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Mailing List Logs for ShadowRN

Message no. 1
From: Strago strago@***.com
Subject: [1/1] Bar Fight
Date: Wed, 05 May 1999 23:02:01 -0400
Here's my first story posting. More will be coming. Any comments would be
appreciated, either privately or publicly.

Activists. I hate activists. I hate all of em, whatever the cause they're
parading around. They could be people who want to kill everyone, they
could be shiny-happy-joy-joy people who want everyone to love everyone. It
doesn't matter. They can all just frag off for all I care, especially when
they're confronting me about something I can't control. Like this fragger.

There I was, sitting in the Red Dragon, calmly drinking my beer, when
some drekhead decided that, since I'm dressed in all black and wearing an
armored long coat, I run the shadows for a living. And he thought since I
run the shadows, I hung out with metahumans. I do, but he's got no right
to put his nose in my business. That's all it is to me, a business. Its
just the way I get paid.
So this piece of human garbage decides to put his face in my face. I
kindly ask him to remove it before he gets a knuckle sandwich. Corny, I
know, but that's the only way to do it sometimes, and this seemed like one
of those times.
He tells me to make him. So I hit him. Not hard, definitely not hard
enough to do anything besides break his nose. He goes down in a heap,
clutching his face. Blood's spurting from between his fingers. He's
screaming and hollering, whining like a baby. Me, I get hit like that, I
just stand up and deck the fragger that hit me. I don't carry on like that
unless someone puts a bullet in my chest. But that's me, and I guess I'm
just a real man.
I sit back down on my bar stool, pick up my beer, and start drinking
again. Then I feel a hand on my left shoulder. And then another on my
right. I look up, and there's two guys standing there looking pissed. They
had the symbol for the Humanis Policlub tattooed on their right cheeks.
Great, I think, more activists. Are they gonna make me deck them too?
So I ask if they've got a problem. One pulls out a gun. Not a big one,
not one like the Predator I've got behind my back. But it's still a gun.
Pointed right at my head.
I kick on my wired reflexes, and slump off the stool. Suddenly, the two
fraggers ain't moving so fast. I kick one of 'em in the head. It snaps
back, there's a crunch, and he goes down in a heap. Great, I just killed
one of 'em. Now the Star'll be after me. Lousy cops. Where are they when I
need them, like when Renraku Samurai are about to kick my head off?
I kick the other in the stomach, just to be safe. I turn off my
reflexes, flip the bartender a few dollars to pay for my drink, and head
towards the door. But blocking my way are four guys with the same damn
Humanis tattoo on their right cheeks. What is this, a convention or
something? I know my boss is supposed to be here in a few minutes, but
right now, I've gotta get outta
here. One of 'em's on the phone. Probably calling for more activists to
come help 'em beat up on some meta-lover. I stop walking, and kick my
reflexes up to full gear. I calmly reach into my long coat and pull out
the autonav caller on my bike. I turn it on, put it back, and grab my
Predator.
Now this baby's sweet. Smartlinked, customized to my hand, painted
black and dulled so light goes in and doesn't come out. I just had it
worked on this morning. It shoots better than it has since I bought it.
I take it out of it's holster, point it at the one on the phone, and tell
'em I'm leaving whether they like it or not. If I gotta kill them to get
out, fine. If they just want to let me go, fine. Either way, it's up to
them. One of 'em reaches into his jacket and pulls out a gun. One of them
new guns, a Guardian, I think it's called. It's supposed to be the next
best thing. A bullet between his eyes puts him down before he can use his
toy.
Another decides he's gonna get cute. He jumps at me. I give him a
present too. He clutches his chest, gurgles blood, chokes, and stops
moving. The other two just stand there. I guess they learned not to make
any moves. Mr. Phone puts it back in his pocket, smiling.
-I think you should reconsider your options- he says. Just then I hear
the roar of my bike's engine. I tell him to frag off, and run between the
two of 'em. The door's closed. I turn around, kick Mr. Phone down, and
then hit his buddy. I pick up the Guardian, open the door, and then get on
my bike. Just then the back wall busts in, and a swarm of about twenty
Humanis Policlubbers run in.
I gun the bike, start to pull away, and send three grenades out of the
grenade launcher mounted on my bike into the Red Dragon. As I pull away, I
think, well, I needed a new place to drink anyway. The Red Dragon was
getting boring.

--
--Strago

SRGC v0.2 !SR1 SR2++ !SR3 h b++ B- UB- IE+ RN++ sa++ ma++ ad+ m+ (o++ d+)
gm+ M-
Message no. 2
From: Strago strago@***.com
Subject: [1/1] Bar Fight
Date: Wed, 05 May 1999 23:02:01 -0400
Here's my first story posting. More will be coming. Any comments would be
appreciated, either privately or publicly.

Activists. I hate activists. I hate all of em, whatever the cause they're
parading around. They could be people who want to kill everyone, they
could be shiny-happy-joy-joy people who want everyone to love everyone. It
doesn't matter. They can all just frag off for all I care, especially when
they're confronting me about something I can't control. Like this fragger.

There I was, sitting in the Red Dragon, calmly drinking my beer, when
some drekhead decided that, since I'm dressed in all black and wearing an
armored long coat, I run the shadows for a living. And he thought since I
run the shadows, I hung out with metahumans. I do, but he's got no right
to put his nose in my business. That's all it is to me, a business. Its
just the way I get paid.
So this piece of human garbage decides to put his face in my face. I
kindly ask him to remove it before he gets a knuckle sandwich. Corny, I
know, but that's the only way to do it sometimes, and this seemed like one
of those times.
He tells me to make him. So I hit him. Not hard, definitely not hard
enough to do anything besides break his nose. He goes down in a heap,
clutching his face. Blood's spurting from between his fingers. He's
screaming and hollering, whining like a baby. Me, I get hit like that, I
just stand up and deck the fragger that hit me. I don't carry on like that
unless someone puts a bullet in my chest. But that's me, and I guess I'm
just a real man.
I sit back down on my bar stool, pick up my beer, and start drinking
again. Then I feel a hand on my left shoulder. And then another on my
right. I look up, and there's two guys standing there looking pissed. They
had the symbol for the Humanis Policlub tattooed on their right cheeks.
Great, I think, more activists. Are they gonna make me deck them too?
So I ask if they've got a problem. One pulls out a gun. Not a big one,
not one like the Predator I've got behind my back. But it's still a gun.
Pointed right at my head.
I kick on my wired reflexes, and slump off the stool. Suddenly, the two
fraggers ain't moving so fast. I kick one of 'em in the head. It snaps
back, there's a crunch, and he goes down in a heap. Great, I just killed
one of 'em. Now the Star'll be after me. Lousy cops. Where are they when I
need them, like when Renraku Samurai are about to kick my head off?
I kick the other in the stomach, just to be safe. I turn off my
reflexes, flip the bartender a few dollars to pay for my drink, and head
towards the door. But blocking my way are four guys with the same damn
Humanis tattoo on their right cheeks. What is this, a convention or
something? I know my boss is supposed to be here in a few minutes, but
right now, I've gotta get outta
here. One of 'em's on the phone. Probably calling for more activists to
come help 'em beat up on some meta-lover. I stop walking, and kick my
reflexes up to full gear. I calmly reach into my long coat and pull out
the autonav caller on my bike. I turn it on, put it back, and grab my
Predator.
Now this baby's sweet. Smartlinked, customized to my hand, painted
black and dulled so light goes in and doesn't come out. I just had it
worked on this morning. It shoots better than it has since I bought it.
I take it out of it's holster, point it at the one on the phone, and tell
'em I'm leaving whether they like it or not. If I gotta kill them to get
out, fine. If they just want to let me go, fine. Either way, it's up to
them. One of 'em reaches into his jacket and pulls out a gun. One of them
new guns, a Guardian, I think it's called. It's supposed to be the next
best thing. A bullet between his eyes puts him down before he can use his
toy.
Another decides he's gonna get cute. He jumps at me. I give him a
present too. He clutches his chest, gurgles blood, chokes, and stops
moving. The other two just stand there. I guess they learned not to make
any moves. Mr. Phone puts it back in his pocket, smiling.
-I think you should reconsider your options- he says. Just then I hear
the roar of my bike's engine. I tell him to frag off, and run between the
two of 'em. The door's closed. I turn around, kick Mr. Phone down, and
then hit his buddy. I pick up the Guardian, open the door, and then get on
my bike. Just then the back wall busts in, and a swarm of about twenty
Humanis Policlubbers run in.
I gun the bike, start to pull away, and send three grenades out of the
grenade launcher mounted on my bike into the Red Dragon. As I pull away, I
think, well, I needed a new place to drink anyway. The Red Dragon was
getting boring.

--
--Strago

SRGC v0.2 !SR1 SR2++ !SR3 h b++ B- UB- IE+ RN++ sa++ ma++ ad+ m+ (o++ d+)
gm+ M-

Disclaimer

These messages were posted a long time ago on a mailing list far, far away. The copyright to their contents probably lies with the original authors of the individual messages, but since they were published in an electronic forum that anyone could subscribe to, and the logs were available to subscribers and most likely non-subscribers as well, it's felt that re-publishing them here is a kind of public service.