Log:Kauntodaun Intro

GM: Darius
Players: Kauntodaun
Synopsis: Kauntodaun gets her feet wet.
Date: 09-17-2079

Kauntodaun gets her first taste of paydata theft on the Denver grid.

Countdown made her way out to one of her favorite jack points, chewing absently at a long thread of licorase as she finally reach the spot and jacked in. After several minutes, sitting in a booth in an little used parking garage, she had her search net cast. Ankles crossed on the desk, she's spent the better part of six hours. Then twelve… head lulling back, eyes rolled back in her skull, licorase dangling from her chromatically painted lips.

Just when Kauntodaun is starting to feel the burn of frustration, she gets a trixmail pop up on her notification bar. It's one of her contacts and, like mana from heaven, they've found a lead themselves- they don't have time to investigate it just now, they have 'something big' on, so they are handing it over to her as a 'freebie'. Which probably means they don't have much faith in it panning out to be profitable. But hey, a lead is a lead.

Iko collects up her deck and slides out of the booth once she has it slipped back into her carry bag stug on her back. Coffin motel's are a dime a dozen, really, dotting all over the sprawl. Really more about pulling one out of a hat.. so after paying, with a grin to the clerk, she pushes her deck into the small cubby and climbs in herself. Connecting her equipment to the jack point, her fingers brush along her hair behind her right ear to slip the access into her hidden port, waiting for that tell-tale rush as her consciousness is transferred into the waiting matrix -waiting room-. Something she's programmed herself to check her avatar, load outs, etc. "Alrighty, time to get paid."

Kauntodaun will be face to face with the first barrier of anyone accessing the matrix for ilicit reasons. The Denver RTG's SAN, standing like a portcullis made of pale blue light in the empty field of the waiting room barring entry to people without a legitimate account… or ways of sneaking around.

Countdown's avatar moves through a series of pre-run rituals that are of little to know relevance, other than appeasing some innate and superstitious itch. The avatar itself is a Chromatic furred anthropamorphic Fox that shimmers in the digital lighting of her ready room as she moves up right towards the portcullis, adjusting the backpack almost out of habit brought over from the meat as she observes the coding. Shifting through the bag that sits against her abdomen until she comes up with a datachip, thumb imprinting various credentials with a sly smirk, she slots it into the access port… then ducks beneath the rising portcullis with a little dip of her shifting colored head, ears folding backwards as she advances.

The fox is wearing sneakers, pants, and a simple pink t-shirt. The bag is worn along her chest which is a quick access for her various matrix 'gadgets and tools'.

And once sneaking around the portcullis, Countdown will find herself in the Denver RTG. It's sculpted to look like a rendering of the city itself, made out of semi-transparent blue light. Areas of high density traffic being a bright, almost white shade, while quieter areas are darker. Countdown floats above it, like an eye in the sky. Her lead told her she needs to head to the CAS Sector LTG.

A little music loads into her head as Countdown hovers above the Matrix Sprawl, angling in the direction indicated by her contacts lead, "Come on Clickbait, don't let a sister down…" Floating in the general direction of the gates to the CAS sector. Touching the digital framework of the street with a hyper realized sneaker. As she approaches the gates, like before, she's digging in her bag for another datachip which she imprints with new credentials to slot along the side.. Clucking quietly with a glance around, just another wage slave here, don't mind me, totally belong. Ducking in and heading towards the CAS sector proper.

The sculpting in the CAS sector is a bit less clinical. The sector is sculpted to look moderately realistic, with brick and mortar buildings, if somewhat abstracted. Hosts are displayed like storefronts on an infinite highway as far as the eye can see, many of them visible or openly advertising the businesses they represent. Others are marked as private or otherwise not broadcasting any data other than the existance of a connection. Others can only be found by sneaking down back alleys or staircases. The host in question that Kauntodaun is after belongs to Davis Enterprises, a small start-up who are working on data compaction optimization. If the lead is true, they've made some progress, which larger corps would be willing to pay for.

Finger draw down her long snout, staring around at the brick and mortor streets of the CAS with a mischevous grin playing on her chromatic fur face as her hand dips into the bag laid across her chest. A pair of black marbles rolls in her palm a second. When she tosses them out, they take on a more realistic impression of tiny chimpmonks.. One wearing a brown leather jacket and a brown hat, another a hawaiin shirt, and a third (female) a jumpsuit. The forth is in a gyrocoptor… all rush off in search of the SAN access while Countdown scratches absently behind her right ear.

As Countdown launches her chipmonks to search for her, the system's representation of the security procedures present- a Lone Star Strato-9 Drone hovers overhead. It slows to a stop, it's sensors rotating to look at the fox for a moment, before it decides it doesn't find anything too suspicious about her and it continues on its way.

And shortly thereafter, the chipmonks return, having found what they were looking for- and they guide Countdown to the SAN she's looking for. It looks like a simple storefront, with trideo displays taking the place of windows, full of rather dull investor information and company mission statements.

Nothing to see here little drone, Countdown belongs see. Rubbing at her ear with her fingers with a glance down and slightly around the edge of the alley as the Rescue Rangers return, crawling up her pants to jump back into her bag. Each becomes a black marble as they disappear into their sheath.. The fox pushes off the wall in the direction of the HOST SIN, stopping at the window as if reading the information played across one of the tridscreens. Green/black digital eyes sifting through the data with a little play of a grin across her snout, "Jackpot." Tilting back to regard the sign, then reaching into her bag for another datachip that she slots into the doorway after imprinting her thumb, with false credentials, into the reader. Gaining access with a little slip into the ''store front''.

As countdown steps through into the storefront, she will feel a bit of a shift as she moves from the relatively expensive, but very heavily trafficed telecoms grid to the rather less powerful but quieter private host. It's sculpted like a car showroom on the inside, with publically available data on their projects and products on little pedastals rotating in place.

In the showroom, Countdown glances around with her muzzle hanging open, tongue clicking noisely against the roof of her mouth as she strolls about the public products on display. She's hardly looking for that, of course. With a little sound in her throat, she reaches into her bag and retrieves a long ''Acme Industries'' device which she unwraps and sets down on the showroom floor. It blasts off pulsing light as she meanders, gathering details on the Host as she looks at some of what the Company already has to offer.

The Analyze pulse reveals to Countdown what she may already suspect- the host is green rated. Not terrible, but not too expensive either. Rather run of the mill. With rather run of the mill ratings, too. Very average, like the sculpting.

"Alright, my woodland friends…" Countdown opens her bag to grab the four marbles and sends them out searching for the paydata she's hear to find, "Make me proud." They shift into their animated forms and head off in different directions while she stands around with her hands in her pockets, rocking her avatar from heel to toe.

The woodland creatures squeeze through the cracks and the holes hidden in the wall panels to search for things not displayed to the public. When they find anything, they ping Countdown and flag the file in question. Finally, they return to her, having flagged 5 files in total.

The Ranger return and Countdown turns on shifting heels, rather than sending them back out to, she grabs another object from her bag and flicks the black marble into the air. It becomes a tiny little Inspector Gadget characature. The legs extend and he is off, magnifying glass snooping around the files and coming back to feed her the relevant information.

It seems like security should have been a bigger concern for this little startup- the files are fairly hefty, being complex code for data compression along with developers notes, but are not even encrypted. Once the panels that cover them where they hide in the walls are removed, they appear under inspection like little cubes of light, full of 1's and 0's.

The Inspector returns to Countdown's bag and she pulls out another black marble that she lazily tosses in the direction of the data-cube. Upon hitting the wall it shifts into the form of a small mousy woman with blonde hair, a blue hat/skirt blouse that immediately sits at a switch board plugging data from the cube like an old telephone operator. "Hong Kong fuey… number one super guy…" Humming after the opening line, looking around with hands in her pockets, Countdown adjusts her bag. She's unawares, but she's not obliviously waiting to be crushed either. This might not be a scary black site, but anything can happen in the Matrix.

It seems like Countdown hasn't been quite subtle enough in her approach, or maybe she's just got unlucky. Because she feels a cold, slimy drop on the back of her neck. When she looks up, she will see an oily, iridescent creature squeezing its way through the cracks in the ceiling.

Countdown feels the cold sensation and glances upward at the appearance of the security protocol, "Gross…" Murmuring to herself as she takes a step out from beneath it. Meanwhile, the operator continues switching information from the datacube into the cyberdeck by plugging and unplugging cords into slots at her little terminal. "Shake a leg over there…" Not that it has any effect at all besides humoring the Chromatic decker.

The Ice emerges fully from the ceiling, and just sort of hangs there for now, dripping onto the simulated carpet. Amorphous pseudopods protrude from its form and sway about around it, but it doesn't seem to have really noticed Countdown just yet.

With her hands in her pockets, Countdown continues watching the IC ooze hover above her until she hears an all too familiar ding as the Operator finishes her redirection of data and jumps down from the small cubby. Iko swoops over to grab her, drops her into the bag and zips it off as she is going through the checklist to remove herself from the matrix where she stands. Meat reaching up for the jack in her head to remove it once the board is green.

The simulated world of the matrix rushes away from Countdown, as though she is falling backwards away from it and it is being sucked away from her into a vortex at the same time. She blinks, and finds herself staring up at the ceiling of her coffin cubicle, with a fresh batch of paydata in her deck.

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