Go shed the old skin - for the new skin
    transgression
Let the old flesh - rotten to trash
    resurrection
Seize the old laws
Riddled by flaws
     Perfection
Open your mind
Don't stay behind
     Progression

Weakness - these days are over
Old flesh - replaced by shiny armour
New thoughts - the mind expanding
Real tasks - that are demanding
This body is invincible
Perfection is the principle

Feel the clockwork
Of the new heart
     Precision
Feed the engine
Of your bloodstream
     Recondition
Move your muscles
Like a machine
     Direction
Give your life
A new dimension
     Extension

Weakness - these days are over
Old flesh - replaced by shiny armour
New thoughts - the mind expanding
Real tasks - that are demanding
This body is invincible
Perfection is the principle

Die Krupps, Iron Man

Night City
Pacifica
Aug 19, 2045
2014 hrs

Conrad's Bodega is quiet, empty except for the fixer, his muscle, and the three edgerunners he's contracted on short notice.  Vernon has left the bar vacant, perhaps keeping his son company upstairs.  Before departing, he placed one bottle of the house whiskey on the small round table the four men occupy (the muscle left pacing the small room in the manner of the cybernetically enhanced with poor impulse control).  Apparently being new part owner of Conrad's has benefits.

"Introductions," Black Jasper says.  He ignores the bottle of whiskey on the table, leaving the glasses empty for now.  The Fixer leans on the table, elbows on the wooden surface, hands clasped, one index finger pointing out in turn.  "Whisper, Kentucky, Cruz Control.  You're here because you've impressed me with your skill in the short term and I need a crew.  Now.  So congrats.  Let's take this contract as a job interview in both directions.  You don't like working with me.  Fine.  No hard feelings.  After the job."

With measured movements, Jasper reaches into his pocket and pulls out a holographic chip reader.  A button click later, the red colored laser hologram of a young woman, maybe eighteen, hovers in the empty space a few inches above the reader.  "This is Daphne Copeland.  She was grabbed last night exiting a party in the old university district at around 2am.  Daphne's father is a VP at Militech and wants her back post haste.  Preferably before Corporate notices that she's missing since losing one's daughter tends to have negative professional consequences."

Jasper's fingers tap the chip reader again, the screen reverting to a timeline with a squiggle of data coordinates.  All the men recognize this as GPS log feed.  "Dear old dad has provided us with a logfile of Daphne's Trauma Team card.  She pinged at these addresses every fifteen minutes going back from 9pm when she left the corporate zone until 2am when her traces vanishes.  Best bet is she got black bagged," he adds, referring to the black nylon bags that have been all the rage lately.  The ones with the copper mesh threading and power plant that act as a portable faraday cage when pinching folks who need to be taken off the carious electronic nanny services available.

"Area of the grab is technically under the influence of The New Inquisition, so there's those assholes.  The recovered footage from Daphne's street rat boyfriend's optic feed, the bits that could be reassembled from the pavement after his brain was forced out the back of his skull, point to Maelstrom. So there's those assholes, too."

"Gig pays 1,000eb each, twenty five percent up front, seventy five on safe delivery of Daphne."

Jasper leans back, crossing his arms across his chest.  "Questions."  It's a statement, not an inquiry.

This message was deleted by the player at 02:27, Sun 03 Jan 2021.

Martin's first reaction is that three kiloeuros plus the fixer's cut is an awfully low rate for recovering a corpo's kid.  He keeps that opinion to himself, though.  Half his monthly rent and groceries is still half his monthly rent and groceries, and more appealing than his usual club security gigs.

"Clock's ticking, then," he observes.  When Jasper crooks a finger in invitation to elaborate, he unpacks his thinking.  "You'd have said something about ransom demands or coercion, because that would be a lead.  No ransom, no 'we have your daughter,' means a low chance that this is to squeeze Daddy Copeland for action or inaction or cash.  Input's hair is on the walls, so likewise no one's using Daphne to lean on him.  That leaves her as a marketable resource rather than a lever, unless she was deep in debt or is precocious enough to be grabbed for intrinsic Girl Genius value."

He cocks an eyebrow and continues at Jasper's headshake of negation.  "Yeah.  Street meat has a short shelf life, so whoever has her is likely to be looking to move her quickly.  Black bag indicates some forethought - if not targeting her specifically, then someone had a shopping list for a girl and she fit the profile.  Academic question is whether they wanted her for ganic parts, chrome extraction, or functions she can only provide intact.  Whichever way, we don't have a lot of time for fuck-around games with the legwork."

He glances at Kenji and Alex.  "You guys check my math on all this, okay?  But I'm thinkin'..."  He thumbs his agent online and siphons the data feed from Jasper's device.  A cool blue projection materializes over the table as he works, addresses for both legitimate and unlicensed establishments flickering into existence next to each GPS datum.  "Club, dive bar, noodle shop with a frosty lemongrass shrimp, underground club..."  He rubs his jaw and looks up at Jasper.  "Where are Charcutiere's talent scouts working this week?

"Charcutiere," he adds to any uncompehending looks.  "The guy who puts together your charcuterie board at a cryo max restaurant.  Little cuts of meat.  Hence the street name for the lead motherfucker in NC's young flesh business."

(OOC - edit to add:)

"One other possibility is that someone took her off as payment for one of her input's debts," he footnotes.  "Case which, the problem is still the same, but a profile on said input might help."

Style Guide: Martin is wearing a vintage Gibson Battlegear Strandhögg jacket in charcoal leather over a Mox Nix Six Six Six t-shirt from the band's Nor Am I Out Of It tour.  Worn jeans and off-beige desert combat boots complete the outfit.  He's freshly-shaven and smells faintly more affluent than his appearance suggests (Personal Grooming 5).  His only obvious chrome is a pair of cybereyes, built to look like blue organic originals except for a thin titanium ring around the iris.  Kenji and Alex would also pick up the outline of a subdermal smartgun interface patch in his right palm, and his speech cadence and nonverbals are indicative of well-tuned boosterware with some serious integration therapy.
This message was last edited by the player at 23:46, Sat 02 Jan 2021.

"Got a few." Kenji says, after the fixer's finished addressing Whisper's questions.

"Why's daddy trying to do this on the cheap?" Kenji almost doesn't ask. The answer, however, might prove relevant to the mission. Regardless, he's not going to turn down the payday, modest though it be. But 3000 Eddies- total- for a search and extraction of a live target is a bargain basement price, even in a buyer's market, and chump change for a Militech VP. Surely, his own flesh and blood is worth more to him than a few thousand Eurodollars. The figure makes the whole job feel... off. The point, however, is probably moot. The gig's the gig and, Kenji's not about to turn it down. As Whisper's already pointed out, the clock is ticking. If the assembled crew can figure out the why of Daphne's abduction, they might be able to narrow down the who.

Kidnapping for ransom makes up a surprising chunk of night city's GDP. Someone boosts a corpo bigwig's kid and doesn't follow up with a demand for a few million Eddies? Kidnapping insurance is pro forma for top execs. Whoever nabbed Daphne is opting out of a guaranteed mega payday here. That suggests more sinister motives.

"What cyber-slash-chrome is our girl sporting?" Kenji asks. Maelstrom is infamous for borging out, and not being particularly choosey about where their "upgrades" come from. If Maelstrom's involved, and Miss Copeland is rocking preem hardware, a live recovery might already be out of the question.

Lastly, "You got a Netrunner looking into this?"

Style Guide: Kentucky wears a black, reinforced-laminate flight jacket over a red Hawaiian shirt, and khaki tactical cargo pants. His dark, chin-length hair is cinched at the crown of his head in a Samurai-style top knot (sans the shaved forelocks). Several days' growth adorns his upper lip and chin. Next to the medtech on the cracked vinyl booth bench is a satchel containing the [medical] tools of his trade. If he's carrying iron, and the interface panel adorning the palm of his right hand strongly suggests that he is, it's concealed.

-
This message was last edited by the player at 03:30, Sun 03 Jan 2021.

"Sup," Alex said with a nod to Whisper and Kentucky, grateful that BJ had pointed them out, because he’d have figured the white dude for Kentucky and the ninja looking dude for Whisper otherwise.

”Everybody knows that Maelstrom and Inquisitors got big beef and capping someone on another’s turf is impolite at best.  So if we front like we’ve got beef with Maelstrom for this, maybe we can pry some leads from the Inquisitors.  Cause shit don’t stay quiet on the street.  We’d need to play it cool with the approach though, Inquisitors don’t play.” Cruz control offers as the new team works through the kidnapping.

When Whisper and Kentucky bring up payment, CC proffers, ”It’s cheap on our end, doesn’t mean it’s cheap on his.  Maybe he’s got three or four other crews looking for his princess.  He’ll, I’d hire half the city if I was some corpo who lost my little girl… presuming I let some chica tie me down with un bebe."

Cruz paused a moment then asked,  ”Black J, have you heard about any competition for this job?”

Style Guide: Cruz Control is sporting black leather motorcycle riding boots and jacket, with shiny rings, rivets, buckles and all that shit.  His top is a color shifting urban flash mock turtleneck, currently set for earth tones, to accentuate his complexion.  His pants are Dolce & Gabbana & Klein dark jeans with a hand embroidered thorn/vine-motif down the sides.  Cruz has a mid-tier shotgun slung crosswise on his back, parallel to his carryall bag, the true provenance of the weapon unrecognizable due to customization.
This message was last edited by the player at 11:07, Sun 03 Jan 2021.

Jasper doesn't move from his position, save slight turns of his head or a tap of his index finger.  Each of the questions thrown his way gets addressed in turn, without hesitation.

"Your read is accurate, Whisper," Jasper says, a tinge of satisfaction in his voice.  "There has been no ransom message.  No message of any kind.  In the occasional kidnap gig I have negotiated," the emphasis is heavy, perhaps indicating a level of distaste with ATM withdraw kidnapping, "there has been contact made within twelve hours.  Her father has not been made aware of any demands.  Or at least any that I have been made aware of."

On the question of flesh peddlers, Jasper punts, calling his muscle into the discussion.  "L," he calls out, causing the high strung solo to stop his pacing.  The thin man turns, blond hair flowing out behind him.  Underneath the mane, sculpted, almost fragile, angelic features emerge, sharp eyes waiting for the request.  "Can you talk to Lily?  Find out where Punk Slick is selecting for talent this week?"

L.Seth cackles.  "She's going to know it's for you."

"Oh well, lucky me.  Make the call.  Please."

The muscle disappears into the hall to make a call, leaving his Fixer in a room alone with three edgerunners in either a display of confidence or ignorance.  Jasper doesn't seem to mind.

When Kenji brings up the pay scale, Jasper nods. "Should you wish an increase in pay, I'm happy to negotiate on your behalf," he answers with no malice or frustration. "I happen to know the father has deeper pockets based on other projects," he gives Cruz a knowing look, "I am currently contracted for."

"Cyberware, according to profile, is standard corporate kid work up: toxin binders, interface plugs, agent, Nanjani Designer eyes, which could be valuable on the secondary market.  Minimal bio-sculpting, apparently her good looks are a feature of superior genetics.  Probably from mom, based on dad.  Fashionware work up for all the latest styles.  No combat mods to speak of." Jasper taps his foot idly. "Nothing out of the ordinary, but we've all seen meat in the street for less."

The heavy oak door cracks open and L.Seth returns to the room sporting a grin.  "Lily says Punk Slick is working Heywood this week.  She also says for you to go fuck yourself."

"Lucky me," Jasper repeats with a sigh.  "Back to business.  We do have netrunner support working this case, but without a hard target, as of yet, we can't get good penetration.  Viceroy is currently pulling what security footage she can from the area surrounding the grab.  When that becomes available, we'll get it to you."

Finally, the fixer turns to Cruz.  "I can say with certainty that there are no other crews working this case.  I was approached due to a preexisting relationship.  Quiet is the order of the day.  Mr. Copeland does not wish this situation made public."

Martin nods and considers the flood of information for a moment.  "We have the last-known locations.  Can Viceroy dredge the socials, cross-reference for the time block and geotags, then run a facial recognition filter?  Party scene, lots of insta being posted.  That may show us if our girl left with anyone besides her input, give us a lead on potential witnesses.  Could also turn up someone in the background who's taking an interest."

Kenji hesitates. Asking for more money feels particularly mercenary, and although money certainly certainly matters to the freelance medtech, honor does too. However, this job is more than a simple extraction; they have to find the target first. Locating the vic is going to take time, and time is money. The client doesn't sound like he's hurting, finances-wise, so it probably wouldn't hurt to ask. Mind made up, Kentucky takes the plunge, addresses Black Jasper. "We wouldn't want you to alienate a valued patron, but this is an investigation as much as an extraction gig, so a higher fee seems fair. If you wouldn't mind asking...", he glances at Whisper and Cruz Control, hoping they don't resent his speaking for them, "... we'd appreciate it."

-
This message was last edited by the player at 19:40, Sun 03 Jan 2021.

"At the very least, I wouldn't think reasonable expenses are out of the question," Martin adds, nodding at Kentucky's interjection.  "I'm sure Viceroy is getting an equal share," at least, "but we may need to loosen some tongues for meatspace investigations.  There may also be medical expenses for field care before any TT handoff."

If the negotiations bother the fixer, he doesn't show it.  "Complex situations result in complex prices.  Given the nature of the proposed job, I am willing to move your compensation to 1,500eb.  Should that prove disagreeable to the client, I will back stop the difference as a gesture of good faith."  Jasper leans forward and starts to pour four glasses of the whiskey from the glass bottle, the brown liquid pooling in the bottom of each glass, no more than a finger in depth.  "Reasonable expenses," he continues, "are reasonable.  Should a large denomination be required, please contact me prior to making promises you feel that I will get to pay."  The fixer slowly screws the lid back on the bottle, eyes flicking up with a sardonic grin in place.  "We'll skip the 'don't skim the bank' lecture," he deadpans, "for obvious reasons."

Finally, Jasper pushes a glass towards each of the three edgerunners looking to earn a pay day.  "Viceroy will contact you with your requested data profile as soon as she has it.  I would expect a few hours at most.  Your down payment will be transferred to the account of your choice at the conclusion of this meeting."

"A toast then," he says, raising his own glass.  "To bringing Daphne back and to good hunting."

Kenji raises his glass, sets it back down on the table without touching its contents. As a recovering drug addict, taking even a sip of liquor would be like handling CH00H2 near an open flame. The fact that he really wants to imbibe Black Jasper's top shelf whiskey is all the red flag Kenji needs. He subtly slides the tumbler away from his spot at the table. Hopefully, his host doesn't take offense at his refusal to partake.

"Since Maelstrom currently seems like the most likely culprit, should we start with the Inquisitors, see if they've heard anything about our missing girl?"

It's common knowledge that the Inquisitors hate Maelstrom's chrome-plated guts. If given the opportunity to hurt their archrival without risking their own un-enhanced skins, they would probably jump at it.

-

Martin raises his own glass.  "Good hunting," he echoes, and sips, respecting the whiskey.

He turns to Kentucky.  "Clock's running.  It's a good angle.  If you're comfortable taking point."  He taps his eye socket, nods at Cruz's hand.  "Of the three of us, you're the least-obviously wired.  We may be lesser evils compared to Maelstrom but we're still anathema to them."

"Salud," A dot Cruz said as he raised a glass to Daphne Copeland's future freedom.

"Man, I guess I could get a sequined glove, a red leather jacket and front as a MJ poser," Alex offered when Whisper nodded toward his hand.

Night City
South Night City
Intersection of Baine and Hough
Aug 19, 2045
2224 hrs

As far as urban hellscapes go, South Night City could be much worse.  Punt a few miles to the east and you've got the Old Combat Zone where the real hard core players hang out.  Here, in New Inquisition territory, it feels a bit more minor league.  Of course, minor league players can kill you just as dead as major league players with the right hardware.  At a lot of folks on the street are walking with the stiff legged assurance of hidden weapons.  Or just right out open carry.

A while ago, maybe turn of the century through 2025, BaHo was a nice place.  Hip restaurants, cool club scene.  And then like the rest of the world, it fell apart.  Condo buildings erected to take advantage of sky-rocketing home values became a paradise of squatters.  After they had been stripped of anything of value on the salvage market.  Throw in some gangs and shit got real. Real shitty.

Now, here in 2045, the New Inquisition has managed to carve enough power to counterbalance the other boosters, as long as you don't mind hiding your upgrades.

Three edgerunners sit in a rented car, the digital meter ticking (complete with digital clicking noise) slowly, minute by minute, as they hunt their first prey of the evening.  The night crowds are out, young people with more attitude than sense posturing and partying.  Loud music plays from several bars, blending together into a wall of noise featuring Korean vocals with Eastern European hip hop.  And some joker is playing Sublime.  Backwards.
With the windows cracked to let out the body odor stench of the car's previous occupants, the smell of street food, probably heavily seasoned kibble or krillmeat, reaches in.

The first sign they have of the New Inquisition stands 30 meters in front of them:  A mid-teen girl wearing a dirty dress and a sandwich board that reads: "Salvation for those who renounce chrome."  She waves politely, if awkwardly, to people as they pass, trying to engage in conversation only to be rebuffed or simply ignored. No one, though, has messed with her.

Viceroy is yet to report it.

"Joan of Arc's hustle has to be around here somewhere," Kenji opines from the back seat of the musty budget rental. It seems unlikely that the Inquisitors would leave their girl out here, unattended, for some rival gang or wannabe toughs to mess with. "Spot 'em yet?"

Kenji hasn't, but not for lack of trying. He's been scanning the sidewalk as he works himself up to approach the novice street preacher, show her their target's holo-pic. She probably doesn't know anything about anything- not if her job is standing on a corner in a sandwich board, handing out flyers to indifferent passers-by. But everybody's got to start somewhere. If she professes ignorance, the  next step will be asking her to arrange a meeting with someone higher up in the cult-gang hierarchy. That is, unless someone higher up doesn't run up on Kenji as soon as he tries talking to the girl...

-
This message was last edited by the player at 16:22, Sat 09 Jan 2021.

"Four o'clock," Martin advises from the front passenger seat.  "Table for three behind the ratburger stand.  I'm pretty sure the cook is an affiliate, too.  He's watching her and they aren't saying anything about it."

He tinkers with his cyberaudio settings for a moment, notching out the ambient music.  "How do you guys take your soykaf?  I need an excuse to be on my feet when you talk to her."