[Lysanderz]

Rio de Jineiro is the kind of place that 'Runners dream about. The shoulders of the rich rub with the poor (Or at least the bodyguards of the rich bump shoulders with them), politics is controlled by money and misinformation, visitors get sucked into the white sand beaches while slum lords raise militias and gangs strong enough to give the police pause. The metroplex seems constantly alive with people going here and there whether they are high rollers or scratching out an existence that makes the barrens and warrens of home look posh. As twistedly beautiful as the city is with its shantytowns amongst the high rises, the shadows run deep and there is plenty of work to be found.

There is plenty glamorous to see in what used to be considered the downtown of the 'Plex, dance clubs that party all night long, a red light district full of whatever vice you desire, fine dining and underground raves. With all the hubbub and opportunity to sit with the wealthy at the same poker table or at least catch the thumping music of the latest dance craze while slotted out of your mind it seemed almost a shame that tonight would be spent in the basement of some abandoned warehouse watching illegal gladiatorial games. The weekend saw metahuman fist fighst, awakened animals trained to tear each other to shreds and even the betting on how fast a hellhound could catch devil rats. The place had that smell that one can only find in similar dens of gambling. The warm smell of tabacco and tar, the stale saline in the air from sweat, and that rotted copper smell of dried blood.

Of course you only came here for three reasons: To fight, to bet, or for work. This humble gathering of bottom tier criminals included some of the scummiest people that walked the streets of Rio, and Patrick O'Hennehan. Patrick was a gray haired man in a second hand suit watched over by an ex-special forces bodyguard as he drank bottom shelf beer and spent his last few pennies on whatever cockfight might be happening in the ring. Tonight was no different, except for his lack of shaving the last couple days and his change to a navy blue business suit with some well worn patches instead of his normal gray. A cigarette was clenched, probably forgotten, between his thumb and forefinger as he took a nervous sip from his bottle and watched the current bout of an Elf versus a dark skinned human of apparently Haitian descent. Burke, whom many considered the only reason that Patrick was alive stood by vigilantly and kept most of the rougher crowd away from his employer's table dressed in his finest camo pants and white wifebeater. Of course when you're a troll of his size armor is usually optional in low-danger settings.

Whether you liked it or not, this was where your fixer told you to go and said that Patrick was the man to speak to about some job worth more than a little cred on the streets. With a roaring crowd, a fight in progress and plenty of drugs or women to be found perhaps this grungy place wasn't quite the rust bucket it seemed. Then again, maybe it was just the type of shit hole that got a promising runner geeked before his career ever really got a chance to begin.

[Tiamut024]

         Finding a parking spot for his GMC Bulldog wasn't too difficult, the lot was littered with bikes and compact cars. Activating his synthetic cyberarm's cyberarm slide, his arm split open and in a matter of a second his Ruger Super Warhawk was in his hand. Flicking the heavy pistol to the side while holding down the cylinder release lever, he had to make sure it was loaded. "Two rounds short?" he pondered a moment, then a quick flashback hit and he laughed slightly to himself "Oh yea..." He rectified the problem and promptly placed two rounds into the proper chambers.
         Slamming his vehicle's door behind him, Tyrium clenched his teeth contemplating a thought. Was this path chosen by him, or for him. Regardless, it was time to put his game face on, after all he hasn't been out of it that long. Cracking his neck and shaking his arms, he made his way toward the entrance.

[RHat]

Siobhan parked her bike outside the club.  She couldn't exactly go bringing a machine gun with her, but thank the Morrigan for pistol-sized grenade launchers.  Still, it would pay to escape notice...  She set the camo pattern on her clothes to something that suit the surroundings, and strode on in.

She didn't much want to do this sort of work, but it was her only skill set...  And after the Azzies damned surprise attack, she didn't even have a war to fight anymore.  The Amazonian government may have made their peace with Aztlan, but she sure as hell hadn't.

[Lyralie]

Trekking it from her slummy apartment to the sleazy bar where she was told to meet the Johnson, a man named Patrick, might not have been the brightest idea she's had this month. It wasn't by far the worst one she's had either int he past six months since she'd been dumped in this hell forsaken city after that fateful night back at school. Life wasn't so bad, she'd managed to get her hands on a decent weapon and some passable materials to establish a life and continue her studies. Still, paying off her fixer for tonight's meet has her hurting even more for Nuyen than she was to begin with. Food was more a commodity than necessity these days while she struggles to make a name for herself and find a team to work with on a daily basis. IN the past few months she'd scored a handful of low paying jobs that kept her afloat in the crummy apartment, but life wasn't luxurious by any means.

With her focus more on her thoughts than the surrounding streets Hailyn makes yet another wrong turn forcing her to backtrack yet again. Thankfully she'd left over an hour early giving her time to meander through the city without having to worry about such incidents. It wasn't the first time she'd get turned around or the last. Behind her, invisible to the naked eye, a spirit follows at ready to protect its master should the need arise. Hurried steps keep her from finding too much trouble from the locals as she moves finally reaching her destination with time to spare. A gas mask hangs loosely around her neck on the off chance she might need it and shabby mundane clothes cover her simple second-hand armored suit she'd scored in the last job. Her pale red hair is swept carelessly up into a bun at the nape of her neck barely covering the collar of a long, also shabby, black duster that helps to hide how thin she truly is from the casual observer. A glance down tells her the meet should take place in roughly twenty minutes leaving her enough time to canvas the bar before the Johnson arrives.

Involuntarily she wrinkles her nose as seh steps through the door taking a moment for her eyes to adjust. To and fro her blue eyes move scanning the room for any minor details that might jump out at her before moving slowly towards a vacant table, or the Johnson if he's arrived early. What the night has in store she doesn't quite know, but it had better be fruitful. Fingers seek the very empty pockets of her jacket coming up ith little more than lint and a few scraps of paper. "It had better be worth it indeed." She mutters under her breath.

[Lysanderz]

The nit and grit of the warehouse and its current occupants could be considered practically overwhelming. Cartel men served beer, whores waitressed tables made from scrap plymood and old shipping containers. The meaty smacks of flesh on flesh combat brought the roar of the crowds into the place.

Every step towards the ring, or towards Patrick's table for that matter, was a bump against someone else. The outer fringes of the crowd seemed interested in finding men capable of covering their bets before the fight finished. It was a pack of rats all gathered together and ready to scatter the second an actual authority appeared to make them do so. In the ring was a brutal example of testosterone as the dark skinned human showed a superior strength with every blow he landed seemed to force the elf further from the center.

Around Hennehan's table were several empty chairs that Burke made sure to keep others away from with a grunt and a hard shove usually. It seemed that Patrick was waiting for someone but as to who that someone was could only be guessed at.

(Please make a perception check, rolled with www.Invisiblecastle.com and post the results on the OOC section. Sorry for the short post tonight, but buckle up. We're just getting started)

[Lysanderz]

Hailyn would be the first to see it, the slap patch hidden on the underside of every napkin beneath every drink handed out. This place was not only a gladiatorial arena but a drug den for people on who knew what while they watched the brutality in the pit. Siobhan and Tyrium would notice it as well but they’d fail to see the connection quite as clearly as Hailyn. This hub of activity was run by one of the many cartels, most likely the Renonas in this region, and as such gambling was really only a front to satisfy the local law enforcement’s curiosity should they decide to bust the games.

The real story though was that of Burke, at least as far as Hailyn would be concerned. While everyone else was trying to piece together the drugs and the cartel they missed a small detail that surrounded their potential employer. Every cup that came his way, ever patron that tried to sit down at one of the chairs obviously left out for the company of others; he was quick to give a shove or a stern word to but also slip a folded up note into breast pockets or opened hands. It was a strange thing bribing so many people, if it was a bribe, and even stranger passing out so many notes. One could only guess at the real motives behind these discrete movements but they all seemed to be carried out with a nod of Patrick’s head.

[Tiamut024]

         Amidst the chaos of the crowd, Tyrium dug his way to his mark. He always hated these kinds of places, the vermin filth cockroaches of society at every turn. However the fight in the ring kept his attention enough to prevent an outburst. At least that was the reason he told himself, not the fact he was alone, surrounded and couldn't even dream to make enough room to use a firearm. More then one patron looked Tyrium in the eye like a rabid dog, or maybe he was getting paranoid. Why wouldn't he be, they have no etiquette, no culture and no honor... Why did he agree to come to such a place.
         Then, finally, he reached his destination. It was one of the few areas the crowd did not envelop like a plague. He approached an empty chair from the back, placed his hands gently on the head of the chair, and nodded to Patrick. "I heard you need help with something." He then glances at Burke, preparing for any violent reaction the Troll might give "I believe you are expecting me, names Tyrium."

[Lyralie]

Single voices compete with each other chanting and cheering on the fighters until they all meld together creating a buzzing roar giving Hailyn the impression of buzzing flies, their wings a weaker echo to the din of the warehouse. Moving unseen behind her the Spirit of Man seems completely unaffected by the ruckus, the continuing onslaught of bodies pressing closer to one another with each passing of fists. Involuntarily she glances behind her checking to be sure the bound spirit still lingers on her six its manifestation a fit, but lean male human wielding a hand and a half sword. While its form leaves her unsettled she finds herself reassured as she turns to face the crowds once more.

It reminds her of one of the many parties she attended back in school. Dirt clouds the air becoming small particles of grit that cling to clothes and are crunchy when caught on the moist atmosphere of one's mouth. Perspiration ramps up the humidity in the warehouse making party-goers antsy, anxious even as they mill about consuming whatever the new-fangled drug might be likely aiding in stirring up their adrenaline. Copper and sugar tease her nostrils the scent of spilled blood bittersweet and too familiar for her liking. She was more than certain if she looked down she might find traces of old blood from previous nights and possibly new both from scheduled fights and the occasional outbursts between patrons.  A single brow perks as her blue gaze sweeps the room once more taking note of the small patches tucked beneath napkins handed out by the barkeep and waitresses. Having no desire to partake in such activities she makes a mental note to avoid the bar, or at least the napkins.

"Ah, there he is, and a human too?" Her words lift from partially curled lips disappearing into the crowd's roar. As she shoulders her way through the crowd Hailyn flips from normal vision to astral taking a sweep of the room noting whatever it is that might stick out at her before focusing on the Johnson and his body guard. Slowing her steps to delay arriving at the awaiting table she astrally assensses both before slipping back into regular vision, picking up the pace once more. Some patrons try to slip into some of the vacant chairs only to be handled by the troll who ought to pick up palming, so deft are his hands. It isn’t that she is unused to nimble fingers in her new profession, she learned early to keep what she valued tucked away in inner pockets or left at home, but for such a burly figure to be so skilled has her questioning some of the assumptions she’s made in the few months she’s been her.
“Patrick?” Her question didn’t necessarily need affirmation though it was the only ral greeting she was willing to offer before hooking the toe of her boot around the leg of one empty chair and pulling it out enough for her to hunker down, with some iota of grace. Another possible member of the party has already arrived, but Hailyn keeps her silence not wanting to strike up any friendly conversation in this place.

[RHat]

Hm, seems like anything could happen moment to moment here...  I'm really not in the mood to put up with any crap today; best if I keep sharp.  She wove together a bit of a boost to her reaction speed, allowing the spell to root into her sustaining focus, before putting a second together to keep her mind moving quickly - this one too powerful for the focus, but very useful all the same, for it made it less dangerous for her to channel the wild forces of the world.

This done, Siobhan moved up to the table where the meet was supposed to be, and opened her Sight to get a look at the people assembled there, before closing it and turning to a detailed examination in the physical.  Satisfied that she had seen what she needed to see, she approached the table and took a seat.  "I'm told you're expecting me.  I would prefer we get straight to biz; I'm not much enamored with crowds these days."


15E5 => 8 | die: D6, ones: 1
Spellcasting: Increase Reflexes Force 3
10E5 => 3 | die: D6, ones: 3
Drain Resistance

Spellcasting: Increase Intuition Force 5
 15E5 => 5 | die: D6, ones: 2
Drain Resistance
 10E5 => 4 | die: D6, ones: 1

She's now operating at, net, Initiative 14 and 3 IPs, and an Intuition score of 9.  However, she is also suffering a sustaining penalty of -2.  All Drain is fully resisted.

Assensing in the following order: Bodyguard, Patrick, Tyrium, Hailyn
8E5 => 2 | die: D6; 4 | die: D6, ones: 3; 4 | die: D6, ones: 3; 6 | die: D6

Tiamut: Not sure what she sees when Assensing you because you didn't post your full character - that's enough hits to perceive any ware that you can have at chargen, for example, and to know your exact Essence.  You should probably just put your full character sheet up to make it easier to deal with these things.

Perception on everyone gathered for the meet as a group.
11E5 => 3 | die: D6, ones: 3

[Basic]

Sinner drives to the place and slowly gets out his car. After locking it He sends up his fly spy above him to watch his back as he walks through the crowds to were his fixer told him to go. He moves through the crowds like water barely brushing anyone has he has on his coat and vest. He scans the crowds with look for any signs of danger. He see's kids playing in the streets, People doing drugs. "Look at it all what a shame.". When he makes his way in to the building he does a quick scan for wireless signatures in the area and he checks his news feeds as he goes in. Sinner pulls his bowler hat on his head a bit tighter and checks the time on his pocket watch as he goes directly for where he is support to mean the Johnson.
As he goes in he checks to checks to make sure his handguns are loaded and he sends his drone to the room ahead of him. As looks at random signatures to make sure no one is trying to hack him. As he makes his way to the room and checks to see who else is in the room.

[Lysanderz]

Patrick couldn't keep himself from looking up as individuals of a different caliber approached his table and Burke went so far as to shift and become a physical barrier between the gathered individuals and the rest of the warehouse's occupants. Patrick had paid some good Nuyen for these introductions and he hoped they'd be up to task and his money was not simply squandered.

He glanced around the table to examine the individuals and trying to identify them with the monikers he had bought from their individual fixers and friends. Still, he had limited time to work with and his resources were stretched quite thin. All of his sources pointed to his backyard and what better place to make a fortune than in Rio?

"I'll assume that Burke isn't a total fool for letting you through, yeah?" The accented lilted slightly towards An Irish dialect of English. "My name is Patrick and I've been hired by some interesting individuals looking for a team for what could be my retirement. Let me tell you exactly how much I look forward to that future, so excuse me for assuming that you are all amateurs despite the amount I spent just to meet you today."

He coughed briefly and reached into his jacket to gently place a data chip onto the table in front of him, waiting for one of the gathered individuals to slot it.

"So to make sure you're the ones for the job, I would like you to look over this."

All the while others observed him and his bodyguard Burke carefully, even going so far as to peak into the astral. While Burke was almost a blackhole of essence loss, Patrick seemed untouched with an almost golden aura around him. He seemed in good spirits, good health, and completely unaltered and unawakened. The scene seemed quite normal for a meet with nothing out of place at the moment at least.

[RHat]

"We're here because we're professionals; I've already had to prove myself in combat zones and more discrete operations across the planet.  Which is to say that it would be preferable if you did not waste our time with some sort of 'test', I know that at least my record speaks for itself."  She popped the chip into her work comm and tasked her agent to analyze it before she decided whether or not to actually load it.


Agent Matrix Perception Test
7E5 => 2 | die: D6

[Lyralie]

A single brow lifts quizzically, but she remains silent refusing to be shaken by the Johnson's commentary. Her distaste for humanity and the pressing crowd egged on by the fight has her anxious and ready to relocate to someplace less quiet. Feeling it best to keep her silence she allows the other woman to claim the chip feeling it safer for her body not to chance something untested.

Hopefully, sooner rather than later, the Jonson would present the job and all of its details so they could get started.

[Tiamut024]

Tyrium remained patient and oddly eager to find out what Patrick had on that data chip. When Siobhan nabbed the chip Tyrium was also in the motion of grabbing it. He quickly regained his posture but started tapping his foot as he awaited his turn to view the data. He wanted get this meet over with, before the crowd broke into a riot. At least that was what he expected from such degenerates.

[Lysanderz]

The agent reports that the chip has no firewall and 0 programs installed. It does however have 2 data packets and a picture stored on it.

Patrick simply smiles, waiting for the runners to take their turn with the data chop and the roar of the crowd signals the end of the fight. Those who cared saw that the human had won, causing many to groan and pass markers for currency towards the bookies in the room.