IC: SRM04-00: Back in Business, IC thread for Back in Business Options

[taeksosin]

Wednesday, 10:11pm, inside the Legs-mobile
Custom Commlink: Hidden | SIN: Ricardo L. Corinthian
CMT-Clip: Passive | SIN: Domingo Alvarez

"Aww...too late Russkie. I already started the routines up to try and poke at their office. Wish you'd spoken up quicker, would've save me the...oh...drek. Their spider's got me made, hard. And I'm horrible at this whole fighting thing. I usually try to get in, get out without them knowing I'm there. Think I'm just gonna turn off. He'll have my current access ID, but that's easy enough to change with a little effort on my part, and I don't plan on booking any flights any time soon with this 'link. That said, Quixote commands his persona to wave at the spider, reaches into his pocket, pulls out an authentic original 2070 Fairlight Caliban complete with the bronze etching and other sparkly doodads and flips the power switch to "Off".

"Well, problem solved. Guy shouldn't be able to trace us, at least not to anywhere near where we're going to be. Anyone got any ideas for where to go from here?"

[ChromeZephyr]

Wednesday, 10:12pm, in Legs' Roadmaster
Hermes Ikon: Hidden | SIN Ivan Mozhayev

"I have a name of bagman at the Hilton who perhaps may know something. If possible, perhaps Mr.White talks to him, to avoid any...misunderstandings."

[Slacker]

With a light drizzle starting up, Legs passes the 405 exit that would have taken the team to SeaTac. With Tundra Wolf's new contact point in finding Fiona, he continues to drive north on I5 towards the heart of dowtown Seattle. He tells the rest of the team that it should only be another 15 minutes until they reach the Hilton. In that time, everybody discusses ideas on how they will approach this bellhop. You all seem to come to an agreement that Mr. White will be the best bet for first contact just as the hotel comes into view.

You notice a couple of new vans parked nearby and a cluster reporters and paparazzi with their umbrellas out to one side of the entrance. Seems like the hotel staff if keeping them away from the entrance itself. It doesn't look like there is anything much happening at the moment to warrant interest in the hotel. Perhaps that rumor Quixote picked up on about Maria Mercurial staying here was right?

To be safe, Legs parks the van off to the side. Mr. White gets out and heads towards the doors.

[Dak]

Wednesday, 22:47 hours, In front of the Hilton Hotel, Downtown Seattle
Elektra Elite : Passive| SIN: Harvey White

[OOCly, I assume the name of the contact, 'Gregory Pendleton' was shared. If not, I'll amend my post.]

Taking note of the small crowd of media types, Mr. White steps out of the Roadmaster and makes his way down the sidewalk toward the front of the hotel. He casts an experienced gaze up and down the street, as usual, keeping an eye out not just for threats, but also for opportunities.

As he approaches the front of the hotel, he casts his eye again over the media, checking to see whether they seem merely to be assembled in anticipation of something, or if they are currently focusing their attention on someone or something. At the door, assuming he is not impeded, he will politely inquire with a doorman, "Excuse me, Gregory Pendleton?" he offers his card and a handshake with a smile- the usual song and dance. "I'm Harvey White, a private investigator. I'm looking for a young lady by the name of Fiona Craig, and I wonder if you might be able to help me?"

If it seems likely to help, Mr. White will gladly make it worth the doorman's time. Cred makes the world go 'round.

[Slacker]

As Mr. White approaches the front entrance, the doorman greets him with a friendly smile and a slight bow. "Good evening sir. And welcome to the Seattle Hilton."

The doorman's smile becomes less genuine when Mr. White indicates that you are looking for Gregory. But he directs you over to the bellhop with a nod of his head. You thank him and head that way. You slow your pace as you notice the night manager is finishing up talk with him.

"....guests' privacy. Is that understood?" You catch as the manager finishes and leaves when Gregory nods in agreement.

Mr. White waits a moment and approaches to present his card. Before even finishes his opening spiel, Gregory interrupts him "Chummer, I can't help you I don't know nothin about the attack on Mercurial, I....". He hesitates as he catches that Mr. White was asking about some broad named Fiona. "Wait, what was that you were asking about?"

As Mr. White describes further that he's heard tell that Pendleton could help find what hotel Fiona might be checked in at, the bellhop shows a little more confidence. "Cost ya 300 for my help."

Accepting payment, Gregory looks up to notice that his manager seems to be glaring at the two of you now. "Look, I've gotta go. It'll take about half an hour." He pointed gestures with your card before slipping it into his pocket and tells you he'll be in touch.

And sure enough, 29 minutes later you get a message Mulvihill Hotel. Room 1408

[Dak]

Wednesday, 22:54 hours, In front of the Hilton Hotel, Downtown Seattle
Elektra Elite : Passive| SIN: Harvey White

Mr. White climbs back into the Roadmaster just a few minutes after having exited. "Seems that Underworld needs a security review. The media is here on account of a magical attack on Mercurial after the show earlier this evening." he checks his commlink, flipping through a news feed. "The bellhop will hopefully have some information for us. He'd certainly better, else we'll need to speak with him again about his pricing."

Almost 30 minutes later, his commlink buzzes. "Mulvihill Hotel." he says. "Room 1408."

(edited)

[Kiirnodel]

"A magical attack? Kinda glad Mac asked me to do this instead..." Gardner gives a grunt as he struggles to sit up from his position in the back seat, he pulls something from his jacket pocket. "Alright, well let me see if I can find that hotel in here..." he mulls over his commlink for a moment then reaches over the back seat again. "Show me on this map where you'll park and I can try to scope out the place in the astral. Depending on their magical security, it might save us some time."

This post has been edited by Kiirnodel: Nov 13 2012, 11:11 PM

[Dak]

With a nod of his head at Gardner's suggestion, Mr. White adds, "That sounds like a good approach. If needed, we could also try a simple call to the hotel and asked to be patched through to the room."

[ChromeZephyr]

Wednesday, 22:54; Inside Leg's Roadmaster

Nikolai frowns as Mr.White relays the magical attack on Mercurial. First a shooting, then a magical attack. The security teams would have all been shot for such lapses back home. Seattle is much more violent than I expected.

He sits back and closes his eyes, drifting off to that half-alert sleep that all soldiers learn to survive. When Mr. White's commlink buzzes he opens one eye, and then sits forward as the planning begins.

[taeksosin]

Wednesday, 22:54; Inside Leg's Roadmaster[/b]
Custom Commlink: Hidden | SIN: Ricardo L. Corinthian
CMT Clip: Passive | SIN: Domingo Alvarez

With the name of the hotel and the room number, Quixote grins as he switches his commlink back on and takes a second to spoof up a new access-ID. His technical jiggery-pokery done, he pops up his AR screens and flings his persona over to the Mulvihill Hotel and stifles a laugh at their node's security measures. Exploit program that looks like a multi-tool in hand, he flips it open to expose a set of pliers and uses them to rip the padlock off of a door marked "Employees Only" and steps into the area beyond. It doesn't take long to squash the node's natural inquisitiveness about him, and that done he starts flipping through security footage with the bit of software that Gardner loaned to him. Odd, that a magic guy would have facial recognition software. Not gonna knock it, but weird. Wonder if I can crack it and keep a copy for myself... Shaking his head, he sets the software to work and shoots a copy of the building plans to Gardner's commlink.

After finally getting the hit on Fiona, Quixote flips the trid he had going on a fourth window off and starts reviewing the footage. Excitedly, he informs the group that she'd left her room and had hopped into a cab. A bit more work on his end, and he penetrates the Orange Cab Company's node and pulls the records for the cab that stopped by the hotel at the right time. Afterwards, at the suggestion of a quick look at her room, he and the rest of the team pops up there and provide him with momentary cover to override the maglock without anyone taking notice. Quixote doesn't spot anything, but the notebook that Legs turns up looks somewhat interesting. The idea that Fiona must have gone down into the Ork Underground surfaces in the group, and Quixote mentally whistles at the intestinal fortitude it would take for some human researcher to wander down there.

After a bit of discussion and what not, Quixote has Legs drop him a couple blocks away from his converted warehouse. Having grabbed the tray of food from the hotel room, Quixote flashes a quick smile at one of the eternal squatters outside his entrance and hands the tray to him, wishes him a good night, and heads up to his mostly uncomfortable home.

Now to get cracking on finding out what I can about the Underground, and maybe a lead on getting some good software for cheap.

[Slacker]

"You talkin' bout that trog smuggler? Yeah, I know Jack. Don't have much reason to deal with his kind down in the Underground," is the response Mr. White gets when he mentions Jack Turner to his contact in the Italian mafia. "I'd watch out if you're going to de dealin' with him right now. Word is the Knights are looking to snag him."

[Slacker]

The Ork Underground. Th e very name conjures up a dozen different images. Intricate Dwarven architecture, damp musty caves, an army of metahumans, dark caves filled with devil rats and ghouls. The list goes on and on. There are a lot of conflicting stories about what it’s like in the Ork Underground, and both all and none of these stories are true. A vast network of tunnels honeycombs the ground underneath Seattle, and each section of the Underground is different. Some are little more than dirt and stone caves, while in other sections if it weren’t for the ceiling 2-3 stories above your head you would think you were on any normal city street.

Deciding upon the following Fiona through the Lordstrung entrance, you all meetup and head there in Legs' Roadmaster. Upon arriving, you can still smell the faint whiff of smoke on the air from the severe fire damage this entrance suffered a month ago. Some of the shops have yet to reopen, and the walls are still blackened with soot and ash. Business has gone back to normal for the most part, and rebuilding is under way, but it's a slow process. The fire didn't quite reach the escalators leading out of the Underground. So the immediate area near the escalators is untouched, though the scorch marks testify to just how close a call it was.

[Slacker]

Deciding to talk to Detective Athack to test the waters regarding their heavier gear, the team of runners heads down the escalators. Those with AR turned on start noticing new ARO pop up all over the Tourist Highway.
"Reality Hackers Rule"
"Reality is a lie."
At the same time, you all notice a crowd of people trying to make their way out Underground. It seems one of the guided tours is just finishing, but they are having difficulties as two different groups of gangers begin shouting at each other. The tourists are right in the middle when the fight begins a second later. Guns are drawn, nailbats are swung, and cyberspurs are popped., as an all out gang war starts right in front of their eyes....

[Kiirnodel]

Staying motionless for a moment, waiting to make sure he takes in as much as he can, Gardner closes his eyes momentarily as he sighs his displeasure, "...there's always someone starting something..." He takes a moment to gather his magic together and he moves with more confidence after just a moment, moving toward the conflict to get a better view of all the aggressors.

[ChromeZephyr]

Thursday morning, Nikolai's Tacoma apartment
Hermes Ikon: Hidden | SIN: Ivan Mozhayev

Morning came all too soon, like it always did. The alarm survived Nikolai turning it off, barely, and he completed his morning ablutions with the same enforced efficiency he always did. The morning diagnostic runs of his cybernetics showed nothing of any note, and the flavor suite for his It'sNotGruel actually worked today. If I were superstitious, I would say something is bound to go wrong soon. It is good that I think that all the time.

The AK-97 was removed from the locking cabinet and placed into it's travel case, along with 2 loaded extra magazines. Hopefully Mr. White can make his person see that these are necessary tools. I would hate to take you from home only to leave you in this poor substitute, Mishka. The Predator went into it's holster and was strapped to it's normal position on his hip. Into the cargo pocket of his pants Nikolai slipped the low-light flashlight, contemplating whether to bring any of his grenades before deciding against it. He slipped the sub-vocal microphone from it's kit into another pocket, placed the ear buds into his ears and synced them to his commlink, and placed the respirator over his nose and mouth. Finally, he donned his armored jacket and draped an unarmored windreaker over the top of it and the pistol. His prep done, he went downstairs to await the rest of his team.

Thursday morning, outside the Ork Underground
Hermes Ikon: Passive | SIN: Ivan Mozhayev

Nikolai was glancing at some nearly-pornographic AR advertisement projecting from a kiosk when the screaming started. And Mishka back in the truck, of course. Bah, I should get a submachine gun implanted, at this rate.. His reflexes had already activated at the sound of the first gunshot, and he cleared the Predator from it's holster as he slid behind the flimsy cover the kiosk provided.

[Forces In Motion]

Thursday, 0830 hours, JerryRigs (Leg's place)
Custom Commlink: Hidden | SIN: Jerry Hobbes

By the time he'd dropped everyone where they wanted to go and got home, it was late. Or early, depending on your frame of mind. Despite the time and date being displayed by his cybereyes, he scarcely paid attention - all he knew was that he was tired and needed to crash.

But there were things to be done before he could hit the rack.

His GM-Nissan Doberman, the sleekly designed crawler painted a flat, anti-searchlight black, which he effectionately referred to as 'Rover', was brought out of its storage space and loaded up with a couple belts of the very expensive explosive-tipped ammunition he normally reserved for his Steel Lynx. If the Ork Underground was as bad as he had heard, it couldn't hurt to have a little extra wallop, right?

Of course, there was the tiny matter of actually getting it into the Underground...that would be a pain in the ass and a half, especially if his license didn't hold up to scrutiny. He still had one from his days with the Star, but that one was expired, and besides, KE had no love for Star officers, former or not.

Whatever happened to the days of professional courtesy...? Oh, right. They died way before I was even born.

Once the drone was loaded up for bear he loaded it into the drone rack. The whole process took him maybe a half hour or so, and then he headed for bed.

When he woke up, he went through the process of pulling on his full suit of form-fitting body armor - a process that was a pain, as he couldn't move his legs - then a vest, and some bulky clothing to go over it. Looking in the mirror from his wheelchair, he smirked to himself.

If I hadn't shaved last night for the meet, I'd look like some old burned-out war vet.

He reached into a locker and pulled out his old service pistol, a Ruger Thunderbolt, and checked the clip. Still loaded with hollow-points. Grabbing a couple spare clips, he shoved some more hollow-points into them. That done, he opened the smuggling compartment on the Steed, pulled the SuperSquirt and its spare clips out, replaced them with the Thunderbolt and its clips, and proceeded to load himself and the Steed into the RoadMaster, before pulling out and heading for the previously agreed-upon meeting place.

Thursday, 0930 hours, Lordstrung's - Ork Underground entrance
Custom Commlink: Hidden | SIN: Jerry Hobbes

He'd wanted to bring the drone along with them. And as soon as the screams started and the first shots rang out, he was desperately wishing he had.

Fortunately, just because he didn't have Rover with him didn't mean he didn't have access to the drone. And he was smart enough to keep the rear door to the RoadMaster open and flip the release catches on the rack the drone was in so he wouldn't have to go back for it if they were able to find a way to get it in.

If this is a taste of what the rest of the Underground is like, I'm glad I came prepared...

Through his AR link he sent a command to the Doberman back in the RoadMaster instructing it to come to his position, doubletime, at the same time reaching into the Steed's smuggling compartment to grab the trusty Thunderbolt.

Back at the RoadMaster, the rear doors of the van burst open and the Doberman just about leaped out of the vehicle, turning towards its master's call and running all-out for the scene of the action.

[ChromeZephyr]

Thursday morning, outside the Ork Underground
Hermes Ikon: Passive | SIN: Ivan Mozhayev

Nikolai blinked as Gardner simply walked towards the fracas, his armor and bulk absorbing several rounds fired at him. A glance over his cover gave him the rude awakening that all of the human gangers and what appeared to be the leader of the trog gangers were moving with nearly the same speed that he did. Truly this is a strange land, where even the street rats are wired....

The crosshairs of his smartlink picked out the man who had shot at his giant teammate, feeding range and wind data to him that he processed almost subconsciously, and the heavy pistol barked in his hand. Nikolai grunted in slight dismay as the explosive round apparently wasted it's energy on his target's armored jacket, who then continued firing at his teammate while finding cover for himself. Fast and well-armored. And I only have back-up weapon. Bah.

He pulled the trigger twice more, the gyromount built into the wrist of his cybernetic arm deploying with an audible click, and was pleased to see that at least now he had the ganger's attention. The screaming and barking of weapons fire had melted into a single, musical cacophony that twisted his face into an ugly, feral smile. This was what he was created for, tempered in battle and reforged with cybernetics and bioware to be.

The gang leader tossed aside his gun, it's slide jammed open, and charged Nikolai. The smile grew wider, and Nikolai dropped his pistol and extended his own set of carbon-fiber blades from his arm. So, it is to be the blade rather than the gun. Excellent. Nikolai barely acknowledged the cursing his opponent tossed at him before they clashed, a whirling melee of thrust and slash that separated after an eternity of seconds. The two glared at one another across the few feet separating them, then the Russian mercenary leaned forward.

"My turn."

He launched himself back at the gang leader, his blades searching for an opening in his opponent's defense. When they separated a few seconds later, Nikolai frowned as every attack had been met and parried with skill. This one is trouble.

[Forces In Motion]

Thursday, 0947 hours, the Ork Underground
Custom Commlink: Hidden | SIN: Jerry Hobbes

Sweet Christ, what a mess.

He'd backed off from the scene enough to stay out of range of the furball that was going on in front of him. The good thing about being confined to a wheelchair, even an expensive one like the Transys Steed he was currently riding in, was that damn near no one thought of you as anything to be worried about. If anything, he might be considered nothing more than a potential target for mugging.

This, however, was a hell of a scrap, and the gangers on both sides didn't seem to care who they hit in the process, whether it was an outside combatant, rival ganger, or civilian.

It disgusted him. Gang fights were always messy affairs - no matter how skilled they might be, they simply didn't care about anything but making sure they were the dominant force on their turf. He'd rather be thrashing it out with KE - at least they pretended to show a hint of concern for public safety, even if it was mostly to keep their PR image in good standing.

Things were happening way too fast here, and from this position there was no way to shoot at any of the combatants without risking hitting a civilian. Even after a few years of running in the shadows rather than being on the 'right' side of the law, that was not acceptable.

Fortunately, there's more than one way to skin a devil rat. And his was coming down the escalator right now - he could hear the metallic sound of Rover's metallic 'feet' coming in from behind.

He took a moment to access his commlink and drop into VR mode just as the Doberman skidded to a halt next to his chair, quickly pulling up his running programs and selecting the IC he kept around just in case some hacker decided they wanted to go nosing around where they shouldn't.

>>[Let's go, Rumpel.]<<

He leapt into the Doberman, an experience he had enjoyed even before he lost the use of his legs, and did doubly so since then. He could feel the strength of Rover's limbs, the sharp precision of the drone's sensors feeding his brain information, the readiness and eagernees to go like a rush of pure, electric adrenaline.

For just a moment he was tempted to open fire with the mounted LMG, but he held back.

F*cking tourists.

There were far too many civilians to do that with, unless he was very careful, and at the moment there wasn't time to be careful. No time to think, just act.

Fortunately, the mounted LMG wasn't his only option.

It wasn't hard to figure out the leaders behind this craptacular furball - they were the only ones shouting orders - and he chose the closer of the two, who - remarkably - seemed to be holding his own against the Russian that was part of the 'runner's search party.

Mother must be wired for days. Where'd he get all that chrome?

Curiosity would have to wait, though.

As smoothly and swiftly as the canine it was named after, the Doberman responded to his thoughts, heading for the gang leader at a dead run, and just as he and the Russian separated, Rover collided with the chromed street maggot, even as Legs unconciously braced to keep the drone from flying out of control.

Fortunately, years of working for the Star and his own natural instinctive gift for operating his drones saved Rover from going sliding ass over teakettle across the cement floor - with a grace that looked more animal than mechanical the drone managed to keep its feet and came to a swift halt as the gang leader bounced off of Rover's metal body.

How'd you like that, douchebag?

He turned to look at the ganger, doing a quick systems check. Not even a wire loose.

He barely noticed that, though. What caught his attention was that, even after getting hit by a mid-sized drone doing a full-out run, the gang leader was still standing.

Holy hell...this assclown must be armored up like a Stonewall...

[ChromeZephyr]

Thursday morning, outside the Ork Underground
Hermes Ikon: Passive | SIN: Ivan Mozhayev

His opponent spat some garbage about "ork sympathizers" at Nikolai, and the confusion from the nonsensical taunt had him wrong-footed as the wired ganger launched his next series of blows. Nikloai parried the first few slashes, but each block was a nanosecond tardier than the last until he had to lunge to one side in desperation as Neon Mech's blades flashed at his throat. A ribbon of pain erupted across his meat shoulder, and for half a second Nikolai expected to feel the spurs ram home into his chest. He rolled back to his feet and fell back into a stronger defensive stance, then blinked as a drone launched itself into the gang leader, barely rocking him on his feet. Unreal. How is this person only gang member? Surely this country recognizes talent?

Recognizing that he had his opponent on the defensive, Neon Mech attacked, and for a split second it seemed like he would drive Nikolai to his knees and wound him further. The mercenary buckled, then lashed out with a surprise counter that the ganger parried enough to let the carbon-fiber blades deflect off of his armored jacket, and they split apart again. Nikolai snorted, flicked a bead of sweat from his nose with a shake of his head, then reset his stance back to the more aggressive style he preferred. The pain from his injury finally faded to an insistent buzz as the adrenaline coursing through his veins overcame it.

Neon Mech grinned, glanced aside at the Doberman, then it was back into melee again. Each blow the ganger sent was parried, shifted past, or simply missed and for the first time Nikolai was able to seize that slight advantage to set his blades to his opponent's flesh rather than his armor. It was barely more than a scratch, but it gave Nikolai the space to see the barrel of the machine gun on the Doberman swivel towards the melee. He rolled aside as it opened up, the fusillade of bullets hammering into the gang member.

Nikolai's jaw dropped as Neon Mech spat a gobbet of blood from his mouth, verbally saluted the smoking barrel of the drone, and retreated. His surprise was so great that his reflexive attack on his retreating foe was easily parried, then professionalism overrode it and he picked the new sounds of approaching sirens out of the air. The politsiya arrive quickly here.

A mental command returned the deployed spurs and gyromount in his cyberarm back to their homes, and a second shifted his reflexes back to that of a normal human's. He started his breathing exercises to bring his heart rate back to it's usual rhythm and keep the adrenaline bleeding off from making his meat limbs shake, then retrieved his Predator. It was just dropping into it's holster on his hip as two large, heavily armed and armored vehicles pulled up to the barricades behind them and a commanding voice blared from a loudspeaker.

"EVERYBODY FREEZE"

Nikolai slowly raised his arms away from his sides, palms open and facing the vehicles. A small trickle of blood began dripping from the ends of his right fingers, and the pain from his shoulder wound returned. Hard experience told him it was enough to distract, but not serious enough to worry too much about. He looked around the impromptu battlefield, trying to see what had become of his team.

[Slacker]

After the chaos and violence that just ensued, DocWagon is dragging out bodies and Knight Errant just keeps glaring at you. Th ey’ve let most of the people go about their business, and they hauled some of the gang members away in cuff s, but they have you surrounded. They won’t let you leave, and none of the stone faced Knight Errant officers will answer your questions.

After about 20 minutes, one of the biggest trolls you’ve ever seen comes stomping over. Over 3 meters tall, he glares down at you for a minute, then snarls. “You’re shadowrunners, right?”

Gardner recognizes Detective Tosh Athack of Knight Errant's Special Crimes Taskforce. Knowing there's no point in denying it, he tries to talk his contact into letting them go. Athack isn't having any of it though.
“If it were up to me, I'd drop you all in a hole and forget about you, but it's your lucky day, because it ain't up to me. My boss needs some folks of your ilk for a special job."

He forwards a commcall to your 'links. You are all greeted stern face of Assistant District Attorney Dana Oaks. She's curt and goes straight to the point. You get the impression that she doesn't particularly like the idea of dealing with shadowrunners, but understands that you can be useful at times.

“I’m not fond of working outside the law.” She tells you with no preamble. “But in this world, the law is, quite  frankly, a mess. Criminals have a million ways to avoid the long arm of the law, as I’m sure you’re well aware of. However, I have a job to do, and
one way or another I plan to get it done.  at’s where you come in.”

“Seattle law doesn’t quite extend below the streets of Seattle. The government doesn’t recognize the Underground as a part of the city, and as such won’t contract Knight Errant to police it.  The criminal scum who prey on my city know this, and seek refuge in that pit.” As she speaks, her voice raises slightly in pitch, and it’s clear this isn’t the first time she’s had this discussion, and it’s a sore spot with her.

“I’ve been tracking someone who’s holed up down there somewhere. I need him brought somewhere so that I can have him legally arrested. Your job is going to be to  find this man, and deliver him to Detective Athack here. He’ll claim to have caught the guy inside his jurisdiction, and he will go to jail for a long, long time. You’ll keep silent about the matter, and get paid. How’s that sound?”

[ChromeZephyr]

Thursday morning, outside the Ork Underground
Hermes Ikon: Passive | SIN: Ivan Mozhayev

I think this could make dealings with Alexei very tricky in the future... Nikolai kept his face as impassive as he could while the ADA delivered her "deal". He had no illusions that they could really refuse the offer, as the large troll and his team surrounding them would simply arrest them. This...this feels more like home. Work with the politsiya, or face charges and time in the tyur'ma. The fact that there would be more dead non-coms had we not attracted the attention of the gangs is not relevant.

[Forces In Motion]

Thursday, 1012 hours, the Ork Underground
Custom Commlink: Hidden | SIN: Jerry Hobbes

It was chaotic at best, and he had a headache.

Damn hackers. Who'd've thought a street gang would have those kind of Matrix chops?

Still, there were some satisfactory moments, particularly the bull's-eye he'd landed right in the side of that gang leader's head. For a minute there he'd been convinced the dude was a cyberzombie with enough in him to mow down a whole corp security response team.

He still wasn't sure what that guy had under his skin - to take a shot to the head and still be able to run away, well...he knew from hard experience that people died hard, but it still freaked him out a bit. Hopefully, they wouldn't run into that guy again.

And then he'd been forced to use Rover's transciever to jam out some douchebag hacker that had turned his IC agent against him. Luckily, the trick had worked, and the screeching from the general direction of the hacker's location had gotten a grim virtual grin out of him.

Lucky, yes. But he'd rather be lucky than good any day.

Unfortunately, the luck had run out quick after that. Now, here they sat, surrounded by Knight Errant and being glared at by a screwhead troll with an attitude problem. If it weren't for the security response team watching their every move, he'd have been tempted to pick up his trusty Thunderbolt and take a few potshots.

And now, this pretty mess of a commcall.

Seriously? Three jobs in the space of twenty four hours, all related? What are the odds on that?

He didn't need a calculator to tell him he'd have a better chance of winning the lottery twice in the space of a month.

Well, it wasn't really much of a choice. As it stood, the drone with its mounted LMG would earn him at least five years hard time.

At least they were being paid...that was better than the deal they could have been offered, which would have been 'do it, or else'.

Hell, he'd take it.

[Dak]

Thursday, 10:15 hours, Ork Underground entrance beneath Lordstrung’s
Elektra Elite : Passive| SIN: Harvey White

Mr. White holsters his pistol and grimaces as he checks himself over. The ganger's cyberspur punched right through his Zoe jacket and armored suit. A few inches below the collarbone and close to his right shoulder - lucky the hit wasn't more centered or it would gotten a lung, or his heart. Still, it hurt like a motherfucker, and felt like it broke a rib as well. A fantastic start. He extended and flexed his arm, and then extended his arm above his head - stopped - grimaced and then lowered it. He chided himself - a stupid fight and a stupid wound. If I'm bleeding, it should be for a damn good reason, and I don't see any damn good reason. This'll need to get checked out and cleaned up, a couple of stitches, and then it'll just take time to heal.

As Knight Errant rushes in like cavalry late to a charge, Mr. White rights an overturned chair and sits down in it and looks about for his colleagues. As Knight Errant sorts out the situation and corrals the 'runners, Mr. White stands again and directs his attention to the highest ranked KE cop nearby. "I need to speak with your sergeant or shift supervisor, or with Detective Athack, if available." White has dealt with surly, unhelpful, and overly authoritarian cops before. If he is rebuffed, he will make note of the cop's name and badge number, and inquire if he (or she) is interested in reassignment to the Barrens. (I'll roll if needed (IMG:style_emoticons/default/smile.gif) )

--

"Detective Athack. Harvey White." he hands over a card. "Commander Flores suggested that I speak with you about a mutually beneficial opportunity..."

After a bit of back and forth with Detective Athack and Ms. Oaks, Mr. White smiles. "It seems that we can help each other out. We'll see what we can do about helping the Detective here."

Without much further fanfare, Mr. White will encourage his associates to continue into the underground, drones and weaponry and all. Sometimes the simplest course of action is to simply not ask for permission at all. Besides, an appreciative District Attorney's office is a helpful District Attorney's office.

[Dak]

Athack, very audibly grinds his teeth (it sounds like a damn mountain moving with the size of his mouth). "Leave now little man," he says as he pokes you in the shoulder right where the fresh blood is oozing out.

Mr. White winces. Its a painful wound. "You can thank me later, Detective."

[Slacker]

The Ork Underground is a mass of tunnels, warrens, and caves with few street signs, and even the most up to date maps tend to be less than reliable. You know where to find Jack Turner thanks to the oh so friendly Detective: Pirate’s Cove. Now you just have to find it. After the gang war that just went on, the locals are a bit wary of strangers, especially Topsiders. The local merchants that haven’t closed up for the day stand a close watch in their kiosks and shops, eyeing you cautiously. As you decide what to do next, a young ork boy comes running up to you.

“Hey chummers!” the boy says with the vigor and excitement that only a kid under the age of 12 can muster. “Need a guide?”