The darkness faded into a purple that was akin to the color of a large and painful bruise. Its deep, rich hue changing into a lighter blue that paled as the sunlight began to flare up above the tree line. It was dawn and Saturday morning, April the 18th began to look more cheery as daylight found scant clouds in the sky. However, as cheerful as a sunlit day would seem to the denizens of the Metroplex, in actuality the day was much more cloudy in prospect for the nascent Shadowrunning team known as Charlie’s Foxtrot. Over the last forty-eight hours the team has suffered calamity and change. The team’s name sake, neither Charlie the Archer nor the team’s wheelman, Frost, be reached via commcode number and the remaining team members find themselves in an awkward situation as they must meet with Ms. Johnson later tonight. The team is expected to give a full accounting of what they have found out about the two First Nations gang lieutenants that they had been hired to tail. Ms. Johnson, even though she appears to be nothing more than Korean beauty who strips at Ticker’s Night Club, she is the Johnson. The place is favorite of the blue collar and union set downtown and as an independent strip club it distinguishes itself by bringing in an ethnic and racial mix of performers. Hence, ….Ms. Johnson.
As the dawn continued to brighten into a bright and balmy spring day for the Metroplex, Razor Eddy lay in his bed at his lower class apartment in a dirty neighborhood in Kirkland near the border with Redmond’s Touristville. Eddy was worried. He had never really been an active player in a meeting and he was trying to piece together the events of the past week and link them into a coherent storyline that can be presented to Ms. Johnson. Eddy, somewhat of a coffee snob, reached over and checked his French Press.
Another minute or so….
Eddy had recently acquired about a pound of coffee beens that originated out of the Sumatran Alliance. Pretty pricey stuff and after all that had happened recently…a morning reward well worth it.
This team had been making no small amount of noise during the late winter and early spring of 2071 and Razor Eddy had figured that this was the team to latch on to to gain some good street cred. However, as he and other rookie ‘runners knew, sometimes its the street that decides which team makes it and which team becomes quickly forgotten.
As winter turned to spring Charlie’s Foxtrot had suffered some loss, first a razor guy by the name of Hot Phat was killed in action at the Coda bar. Then almost simultaneously, the team’s hacker, a nebulous individual, who appeared for all intents to be living a Full Immersion lifestyle with his meat body somewhere secret, went offline and nobody has heard from him for sometime. The team’s mage, Shorty, seemed to drop off the grid soon after the first attempt working for Ms. Johnson trailing Littletree and Firebird.
How the hell did we get a second crack at working for her? Charlie must’ve bought a ton of lap dances….
Eddy let that thought trail off into a dark recess of his mind. Now over twenty-four hours after fighting Caine and the Ragers, both Charlie and Frost have not been answering their comms. The last communications that Eddy had with either of them was as they were individually conducting legwork during the afternoon of Thursday the 16th. Charlie had said that he would contact Eddy before midnight.
Of course, that call never came, mused Eddy as he pushed the plunger down on the ‘press.
As he poured the expensive brew a rich, deep aroma filled his room wafting pleasantly over and obscuring, if even briefly, the ever present dank and cloying scent of decades old mold.
Okay, I need to think, Eddy refocused his thoughts as he sipped the hot, dark liquid.
Gotta call Chorizo and Frost’s buddy Styles. If the team is screwed at least I can do the right thing and see this job to its conclusion.
Chorizo replaced the absent Shorty in the role of magical support and while Eddy had not seen him pop off a spell, at least Chorizo was handy with that grenade launcher. Styles was a bit of an enigma and more than a bit cocky.
Why the hell did he tempt fate with that stunt walking along the edge of the dock. That security could have shot him all to pieces?
Well, Chorizo and Styles were all that Eddy had at the moment and he sure needed their help in putting together the pieces of this First Nations riddle and telling it to Ms. Johnson.
Maybe, Styles will wanna talk to her….maybe he can act the Face….