Figment opens his mouth to speak when a ghostly figure of a female ork appears suddenly in your midst. The image is pale and mostly whitish, but there's just a trace of pink in the long mohawk that flows down to her knees, a few flashes of blue and red in the abstract tattoos on her face and hands -- but your attention is almost immediately seized by the blade of light in her hand that glows as brightly as she does.
"Hoi, chummers. I'm on overwatch here, and we've got some biz going on. You don't look much like a corp hit squad, and Bitrunner swears he didn't trip anything, so I'm giving you a nanosec to say why you're here before I ask my friend the city spirit to arrange an accident for you."
Figment shakes his head, "Nope. But it's not news there's exposed junctions that can be used access to the matrix here. But I've heard of Bitrunner... We've been on the same forums and infodumps at Shadowland."
He looks at the ghostly-figure and says, "Just here for the same reason you are, and willing to wait our turn if you let us do it out of the sun. Tell Bitty that Figment still thinks that a bunch of simple synchronous smartframes are more powerful and agile than one large, complex one."
”So… we good?” Raptor asks.
The figure pauses for a moment, then nods, "Ok, chummers. Stay in this room, chill, without making any noise - meatworld, digital or astral, and we're all good. I'll leave a watcher to keep an eye on you. Don't mess with him, or the friendly city spirit will suddenly be less friendly."
Walking home, Jay continues his list.
He decides on trying two more contacts, but also decides pressing the flesh isn't required for these inquiries.
His first call is to Bob Wuhl, freelance reporter on the dark underbelly of SeaTac corp biz in general and shadow-running scene in particular.
"Bob, it's Jay Gould. Wondering if you've heard anything about a heist that bagged some guns and statuary. Might have a lead on recent doings of interest to you that I can swap."
His last call is to a drug distributor, Tony Fargas. Tony's one of a very few that can get the mild vintage weed that Jay sells to friends, but Jay knows he's small potatoes to Tony, and that the distributor would like him to move into more potent product, at least into modern hybrids where higher demand would yield higher profits.
The group settles in for a bit to wait their turn, with only Onyx aware of the presence of the spirit watching over them.
After what seems like forever, but really is about 15 minutes, a group - you presume the team that you were waiting for - emerges from deeper in the ruin. An ork with silver eyes and a bulletproof duffle over his shoulder says, "No heat, no ice. Just right for you," his tone friendly, even if his team seems more than a little tense.
"We're leaving, and taking the concealing spirit with us," says a female ork - one who looks a lot like the ghostly image from earlier, "So you're on your own for lookout and whatever else you need."
She pauses, then adds, "Thanks for being chill. I'm Nightfeather. That's Bitrunner. And the wee slip of an elf that's fast enough to kill all of us is Rapier."
Raptor nods in acknowledgment. ”I’m Raptor. Chill is a good change sometimes.”
The elf chuckles, then moves toward Raptor - her movement somehow all a single, smooth glide, "Can't let yourself get too chill on the job, or you end up on ice forever," she says.
The female ork -- Nightfeather -- shakes her head, "Don't mind her, she's paranoid. Which is the exact quality you want in the shadows."
The elf nods, "Glad you added the last bit before I had to slap you."
The group chuckles and makes their way to the hole in the wall you all used as a door, with the male ork stopping at the threshold to say, "We're clean, so there's no splashback. But, still, to be safe, we didn't see each other if anyone asks, right?" While the man's tone was even, the last word seemed almost more a warning than a question.
A moment after they've left, Figment shakes his head, "He's even less charming in person than online. On the plus side, he's probably done the work of exposing the trunk and splicing into it, so we might as well use their setup."
Continuing his walk back to his apartment, Jay slides a very old burner from his pocket. He flips it open and dials a seldom used number. He usually makes these transactions face to face. "Papa, it's Ernst. I might not be around for a few days. I'm trying to help out a friend in trouble...."
About 15 minutes after he jacks in, Figment reaches up and pulls the cable from the jack, disconnecting him from the cyberdeck. He stands up and smiles, and begins to speak then blinks, closes his eyes, and starts again.
"Sorry, 'bout that, the gosh darned linguisoft was dragging me down like molasses." He gets a strange look on his face, sighs, and then continues, his twang gone, "Right, so, I cleaned up the video and cut it down to the important bits... That file's currently ricocheting in a seemingly random pattern out in the Matrix, a couple dozen nodes per second, and should be arriving on the screens of our throwaways in 6-8 seconds, depending on lag. I also grabbed a new lingsoft that's less 'yokel', though."
He closes his eyes, then sighs, "...I think it's corrupted and I have to keep rebooting the drekking thing."
He shakes his head, "Anyhow, the good news is that we got some clear images of these fragheads -- and, I've even got a lead on one of the kids -- a little poser trying to impress and get into a wizgang called the Brightburn... Seems he'll take any job to prove how amazing he is, and that he's stepped on enough toes they coughed him up right away. Calls himself Whitestreak."
Each of your phones vibrate with an incoming message and Figment shakes his head again, "Drekking soft. Anyhow, I know where Brightburn are, but didn't want to ask enough questions about the wizkid to warn the little skunk-shaman or whoever his pals are."
One of Jay's burners pings. " ... Look, papa, I really don't want a fight. I've got to go. I've got to see this through. "[/b] He snaps the papa-phone closed. Why can't the old man just listen? Why do we always argue?
This time his father might be right. He's never done anything like this with real shooting, and people d-- . Better not think about that.
Jay rubs his eyes, swaps the papa-phone for the one that pinged. Maybe one of his contacts has found something. He checks Figment's message. This is good progress; better head back to the apartment and hook up with the others.
”Yeah. Given the welcome reception, we’re not exactly anonymous here.”
Everyone gathers back at Jay's about two hours before sunset -- with Figment stopping for a few packs of Soyudon - a mix of 'pork', 'shrimp' and 'chicken' -- most of which taste nothing like what they claim, even if they are strangely tasty in their own right.
He says, "Can't wait for the pain orb to go away so we can get back out there... though I never thought I'd ever want to try to find a skunk."
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Jay marches up the steps and into the garret just in time to hear 0nyx's question. "Makes sense, and I'm in, but transport's an issue. Need wheels to move the gear. The Chromed Skulls owe us. Maybe we could barter some of that good will to borrow a truck?"
While talking, he carries a paper bag through the apartment. He deposits it on the table, then draws a sixpack of Cheery Nearly Beery (You're always happy when you drink Cheery Nearly Beery and sober too!) and a couple cartons of take out Chinese.
"Sorry. It was cheap."
”Heh. I figure someone’s gonna kill us way before a synthbeer does.” Raptor hungrily partakes of what’s on offer. ”I’m game for the run if we’ve got transport.”
Figment says, "I'm thinking they might have gotten ahold of a new van or two last that certain people didn't need anymore."
"They owe us. Maybe we could parley that into a van pink. 0nyx, you've got the best rapport. You up to make the call. "
*I suddenly have two, actually, but we'll need at least 36 hours to make sure they're clean. Could sell you a bike on the cheap right away. Or lend you an Americar for a couple of days.*
"Best we get the stuff out of there quickly. If we can't get it all today, maybe we finish it with a van tomorow. "
If you're still in Redmond, we can get it to you... or, at least, near you.... Though we'll want to work out the timing so that someone else doesn't think it's a present...
Jay mods his approval.
Raptor mutters to Jay, ”I told our mother I would keep an eye on her. When did she learn how to boost a car?” He smirks slightly.
A few minutes later, Onyx gets a text with an address that would be about 10 minutes away -- but with torn up streets and detours, probably more like 15 -- and a 2D photo of a dark blue-violet Americar - the left door having been replaced with a black one that *almost*, but not quite, matches... with a tag that says "30 minutes".
"I can drive." Jay volunteers. He holds up his left hand, palm out, fingers and thumb spread.