[NSFW] From the Archives: The C.L.U.E. Files

Moriah Silverleaf

Moriah Silverleaf

Ringleader, Mastermind, Instigator of Debauchery
I would like to preface this with all of the following is /not/ mine. However, this record - these archives are near and dear to my heart, and must be shared whenever possible.

To give you an idea of how old these files are (how old I am, and how much of a digital packrat I've become), I have kept them on record since I found them on the original dumpshock website, circa 2003. The only way you can find the original copy is to hunt in a very narrow window of time on the Internet Wayback Machine - unless someone else has resurrected it somewhere else. If they have, I am unaware.

If you tabletop game long enough, you will inevitably encounter situations like these. I post this as a precursor, as I am sincerely considering setting up a Shadowrun campaign.

Anyway, without further adieu, I present: The CLUE Files. 29 Case Files of Idiocy in the Shadows.. Be sure to check out my favorite, Case #23: The Body Electric!
 
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Please allow me to introduce myself. My name is Karen, and I've been GMing Shadowrun now over several years and multiple countries. Yes, an Honest-To-God female SRGM, who is affectionately (I hope) referred to by her players as 'The GM with PMS.' And don't think they're kidding :) Along with the dubious honour of GMing, I am also the President of the C.L.U.E. Foundation (Clueless Legions Unearthed and Exposed).

Over the course of my gaming history, I have been continually amazed at the ridiculous, bizarre, and at times downright hilarious situations gamers get their PC's into. Here in the archives of C.L.U.E. you will find the 'worst of the worst' stories sent to C.L.U.E. (accompanied by moans of disbelief and despair) by GMs and players around the globe.

However, in order to keep the files up to date, I need input from YOU, Gentle Readers. So:

GMs: Send me your worst five aspirin/six beer runs-gone-to-crap, and your "I don't BELIEVE they did that" situations.

Players: I need input from you as well, as eye-witnesses (or perpetrators). Tell me of your three hours of legwork runs blown to hell-and-back by acts of the Clueless. You, too, have stories to tell.

Using your input (subject to editing), C.L.U.E. provides the running public with a humorous look at the lighter side of this dark game we all know and love.

WARNING: The following contain complete disclosures of the existence of Cluelessness in the Shadows. Exposure to this material may be hazardous, as rampant Cluelessness has in some cases proven infectious.

Enjoy!

Contact C.L.U.E. at [email protected]
 
Hello, and welcome to the The C.L.U.E. Foundation (Clueless Legions Unearthed and Exposed). For this inaugural casefile, and in the spirit of the approaching holiday season, I present this tale of woe. Names have been withheld, but THEY KNOW who they are. Events are actual.

Dec 4th, 1997 - CASEFILE #1

It seemed to be a fairly straightforward job. Bodyguard a young child in response to an anonymous stalker. Yeah…. Right.

During a shopping trip to the mall, at the food court, the PhysAd, notices the child being watched. So, the two PCs decide to capture the watcher to discover the stalker's identity. After a major scuffle in front of Mister Crunchy, the watcher was subdued. Not finding a spot to interrogate the NPC in a busy mall the weekend before Christmas, they decide to "take this show on the road." Literally.

Leaving the child standing alone in the mall food court, the two PCs and their captive proceed to the Jeep they had BORROWED from a very powerful NPC, and proceed to tie the watcher up with cut-up seatbelts. As the two drive down a slow and busy Main Street, the Cat Shaman began to interrogate the NPC, which involved knives. The NPC, believing these two had at least enough clues so that they would not kill him in full view of witnesses, clamed up. The impatient PysAd decided to 'take matters into her own hands'. Twisting in the drivers seat, she reached back and tore out the eyeball of the NPC.

Now picture this in your mind. A busy downtown street. You and the family are driving around the shops.. Christmas music on the radio. And the driver of the Jeep beside you holding up a bloody eyeball, optic nerve and tendons hanging, while the spray of blood from the victim bathes the inside of the window in a lovely and festive shade of crimson.

Meanwhile, the Jeep ramps up onto the Highway, and the interrogation continues. The NPC, now terrified for his life, works loose of the makeshift seatbelt ropes, and scrambles to escape via the side window. The panicking Cat Shaman screams to the PhysAd to "STOP THE CAR". The PhysAd hits the brakes, and the car comes to a screeching halt from about 120 km/hour. The hapless NPC flies through the front windshield, rolls across the hood, and falls to the ground in front of the vehicle. The jeep is then hit from behind by several vehicles in succession, causing the vehicle to push ten feet forward and RUN OVER the NPC. The ensuing traffic pileup involved ten vehicles, many injuries, and two deaths.
The moral of this story is that for your character's sake you should NEVER play Shadowrun while indulging in 'holiday cheer'.

Merry Christmas folks - And be Back At You soon with another twisted, pathetic, but true story.
Karen - [email protected]
 
Dec 15th, 1997 -- Casefile #2: JOIN THE AIR FARCE!

The datastore of The C.L.U.E. Foundation is a scary place. Within it lie all manner of tales which reveal a sad truth of the Shadows - that although the majority of Shadowrunners are a savvy and relatively intelligent group, even here tentacles of cluelessness ooze forth to grasp the unwary. Consider, if you will, the following Casefile.

At the beginning of the game session, the leader of the three tells the GM the route they plan on taking, and why it was chosen. However, the player neglected to note the GMs comments as follows

Things are not always as written.
That most of the information that was used as the decision basis would be unavailable to his character without serious legwork.
The GM did not possess the Tir Tairngire sourcebook, so nothing in that book could be taken as gospel.


Unbeknowst to the PCs, in that particular region where several villages had been destroyed by border raiders (including the home village of the PhysAd), one of the Tir Lords was present in a much publicized visit to review the rebuilding efforts and head a Ceremony to honor the dead. The Rigger gasses up Sarah (the helicopter), and they headed across the border.

Of course, with one of the Lords in a volatile area, the military was present to heighten security. The PC's helicopter triggered off a border sensor. The Tir Military responded by sending a 'fact-finding committee'. Sensors on the Rigger's 'copter picked up the incoming aircraft, and revealed a large scale military helicopter. The GM made it quite clear to the Rigger that, from the rumor-mill, he recognized the aircraft as an experimental military prototype copter, and that if half the rumors were true the Rigger was seriously outclassed. The rigger decides to increase airspeed.

The following exchange between the Tir Tairngire Air Force and the Rigger occurred:

Tir: "This is TAFF 105 to unidentified aircraft. Please transmit your clearance authorization."
GM: "What do you do?"
Rigger: "I'll keep going"

Meanwhile, at a speed roughly twice the Rigger's, the TAFF copter slides in behind the Rigger.

Tir: "This is TAFF 105 to unidentified aircraft. We have not received your clearance authorization. Please transmit same immediately"
GM: "What do you do?"
Rigger: "Ummmm. I'll fly faster".

The Rigger continues to push the copter flat out, and 30 seconds later his instruments transmit the fact that the Tir have achieved a weapons lock.
Now my gentle readers. If you dare, you may take the following test, scientifically formulated by The C.L.U.E. Foundation to weed out the clueless among you.

Question: In the above situation, which of the following courses of action would you choose?

A. Turn around and get the Hell out of their ASAP, apologizing all the way for the lack of response in a garbled accent saying 'No Speeka da Eeenglish So Sorry". Try again later, using a different method.
B. Using lots of improvised static ask the TAFF chopper "*crrackle* Hello? We're having trouble hear *crackle* do have authori *crackle* transmitter failing *crackle* What?
C. Answer their transmission - "Hoi Hoi there Elvendudes. GhoulBreath over here, ummm..., spilled a pot of... soycaff... on the chipdrive and we can't load the fraggin' code, Chummers. Like, do we hafta gone now?
D. Continue with C, but add "There's a wizmungous farm field or something on sensors half a klick up front. If ya wanna land with us, we'll hand it to ya hardware." Use this opportunity to get the pilot face to face on the ground in order to use the three to one advantage to try to at least kick some Elven Ass, or at least avoid a crash-and-burn, and maybe if your lucky get a way cool experimental copter in the bargain.
E. Continue on course and try to evade a prototype, SOTA Military Chopper.
F. Any of the above.
G. Any of the above EXCEPT for E or F.


If you answered E or F, I want you to, Right Now, take out your Gun and shoot yourself. You are obviously clueless and those genes must be eradicated from the human gene pool to ensure continued survival of the race. If you chose A,B,C,D, or G; Congratulations. My operatives will not hunt you down to remove your genetic legacy.
So, in reality, what happened? Brace yourselves, here is the pathetic ending to this sordid tale.

GM: "Roll initiative please"
Rigger: "I have a 21"
GM: "You have initiative, what do you do"
Rigger: "I'm going to shoot the Tir Aircraft"
GM: "With what?"
Rigger: "My minigun"
GM: "Can it fire backwards?"
Rigger: "uhhh...No"
GM: "Did you build anything in this chopper that can fire backwards?"
Rigger: "ummmm, well... no. Then I guess I'll dive to the treeline and...."

The remainder of this conversation was terminated due to Tir Chopper's delayed action. The PC's aircraft received a nice Air to Air missile up the butt. The resulting explosion cooked off the full gas tank, all weaponry, and all life on board the confetti formerly known as Sarah the Helicopter.

Remember Gentle Readers... without the constant vigilance necessary in a Clueless world, something similar COULD happen to you.

Karen - [email protected]
 
Jan 5th, 1998 -- Casefile #3: Seeking Enlightenment

Ahhh my Gentle Readers, it is again time to expose the underlying streams of Cluelessness that pervade the Shadows. Opening this CaseFile has been extremely painful, but it must be done to exorcise the demons that even now infiltrate the Shadowrun universe.

So this bunch take a job - the extraction of a willing executive from a corporate compound. In preparation, an hour of game time is spent going over maps, doing legwork, and planning how to get this fellow out with the minimum of problem. The entire plan hinged on two of the group sneaking through an old sewer, gaining access to the main building's basement, shutting down the auxiliary generator, and then cutting main power at exactly 2 a.m. The GM asks for and receives a written listing of all equipment, clips, etc. being taken on this run by all players.

Eventually all the groundwork is laid, PCs synchronize their watches, and the run was underway. The Mage was ensconced in a tree outside the compound, with binoculars, to provide magical cover and support. The PhysAd infiltrates the actual compound in preparation, and gets into position. The two Street Sams stealth down the street near the compound, remove the previously loosened manhole, and climb down the ladder to land in the squishy muck. The following is, more or less, an accurate transcription of the events from the sewer.

PC 1 - "What do I see"
GM - "Well, not much - the light from above is throwing everything outside the light circle into deep shadow"
PC 2 - "I climb back up and close the manhole cover"
GM - "OK - it's now very dark"
PC 1 - "I use my flashlight"
GM - "What flashlight?"
PC 1 - "The flashlight that I..... forgot to bring?"
GM - "That's the one."
PC 2 - "Then I'll use mine.. It's...... not written down there is it?"
GM - "Bingo!"

The two human PCs, laden down with spare clips up the wing-wang, and every other conceivable gadget exceptsomething to use to see by, use their wristphones to tell the rest of the group to abort the mission. The PhysAd has to make an Athletics roll just to answer his phone, since he is hanging from the windowsill of the Extractee by his fingertips, and then all Hell breaks loose when he tries to get back out of the compound. Of course, it was really tough for the GM to concentrate on the action while laughing maniacally at the complete cluelessness of the two key PCs, as while they had been involved in locating their absent light sources, a large garbage collection vehicle had parked directly over the manhole they came down in, leaving the two trapped for quite some time in the netherworld with only monowire and the squeaking of hungry devil rats to keep them company.

I would like to say that this incident brought to an end the cycle of Cluelessness that these players forced their hapless GM (again yours truly) to endure, but... that is another story.

Karen - [email protected]
 
Jan 17th, 1998 - Casefile #4: Relatively Speaking

This CaseFile contains a prime example of how the Clueless spread their insidious infection to the Shadows. Evolution has provided some of this breed with a thin veneer of normalacy, such camoflage making it possible to drag down those with Clues into the festering pit of Cluelessless awaiting the unwary. Heed this cautionary tale Gentle Readers - for your own sake!

A runner group had made an enemy of a small Corp by 'liberating' some experimental firmware. This Corp. had identified one of the runners (the Sammy) and, in order to retrieve their property, had the Sammy's father kidnapped. The Corp Johnson then called the Sammy, and told him to "be at this address if you ever want to see your father alive again". The Sammy frantically calls his contacts/family, and ascertains that his father is indeed missing. He calls his chummers and they make the meet.

Unfortunately, the Sammy was running dangerously low on Clues. We go now to a "blow-by-blow" account, as submitted by one of the players in this sordid story.

GM - "You arrive at the address. It's a four story apartment building. The voice indicated an apartment on the 3rd floor".
Sammy - "Fine. I draw my Predator. We go in and proceed to the apartment door. We listen at the door."
GM - "Good. You hear nothing."

It was right about now that the Clues ran out.

Sammy - "I kick in the door".
GM - "What?"
Sammy - "I kick in the door."
GM (stunned silence for 3 seconds). "OK, the door bursts open."
Sammy - "We go in. What do we see?"
GM - "It's a small, bare apartment. The only furniture in the living room is a metal folding chair. In the chair is a middle-aged woman in a suit".
Sammy - "I kick her"
GM - "What?"
Sammy - "I use my Unarmed Combat - Martial Arts - Kicks. I use all my combat pool. I kick her"
GM - (more stunned silence). "OK, roll". Dice hit the table. "Your round -house kick catches her in the side of the head. It does physical damage. She sprawls on the floor, unconscious. She looks seriously hurt". This was followed by a "Hummm", which most players who have a clue know is the GM deciding if he kills the character tonight or not.
Sammy - "OK. Do with windows have curtains?"
GM - "Excuse me. What?"
Sammy - "Curtains. Do the Windows in the apartment have curtains?
GM - (tentatively) "Yes"

By now the other player and I were wondering what we should be doing. We didn't like the way this was progressing. The player running the Sam seemed to have a plan, and he was talking very confidently like he know what he was doing, so we went along.

Sammy - "I use my Bowie knife to cut the curtains into strips. I tie the woman's hands behind her back, and I tie her ankles to her wrists".
GM - "OK - she's hog-tied".
Sammy - "I splash water from the sink on her to wake her up"
GM - "She wakes up. "Who are you?""
Sammy - "Where's my father?"
GM - "What"
Sammy - "Where's my father?"
GM - "I don't know what you're talking about"
Sammy - I slap her. "Where's my father?"
GM - "I don't know what you mean."
Sammy - "I grab one of her fingers. I bend it backward until it snaps. I ask her 'Where's my father?'"
GM (more stunned silence) "She says 'I don't know what you're talking about. I'm just a temporary secretary. I was just told to come here and deliver a message'"
Sammy - "I don't believe her. I slap her some more. Break a few more fingers.
GM - "Does your character have the Interrogation or Intimidation skill?"
Sammy - "No. I have no Social Skills". Everyone in the room agreed with him.
GM - "Fine, fine. The woman, in tears, is sobbing in pain. She says in a weak voice that she is a professional temporary secretary and her service sent her over for this one night job and all she was told to do was deliver a message."
Sammy - "I still don't believe her. Is she wearing shoes? I take off her shoes".
GM - "OK OK OK. You all hear a noise at the door. In the doorway is a man in a dark, tailored suit. He looks like a Johnson.
Sammy - "Now we're getting somewhere. I kick him" (the room is now filled with groans).
GM - Alright Already. You wrestle him to the ground and tie him up.
Sammy - "Where's my father?"
GM - "We have your father. He is safe. We would like to...'"
Sammy - "No deals. Tell me where he is."
GM - "You must co-operate if you want him to remain unharmed"
Sammy - I take out my gun and hold it to his head. 'Tell me where he is'"
GM - "If you kill me, you'll never see your father alive again".
Sammy - tI yell "You Bastard" and pull the trigger ( at this time the player has a triumphant grin on his face).
GM - "I can't believe it. You killed the Johnson"
Sammy - (still grinning) "Yeah. That will show them who they can boss around and who they cant"
GM - "Yeah... but you killed him BEFORE he told you where your father is..."
Sammy - *!@))$*&!!!

Gentle Readers, it is my advice to the Unfortunate player who submitted this that he seek immediate help. Cluelessness CAN be infectious.

Karen - [email protected]
 
Feb 8th, 1998 - Casefile #5: Hard Rock

Gentle Readers, next time you decide to attend a musical venue, you may want to re-think your plan. This CaseFile was collected from Europe, which just goes to show that Cluelessness exists even in "the Old Country". This GM's campaign was set in an 'X-Files" style format, with the PC's acting as Government Agents

-----

There was trouble in the Sprawl. At each of the last four concerts by the underground band, Scarab, there have been five deaths. In every case the bodies, although recently dead, looked as if they had been lying under a desert sun for days. In fact, post-mortem examinations revealed the bodies contained desert sand, as well as Egyptian desert beetles. The next concert of Scarab was rumored to be in three days, and in order to prevent another five certain deaths, one of the PCs contacts, a high brass in Lone star, asks the group to help him out with the case.

After three days of legwork, the PC's finally discover the location of the next concert: the second floor of a five-story parking lot. This lot was a 'natural light' garage, containing a big (5m x 5m) clear glass "skylight" through ALL floors. Each glass skylight was thick enough that cars may park on it as well. The PC's suspect ritual blood magic, and wanted to take out any mages first. They land the Agency's chopper on the garage roof (the only area non-secured by the bad guys), and look through the skylight. Below, they can see mages standing near the podium from which the band is performing.

PC#1 figures that the glass is too thick to shoot a bullet through, and the GM confirms that each glass layer is strong enough to support several parked cars. After discussion, the players decide that they will blast open the skylights with three offensive grenades, then PC#2 will pump a couple of concussion grenades onto the podium with a multi-barrel grenade launcher, in order to take out the mages for later interrogation.

Meanwhile, PC#3 (on ground level and not in contact with his partners on the roof!) figures it would be a good idea to blow up the main generator downstairs. Using 1.5 kg of C-12 (!!) he rigs the charges and sets the timer for 1.5 minutes.

The GM asks "Do you REALLY want to do this?". (Of course, they do)

PC#1 fires off his three offensive grenades. The throngs of wildly gyrating dancers directly below begin to experience a shower of shattered glass. PC#2, as planned, pumps off his concussion grenades.

Now this is an illegal rock concert, so there is only one exit from the garage. Panic breaks out, which is only natural when a roof collapes in a hailstorm of glass and explosions. All attendees not trampled, unconcious, or bleeding to death from glass shards break for the single downward stairway, just in time to meet the explosion of a generator and 1.5 kg of C-12.

Net Result: 70 dead. 50 bodies in Intensive Care. The rest barely on their feet.

Not a bad way to prevent five deaths from ritual magic...

Karen - [email protected]
 
March 14th, 1998 - Casefile #6: Easy Rider

Well gentle readers, just when you thought it couldn't get any worse….

The GM who forwarded this submission states " this story seems to be to dumb to be true… but it is". I feel for you, brother.

--

The players had discovered the location of a secret research facilities ran by Aztechnology. Basically, the site was a huge enclave where the Azzies were using the populace as lab rats for their designer drugs and BTLs. The site was located a good 40 klicks from the nearest civilization, and there was only one road to access it. So the players (one of whom had an Aztechnology contact) head out to the site to see if there are any 'goodies' to be had.

The players enter the area, and head for the research clinic compound. Knowing that any 'goods' would be there, they wander up to the front door. Armed to the teeth. The Troll is carrying a Vindicator on a gyromount. The mages all have their spell locks turned on. The PhysAd is grinning ear-to-ear brandishing his dikoted katana. Needless to say, security sees them coming and trips the silent alarm. When they get close to the building (looking for all the world like Gunfight at the OK corral) security orders them to leave the area. The runners open fire, blowing the shit out of the front half of the building. To make matters worse, the troll starts chucking grenades through the now battered down front doors. Meanwhile, Aztechnology has already sent a response team.

After pulverizing half of the building, one of the mages finally gets a clue and says " Hey guys, do you think they might have called for backup? ". The troll looks up from his rampant destruction and says " bring em on, well scrag them too! ". The majority of the group thinks about the statement, and decide to punt out pronto. Even the troll rethinks his plan, and decides to scram. They run back to the riggers van, and with a squealing of tires, hit the road. All of the team that is, except for one mage, the one with the Aztechnology contact. He takes his sweet time sauntering over to his bike and follows. As you may have guessed, the mage is the clueless connection.

The following is a blow-by-blow account:

Mage: " Tell me how far I am when I am no longer in visual site of the clinic".
GM: " You are just barely, but you are only about a klick away".
Mage: " I can still see my friends in front of me?"
GM: " Yup, being on a Blitzen has its advantages".
Mage: " Cool. What's going on around me?"
GM: " Make a Perception test".
Mage: " OK. Five Successes".
Rigger: " Hey, let me get in on that. Hmmmm, three successes."
GM: (being really nice). " Okay, you guys get a glimpse of several security vehicles roaring down the road towards you. Looks like a panzer or three. Probably from Aztechnology would be your guess."
Mage: " Cool. I call up my contact".
Rigger: " Ohhhh Shit"
GM: " Which one?"
Mage: " My bud in Aztechnology" (who happens to be a rigger/team leader that is working security on a heavy project… and the player knows about this).
GM: (shaking his head while the rigger looks for something to clock the mage with in real life) " Okay ". " Yes, Aztechnology. Ortiz ".
Mage: " Hey Ortiz, good to hear your voice. Listen, I hear you guys had a little problem recently… "
GM: " A little problem? What are you referring to? "
Rigger: " Oh shit, Jim's (the clueless mage) going to get us killed. "
Mage: " Well, I heard that your little experiment outside the city just got hit. I can see the security vehicles heading in response ".
GM: " You can? What's your exact position? "
Mage: (to GM) " What's my exact position in relation to the clinic? "
GM: Now approaching five klicks (Being EXTREMELY NICE and not wanting to kill off the runners even though they deserve it). " The security vehicles have passed you. "
Rigger: " The panzers are by us? Oh shit, I am punching it to the max and heading for the sprawl. So long, Jim. "
Mage: " Cool. " Hey Ortiz, I am about five klicks from your clinic. Those panzers sure did look nice as they passed us. We're heading back to the city now. I'm on my Blitzen, you can't miss me ".
GM: " I understand. Are you having any problems? "
Rigger: " Am I so far away from him that there is no chance they'll nuke me as well? "
GM: (to Mage) " What speed are you maintaining? "
Mage: " I'm cruising at 50 ".
GM: (to the Rigger). " Yup, the Sprawl is rising up before you and you've dusted the Mage ".
Mage: " No, I'm not having any problems Ortiz. Why do you ask? "
GM: " I just wanted to know exactly where you were and if you got hurt in the skirmish? "
Mage: " No, but those guards were toasted pretty easily. "
GM: " The guards were toasted pretty easily? I see. So where are you now? "
Mage: (looking to GM) " I'm about 10 clicks away, heading back towards the city ".
GM: " Thanks, bud. And don't mind the small attack airplane that's following the security vehicles, OK? "
Mage: " No problem. I'll wave to them when I see them. "
GM: " You do that. I have to let you go. Have to attend to some matters here. "
Mage: " Cool. Have a good one ".
GM: (to Mage) " You see the plane Ortiz was talking about becoming larger in the sky. Looks a lot like an A-10. What are you doing? "
Mage: " I wave to the pilot, but he probably can't see me yet "
GM: " You distinctly see the launch of a missile off the wing of that plane ".
Mage: " I give him the thumbs-up sign! "

Need I say more?

Karen - [email protected]
 
April 27th, 1998 - Casefile #7: Publicly Challenged.

I would like to use today's file to showcase three classic examples of The Clueless in Social Situations.
If you have eaten in the last hour, I would recommend you digest your meal more fully before experiencing this piece of literary nausea.

Exhibit A
One of the PCs had contacted his runner chummers and arranged a meet at a local grease bullet shop. Over Java and sugar rings at the Do-Not Donuts, he explained the job and the proposed payment. The group, after discussion (in a donut shop), decided to accept the job. During the discussion of the avenues for infiltration....

St. Sam No. 1: "I take out my gun and begin to attach the silencer."
GM: "You what?"
St. Sam No. 1: "I'm putting the silencer on my gun."
Shaman: "ahhhh Shit! I get up, run for the door, jump in my car, and take off."
GM: "You're in a donut shop."
St. Sam No. 1: "Yeah I know."
GM: "The young girl at the counter spots your gun, screams, and hits the panic button. A siren starts whooping. The customers start screaming, and run for the door in panic."
Mage: "I go invisible, and slide out the door with the customers."
Rigger: "I sneak into the bathroom, go into a stall, sit on the toilet, and start to read the paper."
PhysAd: "I scream "Oh my God! He's got a GUN! Someone help me!!!!"
St. Sam No. 2: "I grab the PhysAd, and try to drag her away "This woman has been shot! She needs a doctor!"

Eventually the gun-crazy St. Sam, after being on the losing end of the resultant shootout with two Lone Star cops (after all, wouldn't YOU expect to find cops near the donut shop?), was arrested and will spend the next ten years in jail.

Note to File: The above individual is a repeat offender in The CaseFiles. Can you guess which was his previous appearance? Correct answers will result in a personal commendation from The C.L.U.E. Foundation.

----------------------------
Exhibit B

In a literal answer to the request in the Files' introduction for GM input, C.L.U.E. received the following:

This particular PC had the nasty habit of collecting used cyberware for extra cash, cutting it out of the cooling corpses of his victims. The stuff in turn was fenced through his Street Doc contact. However, the Street Doc ended up taking an "extended vacation" at one point. So, after 'acquiring' a bit of the newest tech, he arranges a meet with the team's regular fixer at a local bar. After arriving and sitting down next to the fixer:

Fixer: So, what have you got?
PC: I reach into my duffel and pull out that nice pair of cybereyes I got of that one punk, the Chiba model 308's with flare comp, and I set them on the table.
GM: "Mike (the fixer) chokes on his soy beer, and glares at you fiercely. He then scans the bar to make sure no one is looking this way".
PC: "I roll my eyes at him." G
M: "You roll your.... Eyes.... At him?"
PC: "Yeah, I roll them across the table and ask him "Know anyone who needs a pair of these?""
GM: The waitress who was behind you, just about to ask you if you were ready to order, sees a pair of eyes with bits of flesh hanging off them rolling across Table No. 5, screams, drops her tray with a resounding Crash."

Sometimes a joke has undesired results...
And finally...

----------------------------

Exhibit C

The runners are marched into Mr. Garcia's office in chains. Dozens of monitors blare on the wall behind him.

"You gringos put on a wonderful show. Look Here" Garcia says, pointing to an image of the runners battling armored cars in an arena. "Today you sent the ratings through the roof" he beamed "tomorrow you fight El Diablo!"

"Frag you, you piece of drek" Deathblow spit at Garcia. The other runners tried to shut him up, to no avail. "I'm not fighting for your damned ratings unless I get a percentage!".

Mr. Garcia, after listening carefully to Deathblow's rant, held up his hand. "I'm terribly sorry, I completely forgot negotiations" he said politely. "Hector", he said, motioning to one of his guards, "have this Gringo beaten and sodomized, and then have him brought back to me"

As Deathblow is dragged off to his fate, Garcia turned back to the group. "I assume, of course, there will be no further need for negotiations?"

---------------------------------------------

One of the keys to any social interaction is knowing when to speak, and when to keep your mouth shut....
Karen - [email protected]
 
June 11th, 1998 - Casefile #8: Spring Fever

Spring is sprung,
The grass is riz,
I wonder where
The Clueless is?

Well, from what I can see, there is one helluva lot of them playing Shadowrun! If you doubt this statement, consider the following submission.


The mission was simple (isn't it always?). The runners were contacted by their fixer, who set up a meet with the Johnson. After a meet where the runners did not even attempt to bargain for more money or for any funds up front, and argued amongst themselves IN FRONT of the Johnson, they finally agree to take the job. The mission: Fly to London arriving before Mr. X, kill Mr. X, fly home, get paid.

The team included a rigger who specialized in piloting rotor craft (and could do nothing else), a doctor (who was also a better Sammy than the Sammy), a decker (running a Radio Shack special), a corp wanna-be, an alcoholic Street Sammy (who was great in a fight as long as she hit the middle one), a combat mage (who knew exactly three spells), and a troll street Sammy with more belly-button lint than brains (I'm still not sure if this was an act).

The group did one thing right. They bought some SINs and flew to London without gear (under the pretense of being corp-types and corp-type-guards). However, after landing, someone had the bright idea "Why should we pay for equipment? Let's find a fixer, raid his warehouse, do the run, and sell the stuff?". Unfortunately, in a moment of confusion, everyone else went with the idea. Surprisingly, this sub-plan went off without a hitch (and I was itching for one little mistake to capitalize).

Afterwards, the group proceeded to the hotel where Mr. X was supposedly staying once his flight arrived. Deciding they needed to go get a cappuccino (!), they left the troll Street Sam to watch the hotel and radio them when the target was spotted (no, the troll didn't have a radio, nor a phone). As soon as the team was well away, the troll decides he can spot Mr. X. better from inside the hotel. He then proceeds to enter the elevator to wait, but on second thought, decided the elevator was too conspicuous, so climbed up through the elevator roof to wait ON TOP OF THE CAR. Then, in boredom, he fell asleep.

Meanwhile, the rest of the team, after a considerable time period had passed, realized that Mr. X's plane should have arrived quite some time ago and fearing a problem, rush to the hotel. Entering the lobby, who should they run practically directly into, but Mr. X and his contingent (who had learned of their plan, their employer, etc. etc.). While the target and his guards decided to start making chunky salsa out of most of the team, the rigger (ever one to hate being on the ground) decided she'd exit the building and climb up the outside (a mere 40 meters without athletics skill of any sort) and ambush the target from above. After pulling the grapple hook out of her duffel (so kindly provided by the indisposed fixer), she proceeded to hurl the hook up to the top of the building where it landed with a metallic clang. Just prior to climbing up the side of the building Ms. Rigger realized she had forgotten to attach a rope to the grapple. Undaunted, she continued the treacherous climb from window ledge to window ledge (on sheer luck).

Back to the slaughter on the inside, the target had retreated to the safety and cover of the elevator (none of the team had dropped... yet). It was now that the Troll had his gestalt! Why not use the 30 kilograms (yes 30, yes kilograms!) of C-12 he had procured from the fixer mentioned above. Throwing open the access hatch of the elevator, the Troll dropped his armed chunk of gooey death into the car mere moments before being perforated by the bodyguards' bullets. He had thoughtfully set the timer to 5 seconds.

Back to the hotel exterior. The rigger was dutifully making her way to the top of the building (still refusing to put her combat shotgun away to assist in climbing). Unfortunately, luck has a tendency of running out, and missing a roll Ms. Rigger fell 20 or so meters to her death, breaking her neck upon landing.

Meanwhile, back inside the lobby, the team of intrepid adventurers were finally making headway, evening the odds from the 3 to 1 ratio they had previously enjoyed. However, the alcoholic street Sammy took one round to many, and in a berserk fit decided to engage her mates with a fully automatic spray. This dropped the decker and the mage instantly.

This might have been a good thing actually, because two seconds later the little gift left by the Troll in the elevator went off, killing whomever of the team was left, and leveling a good chunk of London real estate.

Well what can anyone say to that?

----

(My thought? The GM was way too lenient on the players in some places. 30KGS of C-12? -Adam)
Karen - [email protected]
 
July 31st, 1999 - Casefile #9: Department of Motor Vehicles

Firstly, I'd like to thank you, my humble readers, for your patience in awaiting a new entry to the CLUE Files. Real Life, involving a move to another country, the down time of the Archive, and various other projects including a completed and printed novel (YAYYY!!), have kept me very busy. I apologize for the volume of elapsed time between entries, and will endeavour to rectify that.

So, to this month's sad collection of tales...
-------------------

Exhibit A

Anyone who drives a vehicle knows that cluelessness is often most obvious and rampant on the roads. The C.L.U.E. Foundation’s Motor Vehicles Branch, by order of its Director, Janet, provides these examples of vehicular cluelessness as a warning to all motorists.

The job: rescue some Renraku Exec’s daughter from a group of all-latex-freaked-out-S&M-mad-max-psychos-on-wheels. Heading to the known territory of The Freaks, the two runners (Headhunter and Psycho) begin to cruise the interstate, looking for the gangers. Headhunter is driving a modified Americar and Psycho has an MPUV.

Finding The Freaks out riding the roads, Headhunter does a drive by. The Freaks have a van and a convertible, and the girl is spotted in the convertible, a fact which Mr. Headhunter relays to Psycho. The Freaks must have noted the interest from Mr. Headhunter, since the convertible performed a screeching about-face at 130 kph, to follow Headhunter, while the van moved on.. Psycho however, taking complete leave of clues, decides to crash into the convertible. At a combined speed of 120 kph, the convertible (completely out of control due to the spin-turn), is struck by Psycho’s MPUV, forming a nice peice of modern art in the centre of the highway.

A few seconds later, the Americar stops right next to the chunk of metal that once was two cars and a quite sick-looking Headhunter steps out.

Headhunter: "What was that for"
Psycho: "Awwww… shut up! We’ve gotta get the van!"
Headhunter: "But why? You asshole, you wrecked the convertible!"
Psycho: "But the girl…"

The GM in this case still remembers the loud "AARRRRWWWWGGGGG!!!! from Headhunter’s player as if it was yesterday.

Headhunter: "In the convertible, fuckhead! THE CONVERTIBLE!"
Psycho: "Ooops…. I think there was a misunderstanding…"

The two checked the car for survivors, but the girl was paste, so they drove away in Headhunter’s Americar. Leaving the MPUV and the shotgun in it’s former trunk there. Both were registered to Psycho.
<<<I wonder how long these PC’s lived after that?>>>
---------------------------
Exhibit B

GM: The limo you’re chasing is pulling away. What do you do?
Shamus: Floor it!
GM: It’s no longer pulling away, but you aren’t catching it either. What do you do?
Shamus: Turn up the bass!
GM: The limo pulls into a gated complex on the waterfront, the huge gates swing shut. What do you do?
Shamus: I make sure my seatbelt is fastened.
GM: You plow through the huge electrified gates, sparks are everywhere. The tires in your limo melt and the doors fuse shut, and you are surrounded by six cyber attack dogs. What do you do?
Shamus: I point at Mr. Death and in my best Captain Kirk voice I say "Ensign Redshirt, Go out the Sunroof and shoot the dogs. We’ll cover you"
Mr. Death: (not getting it) My name’s Mr. Death, not Red-Shirt. I go out the sunroof and shoot at the nearest two dogs.
GM: You wound both of them, but a third hits you from behind, ripping you out of the car. What do you do?
Shamus: The rest of us run for the warehouse as the dogs are distracted.
<<<And for all of you who think vehicular cluelessness is restricted to land vehicles…>>>
------------------------------------------
Exhibit C

With the surveillance and bombing of a unloading crane completed, the two runners head for their boat and it’s cargo of explosives in order to complete their mission of preventing delivery of a ship’s cargo. However, the two runners are surprised to see their boat was no longer tied to the dock, but drifting slowly away. As the two jump from the pier onto their boat’s deck, they are shot at by two humans in diving gear, who then jump overboard. "Joe" finds the keys of the boat lying on the deck floor.

To’Kath immediately wonders out loud why these people, if they really wanted to stop the mission from being completed, wouldn’t have just thrown the keys overboard. Ignoring him, "Joe" reaches down, picks up the keys, and heads for the cockpit. Panicking, To’Kath immediately jumps overboard.

"Joe" begins to laugh. "You’re being paranoid buddy. LOOK, I’m turning the key now….."

GM: BOOM!!!

<<<This bit came from a personal GM acquaintance of mine. I'm sorry buddy.>>>

-----------------------------------
Exhibit D

The Mission: Assassinate Mr. Corp.

The Place The Runners Decided to Make the Hit: A open sports stadium, during a game.

The Plan: Steal an airplane, load it with a ridiculous volume of explosives, and crash it directly into the sports stadium seating, killing Mr. Corp. (and incidentally, hundreds of innocent civilians! - not a loss according to this group)

What Went Down: The two runners, loaded down with their explosives, wait by a local small aircraft runway until a plane lands, and the pilot and co-pilot leave. Chuckling with glee, they promptly steal the plane, managing to fly it reasonably enough to get it off the ground. Player #2 riggs the explosives, while Player #1 sets course to the corporate box. Satisfied that the plane was on course, and everything would proceed as planned:

Player #1: OK, everything's set. Let's get off this plane.
Player #2: I go to the back of the plane and get the parachutes.
GM: What parachutes?
Player #2: You've got to be kidding?
Player #1: You're... not kidding.
GM: Nope.

According to my friend, the GM for this pathetic incident, just turning the plane around and going back never occurred to these two clueless entities. Escape involved strapping an inflatable rubber raft to a piece of metal (I believe it was a piece of floor??), and jumping off the plane, using explosive charges strapped to the floor and channeled downwards, set to go off when they were close to the ground in order to break up the impact.

Yeah, I thought it was pretty unbelievable, too.

Did They Live: One did. Unfortunately. Through burning of mega amounts of Karma.

Did The Mission Succeed: Absolutely not.
<<<And finally, just to ensure that this particular subject is not limited to vehicles with combustion engines…>>>
--------------------
Exhibit E

"The St. Sam of this particular group spent all of his million nuyen on cyberware, guns, and ammo. This left him with 100 nuyen and no way to get around Seattle. I guess the GM was feeling gracious, because he let him buy a ten speed bicycle. Well, one of the team members was leaving a local bar when he was targeted by a couple of hit men. He hadn’t noticed them yet, but our Sam rounding the block on his ten speed did. He knew they were going to attack, so he activated his Wired Reflexes 3, and moving at about 80 mph, did a drive by shooting at the hitmen…"

"The good news was that he got the hit men. The bad news was that, failing his bike skill roll, he was blown off the bike by the recoil."
Doesn't this make you just a tad uneasy about driving the car or taking a flight today?

----------------------------

Again, thank you for your patience, gentle readers. Too soon, I will be back with yet another glaring example of the state of mental deficiency in Shadowrun.

Karen - [email protected]
 
August 11th, 1999 - Casefile #10 - The Case Of The Mysterious Missing Clue

Addendum to file: This file, which has already appeared in CLUE, had somehow dropped away to the data netherworld. So, I've re-issued it, for the edification of those who have not yet experienced it. Well faithful readers, just when you thought it couldn’t get any worse… The following tale comes courtesy of the same individual who informed C.L.U.E. about CaseFile No. 4 (the St. Sam who liked to break fingers).
-------------------
It was a very simple job. A local Yakuza boss wanted some muscle to help protect his family while he was attending some high level negotiations with other bosses. The runner group was to stay in the family home (which was already equipped with a state of the art security system).

The team decker set himself up in the control room for the security system. The PhysAd and the Mage were staying with the family in the basement family room. The Troll St. Sam set up in the main floor living room, fondling his guns.

Decker: I sweep the outside with the security cameras. What do I see?
GM: You see a long black car drive slowly past the house down the street. It makes a U-turn and parks in front of the house. Two suits get out of the car. One of them is carrying a large briefcase. They are looking at the house, and talking to each other.
Decker: Hmmmm. I aim the microphones at them. What are they saying?
GM: One says “have you hit the house yet?” The other says “No, I was waiting for you.” The first says “Right, lets do it!” They begin to walk towards the house.
St. Sam: “Right on! I grab my shotgun and head for the front door. I wait for them to get close.”
GM: “They approach the front door. One opens the briefcase and reaches inside.”
Decker: “I use the security system to alert Lone Star”
GM: “OK - Lone Star is on it’s way”
St. Sam: No time for that! I pull the door open. Do I see the guys?”
GM: Ummm yeah, they’re right in front of you. Point blank range”
St. Sam: “I fire my shot gun! One shot to each of them!”
GM: “No problem. You blow baseball size holes in both their chests, they collapse, dead. A book and some papers fall out of the briefcase. In the distance you hear sirens and the sound of a helicopter approaching”.
Decker: “A book? I zoom in the cameras. Do these guys look familiar?”
GM: “Well, one of them is wearing some sort of name tag”
St. Sam: “Name tag? What does it say”
GM: As the first Lone Star van turns into the driveway, you read the name tag on one of the bodies. It says “Elder Smith, Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints”.

------------------

I think that, due to the religious nature of this piece, perhaps a moment of silence would be appropriate, in deference to the suffering inflicted by the Clueless on fellow players and GMs everywhere.

In regards to the ‘Repeat Offender’ in CaseFile No. 7, C.L.U.E. received responses from dedicated readers across the globe, but unfortunately, not one guessed correctly (well, actually, one person DID, but it was only after three ‘hints’, so that doesn’t really count…). The Donut Shop Gun incident was perpetrated by the same player who controlled the Rigger Helicopter pilot from the Tir debacle detailed in CaseFile No. 2.

Finally, I would like to take this time to thank all my readers who have sent (and continue to send) along their comments, compliments, and 'war stories’ (after all, my guys can only do so much clueless stuff before I would be forced to engineer a little ‘accident’. Being President of CLUE does carry certain obligations…)

Karen - [email protected]
 
September 7th, 1999 - Casefile #11: Kilos Of Fun

My humble readers, I appear before you today with a horrible tale. Its ridiculously high pathetic-index is not only based on the participants' total lack of any clues whatsoever, but in the fact that I was the GM in this case. Yes, the clueless followed me from Canada to Colorado, where they must have lain in wait for just such an opportunity. Sigh. I'm sorry.

The mission was to find and return a Corper's son, who had disappeared. The group eventually tracked him down to a sex cult. After infiltrating the cult, during which the rigger was seduced by two women into almost staying with the cult (I figure he must have left his brains with them), the group discovered the Corperboy had been sent to the 'northern retreat', an island in the Queen Charlottes north of Vancouver, Canada.

So, this group piled into Kilo's (the Superchromed Orc Sammie) luxury yacht, and headed north. After some reconnaissance, revealing that the entire north (cult) end of the island was divided from the south by a fence, the majority of the group went ashore on the island's north side and headed for the cult's HQ. Candyman (the rigger) and Kilo, decide they need to open the main road gate, in order to provide an avenue of retreat.

Now, let me give you some background. This island was 'cottage country' on the south side, meaning that most of the island's population was only present during the summer. It was mid-February. I made it quite clear that the maximum number of inhabitants at this time was about 300.

So, off they jander. The rigger says, "I'm going to pull up to the town's docks and moor the ship. I'll be quiet and inconspicuous." Hello? Inconspicuous? A luxury yacht in February? Yeah, right. So, the rigger does so, they offload the Yamaha Rapier (being driven in northern Canada in February!), both climb on board, and head for the fence. Oh, and totally inconspicuously!

The two arrive at the main gate, only to discover the fence is electrified. Of course, they brought no tools of any kind. Then, Candyman had a great idea. They could blow it open! Kilo could make a bomb, however, he had no tools. But, surely they could find some tools back in town! So, back on the bike they clamber. Arriving at the dock, they see a tool kit in the bed of a pickup, which is parked directly across from the dock, in front of the town's only bar. They steal the toolkit from the truck, and head out again.

Arriving back at the fence, Kilo managed to rig a crude bomb, using gunpowder taken from his ammo and a pipe. He makes his skill roll and BOOM the blast goes off. However, he's trying to blow down a chain link fence. The holes in the fence manage to dissipate most of the blast, leaving the gate down, but still hanging from the lower hinges and still across the road. They decide it's too much of a risk to jump the bike over the spark spewing downed gate, as it belonged to another PC who would have their nuts if they damaged her bike. So, Candyman has ANOTHER bright idea. Let's go back to town, steal that truck, and drive in it over the gate! By now, it's about 11:30 p.m. game time.

Back they go. As they arrive at the truck, the bar door opens and a rough looking man weaves his drunken way towards the truck.

Candyman: "Excuse me, is this your truck?"
Man: "Get out of my way, you fucking little pissant!"
Candyman: "What did you say?"
Man: "You deaf? Bugger off, asshole!"
Candyman: That's it, I'm pissed off. I'm going to nail him, punch him in the face!
GM: OK. Roll your unarmed combat.
Candyman: Ummmmm. I don't have unarmed.

The battle's outcome was inevitable. The guy socked Candyman in the face.

Kilo: "You Bastard!" I shoot him.
GM: The gun echoes through the town. The guy drops like an elephant. From overtop the bar, a window opens. A female voice calls down "Hey! What's going on down there?"
Kilo: "Oh… I… think I heard a gunshot from the bar."
GM: hesitates a minute. This is a small town, everybody knows everybody. I pictured this scene in my mind. A huge chromed Orc holding a smoking gun, the body of Jimbo Mullins on the ground before him. "Oh. OK, just checking…" the woman says. The window shuts.
Kilo: Good. OK, I'm gonna shove the body off the dock, and hotwire the truck.
GM: looks after the skill roll TN as she pictures the woman in the upstairs apartment making a frantic call to the local sheriff.

Think this is bad? You ain't seen NUTHIN yet!

They get the truck started, (didn't even THINK of seeing if the dead man had any KEYS) and go back to the gate. When they arrive, there are shadows moving in the woods on the other side of the fence, but a sucky Percep. Roll doesn't reveal the shadows as guard dogs, just giant indistinct shapes. As they are standing around in fear of what might be moving in the woods, and deciding if they really want to drive the truck over the gate after all, two sheriff's cars are spotted on its way up the road. Candyman drives the truck off the road to the edge of the woods, and turns off the engine and lights. Of course, the cops spot them (in Jimbo's stolen truck). Stopping, the two cops climb out the opposite side of the first car and level rifles, yelling for the two to surrender. Both cops are killed in the ensuing fight, one of which died from Kilo driving his cyberfist through his skull, in quite a gross display of spattering grey matter. The other cop car was stopped when its tires were shot out, causing it to go off the road and explode when it hit a tree at about 80 kph. Eventually, Candyman did drive the truck over the electrified fence, partially melting the tires and drove the truck to the cult's HQ.

Let's skip a good chunk of the adventure, since the others handled the bug lair and the enslaved cultists separately. (CLUE Note to File: One of the other players, who reviewed this file, begged me to express quite clearly to my readers the fact that the rest of the group had NOTHING TO DO with this gross cluelessness). However, once the thirty or so cult kids were freed, Kilo decided to return to his yacht and bring it north to pick up his chummers.

Kilo: I'm getting on the Rapier and going back to town. GM: All right, you get back no problem. Your yacht is still there. Kilo: I'll wheel the bike up the ramp, park it, and pilot it to where the others are waiting. GM: As you near the cockpit, a voice calls out "Halt. Drop your weapons." What do you do? Kilo: Ummm... I guess I'll drop my weapons. GM: (blinking in shock, but keeping a normal expression) All of them? Kilo: Yeah. GM: OK. A grey bearded man comes out of the pilot station, and you can hear the movement of another person behind you. The man says "Sir, I'm afraid I have to put you under arrest. Would you please come with me to the station." What do you do? Kilo: I'll go with him. GM: (hiding her expression of total and astonished disbelief) He takes your arm, and leads you off the ship and to a small building about two blocks away. The man behind you steps forward to open the door to the sheriff's station, a young fellow. You are marched to a cell, and locked up. Kilo: OK

Eventually the Shaman of the group snuck into town and took the yacht to pick up his chummers. Concealed by a spirit, they spent the day in the lea of a nearby island, waiting for nightfall to rescue Kilo. During the day they spot a Salish Military chopper fly overhead to the island, and then fly back to the mainland. When they finally went to rescue Kilo, he was long gone. Taken into custody by the Salish Military, who had been called in since effectively the entire police force (one sheriff, three volunteers) of the island had been wiped out. The buzz around town was that, last night, a transient/mass murderer had been apprehended by the Harbourmaster! and his Apprentice! in a gutsy Citizen's arrest. The huge Orc still had the drying remains of Jack Ettinger's brain coating his metal fist! Of course, Mr. Farquharson and his grandson were awarded Medals of Bravery.

To this very day, the lurid retelling of the St. Vitus' Island Massacre, complete with the stunning UNARMED capture of a dangerous criminal, is still a favourite tale around the island's summer campfires.

Yes, both the Harbourmaster and his grandson had been unarmed. Oh, and get this, when I took the character sheet away from the player, it was revealed that not only did Kilo have an Electronics skill of six (!), but he also had a Maglock Passkey, Level 5 (!!!), neither of which it even occurred to him to use to open the gate in the first place!

Can you believe that? I have to, because I was THERE, my friends!

Kilo? Oh, he got the electric chair. Fried his ass but good too!

Note: The clueless surround us. There is no escape. Resistance is futile…
Karen - [email protected]
 
File #12 - October 9th, 1999: Baker's Delight

This is a truly frightening tale. It really makes you wonder how the Clueless think (it’s a proven fact that they do, it’s just that their logic circuits seem to have been rewired by a two year old on acid). The GM who submitted this is deserving of our deepest sympathies. A pair of runners had been hired to ‘extract’ a researcher from a corporate office park (small corp, small building). One of them happens to be a chill sneaky-silent type, with lots of grease and connections. His pad is wired for sound proofing, reinforced walls, the works, paranoid city. The other member of the team is a raging death machine. He lives in a cardboard box because no one seems to notice when the homeless "disappear."

The run starts up as follows: after doing a bit of legwork they come up with the plans for the building, sec shifts, the works. Their decker contact has ‘arranged’ for the security desk cameras to be hit with a looped image when the deed goes down, and the chill chummer has all his grapple/climbing gear so that he can go roofside and then drop in on the victims office through a window (had a glass cutter as well). The chill PC informs the death machine that he needs someone to watch his back to make sure no one is hanging around the building that isn’t a passer by.

The plan is underway. PC1 is on the roof about to climb down to the targeted window, when the death machine sees something ‘funny’ (actually it was just a switch of shifts at the lobby info desk).

PC2: "I go back to the car"
PC1: "What?!"
GM: (to PC1) "OK, what are you doing?"
PC1: "I set my stealth line."
PC2: "I open the trunk and grab the assault cannon."
GM: "OK, you have it."
PC2: "I start shelling the building."
PC1: "What the &*!! are you doing?"
PC2: "Be quiet! Like I said, I start shooting the building."
GM: "OK, the building looks really torn up, the lobby resembles a charnel house, and the building is becoming structurally unsound (belt fed AC ammo has a tendency to do this).
PC2: "hahahahaha"
PC1: "I am outta here, leave the way I came up and stay out of sight."
GM: "OK. Sirens are coming this way."
PC1: "I am hiding big time."
PC2: "I drop the cannon. Is there anything else around?"
GM: "There is a bakery across the street."
PC2: "I go there."
PC1: "This isn’t happening…"
GM: "You walk into the bakery, the baker looks terrified." (saw the whole thing)
PC2: "Sir, I would like a muffin."
GM: "ummm wha-wha-what tttype?’
PC2: "Poppyseed."
GM: "OK" A Lone Star patrol officer enters the bakery and approaches you. "I’d like to ask you a few questions."
PC2: "I’m just eating a muffin."
GM: "Did either of you witness the shooting that just went down?"
PC2: "I lop his head off!"
GM & PC1: "You what?!?"
PC2: "I draw my combat ax and lop his head off."
GM: "OK… the decapitated Lone Star cop goes down and you look up to see a number of other Lone Star officers standing outside, watching this whole deal."
PC2: "Damn."

Needless to say, PC2 was arrested and thrown in the back of a patrol vehicle. What makes this even worse is that PC1 tries to go save his chummer (or ex-chummer after this pooch screw) and sets up his sniper rifle to take out the driver of the patrol vehicle. Unfortunately, he Rule of One’s his shot, blowing a back tire off the car, which skids out of control into oncoming traffic, so instead of being taken to a maximum security holding cell, PC2 ends up in a maximum security hospital room.

Sparing the details, the escape that follows still blinds me to this day, involving a hostage situation, followed by a leap through a window of the 5th floor of the hospital, the hijacking of an ambulance, and more carnage than I would like to admit.
Karen - [email protected]
 
File #13 - November 1st, 1999: A Grapple A Day...

This column, my gentle readers, will introduce you to a prime example of how a fixation with a favourite piece of equipment can showcase extreme Cluelessness, as related by an eye witness. You have been warned. His name was Creeping Death. A cybernetic ninja death machine. Emotionless. Ruthless. Dangerous. And those were his good qualities.

Now as it happened, one of the PCs lived in an abandoned high-rise, and liked to drive his motorcycle up the eight flights of stairs up to his apartment (and that's a whole other story in itself). Unable to keep up with the speed at which the other character was traveling up the stairs, and not wanting to look 'un-cool', Creeping Death was hit by a sudden idea...

CD: 'I stop running up the stairs, there's no way I can keep up with him'
GM: 'Right. So what are you going to do?'
CD: 'Well, I reach into my longcoat and pull out my grapple gun' (other players sigh in the background) 'I aim at the roof in the middle of the stairwell and fire'

<<< miscellaneous dice rolls >>>

GM: 'Okay, you've got the grapple line leading up to the roof. What are you going to do now?'
CD: <grins smugly> 'I'm going to hold it tightly and step out into the middle of the stairwell, hitting the self-wind as I do so'
GM: <winces, realizing that CD has seen one too many episodes of Batman> 'You realize that you are already three floors up?'
CD: 'Yep'
GM: 'You step out into the area clutching tightly to the grapplegun, and <more dice rolls> manage to hit the self wind. A dull whine comes from the engine, but you begin to rise slowly up the cable'
CD: <obviously pleased with the cool factor of not being the last one to the top of the stairs> 'I sit back and enjoy the ride. At this rate, I'll be up there before him.'
GM: 'There's a sudden grinding noise from the grapple gun and then you begin to descent at a very rapid rate. Cable unspools from the back of the winder faster and faster, and before you can act, you hit the ground. <resistance rolls, etc.>. You lie on the broken-tiled floor of the ground level of the building, the self-wind on your grapple gun smokes slightly'.
CD: 'Okay, I start running up the stairs. I can still come equal with him - I'm a ninja, doncha know'.

------------------------------
After yet another episode in which CD is electrocuted while trying to use his grapple gun to cross a high voltage electric fence, we now join our hero as he attempts a bit of subtlety.

Creeping Death's grapple gun came in handy once again when he was called upon to quietly assassinate a Corp. Exec. The corper always worked late on Friday nights, and after finding that his house was virtually unguarded during the night decided that the best place to take him out would be during business hours on a Wednesday (???). His plan, if you could call it that, was to get into the office building next door, use his sniper rifle to shatter a window, use his grapple gun to swing down through said window, blow away the corper, then use his grapple gun to swing to safety.

After readying his gear, and spending several hours trying to get past security in the building next door, CD managed to make it to the correct floor. After figuring out how to open the window on the 23rd floor of a skyscraper (namely by shooting it repeatedly with a pistol), CD proceeded to shoot out a likely looking window on his target building and then, after attaching the grapple gun to his belt and firing it at an appropriate spot, jumped out the window.

After numerous skill tests, CD managed to swing in through the window (roughly five minutes after he'd begun shooting). He smashed through the remnants of the window (cutting himself badly in the process), and suddenly it occurred to him that the guards might have been alerted, and declared that he was going to, immediately upon landing, open up with his submachine gun. Landing on the shards of glass and rolling over the glass to gain his feet and go for his gun, he heard someone yelling at him to freeze. Ignoring them, CD was promptly shot as he was straightening up by several panicking security guards, whose hail of bullets caused enough knockback to send CD flying back OUT the window. 23 floors up. 'Nuff said.
--------------------------------
I feel for you, brother.
Karen - [email protected]
 
File #14 - December 2nd, 1999: This Mortal COIL

Once again, gentle readers, I come to you with sad news. I was contacted by another long time GM, whose story of his PCs' sudden and stunning loss of clues touched my heart (twisted and evil though it may be). I leave you to read on, and bear witness.

---------------
The Group: One Street Mage, Two Sammies, One Rigger, and One Rigger/Decker, with combined gaming experience of 14 plus years.

The Job: To infiltrate the private work office of one of the owning partners of an oil refinery, get evidence that he was laundering money, and get the proof to the other partner.

Easy, right?

Due to ongoing environmental protest at the gates, security at the facility was abnormally high. The decker was skilled enough to hack the refinery and get layouts of the facility as well as some of the security systems. One thing the group did note was that there were no actual physical guards at the dock side of the refinery. The docks themselves contained large supply pipes (where the tankers would connect and unload the crude oil) that ran to the storage tanks, which were well inside the facility.

After about fifteen minutes of discussing the data at hand…

Sec Rigger/Decker: "Are there any ships currently at the docks?"
GM: "No"
Sec Rigger/Decker: "Hey! This is a piece of cake! We can get a boat, land at the docks, crawl up the pipes into the compound, and jump out of an access hatch."
Mage: "Are there any access hatches on the pipe line?"
GM: "Yes."
Sammie2: "Yeah, but they probably only open from the outside."
(This was followed by general nods of agreement from the group)
Sec Rigger/Decker: "No prob. We'll just cut our way out once we get inside the compound."
Sammie1: "We need to get some special gear, and a boat."
Rigger: "I'll call my fixer to arrange for what we need."
Mage: "Be sure to get gel rounds, we don't want to be firing live ammo inside of an oil refinery."

Fixers were called, and arrangements made to get all gear needed. Nothing that could be potentially useful was left out: chemsuits, respirators, even flashlights. The decker went back into the matrix right before they left and put a feedback loop onto the cameras at the docks. Soon it grew dark, and the run was underway…

GM: "Your raft pulls up to the supply pipe. The fitting over it looks tight, and has a big 'Caution - Flammable' sign.
Sammie2: "I'll remove the cover."
Sammie1: "I'll help."
GM: "After you remove the cover, a small but steady trickle of crude oil oozes out of the open pipe. You can smell the distinct odor of crude oil."
Rigger: "I'll put on my respirator and climb in first."

(the rest of the group follow suit)

Rigger: "Once my GPS tracker reads that we're in the compound, I'll cut us out."
GM: "You're inside a metal pipe, you have no signal."
Mage: "I'll go astral and see how far in we are, and make sure there is nobody around."
GM: "You can see the aura of the ocean (rolls perception dice). You estimate you're about 80 yards within the facility.
Mage: "We're in far enough, let's get out, nobody's around. I'll activate my barrier spell lock just in case there's company."

Rigger: "Okay, I get the torch ready."
GM: "It's covered in crude oil from the long crawl up the pipe."
Sammie1: I'll use some bandages from my med pack to clean off the business end."
Rigger: "I unpack the striker and light the torch."
GM: "You reach for the striker but it slips through your hands since it's covered in oil."
Sammie1: "I'll clean that off too and hand it back to 'Rigger'."
Rigger: "I strike the striker and…"

BBBBBOOOOOOMMMMMM!!!!!

***sigh***

There was, however, one survivor from the oil refinery explosion. The mage with his barrier spell lock was using a custom spell, one that allowed him to transfer physical damage to stun damage. Burning copious amounts of karma, he was able to survive the blast. However, the force of the explosion shot him back out the pipe like a human cannonball. So, instead of dying in a fiery explosion, he hit the water and, being unconscious from stun and drain, promptly drowned.

And to think that the only one drinking any beer during this game was the GM! After this, however, I bet they all needed a stiff drink or three (I know I do, hmmmm now where did my husband hide the Tequila…).

So there you have it. They all laugh about it now (it's either that or cry…). Oh, and the GM informs me that this (infamous) run has been aptly named…

"The Flam"

Karen - [email protected]
 
File #15 - January 3rd, 2000: Fun with Personal Weaponry

Well, here it is the year 2000, and another century of Clueless screw-ups to look forward to. It's enough to make you want to throw yourself off the back steps...

In fact, most of you out there who enjoy the C.L.U.E. files have no comprehension of just how painful it can be to have to review the many submissions that come in from hapless GM's and players. Sometimes I just sit and stare in shock at my screen, shaking my head as another flood of desperate cries for help parade down my list of e-mail. Strangely enough, the majority seem to involve Street Sams...
-------

The Troll Sammie janders into Weapons World, looking to buy a pair of shock gloves so he can wail on people. Luckily, he finds a pair in his size, and after briefly considering shoplifting them, changes his mind, pays for them, and leaves.

As soon as he is out the door, Sammie yanks the gloves out of the package and slides them on, and the player announces he wants to 'try them out' on the first person to walk by. Well the next person to pass Sammie is an elderly woman... with a walker. The GM asks the player "are you SURE you want to go through with this". Of course, Sammie assured him he did.

You know, Trolls are REALLY strong. The poor old grandma was knocked clean off the sidewalk, into traffic, and was creamed by a bus. As the bus ran off with grandma (and as about a kajillion eyewitnesses looked on) the poor old lady's walker, rebounding off the front of the bus soared into the sky, arced through the air, and landed at Sammie's feet in a crumpled mass of metal. After a fit of hysterical laughter, Sammie picked up the walker and carried it home with him like a trophy.

Needless to say, a good deal of Lone Star Security came a knock-knock-knockin' at Sammie's door shortly after.
Mr. Killing Death Machine and the rest of his runner group were on the run from Lone Star. Pausing at the top of a building, suddenly a Star Attack Helicopter appears practically out of nowhere, and hovering above them, a commanding voice issues from the loudspeakers:

GM: "You are under arrest. Lay down your weapons and surrender!"
Sam: "I take my MG and shoot it down"
GM: "OK. Roll Initiative"
Sam: <rolls dice> "45"
GM: "What??"
SM: "I got <insert new super bioware here>"
GM: "ummmmm, the chopper is right above your HEAD!" {Insert screams of protest from other players}
Sam: "Cool, I shoot it down"

Of course, all the runners had to evade the falling wreckage of a Lone Star helicopter. This resulted in the death of two teammates (one of which was an Level 3 Mage Initiate, who was understandably not very happy at this turn of events). And, true to form, Sam escaped unscathed.

--------------------------
Mr. Street Sam was So Happy. Today, in the mail, he received the package he was waiting for. Running up to his luxury apartment, he opens the package reverently, and there they were. Nestled in the packing foam were six rounds of cutting edge Paralyze drug for his narcojet pistol, at 500 nuyen a pop. Just dying to try out his new toy, Mr. Sammy noticed movement on his balcony. Creeping to the balcony doors, he spied a lone pigeon, idly pecking at the concrete edging. So, of course, Mr. Sammy, seeing a great testing opportunity, shoots the pigeon, which is knocked by the close range shot off the balcony wall, falling 20 stories.

I wonder what actually killed the pigeon: an extreme overdose of Paralyze narcovenom, the actual shot, or the 20 story fall? Regardless, what a great way to blow off 500 nuyen!

--------------------------

Six runners were in a speed boat off the Yucatan Peninsula, spying on a hacienda. They are paralleling the beach, and all they can see of the house is a beach entrance, with a little old lady in a flowered bathrobe waving a stick and looking into the air, like she was talking to someone. Her small white poodle cavorted on the sand, and from time to time the little old lady threw the stick for it. The runners suspect she is a shaman, and an astral check reveals she is talking to a huge (Force 8) spirit.

After doing a very obvious drive-by looksee about 100 yards out, just before they get out of sight of the house, Mr. Sammy with the Rem 750 decides to shoot.... the little white dog. Of course, Grandma obligingly Flame Bombs the boat. Twice.

So you think that, just maybe, now that it's a new millenium (or close to it), anything's gonna change? If so, you're one helluva lot more optimistic than I, brother.

Keep smilin! (after all, it's that or bawl like a baby)

Karen - [email protected]
 
File #16 - February 15th, 2000: More Baker's Delight…

OK people, you can quit it with the Donut Shop Debacles! Honestly, it's enough to make me swear off the things for life! Several Alert Readers regaled me with their sundry tales of horror and stupidity in bakeries and all night donut shops, but this one takes the cake (no pun intended J), as much for the character involved as the actual goings on.

Sigh… The character involved was a "twisted Arsonistic Psychopath" named Ryan Kobain (no relation to the singer). His visage is a simple one, a long-haired, uncharismatic, brown trench-coated, Reasonably well scorched human that had serious behavioural aberrations. On a good day. His partner was a Rubber Chicken named Juju (cybered out through Intelligent use of Aluminum Foil and a Matchboy toy cyberdeck), who had recently been joined by an unfortunate roadkill cat named Bixby (preserved with a Taxidermy skill and strangely dressed in superhero garb).

After a very tricky file extraction from a well known corporation…

GM: OK. Your friends get into the getaway car and are speeding on their way away from you to the group hideout.
RK: Good… good. I walk down the road awhile until I find a doughnut shop.
GM: Doughnut shop? I suppose. OK. You find one two blocks down. You look inside and see the cashier and three customers. Two of the customers, both women, are at a table chatting. The other, an extremely overweight woman, is at another table.
RK: OK, I enter the shop and go to the register to order my food.
GM: (rolling) Before you make it to the counter the big woman gets up. You accidentally bump into her. She gives you a cold stare and walks up to the counter in front of you.
RK: Boy, she looks pissed. I suppose I could entertain her with my rubber chicken or my, errrr, flat cat, but then I would have to take them out of my duffel bag. OK, I take the cat out. Don't forget I put preservative in it, along with the - (player twitches) along with my pyro charge.
GM: (looking nervous). The woman seems to be taking a long time to order, she can't make up her mind over some such by what you can hear.
RK: OK this is getting me annoyed. This walking billboard doesn't know WHO I AM??? How Dare she!!! I tap her on the shoulder.
GM: She turns around and bellows 'DO YOU MIND!'
RK: I pull out my stim patch!
GM: What are you doing?
RK: I give it to her right on the forehead!
GM: (mouth gaping). Wha…? OK (rolls) You nail her on the forehead and the meds take effect. She sways, starts to shake, and collapses, grunting and twitching.
RK: OK! Yeah! I take out my flamethrower!
GM (Cursing that no one was watching and noticed the serious bulge). You hear someone say from behind you, "Freeze. Lone Star!!" It's the two women who were chatting at the table. They must be off duty officers. And they have pistols.
RK: Damn! OK, I throw Bixby at one of them!
GM: WHAT???
RK: YES!!! "Out of the night and into the fight it's BIXBY!!" Then I throw him at one of the women!
GM: (gaping) OK, you hit one square in the face (she is stunned by revulsion), and the other opens fire with her pistol.
RK: I dodge by jumping over the counter, then I set the Pyro charge in Bixby to go off with my remote controller!
GM: Awwww God! The firebomb goes off. The two women start screaming in agony, along with the rotund woman who had just barely managed to crawl to the doorway. You see the clerk crouching down behind the counter about three feet away from you. "Hello! 911? Yes, we need-"
RK: BURN HER!!!!
GM: (mourning his two hours of prep time for the next run going up in smoke, literally). OK, no contest, she is burning like a kindling log. She stumbles to the back door, gets it open, and falls through. You catch a glimpse of a propane tank as she finally passes out underneath the hoses. Oh, and the fire is spreading mighty quickly seeing as how you ENGULFED THE ENTIRE SHOP IN FLAMES!!!
RK: Awwww crumb. OK, I run for the front entrance..
GM: As you run out you see several Lone Star patrol cars just pulling up. They spy your flamethrower and open fire (various rolls, resulting in near deadly damage, from which RK almost goes down -gotta love dermal plating!). You dive behind the rotund woman, and you hear a deafening explosion. (more rolls) You manage to not suffocate from the roasting flesh of the 350 pound woman which was pushed on top of you by the blast. You hear screams as the Lone Star patrolmen are caught in the blast. (holding his forehead and asking for aspirin). What do you do now?
RK: Well, I get out from under the woman and go to a phone booth. Call my buddies.
GM: You call them up and ask for a pickup?
OTHER PLAYER: I'm sorry, you have the wrong number.
RK: Oh &%#!!
GM: You hear more sirens, approaching fast.
RK: Looks like it's just you n'me, Juju.
There's not much you can say after that, eh? Take a few minutes to quiet the stunned nausea before attempting anything that takes concentration.

Ciao for Now,

Karen Karen - [email protected]
 
File #17 - March 2nd, 2000: Are You Questioning Mah Authoritah?

Well, it seems like the Clueless do that a lot. Or at least, fail to respect or respond appropriately to such. Lone Star seems to be one of their larger problems. If your doubt this, please read on… The run was simple… (Author's note: this phrase is becoming to the Clueless like 'Once upon a time' is to fairy tales).

Someone knocked off one of the group's favourite Johnsons (??) and the group was out for revenge. While two of the Sammies watched trid, the third went out to do legwork on locating the assassin.

Now, these Sammies took a lot of pride in both their home and their work. Throughout the place were framed newspaper clippings of their exploits, used and ripped-off (literally!) cyberware, their weapons, tools, everything was proudly displayed.

So PC#1 tracks down a witness of the killing, looking to get a description of the murderer. It seems the witness was the employee of a local card store. Christmas was fast approaching, and the store was full of customers buying Christmas cards, wrapping paper, etc. Ignoring them all, the PC shoulders his way to the head of the line and questions the harried shopworker:

Sammie: "Hi! I heard you witnessed the murder just outside the shop last night. Can you give me some information about it?"
GM: The girl looks very tense, on the verge of crying. She says "Sorry, we're kinda busy. I can't talk to you about it right now. Could you meet me after work?"
Sammie: OK, I pull out my Ares Predator.
GM: Several of the people in line closest to you scream and hit the dirt. The girl squeaks, goes white, and looks terrified. Alarms start ringing, and people scramble and beat it out of the store.
Sammie: oh yeah… alarms. I run.
GM: You make it out of the store just before several cops arrive.
Sammie: Good. I walk back in.
GM: (after a moment of stunned silence). OK
Sammie: "Hey guys! I just saw the robber run by me. I can identify him."
GM: The shopgirl points to you with a trembling finger. "That's him! That's the robber!"
Sammie: (looking confused as he remembers that she has seen his face). "Prove it!"
GM: The Star breaks out the security tape and run it. It's you all right.
Sammie: Ooops
GM: The Star frisks you, take away the rest of your weapons and equipment, march you outside, and put you in the back of their car. They ask you who you are, and where you live.
Sammie: I tell them.
PC 2&3: What????
Sammie: I give them my address and radio ahead to prepare an ambush.
GM: With the radio the police just took from you?
Sammie: Yeah, that one. Damn.

End result, the Star proceed to the home of the unsuspecting other two players. Once they stop, the Sammie says he gets out of the back of the police car to attack them, hopefully to cause enough noise to warn his chummers, only to be reminded that there ARE no door releases in the back of a police car! So, his chummers are all caught totally unprepared, and eventually go to jail with roughly 20 counts of Murder One, Robbery, Arson, Possession of Stolen Goods, ad infinitum, ad nauseum.

Smooth Jake, a character totally built on flamboyant theatrics meant to impress, returns to the scene of his crime, which is now under heavy investigation. Cops are everywhere, going over everything with a fine-toothed comb looking for clues. Jake smiles and walks confidently towards them, looking for his bike that for reasons we won't get into, had been left behind. He finds it, unfortunately chained to a post as police evidence. A bored looking cop stands nearby. Jake walks up to him purposefully.

Cop: "Can I help you?"
Jake: "Yeah. Why is my bike locked up?"
Cop: "Because it's evidence for our investigation."
Jake: "No. It's not. It's my bike."
Cop: "Do you have proof of that?"
Jake: "No… I haven't loaded it onto my credstick yet."
Cop: "Well, that's… unfortunate. But, you know, I might take your word on it for a hundred nuyen."
Jake: "WHAT? THAT'S MY BIKE AND I WANT IT NOW!"
Cop: "That's really unfortunate. I find the machine has been re-evaluated to two hundred and fifty nuyen."
Jake: "No way in Hell!"

The cop calls over one of his buddies, they discuss the situation, and finally decide that the bike is a rare collectors edition that would be worth about five hundred nuyen, each. Jake is appalled.

Jake: (to GM) "I'm gonna pull back my trenchcoat and start reaching for my Uzi III."
GM: You KNOW that there are, like, four or five squad cars here, right?"
Jake: "Yeah. I can take em! Grrrrrr…"
Spectator: "Oh my GOD! HE'S GOT A GUN!"

So, Smooth Jake spends the night in prison being chased by a Troll named Bruiser, who had a tattoo that said: "Call me but(t) love" - Shakespeare

Note to File: It is a sad state of affairs that this column's subject meshes perfectly with next month's offering. After all,, since I started my new session on April Fool's Day (game time), I should have expected something…

Tune in next month (and don't forget your barf bags) for Authoritah, Part Two, "Screw You Guys, I'm Going Home."

Ciao for Now,

Karen - [email protected]
 
File #18 - April 3rd, 2000: Screw You Guys, I'm Goin' Home!

Once again, gentle readers, we rendezvous for another sad tale of utter cluelessness. Did you remember your barf bags like I asked you too?

I have the horrific honour of having GMed this debacle. Why me???

Anyway, after a six-month burnout-prevention sabbatical, three weeks ago I started a new session. Everyone took new characters and after the long break they were eager to get started. For some unknown reason, I started game time on April Fools Day. This was a portent of things to come….
Spectre was a street kid, a raccoon shaman savvy in the ways of the Puyallup sprawl. Due to an upbringing in a Catholic orphanage, he DID posses a SIN.

On April 2nd he jandered on home to his apartment after meeting with some buddies and heard a scuffle in the alley next to his apartment building. Being the curious type, he decides to check it out. He slipped down the alley, past by the dumpsters, and saw a young woman being assaulted by three big n'burly goons. He immediately springs into action, casting a lightning bolt at the man holding the girl. The spell hits the target, travels through him to the girl he was holding by the neck off the ground and zaps them both. The guy was tough enough to survive but the girl was totally fried…

Oh, it gets better. MUCH better.

The three goons (and a very nice GM) beat the crap outta Spectre and leave him face down in the alley. Once again, the GM (being VERY nice) does not have some street bums find him while unconscious and strip him of his stuff. Eventually he wakes up with major bruises and headache. Not wanting to leave the poor girl in the alley, he decides to pick her up and CARRY HER TO HIS HOME! It is roughly three o'clock in the afternoon! Old Mrs. Parson's, a nosy neighbour who likes to hang on the steps, sees him coming towards her carrying a body, scorched and kinda stiff with rigour, and screams. Then she pulls out her phone and (I was quite obvious here) calls the cops. Spectre at this point realizes there is something wrong with carrying a corpse down the street of a fairly decent neighbourhood in broad daylight, so decides to just leave her on the sidewalk. He heads home to take a shower and get cleaned up.

Needless to say, within the hour Lone Star was knocking on the door! They arrest him, and take him downtown. Luckily for Spectre (it's called a GM who doesn't want to kill off a character in the first gaming session), the Star didn't check the body for magical residue until it was too late, so had no real proof that the kid actually committed the murder. They keep him locked up for two days with Huggy the Troll, and Spectre gets off on a technicality.

At this point I took the young player aside and told him, point blank, that the Star knew he did it, and were quite pissed they couldn't make a charge stick. I told him to consider he had the flaw Police Record, and if the Star had any chance to harass him, they would.

So, the next gaming session rolls around, and while the actual players were trying to plan out and do legwork on a run, Spectre and another character, the rigger Sugar Ray, decide to go party. It's Saturday night, and Dexter was having a house party. Dexter was an enemy of the Sugar Ray, and unbeknownst to Sugar Ray had planned to set him up for the murder of Dexter's girlfriend, whom Ray had been seeing on the sly. The setup goes pretty much according to plan, and after the girl was killed (and Dexter shot as well), Spectre comes out of the house. He HANGS AROUND until the cops get there.

Now you have to understand Dexter is a rich kid's boy. An assault on this fellow required Lone Star to not only show up quickly but be thorough. Soon Dexter's family Johnny Cochrane-style lawyer (on retainer) shows up. Lone Star begins to question the witnesses…

Star: Your name, sir?
Spectre: Just call me Spectre.
Star: Spectre? (raising his eyebrows)
Spectre: Yeah, just Spectre. It's my street name.
Star: Ooookay. Did you see what happened?
Spectre: Yes, that fellow over there tried to set up someone.
Star: Set up, sir?
Johnny Cochrane: Excuse me officer, can I talk to you for a minute?

OK, at this point, things were getting serious, and the PC needed to book, right fraggin NOW. So, I tell him after a patsy perception test that the hedge behind him had rustled. He turns to look and sees the branches wave, but Spectre decides it was just a dog or something, and keeps hanging around. Oh, and he uses Control Thoughts to make Dexter confess (and do you think, with a rich kid and high profile lawyer, that there will NOT be a magical trace done on the signature of that piece of derring-do? When I last checked, control spells were still severely illegal). Meanwhile, the Star and the legal beagle finished their discussion.

Star: Sir, could I see your ID please?
Spectre: Why?
Star: As a potential witness sir, we will need to be able to contact you later for further information.
Spectre: I don't have my credstick with me. It's at home.
Star: Then could we have your name, sir?
Spectre: I told you, it's Spectre.
Star: Your real name, sir.
Spectre: Alright, it's Wes Black.
Star: Your address?
Spectre: Ummmm, well I'm kinda living in a hotel right now…

At this point, I hear a collective gasp from the other players, as they realize that this person is about to reveal not only their collective squat, but bring down police notice on several of their best contacts, blowing the group's reputation to shreds…

So, the other Star asks the questioning officer to step aside with him for a minute (as the GM bravely saves the rest of the group's collective asses), and they consult a police datascreen. They mutter, look at the Spectre, and back at the screen. Something had to break here, so once again I drew the PC's attention to the hedge. This time he saw the back end of someone as THEY had the sense to book from the scene. Spectre got the hint, and followed them.

GM: OK, you squirm through the hedge, cross someone's back yard, and come out on the next block. What do you do.
Spectre: I guess I'll go home. They don't know where I live.
GM: (desperately suppressing a moaning gasp, and hoping he was just going there to pick up his things.) Alright, you make it there no problem, what are you going to do?
Spectre: I'm tired, I'll just have a shower and watch some trid.
GM: (who at this point finally gives up, and decides the PC deserves what he gets) You're watching a favorite sitcom, and someone knocks on the door.
Spectre: I'll call out "Who is it?"
Other Players: One drops his head to the table and starts to beat it against the wood. Another slouches further down in his chair and pulls his hat over his face to hide his hysterically disbelieving grin.
GM: Lone Star! Open up!
Spectre: Ummmm. I just got out of the shower. Let me get some clothes on.
GM: Open the door now or we'll open it for you!
Spectre: I jump out the window!
GM: Nope. Initiative. (he rolls, I beat him with both cops). The cops both slam into the door and it bursts open. (Gotta love Orc strength)
Spectre: My initiative? I run and jump out of the window.
GM: You're five stories up.

So to make a long LOONNGG story shorter, Spectre jumps out of the window, and manages to use a levitate spell on his next action (with really high target numbers due to falling) and land without taking damage. The Star cops run to the window after him and start shooting. Spectre was quite surprised when I pointed out that after taking a shower and settling down at home, it was highly unlikely he would be wearing armour..

So, instead of taking a sharp right and ducking into the alley, out of the line of fire, our hero decides instead to run down the street to find his bike. Even with the modifiers for target running and long range, he was spattered over the sidewalk before he made it halfway.

Sigh.

Yes, the player is coming back. Everyone has a learning curve, and this young fellow has a LOT to learn. I'll give him another chance. ONE more chance. After all, we always can use more material for the C.L.U.E. casefiles…

Ciao for Now,

Karen - [email protected]
 
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