Flickr settled the strap of his duffle bag across his shoulder, eased his pistol in the holster tucked into the small of his back, and synced the time on his wristwatch.. "3, 2,1, Time. 10:40. Time to meet Seattle." He glanced over the cargo container, even though he knew he had forgotten nothing and left no trace, but the splash grenade filled with C-Squared would wipe any bio-signs he left, and the astral signature would be shot in a few hours. No trace.
Stepping into the sun, he gave himself a breath to let his eyes adjust, and looked over the port. It was horrible. A wretched mass of dirty concrete and rusting steel, with an air of smog and desolation so thick it clung to his skin. He walked straight through the stacks, the red and blue worn steel walls towering to either side, looming like testaments to the conquering titans of industry that ruled this world. The few people he saw, at a distance, were weary, trudging along the worn out paths they've been walking for years. Even the supervisors only halfheartedly flogged their men to temporarily bolster their half-hearted mediocrity. To an elf connected so deeply to the natural world, it was somewhat disturbing, in an offhand way. The wasted potential of the sea and the workers was like seeing a beautiful painting covered by an old sheet in an attic and forgotten. He waited while a truck rumbled through the gate, ducking through before it closed and walked down the road.
In the city proper, he continued to feel the slow pulse of the workers walking the familiar routes to the daily grind. It wasn't new to him that this was the way of the world, that the corporations drained the will from their workers and beat them into little more then livestock, but this corp-run life wasn't permitted in Tir Na Nog. It strengthened his respect and love for his nation. No wonder they fought the megas off.
The trip was filled with sights of AR ads flitting over his contacts, trying to convince him how badly he needed make up and surgery, or how Soy-A-Mari is the best calamari substitute available in the world at only 4 nuyen a box. He eventually switched the 'link to ignore, with some difficulty, and simply kept his eyes flitting from person to person. He saw more then one person eying him, but he soon realized it was because he was an elf. He was only two stops from getting out of the subway, and he'd only seen 4 others - a group of gangers dicing and smoking. Plenty of Orks and dwarves, but so few of the fair folk. Another detail to curl his lip. The city was everything he'd been promised, indeed.
He made it to the address, and paused at the door. Seamus hadn't let him down, but this is the best spot to clean him up, if they decided to. A bomb linked to the door, and that's the end of him as a problem, with nobody ever knowing. He sighed, realizing that if that should be the case, he had offered his life before, and that conviction stayed with him. He opened the door and walked in. There was a dossier on the desk next to his main 'link, and a locked trunk in the den, which the other key on his ring opened to reveal his body armour, his rifle, and the other myriad possessions he needed to make a living with his skills. Standing over the desk, flipped over the first page in the dossier, and his mind snapped to such a razor focus he almost lost his spell. It was him. Kreutz. Seamus had been busy, and dug up a huge amount of technical data on the vampire's activities. CRISPR genetic recoding, turning these orks into what? Better thralls? Designing his own private army? Whatever it is, his story ends a tragedy. At the bottom of file, there was a small profile on someone named "Nevermore" who could help him get started. There were plenty of risks, particularly in making contact with strangers in the underground of a foreign nation, but he was the best. If nothing else, he sure as hell wouldn't be killed. He kept murmuring to himself softly, almost missing the light chime of his 'link.
<<@Flickr [Mercer] Place called Kadie's. Little bit of country, whole lotta mosh pit. Say, 6?>>
<<Attachment: POI>>
<<@Mercer [Flickr] Done. I'll find you.>>
After that, he went over his gear, oiling the weapons, loading his spare magazines, and setting up his guns around the apartment. They'd probably be missed by a cursory search, but any professionals would get it all. He would need a bolt hole soon. He spent a good two hours fine tuning the armour from storage, getting it ready to be donned in a hurry, and syncing all the systems up with his contacts. It was definitely comforting to know he could see the majority of the open concept place at the touch of a button.
By 3, he was ready to go. As a meticulously careful operator, he planned on getting there quite early to scope the building. He grabbed a satchel that matched his earthy green coat, and took his natural gesture of calm, turning his mind's eye to the Aether, and raising a hand slowly,palm upraised, as if lifting something flat up to his shoulder. As his hand raised, so do did a flaming hound, wreathed in smoke, unfold from the ground. Flickr simply made a dismissive gesture, and the spirit disappeared into the astral. He commanded the being to follow him with some courtesy, but the firm confidence of the man in complete control. With that done, he tucked a few reagents into his satchel, eased the pistol in his holster, and left.
The trip was much the same. The nondescript mass of steel and concrete, crudely plastered with graffiti and the cheap advertisements of indiscriminate AR. He soon found his own eyes glazing a little as his cab drove through the streets. It became more and more obvious why the people here were so... lifeless. The overstimulation of the meaningless colours and constant bombardment of cliched marketing numbed even his sharply tuned mind. The road simply slipped by, and before he knew it he was pulling up to the apartment building two blocks away. He paid using his transit pass, linked to the new identity. He got out, and began a brisk, spiralling walk around the club. There were no traps he could see, physically or astrally, and security was light. The big troll out front seemed professional, patting everyone down with practiced ease, and there were a surprising number of awakened energies inside, but nothing anywhere close to powerful enough to worry him. Pulling his holster and pistol, he tucked them into his satchel and let out a whistle through the mana flowing around them, calling his spirit. "Take this, and be ready to bring it to me immediately if I call. You are to be prepared to support me if things go south, but if not you'll be free when I leave the area. Wait on the roof."
Having no weapons, he cleared security without a problem, and upon entry was immediately turned to by the attractive woman behind the bar. "Welcome to you indeed, handsome. Vino to warm you up, honey?" He smiled, but it never touched his piercing eyes, and nodded, surprised that he was seen to so quickly. She grabbed a bottle of cheap facsimile of a Tir cabernet merlot, and poured it right in front of him. He had his stick ready to pay, but she smiled, said "This one's on the house, honey" and gave him a lascivious wink. He stammered out a thank you, quite taken aback. Back home, he was on the lower scale of attractiveness, being considered rather average for an elf, though the hard edge he had was quite uncommon, and considered attractive to those with a taste for the dangerous types. Here, however, the mere fact that his ears were pointed put him in the upper end of the field. It was off-putting, to suddenly face so much attention. As he considered this, a rather pretty young brunette wearing far too little, no matter how strategically placed, sashayed over to set herself on his lap. "Hey there pretty boy, how about some company to loosen you up?"
The blood rushed to his face. Sexuality was very open and uninhibited in Tir, with women and men both being forward and unashamed of sating whatever appetites overtook them. The difference was, of course, that money never came into it. The concept of paying to have someone pretend to want you was abhorrent, a true crime against his morality. He stood up, brushing her off with his hands upraised but held back to avoid contact. "N-no, no thank you. I'd just like a moment, please." He snatched up his wine and fled to a side table, with clear lines of sight to everyone else and the doors, and began mentally cataloging. Three exits, one would become untenable if the troll enters, one was clearly illegally locked, but his spirit could easily have it open in a flash if he needed it, and the clouded, draped windows. He could easily get high enough to make it out there if he needed to.
The patrons were clearly those who could handle themselves. Ex-military and tough guys. They were here to blow off some steam, but nobody was going to be able to focus if trouble stirred - those types always jumped in, even for fun. A few were regulars, the easy back and forth with the staff gave that away, and they presented some added free security. Overall, an awful place for an ambush, but a hard place for anyone on the bad side of the house to get out of. Having scoped it all out tactically, he began to absorb more of the vibe of the place. The women were... Aggressively sexual. There were plenty of nude dancers and artists in Tir, and it wasn't that part of it that was so... distasteful. It was the way they cheapened it. The human form is beautiful, the lithe grace and poetic ballet of bodies gliding through the air, twisting and swaying in time with the rhythm of the music and the beating of their heart, and he appreciated the art of it more than most. This though, this wasn't art. This was a blatant attempt to sell sexuality. It was cheap, and used up, and brought no beauty. It was lust, and lust alone, and Flickr fought to keep the grimace from touching his face.
A little later, two potentials entered, matching the description of this Mercer and Achak duo, but waited. They clearly had business of their own besides, him, after all, they got here more then an hour early. So, Flickr watched under the brim of his hat, as Achak made an exchange with the nicest dancer in the place, which seemingly went well. She got up to perform, and even Flickr was impressed. She was the closest to artistic, and even wove magic into her routine. He saw through this immediately, of course, his intense counter-magical training being more than a match for basic manipulations, but the subtlety she used was perfect for a performance, insidious enough to leave impressions long after she stopped, without alienating her fans by prying into their minds. She really was quite good. The thought brought a sigh to his mouth, as with some proper training and a shift in perspective, she could even compete with the proper dancers of home.
After watching for the first few songs, and noting the two men he was meeting were paying more attention to the dancer and the door, he watched the time tick to 17:59, and strode over, coming to a stop with one hand resting lightly on the table's edge, ready to upset it and cause a distraction should they try anything. "Evening, gentlemen. I believe we have an appointment."
