Something went wrong.

Looking down on the acidic beast that they'd unleashed by reducing the background count, Mirikon was keenly aware of his very vulnerable position. Not that anyone in less vulnerable positions seemed to be faring any better. His only thought was: "Oh crap, those guys are all gonna die."

Oh FRAK not a toxic spirit!

Simon could do little else but stare at the thing in all it's awfulness as it spewed forth another noxious stream of chemicals, trying to hold off waves of nausea from the sheer foulness of the thing. His adrenaline system had kicked off - and millions of years of instinct warring between fight and flight decided to split the difference as Simon froze in place and prayed the thing wouldn't notice him.

Only the hideous scream of the dissolving girl awakened Simon out of his fear indused paralyisis - and his brain asserted itself, coming to dim awareness after realizing that he could just as easily be next.

"Freyja!" Odin's warcry bellows into the room yet again as the troll changes the spirit, his knife flashing like quicksilver and he slashes again and again at the spirit. Most blows just bounce off, but the last one goes deep and looks like it might have done some damage...

OOC:
Free Action: Adpet Centerting to reduce penalties
Complex action: Attack spirit. Blade 6 + Agility 7 + Specialization 2 + Reach 1 + Personalized Grip 1 - 2 (using astral preception for physical attack) +2 (Adept centering) = 17 = 7 hits
Damage: 8p + nets (potentially enough to break immunity...)

Do you want us rolling defenses as well or do you want to handle that? Also, since most toxic spirits have an energy aura, roll to resist aura damage, figuring half impact for armor. 6 hits

Galvinized by the scream and seeing the monster distracted, Simon remembered what he was - an enforcer of will upon reality. Dismissing the fear as best he could, he summoned up his courage and decided to take a chance on one of the few spells he knew that could make a difference.

He began shouting loudly in latin, unclenching his fist and pushing his hands outwards palm down - hands like a puppeteers.

Enough spirit! YOU ARE MINE!!!!! Spirit, Body and Mind..... you are a thing of energy - without true form, without true will - a thing. Let thy chaotic acidity - thine thoughts, thine power... be bound by my hand... by my power... and above all, by my WILL.

He needed it all - no holding back against this thing, he felt his nervous system light on fire as he channeled far too much raw power from the place - uncluttered by the toxic residue of whatever horrors that had happened here before, his latin shouting becoming more like screaming - but still understandable, he felt his vision flicker as his cybereyes reacted oddly to the energy, flare compensator kickingin - electronics confused by the bizarre magical energy now being channeled through them.

Arise, my spiritual minion!

The tips of his white gloves burnt away, and tendrils of energy danced down from his fingers like a puppeteer's strings to the ground, and a tiny version of the spirit began to rise from the ground, the thing's will pulled from it's astral form, twisted and contrlled by chords of mana from Simon's hands.

Odin throws himself suicidally at the malicious spirit slashing and hacking with a fervor of desperation. His vibro-blade steaming and melting with each stab and strike. The noxious fumes of melting plasteel and fused circuits thicken in the already foul smelling room. Splashing acid and sludge from the creature he hacks with all his will and the spirit recoils ever so slightly.

Simon rushes to his aid shouting like a man possessed. Forcing all his will and energy against the abomination he lets loose a shining spell of control. The magic is tangible in this atmosphere arcing from his hands. The spirits twisted and tortured consciousness flees its shell and appears below the magician…

Something is wrong.

The thing across the room does not stop. Instead it shudders like a trid out of focus. Everyone’s vision begins to blur and tears well up. (cybereyes begin to display an overlay of static). The toxic consciousness Simon has under his control cowers and cringes then in a small insignificant puff disrupts and dissolves.

But the physical manifestation still vibrates intensely. The outer toxic appearance slowly changes and sloughs off the remaining form. A glowing yellow brilliance begins to shine through from inside the creature.

In a loud earsplitting thunderclap the being that was, is no more. In its place is a shimmering female figure as radiant as the sun itself.


“I am the Greater Form Spirit Ferjigorm” everyone hears inside their heads wordlessly “And now that you have freed me I will repay your efforts… with a painless death.” The color of the greater spirit changes from a gentile yellow glow to a furious swirling red and black.


(FLASHBACK SCENE BEGINS NOW)


GM - Nick Scratch

The message on his trix feed was blatant and worrying - he prefered a bit mor of a sublte touch when it came to shadowrunning, not an all bold matrix message on his comm saying "COME TO THE GATES UNDERGROUND" from someone named Anyonymous.

Under normal circumstances, he never would have taken the job. Hell, he'd go out of his way to avoid that and maybe burn his commlink 6 month's ago - but that was before somehow the entire sixth world had decided to frak him and slowly dissapear off the face of the earth or just stop talking to him.

Money was getting tight. He prefered doing off the books magic casting - just a spell here or there for a cheque to cover his bills rather then actual shadowrunning, but his paying work had dissapeared after his contacts had. All his old friends, even casual acquaitnences who were runners with him years ago had dissapeared, been found dead, or were simply not talking to him. Even old friends like Buddy Cole and Terrance, guys who's real names he'd knew, some out of the business for years hadn't gotten away from the purge.

He'd felt increasingly alone over the past few weeks - and bizarre things had always been seemingly just out of reach, watching him. Investigating this sort of thing wasn't his forte - he couldn't think who he could have pissed off that much that they were making his life a living hell.The metaplanes had offered no answers, nor had any of the spirits he'd asked.

The message out of the blue could be a trap or just a job - but even if it was a trap, he had little choice but to meet it and try and deal with it himself - if the voice could find his com anywhere in the city, he could probobly find where he lived without much more efffort on his part.

He did attempt a quick astral scan of the place, but nothing seemed particualrly out of the ordinary. So he put on his black auctioneer armor coat, form fitting body armor and unnessesary small black shades and made his way to the club.

Deep inside the bloodthirsty Disassemblers gang turf lays the Gates Undersound Hotel and Restaurant. Six floors of building beneath ground level, with the bottom one as a mall, the Hotel attracts many marine enthusiasts. The bottom of the sea/sound is plainly visible from the mall and restaurant, and they have regular feedings to encourage sealife to come near the massive windows of the restaurant. The sea floor is enhanced with man-made rocks and coral. There is but two ways into the restaurant, the employee freight elevator which makes no stops save the bottom and ground level, and the patron entrance. In most civilians opinion it’s a tourist trap, in most runners opinion the place is a deathtrap. Throughout the mall are plainly posted NO FIREARMS signs and posters, the mall employs a small contingency of armed and armored security guards. Inside the doors of the restaurant proper there are two rooms. A coat check and another room/safe for weapons and other dangerous items that are found by the large metal detectors at the entrance. There is also a chem-sniffer/bomb-detector after the incident years ago that resulted in the destruction of the large ferro-glass windows. The restaurant IS a 4 star dining experience with real seafood and real steaks. A semi formal dress code is enforced for the dining room. Men must wear collared shirts, dress shoes, and slacks. Females must wear semi formal dresses. The bar which is separate has no dress code.

He had considered blowing off the meet. But when a dragon gives you a time and place to meet someone, you generally listen. Especially when that dragon has such a cute rear when she takes metahuman form. He just wished she had picked a different place for the meet. The middle of ghoul territory in the barrens would almost be an improvement. Almost. At least then he would know the score.

Mirikon Mollen, aka Iceblade, wasn't what he would call overly paranoid. He just had the healthy notion that an armed man was better able to handle situations than an unarmed one, and that the more weapons you had, the more options you had in dealing with situations that came up.

He managed to slip past the guards in the mall, entering the restaurant. At the check stand, he hands over his Fubuki, his two scimitars, and his katana, Frozen Wind. He keeps his coat, though, as he heads over into the bar. While he could probably clean up nice, if he wanted to, Mirikon didn't even own a pair of dress shoes, much less a collared shirt or slacks. The jeans, t-shirt, and long leather lined coat he was wearing was pretty much the most fashionable his wardrobe got.

Behind the Gates Undersound bar proper the enormous ferro-glass frames a unique view of the bottom of the Puget Sound. Some awakened fish floats by projecting an image of a larger fish in front of it perhaps an awakened form of camouflage. The lighting display from behind several of the man made rocks and coral give the bottom a nice greenish glow.

As more runners arrive (in this crowd they stick out) some take seats at the bar and other take seats at booths. There are few patrons at the bar and the ones that were there before the runners showed up quickly find other things to do. The bar area is empty except for the runners assembling. Six show up in total and sit in relative silence sipping on synthahol.

A very nervous looking slim man in a nondescript suit with small round glasses walks in and glances around at each of the runners. He drops his briefcase and holo-documents fall to the floor. He stoops to pick them all up and anyone that is paying attention can tell he is not faking his fear. The man is practically shaking in his shoes.

He gathers up his holo-docs and makes his way behind the bar, slips the bartender a credstick, and the bartender leaves. He motions for all the runners to gather at the bar.

“You…” (his voice cracks like a pre-pubescent teen) “Ahem, you may call me Mr. Johnson. I have contacted you all because my employers wish to possess a certain item, and at this time it is not for sale.” His voice wavers a few times at first but become stronger as he continues. It seems he is reading from a document in his hands.

“There will be people attempting to protect said item. This is where you all come in. My employers want you to obtain this item then deliver it to them safely and expediently.” His seems to gain a bit more composure as he continues.

“I am here to negotiate the precise terms and provide you with details of the item and its last known location, the drop off location, and your payment, of course.” The man sits back and asks those who are not interested to please leave now… everyone looks at one another and stays put.

“As you are all still here I assume that means you’re in. Any dissemination of information from henceforth will be considered a breach of contract and met with disciplinary actions from my employers.” An evil half-smile crosses the little man’s face as he pushes his glasses back up on the bridge of his nose. You don’t like the sound of ‘disciplinary actions’ corp types have a bothersome way of making geeking someone sound like a piece of paperwork.

“The item in question is magical in nature and when it was last seen was contained in an 8inch by 24inch plain black metal box.” He slides a holo-pic of a black metal box onto the bar.

“If the item is no longer inside you may activate this holo-pic.” He places an inactive holo-pic on the bar.

“Do not activate this holo unless the seal on the box has been compromised. The holo-pic has a timer and will fry itself after one hour of being activated. Do not handle the item without proper protection if it is not inside the metal box. You will contact me the moment you have the item in your possession and arrange to meet in exchange for your fee.” He sets down a business card with only a phone number on it.

“This is your absolute last chance to leave if you wish.” He looks around as everyone sits and stares back at him. He withers under the glares of the assembled runners and quickly returns his attention to the data pad he was reading from.

“The object was taken from one of my employers facilities here in Seattle downtown less than 6 hours ago.” He places a datachip on the bar “This is edited (of course) camera footage of the incident, the footage shows the best camera shots of the thieves, but not how they did it, obviously my employer does not want information of the vulnerabilities in their facilities exposed.”

“The compensation for this job upon completion will be 5,000 nuyen apiece, divided into 2,500 in corporate stocks and script, and 2,500 in certified credsticks.” He looks up from his reading. “Does anyone have any questions at this time?”

Simon smiled drolly. "I don't suppose I could check out the scene of the crime astrally?" "No... I don't suppose that's that's not going to happen is it Mr. Johnson?

Hmm.. well, if one of your mages studied the crime scene astrally, I'd like to speak with them about what they saw.

Other then that, my only question would be is there any other leads or information you can give us to start from."

The Johnson looks at his datasheet in confusion at the very first question... "um... I will... contact the astral security that was on site during the intrusion. And uh... ask them your questions and um... when I get answers from them I will send their replies to your decker. As for more leads.... It doesn't say anything else here." his voice wavers and he stammers a bit more now that he is off script.

Mirikon watched the little corporate worm carefully. Could be he really was as pathetic as he looked, on his first job as a Johnson. Or it could be a frackin' good act, designed to put the runners off their guard. Could never tell with corp types, though given the timeline (if you could believe it) they might have had to send out the B team, if their main guy was otherwise occupied.

Or it could be a nasty little game the corp was playing. Can never be too sure with corps. He learned that the hard way, and had the scars (mental and physical) to prove it.

"What constitutes proper protection, should we find this item outside the protective case? Would tossing it in a bag work? Or do we need some serious anti-juju gear? And how much does it weigh, with and without the box?"

"Is there a timeline on getting the package back? If it is going to, say, go boom in a few hours, that will entail increased risk on our part, and necessitate a renegotiation of compensation."

"Also, if we're getting paid partly in corp stocks, we got a right to know what corp we're working for, to determine the value of said stock."

As the mages drone on about their mumbojumbo. Secure just blantly reaches out and picks up the data stick, and with out a word starts reviewing the files and video

The blindfolded troll by the bar leans foward, turning his head towards the Johnson as if he is actually looking at him. "I assume your security swept up after the theft. Did they find anything of the subjects? Hair, blood, spit, torn cloth, anything of that nature? Anything the dropped or left behind? Or failing that, do you have in your possetion anything which was once part of either the case or the object to be retrieved? I have not yet fully masted the ability to see into the beyond, but I might be able to tell something."

The Johnson is visibly sweating as the runners bombard him with questions. His eyes dart across several datapads searching for the answers frantically. “Um… ah… well… the um… time is, no that’s not it.” He mutters and stammers for a few more seconds while he searches and reads. “Ah ha!” he gives a short nod and regains a bit of composure pushing his glasses back up onto his nose again.

“There is the possibility of a 10% bonus for returning the item in the next 6 hours and a possibility of a 5% bonus if it is returned in the next 12.” He looks up for a moment and then returns his focus to the datapad. “As for what constitutes protection all it says is ‘Do not let the item come into contact with exposed flesh.’ Perhaps, tossing it into a bag would be all that is required. From what I am reading I would suggest a rather thick gloves and a thick bag. And it shouldn’t go ‘Boom’ unless you do something very wrong to it. But I’m no mage.” He busily returns to his datapads.

“The corp scripts and stocks will be from 3 random AAA corps and the stocks will be non-voting shares, and the value at the time of the exchange will be as exact to 2,500 nuyen as possible. One of the thieves were wounded and we have…” he searches through his briefcase and produces a small slide of blood “this is the blood, and maybe a bit of tissue, from a bullet wound of one of the thieves. It was a non-critical wound however; so it is unlikely they would be at a medical facility.” He looks up. “Well it seems that you have some work ahead so I will leave you all to your business. Um… good luck.”

He gathers up his datapads and his briefcase and makes a rather hasty exit.

Two of the other runners sitting at the bar begin to whisper to each other, they obviously are familiar with one another.

One is a rather handsome human male of average build and height dressed in a long coat (likely armored) black form fitting clothing underneath and wearing sunglasses
(indoors). He has brownish blackish hair, is clean shaven, and appears to have all his teeth when he grins.

The other runner is a female human, perhaps she was pretty at one point but since then she has been horribly scarred by fire on one side of her head, her hair is burnt away halfway up her head as well. Her arm on that side also appears to be synthetic. You can’t see her leg but if you had to guess it’s probably synthetic too.

(non-obvious cyber if you make enough hits on a perception test I will describe it more)

Her eye on the burned half is solid chrome in color obviously a cyber-eye. She is dressed in what could only be described as homeless good-will clothes.

He speaks up first. “I suppose introductions are in order: this is Heidi but I suppose you should call her Mama,” he grins as she gives him a small elbow to the ribs. “Ok that was a joke, call her Jinx.” She waves a little at the rest of the group.

“I am Hank, but you can call me Shadow.”

"Odin" The troll nods politely and jerks a finger at Iceblade. "Iceblade. We've worked together before, though its been a while. Here, pass me that blood sample. Let me see what I can find. Odin takes the glass slide with the blood sample and holds his hand over it. His body jerks and he gasps as his mind vanishes into the vision.

OOC: 2 Divination attempts using the blood sample as a material link. "Where can this person be found for the rest of the evening?" "Will he remain in the presense of the case?"

Divination test: 2 Logic + 4 Arcane + 2 Specalization + 5 Initation = 11 dice = 5 hits
Divination test 2: 7 hits

Mirikon's eyes follow the Johnson as he leaves, before looking to the others. When Odin introduces him, he nods to the other two. "Nice to meet ya. As he said, I'm Iceblade." Combat mage by trade." He shares his comlink code with the others, so they can open a secure net. He might not be a hacker, but he knows enough to do that.

"So we got six hours to get the full reward. If we're gonna be grabbing this thing from other runners, chances are we'll need to hit them hard, and fast. Might as well get a feel for eachother's skillsets now, right? Save time later when it comes to figuring out how to take 'em. Like the name suggests, I use ice magic and a blade, for the most part."

Hank speaks up first.“Well I am certainly no mage but put a small automatic weapon in my hands and I’m precise as a surgeon. Jinx here is wiz with little gadgets and drones and an even better wheel-woman.”

(Odin receives a vision of an earthy battle, two Viking warriors locked in combat on a wooden pier. Then he receives another vision of an Eagle circling an Einherjar as a Valkyrie collects his soul and heads to the battlegrounds of Ragnarök.)

The datachip that Secure examines with his comlink contains fiercely edited footage of the crew that stole the black box. Three runners are caught on vid and the computer is able to enhance the picture so you have relatively decent faceshots. There is about an 85% chance that if you met these people on the street you would be able to identify them correctly from the vid. Matching the pic with others on the net and police databases will result in a 60% positive identification (if they even have pics on the net or police databases).

As the Johnson departed, Simon shook his head. "Rather mousy fellow. They must be desperate indeed."

Simon's shades, fedora and unusual cut of his heavy clothing mark him out as being odd - as if his incredibly pale white skin didn't do that already. He too wore indoor shades, tiny black ones with transparent frames that barely covered his face. A touch of black hair with pure white roots could be seen espite his hat and very high collar, and he wore white gloves.

He spoke. "I am Hecuvus. Minds, body and spirit are as taffy to my penultimate will. I have some skill in other magics - illusion and healing for instance. One caveat - I will attempt to assist the team anyway I am able - but I do NOT take orders well." He concluded by giving out his comm code.

Simon casually astrally preceived the auras of those around him while masking his own as best as he could.. making his aura appear as that of a mundane. It was usually better perhaps to not be seen until it was too late- there was danger in the unknown, and a wise enemy would strike at the most powerful force he saw - and behind his cold mask, he was terrified his enemy could strike at any time.

How had anyone known to call him? How did he suddenly find himself amoung a bunch of runner's he'd never heard of? What on earth had happened to Buddy and Terrence?

Mirikon grinned. "Glad to hear it. Never hurts to have a kick-trog shooter and a driver who can get you in and out of trouble on your side. And since we have plenty of magic to go along with it, I'd say we're golden." Looking over to Secure, he said, "I'll take a guess and say you're our tech guy, then? If you can find anything on these jokers, it'll help with the legwork."

Mirikon took a breath, and then said, "Now I know some of you aren't big on taking orders, and I'm in no position to give them, so consider this a common sense suggestion. We've all been around the block a couple times, and we're still alive. So that means we've got contacts out there. I say we all go make a call right now, get some info. But we hang out here too much longer, we'll start to draw attention. So lets go to work, and when we get a location, we meet, and plan out how we're going to do this. Agreed?"

Odin shakes his head. "I disagree. We should move to someplace where we'll stand out less, like Dante's, and get in touch with our contacts, but I don't think we should seperate. On a six hour clock, I don't want to risk splitting up and having to take time to reassemble." Odin pauses, rubbing his temples for a moment, then continues. "As for me, I'm a berserk in the old Norse tradition. And, slowly but surely, I am developing my second sight. To that end - I attempted to track the thief through his blood. I saw warriors battle on a dock and I saw a valkyrie bearing up souls of the slain. I believe our thieves are near the water, near the shipping concerns, and it is unlike the wounded thief will survive the night.

After the Johnson leaves the nerdy looking human that snatched up the datachip remains standing at the bar, his cybereyes twitching back and forth, seemingly disconnected from reality, but still aware of the conversation happening near by
After reviewing the available data Secure steps up to the conversation. I go by Secure and Im already working the tech angle to find out who these guys are. he states plainly and with confidence I am a hacker and a descent shot with an Predator.Secure looks to Miri I know a few safe houses in the area we can meet up there I short range burst my comm info and address to a safe house to the group to establish a secure comm

Secure’s comlink beeps quietly after a few minutes and reveals that it found matches to the pic of one runner in a convience store camera roughly 1 hour ago. He bought bandages, soy-food, drinks, and a disposable commlink. The store is located 5 miles away from the Gates Hotel, near the Federated-Boeing airfield and shipyards.