Pre-Run

The rain punches through the cloud in front of your cigarette like shotgun pellets. Light from the LunarPharm Sciences sign across the street filters through the hazy mist in the small concrete and turf park before you. It's 8:03PM on Uruk and the others should be here.

You just don't know what they look like. And it's imperative that you find out.

Some corpo rats are walking away from the building towards the subway. It wouldn't be them.

A young man with slicked back hair and a rain poncho covered in bright camo wanders into the park. He checks his handheld with practiced haste. The poncho might be from KILL TEAM; a designer brand wrapped up in the Merc and Space-A-Gade culture. There was a chance he was who you were looking for. Or he's just another wannabe fashionista.

Something you were not too long ago. But now you've got the scars to prove you're legit.

You put the lit Green Stick back into your mouth and brush the bumpy tissue stretched across your right cheek. Doc said it was a one in a million the way it skipped off the bone. He told you they should have used a higher caliber. That you'd be the corpse instead if they had.

A girl buried in a puffy transparent rain parka shuffles through the park. Her key-holed party dress is displayed beneath like its under plastic museum glass. You know that's not one of the other Mercs.

Then you watch as a man in a sort of jumpsuit emerges into the scene before you. He rises from inside a cove of bushes shoved up into a corner. You realize he's wearing a fluffy, but soaked, grizzly bear onesie.

He strokes his long beard and peers around. His hands shift something under the suit before he begins to scuttle down the small turf hill.

He's heading towards the concrete chess tables by the entrance.

A short girl, maybe a meter and half tall, emerges from the direction of the subway. She's wearing an Outcast undersuit and a small black backpack.

You can tell she's making her way towards the tables too. It's the spot your fixer told you to meet them.

You press away from the wall you were leaning on. The rain falls away from your synthetic Pea coat as you give it a curt shake. Droplets of water slide down its slick Syndicate camouflage exterior to join the crowded puddles below. They'd all end up in the sewer someday or find a way to get back to the top.

You're a meter or two away from the table when you see a car pull up. It's on the street between the LunarPharm Sciences building and the park. The sedan is nice with camera systems in place of glass or plastic windows.

You glance back to the tables and make eye contact with the bear man. Then you look down at the short girl.

At the car, another girl, much taller, slides out of the passenger seat and into the rain. She glances at you and the others. You think she winks. You also realize she has four arms.

She's got her two regular ones on top. Below, two cybernetics emerge from a control mount just below her shoulder blades. The polymer ones are chic and carry a shotgun. The regular ones fasten a plate carrier around her chest before she bends to retrieve a neon painted katana.

Her vest is the same brand as yours: KILL TEAM.

You jut your thumb towards the spider girl and the bear man nodes at you. The short girl is already walking over with discrete haste.

She's split her backpack into two sections and is sliding it over her head as she walks. You realize it's a disguised ballistic vest.

The bear man has the top of his suit zipped open to reveal an equipment harness beneath. You can see semi-liquid padding tiled across the inside of the onesie. The whole thing must be ballistic rated.

At the back of the spider girl's car, she opens the trunk. We crowd around and reach inside to take charge of our patron's donations. Each item requested and, hopefully, fulfilled. The gear all to be destroyed and thrown away when the mission is completed.

The small girl pulls out an ARK-12 shorty. After sliding four transparent polymer mags into her vest, she rocks a fifth into the weapon with practiced ease. Raking the charging handle back, she shows her teeth in a smile.

The bear man hefts out a Homlot Sweeper and smacks a double wide magazine home. You see his shells are yellow. You picture the razor blade projectiles inside, and it makes your skin crawl.

In your hands, you're loading a GRU-36. You snap the transparent magazine in and fish the charging lever out from under the carry handle. A blue hydrodipped, polymer casing peeks out at you from the chamber before it cycles into place.

They even gave you genuine KT ammo. Maybe they're sponsoring this one, you think.

You look up and see the spider lady smirking at you. The GRU-36 is old, but reliable.

You smile back and pull a headset from the trunk. It slides over your ears, and you adjust the mic boom.

A mic signal comes through, and you look over the team. You've got a cybered out spider girl, a dude who's probably lost it in a ballistic bear onesie, and some pink haired chick who looks like she just finished filming a VidSpot post.

It's actually a pretty average crew for Mercs, you know. Mix them in with yourself, and you've got a pretty rounded team.

A robotic arm slams the trunk closed. It taps twice before the driver takes off.

The cybernetics pass the spider girl's shotgun up to her flesh arms. They take the katana and hold it at a low ready behind her. It's almost like a bladed tail.

"I'm Spider, by the way," says the multi-armed girl, "Y'all read the op?"

You and your fellow Mercs are walking across the street now. The doors to LunarPharm Sciences are right ahead. Your heart is beginning to pound in your chest. Adrenaline is finding insertion points into your cells.

"Grab the LunarStem production data and leave the shredder virus," says the short girl over the comms, "And call me Crimson."

"Good biz, Crimson," replies Spider, "Lets keep it clean and have some fun. - Boys, what're we callin' you?"

"Ursus," growls the bear man as he steps up onto the curb.

The doors to LunarPharm Sciences are right in front of you. You know it's "in-progress" now.

The neural link plugged into your skull tingles with anticipation. It tells you your weapon is ready, and your team is on your flanks. The readouts shine into your eyes and over the door's glass.

No turning back.

"I'm Caliban," you say as you all push through the doors into the lobby of the LunarPharm Sciences' tower.

The eyes inside are wide. Yours are hard. Outside, your wannabe is staring in awe.