[X] My Assistant

[zed]

OOC thread here

September 14th 2072
Somewhere in Manhattan
11:40AM

Sammy limped through his busy automotive workshop to the Bulldog parked in quiet corner. The rain and damp affecting his joints and the injuries he had sustained in a past life, in a distant city. The old dwarf paused a moment as he ran his hand over the immaculately kept body work, feeling, rather than seeing, the scars of old battles. He smiled for a moment then shook his head, clearing the memories and brining himself back to the presence. He logged into the bulldogs node and issued the unlock command. The rear doors clicked open and the dwarf climb in pulling them closed behind him.

He sat himself at a small desk and began to work. The job had come in less than two hours ago and like normal, the expectation was he'd get a team together and over to the Johnson meet in the next 6 hours. What little he'd been told suggested he would need to pull together a more seasoned team. Well his cut of the Nuyen told him that much at least. Sammy eased into his private node and began looking over the contact information of the runners he'd met or been introduced too since he arrived in New York.

An hour later and he had the final list.

Scorch, Vamp, Crowley, Phill and Thomas Badeaux he thought running over the names again, All seasoned, if not veteran runners And from what he knew of each of them they could handle themselves well. His only concern was a lack of physical muscle, but he knew that didnt matter one bit half the time you ran through the shadows.

He wrote a text message and sent it across to each of their commlinks, the ones he'd been given at least.

<Mr Johnson requests your presence at the Renraku Regus offices, Lexington Avenue 4pm prompt. Ask for Sombra Negro Inc. acknowledge attendance and remember It's all about the Nuyen boys>

Sammy smiled. His usual catch phrase closing the message would tell the runner exactly who the message was from. Job done he locked the van and return to the shop, yelling at his lazy workers to pick up the pace.

[Trigger]

11:42 AM : September 14th, 2072 : Vamp's Doss, Central SoHo

"Frag your god damned buzzing," cursed Vamp as he rolled over on his large queen bed, reaching for his buzzing commlink on the night stand that was just out of arm's reach. Grabbing the buzzing devil, he quickly read over the new message from Sammy, the light off the comm illuminating his face in the pitch black room, only tiny slivers of light entering the room directly below the black out curtains.

Alyssa stirred next to him, rolling over and curling up against Vamp's side. Vamp gave his pet a warm smile, running the fingers of one hand through her hair as he typed out a return message to Sammy.

< Thanks chum, I will be there. Next time, can I get a meet during the later hours? (IMG:style_emoticons/default/smile.gif) Thanks again though. >

Vamp set his alarm for two hours later, laying back down to get a couple more hours of sleep after the late night out at DV8 last night. Alyssa had performed so well, taken his floggings and whippings with barely a sound, obeyed his every command perfectly. He would have to remember to get her something nice after this next run.

1:45 PM

Vamp rose feeling more refreshed, if still a little pissed about being awake during the daylight, than he had two hours ago. He slipped in a nice pair of black slacks, a tight white dress shirt with a mandarin collar, and slim black vest with tiny white pinstripes, paired with heavy, steel toed biker boots. On next went his concealable shoulder holster, complete with his newly plasteel modded Ares Predator IV, loaded with a clip of Stick n' Shock. Vamp then meticulously combed his long black hair, added light black eyeliner under his eyes, put in his contacts, and added a nice layer UV protective cream to his face, which if anything, made his white skin paler. His AR gloves protected his hands with smooth black leather, and his commlink added a nice silver highlight to his beltline. Vamp was, if nothing else, a creature of style.

Grabbing his Form Fitting Body Armor, he tossed it in his coffin briefcase with his sword weapon focus, other clips of ammo for his gun, along with its silencer, as well as his gecko gloves, medkit, and respirator. Quickly going over his mental list of equipment in his head, he grabs one of his survival knives from under his pillow and tucks it into the hidden sheathe in his boot.

Finally ready for the day, Vamp gives Alyssa's sleeping from a quick kiss of the cheek before tossing on his lined coat and grabbing his bike helmet as he heads out the door. Vamp's apartment is on the third floor of a ten floor apartment building in central SoHo. It is occupied primarily by artists, writers, socialites, and college students, all of whom keep their own private hours; it was the perfect place for him. That and they didn't bat an eye when a couple of his chums from his magical group crashed in his doss. It was nice.

Vamp took the elevator down to the below ground parking garage for his building, his bike one of a dozen in the garage, though his was the only one painted so well, or with the subtle combination of acid green and black that marked him as an Ancient. Securing his helmet, with it's crucial tinting that allowed him get around during the day, he disabled the anti-theft system on his bike, warming it up with a command from his comm, and then taking off onto the streets of the Big Apple, once again mentally thanking his hacker buddy, Ghost-In-The-Link for the white strip access that he had attached to his Fake SIN.

While riding over to the Renraku offices, Vamp loads up his new Agent on his comm with the Browse program and sends it out into the 'Trix looking for information about this Renraku Office and Sombra Negro.

[BlackHat]

September 14th 2072
Terminal, Manhattan
11:30AM

The delivery drone hummed annoyingly, just outside of the doorway to Scorch's flat. It waited patiently, as the young man fumbled with the interface on his new commlink. The device - a Sony CommClip AR-X - was fresh out of the box, as of this morning, and although he had spent a little bit of time customizing some of the options the OS exposed, the device was cheap, and Scorch had was quickly becoming frustrated with it. In a moment of peak annoyance, after the device's signal dropped ominously again, he smacked the commlink against the door frame, and - for a brief moment, during which his AR scrambled and overlapped with his "natural" AR - Scorch could swear he heard the drone snickering at him through the static noise of its radio signal. For a moment, Scorch considered trying to communicate with the thing, directly - which would certainly have been easier - but he would still need to provide access to his SIN, so he continued working with the flaky device, and its clumsy AR interface.

Scorch managed to regain his composure, and was able to provide the drone with the identification it was requesting. Satisfied, the delivery drone opened its storage compartment and allowed Scorch to reach in and take the package within. He looked it over quickly, before accepting the final prompt from the delivery drone, and, no sooner had he done so, the drone closed its storage compartment, spun in place, and began its journey back to the delivery van. It moved with haste, as though attempting to make up for the time lost waiting for Scorch to figure out his new commlink.

Back inside, Scorch cleared away some room on one of his benches, letting the cords and optical chips fall to the floor. His apartment was not especially small, but the clutter of random simsense equipment gave the impression of a much smaller living space. To the average person, the clutter was the typical mess one might expect from a modern technophile - but to the simsense enthusiast, Scorch's collection of sim modules, cryptosense converters, simsyth equipment, and various special-purposes processing devices would be rather impressive. There was enough equipment littered throughout the apartment to put together a small-scale sim production from scratch, not to mention the crown-jewel of his collection - a rack of devices that took up an entire closet in Scorch's bedroom - the Renraku MR-X ASIST Reprogrammer. Anyone capable of recognizing this device would understand that Scorch's interest in simsense was far more than a hobby - and that such a dangerous device has no business being in a place like this, or operated by a person like Scorch.

After unboxing his new toy - a brand new Horizon Hex simdeck cluster - Scorch set each blade into its place on his entertainment system rack. He took his time. He pulled each separately-wrapped component from the box, and looked it over carefully, before following the instructions to connect it to the rest of the system, and to the main power source. Computer hardware had never been something Scorch was particularly good at - but it interested him, so he was enjoying himself. Luckily for him, these were off-the-shelf consumer products, and only required minimal assembly - and was theoretically designed to be "idiot-proof". These top-end components expected a certain amount of end-user familiarity with their product, but nothing Scorch couldn't get through on his own.

Once the power was connected, the devices entered standby-mode and with a mental nudge the system came to life. The dimly lit room became noticeably brighter when devices of all shapes and sizes sprang to life on almost every surface. The dull hum of power felt comforting, as did the buzz of wireless communication, and Scorch sank back into his ergonomic chair, closed his eyes, and opened his mind to the swirling storm of electronic activity surrounding him. In moments, he was immersed in the Matrix - but not the Matrix he was used to. Between the stock Horizon user interface which filtered out the vast majority of the data passing through his home node, and the standard BRA peak controller which filtered out the dangerous signals, the Matrix that Scorch experienced was quieter, safer, saner, and it looked gorgeous - which was the whole point, after all.

Scorch spent a few minutes enjoying the new quality of his sim-feed, even neglecting a number of chat-requests from a couple of Matrix-friends, but his attention was stolen by an alert of a new message waiting for him at one of his online drop-boxes. He couldn't be sure where the message came from, as the sender had not included a reply-to address - but if it was sent by who he thought it was, it meant some much-needed work. It also meant he would need to get moving.

The job sounded corporate - not a look that Scorch pulled off particularly well - and unfortunately he didn't have many options for dressing up, given that his closet was filled with illegal computer equipment, rather than clothes. Scorch had to think that their expectations would be low, if they were putting together a team of runners, but he figured he might as well go for a look that didn't scream "beetlehead" or "burnout" quite as much as his current look. He took a second to bring up another AR window showing his balance in his online accounts - under 10K, but not by enough that he was worried, yet. A few seconds later, he had dropped (IMG:style_emoticons/default/nuyen.gif) 600 on a the latest version of Body Shop, and a premium account - which he downloaded to his crappy new commlink - which would need to be broadcasting his SIN in public mode, anyway. He spent a few more minutes downloading and "trying on" a handful of suits, hair-styles, and accessories, and finally arrived with a look for his AR appearance that he was happy with. He stood before an AR duplicate of himself - at least the self that those who subscribed to his public PAN would see - which was wearing a neat-looking modern suit, had short well-groomed hair, and shades. His actual appearance would fill in the missing areas on his AR model and would certainly detract from this corporate look. It was a token effort, at best, but for a few hundred bucks, and a few minutes of work, Scorch thought he had done pretty well. With a gesture, he put the model away, for now - he wouldn't want to be seen wearing that in this part of town.

As he headed out, Scorch grabbed his taser - a token effort at personal protection - from the table near the door and concentrated on one of his favorite music-steaming nodes. He didn't have any trouble deciphering the signals coming back, and requested a custom stream of music, which began to fill his head, immediately, with one of his favorite bands. Compared to dealing with the delivery drone, earlier, this, more complicated task, was a walk in the park.

Outside, his neighborhood was unusually quiet. It was early afternoon, and the dealers, junkies, and other hoodlums he that usually prowled the area would not be out for a few more hours. The few homeless and truly destitute people he passed were wrapped up in their own problems, or delusions, and were not going to bother Scorch on his way to the bus station. With luck, he would have time to stop at a mall, or something, and buy some nicer (or at least cleaner) clothes to make sure he made a good first impression.

[Generic_PC]

September 14th 2072, A tiny apartment in Brooklyn, 11:47AM

A Shower is running. "Ya ya, I'm coming. Just taking a shower. Goddamn work never stops." Thomas Badeaux, feeling a little like a wet cat, puts on a towel and walks through his apartment, which is covered in all manner of junk. Coins, cards, pieces of paper, empty bottles, innumerable pieces of junk hang from the ceiling, sit on shelves and decorate the floor. It looks like a mess, but there seems to be an order behind the chaos, just out of reach. He meanders to the tiny kitchen, taking his time and pulling an orange from the machine as he grabs his commlink off the table, checking the new message. <Mr Johnson requests your presence at the Renraku Regus offices, Lexington Avenue 4pm prompt. Ask for Sombra Negro Inc. acknowledge attendance and remember It's all about the Nuyen boys>

He sighs, then texts back to his newest criminal friend in New York, stopping occasionally to peel the orange. As he does so, he brushes a card hanging from the ceiling. It crackles slightly, and he looks pleased. <If you say so Sam. Formal? I'll be there, but a dress code 'll be nice to know. Any other stuff you got for us? Maybe a general description? Thanks for the vote of confidence though.>

He dries himself off, pulling some simple clothes on. He goes to cook himself some lunch, whistling a little tune while he does.

September 14th 2072, A tiny apartment in Brooklyn, 2:09PM

Still whistling, Tom sighs, and pulls on a well tailored shirt and slacks on. Over them goes a long coat, and a concealed holster, built into the coat, is filled with an Ares Predator he recently acquired. A clip full of stick and shock goes into the gun. A glasses case goes into an inside pocket also. He throws the commlink, registered to one Geoffry Dunn, into another pocket, and before leaving, grabs an old deck of playing cards, beginning the trudge to the nearest subway station. The brisk air and weak sun is much too cold for his southern sensibilities, even after so many years, and he's thankful for the coat as he leaves the building. Being Manhattan, the Subway station isn't too far, but it never hurts to be early. He smiles at Le Fay, his spirit, and she smiles back. "I've got a good feeling here Thomas. I'm seeing money here." Tom replies. "I'm liking it too. We've only got two months of rent left."

[Ol' Scratch]

| 11:46 AM | September 14th, 2072 | Crowley's Loft in Hell's Kitchen |

Crowley sits comfortably in a plush gentleman's chair that seems completely out of place in an otherwise spartan shithole of a loft. Dressed simply in a pair of blackened jeans and a burgundy t-shirt, he's paging through a heavy tome entitled Ars Thaumaturgica ex Miscellanea when the quiet serenity is suddenly disturbed by the arrival of three ravens.

The ravens, composed of blackish mist, caw incessently as they manifest into the physical realm. They fly noisily around the open loft before finally perching themselves upon a single rafter. They suddenly grow quiet. The two smaller birds look to their larger brother as if unsure what to do, while their elder simply gazes upon their master expectantly. Never taking his eyes off of his book, Crowley addresses the three spirits.

"I presume your silence means you didn't find the blade."

The two smaller ravens create a cacophony of cawing before their elder silences them with a glare. "We're afraid not, warlock," the avian whispers macabrely into the conjurer's mind. "Numerous obstacles stood across the boroughs five. Of those we could observe, that of which you seek was nowhere to be found."

With a sigh, Crowley closes his tome and moves to stand. The tome — an illusion of simsense — flickers for a moment before vanishing into thin air as he tosses it to the side. He looks up to the rafters and nods tightly. "Very well. Thank you for your efforts as always. Perhaps we can try again at a later date. The three are you are free to return from whence you came."

The raven bows its head respectfully, followed by the two watcher spirits that had been accompanying him. Then, just as Crowley's commlink begins to hum and dance from across the room, the ravens disperse like vapor in the wind.

Disappointment finds its way onto the magician's face. He's been here for over six months and not even so much as a hint of the blade's presence in the region.

Crowley looks over to the jittering device interrupting his brief reverie. Through sheer act of will facilitated by a wireless connection, a screen appears in his line of sight with Sammy's disturbing visage filling it completely.

"Well, at least the day won't be a total bust," he think while mentally typing a response to the dwarf. <Acknowledged.> The mage grins to himself, knowing just how much Sammy hates it when he's curt.

Checking his watch and seeing that he had quite some time before the meet, Crowley decides to head down to Chinatown and browse through some of the apothecaries to see if he comes across anything interesting. Maybe even stop by Egg's parlor and let him know how the search goes. He walks over to the cabinet housing his commlink and grabs a long coat from the stand nearby. Sliding the commlink into an inner pocket, he takes up his staff and heads to the elevator.

[BlackHat]

September 14th 2072
Times Square, Manhattan
1:10 PM

The majority of the bus ride was a blur. Scorch allowed himself to get lost in his music, and other online distractions in AR, pulling his attention back into the real world only when he received an alert on his commlink from the public transportation system, informing him that his Commuter Pass was being scanned (at the borders between Terminal, Downtown, and Times Square) or that he had reached his destination - a bus station in Times Square. The people on the bus seemed similarly absorbed in their own thoughts or AR and a few, who were not traveling alone, even had the courage to drop into VR.

As he exited the bus, he was assaulted by gigantic multi-story AR advertisements. His commlink filtered most of the spam down to a manageable level, but his living persona made him aware of every bit of corporate propaganda that floated around public AR space. Fortunately, his living persona was basically invisible to those same nodes, which were constantly scanning with telemetry software for nearby public PANs to harass with directed, personalized, messages, which were designed to bypass the usual spam filters. His new commlink - which was required to broadcast his identity in public mode - was easy prey for these commercial predators, and Scorch found himself beset by both, and struggling to differentiate the AR icons and images from the real ones as he navigated the urban commercial labyrinth in an attempt to purchase what was, for all intents and purposes, a disguise. As he made his way between several shops, he avoided the other shoppers and store employees, most of whom seemed to look at him strangely as he attempted to pick up virtual outfits, or access RFID data by touching real ones - but he eventually settled on an outfit that looked a bit better than the one he had been wearing for the last few days, but which he could also feel comfortable in. The look was a little more "corporate punk" than "corporate", but he was happy with it. He spent a little longer than he had intended looking around various software shops, electronics stores, and even stopped outside of a drone retailer for a while looking at a Transys Steed, before deciding he should wait until after this new Job to spend this month's rent.

He took a return-bus back to his apartment, where an attractive girl his own age, with synthetic hair and glowing eyes, had attempted to strike up a conversation with him, which he had uncomfortably avoided, and then regretted once she had slipped back into her own Matrix activity and lost interest in him. He spent the rest of the bus ride nervously biting at his fingernails and trying not to look like he was watching her navigate her own AR, which is what he was doing. He also accessed her public profile. They had some interests in common - bands, simflicks,etc - which was probably why she had approached him in the first place, and this only served to make Scorch feel worse about his decision to dodge her attention earlier. When he got up to leave, he sent an virtual contact ARO to her public PAN, just in case she was interested in chatting latter, online, and then quickly got off of the bus before she could look and see how embarrassed he was quickly becoming.

Back in his apartment, he spared just a few minutes to rest his mind and let the dull throb of electronic noise relax him before changing into his new outfit. He put the old one away, and made a note on his commlink to do some laundry soon, and then headed out again for the meet. It was later than he had hoped, and Scorch decided to call an auto-cab to take him directly to Lexington Avenue. This was a little more expensive than taking public transportation, but with the money Scorch saved by not leasing a car in a city like this, it wasn't outside of his budget. It also avoided any more awkward meetings with strangers on buses.

[BlackHat]

September 14th 2072
Times Square, Manhattan
2:45 PM

As Scorch climbed into the auto-cab, he checked the text-message one more time to make sure he had the correct address. As he read through it, a few words which had confused him, earlier - and which he had passed off as nothing - suddenly made sense.

"Acknowledge attendance." Shit, I was supposed to text him back.

As his heart raced, and stress-levels rised, Scorch felt his mind reach out into the matrix - instinctively directing the flow of information to the address he had for Sammy. It wasn't on purpose, and before Scorch could reign in his signal, he had already sent a short raw wet-record simfeed of his emotive track - ripe with embarrassment and a sense of urgency. The stream probably wasn't dangerous, and Scorch wasn't sure if the interface Sammy used to check his messages would even be able to make sense of the data, but the accident did nothing to improve his feeling about the situation.

Pull it together. Sammy is looking for professionals. Act like one.

Scorch sent off a follow-up message, from his commlink, and figured <If you haven't already opened that previous message, don't. Sorry about the late reply. I'm in, and on my way.>

[malachite333]

September 14th 2072
Somewhere in the matrix.
3:00pm

Phill lazily hovered in his node as he often did when not on the job critiquing the spam mail a false account he made specifically for the purpose had accumulated. After all he heard once that you should always remember your roots. As usual Aztechnology was always on top of it's game, but some of the smaller local corps had been very creative and he had to give them kudos.

He was interrupted by a buzzing and a message materialized in his hands. He read it once, shook it removing the text from it and sent it back with “acknowledge attendance” hastily scrawled on the other side. After that he stood up, walked out the front door and headed off to the meet.

[zed]

September 14th
Sammys Automotive chop shop
1:00PM - 3:15pm

Sammy groaned to himself as the ARES beaurocratic continued to bemoan the costs of having his 2009 corvette restored to its former glory. A task, Sammy had tried to tell the man, that was proving difficult though not impossible and that was the reason for the higher than expected bills. Sometimes he wished he could simply turn off that commlink and ignore Sammuel Goldberger for good and just focus on the other sammy, the one that the acknowledgements where streaming into.

He smiled to himself at Vamps inconvenience. Next time he'd suggest a meet with a Johnson at the top ot the empire state as the sun burst through the clouds and announced itself on the world. But then Vamp was useful and sammy decided he should at least try to accomodate him.

When thomas' message came through he realised that the Johnson hadnt actually mentioned dress code. Odd really given they'd be meeting in a Business center. he wrote a quick message back to the man <Dress smart would be my guess but no specifics from Mr Johnson on subject matter or descriptions.

The final acknowledgements arrived and Sammy relaxed. All 5 had opted into the job, that was a promising start.

***

[All - the following is generally available information which requires no real search on the Renraku Regus offices]

The Renraku Regus building occupies what was, in the early 20th century the Chrysler building at 405 Lexington Avenue, directly across from Grand Central Station. The office has a public access node: here. Although in 2072 it occupies the entire building providing what it known as 'rent an office' The amieties include permant fixed offices , meeting rooms and other business facilities to rent at a farly exorbitant rate.

You cannot get information on long term leases or tenancy though from the public node.

25 years ago Renraku bought out the remaining Regus shareholder. Renraku Regus is operated as its own company, with its own CEO and board, and maintains the business model it had done in the early 2000's - that of providing business facilities to start up companies and corporate jetsetters with more Nuyen than sense (or good corporate rates)

Spoiler for Vamp

[ Spoiler ]

Sombra Negro : the first thing that comes up almost immediately is a spanish to english translation : black shadows. Sombra Negro Inc is a listed hispanic/Spanish container roll on roll off shipping company. Registered New York offices : room 05, 18th floor, Renraku Regus offices, 405 Lexington Avenue, Manhattan.

Renraku Regus: You find little more than the public information. A lot of people are unhappy at the rates they charge and there are mutterings on some discussion nodes that Renraku actually eavesdrops into its 'tenants' and sells the information it finds to the highest bidders.

[BlackHat]

September 14th
Renraku Regus, 405 Lexington Avenue
3:50pm

Scorch exited the auto-cab, draped in his new AR accessories and in a much better mood than when he had first entered. The driver's personasoft had not been too talkative, and had gotten him where he needed to be on time. He would have considered his arrival early, except that he still wasn't sure where to go, once he was in the building. The AR space outside the building was thick with spam, but far less obtrusive than it had been in Times Square. He approached the building, checking the address again, although there was no doubt which building was the Renraku Regus. Scorch looked around the public node before entering, and was balked at the front door for a moment, as he pressed his finger repeatedly against it to no effect. After a few seconds of this, he managed to get inside when another man exited the building through the same door.

Either his odd behavior or his strange appearance must have gotten the attention of the guard at the security booth, because he stopped leaning back in his chair when Scorch entered, as if expecting to have to escort the troublemaker out of the building. Scorch glanced at the MAD sensors between himself and the receptionist, and casually walked over to the guard booth. The guard slid a metal deposit box out, expectantly, and said nothing - but adjusted his belt, just enough that his pistol would be within easy reach, in case Scorch tried anything.

"I.. uh..." Scorch muttered, as he dug in his pockets for anything metallic. The first object to go in the box was his taser. He was far enough away from the bad neighborhoods that it didn't bother him to give that away. A place like this could generally be counted on to return personal protection devices, too. He put his new CommClip into the box, next, and as he did, his AR BodyShop overlay flickered and winked out of existence. He expected to find a number of other assorted wires, chips, and electronic knick-knacks in his pockets - but as he had just changed into these brand new clothes, he was relieved to find that he wouldn't have to explain what they were for. The clothes were laced with the usual consumer-product RFID tags, though, which he didn't think would bother the MAD sensors, unless it was set to be way too sensitive. They might matter if the guard did an RF scan, Scorch thought, with apprehension.

Better play-dead. Can't be too careful.

He shrugged at the guard, and began to walk towards the MAD scanner, willing his mind to gracefully disconnect and stay silent. The guard pulled the items through, glanced at them with disinterest, and pushed the commlink through a similar box on the other side. Scorch walked between the MAD sensor-bars, felling generally uncomfortable as he could feel his mind racing along his skin looking for any sign of activity, calling out into the void, and receiving no response except for the small blips of data from the RFID tags on his new clothes. Things felt eerily silent, as he had been listening to music all afternoon and now that stream of constant simsense had been cut off. He wasn't sure if he was being scanned for implants, as well - but it didn't really matter. They would not find any. He lingered on the far side of the device, for a moment, then the guard knocked on the security-glass window and made a gesture for Scorch to come get his commlink. After doing so, Scorch relaxed his mind, allowing it to reconnect to Matrix and too his commlink, and his overlay rematerialized around him. He felt better as he felt a steady stream of data rush over him, and proceeded to the receptionist's counter.

He had failed to find a tenant listing on the public Matrix node, and no directory presented itself to him as he got closer to the desk, but Sammy's message had said that he would have to ask about "Sombra Negro" so he spoke up. "I'm looking for," Scorch began, and the right side of his face twitched slightly, "Sombra... Negro... Inc." He said the words slowly, to make sure he got them right, and turned his head slightly.

The receptionist looked up at him, for a second, but then returned her gaze to whatever she was doing in AR. "18-05." The words were followed up by an ARO depicting both numbers, with an icon that looked like stairs between them. Scorch stood there for a moment, wondering what she meant and if he needed to give her his ID or not, and she stopped what she was doing and turned to him with an impatient look. Speaking to him as if he were a child, she said, "Eighteenth floor. Fifth room." She gestured in the direction the door would be, and then returned to her tasks in AR. Scorch nodded, slightly embarrassed, and headed over towards the elevator. They opened at his approach, and a number of people exited. Once inside, the interface for operating the one he was in sprang to life in AR. Scorch pressed the ARO for "18" and waited as the machine took him to his desired floor. He exited, turned, and counted out five doors - despite the fact that each of them was adorned with a numeric ARO. As he went, he passed a window, with a great view of Midtown, where Scorch paused for a moment, and attempted to change the window's perspective in AR, to no avail - it was apparently a real window. He lost interest, and continued, until he found door number five, where he stood for a moment, not sure how to proceed.

Should I knock, or just let myself in? I wonder if that receptionist let them know I was coming. He peered at the door, more intently, but wasn't able to find any AR controls on this, either. He glanced at the time, on his commlink's interface. Still a little early. He bit at one of his nails nervously, for a second, then shrugged and knocked on the door.

[Trigger]

September 14, 2072
Renraku Regus, 405 Lexington Avenue
3:30 PM

After hunting a parking spot within a block of the Regus, Vamp parks his bike in between an old Americar and a much newer Eurocar, grabbing his coffin briefcase from the it's special holster on the side of his rear wheel and setting the anti-theft system to ON and Stun with a wave of his AR gloves. Removing his helmet when he is within the shadow along the side of the building, Vamp tunes up the tinting on his contact lenses to make the daylight a tad more bearable and fishes inside the pockets of his long coat for his Snuff cigarettes. Finding the squat, slightly crushed box of Amerindian Spirits, Vamp lights one up as he starts the walk to entrance of the Regus.

Reading over the findings of his Agent as he walks, he muses to himself, 'So, a shipping company either owned by or under the thumb of Renraku. Wonder what they ship...

The front of the Regus is gleaming and shiny in AR, a homage to the Big Apple's glory days, before the Awakening and the drek-storm that followed in it's wake. Now there was just the brown, rotten core of the Apple, worm eaten and molding, hidden by the shiny AR overlays and Corporate propaganda machines. 'Conflict is natural, it is what the world is striving for. Who are we to deny the desires of the world and the Dark Mother?' Vamp wonders ruefully as he flicks the butt of his cigarette into the gutter and makes his way into the maw of the Regus.

The inside of the building is as shiny as the AR overlay on the outside, marred only by a standard MAD scanner. Vamp sets his briefcase down at his feet and proceeds to pull the AR glove off of his right hand, then quickly sliding his finger over the biometric reader on the lock of the coffin case and inputting the 12 digit code needed to unlock the maglock. Opening the case barely a crack, Vamp pulls the survival knife from his boot and drops it in the case, latching the locks with a deft snap and sliding his AR glove back on before picking the case up and handing it to the security guard in the booth.

"I need to check this with you, I presume?" he asks with a raised eyebrow, a dangerous smirk, and gleam in his eye that says that if anything were to happen to this case it would not be very good for the guard's health. He then removes his commlink from his belt and places it the box on the side of the scanner, as well his lighter from his coat pocket, and steps through the scanner, hoping that his new Plasteel Modified Predator is plasteel enough to make it through.

[ Spoiler ]

I assume that it goes through with a sound, as the MAD sensor is only Rating 2, and the first level Plasteel Mod applies a -2 penalty to detection.

Stepping through with a sound, Vamp smiles his dangerous smile at the guard again as he collects his comm and lighter. "Which way to Sombra Negro Inc.?" he asks, changing to a warmer smile.

The guard looks at him with a touch of confusion before answering, "18-05, eighteenth floor, fifth door to the right." He follows up his directions with an ARO showing the map of the eighteenth floor and a highlight on the designated office.

Vamp nods a thanks at the guard before strolling over the elevator, pinging the AR call button while he is still a couple of meters away. The door pings and slowly opens just as Vamp reaches its threshold, stepping slightly to his right to let a Japanese business man in a very nice Vashon Island Synergist Suit exit the elevator before he stepped in and dialed in the eighteenth floor. The elevator projected a slow classical piano piece over its AR interface as it rose, also bringing up the days top news articles on the back of the door, scrolling downwards as the elevator rose further into the sky. *ping* 18th Floor sang the cheery electronic voice of the elevator as it stopped and opened its doors for Vamp.

Vamp checks the time in the upper corner of his vision as he steps out of the elevator, Drek, 3:50 already. Didn't realize how long it took to walk the block. Vamp quickens his steps and rounds the corner towards the office, only to see a nervous looking man knocking on the office he was headed to. Must be another of Sammy's boys.

Typing up a quick message, he sends it off to the person in front of him as he strolls up.

<You know Sammy too?>

[BlackHat]

September 14th
Renraku Regus, 405 Lexington Avenue
3:50pm

Scorch looked up, first glancing off to one side, where the AR message appeared, then towards Vamp with wide eyes, and a slight smirk. The young man looked like someone who dressed up, but did not usually do so. His dark hair was messy, with a just-out-of-bed look that may have taken an hour to get just right, and his face looked sunken and tired, despite the energy in his eyes, which was partially obscured by his virtual shades. He wore a nice gray button-down shirt, with a black tie that wasn't tied properly and hung loosely around his neck. Both the shirt and his black slacks had deep creases, from being recently folded on store shelves and having never been washed, and the entire ensemble seemed to give the impression of someone who had rushed to make themselves look presentable. In AR, the outfit was overlapped by a virtual suit, and a handful of other accessories and AROs, all of which seemed to fit him perfectly - but this did little to alter the impression the young man made at first sight.

He seemed to be looking Vamp over, as he clenched his left hand a few times, in what might have been a nervous tick, or a series of AR commands (except that he wasn't wearing any gloves), and Vamp received a reply-message from the same public node. <Not well. New to the city, but not to this sort of thing.> The node broadcast itself as belonging to "Trever Nox" - presumably the man standing in front of the door - and offered up a good deal of, rather mundane, personal information on his public profile, most of which further counteracted the image he seemed to be trying to present, and instead painted a picture of a young "artist", with questionable taste in music, simflicks, friends, and recreational activities - most of which eluded to the sort of "scene" typically common to chipheads.

Scorch stepped to the side of the doorway, and leaned against the wall, attempting to appear casual, while he waited for someone to invite them in. Vamp's commlink alerted him to a request, from Trever's node, to establish a connection, followed by another incoming text message. <If we're going to talk biz, accept the connection, and I'll scramble the traffic.>

[zed]

September 14th
Renraku Regus, 405 Lexington Avenue
3:57PM

The door opened to the knock from Sorch. A large troll, clearly uncomfortable in a suit and tie smiled at the two men in the corridor. "You here for the Sombra Negro meeting?" he asked, then almost without waiting for a response he gestured you inside.

The room was blacked out for the most part. What light there was filtered in from slightly lightened windows in the top half of the room. The room itself was a large meeting / conference room. A big oval table with 12 chairs around it sat in the middle of the room. Water and glasses sat in the middle of the table. At the far end of the table a man was seated and an ork stood to his left. The troll closed the door behind you with an audible click as the ork smiled at you "Please be seated gentlemen. I trust the others will be along shortly"

All the while the suited man remained quiet, staring down at the table in front of him.

[BlackHat]

September 14th
Renraku Regus, 405 Lexington Avenue
3:57pm

Scorch shrugged, and muttered "I assume so," as he took a seat at the table, looking over his hosts. He put both elbows on the table, and held his head for a moment, as he scanned the room for public wireless devices.

[Trigger]

September 14th, 2072
Renraku Regus, 18-05
3:57 PM

Vamp nods to the nervous man, Trever, letting him enter the room after the troll first. Following the two of them, he accepts Trever's private connection, hoping the kid is good at hacking.

<I just hope that whoever else is supposed to here shows up soon.> Vamp texts back to Trever over the secure connection as he takes a seat, smiling at everyone in the room and adjusting his coat as he sits.

"It is nice weather we are having, wouldn't you say?" Vamp asks to one in particular as he leans back a little in his chair, stretching his back while also secretly positioning his feet to help him spring up quickly if needed. He liked Sammy, but he hadn't worked with him enough to trust a Johnson that the dwarf hooked him up with.

[BlackHat]

September 14th
Renraku Regus, 405 Lexington Avenue
3:57pm

The connection completes, allowing for the transfer of standard text, voice, video, or simsense data between the two nodes. A moment later, Vamp receives confirmation that the line is secure when the devices finish handshaking and exchanging encryption information. When he sent out his text message, the content was scrambled into gibberish an instant before the message disappeared. A second later, a response arrived in similar gibberish, but instantly decoded in front of him. <Sammy didn't mention the other talent. Still got a few minutes, though.> Scorch seemed distracted, as he sat at the table. His eyes flicked around the room, dancing between the men at the table, but occasionally jumping to something that only he seemed to be able to see.

[Generic_PC]

September 14th, Renraku Regus, 405 Lexington Avenue, 4:07pm

Well, he thought it'd be enough time. A breakdown caused the trains to be delayed almost 40 minutes. Wonderful. Dressed in his newest Vashon Island suit, Thomas ignores the envious stares he gets while on the subway, getting out at the Lexington Avenue stop. Wandering up, he realizes that he is late. Hmm. He rushes into the building. He walks through the MAD scanner without realizing it.

[ Spoiler ]

If the gun is discovered, he'll check it with the guard, producing his concealed carry license and commenting about how one can't be too safe. The other metallic things on his body certainly look commonplace enough to avoid notice, being a glasses case and a commlink.

He walks to the receptionist. "I'm here to see Sombra Negro, Inc. Where is it?" She looks up and replies in a bored voice: "18th floor, Office 5." He replies back: "Thanks kindly miss." and walks to the elevator.

Elevator music is playing while a large ork occupies the other side of the elevator. As is proper for a suit, he ignores the janitor, who gets off at the 15th floor. He walks to the 5th office, and finding it closed, knocks loudly. "I think I want another hit of Psyche. That was awesome." "No, Morgan, We aren't buying drugs, we're getting a job. Stop distracting me for a bit, I need to focus." He grabbed the glasses from his pocket and slid them onto his eyes, image link hooking up to his comm, while the numerous other modifications to the glasses started to overlay themselves on his vision.

[Ol' Scratch]

| September 14th, 2072 | A Talismonger Shop in Chinatown | Around 3:00pm |

Stepping out of a claustrophobic little apothecary, Crowley reaches into his coat and pulls out a wooden rod. As if responding to his very will, it extends itself from both directions and becomes a walking stick. The warlock's proceeds to use it as such while making his way through the crowded streets of Chinatown. His eyes dart to and fro as he assesses his environment, thankful that his tinted glasses mask any outward signs of paranoia.

After a few blocks he comes to a parking garage. On his way up the winding stairwell he comes across a small shrub shivering in the cool air. Crouching down, he brushes his fingers across a few of its leaves before whispering lightly to it.

"You seem a bit lonely, little one. Would you like to spend the rest of the day with me? I was just off to a meeting that may prove interesting, and I could certainly use the company if you'd be so kind as to join me."

The shrub seems to rustle eagerly in response, causing Crowley to smile. He stands and touches the tip of his staff to the plant while whispering some arcane chant under his breath. While veiled from the eyes of mere mortals, the bush explodes with life on the Astral Sea. It stretches mightily before looking at the warlock's staff. The spindly mass of vines, roots and leaves wraps itself around the staff and slowly seep into it through its etched runes.

On the material realm those same runes glimmer briefly before fading back to normal. Crowley hefts the staff back up right and smiles gently. "Thank you, my friend. I hope you enjoy the experience."

Using his staff to help himself back to his feet, Crowley continues his way up the parking garage. Once reaching the appropriate floor, he steps out and walks to the Suzuki Mirage parked right where he left it. "If you could do me a favor," he thinks to his new companion, "I'd appreciate it tremendously if you could try to keep yourself hidden as best you can. And if you see anything out of place, please let me know."

With that, he reverts the staff back to its more portable form and slides the rod into a tailor-made sheath under his jacket. He mounts his bike and wills it to life before heading to Lexington Avenue.


| 3:52pm |

Crowley spent about ten minutes looking for a decent place to park, putting himself in a rather sour disposition. His mood lightens ever so slightly, however, when he realizes that he's still a few minutes early. He pops open the hidden storage container on his bike and places his pistol inside before locking it securely and heading to the office building just down the street.

Closing his eyes for a moment of meditation to soothe his nerves, he steps into the Renraku Regus offices. The scanner protecting the doorway seems a bit perturbed at some of his jewelry, but the guard didn't seem too concerned by any of it.

Crowley walks up to the receptionist's counter and offers his kindest smile. "I'm here for a meeting with Sombra Negro, Inc. Do you mind guiding me in the right direction?"

[BlackHat]

September 14th
Renraku Regus, 405 Lexington Avenue
3:57pm

After only a few seconds of awkward silence, Scorch glances across the table at Vamp, and sends another encrypted message. <Next time, we should all come together. This is freaking me out.>.

[Trigger]

September 14th, 2072
Renraku Regus, 405 Lexington Ave, Suite 18-05
3:57 PM

Vamp sighs as he receives Trever's message, typing out a reply to the other man while pretending to drum his fingers on the table.

<You're telling me. I'm Vamp BTW.>

[BlackHat]

September 14th
Renraku Regus, 405 Lexington Avenue
3:57pm

Vamp's messages scrambles as it goes out, and the characters which formed the word "Vamp" remain and unscramble into the word "Scorch", then dissolve away with the rest of the message.

[Trigger]

September 14, 2072
Renraku Regus, 405 Lexington Ave, Suite 18-05
3:57 PM

Vamp's eyes widen slightly as the letters reform themselves in his vision and then disappear. He glances over at Scorch, Sounds like a chipheads nickname, and then smiles at the Johnson and his muscle, shrugging his shoulders lightly as though saying he doesn't know where the others are at.

I have to remember to have Ghost secure this thing better after this run...

[zed]

September 14, 2072
Renraku Regus, 405 Lexington Ave, Suite 18-05
4:11 PM

[Spoiler for Tom]

[ Spoiler ]

Indeed the MAD detector picks up your holstered weapon. the guard nods at the license giving it only a cursory check as you book the weapon in with the guard.

[Spoiler for Scorch]

[ Spoiler ]

The scan detects over 100 public wifi nodes dotted above and below you broadcasting SiN information. A large majority of the Companies using the Regus building also have public nodes with currently news flashes, paging and booking systems attached to them. Many are IT or Service related companies. The room you are in seems to be just a meeting room, no public wifi node present, or if it is its turned off. Neither the Troll, Ork nor Mr Johnson are broadcasting anything. Not that you expected them to.

A couple of minutes after Scorch and Vamp seat themselves another knock is answered by the Troll. You make out the words Sombra Negro and a grunt from the Troll. In strolls another man. He nods at everyone and takes a seat (OOC Crowley arrives). Then again almost 10past the hour a knock answered by the troll. This one wearing glasses and a neat suit (tom arrives).

A few moments of silence past then the man in the suit looked up.

“Good afternoon Gentleman, my name is er… Mr Johnson. Thank you for arriving promptly and I hope I shall not keep you long. I, “ a pause again, long enough for the Ork to step forward and place a hand on the mans shoulder. He glanced up and nodded, then spoke rapidly, words almost tumbling out from his mouth, “I have a small task for you gentlemen. I wish for you to ensure a package does not reach its intended destination. The package will be transported via van and armed escort in 2 days time. How you prevent the package from arriving at its destination is your concern” Mr Johnson swallows hard, “though it should be done in a manner than will guarantee it can not be recovered in a usable form.”

Mr Johnson looked slightly behind him at the Ork, who smiled a big broad smile, clearly happy with what had just been said. Mr Johnson turned back and looked at you, “I am authorized to offer you this”, he places a credstick on the table in front of him “ (IMG:style_emoticons/default/nuyen.gif) 15,000 now and a further (IMG:style_emoticons/default/nuyen.gif) 50,000 on completion. Are you interested?”

The Ork seemed to hold his breath glancing between each of you, Mr Johnson on the other hand, seemed disinterested, almost going out of his way to avoid looking at you.

[Trigger]

September 14th, 2072
Renraku Regus, 405 Lexington Ave, Suite 18-05
4:11 PM

"Well Mr. Johnson, how are we to know if it is destroyed if we don't know what the package is?" asks Vamp, knowing that Mr. Johnson will just tell him that he cannot reveal that information until the group accepts the job, but he isn't done yet. It is time to overwhelm the Johnson. "Are we supposed to blow up the transport in case the 'package's information is within the mind of whomever is carrying it? Do you know how armed the escort is? Who is escorting the package? As a matter of fact, who has the package? How will we know if they have it?"

Vamp lets the questions sit in the air for a second, leaning back in his seat and looking at the other runners at the table. As the Johnson starts to open his mouth to respond, Vamp speaks up again, cutting off the business man, keeping him offguard, breaking down his resistance. "I don't think a total of 65,000 (IMG:style_emoticons/default/nuyen.gif) is enough for a risky job like this. NYPD is watching the streets all the time, you can't even walk around with your comm in hidden mode without being pulled over. You may not think it so, but you have underestimated the risk involved for this. We need 30,000 (IMG:style_emoticons/default/nuyen.gif) up front and another 70,000 (IMG:style_emoticons/default/nuyen.gif) at completion. We are all going to need new SINs after this."

Vamp lets his last sentence hang in the air over the Johnson's head, the implication of the ALL including the Johnson if he doesn't agree to the price. Keeping his eyes locked on the Johnson, Vamp finally finishes speaking, leaving the air tense and heavy with his words and implications. Your turn Johnson.

[zed]

September 14th, 2072
Renraku Regus, 405 Lexington Ave, Suite 18-05
4:15 PM

A pause as Vamps word hung in the air. Mr Johnson seemed to sigh, imperceptably almost then he glanced at the Ork, then back to the group at the table.

"Do your associates feel the same way?" his response showing a little nervousness.