Planitronics Penetration IC Options

[Thomas]

Welcome to the Planitronics Penetration IC thread.
Rules are here

[Redjack]

Friday, Oct. 10, 2070; 09:00:00; Auburn, Seattle Metroplex
Bobby "Rock" Rockford; PAN=Signal 0 & Passive [+LTG]; SIN=Michael Henderson

Michael Henderson sat in the corner booth of the Denny Restaurant in downtown Auburn. The only other ork he'd seen in the place was the one busing tables, but that didn't stop him from going in. It didn't stop him from getting served either. Of course Michael Henderson wasn't his real name and he hadn't grown up in Auburn, but dressed as he was no one else knew that.

As the two Lone Star officers took a seat one booth over, Rock froze for a minute. Took him thirty seconds to remember to breath, but they didn't seem to pay him any mind. I could definitely get used to not being harassed every time I go out for breakfast around here.

The call comes in from Jean Benson as he is reading the news paper (yes, real paper) and drinking a cup of real coffee. The morning had not been cheap, but this was how things rolled around here. Rock was moving into the big time. If you're gonna be a prime runner, you gotta act like a prime runner. Truth be told, he felt like a little fish in a big frelling pond, but heh! this formula came with REAL food.

<<@Jean [Rock] Of course I'm ready. I'll be there.>>
He quickly checked the online maps and found that he was a little over half an hour drive to the meet, assuming good traffic. 26 hours & counting and one thing about Seattle. Never assume good traffic

One more thing to take care of. Truth be told, he was still putting this new life together and sometimes you overlook the little details. Time to call Prince. The best hacker he knew.... and the only one he trusted.
<<@Prince [Rock] Hoy Chummer. I need a CCW and I'm a little behind schedule. Can you hook me up?>>

[Ol' Scratch]

Liam "Belfast" McGuiness
An apartment atop the Harp & Whistle pub in Renton, Seattle -- Friday, Oct. 10, 2070 -- 2:13pm

Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ral!

That's all it took to get a remarkably hungover and a remarkably oversleeping Belfast out of bed. Albeit with a startled declaration of "What the fook?!" creaking from his drink-ruined voice.

Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ral!

A single eyelid managed to peel itself open as Liam looked at his watch. "Who da fook is fookin' callin' me at two in d'fookin' mornin'? Fook me." Apparently the bright afternoon sun filtering through his window shades didn't tip the young Irishman off about the truth of the situation quite yet.

Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ral!

"I'm comin', I'm comin' you lousy piece o' shite. Jaysus Christ." Somehow, Liam managed to get to his feet and lazily stumble to his dresser as the phone rang again.

Too-ra-lo...SQUEELCH!

He brought the infernal piece of technology to his ear and spat out, "Who da fook is dis and what da fook do you want?" It was about that time that he finally realized what time it really was when a single beam of light sucker punched him square in the iris. When he heard Jean Benson's uncomfortable voice on the other end of the phone, a sheepish look found its way onto his face. "Sorry 'bout that, doll. 'ard night last night, don'cha know. What can I do ya for?"

Her voice, having quickly recovered from the momentary rudeness on Bel's part, filled his ear. "Tomorrow. Five Kings. Eleven. Thompson. Got it. Thanks for the..." <click> "...call." He tried to emote a smile through the commline, but Miss Benson had already hung up. Clicking the commlink shut, he tossed it back on the dresser and grabbed the small notepad that was nearby, scribbling the details down in his usual combination of Pig Latin, Celtic runes, and old NRA slang terms he'd picked up in the last few years. Never can be too safe, afterall.

When he was done he made his way towards the latrine. It was in mid-tribute to the porcelain goddess that he caught a look at his face in the bathroom mirror. A hand shot up as he tilted his head slightly, getting a better look at the shiner covering his left eye.

"Don' remember dat at all. Must'a 'ad one 'ell of a night last night afterall." He continued examing the black-eye as the last drops of the previous night's imbidement washed itself from his system. After reaching down to flush those last remnants away, he walked to the sink and leaned in really close, working his mojo over the minor injury.

[ Spoiler ]

Sorcery Test (Heal Force 1)
Spellcasting + Willpower: 1 + 1 + 5 + 1 + 2 + 6 + 4 + 6 + 3 + 1 = 3 hits.
Drain Resistance
Charisma + Magic: 4 + 2 + 4 + 2 + 3 + 6 + 1 + 1 + 6 + 3 = 4 hits.

Result: Healed the one point of Physical damage (black eye), no drain.

After a few moments, Bel stood back and nodded to himself, satisfied with his patchwork job. With that, he took a quick shave, splashed on some Old Spice, and proceeded to finish getting ready for the day ahead of him.

[Scope_47]

Friday, Oct. 10, 2070; 09:30:00; Puyallup City, Seattle Metroplex

Scope slept fitfully in her comfortable apartment. "I'm sorry, Gryph"

The alarm clock on the nightstand next to her started beeping incessantly. "See you in Hell, Omae"

Scope woke with a start, her hand instantly retrieving a Hammerli from its hiding place. After a moment, she sighs and lays it back in its place behind the nightstand. Maybe tomorrow, Gryphon. Scope reached over and turned off the alarm, and she smiled slightly as the soft musical tones of 'Ave Maria' began to play. She got out of bed and started stretching, but her commlink began to chirp just as she was getting ready to start her morning workout.

Scope answered Jean's call immediately. After hearing the pitch, she confirmed the time and her involvement @Jean [Scope] Lima Charlie, rendezvous 1100. Jean didn't bother answering before she hung up. I like her... straight and to the point. .

Scope attached her subvocal mike and started her push-ups as she made a call of her own @Vinny [Ariel Angel] Ciao Vinny, come è voi? Sono solo fine. Ascolto, non posso farlo domani sera al gioco della mazza. Commercio. So. Lewiston fortunato sta sedendosi dentro? Lo farò fino voi - avremo pranzo quando rifinisco. Yeah, potrei avere bisogno di alcuni articoli per ufficio… Li denominerò indietro con i particolari se viene in su. Opinione ciao ai tipi per me. Arrivederci.

[ Spoiler ]

Italian: Hello Vinny , how are you? I'm just fine. Listen, I can't make it to the poker game tomorrow night. Business. I know. Lucky Lewiston is sitting in? I'll make it up to you - we'll have dinner when I finish. Yeah, I might need some office supplies... I'll call you back with details if it comes up. Say hello to the guys for me. Bye.

[Vegas]

668 S. Lane St., Unit 611 – International District, Downtown Seattle - Friday, Oct. 10, 2070 – 09:43:21
Willow – PAN Passive

Incense swirled in thick clouds that hung in the air above a female figure sitting cross-legged in the middle of the sparsely furnished living room. Her eyes were closed and she wore what appeared to be a yoga type of exercise outfit. Her breathing was regulated, slow draws in, with the only sound in the room being the long audible exhales. Everything was measured and controlled, and in the control she found relaxation…

Until her commlink barked from across the room. The sound itself would normally have been considered unobtrusive and perhaps even pleasing, a soft cascading chime. Amidst the otherwise silence however it was an unpleasant interruption.

Her eyes snapped open but she did not startle at the sound, mastery of her mind over her body. If her commlink was ringing it meant only a very short list was calling and that meant business. Slowly, gracefully she untwisted her body and rose to her feet to answer the call.

�Yes?� Her soft voice answered the call without looking at the display.

The woman was surprised to hear Jean Benson’s voice on the other end as she had expected it to be a business call of another nature, something related to family. The fixer was quick to offer up a job if she would be interested. When the woman pressed for details, she couldn’t stop the slight smile that formed on her lips the more she learned. The job sounded like it would be just what she needed.

�Saturday, Oct. 11, at the Five Kings restaurant, downtown, at 11:00 sharp. Understood. I will be there.�

Once the commlink was returned to the small side table the woman returned to the center of the room and back to her meditation.

[Tarantula]

3045, Clark Street, Apt 305, Maplewood, Renton - Friday, Oct. 10, 2070 - 01:34 PM

Gyre was kicking back in his rather cushy apartment. Relaxing on the fairly well stuffed couch, and surfing the matrix after bouncing his persona through his trusty Meta Link commlink. When all of a sudden he felt a light touch carressing his ear.
A commcall? Now? Who could that be?
He quickly drops into full VR, and takes a look at the call's ID.

[ Spoiler ]

Computer (2) + Analyze (5) + 2 Techno + 2 VR = 11 dice.
[3,4,2,5,3,4,4,2,4,5,2] = (2) hits.
Link

After verifying that the incomming call is coming from none other than Jean, he connects the call. Sadly, she is not connecting via VR, and so instead appears as a small phone icon. Dismayed, Gyre frowns before saying "Hello?"
"Hello, Gyre? This is Jean, I've got some work for you, if you're interested."
"Really? That'd be fantastic! I don't know about you, but work for me has been pretty slow lately."
"Yeah, I know, remember, I'm the one who sets you up on all your jobs. Anyway, this guy needs needs some people to do some B&E work at a secure facility. He says the facility is secured by matrix, magic and mundane means, and the data he needs is off-line."
"B&E Huh? Some data he needs to get a hold of? Alright, you've got my interest, where do I meet this mystery man?"
"The meet's tomorrow, at the five kings downtown. At eleven, and I mean ELEVEN. Ask for the thompson luncheon."
Call disconnected.
I can't believe it! She hung up on me! Argh, well, alright, I guess I should check up on this Five Kings...
Annoyed, Gyre dismisses the slowly fading icon that was his fixer, and speeds off to the matrix to do some checking up on this five kings. He checks the restricted weapons policy briefly, skimming it briefly. Nope... no carbine o here. What a bummer. He browses over to the Tour, and decides to save it all to his commlink, it could come in handy for finding his way around. Skimming the profiles of the owner, chefs, and waitstaff, he decides to save those as well. He thinks, These might be useful, won't hurt to know whos serving the food to us. I wonder which dining room we'll be in. Might score some points to show up with the right dress.
He continues on to the reservations icon. And upon being blocked from the menu, frowns yet again.
He runs his analyze program on the system, to gauge how hard it'd be to get a copy of the menu, and to find out what dining room the thompson lunch has.

[ Spoiler ]

Comp 2 + Analyze 5 + 2 Techno + 2 VR = 11 dice.
[5,1,5,1,3,4,1,6,5,5,6] = (6) hits. Link

[Saqqara]

Friday October 10, 2070 - 10:23 PM Shady Lady bar, Alley in Downtown Seattle

The Shady Lady was surprisingly empty for the hour, save for Garrett perched on a lone stool, a half empty glass and a drunk dwarf before him. He caught faint wafts of stale alcohol and sweat emanating from the drunk bartender before him, leading him to wonder if Otis was ever sober. Otis leaned across the bar, grinning.

"Oy. Get this, boy. A young lass is out flappin' 'er rug on 'er balcony, yeah? So the wind picks up an' blows 'er right off! This fella on the 12th floor catches 'er an' says, "Do you suck?" Otis chuckles, leaning in a bit closer, his alcoholic musk permeating through Garrett's concentration. "She says no, so 'e drops 'er. Guy on the 9th floor catches 'er again. Asks 'er, "Do you screw?" Outraged, she tells 'im no! So 'e drops 'er. She's panickin', right? So a guy on the 5th floor catches 'er."

Garrett raises his palm, pausing Otis as his commlink interrupts the lewd silence. "Yeah?" Garrett listens briefly and smiles as he recognizes Jean Benson's brisk voice on the other end. She doesn't give him time to reply, nor does he need to. Stuffing the device in his breast pocket, he slowly saunters to the door, resting a palm against it as he pauses. Turning back to look at the drunken bartender, he quirks his head a bit to the left.

"What happens next?"

Otis shrugs. "The broad yells out she sucks an' she screws, 'fore the new guy can say anyt'ing. So 'e calls 'er a slut an' drops 'er."

Garrett chuckles and shoves open the door, exiting the bar into the cool Seattle night.

[Scope_47]

45100 Joan Street - Puyallup City, Seattle Metroplex - Friday, Oct 10, 2070 - 13:00

Having finished her exercise routine and shower, Scope was ready to turn her attention towards the upcoming mission. Jean said the target location was secured by matrix, magic, and mundane means. Mission objective: offline data. Unless she intends me to simply steal the hard-drives out of the server room, that means that it'll be a team. At least three: Myself on point, a CommO to retrieve the objective, and a WizRanger to counteract the magical security. Scope thinks to herself as she climbs onto her kitchen counter and begins removing the screws holding an air conditioning vent cover in place. Depending on the situation, Jean might also have a Zoomie to fly overwatch - so four squad members including myself.

Scope lets the airvent cover hand down on its hinge, and she reaches into the ductwork - contorting herself unnaturally to reach far enough to retrieve a black duffel bag. She allows the bag to drop unceremoniously onto the counter. She closes the airvent and walks to the living room and starts to push a recliner to the center of the room. It'll be an under the wire mission, so no Mike-Mike when going into the HLZ - and no enemy casualties unless absolutely necessary. Scope stepped up onto the recliner and pulled the plastic cover off of the fluorescent light fixture. It was meant to hold three bulbs, but of course the center one was missing. Reaching her hand into the gap provided by the missing bulb, Scope found what she was looking for and carefully pulled it free of the recess behind the light fixture. Plans never survive contact with the enemy. After a moment of careful maneuvering, the silenced sniper rifle comes free from its hiding place. An older model of the Walther MA-2100, it had obviously seen many years of action - stained with countless applications of camouflage and bearing many, many pips in the stock. Scope gazed fondly at the engraving along the barrel 'Thanatos.' Like father said... always have a contingency plan. Scope holds the rifle in her right hand and replaces the light's cover with her left. She deftly hops down from the recliner and kicks it back towards its original position. Returning to the kitchen, she sits down at her counter and begins assembling her gear for the next day as she mentally planned her itinerary. Sleep at twenty-one-hundred, wake at zero hour to begin training. Finish training at oh-dark-thirty. Mess at oh-four-hundred. Final assembly of gear to be completed by oh-six-thirty. Assume cover identity at oh-seven-hundred. Arrive downtown at ten hundred - leave gear hidden in APC. Advance recon at ten-thirty. Enter mission briefing at eleven hundred.

Scope smiles as she cleans the barrel of her rifle. She'd been working alone for too long - it would be nice to operate in the field with professionals again... Like the old days in New York... Scope's smile fades to a mask of stoicism "Well babe, that's what we like to call job security," except this time everyone goes home... Scope pulls back the bolt on her rifle, chambering a round No matter what.

[Redjack]

Saturday, Oct. 11, 2070; 07:45:00; Auburn, Seattle Metroplex
Bobby "Rock" Rockford; PAN=Signal 1 & Passive [+LTG]; SIN=Michael Henderson

Prince's response was pretty quick; 460 :nuyen: and 8 hours. Rock accepted the terms. They were reasonable and he realized he was deficient by not having a CCW. He dismissed any feelings of inadequacy over not already having all his gear, attributing the oversight to still trying to get his life on track in what for him amounted to a new world.

Having grown up in the slums of Carbando, which itself is on the far side of Hell's Kitchen, Rock's youth was not one of privilege. In fact, if he died tomorrow, he could still be considered a poster boy for the runner lifestyle. Rags to riches, at least compared to his beginnings.

He paid for the breakfast walking out into the Seattle morning, standing in awe at the cleanliness of the streets and buildings. Everything seemed to him to just be a little nicer, little cleaner. He didn't even scowl when the meter maid paused and surely checked the SIN he was broadcasting. He was still an ork in Oz....

The rest of the day was spent wandering the nearby mall and stores. He was consciously aware of the significantly lower percentage of orks and trolls in the population, except serving in security and janitorial capacities. Dressed as he was, he received few out of place looks though.
------
The buzz of the alarm made him jump. He rolled out of the king sized bed, his conscious mind remembering that he was safe in his home. As he walked down the hall towards the kitchen he smiled. This house was palatial in comparison to anyplace he'd ever lived before.

He'd stayed home the night before in order to be well rested and check his gear before the run. Since deciding to move up he'd become serious about things more than ever before. He liked this new life, fake as it may be and he wanted to stay.

He whipped up a quick breakfast, using an online database to find a receipe for fried eggs. He butchered them worse than he'd ever seen, but he'd cooked them.. and they were real eggs. As he ate the eggs, swearing to take a class in cooking, he went online to check out the luncheon and his destination.

[Scope_47]

45100 Joan Street - Puyallup City, Seattle Metroplex - Saturday, Oct 11, 2070 - 0820

Scope looked in the mirror. The woman looking back at her in thermographic overlaid on normal low-light vision appeared to be just another corporate zombie in a designer suit. The suit was well-cut and appealing; "Consider it a bonus for retiring the mark with elegance" Vinny had said, though Scope was certain that he just wanted to see her wear it. She wasn't good at emotions in any form - always a half second behind laughing at a joke, and failing to understand the big deal people made out of trivial drek like killing a guard who had seen your face. But Vinny was easy to understand, like his 20th century idols, he wore his emotions on his sleeve. Scope had been careful to hide and enhance her true appearance by the simple application of cosmetics. She could have done so in a manner to make herself completely without identifying features, but she had learned long ago that when a trained eye saw someone with no personal touch to their look, that beholder grew suspicious. The makeup improving her appearance and the simple UCASMC pin on her lapel combined with the false personal info on her passive PAN would be ultimately forgetable (especially given the proximity of Fort Lewis), they would serve to support her false identity, and they would keep her from looking like she was trying not to stand out.

She turned her head to each side to quickly check her makeup again. Who are you? Are you the flesh, or the mind? Or are you a spectre of a woman who died years ago, but whose body and memories continue onward? Does it really matter? Descartes said that thought proved existence... I might not be Sarah anymore, but I exist and that is all that matters.

Satisfied, Scope put on the white hard hat and picked up her daybag and surveyor's kit case full of her tools of the trade - a trade very different from the one the case had been designed for. Before she left, she glanced one more time in the mirror. Just another wageslave out to work a jobsite. People train themselves not to notice workers - even low-level managers. They were the modern equivalent to the invisible caste of society - the lepers, the untouchables... the perfect disguise. With that last thought, she left her handsome home and went to put her load and hardhat into the trunk of her car where it joined a medical kit and the obligatory spare tire. Her Patrol-1 was a greyish champaign color - a common, neutral hue that rarely drew attention. She cranked it and checked her chronometer. Satisfied that she had plenty of time, Ariel Angel took a long, out of the way route to get downtown.

Skyline Parking Garage - Downtown, 1.1 klicks from target area, Seattle Metroplex - Saturday, Oct 11, 2070 - 0955
Scope; PAN= Passive, wireless enabled. SIN = Ariel Angel

Scope parked her patrol-1 on the ground level of the garage, near the guardhouse. It was a slightly more expensive garage, but it was secure and the guards didn't look too closely at the vehicles so long as all the fees were paid. Scope briefly considered leaving her sidearm in the vehicle, but decided against it. I'm going to set off the cyberware scanners and have to give them my licenses anyway... and they'll see that I have a license for a Fichetti Security. Procedurally, they'd search for that weapon if I didn't produce it to check it at the door, and when they didn't find it they'd keep tabs on me just in case they missed it. Much better to draw a little attention by checking it at the door than a lot of attention by not having it. [i] Satisfied with her decision, Scope leaves the garage - stopping along the way to get her virtual time-card from the guard and transmit a 20% tip to him. She was pleased to see that the same skinny, bespectacled guard guard was working as had been before. Ariel Angel - a security consultant - worked downtown somewhat often, and the guard knew she always tipped. [i] A small expense to cultivate a useful resource - reinforce the fake SIN's usage patterns and at the same time put my property in a slightly safer situation.

Scope briskly made her way to the target area. She never used the AR overlay of the emerald city, instead prefering the reality of duraplast, concrete, and steel pitted from acid rain. That emerald city is a different world... Sarah would have belonged there once, long ago. But not me. The morning fog didn't bother her - her enhanced vision more than made up for it. While many civvies would have scoffed at the distance, Scope wasn't even breathing hard when she arrived to the target area at 1025. Five minutes ahead of schedule...

Though she tried to compensate for it with skill at subterfuge, Scope didn't move like a regular human... her movements were incredibly graceful like a dancer's, but tainted with a harsh edge - she moved like a predator. It was almost an imperceptible difference, but metahumanity understood it on a base, instinctual level even if they were not cognitively aware of it.

Spotting several shops with glass window displays nearby, Scope entered one of them and began browsing the latest evening dress designs while surreptitiously using her enhanced vision and magnification to observe the target location, suspicious people, and surrounding area in both lowlight and thermographic vision - keeping an eye out for concealed weapons, disguises, and security devices that could prove problematic. I've been burned by a Johnson once... never again.

[ Spoiler ]

Disguise Roll to hide true identity and enhance attractiveness
(Intuition 5 + Disguise 4 = 9 dice)
9d6.vs(5)->[1,6,5,5,4,1,6,4,3] = (4)
Four Hits

Palming Check to conceal weapon (Note that opposer's perception check takes -3 concealability modifier to dicepool)
(Agility 7 + Palming 4 = 11 dice)
11d6.vs(5)->[5,3,3,4,5,4,5,5,5,2,4] = (5)
Five Hits

Shadowing Check to be surreptitious while observing the restaurant
(Intuition 5 + Shadowing 4 = 9 dice)
9d6.vs(5)->[6,6,1,5,6,4,2,6,6] = (6)
Six hits

Perception Check to examine area (observe in detail, note that no page 117 table modifiers are applied, positive or negative)
(Intuition 5 + Perception 2 + Specialization 2 + Cyber 3 = 11 dice)
11d6.vs(5)->[1,1,4,4,6,3,1,2,3,6,1] = (2)
2 hits

[Ol' Scratch]

Belfast
Just outside the Harp & Whistle in Renton, Seattle -- Friday, Oct. 10, 2070 -- 3:47pm

After finishing getting ready and mentally willing himself to get off his lazy Irish arse, Liam grabbed the arms of his beat-up recliner and lunged himself to his feet. Instead of going through the front door and out through the pub's main entrance, however, the old boy preferred going out through the fire escape. Mostly because the last part requiring him to slide down the rails was so much fun.

With a bit of a thwoosh, his hiking boots hit concrete. He was just about to walk over and mount his bike when a telltale beam of light caught the corner of his eye. "'Allo 'allo, wot's this?" he asked noone in particular.

[ Spoiler ]

This is Belfast beginning a summoning rite, of which he plans to summon a Force 5 Guardian Spirit in the next few paragraphs. I wasn't sure if you wanted me rolling the Opposed Tests, too, but since they result in the threshold needed for Drain, I went ahead and did it all to save time. If you'd prefer to do it some other way in the future, please let me know. I also wanted to try to get as many services out of him since I plan on binding him, so I used a point of Edge before my Summoning Test, too.

Summong Test
- Goal: Summon a Force 5 Guardian Spirit.
-
- Summoning Test (Magic 5 + Binding 4 + Edge 3): [2 6 (1) 5 1 2 4 5 6 (6 4) 6 (3) 1 4 5] = 7 hits
- - Bad Luck Roll (1D6): 2; no effect
- Opposed Resistance Test (Force 5): [2 3 6 2 4] = 1 hit
- Drain Resistance Test (DV 2) (Charisma 5 + Willpower 5): [1 4 3 1 6 3 4 5 1 1] = 2 hits
-
- Result: Force 5 Guardian Spirit with 6 services. Optional Power: Elemental Attack: Light (rainbow).
- Drain: None.
- Other Notes: One point of Edge used.

Shifting his perceptions slightly in the few strides it took him to reach the sidewalk, Liam was introduced to a magnificent rainbow stretching across the Seattle skyline, complete with the tail end landing straight in the alleyway across the street. A grin so broad that it would cause the Cheshire Cat to shake his fist in jealousy quickly found its way onto his face. "And 'ere I t'ought I was gonna 'ave to travel clear across town t'find someone," he thought to himself. When the traffic cleared enough for a blatant and total disregard for pedestrian safety, the folk magician jogged across the two-laner. Just as he was about to enter the alley, he noticed a glimmering gold coin laying at his feet. His grin grew to almost double its previous proportions. Reaching down and scooping it up, he began twirling it between his fingers as he boldly swayed into the alley, confidence oozing out his bum.

Just as he had expected, the rainbow ended its glorious journey through the heavens, landing in a small kettle filled to overflowing with ethereal coins. "Well, well, well, what do we have here?" he asked aloud, his eyes casually scanning the confined terrain. "You really should be more careful about where you hide these things, you know." No response. Liam's grin turned into a smirk and he lifted his hand a bit higher, the twirling of the golden coin glimmering in the rainbow's light. "C'mon, boyo. You know the rules. May as well come out so we can get this over and done with!"

With that, a huge huff issued forth from a nearby garbage can. The lid popped up and, just as Liam expected, a God-damned leprechaun hopped out. It was decked out in an old-fashioned tweed suit with patched elbows, a brown derby with a bluejay's feather sticking out of its brim, and a hawthorn shillelagh in hand that it was tapping on the ground in a clearly annoyed fashion. The Wee One reached up and plucked a corncob pipe from his mouth, his furry eyebrows shifting to a look of total disagreement. "'Course I know the bloomin' rules, you codger! Now gimme my gold 'fore I trounce ya good!" he exasperated as he did a little jig. He tried to jump up and snatch the coin out of Liam's hand a few times, but the Irishman easily evaded the attempt. A sign of resignition washed over the fey as he hung his head. "Fine! Bah! Let's get this o'er wit'. Wotcha want from meh?!"

A colorful conversation took place filled with enough vulgarities on both sides to make even the most hardened sailor blush with shame. Eventually, Liam was able to convince the leprechaun to come back to his place for a few pints so that they could discuss matters further.

[ Spoiler ]

And now we're at the Binding and Invoking Tests. I assumed the same thing as before about the Opposed Tests and decided to use another point of Edge after I totally mucked up the initial Binding Test. Ended up with a pretty nice long-term companion for the run, though, so it more than paid off I think. Anyway, here's the nuts and bolts. I'll be posting the spirit's final stats in the OOC thread.

Binding Test:
- Goal: To bind the above spirit into longterm service and transform him into a great form spirit.
-
- Binding Test (Magic 5 + Binding 4): [4 4 5 2 2 4 1 1 1] = 1 hits
- - Edge - Reroll Failures: [5 6 2 5 5 1 2 6] = 5 hits
- - Bad Luck Roll (1D6): 3; no effect
- Opposed Resistance Test (Force 5x2): [2 5 3 5 3 6 4 6 4 3] = 4 hits
- Invoking Test (Magic 5 + Binding 4 + Force 5): [4 2 5 1 5 2 6 6 2 1 6 3 5 2] = 6 hits
- Drain Resistance Test (DV 6) (Charisma 5 + Willpower 5): [1 1 4 4 4 6 2 6 2 2] = 2 hits
- - Stun Recovery Test (Body 3 + Willpower 5): [6 5 4 5 3 1 6 5] = 5 hits
- Ritual Duration: Five hours.
-
- Result: Successful binding and great-form conversion, granting +1 Reach, the Endowment and Concealment powers, LOS(A) with
- all LOS powers, +1 to all Physical Attributes, and +6 dice to resist Banishing attempts.
- Drain: Stun 4, completely healed in an hour.
- Other Notes: One point of Edge and five units of ritual materials used. Drain roleplayed as getting good and buzzed.

Slowly but surely, the leprechaun's mood improved as the two consumed more and more booze. The jokes became raunchier and the vulgarities even more profane. By the time the sun had been set for a bit, the two were the best of friends.

"Ya've done me right, mate," the Clurichan proclaimed as he slammed his last shot of whiskey down. "It's gettin' late, 'owever, an' I best be gettin' 'ome to da missus 'fore she comes lookin' for me wit' that blasted rollin' pin o' 'ers. You know 'ow to get in touch wit' me when ya need me!"

Liam couldn't help but let a laugh loose, causing him to slip from his chair and square on his ass which, of course, just made him laugh a bit more. "Aye, you best be going then. Thanks for agreeing to help with this. By the way," he asked while handing the coin he 'stole' earlier back to the changeling. "What's your name?"

The leprechaun paused for a moment. He wasn't used to people caring enough to ask his name. "Brown Tom, boyo. Y'can call me Brown Tom."

[Redjack]

Saturday, Oct. 11, 2070; 09:00:00; Auburn, Seattle Metroplex
Bobby "Rock" Rockford; PAN=Signal 1 & Passive [+LTG]; SIN=Michael Henderson

The matrix site provided quite a bit of detail about The Five Kings Restaurant: Address, menu, etc. The pictures reinforced to Rock that this is a classy establishment; Not the type of place you drop in for a burger.

Noting the time, he started working on his makeup. A decade ago he would have pounded to pulp anyone suggesting he wore make up. That was for prostitutes, glam rockers and the vain. Time had taught a valuable lesson about discretion and disguises. Subtle misdirection if nothing else. He found it absolutely amazing what a person could do with over the counter cosmetics and a few things from the kitchen. That said, he was also amazed at the IEDs he could make from a well stocked kitchen. Having grown up without a lot, he learned early to make due with what he had.

When he was done, he inspected the results in the mirror. Lighter complexion, a subtle scar on the jaw light. Little things to throw an identification into doubt if he had to bail. That will have to do. Enough to get a bad description ("A well dressed ork with a scar on his face!") from a witness. Enough that a good lawyer should be able to get either bail or the charges dismissed if things didn't go too far awry.. He had begun to accumulate a few suits... ok two... and chose the pin stripe suit. It was off the rack, but the men's store tailored it to his build and it fit him nicely.

A final inspection of his gear loaded into the car: Roto-drones in the trunk, hard ammo in clips and silencers under the spare tire. Armor jacket in the back seat with a bag of street clothes. Second pistol in the glove box with the other clips. One of the fly-spies sat on the edge of the visor while the second was in a little, lined case in his pocket. The one is his pocket being powered off at the moment. About the only thing he didn't take that he might need was explosives. Not time to bring those out yet.

Saturday, Oct. 11, 2070; 10:00:00; Downtown Seattle
Of course the drive downtown was a little longer than expected. Road construction and a little incident involving the I-Fivers and the Star. Three reroutes later and he was in site of the Archology.

As he stared out the window of the hospital bed laying in recovery, Dr Masbu entered the room. He always had a quiet presence about him. The man was short, barely over five foot tall, making Rock tower over him when standing, "They told me you were awake. They also told me that you took the bullet that surely would have ended my life. The armor jacket kept the explosive rounds from killing you but you had severe nerve damage to your lower back." At the time Rock was hearing the words but not really comprehending. He wasn't sure what type of pain medication he was on, but he knew that he liked it.. and that scared him as well. "Your system rejected the first round of artificial replacements. We had to vat grow the second round." Surely the doctor read the look of abject horror in Rock's face at the thought of the price involved.

"Don't worry. You saved my life. My faith required that I repay that." Dr Masbu finished looked over the charts. As he headed to the door he turned for one final comment, "It wasn't on your medical records, but you are fairly magically active. We had to get a specialist to deal with that. You should look into that...." If Masbu knew the years that he had spent trying to prove that.. He looked back out at the window at the Archology in the distance and let the drugs take him to unconsciousness....

The site of the Archology reminded him of Dr Masbu. Something about his time with Dr Masbu changed him. Made him a better person... or at least ignited a spark to want to be a better person. He was saddened the day that Dr Masbu died under Cannon-Ball's watch. Of course, when Rock found out that Cannon-Ball had been on the take, it was Cannon-Ball who was sad. One thing Rock couldn't stomach was a two-face. It was hard enough to trust anyone, but for someone on your inner circle to do something like this.... and that brought out the worst in Rock. Brought that little dark spot hidden deep in his soul to the surface for just a little time...

When Cannon-Ball sat on the seat he thought he heard a noise. The read out on the dash confirmed it though: See you in Hell. Looking down the street he saw Rock just standing there, stopped as people walked either direction. AN icon blinked in AR demanding his attention. He figured Rock wanted a cut, a piece of the action but the icon was only for a data connection. It blinked a number 1 then the first charge detonated into his back.

Outside the car, it sounded like a large man's cough. Inside several shape charges exploded into his back. His armor protected him from everything but the concussive force. His kidneys took the force of the shock and he spit up a little blood. Looking across the way, he realized Rock wasn't here to talk, he'd taken the doctor's death personal.

The ARO blinked a number 2 and the second charges went off. More shape charges, this time with hunks of steel under the seat. He couldn't tell for sure, but he thought his legs were removed below the knees. Cannon-Ball screamed, a combination of pain and of disbelief, "We can work a deal." Several people passing by glanced over toward the noise from the sedan, but they must have thought him simply crazy. No one could see anything... yet.

As the ARO blinked a number 3, Cannon-Ball urinated on himself and felt the next blast. The shape charges in the visor were filled with hundreds of BB's. People took note as the man yelling a moment before had his face explode in a splash of crimson. Still, at this point everything was contained in the car. People ran away from the car screaming as Cannon-Ball clawed at the door handle.

By this time even Rock was leaving, after all Cannon-Ball couldn't see the ARO blink 4 as he pulled the door handle...

Parking his own sedan at the Garden-West garage, Rock always reflected back to that when leaving his own car. He was fairly confident with the level of security on the car's system, but always concerned about whether he'd pissed someone off enough to plant four separate bombs or if it would be just business and one bomb.

As he stepped out of the car he pulled on his suit jacket and then his overcoat. Adjusted the underarm holster and his tie. Finally he grabbed an umbrella and locked the car. Time to walk the area and make some money...

[Ol' Scratch]

Belfast
Still at the Harp & Whistle in Renton, Seattle -- Saturday, Oct. 11, 2070 -- 9:23am (Cripes That's Early!)

It's not until the twenty-seventh buzz from his commlink's alarm clock that Liam finally wakes up. He throws first one of his pillows then the left shoe he was still wearing from last night at the infernal device before he remembers that the damn thing is voice activated. "For the fookin' love o' Christ All-Mighty, ya best be shootin' up ya bloody strawberry rhone 'for I t'row y'out me burnt cinder! Fook!"

And, strangely enough, the device was able to understand the command and acquiesced to his request. Strange because even I, the narrator, have no idea what he just said. Cockney. Gotta hate it.

As soon as it quieted down, however, Liam slumped his head back on his one remaining pillow and stared at the plaster ceiling overhead. At least he wasn't suffering a hangover this morning. He figured that was a good omen about the job. He also knew he had to get his arse out of bed and get ready for it but he totally didn't have the strength of will to do so quite yet. Damn leprechauns and their drinking habits.

Alas, he finally caved in to the better half of his subconscious and crawled out of bed. A quick shower, a clean shave, and a dab of Acqua di Gio had him all spruced up and ready to roll. He still had a good hour to make it to the Five Kings and scope it out before the meet; easy peasy, lemon squeezy!

[Ol' Scratch]

Belfast
Across the street from the Five Kings -- Saturday, Oct. 11, 2070 -- 10:53am

Bel had been watching the goings-on across the street for a good ten minutes now, sitting on his bike at the parking garage and zooming in on the action with his Oakley eShades. It didn't take too long for him to get a good idea of what kind of a costume to throw on for this shindig, and with a bit of concentration his clothes began to unravel and reweave themselves into something a little more appropriate.

[ Spoiler ]

Goal: To Fashion (Force 5) a rather nice suit for lunch.

Spellcasting Test (Spellcasting 4 + Magic 5): [2 5 4 6 5 1 3 5 5] = 5 hits, Critical Success
Drain Resistance Test (DV: 2) (Charisma 5 + Willpower 5): [ 5 1 2 2 2 2 1 4 5 6] = 3 hits, no Drain

The Irishman reached down, adjusted the rear-view mirror on his Mirage and admired his handiwork. "I have to admit, I am a sexy beast. Meow."

Killing the engine and kicking his leg over, Bel finds himself upright and good to go. He slips his keys -- an oddity in this wireless age, to be sure -- into his newly silk-lined pocket and makes his way to the restaurant, whistling a little diddy and skipping a step every now and again as he does so.

As he approaches, a rather gorgeous young woman stops him with a professional smile. "Welcome to the Five Kings, sir. Do you have a reservation?"

Flashing a smile all his own which quickly fades as soon as he sees his charm is of little use against the lass, Belfast lets loose his best yank accent in reply. "Yes, I'm meeting a Mr. Thompson for an early lunch this morning. I believe he's expecting me as McGuiness."

A loud kerthunkity-thunk preceeds the opening of the grand entrance. Another feeble attempt at flirtation falls flat on its arse as Bel strolls through. When a bloke named Michael shows up and offers to escort him to Mr. Thompson, Belfast lets his eyes casually case the joint; more interested in the available exits than the internal security.

Upon reaching the private dining room, Michael attempts to announce Bel's arrival with only a few interuptions. "Mr. Liam McG..."

"Doctor," Bel whispers.

Slightly annoyed, Michael sighs and begins anew. "Dr. Liam McGuinness is h..."

"Th.D."

Michael turns and glares at the Irishman. Turning back to the host, he makes an addendum. "Dr. Liam McGuiness, Th.D...." he pauses again, turning and lifting a brow as if asking if that's good enough.

Belfast smiles again and nods. "Sounds rather dashing, don't you think?"

A groan that would make Lurch envious escaped the human's lips. "...is here. I'm told he's something of a magician but otherwise harmless, sir." He turns to Bel, mutters something under his breath, then nods. "'Doctor'." He steps aside and leaves as soon as Belfast takes his seat.

[Scope_47]

Scope
Across the Street from the Five Kings - Saturday Oct 11, 2070 - 1050

Scope leaves the store - satisfied that she had observed the area long enough. She stops on the sidewalk before crossing the street to take one more look around. She notes a human parking his motorcycle near-by, and changing his appearance somehow. Either he's a mage or he's wearing nano-tech clothing... I should keep an eye on him. . Scope pauses and pretends to fiddle with her commlink as she watches the well-dressed man make his way to the Five Kings and enter. She magnifies her vision and gives him a look-over before he disappears from sight. Good looking man... he reminds me of Gryphon. Looks a little out of place in the suit...

Scope mentally shrugs and checks her chronometer. 1055. Drek, five minutes behind schedule. At least I figured in extra time for security. She crosses the street as soon as the AR cross-walk sign gives pedestrians the right of way, and she approaches the doorwoman.

Welcome to the Five Kings Madam, Name? the doorwoman asks. Scope forces a smile and says Sierra Cope, here for the Thompson luncheon. The military phonetic fortunately sounds like a real name. Its a simple ruse, but effective.

The doors open with a loud thunk as the doorwoman says Enjoy your meal Ms. Cope. Scope enters the ante-chamber and takes in the decor for a moment. What was it that Dickens said? It was the best of times... Her commlink beeps, and Scope quickly reaches into her jacket to approve the access to her ID and licenses. And the worst of times. A thin facade of timeless class within a city built on the shattered dreams of society. Things never change... only the means of the bloodshed.

A man enters the room, introduces himself as Michael, and asks her to come with him. Scope smiles - either her licenses hadn't checked out or they'd decided to not check her weapon at the door. Given the fact that they had had her in a perfect killing box, she guessed it to be the latter rather than the former.

Scope follows Michael, looking around warily. After a brief exchange with someone in another room - presumably security - he shows her into another room. Standing in the doorway, Scope notes the man she saw outside as well as an elderly ork - obviously the employer given his position. Handsome Rob is either a Chair-borne Ranger, a Spotlight Ranger, or stupid... dressing nicer than the CO is a sure-fire way to get the drek detail or at least devil-dogged.

Michael spoke as they entered Announcing Ms. Sierra Cope. Carrying licensed firearm, extensive augmentation including enhanced vision, licensed high-grade reflex enhancement, licensed medically necessary cyberware, and extensive bioware enhancement. As he spoke, Scope's mouth twitched slightly - momentarily breaking her expression of stark stoicism. These people obviously had never heard of privacy. Mentally shrugging off the sleight, Scope enters the room and silently takes the second seat to the employer's right. Her movements were graceful and fluid, but still with that ever present harsh edge. She takes her seat and crosses her legs as she looks to the Ork.

The Ork says Hello, I’m Mr. Thompson; let’s wait for the others to arrive before we get down to business. Scope nods. He reminds me of the priest who spoke at my father's funeral...

Gun-Dancer listened vaguely as the old priest gave Jeremiah's eulogy. She didn't really care to be here, but appearances had to be maintained. The old Ork looked like hell - he'd apparently taken Jeremiah's death hard. "We lay to rest our beloved friend and comrade Jeremiah Sneider, may he know the peace in death that he could not find in life. Anima ejus, et ánimæ ómnium fidélium defunctórum, per misericórdiam Dei requiéscant in pace. Amen." Gun-Dancer did her best to pretend to be upset as they lowered the casket. As the first clods of dirt were dropped, she stepped forward and took from a pocket the silver crucifix her mother had given her and dropped it into the grave. She turned and acted as if she were about to leave. The priest approached her and asked "Are you Sarah? Jeremiah's daughter?" Gun-Dancer smiled and replied "Yes, Father." The old Ork looked nervous a moment, then he said "Your father left some things for you in my care... if you'd come with me to the church, we need to speak." Gun-Dancer smiled... it was almost too easy "Of course, Father..."

No... Mr. Thompson isn't like Father Mitchel... the similarities are superficial at best. Doubtless he just wants to look unassuming. Having nodded in response to the employer, Scope waits silently as she looks straight ahead and into the eyes of the well-dressed man across the table from her. They say that the eyes are a window to the soul... so what sort of man are you...

[Redjack]

Five Kings - Saturday Oct 11, 2070 - 10:57

Rock had taken the last fifty minutes to walk the neighborhood. The fly-spy was running nearby, fifteen feet off the ground. This early on a Saturday he'd not expected so much physical surveillance of the area. There was a Kanmushi drone sitting up on the window sill a block away watching the jewelry store across the street from it, the pair sitting in the unmarked cruiser a block away the other direction watching someone in the coffee shop, the shoeshine trying to appear like a normal street vendor.. except for the bulge of the SMG heavy pistol in his belt under his jacket.

Then there was Scope. She was one scary chiquita. They crossed paths a time our two at the Crime Mall, luckily on the same side. Her rep is as a loner, a single operative.. I wonder if she's here for a little wet-work?

He then noticed the guy she was watching.. and his clothing change. Her target? Following shortly behind her, he let her go inside before he crossed the street.

As he walked through the door, the doorman had that look on his face like someone had already pissed in his Wheaties. Rock considered saying something about it and decided silence was the better side of valor today. The soft toned beep from what was surely a weapon scanner in the door frame caused Michael to lift an eyebrow at Rock. In turn Rock opens his jacket, "Just a pea-shooter."

"Reservation?" he asks.

Michael's look betrayed that he does not with Rock's definition. The lock box solidifies that assumption. Rock grudgingly places his pistol in the box. For Christ's sake... Its a pistol... Next time I'll.... Forget it... "Mr. Thompson's party..?"

"Of course" is his reply as motions, then leads, towards the back handing Rock a key to the box.

This was part of this new life that Rock had a hard part adapting to. In the barrens you were looked on suspiciously if you weren't packing and nobody took your piece away. Here it's just a normal part of the day to turn in your piece while you were here.

As they reach the table, Michael announces Rock, "Michael Henderson. Conceal carry license. Magically active." What the-? Shut the- This guy is really ticking me off.

Rock scowls and turns to protest the last bit. He kept telling everyone he wasn't magical, but they kept saying he was anyway...

[Tarantula]

Five Kings - Saturday, Oct 11, 2070 - 10:58

Gyre arrives and parks his car at about 10:54. "Damn, I'm already late!" He hops out and jogs over to the restaurant. He sees the rather intimidating looking doorwoman and she glances him over and says, "Welcome to Five Kings, Name?"
Gyre thinks for a second, to remember the name Jean knows him by. "Uhh, Alex Jacobson."
The door thunks open, and Gyre proceeds through, feeling very isolated as the wireless noise is shut out. He keeps the music streaming to his commlink, but orders his commlink not to pass music on to him. Michael approaches, saying "Good morning, my name is Michael. Please come with me." Gyre quickly runs a routine scan to see if Michael has an active/passive commlink on him. If he does, Gyre will query the public information from the commlink. As they approach the room Michael stops in the doorway, "Mr. Alex Jacobson is here."
Gyre hears a muffled reply of some sort come from the doorway, and is permitted within. Michael leads him inside, before pausing and saying, "Alex is a technomancer."
How the hell did they figure that one out? He makes a note that he should check into methods for detecting technomancers later, and for now merely accepts that they figured it out somehow.

He glances over the assembalage to decide who to sit next to. Seeing Scope and Belfast seated across from each other, with Rock sitting next to Scope he elects to sit down next to Belfast

Upon his sitting, Mr. Thompson says, "Hello, I’m Mr. Thompson; let’s wait for the others to arrive before we get down to business." Gyre replies with a hello and pulls his commlink from his belt to view the menu on it. While he does this with his commlink, he scans and quickily isolates out Scope's and Belfast's commlinks. He flips a virtual coin on his commlink to decide who he's gonna check first, 1 for Scope and 2 for Belfast.

[ Spoiler ]

1d2 -> [1] = (1) Link
He thinks, "So, the marine girl then. Ok... here goes."

Upon successfully entering the node Gyre rummages about and quickly views the available files, Hmm, lots of permits... nothing much else. That agent makes me nervous though... best make this quick....

[ Spoiler ]

First IP&AP: Stealth Roll: Hacking 4 + Stealth 7 = 11. 11d6.vs(5) -> [4,5,3,5,4,4,5,5,1,6,1] = (5) Link
AP: View the SIN & Permits on the commlink.
Second IP&AP: Stealth: 11d6.vs(5) -> [6,5,6,4,6,2,1,5,5,4,5] = (7) Link
AP: Perception on agent: Computer 2 + Analyze 5 + TM 2 = 9. 9d6.vs(5) -> [5,5,6,3,6,3,2,4,2] = (4) Link
He looks for rating, active programs, and current orders.
Third IP&AP: Stealth: 11d6.vs(5) -> [5,6,3,1,2,6,4,4,2,5,6] = (5)Link
AP: Logout

[Vegas]

The Five Kings - Saturday, Oct 11, 2070 - 10:58:34
Willow – PAN Passive

She had meant to leave her apartment earlier, but a last moment phone call from her Uncle had delayed her beyond her comfortable parameters. Her feet carried her quickly and nearly silently as her heels didn’t click against the pavement as she ran. She slowed her pace to a brisk walk as she rounded the corner in front of The Five Kings and came face to face with the doorwoman.

She bowed her head slightly in greeting to the woman before she looked her in the eyes.

�Good morning, I am here for the Thompson lunch. My name is An Mei-zhen.�

As the name she gave and the one being transmitted by her commlink obviously matched the name associated with the list of Thomspon party that the doorwoman was privy to, the door was opened to her and she stepped inside the restaurant and was wished a pleasant dining experience before the door closed audibly behind her. She blinked once slowly as her eyes automatically adjusted to the lighting inside the restaurant and she was able to take in the ambiance and décor around her. As soon as the door had shut behind her she lost touch with the sounds of the streets and they were replaced by the delicate and melodic phrases of Vivaldi’s Four Seasons.

After what felt like only a second a gentleman entered the small antechamber she stood in and introduced himself as Michael and directed her to follow. Willow was led through the dining area to a private room that she could only assume contained her potential employer along with any future team members. A firm knock on the door breaks the measured silence and then the door is opened and the man further blocks her entry as he announces her arrival.

�Miss An Mei-zhen is here.�

Something mumbled is obviously the right words to allow her entry as Michael moves forward and allows her to follow him further into the lavishly appointed private dining room. As they progress further into the dining room and she can see those assembled before her, Michael continues her introduction with the more juicy details.

�Miss Mei-zhen is a talented adept.’

Willow’s face didn’t show emotion as her “secret� was revealed to the group. At least he got the talented part right. Now, if only Uncle hadn’t kept me from finding out the details of the rest of the group before me...

She nodded to the entire group in greeting as she moved to the remaining empty chair at the table, as she pulled it out she locked her gaze upon the one she assumed was Thompson and tried to get a good read on him as she took her seat. Upon sitting down, Thompson wasted no time speaking to the group as well as the young Asian elf.

"Hello, I’m Mr. Thompson; now that everyone has arrived, let us get down to business."

[Scope_47]

As the others come in, Scope unblinkingly appraises each of them, looking them dead in the eye.

When Rock comes in and has a seat, she thinks He'd be our muscle... I've seen him working at the Crime Mall. Interesting that he's been chosen for this sort of mission. Perhaps he has skills I was unaware of. I didn't know he was a mojo-slinger... a most interesting development. All in all, probably a good soldier to have on the team.

When Alexander Jacobson enters, Scope looks him over as Michael announces him to be a technomancer. Her face remains stoic as she looks him in the eye and thinks One of the second-gen Otaku... he'd be our CommO for sure. This means that unless he knows his way around hardware I'll probably have to rig a wireless interface into the server room so he can access it. Still, he should be a useful addition.

As Mei-Zhen enters, Scope smiles tightly. An adept... I've seen them outstrip my own abilities, and they are usually well-centered and cool under fire. Generally an excellent addition to a squad... and a deadly adversary...

Gun-Dancer smiled as Father Mitchel handed her the silenced walther rifle. "Thank you, Father Mitchel..." she had said. He replied "Of course... it was your father's weapon... it saw him through many dark times, it only seems right for you to have it." Gun-Dancer peeled back the shock-pad slightly with her thumb. The data-chit was indeed in her father's old hiding place. She smiled and thought 'mission accomplished.' Then she looked at the priest and said in her cold, clinical voice "Father... hasn't anyone ever told you..." As she spoke, she fired the rifle point blank into the priest's abdomen "Never hand someone a loaded gun unless you know where she'll point it." The priest fell backwards onto the altar, clutching his wound and staring at Gun-Dancer in disbelief. She stepped forward taunting "No prayer, Father? No blessings for the sinner before you?" as she pressed the rifle's barrel into the elderly Ork's forehead. She saw the reflection in the collection tray just in time to dive to cover as the figure behind her fired. Rolling around to her feet, Gun-Dancer spied her new opponent... a tall, elven woman with raven hair and azure eyes held a smoking shotgun, but as she saw Gun-Dancer's face she hesitated to fire. Gun-Dancer smiled as she saw the crucifix hanging from the woman's neck, and called out "Still fighting the good fight, Mother?"

She'd almost killed Gun-Dancer that night... in a way I wish she had... if only I could find her again... explain what had happened - that I wasn't in control... frag it... I can't think about this now. Scope forced down that part of her that wanted to cry at the memory - it wasn't hard... she barely even recognized that urge anymore. Instead, she just looked to Mr. Thompson as he spoke.

As Mr. Thompson brought out the case and grimaced, Scope thought I should be feeling something... She took half a second to try to remember what that something should be... The pain must be excruciating for him... and knowing that eventually he won't be able to muddle through at all... that would be worse, I know...

Sarah waited in the wheel-chair inside the clinic's examination room. Every muscle she had ached incredibly, and it took so much effort to move or even hold up her head that she just let herself lay limply - like a broken doll. It had started slowly, and she tried so hard to be a good little soldier for daddy, but it got worse every day. He'd told her it was in her head... he'd told her that life was pain, and that that told her that she was alive. She'd tried so hard... but now she couldn't even walk. He said that the doctors would let her walk again though, and that she'd be back to health and competing with her gymnastics team again in a few months. Sarah listened to the doctor talk to her father outside... they didn't think she could hear... the doctor was saying "Colonel Sneider, I'm afraid that your insurance doesn't cover the procedure. Sarah has a very rare genetic disorder, and there are only two treatment plans - both of which are prohibitively expensive. Without them, however, she'll never walk again." Father replied angrily "What do you mean that my insurance won't cover it? The company policy gives me and my family full coverage!" The doctor very calmly replied "I'm sorry, Colonel, but the pre-existing condition clause takes precedence in this situation. The problem began at conception. I'm afraid that you and her mother just weren't genetically compatible... however, you do have an alternative course open to you." Sarah couldn't stop from crying... daddy would be angry with her - soldiers didn't cry. She grimaced through the pain and forced her hand up to wipe away the tears as the door opened. The doctor and a man in a suit walked in. The doctor said "Sarah, this gentleman is from the corporation..."

Sympathy... Scope realized - or perhaps imagined - that she did indeed feel sympathy for the elderly Ork. She looked to him and said "Are you alright, Mr. Thompson?" The words were right, but they came out coldly clinical... almost fake.

Mr. Thompson looked at her strangely and then returned to his work as he muttered "I'm fine." Scope considered for a moment What was that... did he take insult, or was it appreciation for the gesture? Scope tried to remember something applicable from her studies of philosophy and literature, but nothing came to mind. Drek happens, drive on. This is neither the time nor the place to try to rekindle what I lost.

Half a moment after Mr. Thompson's reply, Scope nods.

[Redjack]

The Five Kings - Saturday, Oct 11, 2070 - 11:01:00

As Rock watches as the remaining people enter the room, he shifts in his seat adjusting his suit. He wasn't the largest of orks and the suit was nicely tailored, he just didn't have a lot of experience being in one all day. He also felt naked without his heater tucked under his arm.

He understood the interaction between Scope and Thompson. He allowed the elder ork the dignity of completing the task himself. While he waited he looked at the other three seated at the table. He'd seen the mage outside ahead of scope, but the adept and technomancer were unknown to him. All in all the team seemed fairly well rounded at first glance, the next question is how well would the personalities mix...?

[Ol' Scratch]

Sitting all comfy-like inside the Five Kings -- Saturday, Oct. 11, 2070 -- 10:57ish am

Belfast had just made himself cozy and was about to introduce himself more properly to Mr. Thompson when Michael showed up again. Bel couldn't help but notice the telltale signs of annoyance still in his eyes when he turned towards him and made eye contact. Bel just grinned at him innocently. Then his eyes fell on the hot little number at his side and, not too surprisingly, the cyberzombie was out of his mind faster than you say "Th.D."

A long, slow whistle filled his mind's eye. "Now that's a right tasty l'il morsel if I've e'er done seen one!" He tried to listen as Michael did his rundown, but he was only half paying attention as his mind filled up questions. "Wot would be a good pick-up line? Why 'ad a hot girl jus' walked in? With all dat hardware she 'as, she's pro'lly 'ere for the job, too. But more importantly, if the Hulk fought Spider-Man, who would win? Hmm, now that's a good question. Well, I guess Spider-Man's advantage would be 'is webs an' 'is manual dexterity. But then again, the Hulk's endurance is limitless an' e's stronger than Spidey would be... Wait, fook, she's almost 'ere..."

Out of his seat in two shakes of a lamb's tail, Bel was pulling out a chair for Miss Cope, all the while flashing his best smile. He watched as she deliberately moved to a nearby chair of her own choosing and sat down. Without missing a beat, Belfast let his smile grow a bit larger as he moved to sit in the seat he had just reserved for her. "This should be a fun ride." he mused to himself. But he didn't have much time to dwell over things as, one by one, more of what he assumed would be his teammates were escorted into the restaurant. He wasn't all that impressed with the geekophile and mage-in-denial entered, but all that changed with the last addition.

He couldn't quite belive his eyes when, as his thought process so eloquently put it, "Wot did 'e say 'er name was? Miss Amazing? That she certainly is..." walked in. Another mental wolf whistle filled his mind. "That Benson certainly knows how to put a team together. I'll give 'er that."

The brief interaction between Cope and Thompson knocked Belfast out of his reverie, however. "Right, you are 'ere for a job you Irish bastard. Stay focused." Readjusting his tie, he took a more formal posture in his seat and waited for the discussion to begin proper. While he waited, he shifted his perceptions a touch and had a look around...

[Scope_47]

As Alex Jacobson pesters Mr. Thompson, examines the equipment, and plugs into the datajack, Scope thinks to herself He reminds me of that old trideo cartoon... Atomic Squirrel... but as the axiom goes, better safe than sorry.

Mr. Thompson, speaking to Alex Jacobson , comments "That's Old School."

Scope smiles and looks at the Ork as she says cooly "As Cassius said to Brutus, the Old Ways are the best ways."

[ Spoiler ]

Scope is paraphrasing an early scene in Act I of William Shakespeare's Julius Ceasar

[Thomas]

Act II, Scene I(a) - Introductions
Downtown Seattle, Five Kings Restaurant - Saturday, Oct 11, 2070 - 11:06:21

After the group finishes their poking and prodding Mr. Thompson retrieves his comm and looks around. “May we continue now?� he asks as he plugs a datacable into a jack in the edge of the table. Plugging the other end of the cable into his commlink, he squints at the tiny screen as he fiddles with the controls. The commlink responds in a tinny, buzzy voice from the internal speaker, “Connecting…�
“Speak.�
Mr. Thompson relaxes his eyes, “Tony Thompson, comm yellow.� he says.
“Understood.�
The commlink bleeps “Disconnected…�

Mr. Thompson presses a stud on the device and places it on the table. He looks at the assembled group, smiles, and says “This won’t take long.� He settles back in his chair and looks expectantly toward the short wall that conceals the door. In a few moments his gaze is rewarded with a brief knock. “Mr. Thompson, it’s Michael sir…�
The old ork nods, “Enter.�
There is a brief moment of AR music, cut off suddenly as Michael enters. “I’m sorry to disturb you sir, but there is a Mr. Smith comming, he says it’s important and that you are expecting his call…�
“Yes.� the ork gestures toward the empty space to his right, “Can you put it through to this jack please?�
“Of course sir, right away.� Michael hurries out.

Mr. Thompson stands and herds the loose gear toward the side of the table. He plugs the equipment together, then to the jackpoint, and powers it on. After a brief burst of static the image of President Colloton appears. “Mr. Thompson?...� she says in a male voice.
“Yes� he replies while taking his seat again.
There is a slight delay before the President says “Line secure. Transferring…� The President's image fades to be replaced by the image of a person seated behind a desk. The person is wearing a white shirt and a rather understated light-blue tie. Above the collar the image is pixilated – perhaps the hair is black, or brown? A disguised voice speaks:
“Tony, are you alright? I can’t see…�

The old ork nods, “Yes Mr. Smith. I don’t believe I’ve been tampered with; the hacker accessed my commlink.�

“Not unexpected old friend – Mr. Driver will take you to be checked-out when you leave. Is everyone there?�

“Yes sir, they are here. A shooter, a mage, hacker, demolitions, and a spy.�

“Good. Let’s proceed. My name is Mr. Kim. There is some data I need retrieved. My sources have told me that it is in a medium security building and not accessible by matrix. This building has magical, matrix and mundane security. The job will need to be accomplished within 5 days. This is all I can tell you without compromising the mission until we have a deal. I am prepared to offer 1000 each and a flat 7500 completion bonus. Do we have a deal?�

[Redjack]

Downtown Seattle, Five Kings Restaurant - Saturday, Oct 11, 2070 - 11:06:30

Rock sat back and tried to not look too bored as the various team members started taking seats. He was playing two games of three-dimension Tetris, moving his fingers under the table, on his leg, as he listened and watched.

Coms yellow....? He pauses one of the games in order to focus on the conversation and the issue. He watched as Mr Thompson made adjustments based up the issues at hand until.... Hacked! Hacker..? He looks over at the hacker, Hmmm... Hope he doesn't turn out to be a problem. With a few subtle moves of his left hand he activates both his agents as IC and sets his com on alert and dials the PAN range back to under a meter.

A grand plus a split of seven five.. before expenses? He pauses the second game and moves his hands on the table, crossing his fingers while leaning in. He leans in just slightly. Not enough to seem threatening, more so that it is obvious his attention is now on the meeting. Truth be known he is watching the security stream from his com in AR as well, but somehow he's just always been able to completely focus on multiple things at once. He never understood how others couldn't do that as well.

"I'm not sure about the rest of my... esteemed colleagues... but that barely covers the rent and it definitely don't cover expenses let alone start towards a bit of profit." He was doing his best to keep his tone level and present a professional appearance. Half a decade ago he would have began and ended with profanities and told the old ork how pitiful the opening was. He'd learned to be a little more diplomatic since then.

[Ol' Scratch]

Belfast
Recovering from a Psychedelic Roller Coaster Ride at the Five Kings -- Saturday, Oct. 11, 2070 -- 11:05 am

Seemingly out of nowhere, Belfast lurches his chair backward in a panicked state, nearly falling flat on his arse. His pulse had jumped from 0 to 60 in no time flat, a flop sweat appeared out of thin air, his breathing was erratic, knuckles bright white as he grips the end of the table, and a small bit of blood was oozing from his left nostril almost as if he had just gotten into a fight. Despite having been sitting there all pretty as you please less than a second ago.

With his wits quickly returning to him, Bel sort of pauses. "Erm, yes," he begins, his trademarked smile appearing on his face. "Sorry about that. I... thought I saw a spider. Deathly afraid of them, I don't mind telling you. Please... uhm, continue." His smile grows a bit sheepish.

After a moment, the Irishman reaches under and scoots his chair back into the proper position, trying his damnedest not to look embarrassed or as scared out of his fookin' mind as he actually was a moment ago. He reaches into his silk coat and pulls a monogrammed handkerchief out, dabbing at the blood at his nose. "For fook's sake. That's the last fookin' time I get wasted before a job. What the fookin' FOOK was that shite anyway?!? What the fook is wrong with this place. Jaysus fookin' Christ Allmighty. Just... fook!"

[ Spoiler ]

Sorry about this post not quite fitting in. Bel had a rather unpleasant out-of-body experience as it were while looking at the ward in this joint. I would have gone into more detail about it, but didn't want to ruin the pacing of the thread. :) Stupid critical glitches...

-=-=-=-=-=-

A few minutes later...

As Mr. Kim finishes his proposal, Belfast looked as if he were about to say something just before Rock beat him to the punch. A bit of a relief, really, as Bel hated negotiating. Besides, he still had that nose to contend with, so it worked out nicely. Mother-fookin' giants.