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

[Suicidal Street ...]

Dodge: Five (5) Hits. All Sixes.

[I'm actually going to sit on this for a bit to see if anybody wants to volunteer to help me. If nobody has by tomorrow, then I will explore my terrible options.]

[unsound]

Seti:

Moving with lightning speed, you dive behind a chair as a bullet punches through the Lunar surface flooring of the club not three feet away from where you were standing before, sending a shower of gravelly chips spraying into the air.

"You dumb ox, now you've done it!" Maria screeches. She raises her foot and stomps down, driving her four inch stiletto heel right through the man's leather shoe and into his foot, pulverizing bone with a sickening crunch. He howls in pain, buckling and falling to the floor, clutching his punctured foot in agony. His gun skitters across the ground as he drops it and clatters to rest a few feet away from you.

[Suicidal Street ...]

His gun skitters across the ground as he drops it and clatters to rest a few feet away from you.

Seti scrambles for that gun like a teenager for a bra clasp.

[AStarshipforAnts]

[16:03 January 1st, 2072; TransGeni laboratories at 68th Avenue and Kenmore, Downtown]

Ah, so that was what this was all about. At least Mr. Reynolds knew exactly what kind of person he was talking to, and he was familiar with her work. And, truth be told, this was the exact sort of opportunity Dahlia was looking for. She might have to quit her more legitimate job at the hospital for a new ‘legitimate’ job at TransGeni. But, what the hell did that matter, anyway? She might even be able to get access to some nicer laboratory equipment. Hell, Mr. Reynolds probably wouldn’t even care if she got her hands on a few choice components—all the better to work with, right?

Dahlia returned the eye contact, a rather serene expression on her face in comparison to the rather intense look on Mr. Reynolds’s face. She wasn’t exactly the kind of woman who cared too much about legality, evidenced by the fact that this man had contacted her in the first place. And she wasn’t exactly the kind of person bothered by unsavory jobs. For crying out loud, this was a woman who grew super viruses in the spare bedroom of her apartment. The young woman had already made up her mind before Mr. Reynolds was finished talking. Dahlia needed the nuyen; she needed the job. The rest was just icing on the cake.

“I think I like the sound of this arrangement, Mr. Reynolds,” she smiled. Now that the man had his answer, they could make finer arrangements. Dahlia would probably have to exchange her day jobs, if only for convenience. But, at least she’d always have a relatively flexible schedule. After all, the woman hardly had to sleep.

[Combat Mage]

[20:17 January 1st, 2072; Club Penumbra, International District, Seattle]

Silver had been sitting on his stool at the bar for about an hour now, slowly sipping at his beer. He had convinced himself to go out tonight, maybe meet some new people, have some fun. No girls of course, he was faithful to Aurora, but in the month since he had arrived in Seattle he had done nothing but work on developing contacts in the shadow scene, trying to find a lead on his girlfriend's whereabouts. And he'd gotten nowhere. He needed an evening off to replenish his energy.

He had hoped to find someone interesting here, maybe a potential friend. With some luck he could even get to know a real shadowrunner. There were rumor's that said this club was a favorite among the shadow community.
But so far the only thing he had accomplished was draining his crestick by ordering drinks. How do you even go about meeting shadowrunners? He couldn't very well just ask people. Hey there, how ya doing? Might you be a professional criminal by any chance? Yeah that's sure to work, he thought sarcastically.

His musings were interrupted by the sound of gunfire. The tall white-haired elf looked up in time to see some japanese men dropping to the ground, having been shot by mafiosi that looked like they walked straight out of a bad trid show. Should I get involved in this? The decision was made for him when, to everyone's amazement, a girl with unbelievably huge breasts started talking shit to four armed men who just killed multiple people. Some people have just no sense of self-preservation, he sighed.
Getting up from his bar stool his Synaptic booster kicked in and turned the world around him into slow-motion. He focused on one of the mafiosi that was aiming at the unfortunate date of the suicidal silicone girl.

Gathering mana around him Silver formed it into a spike of deadly energy, unleashing it directly into the italian's mind.

[Suicidal Street ...]

[20:17 January 1st, 2072; Club Penumbra, International District, Seattle]

Son of a bedan bitch whore fucker! Seti was too focused, the tunnel-vision too strongly overwhelming; he grasped for the gun with his fingers straight out, and ended up knocking it even further away. Now, instead of having a weapon with which to properly defend himself, he was splayed out, on the floor, completely vulnerable. His only chance now was to keep moving, keep dodging, hoping they would keep missing long enough to get back under cover again and make another attempt for the gun.

[Red_Cap]

[20:17 January 1st, 2072; Club Penumbra, International District, Seattle]

Rhodes watched with mild fascination as the dumb blonde went psycho-bitch on the mobsters. He wasn't really a fan of organized crime, though he'd dealt with mafiosos a couple of times. But this was too good.

He watched in silent amusement as Seti leapt behind the table and again when he tried to grab one of the fallen mobster's guns, only to push it further away. It slid to a halt not twelve inches from the ork's foot. The big meta smiled, took a half step forward, and kicked it back. He nodded to the splayed-out, vulnerable guy even as he saw a pansy-looking elf move up off to his left. Huh. Drinks and a show, he thought.

[Suicidal Street ...]

[20:17 January 1st, 2072; Club Penumbra, International District, Seattle]

Seti was still cursing himself when the gun came sliding back. He grabbed it as it slid past him, looking up to see the giant, hulking, chromed ork that had kicked it back at him. Look at him, sitting there all casual. He must have tons of experience with this sort of thing!

He flipped over onto his back and took aim at the remaining mafiosos. Sighting down the barrel of this tragically maligned gun (Who sands down the sights? Seriously, now.), Seti squeezed the trigger, falling the hammer and igniting a cloud of hot gas to push the leaden ball down the barrel at roughly 800 feet per second.

[unsound]

Silver's stunbolt pierces the man's mind, shattering it like a sledgehammer being brought down on a glass doll. He crumples immediately, oozing to the floor like someone had liquified all the bones in his body. This one is down for the count.

Seti opens fire at one of the remaining mafiosos, and his aim is true. The Italian curses in his native tongue as the bullet hits him in the shoulder, but his armor jacket manages to absorb most of the impact. He half-spins, brings his own pistol up, and returns fire. His two friends, having recovered from the shock of witnessing two more warriors entering the skirmish, take a target, one each, and fire their guns.

[unsound]

CODE

>>Posted 1/04/72 in the Redmond Pioneer, an independent screamsheet giving you up-to-date coverage on all the action happening in Seattle's most savage slum (owned and operated by the Seattle Post company, all rights reserved)

"Local man found murdered in own home," by Adam Sawyer, staff writer

Local man Enrique Chávez was found murdered in his own home last night by land lady Anita Saunders, who had gone to Chávez's apartment to pick up this month's rent. Instead, she came upon Chávez's already cold corpse, left unceremoniously on his kitchen floor in a pool of his own dried blood.

"It was terrible," said Saunders. "The look frozen on his face, the smell...I'll never forget it."

Chávez was presumably killed by a burglar, who emptied the contents of his wall safe after shooting Chávez. Lone Star officials confirmed that they are not currently investigating Chávez's murder, and do not foresee opening a case file for him in the near future.

"The guy was SINless trash, this is what they do to each other," said homicide detective James Harkness. "Your readers can rest assured that their hard-earned tax dollars are being used to protect all the legitimate, law-abiding citizens of Seattle."

Chávez is survived by his ex-wife and two year old daughter, who live in another part of Redmond. They could not be reached for comment.

[unsound]

Silk:

Always as dependable as the turning of the seasons, Aria responds to your call, materializing in front of you in a brilliant light show, radiating with good cheer.

"Hullo, little sister," she says. "How's the New Year treating you?"

[unsound]

Posted on ShadowSEA VPN -> subforum='Bounties' date=1/03/72 adtitle='Paranormal Critter Hunt'

>>Looking for a runner to help us track down a paracritter that has escaped from our zoo. Critter in question is a Chill Penguin, an awakened variant of the King Penguin that is capable of casting frost spells. It escaped from our facility yesterday when one of the animal handlers forgot to engage the lock to its habitat and is loose somewhere in the Seattle metroplex. Mark prefers cold environments. Reward for tracking down the mark will be ¥5000. Mark MUST be brought in alive and in good health, reward will be forfeit if mark is injured during capture. Please contact us at 38A-9182-555J to claim your reward once you close this bounty. THANK YOU.

[unsound]

Dahlia:

"Excellent," Reynolds says. "I have a feeling that you will quite enjoy your work here at TransGeni. Now that you're officially a part of our team, allow me to formally introduce the man who will be your principle link to the corporation. Commlink, display communications channels."

A virtual grid of numbers shimmers into view in the air in front of him. He taps a few of them with one hand, and says, "Mr. Watson, could you please come into my office? I have someone I would like to introduce you to."

A few moments later, the door slides open with a hiss, and a stout redheaded dwarf walks in.

"What is it, Reynolds?" the dwarf grumbles, staring at you with a hawk's gaze. "You know I'm busy as hell trying to fix the mess those idiots at Northgate let happen. I don't have time to chit chat with little girls."

"Mr. Watson, I would like to introduce you to Dahlia Bekhit," Reynolds says with a smile. "Dahlia is the newest addition to our black operations division, and she'll be working directly under your supervision. Dahlia, this is Samuel Watson, one of our most experienced operations managers."

"That so?" the dwarf says, unimpressed. "And what makes you think you'll be useful to me, girl?"

[Red_Cap]

[20:17 January 1st, 2072; Club Penumbra, International District, Seattle]

Rhodes saw one of the mobsters point a gun in his direction and threw himself to one side; he heard the snap as the round shot past his ear. With a grin splitting his face, he drew Outlaw.

The pistol had seen a lot of custom work, and it showed. The handle had been replaced with a larger one tailored to his grip -- erga-something was the word the guy at Weapons World had used -- and replaced with honest-to-God wood. Two R's had been carved into each side, stylized in blocky letters and placed back to back. The Cavalier itself, normally cobalt blue steel, had been completely chromed over and then had Or'zet lettering carved into it along the sides of the barrel and all around the cylinder. The lettering on one side of the barrel read "The Outlaw;" the other side, in smaller script, said, "Become the Law." The wording on the cylinder aligned with each of the enlarged cylinder's nine apertures and each was the name of a hero of the Wild West, real or not: Josey, Rooster, Wyatt, Doc, Wild Bill, The Kid, Jesse, Butch, and Sundance.

Rhodes didn't even bother to bring the gun up to take a proper aim. He whipped it from the holster and fired twice, sending Wild Bill and the Kid at the goon who shot at him. He was rewarded when the mobster staggered as the hollow points blasted into him.

[AStarshipforAnts]

[16:03 January 1st, 2072; TransGeni laboratories at 68th Avenue and Kenmore, Downtown]

Oh how Dahlia disliked these dances. They were so…wasteful. Aside from establishing leader and subordinate patterns within social groups, what purpose did they really serve? But if Mr. Watson wanted to dance, Dahlia would have to dance. As the dwarf entered the room and fixed his sight on Dahlia, she was well aware of his curtness and the fact that he was calling her a little girl. And maybe someone else would have been offended. Maybe someone used to negotiations would have been able to turn that around, or simply pretend that it didn’t happen. But, it just didn’t matter to Dahlia—it was completely irrelevant to her, superfluous.

“No one ever thinks about what they’re touching,” Dahlia sighed, almost wistfully.

“It’s not as bad as it was in the twentieth century when people still used doorknobs and telephones, but it’s the same. Everyone’s worried about being shot or hacked or fired or set on fire and they just make the assumption that they’re not going to catch anything. It’s like a blind spot in everyone’s reality. But, one spritz of a little something on a favorite gun or a telecom or anywhere people put their hands, and wait a few days or a few weeks and half the department is out with the flu,” She was on the brink of bursting into laughter, a small chuckle punctuating her sentences here and there.

“And the bioware mods that could take care of it are so cheap. When I did a stint with a street doc, I never even heard of anyone going under for a pathogenic defense implantation procedure. So careless. It boggles the mind, Mr. Watson,”

It might not be that convincing, but it was the best someone like Dahlia could come up with. She put on her most winning smile, and slipped the virus pictures back into her purse, as she waited for the verdict.

[Suicidal Street ...]

[20:17 January 1st, 2072; Club Penumbra, International District, Seattle]

Seti was learning to hate that sound. Not the sound of gunfire; the sound of twigs snapping.

When you're creeping along in the woods, it means you've been careless, and people know you're around, now. When you're getting shot at, it means the bullets are flying WAY too close.

At least he wasn't alone in this fight anymore. That was nice. Another elf--a pretty one, yes, but his dye-job was a little unnatural--had come up and done something to one of the mooks, and it looked like the chromed ork had decided to join the fray, as well. The biggest advantage to a club like this, thought Seti, is you can always count on meeting new friends.

He threw himself behind a table, a took a half a moment to breath. Then he stood up, hauled the barrel of his borrowed gun in line--Seriously, who sands down the freakin' sights?!--and squeezed the trigger on another dumb gangster.

[unsound]

Proving that a true warrior can overcome any deficiency with his tools, Seti aims, fires, and hits in a stream of continuous, practiced motions. The mobster doubles over as the bullet punches through his abdomen and he drops to the floor, screaming in pain. This one is out of the fight. His partner, who has already suffered injuries at the hands of the ork gunslinger at the bar, realizes that he's all alone and none of his comrades had even drawn blood before they went down. He sets his gun down on the floor and throws his hands up in the air.

"Okay, okay, basta! I surrender! I surrender!"

[Combat Mage]

After the first mobster had gone down to his spell Silver turned around and shifted his focus on another enemy. He drew in mana, maybe a little more than he could safely take, and sent a bristling bolt of lightning through the bar that hit the italian square in the chest and struck him down like a hammer. The smell of charred flesh slowly spread through the club, mingling with the bitter taste of gunpowder and blood.

The drain hit hard, he he had exerted himself a little too much as evident by the droplets of blood rinning out of his nose. But he shook of the headache and analyzed the situation. The big ork and the unfortunate bachelor had taken care of the rest of the mafiosi. Only one of the italians was still standing, having dropped his weapon and surrendered.

Looking around the bar Silver didn't notice any severe injuries on bystanders, safe for the mafiosi and the yakuza guys of course. But maybe there had been innocents hurt in the crossfire that he couldn't see from his position.

Turning to the stunned crowd in the club he called out: "Anybody here severly injured? I can help you with that! Just come to me."

While waiting for any eventual victims to come forward he went over to the egyptian guy whose's date had been the cause of all the trouble.

"Well that was some date huh? Nothing says love like a bullet wound." He grins loopsidedly while wiping the blood from his face. "I'm Silver by the way. Nice to meet to you. Now what are we gonna do with that mafia guy?"

He looked at the big ork that had also joined the fight. "You got any ideas?" The guy looked chromed. Maybe he was a real shadowrunner? That would be some turn of luck after all.

[unsound]

The shootout having been concluded, the crowd begins to applaud, having seen the best show they're probably going to see all year. One spectator points at the bleeding barback crumpled up on the floor, the one who was unfortunate enough to catch a stray bullet from the mobsters.

"Er, he could probably use some healing," the spectator says. "I think he might be dead though."

Meanwhile, Maria, whose fury has not yet been spent, continues kicking and stomping at the mafioso whose foot she had broken earlier. The Italian is curled up on the floor in a fetal position, whimpering as he endures the full awesome force of Maria's wrath.

"You stupid *kick* ugly *kick* little man *kick* think you can just come in here *kick* and ruin a girl's date *kick* I spent an hour doing my make up tonight *kick* and you messed everything up *kick* I hate you so much!*kick* *kick* *kick*"

She pauses briefly as Silver introduces himself. "Hi, I'm Maria. I know what I'm going to do with this Mafia guy."

The mobster looks up at Silver with pleading eyes. "Please, stop her, she's gonna kill me!"

"Shut up," Maria snaps, resuming her assault on the fallen man. "I'm not done with you yet, you bastard!"

[Red_Cap]

Rhodes holsters his hand-cannon and walks over to his erst-while allies. "One in the head and one in the heart, rifle his pockets, and toss him in a dumpster." He looks the made-man up and down for a moment then shrugs. "I like his shoes, though. Shiny. Wonder if they fit me." He flashes the mobster the biggest, toothiest grin he can possibly manage -- and its a pretty big one.

[Combat Mage]

One thing at a time. The innocent guy is more important than tha fucking mafioso who starts shooting in a club full of people. On his way to the waiter Silver passed close to the egyptian and whispered to him: "Better calm down your girlfriend, no need to kill any more tonight than we already have." Arriving at the victim he put his hands on the bleeding wounds and concentrated. He didn't know if the guy wasn't already dead but he would try at least. Mana was streaming from his fingertips, trying to mend the broken brody.

[Suicidal Street ...]

[20:17 January 1st, 2072; Club Penumbra, International District, Seattle]

Seti dropped the the magazine straight from the well to the floor, never touching it. When LoneStar arrives, they'll need prints...and nobody ever thinks to wipe down the bullets they load.

He looked at the Ork. Silver was right, the last thing they needed right now was a Mafia APB. All this so far can be explained, if necessary--please, god, never let it be necessary--but that goes right out the window when we start shooting their unarmed soldiers. He turned his back on the elf--if he actually heals that kid, I'll buy him a beer--and faced the man who had saved his life. First the one that can actually do some damage, then I'll deal with Maria.

"Listen, Chombatta, I appreciate the save back there. I really do. So you can have those shoes. They're yours. But right now, this is just a bunch of drunk fuckers endangering their Dona by being stupid in a bar. They threatened some club-hoppers, but worse yet, they lost. You think that's going to go over well?" He snorted. "But the moment we kill them after they've surrendered, the Mob hasn't got a choice; they have to hunt us down. It's a pride issue."

He shook his head, and looked over his shoulder as a soft light from behind him cast pale shadows on the floor. Silver. Which reminds me.

Seti stuck his hand out. "I'm Seti, by the way. Pleasure to meet ya. You part of an official Shadowcrew, or you freelance?"

[Red_Cap]

Rhodes considered the proferred hand for a moment, lips turned down in a grimace he didn't bother trying to hide. But then he shrugged and took the other man's hand in his crushing grip. "They call me Roadie." He gave a squeeze -- nothing too hard, of course, he wasn't out to break any bones -- before letting go. "Freelance. Tryin' to busy inta the bizz. You?"

[Talavera]

It was at this point a small band of obviously piratical men, The leader brandishing a massive samurai sword, moaned in German "Did we miss the Fun"?

"Herr Kommodore" one of the pirates called "Was" came Kommodore's inevitable reply
"Otto ist geflogen"

"Damn" Kommodore snapped. It was then he noticed the menagerie of people congugating on the dance-floor. He decided it was safe so sheathed his Nodachi and wandered forwards

This post has been edited by Talavera: Aug 2 2010, 11:38 AM

[unsound]

Dahlia:

Watson stares at you, his mouth gaping open, seemingly at a loss for words. You get the feeling that this doesn't happen to him a lot.

"Ms. Bekhit is a bioweapons specialist, one of the best we could find," Reynolds says helpfully.

The dwarf blinks. "Well, why didn't you just say so? Bioweapons, huh? Hrmph. Well, then your arrival is pretty fortuitous, I have a time-sensitive crisis on my hands that I think you might be able to help me with. I'll need to get some stuff in order first. I will contact you in two days with more details. This is a mission that will require a team of operatives, so use this time to tap your sources and get a group together. If you can't assemble a team, let me know and I'll throw you in one."

With that, he turns around and walks out the door without even bidding you farewell.