Shadowrun
Shadowrun Play => Play-by-Post => Topic started by: rednblack on <05-06-15/1408:34>
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<<5 May, 2075 13:27 // Dallas/Fort Worth>>
Thunderclouds loom loud and angry over the city, threatening a rain that the locals know will not be delivered. Tornadoes are possible, especially in the outskirts of Kaufman and Mesquite, and it's possible that some hail could fall later, only to melt to nothing in seconds on the scorching Texas plascrete. Despite steady high temperatures and the imposing clouds, Arlington is already in full-swing for their Cinco de Mayo celebrations, a cultural heritage back from the days of the USA. Reggaeton, Rumba-core, and the highly nationalistic Mex-flex music dominates the scene as refugees insist on their Mexican -- and most decidedly not Aztlan -- heritage with cheap beer, parades, and political stump speeches.
Throughout the rest of the metroplex, it's another hot and humid Sunday, and for the runners of the city, it's about to get hotter.
@Hopeless,
Ian sits hunched over Breeze's old deck, periodically wiping sweat out of his eyes -- AC on the fritz again. Surprise, surprise. He'd like to take a break from all this decker business, hop in the shower to rinse the stink off of him, but water rationing is in full effect, and his shower won't turn on until Tuesday. So, instead he tries to stay busy, and considers doing a little hot-sim work: it sure gets him out of his body for a bit, though coming back makes him even hotter, but before he jacks in, his comm lights up. On the display he sees Dadlez's face, done up as usual, her eyes perfectly mascaraed. No AC troubles where she's calling from. He gives his face one last swipe with an old t-shirt and answers.
"Mr. Hopeless," the Johnson says, with a smile, "I hope I'm not calling at a bad time?
"If you're free tonight, I'd like to discuss some business with you. I'll warn you now, it's a bit distasteful, but it involves the, shall we say intelligence breaches, that resulted in all of that trouble out east last month. You never struck me as the vengeful type, but I immediately thought of you when this crossed my desk. If you'd like to meet, I'll send off a Pin to you. Meeting is at 8:00"
@Two-Timer,
Across the city in Dallas proper, another young matrix jockey is happily surfing away from the confines of a much more comfortable apartment. Since the second of her two runs, she's had a hard time finding any sort of shadow work, and rent is coming up quick, and so "Wraith" is on the prowl for a little solo work. On a whim she switches over to ShadowHeart, a hub for runners in the southwest CAS and sees a familiar persona, a praying mantis flitting around, obviously looking for someone in particular. The figure stops, casts a gaze around the host, and his eyes set on Wraith. In an instant, he's up next to her, his teardrop shaped eyes regarding her critically.
<<@Wraith [Bug] Looks like your lucky day, chummer. My contact's late, and I got biz to take care of. Steady workers r so hard to find, chip? Whadya say? J's looking for some matrix overwatch. I'll do ya straight on this one. My cut'll be 15% of your take home.>>
@Phoenix,
Marissa watches the clouds overhead, convinced that in any moment they will let loose with a Louisiana style rainstorm. But around her, nobody else seems the least bit concerned. She'd always heard about the Cinco de Mayo celebrations down in Arlington, and now here she is, right in the middle of one of the largest block parties she's ever seen.
A troll in synthleather cowboy boots, jeans, and a tanktop from across the street catches sight of the wide-eyed tourist, and calls out to her, "Eh, chica, Te estas divirtiendo?" Seeing that Marissa doesn't understand, his smile broadens, and he crosses the street with two beers in hand.
"I was asking if you were having a good time? This your first Cinco, chica? Say, this party is fine and all, but if you really want the experience, the way we locals do it, I got a partner down the way running a cock fight. I'm not talking chickens, chica. I'm talking cockatrice. You know cockatrice?"
He points the way, down an alley, with a cheap tin roof stretched between buildings, and Marissa catches sight of a familiar face. We'll I'll be damned, she thinks. There's Mr. House greeting spectators, and laughing his big phony laugh.
@La Sombre,
The bigger of the two birds kicks and pecks furiously, but fails to find any purchase against its smaller opponent. The smaller cockatrice, likely little more than an adolescent, ducks backward before leaping with outstretched talons. His right leg slashes down the breast of the larger, but fails to put him down before a counter-attack is in full swing. The crowd claps and cheers as the fight just got a lot more interesting. On the third row, La Sombre is wondering why she's here. Certainly Kya could've found any number of spots for them to meet, but if the Coyote wanted to talk at a cock fight, and the pay was going to be the kind of thing she'd hinted at, well chummer, what's a little para-critter torture among friends.
Kya cheers gleefully, her betting ticket in hand, and leans over. "They specifically asked for someone of the Atzlaner persuasion, and your skills in particular. Johnson is very security-conscious. I think something bad went down last night, and it's time for a cleanup crew. I was told to stay off my comms, so if you're interested in meeting with the J, I need the go ahead from you to pass along your contact info. What do you think, chummer? You looking for work?"
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[05 MAY 2075 | 13:27 | DFW | ShadowHeart Host]
>> The cloaked and hooded figure leaned against the virtual bar, examining the various icons and personas moving through the ShadowHeart Host. None approached Wraith. Scrolling through a data file she had lifted from a Stuffer Shack during one of the few drek jobs she had been able to score since her last run went south, Wraith almost missed Bug's persona approach her. Receiving the message, she considered the offer. This was the first real job she had been offered. 15% was a bit much, but considering her rep, she couldn't really turn it down. <<
<<@Bug [Wraith] Happy Cinco de Mayo, omae. I can do matrix overwatch. You got any more details?>>
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Bug's mantis eyes gleam at the inner pupil as he looks closely at Wraith. Looks like old Bug is riding the trix hot-sim today, not that Wraith has known him to do otherwise. He gives a little matrix chuckle, his persona twitching from his core, a bit of an unsettling sight really.
<<@Wraith [Bug] They talk a lot, but don't tell me much of anything, wiz? Word around here, though, is you'll be working for the Johnson who set up the run against the Rangers down at College Station. Prove yourself with a heavy hitter like that, and you just might be able to shake those whispers, you know? If that sounds nova 2 u, I'll comm a chummer who'll comm a chummer, and some other chummer'll be along with a data pack for you? I'm not going to touch the specifics. Better for everybody that way.>>
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[5 May, 2075. 13:27. Arlington, DFW]
Must be hella easy to spot tourists...maybe I'm blending in too hard.. When the troll called out to her, the Phoenix straightened up midstep, adopting a wide stance as she looked him square in the eye. Her lined duster-style overcoat made a shift from the motion, giving brief sight to the dark jeans, heavy boots, and v-cut red tank she adopted to wear. In some (supposedly vain) attempt to blend into the Texas locals, a cowboy hat was actually on her head, tilted a bit forward to obscure her view, her dark sunglasses doing the rest. Her hand twitched, her mind's eye visualizing the Warhawk nestled aside her hip, only relaxing upon realizing his intent. Listening, she cocked her head to one side, taking the beer he offered and sniffing it twice before cracking it open and sipping.
"Cockatrice, eh? Big fraggin' birds, aren't they..?" She trailed off, freezing as she spotted the familiar face running the event. "well drek on me... She thought to herself as she gave a little nod, handing the beer back to the big guy. "Eh, why not. Thanks" Without glancing back, the human girl stepped across the street, striding confidently as her gloved hands fished around in her pockets, producing a cigarette in one and a lighter in the other. Placing the smoke on her lips, she cupped her hand and lit it, taking a few puffs to keep it lit before inhaling.
Once arriving at the gathering crowd watching the fight, the Phoenix's eyes were deadset on the organizer, the slick-haired man in the nice suit. Oh, a colorful tie, how festive.. she thought to herself before stopping right in front of him, jaw setting as she was blasted by the well-rehearsed and highly inflated fanfare. She greeted it with an exhale of smoke, fishing into another pocket and bringing out a small red poker chip. "Business so slow you got birds doing your work now? Thought the light was bad for your skin.." She spoke flatly, the lit cigarette balanced delicately on her lips whilst she awaited an answer...
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Animal fighting wasn't something that Gabriela went in for, but Kya was always into it, if someone was organizing. It didn't surprise her to find the coyote here. The two of them went way back, thick as thieves, and Gabriela always came through for her friend. When her military duties demanded turning the woman in, she often made sure Kya knew which direction not to go. Kay did well in those years. Looked like now that Gabriela needed it, she was returning the favor.
"Aztlaner?" Gabriela leaned on the rail. "I suppose I can make that happen. And work, too? Just in time. You coming through for me, bruja. I trust you, so if you say it's bueno... then send it."
She'd spent enough time fighting Azlan border incursions to make it believable if she needed. She smiled at her friend and then looked over the crowd, noting the woman waving the chip in front of a fellow trying to pay attention to both the chip and the two birds in the 'ring.' It only registered because she was the only person besides the look-outs that were engaged in anything but the fight.
Tucking that scene away in her mind, she continued to scan, not expecting trouble, but always ready for it.
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"Business so slow you got birds doing your work now? Thought the light was bad for your skin.."
"Funny you should say that," House says turning to the newcomer. "I'm always looking for a bird that could earn me a little cred, and I think the little Phoenix right here might be able to do just that." he eyes Marissa's red poker chip, and produces a blue one from his vest pocket and flips it in his hand. "Walk with me some, little bird. Let's get a better view, eh?"
Marissa leaves the now disappointed-looking troll behind -- no doubt he was looking to make a little cred off of a greenhorn's bad betting habits, but seeing that bigger fish were interested, he'd have to find some other tourist. The pair makes their way closer to the fighting pit, and Mr. House continues, "Most fortuitous that you would end up here today. I'm scouting talent, and not the feathered kind. Still, if I'm working the tracks, and I see a horse named Chloe-fide, and it's my daughter -- her name is Chloe -- and if it's my daughter's birthday, I think, hey maybe that would be a good bet. And what do I do? I walk home with a little extra jing in my pockets, you know? Now, this was years ago, long before I opened up my first better's palace, back before the house always won," he laughs at his own joke.
"So, when I come here, to the cock fights, out looking for talent of another kind, and another bird graces my presence, like the star of old that led the wise men to our Lord and Savior, then I must think that this too is a good bet. What I'm saying, little bird," he momentarily drifts off, catching sight of a pair of women across the pit. His tie flashes green, and the pair stands and begins making their way over. "What I'm saying, little bird, is that I came to meet one, but perhaps this is work that you might be interested in as well. I know of a lady assembling a team tonight, so what I'd like to know is, are your guns itching, Phoenix?"
"I suppose I can make that happen. And work, too? Just in time. You coming through for me, bruja. I trust you, so if you say it's bueno... then send it."
"Glad to hear you're interested, omae. Here in a sec, I'll need to make an introduction. See that man over there, the loud looking one?" Gabriela nods. Of course she has. He's the one who doesn't fit in this equation. "Well, he's every bit as loud as he looks. Annoying too, but he's the fixer for this little gig, and those poker chips of his stack high."
Gabriela takes in the sight of him showing another newcomer around, using grand gestures like he owns the place as they approach the pit. She's careful not to stare, though, always looking out on the flanks. It seems most people here are armed, which is to be expected, but she doubts most would know what to do with those pieces they're packing should it really come down to it. All but the girl who's getting the grand tour anyway. Despite the cigarette, the bad trid feel, Gabriela would guess that particular omae could handle herself, and from the way her jacket catches at her hips, Gabriela would also guess that she's packing something larger than LightFire.
A moment later, the man's tie flashes green, and Kya stands. "That's our mark." Gabriela stands with her, and the two push their way through the crowd and approach the man and his companion just as the crowd goes wild. It seems the smaller bird, while more dexterous and agile, just didn't have the fortitude to stand up against the larger opponent. If Gabriela was superstitious she may take that as a bad sign, but before she can give it much thought, the large man has an equally large hand extended.
"Mr. House, at your service," he says beaming. "Our mutual friend here said you might fit the bill, and from the looks of it, I'd say so. Let me also introduce Ms. Phoenix, whom it was the greatest of surprises to see today. If I may be so bold as to get straight to business, I am on a talent scouting mission today. The meeting will be tonight, and I'm told that the work will take only a few days. At the end of it, we'll all be a good deal richer. Your employer, my associate, goes by the name of Ms. Johnson. Perhaps you've heard of her."
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[05 MAY 2075 | 13:27 | DFW | ShadowHeart Host]
>> The cloaked figure rolled up the scroll-like file and pushed it into the darkness of her body. Nodding, she sent the praying-mantis a message. <<
<<@Bug [Wraith] Sounds wiz. You know I don't get a lot of offers, so let's stop beating around the bush. I'm in, send the details when you have them. I need to get ready for the meet.>>
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[05 May, 2075. 13:27. Arlington, DFW]
Behind her dark shades, Marissa eyed the fixer she had known for these past many months, sizing him up. She has run into him in too many towns, too many times to feel like getting work from him is mere "surprise" or "coincidence". Was he tracking her movements? Just a very mobile business man? Clones? It didn't matter much in the end, for the Phoenix couldn't help but appreciate his grandeur and outlandishly cheesy demeanor. It made her nostalgic, that "crooked business man in the know" seen all too often, complete with the totally canned pun of his own moniker. Admittedly she zoned out during his reminiscing about little birds and horse racing, but snapped back once the important bits came into light, the woman stopping her stride, the thud of her boots sounding as she turned to face him fully in the pause.
"What I'm saying, little bird, is that I came to meet one, but perhaps this is work that you might be interested in as well. I know of a lady assembling a team tonight, so what I'd like to know is, are your guns itching, Phoenix?"
She let out a breath of smoke, a gust of wind blowing her red-auburn hair to the side as the crowd went wild from the fight reaching a dramatic climax. In the uproar, Marissa's lips curled into a grin as she brought her left hand up, letting it come to rest on her hip, her voice grating out in a level tone as she spoke through her cig.
"There are two types of people in this world: Those who shoot guns, and those who dig. I don't dig."
...well, that was about as good of a confirmation as any. As she finished her statement, she eyed the pair of ladies approaching them...looked like a human and an orkette by the statures, their dress befitting types familiar with this lifestyle. Her hands twitched as she faced sideways to them, the breeze shifting her duster subtly to and fro. In her mind, she saw the two Predators tucked away at the small of her back, and how one in each hand would be appropriate for them should things turn ugly...or the extendable staff at her left hip, maybe, if they rushed...
Staying those thoughts for the moment, Marissa turned to face them as the illustrious Mr. House greeted them in all his bluster, one of her hands reaching up to gingerly hold her smoke, lifting it and tilting her head in a nod upon mention of her handle. Having already agreed to the meet, she spent the talking period sizing up Mr. House's mark....the orkette, and of Hispanic descent now that she could get a good look. Hmm...what role do you play, I wonder...
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[05 MAY 2075 | 13:27 | DFW | ShadowHeart Host]
>> The cloaked figure rolled up the scroll-like file and pushed it into the darkness of her body. Nodding, she sent the praying-mantis a message. <<
<<@Bug [Wraith] Sounds wiz. You know I don't get a lot of offers, so let's stop beating around the bush. I'm in, send the details when you have them. I need to get ready for the meet.>>
Bug's persona goes slack for a moment, hangs in suspended animation, and then he's back in "himself" again and produces a key hanging at the end of his tarsus, a little digital rabbit's foot on the end. <<@Wraith [Bug] Locker 20. Happy running,>>
And with that, Bug flits away out of the host, leaving Wraith with her "key." Mentally, she pulls herself to the halls of ShadowHeart, laid out like an old high school, lined with lockers and complete with neo-anarchist graffiti. She finds locker 20, turns the key in some ancient looking padlock and finds a digital slip of paper within.
8:00 pm
Rio D's
Holliday Room
Tremen's party.
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Gabriella's eyes flicked to the Phoenix, taking her in quickly. On edge, this one. Bodyguard for Mr. house? Or a peer? Guess I'll know soon enough.
"Muy bonito conocerte!" she said, offering her hand to Mr. House. Her smile was charming and gracious. A gift of the Gods, perhaps, but despite her goblinization, Gabriella had managed to maintain an exotic beauty , one that had worked in her favor over the years. "It is very nice to meet you," she translated for herself.
"I hear Ms. Johnson often seeks capable men and women for special work. I am sure she will be very satisfied with my talents. I am glad you wish to be direct, for I am eager to meet and see how I may be of assistance."
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[05 MAY 2075 | 13:30 | DFW | ShadowHeart Host]
>> With a MARK on the note file, Wraith created a copy and downloaded it to her deck. Snapping her skeletal fingers, she set fire to the virtual note, deleting it from the Host. Checking her deck's clock, she figured she had some time to kill and decided to dig up a little more information on Rio D's to make sure she dressed appropriately to fit in with the crowd. She also wanted to do a little more digging on her employer as well as the run down in College Station. Figuring there would only be so much information on the ShadowHeart host, she exited the sculpted high school Host and moved to the Matrix at large. <<
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[05 MAY 2075 | 14:00 | DFW | Wraith's Doss in South Dallas]
Wraith switched from VR to AR with a sigh. She loved the freedom that virtual reality allowed her but knew that certain things had to happen in the flesh. Standing up, she stretched her arms, trying to loosen them up from having stayed in the same position fro a few hours. On top of that, her left leg was asleep. Frag, I hate it when that happens... Stamping her foot, she mentally clicked on the trid to the local 24 hour news channel, wondering what was going on in the 'plex on this Cinco de Mayo. Things tended to get a little weird during this holiday, with the odd tension between old world Mexican nationalism and modern day Azzie hatred.
Wraith walked into her small bedroom and opened the closet. Flicking through her clothes, she pulled out her business skirt-suit. Accessing it wirelessly, she recolored it in the red, white, and green of old world Mexico, figuring it would be a good choice for the day. The colors faded across the suit slowly for a subtle effect. To coordinate with the rest of the outfit, she pulled out a pair of boots and a cowboy hat to complement the look. Pleased with the outfit, Wraith laid it all out on her bed and returned to her living room to check up on the trid.
Accessing her headware, she recorded time reminders for when she needed to take a shower, call a cab, and get to the meeting location. She planned to get there early to do some preliminary hacking and get a feel for the area. She was still not ready to trust a Johnson.
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Ian had never smoked deepweed before. It's not that he's anti-drug. He'd just had the ability to see the spirit world since he was a young man, and so an addictive drug with side effects that lets you see the astral was never something he took interest in, or looked into. But for the last two weeks, he's been in possession of three ridiculously high-grade samples of the drug; one of them, decorated by a red band may even be fatal. I'd have put a fuckin' skull and crossbones on something lethal though, wouldn't I? He'd sit, inspecting the sealed container and contemplate heading down the street to a smoke shop, buying a pipe, and smoking some of it, but never followed through. He tells himself that he never smoked it cause it was potentially worth too much money, but really, it's cause he chickened out. He has, however, bought a dose of regular street grade deepweed from a shady ork woman in Arlington at an outdoor concert. He's pretty sure he overpaid, but he doesn't care. He's told himself that he wants to smoke regular deepweed first, so that once he gets around to smoking some of the lab stuff, he'll be able to tell the difference. Yesterday, he finally got up the guts to leave the apartment, and he walked the six blocks to the smokeshop, and was almost to the door when the train went screaming by overhead. Again, he chickened out and headed home.
Today, it's hot as fuck and he'd like to not think about smoking or selling or deepweed in any fashion. At first his plan was to pay a small fee for temporary access to a low-noise game server and play some Xeno-monkey Fu, but just as he's about to "click yes", he has a responsible thought. He doesn't have many of those, and he's learned to cherish and obey them. YOU LAZY PIECE OF SHIT! FUCK Xeno-monkey Fu! Fuckin get on that fuckin deck and fuckin practice, bitch! The fuck is your fuckin problem, any fuckin way?! He begrudgingly follows his own abusive inner-voice, and exits out of the game.
After brushing his ratty, sweat dripping hair out of his face yet again, he stands up and heads into the other room; his bedroom. He sits down on his creaky bed, reaches under his pile of three limp, battered pillows, and removes "The Savior's Deck", wrapped in the nicest article of clothing Ian owns; a pair of tan suit pants that are actually clean and pressed. They haven't fit him in years, but they used to be his "school and job interview" pants. Back before the shadows, before a lot of things. He unwraps the deck, powers it up and spends the majority of the day going over the legacy left him by a legend, slowly gaining familiarity and skill with it. He hadn't noticed how fucking hot it had gotten in here until his Avalon pipes up. He's positively drenched.
When he sees the face on the other end, he's torn. On one hand, Dadlez set up the biggest clusterfuck of a run you've ever been on. But on the other hand, she knows that, and she knows that when she calls "Hopeless" for a job, the job gets done, even if there's security leaks, which she did admit to and apologize for. He hesitates for a moment, but he can see the place she's calling from in the background behind her. I wanna live in a place like that. It's not long before he realizes that water rations suck. He wraps and hides the Chariot under his pillows again, then answers the call.
"Mr. Hopeless," the Johnson says, with a smile, "I hope I'm not calling at a bad time?
"Ms. Dadlez," He gives her a casual smile back, amused at the way people's street-names sound funny with formals thrown in front. Although, you gotta admit, "Mister Hopeless" almost sounds like a superhero name. A self depreciating chuckle. "Never a bad time."
"If you're free tonight, I'd like to discuss some business with you. I'll warn you now, it's a bit distasteful, but it involves the, shall we say intelligence breaches, that resulted in all of that trouble out east last month. You never struck me as the vengeful type, but I immediately thought of you when this crossed my desk. If you'd like to meet, I'll send off a Pin to you. Meeting is at 8:00"
Not the vengeful type, huh? His mind briefly flashes back to the ride in Error's car on the way to blow up Big Daddy at the train station. Despite being "in charge" of the mission, he'd lost control of the team, and himself, to some degree. He had been against using explosives at a train station, but his words couldn't sway the team, and even he'd had to admit it was the only viable option. So, he just planted himself in the backseat of the car, trying to feel like a nova prime bad-ass. His team of four were on their way to avenge not only their comrade, but all the other "Not like us's" the fucker had probably hurt in his violent little life. Ian can remember feeling like a righteous angel of death at the time. He feels like an asshole, now; after a couple weeks to think about it. Ian thanks his lucky stars that they got stale info on him. He remembers being relieved when the team discovered it.
His smile turns into an embarrassed smirk and he nods. With a long exhale, "Eight o'clock it is, Ms. Dadlez.
What should I wear?"
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@Phoenix and @La Sombre,
Having made introductions and fulfilled her part, Kya gives Gabriella's shoulder an affectionate squeeze and politely excuses herself to get good eyes on the next match. Once she's gone, Mr. House flips his blue poker chip to Phoenix, and produces another, which he flips to Gabriella, the blue plastic making a flawless arc interrupted by a quick sideways swipe with her hand. "Muy bien, senoritas," Mr. House says, his Spanish inflected with a heavy southern drawl. "I am sure you will find this to be special work alright. You got the meet details in those greedy little paws a yours. Happy running, ladies. Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got to go make sure that pit master isn't getting any rogue ideas in his head, thinking I'm just gabbing away with two of God's most beautiful creatures and not watching his hand in the till. Adios, omaes."
With that, Mr. House takes two steps before he begins booming in his big announcer voice toward the ork who's been taking bets on the next card, a fight between a cockatrice named "Wily Lee" and one named "El Presidente." Marissa and Garbriella slot the data from Mr. House's poker chip to find the location for Rio D's, and a reservation for 8:00 in the Holliday room.
@Hopeless,
"Eight o'clock it is, Ms. Dadlez.
What should I wear?"
"Let's call it 'business casual.' If you feel more comfortable with a pistol, that won't be a problem. Slacks, a jacket if you have one, but this isn't really a suit and tie kind of place. Fashion armor is always in style with these cowboy types." As she's talking, the Johnson sends a Pin for Rio D's, in downtown Dallas.
"I look forward to seeing you there, Mr. Hopeless."
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"If you feel more comfortable with a pistol, that won't be a problem."
Ian cocks his head to the side and makes a funny face as if she had suggested wearing a swimsuit. "A pistol?" He cocks his head to the other side, trying not to admire the pretty face on his comm too much. "I'd never bring a pistol to a meet with you, Ms. Dadlez." Still can't make himself stop smiling at her though. It's not everyday one gets to chat with an attractive woman. What harm is there in enjoying it, right?
"Slacks, a jacket if you have one, but this isn't really a suit and tie kind of place. Fashion armor is always in style with these cowboy types." As she's talking, the Johnson sends a Pin for Rio D's, in downtown Dallas.
"I look forward to seeing you there, Mr. Hopeless."
He smiles, nods, and gives only a one word answer before disconnecting the call; "Wiz."
Over the next six hours, Ian keeps busy. First, he lines up all of his gear, or everything he's bringing with him anyways; The armor jack, some half decent tan pants that aren't worn at the cuff too much, brown shoes that will look exactly as scuffed and shitty as they are if inspected at all, and a faded green T shirt finish off his clothing. As for hardware, he'll be bringing the Meta as his main comm, but plans on bringing the Avalon turned off in his pocket, in case he should need it. He'll bring the helmet and keep it in the shoulderbag along with his infared flashlight, his earbuds, and a slap patch. The stunrod is going up one sleeve of the jacket like it always does. He's scratching his filthy head for the hundredth time today, trying to decide whether or not he wants to bring a grenade or two with him. If the summoning doesn't go well, bring one.
Next, it's time to summon an appropriate spirit for tonight. Just something to watch your back, right? He spends an hour sitting at the window with his third eye open, just watching the astral go by, looking for just the right spirit to ask for help. Eventually, he sees the one he's looking for. A large and ponderous tortoise slogging it's way through the spirit world grabs his attention as soon as he spots it. A thick shell and the wisdom to not act impulsively. That's what I need. He calls out to it from the window. "Excuse me, Sir! Pardon me, Sir! I need to ask for your help this evening! Can we talk?"
With a low southern belle accent, it rumbles back, "It's ma'am." but smiles, showing she is not offended. "My apologies, ma'am." he apologizes anyway, humbly, then continues. "To the point however; Tonight, I fear I might require the protection and wisdom of one such as yourself, should events not go my way. Would you be willing to tag along with me this evening for a short time? As you can see, I'm quite flimsy, but I'm good company." She chuckles back at him, flattered. "I'll give you three wishes, sweetheart." her bass filled voice booms out in the astral. "Thank you ma'am. I won't waste them." He bows to her, then closes his third eye and the window.
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A few hours later, it's a quarter to eight and Hopeless is stepping out of a low end taxi-cab looking nice and ready to do business. Well, nicer than he'd expected to. He'd had no idea how he was going to make himself presentable for this meet and had resigned himself to looking and smelling foul, but luck was on his side today. During the short walk to the corner where he was to meet the taxi, he came upon a few mexican orkish kids who'd somehow busted open the fire hydrant on the corner and were partying like there was no tomorrow. Aint it a holiday or something today? He stripped down to his underwear, stowed his clothes on top of the bag and cleaned himself as best he could, as quickly as he could. The last thing he needed was some drunk dad asking questions about the naked thirty-something hanging out with his kids, or one of the kids stealing his bag or clothes, so he kept his eye on his stuff and he hurried, but just that little amount of water did wonders.
His hair is still a little bit wet under his tan floppy "Gilligan" hat as he tips the elvish driver ten on top of whatever the fare is and steps out onto the street Dallas in front of Rio D's. Approaching the door, he wishes he still had Dr Ken's crappy used SIN, but the Doc had, justifiably wanted it back.. Emmanuel Vasquez wasn't so bad a guy. Beats having no legal name at all.
-
Gabriella slotted the chip into her metalink and looked over the details. The cheap commlink displayed the information on a small view screen and she memorized the simple details before shutting the commlink off entirely. She looked at the other woman and smiled.
"Looks like there's some time between now and then. If you'll excuse me, I'll need to gather some things. I suppose I'll see you there?"
-
Marissa was doing the same with her chip, sliding it against her Ikon and reading the information as it slid across her vision. She almost missed the ork lady speak up, the human turning her head and tilting up a bit to match her gaze. By the books and direct...we got our firm stiff then. Awesome Her mouth tilted into a little smirk as she gave a nod, plucking the cigarette from her mouth. "Without a doubt. Catch ya on the flip side~" She almost sang out the last bit, lifting the hand holding the cigarette up, pointing out two fingers and her thumb like some pistol in a mock stance. Non-aggressive, and kind of dated, to be frank. Nodding to the lady, Marissa turned on her heels, her coat catching the breeze a bit as she walked off, throwing the used up butt on the side and stomping it out before leaving the alley and out of sight.
[05 May 2075, 14:30-19:00, outside Phoenix's Roost, Arlington, DFW]
The rest of the afternoon was a rather quiet affair, Marissa barely paying attention to the almost riotous celebrating going on around her. The chaos, truly resembling the threatening storm...so turbulent, so violent...so alive! Lifting her hands, palms to the air, she gave a smile as she walked the few miles to where she currently called home. Grabbing a light snack, she whisked her coat off, letting it fall on some rotting couch, revealing her carried weapons. In turn, she drew each gun, twirling and snap-aiming at unseen targets a few times before placing them on a table, doing the same with her staff, taking a few aggressive stances before retracting it and placing it as well. Kneeling on the ground, she held her hands in front of her, eyes closed as she focused, feeling the warm presence that has breathed this life she now calls her own.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Evening has come, and the Phoenix found herself standing in front of the trunk of her black, sleek Shin-Hyung, mostly in the same getup she was in all day. The colors of her outfit darkened a bit to match the lighting, reds shifting to crimsons around her torso and legs. Her coat billowed in the chill howling winds as she popped the trunk, setting down the duffel bag in her hand before lifting up the floor compartment, revealing her arsenal. Replacing the guns she had removed for her outing, she looked them all over, pondering which ones to carry into this meet. I'll have to be light, so nothing that won't be concealed easy...restaurant means close quarters, so precision is best. Chance of Lone Star, so keep it legal...there Grabbing her holsters, she fitted the two Predators back to the small of her back, tucking them out of sight, a spare clip each on either side. The Warhawk...that icon of cowboy strength...went brazenly at her right hip, resting on her upper thigh, a speed loader nestled in an adjoining pocket. The stun baton took the space at her left hip, clipped loosely to the belt, a combat knife slipped below it into her boot.
Satisfied, Marissa closed the concealing panel, dropping the duffel bag containing her various job clothes (skirt-suit, armored jacket, chameleon suit, mask), and other gear, and then proceeded to hop in her car, revving up the engine and departing with a slight skid on the pavement, the deep thrums of her music playing drowning it out to her ears as she made her way to the meetup destination, curious to see if the serious ork lady would be there...and if there were going to be other roles in this job opportunity... And the players take the field...
-
With as much time to spare as she had, Gabriella took the bus back to her aunt's house in Cedar Crest. Arriving, she found her aunt and cousins in the kitchen, cooking dinner.
"Gabriella!" her aunt exclaimed as she came in the door. She spoke rapidly in Spanish, "I thought you were going to be away. Did you not find work?"
"I found work, Aunty. I just have to get a few things and I'm leaving again. Call me a cab?"
She went back to her room and looked over her belongings. There wasn't much, but she wasn't sure what to take. Would the job give her time to come back and grab what else she needed or did she need to bring her entire kit with her now? Looking up Rio D's, she didn't think it was a good idea to walk in armed for bear, but she didn't quite have a place to stow things if it wasn't on her harness. The unit had been easy, just bring it all and fuck how it looks, because that's how it's supposed to look. This was new territory.
Finally, she shrugged and donned the chameleon suit. It was fitting enough that a pair of baggy cargo pants went over it without adding too much bulk and a zip up hoodie finished the ensemble. It was fashionable enough, and ladies often got a pass on strict adherence. She'd have to make it work. She holstered both weapons and grabbed a backpack, stuffing it with whatever she thought she'd need. She finished by sticking her shock gloves into the pockets of her hoodie. By the time she was done, the cab was there. She figured she had enough time to arrive and take stock of the situation.
"Adios, Aunty," she called as she whirled past, grabbing a tamale on the way out.
----------
Arriving at Rio D's she took a moment to gauge the situation. Then, with a smile, she walked in to the establishment, looking for the Holiday Room.
-
[05 MAY 2075 | 19:45 | DFW | En Route to Rio D's via Cab]
Wraith sat in the back seat of the cab as it sped toward the area between Lower Greenville and Downtown Dallas proper. Initially, her cab driver, Ernesto, had attempted conversation but given up when Wraith gave brusque answers. She did throw him a bone and told him to turn on whatever music he wanted, it wouldn't bother her. Leaning back in the seat, she checked her gear for a final time. Her suit, while normally business-like, was dressed down with the colors of the old Mexican flag fading in and out, alternating the red and green between her jacket and skirt. A stylized image of an eagle carrying a snake stayed static at the center of her white blouse. Her pistol was secured to her upper thigh by the concealable holster built in to her skirt. Her cowboy hat and boots helped to complete the dressed down ensemble. Even though it was growing dark, she wore her trademark mirrored aviator glasses, a technique to keep her from being recognized she had carried over from her past. As the driver continued toward her destination, Wraith took a shortcut, hopping into the matrix to seek out the Rio D host.
>> Wraith faded into existence on the BigStar Net, the local DFW grid. The gray and white cloak concealed anything of the figure beneath; the only thing visible under the cloak was a bottomless black nothingness. Two disembodied red eyes stared out from beneath the cowl of the cloak, examining the matrix sky. Staring off in the distance, the figure crossed the vast expanse of the matrix in the blink of an eye, arriving at the host for the Rio D's restaurant. The host resembled the building, albeit with a few added touches. She noted discrete metal shutters on the windows and a metal detector installed in the virtual door, reconfigured firewall upgrades likely resulting from the recent hacking activity of TerraFirst! The figure sighed at the amateur antics that had caused her job to be more difficult.
Wraith made sure the low-quality camera and microphone on her Meta Link were turned on so she could keep track of what was going on in the real world. She took a good look at the cabbie before slipping into VR.
>> Examining the exterior of the host, Wraith ignored the firewall upgrades and phased through the walls, leaving behind a stylized hooded skull on the wall, her personal MARK. The inside of the host likely mirrored the restaurant itself. Hostess stand, bar, tables... standard restaurant fare. Now that she was inside, the hacker switched from virtual reality to augmented reality. Her persona felt like it was moving in slow motion, but it was fast enough to get past the host's security. Moving over to the hostess stand, Wraith located the reservation file and searched for information related to the meeting she was attending in a few short hours. Finding the entry, she created a tablet in the air and recorded the commlink number associated with the reservation and took note of how many people were expected. Once complete, the tablet floated into her form and disappeared. Satisfied, she had one more thing to check.
In the meat world, Wraith's cab had finally arrived at its destination. Thanking the driver, the woman got out of the car and started walking toward the restaurant. Meanwhile, her persona continued its search of the Rio D host.
>>Moving her way into the restaurant, Wraith searched for the Holliday room and, to be more precise, any devices associated with the room that were slaved to the host.
-
<<5 May, 2075 19:40-19:55 // Rio D's>>
@Wraith
Having scouted the Rio D's host from the matrix in the cab ride over, Rachel Davenport pays her fare, and notes the cars in the parking lot as she walks up the flagstone steps. She notes a few NIghtskys and tricked out Aguilars, and the occasional Americar, probably belonging to families celebrating a graduation or something equally momentous. The door swishes open at her approach, and an ARO flashes brightly that anyone with peanut allergies should not enter due to the risk of anaphylactic shock. A young girl of about twenty with loose pigtails hanging over a severe step-fade shave job greets her brightly. "Hey hon. How we doin' tonight?" she asks while manipulating a few icons in AR. When Rachel gives her the party name, the girl's green patterned plaid shirt changes to yellow, and she says, "Ah, the Holliday room. Best one in the house. Follow me, sug." before tapping an icon in front of her which sets a pail of peanuts attached to a small drone in flight that hovers just to the right of Rebecca as they cross the restaurant, and head up the stairs.
The Holliday room is the last one on the right, and as Rachel enters she sees only one other person, a human of mixed Aztlaner descent with shoulder-length hair and a blue Vashon Island dress that Rachel recognizes are being from the new collection. She's sipping a glass of Pheron mineral water, and she rises as Rebecca enters to shake her hand. Once the hostess has left, she introduces herself.
"Good evening. I'm Ms. Johnson. And you are?"
@La Sombre
As she enters Rio D's, Gabriella can see the pair of gentlemen off to the sides of the foyer prick up. It could be the sweats in this weather, or the bag she's carrying, but before the hostess even has a chance to greet her, they're conducting a "random inspection." They come up empty on the pat down, but their eyes get a little wide going through her bag. Still, Gabriella is able to palm the grenades as she holds it open, and they wave her past. The hostess, a little unnerved, still smiles wide, and when Gabriella tells her who she's there for, she turns sharply at her heels and leads her up the stairs, peanut-drone following close behind.
@Hopeless
Seeing the size of his tip, the cabbie looks up appreciatively. "Hoi, thanks a lot, chummer. G'luck out there, wiz."
He walks into Rio D's to see a young Aztlaner woman getting the third degree from the hired sec-dudes, who look like they'd have a hard time finding a katana on a street sam. He holds back a smirk as they ask to look in the woman's purse, and a hostess appears from the wings to take him to the Holliday Room. On the way, Hopeless notes all the families shucking peanuts and stuffing their faces with steaks and potatoes. When he enters the Holliday Room, Dadlez rises and crosses the room to shake his hand. "Mr. Hopeless, so good to see you again. Glad you could make it," Ian takes a seat next to her, and a few moments later, three new bottles of water are brought in as the rest of the runners file in dutifully.
@Phoenix
"Howdy there, Annie Oakley," the hostess says as she enters. "How can I help a cowgirl out tonight?" A cursory search of her person turns up one of the Predators, which the security guards seem to just stumble upon, but they only nod appreciatively at the piece, and she's up the stairs and with the rest of the team in moments.
@All
Once the team is assembled, seated, and some orders of calf fries are on their way, Ms. Johnson begins to make introductions. "Greetings, everyone. Thank you all so much for taking the time out of your busy schedules to meet with me tonight. As I'm sure you've already been told, I have assembled you here so that we may discuss a business proposition, the kind that people such as yourself are uniquely qualified to execute. I am Ms. Johnson, and for all intents and purposes I will be your employer for this endeavor.
"At my right here, we have Mr. Hopeless who will provide magical support. To his right, we have Phoenix, who I understand is the potential muscle. Across from me, La Sombre is the second-story woman. And, Wraith, is it? Yes, Wraith will be joining us for matrix overwatch.
"I will be up front with you all. This is not tasteful work. There are four specific Yakuza wakagashira and kyodai whom my employers and I would like to see eliminated. If possible, we would like at least one of the deaths to appear to come from the Feathered. It is also imperative that these four individuals are 'geeked,' to put it in laymen's terms, within hour of one another, so that they will not have the opportunity to go underground. We are prepared to offer 36,000¥ for the successful completion of the run, plus a bonus of 7,000¥ should the necessary people believe that the hits were carried out by the Feathered.
"Before I am able to go into any more detail, I need to know if I am in the presence of interested parties."
As she talks, Ian notices a comm coming in from the Johnson.
<<@Hopeless [Dadlez] Should this affect your decision, we believe these individuals are directly responsible for the leaks in your party during the last run. I am also in the possession of information relating to a certain Niles Gray's whereabouts that I will happily pass along to you should you accept the job.>>
-
[05 MAY 2075 | 20:15 | DFW | Rio D's]
"Wraith, Ms. Johnson. Pleasure to meet you," the woman replied in an accent reminiscent of an old East Texas drawl. Prior to taking a seat at the table, she doffed her cowboy hat and hung it from one of the sets of longhorns mounted around the room. Mentally adjusting her suit, she froze the colors so as not to be distracting, leaving her jacket green and her skirt red. Taking a seat at the table, she pushed her mirrored aviators onto the crown of her head, her curly brunette pixie cut keeping everything in place.
Crossing her arms, she waited as the rest of the invitees arrived, mentally checking off a list as they entered the room. Fierce-looking woman, check... Out of place Aztlaner Ork, check... Who the Hell is that guy? Wraith adopted an odd look when she caught sight of Hopeless, not quite understanding who or what his role was supposed to be in all of this.
As Ms. Johnson settled in to explain what she could, Wraith took the time to look for commlinks in her future teammates possessions. Once the woman finished, the decker waited, not wanting to be the first to speak. She was okay with wetwork, but didn't really want others to know if they weren't, especially if they had heard about her already.
[Spoiler=GEAR]
Fichetti Security 600 [REG] w/2x Spare Clips [REG] (W)*
Actioneer Business Suit w/Electrochromic (W)*
Mirrored Aviator Glasses (4) w/FC, LL, VE (1), & VM (W)*
Ear Buds (3) w/AE (3) (W)*
Meta Link (1) (W)
Platinum Credstick
Cyberware (419,510)
Datajack [Alpha] (W)*
Cerebral Booster (2)
Implanted Sony CIY-720 (4) (W) w/All Common & Hacking Programs
*Slaved to Cyberdeck[/Spoiler]
-
The ork looked around the table, taking each runner's measure in turn. When it seemed like none of them were going to speak up immediately, she turned to Ms. Johnson and smiled.
"Sometimes, rabid dogs must be put down," Gabriela says, nodding. "My interest is piqued. But you say you will be 'up front'? As our principle, it is our job to ensure your safety?"
-
"I'm afraid you may misunderstand," the Johnson answers. "After we finish our business tonight, assuming you take the job, we will not see one another again until the contract is fulfilled. At that point my payment will be prompt, a great weight will be lifted from mine and my employers shoulders, and you will all be a great deal more economically advantaged."
-
[05 MAY 2075 | 20:20 | DFW | Rio D's]
With the silence broken, Wraith offered, "So, we need to eliminate four yaks in the course of an hour and make it look like the Azzies did it? What's our timeline? Knocking off four targets isn't too tough. Making it look like someone else was responsible also isn't impossible. But timing it so it all happens within an hour? That could be difficult... and expensive."
-
[May 05, 2075, 20:00, Rio D's, DFW]
Upon entry into the quaint little steak house, Marissa could almost taste the security guys approaching her. Her hand twitched as she paused after nonchalantly pushing her way through the double doors, her boots clunking on the wood as she came to a stop, glancing briefly to the right as the muscle approached to frisk her just as the hostess spoke to her. "I have a reservation. Party for the Holliday room" the human rolled out on her tongue, head turning slowly to face the pig-tailed hostess, staring blankly through her shades as one of the bouncers paused at the weapons they found, even more notably that her Warhawk revolver or stun baton were even remotely stowed into hiding. Giving a look bearing confidence and assurance she had no intent to shoot the place up, she followed the girl up the stairs, grabbing a peanut and breaking it open, popping the contents and chewing thoughtfully as she joined in...apparently the last to the party.
"Am I late?" Smirking, she lifted her hat off her head, letting the auburn locks fall straight from her head and around her back and shoulders, tossing the hat to join the other one resting off to the side. Pulling the chair back, she gave a nod to the others as she flicked her coat back and had a seat, adopting a relaxed stance, keeping her shades on as she studied the crew and their Ms. Johnson started to speak.
Hmm, Hopeless...mojo, huh? Looks kinda goofy, guess that's the idea...only boy here too, so he might be a bit awkward. I'd wager plucky, but powerful. The tuskerette still looks all business as before, but dressing seriously casual. Practical operative maybe? Ohh, like the sound of that. And then Wraith...stylish, and a decker...seems like those tend to go hand in hand. Seems to be a bit of the mousey type too. Man, all these tropes, this is perfect!
Finishing her musings, Marissa brought her atttention to the job at hand: kill four yaks in a short span, make at least one look like some other group. Hopefully, one of these knows that other group. That being said, that is a LOT of jing for four geeks. Naturally, it was La Sombre to speak first, giving off that natural leader vibe in the Phoenix's mind, the orkette asking her questions, followed by Ms. Johnson's answer, and then the sly proddings of Wraith. The mage, though...he was silent. Hmm. Finally, sitting up straight, the auburn-haired human girl leaned forward, placing an elbow on the table, her voice cool and level.
"Sounds like I rolled into at the right time. Last I checked, yaks bleed like the rest of us. And if it bleeds..." She paused dramatically, tilting her head forward to expose her hazel eyes glancing at each of them briefly in turn. "...I can kill it. But the Wraith is right. It ain't no milk run. Reckon it would take all of us committed. Ain't no time for a half-cocked rifle in the mix, if you catch my drift?" She winked, returning to her relaxed stance whilst grabbing one of the water glasses, drinking it coolly.
-
"Am I late?" Smirking, she lifted her hat off her head, letting the auburn locks fall straight from her head and around her back and shoulders, tossing the hat to join the other one resting off to the side.
"Not at all," the Johnson answers, all smiles with a voice smooth as plexi. "We're only just starting."
[05 MAY 2075 | 20:20 | DFW | Rio D's]
With the silence broken, Wraith offered, "So, we need to eliminate four yaks in the course of an hour and make it look like the Azzies did it? What's our timeline? Knocking off four targets isn't too tough. Making it look like someone else was responsible also isn't impossible. But timing it so it all happens within an hour? That could be difficult... and expensive."
"Sounds like I rolled into at the right time. Last I checked, yaks bleed like the rest of us. And if it bleeds..." She paused dramatically, tilting her head forward to expose her hazel eyes glancing at each of them briefly in turn. "...I can kill it.
"Ahh, an interest in the classics, I see."
"But the Wraith is right. It ain't no milk run. Reckon it would take all of us committed. Ain't no time for a half-cocked rifle in the mix, if you catch my drift?" She winked, returning to her relaxed stance whilst grabbing one of the water glasses, drinking it coolly.
Before she can answer, the waitress opens the door with three large steaming platters of calf fries, which she expertly lays in front of the group. All talk of the job ceases, but the Johnson continues to comment on Phoenix's interest in cinema.
"I personally find the flatvids of the late 20th century to be most interesting. There's much that the modern tridflick directors have outright stolen, often to good effect, sometimes for ill. But Jiminez," she says referencing an early 2040s director, "would not be Jiminez if not for the work of McTiernan. Of course The Hunt for Red October seems a bit controversial to our modern sensibilities, but I think it's a wonderful piece of filmography, for its time of course."
To the waitress, the Johnson says, "I'll have the Wagyu sirloin, bloody as you can legally serve it, and perhaps we'd like a couple pitchers of beer. The real stuff, please. It is the 5th, after all."
She waits for the rest of the team to order, and the waitress to leave before continuing with the conversation. "The job will indeed prove difficult. Hopefully, you may find ways to get two, or even three of the targets together, which would make your work much easier. But I agree, this is no 'milk run.' That's precisely why we are willing to pay so much, with a hefty bonus should all aspects of the job be completed in a satisfactory manner. We are also willing to provide an advance, as I'm sure there are palms that will need greasing, and equipment that will need purchasing to help advance our mutual cause.
"It seems to me that there may be some hesitancy from the group, as I'm sure all of you are thinking that this will only be possible if all parties are firmly on board. Mr. Hopeless, we have not heard from you yet. It appears as though you may be the deciding factor. What are your thoughts?"
-
"I'm afraid you may misunderstand," the Johnson answers. "After we finish our business tonight, assuming you take the job, we will not see one another again until the contract is fulfilled. At that point my payment will be prompt, a great weight will be lifted from mine and my employers shoulders, and you will all be a great deal more economically advantaged."
"Ah, I understand now," Gabriela said, nodding. Dumb, dumb, dumb! Of course, that's what she meant. This was her first 'meet' and she took a few even breathes, keeping her cool (http://orokos.com/roll/288353). She glanced at her hands and relaxed. It would be bad if she lost her shit here.
She looked up and smiled when the waitress came in After Ms. Johnson placed her order, she placed her own, purposefully selecting her meal around the Johnson's preference (http://orokos.com/roll/288354). Red meat, medium rare... a good cut, but not the heaviest price.
After the waitress left, she returned her attention to Ms. Johnson until she addressed the man she called Hopeless, then she turned her attention to him.
-
The moment Ian is approached by the hostess he feels something in his gut that he doesn't like. The fuck did she know who to look for? These fuckers got fuckin pictures of me!? He keeps his hands in his pockets, nervously fishing for the grenade that he'd decided not to bring as he follows her to the rear. By the time the two of them reach the Holiday room, he's been able to calm his nerves a bit. So what if they got my picture? Aint like I got a SIN or nothin. He does his best not to stare when he and Ms Johnson meet once again, amazing looking woman though she is.
"Mr. Hopeless, so good to see you again. Glad you could make it,"
As the hastily put together human man crosses the room toward her, he takes his hat off, then while shaking her hand firmly, he nods and responds, "Good to see you as well, Ms. Johnson." When she directs him to sit next to her, he happily obliges, but the feeling in his gut gets deeper. Is this tease the prole, Part II? Or is she trying to keep me close enough for the tailored pheromones to work? You know Johnsons be gettin them shits, right? He remembers how his impetuous words had probably cost the team close to six grand through negotiations during the last meet, so he's decided that this time he's gonna keep his mouth shut until she and the other three women here had all said their peace. Even so, his mind flits around from topic to topic like a moth, surrounded by lights. Why is she putting me on a team of all women, too? There's the cute rich brunette, the redhead synthleather gal, and the no nonsense ork in the baggy clothes. Is Dadlez trying to find out if I'm straight? PFFFFT! Like you'd ever have the balls to try and hook up with some hottie shadowrunner! You can't even ask the girl at the corner store on a date. He's able to focus a bit more once the Johnson starts her pitch.
"At my right here, we have Mr. Hopeless who will provide magical support."
Magical support?! She knows I'm just a summoner! Or does she? I guess I don't really advertise my abilities terribly well. I hope this woman doesn't think I can cast spells and shit. He keeps his trap shut though, hoping she isn't trying to mislead the other three for some reason. Soon as the four of us are alone, I gotta let em know.
"To his right, we have Phoenix, who I understand is the potential muscle. Across from me, La Sombre is the second-story woman. And, Wraith, is it? Yes, Wraith will be joining us for matrix overwatch."
Ian looks to each woman as they're introduced and nods his head to each in turn. Leathergirl is Phoenix and she's the muscle. Nod. Smile. Baggy ork is La Sombre and she's the inside man. Heh, "man". Crazy how gender biased our language is. Nod. Smile. Rich girl, Wraith, Decker. Nod. Smile. He notes there's no spellcaster counted among them, a fact that worries him a bit. He's not sure how comfortable he is being the team's only "mage" as it were.
"I will be up front with you all. This is not tasteful work. There are four specific Yakuza wakagashira and kyodai whom my employers and I would like to see eliminated. If possible, we would like at least one of the deaths to appear to come from the Feathered. It is also imperative that these four individuals are 'geeked,' to put it in laymen's terms, within hour of one another, so that they will not have the opportunity to go underground. We are prepared to offer 36,000¥ for the successful completion of the run, plus a bonus of 7,000¥ should the necessary people believe that the hits were carried out by the Feathered. "Before I am able to go into any more detail, I need to know if I am in the presence of interested parties."
The skinny human man has been leaning back against the chair with his elbows on the armrests, listening and watching, trying his damndest not to react or give himself away. But his body language betrays him finally. Wetwork. Slumping his shoulders forward unconsciously, he glances down at the table for just a moment and sighs a little bit. He inhales and almost speaks, but instead sticks to the plan, waiting to see what might be added to the conversation by tongues more skilled than his. A moment later, a message pops up in the top right corner of his vision.
<<@Hopeless [Dadlez] Should this affect your decision, we believe these individuals are directly responsible for the leaks in your party during the last run. I am also in the possession of information relating to a certain Niles Gray's whereabouts that I will happily pass along to you should you accept the job.>>
He really tries his hardest to keep his face neutral, but the feeling in his gut just went full out nuclear. This is a fucking set up. Why else would she be trying to manipulate me this hard? She must think Breeze and I really fuckin hit it off. Stay cool, dude. You don't know what she's got going on. Woman like that operate on a higher level than dudes like you. She got schemes within schemes. Don't think cause you caught wind of some schemin, that means you're the target. You're a cog in a machine, dude. A machine that kills people sometimes, so get the fuck over that "wetwork" bullshit, too! He doesn't respond to the message, instead waiting to hear what Wraith, La Sombre, and Phoenix think about being paid assassins.
The ork, La Sombre is the first to speak up.
"Sometimes, rabid dogs must be put down."
He raises an eyebrow. Rabid dogs. Damn. We don't even know these guys. These GUYS?! They're fuckin hardcore Yak murderers, each responsible for more deaths than you'll ever be if you start workin real hard at it. Fuck those fuckin fuckers, right?!
Wraith, the decker keeps it straight business.
"So, we need to eliminate four yaks in the course of an hour and make it look like the Azzies did it? What's our timeline? Knocking off four targets isn't too tough. Making it look like someone else was responsible also isn't impossible. But timing it so it all happens within an hour? That could be difficult... and expensive."
Good points, all. And you see how cool she is? She's already been told aint gonna be no more info till we say if we're in, yet here she is demanding more info without giving away a damn thing? This chick is on POINT.
Phoenix goes all out for style points.
"Sounds like I rolled into at the right time. Last I checked, yaks bleed like the rest of us. And if it bleeds..." She paused dramatically, tilting her head forward to expose her hazel eyes glancing at each of them briefly in turn. "...I can kill it. But the Wraith is right. It ain't no milk run. Reckon it would take all of us committed. Ain't no time for a half-cocked rifle in the mix, if you catch my drift?" She winked, returning to her relaxed stance whilst grabbing one of the water glasses, drinking it coolly.
Ian had forgotten both how thirsty he was as well as the fact that there are water bottles here until she took a sip from hers. That line is from a movie or something, I think. he thinks as he unscrews one of the bottles and takes a long swig as well. And what's with the winking? As he's drinking, the Johnson makes conversation with Phoenix, turning on her manufactured charm the way she does.
"Ahh, an interest in the classics, I see. I personally find the flatvids of the late 20th century to be most interesting. There's much that the modern tridflick directors have outright stolen, often to good effect, sometimes for ill. But Jiminez," she says referencing an early 2040s director, "would not be Jiminez if not for the work of McTiernan. Of course The Hunt for Red October seems a bit controversial to our modern sensibilities, but I think it's a wonderful piece of filmography, for its time of course."
Sean Connery was in that movie. Asshole woman beater.
The waitress arrives with a plate of the best food Ian has seen in months, if not years and he feels a sense of near disgust when he realizes that these "calf fries" are the appetizer. He doesn't even realize it until Dadlez turns to the waitress and says,
"I'll have the Wagyu sirloin, bloody as you can legally serve it, and perhaps we'd like a couple pitchers of beer. The real stuff, please. It is the 5th, after all."
Deciding that it's ok to speak now, he finally pipes up. With a poilte smile and no discernable accent, he says, "I'll have the same, but medium rare, thanks. Oh, and can I also rock the blue cheese pecan chopped salad, please?" He closes the online menu he'd been perusing in the background since he got into the cab to come here. God damn right I'm bout to eat some hardcore food on this woman's dime! This shit probably costs a third what I'm getting paid for the job! Shit, NOT ordering some bad-ass food would be like volunteering for a 25% paycut, right?! Once everyone has finished ordering, and the five of them are alone again, Johnson gets right back down to business.
"The job will indeed prove difficult. Hopefully, you may find ways to get two, or even three of the targets together, which would make your work much easier. But I agree, this is no 'milk run.' That's precisely why we are willing to pay so much, with a hefty bonus should all aspects of the job be completed in a satisfactory manner. We are also willing to provide an advance, as I'm sure there are palms that will need greasing, and equipment that will need purchasing to help advance our mutual cause.
"It seems to me that there may be some hesitancy from the group, as I'm sure all of you are thinking that this will only be possible if all parties are firmly on board. Mr. Hopeless, we have not heard from you yet. It appears as though you may be the deciding factor. What are your thoughts?"
She called me out, directly, huh? Well... Ok!
"I don't- " He stops, clears his throat and begins again. "I don't like wetwork." He considers not continuing and just leaving it at that, but he knows he's already in too deep for anyone to let it drop now, so he goes on. "It's messy, it's tricky, it's unpredictable, and it doesn't even look great on a resume." He pops another fry in his mouth, but doesn't chew it yet. "Unless it's an assassin's resume." He gives the scrumptious little morsel one or two chews before swallowing quickly and adding, "Now, considering I'm not trying to build one of those, I'm gonna need more of a financial motivation for it to work out, wiz?" Ian is simply amazed at how cool he's staying under the circumstances. It's cause he hasn't been near the train in a while. He's been staying inside. I can't wait till I'm a real decker! This is more how he'd hoped he'd be during the first meet. Feeling like he's on a roll, Hopeless just keeps on with it. "I'm thinking closer to fourty-five, fifteen up front." He nods his head toward the short brunette called Wraith, glancing at her as he speaks this last bit; "The lady has a point. Gonna need a lot of coordination to pull off."
I can handle this. We're cool. We're cool.
-
"The lady has a point. Gonna need a lot of coordination to pull off."
Gabriela smiles. She had heard that you never took the first offer and it looked like this wasn't her soon-to-be companions' first rodeo. she glanced at Ms. Johnson.
"It does seem to me that this is a task that will require some doing for just four operatives. I do not mind telling you that a CAS Spec-Ops team has more boots on ground for a similar op, and they have the luxury of a host of off-site overwatch. I understand that our line of work forces us to make due with less manpower, but I certainly would be more comfortable promising a successful op with a bigger budget. The numbers Mr. Hopeless offers seem reasonable to me."
-
"Ahh, an interest in the classics, I see."
Before she can answer, the waitress opens the door with three large steaming platters of calf fries, which she expertly lays in front of the group. All talk of the job ceases, but the Johnson continues to comment on Phoenix's interest in cinema.
"I personally find the flatvids of the late 20th century to be most interesting. There's much that the modern tridflick directors have outright stolen, often to good effect, sometimes for ill. But Jiminez," she says referencing an early 2040s director, "would not be Jiminez if not for the work of McTiernan. Of course The Hunt for Red October seems a bit controversial to our modern sensibilities, but I think it's a wonderful piece of filmography, for its time of course."
To the waitress, the Johnson says, "I'll have the Wagyu sirloin, bloody as you can legally serve it, and perhaps we'd like a couple pitchers of beer. The real stuff, please. It is the 5th, after all."
One brow raised slightly on Marissa's face above her sunglasses as the plates of Rocky Mountain Oysters were brought forth. Frag. Remember joking about these in school. Reaching forward, a gloved hand gingerly picked up one of the fried morsels, the human plopping it casually in her mouth and chewing, noting the strange texture in combination with the flavor. Flipping through the menu, she quickly made a choice once it was her turn.
"Go ahead and toss on a CAS sirloin special, introduced to the flame...with that mushroom saute on the side, eh? I won't object to the beer, either" Satisfied, she flicked the AR menu away and leaned back, eyeing the well-dressed Ms. Johnson with her hands cradling the back of her skull, a light grin on her face.
"'Russians don't take a dump without a plan'". Heh, I know the piece. Flat vids seem to be more..engaging. Limited perspective and scope, so more is put into what was given. Regardless, the intensity of those pieces really draws you in. In the end, though, are we not entertained?"
At that point, the discussion turned back to business, and the others speaking their pieces did pique Marissa's curiosity. La Sombre's responses were to be expected: she carried herself to be that way. The initiation from Wraith was a definite positive surprise, of which the Phoenix was grateful. Hopeless even, now that he was speaking, proved to be some positive negotiator. Self-admittedly, bargaining for a job wasn't in the style of the Phoenix. Often, when she was picked out for a job, it was because it was known she could do it. She'd do the job, get paid, move on. Simple. Glancing at the speakers in turn, her eyes fell on Ms. Johnson last, eager to see how this banter played out.
-
[05 MAY 2075 | 20:20 | DFW | Rio D's]
Wraith ignored the appetizers. Some people thought eating calf testicles was exotic, she just thought it was nasty. She didn't even want to think about the texture. When it came her turn to order, the decker ordered the steak salad with a peppercorn ranch dressing. She wasn't much of a meat eater, having given up her decadent proclivities in rehab. She silently observed the others negotiating with Ms. Johnson, glad that someone seemed to be good at it. All of the movie talk went right over her head. She wasn't much of a student of ancient history.
-
"'Russians don't take a dump without a plan'". Heh, I know the piece. Flat vids seem to be more..engaging. Limited perspective and scope, so more is put into what was given. Regardless, the intensity of those pieces really draws you in. In the end, though, are we not entertained?"
The Johnson says, "I know this one," and pops a calf fry in her mouth, puts her index finger to her temple and taps thoughtfully. In the end, though, she finishes her bite and says, "You got me Phoenix. Well played."
The table quiets again for a moment as the waitress returns with the pitchers of beer, which she pours out for everyone at the table. Unlike most synth-beer, the color is darker and more golden, and the head doesn't have that thick, almost meringue-like quality of corn-based starches. When she leaves again, Hopeless speaks up.
"I don't- I don't like wetwork. It's messy, it's tricky, it's unpredictable, and it doesn't even look great on a resume. Unless it's an assassin's resume."
"Oh Mr. Hopeless," the Johnson answers, "If someone dies it's a wetwork run. I'm not only talking legally, though obviously the star would treat them as such, but also morally. If you are paid to obtain a certain thing, or transfer a certain thing, or even transfer a certain person, and someone dies in the fulfillment of that contract, you have been paid to kill someone. If those requirement are met, you are a killer for hire, and it makes little difference to this Ms. Johnson, or to the Mr. Johnson three doors down whether that death was instrumental to the run, incidental, or even accidental, it all brings the same heat. I would say that your resume is attractive not because of what you will or won't do, but because of your tenacity, and your professionalism. Still, you objection, though emotional, is noted."
"I'm gonna need more of a financial motivation for it to work out, wiz? I'm thinking closer to fourty-five, fifteen up front." He nods his head toward the short brunette called Wraith, glancing at her as he speaks this last bit; "The lady has a point. Gonna need a lot of coordination to pull off."
"It does seem to me that this is a task that will require some doing for just four operatives. I do not mind telling you that a CAS Spec-Ops team has more boots on ground for a similar op, and they have the luxury of a host of off-site overwatch. I understand that our line of work forces us to make due with less manpower, but I certainly would be more comfortable promising a successful op with a bigger budget. The numbers Mr. Hopeless offers seem reasonable to me."
The Johnson leans forward in her chair, and tents her fingers, though she's careful to keep her elbows off the table. She looks up a bit as she taps her fingers together, making it appear as though she's weighing the team's arguments in numerical terms. After a moment, she looks back down and smiles. "Mr. Hopeless, I am glad that you used the word 'closer' when speaking about the number forty-five. I am glad about that because frankly, I cannot raise the base price of this run by 9,000¥. But, I will increase the base price to 40,000¥, and raise the bonus to 8,000¥. That is," she pauses briefly again, looking up and wagging her finger, "12,000¥ apiece.
"Now indeed, CAS Spec-Ops would have more personnel and more off-site support, but CAS Spec-Ops play by different rules, and if they wanted four Yakuza dead they would undoubtedly kill fifteen, twenty of their ranks, plus another thirty or so in civilian casualties. Because they are military operators who follow a different calculus, as well as a different path, they use different means. The bloodshed is regrettable but necessary. Still, I would like to see it minimized."
-
Gabriela high five herself internally at the second offer. Just more than 10% over the initial offer. Alright, good job. But keep your cool.
To Ms. Johnson, she presents nothing but a smile. "I appreciate your willingness to entertain our concerns. You are right, this is not a military operation and this line of work requires different expectations. I, personally, feel comfortable with the final offer, but must reiterate Mr. Hopeless's request of a certain amount up front. Maybe not the fifteen he asked for, but being able to grease the wheels before we hit the tracks will certainly ensure our success."
I am down to my last few hundred nuyen. If there's going to be anything we need to make this go smoothly, I'm going to need that advance...
-
[05 MAY 2075 | 20:20 | DFW | Rio D's]
Wraith shrugged. It'll be enough to pay my expenses for a few months...
"Price sounds good to me, with one outstanding question. I know you don't want to give out too may details, but at least an idea on how much time we have to pull this off? A "Dead By" date would be great! Seriously though, if you tell us this has to be done by tomorrow night, the offer is unreasonable, especially considering the peculiar requirements."
-
"Oh Mr. Hopeless," the Johnson answers, "If someone dies it's a wetwork run. I'm not only talking legally, though obviously the star would treat them as such, but also morally. If you are paid to obtain a certain thing, or transfer a certain thing, or even transfer a certain person, and someone dies in the fulfillment of that contract, you have been paid to kill someone. If those requirement are met, you are a killer for hire, and it makes little difference to this Ms. Johnson, or to the Mr. Johnson three doors down whether that death was instrumental to the run, incidental, or even accidental, it all brings the same heat. I would say that your resume is attractive not because of what you will or won't do, but because of your tenacity, and your professionalism. Still, your objection, though emotional, is noted."
"I appreciate you being considerate and all, but that's not it. It's nothing to do with having a distaste for death or killing, even. It's simply a matter of preference. Assassins have a boring job, I've always thought, and I don't don't think I'd enjoy it. Same thing over and over again, day in and day out. No connections with new people. No learning new things. No seeing new sights." He swallows another fry and keeps going. "Don't get me wrong, I don't mind the work. I just don't wanna get pigeonholed, y'know?" A swig of water. "I don't think I'd enjoy being a full-time thief, smuggler, or bodyguard either, y'know? But I can swing part time, wiz?"
"I will increase the base price to 40,000¥, and raise the bonus to 8,000¥. That is," she pauses briefly again, looking up and wagging her finger, "12,000¥ apiece."
Ian takes another drink of his water. These fry things are good, but they're a little too salty for me. I wonder what they are... The offer sounds good to him, so he stays quiet, waiting to see what the other three think. The brunette shrugs and says,
"Price sounds good to me, with one outstanding question. I know you don't want to give out too may details, but at least an idea on how much time we have to pull this off? A "Dead By" date would be great! Seriously though, if you tell us this has to be done by tomorrow night, the offer is unreasonable, especially considering the peculiar requirements."
He nods his head sideways toward Wraith while looking at the Johnson and making the "she's got a point" face.
-
"I appreciate you being considerate and all, but that's not it. It's nothing to do with having a distaste for death or killing, even. It's simply a matter of preference. Assassins have a boring job, I've always thought, and I don't don't think I'd enjoy it. Same thing over and over again, day in and day out. No connections with new people. No learning new things. No seeing new sights." He swallows another fry and keeps going. "Don't get me wrong, I don't mind the work. I just don't wanna get pigeonholed, y'know?" A swig of water. "I don't think I'd enjoy being a full-time thief, smuggler, or bodyguard either, y'know? But I can swing part time, wiz?"
That, omae, is well said," the Johnson answers, lightly touching Hopeless on the knee under the table. "I take no joy in this manner of work, and quite honestly I do find it distasteful. Still, what must be done must be done. Rest assured, Mr. Hopeless, few contracts of this type cross my desk should you and I work again in the future."
To Ms. Johnson, she presents nothing but a smile. "I appreciate your willingness to entertain our concerns. You are right, this is not a military operation and this line of work requires different expectations. I, personally, feel comfortable with the final offer, but must reiterate Mr. Hopeless's request of a certain amount up front. Maybe not the fifteen he asked for, but being able to grease the wheels before we hit the tracks will certainly ensure our success."
"The request seems reasonable to me." The Johnson produces three credsticks from her dress and sets them on the table.
"Price sounds good to me, with one outstanding question. I know you don't want to give out too may details, but at least an idea on how much time we have to pull this off? A "Dead By" date would be great! Seriously though, if you tell us this has to be done by tomorrow night, the offer is unreasonable, especially considering the peculiar requirements."
"A very good question. We are not under a strict timeline. The sooner the job is completed, the better it is for my employers, and by virtue myself, but it is much more important that the job is done well. That said, should three weeks pass and we have not heard word one from the team, I would begin to become worried."
-
[05 MAY 2075 | 20:21 | DFW | Rio D's]
Wraith nodded. "I'm in..." Looking around at the rest of the table, she waited to see what everyone else said. Sure hope the ork is in, otherwise it's going to be tough to convince anyone that the Azzies were involved.
-
Listening to the banter, Marissa gave a warm grin as negotiations seemed to be going in their favor. The goofy-looking man certainly knew his stuff, and the latina orkette did seem to be able to choose her words carefully. Throw in the smart mousey girl's charm, and the redheaded human didn't even need to speak (which is probably for the best!). When Wraith chimed in her agreement to do the job, it was all that she needed to act. Sitting up, she poured herself a glass of the legit beer, setting down the pitcher with a thud.
"Aight. The Phoenix accepts these terms, and will rise to the challenge. You can take that to the bank~" Lifting the glass in cheers, she brought the amber liquid to her lips, sipping the beverage, mentally remarking the quality of the drink with its full body and smooth finish.
-
Excellent. And everybody on board, looks like this is the ticket to my new life.
"Very good. I am pleased to say that I am in, as well. Your timetable is generous, I would be surprised if we took full advantage of it."
At that moment, the beers arrived. "Auspicious," she said, as she took a mug and raised it. "To a successful venture."
-
Oh, come on. When he feels the hand on his knee, he pauses, then looks Dadlez directly in the face with a smile and a look that says "What kind of fool do you take me for". But still, for a split second, his crazy imagination gets the better of him. Yeah, but what if she's serious? What if- SHUT THE FUCK UP! Mind on the JOB, ass-tick! The JOB! He leans back against the chair again, removing his elbows from the table and bringing his water bottle with him as he does. Ian takes another swig as the three women chime in, one by one. He calmly follows suit. Screwing the top back onto his bottle, he says "Sounds like a deal."
-
Shortly after the deal is struck and the beer is drank in that ancient rite of contract sealing, the meals arrive. The ingredients are good quality and well-prepared, and the Johnson orders additional pitchers of beer, as well as additional bottles of water. It seems as though she'd like to keep the team in high spirits while minimizing the chance that she will need to repeat herself. During the course of the meal, and in between rapturous bites of her steak, the Johnson paints the broad strokes of the job.
"As was said before, we're looking at four targets," she begins, pulling up a picture on the trid projector in the center of the table. Rachel notes a commlink coming online. "Kenta Minami: thirty-three-years-old, an orphan whose adopted surnames means 'south.' He's been with the organization since he was a child, and has settled into a role as an enforcer. Not particularly bright or with what we would call equipped with a sense of business acumen, Minami's position of kyodai is largely a matter of deference to the years he's spent with the yakuza. Primary enforcement obligations reside in narcotics, chips, and protection, though he's a sometimes-driver for Noboru Oshiro, whom we will get to shortly.
Ms. Johnson gives the rest of the information on Minami in a clipped pace. One primary apartment in southeast downtown, and a room in a yakuza-fronted hotel. He typically makes rounds on Tuesdays and Thursdays, though if he needed in the service of Oshiro, he passes those duties to a junior shatei. Most of his activities are limited to the downtown area, but he keeps a steady girl in Wise, northwest of Fort Worth. The photos show a burly man with a scar running down the right side of face, leaving his right eye with a perpetual droopy look. A close-up shows that he's missing his right pinkie finger and the first knuckle of his right ring finger.
The next photo that comes up is of an older gentlemen, hair pulled back into a well-coiffed arch and still raven black. "Noboru Oshiro is wakagashira for southeast downtown Dallas and parts of Ennis. Stretches of his border lie against territory held by the Feathered, though there has been very little violence. Oshiro is first and foremost a businessman, but that has somewhat been tempered by a vindictive streak. He keeps three commlinks that we know about, as well as two penthouses around Dallas and a business suite at the Hotel Heron, where Minami also keeps his room. Oshiro's schedule is more erratic when he's out. He works primarily from his home office, and spends a good deal of his days at Cafe Tonkatsu, a restaurant where senior yakuza conduct business. He frequents a number of nightclubs around the metroplex, often utilizing VIP rooms, and keeps a driver and bodyguard with him when out.
"Takashi Sato is another wakagashira, though a relative newcomer to the post. He comes from a yakuza dynasty, but did not officially take part in family business until after attending university for Economics and Applied Biotechnology. He does not hold territory in the manner of most wakagashira, as his role is more in management and distribution. He manages three of the yakuza's five high-end bunraku parlors, and four of its casinos. He also oversees the distribution of most narcotics to the plex's various districts."
The trid projector displays four commcodes, various hotels, and a home address in Rockwall. From the photo, he looks youngish, perhaps mid-thirties with a ponytail and incisive eyes. Biographical information shows that he was born and raised in Dallas, attended prestigious schools, has a valid National SIN, and a clean driving record. Unmarried with a number of mistresses, Mr. Sato is known to avoid drugs himself, and assist that those in his employ do the same. He's an avid sportsmen who loves attending fights and has a large collection of stuffed para-critters which he sometimes hunts in north Texas. His usual security consists of a driver -- often a rotating position -- and what security is provided by the various hotels and casinos in which he's conducting his business. He has very few close associates.
"And last but not least, we are brought to Basho Tezuka. Tezuka holds the title of kyodai, but he is little more than a soldier. He was sent to the DFW about three years ago from Japan when it was hoped that the change in climate would have a palliative effect on his demeanor, or at least give him a good outlet for his natural proclivities. He's violent, erratic, and known to imagine or manufacture slights against him. He runs a gang, for lack of a better word, of young yakuza who enforce protection rackets and sell narcotics in southeast Fort Worth. He and a team of four other yakuza soldiers are the go-to hit squad for the Silver Blade, and we would prefer if the other four member of that team were left unmolested. He takes nearly every meal at the Spirits Club, and is known to spend any free evenings in the 'Gentlemen's club' on the third floor. We have one primary commcode for Mr. Tezuka, but he conducts the majority of his business with burner phones."
The picture of Tezuka is unsettling. His eyes are a little too-close together, and with a pinched nose, he has a vicious almost canine look. Splotchy facial hair, a close-cropped haircut, and cauliflower ears give him the impression of being every bit the brawler that Ms. Johnson describes.
"I'll give you a moment to peruse the information, and then I'm sure there will be questions," Ms. Johnson says at the end of her spiel.
<<Incoming Message
<<Recipients: Wraith, Hopeless, Phoenix, La Sombre
<<Sender: Ms. Johnson
<<Attachments:
<<Kenta Minami: Datapack
<<--Commcode
<<--Addresses: Apartment #, Hotel Heron #
<<--Personal Dossier
<<Noboru Oshiro: Datapack
<<--Commcode: 1, 2, 3
<<--Addresses: Dallas Penthouse #, Hotel Heron #
<<--Personal Dossier
<<Takashi Sato: Datapack
<<--Commcode: 1, 2
<<--Address: Rockwall, Thunder Plains Club, Downtown Lights, The Blue Door, Lady Luck, Samson's, Maneki-neko, Little Ume's
<<--Personal Dossier
<<Basho Tezuka: Datapack
<<--Commcode
<<--Address: Apartment #
<<--Personal Dossier
<<End Message
-
"Some model citizens, these," Gabriela murmurs as Ms. Johnson covers the targets. "I don't have any questions just yet, not any that I think you can answer any easier than we can with a little research. But I might think of something by the time everyone else has addressed their own concerns."
Mostly just need to get a handle on these locations, figure out what happens there... our Matrix support should be able to handle a lot of that. Then figure out their patterns, get their schedules, and then execute the op. Damn, I wish it was as easy as we always make it sound...
-
Marissa dined happily on the steak as their meals were served, tearing into the nearly raw meat with an almost surprising amount of carnivorous fervor, drinking from her glass of beer every few bites and listening to the briefing. Her eyes were flitting from one person to the next with each sentence behind her shades, head tilted slightly to the side as her mind processed the information....or at least tried to. It was like paying attention in class: she had a hard time with it. Sighing mentally to herself, she was grateful for a hard copy of all this information as the packets popped up in her AR display as virtual dossiers, using the visuals as aids to sift through the wealth of information.
Some of this will work in our favor...based on this, Oshiro lurks near Feathered territory, so he'd be the easiest to pin our patsies on...Minami drives for him at times, so if we needed to time it right, that could knock both of them out. Sato...seems like one of those pushover types who has a big bark but little bite. I've been wrong, but that means prey to me. Tezuka, on the other hand, seems to me like a badazumatafaka, and might take some serious surprise..hmm...
Setting her utensils down, Marissa cleared her throat a bit after La Sombre said her piece. "I do have one question right off the fly, and I'll admit I won't be surprised if the answer is none, but has recent events shown any activity by these yaks that might in some way piss off the Feathered hoops? Offed a couple of em, took territory, made them an offer they couldn't refuse?" She smirked at the end of this, brushing a stray hair from her face whilst giving the floor to the rest of the team.
-
[05 MAY 2075 | 20:22 | DFW | Rio D's]
Wraith mentally downloaded and started organizing the files in her PAN. While the others asked questions, she read through the files, trying to tease out anything useful. As she read through the data, she said, "Aside from the obvious connection between Minami and Oshiro, are you aware of whether these four are linked in any other significant way?"
-
Setting her utensils down, Marissa cleared her throat a bit after La Sombre said her piece. "I do have one question right off the fly, and I'll admit I won't be surprised if the answer is none, but has recent events shown any activity by these yaks that might in some way piss off the Feathered hoops? Offed a couple of em, took territory, made them an offer they couldn't refuse?" She smirked at the end of this, brushing a stray hair from her face whilst giving the floor to the rest of the team.
As she read through the data, Wraith said, "Aside from the obvious connection between Minami and Oshiro, are you aware of whether these four are linked in any other significant way?"
The Johnson places her utensils on the table, and leans back in her chair. "Officially, all the Feathered are 'pissed' at all of the yaks, and vice versa. Unofficially, all of the yakuza in front of you are believed to be currently or to have in the past colluded with the Feathered. Officially, these deaths may rally the troops to push the Feathered into the far confines of our glorious metroplex. Unofficially, should any other yakuza be aware of the actions that your targets have taken, they will be under the impression that the Feathered has deemed these individuals to have outlived their usefulness, and will thus be discouraged from taking any similar action themselves. I am not aware, unfortunately, if your targets were working in concert, or if they were independents, as it were. But I trust you see now how important it is that the Feathered are seen as the perpetrators of these hits. Should it come to the surface, should even whispers touch the shadows that senior yakuza had abandoned their oaths and their tribe, well that would be . . . most unfortunate."
-
[05 MAY 2075 | 20:22 | DFW | Rio D's]
Nodding, Wraith asked, "Any particular members or faction of the Feathered that might have been involved with them? Leverage would be nice."
The decker opened an AR window and started working on a few search terms.
-
[05 MAY 2075 | 20:22 | DFW | Rio D's]
Nodding, Wraith asked, "Any particular members or faction of the Feathered that might have been involved with them? Leverage would be nice."
The decker opened an AR window and started working on a few search terms.
"Unfortunately, our information on the Feathered is rather scarce. There was an unfortunate shootout between the yaks and the Feathered, where the yaks believed they were setting a trap, but the opposite turned out to be the case. The Feathered had what we believe to be a particularly strong technomancer with them, one of the Putas de las Muerte, we believe. If our belief that one of those four tipped off the Puta, or the Feathered, or both, that may be one avenue of exploration."
-
During the discussion of the details, Ian relaxes a little bit. He makes sure his crappy Meta-burner downloads all the files he was sent, then immediately copies them and messages them to himself before deleting them. He'll get em again on the more secure link, later on. Knowing he's most likely not going to be on the hook for planning and coordinating things, he thinks more about the money. Twelve thousand is quite a chunk. I could get a really nice agent program for that, or probably a decent used Spirit or a Jackrabbit or something. Maybe get a better jacket. Or you could start saving up for that muscle replacement you've always wanted. Pussy ass motherfucker. He's rather enjoying the feeling of being an indian, rather than the chief, so to speak, and he doesn't pay too much attention to the exact words and specifics of the conversation, figuring the bits that are important will be hammered out in detail when the group is alone. However, his focus is drawn sharply back to the conversation when he hears mention of a feared foe.
"The Feathered had what we believe to be a particularly strong technomancer with them, one of the Putas de las Muerte, we believe."
Ian focuses his eyes on the women at the table with him and straightens his black, thick rimmed eye-glasses. I should have guessed they'd be involved in this, somehow. Dammit. This is, afterall, the same Johnson, dealing with the same crews, having the same beef. Ok, I'm gonna get too damn visible if I stay on this thing for too much longer, so after this one, no more runs for Yaks or Azzies for a lil bit. The shaggy headed white man goes back to eating his steak, listening to the women at the table talk, and trying not to think about the sorts of crazy, world-hopping adventures that he and Dadlez would go on if they were madly in love with each other.
-
As the conversation begins to wind down and the dishes have been cleared after the meal, the Johnson orders a bottle of Basil Hayden and proposes a toast. "To dirty work cleanly done.."
She sips lightly on her bourbon and looks to the ceiling in contemplation before finishing her drink. "My best, ladies and gentleman. Ghost's speed. I would offer you use of the room to continue planning," she says rising, "but I doubt you would take me up on the offer. Still, if you would like, I do have the room reserved for another hour."
With that, she shakes each runner's hand in turn. Her grasp is studied, firm but non-threatening, and she maintains eye contact throughout. Almost subconsciously, she gives a slight bow before leaving the room, and the moment after, a slightly perplexed look crosses her face, and she hurries away.
-
As the conversation begins to wind down and the dishes have been cleared after the meal, the Johnson orders a bottle of Basil Hayden and proposes a toast. "To dirty work cleanly done.."
Ian pours himself a drink of the exquisite potable and downs it along with Dadlez. "Here here." He fills his glass again and raises it, proposing another toast. "To love, war, and song; the only things worth making."
She sips lightly on her bourbon and looks to the ceiling in contemplation before finishing her drink. "My best, ladies and gentleman. Ghost's speed. I would offer you use of the room to continue planning," she says rising, "but I doubt you would take me up on the offer. Still, if you would like, I do have the room reserved for another hour."
The nerdy looking human gives her a sweet smile that seems to say, "Yeah, you know what you're talking about."
With that, she shakes each runner's hand in turn. Her grasp is studied, firm but non-threatening, and she maintains eye contact throughout. Almost subconsciously, she gives a slight bow before leaving the room, and the moment after, a slightly perplexed look crosses her face, and she hurries away.
Well, that was weird. He looks back and forth around the table with a raised eyebrow. "Anyone know what that was about?"
-
As the conversation begins to wind down and the dishes have been cleared after the meal, the Johnson orders a bottle of Basil Hayden and proposes a toast. "To dirty work cleanly done.."
Ian pours himself a drink of the exquisite potable and downs it along with Dadlez. "Here here." He fills his glass again and raises it, proposing another toast. "To love, war, and song; the only things worth making."
Marissa joined in with the lifting of the glasses, a smirk permanently plastered on her face. A full stomach, good beer, and a job using her talents. Can't get better "Ain't nothin' but a thing." The sunglassed human muttered in reply as she downed the fiery beverage, feeling it pleasantly burn her throat all the way down, leaving her feeling warm and good. As the Johnson left, the Phoenix shook her hand firmly, gaze unwavering, though she tilted her head slightly upon their employer's strange exit. It wasn't until the silence was broken that she did speak.
He looks back and forth around the table with a raised eyebrow. "Anyone know what that was about?"
"Damned if I knew. If I were to judge, looked like she'd seen a ghost. She bowed...going for a longshot, but what're the chances this lady be Yak connected?" Shrugging, she set down the empty bourbon glass and picked up the remaining glass of beer, downing it. "Uah....better question is, where to now? Transport ain't an issue...just personal comfort, if you catch my drift." The human eyed the other three curiously, seeing what their interested course of action was.
-
[05 MAY 2075 | 20:30 | DFW | Rio D's]
"Up to y'all. I already checked the Host to make sure there weren't any slaved listening devices in the room, so we should be somewhat safe if we want to stick around here to put together a game plan." Wraith's mirrored sunglasses had started to slide forward, so the decker pushed them back onto her head. "Seems like we need to do some legwork on these locations, probably some recon of the targets themselves to tease out patterns, and beat the bushes to learn more about these yahoos. I can get started on the matrix stuff tonight, but it's probably going to take some time."
-
In a tactical situation, Gabriella would be far more comfortable. She's used to getting an Operation Order and then setting up the tactical plan. Intel would cover all of the legwork. She takes a moment to consider how she might be useful at this juncture.
"So, I know a guy who might be able to get us a bit of information. A Lone Star detective. I can give him a buzz. I have my own questions, but what do you guys think I should ask?
"I can also hit the streets and try to determine pattern of life."
-
"Damned if I knew. If I were to judge, looked like she'd seen a ghost. She bowed...going for a longshot, but what're the chances this lady be Yak connected?"
I'm nearly certain she's more than a little familiar with the Yaks. As well as my limited ability as a summoner, I'll have to bring this fact up, later on when we're not likely being listened in on. Ian makes a mental note, scratching his chin and thinking.
"Better question is, where to now? Transport ain't an issue...just personal comfort, if you catch my drift."
Still scratching his chin and staying quiet, he thinks to himself. I don't think I do, actually. Does she mean she's got transport covered or that she's got a safehouse covered? Or that she's SO well connected that she has both covered and we merely need to choose the comfort level? Just pretend you understand and you will, soon enough, dude. Luckily, Wraith answers her.
"Up to y'all. I already checked the Host to make sure there weren't any slaved listening devices in the room, so we should be somewhat safe if we want to stick around here to put together a game plan."
Ian raises a hopeful eyebrow. Does the decker know what she's doing? That's a good sign. He smiles a bit and asks, "Are you sure?" The idea of actually hanging out in this beautiful place for a short time longer is very appealing to Mister Hopeless. Especially considering I never actually saw her close out the tab... When La Sombra speaks up, he barely notices it, the wheels in his head already considering more immediate plans.
"So, I know a guy who might be able to get us a bit of information. A Lone Star detective. I can give him a buzz. I have my own questions, but what do you guys think I should ask? I can also hit the streets and try to determine pattern of life."
"Hey, sorry to interrupt, but if Wraith is right and we really ain't being listened to... Yall wanna talk about this over some desserts? I've heard that ice cream is really- I mean, I hear the ice cream here is really good." He feels his temperature rise a full degree at the near slip and desperately hopes no one caught on to it. You FUCKASS! You can't be admitting to a buncha cold blooded nova-ass murderer ladies like these that you aint never had ice cream before! They'll figure out who the fuck you are in a heartbeat! People like these sniff out weakness on others like mildew, dude! Shut the fuck up and do your fucking job!
-
Marissa glanced between the three as they each spoke in turn, nodding her head a bit as she listened...or at least looked like she was paying enough attention. Much of the detail work went over her head...and unfortunately, she was getting the vibe this run was going to be intel-HEAVY. Just my luck...okay She felt fortunate that Wraith seemed to have more than a decent head on her shoulders...must come with the territory of decking. La Sombre, tactical as ever, seemed to be already working out a plan. When the man Hopeless piped up about ordering dessert, though, the Phoenix showed some expression, a single eyebrow raised followed by a slight smirk.
"Well, if that's how it's gonna be then..." Taking off her glasses, the others would finally get a good look at her face, soft features complete with a set of piercing hazel-green eyes. With a slumping motion, the lady plopped herself back into the chair, pushing it back and kicking her legs up, boots on the table nonchalantly. Putting her hands behind her back, she gave a little shrug. "As long as we're getting drek out of the way, I'll go ahead and admit the obvious: I ain't no local. I know Yaks, but to me Feathered is just a name, and DFW is just a town. I don't know too much, and my one contact nearby useful set me up with this job. That's the bad news, now the good news!"
She grinned and set her feet down, leaning forward. "What I lack in prior knowhow I can makeup for in problem solving....well, most of the time more like problem eliminating. Regardless! I know how to keep a sharp eye and a quick foot. Learned quickly in this town that's a good thing. You want me to check something out? Point the way, I'll get your shtuff." Nodding in confident affirmation, she eased back. "Now, someone mentioned ice cream?"
-
[05 MAY 2075 | 20:30 | DFW | Rio D's]
Wraith frowned slightly when Hopeless questioned her statement. Sliding her mirrored sunglasses back down over her eyes, she curtly replied before slouching over, "Back in a sec, order me some ice cream."
>>Slipping into VR, Wraith's grey-cloaked persona appeared in the matrix. This time, she decided to search for hidden icons within the room, rather than those slaved to the Host. Casting a grey cloud of dust into the area, she watched the cloud as it settled focusing on any telltale signatures of hidden icons.
-
"I don't-- Ice Cream...?!"
Gabriella reined in her confusion quickly. These people were so nonchalant about the situation at hand. "Right, ice cream... I'm a vanilla girl, myself. With caramel topping. I'll give my guy a buzz."
She leans back and begins to craft a message. >>Henry, it's Reyes. Been a minute, I know. Look, I've got something going on dealing with some local Yakuza types. Wondering if you got any info you can send my way. Especially looking for pattern of life, known associates, hideouts and boltholes. And anything else you think would be useful for a successful op. Can move some funds your way, cover investigative costs or whatever you wanna call it. Or owe you something for next time. Let me know.<<
She had met Detective Stokes while running a military op in Dallas. Azzies had jumped the border and the unit had tracked them to Dallas. She had run point on coordinating with the local Lone Star and Henry was heading up the case. They'd developed a mutual respect, though it would be a stretch to say they were friends.
She read the message twice more before deciding she was happy with it. She attached the names and a few bits of information she thought would help him help her and then she sent it.
Then, looking over the the comatose decker, she briefly considers ordering the oddest flavor of ice cream on the menu for her. Her lip curls in a half smile before she decides against it. Too early in the game for that, maybe.
-
[05 MAY 2075 | 20:30 | DFW | Rio D's]
Not even three seconds after her chin hit the top of her chest, Wraith's head popped back up. Glancing sidelong at Hopeless, she said, "So, like I said, the room is clear of listening devices. I think it's safe if we want to put together a plan. Quick question... does everyone have the commlinks they're going to be using for in-the-act communications here with them and currently turned on? I'd like to get a group contact list put together as soon as possible so we can keep in touch with each other if we do split to do some of this legwork. Also, if you have any critical gear that you need to run wireless and want protected, let me know. I should have some capacity to cover it with my deck."
-
Not even three seconds after her chin hit the top of her chest, Wraith's head popped back up. Glancing sidelong at Hopeless, she said, "So, like I said, the room is clear of listening devices. I think it's safe if we want to put together a plan. Quick question... does everyone have the commlinks they're going to be using for in-the-act communications here with them and currently turned on?"
"The one I'm running right now is a burner. I'd rather not turn on the real one till there's a bit more distance between us and the Johnson." A slight smirk. "There were some security issues on the last run I did for her." A shrug.
-
[05 MAY 2075 | 20:30 | DFW | Rio D's]
Wraith arched an eyebrow behind her sunglasses. "Well that doesn't sound auspicious. Just send the commcode to me later and I'll get it incorporated into a Contact List."
-
"Just send the commcode to me later and I'll get it incorporated into a Contact List."
"Wiz."
-
Marissa couldn't help but be impressed by the team she got saddled on with. Hopeless's casual demeanor paired with practiced caution struck the girl as a good sign, someone who could tolerate her own antics. Wraith's quick and steady professionalism and downright overhyped preparedness was a huge boon. And La Sombre? The Phoenix did not miss that half-smile; this was an orkette that could possibly not be so much of a hardhoop that her initial impression suggested.
The request for a list of commcodes brought Marissa back to reality after some musings on their situation, the lady snapping back to attention as she gave a nod, pulling up some numbers and sliding them to the decker. "Null sweat. Here's my link, plus my microtransceiver when it's needed. As for protection? Heh, hell, I'd buy THAT for a dollar!" She grinned, her AR-gloved hands pulling up a number of windows as she started to compile a list of all her devices that she could be using wirelessly...her ballistic mask, glasses, contacts, chameleon suit, and most importantly her multitude of guns, weapons, and grenades...funny enough, most all of the weapons had given names.
Passing the list off to Wraith, her grin never left as she lifted her arms in a shrug. "On the plus side, I paid a decent price for my link. Could get away with passing me over and protecting the others, eh?"
Shortly after that statement, the waitress had appeared and asked around if they wanted anything else. Going off of Hopeless' suggestion, Marissa ordered herself a serving of ice cream...cinnamon flavored with chocolate syrup, sweet with a kick.
@Wraith or anyone else: Phoenix's sheet on the ooc thread can be used as reference, but I can put together an actual list if it is desired/requested
-
[05 MAY 2075 | 20:32 | DFW | Rio D's]
Wraith was glad she was still wearing her sunglasses, because she felt it was pretty unprofessional for her eyes to bug out the way they did when Phoenix sent her the list of gear she had. Whistling low, she said. "That's a drekload of gear. One of the problems with decks is that they can't slave as much stuff as higher end commlinks. One thing they can do, that a commlink can't, is to help further hide devices that are running silent. For now, I'd say keep your stuff slaved to your own commlink, but when we go operational, some of your gear may be better served to be slaved to my deck. We'll figure it out when we get there..."
-
Afer sending the message to Henry Stokes, Gabriella keys in on the topic at hand. After the exchange between Phoenix and Wraith, she chimes in.
"I don't have much and it's all on this piece of shit metalink. I was used to having a spider on hand so never worried about my own cyber security. Take a poke, not that I could stop you," she smiles. "I don't think I'm a big target for a combat decker, but being able to secure our comms will probably be key."
-
[05 MAY 2075 | 20:32 | DFW | Rio D's]
"We might want to get some micro-transceivers, at least for the actual run part. While they're sometimes hard to spot, they're not ubiquitous to not draw suspicion if someone does notice them. The fewer wireless things I need to worry about, the better. I'll take a look while I'm doing some of this data mining tonight and see what I can come up with."
Wraith dipped a spoon into her Neapolitan ice cream and took a bite, enjoying the play of flavors in her mouth. Holding the spoon up like a baton, she said, "Well, I've got an idea for what I'm going to be doing tonight. Before I finalize it, does anyone need any Matrix support for what they have planned? Just an idea, but maybe everyone should reach out to their networks to see if they can develop anything. I'll work on getting details on the locations we're going to be targeting so that we can get a better idea of the layout and what we may be up against before actually showing up at any of them."
-
After delivering the ice cream, the waitress returns again with a mason jar filled with peaches. "These are our house brandied peaches. They're just nova with ice cream. Y'all enjoy now. Can I get you anything else?"
A few moments later, La Sombre gets a reply from her Lonestar contact.
<<@La Sombre [Stokes] Hoi chummer. It has been a minute. Not sure how much help I'll be on boltholes. If I know about them, they wouldn't be much good to the yaks anyway, amirite? But we've got extensive files. Of course, I need clearances, and greased palms, and all that. Who are we looking at? Cold hard nuyen is always good for me. I'll let you know my rate once I know how big a fish you're trawling.>>
-
"Micro-transceivers: the voices of the angels in a cone of silence. I got my part covered on that at least, wiz." Snapping her fingers, Marissa hushed as the hostess came in with their desserts, complete with the peaches. Real fruit...this place don't hold back, drek...if high class types eat like this all the time, it's a wonder they aren't all lardhoops. Smiling, she nodded up graciously. "I'm good, much appreciated." The human girl ate spoonfuls of the cinnamon ice cream slowly, enjoying the fiery bite it held on her tongue as they were left alone once again before chiming in.
"Well, drek just got real then. I'ma be real with you guys on that front: my contacts won't be good for intel, I'm more than certain of that. However, once we get ideas of how we're gonna pull off this stunt, I might be able to hook us up with some gear of the, uh...wet variety, if I'm being clear. With that in mind, though, I am a well-defended body, a pair of eyes, and quite mobile. I can check out some places, do some recon or whatever. Point and I go."
-
As Gabriella enjoyed the rich flavors of the ice cream, her commlink buzzes. She takes a peek and nods. She quickly taps out another message before looking back at the others. Thanks, Henry. Names incoming, let me know what the damages are. She sends the message with the appropriate attachments and then waits for his response.
"I've got a guy who might be able to shoot us a bit of data on our targets. It might cost us, but I won't know how much till I hear back again. In the meantime, my role has always been in getting in and getting out. Unseen if necessary, or seen... if the op calls for it. And by 'seen', I mean for them to see what I want them to see. I can handle myself... well... if it comes to it, but I'm no weapons expert. I've also been trained on maneuvering, so when it comes time to make our move, if you trust me with it, I can take lead on tactics, so long as... 'Wraith' can keep us connected."
-
[05 MAY 2075 | 20:32 | DFW | Rio D's]
Wraith reached over and snagged the credsticks. Pressing her thumb to the activation screen, she read off the amounts of each device. "Looks like we have 5K on each stick. That should help quite a bit. Let's see how much La Sombra's contact is going to cost us." Should I just call her Shadow? It would be easier on comms.
"If no one is planning on doing anything tonight, I'll take my leave and start working on some of these targets. As far as Takashi Sato, I think we should figure out whether we need to dig into any of these locations before I start trying to hack them. The more targets, the higher possibility of a frag up."
-
@La Sombre
<<@La Sombre [Stokes] :o you know how to pick 'em. I got a rapsheet on Minami that's got just what you're looking for plus some. Ditto for Tezuka, though if you want to go back to the old country, there's some territoriality issues that I'll have to navigate. Oshiro will be trickier. His files are with the dedicated yak squad, and I don't have a reason to go there, officially. As for Sato, what the hell you thinking, chummer? That cat's a legitimate businessman ;) We'll call it 750¥ for Minami, 750¥ for Tezuka, CAS only, and 1,200¥ if you want to go back to Japan. Oshiro's going to be 2,500¥ minimum if I can deliver the goods that I think I can. You're on your own for Sato. We'll both live longer that way.>>
-
In the meantime, my role has always been in getting in and getting out. Unseen if necessary, or seen... if the op calls for it. And by 'seen', I mean for them to see what I want them to see. I can handle myself... well... if it comes to it, but I'm no weapons expert. I've also been trained on maneuvering, so when it comes time to make our move, if you trust me with it, I can take lead on tactics, so long as... 'Wraith' can keep us connected."[/color]
Marissa nodded in appreciation to that, the orkette's skillset revelation going right in line with the trope the human lined her up with. "You know a few maneuvers? Wiz. As it so happens, it looks like I'm here as the weapon's expert. When the drek hits the turbofan, I'll be quick, mobile, and flexible. Loud or quiet, I can make it happen. Pick a range, I got a way to do the work from it. Hell, I can probably loan some drek out if needed...provided it comes back." She winked at each of them, using her AR gloved hand to compile her list of weaponry again. "Wraith has seen this, but might as well put the rest of ya in the loop"
The human then nodded to Wraith. "Works for me. Tell ya what...I dunno how much focus you need on your cyberdigging...so just give a ring if you need a pair of eyes on a location to scope out? That's about the best I can do. Same offer for the rest of y'all"
-
Mister Hopeless sits back in his comfy dining chair, enjoying the soft caressing nature of it as he scoops the homestyle vanilla ice cream into his mouth. He's been listening to the three women break down their skillsets with genuine interest. After all, these women are going to be the line between him and death for the next couple weeks maybe. Ok, La Sombra is weapons, Wraith is matrix, and Phoenix gets us into places. Got it. Guess they need to know about me, now. He swallows the bite he's currently working on, sets his nearly empty bowl back down on the table, clears his throat, and speaks, hoping he doesn't sound as nervous as he's starting to feel. "Well, uh... I'm afraid the Johnson may have oversold me a bit. I am the astral support for the team... but that's uhhhh... thats... about it. I don't like, cast any spells, or... astrally project or anything like that; I'm just a summoner. I mean, like, I'm a good summoner, y'know?" Realizing that he really needs to work on his presentation of his own abilities a LOT, he quickly adds, "I'm a really good banisher, though,"
No one has to try to make you look like drek, dude. You do it to yourself by nature. The fuck is your fuckin problem, man...
He picks up his ice cream again then says quietly, "Once we're away from here, I can give you all a little more background on this job. I've worked for this Johnson before and I've gone up against the Putas before." then goes back to finishing off his last few bites. He really did enjoy those peaches.
-
[05 MAY 2075 | 20:32 | DFW | Rio D's]
Wraith pushed her fingers underneath her sunglasses and rubbed at her eyes. That was not what she wanted to hear coming out of Hopeless' mouth. No spells? Frag... that's going to make things harder. Nothing really to do about it though...
Replying to Hopeless, she said, "Sounds wiz, chummer." Including the rest of the group, she continued, "Let's see what La Sombra's contact can get for us before we put too much work into developing a plan, but based on the bare bones of what we've got, I think we might be able to at least put three of them into a room together. That last guy though, we might have to take care of him separately."
Before going into further detail, she squared up on Hopeless and said, "Alright, I've scanned the room for bugs and didn't find anything. But since you seem to have had some history with the Johnson, I'll go with your answer: should we leave here and go somewhere else to discuss our plans? If so, where? If I'm going to setup shop and do some Matrix diving, I wouldn't mind grabbing a motel room somewhere; rather not get my own place shot up if drek gets dicey..."
-
"Alright, I've scanned the room for bugs and didn't find anything. But since you seem to have had some history with the Johnson, I'll go with your answer: should we leave here and go somewhere else to discuss our plans? If so, where? If I'm going to setup shop and do some Matrix diving, I wouldn't mind grabbing a motel room somewhere; rather not get my own place shot up if drek gets dicey..."
Trying his best to maintain eye contact and not back down like the chicken shit little coward he believes himself to be, Ian responds as tough and novaprime as he can muster. "I'm probably just being overparanoid, but still... I'd rather that, than not paranoid enough, y'know? I mean, I'm sure you're right about the listening devices and all, but still, I'd feel... like, a lot safer speaking openly once we're like, y'know? Somewhere else." Then, trying to be helpful as an afterthought, he adds, "I don't mind a hotel room, but if we're... y'know? Thinking more, uh, long term, like... y'know? Safehouse kinda something? I have a couple friends, well, contacts, y'know? Anyway, I can like, y'know... call about that? Maybe get us hooked up with, like, a discount or something?"
Jesus FUCK dude, stop talking!
-
[05 MAY 2075 | 20:33 | DFW | Rio D's]
Wraith gave a coy smile and said, "I was just askin', y'know?" Smirking, she continued, "You know more about this employment situation than any of us, so I'm happy to follow your lead. A safehouse sounds like a good idea, I doubt any of us want to use our own homes. Thing is, some of the stuff I'll probably be doing has the chance of being traced back to wherever I happen to be physically slumped over, so if I'm going to do any hacking, I'd rather not try it at a safehouse. I'm probably going to look into getting a cheap hotel room, maybe a coffin hotel room and pay in advance."
"Speaking of, I've got digital peepers on the commlink of one of our targets right now. Doesn't seem to be too heavily protected... I want to take a crack at it."
-
Marissa stayed pretty silent whilst Wraith and Hopeless conversed, listening while casting a sidelong glance at La Sombra, who seemed to be busy with her call. Shrugging, the human finished off her cinnamon ice cream with a smack of her lips before tilting her head just in time for Wraith to say her bit about finding one of the targets' comms.
"Good going, good going. I like the way you think. I'm going to keep an eye on ya" Winking, the Phoenix relaxed a bit before turning to Hopeless. "So...what you're saying is, don't expect a fireball or some healing, but if we had mojo spirits eyeballing us right now, you'd let us know?" Shrugging, she seemed to be not too upset by that revelation. "Since we talking shortcomings, I might as well admit mine: I'm kinda new to this town. Yaks I get...no matter where you go, those asianos always got their hands in drek, and get violent when things don't go their way. What I don't get, now, is these Feathered hoops. Someone able to and wouldn't mind filling me in on these guys? Symbologies, habits, looks, drek like that.."
"As for a safehouse...feel free to shoot me down, but my place didn't ask for a name, and I only paid out for the month anyhow. It's a little ways from here, but without deets, I can admit that the Stars don't shine much there. Catch my drift? As for your hack, hmm..." Getting an idea, Marissa grinned. "Would having your meatsuit mobile help? If so, we can continue this meeting on the road. I got a ride"
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[05 MAY 2075 | 20:35 | DFW | Rio D's]
Wraith pursed her lips. "As far as the safehouse, if I'm not planning on doing much work from there, all I'm concerned about is relative safety. If it is located in one of the poor areas in town, the lack of reliable wireless might impair my ability to get things done. The mobile part could work, although moving too much could move us farther away from the target, which also could cause connection problems. We can give it a shot though... I can try to MARK it to get a location on it and then we could move closer to it, parking somewhere with low ambient noise."
While the woman spoke, she kept her senses focused on the commlink icon she had spotted, wondering what secrets it might contain.
-
As her commlink chirps, Gabriella looks down at it, then back up. "We're in luck, my guy says he can get us some payday on these choobs, but it won't be cheap. He's asking four and a half. That's for three of em. He says the last one... Sato... is too hot for him to want to involve himself in, so that's something to consider."
She looks over the group. "So that's one and one each and I'll eat the remainder. Probably throw him a bonus from my pocket to keep on his best side. You up for it all?"
-
[05 MAY 2075 | 20:35 | DFW | Rio D's]
Distracted by Minami's icon, Wraith muttered, "Yeah, sounds wiz. I'm not even counting that advance as part of our pay until this deal's over in any event. Figure we just vote on how we want to spend it and then split whatever's left over at the end."
The anticipation getting the better of her, the woman mentally adjusted her deck to make hacking easier and decided to test Minami's defenses.
>>The ghost-like figure reached out two insubstantial skeletal hands and placed them on the shoulders of Minami's persona. The icon didn't respond as dark mist rose up from here the hands touched the persona. Fading from existence, the hands left two skeletal palm prints.
Pleased with herself, she reported to the crew, "Alright, good news. I've got Minami's connlink MARKed. He didn't have much in the way of defenses, so I figured it was safe to try it from here. I'm going to take a few seconds and jump into VR to see if I can trace where the commlink currently is and see if I can setup a snooping algorithm on his commlink to intercept calls and messages. Be back in a sec."
With the mirrored sunglasses covering her eyes, the only indication Wraith gave to going full VR was her head and shoulders slumping down as her weight fully settled into the chair.
>>The grim icon settled in to work. Wrenching her left hand off, Wraith cast it into the air. The bones separated and fell into an incomprehensible pattern. Incapable of frowning, the icon still appeared unhappy. The disconnected bones faded away and she repeated the attempt. This time, the bones fell into a pile that, when read correctly, identified a specific geocordinate. Pleased with the result, Wraith tied the geocordinate to a map icon for the rest of the team to view. Not quite done, the undead icon looked over her shoulder and spotted her shadow. Eyes glowing red, the shadow separated itself from the icon and flew through the Matrix, attaching itself to Minami's persona icon. Satisfied, Wraith slipped back into AR.
Shaking her head as she came back into the real world, the decker mentally opened an AR window and called up a live stream of any messages or calls sent to of from Minami's commlink. She also called up her Baby Monitor program and set it to send an alert whenever it looked like GOD was taking too much interest in her. "OK, that's a start. We've got Minami's location. Looks like he's at the Heron on the 3rd floor. I also have a lock on any messages or calls running through his commlink. I can probably keep that up for about an hour."
-
"I was just askin', y'know?"
Ok, so there's one who knows you're a fuckin dork, already... He turns a little red and feels his temperature rise another half a degree. Finally, he breaks her gaze and glances down at the table. "Wiz."
"So...what you're saying is, don't expect a fireball or some healing, but if we had mojo spirits eyeballing us right now, you'd let us know?"
FUCK! I fuckin knew I was forgettin something! Quickly, Ian opens his third eye and looks around the room. Noticing Salsha seated comfortably in the corner, her giant shelled form, considerably smaller now than when they'd first met, Ian feels a bit more calm about things. He quickly addresses her in a friendly tone.
"Pardon me, Salsha; but these ladies and I are alone, more or less, right? I mean, there's no spirits listening in on us or anything like that, are there?"
"You know more about this employment situation than any of us, so I'm happy to follow your lead. A safehouse sounds like a good idea, I doubt any of us want to use our own homes. Thing is, some of the stuff I'll probably be doing has the chance of being traced back to wherever I happen to be physically slumped over, so if I'm going to do any hacking, I'd rather not try it at a safehouse. I'm probably going to look into getting a cheap hotel room, maybe a coffin hotel room and pay in advance."
Oh yeah! I knew that. Duh! See, this is why I'm not the decker, yet. He listens and nods his head, concentrating on both the spirit world and the physical world. The three women start talking about contacts and info and payment for said info, but Ian figures they'll get all that worked out without him. Besides, it's easier to not talk when he's got his third eye open and he finds he comes across way better, the less he talks. He doesn't pipe up until,
"I'm not even counting that advance as part of our pay until this deal's over in any event. Figure we just vote on how we want to spend it and then split whatever's left over at the end."
"Yeah. What Wraith said." A few minutes later, she starts talking about hacking the commlink of one of their targets, just to take a look around. A moment later, she says,
"Alright, good news. I've got Minami's connlink MARKed. He didn't have much in the way of defenses, so I figured it was safe to try it from here. I'm going to take a few seconds and jump into VR to see if I can trace where the commlink currently is and see if I can setup a snooping algorithm on his commlink to intercept calls and messages. Be back in a sec."
Then, mere moments later...
"OK, that's a start. We've got Minami's location. Looks like he's at the Heron on the 3rd floor. I also have a lock on any messages or calls running through his commlink. I can probably keep that up for about an hour."
Ian is stunned. This woman is amazing. Then, his amazement turns to discomfort. This is exactly what the Putas did to us last time. I mean, c'mon. It had to be that technomancer, right? She's probably trying to do it again, right now. Well fuck her. Mister Hopeless doesn't keep anything at ALL on this crappy metalink. He doesn't even run AR on it, just uses it for texting. Hack it all ya like, you're getting nothing, fucker.
"That is good news." he says with a raised eyebrow, and in spite of his best attempts not to, he smiles a bit. I think I know who the team leader is...
-
Marissa grinned as the results started pouring in, resuming her relaxed, almost Hyborian style stance seated in her chair. Excellent. Professionals all around. Glancing over to the orkette La Sombra, she gave a nod of affirmation with the others, gesturing towards the credsticks. "No arguments from me. Or anyone else by the sound of it. Go for it." Shrugging, she glanced over at Hopeless, who seemed to be concentrating elsewhere. Despite being an Awakened herself, the Phoenix understood little of how astral energies worked, or even if her being an adept would show up on his vision. If it were so, she would imagine her aura to be as if wreathed in a warm flame, burning with her enthusiasm. Glancing at Wraith, she raised a brow. If not leader, this one definitely dealt with information quick...plan architect maybe?
"That quick, huh? Well, good if we want to learn some initial stuff, but doubt we gonna be doing this all in the next hour, wiz? At least we know we can link up pretty fraggin quick and that's cool. As for now though, I think we should continue this thing in a clandestine manner, y'know?" Getting up, the Phoenix adjusted her coat about her form and picked up her hat, donning it over her auburn locks, muttering just audibly enough to be heard. "The night is coming, and I feel the need. The need...for speed." Making sure she was being followed, Marissa led the way out of the restaurant, tipping her hat politely to the hostess on the way out.
The warmlate-spring evening air, complete with threatening of thunderstorms, greeted her as they left the establishment, the lady leading the way to her vehicle, identified as a sleek black Shin-Hyung, looking far more valuable than what anyone living where she suggested she lived could afford. "Y'all can pick which seats to take. Wraith, can you do me a solid and give me a map ARO detailing where you want me to stay around?" As she spoke, the Phoenix was popping her trunk, fiddling about with the contents of it as she deposited a few of her weapons into it from her person, keeping her Predators and the stun baton for the car ride.
-
"Right, I'll push it through."
She slots a credstick and transfers a full five thousand over to the account Stokes had set up for this sort of transaction, then sent him a ping.
Henry, you'll see I've made a donation to your favorite charity. I look forward to their good works.
She looks up and nods. "Yes, I believe this place has worn on me, by now. She shoulders her backpack and walks out with the others. She nods as they arrive at the car. "Nice ride."
"Y'all can pick which seats to take. Wraith, can you do me a solid and give me a map ARO detailing where you want me to stay around?"
She smiled. "With no objections, I'll ride shotgun." As the Phoenix opened the trunk of her car, Gabriella unshouldered her bag. "Mind if I stow this in the back with your gear?"
-
[05 MAY 2075 | 20:35 | DFW | Rio D's]
Wraith happily got in the backseat. If she was going to go rag doll, it wouldn't really matter where she sat anyway. The decker mentally tagged the Heron on a rudimentary ARO map of the southeast DFW. Then she drew a circle with a 1km radius around the hotel. "That would be the ideal location. With that said, unless y'all want me to hack more things on his comm, there's really no need. Now, if we want to try and figure out if Oshiro's there too, we may want to get closer to cut down on the static."
-
She smiled. "With no objections, I'll ride shotgun." As the Phoenix opened the trunk of her car, Gabriella unshouldered her bag. "Mind if I stow this in the back with your gear?"
Marissa could barely suppress the resulting grin from the offer as the ork lady got a full look at the trunk. The smuggling compartment was opened, putting on full display the human's full arsenal of weapons and firearms. Each piece had it's designated spot indented into the protective padding for the guns, most of the melee weapons strapped to the underside of the lid. By each gun, an indent lay with each spare clip and ammo boxes stacked up. In one corner, her grenades were organized in small bundles, and in the other were her "work" outfits, neatly folded.
Smirking, the Phoenix gestured towards her shotgun, a Defiance T-250 pump action, in a cheesy play on La Sombra's words. "Knock yourself out, heh. Just remember...driver picks the music" Winking, the young woman shut the trunk after all business was cared for and hopped into the vehicle, bringing the engine to life with a roar as she drove the group out of the parking lot.
"Map's perfect. I'll keep us in that range. Be there in about...15 minutes, I'd guess." Marissa made sure to drive casually...she didn't like it, but best not attract the Star so quickly.
-
"Everything's nice and quiet here, youngin," the turtle spirit gently says to him and he feels a little bit better about things. He won't forget again. Another minute or two goes by and everyone has finished their ice cream and seems to be getting antsy to get going. When the three ladies stand up and start gathering their things, Mister Hopeless follows suit, picking his Texas AM&M bag back up off the floor and throwing it over his shoulder. I Guess Phoenix is the wheels. On the way out, he glances one last time at the happy middle class families eating their meals and discussing their trivialities. He feels a mix of envy and disgust as he imagines what their lives must be like.
Phoenix has a gorgeous car and once the group reaches it, she pops open her trunk, inviting everyone to stow their gear inside.
"Y'all can pick which seats to take."
"With no objections, I'll ride shotgun. Mind if I stow this in the back with your gear?"
As Ian passes behind the car, on his way to the passenger's side rear, he takes a look inside the miniature arsenal the redhead modestly calls a trunk. He'd never seen so many guns in one place at the same time. Noting the grenades, he again wishes he'd had the guts to bring one of his own with him. Maybe the drone, too. After about two blocks of driving, he's given the mental order to his jacket to drop the "cowboy fringe" pattern he'd been rocking for the bar, replacing it with "flat grey". By now, map AROs have been exchanged and plans for routes are being discussed. It seems like this group is itching to get moving tonight. This is a possibility Ian had known of, but had bet against. He really doesn't want to sound like a dork again, but his caution gets the better of him. The last thing he wants to do is get caught flat-footed if some bullshit were to pop off. He, somewhat apprehensively, speaks up again.
"Uhhhhh, I hate to be a pain in the ass or anything like that, but ummm, I didn't really like, come equipped for action. Before we get into anything tonight, mind if we run by my neighborhood? Lemme pick up my gear?"
-
"Spirits! What a pain in the ass!!! Gabriella blurts out. She turns to look at Hopeless and, seeing his expression, quickly softens the jab. "I'm kidding, of course! I guess it's up to our Chauffeur, really." She indicates the Phoenix.
"Or maybe our net runner, there. He's plugged in, if we take too long she gets the boot of GOD, doesn't she? Anyway, we're not moving on anyone just yet, mostly getting a look-see, right?"
-
[05 MAY 2075 | 20:40 | DFW | In Phoenix's Car]
Wraith looked up toward the front seat. "Oh yeah, absolutely. I definitely wasn't planning on doing anything too invasive, definitely not anything involving guns. We swing by there, I can take a look and see if Oshiro's commlink is there too, maybe do a little snooping on Minami's 'link, and then get the frag out of there. I definitely want to see what La Sombra's contact comes up with before doing anything dramatic. At best, I'm going to get an hour and a half to snoop on his link before GOD intervenes."
-
The side banter must have been entertaining to the Phoenix, if her quiet chuckling wasn't any indication from that. From the looks of it, Hopeless is quite timid..and the rest of us aren't. Either he's gonna unshell, or us snitches are gonna break him. Fun.. Nodding in response to Wraith's explanation, she cleared her throat.
"Righto. Vibe I was getting that we are just poking a bit. I just keep my drek with me cuz it's safer than a bank. after this poke, I gathered this would be it till tomorrow when we really get cooking."". She paused a bit, rounding a couple more blocks and getting into the area Wraith had requested.
"i ain't for beating bushes, so I think this is good timing for drek, and I'll admit since I'm not from here I'm curious. Hopeless, you think this so good time to give the rundown of what you know about stuff?"
-
On their way out of Rio D's, one of the security guards apprises this very unlikely scenario playing out in front of him. There's this skinny little caucazoid chummer, hair still a little wet, looking like he took a bath out in a fire hydrant or some drek, and get this: omae is flanked by not one or two, but fraggin' three hoops of the female variety, dressed to the nines and looking to kill Course it looks like one might be playing bodyguard, but the other two are room workers for sure. Damned if that chummer ain't got his shit figured out f'real. He locks eyes with Hopeless as he walks past, and gives him a solid nod. Respect, omae.
Once everyone has piled into the Shin-Hyung and the car is put into motion, La Sombre gets a ping from Detective Stokes.
<<@La Sombre [Stokes] The orphan troll baby seals of the SOX appreciate you. Should have a gift of reciprocity in the next day or two. Stay in touch.>>
Minami's commlink is silent for the next twenty or so minutes, at which point a short call comes in. The conversation is clipped and in Japanese, and is followed by a short text exchange from the same number. The only definite piece of information that Wraith is able to piece together without any sort of equivocation or guesswork, is a time: 21:15.
At the time the text is sent, Wraith notes that the Shin-Hyung is about 10 minutes out from The Heron.
-
[05 MAY 2075 | 21:00 | DFW | In Phoenix's Car]
Wraith stiffened next to Hopeless in the back seat. "Head's up, folks. Minami just got a call. I'm recording it right now. Uh... does anyone speak Japanese?" Wraith listened to the conversation, hoping someone on either end of the line would speak some fraggin' English but, after about a minute, the call ended. While Wraith checked the incoming commcode to see if matched any of the numbers they had been given, she said, "It looks like something might be going down in about 15 minutes. 21:15 was appended to the conversation in a text message."
-
The three ladies assure Mister Hopeless that nothing is going to get serious tonight, just a little initial poking around. Though he puts on a good show of seeming to be comforted by that fact, he knows all too well how quickly "just poking around" can turn into a full blown riot. At least I've got my helmet with me. He sits in the backseat, and rolls down his window so he can see outside with all three eyes. The worlds streak by and he gives himself a few more blocks to enjoy just looking at them before his brain gets back to business. Reaching into his inside jacket pocket, he powers off his meta-link, then powers on the expensive, high end Avalon. Immediately, he sets it to run silent, then slaves all his gear to it. Checking his messages, he finds the file from Dadlez, forwarded by himself, and files it away under a password. Next, he mentally fires off a couple messages of his own.
<<@B-Know [Hopeless] Ayo, we should meet up and talk about some shit tonight or early tomorrow, wiz?>>
<<@Elise [Hopeless] Hey there, long time no chat! You been well? Things have been really looking up for me lately and I figured I'd holler at you, just to see how life had been treating you, wiz? Cindy still stealing your commissions? Probably not, you seemed like you had a solid plan for all that mess. Hey, speaking of commission, what kinda % off do you think you could give me if I needed to buy 100-150 drams, hermetic anyways? Hope to hear from you soon!>>
<<@Error [Hopeless] Havin landlord issues for four. You know any good spots to stay?>>
<<@Tammy [Hopeless] Yo, you know any Yaks? There's jing in it for ya if ya know the right one. Holler.>>
About a block later, Phonenix asks him a direct question, turning around to look him right in the face.
"I ain't for beating bushes, so I think this is good timing for drek, and I'll admit since I'm not from here I'm curious. Hopeless, you think this so good time to give the rundown of what you know about stuff?"
"Well, I'd hate to distract the decker..." he says, unsure if he should proceed. Looking over to Wraith, he can see she's just tweaking things in AR at the moment and gives no objection to his continuing, so he does. "Basically, it was a simple theft job that was borked from the start; mostly due to bad casting. Not like, spells y'know? Like, casting roles, y'know? Anyways, our mage... Elf called Loki... stirred up a bunch of shit on our first day of recon and started a riot. He vanished shortly thereafter, so we never found out why, but he kinda seemed to think it was funny." Ian rolls his eyes and continues. "So now, we're also playing defense against these retro-futurists from the riot as well as trying to rob a MUCH-more-alert-than-before target. Well, THEN it turns out that the Putas De Frakkin Muerte have hacked our comms and know all our plans. Boom, the rest of the team goes missing, cept me and the decker. THEN, we're at a meet to try and work shit out with the retros when the Putas, along with one of our team members..." Ian's face goes cold and angry here. "Human piece of shit named Dantes, if you know where he is, let's you and me talk after this job is over." He collects himself and gets back into story time. "Anyways, they jump us, the decker gets geeked, me and a couple replacement guns we picked up barely manage to get out alive. But... one of the Putas gets taken down by the star while they're trying to escape." Ian stops to take a breath. He's having a thought he's never stopped to consider before. Without considering he should probably censor himself, he speaks it aloud. "Jesus, the other two probably blame me..." He shakes his head back and forth for a moment, snapping himself out of it. "Anyways, besides Dantes, there were other security leaks as well. I only found out about those cause Ms Johnson volunteered em up as part of her apology while she was paying us... Y'know? Me and the two replacements?" He feels like he could stop here and everyone would feel like that were a satisfactory amount of info. But for some reason, he keeps going.
"And duuuuude! This whole shit here tonight feels wrong as fucking fuck." He hates to admit it out loud, but it's been slowly eating at him since that fucking hostess knew him by sight. "This johnson keeps textin me through the meal. Talkin about vengeance and how these men were the ones responsible for the security leaks on the last job, trying to get me all riled up or something. I guess she thinks that me and Breeze were way closer than we were or some shit, and she wants to send me off on some 'dickhead crusade' to avenge my fallen brother or whatever." He's starting to get a little angry about the situation. Why the fuck do women like that always think I'm the one to fuck with, huh!? He really should keep his mouth shut at this point, but the floodgates are open and here it all comes. "And not only that?! But she sits me right next to her where I can get a good whiff of the tailored fuckin pheromones, laughs at anything that resembles a joke outta my mouth, and puts her fucking hand on my leg! The fuck stupid does she think I am?!" Finally having let it all out and gotten himself to the point where he's thoroughly embarrassed of nearly everything that just came out of his mouth, he shuts back up, and looks back out the window.
God. Fucking. Dammit.
Luckily, the woman next to him pipes up to break the awkward silence that threatens to suffocate the car.
"Head's up, folks!"
Thank the Ghost!
"Minami just got a call. I'm recording it right now. Uh... does anyone speak Japanese?" Wraith listened to the conversation, hoping someone on either end of the line would speak some fraggin' English but, after about a minute, the call ended. While Wraith checked the incoming commcode to see if matched any of the numbers they had been given, she said, "It looks like something might be going down in about 15 minutes. 21:15 was appended to the conversation in a text message."
The human feels a little bit of adrenaline slip into his bloodstream. I really hope we're still just poking around, here.
-
Marissa was listening intently, head glanced back towards Hopeless whilst the car navigated itself (autopilot is a hell of a thing!) to show she was listening. Man, looks like I rolled into some drek. Means this will likely be just as dramatic ....AWESOME! Smirking a little, she was about to open her mouth to give some reassurance to the red-cheeked man...something about how maybe the Johnson wasn't trying to be deceptive and manipulative (likely a lie), when Wraith piped in about the call and the time. Pondering the question, the red-headed human gave a shrug.
"You'd think. Dealt with Yaks once--enough for one lifetime, trust me--and have watched more than my share of anime...can't quite pick it up. all the wordy-things just seem to blend together and I rely on subtitles...shoulda picked up a linguasoft, but then again, didn't think I'd run into them again" She trailed off for a bit, frowning. Idly, Marissa wondered how connected was the Yakuza networking between here and Arizona...well, luck may just yet be on her side. Either way, she agreed to this job: no backing down now. Seeing the tension on Hopeless' face, she gave a bit of a nod.
"The first to blow their patience loses, both predator and prey. Just because something MAY be going down, it don't mean we need to make this op tonight. How fast can we get some tech translating stuff going up in here? It's just one voice, but I says we play this casual, see if we can learn something from it, and that be it. Any other thoughts?"
-
[05 MAY 2075 | 21:00 | DFW | In Phoenix's Car]
"Oh yeah, this is entirely informational. We don't even know where the other three are, so this isn't even a target of opportunity. But it may help us to establish patterns or associates." Wraith replied. "As far as translators, I'm not familiar with that tech. I know about linguasofts, but you need a skilljack for that... if anyone actually has one, we could spring for a program."
"Worst case scenario since it's a bit unprofessional, but we could call Mrs. Johnson. Don't we think she's Yak related? I bet she speaks Japanese. Kind of odd for her to hire us for this gig without having a single one of us able to 'speaka' the language."
-
Marissa didn't particularly care for calling on their Johnson for help when it could be nothing, and that feeling showed on her features as she pursed her lips, head tilting as she thought to all the shows she watched, all that Japanese that she had absorbed into her little head. After a moment's pause, she muttered out some unintelligible speech (at least to present company. "Just who the hell do I think I am...". Piping up, she glanced over at their resident Decker, her lips curling into a grin. "What the hell, I'll take a crack at it. Worth a shot. If all else fails, we use our phone a friend.". Once the file was received, Marissa would listen, then read, attempting to discern the foreign tongue and script.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"So ka..." the redhead finally muttered, nodding her head. " The call was with an underling of Minami's. No name, but he was continually referred to as Otőto...Little Brother, which might mean protege. Apparently, Otőto been getting a bit lax on collections for protection money from a taco stand of some kind, and he's picking Minami up with a crew to remind the place why it needs to pay for protection...normal yak biz if memory serves...whaddya think, chummers?"
-
[05 MAY 2075 | 21:00 | DFW | In Phoenix's Car]
Wraith frowned. "I'm not sure what value there would be in going after him. Unless the taco stand in question is affiliated with the Feathered. Or could be made to look like it was affiliated with the Feathered. Maybe get over there and try to surreptitiously get some footage of the shenanigans? I don't suppose anyone has a drone, do they?"
-
@Hopeless,
<<@The_Apostle [Error] Hoi, chummer. Not sure if you'll notice, but I've updated your commcode in my log. Folks round the way have taken to calling you that. Funny, eh? I know a few spots. Whatcha lookin 4? Bolthole? Off the grid? Prime trix access? Go with me and you won't be in "Error" eh chummer?>>
<<@Hopeless [Elise] %5 off 100+. 10% off on 150+. Little busy. Call me 2morrow>>
<<@Hopeless [B-Know] Come round the way, breeder. Me n da boyz jus knocking a few back. Be up late.>>
Given the time and the lack of a reply, Hopeless figures that Tammy must be working.
-
<<@The_Apostle [Error] Hoi, chummer. Not sure if you'll notice, but I've updated your commcode in my log. Folks round the way have taken to calling you that. Funny, eh? I know a few spots. Whatcha lookin 4? Bolthole? Off the grid? Prime trix access? Go with me and you won't be in "Error" eh chummer?>>
<<@ Error [Mister Hopeless] DFW base of operations sorta thing. Not sure about preferred location, yet. Matrix drek ain't super important. As for my new name, I kinda don't like that folks around the way are talking about me at all. Honestly, if I had any damn money saved up, just hearing you say that is almost enough to make me take a vacation, y'know?>>
<<@Hopeless [Elise] %5 off 100+. 10% off on 150+. Little busy. Call me 2morrow>>
<<@Elise [Hopeless] Wonderful! Let's meet for lunch, or tea, or something and talk more specifics, wiz?"
<<@Hopeless [B-Know] Come round the way, breeder. Me n da boyz jus knocking a few back. Be up late.>>
<<@B-Know [Hopeless] I'll come through sometime tonight, but I got things to talk about that I don't want "the boys" hearin bout, ya feel me?>>
As the man in the backseat texts with his various contacts, the women in the car with him discuss the intercepted call. Despite paying attention to three worlds at once, Mister Hopeless still keeps up with the conversation. Apparently, Phoenix speaks a little Japanese and according to her, there's gonna be some sorta low level ass kicking going on tonight. Talk gets tossed around the car about looking in on it and Ian gets more and more nervous. Then Wraith asks a question.
"I don't suppose anyone has a drone, do they?"
Ian really doesn't wanna answer this question truthfully, since doing so makes the likelihood of some actual drek and shooting going down tonight much higher. However, he doesn't want to be dishonest, even by omission, with his team. Still gazing out the window, he sighs and says with a defeated tone, "I do." He turns his head to look over at the brunette in the cowboy hat next to him with a small shrug. "A little roto dealwave. But, it's back at the house, and the sensor system on it is straight from the factory. Not great for long range surveillance." Then, remembering his encounter at the college, he adds, "Plus, it's pretty flimsy and costs a drek load to fix." He looks around the car at the three women assembled and finishes with, "If yall wanna run by my side of town so I can get it, I don't have a problem."
-
<<@The_Apostle [Error] How u expect to build a rep in this biz less ppl speak your name, no? Maybe u just leave it n your back pocket. Cud come in handy. NEway, if you're looking for DFW-plex I gotta spot in Arlington, complete with a gopher, 1,300¥ for the week. Another spot in Ellis. Quiet little neighborhood. Nobody bother you. 1,700¥>>
<<@Hopeless [B-Know] u ain't bringing anything here. U just need to talk, cool. We can grab a quiet corner.>>
-
Pursing her lips, Marissa shrugged. " We could do that. I'd have to do some "Kessel Run in 20 parsecs" drek to beat our boys to the place, but it's doable. Question is, what would witnessing the throw down tell us?"
Cracking her neck, the lady turned to the others. "Surprisingly I just had a thought. How hard would it be to ID Otőto-San? I mean, we're pretty sure he isn't one of our marks that drives Minami, so if we know what other drivers this hoop got, we can maybe set the two up easier? I dunno...either way, we decide now, or I won't be beating them there..."
-
[05 MAY 2075 | 21:00 | DFW | In Phoenix's Car]
Wraith pursed her lips. "No, I don't think we need the drone. If it was one more suited for surveillance, that might have worked. As far as witnessing the event, I was thinking it would be footage we could use if we wanted to leave 'evidence' of the Feathered's involvement. Just edit some stuff together and message it to the head Yak when we take the four out."
Squinting behind her completely unnecessary set of sunglasses, she responded to Phoenix, "I don't think anyone drives Minami. From the information we were givem, Minami drives Oshiro around. I doubt any of the scrubs he's in charge of are allowed within two blocks of Oshiro."
Taking a deep breath and expelling it quickly, Wraith finished, "It's up to y'all what we do. I can stay on his 'link for a little while, so we're not missing out on anything from that angle."
-
"No, I don't think we need the drone."
Oh thank god.
"If it was one more suited for surveillance, that might have worked. As far as witnessing the event, I was thinking it would be footage we could use if we wanted to leave 'evidence' of the Feathered's involvement. Just edit some stuff together and message it to the head Yak when we take the four out."
She's got a damn good point. Maybe I should invest some of this money into a better sensor system for Lil Rambo in the near future... Ian feels a lot better about things now. He relaxes a bit in his seat and goes back to watching out the window.
"It's up to y'all what we do. I can stay on his 'link for a little while, so we're not missing out on anything from that angle."
Hopeless stays quiet, preferring to let the rest of the team talk before he puts his opinion out there. Meanwhile, the texts keep coming and going, back and forth.
<<@The_Apostle [Error] How u expect to build a rep in this biz less ppl speak your name, no? Maybe u just leave it n your back pocket. Cud come in handy. NEway, if you're looking for DFW-plex I gotta spot in Arlington, complete with a gopher, 1,300¥ for the week. Another spot in Ellis. Quiet little neighborhood. Nobody bother you. 1,700¥>>
<<@Error [Mister Hopeless] This breeder aint tryin to build a rep. Just tryin ta eat, wiz? Both spots sound good. I'll holler at my room-mates and get back at you within 24 hours.>>
<<@Hopeless [B-Know] u ain't bringing anything here. U just need to talk, cool. We can grab a quiet corner.>>
<<@B-Know [Hopeless] Yeah, I know the drill chummer. I'll holler when I'm on my way.>>
-
[05 MAY 2075 | 21:00 | DFW | In Phoenix's Car]
Wraith pursed her lips. "No, I don't think we need the drone. If it was one more suited for surveillance, that might have worked. As far as witnessing the event, I was thinking it would be footage we could use if we wanted to leave 'evidence' of the Feathered's involvement. Just edit some stuff together and message it to the head Yak when we take the four out."
Marissa gave a nod at this, agreeing with the sentiments. Seeing that both Hopeless and La Sombra had fallen silent on the matter, she spoke up. "Nix on the drone then it is. Can't be helped...but footage would be hella tight for getting what we after....wait a minute-oooohh..."
As she rounded a corner, the Phoenix took the wheel and stepped on the gas a bit, an idea forming in her mind. "While the winds howl, the angels watch from the heavens... Wraith, is it possible to get a layout of the area around the taco stand they're going to? Hoping for a building a few stories high with a good view. Hopeless, this will just be a looking op, I promise. Idea is this: one of us finds a place with a good view...two if needed. I got two imaging scopes in the back. We get stealthy, hole up, and record some good footage through the scopes to our links. Bam, we get the footage we need."
She grinned. Man, she was having a good day... "Too risky?"
-
"Or I could just walk in and buy a taco."
-
As if to punctuate the current conversation, Wraith intercepts a text on Minami's link from an anonymous number.
<<@Minami [Redacted]
(http://www.clccharter.org/elana1/Solar%20System/pegasus.jpg)
>>
The message is checked, immediately deleted, and Wraith loses her MARKs on Minami's link.
-
[05 MAY 2075 | 21:00 | DFW | In Phoenix's Car]
"Frag!" Wraith cursed. "Not sure, but I think someone just alerted Minami that something was up. He shut down or rebooted his 'link. I don't have eyes on him anymore."
The decker took the image and sent a copy of it to the rest of the team. "Anyone recognize that?"
-
Marissa pursed her lips at the image. "Looks like some kinda connect the dots drek. Not sure what it is, but the reboot suggests they may have a spider on payroll. Ain't surprising. Could pass it off as simple as some yahoo wannabe drekhead playing with a new deck, maybe? Either way, let's hope we don't need a bigger boat..."
Thinking to herself quietly, she brushed a stray strand of auburn from her face. "I'll trust your guys' abilities as much as my own. My skills would befit the checking out from long range. La Sombra, if you think you can order a fraggin' taco and not tip off our buddies, I approve." She gave the thumbs up to the orkette to emphasize her point. "Five minutes out. Enough time to abort if we ain't all in"
-
[05 MAY 2075 | 21:00 | DFW | In Phoenix's Car]
"They must have someone pulling matrix overwatch. That's not good, since there's no way to hide a MARK. Oh well, we do what we can, I guess." Wraith replied, sounding just a bit frustrated. "I still think we might be able to get some value out of getting a first-hand look at things, unless anyone has other plans?"
-
Looking at the picture pop up in his field of view, Ian feels like he recognizes it. Realizing no one else does, he clears his throat and speaks up. "Isn't that the Pegasus constellation? Saw that on an album cover way back in the day. Wonder what it means..."
-
[05 MAY 2075 | 21:02 | DFW | In Phoenix's Car]
Wraith glanced sideways at Hopeless. "Of all the random things to pick up. Nice work, omae. Let me phone a friend and see if I can figure out what that's all about..."
<<@Bug [Wraith] Hoi, you ever hear of anyone using pictures of constellations for matrix overwatch alerts? I was just snooping a mark and they received the attached message. Immediately rebooted their link after that and are still online now. [Image Attached]>>
-
The Phoenix seamlessly weaves her Shin-Hyung through the third level of the Highway 12 Expressway, making good time but refraining from going fast enough to warrant immediate attention from the Star, barely. At their exit, The Phoenix pulls them around and at points underneath the giant mag-train station, where the ARO billboards are temporarily replaced by full-wall ads hocking trid flix and bio-chems. Upon exiting the tunnel, the scaffolding goes down and down, and Hopeless thinks that he catches sight of some gangers busting on a kid with some pipes. As they close in, he sees that it's just a group of teenagers killing time and smoking on their nic-sticks, but his pulse quickens, and he wipes his sweaty palms on his pants to calm himself.
One more block down, and they're met with the giant ARO of long-necked bird, its wings extend in a dazzle of lights shining down on the lobby itself before the bird closes them, and turns its head to the side before the plumage is shown again. And then again. As they approach, The Phoenix weighs her options. She can circle around and see if a parking space opens up across the street, take one further down the block, pull in at valet parking, or try her luck in the garage.
<<@Wraith [Bug] News to me, chump. Constellations might be a code, but I have no idea what. Weird they'd just reboot. Careful out there, wiz?>>
-
Things are looking worse and worse by the moment. So, not only are we going to spy on some violent criminals in the midst of some violent acts; but also, they've been alerted to our presence already, and on top of that, we're going it under the god damn train station. The man in the backseat grips his hands together tightly and breathes deeply, the way he's been practicing. Luckily, there hasn't actually been a train going by yet, so he's able to hold himself together, but he's starting to become visibly nervous. Visions of Loki's shit eating grin as he slipped away from the riot dance through Ian's head for a moment.
"So, ummm... We're just having a look at them tonight, right? That's all?"
-
"That's all I'm doing', anyway."
Way too early to try something more, Gabriella thought to herself.
"Even if we wanted to do something, best case scenario is we blow our bonus... and I'm not ready to do that an hour into the job, chummer. I got rent t' pay."
-
"I'm with La Sombra on this one. I like money.". Marissa grinned, pausing as they took in the AR sight of the Heron's signature feature before she pulled the car in a slow, casual loop, thinking quietly to herself before speaking
"...sight, it's red and blue pill time. I ain't valeting this drek...don't like strangers with the ride, no? I could park close, park nearby streetside, or try a garage. It's feeling like we probably gonna tail these guys to their destination, and try to record some of their drek, right? Will we need visual to do that?". She glanced at Wraith for the last bit, seeing as she already had sights on Minami's link again.
-
[05 MAY 2075 | 21:05 | DFW | In Phoenix's Car]
Wraith nodded, "Yeah, we're just looking. I reacquired Minami's 'link, but I don't want to risk MARKing it again to actually get a location. I mean, you could pick up a set of MARKs walking down the street, but getting a second set so soon after rebooting would raise alarm bells. So yeah, we're going to need visual confirmation. I don't think I am going to be able to physically track him again through the Matrix."
-
Marissa gave a nod. "Good to know, won't push you to do it either. Thanks...hmm...okay, this'll do.." Having run a full circuit around the Heron, the Phoenix opted for a parking spot about a block down the road, open enough to give a decent view of the entrance: namely, where the patrons drop their cars for the valets. Bringing the Honda to a full stop, the lady took a deep breath, checked the time, and gave a nod. Six minutes...
"Okay, here's what I'm thinkin'. Minami and his underlings have this place in their territory, so it stands to sense that they arrive and leave using their features..valets. We don't have a visual for Ototo, but we do for Minami, and I bet you we can see him from here. Once IDed, we'll tail the car best we can without drawing attention--I'm running everything but the car silent now--until we get to the place where we can set up for some footage getting." Shocked she is actually making a plan, Marissa cleared her throat.
"This obviously is tricky on the caution biz, cuz we are not going to face our destiny tonight on just one hoop. There's a chance we might lose their tail..or break away if they seem suspicious. So anyone local could maybe answer this, or Wraith can crosscheck this drek, but just how many taco stands do you think we'll find in Minami's territory, eh? It probably is more than one, but we can narrow it down as we go...maybe even beat them there if we lose their tail."
Putting on her glasses, the Phoenix opened the door and stepped out, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it whilst having it perched upon her lips. "We got a few minutes. Speak now or hold onto your butts..."
-
[05 MAY 2075 | 21:05 | DFW | In Phoenix's Car]
Wraith nodded, "I'm not sure how well the Matrix is going to answer that, but I can run a search and see. Worst case, if we lose them, I can try to MARK his 'link again, run a trace, and reboot so they're none the wiser."
The woman slipped into unconsciousness again to run her search, slumping into Hopeless' shoulder.
-
"I'm along for the ride at this point. We just keep it cool. If we can snag anything useful tonight, that's icing on our O&I cake... but we don't need to push a thing, so if they get spooked, we let em ride and they can laugh at their paranoia later. We get to the taco stand, I'll grab a bite and see what I can hear... but no risks."
-
The Phoenix lights a cig, and feigns stretching her legs and working the kinks out of her neck, as she casts brief surreptitious glances at the entryway of the Heron. Inside the car, Hopeless rolls down his window so that he can peak around in the astral, and immediately wishes that he hadn't. The heavy construction and mess of meta-humanity in this part of Dallas is stifling. Sararimen, gambling addicts, and the occasional over-worked hotel staffer getting off a double make him depressed just looking at their auras. It doesn't help that practically as soon as he rolls the windows down, the din of merengue blasting from the party buses is overwhelmed by the quick whoosh of a mag train. At least no one seems particularly interested in their car, or its inhabitants.
A passing drone whizzes by overhead, broadcasting the evening's nightclub act in the Heron's bar a jazz combo called NeuBleu. The advert reads, "Clean liquor, dirty girls."
Phoenix plays it cool, and ashes her cig with a quick flick of her middle finger, but she's caught sight of their quarry. About ten meters out from the main doors of the Heron, there stands Minami, talking on his link. The Phoenix turns around to rest her hands on the hood of her Shin-Hyung for a second, and catches a brightly lit window for the boutique she happened to park next to, and it just so happens to have a great reflection of the Heron's entrance. She sees an Americar pull up, Minami palm his link, says something, and the car pulls away, then turns into the parking garage. Minami quickly finishes he comm call, gives his droopy eye a lazy scratch and disappears inside the hotel's main entrance.
-
The Phoenix suppressed her grin as she successfully sighted her quarry, tilting her head to one side with the appearance of stretching her neck. She paused as their mark spoke to the car that pulled up, watching the vehicle enter the garage. hmm...the time's about right...but he didn't leave...hold up.. Taking. A few steps and a long drag of her smoke, Marissa leaned up against the passenger side door, muttering into the crack in the window to works to the others.
"Spotted the mark. One ugly mother slotter. Was on a link call, spoke to a car that pulled up. Here's the weird part. The car pulled away into the garage, and ugly went back inside. My guesses? Either he's meeting inside to talk and then leaving, or the tag spooked him, and our Otőto went out without. Thoughts?"
-
The smoke finished, Marissa realized that remaining outside the car now would make things look a bit odd. Stripping the butt and tossing the remains, the redhead joined the others back in the car, heaving a bit of a sigh as they all seemed content to follow her lead on this. Heh...this is new...good? I dunno..but new Grinning and silently chuckling to herself, she trailed off when she took a glance in the back mirror to spot a BMW pull out..nice one, too...and guess who was driving it...
"Look alive and be cool, peeps. Time to see just how far the rabbit hole goes..." They were in luck with their mark turning before passing them by, giving the Phoenix the opportunity to start up the engine unnoticed and rejoin the flow of traffic while not seeming to be coming from the club. Trailing behind, Marissa could not believe her luck: the night traffic was thick but not heavy, allowing her to weave between cars and keep pace with the BMW while still concealing her own ride fairly well. The drive was easy, fluid, and Marissa couldn't help her ear-to-ear drek-eating grin. "All too easy.."
-
The Phoenix glides her Shin-Hyung nearly effortlessly through the thick downtown traffic. At the right times, she dips back and changes lanes, but never loses sight of Minami's BMW. Soon, the bright lights and polished AROs of downtown give out to the rough-worn plascrete exteriors and occasional deserted car that is Dallas south of the trickle of blueish green water that used to be known as the Trinity River. A few turns more, and the Phoenix has to drop back even further, taking each corner just in time to see which way Minami has turned, as he slowly wheels through the apartment complexes, churches, liquor stores, and the bars and restaurants in between.
Wraith, keeping a running tally of which taco joints are in the area, narrows it down to the one that would make sense given Minami's route, so the Phoenix takes a side street that will give the team a better vantage. Pulling to the curb of the Veranda Gardens apartment complex, the runners see Minami's BMW parked across the street and down the block. The taco stand is a small truck, surrounded by picnic tables chained to concrete anchors, most of the umbrellas worn away by wind, or acid rain, or perhaps the occasional bullet. A few patrons mill about, drinking beer and sampling the wares.
Minami exits the car first, holding a beast of a blade in his hand. It's more machete than katana, and he's followed by three other yaks. One is trailing a little behind, looking uncomfortable as the troupe approaches, and Minami cleaves one of the remaining umbrellas clear from the table, causing a patron to duck. He catches the falling cloth in his free hand, and hurls it at the order window before opening the back door to the truck and stepping inside. It's unclear what's being said, but it's easy for everyone to imagine. Half a minute, then a minute goes by before Minami exits the truck, slipping something into the breast pocket of his suit, and nods for his men to follow, who have been playing crowd control. They get into the BMW, and as it starts to back out, they see the proprietor, a rather small ork man stumble out of the taco stand, cradling his right hand. The crowd, which was widely silent during the altercation, step forward, and take a look at the ork's hand before wincing away. An ork woman, the man's wife presumably follows him out, shouts something to one of the customers, and the pair begins to walk east along Wilson.
-
"Guess I'm not having a taco," Gabriella remarks. "On the other... hand... I won't feel bad about icing this guy when the time comes." She winces at her unintentional gag.
"So what's the play now, guys?"
-
Marissa's pun detector TM went off like little alarm bells in her head as she snapped around with wide eyes to look at the orkette, a broad grin creeping across her features in approval of the albeit terrible and unintentional joke. Up until that point, the human had eyes fixed on the scene before, recording video of the incident and snapping shots of Minami and his posse when able, hoping to get enough compromising info that they needed. "Wiz all, that should do it." Sighing, she kicked back in her seat and tilted her head.
"...you wanna try talking to the peeps that own the place? Info on how this creep does biz could be pretty handy. Now or another time, whichever works. Other than that, there's really no need to remain here or do more tonight...hit the dusty trail, I drop peeps off where they want, and we meet back up with the rising sun?"
-
[05 MAY 2075 | 21:45 | DFW | In Phoenix's Car]
Wraith piped up from the backseat, "I'm not sure if it would be a good idea to talk the guy. He either has a chip on his shoulder, which could be good, or he's really afraid of Minami right now, which could be bad. Might figure if someone comes snooping around about Minami, he might ear brownie points for passing that info along and maybe avoiding another kitchen accident in the future. I mean, if someone thinks they can talk to the guy without playing our hand go for it. If you want, I can try to get some background info on the owner before we chat with him."
-
"Well, does anyone know anything about the Yaks and how they work? I assume this guy didn't pay his protection money... so they go around cutting off hands? Or maybe he stole from them? Knowing something about it might help us figure out what we should do."
-
Pursing her lips, Marissa kept pretty quiet for a moment after that question. After all, she had intimate experience with how the Yaks operate with those they're unhappy with. That being said, it didn't take much mental searching to pipe up, the Phoenix clearing her throat.
"It might just be the trids hollerin' stuff up, but traditionally, punishment by them involved the removal of a finger..the smallest left one to be precise, followed by the right, and then moving up the hand. It feels hinky though...that stuff's only depicted to be done by lower Yaks, and always self-inflicted....either that tusker is Yak himself, or these Yaks decided to break from traditions...either way..." She pinched her brow, one hand gripping the wheel. "I've tried doing the talking drek, and it usually escalates. I wouldn't recommend me."
-
Hopeless isn't really watching the action, instead keeping an eye on anyone who might be keeping an eye on them. He keeps his fingers crossed in his lap, and he grinds his teeth a little bit. He's really trying his hardest to not seem nervous, but he is going crazy inside. Finally, phoenix says the words he's been waiting to hear.
"...Other than that, there's really no need to remain here or do more tonight...hit the dusty trail, I drop peeps off where they want, and we meet back up with the rising sun?"
"Agreed!" he pipes up, perhaps a little too loudly. "I just mean, um... yeah, we should meet back up tomorrow morning, like, with all the, umm, all the... all the gear and all, right?" He's almost getting angry with himself now. Things had been going so well tonight until they came out here under the fucking train station. Now he's falling apart and he's terrified everyone in the car knows it. Fucking train station!
"Well, does anyone know anything about the Yaks and how they work? "
Thankful for a change in the subject, Ian jumps back into the conversation. "I'm uhhh... gonna go, and, like...meet up with a, a... a couple people tonight and, like... find out some things about that." He does his best to keep looking out the window for threats. Maybe they'll think I'm just paranoid instead of terrified of making eye contact.
"I've tried doing the talking drek, and it usually escalates. I wouldn't recommend me."
"Yeah, 1,2,3, not it." he says without a hint of humor in his voice. "I am not the face."
He sends an ARO to The Phoenix of an address about 8 blocks away from B-Know's place in Arlington. "You can just, like, drop me off there whenever you can. Oh, and uhh, I guess... have someone send me, like, a link to the, y'know? the meet-up spot for tomorrow morning. I'll have a lead on some, y'know, some safehouses by then and hopefully some info on the, y'know, ummm... the Yak shit, too." Then, finally getting up the guts, he manages to get out, "And uhhhh...I'll ummm... I'll need about fifteen hundred of that advance, too. Supplies and greased palms and whatnot, y'know?"
"FUCK! I sound like such a wiener!
-
@Hopeless
After being dropped off, Hopeless makes his way down to B Know's place and finds him and some of the boys are in the garage. The door's open, the bottles are out, and the vapor from everyone's NicStiks is pretty thick. Hopeless recognizes two or three other orks hanging around as longtime friends of B, but the rest of the group if new to him. Of the unrecognized, they're all wearing colors -- green and gold -- and they eye Hopeless with a practiced disdain as he approaches. Aside from one troll in gang colors, the rest of the group are all orks.
"Hoi, chummer, been a long time," B Know says rising from a sofa that's more tape than upholstery. He reaches in an ice chest, and pulls out a frosted tall boy, which he tosses to Ian. "Good to see you, Hopeless. Let me introduce you around." B Know spends the next few minutes making Ian's acquaintance with the rest of the group, and while the gangers stay standoffish, they give curt nods, and one of the younger members actually extends his hand.
"I'm telling you, chummers," B Know says, "me and this white boy go back a long while. I know he don't look like much, but damn son, this mug right here can get into some shit. But the real deal, is he can get out of it. Chip."
After playing host, and practically forcing another beer into Ian's hands, B Know turns the volume up on the "sound system" he's got hooked up in the garage and leads Ian out the back door into a sparse, gravel-covered back lot.
"Alright, man. What's on your mind?"
@ La Sombre
It's a little after 15:30 the next afternoon when Grabriela gets a ping from Henry Stokes.
<<@La Sombre [Stokes] Couple things went my way for once. Ready to meet? Say Figueroa Cafe in 45?>>
-
Gabriella smiles and thanks the spirits for her luck.
45 at the Cafe, I will be there for certain. Thanks for this!
Never hurt to show appreciation. Now, if this turns out, that would be better.
-
Forty minutes later, La Sombre walks into Cafe Figueroa. Done up as a Costa Rican soda with an attached soycaf counter, business is brisk, and La Sombre thinks that it's the perfect place to be in public and not feel too worried about being seen. The line leads to a brief buffet counter, where patrons can order plato typical, gallo pinto, and fried "soyTains." Detective Stokes gives her a brief nod from one of the counters as she enters, and after ordering La Sombre joins him in an empty seat.
"Afternoon, Reyes," Stokes says, making a brief movement like he's about to stand at her approach before settling back in to his soycaf and churro. "How's biz?"
-
Gabriella brushes her hair out of her face and grins. "So far, so good. It's been rough since the discharge, but looks like I got hooked into a good job, for now, so... asi asi. Ya veremos. How about you? Any big collars, lately?"
Her hands are folded on the table in front of her and she is leaned in, the attentive listener. A stretch to call him a friend, the two have come through for each other on separate biz-related issues in the past. This was a relationship Gabriella wanted to cultivate. He wasn't the highest in the Lone Star food chain, but he was currently moving up, and that counted for a lot.
-
Wraith and La Sombre get dropped off first and Ian moves into the front seat with The Phoenix for the rest of the ride back to his (shitty) side of town. The two of them share a comfortable silence as they roll through the DFW at night. Despite the speed on the highway and the way it whips his hair into his eyes, he keeps the window down, preferring not to be astrally blind outside the car. Hope the wind doesn't bother her. Alot of people with long hair hate having the window down. Ian, as a rule, never closes his third eye when he's nervous and tonight more than qualifies. It doesn't take long to get there, and when she pulls up on the corner he designated earlier, she turns to look him in the face before saying, "See ya tomorrow, chummer." with a small, professional little nod of her head. He returns the nod, smiles, tries to think of some witty response, but only gets out, "Heh. Yeah." before opening the door and stepping out onto the street.
He only stops off at home long enough to change clothes before headed back out the door and taking another taxi out to Arlington to see his old acquaintance, B-Know. The neighborhood might have been nice at one point in the distant past, but these days, it's just another slum; one of the quieter slums, but a slum nonetheless. This is the type of place Ian had spent most of his childhood living in, and he remembers seeing more than a few guys like B-Know from back in the day. He used to think guys like him were the top of the pile; the most anyone born without jing could hope to aspire to. He chuckles at his own former naivety as he walks up the driveway into the light and vapor from half a dozen gangers. Green and gold. Cutters. Yuck.
Normally, Ian might be intimidated by this many heavy hitters in this close proximity, but he knows that B-Know is too paranoid to have let any of them come to his house heavy. Doesn't mean you won't catch an assbeating if you step outta line... Most of the cutters are a bit standoffish, and with good reason. Most strangers in the game assumed Ian was either a cop or a fiend when they first met him, so he's become used to people not really opening up to him right away. One of the younger cats actually extends his fist though. Ian bumps it with his and nods his head in respect, saying only, "Big up." Ian shrugs his shoulders and looks at the ceiling at the compliment from B-Know about getting out of trouble, then sits down and chats with the group for a few minutes before he and the fixer step out back into the gravel pit.
"Alright, man. What's on your mind?"
Ian looks up at the stars briefly before inhaling deeply and getting right to the point. "I need info about a few Yaks. Most of em low to mid level, but one of em is way up there." He reaches into the inside pocket of his jacket, removes his own nicstic, inhales deeply from it and exhales into the air, watching the smoke billow up above him for a moment before continuing. "If I give you a list of names and twenty four hours, can you give me a pricelist? Like, price by the name, y'know?"
After quietly reading off the names to the ork, the two of them talk terms and ballpark figures for a moment before concluding business and shaking hands, agreeing to meet up here again, tomorrow night. As they stroll, side by side back into the garage, Ian asks him, "Hey, I need to swing through Cabaret West tonight after i leave here, wiz? Think I might could get a lift? It's only like twenty minutes... I'll get ya a dance, eh?" He gives B-know a grin full of mischief as he waits for a response.
-
@Gabriella
Gabriella brushes her hair out of her face and grins. "So far, so good. It's been rough since the discharge, but looks like I got hooked into a good job, for now, so... asi asi. Ya veremos. How about you? Any big collars, lately?"
Her hands are folded on the table in front of her and she is leaned in, the attentive listener. A stretch to call him a friend, the two have come through for each other on separate biz-related issues in the past. This was a relationship Gabriella wanted to cultivate. He wasn't the highest in the Lone Star food chain, but he was currently moving up, and that counted for a lot.
"You'll land on your feet," Stoke says. "And maybe next time, you do a turn for me." He dismisses her question about big collars with a wave of his hand, and mischievous smile. "Some bigger than others."
Stokes does well to fill the time while he finishes his soykaf, and Gabriella eats, and near the end he simply places a data chip on the table. "I assume you've got our agreed upon sum. I delivered on all accounts. Bet you'll be pleased. Unfortunately, I must leave you to it." He stands and finishes off his drink, waiting to be paid. Once Gabriella passes over the credstick he smiles. "Watch yourself out there, chummer, and give me a call if you hear anything that might be in my purview. Maybe we can help one another out again soon."
@Hopeless
Ian looks up at the stars briefly before inhaling deeply and getting right to the point. "I need info about a few Yaks. Most of em low to mid level, but one of em is way up there." He reaches into the inside pocket of his jacket, removes his own nicstic, inhales deeply from it and exhales into the air, watching the smoke billow up above him for a moment before continuing. "If I give you a list of names and twenty four hours, can you give me a pricelist? Like, price by the name, y'know?"
"Yaks, huh? B Know says. "You are a crazy fucking white boy. Yeah, man, get me the list. Here's the thing, though. I'm gonna be out of town for a week starting Wednesday. Think you might be able to mow my lawn for me while I'm gone?" Hopeless looks out at the dead grass and catches his meaning. "It's a quiet little spot, not too far from here. Nobody'll fuck with you."
"Hey, I need to swing through Cabaret West tonight after i leave here, wiz? Think I might could get a lift? It's only like twenty minutes... I'll get ya a dance, eh?" He gives B-know a grin full of mischief as he waits for a response.
"Man, I'm stuck here with the boys t'nigt. Think Norway was about to head down near there, though. Want me to ask him?" Before Hopeless can respond, B Know has re-entered the garage and is practically shouting, "Yo, Norway, my man here has it in his mind he wants to get his face in some titties. Think you can drop him off at Cabaret West?"
One of the orks in Cutter colors, Norway apparently, stands up, and eyes Hopeless. "Man, I know a much better spot than that. He buying?"
"Yeah, sure he is," B Know says. "You buying ain'tcha Hopeless?"
-
Luckily to some, it seemed the rest of the drive that evening went by without further events to distract them, the Phoenix focusing on the road and on a map ARO she had to help her navigate to the drop off each of her new teammates indicated. As they pulled up to La Sombra's point, Marissa cleared her throat. "Seems like you three are all handling Intel pretty well to get our objective together, eh? I suppose while you guys are scouting the who's and the what's and the where's, ill go ahead and figure out the how's. Anything you guys find out on the Feathered can be passed to me, namely their signatures and their MOs? Groovy.". She took a breath. "Until then, I'll try to stay outta trouble. I may needtahat last stick but I'll let you know. Wanna save some jing on a ride, lemme know. Word"
Wraith was the second dropped off, and Marissa raised a brow as Hopeless switched to the front. She opened her mouth to speak, but stopped herself, not sure how to approach the shy man. never seen a hoop in this biz that nervous. Huh . shrugging it off, the redhead didn't seem to mind the windows down...quite the opposite really, her red locks whipping behind her. As she dropped him off, she gave a small but polite smile. "till Next time, chummer". She uttered out before driving off. Strange...by ther direction, Hopeless would hazard to guess she was heading to someplace in Arlington.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The Roost. That was what Marissa had taken to calling her home wherever she went. Given her name it felt fitting. Grabbing her tactical bag, the human took care to load up every single weapon she had, bringing it into her apartment and shutting the door behind her. Flicking the dim light on, the glow gave a rustic illumination to the place, and his the dinginess of the furniture. The only clean spot in the living space seemed to be a work desk, which she quickly occupied with the contents of her small arsenal. Opening the bag, she slowly and with loving care set each weapon so that all were on display.
This was how the Phoenix focused herself. Casting off her coat, the tank-clad lady stepped into the center of the room, flicking on some music on her link to supplement her practice. Starting with her unarmed, the redhead started to move and sway, bringing her hands up into fists as she shadowboxed invisible foes with punches, kicks, knees, and a few headbutts. Her breathing was even and eyes locked in as she wwent through the motions for a good five minutes before turning to the desk, picking up her melee weapons in turn. Inspecting each with careful precision, any blemish was cleaned, dulling sharpened, before another round of practice, keeping low under the ceiling as her weapons dancedfun her hands. After that, the guns, starting with the taser, then the pistols, moving all the way up to her riifles and shotguns. Each were unloaded, dismantled, cleaned, reassembled, and then practiced, dry firing against a seemingly surrounding level of opponents.
There was one common theme with each round of practice: on top of function, form and style were key to the Phoenix. Motions were smooth from one move to the next, each strike and shot a pose worthy of a trid as much as a tactical stance. By the end, the girl was breathing hard, sling glistening with exertion as she set her rifle down, grabbing a drink and walking over to the couch. As she sat, her free hand went to her chest, where her tank collar half-exposed a pink mark on her otherwise fair skin...a bullet scar. "Yaks...it had to be Yaks..."
-
Ian looks up at the stars briefly before inhaling deeply and getting right to the point. "I need info about a few Yaks. Most of em low to mid level, but one of em is way up there." He reaches into the inside pocket of his jacket, removes his own nicstic, inhales deeply from it and exhales into the air, watching the smoke billow up above him for a moment before continuing. "If I give you a list of names and twenty four hours, can you give me a pricelist? Like, price by the name, y'know?"
"Yaks, huh? B Know says. "You are a crazy fucking white boy. Yeah, man, get me the list. Here's the thing, though. I'm gonna be out of town for a week starting Wednesday. Think you might be able to mow my lawn for me while I'm gone?" Hopeless looks out at the dead grass and catches his meaning. "It's a quiet little spot, not too far from here. Nobody'll fuck with you."
Ian grits his teeth a bit and inhales as though mildly stung. "Oooooooh. Wellllllll... Ummmmmm..." He finally makes up his mind. "Yeah. Yeah, ok. I got your back, chummer. But it's on a couple conditions. One, I aint really know shit about shit when it comes to the proper care of a lawn. I'd need you to give me really specific instructions on how and when shit is to be done. Two, you gotta accept that I aint bout to take responsibility for this shit, wiz? If some hoops come and jack it, that's on them and you. I'll help you find em, cause we're boys and all, but I aint bout to owe nobody no money or no dumb shit like that." He takes another hit of his nicstick before finishing. "Lastly, and this is the big one; You gotta know that if I'm here, in person, not on a comm, askin you the kinda questions I'm askin you, that I'm bout to be kinda busy this week, right? Is this the sorta drek where I check in once a day and do some routine maintenance or whatever? Or is this the typea drek where I sleep there with a shotgun and keep constant watch on some monitors or something? Cause if it's the latter, I'm afraid you caught me on a bad week."
----------------------------------------------------
"Hey, I need to swing through Cabaret West tonight after i leave here, wiz? Think I might could get a lift? It's only like twenty minutes... I'll get ya a dance, eh?" He gives B-know a grin full of mischief as he waits for a response.
"Man, I'm stuck here with the boys t'nigt. Think Norway was about to head down near there, though. Want me to ask him?" Before Hopeless can respond, B Know has re-entered the garage and is practically shouting, "Yo, Norway, my man here has it in his mind he wants to get his face in some titties. Think you can drop him off at Cabaret West?"
One of the orks in Cutter colors, Norway apparently, stands up, and eyes Hopeless. "Man, I know a much better spot than that. He buying?"
"Yeah, sure he is," B Know says. "You buying ain'tcha Hopeless?"
"Norway, huh? Hoi, yo." Mister Hopeless bumps fists with him quickly. "Naw, for real, I kinda gotta hit Cabaret. Linkin up with my people there, wiz? But yeah, if you gimme a lift over there, I got your two drink minimum, and the first dance is on me." He raises a hopeful eyebrow at the ganger standing before him.
-
Ian grits his teeth a bit and inhales as though mildly stung. "Oooooooh. Wellllllll... Ummmmmm..." He finally makes up his mind. "Yeah. Yeah, ok. I got your back, chummer. But it's on a couple conditions. One, I aint really know shit about shit when it comes to the proper care of a lawn. I'd need you to give me really specific instructions on how and when shit is to be done. Two, you gotta accept that I aint bout to take responsibility for this shit, wiz? If some hoops come and jack it, that's on them and you. I'll help you find em, cause we're boys and all, but I aint bout to owe nobody no money or no dumb shit like that." He takes another hit of his nicstick before finishing. "Lastly, and this is the big one; You gotta know that if I'm here, in person, not on a comm, askin you the kinda questions I'm askin you, that I'm bout to be kinda busy this week, right? Is this the sorta drek where I check in once a day and do some routine maintenance or whatever? Or is this the typea drek where I sleep there with a shotgun and keep constant watch on some monitors or something? Cause if it's the latter, I'm afraid you caught me on a bad week."
B Kbow bends down, and scratches out an address in the dust and gravel. Once Ian has had a chance to input the information in his link or otherwise make note of it, he runs his foot over the ground to smooth it over. "I'll leave instructions for you there. I just need you to check in every other day, probably take you an hour tops. Just don't bring nobody by, and don't ever, and I mean ever bring that shit back here. Things look sketchy down that way, you just let it play out and keep yourself safe. Nothing worth losing your hoop over, wiz?"
"Norway, huh? Hoi, yo." Mister Hopeless bumps fists with him quickly. "Naw, for real, I kinda gotta hit Cabaret. Linkin up with my people there, wiz? But yeah, if you gimme a lift over there, I got your two drink minimum, and the first dance is on me." He raises a hopeful eyebrow at the ganger standing before him.
"If it gotta be Cabaret, then it gotta be Cabaret," Norway says. "Alright, Slink, Bill, I'm outta here, chummers. Y'all take 'er easy."
Norway leads Ian down to the block to his Gaz-Niki Wolverine, and fires up the dirt bike. "Now I drive real fast, so hold on tight. Don't wanna have to explain to your boy how we had to scrape you off the pavement, wiz?' Hopeless is barely in place before the bike lurches forward and through the streets of Arlington, whipping past burned-out cars and signaling a few fellow gangers working the streets. Once they leave Cutter territory, Norway really puts the acceleration on, and more than once Ian feels like he might tumble off the back before tightening his hold around Norway's waist.
At a stoplight, Norway says, "You ain't got any novacoke on ya, eh? Could sure use a bump about now."
Once they hit I-20, the trip goes by even faster. The traffic is still thick, but the motorcyclist cuts between cars, and is able to maintain speeds of about 150 kph. In short order, he pulls the bike into the Cabaret West parking lot, and kills the engine. Looking at the gaudy AROs advertising the place, Norway says, "Drek, man. We shoulda hit up the Playhouse. Alright, then. Let's go."
@The Phoenix
The next morning, The Phoenix wakes up oddly refreshed for being covered in dry sweat from the previous night's workout. Leaving her apartment to find morning sustenance, she sees a group of adolescents, lounging around her car. One, a big, brawny ork of maybe fifteen years is sitting on her hood, while two humans of about the same age but much smaller stature shoot the drek with him and examine the tires. Looks to Marissa as if they might be seeing how hard it would be to get those rims off. If they're aware that she's the owner, they don't seem to care much, as her presence doesn't deter them in the slightest.
-
As she was packing her bags and throwing her classic armored jacket on, Marissa glanced out the window to spot the trio lounging about her car. One eyebrow raised, she heaved a bit of a sigh as she reopened her bag, deciding to go out wearing some of her gear and loading up some ammunitiion. Taking her Predators out, she grabbed a pair of Stick-n-Shock clips and fitted them into the handles with a pair of clicks before they disappeared behind her back, while a set of similar rounds went into the Warhawk openly holstered at her right hip. Her Defiance shotgun was slung over her shoulder, loaded with a set of gel round slugs for safe measure as the redhead slipped a set of shock gloves onto her hands. Satisfied, she grabbed the bag, slipped on her shades, and stepped outside.
The boys are still there...Phoenix, you're giving me a warm up? How thoughtful.. Marissa's lips curled into a smile as she walked forward, a confident sway to her hips as she stopped within meters of her car, setting her back down and clearing her throat. "Twelve hundred..." She waited until they turned their attention to her in mild confusion to her random sentence. "You were wondering how much you'd be able to get for the rims, so there's your answer. Twelve hundred jing for the lot, probably enough to keep you guys going to buy whatever hits of all kinds of drek you need for about a week or so. Unfortunately..." She leaned onto one hip while crossed her arms under her chest. "I'm no expert, but it likely would not be enough to cover your hospital bills after you tried to take em."
She waited a moment to let that sink in before taking a couple steps forward, arms fallilng to her sides and at the ready. "Some points in life a man's gotta decide what's worth fighting for and when to walk away. So I'm just gonna ask your hoops one time. Do you feel lucky, punks?" Her lips curled into a scary grin as she awaited their response.
Intimidate (http://orokos.com/roll/312762): 7d6t5 4[/color]
-
She waited a moment to let that sink in before taking a couple steps forward, arms fallilng to her sides and at the ready. [color]"Some points in life a man's gotta decide what's worth fighting for and when to walk away. So I'm just gonna ask your hoops one time. Do you feel lucky, punks?"[/color] Her lips curled into a scary grin as she awaited their response.
One of the humans, a spritely looking boy of indeterminate ethnicity, moves away from the car before the ork and apparent ringleader speaks. "Slitch, you know who the fuck I am? Nah, of course not. You're new around her, right? Thing is, I'm Winton's brother. And if you wanted to come hard, you shoulda come with that gauge in your hands insteada over your back." He lifts the t-shirt from the front of his waist exposing the butt of what The Phoenix immediately recognizes as a Colt L36.
"But seriously, darling," the ork says sliding off the hood of her car, "we ain't looking to jack up your ride. But I got this date here with my girl down the way, and I wanna take her somewhere nice. How about you just let me hold that control spike for a couple hours. I'll bring her back in real good shape, eh?"
-
If Marissa gave any indication of a reaction to seeing the Colt L36 Light pistol, she certainly didn't show it. The only shift in her expression was a slight widening of the grin as she widened her stance to shoulder-width as the ork slid off her car. A sharp exhale of breath came from her nostrils, likely resembling that of a forced, lazy laugh.
"Hm. And that name's supposed to mean anything to a slitch like me? I promise yeh...if I came with that gauge in my hands we wouldn't be having this lovely conversation, wiz? I'd just rather not have scratched the paint. Now, how about you enlighten me on who your oh-so-special brother is and what his part is in these hoods, and I'll promise I won't be touching the gauge until our biz is done, aight?"
As he gave the redhead his plans for the car, she gave another little smirk, one brow raised. "Suppose I do let you hold onto it...what do I get for it, huh? I'm talking rental fee, an collatoral, omae, because the Phoenix certainly ain't letting a slot like you walk away with my ride risk free, ya feel me? Now, what's it gonna be?" The Phoenix cooly eyed the ringleader, already seeing that the two humans looked to him for direction, and she personally focused on his reaction, ready to move at a split instant.
-
B Kbow bends down, and scratches out an address in the dust and gravel. Once Ian has had a chance to input the information in his link or otherwise make note of it, he runs his foot over the ground to smooth it over. "I'll leave instructions for you there. I just need you to check in every other day, probably take you an hour tops. Just don't bring nobody by, and don't ever, and I mean ever bring that shit back here. Things look sketchy down that way, you just let it play out and keep yourself safe. Nothing worth losing your hoop over, wiz?"
"Wiz," says the skinny white boy with a smile and an upward nod, before clasping hands with B-Know and doing that "I'm not gay" half-hug thing that those rap types seem to prefer.
On his way out the door with Norway, he stops. "Yo, hold up, hold up Norway. One second." Ian jogs back the five steps to rejoin his friend near the couch before he has a chance to sit back down. The music is loud out here and B-know leans in close to hear Mister Hopeless as he whispers in his ear. "Almost forgot, yo. I need to know if you heard anything fucky about some runners named Wraith, Phoenix, and La Sombra. Just holler at me if you feel like there's anything I need to know about em. You hear shit I don't, wiz?" After that, it's on the back of a dirtbike for the ride of his life.
Honestly, this was the sort of thing Ian had always been afraid he'd be doing every day when he first decided to run the shadows. He just imagined that someone would be after him or that there'd be some kind of reason for risking one's limbs against the highway. At least he had remembered to bring his helmet with him tonight. All that means is they'll be able to identify the corpse more easily, dude. Hopeless holds on tight as he can, giving not a thought as to how much a wimp this ganger must take him for.
He doesn't even answer when he's asked for nova, nor when his companion bitches about the state of the joint they're about to patronize. He just stows his helmet back into his bag and walks up to the bouncerwith no SIN, but holding a credstick, and willing to tip this meathead as much as it's going to take to get him to let the two of them in.
"Two, chummer." he says with a slight smile as he opens his arms wide, preparing for the weapons check.
-
@The Phoenix
"Hm. And that name's supposed to mean anything to a slitch like me? I promise yeh...if I came with that gauge in my hands we wouldn't be having this lovely conversation, wiz? I'd just rather not have scratched the paint. Now, how about you enlighten me on who your oh-so-special brother is and what his part is in these hoods, and I'll promise I won't be touching the gauge until our biz is done, aight?"
"Winton runs this block, chummer. Hoops that don't know that be stupid, or green . . . or both. Looking how you look, I got my own ideas. But you ask around now, dig? They'll all tell you who's street you're walkin' on.
As he gave the redhead his plans for the car, she gave another little smirk, one brow raised. "Suppose I do let you hold onto it...what do I get for it, huh? I'm talking rental fee, an collatoral, omae, because the Phoenix certainly ain't letting a slot like you walk away with my ride risk free, ya feel me? Now, what's it gonna be?"
"Collateral?" the big ork asks with a matching laugh. "This look like Sprawl2Sprawl to you? What, you wanna run my SIN?" he asks, laughing at the absurdity of the request. "Drek, girl, I ain't askin' for no loan application. I just wanna hold that spike for a few turns. That amiable to you?" he asks, an attempt at a big word, "or do we need to start busting?"
@Hopeless
"Two, chummer." he says with a slight smile as he opens his arms wide, preparing for the weapons check.
The bouncer scans the SIN, but doesn't even bother to look at the readout. "Fifty," he says, eyeing the Cutter hard enough to let Norway know that he disapproves of wearing colors inside, but not hard enough to warrant an offense. Hopeless finds himself being a bit impressed with the bouncer's acumen, made all the more impressive with the lack of care and attention that he seems to be paying them. Once Hopeless slides the cred, he pulls back the rope to let the pair enter. "No touching the girls, lest I touch you," he offers as they pass.
Inside, Cabaret West is every bit the club that Ian remembers. He spots Tammy easily enough, as she's doing her thing on the main stage. He knows that she'll run the next song on the stage back by the bar, and her final one of the set will be over by the VIP room. That at least gives him some time to get Norway situated before he has a chance to talk, but Norway looks right up at Tammy, turns to Ian and says, "Her." Ian isn't sure how exactly that should play, and runs himself to the bar, stalling. He orders Norway the two drink minimum off the bat, and something for himself, and leaves the tab open. By the time he gets back to Norway, who has managed to post himself front and center on Pervert's Row, despite how busy the club is, the song has changed over, and a curvy human woman with a raven black mohawk and chains running over her body has taken the main stage.
"Scratch that. Her." Norway says, draining his first synth beer in a drink, before taking the second out of Ian's hand, which he sips on thoughtfully. "So, where your peeps at?"
@Wraith
It's nearly 10:00 at night on the sixth when Wraith has her matrix searches interrupted by a comm call from La Sombre. Picking up, she sees the ork's face clearly.
"Hoi chummer, I got some of that intel I promised ya. How would you like for me to send it over?"
When the arrangements have been made, La Sombre slots over the information from her Lonestar contact.
<<Incoming Message
<<To: Wraith
<<From: La Sombre
<<Subject; ---
<<Message: .
<<Attachments: Datapak
Looking over the contents, Wraith discovers a trove of information on all of the potential targets, save Takashi Sato.
The folder on Minami is the most extensive. Whenever information from the datapak overlaps with that given by the Johnson, the information is corroborated. Additional details that Wraith is able to discern has to do with his movements on Tuesdays and Thursdays. There is a quite extensive map detailing his stops on Tuesdays and Thursdays, all of which are time-stamped. It appears as though he begins his rounds at around 11:00 am, and his stops are recorded until about 3:15-3:30 in the afternoon. Sometimes, Minami is "reacquired" later in the evening. This regular loss and sometimes re-acquisition of Minami is somewhat troubling to Wraith until she stumbles upon a territoriality map of the DFW plex. Each time Minami is "lost" it corresponds to a location near the Ares district in Wise. A quick matrix search later, and Wraith is convinced that this particular datapak came to the team courtesy of Lonestar. It seems Ares is not willing to share jurisdiction with Lonestar, and if Minami's tail is indeed police, they would need to drop back once he enters KE territoriality. It also means, if the team is lucky, that hitting Minami on Chapman Road shortly after crossing the border could allow the team to act without any unwanted legal attention -- assuming Minami is not also being tailed by KE, of course.
The folder on Oshiro contains two of his known commlinks, and addresses for the clubs which he frequents. There is some dated information from about a year-and-a-half ago that includes schematics for his home office, ostensibly for a sneak-and-peak warrant that never went anywhere. It appears as though his home console contains bio-metrics, but otherwise his security is limited to a DR 3 maglock. No astral security is noted. Also of potential use is the fact that Club Frisco, where Oshiro typically makes use of the VIP room, and sometimes while accompanied by Minami -- is noted for the very high turnover rate for the hostesses and dancers who work there.
And then there's Tezuka. It appears as though Tezuka is suspected in four ongoing homicide investigations. There is extensive mention of the Spirits Club, but no hard information on the club itself. There is also mention of a shootout in Downtown Dallas a little less than a month back, which supposedly pitched the Feathered against the Yakuza, in which Tezuka's crew was "late to the party." A mention is made of a CI who has been informing on Tezuka, and most of that information is related to his stake in the protection rackets around southeast Fort Worth. While no name or contact information is given, Wraith believes that she may be able to run some numbers and draw some logical conclusions on that front. There are also limited dossiers included on three other yakuza members, who are suspected members of Tezuka's gang. One, who goes by Boshi, is thought to be awakened. The others are just as much a bunch of bruisers as Tezuka appears to be.
-
@The Phoenix
"Hm. And that name's supposed to mean anything to a slitch like me? I promise yeh...if I came with that gauge in my hands we wouldn't be having this lovely conversation, wiz? I'd just rather not have scratched the paint. Now, how about you enlighten me on who your oh-so-special brother is and what his part is in these hoods, and I'll promise I won't be touching the gauge until our biz is done, aight?"
"Winton runs this block, chummer. Hoops that don't know that be stupid, or green . . . or both. Looking how you look, I got my own ideas. But you ask around now, dig? They'll all tell you who's street you're walkin' on.
As he gave the redhead his plans for the car, she gave another little smirk, one brow raised. "Suppose I do let you hold onto it...what do I get for it, huh? I'm talking rental fee, an collatoral, omae, because the Phoenix certainly ain't letting a slot like you walk away with my ride risk free, ya feel me? Now, what's it gonna be?"
"Collateral?" the big ork asks with a matching laugh. "This look like Sprawl2Sprawl to you? What, you wanna run my SIN?" he asks, laughing at the absurdity of the request. "Drek, girl, I ain't askin' for no loan application. I just wanna hold that spike for a few turns. That amiable to you?" he asks, an attempt at a big word, "or do we need to start busting?"
One little eyebrow twitch. That was all indication of any reaction from Marissa at the insinuation of being called green and/or stupid. Gang turf or no, the Phoenix made a point to do things her way, and this entitled little snot of a tusker didn't seem to be understanding that. What's mine is mine, and regardless of this morning's events, it's damn good I keep everything close... Arlington. Z zone here, which makes this possible. So far I've heard no sirens and plenty of gunshots...this must be like his playground.
Reaching up and fixing her sunglasses, Marissa brushed some hair from her face as she kicked at the ground as if in serious consideration. One chance to make an impression...Phoenix, don't fail me now.. Clearing her throat, the lady seemed to be done stalling. "Well...y'see, here I was hoping we would be having a friendly exchange, showing that we could find some kind of mutual understanding that stuff, even borrowed, is never free. Y'see, if one would have offered me a chunk of cred and maybe even some valuable gear you might be owning for me to borrow, we might be in business. But if I don't, you'll start busting?" She gave a sigh, feigning concern. "Well, when you put it that way..."
The Phoenix's movements could barely be traced by the naked eye as she snapped to, hand moving as if powered by a coiled spring desperate for release. Before any reaction could be made, the Ruger Super Warhawk was in her right hand, the trigger pulled as the Stik'n'Shok heavy round discharged, directed square at the fork of the ork's pants and the vulnerable parts beneath. Before that was even registered, an Ares Predator seemed to materialize in her left hand, trained at center mass of the trio. A split second, the Phoenix waited, confirming the effect of her response.
Initiative (http://orokos.com/roll/314610): 9+4d6 25
Simple action: Quick Draw (Threshold 2) (http://orokos.com/roll/314609): 12d6t5 3 Success.
Attack: Pistol (Called shot: Genitals. Push the Limit) (http://orokos.com/roll/314605): 5d6h5 4
Won't argue with those results. Breakdown:
Damage: 7S(e)+net hits, AP -5
Called shot (genitals): -10 dice (factored in), DV limit post-soak =4. Secondary effects:
Stunned (-10 Initiative, Body+Will(4) negates)
Nauseous (Body+Will(4). Target vomits and has -4 dice to all actions for 4-hits Combat Turns)
Buckled ( Body(DV) test. Target drops to the ground for DV-hits Combat Turns)
Now to cross the fingers and hopefully queue the cringing...:D
-
A lonely shot rings out in the morning air, striking home on the big ork. There is a brief exhale of air as he lets out something between a moan and a gasp, followed by twitchy truncated breathing as the stick-n-shock lets loose with its charges. The ork collapses backward first into the passenger door of the Shin-Hyung, but then he rolls forward bracing himself on his left arm as he throws up onto the street.
The spritely-looking human takes off at a dead run as far away from the apartment complex as he can muster, while the other circles around the far side of The Phoenix's car and takes cover before saying, "LowLIfe, you ok?" to which the ork can only wretch again.
-
Ian could think of few more depressing places in the world than a stripclub. Not that he has anything against Cabaret West, specifically. Just the business model in general, he finds incredibly depressing. Lonely, hateful men and desperate women all being exploited by the greedy. In alot of ways, the stripclub had always sort of reminded Ian of a small microcosm of the earth. The constant and everpresent mingling of the implication of sex and the threat of violence in every direction one can look, all the money trickling uphill to three or four people at the top. When he was young, he used to imagine that these places were just like they came off in the trids. Full of classy dudes having respectful conversations with beautiful, intelligent, and self-actualized women. He'd been led to believe it was more like the geisha of ancient Japan; almost romanticized. He was in for a shock when he was finally old enough to go to one on his own. They're all just as horrible as this and he hates them all. But Tammy is a reliable hookup and she's always had a really good head on her shoulders. After all, it had been her who warned Ian about her sisters cram habit before the two of them had gotten too serious.
Ian grabs the four synth-beers from the bartender and tips her six, for an even thirty off his credstick. Tammy had taught him that trick a while ago. Get em all at once, and ya only have to tip once. Making his way to one of the less popular tables, he watches Norway get right to the point and he smiles a little bit as he passes him his two beers. At least he's not gonna make me wait three hours before he picks one. Mister Hopeless sits down, crosses an ankle over one knee and sets his beers down on the table. He's damn sure not getting a dance from anyone and he doesn't wanna fuck with Tammy's money, so he'll just wait for her like he always does. Once the white girl with the mohawk hits the stage, Norway almost can't hold it down anymore. He makes his way to the table with Ian without ever taking his eyes off of the woman, almost bumping into a few people in the process.
"Her."
"Yeah, chummer. She is gorgeous." he says as he passes the Cutter a credstick with fourty nuyen on it, technically enough for two dances, but he kinda wants to see how honest this ganger is. As Norway walks off, he takes another look at the woman on the main stage with a raised eyebrow. He's got good taste, at least. Eventually, Norway finds his way back to the table. He's doing his best "hard-hoop gangsta" face when he sits down and starts talking.
"So, where your peeps at?"
Ian takes another sip of his synth-beer and glances around the room to see Tammy sitting and chatting up a trio of well dressed and drunken businessmen. She's trying her hardest to talk the elf with the hairgel into a dance or three, but despite her utter mastery of the art of sales, is having no luck. The only emotion that escapes Ian as he speaks is boredom. "She'll be here when she's done." Ian tips his bottle in the direction of the corpers' table and takes another swig. "I'm a let her finish doin what she doin first. I aint trying to fuck with her jing, wiz?"
-
A lonely shot rings out in the morning air, striking home on the big ork. There is a brief exhale of air as he lets out something between a moan and a gasp, followed by twitchy truncated breathing as the stick-n-shock lets loose with its charges. The ork collapses backward first into the passenger door of the Shin-Hyung, but then he rolls forward bracing himself on his left arm as he throws up onto the street.
The spritely-looking human takes off at a dead run as far away from the apartment complex as he can muster, while the other circles around the far side of The Phoenix's car and takes cover before saying, "LowLIfe, you ok?" to which the ork can only wretch again.
The redhead's grin was showed as much menace as it did amusement as Marissa kept the guns up, straightening her stance and keeping one gun trained on the both of them. "Now that I got your attention, let's try things this way.." She waved her Predator in a gesture for the human thug to come out from the cover, the Warhawk poised and readily aimed at Lowlife. How fitting
"This is the part where you stay downl, chummer. Now, here's how it's going to work. I'm going to get my things, hop in my car, and go about my day. You..." She nodded to the human thug. [/color]"..will tell this Winton that his brother picked the wrong person to frag with just because he's blood to him. You'll also tell him that I didn't geek any of you guys by choice. I would like to introduce myself to him, on friendly terms. I'm a simple girl, and I keep to myself. Now, help get this fragger out of here"[/color] She gave a little smirk at that, ready to react should either of them try anything funny.
-
@Hopeless
"She'll be here when she's done." Ian tips his bottle in the direction of the corpers' table and takes another swig. "I'm a let her finish doin what she doin first. I aint trying to fuck with her jing, wiz?"
Norway nods his head appreciatively, and clinks his long neck against Ian's. "Your peeps, huh? Better man than me, omae. Don't think I could stand watching my girl running game like that. By the way, deal was for one dance," he says, sliding the credstick back to Ian with 20 still on it.
After Tammy strikes out with the business crew, Ian catches eyes with her, and she approaches the table. Norway gives a shrug, and says, "Better get back to the action," before standing, getting a waitress's attention, pointing to his bottle, holding up two fingers, and then pointing back to pervert row, where he finds a seat as easily as before -- by jerking his thumb in an away motion at the current tenant.
"Ian, been a little while, hon," Tammy says after Norway's departure. "You always keep interesting company. Who am I to talk, though, wiz? What's new with you? Been awhile."
@The Phoenix
"This is the part where you stay downl, chummer. Now, here's how it's going to work. I'm going to get my things, hop in my car, and go about my day. You..." She nodded to the human thug. [/color]"..will tell this Winton that his brother picked the wrong person to frag with just because he's blood to him. You'll also tell him that I didn't geek any of you guys by choice. I would like to introduce myself to him, on friendly terms. I'm a simple girl, and I keep to myself. Now, help get this fragger out of here"[/color] She gave a little smirk at that, ready to react should either of them try anything funny.
A tense few seconds pass as LowLife struggles and fails to right himself. The human behind the car doesn't make any move to exit cover, but nor does he draw a weapon or make any aggressive motions. When he can finally speak again, the ork says, "Fucking chump shot me in the wizbangs, Iggy. Where the hell'd Che go? Ah, frag, you dumb slitch," he finishes trying to save face, but still can't seem to find his footing. Eventually, Iggy comes around the car, his hands up and empty, and he grabs LowLife under his right arm, trying to help the much bigger ork to stand. When he finally can, Marissa can see the mess he's made of himself. Bright blue puke, probably some sort of wiz new slurpee flavor has stained his t-shirt and arms. Even up, the ork looks woozy, his head lolling from side-to-side.
"Yeah, we'll tell Winton. Don't you worry none about that. We'll have a lot of words between us about you, omae." the ork says, limping off. About halfway down the block, Marissa can barely hear him add, "Where the fuck am I gonna find ice, Iggy?"
#
After a nice breakfast in a little cafe a few block north, one in which Marissa kept getting a few strange glances when she'd chuckle to herself over the morning's developments, three burly orks, each looking to be just shy of twenty, enter and regard her before approaching. One takes the lead and approaches the counter saying, "I guess you're the sharp-shooter then, eh?" When Marissa nods in acknowledgment he adds, "Winton would like to see you."
Marissa goes to pay, but the lead man stays her hand, and forks over a credstick. "We always buy the last meal . . . sometimes the first too. Guess we'll see which this is."
-
"Your peeps, huh? Better man than me, omae. Don't think I could stand watching my girl running game like that."
The shaggy headed human smiles as wide as ya can without opening your mouth and shakes his head. "Naw, 'mae, naw. You think a woman like her slot with a guy like me? Psssshht!" he chuckles a bit. "Naw, chummer. Drek jus bidness with me an her, wiz?"
"By the way, deal was for one dance." he says, sliding the credstick back to Ian with 20 still on it.
Ian tries to hide his happiness with Norway. The news'll have ya believing gangers are all just a buncha cut-throats, but they aint all like that. "Wiz." he says, nodding his head.
Soon, Tammy is on her way over and Norway has politely gone back to the stage to give them some privacy.
"Ian, been a little while, hon," Tammy says after Norway's departure. "You always keep interesting company. Who am I to talk, though, wiz? What's new with you? Been awhile."
"Has it?" he says with a scrunched up brow, as if doing a little math in his head. "Yeah, I guess it has been a couple months, huh?" He offers his second beer, still sitting unopened on the table to her. "I'm actually here on kindof a long shot, cause I know you meet a lotta people, y'know?" Purposefully shifting in his seat a little bit, perhaps to underline the seriousness of what he's about to say. He looks her in her face when he speaks. "I'm looking for information on a couple people, and figured you might know someone... Or someone who knows someone, wiz?" He takes a brief pause and takes out his nicstick to take a hit off. "It's not people, exactly. It's yaks." He can see the look starting to form on her face, but interrupts before she can speak. "Now, you know I tip good for drek like this, right? So, if you should happen to think of anything you might know in the next twenty-four, forty-eight hours or so, won't you holler at me, huh?"
-
Marissa said no words back to Winton and his cronie as they limped off, finally lowering her weapons and letting out a small breath of a sigh. "Well...that went well I think..." She muttered to herself as she noticed the blue patch of puke on the ground. Slipping her weapons back into her holsters, she stepped over to the mess, a look of focus behind her glasses as she traced lines into the patch with the toe of her boot. The result? An image outlining some kind of winged bird prominently in the middle. Satisfied, the redhead grabbed her bag and loaded it into the trunk of her car, handling each item piece by piece. A response is probably gonna happen today. I am not getting caught slot in air
Her armor jacket was replaced by her lined coat for this very purpose, the extra concealment proving valuable for her prepared loadout. Marissa's beloved Predators kept their seat of regard at the small of her back, the Warhawk at her right hip like before. In addition, in her right boot now nestled her Pulsar taser, a combat knife in her left. The Ingram SMG tucked itself away under her left arm, while her telescoping staff hooked into her coat. Shock gloves deactivated on hands, shotgun slinged over her back, The Phoenix was satisfied with the setup. And now...food...
[align=center]~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~[/align]
The exchange between Marissa and the trio of orks was civil and calm, much like some titanic iceburg...under the surface, it felt like a battle of wills. When her meal was paid for, she nodded and gave a small smile. "Oh I'm your huckleberry" She muttered at his suggestion of it being her first or last meal, as if in assurance of the result she intended. Let's get this over with..
The thugs took the redhead a few blocks further away, back into an alley where a group of orks, humans, and even dwarves were hanging out, many of them in the late teens, much of them in their 20s or so. In the middle, sitting atop a trashcan like some throne, sat an ork that Marissa could only figure was Winton. Standing up straight, she stood in the middle of the forming circle, glasses on as she scanned over everybody. "So I hear I moved into your turf for my stay here. I'm hoping that we don't come to any issue with that"
Concealment roll (all weapons get -1 concealability due to lined coat, pistols and SMG get -2):
Concealing Gear (Palm+AGI[Phys]) (http://orokos.com/roll/315322): 8d6t5 3
-
@Hopeless
"Has it?" he says with a scrunched up brow, as if doing a little math in his head.
"Oh, I dunno. Just seems like the kinda thing hoops'll say to one another," she responds pulling a waitress aside to grab a pack of smokes. She shakes her head once at the waitress's offering, and then nods when the waitress slides a opalescent pack out from under her tray. "His tab," she adds to the waitress, motioning to Ian before she pops the top on his second unopened synth beer.
"It's not people, exactly. It's yaks." He can see the look starting to form on her face, but interrupts before she can speak. "Now, you know I tip good for drek like this, right? So, if you should happen to think of anything you might know in the next twenty-four, forty-eight hours or so, won't you holler at me, huh?"
"I can tell you what little I know right now. Yak types don't come in here much, with the present management and all. But, ya know, girls move around. Girls talk. Some girls do the private parties and other biz. Not like we're under contract or anything. You got any names? Better yet, any pics? I could maybe shop 'em around to a few people I trust.
"And Ian, you're playing a dangerous game with those guys. Hope you know what you're doing."
@The Phoenix
"So I hear I moved into your turf for my stay here. I'm hoping that we don't come to any issue with that"
"Hold your hoop, chump," the ork who had led Marissa to the alley says. "'Fore you talk to Winton, Ima hafta pat you down."
He motions for Marissa to extend her arms, and begins the patdown. The SMG comes off first, followed by the Warhawk and twin Predators. One of the onlooking gangers gives a low whistle at the hardware, which gives way to general murmuring as the taser and collapsible staff comes off her person. In the end, she's only left with the knife in her boot.
She's given the nod to approach, and Winton hops off his makeshift throne. "So, you're the one gave my brother a hard time, eh? Yeah. Yeah, I can see that. What I don't see, is why you'd need all that chrome to give a thirteen-year-old kid a hard time.
"I don't try and be unreasonable here, wiz? Just make sure everyone is able to make some cred, do some trade, maybe hit a little shit every now and then. And that's worked out real well for us down here. This ain't no cutter turf. The New World Soldiers know to stay the fuck off our blocks, and hell, even the Rangerovers know to stay on the highways round here.
"And then there's you. Dressing like that, armed like you're going to win back Austin single-handedly. Shit, girl. I'd much rather we be friends than otherwise, but I'll be damned if you ain't making it hard on me. And my brother? What the frag were you thinking?"
-
"I can tell you what little I know right now. Yak types don't come in here much, with the present management and all. But, ya know, girls move around. Girls talk. Some girls do the private parties and other biz. Not like we're under contract or anything. You got any names? Better yet, any pics? I could maybe shop 'em around to a few people I trust.
"And Ian, you're playing a dangerous game with those guys. Hope you know what you're doing."
With a little smirk, he observes, "I know those smokes you just put on my tab aint the cheap ones, and if I'm buyin em, you're bummin me one or two." Taking another hit off the nicstick, "These things just aint the same, wiz?"
He pulls up his comm and quickly flips through the four pictures and names of the men he's interested in, letting Tammy get a good look at them before powering it off and stowing it in his pocket again. "I know I aint callin on the law here or nothin, I don't need detailed dossiers or nun like that, just anything interesting you might hear, wiz?"
Ian hugs Tammy goodbye and gathers up Norway from the stage area, asking if he's ready to go. If he's intent on sticking around, Ian can always take a cab, he figures. Cabbies hang out at these places like vultures. After paying for the red-headed elf's smokes, he puts his hat on and shoves two of them inside it while walking back out to the parking lot. The late hour is finally starting to get to him, or maybe it was all the smoke in the club and at B-Know's place. Either way, he's very much looking forward to being back in his bed at home.
-
"Hold your hoop, chump," the ork who had led Marissa to the alley says. "'Fore you talk to Winton, Ima hafta pat you down."
He motions for Marissa to extend her arms, and begins the patdown. The SMG comes off first, followed by the Warhawk and twin Predators. One of the onlooking gangers gives a low whistle at the hardware, which gives way to general murmuring as the taser and collapsible staff comes off her person. In the end, she's only left with the knife in her boot.
She's given the nod to approach, and Winton hops off his makeshift throne. "So, you're the one gave my brother a hard time, eh? Yeah. Yeah, I can see that. What I don't see, is why you'd need all that chrome to give a thirteen-year-old kid a hard time.
"I don't try and be unreasonable here, wiz? Just make sure everyone is able to make some cred, do some trade, maybe hit a little shit every now and then. And that's worked out real well for us down here. This ain't no cutter turf. The New World Soldiers know to stay the fuck off our blocks, and hell, even the Rangerovers know to stay on the highways round here.
"And then there's you. Dressing like that, armed like you're going to win back Austin single-handedly. Shit, girl. I'd much rather we be friends than otherwise, but I'll be damned if you ain't making it hard on me. And my brother? What the frag were you thinking?"
Just the knife. Well, I got one weapon. If things go sour, that's all I'll likely need, heh. Luckily I don't plan on that Marissa gave a little smile as Winton said his piece. Giving a little shrug, the redhead made sure to keep her movements slow and easily trackable. "Now you see, if I had known and been made aware of this set up, I woulda kept to myself and respectted the system. I get you. But riddle me this, omae. If you had just moved into town for a beat, and some kid comes up to your ride and demands to take it under the claim it's a borrow job, what would you do?"
She gave a little sigh, putting her hands up behind her head and locking the fingers together. "Before you start going off on me about your brother, I want you to think of something. You've seen my hardware, and what I'm capable of, and that should tell you how much restraint I showed on your brother. Now, you say you want to be friends. I can work with that. You won't be seeing any more trouble from me, assuming I don't get harassed unduly again, and we can live in peace until I move on again. Plus, since you kinda get what I do, if I'm available for some work, I'd be willing to offer my services at a fair rate. Think we can work this out without things getting ugly? I rather like my face..."
-
[05 MAY 2075 | 23:00 | DFW | Wraith's Apartment]
Wraith read through the information La Sombre had sent. She mentally whistled in her head. This is some good stuff...
Filtering through it all, she started to build a condensed list of outstanding queries she needed to run.
<< Working File//Query Search...
<< Spirits Nightclub >>
<< Club Frisco (Employment Opportunities) >>
<< Club Frisco (Floor plan/Interior Photos) >>
...End File//Working File>>
Setting her files aside, the woman started to dig into the informant who had been ratting on Tezuka. If the team could identify and flip the person in question, it may lead to very valuable information indeed.
-
@The Phoenix
"But riddle me this, omae. If you had just moved into town for a beat, and some kid comes up to your ride and demands to take it under the claim it's a borrow job, what would you do?"
"Omae," Winton says, "I wouldn't find myself in that situation to begin with. Like I said, this is my block, and I plan on living and dying here. That said, if I was to find myself somewhere new, I think the first fraggin' thing I would do is see the man in charge, wiz? And if that failed, sometimes the best way to not end up unarmed in front of a crew that'll take you apart piece by piece is to walk away when the walking's good."
"Before you start going off on me about your brother, I want you to think of something. You've seen my hardware, and what I'm capable of, and that should tell you how much restraint I showed on your brother.
Winton cuts in, "Hold on, 'restraint?' I don't think that word thinks what you think it means, chummer. Leave us," the big ork adds to his friends. The one who led Marissa into the alley looks uncomfortable with the suggestion, but he's unwilling to defy the boss, especially in front of an outsider, and he gives a whistle and leads the rest of the group away.
Winton lets Marissa finish.
"Now, you say you want to be friends. I can work with that. You won't be seeing any more trouble from me, assuming I don't get harassed unduly again, and we can live in peace until I move on again. Plus, since you kinda get what I do, if I'm available for some work, I'd be willing to offer my services at a fair rate. Think we can work this out without things getting ugly? I rather like my face..."
Winton leans forward, and pinches the bridge of his nose before continuing. "I'm a level with you. I don't expect that we will see any further trouble with the likes of you. And like you say, maybe we can help one another out sometime, and that drek goes both way,chummer. This can be a good block for a working girl. I got eyes and ears, a place or two to lay low, a little misdirection when the occasion warrants. Hell, sometimes the boys go up the way and boost cars if you end up needing something with a little more heft than that rocket you got parked down the block.
"And truth be told, that little brother of mine is a real pain in the hoop. Had to stop myself from laughing in his ugly trog face when he told me what happened. But you've got to understand that I can't let what you did slide. I gotta tax you somehow. You can catch a beating or three, and that'd get us just about square, but I think it'd be a lot better if you slid over 500¥ and between you and me I'll owe you one. Don't let your pride get to you on this, omae. Price of the streets. Whaddya say?"
@Hopeless
Tammy stops Hopeless at the picture of Tezuka. "Him I've met. About a year ago I did a private party at this awful dive called Spirits, or something like that. Anyway, it was a small party, about five guys, but they bussed in about twenty girls, mostly metas. Reason I remember it is cause I've been there before, and the strip cub is on the third floor, but they set us up on the second, which was set up more like a warehouse, but they had screens blocking most of it off. The work was not pleasant," she says breaking eye contact and looking down at the table. "I wouldn't go back."
"That's probably not much help, I'm sorry. I'll ask around, though, and ping you if anything turns up, wiz?"
After finishing with Tammy, Ian goes to snag Norway. By the looks of him, he ended up finding some novacoke somewhere along the line, and he's in no mood to leave. "Man, I had this place all wrong. Fucking nova girls," he says downing the last of a bottle. "Drek beer, though. Hey, man, no need to bounce yet is there? Next round's on me."
Ian ends up having to call a cab to get back home, and finds himself asleep before the mugginess of the apartment even registers to him. He wakes up slightly after noon to the sound of an incoming call. It appears Ms. Dadlez is reaching out again.
"Mr. Hopeless," she says when he answers, as put together and decorous as ever. "You're looking well. I'm sorry to be bothering you, but after the complications from the last job, I've been reaching out for information on your team. Two of them come highly recommended, but Wraith was a wild card, and not who I had asked for. What I've found has been . . . problematic. It seems that she is also known by the name 'Two-Timer' and has twice been the only surviving member of a team. The most recent was a run against Northrop-Grumman, and by the accounts that I've read and verified, an HTR team was on the scene almost immediately, by which I mean within forty-five seconds of insertion. As I'm sure you're aware, such a timeline is unrealistic at best and betrays collusion at worst.
"That said, I am not personally convinced that Wraith, AKA Two-Timer was necessarily on the take. For one, there was another run that same night that was easily able to take advantage of the HTR being tied up. Most likely, either Two-Timer or the fixer were involved, and so I thought it best that I contact you."
-
Marissa thought long and hard at Winton's offer as he said his piece to her, keeping stock still where she stood, her hands kept loose at her side, feet stanced shoulder-width apart and ready. At the end of his speaking, she gave a little exhale of breath, head tilting to one side as she took a few steps forward, keeping her hands clear as she got within touching distance of him, palms open and facing him. Leaning forward as well, she let her voice go low so only he would hear.
"hard bargaining, but you aren't without your points, sirrah. Consider this stunt a one-time demonstration of my ability that shall not be repeated. We have an accord." Stepping one step back, her left hand plucking out a credstick from one of her pockets, slotting it into her commlink and making the transfer of 500 nuyen into the stick, including her commcode with with. "All yours...and before we get back to your cronies, I do have one question...you much in contact with the Feathered? I ain't with em or against em, but I may be of a mind to buy some gear of theirs."
"In exchange for that...I'd hate to see the man in charge looking soft, so..." Taking her fist, she took one step back before sending a solid backfist against her cheek, the smack of hand to face audible as it was followed by a direct uppercut to her opposite eye, the Phoenix staggering just a bit from the blow. A little blood at her lip, it was clear the redhead would likely have a shiner for the day. "The Phoenix respects this turf, and looks forward to our continued biz." Tipping her hat, she waited for his response and for the all clear to retrieve her weapons.
-
"Him I've met. About a year ago I did a private party at this awful dive called Spirits, or something like that. Anyway, it was a small party, about five guys, but they bussed in about twenty girls, mostly metas. Reason I remember it is cause I've been there before, and the strip cub is on the third floor, but they set us up on the second, which was set up more like a warehouse, but they had screens blocking most of it off. The work was not pleasant," she says breaking eye contact and looking down at the table. "I wouldn't go back."
The only thing Ian likes about stripclubs is the lighting. It's easier to hide one's facial expression in the shadows and the dim dancing neon lights in places like these. Probably helps if the patrons don't notice how miserable most of the girls are in these kinda joints. But right now, it's helping Ian hide his own expression. He's a little stunned that she's telling him such personal stuff about her own goings on. Tammy had always kept things really business with him. Maybe she's been here all day and her defenses are kinda lower or somethin. Either way, just be cool and don't react. Ian had learned a long time ago that when people start tellin ya uncomfortable shit about themselves, the best thing to do is just shut up, listen, and don't ask them to clarify anything. There's obviously a reason they didn't spell it out to begin with. So that's what he does here. He just makes eye contact and waits.
"That's probably not much help, I'm sorry. I'll ask around, though, and ping you if anything turns up, wiz?"
He shakes his head slowly and subtly with an "aint no thang" kinda lower lip stuck out, which quickly turns to a small smile around the edges. "Ey, at this point, I don't even know what's useful and what aint. You mighta just given me the million dollar answer for all I know." He shrugs his shoulders before finishing his beer and standing up. "Well, I've taken up at least a dance or two wortha your time." he says as he slots her 100.00 nuyen off his credstick. "If you hear anything else, holler at me, eh?" He nods and smiles before headed off to find Norway and some sleep.
"Salsha? Do you mind watching me while I sleep for a while before you go? It just feels nice to have someone around, y'know?"
------------------------------------------------
Drenched in today's sweat and still caked in yesterday's sweat, his shaggy hair is almost rock solid, and when he raises his head from the pillow, his hair keeps the same shape. He slowly becomes aware of the chirping little green parrot ARO that only wakes him for certain numbers. Right now, Dadlez and Bookworm are the only ones on that list. He's only a little disappointed that it's not the dwarf. Rather than bother trying to make himself look halfway decent in the 10 seconds he has to answer the call, he just uses his matrix persona to answer it. At the moment, it's a poorly animated lime-green wire frame model that resembles a unisex human form. It has a much smoother voice than his real one though; He sounds like Marvin Gaye.
"Mr. Hopeless, you're looking well."
He bows. "As are you, Miss Dadlez... Or, is it Mrs?"
"I'm sorry to be bothering you, but after the complications from the last job, I've been reaching out for information on your team. Two of them come highly recommended, but Wraith was a wild card, and not who I had asked for. What I've found has been . . . problematic. It seems that she is also known by the name 'Two-Timer' and has twice been the only surviving member of a team. The most recent was a run against Northrop-Grumman, "
Who the cock is Northrop Grumman?
"...and by the accounts that I've read and verified, an HTR team was on the scene almost immediately, by which I mean within forty-five seconds of insertion. As I'm sure you're aware, such a timeline is unrealistic at best and betrays collusion at worst."
Well, that's no good. I wonder if Wraith knows there's words about her. I wonder if LaSombra and Phoenix know.
"That said, I am not personally convinced that Wraith, AKA Two-Timer was necessarily on the take. For one, there was another run that same night that was easily able to take advantage of the HTR being tied up. Most likely, either Two-Timer or the fixer were involved, and so I thought it best that I contact you."
"Well damn. I appreciate you reaching out to me anyway. It really makes me feel like you're looking out for me." Ian finds it so much easier to lie when no one can see him. "But I agree. Could be her, could be the fixer, could be drek luck. But it is noteworthy, so thanks." After a short pause, he adds, "You know any details about the other run that same night?"
-
@The Phoenix
Stepping one step back, her left hand plucking out a credstick from one of her pockets, slotting it into her commlink and making the transfer of 500 nuyen into the stick, including her commcode with with. "All yours...and before we get back to your cronies, I do have one question...you much in contact with the Feathered? I ain't with em or against em, but I may be of a mind to buy some gear of theirs."
"Damn, for being a foreigner you know some drek,eh? Them hoops is bad news. Ya know, most gangers be walking around with Berretas, or Gladiuses. Maybe you see the occasional AK, but not the Feathered. Serious firepower, and the armor to go with it. Chameleon suits, masks, fraggin' matrix overwatch, it's a whole different breed down Feathered way. Thing is, they ain't usually keen on hooking anybody up with their connects, dig? One thing they ain't got is numbers. Ya know Aztlan innit too popular around here. I wouldn't recommend hooking up with them, but the Weatherford Barrens is practically open warfare between the Feathered and the Mara Salvatrucha. I wouldn't just walk in like you own the place," he says smiling, and Marissa gets the feeling this is one of his good-natured jabs, "but both sides are always looking for a new up, ya know?
"Anyway, here's my commcode. You let me know if we can further help to one another."
"In exchange for that...I'd hate to see the man in charge looking soft, so..."[/color] Taking her fist, she took one step back before sending a solid backfist against her cheek, the smack of hand to face audible as it was followed by a direct uppercut to her opposite eye, the Phoenix staggering just a bit from the blow. A little blood at her lip, it was clear the redhead would likely have a shiner for the day. "The Phoenix respects this turf, and looks forward to our continued biz." Tipping her hat, she waited for his response and for the all clear to retrieve her weapons.
"Wiz, chummer." Winton puts two fingers to his lips, and lets out a screech of a whistle. The other boys come running back, and stare openly at The Phoenix. "We've come to an understanding, didn't we?" he asks pointedly to Marissa. When she nods he continues, "So we got ours, and she got hers. Only now, y'all 'll be leaving her alone. Nobody touches the car, her apartment, or her gear. From now on, you boys treat her like auntie, wiz? Nova. Alright, you can go. B, help her with her stash. She's lookin' a little woozy."
Marissa dons her gear, and walks out the alley, hearing Winton say behind her, "Alright, I'm buying, who's hungry?"
@Hopeless
He bows. "As are you, Miss Dadlez... Or, is it Mrs?"
"Mr. Hopeless, I'm a capable professional woman. Why would I want to do a thing like that?" she responds coyly.
"Well damn. I appreciate you reaching out to me anyway. It really makes me feel like you're looking out for me." Ian finds it so much easier to lie when no one can see him. "But I agree. Could be her, could be the fixer, could be drek luck. But it is noteworthy, so thanks." After a short pause, he adds, "You know any details about the other run that same night?"
"Only that a Northrop-Grumman senior engineer made an employment change to General Dynamics. Couldn't tell you if he was happy about the shift in circumstances or not.
Last, before I go, I had promised you some information on the man who killed Breeze. He's in the plex and doing his share of moving around. If you have been looking for him, you're not the only one. But he's been frequenting a bar named the Silver Dollar Saloon, mostly looking for work. Sometimes looking for payback. Your name has been on his lips."
-
Marissa played her part well, looking a bit listless and shaken up as the results of their "exchange" were relayed to the rest of the street gangers. Getting the help strapping on her gear, the redhead nodded her thanks to B before making her way out, swaying a little bit on shaky steps, one hand favoring the swelling around her eye.
Well...fortune's on my side for sure. Gonna have to use what I got for this run, I think...speaking of... Pulling up her comm, she sorted through her contact list and pulled up her three coworkers, Hopeless, Wraith, and La Sombra, sending out a audo-text message to them.
<<"Hoi, chummers. Been a beat, thought we should meet up and hit the town or something. Found a wiz bistro that might be worth checking out. Pick you guys up around 6 or whatever?">>
Satisfied with that, the Phoenix made a slow, casual walk back to her car, deciding to take a drive through Arlington to decompress from the absolutely nova scene she just experienced, effectively killing the time while acquianting herself with her current neighborhood.
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[05 MAY 2075 | 23:00 | DFW | Big Star Grid]
>>Wraith coalesced in the Matrix in her usual fashion: a ghostly transparent gray specter, robed and vaguely feminine in shape. Her quick search of matrix resources didn't turn up floor plans for Club Frisco, but did reveal there was a good chance the plans themselves could be found on the Club's Host. Glancing through the digital ether, the apparition spotted Club Frisco's Host, a stuffy-looking art deco design from somewhere around 100 years ago, the only modern touches being the neon lighting accenting the structure. Taking a closer look, Wraith noted the Host's grid and configuration, smiling to herself when she realized it was a public-access Host. Placing her stylized hooded skull MARK, she passed through the wall like her nomme de guerre.
>>Arriving in the host, she took in the throwback black-and-white theme. She saw programs taking the form of business men in suits and fedoras working. Secretaries in dresses with various hairstyles, from Italian cuts to poodle cuts. Wraith thought it was an interesting choice for a club. Approaching the floor directory, she traced her finger down the marble slate. The letters and numbers whizzed past and around, finally revealing a public access floor plan of the Club. Frowning, she dug further into the directory, looking specifically for Maintenance. Coalescing again, Wraith smiled as she realized she had uncovered actual floor plans.
>> Walking over to the filing cabinet indicated by the directory, the decker flipped through a variety of manila folders, until she reached her goal. Pulling the folder out, she noticed an iron binder clip with an intricate series of clasps holding the folder closed. Glancing around, Wraith saw that no one was paying her much attention. Concentrating, she further faded from existence, becoming entirely invisible. With the folder in her hands, she first passed her hand through the folder, leaving a MARK on the folder. She knew her next actions were going to bring down the wrath of the host, so she needed to act fast. Grasping the clip, she quickly worked the clasps, defeating the clip with relative ease. As she finished, the clip flew off the folder as if fired by a gun, careening about the officescape like a ricochet. All work in the office suddenly froze. A kid in a newsboy hat dashed into the office yelling, "Extr-y! Extr- Huh?" Looking left and right, the kid seemed to be trying to find something.
>>Realizing the jig was up, Wraith opened the folder and grabbed a copy of the document she wanted. Winking at the kid, she said, "Better luck next time," before fading from existence.
-
Gabriella checked her commlink and noted the message from the Phoenix. Taking a look at the time, she swung her legs over the edge of the bed to get up. Just gave her a few hours. She sent a message back to the Phoenix with an address to pick her up, then grabbed herself a shower and her ready bag.
All set to meet up with the crew, she moved on to the pick up point and waited.
-
"Only that a Northrop-Grumman senior engineer made an employment change to General Dynamics. Couldn't tell you if he was happy about the shift in circumstances or not.
Last, before I go, I had promised you some information on the man who killed Breeze. He's in the plex and doing his share of moving around. If you have been looking for him, you're not the only one. But he's been frequenting a bar named the Silver Dollar Saloon, mostly looking for work. Sometimes looking for payback. Your name has been on his lips."
God fucking shit. It's a good thing Ian isn't using his real face for this call, or he'd be blowing it. He's terrified, frustrated, and angry, all at once. He holds it down, speaking mentally through his fake matrix generated voice. "Silver Dollar Saloon. Thanks, I'll remember that. And I'll remember how I found out, too. You know I hate to cut conversations short with people like yourself, but it really is time for me to be moving along, eh? Take care of yourself, Miss Dadlez."
Hotel rooms with water are too damn expensive, but Ian simply isn't going to allow himself to show up for the first day of work, smelling and looking like shit, so he springs for one nearby. Ghost knows how many metas have done Ghost knows what in here. was the first thought through his head when he walked in, but now that a change of clothes are in the public laundry and he's washing himself in honest-to-goodness lukewarm water back in his own poorly air conditioned room? He's feeling a lot more like himself. He's halfway through washing his hair with some of that combination shampoo/conditioner/toothpaste stuff they foist on you to save money when he gets a voicemail on his comm. He routes it wirelessly through his datajack and listens to it as he rinses.
<<"Hoi, chummers. Been a beat, thought we should meet up and hit the town or something. Found a wiz bistro that might be worth checking out. Pick you guys up around 6 or whatever?">>
I hate voice messages. he thinks as he mentally composes and sends his response over the group channel.
<<@Team [Mister Hopeless] I'm ready to go whenever you can scoop me up. ARO included.>>
A few minutes later, with more or less everything he owns concealed on his person or in his shoulderbag, he sits on the dingy, stained floor in the center of the room, searching the astral with his mind. He needs another companion for the day and doesn't want to get caught flatfooted, should some shit go down. Unfortunately, this isn't really the best place to look for a protector. The spirits around this place are more predatory in nature than he'd prefer, and after a few minutes of inspecting the auras of these abusive and manipulative spirits around him, he's about to give in to despair and go it alone. It's then he hears a rapping on his window. Creaking the waterstained and opaque piece of plastiglass open, he peeks his third eye outside, to see the massive form of Salsha, cramped into the alleyway behind the building.
Her neck is craned up to the second floor to reach his window and she's wearing a very "happy with herself" sort of smile on her wrinkled, leathery beak. "I reckon I could keep ya company, lil one." The skinny, white, and over-accessorized man beams with happiness and, before he can think better of himself, he leans out the window to kiss her on the cheek. She pulls back sharply. "But if you so much as think about getting fresh with me like that again, you'll be in hot water mister! Do you understand?" Ian is embarrassed, and he quickly pulls himself back inside the window again. "My apologies, ma'am. I didn't mean anything by it, I promise. I was just so happy you came back to see me again. I promise, I won't let it happen again." Wearing a big, fake frown and a pair of puppy dog eyes, he asks "Will you still come with me, Salsha?"
"Of course I will, sugar. Not many boys your age can make me laugh."
----------------------
Thirty-six seconds. That's how long Ian had been waiting on the curb since getting a message from the Phonex telling him she was here. He'd re-booted his comm as soon as he got the message and it was just now finally starting to come back online. Some kind of security update or something, so it had taken longer than usual.
Mister Hopeless leaves Ian Bradley on the curb and steps into the high performance automobile that just pulled up for him.
-
[06 MAY 2075 | 14:00 | DFW | Wraith's Apartment]
Wraith was busy working on indexing the information she had uncovered when her 'deck buzzed with an incoming voicemail. Accessing it mentally, she heard the Phoenix's voice in her head. Responding, she sent a text message.
<<@ThePhoenix [Wraith] Sounds good, buzz me when you get here and I'll meet you outside.>>
[06 MAY 2075 | 17:30 | DFW | Outside Wraith's Apartment]
The woman had dressed in her reasonably fashionable business skirt-suit and mirrored sunglasses, with her Fichetti tucked securely in the concealed holster in her suit. Since she wasn't sure exactly what was going to be going down tonight, she also grabbed a gym bag and shoved the rest of her gear into it. Who knows, maybe we might go crazy tonight? she thought, wanting to make sure she was prepared for whatever eventuality.
As the Phoenix's car pulled up, Wraith naturally moved to the rear passenger-side door and hopped in the vehicle.
-
[That Evening...]
Redressed in her armor jacket, Marissa had toned down her donned weaponry for the evening's plans, keeping the pistols, revolver, knife, and shock gloves on her for the time being, all the rest of her gear naturally tucked away in the trunk of her car, ready at but a moment's worth of preparation in a time of need. Just another day at the office... The redhead quipped silently in her head as she hopped into her vehicle, plugging in the coordinates that each of her crewmates sent her, deciding to pick up La Sombra first, followed by Wraith and then Hopeless. As she picked up each of them, the same nod of respect and recognition was given as they took their seats, the orkette in the passenger front, Wraith behind her, and Hopeless behind the Phoenix. Once they were all on the road, the lady cleared her throat.
"Alright, before you all get on my hoop about my taste in places, I'll admit that while we're hitting the edge of Arlington, we ain't going to a bistro. Naw, that was to throw off any peepers in our links, y'know?" Shrugging, she rounded a corner with a little whip to the turn, making it to their destination within ten minutes. It was definitely not a bistro. Rather unassuming on the outside, the AR neon sign displaying the name "The Halls of Valhalla" glared in garish reds and blues. "Trust me on this one, chummers. Worth it, and we won't be bothered."
Stepping out of the car, the redhead fixed her hair really quick before leading the group inside, two words being the best descriptors for the place: trid bar. There were no less than four bar countertops in each corner of the warehouse sized building, a smattering of tables mixed in the middle and doorways leading into the kitchen and two 'rental rooms'. To the naked eye, it looked like your standard dive, food and drink being best referred to as cheap but effective in serving their purpose in satisfying customer appetites. The secret and claim to fame of the place, however, came to realization when AR was activated. Sectioned into quadrants, the entire place seemed to transform to some place from the trids....a great battlefield with combat clashing all around, an old time saloon with all the stereotypical ruckus, the bridge of a starship, and a traditional oriental tournament arena. The waiting staff were dressed plainly in meatspace, their AR appearance layered over and shifting to match whichever section they were in.
Grinning, the Phoenix lifting her arms to either side, gesturing to the place as a whole. "Lemme guess, impressed? A lotta peeps here really get in character when they come here, so who's to say we aren't? C'mon, let's pick a place and get to work."
Once they took a seat, the redhead ordered the first round of drinks on her, waiting for the staff to leave them be before giving a nod and opening the conversation. "Aight....it isn't much, but I think if we need some extra support, I can enlist some of the local color that I may or may not have introduced myself to as a neighbor. Hehe" Seeing as how noone had questioned why the Phoenix had a black eye up to this point, all internal curiosity was probably satisfied by that point. "I didn't pick up any intel on our dudes, but I did learn about some of the Feathered and how they operate. They fighting some other gang a couple districts from here, and as long as we don't use cheap drek for firepower, it could be tied to them. What about you guys, you got some more luck than I?"
-
"I got a nice data packet from my contact in the Star," Gabriela pitches in. "Passed it all on to Wraith to get it sorted and see what use we can make of it all. Other than that, I'm game for whatever plan you guys think is best. Ready to get in and get out or get in and get my hands dirty."
-
[06 MAY 2075 | 18:10 | DFW | The Halls of Valhalla]
Wraith appreciated the AR-overlay of the club. She was generally partial to VR clubs, but when the effort was made to do AR right, it worked quite well. The Halls of Valhalla did not disappoint. She vaguely wondered if there was a VR Host corollary that could be used to interact with the AR icons here, but then pushed the thought away, wanting to get down to business.
Nodding at La Sombre, the woman said, "Thank your contact for the info, it verified a few things from the Johnson which should alleviate some of our fears about whether this run was going to be a cock-up from the go." Wraith mentally opened a file and invited MARKs from all present at the table. "Go ahead and grab a copy of this file, it distills everything we have learned from Johnson and our contacts, as well as some additional information I was able to dig up. I'll try to hit the high points."
Wishing for a white noise generator, Wraith merely pitched her voice as low as possible, while still being heard. "Alright, so Subject A, he of the lower reputation who also drives one of our other targets around from time to time... we've got a good track of his recent movements on Tuesdays and Thursdays, from between 1100 to about 1530, occasionally picking back up later on during the evening. Lone Star seems to have a tail on him. They likely back-off when he enters the area controlled by Knight Errant. I don't know if KE is tracking him there, but it could be a bit dangerous. If we wanted to try to hit him in his vehicle on those days, the best place may be around Chapman Road at the jurisdictional borders. Personally, I'd like to just try to do what we need to do without any kind of law enforcement nearby."
"Subject B, higher-tier player who is driven around by Subject A... not a ton of new info. A few new commcodes and addresses for the clubs he visits. I do have the layout for his home office though. Doesn't look too difficult to break into, if we want to do something like drop a datatap or snoop around for more information. He and Subject A apparently visit a place called Club Frisco and make use of the VIP room. They've got a relatively high turnover rate for employees, including hostesses and dancers. Could be our way to gain access to them. I went ahead and hacked the Frisco server and pulled the blueprints. MARKing that file separately, you can all copy it at your leisure."
Pausing as the waitress came back with their drinks, Wraith took a sip of the water she had ordered. "We didn't get anything new on Subject C, the mysterious bigwig, but have a bit more info on Subject D. So this dude... he's under investigation in no less than four homicide investigations. Mean fragger. He hangs out at a place called the Spirits Club. Big go-ganger joint in a dangerous part of Fort Worth. The first floor has a club with a mechanical bull and I am not fragging with you about that. The third floor is a strip club, not sure if it also has a mechanical bull or not, but I think they missed a pretty good draw if not. Not sure about the second floor, but the only access is stairs. Could be administration or something. I haven't tried to hack the place yet, but there are coffin hotels nearby that I could use if we want to go that direction. Anyway, other than that, Subject D seems to run with three other yaks, one is probably a mage of some sort. There is some possible dirt that he and his crew showed up at a fight with the Feathered well after the dust had settled. Aside from that, I think I can figure out who the Star's informant is on Subject D if we want to lean on them too."
Having said way more than her fair share, the decker leaned back and sipped her water.
-
Listening to all of that, Gabriela nodded. "So we're still on the hook for anything more about Subject 3?"
She rubbed her chin. It looked like the first two would be an easy target, they were practically a gift-wrapped parcel, but coordinating a hit that could take out all four within the time frame given would be challenging, especially if they didn't get more information on Sato. She looked over at Hopeless and Phoenix in hopes that they'd have something to add.
-
Ian has always hated places like these. Gaudy and overdone. Too bright, as well. He keeps his hat on to obscure his face a little bit and stays quiet, remaining with the group. As soon as they find a table, he leans back in his seat, orders a water, and listens carefully as Wraith breaks it down.
"The first floor has a club with a mechanical bull and I am not fragging with you about that. The third floor is a strip club, not sure if it also has a mechanical bull or not, but I think they missed a pretty good draw if not. Not sure about the second floor, but the only access is stairs. Could be administration or something. "
"Naw." The human in the beige gilligan hat interjects. "Second floor is storage. When they do private parties, that's where they set up. I got a few wheels turning, but nothing else has come back yet. Just that little bit about Spirits club."
-
Seated and the exchange of information well underway, Marissa sat back and mulled over the heavy amount of intel that had been picked up so far, copying it over onto her link, moving it onto a datachip before taking it offline completely. One hand lifted up casually to thumb at her brow, making it clear that working with heavy intel was not the redhead's strong suit. Taking a deep breath, she focused herself before responding.
"All this stuff is wiz, and it has us going in the right direction. Even with our bonus idea, which I'm working on. I could take a shot at getting in touch for a bit o trade with these featherheads, but I wouldn't sweat it if that didn't pan out. Their symbology is good though, I can work with that. From what it sounds like, half of our objective is good to go...maybe a bit more. Number 4's habits give us a solid place to look at, mostly since we all will likely be needin' to take him...one for the shot, the rest running interference with his crew, wiz? However..." She paused, taking a drink. "This all is for nothing if we can't get stuff on 3."
"Now, for the actual stuff. We have half of our work set up on a gold platter for us it seems. I agree with Wraith that we should move at a time they aren't in direct watch of the Stars..." She paused, the Phoenix letting out a little grin, pulling up the map of the Club Frisco and pointing to the VIP room with an AR ping. "There. We get a way to let them both take the room...with their status, they'll likely expect such honor anyhow...and all of a sudden they're alone not to be disturbed. It could be done with one or two people, with another one watching us in nonmeat space...but basically, get a job that uses the VIP room, and use that as cover...good plan?"
-
[06 MAY 2075 | 18:10 | DFW | The Halls of Valhalla]
"I think it could work. It definitely seems like the most likely place where they would be vulnerable." Wraith replied. "I do feel like we need to get at least three of them together at once. Unfortunately, I don't think we have enough to connect three of them together. We may need to do more legwork on Subject C before we can really put a plan together. If we can get access to Subject B's office, we may even be able to get some chip truth information about connections. Not to mention the Star's CI for Subject D."
-
Mister Hopeless sits on his stool, quietly listening to the group and taking everything in. He nods his head appreciatively at the bits about hitting the car between KE and Lonestar turf, and again when Wraith mentions listening in on the office. She knows what she's doin and she dun strike me as a turncoat. That drek musta just been coincidence or sum. But then again, my track record with sniffin those out aint exactly the joint, neither. Wonder who her fixer for those jobs was... With his hat pulled low, he keeps his mouth shut and his ears open.
-
Now we're getting into familiar territory, Gabriela thought to herself. Getting into some punk's workspace, even a mid level punk... that was her bag. If they needed physical access to a machine, she could get them there.
"Well, if you need someone to get into that office and... what... put in a data tap so you can hack in to his workstation? That I can do. Come in from outside or in, I can make it happen."
-
[06 MAY 2075 | 18:10 | DFW | The Halls of Valhalla]
Checking her internal chronometer, Wraith replied, "Well, we seem to have a few course of action. I hate to say it, but while the Matrix is great, nothing beats getting the chip truth with your eyes. It might be a good idea to actual put boots on the ground at Club Frisco to make sure it matches up with the blueprints. We could also get a better idea on security. I was only able to spot one camera while I was in the host. It's located at the front door, but they're certain to have more."
Pursing her mouth in thought, she continued, "I can also try to dig into the CI tonight and get an ID on him or her. That would give us someone to talk to about the last subject. I feel if there's going to be one that we have to tackle solo, it's going to be him. As far as the office, we have a record of that guy's comings and goings for certain days of the last two weeks. We should probably hit it when we expect him to likely not be there."
"But for tonight, I guess we hit the club?"
-
Marissa gave a nod, crossing her arms under her chest, gnawing a bit on the corner of her lip as the wheels turned in her head. "You're right, Wraith. That info digging will likely be wiz for what we trying to do. Putting boots on the Frisco won't hurt either. If we're hitting them, we're gonna need access to the VIP room. Best way to do that, I'm seeing, is to get one or two of us working there, likely as a host or dancer. If we're gonna coordinate a quick succession of hits, I can be one of the ones there. And the wiz part is, places like that'll hire if the asked for pay is drek...which for us will be." She smirked a bit, shrugging. "And afterwards, they never hear from us again, they don't care enough to report, hire someone else, we gone. Yippi kai yay."
"So we're doing that tonight. Next day or so I'm thinking of taking a trip through the Feathered territories. Maybe word of my stunt spread and I can get contact and maybe some gear. Or I simply get to observe what they do and how they do, maybe find something worth repeating, wiz?" Tapping her cheek, the redhead looked up to the AR-overlaid skyline. "...don't think I'm missing anything at this point..."
-
"Even getting a job could take a little time and it's a hoop I don't necessarily think we need to jump through. If we're going in tonight, I can probably get wherever I need to be, easily enough. If we need a peek into that office, I can bring along a data tap and get Wraith access to whatever they got in there, if there isn't access from the 'trix. So if that's the plan, then lets put it in motion?"
-
After paying their tab, the group piles into The Phoenix's car, and head to Club Frisco. The traffic is rather light, with most residents of the DFW sprawl taking it easy tonight after the Cinco de Mayo festivities. It may be a different deal down in Somervell. She glides her Shin-Hyung effortlessly along the well-lit Dallas highways, taking full advantage of the carpool levels, and they arrive at the club's entrance in less than a half hour -- rare even in down times whenever the highway is in use.
Club Frisco's facade is an art deco inspired use of synth-stucco. It rises high for a two-story building, in three massive arches. When Wraith says that she's decided to stay in the car and do some more research, the team prepares to enter.
-
Doffing her armor jacket and stripping herself down of most all of her weapons saved a taser and a knife to each boot, Marissa shut the trunk of the car and gave her shoulders a quick roll to stretch the muscles. The tank top she wore clung to her form modestly as she pulled on her shades, checking out the club while quickly fixing up her hair so that it lay long and straight. The bullet scar on the left side of her chest was visible underneath the strap, though any attention involving the bared skin she showed was likely to her back, where a set of fiery wings were seen tattooed from shoulder to shoulder. Cracking her neck, she glanced back at Wraith and Hopeless before turning to La Sombra, nodding.
"Guess this is our party, eh? Know you said getting a job may take too much time...if you can think of a way to get whoever does the killing inside easy without having someone inside, we'll do that. In the meanwhile..." Fitting a microtransceiver to her ear and throat, the redhead pulled a quick commscheck as the pair approached the club. "Check check, Wraith, you copy? Sending a MARK for my glasses if you need. Should give visual confirmation for anything. Going in"
As they approached the security, the Phoenix only gave a small smirk as she lifted her arms up, showing that with her clothes, there really wasn't much of a way to be holding guns. As they entered, she turned to the orkette. "Where to now, boss?"
-
[06 MAY 2075 | 20:00 | DFW | Club Frisco]
<<@Team [Wraith] Check, check. I'm going to work on snooping out this informant. If you need me for anything inside, let me know. I'll keep an AR window open of what you're seeing.>>
Wraith nestled into the back seat more comfortably. She pulled out the low-rent commlink she used and set it up so the camera would have a good view of her body. "Keep an eye on me, will ya?" she asked Mr. Hopeless before slipping into the VR world.
-
"Hon, if it's just about getting into a place to look around, I have that covered. If it's about getting into someplace so we can relieve someone of their heartbeat... I've got that covered. I'm ready for the former tonight, will need the appropriate heart stopping tools for the latter."
-
Marissa could not hide the glance she gave up to the orkette's reply, an eyebrow raised as she opened her mouth to answer before stopping herself and reclosing her lips, sizing the other up a moment. I forget that I'm working with specialists here. I don't gotta do everything As their SINS were cleared and they were checked, the redhead swiped a credstick for the cover charge before giving a reply, using the din of the club they walked into as noise cover.
"You got it, omae. You know I'm good for the tools, then." Smirking, she left her shades on as she took a few steps in the club, moving with the crowd with hips swaying a bit, hands clasped behind her head, taking a glance around to see if anything could be picked up...and if not now, recorded for later. Turning back to La Sombra, she made a gesture over to the bar. "First round's on me. This is your party, so I go with your call, hai? Lemme know what you need me to do." Putting up two fingers, she got the bartender's attention and made the order for a pair of drinks, credstick at the ready.
-
The pair enters the bar area passing under a large ARO with the Club Frisco logo. Underneath it reads, "A division of Scales and Tails Inc." Inside, the emcee, a spindly androgynous human male with a cane and top hat is regaling the surprisingly large crowd on the various merits of the staff as a woman done up in a fine coat of lizard scales swings above him. The music is loud, giving the team the impression that they can communicate somewhat freely here, and the clientele is definitely of the socialite variety. The wage slaves have to be up early tomorrow, so instead, there are higher up sararimen, still hoping to close a deal before Monday, and a fair bit of the crowd that doesn't worry too much about alarm clocks.
La Sombre and The Phoenix approach the bar, pay for their overpriced drinks, and look for seating. There are a table or two near the back that are open, as well as a few spots at both the front and back bar.
-
Getting something nice to wear was a good idea, Gabriela thought to herself as she checked the club out. She had plenty to go to the club in, but nothing that provided protection. Just a simple set of fashionable armored threads made her feel a lot better about being in the place 'on business' as it were. As she waded through the throng, she flashed a smile at any who made eye contact. She scanned the place, noting anything of worth before selecting a seat that was both near the front and gave her a good look at the place.
Attractive women on a night out did not shirk from the limelight, after all. As she sat, she kept an eye open for any of her marks, merely as a point of interest, and especially for anyone who looked like they had access to the VIP section of the club.
-
The Phoenix followed the orkette casually, a light saunter in her walk as she let her hair flow behind her, the swaying steps giving any onlookers a glimpse at the winged tattoos hiding beneath on her bare shoulders. She sat down comfortably, sipping her drink with her shades on as she took a glance around with La Sombra, using the sunglasses to record and relay any info and sights they pick up.
Any up close examination would show the human's threads to be legit unarmored fibers, and yet the runner seemed to be completely at ease. Odd...perhaps the redhead believe confidence alone would stop bullets...if they even touched her.
-
the pair takes a seat between two of the smaller dance stages, and it doesn't take long to spot the manager on duty, a doughy and balding Nippon/Hispanic in a suit that looks rather crumpled despite its good cut and high-tech fabric. The jacket and slacks put off an electrochromatic pulse in time with the music, something some poor assistant must spend hours on every day after receiving the DJ's set list. With an unspoken agreement, La Sombre and The Phoenix position themselves so that they can keep eyes on the manager as he flits about, not so much with grace as purpose. The first thing that La Sombre notices are the drugs. The manager will approach a table of well-dressed women, keep his distance so as to not come across as flirting, and then briefly lean in and place his hand on the table. Next, one of the women will scoop something from the table to her handbag, and the next thing you know, off the gaggle goes to the Ladies Room, returning in much higher spirits.
It's the same thing again with another table, and then another, before the manager returns upstairs for about twenty minutes. Upon returning, he makes the rounds again, seeing new tables, getting chummy with who must be some of the regulars, and on his second trip to the employee area, The Phoenix catches him slotting his maglock passkey, and then, through a combination of luck and perceptive ability, she catches the code he punches into the second lock: 8-4-2-7. Halfway there. If they can swipe, or manufacture, or otherwise bypass, the passkey, they should have no trouble accessing the back, and then by extension the full scope of the VIP area.
Aside from the manager, the team gets a pretty good idea of how business runs at Club Frisco. They have a modest selection of synth liquors, but the bread and butter seems to come from real beer, real tequila, and real whiskey. At upwards of 75¥ a drink, no wonder the club looks so successful. A fair amount of working girls and boys seem not only tolerated but actively catered to, though the pair doubts that they're officially on the payroll. More likely, a clean and professional lay makes for more clientele, which makes for more money for Club Frisco. The bartenders seem efficient and well-practiced, as does the waitstaff, and bar backs make quick work of any empty glasses. On the stages, the dancers are more artistically inclined and showy than those at even upscale strip clubs. No, this much less about flesh than it is about atmosphere, and atmosphere this place has plenty of.
-
@Group (La Sombra) - Everyone catching this? Looks like they don't have a lot of folks just partying in the VIP, or at least not seeing anyone go in and out of it but the one guy. Wraith, can you scrub his 'link?
Gabriela then leans into the Phoenix's ear. "So, what are your thoughts?"
-
[06 MAY 2075 | 20:05 | DFW | Club Frisco]
As Wraith worked on the CI data she had, trying to find patterns in the chaos, she paused briefly to check her message from La Sombra.
<<@Team [Wraith] Awful lot of commlinks in there. Going to have to figure out a way to pare it down. Can you use your commlink to interrogate the manager's to get the number? Worst case, can you get eyes on the link and tell me what kind it is? That may help...>>
-
"If we're hitting them, we're gonna need access to the VIP room. Best way to do that, I'm seeing, is to get one or two of us working there, likely as a host or dancer. If we're gonna coordinate a quick succession of hits, I can be one of the ones there. And the wiz part is, places like that'll hire if the asked for pay is drek...which for us will be."
"I know a girl who might already have a lot of your legwork done for you." the skinny human man pops into the conversation for just a moment, then goes back to listening. It isn't long before a course of action is settled on and the four of them pile back into the Phoexnix's car on their way to scope out the club.
------------------------------------
Salsha roams around the parking lot, keeping an eye out for any trouble, her thick legs rocking her massive shell back and forth as she waddles. Mister Hopeless is taxing his brain to the limit, trying his best to keep up with three worlds at once. His datajack streams a constant stream of info to him about the digital world around him, and even though wraith is sitting right next to him keeping far better watch on that world, he still makes it a point to keep track of which ICONS are nearby. He's also wearing his helmet with the visor up, so as not to block his third eye from watching the astral here as well. In the night time in the city, with a million and six people on all sides of him, it's pretty damn busy; almost more so than the matrix. On top of all that, he's doing his best to keep his meat eyes and ears peeled for anything strange going down in the real world.
Mister Hopeless feels cool, calm, and in control of the situation for now. He hopes that feeling will last.
-
Before La Sombre can react to Wraith's request, a trio of men approach in Vashon Island's finest, holding a bottle of champagne and five glasses. "Hoi. ladies," the first and obvious leader of the bunch says. "Kinda crowded in here tonight. Mind if we have a seat?" Before an answer can be given, the speaker takes a seat next to La Sombre, while his right-hand man sits opposite The Phoenix. The third, not having a chair, pulls one aside from another table and squeezes in between the two.
"We've been running our hoops off all day. So much for a holiday weekend, nil? But my friend here, he's Brad by the way, well ol' Brad isn't quite convinced that Gagliardi, I'm from Gagliardi by the way in case that wasn't clear, see Brad just isn't quite convinced that his newest addition down in Plano should go to his old chummer, Guillermo. Now you tell me, Miss? . . .
"you tell me if you wanted to build one hundred-and-fifty units in prime real estate, wouldn't you want to go with the firm that has very close ties to Grey Eagle and Texas Instruments? Wouldn't you want to make sure that your investment was being taken care of by native Texans right here at home, instead of some nip yak bastards like MCT, pardon my french, who only dabble in residential design as an afterthought?"
"I don't think these two are qualified to offer an opinion." Brad says cooly.
"And Brad, you might be right," Guillermo says, "and you could be wrong. But these two look as if they at least possess a modicum of common sense, and that's all that you really need for a sound business decision like this one."
Guillermo begins pouring champagne and passing the glasses around, making a show of giving the first two to La Sombre and The Phoenix. When he finishes he offers a toast to Texas and new friends before leaning in and saying in a conspiratorial fashion, "So tell me, ladies. Are you two on the clock as well at this ungodly hour? I hear that they have a very nice room or two upstairs where we can request our own music, and things won't be nearly so cramped."
-
"There's no amount of cred that buys my time, but real talk can keep me interested for hours," Gabriela smiles at them warmly. "Maria Diaz." She extends a hand, allowing him to shake it or more, but keeping her posture and attitude entirely feminine.
"Now, I'm no eagle-eyed investor, but I have to agree, Brad, let's keep Texas cred here in Texas, no?"
As she speaks, she snaps a digital of the manager's commlink as well as scanning the room for Wraith's use. Hopefully she can triangulate that goons commlink based on where everything is and maybe filter out that pic to get a look at the brand.
She turns to the Phoenix, "What do you think about it, Betty?"
-
Before the trio of clubbing males arrived on the scene, Marissa gave a low coo of a whistle as she sipped at a drink, instantly noting the legitimate nature of the alcohol. "Man, that's good drek. Huh.""Yeah, getting in here is null sheen. Ever heard of a texas switch? That card the manager got is all we need. Passcode acquired too."
The human girl paused as she saw the men approach, her back straightening up as she too adopted a stance of feminine looks, arching her back to accentuate her natural assets as she held the drink gingerly in one hand, letting her red locks cover part of her face as she watched them and listened.
The Phoenix was quite grateful La Sombra took the lead, setting the dynamic and the names they were using. Giving a genuine smile, she raised her glass to the toast, sipping the drink gingerly before turning to her compatriot, tilting her head slightly.
"Mmm. Oh come now, you know construction isn't really my strong suit..." Giving a giggle, she brushed the hair from her face. "Who's to say these...what did you say, nip yak bastards?...haven't already swept in? I agree, Texas cred should stay, but let's be real here. The glory of the CAS is the free market. The seller gets the final say, no?" Her body language and posture denoted that she wasn't against the idea of heading to a more...VIP treatment, but left the ultimate decision to "Maria" on the level of wisdom that choice would bring.
-
"Well," Gabriela says, looking at the fellow. "There ya' have it Two honest opinions from a pair of ladies who have nothing to gain."
She flashes a winning smile.
"So are private rooms for professional use only, or are they open for anyone who is interested in a nice chat about the local economy?"
-
If Guillermo is put off at all by "Maria's" gentle rebuff, he doesn't show it. Instead, he spins the wedding band on his finger with his thumb, and smiles broadly. "They're open to anyone with the creds who would prefer a more intimate environment. Rex!" he has to shout over the music, and grabs the arm of the manager on duty. "My friends and I would like to make use of the VIP rooms. The Century Lounge open, by any chance?"
The manager leans in and whispers in Guillermo's ear. The latter allows a brief frown to form on his face before his corp training -- skillwires? -- kicks in, and he begins to smile again. "Even better, even better. I didn't ask about Colinas de Fuego because I thought it'd be taken, for sure. Slot us up, chummer, and if you could send a few more bottles up, that'd be just wiz."
The manager makes a slight bow, and everyone seated stands to follow him up the stairs to the VIP area. With a group following him, the manager is much more security-minded as he punches in the code, though The Phoenix is able to spot that he keeps the maglock card in the right pocket of his suit jacket. Upstairs, a second bar enters their view as the exit the landing. The manager approaches and retrieves a second maglock card from behind the bar, and lets the group into the room on the first door on the right, before handing it graciously to Guillermo. "Y'all have fun now, and if you need anything, please don't hesitate to let Lacey know. She'll be along shortly with your champagne."
Inside, the room looks expansive despite its actual intimate size. A series of fires rage across the hillsides on the ARO-covered walls, and the room is otherwise adorned with a number of couches that look as though they could double as beds, should the situation dictate such. A similarly-designed ARO screen separates an area of the room fitted with a sink, lockers, and fridge stocked with non-alcoholic beverages.
Guillermo takes a seat on the center couch, expansively stretching his arms across its back, a baggie filled with novacoke in one hand, and a handful of poppers in the other.
"Perfect, perfect. I always loved this room. What do you say, Brad. A few party favors, while we wait on the champagne?"
Brad nods his assent, and cracks the first smile that the pair of runners have seen since the trio approached them. "I, uh, I could go for a little bump or two. Ladies first, of course," he says graciously.
#
Out the car window, Mr. Hopeless is doing his best to keep track of three separate "information channels" at once. The experience is disorienting to say the least, the constant shift between mundane vision, astral perception, and back to mundane to look at the various matrix icons and chatter going on around him. It seems that the ladies inside are making good headway with gaining access to the VIP area, and he has no doubt that Wraith will own the manager's commlink soon enough. Out of the corner of his eye, he spots a van with a funny-looking satellite dish atop. When the van does a slow turn, and he sees the Lonestar logo, it raises the hair on the back of his head. Probably just a patrol, sure, but the last thing they need is some routine TrixSec outfit to put eyes on all that sleazing around Wraith is up to. Frantically, he starts to type out a comm to the unconscious form slumped next him.
After an informative bout of Matrix Perception to gain some useful intel on the manager on duty, Wraith Hacks a MARK on the unsuspecting target. She tries to eavesdrop next, but all of sudden she notices a spike in Noise around her, and the action fails. Drek! She goes to reboot her deck, but before she can, she gets a message.
>>Incoming Message
>>Sender: LoneStar PD
>>Message: This device has been recorded making unauthorized matrix actions in violation of municipal, state, and federal law. You are hereby ordered to enter Augmented Reality, leave your illegal equipment running, and place your hands on top of your head while officers approach your location. Failure to comply will be interpreted as willful disobedience of a lawful order, and Lone Star officers will justified in using whatever level of force is deemed appropriate to gain your compliance.
>>End Message
In the meat world, Hopeless sees the van begin to swing around and head toward their location. The spotlight also turns on, and begins a sweep of the Club Frisco parking lot.
-
"Well, I don't personally go for the door on the left," Gabriela says, pointing at the poppers in Guillermo's left hand, "but if you are sharing that, I'm in!" as she indicates the novacoke.
"So, what's the occasion, boys? Celebrating something in particular or just a 'boy's night out'?"
She takes the proffered novacoke and places it on the lacquered table in a line and then, with the enthusiasm of a practiced celebrant, appears to inhale it in one swift go.
She leans back with one eye squinted slightly, shakes her head just a bit, and then releases the tension in her face with a grin. "Well, there we go!"
-
The slim white man in the motorcycle helmet keeps one eye on the police van passing by, just to make sure nothing funny is going on. To be on the safe side, he fires off a quick message to the decker slumped in the seat next to him.
<<@Wraith [Mister Hopeless] Star nearby.
He's just about to write it off as a near miss when the van suddenly flips a U and Ian's heart skips a beat. Not a huge deal yet. Just cops. This ain't a problem yet. Mister Hopeless tries to reassure himself and is doing a fairly good job of it. For now, he manages to stay cool. He stays all business and mentally sends of a message to the rest of the team.
<<@Team [Mister Hopeless] Cop van scoping the parking lot. Should I drive around the block or would that look too suspicious?>>
-
[06 MAY 2075 | 20:05 | DFW | Club Frisco]
DREK! Wraith thought as the message from the Star lit up her field of view like a firework. Drek, drek, drek... The woman quickly switched from VR to AR and glanced around. Fortunately, no Stars were pointing guns in her face... yet.
"Bad news, Mr. Hopeless. I think the Star just tagged me. If you're running anything illegal, better shut it down." Wraith said as the spotlight passed their car.
How close is that van? she thought as she tried to figure out a way out of this. Running would just attract attention, better think of something else. Memories of her sordid celebrity past and dealings with the police floated to the top of her mind... cringing, she glanced at the man next to her and a plan formed.
-
"There's a pro right there," Guillermo says of La Sombre, as he drapes his jacket over the back of a couch and rolls up his sleeves. "You'd do well to listen to this one," he reiterates to Brad, who's busy chopping out lines with the maglock passkey. The third man, refrains, though he does pour out more champagne for the group, and finds a seat in the corner. Once Brad and Guillermo have had their bumps, they look to The Phoenix expectantly.
Talk turns a bit to business, and then to sports, when La Sombre is asked her opinion about the upcoming Urban Brawl game pitting the Atlanta Butchers against the St. Louis Slaughter. Not surprisingly Guillermo is taking the CAS team out of some sense of civic pride, coupled with what he winkingly describes as an "inside tip."
#
The mirrored tint on The Phoenix's Shin-Hyung bounces the searchlight right back at the Lonestar van, but at some point they must have switched to thermo because the pair sees them lock on small sedan, and the law enforcement vehicle lumbers toward them. When it parks, the searchlight again goes on, illuminating the car, and making any mundane vision difficult. A moment late, a rap comes to the rear window. "Open up," an authoritative woman's voice barks.
-
[06 MAY 2075 | 20:05 | DFW | Club Frisco]
Seeing the van zeroing in on their location, Wraith sprung her plan into action. "Alright, bud," she told Hopeless, "if you've got any illegal drek, you better stow it under or behind the seat, fast as a jackrabbit. I'll get your helmet off..." Ignoring the man's protestations, the decker hit the release button for the helmet strap and pulled it off the mage's head as carefully as possible. At the same time, she mentally turned on her burner 'link to broadcast her information, like any good wageslave.
With the helmet off and the gear stowed as best as it could be, Wraith clicked the selector switch to raise the window, hiked up her skirt, and climbed onto Mr. Hopeless' lap facing him. With her cowboy hat smashed into the roof of the car and her shades still on, she took his face in her hands and started to kiss him fiercely, pressing against him. What we do for a job... she thought.
At the expected knock at the window, the woman reached over and pressed the selector switch down. Continuing to kiss Hopeless for a few more seconds, she stopped and affected a look of mild embarrassment. "Hey there, officer. Can we help you?"
-
"Put your hands where I can see e--, hey what the drek is going on in here?" the Lonestar officer says. As she sweeps the flashlight down to Wraith's pulled-up skirt, the young hacker gets a glimpse of the cop's face. She's a human woman in her mid-twenties with a severe ponytail and obvious datajack. She takes a moment to gather her wits before continuing. "We've had a hit on illegal matrix traffic in this vicinity. Either of you two know anything about that?"
-
[06 MAY 2075 | 20:05 | DFW | Club Frisco]
Wraith laid on her native East Texas drawl as thick as she could. "There was some little creeper hangin' around the car about a minute before you showed up. Looked like he had a mic or something, maybe that's your guy? Ran down the road that way when I rolled down the window and gave him mah finger. Can't even pass a good time without creepers botherin' you anymore." The woman giggled and stroked Hopeless' neck.
-
The Phoenix gave a bit of pause, raising a little brow as she glanced between the two offerings of drugs. Her mind internally reeled at the thought of polluting her body with it...but hell, if she couldn't take one hit of novacoke for show, how strong of a hero is she? Reaching up, she pulled off her glasses and let her hazelgreen eyes fall on Guillermo and Brad, nodding to them to leave a line for her.
"Once more into the breach~" Reaching into her back pocket, she pulled out her pack of smokes, taking one cigarette and slicing it open with a fingernail. Dumping the contents and tearing off the filter, she had a perfect straw for the white powder. Leaning over, the redhead took a small breath out before lining up the straw and inhaling, snorting the contents with a small gasp of air afterward.
The effects were faster than she anticipated, but nothing too unbearable. Her lips curled into a smirk as she wiped her face of any residue. "Whoo...been a while. Good choice going with these, Maria, they seem wiz...inside tip, huh? And lemme guess, we're dead if we make use of it ourselves, right?"
-
This won't be the first time Ian's had to jump in the front seat and lose the cops. He can feel the adrenaline inside him start to well up already. He can feel the shakes starting up too. It's only gonna be about six blocks before I can barely hold the wheel. Mister Hopeless takes a deep breath, focuses his mind, and gets ready to do the stuff he hates. Then, in a blur, Wraith starts doing things and stuff starts happening.
"Alright, bud, if you've got any illegal drek, you better stow it under or behind the seat, fast as a jackrabbit. I'll get your helmet off..."
She's hiking up her skirt, but the odd little human still doesn't really get what's going on here just yet. Illegal drek? All he can do is stammer at her as she begins to straddle him and pull his helmet off. "I don't have any illegal drek on m-" and then he can't talk anymore. Honestly, the poor bastard can barely think straight anymore. He can't even remember the last time he kissed a woman, and he's certainly never kissed one who could probably kill him if she wanted. The mix of fear and lust is sending a simply obscene amount of chemical coctail flooding through him and for the perhaps, three to ten seconds between when she starts to kiss him and when the cop knocks on the window, he's utterly lost in the moment.
"Put your hands where I can see e--, hey what the drek is going on in here?"
But as quick as it started, it's ended with the crack crack crack of baton against window. In a flash, he realizes what his hands have been doing during the last few moments and he has them open, outstretched, and palms facing the officer before the command is even given. Still unable to form any words through the haze in his head, he blunders and blabbers a bit, but just can't make any actual words come out of his mouth, giggling instead. Jesus, I hope either Wraith or my beet red face can sell this better than I can. Finally, the decker stops kissing his neck long enough to talk with the officer.
"Hey there, officer. Can we help you?"
Ian smiles sheepishly at the cop, hoping he can accurately display the level of embarrassment he is feeling at this very moment.
"We've had a hit on illegal matrix traffic in this vicinity. Either of you two know anything about that?"
"There was some little creeper hangin' around the car about a minute before you showed up. Looked like he had a mic or something, maybe that's your guy? Ran down the road that way when I rolled down the window and gave him mah finger. Can't even pass a good time without creepers botherin' you anymore."
Again, a slight giggle, a shrug of the shoulders, and a goofy shaking 'no' of the head. Please buy it, please buy it, please buy it. Just in case though, he sends another message off.
<<@Phoenix [Mister Hopeless] Need a mark on your car.>>
-
The effects were faster than she anticipated, but nothing too unbearable. Her lips curled into a smirk as she wiped her face of any residue. "Whoo...been a while. Good choice going with these, Maria, they seem wiz...inside tip, huh? And lemme guess, we're dead if we make use of it ourselves, right?"
"Hey, I'm no selfish slot," Guillermo says. "You wanna make some creds, you can bank on it. I only ask that you leave old Guillermo's name out of it."
It doesn't take The Phoenix's hyper-awareness to note that Brad is loosening up quite a bit, and seems to be actually enjoying himself now. Seeing his opportunity, Guillermo pulls a small piece of electronic paper from his jacket pocket, and writes down a number, then slides it across the table next to the novacoke and passkey. Brad looks, adds a few addenda with his fingernail, and slides it back. The process repeats a handful of times over the next few minutes as the group otherwise continues chatting and partying as if nothing more important than the booze and uppers is happening around them. Eventually, Guillermo pulls out his commlink, a high-end TransysAvalon, and taps the interface a few times to upload the specifics from their notes, and extends his hand to Brad.
"Wise choice, Brad. It'll be our pleasure. Drinks!" The final exclamation comes with a sharp slap on his leg, and Guillermo is up and re-filling glasses before the third man has a chance to rouse himself from the corner.
Before a toast can be made, a knock comes to the door, and inside walks a middle-aged human woman in a business suit, accompanied by a younger -- looking at least -- elf male with bronze skin and what The Phoenix recognizes as a few-seasons-old sport coat. "Colinas de Fuego? Really Guillermo?" the woman says.
"Lisette," Guillermo exclaims with much more energy than is necessary. "Brad, meet Lisette Spooner. Lisette, this is Brad Polke from LFT. Also, allow me to introduce Maria Diaz, and . . . don't tell me, Betsy, whom we just had the pleasure of meeting downstairs. Of course, you know Mr. Franks here,"" Guillermo adds of the man in the corner. "We were just about to drink to a done deal. How about some glasses, Mr. Franks?"
The latter obliges, and Lisette raises her glass ironically. "Let me guess, CAS uber alles, or some drek like that, right Guillermo? I was hoping that I might catch you both before you were too far into the throes of self-congratulatory hedonism, and judging by the dressed state of your companions here, it looks as though I am arriving just in the nick of time. Would you please be so kind as to the tell the talent to take a hike. I"ll do the same with Ander here. Be a good boy, Ander, and run along now."
"Lisette, Lisette, you've got it all wrong. These fine ladies are our companions, not paid companions, but if you need to bend an ear for a moment or two, I'm sure they wouldn't mind giving a bit of privacy for, what ten, fifteen minutes? Good. My apologies ladies for Ms. Spooner's nature. I'd say that she isn't always like this, but . . . Be sure to grab another bump or two on your way out. I doubt this proposition will take too terribly long."
#
The Lonestar officer presses the subvocal mic into her neck with her thumb, and says, "We may have a runner. Let's hit the roto-drone, and run an astral sweep."
Before Mr. Hopeless, and Miss Rachel Davenport can breathe too much of a sigh of relief, the officer follows up with a request for Wraith to exit the car. When she obliges, Ian is left face-to-gut with a rather imposing ork who stands just outside the car and fixes him with an awful incisive glare. Once Wraith and her escort have made their way to the side of the Lonestar van, the woman says, "Look, your 'companion' there, he's SINless as they come, isn't he? No, no, you don't have to answer,and don't worry I'm not that kinda cop, alright? It's just, a girl like you, a guy like him, I know how it goes. He's 'sensitive' right? A good listener, and more than that he's interesting. He's seen things you've never seen, experienced things your parents made damned well sure you'd never have to experience. And, he's a bad boy. But he is. A bad boy. A man really, who has, what, eight, nine years on you? What the frag are you doing, girl? That man is bad news, and that Romeo and Juliet crap didn't do well for them, and it sure won't do good for you, nil. I, uh, I know what I'm talking about here. So do yourself a favor. I'm gonna let you go. You get in that car, you drive him home, and you block that link, natch, do you hear me? I don't want to see you making, I don't, look, here's my comm-code. It goes straight to my work link, alright. This one gives you trouble, and you give me a call, ok sweetie? My name's Starr. Officer Starr Dumolt."
And with that, Starr escorts Wraith back to the Shin-Hyung, gives her a stern look of warning, and the cops pile back in their van to go looking for the pervert hacker.
-
[06 MAY 2075 | 20:05 | DFW | Club Frisco]
"Thank you, Officer Dumolt," Wraith replied, slightly touched that the Lone Star officer seemed to be somewhat human. "You're absolutely right." The woman tipped her cowboy hat to the officer and slowly headed back to Phoenix's vehicle, giving time for the van to clear the area. Once she was confident they had cleared out, she rebooted her deck and switched it to silent running mode, with her sleaze set as high as it could go. She also scanned her immediate area for silently running devices, on the off chance the Lone Star officer had slipped something on her.
"Did you and the ork have a nice heart-to-heart as well? The other officer thinks you're too old for me," she said to Hopeless with a smirk on her face. "Oh... and not a word of this to the others."
-
Gabriela smiles as she stands up, taking the Phoenix's hand and helping her to her feet and heading to the door. "No problem, need to find the little ladies room in any case." As she passes 'Lisette', she gives the woman an appropriately catty smirk.
As the two pass into the hallway and close the door behind them, Gabriela gets a close look at her surroundings.
-
The Phoenix is definitely looking to be in a state of enjoying herself, her eyes unnaturally focused and her mood heightened. She barely registered that they were being asked to leave as La Sombra took her by the hand. Letting out an appropriate giggle as they passed Lisette, she gave a pause as they were alone in the hallway. During the whole while, she had made sure to get a good glance at each face, as well as the keycard and now the camera in the hall, letting the image link send all the images to Wraith for later use.
At that point, the message from Hopeless filtered into her AR feed, signalling the need to use their vehicle. Smirking, and without a thought or care at the moment, she passed off the MARK to the two of them, sending a brief reply back. <<Don't scratch the paint. Have fun, kids~>>
Turning to the orkette leading her out, she lifted up her hands and pointed them like guns at her, waving them just a little. "Hey, you're pretty good.." She said in a low voice before taking a glance around again, remarking to herself at how sharp every color and edge looked to her...
-
It's a tense few moments standing there face to crotch with the burly lawman and his menacing gunbelt in the dark parking lot, what with no SIN and all. Ian had been operating off the grid in the slums for so long, he had actually forgotten to pick one up. You fucking MORON! How in the drek do you forget you're not rocking a fucking SIN?! At least berating himself for his forgetfulness is helping to keep his mind off the phony make-out session and on the very real threat of incarceration which faces him square in the face at this very moment. He can't hear what Wraith and the other cop are saying, but it definitely doesn't look like she's being arrested for cyber-crime, and that makes him feel better.
Finally, Wraith and the cop part ways, and so do Ian's face and the large belt full of weapons. A moment later, Wraith is back in the car. When he sees her headed for the rear door, he quickly climbs into the front.
"Did you and the ork have a nice heart-to-heart as well?"
"Heh." and a tiny nervous chuckle are the only responses he can get out. He's still quite red in the face and he's sweating a little bit. Obviously trying to hide it, he stays facing front and shakes his head no.
"The other officer thinks you're too old for me."
She's frakkin right.
""Oh... and not a word of this to the others."
Now, his head turns with a snap to face her, his eyes wide as dinner plates. With a near frantic shaking of his head and his mouth hanging open, he blabbers out, "No, no, no, no, no...No. Naw, I don't say shit to shit, wiz?" He turns back to face front for a brief moment, then in a rare burst of social courage, turns back again to face her once more. With a more apologetic and less frantic tone in his voice, he says, "And uhhh... Uhhhh, Sorry if I ummm, ah, y'know? Like... got carried away there, wiz?" He turns back to survey the parking lot once more. "I aint mean no disrespect by it or nothin, it's just, well..." He stops in mid sentence, gaining his sanity back just in time. The FUCK are you doing?! Do NOT spill your guts about your love life to some crazy fuckin decker chick! He shakes his head briefly, as though getting the cobwebs out. "So, what did the cop say to you? Do we gotta move along?"
-
[06 MAY 2075 | 20:15 | DFW | Club Frisco]
Boys... Wraith thought to herself. Nodding, she responded, "Yeah, they urged the good citizen... that's me. to move along. So we should probably at least move out of this parking space to somewhere else close-by. I think I'm done with decking for now with Lone Star patrolling the area looking for illegal Matrix activity. It just isn't worth it. I've got to knock out some programming anyway."
-
Ander doesn't pay much attention to Betty turned Betsy or Maria Diaz until he's saddled up to the bar and grabbed himself a drink, something respectable from the middle-shelf range, and charges it to his benefactor's tab. Returning, he flashes an easy, cultivated smile, and grabs one of the seats in the VIP lounge. "I don't recognize either of you two, and what's his name, Guillermo, says you aren't pros. So, what's the angle, ladies?" he asks with the genuine interest of one social climber to another.
"Me? I go where the gettin' ahead is, and the fallin' behind ain't," he says, pulling a pack of real tobacco cigarettes from one of the seemingly endless pockets in his shirt. Lighting up he sees the hungry look in "Betsy's' eyes, and offers her one. "Null sheen, chum, another benefits of being in Ms. Spooner's employ. She's an alright Jane, if a bit rough sometimes. Nuthin I can't handle. No tellin' what she's after your marks, for, though. They seem a bit straight-corp for who I normally see her with."
#
Having received the requisite MARKs from The Phoenix, Mr. Hopeless is able to move the Shin-Hyung to a more inconspicuous location, an S-Mart parking lot just up the street. Given the neigborhood and hour, it isn't terribly packed, but there's always some poor meta who needs to make a late-night run for diapers or synth-beer, and judging from some of the other cars in the parking lot versus the metas who exit them, it seems a lot of live-in help is there just to make such runs.
Wraith is able to hunker down, and complete her programming while Mr. Hopeless takes to keeping watch again, trying not to depress himself by looking too closely at any of the auras of the lot's customers.
-
"Angle? I'm afraid you've caught onto us," Gabriela smiled. "It's a ladies night for the two of us, single ladies, and if we can winnow our way into a fine man's pockets..."
She shrugs. "Guess in a way, it's all the same. Everyone of us gets on our knees for cred, just some more literally than others." She glances about and counts doors, makes notes of poor numbers, names on doors, or anything that defines them or marks one as being out of place or different.
-
La Sombre lets her eyes wander up and down the halls as discretely as possible, counting doors, reading tags, and keeping an eye on the number of bartenders upstairs -- only one, thank Ghost for small favors. When she returns her gaze to Ander, it appears as though he in the process of pointing a small holdout pistol to The Phoenix's head.
-
"Betsy" was all grins and giggles during the exchange, her relatively form-fitting and shoulder-baring clothes corroborating "Maria's" cover of a couple of single women looking for a good time. It was easy to tell she was legitimately in a good mood, but not gone as she brushed some hair from her face, catching the smell and then the sight of the legitimate, naturally made rolled sticks of honest-to-Ancients tobacco.
Her eyes widened a bit as she stared at them, the corner of her mouth twitching. Anders must have seen the twitch, as he held up the pack to offer her one. Cheeks tinging as she willed, the Phoenix covered her mouth and giggled as she took one. "Well, color me impressed, you shouldn't have.." Reaching, she expertly plucked one of the scented cigarettes from the pack, placing it to her lips as she fished for her lighter. "Allow me.." Anders already had his lighter out, causing her to smirk from the corner of her mouth as she leaned forward, letting him light up her gifted smoke...
-
Turning back to Anders, Gabriela's eyes light up and she reacts without thinking, her arm shooting out to grab the 'weapon' from his hand. A deft twist and the 'gun' was hers, she took a single step back to put space between them and held the gun out, pointed at Anders.
"The hell is your game, man?!"
-
"The hell is your game, man?!"
"What the fuck, you crazy trog!" Ander says at a near yell. "That fraggin' hurt. You coulda broke my finger just now."
The Phoenix sees the bartender say something in a commlink while Ander continues to nurse his finger and verbally abuse La Sombre. She's able to pick out the words, "Frank . . . possible . . . better come . . ."
About three seconds later, the door to the Colinas de Fuego room open, and Lisette Spooner pokes her head out cautiously, followed by Guillermo, and then Brad. "Ander, dear, what are you carrying on about?"
"I was just trying to light up Betsy's fraggin' square here, when the fraggin' tusker goes all Neal the Orc Barbarian like I'm about to light up a stick of C-4 or something. It's a fraggin' novelty lighter, you moron," he says accusingly to Maria Diaz.
"Ander, dear," Lisette says sharply. "There's no cause to get ugly now. Maybe you should take a walk."
It's about fifteen seconds from the start of the commotion, and the back doors -- the doors that La Sombre and The Phoenix recognize as coming from the employee entrance to the VIP lounge -- opens, and a burly human of Japanese descent exits, and walks toward the group warily. He isn't carrying any obvious weapons, but has the look of someone who can handle himself. "Alright, what's the beef, chief? We don't do problems up here."
-
Gabriela's eyes go wide as she realizes she's holding a lighter. She examines it and then pulls the trigger, still half expecting a bullet to go flying wide. She looks around at everyone in the room and shrugs apologetically.
"I... uh... thought it was a gun?! A girl can't be too careful." She offers a disarming smile as she tosses the lighter back to Ander. "It's a dangerous world, you gotta warn a girl!"
What the fuck, girl, don't frag this up! Inside, Gabriela's guts were churning, but on the surface, she maintained her composure. She tries to look, for all the world, like the victim of an innocent mistake... an easy enough assertion considering that it was exactly that...
-
After a quick look to see if anyone is going to dispute La Sombre's words, the security guard rolls his eyes and moves along with a "Play nice now, everybody. And why don't you get back to your room while you're at it," before approaching the bar to commiserate with the bartender. At Lisette's direction, Ander heads downstairs, refusing to make eye contact with anyone else, muttering at the gun in his hand.
"Inside, yes," Lisette says. "We still have some business to attend to."
"Indeed, yes. Ladies," Guillermo says, "We may be a little bit. Why don't you two head downstairs as well, so we don't make our friend here overly nervous," He's all smiles, but the message is clear. As unintentional as the mistake may be, no one wants any negative feelings caused by random party girls to get in the way of the night's business.
-
"Sure thing," Gabriela manages to make herself seem completely at ease, as if the mistake in the current atmosphere was absolutely nothing to worry over, and neither was the request. "Come on then, let's head out," she takes the Phoenix's hand and leads her down stairs.
-
"Betsy" only respond with smiles and giggles, gesturing and posturing her body in a way that may suggest flirting, but otherwise normal behavior for someone high on a line of Novacoke. Being led by the hand, the redhead gave a wave goodbye with a curling of her fingers, winking through her hair as the pair went downstairs. As they stepped down and out of the VIP area, the Phoenix took a sharp intake of breath, looking up at the orkette and giving a nod.
"Well, that went well. Time to see what shenanigans the others have gotten up to, I'm guessing? Whoo, this is a good night.."
-
After some tertiary planning for the next day's run into Somervell, the team returns to their homes for sleep, some more fitful than others. Despite the hour, and how tired she knows that she should be, The Phoenix turns in bed a few times before standing, laying out her weapons, and going through her katas. Finally, blessedly, sleep does find her, though when she wakes in the morning, first at two, then at three-thirty, and again at eight, nine-fifteen, and nine-forty-five, she feels like hammered drek. It's nothing a little time and some soykaf won't fix, but it's well after two when she makes her rounds in the Shin-Hyung to pick up her compatriots and head into the Somervell sprawl.
Mr. Hopeless is surprisingly fresh-faced, the past night proving cooler than average, which made his apartment almost bearable. Even the taxing summoning from the morning has been rested off, and Salsha didn't appear the least bit troubled to accompany him again, rising back from the astral plane with a mischievous glint to her eyes. In the car, he takes his now normal spot in the back seat, peering out the windows to get a sense of the astal presence around them. In the meat world, the sky is gray and overcast, and light cool winds bathe the interior of the car, as Wraith updates the team on her intel gathering from the previous night.
The Phoenix steers south off the 377, and goes south a few miles before they begin trawling the streets in earnest. They're still a few miles from the sprawl's epicenter, still far enough out to be able to drive. Rows of identical gray pre-fab apartments line the streets, and a surprising number of now defunct Mexican flags litter the roadway and sidewalks, a few still flying defiantly from third and fourth floor windows. The driver is the first to discern any Feathered calling cards. Turning down a street she couldn't hope to pronounce, The Phoenix sees a pair of jaguars, one stream of fire, another of water, issuing from their mouths painted on the sides of buildings in typical Aztec style. Wraith sees similar, and fairly well-rendered AROs of the same, and she also notes how clear they are despite the general state of disrepair in the matrix out here.
The streets are mostly bare, with the occasional pedestrian, but to the eyes of the groups, they seem like noncombatants. The Shin-Hyung inches past two burned out cars set perpendicular in the street, and notes another vehicle behind it that looks to be in working order. La Sombre notes the bullet holes in the cars, and the scorching across the hood. Looks like they've seen better days for sure. Through Hopeless' open window, the team can hear an agitated crowd up ahead, maybe two or three blocks over.
-
"Sounds like something is going down," Gabriela notes, as they cruise down the street. "Wraith, any way you can get a look?"
-
[07 MAY 2075 | 14:30 | Feathered Territory | DFW]
"On it," Wraith replied. Maintaining her state of augmented reality, the decker tried to spot an icon for a sensor array in the general direction and distance of the angry crowd.
-
Mr. Hopeless has been keeping his bucket hat low over his face for the whole ride this morning to hide the dark rings around his eyes from his companions. Not only is he feeling really awkward about making eye contact with the decker in the backseat with him, but he's also physically beat down. He hurts on the inside, and he's nervous. He knows the feathered are in bed with some kinda Aztlan something or other and that if the two remaining Putas are safe anywhere in the city, it's around here. He keeps his hands gripping the helmet in his lap, hoping he never has to put it on today. He's also well aware of the fact that Big Daddy is somewhere in the city asking about him. How am I supposed to watch my back for those two Putas? I never even got a look at em! Course, they never got a look at me either, so I got that going for me. He decides to keep an close eye out for anyone with one of those damn rigger consoles. At one point, he accidentally bumps Wraith's elbow with his own and retracts it quickly and, perhaps a bit tellingly. Without looking at her, Ian can tell the woman is rolling her eyes at him. Then, they start to notice the commotion up ahead.
I'm really starting to frakkin hate the sound of large crowds in the distance. Good rarely comes from such fuckery.
Ian's pulse raises a tiny bit and he can feel his neck start to pulse a little. No. We're not starting that, yet. It's just some commotion up ahead. Probably just a traffic jam or something. From the corner of his eye, he can see the friendly and reassuring turtle-face of Salsha. She's near the side of the street, watching cars go by. Although she appears to lumber along at a ponderous pace, unable to keep up with the car, every two or three blocks, there she is, just hanging out watching auras walk by. The sight of her makes him feel a bit safer and he reaches his mind out to her in the astral.
He smiles nervously at her as he speaks. "Salsha? Would you mind headed over there toward the hubbub and seeing what's going on for me, please? Unruly crowds kind of worry me these days, but I don't imagine you have anything to fear. I'd really appreciate it." She nods her leathery head and plods off down the street toward the commotion. "Thank you ma'am!" he calls out to her on the Astral as she goes.
-
[07 MAY 2075 | 14:30 | Feathered Territory | DFW]
>>Her robed, ghostly figure flitting about the Matrix, Wraith conjured a skeletal crow and let it fly. The creature replicated into three different creatures as it carried messages back to the rest of the team.<<
<<@Team [Wraith] Someone's carrying some heavy firepower. I just picked up the icon of a mono-whip, along with an Ingram SMG. Trying to hack some cyber-eyes to see if we can get eyes on the situation... literally.>>
-
<<@Team [Wraith] Someone's carrying some heavy firepower. I just picked up the icon of a mono-whip, along with an Ingram SMG. Trying to hack some cyber-eyes to see if we can get eyes on the situation... literally.>>
Shit.
Ians grip tightens on the helmet in his lap and his pulse raises a little bit.
-
<<@Team [La Sombra] Probably nothing to do with us, we'll play it cool while we figure out exactly what the issue is. Might be we can just get around it.>>
-
Well, mark that off on things I will NEVER do again if I can help it...
When the redhead went to pick everyone up, she looked a bit like hell, a cup of soycaf clutched in her hand. It was clear she didn't have the best of nights, but she probably looked a lot worse during the day. Everyone piling in, she punched in her navigator and made their way to Feathered terrirory...
At the notification from Wraith of trouble up ahead, the Phoenix perked up and glanced towards the source of the hubbub, slowing her Shin-Hyung before pulling to a stop, curbside a couple blocks away. Mentally thumbing through her arsenal list, she started to permutate what to load up on her person should they decide to investigate closer. Easing back, she drank deeply of the caf before responding.
"Might also be something worth witnessing...but yeah, details first. Worst case, we go in and I'll take the lead. Whip or no, they'd have to hope to hit me" She grinned, glancing back at the others with a confident look on her.
-
"Might also be something worth witnessing...but yeah, details first. Worst case, we go in and I'll take the lead. Whip or no, they'd have to hope to hit me" She grinned, glancing back at the others with a confident look on her.
The redheaded driver's confidence both inspires and terrifies Mr Hopeless. He doesn't look back at her for fear she'll be able to tell how crappy he feels, instead keeping his eyes on the worlds outside the window as he responds in a low tone. "I've got some eyes working up ahead right now. I'll know something any moment."
-
Salsha lumbers away at an incredible speed, and returns in about half-a-minute, while Wraith is still wondering at the quality and defenses of the silent running icons by the disturbance.
Lots of people are upset, she communicates to Mr. Hopeless. There's a much larger group to one side, and a smaller group in a circle. Something about governments, or states, or one of you "civilized" types other strange ideas. There was also a spirit of fire there, keeping an eye on things. It regarded me, but didn't attack or zip away.
-
During the brief time Salsha is away, Ian starts to worry about that mono-whip Wraith mentioned. I'm not worthless on the trix. I got eyes, too. As he sits in the backseat, awaiting the return of his stalwart companion, he peers out into the code of the matrix through his shiny alphaware datajack, looking for a location on that mono-whip. The last thing he needs is to get surprised today. After about thirty seconds, his tortoise friend returns with news. Watching three worlds at once always makes Ian feel VERY strange.
Lots of people are upset, she communicates to Mr. Hopeless. There's a much larger group to one side, and a smaller group in a circle. Something about governments, or states, or one of you "civilized" types other strange ideas. There was also a spirit of fire there, keeping an eye on things. It regarded me, but didn't attack or zip away.
Ian is visibly disturbed by the news, fearful of the Putas, but manages to stammer out, "Thank you ma'am. Now, the fire spirit; Is he bound? Can you describe his Astral signature to me? Do you think you could take him in a fight if you had too?"
-
[07 MAY 2075 | 14:30 | Feathered Territory | DFW]
>>The robed figure carefully examined some of the icons she had detected earlier. A ghostly question mark appeared above her head. Summoning another skeletal raven, she sent it off into the Matrix.
<<@Team [Wraith] We may have a problem. I think there may be a technomancer in the area. The protection on the icons for the monowhip and cybereyes appears to be surprisingly robust. I don't want to do anything tricky just yet, so let's head in. I'll keep those icons spotted for now.>>
-
"Most likely this has nothing to do with us," Gabriella notes. "But let's keep our eyes open, get what we came for, and get out."
She pats the holstered machine pistol under her jacket, taking comfort in it's presence. She hoped she didn't have to use it, but better to have and not need than need and not have.
-
<<@Team [Wraith] We may have a problem. I think there may be a technomancer in the area. The protection on the icons for the monowhip and cybereyes appears to be surprisingly robust. I don't want to do anything tricky just yet, so let's head in. I'll keep those icons spotted for now.>>
The Putas had a technomancer.
Wraith's news, coupled with Salsha's description of the astral signature makes Ian's face go white as a sheet. He can feel his heart pounding. He vividly remembers the pain, fear, and confusion of the last time he ran into the Putas De Muerte and he's not looking forward to a repeat performance. With a small and shaky voice, he manages to squeak out to the rest of the team.
"Two groups up ahead. One off to the side and a smaller one in a circle. Someone's angry about the government or civilization or something. And the Putas are there. One of them's got a fire spirit on deck, and... Somethin..." He shakes his head and squints his eyes, frustrated. "Somethin aint right with one of em. Somethin's off. I don't like this at all." He swallows hard and wipes some sweat from his brow before continuing. "These chicks are fuckin prime, chummers. We sure we wanna go slottin round with em right now?"
Just talking is making Ian's insides hurt; He can only imagine how horrible banishing another one of those giant spirits of theirs will feel. Anyone paying even a little attention can tell that he's scared shitless.
-
The Phoenix pulls from her parking space, and makes her way down a block before the team begins to smell smoke, thick and heavy with diesel. Against the stark gray of the cloud cover, La Sombre can make out some smoke to their right, about where the disturbance sounds like its coming from. Another block, and The Phoenix takes a right. About a hundred meters in front of them, four figures stand on two junked-out cars, left side-by-side. Three look well-equipped and nearly professional. A human Aztlaner male holds the fourth figure, a middle-aged human woman by the neck of her dress in one hand, and holds a submachine gun in the other, the barrel pointing down. A second male stands around looking tough, and gives a thoughtless kick to one of the throng pressing around the cars at ground level. The third, an elf female in what The Phoenix immediately recognizes as an Armante dress suit, has pushed a ballistic mask up over her face to better address the crowd.
La Sombre is able to translate through the open window. "-- been most gracious in enduring your bygone celebrations," she picks up mid-stream. "But your holiday is over. You all know the penalty for flying the flag of Mexico after the sixth, and for displaying your false gods." The man with the submachine gun lets loose of the woman's neck long enough to grab a necklace in his hand and rip it from the woman's neck, letting it fall at his feet before stomping it.
The crowd, now nearing seventy-five or so, howls in protest, and the second man pushes his armored jacket to the side, exposing the butts of two pistols.
The woman, trying to maintain control, continues even loader, and La Sombre continues to translate. "The state of Mexico is a failed state. Finished. And here, now, in enemy territory, it is your duty, your obligation to look forward. We have no use for the past, when the past is oppression, and murder, and cowing to the imperial north. This is our time, fellow Aztlaners!" The occupants of the car can barely make out La Sombre's words over the din of yelling outside.
The Phoenix notices the crowd filling in behind her. She figures she can push forward in the Shin-Hyung maybe thirty more meters or so, but if the crowd keeps coming, it will be difficult to get out, should they need to make a getaway.
-
This isn't right. The Putas are supposed to be women.
The four of them slowly edge forward into the crowd in their sporty little car, and Ian hates doing so more and more with every inch. Too nervous to speak anymore for fear the sound of his cracking and quivering voice will make him even more nervous in a snowball effect, he switches over to matrix communications after rebooting his Avalon.
<<@Team [Mister Hopeless] Yeah, something's really wrong here. There's supposed to be two women, not two men and a woman. This is some messed up drek and it aint got drek to do with us. I'll have everyone's backs if we get up in it, but I would really prefer that we did not.>>
At least Lil Rambo is on deck. He hasn't powered up the little roto-drone in the trunk just yet, but knowing it's there makes him feel a bit better.
<<@ThePhoenix [Mister Hopeless] I may need to pop your trunk in a hurry. Can I get a mark on your car?>>
-
"I agree, I'm not sure this has anything to do with us and I don't think we need trouble that we aren't being paid to handle..." The words taste like ash in her mouth. That woman needed help, these goons weren't the 'good guys,' that was absurdly plain, and the ork's instinct was to assist. But she wasn't in the DSI or event Army anymore...
-
With the crowd becoming more agitated -- and numerous -- there isn't space for The Phoenix to pull to the side of the road, but she idles in place, not wanting to get hemmed in. From somewhere to the left and in front of the runners, a glass bottle arcs into the air and crashes down on the hood of the car the man with the gun is standing on. La Sombre continues to translate: "This is your last warning. This woman has made her choice. Go home." The woman at the front lowers her Ballistic Mask, and Wraith's deck pings with a message: she has been granted a MARK, the persona she clearly spots in a parked car near the Feathered. It seems someone was a little off on their matrix game.
-
Gabriella sucks her teeth, inhales, and then, "¡Mierda!".
She suddenly grabs the door handle, opening it while a hand reaches under her jacket, slipping into the crowd around her fluidly and shutting the door behind her.
-
[07 MAY 2075 | 14:30 | Feathered Territory | DFW]
>>In the darkness of the Matrix, Wraith waited and watched. Her ghostly icon regularly scanned the area for sings of hidden devices. Things seemed relatively quiet in the cyber-world, so she was surprised when an icon lit up nearby with one of her MARKs on it. Knowing that the only way that could happen is if the icon had failed to hack her, she quickly scanned the icon to see what she was facing. ...and that's when things got weird. The icon was... off. Like impossibly angled and existing in impossible dimensions. It looked normal at first glance, but given a second, things just started to fall apart. Her scan revealed the icon was operating on multiple grids at once, which she knew to be impossible. Unless she was facing a technomancer. With no time to warn the team, she prepared herself for combat.
-
As the robed form of Wraith gave the errant persona a closer look, the noise and detritus of the surrounding matrix fell away. She could see the persona peering back at her, through the slits in its visor. Adorned in a suit of full-plate armor, the rider adjusts itself in the saddle, and the steed, which at first glimpse looks to be a warhorse, rears up and spreads its wings, the Pegasus' red eyes burrowing deep into Wraith as it snorts a fine mist.
-
"Wait, what....wait, WHAT?!"[/b]
The Phoenix had to admit that she wasn't sure what to do about this situation...they weren't involved, and she was actually about to back away from the scene until she realized the crowd had made things difficult. By the time she set the gears to park and let the car idle, she heard the snap of the passenger door as La Sombra seemed to curse in some language and quickly and hastily exit. Looking back to Hopeless, she gave a nod as she clicked the button to pop the trunk. "Done..."
Without another word, she opened her own door and darted out with alarming speed, making for the back of the car and surveying the situation, thinking about what weapons of choice she should grab based on how this is going...
-
Ian is visibly disturbed by the news, fearful of the Putas, but manages to stammer out, "Thank you ma'am. Now, the fire spirit; Is he bound? Can you describe his Astral signature to me? Do you think you could take him in a fight if you had too?"
Due to the positioning of the Shin-Hyung, Hopeless can't get his Astral sight on the group of Feathered or the spirit. After describing the astral signature of the Fire Spirit, Salsha continues, The Spirit is stronger than me, just barely. If we were to fight while I am manifested, it would definitely have an edge.
A few meters ahead of the car, La Sombre is pulling some sideways glances from some in the crowd, as they look at her dress, actively trying to assess if she is friend or foe. "¿La Pluma, o Mara Salvatrucha?" she hears a male voice ahead of her query. From the tone, she can guess that the question is intended for a friend, and not for her, but the crowd gives her a wide berth and avoids eye contact. Up ahead of her, she can see some in the outer ring of where the crowd becomes more dense picking up rocks and other detritus from the roadway. She also sees the glint of pistols and broken bottles, as the yelling from the crowd intensifies.
As The Phoenix pops her trunk, she is greeted with the sight of Mr. Hopeless' roto-drone buzzing to life. The rotors give off a low hum, and she tries to focus her attention on the weaponry. So many good choices, and so few hands.
In the matrix, Wraith is greeted with a new realization. The knight's steed is in fact its own icon, an Agent, or whatever technomancers have as an equivalent. Another pegasus, darker in color, sheds its veil and comes into the "light" of the 'trix, circling above the crowd. Presently, she knows that she's outnumbered here, and will need to plan her course of action carefully.
-
Whatever her allegiances, those who do notice La Sombra see that her gaze is intent on the three men holding the majority of the crowd's attention as she reaches within herself for a bit of the Ravens agility. She pays most of the crowd themselves no mind. Some of the people amongst the crowd might notice that she has her hand under her jacket, manipulating what could only be a weapon, as she unholsters her Remington Suppressor, preparing for action. The weapon is suppressed and with the noise of the crowd, she hopes that it won't be readily apparent exactly where the forthcoming shots originated.
-
La Sombre continues making her way forward, being swallowed by the crowd as it coalesces around her. If she's looking for a din to fire under, she's found it. The men and women who have gathered are agitated, angry, and those who aren't armed with lengths or rebar or cheap pistols are passing out rocks, bottles, and chunks of concrete between them. If anything, the fact that there are only three Feathered to be seen, and the relative calm with which they are barking orders and inciting the crowd's anger seems . . . misplaced, and more than potentially dangerous. The woman on the car who has been speaking now has her Ballistic Mask firmly in place, and continues speaking as she bares a pistol butt resting against her thigh.
"You would do well to go home now," she continues in Spanish. "This is Feathered turf, and we will not suffer agitators and apostates here."
She pauses briefly before continuing. "Already, we have outsiders in our midst, ready to force your hand. This woman has made her choice, no doubt due to outside influences. The fucking yankees are unwilling to give us Aztlaners even this, our own neighborhood. Know who the true enemies are here, and leave so that we may protect you."
Somewhere in the crowd, a male's voice breaks out, "We don't need your protections, you Azzie slitch. Viva Mexico!"
The crowd roars in approval, and another rock arcs across the gray sky and lands on the hood of the car, missing the elf's head by centimeters.
Back by the car, The Phoenix has prepared her katana, slung her shotgun, and readied her AK-97, double-checking the magazine -- not that she needed to. Preparing for the worst she activates her Qi focus, the flush of mana a familiar and intoxicating feeling. Yes, now I'm in my element.
Salscha rushes back to Mr. Hopeless, a concerned look at the turtle's face. "The fire spirit did not like the swaggering one's magic. Shall I defend her? I'm afraid that it will come to that shortly.
In the matrix, the battle of wills and code is in full swing. The Knight has been playing it coy, probably working in sleazing as many MARKs as possible on the decker, and so Wraith strikes first, sending a slew of damaging ones and zeros against the figure. The full-plate armor glints, as if in the sunlight, and the glare is nearly blinding as the code comes back to Wraith, doing a little damage to her deck in the process.
The Knight still fails to attack Wraith directly, but while her steed continues to snort and flap its wings, the flying Pegasus descends on the decker,kicking up dust and lightning in her wake, which further stresses the debutante's equipment. Steeling herself. Wraith focuses more on her second attack, blasting the knight with a dark, billowing tornado which staggers her in the saddle, as the persona glitches and becomes fuzzy and pixelated from the blast. With her third attack, Wraith makes another strong effort to drop the knight, but a shield appears in her free hand at the last moment, sending the code back to her with much more force than the last, even as the Flying Pegasus' lightning storm increases in intensity.
From across the battlefield, Wraith sees the light lift her visor, the steely black eyes of a Spaniard woman, regarding her coldly, assessing whether or not her deck can withstand the onslaught.
-
[07 MAY 2075 | 14:30 | Feathered Territory | DFW]
Wraith grasped her head as trails of smoke and an electric stink issued forth from her datajack. Blood trailed out of her nose and from her eyes. She clearly had had an insurmountably difficult time in the Matrix.
-
As La Sombra approaches, she draws the pistol from out of her coat and draws a bead on the man holding the woman. With the pistol set to burst fire, she slowly squeezes the trigger.
-
The quick pops are quite audible to those nearest the ork but the sound of the crowd all but covers up the suppressed gunfire from any measurable distance.
Three rounds impact the man holding the woman by the neck and his grip immediately slacks as he sways for just a moment before his legs collapse out from under him, the submachine gun clattering to the ground.
With one threat firmly out of the way, Gabriela prepares to dart forward as best she can through the crowd. Normally the threat of gunfire would hold any rabble back, but she realizes that she's probably just lit the match under this tinderbox.
-
The smell of the heat in the air, fueled by the myriad of stirring bodies, their blood running hotly in protest of the woman on the car. The sound of the wind rustling bits of trash, heard behind the shouting and hollering of voices. The feel of the ground, bits of gravel cracking underfoot with each measured step. The taste of her own adrenaline, kept in check only by carefully measured practice. This was all the Phoenix and more at this point. The sling of the shotgun crossed over her right shoulder, the AK's over her left, and her katana securely at her left hip, the redhead very much looked the part of a one-woman army, especially compared to the rest of the group here. Leaving Mr. Hopeless and Wraith in the car, she made sure their mage had the MARK still, in case he needed to drive, shutting the trunk and stepping towards the focal point of the mob.
Best part is, Star shows up, I'm licensed for all this. Gods, I love the bodyguard excuse
Sunglasses covering her eyes, Marissa's lips were curled into a smirk as she sensed the tension in the air, and as a man approached the woman barking atop the car, she almost missed it. He crumpled, falling away..and not in a normal way. The frag...okay, this is going down Instinctively, the Phoenix slipped right into her element, the mana coursing through her as the qi focus tattooed on her back roared to life...literally. On her back, the tattoo shone through, looking very much like a burning set of wings, while her aura seemed to erupt into her own personal inferno. Those nearest that witnessed her immediately stepped back, giving her wide berth as she tilted her head, speaking into her microtransceiver.
"La Sombra, can't get a bead on you. What's the spread, what we doin'?
That was all she said as the hairs on her neck stood on end, eyes and ears scanning the surrounds as she tried to approach, keeping a firm grip on her rifle, ready for the impending riot.
Suddenky, she felt her senses come in, her instincts telling her that an opponent was coming. Something she could not see. Her memory reminded her of Hopeless' warning of a spirit... her stance widening, she gripped the rifle loosely in one hand as she started to crouch a little, body lowered as her muscles coiled, springs ready to snap into action.
Actions: speak, approach, set rifle to Burst Fire, activate Focus, look awesome
-
Salscha rushes back to Mr. Hopeless, a concerned look at the turtle's face. "The fire spirit did not like the swaggering one's magic. Shall I defend her? I'm afraid that it will come to that shortly.
"Yes, ma'am," Ian answers, and the turtle nods her head with a slow swaying motion before turning and racing off to fulfill her duty. Hopeless turns his attention to the back seat and the decker. Her aura looks exhausted, and in pain.
"You . . . you ok?" Mr. Hopeless manages to stutter out.
"What, this?" Wraith answers with a crooked bloody smile before leaning forward as if to wretch. Nothing comes out but a cough and a thin trail of pink spittle before she continues, "Definitely a techomancer, fraggit."
Knowing the situation is dire, Mr. Hopeless reaches out into the astral for Sammo, who obliges without delay.
The best/worst that The Phoenix was preparing herself for happens suddenly. At first, she sees a little bend in the air, like looking through a magnifying glass sideways, and then it's a small disembodied flame, with the faintest wisp of smoke swirling into the gray sky, and before she can exhale the spirit stands before her, arching its feline back, its fur soot and ash, its maw blue with white hot teeth. The fire jaguar lets out a low growl at the foreign environment of the material plane, and the enemy before it equally, but The Phoenix is the first to strike.
-
This is turning to drek real quick!
For a moment there, it had looked like the group might just drive past this unfortunate series of events, but then the ork woman must have seen something Ian's eye's didn't pick up on. It's no wonder. He's paying attention to three different worlds at once. It's no wonder he might miss one of the subtleties of one of them. But as soon as she bolts from the car, hand on weapon, Ian starts working feverishly in all three of his worlds. First, to Salsha, his stalwart guardian; Please watch my orkish friend's flank on the astral. She'll need it! Then, with both hands, he plops his old, beaten motorcycle helmet over his head and begins to power up it's systems. Before it's finished up, Phoenix leaps out of the car and pops the trunk with one motion. Great Ghost, she's going for the arsenal. He takes a deep swallow as his audio systems finish booting up. Well, then so am I. Through his implanted link, he sends a few orders to his drone in the trunk.
<<@Lil Rambo: Orders
:Activate (silent)
:Launch
:Ascend (max weapon range)
:Target (holder of marked ingram X)
:Share video feed with team
<<@Team [Mister Hopeless] Astral backup on deck. Aerial video feed in 3 seconds.>>
A milisecond later, Phoenix slips past the car and into the crowd, packing enough firepower to take on a small SWAT team and Ian's heart drops into his stomach. Here we go! He can see her tattoos flare up on the astral and as soon as they do...
Salscha rushes back to Mr. Hopeless, a concerned look at the turtle's face. "The fire spirit did not like the swaggering one's magic. Shall I defend her? I'm afraid that it will come to that shortly.
"Yes please, ma'am. Keep us all as safe as you can." With no more than a nod, she's off again, keeping a close watch on that fire spirit. A split second later, there's a cough, a sputter, and a small cloud of smoke from next to him.
"You . . . you ok?" Mr. Hopeless manages to stutter out.
"What, this?" Wraith answers with a crooked bloody smile before leaning forward as if to wretch. Nothing comes out but a cough and a thin trail of pink spittle before she continues, "Definitely a techomancer, fraggit."
Flashes of the last run go through his head. The riot, the outclassed decker, everything. He thinks about the pistol stuffed into his waistline, and how it didn't do Breeze any good. Ian is utterly terrified, but he keeps his wits about him. He knows that if he's to live through the next few minutes AND keep his team intact, he's going to have to. With a tiny flick of his astral fingers, he calls forth Sammo, who appears on the astral sitting in the front seat, where LaSombra was just a moment ago. He turns his head slightly, just enough to make eye contact with Ian, and nods his head slightly, already understanding what will soon be asked of him. At that moment, Ian gets the ping that lets him know the aerial feed from Lil Rambo has gone live.
-
At first Marissa could hardly believe the appearance of the flaming beast materializing before her, the sound of its growls, and the heat coming from its very presence. Three senses detect this thing...that means it was very real. That was all that the Phoenix needed, her eyes narrowing as her head tilted forward.
Her next moves came gracefully to her, thanks to the tireless hours of practicing her moves, watching all those trids. Her lips parted as she took in her breath, the rifle's butt coming up to her shoulder as she cocked the smallest smirk. "Got a light?"[/b]
One squeeze of the trigger and the rest of her breath exhaled, the Phoenix unloaded a short burst of fire from her AK-97, directing it at the materialized spirit as she started to move. Darting laterally to the left, she made a short leap, another burst of fire coming from her and likely causing the crowd to flee as she shot at the spirit. As she connected with the ground, rather than righting herself, she went with the motion, tucking into a roll as she swung her rifle around on its sling to her back. And once her feet were again underneath her, her right hand pulled the katana from its home, arm extended as she held it point first towards the creature, ready for the counterattack.
-
The flaming jaguar crouches low, avoiding the first burst of fire from The Phoenix's AK. The explosive rounds pop and crackle against the cinder-block walls of a row-house apartment across the street, and the feline lets out a hiss that spits fire on the street. The adept can't see her astral support,but she can see the effects of Salsha's attack, as the fire spirit's fur begins to slough off in ragged chunks which dissolve into the ether. With the spirit occupied in two planes at once, The Phoenix focuses her second burst on the spirit's flank, dappling its side in a neat row of fire. The spirit hisses again and leaps toward Marissa as she's drawing her katana, and takes a mighty swipe at her with outstretched red claws.
In the face of the spirit's heat Marissa takes a step back, easily dodging the spirit's attack, which leaves it off-balance, giving her a wonderful opportunity for a follow-up strike.
-
The sound of automatic gunfire behind her draws her attention for a moment. Gabriela frowns. Idiota! Should have left it alone, now I've dragged in the whole crew...
Still, in for a penny... she turns back to the individuals up front, looking for another shot.
-
Then the flaming jaguar erupted into life and the gunfire started, Just a few pops at first, then quickly followed up with higher caliber rounds in higher numbers. Lil Rambo hasn't gotten much height yet and so the video feed is still quite detailed, despite the poor quality of the camera. Mister Hopeless can see the action from above, and his stomach is in his throat. Everything is just happening so damn fast! Do I still wanna be sitting in this car when another fire spirit materializes in here? He eyes the cardoor and briefly considers leaving its safe bullet resistant womb, but thinks better of it rather quickly.
-
A brief roar of approval erupts from the crowd as the feathered soldier tips backwards and off of the car unconscious. The celebrations are short-lived however, and the yelling soon turns fearful as a Toyota Gopher barrels out of an alleyway about thirty meters to La Sombre's rear and over two people who couldn't get out of the way fast enough. Trailing behind the truck are some lengths of three meter chain-link fence welded to wide axles and topped with razor-wire. Ohshitohfragohfuckohfuckohno! Hopeless thinks in a panic. They're trying to box them in.
On the bed of truck, crouched behind plastiboard and sandbags, three figures in ballistic masks with Aztec animal faces and automatic weapons open fire on the center of crowd. Two are carrying submachine guns, and the third pokes the barrel of a Colt M23 over the barrier before letting off a long ten-round burst. The crowd does its best to dodge the gunfire, but between the density of people and the walled-in surroundings, there are few options available to them. Young and old alike fall to the automatic gunfire, only to be stampeded by those still standing as they try to make a retreat to nowhere.
On the cars in front of La Sombre, the man pulls two Ceska Black Scorpions, and lets off a burst of fire from one at the men and women standing at his feet, striking an ork woman in the face. Her head snaps backward, and she crumples. Both the man and the elven woman scan the crowd, trying to figure out who had fired the shots that dropped their companion, but La Sombre does not see or feel their eyes land on her. Before she can follow up with a second round of fire, however, she spots a blue arcing line to her left, perhaps five, maybe seven meters out. If things weren't so chaotic, and if she didn't know how dangerous that arcing line is, it would be beautiful in a way. It practically floats up in the air, a soft oscillating flutter in the wind before it swings down hard and fast and deadly. On the second upswing, it's followed by a disembodied hand, cut off cleanly at the wrist. Great, now there's some hoop out there with a monofilament whip, she thinks.
-
Gotcha
When the jaguar lunged at the redhead armed with the katana, it would be surprised to find she was ready for it. Her legs releasing their stored energy potential, she lunged off to the side in a sidelong roll, tilting herself just enough to pitch herself around the flaming beast. As she came up, the beast's flank lay ready for the cutting, and with her aura surging as the flames at her back, the sword made a glancing cut at the creature.
Had she known what came next, she may have reconsidered.
As the sword connected, a tongue of flame arced along the blade from the creature, and she simply watched in shock as it lapped at her arm, the woman feeling a searing of her flesh along her arm up into her shoulder. Crying out, the Phoenix withdrew her arm, fingers trying deftly to whip the katana back into a reverse grip as she realized her folly. Still, she had the momentum, and had no intention of wasting it. As her feet planted, she sprang her legs straight, kicking off the ground into a backwards flip back and away from the creature, and as she reached the apex, her free hand whipped back, gripping the handle of her Predator and pulling it out with the effortless grace of a trid star.
The trio of blasts that ensued were the natural course as she reconnected her gaze on the fiery spirit creature.,.
Soak (10P Fire -6AP +4 Flame Prot) (http://orokos.com/roll/350674): 12d6t5 5
Marissa takes 5P, wound modifier of -1
Gymnastics (http://orokos.com/roll/350668): 10d6t5 3
Just in case someone calls me on the stylish antics. If not, disregard that roll. But, importantly...
Quick Draw Pistol (http://orokos.com/roll/350669): 12d6t5 4
Semi-Auto Pistol Attack (http://orokos.com/roll/350672): 13d6t5 4
Defender gets -2 dice
Errata: when I rolled, I forgot to take off the -1. I checked, taking a die off does not change the results
-
Fear is slowly turning to rage inside the scrawny little human man in the backseat. Once he sees the truck with the razorwire fence, his blood runs cold for a brief moment, then starts to run hotter and hotter by the moment. These motherfuckers! "Ghost fucking DAMMIT! he pounds his fists against the seat in front of him as the gunfire intensifies even further. "This is exactly what they were hoping for!" Through his rapidly ascending eye in the sky, he can see the massacre unfolding beneath him and it both terrifies and infuriates him.
-
Through Lil Rambo, Mr. Hopeless watches on as the carnage unfolds below. The elf woman who had previously been on her diatribe pulls a large pistol and fires off into the crowd. Given the poor video feed he's unable to make out if any in the crowd are hit, especially over the volley of bottles and rocks that begin to rain down on the two feathered. A bottle breaks over the woman's ballistic mask before she has an opportunity to seek cover behind the cars, and a few of the smaller and more aerodynamic rocks pelt the man with the machine pistols, but both seem largely unfazed. The distraction, though, does give their prisoner a chance to break free with her guard now laying unconscious on the pavement behind her, and she rushes into the crowd, trying to make her way toward one of the doors to an apartment building, currently choked with sprawl-dwellers possessing the same idea.
A man in a black duster, shaved head covered in tattoos, and an AK-97 emerges from the alleyway across from the Toyota Gopher and opens up with a long burst of automatic fire directed at the engine block of the oncoming truck. Bullets riddle the grill, hood, and headlights, and thick black smoke begins to pour out through the holes while the Gopher continues its advance. To the south of the fence, anyone not caught in the shooting pen begins to flee the scene, dropping their rebar and rocks as they go.
-
Ducking down, La Sombra moved toward the end of the monofilament whip that wasn't full of murder. She ducked behind a few individuals and saw a woman in a black jacker and mask swinging it about.
"Oy! Puta!!!" she called out as she squeezed off a burst at the woman. The whip-mistress looked over just in time to catch three capsule rounds in the face. The DMSO laced Narcoject did its thing quickly and the woman tottered unsteadily. The ork wasted no time in finding a position between two dumpsters on the street, looking down to see what else she might do. The car was a problem and she wondered if she might be able to do something about it. Behind her, she could hear a few members of the crowd plow into the woman.
That's what you get...
-
"Well, you just refuse to snuff out, donchya.."
Gritting her teeth, Marissa straightened up for a split moment, stowing her katana away as she leveled the Predator in her other hand, squeezing off another blast at the creature's center mass before side-stepping, her lunge avoiding another strike from him. He was tough, yes..but no one can dodge bullets forever. In the back of her mind, the Phoenix laid some concern for her team, as this spirit was keeping her occupied...she better finish this quickly, so that she may be the cavalry to come to the rescue...
-
At this point, Wraith is useless. Whether she's stunned from the dunpshock or scared shitless from all the shooting, Ian can't tell, and at this point, he doesn't care. Keeping one eye on the matrix, one on the meat world, and his third on the astral, he clambers his aching body into the driver's seat. From beside him in the passenger's seat, Sammo turns his regally goateed face toward him and raises one eyebrow.
"Please, good sir." begs the skinny beat down human with his eyes lowered in respect. "Help protect my companions!" The stocky asian manspirit nods his head in acknowledgement, and without a word, vanishes out of the open window beside him. Still watching the massacre below get smaller and more pixelated by the moment, Ian is still able to pick out the new bald shooter with the trench and the AK. I wonder if one of the ladies knows him. He quickly grabs a poorly zoomed frame of the man from his video feed and includes it along with a message to the team.
<<@Team [Mister Hopeless] New shooter on deck. Firing on truck. Friend of one a yalls?>>
shittyshooter.jpg
-
The Phoenix's shot finds its way to the spirit's flank, just above the shoulder. It gives a brief shudder as a lick of flame erupts from its ashen coat, and grows until the entire figure is burning brightly, trying to step forward on unsteady legs. The jaguar gives a final hiss before its mouth too is subsumed by the fire, and the spirit collapses in on itself, leaving only a small bit of ash and scorch marks on the city street. As the spirit falls, Marissa can feel tendrils of mana enveloping her. For a brief moment, she's seized by panic, and steels herself for the blast from some spell, but then notices that her jacket, her pants, even her Predator are blurring into the gray sky and concrete. And then she notices that some of the crowd who had been fearfully watching the exchange between her and the spirit are left dumbfounded, as if she simply vanished from sight.
Near La Sombre the woman with the monowhip pushes off on a large man in the crowd and teeters backward, heading toward a Shin-Hyung. The passenger door opens, and a figure in a black-matte ballistic mask leans out the side with an SMG, letting off a burst of fire to cover the woman's escape. She takes three or four more long strides, before the monowhip simply trails behind her, cutting a thin groove in the pavement before she collapses face-first. La Sombre too feels the effects of mana on her, and feels even more concealed within the crowd.
On the Gopher, one man with an SMG lets off a short burst into the crowd, while the other lets off a longer burst at the same. From Lil Rambo's feed, Mr. Hopeless can see three more figures falling to the fire. The third man abandons the cover of the plastiboard and sandbags to lean over the roof of the truck and fires at the man with the AK. He strikes the man center mass, and staggers him before the man can return fire after finding cover behind a parked car. Bullets punch through the windshield and out the rear window, striking the man in the leg, and another finds home in the man's left shoulder, knocking him a step backward.
-
As the spirit vanishes, Marissa found herself in a low stance, her weight centered over one bent leg whilst the other lay outstretched to the side, as if anticipating a counterattack and ready to roll away. But when she saw that her opponent had fallen, she allowed herself a little smirk. Keeping the pistol level, she brought herself up to a standing postiion, twirling her Predator in her hand before slipping it back into its holster at her back.
"Better to burn out than fade away...huh?" She blinked as she looked down to see herself fade a bit as the sound of shooting and combat snapped her attention back to the fight.
Lowering her stance, the Phoenix pulled her AK-97 back into her hands, not bothering to check the mag as she spoke quietly into the comms, hitting up the team.
"Just dropped a flaming beastie. I see fighting, who's are mark, and who's...well, probably not gonna kill us? Sombra, heading to you" Her feet light, the human bounded down the street, closer to the fray.
-
<<Team [La Sombra] Mostly trying to knock out these assholes mowing down civvies. Any way you can stop that death contraption they got?>>
-
Mister Hopeless monitors the comm chatter.
"Just dropped a flaming beastie. I see fighting, who's are mark, and who's...well, probably not gonna kill us? Sombra, heading to you" =
<<Team [La Sombra] Mostly trying to knock out these assholes mowing down civvies. Any way you can stop that death contraption they got?>>
<<@Team [Mister Hopeless] Gimme a second and I can stop that Gopher. Find targets from the aerial feed. Repeat, ID on new shooter? Anyone know this hoop?>>
-
One of the shooters on the Gopher turns around to face The Phoenix's general direction and takes a knee. He scans street, and when his eyes fall on her, he lifts his Colt Cobra and lets off with six rounds of automatic fire. In the midst of the firing, Salsha rushes at him, her great turtle shell forming spikes and barbs as she stretches out her neck in some sort of fearsome grin. Seeing the spirit approaching, the man runs past his companion and jumps from the bed of the Gopher, running back toward the alley.
The man standing behind the cab of the truck fires again, this time striking the mystery shooter square in the chest. The man falls backward. At the rear end of the Gopher, the last shooter fires into the crowd again, directing his shots at a dense group pushing on the fence. He's able to get six rounds off before his gun jams, and the Gopher makes a marked increase in speed and veers to the left toward a parked car.
At the front of the fight, the man with the machine pistols begins making his way backward and toward the Shin-Hyung with the open door, firing as he goes.
-
The Gopher slams into a parked Opal with a crunch and rending of metal. Given the low speed, the man just behind the cab is able to stay upright, though the shooter farther down in the truck bed is thrown off his feet. There's a good five meters now, between the barricade and wall of the nearest tenement, and while the Gopher still seems serviceable, it does not appear as though the Feathered had expected the resistance of a group of shadowrunners. Near La Sombre, all Feathered in the area seem to be moving toward the Shin-Hyung, as the shooter in the passenger seat continues to spray bullets at the crowd to ease their escape. La Sombre can't see much from wedging herself between two dumpsters, though she is soon joined by some of the crowd, who seem genuinely surprised when they literally stumble over her. There's the occasional sharp metallic ping of a round striking the outside of the dumpster, but so long as she remains in cover she feels safe.
-
The ork puts a finger to her lips and as she can, peers from around the dumpster to check the situation before ducking her head back with a curse.
More bullets ping into the dumpster.
"We might be here a minute," she announces.
-
The Phoenix rolled to the side as she felt the presence of bullet fire heading towards her. And just in time, too..she felt a few clip by her head, a few stray hairs of fiery red falling to the ground. Her eyes widening, she got up on one knee, bringing her assault rifle up to her shoulder as she focused in her aim. Realizing that the truck was backing away, the human diverted her stance to the side, keeping mobile as she laid down a spray of fire upon the retreating gunners.
Automatics (suppressive) (http://orokos.com/roll/359332): 13d6t5 3[/color]
-
La Sombra does what she can to keep the folks around her calm while the Phoenix finishes up the gun battle.
-
From the front seat, the helmeted man sends throws the car into manual pilot mode in a frenzied hurry.
<<@Team [Mister Hopeless] Everyone back in the car now! We're getting the fuck outta here before the law shows up!>>
Behind him, he can hear the decker furiously trying to fix her sparking and fizzling deck to no avail and he watches the crowd rapidly dispersing in every direction their feet can carry them. If it weren't for his eye in the sky, he'd have no idea whether Phoenix and Sombra are even alive. He starts slowly backing the car up into a three point turn so he can just gun it as soon as everyone's on board. Once he's in position, he fires off a few more instructions.
<<@Lil Rambo: return to home and dock with vehicle>>
Friends! We've done well! Let's make ourselves scarce!
He watches the rear view camera with the eyes of a hawk, looking for his two companions and feeling the adrenaline starting to wear off a little bit.
Not yet, fucker! There might still be a chase scene here.
-
The Feathered gunmen from the truck, hit the ground to dodge the worst of The Phoenix's shooting. They return fire as they crawl to the alley, and The Phoenix's cockiness is tempered when she sees a woman in the crowd grab her thigh and go down. Ghost, did I do that? She finds some cover behind a parked car, and prepares to lay down more suppressive fire should La Sombre's escape warrant it, but it seems all the gangers in the area have their hands full just dealing with the crowd and getting out of the firefight themselves.
La Sombre is able to catch sight of the woman the elven Feathered was talking about punishing before she makes her retreat, and uses her link to capture the woman's commcode, figuring that it could be useful later once everyone is safe and accounted for. The Feathered near the front of the demonstration all make it the Shin-Hyung, save the man dual-wielding machine pistols, who catches a baseball bat to the knee, and is then swarmed by angry rioters. Not waiting for their fallen comrade, the rest of the Feathered speed off north, covering the area in gunfire as they go.
With The Phoenix's Shin-Hyung positioned for an easy escape, the young woman settles down in the driver's seat, and with the four of them strapping in, she guns it herself. A block or two over, and the streets are nearly empty, with everyone doing their best to stay out of the riot and its aftermath. A quick merge onto the 377, and the team seems home free.
-
The group rides in silence for a few moments before La Sombra speaks, "Sorry, I went off script. I couldn't just watch that and not do a damn thing..."
It was going to take time getting used to working free lance and not for some amorphous 'greater good.'
-
"Sorry, I went off script. I couldn't just watch that and not do a damn thing..."
Ian keeps his hands whiteknuckling on the steering wheel and his eyes forward, scanning the road. He gives no response.
-
The group rides in silence for a few moments before La Sombra speaks, "Sorry, I went off script. I couldn't just watch that and not do a damn thing..."
"Forget it," Wraith says, lowering the window. She spits a blob of mucousy blood. "What was the worst that could happen? A fraggin' technomancer could brick my 350,000¥ deck, but so fraggin' what, eh?"
Wraith is silent for the rest of the car ride, nursing her head like it's a bad hangover, and trying not to let her knee jostle too much as she's thinking about how wiz just a line or two of novocoke would be right about now. After awhile, she plugs her hardware kit into her datajack to start running diagnostics on her deck. When she does speak next, it's to request that Hopeless drop her off near one of the maglev stations in downtown.
Exiting the car, she says, "Look, chummers, I didn't sign up to go head-to-head with a techno. I'm out. I've already deleted all my files having to do with the job, so you don't have to worry about me, and y'all already have the copies. G'luck out there."
With that, the decker turns and walks away.
#
<<8 May, 2075 11:17 // Dallas/Fort Worth>>
@The Phoenix,
Marissa sits with the rest of her team at Tawny's diner, a little greasy spoon on the south side of Dallas. They're making plans for potential next steps, when a call comes through from Mr. House.
"Hey, darlin'" he booms through her earbuds. On the vid screen she sees him chomping a cigar, and he's already got his tie loosened. Must've been a late late, or an early morning. "My little bird, I don't want to split your attention too violently from the work already underway, but something has come up. Do you have a moment or two, for kindly old uncle House?
"I've been tapped for a little bit of muscle, maybe some woo support, if you can wrangle some up. Very quick work. Won't take but a few hours from the time you meet the Johnson to the time you collect. No legwork, little bird. All that's been worked out. Maybe you bring your friend, from the other day, yes? Anyway, we got a real hot-shot decker that needs a little bolstering, if you catch my meaning, yes?
"Anyway, time is of the essence. Are you in or out? Very lucrative work, my dear. Very fast. Very easy. Whaddya say?"
@Sniffles,
Sniffles is watching a combat Biking match from last spring when a call comes in from Slim. It's just getting to the good part, where Victor Enapay catches Carl LeFleur's back tire, and sends him down hard, eating drek. But, Slim is one person, maybe the one person who Sniffles can't ignore. He puts the trideo on pause, wipes his nose, and answers the call.
"Hey, chump. Look, got a little biz that needs doing today, and you're the only one I trust to get it done right, wiz? 'sides, after my cut, you'll still take a home a nice little paycheck. You'll meet with the rest of your crew and the Johnson up in north Arlington. I'll ping you the address here in a sec. We good?"
-
As the Shin Hung was being pulled away, the Phoenix decided to go in style, rolling down the rear passenger window and sliding right in while the car was rolling out. She landed with a clatter as she began to undo all the weapons strapped to her body.
Once they were hnderway, the redhead glanced at the orc up front, giving a little smirk as she started to strip down her jcket. "Gallant knight of the people eh? Wouldn't a pegged you for that role. No complaints. Got what I needed..." if they were going to pin these hits on this gang, then that particular level of violence maybe necessary...but doable.
As Wraith was dropped off, Marissa blinked in surprise. "...well that just happened...ah, frag all" when they pulled away, she looked down t see her right arm, the burns still fresh on them from the fire spirit. The Phoenix got burnt...oh the irony.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Marissa paused mid bite into a meal processed to resemble eggs and biscuits, opening the call and realizing it was the...aloof and degrading fixer that seemed to be everywhere she went. The frag you want.. adjusting her shades, she listened with a curt nod.
And she paused, glancing to the orc lady and the human man sitting in the booth with her, chowing down with curiosity at her end of the conversation. "..you don't say...easy money, huh? Really...uh huh...well I expect a good set of chips for this, but I'll look into it.."
Muting the call for a moment before turning to the others. "my fixer. Has a quick job lined up that needs doing. Legwork provided, start and done today. Asking for muscle and mojo work...and Decker is provided...trao? Maybe. Opportunity? Definitely...yall think we don't need it, say it and I'll tell him to frag off"
-
@Sniffles,
Sniffles is watching a combat Biking match from last spring when a call comes in from Slim. It's just getting to the good part, where Victor Enapay catches Carl LeFleur's back tire, and sends him down hard, eating drek. But, Slim is one person, maybe the one person who Sniffles can't ignore. He puts the trideo on pause, wipes his nose, and answers the call.
"Hey, chump. Look, got a little biz that needs doing today, and you're the only one I trust to get it done right, wiz? 'sides, after my cut, you'll still take a home a nice little paycheck. You'll meet with the rest of your crew and the Johnson up in north Arlington. I'll ping you the address here in a sec. We good?"
Glancing at LeFleur's frozen bike mid tumble on his trideo and knowing that's gonna cost him some jing he sighs heavily, which comes across more as a wheeze to Slim. "You know I'm good for any work you've got coming my way," he says as he looks down at the shiny chrome that he owes Slim for. "Is this a glow job or am I after some data for you? What's my take home and how long do I have to prepare?"
-
Glancing at LeFleur's frozen bike mid tumble on his trideo and knowing that's gonna cost him some jing he sighs heavily, which comes across more as a wheeze to Slim. "You know I'm good for any work you've got coming my way," he says as he looks down at the shiny chrome that he owes Slim for. "Is this a glow job or am I after some data for you? What's my take home and how long do I have to prepare?"
"Digital smash and grab on a corporate host. You're going to need a device and about fifteen seconds. Make a little edit, and you're on your way, kid. Johnson'll have more details. You should net seven, maybe seven and change if you play your cards right. Sure would be nice to have before that Butchers/Slaughter game on Thursday, neh?"
-
"Aaaachooo! Sniff, sniff." He wipes his nose with a handkerchief that's seen better days, and moves towards the makeshift space heater he has even during the summer. "Wiz, I'm in! And you know exactly how well I play my cards. Speaking of when is your next house game? Get me the address and the time, I'll be there with bells on!"
He drags the heater back over towards his oversized chair by the trideo, settles in and turns the game back on. Cursing LeFleur for getting caught, he starts doing some prep work for the job.
-
Muting the call for a moment before turning to the others. "my fixer. Has a quick job lined up that needs doing. Legwork provided, start and done today. Asking for muscle and mojo work...and Decker is provided...trao? Maybe. Opportunity? Definitely...yall think we don't need it, say it and I'll tell him to frag off"
Ian doesn't like the idea of splitting his attention between two jobs, but he remembers that big ominous 0 on his cred balance and considers it.
"What's he offering?" he responds between sips of his water.
-
La Sombra watches the decker go, wondering if that could have been avoided. She'd seen decks get fried before, it wasn't the end of the tech, but she understood the sentiment. She hung her head. She'd made bad calls before, it was going to happen again, but something like this? That scene had little to do with them and she'd fragged it all up.
On a matter of principles.
She'd have to think hard about where she was going in all of this.
She came back to herself as the Phoenix was discussing another job.
"I guess I'm hardly the one to have a say, but if it'll be fast, I suppose I'm in..."
-
Marissa gauged both of their responses with cool eye behind her shades as she pouted her lips a bit, head tilting as she shrugged and gave a nod. Her small smirk returned as she held up her index finger. "Let's find out shall we?" Unmuting the call, the Phoenix slipped right back into her conversation with her Vegas-themed fixer.
"You may find Lady Luck in your favor, omae. Maybe. I've got that friend you met, and I got that woo support. What kind of cred are we talking here? It's gonna have to be pretty good if it's drawing away from task at hand, you feel me?"
Marissa will make a point to echo the numbers that are given, effectively relaying them to Hopeless and La Sombra. Quick job, and lets them meet a potentially useful Matrix specialist? It could work very well for them...
-
@The Phoenix,
"You may find Lady Luck in your favor, omae. Maybe. I've got that friend you met, and I got that woo support. What kind of cred are we talking here? It's gonna have to be pretty good if it's drawing away from task at hand, you feel me?"
"Of course, of course," Mr. House booms, "the regular job takes precedence. If the little bird is busy I can always try another in the stables. I just thought of you because the work seemed so fitting. It's really very easy work for the nuyen. It's the other concerns that are, uh, upping the blinds, as it were. You, our mutual acquaintance, and the finger waggler should each come home about seven large richer if you're interested. Are you interested, little bird?"
@Sniffles,
"Aaaachooo! Sniff, sniff." He wipes his nose with a handkerchief that's seen better days, and moves towards the makeshift space heater he has even during the summer. "Wiz, I'm in! And you know exactly how well I play my cards. Speaking of when is your next house game? Get me the address and the time, I'll be there with bells on!"
"Wiz," Slim says. "I do, I do. I may have an informal get-together this evening. Just a small game, 5,000 buy-in. At the regular spot. Let me know later if you're in, and I'll add you to the list. Jingle jangle.
"I'll tell you what, Sniff. I'm going to send a car around for you. Can you be ready in twenty?"
-
Seven could go a long way toward paying a couple long overdue bills...
With a slightly exasperated tone, he pipes up. "Yeah, I'm in. What's the details?"
-
"Sounds good omae! I'll be ready. And for the game, let's see how this run goes. If it's as milk as you say it is, I'm in!"
-
@The Phoenix, La Sombre, and Mr. Hopeless,
When The Phoenix tries pumping Mr. House for additional intel, he answers, "Look, I'm glad you're in, little bird. The Johnson'll have the rest of the details. I need you to fly over to the Sherrod Elementary School off Lincoln in Arlington. You'll want the art room. Don't be tardy now." Clearly pleased with himself, Mr. House lets out a guffaw of a laugh before ending the call.
The Phoenix is unfamiliar with the location, but La Sombre and Mr. Hopeless are able to fill her in on the drive. Located directly across the street from a dilapidated golf course that had been temporarily -- and then permanently -- re-purposed to house a tent city for Aztlan refugees, Sherrod Elementary school was originally used to process the refugees before the CAS largely withdrew its military presence from the area. In the years since, various gangs have held and lost turf around this little patch of Arlington, and for roughly the last five years, Sherrod school has offered a neutral location for truce talks and other gang politicking, as well as a fairly safe spot to unload contraband. The Johnson could do a lot worse with his choice of locales, unless his goal is to geek the team. Assuming a well-connected Johnson, Sherrod school would be an ideal place to dispose of a few problematic hoops, and he couldn't do worse at all.
It's a little after noon when The Phoenix pulls her Shin-Hyung into the parking lot. The morning's cloud cover has burned off, and the temperature is already nearing 34 Celsius. A few gangers in yellow and gold stand next to a gray Gopher, its truck bed open and lined with SMGs and automatic pistols. They regard the trio with little more than a nod, and encourage The Phoenix to walk in light. "Nothing heavier than a pistol makes its way inside, chummer."
At the reception desk, the team is directed to the art room on the second floor, and they make their way down the dilapidated hallways, still bearing some traces of its original use beneath the graffiti and trash lining the floors and walls. The art room, like a number of others they passed on the way, has the name Johnson listed in ARO lettering above the door frame. The door opens with a heavy shove, water damage having buckled the floors years ago, and the trio enters. Smells of clay and paints have long ago been supplanted by smoke -- as evidenced by barrel heater stuck in the corner with a rudimentary flue that leads out the window -- oil, and the dense smell of deepweed. The Johnson stands leaning against the teacher's desk, a green steel number that's at least a hundred years old, and is flanked by two bodyguards in gold tank tops over their armored vests and black tactical pants. The one on the right wears a Predator V in a thigh holster, while the other seems to favor the Colt Government 2066 and knives. Lots of knives.
The Johnson is a human male, maybe twenty-five years-old, with a day's worth of stubble and dark brown hair cut into a very severe fade. He wears an Ares Globetrotter vest and denim pants, tucked into Oxblood combat boots, which are thoroughly distressed. "Hoi chumps," the man says with a grin, showing two crooked front teeth. "So, you must be the team, then. We've got one more on the way. Wait," he says extending a finger toward the group while a comm comes through his earbuds. "In fact, he'll be joining us directly."
@Sniffles,
Bruno picks up Sniffles with a honk of his Mercury Comet, and the two are off. It's always good to see Bruno when he isn't there to make a collection. He has that "nothing personal" air about him that makes Sniffles have a hard time holding it against the dwarf whenever he's had to take a baseball bat to Sniffle's shins -- about as high as he can reach, truth be told. But today is a good day, and Bruno is all, "Hey, omae, take a hit off my nicstick if you want. Think I got some nova in the glove box too, if you want a little bumpy-bump 'fore you get down to biz."
On the drive to Sherrod school the pair talk Urban Brawl and street politics. "Yo, Sniff, you hear about what went down Somervell way yesterday? Nah? Drek, you need to get your hoop outta the 'trix sometime and learn a little about your own city, son. Some-a-them Feathered got got. My ol' lady's cousin lives down there, and she's all talking about how the Feathered were making some play on this hoop, ya know, make an example out of her for flying Mexican colors or some drek, when a team of runners bust in and mow 'em the fuck down, talking all 'This is our sprawl you fraggin' Azzie slitches' and drek like that. No word on who hired 'em, but they gotta have eggs the size of fucking Banshees to go in like that, chip truth."
Bruno wheels his car into the parking lot and drops Sniffles at the front door. "Did you get your lunch, honey" he says with a smirk. "Alright, omae. Go get'em. Gimme a ping later on if you need a ride, dig? Only thing I got going today is gettin' sloshed. Speaking of which, don't let the door hit you on the way out."
Sniffles unfolds himself from the car and enters the school. He's directed to the art room, where he joins the rest of the team, the Johnson, and his bodyguards.
"Alright, that's everybody," the Johnson says. "Lemme give you the broad strokes. An associate of mine, a little hopper who goes by J Boogie got picked up by the star this morning, and those fraggers are refusing his right to counsel. Being the community-minded fella that I am, I just cannot in good faith let something like that occur. What I need from y'all hoops is to rectify that, and make sure Mr. Boogie has a meeting with his attorney scheduled in his jacket before his 17:00 arraignment.
"As for the how, I got all that worked that. First thing you're going to need is a direct connection on a piece of gear slaved to the Lonestar host. Most likely, that means some beat cop's 'link. Then you get your decker to make the necessary changes to J Boogie's file. Since he's still awaiting his arraignment, the file should be accessible. Give him a 16:00 meeting with his attorney, who I'll name when you accept the job, maybe add in a little vandalism as cover, and then you get paid.
"Now before you say anything, I know, I know, I'm asking you to willfully put yourself in close proximity with the star, something all men and women such as yourselves would rather not do. And for that, I'm willing to pay 28,000¥ to divide out however you want. Whatchu think?"
-
@Sniffles,
Bruno picks up Sniffles with a honk of his Mercury Comet, and the two are off. It's always good to see Bruno when he isn't there to make a collection. He has that "nothing personal" air about him that makes Sniffles have a hard time holding it against the dwarf whenever he's had to take a baseball bat to Sniffle's shins -- about as high as he can reach, truth be told. But today is a good day, and Bruno is all, "Hey, omae, take a hit off my nicstick if you want. Think I got some nova in the glove box too, if you want a little bumpy-bump 'fore you get down to biz."
On the drive to Sherrod school the pair talk Urban Brawl and street politics. "Yo, Sniff, you hear about what went down Somervell way yesterday? Nah? Drek, you need to get your hoop outta the 'trix sometime and learn a little about your own city, son. Some-a-them Feathered got got. My ol' lady's cousin lives down there, and she's all talking about how the Feathered were making some play on this hoop, ya know, make an example out of her for flying Mexican colors or some drek, when a team of runners bust in and mow 'em the fuck down, talking all 'This is our sprawl you fraggin' Azzie slitches' and drek like that. No word on who hired 'em, but they gotta have eggs the size of fucking Banshees to go in like that, chip truth."
Sniffles declines both the nicstick and the bump. He thinks twice about the bump, but he doesn't want to deal with the crash in the middle of a run. Sniff, "Thanks chummer, not this time. And someone tossed a few Feathered? Guess they got a bit ruffled, eh?" He chuckles at his own bad pun. "Not bad for not even my native tongue," he thinks to himself.
Bruno wheels his car into the parking lot and drops Sniffles at the front door. "Did you get your lunch, honey" he says with a smirk. "Alright, omae. Go get'em. Gimme a ping later on if you need a ride, dig? Only thing I got going today is gettin' sloshed. Speaking of which, don't let the door hit you on the way out."
Sniffles unfolds himself from the car and enters the school. He's directed to the art room, where he joins the rest of the team, the Johnson, and his bodyguards.
In response to the lunch comment Sniffles responds "Eh suck a hoop ya fragger!" with a grin knowing Bruno would take the joke well.
"Yeah, I'll probably drop you a line later. Dunno who's got wheels around here. Be safe omae, and have one for me." He says as he's unfolding himself.
"Alright, that's everybody," the Johnson says. "Lemme give you the broad strokes. An associate of mine, a little hopper who goes by J Boogie got picked up by the star this morning, and those fraggers are refusing his right to counsel. Being the community-minded fella that I am, I just cannot in good faith let something like that occur. What I need from y'all hoops is to rectify that, and make sure Mr. Boogie has a meeting with his attorney scheduled in his jacket before his 17:00 arraignment.
"As for the how, I got all that worked that. First thing you're going to need is a direct connection on a piece of gear slaved to the Lonestar host. Most likely, that means some beat cop's 'link. Then you get your decker to make the necessary changes to J Boogie's file. Since he's still awaiting his arraignment, the file should be accessible. Give him a 16:00 meeting with his attorney, who I'll name when you accept the job, maybe add in a little vandalism as cover, and then you get paid.
"Now before you say anything, I know, I know, I'm asking you to willfully put yourself in close proximity with the star, something all men and women such as yourselves would rather not do. And for that, I'm willing to pay 28,000¥ to divide out however you want. Whatchu think?"
The diminutive troll looks at the group of runners infront of him, trying to gauge their reaction to the request. It's a tight timeline, but once they get a 'link it shouldn't take more than a minute, two tops to do the data work.
Achooo! He pulls his coat closed even in the 34º heat. "If we can get the 'link, I can do the job," he says to the whole group. To the three runners, "You chummers down for knocking over a copper? Or better yet, know a 'Star that could get us a 'temp' link?"
-
As the man speaks, Gabriela clasps her hands together in front of herself, her left thumb rubbing over the top of her right hand. The troll speaks and she nods.
"Certainly this could be done, but you have to understand that we are in a bit of a time crunch, as recent activities have pushed our timetables up on another task. To pull us away and jeopardize it must be more than worth our while. That is to say, it is not enough that it is a... how do you call it... 'Milk Run,' but that we must do this quickly, and prioritize it. Surely, your budget must account for this?"
She speaks calmly, any self-doubts from the previous incident simply not evident in her casual manner. She offers him a smile, tusks bared in a face that she had often been told was 'too pretty for a trog.' The combination often cause men to forget themselves. More than a few women as well.
-
"Certainly this could be done, but you have to understand that we are in a bit of a time crunch, as recent activities have pushed our timetables up on another task. To pull us away and jeopardize it must be more than worth our while. That is to say, it is not enough that it is a... how do you call it... 'Milk Run,' but that we must do this quickly, and prioritize it. Surely, your budget must account for this?"
The Johnson's smile, along with his snaggle tooth vanishes. "I don't give a drek about your other work. If you can't do it, ya shouldn't have come on out here, and . . ." he pauses for a moment, cocking his head to the side like he did before Sniffles made his way up. Quickly back-pedaling he adds, "Alright, alright, ya got a point. Everybody's gotta eat, right? I'll do thirty-three and a half. But seriously, omae, that taps me out. I don't know how we're gonna pay J Boogie's legal fees after this, ya dig?"
-
The ork gives the fellow a warm smile; despite his initial reaction. "I think that's more than fair, thank you for your consideration," she looks to the others to await their own nods of approval to the job.
-
Ian has been quiet and observant with this new johnson. Nothing sets off any alarms with him until the haggling begins. Something about the tone when he says...
"I don't know how we're gonna pay J Boogie's legal fees after this, ya dig?"
makes Ian feel funny. There was never a lawyer. J boogie is meeting an assassin before he can turn states evidence against someone. He frowns, but remains silent. Feeling La Sombra looking at him expectantly, he returns her gaze with an unhappy look on his gaunt face. A small nod, then his eyes are back to keeping watch on the two bodyguards, just in case they're assassins, too.
-
The Johnson's snaggle-toothed grin makes another appearance now that it looks like they have a deal. "Nova." He produces a commlink from his vest, and hands it over to La Sombre. "There's only one code saved in that. Give it a call when the job's done. You'll also find a file that has his lawyer's name and all that biz. J Boogie was picked up west of the 620, so you'll probably want someone from Fort Worth East. Happy hunting."
The Johnson extends his hand to each runner in turn, beginning with La Sombre, and awaits the team's departure.
-
The only indication of reaction to the increased offer from the redheaded human was a raising of the eyebrow, masked by her shades as she stayed back and silent. Surviving a fight against all odds was her specialty...talking not so much at the moment. Still, she cast a sidelong Glace at the relatively small troll they were set up with...their decker.
Sizing him up, she turned her head in a slow tilt as she made eye contact with La Sombra, giving a dip of a nod as she sat back. Her pistols were poking out behind her hips as she eased in her seat, favoring the burnt arm a bit before rising with the team. Firmly shaking their Johnson's hand, she gave a smirk before speaking. "Appears we have an accord..." letting their speaker take the link, she turned to look at the bodyguards, lifting her chin in open recognition, swaggering a little as they moved to depart.
-
As they head out of the room, Sniffles looks at the crew he's going to be working with. The redheaded human walks with a physical authority born of competence, or great acting ability but given the situation Sniffles is assuming the former. The millitary-esque ork that negotiated them a nice bonus on this run reminds him of a second-story man he used to work with on occasion back in Sante Fe, but she could be the team's finger-waggler. Unless that was the bedraggled human male that looks like with little effort he could fit in anywhere.
Regardless, he hoped they'd be able to get him the 'link he needed. This was some fast jing, but they needed to get moving if that was gonna happen.
"Hoi chummers, guess we'll be working together for a few hours. And nice job on the extra jing. Folks' round here call me Sniffles and as advertised earlier, I generally run data jobs." He pauses to sneeze and wipe his nose with his beleaguered handkerchief. "And who would you fine ladies and gent be?"
Once they introduce themselves he asks, "Should we grab one of the class rooms in a quiet wing of the school to hash out a plan or does your team have a place to work out of? I'm sure between the four of us we can do a reasonable job of making sure we aren't overheard here."
-
"Phoenix" the redhead took the initiative to introduce herself to the troll once they departed the rom, her boots clacking as she turned in place to face him directly. Her jacket molded to her body well as she did so, flashing the handles of a pair of pistols at her back before she offered a slim hand to shake.
"A pleasure...Sniffles" her nose wrinkled slightly at the name...but it took no guessing to figure why he got such a handle. "Generally data jobs, huh? Seems kinda tame..well, if you say you can do this, then wiz. As for where..." she turned her head, lips pursed as she examined their surroundings. "It may be a squeeze, but I got a ride. Make a plan on the go, no chance of listeners...well, less chance. Mobile target and all that...yall don't mind piling in a Shin Hyung aye?"
-
"La Sombra, I get in and about or talk it out, right?" Gabriela says. "And it'll be a squeeze for sure, but it's probably safer, as Phoenix says."
The ork offers Sniffles a warm smile, though she doesn't offer a hand, her eyes flicking briefly to the handkerchief.
-
Ian has a bad feeling about this new decker. It's not like anything about him rubs Ian the wrong way or anything, it's just that matrix folks seem to have bad luck on teams with Mr Hopeless. This new guy, Sniffles, seems likable. Let's try our hardest to not wind up pawning this hoops deck fourty-eight hours from now.
Once the four of them are clear of the private room with the nasty Johnson and introductions are being made, he nods to Sniffles with a sour and resigned look before speaking. "Mister Hopeless. Astral/Support. Nice ta meetcha." He never breaks stride on their way back to the car. As he's buckling the seatbelt in around him in the backseat, he starts actually thinking about the job at hand. Despite being a little nervous at the concept of jacking a cop, he's got to admit, the idea kind of gets him excited. After a couple blocks of the city go by, he leans forward a little bit so as to be better heard by the front seat.
"So, what's the plan? We just grabbin a lawman off the street and throwin him in the trunk or what?"
-
"Phoenix" the redhead took the initiative to introduce herself to the troll once they departed the rom, her boots clacking as she turned in place to face him directly. Her jacket molded to her body well as she did so, flashing the handles of a pair of pistols at her back before she offered a slim hand to shake.
"A pleasure...Sniffles" her nose wrinkled slightly at the name...but it took no guessing to figure why he got such a handle. "Generally data jobs, huh? Seems kinda tame..well, if you say you can do this, then wiz. As for where..." she turned her head, lips pursed as she examined their surroundings. "It may be a squeeze, but I got a ride. Make a plan on the go, no chance of listeners...well, less chance. Mobile target and all that...yall don't mind piling in a Shin Hyung aye?"
After another sneeze he grins with all of his teeth, and the hue of his dreads turning a dark purple he stands up straight and broad. While still small for a troll he towers over the rest of the team. And from hidden somewhere within his long coat a large machine pistol appears in his gleaming chrome hand. "I've been known to 'tame' things before little one. I might not be as skilled as you, but I can hold my own when I need to." And in a blink the pistol has disappeared back into the depths of his coat. He lets out a belly laugh knowing that while effective he's not really a fighter. "I won't let you down with the going gets tough."
"La Sombra, I get in and about or talk it out, right?" Gabriela says. "And it'll be a squeeze for sure, but it's probably safer, as Phoenix says."
The ork offers Sniffles a warm smile, though she doesn't offer a hand, her eyes flicking briefly to the handkerchief.
"The Shadow, eh? Usted no dice. Tu brillas, en la sombra o la luz." As she eyes his handkerchief he raises his metallic arm and says, "Stays nice and clean, no? Also you don't need to worry, the runny nose is special for me. It can't make anyone else sick, so safe to as you say, 'squeeze' into the little car. Good thing I'm so small, neh?"
Ian has a bad feeling about this new decker. It's not like anything about him rubs Ian the wrong way or anything, it's just that matrix folks seem to have bad luck on teams with Mr Hopeless. This new guy, Sniffles, seems likable. Let's try our hardest to not wind up pawning this hoops deck fourty-eight hours from now.
Once the four of them are clear of the private room with the nasty Johnson and introductions are being made, he nods to Sniffles with a sour and resigned look before speaking. "Mister Hopeless. Astral/Support. Nice ta meetcha." He never breaks stride on their way back to the car. As he's buckling the seatbelt in around him in the backseat, he starts actually thinking about the job at hand. Despite being a little nervous at the concept of jacking a cop, he's got to admit, the idea kind of gets him excited. After a couple blocks of the city go by, he leans forward a little bit so as to be better heard by the front seat.
"So, what's the plan? We just grabbin a lawman off the street and throwin him in the trunk or what?"
Ahh, so there's the magic support. "Mister Hopeless, a pleasure." No odder a street name than my own I guess.
He folds himself into the back of the car with Mister Hopeless. "We could do that, though all we need is the 'link. Maybe lift the link and keep him distracted for a few minutes?"
Attempted translation (sorry to actual Spanish speakers for how butchered this probably is!): "You don't say. You shine, in the shadows or the light."
Also, I know the quick draw and the Spanish would be rolls, but figured I could "buy hits" for the RP value here as they aren't really opposed. He can buy 3 hits (needs 2) for the quickdraw, and 2 hits for the Spanish. Hope I didn't over-step.
-
"Well," says the shaggy headed man to the compressed troll seated next to him. "Sombra here is the 'lift the link' type and I'm the 'distract him for a few minutes' in the equation. You hack the link, and Phoenix watches all our backs when whatever goes wrong goes wrong?" He goes back to watching out the window.
-
In the Honda, Marissa keeps her eyes cooly set on the road in front of her, gloved hands firmly on the wheel. the sleeves of her jacket were pulled up a bit, showing off the still fairly fresh burns she had received from before, but she made no reaction to them. From the ashes, I rise She thought to herself as she listened to the others. The troll's hair is an interesting bit...maybe chromed with flashy hair? Hm
When talk of how to approach the job came up, the Phoenix blinked twice before giving a slow rolling shrug of the shoulders. "I echo Hopeless's sentiments...La Sombra, you're the best to handle this sitch if we're just picking one up. It's a subtle move...and I'm anything but subtle. However, if that turns out bad and we need to stuff a hoop somewhere? Well, then I'm your huckleberry..."
Flashing a smirk, she made a turn to join the main roads, awaiting direction as she simply drove through towards areas that seemed nice enough to warrant Lone Star patrols...
-
"A quick grab is easy enough, quiet and smooth, no muss, no fuss. I think that's the best C-O-A."
-
"I know a little diner a few blocks off from the precinct," Sniffles pipes up helpfully, taking a break from his overwatch. "Things are pretty dead around here."
"Wouldn't hurt to take a look," the Phoenix says, and once Sniffles comms over the pin, she takes the next left, and makes her way to Finnegans. They're closer to the suburbs now. There isn't as much trash on the streets, and Sniffles can see the camera icons are actually functioning, The bars over shop windows have likewise been replaced with slick AROs advertising FizzyPop and SoyCorn Bits, as well as a small orderly grocery store advertising that they carry REal™ Apples.
When The Phoenix pulls into the diner parking lot, they immediately see two Lone Star cars parked near the front door.
"They're hee-eere," The Phoenix says.
-
Sniffles rouses from the Matrix to look at the crew. The Phoenix is their muscle, La Sombre is infiltration and Mr. Hopeless the astral. The four of them have their bases pretty well covered.
As they pull into parking lot, he pipes up. "What do you say we go get a seat inside. Order a little bit of food, have Mr. Hopeless and the Phoenix get into a bit of an argument over something close enough to the Star for them to come say something. La Sombre take that opportunity to lift one of their 'comms and bring it to me for a few min. We 'find' it on the floor by their table and return it to them none the wiser?"
He sneezes into his ever present handkerchief, briefly blowing his nose. "Once I've my mitts on it, I'll need it for less than a minute. So doesn't need to be that long of a distraction. Sound like a solid plan?"
-
Marissa cocked a little smirk as they pulled up, nodding affirmatively at their new decker's plan. "Seems solid enough, and keeps us all busy. I like it."[/b] She glanced over at Hopeless as she cut the engine, her grin lingering as she pulled her overcoat around her shoulders. "I'm sure we could find something to argue about...just a fly in the ointment to these Star grunts."
As they got out, she muttered a little under her breath as well, fixing up her hair and deciding to carry pretty light for this plan...pistols and knife. "We'll get going on it once we're situated...play the field as it were"
-
[temporary place holder]