It's like calling shotgun. I won.

I'd use Roll20 over Discord for that any day.

X00032:8.Y00001:12.Z00054:5, Rya Mendez’s Listed Address - Outside on the Street  | Night City Integrate | Midcity | UrbanZone - March 9th, Day 3 (Sunday), 6:50 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)

Finally, Luther stops, Ghlahn at his side, his gaze piercing the predawn gloom. Near a dumpster sits a well-constructed tent made of old military grade canvas. No trash exists within two meters of it and the space that the other homeless are giving the abode shows a certain level of respect. Furthermore, there’s a light on inside, small and dim but visible through the centimeter wide crack between the flaps and Luther has seen the light be blotted out on a couple of occasions indicating that the occupant is awake.

Up the street a ways, Echo parks the jeep facing back towards the building. The negotiating party is well within sight and the Edgers have a decent vantage to watch everything transpire.

“Morning, Choombatta. I hope that I’m not disturbing you in your tent while others are in the Sandman’s Playbox,” Charlie announces himself from where he has stopped. “If you have the time to parlay, perhaps this night might end up benefiting two parties instead of one. Interested, Choomba?”

“Go the **** away, corpse,” a low male voice growls from within the depths of the canvas castle. “Leave me in peace.”

His initial approach ineffective, Cred Stick Charlie dips his head a bit and allows the rain that has gathered on the brim of his fedora to drizzle off in a small waterfall before his face. This man is exactly who he wants to work their cause. He’s obviously a loner, but his response shows mettle and his desire to be left alone in his own version of serenity tells the fixer that he’s likely a thoughtful man. Just what’s needed for something like the task the Edgerunners are facing.

He attempts another approach, this time attempting to just draw the target into the false dawn for a better look at him. This takes a few tries and well thought out phrases but eventually the man emerges.

He stands almost two meters in height, flowing from the interior of his abode much like an octopus from his hole. He’s thin, gangly, and one-legged using an old crutch wrapped in duct tape. His black face is scarred by acid or fire making him hideous to behold. To Ghlahn, it is obvious that he’s the victim of a napalm attack. His missing leg combined with that injury and his inability to replace the limb with cybernetics and get a skinjob means he was most likely military—probably fought in one of the many wars the U.S. is engaged in within the jungles of South America or the wilds of Africa and the Middle East. He’s a casualty of patriotism, or, at the very least, a man who had no future and banked it all on serving his country. To Cred Stick Charlie, he’s a wounded soul who hides from Public scrutiny—a tragedy of the World as it is now and a cast off from humanity.

No matter how the two Edgerunners view the man, the conversation continues with Luther slowly winning him over. His name is Edgar but the “locals” call him The Alien. Whether Edgar cares for the moniker or not isn’t apparent. He’s cautious. He has lost faith in the World. It is to this casualty that Cred Stick Charlie latches onto. The Alien has a chance to do some good, to help a young boy in trouble. The gamble pays off. Fifty credits and Edgar will go into the building, to Rya Mendez’s conapt where he will see if she’s home. He’ll recon the area and see if there are any Reefers hanging around that the Edgerunners might have to contend with. Then he’ll reconnect with Charlie and Ghlahn at his tent to give his report. The fifty also buys his silence.

As far as the Reef is concerned, they claim the territory but not as an Enclave. There are frequent engagements between the Reef and local boosters, crime syndicates, and other powers in the area. Cops are practically non-existent so the homeless attempt to remain neutral in every way. The privileged living indoors have to deal with builder nanites tearing apart their insides of their buildings for materials to use elsewhere. Often, these inhabitants are aligning themselves with one faction or another just out of necessity. Without some affiliation, they become prey. Whether there are any Reef inside the building is yet to be seen. It’s a little after seven in the morning on a Sunday… Edgar is doubtful that he’ll run into any unless they’ve got business (personal or professional) with someone in the building that’s concluding or beginning. The Reef have their Enclave nearby and that’s where they would be residing. Less likely they are ambushed by an enemy within their walls.

If there are Reef present, The Alien will check and see if they want to meet with Luther. Edgar doesn’t want to know what about and he obviously doesn’t accept that it is related to the rescue of the boy.

“That’s one tall dude,” Blossom whistles past the stick protruding from her plump lips. She’s running three background apps as they sit in the air jeep watching the fixer and his CEE-metal companion work. One app is monitoring power usage in the area, another is keeping tabs on traffic cameras (though there aren’t any in the area, she’s hoping that she can spot anything that looks like trouble coming their way no matter the odds), and the third is scanning message boards and chat sites for any mention of the missing boy. She doesn’t need to monitor the work since the AI in her agent will notify her if any of her parameters are met. She can focus on the Real World instead.

“He is that,” Echo replies leaning forward and crossing her arms on the steering wheel. “Probably doesn’t blend in too well.”

Blossom laughs lightly. She’s seated in back of Echo on the bench seat with Bloodbank and Fixer while Casino is in the passenger seat up front. Glancing away from the working fixer, her attention is drawn to the medtech as he places his weapon on his seat. Rolling the sucker from her right cheek over to the left, she narrows her eyes behind her heart-shaped sunglasses.

“Expecting trouble, sweetcheeks?” she asks when he sets it on the seat next to him.

“They’re on the move,” Echo interrupts. Blossom quickly readjusts her focus and watches as Cred Stick Charlie and Ghlahn begin to make their way towards the jeep while the tall Frankenstein’s Monster begins hobbling off in the direction of the building.

“Looks like it worked,” the netrunner states.

“Whatever ‘it’ was,” Echo casts a sideways glance at Casino in an attempt to gauge his thoughts. She hasn’t known the mountain of a Solo for long but feels an irresistible draw to him. He’s moody, unpredictable, maybe even impulsive, but he’s a deep well and she recognizes a lot of emotion within him. Is he broken? Luke says she’s into projects. He’s warned her against those kinds of relationships many, many times. The funny thing about it? That kiss back in the alley… that’s as close to a relationship as she’s ever had. She’s been too afraid to open herself up to anyone in the Family, romantically, that is. Confusion over the way she feels about this brooding soldier floods her mind as she takes in his rough features. Why now? Why him? No answers are readily available.

Arriving at the air jeep, Charlie and Ghlahn rejoin their companions and report on their success. Now comes the waiting part. Every op has at least one period of time where this is the name of the game. Knowing this doesn’t make it any easier. Minutes pass just watching The Alien—a name that Blossom thinks fitting—make his way down the street to the stoop. When he disappears inside, the tension in and around the vehicle is palpable. Nearly a half hour passes before Edgar hobbles out the door and down the stoop. This is the catalyst that sets Charlie and Ghlahn back in motion, returning to the homeless man’s hovel.

Timing their arrival at the tent so that they meet up with The Alien, Charlie offers a greeting with a nod of his head.

“Your Rya Mendez ain’t home,” Edgar rumbles through his burnt lips. “Some old lady was there. Named Marta. Weren’t no Reef inside to deal with. That Marta, she didn’t let me in and didn’t open the door wide enough for me to see past her. Couldn’t tell if there’s a kid in there. Sorry.”

Paying the man his fifty credits in cash, the pair of Edgerunners return to their companions and fill them in.

“So, we go pay this Marta a visit and see what we can learn, right?” Blossom remarks.

“Nicely?” Echo adds, moving from the driver’s seat so that Charlie can take possession once again. Standing in the misty morning air, wind gusting about her, the nomad leans down so she can hear what the others are saying. “I’m not keen on roughing up a gray-hair.”

(OOC: March 9th, Day 3 - Sunday, Time is 07:43 AM PST)

I've got three posts... I'm going to update the game tomorrow so, please post if you have not.

I am nothing if I am not an educator.

Well done, son! Great writing. 

I'll wait to see what some of the others post before making mine.

Mustaches, mustache; tomato, tomato... https/www.grammarphobia.com/blog/2015/12/mustache-mustaches.html

Looking forward to the posts. Bullies. 

Great post, MagicMan! Tag, you two are It.

"Sir," Stark said, looking at Wilhelm incredulously. "I still protest any action that involves dropping our shields." Were they really contemplating this?

"I can adjust the frequencies, Sir," Jenna said. "Perhaps, since we're going with the feeding and tasting analogy, perhaps the probe wasn't followed because the outer edge of the atmosphere is where the... mouth ends? Maybe the organisms only survive in the atmosphere?" The touch and go of the atmosphere touching the shield increased, but only minimally.

"I think that they're trying to determine if we taste good. Shield drop of point one five percent. Not as dramatic as the probe, but it is happening." Jenna couldn't stop thinking of food analogies, and her mouth quirked slightly.

"Your concern is noted, Mr. Stark," Cole replies evenly. "Lieutenant Wilhelm, begin your modifications. Mr. Falcone, keep the WaveRider on course but be ready to promptly respond to Mr. Wilhelm's instructions. Mr. Stark, keep a very close eye on the threat level. While we are moving forward with this experiment, I acknowledge the potential danger that it places this crew in. I'm relying on you and your experience to make sure Lieutenant Wilhelm's plan can be fully executed.

"Let's make this happen, people."

Don't ever belittle or think poorly of your art. Art is something that comes from the heart. You done greatly!

The game has been updated. Looking for Luther's actions. 

Luther needs to make a Streetdeal check when engaging with the Homeless person to see if he can convince him to play the part. Espatier, you can indicate your initial monetary offering but make that Streetdeal roll and I'll determine the outcome and the settled upon price. I also need to know explicitly what you are asking the homeless man to do for you.

I need to know who is accompanying Charlie as well; Casino, Ghlahn?

I know there's not a ton for others to post, but additional insight into the character's thoughts are always welcome. Look at your character sheets, review their Lifepath, put into play their quirks. I loved the "voices in the head" that Espatier put into action with Charlie a couple of posts ago and Giddy's recent play at self-doubt and loathing with Bloodbank was excellent. That's a great way to earn CC. Speaking of which, Giddy, I'm awarding Bloodbank 1 CC for that.

X00032:8.Y00001:12.Z00054:5, Rya Mendez’s Listed Address - Outside on the Street  | Night City Integrate | Midcity | UrbanZone - March 9th, Day 3 (Sunday), 6:40 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 plan, as Cred Stick Charlie lays it out for them, is to hire one of the homeless to go into the building and sess out if Rya Mendez is even at the apartment. Charlie can also attempt to get information from the homeless concerning the Reef’s social position on the building and what the Edgers may run into.

“A scouting mission,” Echo mutters appreciatively.

“Well, there’s no lack of homeless people,” Blossom chirps and tugs her coat about her small frame to ward against a particularly fierce gust of soaking wind.

“I like this a hell of a lot better than splitting up again and walking in blind,” Bloodbank adds his agreement. “No offense, Casino, but that other plan had me on edge.”

“And it’s obvious that Charlie has dealt with the Reef Alt-Cult before,” Blossom adds. “I haven’t. If it ain’t sushi, I tend to stay away from seafood.”

“Fixer? Ghlahn?” Bloodbank looks to the other two for their input, pointing to where the Techie had already stored his mask. “You aren’t going to want to stand around out here without that on for much longer.”

Already, the pollutants in the air are tickling at the man’s throat threatening to make his dissolve into a coughing fit. Fixer listens to the others outline their respective plans and even as Bloodbank recommends he put his mask back on he takes it out and put it back in place. He breathes in a deep breath and shrugs his shoulders in response to the questions being bandied about.

"This isn't my area—either going in straight up or contacting the cult. I'm more than willing to let Charlie ply his trade. We have to go in at some point—and soon—that isn't negotiable. But if he can make that move easier, I am all for it. But we are not rich in time." He looks up and down the street. "Do we really want to keep standing here across from the door? We don't exactly fit in this neighborhood. Whether it’s the cult or the maid who spots us, that doesn't seem good. Where do we sit while Charlie works his magic? I wouldn't mind getting out of this rain, but I really want to get out of sight. Makes me nervous."

As much as Casino dislikes Starlight’s watchdog, he has to admit Charlie’s idea is better than his own. The big solo cannot help but smile, after all, he had asked for a better one. To Casino, rescuing the kid has fallen in priority to just becoming a step in the process of getting to Vegas, to rescuing him or avenging him. The quicker they accomplish this, the quicker they can get what matters most to Casino.

Not saying a word, Casino nods his head in agreement and prepares to let Charlie do his thing.

Bloodbank feels that same sense of nervousness. It is a creeping feeling that itches at the small of his back. Furtively, he glances up and down the street, eyeing the smattering of homeless. He feels as though each and every one of them is eyeing the group of Edgerunners, appraising the gathering as one might a particularly juicy cut of steak at the butchers. Suppressing a small shudder, the medtech unconsciously rests his hand on his sidearm. As he idly strokes the hard metal of the weapon, Bloodbank nods.

"I'm with Fixer on this. Let's pull down the street here a little ways or somethin'. I don't really care where just as long as we're not all loitering out in front of this building as though we mean to raid it." Bloodbank pauses for a second, considering the fact that this just might be what they end up doing. He hopes not.

Instead, a nasty little voice whispers inside his head, you're sending in some homeless bum to do it for you.

With a slight twitch to his lips, Bloodbank disregards that thought out of hand. It is just some nameless bum whose only real worth to this world would be the assistance he gives the group tonight. Honestly, if the bum ends up dead, it'd probably be a blessing for him, no longer having to spend his days wallowing in the filth and rot of this Undercity slum.

Suddenly, with a crashing jolt, Bloodbank realizes what he is thinking. What is he thinking!? His pistol suddenly seems to burn where he rests his hand, and without really thinking of how he looks, he snatches his hand away to rub the palm. He's been on this job for mere days and already he is sliding back into habits that he has spent months and months trying to purge from his psyche. Months of rejecting job offers, of alienating friends and colleagues, of tarnishing the slight reputation that he'd built in his trade while he lived in near destitution. All to try to be a more upright individual, and look at how well he is accomplishing that!

He grimaces, thinking back to his actions the past couple of days. Sure, he'd protested whenever the group had done something that had seemed even slightly morally gray, but that all seems so hollow. So fake and forced. So illegitimate. Bloodbank feels a fraud, lying to the others and himself in an attempt to feel righteous and good.

This isn't really who I am, Bloodbank thinks morosely. I can pretend to be otherwise, but in the end, I'm just as I've always been: self-absorbed and quick to the gun. I can't change that. I can't change me.

"Who am I fooling," Bloodbank mumbles softly, the quiet words lost against the inside of his Battlemask.

“There you have it,” Blossom spreads her hands wide and looks to Charlie. “Do your thang, pretty boy.”

“Let’s pull the jeep back there,” Echo dips her head further down the street. “We can keep an eye on the building and the… messenger, Charlie picks for us from there without appearing threatening to those in the building.” Your education is showing, she grimaces beneath her balaclava. Slipping out of street slang and sounding like a private school girl.

With the decision made, there’s but one more thing to be put in place. Charlie needs a bodyguard. No self-respecting fixer is going to be walking around these streets without someone to guard his six. Echo might not be taken as seriously as the big brute of a solo, but Luther is well aware that Casino doesn’t favor him, and Ghlahn has already expressed a preference to an overwatch position as opposed to close quarters combat.

(OOC: I’ll let you all decide who goes with Charlie&hellip

Seeking out the right individual amongst the homeless is a skill. There needs to be enough desperation that they will take on the risk but not enough that they’ll be crazy and run with the money. The appearance needs to be such that they’ll not be immediately kicked to the curb or made into a Shark-boy’s plaything. And, they need to not be drugged out as they’ll require their senses about them.

Strolling amongst the makeshift tents, deteriorating biodegradable plastic shipping blocks, shopping carts, and whatever other pieces of trash that can be jury-rigged together to form a shelter, the time of day is both a blessing and a curse. Most of the street rats are asleep, completely in the grips of their preferred drug, or drunk off their asses and not likely to recover for hours. At the same time, the two Edgerunners aren’t being accosted and pressed for “donations.”

Finally, Luther stops, his gaze piercing the predawn gloom. Near a dumpster sits a well-constructed tent made of old military grade canvas. No trash exists within two meters of it and the space that the other homeless are giving the abode shows a certain level of respect. Furthermore, there’s a light on inside, small and dim but visible through the centimeter wide crack between the flaps and Luther has seen the light be blotted out on a couple of occasions indicating that the occupant is awake.

Up the street a ways, Echo parks the jeep facing back towards the building. The negotiating party is well within sight and the Edgers have a decent vantage to watch everything transpire.

(OOC: March 9th, Day 3 - Sunday, Time is 06:50 AM PST)

And a great post it was! 

I've moved the game forward. Thanks for your patience with me.

Stardate: 2365.03.29 (Sunday - 42269.8 )
WaveRider Shuttle - Rho Puppis I Uppermost Atmosphere - 1140 Alpha Shift

"They taught me how to fly THIS, Mister Stark." Jenna replies. "I never said it was a good idea, It was just a thought based on the metaphors we've bandied about. The internal systems are sealed and only accessible from the inside, Commander. The only way in would be through the airlock, or through the engines. I wouldn't *anticipate* any access in short term, but this IS an unknown."

"If I may, Commander. I zink zat ze option has merit. Maybe ve drop the shields by a certain percentage, or do a rapid change of frequenzies zat will, what do you say? Ah, Zour ze milk."

"That *could* work, Commander." Uhnari said. "We never tried that with the probe, so..."

"We're entering the area past Mister Siric's initial findings. Commander." Jenna glanced at the viewscreen. The clinging bits of atmosphere came and went, almost like... "Sir? If I didn't know better, I'd say that these things are... tasting us. Like a child with a lollipop."

Tasting us? Kurt's head tilts to the side. Now that is a fascinating thought. Up until this moment, Erik has been assuming that whatever it is that’s draining the probes shields is some sort of hitherto unknown micro-organism. Something without any real thought or sense of sentience.

Standing on his toes, Kurt tries to peer past his shipmates to get a look at the viewscreen. A slight shift of those in front of him grants him a brief view. The white strips of atmosphere do seem to ebb and flow, rather sporadically as though it is tasting, or even testing the waters, as it were.

Falling back onto his heels, Kurt blinks his magnified blue eyes and lets a soft puff of breath escape him. Now this truly is fascinating. Possibly they are dealing with some sort of semi-sentient micro-organism located high in the atmosphere of Rho Puppis that not only managed to interface with the deflector shield's energy field but seemed to feed on it. Or at least drain it. And, perhaps, it even favors certain... "flavors" of shields.

"But vut vould make a flavourful shield?" Kurt ponders, half under his breath. Perhaps the frequency of the energy fields? Maybe the current, or the shape of the projection vectors. Would more powerful shields cause more distinct and vibrant flavors? What if one lowered power and brought the frequency just to within spec? Or even adjusted the waveform amplitude? Almost to a direct current form... But no, the shield wouldn't be able to sustain itself at that point. A synchronous phase and proper amplitude between the two shield emitters was essential to the distortion of the energy fields that made the shield, and if those were brought to low, then a catastrophic failure would be fairly probable. But what if, instead, he adjusted the shields in the opposite direction? Tried to make an unbearably "spicey" shield.

But what would spicey be? Kurt stops pacing without even realizing he had started. He begins tapping his lips with the tip of his finger. If he wanted to taste the shield, what would spicy be like? Well, his gut tells him that sporadic frequency changes and higher amplitudes sound sharp and spicy. With, perhaps, 108% capacity charge? No, 109.5%. Yes, the generator could probably handle that for some period of time.

"Vell, I've never been a good chef, but I tsink tsat I could vhip somtsing up..." Kurt decides. He turns to put his idea into action but pauses when he finds his XO staring at him with a furrowed brow.

"Ah, yes. Sir, I tsink tsat before we attempt dropping our shields tsat ve might try making it a little less appetizing. Are you a fan of spice? I'm not personally, it tends to disagree vith my stomach. I am hoping tsat vhatever it is out tsere vill hafe tse same issues. It's just a few simple modifications, easily correctable, und if it proves ineffective tsen ve can procede forvard vith tse temporary lowering of tse shields." Having very clearly explained his plan, Kurt adjusts his thick lenses and awaits the XO's decision, his head slightly to the left.

What an interesting guy, Max allows the fleeting thought to slip away as quickly as it emerges. “Good job, people,” the XO smiles and nods his head to Kurt while moving his hand from the back of Jenna’s chair to her shoulder briefly. “Mr. Wilhelm, spice things up. Mr. Falcone, be prepared to respond evasively should our CEO’s work cause whatever these things are to get aggressive.” Whatever evasive maneuvers look like when we’re in the midst of things...

Stardate: 2365.03.29 (Sunday - 42269.8 )
WaveRider Shuttle - Rho Puppis I Uppermost Atmosphere - 1143 Alpha Shift

I have gone and posted again. It seems to be a habit.

Tired from the day's journey, Gib is ready to set camp. His nerves have been prickly all day where even the occasional rolling of his broad shoulders does nothing to relieve the tension. But only the gods know whether we would get any actual rest this night, he muses while grimly scans the woods about them. 

“What say you, Khatun Aranwen,” Ch’dau says, his words being the first sounds to cut the silence other than the babbling of the river behind them, “Are we to make camp on this side of the stream or do we cross, first, and scout the other side before we call an end to the day?”

The Bladesinger surveys the scene before her, searching for something, anything to indicate the proper course of action. "I don't like either choice. This all seems too familiar, like the road to Crandel, full of fog and unexplainable noises. I feel as if an attack could happen at any time."

Looking around for confirmation of her feeling, Aranwen adds, "Unless anyone has any better ideas, I say we keep moving, ford the stream and take our chances on the other side."

Lips forming a thin line beneath his mustaches, the warrior priest resigns himself to continuing the day's journey. He has nothing to add, no wisdom to share, and knows from long marches in the military that voicing his readiness for a break does nothing positive to the mood of the party. A mood that is dampened already... 

"We are on a righteous mission, friends," Gib decides to succor the others as much as he is able. "Let us remain sharp and know that a little water on the boots will not have an eternal impact."

Gauging the shoreline, the bearded priest attempts to determine a reasonable place to ease their efforts. Finding what he believes to be the best, he points it out to Aranwen. "There, perhaps?"

Cheese constipates me. TMI?

Hello? Is anyone there? Giddy, I know you're back with us now. A post would be excellent.

I will have a post up in the next couple of days. Sorry for the delays.

I am waiting to see what orders our fearless leader places.

I've posted. Looking forward to seeing where this goes.

Slurping down the last of his stew and following the loud disposal of the foodstuffs up with sopping up the residue in the bowl with the scrap of bread that remains, Lanur ignores the rest of the group and shoves the bread in his already full mouth. Settling back in his chair, the woodsman places both hands on his belly and closes his eyes to enjoy the feeling of fullness in peace. Bubbles rise up in his stomach pushing through his throat and rolls through his mouth to finally release in a thunderous belch. Patting his tummy, Lanur smacks his lips a couple of times and abruptly rises, his chair scraping along the wooden floor.

"Innkeep!" he barks cheerfully. "My best to your cook. I don't know the last time I enjoyed such a meal." 

Snatching up his displaced gear, Lanur strides past the bowman towards the disapproving owner of the establishment. "I'll take a room for the night. We'll see what transpires tomorrow, eh?"

Once he's settled with the Inn, Lanur makes his way casually to the room. His survey of the chamber is thorough, noting the weak points of defense and the best position for him to sleep and still be able to react should anything creep in during his slumber. 

(OOC: Whether he has a single room or is forced to share...)

Stripping down to his smallclothes, Lanur lays his sullied, stew covered clothing with the stew up so as to dry on the surface making it easier to scrape off on the morrow. Taking his bow and quiver, he places them against the door where they'll fall should the door be disturbed making a racket and waking him for action. Moving the bed into a position that will make it even more difficult for a would be attacker to enter the room through the door, he then, takes his sword and lies down upon the bad, cradling the weapon as he would a lover. He is asleep almost before he has closed his eyes. Though it might be expected of the big man, Lanur has been blessed to not snore while sleeping—a favor from the Wheel that has allowed him to sleep undisturbed in the wilds for the whole of his life.

I apologize for the delay. Dealing with a bunch of politics at work and didn't think you folks would want me posting in my current mood. 

Lanur has a strange mind? You would too if you spent as much time alone in the wilds as he does.

Sorry I've been absent. Dealing with a load of **** at work right now. FYI - I hate people.