Chapter 1: We need to WHAT?
The Redmond Barrens were a warzone. No two ways about it. Corps and local government were nonexistent outside Touristville and Bellevue, gangs large and small vied for control and resources and Glow City awaited ominously deeper inward. Among all this chaos, three blocks presented an oasis of calm in this lawless district. With guard towers and solid walls, Camp Courtesy was a place where the denizines came to trade, eat or find work. Of course it was also controlled by a group of Shadowrunners called Unprofessional Courtesy, where the entire team was listening to Ripsaw’s briefing.
“You want us to WHAT?” Exclaimed the team’s rigger and paraplegic Mr. Bob, taking a swig out of his oversized coffee cup.
“He said he wanted us to go push over a cult,” The demolition expert and eyesore nocturna, Bubba Carpet happily pointed out, his tail eye poking out above the table, “And you know who would be happy to help us? The Halloweeners!” He exclaimed, his obsession with the clown faced anarcogang well established.
“NO!” Five voices rang out. “Maybe.” Ripsaw’s voice was drowned out but Bubba heard.
“Still, going up against a Go-gang or Corpsec is one thing, this might be more than we can chew.” Snakebite stated, the Sioux sheriff turned Shadowrunner was the magical expert, and usually the second voice of reason.
“Yes BUT! We get paid, as grateful as I am for place to live, food is still expensive.” Zoe, the elven Pole and legal expert countered.
Ripsaw turned to the last person in the room, “Jackpot, you’ve been quiet, what do you think?”
The ex-LoneStar officer was nursing a box of Stuffer Shak beer, his cowboy hat resting on the table. “Five point eight grand is nice but what’s stopping us from taking the money and not doing the job?” He asked.
“Apart from the fact that his ‘old friend’ probably knows who we are and where we live, maybe having the IRS set upon us.” Mr Bob sarcastically retorted, frowning as he realized he was out of coffee before rolling over to the coffee maker.
Ripsaw shuddered, “Don’t even joke, we did that once in prep for going after a Humanis cell, fuckers killed themsleves when they saw the IRS truck pull up.”
Jackpot paused mid swig, “Not unpacking that, 9so what do we know about their lair.”
Ripsaw inserted a datachip into the trideo system. A 3D topographical map of the location along with dossiers of the people associated with the cult blinked into life on the table. “We only have commercial satellite views but we have survey data from the last Metroplex survey. Granted it’s out of date but major landmarks still exist,” Ripsaw explained, “We’re on our own for physical and magical recon.”
Snakebite studied the map, “If they have a mage as you say there might be wards or watcher spirits set up, personally I’d put them in these spots.” He pointed to the lone house on the map, a large tent, and the main road into the compound.
“We can take a field trip out there and get some drone recon going, they’ve got to have guard rotation.” Mr. Bob said as he rolled back to the table, another steaming cup of coffee in hand.
“One more problem, cult is operating out of home to largest concentration of Humanis in Metroplex. They won’t like that we operate in their backyard.” Zoe surmised going over the dossiers, she paused. “Do fluffies have adverse reaction to metahumans?”
Bubba spoke up, “I don’t know, let’s find out!”
And he stood, in all his yellow and purple tye-dye suited glory and left the table to look for fluffies.