Shadowrun: Clockwork Ashes 1.3 (Patreon)

Revolution: 1.3

Dami’s apartment was more or less exactly what I expected.

There was a thick layer of dust, dirt and grime covering the floor that seemed to prescede my brother’s disappearance. Similarly, most of the sparse, cheap furniture that decorated the place had a layer of grey dust atop it.

There were a couple shelves, mostly holding various plastic knick-knacks designed to look like different cartoon characters, they kind you got as a prize on cereal boxes and children’s meal. I recognized most of his collection, but a few appeared to be newer.

A few of the shelves in the living room—which had a sliding glass door that allowed passage to a small balcony that, upon opening the curtains, I saw held a lawn chair that had been tipped over by the wind and corroded by acid rain a while ago—actually held books.

I smiled a bit at the sight of them, specifically at Dami’s copy of Alice in Wonderland, which had previously been mine. I’d gotten into the habit of reading from this one ork girl I’d dated when I was starting in high school, and I’d forced my habit onto Damien.

He’d resisted and claimed the superiority of reading off the Matrix, naturally, but I’d caught him reading my copy of Alice in Wonderland so many times that eventually I’d given up on getting it back.

Opening my eyes to the astral world for a moment, I found that the book shone with fondness and nostalgia.

And around it... hah.

Don Quixote, John Dies at the End, Hogfather, Lord of the Rings, Hitchiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, the Restaurant at the End of the World, Moving Pictures, Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep, Animal Farm, Farenheit 451, How to Build Everything: A Time Traveller’s Guide, the novelization of My Little Pony: Equestria Girls, the Devil’s Dictionary, the Anarchist’s Cookbook, Fuck Everything And Run: Stories of Surviving Addiction, 1001 Awakened Animals to See Before Dying, The History of Juggalos, Surviving Kowloon Walled City...

Dami’s weird-ass taste hadn’t changed.

I wiped a tear from under my eye, took a deep breath, coughed from all the dust in the air and went back to exploring.

The bathroom was mostly clean, though the toilet hadn’t been flushed in a while and the seat was up. Intriguingly, there was an ancient turd mostly dissolved, so I had to wonder if he’d lifted the seat after taking a crap and, while in full eye contact with his waste, made the decision not to flush.

Then there was a small kitchen with a table in the corner, which I poked around in and found lots of flour, some genuine vanilla extract and other baking ingredients. Opening a different door showed an empty bedroom, complete with a bare mattress standing in the corner, an empty bed frame and a mirror hanging over the frame that just made the room kinda creepy.

I closed the door, sighed, and moved on to the last door.

Inside were several objects: a bedframe, mattress and game of sheets that had been arranged in a way that gave the bare minimum comfort required for sleep. A few posters of different cities hung on one wall, and a whiteboard that almost completely covered the opposite wall, covered in annotations on black and red markers, as well as different pictures taped on different spots. There was a bean bag chair on the corner, next to an outlet. Next to it, a desk with a computer that looked much less expensive than what I’d expected, as well as a pretty nice gamer chair that looked twice as expensive as the computer.

Giving the whiteboard a cursory glance, I saw several references to the White Labs in Dami’s chickenscratch handwriting, made worse by his hand clumsily blurring part of the words at times. There was a small stepladder on the side that he must’ve used to reach the higher parts of the board.

I squinted at it. Most of the pictures were of people I didn’t recognize, surrounded by notes marking dates and places, which connected through shaky arrows to different places and dates, a few terms like ‘chemical enhancements(?)’ and ‘intesive vatjobs(?)’. Clearly, Damien hadn’t felt pressed to write down anything that wasn’t obvious to him.

I had few expectations that the computer would serve as much clarification, but even a little would be good.

I walked to the desk, sat down on the gamer chair—wasted a second or ten leaning back as far as the chair went and marvelling at how comfortable it was for something made for dwarves—and turned on the computer.

An operating system greeted me, and I grimaced slightly at the S-K logo that dominated the screen for a moment. I knew it was all bull, but being a worker for Mitsuhama for years had ingrained suspicion and dislike for all other AAA companies in me.

Eventually, it loaded and showed me a password screen. I frowned, and clicked on the question mark to get a hint.

A text bubble came up, reading, ‘Nice try, jackass.’

I gave the computer a flat stare.

Real classy, Damien.

I leaned back and scratched my chin, giving it some thought as one leg crossed over the other and the bottom one swung me from side to side.

Alright, I reasoned. What do I know about Damien? More importantly, what do I know about him that’s relevant to computer security?

He’s smart, and he knows it. He might’ve picked some obscure name for some random computer part that oversees the... pixelation... of... stuff. Some junk that nobody but a dedicated Decker with his sense of humor would guess.

On the other hand... how would I be supposed to guess his password if that’s the case? We argued over it enough times that he wouldn’t assume I’d know some obscure computer part. Would it be something he mentioned to me once?

But then again... maybe I’m looking at this the wrong way. He’s smart and he knows it. He always feels the need to show off and make fun of whoever he outsmarts. Usually by... dangling it... in front of their face...

With a flat expression, I typed:

N i c e   t r y ,   j a c k a s s .

I pressed enter, the computer loaded for two seconds and opened to his main screen.

I sighed.

Dami’s desktop was neatly organized. A folder labeled ‘Mission Files’, another folder labeled ‘My Stuff’, one labeled ‘Paydata’... no web browser, which I thought strange until I realized he probably would just surf the Matrix rather than use his meat body through an impersonal middleman.

Opening ‘Mission Files’ first, I found a few text files. Reading them at random revealed a couple summarizations of different jobs Damien had carried out as Hawkeye. A job kidnapping someone from a hotel that resulted in the security team boxing them in and them having to exit through the laundry chute. A job initially described as a ‘milk run’ in which they would have to protect someone, turned complicated when the ‘Mr. Johnson’ betrayed them, since it turned out they wanted to appear to protect the individual while covertly hiring people to kill them.

The more I read, the more a ball of anxiety built in my stomach. Damien... had never been the most lawful person in my life. But this... kidnapping, stealing, even murder were listed as normal parts of his job.

This was the lifestyle he chose? These were the shadows he liked so much?

I frowned, but closed the folder when I failed to find anything related to the White Labs.

I opened ‘My Stuff’, and found a few more folders inside. ‘Games’, ‘Porn’, ‘For Ava’, and ‘W.L.’.

I eyed the middle two folders, but stayed on track and opened ‘W.L.’, immediately getting another password wall. I sucked my teeth in frustration and pressed the button for a hint, getting a text bubble that said, ‘Who did I steal from you?’

I didn’t need to think about it long.

A l i c e

The folder unlocked and revealed dozens and dozens of folders, organized by date, all of which contained some combination of videos, text files, pictures and audio recordings.

Starting at the earliest date, I found a few files showing data about clinical trials that flew over my head and a mission file similar to the ones in the other folder, detailing a datasteal job and how some self initiative had revealed some secret files detailing experiments. I could tell this had originally been filed with all the other missions, as the tone in Damien’s writing showed no alarm, but only some curiosity and a note about investigating further when he found the time. Apparently he’d figured it was just ‘some inmoral corp drek’.

The next folder dated to a couple months later, and contained both a video and a mission statement. Apparently ‘Hawkeye’ had taken a job involving kidnapping some mid-rank NeoNET manager because he’d remembered his name being listed among the files he found on that first run, and while they were waiting for the Johnson Damien had asked him about the experiments.

The manager seemed to freak the hell out, shouting about how Damien had no idea what he was poking his nose into. The video file showed the interrogation of the manager, and I paled a little as I saw the panic and madness that overtook his eyes.

“The Light! The Light! The Light will make you silent!” the man had screamed, spittle flying from his mouth and lanky muscles straining against the rope he’d been tied to the chair with. “She will punish your indiscretions, and She will consume your mind for kindling!”

I paused the video as other shadowrunners entered the frame, asking Damien what the hell he’d done. My brother had been out of frame for most of the video, but there was a moment that I found as I clicked back a couple of seconds. A moment where I could see him getting up from his chair and I saw his face.

He was even taller, almost in range of just passing as a short human if not for his bulky frame. There was a datajack on his temple that looked a lot nicer than the second hand, second-gen piece of junk he’d gotten in high school. He was wearing sunglasses, his bright orange hair was set in a ridiculous gelled mohawk, he had mirrored red sunglasses on, and he looked...

... he looked healthy. Happy with his place in life, grinning even as he jumped back from a frantic conspirator with a shout.

Like all the death and violence he was party to didn’t bother him at all.

Bittersweet nostalgia curled in my chest, and I closed the video.

Moving on from folder to folder, I grew more and more concerned the more I found. Some amateur sleuthing and not-so-amateur decking from Damien had shown the depths and lengths of the White Labs. In fact, it seemed that every time he found a new subverted corporate stooge, a new connected gang lord, it just presented new lines of the web.

I wasn’t halfway through the folders and already he’d saved evidence involving thirteen large criminal organizations, thirty-one small-time gangs, hundreds of corporate employees, thousands of shadowrunners, mercenaries and security specialists...

And this was just Ashenport and the surrounding towns and cities. Already, Damien had theorized that the White Labs had connections all around the globe, though they appeared to be based off of either Ashenport or somewhere nearby.

The last folder that I saw before I closed it and decided to put my reading on hold had pictures and videos of some of those experiments. If my stomach hadn’t been emptied, it would have quickly vacated itself at the sight of flesh mangled and pushed back for the sake of fitting as much technology as possible without sacrificing all biological materials.

I closed the folder and ran my fingers through my hair. Then I removed my hair tie, shook my head a bit, and started scratching at my head for a bit of comfort as I tried to reason what the hell I’d just seen.

My first instinct was to laugh, dismiss it all as fake and run back out of the shadows, screaming in panic on the inside at what I’d seen. Pretend it was all fake.

I wasn’t a good enough liar to fool myself.

My second instinct was to take it to someone else, but some of the first things that Damien had found were just how many authority figures were involved with the White Labs. No one truly powerful seemed to work for them, the White Lab appeared to thrive off of the sweat of the overlooked and reliable workers of any institution. Which meant that to get this information to someone that could do something, I’d probably have to sneak into their house.

Which would then lead to the job being pushed off down the hill until it got to someone working for the White Labs, most likely.

Or maybe I’m just being pessimistic, I thought, giving a fake smile to no one in particular.

After a second, the smile dropped, and then my face dropped onto my hands.

“Fraaaaaaaaaag,” I groaned. “You’re really pulling me into the drek here, Dami.”

Except he wasn’t, was he? He’d said there’d be no shame in ignoring his letter.

... and I hadn’t. But was it truly too late to turn away from this whole mess?

The image of the body, torn open and fitted with more machinery than the metahuman soul could withstand, ran through my mind.

Yeah, it was too late.

With a sigh, I clicked out of the ‘W.L.’ folder and directed myself to the ‘For Ava’ folder.

Might as well see what breadcrumbs he left behind for me to track, I thought.

I expected the names of contacts, people of interest, stuff like that. Instead, I found a few folders with the names of different bands’ albums—most of which I knew and liked—and a couple of text files titled things like ‘Book Recs’, ‘Band Recs’, ‘Movie Recs’, ‘Present Ideas’, and such. There were also a couple video files, most of which had the names of concerts or presentations at MIT&T—one of which was my thesis defense, I realized—and one titled ‘Dear Ava’.

Blinking, I opened ‘Band Recs’, and found a long list of bands that I mostly didn’t know, along with annotations.

· Daughters of Circe (wizpunk, good reviews, local, small-time, MESSERKAMPF! influence)

· Rolling Lettering (hardcore rock, headbangers, good for cheering up, from the area)

· Dancing Mood (ska, pretty old, dance music, good for getting high, CFS based)

· crybaby (mumble rock, good for brooding, NAN based)

· Uncle Wolf (folk wizpunk fusion, energetic, danceable, NAN based)

· Sour Sol (latin rap group, classic, local, clever lyrics when I can understand them)

· Screamers Anonymous (ska/punk fusion, she’ll like their name, lots of sax solos)

· Thirty Seconds to Orchestra (i have no idea what genre this is, but they use violins, bagpipes and electric guitars so Ava’s probably gonna love it)

· Yo La Tengo (indie rock, pretty old but not bad, not sure if she’d like it, must listen to more albums)

And more.

I kept scrolling down, then closed the file and opened ‘Present Ideas’. There were a few names of albums I’d wanted to own physical copies of, a couple ideas for custom t-shirts that said things like ‘Bad Witches Do It Well’, some books on thaumaturgic theory, a book on cooking for beginners which was less something I wanted and something I probably needed...

The text file titled ‘Concerts’ had plenty of shows I’d wanted to go but missed in favour of work, all the ones that had passed before Dami’s disappearance had been marked with an ‘x’, but had notes next to the names saying to look where he could find recordings of the concert.

‘Research’ was a folder full of issues of Whispers of Atlantis, specifically issues that dealt with research that I’d talked to him about when we still met. ‘Pictures’ was full of cute photos, especially of cats, my favourite animal. ‘Wiz Junk’ had digital copies of texts pertaining to several magical traditions, religious and academic texts that had been spoken well of by different Awakened individuals.

When I opened the video file titled ‘Dear Ava’, I realized my vision was blurry from the tears building up in my eyes.

The video showed Dami, a little more worn down that he’d looked in the video of the interrogation, with bags under his eyes that I could barely see peeking out under his sunglasses, a bit of yellow on his teeth and his gelled up hair a little crusty and dishevelled. But he still grinned at the camera as it started.

“Um... hoi there, Ava. It’s... it’s been a while, huh?” he started. Then he hung his head, sighed and said, “Okay, this is like the fourteenth take and I still don’t know how to start, so I’m just gonna spew my guts and keep recording. Hopefully you’ll never see this anyways.”

A choked laugh escaped me, and I covered my mouth with my hand as Damien awkwardly scratched the back of his head.

“I... If you’re watching this, the drek hit the fan and I didn’t get under cover fast enough. That happens, I knew it was a risk when I poked at the White Labs, and I made my peace with that. But I’m sorry, because if I know you then you’ll probably be all bummed out about me dying,” he said, with his usual tact. “Um... I guess what I should say is... thanks. If you’re seeing this, you came after me, and... well, I’m thankful you took the time, though I kinda wish you hadn’t.”

He reached for something off-camera, and his hand came back with a cigarette and a grey plastic lighter. He lit the tip of the former, tossed away the latter carelessly and took a big drag as he leaned back.

“The White Lab is serious business. Knowing you, you probably checked their folder first so maybe this comes across as redundant, but I can’t stress this enough. They will come after you and anyone they think you care about. Granted, they’ll have a sad surprise when they go after your folks and realized that they’re the fragging worst, but they’ll go after any friends you have if they figure out who you are.

“I wish I could say that that’s why I haven’t been in touch, but... honestly, I just felt awkward about it.” He chuckled, scratching his nose. “Kind of a lame excuse, I know. ‘Oh, sorry I haven’t talked to you in years, I had social anxiety’. Feel free to call me an asshole.

“I guess I just... I worried what you’d think about me, now that I’m a runner. Of every person in my life, your opinion has always been the most important. Even in the moral ambiguety of the job, thinking of what you’d do has kept me cleaner than I otherwise would’ve been.”

“Fraggin’ kiss-ass,” I sniffed, wiping my eyes. I realized I was openly crying now.

“Granted, that may be damning through faint praise,” he sighed. “I just... gah, I had a point. Where was I going with this? ... I guess I just want you to be careful?”

There was a moment of silence, and he pulled off his sunglasses and rubbed his eyes, “Wow, great note to end on, Hawkeye. ‘I just want you to be careful’, yeah, real nice, drekhead.”

He took a deep breath, sighed, and looked straight at the camera, almost like he was looking me in the eyes. “I wish I’d worked up the courage to meet you when it mattered. I wish I’d been brave enough to meet with you, show you all the stuff I gathered for you, maybe talk you into the ‘runner lifestyle on a note less ‘come avenge my death’ and more ‘come be free of corporate overlords and meet cute razorgirls’.

“Which, sidenote: totally a thing that happens. You’d think you’d meet less cute ‘borg girls in this career, but nope. Loadsof cute razorgirls willing to have a night of fun.”

“Tempting,” I chuckled.

“Ah, that tempted you, didn’t it?” he smiled at the camera and I huffed. “There’s... there’s beauty in the shadows, if you look for it. Maybe it’s hard to see at times, but don’t forget it, okay? Promise me you won’t. It’ll get you through hard times.

“If you’re seeing this, you’re probably about to enter the life or already in it. Some words of advice: Everest can be trusted, but he’s not the type to stick out his neck for just anybody. Joyboy is a good rigger, but a fraggin’ card cheat and a selfish sack of drek, avoid working with him. There’s a gun hidden under the desk in a loose floorboard, feel free to use it. Watch your back, conserve ammo, and never, ever cut a deal with a dragon.”

He took a deep drag off of his cigarette, exhaled, and gave the camera a sad smile. “I love you, sis. Please take care of yourself.”

The video ended, and I closed the window.

I turned off the monitor, removed my glasses, and let myself cry for a good few minutes.

When I finished, I put the glasses back on, took a deep breath, then turned the monitor back on and reopened the ‘W.L.’ folder.

Dresden was wrong. My brother wasn’t all take and no give. He was still the person I remembered and loved.

I made my decision. If he was alive, I was going to hug him and beat the drek out of him for scaring me.

And if he was dead, I would burn Ashenport to the ground along with everyone that was party to his death and dance on the embers of their corpses, no matter the cost.

That was my oath.

And as I made it, I felt Fox grinning from the back of my mind, filling my chest with warm satisfaction.

*+*+*

A week later, my MCT-provided apartment was even emptier than it’d previously been.

I’d packed the few physical books that hadn’t been taken from me by my parents into boxes, along with with a few sets of bedsheets, a couple changes of clothes (mostly button-downs, ties and a couple of suit jackets, since of my my main concerns for the past five years had been to look presentable at my job), my back-up glasses and contact lenses and my laptop computer, plus a number of toiletries.

And that was basically all my belongings. Five boxes full of every material good to my name, plus a game of toothbrushes that had technically been Mitsuhama property but that I wasn’t feeling too guilty about stealing in comparison to everything else.

My last week as an employee of Mitsuhama Computer Technologies had been, in one word, mundane. I performed as I ever did, I avoided contact with my coworkers as usual, and I got pulled into unpaid overtime like normal.

The only three differences were that Park stopped harassing me and in fact seemed afraid of me, my coworkers now whispered about how of course I quit with the poor way he had treated me (the rumor mill had spread the official reason for my quitting, somehow), and I hadn’t seen Toshiro in the whole week since he drew on my face while I was off-body.

In any case, I had signed a contract, recieved a folded piece of letter full of praises for my work signed by Director Park (I decided to have it framed as soon as possible) and clocked out for the last time on Friday. Rusty had visited me as I was packing up to give me a cupcake and wish me good luck on future endeavours, which I thanked him for with a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

And then, as I was using a Manipulation spell to move the boxes out the door, I accidentally smacked Toshiro in the face with one as he walked up to my former apartment.

I blinked at seeing him there, rubbing his nose and grimacing. I let the boxes drop down in a pile and released the spell, letting gravity reassert its grip on them.

“Toshiro,” I said. “It’s been a while.”

“Y-Yeah,” he said, sniffing a bit. He hesitated, then said, “I... I understand if you don’t want to see me—”

“Toshiro,” I interrupted. “I’m not mad about you doodling on my face.”

He blinked, “Y-You’re not?”

“It was a stupid prank and it happened at a bad time,” I said, “But that’s all it was. We’re still friends, man.”

He sighed and smiled with relief, then looked down at the boxes. “... I thought I was the reason that you quit. Like, the straw that broke the camel’s back.”

“You helped,” I confessed, making him grimace, “But... this was a long time coming. And I feel good about it.”

“Really?”

“No. This is incredibly anxiety-inducing.”

We chuckled together.

“But still,” I continued, “I’m... I’ll be pursuing a different form of employment. One that caters more to my tradition than being stuck with pointdexters all the time.”

“You’rea pointdexter.”

“I’m a chaos mage.”

He blinked, “Wait. Really?”

“Yeah?”

“But... don’t you have a doctorate in Applied Thaumaturgy? You mentioned that like a dozen times.”

I shrugged, “Chaos mage, man. If we’re all doing our own thing, someone was gonna get stuck actually cracking a book and being respectable. Y’know, stadistically.”

“Huh. I guess that makes sense,” he said, scratching his chin. “What are you gonna be doing?”

“Stuff,” I said. “But... Well, I was gonna invite you for a drink if you ever found the time, but I think we both know how unlikely that is.”

“... yeah, maybe,” he said. “Still, d’you think you could give me your number? So we can stay in touch?”

“Sure,” I said, pulling out my commlink.

We exchanged numbers, he offered me a handshake and I pulled him in for a hug, which he slowly returned.

I left the building, and in fact the whole sprawl, grinning and feeling pretty good about my life.

*+*+*

The feeling didn’t last all that long.

“I don’t see why I should take you on,” said Dresden, looking down at a tumbler full of whiskey and two ice cubes as he twirled it a bit.

“B-But I s-stole f-from—”

“Yes. Because you were an employee there and you had the means,” he said, setting down the glass on a coaster as he dragged his eyes back to me. “While what you’ve done shows the attitude required for the job, it hasn’t really shown the capacity for it.”

I clenched my jaw for a moment, before sighing. “Y-You w-want me to d-do another job.”

“No. You want you to do another job, because you want to work for me and youwant me to burn your SIN,” he spelled out. “Iam very happy with the runners I’ve got. I know dozens of mages that I can contact and hire whenever I need one. I, quite plainly, do not need you. You are asking me for a favor, and I don’t give those for free. Have I made myself clear?”

“Y-Yes sir,” I muttered, “S-sorry, sir.”

So far, the ‘runner lifestyle’ was proving distressingly similar to my first years as a corporate wagemage.

“Good,” he said. “Bad enough I won’t be charging you rent until the money from your... exit from Mitsuhama runs out. I’m not going to put up with you giving me an attitude.”

I wisely decided not to say anything, which I would later learn was the only reason that Dresden gave me a chance.

“I’m not completely heartless, however,” he continued. “So I’m going to offer you a single job to prove yourself to me, and if you succeed, I’ll both burn your SIN and keep you on retainer. Two for one. Aren’t you glad?”

“Y-Yes, sir.”

“Good,” he said. He took a sip from his glass, set it back down and started typing away at his computer. “Now, let’s see what I have pending for someone of your skill level...”

I frowned, clenched my fists, and managed to keep quiet as he scrolled away. I did not get a fragging doctorate and release thousands of Mitsuhama products just to get talked down to.

“... how do you feel about detective work?” he suddenly asked, making me blink.

“P-Pardon?”

“Detective work,” he repeated. “You’re a mage, no? Tracking astral signatures, doing... spells and shit. That’s all in your wheelhouse?”

Absolutely not.

“Y-Yeah, I could do that,” I nodded.

“Good,” he said, before turning around the monitor with his cybernetic hand. I looked at a message. “Because I’ve got your job.”

I blinked at the screen. It read:

FROM: Corncerned Mother
TO: Mt. Everest Independent Contracting
RE: Missing Daughter

Hello,

Id usually never involve myself with a business like yours but I am desperate and someone form my church told me you could help.

My daughters been missing for three weeks now. My husband has refused to help me look for her. Hes saying shell come back on her own but I cant take that chanse.

Im willing to pay up to a thousand nuyen for her safety. She has to return safe and sound to my house.

Please answer quickly.

“... huh,” I said when I finished.

“What do you think?” asked Dresden.

“I think th-that there’s p-probably s-six y-year olds w-with b-better grammar in the world,” I muttered.

Dresden snorted rather loudly then cleared his throat, trying to pass it off as a cough. “R-Right. But about the job?”

“... Yeah,” I said. “I-I think I c-can do it.”

“Good,” he said, “I’ll organize a meeting for tomorrow or the day after. Any other business, or are you free to frag off out of my office?”

“A-Actually,” I said, pulling out a credstick, “I-I w-was w-wondering if it’d be p-possible t-to change some M-Mitsuhama script f-for nuyen?”

He blinked slowly, sighed, rolled his eyes and said, “The best I can do is a nuyen for every ten bucks.”

“W-What i-if—”

“I’m not negotiating, Feyden,” he said. “Take it or leave it.”

“... y-yes, sir.”

He pulled a credstick and we did an exchange, which I came out of with ten percent of my severance pay.

Yay. Hip-hip hoo-fragging-ray.

I stood up and made my way out of his office.

When I was halfway out the door, he called out, “Have you thought of a handle yet? I hoped you’d be smart enough not to run around with your civilian name.”

I grit my teeth at the condescension, let it pass, and said, “C-Call me Hex.”