Ripples in the Lake: A Seattle Adventure in the Sixth World (Inactive)

Game Master Evgeni Genadiev

[Cheat Sheet]

[Map of Magic Shop]
[Map of Vashon Island Shop]


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Wraith | P:10/10 S: 10/10 | P:7 M:5 S:5 | Perc: 4[+4] | Ini: 3d6+10| Armor: 12 | | Edge: 1/1

Finding herself on Wraith's lap after R-R's 'evasive' maneuvers, Sun tries to sit up, but a further 'zig-zag' from the van has her reaching out to steady herself. Once back on course, much to her chagrin, Sun realizes she has 'stabilized' herself by placing her hands on Wraith's breasts.

"Oh my...sorry. I was just...umm...you know...ummm...bracing myself?!!"

Blushing furiously, the gun-girl sits back down on the foldout bench, trying to look anywhere but at Wraith.

"So...umm..yeah, tracing rounds. The Star used them quite a bit near the end of their time here."


Male Human Street Samurai | Condition Phy 2/12, Stun 0/10 | Limits: Physical 7 Mental 5 Social 3 Astral 5 | Armour 14 | Init 11+2d6 (Wired) | Perception 9d6 + 2 Visual +2 Visual (Wireless)

One advantage of cyber-eyes is their ability to take quick pictures of anything their user is looking at. In this case, Wraith and Sunset.

When Blacksap speaks again, his voice sounds more amused than usual, which is not much but still somewhat significant. "There should be some way of scrubbing their signal, but we're short a decker. And since I think R-R'd rather lose an appendage than ditch the van, we'll have to outrun them or clean them by hand."


Dodge: 8d6 Armor: 18, Body 3. Init: 7+1d6 (currently 8+2d6) Physical: 0/10. Stun: 10/11

"Pull over, big guy. I've got just the tool for the job, although I may scrape the paint a bit, just a warning."

Nomad drags himself out of the seat (assuming the vehicle stops) and pulls a short bladed survival knife and a wide, black, wand-lik2 device from his pouch.

"Tag-B-Gone tag eraser. Picked it up from a chummer coming outta Denver. You'd be surprised how easy it is to slip through customs when you can just "rename" your cargo on the fly."

He moves to the rear of the truck and digs out the remnants of the bullets, then passes the wand over the impact sites. Once the buzzing in the vibe handle cuts out and the green diode shines an "all clear", he returns to the vehicle.

"Shoukd be good to go now, I hope, at least. Once we get someplace safe, maybe you can run your signal detection gear over it, make sure they're all toast."


Male Hobgoblin [Ork] Combat Rigger | Condition Phy 0/11, Stun 0/10 | Armour 10 [11] | Limits Physical 9 Mental 5 Social 4 Astral 6 | Perception 5 (+1 Audio), (Low Light) |Init 10 (+1d6) Cold-Sim Init 7 (+2d6) Hot-Sim Init 7 (+3d6) | Edge 1/1

Road-Rage flashes a jagged grin;

"Value my freedom more than my wheels chummer. Been inside the can once... never again. Happy to draw them off... but would mean you crew slogging it on foot."

He mulls his next move;

"Anyone got any connections that could clean my wheels? Junkers I know could break it down but pulling the tracers could mean trouble they don't need..."

Dark Archive

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P:0/11 S: 0/10 | P:9 M:3 S:7 O:7 | Perc: 9[+3] | Ini: 3d6+13| Armor: 20 | | Edge: 2/3

Blushing and grinning, Wraith keeps her hands right where they are, letting fate Sunset to where she...wants.

After the nimble little minx removes herself from the Lap of Eternal Indulgence, Wraith shoots here a wink that can only be called 'salacious'. "Normally I charge extra for dinner _and_ a show, but I'd be willing to cut you a discount...

...a Bulk discount."

She waggles her eyebrows once for good measure and then silently comms the Sweet Doomed Angel asking if they still enough nachos.

Some part of her internal A-TAC makes a note about the boys saying something about "blah blah blah science science bullets science" but she troubles her head little, figuring that they'll either work it out or she'll get to shoot more things.

Win-win either way.


[Map of Seattle] [Map of Humanis Hideout]

As Nomad steps behind the Titan, waving the tag-eraser over the bullet holes, everyone with visible cybernetics feels an uneasy feeling, almost like a vibration in their cybernetics emanating from the device. Disgruntled, Road-Rage flicks up the commlink.

Thick, almost retro EDM beats blare out, rapid beat increasing the heartbeat... or it would, were the microphone on the commlink not muffled somehow. "Priv, omae! Wiz wheels.", the voice on the commlink is rough, an image of a slick looking ork man appears, his head shaved on the sides, save for a mohawk of long dreads of black hair, interwoven with white strands. "Heckuva weather to be driving in Redmond for, and at that speed." The guttural choral laughter behind the ork, as well as the shaking of the video suggests that he's probably in a similarly speeding vehicle. "What's in the pot, beef or chicken?", he quizzes with a grinning mouth, raising a eyebrow studded through with what appears to be bone. "'Cause everyone here's full!"

Since nobody has Cityspeak or regional slang of sorts that I've noticed:

R-R, Alex:

You're pretty sure the ganger's asking whether or not you're carrying something in, or running away from something. The last one sounded a lot like a question that you're not so sure about the meaning of, but it seemed a little more threatening than the first question.

The unnatural itch in your cybernetics stops the moment Nomad finishes erasing the tag, leaving only a lingering feeling of general unpleasantness that quickly wanes.

Dark Archive

P:0/11 S: 0/10 | P:9 M:3 S:7 O:7 | Perc: 9[+3] | Ini: 3d6+13| Armor: 20 | | Edge: 2/3

"Fraaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaag," Wraith hisses, trying to scratch everywhere for an itch that always seems to be on the the move. "Whatever you're doing, start with the phase where you don't do it," she says, her impressive amounts of chrome making for an uncomfortable experience for as long as Nomad is at his work.

After he stops she sits back down, but still has the look of someone who's just had a bad day at the dentist.


Male Elf Physical Damage 0/9. Stun Damage 5/11. Edge 3/4 | Armor 9 | Limits: Physical 3, Mental 4, Social 8, Astral 8 | Initiative 6 + 1d6; Astral Initiative 6 +3d6 | Perception: 6 (Low Light)

Glass leans toward the comm and grins. "Got a pot full of rat, taking it home for the family."


Dodge: 8d6 Armor: 18, Body 3. Init: 7+1d6 (currently 8+2d6) Physical: 0/10. Stun: 10/11

"Sorry, Wraith. EMP doesnt really discriminate, and those beeping little hitchhikers really needed to go. Should be copacetic going forward, so long as this person on the link doesn't wanna launch rockets or other craziness our way."

Nomad brings up his contacts list and prepares to place a call to Dirty Martin, his ork black marketeer, to see if he had a spot to crash in Redmond available.

"Glass, RoadRage, these chummers friend or foe? I can maybe make a call, get us a squat for some time, but perhaps the locals are a bit friendlier than expected?"


Male Hobgoblin [Ork] Combat Rigger | Condition Phy 0/11, Stun 0/10 | Armour 10 [11] | Limits Physical 9 Mental 5 Social 4 Astral 6 | Perception 5 (+1 Audio), (Low Light) |Init 10 (+1d6) Cold-Sim Init 7 (+2d6) Hot-Sim Init 7 (+3d6) | Edge 1/1

Road-Rage scowls at the bullet impacts before settling into the comms chatter;

"Crashed a posh breeder dinner party. Had some unwanted Pawns show up for desert. Buzz turbo time! Might be coming back for second bite..."

The hob mutes comms, then shrugs unsure in response to Nomad...

"Could be both. Depends if they hungry or not..."


Dodge: 8d6 Armor: 18, Body 3. Init: 7+1d6 (currently 8+2d6) Physical: 0/10. Stun: 10/11

"I'd be happy to speak with our unnamed caller, perhaps we can negotiate a trade, free passage or the like? I bet someone here could use a bit of pep in their step, so to speak. "

Dark Archive

P:0/11 S: 0/10 | P:9 M:3 S:7 O:7 | Perc: 9[+3] | Ini: 3d6+13| Armor: 20 | | Edge: 2/3

To pep herself back up Wraith seems to have found a nice classical music station, as is singing quietly along to the tunes.

"...I'm fantastic; Made of plastic.
You can brush my hair; undress me everywhe-ere..."


[Map of Seattle] [Map of Humanis Hideout]

The ganger laughs out a gutturing, almost hyena-like laughter over the comms, before answering. "Breeder barbecue and ponies for desert! You bleeders sure is fed too!", he roars out, the howling noises behind him seemingly intensifying. Despite the utterly horrid weather, you seem to notice trickle of lights seemingly bumping through the shattered remains of roads of the Redmond Barrens as continue driving towards Touristtown. The laughter, whether due to chems, adrenaline, or radiation-induced mutation, however, seems to seize, as the ork bites a metal thumb.

"Rat's a bad meal, but it sure's a way up from bugs!", he responds, lighting a half-smoked cigarette as he seems to continue driving recklessly over the crossed terrain, his eyes occasionally flicking up to a piece of his HUD. His left eye, an obvious cybernetic, seems to glare straight at Glass.

At this time, Blacksap's eyes scan two smaller vehicles rushing from the sides of the road, doing what seems to be over a hundred miles an hour over terrain more cross than a troll with withdrawal. The cars seem to zoom around in and out, like a pair of hungry dogs circling a herd, watching... for now. The ork's quieted down, unlike the rest of the crew in his vehicle, as he seems to glance from left to right, almost appearing deep in thought. "So where's the crock-pot, hot-shot?", he quips at Road-Rage after a moment, raising his pierced eyebrow once more, the question sounding a lot more serious, almost guarded stance. "'Cause it's too far out, we might just invite you to our cookout." The gangers' truck seems to quiet down a little, rush of approving and disapproving noises alike.

Alex, R-R, Nomad:

You've heard of gang 'cookouts' in the Redmond Barrens. Usually greatly varying depending on the gang, most, if not all are the gang putting a show that they care for their neighbourhood, and accept tribute in turn.

Rolls:

Alex Kn. Seattle: 5d6 ⇒ (6, 1, 2, 6, 6) = 21
R-R: 7d6 ⇒ (5, 5, 2, 2, 5, 4, 5) = 28
Nomad: 4d6 ⇒ (6, 3, 4, 6) = 19
Sunset: 1d6 ⇒ 4


Male Elf Physical Damage 0/9. Stun Damage 5/11. Edge 3/4 | Armor 9 | Limits: Physical 3, Mental 4, Social 8, Astral 8 | Initiative 6 + 1d6; Astral Initiative 6 +3d6 | Perception: 6 (Low Light)

I was waiting for R-R to reply, but obviously life has got in the way again...
Just so I've got my mental map right, I'm trying to work out where we are relative to Alex's squat near the Renton/Redmond border


Male Hobgoblin [Ork] Combat Rigger | Condition Phy 0/11, Stun 0/10 | Armour 10 [11] | Limits Physical 9 Mental 5 Social 4 Astral 6 | Perception 5 (+1 Audio), (Low Light) |Init 10 (+1d6) Cold-Sim Init 7 (+2d6) Hot-Sim Init 7 (+3d6) | Edge 1/1

Apologies - was convinced I'd posted :S

Road-Rage eyes the gangers warily, then hisses an aside to the rest of the crew;

"Local skid gangers. Looking for tribute, passage. We best give them what they want, then slot an' run. No friends of ours, but Pawns will get geeked."

The hob flashes a jagged smile;

"What's the play chummers? Give them a taste, maybe pass through, or drop the hammer and pull the triggers?"

Dark Archive

P:0/11 S: 0/10 | P:9 M:3 S:7 O:7 | Perc: 9[+3] | Ini: 3d6+13| Armor: 20 | | Edge: 2/3

Wraith rolls her eyes as if the answer is obviousl "Shheyeeeeah. These guys top shelf? They box with Yaks or 'Weeners? If not, we can -not- risk that much street cred to suck input at every Tom and Harry Dick that wants a piece.

You start paying one wannabe with a heater just for talking naughty, then everyone hits ya up for nuyen and then you got nuthin' from the run for your troubles.

Your call, but I ain't danced enough for a night."

She pulls the slide on her hammer and lets it lock back loud. "Mah goodneth but I just love it when boys do come a-callin'."


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Dodge: 8d6 Armor: 18, Body 3. Init: 7+1d6 (currently 8+2d6) Physical: 0/10. Stun: 10/11

"Allow me to smooth things over, before we resort to RoboBarbie's favorite two-step."

Nomad wearily pulls up the call on his own comm, speaking with the hanger directly.

"Hoi, chummer. Sorry to slide into your little party area unannounced and the like, but needs must, after all. Pawns were a bit too enthusiastic in their interest, and the <Or'zet swear for human scum> we just removed from the Humanis rosters might've had pals in the area. So, if you'd like to dance, our friendly mage and resident anti-social socialite would be more than willing to accommodate. But I do think we'd be better off simply nodding to one another as we pass and call this a wash. Whaddya say, pal-o?"

11d6 ⇒ (5, 4, 6, 6, 2, 2, 6, 6, 2, 1, 1) = 41 negotiation 5 hits


Male Hobgoblin [Ork] Combat Rigger | Condition Phy 0/11, Stun 0/10 | Armour 10 [11] | Limits Physical 9 Mental 5 Social 4 Astral 6 | Perception 5 (+1 Audio), (Low Light) |Init 10 (+1d6) Cold-Sim Init 7 (+2d6) Hot-Sim Init 7 (+3d6) | Edge 1/1

Road-Rage grits his jagged maw as Wraith rights off the Gangers and their ;

"This be the Barrens - your razorgirl schtick won't wash here."

He shakes his head toward the vehicles circling them;

"Sure you drop one or two, but they keep coming savvy? Bang-bang. Chop-chop. Don't stop. That chipped bod of yours won't look arctic as a bumper ornament..."


Male Elf Physical Damage 0/9. Stun Damage 5/11. Edge 3/4 | Armor 9 | Limits: Physical 3, Mental 4, Social 8, Astral 8 | Initiative 6 + 1d6; Astral Initiative 6 +3d6 | Perception: 6 (Low Light)

"And just maybe a friendly pass through some gang turf'll mix up any trail we might be leaving. Mix up any follow-up from the drekheads we toasted. Rat says don't lead the cat back to your hole."

Dark Archive

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P:0/11 S: 0/10 | P:9 M:3 S:7 O:7 | Perc: 9[+3] | Ini: 3d6+13| Armor: 20 | | Edge: 2/3

As Road-Rage calls out Wraith, blantantly stating that she ain't got the chops to hang with street cutters, her eyes get glassy and she stops her constant fidget, as if thinking about something that happened long ago....

************************************************

"OH. WHAT. THE. FRAG?" the orc mage bellowed as he stomped down the hallway. He openly walked toward them. Alone. One single metahuman was BRAZENLY calling out over a score of weapons-and-leather festooned gangers and runners making their way out.

"He's...he's not supposed to be here," the beautiful and charismatic Derrick stated under his breath. "But he's not, uh, he's not gonna stop us. Light him up!" he called, bringing his own heavy pistol up.

Alanna was still tying up her rucksack as RockOn was first. RockOn was always first. His massive cannon acquired his target and belched out flame and death in a constant stream.

The mage held up his hand and the bullets just...stopped. Then with a scream of tortured metal RockOn's cannon tied itself into a knot and fell to the ground heavily. "And here I thought this would be boring," said Lord Borak the Despoiler as he made a motion, the air in front of him lighting and writhing with living sigils. RockOn fell to his feet and started screaming, his intestines bursting out of his belly and wrapping themselves around his wrists and ankles and neck, his face quickly turning purple, choked by his own organs.

*************************************************

"Re-calibrate, panzerjock," Wraith says back to Road-Rage, almost mournfully. "I seen Grade A and if'n yer in th' Barrens, you ain't it."

She looks off into the distance.

"Anybody can be killed."


Wraith | P:10/10 S: 10/10 | P:7 M:5 S:5 | Perc: 4[+4] | Ini: 3d6+10| Armor: 12 | | Edge: 1/1

"That's the problem with these guttersnipes...there are always more of them and in a pack, they become very dangerous. Talk us out if you can face-man, but if it comes down to fight or flight, I'm with Wraith here and we gut them all."

She leans back, removes her pistols and ensures they are fully loaded and ready for action.


Male Hobgoblin [Ork] Combat Rigger | Condition Phy 0/11, Stun 0/10 | Armour 10 [11] | Limits Physical 9 Mental 5 Social 4 Astral 6 | Perception 5 (+1 Audio), (Low Light) |Init 10 (+1d6) Cold-Sim Init 7 (+2d6) Hot-Sim Init 7 (+3d6) | Edge 1/1

Road-Rage shrugs at Wraith's life lesson;

"I'll see your Grade A an' trump it. Barrens, Cambodia or Kansas. All outside. Try inside. That drek is Grade A+ primo... but I hear you Sister Wraith. We all seen bad... an' this indeed ain't it."

The rigger shrugs at Sunset's comment and flashes a wry smile;

"Now how's that old Cascade wisdom go again..? Girl walks from away Stars, but never leaves them behind.. Something like that..."


Male Human Street Samurai | Condition Phy 2/12, Stun 0/10 | Limits: Physical 7 Mental 5 Social 3 Astral 5 | Armour 14 | Init 11+2d6 (Wired) | Perception 9d6 + 2 Visual +2 Visual (Wireless)

Sorry, I had disabled the notifications by misclicking.

"Just so you're in the know, we have pursuers on our tail, standing by. If we want to look for another way, I can vent their engines, null persp. Otherwise, let's just get through with or without a side of extra carnage. I'd rather not be responsible for yet 'nother squabble caused by power vacuums, but that's your call."
Cyber-enhanced eyes sweep the area in more wavelength than a biological eye could see, looking for any gang-banger lying in ambush.

Perception(Visual, Visual enhancement): 13d6 ⇒ (2, 5, 5, 4, 3, 3, 4, 3, 2, 5, 3, 2, 4) = 45 - 3 hits


Dodge: 8d6 Armor: 18, Body 3. Init: 7+1d6 (currently 8+2d6) Physical: 0/10. Stun: 10/11

"Roght folks, balls in our mysterious caller's court now. If he's smart, he take the L and collects my commcode for future work. If he's dumb and backed in a corner, he takes a poke with whatever big gun he and his boys are swingin' bout now. If he's crazy, I dunno, he might jump a car off a building and try to land on us. RR, that's your job. Blacksap, Wraith, eyes up for the ranged threat. Sunset, you and me got the close in defense. Glass, I dunno if you can do the" Nomad waves his hands in a general woo-woo motion

"Spirit walk type bulldrek, but intel would be fabulous. Anyone got a rocket launcher or something in their pants, nows the time to whip it out."


Male Elf Physical Damage 0/9. Stun Damage 5/11. Edge 3/4 | Armor 9 | Limits: Physical 3, Mental 4, Social 8, Astral 8 | Initiative 6 + 1d6; Astral Initiative 6 +3d6 | Perception: 6 (Low Light)

Glass closes his eyes to shut out the interior of the van, and lets his other senses roam "Lemme see what I can see"

assensing - stun: 7d6 ⇒ (3, 1, 1, 3, 1, 2, 1) = 12 oops, glitchy


[Map of Seattle] [Map of Humanis Hideout]

The words from Nomad seem to sent the ork into a contemplative mood. While the initial refusal appears to raise his ire, as his ring-covered nostrils flare out, he bites the knuckles on his cyberarm. The back of the other vehicle appears to erupt in quiet, distraught whispers, before the ork raises his hand and the talking stops. "No ice. Don't like that you got no ice, breeder.", he shakes his head in seeming disapproval, before nodding. "But we solid. You done what you said you done, you no rushin' for a cookout. The long-leg boys'll make sure you don't get too lost or get too cosy on our fire. And next time's for next time.", he grumbles out, as floodlights flash out from the two smaller, faster dune buggies. As you drive forwards, you notice the battered, towering form of an old Mitsubishi Yosai, rough patches of metal and spikes sticking out of it to resemble a vicious, resting tarantula. The floodlights flash as you drive by, and the ork waves on the camera. His grin is menacingly wide as he severs the comms.

Alex:

As Alex reaches into the Astral, it feels... at odds. Puyallup is a hard and dangerous place, gangers are tough, but the background here is... something different entirely, something worse than he'd ever perceived. Gaia torn by radiation experiments from a world ago, the festering wounds closing in ragged edges. The blood and lifeless soil echoes in violence, tilting all the auras in the area a bloody, orange-crimson colour. And there's much worse, as Glass feels even his mentor spirit shudder slightly - the droning Astral noise of them, the hypnotic patterns of their tunnels, the tinge of rhyme and reason unraveling at the borders of the Astral...

...Insect Spirits, laying dormant.

You take 2S Damage, and you're probably a liiitle more on edge.

In front of you, there's Touristville, roughly 10 minutes out. There's allegedly another pass towards town, which would lead you towards Shonomish. Though, that road is rarely driven on by anyone. The road most people take is to drive South, then enter via Renton.


Male Elf Physical Damage 0/9. Stun Damage 5/11. Edge 3/4 | Armor 9 | Limits: Physical 3, Mental 4, Social 8, Astral 8 | Initiative 6 + 1d6; Astral Initiative 6 +3d6 | Perception: 6 (Low Light)

Glass's eyes snap open with a thousand-yard stare, then his head drops and he wraps both arms round it.
"Oh. Drek. That is not fragging good."


Dodge: 8d6 Armor: 18, Body 3. Init: 7+1d6 (currently 8+2d6) Physical: 0/10. Stun: 10/11

"Details, mage? Not good can take a whole lotta different forms, especially round here ya scan?"

Nomad sends an ARO of his contact info (to a burner) with his handle, general pic, and the title "Smooth Operator" towards the ork. Whether he takes it, he doesnt much care.


Male Elf Physical Damage 0/9. Stun Damage 5/11. Edge 3/4 | Armor 9 | Limits: Physical 3, Mental 4, Social 8, Astral 8 | Initiative 6 + 1d6; Astral Initiative 6 +3d6 | Perception: 6 (Low Light)

"Chill, face-man." Glass unwraps his arms. "The gangers are frosty, but there's stuff going on in the spirit world you really don't want to know about right now."

He leans his head back. "I don't think it's an immediate threat. I really hope it's not an immediate threat, 'cos if it is" his shrug has an element of shiver to it. "This rat wants somewhere to hide, and I might have to try to talk to some people"


Male Hobgoblin [Ork] Combat Rigger | Condition Phy 0/11, Stun 0/10 | Armour 10 [11] | Limits Physical 9 Mental 5 Social 4 Astral 6 | Perception 5 (+1 Audio), (Low Light) |Init 10 (+1d6) Cold-Sim Init 7 (+2d6) Hot-Sim Init 7 (+3d6) | Edge 1/1

Road-Rage flashes a hard smile and an appreciative nod at the Yosai.

"Whole lotta blunt force trauma right there chummers. Squash my wheels like a bug. Right exit was rear view eh?"

As the Titan rumbles forward, he trolls the MapSoft HUD;

"Speaking of exits. Trying to find an old way into Touristville... Give me a click or three...

Navigation: 6d6 ⇒ (1, 3, 4, 4, 6, 4) = 22 1 Hit
Smuggling Routes: 7d6 ⇒ (4, 1, 5, 2, 2, 5, 6) = 25 3 Hits


Dodge: 8d6 Armor: 18, Body 3. Init: 7+1d6 (currently 8+2d6) Physical: 0/10. Stun: 10/11

"Okay, great. Thanks, Glass, keep an eye out wouldya. R-R, let's make our exit, eh? Hopefully nothing else decides to jump up and get in our faces."


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[Map of Seattle] [Map of Humanis Hideout]

The sight of the floodlights follows you through the storm, which seems to have started giving up on the Barrens. Alex' hairs continue standing up on his neck for a long while after the gangers' cries have quieted down, the lingering taint of the Astral vision of Redmond sticking in his Gift like old engine grease.

Road-Rage drives past a pack of rabid-looking... creatures, half-barkingg, half-howling at the rapidly cruising past truck, and within a moment, the half-hazed memories of turns and roadmarks on the Redmond's ruined structure seem to click, as he turns into what appears to be a road going nowhere, only for the Titan to head towards Touristville in a much darker, if quieter road, the shaking of the rigger's car intensifying further. Ruined buildings, potholes more than two-feet deep and advertisements for unknown products by unknown corporations litter what little you can see. VITAS, the Sixth World, and, undoubtedly, Redmonders themselves have left their mark onto the landscape.

Road-Rage's well-trained eye spots that the used road forks in two - one side appears to be the road towards Touristville, and the other - to the South and Renton. Though misused, it's obvious that the zone around you has been used for a meeting before, as this is the first time since your detour that you've seen space for more than one vehicle to pass. Turning the Titan towards the flickering multicoloured lights piercing the night sky, R-R drifts off towards Touristville.

Perhaps because of the storm, the usually bustling place is almost quiet, with only the booming of the music coming out of the, according to the trashily made AR, 'Skazziest Places in Seattle!', and the exceptionally cross orks and trolls huddled under roofs of scavenged aluminium, angrily staring at the few tourists addled enough to be crossing the streets in the pouring rain. Though, as soon as you park the Titan, you feel something change immediately. You've once again, at least for now, slipped back into the shadows. Bruised and battered, but alive.


Male Human Street Samurai | Condition Phy 2/12, Stun 0/10 | Limits: Physical 7 Mental 5 Social 3 Astral 5 | Armour 14 | Init 11+2d6 (Wired) | Perception 9d6 + 2 Visual +2 Visual (Wireless)

Blacksap steps out of the van almost without weaponry and stretches.
"What a pleasant night, I love it when things go smoothly, other than that creepy f*** in the car. I think I'll have a slice and some cheesecake, anyone up for it?"


Male Hobgoblin [Ork] Combat Rigger | Condition Phy 0/11, Stun 0/10 | Armour 10 [11] | Limits Physical 9 Mental 5 Social 4 Astral 6 | Perception 5 (+1 Audio), (Low Light) |Init 10 (+1d6) Cold-Sim Init 7 (+2d6) Hot-Sim Init 7 (+3d6) | Edge 1/1

Road-Rage shrugs as he examines the rear of the Titan with a grimace;

"Suppose. Need to get any Pawn stings pulled from my van's backside tho'."


Wraith | P:10/10 S: 10/10 | P:7 M:5 S:5 | Perc: 4[+4] | Ini: 3d6+10| Armor: 12 | | Edge: 1/1

Sun climbs out of the back of the van and also stretches. She looks around at her surroundings and the tension begins to fade.

"Well any job you can walk away from...or be carried out of...", she says with a little laugh.

"So now what...go our separate ways until we hear from Mr. Johnson?"


Dodge: 8d6 Armor: 18, Body 3. Init: 7+1d6 (currently 8+2d6) Physical: 0/10. Stun: 10/11

"Sounds like a good enough plan, guys. I could use some grub, and possibly a bit of bliss or some cannabis, something to take the shiny off this cram buzz."

Nomad looks at the rear of the vehicle and shrugs to RR.

"Tracer tags should be gone and done with, up to you about the paint job and such. As for me, I'm gonna need to call my tailor soon. Anyone looking for some new threads? I can pre-heat him on anything if you'd like to fancy up a bit."


Male Elf Physical Damage 0/9. Stun Damage 5/11. Edge 3/4 | Armor 9 | Limits: Physical 3, Mental 4, Social 8, Astral 8 | Initiative 6 + 1d6; Astral Initiative 6 +3d6 | Perception: 6 (Low Light)

"Don't really do fancy, it attracts too much attention." Glass replies as he steps out of the van.
"If I'm gonna keep doing this, I think I'm gonna need some more names though"


[Map of Seattle] [Map of Humanis Hideout]

Touristville offers a feast for all the senses, assuming that the eater has a strong stomach. A single-storied building, looking like the remains of a pre-Matrix 1.0 restaurant stands down the street, with neon letters of varying fonts and colours simply announcing 'Grease'. A couple of locals and tourists with acid rain-resistant raincoats seem to occasionally duck out with something resembling food in their hands, before jumping into the surprisingly (or unsurprisingly) well-lit pathway beside it. A glowing AR advert blinkers out of the place every ten-or-so seconds, announcing 'real meat!' to those interested. What the meat is, though, is probably a hundred million nuyen question.

As you make your way inside and to the tunes of bootlegged Azzie copies of top-hit pop songs, most of the clientelle seems to pay you little mind, as nearly half of the people here seem to have an issue staying on their feet from exhaustion and intoxication. Another large portion seems to stuff their food down their throats as quickly as possible, before skipping straight back to making out with the person, or persons, next to them, with only a tired and ornery troll shoving out those who go too far even for here. The 2am Touristville is a sight.

The last, miniscule part of the clientelle, however, is the locals, slowly eating their way on their own table, and the relative sobriety in their eyes glancing at you with some interest for a brief moment, before returning to their food. Touristville is a good place to lay low, as long as you don't wear out your welcome, keep your head down, and don't stray from the path. The six of you sit around a table with your food and drinks in front of you, the surprisingly appetizing smell meaning that the approach to flavouring in this place is 'quantity over quality'.

Just as the last of you sits down, your commlinks beep with a message from your fixer.

Freddy wrote:

>>Hey, Kaffer!

>>Still breathing? Heard some chatter for a wiz chase up in the 'view, before it all got dark. I'm not a mushroom, so give me a call soon.


Wraith | P:10/10 S: 10/10 | P:7 M:5 S:5 | Perc: 4[+4] | Ini: 3d6+10| Armor: 12 | | Edge: 1/1

Sun walks up to the troll and in Or'Zet says, "I'll have noodles in broth and a cold beer...whatever is in a can...Oh, whatever she wants...I owe her for 'services rendered'" Sun looks back at Wraith and smiles.
"Come on 'Barbie'...what are you having?"


Male Hobgoblin [Ork] Combat Rigger | Condition Phy 0/11, Stun 0/10 | Armour 10 [11] | Limits Physical 9 Mental 5 Social 4 Astral 6 | Perception 5 (+1 Audio), (Low Light) |Init 10 (+1d6) Cold-Sim Init 7 (+2d6) Hot-Sim Init 7 (+3d6) | Edge 1/1

Road-Rage nixes Nomad's offer of new threads;

"No new dudz for me chummer. Bib and coveralls are my Sunday best."

He hunkers down with the others, avoiding the meat and hedging for soy-dog with all the trimmings.

"Soy-dog with works. Cold beer for me also omae."


Male Human Street Samurai | Condition Phy 2/12, Stun 0/10 | Limits: Physical 7 Mental 5 Social 3 Astral 5 | Armour 14 | Init 11+2d6 (Wired) | Perception 9d6 + 2 Visual +2 Visual (Wireless)

"A guy with fashion sense, yes, that's me." Blacksap's voice is as deadpan as usual as he orders a slice of pizza large enough to feed a family of four. "I'll leave the looking good to you other lots, I'm substance over style myself. Function over form and all that jazz."

Dark Archive

P:0/11 S: 0/10 | P:9 M:3 S:7 O:7 | Perc: 9[+3] | Ini: 3d6+13| Armor: 20 | | Edge: 2/3

Wraith winks salaciously back at Sunset. "An' dere's plenty MOAR where that came from!" she concludes, already scanning the menu. Somewhere her on-board systems assimilate the fine print in the advertising--RealMEAT!** **Now with 100% soy by-product--but her conscious brain dismisses it irrelevant slag, and is already ordering a MessOSlop! with a synthbrandy chaser "Keep the brandy comin, chummer."

"Already got it goin' on, omNom," she replies to the offer of threads. "This coat will outlast you, me, and most of this building."

Alanna is already half way through her second MessO when the message chirps through, and she steadily ignores it for now.

Priorities.


Dodge: 8d6 Armor: 18, Body 3. Init: 7+1d6 (currently 8+2d6) Physical: 0/10. Stun: 10/11

"Enjoying" his SoyWeiser and "RealMeat" patty, Nomad returns Freddy's message.

<All good, omae. All principles are intact, mission accomplished. Lemme know when&where to meet for exchange.>

He BCCs the message to everyone's comm at the same time.

"So we just hang on til the meet, hope its gonna be later tonight or something. I could use a few hours to crash."


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[Map of Seattle] [Map of Humanis Hideout]

The unnaturally appetizing smell from the food fills the room, and you all enjoy a artery-clotting, cancer-inducing meal, delicious with every single bite, and a rushedly excited message from Freddy is beeping on your comms.

Freddy wrote:


>>Woo! The Schildkroteschwanzen of shadowrunning, that's you. Hope you hooped their frags.

A trid GIF with the man's drek-eating grin raising a beer and a thick cigar in his hand in your direction, accompanied with a second message.

Freddy wrote:


>>You catch some Zs and get out of Gaia's fragging PMS out there. I'll get the deets for the meets, and tell you whether you need your winning smiles or skull vents for that guy.
>>Probably the former, but bring both just in case. Whatever it is, I'll see about giving you at least a day, to patch the wounds and doze off the party life.

As time goes by, even the Jazzed up partiers seem to slow down, and the dopamine rush from the oily delights in the place seems to be replaced with regret. Road-Rage notices two orks giving his truck a once over, the younger one seemingly moving towards it. The second one stops him, putting a chrome hand on the boy's shoulder with considerable weight, and pulling him back, his other hand darting over the truck's features, while he talks at the boy. A moment later, the boy receives a smack on the back of the head, as the older ork raises his hands in a defensive gesture towards the Titan, and the two disappear down an alley.

As the six of you move out back towards the truck, the few remaining inhabitants capable of perceiving you give you a once over, eyes focusing mostly on Sunset, Alex and Road-Rage. The Titan is still at its place, and as soon as you enter, you feel the weight of the night and the job replaced by some exhaustion.

That's the mission part done! All that's left is the payment. I'll try and get a post up either tomorrow or Tuesday, and until then - how do you celebrate another day in the Sixth World? What do you do in your time off?


Male Hobgoblin [Ork] Combat Rigger | Condition Phy 0/11, Stun 0/10 | Armour 10 [11] | Limits Physical 9 Mental 5 Social 4 Astral 6 | Perception 5 (+1 Audio), (Low Light) |Init 10 (+1d6) Cold-Sim Init 7 (+2d6) Hot-Sim Init 7 (+3d6) | Edge 1/1

Will likely do my revision of Road-Rage :) - get him tweaked somewhat!

Dark Archive

P:0/11 S: 0/10 | P:9 M:3 S:7 O:7 | Perc: 9[+3] | Ini: 3d6+13| Armor: 20 | | Edge: 2/3

sry. had final for class. aced it, so that makes it all worth it. Will get some raunchy fun time in at the Angel some time this holiday weekend.


Male Elf Physical Damage 0/9. Stun Damage 5/11. Edge 3/4 | Armor 9 | Limits: Physical 3, Mental 4, Social 8, Astral 8 | Initiative 6 + 1d6; Astral Initiative 6 +3d6 | Perception: 6 (Low Light)

Glass is going to get his head down for some much-needed rest, then going to start trying to make contact with other shamen (and possibly his contacts) to see if anybody else has picked up on any weirder than normal supernatural activity. Probably won't manage much along those lines before the pay-off meeting, but it's something that needs starting now, in case there's a sudden need to be elsewhere.
One thing he's definitely not doing right now is going astral; that can wait until he's had the chance to work himself up to it.


[Map of Seattle] [Map of Humanis Hideout]

Hey guys! Happy 4th of July to you Americans, and happy summer day to everyone else. Nice one on your exam, Wraith. I was fishing for some ideas for some tasty backstory/personal story plot hooks, but I'm sure I'll be able to make them up as I go. Friday's tomorrow, and I'm not having to go around cross-country for once!


Male Human Street Samurai | Condition Phy 2/12, Stun 0/10 | Limits: Physical 7 Mental 5 Social 3 Astral 5 | Armour 14 | Init 11+2d6 (Wired) | Perception 9d6 + 2 Visual +2 Visual (Wireless)

Sorry I've not been very active myself, I'm going through some scholastic issues myself. I'll think of some downtime rest and recreation.

Dark Archive

1 person marked this as a favorite.
P:0/11 S: 0/10 | P:9 M:3 S:7 O:7 | Perc: 9[+3] | Ini: 3d6+13| Armor: 20 | | Edge: 2/3

Spoilered due to adult content:

Wraith gets home and shrugs her armored coat to the floor. She changes into a yellow catsuit with purple vest. She closes her eyes and realizes that she's not tired. At all.

A call to the Angel and John at the bar (he's a friend of mine) confirms her for a goodly stint.

First order of business is to come in through the back door and mingle with the employees. The working girls always laugh at her jokes, and it's good to make them laugh. The manager always laughs at her too, but she never is quite able to figure out why.

It's still Nacho Night, so she helps herself to a towering platter, dripping with green and white sauces. That is followed by another and chased by a healthy glass of her special eggnog made by mixing brandy and ice.

Properly refreshed and fortified, she takes center stage during the lunch rush, the stages to her left and right still populated by gyrating flesh.

"So I asked my boyfriend for a watch. He said why, there's a clock on the stove!"

The audience breaks out into honest laughter, her famed opener indicating that things have started.

"2 cowboys talking about sex.
1 cowboy says "I like the rodeo position!"
"I haven't heard of that ... " says the other cowboy, "what is it?"
"Well get your girlfriend down on all fours and mount her from behind. Then reach round and cup both of her breasts and whisper "these feel just like your sisters" and try and hold on for 8 seconds!"

Naughty Boy draws a cock on a black board.
Lady Teacher rubs it off.
Next day he draws a bigger one and writes:
"REMEMBER THE MORE YOU RUB THE BIGGER IT GETS!"

This beautiful woman one day walks into a doctors office and the doctor is bowled over by how stunningly awesome she is.
All his professionalism goes right out the window...
He tells her to take off her pants, she does, and he starts rubbing her thighs.
"Do you know what I am doing?" asks the doctor?
"Yes, checking for abnormalities." she replies.
He tells her to take off her shirt and bra, she takes them off.
The doctor begins rubbing her breasts and asks, "Do you know what I am doing now?", she replies, "Yes, checking for cancer."
Finally, he tells her to take off her panties, lays her on the table, gets on top of her and starts having s*x with her.
He says to her, "Do you know what I am doing now?"
She replies, "Yes, getting herpies - thats why I'm here!"

Based on statistics, the most used sexual position among married couples is doggy style...
The husband sits and begs, while the wife rolls over and plays dead.

Guy: Can I buy you a drink?
Girl: Sorry, but synthalcohol is bad for my legs.
Guy: Do they swell?
Girl: No. They spread.

And so it goes, she does a full two-hour set, but the audience demands a third. Then a fourth, but her voice is starting to give out, and the whiskey sours she constantly needs on hand to keep her throat loose are starting to wear down even her enhanced systems.

She bows out, and spends the rest of her time on the clock perched by the bar, eating nachos and providing witty conversation to the drinkers.

She finally drags herself home, thoroughly spent and thoroughly sated.

She gets some good sleep--a full four hours--and then wakes up, ready to do the whole thing over again.

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