Creating a book full of Evo advanced products, even if they’re just rumors or prototypes, is basically like asking to give every gamemaster that we love and respect a massive pain in the hoop. If it’s in a book, someone is going to want it for their character, and with things like this, it would be quickly unbalancing. But creating a book and then saying that players can’t ever have this is kind of shady as well, and while we write Shadowrun, we don’t like being shady. So this little sidebar is a small compromise. A few ideas for things that can be given to major NPCs as you tell tales of Evo’s efforts to advance mankind. Make sure the costs in nuyen, Essence, and/or Karma are appropriately high!
• Augmentation enhancements that go beyond the +4 Attribute Enhancement maximum.
• Augmentations that reduce Essence even less than deltaware.
• Drones with their own AI-like Pilot program, complete with advanced skills.
• A deck or RCC with higher attribute numbers than currently available decks.
• Movement enhancements for vehicles, drones, and NPCs. • Psychokinetic abilities that allow technomancers or
mundanes mental powers to move objects.
• The ability to copy any face through cyberware, bioware, geneware, or nanoware.
“Slot off,” Moss snapped, flashing a rude gesture to the dwarven Lone Star cop across the table from him in the interrogation room. “I want my lawyer.”
The cop withdrew, muttering something about “spoiled trust-fund kids.”
When the claustrophobic room’s door finally cracked open again, a woman walked through as though she owned the place. A slender ork barely older than Moss, she wore a tight pencil skirt and an impeccably tailored blazer. Onyx chopsticks in her hair, black-rimmed eye- glasses, a black synthleather attaché case, and matching peep-toe stilettos completed the outfit.
Moss wasn’t normally into orks, but this lady was
mega hot. Like, Orxanne-level hot. “Who the hell’re you?
You’re not my lawyer.”
The ork slid in the seat across the table from him. “I am now, Mr. Mossberg,” she said with a smug yet soft grin. “Call me Ms. Dawkins.”
Moss noticed the Horizon sunburst pin on her lapel and grimaced. When had Dad hired Horizon lawyers? “Okay, so what’s the big fragging deal with the cops hassling me like I’m some common criminal? I didn’t do nothing.”
Ms. Dawkins consulted her commlink and looked di- rectly at him. Her eyes—a lovely shade of green, the col- or of orks in high-fantasy games—blinked slowly. “Start by telling me why you’re here.”
Moss shrugged and slouched back into his chair. “Dunno. Pigs think I witnessed a crime. But I didn’t do nothing. Swear. They just get their kicks outta hassling rich kids.”
Dawkins set her glasses next to her attaché and leaned forward with steepled fingertips. “Mr. Mossberg, I am your attorney. Anything you tell me falls under at- torney-client privilege. Understand?”
He inhaled. If it’d get him off the hook, maybe telling the truth wasn’t so bad an idea. “All right.”
Moss launched into the story of how he had been in Downtown LA and witnessed a possibly drunken or
chipped-out Aria Rage in an alley outside some club, beating the ever-loving drek out of some weird-looking kids—not something a nova-hot synthbassist does on a regular basis. He’d rushed in to keep her from killing people who’d probably only wanted her autograph, and that’s when the Star had showed up.
The examination room fell dead silent. Ms. Dawkins said nothing for a good long while. Then she locked eyes with him again.
Blinked. Inhaled.
Her eyebrows crinkled with skepticism. “Are you one hundred percent certain it was Ms. Rage? Are you sure it wasn’t someone who just strongly resembles her?”
Moss dug a pinky into his ear and twisted at an itch he couldn’t seem to reach. “Well …” He went back through his memory. What had he seen? “Now that you mention it, her hair looked really different. I dunno. May- be could’ve been someone else ….”
Ms. Dawkins blinked again, slowly. “So you didn’t see Ms. Rage outside the club?”
His memories seemed a jumble. Had he hit the bar a little too hard? “Maybe—maybe it was someone else..”
Dawkins leaned forward, closer, and took both of his hands. A charge of skin-on-skin contact electrified him with anticipation.
“Listen to me,” she said, the timbre of her voice gravely serious. “You saw nothing.” She squeezed his hands hard enough to leave bruises. “You saw a bunch of chipped- out kids doing stupid stunts. Nothing more.”
Moss yanked his hands away from her and massaged them. The gruff dwarven cop sitting directly in front of him scowled in displeasure. What the hell was his deal? Geez.
“Look, officer,” Moss said in as condescending a voice as he could manage. “I didn’t see anything. What are you still hassling me for? I want my lawyer, or my father is going to have your fragging job.”