From: uplink@cwis.unomaha.edu (uplink)
Subject: Character Intro
Date: 15 Nov 92 04:39:11 GMT


	Looking at the recent action, a lone figure at a table leans back,
putting his feet up on the table, his chair tipping dangerously back, but he
keeps his balance.  He glances at the red-lined hole that was once a stupid
street operative.  He shudders.  "Glad I'm not a 'wolf'," he mutters, under
his breath.  "Or things might have gotten tough..."
	Nearby, he sees a beautiful girl introduce herself to a newcomer as
Shadowcat.  He laughs at his naivete.  "We were all innocent once," he
says to himself.  Looking over at Ratz, he nods his head, waves two fingers
in Ratz's general direction.  Ratz does not know this man but he knows what
the man wants.  He pours a purple liquid into a wine glass, and gives the
glass and bottle to one of Lonny's girls.  "The far table.  He tips well."
She is off.
	He watches her approach, all graceful and seductive, but her vacant
gaze tips him off to her occupation.  Still, it never hurts to be nice.  He
accepts the drink and bottle, and reaches into the pocket of his black jeans.
He pulls out a credchip, which he runs across a scanner built into the computer
unit which he wears on his right forearm.  Giving the chip to her, he admires
her derriere as she slithers off.  He has been lonely too long.  Maybe tonight
he will fix that problem.
	A fight breaks out not four feet away from him, yet he remains calm.
He sips his liquid slowly, but surely.  Once a jostling elbow threatens to
spill his drink onto his black wool turtleneck.  But he recovers with deft
fingers, and glares at the two muscleboys.  Ratz keeps polishing the bar,
while others decide to seek their solace somewhere a bit less... noisy.
	The fight ends, with one muscleboy victorious.  It is not the one who
bumped the man.  He smiles, a bit too carefree for the Chatsubo, as he
swigs his drink, and stares at the tip of his black boots.  Their tops reach
his midcalf and he feels the knife hidden underneath it.  No heels on these
boots, not like the boots the joygirl is wearing.  He sighs.  He has been
lonely far too long.
	A familiar urge becomes apparent.  He swings his feet off the table,
and stands gracefully.  A tall man, he reaches a little more than two meters
when he lazily stretches and yawns, stumbling off to the bathroom.  There,
he does his business and turns around.  While he is near the bar he pays Ratz
for a round of drinks, on him.  Ratz says nothing, just takes his money.
	He looks at the girl who called herself Shadowcat.  Very pretty, he
thinks.  He looks at the joygirl.  The joygirl is probably far more
approachable and definitely has a cuter butt, he thinks.  Ah well.  Maybe in
a little while.
	He glides back to his chair, but two burly street samurai have taken
the table and are now discussing business.  He clears his throat.  "Excuse
me," he says, "But I believe you're sitting at my table."
	"Not your table any more."  The Samurai, with his thermographic eyes,
has already scanned the muscular individual standing before him.  No
cyberware.  A mundane.  No trouble.  "Scram, chummy."
	"That's my drink there."  The man looks down at the two samurai.  Both
are typical of the kind, carrying enough metal to chome the subway and enough
hardware to re-arm the military.  "This is my table."
	"You don't get it, do ya, snit?"  The first Samurai stands, reaching
for his katana over his back.  The rest of the patrons recognize the air of
impending combat.  "We got this table first.  We ain't leaving.  Now git
or we'll kill ya."  He draws his katana, its crystalline blade whispering in
the sudden silence.
	"No, you don't get it."  The man, clad in black, is not afraid.  "Get
away from my table of I'll take you down."
	"Mike, let's trash this bozo."  And both samurai stand, drawing their
weapons, advancing on the man with lightning-quick reflexes.
	Except the man is not there.
	Releasing his hand from the controls on his right arm, he glances at
the samurai from his new position, behind them.  "Leave now and I won't kill
you."
	They laugh, and move with blinding speed...
		
		The man merely stands as the silvery armor
		materializes around his body.  Skintight,
		it reflects the attackers' charge as they
		seem to have become infinitely slow. Then
		the armor is complete, and the man stares
		back at them through clear lenses, wings
		on either side of his armored head giving
		perfect sensory detail.  Range, infrared,
		motion, air-displacement.  His ninja skills
		also tell him about the two men.  How they
		walk, how they act, how they will react
		as he flies over their heads, landing,
		and time slows down to normal...

	"I told you to leave,  Now it's too late."  The amplified voice
comes from nowhere on the armor, as all that is visible on his face now
are his eyes, through a single clear visor.  He extends his hand, and
sees the display, ** FIELD GENERATOR READY AT 100% ** in his mind.  A
glowing red beam emanates from the palm of his hand, striking the second
samurai, and throwing his body against the far wall, where it lands on the
floor, smoking and burning.  There is no doubt the samurai is dead. "Your move,
asshole."  The first sweeps with his katana, slicing a deadly path.  But the
armored form moves with the wind, catching the blade between both hands, then
splitering the blade.
	The samurai moves back, whispering, "Impossible."  He knows that no
force on Earth could have shattered the blade.  He reaches into his coat and
pulls out a large caliber handgun, points it at the figure, pulls the trigger,
twice, thrice, and keeps pulling.
	SPANG! SPEOW! SPANG!  The bullets richochet off the silver armor, not
even leaving scratches.  "It's all over, shithead."  With that, the armored
man extends his hand, and watched a cylidrical object grow within it, until
he puts his fist around it.  From the object a glowing red blade appears,
and with that, the samurai soon finds what it is to be to be headless.
	The man stares down at the bodies of his assailants.  He then releases
his fist, and the energy blade disappears as the hilt grows back into the
armor which spawned it.  He thinks, with satisfaction, that he has done a good
job, and now he will pay Ratz for the damages he may have caused and leave
with the joygirl.  Heavy combat always makes him horny.

		The armor dissolves, as a whole, ready for
		the next time it is needed.  He knows that
		as long as the armor is there, he is safe.

	He looks around the bar.  Most patrons have left, but there is sobbing
from one of the corners near the bar.  He looks.  Ratz is hovering over the
figure of another of Lonny Zone's girls, who even now mourns the passing of the
joygirl he had seen before.  Ratz looks at him with sad eyes.  "Lonny not
gonna be happy with you, friend knight.  She's worth a lot to him."
	But he does not hear Ratz, only bows his head in sorrow as well.  A
tear runs from his eye, falls on the corpse.  The richochets from the samurai's
gun killed her, of course.  He wonders, as always, why the armor must be a
curse, as well as a blessing.  He falls to his knees, sharing the pain with
the other girl, who is sobbing uncontrollably.
	Then he notices the other girl, the one who called herself Shadowcat.
"Nice moves, Chummer," she says.  "Too bad about the girl.  What do you call
yourself?"
	He gazes into her eyes, burning his image into her brain, it seems.
Then the words tumble out of his mouth.  "Shadow... Shadowknight."


	(For those of you interested in the genre of Superpunk, let me know
how you liked it, please!)


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