2013 07 26

Fri Jul 26 2073

A low class section of the CAS. Closed strip malls, potholes, occasional Lone Star rousts. The Lincoln Arms, a step up from the a flophouse, boats warm water and a panic button for the average studio.
The shadowrunner sneaks past the stationary security camera, capturing a grainy just out of frame male. He hustles up to the target, picks the door, and meets the rotting flesh of a former man. Former decker before whatever IC blew his brains out through his nose.
He grabs the deck, snaps some candid photos, and performs a quick search of the studio- a dirty tepid little hole,. Satisfied he pours draino from a bottle across suspected touched surfaces, and then hes gone. The Johnson will be happy.

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