Shadowrun Fiction: A Helping Hand
Finishing his cigarette and flicking it into a nearby grate-the hard rain causing it to fizzle instantly-the huge elf ducked his head under the doorway and stepped into the clinic; it was an older, well maintained building, but not quite re-purposed for trolls or even taller orks and elves. The primary acting physician, Dr. Douglas, made sure he accommodated those of a larger stature, but he could not do too much about the building itself.
Downfall shook some of the water from his armored longcoat as the buzz of neon died out behind him when the door shut. The smell of the wet leather permeated the air near the entrance, along with the slight scent of some sort of stuffers that someone was eating. In one hand, he held two large cups of coffee; to him, the seemed rather small, though such was life when you were someone of his size.
He nodded at the receptionist-an older dwarf fellow whom he remembered was nicknamed Ranch. He faintly recalled it was because he used to be a farmer from somewhere, but in the shadows, no one wanted to pry. Ranch nodded back, eating some of the said stuffers and watching something on the trid he had behind his desk. Papers littered it; the old dwarf was not particularly tidy, though he had a knack for finding everything he needed quickly somehow. He also didn't blink twice at anyone who came through the door. Even the first time he met Downfall, the sight of an elf around seven and a half feet tall wearing eyeliner and spikes was practically Monday morning for him.
The One Visit Clinic was a fairly normal, albeit small looking clinic; it had a few nurses, a custodian, and Dr. Douglas. It held normal operating hours, and generally just served as a walk-in for various maladies for the people, and it was sandwiched in a B-rated security area of the downtown district; just enough security to be fairly safe.
It did, however, serve another purpose, and three basement levels down was where Dr. Douglas operated his shadow clinic. He kept one of the more respectable ones in the area, though it was not obviously advertised. Dr. Douglas-it was not his real name, Downfall knew, but he did not pry-was an amazing cybersurgeon who worked for a corporation in the past; apparently one big enough to have three A's by it's title as well. He had set up shop here before Downfall had even arrived in Seattle for the first time, and he was put in contact with the team through Spanky, their ever-reliable fixer, after they had proven themselves to be as trustworthy as one could be.
As it would be in the shadows, it was who you knew that helped you survive. There were other shadow clinics to be sure, all of them requiring that you put the feelers out and possibly grease some comps with credsticks, but Douglas had access to some surprisingly high quality stuff.
Today, however, Downfall was not in need of healing or business. He did not have cyberware himself, being an adept and choosing to keep his abilities intact. But he was there to visit someone.
Recently, his team had a rather nasty job of infiltrating and taking down a bunraku parlor; quite nasty places detested by even some of the more questionable shadowrunners. It was only one of many ran by some of the various organized crime rings. They were hired to simply break out several people who were kidnapped to work for them.
They managed to liberate several people-most of them completely out of it thanks to the chips implanted in them-and one of them had been a rather large and heavily cybered elf himself; he stood out compared to the relatively normal looking men and women, most of them human. Most happened to be men as well, which was a rarity for such places.
Only when they released the chips from him, he snapped back partially to his old self and slaughtered every person they were supposed to neutralize before collapsing. It made their job easier, in any case, even though they were told to attempt to be quiet and capturing the organizers alive would have been worth more. They were not about to stop his rampage.
Given the team had some semblance of morals about them, they did not want to leave the people there; so they brought them to various clinics around, under anonymous terms, of course; these people were groggy, unable to remember anything, but able to function.
This final man somehow clung to Downfall as if he were the last person on earth, though he was unable to speak, still drenched in the blood of the people he just massacred. It was decided then they would take him to Dr. Douglas, and see if he could do anything for him; they feared that he had an extra-powerful personafix chip, very high-level BTLs, or something of that sort which potentially fried his brain. They had no idea. Judging by his stature and skills, they had to keep him on a very, very tight leash, as they probably feared this exact thing might happen if they didn't.
Downfall had been haunted somewhat by his actions. Maybe because he knew he was helpless in his state, but the rest of the people were as well and they were more simply blank or somewhat surprised. Distraught, yes, likely needing therapy, yes, but not like the young man, whom Downfall had noticed was barely a head shorter than him and well muscled like a fighter; between that and his extensive 'ware, and how he utterly crushed the remainder of the criminal overseers there by himself, he wondered what sort of army they had sent to bring him in in the first place or why he was even targeted. He certainly looked like he could appeal to some people with certain fetishes, if ones fetish was for a six-foot-nine slightly gothic looking elf who was cybered to the gills with 'ware made for killing.
Remembering the type of clientele would sometimes visit these places, he didn't think about that too hard. Downfall was no stranger to the messy destruction of his foes sometimes, but this was a completely different situation.
He was haunted so much that he decided, after about a week, to pay a visit. Dr. Douglas had taken him to the back, but he was fairly unresponsive, mostly looking about before turning back over in his bed. He tried asking him his name, among a few other things...but nothing. Leaving, he remembered the doctor's words:
“I've seen types less burned out than him not come back. They had him on some terribly strong chips.” He was sympathetic, though. No, he would not give up on him. He was welcome to stay in the small room down there. He would drink the soy-protein shakes given to him for nutrition from the doc, and water, and he would do typical daily necessities, but he would not speak and he barely did anything else.
The second time, Downfall had come with a large cup of coffee from the nearby Stuffer Shack. As he sipped it, the young man had looked at it with interest; Downfall was quite happy as he handed it to him to let him drink it.
Now he was coming a third time, even though he was still just as withdrawn to the doctor. This time he had brought two huge cups, hoping to bring him out more.
He had no idea why he was so bent on this. But he followed along with it. Downfall was known as the team member with the loosest morals; often earning his money through underground bloodsports, the Tae Kwon Do master had taken many lives down there, and rather messily at that, due to his enormous strength. The rest of this team tended to only go for lethal options if absolutely necessary, which occasionally put him at odds with them. He did not seek to lethally harm his opponents; if they did not come at him with lethal intent, he would not return it. The minute live ammunition or a real weapon came out, however, all bets were off in his mind.
His team was rather surprised that he had developed a rather strange attachment to helping this young man.
Shaking his head to bring his thoughts back around, his heavy, steel-reinforced boots echoed loudly through the dim hallway that held the small rooms. They were recovery rooms of sorts, mostly for people who were no longer in need of urgent care, but were still suggested to be kept under watch. They were sparse; a trid set, bed, sink, desk, and a few other items.
The young man was staying in one of the furthermost ones. A few of them he could tell were occupied on the way, though they did not have more than one tinted window at the top to keep privacy, and were protected with biometric maglocks. Dr. Douglas took the security and privacy of his patients very seriously, as he himself knows what it is like to have to lay low from the wrath of some entity.
Messaging the doctor to let him in from remote once he got there, he slowly opened the door and made sure it was locked behind him. The light was dim, and the young man was lying on the bed, somewhat propped against the wall, staring out into space.
He was extensively cybered. He wore at the moment only a pair of cargo shorts and large combat boots as he lay there, but he had two powerfully enhanced cyberlegs; Downfall did not know if he got these out of necessity or want, but regardless they were clearly greatly enhanced with a ton of strength, hydraulic jacks, and even spikes which shot from the heels, which he had seen him use. His left arm was likewise replaced and heavily enhanced; he knew it housed a spur and hand razors, and he wasn't sure what else. His torso and left arm remained meat, though he had a feeling those were enhanced with some sort of muscle augmentation, as he exhibited strength greater than even a skilled man when he utilized them as well, and possibly bone lacing. They were tattooed fairly well with various Eastern-themed designs, though he was not sure from where. A chrome datajack stood out on his right temple.
He wasn't sure what other cyber or bioware he had besides the datajack and the two chipjacks that were underneath his left ear, as there were many types of 'ware that were not detectable without a scanner of sorts being inside-but his eyes were certainly replaced. Eerily colored, with white pupils, purple whites, and black irises. His skin was exceptionally pale; his own was, too, but that was more due to the fact that Downfall was somewhat adverse to sunlight and had to stay indoors during the day. Metahumans occasionally developed allergies to common items a bit more than regular humans-plastics, sometimes pollutants, soy, or perhaps gold or silver; it seemed random, and he chalked it up to perhaps one of the oddities of the expression metahumans had gone through.
Downfall put the man's age at around his own he guessed, which was his mid twenties. His hair was worn fairly long. His only clothing right now was what he wore, so he was not sure of his interests, style, or anything else.
He hoped to get to know, since that would mean he would actually maybe recover.
The unsettling cybereyes focused on the cups of coffee in his hands. Downfall smiled slightly and handed one to him before shrugging off his longcoat and hanging it up. He sat on the floor, crosslegged; even sitting, he made a huge figure. Taking the top of the cup, he set it to the side; Dr. Douglas allowed smoking in these rooms as they were for recovery of people already mostly healed beyond infection, and he knew many of his patrons had smoking habits and the like. Being a smoker himself despite knowing its pitfalls, Dr. Douglas did not lecture anyone on such things.
The young elf took it, drinking it as he eyed the cigarettes as well. His eyes found Downfall's.
Blinking, he handed him one, lighting it as he slid it into his mouth. He still did not talk, though Downfall was rather relieved to see him coming out a bit more. He brushed his hair back, exhaling.
They sat, drinking the massive cups of coffee and smoking in silence for awhile. The man's face almost looked relieved from the taste of the cigarettes. Downfall could not tell if he had amnesia, partial amnesia, or was simply addled from the massive amounts of BTL that had been used to scramble his brain for who knows how long. But the fact he seemed to remember things he liked was a step forward.
For a moment, Downfall shifted, as the music player he often carried with him was sitting in the pocket of his cargos strangely. Upon seeing it, the man looked interested once again, having put out his second cigarette already. He seemed to want to catch up for lost time somewhat, though he did not ask for a third yet.
“This? I hope you like hard stuff. You ever been to the Black Machine?” The Black Machine was the name of a club that he regulared and even bounced at occasionally that specialized in hard, driving, industrial gothic-metal.
At that name, the man perked up. Downfall looked a bit surprised. He handed him the player, and the man put the earbuds in to listen. As the music emanated from the buds-he had it turned rather loud-Downfall actually grinned, the man seemingly having a lot of his own tastes in things. This was good; it may make it easier to connect with him.
“Newer band from Seattle. Evil sounding.” He grinned.
The man nodded, looking up at him.
Downfall blinked in surprise. “You...know what I said?”
He nodded. “I...stuff's coming back,” he finally said. His voice was a fairly soft tenor and his accent was local. From the Northwest, he figured.
Feeling somewhat relieved, he chuckled. “Do you remember anything?”
He shook his head. “Not...much. Bein' brought here but only in flashes. The first coffee. After that just the doc making sure I was okay. My...words.” He shook his head again, looking somewhat confused. “Dunno why I ended up here.”
“Don't push it. I...should tell the doc I think.” He stood to buzz him on the comm; the man rubbed his temples as he drank more of the coffee.
They sat in silence again as Dr. Douglas came in, a small bag in his hands. He looked partially both relieved and surprised, nodding at Downfall. He started by checking things on the young man; mostly how he responded with both his meat body and his cyberware with certain things.
“Do you remember your name?” the old doctor asked.
He rubbed a hand over his face a few moments, seemingly straining. “T...Talon.”
“Alias is good enough for now,” the doctor said. “Your real name could come in time.” He did not said 'would', as he was unsure how badly his memories were damaged. “Do you remember anything else?”
He thought, sipping more coffee. “Flashes. Did jobs for...certain groups. Others had it in for me.” He thought again. “I was knocked out with gas at some point and then I remember this guy here.”
“Downfall,” he said. “Just call me Downfall.”
Talon looked over to him, smirking slightly for the first time. He nodded, putting one earbud back in so he could hear the music while speaking. “I don't remember nothin' else.”
Dr. Douglas took a wire out connected to a small device. “I need to plug this into your datajack for a few moments.”
Talon cringed noticeably, though slowly nodded. The doctor plugged it in, reading a few things. Nothing adverse happened. “Thank you. I'll leave you two now.” He nodded at Downfall, looking fairly pleased and flipping out a notebook. Downfall smirked, as he knew the doctor's penchant for still taking hard note copies to this day, a lost art in this day and age. Talon absently scratched the skin around the jack.
The two sat in silence awhile more as Talon enjoyed the chip player. He had it turned rather loud. The fluorescent lights buzzed softly, and occasionally there was a door opening; probably the doctor going in and out of one of the other rooms. Downfall had stayed here before himself, though it was for injuries. He had taken shrapnel from a frag grenade as they head out of a building; being the largest one of the team-over a head taller than even Sullivan, the old ork-and by far the strongest, he would often take the vanguard if the group needed to get out at once, and this put him in the way of a frag grenade.
His jacket took the brunt of it, though the doctor had to physically fish a lot of shrapnel from him and patch him up afterward. He stayed for two nights, and to be fair the place was comfortable enough. The doc, given he was fairly well tied to the team in terms of being a longtime contact, took extra care with them if they came with injuries; there were a few people he worked with who got 'special' treatment, though they of course still paid.
He almost chuckled to himself at the look on the groups' faces when he still managed to kick the guy's head in who threw the grenade in the first place even through his injuries. He supposed his near-berserker tendencies sort of came through, and he was particularly resistant to pain.
“You from around here?” Talon finally asked.
He shook his head, snapping back from the strange train of thought. “Tir.” He did not mind telling this, as it was fairly unimportant to his life now if someone knew he was originally from Tir. “Lived here awhile now.”
“Right from the heart of it.”
He shook his head, thinking for a moment. “Seattle. Never moved from the hometown. Maybe I should have.” he uttered a dry laugh.
“You never know what's going to happen. Can't live if you're afraid of the unknown.”
He had no way of physically showing his abilities, but he tapped his head and made a fist. “I sort of know there are some bizarre things out there.” Most magically active people were connected to things mundanes could not begin to fathom.
“Mage...no, you're one of the other kind.” He smirked. “Look it anyway, whatever that's worth nowadays. And I thought I was big.” As he settled more into his regular dialogue, Downfall could hear tiny bits of cityspeak patois sneaking in, though he wasn't nearly as thick with it as some of the Barrens folks.
Downfall smirked back at him, taking a seated position with his back against the wall. He wrapped his arms over his knees as he lit another cigarette. Talon seemed to be looking over his tattoos.
“Mechanical. Thought you types are into the organic.”
He snorted. “I like the design.”
“Wiz work,” he replied, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. Downfall did not inquire about his; given their designs, they were likely due to working with some sort of organized crime.
Downfall finished the coffee, and went over to the coat that was hanging up, digging around in a pocket. He threw Talon a pack of smokes and a lighter.
“Go ahead. I have more. I gotta run. Doc I think will want to watch you anyway.”
Talon nodded, catching them. “Comin' back?”
Looking surprised, he nodded. “If you want.”
“I kinda want some more of that music.” He handed his chip player back. “And the coffee. Stuff here's not bad, but it's weak.”
He nodded, grabbing his big coat and sliding it on. He imagined it was still raining, making him want to stop by Spanky's before going back to his place in Tacoma, which would take him awhile to reach. He had taken public transit today, knowing it was too rainy to bother with his motorcycle. He had, on occasion, debated putting away more of his cred toward a car; he knew Vallie could likely find him an inexpensive chop-job and refit the seats so it suited his frame. Covered vehicles came in handy during the worst of the Seattle weather.
“Take care,” he said, brushing back some of his hair.
“Hey...” Talon started. He held out his meat-arm to him. Downfall grasped his hand briefly. “Thanks.”
He nodded, turning to go out. He felt somewhat relieved, and even a bit pleased. It was like he felt like after his years of killing in the pits he wanted to attempt to do some sort of good deed, and it seems like he did, though he was not sure what sort of shape this man would be in after he remembered everything that happened, if he even did. He wondered if he would keep on his current path or regress; BTLs were nasty drek.
Passing by the doctor's office, he nodded inside. The doc looked up from his papers.
“Looking over the tests I took. He has a good chance of recovery, though I'm not sure how much of his memory will be intact. Hard to know with these cases. It could even come and go.”
The doc nodded. “Are you coming back?”
“With more music next time.”
Dr. Douglas smiled, wandering over to the coffee machine on the wall to get himself a paper cup of it. He fumbled in his coat to procure a credstick which he slotted in. “I have a few patients to attend to. Can I call you if needed?”
He thought for a moment, and nodded. “Guess I'm his closest known person now.”
The doc walked back over to his desk, starting to pore back over his papers as Downfall walked out, shoving the earbuds into his ears on his way. Breathing in as he walked out, the scent of wet asphalt entered his nostrils, though the music drowned out the familiar buzz of neon. Smelling some familiar broth and noodles nearby as he stuffed a cigarette into his mouth, he decided to take a quick detour on his way to the tube.
Guess I'm in this all the way now.
A/N: So after eons of absence, I decided to just do a little bit of a story on how perhaps Downfall had started to coax Talon out of his shell, in a more short story format than the background format. It actually went on a little longer than I planned.
I'm hoping to return to these more often, though shorter. I don't expect a ton of actual run stories(though I'm sure a few will find their way in), but I do like to go about with some of the day to day aspects of the shadowrunners, maybe deal with meets, or something of the sort. (Actually, a meet would be a fun thing to write, given all of the characters would be there.)
