<<<15 May 2057, 16:02—Shadows of the Underworld >>>

Not much to say this entry; as usual, we've found ourselves up the proverbial creek without the proverbial paddle.

It started when Harry called us with another job. Simple enough: meet Mr. Johnson in a certain room at a certain local upscale hotel and get the rest of the details there. I am becoming quite convinced that the two most dangerous words in the shadowrunner's vocabulary are not "trust me" but rather "simple enough."

Naturally, Johnson was not anywhere in evidence, but the surprise was more in relation to who was there. That is to say, Presidential candidate Franklin Yeats.

With our finely-honed shadowrunning abilities, it hardly took us any time at all to determine that he was dead.

Of course, the fact that his throat had been torn out was something of a clue.

We quickly attempted to make our exit, only to be confronted by an irate FBI team who attempted to convince us that it would be in our best interests to accompany them downtown. It seemed that they thought we were responsible for whatever had taken place in the room. I must admit that things did not look good for us.

As we disagreed with them in the strongest possible terms, we hastened to incapacitate the agents (non-lethally, I might add--none of us were in any hurry to have additional--and justified--murder charges leveled against us) and escape the area, pausing to grab the identification from one of the agents.

Shortly thereafter, we attempted to call the local FBI office (using a traceless relay set up by T.C.), but we were unable to persuade them that we weren't responsible for the good Mr. Yeats' untimely demise.

And of course there was the matter of Anne Penchyk. Vice President Bug. Now Presidential Candidate Bug. It didn't make us feel terribly happy about our chances for survival.

At long last, after some very tense hours, Harry was able to locate and set up a meeting with our erstwhile Johnson, a woman named Eve Donovan. Harry claimed to trust her implicitly. We were to go to a building in a territory controlled by a particular gang (the gang was protecting her; apparently she's in almost as much trouble as we are).

With a great deal of paranoia and apprehension, we left our safe haven and set out to meet Donovan. When we arrived, who should we find in there with her but Anne "I'm an Insect" Penchyk herself, along with two quite sizeable Mantid spirits.

Things are looking worse.

But naturally, they weren't looking as bad as they could possibly get. That honour for the moment is claimed by the fact that FBI agent Cohen and his happy team of cohorts suddenly make an appearance (and I do mean an appearance, given that they showed up in a hallway where they didn't exist a moment ago). Cohen then, to the shock of everyone in the room except perhaps Penchyk, turns into a Wasp spirit and proceeds to attack.

As usual, things are getting strange. Some days it just doesn't pay to get out of bed.