9 pm Friday Oct 21 2050

You recieve an email inviting you to Club 419 in Bellevue from Mr. Baker at 10:30. The message indicates that he has a job for you to look at and that you will not be working alone.

With traffic you should be about to make the club in about 45 minutes if you leave in the next five minutes.

The bouncer at the front door is a tall troll scandinavian who you know as Mattis. Despite the crowd gathering at the door, he waves you in ahead of several very upset looking gangers.

You enter the bar, whats your next move?

9:00 to 9:50 pm Friday Oct 21 2050

The music coming from the telecom speakers is an angsty and sorrowful (and slightly pretentious) goth tune, but Viper hums chirpily along with it as if it were a Brittney Sparkle pop tune. She is happy because she has gotten tempbanned again, but not before yet again bringing an industrial music thread down in flames. Those poor, deluded rivetgirls just don't get how much their music sucks, and get very defensive when it is pointed out to them. The blinking ikon of an incoming message interrupts her humming briefly.

Well, well. Looks like Jacob might have another job lined up for her. Good - she's not doing bad, money-wise, for once, but she was really starting to miss that rush of adrenaline. And Club 419 is always fun. It may not be as lively as the Mystic Monsoon, but there are always some slumming suits there to play with. And at least there, she won't have to worry that Wilbur might be there. She shudders slightly, thinking about him. Maxie just can't seem to keep him in line.

She briefly freshens up, then grabs her jacket and heads out the door to catch the tube. A disheveled squatter, obviously off his meds, engages her in a bizarre, rambling conversation, which doesn't faze her but does seem to frighten the unfortunate sarariman sitting between them. She flirts briefly with Mattis, whose perpetual impassivity seems to naturally bring out the mischief in her. She blows a kiss to the gangers before entering the club.

Her jacket open in the heat of the club, swaying slightly to the beat of the music, Viper has to remind herself that she is here on business. She drifts further into the club, looking for Jacob. She realizes that she is pretty early for the meet, but if she doesn't see him yet, she'll just dance and mingle while she waits.

Chi-Sao
Cruising along at night with the Shao-Lun Skulls on the I-90...
"Haa haa haa! Did that really happen?" Tai-Pan asks, "Yeah, his face looked like it had been run into a brick wall after I had finished with it" I reply.
My wrist phone goes off only to inform me that I have a job possiblity at Club 419. Been a while since I worked for Jacob. His jobs have been simple for the most part, but quite well paid and I do need some serious nuyen.
"Yo Tai, gotta run, places to go, people to shoot"
"Better leave some for me this time eh chummer"
"Yeah whatever, I can't help it if ya slow" and with a wink, I pull a stoppie and take a right off the interstate leaving the gang to wizz off into the distance. With my Glock SC 33 & DE440 secure and hidden at the small of my back, a weather check confirms the usual amount of rain. With my go-gang leathers, combat jacket and a long flowing coat, I buzz (litterally on a dodge scoot) through the usual Seattle drizzle dashing between cars in the dark.

At a quick drive by of Club 419 some gangers waiting in the queue notice me and I them. After parking up, I saunter around to the front. The gangers throw some insults my way, but tonight is about business. No funny stuff... maybe. I've seen a few of em about before, if I wasn't on business I would have enjoyed following them and getting the gang down to drek them up. As it stands I don't particularly want to get on Mattis' bad side as he is almost three times my size; or at least that is what it seems like. When Mattis lets me queue jump, I give the gangers the finger and walk smugly in.

After ordering a beer, I sit at the bar facing the crowd whilst attempting to enjoy the music. Not my sort of thing but at least you can get up and dance to it. Whilst on the look out for Jacob I spot a pretty young elven lass dancing away on the floor. Her tatoo's are exquisite and that leather does her arse wonders. Fixated slightly catching her eye every now and then the time passes by quickly....

James Drake
BLAM.
The sound pounds at his earplugs as if demanding entrance into his skull, conducted straight through the reinforced cyberarm to rattle his bones.
BLAM.
The muzzle flash leaps out like a dragon's breath or the wrath of an angry god, forced into three narrow jets by the SOTA barrel compensator.
BLAM.
The round hits with the force of a maddened grizzly bear on Kamikaze, penetrating a good three inches into the solid steel backstop.
BLAM.
The recoil would break his wrist, if it were still anything resembling flesh and bone.
BLAM.
The hammer falls on the last bullet in the cylinder, and before it can finish making its trip to the target James' fingers have bypassed his brain to reload the firearm. He looks down at the inexplicably loaded gun, the experience beginning to lose its novelty with time but still fresh enough to be miraculous.
There's boosted reflexes for you.
A strange buzzing sound separates itself from the ringing in his ears, eventually resolving itself into an e-mail alert for his 'business' address. Bringing the message onto the HUD in his sunglasses with a brief datajack command, he reads it through, thinks it over, and unloads his weapon. He has to think about it this time.
"That's it for today, then."
James' voice gives an unexpected echo, and he looks up to see that the range is empty. He has been honing his ability to kill in an empty room. The streets provide too many opportunities for a gunfight for most to wish for additional practise on a range, and James wonders why that disturbs him as he checks his remaining ammunition in a locker and goes back out onto the street.

It's cold, even for October. Only the hardiest of the street bums are still out and begging, bundled up in damp swaths of cloth. The same goes for the gangs and criminals. Most are too lazy to try and...
Huh.
The occasional one tries to beat the odds, though. Switchblade, bloodshot eyes, ski cap, the whole nine yards.
"Credsticks. Now."
The raspy voice and minimal intellect, too. This guy could get an Emmy for playing a mugger on the trid- he's the quintessential low-life.
"Bad idea, omae. Walk away and go back to your drugs."
The slow, dim rage spreading across his face, the menacing way he lifts the tiny blade. Why can't we have more criminals like this one? Dim, small time, easily taken care of. Blow away someone trying to roll you these days and you're likely to have the Ancients or the Mob on your ass.
Oh, well. Time to kill him.
James becomes a blur of motion, the massive pistol going from holstered to levelled at the mugger's skull without perceivably occupying any intervening point. He allows himself the satisfaction of a needed task well done as he pulls the trigger, the reticle of the smartlink squarely centered on the mugger's right eye.
He allows himself a moment of panic as the hammer falls on an empty chamber.
I keep my normal ammo at the firing range. I keep my primo ammo at the apartment. I keep some emergency ammo in my jacket pocket. It didn't occur to me to keep any in my fragging gun!?
The mugger's scarred and dirt-caked face breaks out into a malevolent smile shortly before it is removed by a narrow blade that flickers out from James' wrist. He topples instantly, like the movie extra that he resembles, leaving him to stain the acidic slush-and-asphalt mixture at his ankles a dark red. Swearing quietly to himself, the street samurai pointedly loads his gun, checks his jacket for specks of blood, and continues on his way.

It takes twenty minutes of walking to get ot an area secure enough where the taxis actually stop for passengers: after getting back to the apartment and swapping his ostentatiously huge Smith & Wesson Model 500 for a subdued, boxy Glock and a well-concealed, silenced holdout, as well as slip a white noise generator into a pocket, he arrives at the club fifteen minutes early. He muses idly that the line to get in seems more like a police lineup than a 'Who's Who' of the elite-
Hey, that's Tiny! Tiny's out of jail!
James surveys the troll's titanic form as he walks into the bar.
How the frag did a SINless troll brought in on drug charges get out of Lone Star custody intact? I'll have to ask him sometime- but I'm on business right now.
The music hits him like a solid wall, making James long for the earplugs he left at the firing range. He sits down and orders a reasonably good vodka, then begins to look around for his employer.
Reasoning that Mr. Baker won't be holding up a name card like an airport limo driver, James briefly scans the bar for Johnson-looking characters, then discreetly asks the bartender where Mr. Baker is if that proves fruitless.

Brandon choked down the panic building in his chest. Christ, that still gets me, Bradon said to himself as he look at his left arm. A few short minutes ago, he thought it was lying at his side. When he turned and looked, he found it in a completely different area. It wasn't the first time Brandon dealt with the phantom arm effect, but volume didn't help at all.

He didn't know how he felt about his cyberware yet. The left arm just felt different. It weighed more, was stronger, and seemed to lag behind what he wanted it to do. And it seemed colder in the mornings, that was the worst part. Part of him was metal now, and he'd just have to deal with it. How much of the differences waere true, and how much were just in his head, he didn't know.

With a sigh, Brandon reached over to his phone. Club 419? Never heard of it. It really didn't matter if he knew of the club or not, he was coming there tonight. Brandon slipped into a black and gold dress shirt, making sure the concealed holster fell naturally in the small of his back. The Browning Hi-Power and paired silencer fit without any problems. He grabbed his wool long coat and headed for the door.

As he arrived, Brandon didn't know what to make of the crowd. Hmm... I seemed to be slightly overdressed, he thought as he shoulder past the gangers in line. His slim but athletic frame was dwarfed by the massive troll at the door.

Time to find Mr. J

9:12 Friday Oct 21 2050

The dark overcrouded room smelled. It smelled like week old steak and eggs, which where consequently sitting on the top of the radio. What light did manage to come in though the blacked out street level windows set little rivlets spaning across the shamens abode. Shelves of little trinkets flashed, spun, beeped, twinkeled or shimmered in a seisure inducing chaos of sences. Not that Berklee noticed, no, he was busy devouring a plate of soy steak and eggs.

Somewhere in the apartment a phone rang. Literally rang; the old pink rotery phone was sitting wedged in the couch cusions. Berklee noticed how it kept 'ringing' once it stopped ringing, before he actually noticed it was ringing in the first place.
"Ya ya? Oh, right, bravo, october, november, echo. Thanks."

He listined to the matrix relay message from his 'pal' Jacob. Seems it was about some possible work. A short shower later, and he was out the door, keys in hand. The cold october evening air slapped him across the face, reminding him that he should get the newspaper on his way home tonight. It seems his had gone missing, yet again. It also reminded him of the big metal key that was tucked into his waist band, and the thick monowire-weave cord attatched to his belt. He trotted across the street and smiled broadly at the night guard in the parking garage. Ever since Berklee had brought hot coffee and fresh muffins over(which wasent a big deal, as the barkery around the block was open 24 hours), he had been given the luxery of parking his neon orange Yamaha right next to the gate. The engine fired a bright clear note that echoed across the concrete structure, and he carefully drove the miles to the 419.

The bike pulled up next to the line of choppers, hogs and fat boys that lined the street directly across from the club. A winning smile and a friendly greeting to the orc sitting on the black custom job bought him an invitation to watch his ride. He nodded widly at the huge blond troll as he saunted across the broken asphalt, and they exchanded greetings much to the amazed brevment of the slinkly dressed girls begging to get in.

As the music assulated Berklees ears he relized that he had no way of actually getting ahold of who ever he was to see while he was here. After confusing the bartender by asking for an imported beer, he set about looking for dark secluded corners, or, buy the nature of the busniess, anyone packing heat that looked out of place.

Between 10:15 and 10:25 an elf in an olive Tres Chic suit approaches you individually. He gives you a quick nod and passes you a small paper business card reading, "ANTIQUE TELEPHONE IN BACK; 8657277"

In the back, out of sight from most the club is an ancient box with a set of buttons and a hand receiver. It looks like a telecom, minus the 'jack port or vid screen. Typing the number in on the pad causes a small door to slide open on your right side. The door leads to a hallway that ends with a large steel door with a camera above it.

As you approach the door it opens revealing a short staircase and a large landing with a long conference table and an overview of the dance floor. At the head of the table sits a man working on a computer mounted in the table.

You recognize him as Baker, he waits until all of you arrive before beginning. "Thank you all for coming on such short notice. Recently I've acquired information that a shipment of merchandise will be stored at a very exposed location overnight before being shipped to a distributor in the morning. Are you interested in hearing more?"

An eclectic group. No trolls, which is good: they tend to draw too much attention.
"Hold on for a moment."
The charactaristic hiss of a white-noise generator fills the room, and James looks distracted for a second or two.
"All right, go ahead."

Chi-Sao
Looking around I feel delightfully suprised to see the girl he was trying to eye up on the dance floor. Now is not the time for such thoughts, discipline is everying. It suddenly dawns on me what I am about to enter into; a darker world where professionalism is everything. Looking around at the people around me, I feel somewhat outclassed by the jazzy suits and the hardboiled look of everyone paying attention to Jacob's words. These people are not you everyday ganger whom I enjoy gunning down for a bit of extra cred.

Jacob's job doesn't sound too unusual, I've done a couple of grab jobs with some guards who didn't know their ear from thier arsehole. I guess this will be much the same, just with a bigger payout.

"Go ahead chummer."

Viper finds herself amused by the elaborate but quirky security - she feels like she is in one of those cheesy superspy trids. As she approaches the door, she resists a strong impulse to lift up her shirt and flash the camera.

After nonchalantly taking a seat, she looks around at the others, a curious mix. Some of them look like they dressed for the club, like her, while others seem to have opted for more formal attire. She scans over the group with her astral sight, before taking off her mirrorshades (which are partly for coolness, but also partly to hide the telltale vacant-eyed look that someone astrally scanning can get).

She nods affirmatively at Jacob's question, smiling brightly. She is sitting relaxed at the moment, but hopes the meet won't take too long. She gets fidgety very quickly.

From the side of the desk Baker produces an e-paper copy of the Ares Winter Catalog 2050.

"I am sure some of you are familiar with this. Recently I came across information that a resupply shipment would be arriving in Seattle soon. Last night I was able to confirm that the shipment had arrived and was being sent to Weapon World downtown. According to my most recent information, there is still one container at the dock, the rest having been moved through the day. Apparently Ares has had trouble in the past with moving cargo from these docks at night.

"What I am offering is 5000 nuyen for a few hours work. Two thousand up front and the rest on delivery. In addition to the payment for this task, I am willing to include ten percent of any profits made from this merchandise. Also I currently have the dock under surveilence by a rigger I know. He uses the street name GTO, perhaps you've heard of him? Irreguardless he sent me this photo of the site"

Leaning back and folding his hands across his lap, "Any question?"

>>> 21:02 User Yukari Fuchi has exited the Matrix

Slowly, Henry reaches up and slides the plug out of his data jack. He blinks a few times, whincing at the lighting in the Internet cafe. He quickly downs his Soykaf, nearly spitting it out all over the floor...

"Bleh, its cold. How long was I here again?"

He quickly packs up his gear, and slings it over his shoulder in his pack and makes his way out to his bike. A freeway and a half later, Henry finds himself standing outside Club 419, barely kneehigh to the towering trog standing before him. Laughing, no giggling like a prep-school girl, Mattis lets Henry into the club, at which point he makes his way over to the bar.

Henry checks his watch, 10:27... "barely made it under the wire." Scanning over the bar, he sees no sign of Mr. Baker.

"Whoa! Hey, oh thanks for the card..." Henry got a bit distracted with the bar's scenery, and was suprised by the elf handing out business cards. The dwarven decker scurries over to the phone booth, and climbs up onto the stool, cursing about the use of such antiquated technology. He then hurries over to the group, and props himself up on the arm of the couch, in a vein attempt to see eye-to-eye with those already seated.

"Sorry I am a bit late, I got here as quickly as my stumps could carry me."

The old booth had a phone that was from the same era as the one in Berklees pad. But the sliding panel was astonishing. It was so soviet scare that he almost forgot what he was there to do. Trying his best to be non-shalent, yet seceritive all at once was more then mildy entertaining.

Berklee sat down and layed an arm over the table and sat his chin on it, peering over the top of his shirt cuff. Looks like a fun crowd. No one so far sticks out, but no one really just fades into the chair like a real pro.

The short briefing goes on, with a winning smile and nod at the mention of a fetch mission. The dead tree format of an Ares catalog got a healthy head raise from the shamen.

"Sounds pretty tight. Any idea what the size of this little ole' shipment is? We talking backpack or lorry? Also cant say that I personally have heard about this GTO fella before, but if you work with him I can at least trust him as far as I can toss him, eh?"
Berklee lets an eye roll over the latecomming dwarf relizing a few sylibals too late to snuff the comment.

Henry starts chewing over the information. "Sounds like a snatch-n-grab, but the easiest way to make something disappear is to make sure it never existed..."

He makes a brief mental note of the related information "Ares, Weapon World, Seattle... if we can acquire the box, we might be able to remove its serial number from the dock manifesto. I'm sure the luggheads down at the dock won't miss something they don't have evidence of receiving. Gotta love the unions."

Henry clears his throat before speaking, "I...I...I might be able to, you know, make this (finger motion) disappear if y'all can find a way to actually get them off the dock."

Viper shrugs. "Like our other colleague said... size does matter." (slight impish grin). "There are ways of making packages disappear, though, whether you use mojo or straight-up muscle power with a dash of sneakiness."

She cocks her head quizically at Baker. "I assume this is a rush job? I hope you realize that we could all zoom over to the docks, only to find that this package has already been moved, right?"

Chi-Sao
Sounds just like I had imagined. Good to already hear these guys have done this sort of thing before.

"I agree, if the package is enough to make a decent profit out of, it must be in a decent sized container. Sounds to me like a lorry will be needed... Who can drive? what about GTO? Will you be providing adaquate transport for the cargo?"
"Making it dissappear is a definate move chummer, if you can do it". I say nodding at the dwarf

Turning back to Jacob, "A spell slinger might come in handy, if any of these boys n girls aint one, do you know of any buddy?"

James looks over the photo with a tactical eye.

Territory looks like a holy Hell of a place to have a gunfight. Cover and concealment all over, half a million places to hide... a couple of possible approaches. No obvious security measures. I wish I were more used to interpreting arial photography. Is that a two-lane road? If that's a standard cargo container, then that would about work...

"Can you give me some idea of the scale on this map?"

Brandon

Silent till now, Brandon leans forward and half raises an arm. "Is the container on the dock proper, or is it still on the ship? What will we need to move it? Is this something we can do by hand, or will we need a forklift? Or, god forbid, the dock crane? Finally, where are we taking it when we're done?"

Viper, like the others, is paying attention to Jacob, whom they have bombarded with questions. She briefly turns her head to face Chi-Sao at his last comment.

With a slight twitch of a grin, she says, "The mojo's covered for this one." Of course, her quick perusal of the others showed that she is not the only awakened one in the room, but she figures speaking up about it... or not... is their business.

Baker considers the questions before continuing, "According to GTO, (who has been watching the sight for the last ten hours) this full size cargo container was the last one off loaded from the ship. It has already been placed on a flatbed trailer, ready for transport. There appears to be a semi parked in 3D, though I'm not sure if its rigged."

"An hour and a half ago i recieved a burst transmission from GTO showing the following picture. In his message he indicated that the target is located in grid 2D, parked next infront of the structure.

"As to security around the dock, GTO reported seeing four Ford Americars with two security personel each. Also in grid 6C appears to be the central office and secrity station. The entire dock is surrounds by a 3 meter tall fence, with two entry control points, one in 7E (small white building) and the other one just to the east of grid 1E."

"I have a facility in Snohomish that you can deliver the trailer to. Here is a p-sec containing a contact number for GTO and the address of the facility in Snohomish. Any further questions?"

Chi-Sao
Smiling at Viper, pleased to know we have said Mojo on our side, I turn fix my gaze back upon Jacob.

"Nope, I'm Good. Got some wire cutters for the fence... if its that sort of fence!"

James gives a low whistle.

"Getting in to get at the truck will be the easy part- it's getting it out of the docks and to the drop site without pursuit, being noticed by any Lone Star drones, being tracked by GridGuide, or having the vehicle termination chip activated. Even if no complications arise- which they will- is quite a complex job."

And the jammer I've got at my apartment will make it a good deal easier, but he doesn't need to know that. The harder we make it seem, the more he pays.

Henry begins thumbing his datajack, staring at the aerial photo some more.

"Snatch n grab" he mutters, then shakes his head. 8 guards, at least... let alone other forms of security. But... what if...

Henry begins to mutter out loud "What if they delivered it for us?" Could it be done? What would it require? Henry's eyes light up, the brightest green they've been in weeks. Pointedly, Henry askes Jacob "How soon do you need this package? What if we were able to have them deliver it to a drop-off point, rather than trying to snatch it out from under their security?"

"All it would take is a minor edit to the transport manifesto, maybe forging tracking barcode... when the formen reads the manifesto in the morning, they would deliver the package to where ever we tell them!" Henry is on his feet, standing on the arm of the couch, nearly ready to explode with excitement... "Union workers can be so predictable!"

"It would take a bit of stealthy, on-site recon, mainly getting the package information so we can pry it out of the database. Then, we either re-route the package, or delete its entry and replace it with a new one. We could have them drop it off just about anywhere on their route, and I doubt anyone would be the wiser..."

"Union guys always follow the paper work. What do you guys think? We'd have to have everything in place by sunrise to pull this off, but it might be doable, or do you need something done sooner, Mr. Baker?"

Brandon looked at the excited dwarf with new found respect. Completely rerouting the shipment was an option he never even considered, a fact that slightly bothered him. Not so much that someone else came up with the idea, but that his mind was set in a particular way. I've got to learn how to adapt again... sticking only to my old methods are just going to get me killed. Brandon again thought about how little actual running experience he had, and his spirits fell a bit. Knowledge of combat? Yeah, comfortable with that. The consequences of getting hit or screwing up? Even more so. Brandon winced at the thought. He once made a living pulling people out of firestorms and knew all too well what happened when beginners got in over their heads.

"I think changing the transportation certainly has merit, but I don't know if it would work for us. Although the dock workers might not know or care where the cargo ends up, the client certainly will. When their shipment doesn't show up in time, they are going to start asking some very pointed questions. They are probably already pissed that the dock workers didn't get the shipment out today. Further, we can't be sure that we'll be able to change every single transportation control. If we miss even one, that will blow all of our surprise. Finally, for all the recon and intrusion work we'll have to do on-site, we might as well take the truck in one fell swoop."

"If we had more time, I think it would be a great idea. But under the circumstances, I think its better to limit the variables."

Chi-Sao
Already feeling a little underwater

"Changing the route or at least knowing the route however could mean that we would not even have to enter the docks. Surely if you can (looking at the dwarf) change where it is going, we could at least know which road to ambush it on. Would it be possible to change or get access to its current route and ambush it somewhere along the road. (Remembering a recent Shadowrunner trid) Possibly rig some traffic lights so we can stop it exactly where we want it, jack it and away we go.

I would be happy to help on recon, scouting or even creating some sort of distraction if necessary."

"Even that would likely require recon time that we do not have. I agree with Brandon- the only way to do it in the time-frame that we have is quick and dirty."

Chi-Sao
"I like it quick and dirty", I say, winking at the elf with a smile on my face

I Broaden my shoulders, sitting a little more to attention. With a smile after after the unprofessional comment, I glance around at everyone before speaking further.

"Okay, so if we are going for pure grab n run, we are indeed going to need to make sure the dockland security is disabled or at least else-where. Sorry I don't know ya name yet chummer (looking at the dwarf) but it sounds to me like ya know how to crack security, so we need to get you on site. I will be happy to escort and protect you. I guess GTO will be driving and the rest making sure the get-away remains clean."

"I think that it is safe to say that we have all accepted this here run. Best we introduce ourselves eh?"

"Hi, I'm Chi-Sao. I can shoot a dime off ya head at 300 yards and most people just ignore me as they, like you, probably just think I am a low life bum. I prefer to remain hidden and silent, but if the drek hits the fan, I'll back ya up. None of us wanna get caught but I my experience, if one of us does, we all end up in a world of pain... so I dont plan for that to happen...."

"Your the mojo (nodding at Viper), your the wizkid (looking at Henry), what about the rest of ya? (making eye contact with James) Do you reckon GTO could remove them transponder chips for us?"

"I am a good marksman with a pistol- and a fair one with a rifle. My reflex agumentation allows me to outdraw just about anyone, and my smartlink enhances my accuracy. The cyberlimb you see here conceals a spur, and is of unusual strength. I have a good deal of specialized equipment, that allows me to deal with any number of annoyances.
And that's all there is to me."
James ticks all these off dispassionately, almost boredly. He seems to believe what he just said- that he's the sum of his skills, and his things.
It's somewhat depressing.

"I'm Brandon, but most people call me Spears. I'm fairly new to the runner lifestyle, so I won't be to offended if no one here has heard of me." Brandon pauses and smiles before continuing. "I'm not new to the scene though. I cut my teeth on a VTOL HTR team, pulling the unfortunate and the unlucky out of hot water. If anyone here gets hit, just stay put and call for me. I'll make sure you get out of there alive."

"I also went to school a few years back, and picked up some skills there. But I'm really a rifle and a bandage. But I want to be more." Brandon leaned back in his chair, waiting for the next person to speak up.

Baker stands and straightens his suit. "If you will excuse me I believe it would be in the interest of plausable deniability for me to leave. I look forward to hearing good things from this 'run. The p-sec on the table has GTO's number and the address for the dock, and the address for the drop point."

Walking across the room you see Baker tip the head off a small statue, revealing small shelf in the wall. Returning to the conference table he places six certified credsticks and six stacks of assorted corp script. "As agreed, two thousand nuyen, the rest will be waiting for you at the drop point. Remember the clock is ticking. Good luck."

Chi-Sao
Pleased with the varying amount of talent in the team, I reach out and take my portion of the cash.

"Well it looks like Jacob has put together a good team. I am glad to hear you boys can shoot straight (looking at the two who have mentions the use of firearms)Hopefully it won't come to that. We have plenty of idea's, guess now we have been left alone, its time to come up with the plan that we are going to follow through on."

"I think we have two options; First option being to change or at least access the route information and then ambush the truck on route. Or create a diversion on site and stealing it from under their noses. Seems as simple as that to me..."

"Sounds like time is against us. I say we find the hole in the armor of that dock, slide in, and waltz out with their cargo."

"I'm not all that stealthy, but I'm good enough to keep from being a burden while we sneak in. Will anyone here have a problem with it?"
James nods to the girl who said she had the mojo covered.
"Have you got a concealing spirit or spell we could use?"

Viper shrugs slightly as she idly flips through her stack of corporate script.

"I don't conjure spirits. I do have an invisibility spell, but I could do just one person, maybe two if I really strained. Definitely not the whole group at once."

She absently starts counting off on her fingers as she goes through some of her other abilities:

"I can also float people up if they need to get over that fence without tripping any sensors. And I can keep an eye out for any surprises that pop up from the astral plane, and block the mojo if they have any wage-mage talent throwing down on us. My other spells tend to run more towards healing than combat, but I can still take care of myself in a jam."

"Hrrmph. We'll just have to hope they're rent-a-cops, then."

Remaining rather quiet during the bulk of the meet, as the terms sounded plenty fine to him, Berklee starts comming to life once the discussion of magic and spirits come to bear.
"Spirits are what I do love. So long as friends of Dog are around, I can make it all happen" Berklee turns on his trademark winning smile. "Ya'll can call me Berklee, but I will generally respond to "Hey you" as well."

"Im all for walking in and borrowing a truck as well as the trailer. What are the possibilities of talking our way in?"

"To do it plausibly, and sneak in a sufficient number of team members and gear to handle things if they go South, we'd probably need uniforms and fake IDs- and we run into the prep time problem again, right?
Unless anyone here can think of a plausible way to do it...?"

Included on the P-sec along with GTO's number is a photo of his command vehicle.

The drive across the 'plex takes about 45 minutes, and is uneventful. arriving at near the dock you begin your search for GTO's vehicle. Shortly there after you find its like trying to find a needle in a box of needles.

Dialing the contact number on the P-sec a gruff voice answers, "Yeah, you da guyz commin ta help me get da stuff from da place?" He doesn't seek an introduction, he tells you to meet him in front of the brick building with the red trim three blocks east of the main entry gate to the dockyard.

GTO opens the back door of the van, his girth seeming to fill a good chunk of the door frame. With a grin he nods his head back, you interpret that to mean your welcome inside.

On the left side of the truck are shelves so full of electronics hardware it looks like someone dump a couple of Radio Shacks' into them. On the right four drone racks, only one of which is empty. Past the racks you see GTO flop himself down in a large papasan chair, that by the laws of physics should be able to stand up to that kind of force. Across from the small couch is a bank of monitors, only a few are displaying anything. Once comfortable in his chair, he looks back at you, "So, how do you want to play this?"

Chi-Sao
After climbing up and gazing inquisitively at the monitors, I turn my attention back at GTO

"How long do we have chummer? I understand we are on a tight schedule. Do you know when it is due to leave?"

James Drake
(2, 2, 1, 1)
"We should be able to stay in touch during this- I've got a good radio. Have you got the equipment to handle 8,192 bit broadcast encryption?"

Henry is stunned at the contents of the left wall. His eyes become the size of oranges as he stares at the electronics, just wondering what they do, or what he could *possibly* make them do. In a moment's time, he comes to, grips his knapsack, and composes himself.

"Whats the security look like on this place? Think we can take it down without setting off all of the alarms in a three block radius?"

Viper (5, 4, 4, 3, 1, 1)

She smirks in amusement as Henry reacts to the vehicle's interior. The techie gear is a bit out of her field, although it does look reassuringly imposing. She sidles up closer to James:

"If I could see one of the security guard uniforms, I could probably make a close match - I can't help with fake IDs, but maybe if some of us looked like security people, we could get closer before starting a diversion, or at least make 'em really confused if a scrap happens."

"I don't know for sure, but both the truck drivers and dock workers headed out at half an hour before sundown. I figure they were trying to beat the gangs and assorted street rats." Reaching behind him he pulls what appears to be a Radioshack deck. "Let me show you." He plugs a cord from the deck into his data jacks as he points to the top left monitor. As you watch you see surveillance video from earlier in the day until the current image.

Still focusing on his task, GTO doesn't look at James to answer his question, "Yeah, I've got something I can program to handle that signal. Just curios, what brand is it?"

"From everything I've seen, the only security I know for sure that they've got is a couple of patrol team rolling around in Ford Americas, a guard at the gate and a couple in their command center. Theres also a fence, but it doesn't appear to be alarmed. All in all it looks like a standard Hard Corps security setup."

"If you give me a few minutes, I might be able to maneuver to get a close look at the gate guards uniform."

James Drake:

Viper:

Mystweaver:

"Novus Ordo Seclorum, Broadcast Edition."
[[MENTAL QUERY: Create new crypto key, 8192 bit. Label 'GTO Channel'.]]
"Here's the key."
Mentally sorting through some files, James plugs a small optical cable into a jack on the RC deck and sends the key on through.
"A Hard Corps setup, mm? So that's definitely what they are?"
Not Knight Errant, but not rent-a-cops either. You take what you can get...

Viper (5, 5, 3, 2, 2, 1)

She smiles brightly at GTO. "Thanks!" As she lazily leans against one of the walls, her gaze seems to aimlessly wander around the tech-cluttered interior of the vehicle. She frowns slightly at one of the monitors, though, before looking back at GTO with a quizical expression. "Hey, what are those little thingies popping up on the thermal display?"