The Cheddar Mambo
by Ricky Knight
March 20, 2002
     It is the year 2060. The world has changed, and it left a violent history behind it. Magic has returned, as well as elves, orks, trolls, gnomes, and even dragons. Mega-corporations are the kings, comprised of who-knows-how-many companies. The rich are even richer, and the poor are multiplying. In these dark times, the corps need people to do their dirty work. That's where runners come in.
     It was a cold and bleak April morning. Kurt Dunni stared out the living room window with an uneasiness that always seemed to accompany him on days such as this. It was as his grandfather, the renowned James Dunni Jr., had always said, "Rainy days are for sleeping." But not today; today he had to work, as he had every day. A runner's job is never done...not as long as you need food in your stomach.
     The television in the corner flickered silently with static. Kurt stepped over the broken bottles, the empty pizza boxes, and a sleeping body, then flicked off the TV. A broken coffee table lay in the center of the room. The only other halfway useful piece of furniture visible is an old sofa, sagging to the floor and riddled with bullet holes. On the wall next to it is mounted an old comm, which suddenly starts ringing. The sleeping figure wriggles into consciousness as Kurt answers it.
     "Hoi. Kurt here."
     "Mr. Dunni? This is Mr. Johnson," the comm replies. Our guest awkwardly rises to his feet.
     "Who's that, Kurt? More work?"
     Kurt nods. The rest of the conversation is slightly muffled by a bit of interference.
     "Yeah, sounds good. I'll start today. Thanks." He hangs up. "Well, Boat, looks like we're going for a little ride today."
     Alan "Boat" Jorg: a man with nothing to lose, like so many others. He stands about a foot shorter than Dunni, but about a foot wider. There's nothing very distinct about him. Contrasting with Dunni, who looks tall, while not being over 6 feet, Boat has a short, pudgy face. He now hides his bald head with a brimmed hat--manila--to match his aging trench coat. He's probably been wearing the same dark red t-shirt for a few months, and his black slacks look even older.
     Kurt, however, attempts to look a bit more presentable. He wears an old gray suit, with a black tie that his father gave him. He brushes himself off a bit as he reaches for his--much cleaner--trench coat and sunglasses. Looking into the window, staring at his reflection, he gives his dark hair a quick brushing and heads towards the front door. From the sound of it, it must be raining harder than he thought.
     "Come on, Boat. You get to drive today," then adds, with a smile, "We're heading to Ziggy's."
     The house looks better from the outside, but not by much. The surrounding heaps of bricks, however, certainly help it stand out a bit. An old car, which might have been yellow at some time, parked in front must definitely lower the property value, if anyone were actually desperate enough to want to purchase this scrap of land. Kurt rides shotgun, and slams his door shut once again for good measure. After a bit of shuffling, and cursing at the leaky roof, among other things, Boat manages to start the car. Ziggy's Cafe and Night Club is only about an hours' drive from here. It's near noon, and the streets of Seattle are vacant...for now.
     Kurt grabs a Streetline Special from the glove compartment, loads it, and hands it to Boat. He does the same for himself, and readies it in his coat pocket.
     "I hear gunshots. We'd better get ready for business. Johnson says there's a gang fight, and he wants 'em all geeked."
     As they rounded the corner, Ziggy's came into view, as well as the scene in front. Seven people still standing, three on the ground, and no sign of any further fighting.
     "Looks like our job's half over," Boat shouts, as he shoves his door open.
     "Slot and run!" Kurt screams, as he does the same. He and Boat leap from the speeding car, blasting their clips into the seven orks before them as they roll onto their feet, trying to regain balance. Five orks hit the ground, and the car slams straight into the two remaining. The back end raises off the ground as it comes to a dead halt.
     "Drek! Look at that one! He's wired to the teeth!" Dunni shouts, as he staggers to his feet. At the front of the car stands a single ork. He's a bit smaller than the others, but he's obviously fitted with the best cyberware Nuyen can buy. With a single swipe, he knocks the car aside, ramming it into an already crumbling building.
     The ork shouts his battle cry, and picks up his rifle. "Die, breeders!"
     Boat darts out of the way, shouting "Look out!" as he does. Dunni leaps away from the ork just in time, as the car had done enough damage to the old dilapidated structure to cause it to topple. The ork didn't even stand a chance. Boat and Kurt look at each other, a smile on their faces.
     Boat looks towards the entrance of Ziggy's, glad that it hasn't been damaged. "Well, that was easy enough. I suppose we'll get our payment tomorrow. For now, I guess I gotta get a new car."