|Subject:||<GASP!> A Story! <Challenge>|
|Date:||Sat, 26 Jun 1999 07:39:15 -0500|
their most recent run, a datasnatch comissioned by a relatively
new Johnson in town.
As the night goes on, they spend increasing amounts of money on
drinks, boasting around the bar that they just scored big. Most of
the patrons ignore them, or toss disdainful looks thier way, which
in their drunken states, the runners miss.
The leader, a gaunt human with a day-glo orange mohawk, slams
back an oddly named drink called a PPC. As his tongue goes
numb, he blurts out of how easy a run it was, the chip being
exactly where the Johnson had said it would be. The other runner,
an elf with neon green hair, snickers and nods, showing off some of
the other stuff he 'liberated' from the corporate lab. The final runner,
a young female human, with obvious cyber, fingering a satchel that
looks about the right size to be carrying a cyberdeck, frowns when
the elf shows off his new toys.
"He told us not to take anything else," she says, her voice steadier
and quieter then the other two's.
"Fragging slitch..." the elf mutters, his voice slurred. "What he
doesn't know won't hurt him."
She frowns but doesn't say anything, and continues to nurse her
drink, only her second or third one of the night.
Finally, in disgust, and after fending off a drunken advance from the
elf, she gets up and stalks out of the bar. An engine roars and the
sound of tires is heard, the decker peeling out of the parking lot on
More time passes, and by now the free flowing money and booze
has left the runners in a drunken stupor as they stagger out of the
bar. The human laughs as he stumbles over the curb, nearly
dragging them both to the ground. "Hey....cool light man..." he
"Huh?" the elf gets out before the 9mm bullet cores through his
brain, eerily accurate due to the laser sight. The human has just
enough time for his brain to register the fine mist spray of blood,
bone and brains exiting from a rather large hole in the back of the
elf's head, before his own brains decorate the sidewalk.
A black clad man, a HK227S in his hand, steps forward to stand
next to the man in the business suit. "The girl wasn't here sir,
should we keep looking?"
The Johnson brushes an imaginary speck of lint from his jacket,
kneels down, and rifles through the bodies, finally claiming
something from the elf. "No need. We have now what we were
Okay...not the greatest story, written on the spur of the moment,
mostly because I drank WAY too much coffee in the wee hours of
the morning, and now can't sleep. As usual, opinions/comments