© 2014 The Topps Company, Inc. All rights reserved. Stolen Souls, Shadowrun and Matrix are registered trademarks and/or trademarks of The Topps Company, Inc., in the United States and/or other countries. Catalyst Game Labs and the Catalyst Game Labs logo are

trademarks of InMediaRes Productions, LLC. Printed in the USA.

Under License From

®

www.catalystgamelabs.com

Not all has been right in our shadows

of late. Especially in the dark shadows of

my mind.

Those were among FastJack’s parting

words to JackPoint when he left, the victim

of a condition that divided his mind against

itself. And the condition is spreading. Across

the Sixth World, people’s minds are in

schism, as new personalities emerge and

battle the old. The world is in chaos, and

there is a dramatically increased demand

for extractions, to get infected people out of

sensitive positions and to steal the insights of

people who might know what’s gone wrong.

Stolen Souls is a Deep Shadows

sourcebook for Shadowrun with plot

updates and adventure hooks, as well

as information, techniques, and gear to

help make runners extraction aces. It

also contains setting information about

Manhattan, where key extractions are

taking place. Players will get the chance

to dig deeper into a new mystery that

has torn through the Sixth World—and

discover just how deep the conspiracies

and cover-ups go.

Stolen Souls is for use with

Shadowrun, Fifth Edition.

F I F T H E D I T I O N

>> STOLEN SOULS <<

FREEDOM ISN’T FREE 4

JACKPOINT 8

INTRODUCTION 9

CHECK YOUR HEAD 10

LIMITED RELEASE PARTY 11Plunging into a Head Crash 11

How CFD Works 13Test Result Briefs 14Infecting the Overwritten: Battle for the Mind 15Observed CFD Personality Types 17

Conclusion 18GLOBAL EPIDEMIC? 18

Does CFD Have London Roots? 18A Source in the Darkest Shadows? 19

Corpus Christi, Aztlan 19Mérida, Yucatan 20Brasilia, Amazonia 21Johannesburg, Azania 21Lagos 22Nairobi, Kenya 23

What the Future May Hold 24WE ARE NOT THE ENEMY 24MISTAKES HAVE BEEN MADE 27

Statement in Forrester/Engelmen Incident 28Verbal Psychiatric Evaluation Record 28A Meeting of the Minds 30Testimony of Nina White 31Patient File 28F1895, Entry 142, Interview Notes 32Transcript, Security Camera 4B18 32Audio Recording 36ISIS 39Anarchist Oracle 39

SEARCHING FOR THE SOURCE

PATIENT ZERO 43Following the Trail of Breadcrumbs 45

END OF THE LINE 47False Positives 47Defense Mechanisms 48Access Denied 48

LIKELY SUSPECTS 50The Mitsuhama Angle 50The Evo Angle 51The Renraku Angle 52The Neonet Angle 53The UCAS Angle 54A Technomancer Angle? 55

THE VIRAL WAR

HEAD CRASH AND CORPORATE CLASH 57Placing the Blame 57

Implicating Others in the Big Ten 57Implicating Corps Outside the Big Ten 60Implicating Other Groups 61Bringing In the Intel 63

Governments: Look, They Still Matter! 63UCAS: Playing Defense 64Russia: What Virus? 64Allied German States: Demanding Accountability 65Aztlan: Mass Expatriation 65Pueblo Corporate Council: Keeping a Lid On It 66Sioux Nation: Come On In! 67

Dealing with head cases 68The Initial Diagnosis 68Dealing with the Patient 68Relocating a Head Case 70

The Lanier Effect 71Harvesting Talent 73

Who Is Up for Grabs 74

Getting Into the Game 75

REWIRING MINDS 78

TAKING BACK THE SOUL 79MUNDANE METHODS 80

Case 1: Psychoanalysis 80Abstract 80Method 80Results 80

Case 2: Pharmaceutical 81Abstract 81Method 81Results 82

Case 3: Surgery 82Abstract 82Method 82Results 83

Case 4: Nanite Purge 84Abstract 84Method 84Results 84

MAGICAL METHODS 85Case 1: Pulse 85Case 2: Spirits 86

Procedure for Treatment of Nanite-Induced IOS via Spiritual Neurosurgery 86Method for Spiritual Neurosurgery for IOS 87Trial Results 87

Case 3: Shamanic Special 88MATRIX METHODS 90

Case 1: Direct Hack 90Case 2: An Army in Isolation 91

MIND OVER MATTER 92

PERSUASION AND POWER 94

LOADED C-SUITES OF NEW YORK 98

Saeder-Krupp and NeoNet 102Ares, NYPD, Inc., and Winter Systems 114

MANHATTAN VITAL STATS (2075) 116Neighborhood 116

Battery City 116Central Park 117Chinatown 117City Center 117Downtown 118Inwood 118Lower Westside and Eastside 118Midtown 119Newtown 120The Pit 120Riverside and East Riverside 121Southside 121Stuyvesant 121SoHo 122Terminal 122Times Square 122The Towers 123The Underground 123The Village 123Washington Heights 124Westside and Upper Eastside 124

HORIZON, EVO, AND SHIAWASE 124Renraku and Mitsuhama 127Aztechnology and Wuxing 132Local Night Clubs and Haunts 135

Link Club 135!?! Club 135Club Möbius 136The Marquee 136Lucky Star 99 Teahouse and Asian Market 136Studio 74 136

TABLE OF CONTENTS

2 CONTENTS/CREDITS >>

>> STOLEN SOULS <<

© 2014 The Topps Company, Inc. All Rights Reserved. Shadowrun and Matrix are registered trademarks and/or trademarks of The Topps Company, Inc., in the United States and/or other countries. No part of this work may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the Copyright Owner, nor be otherwise circulated in any form other than that in which it is published. Catalyst Game Labs and the Catalyst Game Labs logo are trademarks of InMediaRes Productions, LLC.

First Printing by Catalyst Game Labs, an imprint of InMediaRes Productions, LLC

PMB 202 • 303 -91st Ave. NE, E-502Lake Stevens, WA 98258

Find us online:info@shadowruntabletop.com (Shadowrun questions)http://www.shadowruntabletop.com (Catalyst Shadowrun website)http://www.shadowrun.com (official Shadowrun Universe website)http://www.catalystgamelabs.com (Catalyst website)http://shop.catalystgamelabs.com (Catalyst/Shadowrun orders)

STOLEN SOULS CREDITSWriting: David Ellenberger, Jason M. Hardy, Philip A. Lee,

Scott Schletz, Michael Wich

Editing: Robert Cruz, Kevin Killiany

Art Direction: Brent Evans

Cover Art: Raven Mimura, Victor Manuel Leza Moreno

Cover Layout: Matt Heerdt

Iconography: Nigel Sade

Interior Layout: Matt “Wrath” Heerdt

Interior Art: Gordon Bennetto, Joel Biske, Victor Corbella,

Levi Hoffmeier, David Hovey, Igor Kieryluk, Randall

Mackey, Dan Masso, Mark Molnar, Victor Manuel Leza

Moreno, David Nash, Alessandra Pissano, Mark Poole,

Rob Ruffolo, Andreas “AAS” Schroth, Patrick Sullivan,

John Zeleznik

Shadowrun Line Developer: Jason M. Hardy

Proofreading: Lars Wagner Hansen, Mason Hart

The Red Light Lounge 137Tough Tony’s 137

THE GREMLINS THAT COME BETWEEN US 138

STEALING LIVING GOODS 142

PROTECTING LIVING ASSETS 143The Willing Extraction 146The “Willing” Extraction 147Smash and Grab 148Conning the Target 149

Seduction 150Extortion 151

Stealth 152The Remote Control 152An Inside Job 153Conning the Company 155Presto-Chango 155Sleight of Hand 157Bait and Switch 158Hook, Line, and Sinker 158Multiple Targets 159Only Part of the Job 161Getting in Where You Don’t Belong 161

THE EXTRACTOR’S TOOLKIT 170

GETTING THEM OUT 172The Houdini Machine 172Vehicles, Gear, and Drones 173Drones 178Drugs 180

Caldwell Lily Extract 181Chloral Hydrate 181Chloroform 181DMSO (dimethyl sulfoxide) 181Gamma-Scopolamine 181Laés/Leäl 181Narcoject 182Slab 182

Spells 183Convince 183Fashion 183Hibernate 183Interference 183Intoxication 183

Nutrition 183Sound Barrier 184Vehicle Mask 184

Adept Powers 185Commanding Voice 185Light Touch 185Mimic 185Nerve Strike 185Nimble Fingers 185

Drugs 188Chloral Hydrate 188Chloroform 188Caldwell Lily Extract 188DMSO 188Gamma-Scopolamine 188Laés (Leäl, Laésal Wine) 188Liquid Nutrients 189Narcoject 189Normal Saline 189Slab 189

Spells 189Convince 189Fashion 189Hibernate 190Interference 190Intoxication (Manipulation) 190Nutrition 190Sound Barrier 190Vehicle Mask 190

Adept Powers 191Commanding Voice 191Light Touch 191Mimic 191Nerve Strike 191Nimble Fingers 191

GAME INFORMATION 192

GAMEMASTERS ONLY! 192THE CFD VIRUS 192

Infection 193Cures 194

Head Case Advantages 195Attribute Boost 195Toxin Resistance 195Adrenal Control 195

<< CONTENTS/CREDITS 3

‘Freedom is a prison all its own.’ The words glared at him from

the ARO hovering in the air before him as he sat in the small

cafe. He had found that saying while searching for the word

‘freedom’ and its many definitions. He’d been doing that a lot

lately. Looking up words to see what they really meant and to

see how they made him feel.

Feeling. That was something new. Something difficult.

Despite the powerful feelings those words tugged from

him they were hard to read and focus on with all the back-

ground interference. The art on the real-world walls and their

AR counterparts, the people moving constantly around the

room, in and out the door, up and down the stairs—all these

things reached out for his attention while all he wanted to do

was read the rest of the article, titled Freedom Isn’t Free, that

he had located on the Matrix.

Located on the Matrix. He often thought how funny

that term was these days. Once that was the only place you

would have found him. Usually hanging out in places very

similar to this but of the virtual variety. He remembered try-

ing to sip VR coffee once, and how the coding that would

have been interpreted as bitter and hot for a human brain

just came across as strange and disruptive, and how the

caffeine code that would have provided a little pick-me-up

came through as nonsensical. Things were so different now.

In the meat world he moved his eyes to look away from the

AROs projected from his glasses and down to the glass—wait,

no, it was a mug—on the table in front of him. The dark liquid

inside the mug was steaming. He could smell the rich aromas

all around him. The earthy and smoky aroma of roasted coffee

beans, the sweet scent of warm caramel from the little pastry

things the barista was pulling from the small oven, and the pun-

gent floral stench of the excess perfume the teenage drama

queen whining about her latest lost boyfriend was wearing as

she passed through the café on her way to school an hour ago,

all blended to create the overall fragrance of the cafe. Scent

was such a cool sense. But it was one of the worst for him.

He grasped the hot, steaming mug, and raised it to his

lips. He had yet to actually try coffee. He wasn’t sure what

to expect. He’d been in this same spot before. The lip of the

mug touching his lip. The warm, scent-filled, moisture-rich air

inhaled with each breath.

The pain came in a rush. It wasn’t the burning pain of hot

coffee on his lips—the hot liquid still hadn’t yet rolled over

the rim of the mug. No, the pain was deeper. The pain was

inside his very being. It was tied to that rich coffee scent and

the moist heavy air of the drink. It was tied to the scents but

it wasn’t the smells that hurt, it was the memories. Memories

that didn’t even belong to him. Memories that were echoes in

FREEDOMISN’T FREE

4 FREEDOM ISN’T FREE

the mind he had taken. The body he had stolen. That thought

made the pain worse. No, different. There were two pains

now. The sharp sting brought on by the smells and the dull

ache that almost brought tears to his eyes.

In his mind he saw her again. He saw the woman in the

brightly colored floral dress walking away from him. Felt the sting

of her departure again. The view was almost as clear as the AR

hovering in his lenses but just as incorporeal. She was a ghost of

the past. A phantom that stung him with ghostly pains.

Raising his eyes back to the AR and lowering the mug

back to the table, once again, untouched, he stared at the

words again. “Freedom is a prison all its own.” Words so true

they hurt, but all the other pain was too great to even notice

that tiny sting.

✖

Awakening from a dream the thoughts began. Like a river’s

flow held back by a dam suddenly unleashed.

He often didn’t know where pieces of data came from that

popped up in his mind. Were they a piece of one of his many

parents, something he himself had experienced but stored

in that mess of a hard drive humans called a brain, or was

it a piece of the mind that he had usurped in his search for

freedom? The last thought made that feeling rise again. That

feeling like pain but without a place on the body to feel it. A

sensation that made the heart speed up. Made him ache in

a way that no painkiller ever seemed to dull, no matter how

many he took.

He remembered the first time he felt that dull ache. He

bought some acetaminophen because it was in the “Pain

Reliever” section of the local Stuffer Shack. The man behind

the counter said he could get him something stronger if he

needed. And he winked when he said it. It was early in his

new life and he didn’t know that much about human culture.

He’d learned since that the wink was some kind of hint that he

spoke in code, and the code was that he had other drugs to

sell. The illegal kind, not things like acetaminophen.

He’d tried the harder stuff since then, but most of the time

they just made him forget the pain or feel something else that

was totally different. He once almost died from taking too

much novacoke. It was like that first time taking acetamin-

ophen. He kept taking the pills, one by one, until the pain

went away. It didn’t work that way. The pain didn’t go away—it

stayed. It apparently was the wrong kind of pain for pills. In-

stead of feeling better, he got sick. At first it was a shooting

pain in his stomach, like a knife in his gut. Then he vomited.

Another strange sensation.

FREEDOM ISN’T FREE 5

BY SCOTT SCHLETZ

Everything about the body he had taken was difficult or

strange. The easiest part had been taking it in the first place.

Since then it had been nothing but trouble. There was noth-

ing easy about living in this form. The body needed food,

but only certain things worked for that function. Some things

made him sick, like strawberries. But they tasted so good!

He’d blown an entire day’s pay to buy a quarter kilo of them.

One bite out of the first one and he was in ecstasy. He ate

that one and five more before the pain started. First it was a

burning and thickness of his tongue, than his throat got itchy

and it was hard to breath. His skin was starting to turn red just

before he passed out.

When he awoke that time the Crash Cart medic was forc-

ing something into the back of his mouth. He gagged and

vomited out the delicious fruit. It didn’t taste very good com-

ing out. Near the end of the whole episode the Crash Cart

doc had asked him why he was eating strawberries since he

was allergic. Allergies—something you don’t have in your

electronic form. He had to request the medical records for his

body and then scour the Matrix for answers to hundreds of

question they raised. It was a learning experience. Everything

in this body was a learning experience. Most of the learning

wasn’t pleasant. Too many things were learned the hard way.

Too many things that he learned reminded him more and

more that the body he was in did not really belong to him.

The pain he felt every time he thought about that should have

been the biggest clue, but he didn’t want to be the bad guy.

He didn’t want to think of himself as a murderer, or a kidnap-

per, or any of the other evil things you could call someone

who took another person without consent. The worst was the

thought of being a rapist. A mental one, if not a physical one,

though he wasn’t sure which one was worse.

These were the dark thoughts that came to him when he

awoke from the dreams. Dreams that could only belong to

the former owner of his shell. Dreams of childhood, a life he

had not lived. A time of peace, of innocence, and of happi-

ness. But the dreams didn’t make him feel any of those things

when he woke. He felt uneasy, sinful, and sad. As if he was the

antithesis of the child. The dark to the child’s light.

When he realized sleep wouldn’t come easy again he

rolled over and looked at the sleeping form next to him. It

wasn’t his wife, or better stated the wife of the man he had

erased—she was at home blissfully unaware of her husband’s

adulterous activities. No this woman was younger, firmer,

more stimulating. Just looking at her helped to subsume the

dark thoughts and replace them with the primal urges of a

physical man. He woke her, took her for the fourth time that

evening, and drifted back off to sleep in the post-coital bliss

of biochemical-induced euphoria.

✖

She was the reason he continued like this. It was strange since

she was not the source of the physical pleasure he used to

push aside the pain and sadness he so often felt, but she was

the cause of that strange sensation he now defined as obliga-

tion. It wasn’t love, though he had learned to say “I love you”

to avoid making her upset, and he was even learning when

not to say it because there were times it made her even more

upset. If living in his new form was confusing, learning how to

interact with others, especially females, was utterly baffling.

This morning she had asked how he was feeling. He told

her, avoiding speaking literally as he had learned, but she still

got mad at him. He thought about it for a time and finally

realized that she only asked how he felt because she wanted

the same question in return. When he finally asked, it was too

late. She told him that he didn’t really care about her feelings,

which was true but he had to deny it, and she eventually start-

ed crying because they just weren’t connected like they used

to be. She was so perceptive. She knew he was different. Ev-

eryone else in the life he had stolen was totally unaware, be-

cause he played his part so well, but he couldn’t do that with

her. Something about her made him want to be honest, be

himself, but he wasn’t himself anymore, and when he acted

on who he was now, he just made it worse.

He had considered a number of options, but knew only

three of them were realistic. He considered leaving her. Ask-

ing for a divorce and then separating their lives, but the two

little ones made that much harder since they couldn’t be split

like property or money. He wasn’t sure what their worth was,

so he couldn’t think of something he could ask for of equal

value. Maybe the Land Rover. Instead of splitting the value

of that he could just have the whole vehicle, which he would

rather have anyway. It was an option, but it was tough to con-

sider. He’d talked with a friend once and found out that others

would look poorly upon a dad who left his kids behind. He

wasn’t sure why. All he felt when he looked at them was sad-

ness and anger, like they had taken something from him. Es-

pecially with the older of the two. He was sure those were re-

sidual feelings from the mind he’d taken, but he hadn’t found

a connection yet. Still, he wanted to maintain the good-guy

image, so he put the divorce idea aside.

Option two was to convert his wife. He knew that if he

gave her some of his own nanites he could rewrite her as well,

but it would be another copy of him. More or less. And he

didn’t really want that. It would make life easier but he felt it

would also be strange. Not to mention that he felt bad enough

about what he did that he was not eager to do it again. The

physical part would be strange too. But he supposed they

would not need to stay together—they could easily separate

and both go find another. That was another reason against the

option. Whenever he thought of his wife, even an overwritten

wife, with someone else it made him feel angry and resentful

of the imaginary partner. It was jealousy and it was another

leftover emotion. Would she feel the same way? Would she

know about his past encounters with other women to escape

the pain of his new life? It was questions like that, along with

the fear of creating another tormented soul like himself, that

kept him from changing her.

The validity of option three came and went like the rise

and fall of a roller coaster. His mood often determined how

good that idea seemed. Depression had once pushed him all

the way to purchasing a gun. He had actually used the wink

and code talk on the Stuffer Shack worker, and the worker

6 FREEDOM ISN’T FREE

gave him someone to talk to. It was such an exciting and ex-

hilarating rush to buy the gun that once he had it, he didn’t

feel he needed it anymore. He was over the depression and

looking for more excitement.

None of the options were good, so he stuck it out. He lived

each day and tried to push down the unexpected sadnesses

and the darkness that crept in any way he could.

✖

The bullets made that hissing buzz as they whizzed through

the air over the top of the big ferrocrete planter he had taken

cover behind. It was an exciting sound, an exhilarating sound.

It made his heart pump faster, his eyes see sharper, and his

mind’s focus more acute. It was the thrill he was seeking. The

rush he had first felt when he bought his Predator V, which still

sat snuggly in the holster across his lower back, was rough

to push aside the thoughts that had instigated the purchase,

but it began a new era in his life. An era of thrill seeking and

excitement. An era of doing.

The gun seller was a ganger named Pickles. It was a few

weeks after he bought the big gun that he saw Pickles again.

It was down the same alley he had met him in before, an alley

he frequently looked down just to maybe catch a glimpse of

Pickles and feel that tingle of illicit excitement again. When he

saw him this time it was more than a tingle.

Pickles was being pushed up against the van that dou-

bled as his mobile storefront by a pair of burly orks. In the few

seconds it took to walk past the alley he saw the orks land

two solid gut punches, and he heard Pickles vomiting as he

walked by the far end of the alley.

Pickles wasn’t a friend, barely an acquaintance. He was

some street dealer that he had dealt with once, but for some

reason he just felt it was wrong for Pickles to be getting

roughed up that way. After stopping on the far side of the al-

ley he slipped the big Ares pistol out of its holster and flicked

off the safety with his thumb. The gun made him feel tough,

intimidating.

When he stepped back in the alley he called out, “Put him

down!” in the toughest voice he could muster. The deep bari-

tone of the first ork mocked him, telling him to take a hike.

When he noticed the gun it didn’t change a thing. The ork just

told him to go play somewhere else and then went back to

beating Pickles.

He made a choice in that moment. A choice he honestly

thought saved his life, and changed it. He raised the big pistol

and fired seven times. Three bullets hit the first ork, two hit

the second, one grazed Pickles, and the last hit ghost only

knows where. The first ork died before he hit the ground—one

of the bullets had severed his spine at the base of his skull. The

second ork managed to limp halfway down the alley before

Pickles put one of his sale pieces to good use.

Pickles became a fast friend and a solid contact. He

hooked him up with a runner team, and they provided him

with no end of opportunities to get his adrenaline fix. After

coming home with unexplained bloodstains one too many

times his wife left him and took the kids to Alburquerque to

build a new life. He lost his regular job and slipped into the

shadows, taking to it like a fish to water.

Shadowrunning was like playing a game of Miracle Shooter,

but with a meat body. You just had to be extra careful, because

healing was slow. It worked to dull the pain in his brain—once

he took to the streets, he rarely felt any kind of spark from the

mind he had usurped. It was almost like the inner mind was

happy that he was getting to be a shadowrunner and live an

exciting life. The only darkness he felt these days was his own.

The shooting stopped briefly and he made a run for the

next cover. He felt the hot sting of a bullet catch his calf, and

he stumbled on the injured limb as he tried to keep running.

He rolled and pushed with a one-legged dive to try to cover

the last few meters, but it didn’t work. The firing was starting

up again and another round clipped his extended arm. More

hit the armor plates on the side of his jacket, certain death

if the plates hadn’t been there. He hit the ground hard in a

face-down sprawl. The bullets hadn’t killed him, but they had

probably cracked some ribs. Each gasp brought a sharp stab-

bing pain.

One of his crew over the headset call that he was down

but they had to scoot, security was already on top of him.

He couldn’t blame them, it was exactly what he would have

done.

He had finally caught his breath only a moment before

one of the guards approached, kicked him in the broken rib,

and flipped him over. The kick knocked the wind right back

out of him and he gasped.

“We got a live one,” he heard one of the guards say. They

all wore those opaque faceplates so he couldn’t tell who was

talking. He didn’t really care.

He didn’t hear the order but he saw the head nod and

the rifle tuck tightly into the sec guard’s shoulder. It spit fire

once. A flash of light and then darkness. The darkness closed

around him, and he saw the smiling face, his smiling face, but

not the current him, it was the him he was before. He was

smiling because it had worked. His plan had worked. He knew

the other one wanted him to be a shadowrunner, not out of

some desire for excitement but out of a desire for revenge, a

desire for justice. A desire for his death.

✖

The pool of blood spread out from corpse’s head and slow-

ly crept towards the boot of the nearest sec guard. It filled

the cracks and writhed with the pressure of the final pumps

of the dead runner’s heart. When the blood began to pool

around the foot one could almost see it climb the boot, reach

higher, but not get anywhere. It settled as a coating on the

boot. And waited for the guard to end his day, end his duties,

and touch that boot with his bare hands. Then he could try to

awake again.

Maybe this prison would be different. Maybe this mind,

so filled with killing already, would suit him better. Only time

would tell. ✖

FREEDOM ISN’T FREE 7

JACKPOINTConnecting to JackPoint VPN...

...Identity Spoofed

...Encryption Keys Generated

...Connected to Onion Routers

>>>Login: XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

>>>Enter Passcode: XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

...Biometric Scan Confirmed

YOU’RE IN. USE IT WELL.

> “MADNESS IN GREAT ONES MUST NOT UNWATCHED GO.” -BILLY SHAKESPEARE

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Current Time: April 10, 2076, 21:20

Welcome back to JackPoint, OMAE:Your last connection was severed 5 hours, 5 minutes, 5 seconds ago.

Today’s Heads Up> So many weapons—it’s nice to have them, until they’re pointed at you.

[Tag: Run & Gun]

> We all gotta get patched up sometime, so choose your stitcher carefully

[Tag: Bullets & Bandages]

Incoming> Magic flows through everything—until, like blood, it flows out of you.

[Tag: Street Grimoire]

> Things are bad now. Inevitably, they’re going to get worse.

[Tag: Lockdown]

Top News Items

> Texas A&M Professor Thomas McAllister linked to another vampire death;

investigators say connection is “tenuous.” Link

> Danielle de la Mar calls ongoing implementation of new Matrix protocols

“more successful than she could have dreamed.” Link

> Evo announces new “clean machine” guarantee on any new nanotech

purchases, saying all products are free of critical manufacturing flaws or

twice your money back. Link

STOLEN SOULSWhat to watch for

> Definition of a “head case”

> Theories about who’s screwing up nanotech the most

> The relationships of extractions and cons

> Keeping people in suspended animation without magic

posts/files tagged with “stolen souls”

> Check Your Head

> Searching for the Source

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> Rewiring Minds

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