[Hors Japon - Spoiler] Winternight
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[Hors Japon - Spoiler] Winternight
Dataripper Sam 1 Sep - 15:12
> This thing turned up on Shadowland about two weeks ago, and I’ve spent most of the time since then trying to decide whether anything this bizarre might possibly have something to it. Keeping in mind the first lesson of this crazy world - that nothing is impossible-
I’ve decided to post the file, with reservations. This may be nothing but tabloidscreamsheet stuff, the ravings of a madman. Or it may be a desperate attempt by a man slowly losing his mind to warn us about the nice folks who started him down that path. Or anything in between. On the off-chance that there’s a grain of truth to this sick story, I offer it to the general Shadowland public. Make of it what you will- and if you find anything at all that might give it some credence, for Ghost’
> Captain Chaos
Transmitted: 22 May 2057 at 06:34:21 (PST)
My life is ashes.
I have betrayed everything I ever believed in. My career is in ruins. My family lies dead by my own hand. All because of Winternight. Because of the monsters, the inhuman fiends who made me KILL KILL MY FAMILY KILL THEM ALL DROWN THEM IN BLOOD
DROWNING I’M DROWNING
No. Not inhuman. All too human-in the general sense of the word. They are our own twisted reflections, the dark sides of every race of humanity. If they were truly inhuman, I could not have become one of them so easily.
No matter what it costs me, I will die a free man. With my family gone, with my family gone no one else can be hurt by the disclosures in this file. And I must disclose the truth in all its awful detail, or the whole world will die. I don’t know how and I don’t know when… they have people working on more different ways of destroying life on Earth than most of us have ever imagined… but they intend it to happen soon. I can’t do much to stop it—only shout a warning and hope to God someone hears. If there
is a God.
Someone has to believe me. That’s the only way I can make up for what I’ve done. I’ve done things… terrible things. Some of them I can’t remember. Some thing I remember all too AFRAID I’M AFRAID THEY’RE COMING TO KIILL ME CAN’T LET THEM FIND ME RUN RUN HIDE HIDE IN THE DARK DIE IN THE DARK
The chip. It’s done something to my mind. I have to stop this… have to focus, get all this down, send it where it might do some good. Got to control myself.
Three years ago, I was appointed director of the UCAS Army Special Assets Division. Special assets tracks down, handles and stores weapons of mass destruction. Nuclear weapons, chemical, biological… all the horrible tricks humankind ever managed to pull out of its collective bag before the Awakening brought us magic as the new tool of choice by
which to destroy one another. IN FIRE IN BLOOD IN AGONY
THE UNWORTHY WILL PERISH IN THE FLAMES
The fugues are getting worse. I may not have much time left. I remember watching the trucks at the toy company. Toronto, that’s where it was. A few people with me… colleagues, friends…
Voices over the headset. Seeing through a cold camera eye. Gray gloves… they kept carrying boxes of toy cars around, wearing heavy gray gloves. I knew what the gloves meant.
Shielded gloves. Keep the poison out, the radiation.
How long ago? I can’t remember. Did the chip do that, too? Or have they already gotten to me? Wiped my memory of all but a few fragments… oh God, if You’re there, please make that not be true. Make it not be true, God. If I can’t tell this story, I can’t atone, and then I’m damned BURN IN HELL BURN LIKE THE REST THE WORMS THE ANTS THE VERMIN COWER IN THE DIRT WITH ALL THE REST AND SCREAM WITH THE PAIN OF THE FIRE
Early in 2055, an intelligence analysis crossed my desk.
A small toy manufacturer in Toronto had received a small shipment of nuclear material. We placed them under surveillance, hoping to find out who or what was behind them before sweeping in and making arrests. After months of fruitless watching, several pounds of nuclear material arrived hidden in a shipment of plastic resin. We traced the material as far as a warehouse in Nairobi, Kenya—which burned down two days after we confirmed the address. Where the contraband originated prior to Nairobi remained a mystery. I know the answers now, of course—but none of my superiors are likely to believe me. Those that did would be killed instantly by Winternight agents, anyway. KILLED DEAD BLOOD BLOOD EVERYWHERE WHY WON’T YOU STOP SCREAMING STOP STOP STOP. I can’t tell anyone in SAD. This is the only way to get the warning out.
They kept changing the boxes. I remember that. The Urban Brawl t-shirts-that was the funniest one. So many trucks, so many little towns… it was cold all the time. New England winter. Always hated winter in upstate New York, Philly, Boston… so damned cold. Our van kept breaking down. None of theirs did. I remember Jake saying it must be magic. Right… a “charge battery” spell. Where did we end up? All I remember is driving endlessly
after panel trucks in the cold and blowing snow ICE THE WORLD WILL END IN ICE IN WINTER DARK AND COLD AND DEAD
I remember poor Hauser died. Congenital heart failure. He found out the unmarked van’s registration numbers were bogus. Dead a week later. The final shipment—labeled as a state-of-the-art trideo set with all the accessories—ended up at a private house. I don’t remember where. The person renting it was a travel writer and part-time researcher at MIT&T. Nothing about him suggested anything out of the ordinary; he had no record of political involvement, and nothing about any of the datawork
that we could find appeared to have been faked. The only odd note about the house or its inhabitant, aside from the arrival of nuclear material, was the heavy magical shielding around the building. None of our agents could penetrate it. I remember being somewhere very dark and cold. So cold my fingers went stiff. Down… I remember moving down,
walking down a slanted floor. No, a passage. Cold, hard rock under my feet. I couldn’t stop shivering COLD COLD AND DARK AND DEAD DEAD SMOTHERED SUFFOCATED CLOSED IN OH GOD THE WALLS THE WALLS THEY’RE GOING TO FALL ON ME Coal mine. I lead the team into a coal mine. It was late… dark… quiet. In an airshaft halfway down a disused passageway almost entirely blocked by rubble from a long-ago collapse, we discovered eight nuclear weapons. They were covered with magical inscriptions inlaid with orichalcum.
> Orichalcum?! They must’ve been trying to… no. I’m not even going to write that down. It’s too fragging scary.
> Wozzerd
> It’s fragging bulldrek. Can you say “nuclear weapon foci?” Can you say “mixing technology and magic—can’t be done?”
> Wiz Kid
> Can you say “cybermancy” There’s tech and magic in bed for you. Just because no one’s made a magic nuke yet—that we know of—doesn’t mean it’s impossible.
> Whisper
> I don’t want to think about this.
> Dancer
> So get off-line.
> Bung
We arrested 58 suspects, of whom 51 knew nothing about nuclear material or weapons. They knew only that certain anonymous people had paid them good money to drive a truck from Point A to Point B, or to type in a false entry in a shipping manifest. None of them held particularly well-paying jobs. When offered a chance to make a year’s salary or better with one simple act, they jumped at it. The remaining seven suspects committed suicide under questioning.
I prepared a report—such as it was—and submitted it to my superior officers. Three days later, in Cincinnati on an inspection tour, I woke to fin myself tied to my bed in my hotel room. Four men were in the room with me, one bending over me. He clicked a chip into my datajack, and suddenly I was a god.
ECSTACY PERFECTION POWER STRENGTH JOY RAISE THE GLEAMING SWORD LET IT FALL ON THE ENEMY WATCH THE BLOOD WATCH IT CATCH IT DRINK IT LAUGH AS MY ENEMIES DIE
Absolute power. Absolute certainty. Swinging a gleaming axe at the heads of my enemies. They died in fountains of blood. I laughed. My friends laughed with me. Laughed and danced and drank. We still lived. We were the chosen. The Einherjar. We would live forever and ever, Amen.
DARKNESS DEATH COLD PAIN IT HURTS HURTS ALL GONE ALL GONE I’M DYING DYING DEAD DON’T LET ME DIE. I WANT TO LIVE I HAVE TO LIVE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE.
Why does it hurt so much to cry? The chip was gone. He took it. I fell from Heaven, plunged into the depths of Inferno. Cold, empty, desolate.
Someone was whimpering like a whipped dog, blubbering the word “please” over and over until the sound died away into sobbing. When my eyes started burning, I realized the one whimpering was me.
The man who’d given me the chip—he was slender, well-dressed, with dark smooth hair and gold-rimmed glasses— promised me I could have another taste of it if I listened very carefully to what he had to say. I listened. I tried not to breathe too loudly for fear the noise might keep me from hearing his every word.
I’ve decided to post the file, with reservations. This may be nothing but tabloidscreamsheet stuff, the ravings of a madman. Or it may be a desperate attempt by a man slowly losing his mind to warn us about the nice folks who started him down that path. Or anything in between. On the off-chance that there’s a grain of truth to this sick story, I offer it to the general Shadowland public. Make of it what you will- and if you find anything at all that might give it some credence, for Ghost’
> Captain Chaos
Transmitted: 22 May 2057 at 06:34:21 (PST)
My life is ashes.
I have betrayed everything I ever believed in. My career is in ruins. My family lies dead by my own hand. All because of Winternight. Because of the monsters, the inhuman fiends who made me KILL KILL MY FAMILY KILL THEM ALL DROWN THEM IN BLOOD
DROWNING I’M DROWNING
No. Not inhuman. All too human-in the general sense of the word. They are our own twisted reflections, the dark sides of every race of humanity. If they were truly inhuman, I could not have become one of them so easily.
No matter what it costs me, I will die a free man. With my family gone, with my family gone no one else can be hurt by the disclosures in this file. And I must disclose the truth in all its awful detail, or the whole world will die. I don’t know how and I don’t know when… they have people working on more different ways of destroying life on Earth than most of us have ever imagined… but they intend it to happen soon. I can’t do much to stop it—only shout a warning and hope to God someone hears. If there
is a God.
Someone has to believe me. That’s the only way I can make up for what I’ve done. I’ve done things… terrible things. Some of them I can’t remember. Some thing I remember all too AFRAID I’M AFRAID THEY’RE COMING TO KIILL ME CAN’T LET THEM FIND ME RUN RUN HIDE HIDE IN THE DARK DIE IN THE DARK
The chip. It’s done something to my mind. I have to stop this… have to focus, get all this down, send it where it might do some good. Got to control myself.
Three years ago, I was appointed director of the UCAS Army Special Assets Division. Special assets tracks down, handles and stores weapons of mass destruction. Nuclear weapons, chemical, biological… all the horrible tricks humankind ever managed to pull out of its collective bag before the Awakening brought us magic as the new tool of choice by
which to destroy one another. IN FIRE IN BLOOD IN AGONY
THE UNWORTHY WILL PERISH IN THE FLAMES
The fugues are getting worse. I may not have much time left. I remember watching the trucks at the toy company. Toronto, that’s where it was. A few people with me… colleagues, friends…
Voices over the headset. Seeing through a cold camera eye. Gray gloves… they kept carrying boxes of toy cars around, wearing heavy gray gloves. I knew what the gloves meant.
Shielded gloves. Keep the poison out, the radiation.
How long ago? I can’t remember. Did the chip do that, too? Or have they already gotten to me? Wiped my memory of all but a few fragments… oh God, if You’re there, please make that not be true. Make it not be true, God. If I can’t tell this story, I can’t atone, and then I’m damned BURN IN HELL BURN LIKE THE REST THE WORMS THE ANTS THE VERMIN COWER IN THE DIRT WITH ALL THE REST AND SCREAM WITH THE PAIN OF THE FIRE
Early in 2055, an intelligence analysis crossed my desk.
A small toy manufacturer in Toronto had received a small shipment of nuclear material. We placed them under surveillance, hoping to find out who or what was behind them before sweeping in and making arrests. After months of fruitless watching, several pounds of nuclear material arrived hidden in a shipment of plastic resin. We traced the material as far as a warehouse in Nairobi, Kenya—which burned down two days after we confirmed the address. Where the contraband originated prior to Nairobi remained a mystery. I know the answers now, of course—but none of my superiors are likely to believe me. Those that did would be killed instantly by Winternight agents, anyway. KILLED DEAD BLOOD BLOOD EVERYWHERE WHY WON’T YOU STOP SCREAMING STOP STOP STOP. I can’t tell anyone in SAD. This is the only way to get the warning out.
They kept changing the boxes. I remember that. The Urban Brawl t-shirts-that was the funniest one. So many trucks, so many little towns… it was cold all the time. New England winter. Always hated winter in upstate New York, Philly, Boston… so damned cold. Our van kept breaking down. None of theirs did. I remember Jake saying it must be magic. Right… a “charge battery” spell. Where did we end up? All I remember is driving endlessly
after panel trucks in the cold and blowing snow ICE THE WORLD WILL END IN ICE IN WINTER DARK AND COLD AND DEAD
I remember poor Hauser died. Congenital heart failure. He found out the unmarked van’s registration numbers were bogus. Dead a week later. The final shipment—labeled as a state-of-the-art trideo set with all the accessories—ended up at a private house. I don’t remember where. The person renting it was a travel writer and part-time researcher at MIT&T. Nothing about him suggested anything out of the ordinary; he had no record of political involvement, and nothing about any of the datawork
that we could find appeared to have been faked. The only odd note about the house or its inhabitant, aside from the arrival of nuclear material, was the heavy magical shielding around the building. None of our agents could penetrate it. I remember being somewhere very dark and cold. So cold my fingers went stiff. Down… I remember moving down,
walking down a slanted floor. No, a passage. Cold, hard rock under my feet. I couldn’t stop shivering COLD COLD AND DARK AND DEAD DEAD SMOTHERED SUFFOCATED CLOSED IN OH GOD THE WALLS THE WALLS THEY’RE GOING TO FALL ON ME Coal mine. I lead the team into a coal mine. It was late… dark… quiet. In an airshaft halfway down a disused passageway almost entirely blocked by rubble from a long-ago collapse, we discovered eight nuclear weapons. They were covered with magical inscriptions inlaid with orichalcum.
> Orichalcum?! They must’ve been trying to… no. I’m not even going to write that down. It’s too fragging scary.
> Wozzerd
> It’s fragging bulldrek. Can you say “nuclear weapon foci?” Can you say “mixing technology and magic—can’t be done?”
> Wiz Kid
> Can you say “cybermancy” There’s tech and magic in bed for you. Just because no one’s made a magic nuke yet—that we know of—doesn’t mean it’s impossible.
> Whisper
> I don’t want to think about this.
> Dancer
> So get off-line.
> Bung
We arrested 58 suspects, of whom 51 knew nothing about nuclear material or weapons. They knew only that certain anonymous people had paid them good money to drive a truck from Point A to Point B, or to type in a false entry in a shipping manifest. None of them held particularly well-paying jobs. When offered a chance to make a year’s salary or better with one simple act, they jumped at it. The remaining seven suspects committed suicide under questioning.
I prepared a report—such as it was—and submitted it to my superior officers. Three days later, in Cincinnati on an inspection tour, I woke to fin myself tied to my bed in my hotel room. Four men were in the room with me, one bending over me. He clicked a chip into my datajack, and suddenly I was a god.
ECSTACY PERFECTION POWER STRENGTH JOY RAISE THE GLEAMING SWORD LET IT FALL ON THE ENEMY WATCH THE BLOOD WATCH IT CATCH IT DRINK IT LAUGH AS MY ENEMIES DIE
Absolute power. Absolute certainty. Swinging a gleaming axe at the heads of my enemies. They died in fountains of blood. I laughed. My friends laughed with me. Laughed and danced and drank. We still lived. We were the chosen. The Einherjar. We would live forever and ever, Amen.
DARKNESS DEATH COLD PAIN IT HURTS HURTS ALL GONE ALL GONE I’M DYING DYING DEAD DON’T LET ME DIE. I WANT TO LIVE I HAVE TO LIVE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE.
Why does it hurt so much to cry? The chip was gone. He took it. I fell from Heaven, plunged into the depths of Inferno. Cold, empty, desolate.
Someone was whimpering like a whipped dog, blubbering the word “please” over and over until the sound died away into sobbing. When my eyes started burning, I realized the one whimpering was me.
The man who’d given me the chip—he was slender, well-dressed, with dark smooth hair and gold-rimmed glasses— promised me I could have another taste of it if I listened very carefully to what he had to say. I listened. I tried not to breathe too loudly for fear the noise might keep me from hearing his every word.
Dataripper- Nombre de messages : 15
Date d'inscription : 20/08/2007
Re: [Hors Japon - Spoiler] Winternight
Dataripper Sam 1 Sep - 15:13
When he talked, I heard the flutter of bird wings. His shadow on the wall looked like a raven. His hair was just the color of raven feathers. Funny.
He told me about Winternight. Winternight wants to destroy the world so that they can bring to life the old gods of Norse myth. They believe the Awakening has made the world ready for the god’s advent—all that remains is the final act of preparation, the creation of Ragnarok.
Ragnarok is the ultimate war of destruction. Every living thing must die in the battle, so that Winternight’s Elect can use the overwhelming power of the sacrificed life-force to transform the world into Midgard and themselves ascend as the new pantheon. Everyone who has ever knowingly aided them, even those not among the Elect, will become gods as well, as a reward for their deed. Not even death will keep them from
transcendence.
Nuclear winter. That’s one way. Or biowar. All the food crops all over the worlds, dying. Then the rest of us die of starvation. Slowly. Our agony pleases these bloodthirsty gods. The slower we die, the stronger they become. Ebola… was that one of theirs? I can’t remember. Probably.
They’re fiends, I know they have scientists working for them. Would-be gods designing microbes to dissolve innocent flesh into dead nothing. They’re monsters.
I’m a monster.
> Crack-brained. Addled as a dozen year-old eggs. Absolutely, totally, no-fragging-doubt-about-it crazy. What’s this guy slotting?
> Big Daddy
My new friend told me that Winternight wanted me. I would be useful to them, If I was a good boy and did exactly what they told me, I could have the god chip to play with sometimes. That’s what he called it—the god chip. Whenever I did a really good job for Winternight, my friend would send me a god chip with a self-destruct. Just enough for one dose then
PFFFFT! He promised I could have that if I joined Winternight. Otherwise they’d have to kill me. He looked so sad when he said that—
KILL KILL BLOOD RED RED HAZE EVERYWHERE SCREAMING SOMEONE’S SCREAMING AND WON’T STOP
The recruiter gave me two drones, little plastic ovals that moved on tiny, vectored fans. No distinctive parts or markings—they could have come from anywhere. He said I could contact fellow members using the drones… but only some of them, only the ones he told me to contact. He said he would tell me everything I needed to know, whenever I needed to know it.
When I got back home from Cincinnati, Angeline asked if I was coming down with the flu. I went to bed and stayed there for three whole days, dreaming of being a god. For the next few… months? Years? It’s all so fuzzy in my mind… I got word every so often that certain things needed doing. Certain reports discredited or mislaid, certain connections downplayed, certain people transferred from one assignment to another. Sometimes they sent credsticks, with orders to hire shadowrunners for jobs here and there—datasteals, sabotage. I never saw any of my contacts. They sent instructions via drone, and I sent word of my accomplishments the same way. Sometimes a plastic drone brought me a god chip.
I lived for those days.
I destroyed the drones one day. Someone had been talking to me, I remember… soft voices, kind voices, saying I couldn0t help it, I wasn’t to blame. Addict. What a harsh word… addict. Almost as bad as crazy. Psycho.
Monster. MONSTERS EVERYWHERE KILL THEM ALL
SLICE AND DICE THEM WATCH THEM BLEED AND DIE DIE DIE
But I wasn’t a monster, not really. That’ what the kind voices told me. They gave me strength. Strength to destroy the drones… to write down, later at night, alone in my study, everthing I could remember about what Winternight had done to me, The memories cam ehard… disjointed fragments that I almost couldn’t believe were real. Yet I kept on, knowing I was working against time, knowing they would strike me down for my treachery sooner or later.
Then Leslie disappeared.
Poor little girl, gone between school and home one afternoon. Angeline looked at the clock over and over and over. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. No calls. No word. Ten. Call the police Lucius. Now, now, I’m sure she’s all right. Things have been a little tense around here lately—she’s just acting out a little, that’s all. She’ll call soon. Just wants to give us a little fright. Wants a little attention from her old Dad and Mom. Please, Lucius. It’s almost twelve. Call the police What kind of father are you?
Andgeline called the police at twelve-thirty a.m. I went out to look for Leslie. Got in the car, started driving— I was standing in a strange hotel room, dizzy and sick, my vision blurred by a terrible headache. Someone was standing behind me, holding my arms. Leslie’s body lay on the bed
in front of me. Her drying blood soaked the sheets. Only here face was still intact—eyes wide, mouth pulled into a grimace by the fish hooks holding her to the mattress.
On the dresser were two new message drones. A voice told me to pick them up. My friend with the glasses and the chip. He said Leslie’s death was punishment for disobedience. If I betrayed them again, Winternight would arrange horrible accidents for the rest of my family. They spared my life only because I was still useful to them. If I ceased to be useful, my
son Jamie would be the next to die. Then Elizabeth and Jerry and baby Tommy, then Angeline. He rold me in graphic detail what they had planned for Angeline. I’m glad I can’t remember any of it.
I drove straight home, like they told me to. I knew they’d be watching Angeline was crying in the bedroom. She didn’t stop for a long time. I went to my study. My notes were gone. They’d taken everything. But they didn’t know what I knew. I knew how to fight them. To battle monsters, I must become one.
> Classic signs of a psychotic break. I’m surprised the doc treating his chip addiction didn’t see the signs and intervene.
> Headshrinker
Earlier this evening, I killed my family. I shot them all, quickly and cleanly. Winternight won’t have them. Then I came here and made this file. They thought they got everything, but they didn’t. They didn’t get my mind. Not all of it. I remember enough to damn them all, if someone listens and then goes looking in the right places. It’s all I can do to stop the monsters now.
After I finish this post, several kilos of C-12 plastique will destroy this terminal and kill me. Winternight won’t have me either. And they won’t have this file. My warning will go straight to Shadowland. Someone please, please heed it and do something. Everything I’ve said is true. I’m not crazy. I’m not. Winternight exist, and they will kill everything unless you stop them. Stop them. Stop them.
He told me about Winternight. Winternight wants to destroy the world so that they can bring to life the old gods of Norse myth. They believe the Awakening has made the world ready for the god’s advent—all that remains is the final act of preparation, the creation of Ragnarok.
Ragnarok is the ultimate war of destruction. Every living thing must die in the battle, so that Winternight’s Elect can use the overwhelming power of the sacrificed life-force to transform the world into Midgard and themselves ascend as the new pantheon. Everyone who has ever knowingly aided them, even those not among the Elect, will become gods as well, as a reward for their deed. Not even death will keep them from
transcendence.
Nuclear winter. That’s one way. Or biowar. All the food crops all over the worlds, dying. Then the rest of us die of starvation. Slowly. Our agony pleases these bloodthirsty gods. The slower we die, the stronger they become. Ebola… was that one of theirs? I can’t remember. Probably.
They’re fiends, I know they have scientists working for them. Would-be gods designing microbes to dissolve innocent flesh into dead nothing. They’re monsters.
I’m a monster.
> Crack-brained. Addled as a dozen year-old eggs. Absolutely, totally, no-fragging-doubt-about-it crazy. What’s this guy slotting?
> Big Daddy
My new friend told me that Winternight wanted me. I would be useful to them, If I was a good boy and did exactly what they told me, I could have the god chip to play with sometimes. That’s what he called it—the god chip. Whenever I did a really good job for Winternight, my friend would send me a god chip with a self-destruct. Just enough for one dose then
PFFFFT! He promised I could have that if I joined Winternight. Otherwise they’d have to kill me. He looked so sad when he said that—
KILL KILL BLOOD RED RED HAZE EVERYWHERE SCREAMING SOMEONE’S SCREAMING AND WON’T STOP
The recruiter gave me two drones, little plastic ovals that moved on tiny, vectored fans. No distinctive parts or markings—they could have come from anywhere. He said I could contact fellow members using the drones… but only some of them, only the ones he told me to contact. He said he would tell me everything I needed to know, whenever I needed to know it.
When I got back home from Cincinnati, Angeline asked if I was coming down with the flu. I went to bed and stayed there for three whole days, dreaming of being a god. For the next few… months? Years? It’s all so fuzzy in my mind… I got word every so often that certain things needed doing. Certain reports discredited or mislaid, certain connections downplayed, certain people transferred from one assignment to another. Sometimes they sent credsticks, with orders to hire shadowrunners for jobs here and there—datasteals, sabotage. I never saw any of my contacts. They sent instructions via drone, and I sent word of my accomplishments the same way. Sometimes a plastic drone brought me a god chip.
I lived for those days.
I destroyed the drones one day. Someone had been talking to me, I remember… soft voices, kind voices, saying I couldn0t help it, I wasn’t to blame. Addict. What a harsh word… addict. Almost as bad as crazy. Psycho.
Monster. MONSTERS EVERYWHERE KILL THEM ALL
SLICE AND DICE THEM WATCH THEM BLEED AND DIE DIE DIE
But I wasn’t a monster, not really. That’ what the kind voices told me. They gave me strength. Strength to destroy the drones… to write down, later at night, alone in my study, everthing I could remember about what Winternight had done to me, The memories cam ehard… disjointed fragments that I almost couldn’t believe were real. Yet I kept on, knowing I was working against time, knowing they would strike me down for my treachery sooner or later.
Then Leslie disappeared.
Poor little girl, gone between school and home one afternoon. Angeline looked at the clock over and over and over. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. No calls. No word. Ten. Call the police Lucius. Now, now, I’m sure she’s all right. Things have been a little tense around here lately—she’s just acting out a little, that’s all. She’ll call soon. Just wants to give us a little fright. Wants a little attention from her old Dad and Mom. Please, Lucius. It’s almost twelve. Call the police What kind of father are you?
Andgeline called the police at twelve-thirty a.m. I went out to look for Leslie. Got in the car, started driving— I was standing in a strange hotel room, dizzy and sick, my vision blurred by a terrible headache. Someone was standing behind me, holding my arms. Leslie’s body lay on the bed
in front of me. Her drying blood soaked the sheets. Only here face was still intact—eyes wide, mouth pulled into a grimace by the fish hooks holding her to the mattress.
On the dresser were two new message drones. A voice told me to pick them up. My friend with the glasses and the chip. He said Leslie’s death was punishment for disobedience. If I betrayed them again, Winternight would arrange horrible accidents for the rest of my family. They spared my life only because I was still useful to them. If I ceased to be useful, my
son Jamie would be the next to die. Then Elizabeth and Jerry and baby Tommy, then Angeline. He rold me in graphic detail what they had planned for Angeline. I’m glad I can’t remember any of it.
I drove straight home, like they told me to. I knew they’d be watching Angeline was crying in the bedroom. She didn’t stop for a long time. I went to my study. My notes were gone. They’d taken everything. But they didn’t know what I knew. I knew how to fight them. To battle monsters, I must become one.
> Classic signs of a psychotic break. I’m surprised the doc treating his chip addiction didn’t see the signs and intervene.
> Headshrinker
Earlier this evening, I killed my family. I shot them all, quickly and cleanly. Winternight won’t have them. Then I came here and made this file. They thought they got everything, but they didn’t. They didn’t get my mind. Not all of it. I remember enough to damn them all, if someone listens and then goes looking in the right places. It’s all I can do to stop the monsters now.
After I finish this post, several kilos of C-12 plastique will destroy this terminal and kill me. Winternight won’t have me either. And they won’t have this file. My warning will go straight to Shadowland. Someone please, please heed it and do something. Everything I’ve said is true. I’m not crazy. I’m not. Winternight exist, and they will kill everything unless you stop them. Stop them. Stop them.
Dataripper- Nombre de messages : 15
Date d'inscription : 20/08/2007
Re: [Hors Japon - Spoiler] Winternight
Dataripper Sam 1 Sep - 15:13
I heard about this guy. Brigadier Generalk Lucius Harding— killed his own family, bombed the Pentagon, if someone could make him crazy enough to do that with a chip…
> Muckrat
> You buy this bulldrek? The paranoid ravings of a certified fruitcake who butchered his own family? If he’d said “the Devil made me do it,” would you believe that too?
> Pretty Polly
> I thought that’s what he was saying. These Winternight slots sound pretty devilish to me.
> Wild Man
> If they exist.
> Eponine
> I’ve heard rumors about a new chip on the streets that sounds an awful lot like Harding’s god chip. They call it a berserker chip, and it makes you into an unstoppable killing machine. Triggers all the violent impulses in the brain and makes you like it. As I understand it, these things don’t work quite like your usual BTL. Instead of replacing the user’s sensory input with the stuff coded on the chip, the berserker amplifies the id, ego and enndocrine responses. It converts pain to pleasure, and sets up a strong feed back look to the pleasure centers. I’ve heard it mutes fear responses as well. Thought it was leaked experimental miltech. A meek little wageslave could use one to chip herself into a frenzy and go on a rampage, hacking at everyone within reach until someone
puts a bullet through her brain. If Harding got ahold of something
like that and it fragged up his brain, the violence of the experience might well account for all those weird lapses into blood-and-death ranting.
> Lazarus
> Doesn’t prove a bunch of destroy-the-world nuts gave him the chip, though. Maybe he got it from his friendly neighborhood dealer.
> Pretty Polly
> Anybody notice how many news stories there’ve been recently about lab break-ins? All over the world. I’ve seen at least five in the past couple of months. Maybe there’s something to this.
> Bitbert
> Oh, right. “Prize orangutan snatched from Northwestern University’s Animal Research Department by outraged animal lovers. Note left behind says, ‘Non-sentient primates are people too.’” This is evidence of a conspiracy to destroy the world and create Valhalla in its place?
> D.Bunker
> Not the orangutan story, you slot. The other ones. Like the chemical plant in Seattle whose warehouses got broken into a month or so back—just one can of poison the newsies wouldn’t or couldn’t name got lifted. Or the two-bit subsidiary of Shiawase outside Sapporo that lost a whole slew of reports on test cures for cold viruses. Somebody even raided a Saeder- Krupp outfit somewhere of the North Sea coast. The place wasn’t much more than a dumping ground for unpleasant industrial drek—like leftover nuclear material. No one’s sure exactly what or how much went missing, because the place kept sloppy records. Poisonous chemicals, nuke stuff, viral research—anyone starting to see a pattern yet?
�� Bitbert
> HEY! I did some digging and found out something weird about that S-K facility. The previous exec in charge of running whatever the frag gets done there contributed a drekload of cred to the New Frontiers Foundation before capping himself too. New Frontiers goes around to school districts in poor neighborhoods in Europe and America, promising scholarships to bright-but-poor kids with an aptitude for science. The first crop of high school graduates have already gone to college as bioscience and physics majors, with corp contracts kicking in the minute they get the fancy letters after their names.
> Muskrat
> Which corps?
> Eponine
> All of the Big Eight, plus about half a dozen smaller ones I’ve never heard of, probably Eurocorps.
> Muskrat
> So Mr. Piddy-Drek Saeder-Krupp exec has a smidgen of social conscience. So what?
> Tin Lizzie
> Lizze, Lizzie… since when does any corp exec exhibit social conscience? Ever? Once you earn over a certain amount of cred working for a corp, you have your conscience surgically removed. It’ sin their contracts somewhere. Trust me—there’s an ulterior motive here.
> Auntie Social
> Brain drain, maybe? If these Winternight skags are real, and they want to destroy the planet in all kinds of neat and interesting ways, they could use a few good scientific minds. Get ’em while they’re young, and you can train ’em up to do all kinds of horrible things for you without batting an eyelash. With a few years’ worth of investment, they’ve got themselves a pool of bright, educated, amoral flunkies to come up with breakthroughs in biowarfare, nuke physics, or any other potentially destructive branch of scientific research you can name.
> Lazarus
> They plan that long term? Man, we’re in deep drek.
> Dancer
> Did this guy Harding say he hired runners for these Winternight freaks? Did I read that right?
> Jack-in-the-Green
> One more reason to check out your Johnson. Try before you buy, chum.
> Miz Liz
> Oh, like you’d be able to dig that keep. If Winternight has covered its tracks so well that no one’s ever heard of it until now, they certainly have the talent to keep their connections to their Johnsons butied. Any one of us could’ve taken on a job for them without ever knowing it.
> Wild Man
> Why is anyone even taking this seriously? Winternight’s not real! It’s just this sicko general’s version of the boogieman. If they really existed, somebody would have heard something by now.
> Pretty Polly.
> Maybe we have, and just don’t realize it. Anybody notice the rise in terrorist incidents over the past ten years? All kinds of groups crawling out of the woodwork. Tsunami in Japan, Armageddon in the Mideast, Red Tide in Central Europe— awful similar imagery, neh? Destruction sweeping the world. What if they’re all different branches of the same organization dedicated to sparking worldwide war?
> Bitbert
> The “guy with the chip” Harding keeps talking about… that really bugs me. I had a run-in once with a Raven shaman—a toxic, a real twisted slot. When I assensed him, I saw the same weird bird-shadow thing that Harding described. If this Winternight bunch has toxics working for them…
> Casper
> Raven imagery would make sense (insofar as any of this makes sense) seeing as ravens figure pretty highly in Norse mythology.
> Auntie Social
> Oh, man… I just figured something out and I DON’T LIKE IT! Some chummers and me tangled with some really bad customers in Salish last summer—don’t ask for the details, I don’t want to talk about it. But four of the slags we went up against were toxic shamans. Four of ‘em. Working together! Raven, Wolf and a couple I couldn’t identify. Think about that
for a minute.
Anybody shaking yet?
> Jack-in-the-Green
> Toxics aren’t known for working together. They’re all to psycho to work with anybody. They’d kill each other over who got to be Top Spellslinger inside of three seconds. Lucky thing, too. That’s the only drek that’s saved us from some major bad mojo… oh, drek.
> Eponine
> Exactly.
> Jack-in-the-Green
> Muckrat
> You buy this bulldrek? The paranoid ravings of a certified fruitcake who butchered his own family? If he’d said “the Devil made me do it,” would you believe that too?
> Pretty Polly
> I thought that’s what he was saying. These Winternight slots sound pretty devilish to me.
> Wild Man
> If they exist.
> Eponine
> I’ve heard rumors about a new chip on the streets that sounds an awful lot like Harding’s god chip. They call it a berserker chip, and it makes you into an unstoppable killing machine. Triggers all the violent impulses in the brain and makes you like it. As I understand it, these things don’t work quite like your usual BTL. Instead of replacing the user’s sensory input with the stuff coded on the chip, the berserker amplifies the id, ego and enndocrine responses. It converts pain to pleasure, and sets up a strong feed back look to the pleasure centers. I’ve heard it mutes fear responses as well. Thought it was leaked experimental miltech. A meek little wageslave could use one to chip herself into a frenzy and go on a rampage, hacking at everyone within reach until someone
puts a bullet through her brain. If Harding got ahold of something
like that and it fragged up his brain, the violence of the experience might well account for all those weird lapses into blood-and-death ranting.
> Lazarus
> Doesn’t prove a bunch of destroy-the-world nuts gave him the chip, though. Maybe he got it from his friendly neighborhood dealer.
> Pretty Polly
> Anybody notice how many news stories there’ve been recently about lab break-ins? All over the world. I’ve seen at least five in the past couple of months. Maybe there’s something to this.
> Bitbert
> Oh, right. “Prize orangutan snatched from Northwestern University’s Animal Research Department by outraged animal lovers. Note left behind says, ‘Non-sentient primates are people too.’” This is evidence of a conspiracy to destroy the world and create Valhalla in its place?
> D.Bunker
> Not the orangutan story, you slot. The other ones. Like the chemical plant in Seattle whose warehouses got broken into a month or so back—just one can of poison the newsies wouldn’t or couldn’t name got lifted. Or the two-bit subsidiary of Shiawase outside Sapporo that lost a whole slew of reports on test cures for cold viruses. Somebody even raided a Saeder- Krupp outfit somewhere of the North Sea coast. The place wasn’t much more than a dumping ground for unpleasant industrial drek—like leftover nuclear material. No one’s sure exactly what or how much went missing, because the place kept sloppy records. Poisonous chemicals, nuke stuff, viral research—anyone starting to see a pattern yet?
�� Bitbert
> HEY! I did some digging and found out something weird about that S-K facility. The previous exec in charge of running whatever the frag gets done there contributed a drekload of cred to the New Frontiers Foundation before capping himself too. New Frontiers goes around to school districts in poor neighborhoods in Europe and America, promising scholarships to bright-but-poor kids with an aptitude for science. The first crop of high school graduates have already gone to college as bioscience and physics majors, with corp contracts kicking in the minute they get the fancy letters after their names.
> Muskrat
> Which corps?
> Eponine
> All of the Big Eight, plus about half a dozen smaller ones I’ve never heard of, probably Eurocorps.
> Muskrat
> So Mr. Piddy-Drek Saeder-Krupp exec has a smidgen of social conscience. So what?
> Tin Lizzie
> Lizze, Lizzie… since when does any corp exec exhibit social conscience? Ever? Once you earn over a certain amount of cred working for a corp, you have your conscience surgically removed. It’ sin their contracts somewhere. Trust me—there’s an ulterior motive here.
> Auntie Social
> Brain drain, maybe? If these Winternight skags are real, and they want to destroy the planet in all kinds of neat and interesting ways, they could use a few good scientific minds. Get ’em while they’re young, and you can train ’em up to do all kinds of horrible things for you without batting an eyelash. With a few years’ worth of investment, they’ve got themselves a pool of bright, educated, amoral flunkies to come up with breakthroughs in biowarfare, nuke physics, or any other potentially destructive branch of scientific research you can name.
> Lazarus
> They plan that long term? Man, we’re in deep drek.
> Dancer
> Did this guy Harding say he hired runners for these Winternight freaks? Did I read that right?
> Jack-in-the-Green
> One more reason to check out your Johnson. Try before you buy, chum.
> Miz Liz
> Oh, like you’d be able to dig that keep. If Winternight has covered its tracks so well that no one’s ever heard of it until now, they certainly have the talent to keep their connections to their Johnsons butied. Any one of us could’ve taken on a job for them without ever knowing it.
> Wild Man
> Why is anyone even taking this seriously? Winternight’s not real! It’s just this sicko general’s version of the boogieman. If they really existed, somebody would have heard something by now.
> Pretty Polly.
> Maybe we have, and just don’t realize it. Anybody notice the rise in terrorist incidents over the past ten years? All kinds of groups crawling out of the woodwork. Tsunami in Japan, Armageddon in the Mideast, Red Tide in Central Europe— awful similar imagery, neh? Destruction sweeping the world. What if they’re all different branches of the same organization dedicated to sparking worldwide war?
> Bitbert
> The “guy with the chip” Harding keeps talking about… that really bugs me. I had a run-in once with a Raven shaman—a toxic, a real twisted slot. When I assensed him, I saw the same weird bird-shadow thing that Harding described. If this Winternight bunch has toxics working for them…
> Casper
> Raven imagery would make sense (insofar as any of this makes sense) seeing as ravens figure pretty highly in Norse mythology.
> Auntie Social
> Oh, man… I just figured something out and I DON’T LIKE IT! Some chummers and me tangled with some really bad customers in Salish last summer—don’t ask for the details, I don’t want to talk about it. But four of the slags we went up against were toxic shamans. Four of ‘em. Working together! Raven, Wolf and a couple I couldn’t identify. Think about that
for a minute.
Anybody shaking yet?
> Jack-in-the-Green
> Toxics aren’t known for working together. They’re all to psycho to work with anybody. They’d kill each other over who got to be Top Spellslinger inside of three seconds. Lucky thing, too. That’s the only drek that’s saved us from some major bad mojo… oh, drek.
> Eponine
> Exactly.
> Jack-in-the-Green
Dataripper- Nombre de messages : 15
Date d'inscription : 20/08/2007
Re: [Hors Japon - Spoiler] Winternight
Lady Death Lun 15 Oct - 17:52
Pour cadrer un peu, ce texte est extrait du supplément Threats, qui contient plus ou moins toutes les infos sur une quantité de grands méchants parmi les pires dans Shadowrun. Winternight est décrite dans ce bouquin, mais aussi le vrai PDG d'Aztechnology et ses affinités avec les Horreurs, les insectes, Alamos 20000, et une dizaine d'autres que je ne spoilerai pas ici.
Lady Death- Nombre de messages : 76
Date d'inscription : 11/04/2007
Fiche de perso
Nom du personnage: Lady Death
Peuple:
Sexe:
Re: [Hors Japon - Spoiler] Winternight
Nakami Dim 28 Oct - 18:09
Si une bonne ame est prète à faire la traduction ... ^^
Nakami- Nombre de messages : 147
Date d'inscription : 03/04/2007
Fiche de perso
Nom du personnage: Nakami Yuko
Peuple: Humain
Sexe: Féminin
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