Victim of Circumstance
or How I Begun My Illustrious Career As A Shadowrunner By Felix PagePrologue
Act I
"You can't be serious!" I exclaimed, leaning on my professor's desk with my final report card clenched in my right fist. "I botch one measly test, and you're flunking me?!"
"Mr. Page," Professor Ellan pulled his glasses off and looked directly at me. "I'm not failing you because you 'botched' a 'measly' examination. I am failing you because you have consistently neglected assignments, are tardy on a regular basis, and, quite frankly, show me absolutely no motivation."
"I know I'm late on a couple assignments sometimes and I know I'm late to class every now and then, but come on! I can perform every spell you've taught us!" I said with frustration building. "Remember the summoning we had to do? No one else conjured a more powerful water elemental than I did!"
"Yes, I know, Mr. Page, but that was only half the assignment," the professor said sharply. "The other half was a completed report of the procedure." He paused and pointed at me. "Which, I might add, was two months late." The professor stood up, stretched, and walked to the door. "I'm sorry, but you know why you failed. Good day." The professor left the classroom, leaving me leaning on his desk. I sat down in the front row of the classroom and sighed. What was I to do? I just received my report card from the University of Thaumaturgy in Seattle. Three Cs, two Ds, and two Fs. I wasn't going to graduate.
"Dad's gonna kill me." I groaned to myself. "Crap!" I got up and left, dragging my feet and silently cursing the entire way home. It was about seven o'clock when I got back to my apartment. When I walked in, I saw the answering machine on my phone blinking. I was pretty sure it was Mom. Through the dark room, I hit the play button.
"Hello, dear. It's Mom." came from the phone. I smiled a bit. I took a ninety-degree turn to the refrigerator, grabbed a beer, and flicked on a light.
"Well, your schedule says you got your grades today..." continued Mom's voice.
"Yep, that I did." I thought, and popped the top on the bottle. I tossed the cap over my shoulder. It landed in the sink. While I did it every time, it still felt pretty neat I had such blind accuracy.
"And, well, we want to know how you did." Mom's voice didn't sound too enthusiastic. Then Dad's voice came on. The same tone as Mom's was.
"Listen son, however you did, call us and tell us, okay? Well be home after six the rest of the week. Take care." Dad's voice said, then the machine stopped. I sighed. Great. Since my college career was confirmed dead, my only possible option was moving back home. I hated the idea of moving back home. I had a little more than three grand in the bank, and that wouldn't pay the rent very long. A knock came from the door. I ignored it and sulked.
"Yo!" the voice called from the outside. "You in there?"
"Dead men don't answer the door." I called back. The door came open anyway.
"Hey!" I snapped, but smiling. "I have a lock on that door for a reason!"
"Yeah, and I ain't it!" The thieving S.O.B. that picked my lock was a friend of mine. The name he used was "Bones" because he was a skeleton key. Certainly the best locksmith I had ever seen, both mechanical and electrical, although I use the title "locksmith" loosely, as locksmiths typically have a license and perform their art legally. He was a skinny punk whom always sported a Mohawk and a leather jacket adorned with over a hundred little white buttons with assorted sayings, more obscene than not. He reminded me of a billboard. Bones didn't go to the University, but I've known him ever since I began attending four years ago. He went straight to the refrigerator.
"That's it. I'm installing a lock on the refrigerator."
"Why?" He asked. "I'd pick it."
"Yeah, I'd like to see you pick a Doberman." I grunted. "What are you doing here anyway?" He came into the living room with a bottle of my beer and plopped down in a chair in the corner.
"Not working tonight." He said. "What are you doing here?"
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"You're always out on Mondays. Studying, or attempting to get laid, or something." Bones tilted the bottle back for a drink.
"Yeah, I usually do. That is, when I was going to the University." Bones nearly choked. He leaned forward sputtering and trying to clear his throat.
"You serious?" He said.
"As a heart attack." I said. "I was ever so politely asked never to show up again."
"No way!" He exclaimed.
"Oh come on. You know that I never gave school a serious thought."
"Yeah, but you always managed to spread the BS thick." Bones said. "What was your famous line?" We repeated in unison "Homework's not that important. I'll kick ass on the final and do fine."
"That worked fine the first year. Before homework was eighty percent of my grade." I said. "The BS ran out a long time ago."
"Damn. That's a shame. So what now?"
"Looks like I'm moving back home." I replied. Bones swallowed half of his beer and got up.
"Well, sorry for drinking and running, but I'm gonna head out. You done with 'Fletch' yet?" He asked.
"Yeah. It's in the player." I said, pointing at the TV with the neck of my bottle. He went over to the trid and extracted the movie chip. "Later." Bones left, leaving the door open behind him as usual. I turned on the news and fell asleep in front of it.
The next morning, I walked back to the University. At the front entrance, I handed my ID card to the security guard. He scanned it, then handed it back to me.
"It expires tonight at nine. Don't get caught inside." He grunted, staring at me through his mirrored sunglasses. I flashed a quick smile and went inside. I had to clear a few things with the finance department, then get a slip signed by all my professors to verify I was no longer attending. After an hour of general annoyance from the front office, I received the dreaded pink piece of paper: the dismissal slip. I was almost relieved to be rid of most of my professors, but I felt terrible as I approached my last. Outside the door, I took a deep breath, and walked inside.
Professor Jones was sitting at his desk, tapping at a computer, looking slightly interested at whatever was scrolling by. He was a slight elf, very slender and tall; a textbook example of what an elf looked like. His clothing was perpetually immaculate: well pressed and freshly cleaned every day. That was Professor Jones' major differing feature from the other professors, whom always had a stain on their shirts or a crease in their slacks that was formed with moistened thumb and forefinger. He was my first professor when I first enrolled four years ago, and he was also one of my last. As I approached his desk, he looked up and smiled.
"Why Mr. Page! How nice it is to see you again before you graduate!" He said, his voice soft and articulate.
"Well, that's why I'm here..." I said, and produced the pink sheet. His smiled drooped a little.
"I can't say I'm surprised." Professor Jones said. "Who failed you? Ellan? I bet it was him." He smiled again. "Mr. Page. You've always been my best student. Take a seat." I sat at the desk right across from his.
"You never turned a report in on time, but you've always cranked out a spell perfectly." Professor Jones continued. He sighed. "In the real world, that's all it is anymore. Paperwork. Never any credit for a good piece of magical work. I would have given you an 'A' if it weren't for that silly academic policy." I smiled. He paused and looked at his desk.
"Hell, look what I'm doing now. Paperwork!" He said. "Ninety eight percent paperwork, two percent magic, and even that's watered down." He sighed again. He leaned back in his chair. "But the pay's decent, and the library is quite good." Then the professor sat back up again with a look of shock. "Oh, no. You're not going to have access to the library anymore!"
"Nope." I said, also lamenting. "Afraid not. But you know, I can always come back again some other time. Maybe go to the local library..."
"The local library..." Professor Jones scoffed. "It couldn't tell you how to toast bread properly." He sat staring off into space for a couple seconds, then looked back at me.
"Do you still have your entrance pass?" He asked.
"Uh, yeah." I said. I took it out of my pocket, and handed it to him, expecting him to break it in half.
"Come with me." Professor Jones took his jacket from the back of his chair and exited his classroom. I followed close behind him. We entered the front office and without pause proceeded to a door marked "Identification Processing". He produced his own identification card and slid it trough the maglock on the wall. He punched in nine numbers and a click came from the door jam. We entered.
The room was really small. The only items inside were a desk, a chair and a small computer. He sat down at the computer and slid my card down a slot on the side.
"Hmmm. It seems your pass is going to expire in eight hours." He mused. He tapped one button, and the screen cleared.
"Wait a second!" I said, but he hushed me.
"Now then. You're no longer a student here, remember?" He said. "However..." He began typing. "There's an opening in the library for my new..." The computer dinged pleasantly. "assistant!" Professor Jones got up, went back into the main office and to the card printer. He withdrew a brand new card from the plastic basket and handed it to me. On it was my name, my picture, but the card was now a different color: the faculty green. Under my name, in large, red, highly visible letters, read "Faculty Assistant: Prof. Jones. UNLIMITED".
"Oh my God!" I whispered, trying to keep my voice down. People usually attempted bizarre schemes involving kidnapping and retinal replacements for something like this. "You made me your assistant?"
"Not really. Just in name. You may now use the library any time you want. You can even take books home. Just flash that around and they don't argue. Come back to the classroom." I followed him back to the classroom. He sat down and jotted something on a piece of paper.
"You know, every one of those graduates are going turn into wage slaves. All fifty-six of them have accepted positions at various corporations. This cycle will continue. Magic will be overly used and abused, magic will lose its importance, and basically stagnate and die. However, many individuals have chosen to use magic to it's highest potential, and I can guarantee you they don't have to be in an office at 9 AM on a Monday morning. You always impressed me, Mr. Page. I'm willing to give you a chance to use your magic to full potential." He handed me the paper. On it was a phone number belonging to a "Mr. J."
"What, is this you?" I asked.
"No. His name's Johnson. He'll get you a job." He said. "Just mention me."
"Thank you, Professor. I can't believe you're doing all this."
"Think nothing of it. Mr. J's looking for a few people anyway, especially talented young individuals, such as yourself. As for the faculty ID card, I had to give it to somebody before the summer break or else I will lose the privilege. You just happened to be in the right place at the right time." The professor turned his computer off. He snapped his fingers, and out from a quick flash of flame came a shimmering figure, about a foot tall, floating before the chalkboard. Suddenly a PA speaker in the classroom clicked.
"Professor Jones." The voice said. "There are rules governing elementals on University grounds." The professor responded to the voice with the finger.
"Clean up, will you please Abe?" The professor asked the hovering elemental.
"Sure thing, Boss." the elemental replied. It floated to the blackboard and began to erase it with waves of an appendage that appeared to be a hand.
"Call that number. You'll be glad you did." Professor Jones said. We split paths in the hallway. I slipped the number into my pocket and continued settling things with the University. After submitting all the forms and signing all the papers, I went straight home to call this Mr. J. When I entered the building, I ran up the stairs to my floor, but froze when I saw the door cracked open. It took me a second to realize why it was open.
"Bones!" I yelled in the hallway. "Stay out of my damned apartment!" I walked inside. "I bought a gun today!"
"Seriously?" He asked. He came out of my bedroom in nothing but off-white briefs. Across his stomach was a tattoo of "God Bless Full Auto" in thick black letters.
"Bones! What in the hell are you doing here?" I exclaimed. "Jesus, who knows what diseases you left on my sheets?"
"Aw, you complain too much." He yawned. "And I know exactly what diseases I left." He went to the refrigerator. "You need to buy beer." He walked into the living room with the last bottle. I snatched it from him and took a swallow.
"You first." I said. I went to the phone and picked it up. As soon as I unfolded the piece of paper, Bones snatched it from me.
"What the hell... where'd you get this?" He asked, eyes wide.
"My professor." I explained. I opened my mouth to continue, but he cut in.
"He said he was offering a job, didn't he?" He said.
"Yeah..."
"Why? Because you're a magically talented individual?"
"Great. Now you're following me to class." I groaned, and took another swallow of beer. Bones smiled from ear to ear.
"Bloody hell! I can't believe it!" He exclaimed. "You know what this is?"
"Yeah. Eleven digits, three letters and a period. Give it to me."
"You've been offered a shadowrun, numbnut." Bones said. I rolled my eyes.
"Are you insane? Have you been drinking all the beer in the complex? Shadowrunners exist on little chips you rent at the video store and slide into your TV, or in your case, your head." I said, tapping his head. He pulled away and knocked my hand to the side.
"Felix, what do you think I do at night, huh?" He asked.
"Collapse in a stupor around the toilet?"
"Come with me." He said, and grabbed my wrist, pulling me behind him to his apartment. He nearly kicked the door open. His apartment looked like a robbery had taken place. The only thing of any order was the pyramid of Foster's cans in the corner. Bones jumped into the next room.
"I haven't had all my shots." I complained. I stepped on a slice of pizza walking farther in. "Are you sure I'm not gonna get bitten by the vermin?" Suddenly, he whipped around the corner holding the biggest gun I had ever seen. I nearly wet myself.
"All right!" I snapped, holding my hands up. "Your vermin are cute! I like your vermin!"
"Why would I have this?" He asked, handing it to me by the barrel. I took it. The thing weighed a ton! I had only seen a weapon like this on TV.
"Home protection?" I retorted. I tossed it on the couch. It shattered a bottle under a shirt when it landed. What was there to protect?
"No. I use it to break into buildings and kill people that other people want dead or that happen to get into my way." Bones replied. His dead calm in reciting his reply unnerved me.
"Charming. Good-bye." I said and turned for the door.
"Wait a sec! Wait a second." He said. "Okay, bad introduction." He intercepted me en route to the door. "It pays a lot of money."
"So? Not all that great when the police know where you live." I said. He smiled.
"Come here." He pulled me into his bedroom. I knew why he slept at my place. His bed, a waterbed, was busted clean through. Now it looked like a Jacuzzi. Bones was the resourceful type, though. A dozen dirty plates and glasses lay soaking at the bottom. He sat down at a computer next to his closet.
"Okay. Let's see if the police know where you are..." He mused, typing. After a couple seconds, my name appeared on the top of the screen with my address, phone number and other vital statistics.
"Your police record. Clean." He said.
"Of course it is." I replied.
"Let us take a look at mine..." He typed again, entering his name into the database. An error came up.
"Oh look!" Bones said with a deliberate tone of surprise and his hands on his cheeks. "An error! Apparently, this person doesn't exist!" He backed up to my record again. Bones inserted a disc and a message came up, claiming this record, my record, had a fatal error. Then it asked if he wanted to delete it to prevent this fatal error spreading to other records. Bones agreed, and after he entered a few passwords, the screen was blank once again.
"Viola! Now you don't technically exist." Bones said. "Now they can't trace you back here, or anywhere! Just, uh, don't get caught. It pisses Lone Star off when they come to an identity that isn't in the database."
"Great, I'm now a felon." I said, leaning in on the computer with mild interest. "Plus, what does this have to do with this job I'm getting?"
"Okay, okay. You do what you want to do..." Bones said. "But please listen to me first." I thought about protesting, then sighed.
"Alright." I said. "I'm listening." Bones stood up and went to the closet. He began to rummage around inside.
"Okay, how tall are you? About as tall as me? 32 waist?" he asked.
"What? Yeah, I suppose. Why?" I asked. He pulled a garment bag out. He unzipped it, and pulled out what looked to be a very expensive suit.
"You'll need this." He tossed it to me.
"Oh, well thank you. This suit certainly looks better than any of mine do. 32 waist did you say?" It was a nice shade of gray. It was a very high quality wool suit. I thought he was actually dropping the immature shadowrun game. "This should look nice for the interview."
"No, you idjit." Bones snapped, then sighed. "It's a suit with frickin' Kevlar in it. You can take a round in the chest and shake it off easily." Bones said. Upon closer inspection, I noticed it was pretty stiff in some areas, and there were numerous tiny imperfections. My guess was that they were repaired holes.
"I've had over forty bullet holes patched up in that thing, including a couple rounds from a Remington about as tall as you are." Bones commented. "I used to wear it on every run, that is until I realized a full blown trench coat with metal plates kept my hoop alive a little longer in a firefight."
"Forty rounds?" I exclaimed. "No way am I getting into this line of work!" I tossed the suit back at him.
"You said it yourself, it looks better than any of yours." He replied, raising an eyebrow and cocking his head smiling. He tossed it back.
"All right. Fine."
"Now, let's get you a gun."
"Hey!"
"Oh come off it, man." Bones scolded. "I'm deadly serious. You're going to perform a job that requires you to carry self protection!" Bones went back into the closet and came out with a gun. Smaller than the last one, but still big enough to look scary. He walked right up to me.
"Take this. Not to your interview with Mr. J., but on the actual job. When you meet him, don't tell him your name. He isn't gonna be interested anyway. Come up with an alias. Get as much money up front as possible, but don't spend too much of it until the job's done, because if you don't finish the job, he might want it back. If you get in trouble, call me, I'll find a way to bail you out. And for God's sake, don't hesitate to shoot someone, because they won't hesitate to shoot you. Do you understand me?" Bones looked me dead in the eye. Maybe he was serious. Serious enough to give me a suit of Kevlar and a gun.
"Okay." I said, almost shaken by Bones' advice. I took the gun from him.
"Do you know how to use it?"
"No."
"Point that end at someone. Pull the trigger. Repeat as often as necessary"
"Okay. Uh, thanks." I said.
"Call Mr. J." Bones said. I went straight to my apartment, followed by Bones. I picked the phone number of the floor and dialed his number. The phone buzzed a couple of times through the speaker before it was picked up.
"Yes?" the voice asked, a deep and impatient voice.
"I'm calling about the job?" I said.
"Good!" Bones whispered behind me. I waved him away.
"Who gave you this number?" The voice asked, very irritated.
"Uh, Professor Jones?" I said.
"Oh, good." The voice immediately calmed. "Come to the address I am sending you. Nine o'clock." Then the voice hung up. From the base of my phone came an address from the printer.
"Well, you've got three hours to kill." Bones left, shutting the door carefully behind him; something he never did. Suddenly, I felt both invincible and puny at the same time. I held both the gun and the suit in my left arm. Was this job really what Bones said it was? Would I actually be "running the shadows", like they said on the trid? I dropped the suit on the couch and held the gun. I turned it over in my hands. It was a large gun. At least to me, anyway. With a bit of examination I took out the clip. It was full with about a dozen rounds. I slid it in a little ways, then slammed it the rest of the way with the flat of my palm. The entire situation freaked me out.
"I'm just going to check this job out." I thought. "Not going to do anything stupid." I tossed the gun on the couch, picked up the suit, and retreated to the shower to get ready to meet Mr. J.