[Bewilderbeast]

You all receive a message on your respective commlinks; your good friend Piatek has work for you again. He asks you to meet him at the Smoking Mug,  a turkish coffee bar and hookah den in Touristville. Perpetually filled with the rich scents of coffee, smoke of various kinds, and baked goods, the Smoking Mug's spacious basement is sometimes used as a dead drop in smuggling routes for more "fragrant" cargo... bulk shipments of deepweed, hazardous and notoriously smelly psyche and cram precursor chemicals, or generally anything one wants to hide from KE chem sniffers. On one memorable occasion, a shipment of stolen organic durians was ditched by its buyer and left to rot in the basement for a week. Beneath the constant smog of incense and pipe smoke, you swear you can still detect that rotten onion undercurrent.

The Smoking Mug is one of Piatek's favorite haunts, partly due to its subtle shadow connections keeping the tourists out, but mostly due to the fact that it's one of the few places that serves kvass. Or maybe it serves kvass because it's one of Piatek's favorite haunts... it's sort of a chicken and the egg situation. Either way, there's Piatek at this favorite (private) table, sitting on a mound of pillows and hefting a huge glass of kvass. Seated next to him is a pale and scrawny human in his mid twenties who you've never met before. "Ah, my boys!" Piatek exclaims, gesturing you over as you filter in, one at a time (Sylvia is greeted in a similar manner, though with more gender-appropriate terms of endearment). Piatek was an aged-looking dwarf, with graying hairs around his temples, a sizable potbelly, and wrinkled features. He tended to keep up the lovable goofy uncle act in public, and only pulled the merchant of death thing for private engagements. The transition was a pretty terrifying spectacle to witness.

After the team gets settled in, Piatek slides a golden-ring hand under the table and presses the button on the white noise generator he had management install there for his use. "Thanks for meeting me, kids," he says, folding his fingers across his stomach and leaning back on a pillow. "I know jobs have been a bit scarce, but things are picking up steam again. This young man to my left," he said, gesturing to the anemic-looking guy, "is in need of your particular services. I tried to negotiate on your behalf, but he insisted on meeting all of us in person. Mr. Johnson?" He prompted, yielding the floor.

The pallid human spoke up. He was wearing a nice suit, though it clearly wasn't tailored to him. The more observant among you could detect traces of eyeliner he'd failed to clean up, and he wore a cheap plastic skull-shaped earring on his left ear. Visually he gave the impression of somebody who was trying to look professional and wasn't quite cutting it, but he spoke with confidence and precision. "Your target's a trog," he sad bluntly, unfurling some papers and laying them out on the table. "A trog that fancies himself a decker," he continued, laying out a glossy printed picture: the mugshot of a Hispanic troll with a pencil mustache and asymmetrical, crooked horns. He was well-built for a troll, clearly a body builder, but thankfully not one of those towering meat-mountain, freak-of-nature types they sometimes grow out in the Barrens. The measuring wall visible behind the mugshot placed this particular troll at about eight feet even, just a bit south of average for his metatype.

"He's the leader of a trog gang who call themselves the Red Wormz," the young man continued, laying out another picture, this time of a wall covered in graffiti. A tag of a bulbous crimson worm, bent into a vague Z shape, is prominent. "They're burglars, script kiddie-level hackers, and they used to run a few protection rackets out in Redmond. My associates and I tolerated them for a time, but when the head honcho here started selling out their Matrix services to our rivals?" The young man smirked and shook his head with the sort of condescension one normally reserves for un-housebroken puppies. "That crossed a line."

The Johnson laid out this third and final glossy photo; this one a grainy and black and white image clearly taken from a very small or very cheap camera. The image has terrible resolution, but it appears to be an aerial picture of a two-story building. The lower story has been partially bombed out. The southern and eastern exterior walls of the ground floor are missing entirely, leaving behind a field of plasticrete rubble. Squatters hadclearly moved into the ruins, and blurry metahuman forms are visible milling about the rubble field, apparently sheltering in the shade of the mostly-intact second story still teetering above. "He's a small-time crook who bit off more than he can chew. The Red Wormz are done for, but he's holed up here in this old department store in Redmond with a few loyalists and a lot of chipheads and squatters. He's dug in there like a tick, but one doomed trog and his cronies should be nothing for the likes of you, if the word on the street is to be believed. Job pays eighty five hundred nuyen to each of you."

[Irn0rchid]

Hawkeye was in her shop turning out hand made rounds for her sniper rifle when the call from Piatek came in. "Good, a new job, it's been a little while since I've been able to bring in some money on the side." Reaching a stopping point, she puts away her tools and washes the chemicals off her hands. Heading back to her bedroom, she dresses in her "normal" work clothes: an armored jacket and a long coat. Debating her weaponry choices, she finally decides to just bring one of her Crusaders loaded with her extra damage gel rounds. "No need to bring trouble on myself should I get hassled in transit. Plus, Piatek has a good rep." Once properly attired, her last step is to put in her special contacts before locking up her house and straddling her bike. Gunning the Growler she can't help but smile as she feel the vibrations but hears nothing. She's been told the bike is almost unpleasantly loud, but it has no effect on her, obviously. Racing down the road towards the meet she enjoys the flow of air through her hair and the sensation of the wind across her face.

Arriving at the location and parking her bike, she looks around for the vehicles of any of her partners but doesn't see them. Moving through the front door, Hawkeye steps into the hookah parlor and gives it a cursory once over, not particularly worried about it as Piatek keeps his meets pretty kosher. Seeing that he's already ensconced at his private table, she starts to head that way. The extra person seated at the table is a surprise, however, and she studies him as she approaches the table. Selecting a seat with a good view of both Piatek and his guest, she nods slightly at the greeting and settles in to wait silently for the rest of the team.

While they wait, she notices a particular tattoo on the wrist of the Johnson, a human brain, all neon pink and gooey Halloween green. Puzzled by the contrasts presented by him, she messages the rest of the team with an image of the tattoo, <<Johnson's wrist.>>

After the Johnson finishes his pitch, she glances around at the other members of the team and then gives a slight shrug.

[Herr Brackhaus]

The smog was as dense as ever in the Puyallup barrens, and while it made breathing a little rough it helped conceal his form as Fenris silently made his way through the ruins of old warehouses and factories. The hunt had been ongoing for over half an hour when he felt his commlink buzz, and after reading the message he let out a howl of frustration. "You win this time" he whispered through gritted teeth and watched as the raccoon he'd been stalking scurried away and disappeared into the shadows of the urban wasteland. He turned on his heel and jogged back to where he'd left his bike, then slipped on his armored racing gear, mounted the bike in a smooth leap, and brought up the front wheel as he accelerated onto paved roads.

"167 to 405, 405 to 520, then 520 to Touristville" he mentally plotted his route. "Fastest way there, as long as none of the Hellhounds are out in force." Fortunately, the road was free of go-gangers and he arrived at The Smoking Mug without incident. Seeing Hawkeye's almost identical Growler parked outside, he left his own bike parked next to it and proceeded inside. The staff was used to seeing him in his getup by now, and he quickly made his way to Piatek's table where an unfamiliar face was seated with Hawkeye and the dwarf. "Unusual," was all he could think before Piatek greeted him, and as always Fenris remained standing by the edge of the booth with his arms crossed over his chest, still as a statue.

Once everyone was seated he heard the familiar hiss of a white noise generator clicking on, and Fenris took a closer look at the man seated next to Piatek when the dwarf introduced him as "Mr. Johnson".

"Nice suit, looks like he came straight from a party. Clean, but not overly so. Hmm, that mark..." His commlink buzzed again, and he mentally typed up a reply to the message from Hawkeye. "Keen-eyed as always, friend. That's a Brain Eaters mark; they're a bunch of corpkids, wannabe-bitheads that's been making the waves here in Touristville lately. Rumour is they're tight with either ghouls or organleggers, maybe both, and that they're looking to expand in Redmond. Far as I know, they're deep into beetle trade, and they hire themselves out on the 'trix for the other locals. Probably looking to knock off the competition, even if he claims these Red Wormz are already done for."

Standing in silence as the Johnson goes on, he committed the pictures to memory and waited for the man to finish before speaking.

"8,500¥ gets you my services for the Troll only. If there are other targets we will need more details, and the price goes up accordingly." His voice was slightly muffled by the helmet and the tinted visor hid his features, but he hoped his message was clear enough.

[Jack_Spade]

[spoiler]
Perception check: 10d6t5 1 [10d6t5=1, 1, 3, 6, 2, 1, 1, 2, 1, 3]
Wow, what a start - almost a Glitch - so, no Kynos doesn't see the tattoo
If someone should draw his attention to it:
Gang Knowledge: 8d6t5 6 [8d6t5=2, 6, 6, 4, 5, 6, 6, 5]
Yeah, he totally would know about that particular gang.

[/spoiler]

Kynos had just finished a session in his favorite game host - MDK: Vampire hunt - when the message arrived.
'About time, I'm crawling up the walls if it stays that boring'

He had to admit, it was his own fault. After that whole Vampire/Zombie business he actually had thought he could retire. Enough action for one person to last him a lifetime - what bullshit. After setting up the little trust fund, boredom had set in almost immediately. He had tried to do some volunteer/good will work because someone had said it helped the soul.
Just went to prove that he didn't have a soul anymore - or that his tolerance for stupid junkies being determined to turn their and the life of their immediate environment to shit was very low. It had taken exactly two days before he had discreetly and permanently removed the little nitro sniffer from the shelter. Now the ghouls could try to get high from his flesh.

So, he had reactivated his contact to Ryan and he in turn had referred him to Piatek since the dwarf was looking for experienced and less than scrupulous personal.
The last two runs with the little murder crew had been satisfying enough, but it was just to long a wait before missions.

Consequently, Kynos swung into action immediately - he drove down to the little self storage he had rented with his last remaining Fake SIN, retrieved the bag with his gear and drove towards the meet.
But for some damn reason the Hellhounds Go-Gang wasn't were they usually hung around. Driving through their midst on a Growler was akin to asking a pretty girl to dance - just with more swearing and whirling chains.
As a result he now was three minutes late and had barely arrived when the introductions began.
He hated it when the client was allowed to see the team. That and the pervasive smog made him keep the respirator on his face as well as the glasses that had turned dark. His short cropped black hair was hidden beneath the hood of his jacket, while this bag rested at his side.

At the mention of the price he said: "Make it a round 9000. Because it sounds as if we'll give you a discount anyway by geeking a few of his lieutenants. No problems, otherwise."

[Scorchio]

Frag it! Hernandez was nearly an hour into his morning workout when he received a summons from his 'Good Friend'. That dipshit knows I've no wheels, yet insists on giving virtually zero notice for me to drag my hoop halfway across the sprawl. Making a dash for the shower, he simultaneously looks up the various bus schedules via his commlink and calculates his best option. Fortunately Max's Ironworks is near the major terminus at the Sea-Tac Mall so he has a number of options. Connection times will be tight but the best shot at getting there on time involves 3 changes. Bugger. A standard 3-minute military approved shower later, he quickly throws his kit on and with only a moments hesitation is heading for the door. He'd thought about taking his 'work' bag with him only for a moment before deciding against; too much potential for hassle from KE passing through some of the more swanky neighbourhoods in town on these bus routes with his unlicensed work tools. Hernandez doubts the team will be launching straight into battle from a preliminary meet anyway - he'll rely on his trusty Ares Predator as normal for now.

He doesn't see Renwick on his way out so pings him a brief message <<Hey Omae, had to bounce. Probably wont be around for beers tonight - some work has come up at short notice. Later.>>

Once on the first bus, he has time to mull over his situation. It's been quite a while now since the last job for Piatek. The bastard really had him by the short and curlies, carrying the marker on his debt, and at the same time being his main source of work. He'd started to wonder if his none too complimentary comments towards his fixer after the last job met with some 'hiccups' had meant he was being frozen out. He'd almost been in a position to pay down a further 5000 hard earned Nuyen on his debt after the last job, but most of that had now gone in the interim. Hernandez really needed to make additional connections that could send regular paying work his way, but this way of working was all relatively new to him. How do you make contact with new fixers? In his limited experience to date, they (OK he) found you.

The first bus ran like clockwork, but of course the second was running late. The matrix updates indicated that he definitely wouldn't make the final connection on time if he waited, so he had to splurge on a taxi ride to the third route This meet better be for a decent paying job. At least he didn't have far to go when the final bus arrived - the service into Touristville is half-decent, just doesn't penetrate any further into the Barrens. He grabbed a soykaff from a hole-in-the-wall kiosk and quickly downed it as he walked the final couple of hundred yards over ot the Smoking Mug.

Walking inside, he left his respirator on. He's made the mistake of taking it off the first time in this place and immediately regretted it - the stench made your stomach turn and eyes water. Mmm, looks like he's got Mr Johnson with him, what's that all about? Hernandez nods in the general direction of the others as he takes a seat. When the opening spiel is over, he picks up the three pictures in order and commits as much of the details to memory as possible. Eight and a half G, that wouldn't go amiss. Where does this kid get more than 40K to throw at us for cleaning up his drek? The others start trying to up the ante on the price for the job. He keeps out of the conversation for now - not his forte. Robin had had some success with this at previous meets, hopefully he'd wring top price out of this dude. Hernandez had done less than half-a-dozen jobs with this crew, but they had all shown flashes of talent, generally indicating how lethal they could be. He still wasn't sure what to make of them as individuals, but for now this was his team. He still wasn't ready to trust them 100%, sleep with one eye open and all that, but for the moment he'd continue to give them the benefit of the doubt.

While they bartered on price, he thought over the brief they'd been given. To all intents and purposes it was pretty sketchy. These things were usually pretty barebones, but the kid hadn't even provided a proper reference for where the building in the picture was located, it could be fragging anywhere! The message from Fenris at least provided some potential background context. When were gangers not fighting over turf, rackets or rep? This seems a bit odd though, geeking each other is one of the few things that gangs and gangers do well; outside assistance wasn't usually required, particularly if these Red Wormz were as run down as he was making out, and his own crew weren't shit-eaters themselves, and Fenris seems to indicate they have some standing.

Hernandez keeps his brain ticking over as he follows the conversation, preparing some clarification questions about the mission to put forward if it looks like the meeting is in danger of coming to a close without gaining any better intel up-front.

[Blueclaws]

Robin was gazing out over the rain soaked city from the window in his small apartment arms crossed in contemplation. Life had a way to taking funny turns, one minute you think that there are jobs that you would never do. Then next life drops a bombshell on you and you must adapt or die, Robin had always opted for the former.  With the last thought of what path his life was heading down, Robin’s commlink buzzed quietly. He glanced down at his commlink and could feel his mentor spirit’s excitement at the idea of new work. “Well… time to go to work I suppose. “ He says to no one in particular.

On that note Robin spun around quickly and made ready for work, grabbing his hold-out and tucking it into its concealable holster as well as his Cavalier Deputy, quickly working through his mental checklist for runs. Once satisfied he grabs his shades, jacket, helmet and made for his Scorpion parked in an ISO-container. The ride to the meet wasn’t bad but the lack of familiarity with Seattle meant that Robin was not the first to arrive which annoyed him greatly. He preferred to get a sense of the situation before anything was able to happen.  He pulled his chopper in at the end of the line of bikes parked nearby, before entering the Smoking Mug, Robin quickly reaches out with mind to see if he can sense anything in the astral that may be out of place before continuing inside.

Once inside he notices his companions in their usual spot in the back, he feels his commlink buzz and quickly looks down at it while moving towards the back, noticing a message from Hawkeye with a picture of a tattoo.  “Huh, that’s pretty… interesting…” As he makes his way to the back to find a seat he notices the unfamiliar face next to Piatek.  He gives him a once over before taking a seat across from Piatek.  Sitting quietly until introductions were made, he hears several of his teammates speak up first. Robin quickly chimes in.
“All that being said, I’m afraid I am with Kynos on this one mate. Chances are we are going to run into some additional…challenges, more likely than not on this little day trip. I think 9000 would be more than fair considering we are essentially thinning the herd a bit for you and yours. A few extra nuyen invested for a nice return later on.”

[Bewilderbeast]

The Johnson scowls and waves a hand dismissively. "I don't care about the other bottom feeders. You can kill them if they get in your way, but this guy," he says, jabbing a finger at the photo on the table, "is the actual problem. He single-handedly funds their operations with his Matrix activities. He's their sole surviving BTL editor and operator. Cut off their head, and even trogs die. I can't care about the leftovers, man."

"Still..." the Johnson rubs his chin. "I have an idea. I can give you the nine each, and I'll tell you what... an extra two hundred to each of you if smash his deck in half. And send me pictures." The Johnson chuckles sadistically to himself. He's clearly getting off on this. "That's kind of my ceiling on price, by the way." He shook Piatek a meaningful look, and the dwarf made a calming gesture. "I can give you all the data I have on the guy, but there's not much to tell. We tracked him to that hideout picture about a week ago, we've had him under surveillance since. He hasn't left, at least not physically. Lately his Matrix activities have gotten harder to track. He has nuyen and at least a functioning cyberdeck, but other than that and a few guns that's kind of it." He shrugs. "He calls himself '9-Bit,' by the way. His real name is largely an academic exercise, seeing as he's SINless, but close associates call him Eduardo according to my intel. What else do you wanna know?"

[Jack_Spade]

<<Even the cheapest cyberdeck will net us more than 1000 Nuyen. Under no circumstances destroy his hardware. We all have mortgages to pay.>>
"Yes, as a matter of fact: What weapons are we dealing with? Are you talking about only hand guns or do you include AK's and beyond?
Is he known to produce BTLs that create enraged death defying minions? Has he a close friend, girl-friend or other dependent he would give himself up to defend - or avenge?
Any magical talent in his gang? Known other hazards like a ghoul filled cellar?

Regarding the money: Our mutual friend here will hold the payout until completion - makes it easier to trust each other.

[Herr Brackhaus]

Fenris listened to the Johnson as he made his revised offer and wasn't at all surprised when the Brain Eater claimed to not care about anyone other than the target. "Still," he wondered, "if they've had this guy under surveillance for a week, how come they haven't made their move without resorting to outside talent? Or maybe they have..."

With a mental command he shot a quick message to the others. "Anyone else think it's odd that the Brain Eaters have had this hideout under surveillance for a week and not done anything? Sure, they're a bunch of deck jockeys, but still; a week and no one has made a move at all? Something doesn't feel right; either this target is more trouble than the Johnson is letting on, or these guys really don't like fighting in the real world. Something to keep in mind, if nothing else."

Fenris was about to ask his questions after the ganger finished laying out the intel he had when Kynos spoke up first. He waited for him to finish and get his questions answered before asking his own.

"Couple questions. Is there a time limit to this job; in other words, do you need him gone by a certain time, or do you suspect he might try to leave town? He waited for the Johnson's reply before moving on.

"Do you have any actual personnel performing onsite surveillance, or is it all done by remote?" Fenris didn't actually care about any of the people the Brain Eaters might have onsite, but if they did that meant a higher chance the Red Wormz knew they were being watched. And if there was one thing Wolf had taught him, it was that the element of surprise was not something to be squandered.

Last question; you mentioned his activities has been getting harder to track. What kind of activities has he been engaging in for this past week? With his curiosity satisfied, Fenris tried to mentally map out the location of the hideout and it's surrounding area.


Once everyone had gotten their questions answered, Fenris sent another message to the others. "I'm guessing most of you will have to pick up some gear, so I'll head out and perform some initial recon; if I see a good blind I'll let you know, Hawkeye. Since these guys are tech heads, however, I'll be going dark; micro-transceiver only once I get within a few blocks."

[Jack_Spade]

<<I've got my gear with me. I'll come and stand guard as back up.
And yes, the Johnson is holding back. No other reason to hire a whole team to take out one troll. My guess is a panic room and a bunch of nasties around his lair, making it to costly to send his own people in. We should stock up on Pepperpunch grenades just in case.>>
Kynos replied with a mental flick.

[Herr Brackhaus]

"Copy that", Fenris responded.

[Irn0rchid]

Hawkeye 'listens' to the J lay out the job with a bit of a frown that doesn't go away as the rest of the groups runs through the standard Q&A. Fenris comes up with the most interesting question as to the required time frame, "If he hasn't left in a week, shouldn't be hard to starve him out if needed..." But noone has asked the most important one, although Fenris, again, mentions similar to the group. So once the conversation peters out, she speaks in very slightly accented English, "Why us? This is overkill for a troll in an abandoned building."

After the meet ends, she shakes her head a little at Fenris and Kynos being so eager to scout the building, "Always in such a hurry. Better them risking their necks than me though, as long as they don't tip off the mark..." To the team she sends, <<If we're doing this tonight, I'll need to go home and get ready. I won't try to approach until I hear back. No need to trip over each other in the dark.>>

Leaving the bar with the rest of the team, she gets back on her bike and guns it, smiling at the reactions of the people around her, "Never gets old." Heading back to her place, she considers the job, "This seems too easy, but hey, sometimes they actually are. Maybe the J just has more money than sense. They must be doing well if they've got time to worry about driving out the competition. Calling up one of her fellow Vory, <<Hey, Pietr, I'm working on a side job and it looks like I'm getting tangled up between the Brain Eaters and the Red Wormz. You know anything about their beef? Do we have any interests there?>>

Once she gets home, she parks her bike and heads inside to prep in case they do decide to move tonight. Checking over her guns she makes sure there's a clip each of APDS, SnS, and Subsonic for her rifle and drums of Flechette and APDS for the shotgun. Not sure how the op is going to go down, she packs her backpack with the disassembled shotgun and the rest of her normal gear, while saving the duffle bag for the rifle and Urban Blight suit. Once she's satisfied her gear is ready to go, she does some searching for images of the target building and surroundings to try and get a sense of how any potential defenses would be set up and any good nearby observation points. Her basic legwork done, she sets her commlink to wake her once any of the team calls and engages her sleep regulator.
[spoiler]What time is it?
Matrix Search: 4d6h5 1
Security Design on results of Matrix Search: 7d6h5 4[/spoiler]

[Bewilderbeast]

The Johnson focuses on Kynos, taking his questions as they come. “Historically, the Red Wormz use the same drek everybody else uses in the Barrens. His boys have a thing for Ingram Smartguns and larger pistols, ya know, normal trog gangbanger stuff. I’ve never seen or heard of them using anything bigger or more expensive than an AK-97, and we don’t think they’ve received any major weapon shipments lately. On the other hand, the Wormz are on the run. Desperate animals are the most dangerous, right? So I’d go in loaded for bear if I were you.”

Pulling out a slick, cell-phone style commlink and thumbing at it idly as he speaks, the Johnson continues. “Now his BTL activity? That I know a lot more about. And no, no Personafixes, that’s beyond his technical ability. A lot of mood chips and trip chips; action trids ported over to simsense with boosted adrenal responses, porn with the endorphin inhibitors removed, etcetera. Ya know, lucrative. Not high art but it keeps the Wormz funded. No magical talent in the Wormz as far as I know, and we’ve whittled their Matrix talent down to just 9-Bit and whoever he’s trying to train at the moment. Anyone else able to sell their skills on the open market probably would’ve fled the sinking ship by now. Downside is any crew he still has at this point is bound to either be desperate or loyal. Here… a lot of this drek is actually in the report. Can I get one of your commcodes?”

After one or more of you (presumably) cough up the code of a burner com, he forwards a small file to you. It contains a few additional pictures, mostly of the same building from different angles. You can see the top story has three windows, one on the south side and two on the west side, as well as a twisted, damaged-looking fire escape on the west side. With more pictures available, it’s clear from the angle they were probably taken by drone. The surrounding area is largely ruins, a field of plasticrete rubble spilling out into the street. 9-Bit’s little compound is one of the more intact ones in the area, although there’s apparently a crumbling tenement across the street that might serve as a decent vantage point. The file contains reports on the comings and goings from the ruins, spanning a week. Though 9-Bit himself hasn’t left, his lackeys apparently come and go freely. According to the report, gofers and couriers enter and exit the second story all the time. The report also includes the phrase “shipment received” three times. Selecting the phrase “shipment received” brings up a separate AR window with corroborating information; receipts, surveillance photos from Stuffer Shacks and traffic cameras, and other documents intended to give some clue as to what the shipments entailed. The first one is pretty mundane; junk food, blank data chips, some medical supplies and recreational drugs, a few boxes of standard ammunition.  The second one is more eclectic and technical. Lots of junk food again as well as more pragmatic supplies (including, notably, a chemical toilet), but mostly it’s numerous low to mid-range commlinks, scrap metal, and assorted electronics. The third “shipment received” hyperlink, when clicked, ominously brings up only an ARO filled with cartoon question marks. It does include a photo of a footlocker, though, presumably the package in question. The mystery shipment arrived about thirty hours ago. The first and third deliveries were done in a nondescript C-N Jackrabbit. The second was larger, and involved a beat-up looking pickup that’s visible parked in photographs postdated after the delivery. An addendum file contains some rudimentary information on 9-Bit’s crew, with terse descriptions and titles:

- “Asian ork, female. Courier.”

- “Black troll with yellow horns, guard/enforcer. Spotted brandishing an Ingram on Wednesday.”

- “Black ork with small tusks. Courier/nightwatch.”

- “Hispanic ork, female. Guard(?)”

Those are the only specifics given, though the report makes it clear they suspect there are one to three other people living in the second story along with the target. The just don’t have an exact body count or physical descriptions.

The Johnson pulls up the surveillance report in a transparent-pink ARO and sets it to hover over the table. The team all received an invitation to the Johnson’s PAN with extremely limited access, just enough to view the AROs in their image links as he freely referred to them, flipping through the different windows like they were the pages of a picture book as he spoke. “Before you ask, we were allowing a lot of this movement. 9-Bit was revealing his last few pockets of influence, and we were shutting them down one at a time before he wised up and started the turtle impression. In retrospect, we shouldn’t have let that second shipment through, as it’s been tough to track his Matrix actions ever since. My current theories are that he either bootstrapped some type of Faraday cage setup so he could work in private on something, he’s ditched his cyberdeck to slum it with some comm-phreaking, or he’s artificially boosted or upgraded his deck’s sleaze and anti-detection capabilities somehow. He could also just plain be dead, or offline.” He shrugs. When Fenris asks about a timeline, the Johnson shakes his head. “Nothing specific, I just need it done soon, before he tries to arrange some sort of extraction, or buys additional muscle, or whatever this idiot’s escape plan is, exactly.”

There’s a bit of silence at the table as everyone has an opportunity to peruse the information gathered. Eventually, when Hawkeye bluntly asks the question on everyone’s mind, the Johnson grins. He seems almost too happy to answer. “It’s a statement thing. Trog thinks he can deck. Trog thinks he can steal my associates’ clients. He’s reaching above his station, so we needed a disproportionate response.” He then smirks, looking rather pleased with myself.

A moment later, the team each feels their respective commlinks vibrate (or otherwise notify them of an incoming message). Not their burners, either… this is a message from Good Friend Piatek, who must have been subtly texting under the table. <<I can provide a little clarity, here, children. This is a step-up for this ganger. It’s good for him to be seen with me, good for him to be blowing money on runners. It’s a prestige thing. Or at least he thinks it is. Stupid street cred drek.>> A moment after the message was sent, Piatek leaned to the side and emitted a fart. “Excuse me,” he muttered, using the sound to snap his ‘link closed under the table. The Johnson scowled in response and began picking up the hardcopy photos on the table, burning them individually over a candle. Whether he was destroying evidence or masking a smell is not immediately clear, but you all have plenty of time to snag copies with your image links before he finishes.

[Herr Brackhaus]

Fenris listened intently as the Johnson spoke, and reviewed the documentation provided. "Building looks solid, several points of entry. Not a lot of manpower for a structure this size. Definitely warrants further investigation."

With his questions answered Fenris nodded at the Johnson and prepared to move out, but he paused to make sure everyone was on the same page. With a thought, he sent a message to the team members. "Looks like we may have your blind, but I'll take a closer look up close and personal when I get there. And I'll see about scoping the 2nd floor without making too much fuss; might have to have to be old school, though, Mark 1 eyeball. Since we're not in a rush, I'd say we get our own intel on this place before we bust down the door. Kynos, you ready? Anyone else coming?"

Expecting Matrix connectivity to be spotty the further on he went, Fenris made sure to memorize what maps he did have available so that he'd be able to make his way to and from the target building with minimum effort.

[Jack_Spade]

<<I was born ready. I'll tail you and stay in range for the micro transceiver - give me a call if you need extraction or a distraction.
Oh and be careful. Those pictures don't look like they were made by a professional - it's quite possible that the target knows about the observation and that last delivery was just a bunch of booby traps.>>
Kynos grabbed his bag and nodded to his teammates
<<Take your time, I promise not to do anything rash. If you can, get me some Pepperpunch mini grenades.>>