The Journal of Magnus Lasker
The loft is awash in the glow of evening colors, the tall Southern windows ushering in the last rays of the setting sun, tinted red from the city haze. Your eyes follow the glow down the walls to rest on a massive desk. Even from here, you can tell it's wood—actual wood—as the warm glow highlights the texture, betraying the spidery cracks of knots in the lacquered surface. A worn leather book sits in the center, a low monument rising above a mahogany plain. This is why you came. In it lies the life of a man, inscribed in ink and cotton. This is the journal of Magnus Lasker.
March, 2079
In which I find my running legs again.
I should be thankful that my body is the only thing that is taking time to recover. My lead on Ellie paid off. Not only did she agree to do my legwork for jobs, but she connected me with an shadow organization she has worked with before. From what I can see, it's fertile ground.
In my inaugural run, I was paired with a charming woman who went by "Ashe". Apparently the run was intended to fly under the radar, as it was just we two. The Johnson was a rather elusive gnome who set up a convoluted meet in Everett. Surprisingly, the job parameters turned out quite straightforward: fly halfway across the globe, infiltrate a 13th century castle, steal a mysterious artifact, and then turn around and do the whole thing in reverse. As "sink or swim" scenarios go, I suppose I picked well.
Upon arriving at a remote shack in Poland, we were met with a gruff local who seemed as much a part of the wilderness as the forest. He was well-acquainted with the area, and connected us with the infiltration suits the Johnson had sent ahead. I'll admit, while I can't fault the craftsmanship, I think I'll stick with a well-tailored dinner jacket. Ashe, on the other hand, seemed to take to hers quite naturally. During our initial recon of the medieval fortress, she put it to good use evading drone patrols.
The occupying force at the castle seemed to have been there a while. Their encampment was well-supplied, and there were enough security devices to make most thieves think twice. Luckily, we were not most thieves. Taking down the motion sensors outside the camp was simple enough, and Ashe scaled the outer fortress wall to avoid detection. The cameras proved no trouble for the sprite-augmented winter stealth suit she had on, and she was inside without so much as a whisper. Inside was a bit, well, medieval, in both the ambience and security. We had a near miss with a pressure plate, and entrance to the main hall was via a rickety (and likely boobytrapped) bridge. I should note, in our original research, we made contact with another runner team that had attempted to hit the place six years back. In the main hall, we found the remains of most of them. Apparently only their rigger had made it out alive, and only then because he was never inside to begin with.
The target itself was held in the depths of the castle, in a dank, unlit room. The artifact, an arcane-touched rose with a dark past, was surprisingly unguarded. When Ashe lifted it from beneath its glass case, we (and the nearby guards) discovered why. The rose must have had a deep connection to the spirit of the castle's original owner, as the ghost of the mad king himself suddenly arose and possessed his decaying skeleton still seated upon his throne. Luckily for this pair of thieves, the king, in his mad rage, seemed more intent on driving out the obvious invaders than finding the lone operative who had awakened him. As he charged out the gates of his crumbling fortress, leaving bodies in his wake, Ashe picked quietly behind him.
On the battlements, the scene was a bit less quiet. A security patrol must have spotted her and began ascending up the elevator build onto the side of the castle walls, carrying a contingent of armed guards. Luckily, I managed to redirect the elevator back down the wall, removing three of them from the equation. The remainder, a troll of furious dedication, tore off the roof of the car and climbed back up to the top. Unfortunately for him, his cyberlegs made him a matrix marionette, and I let him hop himself right back off the side of the wall. Ashe made the climb down without trouble, but was spotted by a snowmobile patrol. After I failed a bit-too-ambitious hacking attempt, I fled from the host, leaving the woman to her own devices. Perhaps my long stay in stasis has made me jittery, but she took care of the pursuers with a single shot from her sprite-laden rifle, disabling the vehicle permanently.
With the camp in disarray, the rest of our visit to the snows of western Poland was uneventful. The delivery was in Berlin, and I must add: it was good to be back. I have not seen my birth home in years, and its liveliness still grips me. Apparently the Johnson was affiliated with the Romani, and I have heard I made something of an impression. I find this acceptable enough, and the payment...well, it is good to finally feel the flow of resources beneath my fingers again.
I'm back in the game.