Weaponized Cooking
Originally found in a Shadowrun General, the following story was written when one anonymous poster queried "If your runner was invited to talk about a certain topic (such as a field of expertise, a line of products, or even a significant person or event) for Jackpoint or some other Shadownet site, what would that topic be?" followed by another stating "Weaponizing your cooking, and how to make the perfect souffle."
Cooking Run
As I sat down one day to some baking prep for a run, my DM passes me a note that reads "You're all out of eggs and milk". Now, while I do know how to make baked goods without the use of these ingredients, the DM is a cunning lad and knows that combat baguettes simply don't get their AP-1 without eggs; nor do my muffins rise in just the right way.
I decided I needed to do some legwork, and I popped down to the shops to get some more. Tragedy had already struck though, someone had just bought up all the eggs and milk, and my man wasn't getting any until tomorrow morning. Something wasn't right, I called up my chef contacts and asked them about their egg and milk supplies. Strangely, they too were down to their last half-dozen treasures of golden protein and binding agents. At this point, the DM asked me to do a legwork roll to see what other stores in Seattle sold eggs.
Now, I'm sure this was supposed to be some kind of plot-hook, a chance encounter with an old friend, but I rolled so bad on my legwork roll, crit failed so hard, that I sprang into action before the DM could stop gawking at my 6 1's. I called up the gang and announced that someone had stolen all the milk and eggs in Seattle. Interrupting the weak protests from the hacker that he had bought a carton of milk and a half-dozen eggs this very morning from his corner store, I presented the hunch, nay the FACT, that one of the local gangs, the "Devil Whisks", had stolen all the baking goods for themselves, and we had to stop them before they got their hands on baking powder or, gods forbid, the flour. With heavy sighs and rolling eyes from my compatriots, which I only interpreted were from their hefty feelings of JUSTICE and BAKING, we set off to stop these fiends.
One session later, I limped into their kitchen, blood on the work spaces, such was their shame. I found my prize within the fridge, 3 eggs left and some milk. I sniffed my prize, soaking in my victory, but bleagh, the milk was off.
