Run #1: Big Trouble In Little Chinatown
Posted: Wed Nov 16, 2011 2:30 pm
The Golden Dragon. You groaned when your fixer said that's where you'd be meeting the Johnson. It's a notorious Triad front in a bad part of Chinatown. There's only one thing stronger than your sense of mortality and that's the cold, hard fact that you're in dire need of some nuyen.
You dragged your ass through the crowded, steamy streets where the only thing that overpowers the smell is the glaring neon glow. You pretended not to notice the ubiquitous Triad enforcers watching you from alleyways and balconies. You can imagine what they're thinking: What's this laowai doing in Chinatown?
That same question bounces around inside of your head as you push the doors open to The Dragon's lacquer and gold lobby. Heavily 'wared out Triads watch with frozen expressions as you walk across the faded carpet. You know that one wrong move would instigate a hail of bullets worthy of a UCAS military armory.
The receptionist takes one look at you and beckons you to follow her. You're expected. The restaurant looks to have been cleared out for your meeting. Even the Triads have false appearances to keep up; ironic that a family restaurant facilitates this sort of underhanded business.
You're led into a back room where a table is set with tea and appetizers. The hostess beckons you to sit and leaves, seemingly glad to have unburdened herself of your presence.
Before you have time to sit, an unremarkable Chinese man emerges from a doorway. The black suit and mirror-shades are a dead giveaway: This guy is your Johnson.
"Gentlemen. Please, sit. We have much to discuss."
You dragged your ass through the crowded, steamy streets where the only thing that overpowers the smell is the glaring neon glow. You pretended not to notice the ubiquitous Triad enforcers watching you from alleyways and balconies. You can imagine what they're thinking: What's this laowai doing in Chinatown?
That same question bounces around inside of your head as you push the doors open to The Dragon's lacquer and gold lobby. Heavily 'wared out Triads watch with frozen expressions as you walk across the faded carpet. You know that one wrong move would instigate a hail of bullets worthy of a UCAS military armory.
The receptionist takes one look at you and beckons you to follow her. You're expected. The restaurant looks to have been cleared out for your meeting. Even the Triads have false appearances to keep up; ironic that a family restaurant facilitates this sort of underhanded business.
You're led into a back room where a table is set with tea and appetizers. The hostess beckons you to sit and leaves, seemingly glad to have unburdened herself of your presence.
Before you have time to sit, an unremarkable Chinese man emerges from a doorway. The black suit and mirror-shades are a dead giveaway: This guy is your Johnson.
"Gentlemen. Please, sit. We have much to discuss."