Hunting in the Smoke IC, British Shadows are dark... mostly... Options

[Rakshasa]

Piper took out his pocket secretary and opened the small chip slot. "Better all take a copy I expect. Least that way, if anyone gets fragged, we won't lose the intel." He proffered the gadget to the vamp, waiting for her to insert the chip. "Don't know about the rest of you, but I'm happy for the Lady to hold the expense account."

The secretary beeped Download complete.. Piper popped the chip and absently handed it back to the woman as he moved away, calling up the data the Johnson had provided, whilst the rest of the Team made their own arrangements. As a long serving soldier, O'Toole knew the value of good intelligence. What the chip provided wouldn't be the best in terms of being up to date, but it would, at least, be a starting place.

A few screens in Piper let out a guffaw, eliciting several strange looks from the others. It was the signature on the post mortem docket Dr.Bunsen Honeydew! Old, kids TriD had immediately sprung to mind. But that had been in another country, and besides, the wench was long dead.

Piper looked up, the others were similarly engaged in going over the data, but there was no sign of the dweeb and Piper, for one, hadn't noticed him leave. Yep, much more to that man than meets the eye, all right.

[Blitz]

:: Tyen takes a few silent steps closer and copies Piper's moves to secure a copy of the data. As she slips the pock sec, it begins to cycle through it's three it's overly thorough scan programs to check all of the data packets to ensure that no virus or spyware sneak through. ::

:: Again she speaks in that quiet, low voice. ::

"Dis place ees not secure. I have better alterniteev."

:: With that, she pulls out a small stack of chips, very low grade and one time use only. With a thought, her hand opens and each one levitates to a member of the party::

"Directions on disk. Meet in 1 hour."

:: She then silently slips out the door and is almost immediately hidden in the shadows as she exits the bar. ::

[Rakshasa]

Chips with vinegar, chips with ketchup, chips with just a bit of salt, but floating chips, that was new. Piper caught the piece of silicon as it floated toward him. And I thought the dweeb was strange.

The new information chip, coming from someone he didn't know and therefore didn't trust, meant the secretary ran its own virus check as Piper activated the program. Not particularly sophisticated, being a download from his last posting's mainframe, Piper had used it on occasion and, so far, his pocket secretary hadn't thrown a wobbly, so he trusted it. The dark female's chip seemed to hold just what he expected, directions to an uptown condo area. Piper memorised the directions, popped the disc and crushed it between finger and thumb. "See you all later." Piper headed toward the door, through the still crowded bar and out into the cold night air. Thankfully the rain had let up, leaving an unusual freshness instead of the all pervading smell of crap.

An hour, the oddly accented woman had said, which would make it close to the witching hour. Appropriate. The Irishman smiled to himself as he made his way uptown.

Going back to the intel from the dweeb as he walked, O'Toole considered the problem. The Lambeth Containment Area was a place he knew, if only vaguely. A half dozen years ago, when he'd been a lance stationed at Catterick, there'd been some trouble there. The army had sent in a mob to help the local Authorities and Piper had been included. It had been a mess. Over a hundred civilians, well, gutter trash to be honest, had met their end along with seven of Piper's battalion. Why a whole battalion? The powers that be thought it was a good result. Piper knew otherwise. Still, it had given him another stripe, another step on the ladder, so to speak.

As he walked Piper wondered whether old Sal and her daughter were still alive in that rat hole. He hoped so.

[Silverspur_2020]

Downloading both the directions to the new meet and the info from the Johnson, Sandy also tells the pocket sec to ring Pete outside to let him know she was on her way out. "I assume everyone has their own methods for getting there, so I shall see in one hour." with that she stands up and leaves the room, looking calm and organised and not looking back.

As soon as she sees Pete sat in the cab outside, she gives him the directions... and starts reading through the data available to her to see what is useful.

[Mysterio]

Not wanting to push his luck with this Sandy chick, Deuce decides against asking if she'd like to ride with him
She has her own way, I like that...
Using his subvocal mike and phone Deuce calls up his personal bodyguard Fist, who, on occasion serves as his driver.
Exiting the room without saying a word to anyone, Deuce finds his limo parked out front. Getting in, he presses the button to the intercom
"Fist, just drive for a bit..."
Though the limo may not have much in the lines of offence or defence, it did come equip with a few minor gadgets. A small terminal in the back allowed Deuce to download the info needed. Giving Fist the address, Deuce opens the mini bar and pours himself a real drink
None of that drek I had back there

[Rakshasa]

Queensway hadn't changed much in the last half century or so. Still a main thoroughfare and still bounded on both sides by six story buildings, constructed of brick and stone back in the late eighteen hundreds. The data chip had given the address of Prince's House, once the habitat of the Meteorological Office but now split, floor by floor, into one and two bed habs with a fleet of small offices on the ground floor.

According to the data, the entrance Piper sought was around the back, down an almost inevitable narrow alleyway. If the frontage had been brightly lit and well kept, the backside was just that. Someone's backside, with litter and the remains of human degradation smeared on the walls, added to by the cardboard hovels.

Piper shouldered his way through an opening in a tattered security fence and found himself at the head of a flight of stone steps. The chip had indicated that the `safe house' was a basement, so the steps looked promising. He headed down.

[Digital Heroin]

If Tyrone's finding anything odd about the floating chip, he doesn't say anything. Of course before he can point out he's got transit, everyone seem to be going their own way. That's likely for the better anyway, for the moment. He'll play the fact he's got more than one vehicle close for the moment.

`Anyone wot wants a ride I've got a car a block up.`

That said, he pockets the directional chip, and heads out to his cab. He doesn't bother with a map in heading to the locale, though it does occur to him he's being awefully trusting in following the word of someone who concealed themselves through the early part of the meet, in going to a safehouse he doesn't know isn't a trap.

[Rakshasa]

Under many of the older buildings in central London there are cellars. Some were constructed as servants quarters, some as wine cellars and some, like the ones under Prince's House, as secure bunkers for secret document storage or even non-standard prisons.
The English, way back in the late 1800's, were paranoid about any foreign infiltration, and to an Englishman of the time, anyone living south of Dover or east of Harwich, was not to be trusted one iota. Not too sure about the folk on the other side of the Atlantic either, for that matter.

The converted cellar complex which confronted Piper as he pushed the rotting door out of his way, smelt of putrefaction and the long disused. A really dark and oppressive environment. Big windows, in each of the rooms the Irishman entered were barred like a prison and so filthy from the elements that they were opaque. Cement floors and rough, spalling brickwork walls completed the impression more of a place of incarceration than a safe haven for a Team of Runners.

Until Piper came to a new door, well at least newer than the timber ones he had already opened. The walls had obviously been refurbished; steel reinforced and brick Piper guessed. Inside low wattage bulbs illuminated the interior. The prickling sensation along Piper's nape indicated some sort of standing wave, a fair amount of security he guessed again.

Although the room was large, plenty big enough for the Team, even with two Trolls in their number; Must have knocked four into one. there seemed to be very little furniture. In fact all Piper could see was an extremely beat to shit wood table and a stack of rusty folding chairs in the corner.

A single cot with a surprisingly clean looking stack of linens folded on top of it completed the ensemble. There was one good point however. A rather expansive bathroom and shower area, the sort of facility that a work gang might have if they were on-site for a month or two. Several toilet stalls and a shower area with three shower heads.

The Master Sargent, like all Grunts everywhere, looked around for a kitchen; somewhere to brew up at least. But he drew a blank. Didn't really matter of course. With full water electricity and matrix access as well as a spliced trid line and the only obviously expensive item. A brand new, top of the line trid unit, bringing in a microwave and a small stove wouldn't be a problem.

Piper spun around, Beretta appearing in his left hand, at a noise behind him. He immediately relaxed, recognising the Troll from the table at the Siren. "Seems cosy enough." The gun slipped inside its shoulder holster as though it had never appeared. "Not too good on the sleeping arrangements though"

[Blitz]

:: Tyen steps from the darkness of the shadows once again, yet this time, it almost seems as if the shadows recede from the corner as she does so. She smiles shily as she removes the mask and glasses, revealing her youthful features for the first time to those who have arrived. ::

"It is safe, but not much home, I am sorry."

[Mysterio]

The limo pulls up out front and Deuce steps out.
"Keep in contact sir, a neighbourhood like this one..." says Fist, Deuce's right hand man.
"Don't worry, I can take care of myself. The only thing I worry about here is getting some disease from this dump" with that the elf and his bodyguard chuckle.
Deuce makes his way around back and down the steps Here goes nothing.. and he pushes open the door into the cellar meeting area. He looks around at the place and does nothing to contain his look of disgust at the joint. If they think I'm going to stay here, sleeping on those cots...they got to be fraggin' kidding
He tries to put on a fake smile for those who had already arrived ahead of him.."Folks..." he says with a nod

[Drain Brain]

Stumbling through the semi-dark, the little decker from the Siren enters the room, scratching at his short blonde hair. He tightly hugs what looks to be a deck-carry case to his chest.

"Greetings," he says in German accented English, "They call me Bandwidth Bob, but Bob will suffice."

He moves quickly to the terminal and begins inspecting Tyen's connection.

[Rakshasa]

Slowly, over the next quarter hour, the rest of the Team filtered into the large, but under furnished room. Two Trolls, two Elves and three Humans. A nice mix with no natural racial discord. As to their respective talents, well that remained to be seen. Piper guessed that he and the Trolls were the heavy mob, the witch was…a witch. The female Elf? Probably the `Face' of the Team and the other one, the dandy? Small, quick and a ladies man if Piper was any judge; he probably had some hidden talent or the Johnson wouldn't have made contact with him. And finally the Decker, doing what a Decker does best, joy riding in the Matrix.

"We'll need Comms I'm thinking. No use trying to use a cel in a combat situation A set of micro-beads on a secure frequency would be good." Piper leant against a wall and opened a debate on how they should Run. He looked around. "I've got my own but who else needs one?"


Outside, in the night, the denizens of the London streets went about their nefarious business. A little robbery here, a murder there. A second story man, or rather Dwarf, fell to his death unnoticed, his scream just one of many in the night. A woman knifed her Pimp, leaving him gurgling his lifeblood on a shit covered pavement, his wallet now in the woman's reticule, a relieved smile creasing her world worn face as she went toward the bus station at Victoria. She wont make it. Muggers will take her money, her life and her body, not necessarily in that order, long before the bus could whisk her back to her home in Great Yarmouth.

Along the Embankment, past the recently sandblasted the Palace of Westminster and the dwarfed ancient Big Ben clock tower, the odd scream can be heard in the dark, rain laden air. No one in their right mind would be abroad in the early hours of a new day in good old London Town. But then, most of the night crawlers could hardly be considered as being in their `right mind'.

The roundabout at the junction of the Embankment and Horesferry Road is ablaze with the burning wreck of an old Honda people carrier, a fitting end some would say. Its bright flames illuminating a particularly gruesome scene and anyone looking will quickly turn away, retching.

South, across the Lambeth Bridge, the Barrier. Designed to keep people in or out? No one really knows any more, nor do they really care. It's enough that it's there.

At the southern end of the bridge, a second barrier, daubed with graffiti and ..other things.. is a more visual barrier to the would be thrill seeker venturing into the Lambeth Containment Area, better known as `The Squeeze'.




This post has been edited by Rakshasa: Sep 11 2004, 05:24 PM

[Kurukami]

Stone moved smoothly into the room just behind Bob, causing him to startle slightly. His dark eyes, shadowed beneath a trollish brow, scanned the corners of the room. Without a word, he walked the perimeter of the chamber, peering behind shower partitions and into nooks, before settling against the far wall. "This will do for discussion."

He leaned against the aged brick, taking position where he could watch the door and not be immediately noticed.

[Blitz]

:: Tyen cocks her head to the side and smiles slightly at Stone. His caution reminding her of her father's paranoia to some small degree. Then her light grey eyes turns towards Piper. ::

"I have communication gear. Rating 4 encryption. I wish for more, but that will come with time and money."

[Silverspur_2020]

Sandy looks around at the essembled group once more, taking in the professional work atmosphere she feels like these are people that can be relied on when the drek comes down.

"I have my own communications eqipment as well, but there is no harm in abusing that expense account for whatever we can if anybody doesnt have their own." Looking around, she thinks how much nicer her safe house is... but then thinks that it may not be quiet so secure to protect as this one baring in mind it only has one way in and out.

"So, anybody had a read of the information chip yet then? anybody got any ideas?

[Drain Brain]

The diminutive German looked up at Sandy, then surveyed the others.

" I have gone throught the contents of the chip thoroughly. The Police Mortician's report is comprehensive and accurate - from what I know of medicine, all the wounds suffered are in keeping with a fall of the described nature. The actual constabulary report on the incident is as thin as one would expect from this "Landet Containment Zone," mostly relying on the feed from the cameras on the wall near the bridge. I managed to cross index the images of the so-called gangers persuing the target, but came up negative on SIN checks or police records - from what I could access in one hour. The "witness accounts" that he spoke of actually ammount to nothing more than the officer arriving on the scene in the morning, which was uninformative to say the least, and a drunk from nearby - but from the recording he was high, drunk, or both - since he said that Mr Borstad had blue skin... which he didn't."

[Rakshasa]

Blue? Probably cyanotic, which implies the perp was suffocated before he hit the ground, assuming the blue wasn't an effect of alcoholic haze. Piper knew the witness was, by definition, untrustworthy, but there was the chance that his observation was right. Which meant that the Gangers, whoever they were, might well have despatched the thief before upending him, just to be on the safe side.

Something nagged at the Irishman, about where the man was found. Within sight of the CCTV mounted on the bridge. Gangers would know where the surveillance cameras were. So the logical conclusion was that the hit was meant to be seen. Why?

None of this seemed right. It smelt like ten day old fish. But who was he to care. Get the case and get paid. Don't worry about the why's and wherefore's.

"We need to find the Gangers. Which means we mount an expedition into the Squeeze."

[Mysterio]

Not caring to sit down anywhere and risk getting the filthj on his suit, Deuce slowly wanders around the room, puffing away on his cigarette, occasionally flicking the ash onto the floor
None one will notcie, it can't get any dirtier in here
"Well ladies and gentlemen, I will for one say that I'd be most interested in what was exactly in that case, as well as any sort of pet projects this Borman..Borster..brohman..."
"Borstad," says Sandy. clearly annoyed.
"Thank you dear," replies Deuce with a quick smile, "Anyways, I think once we know what was in there, that may help figure out who'd want it."

This post has been edited by Mysterio: Sep 12 2004, 08:34 PM

[Rakshasa]

"I agree, it might be useful to know the case contents. But, more importantly, it's whereabouts is what we're after." He leant on the table and looked at Bob. "See if you can check out Borstad's employer's home. There's a note of it in the Police report. Find out what calls were made from the premises, say from four days ago. Who made the calls, if possible, but certainly who got the calls. That may lead to a Fixer who organised a hit or, maybe, directly to the Gangers."

The Irishman paused, looking at the gadgetry around the room. "Will any of this stuff enhance the CCTV footage? Close-ups of the Gangers faces could be useful. And any shots of the fire escape. Was it pulled away because of rust, and a hasty retreat went wrong, or was it detached purposely to make it look like an accident.

We need to know whether this was a random attack or a planned hit. If the former, our job is going to be harder. Scattered Gangers who will have ditched the case or sold it, contents and all. Or they might have just scattered the contents to the four winds. Either way, they'll be hard to find.

If the latter, then whoever took the case will, almost certainly, have passed it on by now. They won't have been working for the Establishment, because that's who our Johnson is probably working for, seeing as he has access to so much information.

Might also be an idea to confirm the contact number the Johnson gave us. `Whitehall 1212' seems to ring a bell. Wasn't it the number of Scotland Yard back in the early nineteen hundreds."

The soldier stood erect and went to the back of the room, pulling a pair of folding chairs from the pile and creaking them open. He placed them against the wall, facing the door, and sat on one, heaving his feet up onto the other. He smiled. "As for me, I'm gonna catch forty winks. Tomorrow's going to be a hard day."

[Blitz]

:: Watches the exchange of idea's and viewpoints with a sort of childlike curiosity. ::

"I think it would be foolish to think this was accident or random. Important papers, servant of rich and powerful, convenient death caught on camera. I t'ink we start with employer. Research their interests to see what may be important, the rich always hide secrets, but rarely well enough."

:: With her last comment, a truly devious smile creeps across the soft features of her face. ::

[Drain Brain]

Bob snorts, patting his deck and running a lead from it to the trid station. "If you recall from the video, the fire-escape is around the other side of the building - even such extreme telescopic lenses cannot bend around corners. As to the image enhancement, it is already done - how else do you think I did my initial checks? If anyone has any familiarity with gangs in this city I can pull them up for your looking..."

Moments later, a number of windows open on the trid screen, depicting youths in leather and denim, plenty of steel chain adorning their attire.

"While you do that, I'll see what I can find out from the telephone company."

A few minutes pass as the runners look over the pictures. Bob jacks out finally with a discontented sigh.

"Bad news I'm afraid. It seems that the address on file for Mr Borstad's employer is actually a fast-food joint in a place called "Bricks-don?" It would appear that either we have been lied to, or that whoever his employer really was has enough pull to get records changed posthumously so it does not come back to bite him in the ass..."

[Silverspur_2020]

"Well I will start checking up on the gangers if you like, maybe they had some markings on their clothes to affilate them with a particular gang? maybe it was a hit and they were just dressed up as gang bangers? I could have a look around the area and ask some of the local gangs if they know of those people." With that Sandy brushes her hands over her skirt to straighten it out before she sits down.

[Blitz]

"I can check into Mr. Borstad and his employment history further. I have a few sources that might turn up something interesting."

:: She almost laughs to herself, this is what she does in her spare time. Researching the Rich and Powerful who hide their secrets. The job had to be a hasty one and shouldn't be too hard to crack. ::

[Kurukami]

"I know a bit about the gangs hereabout," Stone commented. "It may be that I could identify the ones what did this... or at the least pick up some clue as to who they were pretending to be. I cannot help but think that, if they were in false colors within the boundaries of that gang, they might have found themselves in a spot of trouble."

He levered himself away from the wall, glanced at his wrist, and moved over to scan the trid screen for details. Narrowing his eyes at the images there, he glanced up from the screen towards Sandy. "It is early yet. I do not know what methods you use, but I mean to go and see what rats fall out when I shake their nests."

[Silverspur_2020]

Smiling at the invitation from the military looking guy, "That depends on your methods big guy... I was going to go for a subtle approach, but it depends on what we can come up with together! either way I dont think its appropriate for me to go to those kind of places wearing this. They would try to eat me alive! I will have to pop back to my place first to change into something more fitting. Do you have your own transport? or do you want a lift?"Getting the answers she needs, she picks up the pictures of the gangers and heads back to her place to get changed and pick up anything she thinks she might need.



Walking into the flat she looks around and checks to see if she has any messages. Concious of the fact that Stone might be waiting for her, she heads into the bedroom and opens the well stocked wardrobes.
Putting the phone on speaker only so nobody can see her she makes two phonecalls, the first to the pleasent and professional Jack Hammond and the second to the smutty Blue Sam. These two people were at different ends of the spectrum but could both server her a simular purpose tonight. Sending them copies of the pictures, she asks them if they can find out for her which gangs they may be or if indeed they are real gangers. Hoping if they have shown their faces in any clubs or pubs then one of these two will know about it!
By the end of the calls she has picked out a few things that she may be needing over the next few days to save comming back. On the bed there is now a holdall with a varity of clothes, both for slumming it in gang areas and rubbing shoulders with the rich and famous.
Looking at herself in the mirror, she is now wearing typical gang affilate clothes... Studded Sythleather Jacket and Matching tight leather trousers, with black army style Doc Martins with flames painted on. Under the Jacket she has her Colt in a holster with a full clip of ammunition. Her makeup instead of being subtle and stylish is now colourful and draws attention, as is her spikey hair and long earings.

Down in the underground garage, she throws her holdall in the back of the Landrover and pulls out into the street, heading back to meet Stone.