All
It’s just after Noon on a Wednesday when your commlink chirps.
Checking it, you see a matrix icon that resembles the traditional smiley face image, only red and cocked to one side, with little jagged lines
resembling tusks on the mouth of the icon. Answering the call, the icon is replaced by a grinning male ork. His face is lined with age; his
hair and goatee is touched with grey and a pair of golden datajacks gleam along his left temple. Wire-frame glasses sit upon his nose,
the kind that correct your vision, not tinted mirrorshades that make you look badass or even the more modern AR glasses or goggles, but
honest-to-ghost reading glasses.
“Hoi chummer!” The ork says with a cheerful grin. “I hear tell you might be interested in a bit of biz. If you’re interested, head on over to Underworld 93 tonight at 7. There’s a small concert going on. Let the doorman know you’re there to meet MacCallister, and he’ll get you some good seats. Aft er the show’s over, we’ll have a chat and I’ll tell you a bit more. Interested?”
Full Version: IC: SRM04-00: Back in Business
Gardener
[ Spoiler ]
Mr. White:
[ Spoiler ]
Wednesday, 11:56am; Backroom of Anastasia's
Hermes Ikon: Hidden | SIN: Ivan Mozhayev
CMT Clip: Passive | SIN: Sergei Zharov
"...Which one of you brought Maria Ivanovna to tears? And who the hell drew that dick on the blackboard?" Everyone at the table laughed as Alexei Andropov delivered the punch line of the joke he'd told at least a thousand times before. He poured more vodka into his glass and passed the bottle around the table for the group to refill their cups. The Ukranian foot-soldier to the left of Nikolai lit a cigarette as he handed the bottle back to Alexei, finishing the circuit around the table. The assembled vory and their mercenary guest raised their glasses to toast, and the foot-soldier exhaled his lungful of smoke...
...which rose from the wreckage of the burning IFV Nikolai hunkered behind. The comm chatter of the unit fuzzed in his earpieces and the tactical-overlay in his goggles de-rezzed as a bolt of violet-tinged electricity arced over his head to strike the mercenary advancing down the hill behind him. The unfortunate soldier spasmed violently, then slumped to the ground with steam wafting from his now-empty eye sockets. Nikolai gripped his old Kalishnakov, willing the signal to flow between the contact points in the handle of the rifle and the gloves slaved to his 'link. Microseconds later the cross-hairs and magazine capacity reappeared in his vision, though the remainder of the feed remained unreliable. Taking a lungful of acrid air he popped up from his cover and sighted down the barrel of his assault rifle, praying that the twin children who were striking down his squadmates with eldritch lightning weren't looking in his direction. They floated in the air 15 meters from him, hands intertwined and glowing with a cold luminescence that lit the torn-up village outbuildings around them like the full moon on winter snow. Small tendrils of power sparked from them to caress the buildings which left trails of char and their voices merged into one, speaking a language Nikolai had never heard and hoped that he never would again. The target reticle slid over the head of the child on the left in his sight, and a heartbeat later the assault rifle kicked in his hands. The rounds sparked against an invisible barrier a foot from the girl, and the monotonous speech rose to a screech as they turned towards him. Nikolai knew with a certainty that he had never felt that he was looking at his own death. A mental command switched the AK-97 to fully automatic fire, and he pulled the trigger while howling his terror into the night. The barrier sparked again...and then shattered. The rifle rounds stitched a bloody trail across the torso and head of the child and a second later the two disappeared in a blast of blinding light that...
...glinted off the shards of the vodka glass held in his dripping left hand. Nikolai blinked, and realized that the room was deathly silent. Two of the soldiers had risen from their seats at the table and had hands resting on the pistols at their waists. Alexei looked at him, a mask of seeming unconcern on his face with his hand raised to his men. "Is the vodka not to your liking, Nikolai Simonovich?"
Nikolai slowly lowered the wreckage of the glass to the table. "No, Alexei Pavelovich. It is memories that disturb me, not the refreshment nor the company."
Andropov nodded and lowered his hand, and the vory returned to their seats, though they kept a watchful eye on Nikolai. Alexei muttered something under his breath, and a few seconds later a tall, blonde, and very naked woman entered the room trailing the heavy bass of the strip club that they sat in the back of. She set a new glass in front of Nikolai, then came and knelt next to Alexei. "Let us finish our toast, then. To the Motherland, may she live forever...away from us." The rest of the group repeated the toast, then drained their glasses. Alexei stood, the two foot-soldiers and the woman standing a millisecond behind him. "It is good to see you again, Nikolai. Please visit again soon, and we will talk of projects you could perhaps lend your expertise to." Without waiting for a response, the gangster wrapped his arm around the woman and left, trailing his guards. Nikolai waited until the door closed behind his Vory associate, then stood and left via the back door of the establishment. He switched the Clip commlink to Active mode and hailed an autocab with it, then waited for one to disengage from traffic to pick him up. While he waited a sub-window from his other 'link blinked into being in the corner of his vision and he frowned. He wasn't expecting anything at this time of day, but it was stamped from Ms. Ching so he opened it.
<< @Tundra Wolf: This came across my desk just now, and you're the first in my pool for it. Let me know if you're passing on it. >>
A second passed, and then the 'link established a connection with a bespectacled ork. Nikolai listened, then nodded. "Da. I will be there. What are the security rules at this club?"
Hermes Ikon: Hidden | SIN: Ivan Mozhayev
CMT Clip: Passive | SIN: Sergei Zharov
"...Which one of you brought Maria Ivanovna to tears? And who the hell drew that dick on the blackboard?" Everyone at the table laughed as Alexei Andropov delivered the punch line of the joke he'd told at least a thousand times before. He poured more vodka into his glass and passed the bottle around the table for the group to refill their cups. The Ukranian foot-soldier to the left of Nikolai lit a cigarette as he handed the bottle back to Alexei, finishing the circuit around the table. The assembled vory and their mercenary guest raised their glasses to toast, and the foot-soldier exhaled his lungful of smoke...
...which rose from the wreckage of the burning IFV Nikolai hunkered behind. The comm chatter of the unit fuzzed in his earpieces and the tactical-overlay in his goggles de-rezzed as a bolt of violet-tinged electricity arced over his head to strike the mercenary advancing down the hill behind him. The unfortunate soldier spasmed violently, then slumped to the ground with steam wafting from his now-empty eye sockets. Nikolai gripped his old Kalishnakov, willing the signal to flow between the contact points in the handle of the rifle and the gloves slaved to his 'link. Microseconds later the cross-hairs and magazine capacity reappeared in his vision, though the remainder of the feed remained unreliable. Taking a lungful of acrid air he popped up from his cover and sighted down the barrel of his assault rifle, praying that the twin children who were striking down his squadmates with eldritch lightning weren't looking in his direction. They floated in the air 15 meters from him, hands intertwined and glowing with a cold luminescence that lit the torn-up village outbuildings around them like the full moon on winter snow. Small tendrils of power sparked from them to caress the buildings which left trails of char and their voices merged into one, speaking a language Nikolai had never heard and hoped that he never would again. The target reticle slid over the head of the child on the left in his sight, and a heartbeat later the assault rifle kicked in his hands. The rounds sparked against an invisible barrier a foot from the girl, and the monotonous speech rose to a screech as they turned towards him. Nikolai knew with a certainty that he had never felt that he was looking at his own death. A mental command switched the AK-97 to fully automatic fire, and he pulled the trigger while howling his terror into the night. The barrier sparked again...and then shattered. The rifle rounds stitched a bloody trail across the torso and head of the child and a second later the two disappeared in a blast of blinding light that...
...glinted off the shards of the vodka glass held in his dripping left hand. Nikolai blinked, and realized that the room was deathly silent. Two of the soldiers had risen from their seats at the table and had hands resting on the pistols at their waists. Alexei looked at him, a mask of seeming unconcern on his face with his hand raised to his men. "Is the vodka not to your liking, Nikolai Simonovich?"
Nikolai slowly lowered the wreckage of the glass to the table. "No, Alexei Pavelovich. It is memories that disturb me, not the refreshment nor the company."
Andropov nodded and lowered his hand, and the vory returned to their seats, though they kept a watchful eye on Nikolai. Alexei muttered something under his breath, and a few seconds later a tall, blonde, and very naked woman entered the room trailing the heavy bass of the strip club that they sat in the back of. She set a new glass in front of Nikolai, then came and knelt next to Alexei. "Let us finish our toast, then. To the Motherland, may she live forever...away from us." The rest of the group repeated the toast, then drained their glasses. Alexei stood, the two foot-soldiers and the woman standing a millisecond behind him. "It is good to see you again, Nikolai. Please visit again soon, and we will talk of projects you could perhaps lend your expertise to." Without waiting for a response, the gangster wrapped his arm around the woman and left, trailing his guards. Nikolai waited until the door closed behind his Vory associate, then stood and left via the back door of the establishment. He switched the Clip commlink to Active mode and hailed an autocab with it, then waited for one to disengage from traffic to pick him up. While he waited a sub-window from his other 'link blinked into being in the corner of his vision and he frowned. He wasn't expecting anything at this time of day, but it was stamped from Ms. Ching so he opened it.
<< @Tundra Wolf: This came across my desk just now, and you're the first in my pool for it. Let me know if you're passing on it. >>
A second passed, and then the 'link established a connection with a bespectacled ork. Nikolai listened, then nodded. "Da. I will be there. What are the security rules at this club?"
Tundra Wolf:
[ Spoiler ]
He was just wrapping up the calibrations on the weapons mount in his Roadmaster when his commlink chirped, for the umpteenth time today. With a grumble, he dragged himself out of the cramped space and snatched the commlink up irritatedly.
One of these days I'm gonna find out where this Big Al's Adult Trid Shop is and blow it up, I swear. He barely saw the icon - a red Mr. Smiley done up to look like an ork - before he flipped it on, speaking before the caller could get started. "Look, pal, we don't sell hardcore sex trids at this number, and even if we did I wouldn't be carrying Trolls on Dwarves 10. Try changing the second digit to a 9 instead of a zero next time." He flicked it off and dropped it back on the floor of the van again unceremoniously, getting ready to move back under the weapon mount...until the commlink chirped again.
With a growl he picked it up...and saw the same icon. Aw, crap. Flicking it on, he saw the face at the end of it - an ork, all right. Getting a bit up in years, and...were those actual reading glasses...? "Hobbes. What can I do ya for?"
He listened as the ork spoke, arching an eyebrow up a tad. Most of his work came in through Frank, but it'd been a little thin lately. And the ork on the other end talked and sounded like a pro - an old pro, at that. "Sure, I'm interested. See ya there. And, uh, listen, sorry about the..."
The call clicked off before he could finish his apology. With a groan he lowered the commlink to his lap. "Way to make an impression, Legs." Grumbling to himself, he shot off a couple messages - one to Frank asking about this MacAllister, another to a lady friend that still worked for Lone Star for details on the club he mentioned. Laying himself back down, he scooted under the mount to finish up.
Once he was finished, he dragged himself to the rear cargo door of the van and pulled himself into the wheelchair waiting for him there, and rolled himself off to the other side of his small converted warehouse he called home to get ready for the night.
By the time he'd finished showering, shaving, and dressing in clothes that didn't look like they'd spent the better part of the last year being used to wipe down engine blocks, they'd gotten back to him. Not much on either front - MacAllister apparently had something to do with the Ork Underground, while the club seemed to have a major gig going tonight - but he shot off a thanks to both of them anyway. A little bit of information, no matter how small, was still something to be appreciated.
The Transys Steed was pulled out of its storage space and loaded into the van, but not before he stuck a SuperSquirt fully loaded with DMSO/Narcojet rounds and a spare clip in the built-in hidden smuggling compartment.
Just in case.
Once he had the Steed loaded into the RoadMaster, he wheeled himself to the driver's side door, dragged himself into the van, and pulled out of his place. A quick combination of AR codes made sure his security system was armed and the place locked down before he put the Roadmaster in drive and started the drive to Underworld 93.
One of these days I'm gonna find out where this Big Al's Adult Trid Shop is and blow it up, I swear. He barely saw the icon - a red Mr. Smiley done up to look like an ork - before he flipped it on, speaking before the caller could get started. "Look, pal, we don't sell hardcore sex trids at this number, and even if we did I wouldn't be carrying Trolls on Dwarves 10. Try changing the second digit to a 9 instead of a zero next time." He flicked it off and dropped it back on the floor of the van again unceremoniously, getting ready to move back under the weapon mount...until the commlink chirped again.
With a growl he picked it up...and saw the same icon. Aw, crap. Flicking it on, he saw the face at the end of it - an ork, all right. Getting a bit up in years, and...were those actual reading glasses...? "Hobbes. What can I do ya for?"
He listened as the ork spoke, arching an eyebrow up a tad. Most of his work came in through Frank, but it'd been a little thin lately. And the ork on the other end talked and sounded like a pro - an old pro, at that. "Sure, I'm interested. See ya there. And, uh, listen, sorry about the..."
The call clicked off before he could finish his apology. With a groan he lowered the commlink to his lap. "Way to make an impression, Legs." Grumbling to himself, he shot off a couple messages - one to Frank asking about this MacAllister, another to a lady friend that still worked for Lone Star for details on the club he mentioned. Laying himself back down, he scooted under the mount to finish up.
Once he was finished, he dragged himself to the rear cargo door of the van and pulled himself into the wheelchair waiting for him there, and rolled himself off to the other side of his small converted warehouse he called home to get ready for the night.
By the time he'd finished showering, shaving, and dressing in clothes that didn't look like they'd spent the better part of the last year being used to wipe down engine blocks, they'd gotten back to him. Not much on either front - MacAllister apparently had something to do with the Ork Underground, while the club seemed to have a major gig going tonight - but he shot off a thanks to both of them anyway. A little bit of information, no matter how small, was still something to be appreciated.
The Transys Steed was pulled out of its storage space and loaded into the van, but not before he stuck a SuperSquirt fully loaded with DMSO/Narcojet rounds and a spare clip in the built-in hidden smuggling compartment.
Just in case.
Once he had the Steed loaded into the RoadMaster, he wheeled himself to the driver's side door, dragged himself into the van, and pulled out of his place. A quick combination of AR codes made sure his security system was armed and the place locked down before he put the Roadmaster in drive and started the drive to Underworld 93.
Checking his old-fashioned watch, Mr. White affirms the appointment with the fixer and signs off.
"Qǐng yuán liàng" he says, turning back to the table and the four triad members.
Mr. Lin waves his hand dismissively. "So it is settled then? We offer the Italians two million for the containers, but we can go as high as five, yes?" the rail-thin Chinese man looks at the others at the table who nod their assent.
"There you are, Mr. White." he says, rising from the table. The others rise as well and all bow respectfully.
A few minutes later a dark sedan pulls to the corner, and Mr. White gets in the back seat. "Capitol Hill." he says. The driver nods and pulls away from the curb. The car makes its way through Tacoma traffic toward highway 5, and eventually north to downtown.
Along the way, Mr. White makes a few calls. Thankfully, the evening was free, and no re-arrangements were necessary. Harald would need some cash soon. It was his vice. But it kept him happy, and it was more than worth it.
He generously tips the driver for the speedy trip when he steps out of the car in the Capitol Hill neighborhood in front of a large home and estate done in the style of the 2030's. He straightens his jacket and plucks a piece of lint from his lapel. This should not take long. A few important handshakes, and then back south to Puyallup and another meeting. A debt to settle.
"Qǐng yuán liàng" he says, turning back to the table and the four triad members.
Mr. Lin waves his hand dismissively. "So it is settled then? We offer the Italians two million for the containers, but we can go as high as five, yes?" the rail-thin Chinese man looks at the others at the table who nod their assent.
"There you are, Mr. White." he says, rising from the table. The others rise as well and all bow respectfully.
A few minutes later a dark sedan pulls to the corner, and Mr. White gets in the back seat. "Capitol Hill." he says. The driver nods and pulls away from the curb. The car makes its way through Tacoma traffic toward highway 5, and eventually north to downtown.
Along the way, Mr. White makes a few calls. Thankfully, the evening was free, and no re-arrangements were necessary. Harald would need some cash soon. It was his vice. But it kept him happy, and it was more than worth it.
He generously tips the driver for the speedy trip when he steps out of the car in the Capitol Hill neighborhood in front of a large home and estate done in the style of the 2030's. He straightens his jacket and plucks a piece of lint from his lapel. This should not take long. A few important handshakes, and then back south to Puyallup and another meeting. A debt to settle.
Wednesday, 12:03pm; a rundown converted warehouse loft in Redmond
Custom Commlink: Hidden | SIN: Ricardo L. Corinthian
CMT-Clip: Passive | SIN: Domingo Alvarez
"Eleven...twelve...thirrrrrrteen," Quixote grunted out as he pulled his frame up and down on the handy, solid pipe in the concrete and exposed pipework jungle he called home. The place isn't too bad...could use a coat of paint. And some carpet. And a real bed. And a personal chef. But hey, nothing's perfect. At least the furniture that came with the place wasn't bolted down. Would've been an absolute hell if I'd had to leave the couch and coffee table where they were. But that big...thingie with the doors, an army? Armorer? Eh, whatever it is, it's nice for holding things and was a great find in the dumpsters. Didn't even cost much to get that trog to help me move it back in here.
Quixotes musings continued through his workout as he dropped to the floor in a crouch and proceeded to start with pushups. Midway through his set, a small blue icon flashed into existence in the corner of his vision. "Hmm...business line. Think I'd better pick this one up, could be that big payday I've been looking for to get this place up to snuff." Grinning, Quixote answers the call and listens to the ork's proposition. Grin still plastered to his features, he expresses his interest and confirms that he'll show up.
Call finished, Quixote accesses his work 'link and thinks for a second before shooting off a message.
<<@MrSunshine: Hey Tiny, think you can look through that black book of yours and gimme the heads up on an ork named MacCallister? I'll buy you lunch soon as I get my next pay day. Take you somewhere nice even. >>
That done, Quixote starts pulling up a search bot and has it start looking for any mentions of Underworld 93 in Puyallup, with a focus on concerts for today. "Wouldn't mind catching a free show, especially if the band's any good. And hell, even if they're not, it's a free show.
Custom Commlink: Hidden | SIN: Ricardo L. Corinthian
CMT-Clip: Passive | SIN: Domingo Alvarez
"Eleven...twelve...thirrrrrrteen," Quixote grunted out as he pulled his frame up and down on the handy, solid pipe in the concrete and exposed pipework jungle he called home. The place isn't too bad...could use a coat of paint. And some carpet. And a real bed. And a personal chef. But hey, nothing's perfect. At least the furniture that came with the place wasn't bolted down. Would've been an absolute hell if I'd had to leave the couch and coffee table where they were. But that big...thingie with the doors, an army? Armorer? Eh, whatever it is, it's nice for holding things and was a great find in the dumpsters. Didn't even cost much to get that trog to help me move it back in here.
Quixotes musings continued through his workout as he dropped to the floor in a crouch and proceeded to start with pushups. Midway through his set, a small blue icon flashed into existence in the corner of his vision. "Hmm...business line. Think I'd better pick this one up, could be that big payday I've been looking for to get this place up to snuff." Grinning, Quixote answers the call and listens to the ork's proposition. Grin still plastered to his features, he expresses his interest and confirms that he'll show up.
Call finished, Quixote accesses his work 'link and thinks for a second before shooting off a message.
<<@MrSunshine: Hey Tiny, think you can look through that black book of yours and gimme the heads up on an ork named MacCallister? I'll buy you lunch soon as I get my next pay day. Take you somewhere nice even. >>
That done, Quixote starts pulling up a search bot and has it start looking for any mentions of Underworld 93 in Puyallup, with a focus on concerts for today. "Wouldn't mind catching a free show, especially if the band's any good. And hell, even if they're not, it's a free show.
Wednesday, 11:52pm; Tacoma Apartment - Courtyard
Fairlight Caliban: Passive | SIN: Gerald Adler
"...hmmm, don't think we'll have anything ready for a while yet, I think it's the rain..." Gardner regretfully commented on the state of his garden to the empty space around him. His hulking form crouched over the tiny plants, he moves deliberately and carefully to keep himself from harming any of the plants. Just as he gets another handful of soil to work on the next area, his commlink starts to chirp from his coat pocket. Walking inside, casually wiping the dirt off his hands, he can't help but wonder who could be calling. And as he grabs the comm and glances at the display, Gardner has his answer.
"MacCallister, everything o-" but is quickly cut off as MacCallister fills him in on the change of plans. "Alright, sounds good, see you then." Gardner ends the call and quickly cycles through to the browse program that had been left running, and with a sigh of exasperation terminates the program as well. Not sure what I was expecting... But hey, its not a big change really, just gives me more time for the bus lines to muck up.
Before leaving, Gardner quickly finishes the last bit of maintenance on the garden, checks to make sure that Beta has fresh water and food in her bowl, then shrugs on his coat. He checks to make sure all of his gear is where he expects it, subconsciously checking his talismans and charms, then grabs his staff and bag as he heads out the door. He sighs deeply again as he works the old-fashioned key, a practiced but still difficult maneuver, with the lock being designed for someone maybe half his size. As he drops the tiny key into his pocket, he lets out a gentle whistling trill, and after a short time, Sadie swoops down from the rooftop and lands delicately on the end of the staff. The Robin waits patiently for another command, and Gardner makes sure the display on his AR reads "Standby". "I might need you later tonight, don't know if I'll have time to come back and get anything..."
Giving himself an hour or so of flex time, Gardner navigates his way toward Puyallup, utilizing the less than reliable bus system. He arrives approximately half an hour early, decent timing considering it's only a 45 minute ride.
Fairlight Caliban: Passive | SIN: Gerald Adler
"...hmmm, don't think we'll have anything ready for a while yet, I think it's the rain..." Gardner regretfully commented on the state of his garden to the empty space around him. His hulking form crouched over the tiny plants, he moves deliberately and carefully to keep himself from harming any of the plants. Just as he gets another handful of soil to work on the next area, his commlink starts to chirp from his coat pocket. Walking inside, casually wiping the dirt off his hands, he can't help but wonder who could be calling. And as he grabs the comm and glances at the display, Gardner has his answer.
"MacCallister, everything o-" but is quickly cut off as MacCallister fills him in on the change of plans. "Alright, sounds good, see you then." Gardner ends the call and quickly cycles through to the browse program that had been left running, and with a sigh of exasperation terminates the program as well. Not sure what I was expecting... But hey, its not a big change really, just gives me more time for the bus lines to muck up.
Before leaving, Gardner quickly finishes the last bit of maintenance on the garden, checks to make sure that Beta has fresh water and food in her bowl, then shrugs on his coat. He checks to make sure all of his gear is where he expects it, subconsciously checking his talismans and charms, then grabs his staff and bag as he heads out the door. He sighs deeply again as he works the old-fashioned key, a practiced but still difficult maneuver, with the lock being designed for someone maybe half his size. As he drops the tiny key into his pocket, he lets out a gentle whistling trill, and after a short time, Sadie swoops down from the rooftop and lands delicately on the end of the staff. The Robin waits patiently for another command, and Gardner makes sure the display on his AR reads "Standby". "I might need you later tonight, don't know if I'll have time to come back and get anything..."
Giving himself an hour or so of flex time, Gardner navigates his way toward Puyallup, utilizing the less than reliable bus system. He arrives approximately half an hour early, decent timing considering it's only a 45 minute ride.
Underworld doesn’t really look like much from the outside: a simple ferrocrete building that looks like it should be warehousing machinery, not the location of a nightclub. The only distinguishing features of the club are a simple steel sign outside with the name, and an AR display that is far more impressive blazing the name of the club in bright neon lettering along with the club’s logo: Charon steering a speedboat across the river Styx.
At one time, this was the place to be for Seattle’s who’s who. The attraction for the place has long since faded for younger crowds who are always looking for the next big thing, but the place still retains its reputation as being the place to see some of the hottest music acts of yesterday and today. Jetblack, Shield Wall, CrimeTime, DarkVine, Blitzkrieg, the Psychedelic Phlegmm. All have graced the stage at one time or another, and tonight looks to be another big name.
There is a sizable crowd outside the building, with a line of people stretching around the building. A pair of intimidating troll bouncers wearing expensive tailored suits stand guard at the door, ignoring the majority of the crowd as if they simply didn’t exist, only occasionally letting people into the club aft er one of them consults an actual paper list on a clipboard. One way to make a guest list unhackable is to write it down. An ARO in front of the building explains the crowd.
Mercurial is doing an unannounced concert at Underworld 93 tonight at 7:30.
Gardener:
Mr. White returns the acknowledgement to the Mayor. If he seems occupied - as he is likely to be - a nod should do, otherwise a brief handshake and hello.
Regardless, he follows the bouncer's recommendation and inquires with the barman about Cindy.
Once directed or guided to the table, he takes a seat and turns to greet others at the table.
At one time, this was the place to be for Seattle’s who’s who. The attraction for the place has long since faded for younger crowds who are always looking for the next big thing, but the place still retains its reputation as being the place to see some of the hottest music acts of yesterday and today. Jetblack, Shield Wall, CrimeTime, DarkVine, Blitzkrieg, the Psychedelic Phlegmm. All have graced the stage at one time or another, and tonight looks to be another big name.
There is a sizable crowd outside the building, with a line of people stretching around the building. A pair of intimidating troll bouncers wearing expensive tailored suits stand guard at the door, ignoring the majority of the crowd as if they simply didn’t exist, only occasionally letting people into the club aft er one of them consults an actual paper list on a clipboard. One way to make a guest list unhackable is to write it down. An ARO in front of the building explains the crowd.
Mercurial is doing an unannounced concert at Underworld 93 tonight at 7:30.
Gardener:
[ Spoiler ]
At five minutes 'til seven, Mr. White steps out of the car in front of Underworld. His clothing and his age make him stand out here. He's pushing fifty years old, and the majority of the crowd in front of the building is likely half his age. The crisp black suit jacket is designer, but not flashy. Despite his years, he moves with confidence and certainty as he steps onto the curb and strides to the bouncer at the door.
He offers a smile and a greeting, and tells the bouncer that he is here to see MacCallister. Its been a while since he's been to a concert, so he checks to be sure that he remembered ear plugs - like the kind some wear at a firing range or in an industrial facility.
He wears a pistol in a shoulder holster, which he gives up at the check desk, pocketing the receipt to pick it up later and gets a scotch and ice from the barman.
He offers a smile and a greeting, and tells the bouncer that he is here to see MacCallister. Its been a while since he's been to a concert, so he checks to be sure that he remembered ear plugs - like the kind some wear at a firing range or in an industrial facility.
He wears a pistol in a shoulder holster, which he gives up at the check desk, pocketing the receipt to pick it up later and gets a scotch and ice from the barman.
QUOTE (Slacker @ Nov 6 2012, 05:09 PM) 
Mr. White: The troll bouncer double checks your name on his clipboard and nods you in. He mentions that you're the second of your party to arrive and that you should ask for Cindy at the bar to show you where your table is. As you pass through the crowd, you spot the mayor and he nods a greeting in acknowledgement when he sees you too.
Mr. White returns the acknowledgement to the Mayor. If he seems occupied - as he is likely to be - a nod should do, otherwise a brief handshake and hello.
Regardless, he follows the bouncer's recommendation and inquires with the barman about Cindy.
Once directed or guided to the table, he takes a seat and turns to greet others at the table.
The drive took the better part of 45 minutes from his place to the club, and when he got in the vicinity he frowned, eyeing the crowd through the sensors of the RoadMaster. He wasn't going to get to park his baby within four blocks. If he was lucky.
Gonna be one of the few times I'm happy I don't have the use of my legs anymore.
It took him another ten minutes to find a parking spot, another couple to pilot the Steed via AR out of its rack, around to the driver side door and to unstow the seat. He pulled himself into the wheeled chair and set the anti-theft system on the RoadMaster, then took control of the Steed and started wheeling himself towards the entrance using the 'joystick' mounted on the arm. There was something to be said for doing things the old-school way.
It was a hassle navigating the crowd, but even in this day and age there was a subtle - if disdainful - sort of courtesy afforded to the handicapped, and he made it to the door with ten minutes to spare, eyeing the AR displays blazing all along the building's exterior. Mercurial, huh? That explains the crowd.
He ignored the suspicious look from the trolls at the door and dropped MacAllister's name, just like he'd been told, whereupon the bouncers made way for him, giving him and his chair plenty of room. He eyed the MAD scanners a moment, tempted to sleaze his way in to keep them from going off...but given he was in contraption with plenty of metal in it, that would look ridiculously suspect. Instead he piloted his way through, not flinching even a little as they went crazy.
With a shrug and a smile, he let the security people go over him and his chair. As one of the trolls ran a wand over his length, he chuckled and patted the side of the Steed, right over the hidden smuggling compartment. "Sorry, fellas. This was easier than crutches."
One of the trolls grunted by way of response, but waved him on past as the line behind him started to get a bit longer and voices of dissent started getting louder. With a grin and a nod, he rolled himself inside, heading for the elevator under escort. For a moment, he thought about telling them his wheelchair could actually make it up the stairs...but nah. Why make it easy for them?
Gonna be one of the few times I'm happy I don't have the use of my legs anymore.
It took him another ten minutes to find a parking spot, another couple to pilot the Steed via AR out of its rack, around to the driver side door and to unstow the seat. He pulled himself into the wheeled chair and set the anti-theft system on the RoadMaster, then took control of the Steed and started wheeling himself towards the entrance using the 'joystick' mounted on the arm. There was something to be said for doing things the old-school way.
It was a hassle navigating the crowd, but even in this day and age there was a subtle - if disdainful - sort of courtesy afforded to the handicapped, and he made it to the door with ten minutes to spare, eyeing the AR displays blazing all along the building's exterior. Mercurial, huh? That explains the crowd.
He ignored the suspicious look from the trolls at the door and dropped MacAllister's name, just like he'd been told, whereupon the bouncers made way for him, giving him and his chair plenty of room. He eyed the MAD scanners a moment, tempted to sleaze his way in to keep them from going off...but given he was in contraption with plenty of metal in it, that would look ridiculously suspect. Instead he piloted his way through, not flinching even a little as they went crazy.
With a shrug and a smile, he let the security people go over him and his chair. As one of the trolls ran a wand over his length, he chuckled and patted the side of the Steed, right over the hidden smuggling compartment. "Sorry, fellas. This was easier than crutches."
One of the trolls grunted by way of response, but waved him on past as the line behind him started to get a bit longer and voices of dissent started getting louder. With a grin and a nod, he rolled himself inside, heading for the elevator under escort. For a moment, he thought about telling them his wheelchair could actually make it up the stairs...but nah. Why make it easy for them?
Wednesday, 12:05pm; a Seattle autocab
Hermes Ikon: Hidden | SIN: Ivan Mozhayev
CMT Clip: Active | SIN: Sergei Zharov
"Da. Until tonight, then." The commlink window closed, and Nikolai switched the Ikon off. He had the afternoon to prepare, then, a luxury he was still not quite accustomed to.
Wednesday, 5:30pm; Nikolai's Tacoma apartment
Hermes Ikon: Hidden | SIN Ivan Mozhayev
The alarm Nikolai had set went off as he finished putting the Viper back together after cleaning it. The afternoon had been spent inspecting and cleaning the tools of his trade, which had survived the transition from Russia to Seattle as expected. Still, one did not neglect one's tools, and the rote work he had done countless times allowed him time to dig up what he knew about Underworld 93 from his memory. So, Mishka stays home tonight. The jacket, too. This is rough area, but not a warzone. He placed the assault rifle and submachine gun back into their locking cabinet, leaving the two handguns on what passed for his kitchen table. After a quick shower and shave he selected a pair of charcoal khakis and a maroon shirt to go with it. The Viper went into it's concealed holster in the center of his back, the Predator into it's normal holster that sat on his left hip. A look through the postage-stamp sized window in his living room confirmed to him that he should wear the respirator tonight. He turned on his Clip 'link long enough to summon an autocab, slipped the Ikon 'link into his armored long coat's hidden pocket, and went down to wait for it's arrival.
Wednesday, 7pm; Underground 93
Hermes Ikon: Hidden | SIN Ivan Mozhayev
The scouting had revealed pretty much what he had expected; if things turned bad they were going to get very ugly, very quickly. The ARO above the club blazed with the reason for the crowds, and even Nikolai had to raise an eyebrow. Mercurial? Hopefully she is not trying another country and western album.. The troll bouncers gave him pause, but they parted when he told them he was here to see MacCallister. His pistols and coat were left with the coat check, and after waiting a moment while a man in a drone-chair was passed through the metal detectors it was his turn. As expected, they went off as he passed them, and he gave the attendants a look of long-suffering as he rolled up his sleeve to show them the obvious cybernetic nature of his arm. After they passed him through Nikolai stepped aside to give the crowd a careful inspection, flicking through the various bands of his enhanced vision and noting the obvious and not-so-obvious security present. Well trained, but not spetznaz. But this is not a minister's home,da? Satisfied, he headed for the bar to find this "Cindy" he was supposed to meet before talking with MacCallister. A double vodka wouldn't hurt, either. Before he could get the drink though Cindy found him and escorted him to the second level of the club. He gave the belligerent little man a look of contempt and considered teaching him a short and painful lesson in manners, but ultimately continued following Cindy to the table. The man with the drone chair from the line was already there, as well as an older gentleman dressed considerably better than him and a surprisingly genteel-looking troll, and he gave them each a nod as he took his own seat.
"Good evening, gentlemen." His speech is clear, but still heavily accented.
Hermes Ikon: Hidden | SIN: Ivan Mozhayev
CMT Clip: Active | SIN: Sergei Zharov
"Da. Until tonight, then." The commlink window closed, and Nikolai switched the Ikon off. He had the afternoon to prepare, then, a luxury he was still not quite accustomed to.
Wednesday, 5:30pm; Nikolai's Tacoma apartment
Hermes Ikon: Hidden | SIN Ivan Mozhayev
The alarm Nikolai had set went off as he finished putting the Viper back together after cleaning it. The afternoon had been spent inspecting and cleaning the tools of his trade, which had survived the transition from Russia to Seattle as expected. Still, one did not neglect one's tools, and the rote work he had done countless times allowed him time to dig up what he knew about Underworld 93 from his memory. So, Mishka stays home tonight. The jacket, too. This is rough area, but not a warzone. He placed the assault rifle and submachine gun back into their locking cabinet, leaving the two handguns on what passed for his kitchen table. After a quick shower and shave he selected a pair of charcoal khakis and a maroon shirt to go with it. The Viper went into it's concealed holster in the center of his back, the Predator into it's normal holster that sat on his left hip. A look through the postage-stamp sized window in his living room confirmed to him that he should wear the respirator tonight. He turned on his Clip 'link long enough to summon an autocab, slipped the Ikon 'link into his armored long coat's hidden pocket, and went down to wait for it's arrival.
Wednesday, 7pm; Underground 93
Hermes Ikon: Hidden | SIN Ivan Mozhayev
The scouting had revealed pretty much what he had expected; if things turned bad they were going to get very ugly, very quickly. The ARO above the club blazed with the reason for the crowds, and even Nikolai had to raise an eyebrow. Mercurial? Hopefully she is not trying another country and western album.. The troll bouncers gave him pause, but they parted when he told them he was here to see MacCallister. His pistols and coat were left with the coat check, and after waiting a moment while a man in a drone-chair was passed through the metal detectors it was his turn. As expected, they went off as he passed them, and he gave the attendants a look of long-suffering as he rolled up his sleeve to show them the obvious cybernetic nature of his arm. After they passed him through Nikolai stepped aside to give the crowd a careful inspection, flicking through the various bands of his enhanced vision and noting the obvious and not-so-obvious security present. Well trained, but not spetznaz. But this is not a minister's home,da? Satisfied, he headed for the bar to find this "Cindy" he was supposed to meet before talking with MacCallister. A double vodka wouldn't hurt, either. Before he could get the drink though Cindy found him and escorted him to the second level of the club. He gave the belligerent little man a look of contempt and considered teaching him a short and painful lesson in manners, but ultimately continued following Cindy to the table. The man with the drone chair from the line was already there, as well as an older gentleman dressed considerably better than him and a surprisingly genteel-looking troll, and he gave them each a nod as he took his own seat.
"Good evening, gentlemen." His speech is clear, but still heavily accented.
Mr. White stands when he is joined at the table overlooking the stage. "Harvey White," he says, extending his hand and offering a firm shake. He is in his forties, but appears to be in reasonable shape, of medium build, and rather tall. His hair is mostly gray, and he has a small neatly trimmed mustache. He is human, and has no obvious cyberware. His Zoé Executive long jacket, shirt and slacks are clean and neat. He smiles as he speaks, and has an easygoing manner to him. He offers a small business card, beige, that reads:
Harvey White
Consultant
38-555-14574
"Pleased to make your acquaintance." He gestures toward the stage. "Its not every day that you get to see Maria Mercurial perform while attending to business, eh?"
Harvey White
Consultant
38-555-14574
"Pleased to make your acquaintance." He gestures toward the stage. "Its not every day that you get to see Maria Mercurial perform while attending to business, eh?"
Wednesday, 6:15pm; Puyallup - Bus Stop
Fairlight Caliban: Passive | SIN: Gerald Adler
Squeezing out through the door of the bus, Gardner cringes slightly as the vehicle strains under the extra weight on the one side. "Thanks again, have a good day," he says as the doors close behind him. Recalling the directions to the club he heads out on foot the rest of the way. He releases Sadie ahead of him, and lets her perch in the nearest tree to the club that can be found. When he finally arrives at the club he takes his time working through the crowd. Most people get out of the way when a wall over three meters tall is waiting to get past, but Gardner seems patient for the less observant.
Once inside, he smiles at Bruce's comment, albeit with a bit of cynicism. "Not quite sure it's luck to be honest." After taking his commlink out of the pocket he hands over his coat and staff. He then gets the claim ticket and puts it with the commlink in his pants pocket. Once inside he quickly makes his way over to the bar to get Cindy to show him where the correct table is. Before heading in that direction he asks for an extra large chair, not wanting to crush the ones that are likely already out on the floor. Being the first one to the table, he takes a space near the railing facing the exit.
Wednesday, 7:00pm; Underworld 93 - Second Floor
When the others begin to arrive, they are initially greeted by the giant with a silent nod, his head nearly at the level of most, even while seated. For one his size, most expect a troll, but his appearance does not quite meet spec; He lacks the the bony ridges and horns. Instead, he sports a luxurious beard and his skin looks almost as if it would feel like rough leather or even tree bark. Dressed in Victory Globetrotter line clothes, he looks well traveled but still presentable. Around his neck are a multitude of medallions and charms accented by feathers and crystals, but most prominent is a classic pentagram.
Fairlight Caliban: Passive | SIN: Gerald Adler
Squeezing out through the door of the bus, Gardner cringes slightly as the vehicle strains under the extra weight on the one side. "Thanks again, have a good day," he says as the doors close behind him. Recalling the directions to the club he heads out on foot the rest of the way. He releases Sadie ahead of him, and lets her perch in the nearest tree to the club that can be found. When he finally arrives at the club he takes his time working through the crowd. Most people get out of the way when a wall over three meters tall is waiting to get past, but Gardner seems patient for the less observant.
Once inside, he smiles at Bruce's comment, albeit with a bit of cynicism. "Not quite sure it's luck to be honest." After taking his commlink out of the pocket he hands over his coat and staff. He then gets the claim ticket and puts it with the commlink in his pants pocket. Once inside he quickly makes his way over to the bar to get Cindy to show him where the correct table is. Before heading in that direction he asks for an extra large chair, not wanting to crush the ones that are likely already out on the floor. Being the first one to the table, he takes a space near the railing facing the exit.
Wednesday, 7:00pm; Underworld 93 - Second Floor
When the others begin to arrive, they are initially greeted by the giant with a silent nod, his head nearly at the level of most, even while seated. For one his size, most expect a troll, but his appearance does not quite meet spec; He lacks the the bony ridges and horns. Instead, he sports a luxurious beard and his skin looks almost as if it would feel like rough leather or even tree bark. Dressed in Victory Globetrotter line clothes, he looks well traveled but still presentable. Around his neck are a multitude of medallions and charms accented by feathers and crystals, but most prominent is a classic pentagram.
Wednesday, 19:15 at Underworld 93
Emerald Cacophony take the stage to warm up the crowd with the SynthMetal tunes. Below you, through the semi-transparent floor and over the railing, you can see the mass of metahumanity writhing to the music on the dance floor. The energy of the crowd is palpable in the air and it's hard not to get caught up in. Even the usually reserved members of the upper-crust audience on the second floor find themselves nodding to the beat and swaying in their seats.
For a local band, these guys are seriously bringing in the joy. They play for a solid 20 minutes before bowing to the audience to make way for tall man in his late 40s with a lined face, dark hair, and goatee wearing an immaculately tailored suit. He smiles out over the crowd and his gaze carries a power with it as it washes over each of you. He holds up his hands to quiet the crowd down and says “Alright you brain damaged re-wired mutants!
Here’s the reason you’ve been sweating all over our nice, clean floors all evening. Ladies and Gentlemen — if there are any out there — and the rest of you trash as well, I present to you the one, the only, MARIA
MECURIAL!”
Up on the second floor, is eager for the real show tonight, many of left their seats to take up positions along the railing to get as close to the stage a possible. The lovey-dovey couple are embracing for one last passionate kiss before Mercurial takes the stage...
Suddenly, the happy atmosphere is shatter with a spray of blood and the loud bang of a gun going off. The miserable salariman has just shot the boyfriend midembrace. In the next instant he has grabbed the screaming girl by the hair and threatening her with his light pistol. "Why? why? why are you here don't you know love is all a lie? When the drek comes down you're not going to be there for him. So why even pretend. Shut up, I saved him that misery. I saved him the pain all women cause in the end, he rants to his hostage.
Emerald Cacophony take the stage to warm up the crowd with the SynthMetal tunes. Below you, through the semi-transparent floor and over the railing, you can see the mass of metahumanity writhing to the music on the dance floor. The energy of the crowd is palpable in the air and it's hard not to get caught up in. Even the usually reserved members of the upper-crust audience on the second floor find themselves nodding to the beat and swaying in their seats.
For a local band, these guys are seriously bringing in the joy. They play for a solid 20 minutes before bowing to the audience to make way for tall man in his late 40s with a lined face, dark hair, and goatee wearing an immaculately tailored suit. He smiles out over the crowd and his gaze carries a power with it as it washes over each of you. He holds up his hands to quiet the crowd down and says “Alright you brain damaged re-wired mutants!
Here’s the reason you’ve been sweating all over our nice, clean floors all evening. Ladies and Gentlemen — if there are any out there — and the rest of you trash as well, I present to you the one, the only, MARIA
MECURIAL!”
Up on the second floor, is eager for the real show tonight, many of left their seats to take up positions along the railing to get as close to the stage a possible. The lovey-dovey couple are embracing for one last passionate kiss before Mercurial takes the stage...
Suddenly, the happy atmosphere is shatter with a spray of blood and the loud bang of a gun going off. The miserable salariman has just shot the boyfriend midembrace. In the next instant he has grabbed the screaming girl by the hair and threatening her with his light pistol. "Why? why? why are you here don't you know love is all a lie? When the drek comes down you're not going to be there for him. So why even pretend. Shut up, I saved him that misery. I saved him the pain all women cause in the end, he rants to his hostage.
Wednesday, 7:03pm; Underworld 93
Custom Commlink: Hidden | SIN: Ricardo L. Corinthian
CMT-Clip: Passive | SIN: Domingo Alvarez
Hopping out of the autocab, Quixote gives it a tilt of his hat as he takes in the scene in front of the club's doors. The troll bouncers are incredibly stereotypical, but they get that way for a reason. A lot of them were just too thick to try and talk your way past, no matter how good you are. Fortunately, I'm not one that's much for talking. Affixing a smile on his face that could be mistaken for friendly, Quixote approaches one of the doormen with a clipboard and gives his name to the troll along with the fact that he's there to see MacCallister. A quick glance at the list, and the ork relaxes his smile as the troll waves him through. At the weapons check, he hands over his machine pistol and considers trying to sneak his shock gloves in for a second, but reconsiders upon seeing the MAD system. He could probably claim that they're AR gloves, but why try and piss off the J at his big event before the meet? With instructions to "keep his babies safe" delivered in a joking tone, Quixote heads to the bar to track down Cindy.
A few minutes of crowd ducking and dodging later, and he's following Cindy up to the second level in the club. The eye candy on the stairs is almost enough to distract him as he's being guided towards the table, but he pushes himself to focus and gives a quick glance around at the folks up on this level before settling his gaze on the table that he's obviously here to meet with. That's a fragging huge guy...I think he's damn near as tall as I am standing while he's sitting. The other two guys don't look too bad...the guy in the too nice to be here clothes was obviously a talker though.
Friendlyish smile on his face, Quixote grabs a seat at the table with a decent view of the concert about to get underway below. "Evening boys, I'm Domingo. Good to make your acquaintance and all that. Think Mercurial is gonna stick to the good stuff tonight, or are we in for a treat while she experiments with rap or something you think?" The word treat came with the air quotes that strongly suggested Quixote's preference.
Custom Commlink: Hidden | SIN: Ricardo L. Corinthian
CMT-Clip: Passive | SIN: Domingo Alvarez
Hopping out of the autocab, Quixote gives it a tilt of his hat as he takes in the scene in front of the club's doors. The troll bouncers are incredibly stereotypical, but they get that way for a reason. A lot of them were just too thick to try and talk your way past, no matter how good you are. Fortunately, I'm not one that's much for talking. Affixing a smile on his face that could be mistaken for friendly, Quixote approaches one of the doormen with a clipboard and gives his name to the troll along with the fact that he's there to see MacCallister. A quick glance at the list, and the ork relaxes his smile as the troll waves him through. At the weapons check, he hands over his machine pistol and considers trying to sneak his shock gloves in for a second, but reconsiders upon seeing the MAD system. He could probably claim that they're AR gloves, but why try and piss off the J at his big event before the meet? With instructions to "keep his babies safe" delivered in a joking tone, Quixote heads to the bar to track down Cindy.
A few minutes of crowd ducking and dodging later, and he's following Cindy up to the second level in the club. The eye candy on the stairs is almost enough to distract him as he's being guided towards the table, but he pushes himself to focus and gives a quick glance around at the folks up on this level before settling his gaze on the table that he's obviously here to meet with. That's a fragging huge guy...I think he's damn near as tall as I am standing while he's sitting. The other two guys don't look too bad...the guy in the too nice to be here clothes was obviously a talker though.
Friendlyish smile on his face, Quixote grabs a seat at the table with a decent view of the concert about to get underway below. "Evening boys, I'm Domingo. Good to make your acquaintance and all that. Think Mercurial is gonna stick to the good stuff tonight, or are we in for a treat while she experiments with rap or something you think?" The word treat came with the air quotes that strongly suggested Quixote's preference.
[ Spoiler ]
Mr. White rises quickly from his seat and faces the gunman, holding both his hands up to display that they are empty.
He moves just a little, trying to be sure that he is not in a potential line of fire between the gunman and the others who are around the table.
"Its alright! Its alright!" he says loudly, confidently. Calming the shooter is critical in slowing down the situation.
"Hey buddy - hey - right here!" He addresses the fellow directly, forcefully, striving to keep his attention and eyes focused on Mr. White.
"You're alright. Everybody's alright. Don't worry." he speaks in a calm tone, both to the hostage-taker and his hostage.
He moves just a little, trying to be sure that he is not in a potential line of fire between the gunman and the others who are around the table.
"Its alright! Its alright!" he says loudly, confidently. Calming the shooter is critical in slowing down the situation.
"Hey buddy - hey - right here!" He addresses the fellow directly, forcefully, striving to keep his attention and eyes focused on Mr. White.
"You're alright. Everybody's alright. Don't worry." he speaks in a calm tone, both to the hostage-taker and his hostage.
"What the hell do you know about everything being alright?" Max says as he wildly swings the gun to point generally at Mr. White."My wife left me for my fragging best friend not two days ago. Went into work the next day and got fired from my job. And here I am with tickets I paid an arm and a leg to get off a scalper because my wife loves this bitch Maria.... The freaking waitresses won't even bring me my soybeer without giving me dirty looks...."
He turns back to the woman he's holding hostage with an angry glint to his bloodshot eyes. He painfully pulls on her hair until she's looking up into his snarling face. "And then there was this whore! Playing that poor fool like a puppet. Kissing him. Making him think you loved him. And the whole time you were probably sleep with a bunch of other guys on the side. Weren't you?" he asks her as he presses the barrel of the gun against her forehead.
The girl just sobs incoherently.
He turns back to the woman he's holding hostage with an angry glint to his bloodshot eyes. He painfully pulls on her hair until she's looking up into his snarling face. "And then there was this whore! Playing that poor fool like a puppet. Kissing him. Making him think you loved him. And the whole time you were probably sleep with a bunch of other guys on the side. Weren't you?" he asks her as he presses the barrel of the gun against her forehead.
The girl just sobs incoherently.
"Hey buddy - no, look at me! I hear you- " he waves his left hand. "You don't see a ring on my finger, do you? I had the same kind of trouble. But you know what - life goes on." he pauses. "Hey, and you know what? I happen to know a hiring manager at Ares. Maybe I can help you out some. How about you put the gun down, eh?"
Wednesday, 7:16pm; Underworld 93
Hermes Ikon: Hidden | SIN Ivan Mozhayev
Nikolai was one of the people nodding along with the crowd to Emerald Cacophony. It was not his normal preference for music, but something about it just caught him. Should look this group up when I get home, this is good music for exercise time.. He applauded along with everyone else for the intro of Mercurial, then twitched when the shot went off close by. A mental command shifted his wired reflexes on, but the gentleman with the suit and business cards was already on his feet and attempting to talk with the shooter. 'Assure my safety' the man says while taking my weapons, yet his people cannot stop this worm from bringing his in. Pah. We will see if this fool will listen to reason, or if he must be put down.
Hermes Ikon: Hidden | SIN Ivan Mozhayev
Nikolai was one of the people nodding along with the crowd to Emerald Cacophony. It was not his normal preference for music, but something about it just caught him. Should look this group up when I get home, this is good music for exercise time.. He applauded along with everyone else for the intro of Mercurial, then twitched when the shot went off close by. A mental command shifted his wired reflexes on, but the gentleman with the suit and business cards was already on his feet and attempting to talk with the shooter. 'Assure my safety' the man says while taking my weapons, yet his people cannot stop this worm from bringing his in. Pah. We will see if this fool will listen to reason, or if he must be put down.
His immediate reaction to gunfire being to duck down, Gardner catches himself before he hits anything. This results in more of a leaning down pose with no real benefit against catching a bullet.
Still, it gets him a little more out of sight as he starts to slowly maneuver out of his chair to check on the poor lover-boy on the ground. Knowing that he can't stay out of sight in this situation, he attempts to copy Mr. White's actions.
His hands open, showing he doesn't have a weapon he stays relatively low to keep from startling the crazed salariman. "Violence isn't going to solve anything here, it'll only bring down more trouble for everyone." Gardner tries to speak in a calming voice as he moves slowly towards the downed man.
Still, it gets him a little more out of sight as he starts to slowly maneuver out of his chair to check on the poor lover-boy on the ground. Knowing that he can't stay out of sight in this situation, he attempts to copy Mr. White's actions.
His hands open, showing he doesn't have a weapon he stays relatively low to keep from startling the crazed salariman. "Violence isn't going to solve anything here, it'll only bring down more trouble for everyone." Gardner tries to speak in a calming voice as he moves slowly towards the downed man.
Wednesday, 1910 hours, Underworld 93
Custom Commlink: Hidden | SIN: Jerry Hobbes
He wheeled himself out of the elevator on the second floor after his ride up, noting that there were no guards to meet him when he got off. Figured, of course - it wasn't like he could go back down, there weren't any buttons on the elevator, and all the guards were probably downstairs with Mercurial, who he'd seen talking to the ork he'd gotten a call from earlier.
Talk about old-school, by the way. That guy had an actual, authentic cyberdeck strapped to his arm. The hardware junkie in him had virtually (pun intended) drooled over that - he hadn't seen a cyberdeck since Crash 2.0, and hadn't had more than a handful of opportunities to use one before that - mostly in school. He still had an old, nonfunctioning RC deck somewhere in his place, a relic of years gone by.
Good times, Hobbes...when you could still dance, he thought to himself.
He spotted their table with little difficulty once Cindy came to collect him from the elevator, looking over those already in attendance or just arriving, like himself, and pushed the joystick forward to wheel himself over.
The big dude got the most attention, though. He hadn't seen anyone THAT big in his life, that he could recall, and that was including trolls. Remind me not to get on the bad side of that guy...it's bad enough I can't use my legs, I'd hate to lose function of my arms too.
Since everyone else was introducing themselves, he decided he might as well chime in. "Hobbes, Jerry Hobbes. Most folks just call me 'Legs' for short." His lips twitched upwards a touch. "Can't imagine why."
He fell silent for a bit as the lead-in band started up, and he noted to himself that they weren't half-bad - hell, he could see more than a few of the suits up here grooving along to the music, and more than a few of them looked like they would ordinarily have a titanium rod about ten centimeters in diameter shoved up their asses.
He'd been happy about not having to stand in line, but as he leaned over to look through the floor to the crowd below on the first, writhing and dancing and jumping to the music, he sighed. Damn. What I wouldn't give to be one of you right now.
He straightened as the lead-ins finished their set and left the stage to thunderous cheers, and the MC walked on to announce Mercurial. But, that's life.
The sharp bang! of the pistol, and the feeling of being misted by something, got his attention right quick, as he was waiting for Mercurial to take the stage, and he swiveled the chair around in that direction to see someone go down and some other miserable-looking sap with a gun to a girl's head, holding her as a hostage and ranting some crap about how women were all bad news.
Dammit...why can't I go to just one meeting for a job without something going pear-shaped?
He looked down in the process of reaching for the smuggling compartment, and noticed the fine spray of blood on his vintage JetBlack t-shirt he was wearing.
Oh, HELL no. And on one of my favorite damn shirts, too!
For just a moment, he was wishing he'd brought his old Star-issued Thunderbolt instead of the SuperSquirt. If this had been a social outing instead of a business meet, he probably would have, too.
He noted the suit at their table standing to face the gunman, hands out in supplication, the classic stance of a man trying to talk someone down from a bad place. Hadn't he seen that plenty of times when he was on the enforcement side of things?
That's good, keep his attention on you, partner. With any luck, we can do this without anyone else getting blood everywhere.
Reaching surreptitiously down to the side of his chair, he gave the smuggling compartment a specific series of taps to open the hatch, reaching in for the SuperSquirt full of DMSO/Narcojet cocktail.
Custom Commlink: Hidden | SIN: Jerry Hobbes
He wheeled himself out of the elevator on the second floor after his ride up, noting that there were no guards to meet him when he got off. Figured, of course - it wasn't like he could go back down, there weren't any buttons on the elevator, and all the guards were probably downstairs with Mercurial, who he'd seen talking to the ork he'd gotten a call from earlier.
Talk about old-school, by the way. That guy had an actual, authentic cyberdeck strapped to his arm. The hardware junkie in him had virtually (pun intended) drooled over that - he hadn't seen a cyberdeck since Crash 2.0, and hadn't had more than a handful of opportunities to use one before that - mostly in school. He still had an old, nonfunctioning RC deck somewhere in his place, a relic of years gone by.
Good times, Hobbes...when you could still dance, he thought to himself.
He spotted their table with little difficulty once Cindy came to collect him from the elevator, looking over those already in attendance or just arriving, like himself, and pushed the joystick forward to wheel himself over.
The big dude got the most attention, though. He hadn't seen anyone THAT big in his life, that he could recall, and that was including trolls. Remind me not to get on the bad side of that guy...it's bad enough I can't use my legs, I'd hate to lose function of my arms too.
Since everyone else was introducing themselves, he decided he might as well chime in. "Hobbes, Jerry Hobbes. Most folks just call me 'Legs' for short." His lips twitched upwards a touch. "Can't imagine why."
He fell silent for a bit as the lead-in band started up, and he noted to himself that they weren't half-bad - hell, he could see more than a few of the suits up here grooving along to the music, and more than a few of them looked like they would ordinarily have a titanium rod about ten centimeters in diameter shoved up their asses.
He'd been happy about not having to stand in line, but as he leaned over to look through the floor to the crowd below on the first, writhing and dancing and jumping to the music, he sighed. Damn. What I wouldn't give to be one of you right now.
He straightened as the lead-ins finished their set and left the stage to thunderous cheers, and the MC walked on to announce Mercurial. But, that's life.
The sharp bang! of the pistol, and the feeling of being misted by something, got his attention right quick, as he was waiting for Mercurial to take the stage, and he swiveled the chair around in that direction to see someone go down and some other miserable-looking sap with a gun to a girl's head, holding her as a hostage and ranting some crap about how women were all bad news.
Dammit...why can't I go to just one meeting for a job without something going pear-shaped?
He looked down in the process of reaching for the smuggling compartment, and noticed the fine spray of blood on his vintage JetBlack t-shirt he was wearing.
Oh, HELL no. And on one of my favorite damn shirts, too!
For just a moment, he was wishing he'd brought his old Star-issued Thunderbolt instead of the SuperSquirt. If this had been a social outing instead of a business meet, he probably would have, too.
He noted the suit at their table standing to face the gunman, hands out in supplication, the classic stance of a man trying to talk someone down from a bad place. Hadn't he seen that plenty of times when he was on the enforcement side of things?
That's good, keep his attention on you, partner. With any luck, we can do this without anyone else getting blood everywhere.
Reaching surreptitiously down to the side of his chair, he gave the smuggling compartment a specific series of taps to open the hatch, reaching in for the SuperSquirt full of DMSO/Narcojet cocktail.
Wednesday, 7:16pm, Underworld 93
Custom Commlink: Hidden | SIN: Ricardo L. Corinthian
CMT Clip: Passive | SIN: Domingo Alvarez
Not a bad opening act, wonder whose palm their manager had to grease to get to play for Mercurial. If it was this MacCallister guy...might not be a bad thing working for him. And hey, an ork fixer, maybe I'll be able to get a bump up in pay if things go good. Brotherly solidarity and all that.
When the gunfire rings out, Quixote's immediately on his feet and starting to go around the back end of the table, looking to the wall and trying to blend in with the panicked and concerned citizernery that were currently looking like a bunch of sheep dropped into the midst of a pack of wolves. Damn useless idiots, one guy with a dinky little pistol and they go to drek. If everyone rushed him, the girl'd probably be fine. Having been on the receiving end of a bullet more than once, Quixote casts his eyes on the shot boyfriend and notes that while there's a lot of blood, it looks like it just went throught he meaty bits of the guy's shoulder, and so long as someone stopped it bleeding in the near future the guy would probably live. Hell, probably even has a cloned arm just waiting to go in case that one's messed up. Lucky fragger.[
The nice, talkative looking man starts to do his thing, the big guy getting up to try and help placate the poor bastard as well, and it's fairly obvious from the way the shoulders relax and the eyes lose their flame that the guy's listening to reason. Good thing for him. Hurting that girl would've been the last thing he would've ever done, from the looks of that Russian guy. Scary fragger, him.
Smile on his face, Quixote slowly approaches the salaryman and relives him of his gun and wraps an arm around the poor girl, guiding her away from the pool of blood that's currently leaking from her boyfriend and leads her over to another table with a couple of nicer looking drinks on them. "Here you go girl, just calm down some. Your boy there's fine, believe me. I've seen people shot up way worse and come out of it with an interesting story and a little scar. From the looks of him, this is just gonna be a fun story to tell the kids when you guys get married, yeah? Here," Quixote adds as he grabs what looks like an untouched glass of hard liquor mixed with some fruity smelling stuff, "drink this. It'll help settle you down some, and the best thing you can do for him right now is to keep calm and put a brave front on, alright?"
Smiling a real smile at the girl, Quixote looks back at the man on the ground and mentally accesses his 'link, scanning for the names the other guys had given during introductions. Finding what he does, he thinks for a second and then sends out a quick message.
<<Domingo Alvarez: So, how's he looking over there? Looked like he just picked up a flesh wound and a nice story for when he gets older and marries the girl here. Let me know when it doesn't look so bad so I can bring her over. Don't want her going into hysterics or something.>>
Custom Commlink: Hidden | SIN: Ricardo L. Corinthian
CMT Clip: Passive | SIN: Domingo Alvarez
Not a bad opening act, wonder whose palm their manager had to grease to get to play for Mercurial. If it was this MacCallister guy...might not be a bad thing working for him. And hey, an ork fixer, maybe I'll be able to get a bump up in pay if things go good. Brotherly solidarity and all that.
When the gunfire rings out, Quixote's immediately on his feet and starting to go around the back end of the table, looking to the wall and trying to blend in with the panicked and concerned citizernery that were currently looking like a bunch of sheep dropped into the midst of a pack of wolves. Damn useless idiots, one guy with a dinky little pistol and they go to drek. If everyone rushed him, the girl'd probably be fine. Having been on the receiving end of a bullet more than once, Quixote casts his eyes on the shot boyfriend and notes that while there's a lot of blood, it looks like it just went throught he meaty bits of the guy's shoulder, and so long as someone stopped it bleeding in the near future the guy would probably live. Hell, probably even has a cloned arm just waiting to go in case that one's messed up. Lucky fragger.[
The nice, talkative looking man starts to do his thing, the big guy getting up to try and help placate the poor bastard as well, and it's fairly obvious from the way the shoulders relax and the eyes lose their flame that the guy's listening to reason. Good thing for him. Hurting that girl would've been the last thing he would've ever done, from the looks of that Russian guy. Scary fragger, him.
Smile on his face, Quixote slowly approaches the salaryman and relives him of his gun and wraps an arm around the poor girl, guiding her away from the pool of blood that's currently leaking from her boyfriend and leads her over to another table with a couple of nicer looking drinks on them. "Here you go girl, just calm down some. Your boy there's fine, believe me. I've seen people shot up way worse and come out of it with an interesting story and a little scar. From the looks of him, this is just gonna be a fun story to tell the kids when you guys get married, yeah? Here," Quixote adds as he grabs what looks like an untouched glass of hard liquor mixed with some fruity smelling stuff, "drink this. It'll help settle you down some, and the best thing you can do for him right now is to keep calm and put a brave front on, alright?"
Smiling a real smile at the girl, Quixote looks back at the man on the ground and mentally accesses his 'link, scanning for the names the other guys had given during introductions. Finding what he does, he thinks for a second and then sends out a quick message.
<<Domingo Alvarez: So, how's he looking over there? Looked like he just picked up a flesh wound and a nice story for when he gets older and marries the girl here. Let me know when it doesn't look so bad so I can bring her over. Don't want her going into hysterics or something.>>
"Life....life goes....on?" The words falter on Max's lips, but the genuine empathy in Mr. White's voice cut through his sleep deprived mind. But...but how can I go on? Without Lisa? She was my everything. I gave her my heart, my body, my soul! He wales.
"Believe me. I know how much drek like that can hurt. But you can't let her actions turn you into a monster. You can't become the same as her. Right now, that is exactly what you are doing. You are becoming as bad, worse even, than she is? Is that really what you want? Come on. You don't really want to hurt these people do you? You just want to stop your own pain." answers Mr. White in a calm voice.
"She hurt me soooo much. And with Jimmy of all people. I've known him since grade school...." Max Duggan's words begin to slur together as his grip on the girl's hair loosens. Slowly he lowers the barrel of the gun towards the floor as Mr. White continues to empathize with him.
Meanwhile, Gardner has quietly gotten up from his seat and gently walks over to pull the girl away. "Come now fellow. It's all over. Let me take this girl from you. Let me take that heavy hunk of metal out of your hand." Max slowly nods and lets Gardner pull the girl away to safety and take the weapon away from him.
With the situation defused, it's amazing how quickly the rest of the club calms down. After a minute or so a pair of well dressed guards arrive to take Max away and to see to the injured boyfriend.
In a voice that fills the entire club without being loud or needing the aid of electronics, the thin man once more takes the stage."Sorry about that folks. I guess we had one too many scoundrels in the house. But it's all been taken care," he nods appreciatively towards the shadowrunners."And now its time for what you've all been waiting for. The one, the only Maria MERCURIAL"
With this last word, Maria struts her way out onto the stage with a blast of AR glyphs and the opening bars to her classic hit that made her a star all those years ago, Take it to Mister. It sounds just as great today as it did back in '48.
Once, long ago, when troubles came your way
You couldn’t take them on yourself,
But you knew just what to do,
To fi nd someone who would help.
When they burn out the farm,
Or ravish your sister,
You put your hat in your hand
And take it to Mister,
Take it to Mister
Then, as they will, all these things changed their way.
The ones who guarded you proved false.
The lord, the patron, the grand seigneur,
Helped themselves and no one else.
So they ravished the land
And whored with your sister,
They made you rip out your pride
And take it to Mister.
Now, we have learned there is another way.
To face the future for ourselves,
We all know what we must do.
If you want to take back what they stole
Feed the rage in your heart
Till it’s ready to blister.
Now put your gun in your hand
And TAKE IT TO MISTER!
The crowd goes wild, needing the release after the tension and panic. Dancing with even more energy and passion, trying to chase away the memory of what just happened. Seattle's nightlife knows how to move past when the violence of the sixth world catches up to them.
Mercurial plays a two hour show before wrapping up. Several up and coming bands go on after her, but it’s clear that a lot of the patrons consider the concert over. Cindy returns and offers to escort you all down and into the backstage area, where MacCallister is waiting in a small meeting room.
"Believe me. I know how much drek like that can hurt. But you can't let her actions turn you into a monster. You can't become the same as her. Right now, that is exactly what you are doing. You are becoming as bad, worse even, than she is? Is that really what you want? Come on. You don't really want to hurt these people do you? You just want to stop your own pain." answers Mr. White in a calm voice.
"She hurt me soooo much. And with Jimmy of all people. I've known him since grade school...." Max Duggan's words begin to slur together as his grip on the girl's hair loosens. Slowly he lowers the barrel of the gun towards the floor as Mr. White continues to empathize with him.
Meanwhile, Gardner has quietly gotten up from his seat and gently walks over to pull the girl away. "Come now fellow. It's all over. Let me take this girl from you. Let me take that heavy hunk of metal out of your hand." Max slowly nods and lets Gardner pull the girl away to safety and take the weapon away from him.
With the situation defused, it's amazing how quickly the rest of the club calms down. After a minute or so a pair of well dressed guards arrive to take Max away and to see to the injured boyfriend.
In a voice that fills the entire club without being loud or needing the aid of electronics, the thin man once more takes the stage."Sorry about that folks. I guess we had one too many scoundrels in the house. But it's all been taken care," he nods appreciatively towards the shadowrunners."And now its time for what you've all been waiting for. The one, the only Maria MERCURIAL"
With this last word, Maria struts her way out onto the stage with a blast of AR glyphs and the opening bars to her classic hit that made her a star all those years ago, Take it to Mister. It sounds just as great today as it did back in '48.
Once, long ago, when troubles came your way
You couldn’t take them on yourself,
But you knew just what to do,
To fi nd someone who would help.
When they burn out the farm,
Or ravish your sister,
You put your hat in your hand
And take it to Mister,
Take it to Mister
Then, as they will, all these things changed their way.
The ones who guarded you proved false.
The lord, the patron, the grand seigneur,
Helped themselves and no one else.
So they ravished the land
And whored with your sister,
They made you rip out your pride
And take it to Mister.
Now, we have learned there is another way.
To face the future for ourselves,
We all know what we must do.
If you want to take back what they stole
Feed the rage in your heart
Till it’s ready to blister.
Now put your gun in your hand
And TAKE IT TO MISTER!
The crowd goes wild, needing the release after the tension and panic. Dancing with even more energy and passion, trying to chase away the memory of what just happened. Seattle's nightlife knows how to move past when the violence of the sixth world catches up to them.
Mercurial plays a two hour show before wrapping up. Several up and coming bands go on after her, but it’s clear that a lot of the patrons consider the concert over. Cindy returns and offers to escort you all down and into the backstage area, where MacCallister is waiting in a small meeting room.
Cindy leads you into the backstage area, past a couple of large and obviously chromed bodyguards who stand guard. Near the ceiling you see a small Japanese boy fl oating and translucent, obviously a manifested spirit of some kind. Security is tight, but that’s not surprising considering the superstar in attendance. Down the hall you can see MacCallister talking with Mercurial. He smiles and nods to her, then heads toward your group.
“Hoi chummers!” He calls out. “Thanks for the quick assist with that Duggan character. Much appreciated. If you'll follow me we can get down to business. He motions to a door to your right. Inside is a small room with a table and a handful of chairs around it. It’s a tight squeeze, but you manage to get the entire group inside and sit down. Once the door is closed, the roar of the music and crowd cuts off thanks to soundproof walls.
MacCallister is an older ork, appearing to be in his late 40s. He’s wearing an old, well worn, and oft -patched armored leather jacket, a faded Mercurial t-shirt, and a pair of jeans. Strapped to his left arm is something that looks like a keyboard, a 2050s era cyberdeck, the precursor to the commlink. He doesn’t look much like your average fi xer, but rather looks like a tough old shadowrunner. MacCallister peppers his speech with 2050s era street slang.
Once, everybody is settled around the table. He explains that he needs some runners to fi nd a woman who’s gone missing. He doesn’t have much information for them to go on. Her name is Fiona Craig, she’s an archeologist who just arrived in Seattle last night on a fl ight from Greece, she doesn’t live in Seattle, and she vanished, missing a couple of meetings she was supposed to have today. His employer wants her found ASAP.
“Hoi chummers!” He calls out. “Thanks for the quick assist with that Duggan character. Much appreciated. If you'll follow me we can get down to business. He motions to a door to your right. Inside is a small room with a table and a handful of chairs around it. It’s a tight squeeze, but you manage to get the entire group inside and sit down. Once the door is closed, the roar of the music and crowd cuts off thanks to soundproof walls.
MacCallister is an older ork, appearing to be in his late 40s. He’s wearing an old, well worn, and oft -patched armored leather jacket, a faded Mercurial t-shirt, and a pair of jeans. Strapped to his left arm is something that looks like a keyboard, a 2050s era cyberdeck, the precursor to the commlink. He doesn’t look much like your average fi xer, but rather looks like a tough old shadowrunner. MacCallister peppers his speech with 2050s era street slang.
Once, everybody is settled around the table. He explains that he needs some runners to fi nd a woman who’s gone missing. He doesn’t have much information for them to go on. Her name is Fiona Craig, she’s an archeologist who just arrived in Seattle last night on a fl ight from Greece, she doesn’t live in Seattle, and she vanished, missing a couple of meetings she was supposed to have today. His employer wants her found ASAP.
Mr. White grimaces as the gunman is led away. "Perhaps we should suggest that the plug in those MAD scanners. If Romeo managed to get a pistol in, I can only assume that you're carrying a missile launcher." he says to Gardner.
He follows Cindy to the backstage area, and offers his hand and a card to MacCallister.
While listening to MacCallister, he produces a stylus and takes some notes on his comlink.
Once he is finished speaking, Mr White peppers him with questions, looking for any helpful bits of information that he might have.
"It would be helpful if we could get a photo of Ms. Craig. You said that she arrived last night from Greece, and missed some appointments this morning? Does she know anyone in the city? What was the nature of her business while here? Is there any information about her whereabouts since she arrived, or did she vanish in a puff from the airport terminal - take a taxi from the airport? Had a hotel room booked somewhere?"
He follows Cindy to the backstage area, and offers his hand and a card to MacCallister.
While listening to MacCallister, he produces a stylus and takes some notes on his comlink.
Once he is finished speaking, Mr White peppers him with questions, looking for any helpful bits of information that he might have.
"It would be helpful if we could get a photo of Ms. Craig. You said that she arrived last night from Greece, and missed some appointments this morning? Does she know anyone in the city? What was the nature of her business while here? Is there any information about her whereabouts since she arrived, or did she vanish in a puff from the airport terminal - take a taxi from the airport? Had a hotel room booked somewhere?"
With the situation defused, Gardner tends to the innocents as best he can, but is also happy to have someone come and take things out of his hands.
Once the concert starts it takes him a bit to get into the emotion, but after a song or two he seems to loosen up a bit, he starts to tap his foot. Keeping his emotions restrained particularly when it comes to physical motion seems to be a pretty well ingrained trait for him.
Once the concerts over he'll gratefully follow Cindy to the back room to meet MacCallister. He keeps a wary eye on the manifesting spirit, but lets any suspicion fade as he goes into the meeting room. For the sake of everyone, he enters the room last and just takes a knee near the door.
When things go down to business, Gardner listens carefully, but is surprised by the lack of concrete information.
"I don't know Mac, without more intel, there's no telling what sort of drek she could have gotten into... " Gardner seems genuinely concerned, "I'd really like to help you, but it's definitely going to be a little tough to find this Fiona outta thin air. You don't have anything else of hers maybe? Even a more current photo would help..."
Once the concert starts it takes him a bit to get into the emotion, but after a song or two he seems to loosen up a bit, he starts to tap his foot. Keeping his emotions restrained particularly when it comes to physical motion seems to be a pretty well ingrained trait for him.
Once the concerts over he'll gratefully follow Cindy to the back room to meet MacCallister. He keeps a wary eye on the manifesting spirit, but lets any suspicion fade as he goes into the meeting room. For the sake of everyone, he enters the room last and just takes a knee near the door.
When things go down to business, Gardner listens carefully, but is surprised by the lack of concrete information.
"I don't know Mac, without more intel, there's no telling what sort of drek she could have gotten into... " Gardner seems genuinely concerned, "I'd really like to help you, but it's definitely going to be a little tough to find this Fiona outta thin air. You don't have anything else of hers maybe? Even a more current photo would help..."
MacCallister thanks you all for your time. And escorts you back out to the club proper saying, "Guess I'll let you get to it then.
Already chatting about ideas on what your first steps should be, the group heads over to the coat check to gather any checked items. The clerk is quite courteous and quickly returns with your gear. During the minimal wait time, you do catch wind of something that happened while you were in your meeting with MacCallister. It seems some go-gangers just did a drive by in front of the building. DocWagon is already on the scene treating a number of injuries though thankfully no deaths.
Is it just you or is everyday life just getting worse these days? You might expect this kind of thing in the Barrens, but it seems a bit much that one nightclub in Puyallup has had two violent actions in as many hours. It's sad really. Good thing all of you know how to handle yourselves...
Hoping that this isn't all a bad sign for the job you step outside of the Underworld into the muggy Seattle night. Armed with little more than a name, you leave the crowd and music behind you. Your ears ring in the relative silence of the city night. As you begin to discuss your next steps, you see a well dressed, dark-skinned dwarf casually strolling toward you. When he's about 7 meters away, he stops, holds out his hands, palms out toward your group.
Peace, friends He says with a trace of a Quebecois accent. "I have a job offer for you."
Already chatting about ideas on what your first steps should be, the group heads over to the coat check to gather any checked items. The clerk is quite courteous and quickly returns with your gear. During the minimal wait time, you do catch wind of something that happened while you were in your meeting with MacCallister. It seems some go-gangers just did a drive by in front of the building. DocWagon is already on the scene treating a number of injuries though thankfully no deaths.
Is it just you or is everyday life just getting worse these days? You might expect this kind of thing in the Barrens, but it seems a bit much that one nightclub in Puyallup has had two violent actions in as many hours. It's sad really. Good thing all of you know how to handle yourselves...
Hoping that this isn't all a bad sign for the job you step outside of the Underworld into the muggy Seattle night. Armed with little more than a name, you leave the crowd and music behind you. Your ears ring in the relative silence of the city night. As you begin to discuss your next steps, you see a well dressed, dark-skinned dwarf casually strolling toward you. When he's about 7 meters away, he stops, holds out his hands, palms out toward your group.
Peace, friends He says with a trace of a Quebecois accent. "I have a job offer for you."
Wednesday, 2202 hours, Underworld 93
Custom Commlink: Hidden | SIN: Jerry Hobbes
He kept his hand on the SuperSquirt as the others defused the situation, not taking it off until the gun was taken away from the lunatic with the pistol. Personally, he was just as glad not to have had to use it - those DMSO/Narcojet capsule rounds weren't cheap, and he somehow doubted that the security in the club would take the fact that he had used his chair to smuggle in a weapon of his own very well.
But he was still pissed about his shirt.
As soon as it was over, though, he took his hand off the SuperSquirt and slid the compartment closed, right before security showed up to take the dude away and see to the other victims of the insanity, and shortly thereafter Maria Mercurial took the stage.
That guy, Domingo, had a point. Mercurial wasn't JetBlack by any means, but when the woman was on point, it was always a damn fine show. A free concert and a paying job all in one evening - it didn't get much better.
The rest of the evening passed smoothly - thankfully. He was just waiting for some nutjob to spring out of nowhere to try to attack Mercurial backstage or something.
He let the others suss out the details as he listened, recording the entire proceedings for later review. The lack of information didn't surprise him, really - hell, it would have been suspect if there had been more to go on. If there had been, he and the others wouldn't be needed.
You're getting old and jaded, Hobbes, he thought ruefully. At least you're not getting too overly paranoid. Yet.
He'd definitely decided he could grow to like having the suit around, though. That man could probably talk his way out of a deal with Lucifer, and make the Devil himself think he came out ahead in the process. Sure, it was only an extra 500, but that was 500 he didn't have before.
As they went out to the street, he noted the DocWagons around the club and more than a few injured folks. Gotta start keeping a better eye on the scanner. Not that there was much that could be done. At least no one was seriously hurt, though.
He navigated his chair to a spot that was more or less out of the way of the DocWagons and their personnel, waiting on the others to retrieve their gear and come outside, watching the injured being tended to, remembering when this was the sort of scene - years ago - that he would have been on, when he still worked for the Star.
When he still had the use of his legs.
Stop feeling sorry for yourself, Hobbes. At least you're not totally useless, and besides, this business pays better.
He wheeled over to the others as they emerged from the club, and was just about to suggest they find someplace more private to figure out who was doing what, when the dwarf with his Canadian accent showed up to offer them a job. He kept his instinctive shudder inward - he couldn't stand that accent - and swiveled his chair around to face the man.
"A job, huh? I'm not saying I'm not interested - depending on what kind of work we're talking about, here - but, uh, you always just offer work to some random Joe Blows you run into on the street?"
Custom Commlink: Hidden | SIN: Jerry Hobbes
He kept his hand on the SuperSquirt as the others defused the situation, not taking it off until the gun was taken away from the lunatic with the pistol. Personally, he was just as glad not to have had to use it - those DMSO/Narcojet capsule rounds weren't cheap, and he somehow doubted that the security in the club would take the fact that he had used his chair to smuggle in a weapon of his own very well.
But he was still pissed about his shirt.
As soon as it was over, though, he took his hand off the SuperSquirt and slid the compartment closed, right before security showed up to take the dude away and see to the other victims of the insanity, and shortly thereafter Maria Mercurial took the stage.
That guy, Domingo, had a point. Mercurial wasn't JetBlack by any means, but when the woman was on point, it was always a damn fine show. A free concert and a paying job all in one evening - it didn't get much better.
The rest of the evening passed smoothly - thankfully. He was just waiting for some nutjob to spring out of nowhere to try to attack Mercurial backstage or something.
He let the others suss out the details as he listened, recording the entire proceedings for later review. The lack of information didn't surprise him, really - hell, it would have been suspect if there had been more to go on. If there had been, he and the others wouldn't be needed.
You're getting old and jaded, Hobbes, he thought ruefully. At least you're not getting too overly paranoid. Yet.
He'd definitely decided he could grow to like having the suit around, though. That man could probably talk his way out of a deal with Lucifer, and make the Devil himself think he came out ahead in the process. Sure, it was only an extra 500, but that was 500 he didn't have before.
As they went out to the street, he noted the DocWagons around the club and more than a few injured folks. Gotta start keeping a better eye on the scanner. Not that there was much that could be done. At least no one was seriously hurt, though.
He navigated his chair to a spot that was more or less out of the way of the DocWagons and their personnel, waiting on the others to retrieve their gear and come outside, watching the injured being tended to, remembering when this was the sort of scene - years ago - that he would have been on, when he still worked for the Star.
When he still had the use of his legs.
Stop feeling sorry for yourself, Hobbes. At least you're not totally useless, and besides, this business pays better.
He wheeled over to the others as they emerged from the club, and was just about to suggest they find someplace more private to figure out who was doing what, when the dwarf with his Canadian accent showed up to offer them a job. He kept his instinctive shudder inward - he couldn't stand that accent - and swiveled his chair around to face the man.
"A job, huh? I'm not saying I'm not interested - depending on what kind of work we're talking about, here - but, uh, you always just offer work to some random Joe Blows you run into on the street?"
"Peace, huh?" The Giant plants his staff and leans heavily upon it. His great height affording him the ability to look down upon the dwarf even at this distance. "A novel concept... But until then, what sort of business are we talking?"
Gardner gives a slight smile, but remains wary and ready, not fully trusting the situation.
Gardner gives a slight smile, but remains wary and ready, not fully trusting the situation.
Mr. White chuckles his agreement with Legs, after the small group is approached on the street by the dwarf.
"Who stuck a 'Looking for work' sign on my back?"
He turns to the dwarf. "Perhaps you can tell us more about this job offer." Mr. White glances at the chaos in front of the club, and the busy street. "But right here on the sidewalk is hardly the place. I believe there is a small cafe that offers a bit of privacy just down the block."
"Who stuck a 'Looking for work' sign on my back?"
He turns to the dwarf. "Perhaps you can tell us more about this job offer." Mr. White glances at the chaos in front of the club, and the busy street. "But right here on the sidewalk is hardly the place. I believe there is a small cafe that offers a bit of privacy just down the block."
oops, doublepost.
Taking the group's words for accent for him to approach."No need for that, Friend. This will only take a moment." As the dwarf approaches a slick twist of the wrist brings out a business card which he presents to Mr. White. For those with AR turned on, the card has the blazing emblem of the Atlantean Foundation floating above it. The card itself identifies him as one Laurent Nazair, Executive VP of Operations, Atlantean Foundation - Seattle Office. A commlink code as well as business addres are listed too.
"It has come to my ears that the five of you have an interest that tangental to my own. I'm looking for a certain item last known to be in the hands of a woman that you may have heard of...Ms. Fiona Craig. I have no interest in her myself, but I am very interested in obtaining a certain shard of obsidian she has. We had a meeting planned for earlier today, but alas that was not to be. If you happen to come across this item in your current pursuits. I would be very appreciative of it."
He offers you each 2,000 nuyen for the obsidian shard should you bring it to him.
"It has come to my ears that the five of you have an interest that tangental to my own. I'm looking for a certain item last known to be in the hands of a woman that you may have heard of...Ms. Fiona Craig. I have no interest in her myself, but I am very interested in obtaining a certain shard of obsidian she has. We had a meeting planned for earlier today, but alas that was not to be. If you happen to come across this item in your current pursuits. I would be very appreciative of it."
He offers you each 2,000 nuyen for the obsidian shard should you bring it to him.
"You have very keen ears, friend." says Mr. White, taking the card and handing one of his own to Mr. Nazair.
"Provided this does not conflict with our present task, I think we might be able to accommodate you. Is there anything that we should know about this chunk of rock that you're are so interested in? Certainly it must be somewhat special if you're willing to pay ten thousand nuyen to have it."
"Regardless, we can at least consider your offer."
"Provided this does not conflict with our present task, I think we might be able to accommodate you. Is there anything that we should know about this chunk of rock that you're are so interested in? Certainly it must be somewhat special if you're willing to pay ten thousand nuyen to have it."
"Regardless, we can at least consider your offer."
"I see no reason why this task would interfere with your current endeavor. I understand your employer only has interest in Ms. Craigs safety. I doubt this trinket was even mentioned in your dealings, was it? As to the exact nature of the obsidian, I can't say. Ms. Craig had the idea that the Foundation would be interested in studying it. Thus the meeting we had scheduled this afternoon. Since she failed to show, we have yet to take a look at it. And so I ask you capable men for some assistance. Do we have a deal?
Mr. White waits for the input of his associates, but offers "Then I assume that this obsidian requires no special handling or precautions. As I said, provided it does not conflict with our current task, I believe that we are in agreement. It is worth noting that when I order a pizza, and agree to pay twenty nuyen for it, I assume that it will not arrive with a bite taken out of it. I would likely not pay twenty nuyen for such a pizza. Thus, if we are able to retrieve this item for you and it has negative impact on our other arrangement, I trust we can rely on you to provide adequate compensation."
Wednesday, 7:22; Underworld 93
Hermes Ikon: Hidden | SIN Ivan Mozhayev
Nikolai gives the security staff a baleful look as they escort the shooter away, and nods with Mr. White's opinion of the scanners as he turns his reflexes back to inactive.
Wednesday, 9:30; Underworld 93
Hermes Ikon: Hidden | SIN Ivan Mozhayev
Backstage, he gives an appraising look to the cybered problem-solvers, then grimaces as the spirit's eyes turn red and it glares at him as he walks underneath it. The mundane security either doesn't notice it or is being instructed to let him pass, as they ignore it. He takes his seat in the room and simply listens to the negotiations. Paid to shoot, not to talk. Just as it was back in the Rodina. The job requirements and pay amount is agreed upon, and the new team exits the club.
Wednesday, 10:02; Underworld 93
Hermes Ikon: Hidden | SIN Ivan Mozhayev
Perhaps Mishka should have come along, Nikolai thinks as he exits the club and sees DocWagon putting people on stretchers into vehicles. While he knew that Puyallup was as violent a locale as some of the shitholes he and his company had blown through, he had expected a certain amount of respect for Underworld 93. When the dwarf approached them with a further offer of employment, his eyes narrowed. People are talking that shouldn't be, for this man to know of our business already.
"Trinkets do not cost ¥10,000 paid through black channels from people interested in Atlantis." Nikolai looks at Mr. White. "This man I think plays us for fools."
Hermes Ikon: Hidden | SIN Ivan Mozhayev
Nikolai gives the security staff a baleful look as they escort the shooter away, and nods with Mr. White's opinion of the scanners as he turns his reflexes back to inactive.
Wednesday, 9:30; Underworld 93
Hermes Ikon: Hidden | SIN Ivan Mozhayev
Backstage, he gives an appraising look to the cybered problem-solvers, then grimaces as the spirit's eyes turn red and it glares at him as he walks underneath it. The mundane security either doesn't notice it or is being instructed to let him pass, as they ignore it. He takes his seat in the room and simply listens to the negotiations. Paid to shoot, not to talk. Just as it was back in the Rodina. The job requirements and pay amount is agreed upon, and the new team exits the club.
Wednesday, 10:02; Underworld 93
Hermes Ikon: Hidden | SIN Ivan Mozhayev
Perhaps Mishka should have come along, Nikolai thinks as he exits the club and sees DocWagon putting people on stretchers into vehicles. While he knew that Puyallup was as violent a locale as some of the shitholes he and his company had blown through, he had expected a certain amount of respect for Underworld 93. When the dwarf approached them with a further offer of employment, his eyes narrowed. People are talking that shouldn't be, for this man to know of our business already.
"Trinkets do not cost ¥10,000 paid through black channels from people interested in Atlantis." Nikolai looks at Mr. White. "This man I think plays us for fools."
Still leaning upon his staff in a seemingly casual manner, Gardner listens to what the dwarf has to say. He has been in this sort of situation before, and he seems completely unfazed when Corp Exec seems to know their biz.
With Nikolai's comment, he raises one hand as he looks back at the Russian, alarmed. Then he recovers his composure and reaches down to rest his hand on Mr. White's shoulder, "I think for now we can take Mr. ... Nazaire's offer in good faith. We can assess the situation best when we have everything in hand."
Having needed to look over Mr. White's shoulder at the card to confirm the man's name, Gardner looks back up at the dwarf before he continues, "You wouldn't happen to have a picture of this shard, perhaps even one assuring that Ms. Craig truly possesses it?"
With Nikolai's comment, he raises one hand as he looks back at the Russian, alarmed. Then he recovers his composure and reaches down to rest his hand on Mr. White's shoulder, "I think for now we can take Mr. ... Nazaire's offer in good faith. We can assess the situation best when we have everything in hand."
Having needed to look over Mr. White's shoulder at the card to confirm the man's name, Gardner looks back up at the dwarf before he continues, "You wouldn't happen to have a picture of this shard, perhaps even one assuring that Ms. Craig truly possesses it?"
Mr. White looks at the picture of the rock, and weighs the words of the dwarf.
He confers with this associates, and unless there is objection, he tells the dwarf, "Very well. We will work to get this piece of obsidian to you."
He confers with this associates, and unless there is objection, he tells the dwarf, "Very well. We will work to get this piece of obsidian to you."
"Merci. I trust this task will be of little trouble to the likes of you gentlemen. I look forward to your call. Adieu." With that Laurent gives you all a slight bow and leaves to a car waiting a short distance away.
Wednesday, 2208 hours, Underworld 93
Custom Commlink: Hidden | SIN: Jerry Hobbes
So that was two job offers in a night? Who was this woman, and why did everyone want her - or what she had - so badly?
Not that he was complaining - two jobs, inter-related, in one night, and 5500 upon completion for the both of them? Not bad at all - that would pay for a few months rent with change left to spare. It was an effort for him to not shoot a look at the big Russian and tell him to shut his pie-hole, but he managed it.
As the dwarf walked off, he looked around at the others, a grin spreading over his features. "Well, my new associates, it looks like we have some work to do."
He took a moment to access his commlink's AR interface, sending off a message to his contact with Lone Star to see if she could dig up any info on this girl Fiona, then accessing the RoadMaster's command interface via the Matrix to instruct it to pull itself around to the front of the building. The crowd looked like it had thinned out enough that it should be able to get in without too much trouble.
It didn't take long for the message from Erin to come back. <<Never heard of this chick. Is she cute?>>
He grinned to himself, shaking his head. You'd think jealousy wouldn't be a factor...last time we hopped into bed was at least six months ago. So much for keeping it casual.
He shot off a return message. <<She's alright, but she ain't got nothing on you, sweetheart. Besides, it's business, not personal. But thanks for trying, anyway.>>
By the time he sent the message, he could hear the distinctive rumble of the transport's diesel, and he looked around just in time to see the RoadMaster come to a sedate halt nearby. Looking around at the others, he flashed them another grin.
"So, who needs a ride? I think I got room for everyone..." He looked towards Gardner with a doubtful expression. "...but you might have to sit in the cargo area. I'm not sure my seats can take your weight, big guy."
Custom Commlink: Hidden | SIN: Jerry Hobbes
So that was two job offers in a night? Who was this woman, and why did everyone want her - or what she had - so badly?
Not that he was complaining - two jobs, inter-related, in one night, and 5500 upon completion for the both of them? Not bad at all - that would pay for a few months rent with change left to spare. It was an effort for him to not shoot a look at the big Russian and tell him to shut his pie-hole, but he managed it.
As the dwarf walked off, he looked around at the others, a grin spreading over his features. "Well, my new associates, it looks like we have some work to do."
He took a moment to access his commlink's AR interface, sending off a message to his contact with Lone Star to see if she could dig up any info on this girl Fiona, then accessing the RoadMaster's command interface via the Matrix to instruct it to pull itself around to the front of the building. The crowd looked like it had thinned out enough that it should be able to get in without too much trouble.
It didn't take long for the message from Erin to come back. <<Never heard of this chick. Is she cute?>>
He grinned to himself, shaking his head. You'd think jealousy wouldn't be a factor...last time we hopped into bed was at least six months ago. So much for keeping it casual.
He shot off a return message. <<She's alright, but she ain't got nothing on you, sweetheart. Besides, it's business, not personal. But thanks for trying, anyway.>>
By the time he sent the message, he could hear the distinctive rumble of the transport's diesel, and he looked around just in time to see the RoadMaster come to a sedate halt nearby. Looking around at the others, he flashed them another grin.
"So, who needs a ride? I think I got room for everyone..." He looked towards Gardner with a doubtful expression. "...but you might have to sit in the cargo area. I'm not sure my seats can take your weight, big guy."
Gardner smirks as he walks up to the back door of truck. "That'll be just fine, thanks. I appreciate the ride," he opens the door, "and the wider doors."
Gardner climbs into the transport careful to put his weight on slowly and then move up so that he is between the axles if he can. He tries to get comfortable while still being close to the other passengers.
Gardner climbs into the transport careful to put his weight on slowly and then move up so that he is between the axles if he can. He tries to get comfortable while still being close to the other passengers.
Wednesday, 10:10pm, outside Underworld 93
Hermes Ikon: Hidden | SIN Ivan Mozhayev
Nikolai nods approvingly as the mechanical behemoth rolls up. "No flash, all business. Like what Spetzgruppa Alfa uses back home." He looks at Legs. "I could use a ride, I am tired of autocabs."
He takes a seat in the Roadmaster after Gardner gets in, and uses the time as everyone gets situated to reconnect to the Viper's smartlink. A small smile touches the corner of his lips as the familiar warmth spreads from the concealed holster and the ammunition and barrel integrity information springs into his vision. He dismisses the targeting reticle for the time being, then opens an AR window and fires off an e-mail to Ms.Ching.
<< @Ms.Ching: Thank you for sending this work my way, I have taken the job and am hoping you have might have more information than my employer has. I am supposed to find one Fiona Craig, an archaeologist recently working in Greece who has disappeared before meeting a client here in Seattle. Has anything on her passed through your attention recently? >>
Hermes Ikon: Hidden | SIN Ivan Mozhayev
Nikolai nods approvingly as the mechanical behemoth rolls up. "No flash, all business. Like what Spetzgruppa Alfa uses back home." He looks at Legs. "I could use a ride, I am tired of autocabs."
He takes a seat in the Roadmaster after Gardner gets in, and uses the time as everyone gets situated to reconnect to the Viper's smartlink. A small smile touches the corner of his lips as the familiar warmth spreads from the concealed holster and the ammunition and barrel integrity information springs into his vision. He dismisses the targeting reticle for the time being, then opens an AR window and fires off an e-mail to Ms.Ching.
<< @Ms.Ching: Thank you for sending this work my way, I have taken the job and am hoping you have might have more information than my employer has. I am supposed to find one Fiona Craig, an archaeologist recently working in Greece who has disappeared before meeting a client here in Seattle. Has anything on her passed through your attention recently? >>
Wednesday, 10:10pm, outside Underworld 93
Custom Commlink: Hidden | SIN: Ricardo L. Corinthian
CMT-Clip: Passive | SIN: Domingo Alvarez
The concert was classic Mercurial, aka a damn fine show in Quixote's opinion. The job offer seemed like the norm from his point of view. Johnsons who had all the details rarely needed a runner, and if they did it was because they were probably looking to set up a double cross. The "chance" meeting with the dwarf was fortuitous, but it definitely raised the hair on Quixote's neck a bit. Gonna have to watch that one I think. Retrieving an unknown object of unknown value for a person who was told by another person they might be interested in it...something smells fishy. But a nuyen's a nuyen I guess.
As the Roadmaster pulls up, Quixote grins and remarks, "Sure beats walking, that thing. And, y'know Legs, one of these days you should let me take a look at your ride there. Might be able to set up a hidden catapult arm for your chair there or something and send you flying through the air in an expeditious fashion to get away from anything chasing you that's about taken the Roadmaster out. And then if we added gecko-grip tires to it, and maybe a few rockets..." When the doors open, Quixote gives the interior a quick look before deciding on taking the passenger seat up front. It looked the most comfortable, and more importantly, it allowed him to give a running commentary to the fellow tech-head sitting next to him. Even if he preferred to view the world from a drone, all good riggers had a little bit of a wannabe hacker inside of them.
"Alright, so, I'm thinking that while you're driving us over to Sea-Tac, I'm gonna go ahead and start trying to worm my way into their systems and see if I can get us some leads to work with before we get there. Save White back there," he waves his hand in reference to the fast-talking human, "from having to walk the whole damn airport looking for people that might know something. So...let's see..." even with the DNI that just needs mental commands to make things happen, Quixote's hands still move through the air in front of his face as he loads up his usual forceful entry toolbox and starts flicking through menus with an inhuman quickness. "Analyze...browse...disarm for the pesky system programs...decrypt and encrypt just in case...and of course exploit and her best friend the lovely lady stealth. That should do the trick for now, and I can load Mr. Edit up later on if I need to fuzz the cameras at the airport." Menus collapsing to the sides of his vision, Quixote logs into the Sea-Tac node and looks around. Huh, not as hard to get into as I would've thought it might be, though this is more of an entry area I guess. I'm sure if I wanted to try and book a ticket somewhere nice, things would start getting a lot less nice real fast.
"Ugh, you should see this place Legs. All clean and white and spotless...some dumb wage-slaves vision of what the perfect airport is, I'd bet. Shame, I rather like the real thing a lot more. If I get the chance, might have to engage in a little re-sculpting for them before I log out for good. Business first, I know, and it's kind of a little kid trick, but still...you just gotta see it, it's awful. But...wow. Hot stewardess. I might have to meet the guy that did this node after all and compare notes with him, he definitely has the jiggle factor nailed. Of course you can be of service to me lil' lady, let me just make sure you recognize me for the VIP that I am and...yeah, that's right, smile that big smile for me. And now...let's just get rid of any pesky system analyzing on me for good measure...huh. Think she felt that, not looking quite so friendly anymore. Guess I'd better check for an alert real quick..." Hands moving with a lazy grace, Quixote manipulates something in his vision and waits for the results.
"Damn, looks like she is suspicious. Okay then, time to load up Mr. Edit and see if he can tickle her back into submission and...FRAG! Stupid lucky fragging node, it jumped then when I loaded edit and is sending IC at me. Fine, you wanna play, let's play slitch..."
Custom Commlink: Hidden | SIN: Ricardo L. Corinthian
CMT-Clip: Passive | SIN: Domingo Alvarez
The concert was classic Mercurial, aka a damn fine show in Quixote's opinion. The job offer seemed like the norm from his point of view. Johnsons who had all the details rarely needed a runner, and if they did it was because they were probably looking to set up a double cross. The "chance" meeting with the dwarf was fortuitous, but it definitely raised the hair on Quixote's neck a bit. Gonna have to watch that one I think. Retrieving an unknown object of unknown value for a person who was told by another person they might be interested in it...something smells fishy. But a nuyen's a nuyen I guess.
As the Roadmaster pulls up, Quixote grins and remarks, "Sure beats walking, that thing. And, y'know Legs, one of these days you should let me take a look at your ride there. Might be able to set up a hidden catapult arm for your chair there or something and send you flying through the air in an expeditious fashion to get away from anything chasing you that's about taken the Roadmaster out. And then if we added gecko-grip tires to it, and maybe a few rockets..." When the doors open, Quixote gives the interior a quick look before deciding on taking the passenger seat up front. It looked the most comfortable, and more importantly, it allowed him to give a running commentary to the fellow tech-head sitting next to him. Even if he preferred to view the world from a drone, all good riggers had a little bit of a wannabe hacker inside of them.
"Alright, so, I'm thinking that while you're driving us over to Sea-Tac, I'm gonna go ahead and start trying to worm my way into their systems and see if I can get us some leads to work with before we get there. Save White back there," he waves his hand in reference to the fast-talking human, "from having to walk the whole damn airport looking for people that might know something. So...let's see..." even with the DNI that just needs mental commands to make things happen, Quixote's hands still move through the air in front of his face as he loads up his usual forceful entry toolbox and starts flicking through menus with an inhuman quickness. "Analyze...browse...disarm for the pesky system programs...decrypt and encrypt just in case...and of course exploit and her best friend the lovely lady stealth. That should do the trick for now, and I can load Mr. Edit up later on if I need to fuzz the cameras at the airport." Menus collapsing to the sides of his vision, Quixote logs into the Sea-Tac node and looks around. Huh, not as hard to get into as I would've thought it might be, though this is more of an entry area I guess. I'm sure if I wanted to try and book a ticket somewhere nice, things would start getting a lot less nice real fast.
"Ugh, you should see this place Legs. All clean and white and spotless...some dumb wage-slaves vision of what the perfect airport is, I'd bet. Shame, I rather like the real thing a lot more. If I get the chance, might have to engage in a little re-sculpting for them before I log out for good. Business first, I know, and it's kind of a little kid trick, but still...you just gotta see it, it's awful. But...wow. Hot stewardess. I might have to meet the guy that did this node after all and compare notes with him, he definitely has the jiggle factor nailed. Of course you can be of service to me lil' lady, let me just make sure you recognize me for the VIP that I am and...yeah, that's right, smile that big smile for me. And now...let's just get rid of any pesky system analyzing on me for good measure...huh. Think she felt that, not looking quite so friendly anymore. Guess I'd better check for an alert real quick..." Hands moving with a lazy grace, Quixote manipulates something in his vision and waits for the results.
"Damn, looks like she is suspicious. Okay then, time to load up Mr. Edit and see if he can tickle her back into submission and...FRAG! Stupid lucky fragging node, it jumped then when I loaded edit and is sending IC at me. Fine, you wanna play, let's play slitch..."
Wednesday, 22:11 hours, Underworld 93
Elektra Elite : Hidden | SIN: Harvey White
Mr. White climbs into the Roadmaster with a thanks to its owner. Once inside, he settles into a seat and fastens the safety harness. He flips open his commlink and browses through the digital rolodex. He rides quietly as Quixote does his work in the matrix, while considering various avenues to search.
Elektra Elite : Hidden | SIN: Harvey White
Mr. White climbs into the Roadmaster with a thanks to its owner. Once inside, he settles into a seat and fastens the safety harness. He flips open his commlink and browses through the digital rolodex. He rides quietly as Quixote does his work in the matrix, while considering various avenues to search.
Wednesday, 10:11pm, inside the Legs-mobile
Custom Commlink: Hidden | SIN: Ricardo L. Corinthian
CMT-Clip: Passive | SIN: Domingo Alvarez
Quixote breathes a sigh of relief through his nose as he watches the incompetent pilot IC hit first the node itself, and then the connection to the system's other nodes with his trace. Gonna have to fuzz the logs for sure after that, and I wanna know what the frag his trace was loaded with because that's the damned oddest thing I've ever seen... After the pilot decides to leave him alone, Quixote grins as he has the lovely stewardess track down the information on Fiona for him. Pleased with himself, he downloads a copy of her passport to his link and calls over his shoulder, "Hey boys, got a recent pic and confirmation that she did arrive on time with her flight. Thinking I might go poking into their security node to see if I can get some footage or something. Or I can try checking the cabs and rental car companies for any trace of her commlink or SIN. Thoughts?"
Custom Commlink: Hidden | SIN: Ricardo L. Corinthian
CMT-Clip: Passive | SIN: Domingo Alvarez
Quixote breathes a sigh of relief through his nose as he watches the incompetent pilot IC hit first the node itself, and then the connection to the system's other nodes with his trace. Gonna have to fuzz the logs for sure after that, and I wanna know what the frag his trace was loaded with because that's the damned oddest thing I've ever seen... After the pilot decides to leave him alone, Quixote grins as he has the lovely stewardess track down the information on Fiona for him. Pleased with himself, he downloads a copy of her passport to his link and calls over his shoulder, "Hey boys, got a recent pic and confirmation that she did arrive on time with her flight. Thinking I might go poking into their security node to see if I can get some footage or something. Or I can try checking the cabs and rental car companies for any trace of her commlink or SIN. Thoughts?"
Gardner leans over the back seat to glance over Domingo's shoulder, "I can't think of anything we'd need from the airport, unless she never left it. The cab company, or however she left would have a better idea of where she was headed, right?" Gardner reaches over with a massive hand and makes a grasping motion, "you mind if I get a look at that newer picture? I might be able to ask the spirits help us find her once we have a better idea where we should start looking. And a newer picture might make it simpler, you'd be surprised how much even a haircut can confuse some magics."
Wednesday, 10:11pm, in Legs' Roadmaster
Hermes Ikon: Hidden | SIN Ivan Mozhayev
<< @TundraWolf [Ms.Ching]: Perhaps a call to the local transportation providers would aid you in your search? *laugh* Very little doesn't pass through my attention, but I confess that Ms. Craig has not. Though I know someone who possibly would know more, if my (discounted for good past work) finder's fee is met. >>
Nikolai cocks his head a little as he listens to Quixote's play-by-play. Jiggle factor? Note to self: research this later.
"Hacking an international aiport's security...is this necessary? With her SIN, the cab companies might be less likely to bring down heavy fire on us."
<< @Ms.Ching: Of course, nothing worthwhile is ever free. [fund transfer: ¥250, authorization •••••-•-••] >>
Hermes Ikon: Hidden | SIN Ivan Mozhayev
<< @TundraWolf [Ms.Ching]: Perhaps a call to the local transportation providers would aid you in your search? *laugh* Very little doesn't pass through my attention, but I confess that Ms. Craig has not. Though I know someone who possibly would know more, if my (discounted for good past work) finder's fee is met. >>
Nikolai cocks his head a little as he listens to Quixote's play-by-play. Jiggle factor? Note to self: research this later.
"Hacking an international aiport's security...is this necessary? With her SIN, the cab companies might be less likely to bring down heavy fire on us."
<< @Ms.Ching: Of course, nothing worthwhile is ever free. [fund transfer: ¥250, authorization •••••-•-••] >>
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