You've gone to meets in all kinds of exotic places in your day, but you never dreamed you'd talk biz in a corpse house. Death isn't something most runners care to be reminded of: it follows them too closely. One slip, and Joe Shadowrunner's dead meat. If not for your Johnson's reputation, you'd never have come to this dead zone: certainly not so quickly.
You circle around to the alley, picking your way over derelicts and around dumpsters in search of the back door. Two hired guns loiter by it, waiting to let you in - a couple of real bruisers. They look familiar; high-priced talent, unless you miss your guess. Someone seems uptight about security. Never a good sign, chummer. Never a good sign.
The inside depresses you even more than the outside, though you wouldn't have thought that was possible during your alley stroll. It's cleaner inside, but darker. A coupe of caskets stand open on lintels; you firmly resist the morbid temptation to peak inside. One of the thugs leads you past the mourning gallery through the makeup room, where tomorrow's star attraction is receiving her final makeover. Plug 'em and plant 'em, that's how it goes. Here today, burned or buried tomorrow.
Lovely thought.
Your host awaits you in a back room filled with caskets, Remington Roomsweeper in hand, but held in a relaxed pose. Your Mr. Johnson is a Ms., a dark-haired beauty in form-fitting armor adorned with blue leather highlights and chrome studs and chains. Despite the fact that she is currently looking at her feet, you recognize her almost instantly as Alpha Blue, a world famous runner and bodyguard to the stars. When she raises her head, the look on her face is one you've seen before, usually after a run gone bad. She's lost someone, and there'll be hell to pay as soon as she finds out where the accounting is due. As you enter, she dismisses the hired muscle with a wave. Once alone in the room with you, she sets the hardware down on the lid of a rosewood casket and starts her pitch.
"Someone shot my brother through and through this morning. Right in the middle of the street. I even know who gave the order and why, but can't do anything about it. Not yet."
She shifts her hips a little and brushes her long black hair behind her ear.
"Not ten minutes after Knight Errant informs me that he's dead, I get a posthumous message from him, routed though back channels saying he'd run into some info too hot for him to handle and he was looking to defuse the situation. He contacted this guy from Multitech Corp, looking to give up the information in exchange for amnesty, but they fragging shot him anyway. Publicly. My brother."
She took a moment to calm herself and continued. "Attached to his message was a copy of the infromation, just in case. A blueprint of the new Multitech chip, and his notes. I don't know how they expect to get away with it, but according to Neil, this chip is garbage. We.. I.. sorry.." She pauses and takes a breath. "Neil got this blueprint from a salvaged cybereye, by way of a fence named Vanian. The blueprint is only part of a set; the rest should be on the cybereye's memory chip. If I could get my hands on the rest of the blueprints, I could ruin the sons of bitches. If I can't.. they shot my brother in the back, on the middle of a crowded street. It's only a matter of time before they trace Neil's message to me and I'm on their chopping block. That's why I need you. I can't afford to show my hand on this. I've been told you are all good at what you do. Will you help me?"
She seems a little frayed, but straightforward in her intent.
