Clusterfrag

Anon nods his consent as he tosses the dregs of his drink down. "I like Idea. One group goes in close, one group scouts from far. Different locations."

[ Scene Advance ]

Knocking back the last of his drink, Tianwe nods forcefully. "Yes. Some scouting would be good. See what kind of security they have in place. 'Weeners are not very smart as rule. I doubt it will be much."

[ Scene Advance ]

(( Little-Hawk Matrix Perception Test = 4 successes. ))

The tiny progress bar in the periphery of Little-Hawk's augmented reality HUD fills to maximum capacity and no malicious software detected flashes across his vision, superimposed over the writhing club-goers.

A putrid rain begins to assault the team as they exit the club and meander down the street, doing little to combat the sweltering heat generated by the urban sprawl. Even amid the prevalent neon signs, holographic billboards and car headlights, the group shift in and out of darkness as they pass towering spires of industry, impossibly cramped noodle joints and the odd stuffer-shack, filled with the dregs of the social pecking order.

At the corner of the second block, Scratch's warehouse comes into view. It's an old, dilapidated affair with a concrete base and rusted, corrugated siding. A simple chain-link fence surrounds the property, but has been abused in so many places that it may as well not exist at all. The halogen street-lamps here are all absent of any illumination; whether intentional or as a result of neglect it's not apparent.

No signs of life or vehicles are visible from the team's position on the corner, across the street from their destination.

Huddling miserably in the shadows, Little-Hawk turns his collar up and shrugs deeper into his coat despite the cloying nocturnal heat of the Seattle streets. You can't make plans in this world without all the gods above showing up to piss all over them, and you while they're at it. Ah, well. Par for the course.

Through the blurry sheen of god-piss and urban steam, Tianwe surveys the dilapidated building with a critical eye and shakes his head at what he sees. Scratch wanted this place in good shape? This drek-bucket is already completely fragged. Unless he's planning on building a two-star squatter hotel, he's gonna have to tear this fragging blight down anyway. Whatever. Leaving it in one piece means a payout, and it's been a long time since Tianwe needed one as badly as he does now.

"We need to get some out of building. Don't like idea of going in 2-on-1 inside. Need to take them few at a time." Tianwe thinks aloud as the gears turn in his mind. "If we could draw one or two out, get one of their commlinks, we could use to make distress call and send some of these 'Weeners on goose chase. Thin their ranks inside. I could just hack it, but not much good if guy who I hack is standing next to the others when I spoof call. Need him out of building."

Tianwe looks over the others present, sizing each of them up with a weighing gaze. "Any of you can play at being beetle head? Draw one of them away?"

"That could be a workable plan, but my play acting skills are somewhat lacking. I would like to get eyes inside the building though, and I can probably get up to a window without being noticed, especially if someone is distracting them with a BTL buy."

Aremys' eyes seems to whirl and hum softly as he scans the warehouse grounds.

(( Perception test to see if I can spot some windows that might give me a view of the main floor and the annex - and anything else interesting we might have missed at first glance. ))

Loki nods vaguely, his attention on the rickety, unlit warehouse down the block. Drops of rain wriggle down the back of his storm sodden mohawk to make their way behind his collar and down his neck to wet the clothing underneath. Despite the heat of the night, the sensation causes a brief, tingling shiver down his spine. No sign of that raven....drek I don't know if that's even a bad thing or not.

Wiping his nose upon a forearm, he glances briefly over at the First Nation ganger before turning to expel a hock of phlegm into the grime slicked street.

"Null sweat, omae. I think I can do that bit. How long will you need? And what if there's more than one goon that opens up, or they decide I'm not their type of customer after all....do we have an ah..," he says to the group "...contingency plan?"


(( Id like to roll Seattle Gang Knowledge for any information on how a BTL deal might go down. If applicable with Gang Knowledge or Squatter Hangouts, also any information on lookouts, traps, alarms that would be part of a typical illegal setup.))

Bradbury swipes his beanie off his head, his metahuman ears bouncing slightly as they are released from being squeezed against his skull. The ork runs a meaty mitt through his wavy black hair as he lowlight-eyes the warehouse from the street corner. All of his senses are alight, and the city smells rotten. There is a perceptible buzz of electricity in the nearby power lines, and the rush of traffic on a thruway in the distance grants the scene a sense of disconnection from the Seattle beyond it. This place-- this moment-- is some other place and moment's otherwhere-- a nightmare society that some wageslave in a highrise chooses to believe doesn't really exist. He can hear the din of the nickel brand noodle joints behind him down the street, and can imagine the gnats that might be flitting in and out of those street lamps' glow if the lamps were on. And if gnats hadn't all disappeared Seattle's toxic air.

"I don't think I'm your man trying to fake a beetle buy, but I can lurk in the shadows as backup," Bradbury suggests. "Faking a distress call might be a good way to divide their forces, and it seems like we're not gonna have enough time here to wait for them to divide themselves." The ork narrows his eyes and focuses upon the security cameras he can see mounted on the sides of the building, considering the buzz of electricity running over head, and suggests to the sorcerer to his right, "Don't suppose you could use your party trick to boost our chances of the beetle buy look legit, could you?"

(( Aremys Perception Test = 2 successes, glitch. ))

Aremys squints as the micro-actuators in his cyber-eyes attempt to compensate for the thin veil of acid rain between him and the warehouse. Blocky digital artifacts fill his vision as the software controlling his cybereyes temporarily glitches out. Despite the visual interference, he can make out a number of outdoor security cameras, located on the exterior walls of the warehouse.

(( Judgment call here, Gang Politics won't have anything to do with BTL's or drug sales, but rolling it nonetheless for the insight Loki can provide. ))

(( Loki Gang Politics Knowledge Test = 2 successes. ))

Loki knows that the typical Halloweener modus operandi is to shoot first, then shoot again, maybe shoot one more time and then ask questions. A chapter typically reports to a chapter leader, who reports to the divisional leader. Chapters are like gang franchises. Given the territorial nature of Halloweener's, it's a safe assumption that this chapter (which has pushed much farther into corpo territory than is wise) is particularly loyal.

(( Bradbury Perception Test = 3 successes. ))

A Roadmaster garbage truck rumbles past the runners, churning up a slurry of oily grime and toxic rain water. The miserable meta-humans clinging to the back of the vehicle are far too damp and tired to notice the motley assortment of malcontents huddled near the curb. Bradbury's gaze sweeps over the perimeter of the warehouse, pausing briefly to focus on each visible security camera. The faintest pin-prick of green light escapes the weather-proof lens over the surveillance devices, indicating they are operational.

Not waiting for a response from Anon, Bradbury grumbles, "Of course we aren't fraggin' lucky enough to have those cameras as dysfunctional as the street lamps..." Turning to the tribesman, the ork asks "Anything you can do about getting into those cameras?"

Anon nods distractedly at Bradbury's suggestion. "...Yeah, I can cook something up." He looks around the scene before him, trying to memorize every detail. "Might even be possible to making illusion of empty street right in front of camera lense."

Frowning, he switches his vision to astral, looking for any magical activity around the building.

Anon narrows his eyes and submits to the tingling rush that accompanies the switch to viewing the world of the astral. The grimy, neon-drenched landscape melts away into a vista of glittering golden wire-frames. The cleanliness of the life energy--even muted as it is here--is a relief so great that it threatens to steal his breath. He carefully examines the dull outline of the warehouse, resembling little more than a block of clay on the awakened plane, flanked by tiny lines of light. The warehouse and the lot are notably barren of any kind of magical energy or astral signatures. The elf allows his gaze to slip back into the physical plane and reality begins to trickle back into his vision, like a time lapse oil painting. A twinge of despondency assails Anon as he regards the world again at it's most basic--as it always does.

Anon stares at the building thoughtfully, "I am not seeing spirits or wards. At least not on outside. Inside... Who knows? I can't see without actually going there."

He turns to Loki. The strange shaman's aura still bothers him in a way that he can't quite put his finger on. "If you are going to be making ruse, I can help. Can make you more convincing," he says.

Anticipating following the punker toward the warehouse as backup, Bradbury tries to ascertain whether there may be any uncovered pathways toward the building that may fall outside the cameras' view.

(( GM Nick: No blind spots on the security cameras. ))

Annoyed by the lack of blindspots, the ork snarkily suggests, "Anybody got a cardboard box or potted plant I can hide under or behind to approach the warehouse with Loki?"

Anon scans his eyes over the cameras. "This is not problem. Which one of these pesky little eyes is giving you the most trouble for approaching?" He asks, waving his hand over the visible cameras.

Loki grins at the flustery orks' muttering, glad for another few moments to consider Anon's words. Somehow the thought of allowing a rogue elf to use magics on him only a few hours after they'd met made him wary. In fact, simply trusting at all that these four strangers would have his back if he hosed the con was going far beyond his normal comfort zone. Nothing about this fraggin' day is normal. Just get on with it. He turns from the corner to address the elf and freezes in his tracks. Just for a second, a rigid hypnosis washes over him, as though he is seeing or listening to something far away from the quiet street corner the posse occupies. Rubbing quickly at his forehead, he pretends to have been lost in thought.

"Well, they'll need to see me coming, as I'm supposedly up to nothing more nefarious than gettin' fixed up. Would be best to have Bradbury here follow a minute or so behind, if we can rig up some interference or a light trick that will let him pass. As for bumping my act...What did ya have in mind....Trid star pearlies? A pair of magic tits?" he smiles toothily, hoping to keep any touch of nerve out of his eyes.

Bradbury considers this, stuffing a sudden burst of confusion and anxiety deep down inside himself, and glances at Tianwe and Aremys to try to take their emotional temperature on the proceedings-- getting little in response. "It might be best if I sneak up first, set up in a position where I can quickly come to your aid, and then you follow on your regular approach. That way I'm already there if the drek hits the fan straight away for you." His own words sound through the bones of his skull, chasing back what seemed for a moment like some voice from his past-- images from some other life-- or something else altogether...

(( Seems like my last perception roll should be sufficient to tell me if there are any places near the door that will be blind to the cameras-- like right under one and around the corner from the door, maybe. And can we get a quick, simple map of what the building looks like with the cameras, doors, and windows? ))

A grin manages to surface to Anon's lips as he addresses Loki. "No, my friend, I had something much more, ah, comprehensive than that in mind. Also more subtle. Is great with ladies, and makes a person more convincing." He leans in conspiratorially, "also makes special abilities hurt less."

"But Bradbury is right. First we cover approach. Not easy keeping tricks running all the time."

Aremys shivers in the rain, his damp, soggy clothing clinging to his clammy flesh. One day he will find his way above it all, but for now, he is forced to endure the discomfort of this mortal coil. At least the steady rain cuts the light and visibility for the cameras.

"I'll go with Bradbury in case we need a hard response. Never know what's going to happen with these trigger happy drekbags."

Reaching under his coat, Aremys slowly pulls a wicked looking pistol into his gloved hand. It's dull metallic finish seems to absorb the weak light. He looks to Anon for the signal to move and waits, tension visible in his ready stance.

Bradbury nods to the decrepit man, not knowing what help such a shabby being could be, but hoping that he is here for a reason. The moment settles in on the ork heavily, casting him adrift in a wash of tension and anticipation. His mind is anxious; his muscles are calm, hungry.

Little-Hawk rubs his hands together briskly. So it begins. "Just try to lead him away from cameras. Want to do this quiet."

Peering through his AR feed at the array of icons in an around the building, Tian suppresses a flash of irritation at the slow, jerky rendering of the AROs. I need to get off this fragging grid. This will never do if we have to move fast. With a few softkey taps, he readies a packet of malicious code and lets it fly. A small rift appears next to his persona as he tries to force it wide enough to pass through.

(( Deck Config: A(4+1), S(3), D(1), F(3). Running: Decryption. ))

(( Brute Force: Grid Hop => Local Grid. Note: This shouldn't trigger OS if successful. SR5 p. 238 ))

(( Little Hawk - Brute Force (Grid Hop) Test = 2 successes. Grid Hop defense = 1 success. ))

The augmented overlay filling Little Hawk's vision jitters and then dissolves. New, higher resolution icons appear as his persona crosses to the local grid. The new and improved latency feels a bit like stepping out of a slow-motion trideo scene.

A flash of lightning briefly transforms the street into a heavily contrasted film noir sequence. The proceeding thunder clap reverberates off of the surfaces of the ferro-crete and plasti-glass jungle, overpowering the ambient noise of downtown like the feral snarl of a dying animal. The putrid, driving rain intensifies. Channels of murky effluvium swell and choke the pitifully undersized storm drains. The ooze spills over the curb and laps at the runner's boots--a toxic tide from a nefarious ocean.

Anon shakes a clump of floating debris free from his boot, and sneers. "Is time to get this done," he says.

He breathes in, and focuses on a most troublesome camera just around the corner from the main entrance to the building. Confident that there are no other cameras that cross its field of view, Anon begins to create an image in his mind. The image is exactly what the lot and street look like, with running sludge, driving rain, and the tumbling migratory refuse that populates every run down corner of the city. The image is complete in his mind, and he reaches a hand out and points to the camera. "Is Showtime," he says. The effect is rather unspectacular from where the runners stand. But if one were to look closely at the targeted camera, they might be able to spot a glowing disc appear just in front of the lens, completely covering its view. This disc shows... nothing spectacular. In fact, it shows exactly what the camera is looking at, but with one important thing missing: the shadowrunners. Anon focuses his attention on the scene around him while he maintains the illusion.

(( Trid Phantasm F3, Sustain it ))

(( Anon, TriD Phantasm (3) Spellcasting Test = 4 successes. ))
(( Anon, Resist Drain Test = 4 successes, 0S damage. ))

There's a slight disturbance in the fabric of reality as Anon weaves astral energies, bending them to his whim.

Bradbury's keen eyes pierce through the chemical rain and spot the disc of light glowing in front of the camera lens. His body takes over, moving his carriage adeptly through the wreckage and rubble in the yard, weaving through the barely-there fence and sticking to the shadows. The ork can see where the blind spot to the security system now stands, and threads through the inlet toward the building with grace and speed, moving more silently than his work-booted feet would suggest would be possible. Stacked against the building are various assortments of discarded pallets, packing crates, shipping drums, and a wretchedly stinky open dumpster which holds several inches of rain water with its collection of food waste and other discarded remnants. Aiming for a depthlessly oily spill of shadow cast by a haphazard pile of rotting, soggy wood pallets, Bradbury makes his way into position by the main door which Loki will be approaching, making sure to stay out of the camera's view of the door for when Anon's dazzlement is surrendered and the feed once again goes live inside the facility.

(( Bradbury, Sneaking Skill Test = 3 successes. ))
(( Aremys, Sneaking Skill Test = 2 successes. ))

Bradbury melts through the shadows and stops just underneath the security camera, followed closely by Aremys.

Aremys crouches down as he shuffles hurriedly after Bradbury. His legs scream in protest at the awkward and unusual position they are forced into, although Aremys doesn't allow the pain to show on his face. Hoping the rain covers his approach, he catches up to Bradbury along the warehouse wall, eyes flickering from camera to camera, trying to see if any appear to be following their movement.

"Watch the door for our friend's approach, I'm going to see if I can peek in a window.", he whispers hoarsely, before making his way slowly along the side of the building away from the doorway looking for a place to get eyes on the inside.

Satisfied that his teammates are out of view of the security cameras, Anon relaxes his hold on the spell, the threads of magic fading and slipping from his fingers. He turns to Loki. "You're up, chummer," he says. "This may be feeling a bit strange."

He refocuses his magic as his thoughts form around a new silent incantation.

(( Cast Increase Attribute (CHA) on Loki, f5, and sustain it for now ))

A warm euphoria bubbles at the base of Loki's spine and moves upward. He suddenly feels more talkative and very outgoing. It's a similar sensation to being extremely drunk, but without the unpleasant ataxia.

Some people live an anxious life, wondering always how they measure up. Constant worries over how other people perceive them, and how their actions might affect those judgments, plague their subconscious and sabotages their self confidence. Deep down they have a great, fundamental insecurity, never fully trusting in others sincerity, doubting who their true friends may really be, or if they even exist.

Right now, Loki is not one of those people. He inhales deeply, nearly tasting the affable confidence that radiates from his person like expensive cologne. The elf's magic takes hold of him like a double dose of novacoke. He knows he's extremely, intoxicatingly likable.

"Well hot damn! How ya like me, now?" he booms sanguinely. Raking his hand along his scalp, he agitates his hair into an untidy array of feathery madness. Grimey, whose own severely wetted fur sticks up pitifully in random spikey patches across his body, pauses to examine him airily before disappearing into the cave-like depths of a toppled trash barrel to continue his excavations of ancient noodle house take-aways.

Looking to Anon, he winks appreciatively and nods to himself. "I guess it's go-time..."

He then pops his jacket collar up, hunching down into it and adopting a rather wiry, frenetic looking posture before jandering into the street in the direction of the warehouse.

Shifting his attention briefly to the real world from the constellation of AROs surrounding the warehouse, Tianwe raises an eyebrow at the sight of Loki strutting confidently toward the front door. Man, that chummer really cleans up. Maybe he misjudged the guy slightly.

Returning his focus to the matter at hand, Little-Hawk re-calibrates the processing power allocated to each his deck's cores, and begins scanning the AROs in the vicinity of the building, attempting to find any cameras or other security devices on its interior.

(( Deck Config: A(3), S(1), D(4), F(3). Running: Signal Scrub. ))

Bradbury frowns at the decrepit human as he slinks down the side of the building, wondering how he intends to provide support for everything turning to drek if he isn't immediately present at the scene. But he can't worry about that now. Approaching through the night is the punker-- now strangely magnetic even from afar and through the grimy darkness of the world at his feet. Watching him approach, Bradbury can't help but get the sense that everything will be alright-- that whatever it is exactly that is about to go down might just work after all.

The ork crouches further down into the slick of darkness into which he's settled, making sure his longshoreman's beanie is secure despite being soaked atop his head. The chemical rain is falling from disdainfully from the baleful Seattle sky, dispossessed by its gloom with a callous disregard for all that might stand in the way like bullets from an AK-97. The drops fall heavily and slap at the warehouse yard, causing a clamorous symphony of pings and thuds as they collide with the various obstacles that get in their way as they seek a greater and greater extremity of down. On a long enough timeline, all that might stand in the way of this rain will disappear in its blanketing erosive power, ravening in its drive to swallow and erase all the might be erected to stand against it. On a long enough timeline, the entire world will have its face rearranged over and over again by this rain-- at first washed away and later scrubbed from even the memories of any who might have seen it at all. On a long enough timeline, nothing survives the rain.

Bradbury waits and doesn't know if he wishes he were anyplace else.