"It's time to align your body with your mind
It's hero time
It's time to align your body with your mind
It's time to shine"

"Shine", by the Rollins Band

I dimly remember Hoho telling me that the Cup had been stolen.

I don't remember too much after that, except getting very wet and getting a bump on my head.

Then I remember Hoho shaking me. "You awake, chummer?" I opened my eyes and looked up to see my old friend staring down at me, looking just a teensy bit concerned. My head hurt. I was flat on my back. And I was going to fraggin' kill my best friend for messing with me like that.

I sat up slowly, rubbing the knot on my head. "Don't ever frag with me like that ever again, Hoho."

"I'm not fraggin' with you," Hoho said as he helped me up off the floor. "I'm telling you the truth. Somebody broke into the vault holding the Cup and stole it."

I sat down on the couch and just stared up at Hoho. I'm not going to lie to you folks—I was in complete and utter shock. I mean, hello? Stanley Cup, hello? Oldest and most storied trophy in the history of sports, hello? Stolen! I couldn't believe somebody fraggin' stole the Stanley fraggin' Cup! I mean, there was that guy from Montreal back in the 20th Century that couldn't deal with Chicago winning that year, but still! It was locked in a vault with all kinds of magical and non-magical protections around it! It was locked up tighter than Saeder-Krupp HQ, and somebody fraggin stole it!

"You have to be kidding, Hoho."

Hoho shook his head. "Not kidding at all. Here," he said as he pushed my plate toward me. "Eat. You'll feel better with some food in you."

To be honest, I really didn't feel much like eating at that particular moment. But I forced myself to start chowing down as Hoho kept talking. Hoho is bigger than me, and I've lost enough wrestling matches with him to know better than to argue.

"I'm not sure where to begin, quite frankly." Hoho tugged on his beard a bit.

"Try at the beginning," I said before shoveling in another bite of my fake-steak. "That's usually a good place to begin."

Hoho tugged on his beard some more, the way he always does when he's pondering something. "Hmmmm…." Then he pushed his plate over toward me. "Finish mine off when you're done with yours." I was about to protest when he patted me on the shoulder and said "You look like you need it."

"Slot and run, Hoho," I said while poking my fork at him. "How'd you find out that the Cup's been stolen?"

He leaned back on the couch and spread his arms across the back. His shirt stretched across his barrel chest. "Well. I was on my way back from out East—heading towards Seattle, actually—when I decided to make a stop in Toronto to check out the Hall. Making the pilgrimage and all." He watched me eat for a moment, until I gave him that 'get the frag on with it' look. "So. I'm in Toronto, and I noticed that the vault was closed. They don't normally close that vault unless the Hall is closed for the day, and there was something that just didn't seem right about that. The Keepers looked nervous. As if something was up, you know?  They're not normally like that."

I finished off my steak and started in on Hoho's. He was right—I was actually very hungry. "So what did you do, hop an astral trip into the vault to check it out?" Hoho just smiled, and I held up a hand. "Say no more. What did you find?"

"Nothing. Nothing at all." He leaned forward and sat with his forearms on his knees. "I mean, there was a cup there—but it wasn't THE Cup."

I dropped my fork. This was bad.

Let me explain. When a mage or shaman (or, in some cases, an adept) attunes his mind to the astral plane, they can read impressions and auras and stuff. Pretty much everything picks up impressions from the people that handle it, especially if there are strong emotions associated with it—and most especially something like the Stanley Cup, which has absorbed impressions from everybody that's ever handled it, from the Ottawa Silver Sevens right on down to last year's St. John's Mariners (don't laugh, there is indeed an NHL team in Newfoundland). Anyone that's attuned to astral space (like Hoho) can pick up those impressions, and some can get more from those impressions than others. There are even rumors that free spirits lurk around the Cup, attracted by the strong astral signature—but nobody's ever verified it. Or at least, if they have they're not discussing it.

When you hear stories of players and coaches from days gone by saying that the Cup spoke to them, they probably weren't kidding. It was magical even in the day when there was no magic. So if there's a Cup in the vault that doesn't have any kind of astral impressions surrounding it, then it's not The Cup.

Hoho explained how he'd done some poking around to try to find out what happened to the Cup and damn near got geeked by something. He didn't know what it was, only that something kicked him back into his body with some serious authority. Whoever took it didn't want their tracks uncovered.

I sat there quietly for a moment before finally looking at Hoho and saying "So where do I fit in to all this?"

Hoho leaned forward and put a hand on my shoulder as he looked me in the eye and said "You're going to get it back—I think you're just the boy for the job! You and me and a couple others." He smiled. "Whaddaya say? It'll be fun."

I sat back in my chair and sighed. "I don't know, Hoho. I mean, how are we supposed to find whoever stole the Cup?"

"Oh, I've done some checking around. Talked to a few people. We'll find it, and we'll get it back."

I couldn't help it. I started laughing. I mean, me and Hoho? Finding the Stanley Cup AND getting it back to the Hall? I figured that after everything I went through, people will simply assume that *I* was the one who stole it. I mean, who better to hang the caper on than a supposedly embittered ex-Calder Trophy winner? "You can't be serious, Hoho. Us? We're going to get it back? We don't even know where it is—and when you tried to find out where it was you almost got yourself killed!"

I was just getting ready to ask why we shouldn't just let the proper authorities handle the situation and not get our hoops shot off when my phone rang. Hoho leaned over to answer it.

"Hello?"

A ragged-looking individual popped up on the screen. "This line isn't secure. Find someplace and call me back."

The line went dead, and Hoho looked back at me. "We need to find someplace to call her back from. And we need to find a fixer so we can get the gear we need…"

"For frag's sake, Hoho!" I had jumped up and was yelling at this point. I found myself wanting to go with him, but I was just running my mouth at this point. "I can't just up and leave my job and go running off in search of the Stanley freaking Cup!"

"Neal, you look stupid when you do that. Stop it."

"Do what?" I was pretty wired at this point and probably sounded quite hysterical.

"You're jumping up and down. Stop it."

"I am not!" Actually I was.

"Are too. Stop it."

I jumped up and down and was probably turning a lovely shade of red. "I am not!"

Light exploded in front of my face and I staggered backwards. Hoho stood and caught me before I fell over again. He pulled me over to the couch and made me sit down. Then he sat down next to me and looked me right in the eye. "Now that I have your attention, will you listen to me?"

I put my head back and closed my eyes—he used a light stun on me, and it was making me dizzy as hell. I nodded slightly and concentrated on making the spinning stop. As the static filtered out of my head, I heard Hoho speaking to me.

"That was a decker buddy of mine. I need to call her, but I need a line that can't be traced. She can help us, but only if we can get back to her."

I rolled my head in Hoho's general direction. "Let me clear my head a bit. Then we'll go." Hoho patted me on the shoulder.

"Sorry about that."

I nodded and waved a hand. "So ka." The fog lifted, and I slowly stood up. "Let's go—I think I know someplace we can go to call your buddy."

Slot and run—Hoho and I wound up cruising across the river on Bolo, to St. Paul. Bolo's my bike, a Harley Scorpion—an old Draft Day gift from Nana. It's great, and armored to boot. Remember that bit of data, chummers—it becomes important later. Traffic was fairly light, given the hour (the tail end of evening rush), so it didn't take long to get to our destination.

I pulled up at the security perimeter and took my helmet off. I punched a couple buttons and gave a winning smile to the cameras. A slightly tinny voice echoed from the little speaker on the gate:

"Please identify."

"Hedican, Neal Liam. One guest."

"Please look into the eye piece outlined in red. Do not blink or move while scan is performed."

I put my right eye up near the eyepiece and let the system scan my retina. It seemed to take forever before I heard the two beeps and the sound of the perimeter opening to let me drive through.

"Scan complete. Welcome, Neal Hedican. You are responsible for the conduct of your guest while inside the perimeter."

I blinked a time or two to let my eyes get readjusted to the evening twilight and put my helmet back on before roaring on up the street.

I pulled up into the driveway of the large white house toward the end of the cul-de-sac. Granddad and Nana were sitting on the porch swing together. He was wearing a pale green shirt and a pair of shorts, since it was still pretty warm out. Nana was wearing a simple grey smock over a white long-sleeve shirt, and was barefoot. She likes to go barefoot when it's warmer outside. Sometimes when it's not so warm outside. Granddad looked a little unsettled by something, and Nana was quietly sitting next to him holding his hand.

Granddad just turned 91—but he doesn't look a day over 50 (according to Nana, he has some latent elf blood in him—elves are long-lived). I'm often told that I'm the spittin' image of Granddad when he was younger, except my ears are pointy and I have slightly almond-shaped eyes. Tall, well-built, and distinguished-looking with some silver in the temples of his dark hair and spry green eyes—that's my Granddad. He still works out every day, plays in an over-60 mundanes-only (no cyberware/no magic) hockey league, and the ladies just love him. Nana finds it all very amusing. But then, Nana finds just about everything very amusing.

Nana's aged pretty well too—but she's had a couple of rejuvenation treatments. She's small and a little stocky, with a heart-shaped face and large hazel eyes. But she's still pretty (and yes, I've seen pictures of her in her younger days), and she's one of the wisest people I've ever met. Her hair's gone completely silver, and she usually wears it in a long ponytail so that it'll stay out of her face.

I parked Bolo and walked up onto the porch. Granddad had a glass in his hand with a clear amber liquid in it, and he was staring off into space. I pointed and raised an eyebrow at Nana, who mouthed "whisky" at me as she got up. "Neal! How's our favorite grandson this evening?" We hugged, and she looked over at Hoho. "And there's somebody I haven't seen in a long time. Come here and let me give you a hug, Hohiro."

Yes, that's Hoho's real name—Hohiro. His father used to work for Renraku, and apparently named him for a supervisor that gave him his raise the night Hoho was conceived. Hoho loves to tell the story, like it's a joke that never gets old. Nana's the only one that's allowed to call him Hohiro. Remember that.

When Hoho hugged Nana, he almost swallowed her up. He's that big, folks—like I told you, he's so big that he's almost a troll. She looked up at him and said "How are you, my dear boy? It's been a while."

"I've been doing well, Nana." All of us kids call her Nana, we have ever since we were little. Nana is a shaman too, like Hoho—but her totem is Wolf.

She patted him on the arm. "Excellent. Go in the house and get yourself something to eat," she said before dropping her voice. "…and bring out something for Neal's Granddad too. He hasn't eaten in a while."

"I heard that," came the response from the porch swing, in the slow voice of an inebriated man trying to sound sober. "I said I'm not hungry." I sighed deeply as Nana gave Hoho a knowing look. He whispered something to Nana, and she nodded to him. Hoho nodded and went into the house as I pulled up a stray porch chair and sat down in front of the swing.

"Hi Granddad." I looked up at him, the way I used to when I was little. "It's good to see you again."

Granddad set his drink down on a small table by the swing. "Hi Grandson." He smiled a little and continued speaking in that slow manner as he leaned over slightly to give me a friendly pat on the shoulder. "What brings you to this neck of the woods?"

I sighed deeply. "The Cu—"

"I know." Granddad nodded. "I know." He sighed and looked off to his right as night finally settled over the neighborhood. "I don't want to talk about it right now."

Nana sat down next to Granddad and patted him on the shoulder. Her hand was glowing slightly. "Talk to your grandson, Bret." The glow faded from her hand as Hoho came out of the house with a sandwich on a plate, which he handed to me. I set it down on the table next to Granddad's drink as Nana spoke again. "And please eat something." Granddad got a slightly perturbed look on his face as he looked back at Nana, who smiled and kissed him on the forehead. "I'll go keep Hohiro company while you talk."

Now, at this point you're probably thinking that there's something weird going on with my family. You're right. Nana and Granddad are old friends—we're talking going back well over 50 years—and they've been living in the same house ever since Papa died while on a run in Chicago in '58. Grandmom and several of my cousins passed away in '56 when a VITAS-III outbreak raced through the Cities (I don't think Granddad's completely gotten over it), and Nana and Papa had moved closer to the Cities to be there for Granddad and all the rest of us. They never smothered us—they just made it clear that if they needed anything that they'd be there. Then Papa died while on a bug hunt, and everybody was there for Nana. Granddad let her move in so that she'd be sure to have a place to live, since there was some question about whether or not she'd be able to keep her place in Wayzata.

This brings us back to Granddad and me on the porch, with Nana inside chatting with Hoho.

"I want you to stay here, Neal. In the Cities." Granddad was sober now, courtesy of Nana's magic. "Let Lone Star find the Cup." I looked up at Granddad. His jaw was set, and he had a grim look. I knew that look—it was his "don't mess with me" face.

"Granddad, I—"

"No." His tone was stern. "I forbid it. I will not have my last grandchild become a shadowrunner."

I pinched the bridge of my nose and sighed deeply. This was not going to be fun.

"Why don't you want me going to find it?" I took his hand—I couldn't think of anything else to do. "It's not like Papa going into Bug Cit—"

I forgot what a strong grip Granddad still has. It hurt like hell when he squeezed my hand. "Keep your voice down," he hissed. "Do you want to upset your grandmother?" He let go when he saw me wince. "She still hasn't gotten over the death of your grandfather, and I don't want to see her put through that again. Leave it alone, Neal. If your friends want to run off and get themselves killed on a fool's errand, let them. But I don't want you going with them."

This is where it gets tricky.

Papa and Nana were shadowrunners, back in the day. Shadowrunners are people that do dirty work for others. Corps, private individuals, sometimes even a government or two. They live outside the system mostly—though some, like Nana and Papa, live in the system and are just very careful about what jobs to take—and they're usually decently paid. Of course, that pay tends to go for things like keeping cyberware up to date, buying more and better weaponry, snazzier magical implements, and so on. But if you're smart and know the right people, you can actually make a good profit by it. Nana and Papa were smart and knew the right people, but that didn't stop Papa from getting killed, in the end.

Nana never talked about it much, except with Granddad, so I don't know any specifics except that the bugs had something to do with it.

"Granddad…" I stood, and Granddad grabbed my arm tightly.

"Your Nana wakes up in the middle of the night sometimes, crying for your Papa. I don't want her crying for you as well." He was almost pleading now, as he relaxed his grip on my arm. "Please, Neal. Don't go."

I opened my mouth to say something else, when the front door opened. Nana came out onto the porch with Hoho, who kept right on going down the steps to wait by my bike. I got up to move back over to the chair I'd been sitting in, but Nana just put a hand on my shoulder as she sat down.

"Hohiro had quite an interesting tale to tell, Neal." She sat back in the chair. "But I'd like to hear what you have to say about it." Granddad sat up, and Nana just put a hand up. "I know your mind on the subject, Bret. But I want to know what our grandson has to say."

I sighed. "Nana, I think it would be better if I stayed here." I looked down at my shoes. I was lying. She knew it, Granddad knew it, and I knew it.

"Look at me, please." I looked up to see Nana looking at me with those wise brown eyes of hers. "Now, Neal. Tell me the truth."

I wanted to stay, wanted to make Granddad feel better knowing that his last grandchild wouldn't go get his hoop shot off in some godsforsaken corner of the world, but I couldn't lie—not to my grandparents. "I have to do this." I looked over at Granddad, who looked like he was about to start spitting nails. "It's the only thing I can do."

Nana smiled and patted me on the shoulder. "Wolf was right, it seems. Well we can't argue with destiny, can we?" She looked over at Granddad. He was livid. She sighed.

I stood. "I'd better go." I took a step toward the steps and stopped when I heard Granddad's voice at my back, cold like an icy winter wind.

"Don't ever come back." I turned to see Granddad glaring at me coldly. "As far as I am concerned, I now have no grandchildren." His jaw was set and his lips were a thin angry line. He was furious, and I don't think I blamed him one bit.

Nana looked over at Granddad. "You don't need to protect me, Bret."

I wanted to leave, but something made me stay there on the porch. I tossed Bolo's keys in Hoho's general direction, and heard him catch them. There was a sudden uneasy silence on the porch, interrupted only by the sound of a cricket chirping somewhere along the side of the house. Nana stood up and looked defiantly at Granddad. "And you sure as hell don't need to punish our grandson for doing what he thinks is right."

"What he thinks is right?! Danielle, do you have any regard for how I feel? Do you know how much it hurts me when I wake up in the middle of the night with you next to me crying for Adrian or reliving that blasted run you two went on? Don't you think I have a say in this?!"

My jaw dropped. Nana and Granddad were…?

"How about the nights when you wake me up crying for Kristi?" The retort came short and sharp, and Nana winced as soon as the words escaped her lips. She took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that." She took the plate and handed it out to me while still looking at Granddad. "Neal, please take this into the kitchen while I have a talk with your Granddad." I looked over to Hoho, who nicked his head back a bit and mouthed "Go on, I'll wait."

I didn't say a word. I took the plate and went inside. I wasn't looking at much of anything when I walked into the house. I went into the kitchen and set the plate down on the counter. I stood there for a long moment, thinking about different things. Perhaps if I hadn't let Hoho in, I wouldn't be disowned now. I should have said no. I should have told Hoho to go on without me. Then Granddad wouldn't hate me, and he and Nana wouldn't be fighting, and…

I started crying. I couldn't help it. Nana and Granddad were the only family I had left, and I was going to lose them because I felt I was doing the right thing. I slumped to the floor and hugged myself and sobbed, like I did when Mom and Dad were killed. I heard footsteps in the kitchen, but I didn't pay any attention to them. I felt a pair of arms wrap themselves around me and help me up from the floor, and turned to see Hoho looking at me. He hugged me tight for a moment.

"Here," he said as he handed me a paper napkin. "Dry your eyes."

I took several deep breaths, using my adept's training to regain my composure. "I don't know what I'm gonna do, Hoho."

"Nana sent me in to get you." He patted me on the shoulder as I blew my nose. "She and your Granddad want to talk to you."

Slot and run: Granddad un-disowned me (but he still wasn't happy about the whole thing), Nana gave me the name of her old fixer, and Hoho and I went roaring off to meet with his mysterious decker friend.

There's something weird about meeting up with somebody at a White Castle. Yes Virginia, White Castle still exists in 2061. Of course, their burgers are now soyburgers—but they're still around. She was sitting there in a corner booth, waiting patiently for us as we pulled up. She came out into the lot. Her gait looked a little uneasy, almost like she was under the influence of something.

"I am the Acid Queen." She said slowly as she looked around. Her eyes were bloodshot, and her hair was bedraggled. Her pale complexion was pockmarked and crisscrossed with scars. She looked like a junkie, dressed as she was in ragged clothes and looking unkempt. I looked at Hoho, who put up a hand.

"Good to see you again." Hoho smiled, and was answered with a slight smile. "Casey Jones," he said as he pointed to me. "He's cool. Old friend of mine."

She raised an eyebrow. "Since when was Casey spelled to rhyme with "Hedican, N L"? That some sort of new slang?" She looked at me. "You a Brit, rookie?"

It didn't dawn on me that perhaps her appearance was a carefully cultivated ruse until I looked at Hoho and said "You really think we can trust a deckhea—"

I was cut off—almost literally—by the flash of handrazors as she moved faster than I thought capable and placed three of her retractable blades against my throat. "Trust this, chummer" was all I heard. I jerked back as she pulled her hand away and retracted the razors back into her fingertips, then smiled. "Keeps people on their toes."

"She's one of the best, my friend," Hoho said as he turned toward the bike. "Let's move out. We'll meet the rest of the gang on the way."