Before he excuses himself, Greg nods to everyone and slides a commcode over via AR.
"Excellent. I look forward to hearing of you upon your success."
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"Are you looking to branch out into a new line of work, Mr. Murphy? I might just have an opening for a man of your talents on this side of the table, assuming things go well for you on this task." Greg's cold demeanor and narrowed eyes soften a bit, and an actual smile crosses his face after the back-and-forth. "So, do you have any further questions? If not, I will take my leave and allow you to get to work."
Roll negotiation for anyone who is trying to talk up the Johnson. Negotiation 5 hits! "The expense fund would, of course, be provided immediately upon conclusion of these negotiations, with the balance remanded once the task has been completed." Greg smiles over his folded hands at Murphy. "The payment for recruitment of Dr. Solus would be on the order of your original payment for this task, I can assure you. At least that much, and possibly more if he brings valuable resources with him."
"Given his history, I highly doubt Dr. Solus would be working on anything weaponized. Toxic or dangerous to touch, eat, or breath, possibly. But this is a man who has maintained a non-corporate research lab for more than a decade. His primary focus has always been on improving existing crops for environmental adaptation or consumer yield." Mr. Johnson shrugs with that piece of news, before continuing, "If you can acquire some of the physical samples, great, but the setup and data are more important. If you are unfamiliar with the Plastic Jungles, I'd suggest reading up on the history a bit. In short, huge "indoor" swathes of arable land has risen from a fallen TwenCen plan, and it's population has come of age in a bizarre agrarian civilaztion. It's like something from 300 years ago, in places."
"In an optimal situation, Dr. Solus never knows you've acquired his data. Not only is simultaneous research more effective, my employer hopes to leverage their resources to rather massively upgrade the sample area. Thus, the methodology and data are both critical. Discretion or subterfuge are the key words here."
"Yes, of course. The payment discussed is for the data requested only. The recruitment of the good doctor is a secondary goal at this time. If this introduction letter gets you close enough to achieve that mission, great. Remember, however you achieve that, you musn't destroy the experiment or Dr. Solus himself. The methodology and setup are just as crucial as the recorded data itself."
Do You Open the Envelope?:
Dr. Solus, This letter is intended as an invitation for further discussion regarding your research opportunities and possibly lucrative business openings. The bearers of this form have not been provided with details beyond a request to deliver it to you and possibly escort you if you so desire. Please realize we value your past contributions to the fields of agricultural science and botany, and greatly respect your methods and tenacity. There is much we can discuss, although in person would be for the best. With all due respect, we hope to speak with you soon. The paper is nice, heavy and crisp, but does not bear any watermarks or other identifying marks on either envelope or letter. The printing could be from any printer or printshop in the modern world. "We do not expect the good doctor to be extremely heavily guarded, although he is known to work in fairly hazardous conditions or amongst dangerous flora and fauna in the past. Given that, and the discretion we hope you will bring to this task, we are prepared to offer you each ¥10,000 for the retrieval of the data. In addition, we can supply an additional ¥4,000 for supplies, information, or other operational expenses as needed. The timetable remains open, although obviously we would prefer to obtain the desired information as soon as possible. Any questions?" The Johnson leaves the white envelope on the table, just past his drink glass as he proposes the mission.
"You have his published catalog and university bio. We believe he is operating in the Plastic Jungles section of Redmond, working on his latest project. Beyond that, that is why my employers have sought outside professionals. To be frank, it would be unseemly to reach out publicly, and might damage the opportunity for Dr. Solus's recruitment."
"My employer would like the experimental notes on the good doctor's latest project. That includes the data collected, any samples you can acquire, and especially the project design and experiment notes. They would much rather not have to reverse engineer the whole kit and kaboodle." As he speaks, his demeanor shifts slightly, becoming much more calculating and cold in his delivery. "Now, this is where you task becomes a litter more interesting, and potentially profitable. Dr. Solus has, thus far, remained in the near-unicorn status of a "pure" researcher. My employer would like to change that, and here is a good-faith offer of employment they would like to extend him." Greg slowly draws out a heavy white envelope, unsealed, and slides it across the table. "It's open, so you can take a look if you'd like. Basically, my employer considers the research Dr. Solus has accomplished well worth the time and effort to recruit him. Let me be clear, Dr. Solus is not an extraction target, not at this time. The data is the primary goal here, and the man himself is a bit of a hail-Mary bonus. If you can pull off that play, expect a significant reward, of course." Looking over the group, Greg sits quietly after his pitch and waits.
Bobbi roll a judge intentions. To all outward appearances, Greg the Johnson is a cool, collected speaker. He smiles and laughs, raising eyebrows at the proper times. In short, he is a wonderful conversationalist, and jovial entertains your speech throughout dinner. Once dinner is completed, and coffee or tea has come by, he steeples his fingers and assumes a more serious air. "Now that pleasantries have been satisfied, perhaps we get down to business? My employer has a task, for which your team should be quite satisfactory. Obviously, it concerns Dr. Solus and his research. Are you interested in hearing more?"
"Well, now, that would be a very interesting topic, very interesting indeed. It seems that the good doctor has kept his current topic of research close to his vest, as you can see, his last publication was more than 18 months ago. There may be implications for more...practical...applications beyond pure research. Then again, there may not." The Johnson idly flips through the data, leaving the ARO up and visible. Soon enough, your ordered food arrives, brought by the same discreet young Asian waitress on a large black tray. She sets the dishes down in front of the appropriate guest before asking if there was anything else she could bring you. Looking at the food itself, the presentation is quite nice, with bright colors and clean lines. The various rolls and sushi pieces form a beautiful display, inviting the diner to enjoy.
The Johnson, Greg, smiles at Al and spreads his hands in a "mea culpa" gesture. "Sure, sure, I understand. Time is money, and all that. Perhaps I give you a bit of information, and you think on it over appetizers and the first round, then you let me know if we proceed past this initial meeting, eh?" He takes a sip of his beverage (something dark amber in a highball glass), and sets the tumbler down. With a gesture, he brings up an AR window showing a still image of a middle-aged human man, wearing a labcoat and dark framed glasses. He does not seem familiar at first glance, but is obviously a researcher of some kind. "This is the public biography of Dr. Mordin Solus, a botanist and agricultural sciences researcher out of the University of Chicago. He and his team have been researching some kind of hardy-growth produce, and may be conducting experiments in the nearby area. Do any of you have any experience with biological treatises, or botany? I admit, the science is beyond my ken, but the abstracts seem quite interesting to say the least." He slides the ARO over to anyone who desires it, providing the bio and public publishing history, along with several papers authored by Dr. Solus for download. They are titled things like Direct vs. indirect effects of whole-genome duplication on prezygotic isolation in Chamerion angustifolium: Implications for rapid speciation or Leucocyanidin reductase activity and accumulation of proanthocyanidins in developing legume tissues. They are obviously very dense and technical.
The menu for the Phoenix House is, in fact, shows a full-service kitchen. Sushi, sashimi, maki, and all kinds of rolls are showcased, but there is a wide selection of cooked foods, soups, salads, and appetizers. The drink menu seems even nicer and well appointed than the food. Hawatari knows, from her previous experience, that the seafood is almost certainly not fresh-caught, but is still quite tasty nonetheless. The vegetarian options are highlighted in the menu, listing several as "house specialties" and affording them prime positions in the layout. Your drinks arrive extremely rapidly, delivered by a young Asian woman wearing the black uniform of the restaurant. She places the beverages down and bows before backing out of the room. Shortly after she leaves, a man approaches the room, poking his head in and flashing a smile before kicking off his shoes and entering. The door slides behind him with the same solid sound and he settles himself as comfortably as Hawatari did. He's of indeterminate Caucasian heritage, with brown hair stylishly cut, smooth shaven, with light brown eyes. He wears a black suit over an immaculate white dress shirt with a shiny red tie. A silk pocket square matching the tie pokes out over his jacket pocket. As he unbuttons his coat to sit, you make out the matte black handle of a pistol holstered under his left arm. The cut of the suit hid the weapon from sight quite nicely, and if you had to guess, you'd say he displayed it intentionally. "Good evening, I am glad you could meet me at relatively short notice. I'll be serving as Mister Johnson tonight, but you may call me Greg, if you'd like. My employer heard that you are an efficient and discreet team, so here I am to broker your services. I see you have already placed orders for drinks and food, perhaps you would like to postpone discussion of business for the moment? He looks at Hawatari as he says the last, with an inquisitive look.
Hawatari: Mr. Johnson picks up after a short time, audio only. "That is good news, indeed. And a very rapid response, I might add. Good work. I believe the whole package would be for the best. One never knows just what information lies in a subordinates memory." He pings you over a coordinate locator. "Bring the goods and your 'set' here, they'll be expecting you. They will have your fee as well." The location is in the Bargain Basement, a few miles to the west. Prime Cutters territory.
"I think the amounts I described serve as adequate recompense for this task. After all, it amounts to a simple item-retrieval job in the end. And a good portion of your legwork has already been provided." Mister Johnson flashes a smile at the Japanese elf, raising an eyebrow in slight expectation. "Can I relay your agreement to the employer? If so, that commlink contains all the data we've discussed, as well as contact info for me."
"Ah, I see there is one with a mind for negotiations. My heart rests easier now," Mister Johnson looks at Hawatari closely as she speaks. "The price is for the goods and vehicle, minus Tarnish's reward. Couple of crates, there," he steeples his hands before continuing. "Alive, the thief brings 10k, dead 5."
"First of all, I am willing to exchange nuyen on behalf of a party for the services of 'professionals'. I am in no way "hiring" any of you myself. Let's get that straight right here and now," Mister Johnson's eyes narrow as he places his nearly full glass of beer back on the table. "You must be new to Seattle," he snorts in derision. "You know what people don't have in Redmond? Food, medicine, basics of human civilization, that kinda stuff? Yeah, that. Of course, if you all are not interested in work, perhaps I need to speak with some folks who are." He seems slightly agitated, but not enough to get up and walk away. Not yet, at least.
"Health risks? No, nothing like that. From what I understand, there was nothing inherently hazardous in the shipment." Mister Johnson slots the dataspike into the MetaLink and flicks his finger a bit. An ARO blooms with an itemized manifest. "Foodstuffs, medical supplies, building materials, construction chemicals..." he rattles off a short list of goods. Nothing stands out as something you couldn't get at a well-stocked KongWalMart. "The small arms and ammunition have already been accounted for, so that's something at least." Mister Johnson smiles and shrinks the ARO. "I believe this means you are interested, depending on the funds available?"
On approach, Neutral Ground appears rather unimpressive. Set on the corner of the block, the only real feature standing out are the dozen or so motorcycles parked by the front entrance. A simple ARO shines over the door, Neutral Ground in big block letters. A handful of men mill around the street, beer bottles in hand. Almost all wear dark leather vests over flannel shirts, patches denoting affiliation with small motorcycle clubs on the back. They all carry knives openly, slipped into boots or sheathed at their waste. No-one spares much attention as you enter. Standing by the door, a bouncer wearing a long-sleeve STAFF t-shirt over what appears to be a ballistic vest waves you in without a problem. "No fights inside, no matter what. Take it out back. You've been warned," the ork growls past his tusks. Holstered on his right hip sits a bright yellow taser. Entering the bar, the vibe changes rapidly. Warm and loud, its a welcome change from the February gloom outside. Tobacco and cannabis smoke waft around, and the scent of spilled beer and sweat pervades the air. A large number of people stand or sit around, drinking and carousing loudly. Thumping bass carries throughout, making conversation a bit tricky. The patrons inside appear much like those outside. Mostly human men, with a few orks and dwarves here and there, you see knives, chains, and even a few holstered pistols. Everyone seems to be having a good time, knocking back drinks. Approaching the bar, Jimmy directs you to a back booth, where several people sit. A powerfully built ork stands by the end of the booth, wearing a heavy black coat over hoody and jeans. Sitting at the table, a human man in his 40's talks to nothing, a glass of beer and pitcher by his hand. On the table itself sits a cheap commlink, possibly a MetaLink or knockoff brand. As you approach the man gestures to sit and terminates his conversation shortly. "Here for the Edwards party? Good, glad to see you all. I am very pleased to deal with punctual professionals, that makes things much less complicated." the man smiles and takes a sip of his beer before continuing. "You may call me Mister Johnson, as is customary. That is my associate Steven." The black-clad ork nods briefly. "Let us get right to business, if you please? Job is straightforward: find some stolen goods, retrieve them. Pays ¥1500 if you can get the property back, with a bonus if you can bring in the thief. Interested?" After Negotiations: Barring any objections, he slowly reaches into his jacket pocket and retrieves a dataspike. "I have been contracted to obtain retrieval specialists for a load of cargo which has been...misappropriated. The intended recipient would very much like the property back. Of even greater interest is the name and whereabouts of whoever took it in the first place." He slots the dataspike into the cheap commlink and presses an icon to trigger its AR display. "Contained on this is the manifest for the cargo and a description of the delivery vehicle. It also has contact information for when you complete your task." "The vehicle was last seen heading north on the 405 near the intersection of the 522. Whoever grabbed the goods must have forced it off into northern Redmond." "The only other lead I can provide at this time is a man called Tarnish. He operates a shop out of the Squatters Mall. He was the one who contacted my employer and advised them of the shipment going awry. Any questions?"
I do not intend to use another edition. I have used it and seen it in use plenty, and believe it to be an effective and fun system. I believe I will create a recruitment post in a bit.
Very nice. Fair warning: I am still mastering the 5ed rules, but a PbP should allow for plenty of time to read/review things and ensure I get them correct. Any ideas on what you would like to play, in broad strokes? I am thinking of starting relatively small, dealing with some street & go-gangs in the Redmond area, building up a contact list and street cred / karma before moving out into the wider world of running. About 3/4 black trenchcoat / 1/8 pink mohawk / 1/8 SyFy tv series.
Wondering who would be interested in a Shadowrun 5 game? Set in Seattle, 2076, to start. Standard characters, fairly player driven, with an early focustomers on Redmond & the local gangs.
No work available at themoment. I will keep you in mind once some of my irons come out of the fire, though.
I know its another 30$ but its a lot easier to play if it is easier to make characters. A good resource for step-by-step how to resolve actions. Yes, SR is a complicated, modifier-friendly, LOTS of dice type of game. I don't play it for that reason, but for the awesome backstory and meta-narrative that flows through the game. Especially since I've been following it at least moderately since 1/2ed. Also, check out Shadowrun.com, the "home base" for Catalyst Game Labs (tabletop), Cliffhanger Studios (SR Online) and Hare-Brained Schemes (SR: Returns) and home to a decent forum of like-minded individuals. Sorry to hear your experience was less than stellar, hope these links can help out.
"Okay, excellent. One final thing," Mr. Johnson leans forward and waves his left hand roughly in the direction of the AR object that's been floating over his shoulder. "Apparently one of St. Cloud's lost little lambs couldn't make the meet in person, so he contacted me via 'link. Seems we had a few names in our history in common, so I allowed him to tag along. Don't worry about splitting your fee with him, though, he's already been taken care of monetarily." He goes by the name of Sh4m, or something similar, nowadays. Names seems to be a fairly disposable commodity in our line of work, anyways, wouldn't you say?" "He said he'd meet you at Micky's, unless you'd care to engage in VR conversation. If so, here's his 'link addy. Good luck, and remember, the disk AND what's on it." He pulls a leather folio from an inside jacket pocket, removing 5 standard certified credsticks and an antique silver Zippo lighter. He places the 'creds in the center of the table, and lights his cigar. With that, Mr. Johnson pushes his chair back, stands, and by the time he turns around the door behind him already yawns open. He steps through as the panel swings closed again. [ooc]Okay, you've got your target, there's at least one more runner who's looking to join your team, and you have next to no leads. What do you do?[ooc]
"Certified creds of relatively small denomination, some personal entertainment devices, and several other items of little value. Of little identifiable nature, as well. The important, and traceable, object is the disk. Were it not of such rarity and emotional significance, we would not even be having this conversation."
Looking at Shade & Garus with arched eyebrows, "Well?"
How about other game systems?
"I'm afraid we have no further information as to who took the disk. They were rather...proficient...in their methodology, and left no trace of themselves. I don't even know if it was a team, individual, or some larger organization. The best I can suggest is to reach out to those you may know who would be interested in either acquiring such an item, or brokering the transaction." He spreads his very large, exquisitely manicured hands wide, "Beyond that, I rely upon your skills and professional acumen." "I take it you want the gig, then?"
After a short wait, and just before 2100, the far door opens smoothly and silently. You are greeted by a troll of medium height, no longer young but not quite middle-aged. He’s handsome in a rugged sort of way, wearing a purple and chartreuse suit in the latest style that somehow manages to stay on the tasteful side. “Welcome,” he says, smiling, as he slides into his seat. “Ladies, gentlemen, I’m Mr. Johnson, and I trust that St. Cloud sent you. Can I get you anything? “Shall we get down to business, then? “Someone has stolen an object from the people I represent. We would like to get it back quickly, as we have reason to believe that this person is trying to sell it. What you’re looking for is some music-related data that’s important to my employer’s business. I don’t know who stole it—my employer’s home was broken into a couple of days ago, and the disk was taken along with some other items in which we have no particular interest. Your best bet is probably to keep your ears open to whatever channels you think might be appropriate—if the thief is going to sell it, word will have to get out that it’s available. The object storing the data is an old-style optical disk. We want both disk and data returned, in the eventuality that the one no longer resides on the other. In case it’s not clear, my employers don’t want the disk’s data getting into the hands of anyone but themselves, so if the data gets out, we expect you to track down and eliminate any copies. “Once you’ve located it, the second part of the job is to track down the person who’s offering it for sale —probably not the same person who’s offering the information, since the thief will probably be working through intermediaries —and get the disk back. You can do this in whatever way you see fit: if you can get it back by making an offer for it, my employers can cover the arrangement and take care of getting my money back later. If you’d prefer something a little more larcenous, that’s fine too. Just do it as quickly as possible and make sure the disk is not harmed. “I’m authorized to offer your team 10,000¥ for the job, half up front and half upon the return of the disk to me. Do we have a deal?" You also notice a faint glow, as of an AR icon hovering behind Mr. Johnson's shoulder. He puts his elbows on the table, steepling his fingers under his chin, and fixes you all with a cool gaze.
"I have much less...patience...however. |