Shadows of The Emerald City

Over even the sharp scent of your drink, you catch the pungent odor of an unwashed body. Raising your eyes away from the glass you catch a glimpse of what must be a squatter on the stool next to you and when he notices you looking he grins at you with yellowed teeth. Your first instinct is to turn away and perhaps even change stools, but after a split second you realize that you have seen this man before, and it quickly clicks that he is a well known fixer around town named Roach. Of course you have never seen him this close before, and your nose certainly hopes you never will have to again.

The man's smile broadens as he sees the disgust and then recognition in your face, and at the same time you hear a small chime from your earbud and your glasses pop up an ARO indicating an incoming comm message. The man has no obvious commlink or cyberware, but there must be something there.

"Hoi, chum. Least you are an easy man to track down. Word on the street is that you are looking for some cred, and word on the street ain't often wrong. Good news, chum. I've got a Johnson who wants to speak with you about a gig. He's heard of you. Asked for you personally, who am I to say no? Meet him at the Big Rhino tomorrow at 7pm sharp. He'll lay it down for you."

When the acidic rain kicks up into a true downpour, you duck under and awning of a rundown apartment complex to try and keep from having the spray ruin too much of your gear. After a moment of waiting a human dressed and certainly smelling like a squatter slips under the shelter as well, looking as if he were going to make his way inside, likely to an abandoned apartment. But he pauses in his step beside you, drawing off his hood, leaning back against the wall across from you and giving a yellowed grin.

As his face is revealed you realize you know the human(though they all do look alike), he set up some of your early runs for you though it has been years since you last worked together. He looks much the same as you remember him, though its possible his stench may be even worse.

As the recognition dawns on you, a small ARO blinks in the corner of your field of vision, indicating an incoming comm message. "Hoi, chum. Been a long time, eh? You big timers don't need my services much I suppose, nor do retirees for that matter. But a real runner can't stay out of the game for too long. I hear you've been itching to come back, and you know how big my ears are. Got a beauty run for you, right up your alley. Johnson has a group of kids who are in on it. They could handle it as its a simple in an out job and they have skills, but my cred is dependent on a job well done, you know? Don't need some noobs who need to be changed if a klaxon goes off fragging things up. So thats where you come in. Meet the Johnson at the Big Rhino tomorrow at 7pm sharp. You get some cred for babysitting, I get a job well done, word is on the street that you are back in the game and still have it. All are winners, chum."

Cooling your heels and staying out of the acidic spray outside, you are settled on a stool in your favorite dive bar. A quiet place and far from fancy in appearance, but they serve a surprisingly impressive selection genuine drinks rather then the synthahol stuff you would get elsewhere. Of course that also means its a bit pricey, but some habits are worth the cost.

As if in tune with your thoughts of the high cost of living and the way that seems to be dwindling your pocket book with PI work so few and far between, a man who must obviously be a squatter from the rags he is wrapped in enters the room. His clothes let off a mist from the rain still clinging to them. He glances to the bartender for a moment as if sending him a comm message, though he doesn't have any obvious comm system or cyberware, and then pulls away his hood as he approaches the bar.

You recognize his face pretty immediately, as back in your lone star days there was often a case against him. Always dropped, normally due to lack of evidence or lack of complaint and often both. Seems while its well known that he has his fingers in a lot of pies, he rarely messed with the corps that paid the department's bills and the gangs he did compete with were often either paid off or preferred to try and work out 'compensation' on their own. Really it was impressive he had lasted so long in the city, no less built up as big a rep as he has.

He moves up and slides onto the stool next to you, flashing a yellowed grin even as the bartender sets a bottle of aged whiskey between you along with two glasses. Its unclear which is supposed to be the aspect that is impressive, the price-tag on the drink or the fact that he apparently knows your preference in booze.

After just a moment you hear the 'ping' of a comm message in your head as he subvocalizes to you. "Hoi, chum. Word on the street is that you are looking for cred. Been thinking about getting in the game. Well this is your moment. Got a meet. An opportunity which could use a man like yourself. Will get you some real cred, rather then the nickle and dime stuff you make snapping some trid of some third rate starlet cheating. Get your name out there too, so you can keep bringing in the nuyen. Show me what you can do and I bet we can find even more work together."

He raises his hand before you can respond, an odd gesture for any onlookers when everything said is in your head. "I know your thing for not getting yourself dirty. Don't worry, this may not be a white knight kind of gig, but you ain't knocking over a grandma either. Meet the Johnson at the Big Rhino tomorrow at 7pm, and I'm sure you'll warm to the idea."

To stay out of the acidic splash falling from the heavens, you've ducked into a stoop for a run-down apartment complex, trying to wait out the shower so that your gear doesn't take too much damage from it. Besides, the complex has a rather pleasant hum to it. The voices and noise may always still be there, but at least in many ways you are learning to control it and sometimes it truly even works for you.

Hoping the storm will die down soon, it seems another has a similar idea, a human squatter dressed in rags and with a foul smell about him that is even worse then the stink of the water on the ground. He shakes off some of the mist that is still rising up from his clothes, and pulls back his hood with a yellowed grin.

As you get a good glimpse of his face, you realize you recognize the man, or at least have seen him do some dealings with the Hacker Boyz before, sometimes on good terms, sometimes on bad, but all in all they seem somewhat neutral to him. He's known for being able to broker just about any deal that someone in the barrens could need.

He chuckles slightly, beginning to speak as he sees the recognition on your face. "Hoi, chum. Now there is the boy with the gift. Been keeping my ear to the street about you, and what I've been hearing is that you are ready. Ready to get out of this stinkhole and show what you've got in that head of yours." He reaches up with a grubby finger, motioning towards your head as if to emphasize the point.

"I've got a job that I think you are up for handling, been hand picking some special recruits myself today and I think you are one of them. Looking at you now, I'd even say I know it. But you've got to be up for it. Can't go letting me down now, can you? Would be bad for your rep I'd imagine... In any case, what I need from you is to bring that brain of yours to the Big Rhino tomorrow at 7pm sharp. There is a man there by the name of Johnson. He'll be waiting for you with the details. You prove yourself in this and you'll be living large in no time."

Its early evening in fall, a miserable rainy day in Seattle. The sort of drizzle that steams from the ground as quick as it lands in a noxious cloud that leaves folks with coughing fits and makes the streets strangely clean after the dirt and oil has burned away from the concrete.

You are at home trying to stay out of the miserable weather when your telecom beeps an incoming message. On the screen is a human who looks like he could be a squatter, giving a yellowed grin. Its very nearly a cause to hangup, however you realize that you recognize the man, he's somewhat infamous for being connected in the slums of the area having his fingers in a great many of the local dealings.

"Hoi, chum. I'm contacting you with a special proposition. I have a job which needs to be done, and it has the potential to require your special skills. This mission should be a cakewalk for the rest of the team, but I am looking to add a bit firepower and someone who knows how to alter the landscape if need be to clear a path. You can expect to be well compensated for your time, and if you prove yourself in this then you can expect more work from me in the future. A man named 'Johnson' has the details, you can meet him in the Big Rhino tomorrow night at 7pm sharp. I trust you'll be there."

Twiggy moves over and sets a new glass down in front of you, raising his brow at you. He glances towards where Roach left the room, wrinkling his nose a bit in disgust. "You going to be dealing with him, Omae?"

Winston's not thrilled about a lot of this, but beggars can't be choosers. He recalls the big Rhino as a place downtown with access to the orc underground. They have good ribs and plenty of trogs, so at least he won't look out of place. if my memory of Seattle serves me correctly

Roach chuckles and nods. "No worries, Chummer. Few quick runs like this and you'll be back on top again. The team might be newbies, but they have the skills. You've got the experience. Should be soycake." With that said he pushes away from the wall, pulling his hood back up over his head and stepping out into the steaming drizzle. "Don't forget, 7pm."

while i wait for the following night to arrive, i pull out my weapons that ive hung onto, clean them, sight them, perform checks on them.

around midnight i put in a call to Jimmy, asking him for any and all information he can get his hands on about "the BIG RHINO".

Roach grins a bit more at your comment on his appearance, though he returns fire on his own. "I'm surprised you don't know the place, Crusher. The big rhino is a restaurant down town. Ork place, food is alright, though the goblin rock bands tend to kill the atmosphere." He shrugs a bit at your questions about the Johnson and laughs to himself. "I think you'll find him very... interesting. His story jibes though, so it at least looks like he's on the up and up."

With that the call disconnects. Jimmy answers your call, but is rather short with you tonight, apparently he is out of town on some sort of business that he is not ready to talk about. His description of the Big Rhino matches the one Roach gave you, with the addition that the Big Rhino is one of the few publicly known and static entrances to the Ork Underground.

The Rhino is best known as one of the few public entrances
to the Ork Underground, but that’s selling it short. Since the
whole Orxploitation thing caught on a few years back there are
plenty of restaurants out there trying to make a name for themselves
pushing “authentic ork cuisine,” but the Rhino did it first
and still does it best. This isn’t a place for anybody with delicate
sensibilities: it’s set up like an old-fashioned dining hall with trestle
tables and huge portions of food (heavy on meats and sauces).
The entertainment’s gotten better, though: formerly strippers
and raunchy comics, it’s now dominated by Goblin Rock bands,
including some of the big names who play here for old time’s
sake. It’s gotten a little safer for non-orks or –trolls than it used to
be, but expect to be hassled if you don’t at least attempt to fit in.

The Rhino, aside from having the best ribs in town, is also one
of the best places to pick up work if you’re an ork shadowrunner
who’s new in town. It’s also a good place to pick up a guide who
will take you into the parts of the Underground that most tourists
don’t get to see, but you’ll have to impress him or her first.

When you get downtown, the music blaring from the Rhino is obvious. Goblin Rock that is enough to give a headache from outside. Even this late, there is still a line outside to get in and the two huge troll's at the door are checking people over and seem to be rejecting as many as they allow inside. You know from experience that pre-10pm it is much easier to get inside as the club serves as a restaurant and the live music hasn't started yet.

The bartender is a rather surely looking ork(most of the customers do seem to be trogs now that you think about it) who looks at you rather disgusted when you ask for your drink. [b]"That it, breeder? You better tip better then you drink."

Looking around the room, there are several closed off back rooms that seem to be the likely place for a private meet, though they are maglocked so that only those who are authorized by the tender can get inside. The restaurant has few others in it at the moment, an ork and a human at opposite sides of the bar both have the look of runners about them. There are two tough looking orks sitting at one of the other tables, but they look more like gangers. An ork is working the bar and there are four other trolls split between two doors that must lead somewhere important to have such security.]

He uses the camera in his cybereyes to discreetly photograph everyone in the bar and then downloads the imagery to his Commlink.

Roach is a pretty small time fixer, though he is well known throughout all of Seattle. He started off just as a dealer of both drugs and BTLs, but built up enough connections in the different cartels to begin to work his way up to guns and info, and of course as his services became more in demand he needed people to do the actual moving of merchandise for him. Soon enough he was known for having an ear to the ground for up and coming talent and began to get hired to set up runs all on his own. Almost every runner knows him, because just about any who started in Seattle in the last 10 years probably got their start through him. Still he's never moved up to the big leagues because his inherent greed to take a large cut of the profits off any runs he sets up means that once his clients make a name for themselves they normally also find themselves a better fixer. He is on most organizations bad sides for having set up a run against them at one point or another, but they almost all still use him. Though he is known for being greedy he is also known for not double crossing his runners, probably because he needs to keep new clients working with him.

The Big Rhino is an ork and troll bar in downtown Seattle. Its famous for its ribs and is often a place that ork runners hangout to get noticed, though its not particularly human friendly. The bar has slowly cleaned itself up over the years, shifting from low class strippers to presenting some of the big names in goblin rock. Word on the street is that the bar is also one of the few static entrances to the ork underground.

The post below is for your arrival at the bar, to give you an overview description.

You manage to fight your way through the hustle of downtown and get to the Big Rhino in time to see an impressive line forming up outside. Music is blaring from the building, smashing goblin rock, though it must just be the house system since the live band isn't set to start for another hour.

By the time you get to the front of the line you only have about 10 minutes or so before the meet. The two troll bouncers check you over, and just demand a 10 credit cover-charge to get in the door. Your weapon isn't heavy enough that they expect you to check it.

Inside, things are starting to get crowded, both at the bar and at the tables. There are two guarded doors at one side of the room, with two big trolls standing outside of each. Likely they lead to the managers office and from what you have heard, the ork underground. There are also three doors that you would expect lead to private meeting rooms, though they have maglocks.

Around you there are perhaps a handful of humans, most are gangers but a few have the look of professionals about them. There are several dozen orks and about 10 trolls gathered. These two groups look like they could come from all social brackets.