Carbon 2185: A Simple Job

[Ghostwire]

A Simple Job

The Photon Club.

The squat, concrete facade of what had once been a power transfer station back in the old days now contains one of the best night clubs in the 4th district. Residing right near the boarder wall into the 3rd, and in the shadow of the Golden Gate, the front of the building is awash in physical neon lights that proudly proclaim the club’s name, as well as glowing signs for good liquor, Joy Wire and prime escort services. In addition, approaching patrons are bombarded with AR advertisements for the latest hot menu items, drink specials, private bottle service and promises of the latest and greatest of the chart topping neo synthwave artists.

Not only is The Photon Club popular with the citizens of the 4th, but due to its proximity to the boarder wall, it is also the premier destination for 3rd district citizens looking to do a little slumming and experience a few thrills. Which means that just like every other night of the week, the place is already fairly crowded when you arrive just after sundown. There is a velvet rope, and line of people already standing on the sidewalk outside. Luckily Bagger already pinged you to let you know he reserved a private booth, and the chromed up hulk of a bouncer just nods as you slip past him into the club.

The main room is a wash of neon red and blue lights, glittering mirror balls and laser lights that streak and flow across the space in a dizzying dance of color. A high tempo synthwave track sings through the powerful sound system, making normal conversation nearly impossible but providing a catchy beat that has the dance floor filled with jumping, gyrating bodies. A set of small, glass encased mini-stages display a number of beautiful men and women in various states of not quite dressed twisting and writhing tot he music. Some of them glint with sleek, silver augments that glimmer like the finest jewelry, and at the center of it all rises the DJ booth where a pair of twin girls with neon hair are jacked into a large, complex sound board, clearly lost in the music they are spinning.

The booth Bagger reserved is toward the back of the club, one of the furthest from the dance floor and the DJ booth, and a heavy red curtain hangs across the entrance, dampening the music from ear drum shaking to a more pleasant background noise. The booth is dominated by a circular pit set two feet into the floor with a round table at it’s center. The edge of the pit is built to be a wrap around bench seat covered in crimson synthetic leather, with only a small section left bare to serve as a step down into the seating area.

Entering the booth you see that Bagger isn’t here yet, but the rest of the team he invited seems to have arrived at about the same time as you.

[LuckyStrike]

Scratch

She shivered as she rounded the corner. Scratch was cold, and rubbed her arms as she waited until the bouncer had verified that she was indeed invited tonight, and not just some random bottom feeder looking to get warm.

She couldn't blame him. He was just doing his job and she looked awful. Especially in contrast to all the people in line who were dolled up for a good night out.

Her shirt was missing its sleeves, and what was left of her jeans hung together with safety pins and bits of string. It was not much of an outfit, and the torn blanket she was hoping would pass for a shawl looked in fact very much like a dirty torn blanket.
On her feet were two different shoes, on the left was one boot that once was black but now light grey, and with missing laces so the whole shoe was hanging and sagging like it was trying to escape her foot. On the right was a creeper, once it had been a classy piece of footwear, fit for any dance floor worth it's salt, but now the lining had given up on the front so when she walked the sliver of a line of dirty toes were barely visible.

She'd hit a rough patch lately, and Baggers message had been the only light at the horizon, which in and of itself was sad enough, Scratch fully realized.

As she slipped into the club, she caught the eye roll of one girl in particular, who was waiting to get in but stuck behind the wrong side of the velvet rope.
Scratch quickly flipped her off and snarled her unbrushed teeth at the conceited airhead before disappearing into the noise.

Normally she knew better, but Scratch was hungry and not in the mood. She hadn't eaten for two days, she was pretty sure, and her stomache tightened as she scanned the club and spotted drinks of various colours and sizes. She tried to ignore how terribly out of place she was and hid the shawl/blanket by rolling it up and carrying it the rest of the way.

As she stepped into the pit she felt her heart drop as she realised she might have been played the fool. Of course noone wanted her for a job. Doubt and despair crept in as she sat down. Hoping she wasn't the butt of a very bad joke.

Seeing the others arrive at about the same time lifted her spirits somewhat, until she realised how poor she looked and her demeanor shifted from shy to shyer, avoiding eyecontact where possible.

[Niobaran]

Nicolas "Crutch" Kovacs

I'm getting too old for this. were his thoughts the moment he saw the AR advertisements on his HUD and felt the lower frequency tones through the walls. It had been years since he was in a night club for non-work related reasons. He preferred smaller establishments, music on a level where it was just possible to have a nice talk. To flirt. To have a date. His twenties felt so far away for a moment that he wondered if he had skipped them entirely.

Walking through the club, his eyes swiftly glanced over the crowd. Involuntarily, he started to analyze his observations, guessing a life situation here, intentions there. It was something he simply could not shake. As he could not shake to often extrapolate in a pessimistic manner. Sometimes he wondered if he had seen too much that glittered but wasn't gold, that he did not believe in gold anymore. Then, he wondered if calling oneself pathetic was pathetic in himself, and as usual in such a situation, he had to smirk over his own thought process.

While not dressed as a club goer, he somewhat still managed to blend, or at least he did not draw attention to himself. His clothes in shapes of gray, neat, but not posh, the most curious thing about his demeanor was that he was carrying a backpack in a club. But for the most around, he probably looked like someone who belonged to the personnel. He moved mostly graceful, with a hint of a limp on his left leg, as if he had difficulties stretching it. Not overly muscular and rather slender built, slight bulges under his coat suggested that he was actually wearing some kind of armor.

Spoiler: An image of Kovacs

Show

When he entered the separée only one person was already present: Scratch.

***

"Good evening," he greets her in English, as it is the most spoken language of the city, his eyes only swiftly resting on her, scanning her in the subtle way that he has mastered over the years. "I am Nicolas, it's nice to meet you." Neither his tone nor his face show any kind of judgement towards her, but rather radiate a certain warmth. He takes off his backpack and opens his jacket, pointing her finger next to her on the bench, as if asking "May I?"

[RandomWombat]

Drake Killian Badlander Daimyo AC: 16 HP: 15/15 Conditions: -- Eyes squinted, a ragged century old cattleman's hat pulled low to shield them from the piercing neon glow, a man makes his way through the street. The lights of the club district are hard on his eyes, accustomed to the grime and darkness of wasteland bunkers and desert nights. He wears a blue denim jacket with kevlar weave. One of the investments made with his savings. He passes the line of club-goers waiting to get inside, approaching the bouncer. He answers the man's steely gaze with a drawl, "Res'avation, booth eight." An exchange of nods, and he slips inside, reaching up to take off his hat and hold it in his hand. Stringy, prematurely greying salt and pepper hair hangs around his ears. Fierce electronic pounding assaults his senses, both visual and auditory. Drake hates clubs. Concentrated pockets of sin and hedonism. He walks deeper in. Another man just in front of him is headed in the same direction. Drake waits a moment after he crosses the velvet curtain before parting it and stepping inside. The warm red room offers welcome quiet from the sensory overload outside. A man enters the booth just behind Kovacs. He wears a red neckerchief, a faded blue denim jacket, and brown slacks. Like Kovacs, he has a backpack on, though his looks patched together from different materials and stitched by someone's hand rather than a factory assembly line. In his hand is an old brown stetson. The man slips into the booth on the side opposite from the girl, to avoid crowding behind the man already asking for a seat. He sets his hat on the back of the booth behind him, and his rucksack beside him. "Evenin'," he greets the other two quietly, with a nod.

[n00b17]

Dr. Carol Grace

In the alley across from the club, a dark shape moves, and then emerges into the street. Wrapped in worn-out jeans and several layers of dirty coats, the homeless woman approaches the bouncer. The woman's face is hard, cautious, and adversarial out of habit. Nothing is ever easy, and this will be no different. A brief argument ensues, but after a bit of back and forth he finally checks his list and is surprised to find her name there. Eyeing her again suspiciously, he lets her in, still suspecting this is some sort of trick.

Inside the club, she finds an empty table that hasn't been cleared yet, and pockets an empty beer bottle, just in case things go south. She turns to leave, then hesitates and grabs a half-empty bottle from the table as well and takes a swig. Can't let something like that go to waste.

Finding her way to the booth, she looks over its occupants. Humphrey Bogart, John Wayne, and some gutterpunk. Not as bad as it could be, at least no obvious psychopaths. In truth, the sight of the girl lifts Carol's spirits a bit. At least she's not the only one used to going hungry. She slides into the booth next to the cowboy. She smells like urine.

[Ghostwire]

A few minutes after the group assembles in the booth, a slim young woman in a short blue dress steps through the curtain. She is extremely beautiful, with long blond hair and brilliant emerald eyes. The kind of beauty that doesn't occur naturally, and the proof of her augmentation is most obvious in her gleaming silver legs. Clearly high end cyber from toes to hips. She carries a tray in one hand and smiles as she places wine glasses on the table along with a green glass bottle with an expensive label on it.

After popping the cork from the bottle, the woman turns and leaves just as a new figure pushes past the curtain into the booth. He smiles at the woman as she passes him, and his eyes linger on her rear end as she walks away and gives a soft whistle, "Ye take a gander at 'er?" Bagger asks as he turns to the group. As always the short man is dressed in a cheap suit that could almost pass for expensive if it wasn't so wrinkled. His signature black bowler hat sits skewed on his bald head, and his mouth is quirked into a sleazy grin beneath a round nose that looks like it's been broken more than a few times. Everything about Bagger just screams con-artist scum, but as far as you know, he's never cheated you, and you've never heard him tell a lie. He's the friend you don't want to like, but still do for reasons beyond your understanding.

Stepping down into the booth's seating area Bagger pours himself some wine and makes a show of smelling it before taking a sip, "C'mon me darlins, drink up. Didn't spring for bottle service just so's ye could stare at 'er eh?" he chuckles and flops down into an empty space, kicking his scuffed dress shoes up on the table.

[RandomWombat]

Drake Killian Badlander Daimyo AC: 16 HP: 15/15 Conditions: -- Drake wrinkles his nose at the smell of the bag lady who wanders into their booth next to him. A smell that reminds him of the smell of rust, dust and filth back at the factory. He wonders how far she fell to get where she is now, or if she was born into it like him. His eyes are drawn up to the woman striding in from the violent light and sound of the club. Either Bagger got a hell of a makeover, or this was their server. When she sets down the bottle of fine wine, Drake wastes no time pouring himself a glass. It's been too long since he had something that wasn't backstreet bar swill. And that was never. Taking a sip from the glass, Drake closes his eyes and savors the tang of grape mixed with the buzz of alcohol on his tongue. For once, a drink that didn't taste like piss. "Evenin', Bagger." He greets the man when he comes in, his cocksure gait and fake accent pinnable from the other side of a sizzling waste lagoon, even with eyes closed. Though he had no love of the profession he'd been thrust into, Drake has been given no reason to distrust the snake oil trucking city slicker. Taking another sip of wine and opening his eyes, Drake looks across the table at his 'talent agent' and then around the table at their crew. "This all've us?"

[Niobaran]

Nicolas "Crutch" Kovacs

When the woman enters, he stares at her for a moment. Artificial or not, her body was pure art. Just when he wants to ask whether she might want to bring some snacks with the wine, bagger comes in and he forfeits. Upon being greeted by his broker, he gets up to take the bottle after Drake and starts filling glasses, handing them out to the others, one by one. The mixture of smells in the booth is only well too familiar to him. Rich people's perfume mixing with poor people's smell, and the sweat of each. He wonders what kind of contract Bagger has for him, but he knows there is no way of rushing him. He would tell them about it in exactly the moment he wanted to, not earlier, not later. He waits for Bagger to answer Drake's question, only rising his glass high enough to gesture a "cheers" to the others.

[n00b17]

Dr. Carol Grace

Grace looks hesitantly at the glass before taking it and sniffing at it gingerly. The dark liquid is obviously unfamiliar to her, but she gives it a cautious sip. Then, eyes widening, she grasps her glass with both hands and drinks it down greedily.

Realizing that she's being conspicuous, she lowers the glass. She looks around sheepishly, then turns to look at Bagger, waiting for him to take the lead.

[LuckyStrike]

Scratch shifted in her seat. She was uncomfortable in these close confines with strangers. The server was a welcome distraction but Scratch raised a sceptical eyebrow at the woman's appearance. Why in the world anyone would choose to doll themselves up like that was beyond her. 'Likely no choice at all..' She thought as the lady left and was replaced by Baggers ugly mug.

She took the glass as it was handed to her by Nicolas with a curt nod, but refrained from raising it. Instead she eyed Bagger up and down, waiting for him to get to the meat of things.

[Ghostwire]

Bagger glances around the booth, then pulls the curtain back with one hand to peek out into the main club area before answering Drake, "Nah mate. Should be a couple more comin'. Why don't ye take your hat off an' get comfy eh?" he gives the wastelander a wink and takes another swig of his wine, appearing to be in no great hurry to a casual observer. But you have known Bagger for a while now, and you can see the anxious quirk of his eyebrow and the nervous twitch of his foot as he keeps checking the club.

[Hyperbolic sine]

Finally, one more person seemed to be weaving between people and tables to head towards that particular booth.

The man's buzz cut, well toned body, gait - the whole ensemble, in other words - screamed ex-military; he was wearing an unremarkable but good quality clothes, and tugged under his arm was what could pass as a somewhat bulky biker's helmet. Once he pulled the curtain back to step inside, he offered a nod in greeting to Bagger and the others, but otherwise didn't speak as he took a seat; he had sharp features, though they did nothing to hide that he was rapidly approaching middle age.

From up close the cybernetic nature of his eyes became apparent, as well as that of his right hand (at least - the rest of his arm was covered by a sleeve); the helmet, which he uncerimoniously placed in front of him on the table, had a small pi symbol painted on its back, and anyone with military background could tell it was definitely not a biker's.

[PotatoGolem]

A small man walks up to the bouncer. His clothing was nothing out of the ordinary- just another corp-drone out for a night at the Photon- although the backpack was a tad out of place. Between that and the glasses, he looked like the kind of guy who'd have to catch up on work while he was out. Raj wasn't used to being in a VIP line, getting in the club right away. He certainly wasn't used to the way the girls waiting in line looked at him, as if he was a somebody. He'd have had to wait for hours, normally.

He walks into the booth and sees everyone there. He's short and slight, with dark skin and hair, although greying at the temples. He waves to Bagger. "Uh, hi Bagger. Good to see you. Hey everyone. Sorry I'm late, parking was a huge pain." He sits down next to the fixer, trying to keep his distance as much as possible from the bag lady. As he sets his bag down, there's an unmistakable clink of metal.

[Ghostwire]

Bagger gives a broad grin when the last two members of the group finally show up, "Ah, there we are," he sweeps his arm to indicate the wine to the two new comers and then sits forward, placing his own glass down on the table, "Now then my lovelies. A bit o' the ol' business," his eyes become unfocused for a moment as he looks at AR screens only he can see. A moment later you receive a ping inviting you to join a secure shared space with Bagger. When you do, he pushes something into the shared space and an image appears floating above the table.

It begins as a wide shot of a landing terminal building somewhere in the city. As you watch, the perfectly rendered image zooms in through the access gate and onto the sprawling concrete landing zone with its blinking lights and bright white lines and numbers, "This here," Bagger begins, "Is LZ 224 in the upper 3rd. A pretty little port operated by a Nebular Star shell company by the name of Upper Reach or some such," he waves his hand as if to say that information is irrelevant, "Point is, it's a cozy little dark port the corpies like tah use to move sensitive goods without going through Shenzhen or Tusk customs in the upper districts. Grease the right palms and ye can have the whole security detail swapped out fer your own boots, and the local bobbies wont even glance your way," Bagger chuckles, "Now I got word of a pretty little inbound with some choice type merchandise in it's belly," the image switches from a view of the port to a small, twin fusion torch freight ship complete a full statistical readout of the standard equipment one would expect from a low end cargo hauler. It doesn't show anything fancy, just basic armor plating and a single forward mounted Shenzhen Mk II autogun.

Bagger gives everyone a moment to look over the ship's read out before continuing, "That's where you lovelies come in. There's a buyer willin' to shell out big Longs for that cargo. So I need you lot to do a little snatch and grab and deliver the goods to a lock-up I got down in the 4th," Bagger's grin goes from ear to ear, "An' here's the real tasty bit darlin', we're gettin half pay up front. That's three hundred thousand just for signin' on and another three on delivery," Bagger rubs his hands together like a hungry weasel as he looks around at the group, "Now I know how you lot operate an' I'm sure you have questions. So let's get through'em quick cause delivery is scheduled for one hour before dawn, an' the ship touches down in forty five minutes," he checks his AR display, "An' that gives you seven hours to secure the goods and get'em to the lock up."

[LuckyStrike]

"I'm in."

Scratch said decisively as she placed her glass back on the tray.

This was the chance she'd been waiting for. Lady luck had finally managed to come around. The past few weeks had gone from bad to worse and the lady sitting across from her in the booth was a frightening look into the not-so-far future.

She looked around making eyecontact with most of them for the first time. Where at first she seemed timid, Scratch now had a bit of fire in her eyes.

"Call me Scratch."

She looked turned her attention back to Bagger.

"Don't pull a fast one on me, I'll have your hide." She said with a cheeky smile and a quick wink. It was a friendly enough gesture, but it packed a serious promise.

[RandomWombat]

Drake Killian Badlander Daimyo AC: 16 HP: 15/15 Conditions: -- Throughout the exchange, Drake holds to a characteristic scowl. Common thievery. Nothing he was unfamiliar with, the wastes are a harsh place. Didn't mean he had to like it. His mind turns to practical matters. The payout is big. Even split between the seven of them - no doubt with a skew for Bagger - it would be a good payday. More credits than he'd had in his account since buying his way into the city. "We been workin' small jobs," his wide, buggy badland eyes flit to the others, glowing slightly in the dark. He doesn't know them all, but they look small time like him, save perhaps the guy with the military buzzcut. Something like this seems out of Bagger's usual waters. "We should use our share o' th' up front pay to gear up. Second half won't do us no good if we're dumped in a ditch."

[Hyperbolic sine]

"Agreed. It ought to be enough to rent a few weapons." the man with the helmet said, then his mechanical eyes focused on Bagger again.

"Size of the cargo and expected number of hostiles?"

[PotatoGolem]

The little man takes a glass of wine and listens to Bagger. He nods along, then starts speaking rapidly. "Right, gotcha. I see why you called me in. Speaking of pay, what's the deal on it? Eight-way split, you take a double share as the facilitator? I don't think I'll need more than my own gun, not with this big a team." He unconsciously moves his hand to his side. "What do you know about the hauler? Do you have technical specs? Any idea what the network security is like for the ship or the cargo area? Stealing the ship entirely might be easier that taking a big cargo container."

He blinks and looks up at the group. "Oh, right, sorry guys. Guess I never introduced myself. You can call me Raj. Pilot, hacker, mechanic. If it's tech, I'll take a crack at it. I'm a decent shot, but I think you big guys are probably the experts there."

[n00b17]

"Just 45 minutes to prepare? That's not much"

Grace scowls, quickly thinking through possibilities.

"Let me try to clarify something. You're saying the smugglers would already have replaced the security detail for the cargo with their own people? Who exactly was replaced? Shipboard security, or ground security?"

She looks at Raj. "I like the way you think Raj, but let me do you one better. Maybe we can hit the guards before they claim the cargo and walk out with it. Cops won't know the difference, right? One hired thug is as good as another to them. Will the smuggler guards be wearing anything distinctive, anything that it would be suspicious if they didn't have?"

[Ghostwire]

Bagger is ready for the questions, “Don’t know the size of the cargo, that’s why I got six of you,” he shugs, “I would expect a fair bit of security on this. It’s a corp black op. Don’t know who owns the ship, but they’re paying to come in dark,” he throws another picture into the shared space of the port terminal building and you can see two black, military style jeeps sitting out front with eight visible figures in black tac gear holding rifles, “Regular port staff buggered off three hours ago and this lot showed up. No corp IDs on’em, so they wanna stay blank. MY guess is trying not to attract attention. Probably at least four more guns on the ship if they run standard corpo procedure.”

When asked about the ships network, Bagger just throws up the spec sheet again which shows a standard, off the rack model. Nothing high end or custom, “That’s all I got. If they swapped anything out off planet I got no way of knowing,” Bagger picks up his glass and takes a drink, “I don’t think you’ve got a good chance of boosting the ship, but if you can I can flip it for a nice payday,” he grins and flips through his AR display, throwing another picture into the shared space, “Way I see it, you’ve got three options of getting in. One is through the front door. But that’s gonna be loud and bloody,” the picture in the shared space shows a small utility door set into the side of a dried out storm channel, “Second, you take the utility tunnels. Nothing but auto security down there. Drones and cameras, at least until you get into the port. Should put you right about here,” he puts up a view of the terminal building with a red dot over a small concrete building across the tarmac from the main building, “Last option I see is ye sweet talk your way in,” Bagger says this with a laugh.

[LuckyStrike]

Scratch

Scratch wrinkled her nose at the notion of sweet-talking, but seemed to cheer up when the utility tunnels were mentioned.

"That's my speed." She said confidently. "I can crawl through air vents quiet as you like and my favorite game as a kid was hide and sneak."

She looked at Bagger.

"Any chance I can get my down-payment in gear? I'm a bit short at the moment."

[Niobaran]

Kovacs

For the moment, the man seems content just to hear the others ask questions, and making notes of them and the respective answers. He even has a physical notebook out for that, that he is scribbling in with a pen, as if it was 2020.

There is one question, he wants to ask though. He wait until there is a slightly longer pause, then asks: "Any intel on what is the cargo, Bagger?"

[Ghostwire]

Bagger responds to Scratch first, "Sure love, I can probably swing something. Got a couple dealers owe me a favor. But there's gonna be a considerable mark up for a rush delivery of goods. You're prolly looking at a 20% loss on your share," he explains. Such was the nature of Frisco economics.

To Kovacs he just shrugs, "No clue mate. Client just said it was expensive and they wanted it fast-like. I don't ask questions when the price is this good. Don't matter none do it? Just grab it and drop in the lock-up."

[RandomWombat]

Drake Killian Badlander Daimyo AC: 16 HP: 15/15 Conditions: -- "What's in th' cargo don't matter much 'less it's explosive," Drake cuts in. "T'which my advice is, don't shoot the cargo." The old self-styled cowboy picks up his hat and puts it back on, evidently considering the briefing largely over. "We're gonna be in close quarters. Arrange a rental shotgun," he tells Bagger, as he discusses pre-op gear with Scratch. He'd prefer to get something more permanent, but guns are expensive if you aren't with a corp. There is one thing. "An' if ya can, find me a fire axe." It would be a fair chunk of his up front payment between the two, but you never know when you might need to burn through some door joints.

[Hyperbolic sine]

Right. Introductions. "I go by Pi." the man in the helmet said, shortly after Raj, before descending in deep thought.

"Yes." he finally spoke up again, addressing the group, after Drake requested a fireaxe. "Discretion will be key, so you should get your hands on a melee weapon. Firearms are loud, jamming a knife in someone's throat is not."

"Now, two things." he continued. "One, we need a way to dark their comms if we get spotted. Two, transportation. If the cargo can fit in a backpack and we exfil quietly, then we can go to the drop off on foot, or take a risk and call an UltraX...otherwise, we need something of our own."

[LuckyStrike]

At Baggers answer Scratch nodded. She wasn't in the position to kick up a fuss about prices anyway.

She opens a notepad in her tab of the AR space and for anyone who cares to check she wrote this shoppinglist complete with links to favorite brands and types:

Backpack: 2000
Comms, earpiece: 5000
Crowbar: 250
Duct tape: 20
Rope, 50ft: 1000
Grappling hook: 3000
Mirror, steel: 500
Superglue: 40
Torch, headlamp: 50

Disarming Kit: 2000
Lockpicks: 2000
Hackers device: 5000

Holster, one handed: 1000
Tough leather jacket: 10.000
KHMA Heavy pistol rental: 2500/hour
10 bullets, 10 mm: 500

32360,-- plus 20% (6472,--) comes to 38832,-

-Throw in a meal before we kick this thing off and we'll call it even at 40.000, excluding the rental. Fair?

She nodded at Pi introducing himself and listened intently when everyone spoke.
"We need to figure some things out. Maybe we order some sushi, and get a plan going right here at this table? Is there anything we can do before the ship lands? "

[n00b17]

"Here's my buylist", Grace says to Bagger, passing him something written on a napkin. Turning to face the rest of the table, she says, "I don't believe I've introduced myself. You can call me Dr. Grace."

Spoiler: Buy list

Show

Comms, earpiece (6k)
Rented pistol, 7hrs (17.5k)
Silencer (24k)

Holster, one handed (1k)
10 bullets, 10mm (.5k)
Mirror, steel (.5k)

Torch, headlamp (50)
Duck tape(20)
Superglue (40)

Total:
49110

[PotatoGolem]

Raj shrugs. "I'll take my upfront in Longs. I already have my gun, armor and tools. 300k, eight way split should make that 37,500." He takes out a top of the line commlink and waves it towards Bagger for contactless payment.

He nudges the backpack, and it clinks again. Hacker's kit, repair tools, helmet, and some spare mags. The 'link is for hacking into any computer systems we come across. My car seats two, so I can take myself and one of the muscle for security. If we split up, we'll be less obvious anyways. Three groups of two, one each of the toughs and the others, each traveling a different way. Makes us harder to track. Could do Pi and I in the car, since we look the most corp, Grace and Scratch on foot, since they'll blend into the crowds well, and the other two by Ultra? No way to pick out which of the three groups might have the cargo, and will each be relatively inconspicuous

[n00b17]

Grace nods. "I like that. I'm a good climber, so I can probably help Scratch get to harder-to-reach places if need be. I'd like to have more info and a couple backup plans if things go south though. Let's see what we can dig up on the port official who made this deal. I'm guessing he won't actually know who he cut this deal with. I think we can spin that to our advantage, one way or another"

[Niobaran]

Kovacs

"You know, I don't care what's inside, as long as it's a what and not a who." he explains his previous question somewhat dryly.

Hearing the argument about who-drives-with-whom and how-do-we-transport-things, he addressed Bagger again. "Do we have any intel about the size of the cargo?"

Experience had taught him there is no such thing as 'easy money', but he needed it anyway.