March 13th, Day 7 - Thursday, Time is 6:15 PM PST - Mid-City, The Black Piranha Bar & Grill, X00105:4.Y00272:01.Z00385:00, South Night City Integrate.

 

“ Patriot” Charlie smiles as he greets the media vlogger. “ I’ll let everyone speak on their own behalf but I hope that you can still help us out with a sensitive corporate nature if you understand what I’m meaning. Your followers and help could change the opinion of said giant corporation and knock them down a peg or two”. 

 

Charlie takes a seat after everyone seats down and orders a soft drink ( take it off the sheet when you get a chance )

Guardian nodded in approval as Luther told him the plan of upgrading to give him better MedTech supplies.

'That would be cool,' he smiled. 'Make life easier for all of us. I haven't got any large MedTech equipment now, but when I do I'll be sure to tell you.'

When Vegas enquired as to wether they had any thoughts as to how to take on their next job, Guardian thought about it. Always one to air on the side of caution to minimise casulties, he suggested:

'Maybe one or two of us could scout ahead first? We don't want to encounter any unwelcome surprises.'

"Once our netrunners locate the idiots, I will scout out the location along with one other person; whoever wants to come along.  Good idea to not walk in relying only on tech info."

EVERYONE

March 13th, Day 7 - Thursday, Time is 2:30 PM PST - Mid-City, Edgerunner Enclave (China Town), Charlie’s Apartment X00050:2.Y00310:08.Z00410:15, South Night City Integrate.

Weather Conditions: High City (Windy, Temperature: Very Strong | High: 85°F (29.4°C) | Low: 72°F (22.2°C) | Wind Force: Very Strong | Wind Speed: 35 mph (56.3 kph) | Very Strong Wind: Strong gusts of wind that impose a -4 penalty on Awareness checks and certain ranged weapon attacks. Such gusts automatically extinguish unprotected flames. Flying vehicles struggle with a -2 penalty. | Midcity (Windy, Temperature: Very Hot | High: 98°F (36.6°C) - (Very Hot: A character in very hot conditions (above 90°F) must make a CON check each hour (DC 16) or take 1d4 points of Stun Damage. Characters wearing heavy clothing or armor of any sort take a -4 penalty on their checks. A character with the Survival skill may receive a bonus and may be able to apply this bonus to other characters as well. A character who takes any Stun damage from heat exposure now suffers from heatstroke and is fatigued. These penalties end when the character recovers the Stun damage she took from the heat. Stun damage from heat exposure cannot be recovered until the character gets cooled off (reaches shade, survives until nightfall, gets doused in water, is targeted by endure elements, and so forth). Once rendered unconscious through the accumulation of Stun damage, the character begins to take lethal damage at the same rate.) | Low: 83°F (28°C) | Wind Force: Strong | Wind Speed: 22 mph (35 kph) | Strong Wind: A steady wind with a 75% chance of extinguishing unprotected flames.) | Undercity (Windy, Temperature: Very High | High: 115°F (46.1°C) | Low: 101°F (38.3°C) | Wind Force: Light | Wind Speed: 9 mph (14.5 kph))

Air Quality Index: High City = 0 | Midcity = 15 | Undercity = 95 (masks required)

 

Conversations about the more mundane aspects of life and plans for equipment fill the early afternoon. Charlie sets the search app on his phone to look for a conapt to meet Casino’s request. He also uses additional instances of the app to search for the medical equipment and spends some time arranging purchase of the munitions Casino has ordered. Lastly, he sets Hui Yin to work locating the shell for his truck, seating, and the hardware Fixer will need to complete the job. While the fixer is at work, the netrunners are also doing their thing. 

“The plans for this suit have got to be worth millions to the right buyer,” Blossom breathes, rightfully in awe of what the team has in their possession. “This is the Show, chooms. We get this deal done—we find a buyer—and we can all retire on our own private islands.”

There’s still a lot to figure in, of course. Fixer could spend hours going over the specs for the suit to get the details on just what it’s capable of. Questions are raised, discussions held, and further Net research performed. But all of this is put on hold when the Capore Steel sniper gains the team’s attention.

"Hey everyone,” Ghlahn speaks up. “I got more info on the job from the CEE-metal. Seems a group of wannabe netrunners calling themselves The Tychoons have been a bit of a thorn in their side. They would like us to send them a message. When we send a message it isn't a mean email, if you catch my drift. It is up to us to find these idiots, let them know the CEE-Metal are not amused and ensure the message is delivered. Personally, I find it hard for a corpse to cause trouble and most of my alt-cult would agree so this is gonna be a fast, hard and messy hit. Hopefully we can catch them as a group. Cipher, Blossom, I am sending you a digital footprint we captured. Can you find them and where they are hiding? Those interested will make a plan to deliver the message once we know where they are. Each Tychoon that is eliminated is worth 2,000c. So who wants in on the job?"

Guardian nods to Ghalahn and replies, “as I said, I'm in. I need the cash, but I'm hoping you don't need me if you catch my meaning. Anyway, sign me up.”

Vegas nods his approval as Ghlahn lays out his cards regarding the gig. “Deal me in!” This whole affair with Jeannette’s armored suit is going to take more time to iron out and could take some additional eddies. If the job Ghlahn has brought to them pans out, they could come out on top and begin the vengeance biz with resources.

Then the Dapper Solo turns to the rest of the group, asking them to consider any plan of action, no matter how reasonable or unreasonable their idea might seem to be, so that Vegas can consider the input from every member of the group.

“Maybe one or two of us could scout ahead first?” Guardian offers up. “We don't want to encounter any unwelcome surprises.”

"Once our netrunners locate the idiots,” Ghlahn states calmly. “I will scout out the location along with one other person; whoever wants to come along. Good idea to not walk in relying only on tech info."

Blossom and Cipher huddle close together whispering, but the Capore Steel’s comment practically jerked Blossom’s head up. “Yeah, sure, gonk. ‘Cause we’ll have time t’ kill for that sort of thing. 

“Look, you got a group of Black Hats with balls the size of planets trolling CEE-metal enclaves. You think you’ll get within fifty meters of their HQ without being spotted by constructs running the best ice available or hacked CCTV, drones, or another kind of tech surveillance?”

Cipher shrugs, “She’s not wrong.”

Holding up her tiny gloved hands defensively, Blossom continues, “I mean, until we know where these hocus pocus types are based, I don’t know that there’s much planning to do. Just my two eddies input. Take it for what you paid for it.

“So, Cipher and I will take the little calling card, Ghlahn just flicked us and see what we can see. Guardian, if one of us starts bleedin’ from the ears, you’re up.” 

Blossom blows Guardian a friendly kiss and then folds her legs underneath her to get comfortable. Cipher grins at the little Asian woman’s bravado and then makes herself comfortable as well, her mecha curling up by her right hip.

With the two netrunners jacking in, the rest of the team is left to do what they need in the Real. Checks on local time indicate that they still have hours yet before they need to meet up with Patriot. 

“So," Casino asks, "anyone got any more info on this Patriot guy?”

As Patriot is Charlie’s contact, all eyes turn to the fixer for answers. There’s not much to relay. Patriot is a pure breed vulture. That is to say that he’s after the story but he doesn’t burn contacts or treat leads likely. He’s after the truth and takes particular pride in exposing corruption within the government and corporations. He’s got a good rep for not letting teams down and doesn’t shy away from violence if it rears its head and he’s got ahead for when to omit things from his stories to keep those who helped him safe.

As Cred Stick Charlie is sharing what he knows and feels appropriate to share with the team, Echo’s agent buzzes drawing her attention to the notice displayed on the screen. Got a few. Sitting alone on a scouting mission for a few. What’s up? It’s from Luke.

March 13th, Day 7 - Thursday, Time is 5:30 PM PST - Mid-City, Heywood, Mid-City, The Black Piranha Bar & Grill, X00105:4.Y00272:01.Z00385:00, South Night City Integrate.

Careful not to share any information about their treasure anywhere in public that might be overheard, the group arrives at the dive that sits just off of one of the blocked canals that used to penetrate deep into the California landscape before the Arasaka Tower Incident. 

Charlie’s truck wouldn’t carry the entire party, and the mess that the fixer had to deal with when closing out the van rental deal (the details of which he kept entirely to himself) were enough to warrant the use of public transportation. A couple of buses put the troupe within walking distance.

The heat of the day hammers the team with relentless, angry fire. Jackets and double-layer clothing have to be shed unless it consists of smart tech that cools the wearer using their own sweat as a power source. Even then, all second-layer clothing is carried.

Outside of the Black Piranha, the adjacent parking lot is home to a number of homeless. Tents are erected in a ramshackle maze of stinking community, though even as the evening hours loom on the horizon, the occupants are deep in the shaded protection of their abodes. Some of the more drugged out or brain-fried citizens of Night City lie near the doorway or stumble along like zombies back and forth in front of the establishment. The odor of refuse and bile catch streams of the fierce hot winds where they are thrown in the team’s faces at regular intervals. Whether it’s the sheer number of the company or the capable appearance that they carry themselves with, the team is unmolested as they make their march from the bus stop inside the bar and grill. All are present except for Blossom and Cipher who are still jacked in searching for as much information as they can on The Tychoons. 

A blast of cooler airstrikes their faces, chilling the sweat on their skill, accompanied by the dubious aroma of cooking meat. Cyberoptics quickly adjust to the dimmed lighting revealing a deep establishment with a podium near the door covered in stickers promoting various lifestyle products, a couple of vending machines ready to dispense flavor-cigs, condemns, and other oddities pertaining to hygiene. The kitchen is in the back, out of sight; enclosed booths run the length of the walls, each with ratty padded benches that wrap about in a broad U-shape and scarred laminate-covered tables. The decor is Latino with brightly colored art and murals covering the walls. Most of the tables are filled, and the patrons look to be a mix of gang members and locals. As the hostess approaches, an average-sized black man with dreaded TechHair® cuts her off. His long black dreads descend past his shoulders, with strands of glowing red woven through the braids. He wears a thin mustache and small goatee and has a charismatic and good-looking face. He moves confidently with eyes that dart about capturing the world around him. A light tattoo is emblazoned on his right forearm and is a simple rendition of Lady Justice. Another light tattoo is displayed on his left bicep and is a Kanji.

“It’s okay,” he says in a slight Jamaican accent, “They’re with me.” 

The hostess nods, smiles her welcome and glides back towards the kitchen. The tattooed man stops directly in front of the team, particularly face-to-face with Charlie, and smiles a brilliant white toothy grin. 

“They serve a preem enchilada, choom,” he spreads his arms wide in his own welcome and turns slightly to motion the group forward. “I have us set up in the conference room just back there.”

Once everyone is seated in a chamber where the Latino music is just loud enough to drown out any quiet conversation except for those who have enhanced hearing, a waitress arrives through the only door in or out of the room. Orders are placed (OOC: the cost is between eight and twenty credits; let me know what you’re spending), along with any beverages including beer (OOC: the cost is between two-fifty and five credits; again, let me know what you’re spending).

“Well, then,” the black man grins and looks around the table in a charismatic way. “You’ve likely figured out that I’m Patriot, but I’m going to need some names to associate with faces as Cred Stick Charlie hasn’t exactly been forthcoming with that information.”

Holding up his right hand, he quickly adds, “We're free to discuss our biz here. I’ve never had any problems with leaks from this joint.”  

“Patriot.” Charlie smiles as he greets the media vlogger and accepts Patriot's word on the security of the Black Piranha. “I’ll let everyone speak on their own behalf but I hope that you can still help us out with a sensitive corporate nature if you understand what I’m meaning. Your followers’ help could change the opinion of said giant corporation and knock them down a peg or two.”  

Charlie takes a seat after everyone else sits down and orders a soft drink, which the waitress adds to her hand-held device.

“Not hungry, my friend?” Patriot asks, noticing Luther’s light fare. “Trust me. You don’t want to miss out on Mamacita Pauline’s enchiladas.” Rapping a knuckle on the table, he closes his eyes for a moment and shakes his head slowly, “Preemo stuff. You can’t even tell that the meat is soy-based.”

Turning to the waitress who is still calmly hovering nearby, Patriot says, “I’ll take an enchilada plate with red sauce, smothered, refried beans, black beans, and some rice, por favor, Margarite. Oh, and uno cerveza, por favor.”

She smiles and taps in the order on her device, “Sure thing, Pat. And for the rest of you?”

March 13th, Day 7 - Thursday, Time is 6:15 PM PST - Mid-City, Heywood, Mid-City, The Black Piranha Bar & Grill, X00105:4.Y00272:01.Z00385:00, South Night City Integrate.

Vegas seemed to be more invigorated and becoming more and more his usual self, since the news that the mystery-suit plans he had retrieved from Jeannette’s corpse was possibly worth multi-millions to the right buyer!

Ole Blue Eyes realized that it would be a while before a plan of action could be prepared and properly implemented, not to mention dealing some payback to Jeannette’s killer and those responsible for the bruises that the Dapper Solo still carried as a constant reminder of the torture treatment that Vegas had suffered through before his fortunate escape.

Ghalahn had an offer for a CEE-metal job to basically wipe out a bunch of wannabe-netrunner misfits running with the tag of The Tychoons, that Vegas quickly recognized to be the perfect outlet for his own pent-up aggressions, plus a golden opportunity to collect 2000 eddies per head with no questions asked.

Well, at least one series of questions that Vegas posed to Ghalahn, “What do your CEE-metal choombas need for proof of elimination? A right ear from each head? A finger for proof of prints? Or will a photo of each execution be sufficient for collecting 2000 eddies per Tychoon that we eliminate?”

((Assuming an appropriate response from Ghalahn))

“You can count me in,” responded Vegas, “and I will be glad to accompany you on any recon of these Tychoon choombas that may be necessary to ensure the most eddies for our trouble!”

[TIME JUMP]

As the group made their way to their meeting with Patriot, the mind of Vegas was flooded with old memories of how things used to be with him and Casino.

Back in the day, when Vegas seemed to be more bloodthirsty regarding his runs with Casino!

Vegas was not sure if anyone was aware of his new-found blood lust, or if even his longtime partner was aware of the not-so-subtle-change in the inner motivation of the Frank Sinatra look-alike, but it seemed in the mind of Vegas that the Charismatic Crooner had somehow reconnected with the deadlier incarnation that had been so prevalent in his earlier days!

There was a certain song that Vegas used to sing when he was preparing to go out and shed some blood, or deal death while preparing to go on a particular run with his partner Casino.

He found himself subconsciously humming the tune to himself, as they made their way to their meeting with Patriot, so much so that Vegas began mulling over in his mind the best way to alert his partner Casino, that his old-time blood-thirsty partner from earlier days was back in the game!

[TIME JUMP]

Vegas was glad to be out of the heat and it seemed as though Patriot was trustworthy enough.

It had been a long time since the Frank Sinatra look-alike had indulged himself with any kind of dining, fancy or otherwise, so he took a cue from Patriot and ordered the same plate!

“I will have the same as our gracious host here!” exclaimed Vegas, motioning towards Patriot. “Plus, I would like plenty of your best non-alcohol beverage to help me rehydrate from the outside heat index! Also, make sure you add a couple of credits for yourself my dear!”

Vegas was expecting the others, especially his partner Casino, to realize from his order that the Dapper Solo had indeed fully recovered from his recent ordeal, at least physically, if not fully mentally!

((Vegas is spending a total of 37 credits, including the 2 credits for the waitress, making sure that he is fully hydrated before going back outside. That should be 20 credits for the Enchilada Plate and 15 credits for some extra non-alcohol rehydration. Vegas should have a balance of 330 credits remaining from the 367 eddies that was the previous balance from the 2000 he had received from Casino.))

Once the other orders were received and the waitress had left their table to submit their orders, Vegas decided that it was time to more than subtly ‘tip off’ his partner, as to where his head and heart was now at, as they prepared for their next run!

Ole Blue Eyes graciously stood to his feet, cleared his throat with a nod to his partner Casino, as the Charismatic Crooner began to belt out an old familiar tune, that served as a ‘Coded Message’ for Casino from the earlier days of their partnership:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=82kJH69HnHA

At the end of the song, the Charismatic Crooner paused to bask in the applause, whether it be real from the group assembled at the table, or just imagined in his own mind, before returning to his seat.

As he sat down, the Dapper Solo gave a nod to his partner Casino, with the briefest of punctuations:

“Macky Is Back In Town!”

Guardian decided to stay behind at the appartment while everyone else was doing business at the Black Piranha. Blossom and Cipher were about to do another netrun and it could get out of hand if he wasn't watching over them, though of course he hoped his assistance wasn't needed. He also hoped that everything would go smoothly at the Black Piranha with their contact. He knew these kinds of deals could go south if the wrong thing was said or done.

He flashed a swift grin at Blossom and Cipher and promised 'don't worry, I got your back.'

Fixer worked on his project an kept his head down, listening to the conversations around him as he worked.  He liked this group.  And they seemed to be the best chance he had at doing well.  And the suit of armor . . . well, that was an opportunity for everyone of major proportions. 

He didn't really like the Cee-Metal job.  It was basically an assassination.  Probably not that easy, but from the sound of it, it was a "go in and whack them" sort of a deal.  He really, really wasn't into that sort of thing.  But he did owe this team some loyalty.  Owe it?  Maybe.  Then again, he'd earned his spot in it and they owed him as much as he owed them.   But it was a good team and he wanted to stick with it.  So he'd stick with it.  He'd just have to hope that if things went down as expected that they deserved it.

He also wondered a bit about the necessity of it.  If this suit was worth what they thought it might be worth, then who needed a side gig?  Aside from Ghalan, for whom it wasn't just a side gig, of course.  But the money would be good in the short run - and supporting the group was the key.  He didn't say anything, but he looked up and nodded to the others to indicate his assent.  He was in.  He just wsn't sure he like it.  But in was in.  And he was now in. 

Not long after that the group moved out to their meeting with the Patriot.  He couln't help wonder what they guy was patriotic towards.  Some country or nation no longer made sense.  Perhaps his loyalty was towards a group like Fixer's was now.  Fixer didn't trust unknown loyalties.  And he sure as hell didn't trust the idea of patriotism.  It smelled of . . . either blind self-righteousness or blind loyalty.  Neither of those was good.  Or something to trust. But this was Charlie's gig.  if he could trust Ghalan about one need, he could trust Charlie on another.  

He listened to the guy go on about the good enchiladas.  He liked enchiladas, but wasn't overly hungry.  He ordered food but kept it light.  (About 15 total between food and beverage.)  It was time to stop pondering the philosophical elements of the plan and start figuring out what the hell was really going on.

He didn't say much at the meal - he'd never been the mouth of the group.  Instead he sat back, ate and listened.  It was an underutilized ability by many.  

 

Charlie tells the waitress his order in Spanish to ensure that he gets good service and lets the establishment understand that he is part of the Spanish speaking crowd

"Me quedo con el plato de tacos, pollo y al pastor con cilantro y cebolla, arroz y frijoles con rábanos, por favor. En cuanto a la bebida ... el agua estará bien por ahora" 

Translation below

" I'll take the taco plate, chicken and al pastor with cilantro and onions, rice and bean with radishes, please. As for the drink... water will be fine for now" 

" Patriot, Cipher is a good contact to get info about taking down the megacorps and with your connections and your knowledge and ways around the media should increase not only your followers but get you noticed on several media platforms don't you think?. Of course, that is why I called you.... 

Charile leans in a bit

" your headlines should read.... sex, murder and mayhem"... how is that for a cutline for your newsfeed?. That should grab a few reads, yes?" 

Charile continues

" Of course.. this needs to be a mutual thing, so I'll need any information that you can provide me with a... deal?" And that way I will not sell any stories from underneath you, you dig?. But... I need the help, I don't know media like you know media, this will be an exclusive investigational report.

Charile nods his head in affirmation. 

 

Charile then explains to the group... 

"  I was figuring that the best way to handle "group" expenses is for the members to contribute what funds they want to a centralized account. That way it isn't a matter of who is covering what expense, it is more the group is covering the expense." 

" I can handle this for everyone and as per the usual.... I'll find deals" 

Charile's handheld beeped in his ear and he glanced down at the screen, tapped a few keys, then continues

" I'll handle the money, the acquiring of the goods and support the group, everyone else has their own forte`s. So until we get a kitty going, we will only have one vehicle for now but at least after a mod or two... will be able to carry everyone aboard".

turning back to Patriot... 

" We are going after Temecula Heights, are you still interested...or did you want me to contact someone else that was more.... experience?". Charlie gave a quirky smile to mess with Patriot, then flashed his signature smile and lightly . Charlie liked the guy, but Charlie wasn't one of trust, but Patriot was his best and only choice. Media types like him wanted follers, so that they can influence others, like Charlie and the group to buy certain brands or even sign e-petitions to bring these mega corps from getting away with murder and that was what Temecula Heights was getting away with, someone has to pay.... and  Temecula Heights has deep pockets. charlie thinks to himself

 

March 13th, Day 7 – Thursday, Time is 5:30 PM PST – Mid-City, Heywood, Mid-City, The Black Piranha Bar & Grill, X00105:4.Y00272:01.Z00385:00, South Night City Integrate.

As Casino took a seat at the table his gaze shifted to the one called Patriot. Average-sized black man with dreaded TechHair® descending past his shoulders, strands of glowing red woven through the braids. Thin mustache, small goatee, charismatic and good-looking face if he was into guys. A slight jealous glance to Echo to gauge her reaction, but she seemed to be ingrained in her own thoughts. Perhaps something to do with her most recent phone call? Then back to a last look the large solo noticing a pair of tat’s upon Patriots arms. One emblazoned on his right forearm, a simple rendition of Lady Justice, the second, a light tattoo displayed on his left bicep and is a Kanji. Interesting Casino thought to himself wishing his newly installed Japinese language chip also helped him read.

Turning to the waitress who is still calmly hovering nearby, Patriot says, “I’ll take an enchilada plate with red sauce, smothered, refried beans, black beans, and some rice, por favor, Margarite. Oh, and uno cerveza, por favor.”

She smiles and taps in the order on her device, “Sure thing, Pat. And for the rest of you?”

“Just a glass of water thanks” Casino replied as he waited for this show, whatever it was, to get on track. With Vegas’s return the weight of leadership, or as Charlie called it, co-leadership, was off the large solo’s neck and that was just the way he liked it. In all the time the two had worked together Casino had be perfectly happy to let the Sinatra look-alike take the lead and now was no different. For the moment Casino would stay quiet yet watchful and let things play out..............

As Echo took her place next to Casino at the table her mind was clearly in another place. Though she had called Luke at first about a player, which had quickly become a moot point, it was his reply that bothered her.

~Got a few. Sitting alone on a scouting mission for a few. What’s up?~

Why was he on a scout mission by himself? She had always thought teams were made of two people.

“And you, miss? What would you like? The waitress closes proximity, her words bringing Echo back to the here and now. A low growl in her stomach reminding her of not yet having eaten for the day.

“Bring me one of your enchilada plates and a glass of soda. Did he order anything?” She points to Casino.

“No ma’am, just water.”

“Put a second plate on my tab for him.”

Hearing that the big solo’s eyes turned to her in a questioning way, but she just smiled really saying nothing with words but everything with her eyes. Though they had still only known each other a few days, in this line of work sometimes a few days are a lifetime and the young Nomad is not about to let the big solo ignore his body’s needs.

With that, the waitress moves on from her and she decides to worry about Luke later and listen to the conversation.

GUARDIAN, CIPHER, AND BLOSSOM

March 13th, Day 7 - Thursday, Time is 6:15 PM PST - Mid-City, Edgerunner Enclave (China Town), Charlie’s Apartment X00050:2.Y00310:08.Z00410:15, South Night City Integrate.

Weather Conditions: High City (Windy, Temperature: Very Strong | High: 85°F (29.4°C) | Low: 72°F (22.2°C) | Wind Force: Very Strong | Wind Speed: 35 mph (56.3 kph) | Very Strong Wind: Strong gusts of wind that impose a -4 penalty on Awareness checks and certain ranged weapon attacks. Such gusts automatically extinguish unprotected flames. Flying vehicles struggle with a -2 penalty. | Midcity (Windy, Temperature: Very Hot | High: 98°F (36.6°C) - (Very Hot: A character in very hot conditions (above 90°F) must make a CON check each hour (DC 16) or take 1d4 points of Stun Damage. Characters wearing heavy clothing or armor of any sort take a -4 penalty on their checks. A character with the Survival skill may receive a bonus and may be able to apply this bonus to other characters as well. A character who takes any Stun damage from heat exposure now suffers from heatstroke and is fatigued. These penalties end when the character recovers the Stun damage she took from the heat. Stun damage from heat exposure cannot be recovered until the character gets cooled off (reaches shade, survives until nightfall, gets doused in water, is targeted by endure elements, and so forth). Once rendered unconscious through the accumulation of Stun damage, the character begins to take lethal damage at the same rate.) | Low: 83°F (28°C) | Wind Force: Strong | Wind Speed: 22 mph (35 kph) | Strong Wind: A steady wind with a 75% chance of extinguishing unprotected flames.) | Undercity (Windy, Temperature: Very High | High: 115°F (46.1°C) | Low: 101°F (38.3°C) | Wind Force: Light | Wind Speed: 9 mph (14.5 kph))

Air Quality Index: High City = 0 | Midcity = 15 | Undercity = 95 (masks required)

Time moves slowly for the medtech sitting in Charlie’s living room while Cipher and Blossom rest unmoving in their seats. His neural processor’s slave AI has an internal timer and clock soft that keeps him regularly checking the netrunner’s vitals. That combined with the medscanner alerts free the blonde man from the necessity of sitting with his eyes riveted to the reports. He’s been keeping himself occupied by reading medical journals, viewing holo blogs, and listening to radio medical tech reviews. 

The women are doing well, at least as far as his monitoring goes. Their vitals are both within acceptable ranges and the occasional increase in heart rate is par for the course—David heard that phrase a lot in med school but he’s never played golf. Of course, his situation isn’t too bad. He has to admit that being alone in the room with two exceptionally beautiful women who are so deep in their cyber world that they have no perception of what’s happening in the Real means that his view is vastly better than what the rest of the team is likely looking at.

Returning to his article, Olsen does his best to return his focus to the content.

March 13th, Day 7 - Thursday, Time is 6:15 PM PST - Mid-City, Heywood, Mid-City, The Black Piranha Bar & Grill, X00105:4.Y00272:01.Z00385:00, South Night City Integrate.

“They serve a preem enchilada, choom,” Patriot spreads his arms wide in his own welcome and turns slightly to motion the group forward. “I have us set up in the conference room just back there.”

Once everyone is seated in a chamber where the Latino music is just loud enough to drown out any quiet conversation except for those who have enhanced hearing, a waitress arrives through the only door in or out of the room. Orders are placed (OOC: the cost is between eight and twenty credits; let me know what you’re spending), along with any beverages including beer (OOC: the cost is between two-fifty and five credits; again, let me know what you’re spending).

Charlie takes a seat after everyone else sits down and orders a soft drink, which the waitress adds to her hand-held device.

“Not hungry, my friend?” Patriot asks, noticing Luther’s light fare. “Trust me. You don’t want to miss out on Mamacita Pauline’s enchiladas.” Rapping a knuckle on the table, he closes his eyes for a moment and shakes his head slowly, “Preemo stuff. You can’t even tell that the meat is soy-based.”

Turning to the waitress who is still calmly hovering nearby, Patriot says, “I’ll take an enchilada plate with red sauce, smothered, refried beans, black beans, and some rice, por favor, Marguerite. Oh, and uno cerveza, por favor.”

She smiles and taps in the order on her device, “Sure thing, Pat. And for the rest of you?”

Changing his mind, Charlie gives the waitress his order in Spanish to ensure that he receives good service and lets the establishment understand that he is part of the Spanish-speaking crowd.

"Me quedo con el plato de tacos, pollo y al pastor con cilantro y cebolla, arroz y frijoles con rábanos, por favor. En cuanto a la bebida... el agua estará bien por ahora." (( OOC: Translation: I'll take the taco plate, chicken and al pastor with cilantro and onions, rice and bean with radishes, please. As for the drink... water will be fine for now. )) He’s changed his mind about the soda. 

“Gracias, Señor,” Marguerite smiles sweetly and adds the fixer’s order to the device, and Luther is immediately notified that his cred chip account has been pinged fourteen eddies.

Vegas is glad to be out of the heat and it seems as though Patriot is trustworthy enough. A long time has passed since the Frank Sinatra look-alike had indulged himself with any kind of dining, fancy or otherwise, so he takes a cue from Patriot and orders the same plate!

“I will have the same as our gracious host here!” Vegas joyfully exclaims, motioning towards Patriot. “Plus, I would like plenty of your best non-alcohol beverage to help me rehydrate from the outside heat index! Also, make sure you add a couple of credits for yourself, my dear!”

“Gracias, Señor,” the cheerful reply accompanies the ding on his cred chip account for thirty-seven eddies.

Vegas is expecting the others, especially his partner Casino, to realize from his order that the Dapper Solo has indeed fully recovered from his recent ordeal, at least physically, if not fully mentally.

Fixer can’t help but wonder what the media guy is patriotic towards. Some country or nation no longer makes sense. The New United States is primarily an East Coast embodiment, though there’s no doubt in anyone’s mind that President Kress has her Militech agents doing what they can to disrupt the Pacifica Confederation and the Free City-State of Night City as she attempts to re-unify the old United States of America. Charlie had previously said that Patriot isn’t aligned with any of the Media Neocorps. Perhaps his loyalty is towards a group of edgerunners like Fixer's is now. Fixer doesn’t trust unknown loyalties, and he sure as hell doesn’t trust the idea of patriotism. It smells of... either blind self-righteousness or blind loyalty. Neither of those is good.  Or something to trust. But this is Charlie's gig. if James can trust Ghlahn about one need, he can trust Charlie on another.

He listens to the guy go on about the good enchiladas. He likes enchiladas but isn’t overly hungry. He orders food but keeps it light and experiences the notification of the draft on his account. (( OOC: About 15 total between food and beverage. )) It is time to stop pondering the philosophical elements of the plan and start figuring out what the hell is really going on.

“Just a glass of water thanks” Casino replies after Fixer places his order. He’s waiting for this show, whatever it is, to get on track. With Vegas’s return, the weight of leadership, or as Charlie called it, co-leadership, was off the large solo’s neck and that is just the way he likes it. In all the time the two had worked together Casino has been perfectly happy to let the Sinatra look-alike take the lead and now is no different. For the moment Casino stays quiet but watchful.

“And you, miss? What would you like?” The waitress closes proximity, her words bringing Echo back to the here and now, her mind having been preoccupied with thoughts of the one last friend she has in her tribe, Luke. A low growl in her stomach reminds her that she has not yet eaten for the day.

“Bring me one of your enchilada plates and a glass of soda. Did he order anything?” She points to Casino, having been lost in thought when he’d ordered his water.

“No ma’am, just water.”

“Put a second plate on my tab for him.”

Hearing that the big solo’s questioning eyes turn to her, but she just smiles saying nothing with words but everything with her eyes. Though they had still only known each other a few days, in this line of work sometimes a few days are a lifetime and the young nomad is not about to let the big solo ignore his body’s needs.

With all of the orders placed, the waitress moves out of the room, and Elizabeth decides to worry about Luke later and listen to the conversation.

Vegas thinks back to the conversation they’d held before leaving Charlie’s conapt where he had asked Ghlahn, “What do your CEE-metal choombas need for proof of elimination? A right ear from each head? A finger for proof of prints? Or will a photo of each execution be sufficient for collecting two thousand eddies per Tychoon that we eliminate?” The answer was a live video feed of the execution. Very brutal, but what else should one expect from unfeeling cyborgs?

Now that the waitress has left their table to submit their orders, Vegas decides that it is time to more than subtly ‘tip off’ his partner, as to where his head and heart are now at while they prepare for their next run!

Ol’ Blue Eyes graciously flows to his feet, clears his throat, drawing everyone’s attention, gives a nod to his partner, Casino, and begins to belt out an old tune (( OOC: THE SONG )). He hopes that this serves as a ‘Coded Message’ for Casino from the earlier days of their partnership letting the big man know of his determination and blood lust. He’s so wrapped up in his performance that he doesn’t even notice the reactions of his teammates (( OOC: Perform Check: 21 )). The performance is spot on, something he can be proud of.

At the end of the song, the Charismatic Crooner pauses to bask in the applause, whether it be real from the group assembled at the table, or just imagined in his own mind, before returning to his seat. As he sits down, the Dapper Solo gives a nod to his partner Casino, with the briefest of punctuations: “Macky Is Back In Town!”

(( OOC: Feel free to insert your character’s responses. ))

"Patriot,” Cred Stick Charlie turns his attention to the media. “Cipher is a good contact to help get info about taking down the megacorps, and with your connections, your knowledge, and ways around the media, this relationship should increase not only your followers but get you noticed on several media platforms, don't you think? Of course, that is why I called you—” Charlie leans in a bit, “your headlines should read, ‘Sex, Murder, and Mayhem.’ How is that for a newsfeed cutline? That should grab a few reads, yes?" 

Patriot sits back in his seat with an expression of interest easily read on his face but says nothing. Charlie continues working his biz.

"Of course... this needs to be a mutual thing, so I'll need any information that you can provide me with... deal? And I will not sell any stories from underneath you, you dig? But... I need the help, I don't know media like you know media. This will be an exclusive investigational report,” Charlie nods his head prompting affirmation. 

“And there’s the Cred Stick Charlie I’m familiar with,” Patriot’s handsome features split into a wide grin. “I get the exclusive and in return, I share with you the information I find whether it has immediate headlines or future payout possibilities. A standard contract, eh? Sure then. No problem. Here’s my amendment then. I determine who receives top billing. My kind of coverage can turn people into legends.” 

(( OOC: I imagine there might be an additional discussion at this point… ))

Charlie moves the conversation on from the arrangement with the Media explaining to the rest of the team, "I was figuring that the best way to handle ‘group expenses’ is for the members to contribute what funds they want to a centralized account. That way it isn't a matter who is covering what expense, it is more the group is covering the expense.

"I can handle this for everyone and as per the usual... I'll find deals." Charlie's handheld beeps, the alarm sounding in his ear through the cyberaudio augmentation and he glances down at the screen, taps a few keys, then continues with his explanation.

"I'll handle the money, the acquiring of the goods, and support the group. Everyone else has their own fortes. So, until we get a kitty going, we will only have one vehicle for now, but at least after a mod or two... will be able to carry everyone aboard."

(( OOC: Again, any discussion at this point… ))

The fixer turns back to Patriot and dives into their current biz, “We are going after Temecula Heights. Are you still interested… or did you want me to contact someone else that was more... experience?" Charlie gives a quirky smile to mess with Patriot, then flashes his signature smile and lightly chuckles. Charlie likes the guy, but Charlie isn’t one who readily trusts anyone. Still, Patriot is his best and only choice. Media types like him want followers which gives them more influence, and the more influence they have—like Tesla Johanneson from back in the 1990’s—the more useful they are to people like Cred Stick Charlie. Charlie and the group may be able to leverage the story to certain Media brands using Patriot as an in, or even get e-petitions signed through Patriot’s followers to stop these megacorps from getting away with murder. That is what Temecula Heights is currently getting away with, as far as Luther is concerned, and someone has to pay. Compounds like Temecula Heights have deep pockets and that can help keep the team alive, Charlie thinks.

“Temecula Heights…” Patriot blinks rapidly for a second and a half, “That’s a corpo compound out in the Temecula Valley area, no?” Looking around at the group of new people in his life, the media furrows his brow. “And what’s the hook?”

(( OOC: I’m going to assume that after all of the discussion the result is Patriot’s better understanding, as follows. ))

“So,” the black man leans forward but pauses as their food is brought in and distributed. Once the waitress has left them alone again, he continues, “To sum things up; The security team policing Temecula Heights—a corpo compound owned by Daltdom Corporation (which is a subsidiary of Petrochem)—is Falcone Security and at least some segment of them are running their own little torture chamber operation. Then, to top it off, this Jeanette who saved Vegas’s life was performing corporate espionage—I can only assume against ArmorTech, which doesn’t make sense since she’s a chemist, but we’ll get into that later—and now you have a hand to play in that card game. Then, before we even dive into the Temecula Heights story, you’ve got to stop a small group of hackers from their cyber attacks on a nearby CEE-metal enclave. Did I miss anything?”

March 13th, Day 7 - Thursday, Time is 6:35 PM PST - Mid-City, Heywood, Mid-City, The Black Piranha Bar & Grill, X00105:4.Y00272:01.Z00385:00, South Night City Integrate.

CHARLIE AND ECHO

March 10th, Day 4 - Monday, Time is 8:30 PM PST - Mid-City, the Great Roll Hibachi Kitchen, Heywood, Night City.

Red walls reduce the din of the diners outside of the room to a meer hum. Charlie sits with his back to the door of the room, his food before him, Echo standing near the door. At the table with him are three others, Chinese all. A larger man with obvious augmentations that enhance his bodily structure sits directly across from him wearing a custom-tailored suit, his bald head covered by a blood-red Homburg hat with a black silk hatband. The rest of his ensemble matches the hat and his round face hasn’t stopped smiling since the fixer and nomad arrived at the restaurant. He’s flanked on either side by two women, twins, wearing white suits with black silk shirts and the top half of their faces painted black like masks. Their Techhair® is currently in pixie cut styles, with shimmering, soft red lights coursing through. The only real difference in their appearances is the slew of earrings the one on the left is wearing. 

“So… Mr. Charlie,” the smiling man—Mugsy Devil—reaches across his plate and picks up a lobster claw with a pair of silver tongues. Luther can’t tell if it’s a real bio-engineered, farmed lobster or one of the shaped and flavored soy-based products that the common people are privileged enough to eat. “We are here to discuss your crimes against the Tong. You decided to do biz in our territory. You would be dead right now if your bosses hadn’t promised you can make it right. How, then, Mr. Cred Stick Charlie, are you going to make it right for the Tong?”

From where she stands, feet a shoulder’s breadth apart, her trench coat hanging against her thighs and her hands clasped in front of her, Echo watches the interplay. Odors of various foodstuffs drift through the air causing her stomach to rumble a little. She’s not a partner in the biz happening at the table. The current role she’s playing is a bodyguard and that puts her at the door. The two women by Mugsy Devil’s side are obviously his bodyguards, but their position hides most of their bodies making it difficult for Elizabeth to tell what kind of dangerous toys they’re carrying. They’re older than Echo and in this industry, older solos deserve respect. They have survived where so many others have died and that means they’re better than decent at their jobs.

March 10th, Day 4 - Monday, Time is 8:32 PM PST - Mid-City, the Great Roll Hibachi Kitchen, Heywood, Night City.

Fixer listened to Vegas prove why he had the name he did.  The performance was impressive and he applauded with the rest.  He had every intention of enjoying the little down time that they would have.  Why not?  His meal wasn't worthy of a vacation, but it did fill his belly, which was also worthy of applause at times.  Finished, he just sat back and listened to the others.   There was a lot of discussion with Patriot about media deals and information.  He listened.  This wasn't his bit but it certainly would impact him.

March 10th, Day 4 - Monday, Time is 8:30 PM PST - Mid-City, the Great Roll Hibachi Kitchen, Heywood, Night City.

The scene was set and Mr. Charile was on the stage... for now. 

“So… Mr. Charlie,” the smiling man—Mugsy Devil—reaches across his plate and picks up a lobster claw with a pair of silver tongues. Luther can’t tell if it’s a real bio-engineered, farmed lobster or one of the shaped and flavored soy-based products that the common people are privileged enough to eat. “We are here to discuss your crimes against the Tong. You decided to do biz in our territory. You would be dead right now if your bosses hadn’t promised you can make it right. How, then, Mr. Cred Stick Charlie, are you going to make it right for the Tong?”

" Well the Devil as always wanting his due, Sir"  Mr. Charile replied. " I would like to start by offering my services to you when you need a "round eye" and can't use your own people". Charlie explained, " I can negotiate as an importation option to feuds, and blood rival conflict if that would please you, Sir".  Charlie couldn't stop looking at the lobster and wondering if it was real or soy-based but to Mr. Charile... he was betting it was real. 

" I will also pledge that I will use tong services while occupying tong space in their enclave as part of the umbrella of protection that the tong, so graciously provides for its citizens". Charlie smiled for a second  " Now I will respectfully ask that my terms and conditions with the students stay in place, with the rationale that you will have in the long run, more income coming to the tong by having more educated people that will always need a place to feel comfortable and those that will always stay within their own kind. The educated will make more so that the mighty ton will be able to tax those that can " donate" to the tongs cause" . Charlie begins to explain his weak defense " As for the Joygirls, I could introduce them into a higher-paying bracket if you would agree. But I would ask that I be allowed to assist the operating side of the said business with understanding any terms that you would set are negotiable if you would find this agreeable. I will look forward to working closely with the mighty tong if given the chance". Charles finally gave his infectious smile to hopefully seal a deal and to live yet another day. 

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

Luther Washington - Fixer:To be Aware: 15

Luther Washington - Fixer attempts to be very persuasive! 

Luther Washington - Fixer:To Persuade: 22

This will be used for the conversation

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

“The hook is,” replied Vegas to the query posed by Patriot, “is that I was held captive and tortured … before I was able to escape. Then while on the lam inside Temecula Heights, I had the good fortune of being aided by one of the residents … Jeannette was her name … “

The Frank Sinatra look-alike trails off his explanation to Patriot as the Charismatic Crooner thinks back to those dark hours that ultimately claimed her life.

“She was murdered by some heavy muscle,” continues the Dapper Solo, “but she was too stubborn to divulge her secret … which cost her …  her life … but I was able to discover the secret she was hiding … before making my escape … so here we are … plotting vengeance and offering you a slice of the pie … for your expertise in publicly exposing the dark secrets housed inside Temecula Heights … “

Vegas tailed off his explanation as he took another bite from his enchilada plate, followed by a long drink of life-sustaining rehydration, before continuing.

“We have another gig to pick up some quick creds,” the Dapper Solo explained, “which as far as I am concerned will serve as a tune-up … before dealing some payback to some dark souls … so are you and your followers in … or out … on publicizing their dark secrets?”

((OOC: Whatever rolls are appropriate to get Patriot on board against the dark souls harbored in Temecula Heights))