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kirk

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« on: <11-15-11/2204:42> »
Eight different commlinks signal, eight different voices respond. Though the sender and the specific words vary, the message is the same.

Mr. Johnson has a job; to resolve trouble with his neighbors. He's looking for the hungry, either starting out or otherwise in need of a simple and lower paying job.

The callers all have checked, as they can, to see that this isn't a scam or a trap. They know Mr. Johnson, or they know someone who knows enough about Mr. Johnson, that they're willing to pass along the opportunity.

The responses and discussion vary in detail. Some need persuasion, a few are looking to relieve boredom, and there are those who realize it's this or nothing. In the end, while the details vary the words are the same.

Be in a particular building in the Barrens, in the neighborhood called Venetian Hills, at 9 PM tomorrow. Mr. Johnson will be there with a small security force, to deal for a run in the shadows.

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« Reply #1 on: <11-15-11/2335:59> »
Dropping down from the rafters where she'd been having a catnap, Sakura yawned lazily before answering the comm. So, work to do, hmm? Smiling to herself, she went and gathered her clothes from where they'd been discarded that morning when she'd returned from a long night at the clubs. Pulling on some clean underwear, she stretched as she looked out the window, her tail flicking about behind her as she walked. Her whiskers tingled. There was money to be made, and rent needed to get paid. Might as well get a head start on it.

She dressed up in all black, with her lined coat and some extra armor on underneath her clothes. The two fubukis were in holsters strapped to either thigh, and she had a bag with her, containing her stealth gear, if it was needed. Slipping her goggles on over her furry cat's ears, Nekomusumi meowed once in the mirror, and then began moving with unnatural speed and grace down the stairs to the underground garage where she kept her bike.
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mistrornge

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« Reply #2 on: <11-16-11/0019:48> »
"Outstanding!" Shouted Mutt, immediately regretting the sudden flash of activity.  Holding his head Mutt waded through the crumpled remnants of the case of Natural Light to the sink to try to wash away the last memories of the previous evening.  Beer, Betel and Myrtle. Or Martha. Something like that. Meh.
A  job finally a job. It was good since the last rent payment was the last money he had. Wouldn't want to get kicked out of the spectacular garage he had scored. Enough room for two trucks...and a sink with a working toilet. Though washing clothes in the sink was getting old.  Sniffing his armpit was enough to show that perhaps it was time to wash them again.  Want to make a good impression.
Location would have to be scouted for potential escape routes.  After rolling up the garage door, Mutt pulled his Ruger from under the seat and checked the load and ensured all systems were green before returning it to its hiding place. The air outside was only slightly less stifling than the garage so with a sigh Mutt pulled on his armored jacket put his false commlink in passive mode. A run through of his NovaTech showed all systems were good to go. After putting it into hidden mode he returned the primary commlink to the jacket's inside pocket.
With the Ford LEBD n over watch Mutt pulled out and turned towards Venetian Hills to do an initial scouting run.
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« Reply #3 on: <11-16-11/0625:04> »
When an Incoming Message icon witch Johnsons ID appears in Joachim`s view, his curriosity made him to take the call. In fact, he was a bit disgusted of this city. On the last job he was hired to he spent a lot of time of searching a lot of unusefull drek, only to find out, that the team is not able to assembly itself. Later on the news...well, he was laughing at least four days after that, his meaning on serriousness of those proud south cowboys serriously broken. He was planning a trip back to Tri City, well his funds were insuffficient for this task...he may get to island maybe, and from there he may continue on the sea or find another job there in order to put enought money together to buy another air ticket to Hambourgh, well he prefere to go right home withou any side steps. When dealing with Johnson, his tone was a bit sarcastic, but he agreed that he will meet him on given adress with the rest of the team..Better get some sleep until tomorrow morning..wel...at least  one more quest in the game...
Next day:
Taxi was quite easy to spoof, so half an hour later he steps out the vehicle close by. he took a cofee from a street vendor, and a soyburger, watching the building for an hour, still not sure if he can be safe there, well there is no other way than to try it, and since the first ove has been done, Bypass feels it is time to play the whole game.
His facial recognition soft tries to find out any possible data on people who enters, or moves around the street, so Bypass is aware who is he working with.
« Last Edit: <11-17-11/0451:32> by Sichr »

nsweeney

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« Reply #4 on: <11-16-11/0716:19> »
"Tomorrow," Debbin said aloud.  "You hear that Joan, I got work for tomorrow.  Guess I gotta get myself a new suit, can't go out looking like this."  With that Debbin heads into the bathroom and takes a long shower before throwing on his "old" suit and heading out to procure a new suit.

((OOC - are we doing starting nuyen as stated in the book, or is there a particular way you want it done?))

((fixed grammar error that annoyed me))
« Last Edit: <11-16-11/0857:38> by nsweeney »
The beatings will continue until morale improves.

Debbin Dela'Croix

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« Reply #5 on: <11-16-11/0851:34> »
The floor approached quickly, Rafa manged to tuck in his head just in time. He heard something snap as his opponent, a troll with some second-hand cyberware, finished the piledriver and his shoulders hit the ground. The century old floorboards of the gym just weren't built to take this kind of punishment.
Rafa felt his wrist-watch commlink buzz and saw a red "New Message from Mr. Johnson" popup between the trolls legs and then minimize into the corner of his vision. Enough playing around.
He rolled away from the troll and spun 'round to face his opponent. A grin appeared on the ork's face. "Lo siento amigo, tengo que atender esta llamada."*, he said while he leaped forward and with a 180 spinning kick planted his left shin behind the trolls knees.
The giant lost his balance for only a second, but that was 8 tenths of a second too long. Rafa slammed his left leg into his enemies chest in a quick backspin, then put his feet firmly on the ground next to the falling troll. He finished the move by putting his right hand on the trolls forehead as he fell backwards, increasing the momentum and slamming his adversary's head into the wooden floor with a tremendous blow that knocked him out.
He read the messages while unwinding the bloodstained bandages he'd wrapped around his fists -not for his knuckles but for his opponents safety- and sighed.
A simple and lower paying job., he thought, Guess I ain't got a chance but to start building up my cred in this city again if I want to get back into the big leagues. Ah well, not like I've got anything better to do.
He put his jumpsuit back on and stepped outside, his bike automatically started its engine as he approached it. He drove home and checked his gear, regretful of all the stuff he left behind in Seattle. He'd collected a lot of useless trinkets he'd been forced to leave behind but he had needed to travel light and fast. He'd spend a lot of time and money getting it all back.
Next day he double checked his gear, did some jogging and working out, triple checked his gear and departed towards his destination estimating he'd be there 5 minutes early. He couldn't see much use to being early and places like that offered little distractions to kill time.

[OOC: *: "Sorry pal, I have to take this call."]
« Last Edit: <11-16-11/1618:38> by Xzylvador »

farothel

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« Reply #6 on: <11-16-11/1312:05> »
Sammy was chatting with a friend from Hollywood, while sideways checking the news.  If you were running the shadows, it paid to stay informed of the events that were happening, as your jobs could often be tied into recent events.  John had a class and wasn't in at the moment.

A blinking light at the edge of her vision indicated she had another call coming in.  A quick query later indicated it was from a Mister Johnson.
"Just a second," she said to her friend, "I have another call, potential job."
"Why don't you come back here," her friend inquired.
"We've been over that," Sammy said before she switched to the incoming call.

"It was about a job," she said to her friend when the call had finished, "I have to go now.  I'll call you back."
First order of business was to check her favourite newssites, but those didn't have much information and the latest exploits of Deirdre didn't sound all that interesting at the moment.  She did bookmark the page, but for now she had to resort to other means.  She went upstairs to her lodge, where she could leave her body behind the ward that was put up there.  She had the adres, so getting there was just a matter of slipping into the astral and zapping over.  She did however take a couple of precautions.  First was to fly above housing level, so she didn't hit wards.  Luckily she knew the city well enough to avoid the larger buildings and any wards they might contain.  Besides flying towards the barrens meant the buildings would become less high.  Secondly she didn't go too fast.  Better take a bit slower then run into a toxic spirit or something like that.

The next day she opened her closet.  As she was going into the barrens, her Zoé dresses were not an option at the moment.  She tought about one of her other business suits, but in the end she opted for camouflage BDUs and an armoured vest in the same urban pattern.  Putting them on, she took her large respirator and her goggles.  A fedora hat completed the ensemble.  Her Predator she put on her tigh and her sword she put to the side.  She would only wear it openly in the barrens.  Next came some equipment  which she put in a backpack.  Both backpack and sword would go into the special compartment build into her car.
"John," she said when she came down in the living room, "I'm going out for a job.  Don't wait up for me.  And remember, you have class tomorrow, so don't make it too late."
"Yes, mom," her brother said with a smile.  It was a running joke between them.

She got in her car, a non-descript sedan.  She drove into the barrens to the meeting, calculating time so she was about ten minutes early.  About a block from the meeting spot, she stopped and did a quick astral recon before moving on.

Quote
assensing 3 + intuition 4 =7 (7d6.hits(5)=1, 7d6.hits(5)=2)
1st recon (from home): 1 hit
2nd recon (from car): 2 hits
« Last Edit: <11-16-11/1332:45> by farothel »
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Mirikon

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« Reply #7 on: <11-16-11/1436:43> »
A night out, having fun. Then back to the apartment, curled up like a cat, and watching girly movies. That was one thing she'd noticed since her change. She tended to exhibit cat-like behaviors from time to time. The next day, she dressed up in her 'runner' clothes again, and slipped downstairs to her bike once more.

As she rode her Mirage, she wrapped her tail around her like a belt. For some reason, people tended to react better to her like that. They saw 'catgirl' and thought 'sex kitten' for some reason. While that could come in handy sometimes, usually it was just a pain to deal with. Still, there wasn't anything she could do about the whiskers or her ears.

Driving through the Barrens was an adventure, as always, but she made it to the meet with fifteen minutes to spare.
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nsweeney

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« Reply #8 on: <11-16-11/1536:39> »
A couple of hours before the meeting, Debbin was standing in front of the mirror talking to himself and breathing rhythmically.  "You can do this, you can do this.  Nothing they say can mess with you.  You will control the situation, you will control the negotiations. You will control it."  After several minutes of repeating this mantra, he slips his sunglasses on and runs his hands through his hair.  He then calls out, "Joan, you ready for work?"  Not waiting for a response, he strides into his bedroom and his armored jacket and grabs his AK-97.  As he shoulders his weapon, he checks to make sure she is loaded.  He then double and triple checks it.  "Gotta make sure you are ready to go Joan.  Don't want a repeat of last time.  I know it was you that jammed, but I still gotta make sure."

As he leaves his apartment, he makes sure Joan is more or less concealed under his jacket and he jumps into his enclosed monocycle.  He fires it up and makes his way to the scheduled meet, doing his best to navigate in a round-about way.  Debbin shows up to the meet with 40mintues to spare.  Better to be to early than a minute late.
The beatings will continue until morale improves.

Debbin Dela'Croix

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« Reply #9 on: <11-16-11/2204:53> »
Mean Boris was getting restless. He sat in the lone folding chair in his run-down shack, cleaning his revolver on the counter. His home is the snack shack in the former World Botanical Gardens, now a blighted and abandoned park in the southern reaches of the Atlanta Barrens. He had contacts with the local gang, the Brannon Boyz, who left him alone as long as he paid his meager "protection money". They'd be sorry if they ever actually tried to evict him, but that's beside the point, since he'd always paid on time, either in cred or services. He was street muscle for hire, and he was one of the best in the business.

He walked out of the shack right before dawn. It was time to hunt. He stalked his prey around the rubble, around the broken fountains, through the weed-choked concrete jungle. He saw a Bandit, an awakened raccoon. He was upon it before it even knew he was there, and he smashed it flat with his mace. He picked it up, carried it back to his shack, and ate it raw for breakfast. The digestive expansion bioware that the Russians were so kind to give him enabled him to eat nearly anything, which was good since his suprathyroid gland kept him constantly hungry. He wondered if any of his systems were going to malfunction like his tracheal filter had years ago, but he laughed, knowing that there was no way he could afford to meet with even a street doc, and certainly not a bioware specialist.

His commlink beeped, drawing his attention with superhuman speed. He grabbed it immediately and checked the message. His wired reflexes and reaction enhancers made instant reactions like this so common that it didn't even phase him anymore.

"A job", he said aloud to nobody in particular. There wasn't another metahuman for hundreds of meters around. He'd just paid the rent, but he was nearly flat broke and was looking to get some mods for his motorcycle, a flat-black Harley-Davidson Scorpion. He drew the window blinds, laid down on a pile of mattresses, and slept through the day.

At 8:00 PM, his commlink alarm woke him up. Time for business. The meet was in a shitty neighborhood, not like it mattered. Boris pulled on his scuffed and blackened SWAT armor, loaded his Ruger Super Warhawk with EX-EX rounds, swung his shield onto his back, and walked his chopper out the side door into the cool night air. He locked up, causing metal blast shutters to slide into place, spotlights and cameras ready to illuminate and record any intruders foolish enough to try to gain entry. There wasn't anything of value in the shack, but that was hardly the point, was it?

Mean Boris rode the rough-sounding chopper to the meet, arriving at 9:00 sharp.

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« Reply #10 on: <11-17-11/0522:42> »
Butcher took a slightly panicked look over his surroundings. Train station.

This was something he was completely unprepared. Atlanta? Alone in a city. How the hell did I ended here?

Once again he browsed through his address book in commlink.
Most of the names were marked twice, all of them at least once. A mark means he tried to contact, but wasn't succesfull. Twice, contact made but help was refused. That made things easier, he liked to have things in order. Order reigned chaos. Chaos was the ultimate form of order. ... Focus. You need to eat Butcher. John L. Brussard. Single mark.

John ... beep ... beep ... voice only connected... Hi this is John. I cannot talk right now. Please leave a message. Beeep.

Proffessor... sir ... this is Hank.... Hank speaking.... from the university.... Actually two.... I hope you remember... I mean the Ork, mage, chaos magic theory ... and parazoology .... Beeep. Thank you for your message. I'll call back when possible.


Sigh. He hated talking to automated ansewer machines.

Chirp. incoming voice only. Hi. This is John Brussard. You called me just a second ago, I couldn't aneswer, oh, it seems you left a message, I hadn't listened yet.

Professor Brussard. This is Hank ...

Butcher !! How long it had been? five years?
visual flicked on, and elf looking like a beardless human in his forties appeared on the screens of AR glasses

4 and three months ... and a week if we count from the final exam.

Right. You haven't changed. You passed A if I remember correctly. What's up?

Yes that was A. Actually that was A+, you've appreciated sir how I've combined emergency of chaos theory in paraspecies, namely how species that couldn't possibly survive regardless of their abilities are still reemerging in contrary to claims of evolution theory ... Sir. I need help. I'm in Atlanta, got no money, no sin, not even a fake one, no place to stay. I only have my computers and books, my rifle and a debt. I need a job sir, John .... I can deal soyaburgers, anything. That ork that took over my debt say I can sell my arms and legs - they are worth a bit, but I'd rather not. Will you help me?

Took over your debt? Sell your arms and legs? last time we talked you were with some mercanery company. You worried about being too weak and you were going for some implant! What happened?

My company was disbanded. sins invalidated. I got no one sir. I can't get back to my parent's, they don't have that kind of money, and the corp will not have me back.... and I haven't finished my studies yet ...

I see ... I have to go to the class now Hank. But let me check. I'll call back. I promise.


Later that day someone called about a job. Said that a chummer of a chummer of a chummer told him he's looking for work. Yes he did. Be there and there at this hour. Yes of course. Thank you. See you. Butcher left his magical materials at the trainstation lock. Bought a public transport ticket for the last of his nuyens and went for a meeting.

He arrived five minutes late... running for the last part. A red haired ork, with large, transparent red-cross marked shield on his back, in a moro jacket and a rifle in his hands, cut from a military drill trid. He even whistled some melody to the rythm. That was soothening. He never ran in shadows. On the battlefield things were simple, hierarchy, orders. Order reigning chaos. Here they weren't. Best behave like on solo mission. Except he never been on a solo mission. No one sends medics on a solo missions. He stopped at the entrance. His stomach growled loudly...
« Last Edit: <11-17-11/0525:59> by Sentinemodo »
Sorry for a small delay ;)

Denver Missions
concluded 01 02 03 04 05 10 09 11
running 13
runners: Caretaker Jerry

kirk

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« Reply #11 on: <11-17-11/1135:53> »
Recons first.
Bypass. Though your facial recognition software helps you realize it's frequently the same people going in and out of the building, nobody triggers anything special. However, after about 15 minutes you realize you've been noticed. Some orks and trolls come out of the building and take positions between you and the building. They don't do anything more, just watch.

Sammy.Your first recon locates the building and lets you see it.

As you approach the building on your second astral recon, you see a watcher spirit lingering outside the front door. It sees you at almost the same time, and leaves at high speed. Though you were generally prepared, this caught you just a bit flatfooted and it got away before you could pursue it. All you know is it was headed east before it got out of sight.


Decisions from everyone:There are two parking areas at this building, one in front and one in back. I would like to know where you park, or if you choose a third option of somewhere else.

Commlink norm for the area is passive. If you are setting at something different please let me know.


If it weren't the barrens, you could think the neighborhood low bordering on middle. But you get an impression of desperation and hints of decay in the broken windows, the dirty streets, the tin and tarp roofs of some of the buildings that look long-term. Still, its proximity to the Cambellton Freeway has obviously let a community develop.

The building of the meet stands out a bit. It's a bit better quality than most of the surroundings, the stone walls still standing plumb. It's hard to tell in the dark, but you get the impression it's even been cleaned.

As you approach the front door, you see young orks and trolls lingering near the doors, hands close to weapons. [perception check required, please] They watch you as you enter, but say and do nothing.

When you enter, you're in a lobby, poorly lit but again surprisingly clean for the barrens. An ork, maybe 15, asks your name in a surprisingly polite fashion. She checks her AR in an obvious fashion, nods, and points to a door to her right. "Through there, into the big room, and to the table please."

You step through a short hallway and enter what had obviously once been a meeting hall, or maybe a court room. There's a conference table near the end, with tables arranged so there is no head or foot but only the respective sides.. As you approach you see three metahumans sitting on one side with four more standing behind. There are unoccupied chairs on your side, some sized for trolls, some standard.

"Sit, please, or stand if that's your preference. We'll wait till everyone's here," says the dwarf in the middle. A dwarf. He is flanked by an ork and a troll, and there are two of each standing behind trying to look like bodyguards. You do believe you've just met Mr. Johnson.

pause.In addition to the earlier perception check I want another one here. I also wish to know roughly how you intend to position yourself; sitting, standing, close to the table or echoing the bodyguard 'one rank back' position, that sort of thing.

farothel

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« Reply #12 on: <11-17-11/1303:31> »
Sammy arrived about ten minutes before the meet.  She parked the car at the front of the building, but with the nose towards the street.  Knowing that whoever had put that watcher there knew someone had been looking at the location, she did move with caution.  First she put her katana on her back, just in case and switched her commlink mode to passive.  She could banish spirits, but some astral things required another approach.

Approaching the entrance, she saw the group of people and she did a quick astral check as well, just as precaution.  After telling her name (the one used to contact her) she got inside.  Once there she saw Mr. J, or at least a representative of Mr. J.  Again she had a look at him and his bodyguards on the astral.  She sat down close to the table, being used to sitting in the center of attention.

Quote
perception
intuition 4 + perception 2 =6 (6d6.hits(5)=3, 6d6.hits(5)=3)
both perception checks have 3 hits.

astral perception
intuition 4 + assensing 3 =7 (7d6.hits(5)=1, 7d6.hits(5)=5)
astral perception outside: 1 hit
astral perception of Mr. J: 5 hits
« Last Edit: <11-17-11/1418:37> by farothel »
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« Reply #13 on: <11-17-11/1347:32> »
When he approached his destination, Rafa turned his commlink mode to hidden. A Johnson meeting in a place like this with the annunciation that he'd be bringing armed guards... it didn't sound like anything he had a problem with -in fact he was almost looking forward to some trouble- but it was his last SIN and it didn't need to be linked to a shootout in the Barrens just yet. Despite expecting trouble though, he had left his rifle at home. If things got so bad he'd really need it at such an early point, he doubted he'd want anything to do with this job anyway.

Rafa parked his bike against a dumpster in a nearby alley, tore some garbage bags off of a roll he'd bought in the Stuffer Shack and covered his bike with them and then proceeded to arrange some of the bags lying in the alley around it. Sure, if people went searching for it they'd find it, but it'd have to do. He wasn't overly concerned that some squatter looking for leftovers in the trash would know how to hotwire his Yamaha Growler.

Leaving the alley, Rafa walked straight towards the building he was supposed to be at. He nodded quickly at the guards -somewhat relieved to see they were trolls and orks- but passed them without saying a word and only replied to the young lady's short instructions with another slight nod and "Got it.".
Inside the room, he took position right next to the door he'd come in through, anyone entering the room would be seen, checked and pass right by him before they'd notice him. "Gracias, I will. We expecting lots of people?"

His gaze went over the people in the room, measuring everyone, and finally rested on a woman he thought he recognized. He flashed a smile at her and grinned. "Ola, chica! If I'd known you'ze was runnin' the shadows here, I'd have visited this place earlier. You still got that costume you wore in Kung Fu Mage? You know, the one with the...". He finished with a wink and a snicker.


[OOC: Camouflage: Skill 3, Int 4 (7d6.hits(5)=3)
Visual Perception: Co-processor 2, Enhancement 3, Int 4, Perception 1. 2 Hits outside, 4 Hits inside.]
« Last Edit: <11-17-11/1833:10> by Xzylvador »

mistrornge

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« Reply #14 on: <11-17-11/1359:41> »
I would like to do a check for operating drones within a block of the meet location. I will do this from my Morgan when a Km from the meet. I have my Ruger loaded with exex and my streetline in my right boot.  Ford LEBD-1 on overwatch, Repeater in the trunk and Flying Eye in my armored jacket interior pocket.
My crappy commlink (all fake licenses and SIN is attached to this) is in passive and my primary in hidden.

OOC:  Managed to roll 2 successes on the Perception check you requested. That site everyone is using is terrible. My attempts to log fail even after I reset my password.

Dressed in my best Sunday-go-to-church slacks and my nicest pair of combat boots (nice shine on them of course) including a newly washed cream colored t-shirt. Sweating to death in the armor I am sure.  Slightly crooked $2 sun glasses in place. Head is close cropped crew cut. Datajack is visible but is simple and functional with a dull silver appearance.

I will try to park out front if possible with the LEBD watching both Morgan and front door.  Going in I will be polite and take my seat in the second row if a choice and try my best to be present, paying attention/recording, and inconspicuous.

Show up 15 minutes early as, "on time is late."

OOC:  Edited as my attempts to type this on a iPhone in an airport gate suck. My layover is in Atlanta coincidentally.
« Last Edit: <11-17-11/1404:47> by mistrornge »
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