Shadowrun: Gang of Four
Detective Paco Rabban (Deceased)
A clean cop in a dirty world.
Paco’s dad was a cop. His grandpa was a cop. So he’d always known that he’d be a cop. Unfortunately, the job wasn’t all saving cats and fragging bad guys. Turns out, there are as many crooks inside the department as there are on the street. Paco didn’t like that. He tried to take a duty sergeant down and failed.
As punishment, he was exiled to vice.
He made a go of it there. Until a man in his unit, an undercover guy, augered in doing some undercover work. Paco found footage of the murder, and rather than hand it over to homicide, he decided to investigate the matter himself.
He arranged a meeting with the killers, and started the long process of turning them state’s evidence. Everything was looking rosy again in the world of Rabban.
Then, internal affairs agents started showing up during his lunch break. They’d ask him questions about why his girlfriend could suddenly afford to buy stock, and a large sum of money had just been transferred to his mom’s account back in Chicago.
In other words, was he on the take?
Hell no, he wasn’t on the take, and he told the agents so.
Cheese Moran told him he looked like drek after the IA guys put him through the ringer. He’d buy him a beer he felt so bad for him. Six hours later, Rabban was drunk as a skunk and puking in the gutter when some ten cent hood hit him on the back of the head with a pistol butt and shoved him in the trunk of a Caddy.
Next thing he knows, some asshole in a zoot suit and a Halloween mask is pissing on his face and calling him a fag. The guy pissing on his face was an asshole, and Paco told him so.
The guy replied that he’d cut Paco a new shithole in his stomach, and did so.
Paco’s death was not quick, and it was not pretty. Trid copies of it were distributed to the criminal scum that paid for his death, and the brass in the department who let it happen. Those dicks smirked through the trid and cried at the funeral. They told his girlfriend he’d been one hell of a cop.