Living in a city is never quiet. Car horns, passing AVs, sirens, blaring advertisements, and the vast multitude of voices create the unnoticed hum surrounding your life. Whether you are in the combat zone or in the Corporate Center, the noise of millions of people crushed into the closest quarters surrounds you. Silence is a luxury, and luxuries are for the rich.
The first thing you notice is the unfamiliar silence. You listen intently until the blood pounding in your ears seems overwhelming. Finally you hear some quiet, muffled voices nearby. Opening your eyes, you see nothing but darkness. Panic sets in for a moment, How did I get here?
An intense fleeting image of the familiar interior of an AV-4 flashes in your mind. Three others are checking their weapons as the pilot calls back, ”Thirty seconds to Drop Zone.” One of the other figures in the back of the vehicle stands and looks at you and others, ”Don’t forget, we only get paid if we get this guy out alive. Quick and quiet, and it’s a cake walk.’
The memory fades, and you are left in darkness.
Max looked around the dark room, confused and immediately irritated at his surroundings. He allowed himself a moment to take stock of the room and his own body, standing up and stretching a bit to ensure that he wasn't injured.
Something must have gone wrong after the drop. Where the f&!~ am I? Where is all my s+!#? I'm going to be really pissed if I need to buy new gear once I get out of here.
His eyes still hadn't adjusted well to the dark so he walked slowly towards what he hoped would be a wall. Once he made it, he could feel along the surface until he hopefully found a door or some other potential means of escape.
As you sit up a splitting headache knifes through your skull. You feel several bruises, but no significant injuries. Your hands are bound together by what seems to be zip ties, but during your self-assessment you feel a knife slipped up the sleeve of your shirt. Where did this come from?
Flashing through your mind is a memory of slipping the knife off a man as he zip ties your wrists. He is dressed in black BDU's with a Militech company patch on his chest. He notices that you are conscious and strikes you in the forehead with the stock of his rifle.
You tentatively touch the raised knot on your forehead as you work the knife free of your sleeve. It only takes a moment to maneuver it to cut the zip ties on your wrists and then the ones on your ankles. Finally, you are able to stand up and check your surroundings. You see a crack of dim light from one direction and you grope blindly towards it. Feeling at the wall you run into, you feel cool corrugated metal under your fingers. It dawns on you that you are in a shipping container as your hand finds the door of the container.
As my memories slowly return to me bit by bit, I feel a brief but white-hot flash of anger that I've been taken prisoner. My mind starts working up a checklist of who has me and why, but nothing makes sense right now. Perhaps it's the head wound. Perhaps it's not a conspiracy and it's just bad luck.
I head towards the source of the dim light, taking care to walk slowly so that my footfalls don't echo off the insides of the container. I step slowly and with purpose, not only trying to stay quiet but also trying to feel if the container is in motion. Once I reach the source of the light, I press my ear against the door to see what I can hear, knife at the ready in my hand should I need to quickly end someone.
As you approach the doors you hear what sounds like a voice or voices from the outside.
My brain starts to work on the problem, trying to figure out a way to open the door and take out the two men quick and quiet-like...then I kick whatever the hell was on the floor.
God fragging damn it all to hell. Max thinks to himself.
Perfect. Just fragging perfect.
I quickly let out a small groan in the hopes that they'll think I'm just coming to consciousness and am no threat, all the while pressing myself up against the wall closest to the door so that I can quickly attack if they open it up to investigate. My mind reflexively triggers the Speedware, slowing the world down around me as I wait for them to enter.
As you press yourself against the wall of the container you feel counter top next to you. Luckily there is enough room for your large frame though. You wait, your limbs buzzing with pent up energy, your nano-enhanced nervous system keyed up even further by a natural burst of adrenaline.
You wait long enough that you have to trigger your Speedware a second time. Obviously, the men outside have had some tactical training, as they do not attempt to slowly enter the container, but instead charge in quickly. The first scans from the right to left, as the second follows quickly and scans from the left to right. You recognize the classic two-person entry technique that you learned in Army.
With your enhanced cognitive processors cooking at full speed, you quickly recognize that the men are holding tazers instead of firearms. They are clothed in armored BDU's, have submachine guns slung across their backs, and medium handguns in thigh holsters.
As the soldiers enter the container tactically, any worry I might feel is overshadowed by my arrogance - or as I like to call it: confidence. I've got more experience and I sure as hell didn't earn my stripes guarding knocked out dudes in shipping containers. I notice their pattern of entry and immediately move to exploit the fact that only 1 will be facing me.
Otherwise, the difficulty to hit is the defender's static Ref+Dodge/MA. You may also declare a full dodge/block/parry as your only action for the turn, in which case you roll your Ref+Dodge/MA/Melee+1d10 and use it against all melee attackers.
You lunge forward and catch the corporate soldier before he can fire. Your blade sweeps in but your aim is slightly off, so instead slicing through his windpipe as you imagined, the mono-molecular blade edge actually slips through the bones of his spine. As you rip it out of his neck, the knife leaves only a bit of skin and muscle holding the head attached to the rest of his body. The dim light pouring in from the opened door glistens off the blood pouring from his fallen body.
The soldier's companion completes his sweep of the corners, swinging his tazer around to point in your general direction.
While the kill wasn't as clean as I had imagined it in my head, my knifework still did the trick. I push the already-collapsing corpse away from me so it wouldn't prevent my next strike. I draw my knife back to ready it for a strike while I simultaneously move forward a few quick steps. The world is still moving in slow-motion around me so I have plenty of time to line up another shot on the second soldier. Though my instinct is to strike out once again at the neck or perhaps even his gun-hand, I decide not to press my luck and instead strike for center of mass.
There is not much room for the body to fall away from you in the tight confines of the storage container and one of your feet gets tied up with it's legs. This keeps you from a clean attack on the next soldier. You thrust with the knife somewhat clumsily and the tip catches on his armored clothing. The relatively weak crystaline blade snaps near the hilt. He fires the tazer and at this range he could hardly miss. You feel the needles in your stomach and chest, and a jolt of electricity surges through your body. Your muscles seize for a moment, but you remain on your feet.
As the taser darts pierce my skin and cause electricity to course through my body, I grit my teeth and stare the soldier directly in the eyes. I'm already moving as the charge fades, my anger and neuralware fueling my speed and aggression. I grab at the shoulders of his clothing and armor, simultaneously driving my hip into his stomach while pulling his body over my shoulder in an effort to violently throw him to the floor.
In a classic Judo throw such as this one your hip acts as a fulcrum, greatly increasing the force with which the opponent's body slams into the ground. You hear a "woof" as the air forcefully leaves the soldier's lungs and he seems momentarily dazed.
I can't help but smirk as my throw takes all the air out of his lungs. I move towards him with purpose and allow him a very brief moment to try and rise to his feet, mostly because it'll make grabbing hold of his neck slightly easier for me. As soon as the most opportune moment presents itself, I slide an arm around the front of his neck, applying a bit of pressure to his windpipe while my other hand takes a hold of his jaw and wrenches it upwards, twisting his neck at an uncomfortable angle and making it well known that with little bit more pressure, I could snap his spine.
Now listen here. One quick jerk and it's lights out forever. So you're going to stay still and stay quiet and answer all my questions. Nod your head a little bit to tell me that you understand.
As you apply your hold you are able to quickly take in your newly illuminated surroundings. The dim light from the doorway shows that the container seems to have been converted to a cheap, easily hidden medical bay. In the middle of the floor is a surgical table bolted to the floor. Along one long wall cheap, prefab cabinets and a countertop have been installed. Medical instruments, supplies, and equipment are arranged around the room and on the countertop. Near the door a powerstrip hangs down with the switch off. Several overhead lights have cords running to the powerstrip. Through the doorway you see only the wall of another shipping container about 15 feet away.
The soldier in your hold nods his head slightly indicating his understanding.
I take a long moment to inventory my surroundings so I can ask some intelligent questions instead of just completely shooting in the dark. I'm sure the soldier is waiting for me to start my interrogation, but I have no qualms about leaving him hanging while I orient myself.
What the hell is up with all the medical stuff? Were they going to experiment on me or was this just a convenient place to store my body?
I take a deep breath and listen to make sure I don't hear anybody else coming. I'm about 90% sure our scuffle didn't make so much noise that it would attract others, but you never can be too safe.
I tighten my grip on his jaw and neck while I listen, giving him a physical reminder that he's at my mercy. I lean down while I listen and whisper in his ear.
'Atta boy. I'm glad we're on the same page. Just don't forget the situation here. If I think you're lying to me or if you try to make any noise at all, I will tear your head off your neck and paint the inside of this container with your blood. Don't you dare jerk me around.
You listen carefully for a moment. In the background you hear AV and car traffic in the distance. You hear some lapping sounds that tell you that you are near the ocean. With some relief you fail to hear any voices or footsteps.
Beads of sweat appear on the soldier's forehead as you threaten him and you are fairly certain he is ready to cooperate. The sweat rolling down his forehead draws your attention to the mastoid communicator under his ear.
A mastoid communicator is disposable electro-biologically powered patch applied to the skin above the mastoid bone. It receives radio signals and causes the mastoid bone to vibrate. These vibrations are interpreted by the inner ear as sounds. It is typically matched with a similar patch on the skin above the voicebox, which allows subvocalizations to be broadcast. Many edgerunners and corporate or government operatives use these patches to communicate during operations if they do not have cybernetic audio enhancements.
The subvocalizations are nearly silent but you must touch the patch with your finger to activate the microphone. You are certain the soldier has not been able broadcast anything since you have taken him down.
I give the soldier a small nod and ease up on the grip I've got on his head so that he can breathe a bit easier. Using the hand I've got twined around his neck, I pluck the mastoid communicator patch from above his voicebox and crumple it into a ball between my fingers, ensuring that even if he somehow gets away from me, he won't me calling home for help.
There we go. I feel more comfortable now, don't you? I ask with a shiz-eating grin on my face.
Now - where the hell am I? What is this place and why am I here?
The soldier swallows a few times uncomfortably, trying to get his voice back. His looks and accent indicate that he is probably Hispanic and his actions and demeanor to this point indicates some military background. "You're in the East Marina. A Black surgical bay where things can stay private. They say you got injected with something important. A doc is coming in to extract it. "
As he speaks the accent clicks with his looks and I narrow my eyes on reflex. I barely suppress a low growl from deep in my throat and instead ignore what he just told me in favor of asking another question.
What are you, South American? I ask him, glowering. My question clearly confuses him a little bit and it's obvious that the wrong answer won't do his chances of getting out of this alive. While his jaw works, my logical brain kicks in and I find my focus once more.
Frag it, shut up, nevermind. What the hell do you mean I was injected with something? Who injected me? What outfit are you with?
Your paranoia is misplaced as once you're listening for it, you can tell his accent is more "cholo" and not so much So Am. The man gives a shrug, at least as much as he is able to in your hold. "The guy you extracted and we were supposed to recover. He got shot, like with a stray bullet, and then he hypo'd something into your neck before he 'lined."
Although things aren't necessarily confusing per se, I still don't really have any idea what's going on and it's irritating the hell out of me.
If that's the case then why was I ziptied like a prisoner instead of being treated like a patient? When the hell is the doctor supposed to get here?
I don't entirely believe that he doesn't know what might be inside of me so I lean in close and give his neck the same twist as in the beginning.
What did the mark put inside of me, you little s##!? Tell me!
The soldier looks confused, "You were extracting a scientist from one of our facilities, so you were a prisoner. And the doc should be here any time." As you twist his neck he grunts between clenched teeth, "A grunt doesn't need to know that s~!#, so I...don't...f+~$ing...know."
The blow to his head which knocked him out finally stopped stunting the flow and processing of information and everything clicked.
Well crap. I'm in enemy hands. I need to get the hell out of here!
I try not to let the fact that things just now clicked show on my face because honestly that'd be a little embarrassing. Instead I apply pressure to his neck and whisper in the soldier's ear.
Shhh. No more talking. Only dreams now.
Defend:
Damage:
Stun check:
Attack:
Defend: (wound penalty)
Damage:
Stun check:
And he's out
You apply pressure and the soldier tries to escape, but you are stronger and at significant advantage. The struggling fades and he is clearly unconscious.
After his consciousness fades, I hold the choke for another solid 5 count. I'm honestly not trying to kill the guy, but I can't risk him waking up prematurely to see which way I went. I unwrap my arms from around his head and neck and give his body pat down. I'm looking for keys or any sort of indication as to where I can find my stuff. I know it's imperative I get out of here quickly, but I don't exactly have enough money lying around to replace my katana and my pair of 5 shooters.
You find his weapons, his Militech corporate ID, some meth (probably for later), and a cred stick with 800 credits on it. As you peak outside you see a black gear bag near the door. You snatch it and find your guns and sword.
Militech Arms Avenger P 0 J E 2d6 10 2 VR (2 Mags of regular ammo)
Militech Electronics Taser P -1 J C Stun 10 1 ST (battery has enough charge for 8 shots)
A monoknife
His buddy's guns are both covered in copious blood and would likely misfire if not cleaned first.
BTW, let say you have 6 speed loaders for the pistols, your other ammo is boxed.
I grab his weapons and credstick and step outside, relieved beyond description to find my own gear stashed in the black duffel right outside. I take a quick moment to equip myself with the monokatana just in case there is anyone else who needs to bite the dust. Quickly and quietly, I head out of the shipping container and look for a way out of this craphole.
You exit the container and see that there are many more around you, some in stacks two or three containers high. They are arranged in rows with about 20ft of space between them. From the accumulated trash and the deterioration of the containers themselves you get the sense that they have been here for a while.
You quickly try to orient yourself. To your left (east) on the horizon you see the familiar skyline of the city's corporate center. To your right (west), more containers and the blank horizon that says to you that the bay is in that direction. The behind the container in front of you (north) there is more blank horizon, and behind you(south) the Night City Ranger's stadium looms close. Sounds of people moving quickly, but not noisily, come from the east and are getting louder.
professional baseball team, also play here. When the stadium
is not being used for sporting events many large concerts and
entertainment events are held here. The area around the stadium is known for dangerous gang activity.
I step out of the containers and look around, trying to decide where to go and how much time I had to get there.
It would be impossible to put an actual count on how many people are coming just from their footsteps, but you are certain it is a team of at least 3 or 4 individuals moving in the quick shuffling steps of trained operators. You hear the cha-chink of someone chambering a round in their automatic weapon. They are definitely coming your way from the Northwest.
Upon hearing the footsteps, I take a quick deep breath to steel myself and immediately get moving. I moved quickly, but I stay low to the ground and keep my foot falls as soft as possible to try and evade their detection. I remove my monokatana from its sheath just in case I need to quickly and quietly take someone out.
I make my way towards the warehouse, keeping the shipping containers to my left and the Bay to my right, taking care to check my corners as I move.
As you round the corner of the shipping container you barely catch a glimpse of the barrel of a rifle and some boots of the team as they head towards the black op clinic. You make your way north towards the warehouse, passing another row between the containers. You look back and flashlight beams appear around the doorway of the clinic container. Apparently the team behind you has given up on stealth and is spreading out to search for you.
I pause for a very brief moment just to be sure there isn't a second wave of soldiers running around searching for me. Satisfied that this is the only group present, I turn west and head towards the gatehouse since that seems to be my best bet for making an exit from this terrible situation. I take one last look around the corner of the crate I'm standing near before making a quiet break for it.
You turn west and pass in front of another shipping container. As you glance down the alley between the containers, you see the flashlight beams moving in seemingly random directions as the searchers scan around. You feel fairly safe until, at almost the exact same time, all the beams turn to the north and the searchers begin to move in your direction. You are almost certain the searchers could not have seen or heard you as you are quite a distance from them and it is fairly dark.
I narrow my eyes and stifle an angry outburst when I notice all the beams of light turn in my direction.
There must be a camera or something I didn't see. Did they hear me? Damn it all...
As a desperate measure, I quickly take one of the rounds from the cylinder of my 5-shooter and throw it back the way I came. I repeatedly look over my own shoulder to see if the lights turn towards the direction of the noise, though I never stop staying low to the ground and moving towards the fence.
You might have slowed down one of the searchers, but the rest continue on relentlessly. You approach the gatehouse which has light pouring from the windows. As you slow to evaluate the situation you can feel hot breath on your neck, though clearly it is your imagination.
Through the windows you see what looks to be two rent-a-cops. One of them is quite overweight and the other is obviously young and is rail thin. These guys may be armed, but are not corp level security. There is a gate next to the shack, but it is closed. The fences are ten foot high and topped in razor wire tilted outward toward the city. The gate is not topped by razor wire, but there is no way you could get close without the rent-a-cops noticing. To make matters worse an AV is approaching hot from the northwest.
I grit my teeth and furrow my brow when it's clear that I haven't turned aside their pursuit. Given the approaching AV, whatever action I choose next needs to be fast because I simply cannot avoid any further delays in getting the hell out of here. I ready my monokatana and head directly towards where the chain link fence meets the warehouse.
I come at the fence with the sword fully extended in front of me, as if rushing forward to impale an opponent. My hope is that I can guide the blade in one of the sizable openings between the chain link and simply slice in a rough "D" shape in order to cut myself a semicircle opening that I can push through.
The monoblade isn't sharp in the sense that just pressing it against the metal wire of the fence cuts it. Rather, it is only when the blade moves across the metal wires do they part with a twang, but it takes less than an inch of lateral movement to cut each strand. So you find yourself basically making a sawing motion as you cut through the fence, pushing and pulling the blade like a violinist as it cuts through each strand of the fence.
At first you aren't noticed by the rent-a-cops as they are casually playing a card game, but eventually the thin one looks up and sees you escaping. He cries out and both guards comically jerk into action: the fat one spilling coffee on his shirt and the skinny one tossing his cards into the air. You have completed your cutting as they finally manage to get their guns out of their holsters and begin to move out of the guardhouse.
Meanwhile, the AV roars in to hover above the shipping yard. A spotlight appears and begins to scan your area. The beams of the flashlights also approach. No lights have hit you yet, but it is a relief that you are able to finish the flap in the fence. You are about to push through when a muffled shot comes from the warehouse roof. You feel an impact on the back of your left thigh.
The sting was too surprising and annoying and my cover too blown to resist cursing out loud anymore.
"G+! d@+n it you..." I say, biting off the rest of my curse while I push myself through the opening I made in the chain link.
I push through the fence and press myself up against the warehouse wall as I rise to a height more conducive to running at high speeds. I try my absolute best to make it a nearly impossible shot for whoever was on the warehouse roof while I book it away from the AV and it's searchlight. I try to find any cover from above while I move, snaking back and forth in a zigzag to make it more difficult for any shooters to tag me again.
You work the angles by keeping close to the warehouse and the sniper does not take another shot. The guards finally get out of the gatehouse and point two cheap revolvers in your direction. The large one looks back at the gate and you can see him work through his TV and fast food haze that it is not their job to keep people from breaking out of the yard. The thin one excitedly fires a shot, but he misses you by a mile.
You run the length of the warehouse, stumbling over a ragged man laying on the ground with his back leaning against the building. His meager belongings are arranged at arms length around him. As you pass he yells after you, "Every runner falls off the Edge* eventually!"
Once you reach the corner of the warehouse and find a raised offramp ahead, commercial and light industrial buildings arrayed underneath and surrounding you. The offramp leads up to the West Gibson Highway, which to the south leads to downtown and eventually swings east to mark the northern border of the Combat Zone. You can hear the traffic on the highway above from here. To the north it hits the Stepheson Bridge which crosses the Coronado bay. The offramp would offer cover from both the sniper and the AV slowly swinging around the warehouse about fifty feet in the air. Streets lead off to both the north and west and some cars are parked here and there along both. You see some headlights heading towards you, but traffic is light in this type of area at this time of early morning.
The only thing that comes remotely close to breaking my concentration is the creepy hobo yelling at me.
[b]Shut the f$!! up![/b/] I yell back in only half hushed tones, annoyed at his implication that I'm going to die eventually. Seriously screw that guy. I'm not even 30 yet.
I pause to consider my location once I reach the corner of the warehouse and immediately start moving towards the underpass of the bridge. I know I'll need to keep moving once I'm there, but at least I can stay out of sight of the AV that's trying to light me up.
I choose to ignore the headlights for now, focusing on keeping the monokatana handy but out of sight so that nobody calls the cops on me.
I don't bother to look over my shoulder right away to make sure that the car has totally passed me. I'm not ignorant of the risk, I just don't want to look suspicious.
I just need to catch a cab to a coffin so I can make a few calls...
I try to move in a way that keeps the overpass covering me as much as possible. Once I get away from the AV and close to a place with a cab, I can move a bit faster.
You dash across the street and cringe at another muffled shot from the sniper, but the shot hits the pavement near you. With great relief you reach the cover of the underpass and manage not to get hit by the approaching car. The AV makes some passes, but you manage to avoid being seen. Likewise, you catch glimpses of the men following you, but now that you have slipped the net, it is not too difficult to elude them.
Eventually, you make your way south to the Mallplex. It is a small city unto itself. In addition to over 60 retail shops, the mallplex also has several residential towers which house roughly 5,000 people. It also has restaurants, fire stations, educational facilities, power generators, and its own police force. Several corporations have call centers and factory spaces under the building that employee many of the residents, while the rest work in the shops. One could, in theory, live their entire life in the mall and never have to leave. To many it is an Orwellian hive that reduces people into mindless insects.
Before approaching the Mallplex, you stop by the connected parking garage (a massive building by itself). You stored your PDA in a well hidden crack in the building. Your PDA is similar to a smartphone, but it is the size of sharpie marker. It has a pullout touch sensitive screen the size of a small tablet and uses motion sensing and voice input. It acts as your phone and computer, and it has an imbedded, but non-networked, electronic currency chip that holds encrypted electronic currency codes. It also serves as your identification papers when combined with your biometric information.
The coffin hotel, a Staylite Micro-Room Hotel, is located on the bottom floor of the Mallplex and has it's own entrance. This is important because it means that you are not required go through the Mallplex's stringent security check. You enter the "lobby" of the hotel, which is actually just a small room with doors at either end. On one wall is a video monitor, a chip reader, a metal drawer, and a video camera.
On the monitor is a distinctive CGI head that appears in all of Staylite's commercials and billboards. It is programed to look like an aged Robert Patterson with traditional Dracula style dress and widow's peak. It speaks with heavy fake Transylvanian accent. "Good Evening Mr. Smith, would you like a room again?" Smith is the name you gave the first time you stayed at a Staylight Hotel, and their facial recognition software has linked the name to your likeness. Somewhere in a nearby room, a Staylite employee speaks in his normal voice as he reads the greeting off of a monitor. The computer adds Robert Patterson's voice tones and the thick accent. It also makes the figure on the monitor smiles broadly (showing pointed teeth), and moves it's lips to the words. The computer cannot cover the bored monotone with which the employee speaks though.
You answer in affirmative and stick the end of your PDA in the chip reader. Anonymous encrypted numbers are transferred and, with a push of a button to confirm, you have paid your five credits. The metal drawer comes out of the wall and inside is a combination lock with a small paper showing the combination and some papery sheets. The far door opens and you step into a narrow hallway.
Along either wall are lines of small 3ft by 3 ft doors stacked 4 stories tall. Horizontal plastic bars between the doors provide access to the upper stacks. Each door has a window with a curtain inside that can be shut and a hasp where you can attach the combination lock. You approach your assigned coffin near the end of the bottom row and open the door. The inside has a LED to light the room, an imbedded monitor along the ceiling, and a card reader for paying for internet or cable access. The inside of the door has a bar which you can use to lock it from inside. It smells of disinfectant and an underlying odor you don't really care to think about too much.
After the night I've had, the boredom which I'm greeted with is a welcome change. I might normally make a snarky remark at the guy, but tonight I'm totally ok having some minimum wage earner treat me as a minor nuisance for interrupting his TV time - as long as he doesn't shoot at me. Or taze me. Or inject me with whateverthehell is inside me right now.
I crawl inside my coffin and let out a deep sigh. Now that the adrenaline has faded my leg sports one of those obnoxious dull, throbbing aches from where I took a bullet. I check myself out to make sure the damage isn't too bad.
Well crap, I'm going to have to get that fixed. I mumble to myself upon seeing the damage to my armor and skinweave.
I resist the urge to comfort myself by drinking or looking at old pictures. It's something I used to do back on So Am when I was on tour and I was feeling lonely like I do right now. Instead, I shake my head as if to physically remove the clutter from my brain and start to think.
Who can I call about this? I have to get checked out or something. I wonder if Dawkins is awake...
I scroll through my PDA until I find the entry for Matthew Dawkins, my old buddy in military intelligence. I tap the little green phone picture and wait with baited breath to see if he'll pick up for me.
You know that a few years ago Matt transferred from the Defense Intelligence Agency to the Northern California National Guard Military Intelligence Corps. In the current political climate the NCNG is essentially it's own army now. It no longer answers to the national command chain and considers the governor of California it's Commander and Chief. The transfer actually works to your advantage as the US military has minimal presence in California anymore, just seeing to National border security. Other than the still powerful US Military the NCNG is second only to the Independent Texas Militia as the most powerful military force in the western hemisphere. As a member of NCNG's Intelligence Corps Dawkins is more likely to have access to information about happenings in California than if he were still at the DIA.
His face appears in your PDA screen. It seems like you have woken him up. Considering that it is nearing 4am and he has a government job, you probably have. "Max? Is that you?" His eyes dart upwards toward the time display on his own PDA, "At zero four hundred, I'm assuming that you are in some kind of trouble."
As soon as I see his face I wince. I knew it was late (or early if I'm being honest) but I never bothered to check the time. That combined with the fact that our friendship was built over late nights made me feel like a bit of an ass for not taking his current circumstances into account.
Uhh, hey buddy. Yeah it's Max. Listen Matt, I know it's really early but I really have to talk to you about some stuff. Can you maybe meet me for breakfast or coffee or something? If not today then tomorrow? It's really important and I can't really talk about it on the phone.
Matt agree's to meet you at 1 o'clock this afternoon at a fast food joint in the City Center (see neighborhoods in the campaign info tab). The restaurant is on the ground floor of one of many small brick buildings collectively called "the Hole". The most timely and time effective way to get there will be a pedi taxi. It will take about 20 minutes in traffic and will cost four credits with tip.
What are you doing in the mean time?
I'm relieved to know that Matt will meet me and that takes a good deal of stress of my shoulders. The only thing that seems to be left now is the post-adrenaline exhaustion and worry about whatever the hell might be floating through my body. I move to put my PDA away when I decide to stay up another few minutes. Idly, I open a game or two on my phone, look at some social media, and inevitably end up going to look at some old photos of Megan and I. I debate calling or texting her for about 10 seconds before I finally shake the thought off and put my PDA down.
I decide the best thing to do is try and get a little bit of sleep before making my way to the Hole to talk to Matt. I close my eyes and allow myself to drift off, not even bothering to set an alarm for myself. When I wake several hours later, my stomach is growling so I roll out of my coffin and head to the Hole so I can snag some food and try to figure things out with Matt.