Cinder Block's page

Merry Christmas for those who celebrate, and a warm and happy winter's Monday for those who don't!

"Wiz. I'll hang back, keep an eye out fer any baddies er sometin. Keep in touch, use yer radios, mebbe we kin pull display drek out wit'out geekin' nobody."

CB wraps his chain around his fist, and makes sure his oversized Dragoon pistol is just barely visible under his synthleather armored jacket.

"So, ya get deir attention and I step up behin' em? Make 'em decide ta hand ovah da keys n'xchange fer dis 'stick. Course, if dey wanna get laid out, I kin do dat, too."

He waves a standard credstick, with ¥200 showing on its balance screen.

"Figger dat'll do it, neh?"

"Uh, yeah, BlackLyst ain't wrong here. Da big guy, he ain't gonna blend in nowhere but a Concrete Dreams reunion, and me, I ain't much better. Couple a breeders, in da right getup, now dey won' get a second look, ya do it right. Den, once ya's in, ya pop a door like fer a smoke break, an' we sneak on in. Grab da loot, den beat feet. If da delivery folks is smart, we give em a couple hunned nuyen, dey forget about da inconvenience. If dey feel dumb, we smack dem around and take it."

"So, we whomp dem guys, take deir van, and bring all da boxes a' drek inside. Once we're in, you two," CB points a thick, calloused finger towards BlackLyst and Val, "Sneak and hack and find da doohickey take snag. Den we beat feet outta dere. Sounds wiz take alla you?"

"So, ghost McMatrix face ovah here got an in. Sneaky blend-in-derson got a way in. Da rest o' us, we gon' need dat van or some'in like it. Got a line on a comp'ny display places uses? Lemme know an' we kin pop ovah, whoop some heads, and take deir drek. Den we jus' gotta wait fer da call at come fix da pipes er clean da toilets er whatevah."

CB drums his fingers on the table of the booth, obviously antsy and wanting to get moving.

"Er ye wan' me ta call up some boys, do a little property damage and give us a window ta sneak on in?"

"Sounds good ta me. One word a warnin' tho, I ain't so good wit a wrench er stuff. If it can git fixed by bashin', I'm yer ork. If not, mebbe we ask someone else. But I like da 'grab a van and sneak in' deal. Seems like a good 'un."

"Mebbe we go wit' a two-parter? Sneaky blendy guy," CB waves towards BlackLyst as he speaks, "Gets in, orders up a delivery or a work thing or what. Rest o' us get dolled up like plumbers or sometin', head in ta grab da t'ing, we pocket it and split. Bonus style points I guess if we fix da toilet er AC er whatevah, walk put like we own da joint."

"Don' know bout tippin' our hand so early like that. Dis place really does seem like an easy hit, 'least from what I sw on my cruise by. If we can get someone in sneaky like, they can prob grab the payday and scoot, while the rest of us give cover and watch their hoop. I had an idea that some nearby 'random acts of violence and arson' might draw the pawns off us, in case an alarm does get tripped. Won't give us gorever, but should add a couple minutes at least on the response time."

CB finishes his beer and takes the one ordered by Blacklyst in replacement.

"I can sneak, I can definitely shoot, and I'm good with locks or doors. Talkin' and blendin' in, I ain't so good at. Plus, I can ride pretty damn well, if I don't say so, myself."

"Beer's wiz an' all, but I figure we got more than jus' drinkin' in mind tonight. I guess we wait fer da others, den we star' planning dis job?"

CB's hand dwarfs the glass SoyWeiser bottle as he drains half the beer in one pull.

CB arrives at the bar a bit more subdued than earlier. His armored jacket shows less patches, and no bright orange to be aeen. Spying Venom already at the meet, he orders a SoyWeiser and heads to the booth.

"What's biz? We da firs' ones here?"

Yeah, ork wannabe ganger with more chrome than sense? He thinks he's a solo, even if he'll get smoked by the first real decker or mage he runs into.

Cinder Block considers the area, the relative lack of external security, and the fairly high response likely from law enforcement.

"Wonder if the boys wanna start a little arson, cover our tracks on the exfil?"

To the team: <Scoped the building. Light external Sec, seems primed for a quick B&E or Crash&Grab. Can call my boys for some distraction on the way out, pull eyes off our angle.>

Being conspicuous is fun.

Being sneaky and stealthy is also fun.

Just an FYI: I'll be heading for vacation from the 12th-20th.

I'll have my phone and will try to post but if necessary, please bot me.

Thanks!

"Little breeder seems a but touchy. Don't seem ta like ya too much, big guy, nor you, tall dark an' scaly. But he ain'the wrong, ya know? We wanna sneak in, sneak out, be all ghost and what, makes da ammo bill and patches so much cheaper. I'm all about da sneak an' grab, figger I can bust most locks an' drop mos' any Sec Dude pretty darn quiet. I 'spect you, big guy, and you, Venom, can do the big hurt too if needs be. Dat means da little pink haired girl is either Matrix or Talky, but I'm guessing decker. Dat makes Mr. Cranky Breeder our talker, which is just great."

CB pings his work CommCode to the table, then grabs his credstick and hoofs it.

"Someone ping me da address, I'll roll by an' scope it, all casual style like. Oh, and ya can call me Cinder Block, or CB. Later, chummers. "

Cars, drugs, reagents, foci, big ass guns, fancy clothes?

"What's the payday? Talkin' 'bout low risk and straightforward jobs, that don' bode too well fer my trustiness towards ya. Dis place heavy Sec, out of town, underwater, run by killer robots, what?"

3d6 ⇒ (6, 4, 5) = 15 x50¥ (¥750 to start)

CB rucks up to the meet fast, loud, and aggressive. He changed his bright orange prison jumpsuit top for an olive drab, army surplus BDU top, but wears his scarred synthleather armor jacket with its flaming jack-o-lantern patches all over it. He carries his pistols tucked away under the jacket, his knife behind the small of his back, and his 'belt' seems to be a length of heavy gauge steel chain.

A small nylon backpack with a helmet strapped finishes his outfit, except for the beat up black combat boots.

Walking up to the counter, he gives Bullet Catcher the once over and smacks a wide orkish hand down with a ¥5 note.

"Johnson. Where's he at?" he grumbles around his tusks. "An' gimme a sammich. All da fixins."

Home base is along 4th Ave S, just south of the ACHE and well within Halloweener terriroty.

Cinder Block checks the message as it rings through, feet propped on an overturned wooden crate and a cigarette smoldering next to a tusk.

<Sounds wiz. I'll be there, with bells on, ya know?>

He thumbs through the matrix page for the area, as well as the proposed meeting spot itself, looking to get a handle on what he should wear (or not) and what kind of harware would be appropriate.

Checking in!

Let's do this thing, yo!