Uncle George's Tale I Stick Crushes Stiletto

UNCLE GEORGE'S TALE

I

Stick Crushes Stiletto*

by shapcano

*See also Yojimbo, Fistful of Dollars and Last Man Standing

---

"Awright, Awright! Quiet down ya little rug rats! Ya want me ta tell ya a story, neh? Den shut yer fraggin yaps!"
The grimy street urchins quieted down and gathered closer around the fire as 'Uncle' George glared at them. Those who had experienced the old hobo's stories previously became quiet quickly and signaled the first timers to silence. Nobody ever knew when the crag-faced, bearded old vagabond would blow into town, but the experienced street kids knew that he'd freely share his mulligan stew and he always had a story or two to tell as the pot bubbled.
The gray bearded figure's indignant look made it clear that he countenanced no interruptions as he told his tale. When the circle of small faces around his campfire was properly attentive he indulged himself with a dramatic pause. He stirred up the fire beneath his warming stew pot and cleared his throat. Finally he said-
"This is a story of a young boy. Oh, he was a little older than you pups, but he was still a couple of years short of his 20th birthday. Lad's name was Sticks............. What are you laughin at Snotnose? Sticks wasn't his real name, ya mutt. It was his shadowname. See, Sticks was a shadowrunner."
The graybeard paused as the excitement swept up his audience. His giggling interrupter received a hearty share of baleful glances from the rest of the circle for daring to interrupt one of Uncle George'sshadowrunner stories, which EVERYBODY knew were arctic! Better than trid if the old man warmed to the subject. The wait for the storyteller's next words was nearly impossible.
"Yeah.... Sticks was a shadowrunner, but he was a loner and that makes the job twice as dangerous. PLUS, he was working in Seattle, which, as everybody knows, is constantly full of corps and intrigue, deception and....." Pausing at a small raised hand waving at him from across the fire, the old hobo asked "What now?"
"What's trigue and ception?" a tiny voice asked. When the rest of his audience groaned as their story was again sidetracked, Uncle George snapped "Quit yer whining! Same question was on everyone of your so called minds, ya just didn't have the balls ta ask. So shut up and learn" To his small inquisitor he explained, "Seattle is a big city, pup. Very dangerous. Very Scary. You never know who your friends are, who you can trust, who's got your back. That's what I meant. I'll try and use easier words" the old man said with a reassuring grin.
"Now where was I.....Oh yes. Lone shadowrunner in Seattle. Worst section of Seattle. The barrens...." Savoring the word with another dramatic pause, Uncle George explained in a hushed voice "The barrens was like a war zone. Burnt out buildings, boarded over store fronts, abandoned factories. A bad place. A place where the Star never went without riot gear and citymasters. A place where you could get shot and stripped down to the bone before the bullet cooled. A very bad place."
After the silence had built the danger of the location to an appropriate level, Uncle George explained "This Sticks, he wasn't a big guy. He got his name because he was an Escrimador. An Escrimador is someone who uses wooden sticks to fight. It's part of an art called Escrima. Now, you'd think "what good can sticks do against guns or swords?" Right? Well, that's exactly how this way of fighting got started. Some people who had been conquered by some other people were told that they couldn't carry guns or swords for any reason, so they figured out ways to fight using only sticks. They worked for many, many years until the best of them could do stuff with a couple of hunks of wood that was truly unbelievable."
"So, Sticks, who got his name from his weapons, was a young shadowrunner who worked alone in the barrens in Seattle. One day a friend of Sticks, whose name was Tommy, was giving Sticks a ride in his Taxi. "Sticks, my friend" says Tommy the taxi driver, "there's this little problem that you should look into........"

********

"A cup of soya-caf, please." The young man said as he sat at the coffee shop counter. "And could I get a piece of that pie too, please?"
The dwarf counterman said nothing as he waited on the only customer in his shop.
"Thank you. Business seems slow today." The teenager observed as he stirred his soya-caf..
"Yeah" The dwarf said shortly.
"Sorry" The young man said.
"Look, kid. Ya seem real polite, but ya ain't from around here. Take my advice. Finish yer pie and caf and get da hell away from Devil's Corner. Dis is a real bad place."
"Devil's Corner?"
"Yeah. Devil's Corner. Dat's da name a dis section a town. Pretty fraggin accurate, too." As the dwarf saw that his words and attitude were not scaring his customer away, he elaborated. "Listen, I don't know ya from a hole in da ground, but I'm tellin ya, for your own safety, get da frag away from here before ya get caught up in dis crap."
"What do you mean?" The young man asked innocently.
Growling, the dwarf tugged at his beard in frustration. Finally, he called his customer over to the shop's dirty window. "See dat building painted rust and black? Dat's da HQ for da Rusted Stilettos. Now see da red and gold building over there? Dat's da home of da Crimson Crush."
"Isn't it unusual for two gangs to have Headquarters so near to each other?" The teenager asked.
"Now ya understand why it's fraggin called Devil's Corner. Fraggin gang bangers down the block from each other. Always been damned dangerous, but now...."
The young man said nothing but his patient silence goaded the counterman into further explanation.
"Jocko runs da Crimson Crush, ya see?" The dwarf explained as he returned to his counter, "And Narf runs the Rusted Stilettos. Da Stilettos is supposed ta be all Troll and da CC's is supposed ta be all Ork. Dey wuz, anyway before dis latest drek started. See, because the territories overlap, this area has always been a sort of neutral ground. Da CC's always supplied da BTL's around here and da Stilettos always handled the dope. Den Jocko takes over da Crush and with the help (meanin Nuyen) of da pawn broker, a slot named Bryant, he expands into pharmaceuticals. Now, Narf may be a troll, but he's smart enough to recognize when a shit storm is blowin in, so he ends up becomin pals wit Bobby Winston. Winston's an arms dealer on da black market who has a pretty good stock of big time bang-bangs. Now, before Jocko can have da CC's undersell da Stilettos and ease them out of the dope trade entirely, Narf's boys start showin up armed to the teeth. Tensions mount, one thing leads to another and we got bodies all over da street. Dis happens a couple a times and both gangs start recruiting anybody dey can against da final blow off. Ya hang around here too long and yer gonna get recruited by one band a killers or another."
"But......"
"LISTEN, will ya?" The Dwarf interrupted. "Da only ones who are doin all right are da fraggin organleggers. Everybody else gets cacked by whatever side dey ain't on. Lotta young ones like you showin up, get mixed up in dis, make nuyen for da fraggin organleggers. I'm tellin ya, it's bad business. Eat yer pie and get da frag outta here."
"What about the Star?" the teenager asked.
"Ha!" The dwarf snorted. "When has the Star ever cared about the barrens to begin with, much less with what metas do to each other in Devil's Corner?" Shaking his head the dwarf concluded, "No, there are fewer Stilettos but they're Trolls and they got major heat. There are more Crush, and they're orks but they got less firepower. Far as the Star's concerned its an even enough battle that both sides might completely wipe each other out, which would reduce headaches and make everybody happy. The Star ain't gonna stop shit. Now, are you gonna get outta here?"
After a few minutes of silence, teenager responded, "No. It's begun expanding into other areas. Both gangs are seeking alliances outside of this region and it has begun to affect things where I live. I need to prevent this from expanding beyond Devil's Corner, which means putting a stop to this."
"But you're only one kid!" The counterman interrupted.
"We'll see" Sticks said as he rose to leave.

********

Standing outside the Red and Gold painted building, Sticks shouted "HOI! Jocko! I'm looking for work. If ya keep yer eyes open, I can show ya exactly what you'll be getting."
The teenager then turned and started walking towards the Rust colored building at the other end of the street, drawing his hardwood batons from their holder concealed beneath his jacket.
When he arrived a huge troll armed with a Jackhammer Autoshotgun in one hand and a Wallacher Combat Ax in the other was standing outside the front door.
"Keep movin, breeder." The troll said when Sticks stopped in front of the building and appeared to be sizing the troll up.
"Or what?" Sticks asked, idly twirling the two foot long pieces of hardwood in his hands.
"Too late, Deadman." The troll responded as he set the shotgun aside carefully and stepped forward, bringing the ax to the ready.
"So I don't even get a chance to see if you guys are recruiting?" the teenager challenged.
"Ya don't get a chance at nutin" The troll responded as his ax flashed down.
Sticks, quick as a cat, jumped back out of the way of the descending ax. The troll was deceptively agile for his size, but when Sticks spun in low and launched a bewildering barrage of blows, his opponent, rather than dodge or counter, simply stood there and took the rapid tattoo of hits.
Not being a complete fool, when the giant began his 2nd attack, completely unfazed by the teenager's blows with the batons, Sticks spun away and out of the reach of the ax.
"Best ya can do, Pussy?" Growled the troll as he flipped the ax from hand to hand. "Ya ain't even gonna last long enough ta make this interesting, deadmeat."
When the teen made the mistake of attempting to reply, the troll tried a surprise front kick aimed at his young adversary's midsection. Sticks was quick enough not only to block the attack with a Lobtik smash to the giant's shin, but to follow with a pair of Witik strikes to his opponent's knee. The grimace on the troll's face as he brought the ax down in an overhand blow demonstrated to the teenager just how effective his counter had been.
Cully, the name of the ax wielding troll, favored the leg slightly through the next several swings with his ax. Sticks continued to dodge these swings, seemingly at the last second, while using every opportunity to beat out a rythm with his batons on the giant's knee. When the Escrimador added a counterpoint to this rythm by smashing the fingers wrapped around the ax's haft, Cully's bellows of pain, anger and frustration provided the melody for the fighters' dance.
Where the troll had initially relied on his weapon's weight and momentum for damage, swinging quickly and often, he was now attempting to dissect his opponent with huge single strokes. Sticks, rather than let the ferocity of his giant opponent overwhelm him, continued to bob and sway, hovering like a hummingbird, just out of reach, only to dart in with a stinging attack on the trolls injured knee or fingers while the giant recovered from his titanic swings.
Cully's frustration (and pain) mounted as each unsuccessful strike attempt brought another blow to his damaged knee or bleeding hands. The troll was strong, but the repeated lightning quick strikes by the smaller man's batons were taking their toll. With his mobility limited by his injured leg and his broken fingers beginning to lose both sensation and grip, the troll glanced back at his discarded Jackhammer.
Sticks was not one to allow this lapse to go unrewarded, so he brought both batons down with all the force he could muster on his opponent's exposed wrist, shattering the joint. Cully's eyes rolled back into his head as he fell like a sack of wash.

*******

"Aw C'mon Unca George!" squealed one of the urchins. "He just broke his wrist an......." The scandalized silence that the speaker found himself in was heightened by the look of high dudgeon on the graybeard's face. "oh, sorry" the youngster breathed as he prayed for the earth to swallow him.
"He just broke his wrist, he just broke his wrist" the storyteller parroted cruelly. "Do you want to tell this story? Hmm? Were you listening? Did I tell you that Sticks had been smashing and smashing his knee? That his fingers had been broken by the Escrimador's batons? That his wrist was shattered? Not broken, SHATTERED! Have you ever had bone shards rip out through the skin of your arm? Ever seen the dark ooze of your own bone marrow as leaks out of your body? Do you have any idea about how painful that is? About the cumulative effect of damage? No. Of course not. You just know whatever crap the trid tells you. That Neil the Ork Barbarian gets hundreds of wounds and still only pauses in an endless battle long enough to shag some serving wench. That Chief Thunder crushes hunter drones with his bare hands after being riddled by heavy machine gun fire. That the Invincible Young Master kills 80 or 90 Ninja after being poisoned and blinded. Well, you pups listen to me. Pain, real-down-to-the-bone pain don't care about how big you are or how much damage you can do to somebody else. Real pain can turn you off like a lightswitch. It can drop you like a bad habit, and that's exactly what it did to Cully. Hurt built on hurt built on hurt until finally a fresh big dose of hurt knocked him right out. Oh, he may a been able to stand a lot of damage, but the nerves on a troll are just like the nerves on anybody else. You overload them in the right way and you can shut the fragger down."
Seeing that his audience now had the proper look of terrified deference on their unwashed faces, Uncle George briefly checked his stew pot and began again......

******

"Outstanding job! Simply outstanding! The great Cully taken down by a little norm with a couple of pieces of wood. Amazing!" The middle aged ork said through a huge grin. "C'mon in, Pal. Uh...Sticks, you said yer name was? We definitely want to hire you, Sticks. Let me get you a drink....
Sticks studied the heavy set ork with the abundance of jewelry who was leading him into the Crimson Crush Headquarters. "I'm Jocko, by the way," the ork said over his shoulder as he guided Sticks up to the second floor of the building. "We definitely want to hire you against a showdown with those bastards. Have a seat and we'll discuss costs" Jocko gave a toothy grin as he indicated the plush seat in front of the desk in his office.
"LOTUS! LOTUS, honey, bring us a couple a brews, will ya?" the ork shouted out the open door. "Now, let's get down ta cases...." Jocko said as sat down in his creaking high backed chair. Steepling his fingers in front of his face, he looked intently at the teenagers for a moment and then said "I think you're worth.......200 nuyen...."
Sticks said nothing. Prompted by the teenager's silence, Jocko decided to up his ante.
"Oh, hell. Why be cheap? I'll go a full 300." The ork said as if he were Father Christmas. "Well? What do you say?"
"The Stilettos might pay me more" Sticks observed.
Seeing that his grin-of-good-fellowship-morphing-into-a-glower-of-contempt did not intimidate the teenager at all, Jocko said "Gonna play hardball, huh? All right. I'll go 4, no....500, BUT, you supply your own ammo."
Sticks stood up and turned to go.
"OK, ok. Ya got me. 600 and we'll supply the ammo...... 7...750! What do you say?"
"I'll see what the stilettos will pay."
"800! C'mon! That's four times what I'm paying my top newcomer! How much do you want?"
"Four figures" the teenager said quietly.
Whether the ensuing silence indicated that Jocko was calculating exactly how much he was willing to bid or simply trying to figure out how many zeros were in a four figure number, eventually the ork exclaimed "1,000. 1,000 nuyen!"
Sticks looked on silently until the ork yelled "2!!! 2,000! I'll pay you 2,000 nuyen!"
"Half in advance." The teenager said with some reluctance.
"DEAL! Deal. OK....that's fine. Ah...." the vastly relieved ork said as a scantily clad but somewhat past her prime Asian norm brought in two bottles of beer, ".....Lotus, my dear, I want you to meet......."
"C'mere" the woman commanded as she exited the room.
"She's a...... she's just rude." The beefy ork explained with a half embarrassed smile as he nonetheless hurried to follow her. Sticks paused for a second and then cat footed down the hall after his host. When he got to a partially shut door he listened to the hushed conversation taking place on the other side of it.
".....2,000 Nuyen! Is your motherfraggin brain up your hoop? Are you crazy?"
"But Honey, I had to. He would have gone to those fraggers and Narf would have paid him......"
"BULLDREK! He's a fraggin kid! Even if he's faster than greased pig shit, what the frag prompted you to pay him half in advance?" The woman's voice interrupted, "What if he skips..."
".....He won't get the chance!" Jocko cut in, "I'm gonna hit the trolls right now. A surprise raid while that fragger Cully is out of action...."
"Good." The woman's voice said and after a thoughtful pause added, "And if this kid happens to die in the attack....."
"I don't know, Honey" Jocko responded, "He's mondo turbo with those sticks."
"So put a bullet in the back of his head while he's looking the other way!" Lotus answered impatiently. "You'll save the 1,000 you owe him and you can pluck the 1,000 you paid him out of his dead hand."
After a brief silence Sticks heard a smiling Jocko admit "Your pretty ruthless, Honey. But it might work at that....."
"And you're mostly brainless, but you keep me happy in bed...." the woman's voice shot back. Sticks made a quick and quiet retreat back to Jocko's office.
Moments later the smiling couple returned with a certified credstick for 1,000 nuyen. "Well now," Jocko said with far too much good spirit, "Let's knock back these suds 'cause I wanna hit the fraggin trolls immediately."
Sticks simply nodded and watched as the gang leader chugged his long neck, belched and loudly called together his troops. When some forty metahumans were gathered on the first floor, Jocko began his pre-battle speech from a landing on the staircase.
"Listen up! Today we are gonna CRUSH da fraggin rusty ones! We are gonna bust'em up BAD! We got a head start, as you all saw when our newest recruit, Sticks here, " (generously gesturing the teenager forward) "beat the living crap outta Cully in a one on one. Now, while the trolls are down in numbers, were gonna settle their hash once and for all! Surprise daylight raid with my man Sticks leading the way! KILL 'EM ALL!!"
Following some twenty minutes of shout filled chaos, the Crimson Crush was finally armed, equipped and actually ready to pull off their surprise daylight raid. The surprise aspect of the engagement unfortunately evaporated the instant the gang stepped into the street, and before they had advanced to the mid-point between the two headquarters, the better armed and organized Rusted Stilettos had begun pouring from their base to meet the threat.
As the gap between the two groups dwindled, Sticks, Predator II in hand, suddenly and loudly exclaimed "You know, Jocko, I don't think I want to fight for you after all."
The instantly furious ork, recognizing that the heavy pistol in the teenager's hand was coincidentally pointed at him, resorted to sarcasm rather than violence for his response.
"Scared, Huh? Yellow streak getting in your way?"
"No." The teenager responded calmly, "It's more that I'd just as soon not catch a bullet in the back of my head after the battle is over so you can save some credits. Here's your advance." Sticks said as he tossed the certified stick into the street. As he backed towards the coffee shop, the teenager was treated to a loud and particularly vile string of invective from Lotus who darted to the front of the Crush forces to retrieve her nuyen.
"HUH HUH, Jerkoff, great gang." The troll leading the Rust Stilettos boomed.
"Frag yourself, Barf bag! We don't need no fraggin kid ta deal wit you scum!" Jocko replied.
"Oh Yeah? Bring it on, Shit stain!" Narf bellowed back.
"Frag you, motherfraggin pudlicker"
While this exchange of pleasantries escalated in heat and volume, Sticks backed into the coffeeshop. Maxie, the dwarven counterman immediately hissed "Get down, kid! They're gonna open up on each other!"
Ducking behind the coffee shop. counter, Sticks waited for the fireworks. After a long minute of silence both dwarf and Escrimador peeked from behind the counter to see the two groups heading back to their respective bases. The pair exchanged a look of confusion and a shrug as neither could explain the sudden lack of hostilities. Sticks moved back to the front of the counter and took a seat on a stool while Maxie got him a cup of soyakaff and a piece of pie.
As the pair were about to speculate about the reason for the sudden peace, Narf and his lieutenant Brutus entered the shop.
"Want you." the troll leader said without preamble. "Pay top nuyen. 4k. Here's 2 in advance" Narf said as he lay a certified credstick on the counter. "Get rest when done. Let's go."
"Just a moment" Sticks responded warily. "About Cully......"
"Cully's dead." Narf interrupted. "Left post witout permission. Embarrassed us. Got himself crippled. Gone now."
"Ok." Sticks responded after digesting this data, "But what kind of a fight is this? You seemed like you were about to throw down a minute ago and then....nothing. I want to know what I'm signing on for."
Narf looked at the teenager for a long moment before responding. "Cho Pak". When the Escrimador's expression did not change the troll took a deep breath and said "Seoulpa ring boss. His territory. Coming for visit. More firepower than Crush and us put together. Truce with Pig boys until Korean leaves. Then we finish them. Let's go."
Sticks picked up the credstick off the counter and followed the trolls back to the Rust Stilettos' headquarters.

*******

"Whatzuh mattah?" Brutus asked through a mouthfull of food. "Aintcha hungry?"
"No, it's just, uhm, more heavily seasoned than I'm used to." Sticks replied as he attempted to wipe the thick coating of spices off his soya ribs.
"But dat's what makes it good" The troll lieutenant explained. "It gots flavor an...."
"Makes you shit like a shark." a voice cut in from a seemingly empty corner. As Brutus' single bushy eyebrow bunched in the middle over this insult, a fetish festooned troll stepped dramatically from empty air. The lieutenant's indignation turned to delight as he recognized the shaman.
"GANNON!" Brutus exclaimed. "Hey, NARF! Look who's back! It's Gannon!"
Theatrically bowing to the chorus of shouted greetings from the rest of the diners, the shaman signaled the lieutenant over. "Who is the finicky little breeder and what is he doing here?" Gannon asked quietly enough to signal Brutus that the question was private.
"He's new. Narf hired him after he beat da drek outta Cully wit a coupla sticks." When the shaman's look demanded more, Brutus wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and explained, "Cully musta been bored or sumpin. He left his post ta jump da little fella and got his hoop handed ta him. Sticks, dat's da little fella's handle, he busted Cully's knee an arm an wrist an fingers bad. Extreme turbo. Never took a scratch an left ol' Cully in da street, out cold. Narf was pissed BIG TIME. Put one in Cully's ear fer leavin his post. Bad medicine. Anyway, da pig boys tried ta hire ol' Sticksy but he musta figured dere double cross so he told'em ta frag off just before we wuz gonna throw down. Left'em ta twist in da wind. Pretty funny."
"And the battle?" Gannon demanded.
"Naw. We got word dat Cho wuz commin. Instant fraggin truce 'till da Koreans move on. We all gotta....."
"....shut up." Narf interrupted his lieutenant as he grasped forearms with the shaman. "Glad you're back." Narf told Gannon with an honest smile. "Need spell slinger for blow off."
"Seems you need something if we're reduced ta hiring little fraggin norms ta fight for us." Gannon quietly challenged.
"Mercenary." Narf said as if the word was an entire explanation. "Any blade that cuts...... Hey!" The troll shouted as he noticed Sticks moving towards the door. "Where you goin?"
"Coffeeshop." Sticks answered, "Have some of the pie I didn't get a chance at earlier. I'll be back."

*******

"So you picked a side, did ya?" The dwarf asked with as much bitterness and scorn as his small body could contain. "Decided ya wanted the nuyen more than ya wanted ta change things. Well, none of you fraggin gangers are welcome in my shop! Ya want a eat ya can go to......." The dwarf swallowed the end of his rant and much of his anger as he noted the deadly look in the teenager's eyes. Mumbling the rest of his objections to himself, he slapped down the plate with the same piece of pie for the third time that day.
"I'm closin." Maxie grumped. "So eat up an get out."
"Does he have to leave also?" Sticks asked as he gestured at a disheveled, wretched, out-of-shape norm who alternated between staring anxiously out the window and sobbing softly to himself.
"You just never mind about that poor slot. Mr. Riley can stay as long as he likes. That man was quite a hero in his day."
Sticks' raised eyebrows prompted the counterman to continue. "Yeah, that's right. He was a hero. A shadowrunner who specialized in rescues. Can't tell ya how many kids he saved. Him and his Rowdies. They ran against anybody. 'Raku, Ares, Aztechnology, anybody took someone against their will, Riley would get them back."
"So what happened?" The teenager asked.
"What happened?" Maxie mused. "What happened? People got old, that's what happened. People died. Time passed. SOTA cyberware stopped being State of the Art after a couple of years of improvement. It became obsolete. You think about what its like knowing that you ain't as strong or as fast as the opposition. That yer edge ain't an edge anymore, its a liability. About how often yer gonna ask some street doc ta open ya up and change yer parts like some fuckin old car tryin ta race against da newer models." Sticks listened carefully as the dwarf sighed and continued.
"It piles up on ya, kid. Good friends lost, people you've had to kill, old wounds and, let me tell ya something, just because you grab meganuyen for a job doesn't mean you know the first thing about holding on to it.....Then one day one of your own buys the farm because ya ain't as fast as ya used to be or because you've fragged up and ya just chuck it all." Lowering his voice the dwarf leaned in and said "That's his story. Last run he iced most of his own team accidentally, saving the girl. Split second decision but he never forgave himself. Five, maybe six years ago it was. Started drinkin, dopin, BTL's, let himself go to shit. Only one who stuck by him was the woman. Married him but......"
"Where is she?" Sticks asked quietly as Riley began sobbing again.
"He's waiting ta catch a glimpse of her. Single most beautiful female I ever seen in my life. Elven woman with the face and manners of a queen. Julia." Maxie broke out of his reverie and began to get angry. "Fraggin Winston bastard. Gun dealer I told ya about. Well he sees her and wants her. She don't want none of it. Laughs in his face. So, the fragger looks for an angle and of course, uses this poor slot. 'Helps' Riley deeper and deeper inta shit until his hoop is beyond salvage. Then goes to Julia and tells her if she will come with him, he'll square things so that Riley don't get crippled or worse. It breaks her heart but she loves the poor slot too much ta see him hurt so she goes. He's miserable, she's miserable and the bastard who your new buddies are allied with is the only one smiling. Its......"
".....JULIA." Riley croaked as a black Westwind pulled up to the curb of the building across the street. "Oh, Julia. What have I done to you?" The sobbing man wailed as he stumbled towards the door.
"DON'T LET HIM GET OUT!" The Dwarf yelled as he hustled around the counter. "He'll get beaten or worse if he shows his face where that rat can see him."
Sticks and the counterman easily subdued the stumbling man. The teenager was moved by the single forlorn look the disheveled wretch shared with the elegant woman exiting the car. The heartbreak in her eyes matched Riley's pitiful wail as Maxie put a tranq patch on him and he completely collapsed. Sticks also noted the tenderness with which the grizzled dwarf handled the unconscious form as they carried him to the cot in the storage room.
"He'll sleep for a while. I wish he wouldn't keep comin back ta see her. Last time Winston saw him an had Cully beat the living shit out of him. Fragger said next time he'd take his eyes." With as much scorn as he could muster, the dwarf added, "But, I forget, those are your new pals."
Ignoring the dripping venom, Sticks asked, "Why is she across the street?"
"The head bad ass for this area is paying a visit, that's why. All the viscous little dogs roll over on their backs when the big dog is around. While Winston sucks up to Cho Pak he wants his trophy around to show everyone how successful he is. Makes me sick."
"Interesting" was Sticks' only reply.

*********

"All right, all right. There's plenty of stew. Let's not be wild animals here." Uncle George said to the sea of empty bowls being thrust at him. "Where's the pup with balls who asked about the big words?"
Miraculously the ocean of containers parted to reveal a huge eyed waif with a used Styrofoam bowl. When the graybearded storyteller gave the littlest of his audience the first helping of stew, Dorothy Lynn could not believe it. Smallest always got least and last. Everybody knew that. But Uncle George was serving her first. She was so stunned that instead of gulping everything down as quickly as possible (which was, after all, standard street kid procedure) she simply stared in wonder at the winking face of the storyteller.
"Try it, little one. Tell me if it's good enough to eat." Uncle George said with a twinkle in his eye.
Scooping up the rich brown sauce with her white plastic spork, Dorothy Lynn felt she had been transported to heaven. The stew was hot and flavorful and had chunks of good things in it and was so delicious that she allowed it was even good enough to temporarily interrupt the wonderful story. She nodded enthusiastically as she filled her cheeks with the Hobo's stew.
"Well, that's a relief. Let's dig in."
To insure civilized dining, Uncle George continued the story as he dished up the stew.
"Now, where was I? Oh yes.......... Well, Cho Pak stayed the night and the next day decided he would have a breakfast meeting before he left the area. Winston, being an important man, naturally had to attend the meeting. Since it was a business meeting he just as naturally could not bring Julia....."

********

".....So Narf sez, since we're payin ya an we can't fight da pig boys yet, ya should make yerself useful." Brutus explained with a grin. "I had Louie an da Arm guardin da elf slitch, but wit Cho leavin, youse gotta....uh....escort her to where ol man Winston's waitin fer her an......"
"Wait a minute." Sticks interrupted. "You mean you left your primary ally's main squeeze with only two guards?! At a time when we expect the Crush to attack?! Are you serious? We need more guys immediately!"
The panic in the teenager's voice was such a departure from his previous behavior and so compelling that the color drained from Brutus' face an he whispered "Oh, drek!" Then, remembering his responsibility he rapped out. "They're on da third floor. Room 3E. Get up dere and hold down da fort. I'm gonna run back ta HQ and get more men! SHIT!"
Receiving the teenager's earnest nod and seeing Sticks dash up the brownstone's stairs, Brutus started running back to base. The knot of dread in the lieutenant's stomach grew with each step as he pounded down the pavement.
Sticks, meanwhile, drew his silenced PredatorII and his springblade as he sprinted up the stairs. He gave the correctly coded knock at door and when Louie opened it, quickly slipped into the room.
"Hoi, Sticks. What's da Prob...." The question was never completed as two small holes blossomed between the troll's unsuspecting eyes. The soft double cough of Sticks' silenced weapon did not penetrate the next room, but the sound of his partner's dead body crumpling to the floor drew The Arm's immediate attention. As the massively muscled Troll stepped into the room, Sticks snapped "SNIPER! GET DOWN!"
Dropping prone next to the teenager, The Arm looked in the direction Sticks was indicating. The thought was just dawning in the troll's mind that the direction of the supposed sniper's attack was through a window that was both closed and unbroken when two subsonic rounds whispered through his temple, banishing all thoughts forever. For all his size and power, the Arm's final long exhale sounded soft a schoolgirl's sigh.
Jumping to his feet, Sticks scabbarded his knife and dashed into Julia's room. Although the elf woman's beauty was breathtaking, the teenager had no time to appreciate it. "Here" he said thrusting a certified cred stick at her, "There's 2k on this. Riley's in the store room at Maxie's coffee shop. Use the alley to get there, get him and get out of here. Take this too," he said as he presented the silenced pistol, "but try not to use it. Better if you just vanish."
As he finished speaking he flicked out his asp collapsing baton and with four quick strokes reduced a chair to splinters. Turning to find more furniture to destroy he saw the elf woman still rooted in the same spot and looking at him with shining eyes. "GO! You don't have time to stand around! They'll be here in minutes!"
"Thank you." Julia said. Wanting to say so much more, the beautiful woman shook her head and repeated "Thank you" before stepping over the bodies of her two former captors and fleeing. Sticks smiled to himself as he emptied both trolls' sub guns into everything in the room (including the trolls themselves.) He then destroyed most of the furniture in the apartment. Satisfied that the apartment now looked like the scene of a pitched battle he dragged the leaking corpses around the room, kicked in the locked front door and quickly began "analyzing" what had happened.
Gannon's invisible and silent entry found the teenager mumbling to himself. "So if one team kicked in the door............." Sticks then hurried to the bedroom, "team two......" amidst much pointing and head scratching the Escrimador muttered ".....But Louie or the Arm must have fired......". Checking both machine guns, the teenager confirmed that both weapons had been emptied. "But where are the ork bodies? How many would there have been to take their dead with them?" Sticks asked himself aloud. When Narf and Brutus thundered up the stairs with a half dozen Rust Stilettos in tow, Sticks was still hard at work trying to figure out the "mystery".
"What happened?!" Narf demanded
"I....uh....I don't know." Sticks admitted. "I...uh...just was trying to figure out....."
"It's pretty obvious" Gannon said with a dramatic flourish as he dropped his invisibility spell. "Louie and the Arm got jumped by superior numbers. They put up a hell of a fight, but the pig boys sent enough oinkers to carry off their own dead as well as the slitch. From the looks of things I'd say they probably sent a dozen. Fraggin pussies."
Brutus exclaimed "DREK! Da kid wuz right! He said we needed more guards. Frag!"
"Saddle up." Narf said grimly. "Killin time".
This pronouncement was answered by a roaring chorus as the Stilettos went off to war, only to be stopped at the bottom of the stairs by a fussily furious, well dressed, middle aged, norm.
"What? What is it? What's the matter? Where's Julia?" Winston demanded as he patted his bald pate with a colorful silk handkerchief.
"Gone." Narf responded tersely. "Crush. Goin ta get her back."
"You mean they kidnapped her? Wait..... Wait..... How could that happen? Weren't your men guarding her? I mean, where were the guards? Who was in charge of the job? What were they doing? Were they shoegeeks? I want to see them! I want to see the pounders responsible right now! Where are they?"
When Narf gestured upstairs Winston said "Let's go! I want you to be there when they tell me, to my face, how they could have been such shoegeeks!"
With a shrug the gang leader rolled his eyes and followed the babbling gun dealer up the stairs.
"It's a perfectly simple job, perfectly simple. I mean it's a guard job, all you have to do is guard. Right? That's all. Just guard.....It's not like I asked for some shoegeeking.....ah...ah...brain surgery or something. Right? Just simple guarding. Protection. That's all. Just guard the................"
Narf slowly shook his head at his ally's verbal diarrhea. When they arrived at apartment 3E and the gun merchant saw the extent of the damage and the cooling bodies of the trolls he squeamishly curbed his monologue.
"Tell them" The gang leader deadpanned, indicating his fallen fellow Rust Stilettos.
Rather than apologize, Winston immediately launched himself in a new direction.
"We got to get her back, Narf. We got to. These pounders are playing for keeps. I mean they're really serious. We can't play around anymore.........."
"We won't" Narf interrupted with an affectionate pat to the grenade gun strapped to his hip like a pistol.
"NO! No, no, no, no." the horrified norm responded. "We can't go after these pounders with guns blazing! This isn't some shoot-out at the OK Corral. I mean, they'd kill Julia first. She'd be shoegeeked. I mean totally shoegeeked out. No, no, no, no. Calmer heads, you know? We got to be careful here, right? Examine consequences. Negotiate. Arrange an exchange, right? Then when she's safe and sound......." Winston's evil leer clearly demonstrated his intentions.
Grinding his teeth in frustration at the delay, Narf's reply died unvoiced as Winston continued "I know, I know. You've lost men. Brothers. You want to get even and I understand that. Believe me, I know exactly what you are feeling. Exactly. I know. But, here's the thing. Julia, she can't be hurt. Can't be. I'm telling you. She means everything to me. If she gets hurt, my life would be over, you understand? Over. Done. I'd be shoegeeked. Completely shoegeeked. Over. I mean just..uh...over. She can't be hurt."
As if his own repetition had decided him on a course of action, Winston nodded to himself and continued. "We gotta negotiate her return. Just keep the truce going while I go contact Bryant. He'll get Julia back from the Crush for a price, which I'll gladly pay....."
Holding up his hand at Narf's low voiced growl, the gun merchant continued, "....BECAUSE, as soon as she's safe and sound, we wipe out those drekheads once and for all. I'll gladly supply you with all the ordinance you could possibly want AFTER Julia is back safe. See, that's why I'll pay whatever Bryant wants. That skinny frag will never live to enjoy his ill gotten gains because we shoegeek the pounder as soon as we get back Julia. Wipe out the Crush and their moneyman once and for all. Completely shoegeek them out."
Narf said nothing as he stared at the sweating arms dealer until the latter said, "Look, I'm talking free weapons here. Free. No charge. My own personal stockpile. You can't pass up an offer like that. It's too good. So you just keep your boys in line while I talk to that shoegeek Bryant. Once the pounder trades for Julia, or arranges for the orks to trade for her, then we....you can clean house. What do you say?
Narf's growl of assent sent Wilson hustling for the secure communications gear secreted in his ride. As the Rust stilettos' war party disbursed, Sticks headed back to Max's Coffee Shop.

**********

"Come in, Come in!" Max said, opening the door to the closed coffeeshop at Sticks' first knock. The grin on the dwarf's face alarmed the Escrimador as he had never pictured the small counterman as having a jovial side, much less being the recipient of the same.
"Anything you'd like, anything at all, you just let ol' Maxie know, young fella and he'll get it for you." Max beamed as he seated the teenager. "How about some nice fresh pie?" He then asked solicitously.
"Excuse me," Sticks said, "But have you seen Max? Works here. Looks a lot like you but he's usually in a bad mood in general and is pissed off at me in particular. I was wondering when he might be back."
"Ha, ha. 'Pissed off at you' That's a good one" The counterman said with unflappable good humor. "You like to pretend you're bad, but I know......"
"What do you know?" Sticks demanded.
"Oh, you don't have to worry. Your secret is safe with me." Max said as he edge forward and dropped his voice to a whisper. "She came and got him. My guest. She told me what you did and what you gave her. She wrote this for you." Grinning, Max pulled a folded plain sheet of paper from his pocket and laid it on the corner of Sticks' table. "Now how about that pie?"
Before the teenager could respond, Narf's huge bony fist smacked on the closed door. With a guilty start the dwarf hustled over to admit the Rust Stiletto's leader, the shaman Gannon and Brutus.
"Whatcha got da door locked for?" Brutus asked. "Ya tryin ta keep out biz?"
The dwarf's bitter response about doing without some business died on his lips as he noticed the Escrimador attempting to casually toss his jacket onto the table in order to cover the sheet of paper the dwarf had just left behind.
"NO!" he said too loudly. "I mean, uh, no, I'd never turn down paying customers. That would be stupid. I want paying customers. I just....uh.....was trying to clean up when the kid came in and uh.... Here. let me just hang up your coat." Max said as he attempted to gather the garment.
"Leave it." Narf said as his massive arm slammed down on the coat. "Back off" he directed as he turned his attention to the Escrimador.
"Is there a problem?" Sticks challenged as he looked around at the trolls.
"Naw," Brutus said dismissively., "Gannon and Narf just wuz impressed that you figured on a attack and dey....."
"Shut up" Narf said with a look that threatened mayhem. When he nodded to Gannon the Shaman asked "What made you think there might be an attack?"
"Logic" the teenager responded. "It just seemed like a situation the other side could exploit."
"Hmmmmmm. And you had no prior knowledge about the orks attacking our guys to snatch the slitch?"
"No." Sticks said, "I knew nothing about the orks' attack."
The silence that followed seemed endless but eventually Gannon said "Well, he's not lying, I just get the feeling that there is more to the story than we are hearing." After a long challenging look at the teenager, Gannon pulled up a seat. Narf and Brutus also sat in preparation for further conversation. When Narf signaled Max over to order soyakaff, the dwarf attempted to remove Sticks' jacket and the thank you note beneath it. Tragically, Brutus' help caused the note to drop to the floor where the lieutenant picked it up.
"Hey, ya dropped......" Brutus began but found his hand empty as Gannon snapped the note from between the talkative lieutenant's fingers. Narf, who had pulled an ancient .44 automag from the small of his back as he sat down, caught the flash of anxiety on Sticks face when the note fell and casually pointed the hand cannon at the Escrimador. The teenager recognized the threat and remained motionless as Gannon read aloud-"To my nameless hero. Words cannot express my gratitude for your rescue. I had been under constant guard since agreeing to Winston's hateful proposal, and was unable to effect an escape before you came. Whenever I showed any resistance to the monster my poor husband was punished terribly. Your daring intervention has given us a new lease on life. Your courage and generosity will always be honored and from the bottom of my heart I thank you for giving us this chance. My prayer is that you find as much joy as you have given and that someday we can thank you in person. Sincerely, Julia Longwood Riley."
The grin on Gannon's face as he refolded the note was even dimly reflected on Brutus'. Before either ganger could breathe a word of threat, however, Narf's arm whipped out with the speed of a striking cobra to smash the ancient handblaster against the side of Sticks' head. Robbed of consciousness by the pistol whipping, the teenager did not hear Narf's order "Bring 'em" or Gannon's exiting words to Maxie- "Thanks for your help, shorty. You can keep the jacket. Just about your size ain't it? Ha ha ha."
When the door closed the thunderstruck dwarf muttered "Oh, drek"

*********

"Now I don't want ta scare you, but this next part is not very nice." Uncle George told the sea of small faces. "The trolls were very angry at Sticks for killing their brother gangers and for freeing their captive. They were big strong trolls and they weren't fighting fair. They were just beating Sticks and beating him. They would have beat him to death but Bobby Winston stepped in. You see, he thought everyone was like him. He thought that either Sticks was working for somebody else who wanted Julia or that Sticks had stolen her for himself. He just couldn't believe that anybody would risk his life for something when he wasn't getting anything out of it. So he insisted that Gannon heal the worst of the injuries before Sticks died. Then he questioned him about where Julia was and when he got no answer, let the trolls beat him again. This went on for three days and three nights. Of course, Gannon wasn't healing everything that was hurt on Sticks, just the stuff that might make him croak....."

***********

"Make it easy on yourself." The voice whispered for what seemed the thousandth time. "Tell me where the woman is and all of the pain will go away. No more bleeding, no more agony. Peace. Just tell me where the woman is."
When the teenager weakly shook his head he found himself being lifted by a massive hand covering his face. He tried to scream as his feet left the floor and his entire weight hung from the face grip, but the muffled groan which escaped his broken lips was cut short when his body impacted the wall across the room. The bloody smear he left as he slid to the floor joined the drying stains his earlier "interviews".
"Don't kill him!" Winston squeaked in alarm. "I keep telling you! We need him to find Julia!"
"Relax" Narf said as he nodded for Turbo, Cully's biggest fan and the current interrogator to explain. "Yeah, relax. Little monkey's tough. He likes being a rubber ball. Dontcha, monkey boy?" The troll asked as he ambled over to the bleeding teenager. "See, he ain't dead." he said as he lifted the groaning semi-conscious form by his hair. To demonstrate his point Turbo shook the bleeding figure until a weak moan issued from it. "He's just a little tired from bouncing. Let'em rest while we have dinner and he'll be ready ta bounce some more, wontcha pal?" For good measure Turbo tossed Sticks into the corner on his way out.
"Narf, I don't know." Winston said as the group began to leave the store room. "He looks really bad. Maybe we should......"
"Gannon" The gang leader said.
The shaman stepped forward and explained "Look, his spine is intact and whenever his ribs punch through anything internal I heal it. Same thing whenever Turbo's fist ruptures an organ. Right now he's got....." glancing at the Escrimador with briefly closed eyes he continued, "....a pair of dislocated shoulders, a concussion, broken leg, jaw, cheek, nose, 8 ribs, collar bone, 7 fingers, shattered eardrum, that eye looks pretty much dead, assorted separations, sprains and, well, you can see he's got a couple a scratches, but he ain't gonna die till he tells us what we wanta know. Let's get somethin ta eat."
Minutes after the Rust Stilettos made their exit, the broken doll figure in the corner made a groaning one-legged crawl to the room's air vent. Tears of frustration mingled with tears of pure pain as the teenager attempted, yet again, to pry the cover off the air vent with mangled fingers. Each time Turbo finished playing bouncy ball, Sticks worked on removing the vent's grill. He'd had no food for three days but considering how badly his jaw was shattered he did not think he actually could eat anything, so hunger wasn't a major distraction, but the thirst! His throat felt so grainy and raw and the vent seemed so solid despite his best efforts that he began to consider surrendering the next time the trolls came back. Even death was preferable to this agony.
As he slumped against the vent and contemplated just letting go, his father's voice came back to him. "Focus, Angel, focus! Pain is part of life. The dead feel no pain. As long as you feel pain you are still alive and as long as you live you have a chance. FOCUS! Use the pain to keep yourself in the here and now. Angel! Do not give up, my son."
The images associated with those words came flooding back. He was 12 years old and his father had matched him against an older and more experienced student. Within seconds Rocky Carroca had landed three extremely painful hits with his escrima batons and the boy who now called himself Sticks wanted nothing so much as to run back to mama's arms and have her soothe the pain away. His father/master's words were so earnest, so intense, so persuasive, however, that young Angel Cabrales did not surrender to the pain. Instead he focused on his opponent, using the pain as his father advised. He watched as Rocky's will and ability faded in the face of a 12 year old's superhuman determination and eventually won the match.
Sticks remembered his father's praise most of all. "I am so proud of you, my son. Not because of the match or your speed or strength or technique. I am proud, Angel, because you showed true courage and a warrior's heart today. You overcame your own body to fight on and that is the spirit of Escrima. You are a man, my son."
"Papa" the broken boy breathed softly through the haze of agony as he found his focus and began again slowly, painstakingly unscrewing the fasteners that held the air vent in place.

************

"Hey bouncy baaallllllll" Turbo sang as he entered the store room. "Time to plaaayyyyy." Greeted by total silence the Troll said "Where are ya, Monkey boy? Ya hiding? I'll......... FRAG!!!!" He exclaimed as he saw the detached air vent. 'FRAG, FRAG, FRAG!" ran the litany as he stuck his huge head into the small opening. With no sign of the teenager he bellowed a final "FRAG!!!" and ran out to sound the alarm.
As soon as his torturer exited the room, Sticks crawled out from behind a large packing crate and made his way to the door. He was in so much pain that his single functioning eye was relaying distorted and blurred images of his surroundings as he attempted to crawl to freedom. Only the amazing focus that he maintained allowed him to function at all while drowning in a sea of pain.
Once through the store room door he crawled down the hall to a doorless closet. He had barely pulled his broken leg into the tiny alcove when he heard the returning Trolls running to investigate his disappearance. He tried to take a deep breath in preparation for another move when his body finally overrode his will and he passed out from the pain.
"I'm tellin ya, da little fragger is gone. He's in da fraggin air vent someplace. I come back ta bounce him an......"
"Shut up" Narf said as he looked at Gannon.
The shaman, rather than studying the vent, busied himself with examining the rest of the room. Satisfied that the teenager was not hidden somewhere in the room, he was about to make a pronouncement when Brutus burst in.
"WE'RE UNDER ATTACK!" the lieutenant yelled. "FRAGGIN PIGGIES SNEAK ATTACKED US! WE GOT CRUSH IN DA BUILDING!"
All thought of search for the missing prisoner evaporated at these words. Shaman, torturer and gang leader all filled their hands with tools of destruction and ran out to find what work they could.

*********

"Well there, young fella, you gave us one helluva scare. And for an entire week, I might add." Max said as Sticks opened his eyes. Recalling the extent of his injuries the Escrimador tensed in preparation for waves of agony, but found that he was in no pain at all. As his brow furrowed in surprise over this state of affairs, he heard a woman's voice say "Well, don't keep in suspense, tell him what happened."
Max gave a preemptory "hurumph" and asked "What's the last thing you remember, kid?"
"I uh.....I faked an escape and....... hid and then crawled to a closet, I think. The Trolls should have found me but from the looks of things they didn't. I don't know. I remember the closet and after that......nothing."
"Probably just as well," the dwarf said philosophically. "Considering how badly you were busted up, it's not surprising that you don't recall it all. Let me bring you up to speed. My guess is that right after they found you gone the Stilettos got attacked. The Crush tried a sneak attack on Narf's base and killed off a good number of trolls before the opposition got organized. Unfortunately, once they got going, the Stilettos proved to be way too much for the orks. All out battle with no quarter asked or given and the trolls had heavier weapons and a magic user. Wiped out the attack force, took the battle to Jocko's HQ, wiped out every tusker in the gang and burned down the building for good measure. Clean sweep, including Bryant, who ate some kinda missile in a huge case of overkill."
"While this is going on, and I'm talking about total chaos on the street, you somehow managed to crawl all the way to my back room. I heard yer groans and came in ready ta blast you. Didn't recognize you, you were in such bad shape, but something kept me from pullin the trigger. Anyway, I eventually figured out it was you, but you were really on death's door. I made some calls and uh, speaking of which, I got a couple more ta make so, if you'll excuse me." Without a backwards glance, Max hustled out of the room.
"His goodness embarrasses him" The female voice said. Sticks focused on a strong looking woman in surgical scrubs. "I'm Doctor Randall, by the way" she said. "I'm one of the people that the Blue Max called." Seeing the question on her patient's face, Dr. Randall asked "You didn't know he was THE Blue Max? One of the toughest and finest shadowrunners Seattle has ever seen. The best of Riley's Rowdies." Sticks noted without understanding the wistful tone that crept into the doctor's voice as she described the dwarf. "Suffice it to say that my debt to that gentleman is great enough that your surgery, like SD's healing spells, cost you nothing."
Again responding to Sticks' unvoiced question, Doc Randall said "Oh, yes. You had to have both in abundance, young man. Your right eye and ear had to be replaced and the damage to your arm was so extensive that magic alone wouldn't have repaired it all. Can you......do you remember how they did that?"
With a shudder Sticks replied "Three days of playing the game of whipit and bouncy ball with a troll. My arm was the handle and the rest of me was the whip in whipit. I was also the bouncy ball."
"I'm sorry," The doctor said, "I'd never seen anything like it. Honestly, considering the extent of the injuries, it's amazing you survived at all. In any event, it's not all bad news. On the plus side, although nobody can tell from appearances, you now have a Cyberdine Smartlink II system, an ear that can hear a gnat fart at 100 yards and your right eye has 20x zoom, low light and thermographic capabilities. We'll schedule some orientation time for you to work with......"
".....the metal which now pollutes your body." The tall, thin ork said as he entered. "Do not believe all that you are told young one, SNAKE could have made you whole if only......"
".....If only he had given over his future to serve your totem." Doctor Randall interrupted. "That wasn't a choice that the Blue Max felt anyone else could make for him, SD and you know he was right." Turning back to her patient Doc Randall continued, "This, by the way, is SD Pliskin, the Snake shaman who used his healing magic in your recovery."
"Do not thank me, youngling." SD said as Sticks began to hold out his hand. "It was not for you that SNAKE opened his coils. Your fortune is that SNAKE has a long memory and the debt to the Blue Max was too great to deny."
"Thank you both just the same." Sticks said, "If my small abilities can ever be of aid to either of you, they are yours." The sincerity of the teenager's tone struck a cord with both healers who nodded their acceptance of the offer. Before anything more could be said, Max bustled back into the room.
"Sticks, I'm glad you survived. These good folks will help with your recovery, but I've got a business to run so I'm gonna take off........
"Wait." The Escrimador interrupted. "I will go with you. I have not finished what I set out to do."
The pandemonium with which this statement was greeted would have terrified most battle-scared, hard-bitten, worldly-wise denizens of the shadows into at least considering a different course of action. Sticks however, used the focus which had given his crippled, bleeding body the power to crawl three blocks to safety in the midst of a firefight, to ignore these objections and get out of bed. Whether it was in amazement at this feat or recognition that the teenager had the will of a juggernaut, all argument ceased when the teenager got up.
And promptly resumed when his consciousness shut down and he collapsed back into the bed. The teenager was blissfully unaware of anything at all that evening as his body shut down for recovery.

*******

When Uncle George got quiet, several of the first timers thought the story was finished and attempted conversation about the whizzer tale. For their trouble they received various hard looks, elbows and occasional kick from the more experienced listeners. When everyone understood that the tale was not done, a profound silence settled around the fire.

"For the next three days," Uncle George finally resumed, "Young Sticks learned how his new eye and ear worked and practiced with his smartgun link. Each day Max, who felt responsible for his young friends injuries, came and told him tales of Riley's Rowdies and shadowrunning 'back in the day'. Because Sticks was PATIENT....." (an accusatory glance followed this pointed reference) .....he LEARNED some things that he could use, which helped keep him alive."

"One particular question that the teenager returned to in his conversations with the dwarf involved how a mundane could take out a magic user. Max's wider experience allowed him to give Sticks some ideas which he might never have discovered otherwise. So, Doc Randall is checking Sticks' healing, SD even stops in to make vague but ominous sounding pronouncements and Max is there every day to see how his young protégé is doing and to tell tall tales of better times. Then, one morning as Doc Randall is checking Stick's smartgun link, SD comes in looking like a snake of ill omen.

********

"Something wrong, SD?" Sticks asked as he studied the tension in the shaman. At first the ork attempted indignance at the young man's presumption in attempting to pierce the veil of mystery the shaman cloaked himself in. Then the underlying worry caused SD to blurt out. "The trolls have the Blue Max".

Ignoring Doc Randall, the teenager immediately began dressing as he demanded, "How did it happen?"

"Gannon, may his horn wither, summoned a spirit which was able to tell him that after escaping you crawled to the coffeeshop. Since Winston is still trying to recapture Julia and to do that he needs you, he's got the Rusted Stilettos sweating the Blue Max for data on your location. What will you do?"

"I will go and end this." Sticks said. "May I use this?" the teenager asked the Doctor as he held up the smartlinked Savalette Guardian in his right hand.

"Save the Blue Max and it's yours." the woman doctor replied. "Just let me get some extra clips....."

"And a bottle of DMSO, please doctor." Sticks interrupted, "I will pay you....."

"By bringing the dwarf back here," The doctor said as she rushed from the room.

"What can I do?" SD asked with an uncharacteristic lack of melodrama.

Sticks hurriedly told him.

*******

Sticks noted that Crimson Crush headquarters had been reduced to a lot full of blackened bricks and charred lumber as he walked the empty streets of Devil's Corner. His reappearance was apparently no surprise to the depleted Rusted Stilettos as the nine remaining gangers piled out of their HQ behind Narf, Gannon, Brutus and Turbo. This last luminary had a squirming bundle under one arm. Grinning, he yelled out "Hey! Monkey Boy! Look! I got me a yo-yo!" And proceeded to hold one end of the rope wrapped around Max up at chest height. The dwarf spun to the other end of the rope where he hung suspended from arms cruelly twisted and tied behind his back. His sharp inhalation of pain at the end of the ride would have been audible even without Sticks' augmentation.

While the Rusted Stilettos watched, Gannon became invisible, Narf chambered a round in his venerable Remington Roomsweeper, Brutus slapped an ammo box into his FN-MAG medium machine gun and Turbo dropped and kicked his 'yo-yo' into immobility while grinning at the distant Escrimador. Sticks very much wanted to wipe the grin from the sadistic Troll's brainless face, but knew he had to get closer before the battle was joined. He ran at the gangers.

Turbo's whoop of delight became one of consternation and surprise after the charging teenager's zig zagging run stopped abruptly. Sticks pulled out a rubber bulb which he squeezed at empty air to his right. When Gannon's gasping form suddenly appeared, dropping to his knees from the area which had just been sprayed, only Narf had the experience to recognize that the teenager had somehow penetrated the shaman's invisibility spell and bypassed his bullet barriers. "Drek" The close mouthed troll breathed as he calculated the shaman's chance at survival. A particularly adroit dodge of Brutus' initial burst of medium machine gun fire reduced those odds to negligible when the rounds missed the fast moving teenager yet found the stationary form of Gannon's paralyzed body which was behind him.

The looks of anger and embarrassment exchanged by Narf and his lieutenant over this particular mishap was brief. Sticks spared both parties by putting a three round burst into Brutus' lower jaw and throat. The Guardian's hollow points took enough of the troll's upper spinal column with them to make Narf's intended correction entirely academic.

Turbo, hastening to pick up Brutus' weapon, (which he had always secretly coveted) was oblivious to the fact that the teenager running towards him had already demonstrated an ability to hit a target in that area. Obligingly, Sticks repeated the demonstration of his new found firearm prowess when Turbo bent to arm himself, by putting a three round burst through the crown of the troll's skull. Sadly for surprisingly few, this also rendered Turbo's desires, intentions, aspirations and dreams largely moot.

Narf's fatal error, as it turned out, was that in observing the effects of the Escrimador's actions and in thinking about how the cripple who had escaped 10 days earlier was capable of such feats, he delayed 2.4 seconds too long in taking action himself. This delay, brief though it was, allowed Sticks to fire as Narf was still pointing his shotgun. An unexpected but fortuitous result of this hesitation was that the three round burst from the teenager's weapon sent one bullet burning along Narf's cheek, another through the orbital above his right eye and the third into the barrel of the roomsweeper, causing a backfire which embedded shrapnel from the weapon into the gang leader's higher motor function areas, hastening his journey to another plane of existence.

"Ya see, gun play ain't like any other kinda fighting. You are always attacking. Always, always, always. You slow, you stop, you pause to catch a breath, look around, plan , analyze, it's like you're asking for a visit from da grim reaper. Ya gotta make da other guy pause, make him analyze and that'll make him invite death ta visit. What you did with Cully, you know, waiting for openings, I know dat let ya beat a tough troll with just a couple of pieces of wood, but in a gun fight you'd be dead. No hesitation. Hesitation means death. Always attack!"

With Max's advice ringing in his ears, Sticks emptied his pistol, taking out two more Rusted Stilettos. It was so easy to hit his targets when the red dot showed him exactly what he would be shooting each time he squeezed the trigger. Remembering one of Max's other major themes, "Count yer shots!" when the Guardian's clip was empty he thumbed the release while doing a forward shoulder role. He managed to insert the new clip without breaking stride and put a single shot through a bare chested Troll's heart as he ran. When his second attempt at a single heart shot failed because of some form of armored underwear, the teenager went back to putting the red dot he saw in his eye on his opponents head and squeezing off a three round burst.

Four additional metahumans died before Sticks had to again reload. Unfortunately, between his recent healing and his time recuperating, this next attempt to reload found him out of breath and stationary in a doorway. The roar of a minigun and whine of its ricochets said "See, I told you" in an eerie imitation of Max's voice. "Yeah, yeah, keep moving" the teenager muttered as he picked up a hand sized rock. Briefly exposing himself he gave the stone a stiff armed, high arching throw and ran for all he was worth as his opponents watched the incoming "grenade". He eliminated the two remaining gangers while they paused to analyze his deception.

Sticks then made his way to Max's groaning form. He was cutting through the ropes when an unlikely figure in a full suit of MILSPEC medium armor, carrying an Ares High Velocity Assault Rifle, a bandoleer of rifle grenades, and perhaps 40 lbs of additional armament and ammo lumbered out into the street. The teenager immediately seized the initiative by shouting "It's all over. Take that drek off and come help me. I think he's hurt."

Bobby Winston, never a warrior to begin with, had intended to intimidate the teenager into sparing his life. The fact that the terrifying young man who had gunned down the remains of the dread Rusted Stilettos was asking for his help did much to reassure the weapons merchant. Seeing the impatient beckoning gestures from the empty handed and preoccupied youth did provide a moment of temptation for the gun runner to simply open up with the assault rifle, but as he casually turned to bring the weapon to bear, the teenager got up and moved lithely forward saying "C'mon, c'mon! That crap must weigh a ton. You've got to get it off so you can help me carry Max."

Seeing that his moment had passed the gun merchant began divesting himself of both weapons and armor. When he was down to the fatigues that were worn under military grade armor, he made two alarming discoveries. One, the unarmed teenager who seemed so impatient for his aid, did, in fact have a very large pistol in his hand. Two, the unconscious dwarf he was to carry to aid was both conscious and himself approaching.

"Hold on now, fellas. Hold on. We can work this out. Make a deal. I've got creds. Certified. 20k. Two of them. They're all yours if you just let me walk away. You know I never hurt you, Sticks. I never laid a hand on you. And, uh, and when those pounders had nearly killed you, I got that shaman shoegeek to heal you, didn't I. C'mon fellas." Recognizing the look on both faces Winston burst into tears saying "Please fellas, oh geeze."

Sticks was still young enough and naive enough to be embarrassed when a grown man wet himself and began to cry as he begged for his life. As evil as he knew Winston to be and as conscious as he was of the torture he had undergone at this man's order, he knew he could not kill the wretch in cold blood. Fortunately Max understood the teenager's thought process well enough to know when Sticks decided to let the black marketeer walk away. The Blue Max, however, did not share the Escrimador's plans.

A high pitched wwhhhiiiiizzzzzzz preceded the wet plop of a dropped melon. Sticks spun in time to see Max reattaching the last joint of his pointer finger just as the headless body of Bobby Winston collapsed to the street. Before the teenager could say a word, Max held up his hand and said "Think about it. Do you really want to criticize me for putting a dangerous mad dog to sleep? I didn't think so. And uh, speaking of dangerous dogs, how did you do Gannon?"

"I zeroed in on his heartbeat with my new ear. I could hear where he generally was. I sprayed the area with a mix of DMSO, which I got from Doc Randall and Deathrattler venom that I got from SD. The DMSO forces absorption of the venom just like a bite and I figured he wouldn't have a spell barrier against getting wet. Brutus actually finished the job with his machine gun when he missed me and blew the shit out of his shaman.

"Not bad kid. Seems you actually do listen." Humming to himself, Max began searching the body and picking up the gear. "Well, my friend, I believe you now have a chance in the trade. With the weapons and armor we collect here, plus whatever goodies Winston packed in his car, you have the tools you'll need, not to mention the cash....."

"Wait, Max. I didn't do this........"

".....I know, I know. You didn't come here for this, you just wanted to stop the gang fighting from spreading into other areas. Well, it sure as hell won't spread now. Now, let's look at this logically. Winston's car. Have you got a car?

"No, but I don't know how to drive." Sticks said.

"So, you'll learn. Eventually having a car will be of use to you. The weapons? I guess you can sell them, but the day may come when you want to buy many of these same weapons so holding onto them against future needs just seems logical." Seeing that the teenager was again about to complain about his lack of familiarity with the firearms Max continued, "And I'd be happy to to show you all about the care and feeding of each and every one of them."

"Well.......I guess"

"There's no guess about it. I can warehouse this stuff for you and as you need it or want to learn about it, you come back and see me. Now, the money. Son, this nuyen is just another tool. Its just grease to help you get something done that needs to be done. Everybody you are concerned about got rewarded. Julia got Riley and vice versa. I bet they keep the 2k nuyen for the rest of their lives as a remembrance of your daring rescue. Doc Randall and SD got to pay long-standing debts, so they feel happy and I got a part of town that can live again and a friend who risked his life to save mine. What more do I want? Take an old dwarf's advice, don't waste what you will someday need."

"Thanks, Max."

"Thank me later. We gotta a lot of stuff to gather up."

***********

The applause around the campfire went on for nearly 5 minutes. Uncle George accepted it as his due but was secretly pleased with the reaction. When the applause died down and Dorothy Lynn came forward as the spokesman for all the kids a hush fell over the crowd.

"Uncle George, we all wanna thank you for sharing yer food an tellin us such a whizzer story." The big eyed urchin said with as much formality as her tiny form could contain.

Theatrically looking around the campsite, Uncle George said "Thank me later. We gotta lot of stuff to gather up." as he gave the kids a broad wink.

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