![]() |
![]() |
![]()
Post
#1
|
|
Moving Target ![]() ![]() Group: Members Posts: 122 Joined: 14-July 10 Member No.: 18,824 ![]() |
[00:05 January 1st, 2072]
New Year's Day, 2072. The Seattle skyline is ablaze with a rainbow of fireworks, and a brilliant white moon hangs in the night sky, surveying her domain with an eternal calm. The time is just past midnight, and the city is abuzz with excited activity. Tonight is cause for much celebration and drinking, though New Year's means different things to different people in the Emerald City sprawl. For the glitzy, glamorous, and super rich, it is yet another excuse to throw lavish parties and socialize with others belonging to the exclusive aristocratic elite, swapping juicy tidbits of gossip and talking money. For Joe Wage Slave, it's a few days off from work, a temporary reprieve from the megacorporate grind to spend some quality time at home with his family. For the downtrodden and poverty-stricken masses infesting the slums and ghettos like so many filthy rats, it is a milestone, one that marks another year they've successfully beaten the odds, clawing their way out from the jaws of urban decay to survive yet another year. And if that ain't worth celebrating, then what is, right omae? Every cog has a place in the machine, and every individual is the protagonist in his own story. Somewhere in the Emerald City, in places where the shadows are long, there move a few individuals, each unique in their own way, selling their talents on the streets beneath the bright seachlight of the metroplex lawmen. Though not yet known to them, their stories are about to converge, joining together to follow a narrative that will lead into a future of their own making. Somewhere, a dog barks into the night, and is shot in the head by a frustrated neighbor trying to get some sleep. Somewhere, a street gang is breaking into a jewelry store, unaware that the silent alarm has already been tripped and the police were on their way. Somewhere, a well-groomed troll is being beaten to death by a group of racist teenagers armed with baseball bats, and though there are witnesses on the street, no one is making a move to help him. Somewhere, in this city where anything can happen, something is happening. Where are you? |
|
|
![]() |
![]()
Post
#2
|
|
Target ![]() Group: Members Posts: 99 Joined: 23-June 10 Member No.: 18,747 ![]() |
New Year's Eve. Dahlia, the pretty Egyptian human who works at the same hospital as Seti, has “invited” Seti over for a dinner of Mahshi and Ruz Meaammar. It was actually quite good. Asim, her little brother, has been allowed to stay up until midnight, and Seti has been teaching him the ropes of Tabletop wargaming. As he explains the ins and outs of army building and character maximization, Asim looks on unenthusiastically.
Seti is still feeling a bit queasy after having let Dahlia produce a meal which he then ate. The woman had a penchant for viruses and toxins and all manner of things that could kill Seti without him ever knowing. What was in that food? How long before I expire from some exotic bug, or bizarre toxin I've never heard of? Dahlia seems to ignore them until the clock strikes midnight. Fireworks shoot into the air, exultant cries shoot into the air, local go-gangers shoot into the air. The three stand on the balcony, watching the colorful noise on the darkened horizon, until the formal festivities put on by the city of Seattle draw to a close, and all that can be heard are the drunken whoopings of people far away. Dahlia appears ready to retreat into her private labspace, before remembering that Seti is still there. She turns around, and says “Alright, Seti, I appreciate you spending some time with my brother. Now go home.” Asim rolls his eyes, and Seti opens up the fridge and digs through the bee venom to find a bottle of beer. He pulls it out, and by the time he has turned around, Dahlia is already in her lab. “Goodnight, Asim,” he says, shrugging on his leather jacket. “Don't stay up too late, and knock on your sister's door when you go to bed so she keeps track of the time, okay?” As he walks the block from her apartment to his, Seti once again reflects on this terrifying woman he has accidentally let into his life. He pushes in the key to his apartment, and so lost is he in paranoid delusions of Spanish Flu and HMHVV, mixing in with thoughts of the form-fitting armor Dahlia wore on their last run, that he trips over his ottoman, spilling his beer. Yep. Another beautiful beginning to another beautiful year. He pulls out some old rags and sops it up, throwing them into the sink when he's done. He logs onto his OKCupid account, responds to the single message—<sounds great, I'd love to meet up. When and where?>—and turns in for the night. |
|
|
![]()
Post
#3
|
|
Moving Target ![]() ![]() Group: Members Posts: 122 Joined: 14-July 10 Member No.: 18,824 ![]() |
Somewhere in the city...
The pixie screamed in agony as the vibroblade came down like a hacksaw, tearing the flesh off his back. His wings dropped to the ground, severed from his body, which was dangling in the air, held up by chains locking his wrists together. He spat the blood out of his mouth and looked at his tormentor through swollen eyes. "Aw bloody hell, now you've done it. What am I supposed to do when it's blazing hot outside and I don't got no shade?" The large human man scowled and backhanded him across the face, cracking his neck like a whip. "I'm running out of patience. You will tell us what we want to know or you will die. It's that simple." The pixie rolled his eyes. "Fine, I'll tell you what I know. I know that it's way too hot in here, and you folks really oughta look into getting some air conditioning. I know that this magecuff you stuck on my neck is terribly out of fashion and does not match my clothes at all. Hmm...I know that you punch like a five year old girl, seriously man, look into getting a gym membership or-" His words were cut short as the man slapped him across the face again. He coughed and sprayed blood all over the walls. "Say, do you think you can get me a beer or something? I mean, I think you owe me one, since I'm letting you torture me and all." The man shook his head in frustration. No matter...the night was still young. He had many more instruments in his toolbox that he has yet to deploy, all of them designed for the very specific purpose of inducing as much pain as possible. His prisoner will break by the time he's done with him...this he guarantees. |
|
|
![]()
Post
#4
|
|
Running Target ![]() ![]() ![]() Group: Members Posts: 1,076 Joined: 31-August 05 From: Rock Hill, SC Member No.: 7,655 ![]() |
[00:05 January 1st, 2072; Evergreen Apartments 12B, Touristville, Redmond]
Ultima wondered how much longer the metal folding chair she sat in was going to support her weight. Not that she was a heavy chica at all, but time and exposure had exacted a heavy price on on it. As she rocked back and forth in the uncomfortable chair, arms crossed about her chest in a self-embrace, it squeaked and squealed and sounded as if it were on its last legs, so to speak. She sat on the crumbling, remaining half of the balcony to her room, looking out at the sky and watching the fireworks as they exploded in the misty, cold, overcast night. The flares of light caused eerie specters to flash across the cloud cover, and multi-colored sparks showered the horizon. Blinking away the burned-in images of the flowers in the sky, she wondered momentarily if she was really seeing them, or if she were under any lingering effects of the red mesc sitting on the kitchen table. Why had she thought about that? More hot tears streaked down her otherwise cold cheeks, and it felt like rivers of lava pouring down her face in comparison. Thinking about drugs inevitably made her think about her need, of that irresistable, inevitable, magnetic pull towards The Other, the Psyche tablets wrapped up in a little plastic sandwich bag, still unopened from when she had purchased them from the dealer down the hall. Ultima knew what they were doing to her, and what effects they were having on both her mind and her body. Originally just a tool to be better, now they were just another Master. Always, when she gave in to her addiction, there was a brief moment of relief and ecstacy before the pain returned. The Psyche was like an abusive lover who always promises he won't hurt you again, he loves you too much to do that, and he doesn't want you to leave. Time and time again she gave in and indulged herself. And always, whenever the pills wore off, the shakiness would return to her hands, and her head would swim. The nausea would return, though whenever she puked up whatever soy she'd had for lunch that part always ended quickly. But try as she might, and pray as she would to God for Him to help her, she could not break away from that pull. Whenever she did as she was doing now, sitting with her back to the table and crying, there would always come a point where her will broke down and she moved like a drone moves when controlled by its pilot program, focused unerringly on a single goal, to do what it is programmed to do and no other task. The cold, desperate woman knew it wasn't supposed to be like this. She knew that somehow she had to break this need, this addiction. Sure, she was an agent of Change. She brought Destruction so new things could grow or be built in their place. Maybe... maybe God was doing that to her? Destroying her, so something else, or somebody new could be borne of the ashes of her old self? It was a sweet, endearing thought. She took it with her as she rose out of the chair and walked to the kitchen table. |
|
|
![]()
Post
#5
|
|
Moving Target ![]() ![]() Group: Members Posts: 515 Joined: 27-May 10 From: Helios Space Station, L3 solar LaGrange Point Member No.: 18,624 ![]() |
[00:05 January 1st, 2072; Summeroaks Apartments 29C, Renton]
Track lighting winked to life in Dahlia’s ‘office’, flooding the woman’s workspace. Rows of stainless-steel tables against the walls and up down the middle of the room were thrown into harsh relief. Enough tools and components for a small chem shop dominated the space, although a medkit, toolkit, and various other pieces of laboratory equipment vied for room in the same general area around a desk and com terminal. A refrigerator and oven-sized incubator loomed against the wall, sporting a yellow ‘biohazard’ icons in AR. Dahlia heard the front door swing closed, and the woman’s PAN informed her when the electronic locks activated shortly after. Seti had left. Asim would spend a few hours playing videogames or talking to his friends on the Matrix before getting to sleep. Something like that. And Seti would return to his own home to…well, do whatever it was that Seti did in his spare time. As long as the sniper occasionally showed up from time to time and provided a reasonably responsible male adult figure for Asim—well, Dahlia didn’t really care what the sniper did in his spare time. It was a lot like playing ‘House’, setting up a little box, making sure that even if all of the right people weren’t there that there was something close. There would be an approximation in the place of the absent figure. The young woman rolled up her shirtsleeves and pulled on a pair of latex gloves from the box at the door. A quick overview of the room revealed that Dahlia’s guns were cleaned. All of her gel rounds were loaded and prepped. Both injector knives and both Kanmushi drones were similarly prepped and primed with various deadly payloads. In short, everything was as it should have been. Dahlia checked and rechecked these things before starting on her long-term work. Covered petri dishes came out of the incubator in pairs—indicating their culture source, incubation time, and other associated bits of data via old-fashioned permanent marker on the dish plastic. Samples were taken, inoculation loops used, sterilized, used again, etc. Slides went under the microscope. Notes jutted down. And then the promising cultures received their first meal of the New Year: a soup of common anti-bacterials, cut to a dose low enough that the strongest strains would survive it. From the surviving colonies, she would select the strongest strains. And those colonies would be bred on a slightly stronger cocktail, and so on and so forth, into infinity. If Doc M wouldn't supply Dahlia with a sufficient sample, Dahlia would simply have to cultivate her own. It was as simple as that. When she was finished with the bacteria, the petri dishes went back to rest in their incubator. A few spritzes of bleach went onto the bench. The gloves went into a bin marked 'biohazard', to be burned later. Another pair of gloves went on. Dahlia didn’t have any hours scheduled at the hospital later that day; she wasn’t an actual Doctor. And so the inevitable parade of excitement and substance related injuries weren’t hers to handle. There would be few diagnoses to handle—only stitches and stomach pumps, perhaps the occasional bullet wound. These were not things for someone as under-qualified as Dahlia. The dark woman settled in for a long night at the lab. There was just so much to do. |
|
|
![]()
Post
#6
|
|
Moving Target ![]() ![]() Group: Members Posts: 122 Joined: 14-July 10 Member No.: 18,824 ![]() |
Seti:
You wake up to your commlink's alert that you've just received an incoming message in your OKCupid account. Greeting the new morning with a gigantic yawn, you open up the message in an AR window as you get up to brush your teeth. <hiiiii, do u want 2 go 2 club penumbra tonight @ 8? i herd they got good music there lol. btw, i think your pic is totally hot!!!1 (IMG:style_emoticons/default/smile.gif) xoxo blondebeauty1827> |
|
|
![]()
Post
#7
|
|
Moving Target ![]() ![]() Group: Members Posts: 122 Joined: 14-July 10 Member No.: 18,824 ![]() |
Ultima:
They say that the candle that burns twice as bright burns half as long, and you never burn brighter than when you're riding high on Psyche. There's some part of you that knows that this has to stop, that this is a road that will lead to nothing but your own destruction...then there's the other part, the part that doesn't give a shit. The second part is getting louder even as the seconds tick away on the old clock hanging on the wall, each smug tick another nail being driven into your brain. Experience has taught you that you've almost reached your limit...it won't be long now before the hunger takes you. Suddenly, your trance is broken by a man's voice coming from down the hall, loud and angry. "Get the fuck out of my apartment, maricón!" You recognize the voice of the neighbor who sold you the pills. "No money, no drugs, got it estúpido?" "Come on, Enrique, I really need them, man, don't do this to me." "I said get the fuck out." "You know I'll pay you when I get the money, so give me the fucking drugs already!" "You don't get out of my face right now, I swear to God I'm gonna-" The deafening boom of a gunshot sounds out and reverberates down the hall. Looking through the fisheye peephole, you see Enrique slumped down beneath the doorway to his apartment, a bloody hole in his chest. A man you don't recognize looks around frantically with a pistol in his hand, his face a mask of terror. As you watch, he picks something off the corpse, then turns around and high-tails it down the stairs. |
|
|
![]()
Post
#8
|
|
Running Target ![]() ![]() ![]() Group: Members Posts: 1,076 Joined: 31-August 05 From: Rock Hill, SC Member No.: 7,655 ![]() |
[00:15 January 1st, 2072; Evergreen Apartments 12B, Touristville, Redmond]
To Ultima, withdrawal made the world seem like a child's drawing, with colors all askew and edging out of the lines in which they were supposed to be contained. Nothing looked as it should, but rather it was all smudged and out of place. The very walls around her tilted like some old expressionist film, and she had to lean up against them to keep her balance. That was her, clawing up against the walls for support, up to the door of her apartment after she heard the gunshot. Slowly, second by second, the dry-swallowed tablet made its way down into her stomach, and from there it blossomed outwards throughout her whole body, banishing the painful debilitation that washed over her limbs and suffocated her brain. She could focus her attention without her mind swimming in languid circles that left her dizzy and afraid. The woman took slow, deliberate breaths, an exercise she developed to try and maintain her calm as the medicine took hold. She also did it to calm her nerves; gunshots this close to her in the hall? It could be anyone... It could be somebody from Caracas, trying to track her down here... Ultima held a revolver upright in her hand, and she pulled the hammer back with her thumb to ready a round, just in case. She normally kept the gun on the kitchen table, next to the drugs that kept her going, ready at a moment's notice to blow her own brains out all over the wall. Long ago she read some philosopher who said that thoughts of suicide got one through many a bad night. She supposed they were right, in a way. No matter how bad things got, she always had an out, a way to commit herself to total Destruction and Rebirth, if the pain became too much. But it was too soon... It wouldn't do to presume too much on God's behalf. Maybe He still had plans for her yet. Better to tough it out rather than let Him down and be consigned to the Outer Darkness. When the woman first peered out of the peephole, everything came in twos. Double-vision made two versions of the bloody man slumped in the hall. She willed herself to focus them into a single, coherent image. Enrique! she thought to herself, accompanied with an audible gasp. A wave of horror swept over her, "No... no no no no..." she repeated. The woman hadn't been in town long. She was just some border jumper out of South America, who ran to Seattle to escape her past and her own personal demons. She hardly knew anybody, and Enrique had been her only source for her fix. This man, in a way, had been her confidante, her medicineman, her priest. He knew her fears and her pain, and for a small tithe he made them go away for a time. She tucked the gun down into her shorts, hastily disarmed the explosive traps around her front door, and then dashed out into the hall. "Enrique!" she called out to the man. He was already starting the process of assuming room temperature, but she was still in the first stage, that of Denial. Out of this was borne a fitful and resilient optimism. Even as she touched the side of his neck and felt no pulse, she still called to him. "Enrique! Are you okay? Please get up." Tears streaked down her face, and yet still she pleaded, "Get up. Don't... don't leave me like this." The man... He took something off of Enrique's body. She imagined him going after the same drugs she was trying to score, and snatching them specifically from Enrique, leaving her to starve without her fix. But then... Enrique wouldn't have ALL of his product on his person. He often had to go back inside to get what she needed. For a brief moment she imagined a giant pile of drugs next to his bed, some endless trove of psyche just waiting to be picked up, now that the owner was deceased. Fast forward to Acceptance. Enrique's dead, and I bet he's got a ton of the stuff inside his house. You dig the well before you are thirsty, and thus was Ultima's thought process. She ran inside the dead man's apartment, dragging his corpse inside with her, and then she quickly slammed the door. She didn't know how much time she had before somebody came to investigate, but she wagered it wasn't much. Thus she began tossing his domicile, looking for his stash. |
|
|
![]()
Post
#9
|
|
Target ![]() Group: Members Posts: 99 Joined: 23-June 10 Member No.: 18,747 ![]() |
[09:43 January 1st, 2072; Birchwood Apartments 12-04, Renton]
Dragging the AR display with him into the bathroom, Seti read the message again: <hiiiii, do u want 2 go 2 club penumbra tonight @ 8? i herd they got good music there lol. btw, i think your pic is totally hot!!!1 (IMG:style_emoticons/default/smile.gif) xoxo blondebeauty1827> As he brushed his teeth, he surfed through to blondebeauty1827's profile. Bah, he thought. Sure, she's blonde, but why do so many women think "beauty" means augmented tits? Well, whatever. Might as well start off the new year on one foot or another. At least she thinks I'm hot. He was off today--he had worked at the hospital long enough that he got seniority among the security guards when it was time to bid for days off. He ran through a mental list of the things he had to do for the day--a bit of grocery shopping, renew the parking permit for his bike...maybe hit the gaming store and see if anybody wants to play 40K... He knew people thought he was a bit of a dork for playing these games--and even moreso for playing them in person, instead of online--but the truth was, he liked doing the math. Sure, he wasn't the smartest guy in the world, but a sniper needs to be able to do trig in his head, and keeping up with the simple math of 40K helped keep him sharp; the tactical play didn't hurt, either. If only Asim could understand; Seti was trying to help him prepare for the streets that would inevitably embrace him once he was old enough to leave home. What the hell. Why not go out tonight? He threw a threadbare towel over the sink in his combination bathroom/shower, and composed a message to blondebeauty1827. <Sure, I'd lov 2. I tnk yr pic is hot, 2. I'l C u @ 8!> As he turned on the tepid water, he thought to himself, Maybe this won't be such a shitty year, after all. |
|
|
![]()
Post
#10
|
|
Moving Target ![]() ![]() Group: Members Posts: 122 Joined: 14-July 10 Member No.: 18,824 ![]() |
Dahlia:
After you're done cultivating your new supervirus (and disposed of all hazardous materials according to the proper procedures!), you check your day's messages on the new Hermes Ikon you got for Christmas from one of the doctors at the hospital, who you're pretty sure has a major crush on you. A bunch of spam...into the trash bin they go. One from Sage... <Hey what's cookin', good lookin'? Haven't seen you in awhile. Miss you lots. Got hired by this troll broad yesterday, who just happened to be the biggest and ugliest slab of beef on this side of the Mississippi. Only got through it cuz I was thinking of you the whole time. Ugh, I need to go take another shower. Call me, darling.> And one more, from a commcode you don't recognize... <Greetings, Ms. Bekhit. I understand that you are a woman well-schooled in the science of bioengineering, with a specialty in biowarfare agents. If you are interested, we wish to offer you a freelance consulting opportunity with a project we're currently working on. We require a scientist with your talents, and you would be very well compensated for your services. If you're interested, please meet me at TransGeni laboratories at 68th Avenue and Kenmore tomorrow at 4 o'clock. Ask to speak with Mr. Reynolds. I hope to see you soon.> |
|
|
![]()
Post
#11
|
|
Moving Target ![]() ![]() Group: Members Posts: 515 Joined: 27-May 10 From: Helios Space Station, L3 solar LaGrange Point Member No.: 18,624 ![]() |
[04:22 January 1st, 2072; Summeroaks Apartments 29C, Renton]
By the time Dahlia even thought to look at her mail—most of the civilized and even uncivilized parts of Seattle were sound asleep. If Asim had knocked on the laboratory door at some point, Dahlia had missed it entirely in her focus. What had she even been up to? There was the virus, and then some programming work on the agent—that was taking no less than forever to wrench on—but, what else? It had been a night of chasing a handful of rabbits down each of their respective holes, as the young woman’s mind followed one train of inquiry before erratically jumping to another. And each of those twisted and curved in their own particular flavor, until contact from a source outside of Dahlia’s own headspace seemed the strangest of them all. She peered at the first message, uncomprehending for a moment. Then it was almost like a lens snapped into place, and all was clear again. Ah. Yes. Sage. With the winter weather in full swing, Dahlia had become so intent on obtaining samples for her latest pet project that she had indeed neglected to address just about everything else. I mean, sure the drone that spat out food was still stocked and rent for the rest of January was paid. But, the kitchen refrigerator was probably woefully empty, and the holidays had otherwise taken their toll on the family bank account. Unless a real job fell into Dahlia’s lap, nothing else would be any time soon. She almost laughed after reading the second message. It was a Christmas Fracking Miracle! The appointment went down in Dahlia’s appointment book as something suitably vague, and she threw an empty briefcase onto a mostly-empty table. What would be appropriate to bring to a meeting like this? The comlink would go in, and probably an embroidery hoop, in case she got bored or stuck waiting. Spare string and needles. Into the brief case they went! Most likely, she wouldn’t be able to get away with bringing a side-arm into a laboratory; or, security would just take it away. No, she’d have to settle with going in un-armed. Someone might get upset. Even if Dahlia didn't recognize the comcode, she didn't have the Matrix know-how to try to track it. And isn't that the way this type of thing always went, anyway? Dahlia thumbed out a reply to Sage as she threw a few other knick-knacks into the briefcase. <A little something is finally starting to come together. I’ll call in the evening, and we can discuss a meeting.> Never one for terms of endearment, Dahlia sent the reply as-is. Sage would probably be used to it. The woman took a few moments to ponder getting an hour or two of sleep. Dahlia hated sleeping—hated the wasted hours and the creeping things at the edges of her unconscious mind. But, she should look presentable for what amounted to a job interview. Lab sterilized, Dahlia left a suitably vague AR message on the fridge for Asim—something about errands in the afternoon—explaining absence later that evening, and went to sleep. All rather silly, considering that she’d still probably be awake before her brother. Maybe she'd call up Seti at a more decent hour and confirm what would be appropriate to bring for the meeting. Maybe. |
|
|
![]()
Post
#12
|
|
Moving Target ![]() ![]() Group: Members Posts: 122 Joined: 14-July 10 Member No.: 18,824 ![]() |
Ultima:
Enrique's roost is a small, cluttered space that smells of dirty laundry and cigarette smoke. The floor is littered with discarded articles of clothing and pornographic magazines. In one corner is a brand new trideo set - you recognize it as a NeoNet Looking Glass, a top of the line piece of hardware that seems out of place in such a crummy dive. On the kitchen table is a half eaten slice of pizza with a fly perched on top and three empty beer bottles. It doesn't take long for you to go through Enrique's place, and you quickly discover the most likely place where your treasure is hidden: a small steel safe in his bedroom, built directly into the wall and secured by a keypad maglock. |
|
|
![]()
Post
#13
|
|
Running Target ![]() ![]() ![]() Group: Members Posts: 1,076 Joined: 31-August 05 From: Rock Hill, SC Member No.: 7,655 ![]() |
[00:15 January 1st, 2072; Evergreen Apartments 12G, Touristville, Redmond]
Ultima paused in front of the large safe with the maglock. Thoughts of what might be inside faded away in the face of this challenge, this device in front of her. Immediately she saw a puzzle to be tackled, and the satisfaction of successfully bending a device to her will overshadowed the joy she got from any fix. But time was ticking, and she didn't have time to fuck around. There could be people here any moment to interrupt her. She jumped up and began rummaging through the house for tools, actual or improvised. She slipped a knife from the kitchen; a pair of small, sharp, hair-trimming scissors from the bathroom; from the junk drawer every kitchen has she snagged some electrical tape. She jerked a lamp from the wall and cut the plug out from the base and began stripping the wiring with the knife. A butterknife worked in place of a flathead screwdriver for breaking open the maglock casing, but she wrapped the electrical tape around the metallic handle, just in case any there were any countermeasures inside to send a jolt through the device... it wouldn't do to get a zap, after all. Finally, Ultima moved behind the large trideo unit and hefted it over on its side, letting it crash onto the carpet. With a few swift cracks of her improvised tools she broke open the case, exposing all of its electrical components to her, just in case she needed some wires, resisters, capacitors, or any other parts that would help her circumvent the maglock. She wrapped the tips of the fingers of her right hand with electrical tape, reached out to touch a metal cabinet to discharge any static electricity she may have pulled from the carpet... and then she got to work. |
|
|
![]()
Post
#14
|
|
Moving Target ![]() ![]() Group: Members Posts: 122 Joined: 14-July 10 Member No.: 18,824 ![]() |
Seti:
A clean, freshly ironed outfit that's in sync with the latest fashion trends...check. A box of expensive British breath mints, in case the night goes well and you two end up making out at the club...check. A condom in your back pocket, in case the night goes really well and you two...well, you know. Anyway, check. You give yourself a once over in the bathroom mirror, flashing a grin at the sexy beast looking back at you from the other side of the glass. You're locked and loaded and ready to have one hell of a night. Go get 'em, tiger. You arrive at the Penumbra a few minutes shy of eight o'clock. A popular shadowrunner hangout, you've met with the Johnson on a few of your previous jobs here, so you're familiar with the layout of the club. You grab a corner booth opposite the dance floor. Here in this particular spot, the music isn't quite loud enough to drown out your conversation, but just loud enough to foil any attempts at audio surveillance. You kick back, order your usual drink from the bartender, and wait for your date to arrive. You didn't have to wait long. A buxom blonde who's even more impressively proportioned than her photograph comes through the door, spots you, and makes a beeline to your booth with a huge, man-eating smile on her face. "On my God, are you superstud65? I'm blondebeauty1827! My real name is Maria, what's your name? Aren't you just the cutest thing! You remind me of my cat, Savannah, she's an Egyptian Mau, I love her sooooo much! Wait, aren't you Egyptian too? That's sooo cool! I'm half German and half Scandinavian and half Korean! Do you like cats more or dogs more? I like cats more. They're soooo cute when they're kittens! What is that you're drinking, I'll have one too! I think I'll also get some chicken fingers, I'm starving! I didn't get to eat dinner today because I had to take Savannah to the vet. Don't worry, she's okay, she just came down with a case of worms! What's your favorite food? Mine is pizza, but I can't eat too much of it because then I'll get fat! I'll have to change my name from blondebeauty1827 to blondefatty1827! LOL!" You can't seem to tear your eyes away from the fascinating way her enormous fake breasts move about when she talks, punctuating every other word with an animated bounce. |
|
|
![]()
Post
#15
|
|
Target ![]() Group: Members Posts: 99 Joined: 23-June 10 Member No.: 18,747 ![]() |
[20:03 January 1st, 2072; Club Penumbra, International District, Seattle]
It's like watching a train-wreck, Seti thought to himself. I want to look away, to look her in the eye, but I can't seem to. They're even bigger than in the picture! Has she gotten more work done? He wrenched his eyes away from her chest, forcing himself to look her in the eyes--her shallow, superficial eyes. Make conversation, Seti. Ask her something. Quick! Before it gets too obvious! "So, are you, uh, enjoying your drink?" Seti made sure to maintain eye-contact as he brought his cranberry-amaretto to him lips, taking a sip. "Oh, yeah!" Maria flashed him a toothsome smile. "It reminds me of this time my cat blah blah blah blah...." Seti tried to listen. He really did. But then the barback came to see if they needed drink refills, and...well. Shit that boy is hot. Jesus Christ. He is as hot as the hell this woman is going to. He could keep me warm all night long. I just want to tear his clothes off and keep him in my apartment as my personal pet and never let him go. Hell in a handbasket, the terrible things I would do to that boy. Please, God, oh please, let him like me. That's all I ask. Just let him want to hold me like I want to hold him. I promise, I will start going to church again and all that if please God please I could just have that boy... "...and that's when I thought, 'uh, well, duh! She's an Egyptian Mau, so I'll name her Savannah, after the desert in Egypt!' Right, doesn't that make sense?" "Uh, yeah, absolutely, sure." Seti realized he had absolutely no clue what this woman was talking about. And it was suddenly really hot in here. "Excuse me for a moment, I'll be right back...Little Boys' Room." He left Maria at the table, eating chicken wings and talking about her cat, and crossed the club to the restrooms. Pushing open the door to the Men's Room, he bent over a sink and turned on the cold water. He wet his hands, and held them to his face, palms over his eyes, letting the water cool him down. |
|
|
![]()
Post
#16
|
|
Moving Target ![]() ![]() Group: Members Posts: 265 Joined: 15-September 08 From: Florida Member No.: 16,346 ![]() |
[21:02 December 31st, 2071; the 99, Tacoma, Seattle]
Sure, all elves were quick and nimble and oh so very pretty, but they were also so very dumb. Angron was leaning against the concrete railing along the overpass, whistling to himself and twirling a four-foot length of chain by one end as the Ancients came screaming onto the bridge, the tell-tale whine of their sportbikes' engines signalling their arrival from a mile away. From his hiding place behind the railing -- hanging off the edge on the other side from Angron, Rhodes smiled. Like moths to a lightbulb. There were three of them -- strength in numbers. They skidded to a stop and set the kickstands on their bikes, crowding around Angron. Knives were pulled, threats were made. Angron just laughed in their faces. That was Roadie's cue. The seven-foot ork hauled himself up and over the rail and charged across the asphalt, meaty fists already cocked back as he raced for the one on his right. The elves heard him coming, but they weren't quite fast enough. Rhodes buried his right fist in the stomach of the one on the right, who gave a strangled whumpf! as all the oxygen was blasted out of his lungs. He landed a solid left hook on the middle one and gave a grin of satisfaction as blood and teeth exploded from the bastard's pixie-face. The two elves collapsed. Roadie looked over and watched as Angron garroted the last one with his chain, the elf's face turning a dark purplish-blue before he finally passed out and the other ork let him go. The two Ragers high-fived and started rifling through the elves' pockets. Commlinks, credsticks, weapons, ammo -- anything of value, they stripped it, ignoring the occasional groans of pain from their victims. As they worked, Angron said, "You know, I'm startin' to wonder why we don't just kill these fraggers." "Elves is metas too, right?" Rhodes replied as he pulled an honest-to-God wallet out of the now-toothless Ancient's back pocket. "Talk about old-school," he muttered to himself as he flipped through it. It was mostly filled with glossy pictures of an elf chica who was drop-dead gorgeous. Elves weren't exactly his style, but she had this sort of an impish grin on her face that set off her obviously Asian features. "Lucky fucker," he said, and put the wallet back where he found it. "Yeah, but it's not like they's dragged out into the street and beat like our folk, ya know?" Rhodes shrugged. "Who gives a shit?" "I gives a shit, bro!" "Yeah, and who do I look like? Lord-fucking-Torgo?" "Don't --" Roadie's head snapped around, staring down the freeway. Angron frowned but kept quiet -- and heard it too. That same tell-tale, high-pitched whine of overcharge sportbike engines. "Time to roll, brother," Roadie said with a grin. ***** [22:49 December 31st, 2071; Loveland, Puyallup, Seattle] As Roadie came in through the door -- Pops had forgot to lock it again -- he was assaulted by six, no seven, little orks intent on being the first one to climb to the top of his towering frame. "ROADIE!" they all squealed in unison as they clambered up his legs. "Hey, littles! Ow! Helena, no biting!" Rhodes stomped through to the combination dining room (a laughable label, in this case) and kitchen. His father was over by the stove, grilling something. "Hey Pops," he said, sniffing the air. "Soy burgers?" "Yeah. Stuffer Shack had 'em on sale, but the fridge's compressor died again an hour ago. Figured I'd cook 'em up now so they won't go bad as fast." "Smart, Pops," Roadie replied as he peeled adolescent orks off of his torso. "Mom watchin' the Trid?" His father shook his head. "She's in there, yeah. Wheel of Fortune's going off, but she wants to watch that stupid Dick Clark-looking drone do the countdown." Rhodes grinned. "Course she does." Roadie walked into the den to see his mother sitting on her old recliner, its patchwork covering going from threadbare to non-existent, watching the wall-mounted trid. She glanced up when he walked in and stood up, all smiles. "Rhodes, my baby boy, give Momma a hug." He hugged her and gave her a peck on the cheek. "Happy Birthday, Ma," he said. "Brotcha a present." He pulled out two of the credsticks he'd taken off the elves back on the freeway. "Awww, Rhodes, you didn't have . . ." She frowned. "Did you steal those, young man?" Roadie tried to look hurt. "No, Ma!" "Rhodes. . . " "Ma, I didn't steal 'em! I won 'em bettin' on the bikes! Seattle's on a tear this season!" Suddenly she was all smiles again. "Oh, well that's ok then. Just give them to your father, he holds on to those things." "K, Ma," he said. He leaned down to give her another peck, then walked back to the kitchen and put the credsticks on the table. His father spared a glance for them and shook his head. "Next time, boy, you might want to wipe the blood off of them." Roadie snorted. "I'll try to remember, Pops. I'm off with the guys." "Happy New Year, son," his dad said with a smile. ***** [00:01 January 1st, 2072; Tacoma Docks, Tacoma, Seattle] Rhodes and Angron toasted with their beer cans, then promptly guzzled the cheap, bitter liquid so fast they could hardly taste it.. It wasn't worth tasting anyhow. Behind them, the rest of the gang and their female groupies were laughing and carousing, drinking heavily and snorting, shooting, slotting, or smoking their drug of choice. The two leaders were a few yards apart, watching as the first of the fireworks began exploding over Puget Sound. "So how's that shadowrunning shit going?" Angron asked. Roadie finished shotgunning another beer, tossed the can, and took out a pack of cowboy killers before answering. "Got a couple of small jobs so far. Breakin' kneecaps, that sort of thing. No big scores yet." He lit up his cigarette and handed the lighter to Angron, who lit up a joint. "Yeah. You keep sayin' 'yet'." "And I'll keep sayin' it, too. Shit's gotta break some day." His buddy laughed. "Ok, ok. Just don't go wastin' yer life on it, eh, bro? We've got plenty of hooch and hoochies to go around, and we ain't gettin' knocked off any time soon." Roadie snorted. "Hoochies? Like Gloria, there?" He nodded to an ork girl who was trying -- and failing -- to drink Hotshot the troll under the table. "That bitch fell out of the ugly tree and hit every branch on the way down." Angron laughed. "What's yer dad say? Somethin' 'bout pots and kettles?" "Fuck you." Angron just laughed again. "Yer life, bro, do what you need. Me? I'm going to go nail an ugly chick." The other ork turned away and made a beeline for the rest of the gang. "Gloria! Get yer ass over here, I need it!" Rhodes turned away from them, the smile slowly melting from his face. He leaned back in his bike's seat and watched the fireworks scatter their lights across the city with distant pops. And prayed. |
|
|
![]()
Post
#17
|
|
Moving Target ![]() ![]() Group: Members Posts: 122 Joined: 14-July 10 Member No.: 18,824 ![]() |
Dahlia:
Sitting across from you is a slender human man dressed in a sharp three piece and sporting a pair of stylish designer glasses. The man who had identified himself as Thomas Reynolds had come down to the lobby to meet with you after a short wait with the receptionist, and you were now sitting in his office at TransGeni headquarters in downtown Seattle. "TransGeni is a subsidiary of the Chimera Group, a firm that specializes in bioengineering with an emphasis on low intensity conflict applications," he says. He smiles wryly. "We deal exclusively with contracts in the private sector. Most governments and corporations are not progressive enough to understand the work that we do here." "The reason that you're here today is because working at TransGeni requires a very unique personality that combines raw talent with a libertarianistic drive to pursue scientific breakthroughs at all cost. Your name was provided by a mutual acquaintance, who believes you to be such a personality. The goal of this interview today is to see if our acquaintance was correct. So, Ms. Bekhit, why don't you tell me a little bit about yourself?" |
|
|
![]()
Post
#18
|
|
Moving Target ![]() ![]() Group: Members Posts: 122 Joined: 14-July 10 Member No.: 18,824 ![]() |
Ultima:
Working with deft hands well-trained in the task to which you've assigned them, you quickly pop the case of the maglock and begin to work on rewiring the internal circuitry. Plug that one in there...snip this off at the base...bridge these two components together...almost like magic, the lock on the safe disengages with an audible click. After a quick glance at the front door to make sure no one has discovered your intrusion yet, you pull open the safe. It's just as you predicted...Enrique had stashed all of his surplus product here. You find two Ziploc baggies of Psyche tablets, similar to the one sitting on your kitchen table, as well as a throng of other street drugs like Bliss, Kamikaze, and Novacoke. Sitting next to the pile of drugs is a Colt Manhunter and a thousand nuyen in certified cred. |
|
|
![]()
Post
#19
|
|
Running Target ![]() ![]() ![]() Group: Members Posts: 1,076 Joined: 31-August 05 From: Rock Hill, SC Member No.: 7,655 ![]() |
[00:15 January 1st, 2072; Evergreen Apartments 12G, Touristville, Redmond]
Ultima sat for a moment, staring at the trove of drugs that was hidden away behind the safe. The sight was as beautiful as she had imagined it, and the image overwhelmed her. Blinking, she snapped back into reality. She was robbing a dead drug dealer in his own casa, so it would be best if she were out of here as quickly as possible. She rummaged through the kitchen until she found a plastic grocery bag, and then filled it with the contents of the safe. The certified credstick she tucked in the pocket of her shorts, making her feel like she actually had a few nuyen to her name. When she went back to the front door, her heart was pounding. With the grocery bag in one hand, and her revolver in the other, she peered out of the peephole to scan the hallway. Nothing. She turned her head and pressed her ear to the door, and likewise she heard nothing. She knew better than to run out into the hallway, though. The door to the apartment opened slowly, allowing her to peer out before committing herself to leaving. When she was satisfied there was nobody watching her, she dashed out down the hall to her room on the opposite wall, slipped into her own apartment, and then shut the door behind her. Thoughts of the murderer had completely left her while she was busy scoring the dead dealer's goods. However abundant her fix was at the moment, she knew it would run out over time. The old fear returned on the knowledge that she no longer had a source. Where to find one so close by, so convenient to where she was living? A tiny, nearly muted whisper in the back of her skull wondered why she was bothering, that she should be fighting this demon inside of her instead of feeding it. But it was hard to hear that voice when the screams of painful withdrawal were so much louder. She fished a cigarette out of a mostly empty pack, stuck it between her lips, and lit it. As she puffed on it and stared back out of the balcony window, a thought skittered through her mind. I don't know who supplied him. I don't know who Enrique was affiliated with. They're going to notice that missing product, and look to blame it on somebody. I'm going to have to leave here. With that, she set to making plans to leave. |
|
|
![]()
Post
#20
|
|
Dragon ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() Group: Dumpshocked Posts: 4,258 Joined: 9-March 10 From: The Citadel Member No.: 18,267 ![]() |
00:07 January 1st, 2072; Tradition Lake View, Apartment 6-3, Renton
Silk rubbed her fingers across tired eyes and stretched in the cocoon chair which was her one decent possession now. Dimly outside she could hear the crackle of fireworks but she resisted the urge to get up and go to the window. Apart from the necessity of rubbing the grime away from the glass she knew that the view would only serve to remind her again of what she’d lost…nearly two years have gone by already, that’s hard to believe, the memories are so vivid still… Running, splashing through dirty water, the door slamming, climbing the stairs, the reek of cordite, and then her body… She shook her head to clear the thoughts before they overwhelmed her again. She unconsciously brushed the tears away and settled back in to the comforting embrace of the cocoon engaging her commlink as she did so. Aria would help…although she jogged memories she never changed herself and her cheerfulness was highly infectious. She’d held Silk together when everything else was falling apart…hell, it was New Year and she should be celebrating not moping here. The matrix unfurled around her and with a hi res rush of sound she was off, silks flowing around her and a cry in to the wind to attract Aria’s attention… |
|
|
![]()
Post
#21
|
|
Moving Target ![]() ![]() Group: Members Posts: 122 Joined: 14-July 10 Member No.: 18,824 ![]() |
Seti:
When you return from the men's room, Maria polishes off the chicken wing she was working on and immediately begins gabbing again, picking up from where she left off. You suspect that this is going to be a long night. Distracted, you see the cute barback making a return trip from the counter with your drink, and wonder what's the best way to ask him for his number. "Here's your drink, sir!" he says cheerfully, plopping it down on the table in front of you. "Thanks," you say. "Do you work here every night?" Not the best opener you've ever devised, but hey, they can't all be three pointers. "Nah, this is just a side gig to help me pay my way through college," he says. "I go to school at-" His words trail off as his chest opens up and the dark crimson of fresh blood blossoms on his shirt like flower petals. He looks down with an expression of surprise frozen on his face, then collapses on the floor, falling lifelessly like a puppet that's had its strings cut. Before you can even process what just happened, three more gunshots ring out. You follow the sound to a booth next to the bar, where four Italian men are holding guns that are still hot with murder. A couple of Japanese men lie dead at their feet, shot in between the eyes. For a brief moment, the entire club is silent - even the music stopped, the DJ frozen in shock in the middle of a track change. "God damn Japs," the mafioso says contemptuously, spitting on the floor. "When are they gonna learn that you don't mess with the Family?" You know that the screams and the stampeding and the hysteria will begin soon, but right now, everyone in the club is stone still, frozen in shock at the senseless outbreak of violence. Well...almost everyone. "Hey! Hey! What the hell, you stupid idiots!" With slow-dawning horror, you realize that those words are coming out of the mouth of the person sitting across from you. The mafiosos turn their attention to Maria, who had stood up with an indignant look on her face. "Yeah, that's right, I'm talking to you!" she declares. "Helloooo? Where do you guys get off shooting people when I'm in the middle of a conversation? I'm on a date here, you over-muscled morons!" The throngs of clubbers are still dead silent, stupefied by the bizarre scene unfolding in front of them. |
|
|
![]()
Post
#22
|
|
Moving Target ![]() ![]() Group: Members Posts: 515 Joined: 27-May 10 From: Helios Space Station, L3 solar LaGrange Point Member No.: 18,624 ![]() |
[16:03 January 1st, 2072; TransGeni laboratories at 68th Avenue and Kenmore, Downtown]
Dahlia kept a pleasant expression on her face, her posture straight and her appearance neat—in keeping with the expectations of a respectable person, or at least someone maintaining the illusion of someone respectable. These jobs are altering my sense of perspective. The idea crackled through Dahlia’s mind slowly, almost slowly enough for her to be aware of the thought forming. I’m starting to feel naked without the guns—without the knives. Security hadn’t given her any problems, precisely because Dahlia didn’t have any weapons on her. For all intents and purposes, she was a legitimate citizen. And she didn’t have anything illegal on her person for the meeting, the perfect picture of the unassuming egghead. The only real problem would be lasting through the interview itself. She cocked her head to one side, looking politely thoughtful for a moment or two after Thomas Reynolds’s prompt. “I suppose you could say that I don’t believe in the word ‘finished’, only words like ‘sufficient’. There is, after all, always room for improvement—for progress,” the woman’s eyes took on a slight gleam as she smiled, something just outside the realm of conscious control. “But, that doesn’t mean I’m not an appreciator of the classics,” Dahlia sifted through her purse, edging aside hoops of fabric covered in practice surgical sutures in bright colors. After a few seconds, she pulled out a small collection of wallet-sized pieces of electronic paper—each displaying a high-definition rendering of a pathogen. Smallpox, cholera, and the Spanish Flu leered out in digitally enhanced Technicolor, as well as one or two of the sixth world’s new epidemics. “They are classics for a reason,” she grinned, the cadence of her voice like someone talking about photographic techniques or clothing silhouettes. As she took in Mr. Reynolds’s appearance and office, it only vaguely occurred to Dahlia that this was very similar to a life that she could have led. A fashionable suit, no doubt one of dozens. An office. No, an office with a view of something other than the building across the street. Six years ago, Dahlia would have been quite envious. Now the woman had to wonder if she should be envious, should even care. But, it felt like she was looking in on Mr. Reynolds and his office through a computer screen or a feed—like she was somewhere else entirely. Like she wasn’t even really there. Dahlia was impatient for the word dancing to finish, but tried not to make it obvious. Asim could use the nuyen. I could use the nuyen. And if this pans out long-term it could mean moving to a nicer neighborhood. She repeated to herself. Patience. She thought as she continued to speak with Mr. Reynolds. |
|
|
![]()
Post
#23
|
|
Moving Target ![]() ![]() Group: Members Posts: 122 Joined: 14-July 10 Member No.: 18,824 ![]() |
Dahlia:
Reynolds nods, clearly pleased with your answer. He drums his fingers on the desk and leans forward. "While your knowledge in the sciences is valuable, and make no mistake, you will have many opportunities to use our facilities to pursue scientific discoveries should you join our team, it is because of your...other talents that I have reached out to you today. It is rare to find an individual who is skilled in both the application of the scientific method and the application of more practical talents to solve problems in the real world...but you are a rare individual, are you not, Ms. Bekhit?" He pauses, and looks you in the eye, his gaze gleaming with intensity. "I will be frank with you. Much of the work we do here at TransGeni is illegal. Like I said, most governments aren't forward-thinking enough to understand the scope of the research we conduct here. We are always in need of skilled operatives, troubleshooters on company payroll who apply their talents to solve company problems. As I understand it, you're well-versed in the arts of operating outside the law. What is the word the general public likes to use to label those in your line of work...shadowrunners?" He laughs, then immediately becomes serious again. "Ms. Bekhit, I am blunt with you because I respect you, otherwise you would not be here today. We want you to work for us. Officially, you will be just another laboratory technician on TransGeni's payroll. Unofficially, you will work for our black operations division - you will go about your daily life in the usual manner until contacted by your handler, who will give you the details of your next mission. A lot of the work you do will be distasteful, but you will be well-paid, and you will have the autonomy to approach your objectives in whatever manner you deem fit." "So what is your answer, Ms. Bekhit? Will you walk? Or will you join our team? It is not my intention to rush you, but I am afraid I will require an immediate response." |
|
|
![]()
Post
#24
|
|
Target ![]() Group: Members Posts: 99 Joined: 23-June 10 Member No.: 18,747 ![]() |
[20:15 January 1st, 2072; Club Penumbra, International District, Seattle]
Jesus Holy Shit, Seti thought. This woman is going to get me killed. He pushed away from the table, intent on being anywhere but where the approaching Mafioso intended to be. No gun tonight. The thought raced through his mind like a 5.56 centerfire--a thousand meters per second and destroying everything in its path. No gun tonight, I'm on a date. No gun, no armor. No armor tonight, I'm on a date. No gun, and no armor. I'm vulnerable. I can't fight back; no gun tonight. So intent was he upon escaping the approaching mafioso, that he didn't even see the second one until he bumped into him. Not good. Combat imminent. No gun. Tunnel vision starting; too close to the action. No gun. No armor. Shit, shit, shit. "Where do you think you're going?" Sneered the goon. "Not trying to ditch your date, are you? That's not very gentlemanly." A big, ugly smile split his face like a glasgow grin. "Now you see what you've done?" He could hear Maria still shouting in the background. "That was my fucking chance, you goombas! That was my freakin' date!" Please shut up, Seti thought. Please shut up. I don't have a fucking gun, I don't have any fucking armor. Shut up. Please. "I was going to get LAID TONIGHT!" She was practically screaming now. "I fucking NEEDED THIS! But NOOO, you stupid assholes needed to prove just how big your fucking dicks are..." He needed to stop listening to her, now; she was distracting as hell, and the last thing he needed, as combat was about to begin, was a distraction. He began looking around; this was Penumbra. Other Shadowrunners came here; surely they weren't all as monumentally stupid as he was? He began casting his gaze around, looking for familiar faces. [Perception Roll, 2 Hits] [And just in case, Initiative Roll with 3 Hits +9 =12] |
|
|
![]()
Post
#25
|
|
Moving Target ![]() ![]() Group: Members Posts: 122 Joined: 14-July 10 Member No.: 18,824 ![]() |
Seti:
GUN. Your perception of time slows down to a snail's crawl as you see the first mafioso reach into his jacket and pull out an Ares Predator, the chrome on his firearm gleaming with metallic menace under the resplendent sapphire lighting in the club. "Sorry love, looks like you're not getting any action tonight," he says with a cruel smile. "You should've kept your mouth shut...we don't respond well to disrespect. How about we kill your boyfriend for you to teach you some manners?" The gun comes up and blazes with muzzle fire, shattering the still atmosphere with a thunderous boom. |
|
|
![]()
Post
#26
|
|
Target ![]() Group: Members Posts: 99 Joined: 23-June 10 Member No.: 18,747 ![]() |
Dodge: Five (5) Hits. All Sixes.
[I'm actually going to sit on this for a bit to see if anybody wants to volunteer to help me. If nobody has by tomorrow, then I will explore my terrible options.] |
|
|
![]()
Post
#27
|
|
Moving Target ![]() ![]() Group: Members Posts: 122 Joined: 14-July 10 Member No.: 18,824 ![]() |
Seti:
Moving with lightning speed, you dive behind a chair as a bullet punches through the Lunar surface flooring of the club not three feet away from where you were standing before, sending a shower of gravelly chips spraying into the air. "You dumb ox, now you've done it!" Maria screeches. She raises her foot and stomps down, driving her four inch stiletto heel right through the man's leather shoe and into his foot, pulverizing bone with a sickening crunch. He howls in pain, buckling and falling to the floor, clutching his punctured foot in agony. His gun skitters across the ground as he drops it and clatters to rest a few feet away from you. |
|
|
![]()
Post
#28
|
|
Target ![]() Group: Members Posts: 99 Joined: 23-June 10 Member No.: 18,747 ![]() |
|
|
|
![]()
Post
#29
|
|
Moving Target ![]() ![]() Group: Members Posts: 515 Joined: 27-May 10 From: Helios Space Station, L3 solar LaGrange Point Member No.: 18,624 ![]() |
[16:03 January 1st, 2072; TransGeni laboratories at 68th Avenue and Kenmore, Downtown]
Ah, so that was what this was all about. At least Mr. Reynolds knew exactly what kind of person he was talking to, and he was familiar with her work. And, truth be told, this was the exact sort of opportunity Dahlia was looking for. She might have to quit her more legitimate job at the hospital for a new ‘legitimate’ job at TransGeni. But, what the hell did that matter, anyway? She might even be able to get access to some nicer laboratory equipment. Hell, Mr. Reynolds probably wouldn’t even care if she got her hands on a few choice components—all the better to work with, right? Dahlia returned the eye contact, a rather serene expression on her face in comparison to the rather intense look on Mr. Reynolds’s face. She wasn’t exactly the kind of woman who cared too much about legality, evidenced by the fact that this man had contacted her in the first place. And she wasn’t exactly the kind of person bothered by unsavory jobs. For crying out loud, this was a woman who grew super viruses in the spare bedroom of her apartment. The young woman had already made up her mind before Mr. Reynolds was finished talking. Dahlia needed the nuyen; she needed the job. The rest was just icing on the cake. “I think I like the sound of this arrangement, Mr. Reynolds,” she smiled. Now that the man had his answer, they could make finer arrangements. Dahlia would probably have to exchange her day jobs, if only for convenience. But, at least she’d always have a relatively flexible schedule. After all, the woman hardly had to sleep. |
|
|
![]()
Post
#30
|
|
Moving Target ![]() ![]() Group: Members Posts: 419 Joined: 22-May 10 From: Germany Member No.: 18,604 ![]() |
[20:17 January 1st, 2072; Club Penumbra, International District, Seattle]
Silver had been sitting on his stool at the bar for about an hour now, slowly sipping at his beer. He had convinced himself to go out tonight, maybe meet some new people, have some fun. No girls of course, he was faithful to Aurora, but in the month since he had arrived in Seattle he had done nothing but work on developing contacts in the shadow scene, trying to find a lead on his girlfriend's whereabouts. And he'd gotten nowhere. He needed an evening off to replenish his energy. He had hoped to find someone interesting here, maybe a potential friend. With some luck he could even get to know a real shadowrunner. There were rumor's that said this club was a favorite among the shadow community. But so far the only thing he had accomplished was draining his crestick by ordering drinks. How do you even go about meeting shadowrunners? He couldn't very well just ask people. Hey there, how ya doing? Might you be a professional criminal by any chance? Yeah that's sure to work, he thought sarcastically. His musings were interrupted by the sound of gunfire. The tall white-haired elf looked up in time to see some japanese men dropping to the ground, having been shot by mafiosi that looked like they walked straight out of a bad trid show. Should I get involved in this? The decision was made for him when, to everyone's amazement, a girl with unbelievably huge breasts started talking shit to four armed men who just killed multiple people. Some people have just no sense of self-preservation, he sighed. Getting up from his bar stool his Synaptic booster kicked in and turned the world around him into slow-motion. He focused on one of the mafiosi that was aiming at the unfortunate date of the suicidal silicone girl. Gathering mana around him Silver formed it into a spike of deadly energy, unleashing it directly into the italian's mind. |
|
|
![]()
Post
#31
|
|
Target ![]() Group: Members Posts: 99 Joined: 23-June 10 Member No.: 18,747 ![]() |
[20:17 January 1st, 2072; Club Penumbra, International District, Seattle]
Son of a bedan bitch whore fucker! Seti was too focused, the tunnel-vision too strongly overwhelming; he grasped for the gun with his fingers straight out, and ended up knocking it even further away. Now, instead of having a weapon with which to properly defend himself, he was splayed out, on the floor, completely vulnerable. His only chance now was to keep moving, keep dodging, hoping they would keep missing long enough to get back under cover again and make another attempt for the gun. |
|
|
![]()
Post
#32
|
|
Moving Target ![]() ![]() Group: Members Posts: 265 Joined: 15-September 08 From: Florida Member No.: 16,346 ![]() |
[20:17 January 1st, 2072; Club Penumbra, International District, Seattle]
Rhodes watched with mild fascination as the dumb blonde went psycho-bitch on the mobsters. He wasn't really a fan of organized crime, though he'd dealt with mafiosos a couple of times. But this was too good. He watched in silent amusement as Seti leapt behind the table and again when he tried to grab one of the fallen mobster's guns, only to push it further away. It slid to a halt not twelve inches from the ork's foot. The big meta smiled, took a half step forward, and kicked it back. He nodded to the splayed-out, vulnerable guy even as he saw a pansy-looking elf move up off to his left. Huh. Drinks and a show, he thought. |
|
|
![]()
Post
#33
|
|
Target ![]() Group: Members Posts: 99 Joined: 23-June 10 Member No.: 18,747 ![]() |
[20:17 January 1st, 2072; Club Penumbra, International District, Seattle]
Seti was still cursing himself when the gun came sliding back. He grabbed it as it slid past him, looking up to see the giant, hulking, chromed ork that had kicked it back at him. Look at him, sitting there all casual. He must have tons of experience with this sort of thing! He flipped over onto his back and took aim at the remaining mafiosos. Sighting down the barrel of this tragically maligned gun (Who sands down the sights? Seriously, now.), Seti squeezed the trigger, falling the hammer and igniting a cloud of hot gas to push the leaden ball down the barrel at roughly 800 feet per second. |
|
|
![]()
Post
#34
|
|
Moving Target ![]() ![]() Group: Members Posts: 122 Joined: 14-July 10 Member No.: 18,824 ![]() |
Silver's stunbolt pierces the man's mind, shattering it like a sledgehammer being brought down on a glass doll. He crumples immediately, oozing to the floor like someone had liquified all the bones in his body. This one is down for the count.
Seti opens fire at one of the remaining mafiosos, and his aim is true. The Italian curses in his native tongue as the bullet hits him in the shoulder, but his armor jacket manages to absorb most of the impact. He half-spins, brings his own pistol up, and returns fire. His two friends, having recovered from the shock of witnessing two more warriors entering the skirmish, take a target, one each, and fire their guns. |
|
|
![]()
Post
#35
|
|
Moving Target ![]() ![]() Group: Members Posts: 122 Joined: 14-July 10 Member No.: 18,824 ![]() |
CODE >>Posted 1/04/72 in the Redmond Pioneer, an independent screamsheet giving you up-to-date coverage on all the action happening in Seattle's most savage slum (owned and operated by the Seattle Post company, all rights reserved)
"Local man found murdered in own home," by Adam Sawyer, staff writer Local man Enrique Chávez was found murdered in his own home last night by land lady Anita Saunders, who had gone to Chávez's apartment to pick up this month's rent. Instead, she came upon Chávez's already cold corpse, left unceremoniously on his kitchen floor in a pool of his own dried blood. "It was terrible," said Saunders. "The look frozen on his face, the smell...I'll never forget it." Chávez was presumably killed by a burglar, who emptied the contents of his wall safe after shooting Chávez. Lone Star officials confirmed that they are not currently investigating Chávez's murder, and do not foresee opening a case file for him in the near future. "The guy was SINless trash, this is what they do to each other," said homicide detective James Harkness. "Your readers can rest assured that their hard-earned tax dollars are being used to protect all the legitimate, law-abiding citizens of Seattle." Chávez is survived by his ex-wife and two year old daughter, who live in another part of Redmond. They could not be reached for comment. |
|
|
![]()
Post
#36
|
|
Moving Target ![]() ![]() Group: Members Posts: 122 Joined: 14-July 10 Member No.: 18,824 ![]() |
Silk:
Always as dependable as the turning of the seasons, Aria responds to your call, materializing in front of you in a brilliant light show, radiating with good cheer. "Hullo, little sister," she says. "How's the New Year treating you?" |
|
|
![]()
Post
#37
|
|
Moving Target ![]() ![]() Group: Members Posts: 122 Joined: 14-July 10 Member No.: 18,824 ![]() |
Posted on ShadowSEA VPN -> subforum='Bounties' date=1/03/72 adtitle='Paranormal Critter Hunt'
>>Looking for a runner to help us track down a paracritter that has escaped from our zoo. Critter in question is a Chill Penguin, an awakened variant of the King Penguin that is capable of casting frost spells. It escaped from our facility yesterday when one of the animal handlers forgot to engage the lock to its habitat and is loose somewhere in the Seattle metroplex. Mark prefers cold environments. Reward for tracking down the mark will be ¥5000. Mark MUST be brought in alive and in good health, reward will be forfeit if mark is injured during capture. Please contact us at 38A-9182-555J to claim your reward once you close this bounty. THANK YOU. |
|
|
![]()
Post
#38
|
|
Moving Target ![]() ![]() Group: Members Posts: 122 Joined: 14-July 10 Member No.: 18,824 ![]() |
Dahlia:
"Excellent," Reynolds says. "I have a feeling that you will quite enjoy your work here at TransGeni. Now that you're officially a part of our team, allow me to formally introduce the man who will be your principle link to the corporation. Commlink, display communications channels." A virtual grid of numbers shimmers into view in the air in front of him. He taps a few of them with one hand, and says, "Mr. Watson, could you please come into my office? I have someone I would like to introduce you to." A few moments later, the door slides open with a hiss, and a stout redheaded dwarf walks in. "What is it, Reynolds?" the dwarf grumbles, staring at you with a hawk's gaze. "You know I'm busy as hell trying to fix the mess those idiots at Northgate let happen. I don't have time to chit chat with little girls." "Mr. Watson, I would like to introduce you to Dahlia Bekhit," Reynolds says with a smile. "Dahlia is the newest addition to our black operations division, and she'll be working directly under your supervision. Dahlia, this is Samuel Watson, one of our most experienced operations managers." "That so?" the dwarf says, unimpressed. "And what makes you think you'll be useful to me, girl?" |
|
|
![]()
Post
#39
|
|
Moving Target ![]() ![]() Group: Members Posts: 265 Joined: 15-September 08 From: Florida Member No.: 16,346 ![]() |
[20:17 January 1st, 2072; Club Penumbra, International District, Seattle]
Rhodes saw one of the mobsters point a gun in his direction and threw himself to one side; he heard the snap as the round shot past his ear. With a grin splitting his face, he drew Outlaw. The pistol had seen a lot of custom work, and it showed. The handle had been replaced with a larger one tailored to his grip -- erga-something was the word the guy at Weapons World had used -- and replaced with honest-to-God wood. Two R's had been carved into each side, stylized in blocky letters and placed back to back. The Cavalier itself, normally cobalt blue steel, had been completely chromed over and then had Or'zet lettering carved into it along the sides of the barrel and all around the cylinder. The lettering on one side of the barrel read "The Outlaw;" the other side, in smaller script, said, "Become the Law." The wording on the cylinder aligned with each of the enlarged cylinder's nine apertures and each was the name of a hero of the Wild West, real or not: Josey, Rooster, Wyatt, Doc, Wild Bill, The Kid, Jesse, Butch, and Sundance. Rhodes didn't even bother to bring the gun up to take a proper aim. He whipped it from the holster and fired twice, sending Wild Bill and the Kid at the goon who shot at him. He was rewarded when the mobster staggered as the hollow points blasted into him. |
|
|
![]()
Post
#40
|
|
Moving Target ![]() ![]() Group: Members Posts: 515 Joined: 27-May 10 From: Helios Space Station, L3 solar LaGrange Point Member No.: 18,624 ![]() |
[16:03 January 1st, 2072; TransGeni laboratories at 68th Avenue and Kenmore, Downtown]
Oh how Dahlia disliked these dances. They were so…wasteful. Aside from establishing leader and subordinate patterns within social groups, what purpose did they really serve? But if Mr. Watson wanted to dance, Dahlia would have to dance. As the dwarf entered the room and fixed his sight on Dahlia, she was well aware of his curtness and the fact that he was calling her a little girl. And maybe someone else would have been offended. Maybe someone used to negotiations would have been able to turn that around, or simply pretend that it didn’t happen. But, it just didn’t matter to Dahlia—it was completely irrelevant to her, superfluous. “No one ever thinks about what they’re touching,” Dahlia sighed, almost wistfully. “It’s not as bad as it was in the twentieth century when people still used doorknobs and telephones, but it’s the same. Everyone’s worried about being shot or hacked or fired or set on fire and they just make the assumption that they’re not going to catch anything. It’s like a blind spot in everyone’s reality. But, one spritz of a little something on a favorite gun or a telecom or anywhere people put their hands, and wait a few days or a few weeks and half the department is out with the flu,” She was on the brink of bursting into laughter, a small chuckle punctuating her sentences here and there. “And the bioware mods that could take care of it are so cheap. When I did a stint with a street doc, I never even heard of anyone going under for a pathogenic defense implantation procedure. So careless. It boggles the mind, Mr. Watson,” It might not be that convincing, but it was the best someone like Dahlia could come up with. She put on her most winning smile, and slipped the virus pictures back into her purse, as she waited for the verdict. |
|
|
![]()
Post
#41
|
|
Target ![]() Group: Members Posts: 99 Joined: 23-June 10 Member No.: 18,747 ![]() |
[20:17 January 1st, 2072; Club Penumbra, International District, Seattle]
Seti was learning to hate that sound. Not the sound of gunfire; the sound of twigs snapping. When you're creeping along in the woods, it means you've been careless, and people know you're around, now. When you're getting shot at, it means the bullets are flying WAY too close. At least he wasn't alone in this fight anymore. That was nice. Another elf--a pretty one, yes, but his dye-job was a little unnatural--had come up and done something to one of the mooks, and it looked like the chromed ork had decided to join the fray, as well. The biggest advantage to a club like this, thought Seti, is you can always count on meeting new friends. He threw himself behind a table, a took a half a moment to breath. Then he stood up, hauled the barrel of his borrowed gun in line--Seriously, who sands down the freakin' sights?!--and squeezed the trigger on another dumb gangster. |
|
|
![]()
Post
#42
|
|
Moving Target ![]() ![]() Group: Members Posts: 122 Joined: 14-July 10 Member No.: 18,824 ![]() |
Proving that a true warrior can overcome any deficiency with his tools, Seti aims, fires, and hits in a stream of continuous, practiced motions. The mobster doubles over as the bullet punches through his abdomen and he drops to the floor, screaming in pain. This one is out of the fight. His partner, who has already suffered injuries at the hands of the ork gunslinger at the bar, realizes that he's all alone and none of his comrades had even drawn blood before they went down. He sets his gun down on the floor and throws his hands up in the air.
"Okay, okay, basta! I surrender! I surrender!" |
|
|
![]()
Post
#43
|
|
Moving Target ![]() ![]() Group: Members Posts: 419 Joined: 22-May 10 From: Germany Member No.: 18,604 ![]() |
After the first mobster had gone down to his spell Silver turned around and shifted his focus on another enemy. He drew in mana, maybe a little more than he could safely take, and sent a bristling bolt of lightning through the bar that hit the italian square in the chest and struck him down like a hammer. The smell of charred flesh slowly spread through the club, mingling with the bitter taste of gunpowder and blood.
The drain hit hard, he he had exerted himself a little too much as evident by the droplets of blood rinning out of his nose. But he shook of the headache and analyzed the situation. The big ork and the unfortunate bachelor had taken care of the rest of the mafiosi. Only one of the italians was still standing, having dropped his weapon and surrendered. Looking around the bar Silver didn't notice any severe injuries on bystanders, safe for the mafiosi and the yakuza guys of course. But maybe there had been innocents hurt in the crossfire that he couldn't see from his position. Turning to the stunned crowd in the club he called out: "Anybody here severly injured? I can help you with that! Just come to me." While waiting for any eventual victims to come forward he went over to the egyptian guy whose's date had been the cause of all the trouble. "Well that was some date huh? Nothing says love like a bullet wound." He grins loopsidedly while wiping the blood from his face. "I'm Silver by the way. Nice to meet to you. Now what are we gonna do with that mafia guy?" He looked at the big ork that had also joined the fight. "You got any ideas?" The guy looked chromed. Maybe he was a real shadowrunner? That would be some turn of luck after all. |
|
|
![]()
Post
#44
|
|
Moving Target ![]() ![]() Group: Members Posts: 122 Joined: 14-July 10 Member No.: 18,824 ![]() |
The shootout having been concluded, the crowd begins to applaud, having seen the best show they're probably going to see all year. One spectator points at the bleeding barback crumpled up on the floor, the one who was unfortunate enough to catch a stray bullet from the mobsters.
"Er, he could probably use some healing," the spectator says. "I think he might be dead though." Meanwhile, Maria, whose fury has not yet been spent, continues kicking and stomping at the mafioso whose foot she had broken earlier. The Italian is curled up on the floor in a fetal position, whimpering as he endures the full awesome force of Maria's wrath. "You stupid *kick* ugly *kick* little man *kick* think you can just come in here *kick* and ruin a girl's date *kick* I spent an hour doing my make up tonight *kick* and you messed everything up *kick* I hate you so much!*kick* *kick* *kick*" She pauses briefly as Silver introduces himself. "Hi, I'm Maria. I know what I'm going to do with this Mafia guy." The mobster looks up at Silver with pleading eyes. "Please, stop her, she's gonna kill me!" "Shut up," Maria snaps, resuming her assault on the fallen man. "I'm not done with you yet, you bastard!" |
|
|
![]()
Post
#45
|
|
Moving Target ![]() ![]() Group: Members Posts: 265 Joined: 15-September 08 From: Florida Member No.: 16,346 ![]() |
Rhodes holsters his hand-cannon and walks over to his erst-while allies. "One in the head and one in the heart, rifle his pockets, and toss him in a dumpster." He looks the made-man up and down for a moment then shrugs. "I like his shoes, though. Shiny. Wonder if they fit me." He flashes the mobster the biggest, toothiest grin he can possibly manage -- and its a pretty big one.
|
|
|
![]()
Post
#46
|
|
Moving Target ![]() ![]() Group: Members Posts: 419 Joined: 22-May 10 From: Germany Member No.: 18,604 ![]() |
One thing at a time. The innocent guy is more important than tha fucking mafioso who starts shooting in a club full of people. On his way to the waiter Silver passed close to the egyptian and whispered to him: "Better calm down your girlfriend, no need to kill any more tonight than we already have." Arriving at the victim he put his hands on the bleeding wounds and concentrated. He didn't know if the guy wasn't already dead but he would try at least. Mana was streaming from his fingertips, trying to mend the broken brody.
|
|
|
![]()
Post
#47
|
|
Target ![]() Group: Members Posts: 99 Joined: 23-June 10 Member No.: 18,747 ![]() |
[20:17 January 1st, 2072; Club Penumbra, International District, Seattle]
Seti dropped the the magazine straight from the well to the floor, never touching it. When LoneStar arrives, they'll need prints...and nobody ever thinks to wipe down the bullets they load. He looked at the Ork. Silver was right, the last thing they needed right now was a Mafia APB. All this so far can be explained, if necessary--please, god, never let it be necessary--but that goes right out the window when we start shooting their unarmed soldiers. He turned his back on the elf--if he actually heals that kid, I'll buy him a beer--and faced the man who had saved his life. First the one that can actually do some damage, then I'll deal with Maria. "Listen, Chombatta, I appreciate the save back there. I really do. So you can have those shoes. They're yours. But right now, this is just a bunch of drunk fuckers endangering their Dona by being stupid in a bar. They threatened some club-hoppers, but worse yet, they lost. You think that's going to go over well?" He snorted. "But the moment we kill them after they've surrendered, the Mob hasn't got a choice; they have to hunt us down. It's a pride issue." He shook his head, and looked over his shoulder as a soft light from behind him cast pale shadows on the floor. Silver. Which reminds me. Seti stuck his hand out. "I'm Seti, by the way. Pleasure to meet ya. You part of an official Shadowcrew, or you freelance?" |
|
|
![]()
Post
#48
|
|
Moving Target ![]() ![]() Group: Members Posts: 265 Joined: 15-September 08 From: Florida Member No.: 16,346 ![]() |
Rhodes considered the proferred hand for a moment, lips turned down in a grimace he didn't bother trying to hide. But then he shrugged and took the other man's hand in his crushing grip. "They call me Roadie." He gave a squeeze -- nothing too hard, of course, he wasn't out to break any bones -- before letting go. "Freelance. Tryin' to busy inta the bizz. You?"
|
|
|
![]()
Post
#49
|
|
Target ![]() Group: New Member Probation Posts: 4 Joined: 31-July 10 Member No.: 18,876 ![]() |
It was at this point a small band of obviously piratical men, The leader brandishing a massive samurai sword, moaned in German "Did we miss the Fun"?
"Herr Kommodore" one of the pirates called "Was" came Kommodore's inevitable reply "Otto ist geflogen" "Damn" Kommodore snapped. It was then he noticed the menagerie of people congugating on the dance-floor. He decided it was safe so sheathed his Nodachi and wandered forwards This post has been edited by Talavera: Aug 2 2010, 11:38 AM |
|
|
![]()
Post
#50
|
|
Moving Target ![]() ![]() Group: Members Posts: 122 Joined: 14-July 10 Member No.: 18,824 ![]() |
Dahlia:
Watson stares at you, his mouth gaping open, seemingly at a loss for words. You get the feeling that this doesn't happen to him a lot. "Ms. Bekhit is a bioweapons specialist, one of the best we could find," Reynolds says helpfully. The dwarf blinks. "Well, why didn't you just say so? Bioweapons, huh? Hrmph. Well, then your arrival is pretty fortuitous, I have a time-sensitive crisis on my hands that I think you might be able to help me with. I'll need to get some stuff in order first. I will contact you in two days with more details. This is a mission that will require a team of operatives, so use this time to tap your sources and get a group together. If you can't assemble a team, let me know and I'll throw you in one." With that, he turns around and walks out the door without even bidding you farewell. |
|
|
![]()
Post
#51
|
|
Moving Target ![]() ![]() Group: Members Posts: 515 Joined: 27-May 10 From: Helios Space Station, L3 solar LaGrange Point Member No.: 18,624 ![]() |
[16:03 January 1st, 2072; TransGeni laboratories at 68th Avenue and Kenmore, Downtown]
Dahlia’s smile lingered Mr. Watson left the room, not quite grasping the fact that some of what she had just said could have been construed as a subtle form of intimidation. She had what she wanted, at least in terms of a semi-regular source of lucrative income. And there would even be a job within a few days. Naturally, the dwarf’s negligence in regards to politeness was completely lost to Dahlia. Who knew if Watson would attribute that to a strong polite streak or some form of mental instability? Eh. “I’ll make a few calls,” the woman affirmed, snapping her bag shut. She exchanged the usual pleasantries with Mr. Reynolds before the meeting concluded, giving and receiving the appropriate com-codes for later contact. And after leaving the TransGeni laboratories, Dahlia actually did take the time to take care of a handful of household errands. And it was only after those errands were done and Dahlia had started contemplating calling Sage that she even thought about calling Seti about the job opportunity. After all, she had worked with the sniper before, and it would be easier to work with someone familiar for at least the first job from her new employer. Dahlia checked her comlink’s clock, 20:18, and made the call. “Seti, we’ve got ah-amel. But, this is a team-level job. Find some people,” Dahlia could hear some background noise through the comlink as the sniper replied. "I think I may have found just the folks. I'll give you a call,” he said, before ending the call. Excellent. And that was taken care of. Now for the conclusion of her evening. Dahlia dialed Sage’s number. |
|
|
![]()
Post
#52
|
|
Target ![]() Group: Members Posts: 99 Joined: 23-June 10 Member No.: 18,747 ![]() |
[20:18 January 1st, 2072; Club Penumbra, International District, Seattle]
"Also freelance, but I get some work every now and again." Seti looked pointedly at the bodies lying on the floor. "You handle yourself well. I wouldn't mind having your help on a more...permanent basis." He glanced at Silver, standing over the body of the barback. "That goes for your friend, too. Can always use a mage by our side." As if to punctuate his statement, Seti's commlink chirped. Looking at the AR, he saw that it was Dahlia. His stomach started churning lightly. Oh god. What now? "uh, Hold on." He picked up the line. "Seti, we've got ah-amel. This is a team-level job. Find some people." "I think I may have found just the folks. I'll give you a call." Seti looked at the ork, and smiled. "...stupid ugly motherless son-of-a-dog, you...." "Maria!" Jesus Christ, this woman! "That's enough, huh? C'mon, let's get you home." As he and Maria walked out the door, he surreptitiously beamed his contact info to the two other fighters. |
|
|
![]()
Post
#53
|
|
Moving Target ![]() ![]() Group: Members Posts: 122 Joined: 14-July 10 Member No.: 18,824 ![]() |
Seti:
Maria turns to you as her cab pulls up to the curb, an expression of regret on her face. "Um...listen, I had a good time tonight, and you seem like a good guy and all, but I really don't think this is gonna work out. I prefer someone a little more laid back, you're kinda a bit too intense for me. I think we should just be friends, what do you say?" She pinches your cheek and coos. "You take care of yourself now, cutie pie! Someday you will make a lucky girl very happy! Byeeeee!" She steps into the taxi, and like that, she's gone. |
|
|
![]()
Post
#54
|
|
Moving Target ![]() ![]() Group: Members Posts: 265 Joined: 15-September 08 From: Florida Member No.: 16,346 ![]() |
Roadie walks out of the club, ignoring the good-natured back-slapping he got from some of the more appreciative folks in the crowd and came to stand next to Seti as his walking boob-job got into a cab and left. He chuckled.
"No luck for you tonight at all, eh bub?" |
|
|
![]()
Post
#55
|
|
Dragon ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() Group: Dumpshocked Posts: 4,258 Joined: 9-March 10 From: The Citadel Member No.: 18,267 ![]() |
"Hullo, little sister," she says. "How's the New Year treating you?" Being called little sister by a glowing ten year old always amused Silk and immediately lifted her mood. “It’s good to see you A, I’m ok, just finished an assignment and decided to stop moping and see what the night had to offer…fancy trying the Citadel again? I know it’s not much of a challenge for you but it keeps me on my toes and I could do with something like that…” Aria replied with a cheeky grin “Sounds ok to me…I promise not to cheat too much! Do you mind if another friend joins us? You’ve not met her before but I promise she’ll be good company…calls herself Summer…she’s a technoshaman from south of the city…bit shy and she’s only a kid really but then I know you don’t mind kids!” “Of course, that would be fine…” Great, another one who can do shit with the matrix that shouldn’t be possible, ah well, Silk knew that her skills lay elsewhere and she doesn’t really have anything to prove to Aria or anyone else…at least for now, perhaps tomorrow she should start looking for work again… …but now’s time to have fun… “Race you then…” and with a flash of light her icon exited the node for the Citadel game zone…she wasn’t really surprised to see Aria and an Alice in Wonderland icon waiting for her when she got there… |
|
|
![]()
Post
#56
|
|
Moving Target ![]() ![]() Group: Members Posts: 419 Joined: 22-May 10 From: Germany Member No.: 18,604 ![]() |
The barback was on the brink of death but Silver managed to pull him back just in time. But it took a heavy toll on the mage. He crashed to the floor hard as the the vast energies he needed to gather to stabilize the ravaged body hit him with the backlash. Slowly pulling himself up again the white-haired elf looked at the results of his effort. The man was still heavily wounded and needed mecial care but he wasn't bleeding any more and seemed to be out of immediate danger.
Shakely rising to his feet and gesturing for a bystander to call an ambulance, Silver saw the strange couple walk out the door, where the large-breasted girl blew the guy off. A smile of disbelief appeared on the elf's face. He was to intense for her? Wasn't she the one picking fights with armed criminals? He noticed the guy had sent him his contact information, which identified him as Seti. It looked like Silver had managed to find some shadowrunners after all. Maybe he could work a bit with them, get deeper into the scene, develop some contacts. He would do absolutely everything to find the faintest trace of Aurora. But first he needed to get some sleep. |
|
|
![]()
Post
#57
|
|
Moving Target ![]() ![]() Group: Members Posts: 122 Joined: 14-July 10 Member No.: 18,824 ![]() |
Dahlia:
Your commlink patches the call through to your favorite joyboy, who picks up after a few rings. "Hello baby doll, how are you? Haven't seen you in like forever. Busy creating a super virus that will threaten the very survival of metahumanity, I'd bet. Bad, bad girl." Silver: The healing spell took its toll on your body, and you know you'll be feeling the hurt when you wake up tomorrow morning, but at least you've pulled the young man out from the danger zone. Someone gives you a congratulatory slap on the back, and you turn to find the bartender standing behind you, smiling from ear to ear. "Well done, son! That was some mighty slick mojo you pulled there. You saved my boy's life, I owe you one. Arigato gozaimasu! You come in here on my shift, all drinks are on the house, you hear?" |
|
|
![]()
Post
#58
|
|
Moving Target ![]() ![]() Group: Members Posts: 515 Joined: 27-May 10 From: Helios Space Station, L3 solar LaGrange Point Member No.: 18,624 ![]() |
[16:09 January 1st, 2072; Pedestrian intersection, Downtown]
When Sage answered, Dahlia had reached a busy intersection in front of a shopping center--just another face in the sea of metahumanity. A wide smile tugged at her lips as the joyboy spoke. No doubt most of Sage’s knowledge of science came from cheesy trids and the occasional matrix game. And perhaps Dahlia had joked about being a mad scientist to the extent that he seemed to be under the impression that it was an elaborate in-joke between Dahlia and himself. But, it was so funny how close his teasing came to the truth. Dahlia took a cursory look around the intersection. At that point, Dahlia should have looked just like any wageslave. And she didn't have any reason to believe that someone might be tailing her, and nothing illegal on her person. But, the woman reasoned that she should remain in the habit of checking her surroundings. From what she could see, on the surface the crowd was completely composed of the tired workforce of Seattle--in all its varying shapes, sizes, flavors and metatypes. But, nothing out of the ordinary. Still talking, the woman continued to examine the crowd milling around her. “What if I have been?” she asked, letting a pause settle at the end of the question before continuing, still a part of the flow of people around her. “I’m taking a little break from the lab right now, you know,” Dahlia let the end of that sentence trail off. Sage could pick up on the insinuations; after all, it was part of the job. Still listening to the call, Dahlia made a note to run a few sample swabs over the escalator rails in the nearby shopping center in a few days. After all, it never hurt to have a backup culture or two, if only to round out the samples in the lab and provide some variety. After all, she'd be doing serious work, soon. And someone might eventually get suspicious if the same strain was left at the scene of a few crimes. She'd need a full stock. A bad, bad girl indeed. |
|
|
![]()
Post
#59
|
|
Moving Target ![]() ![]() Group: Members Posts: 122 Joined: 14-July 10 Member No.: 18,824 ![]() |
Silk:
It's been awhile since you've visited the Citadel...with the dark cloud that's recently settled into your life, you just haven't been in the mood for mass produced entertainment lately. But misery only begets more misery, and it does no good to wallow in the past...it is the New Year, after all, and you're in the company of friends. As usual, this corner of the Matrix is teeming with enthusiastic gamers hopping from one virtual reality playground to another, competing with one another to earn a spot on the leaderboards. You discover that the Citadel has unveiled a new game from its repertoire since the last time you were here. With a few quick Matrix commands, you access the game's description text to see what it's all about. Have you ever wanted to be a shadowrunner? Do you have the skills it takes to survive as a professional criminal, a deniable asset used by the megacorporations to sabotage and undercut the operations of their competitors? There's only one way to find out if you would survive in the shadows, and that's to play Shadow Ops. A new game developed by Ascendant Studios, Shadow Ops is one of a kind, a fully interactive virtual world where you take on the role of a shadowrunner and embark on missions given to you by a mysterious employer known only as Mr. Johnson. Shadow Ops is programmed with some of the most advanced artificial intelligence on the market today, and each mission is designed to challenge you, the player, in all your faculties to see if you have what it takes to be a professional criminal-for-hire. Gamers who place on the leaderboard will receive a special award from the founder of Ascendant Studios himself. What are you waiting for? Play Shadow Ops now! Hmm, what do you know, a game where you might actually be able to beat Aria for once. A quick glance at the activity log shows that this game has been immensely popular week over week since its release. |
|
|
![]()
Post
#60
|
|
Target ![]() Group: Members Posts: 99 Joined: 23-June 10 Member No.: 18,747 ![]() |
"No luck for you tonight at all, eh bub?"
Seriously? I mean, SERIOUSLY? Seti was blown away. He wasn't the one who had started a fight--a firefight, at that--with connected criminals. Hell, she isn't even that interesting...but the blow-off still stung. "I guess not. Geez." At least I don't have to meet her cat. "Tell ya what. Let's head back inside, and I'll buy you and Silver some drinks, and we can discuss business. I'm pretty sure we'll need to get to know each other better, anyway," and thoughts of Dahlia--Dahlia got a job without me...she's becoming more terrifying every passing day--holding test-tubes and wearing a huge, horrifying grin flew through his head. "If this upcoming job is as...involved as I'm afraid it's going to be. For one, we should talk about where to get a respirator that'll fit you." |
|
|
![]()
Post
#61
|
|
Moving Target ![]() ![]() Group: Members Posts: 122 Joined: 14-July 10 Member No.: 18,824 ![]() |
The word on the street...
"Psst, hey fella, didja hear? There's some smokin' hot young gun shaking up the underground cage fighting scene, scoring upsets left and right like nobody's business. They say he moves like flowing water and punches like an avalanche, but all that zen bullshit aside, ain't no one be denying that this boy is wicked good at his trade. Rumor has it, he ain't packing nothing that the man upstairs didn't give him...got no metal in him, and some of our more magically inclined sources swear he's not awakened either. No one knows how he's doing it, but he's doing it, taking down the biggest and meanest fighters in the Seattle pits like a stack of dominoes, one after another after another. Everybody's puttin' their money down on this kid...he's gone eleven oh so far, and no one knows when his hot streak is gonna burn out, but you better cash in on it before it does." |
|
|
![]()
Post
#62
|
|
Target ![]() Group: Members Posts: 31 Joined: 31-July 08 Member No.: 16,179 ![]() |
[21:01: Friday, January 1, 2072: Shitty 2nd Floor Walk-up above a "Massage Parlour", 192nd and 5th Ave, Loveland, Puyallup]
A broken alarm lies scattered in a hallway as a lean form rolls heavily out of bed. Well that was smart, now I get to buy a new alarm. Groaning as he stretches Doc hauls himself to his feet and says a silent prayer his food processor wouldn't avenge the alarm by denying him caffeine. Heading to his "kitchen" he hears the muffled sounds of Loveland through his dirty and barred window. Music from the dive bar on the corner, street vendors trying to sell cheap knockoffs to young soldiers from the Fort, whores defending their corner from would-be interlopers, gangers revving their engines and readying death for each other over a dirty streetcorner. At least they aren't my problem until Tuesday. Man I have got to get them to quit putting all my shifts for the week on the same damned day. Pouring his hot soykaf into a mug half full of whiskey Doc slumps into a threadbare armchair and checks his messages. Nothing from Skuzz, figures that worthless Trogg wouldn't have found me any work. Probably works for Tamanous the way he reacted when I told him no more jobs moving organs. Flipping on the trid, highlights of the Rose Bowl play as Doc considers his mug thoughtfully. I have got to make some better contacts. He glances out his window at the neon signs and filth below. That's not going to happen here. I need to find a place to see and be seen. He winces at the coming realization. Time to go clubbing. (muttering)"Dammit." ... twenty minutes and a quick shower later Doc is headed out the door and on his way to the metro station down the block watching people around him try to hide their desperation behind bravado and boisterous partying. |
|
|
![]()
Post
#63
|
|
Moving Target ![]() ![]() Group: Members Posts: 419 Joined: 22-May 10 From: Germany Member No.: 18,604 ![]() |
Every muscle in Silver's body felt stretched and torn from the strain of the powerful spell but he pulled himself together and gave the bartender a smile. "I'm glad I could help. Your apprentice will feel this day for some time but he should be completely fine after a week or two in the hospital."
Aching he set down on the now empty table that Seti and his date had been occupying earlier. "I really could use a drink now..." |
|
|
![]()
Post
#64
|
|
Great Dragon ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() Group: Members Posts: 5,679 Joined: 19-September 09 Member No.: 17,652 ![]() |
New Years Day, a marker of new beginnings, of new challenges and opportunities... of new audits.
"Ouch! Hey, what's going on?! What are you doing?" "Damn slitch, you're lucky I'm just tossing your ass on the street. Not a fuckin' real payment in three months. You think I wouldn't notice those payments never went through?" "Not my fault if my bank is a pain. I'll call them, tell them to make sure it goes through." "How stupid you think I am? I already checked, fuckin' account doesn't even exist. So get out of here before I decide to take it out of your hide, instead of just your stuff." Mask scrambles around on the ground, hands groping as though looking for something in the dark. Eventually she finds the steps, but by then the door has slammed loudly, followed by the audible click of the lock to keep non-residents out of the complex. She gives a sigh, rubbing her backside where she landed hard on the concrete. "Guess that means it's time to move." she mutters to herself. She keeps her hands on the building, and slowly makes her way around it, into the alley next to it, her progress slow as she takes very careful steps, her bare feet touching the ground softly first to make sure she isn't stepping on anything sharp. Eventually she reaches a dumpster. She crouches down next to it, having to lie flat to reach underneath it "Come on..." she gropes around, looking for something. She doesn't seem to find it, slowly crawling under the dumpster "This is really going to..." she starts, right when her hand finally falls on the small tote bag. She gives a sigh of relief as she pulls herself back out from under the dumpster. 'I need to remember to put clothing in here next time.' she thinks to herself as she stands up, reaching into the bag to pull out a pair of sunglasses and a small metal rod. She puts on the glasses, even though it is the middle of the night, covering her remarkable eyes. The rod she holds in her left hand and gives a flick, causing it to extend into a poll several feet long, allowing her to use it like a cane, waving it in front of her just over the ground, occasionally tapping it as she makes her way back out of the alleyway. She certainly stands out, even in a world where vibrant multi-color hair that moves is common. Her long pure white hair currently has some gunk in it from the alley, causing it to mat on her right side, her only clothing is a light, white nightshirt that barely reaches her thighs and is far too thin to be remotely comfortable in the cold January air, and already has several stains and a distinct smell about it thanks to crawling under the dumpster. Her bare feet cringe at the frigid ground, and her sunglasses and walking stick speak of a blind person in a world where cybernetic eyes cost next to nothing. She went from living the high (Or at least halfway decent) to looking like a homeless person in five minutes flat, though to be fair, she is now homeless. "I need to get off the street, quick." she murmurs to herself. She's young, around 16 or 17, and quite pretty, and this isn't exactly the safest part of the city. Being dressed as she is, people might get the wrong idea, and being blind, people might think to take advantage of her. She stops before continuing out of the alleyway, remembering to pull a pair of gloves out of her tote bag and put them on after blowing into her hands to try and warm them up. Ready, she begins to walk along the sidewalk in a random direction, moving slowly so as not to step on anything, but trying to look purposeful, despite not yet having any clue where she should go. She pulls up some various sites, posting requests for a place to stay for a couple days. |
|
|
![]()
Post
#65
|
|
Dragon ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() Group: Dumpshocked Posts: 4,258 Joined: 9-March 10 From: The Citadel Member No.: 18,267 ![]() |
Silk smiled to herself and warped her icon over to the game entrance zone, with the look of advanced urban decay and even the evocative smell of wet cityscape, this seems to have been well designed.
“Heh Aria, this one looks good and its getting rave reviews…how about we show these noobs how it should really be done, I could do with a bit of tension busting!” “Sounds ok to me” Aria looked around the node and then laughing, morphed herself in to a huge orc samurai in antique armour, halberd in hand and a light machine gun slung over her back… “as long as I don’t have to play entirely by the rules… Why don’t you take the ninja and Summer can play the mage?” Silk paid the small deposit and morphed the game avatar over her icon, testing the edge of the monoblade with her digital thumb and catching the coppery smell of blood. “Great, let’s go and see what Mr J has to offer an enterprising trio” |
|
|
![]()
Post
#66
|
|
Running Target ![]() ![]() ![]() Group: Members Posts: 1,076 Joined: 31-August 05 From: Rock Hill, SC Member No.: 7,655 ![]() |
[16:10 January 1st, 2072; Everton Suites 6A, Seattle]
Ultima pushed the last of her boxes into the corner of her new apartment, though new only to her; this building had obviously been built well before she was born, with all the foundation cracks, peeling paint, and musty smells of things ancient and forgotten to go with it. As a plus, it had at least come with some scant furnishings - a ripped synthleather couch, a small table and a chair in the kitchen, a bedframe sans mattress in the bedroom - though the quality of them left much to be desired. The woman had caught a glance at the news during her abrupt move. Though relieved the police seemed to be taking a hands-off approach to the case, doubtless she would be suspect numero uno if they ever changed her mind. She was a SINless illegal immigrant with a checkered past and a dubious skillset. There probably wouldn't even be a trial. She'd just vanish into the system like bad paperwork, never to be seen again. Well, Ultima wasn't going to let that happen. I'm away, now. Need to keep my head down and my eyes open. Hopefully I can stay away from whoever is going to miss all that product. Ah, yes. She'd had to trade some of it - a few pills here, a handful of doses there - to get enough help on-the-fly to move so suddenly. The cred she'd obtained on Enrique's credstick had helped, but most of that was gone after various expenses and the initial deposit on this place. She had enough Psyche and Red Mesc to get her fixes when the cravings came calling as they did, at least for a time. But how long would that last? The hispanic woman walked over to the double doors at the far end of the apartment. They opened out onto a balcony just as her previous place had. However, the view from here wasn't of a delapidated, rotting neighborhood on the doorstep of hell, but of the ocean some distance off. Maybe a mile from the docks, she could see over the ships and cargo containers out to the seemingly endless stretch of blue-green ocean that disappeared off into the horizon. This close to sunset the sun was a molten orange ball getting ready to take the plunge into that oceanic abyss. Gulls circled and wheeled overhead, occasionally giving their whistling cries. With a satisfied half-grin, she walked back inside the apartment to lift a box she'd set out of the way, then brought it back outside. This is a nice place. Maybe I can work to keep it. She opened the box and pulled out some electronics, wire, and a some explosive charges. When she was done, anybody who climbed onto this balcony unannounced and unwanted would simultaneously find it dropping out from underneath them while ball bearings tore holes through their flesh, assuming the blast didn't send pieces of them flying out onto the streets in the first place. An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure after all. The woman worked mechanically, like a programmed automaton, not thinking about the task she was doing as she had done it so many times before. Letting her muscle memory take over, she concentrated on composing a voice message to her fixer, Abdul. <<Assalamu alaikum, Abdul. I have not heard from you in ages. I was wondering if you had any jobs suited for me lined up, or if you've heard any word on things that need doing. I am in need of work and thought you might know of something. And many blessings to you for the last "present" you had for me. I put it to good use when it was needed. You are a reliable associate and I speak well of your name. I hope to hear from you soon. Ultima.>> |
|
|
![]()
Post
#67
|
|
Moving Target ![]() ![]() Group: Members Posts: 122 Joined: 14-July 10 Member No.: 18,824 ![]() |
Dahlia:
Two days later, you find yourself sitting at a conference room at TransGeni labs, after receiving a summons from Mr. Watson through your commlink earlier that day. You wait patiently for the dwarf, your thoughts wandering to your home experiments as you idle, wondering about the next new cocktail you're going to synthesize for your pet pathogens. A few minutes later, Watson walks in through the doors, brisk and ready for business. He activates the holo-projector in the middle of the conference table, and turns to you as the corporate logo of Evo shimmers into the air. "Okay, listen up. TransGeni has a number of facilities throughout the greater Seattle metroplex, each with their own research and developmental focus. One of these facilities is located in Northgate, and they specialize in genetic engineering and bionics, with an eye towards combat applications. Essentially, they're the quarterback for TransGeni's super soldier program, and they're responsible for filling orders from client organizations for biologically enhanced shock troops or augmenting their existing soldiers with top of the line bionic implants." He pauses. "Have you ever heard of the Shadow Wars? It's a corp-sponsered urban gladiator game where shadowrunners and gangers and mercs compete with each other in a battle to the death for a five million dollar jackpot. Grisly stuff, but you know how Joe Wageslave likes to get his rocks off by seeing other people kill each other for money and glory. Anyway, TransGeni is fielding its own team for the Shadow Wars this year - the grunts at marketing came up with the idea, said it was an opportunity for us to showcase our product for potential customers. Problem is, the team we're supposed to sponsor broke out of the facility last week, and we have no idea where they are. I want you to track them down and bring them back. Our net came down pretty fast once we discovered that they're gone, and I doubt they've had time to leave Seattle, so they should still be in the city somewhere. They're trained to split up when they go to ground, so you'll have to hunt each of them down individually. Does this sound like something you think you could handle?" |
|
|
![]()
Post
#68
|
|
Target ![]() Group: Members Posts: 31 Joined: 31-July 08 Member No.: 16,179 ![]() |
[21:05: Friday, January 1, 2072: 192nd and 6th, Loveland, Puyallup]
Walking with a purpose for the metro station with hunched shoulders, Doc attempts to master the look of a man unconcerned but aware. Mostly he looks like a man who really wants to get out of the cold as soon as he can. He glances as a go-ganger with unfamiliar colors goes roaring by on some souped-up hog. I need to learn who's who around here, and fast. Maybe Skuzz can set me up with a decent Knowsoft to... Doc thoughts trail off as he nearly collides with a young woman stepping from an alley. "Hey." Turning his head to see who he nearly collided with he notices three things, she is young, very young, she is blind and she smells like the alley she just stepped out of. Keep moving Johhny-boy, this ain't your problem. She just one more desperate person in Puyallup, you've walked by a dozen since you left the apartment Of course, they had winter clothes on, and weren't teenage elves in a neighborhood full of thugs and pimps, and they could all see Taking on other people's problems ain't your job though. You're barely treading water yourself, now you're gonna start taking in charity cases? You do enough on your shifts at the hospital. Your in no shape to be taking in strays. Doc watches as the girl tugs on some gloves and rubs her hands together to warm them against the cold. (muttering)"Fuck." Good boy, John. Yeah, sure. Real good, so much for making contacts tonight. At least I don't have to go to that god-awful Penumbra. Tapping the girl cautiously on her shoulder as she begins taking a few tentative steps Doc clears his throat. "Excuse me, miss. You look like you could use some help... or a jacket", looking down, "...or shoes." |
|
|
![]()
Post
#69
|
|
Great Dragon ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() Group: Members Posts: 5,679 Joined: 19-September 09 Member No.: 17,652 ![]() |
[21:05: Friday, January 1, 2072: 192nd and 6th, Loveland, Puyallup]
Mask turns her head to face Doc when he taps her on the shoulder, and looks a bit frightened, she takes a step back, nearly tripping over something, and holds up her cane in front of her, placing her free hand on it as well. "Don't..." she starts, but stops when he speaks. After a moment she relaxes, lowering her arms. Despite being unable to see, she managed to face the newcomer fairly directly. "Oh." She stands on one foot for a moment, rubbing one foot against the top of the other to try and keep it warm. She seems to be weighing up her options, and Doc or would be, if she wasn't now looking about two feet to his side. Finally she replies in a small voice "All three would be nice." Her cane finally reaches the ground again, making a slight 'clink' sound as the metal hits concrete "Maybe somewhere to stay?" she says hopefully, adding "Somewhere warm." Though he didn't know it, she'd only been outside less than ten minutes, but her toes were already losing feeling, heat being sucked away by the unforgiving ground. |
|
|
![]()
Post
#70
|
|
Great Dragon ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() Group: Members Posts: 5,679 Joined: 19-September 09 Member No.: 17,652 ![]() |
[Appearing on a Trid screen near you]
A large explosion fills the screen, followed by the sound of automatic weapons being fired. Anyone experiencing the ad with simsense feels the heat of the explosion, tastes the tang of gunpowder on the air, and gets a sense of fear mixed with adrenaline. A voice speaks, easily decernable over the continued din of battle "Are you looking for true excitement? Are you tired of the fake entertainment of Hollywood?" A death scream punctuates the pitch, vision shaken by explosions slowly settling on what looks like an abandoned street that just saw a small war being fought. "Are you bored with the timidness of Urban Brawl? Are you ready to see something that will really get your heart pumping?" Simsense uses experience just such a feeling as their heart beings to race. "Then get ready for the greatest sport to ever hit the Trid. Get ready for: Shadow Wars." a rush of adrenaline mixes with a cooling sensation as the street grows brighter, and dark letters appear on the screen Shadow Wars, tilted so as to look like they are being cast by something that cannot be seen. "Watch as teams of elite combatants," The screen flies over to what looks like three paramilitary soldiers sneaking through woods "hopped up wannabes," vision now flies to three gangsters, standing out in the open, rather unwisely as the soldiers get closer "devious shadowrunners," vision pans around to a building, zooming in on one of the upper windows, through which a man in a black trenchcoat stands, a sniper rifle pointing towards the two previous groups "and everyone inbetween fights it out in an abandoned city" Flying away from the impending battle, the camera gives an eagle eye view of what looks like a partially ruined city, vegetation claiming parts of it. "for an astounding prize of 5 million nuyen! But teams won't just have each other to watch out for. Enforcers will be roaming the city as well, and while usually neutral, they are worth a million nuyen bounty for any brave enough to take down one of these elite combatants." Vision fades for a moment, and then a person in armor that would make military units cry appears, fear floods those with simsense. The armored person hefts up what looks like an assault cannon with ease, despite so obviously not being a troll, the barrel pointing right at the camera. "And even the viewers will have a chance to participate." The terrifying figure fades to black, and is replaced by a family, children included, sitting in front of the Trid. "Vote on your favorite Players to give them additional prizes, or perhaps even special help from a handy air drop. Order in the next 5 minutes, and we'll add in our Player Eyetm feed for no additional cost." While shorter ads appear, this full length one still shows up quite often. It seems whatever company is behind this is keen on getting a large audience. A node has of course appeared to allow people to purchase various viewing packages. Everything from the most basic package which allows viewing of the eagle eye drones only, to the most premium package which includes full access to every camera out there, including simsense hookup where available. Somewhat harder to find so that people don't click on it by mistake, is a signup node, allowing potential Players to view the rules and sign up as individual contestants, partial, or full teams. There are several pages of disclaimers about how Shadow Warstm is not responsible for lost of life or limb, among a number of other things. |
|
|
![]()
Post
#71
|
|
Target ![]() Group: Members Posts: 31 Joined: 31-July 08 Member No.: 16,179 ![]() |
"All three would be nice. Maybe somewhere to stay? "Somewhere warm."
"Sure, let's get you off the street." Doc takes her hand in his and moves to the street side of the pavement. Old habits kick in along with his Reflexes. The world slows down as Doc scans the block and a half ahead. Carefully, but steadily he leads the young woman down the block, eyeing the drunken soldiers and pimps as he passes them by. The whores on the street corner give him a wink and a knowing smirk. It doesn't register until he's on the steps up what he must have looked like. A well dressed man in fancy clothes leading an attractive and desperate looking girl about in Loveland at night. Great., he winces, switching his Reflexes off, Now they think I'm recruiting her for a mob run whorehouse. At least they'll quit bothering me when I walk by. Stopping in the hall he turns to the girl. "Wait here a moment" Sizing up the girl, Doc stabs the buttons on the vending machine and a set of flats sealed in plastic drop to the bottom of the chute. "Okay here we are." Doc fumbles the key into the 'quaint' old mechanical lock to his apartment and swing the door open. "It isn't much, but it's home. Uh, you can call me Doc." Doc Leads her to the bathroom and places her hand on the folding door of the tiny shower stall "Here, you can get yourself cleaned up. Soap and shampoo are on a shelf on your left. Right-hand knob is the hot water. There's a towel on the back of the bathroom door. Oh, and I got you some flats to put on for now." he says, holding up the package, waggling it to rustle the plastic then placing it on the sink. "You can stay here tonight, I'll dig up an old Jacket for you in the morning. It'll be big on you, but it'll keep you warm. Then maybe we can find you a women's shelter in the morning. How does that sound?" Shutting the bathroom door he calls back, "Oh, you should probably only use warm water, not hot, in case you have frostbite. Afterwards I can check you for injuries, I'm, uh... a nurse." Facepalming Nice John, that wasn't the creepiest thing you've ever said to a girl. She's probably trying to pry the bars off the bathroom window. I should call Siobhan, maybe she knows a good shelter. This girl's an elf, she'll help her... |
|
|
![]()
Post
#72
|
|
Running Target ![]() ![]() ![]() Group: Members Posts: 1,076 Joined: 31-August 05 From: Rock Hill, SC Member No.: 7,655 ![]() |
[16:35 January 1st, 2072; Everton Suites 6A, Seattle]
After Ultima had finished wiring the balcony (and the front door) with traps, she took a moment to celebrate her move up in the world. Leaning against the railing on the balcony, she had watched the sun make its slow, incremental descent down into the ocean and vanish, smoking cigarettes as she enjoyed the show. If ever I doubt that God had made this to be such a beautiful world, all I have to do is watch the sunset, and my faith is reaffirmed. With a final puff of her cigarette, the woman flicked the butt off into the distance and then went back inside. She decided tonight she was going to go into the city, maybe to drum up some work, or to make contacts. Too long she had been living in that hellhole on the edge of the Barrens, partially as a penance, partially to hide or maybe lose herself in it. Though dire circumstances (completely self-inflicted ones at that) had uprooted her and caused her to flee, maybe it was a blessing in disguise. Already she was happier, if almost completely broke. It could be a turning point, this day. The commlink still showed no messages. Abdul must not have gotten her voicemail yet, or if he did he was perhaps too busy. Ultima did recall in the handful of times she had met the eccentric former jihadist in person that he had seemed quite the workaholic, juggling multiple commcalls while checking the specs on orders she had placed with him. Still, he was worth waiting for. In the end he always came through. With an inward sigh she undressed and went into the bathroom. She started the shower and let it run so that the water would warm up before she stepped in. The tiled floor was cold beneath her bare feet, and she wrinkled her toes against the surface to try and warm them. But her attention wasn't necessarily on the floor, but on the face staring back at her in the mirror. The scars I remember. All those close calls, it's a wonder I'm not dead yet. But... when did I start to look so... tired? These dark spots under my eyes, I never used to have these. I look so thin, like I'm sick, wasting away. Mierda, how did I get like this? Ultima stared disbelievingly at herself in the mirror until the steam from the shower created an obscuring film over the image, causing her reflection to spread out into an unrecognizable, fuzzy blob of color. Wiping it away did no good, leaving smears and streaks of condensation that caused the image to only get worse. With another sigh she entered the hot spray of the shower, nearly oblivious to the fact that the hot water was turned up all the way. With the way some of her Talents went, she barely felt it. A normal person would have run out of the tub screaming, but she merely rested her head against the wall and let the water rinse off the day's dirt, anxiety, and apprehension. For a while she just stood there and watched through a steamy fog as the water circled the drain and then vanished. --------- [17:40] The woman suited up in the manner she did when going out into a dangerous and unpredictable world. She wore her full body Urban Explorer suit, covered over with a light knee-length trenchcoat that served to hide any contraband she tended to take with her. A thigh holster strapped around her leg held her trusty, modified Ruger, and a hidden pocket in the coat held a couple of spare speedloaders. A pair of goggles and a nearly mandatory rebreather did much to obscure her face while still maintaining a facade of being a normal, law-abiding citizen. A backwards Seattle Seahawks cap served to hide her hair while making her appear to be just a normal denizen of this city, helping her to blend in. Last but not least she grabbed a small pack of pocket electronics tools, held together in a beige plastic casing, just in case she came across anything that her other Talents could help her with. Ultima gave herself a final glance in the bathroom mirror. Satisfied, she then walked out the front door, shutting it behind her, and with a thought she activated the "safety measures" she had put into place. Time to see what we can find. |
|
|
![]()
Post
#73
|
|
Dragon ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() Group: Dumpshocked Posts: 4,258 Joined: 9-March 10 From: The Citadel Member No.: 18,267 ![]() |
04:32 January 1st, 2072; Tradition Lake View, Apartment 6-3, Renton
Silk stretched and her jaws creaked as she stifled a yawn. Well, that had been a good start to the new year after all! Summer seemed like a nice kid and Aria was Aria, she’d enjoyed the company and the game had been fun. They’d even managed to make some progress on an imaginary run and they could pick up where they’d left off later in the week. She stumbled over to the couch and collapsed on it without bothering to fold it out in to a bed, wincing as the dust wafted out…she’d have to get up again all to soon, during the run she’d decided it was past time to get a new place and dump this shit hole…but that would need some cash. She had asked Aria to keep an eye out on ShadowSEA for a job that might suit her and before she succumbed to sleep she sent a quick text to Bishop. <<Morning. Hope you’ve been enjoying the holiday. Do you have anything going that I could help with? I could do with a new crash pad. Call you soon. S >> |
|
|
![]()
Post
#74
|
|
Running Target ![]() ![]() ![]() Group: Members Posts: 1,076 Joined: 31-August 05 From: Rock Hill, SC Member No.: 7,655 ![]() |
Silk
[12:15 January 1st, 2072; Tradition Lake View, Apartment 6-3, Renton] Silk slept soundly on the couch, the only noises in the apartment being the patter of a light drizzle on the windowpanes and her soft, feminine snores. While daytime activity was in full swing outside and on the street, she was still recovering from her Matrix gaming binge from the night before, and taking full advantage of the fact that school was out, at least until the new semester started in a couple more weeks. While Silk worked on her eighth hour of sleep, the commlink next to her on the floor begin to vibrate. A brief, tinkling chime and a blinking blue LED indicated that a message had been sent to her account, waiting to be read. The message was a text, from Mr. Bishop himself, in response to the one she had sent before bed. <<Ms. Waters,>> it began. Mr. Bishop was one of the handful in contact with the local shadow community who knew her name, but he'd always been on the level with her, and gave no indication that he would use such privileged information against her. In fact, despite his occasional departures from law and order, he seemed to be a regular librarian who encouraged hard work and research in order to excel in academia. <<I wasn't expecting to hear from you during Winter Break. I always thought students were eager to be away as much as possible. But as it stands I have, indeed, come across something that needs doing. Come down to the campus library in person, say around 13:30? We'll talk there. The library's officially closed but the door will be open for you. And Ms. Waters, wear that lovely dress you had on a few weeks ago. It was...interesting.>> Half the time he acted all paternal towards Silk, like a mentor or a guide, and the other half of the time he was a dirty old lech. The dichotomy was unnerving, especially since he could go from one routine to the other without warning or notice. He did keep his hands to himself, though; if he toed the line of etiquette, he at least never crossed it. |
|
|
![]()
Post
#75
|
|
Target ![]() Group: Members Posts: 31 Joined: 31-July 08 Member No.: 16,179 ![]() |
[21:15: Friday, January 1, 2072: Shitty 2nd floor walk-up above a "Massage Parlour", Lovetown, Puyallup]
The girl was cleaning herself up in the bathroom while Doc wrestled with his supposed "fold out" loveseat. A twitch of his eye brought the soft blue of his chronometer. Siobhán should be off shift soon... Pulling up his contacts list Doc scrolled to the elf's picture and winked at the "msg" icon Siobhán, it's John. Found a homeless elf girl, young, no winter clothes. Staying at my place tonight, need help. Do you know any women's shelters in Tarislar she could go to? It had taken two months before she had even addressed him by name, the elves in Tarislar had long memories and some righteous grudges. Doc couldn't blame them after what they'd been through, but it made working there hard for a human. He worked hard and fought off gangers looking to score drugs with the rest of the staff. One thing he'd learned in the military, you fight by a man's side long enough it doesn't matter what he looks like or how many horns there are on his head. Still, the staff was wary of him, he'd always be an outsider there. Sighing Doc slumped into his armchair and pulled up an old friend, his worn and dog-eared copy of Herodotus, to wait for the girl to finish, sending a quick order to his food processor to make more soykaf as an afterthought. |
|
|
![]()
Post
#76
|
|
Great Dragon ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() Group: Members Posts: 5,679 Joined: 19-September 09 Member No.: 17,652 ![]() |
As Doc takes Mask's gloved hand, he quickly notices that the gloves aren't just for warmth, they also provide self defense as he feels the metal contacts in the palms. The girl doesn't speak as she is lead on, but before long her teeth do begin to chatter. It is a rare stroke of good luck for her that someone found her and was kind enough to take her off the streets, though how pure his intentions are still remain to be seen. About halfway through the walk she gives up using her cane, collapsing it and stuffing it into her bag so that she can huddle the free arm for warmth, trusting that she won't be lead into a wall, walking right next to him to try and capitalize on his body heat a bit.
She stands in the bathroom, rubbing her arms, teeth still chattering. She simply nods through most of the conversation, not entirely sure she'd be able to muster any words around her teeth. When she hears the door close, she removes her sunglasses first, setting them next to the flats, revealing her pure white eyes in the mirror, then her bag goes next to them, her commlink inside switched on so she'll be able to find it if she needs. Next she gets into the shower stall, not taking off her clothing until the (supposedly) frosted glass door is closed. She was fairly sure she'd heard him leave, and that he wasn't in the room, but it paid to be safe, especially since the chattering of her own teeth made it hard to hear. After fumbling for the shower nob for a few moments, the hot water turns on, not too hot at the advice of her host, at least not at first, she slowly turns it up as the shower lengthens. Some minutes after the water starts a loud 'ewww' can be heard from within as she finds the dollop of gunk in her hair. It's a good half an hour (or until the hot water runs out) before the water is finally turned off, and another ten minutes or so before the bathroom door is finally opened. Her sunglasses are back on and she is wearing the flats, her other stuff all in her tote bag, except for her cane, which she is once again using to find her way around, though she moves it much more slowly now that she is indoors to prevent knocking anything over. Once she finds Doc again, she finally responds to his comments properly "A shelter is okay, though I just need a bit of time to set up a new place." She also holds out her left hand for him to inspect, or at least holds out her left hand palm up, in his general direction, after switching her cane over to her right hand. "You said Doc earlier right? But you're a nurse?" she asks somewhat suspiciously. It takes a few moments longer before she remembers her manners "Oh, and I'm Jillian. I don't suppose you have a spare bed somewhere?" she asks a bit apprehensively. She still can't be entirely sure that he's done all this out of the kindness of his heart. In fact she rather expects she might need to use her gloves before morning. |
|
|
![]()
Post
#77
|
|
Target ![]() Group: Members Posts: 31 Joined: 31-July 08 Member No.: 16,179 ![]() |
"A shelter is okay, though I just need a bit of time to set up a new place. You said Doc earlier right? But you're a nurse? Oh, and I'm Jillian. I don't suppose you have a spare bed somewhere?"
She also holds out her left hand for him to inspect, or at least holds out her left hand palm up, in his general direction, after switching her cane over to her right hand. As the bathroom door swings open Doc dog-ears an already worn page in his book and set it down as he takes the young woman's hand." It's just a nickname, but it's nice to meet you Jillian. And yes, I'm a surgical nurse at Deireadh an Tuartheil, in Tarislar. There's soykaf if you're interested and flavored soy-protein mix, every color of the rainbow. I'm afraid that's the best my pantry can offer." He says as he leads her to a folding chair at a small card table in the corner. "There's a fold out loveseat you can use tonight... uh, it's just to your right a couple feet. It's comfortable enough, it served as my bed when I first arrived in Seattle for a couple months." Doc fills a mug half with soykaf and half with whiskey and settles into the other folding chair at the table. "So, do you have someone you need to contact who can put you up long term? If not, my friend at the hospital can probably find something for you for a little while. I sent her message while you were cleaning up, so hopefully we'll hear something by morning." Taking a sip of his Irish coffee, Doc looks the girl up and down, trying to figure her out. She doesn't look malnourished, and she couldn't have been staying on the streets long in that shift she was wearing. Did she escape from some low-end pimp or an abusive boyfriend? Maybe she got her hands on those gloves, zapped him and ran... Hmm |
|
|
![]()
Post
#78
|
|
Great Dragon ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() Group: Members Posts: 5,679 Joined: 19-September 09 Member No.: 17,652 ![]() |
Mask replies "Yes, anything warm, I'm not too picky right now." She seems visibly relieved that the loveseat was being offered as her bed, and once she recieves her drink, she cups it in her hand, simply sipping at it more than really drinking it. While the shower cured her of the cold, chills like that leave a bit of an impression on a person. She seems to think about the question for a few moments before finally answering "Yeah, I think I have someone I can contact, though it may be a couple days till they can help. Getting in touch with them can be a be a bit spotty sometimes." She takes another ship from her drink and then gives a big yawn, perhaps a bit overly theatrical, it isn't that late, but then again, who knows when she last got a good night sleep. "That sounds alright so long as it isn't too far or I can get a ride or something."
She shows no markings of abuse of any kind, and her previous clothing left most of her legs and arms exposed, and her face is similarly free of injury. "Until then I could use some sleep... and plenty of blankets please?" She doesn't seem particularly keen in continuing conversation at the moment, though she is otherwise being fairly polite, though given the situation that perhaps isn't so surprising. She gives Doc a chance to inspect her other hand and her feet for any frostbite, but doesn't seem interested in being inspected any closer than that. Once her bed is ready, she snuggles under the blankets, and seems to fall asleep quite quickly. While her body rests through, her mind remains quite active, flitting around the matrix, attempting to get herself a new place to live, spoofing one program after another. Before focusing on the living space itself though, she works on getting some clothing delivered to Doc's house. |
|
|
![]()
Post
#79
|
|
Target ![]() Group: Members Posts: 31 Joined: 31-July 08 Member No.: 16,179 ![]() |
[22:00: Friday, January 1, 2072: Shitty 2nd Floor walk-up above a "Massage Parlour", Lovetown, Puyallup]
After cleaning up from the snack Doc checks her limbs until he is satisfied she didn't sustain any frostbite. She could have only been on the streets for a few minutes then. Bare feet on concrete in January is a quick way to lose toes. "Ok, well I'll be up all night. My job keeps me on an odd sleep schedule, so if you wake up and need anything just give a holler. I'll be in my room." He says as he heaps a couple blankets on the loveseat/bed. After getting his guest settled into the fold-out bed with a heavy synthetic-wool blanket and a comforter he double checks the locks on his door, grabs his book and heads to his room, audibly shutting his door. With the door now shut Doc slides a heavy bag of gear out from under his bed. Taking out a his Colt and Taser he loads both and sets them on the nightstand. No sense in taking chances in case there is someone after her... Doc pops in his stereo buds and logs onto an account linked to one of his fake IDs. If I can't go out and make contacts, at least I can try to get that worthless fixer of mine to find me some work. Winking at the voicemail option by Skuzz's icon, Doc records his message. Skuzz, it's Doc. Listen I didn't mean anything by that whole, 'no more organ shipments' thing. I'm just sick of the same job over and over, you know? I'm looking for some variety, maybe work with a team that actually needs a medic. Gimme a call, or we can meet and hash out something. Glancing at his account balance in another AR window, Doc can't help but sigh. Shit, hell have me checking organ shipments by the end of the week. Man I nee to have some fun. I'm going to turn into a mushroom if I hide out in my place till Tuesday. Bringing up Chop's contact info he fires off a quick text message. Hey Chop, been a couple weeks. Want to grab a beer this weekend, maybe play some pool? Let me know what you're up to. Winking the AR windows into transparency Doc settles back on his bed and returns to his Herodotus. [09:20: Satuday, January 2nd, 2072: Shitty 2nd Floor walk-up above a "Massage Parlour, Lovetown, Puyallup] Stretching Doc logs off of a local med-tech/EMT forum and heads out into the livingroom to check on his houseguest. If I'm lucky, she really is blind and didn't take me for everything I had during the night He quietly glances over to the fold-out bed while he grabs some soy for the food processor. |
|
|
![]()
Post
#80
|
|
Moving Target ![]() ![]() Group: Members Posts: 265 Joined: 15-September 08 From: Florida Member No.: 16,346 ![]() |
"No luck for you tonight at all, eh bub?" Seriously? I mean, SERIOUSLY? Seti was blown away. He wasn't the one who had started a fight--a firefight, at that--with connected criminals. Hell, she isn't even that interesting...but the blow-off still stung. "I guess not. Geez." At least I don't have to meet her cat. "Tell ya what. Let's head back inside, and I'll buy you and Silver some drinks, and we can discuss business. I'm pretty sure we'll need to get to know each other better, anyway," and thoughts of Dahlia--Dahlia got a job without me...she's becoming more terrifying every passing day--holding test-tubes and wearing a huge, horrifying grin flew through his head. "If this upcoming job is as...involved as I'm afraid it's going to be. For one, we should talk about where to get a respirator that'll fit you." Rhodes snorted at the mention of a respirator, but did follow Seti back into Penumbra. He nodded to the booth where the botched date had begun, and where the silver-haired pretty boy was sitting with his head down on the table. He flexed his fists and cracked his knuckles; his blood was up and he was ready for a fight. Or a beer. He slid into one of the chairs -- it creaked a bit, but held -- then rolled his shoulders as he settled in. "So. You said something about a drink. And a job." |
|
|
![]()
Post
#81
|
|
Dragon ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() Group: Dumpshocked Posts: 4,258 Joined: 9-March 10 From: The Citadel Member No.: 18,267 ![]() |
[12:27 January 1st, 2072; Tradition Lake View, Apartment 6-3, Renton]
The blinking commlink finally roused Silk to consciousness and she swore as she read through the brief text and then again when she checked the time stamp on her SPU. At least it was the holidays and traffic should be fairly light after the revels of last night. But she vowed to herself again though that she would get a place closer to the university…the bus was going to be a bitch! It wasn’t a problem for virtual commuting but there were still times when she needed to be there in the flesh. She sent a mental command to the antiquated home hub and vaguely hoped that the soykaf would be drinkable this morning, er afternoon, and then stumbled towards the shower cubicle to wash the fug of sleep away. She remembered briefly that it hadn’t been like this once and she’d always been alert and refreshed after sleeping but now she just felt drained. While the luke warm water, another reason to ditch this joint, washed over her, she dialled up her commlink to show her the latest headlines and check her search parameters on her ongoing search for the mercs who had attacked them eighteen months ago and more importantly who had been behind them…still nothing, not that she expected it, if Aria hadn’t turned anything up yet then it was unlikely her cheap off-the-shelf agent would do better. At least she was doing something now, after burning off her anger in the game zone last night she felt calmer and more in control than she had done for a while. Stepping out of the shower she considered her limited clothing options…she was damned if she was going to wear her best dress even if Bishop might have wanted her to…it looked like it was damn cold out there and the rain was probably acidic again, so worn jeans, tee shirt and jacket went on over her armour and she slipped the taser out from under the bed and dropped it in to her bag just in case. Cranking the music volume up on her link she stepped out of her apartment and headed for the lift…assuming it was working…it was time to get proactive… |
|
|
![]()
Post
#82
|
|
Running Target ![]() ![]() ![]() Group: Members Posts: 1,076 Joined: 31-August 05 From: Rock Hill, SC Member No.: 7,655 ![]() |
Silk
[13:42 January 1st, 2072; Seattle University Campus Library, Downtown Seattle] True to her instincts, traffic was light and almost reserved, the full activity of this Metroplex having been scaled back for the New Years holiday while people slept off their hangovers and drug binges. The bus she took meandered along its predetermined route, but Renton was just shy of only twenty kilometers from the University. It wasn't long before she was let out just a half a block away from the library, on the edges of the Seattle University campus itself. Silk walked through one of the tidiest campuses that regular Knight-Errant patrols could protect and generous private and corporate donations could buy. Real trees, though leafless as of right now, stood tall at regular intervals as she traversed the sidewalk. When they awoke in the spring and summer, they would provide leafy shade along the sidewalk from the sometimes harsh sun. Genetic engineering by some of the best minds at Evo ensured that not even infrequent direct sunlight nor acid rain would cause the trees to falter in this task. Other greenery was strategically placed throughout the campus to ensure that no matter where one looked there was a moment worthy of immortalizing in photography. She made her way towards the library, approaching the wading pool and the sparkling fountains in front of the building. As she did, a Knight-Errant cruiser creeped down the road that bisected the campus. Distinctly, Silk could tell that the two officers were watching her. One of them pressed a hand to his ear and started talking; though she could not make out what he said, it was obvious he was calling something in or speaking into his radio. Seconds later, an aerial drone appeared ahead from beyond one of the buildings and hovered over the trees for a moment, its rotor blades chopping the air with a quiet, rapid-fire whiskwhiskwhiskwhisk. Moments it stayed there in mid-air, peering down at Silk. And then just as abruptly, it flied back in the direction it had appeared, and the patrol car gained speed at a forward gesture from the officer in the passenger seat. Once again, Silk was all alone on the sidewalk in front of the campus library. Though the doors were shut, she could see a light on through the glass building facade. Somebody was in there, waiting for her. |
|
|
![]()
Post
#83
|
|
Running Target ![]() ![]() ![]() Group: Members Posts: 1,076 Joined: 31-August 05 From: Rock Hill, SC Member No.: 7,655 ![]() |
[03:25 January 2nd, 2072; Everton Suites 6A, Seattle]
Ultima shut the front door to her apartment behind her and leaned up against it for a moment. She let forth a huge sigh of relief that she'd been holding unknowingly, and the tension gushed out of her like a wrung sponge. She tossed her hat aside while she pulled the goggles off her head, and for a few moments she just stood there, rubbing her tired, itchy eyes. Mierda. That was too close. Need to be more careful. Her night out had started slow. She'd heard from various sources in hushed whispers that the shadow community still rallied around a club called Penumbra, which sat in the shadow of the former Renraku Arcology - now the SCIRE. When she had approached it, however, the club was cordoned off by a Knight-Errant police barricade, and detectives on the scene were taking statements from those club-goers who had been in attendance. All she could figure out was that there was some sort of shooting. Just as well I showed up too late. I'm not looking for any trouble. Thwarted in her attempt to follow up on her only reasonable lead, she had wandered the streets of Downtown, and at one point she ducked into a seedy-looking pawnshop tucked away on a dark avenue a few turns from a major boulevard. Places like that were havens for junk electronics and the odd firearm. Oh, she had enjoyed looking at the rustic, dusty remnants of ancient electronics and obsolete tech. What she had walked out with, however, were old-school, real paper print copies of two works of literature: Graham Green's The Destructors, and Fight Club by Chuck Palahniuk. She'd found it strange, how when she was running her fingers over the spines of all those old books they'd seemed to call to her. Her hand was drawn to them as if a lodestone were latching onto steel. She'd even closed her eyes, and she could still feel that pull, a nearly electric buzz crawling up her hand down to her elbow, and growing in strength as her touch landed on them. Something was significant about them, and Ultima felt as if it had something to do with her Talents. Though she felt as if they were important, the clerk behind the counter obviously had not. He sold them to her for five (IMG:style_emoticons/default/nuyen.gif) and smirked as though he were ripping her off. Ultima slotted him the funds out of Enrique's old certified cred stick and then left quickly. Aimlessly she wandered throughout the city, ducking down back alleys and streets that ran off the main thoroughfares. She occasionally checked ShadowSEA, and after a few hours she found a post by a small crew with almost no Reputation, asking for somebody skilled with manipulating hardware and electronic devices, and on short notice. Ultima wasted no time responding to them, and quickly assured them that she was a fit for the skillset they were looking for. And so some hours later, well into the evening and just shy of morning hours, she rendezvoused with the shadow team, a couple of humans and an ork, all of them full of swagger and bravado, and completely lacking in any sort of plan. She met them in an alley behind Jericho's Electronics, an independent electronics store, staring dumbfounded at the maglock that was barring their entry through the back. After a few moments of negotiation, they agreed to give her a 25% cut of the haul. With that, Ultima pulled out the pocket electronics toolkit and set to work. In less than a minute she'd cracked open the maglock and rearranged the wires and components within. The light flashed from red to green. She stopped them short of rushing in while she also bypassed the fire alarm wired to the door. Then, she gave the all clear. She expected the team to just grab the loot and then run out. However, when she saw them smashing shelves and trashing what gear they weren't snatching up, she figured it for the property destruction job that it really was. Putting her knowledge of building construction to use, she quickly investigated the environs and discovered that this business was tapped into area gas lines, pulling heat from natural gas instead of using electric heat pumps. Ultima told the team to go ahead and leave, that she would take care of their needing to cause sufficient destruction to the property. Though looking back on it, she figured she might've gotten carried away. A fire axe near the back exit helped her puncture enough holes in the gas lines to fill every cubic meter of the building with gas. Smashing apart a few electronics, she was able to contrive a device based on capacitors set in a circuit loop that would cause a sufficient electric spark to turn the building into a ball of flame after igniting the gas. And she based all of this around a commlink she turned into a timer, with a ticking countdown of five minutes. During the whole process, she felt nothing short of rapture, of purpose. Whatever the World's reason for causing damage to this building, for whatever purpose some outside party had for making sure this property was no longer commercially viable, Ultima saw nothing but an opportunity for something new to be born. With an ecstacy that straddled the line somewhere between physical gratification and a religious experience, she set the wheels in motion for this building's Destruction, assured in the knowledge that with time, God would make something beautiful take its place. It was as she was dashing out of the rear exit to finally escape that she saw the lights of Knight-Errant police cars flashing off of the walls of that back alley. Motion sensors within had set off a silent alarm, and now the building was being investigated. Ultima attempted to sneak away without being detected, but her heart sank down into her boots when she heard the words every runner dreads being shouted at her from behind: "Freeze!" She stopped dead in her tracks and slowly raised her hands to the air. Every square centimeter of her skin had suddenly started to sweat despite the cool evening air. Mentally, she was keeping track of how long she had before the building nearby turned into a mushroom cloud. "Ten...nine...eight...seven..." "Get down on the ground, now!" "...six...five...four..." "I SAID... get down on the ground...NOW!" "...three...two...ONE!" She started running, as fast as she could will her legs to carry her. The building erupted. Sound and fury accompanied an incinerating wave of heat and a shower of glass particles. The cop's gun went off, and as sure as rain is wet that round would have gone into her back had the detonation not distracted him in the course of taking aim. With the police in the area now momentarily distracted, Ultima ran as fast and as far as she could while staying to the dark, dangerous alleys. For hours she eluded police capture while meandering her way back towards her apartment. She flipped through various local news outlets on her comm, and one of the top stories was the sudden eruption of Jericho's Electronics, and the police search for the culprit. Already the news media was blasting Knight-Errant for letting the vandal escape, and user-submitted feedback was already wailing for Lone Star's return, that crime had never been this bad when they were around. By the time she arrived back at her apartment, she figured she was safe once again. The woman was now both physically and mentally drained. The Psyche had long worn off, but the need for a fix had been kept at bay by her constant adrenaline supply and the anxiety of avoiding arrest. Now, she was too tired to think about getting a fix. All she wanted was to go to bed. Ultima slouched on her way to the bedroom, articles of clothing she pulled off leaving a trail on the way. However, she stopped short when a message came through on her commlink: <<Ultima: Nice work out there. We know it was short notice, but you did alright. Hope to work with you again soon. Here's your share, and the others agreed a little something else on top for going above and beyond what the job entailed. Mr. J was pleased.>> 5000 (IMG:style_emoticons/default/nuyen.gif) hit her bank account all at once, and Ultima gave a satisfied, if sleepy, grin to herself. She was asleep before she even hit the matress. |
|
|
![]()
Post
#84
|
|
Dragon ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() Group: Dumpshocked Posts: 4,258 Joined: 9-March 10 From: The Citadel Member No.: 18,267 ![]() |
Silk smiled briefly as the cruiser slid away down the esplanade…at least she belonged somewhere…if it wasn’t for what had happened to Balefire she may have even considered giving up running and making a safer and potentially more lucrative career under Evo. The stuff they were doing here was cutting edge and almost as much of a buzz as slipping through a corp perimeter and dodging security. She dashed the traitorous thoughts angrily from her mind…she needed to be faster and stronger, and more dangerous…she would find out who did this, who had sent the mercs and she would make them pay!
She turned towards the library entrance, unconsciously logging the approach in her mind and checking for any telltales that might indicate everything was not as it seemed, second nature now…time to see what Mr Bishop had to offer her. |
|
|
![]()
Post
#85
|
|
Running Target ![]() ![]() ![]() Group: Members Posts: 1,076 Joined: 31-August 05 From: Rock Hill, SC Member No.: 7,655 ![]() |
Silk
[13:42 January 1st, 2072; Seattle University Campus Library, Downtown Seattle] Mr. Bishop was found in a small conference room often used by students for "group study." He sat at a long table, chatting quietly with a nicely suited, middle-aged ork woman with her hair in a bun and a pair of horn-rimmed glasses with coke-bottle lenses that had never been in style. When Silk entered the room, Mr. Bishop took one look at her attire and clucked disapprovingly. But even so he rose and walked around the table to the door, shutting it behind her. Bishop himself was a man approaching his golden years, with the flabby jowls and skin blemishes to match. He wore his stark white hair long despite his greatly receded hairline, and always kept his squinting eyes hidden behind specially tinted prescription sunglasses. A thick, white beard that left his upper lip bare covered his chin and encircled lips that always seemed to be pulled into a grin, even if just barely. The years had put a bit of a stomach on what one could tell had formerly been a hale and youthful physique. "Nice to see you, Ms. Waters." Only a hint of disappointment made it through his voice. He must have really been looking forward to that dress. "Please, have a seat and we'll explain everything." At a nod from Bishop, the ork woman reached underneath the table and toggled on a white noise generator. Installed at the behest of students, the WNGs ensured that precious graduate-level research didn't fall into the hands of rival students or researchers looking to take discoveries and make them their own. They also served just as well to mask conversations touching on legally sensitive topics. "I went ahead and looked at your registration for the Spring Semester. You've got some prerequisite classes, all the better for Seattle U. to milk you for your sponsor's cash, I suppose. Now I also noticed that you have an Electronic Engineering course, and a high level one, coming up. This woman," and he nodded over to the ork lady at his side, so far remaining quiet, "is Dr. Fleming. She will be teaching that class. She has an offer that... I believe you'll want to listen to. Ladies," he said with a nod, excusing himself. He rose from his seat and left the room, shutting the door behind him. Dr. Fleming cleared her throat, looking a bit uncomfortable and out of her element. "Yes. Well. I'll get down to it. I pulled your academic records, and while you show great promise and aptitude, your grades seem to go up and down almost unpredictably. I'm thinking maybe there's trouble at home," she asked with a hint of a question, prying without trying to appear to do so. Clearing her throat again, she continued. "Yes, anyway. I'm willing to waive your attendance in the course and give you an A on it, as well as a stipend out of the 'teacher assistant' fund if you take on a job. Of course, with the stipulation that you are doing this on your own and I know nothing of this, and that I will deny your involvement if you are caught. So, are you interested? Shall I continue?" Dr. Fleming watched Silk's face closely as she awaited the reply. |
|
|
![]()
Post
#86
|
|
Moving Target ![]() ![]() Group: Members Posts: 515 Joined: 27-May 10 From: Helios Space Station, L3 solar LaGrange Point Member No.: 18,624 ![]() |
[15:22 January 3st, 2072; TransGeni Conference Room, Downtown]
Ah, Shadow Wars. Dahlia only had the vaguest understanding of the…sport. Even if sports and the like held none of the woman’s interest, it was almost impossible to escape the trid commercials. Asim and his little friends seemed to be getting excited about it; Dahlia had overheard a few telecom calls that indicated as much. But, that’s where her familiarity with it ended. She made a note to find out Asim’s favorite team at some time in the near future as she listened to Mr. Watson’s briefing. “I have no problem with a job like this,” Dahlia adopted a smile. Maybe she’d even get to take a peak at the sort of augmentations that the corporations were working on. “As it stands, I only have the impression that one of my…acquaintances is interested in the work. He’s usually quite sufficient at getting a team together. But—” Dahlia paused, tapping her index finger against her lips. “In order to complete this job in an expeditious manner, I may need a few people to supplement my usual teammates. Would that be doable?” She cocked her head at an angle. If it was just one or two people, Seti, whoever he dragged along, and Dahlia could probably take care of it. But, it sounded like the targets were trained enough to make things a little complicated, if not outright difficult for just a handful of moonlighting shadowrunners. “Oh, and would it be possible for me to get some more information on the targets? Dossiers? Medical histories? Allergies?” the woman inquired. No doubt some of that would be beyond her clearance level. But, she could hardly start a search with just a few tidbits of information. |
|
|
![]()
Post
#87
|
|
Moving Target ![]() ![]() Group: Members Posts: 419 Joined: 22-May 10 From: Germany Member No.: 18,604 ![]() |
[11:47 January 1st, 2072; In front of an apartment house, some unnamed street corner, Redmond]
"Rent is 400 a month plus a 100 extra in your case." The ganger in front of him wasn't actually that small, but standing next to Akecheta's hulking figure made him seem like a child in comparison. He and his four companions wore leather jackets that had been dyed in an ugly bright blue color. "Bluebirds" they called themselves. Who the fuck takes a gang named Bluebirds seriously? But he had been told they controlled this block and functioned as some kind of landlord for the empty apartments. "What the fuck do you mean, in my case?" Akecheta growled at him through his tusks. The weasly norm paled a bit, obviously unnerved by the Beast's glowing crimson eyes and wild black and red lion mane but after a reassuring glance to his fellow gangers the man, who was identified as "Burner" by a patch on the back of his jacket, straightened up and looked the troll in the eye. The effect was slightly diminished by him having to get on tiptoes and tilt his head back to do that. "You're big, even for a trog. You're gonna break stuff that we'll need to fix." Akecheta decided to ignore the racial slur. Most trolls' skin was as thick in the metaphorical meaning as it was in the literal. It's hard to get angry over a word you hear a dozen times a day. Normally he'd still kick this sucker's teeth in of course, just out of principle, but he really needed a place to live and nobody here would be asking for a SIN. "I doubt there's anything worth fixing in that shithole anyway. Tell you what: You forget this extra fee and I'll replace anything that gets broken." "Fine. We'll come knocking on the first of every month. And don't think you can delay payment or anything by telling me some sad sob story about how you just need to find work and your family's sick and yadda yadda. I get that every day. You don't pay and you gonna have a worse problem than finding a new place to live, you understand me?" "Don't get your panties in a twist. Keep strangers out of my rooms and you'll geet your damned money." Akecheta blew past the gangers and made his way up the stairs, which creaked dangerously under his weight. He didn't even need to think about trying the elevator, one door had been forcibly removed from the frame and cut open cables dangled out of a hole in the wall. Opening the door to his new home with the scratched maglock keycard Burner had given him, the troll entered the apartment. He was greeted by a smell so vile it made him want to vomit. Did something die in here? Or Someone? He quickly discovered that the smell wasn't the worst thing. The two small rooms looked like a garbage dump. From pizza boxes and chinese takeout cartons to destroyed furniture and broken dishes he found all kinds of drek in his wonderful new home. His first order of business was opening up all the windows and throwing out the rotting rugs that covered the floor. How long was this fucking thing empty? Or did the guy before me just have no sense of smell? After he cleaned out the rest of the garbage that littered everything from the floors to the cupboards and closets he could at least breathe without fainting. Now that the trash was gone he got his first real look at the apartment. It still wasn't much of a sight. A cheap tiny kitchen with the barest neccessities of equipment, and a slightly less tiny bedroom with a run-down sofa bed that seemed much to small for his large stature. A dirty bathroom where he would have to leave the door open to fit on the toilet seat. No AR overlay of course, he could be lucky if he had any matrix connection here at all. Well it has one thing going for it at least. I don't think the fucking Lakota are going to find me here for a while. Sighing the massive troll let himself fall on the bed. To his surprise it withstood the onslaught of about 900 pounds of muscle fairly well. Staring at the wall he absently watched a small cockroach crawl over the cracked wallpaper while he pondered his situation. He seriously needed to find a job of some kind. At the current rate his money wouldn't even cover the food for very long, not to mention next month's rent. But the only thing he'd ever learned in his life was how to hurt people. Guess you can't shake what you are. There has to be work for a guy like me in a city like this. Groaning the Beast got up and moved towards the door, grabbing his black leather jacket on the way out. No sense in sitting around and hoping for a miracle. He would look around, maybe search for some seedy bar, talk to other people like him.. |
|
|
![]()
Post
#88
|
|
Dragon ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() Group: Dumpshocked Posts: 4,258 Joined: 9-March 10 From: The Citadel Member No.: 18,267 ![]() |
[13:44 January 1st, 2072; Seattle University Campus Library, Downtown Seattle]
Silk ignored the offer to open up, not to a complete stranger, and began formulating her reply whilst simultaneously sub dividing her conciousness and running a quick search on the matrix for information on Dr Fleming. Her speed meant that she couldn't be as thorough as she would like, however, and beyond the corp blurb on the university servers there was nothing so far... <<Aria, can you do a spot of digging on a Dr Fleming here at the university when you have a spare moment? I hate to ask but I like going in blind to a situation even less! I'll owe you one! Thanks, S>> Now, try not to sound sycophantic... "Dr Fleming, I appreciate your offer and I can assure you that I would be the model of discretion in anything that I assisted you with. I would still like to attend the course if possible and time permits, the knowledge is more important to me than the grades, but a guaranteed A would certainly ease any unpleasantness with my sponsors. Whilst I would not admit to this under normal academic circumstances, but I take pride in my ability not to get caught so please do continue..." |
|
|
![]()
Post
#89
|
|
Running Target ![]() ![]() ![]() Group: Members Posts: 1,076 Joined: 31-August 05 From: Rock Hill, SC Member No.: 7,655 ![]() |
Silk
[13:46 January 1st, 2072; Seattle University Campus Library, Downtown Seattle] Dr. Fleming beamed a gracious smile at Silk in response to her words. The ork woman clasped her hands together and held them against her chest, looking up towards the ceiling. "Thank you Lord for giving me this well-mannered, talented, and very ambitious student!" Looking back at Silk, Dr. Fleming continued. "Well then. Down to business." She cleared her throat and then went into the pitch. "There's a company based here in the Seattle area called Deadbolt Security Products, and they specialize in locks: traditional, maglocks, biometric locks, and even some cutting edge designs. On the fifth floor of their building, not fifteen kilometers from here, is where they are doing some of their design research. The holy grail for a company like theirs, or any for that matter, is the crack-proof lock. They've claimed to be developing one of these, one impervious to outside tampering or cracking. Only one with the proper key or authentication would be able to bypass it. So of course there is a professional interest in a lock such as this. I want you to...acquire the prototype they have for that lock, and if possible, get the design research and the schematics for it off of their servers. For this I can give you 5,000 (IMG:style_emoticons/default/nuyen.gif) out of my student assistant budget, plus another 1,000 if you get the data, but the prototype is of paramount importance. And another thing: please don't...harm anyone. My conscience couldn't live with it. Just in and out, like someone's shadow." As Dr. Fleming went on with her pitch, Aria responded back to Silk's inquiry and began dumping information in her lap. Silk focused two full sets of attention on each conversant, taking in Aria's input while listening closely to the ork woman's pitch. <<Dr. Janet Agnes Fleming, undergrad at Seattle University with a B.S. in Electronic Engineering; a double Masters in Security Design and Hardware Design from the highly acclaimed Jefferson College in Atlanta, CAS.; Ph.D. in Electrical Engineering there as well. Her thesis was on locks and similar security deterrents, and improving their design. Pushing 50 years old, had two litters of four children each. Husband died three years ago. She's a devoted Methodist Christian woman who gives exactly ten percent of all her earnings to her church. Hobbies are literature, philosophy, and jazz music. Oh, uh... and here's a profile from some alt-community dating service. She's also into groups, S&M, watersports. I found some photos and video she posted on there if you'd like to see. She's got a little tattoo just below her bikini line...>> |
|
|
![]()
Post
#90
|
|
Running Target ![]() ![]() ![]() Group: Members Posts: 1,076 Joined: 31-August 05 From: Rock Hill, SC Member No.: 7,655 ![]() |
[13:42 January 3rd, 2072; Everton Suites 6A, Seattle]
Ultima sat in a plastic patio chair out on the balcony, methodically filling the metal pail next to her with cigarette butts smoked down to the filter. A cold, cutting wind blew, but she wore nothing but a sports bra and a pair of sleeping shorts. She'd done nothing all day. There had been no commcalls, no text messages, no voice messages. Nobody knocked on her door. Nobody had responded to any posts she'd made on ShadowSEA or any other VPNs she occasionally checked. She'd had to have her fix early in the morning, practically swallowing Psyche down with her bowl of FoofyPuffs. The dizziness, nausea, and general malaise had been there with her when she woke up, and already she was chasing that Demon away, or at the very least, distracting it for a time. The hyperconcentration that came with the Psyche tablet did enable her to focus on some pleasure reading, however. As she worked her way through yet another pack of cigarettes - and she had come prepared for this Off Day, having bought a carton of smokes the night before - she read page after page in the dog-eared copy of Fight Club. The protagonist's plight resonated with her. Here was a man who sought his own Destruction, to hit bottom, so that he could find freedom in his own life and start over. More than that, he wanted to promote a sort of social anarchy, to bring the System down to its knees so that a new, pure society could be formed from its ashes. Ultima likened this man's goals to Shiva the Destroyer, and felt as though he were a kindred spirit. But she could not help but feel as though his destructive tendencies were borne out of a world-weary cynicism and spite. He did not necessarily want to destroy in order to make the world a better place, but to punish it for robbing him of his humanity. It was punative, his lashing out, and his actions seethed of a hatred underneath the surface of his conscious mind. Ultima, on the other hand, sought to bring about Destruction so that new and beautiful things could fill in the void. Even the Earth itself had been formed from the remains of a star long dead, long forgotten, that had become a supernova. Surely, this was God's hand at work. Halfway through the book, she marked a page and set the novel aside. She stared at the gulls soaring in the distance for a time, and thought about her life, how she'd gotten here, and how she had no idea where she was going. Ultima trusted that God was guiding her path, and that she tried to do the right thing always, even ad-hoc. She knew that God was always with her. But why then did she feel so... alone? The closest thing she'd had to metahuman contact was Enrique, and he was probably laid up on some slab in the morgue with a tag around his toe. She felt cut off and isolated from the mass of humanity. The list of people whose names she knew was incredibly short, but the list of people she knew as friends was shorter still - there were no names on it. All of the friends, family, enemies, and lovers she'd ever had she left behind in Caracas when she ran. Now, in this new city, rife with possibilities and potential, she felt not a single personable connection to any of the millions of people in it. She knew her fixer, of course, but that was purely a business relationship, and he still hadn't gotten back to her after her last message to him. A dark voice deep inside of her, one that she heard sometimes in these vulnerable moments, whispered into her brain, Like anybody would want to be friends, or more, with a scarred, junkie puta like you. You're lucky even God wants you. You are alone because you deserve to be. Quit wanting something you have no rights to. Ultima shook her head, trying to will away that inner voice, to banish it from her mind before it ruined what remained of her day. And yet the barbs, desultory as they were, were viscious enough to pierce the skin. Once inside, they were hard to remove. It was almost like self-flagellation for the soul, this negative voice that excoriated her at times for her faults and her weaknesses. She'd never needed another person to feel validated as an individual. But she did need somebody to feel whole. Maybe she would go back out tonight, not to find work, but to maybe find a friend. Wouldn't that be nice? And it would show that inner voice that she was worth being a friend to. |
|
|
![]()
Post
#91
|
|
Dragon ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() Group: Dumpshocked Posts: 4,258 Joined: 9-March 10 From: The Citadel Member No.: 18,267 ![]() |
[13:48 January 1st, 2072; Seattle University Campus Library, Downtown Seattle]
Silk didn't have to give the task much thought...this was just the kind of thing she needed, something to test her skills against and sharpen her edge... "Dr Fleming, this sounds like exactly something I would be able to assist you with and the terms are quite acceptable. I would want to subcontract out matrix support and possible astral recon but I would acquire those services out of the budget you mentioned, although we may wish to discuss reasonable expenses incurred for those people..." <<Aria, I know you don't do overwatch anymore but perhaps you could put the word out that I'm looking for a hacker or techno to assist me on a B&E job near here?" Now...just need to think up a shopping list of gear and info for the run itself, better to get it done soon while the holiday period is still on... |
|
|
![]()
Post
#92
|
|
Running Target ![]() ![]() ![]() Group: Members Posts: 1,076 Joined: 31-August 05 From: Rock Hill, SC Member No.: 7,655 ![]() |
[13:48 January 1st, 2072; Seattle University Campus Library, Downtown Seattle]
"I understand, dear," Dr. Fleming replied. "If you can give me a reasonable list of expenses I'll see about giving you the money for them. But please do keep it reasonable. I don't have much in the budget, especially after I set aside the amount to pay you." Aria was instantaneous in her reply: <<I will get right on it, Silk. I might have seen some posts over at ShadowSEA looking for jobs.>> Dr. Fleming continued. "Now there is no strict timeline on this, and school doesn't start back for another couple of weeks. I would like to have the prototype by then, if at all possible. Do you have any other questions?" |
|
|
![]()
Post
#93
|
|
Dragon ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() Group: Dumpshocked Posts: 4,258 Joined: 9-March 10 From: The Citadel Member No.: 18,267 ![]() |
[13:48 January 1st, 2072; Seattle University Campus Library, Downtown Seattle]
Silk smiled, "Not at the moment Dr Fleming, although if you could provide me with the number you would like me to contact you on then I will get on to the research required for a delicate job of this kind." <<Thanks Aria, it's appreciated...I don't tell you often enough that I couldn't do all this without you!>> |
|
|
![]()
Post
#94
|
|
Moving Target ![]() ![]() Group: Members Posts: 335 Joined: 9-August 10 Member No.: 18,906 ![]() |
[12:38 P.M. January 1st, 2072; Rust Ring Garage; Tacoma]
The troll yawned hard as he opened his eyes. The feeling of last night’s drink still coursed through him, making him a bit wobbly on his feet. He squinted as he checked the time before heading out of the side-room he had converted to a bedroom. The welcoming percolation of a Harley greeted him from outside of the building. Scar flung open the garage door and beckoned the troll to pull his bike in. “Nothin’ big man. Just some bullet holes that need patched.” The troll nodded and retrieved a can of beer from the combination fridge that was wedged into the corner. “Alright brother, shouldn’t be too long. I’ll give you a price on materials once the work is done.” Scar traced his finger across the side of the bike and series of punctures from whatever firefight he missed. “Patching and refinishing,” the mechanic muttered to himself as he set to work on it. This post has been edited by Grimm: Aug 12 2010, 07:25 PM |
|
|
![]()
Post
#95
|
|
Dragon ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() Group: Dumpshocked Posts: 4,258 Joined: 9-March 10 From: The Citadel Member No.: 18,267 ![]() |
[13:51 January 1st, 2072; Seattle University Campus Library, Downtown Seattle]
Silk began mentally jotting down some of the additional items she might need for this run, most of which she'd been meaning to pick up for a while but hadn't had sufficient motivation... Gecko tape gloves, should be able to pick those up in an extreme sports store she knew of down town...a runabout for transport, she wasn't taking the bus to a run, so a second hand jackrabbit should do the trick. Perhaps dredge the matrix for specs on maglocks and make sure she was aware of the cutting edge, thankfully remembering all this stuff had never been a problem for her... This was going to be fun! |
|
|
![]()
Post
#96
|
|
Moving Target ![]() ![]() Group: Members Posts: 419 Joined: 22-May 10 From: Germany Member No.: 18,604 ![]() |
[19:47 January 1st, 2072; The Muddy River Bar, Redmond]
The Beast was bored. He'd been staring at the stained drywall for about two hours now and he had reached his sixth beer. Of course he wasn't feeling anything yet, he needed quite a bit more than that to get even remotely drunk. Sometimes his strong physique was a curse, he gloomily thought. He studied the lonely AR-picture on the walll once again. It still pictured the same kitchy old west scene as it did when he first laid eyes on it. No surprise there. But the etablishment didn't offer much else in the way of entertainment. Typical for Redmond, the Muddy River Bar was pretty much a shithole. At least the name was fitting, considering the beer definitely looked muddy. One side of the room was occupied by the long bar which tried to display the western theme the owner had chosen by having a wide mirror on the wall behind it and a large shelf of various liquors. The remaining space was filled with two pool tables and a couple of shabby small tables with creaking chairs. Most of them empty, business didn't seem to go too good here. But it had the look of a bar that might be frequented by the type of shady character's he was looking for. He needed work and he was ready to break an arm or a leg for some quick cash. But so far he'd had absolutely no luck. "You sure you don't know anyone who might need some muscle? There'd be some nuyen in it for you if you can refer me to someone.", he asked the barkeep, a fat ork in a ridicoulus cowboy outfit, once again. "Like I told you three times already, this ain't a job market here! Just shut up about it!", the man responded and spat some chewing tabacco on the ground. It didn't stand out much on the dirty floor. "Fine, if you don't want my money...get me another beer at least!" Receiving his drink the Beast stared at the wall again. Still the same boring AR-picture. Still the same smoke stains. Still the same desperate situation. This whole shit seemed so easy when I had the syndicate giving me work and looking out for me. Now the same fuckers wanna see me dead and I'm sitting in this goddamn ugly city and can't find a job. I thought this was the metropolis of shadowrunners? There's gotta be a way into that scene. But I can't ask any of my old contacts, they're all more loyal to the Lakota Mafia than to me. I need to think of some other way. Unfortunately thinking was not exactly what he was known for... |
|
|
![]()
Post
#97
|
|
Moving Target ![]() ![]() Group: Members Posts: 515 Joined: 27-May 10 From: Helios Space Station, L3 solar LaGrange Point Member No.: 18,624 ![]() |
[15:47 January 3st, 2072; The Streets, Downtown]
Dahlia left the TransGeni building flush with data. Of course, Watson couldn’t offer her any leads; if TransGeni had any, they would have followed those up first. But, she had a basic dossier on each target, along with medical information, tucked away on her comlink. And that would have to be good enough for now. She’d suss out the allergy information later that evening and start brewing up some tailor-made goodies for each target—a personal touch. Stepping out onto the streets of downtown proper, Dahlia made a cursory pat close to the hidden injection dagger and vibroblade—rather unnoticeable thanks to the heavy, grey winter coat she wore. She wasn’t quite to the point where carrying a gun at all times felt comfortable. But, it wouldn’t take much for Dahlia to make that transition. Not that many people would find it all that suspicious for her to carry a weapon for self defence. After all, she worked late shift at a hospital, and didn’t exactly live in the nicest of neighborhoods. It was unfortunate that the dwarf didn’t have any standing operatives on hand; he said something about getting back to the woman on the matter in a matter of days. Hopefully either Seti would either wrangle up a team, or some muscle would surface in another way. They’d need someone who knew their way around electronics, hopefully a B&E specialist, and a couple of thugs couldn’t hurt, either. The woman pulled on a pair of synthleather gloves and sighed, the breath of air leaving her mouth in a white puff. Maybe she’d go and see if Doc M knew a few degenerates who’d like in on a job. Of course, that meant a brief trip home to arm up for a trip into the really bad parts of town. But, what could she do? Shoving her gloved hands into the pockets of her coat, Dahlia began walking. |
|
|
![]()
Post
#98
|
|
Running Target ![]() ![]() ![]() Group: Members Posts: 1,076 Joined: 31-August 05 From: Rock Hill, SC Member No.: 7,655 ![]() |
Silk
[13:51 January 1st, 2072; Seattle University Campus Library, Downtown Seattle] Dr. Fleming reached down to the commlink that was in the purse in the seat next to her. "One moment, dearie," she said to Silk. After a moment, Silk had an incoming message that consisted of nothing but a commcode. "Mr. Bishop was nice enough to set me up with a secure line. He's...quite resourceful, that man. That number should be safe to call. You keep in touch with me that way. When you get your list together, or you just need to coordinate with me, you send a message there or give me a call. I may pick up. If not leave a voice or text message. I will get back to you as soon as I can. Now, if there aren't any other questions..?" Dr. Fleming raised an eyebrow, wordlessly asking if there were, indeed, any more. Aria sent Silk a response, puncuated at the end by a large, animated smiley emoticon modeled off of her persona: <<Anytime.>> was all it said. |
|
|
![]()
Post
#99
|
|
Dragon ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() Group: Dumpshocked Posts: 4,258 Joined: 9-March 10 From: The Citadel Member No.: 18,267 ![]() |
[13:52 January 1st, 2072; Seattle University Campus Library, Downtown Seattle]
"No more questions at the moment, although I may have more once I begin formulating my approach. It will be a pleasure working for you Dr Fleming." Silk waited for Dr Fleming to stand and then offered her hand... |
|
|
![]()
Post
#100
|
|
Moving Target ![]() ![]() Group: Members Posts: 335 Joined: 9-August 10 Member No.: 18,906 ![]() |
Akecheta
[20:07 January 1st, 2072; The Muddy River Bar, Redmond] Desperation and desolation were the norm for the inhabitants of Redmond. One had to be careful as the hooks of both could work their way into what was left of the soul of the individual who called it home. Akecheta could feel much of the same from the people around him in the dive where he sucked down the local swill. The bartender was no help and most of the other locals seemed to be giving the troll a wide berth as they moved in and out. As he was about to pull out, an incoming hail on his commlink indicated a message awaited him. OOC: Assuming you answer the hail, rather than waiting to go back and forth. If you choose not to, disregard. A masked transmission is waiting in queue. Keying it up brings a blacked out screen and an electronically altered voice with the following offer.. ”Mr. Troll. Your conversation with the barkeep caught my attention. I have a job that needs performed right here in Redmond. It is of a very time sensitive nature however, and I will need to know within a half hour if you accept it or not. Otherwise, I will need to find another. Some Italian mobsters captured one of my men during some work he was performing on my behalf. He is currently being held in the Bargain Basement in a condoplex where they are having their fun with him and attempting to get information. There is currently no more than a half-dozen lightly armed Mafioso holding him. My offer is 6000 nuyen for the return of my man alive. If he is dead, I will pay you half. This is a bit more than I typically offer but due to the rushed nature, I feel it is only fair. Attached to this communication is my business contact information. If you have not responded within thirty minutes of this transmission, I will assume you do not want the job.” OOC: Bear with me, I’m an experienced storyteller/game master/dungeon master but I haven’t done it for 4th ed Shadowrun. So if you decide to pursue this storyline be aware there might be turbulence as I learn what I’m doing. |
|
|
![]() ![]() |
![]() |
Lo-Fi Version | Time is now: 30th July 2025 - 03:04 AM |
Topps, Inc has sole ownership of the names, logo, artwork, marks, photographs, sounds, audio, video and/or any proprietary material used in connection with the game Shadowrun. Topps, Inc has granted permission to the Dumpshock Forums to use such names, logos, artwork, marks and/or any proprietary materials for promotional and informational purposes on its website but does not endorse, and is not affiliated with the Dumpshock Forums in any official capacity whatsoever.