[Shadowrun] Seattle Calling (Chp 1 Completed 1/25/2009)

[Zen_Pollo]

The ice age is coming, the sun is zooming in
Engines stop running and the wheat is growing thin
A nuclear error, but I have no fear
London is drowning-and I live by the river
--The Clash, London Calling

Title: Seattle Calling
Author: Zen_Pollo
Number of Threads: 1

Type: Sci-Fi\Cyberrpunk
System: Shadowrun RPG 4ed
Setting: Seattle

Started: 7 November 2008
Status: Ongoing
Average Installment Length: Short
Average Frequency of Installments: Weekly

Available for Download? YES!
Style: 3rd person narrative

Overview: The campaign is based around corporate intrigue and espionage surrounding a particular election in Seattle. The players each come from different Megacorps whom have instructed their minions to band together for a common, albeit unknown at this time, purpose.

Special:
Song lyrics which inspired this campain: London Calling Lyrics

Resource of PDFs/Plot Synapsis/Adventure Links/etc.: SeattleCalling Wikispace

Completed Chapter 1 PDF

 

[Zen_Pollo]

Vignette:Chapter 1

(Note: each vignette in this series was printed and read outloud by the players during the game. I use the vignettes to demonstrate to the players that more is going on behind the scenes than meets the eye...)

Scene: Steam roils in the air of a sauna and massage parlor. Gleaming white tiles match the immaculate, but vacant gazes of the gesha-bunraku puppet girls tending to the needs of their well-appointed clientele.

In a private room two massage tables are occupied by two men lying on their stomachs; two girls with the high-beam smiles of someone whom has had their personality turned-off knead the men’s shoulders.

The first man is a virile young buck that spends too much time at the gym.

Craig T. Hopi: How is the massage, Johnny? Do you need anymore scotch?

The second man is much older – he has the kind of hair that could have made him a UCAS Senator or a tri-vid game-show host.

Johnny Johns(weakly): I’m fine, sir.

Craig T. Hopi: Good. Now let us talk about the matter at hand. Shall we?

Johnny Johns(gulps): Of course.

Craig T. Hopi: Have you received the funding?

Johnny Johns: Yes, the money has been all accounted for. I have diverted the funds as we have agreed.

Craig T. Hopi: This pleases me. I hate to waste money. What about the minions?

Johnny Johns: I’m working on recruiting them as we speak.

Craig T. Hopi(Sharply): What!? I thought the matter was resolved.

Johnny Johns(whining): It’s difficult to find the right combination of talent. Besides, the others are loathe to risk valuable assets for this operation.

Craig T. Hopi: Take care, Johnny Johns, I would hate to become disappointed with you (he grins maliciously).

Johnny Johns(He takes a big swallow of scotch): You won’t be disappointed sir. I’ll make it happen.

Craig T. Hopi(Coolly): I am glad we have an understanding … now where is that masseuse?

 

[Zen_Pollo]

Chapter 1: Alexander's Story

London calling to the faraway towns
Now that war is declared-and battle come down
--The Clash, London Calling​

Setting: The Horizon Hardcopy production studio. Two chaps sat in an office with one windowed-wall watching a tri-vid screen on the desk. Silk-screened letters on the glass wall read, Alexander McQueen, Production Counsel.

The first was a mousey lad, Jimmy Get-My-Coffee; he had the perpetually rumpled look of someone that can’t afford to send his clothes to the dry cleaners. Jimmy licked his lips nervously and kept glancing through the glass wall to the hallway outside.

The 1 to Jimmy’s 0, Alexander McQueen, Esq. was a handsome elf in his late twenties dressed as fashionably as only a twenty-something hipster with no student-loan debt can muster. Alexander’s personal grooming and choice of clothing alone could get him more trim than a strip-mall barbershop. Unfortunately, Alexander prized a woman whom was out of reach, but not out of sight…

For hanging in the holo-space of the tri-vid floated the svelte anchorwoman of Horizon Hardcopy, Lollipop. Lolli’s white and red swirling nano-tech hair implants undulated and changed light intensity with the mood of the news; somber and straight during the report of the stock market losses, bright and feathered for the color-commentary on the puppy adoptions in Renton. Lolli’s sculpted features could be used on an informercial for nuevo-botoximine, but Alexander knew that she was all natural – after all, he had had to vet her background story and pay for the theft of the medical records himself.

But good genes ran in the family; Lollipop is the daughter of Candi Cain, a former reporter of Network News 54 which was bought-out by the Horizon Media Corporation after the crash of ’64. Strangely enough, Candi Cain was now the elder stateswoman in The View:2070 Edition (owned and operated by Neo-News Net, a subsidiary of the Horizon Media Corporation).

Media personalities are like twinkiesnacks; if you inject enough chemicals in them, they’ll last forever.

“Let’s see how the dockworker strike piece turns out,” stated Alexander.

“How’d you get the paydata, Lex?” asked Jimmy Get-My-Coffee as he quickly jumped up with the hyper-tuned office-senses of someone that has no marketable skills and a sub-prime mortgage on his condo.

“Yes, McQueen, how did you get the data?” asked a middle-aged man wearing the power-suit his wife bought him for Christmas. As the tan-skinned man strode into the room, an Augmented Reality Object (ARO) poped up on Jimmy and Alexander’s smartlenses reading, Felix Gomez, Executive Producer, Horizon Hardcopy.

Smiling coldly, Alexander replied, “I went to law school with one of the negotiators – it’s amazing what lengths some guys will go to cheat on their wives.” Pointedly, Alexander glanced at the tri-vid showing Lollipop (flaming red highlights) reporting on the labor-strike story.

Smartingly, Felix grunted out, “Jimmy, go get me some coffee!”

Jimmy scuttled out of office – he knew who synth-a-butters his breadsnacks.

“Now, McQueen, it is my distinct pleasure to inform you that you have been terminated,” grinned Felix – not even bothering to activate the office’s PrivacyGuard2100 sonic screener.

“No, I don’t think so,” said Alexander – he also knew who synth-a-butters his breadsnacks – and it was not Gomez. “Why don’t you tell me what all this is about?” stated Alexander as he casually instructed his commlink to activate the sonic screen (for outside the office), and his micro-audio-recorder (for inside…)

“Well, McQueen, it seems the spirits of the corporate hierarchy have granted my fondest wish. You’ve been reassigned to a special workgroup.” Felix chuckled, “So that means, you ARE terminated from this workgroup – after all, you are an expensive asset and this office space is burdened to my internal accountants payable.”

“Special workgroup? I haven’t seen any communication regarding this transfer.” Alexander quickly pulled up his work email account on his personal commlink. The floating ARO containing Alexander’s unread mail showed 83 unread messages – none of which indicated an internal transfer. “What are you going on about, Felix?”

“The United Way Golf Tournament, McQueen, didn’t you read the memo?” a triumphant Felix mimiced a golf swing, “I hope you have a good handicap – I would hate for you to make a fool of yourself in front of the company execs.” Chortling to himself, Felix strutted out of the office screaming, “Jimmy, where’s my coffee???”

But Alexander was already ignoring Felix. Alexander quickly called up the memo in question from his commlink and the Augment Reality Object email obediently came into being floating in the air in front of his face,

“What the Frack!?!”

The ice age is coming, the sun is zooming in
Engines stop running and the wheat is growing thin
A nuclear error, but I have no fear
London is drowning-and I live by the river​

The Clash, London Calling​

 

[Zen_Pollo]

GM Note:

This game is played bi-weekly.

A quick update on the cast of characters:

Alexander McQueen, An Elf Face\Mage Detective\Lawyer -- A real nancy-boy fancy-pants
Darien Slone, a Troll Bodyguard -- A drek-stomping cyborg killer
Carlito Lontoh, a Human Scientist -- Is he MacGyver or McGruber?

More to Come!

-ZP

 

[Zen_Pollo]

Chapter 1: Slone's Story

London calling to the underworld
Come out of the cupboard, all you boys and girls​

--The Clash, London's Calling​

Setting: The waiting room outside a corner office in the Areas Macrotechnology complex. An RFID tag on the door projected an ARO reading “Eric Jordon, Senior VP”

Looking about as comfortable as a Brahma-bull wearing a cheap-suit and smartgoogles, Slone sat in a chair in the office’s waiting room area. The chair was really just an aesthetically pleasing modern interpretation of a chair – predictably, the situation appeared as though the troll was taking a “wide-stance” to pass a high-fiber meal after three days of constipation.

Slone sat across the room from an administrative assistant seated at a fine cherry wooden desk with the grains in the wood bio-engineered into Ares Macrotechnology logos.

You only call ‘em secretaries if you have to cover for the boss with his wife, thought Slone.

But unlike the furniture, Shelly was not a trophy-piece. Slone knew the administrative assistant was very efficient at her job, which was why Mr. Jordan retained her services. For that matter, efficiency was the same reason Mr. Jordan retained Slone’s services. In fact, Slone was pleased with his work situation. Few trolls made it into corporate ranks, even as a body-guard.

Still, Slone admired the Shelly’s youthful appearance. Shelly had the exotic look of someone from….wherever…

Slone’s mind wandered to the “Service” he had performed for Shelly. Slone remembered having to pull the man’s teeth out of his knuckles afterwards…bloody chucks of calcium in the convenience store sink…

Slone’s enhanced audio earpiece cued him to the footsteps approaching the door to the office from the other side; one set of footsteps was as familiar to Slone as his own, the other set reminded Slone of someone he could not quite place.

As the door opened, Derrick Silverman walked out. As Derrick walked out from the office, the piezoelectric nano-fibers in the carpet turned the floor into a giant screen flashing corporate messages, videos and other useless data – all personalized to Derrick’s personal area network(PAN). But few no one was looking at the floor.

Slone groaned to himself, Dammit! The human’s bandaged, broken nose and bruised features appeared worse than the last time Slone had seen him. The other figure was Eric Jordan, Slone’s boss, mentor and, occasionally, apologist.

The corporate razor-boy gave Slone the stink-eye as he glided past. Slone secretly envied Derrick’s speed and grace. Derrick had the mega-nuyen gait that only black-market tech and extensive surgery could provide. Of course, Derrick’s speed hadn’t helped him much during their scuffle.

Who brings a cruise missile to a fist-fight, anyways?, thought Slone as he smirked at Derrick walking by with a cloud of messages trailing on the carpet behind him.

“Slone, come in, I wasn’t expecting you, didn’t you get the email?” said Mr. Jordan as he hurriedly ushered Slone into his office. Slone thought Mr. Jordan looked nervous as the boss glanced at Silverman’s departing form.

“What email?” said Slone as he ducked into the posh corner office. As Slone entered the room, a slew of AROs crowded the view from his smartgoogles – everything from the readout on the temperature control unit to the automated coffee maker telling him it was time for a refill of NovaCaffe.

Brushing aside the AROs, Slone admired rest of the décor in the office. The office had the spare modern look of a man whom could afford the best corporate interior decorators and the moxie to flaunt it to his coworkers. Unfortunately, the best-corporate-interior-designer-money-could-buy had strange notions of the appropriate size of furniture for troll body guards, so Slone chose to remain standing in front of the sleek desk which was a larger version of the one outside.

Swirling around his feet were carpet messages describing the virtues of the corporate weight-loss program. Guess the carpet can’t figure out why I weigh so much, thought the over 350 kg troll.

Mr. Jordan moved around the desk and sat down with his back to Slone. As Mr. Jordan sat down he sighed, “When are you ever going to check your email, Slone?”

“Shelly prints it out for me,” replied the troll matter-of-factly.

“Well, what about this one?” Mr. Jordan waved his hand over his head and an ARO appeared in the air above the desk in the display of Slone’s smartgoogles.

“United Way Golf Tournament?” questioned Slone, “I don’t golf.”

“Slone, think of this event as an opportunity to advance in the organization. All manner of executives will be attending and you’ll get to network with them.”

Slone stated flatly, “Networking.”

Sighing, Mr.Jordan turned around to face Slone across the desk and said “Look Slone, this is best I could do for you. After all, it was the cafeteria.”

Here it comes, thought Slone.

“Did you have to break his nose AND put him through a table?” an exasperated Mr. Jordan queried.

“YES,” stated Slone. As he placed both softball-sized hands on the desk the pseudo-wood groaned under his mass.

“Easy there, big guy,” relented Mr.Jordan, “Perhaps it is best if you lay low a bit till things cool down around here. Derrick has friends in high places who are clamoring for your head on a platter. Now, it was all I could do to get you placed on this special assignment.”

“What assignment?”, grumbled Slone.

“Just go to the tournament and you’ll see – it’ll be good for your career – mark my words!”

London is drowning-and I live by the river
--The Clash, London Calling​

 

[Zen_Pollo]

Chapter 1: Carlito's Story

London calling, now don't look at us
All that phoney Beatlemania has bitten the dust​

The Clash, London Calling​

Setting: Late at night in a high-tech lab deep in the bowels of Evo’s Seattle Arcology. The lights were turned out in the lab, but one workstation was still lit with a phosphorescent glow. Seated at a lab table was a twenty-something lab worker.

Carlito still wore the clothes his mother bought for him; the Filipino-Thai lab tech was clad in khakis, a blue button-down shirt, bow-tie and cardigan. Of course, the garments were immaculately pressed – every crease ironed and every pleat in its place.

Mommy had bought just the right clothes to ensure Carlito never got laid in high school.
Life hasn’t changed much for Carlito since that time.

You never know when you will need to make a first impression, Carlito’s mother would say. If you were more disciplined about your appearance, Carlito, we wouldn’t need these sessions, would we?

Carlito rubbed the bridge of his nose as the errant thought passed through his mind.

Carlito’s workspace had the same perfect arrangement as his clothing; Carlito’s virtual desktop had its icons arrangement in geometric patterns sorted by function and name. Carlito sometimes spent hours arranging and rearranging its contents.

But it wasn’t Carlito’s sublimely organized workspace that had kept him at his desk all night; it was the nano-factory schematic which he had been tinkering with for what seemed like an eternity. Carlito had spent much of the day fidgeting, sorting and re-arranging the plans, but little actual work had been accomplished. The Augmented Reality space depicted by his smartglasses showed the same virtual nano-schematic which had been floating there all day.

Fortunately for Carlito, his boss didn’t mind. In fact, Dr Samrartha tolerated a little eccentricity in his lab workers – the practice fostered more freedom in their R&D work.

Ironically, Carlito didn’t need much freedom, for he was, quite literally, one of the smartest individuals on the planet.

It was not that Carlito’s great genius was some historical accident, rather he had had parents whom went the extra mile to have him genetically enhanced during conception. Better living through Eugenics! Carlito’s mother would say.

Coupled with the latest transgenetic alteration processes after he matured to adulthood, a bleeding-edge encephalon implant lodged straight into the brain and the best cultured bioware money could buy, Carlito had a gift for science and mathematics that would have been unimaginable a generation ago.

You were born perfect, Carlito, so quite whining and perform the integration.

Yes mother.

Carlito issued orders via his commlink for his nano-biomonitor to secrete some acetaminophen into his bloodstream. An Augmented Reality Object (ARO) opened up detailing the state of Carlito’s physiology as the drug entered his blood stream.

Of course, gifts of logic and reason were not the same as a true gift of genius. Carlito’s IQ might have rivaled Einstein’s, but Carlito was still stuck in the basement of Evo Corp, taking orders from a lesser scientist -- a lesser man.

Sure, Carlito had co-authorized a half-dozen papers and presented material at various bio\nano\genotech conferences, but Carlito had yet to really make a significant impact on the scientific world.

Carlito worked with scientists from around the world – virtual lab spaces allowed for his colleagues half-way around the world to appear as though they were in the lab next door.

Like Sadie, thought Carlito. Sadie was one lab tech Carlito would not mind working more closely with at all. Sadly, those feelings were not reciprocated about Carlito by many of his co-workers.

But this factor was not the reason Carlito had had trouble with the nano-factory plans all day.

Carlito had dwelled on an email he had received that morning which had taken a hold of his mind and distracted him from his tasks.

Earlier, when Carlito had confronted Dr Samrartha about the email, the good doctor had attempted to deflect his concern.

“Carlito, you know how the other labs have been coveting our workspace lately?”, asked Dr Samrartha. Carlito had nodded his assent.

“Well, they managed to convince the higher-ups that we should re-prioritize our project funding for this quarter.”

“I knew it! Those politicians wouldn’t know real science if it bit them in the … Wait a minute, what are you trying to say?”, exclaimed Carlito.

“I am afraid you have been down-sized.”

“What?!?”

“Look, my boy, all is not lost, I worked out another assignment for you. I have been informed this new project is being fast-tracked by the highest levels of the corporation.”

But Carlito’s concern was not assuaged. The rest of the day Carlito had been distracted; he felt little incentive to complete his nano-schematic when he knew that he was going to be fired any time now.

For the rest of the day, whenever it was precisely 15 minutes past the hour, Carlito would pull up and then close the mysterious email three times in a row. Only after the third time opening the email, would Carlito read the message and attempt to glean some additional insight into his new assignment.

The United Way Golf Tournament?, thought Carlito, I don’t even play golf.

The ice age is coming, the sun is zooming in
Engines stop running and the wheat is growing thin
A nuclear error, but I have no fear
London is drowning-and I live by the river
The Clash, London Calling​

 

[Zen_Pollo]

Chapter 1: The United Way Golf Tournament

London calling, see we ain't got no swing
'Cept for the ring of that truncheon thing
The Clash, London Calling​

Setting: The 2070 Greater Seattle MetroPlex United Way Golf Tournament was held at the Broadmoor Golf Club on the north end of downtown Seattle near Union Bay and Lake Washington. The white-wall ed facade of the three-story building had been well-maintained over the years along with the red tile roof of the clubhouse. This 146 year-old club featured the sort of immaculate greenskeeping that took an army of minions and bespoke the wealth of its members.

As Slone marched up the driveway from the bus stop a mile down Foster Island Road, he knew this gig was going to be trouble.

First, the other golfers that day were all driving to the club – no walking for the corporate salarymen coming to the golf outing.

Drek, thought Slone, this place doesn’t even have a sidewalk.

Second, almost no metahumans were present. The few metahumans were either token elven lackeys … or servants.

Looks like the golf club is keeping up with its fine traditions and values, thought Slone, as he passed an ork lumbering towards the cart area weighted down with golf bags.

But the most important reason Slone felt uncomfortable was the security. It didn’t help matters any that Slone was packing his Ruger Super Warhawk under his windbreaker. As Slone approached the squat redbrick security shack, a uniformed Knight Errant Security Specialist came out of the building to confront him.

“Can I help you?” the human security specialist asked Slone.

“I’m here to golf,” stated Slone.

“Right,” said the SecSpec.

“Here’s my invitation,” continued Slone as he waved the print-out Shelly had given him. Slone wasn’t exactly good with commlinks and for some inexplicable reason he couldn’t get his to function properly that day.

The SecSpec gingerly took the print-out between two fingers and asked, “What am I supposed to do with this?” Paper print-outs were not exactly in vogue.

“Read it.”

“Right,” said the SecSpec.

“Look,” said Slone, “Why don’t you check your guest list? I’m Darien Slone.”

The SecSpec spent a moment muttering under his breath, but Slone knew that the guard was talking on a subvocal mike to the central security office.

"Where's your commlink?" asked the SecSpec.

"Its busted," said Slone.

"It's policy to keep your commlink subscribed to the club house WAN," stated the SecSpec.

"What do you want from me? The commlink's busted," shrugged Slone.

The exasperated SecSpec took out a small optical hand scanner and pointed it at Slone; the scanner captured Slone’s facial patterns and fed the resulting data back to the security office. There, the image was instantly transformed via facial recognition software into a data packet which was cross-referenced against a Social Identification Number(SIN) database located half-way around the world.

Slone knew the SecSpec was waiting to see if there were any warrants – UCAS or Corporate – under his SIN.

Honestly,
Slone also was curious if there were any warrants attached to his SIN.

After a moment, the SecSpec said, “Alright…sir…please step over here for your security screening.”

Must be all clear, thought Slone with no small amount of relief.

The guard motioned for Slone to follow him over to the back of the security building away from the other golfers whom gave Slone the stink-eye as he made the walk of shame with the Security Specialist.

The guard quickly patted Slone down. But Slone knew all the tricks of corporate security and had hidden the Ruger well. When the SecSpec was satisfied, he pointed out the tournament registration desk to the troll. “Have a good tournament, sir.”

“Right.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When Alexander got dressed that morning, he looked in the mirror and thought to himself, Damn you’re a handsome SOB! The dapper elf wore some knickers, a golf cap and even had argyle socks.

After a hearty breakfast, Alexander took a taxi to the Broadmoor and waved to the security guard as he made his way into the club.

Alexander sauntered over to the registration desk, casually greeted the attendant and sent her an ARO (Augmented Reality Object) with his e-vite to the tournament, along with a text message offering drinks for afterwards. Smiling, the attendant accepted one, but not the other.

Prude, thought Alexander.

Alexander made his way to the starting area where all the golf carts were lined up waiting for the participants. The carts were arranged in numerical sequence with each golf-pairing assigned to the same number.

The attendant had given Alexander an ARO which indicated his cart. As Alexander walked down the path, his commlink displayed the ARO in the visual field of his smartlenses as if the ARO where hovering over the appropriate cart, thus eliminating the anxiety of finding one cart amongst dozens of identical buggies.

I love modern technology, thought Alexander.

As Alexander approached his cart, he spied a large troll standing about with a confused look upon his face.

“Caddy, are my clubs on the cart?” asked the elf as he slipped a 5 Nuyen tip to the troll via his commlink.

The troll gave Alexander a stoic look and said, “Sure thing, boss.”

“Good boy,” stated Alexander as he turned away to find his golf partner.

A moment later, Alexander registered surprise because he received an error message indicating the tip hadn’t gone through.

Commlink Not Found? How does the caddy collect his tips? thought Alexander.

Slone moved to the golf bag behind the cart the elf had pointed out, unbuckled the bag from the storage area and placed it on the ground immediately behind the cart.

Let’s see the scrawny leaf-eater attempt to golf without his fracking clubs, thought Slone.

After his minor sabotage, Slone went looking for his cart. Without the aid of his smartgoggles (for some reason Slone could not get them to turn on this morning), the troll could not apprehend Augmented Reality. Sadly, the registration attendant had sent Slone’s golf cart ARO for naught.

Fortunately, Slone was saved from utter humiliation when a human came up to him and shouted, “Darien Slone! Dang glad to meet you! I’m Tommy Toledo!”

The human came up to Slone and shook his hand vigorously, “Have you found your golfing partner?”

”No”

“Well, I’d like to introduce you to Alexander McQueen”

Slone glared at the nonplussed elf.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I thought you were a caddy. I work for Horizon Media,” said the elf as he recovered his composure. The elf extended his hand and gave Slone a genuine smile.

Slone took the elf’s hand in his giant paw and said, “Don’t sweat it.” For a moment, Slone felt some remorse for duping the elf; but not for long.

“So, with those long arms, you must have a killer drive,” said Alexander.

Grinding his teeth, Slone replied, “Yeah, I have ta’ watch out for things since my knuckles constantly drag on the ground.” Slone glared at the elf.

“Now, now, my good man,” interceded Tommy Toledo, “Let’s save it for the course. How about a friendly wager? 100 Nuyen a hole?”

Grunting, Slone shook his head; he knew better than to throw good money after bad. Slone really stunk at golf – at least in the simulators he had played before – Slone had never been to a real golf course.

Not discouraged the elf said, “You’re on!”

At that moment, a cartgirl drove by in drink-cart offering the golfers beer and hard liquor (along with other, less diuretic, beverages).

“Alright, now we’re talking!” exclaimed Tommy, “Give me a cocktail – make it a double and spare the ice!”

As Tommy knocked back his drink and ordered another, Carlito wandered over to the golf cart area near Alexander and Slone.

Alexander extended his hand to the Filipino, “Hello, sir, I’m Alexander McQueen, Horizon Media Corporation.”

Carlito simply stared at the elf and kept his hand at his side.

Slone grunted and thought to himself, Smart Man.

“Hey, you’re Carlito Lontoh, right? You must be with Evo Corp!” shouted Tommy as he walked back from the cart with his breath reeking of a multiple-double whiskey and sodas.

Carlito glared intently at Tommy, but still said nothing.

Slone snickered to himself, Oh Joy, this is going to be a fun-fun day.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

And a fun-fun day it was.

As Tommy Toledo became more intoxicated through-out the first nine holes, his game progressively grew worse.

At first, Tommy merely hit his balls into the rough. Fortunately for Tommy, modern golf balls contained imbedded RFID tags which were subscribed to the golfers Personal Area Network (PAN). Therefore, the balls displayed AROs hovering over the ball in Tommy’s smartlenses and he could find the balls in the rough easily enough.

A few drinks later, Tommy’s balls started landing in the water traps. No RFID tags would help in that situation, so the commlink automatically blocked the frustrating popups. Of course, a submersible drone paddled away underneath the water to collect the errant balls and hoard them in a wire basket to be retrieved by the greenskeeper at the end of the day.

Finally, Tommy was swinging his clubs into the ground after every stroke. “Frackin ‘eadwind. Did you see ta’wind take tha’ shot? Bulldrek!” Tommy’s behavior grew so erratic that the Pilot program on the golf cart eventually took over driving and refused to let the human steer around the course. Nevertheless, the AI’s coup d’etat of the cart controls was so subtle that Tommy hardly noticed as the golf silently whisked him from hole to hole.

Yet it was Alexander whom was truly suckling at the hind-teat of the golf god’s pig. First, Alexander’s titanium shafted club set went missing and he had to share a set with Slone. With the foreign club set, no matter how hard Alexander tried, his balls sliced to the left. Once, Alexander even struck his ball towards another golfer heading in the opposite direction on an adjacent fairway. (“FORE BITCHES!” yelled Tommy.) After that stroke, an ARO in the shape of a holo-caddy popped up sternly warning Alexander to play on his own fairway and the respect the rules of golfing etiquette.

Slone had some natural talent, augmented by muscle toner bioware, but he ended up losing all the complimentary balls the course had provided. Luckily, Slone was adroit at spotting balls left in hidden foliage by errant golfers of days gone by. Even with RFID technology, some golfers were too lazy to hack in the rough after loose balls. So by the end of the first nine holes, Slone was only down 2 balls net. Lacking his smartgoggles and commlink, Slone blithely played through the day without the inconvenience of listening to Augmented Golfing Tips.

However, Carlito did better than he expected.

Study hard and always be prepared, Carlito’s mother would say. Yes, Mother.

Therefore, Carlito had a few tricks up his sleeve – he had spent some time perfecting a nano-factory schematic to build a set of golf clubs balanced to the near-atomic level made by hard nanites in his lab. The beauty of nano-manufacturing was that entire complex machines could be manufactured in place as single integrated unit by the nanites – no bolts, screws or welds required. A machine composed of multiple pieces, no matter how well crafted, could not compete with the performance of a device built by nanites as a single unit – it was a simple fact of material science.

Unfortunately, Carlito did not realize the fundamental conundrum of golfing technology – the more refined and accurate your clubs, the more the clubs magnified your errors.

This truth was not lost on Tommy whom roundly criticized Carlito when balls flew off with strange trajectories. By the end of nine holes, Tommy had already thrown three clubs – once at the group waiting in line behind them. “Who do you think you are? I work for the UCC, that’s right, the United Corporate Council, Go ahead call security, you frackin’ punks!” slurred Tommy.

Although Tommy grew increasingly drunk and belligerent, he nonetheless worked the group containing Alexander, Slone and Carlito. Before the first hole had been played, Tommy had sent and received v-cards to both Alexander and Carlito – Tommy seemed to already have data on Slone.

There were another four golfers in the cart immediately ahead of them and Tommy would tear off periodically to chat with them too.

In fact, by end of the first nine holes, Tommy had spoken with every person in both teams. Often, Tommy would switch carts in between holes, ride with one individual or another and have quick conversations with each member of the golf-pairing

Tommy would say things like, “Hey, I heard you got laid off from your corp, you lookin’ for work?”

And,
“I make 15K plus benefits PER MONTH – that’s right you frackin’ wage-slave, I’m my own man!”

And,
“Cartgirl, more liquor! Don’t you know how much I have in my expense account?”

And,
“Of course I have insurance – I’m a Doc Wagon Gold Card member – why do you think I drink so much – I’ve got another liver growing in a vat!”

And,
“No, I don’t take orders from no damn middle-manager – I work directly for the UCC.”

And,
“What kind of work? The kind of work where I don’t asking any frackin’ questions, got it?”

And,
“Look if you can handle some moral…eh…whatever…Look, I might have a spot open for you as a contractor. An independent contractor.”

And,
“The Law? Who gives a drek about UCAS law – only corporate law matters!”

Finally, Carlito had had enough. When they stopped to rest after the first nine holes, Carlito pulled Alexander and Slone aside.

“This is not right, I think we are being setup,” stated Carlito.

“What do you mean?” asked Alexander.

“Have you heard this Toledo fellow, is he for real?” replied Carlito.

Slone stated flatly, “My boss told me they would be offering me a job, but this guy’s a train-wreck waiting to happen.”

Alexander mentioned, “Oddly enough, I agree with you on that count. Yet, Tommy has not come outright and offered me a job; he’s being amazingly evasive for someone whom is supposed to be so drunk.”

And being as vague as possible to allow for a defense of plausible deniability, thought Alexander.

“We are soooo…being set up for something and I don’t trust those other guys, they wont even introduce themselves to us!” replied Carlito.

“Just keep your eyes open,” replied Slone.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Unfortunately, by the time the round had completed eighteen holes, Alexander, Slone and Carlito were more confused than ever.

Alexander ended up losing 500 Nuyen after the 18-hole round of golf. Tommy tucked the money away in the “special’ account on his commlink.

Smiling, Tommy left them with a final enigmatic comment, “I’m taking the Downtown to Renton ferry tomorrow night at 9 pm if you’re interested in tearing up the town on the other side of Lake Washington! I gotta spend some of this hard-earned money!”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” queried Alexander to his golfing companions as Tommy staggered back to the parking area.

Nothing but Trouble, thought Slone.

The ice age is coming, the sun is zooming in
Engines stop running and the wheat is growing thin
A nuclear error, but I have no fear
London is drowning-and I live by the river
The Clash, London Calling​

 

[Broccli_Head]

I'm a playah!

I play Carllito in this Story. First session was very fun! Still more to come from this session!

 

[Zen_Pollo]

Chapter 1: Getting Fired

The ice age is coming, the sun is zooming in
The Clash, London Calling
​

Sometimes getting fired from a job appears to happen without warning; but actually most firings are carefully orchestrated events taking considerable time and energy from many levels of management.

To begin with all the power brokers must sign off on the firing:

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

From: FGomez@horizonmedia.com
To: JPatrickB@horizonmedia.com
Re: Alexander McQueen
Joe,
I just received word the deal is done. Security will show-up first thing in the morning. Don’t screw this up or the executives will have at you…

~~~~~~~~~~

From: Joanna Friedmont (friedmontj@aresmacrotech.com)
To: Eric Jordon (jordine2@aresmacrotech.com)
Re: Disciplinary Action Case #12443
Eric,
The board has reviewed the case and Slone is out. I know you like the guy, but facts are facts. I have another assignment that may be more properly aligned with his particular skillset. Besides, there will be a nice signing bonus for him and a finder’s fee for you for the referral…

~~~~~~~~~~

From: Monsour K. Monsour (monsourkm@evocorp.net)
To: Ranasinghe Samrartha (ranasinghes@evocorp.net)
Re: Project Funding
Dr. Samrartha,
Kindly please do not delay in the letting go of one Carlito Lontoh. As we have agreed previously after much debate, kindly proceed with the termination of Mr Lontoh so we can clear out his workspace. Please ensure all corporate property is accounted for and that no sensitive materials are compromised…

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

On the day the firing occurs, at least three things happen:

First,
Security shows up at the workspace of the person as the news of the firing is being broken to the poor SOB – just in case things get ugly.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Did they really need a security guard? thought McQueen as he gazed at the Security Specialist over the shoulder of the smirking Feliz Gomez.

~~~~~~~~~~

Good thing they brought some back-up, or I would find that scrawny human and rip him a new…

~~~~~~~~~~

“Oww, stop hurting me!” exclaimed Lontoh as the security woman dragged him by the arm out of the lab.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Second,
The departing worker is informed of their severance package (if any) and bid farewell:

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

fifteen grand and a Docwagon Gold membership, thought McQueen as he reviewed the severance package display on his commlink, That won't even last six weeks, what a brunch of cheap-skates!

~~~~~~~~~~

“Fifteen Grand! Not bad -- and a docwagon gold card! Woot!”

~~~~~~~~~~

Peculiar; fifteen thousand Nuyen is the exact amount mentioned by Tommy Toledo during the golfing round – as well as his insurance coverage plan, thought Carlito.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Finally,

The worker must pack his or her belongings in a cardboard box and make the walk of shame in front of their co-workers as they are escorted out of the building.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As McQueen made his way out of the office, he passed under the silent gazes of his colleagues and (former) co-workers. First, there was Jimmy Get-My-Coffee looking like a dog that had had an accident on the carpet and knew the rolled newspaper was coming down soon. Then came Joe Bob Patrick, the show’s hard working producer – he had taught Alexander a great deal about uncovering a lead yet he did not look surprised at this event. How long has he known? thought Alexander,I should have read his mind earlier – after I got that frackin’ email!

But it was the disapproving look from Lollipop that bothered McQueen the most. From the dim ochre waves of flame emanating from Lolli’s nano-hair, Alexander could tell she felt a simmering anger. Alexander and Lolli had never hooked-up but they both had played games with one another. Is this the end-game or merely a new level? I wonder what they told her?

~~~~~~~~~~

The three armed and armored security specialists had been waiting inside Mr. Jordan’s office when Slone had first entered for the meeting. After Mr. Jordan had informed Slone of the termination, he walked up to Slone and extended his hand in parting.

Slone took the human’s hand and noticed a small object in Jordon’s palm. With what Slone felt was admirable subtly, the troll slipped the packet into his pocket as he turned to walk out of the door.

As Slone exited the office, the piezo-fibers in the carpet displayed warning signs surrounding the troll so that other corporate employees would know he was persona non-grata. Walking to the elevator, Slone waved good-bye to Shelly and noticed that she had been crying. “Cya, babe,” said Slone as the elevator doors closed upon that chapter in his life.

~~~~~~~~~~

Carlito bawled like a child that was lost at the mega-mall. Carlito had never known life outside the womb-like protection of corporate patronage. As he sat on a bench outside the Evo Corp Arcology at a loss for what was coming next, a video link request flashed on his commlink.

Carlito opened the ARO(Augmented Reality Object) and saw the furtive features of Sadie Berkman looking about for security in her laboratory. “Carlito, we don’t have much time,” rushed Sadie, “This is total bull-dreck what happened to you. You’re the smartest lab tech in the entire division.”

“I know.”

“Well, I’m going to get to the bottom of this mess. By the way, Dr S. gave me these to give to you,” said Sadie as she sent a data packet across the link.

Carlito noticed the video-link ARO popped an icon indicating a file transfer request to his commlink. Carlito accepted the file transfer and watched as the data streamed onto his machine. Big file, thought Carlito.

“Well take care of yourself and keep in touch!” waved Sadie as she disconnected the vid-link.

As the link was severed, Carlito belatedly sighed, “Thanks and you too.”

The ice age is coming, the sun is zooming in
Engines stop running and the wheat is growing thin
A nuclear error, but I have no fear
London is drowning-and I live by the river
The Clash, London Calling​

 

[Zen_Pollo]

Chapter 1: Gm Notes

The following adventure was adapted from the free module, entitled "Cold Blood", by Khadim Nasser

http://pavao.org/shadowrun/adventures/ColdBlood.pdf

Game Notes:
1) I adjusted the rules on disposable nano-tech slighly to encourage their use in game -- the prices in the Augmentation book are too high for average players to utilize very often. Therefore, I ruled that Carlito's nano-hive actually secretes certain disposable nano-tech applications, such as destroyers and cuttters, which Carlito can use once per day. The cost for the devices in the book thus represent the cost of the nano-schemtic for the hive to manufacture the single-use applications.
2) I made loose with certain rules regarding barrriers and hardened armor -- sue me!