Tuesday, January 17, 2045 - Night City - 19:00

The sun went down a short while ago, though most people won't miss it.  The evening is lit by the City, signs and streetlights; populated by the nightlife.  The shadows are also populated, by the predators, gangs and worse, and the people they prey on.  It's a hard place to live, but one person's misery is another person's opportunity.

Bishop receives a message on his Agent.


Everyone, introduce your character with a description and what you are doing at this moment.
This message was last edited by the GM at 16:52, Tue 29 Dec 2020.

Beneath the crumbling remains of what was once an overpass huddled Brother; But it was not fear that made him hunch and murmur softly to himself as he pawed at the ground, his affects still strapped to his back. A half-chewed cigarette bud caught between yellowing teeth, the faint line of its cancer laden smoke swirling about his bald eyebrows as he fiercely swiped back and forth with the powdered remnants of rust, of mold, of whatever he could find on hand..

.. The results had potential. A caricature of a woman, stretched far too thin in her habit, with a skull for a face. It would have to do tonight; Brother needed the fortune, the blessing, of Santa Muerte. The rubbish cigarette was hit hard, then placed reverently at the feet of the cartoon image. Shortly after, Brother nicked his own calloused thumb to anoint the ghastly figure's eyes. And to dab his own forehead with a speckle of the sanguine, knowing that dark was coming.

"Blessed be." He states in his tongue, before murmuring in fervor, hands pressed in supplication, thumb throbbing in time with his heartbeat. One hand sliding down to press at that particular spot on the underside of his right forearm, the wide variety of light tattoos crawling up his flesh as they painted him in the colors of his saint. Graveyard appetite, a grim reminder of what they go too in the end, the dull throb of his thumb disappearing as his internal blessings came online. Santa Muerte did not judge a man's life, only his results. Lips part, letting the last remnant of smoke drift past as he checked his satchel one last time for rattles before slinging it over his shoulders.

It was nearly time to hunt again, to try and supplement his failing supplies.


<OOC:

02:58, Today: Brother rolled 13 using 1d10+6 with rolls of 7.  Paint Santa Muerte.
Just for kicks and giggles.>
This message was last edited by the player at 10:03, Tue 05 Jan 2021.

"Mr. Bishop, a message has arrived for you from an anonymous sender called 'Argus'. Pushing it to your optics now," a feminine voice with a prim British accent cut through the music of the nightclub Bishop was currently lounging in.

The message popped into Bishop's field of vision, partially obscuring his view of the club. He frowned and pushed it away. "Read it to me, Jane. I'd prefer to keep my vision clear. Still trying to get a scan of this place."

"Of course, Mr. Bishop," Jane replied, then proceeded to read the message aloud.

"This better not be some kind of game. Death-sports went out of fashion a decade ago."

"I'm sorry?"

"Nothing, forget it. Send this 'Argus' a rejection letter, I'm not going to stick my neck out on next to nothing, and I'm not going to ask any of my runners to, either."

"Mr. Bishop, may I remind you that your account balance will not currently cover next month's expenses. Particularly if you plan on eating anything made of actual food."

"Ah," he replied, grimacing. "Point made. Well, in that case I suppose I should get personally involved, rather than farming it out in its entirety. Send a message to Brother, Lock, Tigger, and Smiler, asking them to meet at my office as soon as possible for a short-notice run."

Now for Bishop to earn his eddies...


Brother, Lock, Tigger, and the Smiler each receive a call from Bishop's Agent. The video feed displays the attractive young blonde that serves as the AI's 'face', while her voice is soft, yet professional, somewhere between a corpo secretary and a primary school teacher. "Mr. Bishop requests your presence at his office as soon as possible to discuss the details of a short-notice assignment. If you require directions, the address is attached. We look forward to your arrival."
This message was last edited by the player at 10:23, Sat 16 Jan 2021.

"... look forward to your arrival."

The voice on the other end of the disposable cellphone was tinny, artificial. Of course, everything sounded artificial from the tiny sound plate in that small bit of plastic, but that was beyond the point. Brother's arm lazily looped in front of him, supporting his own weight on his knee while his raised foot was pressed against an outcrop of broken concrete. In his other hand was the disposable cellphone itself. Dry lips purse, a skeleton kiss as the light tatts shifted with the motion. A glance down showed the blinking text of an address - not too far away. Not for him and his legs.


He did not like Bishop. But that did not mean the man was bad at what he did, and business did not have to be personal. You could not like someone and get long with them just fine where there was money to be made, or know they were competent and capable. Either way, it was an answer to his prayers, so Brother sucked in a low breathe and let it out slowly; It was a miracle. Small, yes, but the day he asked the Santa Muerte for help, here comes Bishop with the solution. He knew better than to judge; She did not, blessed be. Lips quirk up quietly at the thought, before Brother pulls the gas mask back over the grim scene of his face, calloused thumb dialing back an acknowledgement of the message.



What shows up at Bishop's office later that day is a blown out voodoo gun head, shouldering a tight satchel at an angle between his shoulders with the simple things needed to make war. "Ho, Faceman. Output on the plastic says you've scratch to earn in wicked deeds and sin. Blessed be." A tilt of the head, chin up and off to side in a greeting between contemporaries. Eyes flick only once across the office with disinterest; A fixer's love was not a solo's love, after all. And rather than pick some dreary corner to hide his ass in, Brother takes the foremost and center most chair he can, spinning it about backwards to plant himself splayed leg upon it. Shoulders relaxing as he crosses his arms over the top of said bit of furniture. "Teach me a song of want, Bishop. Where are you calling my iron too?" His street slang sing-song lilting, with a heavy Spanish accent.
This message was last edited by the player at 14:37, Sun 17 Jan 2021.

The tires lost grip as the Bessen comes out of the straight. Swinging the back around, the lime green body flecked with bits of mud and grit that fly up. Splattering across the car and peppering the lens of the auto-toll frantically snapping pictures of the car that now swings through the parking structure without payment. An electronic signal lifted spike strips, but it was already too late. The tires found their tread, the engine roared as gears drop into place.

Tigger shot out of the concrete tomb as her opponents burst into the entrance. She could feel the vibrations through the street change as their tires loosen for the tight U-turn, or- if their reaction was too slow- the spikes shredded their tires and senr them spinning through the concrete tunnel.

But for her, it was all straight away back to the goal line. The chemical engine growled to life up as she pushed more power into the pavement. Rocketing ahead while the car's built-in Agent interface chirps to life.

"... We look forward to your arrival," the British voice announced as Tigger pulled across the finish line. She'd been planning on some celebration, but there was hardly time for that. She could celebrate when she got paid. Rather than greet any of the people who had been watching the race in live, Tigger pulsed the engine again. She roared down a side street.

The thing about offices is that they're often in parts of the city that aren't empty streets and parking lots. Instead, Tigger rolls through the gridlock. Mostly letting the car's auto-pilot handle keeping her bumpers off the other elements. Scrambling out of the window as the car locked itself down.

Tigger was into the office a few minutes later. The small girl sets her elbows on the back of a chair, leaning into it.

Ezekiel was sat in his office at Sunshine Desserts as Bishop reached out. Where else would a junior executive be at this time of night? If he wants to show his commitment to his manager, he needs to be getting the hours in.

Sat in his classic businesswear attire, his long dreadlocks flowed down his shoulders and back, a lifetime of dedication.

Reviewing potential small companies that would be a beneficial addition to the Sunshine Desserts family, his agent buzzed the notification.

Bringing it up on his smart glasses, Ezekiel reviewed the message from Bishop's agent.

At least he called late in the day. If I get asked what I'm doing, I'll say I'm inspecting companies. He thought to himself.

Searching for the address on the the data pool with his agent, Ezekiel knew that it doesn't hurt to have someone who knows their way around data pools better than he does, sends a call to his "tech support", Aiko Tanaka.

"Miss Tanaka, it's Ezekiel Mvemba. I need you to meet me at this address, asap. It's a meet and greet, so dress appropriately."

Checking the state of the weather, he pulls out his anti-smog mask and straps it on, before leaving the office to find out more about this latest side hustle.
This message was last edited by the player at 21:00, Mon 01 Feb 2021.

Bishop's office is in an old Arasaka satellite office, abandoned since the end of the War. Bishop arranged to have partial power restored, enough to give his office on the third floor a facade that wasn't far off of what it might have looked like in its heyday, as long as you ignored the cracked and stained plaster, peeling paint, and the bullet holes. But what doesn't have bullet holes in Night City?

Bishop himself was enthroned behind his desk, another piece of scavenged corporate furniture. At a distance, even the man himself looked the part, though the blazer was purple and the typical starched white dress shirt was replaced with a fashionable synthsilk model. As the rest of the runners filter in, he busied himself cleaning his Ameritech Magnum, greeting each of them in turn.

"Brother. I'm pleased you and la Madrina have seen fit to join us. Welcome, to both you and your iron."

"Tigger, good to see you. How are the races faring? Challenging enough to keep your interest?"

"Ah, the Smiler. How's business? Any new acquisitions?"

Please feel free to respond to the greetings in your posts, but gonna skip ahead for expediency here.

"Time's short, so to biz. I've been contacted by an anonymous client looking for a covert protection detail. Client, calling himself Argus, expects multiple attempts on the life of the principal, as someone has taken out a time-sensitive contract on her. Principal goes by 'Chloe', listed on a Data Pool... here." Bishop brings up Chloe's page on the laptop that occupies the corner of his desk, spinning it to face the team. "I was hoping to contract a Netrunner for this op, but they seem to be running late. Anyone that wants to do a little extra digging is welcome."

"Pay's 1,500 eddies, 50% up front, plus 'reasonable' expenses and a bonus based on the physical and mental condition of the principal at the end of the job. Contract out on the principal expires tomorrow at 19:00, so it'll be a short, eventful detail. Since time is a factor, I'll be joining you personally on this job. To reiterate, this is a covert detail organized by a third party, the principal is not aware of the danger, and has no idea we're on her side. So, now you know what I know. Thoughts and questions?"

Smiler arrived at the address sent to him by Bishop's agent, where Miss Tanaka was stood outside waiting for him. Wearing the latest in Urban Flash, with bright blue trim. Her hair was shaved on one side of her head, and long on the other.

"Some overtime going tonight, Ezekiel?" She asked him as he approached her, leaning on the wall.

The Smiler still had his breathing mask on, due to how poor the air is in Night City, let alone in such a run down area that they were standing in. Shrugging his shoulders, he answered her "Don't know yet, but let's see what happens. If we do, I'll make sure I can get you the time."

Heading inside and up to the third floor and Bishop's office, Smiler takes off his mask.

"Evening Bishop. Always a pleasure to see you. I'm in the middle " He smiles as he approaches the desk. "This is Miss Tanaka, she is one of my associates, and will be assisting me where possible." He gestures towards her, before reaching into his jacket pocket, pulling out a small wrapped item.

"I thought you may want to try something the kitchen has been working on." He slides it across the desk, stopping right before Bishop.

"Our latest purple berry bar. Just, don't ask what the purple berries are. Legal were adamant not to say on the packaging."

Smiler takes a seat during the presentation, glancing over at Miss Tanaka when there is mention of a netrunner is needed.

Once finished, he immediately jumps in when Bishop gives the chance. "Yes, I have a few things. First, Miss Tanaka here works in our tech solutions department. Bring her in as our missing netrunner, and she can start right away. If you were going to hire one, then there is budget for her, correct? Second, how much do we have other than a name for this Chloe? As keeping an eye out on a child with no security will be very different to an exec with a private team who don't know a situation is about to happen."

He then continues. "My first thought is controlling the situation. If we can trick them into going somewhere we control, our odds of success are amplified. Otherwise, we don't know what our pain points are, and we may not get the return on investment we expect. Now, as Bishop brought you all here, I have to assume you are all best in class. We need to create some actionable ideas. Something out of the box."

"Eh, is ok," Tigger answered with a wide grin and a shrug that brought her shoulders to her ears. She had an accent familiar to anyone familiar with construction sites, protection rackets, or in the boundless stretches between urban zones. The flattened, marble-mouth slush of a million different languages. She threw herself into the chair- salvaged from some conference room- in a cannonball that sent it spinning and skidding while she laughed. Kicking her trainers against the wall to roll back toward Bishop's desk.

The mention of up-front pay perked her up even higher. Eyebrows lifting. Leaning forward, elbows on the desk, she looked over the data pulled up on the Fixer's laptop. But it really didn't get much more than a glance. Searching out pictures and bolded bits of info, addresses and place names.

"My first thought-" she quotes the Smiler now next to her, "-is how expensive my second thought is. Money, pleeeeeease," as her tone grew high and intentionally cloying, Tig's arms unfolded, fingers curling back to herself in little grabbing motions that eventually turn into a reach for the purple berry bar, "Also candy."

The Data Pool site is for a high-end escort by the name of Chloe.  It is well-designed and classy, not pornographic and lists contact links for an appointment.  The rates are high enough that there is no actual price list, in the same way a business will say "ask for a quote" rather than scare clients away with a high price tag.  Of course, it is likely that her clients are the type that don't need to ask how much it costs.  A cursory glance indicates that sex is not always on the menu - an escort in the truest sense.  This is one of the photos from the site:


This message was last edited by the GM at 22:03, Fri 12 Feb 2021.

While waiting for the rest of the team Miss Tanaka looks at the data pool address then pulls out her cybrdeck and jacks in.  Looking at the virtuality projected by her cyber eyes, she speaks rather absently as her mind is on her business.  "The site has decent security, this 'Chloe' is either a runner in her spare time or has one maintaining it," she says.

Taurus looked about three social classes too low for this place with his work-clothing that spoke of manual labor and limited budgets.

Inwardly, he was constantly asking himself what the hell he was supposed to be doing there. This looked like it was going to be a load more complicated than handling some angry drunk or beating the hell out of the next guy.

Oh well. Fake it till you make it.

He gave them each a quick once over. Anyone would think he was sizing them up in typical solo manner. In reality, well, he sort of was, but it was mainly making sure that these were the mercenaries he was working with. The way people dressed in night city confused the hell out of him.

He finally spoke. Taurus's voice had a lightly odd, vaguely Scandinavian accent, and was fairly formal.

"I have more questions than ideas at this point, I am afraid.

Does this person have existing security to worry about? Do we know this person's itinerary and usual hangouts?

I can probably shadow her, but if they have existing security it will be difficult, it will be difficulty to accomplish this.

Also, is confidentiality strictly required? Perhaps I am naive, but would not the simplest solution simply be to inform the target that she is a target?
This message was last edited by the player at 16:25, Tue 09 Mar 2021.

"Good work Miss Tanaka." Smiler says, patting her on the shoulder, as she continues on her work, before he turns back to the group. "But why would she need such a secure site?"

Then, he follows up with a response to Taurus's questions. "Good questions. We're brainstorming some good questions here. Shadowing her is an option, but depending where she is, you might be less of a shadow than you plan. Unless you have something more... upmarket, in your wardrobe? That or if she does have security, they see you, and so don't see the rest of us?

As for telling her, it does take away from being covert, which is what you said, right Bishop?"

"The client mentioned that she may resist efforts to protect her, and the bonus is contingent on Ms. Chloe's mental and physical well-being. Therefore, the less we... interject, the better. Our best-case scenario has the principle never even knowing she was being protected, or what she was being protected from."

Finally satisfied with the cleanliness of his revolver, Bishop holsters it and continues. "Frankly, this whole thing stinks. We know next to nothing, and it seems like everything we learn leads to further questions. My initial thought was that this is some sick game of capture-the-flag between people with too many eddies using edgerunners as pawns, with some unwitting joytoy as the flag.

"However, the security on Chloe's page raises some questions that deserve bearing out. She might not be the damsel in distress we're assuming, and the last thing we need is Taurus taking a slug to the face when she takes exception to being followed."

In reply to Bishop (msg # 14):

Taurus frowned slightly. Information gathering was not his specialty. "
The logical next step would be to examine contacts and find anything we can on the client.

Database searches, and of course, as a good friend used to say, "The street has it's own memory."

I'm afraid I am fairly new to the city, at least too new to get a random name, and I am not particularly skilled with computers.
This message was last edited by the player at 04:40, Sat 13 Mar 2021.

Tanaka jacks out of the system, blinks a couple of times quickly to reorient herself, and then looks at The Smiler.  "By trying to book an appointment tonight I got my virtual foot into the scheduling app; it looks like she's booked at the Advocet for the whole night," she says with a satisfied expression.  "I can't guarantee that her sysop wasn't alerted, however."

---

Next move?  The team is all here.

Taurus began messing with his agent and covered his expression as some sort of corporate adware caused his agent to issue a hard reset and security wipe.

He hoped no one else noticed. It was a good thing few runners were gonk enough to try creeping on a solo.

A knock sounded on the open door of Bishop's office, and a tall athletic blonde woman with a neat shoulder-length hair stood there leaning again the doorframe.  She was dressed in generic chic and looked like she might have been diverted from a planned night on the town, save for the carryall slung over her shoulder.

"Jane called and told me you might need more help," she said, looking at Bishop.  "I tried looking a few things up on the way here, but didn't get very far."  She shrugged her way upright and entered the room proper, finding a spare chair and seating herself there.  She glanced around at the rest of those gathered before Bishop's desk.  "I'm Nightingale.  I'm here to keep your heart clocking long enough to get paid."

"That's a risk we will have to take." The Smiler replies to Miss Tanaka's concern that she may have alerted the target's sysop.

When Nightingale arrived and introduced herself, he smiled at her, wanting to make her feel welcome. "In the nicest possible way, I hope we don't need to use your skills, Nightingale. But like insurance, I would rather pay to have you and not need you, than be in need of you with you not here."

He then resumes planning ideas with the group. "Time is money, and every minute we sit here working out what to do, that is another minute that something can happen to our target and stop us getting paid. We should at least head towards the Advocet. We can discuss ideas on route, get those synapses firing. Once there we could look at getting inside, though some may want to avoid the front door."

Ezekiel didn't need the money as badly as the others. He had a job, a place to live. But he couldn't stand money to be wasted, and doesn't intend to do all this extra work, only to not get paid at the end. He isn't an intern!

"I concur.

It may make more sense for me to examine the location for exterior threats or back entrances, or simply to change into clothes.

A pleasure to meet you, Nightingale.

He gave a brief bow.

Words rang in your head from his mentor. "Be nice to your slicer. If something goes wrong, they'll be the one putting you back together."

Nightingale nodded back to The Smiler when he lived up to his moniker, but when Taurus actually bowed to her she felt a crooked little smile crawl onto her lips.  Who does that, she wondered with a combination of amusement and curiosity.

"Nice to meet everyone.  Rolling stat makes sense to me.  Sooner we get there the sooner we diagnose what this is all about.  And get a plan together to deal with it."  She leaned forward in her chair a little and wrapped the carry strap of her bag around her wrist, making ready to get going.

Just as the group is preparing to leave, Ms. Tanaka speaks up again.  "The Advocet bills itself as being a luxury hotel and with good reason.  Net terminals in every room, a gym, spa, casino, shopping arcade and nightclub/lounge it seems the mostly business customers tend to spend their money inside, making it very profitable.  There are rumors of quite a few rich and some questionable characters renting the upper penthouse suites and rock stars are common."

"I can tell based on their site that the lobby is on the ground floor along with a restaurant and some meeting rooms.  First floor has the shopping arcade and spa.  Second floor has the gym.  The nightclub/lounge and the casino share the top floor," she adds.

"Well, I doubt we'll keep our principal alive sitting around in my office. Shall we?" Bishop says, pocketing his Agent and standing.

"I imagine that diffusing through the hotel and its amenities should allow us to search for Ms. Chloe without drawing undo attention. Personally, I would blend in best in the casino, and it seems the kind of place her typical clientele might haunt. The nightclub also seems a likely choice, as are the restaurants."

"The net coverage could work to our advantage. If Ms. Tanaka could gain access, we might be able to track the principal through the camera systems."