Blood in the Water: IC Thread, Fun on the High Seas! Options

[Penta]

OOC: Use this thread for everything IC.

Posting Rules

Just like almost everyone else on the board I'm gonna be stealing Redjack's posting structure, so here you go.

All your posts should begin with a time/date stamp in orange, detailing location, time, and date. Underneath, in italics, add your PAN mode, hidden, active, or passive, in dark grey.

- - "Speech color=cyan, optionally enclosed in quotes" (Penta note: Quotes HIGHLY recommended!)
- - <Coms (subvocal) color=violet>
- - <Coms (Text) color=yellow>
- - Thoughts color=darkkhaki and in italics
- - Memories, flashbacks, dreams color=green and in italics

Spoiler all private actions, but if its something really private, or you're setting up a backstab, feel free to PM me.

[Penta]

OOC: A quick bump.

[Penta]

Miami: 1 June 2072, 0030 Eastern Daylight Time/0430 Zulu
[Not Applicable]

Across Miami, commlinks buzz with an incoming encrypted message. Well, normally they'd buzz. This time, the incoming-message sound is of ship's bells.

<<Good evening. folks. Roberts here. The meeting with Mr. Johnson for your final contract instructions is confirmed for 0900 sharp at pier 34. Please come prepared for sea activity, and for a military atmosphere. Lateness will not be tolerated.>>

Following that message, Roberts begins drafting another. This one is encrypted in an entirely different cipher.

[ Spoiler ]

<<Sir: As agreed, final delivery of cargo to the operators will occur at 0900 at pier 32. Security, thus far, appears to be maintained. They should be surprised to meet us in our real guises.>>

Following that up with some personal messages, he then steps off to bed. Not like he needs to sleep for very long, but the nearly-30-year-old man figures it's better than sitting up watching late-night trid.

5 hours later, he's up again - after making some final packing to his bags, he gets dressed and heads out. May as well catch the dawn down at the ship.
---
<<OOC: This message comes pretty much unexpectedly - you hadn't been informed when the final meeting with the J was going to be, but this is possibly a bit sooner than you'd expected.>>

[Penta]

Miami: 1 June 2072, 0600 Eastern Daylight Time/1000 Zulu
[Kevin Roberts, Public Mode]
Pier 34, Port of Miami

Stepping out of the cab, Kevin Roberts grabbed his seabag and his cap, paying the cabbie with a thought to his commlink and striding down the pier, placing his cap over his brown hair neatly as he looked into the clear, dry, cool morning that marked the oncoming summer.

Before his destination even came into view, he saw a guard in a uniform without markings approach, rifle at the ready. "Halt! Who goes there?" challenged the guard.

"A friend!" Roberts called back.

"Approach and be recognized, friend!" the guard responded.

Roberts did so...And the guard came to port arms.

"Pass, sir!"

Roberts saluted smartly, then walked on.

A few hundred feet onward, the ship slowly came into view: Her lines were sleek and graceful; even with the signature masking modifications, the yard had kept a sense of artistry. MY FEDALLAH was painted on the sides and the stern, with the registry NEWPORT, RI, UCAS below that on the stern in slightly smaller letters. The UCAS Ensign flew from the stern as well, he saw.

It was a beautiful yacht they had paid for, he considered mentally. Hopefully it'd be put to a good use by the team he'd selected.

Five hundred thousand nuyen was a small amount in budgetary terms, granted...But he wouldn't have gotten where he was today if he'd been careless with even the smallest budgets. He was reminded of Everett Dirksen's quip that "A billion here, a billion there, pretty soon, you're talking real money"...and quietly thanked God that he wasn't in charge of a project quite that big.

With that thought, he approached the vessel closer.

Another challenge from another guard, responded to in the exact same way. Then, he stood before the gangway, spotting a UCAS flag hanging aboard the ship at the entrance to the vessel, with someone in dress whites standing there.

Approaching, he called out "Roberts requesting permission to come aboard."

"Roberts, permission granted. Welcome aboard." replied the officer.

Roberts stepped up the gangway, then saluted the flag, before saluting the officer. His salute was returned, before the officer smiled and extended a hand.

"You're up early, for someone who's been on independent duty for two years." the officer noted with a grin as the two shook hands.

"What can I say, I kept to my usual habits." Roberts replied, smiling. "What's with the dress whites and the flag? I thought we were keeping this undercover."

"We are; But we're not going to keep their affiliation secret from your operators. We're just not going to reveal it til the last possible moment. You said yourself, you chose them for discretion, in part."

"Still, ain't this a bit formal?"

"They were cleared in part on their ability to form a disciplined force. If they can't stand the rituals of the sea, how will they stand the rigors of watchstanding? Besides, it's not for them, it's for the team that's been working on this project back home while you've been mostly here in Miami."

"So I should change?"

"Dress whites or your best civvies, your choice."

"I'm going to go change into civvies, then. I'm the one who'll be meeting them at the foot of the pier, after all."

A nod from the other officer. "It's good to have you back, Lieutenant. When you're changed, come back up and we'll have breakfast, catch up."

"Thank you, sir. It's good to be back."

With that, Roberts went below, following the AR "guidance lights" to his quarters. It was a touch borrowed from an old book, "Ender's Game"; each crewmember was issued a set of colors that they picked, and the triple-light sequence was projected in AR along the walls, guiding the user to their quarters or other destination, keying to their commlink for verification.

When he got to his quarters, he changed from what he had previously been wearing into civilian clothes.

Two hours later: 0800 EDT/1200 Zulu

Another message went out from Roberts to the team, again announced by the chiming of a ship's bell.

<<Meeting in one hour, remember. 0900 sharp, pier 34. I am waiting now to bring you to Mr. Johnson. - Regards, Roberts>>

[budoka05]

Miami: 1 June 2072, 0035 EDT/1000 Zulu
[John Nobunaga, Private Mode]
South of Miami River

John smiled as he setup the date, time and alarm clock for the meet. About time Roberts!, as John relaxed. John had intentionally kept himself free from engagements and had gotten antsy when he had to pass up on some small jobs for this gig. Although Kinder was not a trustworthy bloke when it come to small jobs, at least his jobs were better than nothing. John grinned at the thought of not having to rely on Kinder anything for quite a while!

Putting the finishing touches on his alarm music, John began methodically packing his bags. He wondered if the meet might potentially be a hostile situation and required at least a side arm, but thought against it when he remembered he hadn't had the Nuyen for a decent Fake License. Zipped up and packed, this dingy little apartment (or closet) had been home for his several year stay in Miami and now laid bare. However his mood was too light to register the bleakness of his small apartment. High adventure on the high seas... occupied his thoughts as he drifted to sleep.

Miami: 1 June 2072, 0730 EDT/1000 Zulu

John awoke from one of the most pleasant sleeps he'd had in months. Remembering to work on his emotionality, he sat up and performed his meditation. Once fully awake, John left a nice note for the landlady telling her that if she had not heard back from him in a month, she could lease the apartment to some other bloke. Grabbing both bags, John locked the door to his apartment and walked out into the sunny Florida sky.

Boarding the bus, John got the message Robert's reminder. While reading the txt feed on his goggles, he eyed the various blue-collar folk making their way to the pier. His Sensei had always admonished John for not being present and being aware of the environment.

Miami: 1 June 2072, 0845 EDT/1000 Zulu

Arriving to the pier, John sat down on the curb, waited, and breathed.

[Marwynn]

Miami: 1 June 2072, 0500 EDT/0900 Zulu
[Jonas Santiago Francis, Private Mode]
Apartment Complex, Near the Port

The alarm beeped, shrilly, five times. Without prompting the holo projector lit up with the day's agenda. Jonas preferred it that way, a bit of an encouragement to start the day in big three-dimensional alphanumerics. Robert's message and reminder was at the top of the scroll, not that Jonas could forget: his apartment had been tidied up in preparation for this.

His gear had been properly stowed in various bags seeded throughout the apartment. A few minute's warning was all he needed to get all the bags by the door and get the building's Manservant drone to help him load it up in a cab. Otherwise, the small space had a cultivated spartan feel. Two months' worth of rent had already been set aside, and the CHN notified to stay in low-power security mode only in preparation. He'd been eating out, using credsticks for takeout. Habits from an older life.

Sea activity... and military atmosphere? Why does that sound oh so familiar?

He read between the lines. A bag of his diving gear, his Colt Water Carbine and reloads, and generic clothing.

The shower was ready, but before then he had a morning ritual. Whatever this Overlord turns out to be in the end, he was learning a lot from it. A few moments in simple meditation, communing with the spirit--though he'd never admit to another mage, centred him for the day. The last few days though, all it communicated to him was supreme satisfaction at the course of his life. Jonas wasn't sure if he was happy about that.

The shower beckoned, but not before some light exercise.

Gotta keep the body looking good!

The holoprojector hummed non-commitally.

Miami: 1 June 2072, 0847 EDT/1247 Zulu
Pier 34

He stepped onto Pier 34, his cheap sunshades screening his eyes as he glanced around. He packed his diving gear, skinsuit, and his Colt M24A3 with some spares. Unlikely that he'd be diving at the port, but he didn't bring the full set. At least, not in that bag.

Business trip. That's what he had told the neighbours, and once he did Jonas couldn't let them think he was carrying only a small bag when he could be gone for months. The Manservant-3 had be ever-so polite as it handled the things that wouldn't go boom, Jonas wouldn't trust it with his weapons and sensitive equipment. He unloaded them all now, from the taxi van. Remote operated, so Jonas didn't tip.

Jonas breathes in the sea air and glances around.

[milk ducks]

Miami: 1 June 2072, 0852 Eastern Daylight Time / 1252 Zulu
[Alan Brass, operating under primary false SIN - Emerson Keeling / Passive Mode]
Taxi cab en route to Pier 34, Miami.

The cabbie leaned back in his seat; cigar smoke rolling out from between cracked, yellow teeth, and tossed an arm sheathed in jailhouse ink around the back of the passenger side to catch a momentary glance at his fare before continuing, "So, yeah, sprung the slam in '68 -free and clear- but 'ad no creds, right? And I mean none; back then, I was so broke I couldn't afford to pay attention. Snagged a frak-load'a temp jobs, though; mostly slummin' it down in the soy-pits, right?. Nothin' stuck 'til this." He turned back toward the traffic and took the wheel in both hands, probably out of habit more than anything else; odds are, GridGuide was doing all the work - company just needs a chump down here in the meat to look after their property.

"Ass fell outta this economy back in the Crash, an' ain't had the good courtesy to come back. Still, there's a lotta cred out there for folks willin' to go the extra mile." His eyes moved up to the rear-view, and met with his fare's. "That why you're headin' down to the docks, chummer?"

Nosey ujnort; wouldn't you like to know?

"Something like that, yeah."

As Pier 34 pulled into view, Alan Brass grabbed hold of his bags and took a moment to re-familiarize himself with his surroundings. The tiny units behind his retinas whirred into action, and set to work recording everything of importance: cab number, along with the driver's SIN and physical image; the registration numbers painted on nearby ships; the face of every dockworker that happened to glance up as they passed; everything. When the vehicle finally came to a stop, he nodded toward the cabbie and mentally transferred payment. "Domo for the ride, omae. Slot this cred an' I'm gone."

The driver took his cigar in two fingers and grinned an ugly grin. "Null sweat, chummer. G'luck in yer struggles."

The ork ducked out of the cab and into Miami. The morning sun bounced blindingly off the water's surface up ahead, but Alan wouldn't notice; cybernetic dimmers kicked in automatically to compensate. He picked his bags up off the ground, remembered the weight of the equipment inside, and groaned a bit.

Hopefully this J hired on a troll or two, else I'm leavin' this shit here.

[Karoline]

Miami: 1 June 2072, 0030 Eastern Daylight Time/0430 Zulu
[Jane operating under the fake SIN Karen]
Jane's home

Jane hadn't moved in over three years, having joined the shadows too recently to know the life on the run, the life where homes lasted in monthly increments. In her time she had acquired quite a number of things, not least among them her collection of drones. Some of the drones she could carry with her, but some were simply too large, and many of them too conspicuous to simply have follow her around, even if she did have fake permits for them and their weapons.

Still, she had known this was coming sooner or later, and had prepared. She'd gotten rid of or was preparing to simply leave many incidentals, along with things she knew she simply wouldn't be able to take with her such as the little drone shop she'd built up in the garage. Now it was finally time to go. She called up Trevor, asking him to send over one of his drone delivery vans, one that would be able to fit her collection.

Having done that she finished packing the last of her bags with the things that she couldn't have done without... her clothing mostly. After an hour or so she decided that she was properly packed except for one last thing... She vanished into her garage, reassembling the Dragonfly she had been tinkering with, adjusting the thing to be more effective against vehicles and other hard structures. It never hurts to be prepared for anything.

The sun rose, the van pulled itself up outside her house, and she tossed the Dragonfly into the air, its systems kicking in and catching itself almost before it began to fall. It hovered near her shoulder, waiting for instructions. She'd have to reprogram it later, adjust for the fact that it had AV weapons instead of AD now, still, it wasn't as though it couldn't affect a drone any more.

Miami: 1 June 2072, 0800 Eastern Daylight Time / 1200 Zulu
[Jane operating under the fake SIN Karen]
Jane's home
She'd let the lease run out on her place, not having wanted the extra expense while she was away, not knowing how helpful a safehouse was, so it was a good thing she didn't have to wait too much longer than she did for the call. Her drones had packed themselves into the van while she got a couple hours of sleep, it wasn't really enough, but she had adjusted to a night schedule so it allowed her to get into a day sync well enough for the meet.

She let the autopilot handle the driving, instead leaning back and closing her eyes, working on the programing of the Dragonfly drone that now sat in the passenger's seat. By the time she got to the pier, the slight modifications that needed to be made to its priority list, tactic routines, and other bits and parts of its code were done.

After getting out of the van, she headed around to the back, opening the rear doors and activating two of her LEBD-1s. She didn't want to cause a huge stir with her entery collection, but felt intimidated about going to a meet like this without something more substantial than the pistol she had at her side. She didn't bother trying to conceal it, she didn't know how to properly, and figured it was better to be shown off as a deterrent anyway.

It was only five minutes till the time for the meet by the time she had given her drones a quick looking-over, resisting the urge to tear one apart and reassemble it because its thrusters where just a hair off. She walked to the peer, noticing the others who were loitering there, wondering if they were her teammates, or just vagrants. She gave them a looking over all the same, storing their look in her commlink and mind.

[CollateralDynamo]

Miami: 1 June 2072, 0530 EDT/0930 Zulu
[Willard Dermott, PI - Passive]
Someone's House, (Rachel? Roxanne?), Someone's

Bobby turned the faucet on high with a thought from his comm and splashed the water in his face. Looking up into the bathroom mirror he saw a face he didn't recognize. Bio-sculpting was an amazing thing, cheap too. His government had changed his face more times then he could count. Now his face was just that of some gringo, nothing of himself seemed to remain within. But maybe that was a good thing. If the man he was five years ago was looking back at him now, he probably would not have been able to go through with it all.

Bobby pulled out his electric razor and got to work. He had always been a stand up guy. He had always fought for justice and, while his methods were unorthodox, the bad man had always been locked away. Now, however, he was signing on with a crew he had never met, to do a very vague and nondescript job. Stop worrying about it Bobs. You need this pay day. Besides, Rusty is supposedly leading this one. She's a stand up gal, who knows what sorts of good works you can do. Rusty, she had popped back into his life recently, that had been an unexpected surprise. She was cute enough, when she wasn't being too strict and formal...or maybe WHEN she was being too strict and formal, Bobby never could tell.

"Baby, what are you doing, come back to bed," a voice from the other room cooed.

Damn, she's awake. Bobby had just met her last night at a club. He had needed a place to stay and he was tired of imposing on old friends. Besides, once the call had come through that today was the big day, what did it matter? He finished shaving, put on the cutest grin he could muster on the tiny amount of sleep he had gotten, and prepared to tell the girl how special she was, but he was leaving the country to battle in a war that didn't really exist...She'll probably buy it...and its close enough to the truth...

Miami: 1 June 2072, 0745 EDT/1130 Zulu
[Robert "Zalermo" Bennicimo - Hidden]
Cafe Near Pier 34

Robert Bennicimo was back in the bathroom, staring at the face he didn't recognize. On the way here he had stopped in at personal storage and had grabbed all of his belongings. Two duffel bags, it was all his life amounted to now. And one of them was just full of clothes. It was embarrassing the more he thought it about it...so he tried not to. Instead he adjusted his Aces High jacket to better rest over his clothes. He made sure the Flying Tigers patch was still right-side up and unstained. It had been a long time since he had put on his Form Fitting, but it still was not too snug under his civilian clothes. With the goggles and the old school flight jacket he certainly had a unique look about him. But thats the way he liked it. If this bathroom was more crowded, at least he'd know which pair of eyes was his.

He felt his tiny snubnose rest against his upper torso in its concealed holster. The heavy jacket on over it only added to its concealment. He didn't go anywhere without Betty, and so far that had not bit him in the ass, so why change it now? He picked up the two bags, slung one over each shoulder. Then he picked up his soycaf, put his "i'm busy" smile back on and headed toward the pier.

As he got close he looked for familiar faces. Ideally he wanted to meet with Rusty prior to approaching their Fixer, Roberts. Bobby made a mental scan of the area and wondered which of these brutes he would be working with. Don't think like that, Bobs, maybe they'll be good guys. Tch, yeah right...odds seemed low...

[milk ducks]

Miami: 1 June 2072, 0854 EDT / 1254 Zulu
[Alan Brass, operating under primary false SIN - Emerson Keeling / Passive Mode]
Pier 34, Port of Miami.

Alan had spent so long in the company of shadows, he felt uncomfortable in the light. Without setting his bags down, the ork scanned the pier, taking stock of his surroundings; Kevin Roberts sat quietly on a bench across the way, with his back toward the water and his mind in somewhere in AR. Port security had a light presence between the two, randomly checking IDs and manifests, but it was enough to make Alan think twice. There were a few possible gloks milling about; a couple humans and a keeb; but if any of them recognized Roberts as their fixer, none of them made a move.

Or they just ain't got the hez to make it past those rent-a-cops. Still, better safe than sorry at this point; any frak-ups now might cost me the job.

Brass tossed a quick text Roberts' way:

<Skraa cerri, I'm lookin' your way. Clear to head over?>

[budoka05]

Miami: 1 June 2072, 0855 EDT / 1254 Zulu

Finally spotting Roberts, John sends <Roberts, what's the situation? Can I come in without breaking some wrists?>.

John took a quick look around and spotted some other chummers milling about. Although John would like to go up and introduce himself, his time in the Shadows meant that nobody appeared who they really were. Meeting without an introduction would be counterproductive at best and break the operation at worst. When Mr. J says keep the pie hole shut, he means keep it shut.

[Whizbang]

Miami: 1 June 2072, 0030 Eastern Daylight Time/0430 Zulu
Melissa Farrens
Melissa's apartment

Melissa yawned and stretched idly as the comm went off. Why did these calls always come in the middle of the night? Though the sound of ship bells managed to pierce into her subconscious. That was different. Very different. Hang on, wasn't she waiting on something? She perked up, and checked the message. She let out an excited woot as she hopped out of bed. Finally it was time. Look out seas, here comes Melisandre the Red.

Unfortunatly there wasn't enough to be packed to burn out her excitement. So far this life wasn't quite all she had imagined it would be. But she was just getting started. It would get better soon enough. She looked over the letters from her mother again. She thought she was still off at college, partying it up. Her mother would flip if she knew what she was really doing, following in her father's footsteps. Hopefully her uncle would be able to keep her from poking into her life too much.

Eventually the fact that she was up in the middle of the night did catch up with her, and she drifted back to sleep with dreams of adventure.

Miami: 1 June 2072, 0830 Eastern Daylight Time/1230 Zulu
Melisandre the Red
Pier 34

Melisandre made for a bright spot as she stepped out of the cab. 'Prepared for naval activity' called for her complete get up. She wore a lacy white shirt, and a red hankerchief skirt, with a black skirt scarf over it. A sword on one hip, a handgun on the other. Boots on her feet and a scarf in her hair completed the look. She didn't know why people always thought there was a LARP going on around or something, though it did make a good excuse if anyone decided to get too nosy. She glanced around looking for her contact, though usually they found her first.

[Karoline]

<<<Removed>>>

[Ears]

Miami: 1 June 2072, 0503 Eastern Daylight Time/0903 Zulu
Simon, SIN reads Simon Paul Martinsson, private mode
Simon orders his comm's wakeup function to quit piping virtual music through into his brain and sifts through the usual junk messages as he notices that he's received a message that got flagged priority one because of the sender, Kevin Roberts.
Now that's interesting. Better get ready to move out. Not that there's much to do.
Still in his crumpled shorts and shirt, Simon runs out of his small room, through long corridors in the converted warehouse and knocks on a door. A weary-eyed man who clearly was still asleep a few moments ago opens it and asks "Are you insane? Do you have any idea what time it is! By the way, what time is it?"
Bending down a bit to the man, Simon responds "What time it is? Remember who fixed your damn van when you were broke and your only sister got married? Your time to do me a favour. We'll meet awake and sober at your van at 0730, that's half past seven by the way, and you'll drive me all nicely and safely to pier 34. Don't make me come and get you."

Turning on his heels, Simon runs back to his room, leaving a puzzled human behind him.

Taking his old Ingram White Knight out of its container, takes the machine gun apart, cleans it part by part and puts it back together. We two have seen a lot over the past years. Ready for a new adventure?He pulls the trigger and is rewarded by the expected sound of the hammer falling into place. Knew you'd say that. He then checks the proper functioning of his Ingram Smartgun X and puts his guns and the required tools into their long wooden crate, that contains the ammunition as well. Simon puts his other tools into a second flat crate and then puts both crates into a duffel bag each. He changes into worn desert fatigues and stuffs his other clothes and few possessions into a third duffel bag. 0725, Time to go.

...
Miami, Pier 34: 1 June 2072, 0809 Eastern Daylight Time/1209 Zulu
A dingy, old GMC van - probably some ancestor of the Bulldog - pulls up at the beginning of pier 34 and Simon steps out of the side door, turns back, slings a duffel bag over his shoulder, grabs one more with each hand and shoulders the door closed again. Let's see who's gonna turn for this gig. Simon slowly walks towards the end of pier 34, taking a good look at everybody, trying to figure out who might be part of the crew.

He sees Mr. Roberts sitting on a bench and decides to wait about 50 metres off. 0900 is 0900, not a minute sooner.

[MusicMan]

Miami: Wednesday, May 19 2072OS 0800EDT/1200Zulu
St. Sophia Greek Orthodox Church
Alexander Andreou-Passive

Alexander had been bowing before the altar at the Church for the past hour, praying continually. This was apart of his daily routine, a morning run followed by prayer at the Church. He went before the altar, knelt on both knees and bowed until his head was touching the ground; and he prayed...
"ΚÏ?Ï?ιε ΙησοÏ? ΧÏ?ιστέ, Υιέ του ΘεοÏ?, ελέησόν με τον αμαÏ?τωλόν."
"ΚÏ?Ï?ιε ΙησοÏ? ΧÏ?ιστέ, Υιέ του ΘεοÏ?, ελέησόν με τον αμαÏ?τωλόν."
"ΚÏ?Ï?ιε ΙησοÏ? ΧÏ?ιστέ, Υιέ του ΘεοÏ?, ελέησόν με τον αμαÏ?τωλόν."
"ΚÏ?Ï?ιε ΙησοÏ? ΧÏ?ιστέ, Υιέ του ΘεοÏ?, ελέησόν με τον αμαÏ?τωλόν."

His knees ached and his neck and shoulders were stiff, but he had lost contact with his senses some time ago... he didn't notice the others around him coming and going, and he didn't notice the priest walk up behind him.

The priest put his hand on Alexander's shouder, "Before you can achieve theoria, you must partake in Divine Mystery; to do that, you must put away your weapons. We are called to be peaceful. Bloodshed should be something to evoke horror within our souls, and is not to be fun except in the gravest of circumstances. Until you throw away violence and embrace peace, I cannot allow you to take the bread or cup."

Alexander righted himself, made the sign of the cross over his body, and look up at the priest, "You remind me of that every day, Father. I must do what I do, and I pray continually for forgiveness. I have chosen to live by the sword, and I know that I will die by the sword." Alexander stood, "As I always reply: I will take the path of David, who was righteous before God, I may not be allowed to build the temple, but my courage through my faith will be known."

The priest nodded, this conversation had become a continual one between them. I've heard that you are leaving for awhile?"

"Yes Father, a new job. I will write, and continue to support the Church. You will still be broadcasting your sermons over the Matrix?"

"Of course. Understand that I cannot condone what you do... however, your continued support of the Church is appreciated. I will pray that God sees you safely back to us."

Alexander stood up, kissed the priest's ring, received a blessing and left.

Miami: May 19 2072 OS 0845EDT/1245Zulu
Pier 34
Alexander Andreou-Passive

Alexander walked down the pier a little ways then moved off to one side of it. He had stopped and picked up a bag of bread from a restaurant on his way down, and was going to feed the fish while he waited. As he fed the fish, he looked around and watched people pass by, "tourists in Miami never seem to go to bed."

He thought about his gear, stowed away in a parking lot where he had landed his Sparrow.

It seems a little odd to need to bring all of our gear to a J meeting, but if that's what they want.

He had only brought a knife and a small handgun with him to the pier, both concealed beneath his coat. Larger guns and duffel bags were beacons to cops, and Alexander had no particular desire to try explaining to the cops why he was carrying an assault rifle.

After a moment, he sent a quick message to Roberts, "Mr. Roberts, this is Alexander. I have arrived at Pier.34"

He then tossed the rest of the bread to the fish and continued to wander down the pier.

[Knight Saber]

Miami: 1 June 2072, 0500 Eastern Daylight Time/0900 Zulu Zulu
[Fiona "Rusty" O'Roarke - Hidden]
"The Beachcomber Dunes" - Active Seaside Singles Living Condoplex

Rusty cut her morning PT short after getting the message about a job, a berth even. For the past few months, she'd been "on the beach," having lost her own ship in a... messy incident. Here was an opportunity to get back on the water, and to make some money without shooting up a corp's warehouse and laying low in an alley for a few weeks.

She dressed nicely... one piece swimsuit under dockers and a polo shirt, then her vaguely military cut armor jacket over that, Predator under her arm, survival knife on the other side, ceramic knife under her pants leg, deck shoes for her feet.

"Military-style job situation... probably won't be refugee smuggling then, or running sims.

All her important items, guns, dive armor and more guns, were quickly packed into a pair of duffle bags, clothing packed around the outside to break up any outlines. She looked around at her condo... nothing that couldn't be left here, or put into storage with a call to the super... Except that. She went over and picked up a real wood holoframe, rotating between images of her parents and herself with different marine units... all happy memories frozen in time. She picked it up and held it to her chest, then slipped it into a pocket.

Without looking back, Rusty slung her bags over her shoulders, augmented muscles not even bulging under the load and headed down to where a sedan car waited to take her to the meeting spot.

[CollateralDynamo]

Miami: 1 June 2072, 0830 EDT/1245 Zulu
[Robert "Zalermo" Bennicimo as Willard Dermott, PI - Hidden]
Pier 34

Zalermo had spent the last thirty minutes perusing the arcade and checking out the local tourists. A few unusual folks caught his eye as he walked the area, but at a place like the pier, you never could tell who was about to ship out, and who was just shipping in. The troll weighted down with packages waiting somewhat awkwardly in the vicinity of Roberts seemed a likely candidate. Well, hes certainly BIG enough to be a runner... None of the others in the area stuck out in his mind. A man feeding fish, a couple wandering past, hell even that guy sitting on the curb could actually be here for a meet and not waiting for his ride, who knew?

As time began to get closer to the deadline, Zalermo sent an encrypted subvocal call to Rusty, <Hey, you still in on this caper? Not sure if I could handle some wet behind the ears chump trying to captain a loose cannon like me.> He tried his best to play it as him being a brave blowhard, but already he was starting to get nervous. Some of the men on this pier seemed down right unsavory, and he prayed that Roberts hadn't screwed him on the team. If Rusty was out, they'd need a new captain, if that captain was some thug bootstrapped up from running in Caracas, Again you are thinking about this? Bobs...Bobs...you're the charmer, you're the connections, you're the man with the PLAN. It doesn't matter who the captain is, they'll need to go through YOU to do any real damage. It will be fine, just breath and keep on that winning smile, the one you think the girls love so much. And - what the fuck?

It was at this time that he noticed a woman, probably about college age, dressed head to toe in garish lace. With a blade strapped straight to her hip. Ye gods, I really need to start keeping track of which damn conventions are in town.... Bobby shook his head and tried to get his mind back in "meet and greet" mode. He lowered his goggles and checked the time, 8:55, close enough. He switched his com to passive and dialed again.

<Roberts, good to see you again, I'm approaching from your 9 with two bags. Sorry, the coffee got cold awhile back, but I suspect you knew that. Mind if I have a seat there next to you? My dogs are barking.> It was meant to be a gentle jibe at Roberts' formality. Being a civilian now certainly had its perks, and this might be his last chance for a gentle ribbing before the official meet, he had to put it in there. Bobby continued to scan the surrounding for any possible threats, and if he was waved off for whatever reason he could just keep on walking by and figure out what had gone wrong later.

[Penta]

<OOC: And I do believe that that is everyone...This is an incredibly long, yet important, post.>
Miami: 1 June 2072, 0900 EDT/1300 Zulu: Pier 34, Port of Miami
[Kevin Roberts, Public Mode]

And when we go back to the sea, whether it is to sail or to watch it, we are going back from whence we came." Roberts spoke simply, looking out over the group as he stood from his position on the bench. "Gather round, gather round. I see you're all here. Let's go meet Mr. Johnson, shall we?"

"You were all chosen for your discretion, among other things. That goes for what happens down this pier most especially, whether you back out or stay in." Roberts paused. "Fall in behind me, if you would. 2 paces behind, please. Single file." With that, and only waiting for a moment, he began to stride down the pier.

<Roberts to perimeter. Approaching with operators behind in single file,> he subvocalized into his commlink. As he walked ahead of the team, "Jupiter" from Holst's "The Planets" began to play on their commlinks.

As they walked, the fog began to reveal the pier ahead - not very far ahead, one reason they'd chosen this position in the port, but far enough.

Slowly, the team could make out the guards in full battlegear, showing no indication of whence they came, two of them covering the approach to the end of the pier, who came to ready arms as Roberts approached.

"Halt! Who goes there?" challenged the guard at the port side.

"A friend with visitors!" Roberts called back, stopping where he was.

"Approach and be recognized, friend!" the guard to port responded.

Roberts did so...And the guards nodded, then trained their rifles on the first to follow him.

"Approach, visitors! One by one!" called the guard at port.

As they did, the guards compared their faces against photos sent to their helmet-mounted image links, and nodded each through, one by one, as the faces matched the photos.

The group then walked on, in the same single file, and slowly, the yacht came into view...Surrounded by still more guards. Two at the gangway, where a man in classic naval dress whites waited. Two at each end of the T-shape that made up the pier.

"So this is the team Roberts recruited. Well, fall in." The officer ordered, looking over each member of the team slowly, his face seeming to betray no reaction. His voice was that of a patrician New Yorker; on his shoulders were silver eagles. "I'm going to lay out the terms, and then you have one minute to decide whether to stay, accepting those terms, or go. If you go, no hard feelings. You'll be given something to cause you to forget what you've seen here today and sent on your way."

"The terms are as follows, with more to be revealed to those who stay: You will be acting as privateers for a major government. You have been loaned, as a group, 500 thousand nuyen worth of equipment to accomplish this mission, as agreed, including your vessel and all modifications, with fuel and water gratis, plus provisions and other incidentals. Your mission must remain secret; you will be supported to the best ability of this government, subject to need-to-know and the conditions of the operation. However, you will largely be on your own, acting independently. Your primary mission is to gather intelligence. Your secondary mission, as privateers, is commerce raiding. This will be how you support yourselves...and pay off the loan, which will be repaid through the taking of one-quarter of all earnings from captures and other income. Further conditions and mission orders will be revealed to those who accept. Military discipline, most especially a chain of command, will be maintained aboard ship, and you will be expected to respect the laws and customs of war insofar as your mission allows. Once you pay off the loan, your sponsor will take one-quarter of all earnings, with the remaining three-quarters to be at your disposal. On top of this, 2000 nuyen will be granted for each piece of reliable intelligence you are able to collect, all to yourselves, with no taking by the government. These amounts, most especially the value attached to your intelligence collections, will adjust with the value of the intelligence you collect and the takings you achieve, in your favor. You will undergo at least 48 hours of at-sea training, to acclimate you to shipboard life, naval operations, and maritime warfare, under the guidance of myself and Mr. Roberts. After that, and after we reach another port, you will be released to independent operations. From time to time, you will be issued orders from the naval authorities. These orders will come with a nuyen value - upon completion, such amount will be credited to your account."

The officer looked out over the prospective crew. His voice makes clear: There will be no haggling over the nuyen. "A commanding officer and executive officer will be appointed from among you, and you will by consensus choose a purser to handle such accounting matters as may come up."

"You now have one minute to choose whether to accept or refuse these conditions."

<OOC: I am going to be a bad GM and railroad you briefly. You all accept. How happily will be up to you, but you all accept.>

"I'm glad to see you've all accepted. Now, you're going to get something which I am told is very rare for shadowrunners. Honesty. Both as to your mission, your employer, and who the hell your "Mr. Johnson" is." The officer smiled.

"I am Captain Joseph Walker, United Canadian and American States Navy. 'Mr. Roberts'...Is actually Kevin Roberts. We offered him a cover name, but he didn't take it. He is, you see, Lieutenant Kevin Roberts, also of the UCAS Navy. Though I have some surprises for him, they can wait." Walker grinned, as Roberts looked surprised.

That wasn't in the brief! Roberts thought.

"Your employer, as you may have guessed, is the United Canadian and American States. Specifically, the Navy, under authority of Congressional Acts passed 6 weeks ago and signed by the President, issuing Letters of Marque under Article I of the Constitution and appropriating final funds to this venture; prior to that, we'd been operating out of hide. The resolutions were passed in closed session of both houses of Congress, but the Letters of Marque will not, contrary to the custom of earlier times, be held by this vessel, which is named in the documents. However, they will be available for your inspection."

"Your primary mission is to act as an intelligence-gathering asset, reporting through Lt. Roberts, who will remain your case officer. Secondarily, you are to attack and capture the merchant assets and carried goods of other nations and entities....Though not, of course, those ships flying the UCAS flag, or other flags to be detailed to you. You may support yourself through the sale of such captured assets, as well as income derived from what cover we, both yourselves and the UCAS Navy, can come up with." Then he pauses.

"Your third mission...provoked a bit of debate. Your fourth provoked a lot of debate. Both got settled by the highest levels. Third, you will at times act to achieve certain direct action missions as assigned, potentially including combat or the insertion of combat forces in a clandestine manner. Your fourth mission, in the event of declared war or upon specific, authenticated orders, will be to act as a supporting asset to the Commander, Atlantic Fleet, to support war operations as a raider."

"One way in which you will absolutely not support yourself is through the trafficking of persons...Or, to put it less legalistically, if you get involved in the slave trade, you'll have become rogues and the entire force of the UCAS Navy will treat you accordingly, coming down on you like a ton of bricks. That is a direct Presidential order. One, to be very frank, that both myself and Mr. Roberts have discussed...and agree with completely." Walker looked from one crewmember to the next.

"With that said, are there any questions?"

[budoka05]

Without dropping a beat, John stepped forward briskly with hands behind his back and spoke, "Captain Walker Sir, I suggest we move out of the open to prevent any surveillance and eves dropping.

I wish to clarify restrictions concerning the transportation of persons not relevant to our missions objectives. Assuming no conflicts with our mission objectives, are we restricted from transporting potential clients, extractees, refugees, ship-wrecked sailors, and the like?

Will additional logistical support in regards to extra man-power, resources, or know-how be determined on an ongoing basis?

Under circumstances of the operation's compromise, shall we assume our employer's deniability?

In missions where we have conflicting objectives, how do you wish us to proceed? Contact you for instructions if feasible, or follow only the highest order objective?

John hoped that was enough, but dealing with a Government employer was new to him.

[Karoline]

A Troll, an Ork, and an Elf... and then a bunch of us humans Jane thinks as she glances around Though some of us hardly look normal.. she concludes, her eyes resting on Melissa's getup for a bit. She'd led a relatively privileged life, and hadn't really met many non-humans in her time. A few elves in college, though she'd not gotten to know any particularly well. An odd Ork security guard at the places she had worked for, but that was once again in passing at best. And finally a troll... sure she'd seen them in plenty of movies, and maybe saw the head of one poking above a crowd, but she'd never seen one up close before... at least not in person. He doesn't look nearly as bad as Crunch at least. she considers to herself.

Her musings over the other people getting into line is cut short as she realizes that her drones are still hovering to her sides. With a few quick mental commands, she orders them into 'single file' I thought I was done with single file in grade school an inward sigh accompanying this thought Not what I expected of Shadowrunners... then again if this were like the movies something would have exploded by now.

She listens attentively to the captain as he outlines what is happening.
A quarter will be taken even after the loan is paid? Well, I guess they have to make money somehow, but I figured our operations would be their own reward for them.
At the mention of the acts that congress recently passed, she runs a quick search on the 'trix to find out what exactly these detail.

She rolls her eyes at John's first question, and can't help replying "Weren't you listening? Trafficking of persons, it means slave trade, not taking people on a cruise." before she can stop herself. She realizes right away she likely shouldn't have said anything, and so becomes quiet, instead focusing on what her search has pulled up.

[Marwynn]

Miami: 1 June 2072, 0900 EDT/1300 Zulu: Pier 34, Port of Miami
[Jonas]
Pier 34

Jonas nods to Roberts as he recognizes the group. He smirks a bit at the lady in the pirate get-up, though more appreciatively and not in a mocking manner. He did say dress for sea activity...

He blinks and shifts perspectives, looking into the astral. Not willing to break decorum to assense superior officers, even when it sometimes saved your bacon in the field, Jonas contented himself with staying silent and watching the astral for threats. Lingering spirits, trace auras that shouldn't belong, security and the like.

Falling into single file near the middle, force of habit, he keeps his astral "eyes" open: a quick glance through his group's aura tells him it'd be wise to do so. Not another magician in sight, guess I'm 'Heavy Mana Support' again.

A raised eyebrow was all the reaction he gave to the revelation by Captain Johnson... Walker, that is. Not that he didn't suspect, Jonas just had certain preconceptions about shadow-dealings. This was on the up-and-up compared to what he'd had to do before, even in Special Forces. Training and decorum warred with self-preservation as Jonas tried to overcome the need to blurt "Sahr, yes sahr!" by tempering everything he'd heard with a profound suspicion.

Why us? Most of this could've been done by a few teams. Letters of Marque, I get that but... it's easier to grab some specialists, stuff them on a boat, and give them direct orders. With half a mil on a modified yacht we're not exactly that easy to deny.

He remains silent, for now, and scans the astral space with one ear devoted to the briefing.

[ Spoiler ]

Astral Perception Test (6d6.hits(5)=4)

Catching Robert's aura and look, Jonas sinks back into his mundane senses. He returns with a look of "It's why you hired me" and devotes his attention to the briefing.

[Whizbang]

Miami: 1 June 2072, 0900 EDT/1300 Zulu: Pier 34, Port of Miami
Melisandre the Red
Pier 34

Melisandre listened to the Captain's spiel with growing excitement. A letter of Marque...she was barely able to contain herself from jumping up and down, and settled for following in line. "Wow....we really are going to be pirates!" she chattered in excitement. "Or privateers actually. Big difference." She caught the Captain's glare, and brought a hand up to her mouth as she bit down on further chatter. It was evident that it was going to take awhile to get her used to military discipline.

[CollateralDynamo]

Miami: 1 June 2072, 0900
[Robert "Zalermo" Bennicimo as Willard Dermott, PI - Hidden]
Pier 34

As Bobby fell into single file with the rest of his "team" he began to acquire a sinking feeling in his stomach. This wasn't how runs were supposed to go. Everyone knew Roberts was ex-military, but this was still too formal, even for him. Did Roberts know of Bennicimo's past? Was he about to get dragged kicking and screaming to the world of paper pushing, he hoped not. And what about the rest of these men? Some had the bearing of soldiers, but clearly they couldn't all be from some sort of government. Perhaps the job was, in fact, on the level, even if Roberts wasn't quite what he seemed.

It wasn't long before Bobby had figured out who they were dealing with, UCAS. They could be nice enough, when you didn't have step on their toes. Or near their toes. Preferably, it was better that you acted like you didn't even know where their toes were and didn't step anywhere like a good little boy. But as Captain Walker began to speak, Bobby began to calm down again. This was a shadow op., for sure. And it sounded like they were already attempting to paint us as good guys in some sort of encounter. Perhaps everything would work out fine.

He stood at ease, waiting his turn to ask questions. When the group finally began to settle he took a step forward. Bobby changed his bearings minutely to seem comfortable and in control, he gave Walker a smile and looked him straight in the eye. He wanted to put the captain just a little out of sorts, get a man a little stressed and sometimes you get to see another layer. Then Zalermo did what he did best and tried to ooze some charm. He asked his questions individually and waited for responses, taking the exact words and meaning into consideration before moving on to the next.

"Captain, you said that all of the UCAS supports this mission, what then, are our resources, other then the presumably SOTA ship and equipment you are offering us?"

"Do we have any ports of harbor we can call home now? That is to say, if we were to get into trouble out there, what sort of support could we expect from you?"

"Are all members of the team present here citizens of the UCAS? If not, how can you expect them to strike at all foreign powers, and protect your own interests so well?"

"What means of overwatch do you intend to enforce on this ship. Obviously you have selected a team you can trust, but how many satellites do you intend to have pointed in our direction keeping track? This goes back quite nicely on the earlier question. Are you going to support us while we were out at sea, or do you plan to get in our way?"

"Has a Captain and other officers already been elected on our behalf? If so, I would like those choices to be made known immediately."

"It is my impression that Letters of Marque tend to only be issued immediately prior, after, or in the middle of official military actions. As the UCAS has not been officially at war in quite some time, and to the best of my knowledge they have not made any declarations in the past week or so, should we expect one forthcoming? More importantly, in this next 48 hours that you will have us 'training'? I ask because this will noticeably impact our involvement on your third and fourth points, and thus change the nature of our missions."

His questions were definitely more pointed then they should have been. Anytime that Bobby felt he overstepped his bounds he gave his best disarming smile. But he continued to peer into the captains eyes. So Roberts is a spook? Is that ironic, or coincidental?

After his round of questions he stepped back in line and attempted to send messages to the other members of his team, those that were not operating in hidden mode at least. <When it comes down to price and terms on this loan, let me do the talking. I'll try to get us a better deal. This paying a quarter of our wages for the rest of our lives drek is for the birds.> People always seemed to want to help Bobby when it came to negotiating numbers, sometimes they'd even decide it was a good idea to threaten for more money...Bobby liked to do it alone, then he could control the variables.

As the inevitable torrent of questions for Captain Walker died down, Bobby made an attempt at negotiation, "Obviously, sir, the crew you have selected has been chosen because they are the best men available for the job. That said, you have specifically chosen to hire outside normal channels, for clear reasons. As such, you must realize that our work is different then the kinds you are used to, and I believe another look needs to be made into the details of payment that were discussed earlier.

"You said that a quarter of the money we garner is to go to paying off this 500,000 loan. Firstly, how are we to be certain the goods you have loaned us are worth that much? Secondly, when you say the amount of money we gain, you are clearly speaking after expenses, correct? If our ship were to suffer damage, I presume you are not offering us insurance for free repairs. Clearly we cannot be forced to decide between paying you your quarter now and fixing our vessel for a future encounters, allowing us to continue paying you in the future. It only makes sense that you would require your sum after expenses.

"On top of this, once we have already paid off our loan to you, how is this any different then a privately owned vessel? We will have purchased the ship and all of its resources. For what reason do you request a full quarter of our gains? We are not the military, we do not work for you. When we disappear you will not be in the business of informing our loved ones what happened, nor will you be paying out a life insurance policy. Quite the contrary, in fact, if something were to happen to us, you would likely be capable of retrieving what of our resources still remain and use it for you own personal gains once more. What I am trying to state here is, once we've paid off our loan to you, what services will you be continuing to provide? And, unless that service is quite above and beyond the value that I'm thinking, the amount we would owe you for it should be drastically reduced. No greater then ten percent of our take, AT BEST."

"We are taking an awful risk working for you, and ignoring quite a few easy pay days in order to work with you. You have selected US to work for YOU, you must assume that we are both trustworthy enough to repay the loan, and capable enough to see that your goals are met. Our skills come at a price, and our ongoing discretion while at sea, especially after we repay our debt to you, would seem to be a favor we would be doing you."


Bobby would be quite displeased if the captain had decided his terms were non-negotiable. They already seemed slightly unfair, and an unrelenting task master cracking the whip on this long term job would make things that much worse. So instead Bobby pushed his luck, laying the charm on thick, but not taking "no" for an answer to his negotiation.

[MusicMan]

Wednesday, May 19 2072OS 0900EDT/1300Zulu
Alexander Andreou-passive
Pier 34

Alexander brought up the rear of the line and followed Roberts. He listened to the exchange between Roberts and the guard, and found it a little too formal for the situation.

As he caught sight of the guard's helmet, a knot formed in his stomach. While all of Alexander's "jobs" had been performed overseas, he had still done his share of illegal activity. He toyed with the idea of knifing the guard and trying to run, but decided that with all the cops on the pier, he would never make it out.

This is far too much work and show for a simple "J." I wonder who is employing us.

When he saw the officer and his rank insignia, a good many things fell into place. He racked his brain to remember where the naval rank of captain fell in the command structure, luckily both the Hellenic States and UCAS had retained the old NATO system: a naval "captain" was the same as a colonel in the Army. This man was fairly high up on the chain of command.

Black ops it is then. Naval work, I guess that is why I was selected, I've been through amphibious warfare school and earned my green beret. I wonder about the others, the one in the pirate outfit looks a little... odd. Perhaps that is acceptable here?

Alexander listened to the Captain's briefing passively. It sounded about right for the military, through Alexander was not to keen on the idea of having his wages garnished; however with 500k nuyen worth of gear, they could theoretically make enough money that it shouldn't be a problem. The prohibition against human trafficking almost made him smile, that was good and Alexander would have refused to participate in any such order. Captain Walker talked about maintaining military discipline on the ship, this made Alexander wonder if they were going to appoint a Master-at-Arms... and then he wondered who that would be: some of the people here looked like they had never spent a day in the military. He said a quiet prayer for whoever was given that responsibility, he remembered quite clearly from his own experience just how frustrating such an assignment could be.

He ticked off the orders in his head:
1. Gather intelligence relevant to the interests of the UCAS Navy... without a good deal of direction in where to look, this will be next to impossible. Though, Captain Walker is promising to brief us on targets, therefore it should be quite doable.
2. Disrupt the commerce shipping of rival powers... this is rather straightforward, and understandable.
3. Provide clandestine transportation and infiltration/exfiltration of UCAS personell as needed... I've done that several times, it's hard, but nothing we shouldn't be able to handle with the right equipment and planning.
4. In the event of military action, act as a supporting ship for the UCAS fleet... that sounds like most of my enlistment.
I need to remember to inspect the orders... for the most part this sounds rather agreeable, perhaps I can negotiate a position within the UCAS Marine Corps, and be able to retain my former rank... that would be nice.

Most of his questions were answered, with the rest of the answers having been promised when the exact mission details and the ship's manifest were delivered to him. Suddenly the elf spoke up, and Alexander had to fight to not sigh and roll his eyes.

Did you miss all the police and guards on the pier? Were you not listening?... there's one in every unit, I just found the one in mine.

He then heard someone else ask questions that were much more relevant and fairly valid. Alexander was a much more patient person, but the questions were valid. Then an ARO popped up to notify him that he had a message. He brought up the message, and wanted to reach over and strangle the moron... he quickly replied, but in his frustration, he sent the message in Greek...

[ Spoiler ]

Be quiet you fool! You can't question the word of a ranking officer unless you can prove something!

[Ears]

Wednesday, May 19 2072OS 0903 EDT/1303 Zulu
Simon, private
Standing in the line "at ease" with his duffel bags behind him, Simon keeps his eyes fixed on some spot far far away and straight ahead and tries to keep his face as blank as possible while pondering the situation.
A military command structure. Good, I like that. If everybody can accept that, we'll be minus a lot of trouble.

Hearing the questions - and the way they are phrased - he can't help but grin a bit.

There goes the idea of military protocol. Let's see what the responses sound like. Tough luck on the negotiation front though buddy. Unless we all missed some serious news, this government isn't that desperate. Yet. Besides they hand us half a million of assets right at the start. A far cry from that one time where we had to raid the treasury to collect our pay after successfully getting rid of those rebels.