Apra Harbor, Guam. June 1st 2064
“What do you mean they didn’t report back?” Charles Winton was frustrated as hell at the Captain of the Sea Stallion. It was a three day trip from Guam to Sarigan Base and Chares didn’t want to feel it was wasted. Bad weather and other factors had put them behind several days. And now this.
The Captain continued, “We sent them down over 24 hours ago sir. The sub returned on its own with out them. All our attempts to contact them via the tether haven’t worked. We have to assume they’re lost.” The grim faced sailor looked strait at Charles and gave him the bad news.
The growing tempest in the area was making the holo transmission fuzzy and occasionally sputter as if it was going to give out. The Sea Stallion couldn’t stay on location much longer without compromising her safety. Pacifica had already lost billions on the project, another half billion lost boat would probably be the death knell.
I can’t go back to the board like this. But I can’t call in more security people. If they had succeeded in retrieving the data or determining what had gone wrong then maybe I could. But as it were sunk.
Charles let the thoughts bounce around in his head for a moment.
“Ok John, you did your best, bring your people home, best speed for Guam.”
The Sailor nodded, “Aye sir, on the way.” The image faded and was replaced with a ‘Transmission terminated’ sign.
Three days for the Stallion to get back. Another week to report to the board, a month from now it will be all over. Unless…
Charles picked up his sat phone and made a call to a friend of his in Seattle.
”Hey, yeah its Charles. You remember when I started this thing you said if I ever needed some help, just to ask?”
“Well I am asking. I need some people, it’s a big job so the more the merrier. Offer 50k each, at this point we spend it, or we lose it. Ok I’ll have the transportation available. It’s a retrieval mission, we need our research recovered and we need to know what went wrong, so make sure there’s a techie in the group. Ok, see you in a few days.”
Full Version: IC: Into the Abyss
Snohomish, June 2nd 2064, 8:30pm (Gin)
"Yes sir. The data is all there.... Everything you asked for, I don't do jobs halfway.... No, I'm afraid at the moment my services are not available.... No, sir, I do not have another job in the works. Frankly, I need a vacation.... I understand. Yes, you may call me in the future, though I'd prefer a little more warning than this time. Goodbye."
I hung up. Fragging bastard, I thought to myself. The nerve of some people. I swear if I have to listen to another prat telling me that I don't deserve as much money as the next guy..... Looking around and realizing I was still sitting out here in Snohomish on a hill looking out over a nice field of soy with all that nice shiny new cred waiting to be spent.
Time to pay the bills..... I turned to my car, hopped in, turned on the autonav system and began to drive back towards the city. The reflected orange glow of the city ights off the clouds were almost pretty.
I dialed another number. "Biff? Gin. I'm coming in.... Yeah, been a while.... Working.... Three and a half weeks..... No shit ... four? Heh. Wish I could have been there.... Can't tell you that, but it involved a lot of sitting around with some binoculars till I could identify someone to hit up for the right information.... Decent cred.... Anyway, I'll be back in an hour or two. You want to go get a drink? Yeah, on me.... Excellent. See you at the Lady."
"Yes sir. The data is all there.... Everything you asked for, I don't do jobs halfway.... No, I'm afraid at the moment my services are not available.... No, sir, I do not have another job in the works. Frankly, I need a vacation.... I understand. Yes, you may call me in the future, though I'd prefer a little more warning than this time. Goodbye."
I hung up. Fragging bastard, I thought to myself. The nerve of some people. I swear if I have to listen to another prat telling me that I don't deserve as much money as the next guy..... Looking around and realizing I was still sitting out here in Snohomish on a hill looking out over a nice field of soy with all that nice shiny new cred waiting to be spent.
Time to pay the bills..... I turned to my car, hopped in, turned on the autonav system and began to drive back towards the city. The reflected orange glow of the city ights off the clouds were almost pretty.
I dialed another number. "Biff? Gin. I'm coming in.... Yeah, been a while.... Working.... Three and a half weeks..... No shit ... four? Heh. Wish I could have been there.... Can't tell you that, but it involved a lot of sitting around with some binoculars till I could identify someone to hit up for the right information.... Decent cred.... Anyway, I'll be back in an hour or two. You want to go get a drink? Yeah, on me.... Excellent. See you at the Lady."
Auburn, June 2nd 2064, 5:15 am (Wishbone)
As the cab pulls away from the curb, Wishbone drops the phantasm. Three blocks away, a barghest blinks out of existence, but the humans it was chasing keep running. Their almost bald heads are starting to steam in the cool morning air, and their heavy boots feel even heavier, but it’s another block before anyone looks back to notice they’re not being chased anymore.
“Leavanesque and Collins in Buckley” Wishbone says. The cabbie, also an orc, grunts and drives off. Wishbone tries to get comfortable on the plastic seat, but gives up after a minute and looks out the window, smiling. That could have been ugly. Maybe they’ll think twice about bothering the next lone Orc they see.
About 15 minutes later, the cab pulls into the driveway and Wishbone gives him
50 cash for a 40 fare and gets out. No noise but old Mr Jones’ truck warming up next door and some birds just waking up in the trees. Even Elvis, his golden lab, was quiet, standing on the porch wagging his tail. Wishbone scratches him on the head as he goes in, flips on the telcom, grabs the nights last beer and sits down for Sports Center. The telcom says there’s two messages waiting. “Great” he says out loud.
“Wishbone, god damnit, Yumi told me she saw you at the Spirit Focus last night. Hanging out with Syn and a bunch of GI’s. If you don’t want to see me, have some balls and tell me so. Don’t tell me you’re WORKING. There’s plenty of other guys who DON’T have anything better to do on a Sunday night then spend it with me!”
Great. Do I bother trying to explain that usually getting a bunch of GI’s into a poker game IS work? That leads to a lot of other questions about what I do for a living. Is Sun ready to hear the truth? Or do I try flowers and a big apology? What the heck, I’ll give her the truth. But not ‘til after I get some sleep.
The second message was different.
“Hello Mr Johnson, this is Chen’s bakery, calling to confirm your order of 50 crab puffs for tomorrow night. If there’s any changes, please get back to us immediately.”
Wondering what was important enough to make his skills worth 50K, he keyed the LTG into his pocket secretary so he wouldn’t forget it, set it to wake him at noon and finished his beer. He’d call Lucy from a payphone downtown some-time tonight to get the details of the meet. Hopefully, after telling Sun exactly what it was he did for a living, then having some nice make up sex.
A quick shower and he was sleeping by six. At least his dreams were pleasant.
As the cab pulls away from the curb, Wishbone drops the phantasm. Three blocks away, a barghest blinks out of existence, but the humans it was chasing keep running. Their almost bald heads are starting to steam in the cool morning air, and their heavy boots feel even heavier, but it’s another block before anyone looks back to notice they’re not being chased anymore.
“Leavanesque and Collins in Buckley” Wishbone says. The cabbie, also an orc, grunts and drives off. Wishbone tries to get comfortable on the plastic seat, but gives up after a minute and looks out the window, smiling. That could have been ugly. Maybe they’ll think twice about bothering the next lone Orc they see.
About 15 minutes later, the cab pulls into the driveway and Wishbone gives him
50 cash for a 40 fare and gets out. No noise but old Mr Jones’ truck warming up next door and some birds just waking up in the trees. Even Elvis, his golden lab, was quiet, standing on the porch wagging his tail. Wishbone scratches him on the head as he goes in, flips on the telcom, grabs the nights last beer and sits down for Sports Center. The telcom says there’s two messages waiting. “Great” he says out loud.“Wishbone, god damnit, Yumi told me she saw you at the Spirit Focus last night. Hanging out with Syn and a bunch of GI’s. If you don’t want to see me, have some balls and tell me so. Don’t tell me you’re WORKING. There’s plenty of other guys who DON’T have anything better to do on a Sunday night then spend it with me!”
Great. Do I bother trying to explain that usually getting a bunch of GI’s into a poker game IS work? That leads to a lot of other questions about what I do for a living. Is Sun ready to hear the truth? Or do I try flowers and a big apology? What the heck, I’ll give her the truth. But not ‘til after I get some sleep.
The second message was different.
“Hello Mr Johnson, this is Chen’s bakery, calling to confirm your order of 50 crab puffs for tomorrow night. If there’s any changes, please get back to us immediately.”
Wondering what was important enough to make his skills worth 50K, he keyed the LTG into his pocket secretary so he wouldn’t forget it, set it to wake him at noon and finished his beer. He’d call Lucy from a payphone downtown some-time tonight to get the details of the meet. Hopefully, after telling Sun exactly what it was he did for a living, then having some nice make up sex.
A quick shower and he was sleeping by six. At least his dreams were pleasant.
Puyallup Barrens, June 2nd 2064, 1:03 pm (Tiptoes)
"Hoi, Tip." He'd been leaning against the threshold of the basement stairway for a few minutes now, silently checking and cleaning his Viper. She'd let him stay there since he had crept down. She liked to turn his silent entrances into a little game, see how long she could let him stand without calling him out. She had cut herself short this time because of the job. Otherwise, she would have left him standing there for...longer.
"Jess. How's business?" He didn't look at her when he spoke, like he was pretending to talk to the boxes and mold around her. The basement of the Asher's main crash was filled with broken bits of electronics, boxes of cheap charity food and the taps to the power and water. Occasionally they'd throw stolen goods in here, but big dry spots in the floor gave evidence to the recent passing of the latest batch. Jessica was sitting next to the data terminal, in the cheap synthetic red leather she wore around the gang.
"Decent. Got something you might be interested in."
He looked straight at her then.
"To the tune of fifty thousand."
He raised an eyebrow and replied, "Please, explain."
She crumpled up a small piece of paper and threw it at him. He caught it and opened it up, then looked back at her.
"That's the time and the place. Now quit bothering me. I've got real work to do." She turned back to the data terminal and fiddled with her jack. When she turned back around, he was gone.
"Hoi, Tip." He'd been leaning against the threshold of the basement stairway for a few minutes now, silently checking and cleaning his Viper. She'd let him stay there since he had crept down. She liked to turn his silent entrances into a little game, see how long she could let him stand without calling him out. She had cut herself short this time because of the job. Otherwise, she would have left him standing there for...longer.
"Jess. How's business?" He didn't look at her when he spoke, like he was pretending to talk to the boxes and mold around her. The basement of the Asher's main crash was filled with broken bits of electronics, boxes of cheap charity food and the taps to the power and water. Occasionally they'd throw stolen goods in here, but big dry spots in the floor gave evidence to the recent passing of the latest batch. Jessica was sitting next to the data terminal, in the cheap synthetic red leather she wore around the gang.
"Decent. Got something you might be interested in."
He looked straight at her then.
"To the tune of fifty thousand."
He raised an eyebrow and replied, "Please, explain."
She crumpled up a small piece of paper and threw it at him. He caught it and opened it up, then looked back at her.
"That's the time and the place. Now quit bothering me. I've got real work to do." She turned back to the data terminal and fiddled with her jack. When she turned back around, he was gone.
Gins cell phone rings a few minutes into her trip to hook up with Bif.
"Yo Gin, Slim Sammy here, have I got a deal for you. This is sweeter than sweet. You want the details?"
"Yo Gin, Slim Sammy here, have I got a deal for you. This is sweeter than sweet. You want the details?"
(Gin)
With a sigh, I excused myself from the table. Biff looked a little hurt. Understandable, I guess. I had kinda ignored him for the past few weeks. Not like we were an item, or anything, but still, it hurts when your friends disappear, especially when they can't really tell you what they were doing.
"This better be good, Slim. Gimmie the short version so I can get back to my drink."
With a sigh, I excused myself from the table. Biff looked a little hurt. Understandable, I guess. I had kinda ignored him for the past few weeks. Not like we were an item, or anything, but still, it hurts when your friends disappear, especially when they can't really tell you what they were doing.
"This better be good, Slim. Gimmie the short version so I can get back to my drink."
Puyalup, June 2nd 2064, 8:30 pm (Wishbone)
Walking the four blocks in the rain from Kim’s Nails to Chen’s Pay Day Advance and Check Cashing, gives Wishbone time to think and compose himself That could have gone better. Well, no one can say I wasn’t honest. I didn’t expect to get hit for it though. And bad luck her brother was there in the shop. I should have just mana bolted the jerk. He rubs his jaw one last time and steps in out of the rain.
Lucy smiles from behind the double pane bullet proof glass and says “Come on in, chummer”.
The door to the right of the glass buzzes, and the green light above comes on. He steps through, too look at another door with a red light above it. When the first door closes, the light turns green. As he steps into the office, his stunning Chinese fixer is already coming towards him and ushering him to a back office, along a path that is never touched by the security cameras. Sandy, a young Orc girl, and her boyfriends sister, is left to mind the office.
She sits down at her desk, types quickly on the data terminal, and picks up a printout. She holds out her hand, and without a word, Whisbone drops his certified credstick into it.
“That’s 100 for the meet, and 5% of the gross if you take the run,” says Lucy, as she hands him the printout and slots his stick.
“Fair enough. Do you know the Johnson?”
“Nope. Friend of a friend. I can’t vouch for the guy one hundred percent, but who can? You want it or not?”
“Oh I’m in. I’ve got plenty of stuff I’d rather not think about, and you can see the cred stick is starting to run low. How ‘bout after, you let me take you to dinner and thank you properly for the job?”
“Nope. I’d just throw it all up watching Lars beat the drek out of you. Go get some rest, you look like hell.”
“Thanks,” said Wishbone as he crumbles the printout up and drops it into the incinerator. I’ll let you know how it goes.”
He steps back into the rain, and walks the four blocks back to his truck, wondering if he should take Lucy’s advice and head home.
Nope, nothing to do there but think and drink. Or I can head over to the Whole Story and play cards and drink. Now there’s a plan.
Wishbone slides into his Land Rover and heads back to Auburn.
Walking the four blocks in the rain from Kim’s Nails to Chen’s Pay Day Advance and Check Cashing, gives Wishbone time to think and compose himself That could have gone better. Well, no one can say I wasn’t honest. I didn’t expect to get hit for it though. And bad luck her brother was there in the shop. I should have just mana bolted the jerk. He rubs his jaw one last time and steps in out of the rain.
Lucy smiles from behind the double pane bullet proof glass and says “Come on in, chummer”.
The door to the right of the glass buzzes, and the green light above comes on. He steps through, too look at another door with a red light above it. When the first door closes, the light turns green. As he steps into the office, his stunning Chinese fixer is already coming towards him and ushering him to a back office, along a path that is never touched by the security cameras. Sandy, a young Orc girl, and her boyfriends sister, is left to mind the office.
She sits down at her desk, types quickly on the data terminal, and picks up a printout. She holds out her hand, and without a word, Whisbone drops his certified credstick into it.
“That’s 100 for the meet, and 5% of the gross if you take the run,” says Lucy, as she hands him the printout and slots his stick.
“Fair enough. Do you know the Johnson?”
“Nope. Friend of a friend. I can’t vouch for the guy one hundred percent, but who can? You want it or not?”
“Oh I’m in. I’ve got plenty of stuff I’d rather not think about, and you can see the cred stick is starting to run low. How ‘bout after, you let me take you to dinner and thank you properly for the job?”
“Nope. I’d just throw it all up watching Lars beat the drek out of you. Go get some rest, you look like hell.”
“Thanks,” said Wishbone as he crumbles the printout up and drops it into the incinerator. I’ll let you know how it goes.”
He steps back into the rain, and walks the four blocks back to his truck, wondering if he should take Lucy’s advice and head home.
Nope, nothing to do there but think and drink. Or I can head over to the Whole Story and play cards and drink. Now there’s a plan.
Wishbone slides into his Land Rover and heads back to Auburn.
Downtown Seattle, June 3rd 2064, 12:20 A.M. (Vertigo)
Angel stepped out of the back door of Lean Geoffrey’s gallery into a dingy alley and pulled her hooded jacket tight around her neck to ward out the chill night.
“Dumb English prick” She muttered under her breath.
Geoffrey was a well-known English fixer and sometimes fence that specialized in acquiring hard to find pieces for Seattle’s rich corporate elite. Sometimes it was antiques, sometimes it was artwork, and sometimes it was… other things… Despite his polished demeanor, Geoffrey didn’t worry all that much about what it was his buyers wanted, so long as he got paid. The front of his gallery was opulent and plush, but Angel wondered how many of Geoffrey’s “clients” knew that the real business went down in the trash-strewn alley out back. Then again she didn’t really care, and probably neither did they, and certainly neither did Lean Geoffrey.
She hated that fragging Englishman. For all his fancy clothes and plastic smiles there was something shady about him. Something intangible that made her uncomfortable. It was something about the way he looked at her, like he could have her too if he wanted. She wondered if it was worth the money. The jobs were always there when she wanted them, which made it a good fallback gig, but lately they were getting harder and longer and the pay was still miserable.
I need to find a good paying run… She thought to herself. But not tonight…
Tonight she was tired, and sore and worst of all dirty, but she had her rent money and everybody was happy- except of coarse for the poor museum curator that would be out of a job the next morning, but she did her best not to think about that. Right now all she wanted to think about was a hot bath and a good night’s sleep. She pulled her jacket tighter, surveiled the alley in both directions and started off down the way toward her waiting Rapier.
Just as she straddled the bike, she felt the familiar vibration of her cell phone in her coat pocket- the one that was always on vibrate. The caller ID said “Louie’s Pizza Pit” but she knew otherwise. She forewarded the call to her bikes onboard cell phone and answered.
“Hello!? Is this Vinny Bartouche?! I got ya pizza here but I can’t find dis fraggin’ address ya gave me…”
“Finch. Have I ever told you how horrible your Brooklyn accent is?”
“It gets the job done, doesn’t it Vertigo? Listen, I just received an intriguing job offer you might be interested in. It just came through my network from one of my best guys. Are you interested?”
Angel paused for a moment. She wanted to say no. She wanted to imagine herself at home in a hot bath, maybe eating some of that mint chocholate soy ice cream she always craved after a job. But all she could picture was that smug look on Lean Geoffrey’s sly face.
Dumb English prick…
“Text me the info and I’ll take a look, Finch. But it better be worth my time…”
Angel stepped out of the back door of Lean Geoffrey’s gallery into a dingy alley and pulled her hooded jacket tight around her neck to ward out the chill night.
“Dumb English prick” She muttered under her breath.
Geoffrey was a well-known English fixer and sometimes fence that specialized in acquiring hard to find pieces for Seattle’s rich corporate elite. Sometimes it was antiques, sometimes it was artwork, and sometimes it was… other things… Despite his polished demeanor, Geoffrey didn’t worry all that much about what it was his buyers wanted, so long as he got paid. The front of his gallery was opulent and plush, but Angel wondered how many of Geoffrey’s “clients” knew that the real business went down in the trash-strewn alley out back. Then again she didn’t really care, and probably neither did they, and certainly neither did Lean Geoffrey.
She hated that fragging Englishman. For all his fancy clothes and plastic smiles there was something shady about him. Something intangible that made her uncomfortable. It was something about the way he looked at her, like he could have her too if he wanted. She wondered if it was worth the money. The jobs were always there when she wanted them, which made it a good fallback gig, but lately they were getting harder and longer and the pay was still miserable.
I need to find a good paying run… She thought to herself. But not tonight…
Tonight she was tired, and sore and worst of all dirty, but she had her rent money and everybody was happy- except of coarse for the poor museum curator that would be out of a job the next morning, but she did her best not to think about that. Right now all she wanted to think about was a hot bath and a good night’s sleep. She pulled her jacket tighter, surveiled the alley in both directions and started off down the way toward her waiting Rapier.
Just as she straddled the bike, she felt the familiar vibration of her cell phone in her coat pocket- the one that was always on vibrate. The caller ID said “Louie’s Pizza Pit” but she knew otherwise. She forewarded the call to her bikes onboard cell phone and answered.
“Hello!? Is this Vinny Bartouche?! I got ya pizza here but I can’t find dis fraggin’ address ya gave me…”
“Finch. Have I ever told you how horrible your Brooklyn accent is?”
“It gets the job done, doesn’t it Vertigo? Listen, I just received an intriguing job offer you might be interested in. It just came through my network from one of my best guys. Are you interested?”
Angel paused for a moment. She wanted to say no. She wanted to imagine herself at home in a hot bath, maybe eating some of that mint chocholate soy ice cream she always craved after a job. But all she could picture was that smug look on Lean Geoffrey’s sly face.
Dumb English prick…
“Text me the info and I’ll take a look, Finch. But it better be worth my time…”
Industrial District, June 3rd, 2064, 12:57 A.M. Spartan
Sweating, Spartan opened the door to his apartment. Running late cut down the heat some, but the city still sweltered at night. He peeled the sweat soaked shirt from his body and casually dropped it by the washing machine. Spartan quickly looked over the room, making sure that no one had broke in while he was out. “Hmph,” he muttered to himself “looks like the 21s are holding up their end of the deal.” Spartan laughed. The negotiations last week with the local gangers were quick and simple. When the snot nosed 16 year old human strutted up to the door, he wasn't ready for what he found. “Jonesy” found himself face to face with 6'6” of heavily muscled, former-military ork instead of the wide-eyed target he expected. Spartan gave the kid a chance to save face, offering him four times the normal protection money. In turn, the 21s would stay away from him, and watch over the building. Both sides walked away happy.
Spartan pulled a cold beer from his overworked fridge. It probably wasn't the best way to finish off an exercise session, but it was far more satisfying than unfiltered water. He noticed his cellphone silently flashing in the corner. He'd check it out after his shower.
Spartan walked through his bare apartment. He'd only moved to the city a few short weeks ago, and was hoping that the phone meant work. The type of work didn't matter, and Spartan didn't care. Cred was cred. “Hope you found something for me Frog.” Jean-Pierre, in addition to selling illicit french weaponry, often boasted about his Seattle contacts. If those contacts were anywhere near the quality of the Fabrique Nationale machine gun he picked up before moving, then the finder's fee he paid was well worth it.
He looked at himself in the half length mirror. Spartan was an imposing sight. Massive, even by ork standards, his upper body looked cut from granite. On his arms and chest, an even mix of tattoos and scars were found. The strength came in handy with the large guns he preferred, and the scars came with the job. The tattoos helped he remember where he came from. His right bicep said it best: “All the Kings' Men” written over a broken crown.
Spartan traced the unit tattoo. Security Solutions Incorporated's informal insignia was the broken crown, and every member chose a fairy tale as a call sign. He had grown up knowing the Seven Dwarfs, Little Red Riding Hood, and the Woodcutter as characters to put children to bed to. Now, they recalled hard soldiers and harder times. SSI fit well on the business cards, but the unit was known in the field as The Brother's Grimm. An apt name.
He whispered softly to himself. “All the kings horses, and all the kings men, couldn't put Humpty together again.” Spartan smiled. That much, he thought, was a lie.
Sweating, Spartan opened the door to his apartment. Running late cut down the heat some, but the city still sweltered at night. He peeled the sweat soaked shirt from his body and casually dropped it by the washing machine. Spartan quickly looked over the room, making sure that no one had broke in while he was out. “Hmph,” he muttered to himself “looks like the 21s are holding up their end of the deal.” Spartan laughed. The negotiations last week with the local gangers were quick and simple. When the snot nosed 16 year old human strutted up to the door, he wasn't ready for what he found. “Jonesy” found himself face to face with 6'6” of heavily muscled, former-military ork instead of the wide-eyed target he expected. Spartan gave the kid a chance to save face, offering him four times the normal protection money. In turn, the 21s would stay away from him, and watch over the building. Both sides walked away happy.
Spartan pulled a cold beer from his overworked fridge. It probably wasn't the best way to finish off an exercise session, but it was far more satisfying than unfiltered water. He noticed his cellphone silently flashing in the corner. He'd check it out after his shower.
Spartan walked through his bare apartment. He'd only moved to the city a few short weeks ago, and was hoping that the phone meant work. The type of work didn't matter, and Spartan didn't care. Cred was cred. “Hope you found something for me Frog.” Jean-Pierre, in addition to selling illicit french weaponry, often boasted about his Seattle contacts. If those contacts were anywhere near the quality of the Fabrique Nationale machine gun he picked up before moving, then the finder's fee he paid was well worth it.
He looked at himself in the half length mirror. Spartan was an imposing sight. Massive, even by ork standards, his upper body looked cut from granite. On his arms and chest, an even mix of tattoos and scars were found. The strength came in handy with the large guns he preferred, and the scars came with the job. The tattoos helped he remember where he came from. His right bicep said it best: “All the Kings' Men” written over a broken crown.
Spartan traced the unit tattoo. Security Solutions Incorporated's informal insignia was the broken crown, and every member chose a fairy tale as a call sign. He had grown up knowing the Seven Dwarfs, Little Red Riding Hood, and the Woodcutter as characters to put children to bed to. Now, they recalled hard soldiers and harder times. SSI fit well on the business cards, but the unit was known in the field as The Brother's Grimm. An apt name.
He whispered softly to himself. “All the kings horses, and all the kings men, couldn't put Humpty together again.” Spartan smiled. That much, he thought, was a lie.
(Gin)
Hanging up my phone, I mutter to myself, "Damn.... I hate it when it does that." I look around the bar for a moment, noticing that Biff had left sometime during my phone call. No one else seemed that interested in the lonely ork girl, big surprise there, so I headed out and headed home.
Luxuriating in the feel of a shower, the first I'd had in days, I relaxed myself and began to prepare for the coming job. I'd need a little bit more in the way of details, but those questions could wait until I met the rest of the team .... whoever they were.
Hanging up my phone, I mutter to myself, "Damn.... I hate it when it does that." I look around the bar for a moment, noticing that Biff had left sometime during my phone call. No one else seemed that interested in the lonely ork girl, big surprise there, so I headed out and headed home.
Luxuriating in the feel of a shower, the first I'd had in days, I relaxed myself and began to prepare for the coming job. I'd need a little bit more in the way of details, but those questions could wait until I met the rest of the team .... whoever they were.
(Tiptoes)
Tiptoes closes the off-white door behind him, turning both deadbolts into place. The metallic thumps intrude on his small apartment, silent except for the soft buzz of the air conditioner. The thin gray carpet retains the stains of tenants years before Tiptoes's time. It maintains the air of a place nobody really ever lives in, merely inhabits on their way from point A to point B.
Tiptoes goes to the kitchenette and turns on the range of the stove, dumping some BacoPotatoSoy™ soup in a pot he had set out before he left. He's memorized the details on the slip of paper already, so he tosses it in with the soy. After this he takes off his jacket and flips through the trid. Tiptoes is not an avid trid watcher, but Tiptoes knows that the trid is invaluable for free street intel. He scans the channels, paying special attention to the news, watching for anything someone would offer him fifty thousand nuyen over.
Tiptoes closes the off-white door behind him, turning both deadbolts into place. The metallic thumps intrude on his small apartment, silent except for the soft buzz of the air conditioner. The thin gray carpet retains the stains of tenants years before Tiptoes's time. It maintains the air of a place nobody really ever lives in, merely inhabits on their way from point A to point B.
Tiptoes goes to the kitchenette and turns on the range of the stove, dumping some BacoPotatoSoy™ soup in a pot he had set out before he left. He's memorized the details on the slip of paper already, so he tosses it in with the soy. After this he takes off his jacket and flips through the trid. Tiptoes is not an avid trid watcher, but Tiptoes knows that the trid is invaluable for free street intel. He scans the channels, paying special attention to the news, watching for anything someone would offer him fifty thousand nuyen over.
June 2 Tiptoes apt.
Nothing on the news seems to set of any bells. Theres been a military coup in Monaco, some SK agents were killed in a bio-chem terrorist attack, theres a typhoon building off of Guam, and the big news of the day, rumors that Novatech is going to offer a IPO.
Nothing on the news seems to set of any bells. Theres been a military coup in Monaco, some SK agents were killed in a bio-chem terrorist attack, theres a typhoon building off of Guam, and the big news of the day, rumors that Novatech is going to offer a IPO.
Touristville - Apartment above the Lock and Key Blues Bar, June 2nd 2064, 10:15 am (Six)
The feeling of the woman's body as she carefully inched her way out of bed and quietly began dressing, roused John from his deep slumber. His mind came awake almost instantly, but he didn't let his body stir and give away the fact that he was concious. It was better this way, no awkward goodbyes or lies about calling her sometime, but hey being a bodyguard sometimes had these perks and spending the evening and most of the morning with this B-rate simsense starlet had sure been one of them. Once she had finally slipped out of the door he rolled over and found his partially smoked synth tabacco cigar and lit the nub.
No sense wasting a new one.
Wisps of smoke curled towards the ceiling in the darkness provided by the thick curtains of his apartment. Somewhere a part of him wondered how his life had turned out this way, but he squashed those thoughts quickly.
Can't change the past John-boy
He waited in bed until he finished his cigar then hit the shower, the water was cold as usual, but he was getting used to it and finished up quickly.
It was in the middle of making his breakfast, an less than appetizing fair that consisted of instant eggo-soy and krill-sausage that his cell phone rang.
"This is Six," he said as way of a greeting.
The rasping voice of Bones, his fixer, answered.
"Got another job for ya." The old dwarf replied without preamble. "Pays 50K. Interest?"
Hell ya I'm interested. Little miss simsense star was great, but her kind of payment doesn't pay the bills.
"Talk to me."
The feeling of the woman's body as she carefully inched her way out of bed and quietly began dressing, roused John from his deep slumber. His mind came awake almost instantly, but he didn't let his body stir and give away the fact that he was concious. It was better this way, no awkward goodbyes or lies about calling her sometime, but hey being a bodyguard sometimes had these perks and spending the evening and most of the morning with this B-rate simsense starlet had sure been one of them. Once she had finally slipped out of the door he rolled over and found his partially smoked synth tabacco cigar and lit the nub.
No sense wasting a new one.
Wisps of smoke curled towards the ceiling in the darkness provided by the thick curtains of his apartment. Somewhere a part of him wondered how his life had turned out this way, but he squashed those thoughts quickly.
Can't change the past John-boy
He waited in bed until he finished his cigar then hit the shower, the water was cold as usual, but he was getting used to it and finished up quickly.
It was in the middle of making his breakfast, an less than appetizing fair that consisted of instant eggo-soy and krill-sausage that his cell phone rang.
"This is Six," he said as way of a greeting.
The rasping voice of Bones, his fixer, answered.
"Got another job for ya." The old dwarf replied without preamble. "Pays 50K. Interest?"
Hell ya I'm interested. Little miss simsense star was great, but her kind of payment doesn't pay the bills.
"Talk to me."
(Tiptoes)
The trid droned on in the background as Tiptoes stretched and did repetitions with his cheap weights. After an hour, he stepped into his small room and reached under the unmade bed and pulled out a large military rucksack. Unclipping the sides, he opened it to reveal many small cases contained within. Unlike the rest of the apartment, these dull black cases were spotless, as were their well-cushioned contents: Tiptoes's working gear.
As before any meet, he checked each thoroughly and cleaned everything that he suspected may need it. After this lengthly process, he put his Viper in its concealed holster, an extra clip next to it, slipped his shock gloves into the pockets of his jacket and his knife behind him, under his belt.
Then he left the apartment to make his way to the location of the meet to scout it out before the event itself.
The trid droned on in the background as Tiptoes stretched and did repetitions with his cheap weights. After an hour, he stepped into his small room and reached under the unmade bed and pulled out a large military rucksack. Unclipping the sides, he opened it to reveal many small cases contained within. Unlike the rest of the apartment, these dull black cases were spotless, as were their well-cushioned contents: Tiptoes's working gear.
As before any meet, he checked each thoroughly and cleaned everything that he suspected may need it. After this lengthly process, he put his Viper in its concealed holster, an extra clip next to it, slipped his shock gloves into the pockets of his jacket and his knife behind him, under his belt.
Then he left the apartment to make his way to the location of the meet to scout it out before the event itself.
Downtown - Dante's Inferno, June 2nd 2064, 11:05pm (Mirage)
Mirage stepped off 5th Avenue into the entrance to Dante's. Slipping a 100 nuyen certified stick to the head bouncer so that he would ignore what the doorway's MAD detector told him, she breezed into the club.
Her cyberaudio's automatic damping and sound filters cut out much of the noise, but did nothing to prevent the bass reverborating though her body. Mirage walked briskly across the crowded first level, shouldering her way easily through the crowded club, her small strature belying her strength.
Reaching the nearest of the Inferno's four spiral ramps Mirage made her way down to the eighth level, the club's famous "Hell" was visible below through the glass dance floor.
Low light amps and flare compensation installed in Mirage's Nikon cyber-eyes allowed her to easily spot the hulking forms of Fingers' three troll bodyguards from across the dance floor, but she didn't spot the dwarf fixer himself until she got closer to his table.
"Bonjour," Mirage sat down opposite the dwarf and pushed a certified stick across the table, "Here's the other ten thousand."
Fingers smiled and pushed the a small device back to Mirage, "Here's the comm unit, pleasure doing business, as always." He pauses for a second, then says "Anyway, I've got a job lined up if you're interested, pays 50k."
Mirage smiles back, "A girl's work is never done, where's the meet?"
Mirage stepped off 5th Avenue into the entrance to Dante's. Slipping a 100 nuyen certified stick to the head bouncer so that he would ignore what the doorway's MAD detector told him, she breezed into the club.
Her cyberaudio's automatic damping and sound filters cut out much of the noise, but did nothing to prevent the bass reverborating though her body. Mirage walked briskly across the crowded first level, shouldering her way easily through the crowded club, her small strature belying her strength.
Reaching the nearest of the Inferno's four spiral ramps Mirage made her way down to the eighth level, the club's famous "Hell" was visible below through the glass dance floor.
Low light amps and flare compensation installed in Mirage's Nikon cyber-eyes allowed her to easily spot the hulking forms of Fingers' three troll bodyguards from across the dance floor, but she didn't spot the dwarf fixer himself until she got closer to his table.
"Bonjour," Mirage sat down opposite the dwarf and pushed a certified stick across the table, "Here's the other ten thousand."
Fingers smiled and pushed the a small device back to Mirage, "Here's the comm unit, pleasure doing business, as always." He pauses for a second, then says "Anyway, I've got a job lined up if you're interested, pays 50k."
Mirage smiles back, "A girl's work is never done, where's the meet?"
June 3rd 1545 hours PST, Boeing Field.
The Airfield Bar and Grill was a lot nicer than the name implied. Federated-Boeing still owned much of the area and they kept it maintained. Knight-Errant patrols were regular and in force. The complex still housed sensitive projects and played home to many pilots, both private and professional. The Airfield was known in the shadows as the place to guy to hire riggers who were the best of the best.
The outside looked simple enough, a corrugated aircraft aluminum, half moon shaped building. The sign was a blue neon with the silhouette of a Boeing Triple 7 next to it. The parking was ample and about half used. It looked like a popular place.
The inside was just as nice. A long bar ran down the side opposite of an open table area. In the back next to the stage and piano were the booths. No doorman checked on you, but a sign proclaimed, 'please wait to be seated'.
It doesn't take long for a very hot elf in skin tight low cut slacks and a cut off tank top displaying her ample cleavage to show you to the back booth. She smiles vapidly at you but doesn't look like there is much beyond what you see.
The entire place is decorated with airplane models and pictures of airplanes. Large 1/100 scale models hang from the ceiling. Everything from P-38J's to the latest SK Euro Fighters.
The Airfield Bar and Grill was a lot nicer than the name implied. Federated-Boeing still owned much of the area and they kept it maintained. Knight-Errant patrols were regular and in force. The complex still housed sensitive projects and played home to many pilots, both private and professional. The Airfield was known in the shadows as the place to guy to hire riggers who were the best of the best.
The outside looked simple enough, a corrugated aircraft aluminum, half moon shaped building. The sign was a blue neon with the silhouette of a Boeing Triple 7 next to it. The parking was ample and about half used. It looked like a popular place.
The inside was just as nice. A long bar ran down the side opposite of an open table area. In the back next to the stage and piano were the booths. No doorman checked on you, but a sign proclaimed, 'please wait to be seated'.
It doesn't take long for a very hot elf in skin tight low cut slacks and a cut off tank top displaying her ample cleavage to show you to the back booth. She smiles vapidly at you but doesn't look like there is much beyond what you see.
The entire place is decorated with airplane models and pictures of airplanes. Large 1/100 scale models hang from the ceiling. Everything from P-38J's to the latest SK Euro Fighters.
[ Spoiler ]
Auburn, June 3nd 2064, 1215 pm (Wishbone)
Wishbone wakes. Fuzzy, aching head. Fuzzy, wobbly vision. Fuzzy, but some how hungry belly. He does a quick inventory without moving. Last nights clothes still on. Boots off. No bruises or areas of sharp pain. He tries moving slowly. Nothing really hurts, and no loud complaints from head or gut. He checks his pockets. Big wad of cash in one pocket. Napkin in another. He pulls that out. Lipstick and a phone number. Wow. Must have been some night. I gotta quit doing this before I wake up dead.
Thirty minutes later, showered and wearing his “meet” clothes, Wishbone sits down with his four eggs with sasauge, and flips on the tel-com to watch some news. The display in the top corner says there’s a message. He clicks the remote and it says it’s from Sun. Great. Well, no point delaying the pain. He clicks play.
Sun is crying, her makeup starting to run from her large black on black eyes, down her cheeks. “Wishbone, I’m sorry”. Oh great, she was drunk last night, too. “I just freaked out. I know what kind of man you are, and you’re not like they say Shadow Runners are. Please, just call me, OK? Oh and thanks for not hurting Yung Kwan. He didn’t mean anything. He thought he was protecting me. Call me.” The screen went blank.
So much for a clean break. Now what do I do?
I know what I do. I make my meet at 1600, and call her after that when I’ve got time. I can’t be worrying about this kind of stuff when there’s biz to do.
He drives down town, and leaves his truck in a parking garage three blocks from Penumbra. He walks to Penumbra, stands in front, waves down a cab and heads out to The Airfield.
The Airfield is nice. It’s been a few months since he’s been there, but Wishbone never forgets a good steak. He waits at the sign, smiles at the skinny elf and looks down her shirt so she won’t think he’s gay, and follows her back to a booth….
Wishbone wakes. Fuzzy, aching head. Fuzzy, wobbly vision. Fuzzy, but some how hungry belly. He does a quick inventory without moving. Last nights clothes still on. Boots off. No bruises or areas of sharp pain. He tries moving slowly. Nothing really hurts, and no loud complaints from head or gut. He checks his pockets. Big wad of cash in one pocket. Napkin in another. He pulls that out. Lipstick and a phone number. Wow. Must have been some night. I gotta quit doing this before I wake up dead.
Thirty minutes later, showered and wearing his “meet” clothes, Wishbone sits down with his four eggs with sasauge, and flips on the tel-com to watch some news. The display in the top corner says there’s a message. He clicks the remote and it says it’s from Sun. Great. Well, no point delaying the pain. He clicks play.
Sun is crying, her makeup starting to run from her large black on black eyes, down her cheeks. “Wishbone, I’m sorry”. Oh great, she was drunk last night, too. “I just freaked out. I know what kind of man you are, and you’re not like they say Shadow Runners are. Please, just call me, OK? Oh and thanks for not hurting Yung Kwan. He didn’t mean anything. He thought he was protecting me. Call me.” The screen went blank.
So much for a clean break. Now what do I do?
I know what I do. I make my meet at 1600, and call her after that when I’ve got time. I can’t be worrying about this kind of stuff when there’s biz to do.
He drives down town, and leaves his truck in a parking garage three blocks from Penumbra. He walks to Penumbra, stands in front, waves down a cab and heads out to The Airfield.
The Airfield is nice. It’s been a few months since he’s been there, but Wishbone never forgets a good steak. He waits at the sign, smiles at the skinny elf and looks down her shirt so she won’t think he’s gay, and follows her back to a booth….
Auburn, June 3nd 2064, 1217 pm (Tiptoes)
Showing up to take a look at the Airfield the day before had gone smoothly, but Tiptoes wasn't one to take chances. Today he was walking in as well equipped as he had the day before, He was mildly surprised at the choice of venue, but he had had enough experience with Johnsons to know the hoops they would jump through to get you on the wrong scent.
Last night, he had tried to celebrate the possible new job with some whiskey and a quick lay. The whiskey was fine-this was a working nieghborhood, and the bar reflected it-but the ladies weren't having any of Tiptoes. He was a regular at the Cash Out, so they didn't say anything when he threw some punk elf who kept calling him "Gook" around a lamp post outside in frustration. Sour, he went home and watched some skinflicks before falling asleep.
Now he was walking into the Airfield after waking up in a dismal mood. His dull black slacks and security jacket eschewed any real sense of fashion beyond the utilitarian, and his face held no expression beyond his eyes tracking his surroundings. His weapons were properly concealed, and the elf hostess greeted him with the same empty smile he was so used to seeing. He barely acknowledged her as she led him to the back booth.
Showing up to take a look at the Airfield the day before had gone smoothly, but Tiptoes wasn't one to take chances. Today he was walking in as well equipped as he had the day before, He was mildly surprised at the choice of venue, but he had had enough experience with Johnsons to know the hoops they would jump through to get you on the wrong scent.
Last night, he had tried to celebrate the possible new job with some whiskey and a quick lay. The whiskey was fine-this was a working nieghborhood, and the bar reflected it-but the ladies weren't having any of Tiptoes. He was a regular at the Cash Out, so they didn't say anything when he threw some punk elf who kept calling him "Gook" around a lamp post outside in frustration. Sour, he went home and watched some skinflicks before falling asleep.
Now he was walking into the Airfield after waking up in a dismal mood. His dull black slacks and security jacket eschewed any real sense of fashion beyond the utilitarian, and his face held no expression beyond his eyes tracking his surroundings. His weapons were properly concealed, and the elf hostess greeted him with the same empty smile he was so used to seeing. He barely acknowledged her as she led him to the back booth.
June 3rd 1500 hours PST, Boeing Field (Gin)
Nice place but interesting location.... I thought to myself as I entered the room. Not having been here before I didn't really know what to expect, but this certainly wasn't it. Somehow hearing about a meet in a bar in a converted airplane hanger didn't raise hopes that much for getting a nice drink, but the Gibson the bartender served me was actually palatable. Ordering a small salad in addition to my drink, I follow a vapid and quite possibly pneumatic young elf to a booth where she sits me. I look left and right for a moment before sliding around to the other side of the table where I can see the door, eat my salad, and sip my drink as I wait for the others to arrive.
Nice place but interesting location.... I thought to myself as I entered the room. Not having been here before I didn't really know what to expect, but this certainly wasn't it. Somehow hearing about a meet in a bar in a converted airplane hanger didn't raise hopes that much for getting a nice drink, but the Gibson the bartender served me was actually palatable. Ordering a small salad in addition to my drink, I follow a vapid and quite possibly pneumatic young elf to a booth where she sits me. I look left and right for a moment before sliding around to the other side of the table where I can see the door, eat my salad, and sip my drink as I wait for the others to arrive.
June 3rd 1600 hours. Airfield bar & Grill
The rather eclectic group of people wandered in between 3:00 pm and 4:00 pm. The wide eyed hostess sat each person in the booths in the back. 8 in all. Including an amerind woman with long blond hair, a Menehune dwarf and a few other odd balls.
When all had arrived a man walked in from the back. Short cropped hair hinted at a milspec background, as did his rough and tumble build. A long time ago he was handsome, now he is just rugged. Deep lines etch his face from years in the sun. His clothes are nice enough but not so nice as to be out of place in the burger joint.
He waves to the hostess who puts the 'private party' sign up.
He smiles to the group, "thank you all for coming. My name is Jason Walker, I will be your point of contact for the first leg of your run here. I work for a small R&D company who maintains a remote facility in a hazardous environment. Unfortunately something has gone wrong and we have temporarily lost contact with the group inside the facility. We are very concerned with the people who are inside and we would like you to go to them, retrieve the data cluster from the main computer, and of course effect a rescue of anyone who is left. The facility is located underwater of the coast of Guam, just on the edge of the Marianas Trench. We will be providing a mini sub and pilot to get you down there as well as any transportation you will need. The price is 50k each, 10 now, 40 when the job is done. Any questions?"
The rather eclectic group of people wandered in between 3:00 pm and 4:00 pm. The wide eyed hostess sat each person in the booths in the back. 8 in all. Including an amerind woman with long blond hair, a Menehune dwarf and a few other odd balls.
When all had arrived a man walked in from the back. Short cropped hair hinted at a milspec background, as did his rough and tumble build. A long time ago he was handsome, now he is just rugged. Deep lines etch his face from years in the sun. His clothes are nice enough but not so nice as to be out of place in the burger joint.
He waves to the hostess who puts the 'private party' sign up.
He smiles to the group, "thank you all for coming. My name is Jason Walker, I will be your point of contact for the first leg of your run here. I work for a small R&D company who maintains a remote facility in a hazardous environment. Unfortunately something has gone wrong and we have temporarily lost contact with the group inside the facility. We are very concerned with the people who are inside and we would like you to go to them, retrieve the data cluster from the main computer, and of course effect a rescue of anyone who is left. The facility is located underwater of the coast of Guam, just on the edge of the Marianas Trench. We will be providing a mini sub and pilot to get you down there as well as any transportation you will need. The price is 50k each, 10 now, 40 when the job is done. Any questions?"
(Gin)
Is life support functional at this facility?
Is life support functional at this facility?
"We don't know, thats part of the problem. We can provide you with gear that you feel is reasonable to provide for your safety."
The Airfield, June 3nd 2064, 1615 pm (Wishbone)
"I have a few questions," Wishbone says.
"Is there any known opposition? As in, has another corp sent a team to steal your data, did the security guys start sending funny messages three days ago, were you training kill crazy cyber zombies, or did you chase off some magical beastie which may have come back?
Not that it's a deal breaker, but information is power. The more we know, the better our odds are.
From the sounds of it, any people we see should see us as rescuers. Assuming we're in, appropriate security or emergency services uniforms would help in that. You know, keep a tragic firefight from occuring."
"I have a few questions," Wishbone says.
"Is there any known opposition? As in, has another corp sent a team to steal your data, did the security guys start sending funny messages three days ago, were you training kill crazy cyber zombies, or did you chase off some magical beastie which may have come back?
Not that it's a deal breaker, but information is power. The more we know, the better our odds are.
From the sounds of it, any people we see should see us as rescuers. Assuming we're in, appropriate security or emergency services uniforms would help in that. You know, keep a tragic firefight from occuring."
(Tiptoes)
Tiptoes retains his emotionless mask. "Why are you using deniable assets in this particular instance?"
Tiptoes retains his emotionless mask. "Why are you using deniable assets in this particular instance?"
"The facility isn't exactly super secret, but we are just doing studies on reactionary magic at ocean depths. Its all very technical, but it has to do with the mana well and being closer. To be honest I don't understand it much. We also have a few oceanographic and marine biology labs down there. There shouldn't be anything toxic or dangerous as far as I know. So to answer your first three, no, no, and no. As for the last we can provide you with jackets and ID. We don't really have a security force uniform. Were a small company, not very well connected. As for deniable assets, well we don't want to go to our parent company and ask for a team, it would.... shake investor confidence."
(Gin)
"Tell me more about your computer system. What is it, exactly, that you want retrieved? Can we simply bring back the storage unit or do you require that we bring only a copy of the data back?"
I looked at the rest of our ragtag little band of merry men and women. Interesting and diverse group...
"Tell me more about your computer system. What is it, exactly, that you want retrieved? Can we simply bring back the storage unit or do you require that we bring only a copy of the data back?"
I looked at the rest of our ragtag little band of merry men and women. Interesting and diverse group...
"Well the computer core is lovated in the central complex, the memory core itself is removable but a bit bulky. If all you can get is a copy that would be great. If that is the case we would ask that you destroy the core. We will of course provide codes and maps."
(Gin)
"Codes and maps, huh? That's appreciated. So what's up with the mana down there? Can I expect to die if I drop a spell?"
"Codes and maps, huh? That's appreciated. So what's up with the mana down there? Can I expect to die if I drop a spell?"
Spartan breaks his silence, casually raising his arm as he ask, "How secure are the walls? Will they stand bullets and explosives, or should we be thinking knifework? Also, will sub stay on site? If its not, how long will it take to reach the facility after we call?"
"Spell casting should be perfectly safe. What we were researching was the effect on spells, so we were down there casting spells regularly. The sub will stay on site and wait for you. The walls for the most part should be impervious to all small arms. Grenades and the like would be a bad idea. Not that I think you will need them. If any part of the facility is breached, you can expect water tight doors to slam shut around the breach, cutting off the section from other parts of the facility. It would be a really bad idea to be on the wrong side of those doors."
(Tiptoes)
Tiptoes raises his hand. "I assume this is not an ambient pressure facility?"
Tiptoes raises his hand. "I assume this is not an ambient pressure facility?"
Touristville - Apartment above the Lock and Key Blues Bar, June 2nd 2064, 12:00:00 (Six)
John's phone rang again as he was heading out the door.
"What?" He said as a greeting.
"Hey now chummer, you greet all your friends like that?"
It was Bones again.
"What's up Bones?" He ignored the old dwarf's remark.
"I'm pulling you from the job, but before you fly off the handle, I got a better one lined up for ya. How does Hawaii grab ya?"
"I'm listening..."
John's phone rang again as he was heading out the door.
"What?" He said as a greeting.
"Hey now chummer, you greet all your friends like that?"
It was Bones again.
"What's up Bones?" He ignored the old dwarf's remark.
"I'm pulling you from the job, but before you fly off the handle, I got a better one lined up for ya. How does Hawaii grab ya?"
"I'm listening..."
(Mirage)
"How many personel are trapped down there?" Mirage speaks precise, perfect English, but with a thick French accent.
"And do they have access to any weapons? I've heard that people can go psycho at those depths sometimes"
..................................................
Mirage had arrived five minutes before the meeting, leaving her Westwind parked outside.
"How many personel are trapped down there?" Mirage speaks precise, perfect English, but with a thick French accent.
"And do they have access to any weapons? I've heard that people can go psycho at those depths sometimes"
..................................................
Mirage had arrived five minutes before the meeting, leaving her Westwind parked outside.
"The facility houses about 100 personnel. There is a small security force, mainly for emergencies and a adequately stocked armory. We hope nothing like that happened. You will have to spend some time in decompression after the job is done though, after all you will be nearly 3 miles under the water."
(Wishbone)
"So, if something like that did happen, if some one went nuts, what's our top priority? The people, or the data? If I have to shoot one of your security people to get to the data, do I do it?"
"So, if something like that did happen, if some one went nuts, what's our top priority? The people, or the data? If I have to shoot one of your security people to get to the data, do I do it?"
"It would be regrettable if that happened, and we would appreciate if none of our people were harmed. But if thats what it comes down to then yes, the data is more important."
Vertigo sat scilently sipping her water and listened to her potential team mates shoot questions at the Johnson. Walker's sales pitch seemed pretty resonable, but there was something about all this that made her uneasy.
Why not a salvage team? She thought. All these orcs look like they have enough muscle to be a salvage team, but then why did he call me? If thier skills are anything like mine there must be something more to this.
Looking around at the runners Walker had assembled she suddenly felt small and out of place.
I've never done a job like this. These people are going to think I'm some kind of amatuer. I should just keep my mouth shut.
But there were things she needed to know.
I know...
"So what kind of automated security does this facilty house? Is there any chance that these security features will be operating autonomously when we get there?"
and why the hell else do you need people like me?
Why not a salvage team? She thought. All these orcs look like they have enough muscle to be a salvage team, but then why did he call me? If thier skills are anything like mine there must be something more to this.
Looking around at the runners Walker had assembled she suddenly felt small and out of place.
I've never done a job like this. These people are going to think I'm some kind of amatuer. I should just keep my mouth shut.
But there were things she needed to know.
I know...
"So what kind of automated security does this facilty house? Is there any chance that these security features will be operating autonomously when we get there?"
and why the hell else do you need people like me?
"Well at twenty thousand meters you don't really have to worry about the neighbor crawling in the window, so we just rely on the 5 man, onsite emergency response team. No internal guns or anything."
(Tiptoes)
Tiptoes looks at Mirage, his outer expression betraying nothing, but unease silently lurks under his countenance. Tiptoes was comfortable about the Orks: he'd grown up with plenty in the Barrens and worked with plenty in the biz. Orks were the people he drank with in bars. They were just other people like him.
This French expatriate was something else, though. Dressed in clothing beyond Tiptoes's ken, she looked like the way the vids said a Shadowrunner should look, not the grit Tiptoes dealt with on a daily basis. How the hell did she get in this biz? From out of town, no less? He'd met his fair share of Faces, but they were all up from the bottom, like him. She didn't seem the type.
He didn't like it. But he didn't have to like it. This was biz.
Tiptoes looks at Mirage, his outer expression betraying nothing, but unease silently lurks under his countenance. Tiptoes was comfortable about the Orks: he'd grown up with plenty in the Barrens and worked with plenty in the biz. Orks were the people he drank with in bars. They were just other people like him.
This French expatriate was something else, though. Dressed in clothing beyond Tiptoes's ken, she looked like the way the vids said a Shadowrunner should look, not the grit Tiptoes dealt with on a daily basis. How the hell did she get in this biz? From out of town, no less? He'd met his fair share of Faces, but they were all up from the bottom, like him. She didn't seem the type.
He didn't like it. But he didn't have to like it. This was biz.
(Gin)
I sip my drink and consider the questions flying fast and furious at our Johnson. Not for the first time I wish I had learned a way to seperate truth from falsehood.
"So let me sum up for the moment, to make sure that we all understand what you're asking. You're going to get us out to the Guam area. There we board a minisub under your control which will take us down to an undersea habitat," I barely contain a shudder at the thought of all that closed space but continue, admonishing myself to be stronger. "There, we're suppose to find and either copy the data from your computer core onto seperate media or take the core itself back with us. Collateral metahuman damage is to be avoided but it is acceptible if necessary. We acquire the data and return to the minisub which brings us back to the surface where we spend some time in decompression before you pay us and we all go about our business. Does that about cover it?"
I pause and wait for his response before adding a question of my own: "How long before we leave? I, for one, would like to see if we can acquire some life support equipment in case there's a bigger problem down there in the big blue than you expect."
I sip my drink and consider the questions flying fast and furious at our Johnson. Not for the first time I wish I had learned a way to seperate truth from falsehood.
"So let me sum up for the moment, to make sure that we all understand what you're asking. You're going to get us out to the Guam area. There we board a minisub under your control which will take us down to an undersea habitat," I barely contain a shudder at the thought of all that closed space but continue, admonishing myself to be stronger. "There, we're suppose to find and either copy the data from your computer core onto seperate media or take the core itself back with us. Collateral metahuman damage is to be avoided but it is acceptible if necessary. We acquire the data and return to the minisub which brings us back to the surface where we spend some time in decompression before you pay us and we all go about our business. Does that about cover it?"
I pause and wait for his response before adding a question of my own: "How long before we leave? I, for one, would like to see if we can acquire some life support equipment in case there's a bigger problem down there in the big blue than you expect."
"Close, we will fly you to Guam, where you will get on a boat. It will take about a day for the boat to get you to the Habitats area, then you will get on a sub and go down. There isn't a lot of time to spare. If you accept the job the plane leaves at midnight."
(Gin)
"Well, I need to pick up a few things, but I feel satisfied. Anyone else have any more questions?"
As I accept the job, I look around the table to see what others may do. I finish my drink and set the empty glass before me, mentalling preparing myself for a while spent indoors.
"Well, I need to pick up a few things, but I feel satisfied. Anyone else have any more questions?"
As I accept the job, I look around the table to see what others may do. I finish my drink and set the empty glass before me, mentalling preparing myself for a while spent indoors.
(Vertigo)
Vertigo shot a glance around the room and wondered if the words "contingency plan" where crossing anyone elses mind. Walker didn't seem like the kind of Johnson you had to worry about, but then they weren't working for Walker. They were working for Walker's handlers, and his handlers had already lost control of the situation once. Whats worse, they didn't seem overly concerned about rescueing any of thier "valued employees" down below.
"So who will be driving this mini-sub? Will they enter the arcology with us? Whats our exit strategy if things go south?"
...or further south as the case may be... Man, 50K is a lot of goddamn money....
Vertigo shot a glance around the room and wondered if the words "contingency plan" where crossing anyone elses mind. Walker didn't seem like the kind of Johnson you had to worry about, but then they weren't working for Walker. They were working for Walker's handlers, and his handlers had already lost control of the situation once. Whats worse, they didn't seem overly concerned about rescueing any of thier "valued employees" down below.
"So who will be driving this mini-sub? Will they enter the arcology with us? Whats our exit strategy if things go south?"
...or further south as the case may be... Man, 50K is a lot of goddamn money....
"The sub is automated, it drives on a preset flight plan so to speak."
Spartan's skin crawled. Just like last time he thought to himself. The last time he didn't plan his exfiltration strategy, it took over a hundred thousand to give him his life back. Months lying in that bed... never again, never again he reassured himself. He knew he couldn't afford it again.
"Is an automated sub the one way possible? Will there be any manual overrides? Are there any other subs or escape pods onsite we could use?" Spartan mentally calmed himself down. I have to get a hold of myself. Can't blow this."
He tried laughing it off. "Don't get me wrong, I'm still interested. I just want to make sure I can walk away when its all over."
"Is an automated sub the one way possible? Will there be any manual overrides? Are there any other subs or escape pods onsite we could use?" Spartan mentally calmed himself down. I have to get a hold of myself. Can't blow this."
He tried laughing it off. "Don't get me wrong, I'm still interested. I just want to make sure I can walk away when its all over."
...
"Well after teh sub docks you just hit a button, tap ina a code and it starts a 5 minute countdown. After 5 minutes it heads back up. There are some escape pods scattered around the complex."
[ Spoiler ]
Noticing Tiptoes' gaze, Mirage flashes the Japanese a smile, showing her perfect white teeth.
She then turns turns her attention back to Walker, "I accept the job, out of curiosity when did you loose contact with your facility, and have you made any other efforts to get to them?"
She then turns turns her attention back to Walker, "I accept the job, out of curiosity when did you loose contact with your facility, and have you made any other efforts to get to them?"
(Gin)
"These escape pods will be indicated on the map you mentioned earlier?"
"These escape pods will be indicated on the map you mentioned earlier?"
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