IC: Last Laugh, Spinning dice and a smile full of knives Options

[scoundrel]

Last Laugh

• Chapter 1

[scoundrel]

1 month ago…


Class is secondary. A mere glimpse of Alberto Lanzara’s thirty room mansion would immediately afford the observer the understanding that this was the central belief that the multimillionaire adhered to when he renovated the old building. He bought the place because it was something of a historical landmark in the area, and he believed that dressing it up with lavish decorations and expensive luxuries would just dilute the sense of timelessness that had so enraptured him the first time he set foot into the building. Lanzara is a practical man if nothing else, and his pragmatism is reflected by the clean, neat, and ultimately spartan rooms that together make up the estate in which he resides.

Spartan does not, however, mean that the house lacks the essentials necessary to maintain the continued comfort of the owner, such as a state-of-the-art electronic defense system and a top-notch security team that remains constantly vigilant of potential threats to its employer, monitoring everything with an invisible eye. Many an aspiring assassin have made the mistake of such an assumption and paid the price for it. Considering the activities that Lanzara engages in on a daily basis, he is of the thought that nothing less is adequate. Though he can afford the habit, he is not a reckless spender, and also believes that nothing more is necessary. At this point in time, no one has proven him wrong.


---


The warmly heated living room was a stark contrast to the skin-freezing winter raging outside its walls, and Lanzara was sitting in his usual recliner nursing a cup of hot chocolate. Somewhere in the urban wilderness outside, a strangled scream reverberated across the night. Moments later, the digital clock on the flower table chimed as eight wrestled the hot spot from seven.

It is time.

“Channel 76,” he said to the empty room.

The black mirror of the flatscreen television was filled with color as it automatically responded to Lanzara’s command. The colors came together to show an attractive blonde woman dressed in a snow-sprinkled parka, standing outside a plaza in Downtown Seattle with a microphone in her hand. A distinguished-looking ork stood beside her with a crowd of spectators watching in the background. The brilliant white logo of the Independent Information Network radiated conspicuously in the lower right corner of the screen.


“Hey ya’ll, this is Joanna White,” the woman said cheerfully into the camera. “I’m out here on the Seattle Center waterfront with Arkady Killinger, who just stepped out of the Space Needle after a round of intense negotiations with the Empowerment Coalition. Mr. Killinger is the president of the Ork Integration Alliance, one of the youngest and most controversial political organizations on the Seattle scene today.”

She held out the microphone to Killinger. “Mr. Killinger, can you tell us more about the OIA?”

Killinger beamed. “The Ork Integration Alliance is a team of likeminded individuals motivated by the injustice that is plaguing orks and trolls in our society today. Our purpose is to help people recognize that we’re not the malicious goblins that centuries of fairy tales have made us out to be, that we’re just like everyone else, except with slightly greener skin and a pair of tusks.”

Polite laughter.

He continued in a crisp and amiable voice. ”Our ultimate goal, as our name implies, is to bring about the understanding and compassion necessary for orks and trolls to integrate as equal members into society. I look forward to the realization of this goal as soon as possible, because I believe that we have much to offer to the rest of metahumanity, that they have much to offer us, and that nothing but good can come from such a friendship.”

Joanna smiled, her eyes sparkling. “My heart goes out to you and your brothers, Mr. Killinger. However, I’ve heard that the OIA has faced opposition from a vast portion of the ork population, which many believe to be a very strange phenomenon, all things considered. Could you possibly shed some light on this?”

“Though we want the same things, many of my associates are very traditionalist and inflexible in their views,” Killinger said with a sigh. “One of our more immediate goals is to encourage orks to move out of the Underground and into the surface world. The reasoning behind this is that as long as we stay separated from everyone else, we’ll continue to be viewed as outsiders. In order for society to accept us, they must first know us. Unfortunately, a lot of my comrades disagree with this idea, and maintain that they should remain secluded from the rest of metahumanity.”

“Do you believe that this schism will ever be resolved?” Joanna inquired.

“Hopefully, I’ll be able to free my brothers from the chains of custom that bind them down and get them to see that change is vital if we are to succeed in our mutual purpose,” Killinger replied. “History and the current status of orks and trolls in the country, or lack thereof, is proof of this.”

“Thank you, Mr. Killinger, for that inspiring interview” Joanna said, turning back to face the camera. “This is Joanna White, for IIN News, and I know what political group I’m going to use my vote to support this year. Back to you, Trisha!”


The scene at the waterfront faded away as the faces of the two anchors took its place. Lanzara’s face broke into a genuine smile as he raised his cup of chocolate in a toast to the television screen.

“Cheers, Arkady. I applaud you for trying, even though your cause will never succeed. Your enemy’s numbers are far too many. Nevertheless, old friend, you have my support all the way.”

[scoundrel]

8:23:05, December 5th 2062 - Seattle

Winchy:

“Winchy! Winchy! Wake up! Wake up!”

The fog of your slumber is violently swept away as you feel your body trembling as though it has been seared with a couple of thousand volts of electricity. As you open your eyes, you find yourself staring directly into the face of your roommate Henry Thick Skull, who happened to be grasping you by both shoulders and shaking you like a wet towel. His face is a mask of sheer terror, and you know that there’s little on this world that can frighten Henry like that.

“Dur?” you mutter intelligently.

“Lookit dat!” Henry hissed, pointing at some place in the distance.

You rub your eyes and look. Cracked walls with peeling paint and broken down furniture slowly come into focus. Standing, or rather floating, in the air in the middle of the room is a twisted caricature of a telecom with two eyes and a mouth.

“I try beatin’ it, but it no die,” Henry said. “I try shootin’ it wit my gunner, but it still no die!”

You stare at it for awhile before realization finally dawns on you. You bark out a coarse laugh.

“Henry, dat’s a watcher spirit,” you tell him.

Henry’s face falls. He scratches his head sheepishly and mumbles, “Surry.”

You turn to the ghastly telecom and ask, “What’s your message?”

The watcher fixes its gaze on you and speaks. “Korbin here. I hope you’ll excuse my little joke, but you seriously need to settle down somewhere because finding you is a bitch. Anyway, there’s a possible job for you if you’re willing to take it. I checked the guy out – he’s clean. You of all people have probably heard of him, but I won’t ruin the surprise. If you’re game, meet up at the Eye of the Needle, room 24 at 3:00 sharp. Korbin out.”

Caitlin and Warden:

You’re both busy with your own morning routines when you receive identical messages on your telecoms from your mutual fixer:

--I know work’s been dry lately, so I’ve brought you some good news. There’s a potential job waiting for you at the Eye of the Needle restaurant at 3:00. The Johnson’ll be in room 24. I don’t think I need to tell you to dress well. This guy is legit, and is willing to shell out some serious cash for good talent, so don’t fuck this up.--

Slacker:

Your eyes widen as you realize your enemy’s tactic. You swivel around, bringing up your weapon simultaneously, but you’re not nearly fast enough. You could do nothing but watch as your foe’s sword skewers you in the abdomen, killing you instantly.

You groan as the virtual surroundings fade away into the room selection area. Lost again, to the same guy. Your mailbox icon flashes red, indicating that you’ve got mail. Activating it, you find two messages.

The first one is from the guy who defeated you, and simply reads, >>Noob.<<

You take a brief moment to wish the curse of a thousand sexually-transmitted diseases upon him and his progeny before opening up the second message.

>>This is your boss. I hate communicating over an insecure channel like this, so I’ll just tell you that work is available. Contact one of your teammates for details.<<

[gobogen]

When the Watcher is gone, Winchy smiles to his friend. "Henry, nex time you see sometting strange like dat, you betta wake me up first, okay ?"

Winchy goes to grab something from the dirty fridge they've been using. Finding it empty, he leaves some nuyens for Henry to buy something for himself. His assault rifle was still in its big suitcase; he takes it and leaves the apartment. "Henry, I'll be back in a few days, take care of yourself." He says walking out to take the bus.

Once arrived in his downtown apartment (which he legally rents), Winchy takes a long shower until he's clean, puts on some deodorant - he doesn't usually do that in the Barrens since everything stinks anyways down there -, and dresses up in a nice black suit appropriate to his size.

Happy with his appearance, he sits down to attack a huge meal consisting of a pound of soyham, 12 soyeggs, some soybeans and soywheat, and several cups of soycaf. Full, he rests a bit, watching the newschannels on the telecom. He eats some more before calling a cab and going to the meet - you never want to go to a meet on an empty stomach.

Winchy arrives at the Eye of the Needle a few minutes before 3:00 and asks directions to room 24.

OOC: Physical Description: Basically a gigantic cube, Winchy is short for a troll but extremely big and fat; his body is well-built and muscular. He’s not very pretty to look at, that’s for sure, but he’s well-mannered for a troll who lived all his life in the streets. He has a dark beard and his head is shaved. He has medium sized curved horns sprouting from his forehead and his bottom teeth appear out of his mouth more often then not, and that makes him seem extremely dumb and it affects his speech in a bad way.
He likes to wear ample, dark clothes. He can finally afford good quality clothes though, yet his physique is so that it never seems to fit really well on him.

[Slacker]

Still grumbling to himself about the bastard that kept killing him, Slacker dials up Caitlin's number.
"Hey Queeny. Got a message from Korbin about a job. He told you the details yet?"

After Caitlin tell him what she knows, Slacker idly scratches at his cheeks and the 3 or 4 days worth of beard growing there. "Damn. Guess that means its time for me to shave again. Ok, see you there."

As he disconnects the call he thinks 'I suppose I should try to clean myself up a little...nah that can wait first let's have another go at that punk.' He logs back into the game and quickly loses track of time.

Almost too late, he notices that it's getting pretty close to the meet. He quickly rushes through a shower and quick shave. Throws on his best clothes, sniffing them first to make sure they aren't too bad. And dashes at the door.

When he gets to the Needle, he looks at his watch...hmm...3:06. 'Wonder if I am late.'

Lucky for him he has the habit of setting his clocks ahead a few minutes(20 minutes on the watch). It's the only way he is ever on time.

[Glyph]

Caitlin, meditating in the twilight of her dimly-lit apartment, opens her eyes as her telecom beeps. She idly drums her fingers on the counter top as she listens to the message, thankful for the battery pack that keeps her from missing important messages during non-power rationed times. She is also thankful for getting the message in the morning, leaving her plenty of time to prepare for the meet... it sounds like she really needs to make a good impression for this one.

A few minutes later, the telecom beeps again. This time it is Slacker calling, asking for the details of the meet. He was probably fast-forwarding through his telecom, and deleted the message before he heard it all. She dutifully briefs him, then briefly considers admonishing him to be on time, before deciding it would be a wasted effort. A slight smile flits across her face. At least Slacker's probably-rumpled appearance will help her look even sharper by contrast.

She gets a bite to eat shortly before preparing herself for the meet. Like Winchy, she doesn't believe in going to a meet on an empty stomach. Unlike the troll, though, she only has enough of a light meal to take the edge off of her hunger. She will still be able to eat, but the food won't distract her.

She prepares herself meticulously, then critically inspects herself in the mirror. Minimal cosmetics, but artfuly applied. A shock of pale blond bangs that make her blue eyes even more startling. A conservative navy skirt and blazer, worn with a silvery dress shirt. She likes the shirt, which complements the suit, and goes with her snowflake earrings and silvery lipstick. She frowns at the slippers. Silvery and dressy, they are not out of place, but high heels would really be better. She refuses to wear those infernal things, though, and doesn't know how to walk in them at any rate; the slippers will have to do.

She gives herself a final check, making sure that she is immaculate, before setting out. She wistfully glances towards the closet, which holds her stylish armored jacket. But any armor at this meet will need to be discreet, so the slim ultra-vest will have to do. The taxi is an unusual luxury for her in her current circumstances, but she won't risk getting mussed up by taking the subway.

As she approaches the Space Needle, she takes a deep, calming breath, slipping into her usual cool, collected, and confident mask. She is 40 minutes early.

[scoundrel]

The Space Needle, while stretching only 185 meters above the ground, dwarfs all the surrounding buildings in the Seattle Center area from sheer presence alone. The expertly conceived and futuristic architecture oozes such style, charisma, and extravagance that its irresistable charm is felt even by those not privileged enough to set foot inside. It's no surprise that the Needle is one of the first stops for tourists sightseeing in Seattle, and the favorite playground of the city's high society.

The grand reception hall is busy as always when you arrive. After finding the location of the nearest elevator, you hop on board and ride it all the way to the top, stepping off one level below the observation deck. The faint aroma of food well cooked swirl into your breath as you walk into the Eye of the Needle. Expensive paintings adorn every wall of the restaurant, and old classical music plays softly in the background. The waitors and waitresses, all of whom look like they stepped straight out of a modeling magazine and into a uniform, move about discreetly as they attend to the requests of the customers.

Some of the more snobby patrons shoot scornful glances in your direction, as it's fairly obvious that you're not one of them, but the maitre'd is friendly enough as she leads you to the room that you seek. As you walk in, you find a round table, overlaid with an unassuming red cloth, sitting in the center with enough seating for ten. The back wall seems like it's made entirely of glass, and gives you a breathtaking aerial view of the city from atop the Space Needle. It takes you a moment to realize that it has to be a hologram, since your room is not one of the exterior ones and no such view is possible from it. White noise disguised as the sound of soothing ocean waves wash softly over the atmosphere.

The maitre'd lays down an electronic menu on the table before you, and informs you that everything you order will be paid for before making a tactful exit. You kick back as your teammates begin to arrive one by one.

[scoundrel]

Caitlin:

A few minutes after you arrive, you feel an odd sensation pass over your body in the empty room. Guided by instinct, you slowly open your third eye to the astral plane, bracing yourself for the onslaught of vivid colors that illuminate that world beneath a world. You're startled to discover the astral form of an elven man floating a few feet away from you. He appears to have been studying the ward erected over the walls of this room, but turns around as soon as he realizes that he's being observed.

He meets your gaze with a smile on his face. Before you can say anything, he blows you a kiss, leaps through the ward and disappears into the depths beyond.

[Glyph]

Caitlin frowns slightly. Who was that? Was he part of the restaurant's magical security, someone working for the Johnson, or someone trying to spy on the meet? It may be nothing, but she will mention the incident to their potential employer. That resolved, she relaxes and studies the menu. She quickly picks out what she wants, but decides to wait for some of the others to arrive before she actually orders.

[Slacker]

When Slacker arrives, he is quite surprised to find he isn't the last one to arrive.

He runs a hand through his still damp hair and flashes Caitlin a smile. "So how's my favorite Queen of Ice doing? I bet you were worried I wasn't gonna make it on time."

At first glance, it looks like he didn't bother shaving for the meet. But actually it's just that he decided to tryout having a mustache and goatee. His secure clothing looks a little rumpled, but not at least there aren't any obvious stains.

Seeing the menus on the table, he realizes that he had once again forgotten to eat something because of all the gaming. He sits down and starts looking over the menu.

[gobogen]

A few minutes before time, Winchy enters the room in his black suit.

"Hello Slacker. Hello Dok."

A waiter comes in with a huge chair - more like a couch - that he has to push to move around. "Tanks a lot."

While taking place at the table to look at the menu, he says to Caitlin with a smile: "Told you my Ragin' Serpents wod mak'it", refering to the Combat Biking match that took place the day before.

[Glyph]

Caitlin glances up with cool amusement at Slacker. "Hello, Slacker. Ready for the big time?"


She grimaces at Winchy's comment. "That... was a slop win. I can't believe he skidded out of control, spun around, and knocked down those other two bikers. And don't even try telling me he did it on purpose. Ah well, a pitcher of beer at Matchstick's, on me. Guess that's what I get for betting on those damn Timberwolves."

[Digital Heroin]

Oh-five hundred, wake up time. Warden doesn't bother to set an alarm, he hasn't needed one since Basic Training. You just learn and adapt. No matter how little sleep he's getting, he wakes up when he needs to. The morning brings his usual routine, a ten kilometer jog, some calistenics, a half hour shower, then a hearty breakfast. The days have been long since he slid from normal society, almost ruininously so at first. But then comes the chime of his pager; work calls. His apartment has no ties to his actual work, no number known to anyone save Caitlin, none of his gear working gear except for the Manhunter, and that's registered, so using it on a run would be beyond stupid. He doesn't even make the call to the bolthole's telcom from home. He changes into a simple pair of jeans, a plain t-shirt, work boots, holstered Colt, and his leather jacket - the Fire Captain's jacket, nametag removed.

After checking to make sure the trid is set to record the night's Screamers match, he departs, locking up behind himself. He heads down to the bus stop, hopping on the first one that comes along, and riding for ten minutes before spotting a suitable Stuffer Shack. He gets off at the next stop, and heads into the convinience grocery, making for the public telcom, where he proceeds to check his messages.

--I know work’s been dry lately, so I’ve brought you some good news. There’s a potential job waiting for you at the Eye of the Needle restaurant at 3:00. The Johnson’ll be in room 24. I don’t think I need to tell you to dress well. This guy is legit, and is willing to shell out some serious cash for good talent, so don’t fuck this up.--

Warden looks down over what he's wearing and figures it'll have to do. There's no practicality in suits, so he doesn't own any. Hell, his clothes are clean enough, and if this guy's looking to hire, he won't want people blowing smoke up his ass pretending they are what they're not. The Manhunter might not be the best of things to bring to such a posh restaurant, but he'd turn it over if asked. That's why he's got a permit after all, so that he can carry it.

Eyeing his watch, Warden decides he's got enough time to catch a quick lunch, and maybe a pint, before heading to the meet, so he pulls up a bus schedule to get an idea of where he is.

A good burger, a pint and a cab ride later, and he crosses the reception hall of the Needle, and steps into an elevator. The lack of a check for weapons is suprising, but not unwelcome. He'll just have to remember if he's packing, chances are there are others who will be too. Stepping off of the elevator, he blinds out his surroundings, going tunnel vision with his sights set on the maitre'd. Inquiring as to a reservation in room 24, he finds himself led to the room where the others are waiting. Traffic's a bitch sometimes, but at least he's not late.

[scoundrel]

Moments after the four of you have gotten settled in, the door slides open with a *ding!* and a man whom you assume to be your employer walks in. He's a fairly plain looking human man in his early forties whose snappy attire and confident posture just reek of the corporate stench. You know the type...the ones that come out of their mother's womb dressed in a business suit and will probably go to meet their Maker in one as well. Following closely behind him is a slender elf dressed in a light brown longcoat. Caitlin immediately identifies this latter addition as the same elf that she had seen earlier scouting out the room, but his face displays no sign of recognition as he passes his eyes over each of you.

The Johnson takes a seat at the far end of the table, with his bodyguard remaining standing beside him. As soon as the door closes, his features begin to morph. A few seconds later, the chair in which the human man was sitting in becomes occupied by a rather handsome ork of around the same age. He gives you all a friendly smile, but you sense that there's a struggling tension lurking beneath his calm exterior.

"Welcome," he says. "I hope that this place has been hospitable to you. My name is Arkady Killinger."

[gobogen]

Winchy looks up at his eventual employer with confidence - yet no arrogance -, but he does not talk to him. He's happy with his nice black suit; even though it's not that great, he's still proud of wearing it in such a luxurious place as this. However, he wants to avoid talking to people who are this serious as he knows that he usually sounds unprofessional.

Seeing that Slacker probably doesn't want to talk any more than he does, he turns to Warden and Caitlin, hoping that they could talk on behalf of the group.

[Glyph]

Caitlin returns the warm smile, and shakes the ork's hand if it is offered. "Yes, the service has been wonderful here. I'm Ice Queen. It's a pleasure to meet you. And these are my associates - Warden, Slacker, and Winchy (she points out each of her fellow runners in turn). "

She prepares for a bit of small talk, expecting that the Johnson won't get to business until after everyone has eaten. Good. That will give her more time to analyze him a bit - although she won't try astrally scanning him with the elven mage present. She's actually a bit relieved that he was the person she spotted earlier - if a third party was spying on the meet, she would be far more worried. Therefore, she follows the elf's cue and gives no outward indication that she has seen him before.

The Johnson is a surprise, more warm and personable than she expected - although he does have Korbin's endorsement, which is actually worth a lot to her. There is some kind of tension under the surface, though - she'll have to see if the cause surfaces when they get to the details about the job. The mask spell was no big surprise to her, of course, given her own magical background, although she is pleased that the other runners, even if they were shocked, are keeping up their poker faces.

[scoundrel]

To Caitlin's surprise, the Johnson gets down to business immediately, wasting no time on pleasantries. The elf opens up a leather briefcase and pulls out a stack of manila folders. He starts setting one down before each of you as Killinger begins to talk.

"As you may or may not know, I'm the current president of the Ork Integration Alliance. The OIA is a group devoted to metahuman rights in general, but primarily those of orks and trolls. I won't waste your time by making you suffer through the archetypical politician's spiel. We're somewhat of a radical organization, and one of our main objectives is to eliminate the conditions that make the Ork Underground a dangerous place for people of other races to live in."

He coughs and takes a sip from his water glass. "The purpose of such a move is to merge the Underground community with the rest of Seattle and dispense with the isolation that has accomplished nothing more than further demonize us in the eyes of the populace. I understand how difficult such a change is for most of my brothers and sisters - I myself had lived in the Underground for most of my life before moving to the surface world. But there is no other choice. Naturally, my position on this issue has made me many enemies."

He gestures towards the folders lying on the table in front of you. Opening it up, the first thing you find is a 8"x12" photograph of a young male ork who looks to be about 15 or 16 years old. He's sitting in a wooden chair on some sort of stage with a guitar on his lap, favoring the camera with a mischievous devil-may-care grin. In addition to the photo, included in the folder is what appears to be a dossier on the adolescent. A cursory glance at the document reveals the boy's name to be Nicholai Killinger.

"Unfortunately, one of these enemies is my own son."

Killinger sighs wearily.

"My son hated it when my family moved out of the Underground. Our relationship was strained to begin with, and it rapidly deteriorated from there. I could never hold a conversation with him without getting into a fight after we relocated into our new home in the surface world. I knew that the move had hurt him, but I didn't know how much because I was too preoccupied with my work. I was a fool. I now realize the damage that my negligence has done, but it's too late. Two days ago, my son ran away from home, leaving nothing but a note telling me that he has gone back to the Underground, and to not to try to find him.

'You're all here today because I need you to track him down and bring him home. I will pay your team 200 thousand nuyen for your services, 50 thousand each, half up front and half upon completion of the job."

The lines in your employer's worried face seem to have deepened tenfold, and his eyes reveal the anxiety plaguing his thoughts.

"My family had lived in one of the wealthy, upper class neighborhoods in the Underground, and so had been shielded from most of the criminal elements of the city. My son has no idea how dangerous it is for him to be down there alone. Lonestar has no jurisdiction in the Underground, and the local police force refuses to help me. You're my only chance. Please help me get him back."

[gobogen]

Winchy listens carefully to Arkady Killinger and he is deeply touched by what he hears.

Groups like this one, he's seen and participated in many of them before, but rarely has he seen someone this smart and serious in charge. This ork is part of an organization he has always truely respected: the Underground is a mystery to Winchy and he sees it as an obstacle to metahuman integration into society.

The fact that this man asks for his help for such a noble cause makes him wish there was no money involved.

Winchy truely feels for this ork who shares his hopes about society, and who has suffered because of what he believes in. Still, he won't say a word and he keeps it to a business level for now. Yet, the dark eyes of the troll show some emotion.

[Glyph]

There is sympathy in Caitlin's eyes as well, but she steeples her hands under her chin and addresses Killinger in her cool, soft soprano voice.

"The job and the compensation are both acceptable to us. However... we will need to move through the Ork Underground, an area that we have nothing but the most cursory familiarity with. We will be wandering well off the tourist paths, into places where humans such as myself, Warden, and Slacker will, to say the least, stand out from the crowd.

You say that you lived in the Ork Underground for most of your life; right now, we need some of that knowledge. Maps and routes, especially of less-traveled areas, passwords, that sort of thing. And if you haven't burned all of your bridges there, then any people you know whom we could meet would be even more helpful."

Her voice softens a bit. "I can't promise it will all work out in the end. But if he's still down there, we'll find him, and give the two of you another chance to straighten things out."

[Digital Heroin]

Warden does well in hiding his reaction at the change in their employer before their eyes. A spell of some kind, which, given the speach that follows, is reasonable enough. A guy like Arkady has got to have plenty of enemies, after all.

Warden listens silently through the explination of what their hire is for, and he frowns ever so slightly. This one's not going to be easy, and if things get down to it, it won't be pretty either. He's delt with the Underground before in very limited capacity. From what he knows and has seen, it's not the kind of place you want to be caught unwelcome. Even as a firefighter, attempting to save lives, he was all but thrown out. He doesn't weigh in, however, bowing to Caitlin with negotiations. His is a tactical mind, not a business oriented one.

[scoundrel]

Killinger looks at Caitlin with gratitude. "I understand your concerns. I can procure for you a set of access passes that will allow you to venture freely in the Underground without being hassled by most of the residents.

'I'm afraid that producing viable maps on such short notice is beyond my capacity, but I have an acquaintence who has been roaming the uncharted parts of the Underground ever since he learned how to walk, and knows it five times better than the back of his hand. I'll arrange for him to meet with you once you get down there.

'Lastly, there are many people in the OIA who still live in the Underground, and they may be able to lend you a hand if you run into any problems. I'll..."

"If I may, sir," the elf interrupts. "It's not a good idea to let your colleagues know that your son..."

"I don't care," Killinger says softly.

The elf falls silent, and your Johnson continues, "As I was saying, I'll notify them of your arrival in advance and let you know how to contact them. I should also be able to get you a place to stay with a friend of mine."

Killinger looks at each of you with a grave expression on his face. "I'll arrange for everything to get to you through your fixer, but I will not deceive you. Even with my help, your safety is not guaranteed. Many of the inhabitants in the city below don't play by the rules - the only universal badge of acceptance in the Ork Underground is strength. I know you have it, you know you have it, but they don't, and you'll no doubt be tested for it while you're down there."

[Glyph]

Caitlin listens to Killinger attentively - it looks like all of her logistical concerns have been addressed, so the rest of the meet will simply be getting all of the details ironed out. At his last note of warning, she allows herself a thin smile.

"Don't worry. None of us showed up here expecting an easy job. All of us are specialists who are used to operating in gruelling and dangerous conditions. And while we may prefer a deft and subtle touch, we can come down like a hammer when we have to."

[Digital Heroin]

Warden has to smile at Caitlin's assesment of their methodology. His own is far from subtle, even it is suprisingly non-lethal. Not many people can boast just the right level of control with a fire to let people escape in time but feel like they almost didn't make it, after all.

[scoundrel]

Killinger nods. "You have my trust. Is there anything else you need from me before we part ways?"

[Slacker]

As usual, Slacker is impressed with Caitlin's skills. He certainly couldn't have done as well at it.
Even if he thinks she might have gotten a bit more money out of him, Slacker believes she made the right choice in trying to get more intel.
'I sure hope she isn't falling for the orks compasionate crap. Can't lose sight of the fact that he is the Johnson and we are the disposable assets,' he thinks to himself.
'Hey...wait a second...this sounds like an old fashioned dungeon crawl! Maybe, all my experience with online games will finally be of some help. Woot.' A smile comes over him as he thinks this.
He doesn't pay much attention after that, though he does make sure he at least outwardly looks like he is. Instead he is thinking of all the times he has killed the gameworld versions of orcs, trolls, goblins, ogres, and other monsters.
Not to say that he thinks of orcs and trolls as monsters in the real world, but they were portrayed as such in the games he likes.