Smooth Jazz -- IC (Shadowrun 4)

[Lost Demiurge]

SMOOTH JAZZ

Part I: Slumming it

There are those who say Seattle's a beautiful town, a testament to metahuman ingenuity and business acumen. The shining green towers of the "Emerald City" stretch into the sky worry-free of weather, faultline, or extremist action, and the streets are safe to walk, glittering with AR, and filled with friendly people enjoying the prosperity of their home town.

The people who say this with a straight face usually end up dead in an alley the first few minutes after they step off of the AR self-guided tour and take a wrong turn into a bad neighborhood. Once you get out of Downtown, there are a LOT of bad neighborhoods in Seattle. They tend to eat people, swallowing them up whole and making them disappear as if the very concrete had risen up and swallowed them up.

One of the worst neighborhoods is undoubtedly the Redmond Barrens. The ‘Star doesn’t come here. The corps that run the local factories (called “Toxic Castles” by those who work in them) post token security teams around their properties, but the rest of the place can go to hell for all they care. Looking at it, it’s hard to say that it’s not already there.

Gangers rule the streets, BTL dealers sell digital happiness on crumbling sidewalks, and squatters and criminals shack up here to avoid taxes, law, and a rich elite that doesn’t care to notice them. Ghouls lurk in the barely-functional sewers, and entire blocks of the power grid are non-functional. There’s a few square miles to the east that still glow faintly in the right light… That’s where a reactor melted down.

During the day, in the more-inhabited parts, you could mistake it for a third-world slum. During the day it’s not so bad… Sure, the dealers are still here, but you’ll also see women hanging clothes to dry, groups of ork kids playing hunt the devil rats, and blue-collar workers hopping beat-up buses to the Toxic Castles. The gangers are more relaxed, less-likely to pop you for fun. And maybe every once in a while Lone Star sends a car through. Just in case someone rich is getting murdered on the sidewalk.

During the night, though… If you go out, best be a badass AND lucky, if you want to ever be seen again.

You’re out in the Barrens at night. Good thing you’re a badass. Time will tell if you’re lucky.
+++

Earlier this week you were going about your daily routine, finishing up Christmas shopping and making holiday plans, when you noticed that your account was looking a little anemic. In fact, after checking the calendar, you realized that rent this month was gonna be problematic at worst, severely painful at best. So you called around to your friends and acquaintances, looking for business.

This afternoon, you got a reply back from Lojack. Lojack’s an elderly ork, at least 30 or so. Most orks are dead by 40, so he’s not so spry anymore… Back in the day he was a seriously tough ganger, and he’s one of those rare types who realized that gangs have lousy retirement plans. He moved on up to fencing cars and drugs, and climbed the chain making contacts and small scores until he’s where he is today. Mind you, any serious black market merchant would laugh at his capital and scale, but he’s cheap, cautious, and keeps his promises. That’s a good combo.

You’ve done small work for Lojack before… Two-hundred nuyen jobs here and there, mainly lookout duty or bodyguard work. Never anything big. That seems to have changed, judging by his last message.

“Hoi, chummer.” The balding ork grins, showing a gold tusk. He’s never been hard to read, and right now he seems a little nervous. “Swear to Bob, you called JUST the right time. Look, I got somethin’ tonight. BIG business. I got a new client, and she got money. She needs experienced and smart folks to do somethin’ complicated. This ain’t no drek-work, this ain’t no bull, and yer one of the smarter omaes’ I got. Come on down to the Banshee, 8 tonight an’ we’ll hang.”

+++
The flickering neon sign proclaims the squat concrete cube of a building to be the B NS EE. There are no windows in the weathered and pockmarked walls of the bar. It’s in a bad part of the barrens, but it’s relatively intact… The parking lot has a few choppers and beat-up cars in it, monitored by a figure on the roof with a lawn-chair and hunting rifle… A parking lot sniper. The building’s got a tag on it that looks like a pumpkin head, the mark of the Halloweener gang. Those who know Redmond know that the building is neutral ground. The inside, anyway. When you go out, all bets are off.

There's a light dusting of grey slush on the ground. The forecast for tonight is for another inch or so. On the plus side, the air quality is up to level 2... Record carcinogen lows for the next few days.

The door inside reveals a short hallway, a couple of firing ports, and a weapons check counter. The scanner in front of the inner door looks pretty expensive compared to the outside décor. It doesn’t take long to check your weapons in.

Inside, you’re looking at a dingy, ill-lit room. Plas-crete tables are bolted to the floor, and a long metal bar runs from one end of the far wall to the other. Doors against the far and near wall both read NO ENTRY. Looks like Classic rock is the soundtrack of choice tonight… The speakers hanging above the wall are thumping to the beat of hard songs by Concrete Dreams. The bartender, the ugliest human you’ve ever seen, gives you a hard look before getting back to wiping the bar, evenly distributing the grime and muck.

It’s early, yet. There’s a group of honest-to-god hell’s angels occupying the center tables, laughing and throwing back beer. The only other people in the place are two figures shoved into a back corner, where they can easily watch the door. One of them, a wrinkled and scrawny ork in grey urban fatigues and a do-rag lifts an arm and waves easily in your direction. This is Lojack. Six cans in front of him stand as a testament to the liquid nature of his last hour’s work.

The other is an elf in a trench coat. She’s wearing sunglasses, and the clear drink in front of her is untouched. She’s got black hair, and a bulge under one armpit that shows through the coat… Probably deliberate. She keeps picking at some grime on the table, and shifting in her seat every minute or two. Clearly, this is not her scene.

“Sup, omae,” Says Lojack as you draw near, “Meet my old friend, Ms. Johnson.”

[SuperMuldoon]

Arkady finished locking the door to his dreary apartment and stepped out into the winter night. Pulling his grey and brown longcoat tighter around himself as the wind picked up, he checked to make sure his roll was still in his pocket. 500 nuyen, all he had to his name. He'd just finished buying a christmas gift for Julie...spent a little more then he should have but frak it, he loved the joygirl. Regardless, he wouldn't have enough cash for this month's rent, or to pay off the slottin' Vory collectors if they decided to come calling. Thats why, when he got the call from Lojack, his eyes lit up. Something big was going down, and he had jumped to take this job.

Arkady loaded his van with all of his toys. He didn't know what to expect from this job, but he wanted to be over-prepared. This could be his big score. Turning the key in the ignition, he gave the van a few minutes to warm up and shake the December cold from its engine. Checking himself in the rear view mirror Arkady brushed his unruly dark hair out of his face and ran his hand over his 5 o'clock shadow. His cyberized steely blue eyes looked right back at him. Damn I look strung out... he thought. Looking back out to the road, he shifted out of park and headed to the Banshee.

Pulling into the parking lot and finding a spot a decent ways away from the choppers and other vehicles in the lot he stepped out into the grey slush. Nodding to the rooftop sniper, Arkady headed into the bar. He quickly surveyed the place, meeting the bartenders glare for a moment before spotting Lojack sitting in the corner with what he assumed to be the client. "Hey Lojack," Arkady said, heading over to the table. "Heard you had someone who needed an answer to their problem." he said as his usual greeting to meetings like this, as he pulled up a chair and sat down.

[loopy]

Earlier that evening: Redmond Barrens, 6pm

A lone elf guns his Mirage down the twisted alleys of the Redmond Barrens. Black classic bomber jacket closed tight, ganger tats glowing green along his face and arms, any who saw Eoin dismissed him as just another piece of trash... Just the way he liked it when crawling the Barrens. Didn't pay to be a gaijin around the area. As the saying goes, the nail that sticks out gets hammered, and the fleshmongers and worse could smell weakness from a couple klicks away.

Like, for instance, the two young club-bunnies wandering around the streets ahead. The elf sighs, pulling up next to the two girls. Late teens, he guessed, beautiful and dressed to the nines, heading out to some warehouse party or other. They were lucky he had found them first, or they'd likely be on the next days missing persons datasheet. A quick couple button-presses and the nanotats on his face deactivated, leaving the dark-haired elf looking at least somewhat respectable.

"Hello there," Eoin calls out in his Irish brogue, flashing a smile, letting his charm start to work. The girls slowed, uncertain, obviously out of their depths in the Barrens. "How is the night treating you? Nice night for a rave. Don't suppose you are heading to Infinity in Sno-ho? Tale-Weaver is playing, he kicks some pretty classy hardstyle and breakbeat. Besides, nothing on around here, its a rough neighbourhood."

The younger of the two girls, a redhead with a bit of Irish in her ancestry, smiled nervously. "We might be, we got lost... Our ride bailed on--"
"We can take care of ourselves." The other girl, an asiatic looking orc, cuts in, her voice tough, but a tad shaky.

Fronting, Eoin sighs to himself. She has spirit, shame it won't help her out here. Bah, and I was going to catch up with Alec too... Eoin smiles genially. "I'm sure you could. Still, I know the promoters who are running this event, and if you want, I could get you there. No pressure, but..." He shrugs, "I'm one of the few nicer guys you'll find in this bad neighbourhood. Now pardon my rudeness, I forgot to ask your names?"

The redhead blushes, "Ami. My name is Ami. My friend is Katia." Eoin bows slightly, "My name is Eoin McGlaughlin. A pleasure to meet you bot--."

"Now what do we have here, boys? Nice bike, dandelion eater. Fine company as well. Shame your bike only fits one. So... What do you say you leave one of those slitches here to party, and we'll forget you stepped on Spiders turf." Eoin turned, a branded orc wearing gang-colours and a bowler hat leading several other toughs around him."

"Go slot yourself, you ugly piece of ****!" Katia spits, the lead ganger tensing.

"Calm down, Katia, you aren't helping." Eoin mutters in a low tone. He turns to the Spiders. "Apologies omae, didn't know we were stepping on your turf. It wouldn't be worth your while to mess with me though." He looks directly at the orc, gloved hand moving almost imperceptibly at his side. "I'm not as always as nice as I look." Hitting the kickstand, the elf gets off the Mirage.

The orc tough laughs, and the other gangbangers cackle sycophantically. "Like we care. One lone elf against five Spiders? We'll take your girls and your bike, give you a couple broken ribs for mouthing off." A muted rumble slowly builds.

"One last chance." Eoin warns. "Leave us, or you'll be in for trouble." The gangers laugh and advance, lead pipes and knives raised threateningly. The two girls cower against the wall. Eoin reaches into his leather jacket, pulling a pistol out with one hand, using his glove to activate his green Ancients nanotats with the other.

"These two girls are under the protection of the Ancients." Eoin puts a round through the head of the orc. "You sorry gaks think better before you try messing with us again, grok me? Oh, and I'd look down the way if I were you." The other gangers, rattled by the sudden death of their leader, look down the road, seeing a whole group of motorbikes heading up the road toward 'em. The riders wore Ancients' green.

"Slot this, Sack's been blanked, run!" The gangbangers scatter as the Ancients ride in. The lead rider flicks up his visor. "'Lo brother. Nice to see you taking in some local colour."

"Hoi, kin. Thanks for saving my ass. Reckon you could do me another favor? Help me take these two down to Infinity, they've got a night out at Infinity waiting... Unless you've had enough fun for one evening and want to be dropped home?" Eoin looks at the girls.

Katia is slumped against the wall, her tough front temporarily broken. Ami speaks quietly. "We'll... We'll go to Infinity. Thanks for helping us."

Eoin puts his shades back on, smiling. "No worries, lass. I have a blast meeting new people." YYYEEEEEAAAAAHHHHH!!!

====
Later that night - 8:00pm
Having dropped Ami and Katia off at Infinity, promising to meet up with them later, Eoin turns and heads back to the Barrens for tonights business. He'd gotten the girls details, and it was always nice having a tale of heroism attached to his name, though he'd made them both promise not to mention the Ancients involvement... And to stay out of the Barrens from now on.

He turned his thoughts to tonights work. Lojack had always treated him right, though his choice of meeting place often left something to be desired. Most previous jobs had been using Eoin's social skills to good effect, helping smooth ruffled feathers so business deals didn't escalate into grudges and violence. Still, his apartment in Bellevue doesn't pay for itself, and times had been tough since he'd have to leave his cushy job at Horizon to save his brother from grief in Seattle.

Parking his bike outside the bar, he switches his gang-tats to a more neutral tribal design, puts on his leather gloves, and enters the... Banshee? He shrugs. The synthahol allergy made things a pain in his line of work, but he had dealt with it all his life so far, so he could deal.

The bar was pretty empty. Not surprising, the place was dingy and reeked of old synthahol, which made Eoins exposed skin start tingling. Hope I don't have to be in here too long. Swear Lojack picks these damn places on purpose.

Sliding into the chair across from Lojack, he lays the full force of his personality on Ms Johnson. "Evenin' love, hoi Lojack. What can this humble elf do for you both this fine night?" He nods at the other unfamiliar face at the table. A vaguely Baltic looking fellow, interesting. "Seems like there could be an interesting job planned, no?"

[Thanatos 51-50]

Ah.
Lojack.

Nikolai couldn't help but grin. The ork had come through. It was nothing much, really, pulling a small job for Lojack, it helped him get though, to cut through everything. It was better then spending his days desperatly trying to get his miserable shell addicted to some outside stimulant.
Lojack was rapidly becoming Nikolai's drug of choice.

The deal was Banshee. At 20. Good, then. It gave him time to...
To...
Nikolai wasn't exactly sure what it gave him time to do. His groceries were bought, his rent was paid, his weapons and ammuntion properly stowed and cared for, his Christmas gift to his father sitting in the corner, wrapped.
The human groaned as he let himself fall backwards onto his bed that was also his couch and stared at the cracked ceiling and listened to the people scurrying around their daily rituals. At least they had task, drive, and purpose.
Being corp security was better then this. He'd be dead by now or a legend, but damn'. It was something.

Nikolai ran his hands over the metal and circutry that had replaced his forearms. He still felt a bit cheated that their neither contained flesh, bone, nor blood. But this was his lot.
Even the desire for revenge against the man who had nearly killed him had been reduced to smouldering embers. Embers which were kind of gently rolling down an embankment into a pond.
Left with nothing better, or nothing else at all to do to occupy his sleepless mind, Nikolai found himself practicing his marital artistry a bit before he had to leave for the Banshee.
It was the same routine, walk up, get his weapons checked, walk over to meet the Ork.
He bows his head to be polite and mutters a hasty "Konbanwa" to the Elf, tugging at the sleeves of his jacket to cover his forarms more.
He was dressed simply. Rough blue jeans over mid-calf black boots and his plain black jacket (Which just happened to be armoured) over a green shirt. It was nothing fancy. There was probably some mundane and pointless corp logo on the T-shirt. He never bothered to check.
With that he... just kind of stood awkwardly and waited for someone to start talking to him and tell him what needed to be shot.

[Krrth]

Borric

Borric sighed as he looked over his bills. Freelance mage work had fallen off and he was running a bit short this month. While he did have some emergency money kept away to pay the rent, he really didn't want to touch it if he didn't have to.

On the other hand, he really did need to buy his siblings, along with their assorted offspring, some sort of present. Thus he was rather relieved when the call from Lojac came in. Packing up his gear, he headed down to the garage and started up his bike and headed out.

He wasn't too particularly worried about being picked off by a ganger. Dwarves had a reputation of sticking together...not to mention that they were usually not worth the trouble.

He still took precautions however. No dark alleys, no stopping for hitchhikers, no rude gestures at people he passed.

When he arrived the bar, he waved at the figure on the roof. Good to know his bike would still be there when he left.

Well, that or a body.

In any event he walked into the bar. Spotting Lojack, he slipped his vision into astral long enough to assess the person sitting next to him.

He then moved forward.

Lojack , Ma'am. Good to see you.

[Lost Demiurge]

Ms. Johnson gives a cautious nod back to Eoin's greeting, and glances over the others as they approach. Lojack grins, and waves at the bar. The waitress on duty, an ork with scars on both her arms, drops off another six pack of Budwisest, and a smaller carton with a straw. Lojack pushes the carton over to Eoin so he can read the label... It's Eggnog. Probably at least 90% soy, but safe for him to drink. The old orc then starts handing around the beer. A couple of the Hell's Angels glance over, curious at the sudden flood of people to the rear table.

"Merry Christmas, chummers. Santa couldn't make it, so he sent one a his elves." He laughs his ass off at his own joke. Ms. Johnson's face doesn't shift one way or the other, but she takes her own drink in hand and considers it for a moment while Lojack regains composure. The Angels look away. Nothing interesting there, just an old drunk and some friends. As soon as they're not watching, Lojack's laughter cuts off like a switch was thrown.

"Anyhow, lissen up. Lady's the real deal and cred's already paid down. She's serious, so respect'er. Alright Miss J, tell'em the score."
The Johnson leans forward. You have to work to hear her against the music of the bar.

"I'll keep it short. This is a two-part mission. Do the first part well enough and the second part will pay much better. You have the option of refusing the second part when the time comes. This is the task; There's a man, an executive for a minor corporation. We need his reputation ruined. At least one good, believable scandal, but the more you can do the better. This is time sensitive, so you'll only have a couple of days to finish it. For this task, we are offering 1500 nuyen to each of you. Five hundred up front, the rest on completion. If the scandal or scandals are particularly creative or well done, we will give you a bonus proportionate to your effort."

"Is this task agreeable to you?"

As she talks, Borric gazes into the astral...

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Ms. Johnson's in relative good health, if a little stressed. She's not at ease. There's a few tiny black dots scattered around her aura, they seem to coat her skin. Glancing over at the other elf at the table, (Eoin,) he seems to have something similar on HIS aura. Ms. Johnson's also got a black tube in her head that's probably a datajack. It's well concealed if it is, it doesn't show up in Borric's regular sight.

[Thanatos 51-50]

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The syntax for spoiler blocks is <spoiler>, with square brackets replacing the angles.

"You want us to pick one at random, or are you going to tell us who it is?" Nikolai asks bluntly (But quietly), shifting his feet slightly, as if uncomfortable at all this as he takes the slightest sip of brew. "Acceptable collateral damage wouldn't be bad to know, either."

For good measure, he gives Miss Elf-inna-coat and then everyone else here assembled a quick once-over with thermographic vision, mostly being interested in any "cold spots" on their bodies. The Hell's Angels are not finding themselves exempt from this.

[Lost Demiurge]

Ms. Johnson doesn't seem moved by Nikolai's bluntness. "Oh, he has a name. In fact, we'll give you some information on him, once you've agreed to take this task."

"Do any of you wish to leave now?"

Lojack leans forward.

"That price she offered agreeable to you?" The elf frowns at him slightly, then goes expressionless again. Out of sight of the Johnson, Lojack's right eye winks twice at Eoin.

Nikolai's cybereyes scan over everyone in the bar...

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It's harder than the movies make out to use thermal vision to scan cyberware. Most of it's made to look unobtrusive by default, so unless it's really cheap stuff, or it's openly displayed, it's easy to miss. Especially if it's under clothes. Still, if you work security long enough and have time to study people unobtrusively, you learn to read a few colors.

About half of the Hell's angels have a few augmentations here and there... Looks like mostly limbs or hands, though that ork in the middle of 'em has some telltale bulges that are a little darker... Probably dermal plates. The other guy across from you (Arkady) has patches here and there on him and Lojack, of course, is a furnace of cheap 'ware. Nothing visible pops up on Ms. Johnson.

The walls of the bar, unsurprisingly, conceal anything beyond them. Very thick concrete and metal, probably.

EDIT: You're also seeing a few cold patches here and there, probably commlinks and knives. Surprisingly enough, you don't see a single gun. That bulge in the Johnson's coat is the same temperature as her coat.

[Krrth]

Borric

Borric thinks for a moment, then simply asks:

Well, that depends.

Looks directly at Lojack

I assume you know some of the details already. Since I'd like to look my nieces in the face on Christmas, I assume this particular gentleman isn't pure as the driven snow, and in at least some small way deserves this? If so, I'm in.

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Yeah, a runner with at least some morals. As long as the target has done at least something to deserve the amount of trouble he's getting, Borric can have a clean conscience

[Thanatos 51-50]

Nikolai shrugs noncommittally.
"What do I care if we make this guy's life a little bit difficult? As long as it's not someone I care about - and that list includes exactly zero Corp execs - I'm in."

[Lost Demiurge]

Lojack shrugs and opens a hand.

"He's a rich fragger who makes more'n a year than you ever made in yer life so far. An' he's on wife numba 3. So I figure he can mebbe stand a little grief. Sides', no one gets that high up wi'out some sins to 'em."

[Krrth]

Borric


*shrugs*

Good enough, I guess. Now...how badly does this reputation need to be ruined? Loose face ruined or change your name and retinal pattern ruined?

[loopy]

Eoin

The elf shrugs, fair skin tinged faintly pink by the reeking synthahol. "If you are going to do something, may as well go the whole way." He looks at the elf at the table. "However... I must ask, even though I tend to appreciate this kind of approach... If he's an annoyance to you, why don't you just off the poor bugger?" Eoin indicates the two heavies at the table with him. "You obviously know where to find the right sort for it."

He leans back on his seat. "Still, time sensitive makes things interesting. I can work my magic in that time, as Lojack probably told you, but... It'll be difficult. I'm thinking someone with your connections could afford to pay a bit more to be sure the jobs done well."

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Negotiation(Bargaining): (16d6)[2][6][6][3][4][5][3][3][4][3][3][3][2][5][3][5](60)

EDIT: Oops, forgot to add the +2 dice from First Impression, but ah well.

[SuperMuldoon]

Arkady

Arkady was about to open his mouth to accept the offer, but the other elf at the table began to talk...and Arkady liked what he was saying. He could tell that one had a silver tongue by the way he chose his words. Maybe they could get some more money out of this...and he needed the nuyen. His mind was already spinning ideas at how they could earn that bonus money...

[Lost Demiurge]

The elf leans back in her chair, and rubs her neck, considering. She glances around the table, and nods. "Well, as to offering more, I don't know that we can do that. It's a great deal for two days of work..."
Five minutes later, she's shaking her head, completely outmanuvered by Eoin's clever bargaining. "All right, all right. It IS short notice, and Mr. Lojack has assured me that you're 'The Shizz for Bizz.' I suppose that's good enough for 2000 each for this first part. Downpayment's still 500 nuyen, that's not going to change. AND the bonus stands if you get creative enough."

She takes a deep breath, and smiles. Some of the tension goes out of her as she takes off her sunglasses and looks each of you in the eyes. Black eyes, they match her hair. Round cheeks for an elf, makes her look a little more human.

"Well, since no one's opted out, I think I can answer some of those questions. And clarify a few things that weren't brought up."

"Your target is one Thomas Corner, a member of the Pharmadyne board of directors. Mr. Lojack has his file... After we're done here, he'll give you each a copy, along with your credstick downpayment. The file contains most of the publicly available details we could acquire without leaving an electronic trail."

She looks at Nikolai.

"We don't care about collateral damage. We don't care who you rough up or smear to get the job done, or how you get it done. But be aware that indiscretion makes noise, and may complicate if not the first part, then the second part of this task."

She looks at Borric.

"We need at least one believable scandal tied to this man's name. Loss of face is the minimum expected. However, it shouldn't be anything so terrible that would get him immediately arrested or incarcerated. In fact, this is a condition. If his corporation hands him over to Lone Star or another incarceration-capable authority, you will NOT be paid."

"Ideally we want a scandal or two that paints him as a horrible person in a few different demographics AND takes a while to investigate. Something to disgust the common man, something that stands to lose Pharmadyne money, and something to alienate his acquaintances and peers."

Finally, she turns back to Eoin and smiles. "And if we wanted him dead, well, then we wouldn't be here discussing this with you. But we don't want anything as simple as that. We want him staring at the sudden appearance of ruin and despairing enough to give Ozymandius' observers fits. WHY we want that is not within the scope of your job, gentlemen, so I recommend you consider other questions besides our motivation."

She settles back in her chair, and steeples her fingers in front of her, looks around one last time, then puts her sunglasses back on.

"Mr. Lojack assures me that beyond your more violent skillsets, you can also lay claim to intelligence, discretion, innovation, and subtlety. This first part is to prove that he is correct in his assessment to my employer's satisfaction. So far we've seen nothing amiss, and I hope this trend continues."

"Now, one last thing. It is VITAL that those I represent not be tied to your actions in any way. To that end, I cannot know what you're doing or speak with you from the moment we leave here until the job is done."

"The most I can do is advise you to do some legwork and investigate Mr. Corner's past and present and find something that lends the appearance of substance behind your efforts, but I neither care nor want to know about your investigations, the nature of your scandal-to-be, or how you go about any of this. Wakarimasu? (Understand?) Good. When you're done to your satisfaction, contact Mr. Lojack and he'll set up a meeting."

"Any other questions?"

[loopy]

Eoin

All business now, Eoin leans forward. "Two main questions. One, when you say 'get this done in a few days', how many do you mean? An exact time limit helps. Two, any chance you could get me a Pharmadyne employee ID? I'd love to do some poking around and any official clearance gained is one less piece of blarney needed."

The elf looks around at his new associates. "Any of you lads have anything to add?"

[Thanatos 51-50]

"How do we contact you to receive payment, or will you be calling us?" Nikolai asks simply, still standing awkwardly and takes other small sip of the synthanol.
He wasn't too happy with the elf's mile-and-mineute talking and the slang was completely alien to him. The only thing that bothered him was that the more time they spent asking questions, the less time they had for legwork and evaluating Corner's file.

[Lost Demiurge]

Ms. Johnson looks to Eoin.

"Ideally, we wish this completed by midnight, two days from now. So 52 hours. If necessary, we will accept completion by midnight, three days from now. This has potential to impact the timeline for phase II, so if you do this you're probably going to lose your bonus pay. But if you need the time to succeed, so be it."

"If you want a Pharmacorp badge you're going to have to get one yourself. We're trying to leave a minimal trail back to my employers, here. However, if you expend enough intelligent effort, you should be able to obtain a badge somehow. Pharmacorp employs around a thousand Seattle residents, not all of whom live in their corporate housing. Or clever forgery might work, I don't know."

She shifts her face toward Nikolai.

"Again, once you finish the job, call Mr. Lojack. Once you do this he will call me and I will meet with you. If you've succeeded, payment will be waiting."

[Lost Demiurge]

The elf glances around.

"Well, why don't you look over the file. And take a moment to consider if you have any more questions for me... Otherwise I'll be leaving."

She nods to Lojack, who hauls out a commlink that's got a pair of fuzzy dice attached, and pushes a couple of buttons. Four AR manilla folders shimmer into existence on the table, showing up on your eyeware/cybereyes as identical downloadables.

Lojack also puts four small black cylinders on the table, popping each one to show the digital readout of "500", then replacing them. Plug n' play, just pop one into your commlink's UUSB port to transfer the cred.

THE FILE

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THOMAS CORNER

This file is about ten pages long. Much of it is relatively uninteresting, or detailed about what seem to be minor things. It shows a tall man in his fifties with a politician's grin. Black hair that's slowly turning to grey, blue eyes, blue suit, wrinkle lines around the eyes, slight paunch, but not FAT. Probably using metabolic adjustors. Skin's a bit too smooth, probably adjusted that, too.

According to his background, he was born in Boston in 2018, graduated from Harvard 24 years later, with an MBA and a minor in corporate history. He was a member of a high-powered networking fraternity, Sigma Omega Delta. His mother was a senator (Cow Moose party affiliation). His employment record is missing gaps here and there... Looks like he bounced around a bit between investment firms and government contractor oversight before settling into the chemical industry. Spent five years as CEO at a small R&D lab called ISOGI out in Okinawa, Japan, then sold the company two years ago and moved into Pharmadyne, going straight to the board of directors.

He's made the cover of FORBES.finance once, and been mentioned in their article archive about two-hundred times over the last twenty years. Some of the articles are linked, all are positive. He's got a reputation as a steady businessman who occasionally pulls off a miracle when the chips are down.

First wife (Sarah Harvey) was divorced and lives in Seattle, second wife (Tina Kennedy-Corner) died in a car crash, third wife (Deanna Corner) is living with him in the penthouse of Pharmadyne-owned luxury apartment complex Cedarlake Tower. He's got two kids by his first wife, and has full custody, though the first wife has visitation rights for another few years. The son, Michael, is sixteen and in a UCAS naval academy in Maine. The daughter, Britney, is fourteen and living with her father and stepmother.

Tom's a dues-paying member of the First United New Deific International church, and has donated sufficiently that his online status is SAVED for the next decade. He maintains a sparse Eyebook page, but updates once every four months at best. It has minimal comments on it, most of which seem to be from old school acquaintances. He rarely responds to them.

If he has a criminal record of any sort it does not seem to be public information, and is not included in this file.

[Thanatos 51-50]

Nikolai nods and spends the next several minuets reading over Corner's file, cross-referancing any important bits with his vast mental database for criminal originations and activities.
He makes a few mental notes over certain passages and another to see if he can't contact Whyte to take a peek into the man's criminal record and quietly spends time memorizing the entire file.

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Okay, I'm trying to do a bunch here, so let me put it in game terms. Pulling a Knowledge check on the following: Arms Dealers, Smuggling Routes and Criminal Organizations to see if anything red-flags. Pulling a Memory check to memorize the file (Reminder: Nikolai has a photographic memory).

[SuperMuldoon]

Arkady

Arkady takes one of the credsticks and immediately transfers the 500 nuyen to his account. Opening the target's file on his comlink, he briefly reads it and makes a few notes about things to investigate later. Potential in a few areas...

"I'm ready to go, the clock is ticking and I feel there is much to do." Arkady says and looks at each of his new teammates.

[Lost Demiurge]

BORRIC

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While the discussion goes on and the files come out, Borric's eyes are drawn to the sixpack of Budwisest.

The sixpack that noooooooobody's touched.

Probably swill. Probably cheap stuff. Usually is. Tastes horrible, almost always does.

...

Unless they changed the recipe again. They do that every once in a while. And sometimes when they do, it's actually... Well, not exactly GOOD, but better than nothing.

Come to think of it, it's been a while since Borric's had Budwisest.

...

Ah, it's probably no good.

90% chance or so that it's the usual swill.

And well, there's only one way to know for sure.

.....

But if it's bad, you'll have the taste in your mouth for a while.

Or at least until you drink something better.

............................

[loopy]

Eoin

Eoin transfers the data and credits to his commlink, before looking at the others. "Well, I've got myself a nice place over in Bellevue, though if we are wanting to spend any time around there, you'll want to look like an upstanding citizen. Still, decent area to do some research, unless you've got any other ideas."

The elf stands, brushing off his gloves before clapping Lojack over the shoulder. "Looks like we are away. Ms Johnson, Mr Lojack, always a pleasure." He smiles broadly, then moves to leave the 'Banshee'.

[Krrth]

Borric

Borric considers the brew for a few seconds, then reaches over and pops one open almost without realizing it.

Absently drinking it he plugs the credstick into his data port and transfers the funds before reading the file.

This should do nicely, yes indeed.

[Thanatos 51-50]

Nikolai

Upon hearing the talky-elf try to get this meeting over with so they can do some honest-to-Gods legwork done, Nikolai quickly snatched up his credstick and deleted the file from his commlink. The thing wasn't very secure, anyway, and he DID have it memorized.
He pops the credstick and takes a long moment to recover his weapons from the counter, taking care to only holster the Ares where other people can see him, and slides both Fichettis into his arms when nobody is looking and palming the Streetline Special completely.
He steps outside and commences inspecting his bike, waiting for his new team to step out so they can get down to business.
For the hell of it, he decided to keep Whyte's commlink on standby so he could call the guy when nobody else was paying attention and do what he can to investigate any connections Mr. Corner might have to anything he could leverage.

[Lost Demiurge]

As Eoin starts wrapping up the meeting there's a pop and a hiss, and the odor of cheap synthahol assaults his nose. His guts churn in protest, but with an effort of will and lots of practice holding back this kind of thing, he keeps from spewing.

BORRIC

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Yep, swill again. Damn. Well, at least that's confirmed.

...
Still, about half the can is gone from the last gulp. Shame to waste it.

NIKOLAI

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As Nikolai memorizes and destroys the file, his unmatchable memory notices something.

The Pharmadyne logo is displayed prominently in the file. It's a red and white capsule, with the red and white letters RX within it. He's seen that many times before.

It was on every first aid kit in his Lone Star precinct house. It was on every chemical kit that the forensics guys carried around. It was on every Jazz inhaler that sat in the glove compartment of every Lone Star cruiser.

[Thanatos 51-50]

While killing time for everyone else to show up, Nikolai runs searches for the words ISOGI, "Tina Kennedy-Corner", Pharmadyne and pulls up the issue of FORBES.finance where Corner was on the cover.

[SuperMuldoon]

Arkady

Eoin

"Well, I've got myself a nice place over in Bellevue, though if we are wanting to spend any time around there, you'll want to look like an upstanding citizen. Still, decent area to do some research, unless you've got any other ideas."

Arkady stands up, "That sounds good enough to me, we'll form a plan and then go from there." He turns to Lojack, and then the Johnson, nodding at each one and turns to leave.

[Krrth]

Borric

Looking with distaste at the can in his hand. After all, it was truly awful. On the other hand, it really would be rude not to finish it.

He finished it. After all, one couldn't hurt. Right?

Alright then, let's get moving. We've got a lot of work to do and not a lot of time.

Lojack, You've really got to call my cousin Morgan. His stuff is way better than....whatever that is in this can.

Turning to the elf he gives a small bow with a smile.

Ma'am, it's nice to have never met you.

Turning to leave, Borric is already thinking ahead. Perhaps that auto accident should be investigated.....setting the parameters on his com-unit, he lets the search engine get to work.

[Lost Demiurge]

As he waits, Nikolai starts up several searches... It'll take a little while to sort out the answers those turn up.

The rest of the team heads out, and the group drives to Eoin's apartment. Arkady ends up taking the long way around... The border between Bellevue and Redmond is lined with guards, defenses, and checkpoints. Can't have the riff-raff running across the lawns of the wealthy, after all. And a few of the toys that Arkady's got in his van would make the guards (Mostly Knight Errant) sit up and take notice.

Eoin's apartment complex is small, a mere twenty stories high, overlooking the lake and Council island. It is set up in the usual modern method... Guarded doors at the base open into a courtyard, with high-class shops on all sides. Discrete clear-glasstic elevators slowly take residents up to the apartment levels, past the three floors of shops and all of their merchandise. Discrete AR informs you of today's specials... The Dim Sun Deli offers their Chubby Family special, half price today, a mere 35 UCAS $$. (about 25 nuyen.)

A few more floors up, and Eoin's swiping his apartment door open. The matrix connection within the entire building is strong, and for the nature of the searches some of the team plans to do, this is a good thing.

As everyone gets into the apartment, their commlinks inform them that they've got textmail.

It's from Lojack.

Yo, thnks chummaerz. Srsly, this is brake for me into big circles if it wrks. Wrking hard to get to this poynt. Paying off. Do me prod. Give call if need n e thing. Piece, owt.