Hi everybody! First time poster, but a BR fan since 1982.
I’ve been getting into the Solo Mode of the game recently. If you’ve read it, you know that it requires some meticulous note-taking. So I thought, why not go the extra mile and write it as a story? It could offer some entertainment value, and might be of interest to players, to see how another player works with what the game gives them. So here now is the first Shift of my game, and hopefully it won’t take me too long to play/write the rest.
When I roll on a table that requires some amount of interpretation, I’ll include the roll in the body text, in the following format:
[TABLE NAME: Book/page # - Result(s)]
Here in this first chapter, most of the table rolling was done before play even began, because it was mostly setup. But I won’t include those roll results until they actually become relevant to the story, to avoid front-loading this post with a lot of meaningless gobbledygook.
If I roll on a table that requires no interpretation at all, I won’t mention it at all (because why would ya?) I’ll just tell the story.
Any questions or comments, please throw them in.
Okay, thanks for reading. Here we go!
BLADE RUNNER: SONATA
DAY 1: MORNING
I hate the station. Not the job, but the actual station itself. Sometimes, the inside of that building can be uglier than the city that surrounds it.
I passed by Mendez on my way to Holden’s office. He gave me a little sneer, and from behind me I heard him mutter under his breath, “Have no fear, The Wick is here.”
I should say straight off that my name ain’t Wick. But some of these people call me that - ‘Wick,’ aka W.K., aka White Knight, aka I blew the whistle on a dirty cop. An act like that might make you Employee of the Month, but it doesn’t win you many friends in the building. As a result I work independent, only coming up here when summoned, to avoid ruffling too many feathers. That’s fine by me; I’m in it for the job, not the team-building exercises.
Holden was at his desk, cigarette smoke spiralling lazily through the orange, early morning light. The man had had his wounded lungs replaced with fakes years ago, and here he was, still chuffing away.
“Graves!” He greeted me, treating me to that sharklike grin of his. “Top o’ the morning.”
I took a chair. “Likewise. What’s for breakfast?”
[CASE BRIEFING TABLES: SM017 - Police corruption, Replicant is a suspect, requires unusual discretion or secrecy, involves a former lover]
“A complaint,” Holden replied, dragging on his cigarette. “About one of our own police officers.”
“Who?”
“That’s your job to find out. We got a call from some suit at VidStar - you know, the TV station? Something about abuse of station, unlawful surveillance, something like that.”
“What’s that got to do with us?”
“One of the suspected officers is a Replicant. Name of Milne. You can see how this could get ugly. If the general public find out that some of our officers - some Replicant officers - are surveilling them for their own personal jollies, we’ve got big trouble.”
“I dunno Dave, this sounds more like one for Internal Affairs.”
“IA is a department. Departments talk, they coordinate. And lots of them have spouses they go home to and talk about their day with. You, you’re a free agent. With you on the case, if any of this leaks, I know exactly who to crucify.”
“I love you too, pal. Who’s my contact at VidStar?”
He shuffled through the ashy papers on his desk. “A woman by the name of Ames. Veronica Ames.”
Veronica Ames. Ronnie. Goddamn.
He gave me that grin again, stubbed out the cigarette, and rapped his knuckles on the desk. “Then get on it. The who, the why, and make sure nothing like this ever happens again.”
***
Soon I was in my spinner and headed for Sector 5, and the VidStar complex. VidStar was a smaller channel, focusing on news, talk shows, cooking shows, and a few proscenium-style sitcoms. Not the Big Time, but people liked VidStar because they were local, and scrappy.
You’ll have guessed already that Ms. Veronica Ames and I had a history. It was a good history, but yeah, history. She and I were going in different directions. Nobody’s fault. Apparently in the in-between time she’d gotten pretty important at VidStar. I was happy for her.
[CHARACTER TABLES: SM019 - Entertainment, arrogant]
I got parked on the roof of the place and was soon in a descending elevator car, whose doors opened to a stylishly furnished lobby. And there, talking to the woman running the desk, was Ronnie. She looked resplendent in a sharp black suit that matched the colour of her hair, which was tied back with a silver ribbon. She saw me and smiled.
We met in the chamber’s centre. “Ronnie,” I said, taking her in, “immaculate as always!”
She gave me the once-over, as well. ”Leonard,” she retorted, “dishevelled as ever!”
“What? And here I thought I’d dressed up.”
She just raised her eyebrows in response, so I added, “It’s good to see you, Ronnie.”
“It’s good to be seen.” That was her go-to response. The more things change, the more they stay the same. “Only,” she added, looking around, “It’s Veronica, here.”
“Right,” I cleared my throat. “Ms. Ames.”
“I guess I should start by showing you what we found,” she began, already heading for the elevator I’d just come out of. “It’s puzzling, and more than a little unnerving.”
I caught up with her, and we descended deep into the bowels of the place, emerging into a hallway that was orders of magnitude less posh than that lobby upstairs had been. The light was dim, and there was a moist, musty smell in the air.
“Archives,” she informed me. “Where we keep everything nobody wants to look at, but that you have to keep for legal. Generally nobody comes down here, but last night a staffer came down for a drop, and found this…”
[CIPHER TABLE: SM016 - Method: create, focus: obsession]
Ronnie opened the door she’d led me to. Beyond it was a small room, a glorified closet really, with a lone, bare bulb hanging above. This illuminated a bank of shelves to my left, and to my right, a wall almost completely covered in photographs, all of the same subject.
Veronica Ames.
Ronnie shivered, though it was anything but cold in there. “All taken here in the building,” she said as she scanned them, “with the very surveillance equipment manned by your police.”
I looked them over. Surprisingly, there was nothing torrid about any of them. Ronnie at her desk. Ronnie walking the VidStar halls. Ronnie in the studios. Whatever the perp’s motive was, it sure wasn’t blackmail.
“I wanted to ask, why do you have police running security here? Wouldn’t a private firm be more manageable?”
“We get no small amount of celebrities walking the halls upstairs,” she told me, “and a lot of the general riffraff, in terms of studio audiences. Put the two together and that can really bring out the kooks. So the LAPD loans us their greenest recruits, so that we have a security force with the ability and authority to act decisively, if the situation calls for it.”
“No business like show business.”
“There’s more.”
She led me to a second door set into the far wall. Its handle and locking assembly had clearly been busted off. I swung it open slowly.
[LOCATION TABLE: SM021 - Secret tunnel]
It was a subterranean chamber, part of an underground network of tunnels, dripping with grime and disquieting noises. It was well known that there was a vast network of old tunnels and drains beneath the city, nothing down there but rats and pockets of toxic green sludge (and if the occasional reports were to be believed, the sort of people who have an affinity for rats and toxic green sludge). Whoever had been coming and going through this broken door was not squeamish. I pulled it closed.
“Of course we’re having that lock replaced,” Ronnie said.
“I’d suggest holding off on that. Couldn’t hurt to let the perp think they’re still getting away with things.” I looked her in the eye. “Are you alright?”
“Shit, yeah. More mad than anything. I’d like an explanation, but I’ll settle for simply having this person stopped.”
“That brings us to the main event: who’s manning these cameras?”
“There are five officers,” she began, producing a printed list which she held out to me. “They rotate.”
I studied the list, and sure enough, there was our Replicant Milne’s name, third one down. “This one’s a name I’ve heard of. Think it could be him?”
[CIPHER TABLE: SM016 - Method: deceive, focus: life]
“Milne? Can’t rule it out, but I kind of doubt it, the way he’s always going on about his wife and kids.”
Ding ding. This Replicant might have somebody he called a wife, but he most certainly didn’t have any kids. Granted, the phrase ‘my kids’ didn’t necessarily guarantee a blood relation, but those were the ones that tended to get bragged about. I’d look into it.
I tucked the list into my coat. “I’ll have these five officers assembled at the station this evening, for interviews, and I’ll have you sent someone new to cover the shift. It’s not rocket science, I presume?”
She smiled. “You presume correct. Now let’s get the hell upstairs!”
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- Rachael's Spinner
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My first solo game, in fiction form
Last edited by Rachael's Spinner on Thu 16 Jul 2026, 19:30, edited 4 times in total.
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- kaziglubey
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Re: My first solo game, in fiction form
Color me intrigued. You've got my attention, so please keep posting!
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- Rachael's Spinner
- Posts: 21
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Re: My first solo game, in fiction form
Thanks! I hope to play another shift tomorrow, though it'll take me a little longer to write it up.
Also, I should include the stat block of this character:
LEONARD GRAVES (Cityspeaker)
Strength C
Agility B
Intelligence B
Empathy B
Health 5
Resolve 5
Mobility C
Stealth B
Observation A
Connections B
Insight C
Specialties Musician
Promotion Points 4
Chinyen Points 5
Also, I should include the stat block of this character:
LEONARD GRAVES (Cityspeaker)
Strength C
Agility B
Intelligence B
Empathy B
Health 5
Resolve 5
Mobility C
Stealth B
Observation A
Connections B
Insight C
Specialties Musician
Promotion Points 4
Chinyen Points 5
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- Rachael's Spinner
- Posts: 21
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Re: My first solo game, in fiction form
DAY 1: DAY
With some time to kill before this evening’s meetings with the suspects, I decided to see what I could learn about ‘Mr. Domestic Bliss’ on my own. Getting his mugshot and home address from HQ was as easy as asking for it, and I sat in my car studying his visage on my KIA. He was a wide-faced man, and prematurely balding. Did they design that into Replicants now? You had to wonder.
He lived in the standard LAPD housing, which made sense, given he might as well have been born yesterday. That was right here in Sector Five. I lifted off.
I quickly reached the building and parked in the street, instead of on the roof. No need to make a big announcement. It was surprisingly light out, considering how hard it was raining. I popped my spinner’s door, pulled my coat collar up over my head, and jogged for the building’s entrance.
In the comparatively dark lobby was the expected concierge, an older gent, likely retired police. You get to know the look. I marched up to his desk.
“Hi! I was wondering if you could ring me one of your tenants? Name of Milne, unit 2813.” I was taking a gamble, hoping the guy wouldn’t be home. If he was, I’d make up some bullshit and get out of there. The desk unit beeped as we waited.
“I’m sorry, there seems to be no one home.”
Perfect. I pulled out my badge.
“My name’s Graves, Rep-Detect. In case you were unaware, this individual is a replicant. We’ve had reports of suspicious behaviour out of him, It’s possible he might have a screw loose. I’d like to get a look at his room, if it’s alright with you.”
The man sighed. “Goddamn reps. Hang on.” He hit the temp lock on the front door. People inside the building could still bust out, but of course that would trigger the alarms. Anyone coming or going could wait a minute.
He rose and led me into the elevator, which began its ascent.
“What a world,” he laughed, “reps working as cops. It gets so you don’t know what’s up or down, anymore.”
“For sure,” I replied amiably.
“You trust them skin jobs? Don’t mind working right along side ‘em?”
You get that question a lot. “I’m only prejudiced against individual assholes.”
[COUNTDOWN EVENT TABLE: SM023 - Accusation]
[CIPHER TABLE: SM014 - Method: command, focus: loss]
He went silent at that, perhaps unsure if he much liked my answer or not. Our floor arrived, we got out, and not two steps down the hallway, one of the doors ahead opened. And who steps out? Mendez. His eyes went wide at the sight of me.
“The Wick! Right here in my own goddamn building! You here to plant some evidence, Wick? Put another innocent man behind bars?”
“Wainwright was as innocent as your ex-wife, Mendez, and you know that.”
“I’ll report you! Tampering! Mischief!” He turned to the concierge. “Sal, whatever he’s here to do, you don’t let him do it. You don’t know this guy!” And to me again, “I’ll report you!”
“Go on, go report to Holden that you’re interfering in my investigation.”
His face went red as a beet. "You haven't seen the last of me, Wick!" Then he crashed past me quite roughly and, eschewing the elevator, made a very noisy business of taking the stairs. I turned to Sal.
“Maybe I can explain-“
“No no, you’re not explaining anything. I allowed you up here in good faith that you were on the level. Now I don’t know what to think.”
“Sal-“
“Don’t ‘Sal’ me, we’re strangers. I may be retired, but I still know a thing or two about duty. And my duty is to the security of this building. So until you bring me a good, old-fashioned warrant, you get the hell out of here!”
Dead end. We marched back to the elevator in stony silence.
With some time to kill before this evening’s meetings with the suspects, I decided to see what I could learn about ‘Mr. Domestic Bliss’ on my own. Getting his mugshot and home address from HQ was as easy as asking for it, and I sat in my car studying his visage on my KIA. He was a wide-faced man, and prematurely balding. Did they design that into Replicants now? You had to wonder.
He lived in the standard LAPD housing, which made sense, given he might as well have been born yesterday. That was right here in Sector Five. I lifted off.
I quickly reached the building and parked in the street, instead of on the roof. No need to make a big announcement. It was surprisingly light out, considering how hard it was raining. I popped my spinner’s door, pulled my coat collar up over my head, and jogged for the building’s entrance.
In the comparatively dark lobby was the expected concierge, an older gent, likely retired police. You get to know the look. I marched up to his desk.
“Hi! I was wondering if you could ring me one of your tenants? Name of Milne, unit 2813.” I was taking a gamble, hoping the guy wouldn’t be home. If he was, I’d make up some bullshit and get out of there. The desk unit beeped as we waited.
“I’m sorry, there seems to be no one home.”
Perfect. I pulled out my badge.
“My name’s Graves, Rep-Detect. In case you were unaware, this individual is a replicant. We’ve had reports of suspicious behaviour out of him, It’s possible he might have a screw loose. I’d like to get a look at his room, if it’s alright with you.”
The man sighed. “Goddamn reps. Hang on.” He hit the temp lock on the front door. People inside the building could still bust out, but of course that would trigger the alarms. Anyone coming or going could wait a minute.
He rose and led me into the elevator, which began its ascent.
“What a world,” he laughed, “reps working as cops. It gets so you don’t know what’s up or down, anymore.”
“For sure,” I replied amiably.
“You trust them skin jobs? Don’t mind working right along side ‘em?”
You get that question a lot. “I’m only prejudiced against individual assholes.”
[COUNTDOWN EVENT TABLE: SM023 - Accusation]
[CIPHER TABLE: SM014 - Method: command, focus: loss]
He went silent at that, perhaps unsure if he much liked my answer or not. Our floor arrived, we got out, and not two steps down the hallway, one of the doors ahead opened. And who steps out? Mendez. His eyes went wide at the sight of me.
“The Wick! Right here in my own goddamn building! You here to plant some evidence, Wick? Put another innocent man behind bars?”
“Wainwright was as innocent as your ex-wife, Mendez, and you know that.”
“I’ll report you! Tampering! Mischief!” He turned to the concierge. “Sal, whatever he’s here to do, you don’t let him do it. You don’t know this guy!” And to me again, “I’ll report you!”
“Go on, go report to Holden that you’re interfering in my investigation.”
His face went red as a beet. "You haven't seen the last of me, Wick!" Then he crashed past me quite roughly and, eschewing the elevator, made a very noisy business of taking the stairs. I turned to Sal.
“Maybe I can explain-“
“No no, you’re not explaining anything. I allowed you up here in good faith that you were on the level. Now I don’t know what to think.”
“Sal-“
“Don’t ‘Sal’ me, we’re strangers. I may be retired, but I still know a thing or two about duty. And my duty is to the security of this building. So until you bring me a good, old-fashioned warrant, you get the hell out of here!”
Dead end. We marched back to the elevator in stony silence.
Last edited by Rachael's Spinner on Tue 30 Jun 2026, 09:13, edited 2 times in total.
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- Rachael's Spinner
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Re: My first solo game, in fiction form
DAY 1: EVENING (Scene One)
After a very brief little shopping trip, I was back at the station, in interview room 14. On the table lay my spoils, covered by a towel.
Honestly, I was feeling a bit foolish about my bungled search attempt of Milne’s apartment. Would Sal the doorman tip off Milne that I’d come sniffing around? Had he already done so? I decided to believe that old Sal wasn’t one to go out of his way to help a Replicant, and hoped I was right.
I thumbed the comm. “I’ll take the first interviewee, please.”
“Susan Morrow,” replied a voice from the distance.
In came the young woman. She wasn’t tiny, but she wasn’t exactly a moose, either. It always startles me how unimposing some of these cops look when you get them out of that ‘harness bull’ gear they wear. Her smirk said it all.
“Come on, man” she groaned, slumping into the seat opposite me. “I’m home all of half an hour, then I get dragged here? I had a card game happening tonight!”
“I apologize for the inconvenience, Ms. Morrow. This shouldn’t take too long.”
She slumped further down in her chair, and plonked one dirty-sneakered foot on the table. I ignored it.
“Do you recognize this woman?” In my hand I held a single photo I’d pilfered from the mysterious ‘Ronnie shrine’ in the VidStar basement. There had been so many, I was pretty sure my perp wouldn’t miss this one.
“Duh, no, that’s only one of the most senior people at my work.”
“Mm Hmm. And her name is?”
“Cruella De Vil.”
“Are we gonna have a problem here, Ms. Morrow?”
She sighed. “Veronica Ames. She in some kinda trouble?”
“No. What are your thoughts on this person?”
[CIPHER TABLE: SM016 - Method: aid, focus: connection]
[CLUE TABLE 1: SM018 - Involves your personal experience or memories]
“She’s nice, a bit of a snot. That’s what I like about her, actually. She seems to appreciate me, woman-in-a-man’s-world, and all that. I actually helped her get connected with some people in your department for that ‘Replicants are totally safe but we’ll totally blow them away if they get out of line’ documentary puff-piece last year.”
Oh Christ, I’d forgotten about that. What a nightmare. You couldn’t even scratch your backside without it getting into that damn doc.
“Am I free to go now, or what?”
“Just one more thing,” I replied. “Please have a look at this.”
I reached out and yanked back the towel. Beneath it was a wire mesh cage. Inside the cage was a rat I’d captured out back of Howie Lee’s. Now I don’t need to tell you, the mass extinctions didn’t really hit the rats like they did most other species. A lot of them just… changed. Got larger, hairier. This one’s face was studded with warts, and one of its eyes was milky white. It hissed loudly in objection to the interview room’s lights.
Susan screamed and almost flipped over the back of her chair in terror. White as a sheet, she was on her feet now and had got the chair between herself and the rat. She was either deathly afraid of rats, or she was real Oscar material. I was satisfied.
“Thank you Ms. Morrow, I’ve got all I need. Have a pleasant card game.”
She pointed a finger at me, her smirk nowhere to be found. “You are a sick, sick person.”
And then she was gone. I looked at the thing in the cage. “Ten out of ten performance, Herbie, no notes.”
Why Herbie? He looked like a Herbie. Herbie the Rat.
After a very brief little shopping trip, I was back at the station, in interview room 14. On the table lay my spoils, covered by a towel.
Honestly, I was feeling a bit foolish about my bungled search attempt of Milne’s apartment. Would Sal the doorman tip off Milne that I’d come sniffing around? Had he already done so? I decided to believe that old Sal wasn’t one to go out of his way to help a Replicant, and hoped I was right.
I thumbed the comm. “I’ll take the first interviewee, please.”
“Susan Morrow,” replied a voice from the distance.
In came the young woman. She wasn’t tiny, but she wasn’t exactly a moose, either. It always startles me how unimposing some of these cops look when you get them out of that ‘harness bull’ gear they wear. Her smirk said it all.
“Come on, man” she groaned, slumping into the seat opposite me. “I’m home all of half an hour, then I get dragged here? I had a card game happening tonight!”
“I apologize for the inconvenience, Ms. Morrow. This shouldn’t take too long.”
She slumped further down in her chair, and plonked one dirty-sneakered foot on the table. I ignored it.
“Do you recognize this woman?” In my hand I held a single photo I’d pilfered from the mysterious ‘Ronnie shrine’ in the VidStar basement. There had been so many, I was pretty sure my perp wouldn’t miss this one.
“Duh, no, that’s only one of the most senior people at my work.”
“Mm Hmm. And her name is?”
“Cruella De Vil.”
“Are we gonna have a problem here, Ms. Morrow?”
She sighed. “Veronica Ames. She in some kinda trouble?”
“No. What are your thoughts on this person?”
[CIPHER TABLE: SM016 - Method: aid, focus: connection]
[CLUE TABLE 1: SM018 - Involves your personal experience or memories]
“She’s nice, a bit of a snot. That’s what I like about her, actually. She seems to appreciate me, woman-in-a-man’s-world, and all that. I actually helped her get connected with some people in your department for that ‘Replicants are totally safe but we’ll totally blow them away if they get out of line’ documentary puff-piece last year.”
Oh Christ, I’d forgotten about that. What a nightmare. You couldn’t even scratch your backside without it getting into that damn doc.
“Am I free to go now, or what?”
“Just one more thing,” I replied. “Please have a look at this.”
I reached out and yanked back the towel. Beneath it was a wire mesh cage. Inside the cage was a rat I’d captured out back of Howie Lee’s. Now I don’t need to tell you, the mass extinctions didn’t really hit the rats like they did most other species. A lot of them just… changed. Got larger, hairier. This one’s face was studded with warts, and one of its eyes was milky white. It hissed loudly in objection to the interview room’s lights.
Susan screamed and almost flipped over the back of her chair in terror. White as a sheet, she was on her feet now and had got the chair between herself and the rat. She was either deathly afraid of rats, or she was real Oscar material. I was satisfied.
“Thank you Ms. Morrow, I’ve got all I need. Have a pleasant card game.”
She pointed a finger at me, her smirk nowhere to be found. “You are a sick, sick person.”
And then she was gone. I looked at the thing in the cage. “Ten out of ten performance, Herbie, no notes.”
Why Herbie? He looked like a Herbie. Herbie the Rat.
Last edited by Rachael's Spinner on Sat 11 Jul 2026, 21:19, edited 2 times in total.
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- Rachael's Spinner
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Re: My first solo game, in fiction form
DAY 1: EVENING (Scene Two)
Herbie was back under the towel again, running his lines. I called for the next interviewee.
“Elliot Kravshenko.”
A big man with blonde hair and wide eyes peeked in from around the door. “It was fourteen, right? I’m pretty sure they said fourteen, but not really.”
“It was fourteen. Please sit down.”
The big guy practically tiptoed across the floor, pulled the chair under him, and put himself down in it. He was just oozing fear, and I hadn’t even asked a question yet. I decided not to begin with the photo this time, as this might be the guy who’d taken it.
“Does the name Veronica Ames mean anything to you?”
“No.” The response was immediate, and there was no visible reaction to the name. He was fearful, but in a more general way, it seemed. I went for Option Two, the photo.
“How about this person?”
Again, the response was immediate. “Oh, sure. She’s one of the higher-ups at VidStar. I don’t know her name or anything. Look, I don’t wanna cause any trouble. I need this job!”
“You ever talk to her much?”
[CIPHER TABLE: SM016 - Method: discover, focus: truth]
[CLUE TABLE 1: SM018 - Is mysterious, but intriguing]
“Never! I keep my eyes on the monitors. I told you, I need this job! You should talk to Milne. Any time I see him come in, if she’s around, he’s always trying to chat her up.”
“Milne, you say. You two good buddies?”
“No, not really. I told you, I’m at VidStar to do exactly two things: work, and leave. No fooling around with the job.”
I leaned forward. “Did this Milne ever mention a wife and kids to you?”
“Never. But again, we’re not close. Look I don’t wanna cause any trouble. I need-“
“-this job.” I finished for him. “That’s fine. Just one more thing Elliot, and then you can go. Tell me what you think of this.”
I once again unveiled my ‘pretty assistant’. Herbie had taken to chewing on his cage’s little mesh bars.
Kravshenko leapt in his seat, and his hands immediately flew up to cover his mouth and nose. “Are you crazy having that thing in here? Don’t you know the kinds of diseases they can carry?”
“Not a fan of rats, Elliot?” I asked politely.
“I hate ‘em! Please! I’ve told you all I know! Can I go?”
I waved my hand dismissively, and he was off like a shot. I’d never seen a cop better suited to staring at a camera feed. Could you imagine that guy workin’ a beat?
Herbie was back under the towel again, running his lines. I called for the next interviewee.
“Elliot Kravshenko.”
A big man with blonde hair and wide eyes peeked in from around the door. “It was fourteen, right? I’m pretty sure they said fourteen, but not really.”
“It was fourteen. Please sit down.”
The big guy practically tiptoed across the floor, pulled the chair under him, and put himself down in it. He was just oozing fear, and I hadn’t even asked a question yet. I decided not to begin with the photo this time, as this might be the guy who’d taken it.
“Does the name Veronica Ames mean anything to you?”
“No.” The response was immediate, and there was no visible reaction to the name. He was fearful, but in a more general way, it seemed. I went for Option Two, the photo.
“How about this person?”
Again, the response was immediate. “Oh, sure. She’s one of the higher-ups at VidStar. I don’t know her name or anything. Look, I don’t wanna cause any trouble. I need this job!”
“You ever talk to her much?”
[CIPHER TABLE: SM016 - Method: discover, focus: truth]
[CLUE TABLE 1: SM018 - Is mysterious, but intriguing]
“Never! I keep my eyes on the monitors. I told you, I need this job! You should talk to Milne. Any time I see him come in, if she’s around, he’s always trying to chat her up.”
“Milne, you say. You two good buddies?”
“No, not really. I told you, I’m at VidStar to do exactly two things: work, and leave. No fooling around with the job.”
I leaned forward. “Did this Milne ever mention a wife and kids to you?”
“Never. But again, we’re not close. Look I don’t wanna cause any trouble. I need-“
“-this job.” I finished for him. “That’s fine. Just one more thing Elliot, and then you can go. Tell me what you think of this.”
I once again unveiled my ‘pretty assistant’. Herbie had taken to chewing on his cage’s little mesh bars.
Kravshenko leapt in his seat, and his hands immediately flew up to cover his mouth and nose. “Are you crazy having that thing in here? Don’t you know the kinds of diseases they can carry?”
“Not a fan of rats, Elliot?” I asked politely.
“I hate ‘em! Please! I’ve told you all I know! Can I go?”
I waved my hand dismissively, and he was off like a shot. I’d never seen a cop better suited to staring at a camera feed. Could you imagine that guy workin’ a beat?
Last edited by Rachael's Spinner on Sat 11 Jul 2026, 21:21, edited 1 time in total.
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- Rachael's Spinner
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Re: My first solo game, in fiction form
DAY 1: EVENING (Scene Three)
Two down, three to go.
It was beginning to look like my initial hypothesis was correct - that the perp (if it indeed was this ‘Milne’ character) was just another lovelorn weirdo. That didn’t explain the bragging about the wife and kids, though; as far as Great Pickup Lines went, that was pretty far down the list. This was stuff for shrinks or advice columnists, not Blade Runners. Ah well, the chinyen was just as green.
“Next interviewee, please.”
“Haruna Ngwenya.”
I was in the middle of making a note in my KIA when the room’s door was thrust open with such force that it smacked loudly against the wall that it was hinged to. Not gonna lie, I jumped.
“How much more of my time you gonna be wasting, Blade Runner?”
I took him in. The man was halfway to a blinding rage, and all he’d had to endure so far was twenty minutes in a waiting room. He wasn’t as bulky as Kravshenko had been, but he was real toned and every pound of him looked like it wanted to throw itself at something. It occurred to me that I might be in a spot of trouble.
“Please take a seat.”
“I sit enough, man! Ask me your bullshit.”
So that’s how it was gonna be - a pissing contest. I rose from my own chair to match his ready stance, and to deprive him the psychological advantage.
“Does the name Veronica Ames mean anything to you, Haruna?”
“No. Why would it?”
I produced the photo. “How about this person right here?”
He ignored the photo and stared directly at me. I could feel the hate coming off him in waves.
“Go on, Haruna. Have a little gander.”
Finally, he did. “Yeah. VidStar. One of the suits.”
“What can you tell me about her?”
“I can tell you I don’t know her, man!”
I pushed harder. “Ngwenya, if you’re holding anything back, the consequences-“
“Consequences! How about the consequences of you wasting my time?”
This was going nowhere fast. I sighed, and decided to move along to Phase Two.
“Tell me what you think about this,” I said, as I removed the towel from Herbie’s cage. The little bugger had chewed himself a dime-sized hole in it by now.
Ngwenya looked at the specimen in the cage, then did something I didn’t expect - he threw back his head and laughed. “You want to scare me, Blade Runner? With a rat? Try harder. Shit, as a boy, I’d go down into the tunnels and shoot those things for sport!”
Whoah. If this guy was my perp, he was painting himself into a corner real quick. But could anybody really be that stupid? I couldn’t allow myself to believe it.
He laughed again. “What else you got, man?”
I eased back down into my chair.
“Have a pleasant evening, Mr. Ngwenya.”
Two down, three to go.
It was beginning to look like my initial hypothesis was correct - that the perp (if it indeed was this ‘Milne’ character) was just another lovelorn weirdo. That didn’t explain the bragging about the wife and kids, though; as far as Great Pickup Lines went, that was pretty far down the list. This was stuff for shrinks or advice columnists, not Blade Runners. Ah well, the chinyen was just as green.
“Next interviewee, please.”
“Haruna Ngwenya.”
I was in the middle of making a note in my KIA when the room’s door was thrust open with such force that it smacked loudly against the wall that it was hinged to. Not gonna lie, I jumped.
“How much more of my time you gonna be wasting, Blade Runner?”
I took him in. The man was halfway to a blinding rage, and all he’d had to endure so far was twenty minutes in a waiting room. He wasn’t as bulky as Kravshenko had been, but he was real toned and every pound of him looked like it wanted to throw itself at something. It occurred to me that I might be in a spot of trouble.
“Please take a seat.”
“I sit enough, man! Ask me your bullshit.”
So that’s how it was gonna be - a pissing contest. I rose from my own chair to match his ready stance, and to deprive him the psychological advantage.
“Does the name Veronica Ames mean anything to you, Haruna?”
“No. Why would it?”
I produced the photo. “How about this person right here?”
He ignored the photo and stared directly at me. I could feel the hate coming off him in waves.
“Go on, Haruna. Have a little gander.”
Finally, he did. “Yeah. VidStar. One of the suits.”
“What can you tell me about her?”
“I can tell you I don’t know her, man!”
I pushed harder. “Ngwenya, if you’re holding anything back, the consequences-“
“Consequences! How about the consequences of you wasting my time?”
This was going nowhere fast. I sighed, and decided to move along to Phase Two.
“Tell me what you think about this,” I said, as I removed the towel from Herbie’s cage. The little bugger had chewed himself a dime-sized hole in it by now.
Ngwenya looked at the specimen in the cage, then did something I didn’t expect - he threw back his head and laughed. “You want to scare me, Blade Runner? With a rat? Try harder. Shit, as a boy, I’d go down into the tunnels and shoot those things for sport!”
Whoah. If this guy was my perp, he was painting himself into a corner real quick. But could anybody really be that stupid? I couldn’t allow myself to believe it.
He laughed again. “What else you got, man?”
I eased back down into my chair.
“Have a pleasant evening, Mr. Ngwenya.”
-
- Rachael's Spinner
- Posts: 21
- Joined:
Re: My first solo game, in fiction form
DAY 1: EVENING (Scene Four)
Two more suspects and I could wrap for the day. You’ve probably noticed I was leaving Milne the Replicant for last. That was by design.
“Octavia Green,” came the voice from the little speaker in the table.
A knock came from outside the door that Ngwenya had left standing open. “Come in,” I said.
“Hi!”
I looked up. Officer Green was a solid, stocky woman, clearly comfortable in her own skin, with a face that rested naturally in the smiling position.
“I’m Octavia Green. And you are?”
“Graves, Leonard Graves.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Detective Graves. How can I be of help?”
This was a switch! Despite myself, I liked her already.
“Please take a chair Octavia,” I invited. She did so, but her back never touched the back of it. She sat rod straight, with her hands folded in her lap.
“Do you know anyone by the name of Veronica Ames?”
“Oh, certainly. Ms. Ames is one of the upper-tier people at VidStar, where I’m stationed. Junior Program Director, I think. A sassy little thing, but that’s not a crime, is it?”
I smiled and handed her the photo, which she examined. “Yes, this is her right here.” She looked back at me. “I’m not telling you anything you don’t already know, am I, Detective Graves?”
“What can you tell me about the photo itself, from an evidence perspective?”
She turned it over in her hands. “Nothing controversial in the image, in fact kind of shockingly mundane. This was taken by the camera near the drinking fountain outside Studio H. I know the angle.” She handed the photo back to me. “Printed on standard hardcopy photopaper, pretty much everybody uses that brand.”
“Like VidStar, for instance?”
“Yes… this photo was taken with our equipment, and now you want to know if it was printed in-house, as well!” She leaned forward. “Is someone stalking Ms.Ames? One of us?”
“My case as it stands now reflects just as badly on you as it does on the other VidStar rent-a-cops, Ms. Green. So I’d like to keep the speculation to a minimum, please.”
“Yes, sir.”
I felt bad, shutting her down like that. She was just being enthusiastic. But like Captain Holden had warned, we couldn’t afford any squealers.
[CIPHER TABLE: SM016 - Method: prersuade, focus: surveillance]
[CLUE TABLE 1: SM018 - Affirms previous fact or clue]
“If it was printed at VidStar,” she continued, “I bet there’d be a record of that. A footprint.”
“You guys keep track of who’s printing what?”
“No, not us cops. We only look for threats coming into the complex. But I bet the accounting people might have what you’re looking for. I’ve seen more than one staffer get their walking papers over ‘frivolous use of company resources.'"
It made sense.
“Ms. Green, thank you for your time. You’ve been very helpful. Just one more thing, and you’ll be on your way.”
I cringed inside. The woman had been so pleasant and helpful, and now here I was gonna give her the Herbie Treatment. I yanked the towel back without fanfare.
Octavia yelped, and one hand flew to her bosom. Then she giggled nervously, and studied the rodent curiously.
“Well look at you, you poor old thing.” And then to me, “Is he real?”
“I honestly didn’t ask him. You’re not afraid of rats?”
“I wouldn’t like to own one, but I love all of God’s creatures, Mr. Graves. Especially these days.”
I smiled and covered Herbie up once more.
“Safe driving on the way home, Ms. Green.”
Two more suspects and I could wrap for the day. You’ve probably noticed I was leaving Milne the Replicant for last. That was by design.
“Octavia Green,” came the voice from the little speaker in the table.
A knock came from outside the door that Ngwenya had left standing open. “Come in,” I said.
“Hi!”
I looked up. Officer Green was a solid, stocky woman, clearly comfortable in her own skin, with a face that rested naturally in the smiling position.
“I’m Octavia Green. And you are?”
“Graves, Leonard Graves.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Detective Graves. How can I be of help?”
This was a switch! Despite myself, I liked her already.
“Please take a chair Octavia,” I invited. She did so, but her back never touched the back of it. She sat rod straight, with her hands folded in her lap.
“Do you know anyone by the name of Veronica Ames?”
“Oh, certainly. Ms. Ames is one of the upper-tier people at VidStar, where I’m stationed. Junior Program Director, I think. A sassy little thing, but that’s not a crime, is it?”
I smiled and handed her the photo, which she examined. “Yes, this is her right here.” She looked back at me. “I’m not telling you anything you don’t already know, am I, Detective Graves?”
“What can you tell me about the photo itself, from an evidence perspective?”
She turned it over in her hands. “Nothing controversial in the image, in fact kind of shockingly mundane. This was taken by the camera near the drinking fountain outside Studio H. I know the angle.” She handed the photo back to me. “Printed on standard hardcopy photopaper, pretty much everybody uses that brand.”
“Like VidStar, for instance?”
“Yes… this photo was taken with our equipment, and now you want to know if it was printed in-house, as well!” She leaned forward. “Is someone stalking Ms.Ames? One of us?”
“My case as it stands now reflects just as badly on you as it does on the other VidStar rent-a-cops, Ms. Green. So I’d like to keep the speculation to a minimum, please.”
“Yes, sir.”
I felt bad, shutting her down like that. She was just being enthusiastic. But like Captain Holden had warned, we couldn’t afford any squealers.
[CIPHER TABLE: SM016 - Method: prersuade, focus: surveillance]
[CLUE TABLE 1: SM018 - Affirms previous fact or clue]
“If it was printed at VidStar,” she continued, “I bet there’d be a record of that. A footprint.”
“You guys keep track of who’s printing what?”
“No, not us cops. We only look for threats coming into the complex. But I bet the accounting people might have what you’re looking for. I’ve seen more than one staffer get their walking papers over ‘frivolous use of company resources.'"
It made sense.
“Ms. Green, thank you for your time. You’ve been very helpful. Just one more thing, and you’ll be on your way.”
I cringed inside. The woman had been so pleasant and helpful, and now here I was gonna give her the Herbie Treatment. I yanked the towel back without fanfare.
Octavia yelped, and one hand flew to her bosom. Then she giggled nervously, and studied the rodent curiously.
“Well look at you, you poor old thing.” And then to me, “Is he real?”
“I honestly didn’t ask him. You’re not afraid of rats?”
“I wouldn’t like to own one, but I love all of God’s creatures, Mr. Graves. Especially these days.”
I smiled and covered Herbie up once more.
“Safe driving on the way home, Ms. Green.”
-
- Rachael's Spinner
- Posts: 21
- Joined:
Re: My first solo game, in fiction form
[I’d somehow got it into my head that you should only roll on the Cipher Table once per conversation with an NPC. But given what Milne says to Graves in this scene, I naturally had more questions, and I just kept rolling. I’m pretty sure now that that’s what the Solo Mode's designers intend for you to do.]
DAY 1: EVENING (Scene Five)
Last dance.
I called for the last interviewee. Moments later, there came a knock at the door.
“Come in.”
It opened, and in strode a large man, though not tall. His wide face looked stressed, harried even, the perfect complement to his receding hairline. He sat in the chair opposite me without invitation, and waited silently.
“Name?”
“Milne.”
“Mm hmmm,” and just so that we were all on the same page, “and name at birth?”
There was no surprise on his face, of course. “AM4-3.9. And yours?”
“Graves.”
I sat back in my seat. I wasn’t gonna show him the photo I’d pilfered from the ‘Ronnie Shrine’ that he (might have) created, but I got right down to business, otherwise.
“Do you know a person by the name of Veronica Ames?”
[CIPHER TABLE: SM016 - Method: persuade, focus: corruption]
“Yes, she’s the central suspect in a case I’m working.”
Okay, that threw me. “What? What ‘case’, you’re a glorified security guard.”
“I won’t always be.”
It was a smug answer, but he still carried the nervy vibe. “Tell me about the nature of your case, Milne.”
[CIPHER TABLE: SM016 - Method: bribe, focus: justice]
“I believe Ms. Ames is taking bribes to influence the outcome of a particular game show on VidStar called Blast Off!. Do you know it?”
“I don’t do television.”
I decided not to think too much about anything he was saying right there in the moment, much less believe or disbelieve it. It was just too much. Better to simply collect the data and mull it over after I’d gotten out of that damn building.
“Do you have any kind of evidence to support your claim?”
[CIPHER TABLE: SM016 - Method: aid, focus: loss]
[CLUE TABLES: SM018 - Connects to a new location]
[LOCATION TABLE: SM021 - Small nightclub]
“At present, just my own experience,” Milne replied. “It started when I was approached by a contestant on the show while I was on my way to the latrine. She was distraught. Convinced that she had won, that her loss was rigged. I couldn’t do anything to help her case, the game was over. But I started paying attention.”
“And?”
“I eventually tailed Ms. Ames to a bar near VidStar called Charlie’s and sat nearby, out of sight. I personally witnessed a deal go down.”
I couldn’t wipe the smirk off my face. “Why would anybody pay bribe money to influence which civilian wins a bag of chinyen on a game show?”
“On Blast Off!, they don’t give away chinyen. The Grand Prize is passes Off-world for the winner and their immediate family.”
Okay, I didn’t know that. But still, “What’s the difference? Why would anybody care?”
Now Milne actually relaxed and sat back a little. “You must have heard some of the chatter that comes back from out there. Not all Colonies are created equal. Some want only the beautiful people, some want only the rich. Some Colonies are chiefly interested in keeping certain types of people out. It’s about evolution, Detective Graves. The continuance of your species.”
Yeah, those rumours were true. I mean, it’s true that there were those rumours. But it was a hell of a sand castle that this Milne had built on top of them. I leaned forward again. “I have multiple witnesses telling me you’re real chummy with this Ames woman. Even so much as to brag about your wife and kids. How does that figure?”
[CIPHER TABLE: SM016 - Method: bribe, focus: memory]
“I wanted to get in close and butter her up, without her thinking I was romantically interested. I thought playing the ‘jolly old dad’ might jog some memories and soften her shell.”
That statement made me kind of furious. But this guy didn’t know that Ronnie and I had been close, and that damn well wasn’t gonna change.
“Just one more thing, and then you can go.” I yanked the towel off Herbie’s cage and the rat hissed again. The hole he’d been chewing in the cage was now quarter-sized.
As I expected, Milne was unperturbed. “A rat,” he observed. “I fail to see the connection.”
“Go on, Milne. Back to your ‘case’.”
He rose and headed slowly toward the door, then turned back to me and motioned toward the rat.
“Are you going to kill it, once you’ve finished with it?”
Only a Replicant would have an idea like that. “Animal Murder is a felony crime, Milne. You know that, right?”
[CIPHER TABLE: SM016 - Method: demand, focus: life]
Any stress that had plagued him melted away and his face grew deadly serious.
“Yes. Animal life should be protected. All life should be protected.“
And then he left.
DAY 1: EVENING (Scene Five)
Last dance.
I called for the last interviewee. Moments later, there came a knock at the door.
“Come in.”
It opened, and in strode a large man, though not tall. His wide face looked stressed, harried even, the perfect complement to his receding hairline. He sat in the chair opposite me without invitation, and waited silently.
“Name?”
“Milne.”
“Mm hmmm,” and just so that we were all on the same page, “and name at birth?”
There was no surprise on his face, of course. “AM4-3.9. And yours?”
“Graves.”
I sat back in my seat. I wasn’t gonna show him the photo I’d pilfered from the ‘Ronnie Shrine’ that he (might have) created, but I got right down to business, otherwise.
“Do you know a person by the name of Veronica Ames?”
[CIPHER TABLE: SM016 - Method: persuade, focus: corruption]
“Yes, she’s the central suspect in a case I’m working.”
Okay, that threw me. “What? What ‘case’, you’re a glorified security guard.”
“I won’t always be.”
It was a smug answer, but he still carried the nervy vibe. “Tell me about the nature of your case, Milne.”
[CIPHER TABLE: SM016 - Method: bribe, focus: justice]
“I believe Ms. Ames is taking bribes to influence the outcome of a particular game show on VidStar called Blast Off!. Do you know it?”
“I don’t do television.”
I decided not to think too much about anything he was saying right there in the moment, much less believe or disbelieve it. It was just too much. Better to simply collect the data and mull it over after I’d gotten out of that damn building.
“Do you have any kind of evidence to support your claim?”
[CIPHER TABLE: SM016 - Method: aid, focus: loss]
[CLUE TABLES: SM018 - Connects to a new location]
[LOCATION TABLE: SM021 - Small nightclub]
“At present, just my own experience,” Milne replied. “It started when I was approached by a contestant on the show while I was on my way to the latrine. She was distraught. Convinced that she had won, that her loss was rigged. I couldn’t do anything to help her case, the game was over. But I started paying attention.”
“And?”
“I eventually tailed Ms. Ames to a bar near VidStar called Charlie’s and sat nearby, out of sight. I personally witnessed a deal go down.”
I couldn’t wipe the smirk off my face. “Why would anybody pay bribe money to influence which civilian wins a bag of chinyen on a game show?”
“On Blast Off!, they don’t give away chinyen. The Grand Prize is passes Off-world for the winner and their immediate family.”
Okay, I didn’t know that. But still, “What’s the difference? Why would anybody care?”
Now Milne actually relaxed and sat back a little. “You must have heard some of the chatter that comes back from out there. Not all Colonies are created equal. Some want only the beautiful people, some want only the rich. Some Colonies are chiefly interested in keeping certain types of people out. It’s about evolution, Detective Graves. The continuance of your species.”
Yeah, those rumours were true. I mean, it’s true that there were those rumours. But it was a hell of a sand castle that this Milne had built on top of them. I leaned forward again. “I have multiple witnesses telling me you’re real chummy with this Ames woman. Even so much as to brag about your wife and kids. How does that figure?”
[CIPHER TABLE: SM016 - Method: bribe, focus: memory]
“I wanted to get in close and butter her up, without her thinking I was romantically interested. I thought playing the ‘jolly old dad’ might jog some memories and soften her shell.”
That statement made me kind of furious. But this guy didn’t know that Ronnie and I had been close, and that damn well wasn’t gonna change.
“Just one more thing, and then you can go.” I yanked the towel off Herbie’s cage and the rat hissed again. The hole he’d been chewing in the cage was now quarter-sized.
As I expected, Milne was unperturbed. “A rat,” he observed. “I fail to see the connection.”
“Go on, Milne. Back to your ‘case’.”
He rose and headed slowly toward the door, then turned back to me and motioned toward the rat.
“Are you going to kill it, once you’ve finished with it?”
Only a Replicant would have an idea like that. “Animal Murder is a felony crime, Milne. You know that, right?”
[CIPHER TABLE: SM016 - Method: demand, focus: life]
Any stress that had plagued him melted away and his face grew deadly serious.
“Yes. Animal life should be protected. All life should be protected.“
And then he left.
-
- Rachael's Spinner
- Posts: 21
- Joined:
Re: My first solo game, in fiction form
DAY 1: NIGHT
[DOWNTIME EVENT TABLE: SM022 - Encounter key relationship]
[RELATIONSHIP TABLES: CR033 - Old friend, hateful, their life is in danger]
I suppose at this point, I have to tell you about Skip.
Sherman ‘Skip’ Walker (and you can’t fault the guy for taking a nickname - you’d take a nickname too if everybody responded to everything you said with “Sure, MAN!!!”) was actually my best buddy back in the day. We came up through high school together. He was a bass player, and piano was my thing. After graduation we started a trio with a drummer named Chuck Webb, and set out to conquer the world. We played old-time jazz - all that wonderful stuff from that storybook era when America was still the Promised Land. We were actually pretty successful at it, for a while. I mean, we weren’t playing concert halls or anything, but our club gigs were generally pretty packed. You’d pay to hear us.
Unfortunately, right about that time, Skip developed a very serious fondness for ‘recreational pharmaceuticals’ and became completely unreliable. Chuck saw which way the wind was blowing, and with a surprise inheritance coupled with a pair of clean bills of health, he and his wife were headed for the Colonies. I tried to hold things together with a few session drummers, but none of them had the passion for jazz that the three of us had had. And Skip, hell… if he even turned up at all, he couldn’t play for shit anymore, anyway. It was when he finally sold his bass that I started looking at a career in law enforcement. I reasoned that fame is fleeting, but there’ll always be another roach to squish.
If I think about Skip now (or god forbid, see him around town), I mostly just feel a deep hatred. Not for Skip, the poor bastard, but for what he’s become. That’s the man I hate.
Anyway, I was back in the alley behind Howie Lee’s, returning my furry accomplice to his rightful manor. He crept out of his cage a couple meters, then turned around and looked at me, possibly wondering if he wanted to have a go at his former captor or not.
“That’s show biz for ya, Herbie,” I told the wretched beast. “Here today, gone tomorrow.”
He skittered off into the darkness. I ditched the cage and the towel as well (would you keep them?), and was just about to head back to my spinner when I heard a rustle in some trash behind me and spun around.
“Lenny.”
Sonofabitch.
“Hello, Skip.”
Talk about wretched beasts. I wouldn’t have thought he could look worse than the last time I’d seen him, but with Skip, the unpleasant surprises just kept on coming.
“Good news, brother,” he croaked. “I got me a job.”
I looked at my grime-covered former friend impassively. “Oh yeah?”
“Yeah… just gotta get me some… nice workin’ clothes and I can start tomorra…”
Of course I knew what was coming next.
“You spare me some chinyen for… some nice, workin’ threads? I’ll pay you back, brother.”
Through clenched teeth I replied, “You should apply at a place where they issue uniforms.”
“Hey, wait a minute, brother…” He started to rise from the trash, but I’d already turned and was on my way back to the car.
“Selfish bastard!” I heard him screech from back in the alley, “Don’t you ask me for nothin’!”
I landed back down just around the corner from Hawker’s Circle, at the Cecil hotel, where I’d had a room since basically being forced to leave LAPD housing. In my room, all was peaceful. Neon light streamed in through the blinds, and there was always some faintly audible ethnic music bleeding in from the street. I sat down at the piano like I usually do, to unwind. There was a time that any hotel manager would flip out if you rolled a piano into your room, but those days were long gone. If your room’s paid up and you’re not actively trying to burn the place down, pretty much anything goes at the Cecil.
I thought about everything Milne had said. Ronnie corrupt? It didn’t sound like the Ronnie I knew. Upwardly mobile, sure, but taking bribes? It seemed ludicrous to me.
But it had been a while.
In a rare move, I flipped on the idiot box. Some years ago they’d gone and declared TV a free and essential service, to make sure the ads and propaganda were reaching as many eyes and ears as possible, so there was no reason not to have the thing in. But apart from a very rare occasion such as this, I never look at it.
I called up VidStar’s listings. There I did indeed find a show called Blast Off!, so that at least was on the level. But I kept thinking about all those photos of Ronnie down in that cellar archive, and pulled the one I’d taken out of my coat and looked at it. Nothing about any of them said ‘corruption investigation.’
I thought about playing a rerun of the show, but immediately thought better of it. Watching television was no way to end a weird day. And if I’m going to be honest, I was beat.
[MILESTONE REACHED: Promotion points 1, humanity points 3]
[GAME NAME CHANGED TO BLADE RUNNER: SONATA]
[DOWNTIME EVENT TABLE: SM022 - Encounter key relationship]
[RELATIONSHIP TABLES: CR033 - Old friend, hateful, their life is in danger]
I suppose at this point, I have to tell you about Skip.
Sherman ‘Skip’ Walker (and you can’t fault the guy for taking a nickname - you’d take a nickname too if everybody responded to everything you said with “Sure, MAN!!!”) was actually my best buddy back in the day. We came up through high school together. He was a bass player, and piano was my thing. After graduation we started a trio with a drummer named Chuck Webb, and set out to conquer the world. We played old-time jazz - all that wonderful stuff from that storybook era when America was still the Promised Land. We were actually pretty successful at it, for a while. I mean, we weren’t playing concert halls or anything, but our club gigs were generally pretty packed. You’d pay to hear us.
Unfortunately, right about that time, Skip developed a very serious fondness for ‘recreational pharmaceuticals’ and became completely unreliable. Chuck saw which way the wind was blowing, and with a surprise inheritance coupled with a pair of clean bills of health, he and his wife were headed for the Colonies. I tried to hold things together with a few session drummers, but none of them had the passion for jazz that the three of us had had. And Skip, hell… if he even turned up at all, he couldn’t play for shit anymore, anyway. It was when he finally sold his bass that I started looking at a career in law enforcement. I reasoned that fame is fleeting, but there’ll always be another roach to squish.
If I think about Skip now (or god forbid, see him around town), I mostly just feel a deep hatred. Not for Skip, the poor bastard, but for what he’s become. That’s the man I hate.
Anyway, I was back in the alley behind Howie Lee’s, returning my furry accomplice to his rightful manor. He crept out of his cage a couple meters, then turned around and looked at me, possibly wondering if he wanted to have a go at his former captor or not.
“That’s show biz for ya, Herbie,” I told the wretched beast. “Here today, gone tomorrow.”
He skittered off into the darkness. I ditched the cage and the towel as well (would you keep them?), and was just about to head back to my spinner when I heard a rustle in some trash behind me and spun around.
“Lenny.”
Sonofabitch.
“Hello, Skip.”
Talk about wretched beasts. I wouldn’t have thought he could look worse than the last time I’d seen him, but with Skip, the unpleasant surprises just kept on coming.
“Good news, brother,” he croaked. “I got me a job.”
I looked at my grime-covered former friend impassively. “Oh yeah?”
“Yeah… just gotta get me some… nice workin’ clothes and I can start tomorra…”
Of course I knew what was coming next.
“You spare me some chinyen for… some nice, workin’ threads? I’ll pay you back, brother.”
Through clenched teeth I replied, “You should apply at a place where they issue uniforms.”
“Hey, wait a minute, brother…” He started to rise from the trash, but I’d already turned and was on my way back to the car.
“Selfish bastard!” I heard him screech from back in the alley, “Don’t you ask me for nothin’!”
I landed back down just around the corner from Hawker’s Circle, at the Cecil hotel, where I’d had a room since basically being forced to leave LAPD housing. In my room, all was peaceful. Neon light streamed in through the blinds, and there was always some faintly audible ethnic music bleeding in from the street. I sat down at the piano like I usually do, to unwind. There was a time that any hotel manager would flip out if you rolled a piano into your room, but those days were long gone. If your room’s paid up and you’re not actively trying to burn the place down, pretty much anything goes at the Cecil.
I thought about everything Milne had said. Ronnie corrupt? It didn’t sound like the Ronnie I knew. Upwardly mobile, sure, but taking bribes? It seemed ludicrous to me.
But it had been a while.
In a rare move, I flipped on the idiot box. Some years ago they’d gone and declared TV a free and essential service, to make sure the ads and propaganda were reaching as many eyes and ears as possible, so there was no reason not to have the thing in. But apart from a very rare occasion such as this, I never look at it.
I called up VidStar’s listings. There I did indeed find a show called Blast Off!, so that at least was on the level. But I kept thinking about all those photos of Ronnie down in that cellar archive, and pulled the one I’d taken out of my coat and looked at it. Nothing about any of them said ‘corruption investigation.’
I thought about playing a rerun of the show, but immediately thought better of it. Watching television was no way to end a weird day. And if I’m going to be honest, I was beat.
[MILESTONE REACHED: Promotion points 1, humanity points 3]
[GAME NAME CHANGED TO BLADE RUNNER: SONATA]
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