The salt in the air is what hits you first; it's so thick you can nearly taste it when you breathe in, far stronger here at the docks than in the city proper. At this time of night most of the dock workers and fisherman have headed home, the boats now rocking gently in the waters of Elliot Bay. It isn't hard to navigate the area--even after a few years of being away--and soon enough, you find the right row of warehouses. A group of seagulls, cawing at eachother as they fight over food, take flight and settle on the edges of rooftops as you walk through the dimly lit shipping yard, watching you until you travel far enough that the scavengers resume picking over the chum and rotten fish left behind. You finally stop outside one warehouse--indistinguishable from the others besides the flaking 'K-15' painted in white on the rusted metal exterior--and look around out of habit, making sure no one else is around. After a second, you walk past the rusted-shut access door and plant your hand on the false wall; it takes a second to find the catch, but your fingers eventually find purchase and the rusted hunk of old sheet metal pulled inward and to side the side with a hydraulic hiss, letting you inside. It shuts as quietly as it opened, leaving you in darkness for a moment; when you lived here, there used to be motion-sensitive lights when you came in, but now you're forced to feel around for a switch before an overhead flourescent light comes on, illuminating the corridor into the main warehouse. The place is no longer as well-kept as it once was--no surprise, considering the only tenant is a junkie--and exposed wire hangs from the ceiling in places, with the carpet you all previously installed now patchy and torn. The furniture seems to be the same as what you all left behind, if stained and falling apart from lack of care, although it looks like some of it has been removed recently, probably selling it to pay for BTLs. It's not like Derek ever spent much free time outside of his rig.
When you hear the whirring of what sounds like a turret, you spin and reach for your weapon (it wouldn't have surprised you if Derek had called you all here to sell you out, after all), but staring back at you is Derek's favorite drone Asimov. It clings to the ceiling with its metallic, spider-like legs, and beeps a greeting to you as the minigun turret built into its back winds down. It drops down to the floor with a heavy thud, prodding one of your legs with its small mandibles Derek installed to help it manipulate small objects. After a moment it wanders off with a mechanical whine, and watching it wander off leads your eyes to Derek. His limp body hangs in a simsense rig, surrounded by empty bags of soychips and cans of knock-off soda, along with other trash. You can see from here the small cartridge jutting out the side of his skull, and his fingers twitch ever so slightly while the remainder of his body lies still.
That's just like Derek; some things never change.
Alter pulls her leather jacket in close to her chest as she steps through the cold rundown warehouse. Her cyberarm whirring up as her Ares Predator clears her holster almost faster than her own body reacts at the sudden noises of Derek's drone dropping down from the ceiling. Her eyes wide as she pulls her arm down and reholsters her pistol. Blinking as the drone moves off without doing anything more than tugging on he leg, Alter follows the drone into the familiar general area of the warehouse. Her head shaking as she sees Derek slotted just the way she remembered him.
--------------------
Taiyo yells at the top of her legs that she is leaving and never coming back. Her eyes glaring over at Derek who was laying in his simrig, oblivious to the world or her tirade against him. Her arm still bandaged from the fresh cyberarm install...
--------------------
Alter sighs as she finds herself the first one to arrive. Moving over to the threadbare couch and flopping down, Alter pulls out her Commlink and brings up her AR gloves, the ARO GUI sliding up into her view and she quickly pulls up her chat program, connecting to Derek's rig and pulses a message out.
"Derek... you ready to wake up?"
The sound of an aggressive bike filters through the walls of the warehouse, coming to a stop outside. The sound is as familiar as the elf coming in through the door.
Blue freezes once he sees Derek - once he sees the chip in the side of his head - and he simply steps back outside.
A few second later, a very well dressed human steps inside and politely approaches Alter. When he speaks, his voice has strange and subtle harmonics in it, "P͠l̢ea͟se̸ ͟excu̷se҉ ̢me͏, ͜Mi͟s̛t͞r͟es͘s ͏A͞lter. Ḿa͜s͢teŕ ͜B́l͏u̸e ha̶s̛ ͠aske̡d͠ ̕me̡ to ͠i̷n̴f͡or̨m ̵y̨ou ͟that́ ͏he re͠mains u̕n͝w͡i͏lli̴ng̵ ̸to̴ ́en̵t͏e͢r ́if͞ Ma҉st́e͜r ̧Derek͜ ͢ca͏nn̶o̵t͘ r̢e̷fr̡aiņ ̡f͜r͝òm ͡usi̡ng̀ f̀or ̧at͏ ҉l̀ea̡st͞ ͝t͠h͡e ̧d͟u̕rati͘on̨ o̷f̷ ̨M͡aśt͜er͜ ̛Bl̷ùe's̡ ̡vis̨it͘. I ̵am t̶o҉ re̕m̧a͟i̛n hére ́u̧nt͢il ҉I͢ can̸ info͞r̶m͡ Mas̸t͏er̴ ̛B̸lue ͟o̕f͞ ͡Maste͡ŗ ͝Derek'̵s͘ ̧c̡ompļi̛a̸n͠c͏e ̸or ̷r̡ef̢u̷s̵al͜.̕ ͝ ̵Wi͏l̨l ̡y̴ou̧ ҉p͜l̵e̡ase̕ ͡in͞f̶orm ͢Ma̸s͞te͜r͢ D͏er͞ek͝ of̴ ̵tḩis͟?̨"
Glancing at Blue as he passes Junkyard ambles in, pausing with a barely concealed look of contempt at Derek before nodding at Alter and slumping onto the other end of the couch. "Hoi, who's up today?" He asks her.
He lights up a death stick and studies the room carefully. One hand still resting casually close to his holstered pistol.
Noting Alter is in communication with the drekhead Junkyard remarks "Tell him I'm shooting his rig if he's not out in the next minute." It's hard to tell if he's serious as his tone doesn't change from his usual quiet rumble.
Bronze approaches the old squat with a mix of anger, sadness, excitement, and nostalgia.
Too bad we hadda split display place. Kinda perfect fer a meet, secure and lonely. Stupid chip head and his stupid beetles...
Pulling his Comet to a nearby alcove, Bronze exits the car, casually scanning the area before pulling a nearby sheet of corrugated steel over to conceal the car from prying eyes. He lights up a cigarette and locks the car, briefly considering whether to bring the big guns before grabbing the sawn-off and slipping it into his jackets inside pocket.
Seeing Blue outside the entrance, Bronze stops to greet the elf.
"Hoi, Blue. Long time, yah? What's the biz? We meetin' out here or in dere?" he hooks a heavy thumb towards the entrance.
Decked out in a heavy armor jacket, worn black cargo work pants, and heavy leather workboots, Bronze could have been any number of working orks out here in the scrapyard, from mob thug to worker to working stiff.
Ismail was quite happy when the bus finally arrived. Bogatir stood up from the bench and picked up his bag, entering. Nodding at the driver, he looked inside. The usual mixture of metahumans down on their luck sat in the bus, staring with blank eyes at the ork. He looked around for a seat, seeing the only empty one next to an troll, dressed in red and black gang colours. He shuffled inside, sitting on the lone seat. "Excuse me, sorry.", he muttered at the troll in his thickly accented English, and loaded up his playlist. The chipper, yet somber voice of Visotsky filled his ears, as he carefully placed his glasses on his nose, and booted up the e-reader, continuing his book. His left arm twitched, as he sighed, pulling out a tube of pills, and popped one in his mouth.
---------------------------------------------------------
Finally arriving in the area, all the way on the other side of town, he starts walking towards the warehouse, stopping for a moment to wistfully stare at the boats. He continues, shifting the weight of the bag on his other shoulder as he walks down the damn, empty streets. And what if I'm the only one? Should I drink myself into oblivion, while Derek's slotting chips in his head, until one day neither wakes up?, he ponders melancholically, before turning a corner and seeing Bronze and Blue conversing. A smile slowly creeps on the ork's wrinkled face, as he rushes forward, leaning the bag on the wall, next to a puddle.
"My friends!", he shouts, uncaring that someone might hear them. Let them. 'Молодец' was as ready as ever. He closes the last two steps, and goes for Bronze in a powerful hug, the alloy arms patting the other ork on the back. "Ha!", he says, wiping a tear from his eyes. "You turned old, Bronz!", he chuckles, before turning a smile towards Blue. "And you not changed at all, my blue friend!", he says, extending a hand towards the blue-skinned elf, hand twitching barely perceptibly. "What is business?", he asks, quieting down. "Do we wait outside for a reason?" He pulls out a cigarette from a crumbled pack, offering one to the other two, his face displaying a badly hidden rollercoaster of emotions.
Michael arrives the same way he did in the past: one moment there's an empty street, and the next, he comes walking around the corner, suddenly in view and back in the lives of the rest of the team. It's a familiar sight--when he isn't riding with one of the team, he uses public transport and foot travel. His outfit is familiar as well, a formal suit in the Neo-Japanese style. He looks like the consummate professional, and it would be easy to think of him as a regular sarariman, if the men outside weren't sure the suit is made with Kevlar weave--not to mention accompanied by an armored full-body ensemble and a pistol in a concealed holster sewn into the jacket.
Above the collar, though, it wouldn't be much of an overstatement to say the man looks like drek. Even just a few years seem to have taken their toll, or maybe he's just let himself go recently. Hair that was once a close-cropped dusty brown is now shaggy, ragged ends reaching nearly to his jaw with touches of iron throughout. He used to keep a trimmed goatee with no more than hints of stubble across his jawline, but now a scruffy beard sits across the lower half of his face. His eyes are still sharp and alert, but they seem to have lost some of the sharp edge they had before. Overall, he still moves with grace, still looks the part, but the years are there. Then again, outside of our little team, how many shadowrunners hit middle age?
Michael approaches the safe house and nods to the pair of men outside. "Blue. Bronze. Bogatir. Good to see you." He glances at the door, and then back at Blue. "And if you're out here... Derek's in his rig." He sighs and steps to the door. "You'll come in soon, I'm sure." He does offer a smile to the group, the only gesture of gladness he allows while in public.
Inside, he nods at the others. "Alter. Junkyard. Blue's spirit." He even looks at Asimov and gives the spider drone a nod of recognition as he moves to stand by a chair. The look he sends Derek's way is more sad than angry, but he silently takes his place until the team is ready to talk. Come on, Derek. Don't bring us here and then send it to drek.
Bronze approaches the old squat with a mix of anger, sadness, excitement, and nostalgia.
Too bad we hadda split display place. Kinda perfect fer a meet, secure and lonely. Stupid chip head and his stupid beetles...
Pulling his Comet to a nearby alcove, Bronze exits the car, casually scanning the area before pulling a nearby sheet of corrugated steel over to conceal the car from prying eyes. He lights up a cigarette and locks the car, briefly considering whether to bring the big guns before grabbing the sawn-off and slipping it into his jackets inside pocket.
Seeing Blue outside the entrance, Bronze stops to greet the elf.
"Hoi, Blue. Long time, yah? What's the biz? We meetin' out here or in dere?" he hooks a heavy thumb towards the entrance.
Decked out in a heavy armor jacket, worn black cargo work pants, and heavy leather workboots, Bronze could have been any number of working orks out here in the scrapyard, from mob thug to worker to working stiff.
Blue seems a combination of angry and deeply sad, "Heya Bronze, good to see you. No, the meet is inside. But I am not going in there until Derek stops melting his brain at least long enough for me to hear him out and then leave. I sent Wilson in to let them know." Blue refers to a Spirit he commonly summons when he needs a polite emissary.
Finally arriving in the area, all the way on the other side of town, he starts walking towards the warehouse, stopping for a moment to wistfully stare at the boats. He continues, shifting the weight of the bag on his other shoulder as he walks down the damn, empty streets. And what if I'm the only one? Should I drink myself into oblivion, while Derek's slotting chips in his head, until one day neither wakes up?, he ponders melancholically, before turning a corner and seeing Bronze and Blue conversing. A smile slowly creeps on the ork's wrinkled face, as he rushes forward, leaning the bag on the wall, next to a puddle.
"My friends!", he shouts, uncaring that someone might hear them. Let them. 'Молодец' was as ready as ever. He closes the last two steps, and goes for Bronze in a powerful hug, the alloy arms patting the other ork on the back. "Ha!", he says, wiping a tear from his eyes. "You turned old, Bronz!", he chuckles, before turning a smile towards Blue. "And you not changed at all, my blue friend!", he says, extending a hand towards the blue-skinned elf, hand twitching barely...
Blue trades grips with the heavily cybered Russian, "Bogotir, it is good to see you as well. I have perhaps changed a little, perhaps on the inside where you cannot see, yes?" Blue colors a little in the dim light, as he always does when he realizes that his speech patterns are shifting to match the others.
Michael arrives the same way he did in the past: one moment there's an empty street, and the next, he comes walking around the corner, suddenly in view and back in the lives of the rest of the team. It's a familiar sight--when he isn't riding with one of the team, he uses public transport and foot travel. His outfit is familiar as well, a formal suit in the Neo-Japanese style. He looks like the consummate professional, and it would be easy to think of him as a regular sarariman, if the men outside weren't sure the suit is made with Kevlar weave--not to mention accompanied by an armored full-body ensemble and a pistol in a concealed holster sewn into the jacket.
Above the collar, though, it wouldn't be much of an overstatement to say the man looks like drek. Even just a few years seem to have taken their toll, or maybe he's just let himself go recently. Hair that was once a close-cropped dusty brown is now shaggy, ragged ends reaching nearly to his jaw with touches of iron throughout. He used to keep a trimmed goatee with no more than hints of stubble across his jawline, but now a scruffy beard sits across the lower half of his face. His eyes are still sharp and alert, but they seem to have lost some of the sharp edge they had before. Overall, he still moves with grace, still looks the part, but the years are there. Then again, outside of our little team, how many shadowrunners hit middle age?
Michael approaches the safe house and nods to the pair of men outside. "Blue. Bronze. Bogatir. Good to see you." He glances at the door, and then back at Blue. "And if you're out here... Derek's in his rig." He sighs and steps to the door. "You'll come in soon, I'm sure." He does offer a smile to the group, the only gesture of gladness he allows while in public.
Inside, he nods at the others. "Alter. Junkyard. Blue's spirit." He even looks at Asimov and gives the spider drone a nod of recognition as he moves to stand by a chair. The look he sends Derek's way is more sad than angry, but he silently takes his place until the team is ready to talk. Come on, Derek. Don't bring us here and then send it to drek.
Blue smiles as Shepherd makes his usual appearance, "Hello, Shepherd. Alter and Junkyard are inside. And yes, Derek is destroying himself and I still will not sit and watch it. I will come in when he is out. Wilson will let me know."
***
Inside Wilson nods politely to Junkyard and then Shepherd as they arrive, "Good evening Master Junkyard, Master Shepherd. Your trips were uneventful, I hope."
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"Yah, old friend! Beats da alternative, what I hear."
Bronze returns the hug, happy to see Bogatir again. He turns down the offer of a smoke, flicking the remaining embers of his own into the night.
"Hoi, Shepherd. You look a little worse Fer da wear. Hitters comin' fast an' strong agin?" Bronze shakes Michael's hand in greeting, then nods to the door.
"Gang's all here, yah? Might as well git ta buz, den. See if we kin pull D's brain outta dreamland fer a meet he damn well set up..."
Bronze heads inside with less of a scowl than before, happy to know the team's in one place, if not on the same page yet.
"Hoi, Alter, Junkyard. Chippy's still slottin' dem dreamers, yah? Anyone got through ta him, yet?"
Sitting curled up on the threadbare couch is the same young girl the rest of the crew would remember. Not an inch taller than she was the last time the rest had seen her though maybe a little closer to being a woman than a teenager. A pink t-shirt under her leather jacket and her leather-clad legs pulled up close to her chest so her Commlink rests on her thighs, combat boots digging into the edge of the couch. Her head looking up as more people start to arrive, giving the nervous nod she used to give with each arrival as she keeps trying to reach through to Derek, her messages turning more frantic as the room becomes more full, not wanting to see another blow-up argument the first time we've all come back together.
*Damnit Derek, wake up already, we're here you chiphead."
Laughing out loud, Ismail grins at Shepherd. "No, my friend, I just arrive.", he says, shaking his head at Michael's assumption. "Age comes for us all, it seems, yes? You look like accountant at end of third quarter!", he laughs in his raspy, joyless laugh, as he turns to Blue. "And if you changed on inside, Blue, it is best so we don't see, yes?"
Shaking his head as he's informed about Derek's current state, he picks up his bag with a grunt, the weight obviously north of a hundred pounds, sighs, and throws his cigarette in a puddle. I should've stopped months ago. Not much point, now.
As he ventures through the door, he glances up at the drone, then chuckles at the minigun. Seems a thing or two rubbed off., as he looks at the man's sorry state on the ground. Moving forward to comment, Bogatir's eyes cross Alter's, and he suddenly gets overcome with bad memories, as his hands start shaking. He stares in her eyes for a long while, searching for what to say. "You grew up.", he finally says, shyly smiling, as he sits on the couch, stretching his legs.
While Alter doesn't get a reply either time, it's not long after she sends her first message that Derek's body gives a flutter of movement. The gaunt elf talks before he's fully out of his rig, an eerie feeling given that the rest of his body is still stock still. "Oh man, I'm so happy to see you! Are you the only one here..." his voice trails off when he sees the others as he pulls himself out of the rig completely. "Look guys, you've got nothing to worry about. I'm not gonna claim I'm clean, but I swore to myself I wouldn't use while you guys were here. Not after..." his voice trails off, lingering on Alter's cyberlimb for a second longer than seems appropriate for the situation, before his attention snaps back into focus. "Look, that was just some simsense, alright? It wasn't even running hot. I just didn't notice the time, or I would have been out when you all showed up; it's not hard to lose track of time in there, you know? If you don't believe me, you can check it out yourselves." While the chip was already ejected from the sim module, he pulls the thin piece of plastic from his skull and sets it on the table. He sits down in one of the chairs after pulling on his old longcoat--it's immediately clear he hasn't patched it since your last run together, from the smattering of buckshot holes along the right side--and then leans back, as if he'd been tense for a long time and finally found the chance to relax. Derek is still the same spindly elf you once knew, if even more emaciated; even if his claim of not using is true, the man clearly isn't eating well, and his face seems more sunken than you'd expect from just using BTLs. Still, his eyes seem as intuitive and sharp as always, and his fingers drum with nervous energy like they used to.
"Everyone's here, then," he says, nodding slowly. "Before we talk about the job, I just... f*ck," he says, breathing in deeply through is nose, his piercing jostling slightly. "I'm so f*cking sorry, okay? I almost got us all killed, Alter lost her arm," he says, choking a little. "When we all started to split up I realized I needed to do something, but by the time I... well, you were already gone. I'm trying to kick it, alright? I stashed all my BTLs with a friend while you're here, just so I'm focused on the job. On us," he finishes, stealing another glance at Alter's new arm. Derek clears his throat and nods again, now more in control of himself.
"Right, so... ready to hear about the job?"
Bronze reflexively grabs his pack of smokes, then looks around at the closed in room and sighs before returning them to his pocket.
"I'm ready ta hear. Big score, museum, needs a team, don't sound much like yer reg gig, D. Wassup, whozat got ya da intel? Was real slick biz, that."
Michael gives Bogatir a wider smile at his comment, and nods. "I could use a trim," he offers.
Inside, he stands waiting while Derek clambers out of the rig and says his piece. Seeing the elf like this, so thin, so desperate, is nothing but saddening. Michael first met Derek near the beginning of his habits, back when simsense was still enough--usually--to give his fix. Now, he seems to have hit rock bottom, and Michael just hopes he doesn't have a pickaxe to keep digging. If it's bad enough that he needed to stash his BTLs with someone else, though...
As Derek finishes his teary apology, Michael shakes his head. "Bronze is right. It can't be forgotten. Maybe it can't be forgiven. But we're dealing with now." He can't help glancing at the simrig, and at Alter, himself, but they're quick looks, almost unnoticeable. "Just stay on the job."
"As long as it's the real deal and not some chip fantasy." Junkyard says in a neutral tone.
He's clearly not impressed with what he's found so far.
Bogatir nods thoughtfully, staring at the chip on the table. It's in the past. But some of us have more future than the others. He continues staring, as his right arm twitches slightly. "It's not too late, Derek. As Michael said, the things of past can't be forgotten. But there's thing you can do, make...,uh, amends, yes?" He looks around. "It is good step in right direction, Derek.", he shrugs. "If you are honest, I'd help you kick it. Make it up to Alter. Get you in the right tracks." Take advantage of what all those years either of them have left. I've had mine. The ork's hands have started trembling and twitching considerably, as he looks down, and tries his best to stop them, before looking around guiltily. "You should not worry for sway.", he says in a defensive tone, a sad smile on his face.
After Derek comes out of his rig, Wilson bows slightly to him, then vanishes from sight. A few seconds later, Blue comes back in. He stands a little further back from Derek than the others do, clearly uncomfortable with the situation. When Derek lays the chip on the table, Blue looks at it with a look most often seen directed at highly venomous and unpredictable reptiles.
He does not respond when Derek finishes speaking, but he also does not turn on his heel and stalk out, so that is a good start.
"I didn't expect forgiveness," he says, shaking his head. "I just wanted... I needed to tell you all that, before we work together again. If we work together again," he adds, a little forlorn. He notices Blue stand back from the rest and tries to catch his eye for a second if he can--the look he gives shows both regret and understanding, both things Derek never seemed to feel in spades--and then hangs his head a bit. "I've been doing my best to kick it, and then this job fell into my lap; it just felt like a sign. I'm doing my best, I just want you all to know that." He picks up the chip again and offers it to Alter or Junkyard, knowing either could tell from a glance what it was. "Look, I swear it's just a sim; I'm not even running them hot anymore, usually; some days are bad, but that's the worst that I do." If either of them takes the chip he smiles a little, but if not he just sort of lets his arm flop down.
"Anyway, about the job. The data I sent you is a combination of stuff I got from my Fixer--not our old friend Dominique, she got shot a few months back for bad intel--and stuff I've found on my own. The Johnson wants us to break into the Seattle Metropolitan Museum of Art, and steal an item on loan from a German museum in Munich. I had a spider drones take a crawl through and find what I could on security measures and get a layout of the place, and the job shouldn't be too difficult... it just has a lot of moving pieces and some of it isn't stuff I'm very good at or familiar with." Derek does his best to keep focused, but you do catch his hands trembling for a moment--an obvious symptom of withdrawal even for those not medically trained--before he grips his fingers tight on the arm of the chair to steady them. "Obviously we need someone to grab the piece once we're in there, but we'll also need to loop security footage and disable the alarms; obviously they've got physical alarms, but I'm guessing there'll be something magical we'll need to deal with too. We'll need to grab a security key card to even get in; hacking the system will take too long if we're not running the risk of setting off all the alarms before we're even in the building. Once that's done, we'll have a few minutes--I wish I knew how many, but I don't--before the automated weight sensor detects the item's missing and sets off the silent alarm, which isn't wireless and is hard-wired, so no luck stopping it. That'll close down all the exits, meaning we'll need to blow our way out if we don't move fast enough, and we'll have security on us too." Derek pauses for a breath, releases his vice grip on the chair and setting his hands in his lap. Asimov beeps slowly a few times before the silence is broken by Derek again. "The loaner for the item is a museum attached to a small AA corp based in the city, so security won't just be Lone Star goons. Still, the pay is too good to pass down; even splitting it between the seven of us, we'd each get..." Derek pauses, doing the math in his head for a moment. "85,000¥ I think? Something like that. The Johnson mentioned that if we do good work we'd be a go-to in the future, but I didn't say anything about that when I met him."
Blue meets Derek's eyes levelly; he is listening, but he is not believing yet.
As Derek lays out the details, Blue starts to get interested despite himself. This sounds like the kind of job we were good at! Still, he holds his tongue. Let one of the others start with the questions.
Bogatir can't help but put on a grin on his face. "Hah! So we steal from the Dragon!", he chuckles, assuming, with good reason, that the museum is owned by Saeder-Krupp. They own everything, don't they!, he thinks.
"If, and when, we fight, I'm ready!", he laughs, reminiscing of his glory days. He reaches towards his duffle bag, and zips it open on the ground. He puts aside his military dark-green armour, the colours much more faded than people can remember, and reaches in, drawing out a heavy machinegun. Shouldering the seventy-pound machinegun in the same manner one would shoulder a rifle, he pats the wooden stock. "'Молодец' is ready, too.", he pats the anti-everything weapon, and stands up to pat Bronze on the shoulder. "We take care of guards, when come!" His arm's fins clack open, then close rapidly. So... That's a job for half a million, isn't it... He stares down the sights, a smile crawling on his face as memories flood his mind. I could probably go to Spain. Or that new Sochi resort EVO did. Be close to home.
Alter starts to get more and more nervous as the group keeps taking looks at her. Her eyes going down to the floor several times as Derek takes a long look at her and then continues his speech, her bio-arm coming up to caress down the smooth matte-painted metallic arm that sits out of what remains of her right arm socket, the tight bundle of carbon cables that connect to a service hump installed in her shoulder start to get the old itch she used to have when she first got the arm. Alter doesn't respond right away to Derek's tearful apology though her face flushes as everyone keeps bringing up her arm. Her eyes turning a little glassy as she sees short flashes of memory...
---------------------------
A loud crash of metal on metal barely preceded by a shout of, "Bogatir! Look OUT!" A sudden sharp report of sprayed bullets flashing sideways and creating small craters in the concrete as Bogatir's rifle sweeps out of control. A splash of red blood along the concrete wall and Alter looking down at the shattered stump of dripping blood coming out of the remains of her slender arm, the shiny white of bone barely poking through before she blacks out...
----------------------------
Alter's head suddenly snaps up and blinks several times, her posture on the couch changing from trying to sink into the frame and hide to a bright smile forming on her face. Jumping up from the couch Alter looks around and gives a loud greeting of, "Heya Chummers!" as she looks around the room. "I've really been looking forward to this, seeing ya'll again. Wait... did I take a nap or something?" Her voice turned to the far warmer and playful tone its sometimes taken in the past. Though her smile quickly fades as she takes in the sense of the room and Tsuki struggles to recall how she got here. Her eyes turning over to Derek holding up a simsense chip towards her and gives a small grin as she snatches it from his grasp, quickly distracted from the issue by the chance to look over a possible new drug, "Hey Derek... still slotting huh? What's this one? Another magic rave?" Though she doesn't really expect an answer as she sits back down on the couch casually.
Alter listens to Derek's run down of the job with a slowly growing grin on her face. "Art theft Derek? I'm in, this sounds fun!" A surprising amount of impetuousness from the recently silent Alter.
"Huh. Sounds like a reverse smash 'n grab. Schmooze and sneak in, grab da doohickey, split under fire. Any chance we got a new thingie coming in, me 'n Bogatir kin "guard" while Alter er Shepherd carries da briefcase? Slip us in all geared up wit logos an' drek, hide in plain sight?"
Bronze looks down at the chip on the table, then up to Alter with her chromed arm, then back to Derek. His brows furrow a bit as his tusks protrude a bit further.
"Ya got da layout, Sec-Routine, in's an' outs lined up, yah? We jus' gotta dance ta da music here? No 'fense, but dat makes me think yer gettin' set up fer a fall. Burnout chiphead gets this pile o' cred dropped in his lap, what Johnson's gonna actually pay out on the far side?"
"The museum piece is owned by a smaller German corp, but I'd be surprised if it didn't have business ties to Saeder-Krupp." When Blue meets his eyes he just nods, seeming to know the changeling has good reason to distrust him. He starts for a second when Alter's identity shifts, until he remembers the times he's seen it before. "Well, I'm glad you're excited about it," he says. When Bronze brings up the possibility of being set up, Derek shakes his head.
"I'm not saying it's not a possibility, but I had to do a fair bit of legwork myself. I got some basic schematics from the Johnson, but not enough that it makes me suspicious. Still, if that's the case... that's another reason I wanted you guys around. Even with Asimov, I don't stand a chance if there's a double-cross." He pats the droid's metal chassis with one hand, smiling a little as he does so. You all remember when Derek built the gigantic spider droid--he'd been saving nuyen for months before he finally had everything he needed--and it seems he still just as proud of his work as he was then. "You and Bogatir are worth probably a half dozen corporate goons a piece when it comes to firepower, if not more. And then, with the rest of us all on deck, I doubt we'll have any trouble dealing with it if it comes up." He pauses for a second before he fiddles with him commlink, before turning it around the show the lot of you. On the screen is an immaculately carved sculpture of a dragon egg; a carved ruby maybe thrice the size of Bogatir's fist, inset with diamonds and gold filigree along with several large emeralds dotting the insets as well.
"That's what we're stealing. It's a priceless artifact, supposedly from the 4th World, from a cult that worshiped Feuerschwinge as a god. At least, that's what they have on the museum's info page."
"Well, Derek, at least we are stealing something pretty." Blue finally comes the rest of the way to where the group is sitting, taking an open seat with the others. "I assume that we need some astral recon?"
Michael nods at Derek's admission. Good enough. He steps forward to listen in, keeping quiet and paying attention. The job still sounds good--it isn't unlike some of the runs they'd pulled back in the day, and it plays to their strengths. If Alter's still as good as she was, and Blue's still working his wiz, it might almost be a milk run. The only problem is the Dragon, and that's not even direct. When Derek shows the piece they're grabbing, that gives Michael some more pause as a more direct link to dragons, but even so, it's a flimsy one. The pay is solid, very solid, and the team shouldn't have any issues working this if everything goes smoothly.
There's the trouble, though. Does a run ever go smoothly? Michael can think of a few that got close, but perfection is hard to come by. "Sounds like you've worked out everything you can," he says, finally. "Time for on-site reconnaissance, then? Blue on the astral, I'll take the hands-on side of things?"
The idea of a double-cross is neither new nor particularly worrying to Michael. When you operate on the assumption that any stranger might be about to pull a gun on you, you end up ready to deal with any actual threats that come your way.
"Yeah, I can't exactly do much with checking out things outside of what I can see or find in the Matrix; Alter, it'd probably be worth your time to check over what I found in their systems, you've always been way better than me at that kind of stuff." As Blue and Michael discuss their plans, he nods along; for a second, his face seems more like the Derek you knew before he started slotting BTLs--full of life and a look that belied his old sardonic wit--but it's either a trick of the light or it fades quickly, as when you take a second look he seems the same as he has been. "It sounds like you two can cover that, then, but there's a few places I couldn't get drones into, so if you can try to find a way in that'd be milk. We've got two other things that need doing, by my count; we need to find our way in so we can keep it quiet before we snag the egg, and we need to construct the explosives we'll need to get back out."
"Bronze and Bogatir, I figured the first one would be more your speed? I've got a lead on a troll who works for the museum, has a habit of going on benders and getting in fights. If the two of you can manage to get into a tussle and land his security ID, that'd be swell. His favorite pub is the Naughty Nymph--it's a hole in the wall kind of place downtown, from what I've found--but be careful... I found a few pictures of the guy online, he's massive."
"Junkyard, I figured you could work on the last bit. You'll probably need to know the kind of structural damage we'll need to do and how much, which we can probably find in the available building schematics. I can do my best to help with the explosives, but I understand if you'd rather not," he says, looking down to his once-again shaking fingers. "My hands aren't the steadiest, but I can help where I'm needed. I can tag along with any of you, really, just let me know where you want me. I just want to be of some more use, you know?" he says, shrugging.
"Idle hands are the dragon's plaything, heh, am I right?"
"Yah, s'alright, we can check im out. Mebbe we don't gotta go sluggin' it out wit da troll, mebbe we can work somethin' more peaceable out."
Bronze raises his hands in a half shrug, looking towards Bogatir.
"But if he wants ta tussle, I'm happy to oblige. 'Specially wit da big man on my side, yah?"
Area Knowledge: Seattle to know about the Naughty Nymph? 2 hits if applicable
Ismail smiles at the suggestion, shaking his head dismissingly. "And I think, this time you maybe need me for knowledge of literature.", he jests. "We might try getting ID different way, yes? Picking pocket?", Ismail suggests even as his fist clenches, the black alloy moving with vicious precision. He smiles at Bronze. "You still drive the old sedan? Can you fit us both in there?", he asks, a twitch starting in his left arm, which he steadies with his right. "If so, we might find troll there now. No sense in waiting. Derek, I ask you to send me pictures of the man, yes? Can't go shoving arms in every pocket in pub, after all."
"Yah, Comet's still up an' runnin'. Sounds like a plan, we go talk ta da fella, make nicey nice. Den ol' Bogatir swipes da card and we split. Easy peasy."
Blue looks around at the others, then settles more comfortably onto the couch with a resigned sigh, "I will take a look around, but I expect a place like that will be well protected on the astral. Think it will be okay for me to leave my shoes here while I walk around?" Blue uses the slang terms for his body left behind while astrally projecting.
"I'll take a look around," Michael replies, referring to scoping out the job site. He glances at the orks, a smile ghosting to his lips for a moment as he watches them fall into their old banter and get into the mood for their side of job prep. He also looks to Blue, concerned about the possibility of leaving the elf alone while he enters astral space. On the one hand, Derek and his drone would likely still be in the safe house while Blue was projecting... but on the other, that might itself be a potential problem.
In the end it's neither his place nor his inclination to question it. Everyone on the team has their specialties, and they all know their own strengths and weaknesses, as well as those of the others, for the most part. If Blue is comfortable staying here to project, Michael isn't going to second-guess him. "Give me the address and I'll be on the move. Feel free to keep an eye on me while I'm there," Michael adds, looking at Blue again. "It will be... nice to have someone watching my back again."
After a moment, he snaps his fingers and sets his briefcases on the table, opening the one filled with equipment. He slides up the gun holder--conspicuously missing the Urban Fighter--and pulls his commlink and a small earpiece from one compartment. "Speaking of, we should make sure our comms are all connected, secure channels and all. Alter, would you do the honors?"
"Yah, good call, Shepherd. Here's my new numbah, Alter. Do yah stuff, please."
Bronze sends out an ARO invite to accept his commlink info into a group channel.
"S'nice workin' wit real pros again. Kinda missed you lot, ya know? Ain't easy workin' wit greenies and wannabes Fer scratch, er tossing fools fer da 'Rganization. S'wiz, fer real."
Alter gives a giggle towards Bronze and Bogatir as they quickly pick up their old jibs at each other. She pulls up an ARO shaped like a small notepad and starts writing down notes about the operation in her native Japanese kanji.
Job: Break into Seattle Metropolitan Museum of Art, steal ruby egg on loan from German AA in Munich.
Alter Tasks
Loop security footage
Disable alarms
Get better schematics
Examine security systems
Possible Way In: Dress up as guards and delivery people dropping off another artifact. Bronze and Bogatir snag security ID from troll.
Payout: 85,000ny
When Shepherd asks Alter a question, she looks up from her notes and gives a nod. "Send me your commcodes and I'll get you all linked up. Try not to be too loud out there you two," this part directed at Bogatir and Bronze, "But if you need me to quiet something let me know quickly. Derek, I wanna go over the schematics and security you've found out so far while the boys all head out. Government buildings aren't fun, lots of social ways to get in but if they've got a competent spider on call this week the node is gonna be tricky."
Alter settles in for quite a session with Derek, casually talking with him for awhile since they haven't seen each other in years but every time the conversation goes back to business Tsuki becomes quite serious about the job.
Blue flashes a smile at Alter, "You still have my comm, Alter. No one has cracked this monster you put together for me in all this time."
He looks around at the others, realizing that most of them will be leaving on their own tasks, then looks back to Alter, "Are you going to hang around here for a bit?"
Junkyard stands up and stretches a little, joints popping, showing that however relaxed he may have looked he was feeling some tension during the meet.
"I'll get the building plans and see if we can get in quiet, or of we'll need a door opener?"
Nodding to the others he leaves.
"Sure thing on the picture, chummer. Just give me a second," Derek responds, before both Bronze and Bogatir get a small ding from their comms. Opening it up, there's a picture of troll that's massive indeed; judging from the other people in the photo he's probably around seven feet tall, with a twin set of horns and and broken tusk capped in silver. The troll has wide-set eyes and massive nostrils, not looking unlike an angry bull. "His name's Marcus Pallow," Derek finishes, leaving the two to their work. He nods in the affirmative when Blue asks about leaving his body in the hideout, seeming almost a little incredulous.
"Yeah, I guess... I wasn't really expecting you to be comfortable with that, but I'll make sure no one absconds with you while you're out and about in the Astral." He nods again talking to Alter, looking down at his comm again. "Yeah, we can go over that. I've got the schematics from the city, at least what's publicly available. Junkyard, you can take a look at these too if you want." He motions for Alter to follow him while he fiddles with the commlink again, until a projected display throws the schematics up on the wall. "There were some nodes I couldn't crack when I was looking around, so you might want to hit those; there were three, specifically." After a second, three yellow dots pop up on the map to show their location in physical space. "We should be able to make it in okay if they can grab the key card, but once the alarms go off and we're on our way out the place is going to lock up tight. We need to blow our way out, and it looks like..." he says, zooming in and examining what he can of the city's plans for the building, "It looks like we've got to go through about three feet of reinforced concrete in the sub-basement to get through into the nearby sewer line."
After discussing this, assuming they don't have any questions for him, Derek settles in for a chat with Alter (and Junkyard, assuming he doesn't leave) about what he's been up to. Derek has pulled odd jobs where a rigger could work alone, keeping enough money on hand not to starve but not enough to keep either their old hideout or himself in decent shape. He describes his attempts to kick his BTL habit in significant depth; he admits to having had a few relapses, but says he's been off of them for three months now and the last time he ran anything in hot sim was about a week ago. While still gaunt and strung out, Derek seems happy enough with his progress and thinks he might be able to kick the habit for good. He mentions for a time how he'd love to have the team stick around together, but withdraws from that conversation topic quite quickly; either he realizes it's unlikely or looking too far into being a real team again hurts him more than he wants to let on.
"'Kay, D. Got da pic, less go see da man. Mebbe he can use a couple a buddies ta whoop some hoop, den we all go get plastered!"
Bronze claps Bogatir on the shoulder with a ring of metal, the two orks heading off to his Comet.
"Yer friend kin ride in da back, if wanna keep da bag on. Otherwise, I got a spot in da trunk wit a hidden panel, should fit in deer okay."
He nods in the affirmative when Blue asks about leaving his body in the hideout, seeming almost a little incredulous.
"Yeah, I guess... I wasn't really expecting you to be comfortable with that, but I'll make sure no one absconds with you while you're out and about in the Astral."
Blue sighs heavily, not quite meeting Derek's eyes, "Derek, to be honest, I am not 100% comfortable with the idea. But even I can see that you are being honest at least about trying very hard. They tell me that one very important thing in recovery is to have the support of your friends and family. I mean, I plan to leave a watcher or two around as always, but if a little trust from me can help you stay clean...just...please, Derek, don't f%$% this up!"
Blue is clearly upset by the conversation, the circumstances, his speech, and Derek's addiction. He abruptly leans back on the couch, going limp as he escapes to the astral plane to get away from the conversation. Once on the astral plane, he conjures up three watcher spirits. One is instructed to keep an eye on Derek and Alter, and to inform Blue if either Alter leaves, or if Derek jacks into his sim rig. The second is instructed to patrol the exterior of the building and alert Blue if anyone who is not one of the team approaches too closely. The third is instructed to patrol the area encompassing a mile radius from the building and report any astral, spirit, or magical activity. Finally, Blue exerts himself, magically speaking...
With a growl of frustration as he fails to call forth the spirit, Blue departs for the area around the museum...
Alter shifts on the couch uncomfortably as Blue says his piece, keeping her eyes on the couch until Blue slumps back and Alter carefully rearranges the man so he's a bit more comfortable. Turning back to Derek, Alter says, "Its ok Derek... they'll all come around, no more Beetles right?"
Alter leans back on the couch as she reaches up to the back of her head where hair doesn't grow but a metal plate hides her datajack. Pulling out the spool of wire Alter looks up at Derek and says, "Tanoshiku sugoshimashou ka??" before she slides the tip of the wire into the jack port on her commlink. Her eyes rolling up as her body slumps, diving into the matrix with a flash of warped light.
Ismail grins at Bronze. "He is not all that big.", he chuckles at the troll, himself almost a foot shorter than Bronze's massive physique. "And I will take you on that offer for carry. I can swing the gun like pistol, but it does not go on concealed carry permit. Even if I had permit.", he grins, shouldering the bag, unholstering his Ares Predator, the ordinarily big pistol appearing like a toy in the massive alloy hand.
Bogatir nods in agreement with Blue. "It's true. A pack can be as strong as weakest link, but we are not pack. If you feel like using, talk to either of us.", he grabs the rigger by the shoulder, a reassuring, if a cold and hard, grip.
As the two leave outside, Bogatir smiles at Bronze. "Is it me getting smaller, or you getting bigger?", he asks, putting on his paddy cap as he carefully places the machinegun in the trunk. "Let's hope we can do this with no bloodspill. A man should not die for doing honest job.", he says somberly, as he goes into the small Ford. "Bah! If your picking hand is as nimble as it was, we can just drink with the man. Just three security grunts, talking about life on job, yes?", he suggests, his right hand shaking, as he reaches into his jacket pocket to hide it.
"I dunno bout dat. Been workin' wit da Vory boys, dey all seem kinda little, less dey're orks too, ya know. Been working out a little, here an' dere. Nuttin' regular or nuttin', just livin' and workin'."
After stowing the big gun in the trunk, Bronze slides the sawn-off into its spot near the center console.
"Yah, chummer. My hands're steady as ever. A few more scars an' scrapes, but nuttin' perm'nent, yah. Here's ta hopin' the troll don' wanna go hard, just wanna relax and kick back, yah."
Michael falls back into old tricks with ease: he arrives at the museum in much the same way he appeared at the safe house, and almost instantly begins feeding information on what he's seeing to the rest of the team--both with his contact image link and communications through his subvocal mic. "Security's basic, but effective. Looks like guards on duty at the main entrance, doing their job. Better than rent-a-cops, anyway." He pauses to look around, and gauges whether he should test the entrance security--see if he can slip past since MADS don't reveal anything strange about him. In the end, though, he figures that can wait, especially since it could make a scene.
Instead, he begins to scope around the building and the block, looking for other potential entry points--back doors, low unguarded windows, an alley with a cheap fence or gate. Even leaping from a next-door building will do in a pinch, although it's not his preferred method of ingress.
1 hit
2 hits
3 hits
4 hits
3 hits
Bronze walks into the dumpy bar with shoulders set and head held high. Seeing the target at the bar, he moves up towards the stools, taking one a couple spaces down from the troll.
"Hurlg. Two pints. And vodka for me an' my comrade." Bronze accents his normal cityspeak with gutter Russian, slapping a ¥20 note down on the bar.
perception 1 hit
judge intentions 2 hits(to gauge the tone of the place and general mood - also to see if a fight seems likely to break out without our assistance).
Assuming his drinks are served, Bronze turns to Bogatir and raises the vodka glass high.
"Ta success an' profit, tovarisch! Pastrovya!"
Alter opens her eyes to the virtual Japanese Garden illuminated in the soft light of a full moon that is her personal node. A few birds go flowing overhead as Alter looks down at her familiar persona. A field of twinkling stars sitting in a deep void that makes up her body and trails of void light forming her hair. Feeling the subtle rush she always gets from being in VR and turning on her hotsim, Alter leaps out of her garden and into the wide open sea of the Matrix. Standing in a crowd of data models and other personas along the Emerald City Network Alter makes her way off down the matrix lanes, zooming along at the speed of thought.
Arriving at her destination, Alter looks up at the replica VR Seattle Museum of Arts and pulls up a set of AROs. Her chat program connecting in the team's commlinks automatically while another ARO becomes a trid hologram of the Museum floorplans overlaid with the security nodes. The final ARO spins for a moment before the shuffle settles on her music, set to low so it doesn't distract her.
Walking up to the VR building, Alter presses her hand forward which launches her hacking ARO, a series of comets shooting into the Museum's node looking for an entrance.
Junkyard isn't happy working with Derek, but he wants to see if the Rigger has truly changed his spots?
Ismail sits next to Bronze, a smile on his face, as he lifts the vodka in his shaky hand, and taking a long drink, wiping his mouth with his hand. "Nazdorovye!", he chuckles. Looking around, he looks at the troll drinking alone, and shuffles a seat to place himself between him and Bronze. "Come on, my friend. It's shameful to drink alone. Thoughts can't escape the head. Come join us, no?", he proposes, pointing towards a seat between them. "We share a story, you share a story, sounds like plan?", he asks, curling up his old shirt's sleeves.
Blue circulates the museum at a distance a couple of times looking for more information, and looking for a gap in the watcher cordon. He also tries to get a count of how many watcher spirits there are.
Alter logs into the newly hacked security account and waits a moment, but the Matrix alarm doesn't go off and she's found her way into the museum's mainframe. The museum has several nodes as she's already aware, one of which Derek mentions he wasn't able to crack. It's immediately obvious which one it is; she has peripheral access to the other nodes on the network with the exception of one. She can search the other nodes for information as she sees fit, but the node she's still locked out of seems to be based in an innocuous area of the museum, and there's no good reason to have another there or any explanation as to why.
Junkyard and Derek work through the schematics and seem to be able to fill in the information the plans lack. Junkyard figures out the kind of explosive he'll need to craft to not break structural supports while still blowing through into the sewers. Derek seems fairly cognizant and does his best to help with the schematics and also measures out the chemicals for Junkyard as he needs them and offers his limited input when helpful. It seems he's really sticking to staying clean; it's painfully obvious that he's suffering from withdrawal symptoms and he has the characteristic eye twitching of recovering BTL addicts who haven't yet completely recovered. His hands tremble on occasion and he excuses himself from handling any of the more volatile chemicals for that exact reason. Still, even though Junkyard isn't a trained doctor, he can tell Derek is in the later stages of withdrawal from the severity of some of his symptoms. He appears to be telling the truth about having not indulged in his addiction for some time now.
"Oy, chum. Name's Charles, but evr'one calls me Bronze. Pleased ta meetcha!"
Bronze sticks out a meaty hand to shake the troll's, not gripping super hard but quite obviously augmented both bone and muscle.
"Well, here's a liddle bit 'bout a job I did some times back. No names, no deets, so ka, but ya gon' get da gist alright I bet." Sipping on his hurlg and signaling for a refill of the vodka, Bronze begins his story.
"A ways back, dese Japanese types wuz cuttin' in on some frien's biz. Shortchangin' folks, rastlin' 'round and carryin' on whatnot. Dey was not too frien'ly like an' didn' stick round da hood 'sides slingin' deir drek and hasslin' folks. So my frien' scrapes up some cred, calls me up." Bronze grins as he pantomimes the phone call.
"Yo, Bronze, buddy, ol' pal, I gots a line on some scratch. Ya int'rested? He sounded fer real, so we gots ta talkin' and he laid out the plan. We was s'posed ta wreck one or two a dere cars, scare the Japanese fellas outta da hood, and sit on da corner ta make it look like some local boys got da spot from now on."
Slapping his knee, Bronze begins laughing as he relays the next part, Stupid fraggers wuz totin' 'round all dese mo'tov cocktails, do, and we dinnit know nothin' 'bout dat. Dey ain't been burnin' nothin' and I guess folks wuz payin' dem off so no-one scoped deir wares. Course, when Choppah and me lit dat lead car up with some rounds, we musta caught a whole crate or some drek on fire. Next thing ya know, dey all pour outta dat car like devil rats outta fallin' down squat! Coupla dem took some pot shots at us, so we put 'em down hard, and den da rest split on foot! We wuz just tryin' ta scare 'em off, not smoke dem, but I guess dey din' know dat."
He finishes the mug of thick brown booze and sets it on the bar. "We never did hear no more from dem fellas, and the local crew did come by an' set up shop, so da job worked in da end, I guess. Jus' not da way we meant it to!" Bronze wipes away a tear from laughing so hard at the memory, smiling past his oversized tusks.