Neo Barcelona, 2nd of February 2043.
(Props to @strop for helping me with the writing style!)
A sprinkling of rain fell from the pitch black heavens, buffeted by icy gusts, washing over the concrete monoliths that soared over the glowing streets below. Once the domain of Catalan brands, their rule had crumbled under the foreign onslaught, and now the streets were awash in a kaleidoscope of Mitsuhama and Aztechnology neons.
An '86 Merciel 124 8A4 cruised down the neon-lit streets. The sound of the engine was dampened by synth music coming from the radio, as it cruised towards the industrial section of the city. Rumours said there is an abandoned industrial plant where the Yakuza used to gut cars down and sell them by pieces; some time ago, a turf war forced them to leave the place, and soon the place was victim of lootings by the gangs and street samurais.
The driver rested an atipically muscular arm on the gearshift knob, placing it in neutral as they parked the car next to an abandoned warehouse at the end of the street. They shut the car down, opening the door before exiting the car with some difficulties, closing it afterwards. The man stood before the building, their large, bulky frame projecting a shadow as it was struck by the moonlight.
Using a pair of heavy duty shears taken from the trunk, the lock was cut and removed, the rusty metal curtain door creaking and screeching as it was forcibly lifted. It was then kept in place with a metal bar. The inside of the building told the story of what used to be a car workshop; the few items remaining were dimly lit by the moonlight that managed to get inside, through the cracked windows. There were few items that had not already been looted; a rusty mid engined chassis, some old carburetors and a few rims rusting to uselessness.
But what caught the attention of the driver was a small hatchback. It was quite rusty, its wheels deflated, and the engine and drivetrain had been removed. The driver knew he had to take it, he had a feeling this could be turned into the perfect machine for the customer.
A month later.
The same Merciel arrived at a different workshop. The building was covered in old, malfunctioning neons, signs worn by time and a light that kept flickering. The driver parked the car in front of the workshop, quickly locking the doors and ringing the doorbell; the lights revealed that the driver was in fact a male orc, product of the unexplained genetic expression; someone picked the doorbell phone on the other side quickly.
Doorbell: Hello, can I help you with something?
Orc.: It’s me, Mikel. Open up.
The door rang and opened for Mikel, who entered and closed the door once he was inside. The workshop was covered in technology, from all kind of measuring equipment from Renraku Computer Systems to wiring, as well as Nohda and Stallion posters. Three cars were being serviced in the workshop at the moment, but Mikel wasn’t interested in them. He walked straight into the back of the workshop, where a solitary stand kept the chassis he had brought there a month prior, now restored and with extensive mods.
A button press could be heard, and the car was slowly lowered to the ground. From behind the stand controls, a middle aged dwarf in a sweaty tank top appeared, cleaning his greasy hands in a piece of cloth.
Mikel: Hey Roman, how’s everything going?
Roman: 's alright here. Wanna 'ave a look at the thing?
Mikel: Ye, talk numbers.
Roman: 2 liter plant, turbocharged, intercooled. Three fifty horses with my magic. Aero up the arse. Some Renraku gadgets I could get my 'ands on. Sounds good?
Mikel: Will do. Let’s hope they don’t mind a car that comes from two Runners.
Contendiente Ataque Shadowrun.
). So I figured, with a bit of massaging and updating of the body materials I can make it light enough to hit the economy target…
