Edmund returns to his home and gathers up the rest of his equipment, then desends to the buildings underground parking and, removing the tarp covering it, starts up his Toyota Gopher. He attaches his rifle to the rack behind the driver's seat and pulls out into the evening traffic. In short order, he is back with the others.
"Well now, did not know if we were going far and who had what for transportation. Not a beauty, I know, but one must cope with what one can get" he says, referring to the slightly battered truck.
Trog Rock was a wonderful balm to enhance the razor boy's calm, taking the staccato rhythm of his heart to something more in the normal range.
A foot starts bouncing once again, without his leave, but this time it marches in time with the chromatic assault.
Synxol smiles sheepishly from the depths of his hoodie, "Wiz."
"Glad ya dig it. Most non trolls or orcs tend to not like it." Red says with a wicked grin. The red LED lighting from the dashboard gave the elf slightly demonic looking features for a few moments. The illusion was shattered when the Bulldog rolled under a working street light.
Turning the Trog Rock up a couple of notches, the two ride in silence, enjoying the screaming metal bursting from the van's speakers.
Pulling up into the parking lot behind the Neutral Ground, the rigger pulls up to the others. After a few moments, letting the current song end, the rigger mutes the tunes. Cutting the engine, Red leaves the Bulldog in Stand By, and unplugs himself from the van.
Hoping out of the Bulldog, Red nods to the others, closing the door behind him.
"S'up chummers, long time no see," Red says with a half-grin. Glancing at the Hunter's Toyota Gopher, the rigger nods as Edmund finishes speaking.
"Nothing wrong with a Gopher, Toyota still makes a decent truck. Might look a little clean for the Barrens, but not enough to stand out," the elf comments. "Any fun mods banging around under the hood?" the rigger asks Edmund.
"Id does for what I need. It is mostly stock. I have not owned it very long, so have not had the time to make any real adjustments."
He does not add that he does not have the money for such additions as well!
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"Right on. Well, if or when you're in the market, I know a few people who might be able to throw something fun under the hood," the rigger says, looking over the truck.
"Actual, thinking about trucks, I need to make a quick call. Friend o' mine runs a couple of chop shops. She doesn't work out of the Redmond Barrens, but she hears a lot in the community. 'scuse me a moment." The rigger takes a few steps away, bringing up his 'links contact list.
Mentally, Red dials up his contact Ziggy D. He and the troll had an off and on relationship one of the few people he was actually somewhat emotionally invested in. Plus she was a true savant when it came to vehicles. For some reason, the troll had taken a liking to the elf, seemingly enjoying his company. And the rigger enjoyed her company, it was liked dumping a full tank of NOS into his veins, shaking the elf out of "blah" that was his normal day-to-day.
"Hey babe," the elf smiles warmly into the AR window. Red looks like he is actually feeling the warm he is showing to Ziggy, his face a touch more animated then normal. By agreement, he always called with the vid active. "I got a small favor to ask of you. I'm looking for a specific truck, and was wondering if you or any other shops might have seen it come through." Red pauses for a moment, bring up the pic of the truck in his cybereyes. He gives Ziggy the make and model of the truck, including the vehicles tracking numbers. "If you would be so kind to see if the truck has shown up, I would be forever grateful. Not to mention covering your going rate, I'll sweeten the pot." The elf's face carries a bedroom smile and winks roguishly . "We'll hit up the Big Rhino, my treat, of course."
Aside from the great real meat and food at the Big Rhino, Ziggy loved going with the restaurant that caters to orcs and trolls. Mostly because of the static that the big folk tried to give the near unflappable Red. There where a few slight advantages to the dissociation that clings to the rigger.
After a few chirps on the comm, Ziggy's large troll face pops up in Red's AR display. She smiles widely as you mention the Rhino.
"Oy, Red! Howsithangin'? Truck? What kinda truck? Gotta id or pic a da ride?" Her eyes narrow slightly at the thought of new vehicle acquisition, knowing Red's proclivities and late-night jobs.
"Okay, boyo, got da deets. Lemme check a few places and peoples, I'll give you a call soon's I can."
(4 Hits, no glitch)
<About 30 minutes later...>
"Red - I could use some help later finding a ride. Nothing flashy...discreet, family friendly, and able to take a few potshots."
Ahlwin quickly retreats from meatspace and begins to construct map overlays of the original path for the transport, where it was last sighted, any public camera footage of the two suspicious vehicles before the incident, and rough territories of Corps and major gangs.
Once that's completed, Al begins to narrow down which secure feeds he'll have to check off.
Flashes of his past rode with him. There was so much blood on his hands, caked 'neath his fingernails, and packing the creases.
Everything he had ever cared about, or built his life upon was as sand under his feet.
All he had left was to never kill a child.
The Yaks provided an excuse of acquisition of wealth or power, but all he wanted was to end every corp puppet he could get away with and burn everything down around their misbegotten heads.
Synxol considers Hawarti's words. People were unsettled by him and his newly acquired augmentation; something he had only controlled to this point with a cocktail of stimulants and depressants.
"Yeah, shouldn't be an issue chummer. As it happens, I know a couple people," Red says to Ahlwin with a sly grin with a nod of his head. The rigger was chilling, leaning against his van as he keeps an eye on their surroundings. He was glad he had caught Ziggy rather then getting stuck in a video MailBox.
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The Redmond Barrens used to be a series of exceptionally wealthy and influential communities in the greater Seattle metroplex, leading up to, surviving, and thriving in the early Sixth World economy.
Tech powerhouses like Microsoft thrived, eventually being subsumed and assimilated into ever larger Megacorporations. Seattle overflowed its traditional boundaries and became the huge sprawl it is today.
A series of rather unfortunate events struck the outlying areas, resulting in massive property damage, depopulation, and the virtual abandonment of the area by the city government.
In a nutshell:
North of there, the Nestle-Carnation Seattle Ranch straddles the actual border. A huge outdoor ranch, the corporation employs both Seattle and Salish personnel to run its operation. Focused on cattle, goats, and other livestock, the porosity of the border leads to a significantly easier time crossing from one land to another. Many folks working there have a hand in the coyote business, either on the side or as their primary living.
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The Irish-Italian Mafia has long standing in the city proper, controlling such things as gambling, loan-sharking, gun-running, and bootleg alcohol. They have fingers in pretty much every kind of criminal pie you can imagine, relying on street muscle like The First Nations and smaller gangs to handle light work or more dirty jobs.
Their direct competitors are the Japanese Yakuza clans, or rengu. This group immigrated up from California Free State and The Imperial Japanese State years and years ago. They handle a lot of the city's prostitution, person-smuggling, talislegging, and illicit 'ware (decks, cyber, bio, etc). They also use proxies in a lot of instances, most notably The Crimson Crush street gang.
The final major group is known as the Seoulpa Rings. Hailing from Korea, they have a reputation for non-centralized leadership, magical activity, and bouts of extreme violence. The rings crop up, dissolve, and reform frequently, making it difficult to pin them down with traditional tactics.
And lastly, the Chinese Triads have a small presence in the city, if not so much in Redmond itself. Highly involved in talislegging, talismongering, and human-trafficking, they stay close to Wuxing International and serve as foot soldiers and enforcers. They do not have a large footprint on the Seattle scene, whether intentional or not.
Below those two, who are the top-tier bad mamma jammas, there are numerous other groups.
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Several corps have research or manufacturing plants in the Barrens proper, dotted here and there. Locals call these places The Iron Castles, for their formidable appearance as much as the very real defenses they put up. Still extra-territorial, these facilities give the corps a place to conduct business out of the public eye. Who is going to complain about pollution or unethical business practices, anyways, a bunch of SINless squatters?
Chrysler-Nissan has a factory putting out their economy line of vehicles on the southeast border between Redmond and Bellevue.
Any other business is handled hand-to-hand and word-of-mouth, for the most part. Folks don't have a lot of money, so barter often becomes the coin of the realm.
<Red's comm rings after about 30 minutes of waiting.>
Ziggy D's large toothy grin shows up on the ARO, slightly cleaned up from the last time you spoke.
"Hoy chummer! Got dem deets fer ya, 'leastwise on the Percheron. Nice ride, dat 'un, plenty 'a power an' room. Gots some bits and pieces what ya kin change 'round, too. Standard fee is good, got some juicy intel this time."
"Word on da street is: dis truck been spotted haulin' gear all 'round da Basement an' Verge. Coupl'a guys get out, jaw aroun' wit some folks, get back in and dey head off. Last time was a few hours ago, heading back inta da Basement. Dunno 'zactly where dey was holdin' up, but dey're square in Cutters' turf. Don't seem to got protection, but da Cutters don't hassle 'em neither."
Ziggy scratches her head around her horns before continuing.
"Ain't got nothin' on dat Generi-Car, doh. Just too damn many a' dem kickin' round. Dey ain't ridin' tight on each other, do. My spotters are good enuf to check dat, at least."
Smiling warmly, Red slides the funds across the digital world to Ziggy's virtual wallet, throwing in an extra 30 nuyen.
"Wiz, thanks babe! Much appreciated, I'll hit ya up in the next couple of days for our trip to the Big Rhino," the rigger says with a grin and a roguish wink. After a little more flirty back and forth, the two disconnect, promising to met up soon.
"Well that went better than I could have hoped," the rigger says to himself. Looking at the other runners, a grin slides across the elf's angular features. Red relays what to learned about the truck to the others.
"Sounds like they are hold up in the Basement, as of at least a couple of hours ago. Of note, the truck and 2 operators are square in Cutter's Turf." The rigger pauses for a moment. They don't seem to have protection, but the Cutters are also leaving them alone. My guess, is either they are the protection, or someone with some juice is covering them."
JINX nods almost imperceptibly, ruthlessly snuffs his cigarette into oblivion on the heel of his boot, and moves into position, his movements purposefully slower than he had been moving before and a tad clumsier.
"So either way we are to expect resistance and quite possibly a fight," Nathan remarks. "Whether that resistance comes from the rather colorfully named gang or someone else matters little, yes?"
"Perhaps some subtlety and reconnaissance before we bust through the doors, so to speak? We would not want to accidentally kill the one behind it, or at least not if we can help it anyway."
"Well, the difference in resistance matters if it's group of gangers or a corp hit squad. Usually in equipment and general level of skill and abilities," Red adds. "Subtlety and reconnaissance are always a good idea. Especially if one doesn't like getting shot or stabbed. Which , personally, I do not like either." The rigger grins faintly.
"Alright," Red looks at the other runners, "so, we have a couple of leads. One; being the dude Tarnish working out of the Mall. He might have a few leads, perhaps an idea as to who might have robbed the shipment. Two; is the last known location of the truck, being smack dab in the middle of Cutter turf in the Basement. Which does help us to narrow it down further." The rigger pauses, frowning slightly. "Although, I'm not wild about wandering around Cutter turf to be honest." The elf shrugs his shoulders. "Ah well, such is life."
"Anything I might have missed?" the rigger scans the surroundings with his cybered orbs.
With nothing additional to add, Synxol suggests they pay a visit to Tarnish.
"Agreed, anything we can pick up on the hijackers from Tarnish is helpful. They might not be friendly with all the Cutters. Or we can make it seem that way..."
"Cool, Tarnish is closer, and on the wayish towards the Bargain Basement." Red looks over at Ahlwin and nods. "Personally, I'm hoping that they just paid of the gang members where they are staying with the truck. Not enough for active protection, but enough to be left alone. " The rigger grins. "It's a faint hope, but not one I'm really counting on."
The elf runs a hand through his short, spiky red hair, thinking for a few moments.
"Yeah, if we have to make them seem like they actually are a problem for the Cutters, that might be a viable plan. We'll have to see how things shape up as we learn more." Red pauses for a moment and adds, "Well, as long as they don't frag up the truck."
Thinking for a few more moments, Red turns and looks over at the mage doctor and arches his right eyebrow.
"Jack, can you do the Out of Body magical stuff? My knowledge of magic is pretty close to trid related," Red chuckles as he admits this. "If you can, I was wondering if you could check out the Bargain Basement? Once we narrow down the location of the truck, I mean."
"Alright, let's get rolling. Whose riding with whom? On that subject, we might want to limit the number of vehicles that we are taking into the Basement. That much more have to keep secure," Red looks over at the other runners. "Oh, for that matter, if the truck is working, that will have to be driven out as well. Something else for us to think about." The rigger says as a grin slides across his angular features.
"Jack" looks at Red as he speaks of out of body magic. "You mean Astral Projection? Yes, I am capable of that and, barring any magical protections, it should make for a rather effective way of sneaking around for a bit and gaining some information on the place, certainly."
Taking a final drag of the cancer stick he had set aflame once he found his way out of the Bulldog, he nods his hoodie-cowled head towards Red's vehicle to discern if the rigger would provide him transport.
JINX is itching for action, and a chance to let the beast lose. Pretending to be civilized was exhausting.
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The ride through Redmon towards the Squatter's Mall proves tense, if generally uneventful. A slow night, you only hear a few (small caliber) shots ring out. Even better, none of them seem to be headed your way. Scattered groups of people move about the streets, almost always quickly and with purpose. You do see a few people lounging on street corners or by the entrance to alleyways; wearing gang colors and exuding a aura of menance, they claim their turf.
Set on the southeast side of the Bargain Basement, the Squatter's Mall once heralded a bygone era of commercial development and retail opportunity in Redmond. Now, the 8 story tall structure seems to sag in on itself. A large "U" shaped structure, what was once a parking lot flanked by stores and restaurants now serves as a makeshift bazaar and pseudo-village. Trash can fires and shopping cart vendor stations dot the cracked asphalt, and people mill about here and there.
On the lower levels, near the entrances you notice a pack of young humans wearing gold and black. They speak with everyone entering the building proper, turning a few away.
(2 successes, no failures)
As you approach the front entrance, a few things come to your attention right away. Firstly, the doorways stand open, the glass and steel frames long since recycled into spirits know what. Second, fairly robust blockades stand just inside the doorframes, composed of plasti-board, cinderblocks, and other detritus of the city.
Behind these coverpoints stand young humans, mostly men with a few women, wearing gold colors over filthy black clothes. No-one has a firearm in hand, but everyone carries weapons of some kind or another. Knives, chains, and clubs hang from belts or stand close to hand.
One of the young men holds a hand up as the group approaches. "Hoi, omaes. This be Gypsy turf. Youze lookin' ta tussle, youze gon' get perf'd right quicklike."
In a glance, you'd guess a firefight here in the mall entrance would be dicey, at best. They have cover, numbers, and who knows what kind of hardware behind those blockades.
"Call me Gyro," the young ganger continues, "Whatchu got biz here at da Mall? Sellin', buyin', or whorin'?"
"S'up Gyro, how's it going bro?" Red inquires in a friendly fashion. Not that he had ever met the man before. "Just looking to do a little shopping today. And I was wondering what you would be charging to keep an eye on rides so they and their parts don't wander off. The rigger asks with a slight grin.
The ganger eyes you warily, looking your gear and equipment up and down before speaking. "'Spec ya kin 'ford ¥100. I'll git da boys ta keep nicelike eyes on yer ride. 'Tain't gon' be none step ta mess wit ya drek."
He holds out his hand, a small ARO hovering over his palm. It looks strangely like an old-school drawstring purse with a big golden nuyen symbol embroidered on it.
"Wiz, 'migo. Shop til ya drop, neh?" he chuckles at his own joke and motions to a pair of gangers. "Clutch, Patches, sit on dese fraggers ride. Nicelike. Don' frag off, or I'll tear ya a new hoop!"
Red deposits the 100 nuyen in the ARO hovering above Gyro's palm. The rigger had almost chuckled out loud at the sight of the VR coin purse, but managed to remain professional.
"Thanks chummer," the elf says with a nod of his head. "Alright, retail adventures await, let's be off." Red says looking over his shoulder a the other runners before he saunters into the Mall.
Ahlwin subtlety enjoys having meat-space friendlies taking care of things. He keeps on eye on any AR displays being run while checking for security beyond bridge troll gangers.
JINx slides forward, momentarily forgetting to act like a clumsy normal, his augmented eyes casually playing over the sea of gangers in search of outward signs of aggression before falling into step with the others.
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The Squatter's Mall looms open before you. A massive building, in a wide "U" shape, each wing stands 8 stories tall. The halls stretch about 250 meters from each side of the central entrance, with the sides of the U reaching forward about 400 meters from the middle. Inside, dust and grime covers most surfaces, while dim and flickering light panels cast shadows more than illuminate the area.
Empty storefronts yawn in each direction, with a handful of stands set up near the middle of the hall. These feature a small cook surface, generally a grate or plate of metal over a trash-can fire. Aromas of cooked meat, fried bread, and woodsmoke waft out, as well as bits of ash and more of the ever-present dust.
Towards the eastern end of the hall, a series of ARO's light up the walls, advertising FOOD, DRINK, GIRLS, in various languages and font styles. A few more ARO's pop up here and there, mostly advertising "FOR SALE" and "OPEN"
You notice a handful of people moving here and there, typically hugging the shadows and moving with purpose. Anyone running not-silent receives multiple comm-pings, advertising everything from food, drink, and whores to weapons and ammow for sale.
A babe in the woods.
Synxol walks through the Squatter's Mall like he owns the place, though his eyes dart about as he sees sights he has never seen before.
"Alright, keep your peepers open for Tarnish," Red says, keeping his voice low and quiet. "Older guy, chromed arm, more of arms and armor kinda guy." The elf glances around the bottom floor of the mall for a few moments as he makes his way to a food vendor.
'Probably should have asked the greeters at the front' Red thinks to himself.
"Hoi, chummer," Red says with a nod as he walks up to a food vendor. Selecting a burger from the rough ARO images, Red hopes it's not devil rat meat. Rat, he could handle. "Buddy of mine told me to visit a guy named Tarnish if I was in the neighborhood. However, he was pretty deep in a blunt of deepweed so he was a bit vague on where his shop was." The rigger says with a friendly chuckle and smile.
Red pays for his food, and selects 50 nuyen for the ARO "tip jar", "holding" the transaction until the vendor spoke up.
"Tarnish? The gun guy? His doss down dat way," the dirty man slaps a chunk of grilled meat between two myco-protein buns and wraps it in a bit of greasy waxed paper. He holds the burger (totally made from rats, btw) until you complete the transaction.
The hallway he indicates lies at the far end of the main wing, opposite the large bordello. A handful of relatively bright lights shine out from the corner.
"Tarnish got good stuff, omae. But you need some real pow-bang stuff, my cuz got the hookup fer'realz." He hands over the burger as you drop creds into his AR wallet.
"Wiz chummer, thanks again. Where is your cuz's doss at? I'm always keeping my eyes peeled for a sweet deal," Red inquires. The elf didn't really plan on shopping, but was always keeping an eye out for a sweet deal. Taking a bite out of the juicy rat burger, he knuckles a bit of grease from his chin. "Good burger, omae, thanks again"
Sauntering back to the others, Red was pleasantly surprised by the rat burger. The meat still had the slight acidic quality to it (it was rat after all) but was pretty tasty, plus hot and dripping with fresh grease. Nodding to the others runners, Red continues his laid back pace towards Tarnish's doss/shop.
"Burger's pretty damn good for rat. Anybody have the late night munchies, this will hit the spot," Red says conversationally to the other runners as he takes another bite. The elf doesn't appear to be fazed by the meat type. "Oh, and that guy's cuz appearantly has some good bang-bangs." The rigger mentions as they head to Tarnish.
"Uh...I dunno where he's stayin' now, but..." the rat-burger vendor looks side to side, as if nervous someone may be eavesdropping. Seeing no-one around, he continues in a lower voice, "He been squattin' on da edge a' Glow City, workin' outta his van down there. Gots some kinda job wit' a demo-crew or som'tin. Anysways, give 'im a ring, let'im know Stevie gave ya da code. Name's Jimmy, he'll hook ya up."
He slides a virtual business card your way, automatically picked up and stored on your credstick (or commlink if that's how you payed him). It simply reads "Cuzin Jimmy" and has a commcode to, presumably, reach him.
Approaching the end of the hall, you spot a handful more Gypsies, lounging around, smoking cigarettes and drinking out of oversized glass bottles. Unlike the ones out front, these all wear holstered pistols at their hips. You make out the stocks and grips of a few larger weapons conveniently stashed, just out of sight. Gyro must have called ahead, and the gangers nod slightly to you as you pass.
Tarnish's shop (identified only by a moderately large "OPEN" sign in both physical neon and ARO) takes up two or three of the previous storefronts. Only one door remains, with solid concrete blocks and metal security grates over them standing in the other openings. A very obvious security camera swivels over the door as you walk up.
Tarnish Perception
A voice calls out of a speaker by the door, surprisingly clearly and without static, "Judging from your hardware, I'm guessing you ain't here to buy a piece. Ammo I got, and some 'nades, but any specialty gear or 'exotic' finds, I'm gonna need creds up front. No offense and all, just biz, ya know?". A face appears on a trid screen next to the speaker. An older human male, probably in his late 30s or early 40s, his face carries a number of scars and a scruffy beard. Head shaved, his left shoulder glints just at the bottom of the frame with the sheen of a metallic cyberarm.
"So, what'll it be, chummers?"
Synxol slides forward and advances 500 credits to Tarnish.
"I'm shopping for a small and discrete holdout and capable of putting several large holes in whatever I'm hunting for dinner."
He hoped everyone behind him didn't drop dead hearing so many words out of his mouth in one go.
Al is momentarily startled, reeling slightly out of phase with the his work online and meat space.
Did I just imagine a gravely-toned constipated Death asking what was for dinner?
Ahlwin let his senses readjust to what was actually happening, then concluded his blood sugar was just low. Easily solved with some granola.
Not quite finished chewing "Actually...we're looking for some garbage...*cough*...that may have tried to offload some goods they shouldn't have."
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"Well, then, that changes things a little bit. I am going to open the outer door and let you all into the entranceway, please keep all you weapons holstered and hands away from them. If you need me to look at the 'ware, unload them safely and place them along with the ammunition and magazines in the bins to the right of the doorway." Tarnish's image grins a bit as his his hands perform some actions off camera.
Sure enough, heavy-duty maglocks disengage from the door with a solid chunk, and the light over the door handle changes from red to green. The image on the trid screen winks out, but the camera stays focused on the group.
Stepping inside the primary door, the entranceway extends only about 3 meters in a 2 meter wide, 2 meter tall tunnel. Another reinforced door with serious maglock bars the far end. Two armored bins set in the right wall pull down at a light touch, reminescent of old-school bank night-drops. They may very well be exactly such items, repurposed as secure weapons-exchange ports. Another camera stands over the secondary door, this one fixed in place and behind a thick armorglass dome.
Once satisfied you all pose no overt danger at this time, the secondary door chunks just like the primary did. The door behind you locks at the same time.
Stepping inside, the shop itself holds heavy reinforced display cases and cages on every wall but the far one. That wall, rather half-wall, serves as the sales counter. A wide metal surface over reinforced concrete blocks, one section holds a cut-out area with armorglass and speaker over a narrow slot to exchange scrip, credsticks, or similar sized objects. The rest of the wall appears as mirrored glass, presumably similarly armored.
Tarnish himself appears shortly in the glass portion. Older, with closely cropped hair and a scraggly beard, the man's left cyberarm seems to receive greater care than the rest of his person.
"So, a holdout that'll blast holes in folks? And something about some drek that sold stuff they didn't have the claim to? I got that about right, chummers?"
As he talks, you notice several images begin appearing on the mirrored portion of the glass wall, various pistols with their specs and reviews floating up as AROs. You can pull them off to view them in more detail, if desired.
Stepping forward Synxol sifts through the hold-outs, torn between the high price of the Needler, the lack of the Walther's capacity, and the Magnetic Anomaly Detectors built into the snub-nosed Streetline Special.
Unsure of how best to proceed, he purchases a Walther and a Streetline Special.
As his nuyen slides across the Matrix to the man, he asks Tarnish, "A shipment went awry. As concerned citizens, we would of course like to help in any way to ensure its goods get back to its owners."
Taking another bite of his rat burger, Red cruises through a few ARO's of some different guns. The rigger was was keeping track of the conversation.
"Decent choices, my good man. Quality little pocket pistols. I dunno how big of a hole they'll put in your targets, but at least you can carry them easy 'nuff." Two small plastic boxes emerge from a concealed port on the side of the glass wall. Opening them up, you see two very nicely packed pistols in cut-foam carrying cases, with their magazine slotted alongside them.
"Shipment, huh? Lemme guess, bunch of plasteel crates gone missin'? And ya'all are the team sent to retrieve 'em? Whatchu know 'bout the goods, and who they got lifted from?"