Shadowrun General > Fan fiction

Jerin Therapy Part I (WIP) Need input

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IC3H4MM3R:
   “When are you going to grow up?” Miley Packard sighed heavily at the human named Jerin McCard.  He had wandered into the bar around two in the evening and had been sitting there bemoaning his fortune ever since.
   “What do ya mean?” He looked at her over the cup of synthahol she had just given him.
   “I mean you do this every other day.  You go out, do a few odd jobs, and then come in here to drink up what little creds you earned.  The whole time you’re whining about how lucky your brother is.  How good ol’ Jethro has things just fall into his lap.”
   “Well,” Jerin huffs, looking hurt “ he does. Did I tell ya his wifey is spectin?”
   “No, you didn’t, but good fer him. And don’t change the subject.  When are you going to stop wallowing in self pity and start doin’ somethin’ ta straighten out this pile o’ drek you are calling a life?”
   “You cuttin me off?”
   “No. Tho heaven knows I should.” Miley, a human as well, went back to cleaning the bar. She liked Jerin well enough, but he had very little self confidence.  He could fix just about anything.  Electronics just seemed to yield all of their secrets to him, but he was too busy envying his brother Jethro’s accomplishments to see it. “Why don’t you open up your own fix it shop?”
   “That takes creds, Miles.” Jerin’s shoulders were hunched and he held the cup of synthahol close to his nose.  He looked almost to the point of tears.
   “Well you’ve drank enough to open a little shop three times over!” She knew she shouldn’t be trying to talk customers out of buying her pa’s liquor.  It was, after all their livelihood, but she couldn’t stand this handsome young man, coming in here in misery, and drinking himself into a stupor over something that he could so easily change. “I ort to ban you from the bar! Really. For your own good.”
   “Now you wait just a minnit…” he stammered.
   “I said ORT TO. As in I should, but I’m not gonna!” The truth was she cared for him.  She wasn’t sure if it was love, but it could be. “Now you just drink the last of that and get out, Jerin McCard. I know you don’t have no more creds, so don’t bother complainin’.”
   “Shows what you know,” he huffed again “I still got enuff fer the rent.”
   “Well go pay it then before ya drink it too.” She turned her back on him, pretending to be washing one of the multicolored plastic mugs.  The other patrons, what few there were witnessed all of this in silence. Most of them were regulars to Packard’s Pub and had seen this display play out over and over again. It never changed.
   Jerin finished off his drink and made his way to the door.  He turned back once to say something, but then thought better of it as he saw the look on Miley’s face.  The day was warm for August in the Redmond Barrens, but Jerin wasn’t complaining.  The cold was much worse when the drekhole you lived in had walls almost as thin as the cardboard boxes he saw some of the street people sleeping in. 
   Jerin stumbled a little as he started off toward home.  He wasn’t drunk, but he wasn’t far from it either.  He weaved because it was fun, not because he was intoxicated.  At least that’s what he told himself.  He found himself wandering down the middle of the street, but he wasn’t overly concerned.  Folks in the Barrens were too poor to own cars.  It was a rare thing to see any type vehicle here.  Oh, there were a few that could afford them, but it was mostly bikers and go-gangers.  They were the ones the shop owners paid for protection.  It was usually protection from their own gangs, but who’s going to complain?
   The squeak of a rat the size of a large chihuahua made him look up.  Jerin thought he heard it growl as he kicked at it, but it scuttled away through a rusted out hole in an overfull garbage bin.  That was when he saw the group of ‘Weeners at the end of the street.  Jerin stopped and ducked behind the bin.  A cold trickle of sweat ran down his spine between his shoulder blades.
   The Halloweeners were the largest of all the gangs in the Barrens.  Most people considered them unstable.  They had a tendency to burn things.  Especially when they were drunk, or sober, or awake.  Most people had enough sense to stay clear of them, but unfortunately Jerin was not most people.  He had recognized one of the street toughs at the end of the block.  An ugly tusker with a scar running from his left eyebrow down to his chin.  His left eye was a dull white devoid of it’s iris. He went by the name Capper. There were several rumors of how he managed to acquire that name.  None of them were pleasant.
   Jerin had been out drinking about a month back at a bar that the Weeners liked to frequent. They were all soused and having a good time shooting pool and partying.  Jerin had been blasted before he started, but he continued to drink until he ran out of nuyen.  Capper had been at his table for most of the night. They had just kind of started talking. He couldn’t remember for the life of him what they had talked about.  He seemed to recall some raucous comments, and a few lewd jokes that he couldn’t remember the punch lines to, but nothing else. When the party began winding down, the serving girl came over to collect for the drinks the gangers had been downing.  Capper had smiled real big and winked at Jerin.
   “Well now, Susie! Me mate, Jerin here said he was coverin’ the juice tonight.”
   Jerin’s remembered that very clearly because his stomach had fallen into his shoes.  He had sobered up real quick-like.
   “I can’t…” he stammered “I don’t...I’m out of creds, Capper.”
   The grin on Capper’s face had instantly turned into a snarl. He reached over and grabbed Jerin’s collar with one meaty fist.  Jerin had suddenly found himself inches from Capper’s face.
   “You mean to tell me that you ain’t got the creds to cover our bill like you promised?” Jerin could still recall the rumble of Capper’s voice as it dropped low. “Think real hard now…”
   The sound of a shotgun being racked stopped everyone in their tracks.  Capper had turned slowly toward the sound, but had not let go of Jerin.  Jerin remembered Capper’s face had suddenly turned cold and calm. Jerin still had nightmares of Capper with that look on his face.
   “Enough is enough.” the bartender had jumped up on the counter, and was holding a shotgun leveled at Capper’s nose.  If he had fired, he would probably have killed Jerin too, but he hadn’t looked very concerned about it though. A moment later and Capper was all smiles again.  Jerin remembered that look too.
   “Geeze!” Capper said loudly “Can’t a fellow make a joke around here without getting’ shot for it?”
   He had held his hands open while speaking.  Just looking at him and you never would’ve guessed he had been ready to kill Jerin just moments before.  He handed over the three hundred nuyen that the waitress insisted the gang had swilled, and everything seemed to go back to normal.  Jerin had scooted out of there faster than he had ever left a place in his life. A couple of days later that bar had burned to the ground.  Both the owner and the waitress had not been seen since.
   A few weeks ago, Capper and three of his friends had found him.  He told Jerin that he owed ‘the gang’ six hundred nuyen for that night.  Capper swore that Jerin had said he would pay the tab for them that night.  Jerin really couldn’t deny it.  He might actually have said it, he wasn’t sure.  He had been too drunk.  He had been broke again when Capper found him, and he said as much.  The orc had slapped him on the shoulder hard enough to leave a bruise.
   “Its fine, Chummer” he said “You’ve got till the end of this week to come up with it. Wouldn’t want you to think Ole Capper was unreasonable.”
   They had all piled on their bikes and left, grinning as if they had all shared some kind of secret joke.
   “I sleep in Saturday,” he said over his shoulder “so bring it by late.”
   That had been two weeks ago.
   Jerin glanced around the side of the bin.  They were still at the end of the block, Capper and three other Weeners.  They didn’t look like they had spotted him yet. There was still a chance to get off the road, dodge into a back alley.  He could still get out of this.  Jerin glanced around.  The closest alleyway was only fifty feet away.  Just fifty feet.  He marshaled his strength and tried to focus through the synthahol fog that still covered his brain like a spiderweb.  That was when his heart sank.  He heard the engines of the bikes crank up.  The roar grew louder as the bikers approached. There was no where to go now.  He had waited oo long. In order to get to the alley he would have to cross the street.  His only hope was that they would be so focused on the road that they wouldn’t look his way. That hope died when the bikes came to a stop just on the other side of the trash bin.  The engines shut off, and the silence was only broken by the ping of and tick of cooling metal.
   “McCard?” Capper called out in a low, conversational tone “Is that you, little buddy?”
   Jerin knew the jig was up, but he couldn’t quite force his voice out of his throat. It was several long moments before Capper followed up with a vicious sounding chuckle.
   “I thought that maybe you were avoiding me.” He said. “I told myself ‘No, no, no. Ole McCard just didn’t see us.’ Maybe he tripped and fell down.”
   The bikes creaked as the four toughs got off of them. Jerin closed his eyes as his vision swam. One of the four circled around behind the dumpster. Two more came around the end that Jerin had dove behind.  There was a clear line of sight if he ran straight out, but Jerin knew he would never make it.  He couldn’t run straight in his condition.  He prayed in his head for some kind of miracle.  He promised the powers that be that he would never touch another drop of synthahol, if he opened his eyes and found himself somehow whisked away to some other alley, in some other place.
   “I thought maybe I better go check on our friend.  Just in case he hurt himself.  Didja happen to find my creds down there under that dumpster? No? Don’t just stand there, boys. Help our lil buddy up.”
   Two of the bikers scurried to follow Capper’s instructions. Each one grabbed him by the armpits and lifted him to a standing position. Capper grabbed Jerin’s jaw, forcing him to look up at him.
   “But you do got my creds, dontcha, chummer?” He said in an even growl.
   “All I got is my rent money, Capper.” Jerin’s voice was a hoarse whisper. It cracked once, but it did come out.
   “Well, now.  How much is rent for ya?” Capper felt around Jerin’s pockets, finally locating and retrieving the cred stick he had in his back pocket.  Capper glanced down at it and grinned. “Five hundred creds.  That’s really wiz.  Its actually just a hundred creds shy of what you owe me. I’m sure your Landlady won’t mind giving you another month to come up with your rent. I’m sure she would understand that you, being a man o’ your word an’ all, you had to pay a debt.”
   “No. She won’t, Capper. She’ll have the door locked by the time I get home this evening if I don’t come by and pay her.” Jerin lunged, breaking free of the two bikers grip and grabbing for the credstick.
   Capper easily side stepped and planted a huge fist in Jerin’s stomach.  His breath whooshed out of him and he folded over.  He reached down and grabbed Jerin by the hair, pulling his head back.
   “Staying out on the street for a little while might teach you to be on time with your payments. I was expectin’ this two weeks back.  But, since I’m feelin’ generous today, I ain’t gonna kill you.”
   “Capper…” Jerin weezed, still trying to catch his breath.
“Shut it, chummer!” Capper barked “This is two weeks late.  That calls for an additional late fee of say, two hundred creds. And since this is still a hundred creds short of what you originally owed me, that means you still owe me three hundred creds. I’m gonna give you another week to come up with it. But since you tried to stiff me, I gotta teach you a lesson. Just rough’em up real good, boys.  Just so he don’t forget his debt again.”
   The three gang members chuckled and began to beat on Jerin, then.  He cried for mercy. He begged them o stop, but they just laughed a kicked him in the ribs.  Fists smacked loudly on hi flesh causing bruises and breaking bones. Pounding him over and over again, until he finally lost consciousness.

*   *   *
   “Hey, buddy.” The voice floated to him through the darkness. “You okay?”
   The voice was distant and he had trouble hearing it over the pulsing.  What was that pulsing sound that brought a fresh wave of pain every time it sounded? It was slow and methodical.  He could brace himself in expectation of the pain, just by listening to the pulse. He couldn’t stifle the moan that came from between his clenched teeth. Each pulse brought agony. Each pulse brought pain.  Each pulse brought him closer to waking up and facing that pain head on. Jerin groaned again and tried to sit up.
   “Easy now.  I don’t think you’re ready to sit up quite yet, chummer.”
   “Who?” Jerin tried to speak, but the pain made him suck in his breath. “Who...are...you?”
   “Me? I’m just a concerned passerby, friend.  I like to help where I can. And you look like you could use a bit of help, my friend.” The man was human, balding, and wearing a cheap suit that was a rather loud purple color, with a tie of a darker purple.  His shoes were brown and caked in the filth one had to wade through when walking around the Barrens. He helped Jerin to his feet. “Name’s Johnson. Mr. Alex Johnson.”
   Jerin stared at him through the one eye that wasn’t swollen shut.  He could taste copper in his mouth.  He turned and tried to spit out blood through his puffy lips. His body ached, but his mind was detached from it all.  He had failed.  In everything he had tried to do in life, he had failed.  His one good eye blurred as tears washed the grit and grime from his cheek.  He had failed at everything, and now he suffered the shame of breaking down in front of a perfect stranger.  What more was left in this life for him, but to die?
   “Are you alright, Mr…?” Mr. Johnson asked.
   “Jethro.” Jerin whispered.  He hadn’t been answering Mr. Johnson. He had been pleading with the specter of his brother.  The image that he was always following behind.  The image of his sibling that he could never quite live up to.
   “Jethro, then. As I was saying I may have a way to help you.”
   Jerin didn’t correct him.  His brother Jethro had always been extremely lucky.  Maybe just the use of his name had summoned some of that luck for him.  He eyed this stranger again.  This time in a different light.
   “What kind of help?”
   “I represent some people who are looking for some volunteers.  We would have to run some tests, but if everything checks out you could stand to earn a significant amount of nuyen.  You interested?”
   “How much?” Jerin tried to quell the pounding of his heart.  He didn’t want his hopes dashed again. But it had all happened when he mentioned his brother’s name. Maybe, just maybe he would get a lucky break off of it.
   “Well, now. I wasn’t authorized to give an exact amount, but I can say it would be enough to give you a significant change in lifestyle. What do you say?”
   Jerin was ready to say yes, but he didn’t want to seem too eager, so he acted like he was thinking it over.  Finally he shrugged.
   “Sure. What do I got left to lose?”
   Mr. Johnson nodded.  He looked down and activated his commlink, dialing a number that briefly flashed up on the device fastened around his wrist.  It had been covered by the sleeve of the loud purple suit jacket, but it slid back easy enough to give him access. In a few seconds the little man started talking to whoever had answered. Jerin couldn’t make out anything but Mr. Johnson’s side of the conversation. Something about already scanning a sample of blood and probability factors and such.  Jerin didn’t understand much of it, but he figured the guy had scanned his blood before Jerin came to.  After that it was about locations and where they should meet.  Soon Mr. Johnson concluded the call and turned back to Jerin with a grin on his face.
   “Great news, Jethro.  My clients are very excited to meet you.  They are sending a T-Bird to pick you up.  We just got to cross a few streets to get you there.” Jerin coughed and spit up some more blood.  He had started to giggle thinking that Mr. Johnson was joking, but the blood had got in the way. “Easy now, Jethro. Don’t want anything to get in the way of your new start.  That is what we’re talking about here.  A new start.  A fresh lease on life.”
   “When…?” Jerin coughed out.
   “Why, right now, Jethro.”
   Jerin’s mind whirled, but he let Mr. Johnson lead him down the street.  He had stopped thinking about anything at all, and just stared at this strange little man that had suddenly appeared in his life.  He let most of the conversation wash over him without comment until Mr. Johnson said something about his SIN.
   “Checking my registration won’t be necessary will it?” Suddenly fearful that his golden goose might be cooked if they found out he was not Jethro, but Jerin McCard.
   “No, no no.  That was what I was just explaining. We aren’t concerned with your past, Jethro.  We will record your SIN for our records, but it is all confidential.”
   “Can we just list me as J. McCard? I’d much rather have it that way.”
   “I’m sure we can arrange that, Jethro.  Like I said, we aren’t checking your past.  We are just registering you for your future.” Jerin let out a little sob of relief. “I know it is a little overwhelming, but trust me, you are oking at a bright new future.”
   The reality of everything hit Jerin when they walked into a six-story business building just three blocks from where they had been. Two guards dressed in dark combat gear stepped out of the shadows at their approach.  They nodded at Mr. Johnson as he flashed them some kind of ident badge and let them pass without a word.  Inside they made there way to the back where there was an elevator waiting to take them to the roof.  Jerin watched in amazement.  They had somehow managed to power the building enough to run the elevator.  Most of the places in the Barrens had to run off of solar or gasoline powered generators.  They weren’t powerful enough to run something like an elevator.  That meant these people had nuyen. And a lot of it.
   The elevator doors opened onto the roof where a VTOL aircraft was just sitting down on the makeshift landing pad.  Guards were stationed at the four corners of the roof, as well as an auto turrent, presumable controlled by a rigger somewhere nearby.  The side door opened up on the T-Bird, and an elf in tight fitting black leather motioned for them to load.
   “This is as far as I go, Jethro. I have others to find that may be in need of help.  These people will show you where to go.  They will arrange for you a place to stay until the initial stages are complete.”
   Jerin started to say something, but realized there wasn’t really anything to say.  He didn’t have his rent money, so his apartment would be locked up.  His Brother’s family was his closest kin, and they barely admitted he was alive.  He really had nothing to go back to, so he just nodded.
   “This is Poly Ann.” Mr.Johnson indicated the elf who had approached to help him get onboard. “Poly Ann, this is Jethro McCard.  He is a very special individual.  Take good care of him.”
   “Yes, sir.  Right this way, Jethro.” She led him up and into the small VTOL’s cargo compartment that had been fitted with bench seats.
   

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