Cyberpunk Edgerunners Mission Kit Solo Log – Part 4 (Plus Environmental Options)

Setback in Northside

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(Start at Part 1 here.)

The next morning found Wrench working on his van.  The nomad didn’t have the lug nuts to crawl back to the ripperdoc after his warning (which he didn’t heed,) but he was feeling a little better and up for some grease-monkeying.  A sudden call on his holo almost caused him to drop the van’s hood on his head.

“We got a ping!” It was Maven’s excited face in a box, along with Hardpoint’s serious expression from the box next to her.  Thorn’s half-extended “bed hair” barely concealed his sleepy face within a third box below.  Sometimes, the facial simulation software in older Chyron versions glitches and adds another face or even body parts when they get too close to the caller.  A woman’s face with tussled, dual-toned hair emerged from the rockerboy’s shoulder as if she was peeking curiously over it, even though she was not actually on the call.  

There was an awkward silence.  Thorn's amalgamated image looked beside him and then back at the group with a look of feigned embarrassment.  Things like this happened after a night of "hanging out" with Papa Garcin.  The face kissed the rockerboy, then disappeared behind him.

Maven blinked and continued: “The jacket was in Watson; Northside.  Get over here, you gonks!”  She cut the call.

***

The van dropped off Thorn’s “groupie” at the corner of Cortes and Kennedy Street.  She made the antiquated sign for “call me” at the rockerboy as the van screeched off.  Maven and Hardpoint were in the back, snickering like schoolgirls.  Wrench glared at Thorn as the rockerboy waved goodbye from the passenger-side window: “Do I look like one of those bald, blue-lipped Delamains to you?!  Ah!   Would you like to purchase the Excelsior package for just a billion eddies more, Sir?  It comes with a complementary bottle of La Perle des Alpes.”  Wrench's impression of the automated taxi service left something to be desired, but it was pretty entertaining.  He grumbled: "I don’t see why we had to waste time dropping off your input!  Jacket’s probably long gone by now!"

Thorn shrugged and glanced at a screen on the dashboard which displayed the “mirror” view from the passenger-side camera.  Words scrolled below the girl's shrinking shape in the distance: “objects are closer than they appear”  The image gave Thorn an idea for the song he was working on, but he was a little hung over, and didn’t relish the thought of composing in a stuffy van while arguing with a cranky nomad.  “Relax, she needed the ride and it was on the way,” he said.

"Don’t worry, big brother."  Maven placed her little hand on the nomad’s broad shoulder in the same way he had done to her days ago.  “The signal is delayed anyway, so it probably doesn’t matter if we’re a little late.  We might still find a good lead.”   Wrench grunted and concentrated on the road, fuming in silence.

***

They arrived at the ping’s coordinates: an abandoned shantytown in the middle of nowhere – technically still in the NID, but reaching the city’s northern outskirts, near the old oilfields.  The megacorps had abandoned this area a long time ago, but it still smelled of toxic fumes.

As Thorn’s mother told it, their family had lived in a place like this towards the end of the Time of the Red.  The sitting Mayor at the time was hell-bent on a crusade against homelessness to shore up support for reelection, so the shantytown had to go (translation: some megacorp wanted the land.)  To avoid PR blowback, there was a lottery to house some of the families in one of the new megabuildings that had been constructed; really a subsidized rent scheme that funneled money to the same megacorp’s subsidiaries, with a little left over for the Mayor’s pockets as well.  Thorn’s family had been lucky “winners” but most of the other families in that shantytown were never heard from again.

"Karma is a bitch," however, and by the time Thorn had turned about 13 or 14, his family was kicked out of the apartment they lived in, along with several others on that floor.  The entire floor (a mid-to-upper one) was prime real estate that a developer wanted to buy for peanuts, spruce up, and rent out for even more eddies as higher-end units.  An “error” in the system showed that his parents had not paid their rent in several months.  They had.  Thorn saw to it while his mom and dad went on one of their usual benders.  It was a one-two punch of corporate layoffs, plus alcoholism and substance abuse after their corpo-prescribed stimulants were cut off.  It wrecked his parents.  The fun, wholesome family sitcom of his childhood turned dark during those years, and music became his escape.  Corpos: 2, average folks: 0.¹

Wrench parked the van a safe distance from the area and the group moved cautiously towards the middle of the shantytown.  It was eerily quiet here, and the morning haze (or was it the chemicals?) obscured vision between the abandoned, aluminum shacks and piles of trash.  Not a soul was a round.  Something didn’t feel right.

Hardpoint was the first one to notice it: the glint of a scope.²  She only had time to yell: “It’s a trap!” before she was forced to duck behind one of the shacks.  A rifle round barely missed her.

Two gonks with holo-shades and bulky, Satara tech shotguns emerged from hiding places to open fire.  If our edgerunners were small fish in a big pond, these were bottom-feeders.  Young toughs, or down-on-their-luck cyberpunks with scavenged iron and cheap, LED-lit, "Qin Da Chi" blades from some market in Kabuki (dried blood still on both) to complete the street ronin look.  They worked for small-time eddies, and were highly expendable, but still dangerous.  The edgerunner crew scattered for cover.  None of them couldn’t see who fired the rifle shot.

Wrench and Thorn exchanged gunfire with the two edgerunner gonks.  Hardpoint moved around the shacks, keeping cover between her and the direction of the rifle shot, to flank one of the edgerunner gonks.  He barely had time to look upward to see the solo’s silhouette in the morning sun, dropping on him with Mantis Blades fully extended.  Still, he managed to dodge out of the way, and produced his cheap, ronin’s blade to clumsily (but effectively,) fend off Hardpoint’s onslaught.

Maven found a tall, stepped stack of containers covered by an old tarp flapping in the wind.  She clambered her way up easily this time, and set up a position with her Techtronika rifle, partially concealed by the tarp.  Her custom optics were fuzzy for a brief second as they interfaced with the sniper rifle’s scope to reveal four silhouettes in the area, highlighted in red.³  One was kneeling from the top of a shack with a rifle.  She found him.  “Getting the hang of this edgerunning thing!" she thought to herself with newfound confidence.

With one of the gonks preoccupied, the rockerboy and nomad concentrated their fire on the other.  They could hear the sound of clashing blades between them.  This gonk was not bad, Hardpoint thought.  He might have even had a future as an edgerunner, but she intended to make sure his talent went undiscovered.

Maven got a bead on the rifleman and fired.  A hit!  But he was only stunned for a moment; must have body armor under the coat, or dermal plating, the tech thought.  Worse, he managed to spot her and shoot before leaping off of the shack.  Damn!  That was too close!  Maven had to leave her compromised position as well, like when she was spotted “camping” in one of those VR shoot-em-ups she played as a teen.  

Once below, she realized that her custom optics were still fuzzy, even though she had disconnected safely from her rifle scope.  “That’s not right!  I just calibrated them…” her heart sank.  One of the four gonks she had spotted earlier wasn’t fighting, just kneeling behind some cover.  She thought it was odd, but she had been focused on the rifleman on top of the shack then.  Netrunner; must have picked up her signal when her optics connected to her scope.  “That’s the last time I settle for bargain firewall soft, even if I have to eat kibble!”  The tech stumbled, hampered by staticky vision, as she tried to find new cover.  She couldn’t see that the rifleman was on her tail.

Hardpoint was getting tired of the blade exchange, but the edgerunner gonk was tiring as well.  In the end, titanium cyberware beat cheap steel, which snapped like freeze-dried scop cracker.  Her blade continued its trajectory to cut through neck and bone like a rush-and-bamboo tameshigiri, ending that particular street ronin’s career.

Maven managed to find cover behind another shack closer to where the edgerunner crew had entered the shantytown. She tried peeking around a corner to see if she was safe, but was effectively blind in one eye.  She had to warn the others about that netrunner, but if she did, the ‘runner would know everything she exchanged with her crew!  The tech concentrated on all her disappointment and anger at what she perceived to be her failures on this gig: “GET OUT OF MY HEAD!!!”  Her firewall finally kicked in, and dumped the intruder.  Maven wished it had been black ICE to fry them instead, but at least she was safe.

“Netrunner!  Watch out!” she quickly messaged to the others.  Her baby-faced, winning grin was cut short by rifle fire against her cover.  She peeked out briefly, and could see the rifleman with her optics clearly now.  The ratty, black leather coat he wore contrasted with clean-cut, Asian features.  This guy was no edgerunner gonk, he was a professional corpo agent; Arasaka.  Maven’s heart skipped a beat as she realized the danger she was in.

Thorn and Wrench looked at each other while they were sheltering behind cover and reloading.  They had both seen Maven’s message.  “Go find that netrunner, I’ll cover you!”  Wrench said.  The nomad emerged and unleashed with his Kang Tao.  Smart shells flew like a swarm of lighting-fast bees to make contact with the enemy’s armor in several places, driving him back behind cover.  Thorn dashed between the shacks, and past the preoccupied gonk, with a clumsy, one-handed blast from his Carnage for good measure.  Maven messaged the netrunner’s location to the rockerboy over his holo.⁴

Hardpoint had also received Maven’s messages, but the solo was more concerned about that corpo agent she mentioned. Maven was alone with him.  Hardpoint produced her own, Arasaka rifle, racked it with the familiar, satisfying sound of a well-maintained weapon, and ran towards Maven’s position.

The remaining edgerunner gonk recovered, and came out of cover briefly to fire his Satara at the rockerboy, but only managed to hit a makeshift AC unit on the side of a shack.  It exploded with flying sparks (was the electricity still connected here?!)  This was enough of a distraction for Wrench to charge and close the distance, slamming into the gonk like a nomad rig.  His cyberfist made impact and broke the gonk’s face with an audible crunch and a glitch of his holo-shades.  Only the gonk’s spray-painted, armorjack helmet saved his skull.  Some edgerunners forego head protection, since it interferes with their “style,” but that often results in not-so-stylish corpses.⁵  This edgerunner was smarter than most…until the concussion killed his bonus brain cells.

Thorn spotted the netrunner and fired his shotgun to disrupt her.  The netrunner returned fire with her own pistol, but the LEDs in her eyes were flashing blue.  Thorn realized what she was doing: probably hacking his chrome right now and he wouldn’t know it until it was too late.  The rockerboy didn’t have much cyberware save for his neurport and AudioVox implant.  If the netrunner got to that, it would mean he would have to miss his next music gig while he got an antivirus checkup with his ripperdoc.  No real loss.  The netrunner fired her pistol again and ran off.  Thorn chased after her.

But Thorn had not been the netrunner’s target.  One of Wrench’s Gorilla Arms stopped in mid swing to twitch and spasm.  “Fuck!”  Wrench took his eyes off the edgerunner gonk to look at his malfunctioning arm in an involuntary reflex.  That was all the time the gonk needed to recover, pick up his shotgun, and shoot, destroying the same arm in a burst of parts.  Wrench tried to smash the gonk with his other arm, but missed wildly and the gonk fired again.  The tech shot blasted through the nomad’s already damaged armorjack and straight to flesh.  There’s a reason protective equipment comes with a disclaimer not to reuse after damage.  The nomad went down.

***

The Arasaka agent advanced on Maven’s position as she was reloading, but a barrage of automatic rifle from  Hardpoint checked hi sprogress.  Maven popped out of the shack's "window" opening and fired her shotgun.  A pattern of small holes appeared on the agent’s leather coat as he jumped behind cover.  The tech and the solo had him successfully pinned down.⁶

***

The battered, edgerunner gonk approached Wrench, his face bleeding and bruised, but murderously confident.  The nomad was incapacitated and having trouble moving.  Blood trickled from his mouth and flowed freely from the wound in his torso.  He couldn’t speak, but the hatred in his eyes sent an unmistakable message.  The gonk raised his shotgun to finish off the nomad, but Wrench's remaining Gorilla Arm darted out and latched on to his throat.  Microservos in the nomad’s fingers contracted hard enough to crunch trachea and squeeze the life out of him.⁷  The nomad's cyberhand only released when the life left him to join his brother and sister riders in the sky.  The two edgerunners fell together as if they were choombas embracing.  They might have shared drinks at the Afterlife had circumstances been different.  Regardless, everyone is equal in death.

***

The netrunner could see through her Chyron link that half her team had flatlined.  She decided the meager eddies for this scop job weren’t worth it, and fled, vowing to work from the sidelines from now on.  The hustle can do the front-line work.⁸  She dived into the edgerunner gonks' beat-up ride and started it while the Arasaka agent yelled curses at her in Japanese.  She cut the holo link.  Thorn was about to run after the vehicle, as ridiculous as chasing a car without cyberlegs sounds, but Hardpoint called the crew back over the holo.  There was no response from Wrench.

***

The Arasaka agent fired his last few rounds to cover his own escape into the oilfields.  Blood drops appeared on the ground in his wake, but Hardpoint decided not to follow.  She had a bad feeling.  Regrouping with Maven, the two rushed to Wrench’s location to find the nomad had fallen.  Maven put her hands to her mouth in shock, and Hardpoint ran to render first aid, but it was too late.  She turned to Maven and shook her head.  The young tech fell to her knees.  The edgerunning thing had seemed so exciting when she had told her Zetatech boss to stuff it, and sold her services on the black market to other edgerunners.  After hearing their stories, she decided she wanted to live on the Edge too.  Now life and death on the Edge was a terrible reality for her.

Thorn arrived shortly after, out of breath.  Maven was crying softly.  When the rockerboy realized what had happened, he pounded his fist against the side of a shack and cursed.  Hardpoint waited a moment before she got the rocckerboy's attention: “Thorn, help me with him.”  He hung his head and nodded, then went over to assist the solo with their fallen teammate.⁹

***

The edgerunner crew ended up at DaKota Garage later.  Calling their client was the best idea they could come up with after the ambush in Northside.  Falco told them to meet up at the fixer’s place.  

The group spent the rest of the day there, numb from the days' events.  Thorn had found a bottle of Papa Garcin somewhere, and was taking swigs off of it while pacing shirtless, with tech hair fully extended.¹⁰   The LEDs in his hair and light tattoos pulsed every time he swallowed, which made him look like an advertisement.  Maven sat quietly by Wrench’s remains.  They had been covered respectfully with an old, but clean blanket.  Her face was marred by tear streaks on one side.  Hardpoint was talking with Dakota in the fixer’s office.

“You did good bringing him here, sister.”  The older, nomad woman said as they emerged from her office.  “We’ll get him to his people.  Normally, his belongings go back to the family since it rightfully belongs to them, but you’ll need them to complete the job.  I think he would have wanted that.”  Hardpoint voiced her thanks, Maven hung her head down in despair, and Thorn took another swig of rum, performed a weird pirouette while doing so, and ended with a clumsy bow of gratitude in the direction of Dakota.

Falco watched the eerily-familiar scene from the shadows while leaning on a nomad vehicle that was undergoing repairs at the garage.  His gaze switched from examining the Lexington pistol the edgerunners had recovered back to the group.  He sighed, hesitating before he spoke:  “Y’all don’t have to complete this job if y’all don’t want to.  I understand.  I’ll pay you for what you’ve done so far.  Might have to just call this a loss.”  He had lost so much already, what’s one more?

Thorn stopped mid-swallow, and spit the rum out with a cough.  He wiped his mouth and pointed with an index and pinky finger in their general direction:  “Nah!  Stuff that!  It’s personal now.  I don’t know why Arasaka is after that jacket, and I don’t give a scop.  You’re getting your stuff, cowboy, all of it, and riding off into the sunset!  Us too, with our eddies!”  Maven raised her head and looked at both Thorn and Hardpoint.  The solo nodded back at the both of them in respectful agreement.  She knew a thing or two about wanting payback.

Falco couldn’t help smiling bitterly under his mustache.  Did stories just repeat themselves like this?  “Then at least take some downtime before you get back on the job.  Believe me, I know you need it.  Call me if there’s any development.” 

The sound of an approaching vehicle indicated that the Aldecaldos had arrived to bring back one of their own.  “You may pay your respects before you go, if you want.”  Dakota said.  Hardpoint went up to Wrench and gave the fallen nomad a professional nod, but no one could tell what she said to him.   Maven got up and went up to the covered nomad, kissed her hand, and touched his forehead.    She whispered, her voice breaking:  “Good bye, big brother.”  Days before, when Maven had asked him, Wrench had told her that calling chooms “brother” and “sister” was a term of respect among nomads, even if they weren’t related.  It meant you were family, and treated as such.  It seemed fitting.  There is bond that forms among people who experience danger together, even complete strangers.  That bond was beginning to form with this crew.

Thorn shuffled over to Wrench, “poured one out” for him, then took a drink himself.  He turned and stumbled in the direction of the garage’s exit, but away from Maven and Hardpoint, who were going to nomad’s van – now their van.  “You’re not coming with us?”  Maven asked.

“Nah…”  Thorn slurred, shaking his head to sober up.  “There’s a motel and bar a short distance from here; heard Wrench liked to go there.  I’m gonna check it out.  I’ll find my way back.”  He stumbled down the road, with the mostly-empty bottle of Papa on one hand and making a hitchhiker’s thumbs-up with the other.   

"We can give you a ride!”  Maven yelled after him.  Thorn did a gesture that said “I’m good” without looking back and then spread his arms wide, looking up at the darkening sky to feel the cool, desert breeze.  Hardpoint put her arm around Maven and ushered her to the van: “Come on.  Let’s go get something to eat.”

The solo started the van, and the two sped back toward the mirage of vertical, holographic lights that was Night City.  Thorn mock saluted them as they drove by.¹¹
 

Never Forget

To be continued…

Game Notes

---

1 Thorn’s lifepath includes “megabuilding” in both the Family Background and Childhood Environment sections, with the addition of “driven from his home” as his Family Crisis.^↩ 

2 Hardpoint succeeded her Perception roll, and tends to act first pretty much every time due to her class ability's initiative bonus.  This included the chase encounter in the previous episode.^↩ 

3 I know that’s not necessarily how the Grad’s scope looks, but I like the idea of Maven’s custom optics becoming one with it, since they do give her a bonus to spotting enemies^.↩ 

4 Like in the video game, I figured that she “tagged” the enemies and would know their positions in real-time.^↩  

5 Characters in media seldom wear helmets, but any experienced RPG player, especially playing with an old school GM, knows that’s a bad move.^↩  

6 These were just regular attacks. I didn’t know at that time that there are rules in the Cyberpunk RED rulebook for suppressive fire. I have a copy, but I’ve just been referencing the CEMK rulebook during play.^↩ 

7 This was pretty awesome! I offset the nomad's Mortally Wounded penalty by dumping Luck into this last, “F.U.” to this guy (he didn’t have a lot of HP left from the nomad’s pummeling earlier.) I only learned later that characters can attempt to stabilize themselves.  Oh well…the gonk would have probably finished Wrench off, anyway.^↩  

8 Who was this mysterious netrunner? I had some ideas, but too many cameos is too many cameos, so I didn’t actually ask the GM oracle. You decide!^↩  

9 I rolled the shantytown encounter randomly since this part of the encounter order (i.e. “beats”) is left to the GM to decide as to which one happens next. It was a brutal, and I recommend GMs be judicious in deciding when to place this one (or not *evil laughter.*) I kept whiffing rolls with Hardpoint, and made things worse by committing the deadliest of sins in RPGs: don’t split the party! As a result, Wrench’s death is completely on me.^↩  

10 Hey! You find food and drink items lying around in the video game all the time!^↩  

11 I considered the scene at Dakota’s as part of “downtime,” but I felt the need to flesh it out to give Wrench a proper goodbye, even if it’s a little melodramatic. I build on these events later.  I even asked the GM oracle if the other characters could keep Wrench’s things (incl. the van.) PCs are like hyenas when it comes to their fallen choom’s stuff.^↩

Bonus: Environmental Options

Cyberpunk RED and the CEMK have pretty robust rules for cover with some examples, but here are some additional options for cover and other environmental features that can spice up combat encounters.

• Aluminum shack: this counts as "Thin Steel" cover.  At the GM's discretion, enough damage to the walls (about three sections,) could cause it to collapse for 6d6 damage, with a DV17 Athletics check to avoid.
  
• Barbed or concertina wire: causes1d6 damage to anyone trying to move into or through this space.  In addition, the character must spend an action to untangle themselves.
• Billboard or sidewalk ad board: counts as "Thin Steel" cover; may glitch when hit, with potential, hilarious results.
  
• CHOOH2 canister: larger ones count as "Thin Steel" cover.  Regardless of size, these explode for 6d6 damage in a 10m radius when destroyed.
• Large crate, plastic: counts as "Plaster/Foam/Plastic"; could have stuff inside, like a piñata!  Hopefully not explosives!
  
• Large crate, wood: counts as "Thick Wood" cover.  As an option, splintering shrapnel may cause 1d6 damage to anyone within 2m when destroyed.
• Holographic ad projector: ranged attacks against a character standing behind a hologram suffer a -1 penalty.  Characters concealed by a holographic ad also have a +1 bonus to Stealth.
• Oil drums: counts as "Thin Steel" cover.  See toxic waste below for toxic drums.  CHOOH2 drums explode like canisters above.
• Power source: anyone taking cover near a power generator, transformer, or the like may take damage if it is destroyed.  A CHOOH2 generator explodes (as above.)  An electrical source shocks anyone within 2m for 3d6 damage to the body.
  
• Obscuring smoke, fog, or foliage: thin varieties of these penalize ranged attacks against a concealed character by -2, while thick varieties penalize ranged attacks by -4.
• Toxic waste: caustic chemicals cause 1d6 damage per round exposed.  “Heeelp…meee…ooohhh…!” – Paul McCrane as Emil Antonowsky after being doused in toxic waste, Robocop (1987.)
• Vehicle, whole: use the vehicle’s SDP and use your judgment as to whether a destroyed part (like the gas tank or engine,) causes it to explode.  Explosions function like a CHOOH2 canister.

 

This material based on the Cyberpunk Edgerunners Mission Kit is unofficial content provided under the Homebrew Content Policy of R. Talsorian Games and is not approved or endorsed by RTG. This content references materials that are the property of R. Talsorian Games and its licensees.

Cyberpunk Edgerunners Mission Kit Solo Log - Part 3 (Plus NCART N-Counters)

 (New?  Start at Part 1 here.)

Downtime, Barbecues, and Chases

For the next day, the edgerunners took care of their own, personal business.¹ Maven decided to tinker with the REO tracking device at her tiny tech lair and workshop in Little China.  However, it was a straightforward piece of machinery, so she put it back down.  It was really a game of hurry-up-and-wait until the jacket resurfaced and caused the tracker to ping again.

She wouldn’t admit it to the crew, but the firefight at the self-storage place (her first) had shaken her up more than she had expected, even a day later.  Maven reached for her braindance wreath and popped in a meditation shard she bought at a market in Kabuki.  Sure, those shards were usually overpriced, woo-woo scop sold by dubious holy-persons, but they made her feel better.  She needed the confidence boost.  

“Gotta live in the moment…and breathe…” her optics lit up as the meditation BD began.

***

Wrench went to see a ripperdoc he knew out in the Badlands.²  The doc sometimes did business out of the Sunset Motel, a roadhouse of sorts and the last stop out of the city before the open road.  

He could have gone back to the Aldecaldo’s camp for aid, but Wrench had been part of a small faction of rebellious youths that followed in the footsteps of the the hot-tempered, Panam Palmer, who didn’t agree with the clan patriarch's way of doing things.  It was a matter of pride: he would make it big in the city, like old Santiago did, or die trying.

The doc took a look at the nomad’s bruised ribs and chuckled:  “Yep.  You got a couple of fractured boys all right.  I can bandage you up and give you some spare painkillers, but you’re gonna have to take it easy for a while.  I don’t want to see you here again any time soon, you hear?  There ain’t more painkillers for you if you do!”  

“Sure.” Wrench said.  “I’ll relax.”  Wrench’s idea of “relaxing” typically included drinking at the motel’s bar, followed by a fight or two in the parking lot as a chaser.  His ripperdoc knew that too, hence the admonishment.

***

Downtime for Hardpoint wasn’t exactly restful, either.  Running into Spike had drug up a lot of bad memories.  To be fair, Spike wasn’t even responsible for most of them, but thinking about her somehow made those bad memories worse.  

This is why she found herself at the local, 2nd Amendment range.  It was like meditation for her, except loud, and with flying lead.

***

The only one who had anything resembling a good time was Thorn.  His teenage cousin was having a birthday party in Santo, where the rockerboy's family managed to get back on their feet after they were kicked out of the megabuilding they lived in.  

That was the good news.  The bad news was that they had his uncle, who held the rank of "Sarge" in 6th Street, to thank for their good fortune.  That meant the gang pretty much owned their asses.  

Too many people are willing to sell their lives out for safety, he thought.  Whether it’s a megacorp, a government, or a gang, selling out is selling out.  It was one of the messages he tried to get out through his music, if anyone was really listening.  Being independent can be risky, especially in Night City, but it was something you couldn't buy with eddies…or maybe you could.  He became an edgerunner to make his own money: to propel Thorns on Roses to the top without any corpo label backing.  Sticking it to the powers that be on a gig was a bonus.

Despite the 6th Street crowd, the birthday barbecue was fun.  Thorn played a short concert for them, “unplugged” (if you could call a cyber guitar and AudioVox implant that.)  Even the rowdy and drunk 6th Street gonks shut up and listened when Thorn began to strum chords on “vintage acoustic” mode.  They nodded their heads to the music and lyrics, but they didn’t really understand them, even his young cousin, who turned 16 today.  He would probably be joining the gang soon.  Thorn let his rage and sadness at that thought flow through his performance.

***

Wrench picked up the edgerunners the next morning and the crew headed to the NCART station in Vista Del Rey in search of Dalton’s mainline.  Maven had reported no ping from the device as of yet, but they still had this lead to go on.  

Although they tried to arrive early, the crew became stuck in Night City’s legendary, rush hour traffic.  It was hot in the nomad’s vehicle, and everyone was starting to get testy.

Thorn broke the tension with the obvious: “We could have just taken the train, choom."  Maven giggled and even Hardpoint cracked a smile, but Wrench wasn’t in the mood.  The diluted painkillers barely held back the hangover, let alone the pain in his ribs.  

He grunted: “It ain’t my fault you people live like a pack of SoyDeenz in the city!  Open road is the way!  Nothing holding you back, not even the wind; smells fresher too!”  The nomad smiled to himself, lost in some memory, but the rest of the crew didn’t really get the image, packed in the van like those "Deenz."³

They finally arrived to the NCART station at the corner of Congress and MLK towards the end of rush hour.  Wrench haphazardly dumped eddies in a parking meter, and ran to catch up to the rest of the crew headed to the station. Hopefully, they could still catch the busker before her “shift” ended and she left.

The station was dim, and dingier on the inside than it seemed on the outside.  The official story was that Night City had come a long way in the past 30-40 years since the Time of the Red, when radioactive fallout from the nuclear blast that brought down Arasaka towers coated the sky, the rain, and the city itself in a toxic, bloody shade of crimson.  The City Center and parts of the surrounding areas had been rebuilt entirely, but if you looked hard enough, you could see where things were just fresh, neon-lit paint jobs to cover up urban decay going all the way back to before the 2020s.  Like an aging joytoy piling on cheap chrome to cover up the ravages of time.

The station was mostly empty save for a few, late stragglers trying to catch to the next train in vain.  The crew heard the sound of a guitar accompanied by singing, and followed it to its source: a young girl with platinum blonde hair that reflected the pink, neon light of an advertisement behind her.  She was sitting on a blanket at a spot where she could catch the attention of passersby with her music.

 
Wrench said: “You go talk to her, Thorn, since you seem to speak the same language.  Hardpoint and I will keep an eye out for trouble.  Maven, you go with Thorn and watch his back.” 

Thorn and Maven approached the busker and waited patiently for her to finish her song.  Maven dropped a couple of cash eddies in her guitar case.  Thorn clapped, and said:  “Preem!  Never heard that song in a folksy version: might flow better if you go easy on that F chord change, though."  The rockerboy cringed inwardly when he realized that he was thinking out loud.

The busker looked a little annoyed at the criticism, but her demeanor changed when she recognized the rockerboy.  Besides, he sort of had a point – her heart hadn't really been in the performance:“Wait...you’re Thorn, aren’t you?  I just downloaded your last single, Spire to the Stars?  It really rocked!  I’m Summer,” she smiled and extended her hand.

“Thanks!” Thorn smiled back and shook her hand.  His ego had been stroked, which was nice, but he hated being recognized so easily while edgerunning.  Maybe he needed to try a different style?  Really thought combat zone chic would do the trick.  Guess not.  

The rockerboy said: “Listen, I don’t mean to scare you, but we’re looking for your boy, Dalton.  He’s in some trouble and we’re trying to find him before it finds him, if you catch my meaning."

Her face creased with concern.  It seemed to Thorn that she had genuine feelings for this guy, but the busker confirmed this with her words.  According to her, Dalton was a rare sweetheart; nicer than any of the gonks she’d met in Night City, especially as a member of the Mox.  They’d been together for about three months.  He even dropped by about thirty minutes prior to bring her some breakfast.

“Aww…that’s so sweet!”  Maven said with her head cocked to the side and a dreamy smile.  One of the young tech's guilty pleasures was cheap, mass-produced romance virtus.  She was a virtual gonk for them, you could say.  Not like those weirdos who spend all their time (and money) at sketchy, BD shacks, though; she knew her limits...or thought she did.

Thorn continued: “Well, we’re not after him, so you two are safe as far as we’re concerned.  We’re just looking for some stolen stuff; a few weapons and a yellow jacket with a green design; heard he might have it.”  

“That’s right.” she said.  “He gave it to me; said it was supposed to be a symbol of our love, which was sweet of him, but I didn’t have the heart to tell him yellow isn’t my style.  I sold it to some corpo that was here just before you showed up.  He offered me me 500 eddies for it.  What a gonk!  It ain’t even worth half that much!  So of course I handed it over.  We’ll need that money if we’re going to make it, Dalton and me.  Love’s all that matters, but the eddies help, you know?  He’s right over there.” Summer pointed in the direction of a man in a badly-tailored business suit waiting by the blue line platform to Glen North and Megabuilding H1, but the man's eyes widened when he noticed the group staring at him.  He turned his head and saw Hardpoint and Wrench approaching from opposite ends of the station.

Thorn was about to thank Summer and encourage her to continue with her music when Hardpoint shouted: “He’s running for it!”  Maven was still dazzled by the story of the star-crossed lovers.  Wrench growled: “Shit!  Don’t just gonk out!  Get him!” 

The group chased the fleeing corpo into the next NCART train, which had just arrived.  They barely made it inside as the automated voice called to “please stand clear of the closing...”  Wrench forced them open with his Gorilla Arms and the group ran in.

The train was pretty crowded, despite the end of rush hour, and it was hard to make out the corpo in the colorful mass of people.  It didn’t help that some gonk decided that "sharing is caring," and blared the latest Us Cracks from a Fuyutsuki boom box just as the edgerunners tried to squeeze by, startling them.  

“PON-PON SHIT, PON-PON SHIT, PON-PO…"

Wrench smashed the boom box with a hammer-like motion of his cyberfist.  The gonk, who had been nodding his head enthusiastically to that annoying, NC Top 40 number, looked up in outrage, but swallowed his anger when he saw the nomad’s size.

Hardpoint managed to spot the corpo as he was opening the door to the next car.  The edgerunners followed after him.

This one wasn’t as crowded, but the corpo managed to slip behind some large, scop-fed gonk in a dirty, teal tank top and trillby hat that was a little too small for his head.  The husky man had risen from his seat to wait for the next stop, blocking the way.  What happened next was like something out of a nature show, which is really the only way you get to experience wild animals…or any animals, these says (weird, animal simulation virtus notwithstanding.)  

Wrench stepped up to the corpulent gonk and glared at him.  The gonk then sized up Wrench with his own, close-set eyes, and a furrow of his carbuncled brow (the hat made sense now.)  No words were exchanged, save perhaps a grunt or two.  After a tense moment, the gonk realized that he was not the apex predator in the car, and stepped aside for the nomad.  Hardpoint spotted the opening first and dashed through after the corpo, bounding over a set of seats to tackle him before he could reach the end of the car.

The corpo shrank underneath the glint of one of the Hardpoint’s Mantis Blades.  He gave up the detes, and the goods, quickly, blubbering something about just being middle management, and not knowing anything else.  He claimed that he saw an opportunity to get ahead at Arasaka by buying the jacket and took it.  Hardpoint wasn’t buying it, but the puddle of urine forming on the train car’s floor worked better than any lie-detecting implant to confirm the corpo was being mostly truthful.  

The edgerunners let Mr. Pee-Pee Pants (Maven’s name for him) go at the next stop, but they kept the briefcase.  Inside was a yellow jacket, but unfortunately, it seemed to be a fake, like one of those “Samerai” knockoffs.  The green design had been painted on with a level of artistry and chosen medium that spoke: "high school desk graffiti," Thorn thought.  However, an old, Militech Lexington pistol rolled out of the jacket and clattered to the ground.  It was one of the items they were looking for!  That’s one win, at least.

Unfortunately, that had been their only lead, so the edgerunners were forced to wait again for a ping from the actual jacket’s tracking device.  The crew scattered to do their own things in the meantime.

***

Back in Little China, Maven worked on her custom optics.  She should have been able to spot that corpo before Wrench and Hardpoint did, but maybe the calibration is off; could be a piece of dirt grinding against the small, fast-twitch fibers, or a lag in the signal due to a frayed, fiber optic connection.  The only way to be sure was to pop her eye out and place it on a pod that simulated a cybereye socket.  The display next to it had the real-time image of the cybereye watching the tech work while relevant data scrolled beside it.  The empty, cavernous eye socket on Maven’s face made her look like some colorful pirate trying to pick the lock of a treasure chest.

After a several minutes of work, Maven was satisfied that she had made the right adjustments, and popped her eye back in.  The tech sighed, reaching for the rewards of her labors: instant, oolong tea in her old Zetatech mug, Moonchies, and her favorite, café romance virtu.

***

Hardpoint found herself out of place somewhere between the City Center and Heywood, where grimy brownstones slowly morphed into sleek corpo buildings.  She was dressed in a dark pantsuit a few years out of style (best she could find, and afford, at a second-hand clothes stall.)  Her chooms would laugh, but she was on important business and needed to look the part.  

Most edgerunners blow their eddies right after a job, but Hardpoint had her sights set on the future.  Sure, she could, (and should) invest her eddies on upgrades to keep her edge, but a solo’s career is short, even if they somehow managed to live, she knew that much.  She thought about what would happen after she became the top solo in Night City.  The solo didn’t want to whore herself out to some megacorp as a full-time "security contractor," or a gang, like Spike had, until her chrome was so out of date that the next cyberpunk with a new Sandevistan iced her. 

To that end, she went to investigate investment opportunities in some of the older buildings in this area.  It was a good retirement plan, she thought.  Besides, having corpo yuppies owe her rent for their tacky, catalog-furnished pads appealed to her sense of justice.  She knew what it was like to have nothing…never again.⁴

***

Thorn spent time at his old, container “apartment” in Rancho Coronado, trying to hammer out the tune and lyrics for his next song.  He had been living there since 17, when his uncle’s harsh attempts to groom him for 6th Street wore on the young rockerboy.  Despite calls from his aunt imploring him to return for his mother’s sake, Thorn didn’t want to have anything to do with 6th Street, so he settled for a rusting place built sometime during the Time of the Red and ate kibble, scop, or soy paste for most meals.  He had shared the container with someone special to him, which helped to offset the cost of the rent and bills, but she disappeared from his life a long time ago.

The song he was trying to work on was one that went all the way back to that time, and it had gone through many incarnations.  He just never felt right about it, never satisfied, like when you have a craving, but nothing in the fridge looks good.

Thorn was interrupted by a call from his cousin, who thanked him for showing up at his birthday party and playing music for them.  He was very excited to tell Thorn that 6th Street had accepted him into the fold.

“Didn’t you want to work on cars, though?”  Thorn asked.  “You have a knack for that.” 

“That’s the preem thing, cuz!” he said excitedly.  “They’re having me help at one of their garages!  None of their riskier biz for now.  They’re good people, you know; looking out for each other, just like our family.”  He had clearly swallowed the scop 6th Street (and Thorn’s uncle) shoveled, but Thorn didn’t have the energy to naysay him.  “Preem.  Just keep me posted on how it goes.” 

“Sure thing, cuz!  Catch you later!” he cut the call.

Thorn put down his guitar and data pad, and reached for a nearby bottle of Papa Garcin rum along with a chipped, dirty cup made of “unbreakable” synthglass.  That’s the kind of mood he was in now.

To be continued…⁵

Game Notes

---

1 Although the adventure suggests some downtime activities, I would ask the GM oracle to confirm what they did, with a higher likelihood if they needed to heal, repair, restock on supplies, or recover Luck. I got a couple of interrupting events, which I interpreted in ways that I thought would flesh out the characters a little in a fun way. ^↩  

2 Technically, a medtech friend from his lifepath.^↩  

3 It occurred to me later that the characters (and their player…err…me) were kind of dumb to drive to the NCART station in the middle of rush hour, resulting in that little scene.^↩  

4 Hardpoint’s second downtime event after the station chase turned up as a weird result with the word “investment.” This is the best idea I could come up with at the time, but her lifepath goal is about “fame and money,” so it kinda fits.^↩ 

5 This episode was kind of a snore too, I know, but it’s building up to something, I swear!^↩

---

 

Bonus: NCART N-Counters (1d10)

You can roll these to liven up any time the PCs are using the city’s public transit .  You can use stats from the CEMK or Cyberpunk RED for these.

1. Average gonks (roll 1d6): 1-4 – busy people trying to push past the PCs, depending on the time of day; 5-6 – tourist(s) with VR-tour shards or technogoggs.

2. Unfortunates (1d6): 1-3 – garden-variety homeless, or wine-o looking for a handout...earn your karma for the day; 4-5 – an “End is Near!” type or religious proselytizer; 6 - It’s a BD gonk skezzing out on their virtual opiate.

3. Busker.  Roll 1d6.  On a 5-6, the busker is actually a hologram with a QR-like code that leads to their CitiNet site where one can donate or purchase their music.

4. Juvenile delinquent (1d6): 1-2 – it’s a graffiti artist, but characters with cyber-optics can find hidden messages in the reactive spraypaint; 3-4 – a pickpocket or purse-snatcher.  Roll 1d6, on an odd result, they’re targeting one of the PCs; 5-6 – it’s a pick-socket looking for shards instead.  Roll 1d6 same as with the pickpocket.

5. Gangoons!  (1d6:) 1-3 – 1d6 members of a gang appropriate to the district, loitering and looking for trouble; 4-5 – 1d6 gangoons about to fight with 1d6 others (could be a beat-down if one side is grossly outnumbered,) 6 – It’s a gang war!  2d6 gangoons from the district are in a firefight against 2d6 outsiders from a different gang.

6. NCPD!  Roll 1d6: 1-4: 1d6 officers patrolling the station; 5-6: 2d6 officers (some which may be robots or drones,) on a manhunt.

7. Corpos (1d6) 1-3: a sad-looking, worn-down sarariman going through the motions: same scop, different day; 4 – a paranoid exec with twin drones to keep the filth and thugs away; 5 – 1d6 “men-in-black” corpo agents, failing to be inconspicuous; 6 – 2d6 Militech or Arasaka rent-a-cops on a manhunt.

8. Protesters (1d6): 1-3 – a few annoying ones pointing out some worthy, but hopeless cause; 4-5 – angry, in-your-face, belligerent whackjobs; 6 – It’s a riot!

9. Roll twice, and make the results fit, such as NCPD running after a juvenile delinquent.  NCPD + Cyberpsycho (below) could be a MAXTAC encounter.  If you roll 9 again, add a weird element, such as a corpo arguing with an AI briefcase or holophone.

10.  A Cyberpsycho!  Don’t forget to call Regina if you can take them down peacefully.

This material based on the Cyberpunk Edgerunners Mission Kit is unofficial content provided under the Homebrew Content Policy of R. Talsorian Games and is not approved or endorsed by RTG. This content references materials that are the property of R. Talsorian Games and its licensees.

Cyberpunk Edgerunners Mission Kit Solo Log Part 2 (Plus Food & Drink Generator)

 (Check out Part 1 here)

Diners and Dives

 

Between the light, evening traffic and Wrench’s skill at the wheel, the edgerunner crew was able to cover the distance from the Southern Badlands to Watson quickly.

The coordinates on the tracking device led them to a Tom’s Diner, a 24-hour franchise and Night City institution, tucked between Bradbury and Urmland St. under the shadow of Megabuilding 10.  The large, neon burger sign wreathed with a Lady Liberty crown and the Tom’s logo looked like some grotesque temple to a mythical America gone by.  Such “authentic” experiences could be packaged and sold, according to megacorp focus groups, mostly because no one remembers what old ‘Merica was like before the collapse of the 1990’s.  It might as well have existed somewhere on the borders of Camelot and Narnia, for all your average gonk on the street knew, or cared.

Wrench managed to find street parking and the group decided to split up to investigate the area.  Maven and Wrench walked the outside of the diner near Urmland Street, while Hardpoint and Thorn went inside.  

There was barely anyone at the place at this hour, and no one sporting a yellow jacket.  Thorn chatted up the man working at the counter, who unfortunately wasn’t old Tom or one of his rumored, biosculpt doubles.  Shame; the old-timey, greasy-spoon diner with the grizzled, old cook was the whole selling point of the place (it certainly wasn’t the food.)  

Hardpoint scanned the few patrons seated in the diner booths when she spotted a familiar face from her past, one that made the temperature in her blood rise.  The woman answered by the handle of “Spike” on the Street.

 
Hardpoint and Spike went back a long time, to the Northside Industrial District (NID) combat zone.  The two played as children in the trashed out, abandoned motel they both lived in, happily skipping over BDing (or ODing) gonks, avoiding stranger-danger (which was everywhere,) and learning the facts of life from aging, but wiser joytoys, now semi-retired.

Spike was a couple of years older than Hardpoint, so their social circles diverged by their teenage years.  They reconnected later, after Hardpoint's “family,” a band of scavs that had taken her in, was wiped out by rival group.  One of them had been special to the the solo, her first mainline, killed in the crossfire.  Back then, Hardpoint had not been able to save her, and would have died if she hadn't run for her life.  She returned to the scene later, only to find there was nothing left for her to remember her first mainline by. The rival scavs had taken anything and everything that could be salvaged.  It was as if her “family” had never existed.

Spike, who hung out (and stuffed it with) low-level, Malestrom gangoons, took Hardpoint under her wing.  The former scav learned how to fight from the chromed boostergangers and also, how to use those skills to make eddies for the guns and cyberware that mean the difference between success and a nameless death in the NID.  Hardpoint was a good student; she was very angry at the world then, and with her new, chromed chooms, she eventually found an opportunity to make those scavs pay.  The events are still the subject of NID legend. 

Not long after that, Spike and Hardpoint became closer, and then some, after Spike ended things with her Maelstrom input in what may have been a literal, blow-up fight (witnesses claim there was a grenade involved.)

Unfortunately, Spike also eventually taught Hardpoint a difficult lesson: you can’t trust everyone, even those close to you.  Spike wasn’t content moving up the Maelstrom ladder; she wanted out of Watson. She had made a deal with the Valentinos, who were at war with Malestrom at the time, to haze her Maelstrom chooms (and Hardpoint) to a well-timed ambush.  The gangoon hit-team iced the Malestrom crew save for Hardpoint, whose induction into the Valentinos along with Spike was part of the deal.  However, all Spike earned was Hardpoint’s scorn.  You can’t survive alone in the NID, so you stand by your people, even if they are a boostergang.  While Spike was able to convince the Valentinos to let Hardpoint go, the two went their separate ways, and had not spoken to each other since; until tonight.

Spike munched casually on a scopburger as if she didn’t notice Hardpoint’s approach, but her optics didn’t leave Hardpoint for a second.  She deliberately took her time with the meal to anger the solo.  She knew that she was the only one who could get to her like that.

“I see you’re still sporting Valentino colors.” Hardpoint recovered her composure and became icy.  The solo had learned to channel her anger over the years into a cold, sharp weapon.  She noticed that Spike's chrome was red and gold now; more stylish than her old Northside look.  She even traded the large, red optics for gold Kiroshis.

“Mhmm.”  Spike popped the last piece of scop burger into her mouth.  Her gilded jaw-chrome glinted in the diner’s flickering, artificial light as she chewed, swallowed, and spoke:  “You change your mind about joining up?  Don’t know if it will be easy for you this time.”  Spike ran her tongue along her teeth with her mouth closed, then smiled at Hardpoint with clean teeth in a predatory manner.  The solo couldn’t tell if Spike’s chrome refurb included anything dangerous, but that said, she didn’t think Spike was her match in combat, if it ever came to that.

“No thanks.  I’m on a job,” the solo said. “The way I see it, you owe me, so talk: I’m looking for someone with a yellow jacket; green design.  Seen them?” 

“Aww…baby girl’s all grown up with a new jjjooob!”  Spike’s mocking tone was auto-tuned by vocal mods.  The two had spent more than a few, drunken nights belting out karaoke tunes in Kabuki back in the “good ‘ol days.”  Spike was the real deal.  She could go far as a rockergirl, if she didn’t waste her time stuffing it with gangoons, that is.

Spike’s childish facial expression turned ugly, with a slight nervous tic; could be a side-effect of back-alley ripperdoc work.  “Listen, I don’t owe you scop!  If it wasn’t for me, you’d be a smear of blood and chrome along with those other Maelstrom gonks.  At least I got us out of the Zone.  Shit!  You should be thanking me on your knees and worshiping the Midnight Lady!”  Spike spread her legs crudely and put her foot up on the table to make her point.  It was an old, private joke between them.  Hardpoint’s expression indicated she had no intention of finding out whether Spike had actually gone through with getting that infamous implant; now a whole line of sexy-ware.

Spike put her leg back down and sighed.  “Fine, I’ll tell you what I know, for old time’s sake.  You’re not as fun as you used to be, you know.” 

Spike mentioned that she had seen someone by that description, with red and blue hair.  The gonk ran off in a stolen car before its owners, who were definitely not from Watson, realized what was happening.  Then, some black suits appeared out of nowhere.  They iced the car’s owners after a short exchange:  fast, clean, and professional.  It left a pretty sick sight in the gutter, but Spike was so hungry that she just walked over the bodies to get some eats; just another night in the city.  What she didn’t tell Hardpoint was that she was there on behalf of the Valentinos; on lookout should the gonk in the yellow jacket, or anyone looking for him, happened to return.  

As Hardpoint turned to leave, Spike yelled after her: “You got my detes!  Call me sometime, bitch!”  She lifted her leg up on the table again.  Hardpoint scowled and left to the sound of auto-tuned laughter.  Thorn was waiting outside, smoking.  She told him what she had learned.

“I got a similar story from the not-Tom," the rockerboy said.  “Some outsiders came in for coffee then got into a shootout outside.  NCPD came in to investigate later, but scavs had already gotten to the bodies to sell off their chrome.  You all right?”  He could see that Hardpoint was perturbed.

“It’s nothing,” she replied.  “There’s Wrench and Maven.”   The bulky nomad and small techie approaching together down the alley from the multi-colored lights of Urmland Street made for a funny sight, like something out of a fantasy VR: the ogre and the pixie princess.  This improved Hardpoint’s mood somewhat, but it also brought memories of that one time she got to experience a VR game until Fyodor, the head of her former, scav “family,” knocked it out of her head with an admonishment to “not gonk around with merchandise.”

Wrench asked: “What did you all find out?  I caught some scav kids stripping a bike down the street, but they ran off before I could catch the little gonks.  What was left looked like it had boostergang colors; red and gold, with one of those Mexican skulls.”  That caught Hardpoint’s attention.  Spike wasn’t telling the whole story; figures.

Hardpoint and Thorn told the other two what they had learned.  Maven piped up:  “I found a beat-up surveillance camera, but I can’t get the footage straight from the outer hardware; no idea where it might be stored.”  She frowned.  This was the second time she felt like she had failed the crew on this gig.

Wrench reassured her with a large cyberhand on her small shoulder.  The gesture was patronizing, but sincere.  “Don’t worry, little sister, we got a good lead.  It sounds to me like those unfortunate gonks were nomads, but trying hard not to look the part.  I’d bet my van on it!  Still, where do the Valentinos fit into it?  Turf war? Deal gone bad?  And who’s the guy that stole the yellow jacket running with?  Nomads or Valentinos?  Or nobody, like just a bad coincidence.  Shit…my side hurts.” 

Hardpoint looked in the direction of the diner.  She couldn’t tell through the grease-fogged windows whether Spike was still there watching them.  She looked back at Wrench.  “El Coyote Cojo,” she said.  Wrench looked at her quizzically, rubbed the back of his head with one hand, and his aching ribs with the other.  “You need detes on the Valentinos?  That’s the place to go.  It’s a bar; gang hangout in Heywood, but they respect the owner enough to not cause trouble."

“Well, I need a drink anyway, so let’s go!”  Wrench stomped towards his van as the crew followed behind.

“One thing wasn’t a coincidence,”  Thorn said as they walked back to their ride.  “Those suits were probably corpo agents; maybe Militech or Arasaka.  This gig just got more complicated.”

“Heh!  Then we’ll just have to wring that old cowboy for more eddies!”  Wrench revved up the van and the edgerunners were off to Heywood.

***

The edgerunners arrived at El Coyote Cojo some time past midnight.  The dive was pretty busy despite the late hour, with locals drinking, talking, or shooting pool; no corpo zoner tourists among them, though.  This was the kind of place you typically didn't show your face at unless they knew your name.  The edgerunners could feel eyes on them, sizing them up.

The bearded, leather-vested bartender was business-like when Thorn approached; not unfriendly, but not exactly friendly, either: “What’ll it be?”  He said in a rough voice with a Chicano accent.  Thorn was about to answer when a young teen with stylish, freshly-cropped hair approached him:  “Thorn?!  From Thorns on Roses?!  Holy shit!  Nova!  I love your music, choom!”  Thorn was taken by surprise.  He wasn’t usually recognized without his music gig getup, and he was not keen on it, either; not while on a job, but there was an opportunity here.  He feigned looking around suspiciously “Yeah, choom, but don’t tell too many people.  It’s my night off.” 

“Right on, right on.  Lips are sealed and shit.  What brings you here?”  The star-struck kid asked.

“Well, I’ll let you in on something,"  Thorn replied.  “I’m looking for someone, red and blue hair; wears a yellow jacket with a green design.  Seen anyone like that?” 

“Nah...but my choomba might know!  He knows everyone around here!”  The kid turned towards some stairs next to the bar, and motioned for Thorn and the others to follow.  The bartender scowled, but shrugged and went back to wiping glasses. He turned his attention to an older woman bringing a crate of beer bottles from the back of the bar.  

The teen led the edgerunners upstairs to see a large man relaxing confidently at a booth as if he owned the place.  He was about the size of Wrench, with a studded, leather edgerunnner jacket over a tank-top.  His hair was done up in a retro, Street ronin style very few edgerunners would be caught dead sporting these days, but he made it work; who was going to tell a big guy like that any different?  It was likely that he was an edgerunner himself.  

The ronin was talking with someone, probably a another edgerunner; didn't wear gangoon colors.  They had a ratty, black t-shirt with a beat-up, yellow emoji face and faded jeans.  Hardpoint noticed the shape of a pistol tucked under the shirt behind their back. 

“All right, let me know when Padre has that gig lined up for us.  I need a new set of wheels, plus I don’t wanna keep imposing on Mama Welles.  Gotta get my own place.” the second edgerunnner said to the ronin. 

“Bah!   No te preocupes, V!”  The ronin replied with an accent not unlike the bartender’s.  “Mama loves you like one of her own, but I get it if you need your space.”   They stood up, did a choomy handshake, and embraced.  “See ya, Jackie,” the edgerunner, “V” said with a smile.  “Later, V!”  V turned and left with a brief glance at the edgerunner crew.  The ronin, Jackie, also turned his attention to the approaching group.

“Hey Jackie!  Check it out!  This is Thorn!  From Thorns on Roses!  That preem band I went to see the other week.  He’s got some questions and I told him you could help him out.  Err…is that ok?”  The kid said.  It was evident the kid looked up to the big guy, and desperately sought his approval.

Jackie expressed a microsecond of annoyance, but his face brightened up:“It’s ok, Miguel.”  Waving the teen’s concerns away made the kid smile.  The ronin spread his arms in a welcoming gesture at the crew.

“Hey chooms!  Sit down, chooms, sit down.  Ain’t never seen you here before.  Welcome to El Coyote Cojo!  I’m Jackie Welles.  Maybe I can help you, but my throat’s a little seca, if you know what I mean.”  He motioned to his throat.  “Could use a drink.” 

“I’ll get the drinks!  For the best rocker in Night City!"  The kid exclaimed.  It was evident in Jackie’s face that this wasn’t what he had intended.  The kid probably doesn’t make much.  Thorn noticed and said: “Ok, but I’ll get the next round.”  Jackie asked for his usual: shot of vodka, lime juice, and ginger beer, to which the kid nodded. The rest of the crew ordered Brosephs to make things both easy and affordable.

After a couple of rounds, Jackie became more choomy and forthcoming with information.  It sounded like the crew was referring to someone named Dalton, a local mechanic.  The guy had joined up with some Valentinos on a heist to steal form Gustavo Orta, another Valentino boss, and a friend of Jackie’s.  They got in way over their heads, and even though the heist was a success, Orta has been hunting down the crew, flatlining them, and taking his stuff back.  Jackie noted that Dalton was not a bad guy, but hooked up with the wrong crew.  He has a cute mainline that busks down at the NCART station on Congress Street in Vista del Rey.  She’s Mox, though, not just some street doll.  Her name was something like a season, Autumn, maybe?  “No me recuerdo.  Too much drink.  I got a date with my girl, so I better sober up.”  He got up to leave, and put his fist to his mouth to stifle a burp.  “Later!”

With a new lead to follow, the edgerunners left the bar soon after, but not until Thorn agreed to a selfie with Miguel.  On their way out of the bar, they were stopped by a small crew of Valentinos.  Spike was among them, giving Hardpoint a knowing smirk as she slithered around their leader like one of those synthetic, pet boas.  The leader, a woman, had exposed cleavage with alight tattoo of the Virgin Mary on her chest that looked like some glowing, stained-glass window by way of a graffiti artist.  She looked familiar to Hardpoint, but her hair was shaved close, so she was not completely sure; might have been with the Valentino hit team that night in Northside another life ago.

Regardless, the woman was straight to the point:  “I’m Maria Torres,"  she said this and paused, as if her name was supposed to mean something (she was Gustavo Orta's lieutenant,) but the edgerunners just returned blank stares.   If that annoyed her, she didn't let on.

"I know you are looking for Dalton.  We are too.”  She then addressed Hardpoint directly: “You know Spike, so call her if you find him and she’ll let me know.  There’s a thousand eddies in it for all of you if you do; easy money.”   Her gaze scanned the rest of the group.  What she left unsaid was that a gruesome death was the alternative reward for non-compliance, but it was clear from the edge in her words.  Thorn could tell that Wrench wasn’t taking the veiled threat well, and he placed his hand on one of the nomad’s Gorilla Arms in an attempt to calm him.  The synthetic muscle fibers were already twitching.  

“We’ll take it under advisement.”  Thorn said.  He looked at Hardpoint, who replied to Maria: “What he said.  I have Spike’s detes.” She didn’t look at Spike, though, speaking as if she wasn’t there.

Maria shrugged and motioned for her crew to go.  As the gangoon leader departed, she turned her head to address Hardpoint again: “I can see what Spike saw in you.  I’m sure you can do what needs to be done, but you better find Dalton before we do...if you want to get paid.”

Later, as the edgerunners left in Wrench’s van, Maven asked the crew:  “You’re not actually thinking of taking those Valentinos on their offer are you?  They’ll kill that guy and string him up on a traffic light next to some old sneaks!”  Hardpoint closed her eyes and shook her head.  Wrench glanced over his shoulder and spoke:  “Nah!  Those gangers have no intention of paying us.  They would have gone through a fixer if they had.  No, they would ice us right after we turned this Dalton in.  Besides, our client is paying better.”

 Thorn added: “Yeah, we won’t make it in this biz if we start stuffing our clients over.  That kind of rep gets around.  One thing is true, though, we gotta make sure we find Dalton before they do.”

Wrench yawned loudly.  It was infectious.  “Dalton’s mainline is a good lead, but there’s nothing we can do this late, and I need a doc to take a look at my ribs.  I think they’re cracked.  I’ll drop you all off.  Maven, keep the tracking device and fiddle with it for a better signal if you can, and call us if it pings again.  We’ll get together and find Dalton’s mainline soon.” 

The van sped away from El Coyote Cojo and Heywood, past some graffiti on the side of a building that read: “La Huesuda.”

 

To be continued…

Game Notes

• I had completed these encounters on the first session, but I’m splitting them up between posts for brevity (these posts get damn long.)  This “episode” wasn’t too action-packed, but just wait…
• Props to the author(s) of The Jacket for name-dropping locations from the video game!  I did a little location-scouting (my excuse for putting down the laptop and grabbing the game controller,) and found the Tom’s Diner on Urmland and Bradbury.  It’s the one where V meets up with the character of Takemura in the quest Playing For Time.  I even klepped a Villefort van for the screenshot above.  You're welcome.
  
• The GM oracle came up “yes” to see whether someone from a PC’s lifepath was at Tom’s Diner, as suggested in the adventure, and it ended up being Hardpoint’s enemy: a rockerboy (or girl in this case,) with gang contacts.  It was fun getting to flesh out this character out as well as Hardpoint’s past and personal beef with her.  I interpreted their story from oracular rolls.
  
• At one point, I found myself asking “why didn’t I take the netrunner instead of the tech?!”  So I projected my frustration unto poor little Maven.  She’ll get her chance to shine later, though.  
• Thorn being recognized despite looking different outside of a music gig becomes a common occurrence later on, so I’ve tried to have some fun with it. I imagine his transformation is like that of an anime magical girl by way of Ozzy Osbourne.
  
• Jackie’s cameo at El Coyote Cojo is part of the adventure, but I just couldn’t help asking the GM oracle: “Is V there?” and it came up "yes."  Of course, V looks like whatever the player decides in the video game, so I deliberately kept their description vague.  Feel free to imagine your own V there.
• A couple of more GM oracle rolls cemented Spike’s place in the Valentinos as Maria’s mainline.  I think I have plans for her to make more appearances, should the GM oracle agree.

Bonus: What’s on the menu in 2077?

What’s a box of kibble without a prize inside?  The only thing you can afford, choom!  Here are some tables to roll random food and drink items next time the characters are at a vending machine, restaurant, or Foodscape.  It includes items from the video game plus a couple of new ones I came up with to fill in the blanks (with new descriptions also by yours truly.) 

As an option, food items can restore 1d6 hit points per consumption, while non-alcoholic drinks grant a +1 bonus to the character’s next Athletics, Dance, or Endurance skill rolls for the next four hours.  A character can only gain a beneficial effect from a single food or non-alcoholic drink item twice per day (they can pig out to their heart's content, though.)

Alcoholic drinks penalize combat skills and Move by 1 per drink consumed (what, you though there was a benefit to drinking on the job?)  The effects of alcoholic drink items last 30 seconds (10 rounds) after the last one consumed.

Food and drink items that match the character’s current lifestyle and lower can be had at no cost, while higher lifestyle items must be paid for with cash on hand.  Just because you have a Kibble lifestyle doesn't mean you can't treat yourself once in a while!

I. What’s your lifestyle? (current or roll 1d6)

1-3. Kibble: because you can’t afford both rent and quality meals in the same month.

4-5. Prepack, all: the best cuisine a SCSM or Mark 24 konbini has to offer.

6. Fresh: if you have to ask the price, you obviously can’t afford it.

 

II. Food

Kibble (1d6 twice, 10eb)

1-3:

1. Cat food – tuna is tuna, man!  Hey!  Get your own, kitty!  Scat!
2. Holobites pie – tons of “fruit” flavors!  Most gonks don’t know what real fruit flavor is, anyway.
3. Orgiatic – chicky nugs and sauce without the nugs.
4. Moonchies – you can’t eat just one, because styrofoam is not as filling as it might seem.
5. EEZYBEEF – don’t want to pay extra for premade “food?”  Here’s the base ingredient alone; cook from scratch!  Also, worms.
6. Leelou Beans – rumor has it old President Kress had a whole jar of these at her desk in the Oval Office.

4-6:

1. Sojasil Machistador – don’t need to know what it means when your mouth is full of it.
2. Pop-Turd  – you’ve popped this lifelong classic with a glass of syn-milk before school, coffee before work, and a side of tears after the layoff and divorce.
3. Soy Paste – at least you’re not fooling yourself about your diet.
4. Dried Meat – available everywhere, no questions asked!  Also, better not ask.
5. Wontons – dump these delicious dumplings in your trash dump of a mouth!
6. NeuroPuffs (new) – part of a netrunner's complete breakfast, if by complete you mean extruded “egg” product, textured scop “bacon,” and “orange” drink.  The NetWatch decoder ring inside is totally not a monitoring device.
   

Prepack (1d6, then variable, 20eb)

1-3 (1d10):

1. Jambalaya – hot date in the trailer park tonight?  Don’t know how to cook?  Jambalaya!
2. Mr. Whitey (see also synthcoke, Cyberpunk RED p.229) – who needs to eat when you have 1,001 business ideas to work on while riding bikes and juggling at the same time?
3. Burrito XXL – also refers to the size of the clothes you will need to buy soon.
4. Taco – even if it comes from a SCSM, “street taco” is technically correct, the best kind of correct.
5. Schwab – currently competing with Slaughterhouse as the official snack of the Animals.
6. SynthSnack – starving rockerboys like to think it means “synthesizer.”  It doesn’t.
7. Hawt Dawg, with “fixings” - can’t go wrong with a good ol’ street dog…wait…you can.
8. Salad o' Sudden (new) – soy and algae in colorful, vegetable-like shapes; just spritz with water for that fresh look.
9. Scopburger (new) – you don’t need golden arches or Bozo makeup to enjoy this American classic.
10. FryDum Fries (new) – the oily taste of Reunification.

5-6 (1d6):

1. Slaughterhouse Jerky - comes in “meat” or...*snort*..."veggie" flavors.
2. RaMMMen – you couldn’t afford the RealWater to boil it in, so you’ll have to sprinkle the flavor packet on the cracker-like “noodles" instead.
3. All Foods Meat or Veggie Delight tube – the Space Age is now…and forever.
4. Yikes!  Tofu Bar – “Yikes!” is the correct word for this bland confection.
5. Ave Saitan – Warning: this devil-in-a-package voids your artificial colon implant's warranty.
6. Zio Enzo’s Pasta Nostra (new) – a delicious offer you can’t refuse.

Fresh (1d10, 40eb)

1. Pizza – with any topping you want; it’s all soy, worm, or insect protein, anyway.
2. Tamale – Montezuma’s Revenge comes free with purchase.
3. RealFruit – ever wanted to eat one of those old paintings?  Now you can!
4. Tajine! – 80% of the cost of the meal is the packaging alone.
5. Chocolate – “dark” or “milk” by food coloring only.
6. Norimaki – supermarket sushiya meets chemical factory.
7. Nigiri – straight out of Jiro’s nightmares.
8. Pierre’s Croissants – may or may not be French, but the “butter” flavor is definitely by SovOil, comrade.
9. Got Escargot? – Good news: it’s natural!  Bad news: it’s snails!
10. Gojira – the kaiju reference is in regards to the bowel movement later.

II. Would you like a drink with that?  (choose or roll 1d6 for alcoholic or non-alcoholic, then roll by lifestyle)

1-4. Non-alcoholic

Kibble (roll 1d10, 10eb)

1. Daring Dairy “Milkshake” - lactose intolerants can totally tolerate this, because melamine.
2. Matapang Coffee – the official drink of morning corpos and late-night edgerunners alike.  Also available in decaf if you want bitter, brown water, I guess.
3. Spunky Monkey – According to megacorp-funded fact-checkers, reports of simian antics after consumption of this drink are misinformation.
4. NiCola – Disclaimer: “Love” Is not an actual flavor.  NiCola is not responsible for any lack of romance or intimacy after consuming this product.
5. Cirrus Cola – it’s a classic, according to focus groups.
6. Coffee – what’s available at most places that don’t expect to serve coffee until some gonk asks for it.
7. Coffee with Syn-Milk – get synful, without the bloat.
8. Latte – “How is a Latte different from Coffee with Syn-Milk?  Beats me!  Get it?”  - Some “sentient” SCSM
9. Filtered Rainwater – it made a comeback after the Time of the Red.
10. Tap Water (new?) – straight from the Wellsprings Water Treatment Plant to you.

Prepack (roll 1d10, 20eb)

1. Real Water – It’s real because it says so in the can.  Also comes in sparkling, with RealGas.  
2. Naranjita – whether Classic or Zero-calorie, you’ll feel the chemistry later (mostly as cancer.)    
3. ChroManticore – the original, monstrous energy-giver.  Can’t afford a Sandevistan?  Drink ChroManticore!
4. NiCola, limited edition flavor - for a limited time only, like the eds in your account.
   
5. Soulhiker – we got sued by Arasaka, but we’re better now, seriously…*nervous laughter.* Enjoy!
6. Oolong Tea – if the lady at Kabuki market said it’s “tea”, it’s tea.  Feel free to take up any complaints with the local Tyger Claws.
7. Tiancha – Smile!  Exotic, citrus flavors never looked so creepy.
8. Soop – because warm, liquefied soy paste with flavor costs extra.
9. Kopi Kadal Coffee – the choice of the only “good” cops in Night City, and those who are getting to old for this shit.
10. MealStrom (new) – Part drink, part meal; 200% your daily requirement of metal.

Fresh (1d10, 40eb)

1. Cactus Juice – nomads can get this for free, but you gotta pay for it, yuppie.
2. Sain Ruisseau  – also available for free at a baptismal font near you.  Padre would disapprove, though.
3. ChroManticore, flavored – the same energy drink, but you pay twice for chimeric variety.
4. Vita-Mine – because vitamin deficiency is for plebs.    
5. Té Sencha – think you’re turning Japanese?  Saburo disagrees.
6. Té Matcha – a taste of tradition, even in a pod hoteru.
7. Té Oolong – Little China in a cup.
8. Vatnajökull – whether from a still, or sparkling, you too can hydrate like a viking!
9. Tomato "Juice" – just add vodka for a weekend brunch.
10. Water – wait…is this stuff is supposed to be crystal clear?  Who would have thought?!

5-6. *Hic* boozshe…pleashe…

Kibble (1d10, 30eb)

1. Trailerbrew Beer – it’s not illegal if it’s for personal consumption.     
2. Moonshine – the buzz is worth the blindness.
3. Tequila Especial – it’s not special in the premium sense, no senor.    
4. Pitorro – fancy word for island moonshine; will still make you ciego.
5. Chirrisco – alcoholic love potion; only works around closing time.
6. Bumelant – Koleś, just give up!
7. 21st Stout – the beer of the working man.
8. Broseph – it’s a frat party every day, brah!
9. Abydos – fits in most small, brown, synthpulp bags.  Also available in King Size, if you're compensating for something.
10. Smash (see Cyberpunk RED p.229) – your ripperdoc said not to mix booze and drugs, but you do you.
    

Prepack (1d10, 60eb)

1. Blue Grass – when yo baby done left ya, and yo caaat is gooone.  Whoooaaa laaawd!
2. Papa Garcin – the official rum of Party Man and Thorns on Roses.
3. Joe Tiel's Okie Hooch – grandpappy’s favorite engine degreaser and after-work drink.
4. Conine – You can forget her.  Just drink, mon ami.
5. Bolshevik Vodka – in still-Soviet Russia, vodka drinks you!
6. O'Dickin Whiskey – you ain’t just dickin’ around when you can hold your brown.
7. Pingo Pálido – a couple of bottles of this and you’ll be pale all over, not just your pee-pee place.

Fresh (1d6, then variable)

1-3 (1d10, 90eb):

1-2. Calavera Feliz – don’t forget to pour one out for the dead. 
3-4. Randver – for those annoying gonks who use terms like “IPA.”
5. Ab-synth – the choice of tortured artists yesterday and today. 
6. La Perle des Alpes – winner of several awards, not that you would know.
7. Champaradise – what’s there to celebrate?  Do you need a reason?
8. Centzon Totochtin – hardened solo, or cartel boss?  Why not both?  Centzon!
9. Donaghy's – there is no happy hour for the cold-hearted, corpo climber. 
10. Captain Blackhand (new) – a dark rum for the dark heart of a merc.

4-5 (1d6, 150eb):

1. Chateau Delen 2012 – save it in your cellar for that special occasion. You do have a wine cellar, don’t you?
2. Armagnac Massy – make sure the sniffer is clear so you can look down your nose at your lessers.
3. Sake Utagawa – banzai, buckaroo!
4. ROMVLVS GIN – hold the tonic, and drink to empire!
5. Baalbek Arak – don’t drink too much, habibi, we ride at dawn!
6. Paul Night – drink to big dreams, and die tragically before your time.
7. A David Martinez (cocktail) – the memories will make you want to stay at your house.
8. A Johnny Silverhand (cocktail) – the taste will never fade away; neither will the hangover.
9. A Jackie Welles (cocktail) – Warning: planning a heist while under the influence of alcohol is not recommended.
10. A Weyland Boa Boa (cocktail, new) -  a bourbon old-fashioned with a splash of habushu, cane sugar, and snakeskin garnish.     
    

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