I hope you enjoy my first foray into Shadowrun fiction. This started, like my B5 story, as basically the adventure log for our local gaming group. I found that it was nearly impossible to write Shadowrun as it deserves without a Mature rating. As we all know, the Sixth World is a dangerous, decadent, amoral place, full of wickedness.
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Return to Sender is set in the last few days of 2057. The game sessions on which the story is based were played with a combination of 1st-3rd edition rules.
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If you like the story, please let me know. Constructive criticism is always welcome.
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Enough of my babbling, on to the show!
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Return to Sender: Prologue
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The mage hurried along the hallway, his custom shoes loud against the darkly stained hardwood. Pausing outside the door, both to catch his breath and gather his thoughts, the mage knocked firmly, twice. To his surprise, the unlatched door opened slightly from the force of his knocking.
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From within, a voice said, "Enter, my friend."
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Swinging the heavy door open on silent hinges, the mage entered the room. Soft classical music played over hidden speakers. A single candle stood against the darkness, bathing the large antique desk in a lambent, golden glow. The candle's light faintly illuminated the backside of a tall figure standing in front of the wide picture window.
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The figure spoke without turning, "Anything new?"
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Clearing his throat slightly the mage said, "Just what's already been all over the NewsNets: Dunkelzahn was officially declared dead or missing on the astral plane."
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"So the Great Wyrm Mountainshadow has left us at last," the figure said. With a short, derisive laugh the tall figure added, "This presents an unexpected opportunity. We must make the most of it."
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"Are you certain that's wise, sir?" the mage asked.
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Turning slightly into the feeble light the tall figure spoke again, "Certain? Nothing is certain, my friend." He turned back to his contemplation of the nightscape and added, "As for wise, perhaps not. But as the old saying goes: 'fortune favors the bold'."
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"I was always more fond of 'God favors the side with the most artillery'," the mage replied dryly.
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The figure laughed again. "Indeed He does, my friend, indeed He does." Offhandedly waving, the figure said, "Get yourself a drink, and pour me one as well."
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The mage moved over to a sideboard wet bar and filled two tumblers with ice and liquor. Stepping up to the window, he held out one of the glasses to the figure. Still gazing out the window, the figure took the tumbler in one manicured hand, drinking deeply. "What's our next move, sir?" the mage asked.
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Sighing slightly the figure responded, "Despite this opportunity, we first must be cautious. It's the bold thief that pilfers the dragon's lair, but it is often the prudent thief that makes it out to enjoy his treasure."
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"Will any of the others try to interfere with our plans?" the mage asked.
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"Not initially, no," the figure replied.
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Sounding confused the mage said, "Surely one of them will seek to collect Dunkelzahn's possessions. Lofwyr, or perhaps Hestaby..."
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"I said no!" the figure barked. Sighing he continued, "None of the others will seek to interfere. I am certain that the Great Wyrm made specific arrangements for each and every coin of his hoard. No other dragon, no matter how avaricious, will interfere with that. Before anything else, they are creatures of ceremony and tradition."
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The mage started again, "But still, one of them could..."
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The figure turned to fully face the mage. "Do you seek to instruct ME, of all people, on how a Great Dragon thinks?" The mage shook his head as the tall figure continued, "I am...intimate...with the ways they think, and the ways they do things. For the moment they will be shocked, and dismayed. Great Dragons are not slain by anyone except other Great Dragons. I am certain Dunkelzahn kept none of them in his confidence, for any dragon, Great or otherwise, is also a creature of immense and overbearing ego."
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The mage was surprised, as always, to hear the venom drip off the words whenever his friend and mentor spoke at length about the Great Dragons. The hatred in the words was palpable. Shaking his head in apology the mage said, "You know I would never try to tell you how to do things. It's just the thought of working at odds with one of them..."
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Sighing the figure said, "Yes...I have those same worries." Abruptly the figure reached out and clapped the mage on the shoulder. "Fear not, my friend. I have been planning against this day for a long time." The mage cocked his head as if listening to something. Catching the gesture the figure asked, "Something more?"
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Waiting a few moments more, the mage stood silent, listening to his internal headset. "There is wide-spread rioting in several cities: D.C., Cincinnati, Detroit, and Seattle." The mage paused and added, "Governor Schulz in Seattle has already called out the military to put down the rioting." Listening more, his face breaking out into a grin he said, "It's just been announced that Miss Nadja Daviar, Dunkelzahn's most recent companion, will read the Great Dragon's last will and testament on the fifteenth of this month."
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Smiling two rows of perfect white teeth, the figure clinked his glass to the mage's in a victory toast and said, "See, my friend, once the final dispositions are made, we can proceed to get what we need."
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...
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"I don't know how many more ways I can tell you this, sir," the lawyer yelled. "Miss Daviar will not sell anything from the estate, and no she is not seeing anyone except beneficiaries of the will! Now good day, sir!"
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Holding out his hands the mage said placating, "I'm certain she would agree if she knew about my offer. Perhaps if you could just let me make it to her in person..."
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"I said good day, sir!" When the mage made no effort to stir from his chair, the florid-faced lawyer stabbed a button on his desk. "Mrs. Clovis," he barked out loud to whatever audio pickup the desk had, "I have a gentleman in here whose appointment is over. Please call security to have him removed!"
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In a rush, the mage came to his feet. Buttoning the jacket of his corporate-blue suit, he briefly considered snapping of a mana bolt spell at the red-faced, balding lard ball behind the macroplast desk. The lawyer seemed to sense the mage's intention, moving his hand beneath the desk, most likely hovering over a weapon or the button to some sort of lethal defense device. Narrowing his blue eyes at the lawyer, the mage thought, "You're not worth it right now, fat boy. I'll settle with you later."
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Abruptly the door to the office opened. Standing in the doorway, a uniformed troll eclipsed the mage's view of the secretary. Crossing his arms the troll said, "Lemme show youse the way out, sir."
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The mage moved out the door without looking back at the lawyer. As he passed the secretary's desk he snatched up his ornate walking stick from the umbrella stand. The troll guard immediately laid a large, meaty hand on the small of his back. The mage snapped around with a snarl and hissed, "If you lay your paw on me again, you filthy fucking trog, I'll blow up this entire building just to see you burn."
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Eyes flattening with anger, the troll backed up one step and put said paw onto the butt of his pistol. "Like da' boss said, little man, time for youse to go," he growled.
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"Yeah, I'm going," the mage replied. "I can find the way myself." He quickly walked to the exit, knowing the guard followed. Custom heels loud on the stairs, the mage slammed out the door and onto the street. He paused momentarily, squinting in the unusually bright, late autumn sunlight. Slipping on a pair of dark wraparound shades he scanned the D.C. streets for his ride.
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The rented stretch limo slipped out of traffic and pulled up to the curb, a single door opening silently. Muttering to himself in anger, the mage descended to the street and entered air-conditioned coolness of the limo. Flopping down hard into his seat, the mage hmphed in frustration.
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A manicured hand held out a sweating glass full of ice and liquor. The mage took it without speaking, drinking deeply. "I trust by your demeanor, my friend, that our offer has been refused?" asked the figure sitting opposite the mage.
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"Yes," the mage said. "Refused with the standard 'No Miss Daviar is seeing no one' argument."
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The back of the limo was silent. "Do you think they can be convinced?" the figure asked.
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Blowing a breath past his lips, the mage said, "No, not unless we kill the lawyer and enough of his minions to raise suspicion."
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Humor laced his friend and mentor's voice as he said, "Well, we certainly don't want that."
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"So what do we do, sir?" the mage asked.
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Draining his own glass, the tall figure slapped his knees and said, "We shall just have to use...alternative methods."
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A sudden feral smile crept across the mage's face. "Do you want me to handle that?"
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Filling his glass from a built-in dispenser, the figure said, "No, my friend...leave that to me."