Yes, But What if it was Shadowrun (Part 7)?

The kitchen was narrow, cluttered, and warm. Magnets from long-defunct superhero charity drives clung to the refrigerator beside faded photographs of people Raven did not recognize. One showed Rudy in his Char costume decades younger, grinning beside a line of caped heroes in front of a burning building. A decades old "Char" action figure "with swivel arm combat grip" hung on the wall, still in its plastic package.

Rain rattled against the van's windows.

Rudy Chavez stood at the counter assembling tacos with the practiced efficiency of a man who had spent years working inside of a truck barely larger than a coffin. An artificial knee clicked quietly with each step he took.

"You want hot sauce?” he asked without turning.

Raven eyed the simmering pan suspiciously. “Is it poisonous?”

The ex-hero laughed, “You might find it... spicy."

Cipher chuckled. “That means yes.”

Rudy laughed and handed him a plate anyway. "Used to be, I hated spicy food. Every damn one of those Fifty-State Initiative dinners I had to attend? They always gave me the spiciest things they could find. I could never decide how much of that was racist because of me being Mexican and how much of it was because of my flame powers. All the old cartoons said people who could manipulate flames were obsessed with spicy food. Now? I guess I don't mind so much."

Cipher leaned back in the battered swivel chair, boot heels propped on a crate full of obsolete processor cores. Pale blue holograms flickered across his face as message windows scrolled past in layers only he seemed able to understand.

Raven accepted a plate of tacos. He had spent decades traveling between worlds where evil announced itself plainly — dragons, tyrants, necromancers, demons. Earth-218 no longer seemed interested in such things.

Cipher gestured toward the floating display. “Okay, so think of this less like a thieves’ guild and more like… a thousand temporary guilds forming every minute.”

A series of icons bloomed into existence. Anonymous profiles. Times. Cryptocurrency symbols. Geotags.

“Back in the old days,” Cipher explained, “organized crime meant structure. Hierarchy. Families. Syndicates. You worked your way up. Yakuza, Triads, Mafia, cartels — same basic framework. But the corps and governments cracked down hard on anything organized that they didn't own. Surveillance got too good. AI started mapping criminal organizations before they even knew they existed.”

He expanded one of the windows. Hundreds of usernames cascaded downward.

“Tokuryu in Japan was one of the first big indicators. Fluid groups. No long-term membership. Recruit disposable assets online, assign a task, pay digitally, vanish. The people committing the crimes often don’t even know who hired them. Sometimes they don’t know who they’re working with either.”

Raven's brow furrowed. He took a bite of his taco. “So, mercenaries.”

Cipher smiled. “Think adventuring guild board mixed with darknet gig economy.”

Cipher flicked another holo-window open.
“See this? Smash-and-grab crews. Corporate sabotage. Data theft. Harassment campaigns. Assassinations. Extraction jobs. Most postings are encrypted and fragmented. You only see enough info to accept the contract. Once you opt in, preprogrammed messages feed you the next layer.”

Raven watched the symbols move like schools of fish through glowing channels. “No leadership, camaraderie, or trust.”

“Bingo,” Rudy replied. “That’s why the old gangs are dying. Young people don’t want to spend twenty years kissing some godfather's ring when they can pull six figures running courier jobs anonymously through the net.”

“And if one cell gets caught,” Cipher added, “there’s no organization to collapse. Everybody involved is expendable.”

Raven sat at the little table, studying the city lights beyond the rain-streaked glass.

“At first,” Rudy said, leaning against the counter, “people thought the corporations would fix things.”

Raven glanced up.

The old man continued. “The governments were corrupt. Slow. Bureaucratic. Representatives and Senators on the take, serving special interests and their campaign contributors, getting rich on insider trading. Then the megacorps came in promising efficiency, security, innovation. They rebuilt infrastructure after financial and supply chain collapses. Cleaned up neighborhoods that cities abandoned. Fed people.”

“And in exchange?” Raven asked.

“They bought everything.” Cipher sat up, spinning in his swivel chair. "The megacorps own utilities. Hospitals. Police contracts. Housing. Security forces. Once enough people depended on them, governments stopped being necessary. These days most senators spend more time negotiating with shareholders than voters.”

Raven frowned, “In my world, kings at least pretend divine obligation.”

“Oh, the corps pretend too.” Rudy pointed his taco at him. “They’ve got slogans, charities, mascots. Whole departments dedicated to public relations that make them look like they care while they squeeze people dry.”

The old hero walked to the refrigerator and retrieved two bottled drinks. “The scary part isn’t the oppression,” he said quietly. “Civilization has always had oppression. The scary part is how normal everybody thinks it is now.”

Raven accepted the bottle carefully, inspecting the label. “You said people identify themselves by company?"

Rudy nodded, “Most do.”

“That seems insane.”

Rudy shrugged. "You grew up in feudal kingdoms. Same basic system, different branding. Company housing. Company healthcare. Company education. Kids inherit employment contracts from their parents. Some arcologies don’t even use national citizenship anymore.”

Raven stared at him. “They are born into serfdom.”

The elf leaned back slowly. “And the freelancers… these shadowrunners…”

“Shadowrunners, ghosters, operators, troubleshooters. Depends who you ask.” clarified Cipher.

“They serve no lord?” The swordsman asked.

Rudy smirked. “They serve whoever pays.”

“You can hire warriors?” He asked.

“You can hire anything.” The decker leaned forward. “Corps squeeze people hard enough, eventually somebody fights back.”

Finally Raven asked the question that had clearly been troubling him since the conversation began. “If the world is this broken… where are the heroes?”

Rudy looked down at his hands. Hands that used to hurl jets of fire at criminals. Hands that shook faintly from old injuries and arthritis.

“Some retired,” he said softly. “Some sold out. Some died.” He glanced toward Cipher. “And some adapted.”

The elf looked at the decker. “Are there offers from those seeking protection?”

Cipher blinked. “Protection?”

“From gangs. From these corporations. From dark magic. From monsters.”

The van went quiet for a moment. Then Rudy laughed softly into his coffee. “There he is,” the old vigilante said. “I was wondering how long it’d take.”

Cipher minimized the criminal boards and brought up another layer.

Raven stepped closer. “What are these?”

Cipher shrugged. “What you asked for. Community boards. Job offers. Resistance channels. Mutual aid networks. Some are legit. Some are traps. None of them pay very well.”

"Then we have a place to start," Raven replied.