[Ryo]

"Aztlan beer. Lots of it." He answers automatically, but considers it for a moment. He did love the taste of his favorite beer, but it might as well be water for how likely it was to get him as drunk as he wanted.

"Find bottle label that most resembles poison. Buy some of that too." Error adds with a confident nod.

[Poindexter]

The liquor store near midnight in ork town is a horrifying place, full of desperate and broken people, but tonight Ian Bradley fits in with them perfectly. Sure, he's the only human here. But the look on his face, the expression of his posture; They're all the same as everyone elses: Hopeless. He staggers through the dimly lit and bleach smelling store wondering just how much beer is "lots of it" to an Ork and decides to mull it over after he finds the bottles he's looking for.

A few minutes later, he's at the checkout counter with one bottle of high end Aztlan tequila, another bottle full of a thick brown substance called "Poon Hound" with a black label featuring an angry skeletal dog pouring a shot of liquor through it's skull, and two 24 packs of Aztlan beer. At least he hopes it is. Its written in Aztlan anyways. At least, he thinks it is. Shit looks like spanish, but it aint. Kinda like portugese. "Awww c'mon! You're fuckin kidding me! How the fuck do you not have limes OR salt and you sell tequila!?" The fat balding ork behind the counter takes a drag off his cigar before putting it down in his ashtray and standing up to dwarf the tiny human man. "Hey... Squish... You buyin or what?" he slurs out with his left hand resting 2 inches from a remington roomsweeper strapped to the underside of the counter.

Frustrated as fuck, Ian grits his teeth and clenches his fists. He manages to get himself under control. With the same sense of defeat and acceptance he's become accustomed to from this day, he says, "Yeah, I'm buyin." and slides his credstick across the counter, broadcasting his name, Emanuel Vasquez.

After sending a mental order to the americar to pop the trunk, he puts his purchase inside, then gets back in the front seat with Error. "Good fuckin idea, Omae. Chip truth."

[rednblack]

It's a little after midnight by the time Error and Hopeless slide a passkey and enter the hotel room.  the only light comes from the trid, set to the local channel, which is now broadcasting selections from Error's reel.  A much younger Error lifts his opponent high above his head and tosses him into a flying body-slam from his teammate, an exceptionally agile dwarf leaping from the turnbuckle.  Igor faces the camera, holds his arms out wide, and it's even obvious to Hopeless that "The Bear's" signature move is coming.  Error sighs and walks to the kitchen to make drinks.  The shots come out first, while the beer "cools," though it only takes about three minutes before one of them breaks and starts chasing the tequila with the warm and questionable beer. 

The next clip is one that Error immediately recognizes.  A tall human dressed like a red samurai catches one of Igor's haymakers, and follows up with an open-palmed grab to the throat.  He lifts Igor and twists his arm as he speaks in a mocking tone, "E-gor," he says exaggerating his opponent's accent.  "More like Error,"  He slams Igor down hard, and begins to punch him squarely in the face until the referee calls the bout.  The clip immediately rewinds, closes in on Error's body as the the red samurai attempts his throat grab.  Error seems to lean back, and tilt his head to allow an easier grasp.

"What we have here," an expert on the subsidiary channel says, "is every reason to believe that this fight was thrown.  See here, how he arches his back, and then to open himself up like that when the hold is coming.  Igor "the bear" was a better fighter than this.  Frankly, I'm embarrassed this hasn't come to our attention sooner."

The PR campaign has already started.

The team awakens finding it hard to breathe in the stuffy hotel room.  Air conditioning, it seems, is an add on.  Or the system's out.  Neither would be surprising.  Hopeless groggily turns over, upsetting an empty beer bottle on the bedside table, and checks his chirping commlink.

>>Incoming Message
>>Sender: Dr. Ken
>>Message: We need to talk.  In meeting.  Lunch?
>>End Message

Error also has a message on his comm, sent about a half hour ago.

>>Incoming Message
>>Sender: Dadlez
>>Message: Additional comms clear?  Unfortunate about Breeze.  Can job still be completed on schedule?
>>End Message 

[JackVII]

[21APR2075 0800 | Room 217 | Stoker 8 Motel | College Station, TX | CAS]

Bookworm woke up groggy and tired, the nightmares hadn't helped much. While she understood the business she had decided to involve herself in was, by its very nature, dangerous, she hadn't thought she would come so close to death so quickly. Breeze's shattered cheek and the large hole in the back of his head had played a starring role in her nightmares, even worse that he was talking to her like some kind of undead creature. The constant dream whispers were clearly just a manifestation of survivor's guilt.

>>Survivor's Guilt: Survivor guilt (or survivor's guilt; also called survivor syndrome or survivor's syndrome) is a mental condition that occurs when a person perceives themselves to have done wrong by surviving a traumatic event when others did not. It may be found among survivors of combat, natural disasters, epidemics, among the friends and family of those who have died by suicide, and in non-mortal situations such as among those whose colleagues are laid off. The experience and manifestation of survivor's guilt will depend...

Backhanding the ARO with a dismissive swipe, the dwarf rolled out of bed and headed toward the small bathroom. She had made her peace with Breeze the night prior... drek happens.

Glancing in the bathroom, she was not at all surprised to note the absence of complimentary toiletries. Shrugging, Bookworm turned the water on and washed her mouth out, rubbing the grime off her teeth with a finger. It vaguely reminded her of the time her parents took her on safari in Azania and they roughed it for a few days. Turning off the cold water, she allowed the hot water to take over and pulled off the bandage on her arm, noting that the healing process seemed to be working. Using the water, the dwarf cleaned the wound further and felt fortunate that the bullets hadn't caught anything serious and the wound hadn't gone septic. Pulling off a rather significant amount of toilet paper, she folded it up into square and then placed it under the water for a few second. Applying the makeshift bandage to her arm, Bookworm shut off the water and headed back into the room, seeing the others had yet to rise and noting the empty bottles of beer and alcohol. Picking up something called Poon Hound, the dwarf sniffed at the mouth of the empty bottle and recoiled in fright. There is no way that can be good for you... Inspecting the label she noted at least four ingredients that were proven carcinogens.

Glancing at the small table in the room, the dwarf spotted the small pile collecting the remnants of Breeze's personal gear, including his cyberdeck. Bookworm's coursework had yet to cover cyberdeck use. As a restricted item, it was reserved for advanced studies. A&M maintained a few of the devices for study and research, but they were kept under lock and key in the Bright Building. Curious, the dwarf pulled the deck across the table and inspected the device, intrigued with the thought of digging into the information the decker had uncovered before his demise.

[Poindexter]

Wet...
Cold...
Something slightly yucky is trying its hardest to pull Ian from his deep, warm, near comatose sleep on the couch. Slowly, he becomes aware that something is licking his face. Not only that, but a cool breeze is blowing over him. As he slowly begins to regain consciousness, he realizes that he's drenched in sweat. It's sweltering inside their shitty little motel room and the only air current in the room is blowing straight at him, coming from the wings of a small green hummingbird hovering inches away from his face. It darts its tiny little tongue out of its beak, licking Ians face until he's fully awake before backing up a foot or two and whispering, "It's almost sunrise, silly. Time to wake up, ok?"

"Yeah. Yep. Thanks friend. Be well." He grumbles quietly at it, so as not to wake anyone up. Just as he can start to see the first few rays of sunlight bleed through the thin curtains, the little spirit flaps its wings once more and is gone. Bye, friend. Ian hardly remembers summoning the little windling last night as an alarm clock, but he's glad he did. Error is still on the couch with the trids on holding the now empty bottle of Poon Hound cradled in his arms like a baby. That's right where he was when I passed out last night. I can't believe he finished that thing off by himself. He takes the empty bottle from Errors massive arms and puts it on the table next to him. Noticing a few new bruises around his own hands and arms, he scratches his head. He hasn't washed his hair in a couple days, and that combined with the wicked Texas heat and the lack of AC in this shitbox has given his scalp a wicked itch. Probably no shampoo here, but at least I can give it a good rinse.

Looking down at all his new bruises while in the shower, he wonders to himself while cleaning off. Did I wrestle that giant ork last night? The memories after the 3rd shot are really hazy, but he has the distinct impression of fighting and laughing. Crying, too. Once he's done and drying himself off with the thinnest towel he's ever seen, he starts to feel really tired again. Leaving his hair wet in an attempt to stay cool longer, Ian just puts on his jeans and heads back to his room, dripping water from his shaggy head as he goes. Just a couple more things to do before I get some real sleep. It had only really been about three hours since he passed out last night and he still needed about another five.

Once alone in his room, he shifts his perception to the Astral and spends a few minutes looking around. It doesn't take long before he's spotted what he's after; a mid-sized fire elemental. This one walks on two legs and wears coal black roman centurion style armor over its molten red skin. It's got eyes of blue flame and a quick, lean, attentive look to it. Ian calls out to it in a respectful tone. "Hail friend!" It nods in response. "Pardon me, but I am but a weak and weary traveler, and the road I must take today looks to be fraught with peril I may be ill equipped to surmount on my own. Will you come with me and help me, please noble scout?" Again, the being nods its head in response as it raises up its hand with one finger extended to the Astral sky. "Once." Ian smiles and bows to him before closing his third eye, laying down on his bed and going back to sleep.

It's maybe five hours later, around 11:15AM when he wakes up and turns on all his gear, including his comm. From now on, we reboot everything, every day. Shit at LEAST every day.

>>Incoming Message
>>Sender: Dr. Ken
>>Message: We need to talk.  In meeting.  Lunch?
>>End Message

<<Reply: Dr Ken
  <<Message: Wiz. Send time and place.

It feels good to know for a fact its actually Dr ken on the other side of that message for a change.

[rednblack]

Dr. Ken responds promptly. 

>>Incoming Message
>>Sender: Dr. Ken
>>Message: Parking garage @Juniors, 12:45.  I'll be in my car.
>>End Message

As the team starts to rouse a heavy knock comes at the door.  "Party's over, chummers.  Y'all need to get, or I'mahafta charge ya another night.  Ya in there?"

[Poindexter]

>>Incoming Message
>>Sender: Dr. Ken
>>Message: Parking garage @Juniors, 12:45.  I'll be in my car.
>>End Message

<<Reply: Dr Ken
  <<Message: Wiz. I'm coming heavy though.

"Party's over, chummers.  Y'all need to get, or I'mahafta charge ya another night.  Ya in there?"

Shouting through the door, Hopeless responds. "Yeah, we'll be out in five!"

-------------------------------------

Once the crew is done packing up their things and has settled back into the Americar, Hopeless speaks up before starting the engine. "Dr Ken just hit me up. He wants to meet up in a parking garage outside of Juniors in fourty-five. Yall can drop me off if ya want, but all things considered, It'd be nice If ya chilled and watched my back."

[saithor]

Archive checked her time in the matrix. Enough time had passed for hr to give Mars another shot. Arriving at the exhibit, she moved in on the deepest valley, and this time was rewarded with the key. Curious she picked it up. Now what did you leave for me Breeze? she thought as she examined it. Realizing what it was, she unlocked the data packet that Breeze had sent her. It's contents were definintly interesting, and she quickly used the comncode.

>>To:Hopeless
>>I am going to assume that that Breeze already told you about me. He invited me in on the run through his will, said he wanted someone skilled with the matrix to take over him >>in case of his death. Is there a place we can meet at?

[JackVII]

[21APR2075 1145 | Room 217 | Stoker 8 Motel | College Station, TX | CAS]

Bookworm's attempt to access Breeze's deck had been stymied by not knowing the decker's password. Instead, she quietly surfed the Matrix, cocooned in the too-good feeling of hot-sim. She reviewed all of the news offerings concerning the shoot-out the night before, as well as the "gang" related violence up in the DFW to try to get a better grasp on the big picture.

After a few hours, Bookworm came to and realized the rest of the crew was up. Hearing the manager bang on the door and Hopeless' response, the dwarf asked in a low voice, "Where are we going?" When no one responded, she shrugged and grabbed her stuff, having no intention of staying at the hotel.

After they were in the car and Hopeless announced their destination, the dwarf cleared her throat. "Uh, Dr. Ken may not want to see me. We didn't really have a great reunion the other day. I could stand to do a little research on whatever Breeze found, but I can't get into his deck."

[Poindexter]

"Uh, Dr. Ken may not want to see me. We didn't really have a great reunion the other day. I could stand to do a little research on whatever Breeze found, but I can't get into his deck."

Without taking his eyes off the road, Ian responds. "The password is 'loveless' with a zero for the o and a 3 for the e." After a few blocks of silence as Bookworm checks and confirms she has access to the deck, Ian asks, "What went wrong between you and Dr. Ken? Aint he the one that put you on this job?"

[JackVII]

[21APR2075 1220 | In the Americar | College Station, TX | CAS]

"Uh... not exactly. One of my contacts hired me to find the team after your Johnson lost track of you." Adding somewhat sheepishly, Bookworm concluded, "I may have threatened Dr. Ken to get him to give me your commlink number."

With the password secure in her nearly photographic memory, the dwarf booted up the cyberdeck and started checking out its capabilities.

[Poindexter]

Ian doesn't respond, he just chuckles. Dr Ken was always a pushover.

As he rounds a corner on a green arrow, a message from an unknown commcode pops up.

>>To:Hopeless
>>I am going to assume that that Breeze already told you about me. He invited me in on the run through his will, said he wanted someone skilled with the matrix to take over him >>in case of his death. Is there a place we can meet at?

Is this that Archive guy Breeze mentioned? It has to be, doesn't it?

"Ummmm... I uhhhh, I think Breezes, y'know, like... his contact? I think his contact, Archive... y'know? The guy he mentioned in his, uhhhh, his will? I think That guy just messaged me. I'm gonna make sure."

<<Reply: Unknown
  <<Message: Who is this?

[JackVII]

[21APR2075 1225 | In the Americar | College Station, TX | CAS]

"Sounds good, hopefully Breeze was a good judge of character. I'm going to stay in the car and watch the meeting from the Astral if that's cool with you." Bookworm burrowed down into the backseat, making sure her seat belt was secured tightly. Reaching down, she grabbed her backpack and pulled out her brick and silver Sharpie. "If we have a few minutes, I can prepare a bullet barrier for you."

Doodling on the brick for about three minutes, the dwarf passed the preparation up to Hopeless. "Just keep it somewhere in the open, even if it's just on the ground."

[rednblack]

The Americar tools through College Station on its way to Junior's entering the mid-level corper side of town.  Office plexes line the highway, and Hopeless notes with some concern that their car is junky by comparison to what else is on the road.  Some thunder clouds have gathered overhead, though no one on the team thinks they'll make good on their threats of rain, even if the lightning is a good show.

Hopeless wheels the vehicle onto the Solaris campus, and drives into the basement garage.  The guard station is empty, it is Sunday -- and upon seeing Dr. Ken's Americar, Hopeless gets a ping on his comm.

>>Incoming Message
>>Sender: Dr. Ken
>>Message: I'm in my car.  Go ahead and join me with your team.
>>End Message

Bookworm, given her last exchange with Dr. Ken, tells Hopeless that she'll stay in the car and provide astral overwatch, so after parking Hopeless and Error join Dr. Ken in his car.  He looks better than last time they met.  His eyes are still a little red around the rims, but his skin color is coming back, and while he looks tired, he isn't nearly as twitchy as a few days ago.  Still, there's no smile on his face, and Dr. Ken gets right down to business as he pulls the Americar out of its parking space and toward the road.  He gets a far away look in his eyes, which Hopeless recognizes as Dr. Ken using his astral perception, but he's back to himself again shortly, and begins speaking.

"I guess your new friend decided to stay behind, eh?  Anyway," he extends his hand to Error, "I'm Ken.  Good to meet you." He turns back to Hopeless before continuing.  "I figured maybe this one had joined up with you.  Look, er, 'Hopeless,' we've got an issue.  Drampe is putting some stuff together, or thinks he is anyway.  The riot on Friday, this "drug deal" gone bad where all those kids heard the word 'deepweed,' it's got him spooked.  He's upping the security at the MS lab, but what's more, the deepweed isn't going to get there.  The delivery is going to go right on schedule, but the Texas Rangers are just going to drop dummies.  The real deepweed is going to stay at the airport with the Rangers.

"Drampe is being really paranoid with this," Dr. Ken continues.  "The only reason he's told me is that he needs the faculty to provide astral protection.  The airport has plenty in the way of drones, but not much in my specialty.  Anyway, I drew the short straw on Tuesday, so my spirits and I will be watching the deepweed from 7:00 p.m. to 7:00 a.m. Wednesday morning.  And yeah, that's all I got, I guess."

[saithor]

>>To:Hopeless
>>Breeze would have called me Archive. You want to meet?

Archive was currently waiting at a random street corner, still walking in a random direction.