Chloe looks up at Wyatt, meeting his eyes firmly with her own gaze that seems so much other than the girl before him. “If you are giving me the choice between saving my baby or staying here, there ain’t no guess – I’ll save my baby. I’ll take my chances with what Ms. Wilson is offering, can’t be worse than here. Like I said, I ain’t important but this baby is important to me. But leaving won’t change how I feel about Petrie and I’ll regret leaving every single day that I live. Have you ever loved someone Captain? I mean really love someone so much so that when you are apart your gut just hurts? “She looks away as tears well up in her eyes. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be a bother and I don’t want you risking yourself or yours for me. If you drop me on Bellerophon, I’ll take it as a kindness and thank you for all you have done.  Even if you just take me somewhere else away from here … cause, I know what Patience would do to me. She’d rip my baby out of my body, kill me and sell the child so she wasn’t out of pocket. It is all credits and cash to her, and love doesn’t hold a candle to money.”

“Sounds like the Patience I’ve heard tell of, sure enough.” Pushing away from the counter, the captain retrieves his hat and avoids being drawn into talking about his feelings and his dead family. “I’m sorry ‘bout Petrie, Miss Chloe.”

“Thank you Captain. If you don’t mind, I’d like to be alone now.” She says quietly and as Wyatt leaves the infirmary, he can hear Chloe crying softly to herself.

Hanging a left and strolling up the metal stairs, Sung does his best to put the crying out of his mind. I hate it when they cry. No fair, he tumbles the thoughts around as he passes through into the cargo bay. The air here is always cooler no matter the heat settings. The vastness of the bay is almost like open sky to the ex-rancher but this morning he’s barely paying attention to it.

Passing the first set of stairs, he makes his way over to the second and only pays partial attention to the fact that the mule is gone. Miss Stephanie probably took it to church, he briefly muses and continues up to the main deck. The stairs spit him out in the kitchen area of the galley where Ma is continuing her breakfast prep.

“That went as well as can be expected,” he remarks in dry answer to her questioning gaze. The scarred woman shakes her head and goes back to her mixing. “What?”

Ma doesn’t make any move to reply so Wyatt continues on through, making his way to the forward hallway. Boots clanging on the metal gangway, Captain Sung proceeds to the cockpit. Looks like Sam realized he weren’t wearin’ no pants, he muses as he catches sight of the pilot in his usual chair after ascending the gangway.

Unceremoniously dumping himself into the co-pilot’s chair, Wyatt takes his hat off and begins to spin it in his hands. Peering across the bridge with a tired expression, he says, “You got any concept as to how we get one Petrie, Mr. Reverend’s son, on board ‘fore we burn atmo an’ avoid havin’ Patience hire every bounty hunter this side of Reaver Space to hunt our sorry skins down an’ relieve us of ‘em?”

Excellent. I can give those out all day! *Like Oprah*

FYI - I've been in communication with Espatier and he's got a post coming soon. I just PM'd Aletheia and asked if she has time to post. I'll post again when these two remaining contributions are made.

I don't know what voodoo you need to perform, but you're right. The die have not been favorable.  Nice post.

OK, so I'll be attempting to post again no later than Friday.

Indeed they do, Puhn yo.

The way I handle conversation opportunities between players is to ask them to resolve their conversation via PM and then one of them posts it. I let the players know that if it isn't posted by the time I post, there's always a reasonable amount of back-posting allowed so long as it doesn't change the way things are already moving forward. 

Eol and I once spent weeks going back and forth on back-posts for our characters that just fleshed the characters out more but didn't interfere with the game.

I've received a post from Keeper, but where's everyone else?

Extra "Who's Line Is It Anyway?" points for Keeper!

I apologize! I had completely missed that portion... I guess it's been long enough I forgot the character's names.  I have posted!

The priest leans forward, propping his head on his arms and says, "Just wondering what type of things you've seen. Some think of the Devil as a metaphor, something to scare the people to the masses. Others think of him as this spiritual being that tempts the weak. Me..?". He looks knowingly at Colum, as if he is gauging the biker’s reaction. "I think the Devil takes many forms on this lovely earth. And sometimes, someone has to deal with it." He gathers all of the documents and places them into the envelope.

McRath chews on his tongue while contemplating the turn in the conversation. His experience is that people are loathe to speak of the supernatural at all except in jest or in reference to a movie. That this pastor is hinting so blatantly—or is he? Second guessing Preston’s meaning, Colum clenches his jaw and glances at the shuffling papers being stuffed into the package.

There’s benefits to being blunt… there’s also a fair share of troubles that follow. The “Devil as a metaphor” comment paired with the flat out declaration of “dealing with it” are points that make up the rough man’s mind. If Pastor Prowler looks at him sideways afterward, so be it.

“I’ve seen my share of weird, Pastor,” Colum shares warily, looking at the other man from beneath his brow, his head slightly dipped. “There’s a very real fight, that’s for certain. It takes a special someone to handle that fight and often requires more’n a sermon.” Glancing about at the crowd milling in proximity, McRath decides to take the plunge. “This white-suited fella seems to be always in the mix or thereabouts from what I hear. You gonna go looking for him?”

I like the posts thus far. Who are we waiting on? Keeper? Lady Dark? 

Ah-ha! So you aren't waiting on me for anything? 

No HTML necessary! That's the beauty of this new editor. 

I apologize for the delay in my post. I've remedied the situation. I left off before breakfast because how I continue Wyatt's morning depends on his conversation with Chloe.

Morning is unusually rough for Sung. Blinking away the sleep, he groans as he rolls into a seated position and foggily allows his eyes to focus on his bare feet. The pregnant girl, Chloe, is prominent on his mind. He can easily recall the pregnancy Eden experienced with Summer and being thrust suddenly back into the proximity of an expecting woman is messing with his peace.

Begrudgingly rising and preparing himself for the day with a brief shower, shave, and fresh clothing, Wyatt straps his weapons back into place and climbs the ladder leading back to the main hall where he glances back towards the cockpit. Sam is there… mostly. He’s missing his pants and appears to be hard at work. Not wishing to disturb the pilot, Wyatt continues on into the galley where he finds Ma beginning to prepare the crew’s breakfast.

“Morning, Ma,” Wyatt mumbles. “The girl still in the infirmary?”

The silent woman nods and waves hello to the captain as he walks past on his way to visit their guest; their controversial guest. Stepping up to the door, he pauses and looks over the scene before him, considering the encounter.

Eden had never been able to sleep late due to her morning sickness. Even though Chloe is lying down, Wyatt hopes she’s awake.

“Miss Chloe?” He doesn’t enter the room yet. Doing so seems forward to him despite the room being his infirmary.

(OOC: Assuming an answer.)

“Do you mind if’n I join ya?”

(OOC: Assuming an affirmative.)

Moving to place his buttocks against the rim of the counter, Wyatt places his hat on the surface next to him and raises his eyes to meet the face of the woman he’s offered sanctuary to. Running his left hand through his black hair, the captain begins.

“We’ve taken a job that’ll bring us t’ Pegasus, Bellerophon’s moon. You got a chance t’ start anew there. Is this what ya want?”

(OOC: Assuming some comment about Petrie.)

“Can’t say that’s a possibility, Miss,” Wyatt drawls. “Way I understand it, he’s the son o’ someone important-like. That’d draw an unfortunate amount o’ attention our way an’ I ain’t keen on attention.”

(OCC: Assuming some argument.)

“What d’ ya think’ll happen should yer boyfriend go a-missin’ an’ we’re the only transport that’s burned atmo in the associated window, Miss Chloe?” Shaking his head, Sung continues, “I ain’t riskin’ my crew nor the other passengers we’re takin’ on, t’ be labeled kidnappers by Patience an’ her crew. So, I’m afraid the answer is a no. Does this change yer mind in goin’ t’ Bellerophon?”

What program are you using originally, Tann? My suggestion? Stop using that program and use Google Docs. We can't support all of the word processing programs, but we support the main ones.

And, we're updated. Any rolls made on behalf of the characters can be found on Roll20.

Tuesday, June 3rd, 1670 a.d., Tortuga Bay Settlement (Ile de la Tortue), roughly 7:23 P.M.; The Sun Dog

No update from Keeper so since Goncalvo is the furtherst ahead on the timeline, we’ll just by-pass this character’s update for the time being.

(OOC: Time is roughly 7:23 PM)

------------------------------------------------------------------

Tuesday, June 3rd, 1670 a.d., Tortuga Bay Settlement (Ile de la Tortue), roughly 12:20 P.M.; The Rub of Del Monte

Dabbing at his temple again, Elias Oken continues, “Once you retrieve the thief, you will return to this port and send word through one of the serving girls at this tavern. You’ll receive further instructions at that point. Any questions, Mr. Crowe?”

“One er two,” the swarthy pirate answers, reclining slightly in his seat, again, and enjoying a swallow of the rum before proceeding. “First, c’n ye gimme a bit more of a description aside from a no’ so big Brazilian? True enough, Brazilians tend ta have a certain look about ‘em, an’ I c’n discern Portuguese from Spanish, but a wee bit more o’ precisely wha’ th’ lad looks like’d be helpful.

“Second,” he barrels on without waiting for an immediate response from Oken, “‘ow many others’ve ye got lookin’ ta fulfil this contract o’ yers?” One dark brow spikes slightly as Fin, in all seriousness, eyes the man across the table; “It’d be good ta know if I’ve go’ competition ta keep an eye on, saavy? An’ if there’ll be need ta kill any of ‘em ta keep th’ payment fer m’self.”

“Astute as well,” Elias muses. “You’ll know Rufino Abreu by the tattoo of a mermaid on his left forearm, and I’ve stack the deck in my favor. There are other crews searching for Rufino Abreu and they have at least a day on you. Two crews, possibly more.”

(OOC: Time is roughly 12:22 PM.)

----------------------------------------------------

Tuesday, June 3rd, 1670 a.d., Tortuga Bay Settlement (Ile de la Tortue), Docks, 2:43 P.M.

“Cracker,” Seamus Higgins grins and drops the oars into the boat. “Through wit’ yer shore leave already? Jus’ took Shark’s Tooth back t’ the Dog, mate. He said he wanted t’ check on that dark-lookin’ swab ‘e brought aboard earlier an’ di’n’t wanna wait fer no other crew t’ gather on the beach ‘fore makin’ fer the Dog.

“Hate t’ make any others wait…”

Cracker nods. "Yeah. Had a bit of a drink and a bit of a walk. Lets get back to the ship, I hate sitting in the sand." With that he and Higgins climb into the boat. They make small talk as they head back to the boat. Cracker has some information about the town and a lack of information about the First Mate. This is news for an officer. He doesn’t even know what to say about Cole, or to whom. But Sharky had beaten him to the Dog and he almost certainly knew more than Cracker does. He'll just have to wait and see. But his other information does need to get delivered.

Afternoon waves pitch the boat making it cumbersome to board, but for a seasoned sailor like William, the rocking is a minor challenge at best. Swinging his leg over the rail, Cracker scans the main deck and not seeing Captain Cole on deck, he can safely assume she’s in her quarters or on the poop deck.

(OOC: Time is about 3:03 pm)

----------------------------------------------------

Tuesday, June 3rd, 1670 a.d., Tortuga Bay Settlement (Ile de la Tortue), Docks, 2:14 P.M.

Hesitating, the dark-skinned tailor rapidly blinks as he looks down at the misshapen mass of coins in her hands. As though his head is on a spring, his long face bounces back up to look her in the eye. “Ya be aright-handlave! Where’d ya git the money, girl? Did ya steal it from yer massa?”

His hand drops to the cutting knife tucked into a pouch on his apron. “I’ll no’ be accused o’ ‘elpin’ ya escape. Jus’ do wha’s bes’ fer ya, girl, an’ stay put ‘til yer massa comes lookin’.”

Maggie blinks twice, quickly, and the deception passes from her face, replaced by fire and fury. She stares at him, her body visibly adjusting to the loss of the runaway slave girl routine, taking back her full height. She drops the collection of coins into the coin purse and sighs. Her right-hand slips behind her, beneath her coat, and she draws one of her blades.

"Now, ye best be rethinkin’ that particular course of action, me dearie, or bolts o' fine silk ain't the only thing getting cut in here. Ye damned bloody fool!" She hisses. "I sure as fire ain't no man's property. By the seas, ye could have had yerself a tindy little sum if ye'd just bloody helped me! But ye've found me in a generous mood today. Ten gold, for a scrap of a dress and an ugly bonnett, and you can walk wi' yer head held high knownin’ ye've saved a life today. And not just yer own."

She pauses, and her mouth twists into a grin find me of malicious fury and a little bit of joy. Not her fault she takes so to the life of violence that comes with her chosen profession. Raising the blade between them she gestures to the dresses.

"Now give me a damned dress, you rotten old man, so we can both be about our important business."

Raising his eyebrows, the old man produces his cutting knife. “Now, girly, you can’t be serious.”

(OOC: Time is roughly 2:14 PM)

Am I missing something? I can't see any update for McRath.

Um... that'll delay things quite a bit. So, I'll refer you back to the write-up on the previous post. 

On the fourth away from the street, there's Hope Park, a cube for rent, Songbird Meadows Park, Level Nine Security Station 426, Wildflower Duplex, and Freedom Pool while the exterior section—the section Casino needs to pay closer attention to—includes Oak Wood Duplex, Rebirth Apartments, Sunset Dog Park, Pleasant View Residential Suite, Moonlight Duplex, and the Seaside Grounds Park.

The fifth floor spread is Ladybug Meadows Park, Nirvana Heights Apartment Cubes, High Garden Private Suite, Savanna Garden, Moss Forest Apartment Cubes, Windy Grounds East Park, with the circle-facing prefabs being Windy Grounds West Park, Aprico Co. Apartment Complex - Floor 5, Whitewater Estate, Whitewater Private Park, and Tranquil Grotto Elementary.

Reading the scribbles indicating the sixth floor’s occupants, Casino finds the interior to contain Aprico Co. Apartment Complex - Floor 6a, Old Stone Private Residence, Canyon Crest Private Residence, Emerald Moss Indoor Park, Sunnyside Duplex, and Robinwood Private Residence, while the exterior holds Windy Oaks Private Residence, Aprico Co. Apartment Complex - Floor 6b, Clearview Meadows Park, Pioneer Duplex, Truth Square Duplex, and Pleasant Shores Gardens.

Keeper, I've posted Ghlahn's update.

Everyone else can post as well.

Weather Conditions: High City (Thunderstorms, 15mph 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)

Deciding on his desired perch, Ghlahn turns to the right and proceeds towards the elevators, passing Thinkwell Counseling Services where a holographic Asian woman flickers into existence and smiles broadly at him while saying, “The doctors are in. Would you care to set up an appointment?” As he continues on his way she offers a little bow and says, “Perhaps another time. Have a lovely day.”

Boom n’ Bump Entertainment’s storefront is a visual assault. Holgraphic opponents step out from the shaded glass a few steps in front of the cyborg soldier, beat their chest or gesture obscenely at him and call out challenges. Men, women, science fiction aliens and robots, monsters from fantasy worlds… every challenge possible for those who wish to engage in interactive entertainment. Leaving calls questioning his honor and courage behind, Ghlahn breathes in the smell of roasted coffee beans.

Galaxy Brew Coffee offers window seats looking out into the cobblestone corridor, but M’haru Ghlahn can see the backside of projected scenes from Paris’ streets. Being Cee-Metal, he has no need to imbibe, but the aromas are pleasant. Stopping on the other side of the coffee shop, the black-clothed red-headed man calls the elevator down.

The fifth floor should provide a decent position if he can get access to any of the circle-facing cubes. Pressing the digital touch screen with his thumb, Ghlahn brings up the fifth floor directory which provides the following businesses facing the circle from far south to the north: Dynamicworks Temp Agency, Silverecords Agent Sales, The Parlour Restaurant, The Smoke Vault, Wolf Point Plaza Mid-City Water Treatment Center, The Golden Shrimp Seafood Restaurant, United States Marines Recruiting Office, Pipe Cleaners Plumbing, National Urban Farming Center, Spring Forest Medical Clinic, The Citadel Cinema, Sapphire Oasis Spa. South to north on the other side there’s Tropic Cove Pool, Night City PD Auxiliary Station, Sports Guys Style & Cuts, The Hot Spice Restaurant, Resonance Travel Agency, The Solar After Dark Restaurant, Vegas Odds, Night City PD Wolf Point Plaza Holding Facility, an empty cube, F.B.I. Remote Station, and Oceanside Academic Maintenance & Cleaning Services.

People bundled in blankets cough and shift like worms in sacks as he moves past them. Blurry-eyed and blank-faced, most are hopped up on drugs like Blue Glass, Communion, Reality, or another recreational drug that helps them escape from their miserable existence. Danger lurks here amidst these snakes. They appear docile and sapped of strength due to the lack of the sun’s warmth in their lives, but they can strike out in a narcotically induced fever with an unpredictability that renders them fierce. M’haru Ghlahn steps lightly but without fear.

Progressing takes time, especially when forced to step over the refuge left by the fast-paced life necessary to survive in the big city. Flat green eyes flick from access hallway to door alcove picking out signs of more squatters, lifers, and riff-raff. All of which exist here and all of which are potential eyes and ears he has to deal with.

Sometimes the advantage of a situation comes from the least expected source and in this case, the time of day is Ghlahn’s ally. These poor souls lying about in these corridors come to life the later the hour and there are still a few hours to go before they begin to slither from their moldy lairs. Stepping lightly, his Icon America half-boots are walking on clouds. Rolling stench prevails changing between urine, feces, moldy cloth, and alcohol seep past his mask and flickering overhead lights threaten to distract from the task at hand but Alex McKennon is the consummate professional and he reaches his goal without disturbing the wildlife.

Standing before the door to the closed Spring Forest Medical Clinic, he peers through the visuals of his combat mask at the set-up before him. The alcove is lined with blue LED ribbons set apart by a meter apiece at a depth of three meters. A camera ball resides on the ceiling, but it is so covered in spray paint there’s little chance of it recording anything of value even if the system is operable. The door is where the real security lies, at least the first phase.

To Ghlahn’s eye, the portal is a fire door, probably of the metal interior type lined with a different metal alloy on the exterior. This being a clinic and holding drugs inside, the edgerunner expects and isn’t disappointed with the lock mechanism. Watchdog 4500 labeled on the outside of the box confirms his suspicions. The exterior casing of the Watchdog brand code box is combat-cast graphene with an interior sensor to read the card. Although this particular brand isn’t the top of the line, it is a top of the line brand and that means it isn’t going to be easy to by-pass. The usual B&E tools aren’t going to cut it, but Ghlahn does have something that will cut it.

Glancing over his shoulder, the black-clad edger makes sure that no one has taken an interest in his activities before he swings his bag around and unzips the main section. Searching through its contents, he retrieves the portable cutting torch he packs around. Scanning his surroundings again, M’haru Ghlahn confirms his solitude before beginning to cut away at the box.

A couple of seconds later and he’s cut through the top and both sides of the box. Returning the torch to his bag, he zips it back up and swings it back over his shoulder. Gripping the edge of the cut box, the runner yanks back and down revealing the inner workings. Now comes the part where he can use his regular tools. Pulling back the damp sleeve of his jacket and the shirt beneath it, Ghlahn holds his arm out towards the guts and mentally activates the panel at the top of his wrist.

Skin separates and spider-like spindles crawl out. He has to admit that someone like Fixer would be far more capable of this, but he doesn’t have that luxury. So, he focuses and begins to mentally control the little arms and scissors. Five minutes later and he’s stymied. Wires are cut, spliced, and rigged but the door remains locked. He has failed to by-pass the security.

(OOC: Time is 5:58 PM PST)

I'm back!

I'll be looking to post the update for Keeper (Ghlahn) so he'll have an opportunity to respond. I've been answering some questions from Tann as well, so I'm expecting a post there anytime. 

If you haven't posted and aren't waiting on me, please do so now.

WELCOME!

Play-on! 

I've been on the road these past number of days and am now playing catch-up at work. I will look everything over and try to post today as well.

West Park Mallplex | Night City Integrate | Midcity | UrbanZone - March 8th, Day 2 (Saturday), 6:03 PM PST

Weather Conditions: High City (Thunderstorms, 15mph 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 (air filtration masks required)

As the husband enters the back room, Fixer stands and joins the others in waiting. He is tempted to move to the computer and see what it is doing, but Echo is already in motion. As soon as the doctor turns to take his sick wife to the other room, the masked little nomad quickly and quietly moves across the carpeted floor to the computer terminal. Fixer watches as she carefully lifts the cloth just enough to view the monitor and taps a key on the digital keyboard, hoping to scan what may be up on the screen. Knowing that it's most likely protected by passcode or some sort of bioscan, she doesn't expect to really find anything, but doesn't want to give up the little chance laid before them. Both the nomad and the techie are disappointed when the screen remains black; the computer is off.

Replacing the cloth over the device, the leather-clad woman turns her attention to the artwork on the walls. All of these paintings depict mythological and fantastical creatures the like of which Elizabeth can recall from Lit classes she'd suffered through as a child in a private school. Unicorns, pegasus, fairies, elves, dwarves, everything is rendered with the skill of a hobbyist, but still well enough to recognize what they are.

With the computer having come up a dead end, Fixer looks around the room for any other signs of technology. Aside from the computer storage chips, everything appears to be standard for a mallplax conapt. Is the good-man being watched or are there signs that he is watching someone else? If there are, the curly-haired tech knows he'll need more than what he has available to scan for bugs or remote camera frequencies. Is there tech of any sort laying around that Fixer might be able to get his hands on and potentially use to determine evidence of the crime they are investigating? Again, passing his critical gaze over the mess of computer chips he surmises that everything else is pretty standard. Dr. Carey interrupts James' considerations by stepping back into the main room and closing the bedroom door behind him.

"She usually isn't as bad as this," Phil glances forlornly towards the door he just shut. "I've had to pretend to be sick for several days to look after her. I can't leave her alone when she's like this or she'll go wandering off and who knows what could happen to her then.

"She used to be brilliant, you know? A hotshot programmer—we met at University. But, she isn't very strong-willed and loves virtual reality fantasy experiences. She'd play them all day, every day, and eventually lost touch with reality. And now, well, now,

"She's usually capable of managing for the most part. She's got a little job in a burger joint down on the second floor flipping tofu-burgers, but that's all she can manage. She used to be so brilliant—so wonderful,"

Phil's eyes swell with tears and his long, skinny nose turns a deep shade of red as he rapidly blinks to keep the liquid at bay.

Fixer takes the opportunity to speak briefly, "She seems lovely. I'm sorry about her condition. It must be hard to keep up with it all." Again, sometimes being kind can help, so why not? Now that he's played the kindness card, he waits to see how the groups mouthpiece—the Crooner—handles things.

Echo unwraps her balaclava which draws Phil Carey's attention, "Who is the artist, sir? These are all quite beautiful", she asks with what she hopes is a friendly smile, trying to get him to relax. If he didn't take the kid, which her gut tells her he didn't, perhaps similar kindness as to what Fixer has already shown will help him open up and share whatever he does know about their mark. His tears are genuine and as near as Elizabeth can see, his wife is not acting.

"I'm very sorry as well, Doctor Carey," Bloodbank offers quietly. Then, in a conclusive voice, he turns to Vegas and continues, "I don't think the Carey's know where Jase is."

Turning a surprised face to the team medic, Vegas' brows pinch together over his nose. Before he has time to say anything in response to the younger man's comment, Phil's long face flushes red and his eyes widen.

"What's happened?" Dr. Carey exclaims and then immediately corrects the volume of his question for his follow-up. "Did something happen to Jase?"

Giving the medtech a slight shake of his head and a thin-lipped scowl, Vegas allows his gaze to linger on the young man's roundish face as he responds. "Yes, Dr. Carey. Jase is missing and we're following up on any leads that might result in his recovery."

"Oh, that poor boy—" Phil's thin eyebrows climb up his forehead. "And you thought I might have taken him. Ms. White isn't at all concerned with my absence except inasmuch as it possibly connects to Jase's disappearance."

"It's just a precaution," Bloodbank says in a conciliatory tone. "We understand that you've had your share of interactions with the boy."

With a deepening scowl, Vegas interjects and attempts to take lead once again, "No one is accusing you of anything, Doctor Carey. But if you've seen the boy, now would be the time to let us know."

"We're just concerned, Doctor Carey," Colin "Bloodbank" Stobb adds softly.

"How long has Jase been missing?" Phil moves around the couch with a glazed expression, the handgun forgotten in his grip.

"Since yesterday," Vegas answers while following the thin man's movements closely with narrowed eyes.

"That's not good at all," the professor breathes. "Statistically speaking, the chances of recovering the child alive are reduced dramatically every hour they're missing."

"Done your research, Doctor Carey?" Vegas casually accuses.

Phil's expression turns sharp for the first time since the group entered his apartment. "I teach corporate law, sir. A knowledge of kidnapping insurance and negotiation agency options is required."

(OOC: Time is 6:11 PM PST)

----------------------------------------------

Tranquil Grotto | Night City Integrate | Midcity | UrbanZone - March 8th, Day 2 (Saturday), 5:44 PM PST

Weather Conditions: High City (Thunderstorms, 15mph 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 (air filtration masks required)

A decent vantage point for an overwatch position would be the fifth or sixth floor with his optic splice. Figuring a sprint down stairs and not waiting for the elevator if he needed to break from his position to provide support, Keith draws on his experience plus his high school public education and attempts to calculate the time it will take him to descend six stories at a full sprint and hit the street. If he's done his math right, it's between three and five seconds per floor. Clenching his jaw against the pain rolling through his arm, the wounded edgerunner assesses the variables on the fourth, fifth, and sixth floors.

On the fourth, he has to contend with Hope Park, a cube for rent, Songbird Meadows Park, Level Nine Security Station 426, Wildflower Duplex, and Freedom Pool while the exterior section—the section he needs to pay closer attention to—includes Oak Wood Duplex, Rebirth Apartments, Sunset Dog Park, Pleasant View Residential Suite, Moonlight Duplex, and the Seaside Grounds Park.

The fifth floor spread is Ladybug Meadows Park, Nirvana Heights Apartment Cubes, High Garden Private Suite, Savanna Garden, Moss Forest Apartment Cubes, Windy Grounds East Park, with the circle-facing prefabs being Windy Grounds West Park, Aprico Co. Apartment Complex - Floor 5, Whitewater Estate, Whitewater Private Park, and Tranquil Grotto Elementary.

Reading the scribbles indicating the sixth floor's occupants, Casino finds the interior to contain Aprico Co. Apartment Complex - Floor 6a, Old Stone Private Residence, Canyon Crest Private Residence, Emerald Moss Indoor Park, Sunnyside Duplex, and Robinwood Private Residence, while the exterior holds Windy Oaks Private Residence, Aprico Co. Apartment Complex - Floor 6b, Clearview Meadows Park, Pioneer Duplex, Truth Square Duplex, and Pleasant Shores Gardens.

Turning back to the three elevator banks, Casino makes up his mind. The big solo knows that the fifth or sixth floor will be the best but the time it will take to get from his overwatch position to the street level is also important if he needs to rejoin the rest of the group quickly. Deciding that the fifth floor will be the best, he tags the elevator call button and stands back to wait for its arrival. When the lift dings and the doors slide open, Keith is greeted by an empty compartment with dark green carpet stained by darker green and black spots, a stainless steel interior along the walls and a very grimy-looking wooden rail at approximately waist level on the three walls without a door. The ceiling is a mirror, probably to hide security cameras and other systems, but without taking them apart, or using tech he doesn't have available, Casino can only make assumptions. The key is that it is empty.

Windy Grounds West Park is his destination. A pleasant voice says, "Fifth floor," and the elevator slows to a stop. The doors split revealing a continuation of the green carpet as well as stains, tears, and fraying along the edges. Again, Casino has lucked out and the hall is empty. Easily making his way down to the park entrance, the rough-looking masked man steps up to the door and is met by a complete lack of movement.

Flat stainless steel and without a handle, but wide enough to allow for two people to easily pass each other as they walk through in opposite directions, the door is a barricade that requires a keypass to pass through. The keypass box sits to the right and unlike those keypasses that require the card to be inserted or swiped, this has a little laser that reads the cards through a Plastek case protecting it from tampering. Glancing overhead in frustration, Casino watches the words, "Windy Grounds Park" get blown away by a wind animation only to "grow" back into place from the nothingness below the holographic display to be blown away again moments later.

Chances are good that the other parks offer their tenants the same level of protection.

(OOC: Time is 5:54 PM PST)

-------------------------------------------

Infinity Towers | Night City Integrate | Midcity | UrbanZone - March 8th, Day 2 (Saturday), 5:53 PM PST

Weather Conditions: High City (Thunderstorms, 15mph 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 (air filtration masks required)

Using the drone places him at an advantage the others won't have. Charlie doesn't need to gain a position of altitude himself; all he needs is a bit of privacy. Scouring the face of the sloping architecture, the fixer considers his options.

Flying the drone from inside the building could encounter interference depending on what kind of transmissions are running through those silvery walls. However, if there is one thing he knows, it's that in this compact world one of the lures drawing people out of the corporate urban sprawl on the outskirts of the integrates is the outdoor spaces regularly placed on each floor of these towers. Street levels don't usually provide outdoor gardens or parks, but the higher levels do. Rolling his eyes up the face of the smaller protruding leg of the building, Cred Stick Charlie finds a possible roost on the third floor overlooking the circle. There, cut into the sheer surface as though someone had decided to extract a parallelogram from the side of the building is a large enough space to indicate a park or garden he might be able to gain access to. The upward slope of the ceiling would provide ample room for take off and landing without the threat of interfering wires or a low-hanging roof.

Alternatively, he could remain in the rain, seek a position amongst the squatting homeless around the building, and try to pull off the whole thing like he didn't care if anyone is watching, or seek risking signal interference from a room within the Towers.

Cred Stick Charlie has to find a sweet spot to fly his drone in the rain. Rain is good... as long as it doesn't change to acid rain, which is the worst. Charlie scans the building for a "roost" to launch his drone and looks to be on the third floor. The walk was long in the rain but it gave Charlie some time to talk to himself and figure out how to gain access to that possible spot. His clothes should help him gain access to an area that the others might not be able... so that might be a good thing as well.

Decision made, the fixer dips his head in the direction he intends to travel and walks into the curtain of rainwater that falls from the brim of his fedora. The outer doors to the Infinity Towers sweep aside and admit him into the intermediate lobby where he is blasted by a wall of air that is designed to keep weather and bugs from getting inside. Stepping up to the next set of doors, he peers through the glass at the individual in the booth on the other side.

"Welcome to the Infinity Towers." In his early twenties, the young Asian man has a purple light show playing at the tips of his lively TechHair graft and an obvious optic splice ringing his left eye. His uniform is black and of the same canvas texture a number of Cred Stick Charlie's new team members wear with a digitally animated sun over a city silhouette rotating its rays from left to right and the words, "Sunset Security Services" alternating from English to Japanese to Mandarine to Spanish to Russian and back to English in the darkness of the city silhouette. A clipped badge rests over his right breast pocket with a digital representation of his portrait slowly rotating to the left, then back again to center and then to the right. His name is displayed below in the same shifting font, "Si Jun-Yeong."

"How can I help you?"

(OOC: Time is 5:57 PM PST)

Sounds like there should be happy dancing all around!