Shadowrun: Hog City, Chapter One (IC | Closed)

[Penguinia-Tempor]

These group were no Yak enforcers or Vory contract killers or Triad razorboys, that was for sure. She liked to think that Sunshine was putting together a good group—she already liked the dwarf, because he clearly knew what the stakes were—but she'd have her doubts until a little baptism by fire. "Better make a laundry list now of what we've got to do. We need codes. Do we know who has them? We need schematics. Who worked on the place? If Knights Errant are doing security, does anyone know their usual protocols for security or any other little quirks? I've mostly rubbed elbows with smaller, discreet little corps." She had a feeling she was going to be doing a lot of leg work, as per usual. She wasn't at her best on the sidelines, unlike most mages.

"Can't do shit when I comes to hacking and whatnot, at least not anything more than opening a public door or something," Twitch said, having returned to her usual stony composure. "Though I do know what the Knights Errant are tough motherfuckers. You don't mess around with those guys. They've got cameras, surveillance and combat drones, and even some spirits everywhere. Their style involves kicking down doors, tossing flashbangs and tear gas, and mopping up. You get flashed, you die. No exceptions. Trust me, I've worked with and dealt with KE in the past. They mean business." There was a severe lack of all of things at the sting op, something she knew that she should've noticed back then. "I'd advise we all get gas masks and get some dimmers for their eye sockets. Some good earplugs or headphones wouldn't hurt either."

He huffed softly, his serious demeanor obvious. "We should go around and tell what we're best at. I'm a bit of a brawler and a decker. Not a fan of running and hiding when things go sour. Its always better to disable anyone that catches us before they can raise alarms in my opinion. As for augments, most of mine are just enhancements. I have subdermal armor and I probably could punch my way through most walls. Might hurt and scuff a bit, but hell if I couldn't do it."

Knowing that Squirrel and her were probably the oldest and most experienced runners in the room, Twitch spoke next, being sure to direct her voice more towards the new arrivals.

"I'm your street sammie, as said before. But I use the tactics of an adept. Speed, efficiency, in and out. One kill at a time, mostly melee. Got hydraulic jacks in my cyber legs, hand spur in the right forearm..." Twitch held her right hand out and balled it into a fist before flicking her wrist up and down. A grey, footlong blade popped out of a hidden compartment. Another cock of the wrist and two smaller blades came out of an angle from the arm, designed to catch incoming blades and similar weapons.

"...cyber SMG in the left forearm..." Now she bent her left hand upwards and pulled the arm back a bit, causing the entire hand to unhinge and slide down until the tips of her fingers were right underneath her wrist. A barrel poked out out of the hole, and panels on the top of the arm rose and dropped to the sides, revealing a rather standard PDW-style submachine gun built within the cyberarm and modified to avoid detection.

"Can't forget the retinal stuff and the balance augmenters in my ears. And the performance drugs. Gotta have those. Not an acceptable replacement for mana coursing through my veins, but they work, asides from the lack of pigmentation I appear to have." As she said the last words, Twitch shot a look at Whisper while she was taking the inhaler and holding it up for everybody to see. "Oh, don't use it for yourselves. Too much will knock you out. One time, somebody stole it and took a whiff. I got it back from him after holding up my sword, but apparently he died after a few days. So don't touch." After taking a short puff, Twitch stashed the inhaler back under her jacket.

"In short, I stab people from behind. Any questions or concerns?"

[Ceannairceach]

" Alright Sunny, I am in. But before I go sneaking around the Financial District I need to tell you something. You out of all people know about my " explosive" falling out with Horizon. If they figure out i am still alive, let's just say you will have to find someone to replace me."

"Don't worry a hair on that pretty lil' head a yours, Hoo," she said, winking at him. It was a fair question: Toronto wasn't called Hollywood North for no reason, as it housed most of former Canada's old media giants, and now hosted Horizon's northern headquarters. Nothing like what was based in California or Seattle, but still nothing to sneeze at. "Horizon won't know you're here If I've got anythin' to say 'bout it. I tell ya what, while you'se are doin' all the dirty work, I'll see what I can dig up in Horizon's databases about you, see if they marked you or somethin'. If they did, I'll give ya a heads up, an' if you're feelin' skittish, I'll pay ya for yer time and send ya packin'. If they ain't, I'll do what I can to divert their attention. Wiz?"

He huffed softly, his serious demeanor obvious. "We should go around and tell what we're best at. I'm a bit of a brawler and a decker. Not a fan of running and hiding when things go sour. Its always better to disable anyone that catches us before they can raise alarms in my opinion. As for augments, most of mine are just enhancements. I have subdermal armor and I probably could punch my way through most walls. Might hurt and scuff a bit, but hell if I couldn't do it."

"Speakin' of which, I should prob'ly elaborate on my role in this here operation. Ya must understand I've put a lot of work into this gig. Like, a lotta fraggin' work. I know y'all love to run with me an' all, but I'm gonna be sitting this one out. No front lines of Sunshine, no siree." She nodded in the direction of the floor screen. "'Stead, I'll be runnin' ops for you. Think a me as yer handler. I'll keep in contact, feed ya info, get you goin' where ya need to go. Aaaaand," she trailed then, pulling a small handful of varying types of credsticks from her pocket, "I'll bankroll some a yer expenses. Nothin' big, I ain't fraggin' Zurich-Orbital, but I'll toss you a bit 'ere an' there if ya need somethin'." Flashing another toothy grin peppered with a small chuckle, she added, "Don't worry 'bout my wallet neither, unlike you chuckle-fucks, I get paid in advance."

"Better make a laundry list now of what we've got to do. We need codes. Do we know who has them? We need schematics. Who worked on the place? If Knights Errant are doing security, does anyone know their usual protocols for security or any other little quirks? I've mostly rubbed elbows with smaller, discreet little corps." She had a feeling she was going to be doing a lot of leg work, as per usual. She wasn't at her best on the sidelines, unlike most mages.

"Fortunately fer you'se, I gots the first bit covered," Sunshine responded, tapping her remote and causing the image on the raised floor to change. On it now was a selection of images and map data and a string of words that read 'Ares Macrotechnology - Toronto Islands Station.' The map placed the small compound on Chippewa Island, one of many islands that formed the natural harbor of Toronto. The few static images of the compound revealed it to be a small number, with chain fences - likely electrified, as the circuit boxes that dotted them revealed - and a few small buildings within, none reaching higher than four or five stories. "This 'ere is Ares's compound on the harbor islands. Normally it's a small research station, weapons testin' n' such. Nothin' too interestin' really, but it got a whole lot more interestin' in the last month..."

She clicked the remote again and the images changed, this time the subject being Ares's main extraterritorial compound in the heart of Toronto. "Turns out the stupid fucks over at Ares Macrotech built their whole fraggin' compound on top of an Indian burial site, and the whole place has been riddled with spirits out the ass. One stupid mage later an poof," she snapped, "whole place lights up with spirits with a bone to pick." One image she opened revealed the carnage in an interior corridor, the faint glow of a spirit lingering at the far end. Knights stood barely in front of the camera, obscuring much of the picture. "They're still purgin' the drek from the place. While they do that, 'cause security's an issue, they decentralized their datastores an' research projects around Toronto, with the real special drek bein' flown out of the city.

"An' what's that got to do with us? Well," she changed the screen again, this time revealing loads of downloaded information pages. Mostly shipping manifests, data transfers and other seemingly meaningless jargon. "After a lil' sojourn into Ares's network, I figured out where they sent ol' building schems, affiliate data codes, an' all that drek. They've turned the buildin' into a hackjob datastore. Security's a bit more tight now 'cause of that, but the Knight's've got more pressin' matters to deal with than this. Should just be regular Ares corpsec detail, maybe a wagemage or two.

"The real challenge is who lives next door." Another image on the screen, this time of Toronto Island's Lone Star station, merely two blocks from the Ares compound as the map showed. "Lone Star patrols the island on the reg, land an' sea, so this one's gotta be stealthy, ya feel? Can't go burstin' through the door unless ya want thirty fuckin' cops breathin' down yer neck. So keep it simple: find a way in, get to the datacenter, an' find the blueprints we need. They prob'ly don't got the codes for Aztech, but can't hurt to look fer those, too."

Looking around the table, she sought out any signs of her team wavering. When she was certain they were committed, she finished her briefing with, "Any questions?"

[Reverend Norv]

As soon as Bran had finished speaking, Twitch had a breakdown.

The elf surged to her feet, smashed Sunshine's bottle of expensive liquor, screamed about how Sunshine had led her into a trap once before, and then crumpled back into her chair with tears leaking down her cheeks. Bran's right hand moved briefly to his holster, and then reached out, as if to take Twitch's own hand.

Halfway through the motion, Bran thought better of it. For some people, comfort is just salt in the wound. They were unhappy, those people - but at least their unhappiness was of their own making. By asserting grief, they perpetuated it, but they also mastered it.

Sionnach had chosen that path, Bran often suspected. Bran had toyed with it himself, but rejected it. He didn't have the strength to be that alone.

Whisper was unsympathetic. She told Twitch that every shadowrunner had suffered loss, and that Twitch needed to toughen up. Bran wouldn't have been quite so blunt, but the point was valid. Or, at least, Bran wanted the point to be valid. The alternative was that Sunshine had deliberately sold Twitch out at some point in the past, and under current circumstances...well, that possibility didn't bear thinking on.

Sunshine stepped in, smoothed things over, moved on. She agreed - belatedly - to explore the possibility of rescuing Sparkplug. She didn't seem enthusiastic about the idea. Bran's eyes moved between Twitch and Sunshine again, and a muscle flickered in the corner of his jaw.

As if sensing the changed mood in the room, Sunshine then offered what she called a dead-man's switch: if any member of the team felt betrayed, they could send an electronic message containing when they had met Sunshine, and the Matrix would be flooded with all the details of Sunshine's illegal activities.

At least, that was what Sunshine said. Bran wasn't sure whether it was worse if she were lying, or if she were telling the truth. He could certainly see a fair few ways the latter scenario could go wrong too.

Trust.

"The way I figure it," Bran said slowly, "if there were a chance you wanted us dead, I would never have walked through that door in the first place. Trust doesn't come from holding a gun to a friend's head, Sunshine - even when the friend is volunteering."

Squirrel - Padraig - then broke in, suggesting that each member of the team identify his or her skill set. That was a solid recommendation, and Squirrel began by introducing himself as a decker - now a hacker, Bran supposed - and a brawler who could punch his way through walls. Versatile, then, Bran thought. For her part, Twitch explained that she was a street samurai who fought at close range, mostly with blades, like an adept. And Sunshine, by her own account, was providing information and funds. She had, apparently, been paid in advance.

That was - unusual. Bran felt his stomach twist uncomfortably.

For his part, Bran pulled one old Ares Predator out of its shoulder holster and gently placed the heavy handgun on the table. "I am an adept," he explained quietly. "Gunplay, mostly. Enhanced reflexes, speed, acrobatics. I shoot, do my best not to get shot. If all goes well, I expect you won't need me that much. If it doesn't, I'll be holding off whatever the corps send after us. I look after my friends."

As Bran tucked the Predator back into its holster, Sunshine continued the briefing. Apparently, Ares Macrotechnology had built its Toronto headquarters on an old Indian burial ground, and the compound was now infested with spirits. As a result, until the supernatural pests were purged, the building was largely deserted except for databanks and corpsec guards. So far, so good, Bran thought: this way there would be no civilians caught in the crossfire if things went bad.

The bad news was that the compound was right next door to Lone Star's Toronto headquarters, and so the entire surrounding area was swarming with cops on land, sea, and air. Somehow, the team would have to find a way past that net, past the Ares compound's own security, into the databanks, and out again without being spotted.

That wasn't impossible. But it was exceedingly unlikely. It certainly wasn't a promising starting point. It was always better, Bran thought, to plan for the likely than to expect a miracle. So: assume that we'll be spotted.

That meant guile, not stealth; lies, not shadows. We need a way to walk right past the cops and into Ares.

Bran idly scratched the old scar on his face, where the blood mage had cut him all those years ago. I wonder how much a new identity costs in Toronto these days?

Sunshine's briefing was finished. She asked if anyone had any questions. Bran nodded.

"Seems to me," he began, "that the simplest way of doing this would be to get the cops to let us in. Is there any way we could get fake IDs? Maybe experts in spirit cleanup, something like that."

Bran paused. "Also," he continued, "I still want to see if there's anything we can do about Sparkplug. I'd like to take a look at her apartment; maybe Whisper could go too. We could check for clues: forensic, astral. See if there's any chance that she's still alive." Bran turned to the elven mage. "Up for some detective work?"

[Nalaya]

"I am always up for detective work." Whisper nodded at Bran. He and the dwarf seemed to have their heads in the game, which was an encouraging sign. Maybe she wouldn't get shot or blown up this time. She'd run with a few crews who didn't know their head from their ass and certainly didn't know how to guard a mage. They'd even left her to fend with Azzie mages alone, which had not been her idea of a fun time. "Things like this...they leave a trace, a mark. Let's go poke around and see what we can find."

Her gut was telling her this was going to be a rough one, particularly if Sunny was getting cash up front. That usually meant trouble. But hey, Whisper wasn't going to whine about a possible expense account. She was doing it for the money, as well as to pay back her debt, but she didn't mind losing some of the profit if it meant actually walking away. Granted, she would have to survive.

Got to die of something, she reflected for a split second. Maybe this'll be the one.

Whisper scribbled her comm number on a napkin and slid it over to Padraig. "If Ace and I are going to go poking around the mage's place, here's how to get in touch with us. We might want to set up an open chat to share intel. It'll take you like two seconds, I'm sure. This isn't the kind of job where keeping what we find dispersed is going to do us any good. Page if you get IDs. Might be worth looking more into the history of the place. And if Twitch knows about the security protocols, she might be able to point you and Hex in the right direction."

She tipped her head to the group and smiled. "Catch you all on the flip side." She looked over at Bran. "Let's buzz, Ace. We've got a mage to find."

[Shark isle]

Mario stood up and said to the group with a somewhat prideful tone," As you already know, I am an acrobat and escape artist. I can jump very high and crawl through air vents rather easily. I am also intimately familiar with almost every security system ever made and I know how to use my acrobatic skills to subvert them. Also, if worse comes to worse, I can use my skills as an escape artist to escape from any kind of room, except vaults. The only downside is I can't fight worth shit. So if there is some kind of brawl or firefight, don't expect me to join in." Mario then grabbed a bottle of beer and took a sip. After drinking he then said in a quizzical voice," What task do I have"?

[Penguinia-Tempor]

"I'm afraid that I'll be of little help on the fake IDs. Can't hack worth a damn, and all of the contacts I have are back in Seattle." Twitch said, fiddling with her pistol. The short-term effects of the inhaler would disappear soon, and the stuttering and the hyperactivity would come back. The longer-lived effects- the ones that actually improved her performance- would last for at least another hour.

"Though I can do infiltration. All we need are those fake IDs you mentioned, Prof, some sorta distraction for the Lone Star people to deal with for a bit, and perhaps a bit of brutality for any lone guards inside. Don't know why a team of supposed 'spirit busters' would be doing on an island compound anyways. They'd just ship us off to the main Ares HQ, and there we wouldn't have much time to poke around for blueprints and records before having to stab some spirits." Now she was rapping her knuckles on the table rather quickly. There was nothing she could do about it, though, lest she take another hit and risk an overdose.

"How about, instead of spirit cleaners, we could go in as ITs or something? Squirrel can probably get the IDs and mess around with the building's systems as we head in in our disguises. Along with a suitable bang or something outside to distract the cops, we can go right through Ares security and get close enough to the datacenter to download whatever we need. Then we get out, the quieter the better." Twitch didn't smile, though it was fairly obvious that she felt rather smug at the moment.

[Holy Lykos]

"Either idea has merit," Padraig nodded, glancing around for another drink and finding none. He muttered something in Irish for a moment before glancing back over towards the rest. "Aye, the good thing about IDs nowadays is you don't need to go a certain place to get 'em if you're faking them. My gang back in Seattle can help mock some up and send them over here over wireless. We'd just need to acquire something at the local.... Fuck I forgot the term. The place you would get normal IDs. Or through the black market we could get one to print out some very convincing fakes. Or just steal some and doctor them up to be for us instead." The Dwarf gave a shrug at this, "Any choice would be good and I'm certain I could get it done in a day or so. Are all of us going in or only a few?"

He coughed a bit after that, shaking his head. "Though, We need to get it set up before rushing in. Detective work, falsifying IDs and uniforms, a bit of research into where exactly in this facility we need to look... We'll likely want to use a week to get it set up, or at least a few days. The more we poke around the more likely they'll detect intrusions database fuck ups, lads and lasses."

[Neo Arcad]

Since getting her hands on it, Hex had been drooling over the Lee-Enfield, muttering something about the serial number being in the first 2500. She'd taken it apart and put it back together gingerly a few times, and had now taken to working the bolt and saying "bang" as she did her own pretend version of the classic "Mad Minute". It was in impossibly pristine condition for a 125-year-old weapon- clearly someone had dunked it in cosmoline or something, and never touched it again. A wonderful addition to the collection back home- although where .303 brass was to be found wasn't exactly easy to discern. The subject of the conversation in the meantime had turned to infiltration, which was something Hex was good at.

"I can talk to the security system. They usually let me in." she said, speaking up for the first time. "And then we can just go in by a side door. Or, um, if it's not too exposed of an area, someone else could lure them out and I could try to drop them before the alarm is raised. It would be difficult, but not impossible."