[Gustovness]

Your comlink wakes you.  You can't remember when was the last time you got a job offer at a decent hour.  This is how you know it's work and that you'd better get up off your ass and see what could be so important that someone is contacting you at...

You check the time...

Quarter to 7 in the morning!?

You check the priority flagged message.  It's from Massimo, one of your recent Mafia contacts. 

"Yo, my boss needs to see you quick.  No time for Johnsons and all that shit.  We need people from your neck of the woods and we're pressed for time.  I'll see you at Parolacces at Bellevue in two hours."

His tone of voice makes is seem like he's serious about the time frame...

[Padawan]

Trog sighed and said, "Why did I ever leave that cushy gig in boxing? At least then I got to sleep." Closing his AR display, Trog got dressed and went to get breakfast, the regular soy based synthetic with a couple pumps of maple flavor. There must be something to get that down easier. He looks around and decided to pour himself a glass of synthahol. Well it's five o'clock somewhere, and maybe it'll make this business more interesting, last couple of jobs have been so boring.

Trog finished his breakfast, happier about the synthahol than the soy. After finishing he put on his armor, but kept his helmet off for the time being. "Never know with those Mafia types... Hell, never know with anyone in this business. Might as well get going." Trog yawned and grumbled as he opened the door to his apartment and locked it after he was outside. Trog decided to go right to the meeting spot and scope out the area a little. I might not be smart like a book, but I'm not stupid enough to not expect an ambush.

[Bewilderbeast]

Siren groaned dramtically, sitting upright on the bare mattress that served as her bed. With pained blinks, she put her ARO-enabled contacts in, squinting at the text she got from Massimo. "'Neck of the woods...?'" With a mental command, Siren pulled up an ARO clock. 6:46 streaked across her sight in big, blaring red letters like an insult. She groaned louder, flopping back into bed and kicking her legs in the air. She was about ready to tell the Italian goon to screw off, but purely by accident she slipped back into sleep instead. About an hour later, she woke up and checked her messages out of reflex. Realizing that the offer from Massimo wasn't a dream, she immediately decided to check her bank account. A minute later, she bolted out of bed and began to get dressed, picking up a muted beige sundress, only slightly wrinkled from the synthetic wood floor of her apartment. She was not in any sort of financial position to be picky...

As she rushed out the door for Parolacces, she grabbed the dull-yellow armored peacoat she used for "side-gigs", making sure her taser was secure in the concealable holster she kept near the hip. Whether on a run or not, she never left home without it, especially as the band got bigger and bigger and the fanboys got creepier and creepier. She paused to fuss over her face in the mirror. Her pale skin was a bit cracked and dry, and her green eyes a little bloodshot. That's what I get for hanging out late with Johnny Crash... she thought. There's something about those ork boys. That bad influence.

After a perfunctory facewash and breakfast of one and a half synthcigs, Siren burst out the door and into the hallway awash with the sound of babies crying and the smell of other people's cooking. Taking the stairs two at a time, she entered the parking lot and hopped into her battered Mercury Comet. "Parolacces," she murmured into the car's Auto-Drive, lighting up another synthcig, "Parolacces at Bellevue."

[Reiper]

Laciel awoke to the sound of her comm link beeping. She rolled over on her lumpy message to hit snooze before she realized it was a message.

Who does this jerk thing he is, calling me this early, she was about to just reply and tell him where he can shove his message when she realized she was broke and rent was due soon, She sat up and shivered as her bare feet touched the cold floor. Maybe this run will pay for a new place to live. She stood up and walked the five steps it took to get to the mini fridge in the corner. She grabbed a bottle of something out of the fridge and drank it down, hoping it wasn't spoiled. It tasted like crap but it was 'loaded with synthetic nutrients'.

I hope Massimo doesn't get upset about me crashing his party early, but I don't trust the mafia. she said as she grabbed her slid on her form-fitting body armor, and then her lined coat over that. She strapped on her holster to the small of her back and walked out to her bike.

It started up the first time, and she took off to Parolacces.

[Ren]

Concrete lighted a cigarette after checking the message from Massimo. The absence of a Johnson was bad news as he had to try and do all the background checks in the following two hours. Also it was an awfully early start for the Mob and the fact made him more cautious while piqueing his interest. Still, haste means greater need which in turn usually means more payment, so this might be worth checking out.
Going through his breakfast he checked the news for anything reeking of Maffia business. He murmured „Which family is it anyway?” and also started to check out the ’trix site for the meeting place for hints.

After finishing breakfast he thought-dialed Sixpack’s comm. Probably won’t take it but still worth a try and a message left might yield information later. „Hoi Chummer, just checking if you heard any juicy news about some fresh drek concerning the Mob. You have anything, call me ASAP. By the way, i will be heading your way in the following days so get me some of the higher quality stuff. Don’t get geeked in the meantime.”

Having finished what he could do as preparation Concrete geared up as appropriate for Parolacces and left home. Public transportation tended to be tricky during rush hours and he wanted to be there at least 10 minutes before the appointed time. The Mob doesn’t like prospective employees being late.

[spoiler]For maffia-related news: INT(4) + Underworld(2) + Mnemonic enhancer (1) (7d6.hits(5)=0)
For which family: INT(4) + Underworld(2) + Mnemonic enhancer (1) (7d6.hits(5)=1)
About the Parolacces: INT(4) + Bars and Clubs: Seattle (5) + Mnemonic enhancer (1) (10d6.hits(5)=4)[/spoiler]

[Gorean]

Not stopping the treadmill, Lord checks the message that interrupts his morning run.
Massimo? Massimo? Oh yes that shifty chap, Purina introduced me to.
First the Morrison twins and now a little excitement, shaping up to be a good week.

Munching on a handful of fresh cherries he took a quick shower before dressing in his nice Berwick suit. the one he'd had altered.
Stopping to grab his "other" briefcase and then after a moments thought he grabbed his gymbag from the secret partition in the walk in wardrobe.
Emergency jobs always pay well but the extra bang bang is normally essential.

With a thought he summoned the lift down to the garage and hopped into the back of his rented sedan, giving it instructions to take him to Parolacces and to drive around the area till the appointed time.

Resting in the back he pulled up a couple of new sites to see if there was anything in the news that would give a clue as to the upcoming events.

[spoiler=Data Search]
Data search on "Mafia","Major Crimes" within last 24 hours (12d6.hits(5)=3)
[/spoiler]

[Gustovness]

Neither Concrete's nor Lord's searches on recent Mafia activity yield any useful bounty, not to say that things are unusually quite, either.  It's seems to just be business as usual for the bigger syndicates in Seattle.

Concrete recalls that Massimo is an enforcer for the Bigio family.  It doesn't take long before the sleep starts to clear from his head and he starts to put two and two together.  It's common knowledge (at least to someone who's up to date on the bars and clubs scene) that the Parolacces is owned by the Bigio family.  Typically considered to be one of their more legitimate business endeavors, it's considered to be one of the safer places for your digestive system to slug down a hearty Italian meal on a first date before making the move that you keep stressing out about to just put your damned hand on her leg already...

but only if you order dessert...

[Severus Snape]

One of the things that kept Needle from formally finishing medical school - besides the repetitive droning of her college professors, whom she couldn't stand listening to - were the hours one had to keep.  Classes all day, interning in the afternoon, studying at night...one never got enough sleep.  So when she left medical school to start "practicing" medicine on her own, she had decided that she would keep hours that were more suited to her internal bio-rhythms.  Unfortunately for her, it didn't work out like that.

On this particular morning, her commlink started buzzing about 4 hours after she had gone to bed.  Some crazed drunk in a trailer a few blocks over decided to get into a fight with his own brother.  He would have won, too, had he not been stabbed with a broken beer bottle.  And thankfully, everybody in the park knew Needle, and they knew she was great at stitching people up.  So he pounded on the door to the Vista and begged her to patch him up with promises of paying her in a couple of days.  She knew better, but she couldn't turn him away.  And now she was paying for it.

Putting her glasses on, she blinked several times as she tried to put the message in focus, the actual time of day blinking away in the upper right corner of her AR display.

Who in the hell is actually up long enough at this point in the day to do business?

Once she is able to read the message - and finally comprehend what is being asked - she pulls herself out of bed, aiming for the shower.  It's a bit cramped in the Vista, but the bus had better facilities than any of the community ones in the trailer park she called home.  Redmond was ok, but there were far too many rednecks and idiots wandering about out there, and she'd rather not shower at all than deal with some of the creeps who hang out by the women's restrooms.

Once she finished showering and getting dressed, she hopped into the rigger cocoon she had installed and gave the instructions to the pilot program - Parolacces at Bellevue.  Then she started to do some digging on her potential employer.

My neck of the woods?  Did someone else from the trailer park get this message too?  Are there other runners here in the park?

[spoiler]Ok, I'm still waiting on the activation email from IC, so I can't put a campaign name in with the rolls.  So I've just gone ahead and used the character name "Needle (Bunraku)".  I hope that's ok.

Knowledge check, Shadow Community (to see if there are other runners in the trailer park she lives in):  9d6.hits(5) = 4
Data Search, Massimo (to include known affiliates):  16d6.hits(5) = 7
Data Search, Parolacces at Bellevue (to include map of the area and buildings within a 2 block radius):  16d6.hits(5) = 7[/spoiler]

[Gustovness]

Needle's extensive search into the Shadow Community brings up a long list of perps with an even longer list of petty crimes ranging from drunk and disorderly to aggravated assault.  There is nothing, however, that convinces her that there are any professional runners in her trailer park, and much less that there are any around that have anything to do with the Mafia.  Maybe Massimo was referring to her area of expertise?

A data search on Massimo yields a huge bounty of data.  An enforcer for the Bagio family, Massimo is a mundane human and a close and trusted confidant of Don Lorenzo, the head of the Bagio family.  Don Lorenzo has earned a reputation since he took power of "upgrading" the family business from protection rackets and theft to corporate blackmail and human trafficking.

Massimo's known affiliates hint at his having worked with other shadow runner teams, but nothing that stands out as out of the ordinary.

A data search on Parolacces yields mostly run of the mill public matrix stuff like hours of operation and a menu.  The occasional news article mentions the owner, Don Lorenzo Bagio, and how he might be implicated in some criminal charge that never seems to stick.

[Bewilderbeast]

"BING. You have arrived at your destination," the Mercury's Auto-Drive announced in a robotic, atonal voice. Siren peered out the window at the little restaurant. It's strange, she never really noticed the place before, but it made perfect sense as a mob establishment. Innocent enough to avoid suspicion, but such a mafioso cliche that even the dumbest ganger would know not to screw with it. The place appeared to be closed, and she was a bit early for the meet (say what you want about Auto-Drive systems, but they're good at finding an efficient route). Siren decided it was best not loiter around, however, on the off-chance a fan might recognize her.

Flipping the switch on the Auto-Drive to manual, Siren drove further down the block and parked out of sight of the meeting joint. Stepping out of the car and smoothing out the stiff material of the armored peacoat, she headed back toward Parolacces. Along the way, she placed her headphones over her ears and kept a brisk pace, trying to blend in.

Eventually, she crossed the street and spent a couple of nuyen at a vending machine operating as a newstand-by-proxy. She popped the tab on the processed iced soykaff and downloaded a crummy local e-zine, bringing up an AR window and leafing through its pages. She pretended to read, but really she was keeping an eye on the restaurant, waiting to see if the door opened up or any of her fellow runners arrived.

[spoiler]And now for some superfluous rolls to get used to the die roller! Infilitration to blend in, Perception to spy movement in the restaurant/approaching likely shadowrunners.

Infiltration = (4d6.hits(5)=1)
Perception = (4d6.hits(5)=0)

Off to a rip-roaring start, as you can see.[/spoiler]

[Ren]

Checking the time on display Concrete snorted. Lucky with traffic, he thought, but have almost a half-hour to kill. He didnt mind the opportunity to check the neighborhood. Strolling along the street and around the block he checked the back of the restaurant. If it offers lunch it should bustle with activity by now, at least in the back. The smell surely would give them away. Caution also mad him check for lookouts on the street which could indicate some bigger problem.

[spoiler]Checking smells: INT(4) + Perception(3) + ’warez(6) + qualities(4) + actively looking(3) – assumed penality for being outside and further off the door(3) (17d6.hits(5)=6)
Looking for signs of trouble: INT(4) + Perception(3) + ’warez(6) + qualities(4) + actively looking(3) (20d6.hits(5)=4)[/spoiler]

After the round was finished he looked for a vending machine from which he could see the entrance. Casually leaning against the machine, sipping at the freshly-bought soykaf and smoking a cigarette he looked for all the others probably arriving for the job.

[spoiler]Looking for other prospective employees (casually): INT(4) + Perception(3) + ’warez(6) + qualities(4) (17d6.hits(5)=6)[/spoiler]

[Padawan]

Arriving at Parolacces, Trog decided to take a look for any alleyways beside the building. While in the alleys, Trog looked for any signs of doors that could be used for a quick escape.

[spoiler]Perception for doors (8d6.hits(5)=3) (Perception 3 + INT 2 + Actively Looking 3)[/spoiler]

[Severus Snape]

The rigger cocoon was a wonderful addition to the bus.  It allowed Needle the freedom to spend hours and hours in the Matrix without having to worry about taking care of her physical body.  The cocoon provided her a nice place to sit and be protected while her mind wandered about the digital landscape.  It was one of the best accessories she could have ever purchased, especially considering it allowed her to just jump in and give commands to the bus without having to actually drive the damned thing.

She sat in the cocoon, surfing the Matrix, while the bus picked its way through town to the meet.  Sorting through all that data took some time, but the bus was plodding along so she knew she had time to do it.  When she looked through the data regarding runners in the trailer park, her avatar furrowed its brow.

Well, that's odd.  There aren't any other runners in my neighborhood.  So what do you suppose...

Oh, that's right.  My neck of the woods might be used as an uncommon colloquialism signifying my particular field of expertise.  But why, do you suppose, they would want another Matrix jockey and/or another doctor for this job?

The bus pulled up and parked itself 1 block away from the little Italian bistro, giving Needle about 10 minutes to walk the block to the meet.  She hated being directly on time to things, but she also hated being extremely early.  So she had determined, a long time ago, that 5-10 minutes early was about the right amount of time.  She exited the cocoon and made sure all of the security features of the bus were in order before heading off.

When she got to the building, she walked right up to the door and peered in through the window.  She tested the door to see if it was open, knocking at least one time before doing so.

"Hello?  Is there anybody in there?"

[Gustovness]

The time is: 8:45am

Trog walked around the alley quite conspicuously looking for possible escape routes from the building.  He noticed the one service entry at the back of the building that staff undoubtedly used, one emergency exit at the side of the building, and the main door.  Niether the troll nor the orc, found anything out of the ordinary around the restaurant in their patrols.

As much as a troll walking up and down an alley scoping out the place where one is about to meet with a Johnson (or the next closest thing in this case), Concrete missed the troll completely when he, instead, noticed the beauty standing near him enjoying a soykaf.  Being that Concrete was no stranger to the nightclub scene in Seattle, he instantly recognized the rising local star, Siren.

[Ren]

Sipping at the soykaf Concrete started to feel reassured. Nothing indicated that there is more trouble than usual. He lighted another cigarette and turned to the vending machine for another soycaf... and froze for a moment. It just cannot be! Near him stood one of the celebrities of the sprawl, the gorgeous Alicia Redford herself. What and why she did here this time in the morning did not matter. This was an opportunity of a lifetime.
"Hello. May i offer to buy a coffee for you, Ms. Redford?" Concrete turned his vioce down: he knew some celebrities did like their privacy. Then it hit him: Just by herself?