Night Shift

Running a hand through his long, unkempt hair, Melek checked the time on his retinal clock as he sat back on the battered couch in his hideout's main room.

Midnight.

If only my fragging head wasn't hurting tonight. Hittin' me again.

It had been eight years or so, but Adramelek-or Melek as he was nicknamed by the various gang members-still had some ‘scars’ from his previous suffering through a set of low-grade, poorly installed cyberware; namely, a set of wires. Wired reflexes were touchy things to begin with, and anything that messed about with synapses and adrenaline was bound to be a problem if not taken care of.

The 790s-a now thankfully defunct mercenary group-had a leader, Riggs...Riggs was in charge of the group and had been tied to Humanis, and had pawned the bad, low-grade drek off on the metas. They were investigated after two died under his rule, and the truth was dug up.

Sure, Melek had the bad stuff removed, was given a wad of cred to shut up and used it to boost himself up even more, but they left behind some problems. He reckoned his brain had repaired itself some over the years, at least.

It was hard to explain what it felt like to have a bad set of wires. Constantly on edge to the point of paranoia. Unable to sleep, and blinding headaches were common; the ones that made you nauseous and sensitive to light. Having to try to force down food to keep your body going because you were on the field and then bite down on more medication to keep it down. Your blood pressure going completely through the roof, blood rushing in your ears, wanting to push the cybereyes out of your skull, and you almost hoped for it just to relieve the pressure. Shoving the needle with whatever the frag you had on hand into your leg or arm just to get moments of relief.

He remembered how foul his mood got after weeks of this.

Shuffling in the pocket of his battered armored longcoat for a cigarette, he shoved it in and lit it with his old steel lighter. He sort of wanted some soykaf to try to stay the headache. He had a few doses of MAO upstairs which he could shoot which usually calmed him on the absolute worst nights, but he didn’t want to risk dulling his reflexes. He thankfully didn’t have to use MAO much at all anymore.

At the time he had the things installed, he had taken to winding down with MAO-or even Zen and Bliss at night, the latter being a rather strong opiate, but he didn’t have much of a choice. He was lucky to get out of this without a drug habit, though he faintly recalled a little bit of a crash. Honestly he didn’t remember much, because the relief of the wires getting ripped out was more than any other drek that hit him.

In any case-Riggs had gotten his. If asked, Melek would only smile evilly, but truth was he left him smeared all over the floor of a warehouse. It managed to earn him the animosity of the local Humanis group years later when they had found out-Riggs had been from Seattle-but they were small and after he curb-stomped one of them in front of the rest once the remainders turned tail and ran. They would still tangle, but they couldn’t do much against the huge, freakishly strong elf unless they were armed. He had ended up with some wounds from his fights, but he’d always end up taking more from them. Between his dealings with Humanis, his time spent living in Tarislar and his friends lost on the Night of Rage, where he remembered at twelve being told to sit in a room with a shotgun and a knife and told to kill anyone who attacked-it was a miracle he hadn’t gone completely anti-human, but he didn’t think it would do any good. He counted many as friends, as well, and now as brothers-and-sisters in arms.

Around seven feet tall, Melek was muscular, but not bulky-he was more lean and incredibly dense-enough to weigh around three-eighty with his titanium laced bones. His augmented musculature reminded one of a beast of prey or reptile; stronger than they may look. While he wasn’t the fastest elf-he was very quick, to be sure-even trolls gave him a berth when it came to feats of strength. Much of this was even natural-he wasn’t quite sure how he got it, as being strong was just something that he noticed growing up and he decided to push it.

If anything, kicking holes through heavy objects made for a good drunken party trick. He sort of missed sparring with the adept Downfall-another elf, even taller than he was and just about as strong, funny enough. The fact the other elf who could tear the arm off a troll happened to live in Seattle was amusing to him. They were great sparring partners, as was the near-cyborg guy on their team.

Exhaling deeply, he debated going to the Stuffer Shack to grab some of that soykaf. Besides maybe staving off a headache, he was one of the guys guarding tonight, and thought staying awake all night was a good idea. He had his Franchi-SPAS nearby-locked and loaded, just in case, with a spare box of shells in his pocket. He was handy with firearms, but better up close.

After he had joined up with the rest of the founders of Nocturnal Sin-forming the gang that would allow people to both atone and clean up the lousy areas that Lone Star and anyone else that ‘mattered’ ignored-he had gotten an idea to boost his already devastating unarmed combat; plus, some gang members liked to leave behind signatures. They had a symbol they’d paint-a crude gate-but he had his own, more personal, signature.

After speaking to his chummer who happened to be an armorer and part-time arms dealer, he had ended up helping to design a pair of steel-reinforced combat boots whose soles were covered in jagged, Dikote-coated titanium spikes, over an inch long. The complimented his Savate training nicely and coupled with his immense strength they left enemies in a gory, ruinous mess. Given his targets were people that were involved in human trafficking, rape and murder, he was not particularly interested in going easy on them and was happy to leave behind ‘warnings’ to the rest.

He would often hunt them down and they’d be pretty fragging terrified...not that he cared. He was stealthier than one might guess, though his boots could be difficult to sneak around in. His olfactory booster likewise helped, and there was something...unnerving about a sadistic elf who tracked killers by scent until he could get the drop on them, and by then it was too late; the last thing they saw was often an unhinged grin and a lot of spikes.

He often killed quickly, though, not being one for torture-he had done that once, to a particularly evil proprietor of a bunraku parlor-but he did not want to fall down that spiral. It was a dark road to go down, even if one went after the worst of the worst-he knew he wasn’t mentally sound to begin with, and he did not want to make that mistake. Leaving behind a quickly-killed mess of a corpse was usually just as effective.

Good old fashioned intimidation was always on the table, of course.

He remembered when the four had discussed how all of their ‘sins’ almost matched up with an old, battered book that Melek still had in his possession; the Divine Comedy. It turned out the rest had read it as well, which was odd in a time such as this, where reading things like books were often seen as a waste of time among certain types.

Frag, my brain can’t sit still tonight. Sorta wish I had a book here now.

Nights like this were the hardest-his mind would wander one place and then another; while he was good at focusing on a mission at hand, when on guard, it was much more...passive, and it allowed his mind to wander. Kept it off the headache that was forming, at least. Nowadays regular old over-the-counter painkillers would knock most of them back, but he had run out recently and had been too busy to remember to stock up.

The hideout was pretty nice. The original four-himself, Judas, Eris, and Bel-had discovered it and thanks to Spanky, a renowned fixer among the underground they had been pointed toward-they managed to secure it. They weren’t sure what it had been-some sort of temporary dorms crossed with a factory, but the lower ground had a large warehouse looking area they had set up with some crude furniture, and a few of them had taken to living in certain parts of it. Melek had selected a sort of attic loft that was both out of the way and rather comfortable.

He had offered to watch over the area tonight-it was fairly secure, but it always paid to be prudent in these times-and only a few of the lower-ranked members were scattered about, coming and going. He didn’t know where they stayed. It was sometimes these nights, with the dim lighting and fair silence-he had left his music chip player and variety of his favored extreme metal in his quarters-that his mind would start almost flashing back.

Melek wasn’t surprised he ended up in gang life, as his father had been an Ancient. Was maybe even still alive, he had no idea. He disappeared when he was fifteen-he was almost twenty-nine now-leaving him a few weapons and the name of a martial arts trainer. Military life called him first, and then merc groups, but after that fell apart following the Chicago incident which he didn’t like to think about, gang life seemed to suit him.

What could he do? No security firm would take a dude as damaged as he was after everything. He had a SIN, but he dared not use it anymore after everything that went down. As far as he knew, they thought he was dead.

A couple of acquaintances had-not seriously and during a bit of a drinking session-suggested modelling. Truth be told, Melek was a frighteningly attractive elf; they joked even faces would consider paying big cred to go under the knife to get just a couple of his better features. But alas, his scars-a few on his face, to be sure, though they didn’t mar his looks-around his body, including the one that looked like it should have killed him over his chest, and his sort of unhinged smirk made him not particularly ideal for that in the end.

That sort of job really wasn’t his style, anyway, and he never even considered it. He was too low-maintenance; his long, straight hair was usually disheveled, his sleeveless longcoat was battered and comfortably worn in, his stark white skin stood out even among some of the more freakish looking, and he was more comfortable in urban camo fatigue trousers than high fashion. He still wore his battered dogtags, as he did have a certain attachment to his old life, and smelled more of cigarettes and leather than cologne.

And occasionally blood after he got finished taking part in some of his more...colorful attacks.

Kneebreaking for organized crime didn’t do it, either. Didn’t feel right. He was trying to atone-while he retained a fairly good relationship with the Seoulpa Rings-and he wasn't sure this was the best way to go about it. 

He eventually found an almost solace in hunting down the worst of the worst; the real evil that slithered in the underbelly of Redmond, who would choose to torment those who were even less able to care for themselves. It was these dregs he would turn his murderous ire toward, giving any innocent victims of theirs an out to get to safety.

But being a lone runner wasn’t much his cup of tea. While he couldn’t be called the most likeable elf in the world, he had gotten used to a level of camaraderie that he had with a merc group; he was more sociable than his appearance and mannerisms let on.

Nocturnal Sin had easily become his new ‘home’.

They all went after different types. Didn’t always kill them, sometimes just chased them off, but Melek had the worst of them. It worked well. They had trouble with some gangs, got on well with others, and yet others they may not have been friendly with, though they had a mutual respect for. Besides himself, their other lieutenants even got real work given they were all fairly skilled in their fields.

He found himself snapping back once again, deftly flipping a knife around in his large hand. Another one the leftover remnants of his cyberware damage was a certain restlessness; he fiddled with things a lot. Usually one of his knives, which he enjoyed messing about with, but on the very odd time he had to go meet with someone that was of a halfway decent status, he had a set of metal dice he carried in his pocket.

Melek did agree to have his reflexes boosted-they were incredibly useful for anyone who fought. But he had done a lot of research. After speaking to the doctors in the field hospital he was holed up in-as well as other people who had it done-he had opted for the chemical treatment. No, it wasn’t as high-performance, but everyone had said it felt very natural; when you were at rest, you felt at rest, when you had to move, you moved. It was true; he was satisfied with it.

His red-and-black cybereyes trailing back to the knife that he flipped over his hand-he had never cut himself with this, and any scars on his hands were just from combat-he still debated going off for awhile. Finally re-sheathing it-it was a Cougar Blade, though it was his short one-he shoved it back into the deep pocket of his cargos and stubbed the cigarette out in the ashtray next to him. He dumped himself back into the threadbare, sagging couch, resting his head back somewhat and stretching out his long legs as he sat.

He didn’t even realize he went to sleep. Usually on nights like these his sleep was fairly restless; bad, disjointed dreams would cause him to wake up within an hour or so. This time, though...things were different. Every so often, he would have a more pleasant dream as of late; they might start weird or even bad, but they’d take a surprising turn for the better.

Tonight, he dreamt of autumn. He was actually wandering through some woods; he didn’t know where. He could almost feel the chill air, and the overcast sky was very nice. He wasn’t going anywhere in particular-just walking. He could even smell the leaves on the ground.

He snapped awake in the middle of walking; he was quite good at sensing if someone was nearby, even in sleep. He reckoned it was left over from being in the military.

Sure enough, there was someone on the couch. He jumped for a moment, though quickly realized it was just Astarte, their newest lieutenant, and a mage to boot. She had been sworn in not long before, and had just been promoted. She was a nineteen year old apathetic human goth whose general lack of caring about anything had allowed someone to die when she ignored warnings of a fire; she was looking to atone, herself, like everyone in the gang.

He rubbed his head, his cybereyes adjusting quickly to the dim light. “Hoi,” he muttered. “Everything alright?”

“Uhh...yeah,” she replied nervously. “I...you didn’t look good.”

“Hmm?” It took him a bit to shake off the sleep.

“Like a couple of the nights.”

“Was actually pretty good this time.” He was a bit confused.

“Yeah I...there’s a spell…that can help.”

Nonplussed was the only way to describe Melek’s reaction; partially because his brain was still foggy from sleep. It took him a bit for him to let it sink in that she had apparently cast a spell on him to soothe his sleep. “The last few times as well?”

She nodded, her eyes darting around. “I’m sorry. They’re harmless spells. Just...you looked... Trying to notice these things and help more.” She coughed. “Don’t worry. I didn’t like...sit here or anything and watch you.”

He laughed. “I believe you. S’ok.” Cracking his neck, he grinned. “You’re doing exactly what you said you wanted to do when you joined.”

“Yeah.” Astarte smiled, and looked a bit more comfortable. She was still getting used to her new position, he could tell. Leadership was new to her, but she seemed quietly intelligent and the others were almost in raptures to get another mage in the group, even if she wasn’t as seasoned yet.

He scratched his hair, pushing some back. It was red, though didn’t look natural; it was more the color of dried blood than anything of nature. Digging another smoke out of his pocket, he stuck one in the corner of his mouth and offered one to her, who took it. He lit them both.

“Thanks,” was all he could say. He snorted laughter. “Guess I need the soykaf after all.” He stood up, stretching. “You comin’?”

“Things gonna be alright here?” she looked around.

“I’ll let someone know to watch the place for ten. S’pose I could use a Nukit too.”

“Yum.”

“Can almost taste the fake salsa,” he chuckled as he started to walk. She ran to catch up with his long strides. He wore only his normal combat boots; generally if he wasn’t going to actively kill someone his spiked monstrosities could be a little damaging to the floors.

He jammed his hands down into the pockets as he walked, figuring his gun would stay fine there. It was the gang hideout, after all, and anyone there who wasn’t one of ‘his’ was usually wary of him.

“You...don’t mind, by the way?” she asked as they stepped outside, the buzzing of neon and the sound of various echoing, slightly drunken voices scattered in air.

He glanced out of the corner of his eyes at her. “Null sheen.” Stopping, he turned toward her proper. “Thanks again. That couple hours of sleep helped. Always forget you wizzers have tricks.”

Astarte laughed. “Still feels weird.”

“What does?”

“Being where I am.”

“Don’t worry,” he chuckled. “Wouldn’ta approached you if we didn’t think you could handle it.”

“I trust you.”

“Trust yourself. It’ll be alright.” Melek was not exactly a guy who was used to giving life advice to people, but he supposed he’d try his best.

Reaching the run-down Stuffer Shack right near the place, that of course they helped defend-whose neon lights spelled ‘Stfer Shck’-they saw a few lowlifes hanging about the front, getting a little too close to the cashier as if they wanted to knock the place over. The cashier-an ork fellow of no more than seventeen-looked a bit nervous.

Melek sighed and cracked his knuckles. He wasn’t out to kill this bunch-they’d be pretty easily scared straight, by the look. He glanced at Astarte, his trademark smirk on the corner of his lips as he noticed some magical energy dancing on her fingertips.

“Guess we’re workin’ for our soykaf tonight.”

Fraggers better not take too long. I still got night shift.

--

Part 1 of at least 2, possibly more stories in the series of this vigilante gang(who basically are in the same sort of ‘story milieu’ of some other characters.) More of a ‘setting piece’. I find I rarely do out and out action stories these days, though it does make me have more fun when I choose to do one. As with most pieces, takes place in the mid 2050s. This takes place before Neon & Chrome, as one might guess. 

A sort of strange bunch of thoughts from the sort of perspective of a damaged-yet-mostly-whole merc-turned ganger(PC, also someone who appears in fiction) who had a turbulent life, finding a home with a gang and some of the other people therein. I also wanted to go into some more details of what might happen when someone gets bad ‘ware installed; after reading a few bits of shadowtalk from the old sourcebooks like Cybertechnology, I always imagined getting bad wires installed would be downright hellish.

I also like the idea of a gang where the people legit have each other’s backs with things rather than just a bunch of people jammed together out of convenience(though that can work too in some stories!)

Some ‘crib notes’ for the non-Shadowrun players that follow me(of which I know there are a lot):

The Night of Rage was a night in 2039 where previously boiling anti-metahuman sentiment had come to a head. Many metas were killed worldwide.

Tarislar is a slum in the middle of the low-end Puyallup district, and it’s all elves. They tend to be distrustful of humans because it was formed around that time. Adramelek was raised here for a portion of his life.

The Stuffer Shack is a chain(Aztechnology owned) of sort of...small ‘Cross between 7-11 and a Wal-Mart’ stores that sell a bunch of cheap stuff like microwavable food, soykaf and so on. They’re quite common.

Zen and Bliss are street drugs. Bliss is an opiate, while Zen is a sort of chilling mild hallucinogen. They both tend to calm reflexes. MAO isn’t a drug per se, but a substance that delivers a light bit of brain haze and then slows down reflexes. It’s usually used as something that opponents shoot at enemies to slow them down, but he uses it very, very rarely nowadays if he’s a little too wound up from the wire damage. He used it more back in the day. It’s not addictive, and generally he doesn’t need it nowadays anyway.

I may have mentioned it, but Dikote is a substance that is used to coat metal objects and hardened armor to make them stronger; it’s a sort of diamond-film coating that is put under heat. When used on sharp things, it increases their damage by quite a bit, and even enables them to damage hardened objects better. His boot spikes are coated in this, as said, for even more damage.

A Franchi-SPAS is a very powerful shotgun that has a burst-fire option. It’s a scary weapon that is his favored firearm of choice.

‘Hoi’ basically is just Shadowrun slang for ‘Hi.’