IC: The Transformer Options

[Large Mike]

Feaux Arts is a marvel of brushed steel, jarring neon, and visions of the future as seen from over a hundred years ago. Where the inspiration came from, no one will ever guess, but it did attract a small but *very* hardcore pool of patrons. Each and every one of them is trying to be more than human, less than human, or other than human, always in the most creative way possible. Body modification is the order of the day. Surgery and magical alteration mingle with radical cyberware, all followed dutifully around by makeup and special affects for those without the inspiration, the money, or the guts to attempt to enter the envelopes of transhumanism that are being pushed in every corner of the room. Giant bundles of hydrualic limbs of a style that used to be called Soviet try to arrange themselves casually enough to attract the attentions of a photosensitive elf, who is to busy trying to pursue someone making the transition from man to spider, one mod at a time. The spider, naturally, is too busy getting hammered to notice any of this.

The Johnson directed the staff to turn on the arrows that gathered all the runners called here to the same table, where they sit, uncomfortably waiting among people they know in passing or by reputation, if at all.

[Rokur]

White Fang dresses rather casually to the meet. Things were getting rather slow for him at home. No girlfriend, no action, and not much excitement in his life. He was anxious for the meet to start and the hunt to begin. Looking at his garb, you will see that he wears simple cargo pants, cheap sneakers, and a clean white t-shirt. The only noticeable frills of his appearance is the light grey hairs that pad his jacket's shoulders and lines the arms. Also, under his jacket can be seen a long thin golden chain that holds three odd looking petrified large fangs that seem to sway freely at the slightest movements. He turns his commlink off as he enters the "Feaux." As the others seat themselves around the table themselves, he will take a minute to switch to astral and assense any of the people seated. So, this shall be the hunting pack, interesting breed it seems. He will meet eyes with any that would meet his, never looking down until the other breaks eye contact, flashing his teeth at any who would seem to seek dominance.

[Nikoli]

Lada moved through the club, at one with the pulse of poser and punk alike. Her lithe form wrapped in near transparent Neo-vynal and a brand on her forehead matching the hammer and scythe motiff in the wall graffiti she blended in seemlessly. She made her way to the appointed table. Her eyes dancing over those assembled there, taking in their posture, their demeanor, noting character and feature.
How interesting.

[Blitz]

Trinity arrives to the club on a cheap Dodge Scoot and after removing the helmet, pouts a bit as she straightens her flattened hair in the reflection of the window of a heavily modified Roadmaster. Her jet black bangs irritate her as they hang in her eyes and the deep blue of the long hair trailing down her back seems black in the dark evening hour.

Unfastening the clear rain slicker, she folds it and stuffs it in the small storage space hidden in the seat and tugs her designer leather coat straight making sure she's at least presentable before making her way towards the noisy scene.

Aside from her unusual hair color, she seems at a glance to be ordinary in comparison to the regulars at the club, her petite frame standing about 5'2" and the tight waist and flared hem of her jacket give her a profile not unlike that of the stars of ancient black and white sitcoms from a century ago.

It's what's missing that marks her different from others in the room. She carries no obvious comm unit, only a pair of dark sunglasses and a tiny cocktail purse to carry the necessities. Despite this omission from her gear, she has no trouble being directed to the correct location and takes a seat beside the young gentleman and strange woman who arrived first.

"Greetings"

She wonders how one goes about greeting another shadowrunner. Assuming it's not something one normally advertises, she decides to play it safe.

"I do hope I have the right table. Supposed to be meeting some others tonight..."

She trails off, not quite sure how to proceed.

[Abschalten]

Bodhi ducked into an alley not far from Feaux Arts. She dropped the roach she'd been hitting as she meandered down sidestreets and quickly crushed it out with a heel. Deepweed was hard to come by, but it always calmed her nerves and made her less anxious before a meet. A little bit prior wasn't going to hurt anything. She withdrew her pack of smokes and lit one quickly before stepping out onto the street and into the glitz and flair of the club.

She was of of shorter-than-average height, and obviously of some asiatic descent, though with a fairer complexion that might indicate a mixed heritage. Her long dark hair, almost an atramentous black, was fashioned into a multitude of thin braids that hung down to her shoulders. She wore a plain white blouse and a pleated skirt that hung down to her ankles, over which she wore a lined coat. She was thankful for the coat, as it hid her Colt America rather well, though she hoped she didn't have to use it in here.

Her gloved left hand, held down at her left side, gestured rapidly as she linked up with the club's AR host, meanwhile double-checking that she indeed, was in Passive Mode. Immediately the arrows appeared and began leading her to the table at which the others were already seated. She took her own place at the table, then studied them all quickly, reaching out with her mind to assense their auras.

Hearing the one woman speak (Trinity), she replies cooly, "I think you have the right table." She punctuates her sentence with a drag from her cigarette, held with the tips of her fingers rather than between her index and middle, then goes quiet, waiting for the meet to truly begin.

[Large Mike]

It's only once everyone has had a chance to to stand out by having all the limbs god gave them and no more, and the patrons are starting to whisper behind their fins, that someone meanders over.

Everyone walked right by this patron on the way to their seat, and no one took any more notice of him than anyone else. That is to say that he simply blended into the rest of the carnival midway of oddities.

He sidles into the booth, barefoot and bare torsoed, fiber-optic cable running in and out of his skin at many point in his body. His eyes are cyber, but unfocused blanks. His mouth hangs open to accomodate the dozen or so fiber-optic cables that dissapear down his throat. He doesn't seemed to be bothered by this, however. Each cable plugs into a different point on the perimiter of a screen embedded in his chest.

Anyone viewing AR can see that he's followed everywhere by the images of several cherubim, who fiddle with his various electronic bits occationally. The screens backround serves as a mood ring, giving off a baby blue.

This changes, however, as one of the cherumbim shoots him in the skull with an arrow. The screen instantly goes black and green block text begins to scroll down it.

[FONT=Courier]
>>04-12-70 -system use 17%
>>username: ******
>>password: ***************
>>text overridden

>>Good evening.
>>I need someone found. There will be follow-up once he's found.
>>He has no signifigant protection, and is not violently dangerous.
>>No street experience, and probably not enough money to hire someone.
>>Is magical, but no known combat spells
>>Time is critical. 7d14h03m47s [FONT=Times](This is a countdown)[FONT=Courier]
>> :nuyen: 74,000. 1/3 up front.
>>All your skills will be required.
[FONT=Times]

At that point, the screen blanks except for a blinking prompt in the top left corner, obvious awaiting responses.

[Rokur]

White Fang has almost no expression on his face as the cybernetic freak of nature turns out to be his employer. His composure stays true to professionalism though his nature makes him very disgusted in this man. Nevertheless, money is money. Before responding, he calculates the end of the countdown in his head, and writes it down on a napkin.

"Sounds good," Too good "Happen to have a picture and maybe a brief profile of our target?" White Fang growls softly to the Johnson. "If you do, this may be quick." White Fang patiently sits for a minute, allowing others a turn to ask questions, though he has folded his arms, and has sit up straight in his chair.

[Abschalten]

Bodhi took another long drag of her cigarette. As the amalgam of machine and man walked up, it took an effort not to choke on the smoke she currently held in her lungs. She thought she was into the body mod scene -- after all, she had the beginnings of her own irezumi started. But this man's zeal for transformation unnerved her in ways she'd never experienced. Had she been a little more sober, she might've showed some visible reaction. As it was, she was chewing on another mental problem.

She kept glancing at White Fang, her eyes narrowed with suspicion, and probably a hint of something more intense. One of them, huh?, she mused to herself. He seems to fancy himself a wild animal. He steps out of line, I'll put him down myself.

Returning her attentions to the man's monitors and watching the text scroll by, two parts practically leaped out of the screen and caught her attention. The first was "Is magical," and the other, " :nuyen: 74,000."

Bodhi'd already decided she was in. But was there information being kept back? Were they being lowballed? She heard White Fang voice some of the questions she'd had on the tip of her tongue, and so she was content to sit back and let the man speak.

This is going to be so, so rewarding, she thought darkly. In more ways than one.

[Nikoli]

Now that is a man who loathes his body. Everything I can't see is probably fiberoptic, sub-dermally pneumaticized.

"Well, all business. That's good, so are we. I'm definitely interested to hear the rest of what you have to say, or display as the case may be."

[Large Mike]

Y/N?

[Abschalten]

Bodhi replies curtly with, "I'm in. But we need more information."

The more she stared at this man, the more freaked out she got. She closed her eyes to block out the sight of him -- but then, the Deepweed intoxication forced her astral sight open. His aura was more disturbing than his physical appearance. She could only find the barest hints of a living soul trapped in all that meat and metal. And of course her astral sight could only make blank, featureless slates of the monitors grafted into his flesh. So she forced herself to open her eyes and stare at the monitors, and did so with a focus that excluded nearly everything else.

[Blitz]

:: Trinity's head turns just slightly to the left as she watches the J. She needed the cash enough to take just about any job offered and on the surface it seemed fairly simple, though she knew next to nothing about the magically awakened. She could understand to an extent the desire some basic humans must feel to connect to something bigger, and since there was no way she could envision one would seek to artifically simulate magical talents, going tech was a logical choice. Unfortunately, she got the impression he failed. He was no more connected to the wireless world of the Matrix then to the humanity he turned his back on. Unlike the others sitting at the table though, there was no judgement from Trinity. She felt sorry for a person driven to such a fruitless endeavor, but there was no disgust in her heart. ::

"Yes"

:: The least she could do was to treat him like the machine he desired to be. ::

[Rokur]

"Yes" White Fang licks his lips getting agitated at talking to a computer.

[Large Mike]

>>Name: Dr. James McKevvit.
>>DOB: 03-07-43
>>Citizenship: Evo
>>CommCode: SEA-EVO 1473-1444
>>Address: #2411
1001 4th Ave
>>Dr. McKnevvit has degrees in Thaumaturgy, Nanosciences and Metagenetics, and is among the forefront in the field of SURGE and Goblinization study. Although he is not permanently modified, he spends much time recreationally magically altered. He spends more time than is normal for an Evo employee outside of company confines, but not enough to suggest that he is unhappy with his employer.

>>2d4h37m14s ago he was reported missing from company confines, and he has not been seen since. There was no sign of forced entry or exit, and working material was found to be missing from his workspace.

>>He should be taken alive if at all possible, and under no circumstances may his work material be destroyed, opened, contaminated or tampered with.

>>When completed, call SEA-UCAS 2437-6113

>>Questions?

[Abschalten]

Bodhi purses her lips into a slight frown, and she reaches forward to tap off a bit of ash from her cigarette. With her other hand, however, she's rapidly tapping her fingers on the imaginary terminal that the force-feedback in her AR glove emulates. In doing this, she notes the contact commcode. She also makes notes concerning the mission parameters. Without looking up at the cyberJohnson, she asks:

"What is his home like? Is it guarded? Does he have a spouse or kids? And any pictures you might have of what the guy really looks like, that'll help. The more information you provide about this guy, the more clues we have to go on."

She continues "typing" with her left hand, concealed from view down at her side. Bringing her right to her lips, she takes a deep, languid drag from her cigarette, then as she exhales, she looks to the others gathered at the table, giving them their chances to speak.

[Nikoli]

Dammit Anya, you forgot to pack the white noise generator.

"Is there any more intel you can provide for us? A morphic doctor won't exactly be easy to find. Assuming Evo tags their drones, it's likely they've not been successful in finding him through it, else such assets as we provide wouldn't be necessary. Perhaps some photos of his favorite forms to take; tattoos, scars, piercings he might have pursued in a more reckless youth, etc. Without some means of tracking him, that advance won't go as far as it could. Can you tell us if these work materials will pose a health risk should he or presumably his captors would try to use them against us? I'd like to know if I might become a lab rat."

There's a great deal there he's not telling us. Happy my right cheek, no drone smiles in those corporate enclaves, that's what makes them so easy to social engineer.

[Rokur]

White Fang nods after scanning the info off the screen. "A couple pictures and I think I'm ready." This might be too easy! almost 20 grand for this, and just search and obtain... sounds supsicious, but a risk this man is willing to take.

[Blitz]

:: As the others ask the questions that experience has taught them were prudent, Trinity turns to the only method she has ever trusted for answering questions. The Matrix. Sitting back in the booth, she appears to be watching the interchange between the gathered runners and the johnson, but in her three dimensional mind, she nagivates to the front door node of Evo to get a better sense of who they heck they are and what a magical doctor may be doing employed by them. ::

[Large Mike]

Without furthur ado, two pictures appear on screen. One is a corporate ID, which everyone looks shitty in, and one is a recreational snapshot with a carefully manicured outdoor backround. Both show a smiling mulatto man with an obviously infectious demeanor and slightly crooked teeth.

Underneath text appears again:

>>Health hazard of materials unknown but suspected high.
>>No spouse or close family.
>>No other information avalible to us, hence hiring you.

[Abschalten]

Fucking great, she thought to herself. 'Health hazard suspected high,' what the fuck does that mean?! Regardless, she typed up the notes in her comm, saving them for later reference. Reaching forward, she crushed out the smoldering remnants of her cigarette, noting somewhat disappointely that the cherry had burned its way all the way down to the filter.

"Cute pics," she said aloud. Addressing the cyberJohnson in front of her, she continued, "Send a transaction request to my comm and let me download those photos from you." Then turning to the others (while reaching in her coat and withdrawing her pack of smokes), she said, "I think if we're all committed to working together, we need to trade commcodes and keep a partyline open for communication, preferably encrypted. It'd be more secure than talking out loud."

Finishing this latest nugget of wisdom, she busied herself with lighting up yet another cigarette and then began musing on the information she had so far.

[Rokur]

"I'm ready when they are, we've got your number, we'll be in touch soon." White Fang turns to the crew, "Here's my commcode, but perhaps we should go somewhere without so many eyes on us?"

[Nikoli]

Noting the proffered comcodes on her link, Lada nods and replies, "Yes a place of discretion and privacy may be in order. We need to get to know one another."

[Large Mike]

It's business apparently conducted, and the advance transfered into nameless accounts the runners were given the codes to, the Johnson/terminal zombie-lurched its way back into the crowd.

[Abschalten]

Bodhi sucked on her fresh cigarette and quickly added the commcodes to her list of contacts. She eyed the man across from her briefly, and not knowing what his name is or even a handle, she merely put him down as Wolfman. Cutting a glance over at the vinyl-clad woman at his side, and with regard to the brand on her forehead, she put her down as Russian.

I'll change these later, she told herself mentally. I just have to keep these people straight until I can figure them out.

Out of the corner of her peripheral version, she watched the cyberJohnson leave, and she sighed a breath of relief. With a shake of her head, she glanced up at the last holdout on commcodes. She decided to make some smalltalk until she got the info:

"So...were any of you a little, oh, I don't know, disturbed by what we just saw?"

[Nikoli]

"That would be an understatement. I feel as though I need to bathe, with a very strong solvent and a stiff wire brush. Normally, I have a few drinks with a person before saying this but time seems to be of the essence so, Your place or mine?"