And the Rain Keeps Falling

It'd been raining for four long days in Seattle already. The sewers were beginning to become overtaxed, the rats scurried everywhere, searching for higher ground. Storm drains overflowed onto the street corners. The rich kids that liked to play at being tough in the sprawl stopped showing up, too much rain meant too many gangers in a bad mood.

The local trid station has become monotonous, the same fraggin' news every night. The men in the suits predicted more rain to come. Something perks your attention tonight though, the screen turns to some flashy pics of DNA strands and complex protein molecules. The man in the suit comes back on the screen with a special announcement.

"Ghouls everywhere! If you're hearing this, and still have enough humanity in you to care, today is your lucky day!" He began. The spiel he launched into seemed overly complicated, obviously more hype from one of the Megas. "Mark it on your calendar folks! In two weeks time, we'll see the end of the HMHVV Epidemic! Humana Hospital has found the cure, and is set to go public with it for the first time!"

The newsman's smile never faded, even at the mention of the widely feared and loathed ghouls. Just another pointless newscast, you thought to yourself before turning the screen off for the night. Not ten minutes had gone by when your telecom announced a new message.

Funny, I had it set to ring before any voice messages came in, the thought floats through your mind as you press the flashing key to play the message.

"Got work for ya," the sound of your Fixer's voice over the telecom is always a welcome one, "Some good cred, meet behind Dante's, guy there named Samuel. He'll fill you in on the details. Midnight tonight, keep in touch, omae."

The message clicks and you erase it. Seems there's work to be had in this rain after all.

James was just finishing up a daylong home-improvement project when he got the call- the roof had started to leak at about three in the morning last night, and everything else just has to get put on hold when your whole closetful of NERPS is soaked through. The hard part had taken all morning and afternoon- clinging to a rain-slicked roof in a driving downpour, prying up decades-old roof tiles with a crowbar, praying that decades of exposure to Seattle pollution hadn't turned the roofing tar into excessively toxic sludge.

That was the afternoon, though. The evening just had him sealing up the last few holes- from, and this is important, the inside of his apartment- when the call came in. Before he does anything else, the ork decides to follow up on the telecom's odd malfunction- even the slightest irregularity could be a sign of a decker dicking around with his gear, and that's always bad news. First he pulls the jack from the wall, employing the only absolutely foolproof measure against hacking known to man. Then he checks the machine's settings to see if it's actually set as he remembered it, performs a hard reset, plugs it back in, and dials the man back.
"Listen, this is Jimmy, keeping in touch. You called about a job tonight...right?"

The rumbling growl of the bike could be heard echoing off the building walls for a few seconds before it came into view. The late model Harley came around the corner and onto the street in front Dante's in a roostertail of spray before sliding to a stop. Two figures sat on the bike, but only one, the one riding pillion, got off. The man who gets off is clearly an ork, and though he is short for one of his kind, he's as broad as a house and as ugly as sin. His face is a thing of flat, hard plains (a clear sign of extensive dermal armor) below a purple mohawk, currently saging a bit in the damp. He wears a black floor length duster, its bottom currently getting soaked in the ankle deep puddles, and its back bearing a somewhat fadded copy of the Hellhounds logo -- which makes the fact that the female elf he was riding with boasted an Ancient's jacket and the fact that they had come from the direction of Spiker turf a real oddity. But its the band on his right arm that really draws the eye, particularly in contrast with the black jacket. Brilliant white, and marked with a large red cross, the symbol is clear but not the sort of thing you usually see runners sporting.


Turning to his friend, Ox nods and claps her on the shoulder, the powerful pat rocking the elven biker. "Thanks for the lift Jules. I'd take the long way home - I've had to patch up four Spikers this week alone and you know they'll take issue with you being in the turf without me." The biker nods and waves, before heading off into the rainy evening -- in the direction of Spiker turf. Ox sighs and shakes his head. "Guess I'll be seeing you tomorrow at the clinic my foolish friend." A quick glance at his watch shows that he's still got a couple of hours til the meet, so with a shrug he heads over to Dante's proper to order a shot or two.

The darkened clouds over Seattle have always been an ever-present spectacle. The distant roar of thunder, the flash of lightning, and the constant drumming of rain was a part of the way of life. They made the world feel alive, like it had a constant rythym, a natural harmony, even with the presence of a man made city. But not everything in the city was alive, or could even be classified as dead.

As a flash clap of thunder rolled throught he city, a deeper, more bestial rumble echoed back a response. The guttural roar of a Harley-Davidson Scorpion could never be mistaken for anything else, as a man who looked ill suited for a life in the shadows barreled down the slick streets. His dreads whipped at the wind, like a chariot driver goading the wind for more speed, his prestine white suit was perfectly tailored for him, and he for the underworld that spawned his ilk.

He would stop his engine as the figure dressd in all white rose from his ride, placing it on the kickstand as he looked towards Dante. A fitting name for the hell that he planned to raise, his white boots would click into the ground with each step as the area seemed to go silent stricty for his own personal use. "Tallulah, it's easier to live alone..."

His soft irish accent would betray his heritage as a son of the emerald isles, but his blood ran much colder than even the rain that hit the ground. While he may be a european national, he was indeed truly born to the shadows.

Wolf had looked through the window of the departments store as the trideo played, the rain trickling down his shaven head to drip down his back. His breath escaped him in puffs of mist, the chill evening air too full of moisture to accept any more. People passed him on either side, some grumbling loudly at him for obstructing the flow of traffic along the sidewalk. He didn't bother to respond.
One man, a particularly ugly specimen of humanity, his face lumpy and his clothes and hair only passingly tended, tried to dig an elbow into Wolf's side. For his part, Wolf accepted the jab... and brought a heavy cycle boot down on the man's inseam. He was rewarded by a satisfying crunch as he felt the bones in the man's foot break, followed by loud cursing. Turning his head away from the screen for a moment, Wolf looked over his shoulder and let the man see his pale silvery eyes, growling low in his throat. The lumpy fellow, his face already pale with pain, blanched greyer still, and hobbled away up the street, casting furtive glances back as he did so. Wolf turned back to the screen.
A news program was running, talking about a hospital and a possible cure for a virus. The announcement didn't mean much to him. He didn't give a drek about ghouls, and even less about HMHVV. He let out a loud exhalation. He was fascinated by trideo, and had taken to spending hours at a time standing before department stores with sets in their windows, just watching as the bright images flashed across their screens. He had been doing this before the ugly man had interrupted his reverie, and now found that his heart just wasn't in watching anymore.
He turned, and headed up the street, back towards the Barrens, where he was dossing at the moment. He shifted his shoulders in his leather jacket, trying to ease some stiffness out of them, and water spilled off the leather and down onto his white tank top, drenching the front where the jacket had been left open. He was already drenched, his grey combat fatigue pants clinging to his thighs, his shirt plastered to his chest. He could feel water squelch in his boots every time he took a step. The rain dripped down his face in constant tiny rivelets, dropping down the end of his nose and chin to join the sheets of water that washed over the sidewalks like a stream over its bed.
He was almost in Redmond when his comm trilled. His brows drew together as he clipped it into his ear, thinking that he had turned the thing off earlier. He was more surprised by the message that it played. He had been in town for a couple of months, and had been working hard to establish some shadow connections. Now, it seemed that work had paid off. With any luck, he could finally make some nuyen, and not have to search the streets to find food. Turning back around, he started walking towards Dante's... the best known runner hang-out in Seattle. And tonight, it looked like he just might get in. His lips pulled back, allowing his clean white teeth to shine in the evening lamp-light. Already, he could feel his pulse start to race in anticipation of a real hunt.

Jimmy ---

Your fixer answers after several rings and acknowledges that yes, he did leave you a message that work was to be had tonight. "Out back of Dante's meet the man there, he'll update you the rest of the way, good to hear you're still alive and kicking out there."


Doc Ox ---

The bouncers at the front door eye you suspiciously, check their list of registered guests, but find no name for you. Looks like it's back to standing in line with the rest of the regulars. At least the awnings stretch out far enough that you are out of the pouring rain.

About twenty minutes later, you're let through the velvet ropes and into the ground floor of Dante's Inferno. The pulsing music is matched by gyrating bodies on each of the glass floors, you can see straight up to the top floor from the middle of the bottom.

Most of the dancers don't even notice another ork in their midst, but a few recognize the white armband and wave. Gangers that have visited your clinic, or have friends that have. You make your way to the bar on the bottom floor and order your drink. The bartender seems disinterested, but serves you anyway. Looks like you've got a bit of time to kill before the Johnson shows.


Taur ---

Noticing the pristinely tailored white suit, the bouncers look a bit more interested. Fine suits usually mean more cred, and bouncers like tips like any other service job. The two trolls stop you at the door, check their list, but can't seem to find your name either. Looks like you're in the same boat as Doc Ox, "The line ain't gettin' any shorter, you starin' at it," the smaller of the two troll bouncers says gruffly and turns back to the next people in line.

You make your way to the back of the line, it seems to be moving at a decent rate. Dante's is definitely large enough to accommodate a large number of people. When you finally get to the front of the line, the small troll is no longer there, but is replaced by an obviously cybered human. His chromed eyes scan you up and down, he asks that you leave any and all weapons with the coat check, and opens the velvet rope.

As the doors to Dante's open, you are bathed in the sounds and smells similar to just about any dance club and bar. Sweat, booze, and perfume. The dancers pay you no mind as you make your way to the bar. You order your drink and turn to watch the dance floor.


Wolf ---

As you arrive at the bar, the bouncers look you over pitifully. Your rain drenched clothing, matted wet hair and lack of a vehicle seem to draw out the empathic side of the cybered human at the door. "Hey Brick, let this one in, looks like a drowned sewer rat, could use the dryers in the restroom to warm up at least," the bouncer elbows the troll next to him. "Heh, drowned rat, right boss," Brick chuckles a rumble of laughter, and pulls the velvet rope aside before leading you to the restrooms and turning on the blasting air dryers.

A few minutes later you're feeling much dryer, and Brick leaves you to your own devices. The smells of the bar cloud your sense of smell, and your wolf senses are overloaded by so many people. It is an uncormfortable feeling, but it passes as you remember the promise of cred.


Everyone ---

The hour approaches midnight, and as instructed, you make your way out of Dante's and into the alley behind the club. A man awaits you there, He wears a grey/white Ulysses Line Greatcoat, his hood is pulled low over his eyes, and the high collar makes it impossible to see any more of his face than his nose to his chin. As the four of you enter the alley, he smiles to himself and takes his hands out of his pockets. The black gloves are a stark contrast to the white overcoat, and he approaches each of you individually, shaking your hands he introduces himself as Samuel.

"Well, looks like you all got the message. If you'll be so kind as to follow me, I'll show you to Mr. Johnson," He turns to lead you into a side door of what looks like a small storage warehouse behind Dante's. He places his hand on the door knob, but pauses before pulling the door open. He turns to the four of you and says, "This is where those of you who do not wish to participate may take your leave, Mr. Johnson does not take kindly to runners who waste his time. If you wish to earn his respect, speak plainly, be civil, and above all, remember that he needs you just as much as you need him."

With that out of the way, Samuel turns the doorknob and leads you inside the warehouse.

The interior appears to have been hastily re-decorated to allow for people to meet inside, rather than simple storage. Mr. Johnson sits at a round table and bids you to sit with him, motioning at the chairs. Behind and to each side of Mr. Johnson stand two humans, both in heavy overcoats, and unsuccessfully trying to hide their armor plating. They do not, however, attempt to hide the automatic rifles they hold to their chests.

"Good evening," Mr. Johnson begins once everyone is seated, "My name does not matter, what matters is that I am in need of some... special services, that I hope you four will be able to handle. Samuel here has been kind enough to get in touch with your various contacts, he will be my go-between. He does not work for me, he is instead, a facilitator if you will. He will handle our logistics, as this will be the only time I meet with you face to face." He pauses for a moment, triggers a switch built into the table, and the faintly audible whir of a white noise generator drifts into the room.

"Now, as you have undoubtedly heard, Humana Hospital has just announced they have a Cure for HMHVV. This is of course preposterous. You cannot cure a Virus!" Mr. Johnson starts again, incredulous at the Telecom's announcements of this evening. "My employers have a man inside Humana at this very moment, who is certain that they do not have a cure, merely a vaccine, but either way, Humana is poised to make a lot of money, and doubtless, be given more grants for research than they'll know what to do with. We cannot allow that to happen! What I ask of you now, is that you infiltrate the Hospital, make contact with Dr. Nelson, our man inside, and he'll guide you in destroying this so called 'cure.' If at all possible, you are also to bring me a sample of the vaccine, as my employers could gain considerable knowledge from it. At no point can Dr. Nelson be implicated to have any connection to this operation, he is far too valuable where he is in Humana," He looks to each of you in turn, "You will of course be well compensated for your work, 40,000 nuyen each, plus another 20,000 each if you can bring back a stable sample of the cure. Of course if you are caught, or killed, you will not be rescued, you are here to do a job, not fail at attempting.

"So, are you in?"

(((You may make any kind of perception roll you would like here, simply roll Int + any knowledge skills you feel could be helpful. Target number is 4 for Mr. Johnson, and 5 for Samuel and the two guards)))

Ox follow heads out back and links up with the rest of his team for this run, noding in polite greating to Samael and otherwise remaining quiet while the link up with the Johnson.

Ox drums his fingers on the table for a moment, the armor plate on his middle finger producing a sharp clank in contrast to the dull thud of his other fingers, then nods sharply. "There's been a fair amount of research into anti-virus nano-tech recently - I don't know that a true cure is the impossibility you think it is. Regardless, I'm in. But I want us to be clear on one point. Under no circumstances will I destroy this cure entirely." He taps his armband and raises an eyebrow as he glances around to be sure folks get the point. "I've no issues with destroying all work in Humana's hands after taking a copy to pass on to you, but if they've truly developed a cure or even a vacination, the work is too important to risk losing completely. If it comes down to loosing it or failing the run, I'll fail the run."

Ox reaches up to tug his mohawk as he continues to think for a moment. "Ok, a few other points. First, no rescue is fine, but... if we have to abort to save YOUR contact, I want partial payment. I'll take responsibility for our mistakes, but I'm not going to get screwed over something your inside man does. Second, if we don't get a viable sample, but do get the research data needed to develop a sample of your own, will we get a partial bonus? Finally, and speaking for only myself, I would like to request an alternate bonus. I expect your superiors will be developing and marketing a cure of their own based on this. I want the right to buy it at cost for my clinic once you do so - not for free, I just don't want to pay more then it costs you to make it. And only on doses purchased for use - I won't be reselling it. Give me that and I'll gladly wave the actual cash bonus."




Knowledge: Medicine for info on the Johnson (I imagine he works for a biomedical corp): 4 hits
Knowledge: Medicine for info on the cure: 1,5,7,2,8,2,2,1,2,5 (not sure of the target)
Knowledge: Gangs of Seattle(go gangs): any gang connections of either Samuel or the guards: 1 hits (if regular gang), 2 hits (if go gang)

Edit: Bah, just noticed you said Int + Knowledge, not just Knowledge. updated results, here is the link to the extra rolls.

Wolf walked along the line of people in front of Dante's. Each was dressed in the latest club fashion: street chic they called it. Cut and torn denim, cracked and scratched leather, chromed chains, spikes, studs and eyes, black and silver colors abundant, neon-lit ear-, nose, and tongue-rings... all straight off the rack and worth more than anyone on the street could afford even with a year's pay in their pockets. The corp kids were obviously out to play tonight, pretending to be dark and dangerous just like real shadowrunners. Wolf looked down at his soaked clothes, faded and worn fabric, cracked and worn leather, and dirty even despite the rain. It was as honest-to-the-spirits street as was possible... and hopelessly real. Too real to pass off as street chic. It took good cred to look bad at Dante's.
The message has said that the meet would be behind the building, but Wolf wasn't familiar enough with the layout of the place to know where exactly the "back" was. He cast about him, looking for a way around to the rear of the building. He didn't realize that he was standing right at the front of the line until he felt someone staring at him. He looked up and saw one of the bouncers regarding him, a quizzical expression on his face. Wolf's eyes met his for a minute, and then the man turned to speak to his companion, telling the man to let him in... and then insulting him in the same breath.
Wolf didn't know what to make of it. The back-handed charity left him confused as to how to react. He would be grateful to get dry... no one likes to carry their own weight in extra water on shoulders. At the same time, he wanted to rip out their throats... "Pity me? I'm no dog begging for treats!" In the end, he bit his tongue, tasting his own blood as he followed the troll into the bathroom. It wouldn't do to show up to the meet looking like a drowned rat... and smelling like a wet dog. So he swallowed his pride... and enough of his own blood to take the edge off the hunger gnawing at his guts.
Once he was dry, and the troll had left, Wolf wandered out into the club. The light was low, but that didn't bother him. His eyes caught the faint light, the strobes and the lasers, and reflected it back into the night. The press of humanity though... all their smells, so strong. Men and women, bodies and clothes. It overwhelmed him. "Why the frag do they all need to bathe in perfume?" The stink of all the artificial perfumes, combined with the blood he had swallowed earlier, was enough to make Wolf nauseous. His face a bit pale, he walked beyond the foyer and into the club proper. In front of him was a railing, and he went and leaned on it while he waited for his stomach to settle. He wanted to leave, but the promise of cred was too much for him to just walk away from.
He ran a hand over his shaven head as he looked down, feeling the sharp bristles of hair on his scalp with his fingertips. The gesture was a habit, something he did when he was unsure, and it calmed him a bit as he regarded the strange surroundings around him. He was at the top of a set of stairs. He could see three other sets arrayed out around the perimeter of the room. They lead up and down. The floor was made of glass; people danced on it, and beneath them was another level with another glass floor, the people there dancing under the feet of those above. He looked up and saw it mirrored in the ceiling, the feet of the people above him pressed against glass, dancing on top of his head. He could see more levels above that and, looking down, saw even more below the next level.
Wolf didn't like the feel of those feet above him. Didn't like the symbolism of it all. He pushed himself off the railing, his stomach flopping as he did so. His lips were drawn back, his teeth showing. He started moving across the dance floor, towards the side opposite the one he had entered from. He cast about himself, looking for an exit. He finally spied one, next to one of the stairways. He started moving towards it, bumping into people as he pushed past them. A few called after him, some stopping short as they noticed his expression. He didn't bother to respond... he just wanted out.
As he nears the door, he sees a woman in black leathers leaning against the door frame, one heel propped up. Her hair is black, and thick make-up lines her eyes and lips. At her throat is a dog collar with a large metal ring in the front, through which a chain was run. She held one end of the chain in each hand, and was sawing it back and forth, creating a staccato rasping as the metal of the chain ground against the ring. The sight of the collar on her neck causes him to flinch, painful memories trying to force their way back. His snarl deepens, a low growl rumbling in his throat. The image disturbing him, he tries to push by her to get to the door. "Just a dog on a chain, ain't'cha, slitch? You don't know what it is to wear a collar!"
She sticks one leg across the doorway, blocking him from exiting. "Where're you off to, chummer? Still early yet." She grins at him as she says this, the flashing lights of the club playing off her teeth. Wolf looks at her, his teeth out... and catches a whiff of her as he does so. Her skin is slick with sweat, which most likely meant she'd been dancing hard earlier. But it had effect of washing her perfume off her, and Wolf could actually smell her instead of some sickly-sweet perfume. The corners of his mouth twitched up, changing his snarl into a rather wolfish grin.
"Got biz, tonight," he replies, letting the tension in his body relax, his stance moving from full forward to a casual pose. He leaned in on the girl, one hand going up to prop himself on the wall, his face coming in close to hers.
She drew back when he first leaned in, her smile faltering, but she recovered quickly, her teeth coming back out as she looked up into his face. "That's no fun. Why don't you take me out on the floor? My old man's left me hanging while he goes and talks to an associate." She nods over to one of the corners, where several people are crowded around another. "Beetles. No joy for me, but he's hooked. I'd rather get physical than party in my head, y'know?"
Wolf leaned in, breathing deep, his pale eyes staring into her own dark orbs. The meet wasn't for a bit, so he had time. "Been a while since I smelled beautiful." He nodded, reaching his hand down to take the chain, and tugged her out onto the floor. She stumbled as he first pulled her along, then caught her balance and followed, laughing, throwing her arms around his shoulders and leaning against him. They hit the floor, and let the bass beat take them over, leading them into a crashing cacophony of stomping feet and heated breath.

Later, he walked back to the exit, feeling better about the world, the girl's smell still sticking in his nose, blocking out the stench of the designer fragrances that had filled the club. Out the door, he found himself in an alley behind the club. In his hand, he held the collar the girl had worn, her comm number scrawled on the inside. His silver eyes regarded the thing for a moment, running over the studded leather. Raising his head, he lets it fall from his hands. "You were too free to be wearing this thing, girl. But it's the sort of keep-sake I don't need."

It was still raining, the water from the sky falling upon Wolf, washing fresh sweat from him and dampening his clothes again. He looks around, and notices a man surrounded by others. He walks over to them, taking a breath as he nears the group, but the girl's scent is still too strong for him to smell anything but her.

Perception test (scent) on the group:

Intelligence 3 = 3 =
No hits

He blows a breath of air out forcefully through his nostrils, letting the scent of the girl go with it. He moves into the group, positioning himself next to the man who introduced himself as Samuel. Carefully, slowly so as not to be noticed, he drew in a deep breath, catching the man's scent.

Perception test (scent) on Samuel:

Intelligence 3 = 3 = 2 hits

The man brought them to the Johnson, and Wolf repeated the process with the man as he gave them the run-down on their mission.

Perception test (scent) on the Johnson:

Intelligence 3 = 3 = 1 hit

The large orc in the ganger's threads threw the Johnson a lot of questions, making demands at the same time. Wolf didn't care about a vaccine. He'd never bothered worrying about getting sick... that was something that happened to other people. If the man wanted what this Humana group wanted, he could have it. So long as his cred was good, anyway. Still, the ork acted like he knew his drek. That was good, as Wolf didn't. He could hunt and stalk and kill, but he didn't know the ins and outs of playing with people. But then, that's why he was in Seattle. But speaking of hunting and killing...
Wolf sank down to his haunches, his arms akimbo, his hands resting on his knees and looked at the Johnson asking, "You want it quiet? No geeking?" His eyes look up at the man, streetlight reflected from their depths.

"Much oblidged for humoring my paranoia, Ed. With luck, it'll be what keeps me alive and kicking. By the way, our short friend just got a new shipment of peashooter parts in. Your other pals might like to know that. Give Nanako my best."

The Professional arrives precisely on time, dressed in an armor jacket without ornament or frill- the kind that practically passes for a uniform in large swathes of Seattle's lower class due to being the heaviest available bulletproofing that can still plausibly pass for apparel rather than SWAT gear. He is low-key all around, really: he's notably short for an orc, what little of his physique can be seen under the heavy jacket is athletic but not steroidial, and if he's packing it's something small but well-hidden. Only the way the whites of his eyes are shot through with silvery, metallic filigree- a telltale sign of retinal modifications- hint that he is more than he seems. When Samuel shows up, he listens to his speech and follows without comment. The last comment about remembering who needs who draws a genuine smile- it's good advice and not solely in the Johnson's interest, which speaks well of his attitude towards runners.

He listens attentively during the Johnson's initial briefing, digesting every scrap of information carefully. He's still sorting through the implications of everything he's told when the tattooed fellow next to him speaks up- and while he internally flinches at his confrontational tone, he also noted that he made a number of salient points. Looking to expand on them while softening the blow, The Professional steps in.

"While my colleague may have overstepped his bounds, he makes a very vital point. What, precisely, are you asking us to do? Do you want us to find, destroy, and optionally retrieve a working prototype of a competitor's promising product? This will, obviously, do nothing but delay its launch and pose a public relations problem for Humana's backers, because they will still posess all of the research data and expertise to recreate it. Or do you want us to commit an act of medical terrorism by annihilating the technology to deal with one of the most virulent diseases in history- destroying the prototype, deleting research data, and assasinating researchers? The former is a perfectly accessible business proposition. However, I am afraid that the fallout from the latter would be beyond my resources to handle, though I would be happy to direct you to an appropriate specialist.

Additionally, there is the matter of the bonus. Your terms were somewhat vague, and when such a significant sum is on the table it is best to be as clear as possible. You expressed skepticism at the very notion of a cure, as well as uncertainty as to the precise nature of Humana's product- but specifically offered the bonus for 'a stable sample of the cure'. Perhaps we should amend our understanding: you are to pay us the bonus upon delivery of a stable sample of Humana's claimed HMHVV cure, whether it actually turns out to be a cure, a vaccine, a treatment, or an incomplete prototype. If it emerges that Humana is engaging in a fraud of vast and improbable scale and what they are hyping to the public is a vial of snake oil or sugar water, you will pay half of the agreed-upon bonus, as we will still incur significant additional risks in acquiring it.

Once my curiosity is settled on both of these points, I will be happy to work for you, Mr. Johnson."


Attempt to remember any relevent factoids I may have picked up about Samuel: have I heard anything about someone of that name in the shadows? Anyone matching the white-overcoat-hood-black-gloves description? (Int + Mnemonic Enhancer) One hit
Attempt to remember any relevent factoids I may have picked up about Mr. Johnson: Have I ever seen his face on the trid or the 'trix? Heard his distinctive speech pattern before? Does his 'see me once and never again' policy ring any bells? Three hits

Relevent vision augmentations: Thermographic, low-light, magnification 3. All will be used to examine all targets.
General Johnson perception: One hit
General Samuel perception: One hit
General Guards perception: No hits
General room perception: 6, 4, 2 (two hits?)

Intelligence+Small arms on the guards' automatics. Is the safety on? Is a round chambered? Are they in generally good condition? Are they a particular model, or manufacturing variant of a model, that is in common or exclusive use by some single corporation, security firm, nationality, or other demographic group? Do they show signs of modification? If so, are any of the modifications done in a style that can be attributed to a specific local gunsmith? Two hits

Intelligence+Small Unit Tactics on the guards. Are they covering the room efficiently and alertly? Are they observing proper fire discipline? Do they, in short, seem to have their dreck together? No hits

Wolf listened in as the second ork spoke, seeming to be in his element, and bringing up more than one issue key issue with the Johnson's mission. Wolf's smile disappeared as he thought on this. He had known from talk that Johnsons sometimes crossed their runners... but hadn't caught the discrepancies in what the Johnson had said, as the ork in the jacket had. "Makes me glad he's on the team."
He shifted his perception, allowing his eyes to focus on the astral plane around him. He could only get so much information from smell, and astral sight would allow him to read those around him on a deeper level than the physical. And he had learned the hard way that it paid to watch a person's aura. People could hide their emotions physically, cover up their scents with cologne and perfume, but only a skilled mage could mask his aura.
He slowly turned his head, sweeping all around him with his eyes, studying them.

Perception Test (On Runners) Aura Reading/Astral Sight

Intelligence 3 + Aura Reading 3 = 6 =
one 6 + 5 on the Group

Perception Test (On Samuel and the Guards) Aura Reading/Astral Sight

Intelligence 3 + Aura Reading 3 = 6 = 3 hits

Perception test (On Johnson) Aura Reading/Astral Sight

Intelligence 3 + Aura Reading 3 = 6 = 2 hits

Taur had accepted the guards offer and surrendered his gunblade to the Coat checker, he even decided to be a decent person and give the guard the indignity of wetting his pants. "Monsieur, you may take my weapons. I will play nice, but only for tonight." He could smell the fresh blood from the patrons inside, their bodies intoxicated with dreams of joy of the flesh and soul. "It really is a beautiful night."

His accent seemed to shift from the music of the islands, to a country european from southern france. It was soft, warm, and inviting. He introduced himself to several people as he made his way through the bar, his voice singing to the music as he flowed through the crowd. "Sweet little words made for silence not talk, young heart for love not heartache. Dark hair for catching the wind, not to veil the sight of a cold world." He sang to the crowd, and all the female faces he could see, the threads from his voice entwining through their flesh and into their hearts, changing the feeling, erasing all worries and chaos, making the moment only about those that could here his voice, and the source of the sound.

--
Sirens Song
Willpower TN 5 to resist either being instilled with fear or enchanment, success is a -3 to all tests to the target.
--

The temperature in the room would grow hotter, the music taking a dull background as he continued to sing, seeing eyes catch his as he wondered closer to the crowd, this was his pleasure, his heaven, his eden. Bound to all of them, as all those that could were under his spell were bound to his words of enchantment.

"Kiss while your lips are still red, While he's still silent." The bands music seemed to grow silent to those that were captured by his words, the phantom that promised nights of unending love.

"Rest while bosom is still untouched, unveiled. Hold another hand while the hand's still without a tool." The room began to feel hotter to the spellbound, his offering was becoming an almost unbearable temptation, sweat would pour down them as they sought to find the ghost in the winds that brought the words that belonged to no one but lovers.

"Drown into eyes while they're still blind. Love while the night still hides the withering dawn." Any woman that was caught in his song began to search erratically for the man hidden behind the mask of anonymity, his smile and breath could be felt on their necks, sending shocks down their spines, until his music stopped and everything returned to normal, a few words still ringing like a soft breeze into their ears, "Au revoir mon cheri." He had gotten his fill of blood for the time being, he just wanted to stir some commotion in the club as he out the back door for the meeting "Too easy."

He listened to the johnson's words, he felt no need to distrust the man, if all else fails he would get plenty of meals for the coming weeks. Breaking into the lab would be fun after all, there would surely be guards, workers, business suits. So many people for him to bend to his will. At worst it was a suicide mission, and he would be finally ended of this curse. At best, he would be ended of the curse by some cure. But did he want it to end. The feeling would be a tightening knot in his stomach as he willed it away, he had accepted his fate long ago. Taur enjoyed the shadows, he enjoyed his new powers, and in the last decade or so he begun to enjoy exactly the sort of things he could do.

He let each of the men fight out the terms, to his trained ears, the mission was simple enough, the others were just complicating it. "It's fairly simple boys, we go in, we get the scientist, we get whatever this cure is or isn't, and we get out. I say for now we figure out what and who we have to work with." The loner in the white suit had spoken up, he decided to stick to the back of the crowd to hide himself from the others, no need to make a scene if he didn't have to.

Wolf blinked, letting his eyes return to normal sight. Samuel's smell and lack of aura most likely meant that he was a shaman. The Johnson was all calm, and smelled far too much of easy corp-living, but at least Wolf couldn't find any indication that he might be double-dealing on them.
As he had cast his eyes over the group, the only one to stand out to him was the man in white. Staring into his aura, Wolf had had to suppress a growl. The man's aura was dark, and spoke of a deep lust for blood. It was completely at odds with the cultured voice with which he spoke. Wolf looked him over again now with his normal eyes. The man was ostentatiously dressed, and his pale skin said the he didn't get out in the sun nearly enough. He spoke with what Wolf assumed was a French accent, though he'd never been exposed to the language outside of trid shows.
Wolf looked at the faces around him, waiting.

Mr. Johnson attempts to answer all the questions posed by the runners thus far, "If our contact inside Humana becomes a liability, he will get himself out. You will not have to deal with him further once he has led you to the 'cure.' As for a partial bonus for the research, but not a sample, I'm sorry, but that would be nearly useless. We need a sample of what they have, not what their theories are. Our contact inside has been feeding us that information for quite some time. Doctor Ox, as you are aware, the ramifications of allowing someone to purchase from a company 'at cost' for anything would imply that you have some leverage over us, and would implicate us badly in the corporate court. We unfortunately, will not be able to sell to you as such, since this meeting and your work from it, never happened," he made a point of the last words. "It would seem that Wolf has the correct idea. Your job is to get in, destroy the research and the samples that Humana currently possesses, get a sample if possible, and get out."

The Johnson glances at the faces in the room one last time before standing to leave. "Samuel will be able to handle everything from here on out. If you absolutely must contact me, just ask him." With that, he walks between a few of the boxes and you hear a door open and shut behind him. His guards remain in the room for now.

Samuel then moves to take a seat facing the runners. "Well, he seems to like you well enough. I'm going to assume that you are all still interested since you are still here. Mr. Johnson has provided me with some equipment at a storage warehouse by Puget Sound, and these," he hands a credstick to each of you. "There is a small amount of cred on each of these," he provides a reader from his longcoat's pocket, pushes his hood back off his head and slots one of the sticks in. Under his hood, you notice very pointed features, a thin face and dark red brown hair. A small amount of stubble peppers his cheeks and chin. He smiles as the reader produces a number, 5000 nuyen.

"You may use the cred however you wish, but keep the credsticks even if they're empty, we'll imprint them later with fake IDs if we need them. I'd be happy to answer any of your questions now, if there are none, we will adjourn this meeting and I'll see you again, tomorrow night, nine 'o' clock at this address," he again reaches into his pocket and produces paper slips with an address to the warehouse on them for each of you.

Wolf holds his hands out, eager for the payment. When Samuel hands it to him, his face is split apart by a toothy smile. Had he been a dog, his tongue would be lolling. He wouldn't have to worry about hunting for his food tonight. He stares at it for a moment, his eyes running over the small plastic frame. He then tucks it inside his jacket and turns his attention back to the Johnson's associate.
"You got any solid info you can give us on the place we're going to be raiding, Sammy?"

The Professional takes the credstick from Samuel, spins it aross his fingers in a complicated and speed-blurred moment, and tucks it into an inside pocket of his jacket with an appreciative nod. He gives Wolf a sidelong glance; he may need the money, but slavering over it as obviously as he is is unseemly.

"I'll be there at nine sharp. I've got a few more questions about the job, but they can wait.
Oh, and give my complements to the Johnson- he's handled things better than many I've seen. This business of using you as an intermediary is a little strange, but the more I think about it the better of an idea it seems. Good night, everybody- don't deal with any dragons."

Waving a relaxed goodbye to those present, the big ork begins to leave.

Samuel turned to Wolf, "You will see much more of the building and its assets at the warehouse." Then, seeing The Professional leave, he took it as the end of the meeting. "Remember, nine o clock, at that address," he waved and walked between the boxes in the same direction as the Johnson had left earlier, but this time there is no sound of a door opening and closing, Samuel is simply gone. (OOGM I'd offer to let you search the room for him, but you won't find anything, so I'll skip it)

The night rolls on, cold and wet as it has been for nearly the past week. The drops fall so heavy, you wonder if anything will ever be dry again. As you leave the storage area, you cast a glance back at Dante's, its patrons still shuffling their way into line, waiting to get in, the late hour means nothing to the Seattle Nightlife, and besides, Dante's doesn't close till the sun comes up.

(OOGM If you are looking to buy any gear, this is where you will contact your fixers and get what you can, I'll edit this post if need be to reflect any of that. Keep an eye on OOC chat for what you and the others are buying)

-=The Next Day=-

Nine o clock comes faster than you expected, it's been a while since you've seen cash flow, and your excitement at the prospect of money is hard to contain. The warehouse is a nondescript building set on Seattle's Puget Sound, there are a number of them lining the street, a couple with open bay doors revealing watercraft of varying size and style. Each warehouse has a large number painted above its huge doors. The slip of paper tells you it's warehouse 14.

Approaching 14, you check the smaller office door and find it unlocked. Stepping inside you can hear voices coming from the main hangar area, one of them you recognize as Samuel's. "Don't forget, you're here as backup and support. Let the team work it out, and if they need you, they'll call for the help," Samuel is saying as you step from the office into the main bay.

Inside the hangar bay you see a van with Humana Hospital's Logo stenciled to its side, a heavier armored van which looks like it would be more commonly seen in a police riot squad, a few boxes stack on the floor, and five men besides Samuel, one jacked into the riot vehicle, three talking amongst themselves by the first, and the last is talking with Samuel. You seem to recognize two of them as the guards from the night before. As you enter, Samuel turns to you to welcome you to warehouse 14.

"Glad to see you've made it!" He seems genuinely happy to see you, "Don't mind the guards, these men are here as backup. Mr. Johnson requested that they stay close by. They are all too affiliated with Mr. Johnson's corporate backings, and so will not be going with you. However, they are more than capable, and if the need arises, they can help to bail you out," He leads the runners away from the backup team and towards the smaller utility van with Humana's Logo. "I'm sure you've all been wondering exactly what it is you are up against here. I know the feeling all too well. So, if you'll be so kind as to take a look behind you," he brings a remote from his pocket and presses a button to activate the bay door that overlooks Puget Sound, "You'll see what we are going after."

The doors open to reveal the sound's gray water, reflecting the color of the sky. Across the water you can see Humana Hospital rising from it's surrounding buildings. "That, gentlemen, is your target. She stands thirty stories tall, but that has little to do with your work. I suppose you want the details," he pauses for a moment to retrieve a large rolled paper from the utility van, and spreads it out on the unopened boxes sitting on the floor. It is a blueprint of the Hospital. "Your target is here," he points to the 7th floor, "But you will not be able to just waltz right in. There are quite a number of security countermeasures. That's why you will be going to the 5th floor first. Dr. Nelson, our inside contact, has an office there. You will need to contact him, and he will help you through the security on the 7th floor.

'How you get inside the building itself is up to you," Samuel moves the blueprints back to the utility van and opens the box they were just sitting on. Inside are uniforms, "In these boxes are both security uniforms and maintenance uniforms. You may use either one, and the utility van will work for both. You can decide amongst yourselves which way you'd like to go, or come up with your own methods."

He then glances to the security men in the hangar before speaking in a lower voice, "They are here to watch you as much as they are to protect their assets. I don't trust them any further than I could throw them, and you shouldn't either. Yeah, they'll bail you out if it's in their best interests, but don't expect them to hold your hand on the way."

(OOGM Go ahead and work out amongst yourselves whatever you'd like, plan wise, what to do about the security team and that sort. As always you are welcome to roll perception to find more about just about anything)

Wolf had wondered away as the meeting broke up, his hands stuffed into his jacket pockets, the rain thoroughly soaking him once again. He headed back towards the barrens... but stopped first open restaurant he found. Although the staff looked at him askance, the cred in his pocket was enough to persuade them to give him a table. When the waiter finally came around to him, Wolf smiled widely, saying, "A pitcher of Guinness... and two of the biggest steaks you have. Raw."

Later he climbed up the fire-escape on the side of an old and run-down brick apartment building in the barrens. Once he had reached the roof, he walked over to the old tin chimney flume. Reaching an arm inside, he pulls out a rolled-up blanket, covered in suit and silvery-white hairs. He opens the roll on the ground, and looks lovingly at the rifle doing so revealed. He quickly rolls the blanket back up, and ties the roll together with his belt. Slinging the bundle across his shoulder, he climbs back down the rickety iron fire escape, and makes his way into an oh-so-slightly better part of town.
He finds a coffin-motel, and tips the clerk enough so that man "forgets" to make him sign the guest roster. Once he had reached the tiny space that would keep the rain off him for the night, Wolf unrolls the blanket again, smoothing it out on soft foam floor, and takes off his clothes. He changes and curls up around his rifle, asleep almost immediately.

After getting up and ready, Wolf hoofed it across town as best he could, trying not too seem too conspicuous with is roll by keeping to back-streets and alleyways, generally keeping to those parts of Seattle where it seemed the 'Star didn't like to patrol that often. The stink of the Sound assailed his nostrils as he walked into the warehouse. Looking around, he gives the group of gun-men a once over.

Perception: Visual

Intelligence 4 = 4 = highest roll 5

He walks up to Samuel, trying to get a whiff of everything around him as he did so, aware that he looked like he was about to sneeze, his nose wrinkling so very often.

Perception: Smell

Intelligence 4 = 4 = highest roll 6

Finally, as Samuel gave the team their briefing, Wolf allowed his eyes to relax, gazing into the astral and looking over the men around him.

Perception: Astral and Aura Reading

Intelligence 4 + Aura Reading 3 = 7 = highest roll 5

Blinking and letting his eyes focus on the mundane world again, Wolf is surprised by Samuel's admonition to mind the guards. "Sounds like Sammy-boy's not getting on well with the help. Fine with me. I'd just as soon he have a reason to be watching my back a bit." He grins wolfishly at Samuel, winking at him. Then sits down on his haunches and waits on the team to start with their planning session.

The doc arrived on another bike, this one driven by a different ganger. Hoping off, he makes his way inside the warehouse, noting the somewhat feral looking Wolf slipping inside before him. He follows and listens politely to the details Samuel provides, noding thoughtfully. As their employeer's rep finished, he nudges the box containing uniforms. "Either of those getups include hats?" He gestures upward to the high purple spikes of his mowhawk. "This isn't exactly normal fair inside a hospital, if you take my drift. Leastwise, not on an employee."

"There are hats to both uniforms, yes. The hospital is somewhat lax on their hairstyle dress code, so your's will not be a problem so long as it does remain under the hat while you are 'employed' by them," Samuel couldn't help but smile a bit at the comment.

Taur had left the meeting as he had entered it, with complete silence. The mission was simple, and as he disappeared a cred stick did as well. His only truest mission at the moment would be to find his meal for the coming day, and to get out of the coming sun.

The Brotherhood had provided him with a little hole in the wall that protected him from the outside world, it wasn't large by any means, but it had many comforts that made it seam worthy of being called home. His phone had rang and a female voice had offered to see him again, it must have been one of the girls from the club that had snagged his number, all the more fun to be had. Taur invited the young lady to his apartment for a drink and dinner since for her it was nightime, for him it wasn't even noon yet. She had asked if she would be worthy of such a gentlemenly offer to cook for her, his only responce had been, "Don't worry Mon Cher Ami, I'll serve you."

Years of training in the military had kept his room immaculate so cleaning was not a necessity, he did keep food in the house just in case the superintendent came in and asked. He prepared for her a simple soy-beef stroganoff and a bit of red wine to drink, he enjoyed the flavors that mingled with the blood of those that would become his dinner. The woman was quite lovely, physically attractive with round curves, she wasn't that bad at conversation either, she was even observant enough to ask why he wasn't eating, what a waste...

His voice had lulled her into compliance as she climbed to her feet and came over to him, his eyes glazed over her neck line as his fangs prepared for their first taste in quite awhile. The next few minutes had been quite gruesome, he wasn't gentle with her, his teeth ground deeply into her flesh as her blood filled him, her essence restoring his. She went cold and limp in his arms after he was done, he had not left a drop in her as her spirit floated to the ever-after, "Too bad you won't see me again when I pass, my sins are too great."

+The next evening+

After disposing of the body in a laundry chute that the brotherhood so graciously attached to the incinerator, Taur had cleaned up the mess and went back to bed, the meeting had left him drained, and he needed time to reflect on the mission at hand.

As he awoke with the rising moon, he made his way to the hanger and listened to the explanation and came up with is own plan, "Gentlemen why not use both uniforms some in the security, others in maintenance, we could easily say we are escorting materials to the appropriate floor?"

Wolf looks over at Taur, his hackles rising a bit. The man's dark aura put him ill-at-ease. Still, he had a point. "Sounds about right to me. Go in both ways, and we'll have more options, right? One of us as a janitor, the others as rent-a-cops." He looks at Samuel. "We got any solid info on how the place is laid out? What sort of sec they're runnin' and stuff?"

"Of course, we have the floorplans here in the blueprints. As for security, there is a security rigger on site, he is located here," Samuel pauses for a moment to indicate the second basement of the hospital, "he is heavily guarded, so getting to him would be a considerable challenge, and most likely an unnecessary one. The areas that you are most concerned about are here," pointing to the 7th floor, "they didn't want any chance of deckers getting any information, so there are no cameras monitoring that particular floor. Only guards patrolling."

He glances at Taur, "Yes, that would work well, especially as maintenance is only allowed to the 7th floor with a security escort. If it's settled then, grab a suit, you'll leave tonight. I'm going to contact Dr. Nelson and let him know, in the meantime, hide any weapons too large to carry in the maintenance cart. Now, who wants to be what?" He says the last part with a sly smile.

Ox nods and grabs one of the janitor suits and head over behind of the the vehicles to put it on. "I got janitor. Doubt I could pass as a renta."

Wolf sorted through the bin, looking to see if one of the security uniforms would fit him. The first was cut too long, and the second was a bit too big. Given the choice between the two, Wolf took the second, since the loose uniform was less likely to bind him up if he had to move fast. Besides, Taur would have to use the tall uniform; the lanky elf wouldn't look right walking in with his calves showing.
Wolf shrugged out of his jacket, and removed the concealed holster beneath. He then pulled off his white tank top, revealing a lean, muscled chest, covered in fine silvery hair. As he was undoing his pants he looked up at the others, noting the looks they were giving him. "What, you femmes or something? Shouldn't be nothing you've not seen before." He just didn't get some ideas that people had, modesty and taboos about nudity being one of them.

He continues to change outfits, but speaks up while he does so. "Wish we had a decker of our own on this run. Be nice to have a data trail we could use to cover our tracks. I figure uniforms'll only get us so far... if any of the staff ask us for authorization, how're we supposed to deal with 'em?" He finishes pulling up the security uniform pants, and pulls the shirt on, starting up on the buttons. "For that matter, we might want to do something about the security rigger when we go in anyway. If he's watching, we'll have a hard time moving freely enough to get to the data." He finishes buttoning the shirt and tucks it into his pants, picking up the belt that went with the uniform. He took his holster and started undoing the straps that secured it around his shoulders, then threaded it onto the belt, before buckling the thing around his waist. "Now that I really think about it, we're going to be really vulnerable without some fake IDs. Don't suppose you could help us out there, could you, Sammy?" He sits down and pulls on the boots and socks for the uniform, sliding them on and lacing them up. Finally, he picked up the cap that topped off the outfit and fitted it over his head. It was a bit too snug, but not too bad. If he'd had any hair on his head, it likely would have been so tight that he'd get a head-ache from wearing it.

"I unfortunately do not have the expertise to mock up fake IDs for you myself, however," he waves one of the soldierly looking men over, whispers something into his ear, and the newcomer pauses for a moment to glance at each of the runners in turn before nodding his head to Samuel. "It would seem that our escorts can help with fake credentials as needed, and if you do need it, they can help by setting a bit of a distraction at key points in time to divert the sec-rigger's attention elsewhere."

You dress and load your equipment into the van and onto the maintenance cart as the rain continues pounding on the steel roof of the warehouse. The man that had exchanged information with Samuel before returns with IDs for each of you, each with a picture of your face and the Hospital's logo. Security IDs also carry a hard-chip embedded with security clearance codes to open locked doors explains the man. "They should hold up to any cursory glance, however, if they start digging much more than about five years back, they're gonna notice that you didn't exist before then. Try not to give them reason to check, it'll make all our lives easier," the man chuckles to himself and walks back to his own team, waving over his shoulder as he goes.

"It's time, gentlemen," Samuel gathers you back together. "If everything is in order, head out, I'll be waiting here when you get back. And good luck."