Hot Pink Neon


They sat on what might have at one time been a couch in what would have been considered the dregs even for the Redmond barrens. It suited their needs, though. It was close. It was secure.

…secure enough.

Burned by their fellow runners and left without a payday, Shortround and Trixi did what any good shadowrunner does. They got another job.

Mr. Johnson was an elf—middle age, professional-looking haircut. Met them in a bar. Typical stuff all the way. The kind of drek they could do in their sleep. Johnson’s daughter was kidnapped, and he wanted her back. Bonus bucks if you get her back without the mob knowing what’s what.

Standard fetch. No problem. Their lead was a big, dumb Italian named Vic Fratelli. Found him, just like Mr. Johnson said, at a fast food place called McHugh’s, stuffing his face with the specialty: The Beast. While Vic clogged his arteries, Shortround’s wasp drone zipped through the restaurant on some wiz reconnaissance. Place was all mobbed up—everyone from the manager to the fry cook.

Caught a break. Kid was on site. With a little help from some totally legal explosives, Moxie was out and so were the runners. Met back up with Johnson at Hampton Holistic Healthcare, a run-down clinic in Redmond with a serious shaman vibe. Got paid. Shows what you can do when you don’t have a couple of backstabbers trying to geek you for your cut.

Back where they started. On Trixi’s patched-up couch. Tomorrow’s a new day.


snrub snrub

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