HMHVV Vaccine

Dark clouds pour rain atop the city of Seattle, darkening the skies, and dropping visibility to just a few dozen yards. Its been raining like this for the last week, and the trid casts have no clue when it's supposed to stop. The city lights blur through the hazy darkness, bright advertisements turn into dancing kaleidoscopes of vibrant colors, though what they are selling has become unrecognizable by many. Graffiti stains the walls and bridge pillars, police in armored cars or personal body armor can be seen at each street corner. Men in expensive suits stand in doorways to businesses or clubs, obviously carrying more weaponry than the law should allow. But for the right price, and with the right contacts, anything can be 'forgotten' in this city.

Darkon
Your ville stands a decent height above the roaring streets, but the rain slapping against the window pains drowns out almost all sound. It's early morning, but from the darkness you couldn't tell. Your commlink lights up across the room, and the vibrations of its ring can barely be heard above the downpour. You pad across the room, feet bare against the synth-wood floor. Your commlink buzzes one final time as you reach for it before the animation for a message appears across the screen.

Azrael
The same guy has been eyeing you the whole time you've been in the gym, his tattoos speak of humanis ties and he exudes an attitude of hatred towards almost everyone in the room. But your dark skin and obvious traits have apparently set him even more on edge, but he knows better than to act in the confines of the building -- too much security even in a public place to get away with much. And from the amount you've been pressing (and the considerably lower amount that he has) he seems reluctant to even come near you without some backup. A sharp chirp alerts you to a new message and you finish your set before placing the weights back into their cradles. Your commlink shows a new message, and you quickly key in the passcode to bring it up.

Wreck
Cafe patrons seem to continuously stream in from the street, ordering their triple shot espremachiachaisoy whatever its called to warm up. You pay little attention to them, your mind's eye watching the goings on across the street, making certain no one has spotted your spoof. So far no news has come up about Ryu, however, the one bit of info that you had managed to gather last week has turned into a solid dead end. Looks like it's back to the drawing board again. Just as you are about to dive into another data haven, a light begins flashing on the upper left corner of you GUI: new message arriving. You quickly exit the node, knowing full well the consequences of having anything traceable back to you when hacking. As you log out, a single phrase plays across your vision: Find me, brother.

Maker
To many, the pounding rain is a severe hindrance, but you've been through so much worse, you could care less as the deluge slaps against the windshield of your truck. The only sound louder than the water on the steel roof is the sound of your snoring. During a particularly lurid dream, you are interrupted by a flashing light on your image link. Looks like a new message post. Grudgingly you shake away the remnants of sleep to open the file on your commlink.

Kat
The car has been idling for some time now, as you sit listening to the engine. There is still something wrong, you think to yourself, something just sounds off. Although the computer systems keep saying that the vehicle is still running within acceptable bounds, simply acceptable is not good enough for you. You curse the tools at your disposal; generic junk that never seems to get the exactness that you need. Across the garage, your commlink beeps, a new message is available for viewing. You set down the tools you'd been working with and slide the caster wheeled chair over to your work bench to pick it up.

Doc
Acting as triage nurse is never an easy shift, and tonight is no different. The amounts of gunshot wounds in the sprawl each night seem to be neverending. For the fifth time tonight, you wonder at the capabilities of the police forces to deal with the crime of the city, and for the sixth time, you wonder if anyone has insurance enough to cover it. Your friend's free clinic can't stay free forever if so many people keep getting so grievously injured with no income. As you begin stitching up another knife cut, you feel the buzz of your commlink in your pocket. You don't generally have it on when you are in the more technologically advanced areas of the clinic, but at the nurse's station, it can't interfere with anything. You finish off the stitches and excuse yourself to the alley through the back door before opening the message.

Everyone

Message recieved.
Open message?: Y/N.... Y
>>>Need work?
>Meet: Night Club, Corner of Cedar and 11th at midnight
>Look for man in white coat
>>Got a hot tip, Johnson's got a
>>helpful middleman in white coat
>>picking up recruits at the club mentioned
>>above. Be there tonight, he'll find you.
>>>End transmission
Save message?: Y/N.... N
Message deleted
No new messages
Check erased messages?: Y/N.... N

Darkon read the message, sighed and set his comlink for an alarm near noon. In german he murmured: “Wonderful. But do they always have to wake me up with their messages?” Then he opened the door of his room a crack, glancing down the hallway towards Brighids door. The girl was sleeping in her bed. He was quite sure. Placing the comlink on the nightstand, just out of reach, he laid down again.

When Darkon woke up, it wasn’t his comlink, but Brighid who woke him by pounding at his door. “Hey man, it’s time for brunch.” With much yawning, he got up.

In the kitchen, he told the girl: “I will be gone for the evening. I might have a job.” It seemed she was glad about it. “You will stay at home. And bedtime as usual,” he instructed her despite her protests. “I’m not a baby. And you’re not my dad.” To which he replied: “I am fully aware of that.” Darkon smiled. “I’ve promised your mother to take care of you,” he added gently. “Unfortunately that includes things like curfews and bed times as well.” Taking a sip of tea, he waited a moment. Then he asked her: “Please help me taking care of you by not using the opportunity to sneak out.” The girl shrugged somewhat annoyed. “Ok ok. Whatever.”

Later that day, he got ready for the meeting. Donning his good suit over his body armour, wearing the armoured coat over that. Putting the H&K into its holster. The last thing he took was his staff. Better to be prepared for anything. The girl was in the living room, watching trivid. “Brighid, I am on my way. Pizza is in the oven. And you better be in bed when I return.” The man chuckled at the teenagers distracted answer. Then he left the apartment.

As he scanned the message - a light sheen of sweat matting the short, fine black layer of fur covering his exposed skin - Azrael was aware of the racist's eyes and the almost palpable hatred like a wave of rancid water washing over him. He did not worry overmuch. He had grown accustomed to these hate-mongers - had had more than a few confrontations with them since coming to Seattle - and knew one alone would risk little more than glares and mutters, especially with so many witnesses. Still, a fool's pride often led to reckless action if provoked, so he feigned unobservance.
The message was short and to the point; and he quickly sent off a favorable response. Though he had considered relocating somewhere a little less costly, there was no honor in being evicted for nonpayment of rent. Perhaps a cheaper residence would afford him a vehicle as well, he mused, but shook his head slightly at the foolish thought. He had made do getting around on his own two feet, and public transportation if needed, and he would continue to do so. Snatching up his towel and wiping off the padded seat he'd wetted, he thought of that racing bike he'd seen an ad for and grinned... he could not run as fast as that.
He gathered up the duffel bag with his street clothes inside - he usually showered before leaving the gym, but decided to jog home today instead, stuffed the towel inside and headed for the exit. Halfway there, a dumbbell suddenly rolled across his path while at the same instant Azrael heard a whispered, "...filthy keebler darkie..." Even with his cyber-enhanced senses and reflexes, he would have been caught unawares had he not been watching the tattooed man closely from the corner of his eye. With a strength and agility beyond unaugmented metahuman ability, he caught the dumbbell with the toe of his shoe, popping the weight straight up into the air and snagged it with his free hand. Without so much as a pause, he tossed the dumbbell back at the racist with a polite, "I think you dropped this." The tattooed fellow, taken completely by surprise, gave a loud "whoof!" as the weight struck him in the stomach, toppling him backward over the bench behind him to land sprawling on the floor.
Azrael had not even missed a step as he continued to the exit, but allowed himself a wry grin at the applause and approving shouts from the others in the gym as he pushed his way outside. Shrugging the duffel bag over one shoulder, he increased his step to an even, ground-eating pace and turned his thoughts from the racist to the upcoming meet.

Wr3ck had just finished editing the Log file on the node he'd hacked into to hide the fact that he'd been there. He was just logging out of the node when he could have sworn he saw the message ">> Find me, brother." popped up on the log.

Was that? It couldn't have been! Ryu didn't know the first thing about hacking... but...

Wr3ck opened his eyes from the VR trance he'd been in while jacked into his cyberlink to be greeted by his throwaway link's HUD flashing a message waiting icon.

Frak! Not now! Wr3ck was torn. Should he dive in fully and re-hack the node? Was it just his imagination playing tricks on him?

Willpower 5 + Logic 5 (2). Two hits, threshold met.

Wr3ck's HUD flashed the message icon again.

I'm fried, it couldn't have been Ryu. He wasn't a whiz-kid. Besides, even if he'd found someone to get a message out to him the guy was good. So good that he'd found me. If he was that good, there wouldn't be a trace left of him on the node by the time I could get back in safely. No, it was most likely my mind playing tricks on me. I haven't slept all night.

Wr3ck's HUD flashed the message icon a third time. He firmly put the phantom message out of his mind and pulled open the message with his AR gloves. Quickly scanning the text he closed and deleted the message.

Wr3ck then switched from the one toss away commlink on which he'd received the message to the the second one in his backpack. Re-subscribing his AR gloves and goggles, Wr3ck loaded his mapsoft. He was greeted with a bird's-eye view of the cafe he was sitting in. He entered the coordinates given in the message. Wr3ck's birds-eye view of the city spun as the mapsoft reoriented itself on the new location, zooming in until he could see the night club in question.

I know that place, now to figure out how I'm going to get there...

"Sweet!" Maker whooped upon reading the message.

He'd asked Colby to put the word out that he was looking for work, and the dealer came through. Cedar and 11th was an unfamiliar corner, hell, most of the city was, so Maker would have to bring up a local area map on his comm, and plot out a route to club in question. He could have just let the truck's dogbrain take take him there, but he was a Go-ganger at heart, and preferred to do his own driving, even in this weather. He needed to learn his way around the sprawl, anyway. The Airwave's touchscreen wasn't very troll-friendly - too small for his fingers - so he went ahead and pulled out the fiber-optic bud and jacked in, navigating by thought. Once he'd mapped out his route and downloaded it to hard memory, he slaved the GAZ's sensors to his comm and switched over the manual control, starting the truck with the push of a button. He kept the autopilot on, but set to emergency override only - it was nice to have something that worked at virtual speed to hit the brakes or correct a skid, just in case.

Maker normally hated driving in the rain, but he was too excited to notice. He selected a powernoize stereo channel and piped it through the GAZ's speakers, deactivating his dampers and turning it up as loud as he could stand - just a hair below painful. Even in the rain with the windows closed, anyone he passed on the street would hear it.

This is it, Marcus. Your first job as an independent. You drop this one like a pro, and you get yourself from street cred. Then you're really in the biz.

He glanced back for a second at the tiny space behind his seat - the "extended cab" of the GAZ. Under the discarded soda cans and food wrapper, beneath the carpeting, in a hidden container that ran the width of the cab, lie several thousand nuyen in Pueblo Army weapons and ammo he'd "forgotten" to return to the armory when he was discharged. Maybe he'd get a chance to use some of it tonight.

clicks the lock button on his com. "huh could be decent should at least show up" he mutters to himself and walks back into the clinic. "hey tyler I gotta go I got a job opportunity I have to check out"

with that he turns and goes to his mercury comet and heads for his small apartment there he strips and hops in the shower. after he gets into his nice clothes, all his armored gear, slaps on his holster and sits and checks the 'trix for any info on the club sat. views of the area and possible escape routes, after doing thorough research on the area he hops in his comet and heads for the meeting and reaches the area about 2300, an hour before the meeting. parks a couple blocks away and walks in from there. reaching the club around 2330 to sit and try and stay inconspicuous.

The message was clear. A Meet. A job. Money.

Maybe even something a little extra on the side of tech so he could afford those new ears that have been advertised on the market.

Fantastic

He picked up his comms a wide grin plastered on his features. It had been far too long since someone had thought of him as anything other than gutter trash when it came to runs. He had been having a bit of a... well.. how to put it nicely... a dry patch when it came to business.

The garage wasn't doing so well (technically not his fault), money was scarce (also not his fault) and his reputation as a mechanic was horribly tarnished when the last vechile he worked in started to play Bach on a silent run and nearly got its crew horribly mangled (alright.. maybe that was his fault).

Point of the matter was, he thought, this was not a job he could say no to.

Shooting back a quick message to his planned night engagement ("Can't fix car. Must go shoot people. kthxbai") he rushed to his room, picking up something that wasn't covered with grease to wear, before giving himself a quick nap till a few hours to the time (it had taken an all nighter to get used to his new Datajack implant. Bugger thing hurt like a mother).

By 11pm, he would be ready.

As the afternoon wears on, the clouds only seem to get thicker. The streets darken with the setting sun, and the telltale sounds of night become apparent. Chittering insects have taken to ground to avoid the downpour, but the citizens of Seattle don't follow the same beat. While many people would avoid the rain like the plague, those that live in the Pacific Northwest have gotten used to the hundred percent humidity.

Darkon
"What kind of work you got tonight?" Brighid asks with a gleam in her eye that betrays the fact she already knows what you will be doing. But she's a good girl and knows better than asking too many pointed questions. Especially when the work keeps her fed.
"Whatever it is, come back in one piece will ya?" She calls as the door shuts behind you. A smile plays across your lips, and you shake your head with a small chuckle. kids you think sarcastically, and head for the main doorway out of your building.
On the streets, it is easy enough to catch the city buses, and you make your way, albeit gradually, to the corner of 11th and Cedar.

Azrael
Your ground eating pace sees you along the back roads of Seattle rather quickly, and the engulfing darkness doesn't seem to bother you. Although the rain soaking the fine fur of your body and the bag on your back does seem a bit troublesome. From time to time, you run into a couple gangers who ask for a toll to pass, but you just keep pressing forward. One ballsy kid even puts a hand to your chest to stop you, his mistake. You grip his wrist firmly, and twist hard while pulling downward and away from his center of gravity. He can only make an undignified sound halfway between a yelp and a grunt as he finds himself face down on the wet ferrocrete. His pals look horrified at what just happened and take off down the nearest alley, leaving their 'friend' to fend for himself -- such is the harsh life on the streets.
As you near the club, you are nearly run over by a truck splashing through the puddles of the street. You arrive at the club looking like a soaked devil rat.

Wreck
Pushing the thoughts of your brother from your mind, you begin wondering about the upcoming meet. After a few moments of thought, you realize that you have no way of getting to the club easily, it's much to far away to try to walk, and you hate to take your equipment on a city bus. After a few moments of thought, you jack back into your comm and pull up the node down the street, careful to route through a couple of empty buildings in the area first. Once in, you pull up the nearest taxi service and amend the next pickup order. Looks like Lawrence Pritchard will be missing his ride tonight you think to yourself as you spoof his cab order to pick you up instead and drop you at the club. Too bad he'll still be footing the bill.

Maker
While driving in the rain is never a fun undertaking, you decide that splashing through the standing water on the roadside can provide some entertainment. With the autopilot only correcting for oversteer and the occasional hydroplane, you simply enjoy the loud music and watching pedestrians scatter from the waves of filthy water being splashed across the sidewalk from your tires. Your natural thermographic vision can see amazingly well at night, but the rain is cutting down even your visibility -- cooling off everything and dampening the heat signatures of most.
At one point you have to swerve wildly to avoid hitting a particularly drenched individual -- you barely had time to see him crossing the street before you would have been on him. Lucky for him you caught it in time, even managing to keep from splashing him.

Doc
After excusing yourself for the night from the free clinic, you slide into your Mercury Comet, a reliable sedan good for getting around the sprawl in all conditions. After a few minutes of watching your windshield wipers trying to keep up with the deluge, you head off to your apartment to clean up before going to the club. You make good time, and arrive early.

Kat
Your commlink beeps back at you as you slide into the driver seat of your stepvan, you check it quickly as the engine begins warming: What kind of shooting you doing? You gettin' paid? Any chance I could get in on it? The message scrolls across the screen, but you decide it's better to ignore it for now. If the Johnson needed another one to show up, he woulda contacted him directly. Putting it from your mind, you call up a map of the local area and find the corner of 11th and Cedar. You click the fiberoptic cable from the van into your still sore - and now itchy - datajack port, feeling the rush of the sensors across the van fill your mind. The garage door slides open and you are on your way.

Everyone
The club doesn't seem to be out of the ordinary. Pretty run of the mill scene outside -- two men guard the door, an ork that could rival a troll in size stands in front, and a much smaller elf to the side. They both eye you as you reach the door, and the ork stops you before you pass.
"Weapons stay here, chummer," he reminds you of the general rule in many clubs. Keeping weapons out won't stop all tussles, but it does cut down on the casualties.
Reluctantly you agree and leave your firearms and other weapons with the elf, even Darkon's staff is stowed away in the weapons closet just inside the door. You take your ticket and make your way into the bar area, skirting around the dance floor.
Inside the club, you see a multitude of people, all races and walks of life seem to be accounted for here. Three men tend the long bar along the south wall, and a DJ plays the latest synth-house beats from his station at the northeast corner.
Surveying the room more closely, you see that besides the men at the door and the bartenders, there are also numerous waitresses buzzing between tables in various degrees of dress. One woman in a near see-through form hugging bodyglove smiles at you over her tray of drinks and slides a business card into your palm.


The card advertises and looking more closely, you realize that the dances mentioned are from the waitresses. A group of businessmen in a corner booth can be seen tossing creds onto a table where two elven women dressed as catholic schoolgirls dance luridly. Others are getting more private dances in booths along the west wall.
Overall, the place looks like it should in the darkness of the night, but you can tell it probably looks like hell in the morning light.

Smiling Darkon entered, appreciating the girls. Pretty. But don’t let yourself get distracted now. There are prettier girls in the world anyway, he thought. He went to one of the free tables along the wall, from where he would have the best overview over the club.
From there he looked around for a person in a white coat. A thought crossed his mind: I would laugh my ass off if the whitecoat turns out to be Ghost. But that’s nonsense. She has never played the role of a J before. “Do you have cola?” he asked the waitress. “I take a big glass of coke then.” Then he turned his attention back to the club in large, with an occasional sideglance at the schoolgirl dancers.

The hour it took Wr3ck to hack the Checker's Taxi node, reroute the pre-paid cab, find the cab that was scheduled to pick him up and hack its camera to drop feed at pickeup was completely worth it! As he stepped from the cap under the awning of the club he thought to himself, The walk would have taken all day and been worse than death. But, to have to do it in this downpour? No way! At least he'd had time to stop by his hidy-hole and drop his backpack. No reason any bouncers should be poking around and seeing his sattlink.

He was a bit put off when they started patting him down to check for weapons. He was sure it was just because he was human... or was it because he was dressed like an electrician? He certainly didn't look like any of the other patrons walking in the door. That's when he noticed the drenched elf step up to the line a few people back. That's why I take cabs! he thought to himself a bit smugly as he watched the acid-rain drip from the man's soaked clothes.

Entering the bar, he quickly realized this was the kind of place a man like him would only get noticed if he started flashing cred. He tried a few times to stop the waitress and ask about anyone all in white... but to no avail. Her eyes glanced through him like he was an empty table. Fine, he thought, not like I've got the cred to buy a drink anyway.

Wr3ck just tried to keep his eyes open for white. In a place lit by this much UV? This Mr. J wasn't just go stand out, he was going to glow!

Maker considered dropping his Roomsweeper back in the truck, but he'd already sent it off in search of a parking space, and didn't feel like standing around in the rain while it made its way back. So, he just turned in his weapon and took his ticket, making sure to put it in a pants, not a coat pocket, where it's less likely to get "lost." Just like every other wannabe badass, he stopped just inside the front doors, taking in the club scene and striking what he hoped was a pose of detached semi-interest before starting to wander through the place, in search of the Man in White. Maker was so focused on his search that he nearly ran right into the woman in the bodyglove, handing out business cards.

"I wish," he mumbled, certain that he couldn't afford a decent drink in this place - let alone a dance. He was tempted to buy one anyway. He settled for passing the card over his commlink, downloading its advertising to memory before shoving it into a coat pocket. Maybe he'd come back to celebrate after the job. He started to feel a little self-conscious in his armored longcoat and utilitarian workskins he'd bought from a vending machine in a day-laborer residence camp. Note to self, he thought, buy some decent clubwear, and maybe a suit. He was glad the meet hadn't been at some place fancier - they probably wouldn't have even let him in the door. At least I'll be easy for the Man in White to spot.

he watches as others weapons are taken so he turn and puts his sidearm back in the car then returns to the club. walks in and immediately goes to the bar "a tall jack and coke light on the coke"

heads for a corner table and sits with his back against the wall waiting for the 'man in the white' to show up. when the girl slides him her card he slips it into a pocket to take more stock of it later.

"seen a man in a white coat?" he asks quickly before she walks off.

Seems I’m not the only one waiting, Darkon thought when the man sat down, strategically placing himself with the back to the wall and with a complete overview of the club. Just like Darkon had done himself. Great minds think alike. After an appreciative look at the girls buttocks, the one who brought him his coke gave the other one a card, he turned to the man sitting on the next table. “I think we are looking for the same person.” While speaking, he switched his perception to the astral, to ‘take in’ a person, as he called it himself.

'Taking in' Doc. Assensing test. Int4+Assensing=7dice (7d6. hits(5)=2) Two hits.

Before talking about the subject any further, he waited until the girl went to attend another patron. “You are here for the job too, I assume?” He asked friendly in a quiet voice.

Assensing Results:

2 Hits. You can tell from his aura that he is either none magical in nature, or is very good at hiding it. Some slight cybermodifications show up as darkened spots in his essence, and he seems to have a sort of longing for the drink coming to him.

It took a while, but Wr3ck finally found an empty seat. He pulled his AR gloves on and switched the HUD on his goggles to active. There was no telling how long he was going to be in this joint. He might as well get something done while he waited. He liked to work through the generic commlink on his wrist when he wasn't doing anything he needed wasn't suspect. He figured he'd just do some typical browsing while he waited. Maybe he'd get lucky and find something on Ryu.

Thinking of Ryu, Wr3ck decided to open up the Artificial Personality program he had. Ryu's image filled the screen, and his synthasized voice piped over Wr3ck's earbuds.

>> What's up, ni-chan? Are we here to get some drinks and a few ladies?

Turning on the voice activated text, Ryu subscribed his subvocal mic to the commlink

>>No drinks. We're here for work. I have to make some money so I can afford to keep looking for you. If only you'd left me some clue!

Wr3ck brought up his browser prog, it would grind a bit on this comm, but he didn't want anyone getting curious about the node's traffic.

>> Ni-chan, who won the last OU drag circuit? I bet it was Unleaded. You never did like him.

Taking his "brother's" inquiry to heart, Wr3ck decided to find out who had won last night's races down in the Ork Underground. Wr3ck passed through a few public corp and city nodes until he found the message board he wanted. It was part of an auto-supply store about two blocks from one of the southern interior peninsula docks.

Data search (OC drag racing) = 4hits



(OOC: All of these actions are actually being done through the hidden commlink in Wr3ck's cyber arm. The commlink in his pocket is subscribed to the hidden link, and he is simply creating another barrier between him and the rest of the trix. To the casual observer, it will appear that his craptacular link is just being used to browse the trix for upcoming races and such)

>>>Opening Datasearch
>>>Enter Parameters: OU Racing Recent Winnings
>>>--/--\--/--
>>>--/--\--/--
>>>--/--\--/--
>>160 Results found....Prioritize: Latest Entry
>>Last Night's races
>>>>>Unleaded Defeated by team Dowsha in huge upset.
>>>>>As the 10:3 favorite over team Dowsha, team Unleaded was the obvious favorite. However,
>>>>>after a strong start, Unleaded's lead racer, Fuel MacTower, lost control of his rig and smashed
>>>>>into the ferrocrete barricades. While the driver walked away uninjured, three bystanders
>>>>>took minor cuts and scrapes, and the rig was totaled.
>>>>>Team Dowsha now moves into the round of 8, still trailing in points behind the other major teams.
>>>>>A spokesman from team Unleaded says they will be back to racing in just a few short days,
>>>>>and harbors no ill will towards team Dowsha's victory, "we had a run of bad luck," he says,
>>>>>"Next time, we'll be able to take them [Dowsha] easily."
>>>>> Team Dowsha declined to comment on the outcome of this most recent race, instead looking
>>>>>hopeful to the future, saying they were excited to make it to the next round.

From the obviously unwelcome looks he was getting from the bouncer at the door, Azrael knew he wasn't getting in looking like a drowned devil rat. Not through the front door, anyway.
He stepped out of line and made his way along the building's street side, turning into the alley once reaching the corner. Keeping to the shadows, he crept to the rear and peered cautiously around to find a lone employee standing just outside a rear delivery entrance; huddled under an umbrella and puffing a smoke. The guy appeared to be roughly the same size and definitely much drier in his white waiter's uniform.
Wasting no time at all, Azrael moved toward the smoker as though walking along the dimly lit back alley in the rain was perfectly normal. He approached with a friendly smile and asked the age-old question as one addict to another, "Hey chummer, got a smoke?" Despite his startlement at the sudden appearance of a stranger, the response was almost as ingrained as breathing, and the man had his pack out and proffering a butt in a jiff. Reaching out to accept, Azrael feigned fumbling the cig and knocked the pack from the man's hand. The reaction was everything Azrael could have hoped for. The fellow bent forward snatching for the falling pack and Azrael bent with him, slamming his forehead against the other man's at the point where the bridge of his nose met his forehead. The man jerked back convulsively, but his eyes were already rolling back in his head. Azrael grabbed the guy before he could sprawl in the puddles at their feet, carrying him back toward the door. To anyone who might have glimpsed the encounter, it would have looked to be nothing more than the accidental butting of heads that happened so often in similar situations, and that one of the pair was helping the other who had been struck dizzy by the impact. At least, that's what Azrael hoped it looked like. He didn't know if the rear entrance was covered by a security cam or not, but the incident should not have appeared hostile to any watchers.
Still, it was with a margin of apprehension that Azrael opened the door and looked in. Luck was with him as the interior revealed a narrow hallway with a couple of small doors along its length and opening out into a staging area of sorts for goods coming into the club. Moving as quickly and quietly as possible having to almost literally carry the dazed and disoriented employee, Azrael hustled through the first small door and into a small storage closet - perfect. Delivering a blow to the nape of the man's neck that rendered him unconscious but relatively undamaged otherwise, the dark elf quickly removed his soggy clothes and donned the waiter's uniform. Once that was done, he hustled the fellow back out into the alley then reentered the club, locking the delivery entrance behind him. It wouldn't do for the man to awaken and raise an alarm. This way, he might at least be mistaken for a bum long enough for Azrael to get clear of the area.
Suiting his thoughts, he walked purposefully through the club's employee supply rooms and offices, out into the main area. Approaching a newly arrived guest, he put on a welcoming smile and said, "Ah, very good, sir. Here, allow me to take your coat. The hostess will be right with you. Enjoy yourself." Taking the gentleman's coat, he stepped quickly into the nearby coat alcove, and, switching the waiter's white jacket for the new coat, made his way to the bar opposite from the entrance. He took a seat at a table and tried to look casually about as just another customer.

Parking on 11th street was something close raising the dead. You might be able to do it after years of study/science/magic/odd dragon magic, but at the very end it's probably going to eat your brains. It was hard enough finding a place to park, even harder trying to find a place to park where your vehicle wasn't going to lose all its tires while you were away.

It was a trick every driver needed to learn by heart, and not by luck.

After triple locking his baby, Kat headed to the club, arms up with a grin, and handed over his gun and tazer to the men at the door. "Now you guys be careful with those now," he added, "I totally need that to help pull chicks. Seriously I have issues, please be careful with that." He added the last one with a laugh, and continued before heading in. "Hey, if you boys get hungry out here, let me know, I'll go grab you all a bite of something to eat on my way out or something!"

He sauntered in, a jiggle in each step as he walked, his own interpretation of modern dance moves. God, I love this song, he thought to himself, as he moved towards the bar, ordering a soda and lime, before taking his time to scan the crowd for people of interest - and a man in white.

"WOOT!!" Wr3ck let out a yell of excitement, his fist pumping into the air. To the rest of the club, it looked as though the electrician at the bar was yelling at someone who wasn't there.

>> Ryu! They lost! Those tode-lickers lost!

>> But who are Dowsha, ni-chan?

>> Who cares? They beat Unleaded! Damn, if only I'd had money on that race! Do you see those odds?

At that moment Wr3ck's eye refocused through the lenses of his goggles and he noticed that some of the patrons nearby were staring at him as though his hair had just burst into flame.

Eh-heh... just, uh, just checking the latest race scores... heh...

At the cry of "Woot!" from the bar, Azrael glanced sharply at the human who seemed to be celebrating a victory of some sort. Peering more intently for a moment, he thought the guy seemed vaguely familiar, though he couldn't quite place him. He turned away with a shrug at last. Perhaps he was just jumpy; reacting to spooks and vapors. Still, there was something about that guy.
Putting the human out of his mind for the time being, Azrael surrepticiously studied those around him. He noticed two or three eyeing the others near the bar as well. Could they be here to meet this white-clad Johnson like himself? Preferring to remain anonymous at this point, he simply watched quietly and waited.

The heavy beat of the synth-house music shifts to a lighter more melodious tune, as the DJ makes a few announcements about drink specials and having everyone come back tomorrow night for more fun. At the same time, you catch a glimpse of bright white moving through the crowd, eying people as he goes. In the blacklights he almost appears to glow a bright blue, and even through the crowd, you can make out his deep red hair spiked over his high collared longcoat. As he turns your direction, you perk up a little, and he seems to notice immediately. Your eyes meet for a moment, and he tilts his head indicating to meet him at the back doors.

It doesn't take long for everyone to make it to the back, and as you pass them, the waitresses and bartenders seem to make a point of ignoring you now. It would appear that they know what's going on, and when it isn't in their best interest to be a part of what's happening.

Finally, at the back, the man in white is clearly visible. Those of you up to date on fashion recognize his coat as a Ulysses Line Greatcoat, great for dealing with the heavy rain, the coat's high collar obscures everything below his lower lip, and if he had the hood pulled up, you wouldn't be able to see any of his face at all. His face has slim features, and his hair is a deep red brown color, the same as that hard clay that seems to stick in the tread of your boots for years after walking over it for even just a few seconds.

After sizing each of you up for a moment, he addresses the whole group; "Six of you. Should be a good round number. Mr. Johnson is waiting to meet you. Please follow me."

As he turns to leave the club by the back entrance, Kat pipes up, "Wait just a tick there, if J is waiting to meet us, then who are you?"

"Ah, my apologies, I sometimes forget my place. I am an assistant of sorts, essentially my job is to keep the time Mr. Johnson must spend away from his other work to a minimum. Any contact that must be made between yourselves and him, will be done through me, discreetly. Just as well, I will be able to accompany you for quite a while, although I will not be going with you on your little adventure," he paused to take a breath before continuing, "So, if you have any questions, now or later, feel free to ask, and I will do my best to answer myself, or find the answer for you. Oh, and you can call me Isaac."

With a half hidden smile, he turns from the group, pushes open the back door to the club and heads across the alley. Isaac approaches a non-descript door and slides a keycard through a hidden reader, and the door clicks open. He holds the door for you as you each pass through.

"Please take a seat, all should be in order," Isaac wave his hand to a large half-circular table, there are seven chairs, six along the rounded edge, and one along the flattened edge. As you move closer to the table, you see that each place is set with the weapons you brought with you, all unloaded of course, although their magazines or shells are neatly stacked next to the guns. Even Doc's gun awaits him, which draws a "how in the world...?" from the man who had left his weapon locked in his car.

Once everyone is seated, Isaac moves to another door, and knocks twice, quietly. The door swings open, and the two bouncers you saw at the door walk in, followed by a third man, wearing a business suit, and what looks like a military haircut, obviously the Johnson type. He takes the last remaining seat and begins outlining what the runners are here for.

"Some years ago, we planted agents into a great number of research facilities. They gather data for us, keep their cover hidden, and make sure that WE stay at the top of the food chain in this great urban jungle," he begins, "Recently, however, we have been hearing more and more news from one of these agents. He is stationed as a research scientist at the Humana Hospital here in Seattle. It is one of the foremost medical and magical research facilities in the world, and they appear to be about to announce their next breakthrough.

"We want their breakthrough first. And that is precisely where you six will come in. You will infiltrate Humana Hospital, make contact with Dr. Nelson, our man inside, and he will assist you in retrieving samples of what he says may well be the cure for the HMHV Virus." Johnson pauses for a moment to let the ramifications of a cure for such a virus to set in.

"Once you have the samples, destroy the remaining drugs, get rid of their research data, and get out. Dr. Nelson will remain in Humana, as a continued asset to us. So any information about any of you that could lead to him being discovered will cost you dearly.

"If you have any questions, please ask them, and I or Isaac here, will do our best to answer them. If there are none, then I will be on my way, and Isaac here will get you all going. Oh, and I'm sure you're all curious of the pay... we are offering 50,000 each."

Wr3ck chokes a little at the price tag. After clearing his throat for a few moments he looks at Mr. J. squinting through his tinted goggles.

"I have one question. What's the time frame? How much time do I have to get these lug-heads into the place? Security there is going to be tight, and," looking around with a disgusted smirk on his face, "some of these guys aren't exactly on the Humanis VIP list."

Seeing some of the looks he was getting from the non-humans for that last bit, Wr3ck's bravado slips a little. "Listen I ain't sayin' I agree with the frack-heads, it's just... well...," looking at Azrael, Maker, Darkon, and Kat "How long do you think you can walk around in there before someone starts wondering what a furry elf or 10 foot tall Troll is doing in their humans-first club house? That guy," Wr3ck points at Doc, "and I can move around freely if we score the proper uniforms and IDs. We can maybe scrounge up some latex to cover you three," he points at Azrel, Darkon and Kat. "But, you?" Wr3ck turns to Maker, "I don't think there's enough latex in the world to hide what you are."

Seeing he wasn't making any friends among the metas, Wr3ck hung his head and sighed. He seemed to be muttering to himself.

>> Ryu, I think I put my foot in my mouth again...

>> Ni-chan, when do you not? Are you sure this will help you find me?

>> It's a lot of cred, ni-san, it would go a long way toward tracking you down...

>> If you say so, ni-chan

Mr. Johnson looks from one runner to the next before answering Wreck's questions.

"The time frame is a pretty steep one, just about 1 week before they are to announce their vaccine to the public. However, I must remind you that this is HumanA hospital, not HumanIS. They actually have no ties whatsoever to the anti-meta group. To my knowledge, they are an equal opportunity employer."

When Darkon saw his staff leaning against one of the chairs, he was a bit disgruntled. While pacing over to the seat, he stretched out his hand and the staff flew into it in one fluid motion.

(Spellcasting) Let the Ravenstaff fly into Darkons hand. Spellcasting, Levitate, Powerlevel 1. Magic 5 plus Sorcery(Group)4= 9dice. (9d6. hits(5)=1)

(Drain) Drainroll for Levitate spell (F/2 +1). Powerlevel 1 = 2 hits needed Charisma 5 + Magic 5= 10dice (10d6. hits(5)=4) (2 hits required, 4 hits achieved.. No drain occurs.)


Only then he sat down, one hand on the wooden shaft. He watched the Johnson making a dramatic entrance calmly and listened with patience. The offered price made him rise an eyebrow and Darkon thought: Then the job is probably quite dangerous. Or he won’t pay us at all.


To Wr3ck he replied: “You do have a point.” Silently, Darkon wondered about Wr3cks sharp eyes, as he really didn’t look like the stereotype elf, being built quite robust and had almost round ears. “Fortunately for us, I should have the means to alter the appearance of us. At least most of us and for some time.”

Next he turned to the Johnson. “Of course it would be preferable if we could scout everything out and plan for a day or two. Additionally, any information your internal business partner,” he smiled, “was able to give you about the place, would increase the likeliness of our success tremendously.” His dark brown eyes laid steadily on the Johnson. “Your readiness to invest in us makes it clear you want quality and delicacy. And not a sloppy, hasty run.”

Maker loaded the shells, one at a time, back into his Roomsweeper as Mr. Johnson, and then Wr3ck spoke, trying his best to keep his face passive as the payment offer is made, but failing to completely conceal a smile. He waved off any potential offense caused by Wr3ck's comments - it was simply the truth, after all - and then grunted audibly, perhaps an aborted laugh, when the misconception concerning the hospital was corrected.

"Hrm. You'd think they'd change names to avoid that mistake. Not one you want people making too often."

After Darkon speaks, he adds, "We can plan later. I don't think Mr. Johnson wants specifics. I'm worried about mission parameters. How important is Dr. Nelson? If getting out with the samples means blowing his cover, which do we sacrifice? And how much collateral damage is acceptable? The best way to get rid of the remaining drugs and data would be to take out the whole facility, but it doesn't sound like you want that. What's your best case scenario here? And what's an unacceptable loss?"