[imperialus]

Saved for GM

Link to Obsidian Portal campaign.  http://www.obsidianportal.com/campaigns/tokyo-nights

blue = "Speaking"
orange = <<Text Messaging or Email>>
Purple = "Comlink Conversations"
Brown = Thinking

[imperialus]

July 13th 2072 20:15h

It’s the tail end of rush hour, and the buzzing of cicadas and the hum of air conditioners loosing their battle to contain the heat almost drowns out the everpresent noise of traffic in the heart of Neo-Tokyo.  As the sun begins to set over the mountains to the east the news nets are buzzing about an "unfortunate accident" that occurred at the Simbashi subway station in Chiyoda when an Oni woman fell onto the rails and struck by a train causing the evening commute to be very inconvenient.  They are suggesting that workers returning home avoid using that line so as not to interfere with the cleanup.

Whatever you are doing it is interrupted by the buzz of your comlink receiving a text message.

<<Tinman>>
<< Job for U if U are OK to work with metas. Meet @ The Chop Shop ASAP>>

[Scarecrow71]

July 13th 2072 20:15h

The one thing about the heat that Aishuku could never get over was that it was, quite literally, hot.  The humidity always seemed to stick to him, forcing him to change clothing and bathe more than a few times a day.  The air conditioning unit in his squalid apartment in the run-down building had died days before, and with little nuyen to even afford food, calling for repairs wasn't an option.  He had a little tucked away for emergencies, but it was so much easier to walk a few blocks to the local club and bask in the cool spray coming from the doors.  It was free, and the stupid bouncers couldn't do a damned thing about it.  They couldn't just turn it off and let the paying customers standing in line get all gross before entering, could they?

I need a job, he thought to himself.  I thought it would be easier to find a way to make some nuyen.

As if on cue, the news feeds and vids he'd been watching in AR through his commlink faded into the background, replaced with the message from Tinman.

<< Job for U if U are OK to work with metas. Meet @ The Chop Shop ASAP>>

He smiled wide, his good looks being shown off to nobody in particular.

Tin, you drek-head, you may have just saved my bacon.

He stood up, stretching his arms and shaking the days' cares off his shoulders.  He sauntered through his apartment, grabbing only the stuff he really needed to take with him - his van keys and his commlink.  The rest, guns included, were stashed in the secret compartment in the van.

Anybody ever steals that thing, and that's the end of my career.  Back to the inside with me.

He locked the front door on his way out, making his way down the hall to the emergency exit - which, by the way, had a non-functioning alarm for the better part of the last half-dozen years - and then down several flights of steps on the fire escape.  A quick walk to a semi-secured parking garage, and 10 minutes later he was winding through the heavy traffic of Tokyo, heading for The Chop Shop, the AR map of its location just beneath and to the right of his normal, straight-ahead vision.

[Ympulse]

Spirit was staring across the Neo-Tokyo night skyline, contemplating himself and his current 'situation' when his private commlink notified him of a new message.

<<Tinman>>
<< Job for U if U are OK to work with metas. Meet @ The Chop Shop ASAP>>

"Kso." Dismissively deleting the message, Spirit turns quickly and begins towards the elevators for the long trip down from the high rise he had been visiting. He was still acclimating himself to this 'lifestyle' of shadowrunning. Undesirables and cretins, most of them were, but similarly effective. Pondering what this job would entail, Spirit went over the transmission.

ASAP, so this job will need to be done tonight. Tinman-san is honorable, so this will likely be either humanitarian or destructive, especially since he wants us to work with Gaijin. Ghost knows that they can't do much aside from destroy and take.

It took a conscious effort to not shudder at the thought of having to work with an illiterate troll, or even worse, a barbaric Oni.  Taking a deep breath, Spirit deactivated his private commlink, and activated his public one, displaying the SiN of one Arakaki Tanaka, his currently assumed identity. As he did so, the elevator doors opened, and Arakaki was bombarded with the quiet, efficient mass of wage slaves for this building. Straightening the tie on his modest and correct business suit, he stepped into the press, riding the sea of humanity towards the parking garage, where his Dobie was waiting. The monocycle had served it's purpose well over the last year or two, and he reminded himself that it was quite possibly the best purchase he'd made yet.

Riding out of the Parking Garage and into the neon and AR-lit streets, Arakaki let the on-board pilot system guide itself through the slow-moving traffic. Since the Chop Shop wasn't exactly the best place in town, he decided that a business suit would not do. He directed the pilot to take him to his small apartment, so that he could change into something more fitting. Once there, he changed into the garb of an industrial worker, the loose-fitting clothing covering up his Chameleon Suit, as well as mostly hiding the bulge of his Ares Predator. Before leaving, Arakaki mentally remarked on the spartan nature of his new apartment, and toyed with the possibility of purchasing some furnishings, or a CHN with entertainment programs.

Maybe next month, if this job pays well. I do so hate not having a steady paycheck.

Ensuring the multiple locks on his door were secured, Arakaki shortly stopped by the landlord's office, to bid the old man good night. The old man returned the pleasantry with a glare and a terse reminder that rent was due in a week. Giving a light-hearted chuckle at the old man's incessance, Arakaki stepped back into his monocycle, and headed towards the Chop Shop.

((OOC: Completely forgot about Honorifics. Thank you, Kozak >_<))

[Kozak]

Kozak sipped from his teacup as he perused the news through the AR provided by his commlink, trying not to think about how hot it was.  His clothing was sticking to his skin, something not helped by the fact that he also was drinking hot tea. 

A terrible shame about the Oni woman.

Placing his cup down, he motioned for the steeper to bring him another pot of jasmine.  One of the first things Kozak did after settling down in Neo-Tokyo was find a decent teahouse.  None could come close to the tea his mother made, but eventually he found one that came close, and close to his apartment - The Silver Lotus.  He had his armor jacket on over his normal clothing, helping to conceal his Colt Manhunter.  He never felt quite right without its familiar presence at his side.  It had only been months since he had left the UCAS and come to Japan and finding jobs had been hard.  Luckily, he'd made friends with a contact, Ishida Tatsuya, a local fixer.  So far, no prospects, but these things took time, he knew. 

"Hoshida-san, is there nothing you can do about this heat.  I feel like a cooked pig."

The ork steeper only laughed as he heated Kozak's pot of tea.  He laughed as well, until he received a message.

<<Tinman>>
<< Job for U if U are OK to work with metas. Meet @ The Chop Shop ASAP>>

"Hoshida-san, apologies but cancel the tea.  Something has come up.  Maybe another time."  He paid his tab, and left.  Ishida had mentioned this Tinman in previous conversations, saying he would talk to Tinman about a job. 

It seems Ishida-san has come through.  I'll have to show my gratitude somehow.  But this Tinman.  I've never met him before.  From what Ishida-san has told me, he's spent time in the Imperial Marines.  An honorable man, at least I hope.

Outside the teahouse, Kozak entered his Comet, loading up directions to the Chop Shop on his AR.  He sat for a few moments, as the AC filled the car with wonderfully cold air.  Taking in a lungful of the chilled air, Kozak departed.

[Operator]

July 13th 2072 20:15h

<< Job for U if U are OK to work with metas. Meet @ The Chop Shop ASAP>>

Operator rose up from the couch on which he was previously sprawled, staggering off to the bathroom within his Western-style apartment. While not nearly as spacious as Seattle's digs, it provided him with similar comforts. That was good enough for him, and luckily Tinman had just pitched a job offer that could secure his bills for another month.

Taking a few minutes to shower and dress, Operator left his apartment with an armored jacket worn over loose fitting, functional street clothing - the sort that was a grade or two above pressed vendor flats, while being cheap enough to discourage poorly motivated robbers. To further dissuade such behavior tonight, Operator elected to carry his standard issue knife inside his pants pocket, allowing the handle to be exposed against a backdrop of denim. It would serve as a silent warning to those with eyes and imaginations. Two additional weapons accompanied him to his bike: an Ares Predator concealed under his left arm and a pocket pistol worn at the ankle. He dared not bring anything bigger than that; even the Predator could be a liability in Japan.

The lone biker grimaced as he rode out to Chiba, local newsfeeds broadcasting the subway tragedy into his eyes and ears. The authorities would rule this as a suicide. After that, they shake down her relatives for money.

[imperialus]

Hirikara district: Chiba 22:00h

As you make your way towards The Chop Shop you hear a follow up to the news story about the accident on the subway.  Representatives from Japan Rail and the Tokyo Metropolitan Police are releasing their official statements.  The Japan Rail spokeman speaks first.

“Japan Rail extends is deepest apologies for the inconvenience caused by the incident at the Simbashi station this evening.  I am pleased to inform you that due to the diligent work of our maintenance crews service has now returned to normal. Unfortunately the protective doors that prevent individuals from falling on the platform were not designed with the strength of an Oni in mind.  Our safety commission will be reviewing our practices regarding such devices and upgrade them if necessary.”

The feed then cuts to a Metropolitan Police lieutenant

“After reviewing the security footage and speaking with witnesses we have come to the conclusion that this unfortunate incident was the result of a suicide.  The Oni apparently forced the protective barrier open as the train approached and threw herself onto the rails.  Unfortunately we have seen many such incidents among Kawaruhito since they have begun returning from their home on Yomi island.  Many find that attempting to integrate with normal people is too difficult and choose suicide as an honourable option.  We would encourage those changed people who are having difficulties to consider different options and think of the effect they may have on others should they choose such drastic action.”

The news net then cuts to sports.  In something of an upset, the Hiroshima Carp defeated the Hanshin Tigers in extra innings earlier in the evening.

Like always, it takes forever and a day to actually get moving along Tokyo’s road system.  Grid guide has helped a lot, but it doesn’t change the fact that there are still several million people all trying to move from one place to another at the same time.

As the glittering high rises of central Tokyo merge into the glittering high rises of Chiba you pull off the expressway and begin winding your way through the sterile corp buildings that form the beating heart of Japan’s high tech sector.  You pass the host clubs and 24 hour Raman shops catering to the overworked sariamen and begin entering the built up wearhouses built on reclaimed land where Renraku along with hundreds of smaller fish ship product all over the world.  The Metropolitan police of downtown Tokyo have given way to security guards wearing Renraku uniforms.  Technically they’re out of their jurisdiction, but everyone knows that no matter who’s name is on the lease, Chiba is Renraku’s territory.

As you drive further to the south, you enter the Hirikara district. The streets get narrower, and the lights are spaced further apart and you begin to see the dark corners of the city where dirt likes to collect.  You still see host clubs, but these are seedier, with hired muscle glistening with cyber standing in front of their their neon signs, flickering on occasion as Tokyo’s power grid re-routs electricity to other, more important neighborhoods in the sprawl.  Gaijin sailors walk the streets, looking for a good time, and you see squatters and metahumans picking through refuse piles in alleys between buildings.  The glizy AR adverts from downtown have given way to ads for call girls, cheap synth-beer, and ‘community clinics’ of questionable repute. You’re still a few blocks away from The Chop Shop but it’s getting tough to navigate the crowds in the street.  You see a graffiti covered parking tower with an AR sign advertising “Parking 10 nuyen/hour.  Safe.”  The ‘safe’ part of the advertisement seems to centre around a board looking troll armed with a club standing in front of the entrance.


Making your way to the front entrance of The Chop Shop you hear   the heavy bass of Orzit rap (probably not work safe) from the UCAS coming from the open door.  Going in, you walk towards the bar and see that it is fairly crowded with various odds and ends from the dregs of society huddled around tables.  The music is being piped through a cheap AR system, but the owner has invested in a reasonable holographic representation of the artist. 

Asking for Tinman, the bartender points towards an empty table in the far corner.  It seems you are expected to wait.

[Kozak]

Rush hour.  The same no matter where you go.

Kozak leaned back in his seat, once more browsing the news while he waited for the sedan in front of him to start moving.   The followup to the earlier story of the Oni woman came up onto his AR.   

Suicide.  If this wasn't Japan, I probably would scoff at the idea.  But still.  If I've learned anything in my time running, public suicides aren't usually suicides.  

After what seemed like an eternity, Kozak finally entered Chiba, thanking anybody listening for the lighter traffic.  He looks out his window, seeing the towers and highrises giving way to the less maintained buildings.  Bars, hostess clubs and the like.  He activated an ad-blocker he had installed, almost as soon as the ads begin bombarding him. 

Noticing the "safe" parking garage, Kozak pulls in and parks, depositing enough for two hours as he exits the garage on foot.  The music he hears coming from the bar reminds him of the UCAS. 

Same shitty taste in music, halfway around the world.  Give me some classic rock anyday.

He turns off the music as he enters, opting instead for the ambiance of the bar itself.  After asking about Tinman, Kozak takes a seat at the indicated table, ordering a drink along the way. 

Seems I'm the first to arrive.

[Ympulse]

Spirit split the traffic when he could, the Tokyo traffic crawling at its usual pace. As he entered Chiba, a pang of shame coursed through him.

I should've taken another route

Mercifully, Chiba gave way to Hirikara, and the spam that accompanied it. Blocking the spam, Spirit decided to catch up on the news that he had missed as he crawled through the press in the narrow streets

Hiroshima pulled out a win? Now I am glad I chose to not place a bet on that game. Such a shame about the Oni. With their heritage one would think that they would choose Harakiri, instead of inconveniencing thousands of people.

Seeing the "safe" parking, Spirit chose to patronize the garage, as the troll looked capable, if a but brutish. He paid for three hours time as he crossed the threshold, and parked in an unambiguous spot.

After doing so, Spirit removed his contacts and sunglasses from the small storage cavity in his Dobie. Carefully placing the contacts on his eyes, and covering them with his glasses, he went to enter the Chop Shop, turning the distasteful music off the moment it came into hearing.

After being directed to the table, Spirit glanced at the man seated there. His obviously armored jacket informed of his status as what was most likely going to be his coworker for this job, given Tinman's tenacity with choosing his people. Assuming his role as a weary industrial worker, Spirit sat down unceremoniously, giving a casual bow from the neck to his counterpart.

Japanese: Hello, I hope you don't mind my sitting here with you. This place is very crowded tonight

Spirit - Still identified as Arakaki, even though his commlink was set to private - ordered a synthahol drink for himself. The house special, whatever that happened to be.

[Kozak]

Kozak makes a small nod in return to the stranger.

Japanese - "Please, have a seat.  But there is no need for charades, friend.  I saw you speaking with the bartender.  May I assume that you're either waiting for the same person I am, or that you are said person?

He takes a sip from his drink.

Japanese - "But where are my manners, I haven't introduced myself. My name is Kozak, and it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.  What may I call you?"

[Operator]

Of course it has to be suicide. They all know that kawaruhito perpetuate that shame on themselves.

Operator chuckled dryly as the news report came in, navigating his way to the Hirikara district. He kept his chin up while driving past some of the guards, doing his best to conceal a conceited smirk. Like any other megacorp, Renraku sure know how to put on a good appearance; they gave those poor slots clean uniforms and the burden of a 12-hour workday, which some would carry gladly.

Noticing the parking garage on his right, Operator stopped and gave the troll guard three seconds of consideration. (English) "Ah, what the hell.” Shrugging his shoulders, he pulled into the parking lot to purchase two hours' worth of security. He walked the remaining distance at a brisk pace, setting his public link into passive and disabling the gaijin music as he set foot into the Chop Shop. Thinking about the UCAS wasn't on his list of immediate priorities, and he wanted no distractions.

After a brief question with the barkeep, Operator took a seat at the far table, sporting a similar armored jacket to that of Spirit. The handle of a knife was also visible from his pants pocket. He also made a brief bow to the gathered men there, wasting no time in ordering a drink under his Kurosawa alias.
(Japanese): "Good evening. Were either of you unfortunate enough to wade through the rush hour?”

[Scarecrow71]

Aishuku waded through the heavy traffic of downtown Tokyo, half listening to the news feed coming across the link.

Stupid Oni.  While there is honor in preserving your family name, you should have not come back.

With the traffic increasing, Aishuku turns on the van's pilot program, allowing the vehicle to safely navigate its way for him.  When the story of the ball game comes on, he smiles a but.

I KNEW I should have put money on Hiroshima!

He pulled into the garage, nodding at the troll as he slid his certified credstick through the payment slot, opting for 3 hours in the event this took some time.  He thought about taking the roomsweeper with him, but decided that was a bad idea.  Still, he double checked the compartment to make sure things were good with his gear.

Once inside the club, he set his link to filter out the spam and crappy ads, making sure he could see the holo of the artist while listening to the music.  He was directed to the table where the others were, and without asking, sat down.

Interesting about Hiroshima, he asked the others, a smile gracing his face.

[Kozak]

Japanese - "Interesting isn't the word.  More like disappointing.  I cannot believe the Tigers' right fielder missed the catch.  Inches away from winning me a good amount of nuyen."  Kozak shakes his head.

Yet another arrives.  How many more till Tinman presents himself?  No matter.  At the least, I'll make some new acquaintances.

Kozak empties his bottle, signaling for another. 

Japanese - "Did anyone else have money on that game?  And did you hear of the Oni woman?  Truly a shame, is it not?

[Operator]

Operator merely nodded his head in agreement, a small smirk crossing his face in light of Hiroshima's overtime victory. While more partial to Urban Brawl, he did enjoy the atmosphere within a baseball stadium. (Japanese) "I expect that the rail authorities will pressure her surviving kin for restitution."

[LeighFox]

Beth pulled into the parking area about a minute after Aishuku, squeezing the sleek royal purple Mirage between two sub-compacts. Absently she acknowledges the nuyen request by the Parking Lots node, paying for three hours. Not sure how long this will take, but better safe than sorry... I don't want to have to brave the impound lot yet again.. the young woman thinks to herself.

Dismounting, Beth sets her helmet onto the seat of the bike, then pulls a her armored jacket out of the tiny cargo compartment, pulling it on overtop of the tight racing leathers, then tucking the helmet under her arm. The weight of her Manhunter comforting beneath her left arm, while a simple survival knife can be seen at her waist.

After securing the bike against theft, Beth slips into the Chop Shop, hesitating just inside to allow her eyes to adjust to the lighting. A nod to the bouncer before slithering through the crowd to the bar; a few quiet words with the bartender and she is quickly directed to the table where the four men sit.

Great, looks like I'm the only girl coming to this party... I hope the chauvanism is kept to a minimum.

Confidently, the ex-cop slips through the crowd once more, taking a seat across from Operater before offering the men a quiet greeting in only slightly accented Japanese.

(Japanese) "Good evening... I trust I am not late?"