I grew up in the better side of things. I grew in the light not the shadows. My
family had sold themselves to Shaiwase. I don’t hate them for, preaching
about anarchy and independence. It’s what they had to do to survive and
yes thrive.
I went to corp schools till after high school. I was the smart ass disruption
that got your honor roll daughter pregnant. My life was boring as hell and it
showed. I joined some rich kid gang in Bellevue. That’s where I learned
to ride. We always played cat and mouse with the rent-a-cops. We acted tough and
carried around handguns and knives. Now I would laugh at myself, hardcore is a
way of life (one I haven’t necessarily mastered.)
My father was a security specialist at the enclave. E ignored my rebellious nature
saying “it was just a phase.”
One day I went into touristville with my friends we went to the banshee and started
fronting with some chicks one of them seemed to have the hots for me. She brought
me to a bathroom and got me into a stall, and proceeded to taser me into unconsciousness.
I was ransomed back to my parents. The meet went down in some warehouse in one
of the bad districts. Along with my parents a corporate strike team bust in, the
resulting gun fight killed most of the runners, sent the strike team running for
the safe zone. In the official report my parents were listed as collateral damage.
One of the surviving runners walked over and casually put a manhunter to my head.
My vision was blurred by tears, seeing my parents dead tore me up my world turned
upside down. I screamed, “Do it. My parents are dead, do it, finish the
cycle.”
The runner was taken aback by my desire to die. He took two shaky steps back and
collapsed. He screamed out some womans name. I was in shock or exhausted or something
because I passed out. I was awakwened by something undoing my chains. I looked
up to see a woman, she said, couldn’t let the vultures have you, lets go
to my home.
I was brought to a crumbling ferrocrete building. It was a squatter community,
they were basically a peaceful folk. I grew to think of that as home. I learned
to shoot and fight. They may have been peaceful but the world around them wasn’t.
One day several of the young folk were sent to get supplies from a food monger.
A loud explosion shook the ground. A suborbital crashed into Monroe, the town
where my home was, everyone was killed.
With all of the bridges between my old lives burned away, I needed some way to
get money. I worked as a mercenary for gangers.
After a few months of that I felt drawn back to the crash zone, whether to pay
homage to my second dead family or depression I’ll never figure out, but
I went scouring around there. I found my fathers brief case, inside was a shit
load of money.
I found a street doc and got some cyber. I also met Silhouette. He was a legend
on the streets, he had recently begun doing a little intermediary work. He said
he could fix me up with some real shadowruns.
