Main Page

Random Tables

Equipment

Kits

Character Creation

Flavor

Session Report

We're in the middle of pulling off a dataheist against an Ares subsidiary. The planning and infiltration were (mostly) pretty mirrorshades in spirit...a combination of free-jumping onto the roof of the building from an overhead tourist monorail after some magically-enhanced fast talking to clear the car of passengers, some grappling gun action to help get the less athletic hacker in with the rest of us, and a conveniently timed distraction in a nearby shopping complex to get the guards focused on other things while we sneak in, grab what we came for (and maybe some extra goodies on the side), and get out.

Currently the shopping complex is on fire, a panicked mob of proud firearm owners have had a brutal shootout with panicking security forces and there are probably at least a dozen fatalities, the data-hub is filling up with dangerous hyperfreon gas after a tased security nerd collided with some OSHA non-compliant coolant ducts, we have a rescued sasquatch in tow after freeing it from a live-fire weapons testing range where we liberated a prototype assault rifle and a stock of vicious corrosive chemical rounds, and we have two HRT teams inbound by helicopter, one of which is likely to be eaten by the devil rats we released from the testing range's cages before gluing the door shut behind us. Oh, and the lobby's security turrets are currently being cleared with grenades by the guy who charged a Firewatch sergeant equipped with an Ares Alpha using nothing but a survival knife and barely came out on top.

But we did get the data we came for which means that technically we've hit all of our primary objectives.

That was actually the groundwork job. The actual job that we did this one to get intel for is extracting a high-value asset off of an inbound prisoner transport coming in by sea. So imagine all of this happening again in an enclosed space surrounded by the ocean. At least with the IFF security codes we're significantly less likely to be shot at by automated point-defense guns as we board.

Corporation List and Description

http://theshadowrun.proboards.com/thread/346

First Love

Pictures of the Future

http://rekall.me/

Sprawl Info

https://www.google.com/maps/d/viewer?mid=1_1ES7tdzvO65eeErMFvEu_uedVM&hl=en_US

Redmond Barrens

The district of Redmond was once among the most prosperous places in the Seattle region. During the late twentieth century, it developed from a suburban community into a major center for the computer industry. Huge office complexes and skyscrapers sprang up as more and more companies moved in. Then came the Crash of 2029, the viral attack that crippled the world telecommunications network and wiped out computer systems everywhere. Redmond's primary industry died overnight. Eighty percent of the businesses in the district collapsed, along with the local government, which was unable to cope with the disaster. A small percentage of the residents fled to Bellevue, which was also suffering from the effects of the Crash. The rest turned to lawlessness and riots.

Drawn by the abandoned homes and apartment buildings, refugees from other districts and Seattle's homeless began moving into the area. This caused further violence, prompting more "respectable people" to flee Redmond, resulting in more empty buildings, which in turn attracted additional squatters. Within a few years, this vicious cycle transformed Redmond into a ghost town inhabited by criminals, transients, refugees, and those who were unable or unwilling to get out.

Roughly half a million people live in Redmond, though it's tough to come up with an accurate number because most of the population is SINless and it's impossible conduct an official census. Permanent residents come from diverse backgrounds, but the percentage of metahumans is generally fairly low—a reminder of the prejudicial suburban attitude and the widely held belief that metahumans couldn't hack it (pun intended) in the ratified world of computer programming.

In Redmond today, a scarp of food or a cheap trinket can be a reason to die. Bands of squatters and gangs attack the weekly convoys of armed trucks that deliver food to the district's few grocery stores. Abject poverty gives rise to a host of social ills that repeatedly drag down every resident ambitious enough to attempt to rise above his or her station—or even to behave as a relatively decent metahuman being. Aside from a few remarkable cases, Redmond is a seething mass of violence waiting to explode.

Rather than attempting to find a way to improve the communities in the Barrens, the few companies that bother to have facilities to protect their investments. Many of them hire the toughest, most socially alienated squatters and gangers they can find as security guards. "Accidental" shootings in and around local corporate facilities are just another fact of life in Redmond.

The syndicates are big in Redmond, of course, and the Mafia and the yakuza run the local black market. Because even legal goods are difficult to get in Redmond, the biggest market is for daily necessities like food and medical supplies, followed closely by "entertainment" such as pirated trid, sim-chips, BTLs, booze, porn, and similar moneymakers. There's a brisk business in illegal weapons, though the syndicates are careful which factions they choose to arm. They keep most arms sales small unless the mobs are preparing their own gangers and soldiers for war.

Redmond is the perfect breeding ground for new syndicate muscle, mainly because the only way most youngsters can make it off the streets is by joining one of the mobs. Yakuza and Mafia recruiters keep their eyes open for promising young talent, especially from the local gangs, and the Seoula Rings also use Redmond as a recruiting center. At least five Rings tunnel recruits out of Redmond and into their ranks elsewhere in the metroplex. The Seven Triangles Ring is currently leading the pack–probably because their recruitment tactics seem specifically designed to scare the drek out of the candidates.

Redmond attracted a larger suburban population because it is mostly flat, with a few hills in the southern end and the Snoqualmie River winding through almost a third of the distrct. Now the river is filthy, choked with toxic sludge, and other refuse (including the more-than-occasional corpse). Massive packs of devil rats live all along the shoreline, some of the horribly mutated by whatever drek is in the water.

Apart from the kilometers of abandoned buildings, the cracked and deteriorating streets, and the vast slums and squatter "cities," Redmond's only distinctive features are the "toxic castles," as locals call the various factories and manufacturing plants. Plenty of them look a lot like techno-Gothic structures of rusting metal and soot-covered brick, surrounded by moats of their own poisonous filth and high walls topped with razorwire. Armed guards regularly patrol the walls to keep the facilities safe from armies of squatters and roving gangs, and most plants ship materials in and out via helicopter or tilt-rotor to avoid bringing trucks through Redmond's dangerous streets.

The only marginally safe area of Redmond is the section that borders Bellevue, near the offices of the so-called Redmond District Government. Known as "Touristvllle," the area caters to tourists and slummers from Bellevue who come to experience the "thrill" of the Barrens and hang out in sleazy clubs. Lone Star actually patrols here. but smart visitors bring along their own protection by packing heat or (If they can afford It) traveling with a bodyguard.

Crusher 495

124th Avenue and 143rd Street

This bar and restaurant on the western edge of Touristville is owned and operated by a group of orks who opened the establishment after the Night of Rage. The place is popular with people from Bellevue and Downtown looking for a real "Barrens" experience, and the owners and staff work hard to make their establishment a sort of community center where the locals can gather. Racists have attacked the place more times than anyone can count, but Crusher 495 offers such a rare and successful opportunity for all the races to gather under one roof in harmony that the Humans-types only create bad press for themselves by targeting it.

495 is a good place to be among friends in Redmond, especially if you're metahuman. The guide makes the place sound as corny as a 1960s musical, but it just happens to be —people can get together here without the pressures that normally make us fuck with each other. Johnsons, on the other hand, like it as a "neutral ground" between Bellevue and the true depths of the Barrens, where no suit is going to go. - Tuskadero

Janus Koskey, the manager of the 495, hears everything going on in Redmond worth knowing. He'll pass on information from time to time for a reasonable fee. He's also been known to arrange introductions between Johnsons and shadow-talent, provided neither side is Humanis or looking to cause trouble for the locals. - Solo Mio

The Plastic Jungles

At the turn of the century, a wealthy agriculturist built twenty of the world's largest greenhouses in north-western Redmond, not far from Echo Lake. The giant tent-like buildings, several kilometers in diameter, stand on land that was considered too polluted to grow crops. The agriculturist proved the skeptics wrong—almost. The land yielded amazing harvests of food, but most of it was too contaminated for consumption.

The huge greenhouses were used to grow tropical flowers and other decorative plants until the Crash of '29, when the backer lost his fortune and the entire project was abandoned. Primarily because no one else had ventured into the area, the lion's share of Redmond's metahuman population moved into the agri-domes to live among the wild offshoots of the original plants.

The squatters living in the Plastic Jungles are understandably paranoid about outsiders, especially humans. THey're organized into urban tribes and scratch out what existence they can from the poisoned soil. Tribal shamans are working to cleanse the soil of contaminants so that the squatters can grow some of their own food. Those who succeed, of course, immediately become targeted by gangs and scavengers looking to steal the food supplies.

Ironically, the metahuman tribes of the Plastic Jungles are a shining example of racial cooperation. Elves works alongside orks, dwarfs, and trolls to protect and sustain the tribes, and most of the metahumans in the community have put aside their differences in order to survive. "Normas" are not well-liked or trusted, but the tribes don't kill visitors out of hand. - Smiley

The Plastic Jungles are truly a sight to see. Dirty grayish canopies of bioplastic high over a near-tropical world that is warm and free of rain. The grounds of the old greenhouses are covered with a riot of tropical and semi-tropical vegetation, creeping vines, and exotic flowers in every color of the rainbow, filling the air with a heady scent. The metahumans built tents and shelters out of discarded bioplastic sheeting, wood, thatching, and whatever other materials they could gather. If it wasn't for the contaminated soil and the near-total lack of modern conveniences, the place would almost be pleasant. - Greely