Places to Go, People to See
This month, Places to Go, People to See contains submissions from Alexandre van Chestein . To submit People and Places for Places to Go, People to See, please use the submission form at http://tss.dumpshock.com/tss-cd.html

‘Bones’
Human Street Doc

Bones is a doctor in his mid-fifties with greying hair and a thick beard. He operates out of a shadowclinic in the Redmond Barrens, paying good money to the local gangs so they keep their business elsewhere. He keeps to himself and denies any link to the Star Trek character other than his nickname.

He quit a lucrative practice to ‘retire’ to the shadows, where he wanted to see the true applications of the medical wonders he helped create. From this vantage point, he can truly seek to better understand the human body and mind, and continue his research into cybernetics.

Bones’ true name is unknown, as he used professional help to burn any links between him and his former self. He is said to still work long nights at designing new and dangerous pieces of cyberware; where he road-tests them, and in whom, is not known.

Samuel Marx
Human Bartender

Sam, a middle-aged, balding fridge-shaped man with bushy eyebrows and beard, has seen ‘em all. The young hotshot deckers who wind up brain-fried a week later, the first-time street sammies looking for a run, and the odd troll physad up for bouncer duty. His bar, the Baker’s Dozen, is known for its maximum 15% of normal patrons. The other 85% not so normal patrons include a large majority of trolls, orks and dwarves, along with the odd shapeshifter.

No one is unwelcome at The Baker’s Dozen, as long as racism is kept to null. If not, well, there’s always the nice young horned gentlemen near the door who can toss the unfortunate offender out the door in a snap. The Baker’s Dozen is also known to be a small-time meeting place for starting runners and Johnsons.

Sil Jackson
Human Fixer

Sil is a smallish woman in her early twenties who grew up on the streets and soon made a name for herself. Daughter of a fixer, she quickly followed in her mother’s tracks and settled into her own web of shadowy dealings. Her short coppery hair and large round glasses often make people think she’s younger than she is, and that is how she evades most stings. She seldom goes out into the streets, and has a quiet, subtly manipulative demeanor around her clients and acquaintances. She is respected by those who know her, and often overlooked by the rest.

Club Sniper
Owner: Zenith Supernova

Zenith is another one of those novastars who made it big quickly and immediately squandered their money into insane and risky ventures. The exception is that in his case, it worked. Even though he rarely gets out any albums, the neometal star Zenith Supernova (now CEO of Supernova Inc) has diverted his small-time corp's interests into very selective areas; namely, music, instruments, fast cars and clubs. One such club is Club Sniper, situated just inside Supernova's corporate grounds (so as to stamp down any claims of illegal proceedings inside).

Club Sniper is a club that's gaining quite a lot of popularity with thrillseekers and those past the desperation point. It consists of a ring of elevated and linked platforms with multiple bars and tables; each platform (six in all) has its own kitchen and meal répertoire, from Italian to Thai to English (the latter popularly referred to as the Smeg Bed). The platforms link to the central floor platform, which is a large dancing floor with lights, sounds, the works; the Club uses special aimed speakers which keep most of the sound in the central area, so as to keep the people who are eating from screaming their heads off.

Every Friday at midnight, Club Sniper has the Shootout, which gives it its name. Fifteen minutes prior, alarms are sounded and dancers are warned to get the hell out of the way if they don't want to get hurt. By midnight, the people who are left inside the central square (identified by construction-style black and yellow striping) take part in a contest of sorts. In the rafters, four employees come into play, armed with the latest sniper rifles, smartguns, and paint bullets. On the stroke of midnight, they pick a target and fire.

The dancer to get pelted with blue paint nets the third prize, usually something minor that ranges from free meals to gift memberships, to a small sum.

The dancer who gets smeared with green paint gets the second prize, something better like gift packages from Supernova products (instruments, music systems, simsense hardware) and bigger cash sums.

The dancer splashed with the gold paint bullet gets the first prize. This is always something really big and extravagant, like an all-expense-paid trip or tour tickets with backstage passes, or in rare occasions, one of Supernova's extravagant (and expensive) hotrods. One can expect a sports car to be the first prize every month or two.

The fourth and final target nets himself what some refer to as the Grand Prize. The bullet is real. This is why Club Sniper requires any and all new customers to sign a waiver along with their membership papers, which indicates they are aware of the risks involved and cannot take legal action (themselves or their relatives) in the event of serious injury or (more often) death. Still, some say the gamble is worth it.

This combination of ambiance, food and the possibility that you could get capped at midnight make Club Sniper the place to find a very special crowd. It is also a popular meeting place for Johnsons, as no one in their right mind would hold a meeting there (though the Club has a couple of dedicated dining rooms for such events, with full-screen trid display of the dance floor.