[ CLOSED ] Sympathy for the Devil. (ic)

Everybody knows the fight was fixed;
The poor stay poor, the rich get rich.
that's how it goes,
everybody knows.
- Leonard Cohen.

Forget the gangs, omae. First Nation? The 'weeners? Humanis? They're a snake that eats its own tail. Same goes for the corps; they're just much bigger snakes. If anything's gonna take down Rain City, my NuYen's on the rain itself. Acid rain, chummer; that shit is constant. See them lumps of stone up there? Used to be those were monsters, gods, and senators, but their pompous grins and watchful eyes washed off years ago, even back before the Crash. Only material worth building with these days is that chemically-hardened drek you see everywhere. That bronzed Vladimir Lenin over in Fremont's held up pretty good, though. Seems appropriate; I mean, if there's ever been a time for violent social revolution, that time is frakkin' now.

But don't sweat it, omae. Like I said before; my guess is, this city'll wash itself away before too long.

Which is fine, right? Saves us the trouble.

Friday, September 2nd, 2072.
Seattle, UCAS.

<Good morning. Outside temperature is 49°F (9°C). Current local time is 09h:44m:22s.>
<You have (1) unread message! Displaying ...>

From: Mr. Johnson
Subject: Contest reminder
Congratulations again! This is a message to remind you that your name's been placed in an exclusive raffle to win 35,000Y! The drawing will take place at 9pm this evening, at the Bad JuJu Lounge. Contestants must be present to win, so be there or miss out! Local weather broadcasts indicate a cold front moving in, so remember to wear your gloves! Drive safe, and good luck!

Matsu Hideki's message; you've seen others like it in the past. That drek about a raffle's just his cover, in case of wireless interception from the 'star. No information on the job just yet, but if it's paying 35,000Y, it's worth looking into. Glancing over at the holo-clock, you realize there's just under twelve hours to go before the meet; better get your shit together.

Friday, September 2nd, 2072; 09:44:22; Mel's flat, Downtown, Seattle

Mel wakes up as her comm beeps annoyingly loud. "SILENCE!!!" Her voice is actually quite weak still.
And of course, the comm doesn't listen. Luckily, it's just a text message, so the noise is soon over.

"Uhh... how late is it? Must be way too early to get up."

She was on shift during the night and still feels her feet aching. Damn heels. Why won't they allow sneakers? Ok, she knew why. Of course.
Working hours were from nine to five, just not the typical nine to five.
It takes a moment for her to figure out, that she had about four hours of sleep. The mental exertion does help to get awake, however.

"Mmmhh... coffee."

Stumbling over to the kitchen, dodging the various pieces of her dress from last night, not that there is a whole lot of that, Mel manages to give some simple orders to her kitchen drone, and it starts whizzing around, preparing her breakfast.

She sighs, as she watches, slowly realizing, that she is still au naturel. No big deal, though, as she is alone. And it's too early for Tom to be up yet.
After she got dressed in some comfy clothes, the smell of fresh coffee lures her back to the kitchen.

"Mmmmmhh... well done, chef."

Her job definitely had some downsides, but it had a few upsides as well. Her professional-grade coffee machine was one of them. The club had replaced it with a newer model a few months ago, but it's still working like a charm. Also, that she could get ahold of some high class supplies for real cheap. Otherwise she could never afford the quality food she was becoming used to. Her paycheck was alright, but certainly not that big.
And while the Concrete Beach wasn't Dante's, it certainly wasn't Cutting Edge either. Reasonably classy, and attracting reasonably endurable folk.
Most of the time, anyways.

Back to the noise.

About half an hour later, Mel finally takes a look at her comm and reads the message from Hideki, while taking her amplifying earbuds out and switching them off.

Now that sounds promising...

Friday, September 2nd, 2072, 09:44:22; Barrens, Seattle
”Drek it's cold.”

That's the problem with living on your own. When it gets cold, there is no one there to keep you warm... The lack of a heater, the thin blanket I'm currently using, and the fact that I live in a bus doesn't help, but I can be a romantic, can't I?

”Bermuda should still be nice this time of year, right? Bermuda, local time, local weather.

A crash of thunder instantly rolls over me, the sky goes dark, and I hear the sound of rain on the top of the bus. That's what I get for not checking the weather

”Okay, current weather then.”

The second peel of thunder stops instantly and the dark sky is replaced with bright sunlight. I can feel the warmth instantly fill the room. Okay, it isn't real warmth, it is thanks to the simsense wrapped around my head that I fell asleep in, but it is enough to make me willing to sit up in bed.

I take a minute to read the message, and check up on a few of my favorite nodes while I wait for my Manservant to bring me some breakfast. Soy eggs with soy milk, and a side of krill bacon, flavored well enough to almost make you forget it isn't real food.

I thank my Manservant and he simply stands there staring at me. I have to remember to program him to not do that ”Go clean something.” Nothings is really dirty, but it weirds me out to have him staring at me. I guess I could take off the virtual human look, or get a better program that would make it react a bit even when the drone didn't, but whatever, I have stuff to do.

Getting dressed should be one of the things on my 'to do' list, especially because it isn't really as warm as it feels like to me. I glance out the window to see the bare stretch of what might have used to be some sort of baseball field for kids. No one out there, and if not... oh well, maybe they're cute.

Standing up allows anyone looking in the direction of the bus to see my upper half through the large bus windows while I walk over to where I keep my clothing. I guess I could keep my clothing closer to the bed, or sleep with a shirt on, but whatever. It isn't like I'm the best voyeur material out there, not in this age of perfect genes and impossible-to-tell-from-real implants and simsense.

I look at myself in a patch of shiny metal that passes as a mirror for me. It isn't that I'm bad looking, but I have much less chest than most guys seem to like. I did well enough in the 'guy attention' up until about the start of highschool when every other girl's chest kept growing and mine didn't.

Where was I... oh yeah, this shirt in my hands. I pull it on, and follow it with the rest of my clothing. Nothing fancy... not that I own anything fancy, but whatever. Well, actually I do, but whatever.

Meeting isn't until tonight,what to do until then? I know the people on the list of others who will be joining, so at least that is nice. I could go bug one of them, that might be fun. Might be warm too, have to remember that it is cold out. Only a few degrees from freezing actually. Maybe I should work on the broken heater. Not freezing to death in this thing might be nice.

Be a good chance to get some grease on me too. I've been told that I look good with a bit of grease on me. It was a compliment, I think, but I'm not sure how great it is to think that being covered in grease is an improvement over how I naturally look, but whatever. Fixing the heater it is... maybe there'll be someone cute there that will think along the 'looks good in grease' lines.

Friday, September 2nd, 2072; 06:14:53; Bahaghari Apartment, Near The Verge, Seattle

"Wake upppp!" Samson bellowed in the twins' shared room, jerking them both awake and alert. He nodded appreciation at their clear-eyedness and flashed a smile at the weapons in their hands. Their time in the Barrens had taught them well, staying long enough to be wary but not crushed.

The resemblances between the brothers and sister were few. The same light brown skin, the same potential mischief twinkling in their dark brown eyes, and the same set in their shoulders. That made them a pamilya. Which is why the two younger ones flicked on the laser sights on their Colt Manhunters with one on Samson's head and the other floating near his crotch.

"Magandang umaga!" Good morning, he said cheerily. The dots didn't waver.

Slowly, ever so slowly, they settled back down to their beds--the novelty of having real beds still hadn't worn off--and dozed back to sleep. They knew the drill. It was the fifteen minute call, fifteen minutes till the twenty minute morning workout. Ten minutes of morning maintenance on their share of their apartment floor's farm, the tomatoes were gonna ripen soon. A breakfast of what passed for filipino sausages and rice, the battle for the shower, and it was off to their school.

Samson tidied up around the house, yawning and still strangely uncomfortable at the luxuries. This was their's now, but it didn't feel like it. Of course, a working CHN, a house-drone, and a decent spread of the year before last year's appliances only counted as luxurious for those that'd been on the street or squatting like they had.

He could even afford tea. Honest to goodness tea. No one else in the family drank it, Samson thought and shrugged, "More for me," as he steeped enough for the morning. He finished his own stretching routine just as the kids were starting theirs, five minutes into the arnis de mano session.

They stumbled into the cleared out living room, sniffing the roibus in the air.

On the floor in front of them were a broken bottle, glass from the look of it, a pool cue with nails driven into it, and what looked like a hammer. Four hands, three items.

Samson grinned. "You know how to do it. So do it."


07:04:13; Shared Floor Garden Farm, Near The Verge, Seattle

"I understand, Mr. Almeda. But I really don't see how we're making that much of a racket, there's an awful lot of insulation," not to mention several inches of concrete, Samson added, "but we'll keep it down."

Watching his siblings at the corner of his eyes, checking the water, he knew that was not gonna happen. He flashed them a smile and a shrug, being a role model really was about knowing when to hit someone and when not to. Growling at Mr. Almeda would've done no good, the landlord was a beefy example of a troll and Samson was fairly sure he saw pieces of an assault cannon when he dropped off the rent in credsticks last month.

Rizal was mumbling about pH levels and Sam and Judith both zoned him out. They started to sing two very different songs.


08:30:41; Two blocks from the building, bus stop, Near The Verge, Seattle

Samson sipped from his cup, still enjoy the caramel scent of the roibus tea as he watched the two chat amiably with their fellow students. They were going to get everything he didn't, the hell with singing--it's not gonna pay off fast enough for those two's needs.

They waved bye as the bus drove past, and Samson did the same... with the hand grasping the cup and splashing himself with tea. He could hear Judith's guffaws even above the bus' noise.

Crushing the cup and tossing it in a nearby garbage can that wasn't too full, Samson flicked on the Urban Explorer Jumpsuit's music player, picked the direction away from The Verge and started jogging. He had an hour to kill before he cleaned his guns.

Samson tried not to feel too bad about the spilt tea.


09:44:22; Bahaghari Apartment, Near The Verge, Seattle

The text message interrupted Samson as he cleaned the weapon that gave him his nickname. He still remembered taking it apart and ripping off every little RFID he could find, he had no intention of fencing it no matter how hot it was. No one else had a gun like it in his old crew, it set him apart, set him above. It got him out.

The indicator beeped again, his Meta Link being persistent enough to shrill a tone. He still hadn't figured out how to turn that part off. He finished wiping his hands, making sure they were clean, then read the message.

"Hmm," Samson rumbled, "wonder if Hollywood's up for scoping the place. Casing, the pros called it right?" He shut up quickly as he realized he was talking to his shotgun. He waited a pregnant second for it to respond, then texted Kid Hollywood.

<Morning esse. You up for a quick look-see this afternoon? You know me, just excited about that raffle.>

Hollywoods Apartment, the Barrens, Friday, 2 Sept 2072, 09:44

<THUD>

Hollywood rolled out of bed onto the the floor of his tiny apartment with a groan. He rummaged through the items on his nightstand trying to locate his chirping commlink. Pistol ammo, playing cards, empty bottles and various other item scattered and fell to the floor as he blindly fumbled for the cheep link. It wasn't all that dark in his apartment, but he sure as hell wasn't about to open his eyes.

Finally he located the small device and silenced the "new message" alarm. He opened his eyes just long enough to glance down at the display, noting the time.

9:44!? Jezzus, Sam, I just barely got to sleep! His head throbbed. I never should have had that last shot of tequila...

---------------------------------------

Three hours earlier...

"50¥ to Mr. Mclaine..." The dealer called out the the current wager, but Hollywood was holding a "gut shot"- a 8 and a 9 with a 10, a jack, and an ace on the flop. A 4 on the turn was no help at all. The chances that an queen would drop on the river were slim to none. Man I hate Texas Hold'em. He glanced across the table at the old dwarf he had been sparing with all night. They had spent the wee hours of the morning passing chips back in forth until the other players at the table busted or passed out. The young gunslinger had been up big around midnight, but the dwarf was a pro- he had run the table for the last few hours, and Hollywood couldn't read him to save his life. He glanced down and counted his remaining chips. 250¥... might be time to walk away.

"I'll see your 50¥ and raise you 50 more." The dwarf was stubborn. He had 50¥ to spare and he wasn't buying the kids bluff. He tossed his chips into the pile and nodded to the dealer, who promptly turned a suicide king. Hollywood had nothing. The dwarf grumbled, "Call" with what looked like...a smile? Oh well, here goes nothing...

"All in." Hollywood slid his last 150¥ into the pot and glared at the dwarf. The old pro narrowed his eyes and sized the kid up. After a long pause he folded his hand.

"Pleasure doing business with you gentleman," Hollywood threw back the last shot of tequila in his glass, "but I have a mind to cash out while I'm ahead and get some sleep."

---------------------------------------

Hollywoods Apartment, the Barrens, Friday, 2 Sept 2072, 09:44

Hollywood rubbed the sleep from his eyes and took a closer look at the commlink. An earlier message left unread caught his attention. After quickly skimming the text from Hideki he smiled. Looks like I might score enough cash to pay Freddy after all... He tapped out a response to Sam.

<<Sam: Meet you there this afternoon. Gotta catch some shut eye. It was a long night, but I managed to brake even...>>

Friday, September 2nd, 2072; 11h: 02m: 22s; Garage adjacent to house, Pullayup, Seattle

“Could you pick a colder day to do this homes?” Nest-O said as his breath fogged up in the cold air. A greasy hand holding a lit rolled ‘cigarette’ edges to his face. Nest-O clamps down on it with his lips and draws in a breath, letting the acidic smoke fill his lungs. Nest-O holds his breath as long as he can before exhaling with a cough. “Good shit huh, ese?” The voice over his should says.

Nest-O sets down his electronics kit in the backseat after finally removing the speakers from their mounts. He has a look of disgust as he inspect them “This is why you don’t let them install shit homes.” Nest-O says as he points to some metal and ceramic relays. “You got a triple relay circuit an’ you’re running 8 lines of input to them homes. More if you squashing out the mega-bass pulse option.” The young Chulo looks disappointed and a little confused “I priced those ese, more dinero than I gots.”

“From where? The Bass Shack where you over paid for this shitwork?” Nest-O fires off. “Yeah, homes. They had a sale an’ shit.” the young ganger answers back. Nest-O shakes his head “Kennedy’s Cheap Electronics have them for 9 yen, everyday homes. You want me to put the speakers back in?” The Chulo frowns “Naw…don’t work anyways. You be around to hook it up later if I run out and get the relays?” Nest-O smiles “For another hit of that shit, hells yeah.”

It’s then that Nest-O gets his messages.

<Good morning. Outside temperature is 49°F (9°C). Current local time is 09h: 44m: 22s……Network Error HVZ663/.alp//wtf.gMax Delivery Access Delayed >
<You have (4) unread messages and (1) Old messages! Displaying ...>


From: LocaGRRL
Subject: Wake up Vato!
We at the club, I gots a buzz and a miniskirt on so, wake up and get down here. I’ll put you to bed later.

[Click Link for PicturePlus download titled: LocaGRRLmini&thong]

From: LocaGRRL
Subject: Seriously?
Guess it’s your loss MOTHERFUCKER! I’m not letting a good waxing go to waste!

From: LocaGRRL
Subject: Who is she?
Whose the bitch you with? Better not be some nappy headed skank from around the block, or some white bitch!


From: Mr. Johnson
Subject: Contest reminder
Congratulations again! This is a message to remind you that your name's been placed in an exclusive raffle to win 35,000Y! The drawing will take place at 9pm this evening, at the Bad JuJu Lounge. Contestants must be present to win, so be there or miss out! Local weather broadcasts indicate a cold front moving in, so remember to wear your gloves! Drive safe and good luck!

From: HeschJN@ Ten Penny Pawnshop
Subject: Hey Grease ball!
I’m running low on household appliances, car stereos, simchips (the legal kind), and AR games. Let me know what you got.

Nest-O has a sinking feeling in his stomach that is only mildly offset by the prospect of a job.

Damn, why can’t we get messages in real time here? Now I got to deal with her shit.

Friday, September 2nd, 2072, 10:00:01; Rev's crib, Barrens, Seattle

Normally Rev really liked Dark Angel's music but as it kept getting louder and louder she mentally gave her comlink the bird and it stopped. At least for now. Just the alarm. COLD. She burrowed deeper under the heated covers and rolled over and went back to sleep. Sooo nice to be able to roll over. At least until her comlink turned them off. That always got her out of bed fast. Zzzzzzzzzzzz

Friday, September 2nd, 2072, 09h:52m:33s; Barrens, Seattle

While getting dressed, something intangible turns Gwen's attention briefly toward her MCT-Nissan Roto-Drone; the folded rotor-wings appear out of place or somehow loose from the mast. Upon closer inspection, she realizes that the swashplate's anti-rotation link isn't catching. Good thing she noticed; using the craft like this could cause a serious malfunction, as torque is applied to the actuators.

Friday, September 2nd, 2072; 11:00:00; Mel's flat, Downtown, Seattle

Since she hasn't got a message from the others yet, she knew they were being 'invited' to that 'raffle' as well, Mel figures, that she could as well send a message to them, putting the whole thing in motion.

< [Raven] Hey! What's up! Think we should meet-up someplace and discuss the plans for tonite? >

Friday, September 2nd, 2072, 09h:52m:56s; Barrens, Seattle

I give a groan as I notice the broken rotor, I must have knocked it about too much last time I was driving the bus, but whatever. My body gives a shiver. Even though my brain thinks it is warm, my body is still feeling the affects of the chill, and the goosebumps covering my skin are a good indication of that. So, heater for the bus first, then fix my roto drone.

Going outside adds a few degrees to the chill as the wind throws my hair to the side. I shouldn't be out here for long though, just a few loose wires and nothing that a few whacks with my wrench won't fix. So, popping up the bus' hood, I all but literally climb into the engine to start working on the heater components. The biggest problem is I need to rig it to be able to run while the engine is off, but not pull all the energy from the battery so I can't start the thing again in the morning when I'm not hooked up to the grid or a power outlet of some kind. At the moment an abandoned but still operational old power strip nearby seems to still be pumping me some juice, so power won't be a problem for a while.

Crawling more into the workings of my ride and home, I can't help but reflect as I almost always do, that it is a good thing I'm not too busty, or I would have a heck of a time reaching some parts. While I'm working I keep my legs moving to help with the cold, my trode and simsense abandoned so they don't get in my way, replaced with goggles to alert me if anything important comes up, and to help me see better. I'm sure I'd look odd to anyone watching, like I'd gotten myself stuck in the bus, almost as if it was eating me, but whatever. After the better part of an hour though, I've got all the wires in place, as well as a few small devices that don't really belong, but will make it do what I want it to do. The whole process didn't even require the tender nudge of my wrench.

I drag myself back out from inside the engine, and move inside quickly to test it out. It takes several long minutes for it to begin working, but eventually sweet warmth begins pouring into the bus. I move around, adjusting the vents so that most of the heat is concentrated near the rear of the bus where I keep my little workshop.

It's almost eleven by the time I pull down my drone from the overhead rack where I keep it and most of my other drones. I'll have to give all my drones a lookover, especially those I keep in the baggage area under the bus, but for now I'll fix the one that I know is broken. Thankfully I have plans for the drone. I have plans for all my drones, it would have been hard to rescue them from the junk heap otherwise. With goggles still on, overlaying the digital plans onto the actual drone, I get to work on my project, the trode net back on, allowing me to cycle through songs. I'm weird enough already, so I wouldn't tell anyone else, but my favorite music when working is always classical music, and I imagine Leonardo himself listened to the sort of things I'm listening to as he was inspired to design the 'aerial screw'. Heh, I love that name. If they found out though... well, whatever, I doubt I can be seen as too much odder than I already am.



Two hours of messing around with the drone eventually finds it perfectly fit for flight again. A bit of a pain, but it was kinda fun tinkering around with it for a while, so whatever. Another half hour or so devoted to going over my other drones to make sure they are all in good shape... well, good enough shape anyway. Maybe Rev will let me use her shower... she has a shower, right? So, I shut down the heat, pull out my bike helmet, put on some nice leathers to stop my skin being left on the ground if I crash, and open up the back of the bus.

It is supposed to be an emergency only door, but adding a ramp to it so that I could get my bike in and out wasn't that hard, and was fairly handy. So, I hop on, ride the bike down the ramp, park it for a minute while I put the ramp back in place and lock it all up, making sure to turn on the security system. Finally I'm on my bike and racing my way over to Rev's place. I hope her place has hot water.

Friday, September 2nd, 2072, 11:09:01; Rev's crib, Barrens, Seattle

Rev smelled the soycaf and decided to brave the cold since the heated covers had been turned off by her comunit, Bastard. Bastard reported nothing to report other than mail. She grabbed Chopper, checked the peephole, then pushed the folding stairs down and entered the garage that made up most of her crib. After getting her first taste of soycafe, she checked her public com. Got mail. Spam, Spam, no, Jackpot! Subzero! Good thing too. If I have to hear about how I could work it off in trade from Freddy Four Fingers one more time, I'm so going to give him four fingers for real. Raven. Yes. Got to pick out some thing to wear tonight. And some arm candy. Got to get over to Gwens where you can get a decent connection. Need to do some checking. He low balled us for sure. The question is how much.

< [Rev] Lunch! The taco place?

09:46:32; Bahaghari Apartment, Near The Verge, Seattle

Sam finished up with the Enfield AS-7, setting it on its mantle. People thought it was an expensive fake, a replica from one trid show or another. Sam never felt like correcting them. The 'link nagged at him again, and he read Kid Hollywood's message, almost smelling the sour alcohol through the text. He whispered to the room, "Hmm. 'Break even' or 'even broker', hehe."

<Good to hear. Might as well eat up beforehand, let's wait what everyone else thinks.>

Yawning and stretching his muscular shoulders, Sam sniffed the air and decided to take a shower. He had a few hours till the probable meet, and hopefully lunch. Drying himself off with a towel after an experimental sniff, fairly clean, Samson dressed in his sparring clothes; jeans, shirt, and his pair Ares Gunblades. It wasn't too far to Collette's, about fifteen minutes' walk, and she had been nagging him for a sparring session. That talismonger needed contact with regular people, and since she didn't know any, he would have to do.

An hour or two of sparring, a quick nap afterwards, and maybe tacos.


Friday, September 2nd, 2072, 11:11:57; Collette McKenna's "Shop", Near The Verge, Seattle

"Woman, I have no idea how you can smack so hard with a spatula. Hold on, stupid 'link." In truth, Samson was grateful for the break. Gasping for breath he read over Raven's text to everyone, and Rev's response for tacos. He replied to all.

<I'm up for it, you must be reading my mind about the tacos. What time?>

Sam finished the text message and ducked and scrambled out of the reach of the Mystic Adept talismonger, swinging a chair leg and one of his Ares Gunblades. "Stop playing with your toys, Shotgun. Break time, it is over!"

Friday, September 2nd, 2072, 11:15:29; Rolling down the street in a '64 Impala

NestO cruises slowly in his pimped out ride along the street. He gives a wave to familiar faces, mostly the young gangers 'Bumping' or in other terms showing the presence of the gang. NestO slows down to talk to a group of three Chulos who have a pitbull on a lease, a heavy chain wrapped around its neck to make it strong. "Hey Flacco!" He hollers at the skinny one with red hair under his brown bandana. NestO gets a head nod and hand sign back from him. NestO checks his surroundings and can see the teased up and bleached hair from far away "Shit homes! I got to roll, no dis...the ol' lady is mad as hell!"
They laugh and clown as NestO speeds away.


<< [CC'ed to the whole 'crew'] We going to meet up somewheres?>>

Friday, September 2nd, 2072, 11:50:21; Rev's crib, Barrens, Seattle

Rev finished cleaning Big Dog and ran another diagnostic on the Morrissey Elan after loading the stick and shock clip.
She found it soothing handling the finely machined hold out. Need to take a beta blocker before hand. Plus I have the new personafix, I've been itching to try and a better lie analyst prog.

Everyone's posted but Gwen. Must have her head under the hood of one of her babies. I'll drive by... No, that sounds like her bike now.

<< [CC'ed to the whole 'crew'] Let me check with G, but how about 1300 at the usual place for Tacos.>>

Hollywood's Apartment, The Barrens, 2 Sept 2072, 11:55

Hollywood groaned an opened his eyes. What am I doing on the floor? He clamored to his feet and stumbled across the tiny studio apartment to a cramped bathroom and a much needed medkit. "Nothing like a little Vitamin I to get your morning... er afternoon started." he said to the dashing young gunslinger in the mirror as he popped a handful of brightly colored ibuprofen tablets.

Returning to the living/kitchen/bedroom he noticed a string of new messages on his silenced commlink. Tacos, huh? Nothing better for a hangover! He strapped on his favorite Cavalier Deputy pistols and grabbed the keys to his beat-up old chopper.

<<[@everyone] I'm on my way, amigos! Via con carne!!>>

Friday, September 2nd, 2072; 11:57:00; Mel's flat, Downtown, Seattle

< [Raven] 13:00 sounds good; should be able to make that. Just to be sure, you mean the place where people actually go to eat, right? >

About half an hour later, Mel is dressed in some of her more casual clothes, washed-out jeans, spaghetti top, a hooded sweat jacket, leather boots and her armored coat; apart from the jeans, all black. As she doesn't expect to need it, she leaves her gun at home. Also, unlike most, she had the luxury to always 'carry' a 'weapon', so she was never really defenseless.

She heads down to the underground parking facility and gets into her white SUV, then she is already on her way to the lunch meeting.

Friday, September 2nd, 2072, 11:52:13; Outside Rev's crib, Barrens, Seattle

It was a nice ride. Any ride through the barrens that doesn't involve go-gangers is generally considered a nice ride. I park in what passes for a lot for Rev's place and take off my helmet, looking at Rev's door from next to my bike for a minute before turning on the security system and walking up to it, knocking on the door to announce my presence. Sending a comm message usually doesn't work so great, because her place gets drek connection.

I wait for her to open the door, smiling at her "Hey, did you see about that lottery? We're so lucky, aren't we?" I give her a wink. We aren't at much risk of being overheard, but I like to make my little jokes "Tacos sound great, but I need a shower first." I explain, pointing at the large grease smear that I managed to get on my left cheek. "I'll let you come over and use my MSP later." I say in a playful voice, as though I wouldn't let her do so anyway.

"So we're going to the topless place right?" I jest after being allowed in ((Supposing Gwen is allowed in))

Friday, September 2nd, 2072, 11:52:13; Rev's crib, Barrens, Seattle

Hoi Gwen!

HARLEY STAY!

snick, click, slide

Heater still down?
You want me to see if I can find my HVAC chip?

Help yourself. You know I'm hooked on your highspeed connection. The timing is good. The hotwater heater should be at 100% by now. Use every drop, we got the time. I even have two clean towels to spare. Got a new grease cutter you should try. It is on the sink. Doesn't dry out the skin.

HARLEY FRIEND. You know Gwen. Now who's a good puppy? Who's a good puppy?

Thump Thump Thump

12:02:03; Bahaghari Apartment, Near The Verge, Seattle


The workout had to be cut short, but Colette didn't mind. She had thoroughly handed him his pride in itty bitty pieces that she simply pronounced herself bored and dropped her weapons. Or rather, Sam's weapons, which he lost during the sparring session.

The shower cut out and Sam rushed to dry himself off and put on some clothes. A slightly nicer pair of black jeans, comfortable boots, and a t-shirt did well enough. The armoured vest barely showed above the blue shirt, and fully hidden by his long synth-leather jacket. Carrying his decoy 'link, his goggles, trodes, and subvocal mic, Sam made his way to his room's locker, replying to everyone's texts.

<To all: Alright, see you guys there in a bit! I'm starved!! On my way now.>

Carefully he slides out the Colt Manhunter, part of three similarly styled pieces, from its quick draw holster and grabs its concealable holster instead. Didn't matter where it was on his body, Sam had trained long enough to be able to grab a weapon, any weapon, quickly. Still, he placed it in the traditional small of his back. The knives slid into his boot and sleeves perfectly. His two Gunblades, rested in their holster-sheaths, after a moment's hesitation he hung them slanted underneath his armpits.

"I really need a bigger jacket," Sam muttered as he stared at himself in his room's mirror. He then unpacks the Gunblades, and loads himself up with spare Colt clips, loading with the stick-and-shock rounds. With the one already in the Manhunter that was three. Seconds later he made it four as he snatched one clip of regular rounds.

Sam will make his 'link will start chirping his fake identity when it's time, but he leaves it in Private for now. He checks to make sure his 'freelance security' license is loaded in with the Fake SIN, as well as the concealed carry permit for the Colt.

He seals the door behind him, pausing long enough in the hallway to muss up his hair a bit. "Starting to look decent there for a sec." To complete the look, he whips out an old pair of mirrored shades.

Friday, September 2nd, 2072, 11:53:23; Rev's crib, Barrens, Seattle

Hey there Rev! Hey Harley. Nope, just got my heater working again. I smile and give Harley a little wave, and Rev a hug in greeting. "You spoil me. A full tank of hot water and clean towels." With a giggle I make my way towards Rev's bathroom, knowing the way well enough, having bugged her for a shower plenty of times in the past.

I pick up the tube of degreaser and smear a bit on my cheek, grinning a bit as some of the grease comes off without the customary gritty feeling of rubbing sandpaper over my skin. I lean the door, but don't close it properly so I can talk to Rev as I get undressed "So we're going to Paco's right? We haven't won that lottery yet after all."

I wait long enough to get an answer before turning on the water and slipping under it, giving a satisfied sigh at the feel of the warm water running over my body.

Friday, September 2nd, 2072, 11:53:23; Rev's crib, Barrens, Seattle

Purely luck of Rev's Laundry Lotto Sweetie.

You Bet. I still say they have better Tacos than "Sheldon's Shit-in-a-Shell and topless bar".

You ready for dress rehearsal tonight?


Rev added a little base to darken her complexion a little and a scar on her upper cheek that pulled her mouth in to a sneer.

She then change her hair to Raven black and set it to straight and silky. She checked the mirror and compared it against the Jessica Spada SIN.

Little harder when you have to make it look like you are not wearing any makeup. Women do have it easier than men in one area. No one ever gives it a second thought when a girl decides to change her look.

Then she slipped on the goggles which covered over half her face and checked herself in the mirror.

Not even her own mother would recognize her now.

Friday, September 2nd, 2072, 11:48:27, Pullayup Barrens, Paco's Tacos


Nesto cruises into the large parking lot of Paco's Tacos. Its mostly a refurbished relic of the past, but what isnt here in the barrens. Nesto pulls his long bodied sedan into one of the stalls towards the back. There's an old faded menu on a pole inbetween each stall, as well as an ancient, an usually less than working properly intercom system to order with.

...must be for those without AR....

NestO thinks as the menu pops up into his glasses, but there's no need to read it, it hasnt changed in years. NestO types in an order on his 'link for the 'Bandito Special' and a Orange Bizzy Buzzy soda. From then on NestO waits with the windows up and the heater on.

Friday, September 2nd, 2072, 12:48:42, Pullayup Barrens, Paco's Tacos


Rev pulled in next to Gwen's Bike by Nest-O's Sedan and popped the kickstand out.

She eyed the AR menu then ordered the twin Taco special and a bottle of Green River Pale. She also sprang for the real Cilantro and Radishes on the tacos. It costed but what the Hell, she was going double or nothing.

Friday, September 2nd, 2072, 12:59:58, Pullayup Barrens, Paco's Tacos

Sprinting on the sidewalk, still careful not to step into anything too... colourful, Sam makes it to the front of Taco's Pacos with moments to spare. Breathing heavily as he walks in through the front door, he points at a faded poster on the wall and clicks the screen on his commlink. He saw some of the vehicles of his teammates on the rush in.

Spotting those that had arrived he makes his way towards them breathlessly.

"Thirteen *whoooo whoooo* hundred. Hi-whooooo" He breathes in, enjoying the aromas. "I haven't had anything but tea all morning."

Friday, September 2nd, 2072, 12:59:58, Pullayup Barrens, Paco's Tacos

"I haven't had anything but tea all morning." Sam utters out slightly breathless, as NestO straightens up in his seat, his interest peeked by the statement. "No shit homes?" he says with a smile as he waves his hand about "How many fingers I got? What color are they homes?"

Friday, September 2nd, 2072, 12:43:16, Pullayup Barrens, Paco's Tacos

I finish up my wonderfully warm shower, dry off, and get back into my clothing. I suppose I should have brought a fresh change, but I'd only worn it on the way over, so it should still be clean enough. It isn't like my bike has alot of trunk space for spare clothing anyway.

Even by the time I come out it looks like Rev is still working on her makeup. I know it is for a disguise, but it is something I never got much into. It tended to mix poorly with the grease that always found its way onto my face.

"I'll go on ahead then, I know you wouldn't want to arrive at the same time like a couple." I wink at her playfully in the mirror and then head out. Once again, no trouble on the way there. Guess I'm doing good. One more trip back home without any encounters might be asking too much though. Guess I'll see.

I'm fairly light, and don't tend to eat much, so I just order a plain burrito and a Cherry Cheer drink. I love cherries, even when it is only synthetic taste. I wait for most of the gang to arrive before starting up conversation "Everyone excited about that raffle tonight?

Paco's Tacos, The Barrens, 2 Sept 2972, 13:06

Hollywood's bike rumbled into the parking lot and pulled in next to NestO's Impala. He was late as usual and dressed in his usual attire- tee shirt and jeans with black leather biker boots and a black leather jacket. The twin revolvers hanging low on his hips made him look like some kind of post-industrial cowboy.

He smiles at NestO and gives him "the nod". "Whats up vato? Are we all going to sit here in the cold or should we meet Sam inside?"

Friday, September 2nd, 2072; 13:01:00; Paco's Tacos, Puyallup, Seattle

"What do all these cars do out on the streets at this time? It's almost like the whole city wants to go out for lunch."

The traffic was quite extreme in Downtown, but getting a bit thinner in Puyallup, so Raven's white SUV had found a nice parking place in front of the place after traversing various obstacles; she could see it from the inside even. She was always a bit more careful when in these parts of town, even though they were still far ahead of the really bad places, but you never knew.

"So, what's today's special? Ah, same as last time, it seems. Do they ever change the menu here?"

After giving the menu some consideration, she simply ordered the same as usual.

Friday, September 2nd, 2072, 12:25:01; Rev's crib, Barrens, Seattle




"Let's go together. Better that way.
It's a little early for the Chulos to be really out, but if it was after dark then coming in arm in arm might be best." Rev winks back.

Friday, September 2nd, 2072, 12:25:01; Rev's crib, Barrens, Seattle

I grin at Rev "Alright then, I guess I can be your arm candy." I give a giggle "Not so fond of the scar though, you and your fancy disguises.

Friday, September 2nd, 2072, 13:00:23, Pullayup Barrens, Paco's Tacos

Sam guffaws, "I meant roibus--just tea you drink, hahaha. Shut up," he adds with a grin. Grabbing a seat with his back to the wall and a clear view to both the kitchen and the front door, the ork visibly relaxes.

"So how 'bout that raffle, huh?" Sam mutters absentmindedly as he waits for his order.

Friday, September 2nd, 2072, 12:25:01; Rev's crib, Barrens, Seattle



Rev grinned back. Then looked over her face reflected in the mirror under the goggles and the makeup.

"This face is way too conspicuous. Got to save it for when I needed it.... Harrison did Wiz work. Real Wiz. My nose was never this small even before it got broken. You know... I think I look a lot like my mother now." she shakes her head "Not used to the attention."

Friday, September 2nd, 2072, 13:01:23, Pullayup Barrens, Paco's Tacos


Rev's smile lights up her face despite the goggles covering the top half it "Oh, I just love raffles."

Her right hand plays with the zipper of her lined coat while she waits for her order.

"The routine last time for the meet was pretty Wiz. Any one have a concern or suggestion? "

Friday, September 2nd, 2072, 13:01:23, Pullayup Barrens, Paco's Tacos



"Yeah! If Sam's staying in my car..put down the burritos homes, or take some beano....and dont put your feet up on my dash, that's real mahogony, and dont touch my channels. I was cruisin' back last time and thought my system was all speeded up or something and its just that tagog-gog music."

Friday, September 2nd, 2072. 13h:00m:00s. Paco's Tacos, Puyallup Barrens.

They say the ancient Inuit peoples have a thousand different words for "snow". And if that's true, I'd believe it, 'cause I know a thousand different words for "Hell": the Matrix says it's "Abbadon" in old Hebrew, and "Hades" in Greek; over the years, the Bible's called it "Tartarus", "Gehenna", and "Sheol". 'Round these parts, though, folks just call it "Puyallup." And that's pretty frakkin' apt; the Barrens are a desolate, miserable place where the streets are torn and cratered, and the buildings barely stand. The people there live like roaches, huddled together for warmth and protection in whatever shadow looks safe enough to squat in for the night. Metahuman misery hangs in the air as thick as any smog.

Garbage drifts into the corners and alleys. Nobody ever collects it.

No power. No water. No Sanitation.

From time to time, businesses like Paco's Tacos spring up, but they don't usually last long. Paco's is an exception; that place's been there since before the Crash. It's a relatively safe place to eat; the parking lot looks like a scene from an old World War 2 trid; heavy concrete obstacles wrapped in barbed wire litter the ground all around, to prevent ram-raiding. Like most shops in the area, Paco's hasn't had glass in their windows for years; they cover up with wire-mesh during the day, and close off with steel shutters at night. Word is, the owner pays out his drek-hole for protection from the local gangs. I believe it.

Still, best to keep your weapons handy; if the locals could spare the ammo, odds are, they'd wax you those tacos you're eating.

Friday, September 2nd, 2072. 13h:01m:18s. Paco's Tacos, Puyallup Barrens.

"Oh yeah. Hollywood, I picked this up from this guy who like didnt need this anymore." He begins fishing in his pockets until he finds a chip. "Scan this homes, you'll like it."



Chip:

Friday, September 2nd, 2072. 13h:02m:36s. Paco's Tacos, Puyallup Barrens.

"Tah-gah-lohg," Sam muttered between mouthfuls. "And you're welcome, that stuff... They don't make it like that anymore." He gulps from his drink and turns thoughtful. "We been to the Juju before, I figure one or two of us can sit in while whoever sits down and talks. Not that I'm expecting shenanigans, but you never know with those guys."

Friday, September 2nd, 2072. 13h:02m:36s. Paco's Tacos, Puyallup Barrens.

Rev nodded and took a sip of her Green River Pale "Had a good friend that always said Best start the way you mean to go."

Friday, September 2nd, 2072; 13:02:40; Paco's Tacos, Puyallup, Seattle

Raven nods towards the ork. Her order has just been placed, so there was nothing to eat or drink, yet.

"Yeah, I can just find myself a nice place in the lounge and keep watch from there. Keep you guys safe from the bad juju," she says with a wink.

Friday, September 2nd, 2072; 13:02:40; Paco's Tacos, Puyallup, Seattle

I smile brightly after taking a sip of my Cherry Cheer. "I guess that means I get to play cops and runners outside then? I can put something high up too, just had to fix one of my roto drones this morning, may as well put it to good use.

Hollywood slots the chip into the reader on his commlink and listens for a moment. The song has an antiquated feel, but a classic sound that he finds surprisingly pleasing.

"I'm always amazed at the stuff you come up with, amigo. Muchas gracias." He sets about punching in an order for the enchilada plater with extra green chile, while simultaneously listening to both the song and the conversation. "I'm down for some clubbing with Sam and Raven. I doubt Hideki will try anything fun, but we should never mistake his professionalism for loyalty."

Friday, September 2nd, 2072; 13:12:40; Paco's Tacos, Puyallup, Seattle

Rev nodded agreement and her tone took on a clipped nature. "And the more professional we are, the less likely he will decide he needs to expend us on a project both because we are a more valuable and tested asset and because our professionalism could make it a very expensive proposition." Rev winks at Nest-O as she practices her Corp speech, "Least that's what I keep looping through the old core while our sorry hoops are hanging out in the wind with no hardware. Nest-O, you my arm candy tonight? Rev gave Sam a half wink "Sorry Sam, you are looking pretty fine today too, but the more bland the better and you don't do bland." Rev cracks her neck and those who know her can tell she is excited about the lottery, Nothing like having only 250 nuyen in the account to get you excited about some work. "And let me know when you want to get some more sparring in."

Friday, September 2nd, 2072; 13:12:56; Paco's Tacos, Puyallup, Seattle

"Bland? Dont let these khaki pants fool you chica, I'm as spicy as they get and you know i can roll my R's." NestO had a comment about his burrito, but let it go, only smiling at the joke he didnt make.

Friday, September 2nd, 2072; 13:12:56; Paco's Tacos, Puyallup, Seattle

Rev laughed "I know that, but you do after all specialize in not being noticed till it is too late."

Friday, September 2nd, 2072; 13:13:22; Paco's Tacos, Puyallup, Seattle

Sam nods and chuckles, "Not any time soon Rev. Can't handle getting beat up by a girl more than twice a week." He winks. "I figure me and Hollywood can scope the place out from the inside, provide some indoor cover just in case."

"I can do 'bland' but I figure why bother? You kinda stand out looking normal and sane."

[Fast-forward Scene Change]
Friday, September 2nd, 2072; 20h:58m:00s, Bad JuJu Lounge; Seattle, UCAS.

The Cosmonauts are regulars at the JuJu; their unpolished, garage-inspired sound, reminiscent of the pre-Crash grunge that put Seattle's music scene on the map, has proven really popular with the skinny-jeaned hipsters and pseudo-intellectual bohemians that typically frequent the Lounge. Things aren't going so well for them tonight, though, because tonight they're opening for The Truth About Your Hero; the Emerald City's own unique blend of emo-riot street-core drek-rock. Halfway through their single, How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb, they turned their backs to the crowd. The kids in the hall, dressed mostly in V-neck shirts and brightly-coloured slip-on shoes, with bandanas peeking out the backs of their pockets, didn't seem to care.

At the far corner of the club, where shadows lean hard against the red-brick walls, a man sits alone at a table; his shark-skin suit glimmering softly in the ambient light. You recognize him as Matsu Hideki.

Friday, September 2nd, 2072; 20h:58m:00s, Bad JuJu Lounge; Seattle, UCAS.

Rev had gone for the V necked shirt and clothes so tight there would hardly be a need for a pat down.

After enjoying the set, they headed for Matsu Hideki's corner.


Rev mouth's "Lotto" to the body guard.


She and Nest-O slide in to their seats.

Rev slid her shades down her nose a little so they could see eye to eye "Konbanwa (Good Evening) Mister Johnson, I hear there is a Lotto going down."

Friday, September 2nd, 2072; 13:13:22; Paco's Tacos, Puyallup, Seattle

"So which one of you gets to sit outside with me all alone while I manage my drones?" I gives a wink and giggle at the open invitation. Eventually the food is gone and it is time to go get ready for the meet itself "See you tonight."

Friday, September 2nd, 2072; 20h:36m:28s; Outside Bad JuJu, Seattle, UCAS.
I've set up my drones around the area, each one resting on a rooftop to conserve energy as well as be less conspicuous. "Rev, do you and Nest-O want a fly spy to go in with you? Not that it can provide any backup, but gives me eyes to know if anything goes wrong, and you know how I like to keep my eyes on you."

My four Ford LEBD-1s all still look like they are proper lone star models, which generally means people will leave them alone, won't take particular note of them except that they shouldn't do anything bad for a bit, and also means that if my drones start something up, most people won't think to call the police about it.

The rooftop I'm on isn't all that comfortable, but provides a good view and the ability to take excellent cover if something happens. I glance around, checking again on who decided to join me on stakeout up here.

Friday, September 2nd, 2072; 20h:58m:00s, Bad JuJu Lounge; Seattle, UCAS.

Sam moves slowly around the crowd, sticking to the shadows. The music made him wish he could tune his earbuds to some real music instead of keeping them keyed up, slightly, to hear things above the racket. Pointless and distracting, Sam dials it down via commlink as casually as he can and settles on listening to the team's line.

Attempting to be just one of the crowd of crazies, in Sam's opinion, wasn't going to be easy but he didn't want to stand out. You couldn't pay me to like this drek.

Choosing a seat that gave him a clear view of the rear exit and Matsu's table, Sam absentmindedly tapped his foot to the song as he watched over his team. His Colt was still snuggled in its concealed holster, underneath the leather jacket he kept on along with any other pieces his teammates would have wanted him to carry.

Friday, September 2nd, 2072; 20:58:00; Bad Juju Lounge, Seattle

Raven had the afternoon to find a fitting dress to wear during the meet, and she decided on a short, black cocktail dress, matched with a pair of stylish leather boots. Going with her 'Magician'-SIN, she sits in the Lounge sipping a cocktail, while watching the patrons, both for her own entertainment and to keep an eye on the meeting with Hideki that is taking place. Her senses are extended to the astral as she sits and watches.