Safehouses, Shadowrun, 4th Edition
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Writing
Raymond Croteau
Development
Peter M. Andrews Jr.
Art
Prooing
Patrick Goodman
Layout & Design
Matt Heerdt
Art Director
Brent Evans
Shadowrun Line Developer
Jason M. Hardy
© 2012 The Topps Company, Inc. All Rights Reserved. Shadowrun
and Matrix are registered trademarks and/or trademarks of The
Topps Company, Inc., in the United States and/or other countries.
Catalyst Game Labs and the Catalyst Game Labs logo are
trademarks of InMediaRes Productions, LLC.
Robert Ruffolo, Chris Lewis,
Kjell Eriksson
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attention to. She worked hard on it. She gets a cookie.
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Current Time: 28 Feb 2074, 1348 hrs
S
afehouSeS
Posts/Files tagged with
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“I can’t see a thing in this helmet,” Kane complained again. His
voice was only audible through an encrypted connection; his helmet
carried a full cornucopia of integrated systems to make it efective in
nearly any combat situation. he only problem with the thing was
a complete lack of peripheral vision. he most wanted man in over
seventeen countries was trying to scan the crowd for trouble while
trying to blend in at the same time, and that’s the kind of job for which
it’s nice to have a full range of vision. It helped that he was not the
only person wearing this type of armor, as a dozen people or more in
varying degrees of physical condition walked around in similar outits.
Of course, theirs were plastic; his was armor-grade ceramics that could
stop a rile round.
“It was designed for a science-iction latscreen vid a century
ago, dear, not for real-life combat situations,” Kat said, “And with
your face, even a good nanopaste disguise wouldn’t work.” Kat, by
contrast, could get away with the nanopaste. he disguise she was
wearing had given her skin a greenish tint and ceremonial scars while
adjusting her facial biometrics to get by the rotodrones that were
scanning random faces in the crowd and comparing them to criminal
databases. Her face had already been surgically changed since she had
arrived in country, so the nanopaste served as icing on the cake. Her
face’s current appearance worked with what she was wearing. She
had simple brown robes that were accented by a synthleather black
belt holding a sword hilt with a memory blade. Kat had modiied the
blade to have a green tint when it was extended—Kane igured she
did it just to give it a futuristic look. She carried a few other pseudo-
futuristic items that had no function whatsoever, and her commlink
was mixed in with them. hey were simply two individuals in a crowd
of people wearing armor and robes or other odd clothes, walking
around in the heat of the midday sun.
San Diego had gone to hell ater Aztlan had taken over the city,
but the nerdfest convention allowed for lots of opportunities to move
around in public without drawing undue attention as people dressed
as science-iction and fantasy characters from centuries of media in
celebration of their “unique lifestyle.” hey got to feel special, the con
got to make money, and the Aztechnology PR machine got tons of
images of tourists happily visiting one of their cities.
“Can I just take this of and be noticed? Maybe kill a few of them
once they notice me? I’m pretty sure that would clear up some of the
crowds for us,” Kane said. He ingered the century-old SMG on his hip.
he gun was a clever piece of gear. It had a few add-on pieces that didn’t
do anything at all, but they made it look like everybody else’s fake gun.
It also had an exceptionally well-concealed guncam linked to the optics
in the helmet. It wasn’t a smartlink, but it would do. he stubby little
magazine in the SMG only held a half-dozen rounds of old-style cased
ammunition, with one round in the chamber. But the larger, curved
magazines held 34-rounds of death in the pouches of his belt, and he
had six of those ready and waiting.
Kat chuckled and tickled Kane’s helmeted chin, “You know,
there’s a way to live that does not involve always having people chase
you or shoot at you,” she said. hen she kissed his faceplate
Kane sighed. He hated Aztlan, detested bringing Kat back here
ater all that had happened to her when they had both been cut of
and abandoned by the oicers that ordered them into the country. he
thought of leaving a job with a full load of ammo and no kills made
his face twitch into a scowl. It helped, a little, that many of the people
who had been responsible for that betrayal were going to be publicly
embarrassed by this job, possibly so much so that one might even eat
her own pistol. here was some satisfaction in that, but Kane would
have rather have fed it to her without bullets, and let her choke on the
barrel. But Kat’s plan had a larger chance of success. And Kane had
shed rivers of Aztlan blood in the past, and he had conidence that he
would do so again some other time.
Now they just had to survive long enough to get out of the
country again. hey entered the hotel, walking like just another couple.
Kat talked to the desk clerk in Spanish and a little bit of hushed Latin
as Kane scanned the crowd. He hated that she only had that funny
sword to protect herself. He had seven shots in the gun, which would
mean seven dead men, but then he’d have to reload, and reloading
while other people were shooting back was never a fun thing.
Finally, Kat got the keycard, and they went to a freight elevator
marked “Out Of Order” in hovering words of Spanish, English, and
Japanese. Ater making sure they were safe and not being observed,
she swiped the card, and they moved to the floor labeled “Under
Renovation.” he walls were uninished and unpainted. he lamps
were bare, long LED bulbs, and the carpet had been ripped up. he
rooms were barely serviceable, but they were rooms, and in this city, at
this time, that was worth something. Kat and Kane had paid almost
as much as the people in the penthouse were paying, and despite the
quality of the room, they were happy to do so. hey didn’t have many
amenities, but they were where they wanted to be. And they had access
to room service.
Once they were in the room, Kane passed a few sensors to Kat
from his utility belt as he slowly peeled of the bulky suit piece by
piece. She took the equipment and scanned the room for bugs or
transmitters.
“Clean,” she said ater a few moments.
He sat on the double bed, naked from the waist up. “So, what
does your, um, ‘order’? Is that the right word? Yeah, what does your
order wear under those robes?” Kane asked. He’d heard the same lame
pick-up line as they walked down the street. But in his case, the line
worked.
LIgHT IN THE SHADOWS
Posted by: /dev/grrl
>
So, you’re on the job. You’re doing well. You’ve made it into some-
place you’re not supposed to be, and so far no one has noticed.
But then, the job goes bad. We all know that can happen in a
million ways, but for whatever reason, the dark corners you were
trying to work in are now bathed in light. People are looking for
you. Cops kicked your door in, and one of them’s giving the third
degree to your kaff machine while another’s grilling the toaster
in the bathroom. No-necked hired goons are asking pointed
questions at your favorite bar and roughing up the drunks there
just for kicks. No one wants to touch you with a three-meter stun
baton—except for the folks trying to collect the price on your head.
It’s time to lay low, but even the third storm drain on the right
seems like it’s too obvious a hiding place.
You need a safehouse. /dev/grrl has graciously researched
and written this report for us. Some of you know this stuff, some
of you don’t, but it’s always good to have a refresher, especially
for our less-experienced newcomers.
>
FastJack
>
“Graciously” my skinny ass! You came down on me harder for
this than all my teachers, parents, and “Edu-Tainment and
Employment Future Advisers” combined! I had to write this as,
ugh, hard copy. With some torture instrument called a “number
two pencil.” My wrist still hurts.
>
/dev/grrl
>
‘Jack, what’s this about “less-experienced newcomers?” We got
some new blood coming in?
>
Stone
>
Not at the moment. Sorry, I misspoke. Anyway, /dev/grrl, here’s
your inal grade: Pass on the research, fail on penmanship. I want
100,000 lines saying, “I will make my handwriting legible” by the
end of next week.
>
FastJack
>
Harsh. Can’t she tag some stuff instead?
>
Slamm-0!
>
I must be getting soft, or remembering my roots. Fine, 100,000
lines or 100 transit vehicles spray painted. No stencils, no ARO
gadgets. Traditional, old-fashioned spray paint.
>
FastJack
>
Ew. Rough choice.
>
/dev/grrl
Around two months ago, my parents had to go on an unpaid
mandatory chaperoned networking and training vacation in Las
Vegas at the Daniel Howling Coyote Memorial Convention
Center.
4
Safehouses
>
If I ever needed another reason to never become a suit, this place
is it. It’s the only place in Vegas without a slot machine. That’s like
watching a BTL with a standard sim module input, for God’s sake.
If you’re going to go there, go all the way!
>
Turbo Bunny
As is usual for convention seasons the hotels were over
booked, and because they don’t understand the power of bribing
the staf, my parents ended up being sent of to a sleazy motel well
of the strip rather than the ritzy place they saved up for. hey
didn’t get their deposit back, either.
Well, they found themselves and their “security expert” (who
was just as lost outside of corpville as they were) surrounded by
gamblers, low-lifes, prostitutes, and other trying to hustle their way
through the city, including some people that they were sure were,
gasp, blood-soaked shadowrunners (but were probably just some
kids looking to catch a show at Cranial Blow). hey had never
been so scared in their lives, and much of their expense account
that the company had “graciously” given them was dedicated to
taxis helping keep them as far away from the leabag as possible
at most times.
Needless to say, I had to bite my tongue to keep myself from
bursting out laughing when they told me about “how close they
came to death” and “that they could see the massive amount of
guns under the armor-plated trenchcoats” that the “terrorist shad-
owrunners” were wearing. I decided instead to share the joke with
FastJack, who just nodded.
Instead of laughing, he asked a few questions about safe-
houses and bolt holes and other things that I have to admit I didn’t
know nearly enough about. So, instead of sharing a joke with the
old man, I got homework instead. One I can’t fob of on a custom
agent program to do because he wasn’t looking for things you can
pick out of standard textbooks.
So I did it. It wasn’t as fun as tracking down Kane, but I did
it. And now you get to read it.
BOLT HOLES, SAFEHOUSES,
AND gOINg OFF THE gRID
When it comes to inding a place to stay out of sight while
the streets are too hot, you better know what to ask for. here are
a lot of jargon terms, and if you don’t know the lingo you won’t
get what you need. In North America, there are three major ways
of deining laying low: bolt holes, safehouses, and of the grid. In
other areas—well, I don’t know. North America is where I live, so
that’s what I’m covering now. Sorry.
>
Well, at least you admit that there’s more to the world than North
America. I’ve had to deal with the opposite opinion far too often.
>
2XL
Bolt Holes
Bolt holes are prearranged places that have been set up by an
individual or a team for the strict purpose of disappearing of the
face of the earth. hey are usually set up in advance for that speciic
purpose; someone uses a SIN to arrange for the place, pays for it
in cash, stocks it with non-perishable supplies, then never visits it
again until it’s needed. If someone is shadowing you for months in
anticipation of hitting you, they still won’t know anything about
5
Safehouses
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