Eight-Stone spends the remaining time at the ranch reviewing the surveillance footage for as long as he can, trying to remember important details. Three human or elven women. Amerindians, wearing tribal masks. It was a rather distinctive style. If these ladies had been running the shadows for any length of time, in that get-up, maybe they'd have a bit of a reputation? It was a bit of a longshot, but it was the only idea Eight-Stone had at the moment.
<<txt 2 Mr.Twist: looking for information on a runner team. three women, human or elven, amerindians, run around in tribal masks. at least one has some mojo, from what i understand. will pay for info>>
The was no telling what, if anything, Mr. Twist might dig up. Dude was batshit insane, but resourceful. Afterwards, Eight-Stone sent a quick text to Claw.
<<txt 2 Claw: so... took the job. interesting stuff. there a reason you weren't interested in it yourself, darlin?>> Eight-Stone hoped that his light-hearted message wouldn't conceal the fact that he was genuninely curious. Eight-Stone had a dark little feeling in his gut that Claw knew the job stank and shunted it off to him, but no... they'd known each other way too long for that. Maybe she was just feeling generous? Or trying to make the leap to fixer? Heck, anything would beat Twist.
As an afterthought, Eight-Stone sent another text. <<thanks, by the way.>> He attached a deposit of 100 nuyen, ready to be sent to Claw's account with the click of an AR button. Eight-Stone sent Cursor a surreptitious glance as he forward the funds; hopefully the hacker wouldn't scold him for sending nuyen from his ghetto commlink. Matrix nerds were always so uptight about that kind of thing.
Only after he finished his business did Eight-Stone decide to open up a window for some Starcraft. He warmed up with some games against the computer, slaying the ancient "AI" with practiced, almost meditative efficiency. Looking for a bigger challenge, and sensing Peaches' icon, he immediately sent her an invite to play.