..."Sounds like you are in. Wiz! Let's not beat around the bush then. EVO corp has a facility across the way here, everyone knows that, but did you know what they are doing under ground? I don't either. Find out. Do this and I will out fit you all from my special stash so we can get to the real fun."
Beta-Axe is average height for a dwarf. He sports an auburn Mohawk and a wirey foot long beard. His left temple is covered with a datajack and a cable runs down over his left ear and under the turned up collar of his grey trench coat. It links into the hidden cyber deck that's strapped to the inside of his left forearm. He wears heavy black boots, kahki cargo pants and a grey trench coat over his black armoured jacket.
He glances about the restaurant (bar?), taking in the place for a second time before looking back at the gaunt Elf. " Mars sounds hella interesting everyone wants to know what EVO are doing up there, a recon job in exchange for equipment though? Equipment doesn't pay the rent chummer, but as long as it leads to more work... maybe. " He looks at the other runners around the table to see what they have to say.
Secretary pours another spoonful of sugar in her already molasses-like coffee, throwing a glance at the ork. Profiling puts him as either a ganger or a dealer. Keep an eye out on who he talks to., she puts a mental note to herself.
Secretary looks like a, well, a secretary who'd just left work for a night out in town. A casually unbuttoned shirt and a well-tailored suit. Reddish hair in a short, trendy haircut and light make-up, she looks around the room with feigned excitement. He's not your everyday Johnson, is it., she turns to the elf, and puts a polite smile on her face.
"That's not quite how runners usually do business, as my colleague said.", she says. "Though, I can't say you didn't pique my interest.", she continues. "What are you offering upfront, and is there something we need to know about what they have above ground?"
How much sugar is this damn pixie going to put into her coffee? And those clothes, who does she think she is, Lady Telestrian?
What's that Ork doing?
A man with slightly Oriental lineaments, somehow muddled by a pair of glassy cybereyes, takes a swig of soykaf -black- with a glance at the elf offering the unusual job. Dandelion eaters always think they can just change the rules whenever they like. I'm so sick of their attitude.
"Yeah, that's not how things usually roll. We have no Johnson, we have no precise target, and we're taking only your word on the payment. Sure, I could use some new gear, but I'd like sounding nuyen better, without the hassle of selling stuff. But my last Fixer found himself at odds with the Mafia, so right now he's likely at the bottom of the Charles River and I'm out of a job, so let's talk business. As the ke- I mean, girl, mentioned, down payment. Then site recon, and whatever it is we're looking for. Hard data? Just a report? A Matrix dump? Don't want to come back to you b*@#%ing that that's not what you wanted."
Waiting for her newfound companion to finish speaking, Secretary's ears twitched almost imperceptively as 'keeb' was almost mentioned. Racism towards elves was practically unheard of in the corporate world, and she still wasn't used to it. Even had to look up a word once or twice. She blinked twice rapidly, throwing a glance at the Johnson to see if he wasn't offended, before preparing her answer.
Not that I'd care as much, but those toaster eyes of his couldn't have missed the fact that the guy is an elf as well? And revealing that this is a rare chance at employment is surely to cut into the payment. She bites her lip. And, yes. You honey, you'll have a problem selling water in a desert.
Secretary took a sip from her coffee, then turned a charming smile towards Blacksap, straightening a non-existing scruff on her salmon coloured shirt. "Actually,", she started saying cheerfully, yet with the undertone of someone explaining advanced thaumaturgy to a troll razorboy, "Mr. Johnson is everyone that offers a task for a reward. If I asked you to pass me the sugar, and after you did I said thanks, I'd be your Mr. Johnson!" She smiled. "And if I didn't say thanks, you'd be much more inclined to tell me to frag off next time, since I didn't reward you with polite metahuman interaction." That guy had better be a savant at something.
Why you f*°@%$ pixie, could you be a bit more patronizing?
"Thanks for the lecture, Miss Johnson" Blacksap replies with a voice dripping acid "how nice to have an expert in polite metahuman interaction among us. And such a refined lady, to boot.
But you'll agree that having a Fixer be a Johnson as well is not a good thing, since the first thing they told me when I started running was that Fixer were to be trusted, while Johnsons would try to screw me over. So, what's it going to be, chummer? Should we trust you or will you try to pull a fast one on us?"
"All good points indeed. As to your first point, I am currently a bit dry on nuyen. My customers all pay with EVO or Aztech script, which I have overextended for my next batch of BTLs. However, I do have an extensive stash of equipment I smuggled back with me when I left Mars." Shirow sips his drink again before continuing.
"As to your second point. I do not have a good answer. If you can find hard data that is useful, but if all you have is a report for me that will suffice also. Until I know what's going on down there I can not give you a specific target. From the chatter I have been able to collect I know its related to Mars and the reason I had to leave, but the host is completely internal and I do not know how to access it. I hate labels, but to be clear - I am not Mr. Johnson. I am a go between. A fixer. Once you prove your ability in this simple task I can trust you with some more lucrative clients for side jobs, but I guarantee the big job I am offering you has the potential to pay out more than anything you'll find in Boston."
If visual:
If audio:
Perception + Intuition:
Deacon approaches the elf who called him earlier, briefly scanning the others already talking with him.
Elf, ork, cybered up human, seems like the guy's got a decent idea of a crew, at least.
"Hoi, chummer. I'm Deacon, we spoke on the phone." Human, Deacon is a bit under 2 m tall, with a slim build. He wears a heavy synthleather jacket over well worn casual clothes and workboots. The butt of a pistol peek out from a concealed shoulder holster built into the jacket while the yellow grip of a taser shows at his right hip.
"A minimal info run on triple-A, operating on spec with an unknown team? Seems like a fairly interesting way to end up in a cage or on a slab. The gear you're offering had better be quite high-end to make that proposition worthwhile, hear?"
Deacon remains on alert, scanning the crowd and watching the exits as he talks.
The kid's been quiet so far. Sitting hunched into the cheap synthleather couch in the bar, eyes half on the fixer and half on the elf chick. She's way out of his league, but he's not going to pass up the chance for a sly glance or two if they're working together. Wearing a pair of stonewashed jeans and a red MIT&T hoodie he fits in with most of the clientele here, though he doesn't look to comfortable about that.
"I'm always up for new gear. I have a knack for spending nuyen quicker than I can earn it, so I've got no complaints. Some guarantee of the... quality... of the goods would be nice though.
Sounds like the job couldn't be easier. Send in the fly on one of the Ork's shoulders, sit on my hands in the van for ten minutes and leg it if and when the drek hits the fan... So what's the catch?
Beta-Axe shifts a little nervously and grimaces when Elf fixer mentions BTLs, but at the mention of the internal host,
" Offline Host, huh, that's old school. All the best info is kept offline, I'm sure I'll be able to find someplace to hook in and get you all sorts of tasty data. Alright, I'm in! " the dwarf says, nodding his head.
When asked about the quality of the gear, Shirow grabs a fork off the table and jams it into his hand. The fork bends. "Hel Skin. Combining some of the best features of Second Skin and a Hel suit for top EVO execs on mars. Bleeding edge. I have enough for one more application for the right person. Just one example of what I have to offer. "
"'Ware? No offense, chummer, but that ain't my biz. Too much chrome, or genetweaked org's, or what have, and my mojo goes all fizzle. And I am not about to see it leave me like that."
Deacon looks thoughtful at the display of 'ware.
"Now, if you've got a line on some foci, or got a couple suitcases of hermetic reagents, then you're talking my style. Not sayin' no, mind, just layin' out that 'ware ain't gonna hold water with me."
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Not any more, buddy. Not any more. The smile on Secretary's face flashes true for a second. "Social interaction is a very underappreciated skill in the running environment. I could recommend some reading on the matter. Or a trideo channel, if you're not one for reading." She turns away from the table once more, then closes her eyes. You can't make him act professional, Kowalska, but you're supposed to be one. Being a smartass doesn't protect you from bullets. She flashes a corporate smile as the newcomer walks in, then can't help but raise a plucked eyebrow in interest as Shirow jams the fork in his hand. Well, damn. I guess that's why we paid so much for EVO ware specialists. Might even interest me, but I should really stay away from Uncanny Valley. She nods at the college kid. "Oh, I know what you mean. If the 'ware's as good as it seems, we could liquidate it afterwards, or trade-in."
As both the tall human and the dwarf spoke up, she nodded. Slinger and a decker. First one sounds seasoned, the second one doesn't like BTL. Good to know. She tapped on the table, taking another sip from the Caramel Carnage Cream latte, then licks her lips. "Right. So we need a plan. Let's analyse our strong suits. I gather that we have a mage and a decker. I'm Secretary. I work infiltration and, as it was already established, a face. I'm also a good shot with a pistol, but I'd really prefer that's not part of plan A. Or B through E. I hope nobody's picked up running after a Miracle Shooter binge.", she mentions, with a somewhat sarcastic tone. "We have your details, Shirow. We'll call you after we're done."
Deacon offers his hand to Secretary and Beta-Axe in turn.
"Deacon. As you've surmised, I can use the Gift. Primarily focus on zapping, but I have several tricks up my sleeve. And this particular spell rarely ever leaves my side, ya scan?" He pats the side of his jacket, where an oversized pistol hangs.
"So, we're crazy enough to take this job on, on spec, and against the E? Fair enough, do any of you have a spot we can chat, or do we need to go find a room to rent?"
the second one doesn't like BTL.
Beta's eyes go a little wide as Shirow shows off his Hel Skin, the dwarf had some pretty tough dermal plating on his back, chest, thighs and arms but the Hel Skin looked pretty good to him.
" One last question, " Beta says to Shirow as Secretary move she to conclude the meeting. " You got any idea on the security we'll be facin'? Physical or Astral? "
Beta-Axe shakes Deacon's hand. " You can call me Beta, or Axe, or Halfer for all I care, s'long as I'm bein' paid. He he. Hackin's my game... I got a place we can use to make some plans, it's not the cleanest but it's private enough. "
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"All needs can been seen too master Deacon I assure you. As to liquidating, that I would caution against. The items I offer are extremely rare and a sly gumshoe could trace them back to me." Shirow mentions his tone a bit more serious. He looks at secretary and nods "I look forward to hearing what you have found."
*
"Security on the ground level is intense. Expect a few wagemages and armed patrols. I do not know what you'll find in the underground."
"Sounds wiz. Beta, pleasure ta meetcha. Don't worry about the Halfer cracks, least not from me. I've got a "let 'me be" policy towards folks who ain't shootin' at me."
A small ruckus at the door into the club draws your attention to what looks like a homeless man in a tattered greatcoat and ratty old sneakers. After a bit of talking with the bouncer, the fellow holds out an honest to goodness 20¥ bill to the cooler. The fellow seems confused as what to do with the paper money, but after a few seconds takes the grubby bill and allows the man in.
Much to your distaste, the fellow makes a bee line to your table. Up close he seems to look like an average human, but on who has fallen on hard times, or perhaps has never known good ones. While his clothes are tattered and oft-patched, they are relatively clean, and the smell you feared that might follow the fellow like a lethal miasma, is absent.
"Hoi chummers. I take it this is the right place? Mr. Johnson I assume?"
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Well it doesn't sound like most of us have many other options, so I'm in.
Sparky looks up and actually appears to be paying attention now.
You can call me Sparky. I guess most folks would call me a rigger, but I'm happy to get my hands on anything with wires, gears and servos. The more soft aspects of technology are probably best left to Axe here. I'm the one bringing in the electric cavalry if you catch my drift
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"Hoi, It's the right place if you're looking for work and you're more able than appearances suggest."
Once back in his van Beta boots up his deck and drops into the Matrix (Hot Sim) He looks over the EVO corps host to see what kind of challenge it would present for his skills.
Blacksap takes another swig of coffee, plainly ignoring Secretary. As Shirow shows off the Hel-Skin, his eyebrows go up. Wiz. Been wanting to get some better armor for a while.
"I'm in. You can call me Blacksap. My specialty is, let's say, scouting and heavy security. I shoot things, I stab things, variations on the theme. Nice to meetcha and all."
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Once away from prying ears and eyes, Deacon speaks up again.
"So, a limited info, self-directed datagrab from a Triple-A corp with an underground bunker in the middle of Boston Metroplex? Other than sitting around and watching from a distance for a while, anyone got any leads?"
He cracks a can of Nerps cola, slugging it back.
"Secretary, you got any corp-friends, maybe get some intel on the who's and what's around the place? I can scan the astral, leave my shoes at Beta's place for a bit, maybe get a spirit to look around. Beta and Sparky maybe can scan the 'trix for some info?"
Palming through his commlink, Deacon frowns slightly.
"Well, I doubt my talismonger or fixer contacts will have any details for us, anyone else wanna phone a friend?"
Secretary idly looks around the place, sending a curt nod at the newcomer. All shapes and sizes. Though, hopefully, no trolls., she thinks, finishing her coffee as the others make their introductions. Hm. Team looks solid., she sends one final appraising glare over the metahumans with the eye of a trained Mr. Johnson. She pushed her glasses up her nose, as if to fit them back into place, and a prompt command appears in the party's commlinks.
/.- Device detected - Transys Avalon.
/.- OS: Ares Chaperone Rouge v.1.12e.c
/.- Origin - Unknown Contact
/.- Establish Connection, Y/N?
---------------------------
As she walks into the van, Anika takes a good look around. Hm. Frankly, I expected more empty FeverFizz cans around in here. Or half-empty packets of krill chips., she thinks, as she pats down a couple of crumbs from the seat, before sitting down. She drops a heavy dufflebag in her feet, then reaches into her jacket, pulling out an Ares Predator with an integral silencer, and double-checking the weapon. Almost as reliable as an AK-97, but one can never be too sure. She stares down the trench sights towards the front seats, the AR responding to the smartgun system with lightning speed. Well, this is it. First run with a team vetted by MResources. At least I don't have to file five fragging reports no drekhead bothers to read.
As Deacon speaks up, Secretary sends an innocent smile at the mage. "What could possibly lead you to assume I, of all people, would have corporate contacts?", before shaking her head. "Nobody I could reach on such a short notice." And he might need proof before picking up the link. She fiddles with one of her locks.
"Hm. Hold that thought. Actually, maybe I can reach someone, but it's a long shot." Reaching the commlink behind her pointy ear, a small keyboard appears in front of her, as her fingers start moving with blinding speed.
++Hi, Cap! Quick question, got anything on the EVO facility under the Rox? Ready to offer a pair of Sox tickets in return, you pick a game. Just don't ask me to watch it with you.++
She closes the commlink VR, and turns back towards Deacon. "Well. Let's hope neo-tribalism trumps common sense, and he's actually willing to give me actual information for a game.", she shakes her head.
Deacon doesn't even blink as he accepts the connect request from the Avalon.
Via DNI: <"Fancy 'link. Nice piece, too. I take it you're a fan of the old standbys, more than rock 'n roll heaters? Think we can patch everyone's comms through Beta's deck, beef up the firewall a tad?">
Deacon boots up his microtransciever, placing a small ARO up as a "Connection Invited" icon to tag.
"So, any allergies or other issues I should know about? Wouldn't wanna use an antibiotic or analgesic that sends ya off to lala land, or closes up your throat."
Deacon prepares to exclude certain treatments and meds from individuals on his 'link, depending on their answers.
<"A good commlink is essential if you want to be convincing. You'd be surprised how many smartasses throw thousands for a Armante suit or a Zoe dress, and try and mix up with high society, with a Azzie-made Meta Link knockoff on their wrists.>", she explains as she holsters the Predator. "Anything smaller, it's not really useful when you need it." A posh smile appears on her face "and anything bigger, I'm risking chastisement from my tailor."
"As for the healing, no allergies. Some light 'ware, though. And I'll wait for Beta-Axe to come back until I patch anything through." Not getting slotted out of a job again...
"Umm..Hi? Sorry I was late, but...the...bus...hey, where is everyone going? I just spend a weeks worth of food money to just get in here and now we're leaving?"
The disheveled man follows after the group and jumps into the van.
"Wiz wheels! So whats the plan? Oh, by the way, I'm Sweeper. I'm good at getting into places and really good at personal defense."
He looks around the van and seems pretty impressed with the wealth shown there.
Before getting to Beta-Axe's van, Blacksap stops by a decrepit Honda Spirit, taking out a large golf bag. As he looks around the digs, he takes out an impressive array of weapons, most of them evidently illicit, and starts weighing them.
As the contact request pops up on his eyes' AR, he accepts it with a casual touch on his good old Renraku Sensei.
"No allergies for me either, they wiped them off my system. And my only useful contact is dead. But I can get nearby and case the place."
He takes out of the bag a heavy-duty Ares Predator V, a taser and several knives. "I'll just take some light weaponry to scout the place." As he's loading flashbangs on his belt, you can see that his left arm is a cyberlimb as well, matte black metal from the elbow down. "Sweeper, want to come scout the place with me? Sparky?"
"Hey, uh, sweeper - you need some chow, I can hook you up. I think I got some granola bars or something in my bag. No sense going around hungry, if ya can avoid it, right?"
Deacon pats around his pockets, fishing out a foil wrapped ClydeBar, and tosses it Sweeper's way.
"Seems like a workable first look, phys assests get eyes on, while Beta and me scope the esoteric realms. If ya'all don't mind, lemme get a decent look atcha, make sure I can pick ya out from the background signatures."
Deacon shifts into astral perception, carefully looking at each member of the crew in turn.
Assensing:
- 1 hit: General State of subject's health (healty, injured, ill, etc)
General emotional state or impression
Whether mundane or Awakened
- 2 hits: Presence & location of cyberware
Class of a magical subject (fire elemental, manipulation spell, etc)
Able to recognise aura if seen again
- 3 hits: Presence of alphaware implants
Whether Essence and Magic are higher, lower, or equal to mine
Whether Force is higher, lower, or equal to my Magic
General diagnosis for any maladies present
Any astral signatures present.
- 4 hits: Presence and location of bioware and/or betaware implants
Exact Essence, Magic, and Force of subject
General cause of astral signature (combat spell, alchemical combat preparation, etc)
- 5+ hits: Presence and lcoation of deltaware, gene treatments, and nanotech
Accurate diagnosis of any disease or toxins
The fact that the subject is a technomancer
Physically, Blacksap is fit and well-exercised; emotionally, he's feeling generally uncomfortable, partly at the situation and partly from some background dissatisfaction with his life. Also, he's mundane as can be.
He has cyberware in his eyes, his left arm, a datajack and a set of wired reflexes. All standard, no alphaware.
Essence is lower than yours, no magic, diseases or astral signatures to speak of (unless I'm missing some rules).
Secretary is physically healthy, and in good shape. Emotionally, she's slightly nervous, and she's mundane as a brick, with 4.5 Essence.
Her most invasive piece of bioware is a Boosted Reflexes bioware, a fully expanded nervous system, and alongside it there's a small cluster in the hand-eye coordination part of her brain. Her bone marrow's producing more platelets by several orders of magnitude. Topping everything off is a small modification to her glands, producing more pheromones than usual.
Throwing a glance at Blacksap, she gives an approving nod at the loadout. "Good choice.", she says in a curt, professional tone. "If all of us go, we can cover the ground better. And", she says, all the earlier cheerfulness in her voice earlier, when she talked to Deacon, gone, replaced by a flat, informative voice. As he starts gearing up, she does so, too. With a tap to the ear, all of her exposed skin from the neck down changes into midnight black, as she starts taking off her suit. Sorry boys. She folds the suit, and places it and her shoes in her back, picking up a set of lockpicks, a grappling gun and three different magazines on the back of her belt. Re-checking her Second Skin's camouflage properties, she briefly blends into the van's interior. "Ready when you are."
"Thanks Deacon! Wiz skin there Secretary! I have a few items which may help us get into tight places"
Sweeper takes out a maglock passkey, a set of lock picks and a sequencer. All the items are well cared for, if a little old.
"I do not use weapons, sorry. But I am really good up close and personal, and am usually quiet enough to get near my target! Dont last long in the Barrens if you can't move quietly and take care of yourself...am I right!"
"Too true, Sweeper, too true indeed. If we're heading in now, we might as well do it. Perhaps retire to a position where we can spot the overground structure, then scan it up? I might as well call up some assistance while we're waiting."
Deacon goes a bit vacant for a minute, calling up a fire elemental to aid him on this plane.
"Okay, I've got a powerful fire elemental hanging around, he'll be good for about 5 separate tasks or dawn, whichever comes first."
Init: 15+2d6; Atral Init: 12+3d6
Body: 7
Agility: 8
Reaction: 9
Strength: 4
Will: 6
Logic: 6
Intuition: 7
Charisma: 6
Edg: 3
Essence: 6
Magic: 6
Skills: Assensing, Astral Combat, Exotic Ranged Weapon, Flight, Perception, Unarmed Combat (10p fire, ap -6)
Powers: Accident, Astral Form, Confusion, Elemental Attack, Energy Aura (Add 6 to unarmed damage; if hit = 12p fire, ap -6), Engulf (12p fire, ap -6), Materialization, Sapience
Optional Powers:
Armor: Immunity to Normal Weapons (Hardened Armor = 12, half of armor value in auto hits before rolling resistance)
Weakness: Allergy (water, severe)
Special: +5 meters/hit when sprinting
Argyle, the dwarf bartender at knockers exclaims "Damn kids! No spirits inside the bar! You know the rules! I'll call your professors at MIT@T just see if I don't!"
"He ain't inside the bar, chum. He ain't even on this plane of existence! Null persp, I'll take him outside."
Beta-Axe hops into a beat up looking Navy blue GMC Bulldog with dark tinted widows, it's got plenty of small dents and scratches but no major damage, nothing distinctive... inside it's clean and tidy, the boot space is given over to racking full of tools and comlink, and computer parts. The trim looks pretty new suggesting that the damage to the outside is a facade.
Emotional state is so so, perhaps a little excited to be on the job in the matrix.
Beta is mundane
No spells or spirits obviously
Essence is lower than yours, not magically active.
In VR Beta-Axe has a quick look about the area, his persona, a metallic skinned dwarf flits here and there inspecting the host of the EVO building. An ARO pops up next to him and he quickly ok's the connection to Secretary's Comlink, linking his comlink up so he's free to reboot his deck if required without loosing connection with the team.
A moment later he groans as he switches back to AR and feels his body again. He quickly reboots his deck (running silently of course)
"Alright got a little look at my opposition... there's a fire escape at the rear of the building within a fenced in yard. Could be a possible point of egress. I didn't get a chance to hack in and look for a proper blueprint yet."
"If people want to scout out the building physically I'm cool with that just let me know if you need me to grab any cameras or pop any mag locks. I'm also happy to cover anybodies gear if they want to have a little extra protection. Lets not try to storm the castle just yet though, till we have a chance to plan something out a little..." the dwarf says, inviting everyone to link into his PAN.
Beta gets ready to jump back into the Matrix if needed also linking his micro-tranceiver to the groups network so he can comunicate subvocally.
Deacon sits in the passenger seat of Beta's van, having summoned a spirit.
"Thanks, Beta, here's the ARO. OK, I have a spirit nearby, and am ready to leave my shoes to scan the area, but I don't wanna do that unless we're staying put."
Deacon links his commlink to Beta's deck and settles in as comfortably as possibke, securing the seatbelt.
Infiltration suit? Perhaps she isn't just another pretentious good-for-nothing keeb.
"A fire escape, how classic. We'll have to watch out for any cameras, of course. Well, how about we head there and get a feel in meatspace and astral... stuff?"
Blacksap looks at a heavy crossbow, considering whether to pack it.
"Ummm..I don't have a comm...sorry. But I could probably get a look at the outer security. Street people are common all over and generally blend into the background for most people."
"Here kid, use this one. It's brand new, just gotta crack the plastic and log on. It's a hunk o' ceap, but it beats going comm silent forever "
Deacon pulls a wrapped Metalink commlink from a pocket and hands it over to Sweeper.
"Gonna need some accessories to get it fully operational, but at least you can use your fingers and the screen for now."
You all leave "Knockers" and the ork some of you noticed before near the door eyes you leave. It is early evening and the traffic is heavy. A local bloodsport is the hot ticket tonight in the south Rox.
Thankfully that means traffic flowing north towards your target it lite, though leaving may be a bit more trouble...
Sweeper smiles and takes the comm from Deacon.
"Thanks! I'll pay you back from whatever we get from this show...ummm..what are we getting?"
Secretary pulls down her hood, then nods at Deacon and Sweeper. Well prepared, that one. "Hi, Sweeper. Pleased to meet you, sorry about us rushing out." She puts her hands behind her back, and sits straight. "Name's Secretary, Infiltration and face. Deacon,", she points towards the tall human, "Mage. Beta-Axe is our Decker, Sparky is the rigger, and Blacksap is our sam." The corporate vocabulary comes out completely natural, her accent carrying no street traces whatsoever.
"Mission objective statement is to infiltrate underground EVO laboratory, and report. Side objectives to obtain data evidence found within." She looks around, pausing for the others to introduce, if they'd like, then continues. "Johnson unknown, we're working with Shirow as fixer. Payment promised in prototype gear, and we're reporting back to Shirow. His intel suggest heavy meatspace security." She concludes the report, then looks at Sweeper, leaning back in the seat and relaxing her stiff exterior. "Looks like a solid team,", she comments as she looks around, eyes remaining on Blacksap for a moment. Well, at least jackass is packing light and quiet. And there's no fragging Warhawks anywhere to be seen.
"Yup, Secretary's got about the long and short of it. TL/DL; we ain't getting paid cash monies, we're getting the promise of "fancy EVO Mars tech" for at least one person. Well, that plus whatever other paydata we can score along the way."
Deacon gets a bit thoughtful for a moment, then decides to spill with it.
"I understand at least a few of you may be green to this job, but one thing to remember: CorpSec may be our opposition, but they don't necessarily need to die. Zapper rounds, KO holds, and tasers are key here. Also, it might seem like a great idea to snag their pieces, 'links, or whatnot, but it ain't. Unless you're emptying that goon's AR back at his buddies, or pulling the pin on a frag to send downrange, it's a trap. Too many bugs, too many RFID's to count, it'll trip you up and paint a target on our backs when they come back for vengeance."