A group of 1d6 facist Gang-Goons [paranoid / brainwashed / twitchy] have blockaded themselves inside a coffeeshop [faux-bougie / scared] that is secretly selling micobiotic meat. They’re led by Dallas [psychotic break / conspiracy theorist / piece of shit], a cy-raging menace, and blame the workers and customers for the lack of food and jobs in the slums.
Despite their complaints, Dallas is fiercely protective of the mega-corps, responding to any criticism of them with open hostility, as he firmly believes they are there to save the people.
Dallas will readily threaten anyone that approaches by telling them that one of the goons is strapped with explosives and will detonate their load if their group is attacked.
This event is triggered by a PC rolling a fail when making a Knowledge Test on The Net. Their digging around has attracted the attention of… something. In the corner of their retinal device, they see some sort of demonic entity [haggish / wicked smile / strangely familiar] looking at them. She flies straight at them before they are ejected from the system.
In the days that follow, they see her out of the corner of their eye during stressful moments, adding to the difficulty of their tests. When they sleep [fitful / feverish], they dream she is perched nearby, watching them. They are paralyzed in this dream but can hear her voice. She keeps calling them…
They’ll have to do some work to see what she wants and how to get rid of her.
The crackdown in Svarta against Roadrunners has been severe. Alliansen Inc. lost enough valuable workers in the last bombing that they’ve sent a small army of SpecOps to ensure the security of their operations.
Traction [enraged / destructive / unyielding] has come to Svarta for vengeance after a rival gang killed his husband. He brings with him 3d4 Roadrunners. A team of four Alliansen Inc. SpecOps [scared/ calling backup] have stopped them and are threatening to impound their bikes. The situation is moments away from exploding.
Traction would owe a large boon to anyone who tracked down his enemy.
Music pumps out of a warehouse in the slums, a massive wall of noise that threatens to overwhelm the senses. The bouncer is a man on a viewscreen [rat-like / coughing / speedy] and a Crawler Drone [patched-up / burning oil / loud]. He’ll let anyone in as long as they don’t look like a narc. Alternatively, he can be convinced with a DR 12 Presence Test.
Inside, the clubgoers stare at the stage in a daze… and the PCs soon find out why. A small, wheeled robot [beeping / oblivious] stops in front of them bearing a platter with doses of Vurt laid out upon it. Any one PC who imbibes shares in the collective vision [utopian / green / socialist / dreamy].
Unfortunately, they are still in the throes of the trip when 1d6 ACGS SpecOps make their way into the club, looking for a stolen weapons cache. The PCs see them within the vision, but may not know they are actually real until the drug wears off, or a PC is on their deathbed.