GM: Vulcan
Players: Cash, Hardy
Synopsis: The Runners are hired to disrupt a meeting between Saito Loyal Japanese Corporate interests and Aztechnology.
Date: December 2nd, 2069
Cash is throwing a threadbare stuffed animal to his pet hellhound, Snowflake. The crate of extras plushies he never got rid of served for very expensive dog toys. As the dog enthusiasticly returns it, Cash pulls it from her mouth once more and flings it across the room, where it sticks to the wall from being soaked through with hellhound spittle. He groans to himself, "Reruns on again… Maybe I'll go lift weights.", sighing as he looks down to his wristwatch.
The Demolition Boyz are having a gathering…that or there is a small earthquake going on in the Warrens. The throaty roars of bikes reverberate off the buildings near Orktown as they play their various Troll biker games. Hardy squats, feeling the weight of the Harley Scorpion on his shoulders. He sights down the block to where his brother DBoy, Hacksaw's last toss landed. He settles the weight on his shoulders and digs his rear foot into the ground, hefting the scrapped bike. The piece of modern art slams into the ground just short of the throw of the other troll and the bills begin to fly among the betters. "Aww omae! Joo got meh on dat un!" Much backslapping and fist bumping ensues as Hacksaw gets ready for his second toss and Hardy steps back, picking up his cigar from where he had lain it on the ground.
The phone rings. Who's phone? Cash's phone. It rings. The ring tone is 'dixie'. Thats not in your phones ring tone database… I mean, you went looking for it, cause its AWESOME but no, it wasn't there. But there's your phone. Whistling Dixie.
"Fed. I have been called that before." Says the crisp, clipped, female tone. The kind of tone that screams 'fed'. "You are being activated, Mr. Harley."
Cash gets a sinking feeling in his stomache, vision tunnelling as the words soak in. After a moment, he replies, "I see. Am I coming to you, or are you coming to me?", casting glances around the room to make sure there isn't anything he wouldn't want a fed seeing, namely EVERYTHING.
"You are coming to me. But first, you will stop in the Sioux Sector and pick up an asset I have been referred to for expendable deniability. That is one 'Hardy', a troll with gang Affiliations. You will find him at the location called 'Wrenches Werks'."
Ms. Browning, The Johnson
Hiro Tanaka, The Agent
The Target
Cash narrows his eyes, recalling more than one confrontation with the Demo Boys in the parking lot of the `works. All of which ended up with him smiling and playing nice breeder to avoid quite honestly, being pummeled into a mostly-aluminum meat pancake. He replies into the phone, "Understood. Hardy. Is he expecting me?", tossing a few nessecities into his backpack, like his electronics and survival gear, or at least what will fit.
"No. You may promise him a job paying 20,000 nuyen for a nights work. I will call back in 90 minutes exactly. Be ready, Mr. Harley."
Cash ushers Snowflake to her kennel, giving the hellhound a good scratch behind the ears as he replies, "Understood. I'll make the preparations and will await your further contact.", closing the door of the kennel and grabbing up his backpack as well as a pre-made duffel of running gear including selections from his light arms. He heads to the garage of the bastille, fishing out the keys to his Jeep as his apartment locks behind him, the light turning from green to red.
Once in the jeep, Cash puts rubber to asphalt, driving defensively enough to not arouse suspicion. He cuts off a few people to keep them from passing him, then struggles to restrain his road rage as someone does the same to him. He finds the exit toward Ute and sighs with relief, looking forward to the less bullish country traffic. Putting the 4-wheel drive to use, Cash takes the jeep through some choice shortcuts he developped living in the area of the garage, going off the paved road to take some trails only locals know.
As he approaches, he feels the rumble of the troll rager on the horizon, sighing with disdain, "Oh great… Now I gotta find a troll named "Hardy" in a pack of trolls. This is going to go well…", with a sigh. He almost considers disguising himself as an ork, before he recalls that the leader of the Demo boys is a mage of some sort, if he recalls correctly, and would likely impale him for such a stunt.
He pulls into the parkinglot, thinking, "What would Neil the ork barbarian do?", jokingly.
A needle in a haystack would be easier to find than one biker troll among many biker trolls. Hardy has moved from the 'Harley toss' to the brawling ring. His voice one among many shouting for Gnash, the bouncer from the Big House as he brawls with Hacksaw. Hacksaw takes a particularly well thrown right hook which brings the crowd of trolls almost to the edge of frenzy. Hardy stands and lends his tusky roar to that of the rest of the group cheering on Gnash.
Well when you take a day of troll ganger games and a few too many Tuskweiser's, nature is bound to call. Hardy pushes his way to the edge of the crowd and makes his way towards a particularly inviting looking Jeep sized bathroom that just pulled into the lot. Besides, the driver is a breeder…whats he gonna do. Hardy tosses the driver a grin, pulls the stogie from his tusky maw and starts to urinate on the drivers side tire of the Jeep.
Cash hops out of the window of the jeep, smirking as he holds the alarm keychain between his knuckle and thumb. He comments to Hardy, unknowing of who he is, "Pinch it off omae, the electroshock packs a bit of zing.", too used to this part of town to get worked up over troll piss. He's grateful it isn't some kind of worse excertion. He eyes the crowd, asking the urinating trog, "Hey, I'm lookin‘ for someone. I’ll toss in for more keg cred if you help me out.", keeping his eyes averted from the exposed troll genetalia.
The crowd of trolls continues to roar behind the meeting. Some meetings are historic, others are catastrophic, its still yet to be determined how this one works out. Hardy grins widely and turns to face the breeder as he exits the jeep. He pulls the cigar from his maw and eyes the breeder for a moment, looking him up and down. He shakes a leg, finishing without hitting the breeder, although splash happens. "Joo a cop" Its a simple three word sentence that brings the attention of several other D Boyz close by. Hardy puts away the pocket rocket but fails to zip his pants. The cigar goes back into his mouth as he crosses his arms across his chest. The stance might have been intimidating except for the red heart boxers showing through his fly.
Cash is a pretty big guy for a human, or even an ork, but in the presence of trolls he is subjected to feeling as small as everyone else. He looks up at Hardy, sidelong, "Naw, omae, not a cop. Name's Cash.", lighting up a cigarette and hoping his reputation precedes him for a solemn second. He continues, "I'm just bringing a message for someone. Been a while since I visited the ‘works, lotta new faces in the demo boyz. How’s ol` Wrecker holdin` up these days?".
One of the trolls news Hardy clears his throat and gets Hardy's attention. A simple tug on the crotch of the other trolls pants awakens Hardy to his current situation. Hardy frowns and zips his pants, continueing to eye the human with one eye open. The other eye is currently closed, fighting the smoke from the cigar. He and the rest of the trolls dont really show that they have any idea who Cash is. Then again a troll on the other side of the jeep from Cash rubs one of his horns and five more appear to show interest in the conversation. Hardy gives the horn rubbing troll a withering glance and then turns back to Cash, obviously a little annoyed. "Who joo a lookin fer den omae?" He jerks a thumb at the brawling ring, "Wez a lil busy but joo can hab nex ifn joo wan…" He completely ignores the reference to Wrecker, who knows why.
Cash crosses his arms as the fighting pit is pointed out, weighing the risk of participating and it's threat to him being able to complete the mission. He turns to Hardy, "I'm lookin` for a fella named Hardy.", then looks back to the ring, "Maybe I go a round with one of you, you tell me how to find him?", looking to the faces of the surrounding trolls, trying to size up the amount of fight in them.
Snickering trolls are not as amusing as one might think. The small gathering around Hardy and Cash starts to fade back towards the brawling ring. Arms go over shoulders and new wagers are shouted back to other gangers still watching the bout between Hacksaw and Gnash. Hardy doesnt join in the amusement, continuing to observe the breeder before walking towards him. Hardy gets roughly a foot from Cash and looks over the humans head, back onto the street before answering. "Whut joo want omae…Im Hardy." Hard continues to look towards the street as if expecting the Star to come barreling into the lot at any second. His huge fists clench and unclench and his weight shifts to the balls of his feet. To anyone trained in any sort of disciplined fighting, the classic signs of someine getting ready to fight for thier life are evident.
Cash's phone starts whistling dixie again.
Cash is well versed in the methods of psychology and fighting. His jaw clenches and his stomache tightens as he holds up his hands defensively, "Null sheen omae, I'm not bringin` heat on ya. Just gotta take this call…", pausing to pull out his cellphone. He answers, "You got Cash.", keeping his non-aggressive posture.
"Indeed I do. Have you collected Mr. Hardy yet?"
The tones of Dixie start from the breeder, making Hardy bring his gaze from the street to the breeder. He takes a step back and seems to relax just a hair. His eyes narrow as he tries to listen to the conversation and fails with the sounds of the troll bash around him. Thus with his failure he heightens his awareness once again, keeping his head on the proverbial swivel as he waits for Cash to tell him why he wanted to talk to him.
Cash comments, "I just made contact. Negotiating terms. Can you hold?", upnodding to Hardy. He mentions, covering the phone mic, "Need some muscle for a job. If you're interested, we can discuss payment.", keeping it short and to the point.
"No, I cannot. I expected you to have this portion of the mission done by now. What is the nature of your failure?"
Hardy frowns and again looks the human up and down, takin his measure of the man. He takes a long pull on his cigar now before strongly exhaling into the wind. He lets the pause extend for an extra second than he really needs to. The unsaid words hang there before he simply nods his ascent to the terms thus far and nods towards the phone and the impatient bitch on the other end.
Cash replies, "Negotiation.", offering no excuses or argument to the criticism. Giving a halfgrin to Hardy's nod, he replies to the phone, "Contact has now been made and the contact's participation is confirmed.", passing along this information and waiting for futher instructions.
"Good. Proceed with the contact to the corner of 38th and Vine. You will receive further instructions from that point. You have 10 minutes."
Cash narrows his eyes, but keeps his tone even, "Understood.", thumbing to the bench seat of the jeep as he brings down the canopy. Even though it's cold as hell, it's the only way to fit a three meter trog, though the bench seat should be quite accomidating. He fires up the engine, "We have ten minutes to make it to the next meet point. Pleasure to make your aquaintance, Hardy.", giving the troll a nod.
Hardy still cant hear the conversation on the other end of the phone. He continues to look toward the entrance to the parking lot. Hardy knocks the end off his cigar on the sole of his boot and walks over to a Harley parked nearby. He pulls a black hockey bag from prefab hooks on the side of the bike and chucks it into the back of the Jeep. Like trying to fit a Caddy into a New York parking space on New Years, Hardy eventually fits his three meter plus frame into the Jeep. "Null sheen omae, whut joo know bout da biz hey?"
Cash slips it into gear, noting, "All I know so far, is that they hired me and you. I would guess they want someone either killed or beaten to frag.", with a chuckle, crunching ice under the off-road tires. He drives with haste, using the auto nav map display to more accurately plot his courses. He notes to Hardy, "Unless this is just some plot to get us for unpaid parking tickets.", turning on the heater, for what little it will do.
Ms. Browning eyes the unpaid parking tickets in front of her. "Most… impressive. 93 in the space of 30 minutes in all 7 sectors of Denver." Her aide nods. "Scofflaws."
Without another thought, Ms. Browning closes that screen and dials Cash's number. "Proceed three blocks down. Turn right. Pull to a stop by the 3rd Fire Hydrant you see. Do this now."
The quarters in the Jeep are tight and Hardy'd bulk doesnt help one bit. He turns his shoulders and slides out of his D Boyz cut, sliding a black long coat from the black hockey bag and placing it across the bag in the back seat. He nods to Cash as he speaks, "Aight…" and then looks from the phone to Cash. "Changes?"
Cash has the reaction speed of a cheetah on tweek, able to take directions at this frequency while talking to a woman on the phone, a formula for disaster in the hands of a lesser man. He replies to the phone, "Understood", following the instructions to a T, then replying to Hardy, "Nah, just further directions.", shifting his shoulders to make sure the familiar weight of his twin underarm holstered Predator IIIs is still with him. After glancing at rooftops for any snipe flashes, he eyes the third fire hydrant and comes to a stop, checking his mirrors and the road in front of him.
The road forward has only 1 vehicle on it, a bigrig parked about a hundred feet in front of you. The rooftops are sniper free, or so they seem, but its night time in what amounts to a warehouse/industrial district. The night is silent. Dead Silent.
Hardy waits till the jeep comes to a stop and then starts to watch the area his eyes moving from heat spot to heat spot. Here a devil rat makes its way into the basement of an office building, there a joygirl services a john in an alleyway. All of these are taken in, analyzed and discarded before he continues to search for threats in the street. "Im not likin sittin in da open lik dis omae…" His attention goes to the bigrig, trying to determine if the engine is still hot and if there is heat inside the cab.
The Cab is at the other end of the rig, with the trailer presented. It's not 'warm' at least, externally. And then the back door rotates down, to make a Ramp.
"Enter the vehicle."
Cash raises an eyebrow, "It's /too/ quiet.", falling victim to the inevitable cliche with a solemn stare down the alley. He upnods to Hardy, "You got a commlink omae?", slipping in an earbud from a pouch on his tactical vest. He sets a fresh comm channel cycle, leaving the engine running for a moment before he slips on a pair of winter gloves. Aluminum bones make for stiff hands afterall. He looks back to Hardy, "Phone says to enter the vehicle.", slipping on his backpack and making sure the toolbox containing his duffel is locked. He then kills the engine and gets out of the Jeep, waiting for Hardy before proceeding.
Hardy looks at the bigrig as the rear door starts to open. His hand immediately goes into his armpit and rests on the handle of the Predator III concealed there in a quickdraw holster. The smartlink II interface comes online and a targeting recticle makes itsself apparent to the sight of the troll. Hardy nods to the question from Cash, pulling his own commlink from under his shirt and up to rest against his throat in a common subvocal carry configuration. He reaches into the back seat, sliding out the coat and hocky bag and squeezing out of the jeep. He shrugs on the coat and sets his own comm channel cycle before giving Cash the thumbs up and following him towards the truck.
Commlink-Cowboy> Cash says, "Check"
Cash approaches with equal care, narrowing his eyes to focus for monowire or concealed claymores. While being fast is part of the job, so is being cautious. He approaches the back of the bigrig, pulling up the hood of his armor jacket to protect his ears from the cold.
Commlink-Roulette> Hardy says, "rgr"
Hardy follows Cash to the rig, his position as 'tail end charlie' making him alternate between walking backwards and forwards. He keeps the area under surveillance as best he can as they make their way to the rig. A quick yank from one of the pockets reveals a black watch cap which is pulled into place over the horns of the troll in one quick motion.
Upon approaching the vehicle, a light comes on to give illumination. It's a 5 foot by 6 foot chamber, at the back of the trailer. A door is set in to the 'far' wall. When you enter the room, the back door starts to ratchet upwards, to close them in. "Do not be alarmed."
Cash furrows his brow, "They say not to be alarmed…", with a bit of confidence. He notes, "If they wanted us dead, I figure the alley would have been the place to do it.", with a shrug, placing a hand against the trailer wall to hold himself stable. He keeps the phone to his ear, but stays quiet, experience telling him that asking too many questions will simply get him vague answers at this point. He sighs, trying to be patient.
Hardy frowns and one nosril starts to flare as his anger starts to show through the green exterior of the trolls visage. He gives Cash a look that speaks volumes as he rests his bag on the floor of the truck. "Dis be askin fer a drek load uh trus omae…" He pauses to look around the interior of the rig for a moment before testing his weight against the wall of the rig. When it holds he leans against it and waits his eyes still on Cash and the phone.
THe door seals closed with an enviro seal hiss of compressed air. A red light comes on, and then the door 'in' to the truck starts to cycle open, sliding apart like a Star-trek door.
Commlink-Cowboy> Cash subvocalizes, "I hear ya omae. This reeks, but I've been down this road before. We gotta ride it out until we know more. So far, they haven't gassed us, or thrown us in a cell. That's better than some." as he approaches the furturistic door. He goes first, looking at the frame of the door as he passes through it curiously, trying to remember if he recognizes the engineering scheme from a particular corporation as he looks about the room on the other side.
Two men in black suits, very official looking, meet the men at the door when it opens. "One moment, the director will see you." Humans, it should be noted.
Hardy waits for Cash to pass through the doorway and into the room beyond. He keeps his eye on Cash, not allowing the human to get out of his sight. He doesnt react to the subvocalization from Cash as he sights the two humans in the black suits. Their mention of the 'director' definitely catches his attention and not in a good curiosity kind of way. Sounds a bit too much like 'warden' to him for his comfort.
Commlink-Roulette> Hardy subvocalizes, "If we fin a card wif 'Eat me Drink me' on it Im haulin hoop omae."
Cash stands at attention, not resisting any searching. He is however, in fact wearing two pistols, an extendable staff, various electronics, climbing gear and street armor. He notes, "Understood.", his posture that of a good soldier. He smirks at Hardy's comm blurt, but maintains a professional composure so as not to appear as a goof-off.
The men arn't searched. Either the men are confident or they are foolish. Of course, it could be confidently foolish. They turn then, one going forward, one holding back to walk behind. "Please, follow me."
It's like walking through an AWAC's patrol aircraft, with banks of computer monitors scrolling information that technicians minitor and notate, murmuring almost silently in to microphones with monotone voices.
Hardy doesnt stand at anything near attention, unless a casual crouch against a wall just made it into military regs. He too doesnt resist any searching, pistols under each arm and a cougar fine blade sticking out of he top of each boot. He lifts from the wall and follows the human through the NASA space center. Hardy's bulk makes him have to turn sideways to make it through the banks and other equipment, not to mention the technicians where they sit at their stations.
Cash feels oddly more at home in these surroundings than in his own home. The old blood flares up, a hint of excitement as computer-trained suggestions in his brain release endorphins. Too long away from the dull blue glow of monitors and the gleam of high brass badges, the samurai's shoulders untense as he follows the two guards, striding confidently towards his destination.
The forward area of the vehicle is set in to an office-like area, with an LCD screen that shows a pastoral, window-like scene beyond it. The desk is mohagany, bolted to the floor, which here is carpeted. A few small plants decorate the office. A pair of chairs, one troll-sized and one human, sit before the desk, who's nameplate reads 'Director M. Browning.'
"Sit. She will be with you in a moment."
Hardy enters the office and lets out a low whistle. He does the tourist thing, swiveling his head around on his neck to take in the entire room. The hockey bag slides off his shoulder and comes to rest at the back of the troll sized chair. Hardy takes a moment to look over the chair, ensuring that it will hold his weight as well as accomodate his considerable frame. He takes a seat and tosses a look to Cash, his face showing his unease in these surroundings. Cash's confidence and apparent familarity with this situation gives him a little peace but not much as he waits. "Well I'm glad it didna get weird omae…" He chuckles, a low rumbling sound that he breaks off abruptly, covering it with a cough and a hand to his mouth.
Cash slips into the human sized chair wordlessly, sitting in silent anticipation of Director M. Browning, eyeing the nameplate and committing it to his photographic memory. He tries to picture the director in his mind, imagining a german woman with dark hair, weilding a pair of pistols. His thoughts next fall on the troll next to him. He looks over to him, the meaty troll physique, confident in the metahuman's genetic propensity for beating asses. He replies to Hardy, "Hahaha, seriously. I was so expecting the ol "Bag on the head, bash on the noggin`" thing the moment we stepped into the back of the truck.".
Another door from the side opens, and in steps a human woman. She's got… what you could call severe features. An iron cast to her expression, eyes of diamond, both brilliant and cold. She does not greet the men, but instead, moves behind the desk and settles herself down. She examines some papers on her desk, not yet looking to Cash or the Troll. She shuffles those to the side then, and pours herself a glass of water from a pitcher. Setting that down, she looks to the men.
"Good day, Gentlemen."
Hardy doesnt respond to the woman as she speaks. He hasnt been in this sort of situation before but he can tell when he is supposed to be seen and not heard. Besides Cash appears to be completely at home in the back of a bigrig, with lots of governmant types. With a look to Cash, Hardy then turns back towards the woman and waits for her to explain this craziness.
Cash tips an invisible hat, "And a good day to you, ma`am…", his subtle southern accent adding some personality to the cold samurai exterior. He watches her pour the water and subconsciously wants one as well, eyes following the motions of the glass of water the way a dog might watch someone eat a burrito.
She doesn't respond to the greetings, instead, wasting no time. "I require your services this evening to disrupt a meeting in a most permanent and final fashion." The window-LCD switches to show a japanese man getting off a plane at San Francisco International Airport. "This is Hiro Tanaka. He is a diplomatic attache to General Kenji Saito of Occupied California." A pause. "He is arriving in Denver as we speak… for a meeting with this woman."
The image switches to show a Spanish woman lounging on a deck, a drink in one hand, her top off for a 'full top' tan. "This is Seriphina De Jager. She is in town on business for Aztechnology. We have reason to suspect they are meeting to discuss a joint attack on the Pueblo Corporate Council holdings in California." A heavy pause.
"Disrupt this meeting."
Hardy leans forward to get a better view of both pics on the LCD. He doesnt touch the desk but tries to find features about both faces that will help him recall them. The line of a jaw, the shape of an eyesocket, a noticable widows peak, all are taken into memory. At the heavy pause he sits back in his chair, waiting for the rest of the breifing.
Cash focusses in on the pictures, letting the Mnemonic enchancer to the hard work for him, "Seriphina De Jager… Hiro Tanaka.", his only utterances. He pulls out a pocsec to make sloppy shorthand notes in code to himself for later, should the need arise.
"In 90 minutes, they will meet, with a body guard each, at the Royal Gorge bridge, arriving via Air Taxi. They will have dinner overlooking the Gorge. They have rented out the small cafe they will be meeting in, with only the cook and one waiter on site. Once Hiro leaves, kill the woman and make it seem like a japanese hit."
Hardy considers this new information before turning in his chair and opening his bag. Out comes his own pocsec and after a few keys are hit on the small device a map of the area is drawn up. Hardy makes a few notes on the pocsec and then waits for the woman to continue. He has questions, several in fact, but its Cash's show so he will let Cash speak before he questions the woman.
Cash considers the job, a stoic look of contemplation on his face. What secrets his thoughts hold are his own, but he replies, "I take it we are to "Make it look like a japanese hit" at our discretion, correct? Are we to use our own disguises, or will you supply us with uniforms? What corp is in with Saito? Is he backed by Renraku? I apologize for being ill-informed, but I haven't been keeping track.", looking over to Hardy to guage his reaction to the job offer.
"The Japanese corps back Saito. Only Yamatetsu holds outside, but that's not very surprising. The hardliners back Saito, and the new Emperor has made waves by no longer aligning the Political Interests of the Empire with the Corporate Interests inside the Empire. You are to use your own resources and your own discretion, yes."
Hardy doesnt have any real 'reaction' to the announcement of the job other then to make notes as to the targets and the manner to whit they are to be handled. He hits a few more keystrokes on the pocsec before sitting back in his chair and nodding simply his willingness to proceed to Cash.
Cash slumps a bit at that, pondering disguise options and weapon choices. The mental catalog of "Toughest Japanese security guards Cash has ever fought" rolls through his mind, settling on MCT over Renraku's red samurai. He comments to Hardy, "Then disguising ourselves as an MCT hit squad could work… 90 minutes is a short time frame.", pulling out a cellphone and texting an armorer friend to see if he's available.
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