Announcements: Initiative: Promoting Forum Roleplay » Universe of the Month! » Finding Universes to Join (and making yours more visible!) » Guide To Universes On RPG » Starter Locations & Prompts for Newcomers » RPG Chat — the official app » USERNAME CHANGES » Suggestions & Requests: THE MASTER THREAD »

Latest Discussions: Satire & Comedy » Platonic numbers » No complaints (a little bit of rappin) » Any multi-player roleplay videogamers here? » Needing a woman's perspective on a concept » Gluts and Gaps » Universal Basic Income » Impending Pursuit Q&A » Eudaimonia » Loot! » Natural Kinds » I have a funny idea » Life in the 21st century. » Song of the Runes » Plato’s Beard » Clues » Nihilism » Strange Tales From Hadean » Art Gulag [ Come get this Commish! ] » Visibility of Private Universes & Profile Customisation »

Players Wanted: Kingdom come looking for roleplayers » The Last Dragon! » Roleplay Return for 1 x 1 » Players wanted for a science fiction adventure. » Players needed for Fantasy Romance reboot » One(1) male & Two(2) Female Roles OPEN <3 » Talmora: Kingdom of magic » Looking For A New Partner » Hellboy characters » 18+ Writing Partner [Fantasy, Romance, Etc.] » 18+, Multi-Para to Novella Writers please! » Looking for roleplayers » Fun tale full of angels, demons, and humans » Looking for roleplayers » A Fairytale World in Need of Heroes & Villains! » Are You a Crime Addict? » Wuxia RP » Looking for roleplayers » New Realistic Roleplay - Small World Life Ù©( ´・ш・)و » Mentors Wanted »

Snippet #2590702

located in Golden Tower, a part of Shadowrun: Rise of APEX, one of the many universes on RPG.

Golden Tower

Saeder-Krupp Heavy Industries Company's seat of power in their large portion of West Berlin, Golden Tower can be seen across the entirety of the massive city, stretching far above everything around it. It serves as an icon of corporate power in Berlin.


Characters Present

Character Portrait: Grendel
Tag Characters » Add to Arc »


Add Footnote »

0.00 INK

<January 14, 0100 hours, Aztechnology Atlotl Pyramid, West Berlin>
Shouting and yelling rings through the narrow hallway as Aztechnology security forces and a rather large band of Shadowrunners duke it out, bullets and bolts of lightning and flame whizzing past as the forces fire near-blindly through the screen of dense smoke. Someone thought it would be a good idea to throw a few smoke grenades into the mix, despite neither opponent possessing infrared imaging systems. The balance is tipped, however, when the security turrets stationed at the end of the hallway suddenly turn upon their masters, the whole of the Aztechnology security team going down in a spray of red mist, gunned down from behind by their own system. The Spider has pierced the fierce defences of the Atlotl Pyramid at last, and the Shadowrunners rejoice as the firing stops.
"Ah, brilliant!" exclaims one of them, a wiry mage-type who can't be older than nineteen, "We showed those drekheads!"
Their rigger -- the more traditional sort, opposed to the spider -- an obvious cram addict with wide eyes and twitchy, sporadic movements trailing a Doberman drone speaks up, then, looking about himself in a paranoid manner, "Aye, but let's not get too comfortable. More of them could be around any corner."
"Pff, with the firepower we've got?" interjects a large troll, apparently a weapons expert by the amount of heat he's packing, "It doesn't matter how many they send."

With that, the procession continues into the next area. This was going to be a milk run...or so they all thought. Before their spider shut down communications, an encrypted message got out to the local Knight Errant detachment -- the Azzies need a High-Threat Response Team, and it just so happens one is in the area. The team is at the pyramid only minutes after the message arrives, a small detachment of only three men and two women, of varying degrees of skill. Their leader, a massive-built troll with no apparent weaponry steps out of the APC that arrives on-scene, scanning the area for signs of life with his Neuro-HUD from behind his mask, his gaze sweeping over the entryway. Other than a massive hole blown in the pyramid's front entrance and a small group of the corpses of brave lobby employees who gave their lives to distract the Runners while the rest of their coworkers ran, there is little damage. No subtlety, Grendel thinks with disdain, before silently signaling the rest of his team that the area is safe. The team makes their way into the building, upon which they are confronted with two decidedly hostile autoturrets, which are quickly dispatched by the accompanying rigger's Microskimmer drone, a small saucer-shaped methane-powered extremely quick and extremely silent drone generally used for advanced recon purposes, but in this case repurposed as a tiny arsenal of rocket-propelled micromunitions and outfitted with three attached 9mm submachine guns.

While the decker remains in the lobby to hack the compromised security system back into friendly hands, the rest of the team continues onward. Before they hit the next pair of turrets, the system is already friendly again.
"Engage night vision, I'm cutting the lights," comes the decker's feminine, businesslike voice over the comms, and the team barely has enough time to comply before both the standard flourescent lighting and the red-tinged emergency lighting disengage, plunging the entire pyramid into pitch-blackness. She catches up with them moments later, and the team continues. Finally, they reach their destination, a vault in the very center of the pyramid, where the large group of Shadowrunners frantically attempt to find a way to open it. Most of them are dead before any of them know what's going on, silently eliminated with a brief series of muffled muzzle flashes and Grendel's powerful assassinations. In a matter of moments, the leader is the only one left, a willowy Elven Spider, presumably the one who had turned the security system against its own people. Before he can react, Grendel is upon him, his powerful fingers wrapping about the Spider's throat and lifting him into the air. "I don't care who sent you," states the low, gruff voice of the Knight Errant captain, "but you will inform them that if they hire another group of runners, they will be found and eliminated."

Suddenly, Grendel grasps the upper arm of the elf and pulls it off with minimal effort, a sickening pop and a tearing sound, the screams of the Elf piercing the darkness. Grendel quickly pulls a large patch from beneath his uniform and places it upon the wound, a hissing sound emanating from the area as it's quickly cauterised. "Your rigging days are over," he states as he pulls the induction datajack from the dismembered hand and drops the now-whimpering Elf to the ground. The team leaves the Pyramid with a sense of urgency, gone like shadows in the night with a pile of bodies in their wake. "Objectives complete," the troll states into his commlink.

Minutes later, as he is changing from his combat gear back into his suit, another communication comes in on a secure channel. His Neuro-HUD lets him know that it's from a Mister Johnson, one of the proxies corporations often use when they would prefer to keep their identity a secret. Normally, they would be contacting shadowrunners. It's rather odd that they deign to contact the Knight Errant this way. Grendel answers the call, but before he can even speak, the sly voice of Lofwyr, the Golden Dragon himself, comes through the speaker. "I need your services," he states, "and none may know of my involvement."
"You've gained my interest, Dragon. Go on," replies Grendel, as his HUD confirms that the job is authorised by the big boss himself.

An hour later, he and his team are gearing up for an incursion into East Berlin, the Kreuzbasar kiez. How odd that Lofwyr cared so much about some dingy non-threatening district in the middle of East Berlin as to send a HTR team in. Grendel was not one to question orders, however, and so he didn't. This would clearly be an easy job, as the Kreuzbasar was lightly defended, and his APC should be able to cut through those gang-riddled kiez's with hardly a scratch, given their shoddy weaponry and minimal training. And the pay was wonderful; his commission alone could buy him a yacht or two. "Alright, men," he states to his team as they walk to the black-painted APC whose engine has barely cooled down from their last job, "This is going to be a milk run. Get in, level the kiez, get out. We haven't any reliable tactical data on the area, so our strategy will have to be developed on the move. Understood?"

The rest of his team nods, and they step into the APC, which speeds off into the distance, the driver expertly navigating the empty early morning roads of West Berlin, a messenger of doom bringing the horsemen of the apocalypse to East Berlin's doorstep...