Pain and Gain - Times are tough, so are we.
Murphy's Laws of Combat: 55. The one item you need is always in short supply.
Seattle, Tacoma, May 5th, early morning
Five cameras recorded how the man exited the stuffer shack with a big soy latte. The traffic was minimal before sunrise and the broad shouldered man walked quite relaxed toward the nearby monorail station. He did broadcast a SIN, but it most likely wasn't his own. His real leather jacket, the heavy boots and the crew cut together with his fit physique marked him as some kind of soldier or enforcer.
A big SUV appeared for a second in the frame of the nearest traffic camera before all surveillance lost their connection to the security host. When the sudden matrix noise had vanished so had the SUV and all that was left was the man lying on his back in a slowly spreading puddle of blood and soycaf. Two shots had hit him in the chest, one directly between the eyes.
The Knight Errant report talked about a shootout between criminals of unknown identity, possibly gang related. One hour later the crime scene had already been cleaned up, the body transported to the nearest morgue and all evidence collected.
Seattle, Tacoma, May 5th, late afternoon
The fixer had just ended an unsuccessful yet highly amusing call, when his link once again chimed:
"Armstrong"
"Oy, I's 'eard you was looking for some spec hardware?"
"Yes?"
"Well, well, seems to be an special crew that needs a troll size tiger'n coat and sum rifles of that calibre."
"I don't speculate about the needs of my clients. Can you provide the material?"
"Could be, could very well be. You see, I's in a bit of a bind meself. Got some really good hardware lying aboot, got even new flash chips for ownership. But I's in need a bit of a heavies meself. You got a reliable crew in dem wings? We's do business."
"There will be a commission fee. Are you sure you don't want to just sell me the stuff?"
"Nah, easier an' faster like dis. Tell'em to be at Marine Drive corner 7th Ave tonight round ten. I's got a proposal for dem,"
"Since you transfered the fee, I'll pass the message on, but I can't guarantee that they will follow such a shady call."
"Well then tell's em I's also got some well paid work awaiting'em. That's a gu-a-ran-tee from the Sunkid."
Seattle, Tacoma, May 5th, late evening, now
Murphy's Laws of Combat: 104. There is always a way, and it usually doesn't work.
bnc had made her homework. As soon as Slobbertooth had gotten the message from his fixer she had scoured the matrix for info on that Sunkid person. What she found wasn't much: There was some talk about a runner/smuggler from Hong Kong with that name to have appeared in Seattle. An ork in his late thirties - technically a grandpa. His reputation at least said he could acquire rare gear most of the time but at the same time he was described as "cash strapped" and "usually almost broke". A crude sketch identified him as the white haired ork running with remarkable speed down the small side road where the team had parked.
A moment later it became clear that this was no mere healthy evening exercise but rather owed to four individuals with shaved heads and armed with various stabbing and clubbing implements following the ork in close proximity.
