Turn The Pages...

As long shadows drew over longer streets, the moon would begin to rise in Seattle. The usual rain had dissapated, the clouds parting to let the first rays of moonlight spread over the concrete and glass jungle. Outside of the city was a military base, this was one of the last places that held the once great and united army of America. When the 6th worlds gates had forced themselves open into the 21st century, the landscape, both geological and physical, and been fractured beyond repair, but still some people endured over the last 70 years. The base was itself active amongst the tired city, ever working towards the goal of one day re-uniting the once great country, now serving only a distorted memory.

A long, long time ago, I can still remember how that music used to make me smile.

A man served at his post in his office, he bore no signs of rank. No Campaign ribbons addorned his stained and tattered uniform, the only thing that might qualify would be the 6 stripes, 3 up and 3 down of a Command Sergeant Major. No officers were left that he knew of, his command was all that remains as he downed another few dregs of coffee from his stained white cup, typing busily at his computer.

<<Decrypting transmission>>
To: Runners
From: Sgt. johnson

Hoi, Runners. I'm in need of some help, my squad has run into a hell of a problem and we need the help of some hired profesionals. Meet me at the Old Tower, just after midnight tonight, and i'll give ya'll the rundown. Oh and there is nearly a few million nuyen in it if you you join fast.

<<end Transmission>>

He shut down his computer as he left the room, papers and empty styrofoam cups littering the ground. The door was closed and the tumblers snapping would be the cue of the lock being in use as he hopped in his Hotspur and took off for the meeting place, saluting no one as he left to either put his damnation or salvation in to the hands of others. His eyes and face were worn to the point of almost no emotion at all, he was old beyond what he should be for this line of work, but someone had to do it.

Serentha tried to be there early. She thought it best to take up a position out side the tower & wait for everyone to arrive, and then make her entrance. "it was always a good thing to make the boys wait". As well as a good bargaining tool to be fashionably late. As she approached, she switched on the current in the Ruthenium coating of her suit. Then she made a quick fly bye of the tower to see who had gotten there...

Dervish ghosted up to the tower, a shadow of a shadow and almost impossible to spot. She hoped the info she had heard a pair of runners talking about was correct, that there was a meet here tonight. Moreover, that it was an open call rather then for an established team. She was suviving but she had no intent to remain on the streets and to get of them she needed to score serious nuyen, not just a few lighten pockets from easy marks. Though cloaked from metahuman eyes by magic, she to no chances and tucked herself away in the concealing shadows of an overhead beam as she waited to see who, if anyone, would show.

Shadow stood across the street from the Old Tower, staring up at it as it rose into the starry sky. Since coming to Seattle, he had found that a clear night was a rare thing. Even if it wasn't raining, there was a seemingly perpetual overcast to the sky. Tonight however, was clear, and Shadow took a deep breath into his lungs, simply enjoying the crisp tang of the air.
He walks across the street towards the dark spear, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his long, dark trench coat. His legs stretched out before him, covered in loose charcoal gray pants, the tops of which fell over combat boots. His coat is open, and reveals a black shirt with a broad red strip running down its middle. His face is obscured by the brim of a black cowboy hat, long black hair falling from underneath it to his shoulders. A pair of slim, rectangular side-street glasses cover his eyes, their dark lenses barely visible under the shadow of his hat's brim.
His steps are steady as he closes the distance to the ground entrance of the Tower. Although keeping the pale features of his face facing forward, behind his glasses Shadow's eyes scan the area around him, looking for anything out of the ordinary.

Perception Test:

Intuition 4 + Perception 3 = 3 hits

He continues on, stopping just before the old doors. He took his hands from his pockets and stretched them above his head, then rolled his arms back until he felt his spine pop as it loosened up. A slight smile pulling up one corner of his mouth, he though, "Well, I'm ready for any surprises, at least. Let's see what the night has in store, ne?" He reached out a hand and opened the door, stepping into the Old Tower.

The alarm was the first to pierce the serene reverie. The Panasonic All-in-One model chipped short high pitched cricket sounding beeps, breaking the facade of a beach down south where the sun shown and the sky was clear. The coffee maker was next, receiving the wireless automated signal from the panasonic, which whirled to life cutting it's dark brown beans down into a fine powder. A moan was heard, perhaps not, but all the same Spyder rose from his deck' chair. He'd been sitting there spacing out in between bouts of searching various hacker 'trix sites for the latest news. With hercelean effort he rose, rubbed bleary eyes, and grabbed a cup of joe not so much as drinking it, but downing it in a single chug. A shower and a fresh shave later and he was out.

The Contrail he rode now, cutting through the night time streets of seattle, reminded him a bit about the alarm clock and the coffee maker. It too was a machine as plain as day. But he could almost sometimes swear the Contrail, unlike the other two, had it's own soul. Maybe it was the grid, maybe not. But as it shifted its weight beneath him on autopilot speeding to the Old Tower it almost felt.....alive? As if it had it's own awareness and sentience. Add to that the metal beast held more processing power and memory then a meat brain ever could and it was sometimes hard to say it wasn't alive. Spyder didn't have much time to think on that however as the wheels auto decreased their acceleration and the machine pulled upto the entrance of the Old Tower.

He hadn't wanted to come here and listen to an offer. Not really. But cred was cred and it was necessary to have it, despite the young 20 somethings wishes. Besides, out of all the Johnsons who could have sent a transmission Sgt. Johnson was as good as any. He wasn't a bad man Spyder recalled and was near as good as anyone else when it came to having to do someones dirty work. Adjusting his public comm (the one he used for anything legit) he set the device as public while taking his hidden comm of the the plain sight of any scanners. More of a habit as anything. Hopping off the bike the hacker walked toward the meeting place, eager to hear about any job that would pull some flash. He wore a black lightweight pea coat, underneath would be a simple lightweight brown sweater. Beige cargo pants with a myriad of pockets covered his legs while simple brown loafers touched off the style for the feet. Running a hand through his long brown hair the Italian born once Ares Citizen made sure his ponytail was still intact and in good form while another smoothed out his goatee. Just because most deckheads took pride in the streotypes of being filthier then a crooked johnson didn't mean he had to seem that way. For all intents and purposes Spyder would likely appear as some corp kid who escaped the 'clave to do a bit of sight seeing. But if one saw the eyes behind the pair of cheap mirror shades you'd change your mind on that note probably.

Either way he was here. And if he saw anyone else he certainly didn't acknowledge it or let them know. Spyder simply slung his leather messenger bag over a shoulder, hands in his pockets then, and ambled toward the meet. Briefly, as he waited for the Sargent, he wondered if a coffee maker and alarm clock could be jealous of a motorcycle.

You can hear it before you can see it. The slow, deep thunder of boots against the pavement. It sounds as though someone put boots on an Americar and told it to take a midnight stroll through the city. The troll rounds the corner near the tower and stomps into view of all the late night rats scrambling into corners and the shadowrunners hiding in the darkness.

His giant size make the other objects on the street seem small and comical. He stops to scratch his head next to a car he couldn’t possibly fit in. It looks like an adult posing next to a toy made for a child to ride in. The nearby lamppost looks thin and short. It spills pale light onto his bald head. His leather ganger jacket and massive combat boots look out of place with his giant staff, headed by a perched crow. Small curios hang from leather thongs tied about the base of the crows feet. It’s back is flat with its head and tail feathers forming a perpendicular line to the shaft of the pole arm. The beak point and dull blade make the use of weapon like a long handled pickaxe.

Oats cradles his staff in the crook of his arm to get both hands on the drawing he is currently studying. He turns it twice to look at it from different angles and lifts his head to peer at his surroundings. He wrinkles his face and gazes down the street at the tower he was told to be at. “Dat’s du one. Yup, dis where I supposed to be”, Oats exclaims in a loud bellowing voice to no one in particular.

His destination in sight, he stuffs the crude map into an impossibly large messenger bag slung over his right shoulder. The resounding thunder starts again as he stomps toward his destination. He stands in front of the doorway a moment before gently pulling open the door. Oats angles his staff in first and begins the familiar struggle of wedging himself through a doorway built for a being of lesser size. The struggle only last a moment before he is inside and pulling the door tight against the night.

The Seargent had led his troops through all sorts of hell holes, through the bowels of the demon pits themselves when Denver had cracked in half. He had even been drug through the CZ on a number of occasions. In all the places he's been, in all the pain he has seen, this long drive to Seattle's fallen tower hurt him the most. His hotspur had come driven smoothly over the slick streets, his tires not even screeching the pavement, despite the urgency of his speed, he dared not disturb the peace that he fought so hard to protect.

His vehicle had arrived at the broken image that had once been the center for Seattle's skyline for so many decades, yet another sign of the cities and his age. His boots clanked against the pavement as he stepped out, chugging down another cup of cold, stale coffee that had been in his truck for god only knows how long, before he turned and made his way into the building, taking no notice of the pixies that had taken residence above him, or of the others who had arrived earlier.

As he entered the building, his sole attention seemed to be on the empty circle of chairs in the middle of the medium sized room. The decreped building had long since been abandoned, plastic sheeting and papers often flew by in the breeze as a lone dripping noise could be heard somewhere off in the building. A look of dissapointment had crossed his face as the old seargent entered the room, his hair was shorn close to the scalp, but shades of grey easily be seen amongst what served as color in his hair. "I sent a message across the entire 'trix and all i get is three people, i am well and truly screwed, so let's give it an hour."

His voice was hoarse, like a man who had spent too many years yelling orders to others, his posture and sheer force of will, despite his age, indeed seemed to command respect. He wandered over to the table that had been set up before the meeting, and took a styrofoam cup and poured a cup of steaming black coffee into it, downed the whole thing and poured himself another as he turned to the present members, "Why don't you three introduce yourselves while we wait for the other misfits." He seemed almost tired of waiting for others, like his soul purpose in life nowadays was to get things done, but that the rest of the world didn't want it.

Samantha's bike idled around the final corner in time to see a massive form enter the tower. [I]Looks like others have gotten the message as well,[I] she thought to herself before realizing that there was just as much of a possibility that it was an ambush. The figure in the door was certainly large enough to cause some major problems. She double checked her Praetor was loaded, slid it from it's holster on her heavily modified Contrail, and strapped it to her right thigh. Her Urban Explorer Jumpsuit was tuned to black, and the built in sound-softs pumped the heavy rhythms of Racing Jackals into her racing helmet.

She pulled the helmet off, killing the music, and walked to the heavy doors. As soon as she stepped from the bike, its mechanical arms pulled down from the chassis and lifted the front wheel clear from the pavement. It would be impossible for anyone to steal the bike without her encrypted control rig's signature.

After having stepped into the room at the base of the Tower, Shadow had looked over the room quickly, then walked over to the nearest corner to the doorway, and leaned back against the wall, his hands in his pockets, watching the entrance and waiting on the other runners to show. Inside, he removed his glasses and put them away. Unaugmented eyes would do for the time being. Better to trust in your own eyes than some piece of tech.
The first to walk in looked like nothing in-so-much as a college kid out on a lark. Shadow smiled a bit, just to himself. One of his first lessons had been that appearances were the easiest way to hide oneself, and he didn't intend to make the mistake of underestimating this one.
Of course, underestimation really wasn't an option with the next to come through the door. To say he walked in would be inaccurate. More like he folded himself through the door-frame. He was quite simply the largest troll that Shadow had ever seen, so large that one could feel the percussion his feet made when he stepped.
The last was tall drink of water. The elf woman who walked in seemed to be no stranger to the shadows. She was well and obviously armed, the mil-spec smg on her thigh a rather pointed warning to his mind. Her movements spoke of some experience as well. The jumpsuit she wore accentuated each purposeful step, the material stretching tight over her curves. There was no doubt about her appearances; she presented the to the world the face she wished it to see. He pushed the brim of his hat up with one finger, in order to get a better view of her. Her head swiveled in his direction, perhaps sensing his eyes on her. She caught and held his gaze a moment, before Shadow pulled the brim down low, its descending edge breaking the contact. He lowered his hand and his face, allowing the brim of his hat to conceal the grin which was tugging the corners of his mouth up, the same sort of grin you would see on a boy who just got caught with his hand in the cookie jar.
When no one else came through immediately, Shadow pushed himself off the wall, and walked over to the conference table, tipping his hat to the three runners as he did so. He selected a seat that lent him a view of both the entrance-way and the back of the room and sat down in it, his legs stretched out in front of him, one crossed over the other.

When the Sergeant came through the door, the first thing that hit Shadow about the man was his obvious age. The chummer was pushing past 70, if appearances did not deceive. Looking the man over, however, Shadow noticed the erect posture, the steel in those old eyes, and the set of his jawline. Another it would not be wise to underestimate.
He listened to the old man's gruff words, the impatience in his manner far too obvious. When the sergeant asked the group for introductions Shadow remained still, one hand loose by his side, the other resting against his cheek. He quietly watched the others, his eyes moving from one to another from across the table, waiting for one to speak.

"You've at least four if the nuyen's right." The silverly soprono drifted down from somewhere overhead. A moment later, a patch of shadow detatched itself and glided downward, eventually resolving itself into a pixie in bronze armor that looks more like some fantasy book's cover art then a serious runner. "Hoi. My intel on this run was second hand, so I figured it prudent not to be seen til I could scope the others arriving." She looks around, then nods, seemingly to herself. "I see a couple of faces I recognize from the crowd at some of my fights, but I'll name no names since not everyone is a fan of that sort of entertainment. For those who haven't seen me fight, I'm the South Seattle blood sport champ. Now retired, thank allah. Call me Dervish."

Shadow's eyes snap up as the voice drifts down. Watching the little pixie float down, he works to suppress a grimace. "Baka! How did I miss her?" Listening to the little one, he thinks again of how appearances can deceive. Three feet nothing, and claiming to be a blood warrior. A large tale for such a small person. Could she back it up? The garish armor she wore seemed more appropriate at one of those Fan-Fan parties than at a runner's meet. Her green hair was longer than she was, and an obvious disadvantage in a fight. But she had managed to surprise him, and that was not something he took lightly.
He flexed the fingers of his right hand, opening and closing them, feeling the muscles in his forearm flex slightly from the movement. His eyes looking out from under his hat, he grinned a killer's grin, one corner of his mouth quirking up ever so slightly to reveal just the hint of teeth. In the shadows, surprise was a way of life.

Oats stands uncomfortably in the corner of the room listening to the words of the sergeant and words of the others in turn. He eyeballs the chairs set up around the table and for a moment resembles a man trying to figure out how not to break anything when being asked to sit at a child’s tea set.

Oats looks around the room and spys a heavy metal bench off to one side. He lumbers over to it and lowers his bulk gingerly onto the frame. His eyes betray a look of true concern until his weight is lowered successfully onto the bench. Seemingly satisfied he places his elbows on his knees and leans his face forward into the ring of chairs.

“Hoi, yous a tiny one” Oat’s demeanor takes on a childish grin as his darting eyes dance over the pixie. “An you can fight real good too huh? I ain’t no champion or nuthin. My name’s Oats, but lotsa people call me Oaty.”

He reluctantly peels his gave away from the pixie to appraise the sergeant. “ A friend of mine told me that there was some work here. She drew me a map an I found it ok. I guess yous da guy wat’s hirin’ us huh? Well I’m pretty big, I guess, an I do a real good job gettin’ tween my friends an trouble chummer. I’ll help out real good here.”

Oats leans back on the bench looking satisfied and smiling widely at the people in the room before his gaze falls on the coffee pot in the back of the room. He glances back at the sergeant and blurts out, “Hey, is dat soycaff for anyone chummer?”

Spyder surveyed the assembled. Behind the mirror shades those dark brown eyes scanned methodically over those who were here, showed up, and appeared out of thin air. Not so much as seeing them but studying them. The one with the cowboy hat intrigued him at first. Face covered by the shadow of a hat and face framed by long black hair he definitely held an air of mystery. Most runners did of course, at least the good ones, but there was something seeming different about him. Dangerous, even. The study of Shadow didn't last long, eyes eager to move from a physical black hole to another target. The second one scanned was a troll of almost comical proportions and size. Well, comical only if you weren't afraid to perhaps be crushed to death if he might accidentally squash a foot or ankle...or fall on a leg and break it. Truly the meta was a good size, looked like some kinda hippie or magic user by the doodads he wore. Spyder never cared for the hocus pocus stuff, the logical cool feel of silicon and plastics was much more familiar and reliable he thought. Not that he'd go out to prove the point beyond doubt, not with some lumbering horn head chummer taller then most door frames.

Then there was the pixie. The retired blood fighter who Spyder might have seen on the local trideo's. If it could fight as well as it could hide she could end up useful. Thinking about making a search on her for some news about her fights he decided against it, not that it was necessary. Besides there would be plenty of time to get to know everyone. Right now he wanted to check them out, see what they were about, know who was who. Which brought his brown eyes covered by shades to the last one, this one another meta. The she elf was intriguing on first glance, but ultimately failed to revel any upfront secrets. One thing was sure though, the meta's were out tonight. So far there was the troll, the pixie, and the elf. Not that it mattered, Spyder told himself. His days running around with Humanis were long over with. Everyone's an equal etc etc. Thats what he tried to convince himself about.

He gave up though as soon as the Sargent entered. He looked tired, raveled and generally worried or perhaps rushed. That was good. The worse off a Johnson was the more they paid usually. Spyder only took a chair, crossed one leg over another and waited. He didn't make eye contact, didn't offer a hello. Just sat and waited. He listened to the pixie and the cowboys reply. Then listened to the troll and about how he was good at getting between his chums and trouble. That was good real good. Get betwween trouble and himself suited Spyder just fine, if thats how Oats liked it. Spyder waited for a pause in the converstation before speaking anything. Looking straight ahead at the wall of the tower a text to speech program sounded out, breaking the silence. It's monotonous rythym let slide it was an older text to speech program. The small dingy speaker on his public comm (visible around his neck) announced himself and offered his greeting.

"Name's Spyder. I work the 'trix among other things." Short, percise, and on target. Switching off his speech program from AR Spyder never even moved his viewpoint from the wall directly in front of him. With his intro out of the way he continued to look straight ahead, at times adjusting the mirror shades with a spare hand as the other rested in his pocket of his pea coat.

A small clapping sound was herd by all, and then on the opposite side of the room a small melodic female child like voice could be herd saying Wonderful i think we all here now! Then a small 35cm pixie appeared in a chair at the table she wore form fitting armor black that did not take away from her figure. You could see it when she fadded into view with a cochtail night gown (chic) that seemed to complement the armor some how. She zipped up into the air above the table and pointed to each runner in kind with her little pointer finger and a mischeavus smile. First the man with the cowboy hat. Did not catch your name mystery man. she stated plainly she had seen him jump and did not want to excite him any further so she smiled at him. Then she pointed at the stylish young student looking runner, the trix jockey and called him cutie! nice duds. Reffering to his italian cloths she whisperd in his ear. Then she pointed and flew over to the troll. In her best impression of a gruff voice she said. Big and tough! I like that! If we sign on together, and the led starts hailing be sure I'm behind you Oatsy! And winks at him. Before he can respond she zips over to the women who came in on the bike. I love your ride, and your hair, hope you can take me for a spin one day. Then finaly she looks at the other pixie in the room, zips over and in Sprithiel says. Where you from i anint seen one of my kinde since i left the village years ago. she looks her over and decides she likes this one smiles and moves on. Lastly she looks at the sarJ. And flys back to her seat. Flips back to english. And in one breath she says. You can call this it baby, hasty is here i do stuff, or make others do stuff is more acurate. If you want spicifics im a psychic left home a long time ago, wow seems like forever so whatcha need chummer. Grump said he knows you, and trusts you soooo I do too. then she gose silent....

Seeing the others taking seats or leaning against the walls, Samantha decides to sit at the table, placing her helmet in front of herself. The man in black, the one with the hat on, seemed to check her out for a minute, but she'd had that her whole life. No point in causing trouble over it now. The monstrous troll that she had seen entering when she first pulled up seemed out of place and confused as to where he could actually fit. For a moment she wondered what his home must look like.

The pixies on the other hand intrigued her. She'd only ever heard stories of them, and to see two in the same place was quite a sight. The one announced herself as a fighter, which seemed out of the ordinary, but looks were almost always deceiving these days, and the other flew about making sure to announce each person individually.

When the second pixie came to her, she smiled at the comment about her hair. Every girl likes a comment, but she wondered if she had helmet hair and the pixie wasn't just being sarcastic. [I]No matter,[I] she thought, and said "My name is Samantha, you can call me Sami if you'd prefer, I'll answer to either. As for the bike, not sure if you'll quite fit, she's been modded pretty heavily and can outrace just about anything out there. Would hate to see your wings catch too much air and pull you right off," Samantha smiled at the last bit before turning to the rest of the group.

The Italian dressed student type announced himself as a matrix user, could be good, might just be one of those nuyen-a-dozen kids that gets a deck and thinks they can hack. She decided to reserve her judgement on that until she saw what he could do.

Finally, turning to Sergeant Johnson, she asked, "So, now that we're all here, what's this job you've got for us?"

The old man had indeed been patient enough with the group of runners, disappointed that so few had shown up considering how widely he sent the message. His attention wouldn't be drawn to the rather attractive woman, he had learned to well exactly which head he needed to think with when it came to missions. Although her atire did indeed draw his attention, especially the fact that she blazenly carried around a restricted weapon, Hope your licenses are in order lady.

What truly drew his attention was the surprise appearance of 2, what he thought to be mearly fabled, pixies in his midst. Sneaking up behind him had indeed drawn a barely perceptible nod and a deep sigh, his trained reactions kept to a minimum as he was indeed practically scared dreck less by their entrance, seemingly invisible to everyone indeed. "Well, now that we have at least a resemblance of a team, it's time i clue you folks into what kinda hell you'll be walking into." He withdrew a holo-projector from his coat pocket and placed it on the table in the middle of the room, "And there is no chance in all the great depths of hell you will catch me drinking that soy crap that you kids call coffee, my stuffs the real deal grown back at base. So sure, go ahead and have a cup, i'll be needing a few after this is over."

The device flashed a bright light for a moment, illuminating a cross sectional image of what looked like to be a two story building that sat in the middle of an empty lot, surrounded on two sides by open fields, and the rear was towered over by a common skyscraper. "This is the part of our larger base, all i need you to do is babysit this location for at least 3 days, i have ammo stored in the basement, as well as plenty of food and water. The reward is fairly simple, for the six of you, i'll foot the bill for ¥300,000 nuyen per day that you can hold it for us. If you need it, i can supply you with extra guns and supplies, maybe even another runner that comes out of my own pocket."

After he had finished what had to be said, he made sure to give the members enough time to consider what was asked of them before he added one more remark, "This offer is open for the next ten minutes, i would suggest making up your minds quickly." He took a swig from his cup once again downing the contents in a single throw, he quickly bent down and got himself another cup, swirling the contents as he tok a deep sigh and waited.

"Hmm." Dervish leans foward to look over the cross section a bit more closely. The nuyen sounded good, though the arms and ammo wouldn't help her out all that much. On the surface watching over a building sounded like cake, but... "A few questions. First, where are you and your men going to be durning all of this? Second, while I sure holding the entire thing would be the ideal, but if we have to fall back, is there any particular area that is vital? And finally and most importantly - you wouldn't be paying that kind of nuyen for us to babysit something you didn't think would be attacked. I don't care much why its getting attacked, but anything you can tell us about whose doing the attacking would improve our odds of holding it.

"I'd agree with... Dervish, was it?" Samantha leans her chin onto her motorcycle helmet, eying the holo-projection. "If we're getting paid to babysit a building, we're going to be expecting attacks, any information on what to expect would be welcome. Also, how is the place set up for rigging? Can we get up some sentry guns, and an impromptu security rigger office? If not, drones may come in very handy, in which case, any upfront money could help add to the protection. Other than that, count me in, cred is always welcome."

Shadow had twisted sharply in his chair when he heard the odd clap that had announced the second pixie's entrance. After seeing the source of the noise, he settled back into his chair, his eyes narrowed as the petite girl had bounded around the room introducing herself to each runner in turn. When she had come up before him, he had smiled tightly, while his eyes stared levelly into her own.
His attention turned to Sami as she made her introduction, and then quickly cut to the chase, asking the question that they were all here for. As the Sergeant answered her, Shadow frowned as he thought of the reasons behind what the man was asking of them. He was very surprised to find the first pixie, Dervish, voicing the very questions running through his mind. Perhaps there was something to her claims of being a warrior. She certainly thought like one. And Sami was quick to confirm her participation, while still seconding the request for more info.

Shadow caught the Sergeant's eye, and nodded.

Defending part of a military base. Interesting. Thoughts ran through the gray matter of Spyders mind as he stewed over the deal. The major part that troubled him was the fact that they were going to be paid per day. It seemed reasonable if you were the Sgt., but for everyone else perhaps in the room it should have sent a red flag up. If the building was saved for all three days they each would get just under a mill' nuyen. That was a lot of cred for the details he gave. So if we survive each day we will be paid, echoed in Spyders mind. Obviously why not just say 900,000 cred for each on completion of the mission? Sgt. Johnson didn't think they would survive most likely, which is why he had phrased it so differently then the norm. At least this was what was going through the young 20 something's mind. However Spyder did not voice his concern nor even negotiate for a better pay despite Johnsons always low balling the first offer.

Instead he took a second to scan the holo image and it's main feature. Plans were already forming about possible defense, security, and choke points. But then again thoughts of weaknesses, traps, and dead ends also started bubbling up from the ether. Either way Spyder never really could pass up nearly a million nuyen over three simple days. Too much fast scratch to be made. For that much he could have been risking his life two or three times over with other runs so this was one not to pass up. He listened to the others and their questions but hell, regardless of those answers the million creds was enough to cement Spyders joining. Greedy, maybe. Stupid, nope. Not enough to pass on this run anyways. So, through the seemlessness of an open AR window he activated his text to speech program once more ordering the robotic monotone to announce his planned participation. "I'm In. We'll need an advance fee to purchase defense items for the run." Besides the robotic voice's small request Spyder held no questions and no negotiation.

Hasty Listened to everyone's concerns and when she thought she had them down she burst forward in her usual Hyper Active self. She took a deep breath and looked the Sarj strait in the eyes weeeelll. as stated that's a lot of cred for a simple babysitting job, her head darted back and forth looking over the group, And then back to the sarj. But i think we got it. hoooowever there is a rigger here who needs drones to cover vital points and a deckker who needs to coordinate intrusion counter mesures thanks for the food thanks for the ammo but truthfully baby i cant stick none o' those bullets you guys toss around in my quivers soooo bottom line shall we say half up front for expenses and cherry ontop you give us the skinny on what were really protecting you know whats in the building thats so valuable and who we may or may not be up against. deal! She'd let the sarj mull it over for a minute but never took her eyes from his...

Charisma:5 Negotiation:3 Frist impressions:2 3 hits

Sergeant listened to the whiney brats make demands of him. He waited as they bickered, whined, and carried on about what would happen if they were attacked and some such bull. "Ya'll want me to spoon feed you the intel on the deal, fine i'll give you enough twists to make a pretzel jealous." The old soldier had grown tired of training the younger folks, they just seam to get more annoying each year, but to high hell if he was going to retire. He calmly took a sip from his steaming cup of coffee, the first slow thing he'd done since he came to this meeting.

This is my rifle...

After letting the hyper active kids, and the even more over-caffienated pixies somehow calm down, Sergeant Johnson decided it was his turn to speak. "What you have there, hopefully will be the site of my new base, hopefully ,assuming you kids don't blow it up, i'll retire there. On the rooftop in an hour, there will be mounted an Ares MP-LMG mounted on each corner, they will be rigged so if anyone here happens to know how to work one of those commlinks of yours, you can use it without having to actually pull the trigger. Of course, my troops don't leave everything up to machines, so they can be moved at your leisure, assuming you kids can lift over 300kg and you know how to pull an actual trigger." He would take another sip from his coffee as the holo-display displayed 4 squares on each corner representing the potential spot for each weapon.

There are many like it...

Refilling from his seemingly never ending supply of coffee, Sergeant would begin again. "As for your own supplies, i can give half payment each day, the rest coming at the end of the third day. I have a live sat-com that we can radio through, you can also send my base anything you would like us to bring you personally, but i'm afraid as i am trying to keep this low profile, we won't be able to get you everything. ((read: rating 10f for availability.)) What your enemy will be, i honestly don't know. I've given you all the twists that i know of, the rest is up to you."

But this one is mine...

Shadow would immediatly raise his hand and nod to the old man, "Of course i'm in." The Sergeant would nod and silently wait the approval of absolutely everyone before continuing, but not before a last warning. "Oh and if you try to weasel any more money out of me, i'll be right there next to you annoying the hell out of you. You, or course, have the option of saying no and walking away right now, no questions asked, if you're afraid." His whole body would seam stock still has he continued to drink from his cup.

Order, hut!

Hasty whipes her brow wew! Math i hate math be a doll and tell us how many K per day that is will ya. Time to go shopping! when do you want us at the building. all in one breath.

The Sarge had stood still, and with a deep sigh he felt a resounding urge to fire the little pixie out of the nearest gauss cannon. "300,000 a day for the team, half each day is 150,000, per person for 6 people that's ¥25,000 a day."

"Yeah, I'm in," Samantha nodded at the old sergeant. The money was there, and the defenses looked to be solid. She took out her commlink, and quickly made a copy of the holoprojection for later reference. Her control rig could put her into all four of those LMGs at once, but would leave her meat body as a sitting duck. Oh how I hate not having wheels under me, she thought to herself. The extra cred might be able to get her a drone or two, even a couple of trip wires to let em know someone was coming could be useful.

She began pointing out spots on the holoprojector, "We should set up a perimeter alarm system. If nothing else, it'll let us know where we might be attacked from. I would suggest laser tripwires, cameras, and range finders on the building. Seismic scanners could let us know if someone is trying to dig under us, and motion sensors will hopefully pick up any aircraft. Any magic users here? A few watcher spirits would go a long way."

This whole place still made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. Sitting in one spot waiting for an attack was never the kind of job she'd relished. Wheels and speed were where she felt most at home. She made a mental note to bring along her Rover just in case some mobile support was needed.