Janus - Trolling a Troll

One chip makes you larger, another makes you small. Some chips make you happy, some chips make you sad. Some chips make you feel emotions stronger than anything in meat space, and some chips make the vague, dull ringing in tin ears fade away into subtitles on the grainy screen.

It's been ages since I've done a job. Not since that mess with my niece. Parking Ticket or whatever the hell she calls herself. Didn't even know my pusher knew I ran the shadows. I guess he does now.

It's not my kind of job, but it's for a friend. A stupid job. That kind that gets you killed. But who gives a shit if the robot stops ticking. There's barely a ghost in the machine to miss.

Slot a chip to relax. The world goes silent. Text scrolls across the bottom of vision, cluttering sight with sound.

And there he is. The big boss. A low-res troll. Stuck with every spare horn someone had programmed. And the tatoos. Ironic fetishism or product placement?

It must be Korean. They hardly bothered to record movement for the fight. Just stand and press the button. Move to the left and push the button. Duck right and push the button.

Even when the troll connects, it hardly registers. Where's the agony? Where's the intensity?

It's a relief when the troll stops moving. It's finally over.

I don't have to put up with this crap. I've got nuyen in my pocket. I need better sims than this.

At least my pusher owes me one.

Janus - Google Spell Check Wants to AutoCorrect to "Orgasmic Ally"

Warm sunlight. Cool grass, slightly damp. Itch on my left leg where a blade of grass tickles it. There's a lump in the dirt under my right buttocks, but a soft one. A faint wind brushes cool and moist from behind me and slightly to the right. It whispers through pine needles, carrying the scene of Christmas trees and rot and flowers from some place far away.

The hilt of the knife is cool in my hand. It's gently curved handle fits flawlessly into my palm, the bone polished smooth against my hand. The monofilament blade slides easily into the wood, the stick held in my left hand. I move my hand quickly easily, gently slipping it through delicate layers of cedar, shaving off layer after layer, peeling back the rings of age.

A cloud comes over the sun. The air cools. Everything goes quiet. The damp grass seems troublesome. I squint at the wood in my hand. I whittle by feel.

The cloud rolls off of the sun. It's bright rays shine orgasmically down again. The heat of the sun washes down as the cool damp grass washes up.

Time stands still, there, in the clearing. The single piece of wood, whittling whittling whittling. It never seems to get smaller. There is only the rasping feel of passing the blade through the stick, the coolness of the grass, the chill of a passing cloud. The flutter of a butterfly's wings. The tickling of an ant crawling into my boot.

There is only peace. Peace and the bliss of the sun's rays.

The sun is gone. There is darkness. Standing in a puddle. Reflection of neon lights above. Warped. Turned yellow. The smell of urine and vomit.

The cedar is reassuring in my hand. It is finished. The rings of age carved down to a single, deadly point.

A growl from the shadows. I stalk towards them. Red eyes glow from the shadows. The glint of teeth.

Vampires.

I raise my right arm. The neon signs glint off of it. "The ARES PREDATOR v: Now with 10% more killing!" It reads backwards and warped, wrapped around my arm.

My hand folds away. Behind it, the light of the sun shines out.

The vampires are lit up, hunching over their prey. Blood drips down their chins. The red glow becomes a dot.

They begin to sparkle. It's worse than I thought.

I charge towards them. Foot slips in a puddle. Falling. Crashing into the fluids on the ground. The smell all around, pervading, soaking into clothes and noses and hair.

Grinning mouths staring down. Sparkling faces, uncannily smooth. Leaning over. Coming towards me. Jaws unhinging, maws full of fangs, reaching down, snarling, thirsting for blood.

Flesh ripped from my throat. Agony as chunks of flesh ripped, not cut. Blood spurting up. The coppery smell overwhelms the urine. The Ares sign becomes dull as the blood slowly fades away.

The lights go black.

Warm sunlight. Cool grass, slightly damp. Itch on my left leg where a blade of grass tickles it....

Hard Reset - Sequence

The end of a run. Covering the team's back as we escape on foot. We've stolen... something... Not really sure what. Not too interested in finding out. I'm earning my pay by making sure that anything following us meets enough airborne discouragement to think twice.

I lag behind, eying the alleyways for activity. As I round a corner, I'm met by the ork.

What's he doing?

Before I'm able to react, he greets me with a deafening blast of white-hot light. Fire rips through my skull, and everything fades away.


A sharp inhale, and I open my eyes to the darkness of my bedroom.

Huh. It's been a while, friend.

Sitting up, I spark a cigarette. The dull glow is strangely soothing.

It's decided. I'm gonna find that motherfucker.


I'm going to kill him.

Lua's Log: On Fencing Goods

Fencing goods is the sort of thing we all have to do periodically and seems like it would be fairly lucrative side business, but I generally find that most goods are barely worth the effort unless you are really good at what you are doing.

You get some nice shiny weapon from some rent-a-star type that was guarding the door.  It runs for, say, 500¥ on the open market.  Not too shabby, you figure you can try to recoup around 125¥ from the right buyer.

The trouble is, now you have to find that bleeding "right buyer."  That's a few days of waiting around, generally, if you know what you are doing.  If you lack an aptitude for it, then you are looking at a couple of weeks of effort to get this item–which is really a dirt common item–off of their hands.

Meanwhile, you are taking a fairly serious risk while you ask around for these items, because you are trading in the item without a license.

Now you find a potential–and I do emphasize that word–buyer. You try to negotiate, but depending on how good of a negotiator they are and you are (and most runners are not very good), this could put you as low as 25—75¥.  A good friend might be willing to take it off your hands with no questions, but unless you have someone who needs exactly what you want on speed dial, you are probably going to be relegated to sifting through pawners to find who could use it.

Oh, and then when you are done, you are most likely going to split the proceeds with the other runners in your group.   Enjoy your soykaf with the proceeds.

This is why it is vitally important that, if you are going to make it in this world, you either get very good at getting rid of items–especially hot items–for a reasonable price or you make fast friends with someone who is.

Anything else is a good way to get yourself cheated or killed.

>>>>[ARO found posted at Boulder-area kiosk, November 14th, 2075]

/  -  \

/ MISSING: PET SPRITE \

                             __                             •

*                                        /=©\___         ˚                           .

          ´                    <  ©  ç∂  ©  >                             *

………………………|~~≤∆∆≥~/………………………

                       /=======|                         

|=>       Answers to “Ralph”       <=|

|                                Last seen:                                |

|      entering node of an Eurocar Westwind 3000      |

/           and driving down Pearl St. - may be rabid           \

<  /!\ 250¥ Reward if Found /!\  >

\     and/or upon Proof of Destruction (as applicable)     /

|      Please Contact @ 3038-6753-0988      |

|     No technomancers at this number. Intruders will     |

|    be shot on sight. Owner reserves the rights to tap    |

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\    for any loss of life or property during recovery.    /

\  -  /

Janus - Loopty Loo in Trip Town

The worst part about BTLs is that they end. Sooner or later, the world goes away and you're left riding around in a robot's cast off body in a city nobody bothered to color.

On a good day, you get your hands on a chip somebody forgot to lock down. Or one of those knock off Taiwanese chips, if you can get past the shitty translations and white people's faces stuck onto Asian bodies. You can loop those things and go for days.

Sooner or later you wake up hungry and with a mouth like dirt, lying in your own shit and realizing some sewer rat stole the taco you had saved for later. If must smell terrible, from the looks people give you. It's hard to tell. But it beats being awake.

There's better shit, if you've got nuyen burning a hole in your pocket, and I do. For a few hundred nuyen a day, some nice men will run you an IV and a catheter. Go a couple hundred higher, and you can afford a place where the needle might be new. A proper resort experience. No loops here, just one long, neverending lifetime for as long as your credstick stays full.

I'll have to make this up to my pusher later.

That's later. Now I've got a life to live.