Twisted Minds IC: Act 0, A mind is a terrible thing. To waste. Options

[GingerKid]

Snapp Tuesday, March 4th, 2070. Seattle, Early Afternoon. Light, drizzling rain.

I can't believe Ben remembered the protocol. Maybe things will start to swing my way.

After taking the necessary steps Snapp is greeted by his old friend, "It sure is good to here from you, Ben. I'm kinda in a hard spot right now. I need a favor. I need some work."

Snapp listens as Ben tells him about a small job to get him started. Maybe things aren't swinging my way. This sounds like a trainee run. Then again, in order to get a fresh start, I guess I do have to START somewhere. I just hope those other miscellaneous assets aren't too green.

"I'll do it. Thanks a lot, Ben. I won't forget this. Do you have any more info on this club. Style of the club, clientele, hours when it's open, anything about the security, etc?"

[Feshy]

Snapp

[ Spoiler ]

Ben pauses for a second, as if in thought – or consulting AR.

“I’ve got a little more info on the place, yes. Style there has varied a lot; I think the owner is still trying to find the club’s niche. It’s a fairly new club, built in the last four years. I think currently the style is a weird blend between restaurant and strip club – supposedly a place for nine to fiver’s to be able to get a good meal in a much more relaxed and scenic environment than their dull day-to-day lives. The clientele reflects that choice – mostly middle-class businessmen, with a few of the better-off blue collar types as well. The relaxed restaurant style keeps the patrons a bit quieter than at most places that employ barely dressed women. Though there’s no official dress code, things look to be mostly business casual – that is, whatever the patrons wore to work that day.”

“As for hours, they open in time for lunch – 1000 hours or so, and usually don’t close until the early morning; call it 300 hours. But that time block is effectively divided into two categories. Until about 1800 hours, the club is actually used for business meetings. The dancing girls still work those hours, that’s the draw. Get out of your cubicle, watch some pretty girls, and still be on the clock. So far, it’s a gimmick that’s seemed to work, and the place sees pretty good business.”

“Security - I don’t know the specifics of the club’s security gear, but I might be able to find out. It’d take a bit of time, and some nuyen to grease a few palms. But what I do know is that security also differs according to those two blocks of time. Business meets are allowed personal defensive arms, whilst the after-work crowd is on a strict no weapons rule. Guess the owners figure if you frag up on the boss’s dime, they’ll get compensated, but if Joe Average drinks too much and takes a knife to another customer, they’ve got a mess on their hands. Again, so far this policy has seemed to work well; I haven’t seen any reports of major incidents happening there.”

“Anything else you need Snapp?”

[GingerKid]

"Thanks for the info Ben. Sounds like a pretty benign place. No need for you to bother digging further." Never mind the fact, I can't afford to have you dig further. "I'll be in touch."

Snapp disconnects with Ben and says to himself. "Should I take Gracey. Nah, she wouldn't be received well in a place like that. No need to screw up my first job after getting out by having to explain her."

Wednesday, March 4th, 2070. Seattle, Early Afternoon. Cool and Overcast

Time to get going. I'll only take the little guy. Everything else can stay.

Snapp makes sure his streetline special is loaded and then puts it in the concealable holster attached to his lower leg. He puts all of his other equipment in the hidden compartment he made in the stairs of the old condemned house he was squatting in. He then takes Grace to the special hiding place.

"Sleep tight. I'll be back soon."

Ok, Joe Blow business man out for a drink. Snapp concentrates for a second. His pants turn a dark brown and his shirt a dark blue. He puts on his long coat, changes his comm link to passive mode, and gets on his bike.

Find me a route to the Impish Delights in Renton. A small map pops up on his glasses.

"Tally Ho." And with that he motors off on his scoot to the beginning of his new life.

[BlackHat]

[ Spoiler ]

Dual drops the keyed object, allowing his exploit-code to overrun into the world around him. Although the logs showed that his Agent was discovered mostly by chance, he's still cautious, keeping his eyes out both for the alert message, or for any threat-level changes.

[Feshy]

Dual:

[ Spoiler ]

Wednesday, 4:30 AM. In the employee-only area of the Impish Delights computer node. (at last!) Weather conditions: Snappy processing with no sign of early-morning data congestion.

The public information area around Dual dissolves into tiny flecks, leaving him momentarily in blackness. Slowly, lights come up around him, revealing a virtual club of some sort. There’s a stage-looking setup to the left, tables directly ahead, and a bar to the far right - all look slightly surreal. Cleaning tables and generally moving items about is a rather generic looking female humanoid in dark pants and a white shirt. Sprouting from her back are a small pair of leathery wings. You take a close look around with vision enhanced by an Analyze readout, but you find no other active icons; the waitress “herself” is just an interface application and not a true agent.

With the coast looking clear, you take a moment to breath in the rich, virtual air. Just a hint of cooking food is present, but the real sweet smell is illicit entry. The simulated air sensations always smell fresher when you’ve had to work to access them.

Knowing that your stealth program will keep you hidden from the normal interaction routines of the “waitress” interface, you set your search to work around that. You fire up search, which produces a small cocktail napkin and a pen. Quickly scratching “Dirty Jimmy” on it, you slip it into the waitress icon’s pocket. She seems oblivious to this, but after cleaning the next table, she has clearly failed to pick up a bit of paper rubbish.

Unfolding this scrap reveals the following note:


To all employees working Wednesday afternoon:

Dirty Jimmy is hosting a meeting, though he has not said if it will be back room or front. For those of you that haven’t met him, Jimmy works for our “special” clientele, and therefore his associates are not to be harassed for security violations unless they have greatly exceeded “personal defensive” equipment. Also, obviously, their cover charges will be paid for by Jimmy’s associates; so do not charge anyone who comes in asking for him. Jimmy may be more casual than some of his associates, but I still don’t have to remind you to be respectful.

M. Amherst.


On the back of the scrap is a rather long list of monetary charges, but the specific values and dates are blanked out. However, it is clear Jimmy keeps a monthly tab here, and is somewhat of a regular.

After quickly reading the note, you stuff it into your “pocket” to have a reference for later. So far, so good – no sign of trouble yet this time.

-- another small edit.

[BlackHat]

[ Spoiler ]

Dual looks a little disappointed at the scrap of paper, before pocketing it. Well, at least I know I won't have any trouble at the door. Looks like they're counting on everyone recognising 'Dirty Jimmy' on their own. Must be a regular.... on to plan two. He produces two more napkins, scribbling 'Employee Records' on one and 'Security Systems' on the other and then slips them both into the waitressess pocket.

[Feshy]

Dual

[ Spoiler ]

Your first napkin yields an impressive file, containing over 60 names; most with pictures and some schedule information. The vast majority look like stage names. Many of those look like temporary or one-time acts, not current employees. You also find the schedule for tomorrow afternoon, which shows only five people working during the time the meet is scheduled for. “Juan” (no last name listed, nor ID picture provided) is working the kitchen. John Straum is working the door – his ID shows a hard, wide face with no real hint of a smile. Angelique (definitely a stage name), whose ID shows an athletic woman with dark brown hair and a sly smile, is working the tables, and is also acting manager. Carolyn, who has no ID, is listed as “performing” – as is Terri (also no ID picture.)

The second napkin also yields some results, though not as thorough. You can’t find a full schematic or layout of the security system, but you do find a listing of equipment as part of the insurance policy deductibles. Included are a MAD scanner, a millimeter wave system, several panic buttons, fire detection and suppression equipment, and a several cameras.

Unfortunately, your pondering is cut short when a digitized dwarven bouncer steps out of the kitchen, and with a hearty dwarven scream, flies across the bar in a mighty leap straight towards you.

[Feshy]

Dual:

[ Spoiler ]

With a reflex speed only possible in the digital world, you dodge the virtual bouncer’s first strike by a hair’s breadth. You feel the wind from his knuckledusters against your face; the code of his attacks only a few loops from breaching your defenses before the system catches up and purges the spurious buffers from memory.

As the dwarf’s attack misses, the ‘house lights’ come up – a harsh, fluorescent glow bathes every hidden crevice of the virtual club. Looks like Active Alert is back…

Your expensive hardware and practiced skill now gives you the edge; and you react before the dwarf can load another assault.

[BlackHat]

[ Spoiler ]

Dual reflexivly dives to the side when the dwarven bouncer comes reeling out from the backroom. Shit! That was fast.... He continues his evasion by diving behind the bar. Normally, trying to run and hide in a metaphor like this is futile (the bouncer is just as agile as he is), but his intention isn't to escape, its to get to a routine he thinks he should now have access to.

Dual doesn't have the programs equiped to deal with this properly, so he has to get creative. Luckily for him, his little gravity-hack has given him nearly god-like powers in this digital-club.

A second later, Dual is on his feet again - standing behind the bar with a somewhat-cocky smile on his face. He reveals the shotgun he grabbed from beneith the bar. *BANG* When the smoke clears, what is left of the bouncer is rapidly decaying away to nothing. *BANG* His second shot was aimed at the flashing lights above him.

Dual slides back down behind the bar as shards of broken glass and deallocating memory rain down around him.

(Feshy: Dunno if I stepped too far out of bounds here with what I can do as an Admin. See my OOC post, I will edit/remove this one if necessary.

All you peekers! This might not happen!)

[Feshy]

Dual

[ Spoiler ]

As the last of the glass from the overhead lights fades from the floor, the overhead lights flicker on once again – though perceivably less bright. You quickly toss away the lock pick and strange-looking probe set you used to get in, hardly noticing it dissolve in a puff of smoke before it could hit the floor. You are already concentrating on the details of the bar. If the quality on the liquor labels behind your head are to be believed, the system is slightly above what you’d consider “average.” It should have capabilities slightly less expansive and quick than your own comlinks.

Before you can search through your pockets for a pen to do some creative re-writing of the bar tabs and today’s special, two more icons walk out of the back room. You see a nearly identical dwarf, and this time he’s got a troll with him. The troll glows neon blue, but otherwise is dressed in the same white shirt and dark slacks. Both immediately set out into the room, checking under tables for intruders – which would be you.

[Feshy]

Dual

[ Spoiler ]

With the two bouncer IC still checking under chairs and tables (and humorously enough, ashtrays,) you find your pen and eraser. Now, to find those logs…

[BlackHat]

[ Spoiler ]

Keeping one on on the tilted mirror on the ceiling, Dual watches as two more IC are sent to search for him. Not wanting to give away his position or existance to the new security firewall, he decides he has to do something about those logs, and starts loading the proper programs to do so. As the code enters active memory, his icon manages to locate its pen and paper.

He then begins scribbling furiously - rewriting some of the days receipts, tabs, expenses... trying to remove all record of one troublesome patron who managed to sneak past the bouncer.

[Feshy]

Dual:

[ Spoiler ]

You locate the logs easily enough; stuffed under the cash register drawer is a nearly infinite stack of receipts. Flipping through them quickly, you isolate the relevant ones and begin writing; the modified receipts zipping back underneath the register as you finish each one.

You’re so caught up in your furious scribbling and data transfers that you almost don’t see the dwarf checking behind the bar for you. He is peering over the ledge directly beside you, and is so close you feel his stale breath on your hand… but he moves on to check under the beer nuts. That was much too close, but also too late for him anyway. You’ve finished the last of the receipts, and with a *cha-ching* the cash register shows a new total for the night.

When you are certain the dwarf and troll’s attention are elsewhere, you reach over for the light switch, and turn off the glaring fluorescents. Behind the walls, in the electrical wires, the code unravels, and lighting in the bar returns to its dim usual. Soft, ambient music returns, the volume just slightly too low to make out lyrics.

In the quiet, dim light, you aim the shotgun at the neon blue troll, and pull the trigger. You feel the gun’s recoil, but there is no sound or flash of smoke. The troll dissolves into a blue puddle that runs between the polished floorboards of the club. At the dissolving of the troll, the dwarf looks up, but apparently doesn’t see anything unusual, and continues his search – currently he is checking inside the salt and pepper bottles on a nearby table

[Feshy]

Dual

[ Spoiler ]

Having defused the situation in the Employee node, and cleaned up the logs of your virtual break-in, you decide what information you have gathered is enough for this trip. Besides, a check of local time shows it is already almost 5 AM, leaving just enough time to sleep and prepare before the meet. You log off the system, careful not to leave any additional traces, then “jack out” – though of course the actual datajack cable hasn’t been a necessity in years.

Normally, the transition to the mundane existence that passes for reality in this part of town would be slightly depressing and anticlimactic; but with the adrenalin rush of almost being caught rapidly fading, and the thought of the sun cresting the horizon in only a few short hours, Dual feels the exhaustion of the day and heads for the bedroom for some much deserved sleep.

[Feshy]

Wednesday, March 5th, 2070. Seattle, Early Afternoon. Cool and Overcast

Bubbles: 2:59 (Perfectly according to plan - or rather, lack thereof)
Snapp: 2:43 (within the acceptable margin for transit delay)
Dual: 2:39 (slight traffic delay)
Spook: 2:30 (The bus was actually on time today)
Codger: 2:41 (the talkative cabbie made it with minutes to spare)

Outside the Impish Delights

You find the club, located in the southwestern part of Renton, in a surprisingly wooded lot in a slightly run-down shopping district. The building is back behind its paved parking area, somewhat obscured by the trees on the lot. It seems that the owners wish to draw no ire from local groups who might oppose this type of establishment, and have gone to some lengths to avoid the typical gaudiness and flash of run of the mill “gentlemen’s clubs.”

The building itself looks new; its walls painted with a fresh coat the color of burnt adobe. The trim is somewhat lighter. It is a fairly medium-sized building as restaurants go. The sign is mounted on the front of the building, and has the name “Impish Delights” printed in a scrawling font that glows from white to orange to a fiery red; this glow takes on an almost otherworldly sheen in this dim, overcast weather. Leaning suggestively against the ‘I’ is a small red humanoid figure with dark wings; another lounges in the cusp of the ‘D.’ A half-dozen or so cars are parked scattered about the parking lot. A sign on the outside of the main entrance (a one-way mirrored glass doorway) glows with the word "Open."

[BlackHat]

Dual approaches the mirrored door with confidence. Quite certain that John Straum is watching him from the other side of the glass, Dual resists the urge to adjust his hair, or straighten his lined coat as he appreaches the door and enters.

[GingerKid]

Snapp rides into the parking lot. He hops off his bike and sets the stock anti-theft system, thinking to himself, At least the honest thieves won't steal it.

Snapp sets his expression to that of someone who's had a rough day at the office. He strolls up to the mirrored door and walks in.

[Feshy]

Dual and Snapp (and anyone else that enters the club)

[ Spoiler ]

Thankful to be inside out of the chilly dampness that is Seattle in March, you look around the entryway. Inside, you see a well-muscled human male with a wide face in dark slacks and a slightly wrinkled button-down white shirt that bulges with the telltale signs of a barely concealed armor vest. He eyes you closely as you enter, and eventually gives you a short nod. There is a camera watching this part of the entry, but no other security devices are visible. Of course, the various scanners get smaller and easier to conceal every year. A sign by the man in the white shirt indicates that you can check your coat here – and as the club is quite warm compared to the temperature outside, it’s a tempting offer.

The walls of the entryway are arranged such that they block the view of the club inside, and much of the sound as well. Only the muffled base beat reaches the doorway. The man in the white shirt says, in a voice that sounds a bit like rocks rolling down a mountain: “15 n’yen.”

[BlackHat]

Ahh... spoilers....

[ Spoiler ]

As Dual enters the building, his eyes lock onto the doorman. In his field of vision, the employee file springs to life displaying a picture matching the doorman's face, along with his name. Moments later, more information appears quickly cluttering Dual's view, and forcing him to pause a second to adjust his input-data filters. Dual looks up and sees the bouncer looking at him expectantly.

"Ah, no thank you. I'm here to meet 'Dirty Jimmy.' I believe I am expected?" Dual looks at the sign about checking the coat, but thinks better of it. With a moment's concentration, virtual air-conditioning kicks in, and he suddnly feels very comfortable in his lined duster.

[DireRadiant]

approx 3:00 PM Wednesday, March 5th, 2070. Seattle, Early Afternoon. Cool and Overcast

Bubbles snaps her right wrist back, kicks up her left toe, and release the left handle on her Chromed and Soot Black Growler. The Yamaha's front tire rises over half a meter off the ground as she accelerate through the lot, dropping smoothly as she rolls to a full stop at nearest available parking spot to the door. As the engine chokes to a stop, her clear slip on clad foot snaps down the kick stand. Bubbles stretches her arms up and twists around scanning the area briefly before stepping backwards off the bike and striding to the mirror glass door. She pauses in front of the mirror. *pop* , and carefully brushes a paw through her bobby cut brown hair. She licks her palm, pats down a stray clump by her left horn, then observes herself in the mirror critically in front and profile view as she swells her chest. *pop* She winks at the mirror, then opens the door and steps in.

[Toptomcat]

Going to the club (2:00)
Codger steps out of his apartment, looking a bit too well-dressed for the neighborhood he's in, and manages to flag down a cab with a human driver. It takes a while to find one, but the drones won't take anything but the shortest route to their destination- and that's not what he wants.
"Take me to the business district, then to Impish Delights from there. Don't stop along the way. Get me there before 2:45 and don't ask any questions and there's a healthy tip in it for you, chummer."
He livens up the trip by getting the cabbie to tell him the colorful stories of each patched-up bullet hole and knife scar on the cab's structure, punctuated with lively condemations of Seattle's criminal underworld in general and street gangs in particular.
"Halloweeners, eh?"
"Burn scars?"
"A Vickers gun? You're kidding."
"Where the hell were the Metroplex Guard?"
"Jumped on the hood?"
The trip goes quickly, and he finds himself outside the isolated building in fairly short order. Leaving the cabbie with a grin and a healthy tip, he walks in unhurriedly- to all appearences, just another wage-slave, let out a bit early. He knows it won't fool management, but standing out to the patrons- or anyone else who's monitoring things- is not generally a good idea.

Seeing the white-shirted man demand a cover charge, Codger pays the bouncer without any fuss. The sentry's commlink abruptly switches to Spanish and proudly announces the acquisition of 16,000 centavos before a sharp rap on the side allows it to declare the payment of fifteen nuyen.

[Feshy]

Dual

[ Spoiler ]

Your readouts overlay the man at the door (who's picture matches John Straum's photo ID exactly, down to the complete lack of smile) with various interpreted information from the millimeter wave system. Only two systems show up – muscle replacement and bone lacing. The millimeter scans are fed to your datasoft, and immediately a great flood of information on these systems is displayed in your AR vision – The muscle replacements are the mid-grade ones (rating 2) offered by a cyberware manufacturer known for bargains without *too* big of a sacrifice in reliability. Exact details and compositions are listed as well; you quickly filter that out for the moment. The bone lacing is aluminum, from the same manufacturer. Again, every possible bit of information about the lacing is displayed, from most likely time of purchase (3 years ago) to the suspected tensile strengths of the various components given the aluminum alloys this particular brand uses. Again, you filter this information out in order to give you enough room to see.

Using more familiar wavelengths, you spot an odd bulge on the side of the man’s right leg – probably a melee weapon of some sort. Most likely, it’s a slim-line stun baton designed to be concealed so as not to alarm customers.

At the mention of Dirty Jimmy, Straum grunts, and says in his half-mumbling, gravelly voice: “No charge then. G’ on through.” and waves you through the entryway.

Dual, Codger, and anyone else getting past the doorman
Descriptions of the other runners aren't included here... As Spook arrived first, and we haven't heard from him yet, we'll have to retroactively fill in everyone in the order they arrive.

[ Spoiler ]

Once inside, you find the place surprisingly clear of smoke – though several patrons are smoking, so most likely there is an air cleaning system at work. The lights are a bit dim, but bright enough to make out most details of the club. To your left is a large stage, complete with stage lighting, a few chromed poles, and several mirrors. On the stage is a young, raven-haired human woman dressed, for the moment, in black leather (or artificial leather, in this light you can’t tell.) She is petite and dancing rather skillfully to something slow, rhythmic, and deep-toned. A tattoo consisting mostly of geometric patterns traces down the right side of her face. Next to the stage is a skinny, short-haired blonde elf woman, tapping her foot (clad in an electric-blue calf-length boot with high heels) to the music. Most likely, she is the next act.

Back the legally-imposed minimum distance from the stage is a row of chairs with small tables. Of the 20 or so seats, four are occupied: One man, in what looks like construction worker clothing smoking a short cigar, a troll in a power suit hunched into an oversized chair, and a young couple consisting of a skinny dwarf and a blonde woman. The dwarf is sipping from an umbrella drink on the small table he shares with the blonde woman.

Scattered out beyond this row sit several tables with a mix of chairs and booth seats; though all booth seats face the stage, and some chairs have been turned away from the tables to face the stage as well. There aren’t too many other patrons – near the door sits a very large troll in black slacks and a white shirt who is sipping a bowl of soup seemingly oblivious to his surroundings. Three asian-looking men in business suits occupy a table near the middle, where they alternate between picking lightly at their food, talking in low tones, and watching the rest of the restaurant. Near the back sits a human male, alone, with a half-eaten sandwich. The table behind him is occupied by a light-haired human male with a cigarette, and a middle-aged ork woman.

Bustling about the tables is an athletic young woman with long, dark-brown hair, carrying a tray of food and drinks. She is dressed in a button-down white shirt similar to the door man’s and somewhat tighter black pants. Behind the scattered tables, and to the right of the entrance, is a well-stocked bar, currently unoccupied.

Dual

[ Spoiler ]

The woman busing tables has a face that defiantly matches the ID picture associated with Angelique.

[Feshy]

Bubbles

[ Spoiler ]

"Dirty Jimmy?" the man replies in a gravelly, mumbled voice. "No charge then. Go on through."

Once inside, read appropriate part of the post above this.

[BlackHat]

Dual looks around the room, taking a moment to see if anyone was paying particular attention to him - and to adjust his audio-filters to pick up on conversations that might pertain to him (especially should anyone else be showing up to this meet). For all Dual was told, this Dirty Jimmy is just looking for a good hacker to help him get at some top notch sim-smut in some secure node somewhere... but if that was the case, Dual would have expected the meet to be set up in the Matrix.

He was kind of hoping the bouncer would help him locate "Dirty Jimmy," since he has no idea who he is here to meet - but he doesn't bring it up. Rather not look any more clueless than I have to, today. He checks his non-existant watch, in AR, and notes that he is still early.

[BlackHat]

Dual then takes a seat in an unoccupied table (as near to the entrance as he can get) and tried to get the waitress's attention.