[FFML] [BGC2040][Fusion] Prologue/teaser

Okay, here comes the explaination.

This is not strictly a fusion of Shadowrun and Bubblegum Crisis 2040. It would be more accurate to say it was a fusion of Cyberpunk and BGC. The only problem is, I've never played Cyberpunk. I have, however, played Shadowrun, and know the universe.

Therefore, in order to make things more compatable, I have removed the magic element from Shadowrun. Elves, dwarves, troll, mages, shamen, etc, do not exist in my story. Much of they cyberware, bioware and other technological devices from Shadowrun do exist.

Genome has been classed as THE largest megacorporation in the world, and the forerunner of boomer technology.

BGC and Shadowrun are not owned by me. I think Shadowrun is owned by WizKids, but I don't know who owns BGC 2040.

Anyway, enjoy the story!

Priss growled at the stoplight. It was red. She did not like
red. Especially when applied to stoplights. Her life consisted of
singing, riding her bike, and killing boomers. Anything else was a
painful interlude that occupied time between one of the three
activities. Right now this stupid piece of plastic, glass and
electricity prevented her from living her life the way she wanted to.
She sighed. Patience was supposed to be a virtue.
She jumped at a cry from behind. "Hey! Watch where you're
going!"
Priss turned to give the driver a steely glare that had
intimidated stronger men than the idiot wage slave behind her, only to
see another woman on a motorcycle slide into position beside her, much
to the consternation of the traffic behind. Mouth twisting in wry
amusement, Priss took a moment to admire the woman's bike.
It was a Suzuki Aurora. Unlike her own bike, a Yamaha Rapier,
which had been designed for the racetrack, the Suzuki Aurora was built
to be the speed demon of the streets. It was faster and more
maneuverable than the Rapier, as well as being more expensive. Priss
sighed in envy. Moving her eyes up, she sized up the bike's rider.
No one would call this woman thin; more like athletic. Much of
her body was covered by a large trench coat, and Priss's trained eye
easily spotted the concealed armor plates woven into the fabric. Dark
black hair spilled out of the black helmet.
She began to wonder if she could beat this woman in a race. The
Aurrora was faster, but Nigel had made several modifications to her own
Rapier, and a race would be more than even. She mulled the idea in her
mind as she waited for the light to change.
Oh, what the hell, she thought. Revving her engine, she glanced
over at the woman. The stranger turned slightly in her direction and
tilted her head questioningly, her face hidden by the tinted glass of
her helmet. Priss jerked her head out towards the road before them and
revved her engine. The woman considered the suggestion for a moment,
then nodded.
The decision could not have come at a better time as the light
had just switched from red to green. With a roar of engines and
squealing of tires, the two riders blasted out of the crossroad and onto
the elevated highway of the Megalocity and out over the bay.
The race seemed even at first. Priss's modifications matched
the speed and acceleration of the Aurora, but Priss had to admit, the
woman was a better driver, weaving in and out of traffic with a
practiced ease that made Priss growl in frustration. Well, she still
had a surprise or two up her sleeve.
Hunching over her handlebars, Priss pressed a button on one of
the grips. A small canister emptied its contents into the engine and
the nitrous oxide caused a burst of power that threatened to redline her
engine. Fortunately for her, instead of exploding, the bike shot
forward, passing the Aurora at almost three hundred kilometers per hour.
Priss, gritting her teeth in fear at the prospect of turning herself
into a skid mark several hundred feet long, struggled to maintain
control as the bike beneath her shook as though it was in the grip of a
hurricane.
The advantage was only momentary. The boost only lasted for
thirty seconds before settling back to a more normal two hundred and
twenty kilometers her hour. The Aurora, moving at a good twenty to
thirty klicks faster, began to catch up.
Priss saw the spot where the bay ended and the highway rejoined
the Megalocity. It was about two kilometers away. Priss grinned.
There was no way the Aurora would be able to catch up. Making sure to
keep her speed maxed, she looked in her rearview mirror. She was about
to give her opponent a farewell salute, when she saw the woman draw a
pistol! Priss swore and went evasive. Hitting the brakes, she swerved
around the highway, making herself an impossible target.
As the woman passed her, she gave Priss a salute with her
pistol. Holstering the weapon, the Aurora flew past Priss and into
city. Why that little-! She had been bluffing! With a snarl of anger,
Priss accelerated, continuing the chase.
It did not take long to find her. Confident in her victory, the
Aurora had slowed to the speed of traffic. Coming up slowly, Priss
jumped ahead and cut the woman off, causing her to swerve sharply. The
two women glared at each other for a long moment. Priss again cut off
the Aurora, but this time the rider was ready, and she slipped away.
Thus began a far more dangerous dance than their race earlier. They
weaved in and out of traffic, several times only centimeters away from
causing one or both of them to crash.
Priss was surprised to find that she was actually enjoying
herself. When was the last time she had been challenged? Okay, boomers
were challenging, but they were not people. Boomers did not learn from
their mistakes in battle, nor did training simulators. This was a
challenge! Learning, testing, adapting, she reveled in their contest.
Spying a familiar exit, Priss shot forward and onto the off
ramp. The Aurora followed. Several minutes later, Priss stopped in
front of Hot Legs, the nightclub where her band performed. Pulling
over, Priss stopped and pulled off her helmet. Running her fingers
through her sweat slicked hair, she waited.
The woman parked behind Priss, and dismounted, taking off her
helmet, releasing a thick wave of black hair. The woman was olive
skinned, and Priss guessed she was from the Mediterranean region, maybe
Greece or Turkey. At best, Priss would have described her as handsome,
and easily in her late twenties or early thirties. She was slightly
taller than Priss, and her skin seemed to have a leathery texture, like
she spent too much time out in the sun.
"I don't know whether to congratulate you on your skill, or
knock your lights out for being a sore loser," the woman said as she
approached Priss. Her Japanese was stilted and jerky, and she spoke it
with a minimum of emotion.
She probably learned it from a language chip, Priss thought. Leaning
against her own bike, she shrugged. "Whatever."
The woman's mouth quirked into a slight smile. "Okay."
Suddenly, Priss found herself lying flat on her back, staring up
into the night sky. Her jaw ached, and she turned slightly to see the
woman standing over her, hand outstretched. The palm of the glove was
cut out and she could see a metal plate inset into the skin of the hand.
Accepting the hand, Priss stood.
"What the hell was that?" demanded Priss as she rubbed her jaw.
"I call it a right hook." The woman held out a hand. "I'm
Phantom."
Priss took the hand and shook it. "Priss Asagari." She studied
the older woman. "Phantom, huh? Shadowrunner?" Phantom nodded. "So
that means you're wired. Cybernetics?"
Phantom shrugged. "Cyberware, bioware, whatever it takes to
maintain the edge." Phantom looked over at the Hot Legs nightclub.
"I've been here a few times. I like your stuff. Not quite to my taste,
but it's pretty decent."
"Thanks."
They stood together in uncomfortable silence.
"Well," said Phantom, "it was fun. See you around." Putting on
her helmet and mounting her bike, Phantom drove off. Priss watched her
drive away.
"Yeah, see you around."

End