{June 17th 2073 21:05}
Redmond, an empty lot in the rough side of town
A European man in a sharp suit speaks in hushed tones with a pretty, young Hispanic woman kneeling across from him. The two men standing to either side of her resting their hands on her shoulders ready to quell any notion of standing.
"I'm so happy you could join me tonight Miss Torres, my employer would like a word with you." The suited man tosses a small bag to the woman while watching her reactions. She isn't struggling, but neither is she resigned. The tension in her jaw speaks volumes as to her feelings on the matter. "Inside that change of clothes. You will place everything on you inside and wear what has been provided tonight. Refuse and you'll wear nothing. Either way will please my associate. I'm certain you understand."
The woman spits on the speaking mans shoes. In response he nods curtly to the goons holding her. One draws a small blade and begins removing her garments. She stifles a scream, refusing to give any measure of victory. She doesn't thrash, she simply goes limp, becoming dead weight in the other goons hands. She never noticed the injector being applied to her neck.

The two goons finish their task and load the young woman into the back of the unmarked van, several other women in a similar state stacked in like so much cord wood. The suited man speaks up again as all three take a seat inside the van.
"Almost full gentlemen, time to go make the rounds."

{June 24th 2073 13:17}
MezKal's Commlink
Incoming Message. ID: Dragonov
Omae, just got wind of some work, not your usual stuff but not too far off the beaten path either. Thought you might have some friends that could help this guy out. He says he's looking for his girlfriend, he'll give you the details. He says he'd like to discuss it with you over some beers at Toohey's Pub in Redmond tomorrow around 7PM. Just ask the bartender for Mickey's Table.

{24th June 2073/ 13:28}
A small house in South Bellevue, almost Renton
Loud music(?) is playing, Faces starts to poke his head out from under his bed covers.
"I'm awake, I'm awake! Strange, doesn't feel like 5PM to me..."
"House, time."
A holgraphic woman in a decidedly anachronistic dress (20th century?) appears in the middle of the room, saying "It's 13:28".
"Shit! Why the fuck did you wake me... ah, never mind answering that."
Having noticed his comm, blinking its "You've got an important message, look at it already!" pattern, he slouches over to it to see what it's about.
Hmm, missing person. Yup, not the beaten path. But then, I wanted to branch out. Speaking of which, my head feels like someone beat antler seed into them and now they've started to branch out.

He walks into the bathroom to look for his headache pills, sniffling. A cold again? Great start for a day. Was a nice evening, though.
...
Hmm, missing girlfriend. KE's useless, of course. Assuming he's not overreacting and a regular PI really won't cut it, this might get interesting. And if he does, easy money.
{24th June 2073/ 14:04}

To: Dragonov
Sure, I think I know some people who might be interested. Gonna contact them right away.
Where exactly is this Pub in Redmond and how seedy is it?
Oh, and what can you tell me about this guy?


Next up, seeing whether someone's actually interested.

To: <multiple recipients (5)>
Hi,
just got a job offered that could require your various talents. Someone's girlfriend's gone missing and he'd like some help looking for her.
Guy's arranged a meet tomorrow night to hash out any details, such as payment. If you're interested I'll send you the time/location.


Yawing, he stumbles back into the bedroom...

{24th June 2073/ 14:04}
A large house, Bellevue
A commlink vibrates in notification on a desk covered in files. The sound blares in contrast to the silence, Truth looks up from the file he was reading not startled, just aware. The sound had freed him from his thoughts. He sets the file he was reading down on top of a neat stack of similar files. He had every word in ever one of the files memorized, and he could recite them by heart, but that didn't stop him from studying them on an almost daily ritual. He reaches for his commlink, hesitant to look at the message It's not about her, it's not about her. He was preparing himself for the disappointment for that the message would feel him with.
He finally brought himself to read the message.

A kidnapping, it sounds almost too innocent for these guys, and it probably isn't as simple as they used to be. Well, at least I can do some good here.

Truth prepared a reply, but stood in front of a mirror in a dark corner of the room before he sent it. He didn't see himself in the mirror, but instead the pictures on the sides of the mirror. He first looked to the one on the left, a mug shot of a ruff looking man. The picture filled Truth's heart with regret, but not as much as when he looked at the picture on the right. It was a worn picture of a beautiful human girl. Truth reached to touch the picture, but he stopped just before he made contact.

"For you..." Truth said in a quiet voice before hitting send on his commlink.

To: Faces
I'm in if you still need me, send me the information.

[06/24/2073 14:14]
An Apartment Building in Downtown
Professor came awake with a start as the vibrating beats of the music that alerted him to a message hammered through the earbuds plugged into his ears. Fumbling for his goggles, he pulled them on, then the gloves, tapping at the AROs to draw the message up. Peering quietly at the message, he sighed. Well, he needed the money; his rent was due in a few weeks, and he'd managed to squander quite a bit on everything but. The dark skinned man tapped the reply key.

To: Faces
Sounds like a plan. Hit me up with the details and I'll be there on time, as always. If there's money in it, you know I'm good for it.

With that done, he pulled the goggles and gloves off, dropping them on the bedside table, closing his eyes and insisting on going back to sleep. If there was a meet tomorrow night, he needed his beauty rest, after all. One doesn't go scaring the locals on low sleep.

{24th June 2073/ 14:05}
A small house in South Bellevue, almost Renton

Barely had he hit the mattres that Faces was disturbed again by a message.
New plan: Stay awake, deal with it right now and somehow, somehow suffer through this boring arts exhibition tonight on no sleep at all.
"Shitty plan, though."
Getting back up, he looks at his comm wishing he could make it explode then decides on reading and responding to the message waiting for him instead.


To: Truth
Sure, I'd still like you in. I'm on foreign ground with kidnappings, better to have someone at my back.
Guy said to come to Toohey's Pub in Redmond tomorrow around 7PM and to "just ask the bartender for Mickey's Table".
Haven't heard from the other guys yet, I'll send you a message before the meet, telling you who else has responded.


Damn, gotta ask Sam one day whether there's some kind of crash course in this kind of stuff.
"House, get the coffee maker working! Extra strong! Do we have any fresh bagels left? Turn up the volume!"

Once again, a hologram of a woman appears, following him, while he walks back towards the bathroom. "One can of extra strong coffee coming up. The fridge reports 7 bagels left, that are considered 'stale' by its factory standards but 'fresh' by the definition you inputted two weeks ago." His last command is acknowledged by the simple fact that "Skul Krashers'" new album "Fyne Read Myst" becomes louder.
...
A hot shower, two cups of coffee and four bagles (still OK) later, Faces is ready to check his messages again.


To: Professor
Good to hear from you; guy hasn't just called a PI, so I guess he's ready to hire some real talent. We'll convince him he's gotta pay for what he gets and nobody has to go home hungry.
Message said to come to Toohey's Pub in Redmond tomorrow around 7PM and to "just ask the bartender for Mickey's Table".
Just got a yes from Truth as welll, I'll tell you whom else to expect before the meet.


So, whatever happens at this pub, I at least got two guns - one of which slings mojo - on my side. Just hope it's not overkill for what the guy actually wants. Well, one problem at a time. Let's get the address of this pub first...

Hitting a 'trix site about Seattle bars, Faces starts looking for "Toohey's Pub" in conjunction with "Redmond"...

{24th June 2073/ 13:30}
The crowded skies above Downtown Seattle

Pleasant wind swept through Kasha's body, shaping his meditation. He dreamt he was a majestic Condor, gracefully soaring over the Rocky Mountains. Their white caps below him, puffy white clouds around him, and above him, nothing but the heavens. From this pleasant mental state, he became aware of his surroundings as his commlink vibrated his flesh. He sighed, trying to re-calm his mind, to go back to those skies, but it was too late. Reality had set in.

With a frown, he opened his eyes, looking down at the streets below him as he flew by. His body responded to his thoughts, as he felt the warm hard metal of the Security Chopper on his hands, feet, and back. The adept had snuck underneath the vehicle when it landed atop a skyscraper hours ago, and used his gecko equipment to firmly plant himself onto it's belly upon it's ascent. It was the activity he loved the most here in Seattle, the feeling of flying through the skies, unhindered by controls and electronics. One day he'd work up the courage to pull the same feat off on an airplane, flying high in the skies, without the safety-net of nearby buildings.

That day was not today.

He took a moment to read and reply to the message.

To: Faces.

*Inserted image from Kasha's commlink, displaying an aerial view of Downtown Seattle*

Kasha overhead
Seattle alive below
Ancestors smile wide

It is pleasant to receive word from you. I am interested in this proposal. Please relay to me the address you wish me to observe.

Your friend
Kasha

{24th June 2073/14:45}
A run down warehouse a ways into Redmond

Some things never change. The sun rises and sets. Politicians promise free money for all while raising taxes. Rednecks love the drek out of Freebird.
"Aaaaand this bird you cannot chaaaaaange, whoaoaoaoa!" emanates off-key from underneath a rather plain looking GMC Hermes. The source appears to be the pair of legs sticking out from under the side of the vehicle, feet twitching in time with some beat. With a grunt, TripB comes sliding out from under the van on top of a dolly and springs to his feet. A quick glance around to verify no one else is present, he starts to play air guitar with the appropriate sounds coming from his mouth. Midway through what appears to be an epic guitar solo, he finally settles down and stares off into space while talking out loud to himself.

"Junk, junk, junk, lan'lo'd wantin' his rent, junk. Shet mah mouth!.. whut's this?" TripB's eyes flicker back and forth as he reads the message from Faces.
Lookin' fo' his galfriend? Not th' usual line of wawk ah git into, but ah guess it's sumpin t'make some nuyen t'git mah truck outta hock fum Paw.

To: Faces
ah guess ah can he'p out on this hyar one. Mebbe we'll git lucky, an' th' damsel will be in distress an' oh so thankful t'her noble rexcuers. Whar is we meetin' him, an' does we haf a name? I'll poke aroun' on th' Matrix t'see eff'n ah can find ennythin' out ahaid of time thet might he'p in negotiashuns. Let me knows if ennyone needs a ride.

Grinning at the prospect of work, TripB rolls back under the van to keep grease monkeying away to the strains of Sweet Home Alabama.

{24th June 2073/ 14:45}
A small house in South Bellevue, almost Renton

Still digging through the results of his search - the address seemed to be clear, there weren't many results from Redmond and only one relating to a bar, though there were a lot of hits from all over the UCAS that shouldn't even be there -, Faces was happy to see one - no, two, when did Kasha reply? - more confirmation pop up.

Damn, really gotta get better at this stuff, knew why I used to lie to people right where they stood.

He decides to read both of them, then reply.


To: Kasha
Nice image. If I ever settle down somewhere I'll have to ask you to make me some aerial shots.
The place is called Toohey's Pub, some dive in Redmond, and I'm supposed to meet the guy tomorrow around 7PM.
Guess there's gonna be enough abandoned buildings nearby to give you a crow's nest.
So far, Truth, Professor and TripB have said they're interested as well, so don't be surprised to see them there.
I'll give you an update before the meet to make sure everybody's on the same page.
Oh, and make sure you get an A/V feed from inside.



To: TripB
Well, we are looking at working for the damsel's boyfriend, so we should be vary what the gratitude looks like - at least until we've gotten paid.
The meet's tomorrow around 7Pm at Toohey's Pub in Redmond.
I'd love to give you a name, but the initial message didn't include one. I asked for more info on this guy, but haven't heard back from my contact yet.
I'll ping you if/when I get some details.
Truth, Professor and Kasha have also called in and agreed to come to the meet - well, Kasha's gonna stay outside to have a look on things there -, so we've almost assembled the crew from last time. I'll pass around your offer of transportation.


So, we're four guys inside, one for backup, better hope that guy expects the army he's getting. And better hope he's got the cred to pay us all.
Other than that, should I get a car? So far travelling light has served me well

Faces looks around for a second - rented home, leased furniture and decorations - then decides to postpone this decision.
With a chuckle, he goes back to sifting through junk, wondering whether Proxy would jumo in too.

To Faces

Understood. Please leave the bug you would like me to place on the roof of your building. I shall collect it at 23:37:15. Note that the time of the rendezvous will be in broad daylight. If the meet wishes to betray you, it will likely be a frontal assault. Wear a cup.

Your friend,
Kasha

{24th June 2073/15:59}
A clean, if dingy apartment in Renton

Awaking with a start, Proxy sits upright on the moth eaten sofa he'd fallen asleep on at some deeply uncivilised hour the night before. Pulling his commlink out from under the sofa cushions, he pulls up the message which had woken him up, briefly scanning it before composing a quick reply.

To: Faces
Send me the details for the meet location and I'll be there. Proxy out.

That message sent, he slumps back on the sofa, rubbing at his temples.

Gods above, if Amelia ever offers me that Russian swill again I'm saying no..

{June 24th 2073 17:15}
Faces' Commlink
From: Dragonov
Dug up some more information for you on the Johnson and the location.
Jaime Garrate, freelance media representative, think agent but slightly less of a scum-bag. Seems the girlfriend is also his star client and she's late for filing a story. Still can't verify if he's really looking for her or just the story she was working on. Girl's name is Guadalupe Torres.

As far as the bar, it's at 2500 C. Street in Auburn. Used to be a cop bar, but with the fall of the 'Star, it's become the goto watering hole for the staff at Community General across the road. Not seedy, but not exactly bright and happy either. Subdued is the word you're looking for. Patrons seem to like their privacy indulged and their humor black. The house specialties are named after medical conditions. So you should definitely bone up on the parlance if you want to fit in. A Subdural Hematoma is a Bloody Brain and a Cardial Infarction is Red Bull with vodka.

{24th June 2073 / 17:45}
Yang's Arts, downtown

Walking away from another insipid conversation with a wannabe arts pundit, Faces looks longingly at the last glass of champagne in sight being snatched up by yet the host.
Yup, just as boring as expected. Doesn't help that I gotta keep up the sharade as bad Ork-poser human, we came up for MezKaL. almost as stupid as the name. This nagging feeling I've forgotten something doesn't help, either...

Just as an annoying young girl - an admirer with absolutely no taste in art (or clothing) - is about to approach him, it hits him.

"Motherfragging bastard of a slitch!"

Storming right past the stunned girl, Faces heads for the toilets.
...

To: Karvusta
Hi, a friend of mine is looking for some talent to find a missing woman.
If you're interested, message me and I'll send you the details for the meet with the J.
Some common friends are gonna be there, btw.


Damn, too stupid to count. We were seven; me and the five guys I messaged, that's six.

"One plus five is six is less than seven!"

He can hear someone laugh from outside his stall.

That and the explosion before should at least give the pundits something to write about. Crazy artist even crazier than thought.


To: James
Think my faking being crazy or some kind of retard could boost sales?
Do some mystery shit about some mental asylum, only allowed out under supervision, that kinda thing?
And no, I'm not gonna wear a straightjacket!


Walking back out, he tries to ignore the knowing glances and heads for the bar.

Damn, I better apologise to Karvusta before he finds out. Afterwards is even harder.

With a sigh - and a drink -, he looks around to see where that admirer - annoying? yes; stupid? yes; his only fan tonight? sadly, yes - has gone.

{24th June 2073/17:17}
A run down warehouse a ways into Redmond

A binglebingle noise in TripB's ear coincides with his music pausing and the message from Faces popping up in front of him.

Wal...a name an' a place. ah doesn't knows if ah like th' idea of a-gonna a docko' bar, but wif th' stuff them mizzuable fraggers hafta put up wif, th' six packs ought t'be fine an' strong! Cain't haf mo'e than one unless ah's hankerin' ev'ryone reckonin' thet ah's unreliable though.

To: Faces, Proxy
Soun's fine Faces. I'll see whut ah can dig up on th' place an' on our John-Boyson. Proxy, yer hankerin' t'do th' same an' we'll compare results? Yo' full time hacker types sometimes miss the dawgoned-est obvious stuff.

Setting his wrench down, TripB begins stabbing at the air in front of his face, setting the various filters and queries that'll hopefully result in something.

Reply To : All

Please acquire the home address of Mr. Garrate.

Your friend
Kasha

{24th June 2073/18:32}
A clean, if dingy apartment in Renton

His hangover mostly dealth with, Proxy checks his 'link again, seeing a message from Faces about the meet.

To: Faces
Someone needs to watch the rest of the place, just in case. If Kasha has the outside covered I'll be there, but not at the table

That dealt with, he puts on a pair of AR gloves, the shiny faux-leather styled along the lines of driving gloves, and begins to surf the local blogs and news nets, checking the few details he had for accuracy.

[06/24/2073; 18:36]
An Apartment Building in Downtown
His commlink was busy today. He grumbled as he sat up in bed, pulling his goggles and gloves back on, accessing the messages and reading through them. Shaking his head, he sighed, leaning back on his elbows onto his pillow for a few moments. He still wasn't sure about this 'running business, but he most definitely wasn't going to offer his services to anything resembling a corp; that didn't leave him many choices. He tilted his head back, clearing the AROs for a moment and staring at the ceiling, frowning. Putting my life on the line for a bit of change; my research is going to take the rest of my life at this rate.

Pulling the objects back up, he tapped a few quick replies.

Re: Faces
CC: Kasha, Proxy, TripB, Truth
Sounds like a great place for a meet. I'll see you guys there; I'll take a quick look at the place on the Astral and see if there's anything you guys should know about the place.

To: TripB
Omae, think you can pick me up? Address attached, I'll be ready about two hours before the meet. Just buzz apartment 1A and gimme a minute or so to get out the door.

With that done, he laid back on his bed, quickly checking a map for 2500 C. Street to make sure he knew where he was going. Then he closed his eyes and fell into the pattern of mental exercises that allowed his mind to calm and separate consciousness from the flesh. Spiraling up out of his body and onto the Astral, he moved across the plane at a fast rate, coming to a stop some distance above the place where the meet was. He focused his senses first on the bar, then the hospital across the way to see if there was anything peculiar about the astral signature of the surroundings or their inhabitants.

Assensing; 6d6.hits(5)=2

{6/24/2073 18:37}
Astral Space
The view near hospitals is always a bit hazy with all the strong emotions associated within. The bar itself is mostly a mixture of anger and remorse. The patrons all too often blame themselves for those that could not be saved as well as blaming those that caused the hurt.

{24th June 2073 / 17:45}
Yang's Arts, downtown

Walking away from another insipid conversation with a wannabe arts pundit, Faces looks longingly at the last glass of champagne in sight being snatched up by yet the host.
Yup, just as boring as expected. Doesn't help that I gotta keep up the sharade as bad Ork-poser human, we came up for MezKaL. almost as stupid as the name. This nagging feeling I've forgotten something doesn't help, either...

Just as an annoying young girl - an admirer with absolutely no taste in art (or clothing) - is about to approach him, it hits him.

"Motherfragging bastard of a slitch!"

Storming right past the stunned girl, Faces heads for the toilets.
...

To: Karvusta
Hi, a friend of mine is looking for some talent to find a missing woman.
If you're interested, message me and I'll send you the details for the meet with the J.
Some common friends are gonna be there, btw.


Damn, too stupid to count. We were seven; me and the five guys I messaged, that's six.

"One plus five is six is less than seven!"

He can hear someone laugh from outside his stall.

That and the explosion before should at least give the pundits something to write about. Crazy artist even crazier than thought.


To: James
Think my faking being crazy or some kind of retard could boost sales?
Do some mystery shit about some mental asylum, only allowed out under supervision, that kinda thing?
And no, I'm not gonna wear a straightjacket!


Walking back out, he tries to ignore the knowing glances and heads for the bar.

Damn, I better apologise to Karvusta before he finds out. Afterwards is even harder.

With a sigh - and a drink -, he looks around to see where that admirer - annoying? yes; stupid? yes; his only fan tonight? sadly, yes - has gone.

{24th June 2073 / 18:03}
A dingy ork bar in a dingy ork neighborhood

Take a shot, pop Jaw, spark a cigarette. Repeat until you're thinking like a different person. Best drinking game there is.

Karvusta sat at nearly empty bar in his home district of Redmond idly watching the Mariners game on the AR tv set behind the bar. He wasn't paying much attention. His commlink buzzed in his pocket and a message popped up in his peripheral vision. Willing it to the forefront he read it and thought it over for a second.

To: Faces
What's the take and where's the meet?

Another day, another job.

He raised his empty glass at the bartender who filled it again without a word.

{24th June 2073 / 18:05}
Yang's Arts, downtown

"... and see that's just the first layer, if you look at my paintings from the Tekyl'a set..."

The usual BS, but she's buying it, so why bother with something more creative? At least gives me the time to deal with something more important while my mouth's on autopilot.


To: Karvusta
The take's up for negotiation, but I got the feeling there's some serious cred in it.
The meet's at Toohey's Pub, a doctor's bar with the humour that goes with it at 2500 C. Street in Auburn at 7PM tomorrow.
J's name's Jaime Garrate, freelance media representative looking for his girlfriend and client, Guadelupe Torres, who disappeared in the middle of researching a story. Maybe he's more after the inof than the girl.
Anyway, TripB's already started digging. Proxy probably too.
TripB's offered to pick up anyone who wants it.
Oh, and Truth, Kasha and Professor are in, as well, so we'll have all bases covered.

{24th June 2073 / 18:03}
A dingy ork bar in a dingy ork neighborhood

To: Faces
Sounds good. I'll be there. Expecting anything funny at the meet?

To: All

Soun's like our John-Boyson is a-gonna be purdy desperate fo' us t'find this hyar gal, o' at least her sto'y. He's runnin' outta clients faster than a fambly reunion goes through patootie salad. As fo' th' gal, thar was a missin' varmints repo't filed on her on th' 22nd. Her commlink was foun' foun', but looked like it had been helter-skelter ovah. Clo'es matchin' hers were foun' in Redmond, they were lop off her. Funny thin' is, th' cuts start off jagged like she was resistin', but hoof it smooth an' easy like she suddenly stopped. Drugs, o' mebbe it's some sex game she plays wif her noo fellafriend? Apparently, thar was a camera thet may haf caught sumpin, but Knight Errant kin't figger out who owns it, so they ain't gotten th' footage. Proxy, yer hankerin' t'see eff'n yo' kin figger out whut camera it is an' git us th' footage? Eff'n yo' need a han' wif it, let me know. An' eff'n yer hankerin' a ride, gimme an address so ah can map out th' bess route an' not hoof it back an' fo'th acrost town.

To: Kasha

Kasha, inclosed is th' address fo' th' John-Boyson. Have fun, stay safe, an' make sho'nuff he don't spotcha.

TripB

[24/06/2073; 18:74]
Astral Space
This was a really informative trip, the ork thinks sourly, shaking his head. Darting back across astral space and back into his body, sitting up on the bed and rubbing at his face. Tilting his head, his nostrils flaring slightly as he smells something... burning. He looks up at the ceiling. "Is... something burning?" he asked of the CHN installed into the home.

"Yes, sir. The oven has started a grease fire. Will there be anything else?" The annoying chiming voice of the CHN spoke.

"Drek!" he swore and came up out of the bed, darting into the kitchen to deal with the grease fire on the stove.

[24/06/2073; 19:00]
An Apartment Building in Downtown

Covered in smudges and a few minor burn marks, he mutters under his breath, "This is why I eat out most of the time" as he trudges out of the kitchen, annoyed. He didn't need the electronics in his home; he could easily do without them. He wouldn't put it past the critters living in his wireless connections in the home to have started that fire deliberately, but that would have taken all the devices they inhabited away had it gotten out of hand. Maybe the AI was playing with the meatspace boy.

He took his smoke-smelling butt to the shower to get himself cleaned off. "You just gimme til tomorrow and I'll be gone a few days," he grumbles to whatever technological constructs are listening as he starts the water. "You'll have the place to yourself to do whatever you want with, alright? I just need to sleep here, you know, you don't need to remind me that you're there with these little incidents." Not that he was expecting a response; he often bitched to the AI and sprites living inside of his devices and never expected a response. He just hoped they listened and took it easy on him.

{24th June 2073 / 19:00}
The Matrix

Within the Matrix, Proxy was studying the few details he'd been able to dig up on the Johnson from public nodes when a new message from TripB appeared. Turning his baleful digital gaze to the letter, he reread it several times to decipher the message One of these days I'll write a linguasoft just for this guy he thought to himself somewhat sourly as he pieced together the meaning of TripB's heavily accented speech. Still, bloke has a point. Time to do my thing. Logging on to the public area of Jaime Garrates node he had the curious impression of travelling at immense speed without actually moving. Right then, lets see what we have shall we...

{June 24th 2073 19:01}
The Matrix

A cheerful news stand with a digital representation of older man dressed from some bygone era greets you with a smile and a wink.
"What can I do ya for buddy? We've got all the news that's fit to syndicate."

{June 24th, 2073 / 19:02}
The Matrix

Well, this seems somewhat cliched Proxy thought, looking at the node. The few details his Analyze program had given him about the infrastructure the node was running on was a nice place to start, but didn't hold enough details. Hmm. Running at a residential address, times must be tough if he's hosting his own site. Worth remembering

Satisfied he'd learnt all he could the nice way, he started on the more difficult task of gaining access to the node proper, ignoring the broadsheet seller as he got to work.

{June 24th 2073 / 19:02}
The Matrix

As you sleaze your way past the broadsheet, you see before you a series of nodes within the system.
Once inside the terminal your view is filled with small windows into the house via service drones, security cams, personal files, etc.
As you take in the layout of the node, you notice a collection of security feeds from the house drone and security cameras, the story drop box, and the current Trid feed.

{June 24th 2073 19:05]
8726 South 133rd Place

A short, dead end street, first house on the right. It's a quiet, unassuming neighborhood. A handful of security drones patrol the area, but nothing too serious or difficult to avoid. A Nissan Jackrabbit is parked int he driveway and only one light is on. Seems he's home and watching the Trid.

{June 24th, 2073 / 19:06}
The Matrix

Glancing between the windows displaying the nodes contents, Proxy sends a few still shots of the apartment interior over to Kasha, as well as as a note about the potential for security/service drones in the apartment Well, that should give our resident roof dweller something to go with before closing those windows to peruse the file listings more clearly.

Sod it, daylight's burning and I don't want to stick around in here if possible he thinks, grabbing the most recent 4 files from the story box, as well as a copy of his client list before disconnecting

{June 24th, 2073 / 19:12}
Kasha's Loft, Somewhere in Seattle

Kasha slept naked atop his silk sheets, the chilled pleasantness that was air conditioning pushed itself around the room by way of steel fan. He hated using technology while on a run, but at home, secluded from the world, the comfort and convenience they offered outweighed his desire to be free of mechanical reliance. His commlink vibrated once on the darkwood nightstand next to his bed, indicating a message, but Kasha's subconscious chose to ignore it.

{June 24th, 2073 / 22:30}

He awoke, playing the recorded message. It was a few pictures, seemingly of the Johnson's house. Proxy came through. Allright. Kasha slipped out of bed and half-wakingly moseyed towards the bathroom. He picked his toothbrush and toothpaste up off a cheap tiki-style shelf on the wall and stepped into the shower. There he brushed his teeth and let the warm waters soak into his green-tinted flesh as he thought about the run ahead of him. Renton. What's Renton got? Trees. Water towers. Old power poles. These pictures put him in a quieter part of town. No skyscrapers worth jumping off around. Dead end to boot. Dead end. Hmph. Kasha spit a wad of foamed up toothpaste into the shower drain, tossing the tube of paste and brush into the sink while remaining inside the warm embrace of heated waters. His commlink projected Proxy's pictures onto the shower curtain like it was a movie screen. Kasha would make a few gestures and the pictures would change or enlarge as needed. That's it. Bathroom window. Too small for any common thug to crawl through, and no one ever bothers locking the things. Hell, he's probably got it left open to get some air in there.

He stepped out of the shower, drying himself with a clean dark towel, stepped out into the main room/bedroom, equipped himself, slipped out of the house, and made way for Renton.

{June 24th, 2073 / 20:07}

Near the Johnson's House
Kasha, you easily spot the single LAV patrol drone as it makes the slow circuit around the neighborhood. Moving through the night you approach the house and make your way to the bathroom window. Your assessment was correct, the window isn't locked however you do stop yourself short of opening it as you hear someone inside.

{June 24th 2073 20:20}

Message to Proxy

Device planted, chasing lead on my brother.
-Kasha

{June 25th, 2073 / 15:47}

Parking deck near Toohey's Pub

After getting everyone loaded and assembled nearby, you find yourself deciding how to approach the meeting. Nothing suspicious from the bug as far as the Johnson's motives.
The area is quiet, not too much foot traffic, and a pleasant lack of cameras thanks to local thugs showing off for other local thugs.

{June 25th / 15:48}

Parking deck near Toohey's pub

Proxy leaned against the bonnet of his matt black Shin-Hyung, the low profile street racers engine still radiating warmth into the night. Glancing down at his clothes he yet again wished he'd actually thought to change before coming out. As it was, instead of the experienced shadowrunner he considered himself to be, he looked like an office temp; the rumpled white shirt, skinny black tie and black combat trousers were not, he decided, the most threatening fashion statement ever. Still, least I look almost respectable enough to be a medical type' he thought, glancing up at the others.

"Hey guys, I didn't say anything before, but, I've had a message from Kasha. He's...gone. Something to do with his brother, I didn't get any details. So we're a man down. I suggest not mentioning this to our potential boss. Depending on the job we can either do it ourselves, or try and find another roof runner. Figure that out later, though. For now, I guess we'd best go and at least act like we know what we're doing" Proxy said to the assembled group. As he finished, he checked one last time that his Super Warhawk was secured in its holster across the back of his fatigues, ran a hand through his faux-hawk, and headed towards the bar.

{June 25th/ 15:49}

Karvusta nodded at Proxy while rummaging through his Contail's storage compartment. The molded armor bodysuit underneath his clothes added to his considerable bulk, he bulged awkwardly out of his scrappy grey sweatshirt and jeans. He pulled out a large mean looking handgun and secured it in a quickdraw holster before checking that his Raecor Sting holdout was still lodged securely in his boot.

One for them to find. One for me to keep.

"I'd say we can do it without him. That guy was creepy as hell anyways."

[06/25/2073; 15:49pm]
{Commlink Passive, Active SIN Roman Bellic}
Parking deck near Toohey's pub

Vlasi frowned at that statement, shaking his head slightly. Well, already one down; they'd just have to do things a little better to make up for the loss of one of their number. He had a bad feeling about this job, as a team member vanishing like that was a bad omen. He sighed, adjusting the slightly ragged clothing that clung to his body, hoping the outfit would let him fit in a little. Right arm crossed his body to the left, feeling the quick-draw holster holding his pistol for security. He hoped he wouldn't have to use it tonight.

"Well, gentlemen, shall we?" he asked before making his way into the pub, following Proxy.

{June 25th, 2073 / 15:47}
(Meta Link Passive, SIN: Billy-Ray Robert Lee)
(Airware Hidden)
Parking deck near Toohey's pub

"Creepy? Hell, mah uncle Jebidiah thet liked t'play find th' pickle wif us kids was creepy. Thet Kasha guy was way beyond thet. Not thet it matters now, but fine riddance. So, whut does yo' say t'us gwine into thet bar? Yo' hafta figger thet Mr. John-Boyson is gittin' lonesome in their wifout his galfriend o' us t'keep him compenny." Humming off-key to himself, he pulls his chopped down submachine gun from under the front seat and tucks it into his jacket. It shimmers slightly in the light before it darkens its color to blend in with the interior of his jacket. He looks longingly at the assault rifle mounted on a rack on the interior of the van and shakes his head before slapping a button on the underside of the van's dash, then closes and locks the doors up. Grinning at the others, he falls into line near the rear and follows whoever's leading to the pub.

{June 25th, 2073 / 15:48}
(Comm: Hidden, SIN: James Robertson)
Parking deck near Toohey's pub

Nodding at Proxy, Faces adds "Yeah, fake it till you make it, as the old saying goes. As far as creepy is concerned, I bet we all fit the bill for someone."

"Anyway, let's see what our prospective J has to say regarding how lonely he's gotten and what figure he'd like to pin to rectifying that."

Smoothing out a few non-existant rumples in his black suit - clean but out of fashion and affordable -, Faces gets out of the van as well and heads for the bar.

{June 25th, 2073 / 15:50}
(Comm: Hidden, SIN: Jimmy Kudo)
Parking deck near Toohey's pub

Truth follows the group silently into the pub and to the table where they are supposed to meet the Johnson.

{June 25th, 2073 / 15:50}
(Comm: Hidden, SIN: James Robertson)
close to/inside Toohey's Pub

Walking at a leisurely pace, practically a crawl, - both to give Proxy a bit of a head start and to take in the surroundings -, Faces can't help but wonder why a semi-respectable guy like this Garrate fellow would pick this place. Meet peeps like us, gotta pick a joint like that. Damn trids.

"Me I'd've picked a classier thing. The job's practically legit and all."

With a smile, he adds "Yeah, right."

Finally arriving at the pub, not much to look at from the outside, and going in, not much of a change, Faces notices Proxy already sitting over a drink and, ignoring him, heads for the bartender, a smile on his face.

Guns? Smiles, that's what kills people. They drop their guard, you take their money, they starve.

"Hello, friend of us reserved a table." A brief look-around would reveal how obviously unnecessary this would have been. "Told us to ask for Mickey's..."

Yup, that table. Yup, we're fashionably early. Deal with it.

{June 25th, 2073 / 15:50}

Toohey's Pub

The atmosphere inside is quiet and peaceful, excellent for unwinding after 16 hours on your feet patching up the hurt of others, telling families the bad news, or just trying not to get ground down while paying off your med school loans.
Patrons are clustered, almost as if by specialty. Muscular, athletic types at one booth, quiet but fashionably dressed group at another, pasty and thin group throwing darts in the back.
The bartender seems pleasant. Informally dressed, mid-fifties, he's wiping down the deep cherry wood bar with a mostly clean rag, he looks up and smiles as each person or group enters the bar.
The wait staff seems to consist of two MCT Homekeepers bringing the food and drinks out and bus the tables so you can infer that the kitchen staff may be similar.
For those viewing the AR of the bar, you see a virtual wait staff stylized as winged pixies in anachronistic nursing uniforms flying around the bar, taking orders, detailing the menu.

Faces


As you approach 'Mickey's Table', ARO's light up marking the table as not having virtual service and should you need anything you will need to see the bartender.

{June 25th, 2073 / 15:53}
(Comm: Hidden, SIN: James Robertson)
Toohey's Pub

A virtual dead zone around a dead man's tbale, now that's keeping in theme. Maybe I'll steal that one for a picture.

Taking off and hanging his jacket over the back of a chair at the side of the table, Faces nods at the head of the table and says "I suggest we leave that one free for our good friend Jaime, it'll make him feel in control."

After a few short glances at the various groups of people, he adds "I'm gonna try and mingle a bit with the locals" and walks off towards the men's room.

...

Let's see, if I can fit in with the darts players. Ears... a bit less pronounced, tan has to go, a bit paler, now what else? Nose? Good the way it is; cheeks... flatter, chin... a tad pointier. Yeah, nice caricature.

Looking at himself in the mirror, Faces decides to tone it all back down a bit. Don't wanna overdue it, just give them a little 'one of us' vibe. Now let's load up the dictionary and see what disgusting stuff they named their draft beer after...

Still looking mostly like himself - well, like a version of himself who didn't get much sun or sleep in the last few weeks -, he returns to the main room, walks over to the bar and orders some "Lactated Ringer's Solution". Yuck.

Glass in hand, he heads over to the darts players...

{June 25th, 2073 / 15:53}
(Comm: Hidden, SIN: Roman Bellic)
Toohey's Pub

In the bar, Professor lingers near it, ordering up some Hurlg - brewed by trogs, for trogs - if they stock any, and a dark lager if not. Green eyes sweeping the pub, waiting for one of the team members to locate and alert him to the location of Mickey's table. He'd learned quite some time ago that people found him unsettling, so he resolved not to speak to anyone outside of his teammates. It might draw attention, but in the long run, it really was safer.

{June 25th, 2073 / 19:03}

Toohey's Pub/Mickey's Table

A haggard young man (mid 20's) in a nice suit walks up to the table and sits down.

"You must be the specialist I was told would be here. One of my people is overdue to check-in. I'd go to the authorities, but I cannot afford to have any part of the story locked up in an investigation, leaked, or swept under a rug. She messaged me to let me know she was meeting a source and would be late for dinner, that was the last I heard of her. The authorities have decided that their best, read most cost effective, option is to wait till the body shows up in the morgue, then begin investigation of how and whom. Since I really like having her as a client as well as a girlfriend, I'd prefer a slightly less cost effective method employed and simply find her before the morgue gets involved. The Detective thought I should toddle off and stop bothering him."

{June 25th, 2073 / 19:03}
(Comm: Hidden, SIN: James Robertson)

Toohey's Pub/Mickey's Table

It was just a short message, but it was the one he'd been waiting for: J walkin through the door. Forfeiting the small stake he had wagered on this round - and it was going so well -, Faces bade his new friends - idiealistic med students who thought they were doing something good, maybe they did, by picking the meat grinder across the road - goodbye as quickly as possible and walked over to the table.

Hmm, haggard, not as pale, but still, he'd fit in with those students, except for the suit, of course; must be my lucky day.

Walking up to the young man, Faces sticks out his hand for a shake and says

"Hello, a mutual friend told me about your problem. Thought I'd bring a few friends right away; saves time, keeps people out of the morgue. You can call me Faces, he goes by Truth. Why don't we sit down and discuss biz?"

With that he walks over to 'his' chair, indicates the one at the head of the table with his hand and waits for the J to sit down before doing so himself.

{June 25th, 2073/ 19:05}
(Comm: Hidden, SIN: Jimmy Kudo)
Toohey's Pub, Mickey's Table

Truth opened a simple note taking program in his commlink, before saying:

"It sounds like a terrible situation to be in, and you have my condolences. I would like to help you, and I would like to do everything I can to prevent any harm that might fall upon her. That being said I do my best work with all the information, I need to know exactly what she was investigating, who she had been in contact with regarding her investigation, as much information you can give me about her, along with any other information you may feel is important."

He tried to keep the excitement out of his voice. He felt bad about the woman, but at the same time this case just seemed so innocent, and reminiscent of his former life.

Proxy half slumped on a stool facing the bar, his left elbow resting on the bar itself, holding a mostly full tumbler of something the bartender insisted was whisky in his left hand.

He scanned the bar wearily, aware of the furtive glances and dark mutterings the Warhawk visibly holstered on his back was getting from the regulars.

I've been spending too much time with mercenaries...I keep forgetting a large gun isn't really considered suitable bar hopping attire for most of the world he thought to himself, shooting a glance to the table the rest of the group were sat at, sizing up the Johnson and rolling the tumbler in his hand.

{June 25th, 2073/ 19:05}
Toohey's Pub, Bar

Karvusta sat at the bar, nursing a pint of Hurlg, careful not to look at any of his teamates directly. He had his commlink out in front of him, two strange devices plugged into the small black rectangle at either end. On top, something that looked like the kind of disco ball a cab driver would hang from his mirror cut in half and colored black. The second was much more innocuous, a simple black cylinder matching his commlink's design, it looked more like a memory stick than anything else.

Karvusta thumbed on the the small cylinder. His AR lit up in a flurry of pinpricks, every single wireless transmitter in the bar was illuminated to him, people glowed like fireflies. Flicking a mental switch he turned on the radar sensor strapped to his back, walls became transparent, people were transformed into ghostly shrouds surrounding denser bone. He turned a dial on signal scanner down extinguishing the RFID signals, only big stuff was important: commlinks, sensors, smartlinks, the like. He couldn't tell what it was, but he could tell where it was.

He looked at the disco ball on the other end of his commlink. He really hoped he wouldn't have to use it, or any of the other devices in his jeans' pockets. He took a gulp of Hurlg and tuned his minds eye at Mickey's table, watching everything through his sensor without turning his head.

{June 25th, 2073/ 19:07}
Toohey's Pub, Mickey's Table
"That's the problem. Most of my reporters don't turn in stories peace-meal, they collect the data, write the story, verify the facts and cover their ass before handing it over to me for publication. I don't have the budget for round the clock live matrix security. Ever since one of my clients got scooped, I bought a few dozen storage devices, gave 2 to each reporter. They hid them in places only they would know to look for. One for dummy data, one for real data. They have to physically plug in the devices and copy or move whatever files they need to stash, then drop the device off later at the office or in most cases a designated drop point. Makes it tough to intercept, and gives them a dummy to give to anyone trying to strong arm them. I have the location data of her link over the last month, a couple of bars, and only 2 places she visited every other day."
He slides over a chip, presumably with the data.
"That has what information I was able to piece together myself as well as her previous research and stories. I couldn't get into the second address, it's a private cigar bar. My guess is that is where her storage unit is. They provide humidor lockers for the members, decent security and a cozy private niche to enjoy a smoke. I also recovered a copy of her datebook, that's on the chip as well. I did however manage to set aside a portion of each reporter's pay in the event something like this happened. Sad as it is, a good journalist makes enemies that might want to disappear them. I can offer you ten thousand for the safe return of my girlfriend, and another two-thousand for the data chips. She's obviously the priority, but if something in that story or something else she's worked on put her in danger, then I owe it to her to bring that person down."