Pan-American Trail
Wednesday, February 22, 2051
12:45 PM

What was the intersection of State Road 93 with State Road 71 back in pre-Collapse times is now a ruin of despair. With no government caring for the roads, the pavement has become broken beyond recognition, little more than large chunks of gravel. The intersection has it even worse off – the overpass heading south shattered to pieces long ago, showering the underpass with rubble and creating an unnatural canyon.

The Lazarus team has been following the so-called ‘Pan-American Trail’, a series of roads, trails, and paths that circumvent some of the worst that the Badlands have to offer. State Road 93 is their current path, heading into Rising only a few dozen miles away, but even this ‘safe’ path is rarely trodden – and even rarer does anyone care for it. The pylons holding up the high-speed maglev train high above the grim muck of the Badlands dot the landscape, providing the only evidence of human civilization throughout most of the journey. The Lazarus team has arrived at the intersection of 93 and 71, set on continuing down to Rising – and, from there, their future.

Wormwood stands up in his seat and studies the intersection, through both his own augmented vision and his Valkyrie scope. “Looks like a great place for an ambush, if someone around here was so inclined.” Mac mutters under his breath, counting each one of the pylons as they pass with unerring accuracy. “Who would ambush people who never come down this road, Worm?” Wormwood flips Mac the finger, “Would you rather I didn’t look and we got our tenders caught?” Pacoy mutters under his breath about tempting fate.

Pitbull hums along to Circuit Grin’s “Imminent Shutdown”, a synth heavy, but surprisingly gentle track, as he circumvents boulders and road debris with ease as Mac scoffs. “You’d probably get off on that, Worm. If you look for an ambush, there’s undoubtly going to be an ambush.” Nevertheless, Mac rights his eyes, counting the pylons under his breath without looking at them, his head snaking up to be between Pitbull and Wormwood as he scans the intersection. The only thing more likely to draw an ambush than saying “This would be the perfect spot for an ambush” would be saying “Who would set up an ambush here?” Pacoy thinks to himself as he adjusts the rifle in his lap.

Wormwood stiffens. “Something moved over there! Pits, shut that bloody noise off and stop the car so I can hear.” Pitbull scowls as the music decreases to a murmur. “Whatcha think ya saw?” He growls, with little effort to hide his irritation at turning down his music. Wormwood sends the digital file of the flash of color he spotted to the others’ computers and cranks up the gain on his augmented hearing as the engine dies. “Well I’ll be – that’s quite a thing you’ve spotted there, Wormwood.” Mac whistles through his teeth.

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Expedition Equipment Exporters Parking Lot
Wednesday, February 22, 2051
8:15 AM

After finally escaping the nightmare of bureaucratic inefficiency that is The Six, the Lazarus team drove straight on into the night towards their goal, the Expedition Equipment Exporters warehouse store right on the border with the Badlands. They drove up around 2 AM, after the main store had closed but the ever-present market stalls of the nomads who are ExEEx’s primary customers were still up and bustling, and would continue to be so well into the night. The team, tired from the long drive, reclined in their seats (which, unfortunately, weren’t as comfortable as those in a more modern and up-do-date Amur. Still, most of the team were able to get a decent amount of sleep.

It is now the next morning, and Eris, who slept in a luxurious sleeping bag between the Amur and the trailer with the bikes in it, has just wrapped her knuckles upon the Amur’s driver’s side window. A few harmless shards of glass fall off, evidence of one of the big truck’s new bullet-holes.

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For the one year anniversary of Edgerunners, we thought we’d let those following the story see behind the curtain. In play, we run a “game chat” on skype which is where the dialogue and description happens – and where the adventure logs come from. We also run a back-stage “Out of character” chat for dice rolls, non-PC interaction and general chat. Here it is in all its unedited glory…

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The Six
Tuesday, February 21, 2051
19:30 PM

The Six, what was once known as Interstate Six, is one of the busiest freeways in the world. After the quakes of ’43, the other two major arteries connecting SoCal and NorCal, the 99 and 101, were both closed due to damage and a mess of red tape emerging as a minor border war between NorCal and SoCal, halting any hope of reconstruction.

That leaves The Six as the only major road connection between the two sister states. Repaired, repaved, and expanded on primarily by the megacorporations – as opposed to the state actors supposedly in charge of the operation – The Six now operates as a paragon of industrial efficiency – at least, when the automated toll collection system is working. On those days when it’s down – hacked, damaged by the elements, or just plain broken down – things slow to a crawl as The Six’s privatized police force, 6Sec (supported by both NorCal and SoCal police) collect tolls and make border inspections.

This is one of those days. The Lazarus team is in the middle of one of the greatest gridlocks of recent memory, some two miles from the NorCal/SoCal border. It’s already gone dark, and in the past two hours the team has moved forward all of four miles. 6Sec vertols are hovering above The Six, their spotlights shining down upon the horrendous backlog of cars waiting in line.

Mac sighs, stretching his arms as best he can, feeling trapped like a ferret in a cage, hopped up on caffeine. “Are we there yet?” Pitbull switches the song over to Nine Inch Nails’ “Closer”, before wrestling himself out a cigarette. Wormwood munches on a skewer of chicken tikka he bought from one of the many scooter-born vendors working the massive jam and muses “Pits, we need to find an alternate route, and maybe an alternate pick-up point for the rest of the gear too.” Basically trapped in his seat, Pacoy intently explores the intricate features of the media capabilities of the buzzbot, focusing on the streaming data as it changes from optical input to visual output. This, he thought, is something I should have learned to manipulate at master levels before getting into a situation like this. What was I thinking signing on to be filmed?

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Jake’s Discount Dealership

Tuesday, February 21, 2051, 12:45 PM

The Lazarus Group has just finished acquiring their cross-country ride, an old-style Amur suburban assault vehicle pre-supplied with bullethole and a steering column that just refuses to sit straight. After shifting their meager supplies to the Amur, the Group was just about ready to roll-out when suddenly the sound of gunshots ricochets through the lot – leaving their salesman, Jake, with a hole in his ten-gallon hat the size of a monkey’s fist and a spiderweb forming just to the left of Pitbull’s eye.

Mac slams his hand into the back of the driver’s seat in a panic. “Drive, big man! Get this tank in motion! I don’t want to get lit up by Chicago lightning!” Pitbull growls, “Don’ gatta tell me twice…” as he guns the engine and shifts into drive. Wormwood curses as he realizes his rifle is all packed away nicely in his holdall – then hits the window button and reaches for one of his pistols while searching for the source of the gunfire.

Mac frantically looks around the door, searching for a manual window crank before tapping on the window to try and get Stan’s attention and motion him to get down on the ground. “Who’s shooting at us? What’s going on?” Pitbull jacks his HUD into the dashboard plug-in and yanks out his Urban Fox, scanning for viable targets as the tank of a vehicle roars into motion. Pacoy scrunches into his seat for as much cover as he can get while trying to peek out the window and find a source of the gunfire.

“Over there!” Pacoy shouts, noticing a group of shiny roadsters, “Those roadsters!” “I see them!” Wormwood yells. “Hit the road, Pits!”

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It was one of those niggles that bore into my brain, eating away at my every thought until it consumed enough of my brainpower to confuse and distract me. I found myself staring blankly at my desk, halfway between Anita’s wonderful set of legs and my case file – either of which would normally consume the entirety of my attentions, but lately I could barely focus. Why couldn’t I find any information on my grandfather? Everywhere I looked, there was a dead end. No medical records, credit history, death certificates, but I remember him bouncing me on his knee when I was a lad – kind and gentle with tons of sweets around. The only thing that I could imagine was that he hid himself, or was hidden. But why had he been Zeroed? Was he a fugitive on the run? A government agent? Was he the kind man that I remembered, or was he something darker, more sinister of purpose? What connection did he have out in Omaha? Was he there when it happened? What would I find out there?

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Lazarus Home Office

Tuesday, February 21, 2051. 9:20 AM

The Lazarus Group is once again gathered in their office, after a day of schmoozing, contract signing, and wishlist-making. Wormwood, who has now had his picture plastered all over the Night City netscape for the past 20 hours after being fingered as the ‘Lipstick Killer’ (though his actual identity remains unknown) has successfully disguised himself to fool a casual lay-person or even a simple facial recognition system, but its capability of spoofing a more serious scan or a close-up inspection isn’t nearly so certain. The team once again awaits Eris Stansfield, the group’s patron from DreamCorp who has secured their services to scout out the nearly-mythical Omaha Exclusion Zone. The catch: The whole thing has to be filmed – and they’re on a tight deadline, which is about to get even tighter.

Waiting for Eris to arrive, Pacoy anxiously works the action on his multi-tool – checking the movement each function. He gives a quick tug at his goatee before drawing his balisong and checking the it’s action. He pauses, tightens a screw with his multi-tool and checks it again before folding it and concealing back on his belt. Damn, he thinks to himself as he considers the contract I was so busy lusting after the payday, it didn’t really dawn on me what I was signing. I’m going to have a trained journalist with multiple robocams documenting my every move for the next few days! I’m breaking Rule No. 1! I gotta figure out how things are going to go down.

“Does this broad know anything about being on time? She was supposed to be here at the crack of nine, and here we are, waiting around again…” Mac sighs, leaning against the wall, steaming cup of kaff nearby, twiddling his thumbs idly. Pitbull sits at the table, smoking his… third?… fourth?… well, his next cigarette of the day while servicing his Reaper, planning to move onto the Urban Fox afterward. The door to the conference room opens and a lean, balding man with a beard, about 5’2" and with the characteristic rolling gait of a lifelong biker strolls in. “Wotcher, guys. What do you think of the new me?”

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Casefile #3a

This has to be a first – now I’m not investigating a person, but a whole district. Omaha. What DreamCorp wants with the place, I’m not sure, but it sounds like there’s got to be some good loot to be had there. Not without danger, sure, but there might be a chance I can find out more about my grandfather, and help the group make a bit of a profit while I’m at it. It’s nice being reunited with these goons again – helps me feel at ease. Not that I felt much better when Wormwood started getting spooky about Eris. But the monetary compensation DreamCorp was offering for this salvage operation was too good to pass up, despite my reservations about the operation.

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Lazarus Home Office
Monday, February 20, 2051
10:15 AM

Nearly two months ago, after the Ottoman Incident, a DreamCorp security officer approached the Group with a little information and a hint at a future job. That information was a picture, supposedly taken in the Omaha Exclusion Zone, of a man that looks almost exactly like a slightly older Mac; the job was a scouting mission into the Exclusion Zone itself – a trip no man has yet survived since the missile strike in 2040. The riches of the Exclusion Zone – militiary armaments, classified information, high-tech weapons and equipment – have attracted get-rich-quick schemes and stories of hidden plunder for a decade, but that picture is the first real evidence of any crack in the Exclusion Zone’s armor. And DreamCorp wants it found, documented, and exploited – maybe for a documentary, maybe a new snazzy DreamPark. Hell, maybe they just want to get in there and loot it themselves – but they’ve offered the Lazarus Group the chance first.

The Lazarus Group – minus a few members, absent due to other commitments and/or the inability to get out of bed on time – has assembled at their offices, one week prior to the date that DreamCorp gave as the next window when the Offut defense network is going to be down. They’re awaiting the arrival of Eris Stansfield, the DreamCorp reporter who is supposed to be tagging along with them on their journey East. This meeting is to be the last before embarking on the mission; along with Eris is to be a DreamCorp producer, complete with contracts – and a money belt for the group’s expenses.

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