2072: Game World, IC thread for 2072: Recruitment always open! Options

[sabs]

Balefire / Fractal
[May 08th, 2072; Matrix Node: D0ntuwishUrhax0rwasdrekhotlikeme: Ur Moma's Basement]

The incoming message light revs up on Silk's commlink, setting off more viral alerts than a slotgirl in a Yakuza Massage Den. Before the automated systems can shunt the message off into neverneverland though, it actually opens up and plays on which ever output is the most publicly available.

A Giant shifting Fractal displays, pulsating to what is probably the worst Troll Death Metal ever recorded. A text Message scrolls underneath.

How's it jazzin'. I like sports. I'm in, drop me the hizzi on the izzo.

The text just scrolls, over and over again, until the message is deleted.

Fractal chuckled to himself, as he left the Troll Den. This personality was just not going to work long term, I'llhave to find a new one before meeting up with Silk in person. Hizzi to the izzo? Really who /said/ that.

His blaring headache got better the second he stepped out of that DeathMetal club. He called up an automated taxi cab, and hacked himself a ride home.

As he walked into his house, he took off the fake horns, and the facial mask. The hardest part of this personality, had definitely to be the 2 feet stilts, and all the padding to make himself actually look like a Troll. he always felt so stiff necked afterwards. He put on some relaxing classical music, and waited to see how Silk would react.

[Ears]

@Fortune's Forecast
[April 18th, 2072, 00:27:48; Everett, Bond St]
PAN=Active, SIN: John Taylor

Sure. Adrian accepts the incoming image from Saint and looks at it for a moment. Nice work. Let's see if we're lucky.

Pulling out his commlink, he walks over to a garishly decorated food stand, waits a moment and tries his luck. Hello, I'll have a coffee but actually I was wondering whether you could help me with something else. He activates his commlink's built-in projector and asks This woman here... She wanted me to come here and meet her. Well, she isn't here now and she's not answering his comm. You''ve got the intersection right before you and so I thought I'd ask you whether you've seen her?

Hmm, investigators on the Trid never talk that much. Ah well

[SoyKaf Adict]

@Fortune's Forecast
[April 17th, 2072, 00:28:20; Wall Street & Bond]
PAN=Passive, SIN: Erica Hallowford
PAN=Hidden, SIN: Vivica Leman

Saint had moved down the wall, listening to the conversation while finishing her smoke. It gave her something to do with her unused hand, planting it firmly on her forehead.

This guy's a natural.

[JxJxA]

@ E:PL
[May 19th, 2072, 09:32:33; En-route to UK]
[Erika Elite, ID "Maximilien Danton"]

In the art of wooing women, there is no shortage of "expert opinions." This is especially true when it comes to the topic of young children. Most agree that they are an unwanted side-effect of rencontres passionnantes, and should be avoided at all costs. Indeed, there are many multi-million nuyen markets and expensive medical options that exploit this particular point of view. Others see them as a frustratingly omnipresent bloc de baiser. However, there are some---including Gemeaux---who view children as an important and welcome ally in the conquête charnelle. After all, they have just recently emerged from that haven which you intend to infiltrate.

Gemeaux also has a less insidious reason for liking children. Having emerged fully grown from a Shiawase cloning tube, childhood has always been an alien concept to him. He is curious about it, and often finds their antics entertaining and educational. He finds that how people react to children often tells a bit about their personality---whether they are patient, compassionate, sentimental, or cruel.

During the flight, Gemeaux manages to betray a small glimmer of his own personality by entertaining the child. He makes a few comical faces and manages a few novice magic tricks that bring a smile to the child's face before the father ushers the toddler into the front of the cabin. As they leave, he wonders how the pair are handling this stressful ordeal. They seem incredibly ordinary, and he would quickly overlook both if not for the warning that the father was a sorcier technologique.

Gemeaux also notices that Anselm's demeanor changes once the father leaves with the child. While the priest's sense of relief could come from the sorcier technologique leaving his presence, he suspects that it has more to do with the child.

A good detail to know. I should keep watch over how the priest and the child interact, especially if something stressful were to happen en route to our destination...

[DaedalusK71]

[April 17th, 2072, 00:00:00 Puyallup Fair (10th & S. Meridian)]

The attendant had barely looked at him when he asked for a ‘room’. A good thing, he was far too tired to put up his customary illusions. It had been three days since Kecce’s man had found them. Really? Only three days? It felt like twenty minutes ago he was running for his life. Erebos makes his way past the broken lift and up the stairs to his room, ‘707.’ The octagonal door is barely wider than his shoulders and Erebos shakes his head. He had always found these places, … creepy. Funny, that, coming from a freak…

He slotted the card and the tray slid out, the coffin smells like urine and sex. Erebos shudders and turns up the collar on his long coat. The light inside sputters to life and there is a brief puff as a lemon-‘esk’ disinfectant is dispensed over the bed. Oooo, lemony. No expense is spared for you… our customer. Erebos climbed into the tray and pressed the ‘close’ stud, pretending his finger hadn’t stuck to it. The tray slides closed and a vid-screen flickers to life. Images of drudgery and despair parade across his vision; murder, robbery, politics… Erebos sighs and turns off the screen. He fishes his PAN from his pocket, no easy task in this place, and rings the one person he can count on.
Ere! Good to hear your voice, son! I thought for sure Kecce's man got you too. You ok? Where are you? No, … don’t answer that. Keep your head down til I can figure something out. Pockets was the closest thing Erebos had to a father. He had taken the boy in off the streets, given him a place to sleep and odd jobs to keep him busy.

They killed Jacob, Pockets. Nicholas just shot him dead. We were workin. We had a good con going and could have paid Kecce the money in a couple of weeks but they shot him… Erebos barely hides the rage in his chest.

Ere… Jacob’s not dead.

... Kecce has him ...

[DaedalusK71]

[April 17th, 2072, 00:25:16 Pioneer Coffins (4th & W. Pioneer Ave)]

What?! But I saw him get shot!

Shot don’t mean dead, son, trust me. Listen, you need to get out of here before Nicholas or somebody worse finds you. I know you got some cred, word on the street is you’re into Kecce for thirty large. That’s pocket change to him but you don’t pay and he’ll put a bullet in your head. You know the juice is running, right?

I can’t leave Jacob. Kecce’s gonna kill him… after he tortures him. I gotta get him out.

Ere. You can’t. Kecce is a killer surrounded by killers who have killers working for them. You got grit kid but those odds are way too long.

What other choice do I have Pockets? Leave him? You know I can’t do that.

Erebos killed the link and settled in. I’m commin Jacob…

[April 17th, 2072, 06:40:12 Pioneer Coffins (4th & W. Pioneer Ave)]

Erebos awakes to pounding on the coffin door. HEY! You paid for six hours. Time to go! The bed slides out and Erebos sits up. The man standing next to him, dressed in a pair of grungy khakis and a blue polo shirt with ‘manager’ embroidered on the breast, stands impatiently as Erebos drops to the floor. The man looks sideways as the long coat strays open. Looking down, Erebos quickly fastens the coat closed. Mind your business…

At the base of the stairs, Erebos turns into the bathroom and steps into one of the fetid stalls. Stifling the urge to gag, he calms his mind and concentrates on a familiar image; that of a tall, well dressed orc smelling faintly of … onions. He watches in the gloomy mirror glued to the door as his features morph. Fine blue-black fur gives way to smooth olive skin and ivory tusks. His bulky coat transformed into a custom tailored Armani.

Taking a moment to catch his breath, Erebos steps from the stall and, ignoring the sharp looks, steps onto the street.

[DaedalusK71]

[April 17th, 2072, 07:15:29 The Tattoo Bar (E. 38th St & McKinley Ave E.)]

It is a short walk to the bus station and an uncomfortable one to the Midland U-Store where Jacob and Erebos kept their stash. Jacobs idea, that; and pretty smart too. Pressing his thumb to the lock, Erebos waits for the machine to verify his identity and lifts the door. Looking around, he steps inside and pulls the door down. It takes a moment for the fluorescent bulbs to come to light . Erebos grabs a few items; motorcycle helmet, his mono-whips, and a handful of marbles. He drops his fake ID into a drawer and fishes out two more. Stuffing everything into his pockets, he jams the helmet on his head and straddles a sleek-looking matte black superbike. Reaching over, he presses the release and the door rattles up. The bike purrs to life and Erebos glides out onto the street, pausing long enough to see the storage unit door slamming shut. It takes less than twenty minutes to reach ‘The Tattoo’ bar, Kecce’s favorite place to do business. Parking a few blocks away, Erebos walks to the doorman, a heavy orc with dull thick-lidded eyes. Erebos steels himself with his anger. Tell Kecce Erebos is here for Jacob…

[DaedalusK71]

[April 17th, 2072, 07:18:59 The Tattoo Bar (E. 38th St & McKinley Ave E.)]

The orc stares blankly at him, clearly communicating with someone via his PAN, and nods slightly. Stepping aside, the orc pushes the door aside and bows slightly, waving Erebos inside. Erebos walks confidently though the door, looking straight ahead. Big mistake. The blow to the back of his head sends him sprawling onto the bar room floor. Patrons pause only momentarily to see if it is someone they know, then quickly go back to their drinks. Large, rough hands grab him and haul Erebos to his feet. Bleary eyed and unstable, he is pushed/carried through a set of double swinging doors into a kitchen area. A supremely thin man leans against a stainless steel prep table eating bits of food off of a cracked plate.

You got some stones comin here kid. I’ll give you that. You said sumpin bout bein here for Jacob? The bone thin man, skin drawn achingly tight across his skull, steps toward Erebos and squints. What? You thought you were gonna roll up in here an walk out wit Jacob so’s you two cud go back to that freak show of yours? Kecce’s laugh sounds like crumpling wax paper. You owe me thrity Gs… plus interest. Jacob is a … a security against non-payment. You got two weeks before I require a payment. Your cred or his legs. He smiles ferally. I can get three or four out of em. That’ll buy you another two weeks. If not, his arms. After dat… we have to get creative… Kecce nods to the orc behind Erebos who lifts him by his collar and shoves him through an door marked ‘exit’. Erebos picks himself up and wipes the oily grime from the front of his coat.
Thiry grand .. plus interest. Where the hell am I gonna scrape up that kind of scratch?

[Ears]

@Fortune's Forecast
[April 18th, 2072, 00:29:00; Everett, Bond St]
PAN=Active, SIN: John Taylor
Waiting for the woman to respond, Adrian takes a quick look around.

Sure would be nice to know whom to ask. Guess I'll have to go back to solving that riddle my uncle gave me."

With a sigh, he focuses back on the present.

[onlyghostdancesw...]

@Fortune's Forecast
[April 18th, 2072, 00:29:00; Everett, Bond St]
PAN=Active, SIN: John Taylor

The wheezy old gnome, or possibly a misfigured dwarf, coughs after looking Adrian up for a few seconds and shakes her head brusquely, "Never saw the slitch, my memory isn't what it used to be...", the sly look that she shoots Adrian out of the corner of her eye is filled with meaning, "but if yer lookin' for a good time boy, that girl over by the wall their might be able to help, she looks like them walkers that always get picked up here if you know what I mean?"

[Ears]

@Fortune's Forecast
[April 18th, 2072, 00:29:23; Everett, Bond St]
PAN=Active, SIN: John Taylor

As the gnome/dwarf denies having seen Jessica, Adrian sighs again. Did you really think it'd be that easy?

A good time; err, well, you see, that's not what...; I mean I'm not here to..." Wait, that look in her eyes and a comment about bad memory. Isn't that a combination I've seen before? The Trid? So she knows something but wants money?

err, I'm not looking for "fun". Too bad about your memory. Wonder if there ain't some sort of medication for that...

So, how much to offer? Isn't it always some multiple of 50?

Ordering his comm to prepare a transfer over 50 (IMG:style_emoticons/default/nuyen.gif) , Adrian continues Of course that doesn't come for free. Please accept this humble contribution. In AR, a closed white envelope appears on the counter in front of the gnome/dwarf.

In the shows, that's when people tend to regain their memories. I wonder what happens in real life?

[onlyghostdancesw...]

@Fortune's Forecast
[April 18th, 2072, 00:31:45; Everett, Bond St]
PAN=Active, SIN: John Taylor

The dwarf, definitely a dwarf, quickly scoops the envelope out of the AR with her NeoNet X54 gloves where on earth did this lady afford those gloves?! and tosses a very questionable looking soydog with all the fixins, in this case algaekraut, tobasco and something resembling onions, though they looked like pieces of use rubbers more than the vegetable in question onto the counter with a mess of newspaper as a napkin. "Thank you, my medication has been hard to find lately... I've a need for time, wish I could get some time omae... Oh and you want to find street walkers that never come back you check in with Doc Bailey over there." Motioning vaguely towards the hospital the dwarf turns her attention to the aging trid which sputters to life with commentary from an Urban Brawl game. "You see the Screamers this year have been doing fairly well, though no-one knows if they will be able to pull through to the World Cup with the loss of their Starting Outrider, James "SkullShack" Kurtz, to the unexpected ghoul population on Vashon Island last month... Is he really dead!? More on his possible whereabouts after the break!"

[Ears]

@Fortune's Forecast
[April 18th, 2072, 00:33:19; Everett, Bond St]
PAN=Active, SIN: John Taylor

Not what I've asked for. But maybe what I need to know?

Adrian bows slightly, takes his soydog and walks over to Saint. I'm not sure, whether she's seen Jessica or not; she wanted to share, however, that Doc Bailey at the hospital is the one to talk to if you want to find street walkers that never come back. That fits. Think we should pay that guy a visit?

He looks at the soydog in his hand, shrugs and starts to eat. Buddhist walks to a soydog stand, says "Make me one with everything"
With a smile the food doesn't warrant, Adrian takes another bite.

[onlyghostdancesw...]

@Fortune's Forecast
[April 18th, 2072, 00:33:35; Everett, Bond St]
PAN=Active, SIN: John Taylor

As the joke fades from his mind and is replaced by how terrible the taste, if it could be called that, assaults the remains of his palate Adrian realizes that he might have received more information than he thought at first glance, after all, not that many legit newspapers still put out old-school dead trees anymore. Something about the paper intrigues him. besides the fact that hes real, there is a pic that lies half covered in the questionable sauce that had been slathered over the soydog.... a pic of Jessica standing about where Adrian had moments ago with a very vacant expression on her face.

[Ears]

@Fortune's Forecast
[April 18th, 2072, 00:33:53; Everett, Bond St]
PAN=Active, SIN: John Taylor

Now that IS interesting.
Adrian uses the next availble flat surface, the wall of the house he and Saint are standing by, to flatten the newspaper page and tries to wipe away the remainder of the sauce without destroying too much of the texts and pictures on it. Hey Saint, look at this. It's a picture of her standing over there.
Let's see what she did here.
He closely examines the page.

[SoyKaf Adict]

@Fortune's Forecast
[April 17th, 2072, 00:35:16; Everett, Bond St.]
PAN=Passive, SIN: Erica Hallowford
PAN=Hidden, SIN: Vivica Leman

She looked over to the old vendor, she had thought the hag was too old not to know what shook on the street level, considering the ease with which she freely used 'slitch' to describe the woman. It carried the weight of familiarity.

"Light illuminates our path," she said with a smile, it soon gave way to determined focus as she verified the picture, "you're a natural John."

She took a quick snap of it with her eye recorder, skimming the rest of the readable text associated with the picture.

"So she had been moon-lighting in the area, and what you said about 'missing street walkers', it would suggest multiple occasions. Jessica wouldn't be missed for at least another hour or three if she had a pimp. What kind of insurance policy does this "Doc Bailey" offer?" She paused after her rhetoric a moment to work the angles, "I'm game if you are."

[Ears]

@Fortune's Forecast
[April 18th, 2072, 00:36;00 Everett, Bond St]
PAN=Active, SIN: John Taylor

Heh, someone I know would say I'm a good distance away from any illuminated path.

Sure, let's go and see the good doctor.

[SoyKaf Adict]

@Fortune's Forecast
[April 17th, 2072, 00:36:08; Everett, Bond St.]
PAN=Passive, SIN: Erica Hallowford
PAN=Hidden, SIN: Vivica Leman

"Lead on, Detective," she said, as one side of her lips curled upward. "You're the one with the directions."

[onlyghostdancesw...]

@Fortune's Forecast (Adrian/Saint)
[April 17th, 2072, 00:36:08; Everett, Bond St.]

Adrian took the lead somewhat uncertainly as images of the crime fighting trids he had watched flickered through his head, I really should have never opened my mouth! Why am I poking my head in places I don't belong? Let the KE boys do it...Omg I'm looking for the person who installed a BOMB in my fares head.... He crossed the street and started walking past the myriad points of interest catering to the vices of sailors home from exercises, the bunraku parlor, the various gambling dens and clubs and all the vermin that went with it.

Adrian and Saint slowly covered their way down Gedney street, narrowly dodging the pimps and BTL dealers who kept popping out of the shadows to offer them a "life-changing alternative". Saint felt quite familiar in a terrorized sort of way with the action of the streets; while the young cab driver dodged the street people with the air of one in a hazardous containment area, Saint dodged them because she knew what went on in these back alleys, these wolves would tear you down and sell you off soon as look at you...

Finally they arrive at the edge of the dilapidated and understaffed Everett Medical center, once run by charities of the more reputable sort this was now rumored to be a Human Nation stronghold, or at least one of the various charitable groups with questionable leanings, but noone had been able to prove anything and thus the city had never shut it down. Beyond that the level of care offered was inconsistent, ranging from top of the line, to those who could pay, to bargain counter for those who could not, but at least the basics were free.

[Ears]

@Fortune's Forecast
[April 18th, 2072, 00:36;12 Everett, walking along Gedney Street]
PAN=Active, SIN: John Taylor

Oh, certainly. If you'd be so kind as to direct your steps in this direction...
Directions I have; a plan I have not. Not getting a bomb put into anybody's head might be a good start...
...
No, sir, I don't...[color]
[color="red"]So, what exactly do we wanna know? And how do we get him to tell us that?

Adrian writes a list and sends it to his colleague.

<<from:John to:Saint>
So, I guess we'd like to know
if Bailey has seen Jessica
what their connection is
what she was doing tonight

anything else?
what should we tell him when he wants to know why we ask?
>

This last question still occupies Adrian's mind as he and Saint reach the medical centre.

[SoyKaf Adict]

@Fortune's Forecast
[April 17th, 2072, 00:36:34; Everett, Bond St.]
PAN=Passive, SIN: Erica Hallowford
PAN=Hidden, SIN: Vivica Leman

She realized, having her subvocal mic would be useful, but she'd left it at home. She waited until she could spare some of her attention toward responding, as they had a difficult enough time avoiding grifters and dealers.

<<@John: A lot of people act like they're not in the know, it's as simple as small talk. If you ask about something you already know, you can test a person's ability to lie or their willingness to tell the truth. If you ask about a person you'll get a hesitant answer, if you ask FOR the person it'll seem social. And don't let anyone tell you different, it's all about the business. If you keep things related to a person's business you're likely to keep things civil. Never ask a street doc about explosives, it sends the wrong signals. [Saint]>>

After she whipped up the message, the rest she left to normal conversation.

"It's easy. We know she's a street walker, we know she had money to spend on the operation, and we know she got it done for the express purpose of keeping her secrets safe. Work with what you know."

She was about to take a step up toward the medical center, her foot moving back to the same position as she had thought of one more thing.

"Oh, and I'm not calling you John, your new name is 'Sport,' and you might be getting some chrome tonight, or similar fair, as your initiation prize." She smiled cutely, as if intentionally to ward off any harsh responses.

[onlyghostdancesw...]

@Fortune's Forecast
[April 17th, 2072, 21:12:32 Крымские дворце (The Crimean Palace)]
[Quincy Mathews: PAN Passive][Jack Blades: PAN Hidden]

Jack quickly whisked down the passage to the dog leg hallway and, careful to not disturb any of the laundry I REALLY hope there aren't ak-98s in here... or come to think of it do I ? and knocked on the closet door as politely as his frayed nerves could manage.


The door creaked open and alina, now in a hideous floral print aprin, a nighty and pink elephant slippers smiled broadly through her missing teeth, "Oh Jack my boy you got my laundry, Большое вам спасибо, вы сохранили эту старушку так много лишений сегодня. Где мой боеприпасы? 6 случаев да?" Not understanding a word of her quickfire spiel of Russian, Jack nodded enthusiastically, gleaning that she was happy with him but beyond that not catching one iota of meaning.


She looked at him in a quisitive manner and, seeing that he hadn't caught one word of the little spiel said, "мусор! Why is my Alexi never sending me good Russian boys to train?! Always with these English only pindos... I need you to get my ammunition so we can train boy!" Two seconds later she slammed the door in Jack's face, promptly dismissing him for the second time in a very short span of time.

[Ears]

@Fortune's Forecast
[April 18th, 2072, 00:41;55 Everett, just outside the Everett Medical Center]
PAN=Active, SIN: John Taylor

Hmm, ask what we already know, ask FOR her and talk about biz, biz and biz. Sounds easy enough.

At the mention of chrome, Adrian raises an eyebrow. Sport? Why not. I wouldn't bet on the chrome, though.

Adding softly Not ever, he walks over the street to the medical center and goes in,

[SoyKaf Adict]

@Fortune's Forecast
[April 17th, 2072, 00:42:13; Everett, just outside the Everett Medical Center]
PAN=Passive, SIN: Erica Hallowford
PAN=Hidden, SIN: Vivica Leman

She perked up at acceptance of his new nickname, smiling with a purer humor this time. His direct refusal of implants had her confused though, and racing to think up alternatives in case it came to a discussion with Doc Bailey.

"What? I was thinking something like a datajack, nothing too invasive. I don't imagine your bosses much care if you're 100 percent sirloin, so what's gnawing on you?"

She focused on some new potential topics, but her eye kept bothering her. It distracted her from the conversation enough to hardly register the possibilities as to why he might not want 'ware.

[Ears]

@Fortune's Forecast
[April 18th, 2072, 00:42;37 Everett, just outside the Everett Medical Center]
PAN=Active, SIN: John Taylor

Oh, they certainly won't care if I let myself be defiled that way.

Quite the contrary. "A pilot and no control rig? What's your damage? Your so-called gift is useless anyway!"

For me it's not an option. Might as well chop my own head off...