It's sort of a shadowrun...

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It's sort of a shadowrun...

Postby DEM » Sat Mar 15, 2014 9:57 pm

"Open up in there!" A muted pounding thuds on the hardened door, resounding ever-so-slightly off the dull sheen of the walls. It's only one room - well, two if you count the sanitary facilities, but let's face it, in a place like this, they're better not counted. Especially since they offer no hope of escape from the Voice of Authority on the other side of that door: no windows.

Then again, nothing here has windows. It's all interior space, and really, who wants windows on interior space? The place is a shithole, anyway. It's all housing converted from repurposed freight containers, stacked and welded together to fit the available gap within even larger containers. Millions of people, living like termites... or rats.

But at least rats aren't completely full of shit, trying to justify everything they do with some kind of bullshit rationalizations. No, rats, even out here, are simple, honest creatures: They're hungry, they're scared, they're horny, they're angry... or they just leave you the fuck alone.

It's the people you can't ever, ever trust.

Another wave of pounding, then a voice - a different voice, says something quietly, and the pounding subsides.

And then the door opens, despite having been securely locked, to admit a non-descript man in a non-descript suit - the very latest of haute fashion say, three years ago. Just long ago enough that it's everywhere now, in the hands of all the poseurs and wannabees.

"Ms. Ulfar. My name is unimportant. My affiliations are not." A data packet lands on the table near the center of the room - a negligent, almost dismissive toss. "Read it carefully."

And then he turns, and steps back out. As the door closes silently behind him, one last phrase floats back.

"The Mittani sends his regards."
DEM
 
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Re: It's sort of a shadowrun...

Postby admin » Sun Mar 16, 2014 12:10 am

I’d have answered the door if I could.

No, really. I might have… maybe…

Okay. So maybe I wasn’t going to anyways. But that’s not important. What’s important is that this time, I had an excuse, and it was a fucking good one. Of course, it’s not one I could exactly let the idiot at my door know right that moment. You can’t exactly tap out of being pinned against the wall of the shower… or, at least, I couldn’t. It’d be one thing if I was playing with someone who’d listen. It’s entirely another thing when your partner is literally sex given physical form. And my god is it a form.

The shower here is cramped, anyways. I’d have had to slip out of it, then actually find a towel somewhere in the two inches of bathroom I can afford on all of this no money I’m living on, and then answered the door and tried not to exude, uh.. playfulness.

No, really. It’s an actual problem. Let’s see YOU get touched with the beauty of the gods and then try walking around getting anything done that resembles conversation with men. Or women. Or anyone. I see more drool than I hear words, sometimes. It can be really inconvenient and sometimes it can be the completely wrong kind of pain in my ass.

Speaking of my ass: I think I’ve managed to find a towel that covers all the important bits. Just the important bits, apparently, but eh. Towels aren’t for my comfort as much as everyone else’s, anyways.

I take half a second to swing my hair up and out of my face, still panting as I head out into the main room of the apartment, looking at the package that’d been casually tossed onto the table…

“You’d be so proud of me,” I call out over my shoulder, the packet slipping up into my hand as I walk past the table to the fridge… almost as if by accident. I open the door and scrunch my nose as I look over the contents of the fridge. I’m out of beer.

“This time I took a package from a guy who I didn’t even see,” I explain aloud, heaving a sigh and closing the door to the fridge, leaning back against it and fiddling with the wrapping of the delivery, inspecting it.

“Let alone know his name,” I mutter. I should probably be wary of this kind of thing blowing me up, right?
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Re: It's sort of a shadowrun...

Postby DEM » Mon Mar 17, 2014 12:42 am

Within the package is an old-fashioned manilla envelope, and inside that... paperwork, like something out of an old 2-D flatvid. Reports, personality profiles, pictures... a name:

Dr. Allison Michaels.

Dr. Michaels, it seems, is a clean energy researcher at Gaeatronics Corp, one of Seattle's leading energy firms and a class-A megacorporation. Mr. Johnson appears to want Dr. Michaels convinced to leave her highly-paid position to take a position with his firm. Of course, he doesn't identify the firm, or include any of the offered details... so it might be something of a hard sell. That is, if you can even reach the good Doctor.

There's also a chip. When it's put into a reader, it turns out to be an authorization for 20,000 nuyen.

From what's in the folder, looks like there's a payday ten times as large waiting for when the job is done.

(edit to fix excessive repetition due to tired.)
Last edited by DEM on Tue Mar 18, 2014 9:19 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Re: It's sort of a shadowrun...

Postby EvilSqueegee » Tue Mar 18, 2014 6:21 pm

“I knew the dame was trouble the moment I laid eyes on her, uh… file.”

I hold up the paper and look at it, tilting my head.

“She had a sad glint in her eye. Didn’t have to tell me that she was going to spill a story that’d make the tears rain. Didn’t have the heart to tell her all rain winds up in the gutter.”

Well. So much for going in the nude. Can’t do detective work dressed in a towel, now can we? To that end, I pop open the closet and pull out my pantsuit, my hat, and my shades. A flick of the wrist and a cock of the hips later, and I’m off to the races. Well, kind of. Looking at the world through the shades might be second nature but that doesn’t mean I’m going to go running anywhere. Texting and driving, right?

“It’d been a rainy season. Wasn’t the kind of place a girl like her shoulda’ been, weren’t the kinda people she shoulda’ been dealing with. Couldn’t really help myself, though. I knew I was in for a ruckus when the job came in but somethin’ in my gut just… I couldn’t say no. Always was a sucker for thin, pretty… credit sticks.”

I reach over and pick up the money.

“Come to momma, honey,” I murmur happily to myself like some kind of child-dragon discovering a new trinket for the hoard. The hand that’s clenching around that precious shiny money starts waving through the air. Buttons and sliders: I’m a retro girl. Can’t help myself. Something about the old pre-modern GUI’s just makes me feel at home. You know, like wizards and swords and stuff. Old-timer fantasy. Before metas and all that.

“We’re gonna find you, see?” I mutter, flipping between public databases before poking the one I’m after. I’m a curious girl, and my brain being magically wired to my neighborhood has taught me that sticking my nose into a stranger’s business can save me a real headache.

The filing cabinet that pops into vision in front of me, beamed in and forming out of particles in the air: Gaiatech. I crack my knuckles, plop down in front of the thing, take a deep breath and prepare to do the hard work.

“AlakaPOOF,” I command, my hands pushing forward. Anything and everything they’ve got on this girl on the public record: Mine. We’ll start there.

“Oh, right. Bitchtits?”

~Yes, Eve?~ the glasses respond in my ear. I like to think of her as my sidekick. A little poorly-programmed AI. Had a friend hack the name because I could.

“Call Sprinkles,” I command.

~Sure thing, sugar.~

Riiiing. Riiiiiing. I’m flipping my eyes back and forth over each of the documents that pop up and hover in front of myself in front of the open drawer, scrunching my nose and waving them side to side, making room for the next document with each swipe of my hand. When the phone picks up, I go right to business.

“Sprinks, honey. Gotta doll for you to look up. Think you could wire me over what you got on Gaiatech, and… this broad?”

I flicker over the image, not bother to explain why I look like Dick-Me Tracy, wristwatch and all.

“Thanks. Love you.”
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Re: It's sort of a shadowrun...

Postby DEM » Wed Mar 26, 2014 3:53 pm

It isn’t long before a pair of files arrive, a pair of quiet tones through the AR optics’ speakers. Profiles on Gaeatronics and Dr. Michaels, the two documents are compiled primarily from ‘Sprinkles’ available information, as requested.

Along with them comes a note from the smuggler herself:

Here you go, babe, everything I got. Isn’t much - I don’t do much work that’s involved either one, near as I can tell. But I hope what’s in there helps. Give me a call if you need to get out into Salish territory on this one. I’ve got some contacts who import across tribal lands from the elves down in Portland.

But now, of course… the ball is back in Eve’s court: she has to decide how to go about approaching the job, all on her own.
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