There's Nothing Free In This World - A Shadowland Collaborative NovelSome people post short fiction or links to short fiction. I am providing a link to a
329-page, 1.6 Mb PDF.
A quick a dirty synopsis that is about the events, but certainly not the tone.
Connor's team kidnaps Nadja Daviar, and then get hired by Lugh Surehand who was being hunted by his own men to rescue/kidnap someone from inside the SCIRE while a fragment of Deus and Tadashi Marushige tried to retake the building as part of a plan to take some measure of permanent political power over Seattle/Pacific Northwest as a new haven for the Banded.
This was a relatively tight retelling of the last great campaign on Shadowland that took place from 2005 to 2007. It was the career-ender for some PCs. It was the end for some others. It was our telling of the end of the Sixth World as our most important characters knew it following the events of Crash 2.0.
Back Cover Blurb
The End Of The Fucking World
In the wake of the worst terrorist attack in human history, a crippled Seattle finds itself to be a warzone in the midst of political machinations and an intercontinental insurrection. But just when thing seem to be under control, a player everyone assumed was gone reappears to take control of the isolated city-state, opposed only be a handful of people who are connected through the one person in the Emerald City who can weave all of these catastrophes into one tapestry of political intrigue.
Editor’s Note
As posting on this campaign was coming to a close, it became clear that it was going to be the finale to the careers for most of the legendary characters who remained on Shadowland, which made it all the more important that what they all did, and what they would face. Quite frankly, this campaign was in effect the ending of an era on Shadowland. It coincided with the end of what many of us considered Shadowrun following the release of Shadowrun Fourth Edition.
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Excerpt:
[spoiler]
Chapter 12Connor Alan Tybalt had been in this situation before. Go on a covert mission, and the next thing he recalls is waking up in bed with no memory of what he did on the mission. Laés was a hell of a drug, and it made a person feel slow and groggy as well as mostly amnesiac about the events of the last few days or weeks. But Connor's time in the Peace Force exposed him to the drug too often for any person. He knew that he had been approached by a mysterious elf. He was too calm and polished, a Johnson who'd come up through the ranks of a high-powered legal department, and yet the elf convinced him to take the job. Not only that, he also convinced Connor to bring Marcus along. This was one of those jobs that the two men did together because they trusted each other more than anyone else to make sure both men got out alive. And yet that wasn't the craziest part, because Erika would also go with the two on what was likely to be a mission that was only surpassed in its lack of logic by the mission into the Arcology.
Fuck you money. The elf actually used those exact words. And now that Connor was awake, he realized that a) He was alive; b) He was unharmed; c) Erika was alive and sleeping next to him; and d) Marcus was on the other side of him, alive and apparently unharmed (How did that happen?). They weren't home, but he knew they were in Seattle. Maybe the elf had been straightforward with them. Yeah, maybe. There was a window in the small room on the opposite side of them. It was darkly frosted, but there was some light streaming through. The room was spartan: dark featureless walls, a weird grey carpet, and a clock on the wall:
12: 35 PM
November 5, 2064
When Connor wakes up—like every time he wakes up and there isn't an alarm clock involved—it's a gradual process. Or, rather, it seems to be. He doesn't move. He doesn't open his eyes. He doesn't quicken his breathing. He stays as he lies, letting other senses and other instincts take over, first. An audio suite worth more than most homes sweeps the room, plots it out, searches for movement or obstructions or people or threats. His tactical computer maps alongside it, projecting an image inside his eyelids to show him the size of the room, tells him about the lack of motion, lets him know when it's safe to open his eyes.
He does so, eventually, and then slowly sits up. Quietly. Smoothly. A glance to each side, the lack of a copper smell in the air, tells him Erika and Marcus are both alive, both unbleeding.
His own pain receptors remain mercifully restful, his body forced to acknowledge no aches or pains past those incidental to any sort of job; the little dings and bruises that had had soldiers call aspirin and related pain relievers "infantry candy" for decades. He stands, moves silently on the balls of his feet towards the window; his hand doesn't swipe across it just yet, there's no need to see outside, and show anyone outside that he wanted to. He just gives it a look, cycling through and overlaying a series of cybervisual enhancements and cross-referencing whatever view he's got with the maps of Seattle still imbedded in his knowsoft ports.
The worst thing about amnesia, the unfortunate expert on the subject realizes, is often getting oriented the next day.
[/spoiler]
And just for kicks:
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