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"Psshyeah. If you just can't handle what it's like to look at the world as a sub-zero razorgrrl, that's your mental trauma," Wraith touts back as her bleeding edge cyber-eyes are poo-pooed in favor of of the mundane nerd-ware.
"Aff to that my darling husband that's never done anything bad in his life except for the 'golf-pants incident' in Annapolis...but we don't need to bring that up here.
Yes, by all means let's cause some trouble!
Erm, ah, I mean, -totally- not cause any trouble.
Totally."
Sun does as she is asked and slaves her cheap comm into R-R's system before hopping out the door and moving towards the shop. She turns to talk with Glass as they wander over to the store.
"Well power focus' are always the rage. I am sure that there will be many items of interest within this store"
Road-Rage looks a little concerned at the others potentially piggy-backing into his comms, but he trusts their new net-wiz allowing her access to his cyber-enhanced vision...
"Fine with me. You got my eyes now Sybil?"
The burly hob almost gives the inert hacker a thumbs up, then shakes his head with a toothy grin before closing the van up and joining Glass and Sunset.
"So is it going to be all eye of newt trek in here? No one better try and turn me into a toad I'll tell you that much."
Pulling up basically right to the door of the store, Nomad stops his bike with a dramatic flourish before removing his helmet and tossing his stylishly unkempt hair around.
"Whaddya say, babe, wanna check out the new threads? Bet these guys'll let us peep the new line early, like last year. "
With a dramatic sniff he dismounts the motorcycle and drapes an arm across Wraith, walking to the front door and intercom.
<Hey, inside. Its Ken, and Babs. We're here, so open up. Please.>
"You got my eyes now Sybil?"
"I've got eyes for days."
Sybil starts flying around the Vashon server, prodding at any known vulnerabilities. Companies software is usually outsourced to consulting companies staffed with underpaid trainees, and their best way of coding is to pull off something from BBSs and forums. As a result, the hodge-podge of styles leaves some holes for the discerning connoisseur to exploit.
"Dolls team, I haven't put you in the system yet, give me a minute. I'll ping you when I've the ACK."
Comes what may, I assume I'll need to get three marks somewhere, so I'm putting down three Hack on the Fly actions in advance. It's resisted with Intuition + Firewall.
By the way, I have noise reduction 4.
EDIT: Scratch that: Edit File only requires one mark. However, the first HotF is possibly to change grids, unless they are on the NeoNET or local one.
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Wraith gives Nomed her best FAKE SMILE #1! at the mention of getting a peek at the new line early, and a part of her can't hide a quantum of real emotionally joy at the prospect of -actually- doing just that.
She leans into Nomad's arm and slides her own around his waist, pleased almost as much at the feel of their mutual tautness joined as from her imagined envy at others as they see two such paragons so obviously together and at the apex of fashionable taste. If only Derrick could see them no--
Wraith almost trips over her own feet before regaining her balance and spinning in place, her eyes of METAL scanning for targets and her internal A-TAC running threat assessments on everything in tactical range. Her right hand twitches involuntarily, wondering why it's not holding her concealed firearm.
After 2.3 seconds her internal mood catches up with the jazzed chips and starts calming everything down, valiantly trying to shut out -that- memory and -that- name back to the multi-tiered dungeon it must have wandered out of.
"Offf, totes sry flame boy, must some low-class pavement they got around. I swear it tried to mug me." She consciously is getting a wrap back on things and her fake smile is 82% re-booted into place when she re-gains her arm-in-arm lock on Nomad.
"Null sheen, babes. Maybe we come back and sledgehammer the offending asphalt, neh?"
Smoothly playing off the 'ware glitch, Nomad continues towards the store.
With nary a flick of her thought, Sybil leaps through the mesmerising weave of the Matrix, scintillating blue lights blazing past her for a second as the bog-standard clean VR of the neighbourhood matrix leaps onto the Vashon Client. The surroundings are neater, sleeker and much more stylised than the ones before, a hint of Southern European style meshed into the client. A virtual assistant in the shape of an elegant woman in her thirties, dressed in a Vashon dress is clearly positioned to be the attendant of the outlet stands overlayed next to the physical entrance of the building.
Sybil's trained senses glance that in one of her hands is an icon of a pad - undoubtedly a wholly different program integrated with the store's VI. Gently sneaking behind the attendant who doesn't seem to notice the decker sneaking past her. With a gentle touch, two new names appear on the list, and a moment later, they flicker green. As Sybil lets down, she notices two more shapes seemingly roaming around the clients of the shop, but none of the clients seem to notice them.
Regardless of where Sybil moves in the host, they seem to almost instictively block her path towards a virtual room next to the changing rooms.
Sybil's acknowledgement pings on your comms, and the two of you leave the chill winter air for the pleasantly air-conditioned entrance. No sooner you've walked in that you're greeted by an attractive human woman in a business dress who smiles a flashing at you. "Good evening.", she says with a pleasant, if a touch artificial, voice. Her eyes glaze over for just a moment, and her smile beams a little further. "Let me be the first to welcome you to Vashon Island! One of our fashion consultants will be with you in just a minute." An AR request pings on your pans, with a short menu order of coffees and wines, and the woman ushers you in, her previously undivided attention shifting towards the next customer.
As you walk through the doors, you're treated to a spectacle of fashion. Hovering AR holograms float in the air, all surrounded by the ephemereal shadows from the outside, disappearing and reappearing on the walls. Quiet lounge music escorts you in, and you see that a lot of the customers are escorted by an assistant, usually AR, but occasionally, towards the inner sections of new styles, a living, breathing assistant.
After a few seconds, just as the sight starts to wane, an AR apparition appears in your PANs. "Good evening. I'm your new assistant. Welcome to Vashon." A younger female voice echoes in your commlinks. The shape is that of a young woman, dressed in a similar dress as to the hostess. "Shall we start with a particular style?"
Though a few side eyes are tossed at Road-Rage as he walks down the street, you cross the bustling streets with no problem. As you push the heavy, antique door of the shop, a small brass bell rings with a chipper tone, pushing in a feeling of an early century Christmas film. Inside, the store appears to be neither packed nor empty, with fresh-faced youngsters darting around shelves of ordinary reagents. A few other patrons are sitting around the tables, hands darting around to flick the pages of an AR book, or huddled next to each other and discussing something written on the table.
The front part of the store appears to be mostly tall shelves of reagents Glass would recognise as cheap and simple. A gargantuan beast of a mahogany desk, surrounded by rope partitions, seems to separate half of the store from the rest, though it's easy to spot that the towering cabinets continue further inside. Two of the patrons' eyes, their attention raised by the bell, glance at the door, eyes burrowing into Road-Rage, but after looking down at the two elves accompanying him, look away.
Why hello there, mysterious locked area. What do you hide?
"Nomad, Wraith, I've got a Jeremy Watson and an Alanna Smith crystalled as trusted employees, so take care with your names. There's something fun hidden around, I'll ping you if I get some more info, fi."
Sybil tip-toes around the ICs, trusting that they are programmed just to scan the crowd. As long as she doesn't botch a hack or gets burnt by convergence, her layers of anonymity should screen her from the bots, and there is no reason to believe a spider is onto her just yet.
Whatever is in the hidden area, someone doesn't want her to look into it. So, of course she loads up a cross-scripting blob of innocent-looking queries, flooding the
Question: What sort of IC are they? If one is a Patrol, according to Data Trails (page 86) it should run Matrix Perception (Host Rating x 2)[Data Processing] against me every handful of turns (depending on the Host Rating) or it won't even notice me since I'm silent. Then it would have to roll an opposed one to actually find me. And I'm guessing I have a mark on the host, so I should look rather legitimate. Any IC that is not Patrol, according to what I read online, can't attack until I'm flagged as a target.
I'm also using a Hack on the Fly if a different device is blocking the access to the virtual room, to get a mark on it. If not, I'll mark the host.
Glass's eyes scan over the basic reagents, then he gives a shrug as if to say "seen it all before", then he turns and looks round the room to see who looks like they might work there.
Nomad pings the AR assistant and affects a bored demeanor.
"Ya know, virtual shoplady, we are used to a more personal touch. You might be fine for the off the rack crew, but my honey and I need to speak with a meta human please. An attractive one, if you will."
Trying to make eye contact with one of the living shop assistants, Nomad gestures with his thumb and forefinger in a universal sign for "money".
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'Just go.'
Wraith squeezes her eyes, trying to get the ghost of the past out of her data banks. 'Bad time to fr33k' she thinks.
Finally she processes what Sybil just commed them.
>>>Nomad, um, we're scripted as employees now? Okay, well, that would make this easier. What say we just walk back there to tell one of the wage slaves we have to 'do inventory' or something and start casing the back?<<< she comms to Nomad.
She'd like to get into some trouble just now, but doing things the easy was is (almost) always good.
Sun wanders through the store, poking into the many nooks and corners as if she were looking for something specific. She keeps Glass in her sight and can guess where R-R is by the dismissive sounds of the patrons who he is near!
She makes her way back to the rear of the store where the big desk is located and takes her time to get a good look at the layout.
Road-Rage meets the gaze of the disapproving patrons with a toothy grimace, all the while allowing his mind to picture them being dispatched in varying ways under the wheels of his Titan.
Eye of newt and wing of bat my hob a$$. One of these mooks waves a wand at me it'll be rammed up his tailpipe.
Scowling, the big hob hangs back letting the elves do the digging.
After a pause of roughly a second, the AR assistant nods at Nomad. "Of course. One of our expert staff will come along as soon as they are able. If there are any further questions that I can help with, just ask." The program blurs away, then a copy of it appears thirty feet back next to the doorway, appearing to wait for new customers.
Sybil notices that the two patrol IC's are simply glancing at the traffic from the datastreams of the customers. However, upon further inspection, she notices that the inner host is guarded by a marker IC, the icon the surprisingly utilitarian NeoNET detector gate.
Nomad and Wraith, ever watchful, notice that no more than ten seconds after their request, a petite young human woman with short, curly hair throws a glance in their direction. Wraith's hawkeye gaze sees that the woman's eyes glaze over for a moment, as she appears to be in thought, before walking towards you. The sign from Nomad brings a surprisingly relaxed smile to her face, and she approaches, hands held together. "Good evening. My name's Monica, and I'll be your personal assistant." Her eyes glance over you for a moment, and she adds in a slightly more relaxed tone, "You're looking for athleisure, or more formal clothes?"
R-R's grimace does little to help the current occupants' apparent opinion of him, but as he leans back on the wall and seemingly sits waiting, the tension reduces to only the occasional glance, and as the other two disappear into the shop, the murmur of quiet conversation sets back in. One of the most persistent outlookers is a dwarf female, seemingly not more than a teenager, with ferociously red hair and freckles, and a set of green eyes than glance away the moment R-R's stare back at her pretending badly not to stare.
Sunset and Glass' staking of the shelves reveals little of interest, bar the thick columns in the centre of the shop being an excellent piece of cover in a firefight. And, except a glass-covered bookcase of dark wood, almost hidden in a dimly lit corner, away from the windows. Standing taller than nine feet in the air, it appears full of tomes, books and scribbles of various sorts, but nobody else seems interested in it. As you meet at the mahogany desk, a young-looking (aren't they all) elf with a plaid suit and a set of eyeglasses nods at you, speaking with a pleasant English baritone. "Good evening!", he greets, and after a moment of consideration, turns to Sunset. "Are you looking for something specific?"
When the red-headed dwarf shoots him another look, Road-Rage flashes her a jagged grin;
"Mir dautas freckles. You know me girl?"
Nomad approaches the young lady with a wide confident smile on his face, arm around Wraith's waist. As he gets close, he slides a quick ¥100 AR "tip" her way and grasps her hand in a handshake. Really laying on the charm and leaning in closely to ensure the pheromones do their work, he practically whispers in her ear, like the trio was in a loud thumping club.
"Monica, lovely name for a lovely lady. How are you, I'm Jeremy buy my friends call me Jay. This beautiful work of womanly art is 'Lanna. Perhaps you've heard of us, or seen us out and about? No matter, no matter."
He directs her with deft touches and slight body posture changes until the three of them are in a corner out of direct view from any other customers or (hopefully) security cameras.
"Two questions for you, lovely Monica, and hopefully we can be quite friendly going forward, hmm? Firstly, do you like to party? Like, get out and dolled up, have a great time, some drinks and candy, maybe go home with a beautiful stranger for some fun? Cuz we are all about the party and I think you'd be a great fit for our group."
Continuing the schmooze fest, and assuming the girl hasn't spooked yet, Nomad slips a packet of powder from his pocket and glides it across Monica's palm as he speaks.
2 hits to hand over a dose of NovaCoke
"Now, the second question is a bit more serious...Monica, how do you feel about making money and wearing fabulous clothes? Cuz we have the possibility to get some friends involved in a launch-day dress up and play party, and I am quite sure the tips and candy available would put this paltry amount to shame. So, honey, whaddya say?"
7 hits
2 hits
1 hit
Grand Total = 10 hits on Con(Seduction)
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Try as he might, Road-Rage can't seem to remember meeting the dwarf before. The snarled words in Or'zet seem to shake her at first, as she bites her lips, before shaking her head nervously. "N-no.", she shakes her head once again. A quiet moment of intense outward hesitation, she steps forwards, her eyes darting around Road-Rage's head and neck. "Could, uh, could I ask you a question? If, ahem,", her words flow with a rapid, suburban accent, ", well, sorry in advance if it's too personal, but I'v-" Biting her lips, she inhales. "What's that like,", she gestures towards Road-Rage's face, covered in rough, practical cybernetics, as her mouth kicks into sixth gear. "Psychoholistica-, uh, on an emotional level, or more like spiritual..."
Even as her mouth moves, it's visible she already regrets staring in the first place, and as she finishes, she glances back as if she's expecting to be punched at any moment. The inconspicuous glances in the room, though, are now almost evenly split between the two of you.
Whether the tip(s), Nomad's nautral charm or the almost visible cloud of pheromones exuding Nomad and Wraith, the girl's eyes glaze over for a moment and she nervously rises her commlink to her mouth. "Hey, Tif, I'm off for a smoke break.", she hisses quickly, before straightening her dress, the packet disappearing without a trace. "I, well... Can't say I've had the pleasure.", she answers the first question with tone a little more deferential than before. "Are you grammers?", she asks, somewhat distraught that she's unaware of the duo in front of her, before glancing around. "I'm strictly employed by Vashon Island and its subsidiaries. Buuuuut.", she smiles, "it says nothing about going anywhere after work on launch day." Monica winks, raising a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. "So... where's the party, and who's co... what's the, hm, dress code?"
Sunset looks over at the sales-elf and smiles.
"I see you have some very basic items out here for those who dabble, but what might you have for us more initiated?"
She makes sure that she slightly emphasizes the 'initiated' part of her speech.
The burly hob mulls the patron's question, frowning as he processes her words;
"Huh. Interesting question Freckles... No-one ever asked me that before... Guess functional would sum it up. Don't have a face like a car-crash for fun. If the chrome'n'chippin' ever bothered me upstairs, I don't remember them dayz no more."
Road-Rage taps his head with a wistful smile, then eyes the dwarf;
"You some kind'o student Freckles? Journo? Speak up - we cool, so I won't bite..."
The sales-elf nods back. "Well, I personally wouldn't call them 'basic', of course, ", he replies, the tone of his voice suggesting that he's slightly offended by the phrase, "but we do have more, hrm, specialised inventory in the back. If you bear with me for a moment,", he says, raising a finger and disappearing in the back. Tsking and muttering is overheard by the till for a good couple of minutes, before the man returns, carrying a small cardboard box. "I believe this might be something more along your area of interest.", he says, opening the box to reveal... two shoelaces. Satisfied with the presentation, he continues, "We also have a tattoist from Tír Tairngire we could book, if you're looking for something else?"
The dwarf blushes at the nickname, before she blurts out, "Uh. Student! We started covering the effect on foreign competence in my hermetic studies, and you see all people with datajacks and the like, basically a necessity if you're un-Awakened, but you barely see anyone with more foreign competence around, unless it's bioware..." Realising she's tying sentences to one another, she pauses, "There's research about the effect of implants on the mind and body, and we've all seen those movies about the street samurai and their code keeping them from going insane, but...", she looks down, "all the psychological studies are from the 40's and 50's." She glances back up, nervously shifting on her seat. "Uh, thanks a lot for answering me. I'll leave you to your... business,", she glances at Glass and Sunset, then back at R-R and her mouth opens as the obvious strikes her like a truck.
Glass looks intently at the shoelaces, then up to the sales-elf, allowing his other sight to take in the interior of the shop
Road-Rage shrugs his shoulders;
"Ah. Don't mind them Freckles, they're elves... always interested in magickin' and that jazz. Reckon their ears are like magic antenna..."
He flashes her a toothy grin at the whispered joke on elves.
Leaning back, the hob welcomes the chat as his companions continue their sortie;
"All that stuff you readin' on chrome an' hermawhatever sounds interesting. You ever need an interview subject let me know."
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Alanna kept up her Backing-smile#3 and she sort-a thought about backing up Nomad but...frag the guy was good. For a sec she -also- was looking forward to this max-chill wizARD after-party before she shook herself and came back to t3h realz.
>>Okay, gnom-AD, you got dis chix ready to open up her butter-cream gates to your battering ram. Congratz. What's this got to do wit biznez?<< she comms at 'Jay', wishing she paid more attention to the pre-run briefing.
Nah. That would've been a lot of work.
Sun looks over to Glass to get his impression of these...shoelaces.
<If we get her to open the doors and scoop the clothes just before midnight launch day for a big old party-reveal-orgy, we dont gotta shoot or punch or pick a single lock. If we're feeling extra evil and nefarious, we get a pretty white girl to take the fall or end up in a 'Yak back alley parlor. Not my intention, mind.>
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Rather certain that her stealth is holding Sybil heads to slip past the Marker and into the more restricted section.
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"Monica, baby, it's all good. We're what you might call 'guerilla marketers.' It makes sense you haven't heard of us, were like good producers and Dee-Jays, we make everyone else look and sound good. And that's what Vashon Island is all about, right? Get the pretty people and make em even prettier. Jazz up the shine, make everyone else jealous. And that's what this party is all about. Dress code ain't crucial, just being a smoking hot hardbody like you is enough. Cuz it's a launch night party, dig? Extra fashionable peeps gonna get to wear the brand new line, make a big splash on MeFeed and P2.0, get all the normies juiced for the new line coming out."
Nomad employs all the tricks he knows to get Monica on "the team", hoping to set the hook with his pitch.
"So, heres where your skills come in. We need a big assortment of the new line dropping in a couplea days, and we need to bring them to the party, with you, so we can dress and sell all the influencers before we snap the vids and holos. So, are you in? Great tips, more 'candy' - both eye and nose- than you can shake a stick at, and I can personally guarantee you wont be spending the night alone, if you dont wanna. Just gotta keep it on the DL, til the launch day after all."
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Monica's eyebrow darts for a moment, as her eyes flare in the distance. "Well...", she says, before she taps her datajack, and bursts into a smile. "Oh, my god.", she almost giggles. "You're from Central? Wow, you're so good, I almost believed you for a sec!" She shakes her head theatrically. "Wait, the party's real, right? We're getting live telemetry from the wearers until tonight, so we can fit them perfectly on the day." Her eyes flutter for a moment. "Wait, we can still do this. Listen, if you give me a list of the people who want them, I can make sure they're the first ones to be finished. Like, if they know there'll be at a party earlier than that point, they'll already be in the shape they want for that event, right?"
As Sybil steps through the metal detector, there is little response. The frame doesn't even beep, and the patrol IC doesn't indicate it has notices anything passing through the gate.
Inside, the host is a lot more utilitarian and bare, only the Vashon Island logo hovering in the background indicating that the host belongs to the store. In the bare room, you notice three visible icons, all in the shapes of folders. One has a metahuman symbol on it, the second is simply labeled 'myStore' and the third has a network picture on it.
The student's face alternates quickly between a blush and a pale face. "Are you guys, you know... runners?", she whispers intently, before biting her lips, eyes gaping wide open. With a wave of her hand, she sends a ping to Road-Rage with comm details, then chipperly jumps down from her chair. "Uh, yeah, I'll get back to you!", she blurts with excitement, and quickly disappears through the door. As R-R glances back at his PAN, he notices a contact message from one Gemma Tzu, with a picture of the very same dwarf attached.
The shoelaces are bright, neon green colour, and thick enough to fit on a boot or a 60's style sneaker. The aura surrounding them is a similar cloud of sparkling, electrical blue and eclectic green.
The shopkeep smiles at Glass as he assenses the laces. "As you can discern, I imagine those are more to the fancy of your friend." He darts an eye towards Road-Rage in the front of the shop, and his expression towards the rough-looking elf changes considerably. "Are you yourself interested in reagents, or talismans?"
Road-Rage doesn't answer the red-headed dwarf on being runners, he merely flashing a toothy grin and putting finger to lips in a Shhhhh action.
As he heads off the hob chuckles;
'L8r Freckles."
He then turns his attention toward his companions who are engaging with another of the ilk.
Glass gives a very small nod "Yeah, those are more for the lady."
He takes a breath, as if considering his next answer.
"I think reagents, as it's unlikely you'd have the sort of talismans I'm interested in. Gonna have to make them myself." Glancing over at the bookcase, he continues "Going to have to be something a bit special, to protect against what I've seen recently. Powerful."
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As Nomad seems to take more than a pair of nanosecs to reply, Wraith worries that maybe the stress is getting to him. 'Too little chrome,' she thinks, confident that if he just had better 'ware installed, the retail-poof wouldn't have even questioned them. Of course, lack of cyber is the weakness of everyone.
Herself included.
Alanna exhales and steps up her own Pheromone cocktail. Nomad's is good--very good--but a bit aggressive for her taste. He smells both like a champion Spanish matador in the ring during the prime of his career, and the bull, striding around and spreading his dominance , engaging admiration just for showing up. Her own mix was more like the water of a bubble-bath, ever-present and smelling of jack-fruit and starfruit and ylang-ylang and other scents that make you think you /really/ can't afford what you just spilled into the bathwater but it is -so- totally worth it.
She laughs her girlish laugh, a non-verbalized cue that dismisses everything the lady just said. "Ah, natch! Ya got us! Guilty as charged," she does a micro-scopic curtsy. "Yeah, we're 'in' but, as we just said, this isn't the convention game where we have a 'list' and a 'lead-up' and other things that increase the risk of word getting out 'cause as soon as we hand you a list of all your fav accounts you follow, -someone- in the chain is gonna post that to IChirp and the whole multi-mil op is concrete-poisoned, scan?" Wraith flashes serious before softening her tone and smiling and leaning in as a friend.
"Hush hush, mei-mei. Chip-truth? Priorities. Scan? Sometimes the shock of the thing is point. If we wanted 'normal' we'd just wave a comm to the fac and you'd not even know this was going on and you miss your shot at PrimeTime. That what you want? No, of course not. This is the plan and the plan is gonna work.
Or we gotta find a different girl to have a taste of PrimeTime?"
= 3 hits
"Monica, honey, my glorious partner is completely correct. The overall marketing plan calls for an organic, natural rollout over the feeds, and if everyone and their sister starts panting and screaming over these particular folks, it'll blow the surprise. Not to mention, having multiple PPV feeds of the final fitting and dress up rooms, available for subscription and single purchase of course, we gotta make sure those revenue streams are protected."
Taking a bit of a step back and allowing Monica to process the offers in front of her: money, social climb, narcotics, and a night or two in the sack with a celebrity, he waits for her to come to a decision.
"We'd really like to have you as part of the real team, Monica. It'd be a reward for your loyalty, as well as showcasing your style and personal charm, and boost the company's value at the same time. But it's your call, obvs."
While Alanna and Nomad are laying out the charm, Sybil is up to the gills in information. The high and elation of the datastream flows through her nerves, unaware and uncaring that her meat shackle of a body is currently drooling in a wheelchair. The cybermodules in her brain run with the unmatched parallelism of the wetware substrate as she launches a full diagnostic scan of the products in front of her, on the hunt for paydata.
The bulky hob swaggers up to the trio of elves wearing a toothy grin;
"Amazing what hidden treasures turn up in majunk shoppes like this eh?"
Road-Rage allows his default setting of belligerent to return, growling a question at the elven cabal;
"So... You dandies find anything worth our hard earned ¥en?"
4 hits
Monica's eyes light up as she thinks over Wraith's words. "Oh! Guerilla marketing, not Gorilla Marketing.", she sighs. "Well, fitting all of them overnight might be a little difficult, but we can convince the fitters so that they're all ready a day before." She taps her lips. "There's the delivery parking spot behind the shop, if you bring your cameras and crew around the time you want it to, I can make sure you get in as they're being fitted. If you want to bring someone, like, really famous behind in the shop, though, let me know, I want to be in the shot.", she hisses conspiratively, then shuffles a little. "Is there anything else? If you have questions, or want me to do something, here's my comms.", she whispers, shooting away an AR ping onto your pans, then disappears into back into the shop, skip in her step.
The metahuman and myStore icons seem to have no protection, but a longer look at the network file appears to have a small padlock around it. The files in the metahuman resources shows a collection of emails and correspondence for the local branch, as well as the payslip recordings for the people working here. The files in the myStore show the stock of the current store, the rota and a file labeled 'Heritage Amazonia Stock - Seattle - #2' A brief glance through the list shows a set of numbers dashed with other numbers and trends.
The shopkeeper rises his eyebrow as Glass mentions he makes his own talismans, but purses his lips, saying nothing. "Of course! We have a large selection of reagents. The classics, of course, but since you mentioned power, I'll assume you need something more... portable.", he clears his throat, disappearing behind to return a moment later with a stylish steel vial the size of a water bottle. "Hellenic bronze, granulated. A vial of this sort can last a medic more than a week in extended battlefield circumstances, and the average layman for more than a year." He lays a couple of granules onto the table, and as Glass lays his fingers on them, he feels that a couple of pellets can do the same as a satchel-full of herbs would, otherwise. And is undoubtedly more expensive. "Perhaps if you tell me what, what you're looking for exactly, I can be a little more help.", he nods.
"Exactly is a bit tricky. I'm gonna need something to protect against spirits." Glass glances round the shop, then lowers his voice and leans toward the sales-elf "Insects. Big, nasty, and strong."
Leaning back, he grins. "Super strength astral Raid. Then I'm gonna start working on a fly swatter. Probably need some odds and ends like astral powder as well, but shouldn't think you'd call that anything special"
Why, hello.
Sybil launches a copy program to make a copy of every file on the open servers, then opens a channel to Horatio and Alanna.
<"Lady and gentleman, I'm about to go ham on the data lying around. Get ready to make an exit if alarms start ringing.">
She waits sixty long seconds for them to prepare, then drops the silent running and switches the deck to an attack configuration. It's a shame data protections can't be circumvented silently.
Attack: 7, Sleaze: 4, Data Processing: 5, Firewall: 7
Programs loaded:
Cyberdeck
- Encryption (+1 Firewall)
- Baby Monitor (check Overwatch score)
- Hammer (+2 Matrix damage per attack)
- Biofeedback Filter (+2 to resist Biofeedback damage)
Datajack Plus
- Signal Scrub (-2 noise)
- Shell (+1 to resist Matrix and Biofeedback damage)
- Blackout (deals Biofeedback Stun damage)
Nudging her two companions, Sunset whispers to them.
"I think we have enough info for the moment. Maybe we should head out and rendezvous with the other groups and plan our attack?"
Road-Rage shrugs, not convinced that Glass has finished with the shoppe-keep;
"Got the number of a cute redhead so got more info that I planned..."
He flashes a toothy smile, then looks toward their shaman;
"Sun's ebbin' chief. Let us know where you're ready to roll."
The shopkeeper glances at Glass for a moment, the mention of his 'prey' clearly making him a little uneasy, but the sight of Sunset and Road-Rage in the background clearly tilt his opinion on the matter. "Then, from what I understand, you'll probably need a little boost." He disappears in a moment, returning with a small aluminium can with a maple leaf on it, words in Salish spread on the surface. "A little energy drink, perhaps? Sometimes we have to count our blessings." A cursory glance from Glass indicates that the contents are indeed marked with a slight magical aura, and the shoddy construction of the can and the last-century styling on the label suggests that these are little more than a garage job with the slightest veneer of respectability. "This one's on deal. 400 for you, tell your... colleagues.", he whispers.
The lock provides little resistance as Sybil's rapid attack breaks it open, the padlock icon cracking open and disintegrating in the open air. Inside, a summary glance allows the decker to see the most traffic on the system's heading as requests towards the HR department in Vashon Central. The second most popular file, however, is a simple database, correlating names with numbers - numbers similar to those in the 'Heritage Amazonia Stock - Seattle - #2' file. None of the names speaks anything to Sybil.
The following morning, past recon, your commlink beeps unpleasantly early - before noon, even. Washing up the remainder of last night away from your eyes, you glance at the message standing there from none other than your Ms. Johnson, her lively drawl almost unpleasantly cheerful for the time of day.
>>Hey there, runners! Looked over your intel - looks like I was right on the haul. Did some recon on my spot, and it seems like they've got plenty of stuff worth picking up as well. I had a buddy spot some wheels for me, I'm sure your ork will approve. The image pans away from her face and onto a massive, black BMW Trollhammer bike with a couple of delivery containers nearly the size of a tub on each side.
>>I got a drop-off point at one of the trash barges riverside, but if you want to run off somewhere else, that's fine with me. We'll meet and split up the haul afterwards. I'll give y'all a holler tomorrow before the hit, just to see if there's any complications. You got anythin' for me, shoot!
The message ends, leaving you up in the morning with nothing planned to do for the rest of your day.
<Nice bike. Dunno how useful it'll be for the clothes, though. Any chance anyone's got a lead on a nondescript van for rent? We've got a good line on the threads, and a way into the door when we wanna go.>
Sybil quickly copies the paydata and disconnects with a jolt of pain and disorientation as she finds herself once again tied to her body. The comedown is brutal and she has to fight to keep her stomach's content inside.
The next day, she's dressed in an almost identical grey outfit. <Solid wheels, chummer. I'm solid to go, probably I'll be best employed to shake off pursue, but point me at anything cyber you want fragged and I'll go nova on it.>