He sits there at the bar, smoking a cigarette and looking like he thinks he’s the king of the world. After all. Who wouldn’t after they just hacked into the High Security Mitsuhama, and stole well over 20 grand in Pay data? Well, he sure shows that he’s accomplished something that (he feels) is one of the greatest accomplishments any experienced Decker can achieve. He’s ordering rounds for quite a few of his newly acquainted friends who, all too gladly, came into such a position. Him and his ‘friends’ are laughing and joking, sharing old war stories, and stumbling off the bar stools, only to get back up and laugh some more. Nearly all of the bar has set up a large group of tables nearby to the bar, except for one who nearly no one has even bothered to notice in their drunken stupor.
The one who hasn’t joined the fun yet hasn’t joined for a very good reason, and doesn’t plan on joining until the right time. He wears a simple trench coat with red stripes flowing down the sides of his arms and down to the bottom of the coat, where it continues on from the mouth of his armored boots down. From then on, is hidden by the trench coat being closed. His hair, spiked and as black as his trench coat. on his face there gleams a bright red scar going across one of his two bright red eyes.
Soon the now rich Decker notices the man, and beckons him over. The unknown man in black smiles in a sly manner, but only to himself, then pulls up a seat, becoming instantly as boisterous as the other drunks around the bar, though only someone who was sober would notice the mysterious man in black hadn’t even bothered to touch his drink, though he seems to slur as much as the others, even looking convincing to the barkeep. Soon after quite a few of the group have passed out on top of the tables, the Decker gets up and moves towards the door. The man in black stirs from his own slumber suddenly, and gets up silently and follows, tipping the bartender with a nice 100 Nuyen bill.
The Decker wanders down an alleyway, obviously lost and somehow ended in what seems like Glow City what with all the waste all around, and he stumbles over a few trash bags, ill placed, and curses whoever threw them there, yet is unknown to the shadow that follows his every step right in line, making no movement what so ever, but if he would have seen the shadow, he would have noticed it was way taller, and slightly too bulky to be his own, yet he stumbles on, that is until he hit’s a dead end. Literally. He breaks his nose from the impact against the plasticrete wall, and lets out a fine line of curses. Then he turns, hearing a soft whisper of his name. “James.” the only word that is uttered, as the little Decker notices the tall ‘Shadow’, which gives him only a second to register what he was looking at, which wasn’t enough. The shadow springs into, throwing a flawless side-kick right in James’s chest, throwing him back against the Plasticrete wall, getting nose-blood all over his brand new suit, and creating a new patch of blood to take it’s place from the back of his skull. He falls unconscious.
“Yes. It is done.” a slight pause. Someone on the phone? “I understand. What do you want me to do after he… got it.” That voice sounds familiar… but from where?
All of a sudden James is brutally awakened by a punch to the stomach. He coughs and spits up a bit of blood. Soon once he regains his breath some, he manages to squeeze out the words “who.. The frag… are.. You?”
The figure doesn’t speak, but moves into what little light is shown from the street, revealing a wildly grinning devil with a wicked tongue hanging out of his opened jaw, and a six made out of some kind of tail-scar dug into his forehead. His two horns protrude out of his skull going a good foot above his head. One other odd fact was that the face seemed to be silver… why?
The Devil himself stands there, not moving at all. Just eyeing the small Decker with an evil smile on his face. No muscles move at all, including his tongue.
Then, “do you know why I am here? I am here to collect your soul. To collect it, Today.”
“What? No please! What have I done to you? Get the hell away from me! Help somebody!” his screams were ignored by everyone, including a pair of Lone Star bikers who decided that it was way too late to be dealing with this drek.
The devil moves closer, pulling something out of his trench coat that seemed to soak up the light itself, it was so dark. Then he moves to a certain point and light is revealed, showing a huge, heavy looking revolver.
“oh god! You’re gonna kill me?! Jesus please!” “Not God or Jesus can help you now. You made quite a few mistakes, some in the not so distant and forgotten.” “what is it you want? Some money? I have a drek load on me right now. Here. Here’s twenty thousand. Take it. It’s yours.” the figure seems to stop at this point, and lowers his gun, grabbing the wad of ‘yen from the petrified Decker, and shoves it into a hidden pocket in his trench coat.
“thank you. Thank you so much!”
The figure turns to leave, exposing his back to the sly Decker, who reaches into his pocket, and pulls out a gun of his own. He aims it right to the man’s head, the Smart Link he had installed just in case showing a small pinpoint thick reticle on the figure, and pulls the trigger.
The man quickly rolls foreword, yet doesn’t fall, nor does he even look like he took any damage. In an odd twist of events, the man had this thought out even before he know the little bastard had a gun. He shoots the Decker in the stomach, right where his belly button used to be, then moves foreword in a smooth, graceful stride, aiming the barrel straight at the Decker’s forehead. “With the coming of dawn, Dusk is sure to follow.”
Huh… his barrel is aligned to the six o’clock of the…
But that is all he got out, since his thought process was violently interrupted as a piece of metal decided to pierce his skull, then seemingly for no reason at all erupt in a violent fury.
(yeah I know, I have a bad way with words, but lest we forget, this is my first actual attempt at a shadowrun story line.)
I know it's a bit poorly written, so some collective critisizm is welcome.
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'you four arn't hunters. you're sheep. with shotguns.' -carpenter- Hunter: the Reckoning
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