Shadowrun
Shadowrun Play => Play-by-Post => Topic started by: Volker on <11-12-14/0536:56>
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[This is the IC thread for A Kriminal Affair, that is group 2, GMed by Raven Runner and Volker. In case there are short comments in future - not like this one - I/we will use square brackets, but whatever can be done in the OOC thread should be done there, please.]
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Beetle
February 1st 2075, Friday morning, sun shining. Beetle is at his 4th mile of the morning run when he feels the slight twitch of an incoming call. An image of St Nick smiling broadly appears transparently flowing in midair before you.
Arachnos
February 1st 2075, Friday morning, who cares whether the sun is shining or not? It's goddamn morning and some son of a bitch is waking you up.
It's not a son of a bitch, though. It's Molly and it seems that you have about 2.5 seconds left to set up your most winning smile, before Molly might change her mind and call somebody else to get shit done.
Mercy
February 1st 2075, Friday afternoon, 4:33PM. You're at your favourite gun range (they do puppets in suits, and you can choose metatype and sex), when the small symbol of a text message pops up in the corner of your vision. You take out your 'link and open the message:
It's Jameson. U in need of some creds? Cl me @6.15. & make sure u look good, honey.
Hermes
February 2nd 2075, 6.20AM in the morning. You just dreamed that horrible dream where you faced him. In RL you have no idea what he looks like, but in that dream you knew it was him. With a satisfied smile on your face you point the gun directly at his face - when something stranged happened. As if by an external force your hand turns, slowly, but no matter how hard you fight, you end up pointing the gun at your own face.
When suddenly your comm rings.
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Mercy
February 1st 2075, Friday afternoon, 4:33PM. You're at your favourite gun range (they do puppets in suits, and you can choose metatype and sex), when the small symbol of a text message pops up in the corner of your vision. You take out your 'link and open the message:
It's Jameson. U in need of some creds? Cl me @6.15. & make sure u look good, honey.
Mercy checks the time and swears under her breath. She sends a quick reply, "Always. On both counts."
She packs up her gear, lamenting the fact that she doesn't have time to clean her guns. Her Mirage tears though traffic on the way back to her apartment. She dumps her gear, then secures her combat knife and her Suppressor into their concealed holsters in her Sleeping Tiger. She tucks a few magazines into her belt, then stops in front of the mirror. After a little consideration, she applies a small amount of cosmetics and runs a brush through her hair. She gets herself to ready to leave quickly if necessary, then keys her commlink at 1815 to call Jameson.
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Mercy checks the time and swears under her breath. She sends a quick reply, "Always. On both counts."
She packs up her gear, lamenting the fact that she doesn't have time to clean her guns. Her Mirage tears though traffic on the way back to her apartment. She dumps her gear, then secures her combat knife and her Suppressor into their concealed holsters in her Sleeping Tiger. She tucks a few magazines into her belt, then stops in front of the mirror. After a little consideration, she applies a small amount of cosmetics and runs a brush through her hair. She gets herself to ready to leave quickly if necessary, then keys her commlink at 1815 to call Jameson.
Jameson's perfect visage appears hovering in midair. His face is neatly shaven, his teeth white as snow, his hair just not as perfect as it needs to be to appear still natural and sympathetic. He's a natural charmer and maybe worth a date.
But right now, he doesn't seem to have time on dating. He looks a little bit under pressure of time.
"Darling, in time as ever. I received an interesting call this noon. You do not have any serious travelling planes for the not-so-distant future, do you?"
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Jameson's perfect visage appears hovering in midair. His face is neatly shaven, his teeth white as snow, his hair just not as perfect as it needs to be to appear still natural and sympathetic. He's a natural charmer and maybe worth a date.
But right now, he doesn't seem to have time on dating. He looks a little bit under pressure of time.
"Darling, in time as ever. I received an interesting call this noon. You do not have any serious travelling planes for the not-so-distant future, do you?"
This again? This guy is seriously not my type. Mercy was glad Jameson didn't seem to have time to do some serious flirting. He was great for business, but not nearly charming as he thought he was. She tried to make her smile look as natural as possible.
"Travel? You know I'm looking for jobs around Seattle, Jameson. But work is work and I'm not busy. What you got?"
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Arachnos
February 1st 2075, Friday morning, who cares whether the sun is shining or not? It's goddamn morning and some son of a bitch is waking you up.
It's not a son of a bitch, though. It's Molly and it seems that you have about 2.5 seconds left to set up your most winning smile, before Molly might change her mind and call somebody else to get shit done.
Arachnos sits up on the side of his bed in a rush. Looking in the mirror, he tries a smile on, but it ends up being more of a grimace. He shakes his head, and tries again. This time it looks a little better. It will have to do. Anyone else, I wouldn't even get up, but this could be important.
He accepts the call and says, "Morning." With a sigh, he thinks, That was smooth, you surely nailed that one.
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Landmine
"If you don't want to go abroad, tell me so. If you don't mind visitng the Old World, there might be some creds. I guess, it's not an AAA corp and I am not definitely sure about the wage, but it should cover your living costs for a while. There are a lot of muscles beside you. Travel expenses are born by Mr. Johnson. Estimated time spent around one month. Interest yes/no?"
Arachnos
Molly's face immediately fills the screen of your link. "Arachnos, I got a job for you. Europe. You're supposed to do the mojo stuff, pretty usual job description. I take it, you don't have other plans, otherwise I'd know. Wednesday, 9pm, Seventh heaven, 2nd floor, ask for Mr. Johnson. You're allowed to show up projecting, but don't fuck around and you have to pay your drink anyway. Everything clear, sweetheart?"
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Landmine
"If you don't want to go abroad, tell me so. If you don't mind visitng the Old World, there might be some creds. I guess, it's not an AAA corp and I am not definitely sure about the wage, but it should cover your living costs for a while. There are a lot of muscles beside you. Travel expenses are born by Mr. Johnson. Estimated time spent around one month. Interest yes/no?"
Mercy takes a few seconds to mull it over, "I'm definitely interested, it just brings up a lot of questions. You got any more info on the job?"
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Molly's face immediately fills the screen of your link. "Arachnos, I got a job for you. Europe. You're supposed to do the mojo stuff, pretty usual job description. I take it, you don't have other plans, otherwise I'd know. Wednesday, 9pm, Seventh heaven, 2nd floor, ask for Mr. Johnson. You're allowed to show up projecting, but don't fuck around and you have to pay your drink anyway. Everything clear, sweetheart?"
Europe? Well, that's certainly new.
Still, Arachnos could read the not-so-veiled message that Molly was sending. He immediately replies, "Yes, that's very clear."
After pausing for a second, he asks, "Any idea where in Europe?"
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Beetle
February 1st 2075, Friday morning, sun shining. Beetle is at his 4th mile of the morning run when he feels the slight twitch of an incoming call. An image of St Nick smiling broadly appears transparently flowing in midair before you.
Most people like to run through parks or along the water. Beetle gets it. They like to watch the water or nature or whatever. But he prefers to run through the industrial parks near his place in Tacoma. The wifi coverage is strong and there aren't a lot of AROs to get in the way of what he likes to look at while he runs. He has six windows open. Local news, tech blogs, the replay of the Supersonics game, bulletin boards. He loves the feel of his mind and body working out at the same time.
And then one window overlays them all. Incoming call from St. Nick. Beetle continues running and smiles as he answers the call, "St. Nick! What's up, dude? You got biz for me?"
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Mercy
"Yes, I do, but of course no details. It's going to be a sabotage job. Going in, destroying data, mayhaps placing a bomb, blowing everything up, going out again. Maybe in a more pleasant order. They take you somewhere to Europe. Ah, and here come's the interesting thing: I'm not allowed to be specific here, as long as you don't say definitely yes, but Mr. Johnson is not a corp. It's a group with, let's say, political interests.
They were not specific on the creds yet, but it definitely has 5 digits.
Any more questions, honey?"
Arachnos
Molly actually smiles. "Good boy, that's the spirit. Nay, I ain't got a clue, but to me it somehow sounded like Western Europe, but honestly: could also be my imagination. Are you definitely on the job or do you need time to reconsider?"
Her voice somehow changed after "or". It seems that there was a kind of pressure to it.
Beetle
"Jesus mercy, Beetle, you looked like un of 'em Greek gods back then. You should really lean back a li'l more or you'll never cultivate a nice belly like mine!
How're you doin'?"
[After the response]
"Ah, speaking of Greek gods reminds me. Europe, it was, huh? Chummer, I just got an interesting call. Someone's looking for a decker to support a kind of assault team working in Europe. That is, the team starts from here but flies there and gets some shit done. Are you free for like a month and in need of some creds? They might give you a pocket mone in Euro if you ask nicely."
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Beetle
"Jesus mercy, Beetle, you looked like un of 'em Greek gods back then. You should really lean back a li'l more or you'll never cultivate a nice belly like mine!
How're you doin'?"
[After the response]
"Ah, speaking of Greek gods reminds me. Europe, it was, huh? Chummer, I just got an interesting call. Someone's looking for a decker to support a kind of assault team working in Europe. That is, the team starts from here but flies there and gets some shit done. Are you free for like a month and in need of some creds? They might give you a pocket mone in Euro if you ask nicely."
"Europe?! That's....Awesome!! Dude, do you know where in Europe?"', he begins pulling up weather forecasts in the background. "I'm so in! When and where is the meet with Mr. J-Man?"
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Molly actually smiles. "Good boy, that's the spirit. Nay, I ain't got a clue, but to me it somehow sounded like Western Europe, but honestly: could also be my imagination. Are you definitely on the job or do you need time to reconsider?"
Her voice somehow changed after "or". It seems that there was a kind of pressure to it.
"Just fishing for information, you know how it is." A real genuine smile touches Arachnos' face. "I'm in, it sounds like an interesting change of pace." Meanwhile, his mind was racing with a list of stuff he wanted to do before the meet.
Seems like a good idea to scout out this restaurant. Maybe I'll learn something. In the meantime, I'll have to set up arrangements for remote payments to my landlord. Not that this place is amazing, but it's good enough to hold onto, if possible.
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Beetle
"That's my lad" St. Nick displays a broad grin. "No, to be honest, I don't have no idea where's it a-goin'. But you better bring a bottle of good French Chardonnay along on your way back home or you can look for another retired rigger putting nuyen in your well-trained arse." Nick keeps up his grin to mark that as a joke, before he comes back to business.
"So, if you're in, you go to Seventh heaven, 2nd floor and ask for Mr. Johnson. Time is Wednesday, 9pm. Uh, and in case you too love Latin, there's a hint for you about who's Johnney-Johnson: Terra prima primula signum exclamationis."
Nick blinks conspirationally. "There's not much more I can tell you, chummer. Don't forget about the wine, will you?"
8-bit
"Great. Don't forget my 2 % service charge, will you?
Have a nice stay in Europe. Pressing my thumbs you go to Italy or Austria. Food's great there."
Unless you interrupt at this moment, Molly breaks the connection.
It's still early in the morning, but you're to agitated to go back to sleep right now.
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"Great. Don't forget my 2 % service charge, will you? Have a nice stay in Europe. Pressing my thumbs you go to Italy or Austria. Food's great there."
As Molly terminated the connection, Arachnos decided to write down the address before he forgot it. Sure, Molly was to the point, but she knew what she wanted and she made things simpler for Arachnos. A reliable fixer is worth their weight in gold, fortunately, she hadn't asked for that. Yet. Well, there was no point in trying to fall asleep now; there was some work to do. He threw on his suit, put his commlink in his pocket, and checked himself in the mirror.
A completely bland and nondescript face stared back at him. Good, just the way he wanted it. No one expects the average person to be the one pulling some strings. Time to check out this Seventh Heaven place, maybe I can figure out who our most generous Mr. Johnson is. At the very least, I'll learn how expensive that drink I'll have to pay for is.
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Mercy
"Yes, I do, but of course no details. It's going to be a sabotage job. Going in, destroying data, mayhaps placing a bomb, blowing everything up, going out again. Maybe in a more pleasant order. They take you somewhere to Europe. Ah, and here come's the interesting thing: I'm not allowed to be specific here, as long as you don't say definitely yes, but Mr. Johnson is not a corp. It's a group with, let's say, political interests.
They were not specific on the creds yet, but it definitely has 5 digits.
Any more questions, honey?"
"I'm intrigued. I'll meet with them for sure. They give any reason why they aren't hiring locals?"
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Arachnos
You hear honking. Apparently, the morning street jam has just begun.
Mercy
"Honestly, I didn't ask. If it's important to me, I can call them, though. Shall I?"
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Hermes reaches for his comm and slides his trodes on.
"Hermes here, talk to me."
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Mercy
"Honestly, I didn't ask. If it's important to me, I can call them, though. Shall I?"
"Just curious. I might as well as them in person. I'm definitely interested enough to meet. I assume they want to meet?"
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Hermes
As you turn on your comm, your vision is filled by a well-known SIM floating through cyberspace: you see the well-robed, elegant figure of a hero not yet known to the trids. He's wearing a long black coat over a red shirt, a white mask, white gloves and a black cylinder. Yet he doesn't just look like a dandy (he does look like a dandy, Dandy Don to be exact) but he's more than this. He's a hero, he's the V of the 2070s, he's batman with a sense for style or Robin Hood in black. He's elegant, plainly put.
"There you are", he says with a cheerful note in his voice. "I didn't wake you up, Hermes, did I?"
Mercy
"They do. Come to Seventh Heaven, 2[super]nd[/super] floor and ask for Mr. Johnson. The date will be on coming Wednesday, 9pm. Make sure you're as pretty as you can be, honey. And don't embarass me, yeah? You're my visit card, kind of. I have to leave now. Huh, already 6.19! See you."
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Hermes composes himself and shakes off the cold sweat.
" Well met, Dandy . What, me sleep? You know there is no rest for the wicked in Seattle. "
" Did our latest " acquisition" find you successfully?"
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Mercy
"They do. Come to Seventh Heaven, 2[super]nd[/super] floor and ask for Mr. Johnson. The date will be on coming Wednesday, 9pm. Make sure you're as pretty as you can be, honey. And don't embarass me, yeah? You're my visit card, kind of. I have to leave now. Huh, already 6.19! See you."
"Sleep easy, I'll behave. Later."
Mercy opens up her gear bag and starts cleaning her guns. The repetitive task gives her some time to think over what she knows about the job offer. Something's off. It has to be cheaper to hire a local crew. So it's either something they won't touch, or it's a way to make it easier to dispose of us afterwards. Got to think about travel arrangements, figure out how Mr. Johnson wants to slot me, and make a backup plan.
She spends the rest of the night looking up commercial and private flight security regulations, along with recent political news in Europe. She'll check out the meeting place tomorrow.
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Beetle
"That's my lad" St. Nick displays a broad grin. "No, to be honest, I don't have no idea where's it a-goin'. But you better bring a bottle of good French Chardonnay along on your way back home or you can look for another retired rigger putting nuyen in your well-trained arse." Nick keeps up his grin to mark that as a joke, before he comes back to business.
"So, if you're in, you go to Seventh heaven, 2nd floor and ask for Mr. Johnson. Time is Wednesday, 9pm. Uh, and in case you too love Latin, there's a hint for you about who's Johnney-Johnson: Terra prima primula signum exclamationis."
Nick blinks conspirationally. "There's not much more I can tell you, chummer. Don't forget about the wine, will you?"
Terra Prima..., he puzzles for a second. "Oh! I gotcha, St. Nick. And I don't know much about wine dude, but I'll find you a bottle or two. Thanks for the biz, but I got to run. Literally.", and he laughs as he disconnects with St. Nick.
He makes a turn to start heading back to his apartment and closes all the windows in AR. He then opens his calendar and makes a note for Wednesday night: Mr. Johnson, 9PM @ 7th Heaven. With that done he opens up a Matrix search and inputs 'Terra First! European operations' and runs as he waits.
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Hermes
Dandy smiles. "The vile and wicked are ever restless. The evil may never sleep lest the shadows get unveiled.
Whew, okay, that was poetry enough. Yeah, it did, and bought me some nice sota gear. I trust you spent your reward wisely, my friend?"
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Beetle spends all the time on his run home combing through his search results. Looks pretty messed up. Chaotic. I guess I'll have to wait and see where I'm going before I know what kind of chaos it's gonna be.
He finishes these thoughts and his search as he rounds the corner to his apartment. He signals his commlink to open the door and walks up the stairs slowly, tired from his run.
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Hermes
Dandy smiles. "The vile and wicked are ever restless. The evil may never sleep lest the shadows get unveiled.
Whew, okay, that was poetry enough. Yeah, it did, and bought me some nice sota gear. I trust you spent your reward wisely, my friend?"
" Stocked back up, tried to grease a few wheels"
Hermes smile lestins slightly
" no good leads came of it though"
As if realizing his facade wasn't in tact, Hermes smile returns to it's practiced glory.
" Whats the word, on your end Dandy, any juicy data cross your deck?"
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Arachnos briefly checked the location of Seventh Heaven on his commlink. The page loaded much more slowly than it was supposed to, but he was used to that. Technology never worked correctly in his hands. After confirming the location, he realized it was not in walking distance. He would have to take public transportation.
You hear honking. Apparently, the morning street jam has just begun.
Damn, and I had hoped to go in person. Transportation is going to take forever. I think it's time for a quick astral trip.
Arachnos concentrated for a moment, and called out "Come to me, I seek a spirit to aid me!" Briefly, a spirit flickers into view, but then dissolves from Arachnos' vision as it returns to it's metaplane. I didn't even call for a particularly strong spirit!
He takes a moment to center himself, perhaps his tiredness had gotten the better of him. After a minute, Arachnos opened his eyes to the Astral world, and concentrating on the form of a fledgling Fire Spirit, once more called out, "Come to me! I require your aid!" This time, a Fire spirit emerged in his view, it's form only slightly larger than a small fire place. "I will grant you one service, summoner." It definitely sounded reluctant. I am off my game today if this is what I come up with.
He wills himself to rise, and his Astral form leaps from his body. He commands, "Watch over my body while I am gone. Inform me if anyone disrupts it." The spirit nodded briefly and then took a position in the Astral plane where it could overlook Arachnos' body. Content that his physical form would be secure, Arachnos willed himself towards Seventh Heaven, Astral space flying by him in a blur.
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Hermes
"Indeed, Chummer, that's why I'm calling ya. Somebody's building up a group that's supposed to go to Europe, and since you're Prince Charming, I guess, you might help flatten out any incoming disagreements or whatever. And I guess, an additional gun doesn't seem like something useless either.
Are you fine with going to Europe? Sounds cashy-cashy. Uh, and by the way: You still don't do lingua softs, do you?
Arachnos
It takes you almost two god-damn hours, until you find the club from the astral plane. It takes you only almost two minutes to figure out, that whoever's in charge of the magical security here, is better in summoning fire elementals. As you approach, you see a spirit the shape of an Islamic djinni, engulfed in and consisting of flames, who shoots you a warning gaze as you approach, but doesn't react to you in any other way.
But also from the distance you can see the pulsating energy from Seventh heaven like a huge bonfire in the middle of a plane in the dawn. Ecstasy, excitement, action and fun spurt like flames out of the building, but you can also sense misery, despair and wrath. Drowned out by the other emotions as they may be, they're still there, distorting the pulse of life Seventh Heaven emits.
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Hermes
"Indeed, Chummer, that's why I'm calling ya. Somebody's building up a group that's supposed to go to Europe, and since you're Prince Charming, I guess, you might help flatten out any incoming disagreements or whatever. And I guess, an additional gun doesn't seem like something useless either.
Are you fine with going to Europe? Sounds cashy-cashy. Uh, and by the way: You still don't do lingua softs, do you?
"You know i don't trust any tech in my body, not since then."
"Europe huh? Its been awhile since i have gotten to use any languages outside of the UCAS, where are we talking?
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Beetle enters his small apartment and does a quick look around to make sure his sister hadn't come over since he left for his run. He didn't mind if she was there, but she usually brought along her current loser boyfriend. That he would not have been cool with. But the apartment was empty.
Stripping off his clothes, Beetle jumps into the shower and tries to maximize the 3 minutes of hot water he usually gets. Once he's clean and changed, he sits in his chair and leans back. He closes his eyes and enters the Matrix.
His name Beetle was a childhood nickname that played off his last name. Roach=Beetle. He didn't like it at first, but after awhile he embraced it. Here in the Matrix he was Beetle. He looked down at his avatar and smiled virtually. He wasn't a bug. That would be nasty. Instead he looked like a superhero from 20th century comic books. Blue and black carapace armor and large yellow eyes that shone with golden light. Beetle was ready to go.
So I know its Terra First! But their European operations are dependent on the region. So I need to find out who it is specifically. I'll start there and see where that leads.
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Hermes
"It was a rhetorical question, partner. Good that I know but they don't. Uhm, honestly, I'm not entirely sure. Johnson was a little secretive about that. I can tell you what I know, that is: Mr. Johnson is an activist group. I'm really not allowed to tell you the name, but I will give you a hint as a friend: It starts with 'T'and ends with 'erraFirst!'. Psst!
It's going to Europe, no destination said. They said something about penetration, and I don't think they will want to you to test some Czech hookers. Considering the nature of your client, I guess it will be a sabotage job. They'll provide a private jet and a stewardess, though."
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Mercy spends the next day scouting Seventh Heaven. In the morning she pulls up their Matrix-site to get a better idea what the place is. After that, she takes her Mirage across town, then checks out the building on foot noting the entrances and exits.
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Seventh Heaven is a building on it's own, having three stories in addition the the ground floor, making it for in total. The main entrance is lit by purple-and-blue neon lights in a most appealing fashion (that is, they light the nights only at night of course). At day-time there are no AROs around except for what you find online anyway. There is one main entrance, one side entrance and a fire ladder that leads to every floor. There might also be a trap door on the flat roof, but you can't tell.
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Hermes
"It was a rhetorical question, partner. Good that I know but they don't. Uhm, honestly, I'm not entirely sure. Johnson was a little secretive about that. I can tell you what I know, that is: Mr. Johnson is an activist group. I'm really not allowed to tell you the name, but I will give you a hint as a friend: It starts with 'T'and ends with 'erraFirst!'. Psst!
It's going to Europe, no destination said. They said something about penetration, and I don't think they will want to you to test some Czech hookers. Considering the nature of your client, I guess it will be a sabotage job. They'll provide a private jet and a stewardess, though."
"Swanky! Where does Johnson wanna meet? Please tell me not a strip joint again. "
Hermes recoils from the memory of the last time he met with a Johnson at the "Squish Shack ".
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"Seventh Heaven, 2nd floor. I sent you an ARO containing their Matrix location. The meeting is at (he looks at his wristwatch) oh damn, six-fifteen.
Just jesting. You'll meet on Friday at nine. Ask for Mr. Johnson, apparently.
That said, I wish you a pleasent late-afternoon, my friend. Too-da-loo."
He swirls his cloak around him and disappears in a most dramatic fashion.
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Arachnos pauses a moment when he spots the Djinn looking at him. Floating in Astral Space, he feels vulnerable; there is no place to hide, no shadows to take cover in. After a few seconds, the Djinn turns his attention away from Arachnos. Even though he currently wasn't in a physical body, Arachnos felt the tension leave his shoulders. If the Djinn were going to attack him, it would have done so. Arachnos willed his ethereal form closer to the building, and he scanned the exterior, looking for any signs of wards before he entered. He had already had a rather embarrassing morning, it wouldn't help if he accidentally blundered into a ward while trying to work.
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After checking out the building, Mercy waits out the week for the meet. She goes about her usual routine, making sure her gear looks sharp and that she's ready for the meet on Friday.
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Arachnos
As you come closer, you can see that Seventh Heaven is four floors high, including the ground floor. The highest floor is indeed shielded by a ward, the other ones are not. You can see no further astral presence, but you can't look through the ward or the physical walls of the building.
But as soon as you come as close as 15 yards, the Djinn again turns its attention to you. Within a blink it's right in front of you, the arms of its muscular upper body crossed, its gaze stern and uninviting. Instead of legs you see a swirling tornado of haze and flames.
"What is your business here?", the djinn demands in a hissing and crackling voice that reminds of a campfire fed by too wet wood.
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Beetle steps away from the swirling search windows that surround his avatar, satisfied with what he has found. And it didn't take to long either.
Beetle slips away from the Matrix and opens his eyes to the meat world.
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"What is your business here?", the djinn demands in a hissing and crackling voice that reminds of a campfire fed by too wet wood.
Unfazed, and feigning annoyance Arachnos replied,
"I suppose that is not an unreasonable demand. Very well. I am here because an old friend of mine recently called and asked to meet. I asked him where, and he gave me the name of this place. I had no idea this place existed, so I wanted to check it out before I met with him. Unfortunately, morning traffic made mundane travel impossible, so I popped over here in Astral form instead. I was just checking out the building, as it was giving off some ... interesting auras. Alas, nothing interesting came of it."
He hopes that the spirit cannot detect him lying through his teeth. Damn, he had been really unprepared when he did this. He continued.
"May I go in now? I wish to see what is on the menu, so that I may be able to greet my old friend appropriately. I seem to recall that he enjoyed his liquor quite a bit; I would rather not offend him."
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"Tell me your name, then," the djinns demands.
"If I know your name as a today's guest, you may enter. Otherwise, leave this place and return in meat and bones, as is the custom of your race."
You're not sure, but you seem to sense a hint of contempt in its voice.
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"The name is Samuel. Samuel Blood."
Arachnos knows full well that his name isn't on the list, but he might as well play the con through. Fortunately, the spirit had shown all its cards and was going to let him off easy. A very lucky end for his lack of preparation. He would have to remind himself to not be so hasty next time, at the very least not play reckless games without some forethought.
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"You are not known to me, Samuel Blood," the spirit states plainly. Shooting you a last warning gaze he resumes his patrol.
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"Very well, you're just doing your job."
With that Arachnos wills his way back to his meat body. He had learned about all he could from that recon.
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Part 1: Harry "Hairy" Johnson
Seventh Heaven is as full on a Wednesday as any club can hope to be on Saturday. Flashy lights in purple and red color the whole road, and the club music pours out its opened gates. Two trolls in sunglasses stand before the entrance gate and check the guests' age and SIN (or at least pretend to do so). AROs add to the whirlwind of lights and music and enable you to order while you're still queuing to get in. Virtual semi-AIs usher you to come in and promise the night of your life. Drug dealers are shooed away by the security personnel and beggars always try to claim a little cash of youths in party mood and drunkards in, well, drunk mood.
It's yet another Wednesday evening. And it's going to be the start of a run to remember.
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Beetle steps out of the cab in front of 7th Heaven and takes in the scene in the front with a smile. This is gonna be fun!. Turning back, he pays for the ride and leaves a nice tip through the cab's ARO. The cabbie smiles and says, "thanks, chummer!" Before he peels off into the night.
Beetle dressed up as best he could for the meet. A light blue polo shirt, a dark blue blazer with silver piping, dark blue denim jeans and a pair of grey sneakers. His long blond hair was pulled back into a loose ponytail and he was wearing amber colored sunglasses. He was here as the 'tech guy', so he hoped Johnson didn't mind that he wasn't dressed to the nines.
Beetle gets into line and waits for his turn to step inside.
-
Arachnos rather enjoyed public transportation.
Sure, it wasn't the cleanest thing, and it wasn't as nice as a private car. But at least no one asked too many questions, you just paid your fare, and they got you there. Granted, they took their sweet time to do it, but they got you there; 9 times out of 10. Sometimes you could even pick up some interesting information from the wageslaves gossip. And above all, public transportation had one thing going for it.
It sure as hell beat walking.
The ride was fairly boring, everyone just minded their own business. Arachnos got out a few blocks away from Seventh Heaven, of course. It wouldn't do to appear coming out of a bus. Or would it? Perhaps they would appreciate someone who blended in with the normal folk. No, probably not. He walked his way towards his destination.
He was dressed in a good Zoe Executive suit, probably a little too well dressed for this place. Then again, they might just assume he was a rich guy who was slumming, which would be fine by him. Either way, he had no doubt he would fit in. His only concern was that the spirit he encountered earlier might show up, it was unlikely, and he doubted anything would come of it. Easy there, you're slipping a little far into paranoia there. Just relax, fit in. Everything is going to turn out fine; it always does.
Arachnos briefly thought about peeking into the Astral, but he remembered the sight he saw before. He dismissed the thought, there was no need.
Mimicking everyone else's excitement, he steps into the line and waits to go in.
-
The crowd is a bizarre mix of people. You find teenies, styled up with green hair, glowing tattoes, ARO auras, skirts which are hardly longer than some belts you've seen and machine pistols. You find execs heading for a meeting, dressed in shirts and suits, nice black boots and the most convinving I'm-not-armor-armor. You find the average thirty-five-year old dude hanging out with some buddies. You find virtually everything. On a Wednesday.
The queue is processed quite fast. They have either much or good personnel, both probably. Soon you find yourself in front of a troll - dressed in a very fine suit that just so doesn't manage to conceal hig bug gun and cudgel - towering before you.
"SIN or name please," he says.
-
"Orale, dude.", Beetle says to the troll as he steps up. He activates the ARO that has his fake SIN and pulls it up for the troll to inspect.
-
Hermes increases his charisma before leaving the house, then gets himself a taxi to head to the club.
-
The troll waves Beetle in without further comment to check the others in the row (including Hermes).
Behind him there's another security, as well-dressed as the one before, but less troll. "Please hand over any weapons, sir."
He gestures to a box, one of many that wait behind his corner. Meanwhile, he produces a handy retina-scanner.
"Once you deposited all your arms here, sir, might I please ask you the have your retina recorded. After that, you're free to dance the fuck outta ya."
He smiles - the kind of smile you smile when you smile more often in a minute than the word smile occurs in this sentence - and waits for you to hand over your guns and knives.
-
Mercy spends the afternoon loading her gear into a duffel bag in case she needs to move quickly to get to her flight. She makes arrangements to pay her rent and expenses remotely if needed. She tucks her credsticks into an interior pocket, and holsters her combat knives and Remington Suppressor. After taking care of her hair and makeup, she puts her ballistic mask into a pocket and throws on her lined coat. She fires up her Mirage and parks outside Seventh Heaven.
Ugh, she mentally groans looking at the mass of metahumanity waiting outside. At least the line seems to be moving quickly.
She waits her turn giving off her best, "don't slotting talk to me vibe". And when asked for her name simply states, "Mercy," interested to see how much Jameson shared with the Johnson.
-
As the line starts moving forward, Arachnos thinks Ah, screw it, never hurts to be too paranoid.
He takes a quick glance around him, making sure no one is looking. Good, no one seemed to be; they were all lost in their private conversations. With a quiet mutter, his spell starts to take shape; changing his features to resemble a Japanese man. He briefly feels a bit of pain, but it subsides quickly.
He arrives at the front, and with a winning smile, says "Samuel. Here's my SIN."
Come on technology, don't fail me now. Just broadcast my SIN successfully.
-
Mercy
The troll nods curtly and ushers you on. The second security smiles his most winning smile before he asks you to unhand your arms.
Arachnos
Your SIN is being checked, then the troll frowns. "Excuse me, Sir, there seems to be a problem with your SIN."
He gives you a moment, than adds. "Just joking. Get yourself in there, Mister."
-
Beetle looks at the second Troll and sees the Retinal Scanner. That is not chill! Pretending like his shoe is untied, Beetle steps to the side and lets the couple behind him step up first. He focuses on his AR display and looks for the Icon of the scanner.
-
It flies directly in front of your eyes, a virtual image of the real thing, just waiting to get marked.
-
Beetle's persona reaches through the Matrix and pulls out a golden flow of Resonance. Using his hands, he shapes the swirling energy into a spear and plunges it into the icon of the Retinal Scanner.
-
Beetle
The spear bursts as it hits the Retinal Scanner icon, fading into nothingness without having caused so much as a scratch. Well, if you look closely, there actually is a scratch, but not really one worth mentioning. Fortunately, the security system doesn't seem to have noticed you.
-
Mercy surrenders her knives and Suppressor. She looks at the retinal scanner skeptically, "What's the scan for?"
-
Arachnos flashes another smile and walks on through. Damn technology never works properly. Nearly gave me a heart attack.
Once inside, Arachnos looks around him, searching for any exits other than the one he went through.
-
Mercy
"Please, Miss, we are only concerned about our customers' security."
He presses a button, clearly not scanning your retina. Then, just as if you had undergone the security procedure, he continues. "Thank you. Please step in. Steps and lift are at the far end of the corridor."
The man turns to the next customer. "Your weapons, please!"
Arachnos
The security clears his throat and repeats with a little more stress in his voice. "Sir, your weapons, please."
-
Titanium
Elves, trolls, orks and dwarves didn't need to dress to stand out. They had their size, their looks, in some cases, their sheer imposing forms to get noticed by those standing around them, by those watching crossing the street to avoid them. Titanium *always* dressed to impress, be it a flight suit to take the imagination of youthful shadowrunners to the next level in order to take them for further of a penny or to dress in expensive splendor far beyond her actual class to make a Johnston sweat about his paygrade. Smuggler, Shadowrunner, the terms so separated but joined together to form what she actually did. And tonight, dressed in that fiery blue and silver dress, split down the centre and concealing the flight crew handgun she had always kept since so many, many years ago in the service in it's holster against her bear thigh flesh. Glasses across her eyes wobbling with tiny, soft glowing lights with her situational Augmented Reality. Compass heading, and all the other things the attentive (or paranoid shadowrunner could want).
It had been so long since she had actually met a Johnston, but this job she had been promised was special. Kirrim O'Hara, who's first name was merely a handle, the handle of that of her long standing partner in crime, occasional co-pilot and professional fixer, he had promised her this was something she wanted in on. And given the non-consensual vacation she had been on with the lack of decent paycheck smuggling runs or a Beenie, she did need the funding to maintain status quo. As good as the security she paid to keep her loft secure outside of city limits were, they wouldn't work for free. She was overdressed for the club, but she had intentionally done that. She always did that. Impression was always something to be applied. With that having been thought thoroughly, she advanced to join the queue.
And only armed her 'work' SIN (4) to broadcast when requested, deactivating it posthaste once the checks were done. And, as for her sidearm, slipping a hand underneath the split skirt to withdraw it, sliding out the magazine with a slow, almost caring touch, before depositing it to the tray provided. Giving the guard a stern sort of expectant gaze, before advancing into the club itself. She had a brand new team to meet up with, and a Johnston to be briefed by. And she had very little patience for wasted time.
-
Arachnos stops and turns around. He says, "I left mine at home; I didn't think I would need it. I just came here for a few drinks. Is that a problem?"
-
Well, I don't like that one bit. But it's already done. She decided not to make an issue of whatever scan the ork just made and walked into the club, looking for the area she was supposed to meet the new Johnson.
-
Titanium
Passing the security check without any further problems.
Arachnos
"It is not. Please let me routine-check you, before you enter." His face is stern, nothing any indication of something more than routin.
All save for Arachnos, yet.
Inside each of you who passes the security find yourself at a not-too-but-still-quite-loud bar shed in dull red light. The barkeeper is a young (?) elf, constantly smirking, who seems to have grown four arms, each simultaneously pouring beer, preparing a drink, accepting AROs and handing out champaign. And somehow he manages to file in a joke then and there.
To the left of the bar you can see a dancefloor sporting the most recent charts, the stuff the youth and wannabe-youths dance to. It's hip, it's fast and it's fun. At the far end you can see another dancefloor. The music that comes flooding from here is a little bit more neutral and old-fashioned. The stuff you listen to even without having done any drugs to bear the modernness of the shit they sell as music nowadays. Right before the entrance there is a staircase with an actual scarlet carpet.
In front of you dance six AR(R)Ows, each labeled with a name and, in small letters, the floor where it leads. They're all pulsating waiting to be activated. They say: - Chester's Club, 1st
- Rave Cave, 1st
- Hard Rock Cafe, 2nd
- Jingle Jungle, 2nd
- Meet and greet, 3rds kl
- Chillout Lounge, 3rd
-
"All right, do what you must." There's nothing incriminating for you to find anyway.
-
The man, still smiling his frozen smile, checks you swift but thouroughly. After finding nothing, he says: "Okay, thank you! Please enjoy your visit at Seventh Heaven!"
He waves you in, then goes on to the next customer.
-
Beetle swears in disappointment as his attack fails. Fraggin thing must be slaved to the club's host. Checking the time in his AR display he sighs with frustration. if I had more time I'd show them what I can do.. He steps up to the troll, "No weapons, omae, but let's get this scan done. There's some fine ladies in there and I don't want to miss my chance. Know what I mean?", he says with a wink and a smile.
-
For a short, tiny little while, she mingled. Eyeing off the room, the bodies, the staff. Maybe even had a bit of time to enjoy the dance as well. Minimizing her AR feed from her 'link to avoid the spam zones. Body loosened and heart rate elevated through dancing, she moved to the bar itself, eyeing off what was on offer. Torn for a moment before making use of the night and the consideration that she'd probably not return her again in her lifetime, and not drinking while at work, so to speak, she decided against it, nodding to the 'tender, and heading for the stairs to get to the second floor. The team she was to join might already be up there, so it was a day of two greetings, team and Johnston. For a job that she could not miss, apparently.
-
Beetle
The security grins for a moment. "I sure do. Got free entrance here in my leisure time, mate." Somewhere between "got" and "free" you hear the slightest of buzzes as your retina scan is confirmed and he around "my" he waves you on. The second security believes you and also ushers you into the club.
Titanium
As you come closer the animated version of a Silver Linings Special cocktail hovers above the bar, a tempting six point ninety-nine nuyen that would make you feel light and cozy not only because of its great taste. Discarding it, you move on and can only do so much as wonder how this Vishnu-kind-of bartender manages not only to see you smile while he simultaneously takes care of three customers, one of them ordering for four people, but also to answer it, if only in the shortest, but most welcoming smile you've received in a while.
As you move to the 2nd floor, you find yourself in the corner of what is obviously the Hard Rock Cafe. You find posters - some of them, but not most of them AROs - of rock idols from Alice Cooper to Black Mass. The room is relatively dark, but not so dark as to be unpleasing. Here is obviously some place where you can enjoy music and a drink, but still have a conversation that is unlikely to be overheard without technological support. The bartender is a musculed human with arms like drain pipes and a beard like Father Frost. Small dark purple (or deep purple?) lights on the ceiling (you have to turn off AR for instant to realize they're actually real) help you find a place to sit. A help most welcome since almost every table is already occupied. A red-haired waitress in short jeans and a leather top is busy handling the various orders.
Some yards along the right wall you can see the second exit, leading to Jingle Jungle and the staircase and elevator.
-
Mercy heads to the 2nd floor and gets the large bartender's attention.
"I'm looking for Mr. Johnson. I was told he would have a table here."
-
Arachnos shakes his head. You would think they expected someone to smuggle a damn Assault Cannon in here.
He is barely able to make out the AROs flashing in his view. The damn technology was acting up again. Seems like directions. He manages to make out the words 'Cafe 2nd'. He activates it, and it shows him a path. Which then flickers and dies before him. Not again! With a sigh, Arachnos pulls out his commlink. He reboots it, which takes another minute. Finally, it reactivates and the path stays steady before him. He follows it to the second floor.
He overhears someone asking the bartender a question.
"I'm looking for Mr. Johnson. I was told he would have a table here."
Perfect. I'll just follow her. He moves closer to hear the bartender's answer.
-
Mercy/Arachnos
The bartender leans on both his strong arms, displaying his tattoos and eyeing Mercy.
"Uh-uh, that he has". He takes a closer look at you.
"Wow. Uhm, I meant: Titanium, I presume?"
He scratches his leg, seemingly embarrassed.
-
It was like no club she had visited before, that much was for certain. The intricate combination of augmented reality and actual reality so well entwined that the unaware, or the easily affected might get confused between the two all together. Mix in achohol and you had the perfect way of making someone staying a little longer for just one more drink. The staff were trained and efficent, and presented themselves in just the right way. The knowledge the one who tended drinks here would gain over the course of a single night with skills like that would be astonishing. To gather accurate information from four different sources at once, and to be able to correctly relay that in the form of correct drinks to the customers would almost mean anything said in the bar at all would become knowledge to the owners. She wouldn't be surprised if the owner (or the 'tender's, in fact) Were in the information business. Bartending alone didn't pay all that well, afterall...
She'd have to be extra careful to check her tongue in a place like this. And it was when she was passing the bar, that maybe that earlier thought of professional worry was thrown out the window when she could hear the bartender refer to her name, that radio handle that had become her calling card. And the nerve! She wasn't even there speaking to him! And worse, he'd mistaken her for someone completely different. And while she had missed the earlier part of the conversation thanks to some distance, the mention of her name had her alerted. So, she stopped... And observed for the moment, facing the wrong way, but listening to see what was said.
Maybe the bartender would correct his mistake when he saw the *real* thing.
-
Mercy/Arachnos
The bartender leans on both his strong arms, displaying his tattoos and eyeing Mercy.
"Uh-uh, that he has". He takes a closer look at you.
"Wow. Uhm, I meant: Titanium, I presume?"
He scratches his leg, seemingly embarrassed.
Mercy gives him a flat stare with her unnaturally perfect eyes, "No. Where's the table?"
-
Beetle steps into the club already nodding his head to the music's bassline. He steps into the crowd and moves his way towards the bar. Grab a drink, then find Johnson Flagging down the bartender and waits a minute for him to make his way down. "Let me get a beer, dude!", Beetle yells to be heard over the music and the crowd. Once the beer is in his hand he makes his way back into the crowd and up the stairs to level 2.
Beetle scans the crowd and spots the red headed server making her way through the crowd. Beetle makes his way to intercept her and catches her attention. "When she gets close, Beetle leans in so that she can hear him. "Hey! I'm supposed to be meeting a Mr Johnson somewhere around here! Know where that might be?!"
-
Arachnos/Titanium
The bartender now leans a little bit closer, so you can't understand anything.
Mercy
The bartender now leans a little bit closer, so that anybody further away than a couple of inches can't understand anything. "Sorry, miss." You seem to hear a hint of real respect for you. "My apologies." He produces a small ARO in form of a key. "Please, take this key and move to the room on the right wall. It's unlabeled, and only for private business." That said, he raises his voice to a normal tune again.
Mercy/Arachnos/Titanium
"You'd have a beer, Miss?"
Beetle
"Oh, hello," the waitress says shyly smiling. "You must be, uh, one of Johnson's guests, I suppose. Silly me, sure you are." While stammering, she produces an ARO in form of a key. "You see the door to the right, over there? He'll meet you in there... Sir."
You don't fail to notice that she's hot.
-
Mercy
The bartender now leans a little bit closer, so that anybody further away than a couple of inches can't understand anything. "Sorry, miss." You seem to hear a hint of real respect for you. "My apologies." He produces a small ARO in form of a key. "Please, take this key and move to the room on the right wall. It's unlabeled, and only for private business." That said, he raises his voice to a normal tune again.
Mercy/Arachnos/Titanium
"You'd have a beer, Miss?"
Mercy smiles, "I'll take something imported, dark, and in a bottle. Dealer's choice."
She presents her credstick, takes her drink then moves towards the concealed door. She stops well away from it, checks to see if anyone is paying attention to her, then produces the ARO to it.
-
"Thanks!", Beetle says to the waitress as he grabs the ARO. "Here's my contact information if you ever need my...services.", and he produces an ARO of his own that he hands to her. "Gotta run! Biz to handle!", and then he makes his way to the unmarked door.
-
The tender leaned in, voice dropping to a low, hushed whisper, inaudible compared to the loud music and buzz of the place she was in, the activity all around her as people got well and truly smashed this evening. No occasion. Just a time to drink, get wasted and hang out with friends, wasting what little spending cred they had to burn. A tap on her shoulder that she only paid half attention to, a waitress with a tray of drinks trying to hock her something. For sake of appearances, she swiped out with her hand and swiped the credstick in seconds, taking the 'local' brew in glass bottle in hand, gripping around it tightly. The screwtop closed for now, but armed if she needed it. The girl mistaken for her in all that finery shifted away from the bartender and his bar, off to the flank somewhere... And she followed, slipping through the crowd. She wasn't entirely trying to be sneaky about it, the size of the crowd, the drunks and the staffers make it easy enough to follow a handful of metres back without getting a blade to the stomach.
And when she stopped at the unmarked door, she broke from the crowd while the girl was trying to see if she'd been followed (And she had been.) Titanium approached, slow and front on, speaking softly, just enough to be heard, beer in hand. "A pleasure to meet you. Thank you for not using my name," A smile. First of the new team.
-
The tender leaned in, voice dropping to a low, hushed whisper, inaudible compared to the loud music and buzz of the place she was in, the activity all around her as people got well and truly smashed this evening. No occasion. Just a time to drink, get wasted and hang out with friends, wasting what little spending cred they had to burn. A tap on her shoulder that she only paid half attention to, a waitress with a tray of drinks trying to hock her something. For sake of appearances, she swiped out with her hand and swiped the credstick in seconds, taking the 'local' brew in glass bottle in hand, gripping around it tightly. The screwtop closed for now, but armed if she needed it. The girl mistaken for her in all that finery shifted away from the bartender and his bar, off to the flank somewhere... And she followed, slipping through the crowd. She wasn't entirely trying to be sneaky about it, the size of the crowd, the drunks and the staffers make it easy enough to follow a handful of metres back without getting a blade to the stomach.
And when she stopped at the unmarked door, she broke from the crowd while the girl was trying to see if she'd been followed (And she had been.) Titanium approached, slow and front on, speaking softly, just enough to be heard, beer in hand. "A pleasure to meet you. Thank you for not using my name," A smile. First of the new team.
Mercy looks the new arrival up and down, then checks to make sure no one is eavesdropping.
"Null sweat. I'm Mercy. Have to say, I'm starting to wonder about this job. What's the point of getting a private room if you tell the whole fraggin staff our names? I don't suppose you know the other guy who was hanging around the bartender?"
-
Mercy and all the eavesdroppers
The 'tender answers dryly: "We don't serve bottled niggers, miss."
Anyway, he turns around and grabs a bottle, unplugs it and pours its content into a glass. Depending on her reaction to the joke, he hands her the beer grinning or a little shyly.
Beetle
She stares at him. "Oh. Uh, wow, thank you." She smiles, then looks after him as he heads for the door.
Anyone who opens the door wielding the key ARO
Behind you find a dimly lit room. It is not very big, but quite cozy. A fake fire casts light on four red sofas surrounding a small glass table. The walls are painted in elegant emerald green and have a texture like glass. The exterior wall, however, is a big window, allowing the view on Seattle at night. There are painting and wallscreens on the walls, and the whole room is lit by indirect light. It's nothing special, but a really nice conference room.
A conference room without audience.
-
That's just great. They are so paranoid yet have such terrible security. What a nuisance.
Arachnos hangs back for a few minutes before approaching the bartender. I wonder if they are recognizing us by our faces. Guess I'll find out.
"Hello, I seem to be a little lost." he says with a, fake, sheepish grin. "I was supposed to meet my friend here; the reservation is under Mr. Johnson. Could you help me?"
-
Arachnos
The bartender grins as you approach him and straightens his back, displaying a whole lot more of muscles that you know human beings are supposed to have.
"Ha! Sure, who would that be. And your name is...?"
-
Arachnos tilts his head slightly as he looks over the bartender. Were the muscles supposed to be intimidating? Damn it, I don't have time for this. Security already held me for longer than I wanted. In a low voice, in order to avoid eavesdropping, he says, "You can call me Arachnos."
-
"Oh."
"Oh!
Sure, sir. Here's the key."
He hands you the same key-shaped ARO, then tilts his head in to suggest the direction of the door. "You see the unlabeled door over there? Mr. J's gonna meet you there."
-
Playing the role of the Japanese businessman once again, Arachnos nods, and says "Arigato, my friend. Thank you very much." He accepts the ARO and bows in thanks. He then takes his leave and heads towards the door that the bartender indicated.
I'm not exactly sure if he could have possibly been more obvious. Even if it's his first time dealing with runners, that was ... bad.
Arachnos is careful to keep the thoughts out of his expression, and looks at the door in AR. Sure enough, there's a keyhole. He takes the glowing key, and inserts it. I bet a skilled hacker could tear this place apart, all of it's defenses are Matrix based. Not that that's every helped me. Fortunately, everything works fine as the door opens. He enters into the room. He looks around, checking out his surroundings. I suppose it's a nice room. No shadows though. I'm not sure if that's good or bad yet.
-
Arachnos
As you move closer to the table you find it's surface is a screen. In this case, a screen displaying the cocktail menu.
-
Titanium shifted upon her feet, leaning to the right a sight to get an overview of everything that had passed over behind her, while at the same time keeping her head turned to the girl, Mercy, now that she had a name to attach to the face of the person she'd just met, but would almost certainly be working together with in the very near future. It was clear that the over-dressed woman was eyeing Mercy up, getting a feel for where her skills might lay, and she didn't really bother to hide it all that much. The sooner they were aware of each other's skillset the better. But before she could cookup a response, the devil himself, the very subject of their conversation strolled right on by them without a single word as to why they were waiting at the unmarked door, popped the AR key and siddled his way inside the private room itself without so much as a passing glance to the pair.
Her eyes turned to Mercy's once more, giving her a perfectly easy to see 'what the drek' look before opening her mouth to speak, still gripping that full bottle of booze, as a drink for later, or as a weapon... "Well, that'd be contestant number three, and he's certainly wasting no time. Shall we as well?" She offered her free hand as a motion of 'after you' before following in, stepping in behind the man who had cleared the doorway itself, but there was no Johnson to be found within.
As if to annouce to the man who had entered the room first, she spoke up about nothing in particular. "Ah, the ones who want to teleconference..."
Perception test (For Mercy) To determine likely skillset/stats.
3,5,5,2, = One hit.
-
Mercy and all the eavesdroppers
The 'tender answers dryly: "We don't serve bottled niggers, miss."
Anyway, he turns around and grabs a bottle, unplugs it and pours its content into a glass. Depending on her reaction to the joke, he hands her the beer grinning or a little shyly.
The terrible joke receives another flat stare and a single raised eyebrow. Mercy wastes no more time on him as she leaves the bar.
Titanium shifted upon her feet, leaning to the right a sight to get an overview of everything that had passed over behind her, while at the same time keeping her head turned to the girl, Mercy, now that she had a name to attach to the face of the person she'd just met, but would almost certainly be working together with in the very near future. It was clear that the over-dressed woman was eyeing Mercy up, getting a feel for where her skills might lay, and she didn't really bother to hide it all that much. The sooner they were aware of each other's skillset the better. But before she could cookup a response, the devil himself, the very subject of their conversation strolled right on by them without a single word as to why they were waiting at the unmarked door, popped the AR key and siddled his way inside the private room itself without so much as a passing glance to the pair.
Her eyes turned to Mercy's once more, giving her a perfectly easy to see 'what the drek' look before opening her mouth to speak, still gripping that full bottle of booze, as a drink for later, or as a weapon... "Well, that'd be contestant number three, and he's certainly wasting no time. Shall we as well?" She offered her free hand as a motion of 'after you' before following in, stepping in behind the man who had cleared the doorway itself, but there was no Johnson to be found within.
As if to annouce to the man who had entered the room first, she spoke up about nothing in particular. "Ah, the ones who want to teleconference..."
Perception test (For Mercy) To determine likely skillset/stats.
3,5,5,2, = One hit.
"Might as well. It doesn't look like subtlety is an option any more."
Mercy walks into the room with Titanium and takes a look around. She cycles her vision through its low-light and thermographic modes, looking for oddities. She then greets the third runner to show up, "Is it just me, or does this whole setup scream 'amatuer hour'?"
-
Beetle flicks the key ARO at the door and waits for the lock to click before turning the knob and opening the door. He walks in, taking in the room and the three people inside. "Chill, I was hoping I wasn't the first one here.", he says with a half smile. "I'm Beetle. I'm your Matrix and tech dude." He walks further into the room looking out the window for a second before sitting himself on one of the red couches. "Pretty sweet digs, neh?", he says and then takes a long pull off his beer.
-
She then greets the third runner to show up, "Is it just me, or does this whole setup scream 'amatuer hour'?"
"It is not just you," you hear a relatively deep and pleasent voice rumble in. It belongs to a very tall figure standing in the doorframe and striding right through without so much as greeting you. His face is stern yet handsome, serious yet relaxed. He's wearing an elegant suite and only a shadowrunner or other professional would recognize it as profound armor. His stride is something in between the loping of a hunting wolf and the self-confident stride of a president. The long ponytail, which is slightly shimmering in a metallic fashion doesnt manage - or attempt - to hide his pointy ears or his datajack. Obviously, he's wearing no weapon, but he also doesn't appear to need one.
You might find him sympathetic or no, cool or no, tough or no, but there's no way you don't find him professional.
"You may call me FY. Let's hope Mr. Johnson is more professional than the location he chose."
He appears to be a little bit ... unsatisfied with the occasion, otherwise a little dry yet eager and not unfriendly per se.
-
Everyone seemed to have arrived all at once. Arachnos turns around to see a few runners in the room.
"You may call me FY. Let's hope Mr. Johnson is more professional than the location he chose."
"I certainly hope so. What I've seen so far is not very appealing."
He looks around the room. "Since we all seem to be passing out names, I suppose I should tell you mine. You can call me Arachnos."
-
"Pretty sweet digs, neh?", he says and then takes a long pull off his beer.
"Nice to meet you, Beetle. I would have preferred something a bit more private. But it'll do."
"It is not just you," you hear a relatively deep and pleasent voice rumble in. It belongs to a very tall figure standing in the doorframe and striding right through without so much as greeting you. His face is stern yet handsome, serious yet relaxed. He's wearing an elegant suite and only a shadowrunner or other professional would recognize it as profound armor. His stride is something in between the loping of a hunting wolf and the self-confident stride of a president. The long ponytail, which is slightly shimmering in a metallic fashion doesnt manage - or attempt - to hide his pointy ears or his datajack. Obviously, he's wearing no weapon, but he also doesn't appear to need one.
You might find him sympathetic or no, cool or no, tough or no, but there's no way you don't find him professional.
"You may call me FY. Let's hope Mr. Johnson is more professional than the location he chose."
He appears to be a little bit ... unsatisfied with the occasion, otherwise a little dry yet eager and not unfriendly per se.
"Glad someone agrees. What's your job, FY?"
He looks around the room. "Since we all seem to be passing out names, I suppose I should tell you mine. You can call me Arachnos."
Mercy looks assured that others share her opinion of their potential patron, and gives him a friendly nod, "I'm Mercy. I'm your meat-space protection."
-
Before answering, FY shuts the door behind him. He then turns around to Mercy and scrutinizes her for a moment, still unsmiling yet not unfriendly. "I guess, that means, first of all, I'm your partner. Or backup. I'm trained in combat, both melee and ranged. Apart from this, I'm the jack-in-the-box. A little of a decker, a little of a negotiator - not that I'm especially charming, but pointy ears make you the negotiator in case. And tailored pheromones help." He now blinks.
"So we've gut muscles, Matrix support, a multifunctional elf and ... a Japanese sarariman? A magician? A gunslinger adept?"
While talking FY eases himself into the couch, generating an ARO menu from the menu on the couch, hovering before him in mid-air as he half-interestedly flips through the veg cocktails.
-
"All we need now is the Johnson.", says Beetle, taking another sip of his beer.
"But looking at this getup", he says pointing with his bottle towards the table, "I'm not sure J-man is doing this meet in the meat."
-
"So we've gut muscles, Matrix support, a multifunctional elf and ... a Japanese sarariman? A magician? A gunslinger adept?"
"A decent guess. I'll be providing some magic support for us, provided this meet goes better than it has so far."
Arachnos looks out the window, down at the busy traffic of Seattle. So many to places to conceal oneself out there, so few to conceal oneself in here. Nothing to help that.
"All we need now is the Johnson.", says Beetle, taking another sip of his beer.
"But looking at this getup", he says pointing with his bottle towards the table, "I'm not sure J-man is doing this meet in the meat."
Arachnos says nothing, but is internally cursing himself. Should have known with all their reliance on technology it would be a virtual meet. Damn stuff never works for me.
After a few moments, he says, "Perhaps, but why would he want us all to meet here if we were going to meet virtually anyway? That seems like a waste of resources and time to me." A few more moments passes by before he adds, "Then again, with how this has been going so far, I don't think our Johnson sees things the same way I would."
-
"That depends on which message Johnson wants to send," says FY. "If he's a fuck who wants to remind us that our place is at the other end of his credstick, it makes sense. Or else he might want our team to get to know each other in person."
Unmotivatedly, he zaps through the menu, then enlarges an Icon of the Virgin Moquito. I guess, the good stuff will have to wait for after the meeting.
He activates the icon. For a split-second you see a green script reading "Good choice!" before the icon vanishes. FY dismisses the menu ARO and examines the room with an imminent calm opposing the growing impatience in the meeting room.
-
Titanium held a pause at Mercy's intial question, letting the banter bounce across the room before she answered with a bit of a wry, long term 'in-the-biz' remark. "He didn't try to get us high before the meet so he could attempt to rip us off, so I'll give him at least a D," she noted, giving a little insight into her actual, proper, formal education within the system, some sort of system that didn't involve running away from daily gunfire, or learning how to tell a dealer to go bork themselves with a retractable baton. That being said, she cast her eyes to the fourth, the man introducing himself as Fy, who must have been the last, for the door he shut behind him. Maybe she had overdressed for the occasion (She had, but that was the point) just a little too much, given those around her. Was the ankle length split length dress a slight too bit fancy, even for her intentionally overshot mark? No, she decided finally. She took up residence right at the door, far enough in that if opened, it wouldn't smack her in the back of the head.
So, Mercy was the muscle. Fy added to this muscle, as well as a smattering of other talents. Someone was the decker, Beetle, but maybe not the rigger. And she wasn't sure about the one titled Arachnos though. In an attempt to tease it out of him, she waited for the short pause in conversation, finally introducing herself properly. Good chance to know who knew what, as well. She studied the reactions carefully.
"And I'm Titanium. Pilot, smuggler, armourer, face, "she accented, showing her... distaste for the word, but it so easily described her abilities and skills with the spoken word in more than any lengthy sentence could to the average shadowrunner or their compatriots. She thought to add more, but decided to hold her tongue, for the moment, eyeing off their reactions, and listening before adding any more. She turned her head to Fy, busying himself with looking at cocktails. "The man would hardly have to remind us,"
-
Nell
Nell swipes the AR key, opens the door a few inches, pauses, then opens it some more as she pokes her head through the frame,
"oh, Hi! Um...am I late? You're all part of this runner team right? Oh shit...you better be, or I just really fucked this up didn't I..."
She steps into the room, closes the door behind her, and glances awkwardly around at the rest of you.
As far as you can tell she's human, with a pretty average build too. Dark shoulder length hair frames her pale face and soft dark eyes. She's wearing worn out jeans and a flimsy sleeveless shirt that makes her bare arms stand out, not to mention the gap in leaves across her stomach. She's got a glass of whisky in her left hand, an unlit cigarette in her right, and a pair of glasses dangling from the neckline of her shirt.
Next to Titanium it's almost a comic effect, made slightly less funny by how nervous she actually seems.
-
Beetle smiles at the newcomer. I'll say this for Johnson, he has an eye for the ladies. "You're in the right place, and you're not late either. We're just in the 'getting to know one another' phase. I'm Beetle, by the way. we're still waiting on Johnson, so you might as well take a seat."
-
Mercy takes a look at the newcomer and scans the room again.
"Drek, how many people do they plan on hiring?"
-
As Titanium introduces herself, a smile appears on FY's lips. How can one describe a smile on FY's lips. It's something like "a zebra on a mountain range" or "a zombie in a love flick". It's there, but it's obvious it doesn't belong here. Not that it doesn't like nice or so. It just looks ... out of place, somehow. But then, it does look nice.
"Titanium? The smuggler? Glad you're with us. You do have a name among those who are in the biz." He eyes her closely, examing her reaction. His gaze is something in between a tiger's watchin his prey before it attacks and a little girl's when she's told that she's allowed to go to the amusement park with her favourite uncle next week.
He looks around, then suddenly frowns, the smile vanishing. Could it be? Good heavens, oh my...
He exhales a half-amused sigh, and that very moment the door opens and Nell pops in. The smile reappears after her short introduction, now genuinely and unmistakeably amused.
He says nothing, but his eyes are fixed on Nell now, following her every move as she enters. Anyone who's not paying attention to Nell but to FY instead could see that he moves his hand in awkward waving motion, palm down, you wouldn't have any clue where it comes from. Apparently, he's enjoying himself. There's an almost peaceful (yet greedy, almost luring) expression on his face.
"Drek, how many people do they plan on hiring?"
"As it is six o'clock now and I wouldn't assume a professional being late..." He pauses there for a moment to give everybody enough time to complete the sentence in their minds: like Mr. Johnson "... I would bet on six."
While speaking he doesn't avert his eyes from Nell.
-
Arachnos turns around at the sound of another person entering the room. Just another runner.
Silently, he decides the temptations is too great. He opens his eyes to the Astral world, as he looks at his companions.
-
Nell
"Nice to meet you...Beetle" She makes a move as if to shake Beetles hand, then seems to realize she's still holding the cigarette and thinks better of it, but still gives him an awkward smile. Then she gives an embarrassed look and makes for an open and out of the way spot in the room, putting the table between herself and FY.
She stands there, looking around the room and glancing awkwardly at each of you, it's seems like this could be her first meet ever. She shifts her wait from one foot to the other, then back, then goes to take a draw on the cig, realizes it's not lit and drops her hand down again, rotates the glass of whisky in her hand but doesn't actually drink any...
Finally she seems to chill out a bit, then looks sharply over at FY...
"What's your deal man? If you're brains in your pants you might as well look over at her..." She gestures (cigarette in hand) towards Titanium.
(note: she certainly hears the comments about times and number of runners and professionalism and all that...but she seems pretty distracted by the scene as a whole and doesn't react to the discussion specifically)
-
After a few seconds he shakes his head, as if to shake off a memory or thought.
"Sorry, darling, to disappoint you. It's not like that. You ... just remembered me of someone. Anyway, do you need a lighter?"
His expression recovers. He looks stern again.
-
Nell
After a few seconds he shakes his head, as if to shake off a memory or thought.
"Sorry, darling, to disappoint you. It's not like that. You ... just remembered me of someone. Anyway, do you need a lighter?"
His expression recovers. He looks stern again.
"Neh I'm good" she responds instantly, with out much apparent consideration. At this point she stops glaring at Fy and takes a step back so she can lean against the wall. She looks around at the rest of the group and the room and rotates her glass some more.
-
As Arachnos scans his companions, he takes down some mental notes. Most of them appear to be mundane, with various amounts of 'ware, although he can't seem to get much of a reading off of Beetle or Neil. Anything is better than nothing.
He looks at Neil, who seems to finally have gotten her bearings. He asks, "You know anything about the Johnson, or are you in the dark like the rest of us?"
-
As if summoned by his name, the door opens, and Mr. Johnson enters the room. First thing you notice: He's big. Standing a good deal more then 6 feet tall, he's bulky, too. Second thing: He's hairy. Mr. Johnson has a long red mane, surrounding his head like flamers, and a bushy red beard.
He's wearing casual clothes. Blue jeans, and not a new pair. A black Scream Terror shirt. Sneakers. A green headband displaying a tree on a blue background. Leather wristbands.
"Oh ... uh, good evening, ladies and gents. So sorry for being late. I got caught in a traffic jam. I am Harry, Harry Johnson. Some also call me Hairy Johnson..."
He looks around, looking at all these faces. "Did you get yourself drinks already? It's on my bill, you know... Kay, let's see, who's there."
He again looks around. "Mercy, mhm. Titanium, good. Frozen Yoghurt, there. Arachnos... Where is Arachnos?" He glances up, looking for the man.
-
Nell
He looks at Neil, who seems to finally have gotten her bearings. He asks, "You know anything about the Johnson, or are you in the dark like the rest of us?"
Nell looks back at Arachnos and shrugs, then turns towards the door as Johnson enters.
-
Arachnos tilts his head as he stares at the Johnson. "I find it interesting that you are identifying all of us by sight. Very interesting indeed." Arachnos steps into his view and dissolves the illusion. "Does this satisfy your concerns?"
-
"Oh. I, uhm, didn't recognize you, obviously."
Well, what did you expect? That I would identify you by DNA sample in a kick-off meeting?
"Okay, great. So, we have Arachnos, Beetle and ... Nell. Very good, now."
He lays his hands in his laps and pauses, as if to collect himself. "So, I guess you do have many questions. Let me begin ...
I represent TerraFirst! which I'm quite sure you must have heard of. We do our best to protect nature and environment, and we're not afraid of using fire against fire. We are the freelancers of Gaia, if you want so say so. Thus, I guess, you and I are not so different. Only, you know, our aims are not quite the same.
That is, until now, because cash is going to make our aims your aims now. And our aim is to destroy a facility that threatens not only Sibirean tigers and some oak-trees but the lives of many people as well. There are going to be weapon tests - I'm talking of a weapon of the mean sort - going to happen in the rural regions of Russia. But we're not going to just sit by and watch - we're not going to let this happen. That means: You are not going to let this happen. Here's the objective: Go to Russia - we will provide a jet - and bring down this facility. Furthermore and more importantly: deprive them of the engineering plans of this weapon. And if you want to earn some extra nuyens: give us the names of those responsible for the construction of it. Or, if possible, their heads."
His expression darkens. His black eyes resemble chunks of coal amidst the fiery haze of his red mane and beard.
"Are you interested?"
-
Beetle listens quietly, slightly disappointed at the runs location. So much for a Paris vacation.. But as Johnson outlines the job, Beetle's apprehension level rises. "Sorry Mr Johnson, but I've got some questions. My major concern is that you said 'Siberian Tigers'. I think Siberian Tigers are way cool and I'm all good for protecting them and some trees. But I don't know about going to Siberia. I hear the whole place is run by some major mojo spirit and that the place is crawling with werewolves. Or werebears. Or were-somethings. The point is, is that sounds pretty fraggin' dangerous. So are we going to Russia or Yakut?"
-
Hairy Johnson looks slightly caugth off-guard. "Uh, Western Russia. I kind of thaught that Siberian tigers would live all over Russia. Do they not? I've never been there myself, to tell the truth. So, rest assured. I'm not dumping you in one of the most dangerous zones."
-
Beetle nods at Johnson's answer, "That's chill, man.", and he takes a swig off his beer.
-
Mr. Johnson nods, then looks into the round.
"My ... organization will provide a private jet that will bring you to Moscow. From there you will have access to a helicopter. I was told, that Titanium can handle that craft. You will receive the exact coordinates as soon as you accept the job. From Moscow, you will fly there - or any place nearby - and start your, uhm, operation.
If anyone's out, let them now speak or horever hold their peace. I'm not going to discuss further details with dropouts."
-
Russia? Not exactly a luxury spot, but the places we run never are.
Thoughtfully, he looks at the Johnson. "I assume arrangements have been made to bypass airport security?"
-
"They have. You are going to fly privately, for one. And you're not being asked questions, regarding items that you should, erm, pay duty on."
Hairy Johnson eyes the group, then hmm's.
He produces a small chip. "There you find the location and what little data we have on the facility you're going to attack as well as details regarding the weapon. Soon's you touch that chip, you're in. Fine about that?"
-
Satisfied that he wouldn't have to deal with security, Arachnos shrugs and replies, "Works for me."
He waits for the others to agree to the job.
-
"Fine."
Hairy Johnson flashes a toothy smile, then turns serious again. "I'm surprised that in a team of six shadowrunners no one asked for how much the payment will be. I was assured you are professionals. You are, are you not? Matters are ... delicate in Russia.
Sixteen kay, by the way. That's a lot more than usual, since it's gonna take a while and you will have to buy a new jacket before you go to Russia. That said, there's not gonne be more from where they come. We're a non-profit organization and I have to admit that it makes me a little nervous that we even do have that amount spare.
If you have any questions on the job, right fucking now would be the time."
-
"I cannot speak for the others, but I assumed the payment would fall under the "details" of the run, and I only agreed to discuss the details just now. I find that price is usually negotiable once more information is understood; you were the one with the ultimatum. I assure you, we are professionals." He pauses a moment to let his words sink in. "All right, let's get down to business, shall we?" He says with a smile.
"Let's start with who we're running against. Is it one of the Big Ten? If it isn't, there might be less security that will make our job easier."
-
Harry rubs his hands and flashes you another smile. In the shadow biz there are a lot of smiles: Polite, fake smiles. Death promising smiles. Tactical smiles. This one seems a genuine one, though.
"So-ka, now the ice is broken let's get to the core o' stuff.
The target ain't no big ten. It's Krime, a Russian arms company. You might have heard of them. They have a market share in the UCAS, but it's not well-represented."
-
Titanium had been awfully silent in that professional manner of hers, standing and in fact moving to lean against the wall, nodding every now and then as their Johnson spoke. A feel gooder. Man, she was getting into these more and more every day. A little smile bore across her lips. And they were providing a helicopter as well? How... handy. She had been silent for so long that some might have been surprised when she actually spoke up at all.
"Krime," She repeated, after the Johnson paused, "Know of 'em. Produce the one of the modern knock offs of the A-K." Shadowrunner's attacking a gun factory? That'd be a first. Mentally, she was already running through the logisitics of the operation...
-
"Actually their most sold arm in North America is an assault cannon. Basically the Russian version of the notorious Panther XXL, only half the price. But let me assure you, they do not build infantry weapons in the factory you're going to sabotage. We don't know any details, but we are talking about mass-destruction weapons here.
Mass-destruction weapons that are going to be tested in inhabitated regions, to be specific."
There is a fire burning in Harry's eyes, and you don't have to be a psychologist to read the fury in his face.
Frozen Yoghurt leans back. His expression his difficult to read, but you think "contempt" could be a word that doesn't suit all too badly.
-
"I'm sorry"
Hermes gets up and straightens his suit. "The job really sounds tempting, but business prevents me from staying abroad a lengthened span of time. I have to thankfully refuse your offer, Mr. Johnson."
Hairy Johnson follow Hermes with his eyes, chaws twitching. You can see he doesn't like it. He even likes less what's happening next.
"I'm out as well"
It's Mercy's voice. "No way I'm going to friggin' Russia. In Seattle I get twice the dough in the same time without freezing my ass off. Night, chummers."
They both leave the room, before Harry is able to say:
"Ummh..."
It is FY's deep, dry voice that interrupts us. "There go our gunslingers. I guess, Russia is no safe spot for a runner team without some muscle.
I know someone. She's good and she's professional. I'll call."
You see Mr. Johnson is uncomfortable about losing control, but then, he seems to lack a better idea. He just nods approval to at least maintain the illusion of being in charge.
FY takes up his 'link. After less then two seconds he says: "Who am I talking to?"
His voice is rough but pleasant. He waits for a response, than smiles his predatory smile of his says with a perfectly calm voice: "16k is what I'm calling for."
Another span of silence, then FY smiles again, this time friendlier. Or amused. "To keep it short. I'm in a meeting with Mr. Johnson right now. Our muscles jumped off because they don't fancy spending some time in Russia, cuz that's where it's going. Sabotage. You wanna do the gilette, now is a good time to say so"
Silence.
"Mr. Johnson is from TerraFirst! We get the flight and a heli in Russia. 16.000 Nuyen each. There is a weapon factory we're supposed to blow up. And we are to secure some plans. Are you in?"
Response time.
"Meet me in two hours at Dave's. I'll give you the details and introduce you to whoever wants to come."
"She's in," FY announces.
Hairy Johnson nods in appreciation, but doesn't smile.
"Good... Well. Are there, um, any other questions? Otherwise I will take your presence as a yes."
-
Arachnos smiles and lightly taps his fingers on the arm of his chair. "Now, Harry, we're all friends here, aren't we? The others," he gestures with his hand at the door, "may have left, but the rest of us are good to our word. You don't need to convince us to take the job, but what you do need to do is tell us what our job is. You said you want us to destroy this facility. Would you care to elaborate on what you mean? Discreetly sabotaging a place and destroying their prototype and blueprints is a different story than," he pauses for a moment, and what appears to be a slight look of distaste crosses his face, "blowing up a research facility. Don't hold anything back, it would be ... unfortunate if this run were to be compromised by lies and secrecy."
-
"Ho, I'm not lying or keeping anything secret"
He raises his arms in a defensive gesture.
"The target is to prevent this mass-destruction weapon - you will find anything we know about it on the chip I gave you - from ever coming to be fired. This means, TerraFirst! wants you to destroy all the data you can find about the bomb, all the prototypes and all the facilities for its construction so thouroughly that they not only are not able to build it ever again but also that they will never be able to reconstruct it from whatever remains.
As to the engineers ... I am open to negotiation if you persuade the engineers never to attempt to work on this or similar weapons ever again."
His expression is fierce.