now.

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Part - 2
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