The Mean Streets – Downtown – Night City – March, Friday 13th, 2020, 2:58am
“Ok,” the nomad began after the team had offered their input. “Seems you have the most Euro’s—“ he indicated Firewind, who gave a nod of understanding. “—So hold on to that for now. Lets see if Bulls Eye's contacts can help without spending that, it could come in handy if we really needed it.”

Then moving slightly to the front Croaker spoke to Bull’s Eye but made sure all could hear.

"Ok, first thing we need is a place to rest and regroup. Bulls Eye you said you had a connection to a booster club: which one and how good is your connect? You think we could crash at one of their safe houses? As I see it anyone looking for us hopefully will not be looking for us in among a boostergang. Find out what their relationship to the Wild Things is and where their control zone is in relation to them we may be able to use that to our, and their, advantage. Also, there’s a good chance they could get rid of this van with no trouble, so convince them if ya can.”

Handing his Tribe brother the phone he took hold of the hand reaching back. “Thanks for not bailing on us. It’s been a long time with no family for me other then Peacekeeper, maybe after this is over we can see if we can find more of us.”

Letting Bulls Eye’s hand go he returned to sit at the back of the van and await the results of the phone calls in progress.

The driver gave Croaker a simple nod. He’d had family in the joint. All of the survivors of that fateful raid (at least he’d thought at the time) had been in there, so he hadn’t experienced a lack of fellowship. A little bit of guilt crept up inside his usually cold interior. He’d left their family behind in prison to taste fresh air. He knew where the rest were, and he’d abandoned them, after all of the speeches about sticking together, blood is thicker than water, being true blue, etc., and here he was on the Outside while they rotted Inside. Bull’s Eye mentally shook off the depressing thoughts. Now that he and Croaker had teamed up, they’d figure out a way to get the rest of the tribe out, and then there’d be Hell to pay.

“Won’t do no good, Croaker,” Bull’s Eye said, returning the phone to his brother while keeping his eyes on the slippery road. The wind picked up just then and the van rocked back and forth as the nomad made the necessary corrections to keep from bowling into the compact sedan next to them. “I’ve got no cell number for the boosters. I know their stomping grounds though, so I’ll steer us that way, only…it takes us back into the same area—roughly—as the Wild Things’ turf. Not the safest place to be right now I’d wager. What’s left of the Wild Things are likely in a real pissy mood. As far as the two gangs getting along or not, I haven't got a clue. Wasn't many Wild Things in the joint. The Brawlers didn't have much interaction with them there.”

Having spoken his piece, Colton shifted in his seat and returned his attention wholly to the drive. His eyes remained peeled for any sign of the police, any shadows, or other trouble. It was a very dark night despite the city lights, which appeared, even to the uncreative mind of the driver, to be swallowed up by the thick black of the storm. As he drove silence reigned supreme in the van. Firewind was lost in his own thoughts, staring at the dark stain of the blood on the floor, some of it mixing and diluting with the rainwater that escaped the folds of their armored leather. Croaker and Peacekeeper seemed content to rest upon each other’s shoulders.

Making a bold decision, Bull’s Eye turned towards the business center of downtown Night City, where the skyscrapers rose up far beyond the six to ten story buildings they were currently meandering through. He had been considering their course and had come to the conclusion that the corporate security in that area would mean there’d be less cops, and certainly less gangs. It was a quick cut through the center of town, and might offer some relief to an otherwise tense night. The only downside was that it was sure to register the van as being in the vicinity at this exact time, and show a progression of direction since the area was riddled with security cameras.

It apparently paid off, however, as they emerged from that towering edifice to corporate strength and rolled into the Medical Center, and on to the Upper East Side without incident. By then, there was no turning back. They’d missed the meet by some time, and they were locked into a course of action that led to more bloodshed no matter how it unfolded.

As Keahi tore his gaze away from the pooled blood to peer out the front window at the passing, blurred lights, he wondered just who was going to make it through the night. Apparently, a number of edgerunners who’d began the night had already had theirs cut short due to this gig. There was no cohesion, no strength in their party, and they were pitted against a major corporation where synergy was the go word. The odds were grim—no, dismal was more like it. With a sigh, he watched as Crisis Medical Center passed by, holy looking blue-white lights illuminating the high-rise inviting him to leave this hardship behind and go do something normal with his life. Closing his eyes, he envisioned the tattoos across his face and recommitted himself to his mission. There was no normalcy for him. They’d seen to that, and he’d vowed never to let them forget.

“We’re here,” Colton said, his voice nearly a growl from the tension he felt.

The van slowed to a meager thirty miles an hour as it prowled the streets of the Upper East Side. A couple of turns later and Bull’s Eye pulled up to a curb with no markings, placed the vehicle in park and settled back in his seat.

“That’s the Metalstrom,” he said, pointing across the street just as an old Buick chopped to look like something out of Mad Max rolled by. The building to which he was referring was a large, brick ensemble with a gaudy neon sign that flashed the name of the place. The structure swept the whole of the block and rose up a menacing five stories. There were windows, but no glass. Metal sheets covered the windows, dented and scarred, slick with rainwater, and very uninviting.

“The Brawlers own this block,” Colton continued. “They’re they law here from what I was told in the slammer. The Metalstrom is their hangout, but it ain’t for the weak of heart. The Joe that I met Inside told me that it is a chromer hangout; loud music, violence, the works, but it’s here that we’re going to find the Back Alley Brawlers.” Bull’s Eye turned to Croaker and raised his eyebrows. “If you want to continue this course, that is.”

The Metalstrom – Upper East Side – Night City – March, Friday 13th, 2020, 3:20am

---

The Mean Streets – Night City – March, Friday 13th, 2020, 3:10am
Scribe brushed off Spiff’s confusion with a wave of the hand and a barely recognizable nod towards the driver of the cab. After that, the ride fell quiet as the cab passed the City Center and entered the Medical Center. When the cab turned into the admittance lane and rolled to a stop in front of the wide sweep of automatic doors bathed in a soft blue light, Scribe was the one who footed the cab fare. Entering the clean, white tiled interior, the group was struck by the smell of antiseptic, cleaner, and sweat. There were people sitting about in various states of duress within the lobby, obviously having received enough attention from the medical staff to put them on hold while those in more critical condition were taken care of. There were more than a few cleaning drones about as well, sweeping, mopping, and otherwise cleaning the messes made by the infirm. A large, touch screen display hung on the wall next to the doors with a series of instructions that led the group to seats just inside and to the left of a large, square-shaped pillar with a blue base and a white trunk.

“State your name,” a young woman swept in front of them with a digital pad and a stylus. She wore her blue hair up in a bun behind her nurse’s hat. Her uniform consisted of light blue scrubs, a security identification card that was attached to her blouse by a strong-looking cord, and white, latex gloves.

“Preacher,” the solo said in a slow drawl.

“Injuries?”

“Gunshot wounds, here, and here.”

The nurse stepped forward and placed her hand on his chin, tilting his head back. “Remove the hat please.” After Preacher had done so, she settled back and tapped a couple of statements into her pad. Then, she pushed his shirt aside to see the injuries to his body, registered those and stepped over to Scribe. “Name?”

“Oh, I’m just the ride, darling. That’s the other pincushion.” Scribe’s smile was pure seduction and the young woman returned it a little playfully as she moved on to where Spiff sat.

“Name?”

(OOC: I’m going to write you through this to get things moving…)

“Spiff, beautiful, and yours?” The player in the fixer couldn’t help but surface in the face of her sexy expression despite the pain in his leg.

“Nurse Rhianna,” she gave him a sultry smile. “What’s your injury, Spiff?”

“Well, I saw that you were going to be on duty tonight and asked him,” Spiff motioned towards Preacher. “To shoot me in the leg so I could get in here and meet you.” The lie was sufficient enough to relay what had caused him damage.

“There are easier ways,” she replied coyly.

“Oh, but this way I get your attention, you see how dedicated I am, and if you hurry us through the process a little I might be free to take you out for breakfast by the time your shift ends.” Spiff’s shine nearly dimmed the lights of the hospital’s interior.

“I get off in an hour,” Rhianna said, smiling while she tapped away at her recorder.

“All the more reason to hurry us through, don’t you think?”

Her smile broadened to show even white teeth. “I’ll see what I can do. Do either of you have insurance?”

“I’m afraid not, sweetheart,” Spiff answered after a brief glance at Preacher to make sure he wasn’t jumping to conclusions. “It’s going to be cash money tonight.”

“Smooth,” Scribe leaned forward to watch her hips sway as she made her way to her station. “Too bad Croaker wasn’t a dame, Spiff. You’d have had him eating out of your hand.”

Preacher chuckled and then winced as the pain in his head amplified. It was barely five minutes later when Rhianna returned, asking them to follow her and delivering Spiff a coy smile as she did so. Leading the way through an automatic door, she took them down a long, immaculately clean hall with calm, serene prints framed and hung at eye level. Entering a room with a steel table approximately three and a half feet wide and seven feet long in the center surrounded by rolling trays fixed with various medical tools, she motioned at a series of chairs against the wall closest to the door. “The doctor will be with you momentarily.”

“Thanks, sweetheart,” Spiff briefly touched her hand as he smiled his appreciation. She blushed a bit and ducked out of the room.

Moments later a tall, black man with a shaved head, a mustached lip, and a goatee entered. His white smock made him out to be a doctor, his badge confirmed it. Moving towards the table he motioned for Preacher to follow with a flick of his hand.

The man was definitely a professional, who’d likely seen his fair share of combat wounds. He made short work of the repairs to Preacher’s scalp and flesh, working with a precision and a lack of emotion. When he was finished he gave Preacher specific instructions on use of Aspirin, Ibuprofen, or other pain medication, and advised him to avoid bullets in the future…all with a deadpan expression. Then, he was on to Spiff’s leg. He worked through that injury with the exact same attitude and skill, and to Spiff, the pain of his rough handling was nearly unbearable as the doctor hadn’t even offered him anything to numb the area. When all was said and done, Preacher and Spiff had nice, white (and red) bandages covering their injuries.

“You’re looking at a few days recovery before the muscle will feel alright, and the skin will likely stay tight around the wound for some time after that. Do yourselves a favor in the future and avoid bullets.” With that said, the doctor made his exit, being replaced by a new nurse who was considerably less attractive than the young Rhianna, and a few tens of pounds heavier. Of Hispanic heritage, her accent was heavy and nearly impossible to understand.

“How are you settling the bill?” she asked as she stood blocking the door.

“As the man said,” Scribe stood and tugged at his jacket to get it settled correctly, then bent and picked up his bag. “Cash money.”

“For you,” the woman turned to Preacher. “It will be three hundred, and for you,” she looked at Spiff, “One fifty.”

Preacher sighed, stood up, and fished all of the cash from his pocket. Sorting through it he frowned and smiled sheepishly as he offered the wrinkled, colorful bills towards the nurse. “I only got one fifty.”

“Well, that just don’t cover it, Cowboy.”

Crisis Medical Center – Medical Center – Night City – March, Friday 13th, 2020, 3:45am

---

The Mean Streets – Night City – March, Friday 13th, 2020, 3:45am
Jack took a deep breath and shook his head. He’d been reviewing the encounter they’d just had inside the college lab and he had to swallow his anger. He hadn’t been treated with that much disrespect in ages, and the last bloke to do so died a horrible, painful death. There was, after all, the matter of maintaining respect across the board, and if he let one person walk over him, others would view that as an open invitation. That was something he couldn’t have, but in this case there was an even bigger slight to his position than one lone nomad and his input, no matter how valuable Peacekeeper had been in the past. It was obvious to him that she’d attached her future to Croaker’s no matter how bleak that might be, so he knew he couldn’t trust her like he’d used to. She had a master now, something that Springed-Heel Jack never thought he’d see. It was obvious to him that she wasn’t the tough, independent he’d thought her to be. She was a baby cow suckling on that man’s every word and whim. Such a waste of talent…

This wasn’t the only thing he’d been thinking on, however. Jack had been mulling over the situation, their chances, their assets, and their deficits. He knew that despite his organization, they were in for a real challenge. He’d managed to play people off of each other up until this point: the cops against the mob, the yakuza against the cops, the mafia against the gangs, etc. making himself untouchable, a figure of mutual benefit to all parties. He didn’t consider himself equal to a godfather, but he was pretty close no matter how loose his organization appeared. Even with all of this power, he was well aware that the corporation held the trump card. Where his funds were limited, where his manpower was limited, theirs was unlimited. This is why the edgerunners were needed. This was why Croaker still lived.

They’d have to do the work that sane people wouldn’t, but they couldn’t do it alone. This is when Jack had come to the conclusion that he’d have to pull more meat into the stew, and with that in mind, he set about getting his outfit on the phone, waking them from their rest, and putting them to work. It was what he paid them for, it was what they were good at.

That’s the reason a text message appeared on MDK’s phone. It was simple and to the point: Megacorp needs a lesson taught. You game to be the teacher? Whoever sent it knew MDK’s pension for doing anything he could to hurt megacorps, and they were pulling strings in a very obvious manner. The message meant that there was likely no pay in it—this was an opportunity to do some damage in the name of the Movement.

The Mean Streets – Night City – March, Friday 13th, 2020, 3:45am

Night City – The Mortuary (Coffin Motel) - Friday, March 13th, 2020, 0345hrs
Mae was a light sleeper, it came with the job, and awoke instantly when his cell phone beeped that he had a message. He looked at his skin watch and frowning at the time wondered who would be texting him at this time of the morning.

Flipping open his phone he read the message: Megacorp needs a lesson taught. You game to be the teacher?
Reading between the lines he sighed knowing that there was likely to be little to no pay in this job… but… he did have a hard on for putting the hurt to the MegaCorps. He considered it for a few moments. What were his alternatives… sit around here being bored and hoping something better would come along… or get in on the action. It took all of 10 seconds for him to decide.

The sent a reply to the message: Teacher available… where and when does class start?
Closing his phone he lay back and closed his eyes again.. He would get what rest he could until he knew where he was to go and when he had to be there. He reached down and laid his hand on his Automag laying next to him, finding comfort in the cold hard specialized grip as he drifted off waiting for a reply.

Night City – The Mortuary (Coffin Motel) - Friday, March 13th, 2020, 0346hrs

Fortunately for him, the Nurse had already turned to Preacher, but Spiff's eyes widened rather dramatically at the numbers in the bill. The thought of a hospital visit gave him the impression of thousands of credits. He honestly expected it to be like the last time he had ended up under a surgeon's hand, when the Wild Things had nearly beaten them to death. He had been glad to put a big dent in their operations tonight. He considered it repaying the favor. In any case, a 450eb bill was a joke. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet, thumbing through the cash.

Without looking up, he spoke "I gotcha covered Preacher, save that money for the strip clubs." He pulled out 450eb and waved it at the nurse. ((I assume it's like today, payments are given at the reception desk, not to the nurses))

His mind had been mostly distracted during the time at the office with the thoughts of a long, sensual morning with the attractive nurse. Still, it was getting closer and closer to noon, and he wanted to catch a few winks before the early meeting. His mind clicked. He would allow fate to make the decision as to whether he got laid tonight. He would only make an effort to accompany her to breakfast if he ran into her on the way out. If she was off doing some menial task, well then, that's just how things go. After all, both the opportunity to get laid, and the need for sleep were on equal footing in Spiff's book at this point.

((I gave you some leeway here. TBH, I, personally, am not very charismatic and you did a heck of a job with the wording of things))

Night City – Lower West Side- March, Friday 13th, 2020, 3:00am
As he moved towards the back to once again sit by Jaimy’s side Croaker was stopped by Bulls Eye hand handing his phone back.

“Won’t do no good, Croaker,” Bull’s Eye said, returning the phone to him.
“I’ve got no cell number for the boosters. I know their stomping grounds though, so I’ll steer us that way, only…it takes us back into the same area—roughly—as the Wild Things’ turf. Not the safest place to be right now I’d wager. What’s left of the Wild Things are likely in a real pissy mood. As far as the two gangs getting along or not, I haven't got a clue. Wasn't many Wild Things in the joint. The Brawlers didn't have much interaction with them there.”

“Your right I was hoping the two clubs were not friends, my enemy my friend cliché, but still what choice do we have at this point. Take us there and then we will decide our next steps.” Croaker replied taking his phone and sitting by Peacekeeper, both resting on the other.

Within a short time they came to a stop and once again Bulls Eye spoke, his voice as if a growl, clearly tensed up.

“We’re here”

Croaker giving Jaimy’s hand a good squeeze moved up front to peer out the van’s front window.

“That’s the Metalstrom”
Bulls Eye said, pointing across the street just as an old Buick chopped to look like something out of Mad Max rolled by. The building to which he was referring was a large, brick ensemble with a gaudy neon sign that flashed the name of the place. The structure swept the whole of the block and rose up a menacing five stories. There were windows, but no glass. Metal sheets covered the windows, dented and scarred, slick with rainwater, and very uninviting.

“The Brawlers own this block,” Colton continued. “They’re the law here from what I was told in the slammer. The Metalstrom is their hangout, but it ain’t for the weak of heart. The Joe that I met inside told me that it is a chromer hangout; loud music, violence, the works, but it’s here that we’re going to find the Back Alley Brawlers.”
Bull’s Eye turned to Croaker and raised his eyebrows.
“If you want to continue this course, that is.”

“Well anyone got any better idea’s I am all ears.”

(Assuming no one has one)
Ok here’s the plan, Bulls Eye, you and I go in and make first contact. You say they know of you, so you do the intro then once we talk to the head guy, or his second, I will present our ‘case’ so to speak. Peacekeeper, Firewind after say 5-6 minutes follow us in but do not join us, get a table and try to stay as unnoticed as possible, order a drink, food whatever. Until we get a deal done your our backup if things go down bad, ok weapons check.”

Quickly popping out the clip from his Armalite he checked the magazines load, replaced it, then did the same with the MPK.

“Ok I have my .44 and SMG, Peacekeeper you have your Automag and the second SMG, Bulls Eye you still got that Constitution heavy pistol I gave you besides your Comanche right.”
(Assuming he says yes) “Well then Firewind that leaves the Hurricane shotgun with you, besides your personal, if you can’t hide it under your duster then use the bag there on the floor. Just remember it’s a room sweeper so if ya got to use it be sure we are nowhere near.”
Croaker said the last with a tone of amusement and a smile to try to ease the building tension. Looking to Bulls Eye Croaker made his way to the van’s rear doors.

“Let’s get this show on the road shall we.”

Streets of Night City – Lower West Side – March, Friday 13th, 2020, 3:18am

Jaimy listened carefully to everything that was being said. She kept her gaze on Croaker until he had taken the seat beside her own. Peacekeeper smiled ever so softly to him as they leaned against one another, not out of support, but more out of affection.

Carefully watching as the vehicle had carried them to their destination. Croaker gave her hand a good squeeze, and she smiled up at him as he made his way to the front to take a gander. Soundlessly she shot a gaze to the building in which Bulls Eye had described as their destination. It looked like a nightmare to her, but she was a bounty hunter and was ready for anything that the place would offer. The name itself sounded rough around the edges 'MetalStrom". It almost dounded as if the name had been pulled out of an ancient book.

Soundlessly she drank all the voices, and all the words that made up their plan. Tilting her head slightly and nodding she checked to make sure her weapons were stocked up yet well hidden. She knew that Firewind and herself would have to go in roughly 5 minutes after Croaker and Bulls Eye went in. Turning her gaze towards Firewind she nodded to her new partner. Thoughts ran through her mind about a possible plan B, but she prayed that they wouldn't need one. A thought occured to her, that if things didn't roll as smoothly as they hoped, there probably wouldn't be time to even consider what their plan B had been.

Peacekeeper had listened carefully to Croaker's words, and she nodded to him, yet remained in the back of the van. She hadn't moved since she had returned to the van before splitting up. Yet as Croaker moved past her she reached for his hand giving it a gentle squeeze, which he would understand as clearly as if she'd spoken the words "Be careful my love". When Bulls Eye and Croaker left the van, she glanced down at the phone in her possession and she looked at the time. It was 3:50am, and they would give Bulls Eye and Croaker 5 minutes before they would follow them in and order a drink and possibly some food. The previous mention of food had caused her stomach to turn and begin growling. Drawing in a deep breath she shook away the thoughts and turned her gaze to Firewind "Well I'm ready to get this done." she nodded to her companion and awaited his reply, and for the next five minutes thoughts thundered through her mind.

The Metalstrom – Upper East Side – Night City – March, Friday 13th, 2020, 3:20am
The weight Firewind felt was caused by weariness. Adrenaline has the same influence upon your body as drugs: giving you that rush only to leave you tired and numb. That’s how the medtech felt at the moment: tired and numb. He had to force himself to listen attentively to the nomad’s instructions, confident in his ability with a handgun, Keahi was less than confident in his ability with the shotgun. As a matter-of-fact, he’d steered clear of kickers like that because the recoil always startled him. He was more of a precision specialist, just like when he performed surgery. All that aside, he accepted the weapon and stood to see how he could best conceal it in his wardrobe—he didn’t favor the idea of having to tote another bag around. He didn’t wear a trench coat like so many other edgerunners (it seemed to be a badge of the trade), and was having no luck securing the weapon within his jumpsuit as Croaker and Bull’s Eye exited the vehicle.

“I’m not going to be any use with this,” he sighed with a tone that carried a little more edginess than he might have wished. Looking up at Peacekeeper he shook his head. “I’ll just as likely hit Croaker, or Bull’s Eye, if trouble happens. Here, you take it.”

That said, he shoved the shotgun into her hands and let go, forcing her to grip it. He didn’t look at her again as he bent to unzip his reactimesh bag, and began to retrieve various plates of armor, a helmet, and more armor. After he’d removed all of it from the bag, the medtech zipped it once more, and moved it aside. He was more than adept at strapping the medical armor to his person in a timely manner, and was half way finished before he caught Peacekeeper’s quizzical eye.

“If that place is half as dangerous as Bull’s Eye eluded, I’ll be damned if I’m going in with just the armor plates in my jumpsuit between me and whatever’s flying around. You’ll thank me later, and though I might draw some attention, at the very least I’ll be protected.”

(OOC: I will backpost a response if necessary to anything Peacekeeper might have to say about this).

Meanwhile, Bull’s Eye and Croaker walked side-by-side across the street, presenting the image of toughs unbothered by the storm despite the stinging rain and howling wind. They were opposites in height and weight, but practically matched in outfits, their trench coats billowing about their legs and whipping water into the wind. Despite their appearance, Colton had his doubts. He hadn’t called upon the Back Alley Brawlers since prison, and wasn’t altogether sure he’d run into anyone he knew. Street gangs were more prone to mistake you for a undercover than a friend, and the Brawlers—despite their guardian status—were still a street gang. He kept his reservations to himself however; Croaker had enough on his mind.

The Metalstrom’s doors weren’t guarded by bouncers; the club wasn’t exclusive enough to require that. Besides, the nature of the customers was enough to keep most of the elite crowd away. As they approached, the cacophony of raging chords and thundering drum insinuated itself upon the weather and eventually swallowed it whole. The wind, the rain, they were only felt, not heard. The cold, hard steel of the door handle—wet and slick—fit nicely in Colton’s hand as he pulled it open causing a wave of heat smelling of sweat, alcohol, and something a little more pungent to roll over them.

Before the pair there was an open floor, a convulsion of humanity, rolling and jumping, pushing and thrashing out. It was thick, pressing, and confining from a few meters in front of the door to the stage upon which a five member band was screaming their hatred into the room. The lyrics were familiar, unoriginal, and screamed without talent, but they fueled the chromer’s fire, tossed gasoline on the ganger’s drug-frenzied inferno, and could in a moment turn a mosh pit into a death pit. To the nomad’s left there was a small clearing near tables where it appeared a fight had just taken place. Three chromers—all with long, greasy hair, sleeveless shirt, and various, visible cyberware were picking themselves up from the floor, bloody and laughing. Chairs and tables were shattered, pieces lying about the floor and being pushed to the side by other patrons returning to their business.

Breathing in the filth, Colton squinted into the forest, seeking the telltale beret that would indicate a member of the gang he was looking for. After just seconds of the two standing at the door, drawing a few stares, but nothing lingering, Bull’s Eye smacked Croaker’s arm with the back of his hand and pointed through the crowd towards the bar. There, Richard could see a number of patrons ranging from scantily clad gangers to heavy set, chromed-up warriors. Still, there was a birth given to the two men that Bull’s Eye was pointing at.

One was easily almost seven feet in height, broad enough in the shoulders to be a heavy weight boxer, and devoid of hair. He was of African decent, wore black leathers with a red tank top underneath a black leather vest. His right arm was chrome and sparkled with the reflected lights of the overhead display, and his eyes were a fiery red. His bottom lip was pierced three times, his ears gauged and pierced as well. There were black lines about his visible skin: indications of tattoos, and he wore gold chains as though the weight of them were necessary to keep his feet firmly planted on the ground. Atop his head was a black beret, and he leaned against the bar as though he owned the place, looking out at the masses with a critical eye and an expression filled with hate.

The other had his back turned to the nomads, though he was a full head and shoulders shorter than his friend, and of Hispanic decent. His hair was long and loose beneath his beret, and he wore a black leather jacket studded with small, chrome plated spikes, chains, and mesh patterns.

Bull’s Eye started forward—best not to delay the inevitable—conscious of Croaker’s presence to his right and the weight of his handguns where they remained about his body. There was a little pushing necessary, and by the time they’d gone half-way through the crowd, they’d jostled, been jostled, pushed, elbowed, and Croaker had even received a slightly stinging shot to the kidney, all in the name of fun. It was apparent to Bull’s Eye and Croaker both that the large black man had spotted their approach when he shoved the shoulder of his compatriot and gave a nod in their direction.

The Hispanic man turned and looked into the crowd with a scowl, his left eye was milky white, a jagged scar running down his face and turning the corner of his mouth down. Taking some mirrorshades from his front breast pocket, the ganger slipped them over his eyes, leaned back against the bar, and allowed his jacket to fall open revealing the butt of an Automag with a flashing red light on the back end where the smartlink is installed.

“I’m lookin’ for Crusader,” Bull’s Eye barks as they draw near, holding his hands up so that they can see he isn’t threatening.

“What fer?” the Hispanic snarls. The conversation was drawing some attention from those nearby.

“I’m a friend of his. Knew him Inside. Name’s Bull’s Eye.”

“So.”

“So, he said to look him up when I got out. I’m out, and I’m lookin’ him up. You gonna tell me where he is, or am I gonna have t’ tell him that you and Black Mamba here were less than friendly to a friend of the Brawlers?” It was a gamble, but Colton didn’t like the attention they were getting and time was running out.

“Crusader’s dead, Choomba,” the black fellow growled. “An’ he never mentioned you.”

Bull’s Eye frowned. That was bad news. He’d liked Crusader, despite the man’s disillusioned views on public service. “He’ll be missed. What about Cleansweep? Chevy? Toronto Jim? Melbourne? Jury Duty? Pigeon—?”

“All right, Choombatta,” the Hispanic pushed away from the bar. “So you know some of my brothers; what of it?”

Colton stepped forward too, holding up a hand to keep Croaker back. Untucking his t-shirt, Bull’s Eye lifted it up to reveal his tattooed torso. The Hispanic and black fellow both studied the skinart with narrowed eyes before the Hispanic gave a nod and flashed a couple of hand signals. Colton replied with similar signals, dropping his shirt back around his waist.

“Name’s Scarface,” the Hispanic said, pointing at his ugly scar as though he were using a barrel of a handgun with his two fingers. “This here is Hightower, but he ain’t no funny man, comprenda?”

“Si,” Colton said. “This here’s Croaker. He’s a brother of mine from the Family. Look, Scarface, I ain’t gonna beat around the bush no more. We’re in a fix and could use some help.”

“What kinda help?” Scarface wasn’t letting loose of his suspicions just yet.

“My brother can explain it a bit better.” Bull’s Eye motioned Croaker forward.

Meanwhile, time had passed for the two in the van while cars sped by splashing the flooding in the streets up onto the parked vehicles and curbsides without reservation. Firewind had been rather uncomfortable with the silence, and as he finished with the straps that completed his armor he tried to strike up conversation.

“You don’t seem the type to be reliant on anyone, Peacekeeper.” Looking up towards the ceiling so he could strap his helmet on, Firewind continued. “I’m not meaning this rudely, but what keeps you and Croaker together? You’re like polar opposites…”

(OOC: reply, if any.)

Keahi accepted the answer with a brief raising of his eyebrows and a nod of his head, feeling the familiar weight of his helmet roll a bit on his scalp. “Well, it’s almost time, isn’t it?”

Lifting the back of the van, Firewind dropped off the bumper to the watery street below. He felt the water soak up into his Ruf Treads almost immediately and soured his tattooed face at the sensation. Slinging his bag across his shoulder, the medtech began to jog across the street just as a group of three chromers burst from the club door, laughing and pushing each other. They were obviously drunk, and immediately turned to the left, staggering off down the street. Firewind didn’t pause, eager to get out of the rain, and achieved the door, noise, and heat in no time with Peacekeeper right alongside him. Stepping inside, he received the reaction he was expecting.

Those who were seated at tables enjoying their drinks to the left of the door paused to stare, some laughing and pointing, others raising questioning brows and making unheard comments to their companions. Keahi didn’t care. To them, he’d appear to be a Trauma Team Tech, one of those who arrived in an AV-4 at the scene of battle where some lucky sod had broken his Trauma Team Card to collect on the five hundred a month expense in order to have the cavalry arrive and save their skin. Keahi was hoping they’d think he’d just gotten off work, or that his crew was taking a break. When no one really made a move to interfere, he felt the tension in his shoulders lessen a bit.

Following Peacekeeper to a table she selected, he scanned the loud room, his eyes aching at the flashing lights and laser show, until he located Bull’s Eye and Croaker. Then, he passed his gaze right over them and continued to look about the room as he sat himself down, setting his bag on the floor under his feet. They only had to wait a couple of seconds before a girl wearing a hot pink micro-mini and a white halter top approached carrying a tray tucked under one arm. Her green hair was wild and looked like it had been cut by a three year old. She had tattoo sleeves and more tattoos around her visible belly button as well as a pierced navel. Her nose was pierced as well as her ears with a chain running between the two.

“What’s your poison?” She drawled, eyeballing Peacekeeper with an appraising look. “And what’s your sign, sugar?”

The Metalstrom – Upper East Side – Night City – March, Friday 13th, 2020, 3:25am

---

Crisis Medical Center – Medical Center – Night City – March, Friday 13th, 2020, 3:45am
Preacher nodded to Spiff by way of thanks. His head still throbbed, but he felt better. The nurse gave them all a once over gaze before turning and walking from the room, calling out. “Settle that before you leave, boys, or you’ll not be receiving our attentions ever again.”

“You heard the lady,” Scribe yawned. “Let’s get out of here. I’m game for a hotel and some rest.”

That said, the group made their exit, walking through the brightly lit halls, feeling out of place amongst all of the clean, until they reached the nurse’s station. At that point, Spiff asked directions to the accounts receivable station, slightly disappointed that Rhianna was no where to be seen.

“Do you know where she is?” he asked as the others started to walk away. It was, after all, only polite to leave indication that he’d at least tried to find her before leaving.

“She’s checking on a patient right now.”

“Tell her that I’m more than a little disappointed I missed her,” he replied while leaning down in a conspiratorial manner. “Let her know I was dragged out of here by that big, black fellow cause they were in a hurry, will ya?”

The older nurse behind the station was not amused. With a winning smile, Spiff turned and made his way after the others. Once everything was settled at the accounting desk, the group made for the exterior with Guardian leading the way and Preacher hanging slightly behind. Scribe hit the button on his Cab Hailer once again and they stepped out under the awning.

“OK,” Scribe began casually as he eyed the dark street. “Let’s iron some things out, shall we?”

“Yeah,” Preacher interrupted. “Let’s. You said you had an offer for me, Spiff?”

Crisis Medical Center – Medical Center – Night City – March, Friday 13th, 2020, 4:00am

---

The Mean Streets – Night City – March, Friday 13th, 2020, 3:45am
“He’s in.” The voice said over the phone, just as Jack suspected it would when it called back.

“Good. Tell ‘im t’ meet us at the Red Lantern tomorrow at noon, an’ t’ bring whatever ‘elp he thinks’ll work fer the same pay as ‘e’s getting’.” Jack heard The Piper chuckle as he hung up the phone.

“’Tis war, Lad.” Jack explained. “You donna get paid t’ fight fer the Cause.”

“I know that,” The Piper was lighting up another cinnamon smoke. “Doesn’t make it any less funny.”

Jack shook his head and smiled. No matter the situation, The Piper had always seemed so relaxed. He remembered a time back in Scotland when they’d been jumped by a Razor Gang. Jack had been terrified, but The Piper had held up his hand and told them to stop, no if, ands, or buts about it. His tone had been so final that the gang members had actually stopped. Then, calm as could be, The Piper had rolled up his sleeves, put his smoke behind his ear, and rolled his shoulders, neck, and knuckles before giving them permission to continue. He’d beat the members of that gang so soundly that they gave him honorary admission and started calling him King Piper. That’s the way the man worked.

“Night’s fleetin’. Best be settin’ a few more things in motion ‘fore we catch some shut eye.” Jack went back to his phone.

Meanwhile, MDK’s phone chirped again, the message this time contained directions:

Meet at the Red Lantern, Dockside, Noon. Bring any extra hands.
The Mean Streets – Night City – March, Friday 13th, 2020, 3:50am

Night City – The Mortuary (Coffin Motel) - Friday, March 13th, 2020, 0350hrs
Mae ‘s phone beeped again that he had a message, his eyes snapped open as he raised the phone and read the message:

Meet at the Red Lantern, Dockside, Noon. Bring any extra hands
He smirked as he typed his short reply: Acknowledged
He lay awake thinking of on the ‘extra hands’ part of the message; it sounded serious. This could be trouble, the thought caused him to grin slightly. He liked trouble, otherwise he wouldn’t be in the business.

He could only think of one person at the moment that might be able to join him on this one; Lightning. He didn’t know if the Techie would be interested but Mae would sure like to have him along on this one. If equipment went south a Tech was always a good thing to have on hand.

Flipping open his phone he sent Lightning a text message:

Giving class to Corp tomorrow, need fix-it man on duty, if interested meet me at Sam’s for Brunch 1030hrs.
He had given Lightning the name of a small diner around the corner from his motel. A small place not far from The Afterlife Bar therefore a popular dining place for out of work solos. A safe place usually because of all the firepower around the place most gangs stayed out, if they knew what was good for them.

After sending the message he shut off his phone, closed his eyes and drifted back off to sleep quickly.

Night City – The Mortuary (Coffin Motel) - Friday, March 13th, 2020, 0355hrs
(OOC: See Q/A)

“OK,” Scribe began casually as he eyed the dark street. “Let’s iron some things out, shall we?”

“Yeah,” Preacher interrupted. “Let’s. You said you had an offer for me, Spiff?”

Spiff glanced about from under the awning. It was still raining, so that would drown out most of the sound from pedestrians, and the late hour would clear most of the street, but he wanted to be sure there was no one listening.

"Fair enough," he replied, turning to Preacher. "As I said before," he motioned at Digital Scribe behind him, "I'm going to put every penny I have into keeping those nutjobs alive out there on that suicide mission. To be honest, I'd need a guy like you to help." Spiff paused. This wouldn't do, he was still a fixer like this. He pulled off his glasses and put them into the inside pocket of his coat. "But that's not what I want. I want you to work for my organization. That means for the moment you'll be able to stay out of the spotlight and give these boys a hand. It means steady pay and a decent safety net if sh*t hits the fan. It also means that you'll be working for me though, so what you think of me is what matters." He sighed. There was still more to say. "I don't need a bodyguard. That trash I brought with me was just eye-candy to establish rank. I need a netrunner," He dug in his pocket and pulled out his phone, "and from what I've seen you'd fit well in the role." Spiff paused, wishing he could sweeten the deal a bit more and brought up one other point. "If you still want to ride the streets playin' cowboys and indians, that fits fine into my needs to, but the netrunning would be a great way to relax while your injuries heal. What do ya say, Cowboy?"

((After this conversation, 'cause it may not be over))

"Scribe," Spiff turned to the man that had been mighty helpful despite the sh*t that had gone down this evening. "I told you I'm going to fix your camera; what did you need?"

Night City – Abandoned Building on Ship St. - Thursday, March 13th, 2020, 12:00 am

He was making modifications to the building that had served as a place to do work from. He still wasn’t sure he was safe after the incident a few weeks ago that hadn’t been his fault that had killed off a few of his former employers luckily they had paid him first. When he said 50ft detonation range he hadn’t realized the building they were going to use it on was basically an armory and that had made a big boom on both the news and the streets. The news said it had been gang activity and that this was an example of why the polive needed to be increased in force or something like that he wasn’t concerned about that except the increased activity if it happened might get in his way. He was concerned about the news on the street that he had taken their money and blown them up on purpose he had already lost a few of his old hideouts because of it and a few more employers and associates. That was why he was set up in this building he had nothing to do with as far as anyone knew and no one would expect him to be at it since he had found it once when he drove by on another job and had remembered it when he needed a new hideout. His former employers had a few friends who would want to kill him for their deaths and a lot of enemies who would want to kill him for their deaths since they wanted to do it themselves. This was the life he lived though you always make more enemies and you never know who they are.

He had made sparse mention in last few weeks of places he might be hiding out that he had trapped ahead of time he had used different traps that had been easy to make and cost little since he was low on funds most had used extra tools he had picked up on jobs. He wasn’t sure if anyone had fallen for them but he was sure if anyone had fallen for them he would be making more enemies and it was being covered up on the news since he hadn’t heard of the incidents. He had tried faking his own death two weeks ago by blowing up a hideout of his with a few people who thought they had finally found him only to find an exploding corpse he had picked up on the street but no one had fallen for it except for them. He had the scrape on his shoulder to prove it he was lucky to get out of that party alive. It had proved though that it hadn’t been long enough yet for him to be off the hook for most part.

This building had been a former construction headquarters years ago that had been closed when the company went out of business. He had plenty of materials to work with for some reason for the traps he had set but he still wondered why they had been left behind and not picked up by some street punks or something. He had modified the cred phone 2 blocks away so that he could make free calls when he chose. He had called MDK back after he had gotten the message on one of many message phones he had set up that would store a message in parts he had added to them all you would need was the correct sequence of buttons hit in the correct order on a phone after call the phone it was stored in to retrieve. All his other messages had been different versions of we are going to kill you because you killed so and so or you better lay low for a bit and let this blow over or the favorite among them don’t have use for your services at moment. He needed work of any kind he was low on funds and there was new tech to play with as he put working with tech of any kind alike there always was. He couldn’t wait to get his hands on some of the new tools out there and couldn’t help but imagine the things he could do with them. He was getting tired of modifying the out of date security system this building had although it now did some better things then some the new systems like the fact he had made it into a in early warning system and also a dangerous trap in itself as was proved last week when it had killed a stray dog it had been a little to sensitive.

Night City – Abandoned Building on Ship St. - Thursday, March 13th, 2020, 12:00 am

Night City – Little Restaurant with Faded Name 2 blocks away- Thursday, March 13th, 2020, 4:00 am

Lightning was making a few phone calls on the cred phone outside it. He had knocked off for a few hours for some sleep and was now trying to get info on work but finding none no one wanted to work with someone who it was thought had killed his employer after being paid or he would get the whole im going to kill you for you killing so and so or the whole you need to lay low. He was used to it this wasn’t the first time he was a wanted man a couple months ago he was wanted for the death of someone by a weapon he had modified. He never could understand how he the guy who built the things always got in trouble and not the one blowing the thing or pulling the trigger. He then checked his messages and found the one from MDK.

"Giving class to Corp tomorrow, need fix-it man on duty, if interested meet me at Sam’s for Brunch 1030hrs."

He sent message back.

"Got no brunch plans but your buying."

He could only imagine the tech and tools he could get his hands on in that class and the things he could do with them. He went back to his building to prepare.

Night City – Little Restaurant with Faded Name 2 blocks away- Thursday, March 13th, 2020, about 4:00 am

Peacekeeper was lost in thought when she heard Firewind's words and was drawn back to reality. Her thoughts had been stirring since she witness the first duo exit the van and enter the building.

“I’m not going to be any use with this,” he sighed with a tone that carried a little more edginess than he might have wished. Looking up at Peacekeeper he shook his head. “I’ll just as likely hit Croaker, or Bull’s Eye, if trouble happens. Here, you take it.”

She looked at him in a quizzical manner, as she replied "well you'll need a weapon, take my SMG for this run. You can't go in there unarmed." she tilted her head giving him a gaze that a mother would give a son she should know better.

As soon as his words had finished, he shoved the shotgun into her hands and let go, forcing her to grip it. He didn’t look at her again as he bent to unzip his reactimesh bag, and began to retrieve various plates of armor, a helmet, and more armor. After he’d removed all of it from the bag, the medtech zipped it once more, and moved it aside. He was more than adept at strapping the medical armor to his person in a timely manner, and was half way finished before he caught Peacekeeper’s quizzical eye.

“If that place is half as dangerous as Bull’s Eye eluded, I’ll be damned if I’m going in with just the armor plates in my jumpsuit between me and whatever’s flying around. You’ll thank me later, and though I might draw some attention, at the very least I’ll be protected.”

She could not believe he would do anything to stand out in these neck of the woods. Jaimy shook her head lightly but replied "Knowing Bull's Eye, it will be dangerous, if hell breaks loose. If we mind our own business and don't say something that'll offend anyone we are good. Only speak when spoken to, and be sure to not stare at anyone. We can't afford people in these parts to start questioning our motive in the place. Old friends reunited. We have to play it cool, as if we've been here many times in the past." she fell silent for a short moment as she tried handing him her SMG.

Firewind had been rather uncomfortable with the silence, and as he finished with the straps that completed his armor he tried to strike up conversation, for which Peacekeeper was thankful.

“You don’t seem the type to be reliant on anyone, Peacekeeper.” Looking up towards the ceiling so he could strap his helmet on, Firewind continued. “I’m not meaning this rudely, but what keeps you and Croaker together? You’re like polar opposites…”

Jaimy couldn't help but laugh softly, not because of the question, but because she was used to hearing that question. A smile lined her lips "What can I say, way back when we met, it was fate that brought us together. Hard work kept us that way, but most importantly, it's the fact that we keep business where it is needed, and keep our relationship out of the business. It's a hard relationship to explain, but opposites attract. I find his lifestyle to be quite mysterious compared to mine. I don't ask about his jobs, he don't ask about mine. It's a simple relationship to us, but most think us complete opposites, but in reality we aren't all that different from each other. We're both alive, both happy, both have jobs that keep us away for days on end. Depends on how you look at the situation. I could be as reliant on people as I need to be, but we can't deny when something like this happens." she shrugged off the rest of her answer as she jumped out of the van. It had been exactly 6 minutes since Croaker and Bull's Eye had left which was their cue to enter.

Peacekeeper watched at Firewind opened the hatch of the van and exited behind him. Abandoning the warmth of the van she jumped down into the water filled streets and felt a rush of cold and dampness rush upon her. She however, did not make a face, she was expecting it, and didn't really mind it so much as most did. Jaimy was always content when it rained, she thought the sensation was always a bonus when stalking people, and made moments like these more intense. Yet enjoying the rain, she followed Firewind's lead and jogged across the road careful to avoid stepping in any large puddles along the way. The bounty hunter had followed her companion inside, keeping close enough to show they were together in this place. Yet her gaze towards him, showing those around that he was perhaps a Trauma Team Tech, and he was in town to rest up, but either way, he had met up with a friend; Peacekeeper.

Those who were seated at tables enjoying their drinks to the left of the door paused to stare, some laughing and pointing, others raising questioning brows and making unheard comments to their companions. Keahi didn’t care. To them, he’d appear to be a Trauma Team Tech, one of those who arrived in an AV-4 at the scene of battle where some lucky sod had broken his Trauma Team Card to collect on the five hundred a month expense in order to have the cavalry arrive and save their skin. Keahi was hoping they’d think he’d just gotten off work, or that his crew was taking a break. When no one really made a move to interfere, he felt the tension in his shoulders lessen a bit, Peacekeeper could tell when they left the van that he was tense. When tense it wasn't smart to storm anyone and she made a note of how he moved and she flashed him a soft smile shared between friends who had not seen each other in years.

Scanning the room carefully she led the way to a table where she could keep an eye on their friends. Silently she studied those around her as Firewind joined her, she smiled some and was about to strike up casual conversation when a girl wearing a hot pink micro-mini and a white halter top approached carrying a tray tucked under one arm. Her green hair was wild and looked like it had been cut by a three year old. She had tattoo sleeves and more tattoos around her visible belly button as well as a pierced navel. Her nose was pierced as well as her ears with a chain running between the two.

“What’s your poison?” She drawled, eyeballing Peacekeeper with an appraising look. “And what’s your sign, sugar?”

When Jaimy had caught sight of this woman she wanted to just strike her dead on the spot for the way she carried herself. She had noticed that she was being eyeballed, but she smiled smugly and waited for Firewind to reply, hoping he'd know the usual drinks people ordered in these parts yet not crossing her fingers. Peacekeeper studied the woman as she called her sugar and had to bite her tongue to prevent from creating a scene. Instead she answered calmly "Sorry Lass, I'm taken" she didn't answer the question asked, but skipped the chase. Her hand instinctively fell to her hip where she had holstered her weapon. Jaimy was in no mood to deal with this type, but had to do everything in her power to keep her cool to allow their plot to go over smoothly.

Night City – Upper East Side- March, Friday 13th, 2020, 3:20am
As Bulls Eye and Croaker quickly crossed the street, both were alert, looking for any sign that they had been followed or an ambush set. Both Nomads easily reached the club’s doors without any problems and moved inside.

Within a few moments Bulls Eye had spotted and pointed out two men over by the main bar and as they moved towards them, both men clearly having seen the two Nomads, Croaker brought up the rear letting Bulls Eye take the lead.

“I’m lookin’ for Crusader,” Bull’s Eye barks as they draw near, holding his hands up so that they can see he isn’t threatening.

“What fer?” the Hispanic snarls. The conversation was drawing some attention from those nearby.

“I’m a friend of his. Knew him inside. Name’s Bull’s Eye.”

“So.”

“So, he said to look him up when I got out. I’m out, and I’m lookin’ him up. You gonna tell me where he is, or am I gonna have t’ tell him that you and Black Mamba here were less than friendly to a friend of the Brawlers?” It was a gamble, but Colton didn’t like the attention they were getting and time was running out.

“Crusader’s dead, Choomba,” the black fellow growled. “An’ he never mentioned you.”

Bull’s Eye frowned. That was bad news. He’d liked Crusader, despite the man’s disillusioned views on public service. “He’ll be missed. What about Cleansweep? Chevy? Toronto Jim? Melbourne? Jury Duty? Pigeon—?”

“All right, Choombatta,” the Hispanic pushed away from the bar. “So you know some of my brothers; what of it?”

Colton stepped forward too, holding up a hand to keep Croaker back. Untucking his t-shirt, Bull’s Eye lifted it up to reveal his tattooed torso. The Hispanic and black fellow both studied the skin art with narrowed eyes before the Hispanic gave a nod and flashed a couple of hand signals. Colton replied with similar signals, dropping his shirt back around his waist.

“Name’s Scarface,” the Hispanic said, pointing at his ugly scar as though he were using a barrel of a handgun with his two fingers. “This here is Hightower, but he ain’t no funny man, comprenda?”

“Si,” Colton said. “This here’s Croaker. He’s a brother of mine from the Family. Look, Scarface, I ain’t gonna beat around the bush no more. We’re in a fix and could use some help.”

“What kinda help?” Scarface wasn’t letting loose of his suspicions just yet.

“My brother can explain it a bit better.” Bull’s Eye motioned Croaker forward.

Croaker moved slightly forward knowing he was taking a real risk by approaching these Booster’s about the Biotechnica situtation. What choice did him and the others have, at this point very little, so instead of trying to bluff his way with half truths he came right to the point.

”My tribe brother’s right, we are in a load of s**t due to a botched run and need a place to hide for a day or so, till we can find a way to hit back at the Corp who hired us but now wants us dead.
The Fixer who took the job and gave it to us is also on the chopping block and is looking for just that way for us to hit back and walk away from this alive and will hopefully be calling soon.”

Croaker paused here to give Scarface a chance to reply.

The booster's gruesome visage turned more sour by the second. When Croaker had finished the first portion of what was likely going to be a tough negotiation, Scarface turned his attention to Bull's Eye.

"You bring trouble of that size to our house, Choombatta? An' you expec' us to just cover up your mess?" The ganger shook his head in disbelief while Hightower chuckled, equally incredulous.

"The trouble's big, sure enough, but I never zigged on Crusader when it was big inside, or any of the others. Hell! My family and your brothers--we was tight in the Big House, and now you're gonna disrespect the Old Goat of my family by treating him like an Outsider?" Bull's Eye shot back indignantly.

"It ain't like that, Roller. Just this is big, an' there could be a log of hurt comin' down on the Brawlers for being all Saint-like." Scarface shook his head. "A day, or so? That it? Just a place for the two of you to crash while your fixer buddy get's the data?"

Croaker knew than that there was a better possibility of help now then when they had first walked in though Bulls Eye and he were still on shaky ground. Still determined to show no weakness or fear he also needed to show respect to this Scarface.

“Your right Scarface bringing this too your club is trouble, big trouble and could bring down a world of hurt on all of us but then who said life was easy, hell if it was, we would never have any fun. My brother and I and two others need a place to hide for a day, two, maybe three days max, we need a new set of wheels, you can cut up our old ride and sell the pieces and a look at possibly some of your hardware to restock our own. But I do not come to your door empty handed I can bring you a number of things, the first is information…. May I”
A small pause as Croaker made a move closer to the bar, placing his back to it. As he did so he at once took in Peacekeeper and Firewind sitting at a table close to the entrance door.

“Now I don’t know what your relationship to the Wild Things is but I know your territories are next to each other, so here’s my first bit of information. Stallion’s dead, the Wild Things for the moment are leaderless and could be easy pickings if the Brawlers wanted to expand.”

Again Croaker paused and waited for a response hoping his info was not already known to Scarface and the rest of the Brawlers. He knew from years of running the streets that, no matter what, a Booster gang was always looking to expand their territory. The bigger the area of control, the more money from shops, sales of drugs on the street, and a bigger recruitment area.
With the Wild Things leaderless no matter the Brawlers relationship the opportunity to grow bigger would be a tempting prize.

"I knew there'd be more." Scarface shook his head and glanced over at Hightower. Something silent obviously passed between them before he turned his attention back to the two nomads. "Look, I'm not the spokesman for the Brawlers--Hell, don't even hold no rank--but I can pass on your needs, Choomba. Hell, the Council might even decide it's worth it jus' to deal with those cocky sumbitches, the Wild Things once an' for all.

"Stick 'round, Rollers. Enjoy the music, get some SMASH, throw a few punches. I'll be back as soon as I can."

“No problem we will be right here, oh not trying to tell you what to do but ya might want to send a friend or two across the street to pick up our van and get rid of it. it’s a sure bet its on a good number of hot sheets.”

Handing Scarface the keys Croaker turned to the bar.

“Let me get a beer for me and my friend and what’s ya got on the menu?”

With the last of his money he paid for the two beers and waited for a menu or some type of food listing. It had been awhile since he and Bulls Eye had eaten and now was as good a time as any to chow down. Only thing with him being tapped out his tribe brother would have to pay the bill for the food. After relaying this to Bulls Eye and their food ordered it became a waiting game.

Looking at Peacekeeper and Firewind through the corner of his eye he could see that they too had ordered food and for the moment were secure at their table. So far so good but he was not going to let down his guard until the deal was done and they were for the time being safely underground.

The Metalstrom – Upper East Side – March, Friday 13th, 2020, 3:40am

Night City – The Mortuary (Coffin Motel) - Friday, March 13th, 2020, 1000hrs
Mae slept in since he didn’t have much to do this morning. He turned on his phone and after a few seconds it beeped with a message alert. He read the message from Lightning:

Got no brunch plans but your buying.
Mae smirked slightly, the Tech was always one for a free meal. Well he would pay for this one, but the Tech would have to earn the rest.

Stepping out of his ‘room’ he straightened up and stretched to his full height of 6’3”. He was tall for a Asian man, but he had seen a few taller. He checked his gear, most of which was on his person or stashed in the pockets of his leather duster. Checking off everything in his head he nodded and left the motel. He hoped that one day he could at least afford a nice place to stay, someplace you could at least stand up and walk around in.


Night City – Sam’s Place (Diner) - Friday, March 13th, 2020, 1020hrs
Mae entered the diner and looked around slowly, his optics scanning everyone there. The place was about a quarter full, most looking like working stiffs or solos like himself. He nodded to a few he knew vaguely from the Afterlife bar as he headed to a lone table to the side. He removed the duster and draped it over the chair next to him before he sat with his back to the wall, facing the main area of the room and the front door.

He reached inside an inside pocket of his duster and pulled out his Smartlink cable. He plugged it into the socket in the handle of his .44 Automag and then ‘jacked’ into the port in his right wrist. Instantly accessing his targeting software and sighting in his eye; nodding at the interface he ordered an omelet and coffee when the waitress came by his table. She looked over the solo, smiling as she apparently liked what she saw, but then frowned when he didn’t return the look or appraisal. She went to the kitchen to put in his order and bring his coffee.

Mae didn’t need to look the waitress over, his Image enhancement routines had already sized up everyone in the room and the waitress didn’t demand any more of his attention other than to bring his order.

She returned with his large cup of coffee, he nodded to her and continued to watch the room. He glanced down at the watch under the skin of his right wrist, it was 10:30 and as he looked up at the door, sipping his coffee, he wondered if the Tech would show.

Night City – Sam’s Place (Diner) - Friday, March 13th, 2020, 1030hrs

As the cab rolled to the entrance of the hospital, Guardian was already opening the door before the car came to a halt. He stood out quickly but carefully all the while taking in the surroundings and especially the people. It was his second nature, tucked somewhere in the back of his mind. It was hard to relax anywhere else but at home, even when danger was not to be expected. Though in his line of business, he had to expect it everywhere.

The people, cars, windows, any objects blocking direct view were taken in by the big bodyguard's augmented eyes. There was no sense in trying to look for recording equipment. In the Medical Center, CCTV was bound to be everywhere and unavoidable, and Crisis Medical was no exception. Satisfied, Guardian moved two steps to the side and turned his back towards the hospital's entrance, all the time alert and ready. He didn't react to the other passengers in any way, but when DigitalScribe stepped out, Frank took a last look at the cab and fell in line behind his employer.

It wasn't the first time Guardian was at the very same doorway with a client and probably not the last either. Luckily this time it wasn't the one he was trying to keep safe who was injured. The smell of the place hit his nose as they stepped in through the doorway and made him flinch, despite the rock-solid appearance he was keeping up. Once upon a time as a kid he had wondered whether the odor of the antiseptic substances was so bad simply to keep people out of hospitals - to make sure people kept themselves safe and only came to hospitals when in dire need of help. The thought made him chuckle silently.

Frank stayed in the background like a shadow (though a fairly big one) through the process of treating Preacher's and Spiff's wounds. There wasn't much he could do except wait. But having been in the business for so many years, he'd grown used to waiting and didn't really notice it anymore. Though alert all the while, he had plenty of time to think about his life or the life of others. But he also made use of the idle moments to study people and their behavior. For it had dawned to the big, bald man years ago, that the secret of the legendary bodyguards was their skill to read people, not the speed they could draw and shoot.

Preacher behaved like an ace would under such situation. He reported the wounds and accepted the "orders" the nurse and the doctor gave. Scribe and Spiff on the other hand had a different approach. It was almost like the two smooth operators were competing over the lovely nurse's attention. But if it was a benevolent battle of skills, it was Spiff who came out as the victor. His lines were way too boosted with honey, but they still seemed to hit the mark. Nurse Rhianna was probably used to seeing more direct attempts of making passes or grumpy people snapping at her, than to someone actually being nice to her.

Soon enough the operation was over and they were all outside again.

The Metalstrom – Upper East Side – Night City – March, Friday 13th, 2020, 3:25am
Firewind had no doubt that the waitress was talking to Peacekeeper, but when the bounty hunter dropped her hand beneath the table he felt obligated to save the girl’s life.

“Two beers,” he said quickly, leaning forward to impose himself on her view. When the waitress had left, he removed his helmet and ran a hand through his hair, peering about at the loud maelstrom of activity with more than a little interest.

At the bar, Croaker and Bull’s Eye were treated to beers as well, though their stomachs growled in protest when they discovered that the bar offered nothing in the way of food. They waited for some time before Croaker finally caught sight of Scarface pushing through the crowd followed by Hightower.

“All right, Choombattas,” Scarface said as he drew close, addressing the two of them. “It’s been decided that we’ll help you get rid of the vehicle as a favor to Bull’s Eye, and we’ll set you up in a safehouse for one day due to the information you’ve provided us. The Council is appreciative. Where are these other two you’re wanting to bring along?”

(OOC: assuming Firewind and Peacekeeper are pointed out…)

Scarface nodded and then turned to the stairs. “Follow me, an’ bring your friends.”

The group found themselves following the ganger up the stairs to the second floor. Heavy metal head banging was the name of the game with piercing laser lights, glowing light tattoos, and screaming recorded music adding to the ambiance. Scarface led them back through the crowd to a steel door that was banged up and scratched to no end. Pulling a key from his pocket, the ganger opened the door and led the others through. Once inside, they were met by a set of five steps, up these and they found themselves in a sparsely furnished flat with very little insulation from the sound.

“This is it, Choomba,” Scarface turned and held his hands out. “Home, sweet home, for the next twenty-four hours that is. If you leave, lock up. You can usually find one of the Brawlers in the club, but it closes down around six and don’t open again until three, so if you decide to leave before it opens then leave the key at the bar downstairs, under the register. Sweet dreams, Hombre.”

That said, the two gangers left the four of them to themselves.

The Metalstrom – Upper East Side – Night City – March, Friday 13th, 2020, 5:40am

---

Crisis Medical Center – Medical Center – Night City – March, Friday 13th, 2020, 4:00am
Preacher raised his eyebrows and then quickly lowered them at the pain he felt despite the care he’d just endured. He allowed his hat to tip just slightly to cover his eyes as remembered pain filled them—the pain of loss, the pain of death’s cold grip on his throat. Taking a deep breath he collected himself once more and slowly shook his head.

“I don’t run no more, Spiff. What I did back there was pretty basic, pretty dirty. I’m a street samurai now, an’ that’s it.”

The look in his eye was cold, hollow, and it seemed as if his complexion had paled a bit, though that could have just been the injury and the light.

“Thanks, but I don’t think I can be of any help to you. Now, there’s the matter of the money I owe you…I’ll hang out, play your bodyguard for the next twenty-four hours. That should bring us even. Unless you want the cash, that is. If that’s the case, I’ll have to owe you straight up. I’m good for it though, and so long as you survive this deal with the megacorp, you’ll find what I owe you in hand soon enough. So, what’ll it be?”
‘
DigitalScribe glanced at Guardian to see if he could read the big man’s face in relation to the interaction that had just taken place, but the bodyguard was busy scanning their surroundings and keeping him safe to reveal what he thought. So far, Scribe had liked Preacher. The man had seemed straight forward enough, if somewhat rough around the edges, but now that the cowboy had turned Spiff down, after having admitted to netrunning previously—well, there was a story there, and being a media, that piqued Frankie’s interest.

“Take him up on the bodyguard bit, Spiff. Lord knows we could use another gun, and so long as he already owes you…” Scribe caught site of a Red Cab van turning into the pale glow of the awning and shifted his weight to the other foot.

(OOC: will backpost the response to Preacher and Scribe.)

“You scuffed the casing’s all, Spiff.” Scribe looked down at his bag where his precious camera was stowed. “Everything still works fine. Look, the cab’s on me. It’ll drop you boys wherever you want to go, but I, for one, am going to a motel where I’m going to try and catch a few hours of sleep before starting on the second leg of this adventure.

“Guardian, I’ll maintain your contract.”

The red cab drew to the curb and with a push of a button, the cabbie had opened the side doors revealing a gray interior with stained carpet and a plastic-coated plaque that detailed the fees as well as the cabbie’s name. This cabbie was an African-American, small and wiry with huge hair and a dull expression on his face.

“Motel eight,” Scribe said as he ducked and entered the interior. “On Harbor.”

(OOC: I’m assuming they won’t want to separate at this point in time. If I’m incorrect, I’ll post a fix.)

The cab pulled away from the curb and headed towards the Bay Bridge. Everyone within remained quiet, lost in their own thoughts, tired, hungry, and more than a little worn down. Scribe retrieved his camera from the bag and began to review the playback, occasionally raising his eyebrows, but otherwise remaining quiet. Preacher continued to look around, watching the streets they passed and remaining alert, his hat tipped back on his bandaged head. Eventually, the vehicle pulled into a round-about beneath the glowing yellow sign that read, “MOTEL 8” in bright, neon lettering followed by the flashing “Vacancy”. Scribe paid the man using a credchip before following Guardian out into the rain once more.

Stepping into the small lobby, the group was hit by the faint smell of mildew. The lobby was painted a sick green color and sported plaid furniture, a small, scarred coffee table strewn with old magazines, screamsheets, and newspapers. There was a half-empty water cooler in the corner, and a small, color television hung in the corner where the clerk could see it playing channel 7, NHTV, the Japanese channel. At that moment, there was a commercial for foam furniture playing.

Scribe handled the arrangements with the Asian attendant, receiving two keycards in return for another swipe of his credchip before leading the group back down a hall to the elevator. They arrived on the second floor without delay and soon found themselves separating into two adjoining rooms that also smelled of mildew, sported a television in each room, and two queen size beds in each room. There was also a bathroom with a small shower, toilet, and sink.

DigitalScribe went straight to the closest bed, leaving the one next to the window for Guardian. Dropping his duffle at the foot of the bed, the media stripped off his jacket, set his handgun next to the bed on the nightstand, set the alarm on the clock for nine in the morning, and dropped off to sleep.

The following morning, Scribe was up before the alarm went off talking on his cell.

“Isaac Winefield, please.” Frankie ran his hand through his ruffled techhair, immediately straightening it and causing it to fall into programmed place. The media was wearing the same blue jeans he’d been wearing the night before, but had stripped off his Morplex shirt, removed his Ruf Tread boots, and was now pacing about the room wearing an open button up black shirt with a small American flag over the right breast pocket, and padding around in his grey wool socks. After a time, he made his way to the bed and sat down once more, taking the remote and switching to channel thirteen for the latest news. Though the sound was turned way low, Scribe could hear the discussion between an investigative reporter and a political analyst concerning an ongoing investigation into the origin of new designer drugs that had hit the market. Below the setting of the two men chatting around a glossy, brown table, a scrolling marquee gave the weather report: it looked as though the storm would be continuing.

“Isaac?” Scribe perked up. “Hey, it’s DigitalScribe. How are you? Good? Not too bad. Actually, that’s why I’m calling. I’ve got this wicked lead, but I need assurance that it’ll go public and I’ll get paid—I can’t do that, Isaac. No. If I do, there’s a chance that it’ll get out and the whole thing will be blown to hell. I’m not—Isaac, calm down, man. Look, I haven’t asked for anything before, now have I? OK, well, all I’m asking is that you’ll guarantee two things. First, that when I bring you this, you’ll take the time to review it and that should WNS decide to buy, I’ll get compensated…and recognized. Second, is that you’ll put a leader out there. Hold on—yeah, I know I said I couldn’t tell—Isaac, the leader just needs to be a brief statement; something eluding to a major corporation’s involvement in a dangerous drug being released on the street.

“Yeah, I know what I’m doing. No, I don’t think this has to do with that designer drug deal the government is investigating. Yes, I realize that you’d be risking a lot, but I guarantee you: this story is hot, and you’ll be the one breaking it to the public once I’ve got the piece.” Scribe sighed. “Need I remind you about L.A.? I didn’t want to have to go there either, Isaac, but you forced my hand. Yes. You do those two things and we’ll be even. Straight up even, Isaac. You’re in? Fantastic!

“Look, I’ll be in touch. There’s some more footwork I’ve got to do, and there’s a limited window of opportunity here. I’ll look for your lead. Thanks, Isaac.”

Scribe hung up the phone and looked over at Guardian. “OK, the seed’s been planted. That ought to give this corpse who’s haunting us a little to think about. Now, we need to contact Croaker and see how things are adding up on that end. Hopefully Jack’s gotten back to him with a lead, or I’ve just played a hand I can’t collect on.”

Motel 8 – Upper Marina – Night City – March, Friday 13th, 2020, 9:05am

---

Sam’s Place – Night City – March, Friday 13th, 2020, 10:33am
MDK had been waiting a few minutes when the door opened revealing two men in designer trench coats, three piece suits, and very expensive sunglasses. The first was tall, athletic-looking, with sweeping blonde hair that he wore a little long over the ears and collar. His face was angular, Anglo, and bore a little scar near his chin. He wore black leather gloves along with his business attire, and carried himself very confidently. The other was slightly shorter, bald, wore a deep black van dyke, and had bare hands. MDK could see the end, or beginning, of a tattoo on the back of his left hand that ran up into his sleeve. Both men scanned the room before quietly conversing. Then they turned and made their way to his table, slowly, with their hands in plain sight so as not to cause undue stress. Once at the table, the blonde man spoke.

“You’re who is called, MDK, are you not?” He didn’t wait for affirmation, but motioned at the seat across from the solo. “Mind if I join you?”

His bodyguard—for that’s easily who this other fellow was—remained standing slightly to the side, ready to act should the meeting require it. Outside, the storm still raged.

Sam’s Place – Night City – March, Friday 13th, 2020, 10:33am

Sam’s Place – Night City – March, Friday 13th, 2020, 10:33am
Mae sat drinking his coffee waiting on his breakfast when the two men entered. He switched the coffee to his left hand as watched the two move about the room looking for someone. Seeing them come towards him he kept both hands on the table top as they came up to his table.

Already the Targeting scope in his eye had locked on to the two and he quickly accessed them and with a mental shrug he locked his targeting reticule on the face of the obvious bodyguard. He scanned his image enhancement over the two paying close attention to the important details such as: weapon locations, obvious cyber ware, their preferred hand, and even the details of the half concealed tattoo on the man’s hand. What he could see of the tattoo he would run through possible design configurations to try and determine to what affiliation the man might belong.

“You’re who is called, MDK, are you not?” He didn’t wait for affirmation, but motioned at the seat across from the solo. “Mind if I join you?”
Mae took a sip of his coffee as he looked the man up and down and then returning the cup to the table top he nodded slightly towards the seat across from him. He didn’t ask what the man’s business was with him for he knew it was a ridiculous question and the man would tell him soon enough.

Sam’s Place – Night City – March, Friday 13th, 2020, 10:34am