View Full Version : Seattle 2072 (Shadowrun Campaign Journal)

2011-04-10, 08:38 PM
Seattle 2072: Naiveté
Backstory/Intro: Jeremiah St. Isidor (Diogenes)
(April 5, 2072: I write this message to be held encrypted on my commlink until my death, which will trigger the decryption and defuse the defenses. Why I do this only God knows--it just feels like something I should do, while I still can; life is cheap in the shadows, and I don't know how long I'll last...)

I was born Jeremiah Tischbein, May 23 2005. I shouldn't tell you that--I shouldn't tell anyone that--but in the event that someone reads this, it'll probably be too late for that information to hurt me, especially since I stripped my SIN long ago. You could probably track me down with that name, hypothetical future reader, although it wasn't my name for long--beginning at age eleven I begged and whined and pleaded every day, and two years later my parents relented; thus on June 11 2018 I legally became Jeremiah St. Isidor, for the Patron Saint of the Internet and Matrix. That's one of the few solid memories I have of my parents--the final concession, the rush of joy as I assumed the name I thought I would bear proudly for the rest of my life. I guess it's no surprise I don't remember them very well--they were rarely around. I know now that it was due to their careers, but at the time I thought it was because of my 'deformity'--I was born a dwarf, before UGE became widespread; we thought it was the more mundane kind of dwarfism that afflicted people even back then. The truth--that I was arguably a member of a completely different species, that I was arguably not human, came to my attention in 2020. I was fifteen at the time, and I was elated--it was the ultimate way to be Different, and every fifteen-year-old wants to be as Different as possible, for unfathomable reasons I have long since forgotten. This was before the rise of the Humanis Policlub, and the Corporations, and, well, everything. This is no world for old men--so much has changed, so quickly; even I feel it, and I was only six when the big changes began. I would hate to be old enough to remember the old world truly well--it's the one thing about Marissa I don't envy.

Marissa was the young woman who lived across the street. I don't know her age--she tells me she's a lady, so I should know better than to ask--and there was a sort of ageless air to her even before she became an elf. For as long as I can remember, she's been my idol, my role model--from when I was young, and she helped me break the encryption on my KidLink so I could see VR for the first time, through my corporate days where she would stay up with me all night in the lab, helping me code a program or design a particularly strange piece of cyberware by sharing the bits and pieces she got from the runners, and even now. She's been my anchor, for many years. I saved her life once--after a run went sour, the runners decided they wanted some payback against "Ms. Johnson," and I fed their tacnet false inputs to lead them away from her and to Security--but even if I save her life a hundred more times yet, I'll never repay her. She made me who I am today, in more ways than I think either of us really knows. She truly is a remarkable woman...

...that's not the point. The point was to make a record, to put it all in words and save it, just in case, so that even if this business kills me, somebody, somewhere, might know who I am. They say that nobody is truly dead as long as they're remembered, after all, and I don't want to die. I shouldn't be afraid, I know--I should trust that God will carry me through this, and that if I die it will be His will and I will enter His presence in the Hereafter, but it doesn't change a thing--I'm afraid, truly, deeply afraid, the kind of fear I never dreamed of in my forty years of security work and cybertechnology design for Ares Macrotech. It was a good job, I suppose--I was paid well, and I was happy enough, but it was a cage. A gilded cage, yes, but a cage nonetheless. The Arcology walls kept me in, but more than that they kept the world out. I was living in a bubble, serene, content, never seeing the poverty and the death and disease and misery that piled up against the concrete-glass walls of the Ares compound like driftwood and seaweed against a cliff that does not even deign to notice. I think maybe that's why Marissa was never happy, not truly--she'd seen it all, in her work as a Johnson, all the shadows in the Sprawl. If she'd told me then, I'd never have believed--not the way I do know, now that I've been forced into the shadows myself.

It all started with the ESPER--Electromagnetic Sensory Perception Enhancement Reroute, my cutesy name for a neural implant that allowed perception of EM trails. Not only would it be immensely useful for security, both in tracking intruders and in cryptosense node sculpting, but the neural-map rerouting technique the implant employed was 8% more efficient than the existing neural enhancement technology, a small but significant stride. When I showed the board my original pitch, heart so far into my throat I could barely speak, I never expected the results. The board gave the project generous funding, and after eleven months of work at eighty hours a week, my beatuiful brainchild was ready for preliminary testing. The neural reroute technology was still in its infancy--metahuman implantation would cause severe and very dangerous biofeedback--but testing could begin at last. The media was alerted to the upcoming release of the exciting new technology, and suddenly it was like a whirlwind had seized me--I was the PR's department's golden boy, an exemplar, nay, a *paragon* of Ares' magnanimous affirmative-action programs, and I was whisked from interview to interview, a mad fever dream of green rooms, bright lights, and reading from teleprompters. Eventually, though, enough of the hype made it through the haze for me to notice a small but crucial detail--there was already a release date. One data search later, I saw that the Esper was slated for market very soon, despite the as-yet unresolved biofeedback issues.

I was furious, of course--that the project had been removed from my control and I had not even be notified, and that Ares would release dangerous and untested technology. I investigated further, and soon was ready to go before the board with the evidence I had compiled--that Christopher Cyre, a higher-up of the marketing department, had falsely advertised the ESPER as a completed astral-sight implant, ready for market release, in response to rumors of a similar implant from Wuxing to be released by 2100. That Cyre would act so rashly as to release dangerous untested cyberware to the public based only on an unsubstantiated rumor incensed me, not to mention my personal ire over the loss of control over my pet project. Full of righteous indignation, I was ready to confront the board. I was on my way to the boardroom, in fact, when I felt the taser dart connect with my back. Cyre was connected--well connected, especially in the Humanis Policlub. I was one of the original UGE children, and my success had long been an object of distaste for them. The plan was simple--they hijack my project, and market it aggressively in Tir Tairngire and Tir na nOg, preying on the Elven proclivity for Awakening to shame unawakened elves into purchasing the Esper in an attempt to claim some portion of their magical 'birthright'. The dangerous side effects kill or injure the elves who use the device, damaging relations between Ares Macrotech and the Elven community, and the resultant backlash suppresses the new neural-rerouting technology, allowing the Policlub to develop it in secret. The only obstacle was me. So they arranged for a team of runners to 'extract' me and plant evidence that *I* had arranged the extraction--that I had defected to a rival corporation, thus ensuring my status as persona non grata at Ares.

That I survived was a miracle. They left me broken and bleeding in an alley in Redmond, but somehow, by the grace of God, I pulled through. Of course, I have nothing now--I was forced to strip my SIN to avoid legal action, and none of my legitimate funds survive. Marissa has offered to take me in, to hide me; she has the connections to arrange it, I am certain, but I cannot accept her offer. The risk to her would be immense, I do not doubt. No, I will make my own way in the shadows, God willing. I have already made contact with ShadowSEA, a clandestine Matrix site where shadow-dwellers of all stripes can gather to arrange their nefarious heroics.

A group of runners, operating in the Barrens, has found themselves in urgent need of a hacker for a job later this evening, and I have taken the position. My first Shadowrun, my baptism-by-fire as a criminal. Non sum qualis eram--I am no longer who I have been.

And so I step into uncertainty.

Hi all. I am now officially beginning a journal of this game (http://www.giantitp.com/forums/showthread.php?t=192191), in which I play as Jeremiah St. Isidor--Diogenes the hacker. I've titled it naiveté because both my character and I are new to shadowrunning. If any other players from that game want to use this thread for their own journals, I'll change the thread title.

So yeah. Enjoy. First session starts in moments. And so I step into uncertainty...

The Cast

Shadowrun Game Master: 'Slade' here on GitP. Our illustrious GM.
Diogenes: Myself. A dwarven hacker, ex-corporate, trying to find a way to reconcile his high-minded, naive ideals and the harsh reality of the sprawl.
Faith: Rettu Skcollob on GitP. A doctor and mage with an open mind about recreational substance use, trying to do what good she can in the Barrens.
Rook: Levyathyn on GitP. A former soldier who, after a stint with the 10,000 daggers, has 'settled down' to shadowrunning.
Andrew Kane: Noedig on GitP. A former soldier, pressed into service by Ares Corporation, finally discarded to make his own way in the shadows.
Cauhl: Escheton on GitP. Bike-gang mechanic turned rigger, hoping to forge what life he can for himself.
Specter: Zelc on GitP. Largely an unknown to me, at the moment. Forced to flee his former residence, he has recently come to rest in the Seattle sprawl, where he's encountered Rook and agreed to do some running.
Mordred: RdMarquis on GitP. Almost totally an unknown to me, so description as I learn more...

2011-04-10, 09:42 PM
Like the sound of this so far. :smallamused:

2011-04-10, 10:38 PM
I'm playing Specter, a human face/infiltration specialist. This is my character's backstory. If you're in the game, Specter probably hasn't told you most of the story, so it's probably best if you don't read this (just yet?). Don't worry, someday you'll probably learn most of it IC :).


Yo. Guess I’m sharing my story with you today. I go by Specter these days, but I was born David Wong. At least that’s what my adoptive parents told me. See, my parents apparently didn’t like the idea of having me, so they dumped me off at the local Ork Underground. Fine by me, I probably would have ended up as a wageslave.

So I grew up with orks. Tough crowd, ya know, when you’re a short and skinny human orphan who doesn’t know how to fight and couldn’t take a punch. My nose is still crooked from all the fights I’ve been thrown into. I got real good at spotting trouble and hiding. Fortunately, I was born double-jointed, so I could slip away when caught. Even better, I learned how to make friends and get people to watch my back. Making friends with the biggest guy in school saved my skin a few times.

I was 12 when I met Orty, an accomplished Shadowrunner. He must have liked me, and he took me under his wing and taught me a lot of what I know about security systems and infiltrating secure areas. He even got me some treatment for my nut allergy. It’s still painful, but it won’t kill me. Messed up my immune system to do that though, so I’ve been getting sick a lot, but it’s worth it. After I turned 14, he started having me help out on some of his work and get some real-life experience. He said I had a keen eye and a lot of charm, so I did a lot of legwork and lookout. In a couple more years, he hooked me up with a small team and I started my career as a runner for real. It was me as the face and infiltration specialist, Simon the gunner, and Trotsky the hacker/rigger.

We had a pretty good career. We mostly did data gathering missions, with the occasional wetwork. I could talk or sneak my way into a building. After about 4 years of work, we hit the jackpot. During a mission, we found a rather… embarrassing piece of information about a corp’s CEO. We ended up getting a hefty blackmail for it, enough for me to afford some wares and start enjoying life. I couldn’t retire, of course, but I spent less time on Shadowrunning and more time on leisure and consulting. I got to live the good life. You won’t believe how nice it is to wake up in a roomy decked out apartment, and enjoy the best food Philly has to offer.

Too bad this lasted only two years, which takes us to 2 weeks ago. My team and I get a call to infiltrate an ER Corp warehouse and steal some packages. ER Corp is a software company with most of their presence in Philly. Publicly, it’s known for its education software, but in the shadows, we knew it for its brutality. As they say, it’s the small dogs that are fastest to bite. The corp tries to protect itself from Shadowrunners by relentlessly pursuing and punishing those caught going after it. I know all corps do that, but this company really pushes the envelope. Many died even when their missions were successful, and almost no one survived a failed mission. Even those who got out would usually wind up gruesomely dead shortly afterwards. Mitsuhama looks cuddly compared to these guys.

Orty told me not to take the job. He said if we screwed up, not even he could risk trying to help me. He told me everyone would cut me loose. I was cocky, though. I knew we could do it, so I ignored him. We came up with a pretty good plan to get into the warehouse. Trotsky handled the automated security, and Simon and I got into the place and began looking for the packages. We quickly found a couple, and were looking for the last few when Trotsky yelled at us to bail.

It could have been a setup, or just horrible luck. Trostky later learned that ER Corp’s security team planned a surprise test of the warehouse security that night. Imagine their surprise when they found bypassing security much too easy, since we took it down already. We ran for it. Poor Simon got caught. Their Corpsec was good, Simon only took down one of them with him. I managed to get to Trotsky, and we hauled ass out of there. We knew we had to split, and I started making plans to get out of Philly. I didn’t share those plans with Trotsky, and it was a good thing I didn’t, because he turned up dead the next day.

Even with all my contacts cutting me off, I still managed to get some plane tickets. I bounced around UCAS, burning the fake SINs I had as I went. After four stops over five days, I ended up here in Seattle. I was down to one fake SIN I dared to use, and without most of my gear. I’ve since worked the black market to get another fake SIN and rebuild my gear collection. I don’t have everything back, but it’s a start. More important, I made friends with a bar owner in the Ork Underground. Hopefully he can point me to a Fixer. I need a team and jobs, fast. I need to be prepared for when ER Corp finds me here. And I still have no idea if someone set me up. Even if they don’t find me, I still need money to taste the best restaurants of Seattle. Might as well make the best of it while I’m here.

And here's Specter's Char Sheet at the beginning of the game: http://www.myth-weavers.com/sheetview.php?sheetid=289797

2011-04-10, 11:14 PM
Good god.

Are you each writing your own backstory?

I'm totally following this. This has the makings of amazing stuff.

2011-04-10, 11:36 PM
Bollocks! Why is it I always miss recruiting threads for SR games.

2011-04-10, 11:36 PM
Slade, the GM here, yea, I want this to be the IC and Character thread. Journals will be posted here too. In no particular order. And on that note:

Prelude: A diamond in the dump.

Seattle, UCAS, December 23rd, 2071

Jamming his finger into his mouth, Kerwin Loomis tasted the metallic tang of blood mixed with sweat and grime. He wondered if this whole thing was worth it. Kerwin slumped back, running a hand back across his sweaty, bald head. He stank, he needed a good whiskey—not that synthahol crap—and he was seriously beginning to doubt that there was anything here worth his while.

At this point, it was probably a waste to have spent the cred on a plane ticket to paw through Dad’s collection of crap before it all got hauled off to the dump. It wasn’t like the two of them had gotten along or anything. If it hadn’t been for the fact that Kerwin was K-Spot’s only son, he doubted he’d have even gotten the formal email from the lawyer announcing Dad’s death and informing him that he, Kerwin, had been left everything.

This large storage locker was all that remained of dear old Dad, known to the entertainment world as Clarence “K-Spot” Loomis, mid-level purveyor of mostly two-bit acts that everybody with any sense had forgotten about twenty years ago. Naturally, since Dad had been about as good with cred as Kerwin himself was, “everything” amounted to some clothes, a few random bits of furniture and household appliances, two ratty old guitars, a nonfunctional pre-2055 cyberdeck, and the key to the storage locker.

From the look of things, the place hadn’t been opened in a good ten years. The locker company was making noises about dumping everything in the street if the last three months’ back rent wasn’t paid, and since Kerwin didn’t want to pay it, here he was to grab any good stuff that might be hanging around. The hell with the rest of it—let them dump it. It would save him the trouble, and it would serve his old coot of a father right.

He didn’t quite want to admit it to himself, but he had a reason for pulling open carton after carton of junk. It was probably just another fib, but his dad had mentioned it enough times when Kerwin was growing up that he had to believe that it might just possibly be true. The faint chance that it might be somewhere in the locker was what kept Kerwin going long after he’d normally have given up the job in favor of getting good and drunk (and maybe even laid, if he was really lucky).

It sure as hell hadn’t been in the apartment—Kerwin had made sure of that, going through every drawer, every possible hiding place, even looking under the smelly old carpets before he’d handed the key back to the landlord. No, if Dad still had it (and hadn’t sold it to finance any of his sleazy habits), it would be here. Kerwin was going to keep looking until he either found it or was convinced that it wasn’t here. He had a feeling that if Dad had sold it, he’d have heard about it. It wasn’t the kind of thing you could keep quiet.

“Come on, you old bastard,” he muttered to himself. “You better not have been lying, all those times you ran your mouth about this thing. Don’t make me sift through all of this crap for nothing!” He savagely threw yet another box full of junk into one of the locker’s walls, where it burst and scattered its contents all over the floor. He was sullenly about to move on to the next one when he spotted a bulky cream-colored envelope in the midst of the spilled junk. He’d been so impatient he nearly missed it going through the box, hidden as it was inside a folder with some other old papers.

Something was written on the envelope. He kicked his way through the trash-drifts and snatched it up, peering at it in the grimy overhead light from the single naked bulb. “To K-Spot,” it said in a flowing, somewhat old-fashioned hand. “Enjoy these with my gratitude.” It was signed, “JB.”

Kerwin held the envelope in front of him, just looking at it with wide eyes and open mouth for several seconds. Then, his body seized with a kind of jerking urgency, he fell back into his chair, ripped open the envelope, and allowed the contents to drop into his lap. He stared at the old-style optical disk in its paper slipcover, entranced as the quivering light made dancing rainbows on its silvery surface. Written on it in the same handwriting as the outside of the envelope was:

“Carrion Sessions, ’48, JB. For enlightenment, seek out absent friends.”

“Holy,” Kerwin breathed, hardly daring to believe his sudden change in luck. “This is it!” Letting his breath out slowly, he slumped back, clutching the precious cargo. His eyes were already beginning to gleam with the light of avarice, but he knew he had to be careful. He sat abruptly upright, realizing he was alone in the storage building and it was getting late. His plane
back to Seattle was due to leave tomorrow morning; the sooner he was packed up and on it, the better. He slipped the disk inside his jacket, kicked the boxes back inside, and closed and locked the door. The devil rats could have the rest, as far as he was concerned. He had what he’d come for—old Dad had come through for him in death as he never had in life.

But he’d have to be careful … very careful. If he didn’t handle this just right, he was likely to lose his prize. He didn’t even consider that it might also cost him his life.

Seattle, UCAS, January 4th, 2072, 9:35 AM.

The rain and the ash and the acid are mixing it up today. It is rather cold today too... so the wet, acidic, slightly toxic goo that makes up Seattle's rain fall is also slick as it is freezing too. The sun should... oh, wait, what sun. The damn clouds never move out of the way, either.

The news feeds are rather boring too... "Technomancers are evil!" "Mandatory Registration for Technomancers and Virtual Kinetics!" "In a press release today, Governor Brackhaven released his picks for his cabinet...." "Lone Star arrested 17 in a raid..." "blah blah blickety blah..."

Frankly, its hard to decide to why you do get out of bed. The fusion plants are working overtime to meet the demands of rich needy customers who want to stay warm, so the rest of suburbia get by on what ever is left over, which aint much...

From the comfort of [the players] toasty bed, piled high with micro fusion powered heated blankets your commlink chirps up...

2011-04-10, 11:43 PM
Good god.

Are you each writing your own backstory?

I'm totally following this. This has the makings of amazing stuff.

Yes, wrote our own. Thanks, all, for the interest!

2011-04-11, 08:32 AM
Well you've certainly caught my interest, I'll be keeping my eye on this thread.

The Glyphstone
2011-04-11, 08:38 AM
*makes burnt offerings to the Campaign Journal God in hope that this will last long than the previous group journal*

2011-04-11, 10:17 AM
Cauhl Tartus, wheelman, rigger, exceptional mechanic. At your service.

As for the group, he probably has not shared the information below, but it's easy enough to read something of that nature from a single glance at the man.

Always been the stoic one, hanging back to purvay the situation while his brothers roughhoused.Sometimes one of them would come up to him for a chat, though he knew it was to keep him connected to the group and under control.
He never felt for this slighly brutal group dynamic. He just liked working on the bikes.
Or so it started.

It's funny how peer pressure works. You could be unaffected your entire life amongst your family, friends, collegues and classmates.
Yet when stuck in a room with a pack of loud smelly orks and you suddenly get competitive and boastful.
He liked it. There was something off about it, but they did feel like brothers. Which made the statusincrease and adrenalinrush of winning a race all the more satisfying.
And the hours of tinkering, practicing and studying all the more rewarding. It was a good life.
Guess it all just got outta hand at some point.
He could never tell what the turning point was. Thats what ya get with vicious circles. The decay is gradual. You don't notice till one day you reflect due to a birthday or a funeral or some **** like that.
Anyways, before he knew it tinkering on bikes had grown to include nitro's,crafting smuggling compartments, weaponmounts and custom made machine guns for the boys.
The racing had turned into a full blown obsession/addiction. The ocational binge or drugladen night turned into a steady habbit. And the biker gang into a crime syndicate.
It was a good life, but suddenly he saw the cost. Maybe it was these new implants, maybe it was just because he was getting older. But his perspective widened again.
The big picture and clear sight on consequences came back to him. Something he had lost on the way down.
Having regained it, he could no longer turn a blind eye.

He had been in it from the grassroot, but now he had to break with it.
It would not be easy, and it will cost him.
So he called in some favors and staged his own death. Oldest trick in the book.
Crashed and burned on the high way no less. Can you believe it?
Some of the guys didn't buy it, they didn't have to.
He got a clean break, left everything behind. Which is why they never came looking. Looting corpses always calmed em.

That was ages ago, he's doing pretty well for himself these days.
Nice little garage that doubles for a chopshop and whatever else he needs really.
Pretty low key, good crew. One in particular he trusts with his life.
Then again, they have been a team since prettymuch the day Cauhl became Cauhl Tartus.
Jobs are pretty steady, both for the shop and him personally.
Helps to have a fixer you can rely on.
It's a good life.

Rettu Skcollob
2011-04-11, 01:06 PM
I'm playing Faith (http://www.myth-weavers.com/sheetview.php?sheetid=286150) in this game; Healer, junkie and friend. It looks like the others have me beat in the fiction department, damn. Well, might as well make use of the thread regardless.


Faith was born and raised in the Barrens, which is surprising given her appearance and personality. But daddy wasn't an ordinary unfortunate like the rest of the metahuman detritus clinging to the barely habitable wasteland. In fact, he was a Shadowrunner - and quite a good one. Having made a big score on a job, Martin Karnes ducked into a safehouse of his in the barrens, planning to wait until the heat had died off. He made the semblance of earning a living amongst them by brewing up some legal chemicals and selling them at a very marginal profit - a profession that made him very popular amongst the locals indeed.

As it turns out, however, the best laid plans can be overturned by chance. Martin met Chrys, a hardened medical savant who had been operating as a makeshift doctor for barely any nuyen at all, struggling against the poverty and filth that was so ubiquitous in the barrens. First contacting him and making an arrangement where he would brew some basic medical supplies for her at cost, it did not take long for the two to become close friends, and then, inevitably lovers.

Which is, of course; where Faith comes in.

Faith was raised by probably the best set of parents a SINless barrens child could hope for. She took after her father in many ways, and learned enough of his trade in the brewing of chemicals that she could get by. Her personality was most definitely shaped by her mother's, however. Of kinder souls, there have been few greater than Chrys. Their greatest moment was Faith's awakening - she had displayed little aptitude for much else before, but now she had a talent which she could use to the common good - much of her initial powers were gained from practicing through aiding her mother's patients.

However; the Barrens are nothing if not a breeding ground for urban predators: Gangers and other criminal scum are a prime crop. The local hoods began pressuring Martin to brew drugs for them, threatening him and his family should he refuse. It was here that Martin finally revealed himself for what he was to his family. He planned to take Chrys and Faith back to the city, get them fake SIN's and remove them from the awful life they would otherwise be trapped in.

Unfortunately, Chrys refused to leave behind the people that needed her most, and would not be persuaded otherwise. She was, however, adamant that Faith should not continue to grow up in the conditions she herself had, and was incensed Martin had not mentioned this before. At her insistence, Martin agreed to take Faith to Seattle proper - to forge her a SIN, give her the semblance of a normal life, promising to return later.

Unfortunately for the small family, it was not to be. Incensed at Martin's escaping their grasp, the gangers murdered Chrys not long after the two left. Martin became depressed and angry at the world - turning to the drink and drugs he had until now avoided, and the money from his last run was running out. Chrys needed work, but was barely seventeen: The solution was, as it happened, simple. There were many 'Runner teams who would (literally, in some cases) kill for a dedicated support mage, particularly one with the aptitude Faith had. Her father was often visited by old friends, trying to shake him out of his funk, and eventually she was successful in getting one to help her join a team.

Those early years were the most hectic and dangerous - still mastering her powers, fragile, and without any combat skills, it was hard for Faith to survive. By the time she had turned 20, however, she had finally stabilised. The money from intermittent jobs, before barely enough to support her and her father, turned to a profit, aided by side-work in between runs selling chems. (both legal and otherwise) By now, Martin was finally starting to return to normal life. He was unhappy with his one and only daughter engaged in his dangerous profession, but he could little judge. All he could do was teach her as best he could, some basic skills in firearms, provide her with contacts and gear.

Before long, Faith was as much a Shadowrunner as anyone, albeit one with a strangely well adjusted set of morals, and a general aversion to violence.

A feeling.

There was something to remember. Twisting spirits and thoughts crowded through a sea of the mind. With no ego to grasp at the information and wrench it into place, tearing it at the seams, there was contentment, simply because there was no alternative.

But still. That feeling. It was vague. A word. 'Faith'. That was a connection. Attention drifted. Sound. Another word, rediscovered. 'Music'. The letters slid into place, unlocking a cascade of new connections. Shapes began to appear. How long had eyes been closed? A shiver; enlightenment and pleasure.

There was still something to remember. But the womb of the mind was so comforting, was it worth reaching outside the infinite understanding, and let in the tide of ignorance? The feeling was growing stronger.

A naked shaman beckoned, visions of becoming a running stream, flowing into a distant pool. Slowly drawn through the roots of an ancient tree, and slain by an axe, to be shaped and reborn, a statue of a smiling God, looking down upon the praying masses. A blink, and when the eyes were open again, generations had passed, a torrent of enlightenment at the silent watcher's feet absorbed in an instant.

There it was, bobbing in the stream of thoughts again. Clutching at it, a sense of urgency. Why? No time. Fingers clutching, brushing... Ego. Faith. Red Mescaline. Commlink. Rain. Soycaf.

The world danced before her eyes, wide as saucers. The spell was flowing through her body before she even realised what was happening. The pleasurable shivers subsided, the spirit-drug dismissed. She remembered dosing earlier, a new batch to test. A feeling of being bare - as though her mind was stretched. There would be no sleep tonight - not with the drug in her system.

Raising the cold soycaf to her lips, she scowls. ****ty brand. Cold. Too strong. No sugar. She has drained the cup, she realises. The mud-water is a needed anchor, feeling it in her belly reminds her not to be distracted as the visuals recede from vision. Taste and appetite would not return for some time - what were the pleasures of the flesh compared to those of the mind?

The commlink. Call. If it was a commarketer, perhaps there would be murder due. Work, maybe... The money from the previous job had dried up - the city was a beautiful, fickle mistress, and the people were as changeable as her moods behind the cloudy veneer.

The mug drops from the table, where she has placed it awkwardly, searching for sleek AR shades she hates. A document 'To Father.txt' clouds her vision as they are donned, and is dismissed. Philosopher, chem-hound, healer, daughter, friend - Faith was all of these things and more, and in the end, she could only follow the currents.

2011-04-11, 01:56 PM
It looks like the others have me beat in the fiction department, damn.

I'm not sure I agree--your story is excellent.

2011-04-11, 07:04 PM
I'm playing Mordred, an adept focusing on close quarter fighting.

Here is his character sheet. http://www.myth-weavers.com/sheetview.php?sheetid=286730

From: Riley Finn

To: Morgan Senlis

Subject: Nice to see you again.

This may come as a surprise, but we have met before. Not that I expect you to remember. You were only a baby then.

But, let's get back to your previous question. I'd be glad to tell you what I've been up to for the past seventeen years if you'll do the same for me. Also, you might want to grab a snack before you read this. It'll be somewhat lengthy.

I'll start by saying that I'm actually your half-brother. Although we share the same father, my mother was an elf named Nina Finn, who he met over the course of his work as a Mr. Johnson. They fell in love, but the relationship didn't last. Dad had already been engaged to a woman more befitting of his social standing. He only stayed with Nina long enough for me to be born.

I'll continue this later.

2011-04-11, 07:57 PM

2011-04-11, 11:19 PM
I'll be playing Gunnery Sergeant (R.E.D) Andrew Kane.
Sorry for long post.

"Advice? Yeah I got advice for ya. Read the fine print. Don't get lead on by some fast talking suit. You find that print, and you goddamn read it."
Andrew did not always live by this rule. Then again, he couldn't always read either. Born into the lower class of Seattle, Andrew did not have the luxury of an education. His primary concern in his early years was generally limited to food. His father worked for Ares as a "security contractor," while his mother did her best keep Andrew fed. What her "best" entailed was a matter of contention in the family. There were many nights when his father would come home drunk, his wage spent on whatever passed for cheap beer. Andrew could hear them argue back and forth, until voices were raised, and blows were exchanged.

This was Andrew's world until he turned 18. The suits at Ares put out a call for able body young men, and seeing the world around him, and what his parents were, decided that he wanted none of what they had. He took the opportunity offer to him and joined the armed forces branch of Ares, seeing it as a way out of abject poverty. And this was his first mistake. Not being able to read or write, he signed an "X" on the contract and called it done, not really thinking of the consequences. Ares taught him his trade, forged him into a soldier, and then dropped him into the fire. His first tour of duty was in what used to be Sudan, in the old oil fields, trying to secure the last dwindling reserves of crude oil.

The tour was going well, minus the heat and constant sand, for the first day at least. On day two, Andrew stepped out of his barracks, and onto an IED. The blast carved him up badly. The doctors saved his life along with most of his body, but a piece of shrapnel had torn through his guts and into his spine, and he had been blinded by the fire from the blast. He was paralyzed and blind. He languished in bed for weeks. Then the suits came. He'd signed a contract, and damn him if he wasn't going to hold up his end of the bargain. His contract said they could legally do whatever they wanted to make sure he did just that. The rebuilt his spine, replaced his muscles, gave him sight again. He was almost grateful. Until they told him what he'd be doing for the rest of his life to pay it off. He'd be a shadow operative. Killing who they said, and destroying what they ordered him to destroy.

For 22 years they used him as their own private butcher. Finally one day the cut him lose. His debt was paid, and then some. They didn't need him. They didn't care. Now back on the streets of Seattle, Andrew eeks out an existence, and quietly battles his demons when the sun goes down. You see, he remembers the faces. His mind won't let him forget.

2011-04-12, 06:33 PM
*makes burnt offerings to the Campaign Journal God in hope that this will last long than the previous group journal*

I accept your offerings. Since I am the gamemaster, the success or failure of this rests on my shoulders.

2011-04-12, 06:41 PM
Of the runs/campaign yeah. But posting of session reports will likely be done by all or none of us, depending.
Which is usually what kills the journal in the end.

2011-04-12, 07:05 PM
I'll post the session transcript (i.e., the Skype conversation) and choice comments from the OOC thread, since I can edit that into the OP until it runs out of space. I'll also do an in-character journal for Diogenes.

2011-04-12, 11:40 PM
My character is Damien Kaslav, known in the shadows and to old friends as Rook, a former UCAS Ranger and skilled sniper. Backstory is something he's reluctant to tell, because of the memories, but friends will have the gist of it.

"I was born into war." Damien says, taking a sip of his whiskey. "My parents were poor Russian workers in a small border town just north of Mongolia. It was Russia and Russia, of course. There were cease fires. Other countries managed to squeeze in attacks when we weren't killing ourselves. We managed for a few years, until my mother died." He says, his voice even. "I never knew her, but my father said she was a good woman." He stops talking for a moment, letting the sounds of the bar take over in his place.

"My father decided to take us out of there. He was a combat instructor for the Russian special forces, a seventeen-year veteran, survival expert, marksman. He taught me everything I know." Damien says,a touch of pride in his voice. His eyes gleam, tiny cybered radials spinning in place with a low hum as they try to focus on the impossible task of looking into the past. The cybereyes glaze over with memory. "Meantime," He continues, "he sent out feelers to the States. Someone in the UCAS was interested, and they took him up on the offer. Within a month we were shipped out. It was the same old story of corporate defection, but in this case, it was governmental. The Russians objected, these objectiones were noted, signed in triplicate, and then pissed on by a group of aides, I'm sure."

"Anyway, we made it. I grew up in Point Champion for a while, out in Michigan. After a few years, we took some job opportunities, and we moved all over the place. Half the time I was out of the country. When I was 18, I enlisted. My father was a soldier at heart, had been raising me for military life ever since I was old enough to hold a rifle. You see in the trids all the time about the honorable son rejecting his father's ways; That wasn't me. And after some basic, I was sent out on a few missions." He takes a breath, seems reluctant to continue.

"Well, I don't want to go into it. Long story short, we were sent into Egypt. It was a setup, and some of my guys died. I made it out, though, and managed to hit evac before we pulled out. Put me in line for a promotion, but it wasn't a good day. I became a Ranger, got sent in for some heavy sh*t. Streaming down a fast-descent rope in the jungles of South America with a sky spirit shaking the hell out of your chopper. Those are good times." Damien says, throwing you a smile. "Still, a year later my CO died. He was a good man, and after my father passed, peacefully, thank you, after he died, Captain Keller was my adoptive father, you know? He took care of me and his men. He had been there since before Egypt, so we knew some bad times before, but it was rough."

"When my next term came up, I declined. I took my honorable discharge, made off with my severance package, and headed for familiar ground. I found work wherever I could. With my resumé, 10,000 Daggers was eager to try me out, and I passed their test and worked with them for a while, mostly in the mideast, northern Africa, and a few jaunts back into Mother Russia. Not that I remembered much about it. Still, I felt drawn to Seattle. It was a city like none other, I could tell that much from my few trips there. I started working the Shadows, usually protection or elimination. I was in strong corporate demand, and I didn't always have to work with a team, so I made some pretty good money. Of course," He adds, after a moment of introspection, "things can never stay good for long."

"It was a simple run, a year or two back." He says. "Corporate hijacking. Corp A wanted a scientist. Corp B wanted to keep her. It was trouble, but it paid well, so I took the job with a team. It was rough, but we made it. We took her to...well, we took her to her new corporate home, job over, case closed. It wasn't so simple, though. This new, mystery corp was forcing her to work on the homeless. She wanted out in general, out of the corporate scene, and for some reason, she thought she could count on me. I guess she was right. It took some pull, mostly from my cred account, and some good safe time out in the dangerous NAN forests just outside of town, but we made it, and she started a practice on the sly. After a while, it seemed like everything was forgotten." Damien finishes off his whiskey and stands, shrugging on his jacket as he heads for the door. At least, I hope so. He thinks to himself, the everpresent Seattle rain splattering down around him into a light, early morning fog.

2011-04-14, 12:16 AM
Session 1: In which employment is found (Transcript)
This is the contents of the IC thread so far.

Cauhl (Escheton): "*grumble*, *yawn* "what the hell, this better be important"* rigs ferrets on guard to check*
"who the frell is that, thought this was a secure link"
*answers comm* "who are you and what do you want?"

Conrad Wade: Momentarily distracted by the interplay of light- the sickly natural and ethereal artificial rays dancing across her vision, Faith remembers how to speak. "... Hello?"

Diogenes (Kallisti): Diogenes sits bolt upright as his link goes off. "Ah, yes. I've forgotten to stop the agents from waking me for incoming calls." He quickly sends a command via his DNI: route it to my Meta Link, and make a note to delete the call record later. Remind me of deletion--quietly--on the quarter-hour. Moments later, his commlink begins to buzz. "Hello?"

Specktackles (Mordred): Five hours ago, Riley was leafing through an actual paper copy of the Odessey, trying to stave off insomnia. Two and a half hours ago, he was running through his Firefight stances for the same reason. Fifteen minutes ago, he had collapsed into bed, finally feeling drowsy. If not for a force of will and some skilled engineering, he would have crushed the commlink in his hand. Riley was normally a very even tempered person, but the caller's timing was just a little too perfect to help his mood. "Do me a big favor? Give me some really good news."

Shadowrun Game Master (Slade): *Those of you with a Fixer at any decent rating (2+) will get that call.*
*I see Cauhl and Hope have that fixer contact*

Shadowrun Game Master (Slade): (TO Cauhl) *Its a recorded message, and only in text format.* "Hello firend. If you seek some dishonest money tonight, call <number>. A very flashy troll is putting the word out."

Cauhl (escheton): *gets up and stumbled around the mess looking for pants and some stimulant to wake em up*
while the water is boiling on an old fashioned hotplate salvaged from a junkyard years ago, Cauhl grabs his disposable comlink and "dials" the number.

Shadowrun Game Master (Slade): (TO Hope) *Hey there friend, I got word that someone is looking for talent. <number>

Shadowrun Game Master: (Cauhl) *The number is a voice mail drop box. No talking, no words. It is set up to simply leave a message for the owner.*

Cauhl (escheton): *uses voice scrambler just in case* "I'm gonna need some more information than that bub, but I could use some excitement about now. Tell mr flashy he might have a runner"
"a team if it seems legit"

Rook (Levyathyn): Rook dropped the oily cloth back into his kit and zipped it up. The last of his guns were cleaned and spotless, and once again, he was bored. Wide awake, he slipped on his shades in the dark of his open room, his bare chest exposed to the cool, damp air of the apartment. He flicked on his commlink and opened up a matrix favorites list. He scrolled down the list manually, not caring to jack in this early. He found WorldView down, seventh on the list. Accessing it, he saw a screen flicker to life; He was now looking out from the cold, wet lens of camera # 177234829, mounted at great expense on a rotating rail just under the lip of the Space Needle. The view, though grey, dismal, and wet, was nothing short of spectacular.

He leaned back onto his bed, relaxing as he linked his audio to real time projections of the rain outside. The night was foggy, and with luck, he could get to sleep soon. He stared out at the slow, panoramic view of Seattle, restless, and finally decided to grab a hot drink from the kitchen facilities. A small indicator popped up on his eyes, warning him of an incoming comm call, and with a sigh, he slipped off his shades and shot down the link. It looked like another all-nighter. He puls out the matte black uplink plug and clicks it into place, just behind his right ear. With a simple command, his message box pops up, and he gazes over the caller's ID, wondering who would be sending him at this hour.

Andrew Kane: Kane's eyes snapped open as the low chime of the comm brought him out of the nightmare he'd been stuck in, and for once, he was grateful of the infernal buzzing noise it made. He stared at the ceiling for a moment, then closed his eyes again.
"Christ, you've seen fit to preserve me for another day, so you must be watching. How about a good night's sleep? Please?" He received no direct answer, but he did not expect one. After all, the Lord works in mysterious ways as they say.

It'd been the same one, as usual. His familiarity with it did not lessen his fear. He rolled over on the lumpy matress he was sleeping on and grabbed his pills. The pain was already coming, and he had no wish to deal with it. He took his dosage for the day, hoping it was enough. He cycled his vision into low light mode, his dead metallic eyes making a slow soft whirring noise as they adjusted. His apartment slowly resolved into a grainy reality around him. He looked reflexively at the moldy couch that occupied much of the small space the apartment provided him with. Undisturbed. He sighed. His very precious, and very illegal equipment lay stuffed under the cushions.

He made a tally of the gear in his head. Four firearms, twelve grenades, and several hundred rounds of ammunition. He'd gotten a good deal with the arms dealer he'd met. He flexed his arms, and blades slid out. He checked them for notches, or other deformities. Seeing none, he sheathed them. He flicked his cyberware on, and then off again when he found that it worked. He picked up his comm and plugged it in, irritable about being woken. At 40, he wanted all the sleep he could get, bad or not. Whoever it was, they had better have damn good reason for waking a retired Gunnery Sergeant.

Conrad [Hope]: Faith sends a quick message to Rook's commlink, forwarding the text to him. <Just got this. Thoughts?> That done, she performs her usual ablutions, brushing aside the curtains so as to get some reading time by the rain-covered windowsill before she replied to the message.

Cauhl (escheton): While sipping his synthetic coffee and munching on a soybar Cauhl grabs a clipnote and goes down his list of run-gear, in case there will be some action tonight.
Getting to the 6th item on the list, the car, Cauhl figures it's about time to contact the hideout.
He then proceeds to send an encrypted msg to Diogenes with the available information and asking to forward the msg that we might have a gig tonight.

Diogenes (Kallisti): Diogenes holds his Meta Link to his ear, and hears the cultured voice of his agent. "Sir, incoming message from Cauhl. Text only." He sends the decrypt command, then forwards the message to the rest of the team, with an additional note: "It appears we've found employment. --Diogenes."

Rook (Levyathyn): Rook opens the message from Faith, and is intrigued by the contents. Keeping in mind that it was probably forwarded to her through a fixer, or some inforunner. He played along, and dialed the commcode, sure Faith wouldn't be pulling his leg on this. Sure enough, the simple, pre-recorded message seemed legit, at least so far. His suspicions were confirmed moments later, when he got a short, simple message from Diogenes.

<It appears we've found employment.

Nodding to himself, Rook slips the device away and pulls out a rumpled designer shirt. He knew that image was important in the shadows, and the tight, stylized material was especially put together to show off muscles and build, as well as cost. It paid to advertise.

Andrew Kane: It was Dio, Rook's friend. Dio was ex-Ares, which made Gunney suspicious but he clearly must've pissed them off somehow, as he was running the shadows now. From what Rook had hinted at, Dio had been big in the Seattle area. In fact, Gunney was pretty sure he'd at least partially designed the TacSoft system he used.
He checked the message, twice. It was vague and he suspected a trap, but the rest of the team looked like they were going along with it, and he was getting restless. He wanted to shoot things; scratch that old itch. It never really went away. 22 years of black corporate operations made it impossible. He reflected on that number for a moment. He was by no means young anymore, some of the team members being literally half his age. He shook those thoughts from his mind. Best not to dwell on them.
He dressed himself, throwing on his armor vest, and long coat. He stuffed his gear into a duffle bag, and stepped out of his tenant.
"God, but I'm getting too old for this." He hailed a cab and headed off toward the hideout.

Rook (Levyathyn): Stretching his muscles, Rook dropped down for the cursory early morning pushups and situps, his mind wandering while his body took care of the work. Once he was done, after time uncounted spent back in the sands of Egypt or the broken cities of Somalia's coastlines, he stood and finished dressing, throwing on his jacket and tucking his shades away in the neckline of his shirt.

Zelc (Specter): The alarm goes off early, like it has the last week and a half. Specter sits up with a groan, reaching out an arm to silence the buzzer. "I've grown soft," he thought to himself. He'd gotten used to sleeping late. That was only 13 days ago, before he came to Seattle, but even that seemed so distant. Everything has changed. Today, he can not afford to sleep in.

He set a cup of soycaf brewing and stepped into the shower, running through his plans for the day with a handheld commlink. Only about a thousand Nuyen left. Won't even cover living expenses for another month. Try to make some contacts, get a job. He'd already met some people, some of whom seemed promising. Garek, the bar owner. Damien. Smitty. They'd all mentioned they might be able to do something, but it's been several days. Specter sighs. It'd be much easier if he could find a Fixer.

He turns his attention to his next order of business. He had to leave a lot of gear when he ditched town, including his best clothes, his armored suit, and all of his B&E gear. He'd managed to reacquire a Chameleon Suit and some Gecko Tape Gloves, but rebuilding the rest of his kit was going to take time. An autopicker could certainly help with his money situation, but getting one was proving to be challenging.

He turns off the shower, dries himself off, and heads for his soycaf when his commlink chirps. Damien. Specter takes a breath, then answers the call.

Rook (Levyathyn): Rook starts to leave, then stops, and rubs his chin thoughtfully. He knows the team is still a bit undermanned, so he's been trolling some lower class bars, looking for potentials. He found one, Gunnery Sergeant Kane, a man Damien respected despite his conflicted past with Ares. Moreso because of it, in fact. He also remembered...what was his name again? Rook takes a seat on the bed while he considers it. He was a charming kid, stuck out a little even in the dirty undercity. Human, too. Not an easy feat, being pink and fleshy in that place. With a toothy grin, he found the name. "David. David Wong." He said quietly to himself.

He dug through his commcodes, most of them junk, and found the one he was looking for. He opened the line, and as it was already sending, wondered about waking the man up this late. With a shrug, he pressed down on the adhesive and stuck his subvocal microphone in place. The line opened, and as was customary, the recipient waited for initiation. "David? This is Rook, from The Brawlstar, in the Underground. I might have some work for you."

Diogenes (Kallisti): Message sent, Diogenes dashes the sleep from his eyes and begins his work. Shower and shave first, of course--he was a shadowrunner, but that's no reason not to act like a civilized person. Then dress and say morning prayers. Once presentably dressed, breakfast--soycaf and soycubes, of course, tasteless but nourishing. Then work. So many projects, so little time. It was the same way in the lab, he supposed--always rushing from one thing to another. Some days he missed the productivity and the resources he had back then. He'd been blind, unable to see the world as it was beyond the wall of the arcology, but he'd been free to explore the depths of his own imagination, to see what wonders he could make from simple lines of code--the ultimate act of creation, in his view.

But of course it had to end sometime. And now is *not* the time for silly reminiscing. The run. He should prepare for the run. Rook had told him there would be several people joining them, people new to this group, though not to the Shadows. This would be the dwarf's fourth run, but already he knew enough to realize that new people might mean trouble.

He takes a deep breath, steadying himself. One thing at a time. Collate a program suite for the new members. Check the Telematics Infrastructure logs. Check the Access Logs of the team's PANs. Check the data searches he runs continuously on himself on the team to ensure that no unseemly records exist. Drink soycaf before it gets cold. Check his progress on various coding projects (good news). Check his bank account (not such good news). Check schedule and reminders. Message Marissa--"M. A run begins soon. My fourth. Wish me luck! All the best. --J." One thing at a time, that's the way.

Zelc (Specter): Specter smiles a little, and it carries over the commlink. "Damien, my friend. Good to hear from you again. Let's meet up and you can tell me about this job."

Rook (Levyathyn): Rook nods to himself, glad he didn't piss off this potential friend. "Why don't we hop down to the Stuffer Shack on 7th." He says, with a quick mental check of his headware's timepiece. "In say...thirty?"

Conrad [Hope]: Shaking off the aftereffects, a cigarette burning behind her ear, Faith emerges from her room, having made a quick check on the bubbling chemistry laboratory opposite and finally gotten dressed and ready. She gives a wave to Rook as she heads to brew a fresh pot of soycaf.

Zelc (Specter): Specter does his own check of the time, and consults his mapsoft. "Sounds good, Damien. I'll see you there."

Rook (Levyathyn): "Got it." He replies, ending the call with a quick wink to Faith. He steps out of his open room and pulls out his Walther, ejecting the clip. He examines it, and pops it back in, slipping into the kitchen behind her. "I'm out. Off to recon a potential for the team. You want to tag along?" He says to her.

Andrew Kane: The taxi ride had been thankfully uneventful. The driver was in no mood to talk and that suited Gunney just fine. When he had reached his destination, he paid without a word and walked in the dark toward the safehouse, hoping he hadn't gotten the address wrong. He didn't think he had. He couldn't see anything, but he felt...watched. Whoever had place the surveillance equipment knew their craft well. He spotted a few unusually well armed people for this area of the barrens. They regarded him carefully, and he returned the sentiment. He also thought he heard a drone pass overhead but when he looked up there was nothing. Gunney was starting to get very edgy. Not scared. He was far too old to be scared of combat. It was a tension; like a coiled spring just barely held in check. On instinct he flicked on his combat protocols.

The world slowed to a crawl. His eyes and ears focused intensely on his surroundings. He counted five heartbeats, three matching the profiles of humans, and two orks. He switched his eyes to thermal. Definitely five. He nearly reached for his pistols, but stopped. Dio had included a RFID tag in the message. Gunney felt like a proper rookie as he keyed the code and watched the guards visibly relax. He continued on, past them, and to the door. He keyed the code again, and it opened. He was in.

Diogenes (Kallisti): Diogenes looks up from his work as Faith walks into the room. "Oh! I meant to leave another pot on, I'm sorry. I did make toast for you and Damien, but I'm afraid it got a little...crisp. I forgot you shouldn't toast soy as long as regular bread." He smiles apologetically, then waves as Damien enters. "Good morning!"

Rook (Levyathyn): "Morning." Damien says to the dwarf cheerfully.

Conrad [Hope]: "Yeah. It's like people wait for the worst time to call me out of spite. Ah well, I meant to put that batch of sleeping tabs for the couple a few blocks down on the lab yesterday anyway." She says, still sleepy despite shaking off the effects of the drug.

Zelc (Specter): Specter puts down the Commlink. 30 minutes. He takes a gulp of the soycafe and scarfs down some bland soycubes from the fridge. They tasted awful, but getting hungry on the job isn't a great way to make the first impression. 25 minutes. He carefully combs his hair and brushes his teeth. 20 minutes. Specter picks out the most suitable clothes from his closet (although he doesn't have much variety) and carefully puts it on. He checks himself in the mirror one last time. Good. He grabs his commlinks and taser on the way out, and hails a taxi. 15 minutes. The Stuffer Shack is 10 minutes away. It's always nice to show up early to an interview.

Diogenes (Kallisti): "Off to meet our exciting new partners in crime, or do you have time to choke down the toast I burned for you while politely claiming it's palatable?" Diogenes smiles. He may have forgotten the soycaf and mucked up the toast, but at least he remembered to offer. One thing at a time.

Rook (Levyathyn): "Well, like I was telling Faith here, I met this guy a while back in the Underground. A humie, if you can believe it." Rook says, taking a seat on one of the uncomfortable steel chairs that can support his weight. "He seems to know his way around security. Hinted at a colorful past, much like ours. And he seems to have a way with people. I thought I'd give him a chance, see how he plays out."

Conrad [Hope]: "Nah, I'm good." She wouldn't get her appetite back for a while, at least. She pours the soycaf as it finishes brewing. "I guess we finish this and go then?"

Andrew Kane: His sense still maxed out, Gunney could clearly hear the three speakers. Heartbeats register as an Ork, a Dwarf, and maybe a human. He couldn't tell. Not wishing to be shot at for sneaking about in someone's home, he cleared his throat loudly, and shouted "Hello?"

Cauhl (escheton): After the checkup is completed, and with the synthcoffee kicking in Cauhl turns on his sound system to blast out some obscure Norwegian ork metal band.
"Time for a shower, then gear up and head out"
Not before long he's on his Harley on his way to the barrens.

Diogenes (Kallisti): "Want me to follow along in the Matrix, or--" a voice cuts Diogenes off, a gruffly-shouted greeting. "Oh dear. Who is..." The Dwarf's eyes glaze over briefly as he accesses the Telematics Infrastructure. "Ah. I recognize that RFID. Damien, your friend is here, Gunnery Sergeant...I've forgotten the name. He's...rather heavily armed, but I suppose that's his job."

Rook (Levyathyn): Rook nods his assent, pulls the keys to his Jackrabbit out of his pocket and jingles them slightly. He turns, and sees Kane finally there. "Hey, old school. How's the day?" He says. "Kane. Gunnery Sergeant Kane." He says to Dio.

Andrew Kane: "I'm up early, my back hurts, and I've yet to have a decent cup of something caffienated. How's you're end eagle eyes?"

Conrad [Hope]: Panicking, the woman leaps to draw her sidearm from the holster at her side in an amateurish manner, but fumbles the draw, the thing skittering along the counter and falling into the bin. Still needed that soycaf, she was definitely beginning to regret dosing earlier. She looks suitably mortified as the others react with less surprise to the visitor. "Call me Hope... I'll just finish making this soycaf."

Andrew Kane: He caught sight of the girl out of the corner of his eye. She had a gun in her hand. His hand was touching his pistol before he could think, but as he watched the gun tumble through the air, he thought better of it. "Jesus tap dancing christ girl. Do not do that. I am old and liable to shoot."

Rook (Levyathyn): Rook leans in between the two, suddenly tense. "It's ok, null sheen. We probably should have sent out a memo." He says.

Andrew Kane: "Im jumpy as damn rookie." Gunney relaxes visibly. He seems to slow down, though he wasnt moving.

Conrad [Hope]: Brushing some detritus off her gun, Faith gives it a quick once-over before putting it back in it's holster. "Sorry, sorry... Still pretty out of it. Product's ready, sugar and stuff is there." She mumbles, gesturing to a set of freshly filled instant soycaf mugs for those present.

Andrew Kane: Gunney takes a coffee, nonchalantly keeping Hope in sight. It is wonderfully bitter, and invigorating.

Diogenes (Kallisti): "Kane! That's the one! Thank you. I'd forget my own ears if they weren't wired on so well. Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Kane! I'm Diogenes. I'm the Matrix specialist." He winces as Kane and Hope go for their guns. "Oh dear! That's...rather nervewracking. I'll just...go fix some breakfast for everyone. What would you like, Sergeant? We have...well, soy, which we can toast or dice, I suppose. Our selection of flavors is pretty good, though. I'm partial to the mint, myself." The Dwarf is obviously doing his best to smile politely and act casual, brushing bits of non-existent dust from his fine suit, but his face and breathing betray his jangling nerves clear as day.

Rook (Levyathyn): Rook closes his eyes, gently waves off the cup. "I try to stay away, thanks." He says.

Andrew Kane: "I don't eat in the mornings, thank you."

Diogenes (Kallisti): "Then I'll just...go...over here, then. And...work. On my work." The statement is accompanied by vague gestures towards the local terminal.
"Very nice meeting you."

Conrad [Hope]: Faith excuses herself as well, clearly quite embarassed. "Yeah, I'll go work on those sleeping tablets..."

Rook (Levyathyn): Damien smiles to himself, and jingles his keys. "So I take it I'm riding alone?" He asks, not exactly disappointed.

Andrew Kane: "Little early to be hittin up the ol' pub aint it?"

Rook (Levyathyn): Rook, a little embarassed himself, remembers that the few times he does go out drinking, he usually finds Kane there. "No, I try to keep it light." He says. "I'm off to pick up a potential for our little team. I assume you've heard about our job offer?" He asks.

Andrew Kane: "Damn supicious. I'll be packing heat."

Rook (Levyathyn): "Of course." Rook says, unconsciously patting his own thigh holster. "Anyway, I'm off. I'll open a line to him, so you can watch our conversation if you want." He says to anyone listening. With a wicked smile, he slips the keys back into his pocket and pulls out his other set. He heads for the underground garage and his Harley.

Andrew Kane: Gunney calls goodnaturedly after Rook. "Don't be bringing a scrub on just cause he's pretty, you hear?"

Rook (Levyathyn): Rook laughs out loud at that, sends a casual middle finger back to the Gunny.

Andrew Kane: Gunney laughs uproariously.

Conrad [Hope]: Faith, remembering the appointment, seizes the opportunity and joins Rook on the way there.

Rook (Levyathyn): The two make it to the garage. Rook, with a loving yet neglected glance at his pearl white Scorpion, opens the passenger door on his Jackrabbit instead. The car is a beat up model, exaclty like dozens of others on the Seattle streets. It was picked for it's ability to blend. With a slight tremor and a moderately strong cough, the beast grumbles it's way back to life, and the two speed off for the Stuffer Shack.

Cauhl (escheton): Headphones blasting the same Ork Metal as he had playing at home Cauhl shouts and grunts to the wind as the chopper rides. Around the time Rook and Faith reach the Stuffer Shack, Cauhl arrives at the safehouse and sends the correct protocol to the security system to let him enter the garage.
Where he makes some physical inspections on the cars and bikes.
Once he is satisfied with what he sees he heads to the living area.
Reaching for a packet of Nails and a lighter while walking upstairs Cauhl checks the Tacnet for who is nearby and sends out a greeting. "Mornin"
By the time he enters the living area he's on his second cig and promptly dumps his pack on a beaten up but comfy couch while walking to the kitchenette to raid the fridge.

Rettu Skcollob
2011-04-14, 12:36 AM
I may not be as good/verbose a writer as the other dudes, but I should hopefully be able to fit a joke or two in there in between all the serious. =3

2011-04-14, 01:04 AM
Same I apologize for the low quality; I'm coming off of the end of a three day 'wide awake' binge, and hopefully sleeping for at least one month.

Regardless, when I'm actually conscious, I should pick things up a little. XD

2011-04-14, 02:27 PM
Transcript above updated to be easier to read. Adding a Cast of Characters to the first post momentarily.

2011-04-18, 10:12 AM
OOC: Will be posting more today on the game, once I get out of school. Will edit this post when I do so.

Apologize to all following this for the slowness of posting so far; the IC chatter is a pretty good read and school is really busy right now (2 weeks or so till finals. Dang, still need to read One flew over the Cookoo's Nest).

2011-05-27, 05:52 PM
Part 2a: In which employment is secured, Part 1

Shadowrun Game Master: ((To Cauhl)) *Its a recording only, just a voice. Sounds like a troll from the throaty bass of the voice.* "You come highly recommended from our mutual friend Mr. Johnson. I have need of your team's particular service." *The message ends just as abruptly.*

Cauhl (escheton): Munching on some flavored soy Cauhl meanders over to Diogenes's "office" wondering if the dwarf can figure out if there might be some hidden message in there.
"Oi! Catch!" Cauhl shouts quickly as he throws his commlink towards the preoccupied hacker. "Got another message from our potential contractor. Could ya scan it for hidden tracks or messages?"

Rook (Levyathyn): After a brief, quiet trip to let Faith regain her composure, Rook pulls his Jackrabbit into the cramped lot of the local Stuffer Shack. He reaches past the tight fitting bucket seat and opens his door, unfolding out of the vehicle one muscle at a time as he stretches from the compact ride over. He stifles a yawn, struggles with it, then finally gives in before slamming the door and heading over to the door.

Diogenes (Kallisti): Diogenes' hand flashes out, gracefully failing to catch the commlink and sending it spinning across the room. The dwarf darts over and bends down to retrieve it. "Very good, thank you; I'll begin examining it momentarily. Em...have you eaten? There's soycaf, and toast, if you like... Oh! And before I forget, Rook is out with Sergeant Kane, meeting a potential new friend." He frowns distractedly for a moment, then turns his attention to the commlink in his hands. Numbers begin to flash through his vision as his Analyze program deconstructs the message.

Andrew Kane: Kane rouses from the corner where he has been dozing in long enough to say "Still here," and then promptly falls asleep again
Diogenes (Kallisti): Seconds later, Diogenes shakes his head, as if to clear it of a daydream. "I have the access logs for the node the commcode is on. It's clearly a dummy code. There's only ever been three messages from it, and the records of those have been deleted. Um...haven't we only received two messages? I wonder what the third is...on it..."

Cauhl (escheton): "Yeah, this one and the one I forwarded earlier"
"Guess I'll just ask more information or a meet or something, everyone is up already anyways"

Zelc (Specter): The taxi carrying Specter arrives a block away from the Stuffer Shack 5 minutes before the meet. He pays the fare and makes a quick walk around the area, trying to blend in with the commuters milling about. Soon, he reaches the Stuffer Shack. Nothing suspicious. Two minutes before the meet. He walks inside, pays for a soycaf, then grabs a table with a view to most of the place. "We'll see if this Rook is legit, or if he's trying some funny business..." he thought to himself.

Conrad [Hope]: A cigarette tucked behind her ear, Faith hops out and follows Rook as he heads over to meet this contact of theirs.

Cauhl (escheton): "Thank you" Cauhl says insincerely as he swipes his comm back from the dwarf.
Grabbing his voicescrambler from one of his many pockets the gruff ork issues the command to dial the last number calling.
"It's short notice and you need our specific expertise. You do understand this will cost you extra. What method of information transfer had you in mind?
And what’s the number of the escrow service we will be using?”

Rook (Levyathyn): Rook steps inside the Stuffer Shack and slips off his shades, his cyber eyes adjusting instantly to the low class halogen lights overhead, flickering slightly and humming like a chiphead. The lights were the worst of it, cheap, almost worse than the air pollution. Almost. Absentmindedly, Rook cracks some of his knuckles and flexes them in his fingerless climbing gloves. He ignores the counter for now, and heads straight back towards the corner booth, where he notices David sitting casually. Rook passes him an imperceptible nod as he draws near.

Zelc (Specter): Specter glances over to the door and sees Rook walking in. //There's a girl with him? Figures he wouldn't come alone. She doesn't seem to be too strong... could be a mage.// Turning back to his commlink, he takes a look over the Rook's AR profile. Morgan Black. //Better shoot him a quick message before he calls me the wrong name...//

>Good to see you. Mind introducing your friend?
>-Daniel 'Specter' Chen

Rook (Levyathyn): Rook smiles as the message pops up in his image link. He isn't jacked in, so he draws near without sending a reply, then casually slides a chair out for his female companion.

Zelc (Specter): Specter quickly stands up and offers a handshake. "Morgan! Good to see you again." He turns to Faith with a smile, and offers his hand as well. "I'm Daniel. Pleased to meet you, miss."

Rook (Levyathyn): Rook gives him a friendly nod. "Mr. Chen. Always a pleasure." He responds in kind.

Conrad [Hope]: Flashing a genuine smile, Faith offers a firm handshake, just like her father had taught her. "Call me Hope. It's nice to meet you"

Zelc (Specter): "Great! So I grabbed a soycaf, you guys want to anything?"

Rook (Levyathyn): Damien shakes his head politely, then takes his own seat and relaxes in the small, uncomfortable chair. "None for me." He says.

Conrad [Hope]: Taking a quick seat, Faith blinks once, taking that little shift in perception necessary to perceive in astral space. She examines Daniel's astral signature, to get a feel for the man, how much 'ware he was carrying, and the like. It wasn't proven, but Faith also allowed herself the little superstition that someone's aura reflected part of their personality. Her eyes shimmer for a brief moment, before she blinks again, allowing the realm of magic to dissipate from her vision. "I've already had two soycafs today... I'll grab some water, thanks."

Rook (Levyathyn): While Hope chats up the new guy, Rook scans the nearby Shack for anything unusual, or at least more unusual than normal. He turns his chair a little and ***** it up onto two legs, angling the cheap seat against the wall, positioning himself with a good, clear view of the rest of the Stuffer Shack's clientele.

Rook (Levyathyn): Rook slips through thermographic vision as he scans the room, checking for unusual thermal presences or signatures.

Zelc (Specter): After exchanging some pleasantries, Specter clears his throat. "So it sounds like you guys might have a job for me. What can I help you with?"

Rook (Levyathyn): Rook finishes his cursory scan of the room and turns back to the human. "Specifically, my team, including Miss Hope here, has been contacted for a job. I've been on the lookout for potential talent, and you fit the bill. I've come here to see if you were interested in running with us for a while." He says casually, his arms crossed on the synthetic wood of the cheap Shack table. "If you're willing to give it a go, I can give you more information."

Zelc (Specter): Specter takes a breath and sizes the two of them up. //Well, it doesn't look like they want me dead. That Rook guy seemed to have a decent reputation, and he could probably have just killed me a lot earlier. Plus, I don't have much choice...//
"Sounds good." He smiles a bit, and says jokingly "As long as you're not taking me off somewhere to whack me..."

Rook (Levyathyn): Rook chuckles. "Mr. Chen, I like your style. Fortunately, last I checked, I don't work for the mob. You can stay here if you want, but I'll let you wonder why I would construct an elaborate lie to lead you off somewhere, when I could just as easily have killed you in the car on the way over here." He says with a big, toothy grin.

Conrad [Hope]: "I don't think Morgan goes that far on a first date, anyway." Faith says, cheekily.

Rook (Levyathyn): "No, no. Just ask my girlfriend." He says, still enjoying himself.

Zelc (Specter): "I think I'll be better off not knowing exactly when you decide to shoot your gun," Specter grins. "Do you have a car, or should we take a taxi?"

Rook (Levyathyn): "I brought a ride. Probably better if you come with us." Damien says, inclining his head towards Hope just slightly. "Easier to get through security that way." Rook focuses on Daniel's face and takes a snapshot with his eyes, uploading it to his headware. He takes a second to transfer the file wirelessly to his commlink before forwarding it to Diogenes and the others with a small description.

<Daniel Chen, security consultant. He's the one I was talking about the other day. I'm bringing him in through the garage.>

He sends the message and stands out of the cramped chair, his hand straying once more to his thigh holster as he glances around the room once more.

Zelc (Specter): Specter leaves the remaining soycaf on the table, and stretches a bit as he stands up. He takes that opportunity to also take a final look around the room, then goes to follow the others to the car.

Andrew Kane: Kane finds a table out of the way in the safehouse and begins to meticulously check and clean his gear. However, he made sure to keep the door to the garage in his sights.

Conrad [Hope]: Finally retrieving the cigarette tucked behind her ear, Faith lights the cheap smoke, clambering into her seat in the vehicle, leaving her smoking hand leaning outside of the window. Idly, she dons her thin sunglasses, taking a quick look at the ARO's in AR, out of boredom. "This better not be a bust, haven't had work for too long."

Rook (Levyathyn): Rook nods his assent quietly, and accelerates the beat up Jackrabbit out of the parking lot and back down the tired Seattle street. After a period of brief, light conversation which Rook mostly ignores, the trio arrive back at the dilapidated crash pad.

Rook (Levyathyn): Rook pulls the Jackrabbit past the guards and into the garage as it closes behind them, sealing the room into an almost darkness. Rook shuts off the car and steps out, his eyes easily adjusting to the light. He opens the inside doorway, flooding the dim corners of the large, filled garage with light. "Come on, Specter. It's time you met the guys." He says easily.

Cauhl (escheton): Waiting for a call back and with time to kill Cauhl crashes the couch and visibly spaces out as he starts working on designs and schematics for various projects.

Zelc (Specter): Specter steps out of the car and follows Rook through the door.

Conrad [Hope]: Stepping out the vehicle, her cigarette long gone, Faith stretches languidly. "Bleh. So tired." she off-handedly mumbles, following the others to meet the rest of the team.

Rook (Levyathyn): Rook steps inside first, notices Cauhl right off, sprawled out on the living area couch, zoned like a chiphead. Nearby, Diogenes glances over almost absentmindedly, though it can be hard to tell with him. "Everybody," Rook announces to the room at large, "this is Specter." He says, indicating the human following him with the slight nod of his head. Rook steps over to the living area's bar and slips out of his armored Renault jacket. He takes a casual seat on a battered metal barstool, leaning back into the bar and propping himself up on his elbows.

Cauhl (escheton): "N'other gun?" Cauhl asks as he joins the land of the living. Propping himself up on the couch and lifting his pack to the ground next to his feet. In a somewhat awkward gesture of not hogging the couch. Afterwards he yawns extensively, smacks his mouth a bit and gets up to refill a waterflask.

Diogenes (Kallisti): "Specter. Hello. I'm Diogenes, the team's Matrix specialist. I...oh. I was about to offer to make you some soycaf, but Faith left some, so I won't have to." The dwarf offers a friendly but distant smile, straightens his immaculate suit, and wanders over to a nearby table with a slight frown, running his fingers over the table's surface, interacting with an ARO visible only to him.

Zelc (Specter): "Pleased to meet you, Diogenes." Specter flashes a smile, then turns to Cauhl. "I'm not much of a gunner, more of a security expert and negotiator. What's your name?"

Cauhl (escheton): While poring water from the tap Cauhl turns and answers the question "Cauhl, Vehicle specialist" "You'd be riding the company car?"

Zelc (Specter): "I don't have my own ride, so I've been getting around on trains and taxis and my own two feet. Hoping for one of those sweet bikes someday though."

Cauhl (escheton): "Saw the thundercloud did ya? Yeah, its there for that reason. Solo "shopping trips" and such. With no mobility...where are you crashing? Nothing steady, dive hotels near wherever you've been looking for a job?"

Zelc (Specter): "Well, I got a decent place in the Ork Underground. Nothing fancy, but fits my needs. I've only been here bout a week though. Been looking for some work."

Andrew Kane: Kane gives the newcomer a once over. "Young, aintcha? You got any fighting under yer belt? Gotta be good under the hood when people start dying."

Zelc (Specter): Specter fixes Kane with an amused look. "I grew up in the Ork Underground, pops. I'm not the best at fighting, but I know how to stay out of trouble."

Cauhl (escheton): "When people start dying. You need everything under the hood to be good. So you can make new people!" Cauhl exclaims with a crooked smile

Rook (Levyathyn): Rook smiles to himself and pulls out a ration bar, a soy/protein mixture that is more nutritious than it tastes. By far. He opens one end of the foil wrapper and starts eating.

Rook (Levyathyn): "Mmm." He says to himself, wondering for a second if he accidentally took a bite of the wrapper. "Tastes like wood."

Conrad [Hope]: "Probably just as nutritious" Faith says, pouring herself a fresh cup of soycaf. "And no-one here's gonna die, not if I have a say in it, at least." She stirs some imitation sugar into the reheated brew. "I'll try and leave the distribution of bullets to you guys, so long as we're not putting them in each other, anyway."

Andrew Kane: Kane ignores the other conversations and fixes Specter with a blank level stare. "I ain't asking about some schoolyard tussle or an orc moshpit. I'm asking if you've ever pulled the trigger. Some people freeze for a second, or flat out can't do it. Chances are very high that we will kill people in the course of our job. It comes with the territory. You don't have to be proud of it, but it's important to know who you're running with."

Rook (Levyathyn): Rook rubs his chin thoughtfully, wondering if a steady diet of wood was what made elves live so damn long. After a moment, he shrugs, and resumes his plain, if useful, meal.

Zelc (Specter): "Yup, I get ya. Right now I only got my taser, but I've shot and killed people before. Comes with the territory."

Andrew Kane: Kane nods and goes back to cleaning his kit.

Rook (Levyathyn): Finally finishing with the unpleasant ration bar, Rook slips the foil into his pocket and finishes chewing. With a reluctant sigh, he wondered when he would feel the need to bite into a large, meaty meal. Maybe some bacon, or sausage. Rook felt his stomach rumble, and realized that time was now. Standing, he sent a subtle nod to Specter, letting him know he had passed some kind of test. As if the kid couldn't figure it out himself.

Conrad [Hope]: "I have a handgun somewhere around that you can borrow if you like. I can't stand using the zotting thing myself."

Diogenes (Kallisti): "Ummm...if you stay with the team long enough, I could probably arrange for you to acquire a firearm of choice. Anything really, er...nasty...would take time, but I don't doubt it could be done."

Cauhl (escheton): "Hell, I got nuff parts in my shop to prolly make you one"

Rook (Levyathyn): Rook places a stern hand on his own sidearm, quietly keeping it in his holster with a sidelong glance at the newcomer.

Zelc (Specter): "That'd be good. Used to have a Hammerli and a Raecor Sting, but I left them behind when I came to Seattle. Actually kind of fond of my taser too, people tend not to ask as many questions."

Conrad [Hope]: "As much as I would prefer no-one died on a 'Run, it happens, and I guess there are often less deserving people. But if you hadn't guessed, I'm more on the patching up side of the thing, really. If you need chems, or a little spell, I have you covered, so long as you keep me covered, yeah?" Faith laughs. "Anyway, speaking of chems I think I should check on my workshop, those sleeping tabs should be ready."

Andrew Kane: Kane rams an empty clip into his assault rifle and ***** it. He points it away from everyone and pulls the trigger, which produces metallic smack as the hammer slides forward. He chuckles and mutters "less deserving," under his breath.

Rook (Levyathyn): "Oh, you'll be covered." Rook says to her as he passes, grabbing his jacket from a barstool as he strides nearby. "Saving my bacon is worth that much, at least." he says with a smile. "Damn." He adds, almost as an afterthought. "Bacon." He disappears into a nearby hallway, slipping on his jacket.

Zelc (Specter): "So, tell me about this job you have."
Specter relaxes a little, and leans against a nearby wall.

Cauhl (escheton): "Still waiting on a call back for specifics actually" Cauhl casually mentions as he saunters back to the couch

Shadowrun Game Master: (Cauhl) *A message pops up on your pan, a pre-recorded message. Its from the same commcode as before. After checking it for funny business, it goes: *
"If you seek employment, come by the club known as "Infinity" in Seattle. It is a well known hotspot. Ask for the Johnson party."
(You find where the club is, after your ear drums explode from all the SPAM from the club. Its a well known club and offers no difficulty in finding it.)

Cauhl (escheton): "Johnson meet, Infinity. How we wanna go about this? I'll start planning routes for one. We got a face yet? Anyone know the place, or is known in the place?"
Cauhl stretches, "Time to get to work"

Diogenes (Kallisti): "But we don't know anything about the job yet? Do you want me to take a look at the Infinity?"

Cauhl (escheton): "Yup, just to see how we can access the Johnsons and how "secure" the grid there is. The usual basics."

Andrew Kane: Kane perks up at the mention of the job, but does not turn. "Gonna need an exit stradegy."

Diogenes (Kallisti): Diogenes nods, then sits down in a corner and freezes. Only his eyes are moving, darting and whirling, staring at objects only he sees.

Cauhl (escheton): "In the mean time, we might wanna send out some datasearch agents looking for flashy trolls"
"Already planning escaperoutes..."

Andrew Kane: "Better safe than dead." he says simply.

Cauhl (escheton): After quickly rigging a turret in a hidden compartment underneath a corner-perched security camera to come out and turn around a bit and take aim at all within the room, Cauhl says: "You don't have to worry about safety with us, we are plenty paranoid"

Andrew Kane: Kane chuckles. "Good to see some professional paranoia."

Zelc (Specter): "Infinity... let's see..." Specter's eyes look upward for a while as he searches through his Mapsoft, then "Ah, found it." He sends the info to the others, along with a map of the area. "Also, I'm a pretty good face, if you guys don't have one already."

Andrew Kane: "Might as well." Kane rises and stretches. "My ugly mug aint suited to it."

Zelc (Specter): "So this Infinity, I think I heard some people mentioning it. How often is it used for meets, and what kind of security can we expect there? Is it WiFi shielded, for instance?"

Shadowrun Game Master: ((Publically, it is WiFi inhibited from the outside, so they can control the SPAM from the outside. There is talk of private rooms however, no doubt used for the meeting.)
((Each private room is WiFi inhibited from the outside, with an active radio interference to prevent wireless on the inside. There is an astral barrier rating 8 in place all over the walls as well.))

Andrew Kane: After a lengthy debate on how exactly the plan should proceed, Kane finally speaks up.

"Look, I did a meet like this in Munich back in '65. There were fewer of us and we lacked a driver, so the fact that we have one makes this simpler. I suggest that Specter and I do the meet. Hes got the looks and could probably talk a suit out of his wallet, and I'm decent in close quarters. Hope, Mordred, and Dio can mingle in the club proper, ready to provide support if things go sour. Rook and Cauhl handle the outside of the club. We don't know a whole lot about this job so it's best to keep it simple. How's that sound to you all?"

Diogenes (Kallisti): "I'd...um, I was planning to do a little more research first, but if we're ready, then we ought not to keep Mr. Johnson waiting... Do we...er, should we ask our respective fixers about a TacNet? I keep meaning to put one together, but they're extremely complex programs..."

Andrew Kane: "I've got you covered there. Liberated it after I left Ares. A parting gift."

Zelc (Specter): "I think that's a pretty good plan, and it looks like security is covered in case anything goes wrong. Don't worry, I've dealt with Mr. Johnsons before. I can work us a pretty good deal."

Diogenes (Kallisti): "You have? Er...that's excellent! I...um, I'll just see if I can install my Telematics program in the area near the club, and then I'll be ready. Er, or close to ready." Diogenes takes a deep breath, steadying himself. "My apologies. I'm just...somewhat new at this, and a little nervous."
((And now cold-sim VR. I'll try to hack into permanent nodes in the area surrounding the club and install my Telematics Infrastructure program, give us an early warning system))

Andrew Kane: Kane nods to Specter and Dio in turn. He pulls out a comm and keys Rook's number. He keeps the message short. "Got a plan. Get back here."

Rook (Levyathyn): "So?" Rook says to Elise as she finishes arranging the meds. She locks the drawer up tight, and turns to him. "Of course. I'll close up around six." She tells him with a smile. He leans in and plants a gentle kiss on her cheek after he notices an alert in his AR. "I gotta go sweetheart. Business." He tells her. She nods somberly, cresses the scar on his face. "Be careful." She says simply. He just nods before turning to leave.

He steps out of Elise's clinic and brings up the message; It's from Kane. [Got a plan. Get back here.] He nods to himself and wraps a leg over his pearlescent Harley, keying it up with a heavy roar. Inside, Elise watches him drive off through the camreas mounted on her external turrets. One of them swivels to watch him go.

Rook pulls into a red light and parks. The bike rumbles beneath his frame as he pulls out his wireless adapter and plugs it into the datajack installed behind his right ear. He forms up a quick message and sends it back to Kane.

[On my way.]

Cauhl (escheton): "Diogenes, Sarge, need any help with hooking up that TacNet?"

Andrew Kane: Kane notes the response and nods to Cauhl. "It's been awhile since I've used it, so it might be a good idea. Never really knew how it worked anyway, just that it did."

Diogenes (Kallisti): "I...think I have a handle on it. It's...er, if it's an illegally acquired Ares issue, I take it that it will no longer be registered, yes? If it's stolen, it may be falling behind the curve. Has it been patched lately?"

Andrew Kane: "I've not been on any blacks ops for awhile now, so probably not."

Diogenes (Kallisti): "Then we may need to do that. Depending on the model, there may be security holes that require an update. Err...may I ask which model it is? Ares has produced numerous tactical softwares over the years."

Andrew Kane: "Mk. 4 Ares TacSoft."

Diogenes (Kallisti): "...the mark four, you say? Ohhh..." Diogenes' entire face lights up. "Is it...do you have it on you? We could set it up right now. I'll have an agent take over installing the Telematics program."

Andrew Kane: "Yeah. Here, work your tech-magic."

Diogenes (Kallisti): Diogenes freezes for a moment as Kane sends him the program, then smiles. "Hello, beautiful." He looks up, and flushes slightly. "Err...I was on the development team for the mark four TacSoft. It's...a favorite of mine. I doubt you'd have examined the code very closely, but I was the one behind the nonstandard OS integration, which I always thought was a good piece of programming. See, it allows the program to run a heuristic that...right. Installing. Work. Um...sorry. I got a bit distracted."

((I'll have an agent take care of the Telematics Infrastructure thing while I set up the TacNet, then.))

Andrew Kane: "Huh. Small world. Thing has saved my ass more times than I care to count. Best damn program I've ever used."

Diogenes (Kallisti): "Thank you, Sergeant. I'd pass that along to the rest of the developers, if...if I still saw them around. Err...how are you fixed for cyberware? We'll need a large amount of input to get the most out of a TacSoft like the Mark Four. I...should have enough sensor channels available to provide solid readings. And I know Rook can, and probably Cauhl."

Andrew Kane: "Lemme see. The eyes are low light and thermal enabled. Smartlink goes without saying. I've got a pair of tac goggles with a suite of of enhancements. Ultrasound, vision enhancers, maginification. I suppose we could run my earbuds into it too. On that end I've got auditory enhancers, a sound filter and a spatial recognizer. I think that covers it. Like I said, it's been awhile."

Diogenes (Kallisti): "Smartlink won't do the trick, too localized, although you can run it through the TacSoft for better synchronization. It sounds like with your tactical goggles and your aural enhancements, that should be sufficient. Yes, between the visual and aural enhancements...excellent. You, Rook, Cauhl and I...we need two more to get it running at full capacity."

Conrad [Hope]: Faith, wiping her hands with a cloth, re-enters the room, having finished her task. "Sorry guys, what'd I miss?"

2011-06-09, 06:52 PM
Part 2b: In which employment is secured, Part 2

Andrew Kane: Kane laughs. "Got ourselves a plan that's gonna get ruined the second we walk into the club."

Conrad [Hope]: "Aren't we just talking to this guy? Or is this the usual tin-foil hat stuff?"

Cauhl (escheton): "Nah, the tinfoil is in the walls in this place"

Diogenes (Kallisti): "Erm...I haven't seen it, but I'm told that sometimes if someone wants a team of runners eliminated, they'll set up a false meeting with an assassin masquerading as a Johnson."

Andrew Kane: "Makes sense on my account at least Dio. Hell, I've done it twice."

Conrad [Hope]: "Isn't this at a public club, though? Maybe we're overthinking it. Still; what's my job then?"

Andrew Kane: "You're in a support role on the club floor. Specter and I are doing the actual meet."

Conrad [Hope]: "No problem. Just shout if you need me, I guess."

Rook (Levyathyn): A few minutes later, Rook's RFID lets him in past security, and he wirelessly opens the garage door and pulls his Scorpion in. He brings the huge beast to a slow halt, grinding the engine a little as it chuffs to a stop. He pats the motorcycle on the side, his gloved hand tenderly patting the bike like a treasured pet. He triggers the kickstand and dismounts, slipping out of his helmet, he hangs it from one of the handlebars.

Rook meanders inside, unzipping his Renault jacket as he steps into the common room. There, most of the crew is gathered. They seem to be in a discussion of some kind, so he gives them a moment, instead slipping into the kitchen and getting himself some soymilk. He grabs the plastic cup and heads back into the room with the others. "What's up?" He asks, in general, as he takes a seat on a threadbar recliner that seems to have lost it's recline over the years.

Diogenes (Kallisti): "Um...I think we're about ready to go. If you'll step over here, I'll start setting up the TacSoft on your commlink."

Rook (Levyathyn): "TacSoft..." Rook says to himself, taking a sip of the soymilk. He licks the soy moustache off his upper lip and nods to himself. "Damn, I've heard of those." he says. "That's some classy software. Where'd you dig one of those up?" He asks Dio.

Andrew Kane: Kane chuckles. "I'd be responsible for that one eagle eyes."

Diogenes (Kallisti): "He said he'd...err, liberated...it from Ares. It's the Ares Mark 4, which is indeed very, ah, classy. I was on the dev team, so it should mesh well with DOS."

Cauhl (escheton): *holds fist in air*

Rook (Levyathyn): Rook grins, his fangs jutting out of his mouth with sinister glee. "Liberated, eh?" He says. "Sarge, you're just full of surprises."

Andrew Kane: "Like a Swiss army knife o' killin."

Rook (Levyathyn): "That's my favorite kind of knife." Rook says.
"Well..." He says, drawing a large Bowie knife from his left thigh, "Maybe my second favorite."

Cauhl (escheton): "Yeah, nothing beats a good steakknife"

Rook (Levyathyn): "Damn, steak. Reminds me, I haven't eaten today." He says. Then, with a sort of grimace, he remembers the bland ration bar. "Well ****."

Cauhl (escheton): "Hope this gig pays well, could use a nice real steak dinner about now."

Rook (Levyathyn): "Speak for yourself." Rook says. "I've got a date with an angel tonight. No steak, but I hear the curried chicken is excellent."

Diogenes (Kallisti): "Errr...yes. Knives. Very...sharp. Anyway, to set it up I'll need to slave your commlink through mine. Don't worry, I'll set up a temporary account for you--you'll still be able to operate your commlink normally, but nobody will be able to access it wirelessly without going through mine. Er... which in theory won't happen, but if it does my IC will decentralize the tactical feed, send an alert to all of you, and crash my connection. Anyway, just a moment...there."

Rook (Levyathyn): Rook mentally replays that last statement through his head for a moment, then shrugs. "Sounds good to me." He says, taking another swig of the soymilk.

Diogenes (Kallisti): "Then..." The hacker freezes briefly. "That should do it. You're all patched in."

Rook (Levyathyn): Rook, who is still plugged into his commlink wirelessly, brings up a tactical map of the environment. The data is layed across his AR; The common room, as well as the basic shape of the surrounding building, is easily cobbled together from the cross-vision ranges of all the subscribed TacNet users. He can see small trideo samples of everyone in the room as well; The sensors have also picked up a couple of the gang members outside, and marked them with small symbols identifying them as armed with firearms and sharp instruments.

Diogenes (Kallisti): Diogenes frowns, and makes a few gestures towards objects in his PAN, and suddenly lights appear all over the TacNet's overlay, tiny, neat tags identifying them as various wireless nodes detected by the Telematics Infrastructure programs Diogenes had installed throughout the area.

Andrew Kane: Kane is pleased to see that the Tacsoft hasn't differentiated too much from when he last used it. Still the same old bells and whistles. On a whim he pulls up vague mission specs that they had been given. They had two days before the meet went down. Evening was approaching, and Kane still had that itch to scratch.

Andrew Kane: He stood. "I’m gonna do a little legwork. Get some eyes on this club, see what we're dealing with." He chuckles. "If I don't come back, give my **** to eagle eyes." He grabs his pistols out of his bag, turns, walks down the stairs and out the door. The alley is seemingly deserted, but Kane still feel those eyes. He reaches the street and after a long walk, makes it to the more civilized portion of Redmond. Upon arriving, Kane makes contact with Rico, who sets him up with a smuggler friend of his.
Money is exchanged and Kane is soon in front of the club.

Shadowrun Game Master: *The club is a hotspot for Seattle's youth social scene, with all kinds of ravers, hipsters, scene kids, clubb kiddies, techno-fetishists, wanna be's, has been's, and so forth. The music's base line is felt outside the club, and line is about 35 people long, showing only the most dedicated of the Club goers are standing outside.

(IN short think of this scene from tron:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j-ljZ4jM-v0&feature=fvwrel only even more Exotic and full of freaks)

In the AR space, many spam ads are showing drink specials, featured dancers, visiting bands (all local boys tonight), dating services, music downloads, and RSVP of certain groups. Mr. J is not on there tonight, though you do notice an RSVP for tomorrow night under "Mr. Johnson and Associates". Currently, that file is locked.*
(Locked because the file is empty. Before the hackers get any ideas....)

Andrew Kane: Kane makes a mental note that they will be expected the night of the meet, and sends private message to Dio. Noticing the line, he stops and considers if he wants to wait, or try to walk in. Grimacing, Kane realizes this is going to cost some money.

Shadowrun Game Master: *Once past the bouncers (who appriciate the cash) the club itself (as in the clip above) is an odd collection of above mentioned people doing things that happen at nightclubs: dancing, drinking, AR game contests, more dancing, people lost in their thoughts, more drinking, people tripping on BTLs, private meetings in the private booths, and drinking. The music is deafening, even to people with cyberears.*

Andrew Kane: It takes Kane a second to adjust for the sound of the music, which is painfully loud. He quickly filters it out, and sighs at the appreciable difference of volume. He scans the interior of the club, reflexively taking in the details. An exit here, some stairs there, cover spread about the area, fields of fire.
"Not much different than a jungle," he mutters. "More crowded, though."

Shadowrun Game Master: *Like any other social gathering of youth, the crowd flows though you notice that the club gets busier around the time your supposed to meet the J.*
*However, as for the club itself, its business as usual.*

Andrew Kane: With some degree of annoyance, Kane notices he cannot contact anyone outside the club on his comm. He takes a mental note to mention the problem to Dio.
His need for information satisfied, Kane leaves the club. He contacts the same smuggler and pays to taken out of the secured areas of Redmond. It's early morning by the time he makes it back to the safehouse, and once there, he finds a quiet corner to sleep in.

Shadowrun Game Master: (For Rook: )You see a crowd of people outside the club, with the burly bouncers keeping the people in check. The people who are let in first are the ones who pony up the nuyen to be let in, followed by certain VIP members who look like a cross section of metahumanity.
Across the way, you notice several office buildings, all of them appear to be occupied by tennants however, and none offer a perch. Behind the club offers no better advantage; patrol drones criss cross the allayway as delivery trucks go up and down the streets on a seeming 24 hour basis.
Just as Rook begins to head back, you notice a particular kind of business: a hotel sits over looking the club, and when you check the Hotels public node you notice a room for rent that over looks the club. Cost: 250 nuyen per night.

Rook (Levyathyn): Rook enters the hotel, to conduct business face to face, as he's always preferred. A place this nice would probably want customers close at hand, anyway. Just to verify little details like identification, proper finances, and of course, metatype. He nods politely to security and opens his Renault jacket, showing them his Walther. The scanners had already pciked it up, of course. The doormen take it firmly out of the holster and lock it away in a secure box, giving Rook the key before he heads into the foyer. He heads for check-in. The place is kind of Ritz-y, so he walks confidently, his Zoé business wear doing most of the legwork for him as he tries to look relatively expensive.

Shadowrun Game Master: Rook would fit in with the guests, as most are mid level corp types and people on vacation with out a ton of nuyen to throw around.

Rook (Levyathyn): Rook approaches the counter with a certain haughtiness, patiently waits to be seen to.

Shadowrun Game Master: (Handwave) *You get checked in to the room of choice*

Rook (Levyathyn): Once the front desk business is concluded, Rook makes a brief tour of the room, noting the layout and build of the furniture, especially any tables, as well as sight lines from the room to the front of the hotel. Once he's satisfied, he departs.

Cauhl (escheton): While Andrew and Rook are scouting the club and the overlook, Cauhl takes his bike out for a spin to doublecheck if the mapsofts are correct.
But mostly to scour for a decent spot to park, and to study the behaviour of the clubguests and their rides.
You don't want to get gridlocked during the getaway after all.
The ork parks his Harley near the club and goes for a little stroll around the alleys nearby to check where an ambush might emerge from, what can be watched via the grid and which spots would need a scouting drone.

Shadowrun Game Master: Traffic as expected is a mess during all the acid slush that counts as snow today. Other then the usual throng of people's cars, not much else to see.

Zelc (Specter): Specter spent the rest of the night getting to know the others in his team, and acclimating himself to the tacsoft. As it nears the evening, he makes some final small talk with those still at the hideout, then mentions "Hey, I'm going to head back home tonight to catch some rest. I guess I'll see you at the party tomorrow night? If anyone is heading out, mind if I catch a ride with you back to the city?"

Cauhl (escheton): After scouting the place a bit Cauhl returns on his way home, taking the scenic route and checking for pursuit here and there. And picking up some groceries.
When arrived at his pad he cooks himself a nice dinner, messes around in VR a bit and heads to bed.
Work tomorrow, best to be on his toes.

Zelc (Specter): Specter is reminded about the loaner bike, and he gracefully accepts the offer. He hops on the bike and weaves his way through the Barrens back to his pad in the Ork Underground.
Soon, he's fed, showered, and sound asleep. Tomorrow's going to be another early morning...

Shadowrun Game Master: *Soon enough, the day of the meeting comes around. The meeting was set for 8pm (I think) and it was approaching PDQ.*

Zelc (Specter): Specter spent much of the morning following blind leads on acquiring equipment. As he finished his lunch, he decided to pay a visit to Tommy. Tommy was the owner of Smokes, a pretty popular bar in the Ork Underground.
"Specter!" Tommy greets him as he walks through the door. The bar was empty, and Tommy was preparing the place for the evening crowd. "Hey, Tommy! How's it going?" The two exchange pleasantries, then Specter asks "Yo, I've got a date at this Infinity club tonight. It seems pretty fancy, what do you know about the place?"

Shadowrun Game Master: "InFin? Too many hipster ********s for my taste, though they do give trog rockers a chance at least."

Zelc (Specter): "Hipsters, huh? Ever hear of any trouble spilling out of that place?"

Shadowrun Game Master: *Thinks* "Can't say that I have, though I'm sure if there was, the 'trix would have it before I would. You have business?"

Zelc (Specter): "Hopefully. Got someone wanting to talk to me over there. I guess it's a popular place for job interviews?"

Shadowrun Game Master: "Not of the... upright catagory, if you get my drift."

Zelc (Specter): "Ah. Thanks for the tip, I'll have to see what this guy wants. Say, you got any of that ale left? It was pretty good for being synthol."

Shadowrun Game Master: "Special blend. I add the real stuff for taste, but don't tell anyone."

Zelc (Specter): "Our secret, bro," Specter says with a grin. After exchanging some small talk and downing the ale, Specter leaves a big tip and heads out to Infinity. Best to get there a bit early to look around before the meet starts.

Andrew Kane: Kane's eyes snap open, the nightmare fading to the edges if his consciousness, just as it had for years now. He cranks out a few hundred pushups. He needed to be limber for tonight.

Diogenes (Kallisti): Diogenes wakes at 6:00 AM on the dot, pulled from sleep by the 'wake-up call' from his commlink--an artificially-induced hypnic jerk sent by the DNI. For a moment, he looks around wildly in disorientation, then he remembers. The safehouse. The run. Showtime soon. Breakfast. He should fix breakfast. Did he message Marissa yesterday? No. Not crossed off his itinerary. Did he set up TI near the Infinity? Yes, that shows as complete. What else...

Cauhl (escheton): Loud angry sounds reach Cauhls ears signaling that he slept till noon.
Sleeping late is one thing, but he has set his soundsystem to wake him at 12 O'clock if not used that morning.
He proceeds to his standard morning ritual of checking for calls from the shop or his fixer, shower, shave, breakfast.
He then makes his production rounds. Call around dealerships looking for parts and making sure they call him first with anything new. Call John at the scrapyard to ask what the latest shipment has. And then start working on designs and a bit of light programming. If the shop had any orders he would head out to work. But he has a different job description today.

Rook (Levyathyn): Rook sits calmly in the rented hotel room, enjoying the rare luxury. He'd have brought Elise, but he didn't want her implicated if things got dangerous. Instead, he spent the time alone, waiting and watching out the room's large, tinted window. He was shirtless again, enjoying the cool air conditioning. He supposed, in the back of his mind, it reminded him of his youth in Russia. It was unlikely, though; He had been just an infant. While it was still too early for the meet, he decieded to take a break in the lounge chair. He pulled up a friendly game of DMZ with a friend of his from China. He wiles the time away with strategic command.

Conrad [Hope]: Faith wakes up in a rush after having a nightmare of oversleeping, dashing to perform her ablutions and be out the door, and is almost on her way before she realises that she has woken up early rather than late. With an inner shrug, she makes herself something to eat and passes the time by reading some fanfictions from her favourite shows while she waits for the appointed hour.

Shadowrun Game Master: *Night descends upon Seattle. As the hour approaches, the runners, in their various positions, begin to link up and check in.*

*The club was unusually slow this night, compared to the usual bustle of the youth of Seattle. It turns out there was a Nabo concert at the other club down toward the Puyallup area.*

*Still, there was a crowd, just less then the usual amount as normal.*

Andrew Kane: Kane mumbles under his breath the whole way to the club. His eyes stare blankly at the floor as if in deep focus.

Cauhl (escheton): Dropping off the gang in an alley near the club so they can spread up and hit the join at different times and from different directions, Cauhl changes the colors of the SUV to a more darker motive with a nice patron of skulls and bones on the side and a huge flaming skull on the frontplate. And turns on the sound system to something alike to what will be playing inside.
"Time to play metal daddy"
See, his plan is to pretend to play the overly protective father of one of the little ladies in the club. And he wasn't planning on leaving his parking space till she came back safely.
Cauhl figured it was close enough to the truth to pull off. And if not bought by whoever, the role has leeway for some overt aggression...

Conrad [Hope]: Pleased at the opportunity to dress a little nicer than in clothes you expected to be shot in, Faith almost makes the group late before finally choosing suitable garments and joining the rest of her comrades. With a pleased aura that wasn't altogether fake, she moves to make her way into the club, looking more or less like an average girl on a night out.

Diogenes (Kallisti): Dressed as usual in an immaculate suit over a thin, light armor vest, Diogenes takes a seat at the bar and settles in to wait, the Agents on his commlink scouting the bar's matrix security and the Telematics Infrastructure input broadcast over the tacnet.

Andrew Kane: Kane takes a seat to the left of Dio, his back to the bar. He surreptitiously scans the surroundings for signs of trouble, flicking through different modes of sight as he waits for the meeting to start. Without turning he taps the countertop twice, attempting to draw the bartender over.

Shadowrun Game Master: *The bartender, a well built human male, wearing the same black shirt the rest are wearing comes over to you.*
"What are you boys having tonight?!" *he has to shout over the techno and bass music throbbing through the place.*

Andrew Kane: Kane shouts over his shoulder. "Wild Turkey!"

Shadowrun Game Master: *pours*

Andrew Kane: Kane takes the shot glass. He knocks it back like a professional, holding it in his mouth for a moment to savor it. "Christ, but it's been awhile since I had the good stuff!"

Shadowrun Game Master: *The bartender nods, and handles a few more drinks for a few more customers.*

Conrad [Hope]: One of whom is Faith. Knowing that likely there will be an awkward chat with a suit soon enough, she takes the opportunity to shoulder her way through the crowd and signal the bartender over, sitting with several chairs in between her and Kane. Already having paid some nuyen onto her tab for a drink or two, she leans over the bar, shouting for a shot of "-Sambuca, cinnamon whiskey and gin!", smiling. Some liked to start off with something light and work towards the harder stuff, but mixing it up a little was always fun.

Zelc (Specter): Specter arrived at the club just as the lines began forming. After getting inside, he faded into the crowd, drinking synthol, occasionally dancing. He made sure to get a good look at the place, scouting for exits and surveillance. He also kept an eye out for any suspicious-looking characters, hopefully finding the threats (and the Johnson) before they decided to show themselves.

Shadowrun Game Master: *The club security was dedicated to (unsurprisingly) toward keeping people out rather than anything internal.

Clubbers Pans where alive all over the place, creating a nearly dizzing display of multi colored techno-vomit all over the place in AR.

The club's social network scene (think Facebook, only in 3-d) had various hipsters, wannabes, slackers, whackers, and sex fiends spamming the area with their AR tag like some kind of binary graffiti.

One name does catch your attention: Johnson party.*

Diogenes (Kallisti): Diogenes takes a long look at the Johnson Party's relevant information--whatever's available.

Shadowrun Game Master: *Absolutely nothing is availble. No info, no meeting times (other than he is reserved all night till closing), no room info. Nothing.*

Zelc (Specter): Taking a look at the meeting information (or lack thereof), Specter walks up to the bartender. "Scuse me sir, I'm part of the Johnson party. Where can I get the details?"

Shadowrun Game Master: *The 'tender wipes pours a glass of something that glows and hands it to some young hot thing with glowing green hair.*

"He left specific instructions to wait until 9pm. Check with me then."

*A glance at the chrono indicates it just after 8:15*

[Later that evening...]
*The chrono clicks over to 9pm*

Andrew Kane: Kane sends a short message to Specter via the TacNet.
//Time 2g2 work. You rdy?//

Zelc (Specter): //Let's do this//

Specter approaches the bartender. "Johnson party, please?"

Shadowrun Game Master: "Room 101." *The bartender says.*
*The room mentioned was a private room in the back area of the club, complete with noise cancelation and wifi inhibition to keep out the club noise and the AR spam of the main room, but it went both ways.

You also get a sense that perhaps it was warded astrally as well.

Once you open the doors, you see inside the room a troll in a suit made of very garish colors. Purples, yellows, neon greens so clashing that it almost made your eyes hurt.

He seemed to be a younger gent, though he may have had age reducing treatments.*

Diogenes (Kallisti): <Figures>, thinks Diogenes. <The room has individual WiFi shielding.> He quickly fires a tacnet message to the team members approaching the room: //If I don't come with you I have to disconnect you from the TacNet. If your comm is slaved to mine when he shuts that door it'll stop working. So: do I come in?//

Andrew Kane: //Good call D. Tag along.//

Shadowrun Game Master: *The J seems to be humming along with some music that only he can hear, you guess either DNI or cyberears. He notices the door open, but continues to nod along with the invisible beat that only he can make out.*

Zelc (Specter): Specter steps through the door. He pauses for a moment to take in the scene, then walks into the room. "Pleased to meet you sir, I'm Specter. I assume you are Mr. Johnson?"

Shadowrun Game Master: "Quite so, I am. Please, have a seat." *He indicates a spot on the U shaped booth.* "You guys hungry? Thirsty?"

Andrew Kane: Kane hesitated before answering. He'd seen a few poisonings. "I haven't eaten yet today."

Zelc (Specter): "I've already eaten, thank you, but I could use a drink"

Conrad [Hope]: Faith continues to mingle more or less, trying to make sure to remember officially she was here as backup rather than to have a good time, and not doing too good a job of it.

Shadowrun Game Master: *The J waves his hand, a movement of AR, and orders the runners their choice of appetizers.*

Diogenes (Kallisti): Diogenes awkwardly sidles into the room, trying to look relatively unobtrusive and not succeeding. He takes up a position in one corner, trying his best to look like an imposing bodyguard--not an easy task for an over-the-hill dwarf with a worried expression.

Shadowrun Game Master: *After the food and drink are ordered, the J continues with small talk, then the food arrives. After the food is eaten, he begins.*

Shadowrun Game Master: "Is this everyone?" *The J begins. Seeing the nodding in agreement from around the room, he continues.* "Well then. To business.

What I am asking for here, is a simple data retrieval. Some associates of mine want a certain data file recovered before it is sold on the open market. Normally this would be a straightforward task, however, the wrinkle is this: it is on storage media from the 2030's, on what was known as a magneto-optical disk.

Also, my associates want any copy that might have been made of the data to be destroyed as it is proprietary data to my associates. I am told that the data is heavily encrypted and on an outdated storage format so copies are unlikely, but possible. Destroy them.

You are free to use any methods available to you, but lets avoid any dead bodies and any attention. You are also free to negotiate for the disk in any way necessary, my associates will cover the costs if needed. Just bring a recording along as proof.

You have a week, just ensure that all copies are destroyed, and disk is returned intact."

Diogenes (Kallisti): "Is the disk itself important, or just the data? If it's on a magnetic disk of some variety, a trap to wipe it is possible, even likely. It'd be much safer to transfer the files to a less...err...fragile...medium."

Cauhl (escheton): Not being used to stake-outs that much, boredom sets in as Cauhl is camped out in the car waiting on the team to return.
He rolls down a window and drops a flyspy when he thinks no one is watching. Should give em something to play around with.
//Hey little lady, having fun in there? Bored a bit here, can ya give me a short status update?// Cauhl sends to Hope via the tacnet.

Zelc (Specter): Specter nods after Mr. Johnson finishes. "Can you tell us more about who currently has this disk, and where it might be?"

Shadowrun Game Master: "Then I take it you are interested in the job then?" *The J asks.*

Andrew Kane: Kane keeps silent, contributing a nod or two. Peaceful negotiation was not his strong suit.

Zelc (Specter): "It sounds interesting, but we'd like to know a bit more about the situation before we commit. We're very capable, but I think it's in both our interests to make sure we're not walking into something we can't handle."
"Maybe if you could give us a good idea of what sort of resistance we could expect?"
"Or any other challenges we'd have to address?"

Shadowrun Game Master: "If you where not up for the challenge, you would not be sitting here. Do you accept or not?"

Zelc (Specter): Specter sighs and takes a look at Dio and Kane. //So guys, we in?//

Conrad [Hope]: Faith, taking a break from dancing and mingling, heads to a corner the music isn't so loud in, where she can think. //No idea, the guys are still in there, I'm just hanging here. Everything OK on your end?//

Diogenes (Kallisti): //I'd say so, although I notice Mr. Johnson hasn't answered my question about the disk. I worry there's more to this than meets the eye, but I'm confident of my ability to overcome the encryption and outdated storage he mentions.//

Andrew Kane: Kane sends a message to Specter and Dio. //Agreed. Though I'm curious how we're expected to do this WITHOUT killing anyone. It complicates matters.//

Zelc (Specter): Specter turns to the Johnson and smiles. "Great, looks like we have a deal. Can you give us the full story?"

Shadowrun Game Master: "Excellent. What would you like to know?"

Diogenes (Kallisti): "Errr...my, ah, question about the disk still stands. I wouldn't be surprised if the doors to the room storing the disk were rigged to, err, trigger a magnetic pulse that would wipe the files. They'd be much safer transferred elsewhere..."

Zelc (Specter): Specter nods. "Well, maybe you could let us know a bit more about who has the disk and where you think they are."

Shadowrun Game Master: "As for WHO has the disk, I have no idea. Our resources are limited to a more *finger quotes* "legitimate" sources. As for being wiped I doubt it very much the seller, who ever it is, would risk such valuable data like that. More likely they have muscle protecting it, where ever it might be."
"Also, I have been told the storage medium is an optical disk, not magnetic storage from the previous century. If it where magnetic, I am certain the data would be lost by now. The disk is almost 30 years old at this point."

Zelc (Specter): "Do you know of any leads for where the disk might be?"

Shadowrun Game Master: "I have none, though a check at the shadiest Hacker bars may be in order."

Zelc (Specter): "You mentioned you'd be willing to provide resources for us to negotiate with. You're saying we could just buy this disk off whoever has it? Any limits to these resources?"

Shadowrun Game Master: "No, I was instructed "no limit" to this. Just bring an unedited recording of the negotiation. Though if you wish to stun everyone at the meeting and run off with the disk, that works too. In fact, their may be a bonus in it if you do it that way."

Zelc (Specter): "Do you have any background on what this disk may be that you can share with us?"

Shadowrun Game Master: "If I have my sources correct, it is a very high density optical disk from the late 2040's."
"Here are the specs I could find. It may or may not be the exact one."

Andrew Kane: "I remember those. Old school."

Shadowrun Game Master: "Old indeed. So is the data, I am lead to believe."

Zelc (Specter): "Anything you can share on what the data is?"

Shadowrun Game Master: "Music. Old music at that. The artists is one of those old emo rocker types, all depressing and ****. Not my taste, at any rate. Curious that my employer didn't share this rocker's name."

Andrew Kane: Kane shoots a message to Zelc. //Bull****.//

Zelc (Specter): //Yea.//

Andrew Kane: //Can't exect him to be totally honest.//
"You want the person who has the disk removed?"

Shadowrun Game Master: "You may do with him as you wish. Once the disk is in your possession, he is no longer an issue."

Andrew Kane: "But you would prefer a lack of corpses, correct?”

Shadowrun Game Master: "As few as possible, yes. If you have to crack a few skulls to get the job done, I won't shed a tear, but leaving piles of dead boides everywhere tends to draw attention."

Andrew Kane: //Well I think this is all we're gonna get."//

Zelc (Specter): "Is there anything else you think we should know about the mission, before we talk payment?"

Shadowrun Game Master: "Only this: remember to track down any copies if any have been made. Destroy them if at all possible."

"Now then, I am sure that you guys are not a charity, so I have been authorized to offer 8 larg- excuse me, 8,000 nuyen for your entire team."

Zelc (Specter): "Is that per person, or combined?"

Shadowrun Game Master: ("ENTIRE TEAM")

[5/20/2011 8:54:44 PM] Zelc (Specter): Specter purses his lip. "Eight thousand total is pretty low for a potentially dangerous mission. 20,000 is a more reasonable payment"

Shadowrun Game Master: "Hahaha!" *goes the Johnson, getting a good laugh.* "20 grand hires the best K.E. PI's. Are you that good?"

Zelc (Specter): "You said yourself if we weren't good, we wouldn't be here, right? You get what you pay for."

Shadowrun Game Master: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Kd1X9s2L_Co
*J rubs his chin.* "You being up a good point and you drive a hard bargin. I like that. Tell ya what. How's 12 sound?"
"12 thousand I mean."

Zelc (Specter): Specter considers. "How about this. 3000 up front, 9000 upon successful completion of the mission, and another 3000 bonus if we do it without killing anyone."

Zelc (Specter): //Sorry Kane//

Andrew Kane: //I don't have murder fetish or nothing, but it's pretty much all I’m good at.//

Zelc (Specter): "A bit lower than what we'd normally consider, but we can work something out for you here."

Shadowrun Game Master: *J rubs chin some more.* "Agreed. Though, I'm more worried about attention instead of no bodies. How about if you keep it under the radar and I don't hear about it on the 6 oh clock news?"

Zelc (Specter): Specter smiles. "I think we have a deal."

Shadowrun Game Master: *J offers a hand to shake.* "Then put it there and you can being the hunt."

Zelc (Specter): "We'll contact you as soon as we get the disk. Would you need an update any sooner?"

Zelc (Specter): Specter leans in for the handshake.

Shadowrun Game Master: "A daily drop to this *PM's you a voice mail box* wouldn't go amiss."
"You can keep me informed with that. I don't require it daily, though an update or two wouldn't hurt."

Zelc (Specter): "Sounds good. Let us know if the situation changes, and you get a deadline. Preferably sooner rather than later."
"I trust you can be reasonably accommodating with the money transfer? We can work out the full details later, unless you have a preferred method."

Shadowrun Game Master: "I can wire the money to an account of your choice in a few hours."

Zelc (Specter): //Dio, Kane, you guys have a secure account?//

Andrew Kane: //Negative ghost rider. Dio might what with his coporate background.//

Diogenes (Kallisti): //It would be a *bad idea* to use my account, given that I'm currently persona non grata at Ares and many of their accounts have backdoors--I would know, I installed a few. I don't currently have an account I'd truly consider secure, but I'm sure it could be held in escrow until something was arranged.//

Zelc (Specter): "Would you be able to send us credsticks instead?"

Shadowrun Game Master: "If you wish," says the J. "I can load the forwarded amount onto a credstick, but I need you to give me one- afraid all mine are tied to me."

Zelc (Specter): //Kane, Dio, you guys got a credstick on you? Otherwise I'll load it on mine and we'll split it when we get back to your place//

Andrew Kane: //Sure.//

Zelc (Specter): Specter produces a certified credstick and hands it to Mr. Johnson.

Shadowrun Game Master: *J slides in his link, and transfers the funds. When you check it (later I am assuming) its got the indicated money.*

Zelc (Specter): //We got everything? If so, let's wrap this up and get back.//

2011-06-09, 08:46 PM
2 sessions in and you have your first job hahah!

Seriously tho it is a good read, Keep it up!

2011-06-16, 08:03 PM
Those posts where accumulated over about 2 months...
And there is quite a bit of ooc talk.

2011-06-16, 08:40 PM
Yeah the OOC channel is quite large. Fun stuff though.

2011-06-17, 01:19 AM
Nice to see everyone having fun in the game.

The level of paranoia in the game from the PC's is... amusing.


2011-06-17, 06:32 PM
I'm with Seerow http://images.zaazu.com/img/male29-male-theater-cinema-smiley-emoticon-000071-large.gif

2011-06-19, 08:47 PM
Sorry I haven't been around, guys. I had a lot of hardware trouble with my internet, and after it was fixed, I started having serious trouble logging in to most websites, and stopped being able to use Hotmail and Skype, among others, at all. I'll be unavailable until I can get this handled.


2011-06-21, 04:14 AM
Did you piss off a sprite or hacker?