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Mailing List Logs for ShadowRN

Message no. 1
From: shadowtk@********.demon.co.uk (Paul J. Adam)
Subject: Bar Attack
Date: Fri, 29 Mar 1996 17:59:24 GMT
*****PRIVATE: Commander Drake, InterPol
>>>>>[Sir, Lynch attacked a bar in Redmond, twenty-four minutes ago.
Multiple
fatalities, three survivors picked up by the Star. The ID is solid, my source
saw the bar's video and confirmed it was Lynch. I don't have the vid yet,
but my source should have a copy within a few hours.

+++++include address.bar
+++++include police.radio.transcript

The Lone Star source who informed me of this told me that Lynch took some
chips with him - some sort of BTL called torturesoft. The bar apparently
fronts for the Jade Lotus clan. Maybe he'll hit them next?]<<<<<
-- Sgt Harding <17:05:47/03-29-57>
Special Branch
InterPol
Message no. 2
From: mbroadwa@*******.glenayre.com (Mike Broadwater)
Subject: Re: Bar Attack
Date: Fri, 29 Mar 1996 12:36:03 -0600
*****PRIVATE: Lynch
>>>>>[Lynch, as your friend I've got to ask you a question: What the Hell
are you up to?!?! I just got some second hand info about someone who looks
a lot like you and uses your MO took out a bar, no reason given. Now, I
know you wouldn't just walk in someplace and shoot it up without some kind
of logic behind it, so leads me to two things. One, it wasn't you. Two,
you're onto something. I'll go for two.

Try and zero the noise, chummer. You're gonna start calling a lot of heat
down on your hoop if you don't try to keep things quieter.

But I don't think you will, so there's only one things I can do. Offer my
help. I'd bet my own money that you went into that situation without any
kind of backup. Not good. Next time, get me. Or at least get someone.
The next target may not be as soft as this one was.]<<<<<
-- Blade <10:29:47/03-29-57>
Message no. 3
From: shadowtk@********.demon.co.uk (Paul J. Adam)
Subject: Re: Bar Attack
Date: Sat, 30 Mar 1996 00:07:18 GMT
*****PRIVATE: Blade
>>>>>[Right now, Blade, I'm beating the grass to startle the snakes. Yes,
it was me. Yes, I had some good reasons. And the noise is deliberate <g>
It's plenty hot enough in the kitchen already, right now my best hope
seems to be to get so many people after me they all trip over each other.

This one, I knew would be easy. Quinn just upped the video, see for yourself.
The lead I got was to a Seoulpa ring, but InterPol will be all over them:
so, dead end. (I'm crazy, not stupid). I'm still curious as to why these
chips are so significant, but at least now I can get some looked at properly.
I had a thousand of the damn things from Gutsys, and I torched the lot...

I have one friend with me on this already. Friends are a rare commodity and
it's always nice to have more. You want in? I can actually pay you this, for
once, and the targets are only going to get harder.]<<<<<
-- Lynch <23:19:47/03-29-57>
Message no. 4
From: shadowtk@********.demon.co.uk (Paul J. Adam)
Subject: Re: Bar Attack
Date: Sat, 30 Mar 1996 00:30:26 GMT
>>>>>[Well, my old buddy Lynch continues his crusade to save the world
singlehanded. I mean, he manages to make *me* look sane sometimes.

FOUR DIE IN BAR MASSACRE
Four men are dead and three more injured, following a vicious battle in a
Redmond bar. Lone Star have identified the victims as local BTL dealers
affilated to a Seoulpa clan, and linked the incident to the recent Everett
warehouse battle. One participant escaped, leaving on a high-powered
motorcycle: his description has been circulated.
"We may have a problem with criminals fighting over dealing turf." said a
police spokesman. "The risk to the law-abiding public, so far, is believed
to be low."


Well, no prizes for guessing who was really behind that one. And since the
bloodhounds of the Law are already on his scent, I don't mind saying now that
Lynch pulled this one off. I'd planned to sit on this one a bit longer, but
turns out the bar owner had the place wired for video and sound, and sold the
footage right away: so since it's gone public, here you go.

+++++begin trideo
A dimly-lit bar, one of almost a standard type: dirty walls, cheap furniture.
Two bored girls in G-strings gyrate tiredly on a central stage, competing with
the Sonics game on the old trideo set by the bar. Barely a dozen customers are
scattered around, all determinedly ignoring each other, focussed on the game,
the girls, or their drinks.

Two men emerge from a back room and walk purposefully to one customer, a tall,
lean human with long, grey-streaked hair. A few moments of conversation, and
the customer follows the two men back towards the door they emerged from.
Despite the poor light, he's wearing mirrored aviator sunglasses.

The view fuzzes to the back room, which is crowded with four other men, two of
them holding shotguns: noise bars crawl down the picture, whoever edited the
tape was clumsy. It takes a few seconds for the sound to cut in, but as the
door opens the customer almost flies through, propelled by a hard shove in the
back. As he tries to regain his balance, the lurkers pounce on him and subdue
his ineffectual struggles, one of them taking a chrome-plated Guardian
automatic from the man's shoulder holster.

"Well, well, look what we caught!" says the leader, a burly Human who is still
brandishing Lynch's pistol. "The great and mighty Jason Lynch. Right into our
trap. You gotta be getting old, Lynch, you think people round here don't still
remember you. And when you asked Joey here about some'a that fancy tortureware
stuff, an' he described the guy wuz asking, an' I remembered how much you're
worth to the Azzies, we set this up real nice."

"So what are you going to do with me?" Lynch seems too calm for someone in his
situation, but then you already know how this story ends.

"Sell you to Aztechnology, a'course! `Cept maybe we'll give you a real up-
close-and-personal look at one of them chips you wuz so innerested in. Joey,
get Mr Lynch here the Overfiend. I think he's gonna looove that one." Joey,
an undernourished teenager in a Maria Mercurial T-shirt, moves to comply.

As his captors laugh, Lynch raises his right leg and stamps hard on the foot
of the Ork holding one of his arms: a combat boot's heel slams into a sneaker
toe with enough force that you hear bone break. The Ork howls and doubles
over, relaxing his grip, and Lynch brings an elbow up into his face: the Ork
falls, his nose an indistinct smear of blood.

The leader brings up the Guardian, then there is a muffled crack and a spray
of crimson: he screams, blood dripping from the ruin of his gun hand.

Lynch, meanwhile, is free of his second captor's embrace, the Dwarf staggering
backwards with his thigh laid open and his throat pumping blood, crashing
into the two shotgunners and spilling them over. One Defiance bounces into
the corner, discharging into the ceiling, and Lynch is able to snatch the
other. Joey is halfway through the door as Lynch smashes the T-250 against it,
hard, and the youth cries out as he is caught between door and frame. The last
two are launching themselves into the attack, one drawing a knife and the other
extending razors.

Lynch drops the broken shotgun and sidesteps, putting the Ork razorboy behind
his friend and out of the fight for a moment. Twisting around the knife's
lunge, he kicks the knifeman in the side of the knee - a sharp crack of bone -
and as the razorboy tries to find a way around his comrade Lynch punches the
knifeman in the side of the head, the spurs dripping wetly as he wrenches them
free: a handblade snaps from his right fist as he moves clear of the corpse.

The razorboy lunges over his friend's corpse, eyes too bright and moves too
jerkily fast, and he doesn't seem to feel the raking slash Lynch inflicts on
his arm: closing to a grapple and trying to get his razors into Lynch's flesh,
the Ork slams him into the wall. Lynch has a hand gripping each of his
assailant's wrists, but the Ork is as strong as Lynch and for an agonised
moment they are a face-to-face tableau, arms out to the sides, both men's
hands bristling with blades but unable to harm each other-

Lynch headbutts the Ork squarely on the nose: the razorguy roars with pain,
but doesn't slacken his grip. Lynch does it again, harder, snapping the Ork's
skull backwards - and then he twists his head to sink his teeth into the
exposed neck. The Ork screams and tries to claw at Lynch as his legs collapse,
but within seconds his voice trails off in a choked gurgle as Lynch springs to
his feet, spitting and wiping at his face. The audio catches a muttered "you
tasted as bad as you smelt!"

Reaching up into the small of his back, he comes out with a stainless steel
revolver, an antique Colt Python, as he walks through the storeroom door and
into the barroom: The view clumsily shifts to the bar, a few seconds early and
out of synch, as you see Joey crawling towards the bar and the bartender
crouching beneath his counter: the girls are huddled behind the stage, most of
the customers have fled. Lynch walks out of the back room towards Joey, and
the bartender pops up with an Uzi in his hands: one shot from the Python takes
off most of the back of his head.

"Okay, Joey, where are the chips?" Lynch hauls the boy to his feet, ignoring a
cry of pain and the way Joey's arm hangs oddly.
"Behind the bar, I'll get them, please, don't kill me, please-"
"Don't do anything stupid, give me what I want and answer my questions, and
you'll be fine."

"Okay. Okay. There's another gun there. I'm not going for it, I swear, but it's
in the box with the chips."
"Good boy, Joey. Let's go."
Joey goes behind the bar, comes out with a plastiboard box claiming to contail
24 bottles of synthetic maraschino cherries in ShugarSirup(TM): he shudders at
the red and grey spatters, courtesy of the bartender, adorning it. Very
carefully, he folds back the lid.

"Smart. Take it out, nice and slow, and put it on the bar." Joey, shaking,
lifts out a LightFire automatic by the trigger guard and places it carefully
next to the box. Lynch picks it up, drops the magazine out, and locks the
slide back, all one-handed, as Joey brings out a flat red plastic case.

"These are all we have. There's about thirty, lots of types. Five of them are
reusables. Is that - NO!"

Joey's cry of terror answers Lynch suddenly bringing up the Python and firing,
as the leader of the group - splashed with blood and holding a shotgun in his
remaining hand - lurches through the door, only to take two .357 Magnums in
the chest and fly back in a sprawl of limbs.

"Come on, get up, Joey, we're short of time. Where do you get these?"
Joey, terrified, rises but stays silent for a moment. "They'll kill me if I
talk.."
Lynch points the Python at his face, thumbs back the hammer. "I'll kill you if
you don't."
"We buy them from Lee. Lee Kuang Soo, he's with the Jade Lotus-"
"Buntaka's clan. I know them. Lie down, Joey, and wait for the cops. They'll be
about ten minutes yet." Joey drops like a puppet with cut strings as Lynch
walks away, picking the fired cases out of the revolver and reloading, only to
pause by the dancers - a dark-haired human girl and an Elf whose platinum-
blonde hair contrasts with her dark skin. Both cower back from the blood-
spattered mercenary as he reaches into his pocket.

"Here." A roll of currency. "Compensation for losing you your
customers." Wide-
eyed with surprise, they wait until he turns away before hurring backstage:
Lynch walks out, calmly tucking the .357 into his belt and lighting a
cigarette, and is lost in the glare of the door.
+++++end trideo download

Now I know Lynch likes to say "skill is making the stupidly dangerous look
easy" but I think maybe he's been pushing himself a little hard recently. Come
on, Jason, ease off and let some friends help, all right? I only do the
reporter bit these days because it's fun. I'm still up for it if you need me.

Please?]<<<<<
-- The Mighty Quinn <23:54:03/03-29-57>


>>>>>[Quinn, right now I'm in deep shit and I'm not asking anyone to join
me.
But anyone who wants to leap in anyway with a cry of "Come on in, the
fertiliser's lovely!" is welcome, and I could use some magical help right
now.

But if you and your sense of humour get out of hand, I'll tell everyone about
that night in Detroit and the time you called the paramedics.]<<<<<
-- Lynch <23:59:01/03-29-57>


>>>>>[You wouldn't! Not that night! You would't defile the memory of that
wonderful night by broadcasting one small, simple, mistake that an
inexperienced girl made.

Actually you would, wouldn't you? You're nearly as mad as I am. At least
Lilith hasn't shown up yet.

All right, I'll try to be good.]<<<<
-- The Mighty Quinn <00:03:01/03-30-57>
Message no. 5
From: ANGLISS BRIAN EDWARD <angliss@****.Colorado.EDU>
Subject: Re: Bar Attack
Date: Sat, 30 Mar 1996 00:06:03 -0700 (MST)
*****PRIVATE: Sergent Harding
>>>>>[Possible, but unlikely at this point. However, I have a team in
place just in case.

I suspect that Lynch is trying to frag with the Seolpa rings, and will
probably try the Mafia and Yaks next. I've got several deep cover agents
in those already. One of the tricks to this line of work is being
patient. He will make a mistake, and when he does, we've got him.]<<<<<
-- Commander Drake, InterPol <00:03:40/03-30-57>
Message no. 6
From: bschlitt@**********.net (Dr. Robert Kyle)
Subject: Re: Bar Attack
Date: Sat, 30 Mar 1996 03:41:23 -0600
*****Private: Lynch
>>>>>[Greetings. I was wondering why you took it so personally to destroy
the chips? I understand Tortureware, but the amount of trouble you are in
can't be worth something like that; there has to be more to it. As for aid,
magical or otherwise, I can give some of mine and some suggestions.
I can summon up some spirits to help you and hide you. I am sure
that my Shadowhound friend could show you some good hiding places. Also,
for hiding and getting out of the country, I have two ideas. First, is
Warloc and I might be able to get you into the Tir. You'd be safe from
Drake, but not a good place to stay for a human. Second, I have friend in
the British consulate who is their Head Druid. He is a Sea Druid who can
help with enchantments. He also has a *special* way to transport people to
England where his people run things. I never asked why he developed this
method, but I have me suspicions. If you decided to contact him, merely
give him my name. His number is in the phone book through the
consulate.]<<<<<
-- Shade <02:30:03 / 3-30-57>
Message no. 7
From: shadowtk@********.demon.co.uk (Paul J. Adam)
Subject: Bar Attack
Date: Sat, 30 Mar 1996 14:09:10 GMT
*****PRIVATEL Shade
>>>>>[Thank you for the offers of assistance, Shade. I may need them.
Britain's a good bet for me and I may use it: the Tir is a bad option,
they dislike me nearly as much as Aztlan do.

I just seem to have this effect on people <g>.

As to why I went after the tortureware... originally it was just a matter
of principle. I've always enjoyed going after drug and BTL dealers - when
I was younger and broke, they were a good source of untraceable cash -
and at first I thought this stuff was in the same bracket.

It turns out, to my surprise, that it isn't. So now I'm back at the top
of Aztlan's shitlist, *and* Drake himself is after me. Since I'm in
this much trouble, I might as well fight back: this stuff is important
to people who are trying to kill me. Sounds like a good target <g>.

But if I'd known it was this important to Aztechnology/Aztlan, I might
have been just a little tiny bit more careful.

Thanks again: if you've ever been in my situation, you'll know exactly
how grateful I am to be offered help like this.]<<<<<
-- Lynch <14:24:03/03-30-57>
Message no. 8
From: bschlitt@**********.net (Dr. Robert Kyle)
Subject: Re: Bar Attack
Date: Sat, 30 Mar 1996 18:53:05 -0600
*****PRIVATE: Lynch
>>>>>[Fortunately, I have never been in your situation. It came close
once,
ut fortunately the Govt. was interested in seeing us succeed. I live a
rather hum drum life compared to most shadowrunners, and I even exist
legally. Oh, well.
The aid is the least I can offer for doing some good in this world
that doesn't reward it. Dylan is the Street name of the Druid of the
Embassy. He used to run the shadows with me, but success and politices came
up. He's a good contact. Good luck.]<<<<<
-- Shade <17:02:25 / 3-30-57>

Further Reading

If you enjoyed reading about Bar Attack, you may also be interested in:

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.

Thwap!