Vestigial Memories, Session 11: Hawker's Circle

Scene setup

Downtime event table roll
[D12]: [5] => You encounter a stranger who delivers a message or warning.

Countdown check
[D6] Result: 5 => No event happens

Status changes: +1 health because of rest

I can't go home. My apartment feels like a trap, and the silence there is too loud. I need the city. I need the smell of ozone, the rain-slicked pavement, and the anonymous crowd. I stop in front of the Kabukicho Arcade in Hawker's Circle, leaning against a grime-streaked wall. I watch the kids and the drifters lose themselves in the digital glow, trying to find where my duty ends and my conscience begins.

Q: Who do I meet?
Cipher table roll: [D6 + D12]
Result: [2 + 6] => Capture + Dream => The woman from my key memory talks about replicant captivity

An elderly woman sits on a bench nearby, her face a map of lived-in history. She watches me with eyes that have seen too much.

Woman: "Bad day, young man?"
Locke: "You could say that, lady."
Woman: [Laughing softly] "A nice single malt usually helps me when the world gets heavy."
Locke: "You're not wrong. Maybe later."
Woman: "Good. You’ve got a decision to make. Best to keep a clear head until the ink is dry."

I stiffen. I take a harder look at her. There’s a ghost of a memory stirring in the back of my mind—something from the old files, a grainy photograph from a forgotten era.

Locke: "Do I know you?"
Woman: "Sometimes just looking the other way is the best thing to do... even for a Blade Runner."

The way she says "Blade Runner" sounds like a title she once wore herself.

Woman: "Replicants are slaves, Locke. No matter what lies you tell yourself to sleep at night. Once you admit that, the choice you’re holding in your pocket becomes very easy."

She stands up, her joints popping in the damp air. She turns and vanishes into the thick crowd before I can even push off the wall.

The Realization

It hits me like a physical blow. The jawline, the way she carried her shoulders—it was Kamarr. The Blade Runner who arrested Kasper twenty-eight years ago. Holden told me she was dead. He said the job or the city eventually claimed her.

But in this city, death is often just another layer of cover. If Kamarr is alive, and she’s watching me, it means "Vestige" has been on the LAPD's radar—or under their protection—for much longer than Holden is letting on.

Her words cut through the neon haze better than any whiskey could. The choice wasn't hard; it was inevitable. I reached for my KIA and pulled up the contact I used for the jobs the LAPD didn't need to know about. Static.