Thursday, March 4, 2060. 10:00 am

It was raining in Seattle. The rain was much harder than it usual, with a torrential downpour of water pounding the old sidewalks of the city, letting off a sound that people on the street had to shout over. A film buff standing on the street looking at all the gutterpunks and other people running for cover might wonder if this was the 'rain to wash all the scum off the streets' that Travis Bickle had been talking about. Someone more religiously inclined might liken it back to the flood, killing off the unworthy and sinful. A Norseman might believe it to be the age of murder and storm, the Ragnarok that was to be the twilight of the age of man. And a regular person might just think it was raining really fragging hard.

Stitch was sitting in his nice apartment, watching the rain streak down his windows, when his vid phone starts rining. On the line is Brass.

"Hey, what's up Stitch? I've got a nice job lined up for you. Call up your friends, an' come meet me at T-Ray's shop. I'll tell you about it, an' we'll see if you're interested.", he says, to the point, like always.

T-Ray's auto shop is really just a front for Brass's dealings. It's not far away, but the rain complicates matters.

Stitch's lips quirk up in a mellow smile as he takes the message from Brass. "All right, Brass. We'll all see you in a bit. Thanks." He stands up and stretches, then finishes his imported lager with a few swallows.

The pasta he was nibbling on goes back in the fridge, as Stitch calls his fellow runners. While he knows they are all looking for the next job, just like he is, not all of them are that pleased at the prospect of braving the downpour to reach T-Ray's.

Then he ambles to the bathroom to clean himself up a bit. He's not going to dress up just to pop by T-Ray's, but he's going to be fresh and clean-shaven at least. He inwardly winces as he looks at the howling dowpour outside. Days like this, his Ulysses Coat is his most treasured possession.

Stitch heads out to T-Ray's, slightly hunched over against the howling wind. The few other people out in this freakish weather are dashing and cursing, but despite himself another smile flits across Stitch's face. There's something exhilirating about such a raw expression of nature. Bemused, he switches his vision to astral, watching the kaliedoscope of colors as the rain is reflected on the astral plane. He shakes himself out of his reverie as he arrives at T-Ray's.

Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, and stumbling across the room Zeke answers his phone. "Hola, hey Stitch... T-Rays huh, MMmm how I love the smell of Oil in the morning, Ok see you soon."

Throwing on his Formfitting Half suit, some street clothes, and his long coat. Zeke looks in the mirror checking to make sure his Armor is not to obvious. Then slipping his Cougar Blades up his sleaves, and His Colt Manhunters into his Concealed Shoulder Holsters. Adjusting his coat one last time he looks to the window, "Looks like a nice day to take a walk."

Thinking to himself that the old saying in seattle that 'the only people who carry umbrellas are tourists." What I wouldn't give to be a tourist today.

Kat lets loose a string of curses which would (and actually has on more than one occasion) cause a sailor to blush. There's nothing particularly malicious in it, save for the generalized hatred she inflicts upon the entire world when she is awakened before noon. A night of hard drinking had landed her in some guy's apartment. He was still passed out as she grumbled her disdain to Stitch over her cellphone. Nevertheless, she found her pants and most of her clothes before dragging herself too far out of bed. She was midly amazed that she'd managed to keep her credstick and her piece the night before, since she'd started in Touristville and appeared to have ended up somewhere on the 206.

Rubbing grogginly at her cybereyes, she stumbled into the guy's kitchen. She tried the water but thought better of the brownish liquid which came oozing out of the faucet. His fridge didn't look much better, but a cabinet search turned up a warm Fizzy-goo and half a box of NutraSoy Energy Cakes™. She wolfed it all down, calming the nauseating lurch in her stomach. Some of her augmentations made her extreemly hungry, and she figured she'd more than earned it the night before.

Ten minutes later, with the food supply in the apartment exhausted and the nameless slot she'd spent a few hot, sweaty moments with the night before still unconcious, she stumbled out the door and down to the street. Groggily, she tried to remember where she'd left her car the night before, but as best she could guess, it was back at her apartment and she had, wisely, taken the tube out partying. She stretched to relieve the tension in her back, but her augmented and coated joints refused to give her the pop and crack that would have made the guesture seem more definitive. She looked, bleary eyed, out into the pelting rain and, sighing, set out in it. She'd have to walk quite a while to find a tube entrance, and boosting a car didn't seem worth the hassel. Not if she had work coming down.

Perhaps an hour later, she stumbled, still somewhat disoriented out of her apartment. She'd managed to grab a quick shower, though she hasn't been able to do much with her hair aside from cram it into a ponytail. She'd gotten some descent armor on, as well.

Eyeing the rain, she decided that driving wouldn't be in her best intersts and took the tube for the trip to T-Ray's.

Reth glanced down as his pocket secretary rang softly in that different tune he'd selected for his other work. He had already been up for some time and listened as Stitch gave him the rundown. He paused to check his highly fashionable appearance in the mirror before snagging a pair of sunglasses and pocketing his sec on the way out the door.

He waved to several other people he knew before heading down to the bus stop. He shivered slightly as the Seattle breeze blew through his long coat. Seattle weather left a lot to be desired in his opinion. He settled into the bus to take the trip over, walking when the bus got him close enough.

Traz,grabbed his cellphone nanoseconds after the first ring.His jacked up reflexes were something he had never fully gotten used to.He had been low on nuyen(as always) and was hoping it might be some work coming his way.*Hoi,Chummer*.The familiar voice of Stitch assured him it was.*T-Ray's?Sure,I'll be there in two shakes of a dead lambs tail.*

He quickly flipped his trid to the local weather forecast.Bob,the weatherman,confirmed what Traz had expected*Fraggin' rain.*At time's like these he wished that he had more than just his bikes.He sure as drek wasn't taking any public transportation though.No place for a chromed up orc.

He wondered briefly about the job and how much nuyen was going to be involved as he nestled his Glock into it's holster.Throwing on his lined coat he juggled his soykaf from one hand to the other spilling droplets on his boots below.

He locked up his apartment and quickly made his walk to the bike.Cursing as the rain pummeled his face and mirrored cybereyes.He kickstarted the big hog and revved up the engine.Nothing sounded better.He roared off towards T-Ray's,and the run ahead

Mech smiled. This would be the first run since he finished building his walker. He hoped it would involve some combat, preferably outdoors. It was time for a test-drive.

Cleaver was relaxing at home when the call came. His mind ran over the checklist of things he would need to do before the meet. He got out his guns, field-stripped them, and oiled and polished each one. Then he put clips into them and worked the slides by hand, cycling a hundred rounds through each gun's bullet chamber to ensure that they wouldn't jam. After that, he did some stretching excercises and tested out each of his implants. Another run, another paycheck.

What seemed like a bad rain to be caught in from the window, is a rain that you'd have to be fraggin' mental to go out in from the street. Stitch, Reth, Zeke, Kat, and Mech arrive outside of T-Ray's at roughly the same time. A buzzing neon sign reading 'T-Ray's Auto and Body Shop' is hanging precariously over the ramshackle old warehouse, and illuminates the rain around it, giving it a blurry pink aura.

Traz's bike roars around the corner, dispersing a trio of go-gangers and causing one to lay his bike down. You can barely hear the obscenities he screams as he picks it back up and screeches off, his back tire spraying a fine mist and his tail lights glowing red as he disappears around the same corner to join his mates.

Traz slows and turns his bike ninety degrees, sloshing to a stop in front of the shop's rusted metal roll-door.

Cleaver appears from out of the grey fog and rain like some ominous portent of doom, stalking his way over to the front of the shop with the others.

The door swings open, and T-Ray pokes his dreadlocked head out.

"Oh, 'sup guys?", he says tiredly, smiling and revealing his mouthful of dented silver teeth.

"Brass is in 'ere", he adds, cocking his head back. He steps back to let you all in, then shuts the door behind you. You spot Brass standing next to some twisted slab of ex-car that several men are working on. It's hard to miss him, what with his spotless designer suit so blindingly out of place with the general filth of this shop. Brass turns around and makes his way towards you, his brass peg clanking against the cement floor with every other step. God that's annoying.

"Hey there Stitch and crew!", he says jovially, reaching out and shaking Stitch's hand vigorously. "How are things? How are you all?"

The set of flats Kat had picked up at the vending machine before heading out of her 'plex had almost disintegrated by the time she got to T-Ray's. She shucks them as she catches sight of others heading for T-Ray's. The rest of the walk wouldn't be enough for the acid rain to eat into her threads too much, and she was soaked to the bone anyway.

"Hoi," she said in response to the greeting, "You goin' to let us the frag inside or wat?"

She slinks through the door, looking all too much like a soaked feline. She runs a hand through her soggy, stringy hair and grimaces as she lets herself drip dry. Her armored coat took the brunt of the soaking, but her face is flushed from the acidic moisture. She looks like she's not in the best of moods.

Cleaver silently walks inside and takes a seat.

Mech rolls around in The Pimpmobile, a modified GMC Bulldog. Rolling down the street dangerously fast, he comes to a screetching halt in one of the parking spaces, a feat which only a good rigger could accomplish, and only a crazy one would want to do.

Mech hops out of his car and hits the beeper, activating the vehicle's beefed-up security system. He eagerly saunters into the joint, fairly brimming with excitement. "We got a job? Dangerous, fun, fast-paced job? You gotta see my new toy guys!"

Zeke strolls casually across the street in an unhurried manner which suggests that he might actually be enjoying the rain. Pausing briefly at the door to scan the street, he smiles and continues inside. Shaking the majority of the rain from his long coat, he says "Ah that wonderful Seattle weather..." Nodding slightly to the rest of the team he then focuses his attention on the rest of the room, looking at each individual in the room with a practiced scan tell finally his gaze rests on Brass and Stitch shaking hands...

Reth wanders in, shaking water from his long coat. He pauses to wring the water out of his black ponytail before shedding the long coat and heading toward the back. He doesn't bother to remove the long coat but nods to the others, his intense green eyes taking in what was happening.

His eyes went out of focus, indicating to anyone who knew about such things that he was scanning the astral. He nodded to the others and moved to lean against a wall out of the way but yet in sight and hearing distance of everything.

Kat gives Mech a look. "Your new toy a hair drier? Cuz that's what I'm intersted in about now." She shakes and water slides off of her body in a multitude of droplets. It actually seems to be steaming away from her skin in some places.

Traz entered the room and made his way toward the sound of Brass's voice.The smell of oil and gasoline permeated the humid air.He looked up to see Brass grasping Stitch,s hand.

Traz removed his coat as he neared a vacant chair simultaneously nodding to each of the team.His coat was soaked,and random spots of wetness had worked their way onto his tanktop and pants.He was thankful he had spent the time waterproofing his boots earlier that week.

Traz noticed Reth leaning against the wall.His soaked ponytail clinging to his neck.He wondered briefly how Reth saw him on the astral plan.As much ware as his meat body could take,his aura was sure to disgust most mages.

His eyes shifted to Kat looking disgusted as ever.She was as soaked as he was and clearly unhappy about it.She was attempting to wring out her soaked hair.Her fluid movement had always impressed him.He guessed that her cyberware was a higher grade than his own although he would never admit it.She was young,but a true asset to the team.

Mech smirked at him looking as dry as ever as Zeke looked content and unaware of the water covering his coat.Traz knew Zeke had spent some time in the military,and to him,that explained any eccentricities he might have.

The seat next to him was occupied byCleaver .The name said it all.He wondered what the ork did on his free time.He pictured him in a small room carrying on conversations with his guns.A different name for each.Maybe studying anatomy books to be a more efficient killer.

Finally his eyes came to rest along with his attention to Brass and the Shaman Stitch .

"Couldn't be better, Brass." Stitch shakes the dwarf's hand, smiling warmly.

"It has been a bit slow lately, though. So why don't you tell us all about this job? It sounded like it could be an interesting one." With most people, Stitch would make more small talk. But he knows that Brass likes to get the business taken care of first. Not to mention his teammates - some of them are a tad bit on the impatient side, and the torrential downpour probably didn't improve their mood any.

Brass goes over to a ratty L-shaped couch sitting against one of the walls. He sits down, his comically short legs barely sticking out from the front.

"Right, the job.", Brass says, grin as big as ever. "Buddy 'a mine, Bomber Weasel. Guy runs a merc squad out of the basement of a nightclub. Seems he needs a team of runners to find someone for 'im. That's about as much as he told me. He wants you to come talk to him if you're interested."

"The nightclub is called Drag's Hole, maybe you've been there, maybe not.", he says, looking particularly at Kat.

"Anyway, the place doesn't open until six o'clock, so if you're interested, you've got some time to kill."

Kat nods. "I know the place. Kind of tame, but not bad if you've got an itch to dance." She shrugs and stretches, her augmented joints making no sound as she does so. "I'm game, if you guys are."

Zeke rubs a hand across his short blond hair, thinking that if its a place Kat thinks is tame then its pretty rough. Turning toward the door he says over his shoulder "I'm in, just call me with the address and I'll be there."

Traz hadn't heard of Drag's hole,but Kat's reaction along with the name assured him it was a dive.He figured the time between now and the meet was ample time to grab something to eat.*So,anyone hungry?*He made sure to look directly at Mech hoping he may offer his Bulldog as shield from the rain.

Before Zeke can leave, Kat rattles off directions for him. "Leather's a good look for the place. And chains. You'll blend right in." It might become apparent that Kat has her very own definition of tame which might not match that of anyone else's.

She gives Traz an appraising look, as though sizing him up. "Yeah. I'm always hungry."

*How about the Barricade out on Interstate 5?I'd sell my soul for a good steak*The thought of a real steak made Traz's mouth salivate.He hadn't eaten since the day before,and his stomach was starting to complain.

*Maybe you could show me that new toy,Mech?*He hoped to entice the dwarf into driving with a show of interest in the rigger's new gadgets.

"Yeah, steak's good. You buying?" she asks, giving him a look that says, without words, You want to buy this girl a steak. A nice juicy steak.

Brass hands Zeke a glossy black matchbook. The logo on the front is a stylized demon skull with a gold D in the forehead. On the inside flap is a small map and the address.

"Great! I'll call him and tell 'im he's got a team.", Brass says, shaking hands with Zeke.

Shaking Brass's hand Zeke thinks to himself that its time to go home and clean all his gear, considering that he is planning to find a nice Sniper point covering the club, for the off chance that things go bad. Walking out the door he looks back and says "Thanks Brass."

Zeke strolls through the rain, enjoying the white noise created by the massive downpour, its as if the rest of the world fades away leaving only a lonely traveller and his two feet. The comforting weight of his weapons... a reminder of the violent life he has chosen. No family, No Love, No Safety Only a room full of Shadowrunners... The tears come, and he doesn't try to stop them he only wanders vaguely in the direction of home...

Reth simply listened quietly and nodded in agreement when the job offer came across.

"Drag's Hole, eh? Well, that's one thing about 'running... you always meet such interesting people. I guess I'll have time to change into something more grungy and gothy before we head down there." Stitch waves goodbye and, after getting the address from Zeke, nonchalantly heads back out into the rain. Actually, he wouldn't mind heading down to the Barricade himself, but if he caught the subtext of that conversation, three would definitely be a crowd.

As he walks home, this time he barely notices the rain. He is busy mentally preparing for the meeting. He figures he'll wear that black tank top etched with silvery circuitry symbols in holofoil ink - better than risking a shirt that might have last week's band on it, and it'll show off his tattoo. And those black jeans and workboots - he was going to throw them out, they were getting ratty, but they'll be perfect for this venue. He'd better take his old cheap transparent parka, though. No way his expensive Ulysses Coat would fit in a grungy dive. Idly, he wonders about any kind of merc band that works out of a nightclub basement. Brass vouches for them, though, so he's not too worried. It'll be nice to be working with the whole crew again, too, after the last few little odd jobs he did.

Thursday, March 4, 2060. 6:30 pm.

All of you conclude with your daily activities. Steak at the Barricade was delicious, and all your guns are in working order. Fortunately, the rain has thinned to a drizzle by now, and the Seattle nightlife is just starting now that the sun is going down.

Appearing outside of Drag's Hole all dressed in your various club outfits, you all notice that maybe at some point it was a nice place, but now it is indeed, a dive. A rather large dive, though, as the building is much two stories tall, and quite wide. A large red neon sign reading Drag's Hole hangs over the double doors that must be the entrance. A wooden pole outside the doors has various flyers for a multitude of concerts stapled onto it. Most striking however, is a spiky haired club patron with broken limbs being loaded onto an ambulance directly outside the place. Tame, indeed.

You pay the 10 cover charge, and make it inside the club. The place is an assault on all five senses. The loud music, the smell of sweat so thick in the air you can taste it, too, the lights, and the constant press of people against you. The floor is packed with neo-punks all hitting each other. They probably aren't even listening to the crappy cover of the Sex Pistol's Holiday in the Sun. It appears the way to the bar is through the floor. Must be some kind of wuss filter. With Traz, Cleaver, and Zeke leading the way, however, you make it through quite easily, and the men seem to enjoy punching people out of the way. Cleaver smacks a mohawked elf in the side of the head, sending him sprawling to the ground and removing the final obstacle to the bar. A rather large and bald human with tatoos of tribal streaks on the side of his head looks at you.

"What'll it be?"

Zeke smiles at the man and says "I'd like a Bomber Weasel, I think thats two shots of Tequila, in a half full Corona with a dirty glass."

Kat stopped by her place to change into something more appropriate. And appropriate it turns out to be. She's clad from head to toe in fishnets, leather, and spikes. On the way through the club, she doesn't hesitate to throw a few good punches of her own and kick a few few people when they're down. It seems to be expected in this place, after all.

Cleaver silently makes his way towards the bar, shoving people out of his way.

Mech lowers his shoulder and rushes across the dance floor to the bar, knocking several people's legs out from under them. He takes a high seat at the bar. "Rum and cola please."

Stitch follows the others, only to glad to let them play offensive linemen for him. He orders a bottle of beer at the bar, not trusting the cleanliness of the glasses too much in this place.

The bartender looks at Zeke, then turns away and begins assembling the other drinks asked for. Once that's done, he comes back and looks back at Zeke, leaning over the bar.

"Alright...so you wanna talk to the bossman.", he says, in as low a voice he can use in a place this noisy. His breath is a mix of alcohol and something else funky.

"Brass said he was gonna kick a couple guys our way. Let's see, an elf, two orks, two humans, a dwarf, and a hooker looking chica. Checks out.", he reaches under that bar, and comes back up with a set of keys.

"Here. Go upstairs to Private Room 7. Use the intercom there. Tell Weasel that Drag sent you, and he'll send the elevator up for you.", Drag says.

You head off upstairs and find it to be a lot better than downstairs. It's carpeted, and there's some nice leather couches, unfortunately most have punker couples making out furiously. You're not sure you want to know what goes on in the private rooms. You could ask Kat, maybe. You find the way over to a green door with a gold '7' on it, and disengage the lock. The room looks pretty bare, with just an elevator door with an intercom next to it.

The intercom crackles to life when you press the button, and a tired sounding voice comes of the other end.

"Drag? 'Sat you?"

"No, but he told us to come up and tell you he sent us." Zeke releases the button and waits for a reply... Not liking the fealing of being in a box...

Turning to the others he says, "If this is a trap we're fish in a barrel."

Mech pays the bartender, and hustles upstairs.

Kat manages to give a smile which is both plastic and vicious. It's pretty obvious that she's not going to hesitate to settle that comment up later, if given the chance. She probably wouldn't be so mad if it wasn't half true, but she didn't charge for it these days. Well, often.

Traz kicked his wired reflexes on before Zeke had finished his sentence.
He doubted this was an ambush,but stranger things had happened.Bottom line,was if anything came off that elevator,he wanted to be ready.

*Hey Kat.Is that your sister over there?*Traz motioned toward a couple who may have believed they were already in a private room.He hoped his paying for the meal at the Barricade would keep her from getting too upset with him.He threw in a half smile to insure she wouldn't throw a punch.His mirrored cybereyes showed Kat's reflection ,and she definitely wasn't smiling.

"Oh right. Runner team.", the voice says "Yeah, he told us you were coming."

The elevator doors slide open, revealing a rather large cargo elevator. As it goes down the shaft, with all of you on it, it squeaks and groans unsettlingly. However, it does make it to the bottom of the shaft, and the doors slide open to reveal a large, open room. The walls and floors are made from concrete, and theres a ring of five fabric couches surrounding a large metal table, two one each side, and one on the end opposite you. The table has various things strewn on it: Takeout food containers, bottles of alcohol and soda with various levels of liquid, computer parts, packs of cigarettes, magazines, several handguns and SMGs, and other junk.

The couch nearest you has a tired looking asian guy with goggles on his head, watching old giant monster movies on an old TV and VCR. There's several cans of alcohol and soda in front of him. He's sitting next to the intercom, so you must have talked to him. Next to him is a shaggy looking dark haired guy wearing glasses and a suit as casually as he can. There's no tie, and the shirt beneath is unbuttoned, with the collar coming over the lapels of the suit.

On the next couch is a large ork with a cyberarm, a torn t-shirt, camo pants, and combat boots. He's eating out of a large box of chinese food.

The couch next over, the one across you, has two people on it. One is a tough looking lanky guy, with facial piercings and a soul patch, cleaning off a shotgun. The other is a blue haired elf with a tattoo of a spade over his right eye. He's handling a deck of cards with amazing dexterity.

Stretched out on the couch next that, is a guy with shades and a trenchcoat, apparently asleep. There's a smoldering stub of a cigarette hanging out his mouth, and he's got his hand loosely curled around a bottle of vodka.

On the last couch is a sight. It's a guy wearing a gas mask and a frightengly tight PVC sleeveless shirt with leather straps crisscrossing over it. His belt is made from ammo casings, with the buckle as a blue smily face with X'd out eyes and a stitched shut mouth. He's wearing urban camoflauge pants, and engineer's boots with metal plating riveted on the front, and long metal spikes coming out the toe. There's also metal skull and crossbones fixed on the sides. Nuzzled up on him is a pretty girl with short pink hair. She's dressed much like Kat is.

They sure as hell don't look like mercs. And none of them seem to even notice you.

Kat gives Traz a glare and looks ready to punch him in the ribs but doesn't get a chance before the group is down the elevator shaft.

Kat eyes the slitch on the couch with the appraisal of someone who knows what's what on the street, but ignores her for the most part. The rest are pretty much to be expected, too.

"You chummers lookin' for some 'elp?" she asks, apparently the fastest one on the draw.

Stitch glances around, seemingly bemused at the assorted strangeness. He takes some pictures with his cybereyes, before switching to astral perception to check for any awakened types, and to get a general idea of the level of cyber. The motly crew is actually pretty close to what he expected from a merc band in the basement of a grungy nightclub. "Yeah, Brass said you needed someone found," he says, then takes another sip of his beer.

Traz pipes up as soon as he has finished surveying the crew.*Nice place you got here.Very cozy.*He smiles at noone in particular and awaits for one of the crew to speak.

Stitch finds out that there are two awakened. The guy in the suit, and the girl. Everyone else is cybered, most with a lot.

At Kat's remarks, the guy in the suit turns to look at you, and his mouth widens to a charming grin. Just as with everyone else, theres some oddity with him, as his glasses have one round lens, and one rectangle lens. You also notice he has the facial structure of an elf, but his ears are round, like a humans.

"Ah, the runners. Walking miracles for the corporate elite. Good to meet you, I'm Tokyo Joe.", He says, standing up and extending his hand. The asian guy frowns and turns up the volume on his TV, then scratches the area around his datajack.

"Right. Over there is Weasel.", Joe says, gesturing to the couch with the man in the gasmask and the girl on it.

At hearing this, the guy in the gasmask pushes the girl off and stands up. He bows, and then sharply comes back up. He's a bit on the tall side, about 1.9 meters. He also seems a bit thin. Not underfed, just a tad slim.

"I...am Bomber Weasel. Purveyor of wanton flaming destruction. But you...may call me...Weasel.", he says, his voice hissing through the gasmask. He jerks his hands up suddenly, brings them to the back of his head, and unbuckles the mask. It drops to the table with a soft thud.

"Right. It gets so hot in that thing, and I've no cause to wear it down here.", he says, shaking his head. He looks back up at you, and reveals the fact that visually, he is godlike. Quite possibly the most handsome man you'll ever see, with a well structured face, crystal blue eyes, and a charming smile.

"Let's get down to business then.", he says, running a gloved hand through his black hair.

"I assume that Brass briefed you on the mission?"

Kat gives a short laugh and a slight grin. "Brass didn't tell us drek, 'cept that you wanted somethin' found. Even if he did, I'd like to hear it straight from you. Helps with the communicatin' an' all."

Traz surveyed the merc team with a look of puzzlement stretched across his face.He wondered if there was something in the air down here.Something that would make all these fraggers oblivious to the stench of old takeout and cigarette butts.He looked at Kat as she so eloquently spoke to Weasel.She had a way with words I guess you could say.

The feel of the Glock against his chest in it's holster gave him a feeling of security.The room was making him uncomfortable with the sickening smell and unfamiliar humans occupying it.He didn't know about the rest of the team,but he was ready to hear what Weasel had to say and buzz turbo.

"Well...", Weasel starts, "I suppose Brass was close enough when he said we needed something found. We need someone found, actually. A member of our team. We, ah...we lost him in the sprawl."

"Kidnapped, really.", cuts in the ork with the cyberarm in a voice like a rumble.

"No, I think captured would be a more proper term.", adds the elf with the eye tattoo.

"Wouldn't they both work?", counters the ork.

"Well...", says the guy polishing the shotgun "Kidnapping implies an unsuspecting target. Capturing is more what happened to Johnny."

"Right. It's the difference between the denotation and the connotation.", says eye tattoo.

"Whatever.", the ork says, waving his hand and returning to his takeout.

Weasel pinches the bridge of his nose.

"Right, well good that's settled.", he says. He drops his hand bown and brings his head back to face you.

"Well, a few of us were going through the sprawl a day ago, back from...an assignment. Anyway, a go-gang attacked, and managed to disperse us. Jimmy, Mickey, and I made it back to the rendezvous point, but, Johnny didn't.", he says, gesturing to the ork and the shotgunner, respectively. They nod in agreement.

"We tried to find him, of course, but urban zones aren't our specialty. That's why we're contacting runners. Anyway, earlier today, someone dropped off a ransom notice with Drag. Well, we aren't fragging paying. So, we need you to rescue him. You interested?", he asks, a look of hopefulness on his face.

Zeke looks at the assembled Mercs and thinks theres really no way that these guys were dispersed by a Go-Gang.

"Excuse me Weasel, but I have a couple of questions... First what go-gang managed to disperse a team with your obvious firepower and second how much are they asking for your friend?"

Traz had a hard time believing that a go gang was behind this missing friend of the mercs.Whatever the case may be this run sounded like it was headed for the drek pot with a quickness.Ransom notes usually meant the mark wasn't sitting unguarded somewhere in a room just waiting to be picked up without incident.

Traz crossed his arms as he listened to Weasel continue to speak.Their discussion over if the mark was kidnapped or captured made him let out a sigh under his breath.He waited for the man to answer Zeke's valid question.

On the upside these mercs may be willing to pay a steep price to retrieve this so called friend back.On the downside who knew who was behind this abduction in the first place.Traz thought it must be someone high up to disuade the apparently capable merc team from trying to retrieve the friend themselves.He cracked his knuckles out of habit deep in thought with the current situation.

He knew a lot of gangs in the area.He had been in one back in Atlanta when he was younger.He thought it very strange to kidnap a mercenary.Most gangs would no they were outmatched from the start.Kidnapping a man who had heavily cybered mercenaries for friends wasn't good for the life span.Weasel was leaving something out of the fraggin' picture.That was never good.

In the end he could really care less who the man was or who was behind it.The fact of the matter was he needed the nuyen.If the price was right,he was buying.It was just a matter of how much.