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Slinger's Background for Shadowrun Denver"Not like that, kid. Concentrate!" The harsh voice cut through the youth's thoughts as he stared at the feather on the table. Anyone who ever used the phrase "Light as a feather" has clearly never tried lifting one with his mind, Kaivan thought, trying to drag his wandering attention back to that offensive feather. Where his master had obtained the thing was a mystery; it was too garish, even, to have come from a parrot, and too small to have originated on a larger bird such as a peacock. The boy actually suspected his master of using an artificial feather made of plastic, just to make it harder to affect with magic, but Kaivan never actually been allowed to *touch* the item. Another silly rule, amongst many. A sharp rap on the shoulder drug his attention back to the present, and he grimaced, automatically reaching up to rub at the affected area despite the fact it hardly even hurt. This earned him a quick rap on the knuckles. "Somebody hits you, you *really* need to concentrate then," his master informed him gruffly, repeating a mantra Kaivan had heard a hundred times before. And just as before, Kaivan had brief, fleeting thoughts of leaving. What tied him to this place, anyway? Tied him to this man who was frequently harsh, seldom generous with praise, stern and demanding? As he forced his eyes to come to focus on the yellow-and-blue-and-pink pattern of colors in that thrice-damned feather, his thoughts took a brief detour on a meandering path through his memories. Not that he remembered much from his early years. Most of what he knew from that time he had been told by others, principally his master. Master, teacher, trainer, instructor, parental-surrogate... Kaivan knew his name, of course, but never dared use it. Instead, Kaivan simply called him 'sir'. Short. Neat. To the point. Efficient -- another of the master's favorite words. He hardly remembered his parents. Two elves, he knew; he could see the chiseled outlines of their faces in his memories, fleeting glimpses of pointed, narrow chins and delicate ears coming to a graceful, understated point. Employees of the same subsidiary corporation for which the Master had worked -- he knew that from the answers to the countless, unending questions he was told he had asked as a boy. Always, he had wanted to simply *know*... to understand... to reach out and take the knowledge that everyone else seemed to have, and that he alone seemed to lack. He got that from his parents, he had been told. Curiosity killed the cat-shaman. Or two of them, in this case. Kaivan didn't remember the excitement, the tension, the long hours at the facility his parents spent as they researched the new concept they had stumbled onto. What they were working on exactly was sketchy; at times, the master had hinted that they were nearing a fundamental breakthrough in understanding of magic. At other times, he downplayed it as a dead-end of research that would never pan out. The truth, as seemed to happen more and more as Kaivan grew older, was obfuscated behind a cloud of confusion, hidden by a fog of lies, and occasionally tangled in a web of other truths that enveloped it in a cocoon from which it was nearly impossible to pry it. Kaivan could remember the bitterness in his master's voice, though, as he recounted the last few days. A leak, a mole, a decker... somehow, the information had reached people outside the company. Unauthorized information transfer, they called it in the company policy manuals. An innocuous-enough sounding term. Perhaps somebody had spilled the beans to a lover, or a friend, and word had circulated. Perhaps the security on the computer systems was not as good as had been suspected. Nobody knew. But the leak worked both ways, and it was soon discovered that the facility's secrecy might, in fact, be compromised. All non-essential employees were evacuated, transferred to another facility even better hidden. Research projects were moved one at a time, with the utmost care being taken to assure their integrity during shipment. Tension was high as more and more people were evacuated, and security was staged up around the remaining projects. Kaivan's parents' project was the last to be moved; they were nearing the end of a three-month enchantment process, and moving it would involve restarting from scratch. Meetings were held, threats were assessed, and it was decided that the likelihood of attack sufficient to overcome the security around the facility was small enough that interrupting the project could not be justified. The decision was made, signed in triplicate and stamped with red ink that just as well might have been blood. Tensions grew and security became more watchful as the enchantment progressed. The remaining two weeks became a few days, then one day, then simply a matter of hours. Working tirelessly, the husband-wife pair labored in shifts to maintain the enchantment, building up the energy required through this, the most delicate phase. And then finally, a huge sigh of relief swept the building along with the news of the enchantment's completion. A few employees left to convey the news to those at the other facility, and after they left... well, no one was quite sure what happened. What was known from a thorough analysis of the rubble was that an intrusion had been staged, highly coordinated and thoroughly equipped. They cut through the magical and physical security measures like a hot knife through butter, gunned down the security guards mercilessly, and advanced toward the laboratory mercilessly, leaving no one alive in their wake. They never got there. The flash blinded more than a few in the surrounding neighborhood unfortunate enough to be looking in that direction; the shock wave damaged the surrounding buildings. Only the wards still in place around the building prevented the destruction from being any more massive. When the smoke finally drifted away, all that was left of the facility and its occupants was a crater, with ash, charred bits of laboratory equipment, and bits of flesh, bone, cyberware, melted gun barrels, and a background count that lasted for several weeks before finally beginning to fade away. Well, that wasn't all that was left. There was Kaivan... now orphaned, and safely in protective custody as a precautionary measure, along with the other family members of those who worked at the facility. Only a few years old, the boy was too young to fully understand what had happened, and was destined to be raised in a corporate school (or so he was told) when the master stepped forward, for reasons known only to him, and offered to take the boy in. Questions were asked, of course; some of the other workers were puzzled. The master never told them -- or told Kaivan, in fact -- the reasons for taking the boy in. But it was done, and the corporation, relieved of the ongoing responsibility to raise a young boy of unknown talents, gratefully acceded to his offer. No, it wasn't a bad life, and Kaivan did have a duty, a responsibility, to his teacher, did he not? To the man who took him in when he had nowhere to turn? He didn't remember this, of course, but he knew it to be true. What other possibility was there? And he was learning; the master had a good deal of knowledge to impart. Knowledge about magic, and to some degree about life, though Kaivan wasn't sure if he believed that the world was really as dangerous as his master's cynicism would imply. Yet still, his own parents' death made it clear that there were those out there to whom one's life mattered not at all, and his teacher had survived where many others had not. Still, Kaivan was only ten years old... and he went to bed each night exhausted, his mind swirling with formulas, patterns, spirits' names; his body aching with the strain of trying to channel magical energies. But it was worth it. He could feel the knowledge within his mind, almost burning with the quantity and sheer power of what he had learned. No, he would stay, could not do otherwise. Where else could he sate this hunger that burned in him, that caused ordinary needs to dwindle to insignificance next to the yearning to *know*, to *understand*. Kaivan relaxed with this, his eyes snapping back into focus and locking on the feather, airborne, floating lightly with the currents of the wind. Delicately balanced, like the circumstances of his life, waiting only for a strong breeze to send him skittering away, out of control. But none of that mattered. Because once again, he had succeeded. Kaivan resisted the urge to whistle as he walked along the streets back toward home. Despite the recent improvements and the ever-recurring 'clean up the streets' campaigns being run by the Committee, this still wasn't the best section of town. One learned to keep one's head down, present neither an attractive target nor any sort of threat, and instead simply go about one's business. Gangers didn't bother people they recognized, not so long as they didn't make trouble -- and avoided calling attention to themselves. Kaivan had no illusions about his skills. While his learning had accelerated over the past few years, once he had acquired a solid theoretical foundation on which to build his knowledge, he still only knew four or five decent spells that were anything more than mere practice exercises. He had a lot to learn, and a long way to go -- his master had never missed an opportunity to remind the boy of this. Far from settling into a routine, Kaivan's life had grown more interesting with time. Over the past few years, his role in his master's research had gone from being told, "No, don't touch that!" repeatedly to instead being asked, "Kaivan, look up this formula?" And recently, he had even been allowed to participate in some of the elaborate enchanting rituals, lending his own magical energies to the task of creating new items of power. This fascinated the youth, but his master would not permit him to neglect his other topics of study. Being sent on errands was also a welcome chance to escape and see life on the outside. Today he was returning from the talismonger's shop, his cargo valuable enough to feed several families for many years, and a prime target for anyone who would want to rob him. Yet by emulating the others around him -- automatic now after years of habit -- and carrying his package as if it were nothing of significance to anyone, he transported his cargo of gold and silver through the streets with little need to worry. Well, there was also the fact that, to all outside appearances, he was a large, burly ork who was behaving in a non-threatening manner. Not an easy target, and hardly someone worth messing with for the fun of it. Kaivan remembered the first day he had emerged, disguised, from the apartment building, feeling strangely naked and convinced that everyone was looking at him and seeing right through his disguise. Confidence came with time, and as he rounded the corner to walk down the narrow alleyway toward his apartment building, he stopped suddenly, some unconscious cue jolting him out of his reverie. It took him a moment to locate the source of his startlement, but he took the intervening moments to find a secure place from which to observe. His teacher had drilled caution into his pupil's head until finally it had become a subconscious reflex. Using the observation techniques he had been given, he scanned his surroundings, paying attention to each item he could see, assessing it, considering his reactions. There. That was it. You simply did not see a brand-new Ford-Canada Bison in the Warrens. Not even on the outskirts. Not here. It wouldn't last five minutes. Well, maybe a little longer, but not much. Perhaps in front of a corporate facility, it might last a few days, but here, where there is nothing to interest any corporate big-wig, it was out of place, a shiny black beacon that something unusual was happening. Kaivan craned his head back, peering up along the row of windows to locate the one that represented his own apartment. Every muscle tensed -- or cringed, perhaps; Kaivan couldn't be sure -- as a sudden burst of noise erupted from that window. The glass shattered, and body flew threw it, a body that might once have been a man, but now was simply a ragged, torn, burnt mass of flesh. Kaivan knew what a powerbolt's effects looked like, and, lacking even the presence of mind to drop the package he was carrying, he darted toward the front of the building, his breath already coming in ragged bursts from fear, surprise, shock... His master might need him. Throwing open the door to the building, unmindful of any noise it might create, the boy charged up the steps two at a time, heading up toward the fourth-floor apartment that he shared with his master. Muffled thumps sounded through the frame of the building, and shouts erupted from upstairs. Wisely, the youth took a brief moment to drop his masking spell and instead choose the invisibility spell he had been taught, his teacher's words burning in his ears: "Never let 'em see you, kid. They can't attack you if they can't see you -- or even better, if they never know you're there." His approach was far from stealthy, but the noises from upstairs were sufficient that there was no chance he could be heard. Muffled clumps of footsteps and ragged calls unrecognizable as words flew down the stairway to intercept him, and as he heard them fading, growing more obscured by the bulk of the building, he knew that someone -- multiple someones -- were retreating down the staircase at the other end of the building. Kaivan knew he couldn't get there in time to have any effect; and to be honest, he didn't care. His primary concern was for his teacher. A lump welled up in his throat, a mask of fear and anger and sheer adrenaline-induced terror washed across his features, invisible to any onlooker. He forced these emotions down. "Never let 'em see you sweat, kid. Never sweat. You need that energy when the going gets tough." Fumbling in a pocket for a key proved unnecessary; the door was standing wide open. All adjacent doors were closed and tightly locked; in the Warrens, you quickly learned that if it doesn't directly concern you, it shouldn't interest you. You'd live far longer that way. Kaivan barely brushed the door as he entered, yet even the light brush transferred enough of his velocity that the door swung back to strike the wall behind it with a muffled thump. Kaivan gasped for breath, already exhausted from the unaccustomed physical activity, all his senses running on a keen edge as his gaze swept the disarray that was his home. Brilliant red blood stained the carpet and walls; unidentifiable bits of flesh had scattered in various directions. And there... there was what Kaivan had hoped not to see. A pair of legs, shrouded in all-too-familiar dark pants, horizontal on the floor. Kaivan had little knowledge of medicine, but still, his instincts guided him to a natural response to what he saw. He rushed forward, oblivious to any possibility of danger, placing himself in what would be a perfectly obvious line of fire if there was any to be had, invisibility spell or no. Before he even reached out to check for a pulse, Kaivan knew that it was pointless. He withdrew his hand, sadness, terror and horror mingling into a cold, chilling lump deep in the pit of his gut as he stared, unable to look away, from the carnage that had been the man who had taught him what he knew. Rage flooded into him, replaced by a sense of utter helplessness, a shattering of his worldview as the hard, cold realization struck him that everything that he had known, everything he could remember, was now dead upon the floor below him. Kaivan sucked in a deep, ragged breath and then another, racking sobs that coursed throughout his entire body. Invisible tears coursed down his cheeks, then materialized as they broke free of his face and dripped toward the floor. Kaivan had loved his teacher in a way; he was a father figure if not a father, a trustworthy anchor in a world of confusion and violent chaos. Kaivan wept for the man who had cared for him, but also for himself, who had been cast adrift into a sea, and uncertain of his own ability to swim. It seemed like hours, but in truth it was only a matter of a minute before Kaivan's rational side began to gently but insistently nudge him out of the state he was in. All right, it seemed to say, you've had your cry. Now, it's time to get to work. Time is short, and the need is great. Later, Kaivan would tell about how he quickly laid his plans, then set about implementing them in a calm, cool, and professional way. The truth wasn't nearly as pretty; it involved a swollen-eyed, red-faced youth moving in a daze around the apartment. Something within him had the presence of mind to close the door and draw the windowshades, discouraging passers-by from looking in and interfering with what the boy had to do. In his mind's eye, he could envision no way he could dispose of his master's body. He wasn't sure what you did in this sort of circumstance, but he was relatively certain that he didn't want the cops involved. Magic was frowned upon by the authorities -- especially high-level magic of the sort he had been working on with his mentor. Whatever the reality of the situation, the boy knew that allowing Knight Errant or their ilk to become involved could hardly be good for him. So... the body would be left here. He glanced around the apartment, looking for what he could take with him. Staying here was obviously not an option -- what if those men came back? And there would be questions asked, soon. There was that corpse outside to consider. No, this was something that needed quick action. Much as it pained him, looking around at the familiar surroundings, he understood instinctively that much of what was here would have to remain here, to be disposed off in... in whatever manner these sort of things got disposed of. Foci. Those were valuable. Kaivan knew he would need money, that now that his mentor was no longer paying the bills that he would have to eke out his own survival. He wasn't certain how to do that, but his natural intelligence told him that having something to live on in the meantime would make getting himself established far easier. So... foci. There were a few of those. Including that one he and the master had been working on. He approached the table, inscribed with runes inlaid into its surface, and looked at the mess that now lay upon it. The materials that had been ordered so neatly now lay in disarray; broken bits of glass littered the surface of the table, spilling into the floor. But the focus itself was missing. Letting out a curse in his native Sperethiel, remembered from childhood and surfacing during periods of stress, Kaivan let his mind assemble the pieces to the puzzle, locking them into place with a mental click of comprehension. The focus. They wanted it. They came to get it. They took it, and his mentor's life in the process. Kaivan felt violated, all sense that he might once have had of security turning one hundred eighty degrees into full-blown paranoia, and he redoubled his rate of movement. They killed his mentor for a reason, and perhaps it was to make certain that he could not recreate the work that had been stolen. Perhaps they might also know that he had an assistant, an apprentice. Kaivan's thoughts increased to a frenetic pace, driven by this thought and the thin, icy burst of fear that dug deep into his chest. What else was left? Materials -- those were valuable. Kaivan summoned enough calm within himself to shift his attention into the astral plane, looking over his master's body. Now those foci had survived, unnoticed by the intruders and untouched by the bullets that had destroyed his teacher's body. Carefully, though still with a sense of haste, Kaivan reached out and, with a sickening feeling that in doing so he was somehow being disloyal to his master's memory, he removed the items from the corpse's form. First the earring, then the necklace. Finally, that small group of items from the pocket... there. Kaivan took a moment to count them. Expendable spell foci: he had learned about those, and how to craft them, and how to use them. There had been four of the tigers-eye stones; now there were only two. His master had not died without at least trying to defend himself, as witnessed by the corpse on the ground outside. The two manipulation foci, crafted to resemble coins, those remained as well. Kaivan hastily shoved those into a pocket. A decent wad of corp-scrip was stashed into a drawer, along with a tangled mess of small-value credsticks. The boy crammed these into the duffel bag he sometimes used to transport items he purchased, or that he was taking for sale, trying to make sure to gather up everything necessary. A change of his own clothes or two. His eyes scanned the room and came to rest upon those small boxes, containing a strange mix of powders, incenses, metals, patterns... supplies for summoning elementals, something Kaivan had never before been permitted to do. His master would have no further use for them, and Kaivan was not about to leave them behind. Not when he still had space. Into the bag they went. Now, Kaivan began looking for other items. A few hardcover books that he used for reference went into the bag. He stood torn for a moment of indiscretion over two small cases of trid chips that he had enjoyed, waffling over which to take, before finally he gave in and stuffed them into the bag. A few other items: a pocketknife. His master's pocket secretary, and the chips containing the magic library -- perhaps he could guess the password and find further information within the secretary's memory. He returned to his mentor's corpse and located the keys to the much-abused Nissan Jackrabbit parked beneath the building. Guarded by an elemental itself when parked, and not of enough value for anyone to bother with too much, it had managed to survive relatively unscathed. Slipping those items into a pocket, he turned and surveyed the apartment one final time. Nothing here that could not be replaced. The alchemical equipment, once potentially valuable, was smashed to ruins. He would count the nuyen later, once he was safely underway and had time to think about his next course of action. Childhood toys... he had few of those, none with any real sentimental value; no, those could stay behind. He blinked twice to clear his eyes, took a deep breath, and walked toward the door. Then walked back a few moments later to retrieve a single, garish, yellow-and-blue-and-pink feather from where it had been collecting dust, forgotten, atop a bookcase. And then, once again safely wrapped in the intangible arms of his invisibility spell, he departed from the apartment, the building, and what had been the sum of his life until today. Kaivan drove for long enough to be certain he was not being followed -- at least, not by any sort of conventional means. A few checks of astral space and the summoning of a low-level watcher spirit helped make him feel more secure against magical threats. He'd heard about riggers -- cybered-up people who could seemingly work magic with vehicles -- but he couldn't worry about that. He had far too many other things to consume his entire available quota of worry for the foreseeable future. He'd been able to drive for over a year now, having obtained his license as soon as he reached the required age; his mentor had insisted. So now, the task of operating the car was mostly routine, automatic, and a welcome familiarity that gave him some time to re-orient his thoughts. The short-term questions were easy. Find somewhere new to live. Get settled in, get a routine established, find some sort of safe anchor back to reality. Those goals, Kaivan was already reaching decisions about how to accomplish. The longer-term goals presented deeper challenges, though. To start with, what could he do? He had some definite skill at magic, and magic was always valuable, but he wasn't certain if he was willing to work for corporations. His parents had, and had lost their lives; his mentor, in fact, had accepted the job to develop that focus against his better judgement upon request from a 'Johnson'... one of those corporate-shadowrunner interface types. Was that was his mentor was? A shadowrunner? He hardly seemed the stereotypical one from the trid, dressed in all black with all kinds of fancy gear and a lingo all their own. He didn't go out and break into facilities, but instead mostly stayed in the apartment and... worked. Kaivan was never fully sure whom the work was for, though on occasion people arrived and had conversations that were, he was sternly told, not for his ears. Perhaps that was it. And if so, perhaps he should follow in his teacher's footsteps, because his education would certainly be most suitable for his mentor's avocation... wouldn't it? Shadowrunner. A nice word for criminal, wasn't it? That's what the news called them. "A ruthless band of mercenaries" was responsible, one station liked to say, while another preferred to blame "sinister members of the criminal underworld" for everything. Yet, from what he'd learned from his master, just about everything was illegal these days, to one degree or another. What separated a criminal, a shadowrunner, from anybody else? Heavy thoughts. Dark thoughts that occupied Kaivan's musings as he took the time to locate a new apartment. His master's SIN was encoded on his credsticks, with a simple 'photographic' ID (his master didn't believe in letting anyone know his biometrics, having ranted about this particular topic on several occasions). Easy enough for Kaivan to reproduce, given his familiarity with the man and his mastery of the Physical Mask spell. Even the cameras were fooled. The money was good, and the bored-looking man behind the counter didn't seem inclined to ask too many questions and generate extra work for himself. The apartment was spartan but functional. A single bed was provided, though no sheets and blankets covered the bare mattress. The young elf made a list of required items and spent the next several days in a series of shopping trips, carefully acquiring what he needed, watching expenditures carefully. His limited funds would have to last him until he could find a way to earn money on his own. Once that was done, and a meal was resting solidly in the boy's stomache, he lay awake gazing at the ceiling. If he were going to become a Shadowrunner, he'd need contacts. On the trid, they were always calling up their fixer, who had a job for them. That was how 'biz' got done -- you called your fixer. Except Kaivan didn't know any fixers. Or... did he? That talismonger that he bought supplies from... he hardly operated out of a reputable storefront. No, he worked behind the scenes, and seemed suspicious of Kaivan far more than any legitimate shopkeeper would, at least until he got to know the boy. Maybe he would know a fixer. Kaivan didn't know too much about the criminal underworld, but he did have an idea how to survive in tough neighborhoods. Keep your head down, don't cause trouble, and most of the time, everybody leaves you alone. Just have a big enough stick that you don't seem to be worth messing with. That's another thing Kaivan forgot to consider. Defending himself. He knew one good attack spell: Stunbolt. Good for knocking an opponent out and getting away. Kaivan had only really *had* to use it, other than for practice, once -- that time he got cornered by somebody who thought that package he was carrying looked a little *too* interesting. Nobody messed with him after that. But still... spells weren't perfect. And they weren't very intimidating. Invisible until the moment they went off, they didn't carry any sort of visible threat unless you used them. And his mentor had always told him, "The best weapon is one you don't have to use." So... perhaps a gun. Kaivan paled briefly at the thought of killing someone -- visions of his master's bloody, torn remnants of a face intruded into his mind, and he shook his head to clear it. No. Perhaps tomorrow he would talk to this talismonger, and see what he could find out. That would be a good course of action. Find out if he had what it took to be a Shadowrunner. Find out what they *really* were; Kaivan wasn't quite naive enough to trust everything he saw on the trid. And he'd need a name, too. Shadowrunners never used their real name. That'd be stupid, right? So... yeah. A name. Mojo was taken. He'd heard of Mojo. Mageman. Spelldude. Lame, lame, lame. Even as naive as he was, he knew even *he* wouldn't take anyone seriously with a name like that. Ghost. Taken, I know. Hunter... no. Stalker... no, makes me sound like I'm some guy breathing hard into the phone. Stinger. There we go... kinda cool, a little pretentious, but not too specific... Spell-stinger. Doesn't have much to do with magic, does it? No, spell-stinger, mojo-stinger... mojo-slinger? Too long. They always have short, cool names. How about just... Slinger? Any further thoughts Kaivan might have had on this matter were completely indistinguishable from dreams. Kaivan's exhaustion from the previous day's events kept him in bed well into late morning. He awoke, refreshed, relaxed... then tensed as the memory of what had transpired just yesterday flooded back into awareness. He scowled, looked around the barren apartment, and finally convinced himself that this, for better or worse, was the reality he was stuck with. For a brief moment, he found himself almost comprehending why people would use BTL chips. He surveyed his clothes, including the new attire he had purchased. None of it was particularly out of the ordinary -- several T-shirts for his favorite thrash-metal bands, a couple of pairs of tight-fitting pants -- after all, nobody was going to tell him what not to wear, now. He selected one combination, put it on, and peered into the room's dingy and somewhat clouded mirror, nonetheless grinning at what he saw. "Lookin' good... Slinger," he found himself saying, then giggled softly and shook his head. Finding the talismonger involved a small drive to another part of town. He knew this man, also knew that he didn't typically give out anything for free. A few of the credsticks and a bit of the corp scrip travelled safely in Kaivan's pocket. Enough. He drove through the city, mentally rehearsing what he would say. Parking the car, he travelled on foot through the narrow alleyways toward the talismonger's place of business. Which, as usual, appeared to be closed. Kaivan knocked three times on the door, then twice, then opened it. Then, he made his way back through the dusty, abandoned shelves toward the 'employees only' door. Knocking twice, then three times, as he had been taught to do, he made his way down the stairs, proceeding cautiously in case no one responded to his greeting. In this case, though, the familiar voice of the talismonger drifted toward the stairs. "Who's there?" he asks, in that typical semi-demanding, semi-worried tone. Kaivan answered with his name... then suddenly, almost without thought, added, "But call me Slinger." "Huh? Oh, s'you, kid... er, um... Slinger," he said, looking up as the boy rounded the corner. The talismonger himself was a relatively young man, with streaks of stark white hair coursing backward from his temples that Kaivan had always suspected were artificially added, just for effect. The man seemed to be having trouble keeping a straight face. He stared at Kaivan for a moment, then suddenly frowned. "Wait a minute. What're you doing here? Felix is dead." As if by magic -- or very possibly with its aid -- a gun appeared in the talismonger's hand, aimed directly at Kaivan. The boy froze, unsure how to react to this, and lifted his hands skyward, displaying open palms. "Yeah, he is," the boy admitted. "And... I need help," he adds, the rehearsed speech flying completely out the window. The talismonger stared at Kaivan for a long moment, neither the gun nor the frown ever wavering. Finally, he slipped it back beneath the counter. Kaivan let out an audible sigh of relief. "You've got a lot of nerve coming here," the talismonger said conversationally, still watching the boy cautiously. "Look, I know, but I didn't know who else to turn to. I mean... they just killed him. Shot him, and took that thrice-damned focus." The memory resurfaced again, the image of the gory demise of his teacher. "I got out, took what I could. They got what they wanted, and I don't think they're still looking... are they?" This last was appended in a tentative voice as suddenly Kaivan considered the possibility that he wasn't nearly as safe as he might have imagined. "Maybe they are, maybe they're not. I know they might be lookin' for me, to see if he told me anything. And they might be lookin' for you. If you helped him make the thing, then maybe you'd be worth some good cash to them, too, huh?" Even Kaivan's inexperienced eye could see the nuyen-signs in the talismonger's eyes. "I can pay you, too," Kaivan hastily pointed out. Before the talismonger could react, he continued, slowing his speech and trying to project a confidence that he didn't fully feel. "I've got some nuyen with me, but I've got more somewhere else. I'll need supplies, information. Connections." He decided to go out on a limb, to take a risk. "You know any fixers?" Kaivan had never acted like this before; he had always seemed to be a somewhat shy, reserved, carefree kid. The talismonger studied the boy for a few moments longer, rubbing thoughtfully at his chin. "Okay. Okay, I'll help you. It'll cost you, but you know that." His posture seemed to change, losing some of the reservation and suspicion. He leaned away from the counter, and started ticking items off on his fingers. "First off, if you're using Felix's credsticks, stop. Every time you do, they can trace you. Word on the street says it was a corp hit squad, maybe Aztec. Who knows? Whoever they are, neither you nor me has any business fucking with them. You want the cash on this sticks, I got a guy who can help you convert it over. Old Felix had a bit put away, I'd guess. If you're driving his car like I'd guess you are, not knowing shit about shit, then you're gonna need new plates and maybe a paint job. You've rebonded all his foci you took... no, wait. He's dead. They're not bonded, no material link there. Biggest threat is that they'll find some kind of material link to you in that apartment of his. Shoulda torched the place, kid. But since you didn't, I'd build myself a ward as quick as I could." Kaivan struggled to assimilate the vast rush of information as the talismonger babbled, even as a small bit of his mind bristled at being called 'kid'. Still, it didn't seem wise to bring up that point right now; he was learning a great deal right here. "If you're staying someplace you bought with those sticks, I'd ditch it as fast as you can," the man continue his stream of informative babble. "This guy'll get you new sticks, only take ten percent, which is more than reasonable, I can tell you. Hook you up with a fake ID, too, matches the sticks. It won't be that great, but good enough here in Warrens. Nobody checks too much if your money's the right color. Then, you get a new place, set up shop there, and boom. You're back in business." Then, he scowls as he mentally reaches the point where Kaivan's request for a fixer was mentioned. "What do you want a fixer for, huh, kid? Think you're some kind of Shadowrunner?" "I might be," the boy replied loftily. The talismonger chuckled softly. "Might be, my ass. You're a wannabe, at best. But you're bright, I'll give you that. And you've got balls. So I'll tell you what. There's a guy I can hook you up with. Sorta reliable, sometimes a little hard to find. Ganger, does a bit of resale of... shall we say, items with questionable shipping records." Kaivan smiled, and the smile was genuine. "That's great. How can I find him?" The talismonger eyed Kaivan for a long moment. "If I sent him a kid of, what, fifteen, sixteen, he'd laugh his ass off then tell me to piss off," he stated flatly. "I'm seventeen," protested Kaivan, to no effect. The point was made. "And I can look older," he added, forcing a bit of strength into his voice. The talismonger looked skeptical. "Show me," he commanded, with an idle wave of his hand, both an invitation and a grant of permission to cast a spell within the shop. Kaivan took only a moment to implement the Physical Mask spell, this time selecting a human male in his mid-to-late twenties. Reasonably handsome, the man sported dark hair, a dark goatee, thin sideburns, and a vaguely mysterious aura. The talismonger eyed the result critically, and finally nodded. "Lose the sideburns. Somebody that age wouldn't wear 'em, probably. Darken the eyes a bit, make the hair a bit shorter... yeah. There you go. Not perfect, but it'll do." Kaivan responded with a grin, prompting a scowl from the shopkeeper. "Trouble is, you still move and act like a kid. Tell you what -- for now, you let me know what you need, and I'll get it from him." "For a slight fee," Kaivan replied, in his new, lower voice that masked somewhat of the youthful tone of his usual speaking voice. "Of course," said the talismonger, spreading his hands wide, with a sly grin on his features. Kaivan took a moment to consider before speaking. "For starters... I need something to defend myself with, something besides spells. But I don't want to carry around a big beast like that." He pointed toward the section of the countertop under which the gun disappeared. "Something small, so I don't get stopped by KE every time I turn around. Something I can hide, but is damned effective at stopping people coming after me." The man looked thoughtful for a moment. "You want something KE won't flinch at, get a Narcoject. They're legal, and they're 'damned effective' if you know how to shoot a gun." Kaivan grimaced. "Yeah, I know how. Felix made me learn; couple of days at the range every month since I was fourteen." "Smart of him. You'll thank him for that later," the man advised. "Okay. One Narcoject, with a few clips. It's quiet, it's non-lethal, it's easy as hell to conceal... I think it'd work for you. You'll also want an armored trenchcoat. It won't stop much, but sometimes it can just make the difference that saves your life." Kaivan nodded. "Okay. Whatever you say..." He trailed off tentatively, not sure what to say next. The talismonger grinned slyly again. "How much you got to spend?" The youth hesitated for a moment, performing a quick mental estimate. "For now... that's about all I ought to spend." "All right. Come back here, same time tomorrow. There'll be a guy waiting outside, dressed in black, probably smoking a cigarette if I know him. Ask him if the store is open, and he'll tell you the door isn't locked. That's how you'll know him." Kaivan smiled in response. "I'll be there. And... hey, if you hear of anything, I'm looking for work, okay?" "Shadow work?" The talismonger snorted and chuckled softly. "Whatever you say, kid." Kaivan simply smiled once again in response. "The name," he said softly, "is Slinger." Kaivan approached the shop the following day, scanning the area in front of the shop while he lifted the cigarette in his fingers to his lips and took a quick draw, blowing the smoke out quickly. At least he'd had the presence of mind to buy the pack on the way home the previous day, and try a few of them before heading to this meeting. The first one made him sick, the second one made him so dizzy he had to lie down, and the third one this morning had made him cough for nearly a minute. But now he was able to at least puff on it passably, so long as he didn't try to inhale too deeply, and maybe combined with the spell it'd help make him look a bit older. That seemed to be a recurring theme, he thought with a grimace. Right on schedule, he saw a man fitting the description he was given. Kaivan approached the store, walking toward the door, then glanced to his left, trying to look casual as he asked the man standing there, "Is the store open?" "Can the crap, kid," the man replied tersely. "You got the sticks?" Kaivan swallowed and nodded, a bit taken aback by the delivery, but he handed them over, hesitating only a moment as he realized that he was forking over all his savings. Still, the talismonger wouldn't steer him wrong, would he? "Then hand 'em over!" the man said, as if talking to an imbecile. Kaivan frowned faintly, still hesitating. "How do I know I'll get them back?" he asked in a reasonable tone. "Well, you won't get *these* back," the man said, with a faint sneer. "But you'll get some back, with an ID. You mind showing me what you really look like?" Kaivan swallowed, looking down at the cigarette in his fingers and then lifting it to his lips as he dropped the spell. Taking a quick drag, he couldn't avoid coughing slightly on the smoke as he inhaled more deeply than he meant to. The man just laughed. "Okay. Hold still. Get that cancer stick out of your face, there you go." He lifted a pocket secretary, looked down at the screen, then nodded. "Okay. Got it. Meet me here, same time tomorrow." He turned and disappeared down an alleyway, leaving Kaivan standing alone in front of the shop, looking slightly puzzled. He shook his head, tossed the cigarette away, and then returned to his car. Kaivan returned at the appointed time the next day. The man was there, smoking a cigarette. Kaivan tossed his own smoke into the alleyway as he approached, watching the man carefully. The shoemaker grinned and patted a coat pocket. "Got it right here." Kaivan approached, and the man pulled a small bag of items out of a pocket, running through each one as he handed it over. "ID. Credsticks, three of 'em, with your new info. You'll notice the balance is a bit smaller." He laughed without humor. "Driving license. You'll notice you're nineteen now, on paper," he added. "New name is Ben Dover." At Kaivan's pale expression, he laughed, this time seeming to enjoy the joke. "Just kidding. New name is Gregory Smith. I made you a UCAS citizen, hope you don't mind." He finished itemizing the stack, then added a cautionary note. "These won't stand up to any real legwork, so don't be drawing attention to yourself. Chip in there will tell you all about your new self. Read it through, and learn it by heart. Stay out of trouble, and you're home free. Any questions?" Kaivan looked at the pile of items, then started stuffing them into various pockets. "None that I can think of." "In that case," the man said, leaning away from the wall in preparation to depart. "It was a pleasure doing business with you, kid." Kaivan smiled as he tucked the last credstick into hiding underneath his secure long coat. "I keep telling people. The name," he explained patiently, "is Slinger." Background Copyright 2001 by Slinger's Player. Used with permission. |
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| This page Copyright ©2001 by Joel E. Ricketts and Craig G. Rickel. All Rights Reserved. Some information and content Copyright ©1999 by FASA Corporation and/or Wizkids, LLC, and its use or reference here is not intended as any sort of challenge to those Copyrights. Shadowrun is a Registered Trademark of FASA Corporation. | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||