|
|
Post by NoOnesShowMonkey on Aug 9, 2010 23:27:09 GMT -5
<<# GROWLER>> 08:31 - 04 March, 2069 (a Seattle wide Matrix Audio Blog / Morning News Show)
''Hey there kids, this is Growler talking to anybody out there that's listening. First, the weather! It sucks. Today is another dreary day in the 'plex. The rain continues and I have it on good authority that the Code Orange that is active for the southern metroplex is the real deal. The strange westerly wind continues, spreading out nastiness from Rainier and GlooOOOooOOow City. As a result, the acid rain rates a solid 'chemical burns for sure', so all you kids had best heed the warnings and wear your ponchos and respirators.
In other news, Ares has bought out Masterson Applied Technology, beating out Renraku in the bidding. A bird told me that Renraku closed ranks and pulled out at the last moment and cut their losses. Heard that there might be a bit more going on there, that some Renraku spiders hacked MAT and stole some tech and corrupted whatever they didn't take. Why pay for the bitch's dinner when you already fucked her... am I wrong?''
|
|
|
|
Post by Mr Jonson on Aug 13, 2010 21:15:31 GMT -5
<<Mr. Johnson @ Baron Godfrey; Clint Westwood; Arc Greyfeather>>
<<- INCOMING MESSAGE -
... begin decrypt
... scrambler
... anonymizer
... decrypt complete
- BEGIN HEADER -
from: Mr. Johnson
to: Clint Westwood; Baron Godfrey; Arc Greyfeather
- BEGIN BODY -
... scanning for data bombs
... scanning for malware
... scanning for virii
... scans complete
... unpacking
You may not know me, but I know someone that knows you. The company
that I represent needs some work done and the short list came back
with your names on it. If you are interested in hearing more of this
four digit proposition, please meet me at the Lazy Axel in Tacoma at
20:30.
Sincerely,
Mr. Johnson
- END ->>
|
|
|
|
Post by drzaius on Aug 15, 2010 12:36:02 GMT -5
Clint [4 March 2069, 12:10 Tacoma]
PAN - Passive
Clint is driving his cruiser through the streets of Tacoma when the buzz from the Johnson hits his commlink. He pulls up an AR display to respond to the Johnson, while also figuring out where he's going to eat lunch today.
<< Clint @ Mr. Johnson >>
<< I'll be there. Before I come however, if you could let me know which of our mutual acquaintances gave you my information, I'd be much obliged. >>
He closes the AR Display, and waits for the Johnson's response.
<<Johnson @ Clint>>
<<A friend of a friend of a friend, so to speak. I do ask 'who?' so that I do not have to tell. If several thousand nuyen and a little bit of secrecy is not interesting to you, I can find others who are less... inquisitive...>>
<<Clint @ Mr. Johnson>>
<< I am simply curious which of my friends of your friend contacted you. I have enemies as well, and would prefer that I am able to know who to thank for the work, or who to blame if I'm getting ambushed. >>
<<Mr. Johnson @ Clint>>
<<I am not responsible for keeping track of your enemies, but I have it on good authority that somewhere down the line, someone that you trust is involved. Please forgive me if I am not in the business of naming names.>>
<< Clint @ Mr. Johnson >>
<< Fine. See you at the appointed hour. >>
|
|
|
|
Post by segwaycop on Aug 15, 2010 14:57:20 GMT -5
Butts [4 March 2069, 8:55 Bellevue] PAN - Passive Jerry Butinski is sitting in his car, eating a glazed donut, texting back and forth with his wife about dinner and about how little Billy slept last night. This is the morning of a two day stake out at a home in South End, Tacoma. Word is one of the runners that hit his warehouse lives here. He just wants to get a look at the guy, maybe get some info outta him. But Butts isn't making any money doing this and with Billy sick, he needs to get home. A VM pops up in his inbox. <<Frank Dreben @ Butts>>
''Hey, Butts. It's Frank. A friend of mine told me something interesting today; I thought you might want to know. Looks like theres a team being put together for a job and there's an opening. Could involve a few thousand nuyen, maybe more. Thought of you. Hit me back if you want more details. Stay chill, brother.''<<Butts @ Frank>> "Hiyya Frank. Yeah I'm interested. Times are tight right now and I could really use the extra dough. What kind of man-hours are you thinking for this one? The last job you offered took way too long. I had to miss the kid's recital. And let me tell you, Mrs. Butts wasn't too happy about that one. Slept on the couch for two weeks. Regardless, it's good to hear from you."<<Frank Dreben @ Butts>>
''Yeah, sorry about that last one, Butts. You know how these jobs are: it's a crapshoot either way. Sometimes its easy money, othertimes not so much. I hear that this one looks to be at least three grand solid. Your name came up because it's a retrieval of some sort - should take a bit of legwork and the like. Your kind of gig, no? Finish the job and buy your old lady a nice night out and your kid a present. Yer outta the dog house in one move.
Be at the Lazy Axel at half past eight tonight if you want to find out a bit more. Don't bother tellin' 'em I sent ya. They'll know.'' |
|
|
|
Post by phatgdog69 on Aug 16, 2010 14:29:48 GMT -5
Don [4 March 2069, 13:05 Downtown] PAN - Active
Don is relaxing in his office, working through some filing when a call came through from an old acquaintance.
<<Torin Lowell @ D.Sterling>>
<<A friend of a friend told me that he is looking to put together a small operation, nothing serious. He has all the other players lined up, but they are all anti-social mother-killing fucks. Need some of your patented suave. The setup is good made for 20:30 tonight at the Lazy Axel. If you want to make some cred, be there.>>
<<D. Sterling @ T. Lowell>>
<<Tacoma? Can't say I much like being that close to Puyallup, but who does? Thanks Torin, for a minute there it was starting to get boring around here. Least I can do is check it out. Speaking of - you ever been to the Lazy Axel? >>
Bunch of lunatics and killers, same as usual. Still, the location could be a problem...
<<Torin Lowell @ D.Sterling>>
<<Yeah. I think I've been there once. Its in Tacoma near the rail yards. Cheap brews. Real workin' man feel. Pass a brother 50 'yen for giving you the hookup.>>
<<D. Sterling @ T. Lowell>>
<<Hahaha, you'd charge an old cripple for the time of day - but you're consistent. Here ya go, man. So, these fucks know yet that they're getting their much-needed help from me? >>
Don sat back in his chair - Aside from a little paperwork left for the day, there was plenty of time to kill before the meeting. Cheap quiet bar, far enough out of town - same as usual. So far, no red-flags, but there was at least some time to check it out.
<<T. Lowell @ D.Sterling>>
<<Everybody has nuyen; they just don't wanna spend it. And, nope, they don't have the skinny on you, yet. The J. doesn't know you, neither, so play nice. Fair warning, though, they don't care for monied folks at the Axel. Don't care much for elves, neither.>>
<<D. Sterling @ T. Lowell>>
<<Thanks for the heads-up, I'll try to go low-key - for me, at least. Here's another 50, I needed that. I'll let you know how it goes; Of course, if you hear it from me first, it went well.>>
Well, time to grab a set of plain clothes and cover up those ears - and brush up on street speak. Nothing like HMMV to teach the world that everybody's a little bit racist.
|
|
|
|
Post by milkrun on Aug 16, 2010 14:43:28 GMT -5
Arc clutches his abdomen where he has surely broken a rib. He tries to sit up and only succeeds after his third attempt. He makes a mental note that he is gonna use the money from the run to upgrade his firewall and junk the "Steel Coffin" program that he has been working on. He stumbles into his bathroom and downs a few aspirin. He then calls Red to see if he can do something about his ribs and his now bleeding nose.
<< Arc @ R.Morrning>>
<<Red, hey it's Arc I was hoping to see you before I go meet this Johnson. I need a favor of the magical sort. Could we meet up and maybe you can voodoo my ribs back together? I've got a bit of cash and you can consider my next favor to be free of charge.>>
|
|
|
|
Post by NoOnesShowMonkey on Aug 16, 2010 17:37:51 GMT -5
Red Morning [4 March 2069, 17:05 Bellevue] PAN - Active
<<R.Morning @ Arc>>
''Don't worry about the cred, omae. If you ain't too badly worked over, it won't make no nevermind to get done. I will take you up on the free favor, though. Scratch mine, scratch yours.
I am at the crib, man. Come swing by and pappa Red will have a look at you.>>
|
|
|
|
Post by NoOnesShowMonkey on Aug 17, 2010 11:21:46 GMT -5
[4 March 2069, 17:02 - Arc's Tacoma Apartment]
Arc wakes to the rumble in his skull signifying an incoming message. His head is still buzzing as he still hasn't fully recoveredfrom the dose of Long Haul he took to finish that last crack. He glances over the message,goes for a quick run and then dives bodily intothe matrix. After stuffing his physical shell his world...suddenly becomes asteam powered versionof Seattle. The giant cogs and coal smoke instantly washthe last jittery remnants of the drug from his system and he climbs into his ornothoptic tracking program and tries to follow the message to it's source.
After 2 full turns in VR, Arc realizes that the sender is running a high rating Stealth program and appears to have an Active Spoof agent running on his data trail. This agent continuously makes Spoof attempts on portions of the datatrail, effectively scrambling, encrypting and scattering the pieces. Arc's search takes him through several public Telecomm nodes, a public banking office, three advertising agencies and the control node for a sprinkler system in a Bellevue public park before he fully realizes what is happening.
"What a pain in my ass. Friggin Spoofer."
Arc rolls over and reaches his hand into the empty "Soy Puff Stay-Leans" bag, groans and pulls on some pants. After a quick run to the the corner for some soy-cafe, a fresh bag of puffs and, a bag of microwave burritos Arc is ready to settle down for a day's work. He lounges into his old recliner and lets his meat body go.
Arc is able to track the Johnson's mail back to a private network located in Downtown. It looks like the sender was sitting at Purple Haze. A quick search will show that Purple Haze is an upscale, luxury eatery that serves Pueblo style faire. It is an exclusive, expensive joint that is known for having some very private rooms.
The Node appears as a 1960s acid lounge with scintilating colors on the walls and low, reverberating guitar solos rocking steadily through the whole area. The sound surrounds you and can be felt, though the floor and in the air, more than it is heard. Arc's Hot Sim picks up pleasing scents of various old school awakened drugs in addition to the stink of sex. Whoever programmed this Node knew what they were doing.
Arc is a bit taken back by the jazzy atmosphere of the place and decides he has to go through the code of his reality filter again. He attempts to locate the security footage from the node that the Johnson accessed.
"You can keep your jazz; but I'm taking your files."
From bellow Arc's cyber form erupts a mass of gears and chimneys that then amalgamate into a robotic spider covered in lenses and tiny arms holding magnifying glasses. Arc climbs on top and begins his search. After finding the storage location labeled as today's logs his mount shifts again into a giant walking telescope with a number of smaller telescopes protruding from different locations along the tube and finder scope.
Arc notes that the logs are both Encrypted and Databombed. He will have to Defuse before Decrypting. Both are Rating 4. Failure to Defuse will cause an alert.
The gears surrounding Arc's telescope begin to whirl and a great deal of smoke is churned out of the small chimney. As the lenses shift and spin they become more and more opaque and for a small wall of steel with robotic arms jutting from various locations. The main lens bubbles out and shifts to the top of the wall. Arc pushes his head into the bubble and begins to disarm the data bomb.
Small, spidery forelimbs begin to pry apart the fishbowl, stripping off a layer like thick paint, the appearance of the fishbowl refracting and bending to its new shape. Beneath the animated fish-skin, however, is a teeming mass of cogs and gears. Whirring into action, Arc's telescopic defuser plunges into the data, gears and piston arms flying. Suddenly, there is a clunk and several bits of machinery fly out of the databox and an inky, oily smoke begins to pour out. Arc can hear an alarm going off.
Matrix initiative, please.
Swooping down from the endless sky is a pure steel form of a musclular human with long, lithe limbs and an almond shaped, faceless head.
The Gears protruding from Arc's back begin to spin and a hose emerges that snakes its way down his arm. His hand rotates into his forearm and is replaced with a large cylinder revolver. His other hand spins into his arm and is replaced by a short barreled shotgun. Smoke begins to pour from his high collar and his sleeves as he tries to overtake the node's reality filter.
Arc does not hesitate and fires two fire shots at the oily smoke.
The SecurA Razor produces an enormous katana from behind its smooth android head and cuts both incoming shots into equal halves. Grinning maliciously, the IC swoops forward on wings of air, slicing and dicing. Arc tries to dodge to the right flourishing his duster to try and throw off the blades but ends up tangling up inside his duster, trying to route data traffic on his com onto the wrong ports and channels, in advertently opening himself up to the attack!
Arc rolls to his back and throws his arms up to gaurd his head. His Armor program and his arms shift into shields and tries to mitigate the incoming damage.
Arc takes 6 boxes of matrix damage. Condition monitor equals 8 + 1/2(System).
Hissing with a steel-on-steel grinding sound, the SecurA Razor follows up its ferocious attack on Arc's now crumbling icon, slashing hard and fast at the flickering patterns and dissolving images. Arc, not wanting to be defeated so easily, tries his newest armor program and his body shifts into a steel coffin.
The IC's katana slams into the coffin, tearing a rent in the top, headed at a breakneck pace to the very bottom... within the coffin, Arc hears the screech of metal on metal and sees the tip of the blade.
Arc takes 8 - 4 = 4 damage. He is now at 10 of 11 condition boxes. His condition mod is now -3 and his initiative is 9.
Pressing down on its sword with digital strength, the SecurA Razor's seemless face looms in the widening hole at the top of Arc's coffin. Suddenly, the smooth, glassy surface cracks into a terrifying grin.
As the sword tears through his fore arm Arc is sprayed with increasingly pixelated oil and steam pours from the open gash. The room is slowly transforming back into the club and the music starts just above a whisper.
'I hate Jazz.'
Arc suffers Dumpshock. He must resist 5p + 5s damage with Willpower + Biofeedback. Hits reduce Physical damage first.
Arc is ravaged by a shaking fit and his nostrils fill with the smell of cooked meat.
3 will + 3 biofeedback = 6 dice
6d6s5: 2 successes [6, 3, 3, 4, 6, 1]
Arc suffers 3 physical and 5 stun damage. You have been DUMPSHOCKED.
|
|
|
|
Post by NoOnesShowMonkey on Aug 21, 2010 16:43:15 GMT -5
[4 March 2069, 18:21 Seattle Sprawl] PAN - Passive
<<Unknown@Zora>>
A friend of a friend says that you could use some cred and are willing to do things most aren't. I heard through the grapevine that there is a job getting put together that might need somethin' extra - somethin' you might be able to provide. If you are interested, post a 'Female Lover of the Night Seeking Adventurous Man' on LoveNet.Seattle.>>
|
|
|
|
Post by NoOnesShowMonkey on Aug 22, 2010 1:38:17 GMT -5
[4 March 2069, 14:34 Downtown]
<<Hiro Yamato @ Hikaru>>
<<Hikaru-san. Though you are not currently on the best of terms with us, nor we with you, you still have obligations to us. As such, you shall meet me today at Hanafuda to discuss our business together. Do not dishonor yourself by coming armed.>>
|
|
|
|
Post by abschalten on Aug 23, 2010 13:31:59 GMT -5
[4 March 2069, 18:23; Dockside Apartment, Unit 3-14] PAN - Passive
Zora smirked as she read over the message. Her black eye and busted lip hadn't even fully healed from the last time Lone Star had roughed her up, and now they were here making moves to entrap her in criminal activity and lock her up permanently.
"They can't do anything until I commit a crime," she muttered to herself in her native Russian tongue. "I can play along with their little game until then."
She tongued a tooth in the back of her mouth and logged onto LoveNet.Seattle. Zora wasn't sure if it had been the officer's boot or his partner's nightstick that had jarred it loose, but the tooth wasn't staying put like it had before. Either she was going to have to spend some of her rapidly depleting funds to have a dentist set it properly, or she was just going to get the pliers and pull it out herself.
<<Login: LoveNet.Seattle>>
<<Username: orkdevotchka69 / Password: *********>>
<<'Female Lover of the Night Seeking Adventurous Man'>>
<<Lovely single ork woman with no kids seeks adventurous man to show good time and help practice English. Loves walks on beach, candle-lit dinners, watersports, light S&M, autoerotic asphyxiation, hermaphrodites, TGs, groups, and poetry. Only masochists need apply.>>
|
|
|
|
Post by NoOnesShowMonkey on Aug 24, 2010 17:26:19 GMT -5
[4 March 2069, 20:11 - Seattle]
<<PainLuvRTURBO @ orkdevotchka69>>
<<RE: Female Lover of the Night Seeking Adventurous Man>>
<<Hey, baby. I want to help you get your hurt on. If you are aching for me, be at Dirty Deeds tonight at 23:00. Come alone and ready to get durrrrrrty.>>
|
|
|
|
Post by abschalten on Aug 24, 2010 19:11:34 GMT -5
[4 March 2069, 20:15; Dockside Apartment, Unit 3-14] PAN - PassiveZora entertained herself by sifting through the dozens of responses already generated by her online ad, chuckling at the sheer desperation of some of the men who were all vying for her attention. A few of them she could imagine being written by panting, sweaty perverts with throbbing veins pulsing through their foreheads as they furiously mashed buttons on ther comms, hoping and praying that she picked them to be her little whipping post. However, she paused as she read over the response from PainLuvRTURBO. Sure this could be a Lone Star sting, and certainly there was nothing wrong with meeting somebody for what was ostensibly a sexual rendezvous. But if this was a sting by the dogs, then they were trying exceptionally hard to make it look like something else. Zora looked away from the comm terminal and around her apartment. It was a pig-sty. The wallpaper had long ago decided to divorce itself messily from the crumbling plaster walls, holes in which allowed for convenient escape paths for the various bugs and vermin infesting this building. Dirty clothes were strewn about -- she so hated doing laundry, and put it off until the last article ceased to pass the "sniff test." Half-empty containers of take-out Chinese food buzzed with flies or squirmed with maggots. The sad fact was if she walked out of here right now, she'd be leaving it in better shape than she found it. So Zora found herself with two choices: stay here in this shithole dump of an apartment and pass the time tonguing her loose tooth until it finally popped out, or she could go see what this poster was all about, Lone Star set-up or no. What's life without a few risks, eh? Grinning, she mashed out a response to PainLuvRTURBO.<<orkdevotchka69 @ PainLuvRTURBO>>
<<I will meet you there. I'm looking forward to making you hurt.>>This could be a police trap, a horny pervert, or a homicidal maniac looking for a woman to slash up. Either way, Zora felt her night had just gotten more interesting. "I had better take my knives, just in case."------- [4 March 2069, 22:45; Outside Dirty Deeds] PAN - PassiveZora hadn't bothered to look up anything about this place other than the address. She had determined it wasn't far, and opted for the walk there rather than pay good, dwindling nuyen for a taxi cab. Doubtless she would've had to wait forever for a driver brave enough to come into her neighborhood anyway. As she rounded the corner, she could barely make the place out in the distance. She pulled her cigarettes out from a pocket without her armored jacket, fished in the pack for a smoke, and placed it between her lips. Surely she had enough time for a smoke before she went in. Meanwhile she stood outside and tried to get an idea of what sort of joint this was before she blindly went inside, peering down at the club through the lenses of her goggles. Will make a Perception roll when I get home.
|
|
|
|
Post by NoOnesShowMonkey on Aug 25, 2010 9:18:37 GMT -5
[4 March 2069, 22:45; Outside Dirty Deeds, Puyallup]
The club occupies a storefront in a long line of commercial businesses along Meridian Avenue. The plaza is a mixture of tattoo parlors, body mod clinics, check cashing and liquor stores. Trash and human refuse lines the gutters and collects in corners wherever the wind tosses it. Lighting up the sky, a huge neon sign depicts a woman in a skimpy maid's outfit showing a lot of thigh while bending down to sweep some dirt into a dustpan. To the left of the maid, running vertically are the words 'Dirty Deeds' in sordid pink.
An ARO of the same maid plays in continuous loop: 'Nothing is too dirty for us, sugar. Let's get clean together.'
Being a Monday night, the Dirty Deeds club is doing slow business. There are no lines outside, and the crew manning the door - a trio of metas including an ork - have little to do. The three hassle any females that come near and are clearly shaking down most patrons headed into the club for a cover fee of their own. Dressed in matching black and red check, the three sport a large crimson colored claw - some big game cat or other - on the backs of their jackets. Zora can clearly see several knives and pistols jutting out from under jackets, thrust into waist bands.
|
|
|
|
Post by abschalten on Aug 26, 2010 0:04:06 GMT -5
[4 March 2069, 22:45; Outside Dirty Deeds, Puyallup]"My kind of place," Zora mused to herself. Something about the seedier, more dangerous locales had always appealed to her. Maybe it was because she had grown up around them, living her early life on streets where Death was almost whimsical. Though, if she had ever envied the safety and stability of those who lived normal lives, she had only to see how they gave up their humanity and liberty in trade, and she considered her dangerous -- but free -- life a good bargain. "No weapons?" she asked herself, watching the trio in front of the door patting people down. Though by the way they took various liberties with people going in, she couldn't tell if they were staff or if they were just a handful of gang-bangers looking to empty pockets. Either way, she figured it best if they couldn't find her knives. They were well hidden away, but it she could try to make sure they weren't found at all. She adjusted them, sliding the blades into hidden pockets sewn into her jacket and spreading them out so that they wouldn't bulk up and reveal themselves. And of course the most important part of such necessary sleight of hand was misdirection. She tossed her long black hair a bit to give it some extra volume, and affected a more carefree and sensuous demeanor. Truth be told, she didn't have to act too much. Venues such as this sometimes brought out her inner slut, much as she denied it to herself at times. Zora whistled between her teeth at the "security" as she approached the front door, affecting a flirting smile. "This is pat-down, yes?" she inquired in her heavily-accented English. "I would like going inside."
|
|
|
|
Post by NoOnesShowMonkey on Aug 27, 2010 0:51:47 GMT -5
[4 March 2069, 22:46; Outside Dirty Deeds]The three 'doormen' eye Zora as she approaches, the lead, a human with a large lime green mohawk and a huge revolver sticking out of his pants above the groin, cracking a wry grin. 'Got a lot of moxie showing up at a place like this, dressed like that, tuskey-cakes. I like a lady who is protected. Me?' The punk grabs at the hilt of his huge revolver, jostling it about. 'I never wear a helmet. I like life dangerous.'Looking left and right at his two compatriots, he grins big and pretty, showing some browned teeth and a deep scar on his cheek. 'How about you, baby? You like life dangerous? What are you into? Leather?' Green Mohawk narrows his eyes, bloodshot and beady. ' Cuz I think yer a muff diver. And if you want to see some primo taco, you'd best be passing us fifty 'yen lest you want us to ruin your pretty little face, darlin'. Nobody gets off for free.'Green Mohawk steps forward, getting very close to Zora. She can smell his rancid breath and can clearly make out his stubble. The ork, a shaved head bruiser with bolts in his neck gives a low rumble of a snicker while the other human shoves his goggles down over his eyes. 'Now, if you mind, I'm goin' t' tech you, baby...' Green Mohawks eyes wrinkle and his face forms a maniacal grin. If Zora coughs up the cred and/or gets searched, this is the check: 3 Int + 3 perception +4 large quantity of small objects +3 active search = 11 dice Gangers pat down Zora. (11d6.hits(5)=3)The gangers find no knives. If Zora doesn't want to pay them, they won't pat her down.
|
|
|
|
Post by abschalten on Aug 27, 2010 1:28:09 GMT -5
[4 March 2069, 22:47; Outside Dirty Deeds] PAN - Passive
Zora decided that, for the moment, she'd put up with the indignity of having this man pat her down, doubtless she'd regret it. Sure enough the man was searching for contraband in places no woman would ever consider putting it. She gritted her teeth and let him get it over with, making a mental note to set this right once she was done inside the club.
"You are done," she insisted, once the search started to drag on for a suspicious amount of time. She shrugged away from the man's touch and quickly instructed her comm to beam the requisite bribe -- 50 nuyen -- to the man's account.
Before they had any further opportunities to hinder her, she pushed past them into the club. She was grinding her teeth together so hard she thought they might explode in her mouth, and her expression was virtually a thunderhead, ready to unleash hell around her.
"Time to find this fucking man," Zora grumbled to herself. She made her way into the main stage area and took a seat at a table. Occasionally she would idly look at the dancers, but really she was searching about for the man who'd made the post that had brought her here. She had no idea what or whom she was looking for. Whatever. For now she was content to sit and smoke while she calmed down.
|
|
|
|
Post by NoOnesShowMonkey on Aug 28, 2010 15:08:22 GMT -5
[4 March 2069, 23:10 ; Dirty Deeds lounge]
The bass thrums steadily through the lounge while a trio of metahuman dancers strut their stuff. The music is a mix of eletronica-pop mashups and a few real booty grinders from the club scene. The whole system is set up a little too loud with just a little too much bass, but no one seems to care.
AROs bombard Zora's commlink:
<<Want to FUCK someone tonight? SexySeattleSingles.com>>
<<Cum to the Lion's Den for all of your spicey boudoir needs.>>
<<Good Things Come in Small Packages (but not everything is proportionate) - Matchmaking For Dwarves, by Dwarves. Stutnet/Packages/>>
<<30% off cosmetic upgrades and sexuality changes at Body+Tech! Terms and conditions apply, not available at all locations...>>
Sitting at a table near the main dance floor, Zora is offered drinks by several scantly clad vixens. The AR menu includes all of the major brands of synthahol swill. More than a few patrons make their way towards Zora with lascivious eyes, but her cold stare turns them away.
Alongside the AROs, Dirty Deeds' social network is squaking and chirping away in Zora's commlink. Several dancers send her discrete texts asking if she wants a private dance or anything special. A couple of patrons request her to go into Active Mode so that her social networking information is on display.
A text comes slicing in:
<<PainLuvRTURBO @ orkdevotchka69>>
<<Glad to see you could make it. Mind heading to the ladies' room?>>
|
|
|
|
Post by abschalten on Aug 28, 2010 16:53:15 GMT -5
[4 March 2069, 23:10 ; Dirty Deeds lounge]Zora raised a brow at the message from PainLuvRTURBO. The ladies room, was it? Either she had a few wrongful assumptions about this person she was meeting, or he had little fear in him. That second one could be dangerous. It was time to be cautious and alert. More so, since he knew she was here (somehow!) and yet she had no idea who it was she was meeting with. Something felt wrong about this whole situation, but Zora couldn't seperate her paranoia from an objective situational analysis - with the Lone Star dogs on her heels so long, her healthy awareness had grown into something a little more hard-edged and instinctive. A pity. She had just started to forget the unpleasantness at the door a few moments ago, and begun appreciating several of the dancers -- the ones who weren't too fucked up and strung out on drugs, that is. Zora flashed a text back to PainLuvRTURBO: <<orkdevotchka69 @ PainLuvRTURBO>>
<<Be there in a moment.>>In case she was being watched, she made a show of apparently finishing off her cigarette. But really, she was scanning the crowd through the corner of her eye, not just to spot this person if she could, but to see if anything else was out of the ordinary. One final drag, and then she pulled the cigarette from her mouth to crush it out in the ashtray. Furtively, she was using her free hand to slip one of her knives up the sleeve of her jacket, readying it in case she was going to have to use it to slit a throat or bury it into somebody's eyeball. No amount of fun was worth losing her life over.
|
|
|
|
Post by NoOnesShowMonkey on Aug 29, 2010 11:33:02 GMT -5
[4 March 2069, 23:14 ; Dirty Deeds women's bathroom]Located in a small cubby off the main lounge, the bathrooms at Dirty Deeds take only the first half of the club's namesake. Overhead, the tube light flickers, on again, off again, lighting walls covered in layers of posters, written notes, tags and ARO-sheets. Fully animated nanopaste art shows a troll in the midst of copulation with a dwarf, his member exploding out of the stunty's chest. In continuous loop. Several pieces of mal-ware come crashing into Zora's commlink*. Lewd messages and images, help wanted, hookups. Everything sordid in collage. Passing the meta-male bathroom, Zora turns into the ladies' room and bumps nearly full face into a naked female. The dancer looks up and begins excusing herself, but shakes her head and scampers off towards the stage. Once inside, the three stall bathroom is empty and quit but for a sink left on and the drone of a toilet filling. After a few moments, as Zora is stuck between frustration at being stood up and made to look silly, the door opens and a thickly muscled female ork enters. The ork has long purple hair pulled back in a tight pony tail, the sides of her head shaved flat to her tattooed scalp. Tribal patterns mixed with a few retro themes cover her head from ears to neck and shoulders where her sleeveless leather jacket covers the rest. Reappearing on her upper arms, the tattoos continue all the way down her arms. Out from under a shoulder, Zora can clearly see - the brazen woman makes no obvious attempts to conceal - the hilt of a Colt Manhunter thrust up out of a shoulder holster. Her bright green pants match the bright green jacket tag of an a set in a circle. She extends a hand, the back of which has the raised brand of the capital A in a circle, hashed through. 'Sorry for all of the skullduggery, but it is hard to know who you can trust these days. I'm Mona Cruz. I've got an offer for you.'*The Malware attacks Zora's 'link.
|
|
|
|
Post by ScornMandark on Aug 30, 2010 0:21:11 GMT -5
Screech [4 March, 2069, 20:55, Higashi's Chop Shop]
PAN - Passive
Torquing the socket wrench just a hair tighter, the undercarraige bolt finally broke loose from the Mercury Comet's front skid plate to Screech's relief. That plate had nearly cracked down the middle due to a combination of rust, age, and "accidental impact." Screech was a little surprised that the other 3 had come loose with relative ease, he had expected all 4 to be this rough. Casually tossing the plate aside, he had to roll back out to grab his Auto-Tap to re-tap the rusted out bolt holes. From the side, he heard Joe holler, [red]"Oy, close in 5!"[/red]
'Thank goodness...' Not that he minded the work, but he hadn't seen a really nice ride in weeks, and he hadn't taken out the Roadmaster in nearly a week either. Barring a call from Keller, looks like tonight would be another mindless action trid with Joe over synthales. On the other hand...
[green]Flicking through his worklogs, he noted that asides from the skidplate, the Comet needed a front brakes replacement and an oil change.[/green] 'I could probably have this wrapped up tonight if I keep at it another hour or two.' That would leave a few extra hours later tomorrow to check the alignment on the Roadmaster. Ever since he put in those Smart Tires, he hadn't been sure if it was the physical alignment or the commands the Pilot system was sending in, but he felt like it was just a titch loose. It might be nothing, even when jacked in he could hardly feel anything.
If he were being honest, it was probably the fact that he was itching to make some headway on his own head. It had been 10 long, frustrating months now, and still no clue as to what had happened.
'Aw, hell.' The Auto-Tap was trying to tap through the chassis beyond the bolt hole. Quickly, Screech shut it off and gently twisted it out of the now slightly larger hole. Rolling back from under the sedan, he called out, [red]"Might put in a few to finish this drek tonight, omae. Feelin' an itch to tighten up the girl tomorrow."[/red]
|
|
|
|
Post by abschalten on Aug 30, 2010 14:45:38 GMT -5
[4 March 2069, 23:14 ; Dirty Deeds women's bathroom]Zora kept her expression neutral, but she could not help but feel intense suspicion at this woman in front of her. She ran through her mind the ways this person was meant to mentally disarm her. Ork. Check. Female. Check. Identifying anarchist symbols or markings. Check. The fucking police dogs tried to get close to those whom they were trying to set up. When they did, they found it useful to use people with whom their marks would empathize and grow to like. When the victims opened up, that's when the cops would spring the trap. So Zora examined the possibilities. One, that this woman was what she appeared to be, a possible comrade in arms in an aligned cause, looking for aid from somebody with similar political leanings. Two, that she was really somebody from the underground, but somebody whom the swine had leverage on and had sent as a mole. Three, that this person was a cop, period. Hair could be shaved and dyed. Brands and tattoos could be removed with nanites. Zora put on her best, fake welcoming grin and leaned towards the woman. The proximity allowed Zora to take the offered hand to shake it cordially. This bit of misdirection also afforded her the opportunity to reach forward and attempt to surreptitiously slip Mona's gun from the holster without her notice. She spoke as she shook the woman's hand, to keep her attentions elsewhere. "It is pleasure to meet you, Mona. I'm Zora. Da, is hard to trust nowadays." Zora hoped that the irony of her words wouldn't be noticed in her tone of voice. Zora tried to assess this woman, watching her poise, listening to her words, trying to gauge just how straightforward she was being. After all, if this woman was a cop or a plant, then Zora fully expected that only one of them was leaving this bathroom alive.
|
|
|
|
Post by NoOnesShowMonkey on Aug 30, 2010 19:03:06 GMT -5
[4 March 2069, 23:14 ; Dirty Deeds women's bathroom] Mona's eyes sparkle and gleam, but remain fixed, boring into Zora'Da, is hard to tru...'Mona's eyes harden instantly, her body going momentarily rigid. She has felt the manhunter being pulled from the holster and her hand snaps to Zora's wrist for a moment as her mouth draws agape, teeth flashing in a snarl. Mona lets go of Zora's wrist and begins to step back, attempting to clear herself of the Manhunter now coming free... Surprise and Initiative checks indicate that Zora may act first. Barely. '...st nowadays.' |
|
|
|
Post by abschalten on Aug 30, 2010 19:35:05 GMT -5
[4 March 2069, 23:14 ; Dirty Deeds women's bathroom]
Zora realized that she'd been made in her attempt to disarm the woman. She didn't want it to come to bloodshed if this were, indeed, a fellow freedom fighter. Best to dismantle the situation before it exploded, while she still could.
An almost dismissive flick of her wrist shot the Manhunter from her hand towards a stainless steel paper towel holder in a distant corner of the bathroom. With a hollow bang the gun dented the metal box, then dropped immediately thereafter into the trash can beneath it.
Mona stepped back; so too did Zora. When she had her hand back, she let the knife she had prepared slide down into her hand, making it visible and obvious now as she held it downwards in her hand.
With her eyes now narrowed and showing both her hard-edged suspicion and her determination, Zora said in a harsh near-whisper:
"Prove you aren't cop."
|
|
|
|
Post by NoOnesShowMonkey on Aug 31, 2010 10:58:44 GMT -5
[4 March 2069, 23:14 ; Dirty Deeds women's bathroom]The Manhunter soared through the air, spinning laterally. Moments after leaving Zora's hand, the magazine ejects and an audible click indicates that the safety has been engaged via wireless smartlink. The magazine zooms off tangent, smashing into a cracked mirror, nearly destroying it, and plops into the sink with a rattly clatter. Mona's right hand fled her assailant's wrist to the small of her back, searching for a Secura Kompakt. In a blur of motion, Mona had produces the firearm, stepping back and leveling the pistol squarely at the bridge of Zora's nose, the cocking hammer's click not being lost amidst the clatter of her now lost Manhunter's parts sprawling about the bathroom. The tiny gap between them had widened from but a foot and a half to a solid meter and half, nearly two. Mona eyed Zora cooly, her eyes in the soft focus of achieving quality sight picture. Hands firmly wrapped about her pistol, the thumb sized bore of which Zora could now clearly see directed at her face, Mona has yet to even exhale. 'Give me one good reason...'
|
|
|
|
Post by ScornMandark on Aug 31, 2010 13:21:06 GMT -5
[4 March, 2069. 21:08, Higashi's Chop Shop, Auburn]
PAN Mode - Passive
Screech heard Joe mutter something about [red]'a real girl for once'[/red] before heading back up to the front room. Chuckling, he let it slide and focused on replacing the skid plate. This one wasn't too bad of a fit, it was from a earlier model year than this Commuter, but he had only needed to bore out the bolt-holes on this one to match the new, thicker bolts he would be using. He pulled the bolts out from his pocket and began replacing them.
The limiter kicked in on the torque wrench, and Screech backed out from under the car again. Wiping his hands on a rag, he [green]let his eyes wander over the car as the AR plan overlaid it. The front wheels were highlighted in red, signaling the brakes that needed replacing, and a hovering oil can over the hood was flashing for his attention as well.[/green] Sighing, he stepped on the floor button and sent the car up a few feet, to allow better access to the underside. He had been the one to convince Joe to install the elevator jack 4 months ago (due in no small part to him splitting the cost after a pretty decent run). How Joe had ever managed to get any work done in here was beyond him. Tools were everywhere, invoices were scattered over the shop and the floor was an oil slick 3 millimeters thick. Now, at least, he could walk through here without needing a respirator or worrying about Joe's cancer sticks blowing the roof off.
[red]'Hmm... start the Oil drain first, then brakes.'[/red] Screech didn't exactly have a particular order he worked in, but no point in waiting for 10 minutes for the sludge to finish draining sitting on his thumbs. He was working late, but he still needed to get some sleep. Grabbing the drip pan, he hooked it under the oil drain and cracked the seal. As the sludge began seeping out, he wondered exactly how long it must have been since it's last tune-up. [red]'Let's see... Synth35 runs about 6000 kilometers before recommended swapout, run it up to about 7500 before serious performance degradation...'[/red] Noting the sizeable dents to the old skid plate and highly worn shocks, he amended, [red]'Sub off maybe 30% for rough driving, that leaves ya about 5000 kilometers, this must be at least twice that.'[/red] These kinds of things always came randomly but naturally, as if he'd always done this.
To be fair, maybe he had.
Whatever the reason, this car must be a "special favor" Joe was bringing in. [red]'In that case...'[/red] He grabbed a set of Nissan Hi-Temp Rotors and brought them back over. [green]His AR overlay noted that these weren't spec for the car, but that they would slot in fine.[/green] Setting into the work, he hardly noticed when Joe came back in.
[red]"Oy, 'Nichi, what're ya doing?"[/red] Joe used his main alias here at the shop, keeping it clean for the customers and it was bizarre to him to use Screech over beers. Screech didn't much care.
[red]"Swapping rotors and pads, what's it look like?"[/red]
[red]"Didn't say nothin' about them rotors, what gives?"[/red]
Screech sighed. [red]"These are for, what, Yak right?"[/red] Noting that Joe wasn't exactly disagreeing, he went on. [red]"Figured they'd want these hi-temps, especially since they haven't brought this one in for 10, maybe 12k at least. Keep 'em braking longer."[/red]
Joe nodded. [red]"Makes sense, I'll just take it outta the 'after hours' fee."[/red]
Screech chuckled. [red]"I can do this in my sleep, whatcha got slotted for trids? I'll pipe it in while I'm swapping rotors."[/red]
Joe grinned. [red]"Ya gotta ask? Neil 37, working our way through!"[/red]
With a groan, Screech pulled the old, now rainbowed-bronze looking rotor off the passenger side. Joe had decided the best way to restore his memory was to work through the Neil the Ork Barbarian series, one by bloody one. He resigned himself to another evening of half naked metas hacking their way through well-paid ghouls for the inevitable partially censored sex scene. Not a bad formula, but after the first 20 they were getting pretty predictable. Ok, maybe after the first 3 or so. Still, like a radio, it made for good background noise while he was working. [green]He kept his comm on passive to recieve the trid-cast, and periodically checked his message box.[/green]
Hailing from a time before now, from a place not here....
Neil! The Ork Barbarian!
The stirring symphonic strains filled the shop, underlaying the sounds of the torque wrench and auto-tap.
|
|
|
|
Post by NoOnesShowMonkey on Aug 31, 2010 15:53:39 GMT -5
[5 March, 2069. 10:22, Higashi's Chop Shop, main garage - Auburn]
'Uhh, yeah. He's right back here...'
Screech could hear Joe doing his best impression of tap dancing up front, and head this way fast.
Joe emerged from the front office into the main garage and called out, 'Hey, 'Nichi, got a guy here that wants to talk to you about those extra charges on his account.' Joe's voice was thin, a little higher than usual and had the sound of a measure of strain. When Screech appeared from under a bimbo-box he was slaving away at, he could see that Screech was more than a little agitated. Flanking Joe was a nipponese looking fellow, probably a halfer, wearing an expensive suit and large, stylish shades. The japanese leaned over to Joe and said a few low words and Joe nodded quickly, letting out a long breath before retreating to the office, wiping his hands nervously on his jumpsuit. As he turned to go, Joe passed Screech a 'I hope you know what you are doing...' look.
'Your boss tells me that you thought it wise to spend my money for me? Rather bold of you, don't you think?'
|
|
|
|
Post by ScornMandark on Aug 31, 2010 17:09:59 GMT -5
[5 March, 2069. 10:25, Higashi's Chop Shop, Main Garage - Auburn]
PAN Mode - Passive
Wiping his hands on a rag he kept tucked in his belt for this reason, Screech stood up and gently bowed at the man before speaking. Choosing his words carefully, [red]"I presume this is in reference to the brake rotors on the Commuter?"[/red] Not really waiting for the reply, he continued. [red]"I hope the additional cost was not prohibitive, but stock rotors are notorious for failing under high stress conditions, especially after prolonged use. I've still got the old ones if you'd care to see them, they're not pretty. The Nissan rotors, while a bit more pricey, maintain higher performance under higher stress conditions. I felt, by the condition of the brakes, that you might appreciate a higher performance part. Really, it should save you long term."[/red] While being scrutinized from behind the shades, Screech looked back at the obvious Yak with a mild expression.
He tried to remember exactly how much the rotors added to the cost over stock, it couldn't be more than a hundred nuyen, probably less.
|
|
|
|
Post by NoOnesShowMonkey on Aug 31, 2010 20:23:11 GMT -5
[5 March, 2069. 10:25, Higashi's Chop Shop, Main Garage - Auburn]
The suited man paces before Screech, fiddling with bits around the shop, picking things up and putting them down after a quick once-over, acting like he owns the place.
Without turning to face Screech, the suit begins speaking, turning over a large wrench in his hands.'I can appreciate a man with initiative. You seem like you know your way around cars rather well. A little presumptive, but that can be worked on.' He sets the wrench down and approaches Screech, taking smooth steps.
Leaning in, he speaks in low, perfect Japanese, barely above a whisper.
'I need a driver. Meet me at Fast Eddie's in the North End at around 13:00. I can make it worth your while.'
|
|
|
|
Post by abschalten on Aug 31, 2010 21:45:04 GMT -5
[4 March 2069, 23:14 ; Dirty Deeds women's bathroom]Zora held her ground, refusing to wither away in front of the woman's aim. This wasn't the first time somebody'd ever put a gun in her face. In fact, the last time had been when those two cops had pulled her over and decided to give her a good working-over. As she looked at this gun in front of her, all she could see was that cop waving his piece in front of her face menacingly and threatening to blow her brains out. She gritted her teeth and let a scowl come over her face, her brow furrowing her eyes into a narrow-slitted glare. Zora likewise took on a look of intense concentration, not focusing on the gun, but on the woman behind it. Did this woman, Mona, know what she was capable of with the knife in her hand? Here they both stood in something of a standoff, though likely the other woman thought she had all the advantage. It clicked for her that a cop likely wouldn't try to toy around with her like this. They'd probably just pull her out back into an alley, beat her brains out with a nightstick, and then put a round in her brainstem to call it a night. That this woman had not even taken a shot was significant. Zora maintained her wary crouch, and spoke calmly: " You aren't cop."
Free Action: Take Aim
Free Action: "You aren't cop."
Holding Simple Action
|
|
