Spring is sprung,
The grass is riz,
I wonder where
The Clueless is?
Well, from what I can see, there is one helluva lot of them playing Shadowrun! If you doubt this statement, consider the following submission.
The mission was simple (isn't it always?). The runners were contacted by their fixer, who set up a meet with the Johnson. After a meet where the runners did not even attempt to bargain for more money or for any funds up front, and argued amongst themselves IN FRONT of the Johnson, they finally agree to take the job. The mission: Fly to London arriving before Mr. X, kill Mr. X, fly home, get paid.
The team included a rigger who specialized in piloting rotor craft (and could do nothing else), a doctor (who was also a better Sammy than the Sammy), a decker (running a Radio Shack special), a corp wanna-be, an alcoholic Street Sammy (who was great in a fight as long as she hit the middle one), a combat mage (who knew exactly three spells), and a troll street Sammy with more belly-button lint than brains (I'm still not sure if this was an act).
The group did one thing right. They bought some SINs and flew to London without gear (under the pretense of being corp-types and corp-type-guards). However, after landing, someone had the bright idea "Why should we pay for equipment? Let's find a fixer, raid his warehouse, do the run, and sell the stuff?". Unfortunately, in a moment of confusion, everyone else went with the idea. Surprisingly, this sub-plan went off without a hitch (and I was itching for one little mistake to capitalize).
Afterwards, the group proceeded to the hotel where Mr. X was supposedly staying once his flight arrived. Deciding they needed to go get a cappuccino (!), they left the troll Street Sam to watch the hotel and radio them when the target was spotted (no, the troll didn't have a radio, nor a phone). As soon as the team was well away, the troll decides he can spot Mr. X. better from inside the hotel. He then proceeds to enter the elevator to wait, but on second thought, decided the elevator was too conspicuous, so climbed up through the elevator roof to wait ON TOP OF THE CAR. Then, in boredom, he fell asleep.
Meanwhile, the rest of the team, after a considerable time period had passed, realized that Mr. X's plane should have arrived quite some time ago and fearing a problem, rush to the hotel. Entering the lobby, who should they run practically directly into, but Mr. X and his contingent (who had learned of their plan, their employer, etc. etc.). While the target and his guards decided to start making chunky salsa out of most of the team, the rigger (ever one to hate being on the ground) decided she'd exit the building and climb up the outside (a mere 40 meters without athletics skill of any sort) and ambush the target from above. After pulling the grapple hook out of her duffel (so kindly provided by the indisposed fixer), she proceeded to hurl the hook up to the top of the building where it landed with a metallic clang. Just prior to climbing up the side of the building Ms. Rigger realized she had forgotten to attach a rope to the grapple. Undaunted, she continued the treacherous climb from window ledge to window ledge (on sheer luck).
Back to the slaughter on the inside, the target had retreated to the safety and cover of the elevator (none of the team had dropped... yet). It was now that the Troll had his gestalt! Why not use the 30 kilograms (yes 30, yes kilograms!) of C-12 he had procured from the fixer mentioned above. Throwing open the access hatch of the elevator, the Troll dropped his armed chunk of gooey death into the car mere moments before being perforated by the bodyguards' bullets. He had thoughtfully set the timer to 5 seconds.
Back to the hotel exterior. The rigger was dutifully making her way to the top of the building (still refusing to put her combat shotgun away to assist in climbing). Unfortunately, luck has a tendency of running out, and missing a roll Ms. Rigger fell 20 or so meters to her death, breaking her neck upon landing.
Meanwhile, back inside the lobby, the team of intrepid adventurers were finally making headway, evening the odds from the 3 to 1 ratio they had previously enjoyed. However, the alcoholic street Sammy took one round to many, and in a berserk fit decided to engage her mates with a fully automatic spray. This dropped the decker and the mage instantly.
This might have been a good thing actually, because two seconds later the little gift left by the Troll in the elevator went off, killing whomever of the team was left, and leveling a good chunk of London real estate.
Well what can anyone say to that?
(My thought? The GM was way too lenient on the players in some places. 30KGS of C-12? -Adam)
Karen - email@example.com