I'm trying out this idea of balancing more of the action and roleplaying by using this IC thread to play downtime and the other little things in prep for the "run". So here we go give it a try. I'd like to use the same format we were in the last IC thread

Your first post of a scene should begin with a time/date stamp in orange, detailing location, time, and date.

- - "Speech color=cyan, optionally enclosed in quotes"
- - <Coms (subvocal) color=violet>
- - <Coms (Text) color=yellow>
- - Thoughts color=darkkhaki and in italics
- - Memories, flashbacks, dreams color=green and in italics

Please spoiler all private actions, but if it’s something really private, PM me.

Some months previously, An alley in Downtown Seattle. 22:00

Gecko clung to the side of the fire escape three stories above the filthy alleyway. There was a sewer grate at the end that led into one of the lesser travelled routes into the underground.

He'd noticed Jasper's bruises a few day's ago. The kid wouldn't tell anyone what had happened on his way home from work but his fear was evident. Gecko had followed him to and from his employer's place of business ever since, ghosting from rooftop to rooftop.

He knew now his instincts were correct. A gang of Humanis affiliated thugs were putting the screws on the kid, threatening to cause enough trouble to get Jasper sacked if he didn't reveal the secret backdoor on this block. He'd told them to get knotted which had earned him his first beating.

Now they had upped the ante. They had ambushed to kid on his normal route home from work and drawn blades and guns. His path blocked with potentially lethal force Jasper had panicked and fled, heading straight for the alleyway.

He might unwittingly lead the hate-mongers to their objective but none would reveal what they had learned.

The gang followed the kid into the alley, hooting and jeering. A lookout was left at the entrance to ensure their privacy.

Sorry Jasper, you're going to have to take a few more lumps before this is over.

When the mob had cornered the kid and started the ritual of pushing and shoving that would lead shortly to more lethal torture Gecko made his move.

The Ingram spat once, silently and the lookout took a Narcoject round in the Carotid. He folded like a deflated joy-toy.

Wreathing his hands in arcane plasma he waited a heart-beat to see if they had noticed the shot before backflipping from the fire escape.

Landing like a silent cat amongst them he immediately struck the largest of them. The hard one, the ring leader always stayed at the back orchestrating the pack until it was safe for him to step forward to deliver the coup de grace.

Coward...

Gecko's blood-soaked arm burst through the front of the man's chest his still beating Heart grasped in his plasma cloaked hand. The spray of blood and entrails burst across the stunned gang like a sick frag-grenade.

He slid his hand from the rag-doll corpse and let it drop like a sack of potatoes. Throwing the charred Heart to the ground in the centre of the circle of thugs he settled back on his heels in a defensive pose. His fingers gave them the classic movie come-on.

Let's dance.

---

Afterwards he watched from the rooftop as the drone dumptrucks he'd spoofed to pick up 'medical waste' for incineration carted the evidence away.

Mentally he shouted to the scum of this deranged city.

Do you hear that silence? That's twenty more of you fucks who ain't ever comin' back. That's what you get for messin' with me and mine. Don't you know who I am? I'm the God-damned Gecko!

He couldn't keep a straight face any longer after that and doubled-over laughing.

---

The Politico stared in horror at the contents of the shielded box.

An entire youth-cell had gone silent suddenly and the charred human Heart filling the room with the smell of carbon and ozone could only belong to one man. One man whose name he could never admit to knowing.

The only other thing in the box was an ARO. It appeared to be the stylized silhouette of some sort of lizards foot.

Quivering with repressed rage he plucked the ARO from the box with latex clad hands and a pair of tweezers. He opened a drawer in his desk and dropped the RFID tag into it. Dozens of tiny footprints vied for his 'links attention until he slammed the shielded drawer shut again.

You’re Residences, Seattle, WA Monday, June 1st at 0430.

You receive a wired text message to your commlink in the middle of the night.

<<There is more work for you, meet at Dante's Inferno tonight, June 1st, 2071 at 2330 hours. Be ready to work!>>

Looking at the message there is no sender or immediate evidence that is was sent at all. It's like it mystically appeared on your commlink.


[OOC: continue to do your downtime post then address this please.]

The Alabaster Maiden, 19th April 2070

The whiskey stung his throat but he tried not to show it. He was drinking with his Fixer Aleph. Aleph liked to drink and Gecko was buying because he wanted to impress the man.

Thanks for keeping the Toners on ice for me Aleph. I promised you I would be good for it and I came through.

He waved at the bartender to refill their glasses. Gecko downed his in one. He was nervous, he was scheduled for surgery in the morning and he had more favours to ask of the fixer.

OK kid, spit it out, I ain't got all night you know.

Aleph was a bit crazy but he was connected. Cascade Orks, Sioux, Salish, Triads, Saeder Krupp, you name it, he had a source. A human in his late thirties he looked more like a crazy biker than a respected Shadow businessman. Gecko quite liked him despite his brusque manner.

Busted, sorry. I've actually got a bit of a shopping list. I've wired it to your 'link. The biggest thing is the Skillwires. Doc says I'll be recovered enough to have them fitted in two or three weeks. If you can source them in that sort of time-scale of course.

The Narcoject rounds you got me are great but I've noticed it takes a heartbeat or two for them to really take effect so I'd like some Stick'n'Shock as an alternative.

An Elan for stealth work and the last for, well, um, not stealth work.

I'll pay you for all of it up front if you like and you can just get it to me as you get your hands on it.

Yeah Kid, I can get my hands on them for you it's only a matter of time. Of course I'd perfer to be paid up front.

Redmon,April 2070

Its been a long month,lot of bodygaurd work but at 500creds an hour cant complane, it helps out the shop and keeps the cash roling it.
lots of bordom with a few shining moments like that bunch of cyber punks that wanted what my client was carring that ended up a pile of ash in the ally picked up the metal could be good for a few bucks or a quik trade.
but I am glade it is over and done with 4 nights a week 3to 4 hours a night for 3 weeks wears a guy down,and deserving of a bit of rest.

--Monday May 19th, 2070 at 0402 – Ballard Lock, Downtown, Seattle—

The water’s surface rippled in the wake of the low flying drone. Jumped in, Truth felt the damp fog tug at the hair on his arms as the pair of electric ducted fans forced his stingray shaped airframe through the sky.

AR windows floated in front of his face. One showed the three car convoy moving in close formation, headed south down I-5 at 11kph over the speed limit. The LEBD-1 pursuing the convoy was redlining its’ motors to keep up with them. The second LEBD-1 was headed north up I-5 towards the convoy, paced to meet them at the Ship Canal Bridge.

A rotodrone floated almost a kilometer above the bridge, watching the traffic. His tactical AR software tied all four flying drone together, feeding thermal signature information on all three vehicles into Truth’s encephalon. Calmly, he connected to the Dalmation’s underslung multibarrel missile launcher and assigned each heat signature to an anti-vehicle missile, then programmed three high explosive missiles to airburst two meters over the vehicles.

The last two anti-tank missiles waited in reserve. The northbound LEBD-1 got its’ instructions. The southbound LEBD-1 already had its’ active sensor locks on all three cars.

The river opened up into the harbor and the pilot checked his range. After a quick calculation, he backed off the throttle, bringing the plane from a run down to a jog.

A mile from the bridge, as the cars drove up onto the lower level, he nosed up. The missile launcher magazine rotated like the cylinder in an oversized revolver. No missiles fired. The pair of LEBD-1s overflew the convoy three meters off the asphalt. Their suppressed machineguns were silent. The lead car and the chase car skidded to a halt. The middle car accelerated, swerved to avoid the lead and sped south. The loitering rotodrone descended, spotting it as it emerged from the sheltered bridge lower level.

Truth shoved his consciousness into the rotodrone, immediately locked onto the speeding car, and fed the targeting data to the climbing Dalmation. The southbound LEBD-1 dodged around a semi and dipped under a road sign, weapon still trained on the car. The northbound LEBD-1 yawed sharply, sideslipping as it brought the muzzle of its’ machinegun across the pair of stopped cars, then stopping at a hover.

<<Looks like you’re dead, sir. Technical specifications indicate that the initial volley of anti-armor missiles I fired would be 96% effective in disabling your lead and chase vehicles, and 64% effective in disabling your transport vehicle. The airbursted high explosive missiles have an 88% lethality at the ranges your bodyguards were exposed to them. I got two complete strafing passes with armor piercing 5.45mm high velocity exploding ammunition, which after the pair of missile strikes, would easily penetrate the armor of your convoy. Any remaining survivors would be strapped into a burning car, surrounded by other burning cars, at the mercy of the drone helicopter’s guns.>>

<<Interesting assessment. But the principal still, assuming the initial strike did not disable us, escaped your kill zone.>>

<<Correct. You did. But you are now exposed, on I-5 southbound, pursued by a drone firing down through your vehicle’s rear window, assuming that window survived the initial missile strike and the secondary high explosive round’s strike.>>

<<I’d take my chances with one gun drone.>>

<<I’m not out of anti-tank missiles.>>

The client’s security commander didn’t answer. It was the little moment that made these security assessments really worth doing. The money wasn’t bad, especially since his only expense was standard maintenance on his fleet, but it was so damn dull. But every once in a while, some arrogant ass who thought he’d constructed a security detail impervious to attack had to be reminded that a properly coordinated ambush could reliably kill anyone.

Truth sent all four drones the recall order, started his truck, and headed downtown to meet the client and present his findings.

Monday, June 1st, 2070. 0430. Snohomish, Seattle

The commlink beep caught Truth's attention as he bounced his truck down the dirt road. The lack of a sender was an immediate red flag.

What the hell?

He handed control of the truck over to its' autopilot, then lapsed into a VR coma. The icon of his agent appeared immediately.

<<Initiaite full system intrusion scan, beginning with firewall, then system, then all programs active, then all programs in memory.>>



After dispatching the agent to go over his commlink with a fine tooth comb, Truth turned his attention to the Access Log, scouring it for any sign of what he might have interacted with to allow this message into his system without a logged sender.

May 10th 2070, Gecko's Loft

Sweat dripped from his naked torso as he dipped, rolled, ducked and danced around the small dojo. He wove the distinctive floor-work of Capoera into the kicks and punches of a Savate kata. Slowly he felt his muscles grow accustomed to the routine, they felt almost familiar now and the surgical scars were completely healed.

He stopped and focused on his breathing. He felt his Mana surge just as Rigel had taught him. He span and leapt 2 meters straight up. One of the side panels from an old Citymaster was hung by a chain from a rafter. As he reached the apex of his arc Gecko backflipped and struck the armour panel with his outstretched right foot. The noise it made was actually kinda sad, like a Salmon being slapped against a sandbag. He'd learned to focus almost all the energy of the strike on the object. It reduced the noise and the damage to the object was catastrophic.

He landed lightly on his feet and watched the chain wrap itself around the rafter. Half a meter of the chain was missing and he couldn't see any of the vehicles armour plating anywhere. Although the fifty odd holes in the plasterwork on the far wall gave him a suspicion that he might start looking there for the shrapnel.

His comm-link beeped, he had a text message.

<<Dear Mr Anderson, We are happy to confirm that the materials you requested arrived in stock yesterday and that we have a slot available tomorrow at noon for you to collect them. Tinkertots Inc.>>

Aleph had sourced the Skillwires and they were at the clinic ready to be fitted. He was expensive, that fixer, but worth every cent.



That was the last of the toys he'd asked Aleph to acquire and was by far the hardest to find. He quickly updated his status with Aleph and Ochir to say that he was going to be post-surgical for a couple of weeks but would be ready for action by the end of the month.

Etoile's loft conversion. Seattle, WA Monday, June 1st at 1.00pm.

Although her commlink was flashing the new message received light Etoile resolutely ignored it, reaching instead for one of her noxious cigarettes. Nothing, no matter how important a call may be, mattered more than getting her morning fix.

Especially after a night like last night, the roar of the crowd as she danced forever out of reach of her troll opponent. Sneaking in to rake at eyes and other soft fleshy parts with her claws. It had been a tough battle, testing her speed and agility to thier limits but it paid well. Not that she kept the money of course, her fee's went right back into more training. After all she could always earn more, but if she died? Well that wasn't so easy to fix.