You receive a standard telecom call requesting a meeting at Takuri’s, one of the nicer restaurants in downtown Seattle. The caller, a pleasant-voiced woman, identifies herself as Charlie. She says she wants to discuss doing business with you.
When you arrive, Takuri’s is fairly full, but the dim lighting prevents you from identifying anyone (or anyone from identifying you). The headwaiter, a big japanese in classic kimono, smiles slightly when you ask for Charlie. He nods and conducts you to a door that looks like the entrance to a coat closet. Instead, it opens into a small,
private dining room where three people are waiting.
The middle person is Charlie Tarrow, a woman just starting to lose her natural good looks. Not even cybernetics and cosmetics can give her the beauty that once needed no prompting. To her left is Wyrd, a Human male, probably a razor. His eyes flick quickly over each of you before settling on the group’s leader. Wyrd wears his red hair in a high-top fade, and from the looks of it, more than nature and static electricity are holding it up. He’s dressed in Trés Chic synth leathers. The third, Trey, is young, no more than 18. Unlike the other two, he’s not used to this sort of thing. Everything about him shows it, from his crisply new lined coat to his quick, careless motions. His blond hair is slicked back, giving him the look of a refugee from an old vampire movie. The only one of the three who is visibly armed, he carries a Streetline Special in a quick release shoulder holster.
Charlie is the old-fashioned type; she’ll order and eat dinner before discussing business. You don’t object because this is a great opportunity to eat something besides SushiSoy, and she’s paying. When everyone has had their fill, Charlie asks Trey to stand watch outside, then begins to explain the particulars of the run.
“Maybe you’ve heard of the group known as the Association Para-Nobilis? The public knows them as proponents of the Elven ideal, but my client has a somewhat different view.”
At this point, Charlie tosses the leader of your group an envelope. Inside are some oldfashioned photographs, the kind very few people know how to sabotage anymore. They are photos of Elves who have been murdered, and the cause of death is always an archaic weapon such as a sword, bow, and so on.
“The APN has been killing Elves who don’t believe in their ‘Elven ideal’ concept of skipping through meadows while playing a fragging lute. My client wants them eliminated. He’s offering ¥20,000 nuyen, plus certain bonuses that 1 will explain in a moment.
“The APN headquarters building is near the Renraku Arcology—in its shadow would be more accurate. The target of the run are the six core members of the APN who live at the headquarters. It’ll be tough, but 1 believe you can do it without bringing the Renraku Reds down on your heads.
“I spoke of bonuses earlier. The first is for dropping this off.” (She holds up a sealed envelope.) “You are to leave this on the lap of the APN leader, who I like to call Xeric the Mad. This part of the run is worth an extra ¥2,500 nuyen.”
“The second bonus is for a bit of head-hunting. The APN is composed almost entirely of posers, Elf wannabees who’ve had surgery and/or wear false ear tips to look more like Elves. My client wants the false left ear tip of each APN core member, for a further bonus of ¥3,000 nuyen per tip. These bonuses bring the combined total for the job to approximately ¥40,000 nuyen, which should be more than enough for a night’s work. Actually, my client cares little for the final condition of the APN, as long as they are shut down, the six ear tips are collected, and the envelope delivered. Well, posers?”