Downtown Seattle...
You’ve heard it all before, the attempts at creating some kind of slogan for the area.
Pointing out that it’s just near Council Island, that there are some high end living locals, the number of eateries and such.
But then someone will point out that you also have a sprawling slum, a large population of SINless, and that crime is a constant problem.
“Downtown, it’s not Bellevue but at least it’s not as s@!# as Redmond”.
The best you can say perhaps is that it’s the perfect area of upward mobility, with the usual qualifiers of course.
But here is where you are, and for now, here is where you stay.
If you can make it out of Downtown, or even just to the better areas? Hey, that’s up to you.
How far are you willing to go, how much are you willing to risk?
Do you have anything to gamble with besides your life?
Downtown has it all, even things you might not want it to have.
In some ways, for a Runner, this could be said to be close to paradise, or at the very least, an ideal working situation.
And here you are, and for now, here is where you stay.
For runners, there is stiff competition, seattle is or was the home of some legendary prime runners.
Fastjack, Calvin “The Vampire Hunter”, Bad Wolf, Red and Rude, Alicia Connors and Man of Many Names.
While the stiff competition means it can be hard to break into the market and get some good gigs, it also means that if you do, then people will take notice and be more willing to hire you.
And consider Seattles unique status, and the presence of ALL the Tripple A corporations, not to mention many home grown Double A’s, there are plenty of Mr Johnson to go around.
So ask yourself, why are you here, and why do you stay?
Cheddy wanders among the street vendors near his hole in the wall apartment. The city was crap. That was beyond debate. The under-sole of the upper class and the festering wound of civilization in one collection of towering concrete and steel. It was perfect.
As he walks he practices his craft. He senses the feelings and attitudes of those around him and alters them where he can. A single stolen flower lifts the mood of an elderly woman selling knock-off commlinks just as it enrages the flower-man who failed to notice his missing merchandise until it was too late. Cheddy smiles. It was all to easy. To him, this was far from undesirable. It was a playground!
Gig is chilling out in the matrix - as usual.
His frail body limb and forgotten in the high-end hover chair-bed in the back of his father's van. The van is parked in a shady back street, three turns from one of the main streets running through Downtime. The bug family is out and clinging to walls a dozen meter in each direction, covering, scanning and tracking anyone aand anything approaching.
To be more precise, Gig is flying high above the crowded streets, embodying the Lockheed Optic-X2 in a way that only a Rigger can understand. He was the drone. He felt the air under the fake bird-like wings. The auto-stabilizers were controlled by his unconsciousness. The variety of sensors ranging from high end camera with image magnification to laser microphones his own extended senses. The stealth protocols his carefulness.
Flying between the high skyscrapers, Sauron-Gig observes the thousand of people below, wondering how many of them were less autonomous than his assortment of drones - only droning away in their corporate job, unbeknowingly feeding the (possibly literal) dragon that was, no already had eaten mankind's freedom. He wondered how many were having a second life in the criminal underworld, torching and backstabbing the new normal of their fellow citizens even further.
Flying made him melancholic. He knew it, Dr. Karlyle had explained it to him, warned him of it. But yet he enjoyed the freedom it represented too much to not do it from time flying time.
Swoosh, a high speed Richthofen. It caused a short burst of electronic compensation to rush through his not-body, creating an equally strong surge of adrenaline to flood his flesh body.
It was soon time to return to Big Mom. He had to get to a meeting. In flesh. What a waste of time. He could have just logged into the Matrix. What was the difference after all. The world was what your senses told you it was.
It is a day like any other, at an indistinguishable time of day. It would be easy to find out, but why bother? Sometimes it doesn't matter what time of day it is, or what day it is.
The sky is too overcast to tell from the sun, but at least the light drizzle isn't acidic enough to present a problem.
Plenty of people walk around, or huddle in doorways and alleys to steal a few moments to light up or make a call.
This area isn't too bad with crime, Lone Star at least make a show of being on the streets, enough to curb the worst excesses of the less stable members of society at least.
So what is there to do?
If you're not a wage slave going to work, there is a good chance you'll be spending the next few hours at a bar.
Seattle have a lot of bars, from the lowest dives and hole-in-the-walls to the biggest baddest corpo bars, and everything in between.
For people in a certain "business" in this part of downtown, the choicest ones would be "Jagged Nail" or "Wasteland", but you pretty much needed and invitation to get in there, and those places did not look kindly on posers with no street cred.
One place that didn't judge much, and didn't ask questions however was "Al's clamshack and bar".
Sitting at the corner of 21st and 5th, Al's was the sort of place that was open pretty much 24/7, despite the fact that aside from Al, bartender and owner, it only had a staff of three, plus bouncer, and you almost never saw more than one staff member at any one time.
Vance wanders his way over to Al's, not following any particular path. He just lets his whimsy carry him until he finds himself walking in. He waves to the proprietor calling A hard lemonade for me today, Al. The day is still young! and chooses a seat.
"You need to go out more, James. At least once a month.
Go to that 'Al's you told me about.
A bar is a good place to meet people and talk to them."
...
"Yes, mam."
It was nearly the end of the month and he wasn't at Al's for nearly two months already. With an annoyed sigh, he started planning the excursion like a tactical operation.
First he checked Al's matrix. After all, he might have closed the bar or something. But of course it was advertised as "Open 24/7/365".
After that, he send Saurian ahead to take a bird's eye on the place. Checking whether something strange was going on around Al's. But again, he found no reason not to go.
Oh well.With a single flick of a finger, Gig switches from his bird drone to his van and sets it in motion after the bug family has boarded "Big Mom". With a rumble the GMC Bulldog sets itself in motion, leaving the dark sideways and heading for the, well somewhat bright main road.
Thirty minutes later he parked the van close to Al's rear entry, a comfortably back alley bathed in shadows of the surrounding towers. A last check of the matrix. Bugs in the process of swarming out to cover Al's from different directions.
Again, everything seems in order.
With a groan, Gig ejects from the Matrix and grabs his old army backpack - a sleeping spider drone folded up within it.
A quick grab and twist later his flesh outfit is ready and he heads out.
Two minutes later, Gig enters Al's and grunts-waves a greeting to the bartender before taking a seat far away from any group of people.
"Hey, Al. Still have that silver tequila?"
Greg is wearing an assembly of (worn down) clothes that looks like someone raided through an army dressing room - with no attempt (or skill) to find matching things.
A green camouflage jungle hat is on his head - barely keeping the mess of hair (half braided, half in dreadlocks) below.
A pair of long brown (synth) leather gloves covers slender fingers.
An olive pilot jump overall with a blue patch on the chest with some kind of emblem on it covers the majority of a slender, even frail body and seems several times too large for him.
Open black military boots.
A grey-blue street camouflage colored backpack is hanging loosely from his shoulder.
Al's place would have been just another hole in the wall type of place except for one thing, Al himself.
There are plenty of rumors about Al, many of them mutually exclusive and contradictory, and the mystery isn't helped much by Al's cheerful attitude of admitting to one rumor on one day and then denying it the very next day.
He has been everything from a CEO of a double A company to a Prime runner, a government spy, an inventor, investigator, mafia don and more.
However, what is true is that somewhere in his murky past he made a contact that allowed him to infrequently get shipments of real ACTUAL seafood to serve.
What is even better is that he sells this food at basically cost.
And even when not selling platters of only real food, there tends to be a good mixture of soy and actual.
Doesn't hurt that Al's chef, after having worked for years with real food has become VERY skilled using even soy.
Another draw is Roxxie, Moxxie and Doxxie, the three serving girls who just happen to be rather attractive, enough so that there is a rumor that there are two kinds of clam on Al's menu.
It's not something you've ever been able to verify however.
Plus, Sven the giant (Troll metatype) will cheerfully warn you that if you bother anyone, he'll LITERALLY tie you into a pretzel.
Al is currently busy polishing a glass with a rag that looks pretty clean.
In fact, if he hands you a glass he's wiped himself, it's a pretty good indication he doesn't like you very much.
Luna is sitting on a window sill, catching what little bit of light the day it letting through the clouds and the drizzle. She's naked except for the mug of hot cocoa in her hand. She might giving someone a show right now but why should she care? Everyone can log into the matrix at any time and see so much more than that. Ravi is snorring in the other room. Like he always does after one of their regular "sporting events".
After some time, and many many sips, the mug is eventually empty. And so she decides it is time to get someone else to make her a drink.
She puts on some clothes, along with her armored vest and one of her Predators in a concealed holster.
She closes the door behind her and locks it - Ravi will let himself out later, he has a visitors key just for times like this - takes a look around and says "Well, guess today is a green day. Let's go with a dragon design" and with that her vest changes color into a dark green, with a bright neon green flying dragon on her back.
She contemplates taking her mirage for a moment but decides against it. She might or might now want to drive after she's done at Als place. And so she walks, ducks, jumps, crawls and sometimes vaults through the maze that is the way between her little shack and the next big street.
a little later the door in Als' hole bursts open and Luna, stepping in, says, almost yells: "Helloooo Al! The usual! To start with anyway.."
Al, a man of few words during working hours, merely nods or grunts in acknowledgement at your greetings and requests.
However, his preparation of the drinks are swift an effective, though without any flair, though that is usually reserved for the punters anyway.
It doesn't take long for Moxxie to bring your tray over, with complementary crab cakes.
As Moxxie is the server, the cakes are likely to contain at least 30% real crab and all.
The place isn't exactly packed at the moment, there is a small family eating in a corner, Moxxie hustling around, Sven leaning against the door frame and Bob The Biscuit, a mid level runner and gun runner in discussion with what you can only suspect is a client.
Cheddy raises a glass to each of the other two runners as they enter. He's not an extraordinarily good looking man, though he's far from hard on the eyes. Average height and build make him forgettable, but his eyes are a striking blue-green and he looks at you as if you're actually there, unlike the half-distracted glances that are so typical of people these days. He is unaugmented as far as you can see and moves with an easy grace that rivals the elves.
He wears neatly kept business casual attire that probably conceals more than it tells. And it does. He carries two pistols and several clips with him at all times.
Gig is sitting in his corner and digs into the crab cakes with downright disgusting gusto, filling the small bar with the sound of munching andbthe occasional burp.
As the elf enters, he gives her a tight nod and a raised tequila glass, before continuing his meal.
For the meal he has taken off the jungle hat, revealing quite a bit of augmentations snaking all over his head, mostly covered by the downright unnecessary amount of muddy brown hair.
Once he is done, he looks up and suddenly seems to notice the rather quiet atmosphere in Al's.Then turns and addresses Sven accross the room, in a voice that is a couple notched too loud for such a small place.
"Hey Sven, someone in Matrix told me a good one yesterday.
Why did the troll soldier fall back alongside the army?
....
He didn't want to be ogre-run by the enemy!
Gnaaa-Gegegege!"
Sven, being of the giant metatype makes even regular trolls look small, looks up and stares at Gig for a moment.
Running a hand through his belly-long beard he chuckles, the deep rumbling sound bringing the image of tectonic places grinding together to mind.
"I haf 'eard that one before."
As Moxxie puts Gig's drink on front of him she gives him a sweet smile.
"Don't mind Sven dearie, his sense of humor leans more towards the morbid and dark."
Luna leans over from the other table and steals one of the crab cakes.. not that she doesn't have her own in fornt of her, but she's leaning over anyway, so why not? "Ohhhh so how about this one: Momma momma, can I play with grandpa?!? No child, the coffin stays closed!"
Gig looks confused.
"So, a vampire family then?"
The Tectonic rumbling continues at about the same level.
"Oh yes, like playing toss the corpse, is very good game back home."
Oh, he is good. You wouldn't want to play poker with him, but on a face as large as his, you can see the crinkles around his eyes and the way he is pinching his lips together to stop himself from laughing out loud.
Cheedy just sits at his table and watches the scene unfold. Usually you had to wait until after Happy Hour for this kind of weirdness!
Cheddy easily slides up from his chair and strolls, nice and casual like, to the far side of the room like he's trying to avoid something. Something near the door.
Gig stares for a second, waiting for another (slow) rumbling laughter - which does not come.
Then his eyes go wide as if understanding something.
"That... does explains so many things..."
Luna pouts. "Oh... then I guess that does not count as morbid? Well I'll think about it. Got to be a humor-hole dark enough to make you laugh somewhere."
She takes a crab cake in both hands and starts gnawing away at its top while staring somewhat absent mindedly.
As the joking dies down (and no violence happens), you return to your drinks and snacks.
At the opportune time, Moxxie arrives with a second round.
Time passes for a while, Bob leaves, the family leaves, a few regular arrives and take their place.
The light outside dims a bit, and then increases, but with a more neon tint.
Then, scurrying in like the animal that becomes his namesake, you notice Johnny the Weasel (or Weasel john depending on whom you ask) coming through the door.
He orders a beer and Al pours him one in the glass he just finished polishing.
As he leans back against the counter, arms wide and sipping his beer in a classic "Tough guy" pose he looks fairly laughable, as he is far too short and skinny to be able to really look imposing like that.
Eventually he seems to home in on you, and without asking he walks over and takes a set at your table.
"Hoi chummers, soooooo...interested in some easy nuyen?"
His ferret like face breaks into what is probably meant to be a friendly smile, but merely makes him look more like a nervous rodent.
Gig is eying Johnny before answering in a low voice.
"Define, 'easy' and 'some', Weasly, or I'll walk out that door right now."
He is also quickly checking out the various vid streams of his drones, making sure Weasly is not obviously followed or something equally obvious and fishy.
And then checks over the Matrix around their would-be fixer.
John's lips pull back a bit and his nose quivers, clearly disliking his moniker, but only really succeeding in making him look even more like a rodent.
"Easy, easy, easy! I mean real easy, milk run!
See, there is a company Astrotech Biomechanica here in Seattle right? Single A, but trying to break into the Double A ranks right?
But of course there are other companies not too keen on the competition right?
So they do some hostile takeovers, forcing Astrotech to leave Seattle forever right?
But see, they missed one warehouse, allowing Astrotech to take their time in clearing it out right?
But see, they're only halfway so far! Right, right?
If we play it right, we can "divert" a box of stuff and sell it, right?
I already got a contact willing to take it off our hands, right?"
Gig performs a very quick lookup of the facts.
To be more precise: he checks whether that mentioned Corp really did announce it would leave Seattle recently (and is rated A).
Taking a few moments to scan the relevant names you do find enough confirmation that there IS a company called Astrotech Biomechanica, they have indeed had base here in Seattle, and there are rumors that they are in the process of being "bough out".
Gig is tabbing away at his forearm for a few seconds before giving a short nodd to Cheddy.
Both of your comms receive a short message from Gig a moment later.
<< Just checked it.
His story superficially checks out. >>
The message pops up in Cheddy's contacts and he smoothly shifts into Contract mode. His posture doesn't change much. His mastery over his body language allows him to communicate very clearly without speaking, and without his subject realizing he's being spoken to. A deep sigh and a slight nod to get the Weasel's attention followed by a business-like raise of the eyebrow is all it takes. So you have some goods that need to fall off a truck. You have a seller. What do you need us for? You wouldn't be here if you could pull this off yourself.
Weasel John quickly hold up his hands in an appeasing fashion.
"Whoa Chummer, easy! I'm no runner, I'm a legman, an info broker.
I know there are some goodies up for grabs, I know some interested parties, now I'm looking for someone to shift the goods from point A to B, without drawing too much attention hopefully."
Pausing a bit, Weasel scratches his chin and looks a little anxious, a little contemplative.
"Look, this isn't a big score, not a major one, but it's not something I can do on my own.
But...it's a start, right? It'...something, right?"
He seems sincere here, this is a man looking for a big score, and is desperate to stay afloat until it comes around
Luna sighs and puts down the glass and murmers "Oh, back to work I guess."
Then a bit loader: "Well, I'm interested. And since HE's not the one who is going to pay us save some of that hard to get for Mr Johnson." and winks.
= 3
Ya, you're right Luna. I'm in.
"Great, great. No really, really great.
See, we've got five days until they have cleared out the warehouse, so you got some time to plan and what not.
I'll slot you the details before I leave ok?
Once you have the cargo, I'll set up a meet between you and the buyer.
I was thinking as the go between, I'd take...40% and let you have the rest?"
Vance expertly fakes choking on his drink. 40%! What are you, new at this! I'm insulted! 5%!
"Five!?! No no no, come on chummer.
Sure, you might be doing the work, that's why you get more, but You don't know the specifics, you don't know the contact, you don't know the marks on the crates.
I might not be able to do it myself, but without me you ain't got nuthin!
35%!
That's right, Weasel. Cheddy leans in. His voice takes on a near perfect impersonation of the wiry fixerYou ain't doin' tha work. He sits back. And I have a rigger on tap who could crack your community there with a wave of his hand. So. I'll be generous. I won't give the signal to violate your privacy and will maintain your dignity as a piece of gutter trash that fell off a Sammy's boot. 33% and the promise that you won't try to scam us again.
Weasel clearly isn't happy about the lack of respect he is shown, but the promise of profit does seem to make the medicine go down a bit easier.
"wiz, 33% it is.
I better be going, I got more deals to be made after all, can't hang about."
He looks self important for a moment, but it's hard to take seriously.
"I'll slot you the dets and you can begin planing.
Stay frosty chummers!"
With a final grand nod, Weasel John makes his hasty departure from Al's place.
Moment later, you each get sent a data packet.
Gig, you mind checking that out first and make sure he didn't just send us some kind of tracking bug. I've never trusted that guy...
As soon as Cheddy starts talking, Gig chuckles and then just face plants on the desk and goes limb as if fast asleep.
Of course, he is jumping into the matrix rather than going to sleep.
Hot-VR mode is a rush unlike any drug invented by mankind and for a short moment, John is fully immersed.
And there is that slow glowing device right ahead, ill protected and tempting.
He just goes for it with his assembly of exploits and enters the comm-link like he owns it....
... which he does for all intents and purposes moments later.
He'll take a good look around Weasly files and tracking record (for later comparison to his claims) and will make sure his comm is not bugged by someone else already and certainly is not recording this whole affair or something.
Surely he will note when its "owner" is calling up a file and transfers it to the group.
Well, face talks fast as usual.
He is checking the file for data bombs or some kind of attached agents or other nasty stuff.
Not that the Weasel would have the skills to do something like that in the first place but maybe he was set up....
He also sends a quick message to the other two that they got the package (and that it seems fine, if it does).
Once it's received and deemed clean, Cheddy opens it with a flick of his eyes. Let's see what we got here...
The comlink is a lot like it's owner, dingy, slovenly and...unclean.
It also doesn't seem to hold a lot of...substance.
You have to give Weasel a little credit (maybe), it is possible that knowing the weakness of his dingy little off the shelf budget model comlink, he is the sort of guy who remembers or even *shudder* writes things down on physical stuff, like...paper.
There is his contact list, which you could download, though it doesn't look like anyone of importance is on it.
All in all, it feels a lot like a wasted trip, worse, you feel the sudden urge to scrub yourself clean!
The data packet is somewhat bare boned, it contains an address for the warehouse, some basic information of Astrotech Biomechanica, a blueprint of the facility (though dated several years ago), a movement schedule for the emptying of the factory and a lot of...sidenotes.
<< It's fine. Not much though, but probably enough to get started.
Hope you haggled him down good, for this is barebones.
Also: f+%! paper. >>
Luna waits for the others to decide the file is clean before opening it on her contacts.
"Well... maybe you SHOULD have verbally strangulated him some more. Not even a meeting with Mr Johnson before getting the stuff. If I didn't need some nuyen soon I'd say we ditch that run but alas...
Nothing really interesting in there... Does that even identify what we're supposed to grab? Or do we just grab whatever case we can get our hands on?"
<< It does not say what to grab.
I'll lookup that corp and get you a list of high value items they produce so you know what to look for.
Or maybe talky can make some.new friends and they tell him all about the cool toys their corporation is jiggling around.
There's no info like insider info.>>
One of the side notes (such as it is) mention that the crates are colored either blue, green or red, apparently indicating their value to the company.
Blue seems to indicate something of only moderate value, green moderate to high and red high value.
If you do some searches you may be able to get a decent idea of what might be contained in the different colored crates.
Nothing so far indicates priority though, meaning that it is possible they will ship everything red in one go and as soon as possible.
You might have a tighter schedule than you were led to believe if you want to maximize your profits.
Copy that. I need any info you can get on their security procedures and such. I'll forge a corporate SIN and pass to scope out the place. Do you wanna tag along, Luna?
=1
=0
=0
=2
"Sounds fun. I doubt my usual SIN is good enough tho so I'd need one of those. Also add a bodyguard license or something. I'm not good at playing corpo suits.
Or I get my stealth stuff real quick and tail you in the shadows. I feel more at home that way anyway."
Not a bad idea, but you might have trouble getting in. Your call. You know your capabilities better than I do.
With a jerk, Gig jacks out of the matrix and stands up to head out.
He will leave the payment for the meal and drink of course but otherwise is out the back door without another word and gets the van "ready" for passengers.
That is he deactivates the itchy sword arms of "Thor", recollects the overwatch bugs and shovels off cludder from two seats.
When the other two follow, they will find the idling van right in front of the door, ready to be entered.
Once everyone is aboard, he will send the autopilot to the received coordinates (or rather a place one block away from it) and starts digging the matrix.
[6]
[3] (how bad is the area?)
[3] (famous products?)
[1] (security set up in such area)
[4] (+1 limit, +3 extra dice to Cheddy's forgery stuff)
"Well, since it looks like we're going over there right away I'd say I stay in the shadows. I don't have a nice corpo suit and a pair of shades lying around to play the good corpo bodyguard. Gotta add that to this weeks grocery list. If this gig actually pays enough. I'll be back here in 20 minutes."
As she gets up she goes over to Al to pay and adds an extra 200nuyen on top "Heard anything interesting about that job, Al?"