Pliskin lights a cigarette.

To GM:

Cryptic transmits a message to Heather and Pliskin.

Heather and Pliskin Only



Cryptic watched the Johnson carefully. Whatever was going to happen next seems crucial. He wasn't quite sure why, but the waiting was nerve wracking.

To Cryptic:

To Cryptic:

There is a knock on the meeting room door followed quickly by the door opening and admitting three people. One is a large human man with an obvious left cyberarm. Another is an ork woman with an Ares Alpha assault rifle strapped to her back and a black courier bag hanging at her side. The last is a skinny norm man with what look like fetishes on his coat and his right arm in a sling. On closer inspection the first guy and the ork look kind of dirty and beat up. The cyberarm guy has a bandage on his brow. Two human men remain outside of the room and close the door after the trio enters

They seem surprised to see all the people gathered around the table, but the cyberarmed man takes it in strides and steps closer to the table edge, leveling a cold, hard stare at the Johnson.

"I've got a bone to pick with you, drekface-"

The Johnson cuts him off, ""Do you have my data?"

The overly-polite tone totally throws the sammy off-kilter. He pauses for moment and comes back angry, "Yeah, I got it, but you owe us a lot more than we talked about. You got one of my friends killed and another is in a DocWagon IC unit!"

"Please give me the information you acquired, and then you can air your grievances." Again, the Johnson does not rise to any bait.

With a snarl the man reaches into his coat and pulls out a large folder. He throws it onto the table and it skids to a stop before the Johnson, spilling a few computer memory chips, what looks like a map, and some photographs. Johnson gathers them up and looks them over briefly. With a nod he closes the folder and slides a credstick back across the table. "Here is the rest of your fee as well as the hazard bonus we agreed to."

"Hazard bonus! You never said we would be facing Azzie Security, fragger. We went in under-armed and almost didn't get back out because of you."

"My fault lies in underestimating your professionalism. I cannot be held responsible for your lack of legwork or your-"

He doesn't get to finish as the samurai yells and two long blades emerge from the back of his cybernetic hand. He slams his fist into the top of the table and the blades punch all the way through it. You owe me a lot more than this crap! Don't make me take it in blood!"

You hear a soft coughing sound and the irate street sam's head snaps back. When it falls forward again you can that the area between his cybereyes is covered with some sort of liquid. Then he collapses, the cyber-spurs impaling the table keep him from falling all the way to the ground. The ork woman begins to move, attempting to swing her Alpha into firing position. There is another cough and she suffers a similar fate.

A glance at the Johnson reveals his right hand raised, palm out. The barrel of a cyber-gun extends from the base of his hand. He shifts it to cover the runner's mage, who has not moved since his teammates fell.

"I know you're drained," the Johnson says. His voice is still strangely polite, but now liquid nitrogen runs just beneath his words, chilling the atmosphere in the room. "Don't move and you won't suffer the same fate. I might have just shot them with neurostun, but as far as you know it's fugu and their hearts have already stopped. Now I want you to slowly leave the room, leave the bar, and not return for two hours. Take the credstick and go."

The mage, who has turned a shade of white your never thought a metahuman capable of, very slowly takes the credstick which remained on the table and leaves the room. As soon as he is gone, Johnson pulls a handheld tranciever from his coat and says, "Mario, Douglas, please come in here and dispose of some loose trash. Jasmine, keep an astral eye on our friend who just left. Make sure that he doesn't return."

The two men who had let the runners into the room enter and drag the man and the ork out of the room, shutting the door behind them.

Johnson takes a moment to drain the rest of his glass then looks at each one of you before speaking, "I am very sorry for that scene. It seems I made a slight mistake in hiring them, but at first glance I can see that the information they got use was genuine. Now that we have it, what would you like to discuss first?"

To GM, Pliskin, Heather

C.J. breaks his silence and responds, "we need to know multiple things. Let's start with their defenses. He ticks off his fingers while listing, "magic, spirits, mechanical, electronic, chemical, jungle defenses, and... anything else that falls under that category. Also, do you have blueprints and maps for us to look at now, or should we wait for those?"

"Yes, we should be able to discuss those things now," the Johnson responds.

Once again he pulls out his jamming device and raises it in a gesture to C.J. After receiving a nod from the team leader, he activates the device and begins riffling through the folder the shadowrunners had supplied.

"Let's see," he says, mostly to himself. "Ah, as I suspected they were able to acquire information on personelle as well as the facilities."" He pauses for a moment and then looks up, "Here, let's begin with a general map of the island itself."

Cryptic Only

Cryptic heard the transmission, and his eyes instantly shot wide open... listening intently for every segement he could make out. With the Jammer on, it would make getting a message out difficult, but not impossible. He activated the ECCM on his radio.

To Gm ONLY

Heather and Snake Only


C.J., Cryptic, Mace Only


OOC: Everyone roll initiative in the OOC thread please.

"There is a team at the back door. The team at the front door is not yet in place."

Cryptic says as he reaches under the black knit sweater, and thumbs the hammer of the max-power.


to Heather Plisken Only

There was a heavy whump as the rear door of Nitti's blew inward. The sound of the door-breeching explosives drew Heather and Pliskin's attentions away from trying to puzzle out the strange and garbled transmissions they had received in the past few seconds. Now each of the runners got an eyeful of the armored and helmeted assault team making their way into the the bar's rear hallway.

They also got an excellent view of Douglas Jones, gnome shaman, choosing the exact wrong time to walk out of the men's restroom. The first trooper through the breech, a troll by his size, didn't even see the tiny magician before it was too late to avoid him. The gnome let out a yelp as his body got tangled up in the large metahuman's legs. The troll went down hard, Douglas' screech brought to an abrupt halt as he was smothered by the huge trooper. The troll's weapon, some manner of assault rifle, discharged as he hit the floor, sending a three-round burst of explosive bullets into the ceiling. Just before Nitti's patrons, clamoring in confusion and alarm, jumped up and blocked their view, Snake and Heather could see armored figures behind the troll, tripping over their downed companion in their eagerness to get through the door.

Suddenly two men, the same two who had ushered the shadowrunners to the team's meeting room and had carried two unconscious bodies out of the meeting room, pushed through the increasingly wild crowd to appear at Heather and Pliskin's sides. One of them looks at the runners and speaks quickly, his voice raised above the din, "Sir, Madame, Mr. Johnson requires your presence in the back room immediately."

Snake nods at the Johnson's men, moving his hands towards his weapons, but not pulling them out quite yet.

"Let's get out of here," he says to Heather as he begins making his way to the rear of the bar.


Back in the meeting room, things are a little tense. Those present have heard the explosives go off as well as gunshots and general noise coming from the room outside. In Mace's eyes he can see his teammates growing anxious, but they keep their outer-selves perfectly under control. The Johnson seems to be going through the same things. Psyching himself up for possible combat, Mace whispers a few words of a spell, ready to knock out any threatening person that comes through the meeting room door.

Johnson reaches under the edge of the table and manipulates some unseen control. Much to the Runner's surprise, a section of the wall to the back of the room slides to the side and reveals a hidden room about the size of a closet. A silver metal pole in the middle of the closet shines brightly as light from the room catches on its highly polished surface.

"I had to pay quite a bit more for this little feature," Johnson says. "Looks like we'll need it."

Cryptic can see that the pole extends through the floor-less bottom of the hidden closet. Interesting he thinks as he pulls his pistol.

Following Pliskin's lead, Heather begins following her teammate and their new companions towards the back of the bar. After a couple meters she sees that its going to be tough pushing through Nitti's riotous patrons.

C.J. tells Mace to cover the door and follow him and gives similar orders to Cryptic as he makes his way to the Johnson's bolt-hole.

A few steps later he is looking at the pole and his eyes follow it down. The bottom of the shaft is clouded in darkness and cannot be seen. "Go for it," Johnson says. "I'll be right behind you and my men will make certain the rest of your team joins us."


As they attempt to make their way to the meeting room, Heather begins to use her augmented muscles to move some of the patrons. Her group makes some progress towards the rear of the bar. Snake is able to sneak a look at Nitti's rear entrance and grunts with satisfaction when he sees that the assault team that started this whole thing is still in a heap.

"Mace, you go first and secure the area," C.J. orders.

The adrenaline in his veins sang him a sweet love song, and the rush that putting it all on the line brought made his skin feel tight like it was a size to small for his body. He was deep in the groove now and loving every second of it..

"On it."

He was moving even as he spoke, dropping back into the limits of his mundane perceptions to avoid the additional distraction of astral sight. He grabs the pole loosely and allows gravity to speed his decent as he drops into the unknown.

Cryptic was right behind Mace, low light vision kicking on as his fingers hit the pole.
Here goes nothing He thought to himself, mentally crossing his fingers in hopes of not landing on top of his fellow team mate.

Heather was making headway and towards the entrance where the rest of her team followed, she turned moving to the side to let the others through as she watched their backs to make sure the goons who busted into the joint weren't going to be following them. The milspec armor was going to be a problem if it came to a shotout between her and them. She most defintely perferred something full-auto then her custom pistols.