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From:	Kjell Sawyer <sawyer@***.NO>
Subject:	Razor
Date:	Tue, 14 Mar 1995 00:57:46 +0100

Message no. 1 >>>>>[Razor, where have you been? I've been at your place and checkin'
all over town for you, mate. Listen, I got something to discuss with you.
Drop me a line when you can, will you?

BTW, have you taken care of that survaillance dude yet?]<<<<<
-- Genocide <01:00:01/03-14-56>

From:	Kjell Sawyer <sawyer@***.NO>
Subject:	Razor
Date:	Fri, 14 Apr 1995 15:21:12 +0200

Message no. 2 >>>>>[I am a surveillance operative. I have a story that has to be
told. You do not need to knew very much about me. Still, I want you
to keep in mind that I have been trained by an international
organization of vast resources to be an expert in my area. I am not
a Shadowrunner, nor do I ever want to be associated with that term.
However, I believe that other operatives within my area may benefit
from what I have to say.

+++++ Execute Senselink Recording: You are jandering casually down
a crowded street in downtown Seattle. It is evening, and the
denizens of the city are moving about, heading to and from clubs,
finishing evening shopping, or just hanging about. You notice a
black hexagon shooting about in your field of view, almost
invisible unless focused upon. It darts from face to face as soon
as they appear to you clearly, then seems to hesitate for a moment
before darting to the next face. All of a sudden it encompasses an
Elven face just rounding the corner on a large bike. The hexagon
flashes to bright red as a warning is sounded in your hearing. The
bike is ID'd and the following message appears in green just below
your focus: "Chrome BMW Blitzen 2050, [Variation unknown]".
Automatically you feel your hearing zoom inn towards the Elven's
direction along with your vision. The Elf, dressed in a torn, black
tee-shirt, seems oblivious to your notice. Weapons about his
character are identified and outlined in red. You take specific
notice of a shoulder-strap lined with throwing knives of various
shapes. The Elf rides by, smoothly navigating the large bike
through the evening city traffic. You track him for about a minute,
and then he vanishes around a corner.

I was casually informed about my next assignment only moments
before the initial contact with my mark. It seems to be in my
supervisor's humor (I shall call him John) that I am given the
opportunity to observe my mark before I have completed any proper
study of the character.

However, I was informed that my Mark would be referred to as Razor.

So, when my supervisor conducted his meeting with this Elven Razor,
I found myself monitoring the security cameras which cover his
establishment; A penthouse suite in downtown Seattle (which one, I
will not reveal).

+++++ Execute Video Recording: You are given an overview of a
stylishly furnished penthouse apartment. The decor is primarily
ivory and chrome, with a lot of glass structure to compliment the
`wholeness' of the room. A well-built man (his face purposefully
distorted) in an expensive suit is sitting in an off-white sofa,
seemingly expecting someone. A telecom rings, and the suit
retrieves a voice-only hand-unit from his inner pocket. Before
accepting the call, he signals you through the camera.

+++++ Execute Telecom Conversation:

[Password accepted; Caller logged into the security relay as James]

James: Hello >>encrypted<<, this James. The appointed time has run
out and your guest has not yet arrived.

John (in a disappointed tone of voice): Very well, James. Leave the
area and bring the Phaeton back. Please stand by for another drive
later on, though.

James: Very well, sir. Good bye.

[Connection closed]

+++++ Resume Video Recording: The man in the sofa appears to be
thinking; His chin is resting in his hand, and he is still holding
the telephone in the other. Suddenly he jolts. Looking up, towards
the balcony, and hesitates. Then you seem to notice a smile, but it
is difficult to tell because of the distortion.

[Shift camera view; Towards the balcony; Zoom in]

An Elven man stands before you, his pose almost too slack to be
casual. His face is not distorted, and you recognize him from the
previous recording. He is similarly dressed; A moody colored
outfit, and has the same knife-belt hanging from his right
shoulder. As you get a better view of his body beneath his flowing
dark, tie-died coat, you see it is lean, but still very powerful.
What catches your attention with most force, however, is the style
of his hair. Mostly clean shaven, several `blades' of chrome hair,
several inches high, seem to cut through his skull back along his
head. For a moment you believe the blades are hard, but then,
almost as if to prove you wrong, he runs his hand through it. The
hair folds away naturally, but like a wave flows back up again
after the hand's passing, returning to razor sharpness.

[Shift camera view; Room overview]

The suit walks over to him rather briskly and greets him, a gesture
received somewhat cooley. The Elven is directed to a sofa and is
seated. His movements are very, very fluid, and his gaze is so
encompassing it seems nothing can escape it. Any exchange of words
seems to be done quickly. Soon the meeting is over and Razor rises
and quickly shakes John's hand; then leaves, all actions looking as
if they are a part of one larger fluid movement.

I was unnerved by his presence, even from where I was jacked into
the security systems. I felt, for the entire duration of the
meeting between Razor and John, immensely uncomfortable by the
Elf's natural condescension. Afterwards I ran a security scan
through our computer subsystem three times, yet nothing showed up.
Later we found proof that the maglock on the balcony door had been
tampered with, though. However, I must confess we found it only
because we knew the signs had to be there.

I'll have you know my talents are employed whenever magic
surveillance is complicated by some factor. From my briefing
though, I found nothing which indicated that SOP shouldn't be
utilized, so I became curios. Rather than questioning my superiors,
though; I took it upon myself to make a rather intensive background
research on this character who had disturbed me so during my first
observation.

I found, with unaccustomed difficulty, several interesting point
about Razor's background. Presently he was considered a expert
security intrusion specialist. Yet, when he first appeared on the
shadowrunner's scene back in '49, he had been known as a decker.
Since then he has had an astounding, intriguing, and, in terms of
reputation, quite an impressive career.

I will not recount Razor's past in any detail, as that would not be
necessary to what I am trying to convey. To paint you a picture, I
will reveal that he has been the sole survivor of three very
competent teams. He has survived assignment many would consider
suicidal and next to impossible to accomplish, and in the process
he has lost just about every friend or acquaintance he has ever
had.

He disappeared some two years ago, and even my extensive search
brought up nothing of the next 18 months of his life. However, when
he returned to Seattle last winter, he was deeply changed, both
psychologically and physically. He had undergone extensive cosmetic
surgery, and the few who would have recognized him here did not.
His reputation as a shadowrunner had been all but forgotten.

So, I stand as I did earlier, on a downtown sidewalk one evening
watching Razor proceed to meet John and deliver certain
possessions. I shall continue my story from here.

I react as soon as Razor has left my sight and I make my way to an
unmarked van parked just around the corner. Inside, the van is
filled with sensors, monitor relays, and enough computing power to
handle my every professional desire. Razor's mission is
accomplished, executed with extreme elegance, and the objective is
extracted. Therefore I am shocked to see Razor meet John a minute
or so later, pull forth a cold blade, and, void of emotion, drive
it through his throat. Fearing that my position might have been
compromised, I start the van and hurriedly drive off.

Seconds after my report of this incident to higher officials, one
of my superior officers contacts me to inform me of my folly; I
have now lost Razor's trail. I vouch to locate him again, something
I believe should not pose a problem as he should not know about me,
despite my earlier fears. I also learn that others have been
disbanded to search for my mark, including several of our magical
resources. However, I have an edge; and to accomplish my vouch, I
return to me monitoring center which have I set up for this
assignment. Here I can monitor relays from all locations that I
have assigned any importance to; I am sure Razor will show up in at
least one of them quite soon.
My control room is in a small, concrete basement, where no less
then one whole wall is covered with monitors for camera relay's and
computers. The door is locked shut, positioned to my right, and I
work for hours on end before noticing his appearance.

There is nothing to indicate anything special on the monitors, yet
I feel a slight disturbance in the lighting and a slight gush of
air against my cheek. Then, before my mind had taken notice of
these events, a wire tightens around my neck and I am lifted
violently into the air.

I struggle in panic and terrible surprise, the shock of the cold
wire's pressure seemingly biting through to my spine, and I kick
the air about me, knocking the chair away. I desperately search to
find my assailant, but my flailing fails to make contact with
anything but the millions of nuyen worth of now worthless
equipment. My life begins to drain as the wire cuts into my throat,
but just as I feel as if all is lost, reality implodes on me, and
I fall to the floor, gasping for breath.

I've rerun my optical recorder several times, seeing myself falling
to the floor, wincing as it strikes my face, yet I cannot remember
it, nor being thrown into one of the corners of the small room.

When I come to the wire is still around my blooded neck, and I
notice a small servo motor holding it in place. However, it is not
tight. I struggle to release its hold from me but it suddenly
tightens around my fingers. Frightened, I yank even harder, but the
wire just tightens more and more, and soon just breathing takes all
my effort and concentration.

As I sit frozen in my concrete corner, a shadow stirs on the
opposite wall, created by the light from the two screens that have
survived the battle, and I slowly notice the silhouette of a figure
standing there. As it moves, the reflection of the light dances of
the blades from his head, enabling me to recognize whose mercy I am
at. I am sure, as my heart starts pumping, that I shall die from
fright. The figure moves, and comes over to stand towering over me
where I lay in the opposite corner, my fingers wedged between the
wire and my neck.

Razor, now more clearly visible, smiles that same, cold smile. He
pulls up my chair and sits down in it, shutting off most of the
systems, leaving only two screens blinking green warning messages
to illuminate his presence. Then he speaks.

I was too preoccupied, and frightened, to make out any intelligible
sounds, so I must recount his words from my audio recording. His
voice though; It flowed like strong current deep in the sea. Cold,
deep and dark with an impact that grips me even now.

"Some situations seem to reflect distant dreams," he says, before
pausing for a few seconds. "When recounted; No conceivable end nor
beginning can be found," another pause, "and no realistic coherency
exists."

I sputter and grasp as quietly as I can possibly manage, not
wanting more attention than necessary, while he continues,

"My life has been like this for an elongated period. It will
continue to be so for as long as I seek refuge in my exact
presence." Pause, and then he smiles, still speaking to the
monitor.

"Yet, what is time...? Or where is it?" He shifts in his seat a
bit. "I know, but do you? Of course you do, for you are the answer,
have the answer, and will use that answer in some duel time where
my life is in order. Unfortunately," he sighs, "that... is not
here."

His attention drifts to the knife he has been toying with, silently
sliding it through his fingers and flicking it over his hand as if
it were as easy as breathing. A sudden movement; and the knife
vanishes into a concealed sheath, while a razor-blade appears. Then
it too begins to vanish in and out of his fingers, twisting and
twirling along a nimble path over fair skin and long, delicate
fingers.

Silence stretches out to me from where he sits, slumped over my
desk watching the screen. Suddenly it is rebuffed by movement as he
sits up and places the razor absent-mindedly in his mouth.

Until now he has never looked straight at me, and I wish he never
would have, but as he turns the light catches his handsome face and
reveals a pair of strikingly purple eyes. He immediately locks my
gaze, and I almost forget to breath, feeling him penetrating my
brain and taking a fierce hold of me. the illusion lasts, I can't
say for how long, because the effect cannot be reproduced and timed
on film.

His eyes, complimenting his face perfectly, show sign of prolonged
melancholic despair, yet radiates a will for life unlike anything
else I have ever seen. I seem to drift, looking into his eyes. What
eyes, those eyes...

The spell is broken as he takes the razor from his mouth and slowly
licks off the blood it has kindled. The action reminds me of
watching a predator lick the bones off his pray after a full meal.
Then he ritually glides the razor over his palm cutting a shallow
rim as long as a finger before rising to approach me.

He quietly kneels at my side, movement quick, yet without any sign
of haste. I am still partly paralyzed from the lack of sufficient
oxygen, or is it from the gaze of those deep eyes which seemed to
bleed like the cut in his hand?

His head hovers besides me and beckons me by whisper to drink the
blood which drips from his right hand into my mouth, which is wide
open from gasping. I cough as the warm liquid drips into my throat,
and for a moment the wire tightens enough to fully choke me. A
flash of a razor though, and the wire falls. I grab for my throat,
air rushing back like wildfire, and caugh violently.

Holding my neck, I feel the shallow cut from the wire, and the
blood, and I suddenly realize the taste of blood in my mouth. I try
to convulse, but I can't, even though I feel the crimson poison
trickle further into my body.

When I am finished, I look up to see Razor looking at me in silent
amusement. As soon as he senses my attention, however; He speaks.

"Now why do you suppose an egg is a symbol of life?" he sits back
up in his chair and I feel unable to answer. He doesn't accept my
silence though, "Hasten, give me an answer; Your life depends on
it."

Appearing as nothing but a silly game to me, I answer, "Because it
harbors a self-sufficient life force?" It is a sensible answer, but
I am only half-aware of what I say.

"Incorrect," he says, eyes flashing in irritation, "You know better
than that. Look at me, what answer do you think I seek? Be smart."
My head is clearing and I am able to sit back up against the wall.
Then I realise.

"Because it is so easily crushed."

"Precisely." A blade has appeared in his hand again, so I make no
considerable movements. A tickle in my stomach holds on to my
attention.

"I have here, on this screen, the reason for my previous actions.
It clearly states why [John] had to die: His goals were
unacceptable, and he tried to use me as his pawn rather than an
employee." A quiet laugh is uttered towards the screen and I get
the distinct feeling he is not talking to me, but through me.

"If there should be an attempted pay-back for my actions, your
misguided vindictively will be awarded my wrath. I assume this
business in the past for I have tapped [John]'s account for what I
was promised, an action which seems more than generous from my
part. The information relevant to your business is in the file
her," he wrapped a chip in my hand, "but the rest has been
corrupted. It is business as usual."

With that he smiles and snaps at me faster than I had ever
anticipated him capable of, yet where I expect impact I feel
nothing but a subtle shift in the air as a gush streaks my face.
When I re-focus, the room is empty but for myself. Childishly
reminded of bedtime vampire stories, I don't bother to inspect the
room any closer as I get up, rip open the door, and weakly escape
from the confinement of the room, crashing several pieces of
equipment in the process.

Some time has passed since this incident but the memory is still
fresh within. the search was immediately called off after my report
and I was releived from duty. I now work for a larger corporation
in Seattle but have a conceivably anonymous job. My new life
reassures me as it lessens the chances that this elaboration will
compromise my well-being.

I have told you this story to warn you, to offer you a chance to
avoid interaction of any sort with the Shadowrunner named Razor.
Most of Razor's conversation still eludes my understanding, yet
maybe you can conclude some valuable information from it. I have
told my story in spite of the possibility of lethal redemption and
hope you receive and make use of my efforts. If you never hear from
me again, assume Razor finds this posting disturbing and that he has
acted acordingly.]<<<<
-- Farseer <15:23:46/04-14-56>

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