The rain hammers on the window of your dwelling, making a low drumming sound that fills your apartment. The normally mild ambient light from the streetlights is magnified this night, filling your joint like an overcast day. It is very distracting, as you try to tune out the world for the night with watching the latest James Bond flick, Schornreaver. James Bond, played by hollywoods latest action hero style Arno Scwarn, Englands preeminent human actor, moves across the trid projected across the room from you. Every feature of his face; his rugged chin, slight stubble, perfect cheek bones, right eye implanted with a sky blue while his left eye is his nominal grey, seems to stare at you through the camera work. he moves with a unique grace as only a mystic Adept can move. He jumps 10 feet up in the air, catching the cargo container as it moves overhead. He easily pulls himself up on top of it.
Mr Bond. I see that youre still alive The villian, an Ian Drogo, Austrialian mega-mage, bad guy extrodianare says at Bond.
Well, it's all in the wrist Bond says in his thick English accent, stepping slowly forward, his stance into the newly formed elven fighting martial art style "Aies Sh'e", meaning "fighting eagle". Bond flexes his wrist to impart the ease of his escape from the sinking ship not moments before.
Ahh, but you see, you bring only a wrist to a mage fight. Now, I shall have the pleasure of not only watching you die, but in killing you myselfIan says, holding his right hand out. A ball of compressed flame materializes into existence. Yet it's not his right hand that moves, but his left, a bolt of lightning flinging from his outstretched fingers and seeking to connect with flat-footed Bond.
As the bolt makes impact, the display suddenly changes, an an alert floats across the projected hologram.
<INCOMING CALL: SENDER UNKNOWN>
Your comlink buzzes noisely next to you.
It cuts off after a couple moments, and the message now reads:
<Call terminated. New Message!>
on the display a message scrolls across in green letters:
<Hello there, chummer. Heard youre in need of work. Come by Jimmy's grotto in Redmond at 2am.>
Jimmy's grotto. a bar, yet more famous for it's deep fried Calzone's than anything else. Everyone knows that when you eat the calzone, you take a bite and then hold the folded pizza down to allow the real meat grease to flow out of the treasured gem. The only item on the menu that uses real meat, not that soy-meat that is the common flavor of the world today.
Yes, jimmy's grotto actually exists. Yes, the Calzone is fricken amazing! And yes, you do have to tip the calzone on it's side to allow the grease to pour out. check it out!
Covid-81, the hip new disease to flood the world, has been on the rampage for the last few months. Originating from China (Again) this disease has spread like wildfire within a matter a weeks, flowing from the heavily populated area of Shanghai. Similar other strains of the Covid series of disease, this one has a key difference. For most people, it's just a simple cold, perhaps a mild flu-like symptoms that lays a person up for a couple days. But Covid-81, it ravages people with some sort of cybernetic implant.
At first, it was thought that it only affected Orks and Trolls, as they were the first to show the disease, but then elves, dwarves, and humans were getting the bug. No commonality was linked, at first. Then, doctors from the EVO megacorporation discovered how it destroyed latent antibodies that were a latent by-product of the cybernetic implantation process.
Rumors abound on the Matrix of various megacorp's intentionally infecting people and sending them to their rivals, with devestating effects.
A quarantine went into effect, but lasted, in truth, only one week. The "essential worker" declaration became a joke as the megacorps just declared all their workers "essential" in broad strokes, and the masses returned to work.
The megacorps, and some new comers, started working on not only a vaccine for this virus, but also one to "cure" any potential reawakenings of these constant pandemics that seem to "derive naturally" from China.
For the lowly shadowrunner, it's a time of unique opportunities. Bioterrorism opportunities abound, if youre willing to carry the disease. Supply chain interdiction forces are a hot commodity, an overt attempt to prevent rival corps from getting that antidote, or to force the wholesale financial ruin. Actual land-grabs, wet-work assassination, Matrix scouring, magical assimilation, the list is endless. Everyone sees the pandemic as an opportunity to get rich, to move up, to be better.
It's survival of the fittest, if youre fast enough to outrun the law, the megacorp...and the disease.
"I didn't like the movie anyway" Mark thinks. He turns off the device and checks his vintage wrist watch. "Still time." It's been a while since last time Mark was at Jimmy's, and he wouldn't mind a Ponza Rotta for dinner. He carefully picks his sword, Hikari, and hangs her from his belt in a specific way that his robes cover the long and curved shape.
During his long walk to Jimmy's Grotto, Mark attracts all kinds of looks. To be honest, the sight of a guy wearing Jedi robes and a yellow umbrella under the midnight rain is something few people are able to ignore. Mark is already used to it anyway, so he happily walks enjoying the sound of the raindrops until he reaches the aforementioned meeting point. When he comes in, he closes his umbrella while he has a look at the faces around, including a quick sight of the Astral plane. "Okay, let's see what we find here tonight..."
John had been reading a physical book when the call came in, only having the trideo on for background noise (also to disabuse anyone of the notion that his apartment was empty).
When his commlink chirped, he glanced at the message, managing to read it right as the cheap piece of Chinese made crap had shorted out.
In frustration, he threw the damn thing against the wall and heard it make a satisfying crash and it split into it's constituent parts.
Well he thought to himself, at least I should end up with enough nuyen to replace that POS. he smiled to himself as he realized that there were only a handful of people who would actually get that reference.
After all, they now called it Drek.
John saw that the streets were just as disgusting as they ever were, but at least people here lived in relative freedom, instead of the Tir.
Turning, John made his way to the Tube station to catch a ride to the closest stop.
The Tube came, he got on, the Tube moved some, and he got off at his stop. A short walk later and he stood in front of the doors to Jimmy's Grotto.
Pat was not really watching the tried when the call came. He was busy trying to make something to eat out of the remains in his tiny fridge. The chirping took him by surprise, as his com had been silent for the better part of a month. Reading the message, he smiled.
"Ahhh..deep-fried calzones. Just what the doctor didn't order!
Grabbing his staff and slipping his pistol in the quick-release holster under his right arm, the old man headed for the door. The rain outside did not seem to bother him much as he hurried to the Grotto. He watches the streets with eyes and astral senses as he moves quickly and determinately towards the eatery. When he enters, he shakes the moisture off his old style duster and scans the place.
Sam was whiling away the hours in his small cramped room. In the middle of the housing block, he got it all, pitter patter of small feet running all hours of the day and night, arguments from the old metas, loud, obnoxious sex noises from the pair of orcs next door, the list goes on. Empty bottles strewn around the one room flat, deodorizing the room with the smell of their former alcoholic content. Through it all, he continues to concentrate and perfect his stunner twirl. You never know when a proper intimidation moment may come along and need the otherwise useless skill. Besides, there is nothing on the trid but drek anyways, so....
Wait, someone must have butt dialed him again. Fraggin slots. Nonetheless, Sam sets his latest concoction of a drink down and moves over to the table and while still twirling his stunner, checks the read on the comp. The faithful Renraku spit out the message as soon as it recognizes its master's presence.
"Someone must be real desperate to ask for me. Well, it is not like I got that long a lifespan anyways."
Sam twirls the stunner one last time and stows it away within his duster, followed up by the comp as well. He then turns to the lump near the ancient, torn couch he collected from the roadside a little over a week ago and checks to ensure the contents are just as he left them. All accounted for, he hoists his bag upon his back and makes for the door. It is a long jander to Jimmy's. Too bad he did not have two Nguyen to rub together for a lyft...
Jimmy Grotto's. A bar. A restaurant. Yet so much more than that.
It's a place where one can let down their hair, relax, indulge themselves after a long days work, whether it's slaving over a computer all day doing facts and figures, or its slumming it on the streets hitting up randoms for the quick easy buck. Within Jimmy Grotto, there is no class structure, no above, no beneath contempt, it's all the same. Everyone here, by unspoken agreement, is simply there.
walking into the bar, you look around, searching for signs from the someone who messaged you.
The building itself is rather large, pushing the idea of "bar" aside, and making a banquet hall look small, the establishment is huge, yet small in nature. Actual bars, the areas where drink is served, are dotted at intervals throughout the large room, providing the customers with their choice of ease of access to the liquor they wish to imbibe. Moving thoughout the crowd are several serving waitresses wearing revealing clothing, enhancing curves to the next level, providing an allure to the pleasurable establishment. They walk around, providing food to those customers who ordered it, and in the rare instance, the legal drugs that are common place within the greater Seattle vicinity.
Set along the far edge of the room, past the bars, the dining tables, the suits, the gangers, the hippies, the druggies, and all other manner of indulgers, you see three rooms. Private stalls for those who wish to have privacy for their food...or perhaps a form of security for discussing activities that shouldnt allow for unwanted attention.
A message chimes upon your commlink
<Room 3. I have taken the liberty of ordering food and drinks for our discussion.>
A small light above one of the far rooms flashes discreetly for a moment, and then returns to it's normal red hue.
Always quick on the uptake, Sam stows his Renraku again, makes a quick scan of the room and then actively avoids eye contact with everyone. During his quick scan and as he crosses the room, he tries to discern the watchers on his way to the appointed booth. There are always watchers and it is just as good to know where they are when the drek hits he fan.
Memory: 7d6 ⇒ (4, 1, 4, 4, 6, 5, 2) = 26 to remember the faces in the room as I cross to ID positions if the next test is successful
Perception: 8d6 ⇒ (3, 4, 5, 2, 2, 4, 2, 3) = 25 included the -2 for distracted (avoiding eye contact) and -2 for interfering sound (crowd); for each additional loss of dice, remove from last rolled
He approaches the room, knocks once, then enters and takes a seat farthest from the obvious central location where the face will cut the deal. That is his job, mine is to watch the door and the Johnson for any sign of betrayal....
wanted to get some dice tests on the boards to see how this will look or work especially with input from GM; so as I read this I got 2 successes on the memory test and one on the perception test and thankfully no glitches, GM?
Standing to one side of the entry, Pat moves his sight into the astral plane and assess the room.
Assensing: 6d6 ⇒ (5, 1, 5, 4, 4, 6) = 25 3 successes
The presence and location of alphaware cyber implants.
Whether the subject’s Essence and Magic are higher, lower, or equal to your own.
Whether the subject’s Force is higher, lower, or equal to your Magic. A general diagnosis for any maladies (diseases or toxins) the subject suffers.
Any astral signatures present on the subject.
If you put a semicolon after each die, it will roll them separately.
Stepping inside, John walked up to the bartender at one end of the bar. As he walked, he drew the eyes of most people in the place, even if they didn't approach him. While he was exceptionally good-looking, that wasn't the root of what made him so attractive.
In John's experience, it was typically that people saw the best thing they wanted to see in him. For some, it was a friend, for others, a f@#$ buddy; others still saw him as that 'cool' boss that buys everyone drinks after a hard day at work.
Crossing to the bar, the woman working that end of the bar met him there. After a moment's conversation, and her handing him a napkin that she had written something on, John turned and made his way towards the private rooms.
Looking down at the napkin, John chuckled. Old though he was, he still found it funny how quickly he always seemed to get the girl's digits.
Still not done with gear, but I'm done enough to hop in. Swapped my Walker and Aircraft skills around a bit because I overestimated how many Walkers there were when I initially picked skills.
Ezekial was passively enjoying the new Bond flick, but happily enough flipped it off when he got the call. No match for the classics anyhow. he thought and shrugged.
Grabbing his hat and coat from the rack near the door, he plodded down to the lower part of the warehouse he called home, whistling for one of the Dobermans to come over so he could load it in the back of the old Gopher he used for general driving around purposes. He wasn't looking for trouble, but that didn't always stop it from finding him. In a similar vein, he put a couple of his scouting microdrones in his pocket, just in case. After throwing a tarp over the back of the truck to hide its additions, he gets on the road.
The drive to Jimmy's was easy enough, and he sets one of his MCT Fly Spies to flying to scout the exterior and roofs. Just in case.
Pilot Aircraft: 10d6 ⇒ (6, 5, 6, 2, 3, 3, 4, 6, 2, 6) = 43
5 successes I think? Seems like enough, I should hope.
Assuming his drone doesn't pick anything up, he parks it somewhere inconspicuous that can overlook the situation, and heads inside to quickly find room 3.
Assessing: 9d6 ⇒ (2, 1, 2, 1, 1, 4, 4, 6, 5) = 26 Okayyy...
After a quick look at the astral plane he notices whatever he considers singular and asks the guy for food. "A Ponza Rotta, please." He asks for his drink as well and occupies a seat facing the entrance door. While he munches, ignoring the looks of surprise at his garnment, he monitors all who enter in search of a potential clue. When he recieves the message, he slowly gets up, pays his food and directs his steps towards Room 3, paying attention to every detail.
Perception: 9d6 ⇒ (5, 4, 5, 1, 2, 1, 3, 4, 1) = 26 Well, I hope the rolls improve...
ahhh the dice rolls cometh!
Your assessment upon the room is as follows.
A single occupant is in the room. This person has had a couple drinks, as alcohol is present within the persons aura. There are some cyber implants, a replacement eye, an integrated commlink, and a cyberfoot. The essence is somewhat lower than yours, and you determine no magical Force
their is an occupant, it has some cyber implants. You dont recognize the aura
trying to be like Thomas Raith, Continuum?
ill have the next part posted later this afternoon or early this evening. ran out of time for the moment
well, that took a lot longer than i expected.
You enter into the room and see a narrow coffee table set within the center of the room. Made out of the new-age synth-wood, durable yet cheap to replace. Around the table are large padded living room chairs that would normally be found within mid to high level wage earners. Fake leather, poly-blend stuffing, comfy to sit in, 10 chairs in all.
A man sits in one chair, and upon seeing you enter, stands and waves at the chairs. Please have a seat. I took the liberty of ordering some alcohol, deep fried calzones, and some other appetizers, for us to enjoy while we conduct this interlude-exchange! MEETING! the man snaps his mouth shut and closes his eyes for a moment. You see him take several deep breaths, his chest rising and falling in large motions.
My Name is Cass-I mean Mr Johnson!- and i work for Core-ahh certain individuals- to offer you millions!-NO! Thousands-for work with do things not nice to others-BAH!!! The man stutters and shakes for a moment, his gaze looking beyond the walls, his brow suddenly beading with sweat, his hands shake and tremble. He breathes rapidly, heavily, a quick gasping noise. He looks at each of you and then throws his hands up Dahmmit!!! I suck at this. Holy crap! i mean, comeon, god i blew this, didnt i? he slumps onto his chair, dropping his head into his hands, and mumbling to himself.
At that moment, a ding chimes lowly from a small speaker set upon the corner wall. A crack and slight rumble are heard overhead, forcing you to look up and see a small panel door slide back, allowing a-wood plank?-to descend from the ceiling. As it lowers you hear the low buzz of a drone as it resolves into your line of sight, carrying a tray filled with appetizers, calzones, liquor, and 5 credstiks.
"Not at all. You are simply out of your depth." John pauses as the food is delivered, smiles at the waitress, then waits until she leaves before continuing: "Sorry about that. As I was saying, you seem like you're outside your comfort zone. Take a deep breath, relax, and after a moment eating what I am sure is something delicious, start again slowly. You've got this."
Judge Intentions: 1d6 ⇒ 61d6 ⇒ 51d6 ⇒ 41d6 ⇒ 11d6 ⇒ 61d6 ⇒ 41d6 ⇒ 41d6 ⇒ 41d6 ⇒ 31d6 ⇒ 51d6 ⇒ 21d6 ⇒ 51d6 ⇒ 31d6 ⇒ 2
5 hits no glitch. I'm trying to determine if he's testing me, or if he's really as nervous and out of his depths as he seems to be.
Oh for Frag's sake! Is this the twilight zone or did I just stumble into amateur hour? Is this guy for realz? His nguyen better be real good for this slag.
"Out with it Chummer, wut's the J O B?" Sam asks as he downs a drink with absurd quickness and eyes the credsticks for a clue as to how well loaded they are in the process.
Perception: 6d6 + 6d6 ⇒ (2, 2, 3, 5, 4, 4) + (3, 6, 2, 2, 2, 4) = 39
wow, this dice program hates me! 12 dice and only 2 successes...heh, at least there are no glitches...
Pat watches and listens to the others who had been invited to this...well...amateur-time meeting. Hell, if he did not need the money, he would have simply turned around and left, but all things being equal...well money almost trumps anything.
Their Mr. Johnson was either a brilliant manipulator, or this was the saddest sitdown he had ever been to. Well, at least there was food and drinks.
Reaching over, the bald elder man helps himself to a greasy calzone and mug of beer.
The man shakes his head, reaches out, grabbing a bottle of liquor. He pops the top off and throws it behind him while bringing the bottle to his lips. he lifts his head up, tipping the bottle up, and begins to chug the high content alcohol like a redneck prom queen regretting her choices that night so many years before. He chugs and chugs, each hit a thunderous gurgle within the confines of the glass bottle. The light amber liquid bubbles up as the mix of malted barley, water, and yeast flows down the mans throat. Finally, after his numerous desperate long pulls, he brings the bottle down. What held a full bottle, now is 3/4s empty, the rest sitting in the mans stomach.
He lifts his head up and looks at each of you in the eye. a look overcomes his face, one that you have just recently grown accustomed to yourselves. It is the look of resolution, of acceptance, and most importantly, of Death. You cannot help but feel a momentary twinge of emotion, some emotion, that involuntarily comes to mind, flashing across your vision like a blazing hot arrow upon a dark nights sky. As fast it crosses your vision, the look is gone from the man's face.
Each credstik has 5,000 nuyen on it. It's yours merely for visiting the man starts, monotone confidence filling his voice. There is a small upstart Pharm-comp called Firste Aide. While HQ'd in CAS, they are rumored to be operating a lab here within the greater Seattle area. Client has two mandates. 1)download then destroy all data found on site. 2) Destroy the lab. Payment is two fold. NY15,000 for destruction of Lab. NY20,000 download of data. The data is paramount the man finishes with a stern tone, stabbing his finger hard upon the synthwood table.
The sudden change in the man's demeanour surprises Pat so much that he takes a quick look in astral space to make sure some spirit had not suddenly taken over the man.
Assensing: 6d6 ⇒ (6, 5, 6, 1, 2, 5) = 25 4 sucesses
Assuming that all is fine, Pat leans forward and scoops up one of the cred sticks.
"Count me in." he says and leans back to see what the others decide to do.
"See, I knew you could do it." says John in a completely non-mocking way. He then picks up one of the credsticks and pockets it.
"Is there a timelimit on this data extraction and lab destruction? Also, how will we contact you when we have completed the assignment?"
John pours himself a drink and takes one of the calzones and begins picking at the crust as he talks.
Mark decides it's time to take the money and run. Not in the "walk fast" sense, of course. The other guys seem eager to do the job, and the payment is juicy, so he wants to accept. That doesn't mean he has to be careless, though.
"Okay" he says while taking the credstick and a calzone. "You've got any intel that you can share? Location? Security personnel?"
"Anyfin' could contrifute to a fmoofer jof, an' we all wan' tha'."
With the rest of the team having claimed their creds, Sam makes his move and pockets it straight away. He then leans back and continues to observe their host for any additional mood swings that may affect the immediate outcome of the situation...
3 days. the man answers Continuum.
ok, im a little hazy on the lingo, so just bear with me.
It is assumed that this lab is running in a near silent condition. Nothing obvious on the Matrix to pinpoint a location. Emails and texts between Firste Aide employees allude to this lab, but do not outright say it's location. Data is being transmitted to the home office in Atlanta, as the exchanges reference new observations, but beyond that, it's as if the lab doesnt exist. which in itself isnt something new. As for security, again, We dont know.
"I see. You mentioned data, but I would imagine that there is quite a bit of data in a hidden lab. Is there a specific project or subject that we should be looking for, or should we collect everything?"
Continuum pops another piece of the Calzone into his mouth.
"Also, you did not answer my question regarding the means to contact you once we have completed our business."
"I just wanted to make sure you weren't going to get rid of your commlink after the meeting. Good to know."
"Okay, so to repeat the job: you want us to locate and enter this lab, secure the data, then destroy the lab. We have three days to complete the job, and there are no issues in regards to casualties. Have I missed anything?"
The man suddenly gets a look upon his face. His cheeks puff out, his eyes bulge, and he stifles a grunt. His eyes frantically search the room, casting about for a sign of hope. Finally, by the door, he spots an inbuilt trash can! He lurches towards it, toggles it open, and then leans forward, vomiting up everything that he sucked down minutes earlier...
John gives Mark a 'one moment' gesture and then says once their Johnson has regained his composure "So we have our mission, now we need to discuss compensation. Destroying a lab means that we will need explosives, which means that we'll need to spend more with our trusted contacts to acquire said explosives. Copying data of that magnitude and import means that we'll need to secure a hardened data container to keep said data safe. There will, of course, be other costs we'll incur along the way. Allow me to suggest a counter offer: 25,000 nuyen for the destruction of the lab, and 35,000 nuyen for the data. It'll make splitting the money easier and insure that we all" as he gestures he includes the Johnson "equally share the expected costs."
Cha + Negotiation: 1d6 ⇒ 21d6 ⇒ 61d6 ⇒ 31d6 ⇒ 41d6 ⇒ 41d6 ⇒ 31d6 ⇒ 61d6 ⇒ 61d6 ⇒ 11d6 ⇒ 61d6 ⇒ 31d6 ⇒ 4 4 hits and not a glitch.
Johnson sits down upon the floor next to the trash can and leans back against the wall, a sigh errupting from his mouth. He lifts his arm and wipes his mouth with the back of his arm. he looks up at Continuum and listens to his counter proposal. He nods.
Agreed. NY25K for the destruction, NY35k for the data.
let's make sure i got this right. perception is linked to intuition. dice pool would be perception skill plus intuition attribute.
continuum perception 1 + Int 5: 6d6 ⇒ (3, 6, 2, 5, 1, 4) = 21 2 hits
the daghda (no perception skill): 4d6 ⇒ (3, 6, 5, 1) = 15 2 hts
sam wyatt: 12d6 ⇒ (1, 6, 2, 3, 3, 1, 2, 1, 1, 6, 2, 2) = 30 2 hits, not enough 1s for glitch
mark calloway: 9d6 ⇒ (2, 5, 5, 6, 2, 3, 4, 6, 3) = 36 4 hits
For everyone, you begin to hear a slight commotion come from beyond the walls of the room. it sounds like raised voices, some in anger, some in surprise.
Upon hearing the commotion, Sam begins to palm his trusty stunner and prepares for a double cross even though he suspects it is just a bar fight. He maneuvers himself in a position in a flash of fluid movement to kick the table over and checks to ensure it is not bolted to the floor:
Perception: 6d6 + 6d6 ⇒ (3, 2, 2, 1, 5, 6) + (6, 5, 1, 3, 5, 2) = 41 Whoo hoo, that is how perception is supposed to go
on the off chance I happen to have guessed the issue at hand, I did not look at the spoiler!
He also snags any remaining credsticks so they do not get left behind...
"That's not a great sign." turning towards Johnson, John asked "Do you have an protection on sight? You should probably have them escort you out of here. If not, you should probably get out of here regardless."
Looking at the others, John asked "Are any of you armed?"
"That's not a great sign." turning towards Johnson, John asked "Do you have an protection on sight? You should probably have them escort you out of here. If not, you should probably get out of here regardless."
Looking at the others, John asked "Are any of you armed?"
"I brought my piece, but the big guns are outside." Ezekial says, pulling back his longcoat to show his revolver.
He also doesn't mention that the gun is mostly for show.