Echos of the Past

The Sixth Level is one of the new, trendy super-clubs. Its only been around for a month or so and no doubt will be gone in another six as something newer catches the attention of the masses. But for the moment it is THE place to be seen. Located on the edge of Redmond Barrens, in what used to be an abandoned appartment building, it gives the feeling of danger and life on the edge, though the small army of security mechs which guard it and the children of corp-wages slaves who patronize it insure that this truly is more of a feeling then a fact. At the moment blazing lights of every color of the rainbow shine out of the windows of all six floors, reflecting oddly off the fog which has, for the moment at least, replaced Seattle's omni-present rain. The pounding tones of goblin rock can be heard from several blocks away.

The line stretchs halfway around the building, though the orc maning the door waives folks in ahead of the line from time to time. (OOC: characters with a charisma of 5 or higher can skip the line and don't have to pay the cover - good-looking patrons atract more business, after all. Taur, Keiron, that's you guys. Anya, you get in free too, of course. ) For the other mere mortals, its nearly a half-hour wait and a 25 nuyen cover charge just to get in the door. Inside the music is even louder, making it impossible to hear someone yelling in your ear from more then a few inches away and the continually strobing lights are nearly blinding.

Upon making your way to the fifth floor (ooc: feel free to do anything you like on the way), you are confrunted with the traditional velvet rope, blocking off a stairway leading to the sixth floor - the logical vip area here at the Sixth Level. A troll bouncer - dim-looking and muscular even for one of his metatype - guards the rope. (ooc: First challange of the run - there is no group reservation, you aren't on the list, and the troll won't let anyone not on the list by. Give me 3 success on a test to get by him - I'll leave the exact test up to you though. Be creative. Obvious stuff like a negotation or con test to talk your way by or an infiltration test to sneak in are fine, but so is something more exotic like hacking his commlink to have the management call him away or a strength check to represent a challange to armwrestle him for the rights to enter. When dictating the trolls actions, assume he is dumb as a post and stubborn as a mule.)

Once you make it past the troll and up to level six, you spot Dreen-man almost immediately - a ten foot troll stands out even in the packed club crowd. This floor is much like the others except for the south wall, where a series of doors leads to private rooms. Dreen-man is standing by one of them and waving runners over as they arrive. As soon as you step inside, the music volume drops enourmously - the walls must have industrial grade soundproofing. You guess that once the door is closed, the music won't be able to be heard at all. The room itself it tastefully and conservatively funished - a huge contrast with the rest of the club. A low table set with a number of chairs sits in the center, obviously waiting for the runners to assemble.

Jack was nervous. That much could be seen a mile away with a kid's fake binoculars. But he didn't have a choice. He had to pay back this Dreen-man character. So he was waiting in a line with a bunch of people, hand shaking and tracing out the spot he would have his combat knife if he didn't have to leave it behind. The bouncers at the front almost didn't let him in, his face was really scarred and he had a fierce five o'clock shadow. But they did let him though.

Inside was Jack's worse nightmare. A crowd of people all around him. His body just completely locked up. His eyes darted around, looking at faces, trying to find possible hidden weapons. Inside he completely broke down. It was too much. There's too many people, they could be here, they might attack me anyway, I'm too exposed, I'm too visible! Meanwhile his breathing increased and his heart was pumping at 210 and burning like a forge fire.

<Yoooouuuu... are going to blow a valve if you keep panicking like this.> The teasing, sing-song voice seemingly originated above Jack, and based on the lack of recognition, could only be heard by him. Anya's imaged flickered to life before his cybereyes, appearing to absorb some of the flashing lights in order to coalesce into a form of inky blackness, the strobes around her to create a brilliant backlight. Her shining eyes darted quickly about her, narrowing as people bumped into and passed through her incorporeal form, displaying no respect for her unseen personal space. After a second she leapt up, did a flip in the air, and landed on top of Jack's brown hair, shrinking down to a mere foot tall throughout the graceful maneuver. <Look at all these people, they're having fun! Can't you hear the music?> She peered down into his eyes, weightlessly propping herself up by resting her hands on his forehead. In spite of the painfully intrusive music blaring all around, Anya could be heard clearly in Jack's mind, her thoughts rushing into his mind like a soothing warm river. <They get to party, but we have work to do. Do you remember the mission? The objective is to make it to the top floor, no hostilities allowed. Besides, everyone here is real friendly! Maybe you could dance while we're here?>

<Ooh! Ooh!> Anya leaned forward, pointing frantically at a girl whose body glimmered and danced with color, standing out above even the visual assault of the room's light show. <You should go dance with her, she looks friendly and energetic!> The frenzied gesturing overbalanced her miniature form, and she toppled off his head, free falling before just barely managing to snag the hem of his jacket. With a quick hoist, Anya lifted herself up into his pocket, eagerly looking out to see how Jack handles himself.

<Ah... n-no, that's... No, I think we should just get to the meeting.> Though Anya was being playful and teasing him, it had a soothing effect on his nerves. He felt himself calm down, and his hand wasn't so shaky anymore. He passed the people in the crowd, relatively unnoticed and unobserved. <Maybe... I should get a drink though... so I don't look too out of place.> He walked up to the bar and signaled for the bartender. "Something that doesn't contain alcohol please." The bartender eyed him suspiciously but handed him a soda. Taking a drink and firmly agreeing that this soda tastes good, he made his way to the stairs.

Finally reaching the fifth story, he saw the troll at the door he was supposed to get in. As soon as he saw him, Jack seemed to suppress most of his emotions. <Anya, we have a troll, about ten foot, most likely armed, and certainly dangerous. Mission parameters dictate that we cannot cause any problems. See what you can do to get us by.> The usual nervous and jittery Jack was gone, replaced by Darkwolf, the no nonsense commando.

<Bah, no fun...> Although she sounded disappointed, she smiled invisibly, and let out an unnoticed sigh of relief. Then the blackness of her body dissipated from his jacket pocket, and she fell silent once more, not wanting to distract him as he faced his fears. Instead, she returned to floating several feet above his head, suspended in air as though resting in a bowl or hammock. It was her way of letting him know that she was there if he needed her, but not appearing to be directly watching and intrusively monitoring his life and actions.

The feigned disinterest and relaxed lounging were, of course, purely illusionary. Anya was always watching through Jack's cybereyes, monitoring his health and mental status, examining the airwaves around him for potential threats and secrets, keeping tabs on dozens of feeds and channels, and more. Not to mention being on hand in case he needed a little encouragement. And yet, when he made it to the stairway leading up to their target floor, she acted surprised when he switched to statrep mode and pointed out the troll to her. <Hm?> She leaned out of her unseen hammock, squinting at the large bouncer as though noticing him for the first time. <Understood, Darkwolf. Stand by for instruction. Refrain from attracting suspicion or initiating contact until then.>

The air shining around her ebony body turned to a faint white, and the aura extended further into the room as she focused her attention on the guard. She scanned him for any nodes he may wish to hide from view, determined to read his Matrix footprint like a hunter tracking his prey.

Checking for any hidden nodes on the troll bouncer. (12d6.hits(5)=4 hits)

OOC: He has a fairly standard commlink and there is a faint background mutter of traffic indicating he has other cyberware tucked away somewhere which communicates with it, but nothing that looks threatening or dangerous. You don't need to roll anything else for this encounter (though you certainly can) - assume you (ie Anya/Darkwolf - everyone else still needs to roll) succed at whatever you try. This isn't intended as a serious problem, just a little fun chance for folks to see your runner's style and have some fun picking on the troll.

<Roger that. Maintaining Distance.> He remained far away from the troll, but close enough to see him. He sat down in a chair not exactly facing the troll, but close enough to see him. While trying to act casual, he looked stiff and unmoving, as if he was a statue and not a man. He did take a few sips of his drink, but that was the only movement he took. He did not look directly at the troll either, but rather at the wall next to him. For all anyone knew, he was surfing the matrix while enjoying the party, even if he was a bit stiff.

Trevor was a somewhat cocky, though none the less somewhat distanced individual. He always had more trouble connecting to people than machines. Machines he understood. They were wires, circuits programming and beings of logic (Generally speaking at least). People were... different. He'd honestly never known true hardship beyond the passing of his mother, and as an only child he had dealt with the grief of his mother's death by simply diving even more into the world of machines. True he'd gotten into bike racing, but that honestly had a whole hell of a lot more to do with his love of sleek motorcycles, souped up engines and tweaking this and that and the adrenaline rush rather than giving a damn about the people he raced with or against. Of course that's probably why as of late he'd found himself on some one's bad side, which had lead him to picking up a few guns for self defense, but.. well he still worried more about his latest project than people.

None the less he also loved just having a good time, letting himself cut loose at the latest and greatest clubs, and so it was hardly any surprise he found himself in the lineup. The cover fee to some one like him wasn't even a thought, his trust fund easily covered all his needs and wants by and large, including hitting up clubs such as this one. The wait he simply spent absorbed in his own little AR enhanced world pouring over some of the latest specs on the GM VX-486 motorcycle engine. He'd heard good things about it and had dug up what ever was publicly available about the specs on the recently released engine, already mentally looking for spots where he might be able to tweak it for just that tiny extra bit of output.

Today he wore one of his light armored clothing suits over his formfitting body armour, the hood and gloves for which were presently tucked into his pocket. It wasn't paranoia when they really were after you, and he'd quickly learned that he needed some sort of protection, though he still couldn't understand why some one had it out for him. He had heard rumors of the figures involved and it had given him some reason for concern at the very least. He'd left his motorcycle parked, though as usual he had not quite entirely shut it off, leaving it's drone brain active and in communication with his comlink. That was, as far as he was concerned, a far better ant-theft system than anything you could build into a machine. It wasn't fool proof, but if some one was going to go so far as to hack it as well as hotwire it, well.. they probably wanted your vehicle really, really bad. He'd hate to loose it but it wasn't like he couldn't save up and replace it eventually.

Finally he was allowed into the club and wandered about for some time, readily drinking though still pacing himself so he didn't get totally smashed, though he did make sure to maintain just a bit of a buzz. Of course it was mostly because he'd not found a way past the Troll so far. He wasn't a hacker, he didn't know the first thing about sneaking past people, and he hardly believed he'd be quick enough to slip past unnoticed, nor could he pull off some sort of movie stunt by jumping ninja style past the guy or something, and he couldn't really bargain worth a damn.

Finally as a measure of simple desperation he'd sent one of his micro fly drones out to start nosing around for him while he monitored it through the AR interface, ordering it to keep an eye on the Troll, and maybe see if there was some way to pick up some key phrase or.. something to let him slip on by. Sigh, he was a mechanic and a rigger dammit, not some sort of well.. like.. James Bond spy or some drek like that.

Maybe he should just admit to himself that he'd be better off checking and seeing of Draco needed a mechanic after all..

But then, where would the fun be in that?

The white lines radiating from Anya focused on the troll like a spotlight designed to zero in on its target. Interestingly enough, the guard's commlink wasn't the only light that twinkled in the dark. Tabling the other item of interest for now, Anya broke through the bouncer's firewall with ease, gaining access to all his files. First to skim were the messages, then the conveniently labeled files that pertained to her mission here: determining reservation status. This meeting was supposed to be secure, and arranged ahead of time, so there was really no excuse for what Anya found. The entry for Darkwolf appeared to be missing, even though it was obvious entry required a reservation.

A quick double check of the message sent to Jack about the job confirmed there was no mistake concerning the location or time, so with a mental shrug, Anya got to work. It was a trivial matter to copy the format of another reservation to fit Jack in, an autonomous agent program with a fraction of her smarts and none of her good looks could handle that! The real trick laid in setting it up so that the picture provided to aid the dimwitted bouncer identify authorized guests would switch itself out after a set amount of time, and then delete the traces of ever having been anything else. Anya pondered what picture to substitute for Jack's, reviewing the footage of the people in the club from the cybereyes' recording unit until she just decided to choose a face at random. Then she backed out, saving the file and admiring her work. Pretty convincing.

<Alright, Darkwolf. You're clear to enter. Window of opportunity is five minutes, so make it quick.> And with that done it was back to lounging. Only now, Anya had a new toy to examine with some of her spare cycles.

Taur stood across the street in an empty alley way as he watched the masses flock to the Sixth Level, "She had always wanted to come to a place like this and dance the night away." He held the locket open in his hand, his eyes tracing the outline of the picture of Aleanah as he crossed the empty street, people having stopped driving through here with the omnipresent fog and gathering plague of society, worried over some petty rule that if someone didn't pay attention you would be held responsible for their deaths. "Soon, my beloved, very soon."

I don't want to sleep, I don't want to dream

He closed the the locket and felt the flow of power in it as he placed it underneath the shirt of his tailored suit and the hidden armor beneath it. He made brief eye contact with the first bouncer, a nod and a brief smile allowed him entrance as he moved through the open door and into the ever present pounding of an overly high bass, and the writhing seething mass of people that had congregated here, it was a nearly stomach churning sight of debauchery, the images that played through his mind played from the reason for him joining the shadows so long ago, and yet here he was ready to go on a new mission, when a playful challenge was in front of him, blocking his path.

My demons lay in waiting, tempting me away

--
Spellcasting
force 5 Alter Temperature; of the bouncer and the immediate area around him
Spellcasting 5 + magic 5 = 10 = 5 hits

Drain
(f/2;rounded down) + 1 = (5/2) + 1 = 3
Willpower 5 + charisma 5 = 3 hits

effect: the ambient temperature of the affected areas has dropped by 25 degrees Celsius/centigrade -> 77 degrees F; sustained until Taur reaches the meeting room
--

Taur kept a sadistic laugh from escaping as he witnessed the bouncer and many others flee the sudden drop in temperature, where as the bodies had made the area a natural source of heat, it had now become utterly arctic as the fog turned into frost on the floor, leaving a few running, scared patrons sprawled across the empty area where Taur now calmly walked through the empty area, nodding to Dreen-man as he took his seat, waiting for the meeting to begin, his eyes closed as he seemed lost in reverance, ignoring all others.

Trevor notices that while their might be a copy of the list on the troll's comm, he also has an old-fashion but traditional printout attatched to a clip-board. Perhapes he could get one of the drones into position to read the list and then simply claim to be someone who was actually on it...

Aimond's mind was a buzz with mixed emotions. He needed this job to show Aurora his support for the cause. However, the setting of the meet represented everything he hated about the city. The crowds of sheep, flocking about, scrambling for anything to take their minds of the course set for them by their corporate overlords. He sneered at the atrocious lights, polluting the air and driving the stars themselves into hiding. Though, the most egregious offender was the music. The horrid beats and tones vibrated mother earth herself for blocks around. If he could have his way, he would tear the building asunder delegating it to violent grave it deserved. Unfortunately he had learned, quite quickly after reaching Seattle, that having things his way was not going to happen.

He welcomed the feel of the mist rolling over his skin as he waited in the crowd. It took his mind off the monkey suit that Aurora insisted he wear when "running the shadows", what ever that meant. She herself preferred such attire, expensive jewelry and tight black dresses. He felt she was a bit too adjusted to the glamors of city life, but she had proved, time and time again, that she was willing to put her high maintenance life on the line for the cause. So he stood and suffered. Well not as much stood as floated, but the suffering was no less.

His eyes continually darted towards the skies, at the invisible astral being watching over him. As always, he had conferred with the spirits before leaving his small rural home. A guardian of the air accompanied him this journey, guiding and protecting him from any threats he might miss. He paid the fee to enter, gaining intrigued looks from the guardians of the doorway. He knew pixies were a rare sight, and was sure the patrons of this hell-hole believed his presence to be a testament to the greatness of their establishment. He could hear them congratulating each other over a glass filled with the blood of children. "No one can resist our lavish money pit" His mind snapped back to reality, as he felt the chill of an astral form passing through his small body. The feeling was one of familiarity and not dread, informing him that it was indeed his spirit.

When he came across the troll, he was at a bit of an impasse. He was not one for interfering with innocents. Their only true crime was their ignorance, and that could be fixed with proper teaching. However he could not just turn around and leave. He had a job to do and that troll was in the way of it. He floated to a dark corner of the ceiling and called to the air spirit. The air warped around him, almost into a small tornado, as a hummingbird appeared beside him. It's plumage was a deep red and purple, and it's tail feathers were capped with two long flowing feathers reminiscent of the now extinct birds of paradise.

Aimond spoke to the creature with reverence, despite the fact that it owed him service and could not deny him. The spirits were nature incarnate, and deserved respect in Aimond's eyes. He began with his usual mantra. "Great spirit of the air, guide me. I must get past that troll to the area behind him, but can not cause any harm to him or any of the individuals in this building. If it be Gaia's will, see me safely through, unseen and unharmed." The brilliant plume of the spirit shimmered and then faded as a shroud of concealment fell on him and Aimond. Aimond's frail hand stroked the birds head. "Thank you mighty spirit." He then activated his own innate abilities, layering it upon the spirits. Keeping near the ceiling, he floated towards the troll, trusting that the spirit would see him through. He reached the blockade as the troll was allowing another patron through. As the troll turned to the next person waiting to get in, he stumbled, his feet suddenly caught on each other. He fell hard into a group of young women waiting to get into the VIP area. As he bumbled about trying to right himself and apologize, Aimond slipped past. Releasing his shroud of concealment, he floated past Dreen-man and found a seat in the corner. His nervousness soon faded as he once again felt the calming presence of his astral guardian near him.

OOC:
Summoning force 5 Air Spirit (16d6.hits(5)=5)
Force 5 Air Spirit resisting summon (5d6.hits(5)=1)
Resisting Drain (15d6.hits(5)=6)
Accident Power (10d6.hits(5)=3)
Services Spent: 2 (1. defend me from threat 2. safely get me into stairway unseen)
Services Left: 2

Darkwolf walked up to the troll. "Let me pass." The troll grumbled a bit and checked both lists. "You're not on the list. But you're on the list. Uhh..." He thought about it for a moment. While he was distracted, Darkwolf just slipped past him into the stairwell. "Uhh... You can't go- Huh? Where'd he go? Hmm, oh well." And the troll resumed keeping an ever vigilant watch. Darkwolf meanwhile proceeded up the stairs. <Anya I'm in. I'm-> Suddenly Jack came back. <I'm glad that troll has less brain cells than a revolver has bullets. Heh.> It was the first joke he's ever made.

Soon enough he was at the sixth floor. Seeing Dreen-man, he suddenly became a bit nervous again. "Uh, h-hey Dreen-man. I-I'm here like you a-asked me to." He just stood there, not knowing what he should do.

Dreen-man just grunts at Darkwolf and jerks a finger over his shoulder. "Good. Pull up a seat, we'll get started as soon as everyone is here.

"R-right, of course." He quickly takes a seat, stumbling a bit in the process. <I hope I don't screw this up. Dreen-man looks like he's ready to tear me limb from limb...> He starts to twiddle his thumbs, shaking nervously as he waited.

Another graceful leap and Anya was doing twists and flips, shrinking as she fell toward the short table. She stuck her landing, hands raised to add a flourish to the maneuver. Then she took a bow in Jack's direction, noting the return to his normal skittish with a friendly smile. Pre-briefing jitters were perfectly acceptable, she determined, even though he hadn't felt this way in any of the countless mission briefings they'd been through before. His sudden mental break meant they, or rather Jack specifically, would have to find new ways to react to situations, and being nervous wasn't necessarily a bad thing. Just so long as he wasn't panicking anymore.

<I think he looked like he's ready to serve you some tea. I mean what else could this silly table be for?> She swept her hands to encompass the whole piece of furniture. <Before you know it you'll be sipping some fancy herbal teas and munching on scones! Although I'm not sure that's quite the appropriate attire for such a formal occasion, do you?> She looked at him with a doubtful look, her raised eyebrows increasing the light shining from her eyes.

Taur had noticed the newcomers, one looking as if he was going to pass out, the other looking as if he were going to tear down the entire structure of the building, an interesting lot that Dreen had brought together this time around. "Dreen, if you are going to get this meeting going I would suggest... What the hell are you?" Starring down at the little... thing dancing on the table, Taur would blink a few times and tilt his head, quickly eying the picture of ice water set out for them.

--
Spellcast
force 2 shape [ice]
magic 5 + spellcasting 5 = 10 = 1 hit

DV (f/2:rounded down) + 3 = 3
Charisma 5 + Willpower 5 = 5 hits

Effect: rp'd
--

He watched most of the ice cubes slowly turn and freeze into three small crystal clear spheres that began to rotate in mid air and float gently the barest of millimeters above his hand, the interesting sight might dazzle some, but for him, it was a stress relaxer to allow his mind to multitask, which for him was better than letting his... tendencies wander.

Trevor noted all the distractions going about the bouncer, along with the list, and used those to his advantage. He may not be super sneaky in the flesh, but his little pet drones could damn well get anywhere. He tapped out a few more AR commands and managed to keep the instructions simple enough for the fly sized drone to do a brief buzz about the hard copy access list before ordering it to return. Now armed with what he needed to slip in he casually made his way over to the bouncer, who likely had more important things on his mind with the recent magical disturbances and people otherwise messing with him. "Vanders, you'll see me right on that there list of yours." he mentions, pointing to the list in question and moving on the moment the Troll had a chance to at least glance that way. Normally he'd probably not stand a chance at bluffing his way past that easily but again, other parties seem to have added sufficient other distractions for the poor bouncer to make it a bit of a cakewalk.

He tried to put on a brave front as he entered the meeting room, but he always felt a little awkward dealing with others at the best of times, now being in the room with what was supposed to be 'actual' runners gave him a bit of a dose of reality that the trids just never gave you, and honestly his only real exposure to the shadows had been the slightly shady deals and illegal bike races. He'd to date never broken any laws beyond a number of traffic related ones, and maybe some under the table mechanical work.

This was a whole different bag of worms than what he was used to. But he was smart, and knew it. "Uhh.. hi." he offers up to the others before flashing a friendly grin to Dreen-Man "Dreen, good to see you again omae." at least here was some one he was familiar with on a somewhat regular basis....

Kieron walked towards the entrance skirting the outside of the line. Irritated at the wait he was expecting, He approached the front looking for a way to cut ahead. As he got closer one of the bouncer catches his eye, with a nod and a wave he pulls Kieron over. Holding back the line, the bouncer gives him a little push towards the entrance. As he enters he hears the complaints of those in line, which were quickly silenced by the bouncer calling him a special customer.

As he entered Kieron was met with the thumping of speakers. Rushing through the crowds and up the stairs in an attempt to get away from the noise and find the vip area. He received a number of odd looks weaving through the clumps of people, no doubt due to his appearance which came off as a bit young for this kind of place. As he neared the sixth floor he saw the second bouncer. Slowing his gait, Kieron approached the wall to overlook the bouncer at work. Seeing him look through his list he realized he couldn't bluff through this or hope for luck. Chuckling a bit at the thought of trying to wrestle past this gargantuan, he decided to try and buy himself enough time to sneak through.


-------------
Force 5 Influence on bouncer.
Spellcasting 5(+2 spec)+ 5 magic =12 dice= 4 hits

Drain f5/2=2+1= 3

Will 5 +Charisma 6=11= 6 hits

Filling his mind with the thoughts of how stifling the hot air is and how crowded and uncomfortable it is in here, He sent a strong need to go outside and get some fresh air.
-------

As the bouncers breathing became heavier and his eyes agitated you could tell he was struggling to resist breaking orders. Glancing around and seeing the lack of any apparent people he quickly rushes off. Once he is out of sight, Kieron rushes up the stairs. He comes across Dreen-man and a number of others sitting around a table. With a nod to Dreen-man he takes a seat and waits for the meeting to start. On a last second whim he cancels the influence command in the hopes of avoiding causing the troll any trouble from running off.

The good thing about old buildings, Pick muses as he walks up to the unguarded back door of the Sixth Level, is old locks. After a few seconds with his lockpick set on the antiquated lock, the door opens into the hotel's maintenance area. Cleaning supplies and kegs of synthahol adorn the narrow corridor, but there's nothing worth wasting time stealing.

Pick steps inside and softly closes the door behind him. Seeing and hearing no one nearby, he shuts the lights of the corridor off and turns on his lowlight vision. He also tunes out the thrumming basslines of the dance floors, thanks to the select sound filter in his cyber ears. Finally, he activates his commlink for just an instant on Hidden mode to see if there's anything of interesting. As with the supplies, nothing worth wasting time over.

Pick is dressed in dirty gray-black plants, a black shirt and black sneakers. He wears an ancient dark brown lined coat. The matte-black butt of his Ceska Scorpion machine pistol rests in its dockers clutch under his left shoulder, all but invisible between its concealable holster and the coat. At 5'6" and 120 lbs., Pick's diminuitive frame easily glides along the corridor without disturbing its haphazardly stacked contents.

Pick did his homework before this meet. He has copies of the work schedule, floor diagrams and blueprints of the building. The path he's chosen to arrive at the meet glows dimly across his vision. Pick walks quietly and quickly to the second door on the left, opening it and entering the rear stairwell. He proceeds to the sixth floor, taking the crumbling steps two at a time.

As he arrives at the fire door, Pick cranks up the audio pickups on his natural-looking cyberears. Hearing nothing close, he risks a quick glance through the smoky window built into the door. Pick catches sight of Tiny, one of the Sixth Level's bouncers. According to Pick's information, Tiny is the biggest and meanest, but certainly not the smartest. Pick has no desire to fight this clown, and so chooses a subtler approach. He works the bolt of his machine pistol twice, ejecting two cartridges. He amps up his Wired Reflexes and reaction enhancers, waiting for his chance.

While Tiny is looking the other way, Pick sprints across the hallway into a door frame that hides him from Tiny's view, about 20 feet away from the big, ugly troll. Poking his head out the slightest bit, Pick sees the troll again looking the other way. Pick winds up and throws the two cartridges towards the other end of the hallway. He hopes the troll will hear and investigate, leaving the door to the meet wide open.

Infiltration Test:
Infiltration 5 + Agility 4 = 9 dice

9d6.hits(5) → [5,6,5,2,4,1,3,1,2] = (3)

"Hey, who's there?" Tiny rumbles as the two cartridges skitter past him and clatter down the stairwell. Pick is already moving as the troll lumbers towards the noise. The troll moves only about 5 feet from the door he's protecting, but that's more than enough room for Pick to sneak behind him. By the time the troll shrugs and returns to his place, the door is closed without a whisper of sound.

As Pick finishes carefully closing the door, he takes in the meeting room and its occupants. His hearing's still amped up, picking out the sudden intake of breath from the nervous-looking guy already seated. As those already in attendance turn, Pick looks at each in turn and takes a picture with his cybereye. Behind the featureless chrome of his cybereyes, none will know. And one never knows when a recent picture will come in handy.

Finishing with Dreen, Pick pulls up a seat in the back of the room and lights a nicostick. "Don't let me interrupt if you've already started..."

---------
Paradox

The gathering crowd provided enough to focus on for Jack, Anya decided, to have her walking around the room on top of it all. And so she headed back to Jack's side, leaping up over his head to resume her position in the invisible hammock. Only Jack could see her, and even then only out of the corner of his eye when he looked up, so she didn't worry too much about what her body did in Jack's eyes. All that mattered was he knew she was there for him if he needed her.

But until that time came, she was free to do whatever she wanted. And what she wanted most was to delve into all the enticing PANs floating around the room. Her perpetually running scan program was already beginning to highlight them for her, auras she overlaid on top of the map of the room created from the data provided by Jack's eyes. The question was, who to start with first? The obvious answer would be the client, as he would be the one most likely to possess important information on him. Instead, she turned her attention to the node she had picked up earlier, outside with the troll bouncer. It was in the room with them, and Anya felt compelled to find out why.

While the 'runners in meatspace filed into the room and took their seats, Anya began the process of forcing her way through the node's firewall, making sure to stay hidden and out of sight in the process. As soon as she got through it would be quite the easy task to track the icon back to its originating node, at which point the real fun would begin.

Dreen-man glances around the room, then nods before sticking his head out the door. Over the music, you can faintly hear "That's everyone," before he turns and pulls up a chair of his own. A few seconds later, the final member of the meet steps through the door. His appearance comes as a bit of a suprise to the experienced runners though, as even Dreen-man, with his poorly fitted suit and gang nano-tats, looks more corporate. The newcomer is human and barely looks old enough to shave. He's dressed in the recent glitter-goth trend, all black, puffy, sparkly clothes and silver jewelry, which his hair is done up in a series of acid green spikes. Reaching behind him, he pulls the door firmly closed. As it clicks shut, the external noise fades entirely and AR displays and external feeds are cut off with an abrupt jerk as a bandsaw blast of powerful jamming blankets the room. (Anya, you barely manage to pull out of the spy-fly in time, but make it back to the safety of your home node before the jammer cuts you off. Rating 10 jammer if anyone wants to try and punch through it for anything.)

The newcomer pulls up the final chair at the table and perches on it, sitting on the chair back with his feet on the seat. He looks around the assembled group and nods faintly to himself. "Dreen's recommend you lot, and he's done right for me in the past, so you chummers are it. Here's the deal. Call me Johnson, of course. I work for NeoNET, managing our denighable assets in the Americas. That's you lot. I've been in the shadows longer then most of you have been alive, appearances aside. That's all you need to know about me. Feel free to try and find out more - if you manage, let Dreen know. I pay folks who find holes in my defenses and let me know about it, so I can plug the gaps. But wait until after the run. You won't find anything anyways and if you fry yourself on the black IC, I'm out a runner. I own this club - through cutouts of course - and this room is as secure as anywhere you are likely to find, so speak freely. I'll run through the basics of the job, you ask questions, I'll answer what I can, you'll have the rest of the night to get your drek together, then you'll fly out at 6 am tomorrw. Clear?"

Not waiting for an answer, the jonhson continues the brief, leaning forward and taping the table. A hidden panel slides open, revealing a simple touch pad. He hits one of the buttons and a glowing holo-image appears in the center of the table. It shows a typical corp type, human, 40ish, dark hair, slightly balding. "Richard Marx. Offically, Assistent VP of Procurment at NeoNET. Unoffically, head of the Black Projects research division." Another tap on the control panel and the image is replaced by a feed from a tri-D news program. The date stamp show it to be from four days ago. A bubble-headed blond reporter is babbling about a gas leak in a residental neighborhood which turned tragic against the backdrop of a flaming home. "Wife and two kids as well. None of the four survived." Another tap, and the news report is replaced by two new faces, a dark haired orc, unusually good looking for his meta-type, and a 30ish red-headed woman in old-fashion glasses. "Doctors Edwards and James, Mr. Marx's chief assistants." Another tap. Feeds from a pair of Lone-star patrol cams. One shows a crumpled body lying on the pavement, the other a twisted and managled auto wreck. The time stamps on the two feeds are almost idential and within an hour of the news report. "Fall from the 20th story, assumed sucide. Fatal single car accident. Someone is clearly targeting the Black Projects."

Johnson leans back and crosses his arms as he carefully scans the runners reactions. "We've contacted all our reseach sites and tighened security of course. For the most part, no issues. For the most part." Another tap, and the image cuts to an aerial view. The sceen shows an ultra-modern, low-lying building set into the side of a low hill. There is a cleared secure zone of 200 meters or so around the building, but beyond that lies untamed jungle, which is clearly already pushing back into the cleared area. No other buildings are in sight, no power lines, and the only road in appears to be a dirt track. "Beta-7. Located 30 miles south of Corolaz in Belize. No one has responded to attempts to contact the site. We sent in a security team two days ago. Contact with the team was lost almost immediately and nothing has been heard from them since. The site in question provides us with our only real lead on who our foes might be - Aztechnology has been pushing in the courts to have the site closed for three years. Our current theory is they decided to give up the legal battle and seize the place directly."

"The Aztecs probably used a runner team of their own. Which means we can't trust anyone local - they could be part of the team that took the place down. So, with one exeption, we are bringing in a team entirely from outside. That's you lot. You'll fly down commerical on Trans-Global. We already have arrangements in place with the airline and with customs both here and in Belize - bring whatever you like, your luggage won't be touched on either end and no one will be checking SINs, passports, or visas. Just make sure your gear will fit in a comercial airline's luggage area. You'll be greeted at the airport by Riker, the one local I'm brining in. Riker's an honest merc - once bought, he stays bought, and I bought him years ago. He'll provide transport for your team and help if you need to aquire anything locally, though don't expect top of the line tech to be avaliable for any price in Belize. He's been instructed to run a line of credit for up to 10,000y to cover gear, with the understanding that it gets paid out of your fee for the run. Anything beyond that comes out of your own pocket. You'll be staying in a private beach ville about halfway between Corozal and the site. You cover is that you're a sales team and won a vacation in one of our internal sales drives. The place has been rented and stocked for a month. The run shouldn't take anywhere near that long, so consider the rest of the time as a bonus private carribean vacation." (ooc: 1 month high life-style for the whole team)

"The main goal is to prevent the research on site from falling into the hands of ANYONE other then NeoNET. If that means destroying it, you have my permission to leave the enitre place one big smoking crater. As long as the research doesn't get out, you'll get paid. Base fee for that is 5,000y each, before deducting anything needed to pay for the gear line. But that's to be considered worst case. Best case, you reclaim the site and its researchers intact and hold the place until we get fresh security down there. I don't expect that to happen. Between the two, any research data you can recover, and of the scientists themselves or our missing secutity team, and any information concerning the inviduals or motives behind the attack would be appreciated. And you would, of course, recieve a bonus, the amount depending on just what and how much you manage to recover. So that's the job. Questions?"

Trevor turns his attention to the J as soon as the briefing begins, he's at least able to focus on facts, data, things he understands. And as soon as the J asks for questions he's already got several at the tip of his tongue, ones he wastes little time in asking. "Well first up, I'm guessing you guys probably use drone security in the area right? It al remote? ANy closed circuit rail drones? If so what types? I mean your bound to have a few sec drones, maybe a few recon drones, but we need to know what may have been subverted by another rigger and could be used against us. ANy specs you can offer up would be handy too, though I understand there are issues with proprietary secrets on everything from their ECCM countermeasures to weapons and any autosofts they may be running. The more info the better though sinc ethen I can build up a profile for everyone and we can start tossing around ideas on how to deal with them." he pauses a moment before adding in "If there are such local assets I can probably help track em down and if we got a hacker on the team it should be pretty easy to work with them and highjack or shut down the drones."

Although the briefing was undoubtedly the most important event in the room, Anya could hardly pay attention to it. The burst of jamming hit her like a car door slamming shut on all her metaphorical digital fingers at once, and it still smarted. Naturally she paid an appropriate amount of attention to what 'Johnson' was saying, but all the while she searched for a way through the oppressive weight on her connection. Having been the subject of various counter espionage and Matrix security tricks, she was more than familiar with the necessity for this sort of brute force handling of stray signals. It never made it easier though, when all of her connections and subscriptions were simultaneously severed, and there was no way she'd just sit back and accept such an arrogant assault on her networking capabilities.

Spending 10 seconds to try to break through jamming. (7d6.hits(5)=4 hits on second 7)

After Trevor spoke up, Anya perked up, leaning forward to look down at Jack. <Ooh, ooh! Tell him you have a cutting edge, top of the line, high quality, fiendishly beautiful, delightfully charming hacking program package. That would be me, of course,> she pointed at herself offhandedly, as though humbly introducing herself, even though none of the group could actually see her.

<A-alright.> He closed his eyes and tried to focus. He wasn't panicking, not really, but he was nervous. His right hand was starting to twitch again under the table. "I... h-have a r-really good hacking a-agent that c-could do that. Sh- Er, it's really good at h-hacking and d-data gathering. I-I-It's helped me out a-a lot the p-past few w-weeks." He closed his eyes again, quietly berating himself for stuttering so much. <Idiot, idiot! Now they're not going to hire me. I wouldn't hire me. Damnit, Dreen is going to have my head.>