Back when Ursa was in her prime- when both her arms were meat, and some would call her one of the top five best hackers in Europe- Wandle Park was known as the worst spot to be after dark in Croydon. In addition to the usual mugging and violent crimes that went on in other parts of the city, Wandle Park had become a place where even Wardlord Defense Industries' private police wouldn't enter and was hardly welcoming for ordinary folk. However, it was just the kind of environment where Ursa's colleagues would flourish, the sort of outlaw the authorities called cyberterrorists. They didn't call themselves that, though; they gave themselves their own name. Runners: hackers like herself, people willing to stand up to the corporations that steal everything from this world and able to take something back. Back in her golden days, Ursa could walk into any bar in Wandle Park and get a free beer just for telling a story, some flashy anecdote about breaching some megacorp's mainframe or stealing a shipment of droids from some rich asshole. She had dozens of stories like that.
Now, after being retired for almost twenty years, she wasn't sure about getting free drinks, but she hoped her street codes were still current. She wandered the streets that enveloped the park, not recognizing any of the neon bar signs that saturated the night air. They all looked like greasy, dirty, drinking holes, but none of them felt like the hanging spot for her type of Runner. She roamed the alleys and backstreets, trying to pick up a scent, a hint of where other Stray Dogs like herself would be.
Above a garbage dumpster, three fluorescent fuschia lines, one of them skewering a skull, expertly drawn, indicated that this particular spot was the turf of some cell of Punks, the most anarchic of Runners. Young people with hot blood pumping through their veins, always ready for a fight, especially against the authorities. Sure enough, just behind the dumpster, three girls barely out of their teens with spikey and neon-colored hair were drinking and laughing around an oil drum bonfire. One had a cybernetic eye implant: the place where her eyeball ought to be was occupied by a lens inside a brass-colored metal sphere. Suddenly, the eye implant started whirring as it zoomed toward Ursa's direction, and the laughing stopped. She decided they probably weren't the friendly type who loved sharing information with strangers. She moved along.
Ursa walked past a metal garage door sporting the green and yellow curves typical of the Makers. The sounds coming from inside told Ursa that there was, in fact, a Runner in there, programming or tinkering away as Makers alone know how to. Stray Dogs like playing with fancy toys but not necessarily building them. Ursa knew better than interrupting a Maker mid-inspiration. Better to keep looking elsewhere.
A young man walked past Ursa, dressed way too glamorously to be one of the locals. On the lapel of his opulent synthetic leather overcoat, Ursa saw a pin, gold and red, a luxurious emblem that only a Runner member of the Guild would wear so openly. The Guild took care of its members; that much was evident by looking at how affluent and healthy the young Runner appeared. Health and affluence are a rarity in a sick and poor world. Stray Dogs liked money but rarely liked being so flashy about it. Ursa was sure that this Guild member wouldn't even look at her if she decided to ask him for information. She didn't have the time to waste on him either.
On one of the alleys stood a derelict house, its walls all black from grime and soot except for one of the windows, where someone had drawn a series of straight lines on the dirt, some short, some long, some parallel, some perpendicular. The blue light from inside the house glowed through the clean streaks on the glass, forming the Cypher's tag. Through the window, Ursa could see a group of four Runners. Three were connected to a device in the middle of the room, lost in a trance, while the fourth watched them, making sure their neural implants didn't act up and that they wouldn't suffer brain damage from being hooked online too long. Cyphers were generally crazy about cyber-implants. Ursa could see one of these ones had modded his body so much that there was no flesh to be seen on his entire left side, just metal and wires. Ursa walked away and gave them back their privacy.
Now, after being retired for almost twenty years, she wasn't sure about getting free drinks, but she hoped her street codes were still current. She wandered the streets that enveloped the park, not recognizing any of the neon bar signs that saturated the night air. They all looked like greasy, dirty, drinking holes, but none of them felt like the hanging spot for her type of Runner. She roamed the alleys and backstreets, trying to pick up a scent, a hint of where other Stray Dogs like herself would be.
Above a garbage dumpster, three fluorescent fuschia lines, one of them skewering a skull, expertly drawn, indicated that this particular spot was the turf of some cell of Punks, the most anarchic of Runners. Young people with hot blood pumping through their veins, always ready for a fight, especially against the authorities. Sure enough, just behind the dumpster, three girls barely out of their teens with spikey and neon-colored hair were drinking and laughing around an oil drum bonfire. One had a cybernetic eye implant: the place where her eyeball ought to be was occupied by a lens inside a brass-colored metal sphere. Suddenly, the eye implant started whirring as it zoomed toward Ursa's direction, and the laughing stopped. She decided they probably weren't the friendly type who loved sharing information with strangers. She moved along.
Ursa walked past a metal garage door sporting the green and yellow curves typical of the Makers. The sounds coming from inside told Ursa that there was, in fact, a Runner in there, programming or tinkering away as Makers alone know how to. Stray Dogs like playing with fancy toys but not necessarily building them. Ursa knew better than interrupting a Maker mid-inspiration. Better to keep looking elsewhere.
A young man walked past Ursa, dressed way too glamorously to be one of the locals. On the lapel of his opulent synthetic leather overcoat, Ursa saw a pin, gold and red, a luxurious emblem that only a Runner member of the Guild would wear so openly. The Guild took care of its members; that much was evident by looking at how affluent and healthy the young Runner appeared. Health and affluence are a rarity in a sick and poor world. Stray Dogs liked money but rarely liked being so flashy about it. Ursa was sure that this Guild member wouldn't even look at her if she decided to ask him for information. She didn't have the time to waste on him either.
On one of the alleys stood a derelict house, its walls all black from grime and soot except for one of the windows, where someone had drawn a series of straight lines on the dirt, some short, some long, some parallel, some perpendicular. The blue light from inside the house glowed through the clean streaks on the glass, forming the Cypher's tag. Through the window, Ursa could see a group of four Runners. Three were connected to a device in the middle of the room, lost in a trance, while the fourth watched them, making sure their neural implants didn't act up and that they wouldn't suffer brain damage from being hooked online too long. Cyphers were generally crazy about cyber-implants. Ursa could see one of these ones had modded his body so much that there was no flesh to be seen on his entire left side, just metal and wires. Ursa walked away and gave them back their privacy.
In a dead-end alleyway, Ursa saw an old man sleeping rough. He wore tattered clothes and smelled like burnt garbage. Beside his sleeping bag, there was a metal miniature model of what appeared to be a dog's skull. Ursa approached the man, waking him up with the sound of her boots on the pavement. He looked at her with suspicion. Ursa rolled up one of her jacket's sleeves, the one covering the cybernetic arm, showing the man the gunmetal engraving of an elongated skull, fully baring its fangs. The man recognized it.
"I know almost every Stray Dog that hangs around here, but I've never seen you before," he said.
"I've been retired for a while," Ursa replied. "Although, I think I'm making a comeback."
"And why is that? Greed?"
"Necessity," said Ursa. "I'm looking for a former associate of mine. Ever heard of a Runner called Baribal?"
The old man laughed. "I've heard of him. Even met him in the flesh once. Nice guy. Can't hold his liquor, though."
"That's him all right. Can you get him a message for me?" asked Ursa.
"I'm sure I can find someone who can find him. Stray Dogs like you and me, we gotta help each other from time to time. What's the message?"
"Tell him that Ursa is looking for him. Tell him some corporate asshole laid their hands on my daughter and that I need his help to make them pay," said Ursa.
"Sorry about your kid, ma'am. I'll make sure word gets to Baribal," the old man said. Ursa thanked him and walked away.
On her way home, incoming message requests flooded Ursa's console. Baribal had gotten her message and was reaching out. Ursa stared at the screen. With Baribal's help, there was still hope of getting Imogen back.
"Hold on, baby girl," she whispered. "Momma is coming."
"I know almost every Stray Dog that hangs around here, but I've never seen you before," he said.
"I've been retired for a while," Ursa replied. "Although, I think I'm making a comeback."
"And why is that? Greed?"
"Necessity," said Ursa. "I'm looking for a former associate of mine. Ever heard of a Runner called Baribal?"
The old man laughed. "I've heard of him. Even met him in the flesh once. Nice guy. Can't hold his liquor, though."
"That's him all right. Can you get him a message for me?" asked Ursa.
"I'm sure I can find someone who can find him. Stray Dogs like you and me, we gotta help each other from time to time. What's the message?"
"Tell him that Ursa is looking for him. Tell him some corporate asshole laid their hands on my daughter and that I need his help to make them pay," said Ursa.
"Sorry about your kid, ma'am. I'll make sure word gets to Baribal," the old man said. Ursa thanked him and walked away.
On her way home, incoming message requests flooded Ursa's console. Baribal had gotten her message and was reaching out. Ursa stared at the screen. With Baribal's help, there was still hope of getting Imogen back.
"Hold on, baby girl," she whispered. "Momma is coming."
Ursa character concept by Joi Rudin.