You can still hear your fixer's last words, "It's a simple run chum, easy cred." You know that no runs are simple, that there's no such thing as easy cred, and that every runner in the shadows knows to never take a job when hearing those words together. But, you need the work so here you are standing in front of the little hole in the wall bar only known as Molly's in the middle of the night in Everett.

"Well the J isn't going to come looking for me out here." you think as you climb the stairs leading up to the front doors to walk in.

The inside of the bar is just as small as you imagined from the outside. It could hold 20 people at most, and by the looks of the current crowd it'd be lucky to have half that at once. You scan the bar through the haze of cigarette smoke and see at the farthest table two men wearing suits. The one standing is a heavily built caucasian wearing a black suit that, if not for the obvious wear from what looks like years of use, any corp exec would be proud to have. You can see him cautiously watching the few patrons with suspicion, just like any good bodyguard would do. The other, a middle-aged caucasian man wearing a gray suit, looks up from his pocket secretary as you enter. As you approach you think, "Why not wear a name tag that says 'Hi, my name is Mr. Johnson' while you're at it." He motions for you to take a seat saying "Sit, relax, the others should be along shortly."

(OOC: This is a short adventure for 4ish runners based out of Seattle using 3rd edition rules in 2060. New characters only please. This adventure is partly for me to get my feet wet with pbp GMing and to hopefully continue on with the same team into a campaign. Follow up on my intro or feel free to make your own intro, mine is just to give you a rough idea of the set up. Please post your character along with the intro.
Characters can be made using either the priority or point build system, 120bp. Please refrain from using really unusual/disruptive characters, i.e. ghouls, shapeshifters, or even some of the outlandish metavariants. All source books are fair game for character creation.
I don't use all the optional rules from all the source books, but I use some, unless you have a question about a specific rule we will address this when issues arise. One rule I do want to try out is the Martial Arts rules from CC, so that one is in.
House rules:
Increased Reflexes: The spells for Increased Reflexes are replaced with a single Increased Reflex spell. The number of additional dice you receive to your initiative for casting the spell is +1 for every 2 successes, to a maximum of Force/2 (round up). The TN for the spell is your Reaction. Drain is always +1S. Similar rules for Decrease Reflexes apply.)

Clearly disappointed by the lack of interest the Johnson stands up and says to the lone runner that showed up, "It seems that our mutual contact was unable to locate any other would be partners for you." and starts to walk away, bodyguard in tow.

"That's bull-drek!" exclaims Slammer getting stares from the hand full of people in the bar, including a scowl from Mr Johnson. In a quieter, less attention attracting voice he says "Frag the others, I didn't come down here to have you walk out without even pitching me the job. Now lets sit and talk about the work you need done."

Visibly irritated the still standing Johnson states "It's a little beyond your... abilities."

"Try me" dares the lone ork.

"Fine" replies the Johnson taking a seat. "I need some datafiles off a computer that belongs to a corporation here in Everett."

Slammer begins to protest saying he's not a Matrix jockey but the Johnson raises his hand to quiet the runner.

"It's not connected to the matrix." he explains.

"So I bust in, grab the data, and get out, that's it?" the ork asks.

"Not quite, they can't know you were ever there and I need it done within seven days." the suit answers.

His interest obviously perked, Slammer asks "How much?"

"¥5,000 for the data and another ¥5,000 if you can do it discretely." he gets in reply.

"Fine, but I need some cred up front." Normally Slammer would try and talk the Johnson into upping the pay a little but he really needed the nuyen and he didn't want to risk the J walking out, again.

Mr Johnson fishes in his pocket and throws a certified credstick on the table with a data chip saying "Here's ¥2,000, the specifics of the corp's office, and info on how to contact me when you've got the data." With that he gets up and walks out of the bar cooly, bodyguard close behind.

Slammer gets up, sits down at the bar, orders a bottle of their best synthahol slotting his newly acquired credstick, and precedes to drink himself unconscious.