Author's note: I got so excited when Shapcano
and Rat both started posting stories again, that I wanted to join in. I went
ahead and stopped working on Hunting Shadows to crank this short story out.
Unfortunately, it ended up taking a little longer than I thought it would. One
thing led to another, but it is finally done. Oh well, such is life, I hope you
all enjoy the story, as always feedback is welcome send it to fadesfiction@yahoo.com.
Also, keep any eye out for Hunting Shadows-I'm making my last editing pass as
we speak.
-Fade-
Happy Birthday
Suzie had just made a mistake, quite possibly the last mistake she would
have a chance to make in her relatively short life. Growing up in the Redmond
Barrens, the worst slum in
What Suzie didn't know was that her favorite rule, Watch Out for Thyself, was taught and practiced in more places than just
the inner city. Since magic came back, and technology ran rampant in the early
21st century, ideals like justice and mercy had taken a backseat to things like
power and greed. The old
Drawing attention to yourself was a good way to
invite problems later on. The more noble something
seemed, the more likely it was to get you killed very quickly. Like standing up to the leader of a gang, especially a gang that
was starting to decline in power. The less real power someone like that had,
the more vicious they tended to be so that they didn't have to deal with people
standing up to them.
If Jackknife was anything, he was vicious. The Switchblades had been losing
ground to the Bloodsuckers for the last two months, and consequently the ganger
had taken to knifing pedestrians in broad daylight to prove that his 'family'
was still a force to be reckoned with.
Everything that the 16 year old elf had seen up to that point in her life
had said that when Suzie saw the gang leader and a flunky harassing Jackie, the
only other elf in the neighborhood, she should have just keep walking and been
grateful that it wasn't her that was being dragged into the alley.
The problem was that it had been her before, enough times that she had lost
count somewhere along the way. When you were an elf, even an elf that wasn't
very pretty, there was always someone who wanted to get their hands on
something exotic. By some twist of fate, it hadn't ever been Jackknife, but in
the end it didn't matter who was dragging her into a dark corner, things always
went down the exact same way. The same words, the same everything, one would
think that there was some kind of cosmic script that every scum ball in the
world had read and committed to memory.
In the end, nobody but her even cared. That wasn't fair, Suzie's mom would
have cared if she had told her, but there was no way the elf was going to get
her mother involved. Suzie's mom hadn't ever learned the lesson very well, she would try and put a stop to it, and just get
herself killed.
The police, in their shiny patrol cars, wouldn't do anything about it,
because they didn't get paid as much to police the slums as they did to patrol
the rich neighborhoods. The neighbors knew that if they got involved, their
apartment would be robbed, their store would be burned down, or any number of
other unpleasant things would happen, so they never interfered either.
In the grand scheme of things, life wasn't fair, so you just kept your head
down, and were glad that it wasn't you. Except this time, Suzie felt like it
was her being dragged towards the alley. The stupid son of a slitch psychiatrist on the trid
would probably tell her that she was identifying with a fellow victim or some
such drek, but she didn't care. All she knew was that
suddenly she had ignored the survival instincts that had helped her get to the
eve of her seventeenth birthday, and instead had walked up to Jackknife and
slapped him.
The oily ganger had been so astonished that he had let go of Jackie, who
like a proper student of the streets, had run away without looking back to see
how her benefactor was going to fare. Suzie had tried to run away too, but
hadn't made it more than three steps before being caught.
Jackknife was of course furious. The leather clad human had backhanded her
hard enough that she saw stars as she fell to the filthy concrete. Jackknife
swore at the elf, and then kicked her a couple of
times to 'take the rest of the fight out of her'. "Stupid slitch, gonna pay now," muttered
the ganger as he and the other ganger pulled her in the same direction that
they had been taking Jackie a few seconds previously.
Through the most intense pain Suzie had felt in her life, she dimly heard
the sound of a motorcycle drive up. Not another Switchblade, Jackknife and
the one are going to be cruel enough. Two I might survive, but not three.
Footsteps approached, as if the universe had decided to mock Suzie's plea.
Jackknife let go with one hand as he turned to greet the rider. The walls of
the buildings seemed to pulse in time to the pounding in Suzie's head, proving
her idea of surviving the coming ordeal to be a lie. This is it, I've been hurt bad this time. There is no way I'll
survive what is coming.
Before the elf could let go of the last shred of hope, she heard Jackknife
inhale sharply, and felt his grasp tighten. "What da
frag jou want chink."
"The girl," announced an emotionless voice with an accent that
didn't match those of anyone who had grown up in the barrens.
Suzie twisted around enough that she could look over the other ganger and
see who was speaking. "What do you want for her," inquired an
athletic looking human, who appeared Chinese in descent. Suzie blinked enough
to clear her vision and get a better look at the man.
In a funny, fear induced hysteria, one part of the girl's mind was
completely clear and calm, even while the rest was gibbering and screaming that
she didn't want to die. The clear part noticed that the Chinese man was
striking in a cold, pretty-boy, mug-me-now-please kind of way.
Jackknife seemed to share Suzie's assessment of the newcomer. Although the
other was leathered up like a combat biker, the pants, jacket, and shirt were
all the kind of stuff someone with too much money would buy. The human had the look
of one of the soft corporate types that occasionally came down to the sprawl to
create trouble in one way or another. "Jou gonna take er place drek face?"
The other man seemed to be contemplating the best way to respond when
Jackknife got a better view of the newly arrived bike at the mouth of the
alley. "Jou can have da
slitch for those wheels. Johnson like jou don't deserve a bike like dat."
Suzie watched as the man seemed to consider the option. He must be some
kind of rich sicko, out looking for someone that can
'disappear' without anyone asking too many questions. As that last
stubborn shred of hope Suzie had been clinging to finally died, the corper shrugged. "It might be true that I don't
deserve the bike, but I'm reluctant to just give it up without proof that you
are worthy of it."
Jackknife's brows creased as he tried to follow exactly what had been said.
A knife appeared in the ganger's hand as he decided that there must have been
an insult hidden in the sentence somewhere. The other ganger followed
Jackknife's lead and pulled out a length of chain.
The yuppie shifted his weight slightly, as if preparing for a fight, but it
was evident that he wanted to avoid confrontation. Must prefer wrestling
with half-dead waifs to fighting gang bangers, thought Suzie bitterly as
the corper started talking again. "Does this
mean that you can't beat me in a race?"
That finally gave the gang leader pause. The only thing the Switchblades
loved more than a fight was a good race. The fact that Jackknife was the best
motorcycle rider in the gang was a big part of why he was able to maintain his
position at the top. If it got out that he was turning down a challenge like
this, it could very well be enough for one of his lieutenants to decide that
they were ready to try and take over the gang. "I can take jou any day of the fragging week.
Jou want to race me though, jou
gonna have to make it worth my while."
The yuppie nodded, "Of course, a race then. You can pick the course, the stakes have to include the girl."
"Sure, da winner gets da
girl and da loser's bike." Turning, the ganger
shoved Suzie towards his henchman. "Razor, you keep da
girl, don't do anything ta her, she'll be mine in ten
minutes."
Suzie was getting nauseous, probably from when she hit her head on the
concrete, so she didn't really hear what followed, other than that Jackknife
was describing the route on which they would be racing. The next thing the elf
knew, two bikes were growling down the street towards the only functioning
stoplight in the neighborhood.
_____
Jackknife looked the other's bike over more carefully as they pulled up to
the stoplight. 'Da Johnson,' as the ganger had taken
to calling the Chinese man in his mind, was riding what appeared to be a brand
new, just off the assembly line, Yamaha Rapier. Jackknife hadn't seen this
year's model, machines that new didn't usually end up in slums this bad, but he
hadn't heard anything to make him especially nervous.
Word on the street was that the aging corp hadn't
done much more than fine tune the fuel injection, and
put on a slightly different fairing and color scheme. Basically, it was the
same as last year's model, the model that Jackknife had yet to loose to.
The ganger on the other hand, was running a Frankenstein machine that most
mechanics would have sworn couldn't have existed. Jackknife had mounted a
gigantic engine from an old 2032 Harley on a lightweight custom frame. The
beast had definite personality when it came to cornering, something that the
ganger had pretty much learned how to compensate for by now, but any weakness
in handling was more than made up for by the sheer torque the engine was able
to put to the back wheel. The bike consistently turned 0-60 times three
quarters of a second quicker than any production bike Jackknife had ever heard
of. Even the really hot numbers that people used on the race circuit usually
couldn't keep up with the kinds of times the ganger was able to routinely put
up.
The Johnson finished adjusting his black helmet, and nodded his readiness.
While Jackknife had been inspecting his bike, the other rider had been
returning the favor. Never having seen anything like Crusher, as the ganger
called his bike, the human was still able to make a pretty accurate estimate of
the garish green bike's capabilities. Heavy, but with a
super high horsepower to weight ratio. Probably turns 0-60
times in the very low twos. Probably doesn't corner all that well, but well
enough that this guy is used to winning.
As the light was about to turn, the leather clad yuppie, leaned as far
forward as he could get on the blue Rapier, revved his bike up to the right
spot on the power band, and dropped the clutch. Tires smoked as the power
applied to the back wheel of each bike instantly exceeded the friction that the
sticky tires were able to generate against the asphalt.
The extra broad tires and the amazing torque of Crusher were enough to
launch the ganger forward with the kind of acceleration found in
catapult-launched jets. That didn't surprise the ganger, though, what surprised
him was that the other rider was, after nearly a second of acceleration, only a
fourth the distance behind him that he had expected.
The Chinese man was pleased with how he was doing so far. The Rapier looked
stock, especially to someone that hadn't seen this year's model, but it was
actually heavily customized. The human had recently hit it big, so he'd decided
as long as he was getting a new bike, that he should have it customized. Some
of the mods had been pretty cheap and easy, like
putting a new muffler on, one that didn't use up as much of the engine's power
in pushing exhaust through countless layers of sound baffling. A new fuel
injection system to make sure that the maximum amount of fuel and oxygen was
being sprayed into the cylinders, was only slightly
more difficult than that. Those two were the easy changes, the ones that the
yuppie had been able to do himself.
The things that were allowing his bike to keep up with the monster ahead of
him had been more radical. A friend had next pulled the radiator off the bike
and mounted a modified one under the pillion seat. The new spot for the
radiator meant that if the bike was left idling for prolonged periods, the seat
would get hot, but once in motion, the special channels cut into the fairing
directed cool air through a pair of cylinders that actually cooled better than
the original radiator, and all with considerable space savings.
The repositioning of the radiator had also created room in front of the
engine. The engine had then been moved four inches closer to the front wheel,
as well as being dropped quite a bit closer to the ground. The new location
meant that the heaviest part of the bike was further away from the back wheel,
allowing for better cornering and stability. Another benefit was that the new
position allowed quite a bit more power to be applied to the road before the
front wheel would start coming up and threaten to flip the bike over.
Realizing that he was unlikely to ever hit the bike's top speed while
driving around in the city, the runner had asked his friend to change the gear
ratio on the bike. For a loss of about 30 kilometers per hour on the top end,
the bike had received much better acceleration. The usual assortment of steel
and plastic parts had been replaced with titanium and carbon resulting in a
weight savings of nearly 20 kilograms.
The clutch, and breaks had been upgraded for better
performance, as had a host of smaller parts, everything from signal lights, to
spark plugs, rims, and tires. In the end, the bike weighed a measly 170
kilograms, and generated power figures significantly higher than anything
coming off the assembly line with the same size engine. In fact, the bike had
only a slightly lower power to weight ratio than Crusher.
As the Chinese man neared the corner of the first turn, he allowed his time
sense to slow down even more than it already had. Amazingly keen eyes seemed to
have hours in which to search for slick spots on the pavement, debris, or
anything else that might bring the bike down.
Noting two spots that looked chancy, the biker watched as Jackknife started
scrubbing speed in an attempt to make the corner. The biker predicted the line
that the ganger was going to take based on how fast he was slowing down, and
noted that there was a slightly better route just inside of where the other
bike was going to go. Either he doesn't know quite as much as I do about
this stuff, or his bike can't take that tight a line without going over.
The corner, seeming to approach at a walk even to the trailing biker's time
sense, was now close enough that the Johnson started braking. Two fingers
applied pressure to the brake lever for the front wheel, while the right toe
pushed down a little to put the binders on the back wheel. The brake calipers
were strong, strong enough to lock both wheels up instantly, or even flip the
bike end for end, if the rider did things incorrectly. Consequently the yuppie
limited the amount of pressure he was putting on the lever to avoid having
problems. In slow motion, as the pressure built between the pads and break
disc, the center of gravity of the motorcycle began to shift. While under
acceleration, the weight of the bike had been further back, nearly to the back
wheel. Now, the bike was shifting forward on its suspension, putting more
weight on the front tire, and lightening the back. The extra weight on the
front tire meant that there was more friction between the rubber and the
asphalt, so the rider put more pressure on the front brakes, secure in the knowledge
that the tire wouldn't lock up, even as he eased up on the back brakes. It
wouldn't be a good idea to lock the back tire up, that would end this race in
short order.
The rapier was now closing on Crusher, the Johnson
had managed to carry more speed into the corner, and by braking late, had
managed to close the gap a little. Feeling that he had scrubbed nearly all of
the speed off that he needed to, the biker used his left toe to drop down two
gears a fraction of a second before he came off of the brakes.
As the bike dropped into second gear with a satisfying click, the rider
threw it hard to the right leaning it far enough over that his knee nearly
touched the pavement. Opening up the throttle slightly, the Rapier rider
noticed that he had managed to close up the gap even more, but that the ganger
now had his bike nearly back up to vertical, and was ready to start
accelerating.
As the Rapier started into the turn, the rider gave it just enough gas to
start the back wheel slipping on the road. The extra spin helped to bring the
bike around tighter, allowing the trailing biker to take the corner much faster
than most people would have believed possible. As the bike started to come back
up far enough for the tires to get a good grip on the road, the Johnson saw
Jackknife look at his rearview mirror.
In that split second, the biker decided that he needed to shake the leader's
confidence. A quick twist of the wrist, and the Rapier howled, bringing it's front wheel up off of the ground as fuel poured into the
hungry cylinders. The move was a calculated risk, but it paid off as the
startled ganger mistimed a shift, going for third before he'd cleared the power
band on second.
As the Rapier hit the 16,000 RPM limit, the biker let off of the gas for a
split second, and speed shifted into third gear. The sport bike had come out of
the corner with a higher speed, thanks to the Johnson's superior cornering
skills, which combined with Jackknife not properly utilizing his bike's full
acceleration, meant that the Rapier was now moving much faster than Crusher.
Crusher was a pretty big bike, and was not as streamlined as it could have
been. Consequently, Jackknife was pushing quite a bit of air in front of and
around him. The flip side was that there was a slight vacuum behind him. As the
sport bike closed in on Crusher, the Johnson aimed right at that vacuum.
Already moving faster than Jackknife, the helmeted rider smiled as he felt
his bike slip in behind the ganger. Suddenly bucking less wind resistance, the
Rapier surged forward, seeming to leap around Crusher as if thrown from a sling
shot.
Jackknife screamed as the other biker passed him. Crusher finally hit the
power band in third, and the ganger felt his back tire bite into the asphalt as
it leaped forward. The ganger saw that his opponent had a lead now, but it was
starting to disappear as the bigger motorcycle's acceleration kicked in.
A block flashed by, and the Rapier rider was using his horn now to warn
people that they were coming. As Jackknife closed in, he realized that the next
corner had arrived, and he was forced to start braking. The black clad Rapier
rider started to pull ahead again due to the fact that he was able to break so
much later.
Jackknife whipped around the corner, and got on the gas hard as soon as was
safe in an effort to close the gap. Timing his shifts perfectly, the ganger was
once again using the full potential of his bike's engine, steadily closing the
gap that the Rapier had laboriously created.
The Johnson checked his rearview mirror as he hit fourth gear, and saw the
ganger closing in. It looks like he is back on his game,
this is going to be a close race.
_____
Suzie had started out leaning against the wall, but as the seconds continued
to pass, dizziness got the best of her, and she slowly slid down the brick wall
until she was resting on the ground. The elf fought waves of nausea that seemed
to war with the ringing in her head until her whole world was nothing but pain.
The pain suddenly got the best of her and Suzie tipped over and started dry
heaving. As the elf rested her cheek on the oil-stained asphalt she kept
thinking about the unfairness of it all. I don't even get to taste the cake
mom is going to bake for tomorrow. What a dreky day
to die.
As the ringing in Suzie's ears took on a new pitch, she realized that the
motorcycles must be returning. The elf didn't much care who was going to win. I'm
going to die either way, so unless they both run into a truck and die, it
doesn't really matter.
The ganger on the other hand, being a true racing enthusiast was quite
excited to see Jackknife blow another biker off of the road. Realizing that his
captive wasn't going anywhere under her own power, the teen ran to the mouth of
the alley to see the last part of the race.
As the pair of riders rounded the last corner, the Rapier was well in the
lead. The Johnson brought his bike upright, seeming to open up the throttle as
his tires were able to grab the road. The ganger saw Jackknife straighten
Crusher back up, and heard the bigger machine scream as Jackknife speed shifted
through three gears. The bigger bike was rapidly gaining on the sport bike now.
Jackknife pulled up into the Rapier's draft, and used it to slingshot around
the other rider. As the two bikes neared the agreed upon finish line, Jackknife
and Crusher were a bare two feet ahead. With three blocks to go, the gang
leader pushed his bike slightly harder trying to ensure that he didn't loose.
As the tachometer needle approached the red danger zone, Jackknife maintained
acceleration for a split second longer than he normally did, letting it creep
past the red line.
The watching ganger was sure that the race was over. Grinning in
anticipation of his share of the race's 'prize', Razor saw Crusher shake
violently, and heard a loud crack as black smoke started issuing out of the
bike's muffler.
As the broken piston rod stopped feeding power from the engine to the wheel,
Jackknife felt an instant drop in his bike's speed. The ganger again bellowed
as the Rapier passed him. As the two bikes pulled to a stop next to the alley,
Jackknife scrambled off of his bike and walked over to the other rider, who was
removing his helmet. "I owned jou, give up the
bike chink."
The Johnson shook his head coldly. "You may have been leading early on,
but I was the one to reach the finish line first, your bike is the one that is
forfeited, and I'll be leaving with the girl."
The ganger watching from the front of the alley started walking over to the
two racers. Things were starting to look ugly, and Jackknife would be expecting
help in roughing up the other man. As the ganger arrived to within five feet of
the pair, the Chinese man looked at him, and the youth felt a cold chill run
down his spine. Jackknife was too incensed to notice, but the soft, vulnerable
Johnson that had started the race had become something entirely different in
the last few seconds. Everything about the man now screamed danger to anyone
who bothered to look, and the gang member realized
that the Johnson was more than willing to kill both gangers for their actions
of the last few minutes.
The Chinese man looked away from the approaching ganger, and the
blond-headed tough felt as though he had just been released from a vise. As the
ganger opened his mouth to try and warn off Jackknife, his leader made his
move. A switchblade appeared as if by magic, and streaked towards the Johnson's
throat as the gang leader tried to end the fight quickly. The other tough had
seen Jackknife use the attack often, and every time, the target had ended up
bleeding to death a few seconds latter.
This time though, by the time the knife reached the halfway point, the
Johnson had already moved, bringing his hands up in the graceful manner of
someone with extensive cyberware, or some other kind
of modification.
The passing hand was trapped by the stanger's
right hand, pulling the arm out to full extension so that the gillette could bring his left hand
up and strike viciously at the gang leader's elbow. With a sharp crack, the elbow
broke rendering the arm useless. As Jackknife recoiled from the pain, he
shifted his weight to his left leg, trying to get away from the source of the
pain. The Johnson watched as the ganger moved in slow motion. Once the razor
judged that enough weight was on the far leg, he slid closer, and lashed out
with a side-thrust kick, blowing out Jackknife's left knee with a sickening
snap.
As Jackknife started to crumble to the ground, his attacker grabbed his
shoulder spinning the ganger to the left. The gang leader slowly started to
bend at the waist as he tried to take weight back off of his maimed leg. The
Johnson took the motion that Jackknife had started, grabbed the ganger behind
the head, and pulled bringing Jackknife's head down. As the ganger's head came
down to waist level, it struck the knee that the Chinese man had brought up
sharply.
As Jackknife's head rebounded from the impact, the Johnson spun around and
took the ganger across the side of the head with a spinning hook kick.
The whole series of blows took less than a second. The blond ganger was
still trying to figure out how to stop Jackknife from starting a fight with the
other human, when the fractured bones in the gang leader's face and head struck
the ground.
Looking into the cold eyes that were once again staring at him, the blond
ganger felt his stomach clench. Two seconds later Razor was running to his
motorcycle leaving Jackknife semi-conscious on the ground.
The runner bent down and went through Jackknife's pockets, before walking
over to the alley. Suzie looked up as the stranger came into view. The human
walked slowly, alert for any kind of ambush. Suzie had never seen someone look
so grim. The dark clad figure reached into his coat, and the elf assumed that
he was reaching for some kind of weapon. Suzie felt the world fall away from
her, as terror caused her to slip into unconsciousness.
The black-clad human finished pulling out his phone,
and speed dialed a number. A couple of minutes later, the human finished
arranging for medical help, for the young lady. When the backup finally
arrived, the man handed them the keys to Crusher, two thousand nuyen that Jackknife had been carrying, and three thousand
from his own credstick.
The human shook his head as Suzie disappeared into the unmarked van. It
looked like his shopping trip would have to wait until tomorrow. Thinking of a
friend that would be very disappointed when she woke up the next day to find
not even a cake waiting for her, the human shook his head. "I don't think
I'm ever going to get the hang of finding anyone a decent birthday
present."
__________
Special thanks needs to be given to Helsop and
Carver for helping me get Happy Birthday into a form where it was intelligible.
Any mistakes are obviously mine, you should have seen
what they had to wade through.
In addition to thanking Shapcano for hosting his
excellent site, I'd also like to thank the crew at Shapcano's
who have been kind enough to e-mail me their impressions, suggestions, and
encouragement after reading Deadly Game.
By name, they are:
Andrew,
Borsic,
Ed,
Eric,
Fire,
Hunefer,
Jay,
John,
Mark,
MrBagg,
Nauticus,
Samuel,
Shane
__________
This story is copyrighted by the author. The author grants license to all
parties to copy and redistribute his work, as long as it is not used for
commercial gain or modified in any way. Additionally, the author must be given
credit for his work, and his contact information, sl1th@hotmail.com, should be
included with any copy of his work. All other rights are reserved.
To take a page out of Shapcano's book, Shadowrun is a Registered Trademark of Fantasy Productions
LLC. All Rights Reserved. Used without permission. Any use of Fantasy
Productions LLC's copyrighted material or trademarks
in this file should not be viewed as a challenge to those copyrights or
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