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Chummer, not Choom 1 (Shadowrun/Cyberpunk Multicross, OC-SI, Chaos Gacha)
He woke up to the feeling of cold concrete against his body and the winding sound of a slot machine being primed. His confusion wasn't made all the easier, either, as his eyes opened to a bleak, industrial ceiling that had seen better days. The smell of urban decay, damp concrete, and drying blood hung heavily in the air, making him wrinkle his nose at the vile scent of it. What threw the man for a loop, though, was the complete and utter lack that came to his mind. Not in terms of basic knowledge, or the meanings of words, but a complete and utter void where his memories should have been outside of those concrete concepts.
Who was he? And why was he seeing floating text in front of him?
-RISE, O' GAMBLER-
As a gift knowledge in this new, strange world, you are being granted three random gold gacha tickets, as a boon for your survival. May you live long and ever entertain the Tarot.
[Ukaku]
|Rare Ability|
Tokyo Ghoul - Allows you to manifest a wing-like biological appendage made of special RC Cells that allow it to freely go from fluid-like water to tough as steel. These wings can release a barrage of high-speed armor-piercing feathers at will with good precision or sweep in slicing motions to attack like a steel whip.
[Iron Palate]
|Rare Trait|
You can eat and digest just about anything that isn't lethal poison to you.
[Expert Drawing]
|Rare Skill|
You are an expert at illustration of all kinds, whether it be drawing or painting. You can almost perfectly illustrate what you imagine in your head or what you see in front of you.
It was strange to know with bone-deep certainty that the words written in that stark white text were inviolate, as the first real thing he understood was waking up in this strange place. Every line was written with the surety that whatever they listed was the truth, plain and unvarnished. Mainly because the man could feel those changes in his body, but perhaps it settled with some deeper truth that defied his qualia. The Tarot was, and the Tarot had gifted him these abilities, and that was within the frame of expected outcomes when it was concerned. Why he knew this fact, and not his own name or the place he was born, was still eluding him, even while there were other things he implicitly remembered.
Deep in the recesses of his mind was no small amount of information, useless to him at the moment. The details of the first Gundam model that Amuro stole, for example, or what a Bag of Holding was. Scattershot, niche information on media franchises that had no bearing on who he was or why he'd woken up naked, scuffed, and cold.
But apparently, he could draw exceptionally well now. Professionally, too, in just about every medium where the skillset was transferable. Whether that be with traditional paper and pencil, digital mediums like a drawing tablet, and all sorts of painting styles like Renaissance figural painting or Ming Dynasty ink artwork, he could do it all. Or the fact that he could consume almost anything, just like [Iron Palate] mentioned too, as the rest of the text had assured him.
And under his skin, he felt something at the base of his neck, situated right in the middle of his shoulders. An appendage of rippling flesh and muscle that felt like it wanted to come out at the slightest reflex. There was a foreign instinct there, of how to reach out and use his new appendage… Though hopefully, it wouldn't come with the RC Cell cravings that normal Ghouls had to deal with.
How fucked up was it that he could remember obscure lore from a mid-tier anime and manga, but he couldn't remember his name? Let alone where he'd even woken up at, as the man glanced around his immediate surroundings, trying to commit as much of it as possible to memory. Then, naturally, he squinted as he looked at what was scrawled into the ground underneath him.
…Was this a ritual circle?
Now that he was able to get a better view of his surroundings, it looked like he'd woken up in some kind of…warehouse? That was his best bet, even if the place looked like it had definitely seen better days. As concerning as it was, the bigger thing that drew his attention wasn't the fact that he was naked in the middle of some kind of magic circle, hallucinating floating words.
That dubious honor was taken up by the seven corpses arrayed around him. How did he know they were corpses? Well, technically, he didn't, but the awe-inspiring amount of blood that seemed to have come from their eyes, mouth, nose, and even ears seemed…well, outside of the range of what would be healthy for normal people. Or the simply stiff, impossibly still position of their bodies, with not even the slightest amount of movement that he could discern with a simple glance. Which was right when the goosebumps began to spread along his skin.
It had never been in question that he was vulnerable here, nude and amnesic. At no point did he ever get the feeling that he was in a safe spot. But there was a difference between a distant, nebulous danger that he couldn't see and the front-and-center reality of multiple corpses spread all around him.
"Where the fuck am I…?" He breathed, swallowing thickly.
The seven bodies that were arrayed around him weren't without their peculiarities. For starters, there was something vaguely ritualistic about the spoked-wheel order they'd all fallen to the ground. Perhaps that was where they'd been standing before they'd collapsed into whatever seizures had taken them off guard.
And those had to be seizures that were the cause of death. Or, a mix of that and the most violent internal hemorrhaging he'd ever seen in any form of media. Movies and television shows had not prepared him for this kind of unseemly demise. There was a cleanliness and an ordered violence to those sorts of situations that were utterly absent in real life.
All of the men and women around him had not died well, in their sleep, or in that rosy, picturesque way someone might have seen in an anime. They died screaming, faces contorted in rictuses of pain. Vaguely, the stench of burned flesh turned his stomach, more like pork than he would have liked to admit.
Blood had run from their noses in thick rivulets, drying now, and from their bloodshot eyes, as blood vessels had burst at the seams. From their ears, their mouths, in the exaggerated characteristics of their hyper-defined veins… A passive air of agony made the entire affair all the more daunting to inspect as he carefully stepped out of the prepared circle.
Even stranger was that once he started to peer over the bodies with more scrutiny, something painfully stood out to him. Five of the laid-out bodies were human, recognizably so, running the gamut of ages from young man to elderly. But the latter two were either the most dedicated cosplayers on the face of the earth…or just flat out not human at all.
The first of the two was bulky and muscled, with features that looked like they could have been Asian underneath all the blood. However, unless Asians somehow started to develop massive tusks and teeth jutting from their lower jaw when he wasn't looking, something wasn't passing the fucking sniff test.
Whereas the second was different in that her features were a lot more exotic. No pointed ears or tusks, but she did appear to have an outright green pallor, with skin that glistened with something like scales on a closer observation. Unless the quality of make-up he'd been familiar with on a casual level was tough enough to withstand this much blood on it, the amnesic man suspected something else was afoot.
Wherever he'd ended up, nameless and naked, was the site of a rite gone wrong. And he was smack dab in the middle of it.
Each of them was wearing the same rough outfit over their actual clothing, too. Robes of a deep, mauve color, emblazoned with unfamiliar symbology. It felt disrespectful to paw over the belongings of the deceased, but rigor mortis hadn't set in yet, so he took the effort to rummage through their pockets. If he had also had to squash down the bile that threatened to spike in his throat, that was between him and God.
There were no wallets or personally identifying cards on them, though. Only an array of devices that almost looked like phones, but as far removed as his cellphone was to a rotary phone. More advanced in some ways, clunky in others, and decidedly indecipherable beyond having some recognizable power buttons and other common technological features. There was a sense of some sort of scientific development along the same tree as a cellphone, just removed at a distance that he couldn't decipher their usage at a first glance.
One shared commonality between all of the dead bodies was a signet ring on each of their fingers, engraved with a Seal of Solomon. That, and the fact that each of them had a very odd little device in their pockets. It was a pen-like device, though as to the function of them, he didn't have the faintest clue. His confusion wasn't helped much by the environs that he'd found himself in.
If he had to guess what kind of place this was, he would have sprung for some kind of warehouse. At least, it might have been one once upon a time. But those days had long since passed by, as a new and pernicious manner of maintenance breakdown or active neglect had overtaken the building. Once pristine, white-painted walls were now peeling back, and there was the faintest chill in the air from the broken windows littered around the building. Large, intimidating steel pillars that had seen better days were all over the place, as were the countless years of detritus from presumed vagrants and actual animal vermin.
Whoever he was, wherever he was, and however he got here…he needed to figure out somewhere to go from here.
…And where to get some pants. Standing around with his dick out in the breeze was getting old quick.
Now the real question was, did he want to try to loot these bodies for everything that they had and see if he could cure his current state of nudity? Or did he want to risk the biscuit and go out into the wider world, bare as the day he was born? Though almost the moment he had the thought, the solution was totally obvious to him. He might not have liked corpse robbing, but the situation was dire enough for some desperate decisions.
With a grimace, the man ambled over to the closest man of similar size and began to pull off the man's clothing. It was a small blessing that their bodies were still warm, even if it didn't help that rising sensation of disgust in the back of his mind. If they'd been fully into rigor mortis, this process would have been intolerable, let alone even more difficult.
Before long, he found himself in possession of a blessedly unsoiled pair of boxers, socks, a raggedy t-shirt, some blue sneakers that were a little too small, and a pair of dark slacks. His rizz, drip, and swag might have been in the negative digits, but at least he wasn't naked anymore. Small blessings, right? Before he could get further distracted, though, there was another pop-up and the sound of shuffling cards in the back of his mind.
-MY FIRST CORPSE ROBBERY-
Loot your first dead body. One down, countless to go.
Rolling 1x Bronze Item Gacha Ticket…
[Cloak of Billowing]
|Trash Item|
DnD - A fancy embroidered red cloak that can billow majestically even in the absence of wind.
In that strange hollow where his abilities were, he could feel something deposited there. Not a good, useful item, like say, some armor, a map, a phone that would allow him to call 911, though. It was a fancy cloak that billowed majestically. Nothing that could say, defend him in a pinch, or help out with surviving this shit.
If he ever got his hands on the madman responsible for this, he was going to be fucking furious. As it was, though, he merely let out a small sigh and rolled his head in a light circle. "Alright, time to get the hell out of—"
His words were brought to a close, though, as he heard the sounds of movement distant in the warehouse. Voices, chatting loudly, as he whipped toward the source of the sound, panicking briefly. The worst outcomes flashed through his mind as he sucked in a sharp gasp.
What if they thought he was responsible for all these dead bodies? Or if they were friends of these guys and assumed he had answers that he really didn't have? Discretion was sometimes the better part of valor, and frankly, he wanted to get the lay of the land first.
Ducking into the shadows a good distance away from the bodies, he crouched and tried to appear as small as possible in the gloom. If only to see who was coming to investigate this shitshow.
"The info said they should all be dead now," spoke an encroaching voice, coming from far off in the warehouse, which echoed out in the roomy space.
Another, newer voice called out next, doubt lacing their words. "You've got us chasin' ghost stories, bro."
A low set of chuckles, from multiple voices, rang out next, before the first one spoke again. "Excuse me if I've got connections that give me the good tips."
"Like how a bunch of Wizkids were gonna geek themselves by biting off more than they could chew?"
"We get whatever's left, and they're fresh enough that we could probably sell the bodies to Tamanous."
He barely heard any of the back and forth by this point, mostly because he was trying his best to stay out of sight. All the while, his [Ukaku] was slowly sliding out of his body, prepared and ready for violence. It was more habitual and thoughtless than anything that he'd actively tried to set up.
But mostly, his mind was racing at the very familiar terms that I'd heard spoken. Wizkid, Tamanous, Mage…
It should have been impossible, inconceivable, by everything he knew was possible. But when you eliminated all known options, the only ones that remained were the most outlandish. No matter how much he wanted to think otherwise.
A lot of the little things that had stood out to him in a vacuum felt like they were painfully, overtly obvious in hindsight. The man with tusks, who looked almost suspiciously like an orc. Or the various pen-like gadgets that he hadn't recognized as credsticks.
Was…was this the Sixth World? He had a mountain of questions, ones that felt like they wouldn't be getting answers. Not while he was here, and not from the dead lying around that ritual circle.
And someone had set them up to die, to fail at whatever ritual they'd set out to accomplish. Was this even his real body, or was he just a copy of a soul pulled into an empty vessel? Metaphysically, that sort of thing wasn't usually an option, but having a fresh, magically capable body offered possibilities to spiritual entities and for all sorts of possession-focused rites in the tabletop of Shadowrun.
It wasn't the time or the place to devolve into maddened theories, though. He wondered if diplomacy was an option.
The men that came into sight from his hidden vantage point were roughshod, to say the least. None of them were of the same race or ethnicity, but they all held a weirdly tribal aesthetic, like Native American chic meeting Mad Max. Leather, tattoos, piercings, and what looked like ritual scarification were common amongst the five of them.
"What if one's still alive?" A rough, new voice asked, deep and gravelly, like they'd been smoking cigarettes for decades.
It was the first voice that came back with a firm, decisive order. He was the only one with a gun, some massive, ugly revolver at his side, and a long scar over his right eye. The leader, maybe.
"My contact said geek the mages if they're still alive, and anyone with them." Judging by the rumble of shared agreements, none of them appeared to have any trouble with that order.
Welp. That winnowed down his options quite simply, didn't it? Resorting to violence as a first response was the action of an animal, unless your enemy was irredeemably evil at a glance. Which meant that he had to make a choice, here and now.
Was it worth trying to fight these guys, or was it better to try and slip away while the getting was good?
For a brief moment, he thought about trying to talk it out. Then he realized what an idiotic idea it was to try to talk down the five criminals who openly professed a desire to kill survivors. What was he smoking before he'd been dumped here?
Next up was considering trying to fight these guys, which felt like it had some merit. Unless he had to kill them, then things would have gotten dodgier. If he was some cold-blooded killer with years of badass experience, those memories were thoroughly scrubbed from his mind. Which meant that the fight would be…tough, and that was presuming everything went precisely to plan.
And lastly was the third, and arguably the safest option. Merely get the hell out of dodge, and try to sneak away before anyone realizes that some of those bodies were missing clothes conspicuously. It was something that he'd totally forgotten about in his rush to get dressed, but the corpses had been moved. With even a cursory investigation, someone would realize that a person had been in the area.
Recently.
He didn't feel confident in his ability to fight, not with an extra limb that he wasn't confident in using yet. With no training, no real skill, he wouldn't lie and say that he felt confident in his rumble with them. It was time to get the hell out of dodge, and hope that he managed to flee with everything intact.
"Do some of these bodies look funny to you?" One of the gangers asked.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, one of them's got their robes undone, and their dick's out, so that's a little goofy."
"Maybe jacking off was part of the ritual?" Another chipped in.
But the leader of this bunch was, if nothing else, sharp enough to grumble out something on the fringe of his hearing. "…Or maybe we've got a rat sneaking around here, stealing shit! Fan out, and yell if you see anything weird."
Should he have just run around with his dick out, rather than trying to get some clothes on? Possibly, but that didn't mean he could take back the choice now that it was made. The die was cast, and he just had to live with the results the best that he could. Even if it wasn't all that fun.
Which meant trying to hastily pad away, not quite running or jogging, but moving with a purpose. He stuck to the shadows, squinting in the dark, and ignoring the glimpses he got of rodents of unusual size scampering in the same gloom he was stalking through. It was made worse by the fact that he could practically hear one of them on his trail, stumbling behind him unknowingly, which made the situation even worse.
But then he saw sunlight, and any pretense of stealth was abandoned in favor of escape. He ran, powering forward with a sprint, ignoring the dirt and junk kicked up in his wake or the slight pain of his too-tight shoes straining around his foot. Not until he breached the light and was out of the warehouse, when the sound of a shuffling deck echoed out in his mind.
-SNEAK KING-
Stealth your way out of a dangerous situation for the first time.
Rolling 1x Bronze Skill Gacha Ticket…
[Novice Management]
|Common Skill|
You are a novice at managing things. You know how to schedule your day, distribute your tasks, and attention to spend your time better. You would make a decent secretary.
-HARSH LANDING-
Escape an unfriendly beginning scenario in your new life.
Rolling 1x Silver Trait Gacha Ticket…
[Silent Steps]
|Uncommon Trait|
You naturally walk silently and softly like an assassin or a cat.
He was safe. It was a thought that came unbidden, as he didn't hear any signs of chase or alert blossoming through the warehouse. Either they didn't hear him, or he'd been sneakier with his running than he'd initially thought. Either way, he'd gotten away scot-free, breaking out into a tedious gait.
The first thing he realized, jogging away from the warehouse, was that he now had a broad understanding of effective management. But the only environments where that sort of professional skill would come in handy are corporations. In Shadowrun, that sort of career path left a bit to be desired.
Admittedly, the second trait would have been more useful if he'd gotten it before he'd needed to sneak away. [Silent Steps] was already working, closer to a passive Adept power in how it functioned just to keep him creeping soundlessly. It wasn't the flashiest set of results, but he'd take them.
More important was figuring out what kind of urban wasteland he'd been dropped into. Wherever he was, it'd seen better days, to be sure, though at least it wasn't abandoned.
Rather, it looked like just that row of buildings had been left to urban decay. The rest of the neighborhood was…livable, if certainly rough. Everyone he saw was certainly of a particular bent, worn down, but still trying to keep their heads held high.
He felt like an outsider, though. It was hard not to feel like one either, as the world felt like it'd been twisted around him. Some people were human, sure, but there were Orcs, Elves, Dwarves, and even a few hulking Trolls he spotted on the streets, walking about, going from business to business like it was a typical day.
For them, it probably was.
Him, though, a lot of it was too much. The noise, the sound, the cars that trundled down the road in new styles that were totally foreign, or the alien fashions that were being shown off here and there. It made him feel like the odd man out in every sense of the word.
But he was safe, which meant that wherever and whenever he was in the Sixth World…he'd figure it out, one step at a time.
When he finally found a store with windows that weren't boarded up or busted in, he got a glimpse of what he looked like. Tall, with shaggy, light brown hair and fair skin, stubble grew along his firm jawline. Dark brown eyes peered back out at him from the reflective windows, finishing off the look of someone who could have walked off of the street from anywhere. Yet even so, thinking about himself as a he and not by any given name was a little goofy.
…God, he needed a new name, didn't he?
He didn't need to make this more complicated than it was. Until he was made aware otherwise, his name was now Jack. It was simple, sweet, and to the point. If he somehow stumbled onto the Shadows, maybe he'd take a proper alias for that too.
As to whether or not this was Jack's original body, though? He couldn't tell for sure. Shaggy, light brown hair fell over his face, with a somewhat trimmed beard along his jawline. Beyond that, though, he was just hairy, and perhaps a bit burly, on his tall physique.
If nothing else, though, beyond his unfamiliarity with wherever the fuck he was, he was big enough to make people think twice about going after him.
Off in the distance, factories belched black smoke into the sky of this undoubtedly working-class neighborhood. There was a constant back and forth of movement, delivery trucks, and traffic, going all around him. But there wasn't anything else to do but to try and ask someone for assistance.
"Hey," he spoke, trying to get the attention of some old, middle-aged dusky-skinned human man either heading to a shift or going to one. "You know where we are right now?"
The man gave Jack a dubious look, eyes glancing him up and down. "…Had a long night drinking, son?"
"Uh…" Jack gave the guy a nervous grin. "Something like that."
"We're in Auburn," the guy stated.
To which Jack could only stare back blankly, as that name…didn't really mean anything to him. "…And that's in…?" he trailed off leadingly.
"Seattle," the man uttered, emphasizing his words, as if he were speaking to an invalid.
Technically he was, but Jack wasn't going to cop to that. "R-Right, right. Thanks, sir!"
He was already hastily walking away, hands shoved into his pockets, fingering the credsticks he'd filched off of the dead bodies. SINLESS, and without a place to stay, he was…thrown for a bit of a loop as to what to do next.
There were a lot of grand ideas and plots swirling around his head. Information that he was tangentially aware of, and that, depending on where he was on the timeline, could be incredibly lucrative. Some of the oldest, darkest secrets of the Earth, stretching all the way back to the Fourth World. In that moment, he could feel the dreadful, awful yawning void of choice open up in front of him.
Jack found that it was terrifying.
He was in the midst of a different time, a city so redeveloped and overwrought that it was almost a foreign country, and without a shred of identification to his name. He was drowning in choices and unsure of which among them he should take.
A part of him that probably belonged to the man he used to be craved a drink. More than anything else, it was the pounding desire to get so blackout drunk that he could make this current fucking predicament future-Jack's problem. Maybe if he gave himself amnesia again, he'd remember who he was.
Unfortunately, he had some strong suspicions that getting blackout drunk wasn't going to solve any of his problems. Chances were they'd create some new ones instead.
He'd already had some questionable run-ins with the criminal element of Auburn, and Jack wasn't in much of a rush to repeat the process. But, let it be said, he could probably masquerade as a Mage or an Adept, at least for a time. If there was anything that was almost universally desired or welcomed in most Shadow communities, from his recollections, it was the Awakened.
They were certainly scorned by some outliers or factions that primarily relied on technology. With that said, such groups were very much in the minority, especially when it came to the capability to project strength. Awakened were potent force multipliers in every sense, with a sheer panoply of skillsets and powers that were hard to universally plan for.
…But it also came with different, new dangers. The gap between the knowledge Jack should have had about the world at large was different than the lived realities of people on the ground. It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure that much out.
If he treated this like a game, and just sauntered into some underworld haunt or dive bar, there was a good chance he'd make his situation worse. So what was a man to do when his two main stratagems were cut off from him…?
The best thing he could do. Find the nearest convenience store, and get something to eat with the stolen credsticks he'd stolen from the corpses. Everything else could be figured out once he felt human again.
Nearly every Shadowrun player was familiar with the humble Stuffer Shack. It was, in many respects, the origin of countless Shadowrunner teams, all meeting in modest environs for future partnerships that would involve crime and all kinds of mayhem. With that said, that was in the hyper-reality of a tabletop RPG.
The world didn't work like that. Not really. He didn't know where he'd read it, but most stories followed the most interesting person in a given world at a given moment. Jack didn't think he qualified for such a lofty title, though, walking under the neon sign glowing proudly on the front of the building.
It was hard to feel like much of a badass when you were hungry, alone, and wearing a dead man's clothes. If anything, he felt kind of like a fraud, wearing an unfamiliar face and ill-fitting clothes, like someone hopelessly lost without a paddle.
For a few brief moments, he assumed the interior of the store would provide some logic, something to moor himself on in this foreign time. The insides looked like any other convenience store that he'd been in.
Behind the counter was a scruffy-looking clerk, some underage, underpaid, and underenthused human teen. With his curly mop of brown hair and pubescent case of acne, he briefly reminded Jack of Shaggy sans Scooby. Emblazoned across his company t-shirt was a nametag that read, 'Welcome to Stuffer Shack, I'm Vern.'
Staring blankly at a holo-zine, Jack suspected that short of the store burning down little could get his attention. Including the homely, pudgy female teenage dwarf sitting on the side of the counter, yapping. A lot of it was understandable, but when the girl started to get into the vagaries of some Troll Thrash band she wanted to go to, Jack was instantly lost.
Vern seemed much the same, judging by his absentminded expression and words. "Sure, Veronica…" He trailed off, barely paying too much attention to even what she was saying.
Near the ice cream freezers was a mousy human guy, though something of a bit of a technophile by the look of all of the gadgets on him. Jack assumed that he was supposed to be there, taking random tubs of ice cream and subjecting them to whatever arcane technological scanning was going on. Then again, Vern didn't seem like the most dedicated employee.
If the guy was poisoning the local population of ice cream enjoyers, he'd probably get away with it scot-free.
There were only a few other people of note were a couple of rocker royalty wannabes and an Elven woman with a baby on her hip. For the former, they were notable because through the degree of paint, accessories, and generally questionably styled clothing that they wore, Jack was having a hard time discerning their species, let alone their ethnicity.
For the Elven woman, her notoriety came from the fact that the baby on her hip was a real screecher. He didn't have anything against children personally, but the sheer shrill, non-stop crying was starting to make Jack rethink that decision. If nothing else, the woman did seem a little overwhelmed across the board, judging by the look on her face. She was mildly attractive, in the slender, svelte way he'd seen elves manage, but that was marred by the fact that she looked as if she hadn't caught a good night's sleep in weeks.
He'd almost missed the last figure in the store, only caught by the dint of his height. Some light blue-ish-skinned figure with green twintails and a puffy jacket, walking through the aisles. Jack didn't pay them too much mind, though. His attention was almost immediately waylaid by other matters, admittedly, as he began to look over the various food items to purchase.
Logically, Jack had a rough understanding that the food of the modern era would be different than what he was expecting. God knew that he'd rummaged through so many of the Shadowrun lore books to understand that for most people, modern food consisted of replacement materials rather than the original ingredients. That was the case if you were broke and lived in a sprawl.
He knew that, in his heart of hearts. That didn't make it any easier of a pill to swallow, though, as he looked over the various ingredients on display in front of him, and food ingredients. On the surface, the packages of chips, or premade microwave meals seemed as if they were the kinds of food he was used to. If he squinted, and didn't focus on the new and novel brands, he could probably get past the raw unfamiliarity.
More terrifying was the fact that none of them seemed to actually consist of what they were meant to. Vegetable medleys weren't actually made of any vegetables, but soy was situated in such a way to trick the human mind into thinking they were consuming the original thing. Fillers and additives notwithstanding, to make them vaguely nutritious, in a dubious sense of the word.
Meat items weren't much better, as chicken tenders weren't made up of any chicken at all. Instead, it was all processed krill, or in the case of other meat items, crickets. That old feeling of profound alienation only went on the longer he stared at the line of food items, feeling more and more out of place as he stood in paralysis at the dizzying display in front of him.
…Goddamnit. He just wanted to get some food, not have an existential crisis in a convenience store.
"You okay, choom?"
"Not really," Jack automatically responded, before glancing over and trying not to freak out by the person who was addressing him.
Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the Elven woman from before disappearing out of the store. Mostly because the absence of the crying baby was a balm to his senses. Most of his attention was taken up by the short, but still adult woman before him. Chiefly because Jack was almost certain that he recognized her.
…More concerningly, however, was the fact that he was fairly sure she wasn't supposed to be in this setting. Unless Shadowrun had outright had a crossover with the Cyberpunk franchise at some point. Oh, Shadowrun had taken plenty in terms of inspiration from the slightly older franchise, but he didn't think there were that many overt nods to it.
Which made it all the more confusing as to why he was staring at Rebecca.
Short in stature, the most notable thing about the woman was how distinct her style was, from just about everyone else in the store. With stark white skin with the faintest bluish tint, it contrasted with the pink tattoos on her neck, stomach, and right thigh. Normally, he might have imagined the fact that she was only wearing a black bra and underwear beneath her poofy jacket a bit trashy…yet somehow she pulled it off?
"Choom? Earth to bozoooo~!"
Jack blinked, realizing that he'd just been staring at the crimson-eyed shortstack. "Sorry, uh…" He swallowed, wracking his brain for an excuse. "It's the eyes. Took me aback a little."
"Snazzy, right?" She grinned, preening under the perceived compliment.
"I'm more surprised that someone had the common decency to to ask if I was okay," he freely admitted.
"Well…" She trailed off, looking a little reticent to answer. "Everyone has a hard day, y'know? In your shoes I'd hope someone was kind enough to ask if I was about to go zero myself the moment I was out of sight."
Jack didn't think he was suicidal, not yet, anyway. Deeply alienated and feeling some kind of way, sure, but not at the end of his rope to that degree. "No, just major life shifts. Decisions, trying to figure out what I'm going to do with my life. The usual."
"Do you always have major breakdowns trying to decide between what bag of chips to pick?"
Jack shot her a wry grin. "It's been known to happen on occasion."
A little snort ripped its way out of Rebecca as she took a step back. "Ah, I'm sorry. Didn't want to get between a man and his mandated brooding."
"I'll let the nosiness slide this time. Any recommendations on what to pick? I'm not really…used to most of these brands. Not really a UCAS native."
"Out from the NAN's or something?"
"Or something, yeah. The food safety regulations are a little more stringent where I'm from."
She whistled, both eyebrows raising. "Whoa. You must be really from the boonies."
He chuckled lowly, nodding along. "Like I said, I'm new to the city."
"You should try the barbecue soy chips. They're alright, even if they've got the nutritional value of eating air."
Cosmic entity that hovered above him, desperately, Jack needed a regular supply of normal food. He wasn't going to last if he had to survive on the fare of the Sixth World for long.
Out of the corner of Jack's eye, he noticed the Elven woman coming back in, shushing and muttering to her baby absentmindedly. It wasn't anything that he put too much attention toward, though, as he glanced back at Rebecca. "Any other flavors you'd recommend?"
"Well—"
Whatever she was about to say was cut off, harshly, by the explosion that rippled through the air, breaking down one of the glass windows and sending fragments flying. It was enough to make his ears catch nothing but the roar of whatever had combusted, as the situation went from zero to one hundred in no time at all. In that instant, he was already falling back to whatever was his immediate reflex.
The world was nothing but ringing in his ears for a few moments as he broke down into a crouch behind one of the aisles. Rebecca had joined him, having miraculously produced a gun somewhere between the initial moments of the explosion and taking cover. It somehow made Jack feel a little safer, that someone seemed to know what the fuck they were doing.
He sure as hell didn't.
"Stay down," she hissed, red eyes flicking back around toward the source of the explosion, trying to peek through the gaps in the aisle stands at the approaching two figures from outside.
Two of them were the types of bog-standard thugs that almost felt like they came out of a movie set. All biker leather, chains, and lots of tattoos in unfortunate places made the years of hard living evident on their faces stretch even farther. Waddling behind them was a dwarf, albeit one with no small amount of characteristic Native American flair. Feathers, tribal tats, stuff like that, in addition to his immediately evident features.
The first of them, with a heavily cybernetically augmented arm and a nasty-looking pistol, was the one who spoke up in a loud bark above the panic and din. Over the blaring, whistling alarms, or panicked mutterings of the other inhabitants of the Stuffer Shack.
"None of yas' is gonna get hurt if ya' keep yer' yaps shut and stay outta the way!" he roared, waving his pistol about through the air as he scanned the inside of the Stuffer Shack. "Now tell me where the lady with tha' baby is, and you all is gonna live to see another day!"
Beyond his dangerously broken vernacular, Jack wasn't sure if that was a airtight promise. Whoever these jokers were, they'd already shown a flagrant disregard for the lives of anyone else in the room. If nothing else, he wouldn't have put it past them to silence the witnesses to their presumable kidnapping or brutal murder of a mother and her child.
For whatever reason, they wanted them.
"...I just wanted some fuckin' coffee," Jack grumbled, eminently disgruntled. How much trouble could one man end up in during the course of a day?
"Hey!" Rebecca hissed, looking a little manic, and gripping her eminently light pistol in her hands. "Don't space out on me, alright? I'm gonna loop around the aisle to try and ice these guys."
"You're going to shoot them?" He asked, more than a little surprised.
"What, and let them zero some girl and her rugrat?" Rebecca gave him a pointed glare.
In his defense, he didn't think most Shadowrunners or Edgerunners would be moral enough to intervene. That probably said more on her morality and sense of justice than what most of her peers would do in the situation. Not that he minded her taking a kind of stance here.
"Most people wouldn't."
"Well, fuck them! You should delta when I go loud, though. Unless you're strapped and wanna help?" Judging by the dubious look on her face, she didn't think that he had any weapons on him.
Of course, Jack's biggest weapon was currently hidden inside his body. He might not have had a gun, but he did have his kagune. And one that could variably shift between ranged attacks and melee, depending on the situation. He also doubted that these idiots were tough enough to resist being sliced through by the hardened RC cells that made up the Ukaku.
The real question was whether or not he even wanted to get involved in someone else's problems. For someone in his position, it could draw a lot of attention to himself, attention that he really didn't need. But right on the flipside…
It'd be a really fucked-up thing to leave a mother and child to whatever fate those mouthbreathers had in mind. If he needed a more pragmatic reason to help, maybe doing so would grant him some further rewards. But more importantly, above everything else, Jack didn't think he was the type of person to leave people to their fate if he had the opportunity to help them. He wasn't a saint, to be clear, but just turning his back on people in need, when he had the power to do something about it, felt fundamentally wrong. If there was a moral compass inside of him, apparently it was still working just fine.
The first act of his new life, and new memories, was taking flight from a dangerous situation back in the warehouse. It wasn't something that he was particularly proud of, but discretion was very much the better part of valor. That didn't feel like it'd be the case here and now, though.
Whatever choices he made from here on out, there had to be a line in the sand. Things that he would or wouldn't do when it came to survival and his own pleasure. Leaving a mother and their child to a nebulous fate, at the hands of men who were actively willing to harm or kill a store full of people to get to them…
Somewhere within Jack, he felt that distinct moral resolution solidifying. Even as the short woman alongside him expected his flight, he chose to stand his ground. And in that instant, the Ukaku that'd been resting inside of his body erupted from his shoulders.
Like some red petals that burst from his skin, it stretched out from his body in a long and sinewy shape. Almost like a feathered wing, but more fluid, glistening red, with innumerable ridges where his 'feathers' could be shot from. Unconsciously, he knew that it was a limb under his complete control. And judging by how cracked Kagune was in Tokyo Ghoul, he wasn't displeased with the result.
Ukaku came from the shoulders, though in Jack's case, his had erupted around the base of his neck. He was fairly sure that his shirt wasn't too torn, but if it was, that was just a small price to pay. And its arrival didn't go without notice, at least by the woman next to him.
"What the fuck is that?" Rebecca hissed, eyes glancing over at the appendage.
"You asked me if I was strapped."
"With a gun!"
"This is better," Jack grinned. "Trust me on that. I'm gonna loop around the other side, and we can do a pincer. If I can get close enough, it won't matter what they've got on them."
That wasn't him being arrogant or otherwise cocky. An Ukaku, like all Kagune, was more than capable of cleaving through most kinds of mundane body armor and flesh with ease. It was a Ghoul's predatory organ, and fundamentally the only real way to deal with them was a Quinque, Q bullets, or extremely heavy ordinance.
Now, provided he didn't end up getting riddled with bullet holes and bleeding out in the next few minutes…
For a few moments, doubt flickered in those crimson eyes of hers. But then she nodded sharply. "Got it. I'll try to draw some fire from those gonks with the guns. You go for the Mage with your weird, Adept bullshit."
The Dwarven man present was hardly the most dangerous-looking figure, but his innocent and decidedly tribal appearance belied a much more dangerous truth. Mages in Shadowrun were not just another easily replaceable asset but far more versatile than practically any other role on a team.
With healing spells, they could change the entire momentum of a fight or keep their allies alive. If you pissed them off, they could cast a spell that just straight up made you cum your pants. And god forbid you let them prepare beforehand and get a few spirits summoned to help them out. It was the reason why a certain adage was almost universally known to literally anyone who lived on the streets.
Rule number one of the Shadows? Geek the Mage first.
Frankly, Jack was more surprised that she'd been assuming he was some professional Shadowrunner. But he wasn't going to do anything to disabuse her of the notion. Not when they had bigger fish to fry.
She didn't wait for him to speak either, skulking off in a very practiced way, as he did his best to follow suit. It did help, though, that [Silent Steps] made his clumsy attempts at stealth far more forgiving than they should have been. Any noise that his footsteps rightfully should have produced was muffled or reduced entirely.
And the human muscle was a little too inexperienced, or unfocused, to pay attention as he slipped through the aisles and just barely out of their field of view. It wasn't perfect, though, as the dwarf just barely managed to catch sight of him.
Yet not quick enough for him to be out of [Ukaku] range.
"Wait, Ade-!" He started to yell, but Jack didn't want to give him another moment longer. Not to breathe, not to think, not to alert the two meatheads with actual guns he needed to be mindful of.
Fast as a whip, his Kagune was lashing through flesh and bone, as the Dwarf scarcely could muster up any kind of defense. Slicing with the kind of speed that they could have never mustered a dodge against, with a terrifying sharpness, courtesy of the RC cells that made up the appendage. Whatever armor he was wearing didn't survive, as Jack fell back on instinct.
And for his trouble, the Dwarf fell to the floor of the Stuffer Shack, bisected in twain.
Holy fuck, that was a lot of blood.
-SLICE AND DICE-
Take your first life. One down, countless more to go.
Rolling 1x Silver Ability Gacha Ticket…
[Razor Claws]
|Uncommon Ability|
Allows you to turn your nails into razor-sharp claws that can tear through flesh and metal with ease; these claws do not dull.
…Was someone out there trying to steer him on a bestial path? Because that felt like an ironically serendipitous reward.
The moment that the Dwarf was on the ground, lying in pieces, there was a connection again. That same strange, foreign feeling Jack had felt a bit earlier, as a part of himself stretched out and connected to something so much larger. Along with the familiar, winding sound of a slot machine, as text floated briefly in front of him.
In that instant, his mind was flooded with new knowledge, and his spirit with power. Instinctively, he knew that he had two 'slots' inside of himself. One of them was already filled with [Ukaku], but the other had [Razor Claws] sliding in smoothly. As much as he'd have liked to stop and take the time to smell the roses, it didn't seem as if the assailants were going to give him those precious few moments.
Moving to turn his direction was the thug with the obvious cyberarm, eyes widening as he glanced his way. "Shit! He killed Fornis!"
It was a good thing that whoever had trained this idiot had done so poorly, as haphazard shots ripped through the air toward Jack. Heart pounding a thousand miles a minute, he rolled to the side as food spilled to the ground and displays were cracked in his wake.
Meanwhile, another staccato burst of loud pops shot forth from where Rebecca had been sneaking. They missed the idiot with the assault rifle, but if nothing else, it did force the guy to take cover. "Jesus fucking Christ!"
Still, whatever cover he'd had was blown at this point. He needed to make a move, and fast, before someone realized that he wasn't a scary Adept at all. Just a very, very panicked maniac with unnatural powers.
A part of him recognized that he should probably feel guilty coming to such a quick realization but knew that he valued his life more than he valued the idiots that had attacked this store. It wasn't just a bone-deep surety, either. Accompanying it was the cool, if utterly objective, understanding of the situation.
No matter how much bile threatened to rise in his throat for the blood he'd spilled, or how much he wanted to flee...
These men had to die. It wasn't a question or a moralistic query. Just the implicit knowledge that he'd chosen a side, and no matter what, Jack had to see it through to the end. Even if it was going to spill more blood, or if he was almost certainly going to vomit when everything was said and done. If he was going to survive in the Sixth World and try to make any kind of headway on how he'd ended up here, growing used to this kind of violence was a given.
As always, there was no better time to get acquainted than at this very moment. Whatever breakdown he wanted to have, it could be borne whenever his life wasn't in such direct, unmitigated danger.
With nothing more than a thought, his nails were transformed into razor-sharp claws. Tough enough to cut through flesh and metal, in equal measure. Jack might not have been superhumanly strong, yet there was something to be said about the pure lethality of his abilities that they didn't even need it.
It was time to get to work.
"Eat lead!" The cyber-armed ganger yelled, actually aiming his pistol toward Jack. The bullets that were thrown downrange his way were genuinely dangerous and probably would have taken the man down…
…If it wasn't for the fact that he'd whipped his [Ukaku] around, using it as a makeshift shield as he rushed the man.
He distantly felt the pressure of the bullets striking his Kagune, yet not as much pain. They weren't strong enough, or made of the right materials, to pierce his makeshift shield. It wasn't as good as a Kagune specialized for the purpose, but to get close?
It did the job.
"Why won't you fuckin' die?!" The man screamed in terror as Jack was upon him.
Frankly, he didn't trust himself to not throw up or lose his nerve if he spoke back. So instead Jack chose action, as his claws whipped out and slashed toward the thug's neck. There wasn't anything artful or particularly skilled about the way his hands moved. Someone who was professionally trained or knew how to handle a melee fight would have definitely torn Jack apart with ease.
It was a small blessing that his targets did not seem to be the cream of the crop. Something made all the more evident as his opponent realized too late that Jack was close, starting to backpedal. Not fast enough, as Jack's claws tore his throat out. With wide eyes, he stumbled back, grabbing his throat as red, dark blood gushed forth, spraying onto the ground.
The feeling was hot and sticky on his fingers as he watched the man bleed out. Then, a feeling of danger as he whipped around, only to see the man he'd forgotten with an assault rifle beginning to sight on him.
…His Kagune wasn't going to make it in time.
For a few moments the world felt like it was going to come to a standstill, as Jack felt dreadfully slow in the face of the threat. And then a series of gunshots, but not from his would-be assailant. Rebecca had popped out, and this time around her grouping was much tighter.
Two of them caught the man in the head as he slumped back to the ground, a bloody mess. Though more importantly, in no position to shoot and kill Jack. That…felt like the thing to note for him.
Beyond the alarms and the sounds of panicked people starting to peek their heads up, it seemed as if all the hostiles were down. Rebecca very hesitantly came out from cover, even if she still had her hands on her pistol. "…You in one piece?"
"Mostly," Jack sighed, tearing away his eyes from the slowly dying body of the man he'd slashed. "How about you?"
"Never better," she grinned before glancing over at his handiwork and grimacing. "Damn, bro. No messing around when it comes to the action, huh?"
"It was either them or us, the moment we got involved. I knew who I was going to pick."
"Fair enough, you're not gonna hear me complaining about it," she shrugged. "Where did that Elf chick get off to anyway?"
The answer to that question was a relatively simple one. Underneath some of the collapsed stands and goods was the slender Elf mother and her baby, who rose out of the clutter now that the danger seemed to have passed. For once, her child seemed to have been shocked into speechlessness.
Before Jack could reasonably approach her or figure out what the hell this was all about, whatever system he'd been saddled with decided to reward him for…not dying like an idiot? Killing those people? Who could even tell at this point?
-SURVIVE THE FOOD FIGHT-
The Shadows are a messy place. Welcome to your first real introduction to them.
Rolling 1x Advantaged Silver Trait Gacha Ticket…
[Vault]
|Rare Trait|
Information-gathering abilities and technologies start working improperly when it comes to you.
OR.
[Tepes]
|Rare Trait|
You are a descendant of the legendary Tepes bloodline, the original vampires, or something like that. As a Tepes all Vampirism, Unholy and Hemokinetic abilities are more potent and all undead and vampires are more respectful towards you.
It was something hovering in the back of his mind as he glanced briefly at the two options.
[Vault] was very good, in the most objective sense of the word. It might not have been the flashiest trait to take, but it would definitely be useful when it came to anyone trying to assess him in the case of mages or technological surveillance. With that said, he'd been offered the choice of one of two different perks.
And the second one was…pretty good too.
Depending on whether or not [Ukaku] counted as a vampiric, unholy, or hemokinetic ability, it'd boost its capabilities. If not, well, he was sure that he'd get something that would be affected eventually. As for the other qualities, there were actually many different kinds of vampires in Shadowrun.
The Human-Metahuman Vampiric Virus produced Vampires, Banshees, Ghouls(not the Tokyo variety), and plenty of other abominations besides. Each of them was a different strain of an existing vampiric, magical virus that had no known cure. It also drove people to require the need for metahuman flesh, blood, essence, or stranger things besides.
With that said, he had a conversation to get through first. Or maybe it was just being talked at, as the Elven woman was thanking them profusely.
"Oh my god, you saved our lives!" She gasped, tears brimming in her eyes. "They…I didn't think that man would sink so low…" Whoever she was, she seemed pretty much on the brink of a paranoid breakdown.
"Whoa, whoa!" Rebecca held up her hands, trying to relax her. "It's no big whoop. I wasn't gonna let some gonks zero a mom and her child."
"That's more kindness than most would have given. I-I've…gotta get out of here, but…" She pulled out her commlink, holding it out. "You two look like you know how to handle yourselves, and this is…this is something that's been coming to a head for awhile."
Rebecca blinked, glancing back at Jack and then at the Elven woman. "Are you trying to hire us?"
"If you're willing to hear me out later, yes," she nodded, something hard firming in her eyes. "I'm Brandeen. And…I think my baby's father tried to have us killed."
Welp. That was…certainly a lot more fucked up than Jack had been expecting. "What?!"
"I know, there's more to the story, but for now I've gotta go. Here's my number, just…please get back to me. I'll be able to make it worth your while."
"I mean…" Jack glanced over at Rebecca, mostly because he didn't have an unlocked commlink, nor did he have the faintest fucking clue how to operate one.
"We'll try to get back to you," Rebecca nodded, shooting him a brief but curious glance.
Brandeen huffed in mild relief. "That's the best I could hope for. I'm going to get out of here before I have to answer some…uncomfortable questions from Knight Errant. You two should probably do the same."
She left, though not before grabbing some diapers for her child, leaving Rebecca and Jack alone in the store. With a few other dazed patrons and quite a few dead bodies.
For a few moments, it was quiet…before Rebecca broke the silence. "…Do you even have a commlink?"
Jack sighed. "No."
"Or a place to stay after this?"
To that, he could only glance away. "…No."
With a huff, the woman crossed her arms, eyes closing, before she came to a resolution, opening them back up. "Let's loot these assholes, and then…we'll get the fuck out of dodge. You can come back with me to my place."
He blinked. "Really?"
"Yeah. I don't think you're the kind of asshole that'd fuck me over if you'd help out some random broad and her kid."
Honestly? For the streets, that was pretty solid logic. By no definition was Jack a saint, as attested to by the corpses around them, but he wasn't an asshole. Or at least he didn't think he was.
Piecing together a cogent system of morality from first principles was easier said than done. So far, though, he thought that he'd done a pretty good job.
"That's…very nice of you."
"It also helps you're a scary as fuck Adept, and it's good to get a favor from someone like that."
"Also fair."
"Now let's rob these guys for everything they're worth, eh?"
It was more and less than he'd hoped for. Rebecca was the one who could appropriately identify the weapons on display, most of which were familiar in terms of names, but totally beyond the pale when it came to actually being recognizable for him. The haul came in the form of what she identified as aan Ares Predator V, an AK-97, Fichetti Security 600, and three Meta Link burner commlinks.
Altogether, no great haul. Rebecca still seemed confident that they'd be able to sell everything eventually, though, even if she'd been adamant that they'd have to leave the AK-97 behind. Without a vehicle, it was still deeply unwise to walk around with an assault rifle. At least outside of the Barrens.
As the duo made their way out with their pilfered loot and bags filled with snacks, she was actually doing an impressive amount of talking about…just about everything.
"-But yeah, the Barrens are a real fuckin' shithole. I've done some jobs out there with my brother and his crew, but it's all gang territory, and if it ain't? Some corp has a compound that's wrapped up tighter than a corpo's asshole."
She then paused, blinking. "Wait, I never introduced myself, did I?"
"No," Jack admitted, shrugging with a smile. "But you seemed pretty fixed on setting me straight."
"Yeah, well, Seattle's kind of a mess, but it's my mess. Wouldn't want you to end up getting geeked because you wore the wrong colors on the wrong block, y'know? Especially since you seem a little…new to this sort of thing."
"That obvious?"
"Oh yeah. Everyone's gotta start somewhere, though. You think I was always such a badass? Fuck no!"
Weirdly enough, that did make him feel a little better. "… Thanks, uh…"
"Rebecca," she introduced herself, grinning as she nudged him with her shoulder. "You?"
"Jack."
"Well, Jack, let's continue your Seattle education of how not to die like a gonk-ass bitch…"
Talking along, it honestly was enough to make him forget about the murder and violence back at the Stuffer Shack and let his brain settle back on the traits he had waiting. Which of the two did Jack want to pick…
From what he could tell, [Tepes] didn't specifically turn him into a vampire. That was the most important thing, since Jack was strongly considering it. Compared to [Vault], it just seemed like it'd be the better long-term choice. With his choice made, he let the cosmic force connected to him solidify the results.
Nothing overtly changed about him in that moment, beyond just a feeling inside of Jack. The Kagune, resting beneath his skin, felt thickened, as it was brought to new heights of control and power. Elsewhere, he could almost swear the blood in his body was just flat out different. There was a nobility inside of him now, as one who descended from the lords of the night.
…Maybe he was just getting too deep into the vampire roleplay. The excitement of getting strong was a bit intoxicating, though, and he was almost certain that if he brought out his Kagune again, there'd be two of them this time. Flying with the wing-like appendages was probably beyond him right now.
Gliding, however, was a different story.
All the while, Jack's education in the basics of the Sixth World was coming along nicely. Rebecca had certainly been baffled the moment she discovered that he didn't have the faintest clue how to use a commlink, open a credstick, or otherwise interface with most technology. Yet she refrained from being outright upset about it.
Instead, she just seemed to look at Jack the same pitying way you'd look at a lost puppy on the road. Mostly with a lot of sympathy, concern, and a mild resolution to protect them. He didn't know how to feel about that, though.
With one bus ride later, they were walking up to an apartment building. "My place is up ahead. I, uh, share it with my brother. But once he gets past his bitching and moaning, he'll probably be cool with it."
"Are you sure? I'd rather not impose."
"Pfft, it's cool, bro. I pay rent there too, and I say it's cool for you to kick it on the couch, it's cool."
Well, if she said so…
Entering the space, he wasn't sure what he'd been expecting, but it was remarkably normal. All things considered, it seemed like the type of space some young adults lived in, which meant very slightly messy and largely a bit barren.
"Bro, you home?" She called out, waiting for an answer, before ushering him in. "He must be out. Anyway, come in, kick your feet up. Get comfy."
"Thanks," Jack nodded, sitting on the couch and glancing up at the unfamiliar trideo system.
And right on time, as his system made one last final alert for the day.
-GET A PLACE TO STAY AND MAKE A FRIEND-
It's tough to go it alone without friends. Congratulations on meeting the bare minimum of being a functioning human being.
Rolling 1x Bronze Familiar Gacha Ticket…
[B-1 Battle Droid]
|Common Familiar|
Star Wars - One, singular B-1 Battle Droid equipped with a blaster. His skills and effectiveness are... questionable. Good luck with him.
Somehow, he felt like someone was playing a big joke on him.
A B-1 Battle Droid was a wildly advanced piece of technology for the setting that he was in. At least on the surface, before you got into what a piece of shit these mass-produced idiots were! They were good by the dint of how many numbers of them you could throw at your enemy, not because they were particularly good combatants.
Or very smart at all.
Jack could feel the droid hovering in a new, internal hollow inside of himself. It was ready to be called out at any time. The real question was why would he do so?
Maybe later, if he needed a hand or wanted the creature's blaster. For now, he was more than happy to just let the droid stay in stasis. At least until he had a better idea of what to do with it.
For now…he was going to relax, eat some awful junk food, and come down from the chaos of the day in a safe, secure space.
As a gift knowledge in this new, strange world, you are being granted three random gold gacha tickets, as a boon for your survival. May you live long and ever entertain the Tarot.
[Ukaku]
|Rare Ability|
Tokyo Ghoul - Allows you to manifest a wing-like biological appendage made of special RC Cells that allow it to freely go from fluid-like water to tough as steel. These wings can release a barrage of high-speed armor-piercing feathers at will with good precision or sweep in slicing motions to attack like a steel whip.
[Iron Palate]
|Rare Trait|
You can eat and digest just about anything that isn't lethal poison to you.
[Expert Drawing]
|Rare Skill|
You are an expert at illustration of all kinds, whether it be drawing or painting. You can almost perfectly illustrate what you imagine in your head or what you see in front of you.
It was strange to know with bone-deep certainty that the words written in that stark white text were inviolate, as the first real thing he understood was waking up in this strange place. Every line was written with the surety that whatever they listed was the truth, plain and unvarnished. Mainly because the man could feel those changes in his body, but perhaps it settled with some deeper truth that defied his qualia. The Tarot was, and the Tarot had gifted him these abilities, and that was within the frame of expected outcomes when it was concerned. Why he knew this fact, and not his own name or the place he was born, was still eluding him, even while there were other things he implicitly remembered.
Deep in the recesses of his mind was no small amount of information, useless to him at the moment. The details of the first Gundam model that Amuro stole, for example, or what a Bag of Holding was. Scattershot, niche information on media franchises that had no bearing on who he was or why he'd woken up naked, scuffed, and cold.
But apparently, he could draw exceptionally well now. Professionally, too, in just about every medium where the skillset was transferable. Whether that be with traditional paper and pencil, digital mediums like a drawing tablet, and all sorts of painting styles like Renaissance figural painting or Ming Dynasty ink artwork, he could do it all. Or the fact that he could consume almost anything, just like [Iron Palate] mentioned too, as the rest of the text had assured him.
And under his skin, he felt something at the base of his neck, situated right in the middle of his shoulders. An appendage of rippling flesh and muscle that felt like it wanted to come out at the slightest reflex. There was a foreign instinct there, of how to reach out and use his new appendage… Though hopefully, it wouldn't come with the RC Cell cravings that normal Ghouls had to deal with.
How fucked up was it that he could remember obscure lore from a mid-tier anime and manga, but he couldn't remember his name? Let alone where he'd even woken up at, as the man glanced around his immediate surroundings, trying to commit as much of it as possible to memory. Then, naturally, he squinted as he looked at what was scrawled into the ground underneath him.
…Was this a ritual circle?
Now that he was able to get a better view of his surroundings, it looked like he'd woken up in some kind of…warehouse? That was his best bet, even if the place looked like it had definitely seen better days. As concerning as it was, the bigger thing that drew his attention wasn't the fact that he was naked in the middle of some kind of magic circle, hallucinating floating words.
That dubious honor was taken up by the seven corpses arrayed around him. How did he know they were corpses? Well, technically, he didn't, but the awe-inspiring amount of blood that seemed to have come from their eyes, mouth, nose, and even ears seemed…well, outside of the range of what would be healthy for normal people. Or the simply stiff, impossibly still position of their bodies, with not even the slightest amount of movement that he could discern with a simple glance. Which was right when the goosebumps began to spread along his skin.
It had never been in question that he was vulnerable here, nude and amnesic. At no point did he ever get the feeling that he was in a safe spot. But there was a difference between a distant, nebulous danger that he couldn't see and the front-and-center reality of multiple corpses spread all around him.
"Where the fuck am I…?" He breathed, swallowing thickly.
The seven bodies that were arrayed around him weren't without their peculiarities. For starters, there was something vaguely ritualistic about the spoked-wheel order they'd all fallen to the ground. Perhaps that was where they'd been standing before they'd collapsed into whatever seizures had taken them off guard.
And those had to be seizures that were the cause of death. Or, a mix of that and the most violent internal hemorrhaging he'd ever seen in any form of media. Movies and television shows had not prepared him for this kind of unseemly demise. There was a cleanliness and an ordered violence to those sorts of situations that were utterly absent in real life.
All of the men and women around him had not died well, in their sleep, or in that rosy, picturesque way someone might have seen in an anime. They died screaming, faces contorted in rictuses of pain. Vaguely, the stench of burned flesh turned his stomach, more like pork than he would have liked to admit.
Blood had run from their noses in thick rivulets, drying now, and from their bloodshot eyes, as blood vessels had burst at the seams. From their ears, their mouths, in the exaggerated characteristics of their hyper-defined veins… A passive air of agony made the entire affair all the more daunting to inspect as he carefully stepped out of the prepared circle.
Even stranger was that once he started to peer over the bodies with more scrutiny, something painfully stood out to him. Five of the laid-out bodies were human, recognizably so, running the gamut of ages from young man to elderly. But the latter two were either the most dedicated cosplayers on the face of the earth…or just flat out not human at all.
The first of the two was bulky and muscled, with features that looked like they could have been Asian underneath all the blood. However, unless Asians somehow started to develop massive tusks and teeth jutting from their lower jaw when he wasn't looking, something wasn't passing the fucking sniff test.
Whereas the second was different in that her features were a lot more exotic. No pointed ears or tusks, but she did appear to have an outright green pallor, with skin that glistened with something like scales on a closer observation. Unless the quality of make-up he'd been familiar with on a casual level was tough enough to withstand this much blood on it, the amnesic man suspected something else was afoot.
Wherever he'd ended up, nameless and naked, was the site of a rite gone wrong. And he was smack dab in the middle of it.
Each of them was wearing the same rough outfit over their actual clothing, too. Robes of a deep, mauve color, emblazoned with unfamiliar symbology. It felt disrespectful to paw over the belongings of the deceased, but rigor mortis hadn't set in yet, so he took the effort to rummage through their pockets. If he had also had to squash down the bile that threatened to spike in his throat, that was between him and God.
There were no wallets or personally identifying cards on them, though. Only an array of devices that almost looked like phones, but as far removed as his cellphone was to a rotary phone. More advanced in some ways, clunky in others, and decidedly indecipherable beyond having some recognizable power buttons and other common technological features. There was a sense of some sort of scientific development along the same tree as a cellphone, just removed at a distance that he couldn't decipher their usage at a first glance.
One shared commonality between all of the dead bodies was a signet ring on each of their fingers, engraved with a Seal of Solomon. That, and the fact that each of them had a very odd little device in their pockets. It was a pen-like device, though as to the function of them, he didn't have the faintest clue. His confusion wasn't helped much by the environs that he'd found himself in.
If he had to guess what kind of place this was, he would have sprung for some kind of warehouse. At least, it might have been one once upon a time. But those days had long since passed by, as a new and pernicious manner of maintenance breakdown or active neglect had overtaken the building. Once pristine, white-painted walls were now peeling back, and there was the faintest chill in the air from the broken windows littered around the building. Large, intimidating steel pillars that had seen better days were all over the place, as were the countless years of detritus from presumed vagrants and actual animal vermin.
Whoever he was, wherever he was, and however he got here…he needed to figure out somewhere to go from here.
…And where to get some pants. Standing around with his dick out in the breeze was getting old quick.
Now the real question was, did he want to try to loot these bodies for everything that they had and see if he could cure his current state of nudity? Or did he want to risk the biscuit and go out into the wider world, bare as the day he was born? Though almost the moment he had the thought, the solution was totally obvious to him. He might not have liked corpse robbing, but the situation was dire enough for some desperate decisions.
With a grimace, the man ambled over to the closest man of similar size and began to pull off the man's clothing. It was a small blessing that their bodies were still warm, even if it didn't help that rising sensation of disgust in the back of his mind. If they'd been fully into rigor mortis, this process would have been intolerable, let alone even more difficult.
Before long, he found himself in possession of a blessedly unsoiled pair of boxers, socks, a raggedy t-shirt, some blue sneakers that were a little too small, and a pair of dark slacks. His rizz, drip, and swag might have been in the negative digits, but at least he wasn't naked anymore. Small blessings, right? Before he could get further distracted, though, there was another pop-up and the sound of shuffling cards in the back of his mind.
-MY FIRST CORPSE ROBBERY-
Loot your first dead body. One down, countless to go.
Rolling 1x Bronze Item Gacha Ticket…
[Cloak of Billowing]
|Trash Item|
DnD - A fancy embroidered red cloak that can billow majestically even in the absence of wind.
In that strange hollow where his abilities were, he could feel something deposited there. Not a good, useful item, like say, some armor, a map, a phone that would allow him to call 911, though. It was a fancy cloak that billowed majestically. Nothing that could say, defend him in a pinch, or help out with surviving this shit.
If he ever got his hands on the madman responsible for this, he was going to be fucking furious. As it was, though, he merely let out a small sigh and rolled his head in a light circle. "Alright, time to get the hell out of—"
His words were brought to a close, though, as he heard the sounds of movement distant in the warehouse. Voices, chatting loudly, as he whipped toward the source of the sound, panicking briefly. The worst outcomes flashed through his mind as he sucked in a sharp gasp.
What if they thought he was responsible for all these dead bodies? Or if they were friends of these guys and assumed he had answers that he really didn't have? Discretion was sometimes the better part of valor, and frankly, he wanted to get the lay of the land first.
Ducking into the shadows a good distance away from the bodies, he crouched and tried to appear as small as possible in the gloom. If only to see who was coming to investigate this shitshow.
"The info said they should all be dead now," spoke an encroaching voice, coming from far off in the warehouse, which echoed out in the roomy space.
Another, newer voice called out next, doubt lacing their words. "You've got us chasin' ghost stories, bro."
A low set of chuckles, from multiple voices, rang out next, before the first one spoke again. "Excuse me if I've got connections that give me the good tips."
"Like how a bunch of Wizkids were gonna geek themselves by biting off more than they could chew?"
"We get whatever's left, and they're fresh enough that we could probably sell the bodies to Tamanous."
He barely heard any of the back and forth by this point, mostly because he was trying his best to stay out of sight. All the while, his [Ukaku] was slowly sliding out of his body, prepared and ready for violence. It was more habitual and thoughtless than anything that he'd actively tried to set up.
But mostly, his mind was racing at the very familiar terms that I'd heard spoken. Wizkid, Tamanous, Mage…
It should have been impossible, inconceivable, by everything he knew was possible. But when you eliminated all known options, the only ones that remained were the most outlandish. No matter how much he wanted to think otherwise.
A lot of the little things that had stood out to him in a vacuum felt like they were painfully, overtly obvious in hindsight. The man with tusks, who looked almost suspiciously like an orc. Or the various pen-like gadgets that he hadn't recognized as credsticks.
Was…was this the Sixth World? He had a mountain of questions, ones that felt like they wouldn't be getting answers. Not while he was here, and not from the dead lying around that ritual circle.
And someone had set them up to die, to fail at whatever ritual they'd set out to accomplish. Was this even his real body, or was he just a copy of a soul pulled into an empty vessel? Metaphysically, that sort of thing wasn't usually an option, but having a fresh, magically capable body offered possibilities to spiritual entities and for all sorts of possession-focused rites in the tabletop of Shadowrun.
It wasn't the time or the place to devolve into maddened theories, though. He wondered if diplomacy was an option.
The men that came into sight from his hidden vantage point were roughshod, to say the least. None of them were of the same race or ethnicity, but they all held a weirdly tribal aesthetic, like Native American chic meeting Mad Max. Leather, tattoos, piercings, and what looked like ritual scarification were common amongst the five of them.
"What if one's still alive?" A rough, new voice asked, deep and gravelly, like they'd been smoking cigarettes for decades.
It was the first voice that came back with a firm, decisive order. He was the only one with a gun, some massive, ugly revolver at his side, and a long scar over his right eye. The leader, maybe.
"My contact said geek the mages if they're still alive, and anyone with them." Judging by the rumble of shared agreements, none of them appeared to have any trouble with that order.
Welp. That winnowed down his options quite simply, didn't it? Resorting to violence as a first response was the action of an animal, unless your enemy was irredeemably evil at a glance. Which meant that he had to make a choice, here and now.
Was it worth trying to fight these guys, or was it better to try and slip away while the getting was good?
For a brief moment, he thought about trying to talk it out. Then he realized what an idiotic idea it was to try to talk down the five criminals who openly professed a desire to kill survivors. What was he smoking before he'd been dumped here?
Next up was considering trying to fight these guys, which felt like it had some merit. Unless he had to kill them, then things would have gotten dodgier. If he was some cold-blooded killer with years of badass experience, those memories were thoroughly scrubbed from his mind. Which meant that the fight would be…tough, and that was presuming everything went precisely to plan.
And lastly was the third, and arguably the safest option. Merely get the hell out of dodge, and try to sneak away before anyone realizes that some of those bodies were missing clothes conspicuously. It was something that he'd totally forgotten about in his rush to get dressed, but the corpses had been moved. With even a cursory investigation, someone would realize that a person had been in the area.
Recently.
He didn't feel confident in his ability to fight, not with an extra limb that he wasn't confident in using yet. With no training, no real skill, he wouldn't lie and say that he felt confident in his rumble with them. It was time to get the hell out of dodge, and hope that he managed to flee with everything intact.
"Do some of these bodies look funny to you?" One of the gangers asked.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, one of them's got their robes undone, and their dick's out, so that's a little goofy."
"Maybe jacking off was part of the ritual?" Another chipped in.
But the leader of this bunch was, if nothing else, sharp enough to grumble out something on the fringe of his hearing. "…Or maybe we've got a rat sneaking around here, stealing shit! Fan out, and yell if you see anything weird."
Should he have just run around with his dick out, rather than trying to get some clothes on? Possibly, but that didn't mean he could take back the choice now that it was made. The die was cast, and he just had to live with the results the best that he could. Even if it wasn't all that fun.
Which meant trying to hastily pad away, not quite running or jogging, but moving with a purpose. He stuck to the shadows, squinting in the dark, and ignoring the glimpses he got of rodents of unusual size scampering in the same gloom he was stalking through. It was made worse by the fact that he could practically hear one of them on his trail, stumbling behind him unknowingly, which made the situation even worse.
But then he saw sunlight, and any pretense of stealth was abandoned in favor of escape. He ran, powering forward with a sprint, ignoring the dirt and junk kicked up in his wake or the slight pain of his too-tight shoes straining around his foot. Not until he breached the light and was out of the warehouse, when the sound of a shuffling deck echoed out in his mind.
-SNEAK KING-
Stealth your way out of a dangerous situation for the first time.
Rolling 1x Bronze Skill Gacha Ticket…
[Novice Management]
|Common Skill|
You are a novice at managing things. You know how to schedule your day, distribute your tasks, and attention to spend your time better. You would make a decent secretary.
-HARSH LANDING-
Escape an unfriendly beginning scenario in your new life.
Rolling 1x Silver Trait Gacha Ticket…
[Silent Steps]
|Uncommon Trait|
You naturally walk silently and softly like an assassin or a cat.
He was safe. It was a thought that came unbidden, as he didn't hear any signs of chase or alert blossoming through the warehouse. Either they didn't hear him, or he'd been sneakier with his running than he'd initially thought. Either way, he'd gotten away scot-free, breaking out into a tedious gait.
The first thing he realized, jogging away from the warehouse, was that he now had a broad understanding of effective management. But the only environments where that sort of professional skill would come in handy are corporations. In Shadowrun, that sort of career path left a bit to be desired.
Admittedly, the second trait would have been more useful if he'd gotten it before he'd needed to sneak away. [Silent Steps] was already working, closer to a passive Adept power in how it functioned just to keep him creeping soundlessly. It wasn't the flashiest set of results, but he'd take them.
More important was figuring out what kind of urban wasteland he'd been dropped into. Wherever he was, it'd seen better days, to be sure, though at least it wasn't abandoned.
Rather, it looked like just that row of buildings had been left to urban decay. The rest of the neighborhood was…livable, if certainly rough. Everyone he saw was certainly of a particular bent, worn down, but still trying to keep their heads held high.
He felt like an outsider, though. It was hard not to feel like one either, as the world felt like it'd been twisted around him. Some people were human, sure, but there were Orcs, Elves, Dwarves, and even a few hulking Trolls he spotted on the streets, walking about, going from business to business like it was a typical day.
For them, it probably was.
Him, though, a lot of it was too much. The noise, the sound, the cars that trundled down the road in new styles that were totally foreign, or the alien fashions that were being shown off here and there. It made him feel like the odd man out in every sense of the word.
But he was safe, which meant that wherever and whenever he was in the Sixth World…he'd figure it out, one step at a time.
When he finally found a store with windows that weren't boarded up or busted in, he got a glimpse of what he looked like. Tall, with shaggy, light brown hair and fair skin, stubble grew along his firm jawline. Dark brown eyes peered back out at him from the reflective windows, finishing off the look of someone who could have walked off of the street from anywhere. Yet even so, thinking about himself as a he and not by any given name was a little goofy.
…God, he needed a new name, didn't he?
He didn't need to make this more complicated than it was. Until he was made aware otherwise, his name was now Jack. It was simple, sweet, and to the point. If he somehow stumbled onto the Shadows, maybe he'd take a proper alias for that too.
As to whether or not this was Jack's original body, though? He couldn't tell for sure. Shaggy, light brown hair fell over his face, with a somewhat trimmed beard along his jawline. Beyond that, though, he was just hairy, and perhaps a bit burly, on his tall physique.
If nothing else, though, beyond his unfamiliarity with wherever the fuck he was, he was big enough to make people think twice about going after him.
Off in the distance, factories belched black smoke into the sky of this undoubtedly working-class neighborhood. There was a constant back and forth of movement, delivery trucks, and traffic, going all around him. But there wasn't anything else to do but to try and ask someone for assistance.
"Hey," he spoke, trying to get the attention of some old, middle-aged dusky-skinned human man either heading to a shift or going to one. "You know where we are right now?"
The man gave Jack a dubious look, eyes glancing him up and down. "…Had a long night drinking, son?"
"Uh…" Jack gave the guy a nervous grin. "Something like that."
"We're in Auburn," the guy stated.
To which Jack could only stare back blankly, as that name…didn't really mean anything to him. "…And that's in…?" he trailed off leadingly.
"Seattle," the man uttered, emphasizing his words, as if he were speaking to an invalid.
Technically he was, but Jack wasn't going to cop to that. "R-Right, right. Thanks, sir!"
He was already hastily walking away, hands shoved into his pockets, fingering the credsticks he'd filched off of the dead bodies. SINLESS, and without a place to stay, he was…thrown for a bit of a loop as to what to do next.
There were a lot of grand ideas and plots swirling around his head. Information that he was tangentially aware of, and that, depending on where he was on the timeline, could be incredibly lucrative. Some of the oldest, darkest secrets of the Earth, stretching all the way back to the Fourth World. In that moment, he could feel the dreadful, awful yawning void of choice open up in front of him.
Jack found that it was terrifying.
He was in the midst of a different time, a city so redeveloped and overwrought that it was almost a foreign country, and without a shred of identification to his name. He was drowning in choices and unsure of which among them he should take.
A part of him that probably belonged to the man he used to be craved a drink. More than anything else, it was the pounding desire to get so blackout drunk that he could make this current fucking predicament future-Jack's problem. Maybe if he gave himself amnesia again, he'd remember who he was.
Unfortunately, he had some strong suspicions that getting blackout drunk wasn't going to solve any of his problems. Chances were they'd create some new ones instead.
He'd already had some questionable run-ins with the criminal element of Auburn, and Jack wasn't in much of a rush to repeat the process. But, let it be said, he could probably masquerade as a Mage or an Adept, at least for a time. If there was anything that was almost universally desired or welcomed in most Shadow communities, from his recollections, it was the Awakened.
They were certainly scorned by some outliers or factions that primarily relied on technology. With that said, such groups were very much in the minority, especially when it came to the capability to project strength. Awakened were potent force multipliers in every sense, with a sheer panoply of skillsets and powers that were hard to universally plan for.
…But it also came with different, new dangers. The gap between the knowledge Jack should have had about the world at large was different than the lived realities of people on the ground. It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure that much out.
If he treated this like a game, and just sauntered into some underworld haunt or dive bar, there was a good chance he'd make his situation worse. So what was a man to do when his two main stratagems were cut off from him…?
The best thing he could do. Find the nearest convenience store, and get something to eat with the stolen credsticks he'd stolen from the corpses. Everything else could be figured out once he felt human again.
Nearly every Shadowrun player was familiar with the humble Stuffer Shack. It was, in many respects, the origin of countless Shadowrunner teams, all meeting in modest environs for future partnerships that would involve crime and all kinds of mayhem. With that said, that was in the hyper-reality of a tabletop RPG.
The world didn't work like that. Not really. He didn't know where he'd read it, but most stories followed the most interesting person in a given world at a given moment. Jack didn't think he qualified for such a lofty title, though, walking under the neon sign glowing proudly on the front of the building.
It was hard to feel like much of a badass when you were hungry, alone, and wearing a dead man's clothes. If anything, he felt kind of like a fraud, wearing an unfamiliar face and ill-fitting clothes, like someone hopelessly lost without a paddle.
For a few brief moments, he assumed the interior of the store would provide some logic, something to moor himself on in this foreign time. The insides looked like any other convenience store that he'd been in.
Behind the counter was a scruffy-looking clerk, some underage, underpaid, and underenthused human teen. With his curly mop of brown hair and pubescent case of acne, he briefly reminded Jack of Shaggy sans Scooby. Emblazoned across his company t-shirt was a nametag that read, 'Welcome to Stuffer Shack, I'm Vern.'
Staring blankly at a holo-zine, Jack suspected that short of the store burning down little could get his attention. Including the homely, pudgy female teenage dwarf sitting on the side of the counter, yapping. A lot of it was understandable, but when the girl started to get into the vagaries of some Troll Thrash band she wanted to go to, Jack was instantly lost.
Vern seemed much the same, judging by his absentminded expression and words. "Sure, Veronica…" He trailed off, barely paying too much attention to even what she was saying.
Near the ice cream freezers was a mousy human guy, though something of a bit of a technophile by the look of all of the gadgets on him. Jack assumed that he was supposed to be there, taking random tubs of ice cream and subjecting them to whatever arcane technological scanning was going on. Then again, Vern didn't seem like the most dedicated employee.
If the guy was poisoning the local population of ice cream enjoyers, he'd probably get away with it scot-free.
There were only a few other people of note were a couple of rocker royalty wannabes and an Elven woman with a baby on her hip. For the former, they were notable because through the degree of paint, accessories, and generally questionably styled clothing that they wore, Jack was having a hard time discerning their species, let alone their ethnicity.
For the Elven woman, her notoriety came from the fact that the baby on her hip was a real screecher. He didn't have anything against children personally, but the sheer shrill, non-stop crying was starting to make Jack rethink that decision. If nothing else, the woman did seem a little overwhelmed across the board, judging by the look on her face. She was mildly attractive, in the slender, svelte way he'd seen elves manage, but that was marred by the fact that she looked as if she hadn't caught a good night's sleep in weeks.
He'd almost missed the last figure in the store, only caught by the dint of his height. Some light blue-ish-skinned figure with green twintails and a puffy jacket, walking through the aisles. Jack didn't pay them too much mind, though. His attention was almost immediately waylaid by other matters, admittedly, as he began to look over the various food items to purchase.
Logically, Jack had a rough understanding that the food of the modern era would be different than what he was expecting. God knew that he'd rummaged through so many of the Shadowrun lore books to understand that for most people, modern food consisted of replacement materials rather than the original ingredients. That was the case if you were broke and lived in a sprawl.
He knew that, in his heart of hearts. That didn't make it any easier of a pill to swallow, though, as he looked over the various ingredients on display in front of him, and food ingredients. On the surface, the packages of chips, or premade microwave meals seemed as if they were the kinds of food he was used to. If he squinted, and didn't focus on the new and novel brands, he could probably get past the raw unfamiliarity.
More terrifying was the fact that none of them seemed to actually consist of what they were meant to. Vegetable medleys weren't actually made of any vegetables, but soy was situated in such a way to trick the human mind into thinking they were consuming the original thing. Fillers and additives notwithstanding, to make them vaguely nutritious, in a dubious sense of the word.
Meat items weren't much better, as chicken tenders weren't made up of any chicken at all. Instead, it was all processed krill, or in the case of other meat items, crickets. That old feeling of profound alienation only went on the longer he stared at the line of food items, feeling more and more out of place as he stood in paralysis at the dizzying display in front of him.
…Goddamnit. He just wanted to get some food, not have an existential crisis in a convenience store.
"You okay, choom?"
"Not really," Jack automatically responded, before glancing over and trying not to freak out by the person who was addressing him.
Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the Elven woman from before disappearing out of the store. Mostly because the absence of the crying baby was a balm to his senses. Most of his attention was taken up by the short, but still adult woman before him. Chiefly because Jack was almost certain that he recognized her.
…More concerningly, however, was the fact that he was fairly sure she wasn't supposed to be in this setting. Unless Shadowrun had outright had a crossover with the Cyberpunk franchise at some point. Oh, Shadowrun had taken plenty in terms of inspiration from the slightly older franchise, but he didn't think there were that many overt nods to it.
Which made it all the more confusing as to why he was staring at Rebecca.
Short in stature, the most notable thing about the woman was how distinct her style was, from just about everyone else in the store. With stark white skin with the faintest bluish tint, it contrasted with the pink tattoos on her neck, stomach, and right thigh. Normally, he might have imagined the fact that she was only wearing a black bra and underwear beneath her poofy jacket a bit trashy…yet somehow she pulled it off?
"Choom? Earth to bozoooo~!"
Jack blinked, realizing that he'd just been staring at the crimson-eyed shortstack. "Sorry, uh…" He swallowed, wracking his brain for an excuse. "It's the eyes. Took me aback a little."
"Snazzy, right?" She grinned, preening under the perceived compliment.
"I'm more surprised that someone had the common decency to to ask if I was okay," he freely admitted.
"Well…" She trailed off, looking a little reticent to answer. "Everyone has a hard day, y'know? In your shoes I'd hope someone was kind enough to ask if I was about to go zero myself the moment I was out of sight."
Jack didn't think he was suicidal, not yet, anyway. Deeply alienated and feeling some kind of way, sure, but not at the end of his rope to that degree. "No, just major life shifts. Decisions, trying to figure out what I'm going to do with my life. The usual."
"Do you always have major breakdowns trying to decide between what bag of chips to pick?"
Jack shot her a wry grin. "It's been known to happen on occasion."
A little snort ripped its way out of Rebecca as she took a step back. "Ah, I'm sorry. Didn't want to get between a man and his mandated brooding."
"I'll let the nosiness slide this time. Any recommendations on what to pick? I'm not really…used to most of these brands. Not really a UCAS native."
"Out from the NAN's or something?"
"Or something, yeah. The food safety regulations are a little more stringent where I'm from."
She whistled, both eyebrows raising. "Whoa. You must be really from the boonies."
He chuckled lowly, nodding along. "Like I said, I'm new to the city."
"You should try the barbecue soy chips. They're alright, even if they've got the nutritional value of eating air."
Cosmic entity that hovered above him, desperately, Jack needed a regular supply of normal food. He wasn't going to last if he had to survive on the fare of the Sixth World for long.
Out of the corner of Jack's eye, he noticed the Elven woman coming back in, shushing and muttering to her baby absentmindedly. It wasn't anything that he put too much attention toward, though, as he glanced back at Rebecca. "Any other flavors you'd recommend?"
"Well—"
Whatever she was about to say was cut off, harshly, by the explosion that rippled through the air, breaking down one of the glass windows and sending fragments flying. It was enough to make his ears catch nothing but the roar of whatever had combusted, as the situation went from zero to one hundred in no time at all. In that instant, he was already falling back to whatever was his immediate reflex.
The world was nothing but ringing in his ears for a few moments as he broke down into a crouch behind one of the aisles. Rebecca had joined him, having miraculously produced a gun somewhere between the initial moments of the explosion and taking cover. It somehow made Jack feel a little safer, that someone seemed to know what the fuck they were doing.
He sure as hell didn't.
"Stay down," she hissed, red eyes flicking back around toward the source of the explosion, trying to peek through the gaps in the aisle stands at the approaching two figures from outside.
Two of them were the types of bog-standard thugs that almost felt like they came out of a movie set. All biker leather, chains, and lots of tattoos in unfortunate places made the years of hard living evident on their faces stretch even farther. Waddling behind them was a dwarf, albeit one with no small amount of characteristic Native American flair. Feathers, tribal tats, stuff like that, in addition to his immediately evident features.
The first of them, with a heavily cybernetically augmented arm and a nasty-looking pistol, was the one who spoke up in a loud bark above the panic and din. Over the blaring, whistling alarms, or panicked mutterings of the other inhabitants of the Stuffer Shack.
"None of yas' is gonna get hurt if ya' keep yer' yaps shut and stay outta the way!" he roared, waving his pistol about through the air as he scanned the inside of the Stuffer Shack. "Now tell me where the lady with tha' baby is, and you all is gonna live to see another day!"
Beyond his dangerously broken vernacular, Jack wasn't sure if that was a airtight promise. Whoever these jokers were, they'd already shown a flagrant disregard for the lives of anyone else in the room. If nothing else, he wouldn't have put it past them to silence the witnesses to their presumable kidnapping or brutal murder of a mother and her child.
For whatever reason, they wanted them.
"...I just wanted some fuckin' coffee," Jack grumbled, eminently disgruntled. How much trouble could one man end up in during the course of a day?
"Hey!" Rebecca hissed, looking a little manic, and gripping her eminently light pistol in her hands. "Don't space out on me, alright? I'm gonna loop around the aisle to try and ice these guys."
"You're going to shoot them?" He asked, more than a little surprised.
"What, and let them zero some girl and her rugrat?" Rebecca gave him a pointed glare.
In his defense, he didn't think most Shadowrunners or Edgerunners would be moral enough to intervene. That probably said more on her morality and sense of justice than what most of her peers would do in the situation. Not that he minded her taking a kind of stance here.
"Most people wouldn't."
"Well, fuck them! You should delta when I go loud, though. Unless you're strapped and wanna help?" Judging by the dubious look on her face, she didn't think that he had any weapons on him.
Of course, Jack's biggest weapon was currently hidden inside his body. He might not have had a gun, but he did have his kagune. And one that could variably shift between ranged attacks and melee, depending on the situation. He also doubted that these idiots were tough enough to resist being sliced through by the hardened RC cells that made up the Ukaku.
The real question was whether or not he even wanted to get involved in someone else's problems. For someone in his position, it could draw a lot of attention to himself, attention that he really didn't need. But right on the flipside…
It'd be a really fucked-up thing to leave a mother and child to whatever fate those mouthbreathers had in mind. If he needed a more pragmatic reason to help, maybe doing so would grant him some further rewards. But more importantly, above everything else, Jack didn't think he was the type of person to leave people to their fate if he had the opportunity to help them. He wasn't a saint, to be clear, but just turning his back on people in need, when he had the power to do something about it, felt fundamentally wrong. If there was a moral compass inside of him, apparently it was still working just fine.
The first act of his new life, and new memories, was taking flight from a dangerous situation back in the warehouse. It wasn't something that he was particularly proud of, but discretion was very much the better part of valor. That didn't feel like it'd be the case here and now, though.
Whatever choices he made from here on out, there had to be a line in the sand. Things that he would or wouldn't do when it came to survival and his own pleasure. Leaving a mother and their child to a nebulous fate, at the hands of men who were actively willing to harm or kill a store full of people to get to them…
Somewhere within Jack, he felt that distinct moral resolution solidifying. Even as the short woman alongside him expected his flight, he chose to stand his ground. And in that instant, the Ukaku that'd been resting inside of his body erupted from his shoulders.
Like some red petals that burst from his skin, it stretched out from his body in a long and sinewy shape. Almost like a feathered wing, but more fluid, glistening red, with innumerable ridges where his 'feathers' could be shot from. Unconsciously, he knew that it was a limb under his complete control. And judging by how cracked Kagune was in Tokyo Ghoul, he wasn't displeased with the result.
Ukaku came from the shoulders, though in Jack's case, his had erupted around the base of his neck. He was fairly sure that his shirt wasn't too torn, but if it was, that was just a small price to pay. And its arrival didn't go without notice, at least by the woman next to him.
"What the fuck is that?" Rebecca hissed, eyes glancing over at the appendage.
"You asked me if I was strapped."
"With a gun!"
"This is better," Jack grinned. "Trust me on that. I'm gonna loop around the other side, and we can do a pincer. If I can get close enough, it won't matter what they've got on them."
That wasn't him being arrogant or otherwise cocky. An Ukaku, like all Kagune, was more than capable of cleaving through most kinds of mundane body armor and flesh with ease. It was a Ghoul's predatory organ, and fundamentally the only real way to deal with them was a Quinque, Q bullets, or extremely heavy ordinance.
Now, provided he didn't end up getting riddled with bullet holes and bleeding out in the next few minutes…
For a few moments, doubt flickered in those crimson eyes of hers. But then she nodded sharply. "Got it. I'll try to draw some fire from those gonks with the guns. You go for the Mage with your weird, Adept bullshit."
The Dwarven man present was hardly the most dangerous-looking figure, but his innocent and decidedly tribal appearance belied a much more dangerous truth. Mages in Shadowrun were not just another easily replaceable asset but far more versatile than practically any other role on a team.
With healing spells, they could change the entire momentum of a fight or keep their allies alive. If you pissed them off, they could cast a spell that just straight up made you cum your pants. And god forbid you let them prepare beforehand and get a few spirits summoned to help them out. It was the reason why a certain adage was almost universally known to literally anyone who lived on the streets.
Rule number one of the Shadows? Geek the Mage first.
Frankly, Jack was more surprised that she'd been assuming he was some professional Shadowrunner. But he wasn't going to do anything to disabuse her of the notion. Not when they had bigger fish to fry.
She didn't wait for him to speak either, skulking off in a very practiced way, as he did his best to follow suit. It did help, though, that [Silent Steps] made his clumsy attempts at stealth far more forgiving than they should have been. Any noise that his footsteps rightfully should have produced was muffled or reduced entirely.
And the human muscle was a little too inexperienced, or unfocused, to pay attention as he slipped through the aisles and just barely out of their field of view. It wasn't perfect, though, as the dwarf just barely managed to catch sight of him.
Yet not quick enough for him to be out of [Ukaku] range.
"Wait, Ade-!" He started to yell, but Jack didn't want to give him another moment longer. Not to breathe, not to think, not to alert the two meatheads with actual guns he needed to be mindful of.
Fast as a whip, his Kagune was lashing through flesh and bone, as the Dwarf scarcely could muster up any kind of defense. Slicing with the kind of speed that they could have never mustered a dodge against, with a terrifying sharpness, courtesy of the RC cells that made up the appendage. Whatever armor he was wearing didn't survive, as Jack fell back on instinct.
And for his trouble, the Dwarf fell to the floor of the Stuffer Shack, bisected in twain.
Holy fuck, that was a lot of blood.
-SLICE AND DICE-
Take your first life. One down, countless more to go.
Rolling 1x Silver Ability Gacha Ticket…
[Razor Claws]
|Uncommon Ability|
Allows you to turn your nails into razor-sharp claws that can tear through flesh and metal with ease; these claws do not dull.
…Was someone out there trying to steer him on a bestial path? Because that felt like an ironically serendipitous reward.
The moment that the Dwarf was on the ground, lying in pieces, there was a connection again. That same strange, foreign feeling Jack had felt a bit earlier, as a part of himself stretched out and connected to something so much larger. Along with the familiar, winding sound of a slot machine, as text floated briefly in front of him.
In that instant, his mind was flooded with new knowledge, and his spirit with power. Instinctively, he knew that he had two 'slots' inside of himself. One of them was already filled with [Ukaku], but the other had [Razor Claws] sliding in smoothly. As much as he'd have liked to stop and take the time to smell the roses, it didn't seem as if the assailants were going to give him those precious few moments.
Moving to turn his direction was the thug with the obvious cyberarm, eyes widening as he glanced his way. "Shit! He killed Fornis!"
It was a good thing that whoever had trained this idiot had done so poorly, as haphazard shots ripped through the air toward Jack. Heart pounding a thousand miles a minute, he rolled to the side as food spilled to the ground and displays were cracked in his wake.
Meanwhile, another staccato burst of loud pops shot forth from where Rebecca had been sneaking. They missed the idiot with the assault rifle, but if nothing else, it did force the guy to take cover. "Jesus fucking Christ!"
Still, whatever cover he'd had was blown at this point. He needed to make a move, and fast, before someone realized that he wasn't a scary Adept at all. Just a very, very panicked maniac with unnatural powers.
A part of him recognized that he should probably feel guilty coming to such a quick realization but knew that he valued his life more than he valued the idiots that had attacked this store. It wasn't just a bone-deep surety, either. Accompanying it was the cool, if utterly objective, understanding of the situation.
No matter how much bile threatened to rise in his throat for the blood he'd spilled, or how much he wanted to flee...
These men had to die. It wasn't a question or a moralistic query. Just the implicit knowledge that he'd chosen a side, and no matter what, Jack had to see it through to the end. Even if it was going to spill more blood, or if he was almost certainly going to vomit when everything was said and done. If he was going to survive in the Sixth World and try to make any kind of headway on how he'd ended up here, growing used to this kind of violence was a given.
As always, there was no better time to get acquainted than at this very moment. Whatever breakdown he wanted to have, it could be borne whenever his life wasn't in such direct, unmitigated danger.
With nothing more than a thought, his nails were transformed into razor-sharp claws. Tough enough to cut through flesh and metal, in equal measure. Jack might not have been superhumanly strong, yet there was something to be said about the pure lethality of his abilities that they didn't even need it.
It was time to get to work.
"Eat lead!" The cyber-armed ganger yelled, actually aiming his pistol toward Jack. The bullets that were thrown downrange his way were genuinely dangerous and probably would have taken the man down…
…If it wasn't for the fact that he'd whipped his [Ukaku] around, using it as a makeshift shield as he rushed the man.
He distantly felt the pressure of the bullets striking his Kagune, yet not as much pain. They weren't strong enough, or made of the right materials, to pierce his makeshift shield. It wasn't as good as a Kagune specialized for the purpose, but to get close?
It did the job.
"Why won't you fuckin' die?!" The man screamed in terror as Jack was upon him.
Frankly, he didn't trust himself to not throw up or lose his nerve if he spoke back. So instead Jack chose action, as his claws whipped out and slashed toward the thug's neck. There wasn't anything artful or particularly skilled about the way his hands moved. Someone who was professionally trained or knew how to handle a melee fight would have definitely torn Jack apart with ease.
It was a small blessing that his targets did not seem to be the cream of the crop. Something made all the more evident as his opponent realized too late that Jack was close, starting to backpedal. Not fast enough, as Jack's claws tore his throat out. With wide eyes, he stumbled back, grabbing his throat as red, dark blood gushed forth, spraying onto the ground.
The feeling was hot and sticky on his fingers as he watched the man bleed out. Then, a feeling of danger as he whipped around, only to see the man he'd forgotten with an assault rifle beginning to sight on him.
…His Kagune wasn't going to make it in time.
For a few moments the world felt like it was going to come to a standstill, as Jack felt dreadfully slow in the face of the threat. And then a series of gunshots, but not from his would-be assailant. Rebecca had popped out, and this time around her grouping was much tighter.
Two of them caught the man in the head as he slumped back to the ground, a bloody mess. Though more importantly, in no position to shoot and kill Jack. That…felt like the thing to note for him.
Beyond the alarms and the sounds of panicked people starting to peek their heads up, it seemed as if all the hostiles were down. Rebecca very hesitantly came out from cover, even if she still had her hands on her pistol. "…You in one piece?"
"Mostly," Jack sighed, tearing away his eyes from the slowly dying body of the man he'd slashed. "How about you?"
"Never better," she grinned before glancing over at his handiwork and grimacing. "Damn, bro. No messing around when it comes to the action, huh?"
"It was either them or us, the moment we got involved. I knew who I was going to pick."
"Fair enough, you're not gonna hear me complaining about it," she shrugged. "Where did that Elf chick get off to anyway?"
The answer to that question was a relatively simple one. Underneath some of the collapsed stands and goods was the slender Elf mother and her baby, who rose out of the clutter now that the danger seemed to have passed. For once, her child seemed to have been shocked into speechlessness.
Before Jack could reasonably approach her or figure out what the hell this was all about, whatever system he'd been saddled with decided to reward him for…not dying like an idiot? Killing those people? Who could even tell at this point?
-SURVIVE THE FOOD FIGHT-
The Shadows are a messy place. Welcome to your first real introduction to them.
Rolling 1x Advantaged Silver Trait Gacha Ticket…
[Vault]
|Rare Trait|
Information-gathering abilities and technologies start working improperly when it comes to you.
OR.
[Tepes]
|Rare Trait|
You are a descendant of the legendary Tepes bloodline, the original vampires, or something like that. As a Tepes all Vampirism, Unholy and Hemokinetic abilities are more potent and all undead and vampires are more respectful towards you.
It was something hovering in the back of his mind as he glanced briefly at the two options.
[Vault] was very good, in the most objective sense of the word. It might not have been the flashiest trait to take, but it would definitely be useful when it came to anyone trying to assess him in the case of mages or technological surveillance. With that said, he'd been offered the choice of one of two different perks.
And the second one was…pretty good too.
Depending on whether or not [Ukaku] counted as a vampiric, unholy, or hemokinetic ability, it'd boost its capabilities. If not, well, he was sure that he'd get something that would be affected eventually. As for the other qualities, there were actually many different kinds of vampires in Shadowrun.
The Human-Metahuman Vampiric Virus produced Vampires, Banshees, Ghouls(not the Tokyo variety), and plenty of other abominations besides. Each of them was a different strain of an existing vampiric, magical virus that had no known cure. It also drove people to require the need for metahuman flesh, blood, essence, or stranger things besides.
With that said, he had a conversation to get through first. Or maybe it was just being talked at, as the Elven woman was thanking them profusely.
"Oh my god, you saved our lives!" She gasped, tears brimming in her eyes. "They…I didn't think that man would sink so low…" Whoever she was, she seemed pretty much on the brink of a paranoid breakdown.
"Whoa, whoa!" Rebecca held up her hands, trying to relax her. "It's no big whoop. I wasn't gonna let some gonks zero a mom and her child."
"That's more kindness than most would have given. I-I've…gotta get out of here, but…" She pulled out her commlink, holding it out. "You two look like you know how to handle yourselves, and this is…this is something that's been coming to a head for awhile."
Rebecca blinked, glancing back at Jack and then at the Elven woman. "Are you trying to hire us?"
"If you're willing to hear me out later, yes," she nodded, something hard firming in her eyes. "I'm Brandeen. And…I think my baby's father tried to have us killed."
Welp. That was…certainly a lot more fucked up than Jack had been expecting. "What?!"
"I know, there's more to the story, but for now I've gotta go. Here's my number, just…please get back to me. I'll be able to make it worth your while."
"I mean…" Jack glanced over at Rebecca, mostly because he didn't have an unlocked commlink, nor did he have the faintest fucking clue how to operate one.
"We'll try to get back to you," Rebecca nodded, shooting him a brief but curious glance.
Brandeen huffed in mild relief. "That's the best I could hope for. I'm going to get out of here before I have to answer some…uncomfortable questions from Knight Errant. You two should probably do the same."
She left, though not before grabbing some diapers for her child, leaving Rebecca and Jack alone in the store. With a few other dazed patrons and quite a few dead bodies.
For a few moments, it was quiet…before Rebecca broke the silence. "…Do you even have a commlink?"
Jack sighed. "No."
"Or a place to stay after this?"
To that, he could only glance away. "…No."
With a huff, the woman crossed her arms, eyes closing, before she came to a resolution, opening them back up. "Let's loot these assholes, and then…we'll get the fuck out of dodge. You can come back with me to my place."
He blinked. "Really?"
"Yeah. I don't think you're the kind of asshole that'd fuck me over if you'd help out some random broad and her kid."
Honestly? For the streets, that was pretty solid logic. By no definition was Jack a saint, as attested to by the corpses around them, but he wasn't an asshole. Or at least he didn't think he was.
Piecing together a cogent system of morality from first principles was easier said than done. So far, though, he thought that he'd done a pretty good job.
"That's…very nice of you."
"It also helps you're a scary as fuck Adept, and it's good to get a favor from someone like that."
"Also fair."
"Now let's rob these guys for everything they're worth, eh?"
It was more and less than he'd hoped for. Rebecca was the one who could appropriately identify the weapons on display, most of which were familiar in terms of names, but totally beyond the pale when it came to actually being recognizable for him. The haul came in the form of what she identified as aan Ares Predator V, an AK-97, Fichetti Security 600, and three Meta Link burner commlinks.
Altogether, no great haul. Rebecca still seemed confident that they'd be able to sell everything eventually, though, even if she'd been adamant that they'd have to leave the AK-97 behind. Without a vehicle, it was still deeply unwise to walk around with an assault rifle. At least outside of the Barrens.
As the duo made their way out with their pilfered loot and bags filled with snacks, she was actually doing an impressive amount of talking about…just about everything.
"-But yeah, the Barrens are a real fuckin' shithole. I've done some jobs out there with my brother and his crew, but it's all gang territory, and if it ain't? Some corp has a compound that's wrapped up tighter than a corpo's asshole."
She then paused, blinking. "Wait, I never introduced myself, did I?"
"No," Jack admitted, shrugging with a smile. "But you seemed pretty fixed on setting me straight."
"Yeah, well, Seattle's kind of a mess, but it's my mess. Wouldn't want you to end up getting geeked because you wore the wrong colors on the wrong block, y'know? Especially since you seem a little…new to this sort of thing."
"That obvious?"
"Oh yeah. Everyone's gotta start somewhere, though. You think I was always such a badass? Fuck no!"
Weirdly enough, that did make him feel a little better. "… Thanks, uh…"
"Rebecca," she introduced herself, grinning as she nudged him with her shoulder. "You?"
"Jack."
"Well, Jack, let's continue your Seattle education of how not to die like a gonk-ass bitch…"
Talking along, it honestly was enough to make him forget about the murder and violence back at the Stuffer Shack and let his brain settle back on the traits he had waiting. Which of the two did Jack want to pick…
From what he could tell, [Tepes] didn't specifically turn him into a vampire. That was the most important thing, since Jack was strongly considering it. Compared to [Vault], it just seemed like it'd be the better long-term choice. With his choice made, he let the cosmic force connected to him solidify the results.
Nothing overtly changed about him in that moment, beyond just a feeling inside of Jack. The Kagune, resting beneath his skin, felt thickened, as it was brought to new heights of control and power. Elsewhere, he could almost swear the blood in his body was just flat out different. There was a nobility inside of him now, as one who descended from the lords of the night.
…Maybe he was just getting too deep into the vampire roleplay. The excitement of getting strong was a bit intoxicating, though, and he was almost certain that if he brought out his Kagune again, there'd be two of them this time. Flying with the wing-like appendages was probably beyond him right now.
Gliding, however, was a different story.
All the while, Jack's education in the basics of the Sixth World was coming along nicely. Rebecca had certainly been baffled the moment she discovered that he didn't have the faintest clue how to use a commlink, open a credstick, or otherwise interface with most technology. Yet she refrained from being outright upset about it.
Instead, she just seemed to look at Jack the same pitying way you'd look at a lost puppy on the road. Mostly with a lot of sympathy, concern, and a mild resolution to protect them. He didn't know how to feel about that, though.
With one bus ride later, they were walking up to an apartment building. "My place is up ahead. I, uh, share it with my brother. But once he gets past his bitching and moaning, he'll probably be cool with it."
"Are you sure? I'd rather not impose."
"Pfft, it's cool, bro. I pay rent there too, and I say it's cool for you to kick it on the couch, it's cool."
Well, if she said so…
Entering the space, he wasn't sure what he'd been expecting, but it was remarkably normal. All things considered, it seemed like the type of space some young adults lived in, which meant very slightly messy and largely a bit barren.
"Bro, you home?" She called out, waiting for an answer, before ushering him in. "He must be out. Anyway, come in, kick your feet up. Get comfy."
"Thanks," Jack nodded, sitting on the couch and glancing up at the unfamiliar trideo system.
And right on time, as his system made one last final alert for the day.
-GET A PLACE TO STAY AND MAKE A FRIEND-
It's tough to go it alone without friends. Congratulations on meeting the bare minimum of being a functioning human being.
Rolling 1x Bronze Familiar Gacha Ticket…
[B-1 Battle Droid]
|Common Familiar|
Star Wars - One, singular B-1 Battle Droid equipped with a blaster. His skills and effectiveness are... questionable. Good luck with him.
Somehow, he felt like someone was playing a big joke on him.
A B-1 Battle Droid was a wildly advanced piece of technology for the setting that he was in. At least on the surface, before you got into what a piece of shit these mass-produced idiots were! They were good by the dint of how many numbers of them you could throw at your enemy, not because they were particularly good combatants.
Or very smart at all.
Jack could feel the droid hovering in a new, internal hollow inside of himself. It was ready to be called out at any time. The real question was why would he do so?
Maybe later, if he needed a hand or wanted the creature's blaster. For now, he was more than happy to just let the droid stay in stasis. At least until he had a better idea of what to do with it.
For now…he was going to relax, eat some awful junk food, and come down from the chaos of the day in a safe, secure space.
Author's Note
Basically a cleaned up version of the snippet from my snippets thread, however, the second will be coming out later today. Lemme know what you guys think, if you like it or not, etc.
