Hello Amaze. So it's finally happened. The Hard Knocks sorority podcast has had their
first audio foobar. Episode 17, Locked Doors, ends where the audio file for session number
8 ended, but unfortunately that is not where the game session ended. In fact, I didn't
even realize this until I was editing session 9 and started searching in vain for the audio
we were missing. To make matters worse, the audio we are missing is pretty critical. It
could have been Technomancers. It could have been Cecile covering the team's tracks. I
don't know. In any case, I wanted to reach out to you and apologize for our long absence
and assure you that we are now back on track and will continue to release episodes at our
usual rate of about one a week. Thank you for continuing to share your time with us.
So in order to get this episode back on track, I'm going to do a bit of narration. Please
bear with us as we work to overcome these technical difficulties.
Grace looked at her friend Boxer with white eyes.
I can't open this with magic, she said.
Dammit, Boxer swore.
Over her comm link she called the girl, Cecile.
Hey college girl, we have a problem up here. I think we need your help.
Yeah, okay, what is it? Cecile responded from the van.
Maglock, we need you to hack it, Boxer answered.
What makes you think I can hack a maglock? I'm not a criminal, came back the retort.
Boxer looked pained.
Ugh, fine, I'll take care of it myself.
Then she spun and kicked in the office door.
Grace took a surprise step back and looked from the door to Boxer.
Yeah, yeah, I know. Hopefully no one heard that. You cover the door and watch my back.
Cecile, we are on the clock.
What does that even mean? Cecile shot back.
Never mind, Boxer answered as she quickly surveyed the room with a practiced eye.
There wasn't much furniture, a desk and a bookshelf. It smelled musty and unused. The
floor to ceiling windows overlooking the car park were perfect for her purposes though.
Boxer muscled the desk in place. Then she went and extracted a small device from her
harness and attached it to the glass. There was a quick hiss and the device cut a perfectly
round hole in the glass. Boxer removed the device and dropped the circle of glass onto
the floor. Her bag was on the desk. She quickly unpacked and assembled the Walther MA1200.
Fit the silencer and deployed the bipod. Resting the bipod on the desk, she sighted through
the optics and let the smart gun link kick in. The reticle imposed over her vision showed
her the car park and Grace's van and Deandra's bike. Deandra and Ice were standing at the
back of the van waiting. Presumably the college girl was in the van. Perfect.
I'm in position, she said over her comm link. Behind her she heard the pony moving to cover
the door. A few minutes later Deandra called in. He'll be here in two minutes. From her
position Boxer watched another big motorcycle pull into the car lot. Through the scope and
her image enhancing cyber eyes she recognized the night air officer Jim Ansell or she supposed
she should think of him as George Van Halzen. According to Procop and Ice that was his real
name and he was a former Lone Star captain and vigilante. It didn't matter, she thought
to herself. A target's a target. Through the scope, Jim, George, whatever, the target appeared
remarkably nonchalant for someone making deals with Shadowrunners. But then again she supposed
the man was arrogant and didn't really have any reason to expect trouble. From his perspective
he wasn't the actual goal of the crew. They were about to disabuse him of that notion.
Arrogance leads to miscalculations. He'd made one hell of a miscalculation tonight. George
Van Halzen was a big man with short military style blonde hair. He carried himself with
the natural swagger and ease of the self-righteous. As he pulled up the big Harley behind the
van he grinned inwardly. The van was so stereotypical of these criminal types. Perfect for carrying
not a crew and their loot, but short on speed and handling. The back doors were open and
flanked by the oddly green elven woman and the older human male who he had met at Greasy
Bends. They had made the smart choice when confronted and agreed to give up their Johnson
in exchange for being allowed to collect whatever meager payout the dreck bag had offered them.
George Van Halzen had been dealing with Shadow Scum for all of his professional life and
that was saying something. Whoever their Johnson was had it in for one of the recruits he was
training for whom he was responsible and that wasn't something he could let slide. The young
men and women under his command were his responsibility and he was going to make damn sure that they
completed their training and went on to become the best god damn officers on the force. If
that meant taking some scumbags back behind the proverbial woodshed, whatever that meant,
and giving them a good thrashing, it wouldn't be the first time. The Shadow Riders might
be gone, but that didn't mean he had to tolerate these gutter punks. He grinned insolently
at the two Shadow Runners as he pulled up and stopped the big bike. Always let them
know he was in charge, he thought. The older human male looked like he was well past his
prime, but he carried himself in a way that Van Halzen recognized. The blue spiral tattoos
on his face were faded like his pale blue eyes that watched him impassively. If it came
to it he would be the first one Van Halzen took down. The Elven woman was different.
Her green patterned skin and strange eyes were a bit unnerving, but between her old
fashioned clothes and insisting on carrying an obsolete weapon like a rapier left him
confident she didn't ultimately pose much of a threat. There was also the younger human
female in the back of the van. He couldn't quite place her in the team. She didn't have
the attitude to be an effective face, and she seemed both uncomfortable and out of her
depth. So she was probably the group's decker. Nothing to worry about. He didn't see the
changeling or the dog. One less thing to worry about.
"'You have the recording?' Deandra asked the racist piece of drek. He was the kind
of human and the kind of law enforcement officer she despised. Arrogant, racist, and self-righteous.
He reached into his armored jacket and pulled out a data stick.
"'Sure do,' Van Halzen answered. Up in the abandoned office Boxer saw the data stick
in the man's hand. That's all the signal I need,' she thought. Boxer smiled grimly.
The SmartLink reticle rested center mass on the target's chest, and she trusted the work
she had put into zeroing the optics and calibrating them to her cyber eyes.
The rifle was loaded with gel rounds. The point was to take the target alive. She exhaled
gently and her SmartLink triggered the rifle. The shock pads absorbed the recoil and between
the silencer and the audio dampers in her cyber ears, the shot registered only as a
slight pop. The impact of the gel round on Van Halzen's armored jacket staggered the
man, but he was fast. A look of anger and outrage flashed onto his face as he drew an
Ingram smart gun from under his jacket and triggered a burst at Deandra Nice. Staggered
as he was from the impact of the high-velocity round and off balance on the heavy motorcycle,
the burst went wide. Then Boxer SmartLink triggered her second shot, and the gel round
slammed into Van Halzen, sending him and his motorcycle to the ground. The Ingram clattered
on the pavement. Ice bent over and scooped up the unconscious man and deposited him in
the back of the van. Deandra brought out a set of Plasteel cuffs and secured him while
making sure he was still alive. Then she searched the motorcycle and picked up the data stick.
Plasteel in the van gritted her teeth and searched the downed cop for RFID tags. He
seemed clean.
We need to get out of here, she yelled. Ice scrambled into the back of the van and Deandra
was starting her own bike. Up in the office, Boxer swiftly dismantled and stowed her rifle.
Now to get back to the van as quickly as possible, Nightingale, she said. That elevator wasn't
quick, Nightingale thought. Why wouldn't we just go straight back to my van? Humans could
be so confusing. But then she realized her friend Boxer was mundane and hadn't thought
the situation through from the perspective of magic. She cast a spell and magically gripping
the desk propelled it through the window. The glass, already leaking from having a hole
cut in it, shattered. Nightingale released the desk and it plummeted out of sight along
with the fragments of the window pane.
Trek, Nightingale. We aren't trying to attract attention, Boxer yelled.
I know a quicker way, Nightingale yelled back.
Hold on.
Before Boxer could react, Nightingale grabbed her with telekinesis and holding on to her
friend took a flying leap out of the window. As her hose left the softness of the carpet,
she cast again. Boxer clutching her gear bag, mouth opened in surprise and the pony glided
quickly and gracefully down to the waiting van.
Safely back on the ground, Boxer said. Don't ever do that again, as she threw her bag into
the back of the van and clambered in next to ice. At least not without warning me.
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