Alter creeps over to the other side of the car she has been ducked behind. Her breathing a little shallow as she has her hand around her firearm grip. Alter whispers over the comms, "I'll be with Bogatir. Lets bug it before we get squished inside this turf war."
Alter will wait for a moment before slipping out of cover, moving to join Bogatir once he's away from the drop off zone.
Not privy to the communication net, Blue begins tailing Alter and Bogotir when they leave the area.
As the group makes it back down to the van, Derek starts to look around. Right as he opens his mouth, Michael drops down from the second story, landing crouched not unlike the cat Blue had transformed into. He stands up and brushes some dust off of himself, then gets into the van. "We better leave. I give it about a minute before we've got gunfire, we don't need to let them know we're here." Sure enough, as Derek veers away from the parking garage, not long after you can hear the rattle of cheap automatic gunfire in the distance.
"Good thing we got out of there, huh? Bogatir, did you get the money? No problems?" Derek looks over his shoulder, spying the case in his hands. "Did they pay us... in cash? I don't remember the last time that happened."
"We got paid, got away clean. Clean-ish, at least. Seems like a good enough job fer me."
Bronze stows his larger weapons and tries to relax after the excitement and adrenaline surge.
"What's next?"
Bogatir pats the briefcase. "Cash is good.", he shrugs, before opening it. "So, let us count how much it is?", he chuckles, resting the machinegun on the van's wall. "I always enjoyed this type of mathematics.", he bursts into a laugh, stifled by a cough. "I want to check if Derek's claims of it being enough to retire are true, do you not?"
Derek drive the van back down to the docks, and opens up the secret entrance to the old hideout. He's oddly quiet on the way there, and when he gets back he just plops himself down in the old recliner. Aasimov wanders over on its spindly legs, and perches on the wall behind him. He takes a look through the briefcase, and shrugs. "Well, it's all here. 85,000¥ a piece. It's a little old school, but the money's there." He clicks the briefcase shut and sets it on the table. "Well, that's it then, right? The run is done and we've gotten paid." Derek's hand twitches, and he itches his arms.
"I guess we're done then, huh? You, uh..." his voice trails off for a moment, before he shakes his head. "You guys don't have to stay anymore. Job's done, you know? So, uh, I guess nothing's keeping you. I'd love for you to stay, but I know this was a one time deal. It was fun though, right?"
Alter brushes the back of her neck with her hand. Her voice skipping as she tries to start talking but catches herself. Continuing with a bit more conviction after a moment, "You know... I don't really have a place to stay right now. Actually had to burn my old hiding spot just the other day. And this was a lot of fun, sticking it to the man with all of you again... I guess I'm saying I'm willing to stick around a bit longer. See how it goes. You did good today Derek."
Alter gives Derek a smile and settles back in her spot on the couch, wanting to hear what the others say.
"Yah, jus' got like six months worth 'a cred off one job, didn' hafta geek nobody and only got shot at fer like two minutes. Dis was good, like ol' times an' drek. Lemme order up sum brews an' mebbe tacos? We kin hang out and shoot da drek, neh?"
Bogatir stares at the money. More money than he'd seen in one place for more than half a decade... with the exception of the mirror, every morning. He lets out a dark, approving chuckle. Hah! Sticking around longer. I wish you do, too, ребенок. Slowly and methodically lowering himself onto the seat, he cradles the machinegun as if it was a child. After another cough, he reaches into his pocket to take his pills.
Raising a metal hand in the air, the old ork waves at the younger one. "Charles, my young friend. Come and bring us something to drink before we talk this through.", he smiles at Chuck, before letting out a loud sigh of satisfaction and lights up a cigarette. True, I'm not supposed to. I'm also not supposed to engage in firefights or sneak between rival gangs., he thinks, exhaling the smoke.
Leaning downwards, Bogatir stares at the floor for a moment, his thoughts drifting in the distance, before looking up at Derek. "Derek, my friend.", he says in a quiet voice. "True, you did say one more job. But, this week I felt better than I have in years!", he sends another smile, fist hitting the couch with a triumphant thud. "And, you have said, you are keeping off the BTL. You said the job is good payday. And you've kept your word." He nods. "I wish to stay... I do miss this life, my friend. And the thing I miss most, is the crew.", he lands a hand on Charles' shoulder. "So, even if there is no job, we stay in touch. And if there is job, you can count on me." I could live on beach with this, until the time comes. But I missed this. And I don't like the beach.
"Sorry, but I'm not staying. This was good money, Derek, but I don't believe you're going to stay clean forever. You'll f#~~ it all up, and it'll cost the rest of us. It always does." Junkyard takes his things and his share of the money, and heads out of the hideout. "I hope I'm wrong, but I'm not willing to bet on it. Last time, Alter lost her arm. This time, there's no telling who will lose what." The man shrugs, and the look on his face is forlorn. "This was fun, though. Glad you made it through this long, at least. Good luck, guys." Junkyard heads out the door and out into the Seattle night, and Michael stares at the door blankly.
"Well, that was certainly something." Michael sits down calmly in the chair, his movements as precise and mechanical as they've always been; ironic, for someone who doesn't have an ounce of chrome in his body. "I'll be staying too, I think. Things have been a little heated for me lately, but I don't think anyone will think to look for me here. That, and there's better company here than my other safe house." Aasimov scuttles over to Michael's seated position, and the man sets a hand on the robot's head. "Even if there's no job, it was nice catching up." Derek's face brightens, seeing most of the team seems willing to stay with him.
"Are you all sure? You really don't have to, just for me. I don't want to force you into something, but... I'd really appreciate it. Running with the gang has me feeling better than I have in years. Even if you all just stay here while you work, and we don't go out together, I think I'd like that." Derek pauses for a minute, then has a sheepish grin on his face. "So, uh, should I call a fixer? Our old contact doesn't work with me anymore, but I have a new guy. He got us this last job."
Bronze returns from his vehicle, having stowed his larger weapons and gear. He brings a beat up armor jacket in with him, stripping off his SWAT tactical vest and helmet, and shrugging into the more comfortable clothes.
"Got a case a' Soyweiser an' some Thai inbound, drone dropoff in like 15 minnits. If we're lookin' ta get anudder job righ' 'way, I kin call Vigo, but he's prob gon' wan' some muscle work, ya know?"
Blue glances from Derek to Alter to the others and back to Derek. His silence stretches and Blue half turns toward the door. It seems like he is going to leave until Bronze comes back in.
Blue sighs and walks back over to the couch and sits between Bogotir and Alter, "Bronze, you know I can't eat that Soy garbage."
After a little bit of a silence he speaks again, directly to Derek, "I miss the team. You end up not staying clean, and I am gone, but I will stay for now. In other news, I have heard a rumor of a spell that might help you, Derek. Might suppress the symptoms till you can shake it for good. I will stay, and I will do what I can."
Bogatir nods at Junkyard. "In that case, it has been honour to fight with you, old friend."One last time., the old ork says to the leaving man, a heavy, if shaking, hand landing onto Junkyard. "And good luck." He sighs at the door closing, nodding at the rest as he slowly sits down. "Bah! You're too quick, Derek! Don't lose yourself in work just yet.", he grins as he starts dismantling his armour as well. "Hah! Blue, for you, I know a guy. Borsh and pielmeni? They're Polish, so not as great, but no soy. Only mushroom and beets.", he chuckles, as a message starts appearing on his HUD. "Tomorrow, we sober up and look for Fixer! Today, we drink for Derek's sobriety!", he starts laughing in a loud voice.
"Sure, sure. We find a job tomorrow. Sounds like a plan." Derek looks around in the hideout for a bit, before coming back with a few bottles of alcohol. "There isn't a lot, but it's real. I got this as payment for a job I did for a small-time merchant a while back, hacked into his competition's servers and rerouted his inventory. He didn't have much money, but I figured real alcohol is hard to come by." He sets the bottles down on the table, along with a few old cups; he grabs a clean rag and wipes out the inside, clearly having been dusty from disuse. He pops open one bottle and pours himself a glass, then takes a big sip. He coughs but keeps the liquor in his mouth, then swallows. "Synth alcohol just doesn't burn like the real thing."
After a night of celebrating a job well done, you all wake up groggily, one by one. Some of you are more hungover than others, but Derek is the last one to come around. "Well, that was fun."
Alter goes into a coughing fit when she takes her first sip of real alcohol in her life, her voice strained as she wheezes out, "That... mmpphhh tastes like fire!" Her body shuddering as her mechanical arm goes twitchy for a moment as she holds out her glass for another sip.
In the morning, Alter wakes up with a massive hangover, rubbing her temples as she pops some headache pills and downs them with water. Sitting at the small dining table Alter looks down at the small screen on her commlink, reading the morning Decker news on ShadowSea.
Bogatir raises his glass. "To friends, current and gone.", he somberly toasts, before drinking the alcohol. He gradually cheers up during the night, ending up with bolsterous singing and impromptu dance lessons.
In the morning, Bogatir raises from the couch with a groan, his back cracking. Slowly rising, he looks around the room, stretching. "Too old to sleep on couch...", he shakes his head, shuffling with glacial tempo towards the kitchenette, and several minutes later arrives with cups of coffee. And too old to drink like this..., he shakes his head. "Ha! Fun it was, indeed.", he nods at Derek. "Good thing there's no neighbours.", he chuckles. "So, should we call fixer? If nothing else, I need ammunition."
Bronze relishes in the pain and misery of a hangover after real booze, then rubs his eyes and drags his hoop outta bed.
Stumbling over to the InstaKaf machine, he presses the button and waits for the brew to start. Dressed in just his BDU pants, his heavily muscled body shows multiple new scars and injuries gained over the recent years, with a surprising amount of knife or other blade scars along his arms.
"Ya, chummer, work sounds good. It's bin too lon' since we ran like propah 'fessionals, so ka? When ya call da ammo guy, I'm'a need a couple'a boxes a' shotgun shells. Mebbe some new rifle ammo, too, ya?"
Blue sniffs at the glass of alcohol, smiling in approval at the heady scent. He takes a small sip to taste, then after a moment tosses the drink back with a practiced motion and lets out a soft, "Ahhhhh," of pleasure and relaxes slightly into the couch. "That is excellent, Derek." He refills his glass and raises it in response to Bogotir, "Current and gone," before tossing another back.
The next morning, Blue wakes in his old room, bewildered for a moment, and with the predictable headache. He ignores the pain with an effort so practiced that he doesn't even notice it. Joining the others in the common room, Blue accepts a cup of coffee, "Good morning, my friends. It isn't soykaf is it, Bogotir?"
A little over a week after their celebrations, Derek emerges from his room with a PDA in his hand. "I don't know if you're all ready, but I got a few hits on another job. Three, actually. I'm pretty impartial, especially since you all stuck around. You choose this one." Derek sets the PDA down on the table, and a moment later each of you receive a message to your commlink detailing the jobs.
Robbing Lady Luck: Need a group to test new security at Foxwood Casino. Applicants must test limits of new security team; security will not be notified of test, armed response possible. Team must attempt to extract a predetermined amount of casino user data and exfiltrate for security report. Contact for further details.
Sending a Message: Local hacker has made enemies via Matrix pranks and stolen data being leaked onto the Matrix. Retribution for prior acts of vandalism is desired; previous encounters with hacker in cyberspace have left previous talent with severe neurological damage. Caution is advised if engaging target in the Matrix.
Cutting Your Losses: Corporate researcher looking for protection during move to a rival corporation; transfer of researcher and family along with sensitive research data is required for payout. Team will need to aid in the recovery of said data before extraction begins, and escort all parties to the pre-arranged safe house. Heavy resistance expected. Injury, loss of life, or any loss of data will result in payment deductions.
"Any of those sound interesting to you? We could always go look again if they don't."
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Later that day, Blue stands on the shore of the Puget sound and summons a water elemental. He has no electronic devices with him; such are not permitted where he now travels. The spirit manifests, engulfs Blue to his neck, and bears him into the cold water of the sound. With another politely phrased command, Wilson hides Blue and all signs of his passing from any observers.
Nearly a day later, on a private island in the Puget sound allowed to revert almost entirely to nature, Blue approaches the one building on the island: a hand-built, low hut made of stone and thatch. Both secrecy, magic, and well-paid contacts hide the significance of the island, but to Blue and the seven other members this was a haven and the center of their magical world.
Blue clasps hands, trades hugs, and in some cases simply a respectful nod. These have a bond of shared history that runs deep, and they have come to support Blue in this momentous occasion. The first day is spent in reaffirming friendships, sharing information, and telling stories. All of which served to strengthen the bonds between the young people.
The second day is one spent in communal meditation, low conversation, and cleansing rites. That evening, prepared for the coming ritual, the eight make their way in pairs through the dark-shrouded woods to the sacred wood, a stand of thirteen ancient oaks mysteriously arranged in a perfect circle with a huge block of obsidian positioned at exactly north inside the ring of trees.
Though it would be customary to hold the rite on Ostara or Beltane, that was not, strictly speaking, necessary. And Blue was impatient, a large part of why it had taken him so long to be ready for this. Faun smiles in fond exasperation at Blue's eagerness, and Sigh chuckles knowingly as his oldest friend begins the journey into the true study of magic. Most of the others have already initiated into the inner mysteries of the Awakened world, and Blue is eager to join them.
Taking their places around the circle, the eight shamans begin their rite. The sacred space is purified, the watchtowers are invoked, and the gods and all goodly spirits are invited to join the participants inside the circle. Finally, Blue is called forward to stand before the others. With his own blood and in the words they all have chosen, he swears an oath of secrecy, obedience, and fraternity. Spoken in this place for this purpose, his oath sinks into him, becoming part of his magic. When he looks up, a massive crow is perched upon the obsidian altar. He blinks, and it is an impossibly beautiful woman. He blinks again and it is gone.
As the ritual progresses, he can sense that the astral plane, a place he had long thought to be what was beyond the mundane world, is in fact merely the thinnest of thresholds to all that lies beyond the world his physical eyes can see. For all its vastness, it is insignificant beside the metaplanes he can now see. Also to him comes a deeper understanding of the spirit allies he has long summoned. An understanding of how a bound spirit may be enhanced, brought to its full potential by a skilled summoner; an invoking of its great form.
The rite comes to a close, and tired, the eight once again walk together through the night. Though this time they travel as a single group back to the lodge and to their beds.
The morning of the third day is a time for reflection, recovery, and sharing. The first to discover the art of invocation, Blue is eager to share his understanding with the others, though they seem not to fully grasp his meaning. He has always been the best among them with spirits.
The leavetaking begins at noon of the third day. Though Blue hates goodbyes, he is eager to return to the warehouse. These seven are the closest thing he has to a family, but not all of them are what he would call friends.
In a mirror image of his trip from a few days before, Blue summons the water elemental again and vanishes behind a screen of concealment as the elemental bears him across the sound and back to Seattle.
Blue sets down his commlink with an exasperated sigh, "These people are just being difficult on purpose, I think." When it chirps again with Derek's message he picks it back up and scans through the offers, "The casino looks interesting. Or the extraction. I will have a few new friends to help us out." There is something a little giddy in his eyes when he says this.
Alter also takes a short leave of absence from the group a few days into settling into the new routine. When she comes back to the group she has a new hexagonal forehead plate along the right side of her forehead and a series of small sub-dermal lights running to the hinge of her jaw line from her left ear. After a bit of healing and relaxing, Alter looks over the three jobs on offer and bites her lower lip in thought as she considers the options.
"I like the Corp. researcher job the most. Sounds like it will give the most money and will play to our groups strengths the best."
"I'm interested in the corporate job too, actually. Johnson says he wants to meet us at a bar downtown tomorrow night called Neon Rain. He says to ask the bartender for directions to the private conference lounge upstairs. There'll be two bodyguards to check for weapons, anything bigger than a sidearm and the deal's off." Derek picks the pad up again and types for a few seconds and soon a little ding goes off before he pockets it and heads off toward his room. "Meeting's set up. Make sure you've got everything sorted before we go, they might want us working after the meeting. You never know."
"Dat mean a reg'lar breeder sidearm, er a real sized pistol? I mean, I ain't need a gun if it comes down to it, but jus' curious."
Blue stands from the couch, tucking his commlink in its pocket and picking up his riding jacket, "Well, if we might be on duty tomorrow night, I have a few things to do to be ready. You all know how to reach me..." With that he heads outside.
The day after the payday, Bogatir is on the couch, staring at the money. It is more than I got for year of service. Damnit, it is almost more than I got retiring from service..., he ponders, shaking his head. And it can do a lot of good, in the right place.
As midday approaches, he nods. "My friends, some of us still have honest jobs we need to do.", he grins, picking up the heavy machinegun and starting to dismantle it into the dufflebag. "And also, black markets to visit. I will see you soon.", he nods, shuffling in his languid pace towards the door.
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The night, even darker than usual due to the new moon, serves as a good cover for the infiltrator, average even when half his age. Pulling his hood down and drawing an envelope from his pocket, he stuffs a silver credit stick down, and shoves it down the door. Eh. I thought whether or not it was worth to give for animals., the old ork ponders as he lights up a cigarette on the bus stop. Then again. It is not just helping the animals. It is paying rent. It is letting people have honest life, and it's letting them know they are doing good. Stepping into the bus and swiping his wrist at the SIN scanner, Ismail Aslanov gets on the bus and disappears.
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The office is dark, cigarette smoke swirling around the ancient ceiling fan. "That's... a tall order.", the man sitting behind the monitor mutters after a while, drawing into the smoke. "That is a heavy credstick, my friend.", the thickly accented voice on the other chair answered. "It's almost dangerous handling it, it is so full it could spill.", he chuckled.
"Licenses, SINs, ammunition, spy gear. Top notch, too.", the fixer commented, shaking his head. "Bogi, for half this money you can get to Antalia, life like a king for a year.", he added in a more worried voice. The ork shook his head, leaning forward, his defiant smile shining through the window. "I've never lived like a king, Lyova. I never planned on dying like one. And in the end, we all leave this world as we joined it. All that's left is those who remember."
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A week later, the door of the hideout opens, shocking the inhabitants for a brief moment. Bogatir walks in, dressed in a sharp suit to the strictest fashions, obviously bespoke. A thick black coat hangs above it. On his face, rather than the tortoiseshell glasses with a neck-strap, perches a pair of European style golden-rimmed spectacles, poking behind a clean-shaven face and a trimmed hair. A wide contrabass case hangs on his shoulder, held as one would hold a child.
"My friends.", Bogatir lets out, pulling out a cigar. "I trust you have been well.", he chuckles in a confident voice.
Amusingly enough, as the group rolls up on the club they were told to visit, a downpour drenches the streets of Seattle. The club, Neon Rain, looks to be an upscale establishment; its neon signs are diffused through the rain and cast a vague pink glow across the block. Inside, new-age smooth jazz plays through the speakers, and upon asking the attendant they point you upstairs toward the private conference room. After the group has cleaned up, they only get a few stares from regulars that notice them as outsiders.
At the top of the stairs, two orks that you can only assume are Mr. Johnson's bodyguards, motion for you to stop. "Arms out to your sides, we need to check you for weapons." The other ork has his hand in his jacket, his hand clearly gripping a weapon. "Once you're clear, you can head on through. Mr. Johnson is waiting for you."
Bronze steps up first, looking dapper and imposing in his Berwick suit and Greatcoat. He slowly opens his jacket to expose the Fichetti Executive Action pistol on the suits internal holster, and allows the bodyguard types to remove it if desired. He stands confidently as they pay him down (or wand, etc), having left the real hardware back home.
"Was' good here, chummer? Any foods ta tty fe righteous?"
Blue merely arches an eyebrow, and does as asked. Aside from a small pocketknife, he is unarmed.