It Begins
The young man walked into Matchsticks and was almost surprised when the doorman stopped him and asked him to check his weapons.
"I don't have any," he said as the doorman gave an imperceptable look of sure. But the scan didn't turn up any, not even hidden inside the cast on the man's right arm.
"Enjoy your evening, sir," the doorman said, and the man entered the dim, smoky interior.
Growing up in the Seattle plex, he had always heard Matchsticks was a place to hire shadowrunners. He looked around the bar, trying not to look aggressive, trying not to provoke anyone, but hoping to find any trace or hint of the kind of people who could pull the job he had in mind. He felt out of his league, like prey, but mustered his courage and prepared to see his plan through.
/edit/
Full Version: tisoz's World
| QUOTE |
| The man looks to be in his mid twenties, human, caucasian. He has a couple of datajacks but no other visible cyberware. The way he is looking would suggest he doesn't have vision mods. He is not dressed like a corp suit, and his grooming gives the impression he didn't just dress down for the occasion. He is wearing black denim jeans, dark, well broken in work boots, a dark pull over one pocket t-shirt and a faded Mariners baseball cap. |
Beast
It was that time of the month again. No, the other that time of the month: rent was due, and he needed money.
Since the boss didn't have anything big that needed doing, Beast had spent the last 2 nights at Matchsticks trying to find his way to a job.
Watching the people come and go, through the door, he piqued with interrest at this newcomer. this kid hadn't had to disarm, and the cast looked real enough. obvious physical frailty and a timid look, he's gonna get chewed up in here.
Picking up his white russian (he wasn't fond of many mixed drinks, but that was one he could apreciate), Beast began sifting through the crowd trying to keep a low profile despite his large size, he wanted to lurk near the kid without being noticed. He'd step in if he had to, but in this bar, it was usually much better to mind your own business.
It was that time of the month again. No, the other that time of the month: rent was due, and he needed money.
Since the boss didn't have anything big that needed doing, Beast had spent the last 2 nights at Matchsticks trying to find his way to a job.
Watching the people come and go, through the door, he piqued with interrest at this newcomer. this kid hadn't had to disarm, and the cast looked real enough. obvious physical frailty and a timid look, he's gonna get chewed up in here.
Picking up his white russian (he wasn't fond of many mixed drinks, but that was one he could apreciate), Beast began sifting through the crowd trying to keep a low profile despite his large size, he wanted to lurk near the kid without being noticed. He'd step in if he had to, but in this bar, it was usually much better to mind your own business.
| QUOTE |
| Appearance A caucasian orc, Beast is 6'7" tall standing straight up, but usually about 6'3" because of the bend in his legs. He is very well buildt. not a bulky kind of muscular (though he does look strong), but in a wirey, toned sort of way. his ork tusks show promenantly, and he has a thick, black beard about 2 inches long that, along with his kid stealth legs, gives him a quite beastial appearance that is betrayed only by his eyes. His eyes sparkle with not only intelligence, but also happiness; gruff as he looks, he's usually smiling. Wearing a dark green rapid transit jumpsuit under a black armored Jacket, he also sports a belt with several pockets and pouches. |
The young man
After wandering around the establishment for a few minutes, a waitress asks if she can help him. He decides to level with her and explains his predicament and the reason for his visit to Matchsticks. The waitress acts as though she has heard similar requests and introduces him to the manager.
The manager says for a small charge, he will have any inquiries for work directed to the young man at the young man's booth. As the manager returns the young man's credstick he says, "Thank you Mr. Johnson. Let me know if I can do anything else for you."
A puzzled look fleetingly crosses the young man's features then he says, "Oh yeah, Mr. Johnson. Thank you, I'll let you know."
After wandering around the establishment for a few minutes, a waitress asks if she can help him. He decides to level with her and explains his predicament and the reason for his visit to Matchsticks. The waitress acts as though she has heard similar requests and introduces him to the manager.
The manager says for a small charge, he will have any inquiries for work directed to the young man at the young man's booth. As the manager returns the young man's credstick he says, "Thank you Mr. Johnson. Let me know if I can do anything else for you."
A puzzled look fleetingly crosses the young man's features then he says, "Oh yeah, Mr. Johnson. Thank you, I'll let you know."
Apoc moved into Matchsticks slowly. He'd been told that this was a descent place to find work, but since he'd never been hired on for anything other than screamers across the border, it was all a little new. In the back of his mind, he could see the dizzying array of bars and lights which were the heartbeat of his network. The implant in his skull would let him grip the network at any time, but doing so would wipe out much of his ability in the outside world.
The signal from the cranial implant was weak, of course, and even this distance from the van, the signal strength bar flickered yellow more often than green. He wasn't used to this kind of work, for certain.
Before the bouncer had even finished, he produced a holstered predator and handed it over. He didn't move to pull the holdout from the small of his back. The gun was smaller than his plam and made of high grade plastics. It was barely worth carrying, but it helped his piece of mind. Any gun was better than no gun.
He slipped inside and let his eyes adjust to the interior lighting. They did, of course, rapidly. The mechanical irise mimiced normal eyes almost flawlessly, which they should considering the amount he'd paid for them. They clicked through vision modes rapidly, settling on a slight boost to the ambient illumination. He briefly overlaid the thermal spectrum, but cut it off again because the room was too warm and it all muddled together into one mess of runny oranges and blues with people only partialy visible in their reds.
All of this took only a few seconds, and the newcomer licked his lips before sliding over to the bar and ordering a scotch. He took a sip and the indicator light for the van started blinking. He leaned forward and rested an elbow on the bar before letting the RAS kick in. He became the vehicle in an instant, checking to see the what the issue had been. Another vehicle had pulled in beside it. He could see a person getting out, though they walked past his van without a second look.
Jumpy... he chided himself as he disconnected from the network. The drones weren't active, of course, but they still fed "alive" signals to the system as they waited for the wakeup call.
Nothing in the bar had changed in the five seconds or so he had been staring blankly into his drink. He downed the scotch and ordered another. My fraggin' nerves are fried, he lamented silently before looking around the room non-chalantly.
The signal from the cranial implant was weak, of course, and even this distance from the van, the signal strength bar flickered yellow more often than green. He wasn't used to this kind of work, for certain.
Before the bouncer had even finished, he produced a holstered predator and handed it over. He didn't move to pull the holdout from the small of his back. The gun was smaller than his plam and made of high grade plastics. It was barely worth carrying, but it helped his piece of mind. Any gun was better than no gun.
He slipped inside and let his eyes adjust to the interior lighting. They did, of course, rapidly. The mechanical irise mimiced normal eyes almost flawlessly, which they should considering the amount he'd paid for them. They clicked through vision modes rapidly, settling on a slight boost to the ambient illumination. He briefly overlaid the thermal spectrum, but cut it off again because the room was too warm and it all muddled together into one mess of runny oranges and blues with people only partialy visible in their reds.
All of this took only a few seconds, and the newcomer licked his lips before sliding over to the bar and ordering a scotch. He took a sip and the indicator light for the van started blinking. He leaned forward and rested an elbow on the bar before letting the RAS kick in. He became the vehicle in an instant, checking to see the what the issue had been. Another vehicle had pulled in beside it. He could see a person getting out, though they walked past his van without a second look.
Jumpy... he chided himself as he disconnected from the network. The drones weren't active, of course, but they still fed "alive" signals to the system as they waited for the wakeup call.
Nothing in the bar had changed in the five seconds or so he had been staring blankly into his drink. He downed the scotch and ordered another. My fraggin' nerves are fried, he lamented silently before looking around the room non-chalantly.
| QUOTE (Appearance) |
| Apoc is a fairly average looking guy. He stands about 5'11", 170 lbs. He is a caucasian human with dark hair and brown eyes. The way he scans the room seems to indicate that he sees more than is obvious, though whether that means cybernetics, astral perception, or just keen eyesight cannot be easily determined. His only obvious cyberware is a datajack behind his left ear in the "rigger spot". He's dressed rather non-descriptly, though his clothing is nice enough. He is waring a secure long coat over top of that. |
Thunder remains in his seat, a long day of work has him weary and dying for a refreshing drink which he's now had 3 of on this late evening. Tomorrow.... tomorrow I definitely quit that stupid job... I mean it this time, today was the last... oh, what am I talking to myself for? I say this every night... I sure as hell wish my luck'd change a bit, would love to get a break and get out of this line of work.... Crap, still talking to myself... The look of worry only deepens as the dwarf buries himself deeper into thought, ignoring most of what's going on this evening.
Realization that he's sitting alone buried deep in thought when he's in a public place hits suddenly, and with a grumbling sound he rolls out of the booth, up to the bar, climbing up to the top of the stool, "Nother please... less water this time? And could someone please pass down the stale pretzel sticks?"
Realization that he's sitting alone buried deep in thought when he's in a public place hits suddenly, and with a grumbling sound he rolls out of the booth, up to the bar, climbing up to the top of the stool, "Nother please... less water this time? And could someone please pass down the stale pretzel sticks?"
| QUOTE |
| An old, and very rugged dwarf with long grey hair back in a ponytail. There are 3 raven feathers braided into his hair, and his dark toned skin verifies assumptions that he's of Native American blood. Grey steely eyes look wearily at people as they pass, as if sizing up threats, though he seems to go out of his way to avoid direct eye contact. His T-Shirt is tight on his body, showing a massive build and his pants are held up by denim suspenders. For being so late in the 21st century, this old timer seems stuck in the 20th century in his style of dress. |
Pierce reached accross the bar and handed over the bowl. "Gladly; the mold's been stinking up the place all night," he commented wryly as he got back to his obligatory drink. Work today had been particularly rough; one of his more mechanized patients had a malfuntioning arm that had thrashed about for half an hour before he and his assistant Joy could get it properly rewired. Pierce idly rubbed his forehead where the arm had clocked him once before he had wrestled it into a restraint. Drekking gangers and their drekking souped-up arms, he thought, taking another long drink, Hope something interesting comes up tonight; if I came down here for nothing tonight I'll really be pissed.
| QUOTE (Appearance) |
| Pierce is your normal twenty-something dwarf, brown hair and hazel eyes, standing about 4'9", 160lb. His most obvious cyberware is the multislot chipjack and two datajacks wired into the usual spots around his head. He seems at ease in the bar; he's obviously been here before. He's wearing fairly typical "street clothes", with a secure long coat over them. |
Blender watched the young man come in from his corner table. He too noticed the conspicuous lack of any weapons to check at the door. Either this guy's a real pro or a real newbie. Or a mage. Sipping his bottle of mineral water, he observed as the guy, acting clearly out of place, made a transparent attempt to not be overheard talking to the watress and the manager.
Blender stole another glance at the weapons checkpoint by the entrance, where his katana and stun baton were. He didn't like parting with the katana, though he wasn't too concerned about the baton. Not that he was unarmed; he had managed to sneak in his kris, a curvy knife made of non-ferromagnetic alloys and covered with insulating dikote, between the folds of his armored trench coat and his form-fitting armor. His forearms guards had distracted the doorman's attention from it. No, the reason for his concern was that the katana was magical. In addition to being worth nearly three hundred thousand nuyen, making it by far the most valuable thing he had ever owned, it was his favorite weapon, and could be used to magically track him down if anyone got hold of it. He had agonized over whether or not to bring it, knowing he would have to leave it at the door, before deciding that he was just being paranoid.
Blender stole another glance at the weapons checkpoint by the entrance, where his katana and stun baton were. He didn't like parting with the katana, though he wasn't too concerned about the baton. Not that he was unarmed; he had managed to sneak in his kris, a curvy knife made of non-ferromagnetic alloys and covered with insulating dikote, between the folds of his armored trench coat and his form-fitting armor. His forearms guards had distracted the doorman's attention from it. No, the reason for his concern was that the katana was magical. In addition to being worth nearly three hundred thousand nuyen, making it by far the most valuable thing he had ever owned, it was his favorite weapon, and could be used to magically track him down if anyone got hold of it. He had agonized over whether or not to bring it, knowing he would have to leave it at the door, before deciding that he was just being paranoid.
Cass
"What frags like a tiger and winks?" Cass looked up at the guy dancing with her. 'Did he really just say that?' She wondered. But he had. He looked like a fratboy from the U.; Hair clipped short and thick with gel, arms well-muscled and shaved--'probably oiled too,'Cass thought. Still, he wasn't bad looking. Even with that cheap Armani knock-off, 'at least he can afford a cheap Armani knock-off,' and that stupid goatee.
'Soka, I'll bite...' "...What?" Cass asked.
Her dancing partner answered her only with a dirty leer and a wink. His hands were all over Cass by now.
'Creep.' Cass pulled away from him with a gentle, but tired smile. "Wiz. But I gotta go..." She stopped trying to shout over the music--what was the point?--and gave the fratboy a disinterested little wave before losing herself in the crowd.
Threading her way across the dance floor, down the stairs and to the bar, moving as quietly as a whisper, Cass approached the counter. She slipped onto a stool next to a couple of dwarves, and waved for the bartender's attention. "Sake, cold? Thanks."
Waiting on her drink, Cass folded her arms over the countertop and glanced around the club. If she couldn't find Mr. Right, at least she might be find Mr. J. They were usually coming out of the walls in this place...but she didn't see anyone who immediately stood out...
"What frags like a tiger and winks?" Cass looked up at the guy dancing with her. 'Did he really just say that?' She wondered. But he had. He looked like a fratboy from the U.; Hair clipped short and thick with gel, arms well-muscled and shaved--'probably oiled too,'Cass thought. Still, he wasn't bad looking. Even with that cheap Armani knock-off, 'at least he can afford a cheap Armani knock-off,' and that stupid goatee.
'Soka, I'll bite...' "...What?" Cass asked.
Her dancing partner answered her only with a dirty leer and a wink. His hands were all over Cass by now.
'Creep.' Cass pulled away from him with a gentle, but tired smile. "Wiz. But I gotta go..." She stopped trying to shout over the music--what was the point?--and gave the fratboy a disinterested little wave before losing herself in the crowd.
Threading her way across the dance floor, down the stairs and to the bar, moving as quietly as a whisper, Cass approached the counter. She slipped onto a stool next to a couple of dwarves, and waved for the bartender's attention. "Sake, cold? Thanks."
Waiting on her drink, Cass folded her arms over the countertop and glanced around the club. If she couldn't find Mr. Right, at least she might be find Mr. J. They were usually coming out of the walls in this place...but she didn't see anyone who immediately stood out...
| QUOTE |
| Appearance -------------- Cass is a willowy slip of a girl, slender of hip, slight of height. She is disarmingly pretty, with deep hazel pools for eyes, the kind of healthy golden tan a person can only be born into, and soft delicate Eurasian features. Her silky black hair is usually a fetchingly unkempt mess that falls just shy of her shoulders. Because she comes far short of her kind's elegant stature, it's hard to recognize Cass as an elf. Even though her ears do give her away, their pointed curve is less prominent than one might expect. The disimilarities don't end there. Unlike most of her fashionable kin, Cass's affectations are few and simple. A sylvan styled tattoo adorns her right arm, coiling around it in the shape of a serpentine dragon, and a trio of small pewter studs line her left ear. Around her neck is a leather cord fitted through a darkly polished shark tooth. She is wearing a pair of tight-fitting khaki jeans with lots of zippered pockets, blue clog-type sneakers with white racing stripes, and no socks, and a slinky sleeveless dark gray top. Outlined in yellow and splashed across the front of the top is the picture of some kind of lizard. A caption above it reads, "War With the Newts." |
The Young Man, er, Mr. Johnson
The young man takes a good look around the bar from the cover of his booth. It is hard to see through the smoky, dimly lit room, but at least the place has a nice crowd for a Monday night. He ponders the managers offer of help and a private room where he can hear over the Jazz band. The crowd looks... hard is the word that comes to mind.
Am I going to do this or not? He slaps his hand on the table as he makes up his mind, drawing some attention, probably more than he wants, and the waitress comes over.
"I've decided to take the managers offer for sending me some people looking for work," he says. "Can I get the back room?"
The waitress replies, "I'll pass the message along, and I think the room is available."
The young man tips her, hoping it is enough but not too much to betray his ignorance of such dealings.
The waitress returns and leads him to a door at the back of the club. "You should be fine here."
"Can you send me thet freaky looking guy with the double jointed legs? That is, if he's looking for work. I may need a bodyguard." At least I'll feel safer if I have the most obviously cybered goon on my side. "And would it be ok to let him have his weapon if I do hire him?"
The waitress looks at him a little sideways. I didn't notice that guy. "I'll see what I can do."
"Thank you."
The waitress goes into the main room and carefully scans it for the stealthy guy with the legs. You've got to be kidding me she thinks when she sees the man standing inconspicuosly against the wall, partially hidden by a booth and some of the bands equipment. She approaches him, "Can I get you anything?" she asks.
The young man takes a good look around the bar from the cover of his booth. It is hard to see through the smoky, dimly lit room, but at least the place has a nice crowd for a Monday night. He ponders the managers offer of help and a private room where he can hear over the Jazz band. The crowd looks... hard is the word that comes to mind.
Am I going to do this or not? He slaps his hand on the table as he makes up his mind, drawing some attention, probably more than he wants, and the waitress comes over.
"I've decided to take the managers offer for sending me some people looking for work," he says. "Can I get the back room?"
The waitress replies, "I'll pass the message along, and I think the room is available."
The young man tips her, hoping it is enough but not too much to betray his ignorance of such dealings.
The waitress returns and leads him to a door at the back of the club. "You should be fine here."
"Can you send me thet freaky looking guy with the double jointed legs? That is, if he's looking for work. I may need a bodyguard." At least I'll feel safer if I have the most obviously cybered goon on my side. "And would it be ok to let him have his weapon if I do hire him?"
The waitress looks at him a little sideways. I didn't notice that guy. "I'll see what I can do."
"Thank you."
The waitress goes into the main room and carefully scans it for the stealthy guy with the legs. You've got to be kidding me she thinks when she sees the man standing inconspicuosly against the wall, partially hidden by a booth and some of the bands equipment. She approaches him, "Can I get you anything?" she asks.
Renegade sipped his rum and soda as he scanned the room. He was here in hopes of getting a job, but aside from Blender, whom he had worked with once before, and the people working at the place, he didn't recognize anyone. His mind had just drifted off to how much he hated governments and corporations, and especcially government-wannabe corps like Lone Star, when he noticed the young man come in. He had seen that nervous manner before, in a Johnson who hired him on behalf of himself to find his missing son. It was the way a first-time Johnson acted.
Seeing the kid go to the back room, it makes a bit more sense. He was here to hire people. How handy, since I'm in the mood to be hired. Something about the level of incompetance and uncertainty made the Johnson actually more appealing. First because I hope he's too scared to even think of a double cross, and second it might be easy to get a bit more out of him since he A: doesn't know going rates, and B: is obviously desperate or he wouldn't be here.
coming up from leaning against a wall, I had just begun walking towards the bar to get an audience when the waitress aproaches me.
Downing the drink I had been leasurely sipping, then handing her the glass, slipping her 50
at the same time"You can get rid of this, and can get me in to see the man you just escorted back there."
coming up from leaning against a wall, I had just begun walking towards the bar to get an audience when the waitress aproaches me.
Downing the drink I had been leasurely sipping, then handing her the glass, slipping her 50
at the same time"You can get rid of this, and can get me in to see the man you just escorted back there."
Apoc is somewhat oblivious to the subtle dance going on around him. His experience with unsavory types is fairly solid, but the intricacies of shadowrunning are not. He takes another sip of his scotch and swirls the remaining liquid in his glass.
The liquor seems to be melting some of his hard edges and helping him think. The little lights dancing in the back of his mind don't calm down, and he keeps a mental eye on them, but his body language opens up considerably. He stops hunkering over the bar and sits back, looking around casually and scanning the crowd.
Under the cover of checking out women in the smoky room (which he does a fair bit of), he assesses the crowd as best he can. it's clear that some folks are professionals, but that most aren't. He sees the kid going to the back room but idly dismisses it. Must be applying for a job, he thinks, and leaves it at that.
The liquor seems to be melting some of his hard edges and helping him think. The little lights dancing in the back of his mind don't calm down, and he keeps a mental eye on them, but his body language opens up considerably. He stops hunkering over the bar and sits back, looking around casually and scanning the crowd.
Under the cover of checking out women in the smoky room (which he does a fair bit of), he assesses the crowd as best he can. it's clear that some folks are professionals, but that most aren't. He sees the kid going to the back room but idly dismisses it. Must be applying for a job, he thinks, and leaves it at that.
[ Pierce ]
Pierce glanced down at his softly beeping pocket secretary and read the number of the caller ID box. Joy was calling, and at this time of day there could be only one reason. Pierce sighed inwardly and plugged in the transducer. "Absolutely not," he said, speaking through his jack.
"But Saaaaaaam...," the woman on the other end replied, her voice dripping with saccharine, "Angie's parents are home tonight, so we can't stay there. And you know she's leaving for New York next week, so we can't...."
Pierce cut her off mid-sentence, "Especially not then! I had to steralize the ceiling last time you spent the night in the clinic with that one. The drekking ceiling! I still have no idea how... nevermind! Just... no, no. NO, no. No, no. No."
Joy pouted. "We just got a little carried away, that's all. It won't happen again; I promise." Hearing the sound of a disapproving grunt on the other end, Joy immediately brightened up. "Thanks Sam! I owe ya one!"
Sam made a small growling noise through his transducer. "All right, all right. Just... at least keep off the operating table, okay? We've got a tricky implantation tomorow afternoon--the razors for that dancer, remember?--and I don't want to be distracted thinking about what you were implanting on that table the night before, got it?"
Joy laughed. "Oh I remember the dancer. Maybe, after we're done with her, she can do a little surgery herself and remove the stick from your-"
Pierce cut the connection before Joy could complete that thought, or the other one about 'maybe find him a guy instead.' For a few seconds he made a halfhearted attempt to growl at his drink, but despite himself started to chuckle. That girl must date half of Seatle, but I'm the one who's whipped, he thought semi-ruefully, snorting into the cheap synthahol.
[
] There, I'd say that introduces Pierce and Joy better than any OoC description. 
[/ ]
Pierce glanced down at his softly beeping pocket secretary and read the number of the caller ID box. Joy was calling, and at this time of day there could be only one reason. Pierce sighed inwardly and plugged in the transducer. "Absolutely not," he said, speaking through his jack.
"But Saaaaaaam...," the woman on the other end replied, her voice dripping with saccharine, "Angie's parents are home tonight, so we can't stay there. And you know she's leaving for New York next week, so we can't...."
Pierce cut her off mid-sentence, "Especially not then! I had to steralize the ceiling last time you spent the night in the clinic with that one. The drekking ceiling! I still have no idea how... nevermind! Just... no, no. NO, no. No, no. No."
Joy pouted. "We just got a little carried away, that's all. It won't happen again; I promise." Hearing the sound of a disapproving grunt on the other end, Joy immediately brightened up. "Thanks Sam! I owe ya one!"
Sam made a small growling noise through his transducer. "All right, all right. Just... at least keep off the operating table, okay? We've got a tricky implantation tomorow afternoon--the razors for that dancer, remember?--and I don't want to be distracted thinking about what you were implanting on that table the night before, got it?"
Joy laughed. "Oh I remember the dancer. Maybe, after we're done with her, she can do a little surgery herself and remove the stick from your-"
Pierce cut the connection before Joy could complete that thought, or the other one about 'maybe find him a guy instead.' For a few seconds he made a halfhearted attempt to growl at his drink, but despite himself started to chuckle. That girl must date half of Seatle, but I'm the one who's whipped, he thought semi-ruefully, snorting into the cheap synthahol.
[
] There, I'd say that introduces Pierce and Joy better than any OoC description. [/ ]
(Cass)
A stool away from Pierce, and the conversation going on in the dwarf's head, Cass was pushing a ten nuyen note across the bar counter.
"Thanks omae." Cass took her sake from the bartender, and craddled it in both hands. The sake was cold, but old habits die hard. Glancing back over her shoulder Cass saw a big thick shouldered ork moving across the club...and then briefly caught sight of the ork's clumsy-looking, but fast-moving, cybernetic legs. Curious, Cass tried to follow the ork with her eyes as he passed between tables.
Look the part, be the part. 'That guy definitely looks the part...' Cass thought to herself. She took a sip from her cup of cooled sake, tilting her head to one side consideringly. There was definitely something going down. Cass could almost smell it.
Taking another swallow of sake, Cass waved down the bartender again and as he approached, leaned towards him across the counter. "Hey, uh, could you let me know if someone called Johnson is looking for me? My name's Casper." she whispered, sliding fifty nuyen more his way.
A stool away from Pierce, and the conversation going on in the dwarf's head, Cass was pushing a ten nuyen note across the bar counter.
"Thanks omae." Cass took her sake from the bartender, and craddled it in both hands. The sake was cold, but old habits die hard. Glancing back over her shoulder Cass saw a big thick shouldered ork moving across the club...and then briefly caught sight of the ork's clumsy-looking, but fast-moving, cybernetic legs. Curious, Cass tried to follow the ork with her eyes as he passed between tables.
Look the part, be the part. 'That guy definitely looks the part...' Cass thought to herself. She took a sip from her cup of cooled sake, tilting her head to one side consideringly. There was definitely something going down. Cass could almost smell it.
Taking another swallow of sake, Cass waved down the bartender again and as he approached, leaned towards him across the counter. "Hey, uh, could you let me know if someone called Johnson is looking for me? My name's Casper." she whispered, sliding fifty nuyen more his way.
Snow had been contacted earlier that evening via one of his virtual dead letter boxes. The contact had been made by Johnny Jett, an assosciate whom at times ran overwatch for him. It seemed that a young Johnson was treading it waters which may be in over his head, and is in need of a competant bodyguard. This would suit his needs quite well. People were beginning to wonder why Robert Winters, his public face, hadn't gone on a business trip of late. Just when they were beginning to wonder what his business was, he departs for the orient, presumably to acquire another work of ancient art.
Snow's Porsche Winter pulls up in front of the club, and he steps forth. The place was not his usual fair, but it was a welcome change from the usual pop culture farms most shadowrunners seemed to favor. Approaching the valet, he gives the man a 50 tip, informing him to arm the security device before leaving the car. He gives the same for the bouncer, to avoid the requisit pat down. Of course, he is armed, but the MAD sensors would be none the wiser, as his weapon is completely ceramic and alloy. A good bodyguard was never without weapon after all. He takes a moment after he steps inside to look the room over, and he slips up to the bar. He makes a quick inquiry, ascertaining the location of his employer to be, and then sets off after the young man.
Snow's Porsche Winter pulls up in front of the club, and he steps forth. The place was not his usual fair, but it was a welcome change from the usual pop culture farms most shadowrunners seemed to favor. Approaching the valet, he gives the man a
50 tip, informing him to arm the security device before leaving the car. He gives the same for the bouncer, to avoid the requisit pat down. Of course, he is armed, but the MAD sensors would be none the wiser, as his weapon is completely ceramic and alloy. A good bodyguard was never without weapon after all. He takes a moment after he steps inside to look the room over, and he slips up to the bar. He makes a quick inquiry, ascertaining the location of his employer to be, and then sets off after the young man.
Beast
| QUOTE |
| Downing the drink I had been leasurely sipping, then handing her the glass, slipping her 50 :nuyen: at the same time"You can get rid of this, and can get me in to see the man you just escorted back there." |
The waitress thanks the freakish man and says, "That should be no problem. He just requested your company." The waitress leads Beast to the backroom, holds the door for him, and closes it after him.
The young man, er... Mr. Johnson rises from his seat as Beast enters. "I'm looking to do some hiring for a job tonight and would like to engage you as a bodyguard for the interviews. You," he looks at his double jointed legs, "look like you may be able to do so. I can pay :nuyen: 500 or see if anyone else is interested."
Snow enters the room at that moment, overhearing the bit about a bodyguard. "Mr. Johnson, a high flying speedfreak friend of ours asked me to lend you my assistance tonight for that purpose."
The young man, er... Mr. Johnson looks puzzled for a moment after the intrusion, then puts together the hints about the mutual friend. Glad to have a bodyguard watching his back someone has vouched for, he tries not to start trouble with the cyberfreak he just made the offer to. He smiles at Beast placatingly and says, "I hope you understand, you know, having someone that you ..." He wants to say trust, but is afraid that will imply mistrust. Then he discards "can count on" as the opposite could be implied. "Well, someone that's been sent to look out for you. You are welcome to inquire about the job, Mr. uh..."
"Beast, will do."
"Mr. Beast," the young man/Mr. Johnson continues, "the job is a hiest. A warehouse. I'd rather not have a lot of casualties. I'd like to see it done without leaving a clue that anyone had been there, it will make tracing the loot that much harder, and if they don't know where the items got to, they may think it was an inventory error or some kind of incompetance on the part of the warehouse manager. This also precludes looting on the part of the team. There is no time limit, but I'd like it done within the next couple of weeks." So I know if everyone just took my money and laughed me off. "When you have the items, you will contact me, and I'll accompany you to the drop. The entire job will pay :nuyen: 20,000 up front and :nuyen: 200,000 at the drop. The team can divide this as they see fit. I have knowledge of the layout and security of the site and may know details I don't even realize would be useful. I don't want to get too detailed until you accept the job.
Any questions? Are you interested?"
Cass
| QUOTE |
| Taking another swallow of sake, Cass waved down the bartender again and as he approached, leaned towards him across the counter. "Hey, uh, could you let me know if someone called Johnson is looking for me? My name's Casper." she whispered, sliding fifty nuyen more his way. |
The Bartender smoothly pockets the nuyen and says, "Mr. Johnson is conducting an open call tonight and it looks like you just got the next space in line."
Apoc lets the mental lights fall farther away from his mind's eye as he sees money passing between various hardened looking individuals and the bartender. A little while later, he signals the bartender and orders another scotch.
Leaning close over the top of the bar, he adds the request, "You seen a person nam'a Johnson in here tonight? I think they might be lookin' for me." He slides an extra fifty note in with the money for the scotch and slides it across the counter."
Leaning close over the top of the bar, he adds the request, "You seen a person nam'a Johnson in here tonight? I think they might be lookin' for me." He slides an extra fifty note in with the money for the scotch and slides it across the counter."
Apoc
| QUOTE |
| Leaning close over the top of the bar, he adds the request, "You seen a person nam'a Johnson in here tonight? I think they might be lookin' for me." He slides an extra fifty note in with the money for the scotch and slides it across the counter." |
The note disappears so fast you wonder if the bartender is a mage or cybered. The bartender says, "I'll let Mr. Johnson know you have arrived."
(Cass)
Cass smiled sweetly at the bartender. "Thanks omae." She listened to his instructions and then slipped off her stool, glancing side-long at Apoc and then moving through the crowd to the door at the back of the club.
Rapping her knuckles lightly against the door, the faintest little tap, Cass waited to be admitted into the room. Upon entering she looked from the freakish Beast to the young man to Snow, and with a slight shrug hooked her thumbs into her waistband.
"Soka...which one of you is Mr. J?"
Cass smiled sweetly at the bartender. "Thanks omae." She listened to his instructions and then slipped off her stool, glancing side-long at Apoc and then moving through the crowd to the door at the back of the club.
Rapping her knuckles lightly against the door, the faintest little tap, Cass waited to be admitted into the room. Upon entering she looked from the freakish Beast to the young man to Snow, and with a slight shrug hooked her thumbs into her waistband.
"Soka...which one of you is Mr. J?"
Mr. Johnson
In the back room away from the smoke and with a little bit better lighting, the runners can see that Mr. Johnson looks like a human male between the ages of 23 and 28. The plaster cast on his right arm looks only days old and no different than ones you've seen from the hospital.
Now that you get a closer look, two datajacks are visible on his skull. His clothes are not tres chic or even what could be termed fine.
In the back room away from the smoke and with a little bit better lighting, the runners can see that Mr. Johnson looks like a human male between the ages of 23 and 28. The plaster cast on his right arm looks only days old and no different than ones you've seen from the hospital.
Now that you get a closer look, two datajacks are visible on his skull. His clothes are not tres chic or even what could be termed fine.
| QUOTE |
| May make a perception and etiquette check to determine more impressions. |
This is pretty good pay for a runner like Blender. Still, he thinks this newbie Johnson might be willing to go a bit higher. "Sounds like a good job, but if we aren't allowed to loot stuff and fence it, then we'll need to be paid very well. We need to talk this over amongst ourselves for a minute."
Renegade is intrigued by the high pay, but that is offset by the necesity of foregoing his favorite pastime: looting. He decides to see if he and his would-be teammates can pump the Johnson for more information. Taking a couple quick glances around the room in astral and physical space, he checks out the Johnson's aura.
Thunder in the Back Office
"Mr Johnson, that is indeed a fine offer, and I'm definitely the man for the job. You need someone who can get in and out without being noticed, my Mojo lets me do just that, I can go in through the roof, or from below, unseen, without ever leaving a single footprint. I can open doors without leaving a finger print, nobody will ever know I was there, nobody will ever know what hit them. More importantly, nobody will ever be harmed, but simply fall asleep on the job. And chances are good that if there's any magical defenses there, I helped set them up, so getting past them should be easy. What I need to know though is how much merchandise. We'll obviously need a driver, and one o' them there computer freaks to minimize security issues, and maybe some muscle once the perimeter is breached to carry the equipment...."
Thunder goes on more quietly, almost as if he's started talking to himself, counting what else he feels would be needed for this heist.
"Mr Johnson, that is indeed a fine offer, and I'm definitely the man for the job. You need someone who can get in and out without being noticed, my Mojo lets me do just that, I can go in through the roof, or from below, unseen, without ever leaving a single footprint. I can open doors without leaving a finger print, nobody will ever know I was there, nobody will ever know what hit them. More importantly, nobody will ever be harmed, but simply fall asleep on the job. And chances are good that if there's any magical defenses there, I helped set them up, so getting past them should be easy. What I need to know though is how much merchandise. We'll obviously need a driver, and one o' them there computer freaks to minimize security issues, and maybe some muscle once the perimeter is breached to carry the equipment...."
Thunder goes on more quietly, almost as if he's started talking to himself, counting what else he feels would be needed for this heist.
Beast gives a bit of a smile when the Johnson mentions a warehouse. "I excel at getting into and out of inaccesible locations." Your pay sounds fine, and neither the low casualties nor the looting restriction will be a problem."
His height allows him to sit on the ground beside the table and to see over normally. As he sits, his legs fold under him in an odd manner that inspection would note still leaves his feet flat on the floor, ready to spring.
"I have several questions, but will refrain until you have given your descriptions of the job." seeing the others walk into the room "However, I will inquire now as to how many people you were planning on using in this venture."
His height allows him to sit on the ground beside the table and to see over normally. As he sits, his legs fold under him in an odd manner that inspection would note still leaves his feet flat on the floor, ready to spring.
"I have several questions, but will refrain until you have given your descriptions of the job." seeing the others walk into the room "However, I will inquire now as to how many people you were planning on using in this venture."
Apoc arrives in the back room in due course and hears the job. He listens intently and nods. "I've got technical surveillance and infiltration covered. I can provide team transportation and some heavy firepower, if needed. Which it shouldn't be in this case. It sounds like a solid gig." He takes a look at the people present and does some mental math. When the figures come up positive he nods. "I'm in if you're offerin'."
Cass has drifted a small distance from the rest of the group, leaning with her back against the wall, and silently watching the proceedings. Even though she must look like the odd girl out--nothing about Cass suggests a shadowrunner, and she's obviously not armed unless she's found a very creative way to hide her weapons--she doesn't look the least bit uncomfortable. She just stands there cooly looking from one face to the next, ankles crossed, thumbs still hooked into her waistband.
Standing against that wall Cass is statue still. She doesn't so much as twitch, hardly even seems to breathe. She simply waits.
Standing against that wall Cass is statue still. She doesn't so much as twitch, hardly even seems to breathe. She simply waits.
Already Beast has begun sizing up his compatriats, seeing who he'll want and who would be best fit for some job far away from him. Watching armaments, obvious cyber, and fluidity of motion to see who's wired (ooc I kinda rolled my own perception test and got high, but this is all info from what they've said anyways)
Cass:
Her I like. silent and confident, no twitches, she'd be a good mage. I'd rather have her than the blabbermouth, but it'll come down to their spell selection.
Apoc:
Rigger, that much was obvious. Riggers are second to mages in terms of required intelligence, the more tools at your disposal, the faster and more flexible you need to be. besides, we need to get around somehow.
Pierce and Blender:
These guys he hasn't quite read yet, but he continues to try and size them up. a decker would be brilliat, if it could be arranged. but nothing was certain yet.
Snow:
Here's a lovely little complication. First question is whether the bodyguard is coming on the run. if so, that almost implies we're not trusted (not that surprising), but bodyguards are combat detail, not infiltrators. what do we do if the boss' boy is the one getting in the way?
Even more interresting is that some benefactor sent this bodyguard for the johnson, that doesn't fit well with the novice image... he'll have to see how this pans out.
Beast sits calm and still waiting for the meeting to officially begin. he wants to hear the information, and hear who he's dealing with before he makes any full judgements.
Cass:
Her I like. silent and confident, no twitches, she'd be a good mage. I'd rather have her than the blabbermouth, but it'll come down to their spell selection.
Apoc:
Rigger, that much was obvious. Riggers are second to mages in terms of required intelligence, the more tools at your disposal, the faster and more flexible you need to be. besides, we need to get around somehow.
Pierce and Blender:
These guys he hasn't quite read yet, but he continues to try and size them up. a decker would be brilliat, if it could be arranged. but nothing was certain yet.
Snow:
Here's a lovely little complication. First question is whether the bodyguard is coming on the run. if so, that almost implies we're not trusted (not that surprising), but bodyguards are combat detail, not infiltrators. what do we do if the boss' boy is the one getting in the way?
Even more interresting is that some benefactor sent this bodyguard for the johnson, that doesn't fit well with the novice image... he'll have to see how this pans out.
Beast sits calm and still waiting for the meeting to officially begin. he wants to hear the information, and hear who he's dealing with before he makes any full judgements.
Mr. Johnson
"I am not the expert on what it will take to pull this off. I'm hoping you are. If one person can complete the job, I'll be as happy as if ten people are needed to pull it off. But it will still be the flat fee.
Since everyone seems interested, I'll trust to your discretion if you opt out as more information is provided."
For the first time, the young man/Mr. Johnson seems almost relaxed as he smiles and says, "The job requires no heavy lifting. There will be two boxes approximately 10cm by 20cm by 50cm and should weigh only 3 or 4 kg each. This is the primary objective. If things are going well, there is also about 6 boxes that are about 10cm a side and weigh only about a kg each.
The primary objective is inside a cage about 3 meters by 10 meters by 3 meters high within the warehouse. It is maglocked, requiring a passcode, and I believe magically protected. It is also under video surveillance. The warehouse itself is of standard metal construction. It is windowless and three sides have only alarmed emergency exit doors, while the fourth side has 10 dock doors and an entrance door.
The warehouse receives incoming shipments from 4pm until 10 pm, and trucks loaded with outbound shipments leave between 8am and 3pm. Warehouse personnel work overnight processing the incoming shipments, storing them, then assembling the outgoing shipments. They work in 3 shifts from 8am-4pm, 4pm-midnight and midnight -8am.
The evening shift is when the most unfamiliar faces are present, because shipments come in from several origins and they all have their own pool of drivers. Everyone will know about everyone on the night shift as it is only warehouse employees, about 10-12 workers any given night. The day shift with the outbound loads is intermediate in the familiarity department, because the drivers are pretty much the same ones covering the same routes.
The warehouse is in Tacoma, near the docks and the railyard. It is surrounded by cyclone wire topped with concertina wire. There is a guardhouse at the only entrance with four guards on duty. Another guard is usually patrolling the grounds. One guard is usually jacked in monitoring the cameras, one guard takes care of incoming or outbound trucks paperwork while the other physically inspects the truck. The last guard fills in as needed: if there are a lot of trucks, he'll help out there. If there is a lot of activity in the warehouse, he might monitor cameras or physically go to the warehouse to check. Overnight, when there are no trucks coming and going, they patrol the grounds with dogs.
As far as I know, there are no on site mages or paranimals. There is likely to be drones though. There is a rail that runs around the top of the building and disappears into about a cubic meter enclosure. The enclosures sit in the four corners like dog houses. There is the same type of rail running around the exterior of the building.
The employees park outside the enclosure and walk through the security building slotting their ID cards to get through a turnstile. The warehouse is an electronics distribution center. They get shipments from the manufacturers and ship to retailers.
I don't know if I left out anything important or not. I do know the passcode for the cage that was good as of last Friday."
"I am not the expert on what it will take to pull this off. I'm hoping you are. If one person can complete the job, I'll be as happy as if ten people are needed to pull it off. But it will still be the flat fee.
Since everyone seems interested, I'll trust to your discretion if you opt out as more information is provided."
For the first time, the young man/Mr. Johnson seems almost relaxed as he smiles and says, "The job requires no heavy lifting. There will be two boxes approximately 10cm by 20cm by 50cm and should weigh only 3 or 4 kg each. This is the primary objective. If things are going well, there is also about 6 boxes that are about 10cm a side and weigh only about a kg each.
The primary objective is inside a cage about 3 meters by 10 meters by 3 meters high within the warehouse. It is maglocked, requiring a passcode, and I believe magically protected. It is also under video surveillance. The warehouse itself is of standard metal construction. It is windowless and three sides have only alarmed emergency exit doors, while the fourth side has 10 dock doors and an entrance door.
The warehouse receives incoming shipments from 4pm until 10 pm, and trucks loaded with outbound shipments leave between 8am and 3pm. Warehouse personnel work overnight processing the incoming shipments, storing them, then assembling the outgoing shipments. They work in 3 shifts from 8am-4pm, 4pm-midnight and midnight -8am.
The evening shift is when the most unfamiliar faces are present, because shipments come in from several origins and they all have their own pool of drivers. Everyone will know about everyone on the night shift as it is only warehouse employees, about 10-12 workers any given night. The day shift with the outbound loads is intermediate in the familiarity department, because the drivers are pretty much the same ones covering the same routes.
The warehouse is in Tacoma, near the docks and the railyard. It is surrounded by cyclone wire topped with concertina wire. There is a guardhouse at the only entrance with four guards on duty. Another guard is usually patrolling the grounds. One guard is usually jacked in monitoring the cameras, one guard takes care of incoming or outbound trucks paperwork while the other physically inspects the truck. The last guard fills in as needed: if there are a lot of trucks, he'll help out there. If there is a lot of activity in the warehouse, he might monitor cameras or physically go to the warehouse to check. Overnight, when there are no trucks coming and going, they patrol the grounds with dogs.
As far as I know, there are no on site mages or paranimals. There is likely to be drones though. There is a rail that runs around the top of the building and disappears into about a cubic meter enclosure. The enclosures sit in the four corners like dog houses. There is the same type of rail running around the exterior of the building.
The employees park outside the enclosure and walk through the security building slotting their ID cards to get through a turnstile. The warehouse is an electronics distribution center. They get shipments from the manufacturers and ship to retailers.
I don't know if I left out anything important or not. I do know the passcode for the cage that was good as of last Friday."
Beast makes some mental notes, marking off some distances and such. When the man finishes, Beast begins
"A few questions, if you don't mind...
You mention a high amount of traffic coming in and out, yet you say no specific time frame for this job to be accomplished in. That would imply that the parcels we are after are not leaving any time soon. Assuming we got in and out flawlessly, how long would you estimate it would take for the warehouse to notice this to be missing?
Also, is this warehouse directly affiliated with any special corp, and what company does their security?
If you know the code as of last friday, do you know how often they change this code?" intentionally not asking how he knows the code
"All together, the job sounds wholely feasible. Perhaps now that we've measured up the opposition, now would be the time to evaluate our resources.
People call me Beast, but I excel at athletics and entry into normally inaccessible locations for either surveylance or stealing. I am quite a competant combatant, though I prefer not to use it if avoidable. For what it's worth, I am also very effective as a tactician."
"A few questions, if you don't mind...
You mention a high amount of traffic coming in and out, yet you say no specific time frame for this job to be accomplished in. That would imply that the parcels we are after are not leaving any time soon. Assuming we got in and out flawlessly, how long would you estimate it would take for the warehouse to notice this to be missing?
Also, is this warehouse directly affiliated with any special corp, and what company does their security?
If you know the code as of last friday, do you know how often they change this code?" intentionally not asking how he knows the code
"All together, the job sounds wholely feasible. Perhaps now that we've measured up the opposition, now would be the time to evaluate our resources.
People call me Beast, but I excel at athletics and entry into normally inaccessible locations for either surveylance or stealing. I am quite a competant combatant, though I prefer not to use it if avoidable. For what it's worth, I am also very effective as a tactician."
Apoc listens intently to the Johnson's description of the run, nodding slightly at intervals. After Beast asks his questions, he also speaks up, "You said one of the guards is jacked in to watch the cameras... are they CCSS or just matrix controlled?"
Apoc nods in acknowledgement of Beast's introduction. "I'm called Apoc an' I do riggin'. Mostly drones and wheelies, but I can pull a rotor pretty damn well if I need to."
Apoc nods in acknowledgement of Beast's introduction. "I'm called Apoc an' I do riggin'. Mostly drones and wheelies, but I can pull a rotor pretty damn well if I need to."
| QUOTE |
| You mention a high amount of traffic coming in and out, yet you say no specific time frame for this job to be accomplished in. That would imply that the parcels we are after are not leaving any time soon. Assuming we got in and out flawlessly, how long would you estimate it would take for the warehouse to notice this to be missing? |
The warehouse usually keeps between 2 and 6 of the items in stock. If it goes off flawlessly, hopefully not until their next inventory, or when the inventory shows 2 should be there and cannot be found. Then, hopefully, they may take some more time hoping its a clerical error.
| QUOTE |
| Also, is this warehouse directly affiliated with any special corp, and what company does their security? |
They are not affiliated with anyone I know of, they supply several electronics retail chains. Each chain usually sends the same drivers to do the local outbound deliveries. Knight Errant does security.
| QUOTE |
| If you know the code as of last Friday, do you know how often they change this code?" |
Mr. Johnson looks like he is being found out as he says, 'They will probably be changing the code in the next week or two if it follows past trends.
| QUOTE |
| "You said one of the guards is jacked in to watch the cameras... are they CCSS or just matrix controlled?" |
I'm not sure, but I assume it is rigged. The forklifts are all datajack equipped for rigging. They don't require VCRs, but want the operators to have at least datajack control.
Something else, the entire shift usually takes a lunch break at the same time. The restrooms and lunchroom area are to the left of the dock doors (looking from within the warehouse.) In the center of the dock doors is a makeshift office area consisting of some desks, file cabinets, copiers/faxs/etc. and computers. The cage is along this centerline of the warehouse, between rows of stock about 6 meters high and 30 meters long. Inside the dock doors there is a clear area extending inward about 20 meters where the trailers are unloaded before being shelved, and where orders are put together before being loaded onto trucks. Past this area is where the rows of shelves start, and there are shelves running around the inside walls of the building. Foot traffic enters through a normal door near the office area.
Beast
"Hmm... you seemvery well informed here. That's not a bad thing by any means. but it does mean I have a few more questions for you. Where do these shipments come in from? I could use locations of a couple of their more regular deliveries, prefferably any outside seattle, but any that have to run through low level slums would work too. I'm interrested in the possibility of hijacking a truck and driving it in as a means of gaining entrance to the compound, or whatever else I can think of.
Also, you say they keep a certain number in stock. does that mean that there's turnover? are some leaving and others coming in? if so, it might be better to steal them as they're coming in or as they're going out. Heck, with a good decker, we can just change their manifest logs to have them ship them out on a truck, then steal that truck. Decker could then go back in and change the logs back so they would appear never to have been on that truck.
I notice you haven't told us what the items are, and I won't ask, that's your perogative, but are they rare/valuable enough that if an entire truck (or the entire warehouse) went missing that these would be the suspected reason? Not necessarily saying that's the plan, but it's good to know what we're dealing with here.
For a heist like this, there's 2 ways to do it. one involves going in guns blazing and taking it. the other one (which both you and I would rather do) takes alot of information and planning."
"Hmm... you seemvery well informed here. That's not a bad thing by any means. but it does mean I have a few more questions for you. Where do these shipments come in from? I could use locations of a couple of their more regular deliveries, prefferably any outside seattle, but any that have to run through low level slums would work too. I'm interrested in the possibility of hijacking a truck and driving it in as a means of gaining entrance to the compound, or whatever else I can think of.
Also, you say they keep a certain number in stock. does that mean that there's turnover? are some leaving and others coming in? if so, it might be better to steal them as they're coming in or as they're going out. Heck, with a good decker, we can just change their manifest logs to have them ship them out on a truck, then steal that truck. Decker could then go back in and change the logs back so they would appear never to have been on that truck.
I notice you haven't told us what the items are, and I won't ask, that's your perogative, but are they rare/valuable enough that if an entire truck (or the entire warehouse) went missing that these would be the suspected reason? Not necessarily saying that's the plan, but it's good to know what we're dealing with here.
For a heist like this, there's 2 ways to do it. one involves going in guns blazing and taking it. the other one (which both you and I would rather do) takes alot of information and planning."
As the conversation began to drag onwards, Pierce popped out of what he called his "planning trance." That was the part of shadowrunning he loved best: the planning, the potentials, the infinite possibilities whirling around leading to a strategy. He was already surreptitously sizing up his team, looking for strengths to utilize, weaknesses to work around. In a way, it was even more exciting than the execution.
But at this point, it seemed clear to him that the conversation stopped being about the run three questions ago, and was now entering a session of "Interrogate the Johnson." Most Johnsons were professional enough or experienced enough that they could steer away from this drek. This one, though, looked like a novice, and might get nervous if pushed too hard. Nervous Johnsons make mistakes, and mistakes in this business were deadly. Besides, any information gotten now would be unreliable at best, working from the Johnson's memory rather than from actual information. That was why meets were important; it gave the Johnson time to collect reliable data rather than what amounts to hearsay.
So, it was time to speak up. "Gentlemen, ladies," Pierce said in his 'negotiating' voice, "we seem to getting off-tangent here. I'm sure all of our specific questions about the job will certainly be included in the information that Mr. Johnson will no doubt be providing us, along with locations and specifics on the Packages. And," he added with a grin, "of course, our pay. As for introductions, that I believe also can be saved for later. We certainly don't need to waste Mr. Johnson's time with such trivialities." Nor do I particularly want this loose-lipped kid knowing anything more about me than necessary, he thoughe privately.
"So, back to the offer. I think we can all agree that Mr. Johnson's offer is certainly adequate for the job"--at least, we can now that two people have already as much as drekking said it was!--"but I'm concerned that we may need additional resources to pull this off successfully. Knight Errant is hardly a slouch in security--quite simply, they are state-of-the-art. Pulling the shade over their eyes for very long is going to require some special equipment--I'd say an extra 5000 up front, and an extra 75,000 on delivery. We could do it for less, I suppose, but I wouldn't be as confident about not being found out."
But at this point, it seemed clear to him that the conversation stopped being about the run three questions ago, and was now entering a session of "Interrogate the Johnson." Most Johnsons were professional enough or experienced enough that they could steer away from this drek. This one, though, looked like a novice, and might get nervous if pushed too hard. Nervous Johnsons make mistakes, and mistakes in this business were deadly. Besides, any information gotten now would be unreliable at best, working from the Johnson's memory rather than from actual information. That was why meets were important; it gave the Johnson time to collect reliable data rather than what amounts to hearsay.
So, it was time to speak up. "Gentlemen, ladies," Pierce said in his 'negotiating' voice, "we seem to getting off-tangent here. I'm sure all of our specific questions about the job will certainly be included in the information that Mr. Johnson will no doubt be providing us, along with locations and specifics on the Packages. And," he added with a grin, "of course, our pay. As for introductions, that I believe also can be saved for later. We certainly don't need to waste Mr. Johnson's time with such trivialities." Nor do I particularly want this loose-lipped kid knowing anything more about me than necessary, he thoughe privately.
"So, back to the offer. I think we can all agree that Mr. Johnson's offer is certainly adequate for the job"--at least, we can now that two people have already as much as drekking said it was!--"but I'm concerned that we may need additional resources to pull this off successfully. Knight Errant is hardly a slouch in security--quite simply, they are state-of-the-art. Pulling the shade over their eyes for very long is going to require some special equipment--I'd say an extra 5000 up front, and an extra 75,000 on delivery. We could do it for less, I suppose, but I wouldn't be as confident about not being found out."
Mr. Johnson was glad the dwarf had spoken up and curtailed the questions he wasn't sure about. Then came the part he knew would come, trying to squeeze him for more money.
"There's always some security, the more valuable the merchandise - the better that security is going to be. I think I made a fair offer and gave you an ample deadline. I will not go higher than :nuyen: 20000 up front, but I'll raise the poyoff on delivery to :nuyen: 210,000 and see if there is interest in a bonus for early completion.
"If that's not satisfactory, maybe I can find a decker able to pull it off as he," the young man nods toward Beast, "suggested and stay within my budget. Who is interested?"
"There's always some security, the more valuable the merchandise - the better that security is going to be. I think I made a fair offer and gave you an ample deadline. I will not go higher than :nuyen: 20000 up front, but I'll raise the poyoff on delivery to :nuyen: 210,000 and see if there is interest in a bonus for early completion.
"If that's not satisfactory, maybe I can find a decker able to pull it off as he," the young man nods toward Beast, "suggested and stay within my budget. Who is interested?"
Pierce nodded. He hadn't really expected to get much more out of this Johnson, with so many people acting as if the one quoted was fair. Some forms had to be followed, though, even if only for the sake of tradition.
Besides, it really was a decent offer. "20K now, 210K on completion," he repeated. "Scans good to me. How 'bout the rest of you?"
Besides, it really was a decent offer. "20K now, 210K on completion," he repeated. "Scans good to me. How 'bout the rest of you?"
Cass finally steps forward and opens her mouth to speak. "I'm game." She says simply. Her posture is relaxed and unassuming. She tugs at a little beaded bracelet, rolling it over her wrist.
She glances over at Pierce, who seems to have taken charge of things, and her eyes stay on him as she thinks things over. 'Don't know these guys...don't know anyone can vouch for 'em...and there's something iffy about the J.' Cass's gaze drifts from Pierce to Beast. 'He looks like he knows how to handle a fight if things go sour...' But in the end all the rationalization doesn't mean squat. The nuyen does.
"Yeah. I'm game." Cass repeats.
She glances over at Pierce, who seems to have taken charge of things, and her eyes stay on him as she thinks things over. 'Don't know these guys...don't know anyone can vouch for 'em...and there's something iffy about the J.' Cass's gaze drifts from Pierce to Beast. 'He looks like he knows how to handle a fight if things go sour...' But in the end all the rationalization doesn't mean squat. The nuyen does.
"Yeah. I'm game." Cass repeats.
Apoc nods. "I think I'm in as well. Handling this quietly is going to be a challenge... but it might just be doable." He scratches his datajack absently, his fingers sliding along the cold metal surface. "How, is the real question, but I'm sure Mr. J doesn't want to be in on all of that talk. Better if he can deny and all, I'm sure."
"I thought I had already mentioned that I am in. Oh well at any rate, perhaps I was getting too ahead of myself in front of Mr. J. My only remaining question is how do we identify the parcels we need? you've listed a couple of small boxes. will those be the only things in that cage, or is there some kind of shipping number or other identifying mark on them?"
He hated to be pushy about it, it was always a fine line runners had to tread. they can't ask for too much info about the object, but if the info's too vague, they might heist the wrong thing.
He hated to be pushy about it, it was always a fine line runners had to tread. they can't ask for too much info about the object, but if the info's too vague, they might heist the wrong thing.
Mr. Johnson
"If someone has a better place for me to lay out the information, we can go there. If not, this room in Matchsticks is about as secure, private, and available as I know of.
"I guess everyone is in?"
At this exact moment the dwarf with the feathers in his hair gets paged. He looks at the display a moment and apologizes for having to leave, but something important that requires his attention has come up. He promises to keep your confidence and makes his way out of the room.
"I guessed wrong. What about you," he turns to his bodyguard for the night. "I realize a friend sent you to look out for me. Does it sound like something you're interested in?"
"If someone has a better place for me to lay out the information, we can go there. If not, this room in Matchsticks is about as secure, private, and available as I know of.
"I guess everyone is in?"
At this exact moment the dwarf with the feathers in his hair gets paged. He looks at the display a moment and apologizes for having to leave, but something important that requires his attention has come up. He promises to keep your confidence and makes his way out of the room.
"I guessed wrong. What about you," he turns to his bodyguard for the night. "I realize a friend sent you to look out for me. Does it sound like something you're interested in?"
"I'm in," Blender nodded.
"Sure I'm in," Renegade said. "Now let's discuss specifics. I think here and now is fine."
Mr. Johnson
Does everyone agree? If not what's a better plan?
Does everyone agree? If not what's a better plan?
Apoc nods his assent, having already opted in to the run.
Cass
Not feeling the pressing need to say anything more at the moment, Cass goes back to being quiet. She pads over to take a seat in one of the big plush conference room chairs, and sinks right into it. Small as she is that chair seems to swallow her up and makes Cass look like a kid...
...But if she's out of her league, Cass doesn't seem to notice, or care much, herself. Propped up with her elbows on the armrests and her legs leisurely stretched out, she steeples her fingers and listens in silence--waiting for the J to elaborate. The only sound to come from Cass is a sudden and abrupt *POP* from a big bubble of chewing gum.
Not feeling the pressing need to say anything more at the moment, Cass goes back to being quiet. She pads over to take a seat in one of the big plush conference room chairs, and sinks right into it. Small as she is that chair seems to swallow her up and makes Cass look like a kid...
...But if she's out of her league, Cass doesn't seem to notice, or care much, herself. Propped up with her elbows on the armrests and her legs leisurely stretched out, she steeples her fingers and listens in silence--waiting for the J to elaborate. The only sound to come from Cass is a sudden and abrupt *POP* from a big bubble of chewing gum.
Mr. Johnson
"The principle targets' boxes are imprinted with FLX1263K5K6003. The secondary targets item numbers are here," he says as he withdraws, unfolds, and points to the bottom set of numbers on a printed sheet.
At the top of the sheet is a string of numbers that fits the pattern of a phone number. Beneath that is a single line with 4 digits. The primary target number occupies the next line then the cset of numbers he is pointing to.
"The number at the top is a pager number you can contact me at to arrange the delivery. The next line is the code for the maglock on the cage. Then the target codes.
The name on the warehouse is EDT, Inc.," he says and states an address in Tacoma. "It's located inland, across from the docks but before the railway system. It can't be more than a mile or so from I5 at exit 134.
When I said I knew something of the security, I didn't mean to say I knew it inside and out. In fact, I think I've already told you all I know about it. If you have a question, I may know something I didn't realize was important, but I think I told you all that I can help."
The kid looks like he's trying to remember anything he left out.
"Here's a certified credstick with :nuyen: 20,000 on it. If you'll excuse me, I'll see if Matchsticks can help me get the rest of what I owe you.
"If you don't mind," he indicates Snow with a glance, "I'll pay you when the meet is over."
"The principle targets' boxes are imprinted with FLX1263K5K6003. The secondary targets item numbers are here," he says as he withdraws, unfolds, and points to the bottom set of numbers on a printed sheet.
At the top of the sheet is a string of numbers that fits the pattern of a phone number. Beneath that is a single line with 4 digits. The primary target number occupies the next line then the cset of numbers he is pointing to.
"The number at the top is a pager number you can contact me at to arrange the delivery. The next line is the code for the maglock on the cage. Then the target codes.
The name on the warehouse is EDT, Inc.," he says and states an address in Tacoma. "It's located inland, across from the docks but before the railway system. It can't be more than a mile or so from I5 at exit 134.
When I said I knew something of the security, I didn't mean to say I knew it inside and out. In fact, I think I've already told you all I know about it. If you have a question, I may know something I didn't realize was important, but I think I told you all that I can help."
The kid looks like he's trying to remember anything he left out.
"Here's a certified credstick with :nuyen: 20,000 on it. If you'll excuse me, I'll see if Matchsticks can help me get the rest of what I owe you.
"If you don't mind," he indicates Snow with a glance, "I'll pay you when the meet is over."
"I don't suppose you know what time the security guards change shifts?"
Mr. Johnson says, "I've heard it changes an hour before the regular shift change, but that should probably be verified."
Pierce, realizing that he had forgotten to unplug his pobket secretary, takes advantage of his oversight by noting down the address, the information on Mr Johnson's paper, and a few of the details. Huh. I should keep this thing plugged in more often, he thought to himself, though it probably makes me look like a freak. He couldn't think of anything particularly relevant to add, though, so he kept silent, inviting the others to ask questions.
Apoc listens intently to what's being said, but doesn't comment. When it looks like no one has any further questions and he can't think of any himself, he looks around at the group. "Maybe we should get somewhere more secure than this for the real planning." He nods to Mr. Johnson. "I've got a place if no one's got a better idea."
"Fine by me. Just curious, does anyone have a large car? if not, that's ok, I can hoof it."
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