Taylor:


Grendel:

[ Spoiler ]

Buzz:


Trace:

Icarus leaves Davin's office, walking down the stairs and out the employee's entrance. He thinking about what the big man had said about the scorpion, and when he rounded the corner that lead to the employee parking he saw what jack meant by "POS". My god, it doesn't look like anyone has taken a wrench to this baby in years. Icarus smiled, showing two short tusks that were yellowed from him recently taking up smoking, running his hands down the length of the bike he thinks, Just like mine, except a little newer and in alot worse shape Thinking about his old bike sent memories of his sister flooding back into his head, and about Allen, that cousining worm, who the next time Icarus saw would grind him like some much bad karma, under his size 24 boot heal. He noticed that this train of thought had caused his hands to clench and his short finger nails to cut into his palms, but he didn't care. I read somewhere that venting you anger was good, and I have been so busy with the club and just trying to survive I really hadn't had much time to do that.

After standing for a few minutes in complete silence, motionless, Icarus snapped out of the trance he had put himself in and hopped on the bike.

"Oh no, no, no," he said as the Harley sprung to life rattling, almost choking for breath, "Davin, you a good buisnessman, but you know absolutely nothing about tuning a hog." He fished around in his pocket and found a quarter, and unscrewed the wingnut on top of the air filter and used the quarter to open the carburator some.

"Ah that's better," he said laying into the throttle, letting the roar of the Scorpion carry across three city blocks, "that's what a Harley is supposed to sound like."

Satified that the bike, if nothing else, sounded better, he lifted the kickstand, clicked the bike into first, eased out the clutch, and started riding. I've got time to enjoy the bike a little while before I get back to the house and get ready, right? It's still early yet.

He decided that despite the time he would go straight home anyway, it had been a long morning, and he wanted to get home and shower before the meet with this "Mr. Johnson", man that sounds like a fake name to me, like something off the trid...

The club was located downtown, but his corner of Seattle was located in Hell's Kitchen. Well that's not entirely true, you live on the streets Hell's Kitchen is just were the abandoned bus station you keep your stuff in, is He was glad that Davin hadn't given him one of those toy motorcycles, because the roads near his house--shelter were not very well maintained, and anything less stout would really hurt to ride through here.

He didn't bother with the formality of parking the bike on the street like a normal person and road the hog right into the building using the headlight to check for people that shouldn't be here. He never expected there to be, he'd sent a couple of thug gangers to the hospital when he first took up residence in the place, and they hadn't bothered him since, but better safe than sorry. Whos going to mess with an eight foot tall troll wearing a apron stained with what looks like blood. But it's not blood it's spagetti sauce, but I think they won't be able to tell the difference. After he was satified there was no one around, he turned the bike off, pulled out the key, and stuck it in his pocket.

He kept his gear around the station in various places, clothes in a locker that the key no longer required quarters to remove, and everything else in a locking closet in what used to be the buisness office. First thing's first, shower. He walked into the bathroom, and to the make shift shower he had rigged up, he didn't have soap, and the water was controlled by a toilet flusher, and there was no hot water, but as long as you kept "flushing" there would be water. It was a game of his, developed mainly to keep his mind of London but also to take his mind away from where he was and what he was doing, was to count how many flushes it took for him to get clean, well as clean as one can get with no soap or hot water.

Buzz sprung off the permafoam mattress before the alarm on the poc-sec struck 11, which was a little early for Buzz's preference, but he was willing to deal with it in order to get some work. Walking into the kitchen, Buzz prepared breakfast, which consisted of nuking a microwaveable soy-meal and some kaf. Wolfing down that meal, Buzz decided on having another, before carrying on. he ate plenty, constant activity, and the suprathyroid gland both conspired to keep him thin regardless of what he ate. Full, but unsatisfied, the elf move himself into the living room, where he stared out at his own reflection in the window for a moment.

Not bad for a bastard He thought to himself as he ran his palm over his cheek. That's what is friend...former friend Carlo had called him, before he split from Tarislar. Buzz had it Bio-tattooed between his shoulder blades after he left the barrens. Had cost him a thousand nuyen to get it done. The street doc hadn't asked any questions about what the word in Sperethiel meant, he's just done the injections. His mother said there was nobility in his face... but if it was there somewhere, Buzz didn't see it.

Moving away from the window, the elf brushed his hand over his head, and sat down on the couch, the synthleather squeaking. There was plenty of time to kill, so he popped on the trodes, and started up a sim...

The simsense had kept him at least mildly entertained, until it was time to get ready for the meet, although it was difficult to get into, with the nervous anticipation riding overtop of everything. It was dark now, outside, but still plenty of light for an elf to see by. Buzz threw on a pair of pants, than the armored vest, his fingers drumming across the heavy plastisteel plates while he fastened it into place. A black t-shirt over it, which read, "Today is not my day." in thick white block letters. Over that went the long coat. Buzz reached for the poc-sec, stuffing it into one pocket, the beretta went in the inner holster of the coat. Hopefully he would get time to comeback before whatever it was. Fat Charlie hadn't elaborated as much as Buzz might have wished but oh well... wish in one hand... Buzz thought to himself.

It was a short jaunt down to where the rapier was parked.

Taylot finishes his shower and then heads to bed, hoping to grab a few hours sleep, he was worn out from the all night stakeout. Fortunately a few hours of sitting on a rain soaked roof had paid off. Before he could close his eyes, he heard the beep from his wrist phone and replayed the message.

I hope this is more interesting than that tail chaser last month.

[Taylor spends most of the day asleep, then hit the gym around 4.]

Glancing at the chrono feature on his wrist phone he took another shower and began getting dressed for the night. Once decked out in "underware" and a new Actioneer set, he grabbed his bag from the night before.

Taylor arrives at the club around 7, and the place is dead. Taking a stool away from the trid, he orders a norm beer and gets a strange look from the bartender.
"Working to night, can't be getting sloppy, speaking of work, Baker told me a client was going to meet me here in a few hours. He also said you'd be the guy to talk to about which room Mr. Johnson would be in.

The bartender nods and brings back a beer on a napkin. On the napkin is written a short note saying "Mr. Johnson is in room 3". Without looking back at the bartender, Taylor kills the beer in one shot then tips the bartender a hundred nuyen and begins making his way to room three.

37, that's a personal best, hell that's probably a world record he finished his shower, or at least what he liked to think of as a shower, and walked, naked back into the main area of the abandoned bus station, looking around watching each place he steped for broken glass. He had done his best to clean the place up, but he left a few things around just trying to make sure it didn't look too inhabited.

He strolled casually to the locker there he kept his clothes gave it a good smack and the door swung open. He smiled relieved to see that his stuff was still there, and he sifted through a few pairs of clothes, passing the fine leisure suit he had bought, until he found what he was looking for. "Ah, there you are," he said to his leather pants and jacket. These clothes were the ones that he had worn when he first stepped off the sub orbital and into Seattle and were his only possessions, aside from his knife, that came from london. Before putting them on he pressed them firmly against his nose, smelling the rich scent of real leather and motorcycle gasoline. The good ol' days, but they are gone now, and all I can do is move forward

He put on the pants, pulled a black shirt, with "London Harleys" on it, on and put the Leather jacket on. He had had the jacket made, specially for him and it was embriodered with a scorpion holding a Harley Davidson logo. Since coming to Seattle he hadn't been eating as well as he used to, and his clothes reflected it.

"Oh well, maybe this job will produce some pounds--nuyen," he said moving towards were the rest of his gear was stored.

He had moved a large, heavy filing cabinet in front of the door, since he hadn't been able to locate the key to the lock, and picked it up, setting the old hunk of metal behind him. Picking up a knife, he lossens the belt he has on and feeds it through the sheath, letting the vibroblade sit off to his left side. His shotgun, that he had picked up from Collonel Bubbie's Sporting Goods in Everrette sat leaning against the back corner and he picked it up, racked it hard, then decided against taking the hip cannon with him.

By the time he had finished and gotten back to the bike, the sun had begun it's slow desent into the land of Nigh, as his father had called it, and Icarus was glad of it. He hopped onto the loaner bike, which now sounded like a roaring great dragon, and rode west for a while trying to out pace the sun.

Once he had killed enough time, he headed down to Jake's parked the bike on the sidewalk not thrity feet from the door, took out the keys, placed them in his pocket, and walked into the bar. He wondered if they severed food, since he was pretty hungry, but just from the look of the place he didn't think so. Disapointed he walked over to the bar to take a seat. One look at the questionable barstool, and he decided it might be better to stand.

Leaning forward and resting his elbows on the bar he says, "Mr. Grey has sent me to speak with Mr. Johnson."

It was short jaunt to Jakes on the North side. Buzz parked the rapier next to a harley. Putting down the kickstand, Buzz locked the ignition switch, and moved on into the club. He scanned the room briefly, looking for anything that looked dangerous, before approaching the barkeep.

"Buzz, for a Mr. Johnson," the elf said, when the bartender got free from the other folks along the bar."

SLAP.

"Again."

SLAP.

"You wussy, harder."

SLAP!

"Ok, enough."

You might think that slapping onself first thing in the moring is a bad idea. But have you ever tried it? After a night like the one I had I needed a good slap in the face. Since it was almost 5pm though I don't think you could really call it "morning." But what the hell, why not?

After the redness calmed down I took a good look, I still had racoon eyes from the blood vessels bursting, and there was a really nasty cut on my scalp. But other than that I was the picture of health. Well maybe the picture of bad health, whatever.

Jakes, I think I had eatent there before, maybe I stopped in beofre getting loaded, there were a couple of good bars in that area. Well as ong as you have a very loose definition of the word "good".

Anyways, I needed to go, I slipped on my usuall, a nice rumpled suit that wasn't to slept in, and my dark bronw longcoat. Enough armor that I could take a few, but not so much that it would keep me from running away.

The cab ride down there was no biggie, couple of bucks to a fowl smelling ogre. Luckily I was flush for the moment. I stress, for the moment. Thats why you always need to be looking for another job.

I left the gun at home, I figure anywhere theres a meet, there's a gun detector, so what the hell. What do I need a gun for anyways.

I got into the place about 7:30, what a dive. My kind of place. No obvious sign of the Johnson so I took a seat in the back, ordered me up a rat steak, and sat back to enjoy the night.

As each of you enters Jake's a muscle-bound ork looking quite bored by the slow night asks you to turn over any firearms you might be carrying.

The club isn't that big, just a bar and a few booths across the room from it. The long hallway in the back seems fitting. This is a place runners go to meet Johnsons, not really a place where they hang out. The bartender is an attractive human in her thirties who seems quite comfortable with the establishment's "side-business". When you ask about the meet or otherwise inform her of why you are here she tells you to head for Room Three, on the left past the men's room, at 8:40. Other than that she pours drinks and focuses on the boxing match playing on the trid over the bar.

Those of you who arrived early have some time to kill. Its pretty dead and you four all notice one another as you wait for the meet.

Taylor arrives first at seven, followed by Trace at seven-thirty. Icarus strolls in at 8:05, and Buzz brings up the rear at 8:25.

After the good looking bartender had told him he was still a bit early, Icarus orders a beer and turns around, placing his elbows on the bar, beer in hand. The glass was comically small, his hand engrossed amost the entire mug, but he still felt tough holding it. yeah, your novahot boyo, and don't forget it, that's the way you "own" the room.

He wonders, as the first guy in twenty minutes walks in if there were others here for the same thing and if so who were they. There couldn't be more than ten people in the bar, staff included, and they all looked relatively nondescript, nothing like he had imagined a shadowrunner. If I'm working with these guys weres the guy carrying around the cannon, were's our troll, on the trid there's always a troll...oh yeah that's me, hehehe. I bet that dwarf over there is one.. should I go say something? Nah, it's so quiet in here he probably would have heard what I said about Mr. Johnson, and if he wanted to talk he would have come over. Gods this is driving me crazy. Maybe I'll go over and say hello. But what if he's not a runner, then you'll just look like an arse, well would a dwarf say that to a troll biker? No. But he'd sure as hell think it. Maybe that elf who just walked in, nah, those daisy eaters aren't really cut out for this sort of work, wait how would I know who's cut out for this? Eh, no matter, maybe if I send up a flag...

He finishes his beer in one quick gulp, turns around and slams the glass down on the counter, "Gimme another one misy and this time make it a bit bigger," he said loudly trying his hardest to draw attention to himself. "Oh and put it on Mr. Johnson's tab," half yelling made his light irish accent more pronounced. The waitress gave him a puzzled look, "Just put it on my tab sweety, it's called a show of power, you'll understand a bit later," he says quietly, giving her his best, "hey baby" wink. Sure he was a troll, sure he had horns and small tusks, but that didn't make him ugly, in fact, he knew for a fact that there was a certain type of woman who dug the horns and tusks. It also helped that he didn't have all the warts and things some of his fellow trolls had.

Buzz handed the ork the beretta barrel first, without comment. The elf wasn't one of those folks who felt naked without a weapon, course he wouldn't deny the desire to go armed if the possibility presented itself.

He moved down to the bar, and nodded when the woman told him the location. About fifteen mintues to wait. That was tolerable.

"Put it on Mr.Johnson's tab." the bellowing voice came from a large troll at the other end of bar. Buzz looked over intently,made eye contact with the troll, and placed his hands on the top of the bar.

"tap."

"tap tap tap"

Subconciously he began to drum quietly on the bar top. It wasn't loud or obnoxious, but it was noticeable over the quiet of the pub. It was followed a few mintues later with a foot tapping, which only stopped when the elf actively placed his hand on his leg.

Damn, I'm anxious today.. should had a hit before i got started just take the edge off Looking over at the troll again, Buzz changed his mind. Might need an edge tonight

"Hoi!" The elf gives a shout down the bar at the troll, giving him a head nod indicating the larger metahuman should come over.

Chicks hot, probably to used to slimeball hitting on her though. Oh well.

The troll looked capable, as did the elf. Even if he did give just a little to much away with the tapping.

I waited till the clock on the wall said 8:30, pushed myself away from the bar and headed into the room. If the guy wasn't there, I would just make myself comfortable.

crap, it was the daisy eater

Icarus leans back lifting his arms off the bar, gives the bartender another wink, as if to say see I told you, and walked over the the beckoning elf.

Still not sure about the barstools, he leans, once again, on the bar, and sets his beer down. "Hoi, names Grendel," he says, extending his large hand for a shake. He didn't know how they did it in the shadows, but a good firm handshake, in Icarus' less than humble opinion, was the best way to break the ice.

"I take it you're here for this little pow-wow." Buzz says, without bothering to introduce himself, and declining to extend his hand. You never know who might use a touch to get a material link and sling a spell at you, or use who knows what kind of technology.

"It looks like this meeting is about to begin any mintue now, but before we go in there, have you ever done this before?" Buzz tried to speak gruffly, to give the impression of mastery and of derision of the troll, which is not an easy task, considering the metahuman probably weighed as much as 4 elves.

What kind of guy won't shake a hand? If I'm working with this...guy I'd better keep an eye on him.

Icarus looks down at his hand frowning, this being the first time anybody had ever not accepted his offer, wondering if maybe he smelled. His natural blue eyes seemed to glow in the bar light, not from any magic or cyberware, but just from thier natural brilliance.

"Yeah, I'm here for the meet, or pow-wow as you say," he says with his slightly Irish, well now Tir na nOg, accent.

"And no this isn't the first time I've done this, but subtly isn't one of my strong points," the first part of course was a flat out lie, the second was nothing but the brutally honest true. No one had ever accused Icarus O'Shea of being subtle, he'd never had to be, and he tried to hold himself to the idea that anything worth doing you shouldn't mind if anybody saw you doing it. He was for better or worse, completely and utterly green at this shadowrun buisness.

"Now I've got a question for you," he couldn't hold himself back, "what kind of person doesn't shake another man's hand?" A look of true puzzlement dressed the rugged face of a man who'd had everything and lost it. It looked so strange even to someone who'd never seen him before to see such unbridled emotion on his face.

"and have you slap a spell on me, prick me with a finger syringe or some drek like that?" Buzz raises his eyebrows. Perhaps he was being to paranoid. nah. "I Don't think so." the elf stood up, which still brought him several feet below troll. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw someone moving towards the backroom. "well, you ready to do this?"

Buzz was thankful that the Troll hadn't turned around and asked him the same question. He'd have lied of course, but the problem with lying is you never know when you're being convincing.

The Elf gave the universal hand gesture for "after you," and than followed him into the back room.

Icarus got up, following the elf and this new person into the back, taking only cursory care to keep an eye on the paranoid elf.

must be terrible to live your life thinking everyone's out to get you. But different strokes for different folks. Who knows, maybe he's been screwed over in the past and is shy of new people. Still ol'...wait he never said his name. I'll have to remember to listen if he introduces himself.

He ducked low, careful not to hit his head on the door leading to the room where the man had lead them. He glanced behind him checking to see if there were any other guys coming.

I have to be just about the normalist looking guy in the shadows. Stop me if you'v heard this one, an elf and a troll walk into a bar. Oh wait, wouldn't happen you say? Well it just did, talk about an odd pair.

I flipped over to astral vision real quick, just to check the room out and see how heavily cybered my new found friends were. Tell you, these guys get heavier every year. More machine than man, more killer than human. But who am I to judge? The worst of humans usually has no cyber, and carry's nothign but a knife. Damn azzies.

"Hey guys, names Trace, looks like were early."

Maybe this guy is on the level.

"Grendel," Icarus says again extending his hand for a shake.

Ahh the classic handshake. "Look, no weapons", and I take it to mean just that.

"Nice to meet you Grendel," guys got a helluva grip.

"Your not by chance a rigger are you? I might have heard of you."

Now this guy knows how to give a hand shake. Firm but not too hard. He's good stock. What is his name...Tracey, trance...no it's trace. Have to remember that one.

"Nah, none of those little drones, I don't trust them," Grendel says, "No I guess if you have to give me a job, I'd probably be pretty decent at breaking things, but my best skills are in the kitchen."

"Go figure, how many people in Seattle go by the same handle. Probabley a lot I guess. So uh, whats your name Mr. Elf?"

Let me set the record strait, I am not prejudiced. At least no more than anyone else. I always get a little uncomfortable working around people who can break me in half with their pinky finger, call it quirky, I don't know....

That's a good question Trace.

Try, in a poor way, not to look like he's too interested, Icarus listens for the elf's name.

Buzz looked at his human counterpart, and tried to smile, despite that Mr.Elf drek.

"My chums call me Buzz," the skinny elf said, giving a quick, but basically friendly looking wave. "I'm no rigger either. I have a little luck with B and E, and I'm not too shabby in a scrape." He turned to the troll,

"Kitchen huh? Well, at least we won't starve on the job." Whatever the job was. Speaking of which, where was this mysterious Mr. Jay?

Taylor stands by himself for a few minutes checking out the others who are probably be here for the same job. Jacob never said anything about this not being a solo job, I'll have to remind him that I don't play well with others.

Moving over to where the others are, Taylor gives a curt nod to those assembled.
"the name's Taylor, I tend to work by myself, tracking people people and things down."

Excellent, I love a job where there are plenty of people to take bullets for me.

"Well, since you guys are obviously the muscle, I must be your magical backup, spells, elementals and such nothing to fancy. Though I am pretty good at figuring things out. Now, if we just had a job to go on."

Johnsons, as a general rule, licked being the center of attention. They just loved to walk in late and have everyone in awe of them. It didn't hurt that they were the guys footing the bill.

"D-did you say your name was buzz," he looks sternly at the elf. Memories of the remains of Trog and Daisie's flood into his mind, which the nature progession of though leads him to Pandora. For the second time today, his fingernails dig into his palms, sending rivulets of blood trickling off his knuckles.

Calm, he's obviously not the same buzz that killed your sister. You're over reacting. Calm, cool, collected, that's how you deal with things, remember that.

He loosens his hands, revealing a pattern of U-shaped cuts in his palms.

I'm calm.

He grabs a napkin and wipes the blood from his hands, tossing it in a nearby trash can, hoping nobody noticed.

Well I hope this guy isn't too paranoid, wait buzz was afriad I'd try and kill him just by touching him, that's bit wierd, infact, he didn't tell ME his name. Forget it, it's not Allen, it can't be Allen, unless he became an elf in the last three months, which isn't entirely impossible, but highly unlikely.

He extends his hand to the newcomer, "Name's Grendel."

Buzz initially shyed away again from the troll's hand, and than laughed out loud.

"You could probably snap me in half like a twig, I don't your gonna need to slip me the stinkpalm." Buzz gripped Grendel's hand with both of his and shook vigoriously.

"Taylor, Trace, pleasure to meet you both." He offered his hand to both.

That's right Buzz, be socialable. There ain't a whole lot of people lining up to shake your fraggin hand anyway.

Wow this aqkward moment keeps stretching and stretching.

"So anyone know why we are all here?"

His attention broke, with the comments of Trace, and he released his grip on Buzz. He had intended the handshake to go to the guy who just walked up. Taylor was it? But he had no problem shaking anyone's hand.

Icarus looked dumbfounded at trace. he can't be serious, it's for a shadowrun. Maybe he's not all there. Or maybe he want's to know what KIND of shadowrun, yeah that makes more sense. Well maybe it's a... wait what kind of shadowruns are there? Well stealing things, and breaking things, and killing things, that's about all they do on the trid. Better play the tough silent type.

The large troll grunted at the question after wiping the look of are you kidding me, off his face, as if to say, what's it matter?

Taylor orders another beer before speaking.

"You mean besides waiting for Mr. Johnson? Not much of an idea, I know it is somewhat related to my field."

"Tracking people down huh? Weird." Wasn't it legal to track down people?Why would someone want a bunch of shadowrunners for something a private detective, or the 'Star could do alot easier? Whatever was going on, Buzz was relatively certain this was gonna be a strange couple of days.

tracking. how could I have forgotten the bounty hunt, that was my favorite episode of Shadow Samurai. Watching Lawless crack the skulls of those guys, was freakin' awsome. I wonder if that's anything like what I've been asked to come here for? Well I guess we'll just have to find out, now won't we?

It was interesting how change had a way of putting a person in with new and sometimes strange people. He could remember the first guy he met getting off the Suborbital flight from London, Debian. He was a paraplegic decker, with a penchant for old school tech, and would go to great lengths to get rare and outdated gear. It never made sense to Icarus, he had always done the exact opposite, from when he ran the restaurant, on back to when he was in college. If there was a new piece of tech, he felt obligated to own it. He'd never gotten an implant before, and never planned to either, that was of course were he drew the line. He knew some guys took em', but he wasn't one of them. He liked knowing that he came fully equipped right out of the factory.

"Tracking huh, not my forte, but let me ask you this, how'd you come by that information," he says looking at Buzz, then realizing taylor had actually implied it, and focusing his unobtrusive glance on him.

Buzz was starting to take a liking to the big troll. He was friendly, and not in a dishonest, get one over on you type way.

The other two were harder to read, but seemed like they knew more about what was going on then Buzz did. Of course that was relatively easy to accomplish.

The wait was starting to make the elf nervous. Buzz slipped his poc-sec out of his coat pocket and looked down. It had been only a few moments since they'd moved to the back... time stretched out like ages when you were waiting.

Meeting other runners for the first time is usually difficult and, as some of you have experienced, can also at times be dangerous. Fortunately, while things may not be going "swimmingly", the introductions are going well. Trust has not yet entered into the relationship, but at least you all may be able to work together.

At 8:40 the door opens to admit a tall man in a dark designer suit covered by a black long coat that you all recognize as being armored. You cannot tell if he is armed, but there aren't any large bulges so if he is carrying, it's not an assault cannon.

"Gentlemen," he says with a nod as he takes the room's last empty chair. "I am Mr. Johnson and the reason I have asked you to come here this evening is that I need a team to preform several tasks. Tasks that could be very lucrative if they are preformed professionally." He speaks as if he is discussing market returns or quarter sales at a board meeting. You like the fact that he does not hide his eyes behind sunglasses, but still cannot read much of anything from his face.

"These tasks will involve tracking down and individual and retrieving something from him without harming him. After the item is retrieved you will be in charge of protecting it while you transport it to several different locations. Once the tasks are completed you will be relieved of the item and paid," he pauses, "Now are any of you interested? If not leave now."

Transport it to several different locations? This better not be what it sounds like.

"This sounds like a decoy run, is that what it is? We run around town drawing attention while the real run is happening somewhere else?"

Trace's question was an interesting one... one the elf never would have thought to ask, although Buzz wasn't so sure that the Johnson would answer honestly, despite the pointed question. He'd always heard that Johnson's were always looking to stab their 'runners in the back, if at all possible.

Not that Buzz didn't know all about backstabbing.

"I'm frosty, at least till we get to the specifics."

The Johnson answers Trace cool and straightforward, "It is not a decoy operation. Several things must be done with the item before it can be delivered and they can only be done at certain locations."

He nods to Buzz, "Does anyone else have questions or wish leave before I enter into those specifics?"

I gave a nod back, it was a reasonable answer, I still thought he was playing us. But I decided it would e best to hear him out before making any decisions.

"Nah, I think I am good."

"Well Davin asked me not to make him look bad so I guess I'll stay, it sounds pretty cut and dry, transport duty," he didn't think that it was in poor taste to point out the first part, though he was more than likely mistaken.

this isn't exactly what I pictured a shadowrun to be, I thought it was more killing and stealing. Oh well you live and you learn.

Taylor listens to Mr. Johnson's pitch, trying to hide a smile. Looks like were about to go on another hunt.

"Well Mr. Johnson, you've peaked my interest, I'm in. Can you tell us about who we're looking for and what this item is, and who will be trying to prevent us from taking it around?"

"I'll take it from the absence of objections that everyone else is interested," the Johnson says.

The person you will be acquiring the item from is named Nathaniel Monroe. I have the address where he lives with his family for you. The item you need to get from him is a pint of his blood," he pauses, "I know this may seem odd, but that is what I need. I have the medical equipment you will need to perform to procedure. I have to make it very clear to you right now, the target is not to be harmed any more than is necessary to get the blood," he pauses again and glances at each one of you, "To make myself as clear as possible, a needle mark is acceptable, but if there is any other sign of injury you will forfeit any payment for this operation.

"Once the blood is secured you will be given instructions on further tasks. As far as opposition, there is none that I know of so far, but I like to take as much precaution as possible. I will pay you each 2,000 nuyen right now with a further 8,000 each once all the assigned tasks are complete.

"I will now ask if there are any questions, but I must also tell you that I cannot go into much more detail without a final commitment from you."

"So you want us to accost this fellow, and it is accost right? He isn't going to willingly give us a pint of his blood. Then you can't tell us what to do after that, but you’re just sure there won't be any opposition. And for that you’re willing to pay us 10k."

I almost laughed, but I think that would have hurt my negotiating stance.

"I think you can do better than that, you want us to go in blind, your going to have up the ante."

Buzz listened intensely. He agreed with Trace about the money. If he hadn't mentioned it, the elf probably would have. But there were other questions as well.

"So this Monroe can't be harmed? I assumed that other fraggers who get in the way ain't necessarily needing to recieve the same consideration? Also It don't matter if the guy knows we got his blood, only matters if we harm him while doing it?"

Taylor listen to the stress in the Johnson's voice about not actually hurting the mark, Probably a family member or someone he knows.

"Well Mr. Johnson, I can sympathys with you not wanting this young man harmed, however, with the stipulations you've made, you're really cutting down our options, which in turn will affect the final price. Also, how long will we have to take this liter of blood to the various locations? Are we on a time clock, do the locations have to be visited in a certain order?"

Icarus kept his mouth shut. He didn't know what he was doing, and certainly didn't want to point that out.

The only time he made any communication was when the johnson asked about the group being interested, and then he simply noded.

These guys know what they're doing, I'll just let them handle the negotiations and dealings with this "Mr. Johnson".

"Perhaps you are correct," the Johnson says to Trace. "Allow me to change the offer to thirteen thousand each with three grand payable up front. Now to answer the rest of your questions."

Before going on, he takes a drink from the glass at his arm. "As you surmised, Mr. Buzz, the safety of the target must be maintained, but anyone else who gets in your way is fair game. I can tell you now that the target is under minimal protection and he and his security are totally unaware of and ill-prepared for any threat. Again I understand that the restrictions I have placed on you are limiting, but this is the way it has to be. You are professionals, I am sure you can find a solution.

"As far as what you will be doing with the blood after you have acquired it, I will not divulge that now. The less you know, the less may be hurt if you are captured or otherwise rendered inoperative. I hope that you understand."

13 thousand! Ka-CHING! Buzz leaned forward slightly, and gave Trace a congratulatory nod.

"Sounds good to me." the elf looked around to see if the rest of the crew with him agreed as well.

Was the job weird. yes. But the money was good. And besides you didn't just find that kind of cash lying around... Well some times.. Buzz thought to himself, a wry smile appearing on his face.

I had to smile, not a big goofey smile like an idiot, just a little smirk to let myself know that I came out on top. I gave Buzz a nod back, nice to be recognized.

"Okay, I'm in, we will need a few things, obviously the location of the target, and at the very least the general location of where we will be taking the blood. By 'general' I mean, West Seattle, Auburn etc, no need to get specific, but it would be nice to have our driver, assuming we have one, drive the streets."

"Sounds good to me," Icarus said. He didn't really know if that was good money or not, but it's better to fein wisdom in silience.

Taylor smiles at hearing how much money is on the table, should be a good hunt . "Mr Johnson, if theres is there anything else you'd like to tell us?"