Run #3 - The Smoking Gunwale

[Molly]

"WE’LL PROBABLY NEED THE BIG MAN’S COOPERATION JUST TO REACH THE CLOSEST MARINA." Mouse breaks her attention away from the shiny new object long enough to chime in. "...SEEING AS OUR USUAL RIDE IS CURRENTLY STRANDED IN BOISE." Her lips twist into something close to a conflicted smile at the thought of poor T-Bone stuck waiting like a surly Hachiko for weeks outside of Boise Central Station.

[GM Nick]

Preacher interjects Axel's musing. "Even if the freighter isn't under surveillance, I certainly am. The reach of Volkov's eyes and ears is exceeded only by his paranoia. The last thing I want to do is show my hand. Best to take the precaution."

Achak bobs his head in agreement with his boss, then turns to Axel. "That is out of the realm of my expertise." His brow furrows in contemplation. "However, I would suggest a city small enough to avoid being caught in a skirmish or acosted by law enforcement but large enough that we could pass without being overly conspicuous. It would be better to approach an individual, rather than a corporation." He looks a bit sheepish. "If it comes to theft, I would prefer that we choose a target who would not feel the loss so keenly-- one with insurance, for instance."

If Preacher is irked by his agent's compassion, it's not reflected on his stoic expression.

"I will speak to Conrad about loaning you a vehicle," Preacher says.

[Molly]

"JAA, LOOKS LIKE WE HAVE OUR NEXT STEPS NICELY LAID OUT." The decker rolls her shoulders back, as though it were herself, and not Yung, who’d been doing the heavy lifting. "WE’LL JUST FIND OURSELVES A NICE HARBOR TOWN, WHERE THE LOCAL OLIGARCHS MOOR THEIR PARTY BOATS." She leaves the qualifier, ’in the middle of Saito’s controlled territory' mercifully unvoiced, though she does add, "...OR AT LEAST, A TRUSTWORTHY PURVEYOR OF PREVIOUSLY OWNED VESSELS."

Already, Mouse's mind is awash with the beginnings of several poorly formed plans, evidenced by the flicker of notes streaming from her consciousness into her HUD, among which are such jewels as [Search Alexei Volkov], [Possible shenanigans: pirate from pirates] and [!remindme: Learn how to swim].

First things first, she turns her attention back to her teammates. "IN ANY CASE, WE CERTAINLY HAVE OUR WORK CUT OUT FOR US. BARRING FURTHER QUESTIONS, PERHAPS WE SHOULD LEAVE THE PREACHER TO HIS PRAYERS, AND WORK OUT THE MESSY DETAILS AMONGST OURSELVES?"

[GM Nick]

Achak steeps his hands in front of him, adopting a calculating mien. "Could we not gather on a secluded launch while the one amongst us most skilled in disguise slips into a marina and liberates a boat? The marinas are probably mostly deserted; who would want to go on a pleasure cruise amid a civil war?" He traces a semi-circle in the air with an index finger to illustrate a course. "This lone hijacker could then sail to our position and fetch us."

[Molly]

"OI, AKELA, YOU STILL GOT THAT SERA FUKU?" The mental image alone is enough to draw out an audible snerk from what might otherwise be a tense proposition.

Still, there’s a hesitancy in her response, both from a lingering cultural relic of indirect speech, and her keen awareness that the Johnson is still on the line. "THEORETICALLY, YES, I COULD BOARD A BOAT AND QUIETLY REGISTER A NEW OWNER." She tilts her head toward Axel, unable to deny his contagious enthusiasm for this prospect, even with the unspoken ‘...but’ hanging in the air.

She holds up two fingers as if to physically pause the train of thought. "I’D NEED BACKUP. DOESN’T MATTER IF THEY’RE DISGUISED WITH ME OR JUST LURKING NEARBY." Her attention bobs from Yung to Mick, as if looking for said backup right now. "IT’S NOT A QUICK JOB, AND I’D WANT SOMEONE WHO CAN WATCH MY HOOP."

She folds her arms across her chest defensively. "AND PROBLEM TWO- I’D NEED SOME KIND OF GUIDANCE FOR WHAT WE’RE LOOKING FOR. ANYONE WHO THINKS I’M SOME EXPERT ON ‘SHIPS’ IS THE VICTIM OF SOME SERIOUS MISCOMMUNICATION."

[John]

Mick, never one to balk at an infiltration, pipes up. "I got you on that. Stay outta sight and grease any parties unlucky enough to get curious kinda thing."

[GM Nick]

"Prisoners from the freighter could be useful," Preacher says. A hard glint appears in his predator's eyes. "However, they come a distant second to the ship's function and purpose. Do as you like as long as you succeed. I shall take my leave of you now, as time is of the essence."

[MattL]

Yung cocks and eye curiously in response to Preacher’s comment about prisoners. He waits for the projection to dissolve before speaking.

"There are more ways of obtaining a vessel than buying or stealing, just as a thought exercise. In fact, chartering a boat is more common than buying one, and much less illegal than stealing one." He surveys the team for reactions, anticipating notable dismay from those who seem keen on grand larceny. "Normally I wouldn’t raise such objections." He lies. "But consider, if we steal a vessel in NorCal, it will take some time to reach San Diego and then, ideally, return. Despite the situation, if we pick the wrong boat or there are any other circumstances we might not anticipate, it could further complicate the biz."

He pauses for a few moments, waiting for the crew to weigh the additional variables suggested. He removes his glasses and pinches the bridge of his nose before continuing. "I don’t mean to step on any toes, but greasing anyone outside of the necessary CONOP introduces further variables." He says, doing his best imitation of Taipan, "In fact, keeping the docket clean up until the moment of insertion is our best chance of impregnating this slitch successfully." He says, offering a wink to Mouse.

"Maybe it’s fishing season, or there’s some good diving off of one of the islands in SoCal?" He proposes with a shrug.

[Molly]

Preacher’s stern visage fully scatters across the harsh light of an early morning conference room, and with that, Mouse can breathe a little easier. Sure, there’s still an unwanted babysitter in the form of Achak, here to witness how the krill-sausage is made, but if nothing else, she doesn’t have to worry about the guy holding the checkbook docking her pay for professionality.

For what it’s worth, she does listen to Yung’s suggestions, though from the way her mouth tightens, she seems hardly convinced. "CHARTERING INTRODUCES AN ATTRIBUTION RISK, WHICH IS ESPECIALLY DANGEROUS IF PREACHER’S ALREADY UNDER SCRUTINY." Even without Preacher in the room, she once again lapses into a spookier, more ‘professional’ manner of speech than normally suits the young netnerd, as her mind turns to living witnesses and paper trails. "AND UNLESS ANYONE HAS A SAILOR FRIEND THEY’D TRUST TO TAKE US THROUGH A WARZONE, AND THEN TAKE THAT SECRET TO THE GRAVE. BUT I’M PRETTY SURE OUR BEST HOPE FOR THAT DISAPPEARED INTO THE SUNSET DAYS AGO." She finds herself bracing against the edge of the conference table, if only to quell the subtle tremor of either frustration or fear from leaking through.

"YOU’RE PROBABLY RIGHT ON THE BODIES, THOUGH. A MISSING CREWMAN WILL BE NOTICED A LOT FASTER THAN A MISSING SHIP." Her arms cross, almost poutlike, at the concession, even if the fallback was entirely for self-defense, and thus any ‘victims’ would have therefore brought it on themselves.

On this thought, her eyes widen substantially, and she leans in conspiratorially, attention landing on the newly emptied projector. "...BUT FOR REAL THOUGH, WHAT WAS WITH THAT PRISONER COMMENT?" Apparently, that shift in tone from the good Preacher had caught even Mouse off guard. "IF WHAT HE’S SAYING IS TRUE, NOBODY ON THAT SHIP HAS MUCH AS COME UP FOR FRESH AIR SINCE IT STOPPED." She eyes her crew, and even Achak, as if looking for backup. "DO WE REALLY THINK THERE’S A LIVING CREW THAT’S BEEN HIDING THERE THE WHOLE TIME?"

[GM Nick]

Achak notices the small decker make eye contact prior to her interrogative. He straightens in his seat as the knee-jerk muscle memory of etiquette engages. These are the people that Preacher hand picked, so they are to be respected. There's also the small matter of his rescue; not so small a matter to Achak.

"I believe it to be true," Achak says. His voice is slightly hushed, as if someone might overhear and inform on him. "I do not think he would conceal information or provide us falsehoods. He needs us to succeed." He folds his hands on the table and his modest face adopts a speculative expression. "It is a very large ship and capable of housing and sustaining a reasonable sized crew for weeks-- months, perhaps. But the lack of deck activity is puzzling. There have been no lifeboats, no mayday calls, no signs of damage or repair for that matter. Even if something happened to the entire crew, most ship systems of that size activate an SOS protocol after a certain period of time."

Achak shakes his head. "I think the only way to know what happened is to board it."

[GM Nick]

Anne-Marie's arrival is announced by the sibilating of the room's aperture. Her entrance is performed with a saunter, in adherence to etiquette and marking a transition from acquaintance to associate. The body guard is dressed much the same as she was when the team first met her. The fair skin on her exposed mid-section looks pale in the subdued lighting, further enhancing her ethereality.

She scans the team for a long moment, her eyes finally settling on Axel. "Hey, flyboy." Her lanky form bobs as she tosses something underhand towards the rigger. Instinctively, Axel reaches out and snatches the object. He uncurls his fingers to reveal a laser-cut key. "Boss said to lend you a ride-- something roomy. It's the Honda Shiro parked in the back. Now that the troll is gone, you should all fit comfortably." She smiles at Axel, who is staring at the key with a befuddled expression. "That's just a key for the fuel cutoff. Don't worry, she's not that old. It's wired for rigging. No hardpoints or armor, but you'll blend in." The corners of her lips curl in a mirthful grin. "Fuel economy ain't bad, either."

[MattL]

Yung smiles as AM enters the room, noting the subtle change in her demeanor. He silently appreciates her ability to fluidly shift between casual acquaintance and consummate professional; something he prides himself on as well.

He waits for her exchange with Axel to conclude before piping up again, "Sorry to say, but I am wholly unfamiliar with FreeCal, other than the major cities, which I think we're all in agreement we should avoid." He looks to the group for ideas, hoping someone has a reasonable suggestion to start. "Thoughts on looking north or south of the Bay?"

[John]

Mick has a flash of memory. "I remember watching old movies with my dad as a kid. Always did one new one, one old one. I guess that's what he did when he was a kid." The ork trails off a moment, remembering, feeling. "Anyway, I remember when we watched "The Birds," an old flatvid about birds that turn on humans," Mick cocks an eyebrow at Mouse as if to say 'I know, right?' "I remember him telling me about it being filmed just north of San Francisco in a touristy little town called Bodega Bay." The adept scans the group for signs that the idea is stupid. "He said it's the kind of place rich people keep their pleasure boats for the weekends." The ork frowns. "Or, at least it was almost 20 years ago."

[Molly]

"HONESTLY, WHEREVER HAS THE SHORTEST DRIVE HAS MY VOTE." She tips her chair onto its back legs as she considers Yung’s suggestion. "CORRECT ME IF I'M WRONG, BUT THE LONGER WE'RE ON THE ROAD, THE MORE LIKELY WE ARE TO HIT A PATROL OR A CHECKPOINT, YEAH?"

"NOW IF OJI WERE HERE, WE WOULDNT EVEN BE HASSLED-" There's a sudden wobble as she leans too far back, forcing a telltale flurry of motion as she has to frantically course-correct and grab hold of the table's edge. "...BUT HE'S NOT. AND WE CAN'T RISK THAT KIND OF HEAT WHILE WE'RE STILL ON LAND." Her nose wrinkles, face taking on a reddish tinge, though whether from embarrassment or bitten back resentment is unclear.

At least Mick’s suggestion helps salvage her mood, direct enough to get her off her metaphorical hoop and into the business of digging. "A PLACE LIKE THAT WOULD BE PERFECT- ASSUMING IT'S STILL STANDING, ANYWAY." She draws her hands outward, as though weaving a cat's cradle that only she can see, already spinning the outlines of an AR search. "WE COULD DESCEND ON THAT SLEEPY TOWN OVERNIGHT, AND BE OUT OF THERE BEFORE THE LOCALS WAKE UP. BONUS POINTS IF WE CAN SEND MACH IN AHEAD OF US." From the crooked grin she flashes Reiya, it's clear that even the magic-blind Mouse is probably just joking about that last bit. (...Probably.)

(( AR search for the town, to see if anything like it still exists? ))

[GM Nick]

Dice

Computer + LOG [6]
6, 4, 4, 6, 1, 3, 2, 4, 6, 3, 6, 3
4 hits on 12 dice

Mouse knows that the sleepy town featured in ancient flatvids and light novels is practically mythology. Still, as the decker watches the results of her matrix search pile up, she holds out hope that an outlier exists. The urban sprawl of California begins at the large metropolitan centers of Los Angeles, San Francisco and Sacramento before fanning out like arterial junctions, each meandering path spawning its own tributaries in the form of enclaves. Arcologies, solar farms, and sovereign wards huddle in the nooks and crannies of what looks like a manic coloring book about gerrymandering.

As the decker deciphers the stream of data, she begins to appreciate the complexity that Saito must contend with to cling to power: California is tribal; a living quilt of miniature nations and Corporate territories and wrinkled by competing jurisdictions. In fact, depending on the map, some of the demarcation is ambiguous if not contradictory. Maybe it's the analytical or organizational nature of Mouse's brain, but she finds herself getting angry as she scans result after result. How anything is accomplished amid such chaotic and complex bureaucracy is totally beyond her.

Public zoning documents, topographical maps and Corporate press releases race through Mouse's vision. Each result is only present for a fraction of a moment before she queues the next, and then the next. Next. Next. Next. Stop.

Mouse finds herself staring an idyllic vista; the kind a Corporation might use as stock footage on some schlock about sustainability. Majestic cliffs dominate the frame, rising from a rocky bed shrouded in saltwater spray. Situated in the center, nestled within the rugged terrain is a retiree's wet dream: a quaint, upper-middle class enclave with tidy streets and (seriously?) white picket fences. The Adamesque architecture and subtle additions (are those backyards?) all combine to formulate an image that's decidedly Rockwell-nouveau. These details attract Mouse's attention, but what holds it dwells at the bottom of the frame: an ample, gated marina ripe with yachts, hovercraft, and speedboats.

Stamped across this portrait of an Elysian community in an ostentatious typeface are the words: ENJOY PARADISE IN ANCHOR BAY.

Of all of the towns, cities, and settlements listed in the results, it appears to be the only enclave not directly connected to a larger sprawl, or buried in a labyrinth of other territories. A quick analysis of the land registration explains this phenomena: all of the small parcels of land that surround the enclave are owned by an array of obvious shell corporations, quite probably a machination of the founders, devised in order to isolate it from its neighbors. A gated community, indeed.

[Molly]

Mouse's snaggletoothed grin widens as she sets eyes on their mark. She unfolds her hands in presentation, sending up a small holo of the picturesque little town for the other members of the conference table to see. "LADIES, GENTLEMEN, AND THOSE OF US WHO KNOW BETTER, I THINK WE HAVE OUR 'AMITY'."

[John]

Mick grins. "Don't think I've ever been accused of knowing better." The ork leans forward as Mouse loads the info up for the team to see, only a pang of disappointment not to be heading to the town their father had described years earlier sticking to their ribs. "This looks perfect. Almost too perfect." Their eyes narrow as they scan the details in evidence, nodding as they go, as if agreeing with the ins and outs. After a few moments, they lean back, and state simply, "Sounds like it's time to pack an overnight bag."

[GM Nick]

Achak leans forward, his hawkish features illuminated by the holo. "A place such as this will have substantial defenses to protect such wealthy residents. They will also no doubt have a contract for law enforcement. Attempting to sneak in would be difficult and dangerous. It would be far better to seek legitimate entry." His brow knits. "The fewer of us that need to enter, the better. However, that would effectively leave those on the inside on their own. There is little assistance that anyone outside of the city could provide."

"The Saito regime is familiar with my face," Achak says. His expression is grim. "I do not know how many Imperials might be in this place, so it would be best if I was a member of the team that bides their time until a ship is secured. My presence might jeopardize the task at hand."

[Drew Buddy]

Axel nods his thanks to Anne Marie, and turns his attention to Mouse's find. The mildly organic look to the streets screams designed-by-committee to cause the least offense. And so the offense that Axel takes is nuclear. The barrens are honest. All of the work and refuse of humanity is on display for all to see and re-use. The sterile lines and spotless nature of the burbclave stand out like a sore thumb to Axel. Like a dirty secret. What are you hiding?

His initial disgust turns to delight at the next bit. "Oh, I am so in. Are you sure we can't at least do some not so petty vandalism on our way out?"

[GM Nick]

Anne-Marie appears in between Mick and Mouse abruptly, placing her elbows on the conference room table. The shell casing earrings are back, and they jangle as she lowers head. The bodyguard's expression is conspiratorial and impish in equal shares. "Want to know why they call him Preacher?" A manicured eyebrow arches as she alternates inquisitive glances between each of them.

[John]

The ork side-eyes Anne-Marie. "Because he peddles lies to gullible dipshits?" It's unclear if Mick means Preacher's true believers or the cohort of lowlifes of which they are a part.

[Molly]

The rigger’s comment is enough to pause Mouse’s giddy scrolling through publicity shots. "AXEL, I AM SHOCKED AND APPALLED THAT YOU THINK WE MIGHT LEAVE THIS PLACE INTACT. I MEAN, JUST LOOK AT IT." She breaks from her feigned offense long enough to expand one of the images, featuring cheerful neighbors browsing what appears to be a completely anachronistic farmer’s market. "THAT DOG IS WEARING A SWEATER." There’s a sense of exasperation as she points out the offending animal, which through the mere fact of its existence, has caused some kind of existential crisis for the decker.

The related concern- namely Achak’s strategizing about how this ragtag crew of ne'er-do-wells might be able to navigate such a town, is immediately side-tracked by the bodyguard’s interjection. She instinctively leans away, clearly still clinging to some residual suspicion of the woman, even as she addresses the sudden riddle: "…BECAUSE HE PAYS EXORBITANT SUMS TO ATTRACTIVE YOUNG PEOPLE TO TAKE CARE OF HIS NEEDS?"

[GM Nick]

A wolfish grin appears on Anne-Marie's face. She throws her boots up on the table and leans back in the chair, arms behind her head. It seems she's enjoying her role as storyteller. Her vivid green eyes roll upwards to the ceiling as she plumbs her memory.

"I'll bet you didn't know he fought in the Eurowars, huh? Tex too. They were both fresh off the street when they enlisted. See, Preacher came from a really rough background, I guess. His only choice was to join the UCAS Marine Corp. As for Tex, well his father was a marine and there was a lot of pressure on him to uphold the family legacy. The both of them ended up in the same air group. Not long after, they were deployed, on account of the UNES accord. Off to Europe, to fight the Neo-Soviets."

"Preacher and the boss, they were grunts-- cannon fodder. The Allied forces had this strategy where they'd send a bunch of dropships to strategic locations, hoping that at least one would survive. If it did, the troops inside would activate and overrun whatever installation was being targeted." She shakes her head. "Strategic resource expenditure they called it." Her disgust is plainly obvious.

"Their first mission was this long-range missile platform that was destroying the Allied force's frontlines. Unsurprisingly, their dropship got hit with a laser after crossing into enemy lines and it went down. Only Preacher and Tex survived, but Tex was badly wounded in the crash." Anne-Marie holds up her hands, as if setting a stage. "So there are our boys: wounded and helpless, deep in enemy territory. Preacher drags a wounded Tex for ten klicks and they take refuge in a bombed out apartment building. But there's a big problem..." She pauses for dramatic effect. "Sensors scoped 'em. Now there's a full company of Red Army infantry surrounding them. Tex can't fight and Preacher only has a few magazines. By all accounts, they're dead to rights."

"So what does old Preacher do-- this punk from the gutter who believes in nothing? He prays. He prays to any and every God, spirit, or devil that will listen. He spends all night praying." Anne-Marie flexes her fingers, pantomiming enemy troops on approach. "The Red Army soldiers line up to breach the building. It looks like the end. But then--" She claps her hands together. "Ka-boom! A defective long-range missile, intended for the front, pinwheels out of control and levels the entire block. Preacher and Tex are buried in rubble, but saved from the blast by the building. The enemy company is not so lucky; every last man is killed."

"Preacher digs himself and Tex out of the rubble. He's in a sort of fugue state now. Wary of reinforcements and bolstered by what he thought was divine intervention, he hides Tex in a culvert and sets out to the launcher on his lonesome." Anne-Marie sits up, her chair returning to level with a clunking sound. "Nobody but Preacher was there to witness what happened next. Allegedly he stormed the platform himself, eliminated every enemy combatant inside and took control of the launchers. What we do know is that a Neo-Soviet missile platform fired its entire payload on its own positions on the front, contributing massively to that campaign. But after that?" She lifts her palms. "Preacher disappears. Like, vanishes."

"Tex is found and rescued by marines the next day as they moved up the front line. Because of his injuries, he's given an honorable discharge and returns to Seattle. Five years later he gets a message from Preacher. Much to his surprise, his old friend and savior is now a man of the cloth and some kind of spiritual leader."

Anne-Marie shakes her head softly, as if breaking free from a reverie. She stands and stretches before turning to smile at the team. "That's how the story goes, anyway. Who knows if its true?"

[Molly]

"NOVOSIBIRSK, NE?" She fills in around the edges, though from her wandering gaze, she seems almost distracted, undoubtedly preoccupied with fantasies of petty vandalism. "SO WHAT YOU’RE SAYING IS MICK GOT IT RIGHT." The decker offers with a loose shrug, as though acknowledging she’d lost some kind of bet. The story reads like a propaganda piece- the type which is hardly warranted for Mouse, seeing as Preacher’s already offering a boatload (pun intended) of cash for a high stakes data steal.

"STILL, THAT WOULD EXPLAIN SOME OF HIS INTEREST IN COMRADE VOLKOV’S DEALINGS." Even if the story’s little more than a power broker’s autobiographical fanfiction, it may still have kernels of truth buried within. "SPEAKING OF, DID THAT NAME RING A BELL FOR ANYONE?" She casts a curious eye toward the other members of the table, as though awaiting a flash of recognition. "I WOULDN’T EXPECT PREACHER TO SPILL ANY OF HIS INTEL, BUT THE MORE WE KNOW ABOUT THIS GUY GOING IN, THE BETTER. IT MIGHT GIVE US SOME CLUES AS TO WHAT TO EXPECT ON HIS PARTY BOAT. "

[MattL]

"Never heard of him, but clandestine underworld figureheads is not my area of expertise. " Yung says, after silently musing on Preacher's background.

"Listen I know y'all want to cause havoc over in Pleasantville, but Achack is right, better to maintain the lowest profile possible, grab our boat and get out to rendezvous with the rest. " He intones, wearing a stern visage.

"My thought is to put on our yuppie face and try to get invited in to the farmers market, does it say anything about visitors being welcome? Any kind of Bed and Breakfast we can swoop in on?" As he says this his lips slowly begin to curl into a devious smile.

"And if you thought that was bad, Mouse might actually have to put on something nice to wear, if we decide to act the part." He can't help but snicker as he imagines the idea.

[Molly]

Yung’s objections present an unusual dilemma, namely that he's right. And Mouse hates it

She goes for another swig of her caramel drenched monstrosity, if only to hide the childish pout twisting her expression. "WHY WOULD ANYONE WASTE MONEY ON SWAG THEY CAN'T SHOW OFF? THEY’VE GOTTA LET IN TOURISTS." She tips the cup further back, trying to shake loose the remnants of sugary milk foam clinging to the bottom of her cup. "BESIDES, THIS PLACE LOOKS LIKE IT WAS BUILT FOR RETIREES. IN A PINCH, WE’LL SAY WE’RE VISITING GRANDMA."

"IN ANY CASE, I CAN START DIGGING- SEE WHAT I CAN FIND ON THE ANCHOR BAY TOURIST INDUSTRY… AND MR. VOLKOV." As she puts her empty cup back down, her furrowed brow remains, obviously not fond of this plan but lacking better alternatives. She hates what she's about to suggest even more: "IF YOU WANNA PLAY DECKER-DRESS-UP, FINE, BUT YOU'RE BUYING." In practicality, this is playing to their respective strengths, but it hardly makes the idea any more palatable.

"-AND ANY TOWN-BEAUTIFICATION EFFORTS WILL OCCUR AS TIME AND OPPORTUNITY PERMIT." This much is non-negotiable.

[GM Nick]

Mouse idly surveys the tidal influx of results of search queries she had queued. Thumbnails of articles, videos, and other media splay out like a deck of cards. Unsurprisingly, an overwhelming majority of the information is about Volkov. Sophisticated HUMINT software analyzes the steady feed of incoming data and distills it into bite-sized portions. This process paints a pretty consistent picture.

Alexei Volkov was born in Novgorod. His father was a General of lesser renown in the Red Army and not much is known about his mother, but there are unsubstantiated rumors that she was an intelligence officer. Although his childhood is glossed over, he managed to avoid compulsory military service when he turned eighteen; documents indicate an unspecified heart condition. Volkov attended University in St. Petersburg before transferring to a state-owned graduate school called the Moscow Institute of Advanced Learning (charmingly referred to by some as the 'propaganda factory.') He was hired immediately thereafter as attaché to the Russian ambassador in Japan. When Russia was reformed into the Neo-Soviet Socialist Republic, the ambassador was recalled but Volkov was left behind to procure lucrative relationships with Japanese corporations. It's around this time that Volkov begins being seen publicly on occasion with Tam Marin, an infamous diplomat from Aztlan. When Tam Marin defected to the Japanese Empire, it is believed that Volkov facilitated asylum. Volkov then returns to Russia where he climbs the ranks of the Neo-Soviet government until becoming deputy Minister of Defense.

As deputy Minister of Defense, Volkov used his influence to court powerful corporations and warlords around the world, facilitating the purchase and sale of weapons. He gained the support of oligarchs, purportedly acting as a middle man for everything from supplying land deeds and private armies to collecting political prisoners and hoarding patents. At the height of Volkov's career, an opposing faction within the government seized power. Volkov-- through blackmail or sheer influence-- managed to escape with not only his head and assets, but a cushy pension to boot. At this point, the records begin to diverge. Some historians and media agencies claim he went legitimate and ventured into business, some claim he retired, and a few insist that he continues to operate a bulk of the darker machinations of the Neo-Soviet military industrial complex from the shadows.

Mouse stares at the most recent photograph of Volkov: a pale, egg-shaped Slavic man with a comb-over, rheumy eyes, and an expensive suit. The man resembles what she has come to accept as the boilerplate likeness for most tin-pot dictators and corrupt power brokers.

[GM Nick]

Mouse organizes the dossiers cluttering her vision. Volkov shrinks and disappears along with the rest, sequestered to the depths of a virtual folder. She calls up the information on Anchor Bay, most of which is promotional except for a few worthy tidbits here and there.

She condenses the results and highlights the most useful information. Several reviews (posted by residents) can be found on housing sites, which provide enough personal information that she could probably obtain full names with a little legwork. A press release advertises that Anchor Bay has a law enforcement contract with Knight Errant. Another press release reveals that Anchor Bay hired a corporation named Igarashi Industries to implement security measures. The enclave appears to be the second best place to live, according to the CalFreeSpirit media brand. Then there are many minor references to Anchor Bay: mostly unanswered queries on message boards from ambitious salary-men hell-bent on faking it until they make it.

Likewise, Mouse gleans very little using the shadier search algorithms. It seems that even in the underbelly of the matrix, there is little interest in the sea-side utopia. The only post that does capture her attention is as cryptic as it is concerning:

Jackrollers, beware! AB is ///. KE enforces castle! Top-hats are not rubes. Guap elsewhere! Cuzzie tried and now he pushes poppies next to the 1-N. - Lefty

Mouse blinks, pondering the possibilities presented from these revelations.

[Molly]

With a flick of her hand, Mouse sends the bullet points of these findings to the rest of the team.

<< TLDR: Volkov- Pretty much the spooky warhawk you’d expect, and a prime example of that old adage that shit floats. But between his butt-buddies in the Japanocorps (who are currently bolstering the Saito regime) and ins with (former) Aztlan diplomats, he might have some strings to keep his ship unmolested, beyond just territorial ambiguity. >>

The security particulars on their target town, however, draw somewhat more scrutiny. It’s the kind of unwanted news that might ward a more reasonable runner off a collision course with certain danger, and toward safer waters. Unfortunately, Mouse clearly has her heart set on this half-baked plan for bringing chaos to the stuffy town, and is far too stubborn to let her better senses prevail:

<< Now, my ability to interpret Warchalk-for-Drekheads is a bit rusty, but Anchor Bay has tight security thanks to KE and Igarashi Industries, undoubtedly enforcing local ordinances banning dancing and Johnny Nuclear. Not exactly safe for the filthy casuals of the criminal world. Just means we’ll have to go in as legitimately as we can, lest we invite anything more than a redundancy check on our SINs. Still risky, but if we’re good enough to fool a black site’s elite guards, should be enough for contract security. >>

[GM Nick]

Anne-Marie slaps the wall next to the doorway. "Try and bring the Honda back in one piece, ne?" She gives a casual mock salute. "--and yourselves, of course." The aperture closes and the team is left alone to plot their next move.

[MattL]

If there is a sense of unease about the revelation about the Knights Errant or Igarashi Industries, Yung doesn’t show it, he seems to nod along as the message is transmitted across comms. In fact, a slight smile curls at the edge of his right lip upon receiving the news. "Whelp, better get ready eh? This ship isn’t gonna sail itself."

"Way it is, we’re gonna need to drop everyone either at or near some secluded cove or deserted coastline. Once we get Bertha through the gate and make ourselves at home, Wheel's here," He nods to Axel "can call her back remotely so we have a way back to the ranch after our voyage." Yung approaches the table placing both palms flat on the surface before scanning each member of the crew momentarily.

"Anyone got anything else to add before we kick the tires and light he fires?"

[Molly]

For once, Mick nods along with Yung, the beginnings of a renewed smile creeping around their tusks, "Lighting fires, huh? Sounds like a plan."

[GM Nick]

Achak observes the team's unconventional method of planning quietly. When the conversation abates, he directs his attention to Mouse. "A place such as this will be very selective with who they allow in. What is your strategy for deceiving customs? A good cover is crucial." There's no hint of condescension or disdain in his voice. He seems genuinely invested in the team's success.

[MattL]

Yung pounces on the opportunity to share his thoughts. "Well, I don’t think planning a visit to family is a good idea, if the community is as tight knit as it sounds, it has the potential to raise too many red flags." He cocks an eyebrow, as he casts a sidelong glance at Mouse.

"For this kind of operation, I think we best try to approach as true outsiders, but ones with means. Perhaps an engaged couple looking for a quiet place to honeymoon to escape the turmoil of FreeCal?" He can’t help but flash a wicked smirk. "I’m sure Mouse here loves that idea." He says, removing his glasses to roll his eyes.

He begins slowly circling the table again, hands holding his glasses behind his back, head bowed in contemplation. "Anyway, don’t trip over the details, yeah, think of it as a framework. We’re true outsiders, under what circumstances would one be inclined to let us into their haven?"

Money. Power. Fame. We can only really front one...

[Molly]

If Yung is fishing for some tsundere outburst, he doesn’t get one. "HOW COULD I NOT?" Mouse laces her fingers, her own lips twisting coyly as she seems to contemplate this 'proposal'. "THIS MAY BE YOUR ONLY CHANCE IN LIFE TO EXPERIENCE SUCH A CONNECTION. WHO AM I TO DENY YOU THAT?" She offers this up with a tilt of her head, her eyes now pert little half-moons behind her saccharine smile.

"BUT IN ESSENCE, HE’S RIGHT. THE TWO OF US NEED TO GO IN WITH ONLY WHAT WE NEED TO SUPPORT OUR STORY AND JACK THE BOAT. WE CAN DUMP THE REST OF OUR SUPPLIES…WHEREVER WE LEAVE YOU, I SUPPOSE."

Her gaze drifts to the side, as is her habit when her attention turns to research."WE CAN ALWAYS THROW IN A LITTLE EXTRA MONEY FOR BACKSTOPPING, IN CASE THEY SCRUTINIZE OUR STORY. A NIGHT’S DEPOSIT FOR AN UNUSED ROOM WILL MORE THAN PAY FOR ITSELF." Her brow furrows in acknowledged frustration. "...ON THAT NOTE, MAYBE TEX KNOWS A GOOD FORGER. I DON’T WANT OUR MISSION’S SUCCESS TO HINGE ON MY ABILITY TO CRACK A SIN SCANNER." So much for her share of the take…