It Begins

The young man walked into Matchsticks and was almost surprised when the doorman stopped him and asked him to check his weapons.

"I don't have any," he said as the doorman gave an imperceptable look of sure. But the scan didn't turn up any, not even hidden inside the cast on the man's right arm.

"Enjoy your evening, sir," the doorman said, and the man entered the dim, smoky interior.

Growing up in the Seattle plex, he had always heard Matchsticks was a place to hire shadowrunners. He looked around the bar, trying not to look aggressive, trying not to provoke anyone, but hoping to find any trace or hint of the kind of people who could pull the job he had in mind. He felt out of his league, like prey, but mustered his courage and prepared to see his plan through.

/edit/

Beast
It was that time of the month again. No, the other that time of the month: rent was due, and he needed money.
Since the boss didn't have anything big that needed doing, Beast had spent the last 2 nights at Matchsticks trying to find his way to a job.
Watching the people come and go, through the door, he piqued with interrest at this newcomer. this kid hadn't had to disarm, and the cast looked real enough. obvious physical frailty and a timid look, he's gonna get chewed up in here.

Picking up his white russian (he wasn't fond of many mixed drinks, but that was one he could apreciate), Beast began sifting through the crowd trying to keep a low profile despite his large size, he wanted to lurk near the kid without being noticed. He'd step in if he had to, but in this bar, it was usually much better to mind your own business.

The young man

After wandering around the establishment for a few minutes, a waitress asks if she can help him. He decides to level with her and explains his predicament and the reason for his visit to Matchsticks. The waitress acts as though she has heard similar requests and introduces him to the manager.

The manager says for a small charge, he will have any inquiries for work directed to the young man at the young man's booth. As the manager returns the young man's credstick he says, "Thank you Mr. Johnson. Let me know if I can do anything else for you."

A puzzled look fleetingly crosses the young man's features then he says, "Oh yeah, Mr. Johnson. Thank you, I'll let you know."

Apoc moved into Matchsticks slowly. He'd been told that this was a descent place to find work, but since he'd never been hired on for anything other than screamers across the border, it was all a little new. In the back of his mind, he could see the dizzying array of bars and lights which were the heartbeat of his network. The implant in his skull would let him grip the network at any time, but doing so would wipe out much of his ability in the outside world.

The signal from the cranial implant was weak, of course, and even this distance from the van, the signal strength bar flickered yellow more often than green. He wasn't used to this kind of work, for certain.

Before the bouncer had even finished, he produced a holstered predator and handed it over. He didn't move to pull the holdout from the small of his back. The gun was smaller than his plam and made of high grade plastics. It was barely worth carrying, but it helped his piece of mind. Any gun was better than no gun.

He slipped inside and let his eyes adjust to the interior lighting. They did, of course, rapidly. The mechanical irise mimiced normal eyes almost flawlessly, which they should considering the amount he'd paid for them. They clicked through vision modes rapidly, settling on a slight boost to the ambient illumination. He briefly overlaid the thermal spectrum, but cut it off again because the room was too warm and it all muddled together into one mess of runny oranges and blues with people only partialy visible in their reds.

All of this took only a few seconds, and the newcomer licked his lips before sliding over to the bar and ordering a scotch. He took a sip and the indicator light for the van started blinking. He leaned forward and rested an elbow on the bar before letting the RAS kick in. He became the vehicle in an instant, checking to see the what the issue had been. Another vehicle had pulled in beside it. He could see a person getting out, though they walked past his van without a second look.

Jumpy... he chided himself as he disconnected from the network. The drones weren't active, of course, but they still fed "alive" signals to the system as they waited for the wakeup call.

Nothing in the bar had changed in the five seconds or so he had been staring blankly into his drink. He downed the scotch and ordered another. My fraggin' nerves are fried, he lamented silently before looking around the room non-chalantly.

Thunder remains in his seat, a long day of work has him weary and dying for a refreshing drink which he's now had 3 of on this late evening. Tomorrow.... tomorrow I definitely quit that stupid job... I mean it this time, today was the last... oh, what am I talking to myself for? I say this every night... I sure as hell wish my luck'd change a bit, would love to get a break and get out of this line of work.... Crap, still talking to myself... The look of worry only deepens as the dwarf buries himself deeper into thought, ignoring most of what's going on this evening.

Realization that he's sitting alone buried deep in thought when he's in a public place hits suddenly, and with a grumbling sound he rolls out of the booth, up to the bar, climbing up to the top of the stool, "Nother please... less water this time? And could someone please pass down the stale pretzel sticks?"

Pierce reached accross the bar and handed over the bowl. "Gladly; the mold's been stinking up the place all night," he commented wryly as he got back to his obligatory drink. Work today had been particularly rough; one of his more mechanized patients had a malfuntioning arm that had thrashed about for half an hour before he and his assistant Joy could get it properly rewired. Pierce idly rubbed his forehead where the arm had clocked him once before he had wrestled it into a restraint. Drekking gangers and their drekking souped-up arms, he thought, taking another long drink, Hope something interesting comes up tonight; if I came down here for nothing tonight I'll really be pissed.

Blender watched the young man come in from his corner table. He too noticed the conspicuous lack of any weapons to check at the door. Either this guy's a real pro or a real newbie. Or a mage. Sipping his bottle of mineral water, he observed as the guy, acting clearly out of place, made a transparent attempt to not be overheard talking to the watress and the manager.

Blender stole another glance at the weapons checkpoint by the entrance, where his katana and stun baton were. He didn't like parting with the katana, though he wasn't too concerned about the baton. Not that he was unarmed; he had managed to sneak in his kris, a curvy knife made of non-ferromagnetic alloys and covered with insulating dikote, between the folds of his armored trench coat and his form-fitting armor. His forearms guards had distracted the doorman's attention from it. No, the reason for his concern was that the katana was magical. In addition to being worth nearly three hundred thousand nuyen, making it by far the most valuable thing he had ever owned, it was his favorite weapon, and could be used to magically track him down if anyone got hold of it. He had agonized over whether or not to bring it, knowing he would have to leave it at the door, before deciding that he was just being paranoid.

Cass

"What frags like a tiger and winks?" Cass looked up at the guy dancing with her. 'Did he really just say that?' She wondered. But he had. He looked like a fratboy from the U.; Hair clipped short and thick with gel, arms well-muscled and shaved--'probably oiled too,'Cass thought. Still, he wasn't bad looking. Even with that cheap Armani knock-off, 'at least he can afford a cheap Armani knock-off,' and that stupid goatee.

'Soka, I'll bite...' "...What?" Cass asked.

Her dancing partner answered her only with a dirty leer and a wink. His hands were all over Cass by now.

'Creep.' Cass pulled away from him with a gentle, but tired smile. "Wiz. But I gotta go..." She stopped trying to shout over the music--what was the point?--and gave the fratboy a disinterested little wave before losing herself in the crowd.

Threading her way across the dance floor, down the stairs and to the bar, moving as quietly as a whisper, Cass approached the counter. She slipped onto a stool next to a couple of dwarves, and waved for the bartender's attention. "Sake, cold? Thanks."

Waiting on her drink, Cass folded her arms over the countertop and glanced around the club. If she couldn't find Mr. Right, at least she might be find Mr. J. They were usually coming out of the walls in this place...but she didn't see anyone who immediately stood out...

The Young Man, er, Mr. Johnson

The young man takes a good look around the bar from the cover of his booth. It is hard to see through the smoky, dimly lit room, but at least the place has a nice crowd for a Monday night. He ponders the managers offer of help and a private room where he can hear over the Jazz band. The crowd looks... hard is the word that comes to mind.

Am I going to do this or not? He slaps his hand on the table as he makes up his mind, drawing some attention, probably more than he wants, and the waitress comes over.

"I've decided to take the managers offer for sending me some people looking for work," he says. "Can I get the back room?"

The waitress replies, "I'll pass the message along, and I think the room is available."

The young man tips her, hoping it is enough but not too much to betray his ignorance of such dealings.

The waitress returns and leads him to a door at the back of the club. "You should be fine here."

"Can you send me thet freaky looking guy with the double jointed legs? That is, if he's looking for work. I may need a bodyguard." At least I'll feel safer if I have the most obviously cybered goon on my side. "And would it be ok to let him have his weapon if I do hire him?"

The waitress looks at him a little sideways. I didn't notice that guy. "I'll see what I can do."

"Thank you."

The waitress goes into the main room and carefully scans it for the stealthy guy with the legs. You've got to be kidding me she thinks when she sees the man standing inconspicuosly against the wall, partially hidden by a booth and some of the bands equipment. She approaches him, "Can I get you anything?" she asks.

Renegade sipped his rum and soda as he scanned the room. He was here in hopes of getting a job, but aside from Blender, whom he had worked with once before, and the people working at the place, he didn't recognize anyone. His mind had just drifted off to how much he hated governments and corporations, and especcially government-wannabe corps like Lone Star, when he noticed the young man come in. He had seen that nervous manner before, in a Johnson who hired him on behalf of himself to find his missing son. It was the way a first-time Johnson acted.

Seeing the kid go to the back room, it makes a bit more sense. He was here to hire people. How handy, since I'm in the mood to be hired. Something about the level of incompetance and uncertainty made the Johnson actually more appealing. First because I hope he's too scared to even think of a double cross, and second it might be easy to get a bit more out of him since he A: doesn't know going rates, and B: is obviously desperate or he wouldn't be here.
coming up from leaning against a wall, I had just begun walking towards the bar to get an audience when the waitress aproaches me.

Downing the drink I had been leasurely sipping, then handing her the glass, slipping her 50 :nuyen: at the same time"You can get rid of this, and can get me in to see the man you just escorted back there."

Apoc is somewhat oblivious to the subtle dance going on around him. His experience with unsavory types is fairly solid, but the intricacies of shadowrunning are not. He takes another sip of his scotch and swirls the remaining liquid in his glass.

The liquor seems to be melting some of his hard edges and helping him think. The little lights dancing in the back of his mind don't calm down, and he keeps a mental eye on them, but his body language opens up considerably. He stops hunkering over the bar and sits back, looking around casually and scanning the crowd.

Under the cover of checking out women in the smoky room (which he does a fair bit of), he assesses the crowd as best he can. it's clear that some folks are professionals, but that most aren't. He sees the kid going to the back room but idly dismisses it. Must be applying for a job, he thinks, and leaves it at that.

[ Pierce ]

Pierce glanced down at his softly beeping pocket secretary and read the number of the caller ID box. Joy was calling, and at this time of day there could be only one reason. Pierce sighed inwardly and plugged in the transducer. "Absolutely not," he said, speaking through his jack.

"But Saaaaaaam...," the woman on the other end replied, her voice dripping with saccharine, "Angie's parents are home tonight, so we can't stay there. And you know she's leaving for New York next week, so we can't...."

Pierce cut her off mid-sentence, "Especially not then! I had to steralize the ceiling last time you spent the night in the clinic with that one. The drekking ceiling! I still have no idea how... nevermind! Just... no, no. NO, no. No, no. No."

Joy pouted. "We just got a little carried away, that's all. It won't happen again; I promise." Hearing the sound of a disapproving grunt on the other end, Joy immediately brightened up. "Thanks Sam! I owe ya one!"

Sam made a small growling noise through his transducer. "All right, all right. Just... at least keep off the operating table, okay? We've got a tricky implantation tomorow afternoon--the razors for that dancer, remember?--and I don't want to be distracted thinking about what you were implanting on that table the night before, got it?"

Joy laughed. "Oh I remember the dancer. Maybe, after we're done with her, she can do a little surgery herself and remove the stick from your-"

Pierce cut the connection before Joy could complete that thought, or the other one about 'maybe find him a guy instead.' For a few seconds he made a halfhearted attempt to growl at his drink, but despite himself started to chuckle. That girl must date half of Seatle, but I'm the one who's whipped, he thought semi-ruefully, snorting into the cheap synthahol.


[ :ooc: ] There, I'd say that introduces Pierce and Joy better than any OoC description. :D [/ :ooc: ]

(Cass)

A stool away from Pierce, and the conversation going on in the dwarf's head, Cass was pushing a ten nuyen note across the bar counter.

"Thanks omae." Cass took her sake from the bartender, and craddled it in both hands. The sake was cold, but old habits die hard. Glancing back over her shoulder Cass saw a big thick shouldered ork moving across the club...and then briefly caught sight of the ork's clumsy-looking, but fast-moving, cybernetic legs. Curious, Cass tried to follow the ork with her eyes as he passed between tables.

Look the part, be the part. 'That guy definitely looks the part...' Cass thought to herself. She took a sip from her cup of cooled sake, tilting her head to one side consideringly. There was definitely something going down. Cass could almost smell it.

Taking another swallow of sake, Cass waved down the bartender again and as he approached, leaned towards him across the counter. "Hey, uh, could you let me know if someone called Johnson is looking for me? My name's Casper." she whispered, sliding fifty nuyen more his way.

Snow had been contacted earlier that evening via one of his virtual dead letter boxes. The contact had been made by Johnny Jett, an assosciate whom at times ran overwatch for him. It seemed that a young Johnson was treading it waters which may be in over his head, and is in need of a competant bodyguard. This would suit his needs quite well. People were beginning to wonder why Robert Winters, his public face, hadn't gone on a business trip of late. Just when they were beginning to wonder what his business was, he departs for the orient, presumably to acquire another work of ancient art.

Snow's Porsche Winter pulls up in front of the club, and he steps forth. The place was not his usual fair, but it was a welcome change from the usual pop culture farms most shadowrunners seemed to favor. Approaching the valet, he gives the man a :nuyen: 50 tip, informing him to arm the security device before leaving the car. He gives the same for the bouncer, to avoid the requisit pat down. Of course, he is armed, but the MAD sensors would be none the wiser, as his weapon is completely ceramic and alloy. A good bodyguard was never without weapon after all. He takes a moment after he steps inside to look the room over, and he slips up to the bar. He makes a quick inquiry, ascertaining the location of his employer to be, and then sets off after the young man.

Beast

The waitress thanks the freakish man and says, "That should be no problem. He just requested your company." The waitress leads Beast to the backroom, holds the door for him, and closes it after him.

The young man, er... Mr. Johnson rises from his seat as Beast enters. "I'm looking to do some hiring for a job tonight and would like to engage you as a bodyguard for the interviews. You," he looks at his double jointed legs, "look like you may be able to do so. I can pay :nuyen: 500 or see if anyone else is interested."

Snow enters the room at that moment, overhearing the bit about a bodyguard. "Mr. Johnson, a high flying speedfreak friend of ours asked me to lend you my assistance tonight for that purpose."

The young man, er... Mr. Johnson looks puzzled for a moment after the intrusion, then puts together the hints about the mutual friend. Glad to have a bodyguard watching his back someone has vouched for, he tries not to start trouble with the cyberfreak he just made the offer to. He smiles at Beast placatingly and says, "I hope you understand, you know, having someone that you ..." He wants to say trust, but is afraid that will imply mistrust. Then he discards "can count on" as the opposite could be implied. "Well, someone that's been sent to look out for you. You are welcome to inquire about the job, Mr. uh..."

"Beast, will do."

"Mr. Beast," the young man/Mr. Johnson continues, "the job is a hiest. A warehouse. I'd rather not have a lot of casualties. I'd like to see it done without leaving a clue that anyone had been there, it will make tracing the loot that much harder, and if they don't know where the items got to, they may think it was an inventory error or some kind of incompetance on the part of the warehouse manager. This also precludes looting on the part of the team. There is no time limit, but I'd like it done within the next couple of weeks." So I know if everyone just took my money and laughed me off. "When you have the items, you will contact me, and I'll accompany you to the drop. The entire job will pay :nuyen: 20,000 up front and :nuyen: 200,000 at the drop. The team can divide this as they see fit. I have knowledge of the layout and security of the site and may know details I don't even realize would be useful. I don't want to get too detailed until you accept the job.

Any questions? Are you interested?"


Cass

The Bartender smoothly pockets the nuyen and says, "Mr. Johnson is conducting an open call tonight and it looks like you just got the next space in line."

Apoc lets the mental lights fall farther away from his mind's eye as he sees money passing between various hardened looking individuals and the bartender. A little while later, he signals the bartender and orders another scotch.

Leaning close over the top of the bar, he adds the request, "You seen a person nam'a Johnson in here tonight? I think they might be lookin' for me." He slides an extra fifty note in with the money for the scotch and slides it across the counter."

Apoc

The note disappears so fast you wonder if the bartender is a mage or cybered. The bartender says, "I'll let Mr. Johnson know you have arrived."

(Cass)

Cass smiled sweetly at the bartender. "Thanks omae." She listened to his instructions and then slipped off her stool, glancing side-long at Apoc and then moving through the crowd to the door at the back of the club.

Rapping her knuckles lightly against the door, the faintest little tap, Cass waited to be admitted into the room. Upon entering she looked from the freakish Beast to the young man to Snow, and with a slight shrug hooked her thumbs into her waistband.

"Soka...which one of you is Mr. J?"

Mr. Johnson

In the back room away from the smoke and with a little bit better lighting, the runners can see that Mr. Johnson looks like a human male between the ages of 23 and 28. The plaster cast on his right arm looks only days old and no different than ones you've seen from the hospital.

Now that you get a closer look, two datajacks are visible on his skull. His clothes are not tres chic or even what could be termed fine.

This is pretty good pay for a runner like Blender. Still, he thinks this newbie Johnson might be willing to go a bit higher. "Sounds like a good job, but if we aren't allowed to loot stuff and fence it, then we'll need to be paid very well. We need to talk this over amongst ourselves for a minute."

Renegade is intrigued by the high pay, but that is offset by the necesity of foregoing his favorite pastime: looting. He decides to see if he and his would-be teammates can pump the Johnson for more information. Taking a couple quick glances around the room in astral and physical space, he checks out the Johnson's aura.

Thunder in the Back Office

"Mr Johnson, that is indeed a fine offer, and I'm definitely the man for the job. You need someone who can get in and out without being noticed, my Mojo lets me do just that, I can go in through the roof, or from below, unseen, without ever leaving a single footprint. I can open doors without leaving a finger print, nobody will ever know I was there, nobody will ever know what hit them. More importantly, nobody will ever be harmed, but simply fall asleep on the job. And chances are good that if there's any magical defenses there, I helped set them up, so getting past them should be easy. What I need to know though is how much merchandise. We'll obviously need a driver, and one o' them there computer freaks to minimize security issues, and maybe some muscle once the perimeter is breached to carry the equipment...."

Thunder goes on more quietly, almost as if he's started talking to himself, counting what else he feels would be needed for this heist.

Beast gives a bit of a smile when the Johnson mentions a warehouse. "I excel at getting into and out of inaccesible locations." Your pay sounds fine, and neither the low casualties nor the looting restriction will be a problem."

His height allows him to sit on the ground beside the table and to see over normally. As he sits, his legs fold under him in an odd manner that inspection would note still leaves his feet flat on the floor, ready to spring.

"I have several questions, but will refrain until you have given your descriptions of the job." seeing the others walk into the room "However, I will inquire now as to how many people you were planning on using in this venture."

Apoc arrives in the back room in due course and hears the job. He listens intently and nods. "I've got technical surveillance and infiltration covered. I can provide team transportation and some heavy firepower, if needed. Which it shouldn't be in this case. It sounds like a solid gig." He takes a look at the people present and does some mental math. When the figures come up positive he nods. "I'm in if you're offerin'."