Parliament of Thieves

Getting used to life in The City of Shadows hasn’t been an easy process. As if the interplay of factions in the Shadow community weren’t tricky enough, the addition of four different countries and a bloody great dragon have kept you on the edge of your seat. There’s also that matter of adjusting to the thin air up here. It’s made your unplanned transition a little rocky, but things are starting to settle down.

You’ve secured a place, and you’ve sent out a few feelers concerning your “line of work.” This afternoon, it looks like those feelers have started to pay off. A few minutes ago, you received a call from somebody who’s on the fast track to being your best buddy ever. He called about a job. The meeting is at 4:30 at Denim, a nightclub in the PCC sector. There was an offhand mention that the Johnson was looking for “shiny new faces” who might act as neutral parties.

Hasty was sooooo board. She had nothing to do since she arrived in this most interesting of places Denver. She had heard so much about, and she had asked her Friend whom she affectionately referred to as mister grump. On the account of the troll fixer never smiled, accept when Agatha was around. To get her here. She was like that always looking on the bright side. But when she left the institute her solemn vow was not to be board. To have an exciting life! Not like what was waiting for her in the forest, but in the big city, and or some kind of civilized place. She just wasn't like other pixies. But that was all about to change. Mister grump had called her from what ever non disclosed place, (where did he live she wondered). He said he had a job for her so she was very happy. Said they wanted new faces, and she was as new as they came. She had been pushing ( psionic mind control) people for a while and had some other tricks up her sleeve. That had kept her alive in this cold lonely world. But she was no runner. She did not consider the occasional small time snatch and grab shadowrunning. But grump did not want her hurt and would not let her go on anything dangerous. That too was about to change. she went for Wasp her trusty Bowblade looked in the mirror and decided na. I look especially good tonight no one would hurt poor lil ol me, and then laughed to herself. She sported her form fitting body armor which clung to her every womanly curve truly she was a site to see. But if that was not enough she wore her very sexy very expensive cocktail dress, she called it her edge. She new of the club that was the spot for the meet. So off she flew with her mind her most deadly weapon perfectly armed.

She arrived at the nightclubs roof, and checked the place over. Her suit was on stealth, and her, Concealment up. She felt safe. So she flew right up to the bouncer, and turned her suit off, plus dropped her concealment. Effectively fading into view in his face Smiling. Since she was real eye candy, her make up flawless and her purple hair done to perfection. He decided not to flatten her as he was startled. Then in a sexy tone she said. Here for a party big boy names Agatha....

Blake woke up to the persistent HMMMEEEP of the telecom. Rubbing his eyes, he sat up - only to bang his head on the roof of his coffin. That brought him fully awake and fully conscious of where he was.

The Sioux sector of Denver. A 3m x 1.5m x 1m room in a coffin hotel, rented for a week with 3 days left on the tab. A hastily-packed duffel bag on the floor, with a handful of stuff he couldn't live without. 150 nuyen in his pocket, give or take a sawbuck.

HMMMEEEEP. Blake's hand lashed out to batter the dented Sleep button on the telecom. Silence. Better.

Shaking the cobwebs out of his throbbing head, Blake accessed the message playback feature of the room's telecom. A decker friend of his had linked up the telecom to an anonymous drop box and had told him it was "secure enough." To Blake's security-minded nature, that meant that every decknut in the world could be listening to him. Thinking that everyone in the world's an enemy, or at least a capitalist, had helped Blake avoid many potential scrapes.

Blake had given the drop box info to only one person, an old compatriot he knew he could trust. The message started. Audio only - fine. Terse too. Even better. "Denim, 4:30. No details." Blake frowned. Not a whole lot to go on, but he needed cash to rebuild his world. And certain people always needed security expertise.

The telecom's clock said 8:30 AM local time. Plenty of time to do the research. Blake heated a prepackaged soykaf he'd picked up from a Stuffer Shack at the height of rush hour and started his work. First, the tourist sites. Denim: a club like a thousand others, mediocre food and mediocre atmosphere, picked up at night. Typical. Next, the shadow sites. Low-level meeting place, decent security, runner hangout. Blake frowned again. He disliked physical meets - too much could go wrong, especially in a room full of razorguys. Nothing he could do about it except play it cautious and smart.

Next, Blake pulled up a map of the area. It was a decent part of town, good connections to subway and buslines. There was even a taxistand at the hotel across the street. For the first time that morning, Blake smiled as he rubbed his military-cut black hair. At least one good thing about the place - exits. Blake had three of them picked out, two through the kitchen and one through the front door. Good enough until he could see the place firsthand.

The telecom beeped at 10:30. Time to get moving. Blake looked into the mirror while he was shaving. Average height, average weight negro male. No distinguising features, except for a million-watt smile. While brushing his teeth, he went through the diagnostics of his cyberware - eyes check, ears check, voice check. He put on the one outfit he'd brought along - black slacks, black shoes, and a gray button-down shirt. Cleaned and pressed last night, as he did every night since he arrived in Denver - a man's gotta have standards. A brown slouch hat and jacket completed the look. Completely unremarkable.

Blake picked up his Fichetti Pain Inducer, his Jupiter Taser Club and 2 of his precious flash-paks. All completely legal all over Denver - no need to draw attention with anything bigger. He left the coffin hotel by the service entrance, avoiding all the working cameras subconsciously - part and parcel of his craft. He walked four blocks to the outdoor lot that held his his thoroughly unmemorable but thoroughly reliable tan Honda Spirit, looking for tails, watchers and gangers without even thinking about it. Nothing out of the ordinary. Typical. Good.

Blake arrived in the vicinity of Denim at 12:30, right on time. He drove past the front of the place, risking a video recording in return for a direct visual. At least his license plates wouldn't match any registered cars - the morphing plate on his Spirit showed "ABC1234" until he was safely past. He matched the facade to the online pictures he'd found - nothing obviously different. A troll bouncer out front - vaguely interesting for this early hour.

The Spirit got parked 7 blocks away, in another outdoor lot. Blake walked towards the establishment steadily, showing neither urgency nor loitering. He came to an alley across the street from the rear entrance, and scanned for cameras. None. Perfect. 2:30. Right on time.

Blake slipped into the rear entrance, through a kitchen that reeked of hot grease. A combination of timing and luck made sure the waitstaff didn't pay him any attention. Spotting and avoiding cameras as if born to it, Blake walked up to the bar and asked for a soykaf. The bartender grunted and a 10-nuyen bill changed hands. Beneath his slouch hat, Blake frowned. Tonight had better pay off - at least a little bit.

Denim was a 2-story joint, with upper level seating that provided good cover and a good view of the front door. With only one staircase, though, it could be hard to escape. Blake weighed the options and sat down in a grimy booth on the upper deck, out of the limelight and out of camera sight with a minimal sightline to the front door. The place was nearly deserted, with only a couple of regulars getting an early start to a night of drinking. For practice, Blake tuned his select hearing first to hear their sloppy conversation, then to the bartender's hitting on a waitress, and finally to the crash of pans and a yell of Esperanto in the kitchen. When the waitress finally visited him, he remarked that she could really do better than the big oaf behind the bar; she smiled, pleased, and refilled his cup of 'kaf.

An hour later, Blake saw an extremely feminine elf come bounding in the front door. Blake took a long glance, but only because her outfit was made to show her off - he rated her as a low threat. If she was the Johnson or another runner in this gig... Blake frowned. What a way to start the party.

A few minutes later, Blake's hearing picked up a commotion out front. "No guns allowed," said a voice that sounded like it gargled with ball-bearings. "Who's got guns?" Then a slap of troll fist into non-troll flesh. "Give 'em up or leave the premises." Blake smiled as a human walked in the front door, adjusting his shoulder and long duster in the same motion. "I wonder if that's #3 to the party," Blake mused. He checked his position once again to make sure he was as concealed as possible from sight of the front door, and continued watching. He tuned his hearing to pick up the interactions downstairs.

Hoshi is already awake as the alarm goes off. He reaches over and slaps the snooze. He lays there for a minute before leaning over and crawling out of bed.
He looks around the room. It was the kind of room you didnt want to wake up in. But it was the only room he could afford. Now that he thought about it... he was completly broke.

After taking a swig from a half empty bottle on the floor, he gets up from the bed and walks over to the balcony, grabing a refry out of the ashtray. Producing a lighter from his pocket, he lites the cigarette. He looks down at his obviously fake left arm, and with a click of a button a bullet hopper comes sliding out his forearm, fully loaded. A man like Hoshi is always ready. He payed big bucks back in Neo-Tokyo to have this bad boy installed. This was all before the arrest, and life was much better, but he didnt want to think about his past right now, at this point he now notices the red flashing light on the telcom imbedded into the wall in the room.

Hoshi walks back into the room, making sure to put the cigarette back where it came from. He leans agaisnt the wall near the door, trying to listen for any footsteps.... nothing. He quietly opens the door and looks down the hall..... empty. He sits back down on the bed near the telecom and summons the message. Anonymous?
"4:30. Denim."

He reaches up and scratches his shaved head. He wasnt sure where Denim was, but if this was a job opportunity he wasnt gonna let it go. He had been out of work for too long. He reaches over for the bottle and takes another swig before standing up and checking his gear. He was wearing brown slacks, and black dress shoes. He straps on his armor vest, and pulls over a white t shirt. He reaches over for his brown suit jacket which is resting on the back of the only chair in his room. He puts on his shock gloves, and some extra ammo which he stores in a pocket in his jacket. he slides 3 shurikens into his vest, making sure not to stab himself. Sitting on the table was a map of the area, that highlighted all the hot touristy spots. Denim...Denim.... ah. here it is, he thought. The PCC sector.

Before leaving the room, he opens the fingertip compartment of his cyberhand and pulls out a baggie of powder, he drops a little on the counter before stashing the rest away and making the small little pile vanish up his nose.

He walks outside to where he remembers where he parked. Yup, there it is. A sweet little Suzuki Mirage. Nothing special, but it was all he could afford at the time. It needs a little work, but for the most part it ran ok. After jumping on the bike and a couple of failed attempts later, he finally gets the bike started and takes off towards the nightclub.

Ariving at about 3 he parks his bike just down the street, it wasnt somthing you could rely on in an escape, so he had to think of somthing in case anything went down. There were quite a few people overseas that would love to put a few bullets in him. He thought about it for a moment, he hesitated, before casualy walking up to the bouncer...

((OOC: Denim is located at 10151 W. 26th Ave, in the Edgewater neighborhood of the Pueblo sector. I kinda forgot to mention that in the message from your fixers, but don't worry we'll pretend you all said Edgewater :-P))

The trip into Edgewater was a fairly quiet one. The neighborhood’s mostly residential, so you drive through a few quiet streets, away from the lights and noise of the casino at Lakeside Amusement Park. Coming to West 26th, you spot the neon sign of Denim, and make your way into the parking lot. This early in the day, the parking lot is fairly empty, and the tribal beats that reverberate when you open the door are turned down from eardrum shattering to merely loud. Inside you see a few wageslaves seated around the bar, trying to relax after the day’s grind. The bartender, a tired and worn looking middle aged human man dressed in traditional Hopi garb, gives you a glare as you walk in.

The bar has synthetic dark wood paneling, and the walls are covered in Hopi artwork and memorabilia. A small stage and dance floor are set off to one side of the bar. Several trids are showing a various sportscasts and local news. One of the newscasts is showing live footage from outside a corporate building bearing a large LuCom logo.

As each of you arrive and speak with the bartender, he will slowly but surely fill your drink order and direct you to the back room. The drinks are on the Johnson, but he won't refuse any offered tips.

Upon entering the back room, you see that it is set up like a medicine lodge. There are what appear to be authentic animals skins covering the wooden floor and several cushions surround a fire pit in the center of the room. In the center of the cushions sits a small burning brazier full of hot coals. From the braziers comes a pleasantly warm smoke that smells of real oak ((This smoke adds a -2 modifier to thermographic vision)).

As you enter and take in the sights and smell of this strangely decorated room, you notice a man standing directly across from the door in a grey business suit. Upon his head, he wears a traditional Hopi mask that looks like a Raven's head. He is seated on one of the cushions and once everyone has arrived, he silently motions for you all to take a seat on the remaining cushions.

Without much small talk, Mr. Johnson thanks you all for coming and immediately gets down to business.

(English) "Thank you all for coming. This should hopefully be a very easy job for people of your... skill sets. I have a small package that I need for you to bring to a friend of mine. This package must NOT be tampered with or opened. I must warn you though, I have a good reason to believe that there may be people who would rather this package didn't arrive to my friend."

Mr. Johnson sighs slightly at this though, but continues quickly.

(English)"The only details I can give you without your acceptance of this run is that the package must be delivered to the FRFZ by 7PM this evening. This means that two border crossings will be necessary, which could be an issue for some..."

As his voice trails off, Mr. Johnson's eyes wander to some of the more obvious restricted equipment in the group.

(English) "The job pays 3,000 NuYen each with half now and half on delivery. That is all I can tell you until you have accepted my offer."

Mr. Johnson looks in turn to each of you for your decision.

The room reminded hasty of her days in the Euro forests, with the tribes. Some of the shamans there used masks. If she remembered correctly raven was the trickster. So she figured he was at the very least going to hold Something back. Now since he obviously new his way around a fetish. She decided not to push (use mind control) him. He might push back, and where would that leave them. So she went with her girlish charm and tried to negotiate for more. Throw in another two large for each and I'm in, and are we gonna really have to go from here, a girl needs her armaments you know, Id like to stop off and nab a few things. if at all possible, so what do you say. She said in one big breath. So fast she was not sure if anybody heard her clearly. she looked around at everyone in kind for there approval. Then back to the masked man. Hasty knew the lingo, but she really had no idea how much two large was. She hoped it was enough to get everyone on board. She smiled plus batted her eyes, Her gossamer wings beating the air rapidly as she hovered over the seat she was sitting in. Wading back and forth mostly to the music in the next room.

Trying to negotiate for more money. Negotiation 3, charisma 5, first impressions +2, 10 dice: 3hits (ghost mumbles stupid castle crappy rolling)

Blake slid in at the back of the room, keeping one gloved hand on the door handle and the other wrapped around a flash-pak. The suit in the mask didn't look shamanic (what shaman ever wore a suit?!?), but Blake didn't have the moxie to know for sure. So he did what he always did - kept observant and alert without looking like he was ready to shoot someone's head off at the slightest provocation. And he planned his exit.

The Johnson spun out the run in agonizingly scant detail. Blake glanced at the others in the room - obvious mods, a chica who'd attract most males' attention, a thousand details screaming "THRILL SEEKER!" A run like this made more sense for one guy, alone, with minimal cyber, minimal armament, and no traceable history. In other words, Blake. But the Johnson had seen fit to put together a team for this party, which could mean magical tracery or tight scrapes. And with only 2 hours to get around, there was almost zero time to do homework.

Blake's head told him to walk away. Let these jokers take the package and sink or swim in a blaze of ostentatious glory. But even as he thought it, he knew he'd accept the gig. There were two good reasons to do so. One, he needed the cash - bad. Two, he was starting to see a way these jokers could provide a distraction - probably one big enough to get through at least one of the border crossings undetected.

And then the eye candy opened her mouth. Blake was used to the sex gambit, but this chica was taking it to a whole new level. Blake suppressed a desire to roll his eyes and kept his face unemotional. Let her try to convince the Johnson to give 'em more cash. If she succeeded, great; if not, she'd only make herself look foolish. And given the loose affiliation with the others, Blake could still angle to do the job himself for cheaper and with less risk. He thought all of this in an instant, behind his carefully neutral expression and under his mostly concealing slouch hat.

For his fledgling plan to succeed, Blake needed more info on the package. Would it trip a magician's astral monitoring? The hovering chica might be able to provide an answer there. (Hovering? At a meet? It took a great deal of self-control to not shake his head in disgust.) Would a dog go nuts at first smell? He could figure that out in a few minutes in a quiet room with his olfactory booster, but doubtful in this room that reeked of wood smoke. Chemical sensors? He frowned; he wasn't sure he could get the package to a portable sensor in time. That might be a necessary risk.

Blake also thought about the timing of the run. Rush hour. Could be good or bad, depending on the destination. Easy to ask once the bim wrapped up her ploy; worse thing that could happen would be the Johnson tells him no. 2+ hours across town in rush hour could be dicey, though.

Waiting for the response to the chica's ploy, Blake decided to amp up his personal security a bit. He first worked his olfactory booster, scanning for gunpowder and chemical explosive. Then he tried to detect the fear/anger telltales from the other people the room, focusing first on the suit in the bird mask.

Finally, he reduced the sounds in the room to just loud enough to understand and tuned his select sound filters to noises beyond the door - footsteps, coughs, any indications of people near or coming near the door. Better to be vigilant.

All the while, Blake kept one hand on the door handle and the other loosely wrapped around a flash-pak.

(GM: go ahead and do perception tests for me if applicable. If you want me to do a roll, let me know.)

Taking a seat at the bar Hoshi orders up a drink, he pulls out his last bill and hands it to the bartender.

"Drinks on the house" mumbles the bartender. Hoshi scans around the room. He had this feeling he was being followed. He knocks the glass back and slams it back down on the bar.

"Im meeting someone here" Hoshi tells the bartender, feeling a little better after that last drink. Without saying a word, the bartender directs him to a room in the back.

As he enters the room, he notices what appears to be a bird wearing a suit... He mutters somthing under his breath as he takes a seat next to what appears to be a small human with wings...

(Japanese) "何に自身を手に入れた"

He stays seated quietly, and listens to Mr. J explain whats gonna be going down. A package delivery? He thinks back to working with the yakuza, all that human traffic, drugs, guns. But as soon as the johnson mentions borders, a chill runs up his spin... Things were different in tokyo... when he didnt have a criminal sin... passing a checkpoint might be tough, and he wasnt going back to prison.

Without saying a word, he reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a cigerrett and presses it to his lips, without lighting it he sinks into his chair and starts to think about how hes gonna pass those checkpoints, he didnt have a license for anything he was carrying let alone being a convicted felon.

(OOC: do any of the other runners know japanese? Am I playing alright so far?)

Outside the club, a Mirage pulled up, with an elf riding it. He was dressed in simple clothes, though he had a lined coat on that looked well worn. His long black hair was pulled back behind him. The most notable thing about this elf, though, was the fact that he had enough blades on him to open a sushi shop. No less than three swords were hanging from his belt, and the hilts of two knives were sticking out from behind his head in their scabbards beneath his coat. And that was just the weapons that one could see.

Walking up to the bar, the elf ordered a double of whiskey, straight, on the rocks, and then said, "I'm here for a meet. Name's Iceblade."

After getting directed back to the back, he nods to everyone. "Hope I'm not late."

When Hoshi mutters in Japanese. Hasty (the little elf with wings) zips over to him and hovers before him. Takes a short bow, smiles and says Konichiwa (hello I think only a 2 in Japanese) noticing his discomfort she follows with Daijuka (whats wrong i think) (anybody who knows Japanese i'm sorry about the spelling) and she waits for a response.

(ooc: dude i think you doing fine, and i have the same problem with translators they come out with that weird code)

Sitting there almost in a trance thinking about the past, he opens his eyes only to be completly startled by a little elf with wings, just hovering in his face!
His ciggertte flying out his mouth and landing on the floor.



(Japanese) "Konichiwa" he mutters back to the elf whos grinning madly at him.

He picks his ciggerette up off the floor and in engrish he politly asks the elf if she has a light.

(OOC: thanks man, this is my second run ever. Also thats not weird code, thats japanese font)

Hasty shakes her head no really fast, and then closes her eyes an opens them into the astral. Wanting a magical look at this place. She turns and as she dose she regards each and everyone to see who is awakened and who is not. She also wanted a better look at the room, and the Johnson. Whom she settled her gaze on still waiting she said in a melodic tone, and tapped her foot in the air with her thigh high spike heal boots. Her arms crossed before her.

Blake's irritation grew at the knock at the door. Looking to the Johnson for confirmation and seeing a nod, Blake opened the door to another joker, swaggering in late to the party and packing enough steel to bring the entire Pueblo security force down on him at the first sight. The lack of discipline among these "runners" staggered the secman - where did they find these clowns? And now the chica was flying around, amusing herself and distracting from the business at hand! How amateur! Blake's desire to take the run himself grew - he resisted the temptation by the slimmest of margins, remembering the risks of solitude when the chips fall unexpectedly.

As the pixie surveyed the inhabitants of the room, her glance fell on the unremarkable man near the door. His aura told of the vibrance of health with only small dots of black around his eyes and ears indicating the taint of augmentation. His aura pulsed an angry orange-yellow, though, as he spoke for the first time to his "teammates." (Japanese) "Sit down and behave, Tinkerbell,"Blake rumbled in a deep bass voice.

Not waiting for her reaction, Blake addressed the Johnson. (English) "I apologize for the little one's behavior," he said, simultaneously acknowledging and dismissing the pixie's manners. "Her kind is known for their... impetuousness. If you would be so kind to answer her query, we can expedite these preliminaries and get your package to its destination that much sooner."

Hasty snapped a cold look at her aggressor! She was trying to negotiate for more money, and Dick Tracy outfit here was taking potshots at her. Well that did it. Excuse me have you ever even met one of my kind you should be so lucky. She spoke over him while he addressed the Johnson. Say your sorry and then she had a wonderful idea. She would push him. See if he had the will to back up what he was spewing out. She stared at him hard her pupils begin to open and close as she pushed her will on to his.

control Thoughts Force 3

Magic 5 + Spell casting 4 = 9 dice = 3hits

drain DV: (F/2)+2 (so darn i believe its 3stun if I'm wrong sorry only used her once.)

Resist: Willpower 7 + Intuition 4 = 11 dice = 3hits

you get a will roll to resist i believe Blake + counter spelling if you got it.

If you fail you would here in the back of your mind her voice saying apologize to me, and make it good. And you will feel compelled too.

(Stubbs anything i did wrong please do over for me. I'v not cast a spell in a while for her. As im having modem issues dont know if i can correct it properly. Before this thing gives out)

Resistance hit...

The member 'mcating' has done the following action : Dices roll

'D6' :

I used one Edge on that roll (4 WILL + 1 Edge). The 6 gets rolled again...

The member 'mcating' has done the following action : Dices roll

'D6' :

The Johnson looks to the young pixie, a small smirk forming on his lips. (English) "I can offer only an additional 300 NuYen to each member of the team. If this is acceptable, I trust you all agree to take the job?"

As he looks around the room at your nods of approval, Mr. Johnson continues.

(English) "What I can tell you about the package is that it contains a hard copy letter from the Koshari leadership council. It must be taken to 4923 Billings St. in the Montbello District of the UCAS."

Upon saying this, Mr. Johnson produces a fairly standard letter-sized manilla envelope with the word CONFIDENTIAL stamped across it in large red letters. The envelope is sealed shut with a glob of wax with a large K in the middle. It would be quite obvious to the receiver if the package were to be opened.

(English) "Rush hour will begin soon. The border guards usually try to hurry people across the borders during rush hour due to the increased volume of traffic. If you'd rather not use the borders, I can provide you with the names of two of the best coyotes in the area that can help you cross using... less conventional means."

Mr. Johnson hands the envelope to the pixie as she is the closest member of the team. (English) "Please hurry, if this does not arrive by 7pm, I am afraid it will no longer be valid and many years of work will have gone to waste."

Threshold = 6 - FORCE (3) = 3
Perception skill = 3
Object stands out/Actively looking for it (we're facing off with a guy in a raven mask, for drek's sake!) + 2

5d6.hits(3) → [1,1,5,6,3] = (3)

As Blake engages the Johnson, he feels strangely remorseful towards the pixie. He was kinda rough on her, calling her Tinkerbell and all... He really should apologize...

"Wait! What am I thinking?" Blake almost blurts out loud. His eyes narrow. Magic. It must be. Doubtful from the Johnson, especially since he was looking right at him. The biff, though... She did say "You should apologize" right before he felt remorseful. And pixies are Awakened... Well, he'd keep the knowledge (or at least the suspicion) on ice for a while. Blake lets it go - for the moment.

In the meantime, the Johnson's gotten down to the crux of the matter. A manila folder couriered across town. No biggie, and it fits pretty easily into the plan as well.

(English) "I'm in," Blake says to the Johnson. "Give me the down payment and the address, and it'll get there."

(OOC: Once everyone's signed up and we get out of earshot of the Johnson, consider this posted.)

Blake says, "Give me two minutes to run down what I'm thinking. Then you can poke holes in it. By the way, call me Blake."

"First, let's see what we have. Pixie, can you do magic? Can you run an astral scan of this letter and see if it's magically active? That might change the approaches." Blake also sniffs it for explosives.

"Second, anyone know if there's a store nearby where we can buy similar envelopes? We don't have much time, but it's worth it for the confusion if it's close."

"You guys tend to draw attention; I try not to. That can work for us at the border crossings. We can play it a couple of ways. First possibility is to walk through the border crossing. If I'm behind you guys, I can probably mumble my way through with the letter while you distract him with your mods or your looks. It would probably work fine for both crossings, but I don't want to do the same thing twice - too much risk of a program noticing the same pattern."

"Here's what I suggest. Let's have one of the more modded of us take any weapons that would draw attention and go with a coyote to meet up after the final border crossing. Take an envelope with you. For the rest of us, we'll have 2 groups of 2 and me. We take two separate cabs and either a car or a couple bikes through the first border crossing. Hopefully at least one pair will get through. And I doubt I'll have a problem. We'll meet within walking distance of the second border crossing and converge on the line. If everyone makes it through the first crossing, we'll go first pair then me, with the riders coming through normally. If only one pair makes it through, we'll go first pair, me. And it's obvious if it's just me."

"After I get through, we'll sync up and figure the last leg based on how many get through the hoops."

"One problem we could have is that we might not have room for everyone on the final leg. We can ask for a car from the Johnson or the coyotes, or we can skip the walking part and have me go through in a vehicle. Only trick would be that I'd need a reliable, nondescript car to minimize exposure. Anyone got something I can borrow?"