Shadowrun: Everybody Lies - [Team Red] Back in Business

[Joani]

Back in Business

I groaned as my commlink buzzed, rousing me from a fitful sleep. I sat up and rubbed my face, collecting my thoughts before I answered it. The clock next to my bed read 09:30 AM. Who the frag was calling me this early in the day? I remembered a time when working the shadows meant you worked at night. None of this 9:30 drek back then.

I leaned over and grabbed the battered and well worn case of my old cyberdeck. The case read “Alpha Allegiance K36,” and I first picked it up over two decades ago. The guts inside had been mostly ripped out and replaced a dozen times over the course of two decades with a state of the art commlink. It was a fraction of the size of my baby and several times more powerful. But it was so ghost-damned little. I was always afraid I’d break it or lose it. Besides, I’d worn the deck strapped to my arm for so long, I felt naked without it. I grabbed the cord from the deck and plugged it into my datajack. I could have gone wireless, but I don’t trust wireless networks. They’re too open, too easy to hack into and read. Frag that noise. My deck only operated wirelessly if I was actually jacked into it, and anyone unlucky enough to try slipping into my deck was in for a world of hurt.

“Whazzit?” I asked as I answered. I wasn’t fully awake yet, and sleep slurred my words. I recognized the voice on the other end. It was Moreau, a chummer and fellow runner from back in the day. I’d run into him a few times since I came to Seattle last year. He’d settled down some, mostly did freelance work for the Draco Foundation. As he spoke, my sleep-fog vanished. His daughter was missing. My jaw clenched tightly as I clamped down on emotions that came bubbling up. I’d lost my own daughter just a couple short months ago.

He didn’t have many details yet. Fiona was an Arcanoarcheologist, a specialist in pre-Awakening magical items. She also occasionally sold her findings to the various organizations and corps that had an interest in such things, to finance her operations and allowing her freedom from any corp control or interference. Yesterday, she’d arranged to have her latest find smuggled in, and never made it home. Of course I offered to help. There was an old saying, “parents shouldn’t outlive their children.” This was truer than anyone who hadn’t suffered such a loss would know. I even waived my own fee, simply asked what he could afford to pay. There were few runners I knew that would be willing to do a job for free, even if it was for a good cause such as finding a missing daughter. I wondered if I would have been that heartless twenty years ago. Probably. I didn’t give much thought to what Mr. Johnson might think or even want, beyond what he was paying me to do. There was no reason to expect differently from these snot-nosed drekheads running around calling themselves shadowrunners now.

I grimaced as I checked my calendar. Tonight was the concert. Johnny was pissed that he wasn’t going to make it, but he was tied up somewhere up in Quebec, helping Becky flush out a wasp hive they’d found. I was in charge of security, helping bolster Underworld 93’s physical and matrix security for the show. The club had its own people, but I went back with the star of the show a long time, and she’d asked that I be on hand. Apparently a couple of her fans were making death threats again.

I knew a couple runners I could call. Some were new blood to town, a few locals trying to break it into the big time, even a couple guys who had a bit of experience under their belt. I started making calls. Line up a meet with some folks, get them on a search and retrieval these days. I gave him some parameters and set him to doing a data search, see if we could pinpoint who Fiona was meeting and where. Give the kids somewhere to start. I got up and got dressed. I smiled as I pulled out an old t-shirt I’d Underworld 93! Mecurial!” the shirt read. It was going to be a long day.

---------------

Caesar

It’s just after Noon on a Wednesday when your commlink chirps. Checking it, you see a matrix icon that resembles the traditional smiley face image of Sifter, only red and cocked to one side, with little jagged lines resembling tusks on the mouth of the icon. Answering the call, the icon is replaced by a grinning male ork. His face is lined with age; his hair and goatee is touched with grey and a pair of golden datajacks gleam along his left temple. Wire-frame glasses sit upon his nose, the kind that correct your vision, not tinted mirrorshades that make you look badass or even the more modern AR glasses or goggles, but honest-to-ghost reading glasses.

“Hoi chummer!” The ork says with a cheerful grin. “I hear tell you might be interested in a bit of biz. If you’re interested, head on over to Underworld 93 tonight at 7. There’s a small concert going on. Let the doorman know you’re there to meet MacCallister, and he’ll get you a good seat. After the show’s over, you’ll have a chat and he’ll tell you a bit more. Interested?”

Ace of Hearts

It’s close to Noon on a Wednesday when your commlink chirps. Checking it you see the familiar matrix icon of Isis. Answering the call you see the familiar face of Isis smiling at you. Her long black hair is tied in a knot and her make up perfectly accentuates her exotic features.

“Jane!”, the beautiful woman greets. “I hear you might be looking for a job and word is, that an old friend of mine is in dire need of some proficient runners. If you’re interested, head on over to Underworld 93 tonight at 7. There’s a small concert going on. Let the doorman know you’re there to meet MacCallister, and he’ll get you a good seat. After the show is over, you’ll have a chat and he tells you a bit more. Interested?”

Imiri

One of your coven members, a young Elf who represents one of the Elders approaches you with a simple request. It was time for you to go on a quest and learn a more practical approach to the magical theories the shamans have taught you.

“Imiri”, the young Elf says humbly, “A meeting has been arranged for you. There’s a small concert over at Underworld 93 tonight at 7. Let the doorman know you’re there to meet MacCallister, and he’ll get you a good seat. After the show is over, you’ll have a chat and he tells you a bit more. Interested?”

Mr. Grimm

It’s just after Noon on a Wednesday when your commlink chirps. It has been a tough few weeks with just minor jobs as a bodyguard or escort (more like babysitting) a few high society snobs, who were rather picky about the appearance of their hired guns.

A brief smile crosses your face as you see the Matrix Icon of Belcadiz. “Grimm”, the accented voice speaks rather dismissively. “I hear you’re running dry lately and word is an old friend of mine is in dire need of some hired muscles. If you’re interested, head on over to Underworld 93 tonight at 7. There’s a small concert going on. Let the doorman know you’re there to meet MacCallister, and he’ll get you a good seat. After the show is over, you’ll have a chat and he tells you a bit more. Interested?”

Valkyrie

Your commlink buzzes just after Noon on a Wednesday displaying the Matrix icon of Linchpin’s grumbled face.

“Val”, his rough voice says while he seems to be busy fixing some kind of gun, “I hear an old friend of mine is offering a job. If you’re interested head on over to Underworld 93 tonight at 7. There’s a small concert going on. Let the doorman know you’re there to meet MacCallister, and he’ll give you a good seat. After the show is over, you’ll have a chat and he tells you a bit more. Interested?”

Jian

It’s a Wednesday Noon when your commlink chirps. It’s the familiar face of El Gato, your trusted fixer. “Ey, Jian”, he says with his heavy Spanish accent, “I might be doin’ yo a favor. Itsa friend of mine lookin’ for a gun or two – well in your case a knife – you know wadda I mean. If you interested head on over to da Underworld 93 t’night a las siete. There be a small concerto going on. Let the doorguy know you’re to meet MacCallister, and he’ll give you a good seat. After show you’ll have a chat he tellya more. Interested?”

OOC:

Alright folks - this is it. Game officially starts for Team Red. To warm up things will seem a bit generic at first, but I want to get a feel for the team and how things run. Feel free to RP your day until you get to the concert. Once you guys are at the place I'll take over again and guide you to the meet with your Johnson (MacCallister). If you have questions please post them in the OOC-Thread I created. You guys don't know much of each other except for very general knowledge - this will be your first run as a team - you all did some minor league jobs prior to this one but this job sounds like some bigger bucks are rolling in. MacCallister is a known ex-runner who was a big shot back in the 50s and early 60s before he retired. This job might put your names up on the list of some Johnsons... of course only if you don't botch it.

[The Hospitaler]

Tabitha was still a bit hazy from waking... she was helping her street doc friend when Isis called. She was still wearing her security uniform since she had came over right after her only shift on Sundays. Of course she was smart to take all of her badges and telling markings off when with Doc Monty. It wasn't the usual courier job Isis was known to send her on... At least by what it sounded like... It seemed like Isis is someone she could trust not to leave her out in the ocean with nothing but the clothes on her back. Enough trust to actually share a soykaf or two between each other.

"Well... this is sudden." She starts organizing her medical equipment. "So this guy sounds like someone not of your ordinary Mr. Johnson phylum of customer... this could be fun. Been bored lately."

"Okay... what can I expect for dress... basic clubbing? Not my usual bag... know of a few good places with cheap clubbing clothes?"

[SalmonMax]

Valkyrie was sitting in her apartment when the call came. She had been looking around, determining if it was time to dust. The rooms of the small suite looked like a model showroom, with each chair and the table perfectly aligned, and the couch set just so from the trid set, and not so much as a piece of paper or a wrapper out of place. There was some trash in the trash bin...it was a bit less than half full. It was all very good, but Keiko Rie...known as Valkyrie to her co-workers and contacts...had discovered that over time, a thin layer of dust would collect on things. No amount of air recycling or treatments with static fields would eliminate this. So she added dusting to the list of things necessary to maintain a home. The length of the list surprised her. She'd never owned a home before.

Linchpin gave her the information and she replied, "I'll meet MacAllister at the Underworld 93 club at seven pm today." After a pause she added, "Thank you." She found her contacts appreciated being thanked. Occasionally reassurances were effective too, but that was a tactic that could be overused. Over-reassuring seemed to convey a lack of confidence. So she left it at that. He told her she was welcome, and the pause started to become awkward, so she said, "Good bye."

He always seemed to expect, or want, more conversation from her. But he was a good contact who didn't ask too many embarrassing questions. His eccentricities could be tolerated.

Keiko got to her feet and padded to her closet, sliding the faux-glass mirrored door aside and looking over some clothes for the job. Clubs catered to a wide variety of styles. Best not to leave anything to chance.

A moment later she was in the Matrix; its spires of data and coursing rivers of uploads and downloads surrounding her. She rose from her home node, running unregistered in 'hidden' mode and festooned with defenses not the least of which was herself, like Venus from the sea and threw herself into the world. A cascade of search spiders radiated out of her, crawling the Matrix at the speed of light to capture her queries. She pinged the club's node itself and probed it from afar. No hacking, not unless anything seemed amiss.

There was a saying she'd come to embrace. 'You don't shit where you eat.'

She hoped to dine well indeed.

(Data Search! Two subjects so far...so 2 hours? First is MacAllister. Second is the club...she's hoping for how to dress and blend in, for any security protocols they use and 'rules of the house' on weapons and augmentations, and ideally a set of plans. Short version of the rolls is that I got 4 successes on each. Here's the raw data, with extraneous chatstuff edited out:)

[salmonMax] 6:06 pm: Okay...data search time

SalmonMax *rolls* 11d6: 3+6+6+2+1+3+4+6+6+1+1: 39

[salmonMax] 6:07 pm: That's for the employer...

[Jeremy] 6:07 pm: Yeah, I got Browse 3 too

[Jeremy] 6:07 pm: Data Search #2 - Data Search + Specialty + Browse program

[salmonMax] 6:08 pm: Now the club. Need dress code. An idea of security precautions they take, and ideally a floorplan.

SalmonMax *rolls* 11d6: 4+3+6+2+4+5+5+4+5+3+4: 45

[salmonMax] 6:08 pm: 4 successes...

[salmonMax] 6:08 pm: Someone want to sign off on my rolls?

[Jeremy] 6:08 pm: signed

[salmonMax] 6:08 pm: Thankee sir

[Caesar]

Caesar was reading. Kicked back on his couch, his eyes shut, browsing the AR news as it scrolled by on the image link of his contact lenses. When the comms popped up with the little red icon his mouth quirked up in an uneven smile. "Sifter, always a pleasure. I was just pondering a meal at Il Terrazzo Carmine since I skipped breakfast, perhaps you can join me?"

"Well, you know me, I can always eat, and free food tastes all the better," the older ork grinned.

"Free would be perhaps a slight misnomer Sifter." The image frowned back at him, mock serious for a moment. "All I ask is to bend your ear a little, I just want to know who else is getting the call for this. Our usual arrangement." Caesar and Sifter weren't blood brothers, but they were friends, and each had brought the other man work, pay, and connections. Plus Caesar had precious few ork friends he could practice Or'zet with.

The other man nodded, "I figured as much, and I already did the hacks, this bunch is mostly green, except a couple of guys, but we can swap info over optics and fried ravioli."

Caesar chuckled, "Excellent, I'll see you in thirty."

~~~

An hour later the pair were sitting in a back booth at Il Terrazzo Carmine, a fiber optic cable strung between their datajacks for un-hackable data sharing and conversation that couldn't be overheard. The plate of fried ravioli sat emptied, the bottle of red wine was a third gone and two empty bottles of beer sat next to Sifter. The waitress came over, a rather buxom young girl, natural human by the look, and set down a large platter of angel hair marinara with meatballs and another of lasagna. She got only a bare shake of Caesar's head and a murmured, "That will be all for now dear."

Via the secure datalink Sifter shared what he knew of the other runners called about this job. A combat medic, which was a bad sign if they felt one was needed, a physad with a little bit of a bad rep, a chromed up elf with his own issues, a hacker who may as well have been a data fragment, and a mage, one of the earthy crunchy types based on what Sifter knew. Of course crunchy in this case meant "making things go crunch" which was just fine with Caesar. He frowned as he sliced into the lasagna, he was easily the least combat proficient of the group, a potential concern to be sure. Humans and elves as well, not that that bothered Caesar, he could play well with anybody, that was his thing.

What's your gut feeling on this Sifter? Legit?

Yeah, I think so, just watch the sammie and the physad, bad word of mouth without any cred to back it up, could be nothing, could be an issue.

Caesar nodded, I figured the same myself. They disconnected the fiber cable and set into their meal, conversation going from business to pleasure. By the time the check came Caesar's comm said it was 15:00 and he still needed to do a little poking around the net for this MacAllister fellow. He took off, already running his searches through the comms unit, as he wandered back to his place to change. He had some nice clothes, and now was the time to use them. A first impression needed to be a good one, but then Caesar excelled at that as well.

By 19:00 he was approaching the club, there was a line, but that was easy enough to bypass, good looks, nice clothing, and a little cred made all the difference. As he crossed through the entry he leaned in close to the bouncer, giving him another 30¥, "I'm here to meet Mr. MacAllister, if you would be so kind as to point me in the right direction, I'd appreciate it."

[Jeremy]

Jeremy was tending the patch of berries- genuine strawberries at that- food being one of the vices he allowed himself when Gato made his call. It was Jian who turned away and settled down with his comlink upon hearing the news of the potential job. "Sounds like it. Gracias, amigo." After a brief chat, the Great Gato signed off, and Jian settled down to the matter of his work.

Legwork was always a long arrangement, and vital at that. So Jian booted up his useful search tool program, and went to work, quietly poking people and references on ShadowSea for McAllister, pulling up vital information from fan clubs about this concert, and double-checking what some of the few club buddies he retained- turnover occurred rather often for safety's sake on his public-use fake SIN with people like them.

At 5 PM, he went down on his motorcycle to a nearby spot near the club- wearing one of his 'business clubbing' outfits, and within an hour of the concert start was ordering soy-noodles from stand a bit outside the club, from there, he scoped out the place- or tried to... As he feared, the concert was popular enough to start getting an influx of people, making things far more difficult therein.

Eventually, he slipped into the club line, and a few minutes before 7 PM, he greeted the doorman with a light smile and the sotto voce words (and 25¥) "Here to see Mr. McAllister. If you would be so kind to give me directions?"

Spoilers

Rolls all posted in OCC.

[Imiri]

Imiri

One of your coven members, a young Elf who represents one of the Elders approaches you with a simple request. It was time for you to go on a quest and learn a more practical approach to the magical theories the shamans have taught you.

“Imiri”, the young Elf says humbly, “A meeting has been arranged for you. There’s a small concert over at Underworld 93 tonight at 7. Let the doorman know you’re there to meet MacCallister, and he’ll get you a good seat. After the show is over, you’ll have a chat and he tells you a bit more. Interested?”

Imiri listened to what she was being told for a moment, then smiled. "Of course I'm interested, cousin, I'll be there." While not everyone in the coven was related, the term cousin was generally the one used for those who were not leaders or elders, or held another rank within the coven, like her own status as a shadow, and even then, cousin was preferred anywhere outside of very private meetings, otherwise some of the titles could give too much away.

Still, one never went to this kind of meeting unprepared, so once she was finished talking with her contact, she went back to her place and began to go though her equipment, starting with her weapons, her weapon focus and her pistol, checking ammo, sharping the blade, then getting dressed, choosing what she would wear, her clothing was a mix of shamanic and modern stuff, besides the armored clothing that she worn, she had feather ornaments in her hair and the bracelet around her wrist that was her sustaining focus... then she threw on her jacket, and headed out to the location, to meet this MacCalister fellow.

[Joani]

Tabitha was still a bit hazy from waking... she was helping her street doc friend when Isis called. She was still wearing her security uniform since she had came over right after her only shift on Sundays. Of course she was smart to take all of her badges and telling markings off when with Doc Monty. It wasn't the usual courier job Isis was known to send her on... At least by what it sounded like... It seemed like Isis is someone she could trust not to leave her out in the ocean with nothing but the clothes on her back. Enough trust to actually share a soykaf or two between each other.

"Well... this is sudden." She starts organizing her medical equipment. "So this guy sounds like someone not of your ordinary Mr. Johnson phylum of customer... this could be fun. Been bored lately."

"Okay... what can I expect for dress... basic clubbing? Not my usual bag... know of a few good places with cheap clubbing clothes?"

“It depend’s whether you want to show off or not.”, Isis remarked rising an eyebrow suspiciously. “The Club used to be THE place to be for your types. Be creative and add some understatement then you should be fine. You’re still on a business meeting, don’t forget that.”

The commlink was receiving a number of addresses with a selection of Streetware/Trés Chic combination which the younger crowd wore these days.

“You should find something for your budget – and keep it. You may want to wear it again.”, Tabitha could tell that the exotic woman was running short on time – she was always busy and time meant money in her biz.

“You’ll manage, Jane.”, she said before she cut the line leaving Tabitha with the decision which shop to raid.

[SalmonMax]

...joining us live; Jetblack, with DarkVine opening! And stay tuned to the AR stage for a special appearance of Psychadelic Phlegmm!...

...custom commlink installation in, get this, one of those old c-deck shells... ...listen drekhead, that was my daughter!...

...augged bouncers looming over the MAD like colossi over Rhodes... ...come draped in chrome...

...a charming combination of reto-chic and strained new-age hip who's time has lamentably passed...

...that old-timer? heard he's a fixer now. ghost knows he's got the contacts by now...

...Underworld 93 - Seattle Municipal Registration: 3410-T. 789301. Fire Escape and Crowd Flow Plan...

...I almost feel sorry for that fragging Cutter now...

...ya, I seen him at last week's Underground meet, he's got ears listening...

Valkyrie stood in the midst of a swirling vortex of data as her spiders returned and whispered their contents to her; disgorging bits of salvaged audio files, snippets culled from countless online chats and forums, official records and public files, news reports, and whatever else was out there. She deftly moved her hands, moving each piece as it came, organizing and arranging each piece by relevance and category to make a cohesive tapestry. The flow of data finally slowed and she paused to assess the larger patterns.

A moment later she was sending queries to a clothing store and pulling up its inventory to make selections. The outlet was of the appropriate style and was physically proximate to the club. The order was placed. She would pick it up on the way there.

The club's security bore closer attention. A no-weapons policy was...bothersome. Valkyrie did not like being unarmed. But at least it limited the options of other non-club security members as well. She'd just have to be on her good behavior. Of greater concern was whether or not they'd let her in even unarmed, as there was plenty of things under her skin that would trip an MAD that could not be removed. She continued the hunt for information even as she checked tram schedules to plan her trip.

[The Hospitaler]

Tabitha sighed. But smiled. Some of these places definitely had an edge. She came to expect not exactly the worst from this place tonight, but at least she didn't have to wear her bodysuit to this.

"Monty! I'm going to do a little shopping then meet up with an old friend tonight. You still need my assistance with anything?"

Monty happily working on another patient told her that he was good, it was a slow week.

She heads out and jumps into her Van, one she modified into a emergency response vehicle of her own, and smiled as she pulls off to the closest shop to select an outfit.She would have just wore her usual ensemble for her security work (sans her tactical vest), but she decided it was both too formal, and too business. She needed something more... her.

She decides on some mix-and-match. Her bodysuit in of itself wasn't too unusual in the club she was heading, what she needed was a proper Jacket to wear over it, particularly with some belts straps and boots. What she eventually cobbled together with her remaining pocket change was some better looking boots to wear, some belts with pockets on them and a jacket to wear over everything. Leaving only a little bit left to use the mass transit system to get to the club, and to pay for any drinks or food while at the club.

Purchases

Getting what was mentioned for 1000, nothing fancy just basic clothing to wear over the second skin, 20 for a One Week Transit pass, leaving me with 380 Nuyen.

= At the Club =

Ace arrives early, her dark blue bodysuit under her dark red jacket, and she did decide not to bring her helmet... she's not expecting gassings here. The Jacket itself had a wide white collar that sat over the shoulders, the rounded edges kept a feminine touch, but she had zippers, lots of them. With some clips and loops. Then with some rather understated and unassuming boots and some belts to accentuate the ensemble and some pouches to carry her sundry belongings (like a wallet and some ID) made her seem a throwback to the old days of running. At least when meeting up with other runners. The OLEDs on her belt shone with a calm blue light, but she was going to make sure once she was inside to have it synch with the bass of the music. She made sure her spam-filters were running at their peak, and stayed passive mode until the bouncer asked for ID.

In fact with how she set herself up... no passers by batted an eyelash.

"Ah, okay... Jane Arrowway... You're an adult..." He puts a small plastic bracelet around her wrist. "Enjoy your night."

The runner called Jane walks in, and sees something she's been missing in her life... one hell of a scene.

[Mr. Grimm]

"Thank you Antoine, I will be there," Grimm said before ending the call. He knew how valuable Antoine's time was and how little patience the man had. The fact that Antoine considered him worth calling, even for something small meant a great deal; at least it did to Grimm.

A quick directory search gave him the address to the club. He planned for an early arrival, to check the club out. Next he made sure all of his weapons were in working order, were oiled and his clips were full and ready to go. A quick scan of his PAN brought up his cyberware diagnostics routines and all was good on that front. He made sure his armored "clubbers" outfit was clean and free of holes or flaws in the armor weaving.

He ate, but not too much and then performed his daily exercise and training routines. In the back of his mind he new he should be trying to find out as much about the job, the club and the man who sought to hire him as he could. In this business he knew it was the difference between life and death. It was however one of his fatal flaws. Cael's father had focused him entirely on combat and killing. He had no need to do his own legwork while working for the family. It was done for him by others and any information he needed or wanted for a mission was provided by his father's people.

It was a situation Cael was attempting to rectify and while the computer tutorials were helping, they were of little use to him today. Still discipline was discipline and he spent an hour or so at his daily studies. Grimm finally checked both of his commlinks to make sure they were in working order and the proper programs were loaded. With 2 hours to the meeting, he left his simple flat in Elf Town and hailed a cab.

Grimm had dressed in the armored clubbers outfit. It was just appropriate and generic enough that it should draw little attention to himself while still fitting in. On his left arm, underneath his jacket was the hidden arm slide holster, holding his Morrisey Elan; it's polyresin construction and high c plastic rounds making it invisible to MAD scanners. While he could defend himself quite well unarmed, Grimm preferred to have at least a backup weapon to maximize his Krav Maga and Firefight training.

Grimm arrived a block away from the club shortly after 6pm. Walking the rest of the way, he carefully note of anything out of the ordinary. He attempted to make a quick but subtle circuit of the building note exits, fire escapes and the like before entering the club.

[Joani]

Scene 1: Rock’N Roll Singer

Underworld doesn’t really look like much from the outside: a simple ferrocrete building that looks like it should be warehousing machinery, not the location of a nightclub. The only distinguishing features of the club are a simple steel sign outside with the name, and an AR display that is far more impressive blazing the name of the club in bright neon lettering along with the club’s logo: Charon steering a speedboat across the river Styx.

There is a sizable crowd outside the building, with a line of people stretching around the building. A pair of intimidating troll bouncers wearing expensive tailored suits stand guard at the door, ignoring the majority of the crowd as if they simply didn’t exist, only occasionally letting people into the club after one of them consults an actual paper list on a clipboard.

An ARO in front of the building explains the crowd. Mercurial is doing an unannounced concert at Underworld 93 tonight at 7:30.

[OOC – Everyone knows the name Maria Mercurial. She’s known in ’72 like Michael Jackson was known in our time]

You all arrive at the appointed time. The place is crowded, hundreds of people are trying to get inside while you’re assaulted with offers, both over AR and in person to buy tickets waaaay overpriced. The two bouncers let you inside ticking off your names after checking back with their list and grunt briefly indicating the way to the MAD-Scanner.

Inside the main doors, the large lobby is packed with people chatting, posing for the press and me-feeds, or gawking at the memorabilia of music stars past and present that line the walls. Two more well dressed but obviously dangerous guards man a MAD-Scanner that patrons have to pass through to get into the club. A coat and weapons check room stands next to the scanner encased in bulletproof glass.

Rolls for Guards Perception and MAD-Scanner

[OOC - Joani *rolls* 7d6: 2+3+1+4+3+2+1: 16 [Joani] 11:35 pm: oh dear

[Jordan] 11:35 pm: witnessed

– no hits, Guards Perception failed. Anyone trying to smuggle concealed weapons which are not picked up by the scanner will succeed.

MAD-Scanner Roll

Joani *rolls* 6d6: 4+2+5+3+3+6: 23

[Jordan] 11:40 pm: witnessed

– 2 hits – any ferrous Weapons will be detected.]

You will have to check any weapon, and will be given individual claim tags for each item checked.

Past the scanner is a long hallway where the restrooms are located, as well as one of several spiral staircases and the entrance to the main bar area. The staircases lead up to an intricate series of catwalks that run the length of the club and connect a number of balconies and booths that are attached to the walls and hang suspended over the stage and dance floor. A guard escort you to your individual booths reserved up here.

The bar itself is manned by six bartenders, and the seating area contains a large number of tables packed in as tightly as possible. The tables are filled to capacity, and a number of patrons are hovering around the seating area like vultures, waiting to claim any table that goes unoccupied for even a nanosecond. Towering over the seating area is “the Beast”, an enormous ten-meter high, bald and bulletheaded statue that has served as the unofficial mascot of Underworld 93 for over two decades. Lasers shoot from the statue’s eyes, smoke billows up around it, neolux tubing running the length of the statue bathes it in an eerie neon glow, and holograms and AR wrap the sculpture in glowing, flashy effects. From its belly, a massive speaker blasts out music.

The stage itself is set in the far south wall, and huge video displays and state of the art AR displays provide dizzying imagery for Emerald Cacophony, a local SynthMetal band playing as a warm up for Mercurial. On the huge dance floor, bodies writhe to the music.

[OOC: you can freely move around but should make sure to be at your booth once Mercurial is announced. The booths are two-seats each and you are paired randomly. Jian with Ace, Caesar with Valkyrie and Grimm with Imiri. Post freely, have fun]

[The Hospitaler]

Ace... was enjoying herself. The atmosphere, the music, the sheer throngs... this was living. Was this how Mom and Pop felt on their first real run? She never asked. She ordered something that was probably the weakest booze from the bar, and takes her glass to her booth. She's a bit early, but she wanted to show she's punctual. But as she makes her way, she decides to just stop for a moment... that moment turned to several and she catches herself dancing with the crowd. Her OLEDs on the belts of her outfit matched the beat, changing colors according to a random pattern. She was in the groove. And everyone seemed to agree around her.

Eventually though, she gets to her booth. Leaning forward with her outfit she looked completely in tune with the crowd, although she looked better dressed than some at the club. Ace doesn't half-ass anything. She takes it to the hilt and twists.

She waits for her booth-mate, and enjoys the rest of the opening act's set.

"Well, they're playing smart... you don't wanna scene-steal the main act... might get fired from the tour."

[SalmonMax]

'Underworld' might have been an apt name for the place in Valkyrie's eyes. Flashing lights and smoke and holos from the giant statue overloaded one's field of vision. Music drowned other sounds out. The obnoxious ARO's made even the Matrix an odious parody of what it could be in this place. And for what? People imbibed toxins to disable their higher cognition and acted out primitive impulses originating from nerve clusters in the hindbrain and amygdala that had long ago become obsolete in the course of human evolution.

It was a disgusting spectacle.

She checked her Pulsar at the door, reasoning that to come completely unarmed would make her seem impossibly naive. She wore her armored bodysuit under the clubwear she'd purchased...a perfectly ordinary long sleeved shirt and pants that had display elements woven into the fabric. She set the outfit's display to show flames roaring up from her feet and coursing over her body to lick at her throat. It seemed appropriate imagery for the venue, and the eyes that tracked her as she passed suggested that estimate was correct. Her conclusion didn't account for how her petite, rather attractive frame filled that outfit out, but that fact would not have impressed her anyway.

From the bar Valkyrie purchased a drink. She didn't intend to imbibe it, but everyone else wandering around had a drink, so it seemed the expected thing to do. After a few minutes scanning the crowd as best she could under adverse conditions, she hadn't spotted MacAllister, so she proceeded to her assigned booth to await him.

[Jeremy]

Despite the AROs and blasting music threatening to overload the vision and audio enhanced earbuds and googles, Jian was pretty much unphased, his regular now and then club trips for social contact had immunized him to this sort of sensory input. He'd come inside unarmed, since his normal arsenal would simply be taken away from him, and with prejudice. Besides, it wasn't hard to acquire weapons with his specialties.

Case in point- he lightly danced through the scrum over to the bar and ordered one of those fruity drinks with little umbrellas- always still in existence. Bemusing the bartender, he also requested several more little umbrellas, which were provided. Jian tucked them into an inner pocket in his coat and scooped up the drink too. Sipping it lightly as he headed to his special box spot, he found it in a booth with someone already in the other seat. He nodded in greeting before sitting down.

A little fancy even for the club in wear, but it didn't stick out that much. Jian let his eyes ostensibly glance at the opening act, but kept his true focus on the behavior of his fellow runner- impromtu legwork.

[The Hospitaler]

Ace looked over her booth-partner. Part Health assessment and part watching her potential teammate. She is going to have to put her life into his hands possibly. But at the same time she had to remember that he may be thinking the same. And with Ace... doubly true when Ace has to patch him up possibly. Thinking about her future prospects distracted her from her enjoyment of the music somewhat.

"To be honest, I have to start doing this more... The name's Ace... And I stay cooped up far too much."

[Imiri]

Imiri had no problems with checking her pistol at the door, but she was a little bit more hesitate about checking her weapon focus there, the katana was a gift from her father, and important to her, but after a moment of hesitation she turned it in as well, though disarming a shaman was more or less impossible, a shaman was only disarmed when they were dead, and maybe not even then. Turning her weapons in and taking the claim tags for them.

Pausing a moment to gaze into the astral, the young elven shaman moved though the room heading for the location she was supposed to meet with her contact, drumming her fingers against her legs as she followed the pattern of the drums that were playing on the song.. about half way there, she stopped and joined the dancing for a few minutes, enjoying the beat for several minutes, making her way slowly over to the booth she was suppose to be at, and made it there to take a seat at the booth she was supposed to, shortly before Mercural came on stage.

[Caesar]

Unsurprisingly the two guards, a fellow ork, and a troll, didn't find his concealed holster, or the little Élan within it. His cane set the MAD bleating like a sheep but he only shrugged and indicated his legs, "Tore my knee up in a backyard Brawl, never walked right since." The ork nodded and let him pass through with the cane, unaware that it was as dangerous as a weapon as it was unneeded for Caesar's gait. He slipped into the press of bodies and the thundering noise of the club with a smile, the cane tapping his foot as he went. A hold out pistol was all good and fine, but some security was good enough to locate even an Élan, and Caesar knew better than to go into a meeting with no weapons if it could be avoided. The cane was a custom piece, strengthened and reinforced and then balanced and weighted for combat; not that it couldn't be used to support one's self, but it's primary use was as a weapon hidden in plain sight.

The ork took the cash and pointed up at the VIP section, indicating a table that sat empty at the moment as Caesar's and one other. He thanked the other man in Or'zet and English, to be sure, and then proceeded into the club. Outside people had taken notice immediately, there was little doubt as he walked by that they were looking at somebody who was somebody. Inside he was thankful for the noise, the lights, the AR artifacts, all of which helped him blend in with the crowd at least a little. Not that he minded the attention most nights, but he was here for business, and people tended to recognize the guy who could easily be a male model, despite his heritage, despite the heavy jaw, and prominent lower canines. His looks were only part of it though. He was dressed well, in clothing that was top notch, and he carried himself with a certain something that projected grace, confidence, and even danger. Caesar considered himself a warlord, a leader of men, thus his street name, taken after one of the great leaders of mankind, and it showed in his bearing. Despite the chaos heads turned to look, eyes, both male and female, lingered on him, and some daring revelers pressed against him, gyrating with the music, enticing him to join them.

Caesar made his way to the bar, a slow process as he simply allowed the current and flow of the crowd and the people seeking his attention to carry him through. There were several scowls when he got priority service from the bartender, but those fled with a smile or a scowl; Caesar could manipulate most people with little effort on his part. He ordered a Four-Banger whiskey; four shots worth on the rocks, a typical drink for dwarves, orks, and trolls who had constitutions well beyond normal humans and elves. Drink in hand he pressed his cred stick to the reader and tapped out an amount, the tip was generous, and he made a point to get the bartender's name, Fellippé, for later use, if additional information was needed.

"Sorry ladies, I have to see a man about a golden statue," Caesar said to the throng of women who had encircled him. His voice was touched with genuine regret, there were a couple in that group that would have come home with him had he not been out for business instead of pleasure. He shook his head, a wry grin pulling at the corners of his mouth as he thought about the fact that those same would likely never want to admit to having banged an ogre the day afterwards. He chuckled to himself and cut through the crowd, casting off hangers on as quickly as they accumulated until he reached the relative safety of the VIP section.

Those already sitting at tables or milling about within the roped off and elevated area at the rear of the club saw the crowd part as a thickset man with a massive broad jaw stepped up off the dance floor. His clothing was top line off the rack, nice, but nothing ostentatious, but what he wore was elevated beyond what it was by who he was. He was gorgeous but all by elven definitions of the word, and even elves would admit that he was attractive. More than looks though, he carried himself confidently, and projected an aura of danger and beauty and power that made him seem even more than he was. His eyes were crimson red, like fresh blood, and his hair was every color from yellow into orange and through red, styled into spikes and unruly peaks it almost seemed as though he wore fire atop his head instead of hair. His manicured hands held a glass of amber whisky and a stylish cane that he plainly did not need. He was unlike any ork, ogre heritage or otherwise, that they had ever seen as he mounted the steps and located a table, already occupied by a young Asian woman.

He settled his bulk into a chair, casting his thick legs out to one side and lounging as he scanned the crowd. He did not look at her directly, but she could tell that his blood red eyes were passing over her repeatedly, scanning her line by line like an old image recognizer. He set his drink down, a bead of sweat running down the glass to pool on the table. Finally he shifted and his gaze settled on her, conveying an odd magnetism. "Good evening," he all but yelled across the small table. The din was such that even that was lost to anybody outside of a yard. "I'm called Caesar, and I'd wager ten yuan that you are Valkyrie, yes?"

[Jeremy]

"Jian." The adept responded to his booth partner, but not adding more. Something didn't feel right. Nothing he could put his finger on, a gut intuition really, without direct evidence, but there. It wasn't in the treachery detected aisle, but more along the lines of 'do I want to run with this person'? Maybe it was the way she seemed too open? Or maybe it was standard runner's paranoia. Either way, he leaned back and chose to let it ride in the back of his mind for now.

[The Hospitaler]

"Hmm... cold fish... far too serious." She thinks as she continues on her drink. She's heard about the "Runner Paranoia", but she's not sure if this was an exhibit of it or He's just anti-social. She chooses just to pay him no mind unless he finally speaks to her again. Seems gregariousness doesn't work around runners.

[SalmonMax]

Valkyrie didn't lean forward to strain her ears, or nod or smile in acknowledgement despite his easygoing charm. Nor did she participate in the cool 'not-looking at' session Caesar had. Her dark eyes were locked onto him from the moment he sat down. When he guessed her handle she nodded.

"Yes."

By the time he spoke, she had gathered a small ream of data on the orc. Not on the Matrix this time; data searches took too long, and with not much more than a face to go on her options were limited. A suite of sensors in her skull that went far beyond simple eyeware was trained on him though, and the results were interesting. For example, how little augmentation he had. And yet few 'awakened' individuals wanted even a single cortical implant. His dress and bearing conveyed wealth and high social status that was unusual for his metatype, but then why participate in dangerous activity like this? And he WAS a shadowrunner, she was sure. He lacked the 'incidental' RFID signals that blanketed most people in a kind of shroud of babbling radio voices. That he had anticipated her involvement suggested extensive contacts, or a personal connection to the club and/or its owner.

None of which hinted at his identity, or specialty. It seemed she had no choice.

"Who are you?" she added to her reply after a moment. She made a mental note to ask Linchpin for more details about what other shadowrunners were being invited next time as well.

[Caesar]

Caesar quirked an eyebrow upward and smirked, "A bold question, and one with so very many potential answers." He tapped his fingers on the table top, the perfectly manicured nails rapped down in succession. "I am a man with connections. One who is as good with words as I have been told you are with ones and zeroes. You are also combat trained, which says to me that there is violence expected even under the best of situations."

He shrugged and a drink, "Your question, I think you are used to being the one with the knowledge over others, the reverse you do not enjoy. That is why you almost cease to exist, you leave behind only that information you are willing to let remain free and known." He looked her in the eyes, the bright red of his iris peering out at her from his heavy brow and dark olive toned skin. His coloration suggested a Mediterranean ancestry, and one not diluted by intermingling with other ethnic groups. "You either fancy me, which I can say is hardly a new experience on my part, or you are analyzing me right back. Your name likely could tell me more, but after a point speculation can run rampant." He paused and then shrugged, "And I don't really know much about mythology."

Another sip of his drink. "Is this your first run?" he asked, those red eyes on her, studying her.

[SalmonMax]

Despite Caesar's somewhat taunting recital of what he knew, Valkyrie relaxed a bit...or at least seemed to become more expressive. She shook her head slightly and said, "No." Then she looked to one side, out over the crowd again, releasing the dapper orc from her seldom-blinking stare.

The truth was that she felt better about him now. Before he had been an unknown quantity. Now she knew enough to place him on the chessboard in her mind; filed under his form and function. He had a meaning now, a concrete contribution to make. A purpose. He was to human connections what she was to network connections; a social hacker. He would infiltrate the minds of others, charming their emotional firewalls to allow him in...then make off with information and exploits that could not be found on the Matrix. As the human network was large, extensive, and functioned according to rules that seemed rooted in a deeply irrational nature, she valued his upcoming contribution.

"Have you worked with MacAllister before?" she asked, looking back at him to gauge his reaction. Something in the deliberate pace of her question, and its minimal structure suggested that she was trying not to reveal more than necessary of herself while probing for information she was curious about.

[Caesar]

The brutishly handsome man, he really was an odd specimen even among the club goers, considered her question. "No." he replied after a moment. His return question came quickly, and simply, "You?"

Valkyrie shook her head, "I haven't met him." She regarded him in turn, their verbal sparring slowing as each seemed to be testing the extent of their information sharing. He clearly knew quite a bit, which implied that he was as good as he had suggested within his specialty. She decided to see what the extent of his knowledge was. "Do you know who else has been recruited?" she asked, not entirely sure what his reply would be, he was as careful with his "data" as she was with her own.

Caesar smiled ever so slightly. Despite the noise he actually looked around again, pointedly, before reaching behind his neck and withdrawing a fiber-optic data cable with a standard datajack connection. "Privacy is one thing, but privacy, is another entirely. Better safe than dead."

[SalmonMax]

Valkyrie lifted an eyebrow. Could he actually be suggesting...? The thought was so absurd that she wasn't sure how to feel about it. Laugh? Rage? Anything seemed appropriate. But she settled for making a counteroffer.

She produced a small white hemisphere on a plastic base about as big around as the palm of her hand and set it on the table. It emitted a quiet droning hum.

"This is a white noise generator," she explained, just in case he didn't know. "It creates infrasonic interference patterns that mutually amplify each other at a radius of about five feet, and become loud enough at that distance to drown out any conversation within." Her lips curved slightly into the suggestion of a smile, or smirk. "It's the best I can offer. Unless you're concerned about your lips being read, it should be enough to ensure privacy. A direct neural connection is..." the smirk widened slightly. "...not possible."

[Caesar]

Caesar tilted his head, evidently unsure how to respond to that. Finally he simply replaced the jack and spread his hands; an accession. "It is on then?" She nodded, "I am aware of these, but, as you say, lips can be read by those with the talent, and it is often wisest to choose the method which allows no chance of eavesdropping in any form." He shrugged, there was little point in belaboring what could not be.

"There are four others. All are combat trained, including the medic, and yourself, which is disconcerting to say the least." Caesar shook his head ruefully, "Whatever business this is, it must be dangerous, though clearly the profit margin is low, else there would be little reason to hire fresh runners, which all of us are." He took a drink and then considered, "There is also a shaman, though I do not know what totem she makes use of. The other two ..." Caesar was uncertain how to proceed. "A physad and a chromed samurai. Like the rest of us they have no cred to speak of, but they do have reputations. Not the good kind."

[Mr. Grimm]

Having observed all that he could from the outside of the building, Mr. Grimm finally made his way to the front doors and the troll bouncers. He had little difficulty gaining entrance and as expected, the MAD scanners could not pick up his weapon. The Trolls bouncer were less than observant as usual, and failed to hind the little pistol strapped to his arm.

The club was a cacophony of audio and visual stimulus, none of which interested the young Elf. Grimm rebuffed all attempts at contact as he made his way around the club, taking note of emergency exits and anything else that could be of interest or use if things went bad. True this was just a meet with Mr. Johnson, but one could never be too careful.

Satisfied with his preliminary scouting, Grimm made his way to the VIP section of the club as directed by the doormen. There were several 2 person booths most of which were filled. Only one seat was left, beside another Elf; a female. Grimm showed no emotion as he sat down. He looked aver at his booth companion and said "Good Evening," before turning his attention to the crowds.

[Imiri]

Having sought out a seat after having enjoyed herself in the dance for a bit, she was catching her breath once more, so when the newcomer simply chose to take a seat next to her, she looked at him in suprise, then shrugged slightly to herself, no doubt this MacAllister person had contacted more then one runner for whatever job this entailed. "Evening." She responded politely, but otherwise didn't offer anything else in terms of words, at the moment, she was content to wait and see what was to come next.

[SalmonMax]

Valkyrie suppressed her momentary flash of annoyance. People were so...inefficient in their communication! As of now she had no idea if 'not the good kind' meant that he didn't know the specifics, or that he was giving her a polite 'conversational pause' to pointlessly ask for the information that could simply have been shared up front and spared them both the time. Not, she had to admit, that there was any kind of pressure to be speedy. It was the principle of the thing.

No, she would give him the benefit of the doubt. If he knew, he'd have said. Opinion to be adjusted upon verification of presumption. That freed her from the shackles of a preordained conversational path and opened things up a bit.

"A shaman," she repeated aloud, distaste marring her features; the first clear expression she'd had since Caesar had joined her. "And an 'adept.'" Audible irony in the last word. Whatever guard she'd had before had been eased, it seemed.

"I have not had the...privilege...of working with a shaman before. There was a 'mage' on my second run. He was an imbecile, who believed his control over reality via 'magic' would protect him from harm. Unfortunately, his astral senses failed to note a security drone. If he'd been less addicted to his own superstition, he might have made it back." She paused, assessing his odds. "But I doubt it."

She looked back over at Caesar. "You're uncomfortable that so many of us are combat trained. Is that not normal in this line of work?

[Caesar]

Contrary to Valkyrie's belief Caesar knew exactly why the samurai and the physad had bad reps on the street at the moment. He was not being forthcoming on the simple basis that information was not free, he had already told her a great deal that she probably did not know, now he wanted to get her to return the favor. "I'll answer that, but this isn't Good Will, I don't do handouts, I want to know what you know about this run, this MacAllister fellow. You're a hacker, and unless you are a piss poor one I am willing to bet you've done some research of your own before you showed up." He tapped the table, "Tit for tat, chummer, if we're sharing, let's both of us share, if not ..." He shrugged, and his implication was clear, he was done sharing until she did some of her own.

[SalmonMax]

Valkyrie lifted her eyebrows slightly, but nodded. His request represented an acceptable trade. The truth was that his information was probably more valuable than hers, in fact. She'd limited herself to primarily public information. All she was doing was saving him time and effort in finding it.

"He has a long and colorful history as a former 'decker,' surviving in the shadows for just over ten years before retiring from that lifestyle. He has since drawn on his extensive contacts to reinvent himself as a fixer, moving back to Seattle in 2072. Though his record is unusually long for a shadowrunner, there is little of casual interest until shortly after he returned here. He became involved with the case of a 'copycat' who emulated the methods of the 'Mayan Cutter in the summer of that year.'"

She paused, letting him assimilate that, then said, "His daughter was a victim of this killer. More recently he has been involved with groups seeking greater civil rights for human metatypes, including the Ork Underground, which he is attempting to make into a legitimate, legal organization."

[Caesar]

Caesar nodded. None of that was news to him, his own legwork had turned up much the same information. "Well, no complaints about somebody working for the betterment of orkish-kind." He studied the remains of his drink before swigging it down, "To answer your question, yes, I am concerned. It's normal in my limited experience to expect trouble, but this seems above and beyond to me. It has me suspecting that this job will be more dangerous than most." He shrugged, "I've no urgent desire to field test the effectiveness of my armor, so I consider this worrying." He gave her a smile, that would have won over even the more skeptical of people, flashing a dazzling array of perfectly straight and white teeth, oversize canines and all."

[The Hospitaler]

((Redacted))

[Jeremy]

Jian observed the sudden lack of silence on the part of the girl and frowned mentally. As soon as someone is a little laconic, she seems to take that as unfriendliness. It doesn't seem like she understands the caution of the biz... maybe? Let's find out. "So. How much job experience do you have?"

[The Hospitaler]

Ace looked over. "Is this job the type of one where you need prior experience?"

"If it helps I spent a couple years in Doc Wagon getting into a couple fights... and I've been working with a Street Doc... pretty handy with a shotgun and a pistol... I should be able to at least cover myself until I get to you, pull you to safety, and patch you up."

"I hope..."

Her tone suggested nervousness. Perhaps more like first run jitters.

[Jeremy]

Oh, drek. That tone of inexperience and nervousness was clear, plus the spilling of personal personal details, a newbie mistake aside from the dangerous content of those words. If someone put a combat medic in a group, it meant people were expected to be in a bad place two steps from the Reaper. And a DocWagon medic who'd only been in a 'couple of fights' in a couple of years, not even sure about her ability to pull her weight enough in combat- that was glitched.

McAllister was an ex-runner with big name, long-term experience. Why, if he was hiring a team for a clearly dangerous mission to the extent of selecting a medic, was he calling on a newbie with signs of a potential big mouth? Hiding his concern at what the answer could be, Jian quietly asked, "Is this your first time?"

[The Hospitaler]

Ace sighed. "Yeah." She scratched her head. "First go-around."

Yep... here we go... whoever this is... is giving me the third degree... Ace thinks as she now feels it's far worse to be grilled by a potential teammate than whatever might be encountered on the mission.

She shifted in her seat some more. This was starting to get uncomfortable.

[Jeremy]

And the nervous girl wasn't lying, dammit. Inexperience that would kill her. And Jian, potentially. Well, it remained to be seen. Perhaps the rest of the runners would be capable of making up in case things went south with miss Ace here. And he did intend to pass on a warning to the rest of the team, if he took this run McAllister offered.

He gave her a shrug outwardly. "Well, enjoy Maria Mericual while you have the chance."

[Jeremy] 3:36 pm: Intution + Con Default on the talk to see if Ace is lying

Jeremy *rolls* 3d6: 3+6+3: 12

[Kamiko] 3:45 pm: Jer: Of course not.

So it doesn't really matter then, but just to make sure... paranoid runners after all.

[The Hospitaler]

"Whatcha mean by that, hmm?"

She looks towards her boothmate with a quizzical expression. That last wording from this person... threw her off.

"Was it something I said?"

[Jeremy]

"No, no." Jian said, though she'd already said quite enough. "Maria Mericual's a big name. I'd think you wouldn't want to miss her performing with all this talk."

[The Hospitaler]

Ace sits back. Not knowing what to think anymore. She was completely intimidated.

She gets up. "I think I need to take care of one interruption that always likes to interrupt..." She steps out of her booth. "Women's room..."

When she heads to the bathroom, she goes into a stall and throws up from the tension.