Zitterer has a last-ditch plan to survive a catastrophe run
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Well, shit. This was how it ended.

 

At least they got the bastards who killed Da and Ma first.

Artur had closed his open wounds - even the raw stumps - but he was still down half a leg, and a hand. Zanne, 'Knällchen', his sister, was unconscious and her hands were too mangled to shoot or cast even if he could rouse her. Thilo, 'Zitterer', had a gut wound that was closed up as best as Artur's shaman talents could manage, but that just meant he would stay conscious for the twelve hours before the internal damage killed him. His feet were totaled, he was too weak to lift himself, and he was down a thumb and six other fingers. They were in an unmapped void in an office building, in cover from the pursuing security and probably good to stay hidden for a half hour - they'd planned that before the run, but they hadn't accounted for the psychotic blood mage who apparently handled private security for the execs.

Blauprinz had lost his sword, too, somewhere along the way. If he'd still had it, he'd have held out hope for a miracle - the best magician he'd ever met hadn't been able to tell him what it was, or could do, but it sure wasn't just a length of sharp steel. It couldn't find its way back to his hands fast enough to matter, though. He ran his senses over Zitterer and Knällchen again - nothing he could improve. They were screwed.

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"Zitterer... it's been a privilege knowing you."

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The elf coughed, almost a chuckle. "That bad?"

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"Yeah. You'll be dead of internal damage by sunrise unless they keep you together for interrogation. I could probably rouse Sis by burning every ounce of my reserves, but I doubt she could shoot straight. You're too weak to swing a sword, and I don't have mine. We're fucked, it's over."

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Thilo grimaced, but shook his head. "Nah. I got one more play. Get my deck over here."

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"You're short a few fingers to deck..."

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"Top ridge, divots are buttons, fourth from the left. Then second dial from the right, turn to green. But I need it in my face first."

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"Why?"

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"Voice commands. And she knows my voice."

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"...Five or Seven?"

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"Five... mostly."

 

There are seven rules of shadowrunning. Seventh, and most important, is 'Never, ever, make a deal with a dragon.' Because no matter how good the deal looks, you are not getting the good end of a trade with a millennia-old primal incarnation of greed, hunger, and magic. Rule five is simply 'Never trust an elf.' Because while most elves are just people born with Unexplained Genetic Expression, some are as old, and usually as rich, as the dragons.

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Artur had been raised to be above racism, even the mild kind directed as the 'prissy pretty-boy' elves... but shadowrunning wasn't kind to people who let ethics compromise their survival instincts. And no one he'd ever met in the shadows was quite as vehement an adherent to Rule Five as Zitterer, an elf himself, who'd always claimed he was an exile from Pomorya due to conflict with the immortal elves who ran it. All this ran through his head in seconds.

"That's... better than our odds without it. Okay."

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"And she's going to be so goddamned smug. But... yes."

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He grabbed the deck and slid it over into Thilo's face. Fourth from the left... and dial to green.

"Ready."

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"Hit spacebar," the decker whispered.

Then, as Artur did, raised his voice to a rasp. "Contingency 574," he managed, "Confirmation: dum spiro, devil's bargain, sunset on the Wadden. Initiate call."

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"Not reassuring...", Blauprinz muttered.

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"Hah. I didn't keep this secret on a whim, boss."

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"Oh, is our little charade over, Thilo dear?," came a female voice in aristocratic, French-tinged German, "that's a shame, it was fun."

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"Dying, doll. Internal damage my crew can't fix - and he's a shaman-medic. Security after us. Get the three of us out alive and on the mend and you'll finally have me in your debt."

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"Well, I might arrange that. I do have teams I can call in your usual running haunts. Unless you've hidden a trip from me."

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"Nah. I like my freedom, but I like my skin better. But debt's on me, not the other two."

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"Getting them treated without making them SINners won't be easy."

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"Then you'll have more leverage on me. My debt. Maybe they'll play along, but their free choice."

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"Be careful how you mortgage your soul, dear, new ones don't come cheap. Running Frankfurt tonight?"

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"Good spies. Yah. Within ten blocks of FBV's headquarters. Signal is 27.372, Gora staccato. We've got... Prinz?"

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"Maybe twenty minutes before security would notice anyone she sends in. Forty if hers just need to get to us before theirs do."

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