X00032:7.Y00001:12.Z00054:4, Building Across the Street from Rya Mendez's Listed Address  | Night City Integrate | Midcity | UrbanZone - March 9th, Day 3 (Sunday), 8:13 AM PST

Weather Conditions: High City (Thunderstorms, 15 mph winds from the NE.) | Midcity (Rain, 10mph winds from the NE.) | Undercity (Fog and Rain, no winds.)

Air Quality Index: High City = 25 | Midcity = 42 | Undercity = 75 (masks required)

Releasing the Walkie-Talkie button, Ghlahn turns to his partner, "You got anything? The lookout idea is a wash so we can head back whenever you are ready."

“Ya, I’m almost inside…” Blossom replies absently. “Not rich enough for a Reality but flush enough to have paid for some serious software.” 

Movies and novels have mainstreamed the term Reality enough that Ghlahn is able to decipher some of what she’s talking about. A Reality is a virtual construct that requires an individual to completely jack in, their mind leaving the real world entirely to basically exist in the virtual reality. Runners are most vulnerable when they are in that state as their bodies are completely unaware of their real world surroundings. Government bodies are striving to set legal limits on time spent jacked in as more and more people are finding those fake worlds more appealing than the real one. 

“There are a few servers being ran in this area,” Blossom continues to explain. “This one I’m currently peeling back; it’s got the most defenses. Makes me curious.”

"So ya found something interesting? Care to share?" Ghlahn moves closer so his voice can remain too low for the vagrants to hear. "I let the other know I had no overlook but didn’t hear back so perhaps we should head back soon. No rush, just let me know when you are ready to move."

Absently responding with a “Hmmm,” Blossom continues her dig for a few more seconds before jerking her attention towards the sniper. “No response? Do you think they might be in trouble?” Shaking her head, the netrunner quickly has her “girl” jump back to the scanning software she’s had searching for possible flags that might indicate the second team is closing in and reviews the data feed, wide eyes darting back and forth behind her heart-shaped sunglasses.

“I’ve got nothin’ and there haven’t been any gunfire… right?” Receiving a nod from her CEE-metal companion, Blossom still can’t help the sinking feeling in her gut. “I don’t like it.” 

Flagging the IP address of the server construct she has been breaking down for further investigation, she springs up, her leather trenchcoat flowing about her shapely legs with a muted rustle. All of her HUD readouts fade away as she pulls herself fully out of the cyberspace and returns to reality. “Let’s head back to the Jeep.”

(OOC: March 9th, Day 3 - Sunday, Time is 08:16 AM PST)

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X00032:8.Y00001:12.Z00054:5, Rya Mendez’s Listed Address | Night City Integrate | Midcity | UrbanZone - March 9th, Day 3 (Sunday), 8:20 AM PST

Weather Conditions: High City (Thunderstorms, 15 mph winds from the NE.) | Midcity (Rain, 10mph winds from the NE.) | Undercity (Fog and Rain, no winds.)

Air Quality Index: High City = 25 | Midcity = 42 | Undercity = 75 (masks required)

The door clicks open and Marta shoves an index card through the small crack. “This all I have on Rya Mendez. Now, go. Go.” 

Echo takes the card and as the door closes, reads the fine handwriting on the front. 

Rya Mendez - End of Row, 12th Alley, Hill View - No contact number, works at Upstairs, Downstairs, Inc.

Handing the card to Charlie, Echo swings her submachine gun from behind her back into hand and without another look at the big solo, she starts walking down the hall. 

Receiving the card with the new address and or whereabouts of Rya, Charlie looks at the information and draws his agent from his inside jacket pocket. Tapping the digital keys on his device, the fixer seeks to find more information he can pass along about this little nugget. He sends Blossom the address along with a note that this potentially pertains directly to Jace’s location and turns to follow the prickly nomad out of the building. He can’t wait to return to his borrowed air jeep, finish this gig, and unload it back to its owners. 

Interested in what was written on the card now held in Cred Stick's hand, Bloodbank leans in, but something else catches his attention. An odd expression passes across Echo's eyes. Sorrow? Contempt? It is an expression that he doesn’t really have any words for. He can tell that it isn’t happiness, though.

Speeding up slightly to walk beside her, Bloodbank murmurs under his battlemask, trying to keep his voice low so that only Echo can hear him. "Hey. Are you alright?"

Glancing sideways at the medtech, the young nomad clenches her jaw against the emotions that surprisingly rise up inside of her. Long eyelashes slam shut quickly to keep any tears from escaping, she blinks as rapidly as she returns her gaze to the stairs below. 

“Everything’s golden,” she lies while admitting to herself that it isn’t. She had thought that with Casino’s obvious loyalty to Vegas and his passion that she’d found someone she could count on. Now that the Tribe has pushed her aside, that inclusion is a lot more important than she had originally given it credit for. Two days in and she has found herself hoping that this crew, this team of misfits—and most importantly, Casino—could fill that void. Why did he have to say those things and push me off like that? “Just got to get the run over with, right? Then we all go our merry ways.” 

Realizing that she’s responding very chill towards the man who had come to check on her, Elizabeth wants to offer him an olive branch but finds herself so angry—mostly with herself, she realizes—that she remains quiet and presses on leaving Bloodbank to follow just behind her and in front of Charlie.

Scanning ahead, looking past the leather clad woman in front of him, he admits that he is still worried about the other team and wonders how close they are to him. Echo does her job, cold and efficient, stopping them before progressing onto each landing and investigating before leading them further down the stairs. On the second floor she stops them with a raised hand. Sounds of something moving about in the lobby drift up the stairwell, a low rolling clip that the woman immediately places as wheels. Stepping softly, the soles of her riding boots absorbing the sound of her decent, Echo raises up her submachine gun and approaches an angle by which she can better observe the cluttered space. Spotting a grubby looking child scooting about on a Big Wheel, she quickly scans the rest of the room before lowering her weapon and stepping out, motioning the others to follow. 

Perhaps seven years of age, the child is a little Latino girl with scraggly black hair that hangs loosely about her shoulders, dirt smudges on her face, and wide eyes that show no fear only curiosity. She wears a faded white T-shirt with thin red stripes and bright blue shorts along with rubber flip-flops. Still as a statue while the team passes, Casino picks up the rolling of her ancient plaything pick up again once they step outside.

As they reach the outside and the rest head to the car, Casino finds himself hesitating, debating his next move; rejoin the rest of the group or say to hell with it and go after Vegas. He still has the walkie and can hopefully contact his partner’s captors to arrange a new meet-up and try to get him back. Yeah, the big solo’s chances are slim to none attempting to rescue his friend alone, but he does have options if only they aren’t so few and not guaranteed. Looking at Echo’s retreating back, Casino feels first hurt then angry and unsure of where he actually stands with her.

After all, once again the big solo has been guided away from where he should be right now, all because he is lonely and the nomad girl had sparked something in him. Echo had been the one to talk him—and if Casino has to be honest—kiss him, into going with the group instead of after Vegas, his partner for three times longer than he’d ever know this 18-year-old kid. Goddamn it! He’d once again thought with his d**k and heart instead of being loyal, well f**k that, that changes now. He makes his choice, pausing in front of the team as everyone gathers around the air jeep, Ghlahn and Blossom having been waiting for them to arrive. Now is the time where he makes it clear.

“I’m done being nice and quiet,” The big solo says staring directly at Echo, a hurt, yet determined look in his eyes that his battlemask keeps from being revealed. His voice steady and calm, he continues, "I don't know what the hell is up with you Echo, one minute your all nice and affectionate, the next you’re basically telling me, f**k you! I looked to you and thought my idea of you taking the lead with the old lady was okay as you did not give any indication it was not. I never had any intention of sacrificing your ass to the ‘gods of luck.’ If that’s how you feel then I apologize.”

Turning to look at Charlie, he addresses their faceman. “And you Charlie, you start doing your part finding this kid fast or no more Mister Nice Guy from me. You got stuck as the leader by Starlight, then f**king start leading. We need the kid and we need him fast so we can go after Vegas.” A deep couple of breaths to calm himself and he looks at everyone else. “So where to next?”

“So…” Blossom removes the lolli from her mouth with an audible popping sound and smiles into the awkwardness. “Everything go well with you choombas?”

Mortified that Casino would address her in front of others as he did, Echo refuses to look at anyone, focusing her eyes on the stream of dirty water rolling down the gutter. “We go to that address and confront Rya,” she mutters.

“Sure,” the netrunner chirps. “Let’s all get lovey-dovey in this quaint piece of military surplus. Who’s lap am I sitting on?” Turning her childish heart-shaped sunglasses towards Bloodbank and Fixer, she grins broadly and points the ball of her grape sucker at each in turn while swinging her hips to one side with each change, “Eenie, meanie, miny, moe…”

(OOC: March 9th, Day 3 - Sunday, Time is 08:30 AM PST)

Ready and waiting.

I won't know what to do with a game that manages to maintain...

Be free little scout... Your sacrifice will not go unappreciated.

Sleeping in armor is never a restful experience. To some extent, Gib is used to the lumps, pinches, and constriction that accompanies the practice. While these discomforts can wear on a person they also help a soldier sleep lightly which can come in really handy on nights like this. Even after trekking through the eerie woods with tense nerves and watchful eyes, the war-priest finds it difficult to fall asleep. Trail food isn't the best and he made the decision early in the day to withhold asking for Therassor for a blessing of divine food and water in favor of reserving his deity's energy for more practical uses. As he lay his head down on his backpack, Moreno found himself thinking of the refreshment his god's meal would have delivered. These thoughts are what he finally drifted off to only to be awakened by the distant screams.

Eyes popping open, the cleric stared into the misty canopy overhead, his right hand instinctively dropping from his chest to the loaded crossbow at his side. Seeing no immediate threat looming overhead and hearing the soft pad of Ch'dau's feet, Gib sits up while cradling the crossbow to his chest and peering through narrowed eyes all about.

Shifting his feet beneath him, the priest sets the crossbow down as quietly as he can and retrieves his helmet, securing it in place with practiced ease. Blood pumping with the anticipation of pending battle, the bearded man snakes his arm through the straps of his shield and arranges it securely against his shoulder allowing him to have both hands free to use the crossbow. Taking the ranged weapon to hand once more as he rises, Gib whispers a prayer to Therassor for guidance and victory as he walks over to the gathering companions.

Kithran must have been asked a question that she answers just as the warrior priest comes within range of her low voice, "No. Only the screams, but the laughter may not carry this far."

Squinting in the direction the deadly woman is pointing her bow, Moreno raises his crossbow a little higher ready to take aim at the blink of an eye. To his left, the scout moves further from the firelight and says, "There is a distance between us, but I don't trust it, especially with our fire. I would like to scout in that direction, just to be certain they are not headed our way. I am very silent and won't stray too far. Should I come back unscathed, we may be okay for the night with no need to wake the restful. However," her tone changes to wry, "my screams shall be an early warning system and you should come running after me willy-nilly. What say you lot?"

Being accustomed to the practices of military scouts, Gib can see no fault in this plan. Glancing at Aranwen, he dips his helmeted head slightly to indicate his agreement. Still standing outside of the fire's light himself, the Man of Therassor does his best to keep his eyes pure from the fire so that the darkness does not become darker still. Should it be necessary, he is ready to fire his crossbow, drop the weapon and draw his longsword for melee. 

I am a Google Drive expert. I basically don't even use Microsoft Office anymore except when someone forces me to. So, if you have questions, let me know. My wife uses a Chromebook as well, so I may be able to help there.

Great questions!

1. Yes, you saw surveillance video of Rya Mendez and Marta is definitely not the younger Rya.

2. You made a pretty good assumption. Setting your agent to work locating the address (Google Maps) will return five different possible addresses for "Hill View" of which the closest is further east, same city level, about three miles away.

3. If you believe it is accurate, then belief is Reality.

4. The next name on the list is a man, Hector Alvares. His listed address is about five miles away, same city level, but it is a building address according to your agent.

Having answered the posted questions, I'll let you add to your posts or not, but I am looking for a post from Keeper. Espatier, I could use something a bit more. Does Charlie readily share the information he's just received? Is any discussion going to be held? Plans laid out? Communication with Ghlahn made? Does anyone need to use the restroom? Everyone should use the restroom before going on a trip.

Still wandering in the wilderness. 40-days... 40 nights...

I'll be happy to post whenever.

BBQing meat is importanter! A word of advice to players: use Google Drive to back up your posts, characters, etc. if you don't write them in Google Docs to begin with. It makes hardware disasters a little less disasterful.

That's what it looks like to me.

Still here. Here is where I be. 

Preachy or peachy? Either way... the game has been updated and I appreciate everyone's posts.

X00032:7.Y00001:12.Z00054:4, Building Across the Street from Rya Mendez's Listed Address  | Night City Integrate | Midcity | UrbanZone - March 9th, Day 3 (Sunday), 8:10 AM PST

Weather Conditions: High City (Thunderstorms, 15 mph winds from the NE.) | Midcity (Rain, 10mph winds from the NE.) | Undercity (Fog and Rain, no winds.)

Air Quality Index: High City = 25 | Midcity = 42 | Undercity = 75 (masks required)

"Well, this building has nothing to offer as far as overwatch,” Ghlahn grumbles looking out the window. There is no way to see behind the concrete walls encasing the group. He is essentially blind. Taking out his radio he gives an update.

"We made it inside but other than a bunch of vagrants all around me I can't see a thing. You guys are on your own over there. Probably gonna make our way back to the start point." Releasing the button, he turns to his partner, "You got anything? The lookout idea is a wash so we can head back whenever you are ready."

“Ya, I’m almost inside…” Blossom replies absently. “Not rich enough for a Reality but flush enough to have paid for some serious software.” 

Movies and novels have mainstreamed the term Reality enough that Ghlahn is able to decipher some of what she’s talking about. A Reality is a virtual construct that requires an individual to completely jack in, their mind leaving the real world entirely to basically exist in the virtual reality. Runners are most vulnerable when they are in that state as their bodies are completely unaware of their real-world surroundings. Government bodies are striving to set legal limits on time spent jacked in as more and more people are finding those fake worlds more appealing than the real one. 

“There are a few servers running in this area,” Blossom continues to explain. “This one I’m currently peeling back; it’s got the most defenses. Makes me curious.”

(OOC: March 9th, Day 3 - Sunday, Time is 08:13 AM PST)

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X00032:8.Y00001:12.Z00054:5, Rya Mendez’s Listed Address | Night City Integrate | Midcity | UrbanZone - March 9th, Day 3 (Sunday), 8:10 AM PST

Weather Conditions: High City (Thunderstorms, 15 mph winds from the NE.) | Midcity (Rain, 10mph winds from the NE.) | Undercity (Fog and Rain, no winds.)

Air Quality Index: High City = 25 | Midcity = 42 | Undercity = 75 (masks required)

Stepping slightly away from the others and away from the door, Cred-stick speaks again, "Okay... so you got a few people in with you and I'm bothering the neighbors... Your choice." 

"No." The MedTech hisses, stepping forward to grasp Casino's arm. "We can't let this turn to violence. We haven't the time nor the energy for a firefight." 

Tearing his arm from Bloodbank, but otherwise ignoring him, Casino speaks up. “Ma’am we are not here to hurt anyone or get into a risky firefight. We were hired by a fixer, who was hired (as she told us) by the kid’s family, to find out what happened to him and rescue him. I know you don’t know us, trust us, or give a s*** who hired us, but it’s clear to me if the boy is in there you did not kidnap him. If you had, I think the shooting would have already started and people, possibly the kid, would already be dead.”

Relieved, and the slightest bit surprised, Bloodbank waits with bated breath for a response, any response. It wasn't the woman behind the door that speaks up, however, it is Casino again.

“Look, I got a young lady out here. Her name’s Echo. If the boy is in there with you, let her come in unarmed and talk to him, find out what we have gotten into and if the boy is here willingly. If we are the bad guys, I’d like to know it up front. Ma’am, honestly, if I could I’d walk away from this run, I would, as my best friend and partner is being held against his will as we speak and could end up dead at any minute. The longer I have to deal with this the longer it will take to rescue him. So please let Echo in to talk to the boy, please.”

"Please." Bloodbank echoes. "We are here to try and save a child. An innocent child who had done nothing more than have an important father. We don't want to fight you, we don't want anything more from you than your assistance in preventing a terrible fate for this child. Surely you don't wish any harm on a child. You can stop this, you can help us and make a difference. To lend yourself to a cause that is larger than any of us. A cause that may not seem to make a large difference in this world we live in, but a cause that will make all the difference to one, young, defenseless child. A cause that is good. A cause that is right. Not often do we have opportunities to do good in this world. To do the right thing. So please, open the door. We just want to talk. Nothing more."

Two breaths later the latch on the door clicks, then another, and finally a third. When the door cracks open a bit, a Sternmeyer Type 35 heavy pistol peeks its barrel through followed by a weathered old face staring right at Cred Stick Charlie’s slick visage.

“You called me Rya,” the woman says in a low voice laced with a Polish accent. “I am not Rya. I am Marta. Marta Anders. I know a Rya. What you say about a child being missing, this cannot have to do with Rya. She is a very nice woman.” Keeping the handgun leveled at Charlie’s gut, her eyes dart from side to side, assessing what she can see of the hallway. “Rya used to come around every other day to collect messages. This is what I do. I offer an address for people who do not have one so they can work. I have not seen her in couple days.” 

“Do you know where we can find her?” Echo slowly steps into view, having put her weapons away. Hands held up in front of her, the Nomad presents very little visible threat despite still having her face covered by the balaclava. 

Marta regards the leather-clad woman with narrowed eyes that take in her whole appearance quickly before settling in a direct stare. Echo feels as though Marta is reading her very soul, remembering sitting before the Council and feeling emotionally stripped by their decision. Mouth suddenly dry, Elizabeth turns her palms upward, instinctively using the Rolling State’s symbol for charity. “Please, there’s a young life at stake.”

“You stay here,” Marta abruptly closes the door to her apartment.

Dropping her hands to her sides, Echo turns a narrowed, icy gaze towards Casino. “Next time you want to offer a sacrifice to the gods of luck, choose someone else.” Confusion and hurt mull together resulting in anger. Volunteering her to enter an apartment where unknown dangers lurk unarmed all without discussing the plan with her was ballsy. Mix in Casino’s words about Vegas and Elizabeth is feeling stupid and overly trusting. Haven’t even known him for half a week yet. What’d I expect? 

The door clicks open and Marta shoves an index card through the small crack. “This all I have on Rya Mendez. Now, go. Go.” 

Echo takes the card and as the door closes, reads the fine handwriting on the front. 

Rya Mendez - End of Row, 12th Alley, Hill View - No contact number, works at Upstairs, Downstairs, Inc.

Handing the card to Charlie, Echo swings her submachine gun from behind her back into hand and without another look at the big solo, she starts walking down the hall. 

(OOC: March 9th, Day 3 - Sunday, Time is 08:20 AM PST)

Don't make me turn this boat around.

The trick is calculating the gravitational pull of my belly!

This is really cool... but where are the posts you promised us? 

Now I have to write into my first post a scene where Wyatt draws his weapon and sights in on something. Maybe target practice. 

OK. It looks as though Charlie is expecting the brute squad to take over. Need more posts from Tann, Nomad, and Giddy. What's the play, choombattas?

No touchy Ivy.

Thank you for the prompt posting. I'm waiting on at least Espatier to post before moving the game along. It'd nice if Giddy could post as well.

Last bump. If I get no response the game is dead.

Streetdeal failed... now you folks have some decisions to make.  Game is updated.

X00032:7.Y00001:12.Z00054:4, Building Across the Street from Rya Mendez's Listed Address  | Night City Integrate | Midcity | UrbanZone - March 9th, Day 3 (Sunday), 8:02 AM PST

Weather Conditions: High City (Thunderstorms, 15 mph winds from the NE.) | Midcity (Rain, 10mph winds from the NE.) | Undercity (Fog and Rain, no winds.)

Air Quality Index: High City = 25 | Midcity = 42 | Undercity = 75 (masks required)

After unsuccessfully looking for a prime overwatch spot, Ghalan agreed with his partner that the sixth floor would have to do.

"Guess I can fake homeless. At least for a couple of hours." Just before entering the room full of vagrants he took out the radio and made a call to the others letting them know the pair were in position. He made his way towards a spot where he could at least look out of the building and then flopped on the floor. One look at him and the others would likely figure he was one to leave alone. "Now we wait, you keep watch on the riff-raff and I'll watch the outside." 

"Sure," Blossom mumbles as she sweeps her trenchcoat underneath her and drops into a cross-legged position. "Keep an eye on the riff-raff. Oh! While you're at it, tap into the govs surveillance cameras and watch out for any sweep teams lookin' anxious to sink their teeth into our pretty little asses." Affecting a higher pitched voice but still keeping her volume low, the netrunner continues. "Sure thing, boss. Want me to massage yer head while I'm at it?" The rest of her mumbling falls too low beneath her breath for even Ghlahn's enhanced hearing to pick up. 

Accessing her presets through her agent, the little Asian sets about seeking access nodes. The UrbanZone is notorious for its lack of police overwatch and video surveillance by the city is a rare thing indeed. Her hope is that she can piggyback on a dealer's security system, one of the local Alt-cult's, or even just a civy or two. As luck would have it, she finds just what she was looking for. 

"Datawall," she mutters, "easy enough... too easy... who do you belong to, little datawall?" Pulling her sleeve back, she mentally commands her keyboard to emerge from her bracer. Fingers are flying across the coder's keys almost before the board has settled its motion. "That's what I thought. Can't hide from me, silly billy." 

Sighting in on the windows of the sixth floor, Ghlahn is quickly disappointed by his lack of insight into what's going on behind the walls of the building. A good infrared scanner would be delightful about now, but even his infrared sight can't penetrate the thickness of these walls at this distance.

X00032:8.Y00001:12.Z00054:5, Rya Mendez’s Listed Address (Inside)  | Night City Integrate | Midcity | UrbanZone - March 9th, Day 3 (Sunday), 8:10 AM PST

Weather Conditions: High City (Thunderstorms, 15 mph winds from the NE.) | Midcity (Rain, 10mph winds from the NE.) | Undercity (Fog and Rain, no winds.)

Air Quality Index: High City = 25 | Midcity = 42 | Undercity = 75 (masks required)

Ok, so I'm going to be part of the 'in-crowd.' There is a first for everything, right? Fixer grins a bit behind his mask, enjoying his own little inside joke. It made him laugh, and not much seemed worth a laugh right now. Especially that look in Casino's eyes. He thinks he understands where it comes from. He can only hope he has a friend who would come after him like that someday. But for now, he has this crew, motley as it is.  

"Rya Mendez, here we come." This time he speaks out loud. he isn't sure why; perhaps just to express his willingness to move.  "Ghlahn, you might want to give us a few quick signals. Something like one click, gang coming in the front door. Two, the second team is on site. Three, Run Like Hell. Four, hurry, but everything is still clear. I don't know. You decide. Keep it simple since the airwaves aren't clean, but it doesn't do much good to have a scout who can't let us know what he has scouted." The techie passes that topic off to the sniper and turns to the others heading into the building.

"Lead on. A deluxe apartment in the sky awaits... or at least a dump on the 6th floor. Let's hope we can close out this gig quickly."

As they moved towards the door Fixer performs a quick mental rundown of all of his gear. He does not want to get into a firefight but also wants to be ready in case he does. Glancing at Casino as they head in the door he offers, "Let's make this a quick one big guy."

Taking the lead as Charlie’s bodyguard, Casino has to stop himself from laughing out loud. In reality, given different circumstances, he was the last person Charlie should want as a bodyguard. Casino is just as liable to kill the fixer as protect him.
However, if this is the quickest way to recover this kid and get this run done, then the large solo is all for it. In his mind, his real priority is to find Vegas and do some killing of the people holding him.

As the wanna-be fixer bangs on (hopefully) the right door, Casino does as he is supposed to, looking at everything and everyone with his amped up vision. Though his face is hidden behind the crow mask, his eyes are unobstructed, leaving any who might pass under the gaze a chance to face Death looking back at them. Leaving nothing to chance, anything he thinks is out of the ordinary receives a closer look using his telescopic vision. For now, all he can do is act the part of Charlie’s ‘bodyguard’ and hope things move along quickly.

*THUMP THUMP THUMP*

“Rya? Is that you?” Cred Stick Charlie calls through the door after soundly thumping on it. He waits a few seconds, then...

*THUMP THUMP THUMP*

“I’m Mister Body... as in Nobody, so let me set this straight. All comms have been compromised, I’m playing clean up man for God-knows-who. Why things are messed up I don’t know. Questions are above my pay grade so don’t ask, Choomba. So, either open this door up now or you can take the heat because this kitchen is now on fire, you feel me, Player?  

"If you want to call someone and let them know where the kids is at, please go right ahead so that I can leave this place and read about it in the screamsheet later, so... please do so." Charlie attempts to whisper in passive threats and confidence but what is a con man after all but someone who runs a series of lies to get what he wants.

"I don't no nothin' about no kid," a strong but mature female voice seeps through the door. "Go away. It's early."

“I’m here to move the kid, so that makes me the clean up as well as the bag man today." Luther smiles a toothy grin that perhaps the Reefers would recognize as a friendly warning and leans into the door. “Clean, fix, transport... as long as the creds are good, I’m—" Charlie would have done the unthinkable when he was younger and stick one of his 100 credit shoes in the doorway but no dice here with a closed door and a wiser businessman. 

Sighing aloud, he continues his full-court press, "Choomba, are you really going to leave me out here in the hallway? Don’t make me mess these faux gator cut wing tips up because I have no shame in taking it out of your cut, ¿Entiendes?”  (understand?/Spanish)

"I said there's no kid here," the voice forcefully insists. "Now go away, you're bothering my neighbors."

Charlie feels the hostility in the voice and attempts to cast doubt, hoping to prevent anyone on the other side of the door from checking with others by furthering the compromised operation front. “Look... I’m just one man... You got the kid, let's get everyone to a safe house, the quicker the better before the heat gets hotter.”

Placing his hands on the metal frame of the door as if holding it up, he leans into the door. Gazing down the hall past Casino and the others, acting as if they don’t exist, he turns his face back to the door.

“Look, miss...” standing straighter, he holds up his false cred stick so that if someone is watching through the peephole they should be able to see the color of it. “I just want to do my job and get you, Rya, the boy, and anyone else out of here, pronto. You feel me? How many am I transporting today? Look, it don’t matter... just open up and let me in.”

"I give you the count of three," the elderly voice hisses. "Then you got real trouble if you are still here."

"Stubborn old gray-hair," Echo mutters. "Now what?"

"Still not going to condone hurting the elderly..." Bloodbank trails off.

I'm a glutton for detail. As I outlined previously, I like my fingers in the whole mix, or ally players taking on different roles in the empire, etc. So, trade makes for an opportunity to negotiate between players and non-empire systems. I also like the idea that if you don't land troops, you really can't take the planet. A blockade in space can keep a people from galactic trade but not from thriving planetside.

I've opened the recruiting thread again. We'll see if we can't breathe some life back into this ship.

I think my head esploded.