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Mailing List Logs for ShadowRN

Message no. 1
From: CulIenTrey@***.com CulIenTrey@***.com
Subject: The New Guy
Date: Sat, 5 Feb 2000 16:38:09 EST
Well, I'm new on the list, and none of you probably know me. I go by the
handle Azazael. I'm big on Shadowrun, big on fiction, and big on writing.
Which, of course, led to my subscription to this list. I hope I'll meet all
your standards. I'm glad to be aboard.

Speaking of which, I offer my first submission. Maybe it'll make all you
'runners out there think twice before you destroy all those interesting NPCs
that the benevolent, interesting, cool, sacrificing, kind, generous GMs
create. Any and all feedback is warmly welcome. Hope you enjoy.

-----------

An Average Shadowrun

"Mommy."

Janet Evans groaned.

"Mommy, it's seven, mommy. You gotsta wake up'r you'll be late again."

Janet's tired eyelashes pushed reluctantly through caked mascara,
half-opening her groggy eyes. The fuzzy image of a small boy floated above
her, and then she was aware of a weight on her stomach. A bouncing weight on
her stomach.

"Mommy, c'mon!"

Sitting up with a Herculean effort, Janet tried to speak. All that she could
rouse was a dry croak. At the second attempt, she managed to speak. "Joey,
hon, I'm up. Go get ready for school."

The little boy jumped up and smiled. "'Kay, mommy!" He scampered off to his
room.

What followed was a half hour of flurried action. Showers were taken, makeup
applied, clothes thrown hastily on, and the various papers needed for the day
assembled. Breakfast was a memory from long, long ago. After everything had
been done, the pair was ready to leave.

"Now, make sure you make your bus, honey," Janet said as she leaned over to
Joey. She kissed his forehead, putting on her left high-heel shoe and
precariously balancing her breifcase with her other hand as only a mother can
do. She mussed his hair and moved quickly to the door.

"Mommy!" Joey called after her.

"Yes?" she asked, turning around.

"I love you." He smiled his child's smile.

She smiled warmly back to him. "Love you too, hon. Now have a good day."

She made the tube with three minutes to spare.

****

"Janet, looks like you're going to have to stay early," said her boss as he
walked in a placed a pile of folders on her desk about the size of Mount
Kilimanjaro. She was very careful to smile politely. "Of course, Mr. Keane."

He busied himself with other things about the office as he spoke to her. It
was late at night, and they were the last two left on the floor. "And make
sure you get it done correctly. Don't sully the name of Cross Applied
Technologies with your typically sloppy work. They pay you, after all." He
gave her a positively shit-eating grin.

She, once again, smiled politely. "Of course… sir. Should I lock up on the
way out."

He laughed. "What kind of a question is that? Of course you should lock up.
The last thing we need is some two-bit thug stealing all our advanced
research and whatnot. Well, anyway, I'm leaving. Have a good night," he
called over his shoulder as he walked to the door. He put on his hat and
left quickly.

"You too, bastard," she called to his back after the door was closed.
Sighing, she turned to her terminal and began her work.

It was some hours later when she rubbed her eyes and thought of Joey. "He's
probably put himself to bed by now. Such a good-" she stretched catlike,
yawning, "-kid." She felt bad about leaving him home alone for so long, but
at least now she was almost done. Just a few more lines of code to finish up
and she could get back to her little boy.

Then her terminal's screen flickered. She furrowed her brow at it, pressing
a few keys in experimentation. The machine was unresponsive. She growled
irritably. "What is this piece of crap…"

The lights flickered, on-off, on, off. It was a very specific pattern, and
it only happened once. She stared at the neon fixtures, her face a mixed
mask of confusion, anger and awe. She heard a guard yell outside the office.
Looking to the glass front doors, she jumped as a quick, percussive gunshot
rang through the office. Droplets of blood splattered onto the edge of the
door, and a CAT security guard's hat rolled past the door, bloodied and
leaving a trail of the red fluid.

Janet tried to back away in her chair. Her face was twisted in horror and
disbelief, and her breath caught in her throat. Every muscle in her body
refused to obey her mental commands. It was bent on one thing only: moving
backwards as quickly as possible. Her chair tipped over, and she rolled
backwards, her breath finally escaping in a ragged gasp.

It was then that she regained some measure of control. She scampered,
terrified, under her desk, whimpering softly. She forced herself to quiet,
though her heart pounded in her ears like a nuclear explosion.

She heard the front door squeak open. Quick, quiet footsteps shuffled toward
her, and it took an amazing act of will to keep from screaming. Suddenly,
they stopped. Janet wrapped her arms around herself, squeezing her eyes shut
and praying to any god that would listen.

All at once, a gloved hand grabbed her neck and violently jerked her out from
under the desk. Despite her efforts, she let go a piercing scream. It was
quickly cut off by the gun barrel shoved in her mouth. Her eyes shot open
and stared into the pupils of the man wielding the weapon.

He wore all black, and seemed like an unremarkable person. A neighbor,
maybe. Joe Six Pack. But he held a gun, and that made all the difference.
As if reading her thoughts, he cocked the hammer. "You know what this can
do, so shut up." She nodded fervently and gagged when he shoved the gun
further down her throat for emphasis.

Removing it, he placed the barrel to her forehead. Her soft, terrified
whimpering returned. He gave a small, satisfied smile. "Pussy wage slaves.
All right, listen up. You're gonna tell me the access codes to Mr. Keane's
computer or get a bullet in your head, capiche?"

"I… I don't know," she answered thruthfully, forcing the words through her
throat.

"Don't know, eh?" he said offhand. "Ah well." His grip on the pistol

tightened.

"But Joey, my Joey--!"

Janet Evans' love for her son splattered wetly on the new, clean carpet.
Message no. 2
From: CEvans9159@***.com CEvans9159@***.com
Subject: The New Guy
Date: Sat, 5 Feb 2000 16:46:52 EST
Nice story...good twist at the end. :)

Tay-Dor
Message no. 3
From: Strago strago@***.com
Subject: The New Guy
Date: Sun, 06 Feb 2000 03:38:38 -0500
CulIenTrey@***.com wrote:

> Well, I'm new on the list, and none of you probably know me. I go by the
> handle Azazael. I'm big on Shadowrun, big on fiction, and big on writing.
> Which, of course, led to my subscription to this list. I hope I'll meet all
> your standards. I'm glad to be aboard.
> <SNIP STORY>

MY GOD!!!!! The only thing I'd say besides that is to erase the last line. Ending
it with "But Joey, my Joey--!" would be much more powerful, IMO, than giving a
small description of the fate we all know is coming. But other than that, very
good. Very much something to think about. I likey.

--
--Strago

In Italy for thirty years under the Borgias they had warfare, terror, murder,
bloodshed - they produced Michelangelo, Leonardo da Vinci and the Renaissance. In
Switzerland they had brotherly
love, five hundred years of democracy and peace, and what did they produce? The
cuckoo clock!
-Orson Welles

SRGC v0.2 !SR1 SR2+ SR3++ h b++ B- UB- IE+ RN+ SRFF W+ sa++ ma++ ad+ m+ (o++ d+)
gm+ M P
Message no. 4
From: CulIenTrey@***.com CulIenTrey@***.com
Subject: The New Guy
Date: Sat, 5 Feb 2000 16:38:09 EST
Well, I'm new on the list, and none of you probably know me. I go by the
handle Azazael. I'm big on Shadowrun, big on fiction, and big on writing.
Which, of course, led to my subscription to this list. I hope I'll meet all
your standards. I'm glad to be aboard.

Speaking of which, I offer my first submission. Maybe it'll make all you
'runners out there think twice before you destroy all those interesting NPCs
that the benevolent, interesting, cool, sacrificing, kind, generous GMs
create. Any and all feedback is warmly welcome. Hope you enjoy.

-----------

An Average Shadowrun

"Mommy."

Janet Evans groaned.

"Mommy, it's seven, mommy. You gotsta wake up'r you'll be late again."

Janet's tired eyelashes pushed reluctantly through caked mascara,
half-opening her groggy eyes. The fuzzy image of a small boy floated above
her, and then she was aware of a weight on her stomach. A bouncing weight on
her stomach.

"Mommy, c'mon!"

Sitting up with a Herculean effort, Janet tried to speak. All that she could
rouse was a dry croak. At the second attempt, she managed to speak. "Joey,
hon, I'm up. Go get ready for school."

The little boy jumped up and smiled. "'Kay, mommy!" He scampered off to his
room.

What followed was a half hour of flurried action. Showers were taken, makeup
applied, clothes thrown hastily on, and the various papers needed for the day
assembled. Breakfast was a memory from long, long ago. After everything had
been done, the pair was ready to leave.

"Now, make sure you make your bus, honey," Janet said as she leaned over to
Joey. She kissed his forehead, putting on her left high-heel shoe and
precariously balancing her breifcase with her other hand as only a mother can
do. She mussed his hair and moved quickly to the door.

"Mommy!" Joey called after her.

"Yes?" she asked, turning around.

"I love you." He smiled his child's smile.

She smiled warmly back to him. "Love you too, hon. Now have a good day."

She made the tube with three minutes to spare.

****

"Janet, looks like you're going to have to stay early," said her boss as he
walked in a placed a pile of folders on her desk about the size of Mount
Kilimanjaro. She was very careful to smile politely. "Of course, Mr. Keane."

He busied himself with other things about the office as he spoke to her. It
was late at night, and they were the last two left on the floor. "And make
sure you get it done correctly. Don't sully the name of Cross Applied
Technologies with your typically sloppy work. They pay you, after all." He
gave her a positively shit-eating grin.

She, once again, smiled politely. "Of course… sir. Should I lock up on the
way out."

He laughed. "What kind of a question is that? Of course you should lock up.
The last thing we need is some two-bit thug stealing all our advanced
research and whatnot. Well, anyway, I'm leaving. Have a good night," he
called over his shoulder as he walked to the door. He put on his hat and
left quickly.

"You too, bastard," she called to his back after the door was closed.
Sighing, she turned to her terminal and began her work.

It was some hours later when she rubbed her eyes and thought of Joey. "He's
probably put himself to bed by now. Such a good-" she stretched catlike,
yawning, "-kid." She felt bad about leaving him home alone for so long, but
at least now she was almost done. Just a few more lines of code to finish up
and she could get back to her little boy.

Then her terminal's screen flickered. She furrowed her brow at it, pressing
a few keys in experimentation. The machine was unresponsive. She growled
irritably. "What is this piece of crap…"

The lights flickered, on-off, on, off. It was a very specific pattern, and
it only happened once. She stared at the neon fixtures, her face a mixed
mask of confusion, anger and awe. She heard a guard yell outside the office.
Looking to the glass front doors, she jumped as a quick, percussive gunshot
rang through the office. Droplets of blood splattered onto the edge of the
door, and a CAT security guard's hat rolled past the door, bloodied and
leaving a trail of the red fluid.

Janet tried to back away in her chair. Her face was twisted in horror and
disbelief, and her breath caught in her throat. Every muscle in her body
refused to obey her mental commands. It was bent on one thing only: moving
backwards as quickly as possible. Her chair tipped over, and she rolled
backwards, her breath finally escaping in a ragged gasp.

It was then that she regained some measure of control. She scampered,
terrified, under her desk, whimpering softly. She forced herself to quiet,
though her heart pounded in her ears like a nuclear explosion.

She heard the front door squeak open. Quick, quiet footsteps shuffled toward
her, and it took an amazing act of will to keep from screaming. Suddenly,
they stopped. Janet wrapped her arms around herself, squeezing her eyes shut
and praying to any god that would listen.

All at once, a gloved hand grabbed her neck and violently jerked her out from
under the desk. Despite her efforts, she let go a piercing scream. It was
quickly cut off by the gun barrel shoved in her mouth. Her eyes shot open
and stared into the pupils of the man wielding the weapon.

He wore all black, and seemed like an unremarkable person. A neighbor,
maybe. Joe Six Pack. But he held a gun, and that made all the difference.
As if reading her thoughts, he cocked the hammer. "You know what this can
do, so shut up." She nodded fervently and gagged when he shoved the gun
further down her throat for emphasis.

Removing it, he placed the barrel to her forehead. Her soft, terrified
whimpering returned. He gave a small, satisfied smile. "Pussy wage slaves.
All right, listen up. You're gonna tell me the access codes to Mr. Keane's
computer or get a bullet in your head, capiche?"

"I… I don't know," she answered thruthfully, forcing the words through her
throat.

"Don't know, eh?" he said offhand. "Ah well." His grip on the pistol

tightened.

"But Joey, my Joey--!"

Janet Evans' love for her son splattered wetly on the new, clean carpet.
Message no. 5
From: CEvans9159@***.com CEvans9159@***.com
Subject: The New Guy
Date: Sat, 5 Feb 2000 16:46:52 EST
Nice story...good twist at the end. :)

Tay-Dor
Message no. 6
From: Strago strago@***.com
Subject: The New Guy
Date: Sun, 06 Feb 2000 03:38:38 -0500
CulIenTrey@***.com wrote:

> Well, I'm new on the list, and none of you probably know me. I go by the
> handle Azazael. I'm big on Shadowrun, big on fiction, and big on writing.
> Which, of course, led to my subscription to this list. I hope I'll meet all
> your standards. I'm glad to be aboard.
> <SNIP STORY>

MY GOD!!!!! The only thing I'd say besides that is to erase the last line. Ending
it with "But Joey, my Joey--!" would be much more powerful, IMO, than giving a
small description of the fate we all know is coming. But other than that, very
good. Very much something to think about. I likey.

--
--Strago

In Italy for thirty years under the Borgias they had warfare, terror, murder,
bloodshed - they produced Michelangelo, Leonardo da Vinci and the Renaissance. In
Switzerland they had brotherly
love, five hundred years of democracy and peace, and what did they produce? The
cuckoo clock!
-Orson Welles

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

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.