[cr4kp0t]

From Russia with Love!
OOC thread

Cast:
Lumen - Street Sam - Lynx
Csjarrat - Free running Adept/Hacker. - Flea
Scawire - Mage -

Synopsis:
The Vory run this town and the Police are in their pocket. The idea of honest law is long gone in this town. The only people the Vory haven’t bought off is the KGB but it doesn’t matter who finds you and catches you they are all brutal and tough your only hope of survival is to not get caught.

The corps have a strong presence in this thriving metropolis but by far the biggest presence is from Evo, controlling a major arcology in the heart of the city nearly everything runs into or out of there somehow. They are not the only big player out there though Saeder Krupp has a strong influence in the city and to a lesser degree so does MCT.

It is bitterly cold winter in Moscow the work had been scarce over the last few months with little more than millruns to tide things over but now a new player has arrived in town and suddenly the shadows have come alive! Is there work out there for you…?

[cr4kp0t]

It was late in the evening when the message came through to your comm; a rather nondescript promise of work, the meeting point was a bar in a run down beat up neighborhood on the edge on the city.


[Message protocol 1a initiated]
>>> incoming message >>>
>
>Hello,
>
>An associate of mine for whom you have worked recently provided me with your details.
>I have a job that I believe is well suited to your groups capabilities.
>
>If your interest I have arranged for a room to be available in a local tavern.
>Privacy is assured.
>
>Tell the barman that “‘The count’ is expecting me” he will take it from there.
>
>If your interested then be there by 9pm tonight!
>
> <datafile – chernyy medved' (The Black Bear)>
>
>>> message terminated >>>

[Csjarrat]

Flea shut the ancient window as tight as she could against the bitter siberian wind buffeting the northern aspect of her apartment block.
The tired soyprocessor glugged and whirred noisily as it prepared her ramen noodles. Flea took to the window frames with duct-tape, desperately trying to keep the arctic breeze out of the small 3rd floor apartment.
It wasn't much, but it had served as home for the past year. And what a year it had been, first Dad had died, then she'd been fired, then she'd ended up a runner, a courier and occasional data-miner no less.
Moscow's winters were always harsh and she was getting pretty tired of it, once she'd earned enough dough, she'd get on a plane and head back to Okinawa.
Her commlink vibrated harshly against the cheap HDF furniture of the living-diner area with the incoming message.
"Agent, play message on home node speakers"
Flea took a seat next to the soyprocessor and vigorously attacked her noodles with the chopsticks as the message played over the audio system.
"Agent, send reply; See you there, do we need to arrive fully equipped?"

[sothach]

Corkscrew leaned back in his armchair by the window as he heard a fresh rush of cold wind assault his house. The insulation and heating made sure that the elements were kept well at bay, but he shivered nonetheless. During days like this, he did not envy those who did not have the luxury of a heating system, or even four walls in some cases. Many of his friends and colleagues fell amongst this number, and while Cork considered Shadowrunning to be one of the more respectable professions out there, he had to admit that so few of them knew how to take pleasure in the simpler comforts in life.

Speaking of comforts, Cork thought to himself, glancing out of the window at the house opposite his. On the roof sat a repairman who was fiddling with a broken solar panel. His hands must have gone numb from the cold, because he had been up there in the dark for a long time. The lack of power in this private estate meant that drones were only used in exceptional circumstances, and this particular gated community prided itself on the strictly metahuman touch it provided.

Cork was about to draw his curtains and find something to read when the unpleasant sound of his commlink stopped him in his tracks. He had gone to great lengths to choose the softest, least abrasive alert sound possible, but no matter what he tried the sound always turned his stomach upside down.

"If this is someone trying to order a pizza again..." Corkscrew muttered to himself before checking the message.

'The Count'. He smiled to himself. He hoped it wasn't a vampire, too many people were out for his blood already.

[Lumen]

Lynx wearily taps the flashing icon indicating an incoming message.  He gives the message a quick read through and looks around at his crummy apartment.  Empty soyfood containers littered the run down old room taking up more space than his meager possessions.  An old worn recliner sat mere inches from a leaky and rusted radiator that could barely even take the edge off the frigid temperatures.  A few feet away a fold out canvas cot sits piled with blankets.  Ever since his "retirement" the nuyen have been few and far between and this shitty little hole in the wall was all he could afford.

*Perhaps it is time to put my skills to use once again.  The truck will need a tune up soon and I must get a new heater for the cabin.  A soldier should not have to sink to such depths to make a living but at least the bar will be warm.*

The tall bearded man wraps his jacket tightly around him ventures out into the cold.  He heads down to his old beat up Gopher, it had seen better days but Mikhail did his best to keep it in working order.  The fender was bent and crumpled in several places and the bed was almost constantly filled with snow but it had good tires and the heat worked.  Lynx climbs up into the cab and cranks her up turning the heat to full blast.

[spoiler]
Current Loadout:
Armor Jacket             
   +Insulation 2
   +Concealable Holster
   +Concealable Holster
Form-Fitting Half-Body Suit
SecureTech Shin Guards
Comlink
Biomonitor
Earbuds Rating 2
   +Audio Enhancement Rating 3
   +Spatial Recognizer
Fake SIN (Vladimir Vitsin) Rating 4
   +Fake License (Wired Reflexes) Rating 4
   +Fake License (Ares Predator IV) Rating 4
Medkit Rating 6
2 Ares Predator IV (In concealable holsters inside jacket)
1 Spare Clip - Regular Ammo
1 Spare Clip - SnS Ammo
[/spoiler]

[cr4kp0t]

@ Csjarrat

Your comm is quick to reply to your query with its faithful chirp.

[Message protocol 1.1b initiated]
>> message failed to deliver unable to locate PAN
>
>>  <failed message report>
[Message protocol terminated]

The delivery report indicates that the comm just does't seem to exist and can't be connect to.

[Vandarl]

The winter wind whistled outside the windows, but for now Raróg was content. He had spent the last day watching the news, checking financial reports and listening to the music of a old German band, We Butter Oor Bread With Butter, while drinking tea. It had been a good day to be inside and recharge.

When the commlink signaled an incoming message he groaned and checked it, just knowing it was going to take him away from his relatively comfortable day and out into the cold. He read the message and then shrugged. Business is business. Better to make money now than have none. Gathering his coat and a few essentials he prepared for a night out. Activating his commlink he brought up the agent..."Mycroft, do a search on the address given in the last incoming message. Any news articles in the last six months, owner of record and security rating of the surrounding one kilometer radius."

With the search started he stepped out into the wind, shivering and quickly headed to the GAZ and started on his merry way, humming one of the songs from earlyer in the night.

[Csjarrat]

Chikuso, must have used a one-time code
Flea finishes the noodles and kills some time online before suiting up and heading out into the frigid cold air
[spoiler]
Worn:
-Form fit armour
-Colour changing clothing
-Insulated Jacket

Gear:
Commlink broadcasting fake sin (4)
Ceramic knife in inside jacket pocket
TMP in concealable holster (inside jacket)
Gecko gloves
Heaphones
Monocle (headband)
Contact lenses

[/spoiler]

[sothach]

Corkscrew smiled at the security guard from behind the wheel of his car as the gate before him opened. He pulled out onto the road and started heading for the meet.

[spoiler]Worn

Warm Clothing (coat, scarf, boots etc.)

Gear

Defiance EX Shocker (coat pocket)
Camouflage Suit (in the car trunk)
Fake Driver's License (4)
Fake Spellcasting License (4)
Commlink with fake SIN (4)
Contact Lenses
Manipulation Focus (tiny rotatable circular mirror on a chain around neck.)
Health Sustaining Focus (red ribbon tied around left wrist.)
Biomonitor (in car trunk)
Medkit (in car trunk)
Gas Mask (in car trunk)

[cr4kp0t]

As you enter the district where the tavern is located you notice an immediate change; the relatively quite neighborhood and suburbs are now dominated my gang signs and the drug trade, with every corner and alley doing a trade. The buildings are all ageing concrete prefab apartment blocks most windows are shattered. There are homeless people littering the streets and gangs of kids roaming around. You see a pub in passing with a bike gang pulled up harassing everyone entering and leaving. the whole area reeks with the acrid smell of the uncollected refuse. To say this area was rough was an understatement!

Surprisingly as you arrive at your destination the tavern seems in a very god condition compared to the surround area a welcome change form dilapidated concrete tower blocks covered in gang signs is this pristine brick tavern with ivy growing up the exterior. The flicker of light in the leaded window betrays the warmth of the fire raging in the hearth.

Outside the entrance to the bar are two well impeccably dressed trolls acting as security for tonight and a few people huddled together smoking together arguing about something.

[sothach]

Corkscrew looked around the street and didn't see anyone he recognised, nor did he see anyone who looked like a runner. He contemplated waiting outside for someone to show up as he didn't particularly like the idea of being alone and potentially engaged in conversation by a stranger. He didn't like the look of the security trolls; Cork knew how fickle and unfair a man who's paid very little money to stand in the cold and deal with drunks could be. However, that very same cold made waiting outside a very unappealing prospect. Besides, the rest of my team might be in there already.

With a confident stride, Corkscrew moved towards the tavern. He nodded at the security and attempted to move past them to get inside.

[Lumen]

Lynx can't help but hang and shake his head at the atrocious sight of this poor district.  *I do not live much better but at least He pulls his thick woolie down further subconsciously making sure his pointed ears are well masked, last thing he needs is some trouble on the way to a meet.  He keeps the ol' Gopher at the speed limit and carefully obeys traffic laws.

The slightest smile parts his thick facial hair at the sight of a teammate already heading towards the door.  Lynx pulls in and parks on the side of the building and strolls on up to meet Corkscrew with a solid pat on the shoulder and a big smile, "Good evening friend."  He then turns his mechanical gaze to the trolls, "Gentlemen please excuse us.  We have friends awaiting us inside."

[spoiler]
An OOC note: Unless otherwise specified Lynx speaks in Russian.
[/spoiler]

[sothach]

Cork let out a breath of relief at Lynx's approach. He figured the doormen were less likely to try to pull anything funny the more people they were dealing with, which meant Cork didn't have to worry as much about causing an incident and getting on the wrong side of the wrong people. He shot Lynx a silent glance of appreciation before turning back to the security trolls, waiting for a response.

[Vandarl]

As he gets closer to the bar, Raróg makes note of the changes. Watches the corners and the hustle, marking out who is where and the flow of traffic, both foot and vehicular. as the surroundings roughen he thinks to himself, Good the security goes down, less trouble from the powers that be, more cove. On the other hand, the locals think they own it all. On the gripping hand, it is always a gamble even to breath.

As he pulls up to the bar he chooses to park in plain sight of the two trolls. Leaving the truck and walking towards the trolls there is a thin tusky smile on his face despite the cold. "I am meeting with a friend inside. I hope it is allowed to park here, and that you will keep an eye on my ride. Can you do that for me? Visible between thumb and finger is a plain credstick as he asks his question.

[cr4kp0t]

The troll security move aside and open the door for you as you arrive responding to all forms of communication with nothing more than a grunt and lazy stare. As you enter the Tavern the difference between this place and the neighborhood becomes even more acute. The warmth hits you as soon as you walk through the door thawing you out even the most crippling chill near instantly. The decor is very upmarket with worn leather wing-back chairs surrounding the hearth, each one was probably worth more than an apartment across the street. the bar is a solid piece of mahogany and there are barrels of some form of drink stacked behind the bar.

There are a few patrons inside with drinks slumped around their tables mumbling to them selves. the barman is stood behind leaning against the wall cleaning a tankard with a rag. He is grizzled venerable ork with dark leathery skin and a large jagged tusks and a large burn scar across the left side of face leading you to his blind clouded over eye. He is wearing a waistcoats and a loose fitting cotton shirt, with a tweed jacket hung up on the bar behind him.