Night City Integrate | Undercity | OceanZone - Day 1, 11:35 PM PST
Weather Conditions: High City (Thunderstorms, 15mph winds from the NE.) | Midcity (Rain, 10mph winds from the NE.) | Undercity (Fog and Rain, no winds.)

Air Quality Index: High City = 25 | Midcity = 42 | Undercity = 75 (masks required)

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Fog so thick there's little point in walking around with your eyes open. The haze is infused with shades of neon that cast ghostly impressions and make the shadows that much more sinister. Humidity hangs heavy in the air, oppressive and choking salted by acidic filth that clings to each molecule and threatens to steal away life with every breath. Usually drizzling waterfalls of putrid street runoff have turned into veritable firehoses sending trash and vermin alike floating through the broken streets. Odors of mixed bleach, fish, and salted seaweed strike at your gag reflex determined to see satisfaction by forcing you to spill the kibble you'd had for dinner into the rainbow eschewed gutter waters as you went your way through the maze of reconstructed concrete and pressed wood, plastic, and glass structures rebuilt by nanobuilders after the Nuke had killed the Old City. You were looking for one place in particular amongst the torrid, seething cesspool that called the Undercity home.

Three hours earlier you'd been immersed in your agent. The Net was a dangerous wasteland for Netrunners who persisted on exploring its void, but secure datalines had been established within Night City's infrastructure that kept the digital baddies at bay for the most part. Combined with the security modules each agent is outfitted with, and you've little to worry about with what comes through your devices. For the most part, you're seeking to stay on top of local news, entertaining yourself with the latest holovid by Sex Canon, watching your favorite sitcom, gameshow, or reality entertainment feed. Lying back in a rented coffin, sitting in a transit booth, hanging out under a ratted awning with the drugged out boosters or rot-awful smelling homeless, you find ways to entertain and try not to worry about your diminished roll of Night City Dollars tucked in your pocket. That's when the alert popped up on your screen.

Quick Run - Quick Cash - Interested?
Starlight was the name of the sender. No picture, no other information. Quick cash was incentive enough to activate the simple reply: Aff
Meet - 11:30 PM Tonight - Night City Integrate | Undercity | OceanZone - x0002334 y 00000021 - Look for Gray Samurai.
The words appeared almost instantly on your screen, and that was that.

You'd checked the time, ran a quick search on the address for the meet and determined how long it would take you to reach your destination via public transit, and then shouldered your bag and hoofed it. Public transit wasn't overcooked, but it'll get you from A to B.

Gray Samurai was easy enough even for those of you who didn't know they are a boostergang of Japanese originators. Once you arrived at the address—a fish-chopping warehouse built out of reconstructed pressed wood with flaking red paint sitting on top of a cracked and pitted, algea/mold infested foundation that ran right into the murky waters of the Bay—you took pause long enough to register the group of ten boosters hanging outside the entrance to the alley between the warehouse and a boat repair facility in equally grimy repair.

The boosters all wore various shades of gray battlemasks shaped in the grimacing affectation of historical samurai. Their clothing was more modern—digitalfabric mixed with scrounged Gibson gear and various Icon America and Uniwear accoutrements. All of them had at least one thing in common besides those masks: Katanas and submachine guns of various make. Travel up to the Midcity and The Man get's a little nosey about toys being carried out in the open. The Highcity? Forget about it. But here in the Undercity, cops aren't as common and just about everyone carries openly. Usually, only the heavies get pinched, and submachine guns and katanas didn't qualify.

A brief showdown to see who had the bigger genitalia, and confirmation that you are in receipt of the mysterious message from Starlight is all it took to be allowed back into the alleyway where you were greeted by suspicious-looking, mangy cats, and a flickering lightbulb over a door that probably shouldn't have even been hanging still due to the rot that had set in. Moths and other annoying insects fluttered incessantly about the pale yellow glow and beset your faces when you approached.

Through the decomposing door you found yourself in a coat room big enough for a small military unit. Certainly bigger than most Conapts a mid-level Collarboy could afford. Raincoats and galoshes were set in constricting booths that had the appearance of wanna-be lockers. The fluorescent lights overhead shed enough sickly white to illuminate the room as though it were dusk in Highcity. On the opposite side of the room was a single doorway with hanging foot-wide sheets of slightly transparent plastic separating the coat room from a busy gutting floor.

Your boots had squished across the centimeter-deep pools of water covering the scarred and scratched cement flooring as you'd made your way through the only obvious path of continuance. The lighting changed from the ill white to a vague yellow delivered by pendant lights running across the ceiling at a distance of twenty-five meters overhead placed between catwalks and support beams, ventilation ductwork and exposed wire casings. Conveyer belts were running, some with robotics moving fish carcasses along and minimal AI inspections determining if any chaff was amongst the catch of the day. A few workers were carefully keeping their eyes averted, Don't look the crazy Edgerunners in the eye. Don't look the crazy Edgerunners in the eye. These workers wore blood and gut stained white coveralls, equally dingy raincoats (a thin mist of seawater was constantly being sprayed over the conveyer belts to keep the fish fairly fresh), and black rubber gloves and boots. They also wore cheap, HEPA-rated masks over their noses and mouths. Air quality index being what it is today.

A quick scan of the room shows another group of three Gray Samurai lingering around the midsection of a conveyer belt, and once there, you were directed down a cross-section of paths towards another group of boosters. This happened two more times before you were left standing before four Gray Samurai standing in front of a measly, pock-filled, reinforced metal door leading into a room that looked as though it had been constructed as an afterthought. This time, it didn't require a showdown or presentation of credentials to be let in. One of the Samurai politely opened the door for you and the others watched with intent gazes from behind their effigies of a long lost honorable profession as you entered.

Blossom had arrived first. The room had been void of life. A cracked and worn wood table with metal legs sat center in the room. It's scarred surface spoke of a great deal of use and a rough life. The room was lit by a series of four rectangular fluorescent lights hanging from the ceiling by thin chains and flickering every so often. There were six folding, metal chairs placed about the table with rust eating away at their surfaces and peeling paint from a poor job of trying to cover it up. Aside from that, the room appeared empty.

After Blossom came Vegas and Casino, followed by Bloodbank, and then a few minutes later, M'harú Ghlahn. Ten minutes later in walked a pretty little ghost.

Starlight stood no more than five foot two inches natural, but her mid-calf-high indigo blue Doc Martins had heels that put her at five four. From her boots up, she was pure tough little petite. She wore DigitalFabric leggings, likely armored with synththread. One leg was a rich indigo blue to match her boots, and the other was white with indigo blue diamonds running in a jester pattern. She had on an oversized white Gibson Armored-T with a graphic anime girl in a classic schoolgirl uniform slicing her way through a bunch of strange monsters with a katana that glittered with digital emphasis. This shirt hung over what was obviously a utility belt with a tactical holster strapped to her right thigh containing an Automag that looked custom complete with a blue pearled grip. Her designer Enshiko coat is also a deep indigo color, likely made of DigitalFabric as well, cut with a heavy collar and a over-the-breast, two button closure that gave a designed angular opening to the bottom right edge. Her dark blue hair was cut pixie short, and looked to be TechHair® with small dots of light emitting from the ends. She's pale in color—natural, but enhanced with a little bit of white base—and is wearing black lipstick and eyeshadow. Underneath her left eye are three digital tattoos of slightly pulsating stars, the largest of which is no wider than two centimeters and the smallest of which (the one close to the outer corner of her eye) is less than half a centimeter in width. All of them are strategically placed outside of her peripheral vision so that the glow (no matter how dull) doesn't get in the way of her line of sight. She has further adorned herself with a labret piercing, both of her cheeks are pierced, her right nostril, and her left eyebrow as well; all with tiny, obsidian studs. On the outside of the right eye socket a small silver plate matches the contour of her bone. When she walks into the room, she has her hands tucked into her pockets and strolls with a casual, devil-may-care attitude. Placing herself at the head of the table, she stands there for a moment surveying the lot of you.

"Handle's Starlight," soft and calm is her demure voice. "You're here ‘cause you need cash. I'll tell ya straight; this is black-op, no questions asked. Should be cake, but there are rules. You can't live by the rules and you walk, savvy? Rules are simple.

"Don't ask after Saint Nick. I'm the Mouth of Sauron. Two: This is, as I said, black-ops. We're playing low-key, not Loki. Saint Nick don't want no media, and don't want the wind t' sing of the thing to those Inside. So, we operate on the low. Payday is two grand apiece for delivery. Five large for information leading to recovery by Saint Nick's team, and three grand apiece if those that stole from Saint Nick wind up in a body bank.

"The gig should be cake. This is a recovery mission. May require some investigation—which is why you're here Pretty Girl," she nods to Blossom. "So, that's the nutshell. Any of you who don't think this is fly, the Samurais'll show you out. Now's your moment."

After a time of silent consent, the little woman continues by reaching inside her inner coat pocket and producing an agent in a designer case that blocks the make and model. Setting the device on the table in front of her she gives a little head nod. "Download pending."

Once you've all placed your agents on the table in like kind you hear a your indicator sound that you've got a new item to view. She gives you a moment to look the information over, sparse as it is, and then says, "Now's the time you raise your hands like good little boys and girls. You got questions, spill ‘em. Otherwise, we get to work."

M'haru Ghlahn looked down for a second. He then looked up and around the room, and observed the others, his sniper rifle cradled in his arms, pointed down at the floor.

First, he looks at Blossom, who's outfit is crying for attention. He smirks, but doesn't say anything, knowing that anyone in this f***ed up town could easily be a killer.

Next, he looks at the brick s***house wall that was Casino. He was impressed. Not as entertaining in dress as the glammed out wannabe rockergirl, but he looked... effective.

After this, his eyes descended on the med tech. He nodded to him out of respect for the mask and his profession. Other than that, the Celt was neither impressed nor disappointed.

Finally, his eyes descended on Vegas, and damn did he roll his eyes hard. He was unimpressed with the three piece suit Frank Sinatra look, and while he could just make out a piece in a shoulder sling tucked away in the suit, he wasn't too sure about the slick's combat readiness.

He then listened to Starlight intently, before laughing and saying, "So lemme get this straight... some corp's son gets kidnapped, and you think that the best option is a handful of highly trained killers? I'm not one to turn down a job, Christ knows I need the cash, so I'm going to keep my opinions to myself. However, I would like to know, how much force is applicable here? How about degrees of escalation? And, should I engage with stealth and close-quarters brutality, or long-range cold-cut precision?"

He ran a hand through his shock red hair with a sort of half smirk on his smug face and fell silent.

Casino sat at the sidewalk café close to the public agent that he used in place of his own agent, sold a few week's back, to pay off another gambling debt. He was waiting on his partner Vegas to call. Being that they were both tight on Euro's Vegas had decided to be more aggressive in finding work and was due to call soon. He'd once called himself a different street name but had been nicknamed Casino by Vegas when the older man learned of his gambling addiction. For some reason call it sarcasm, call it self inflicted shame on the nature of his addiction, the name had stuck and Casino was now his street name and ironically was better known then his old one. Then the phone rang and he moved to pick it up.

"Vegas, yeah its me, Where, ok, right got it,. Be there in 30 mins"

Hanging up he caught the next bus and to his surprise actually reached the local, a fish processing warehouse, 10 minutes early. As he waited for Vegas across the street he caught looks from a group of ten boosters hanging outside the entrance to the alley between the warehouse and a boat repair facility in equally grimy repair. The boosters all wore various shades of gray battlemasks shaped in the grimacing affectation of historical samurai. Their clothing was more modern—digital fabric mixed with scrounged Gibson gear and various Icon America and Uniwear accoutrements.

All of them had at least one thing in common besides those masks: Katana's and submachine guns of various make. Casino knew them to be members of the boostergang the Grey Samurai
without guessing that they were muscle for the meet going down.

Not to be outdone he casually smiled at them showing teeth and the H&K MPK-11 SMG and M-205 grenade launcher attached to it. Then Vegas was there and the two made their way inside.

As the next to the last to enter with Vegas behind his bulk his attention was first drawn to an Asian women about 5 foot 7 inches tall with two inch heels on her knee-high combat boots making her in reality 5 foot 5 inches. On her right leg a camo stocking pulled up to mid-thigh while her left thigh was bare up to the hem of her black, Icon America boy-shorts. Wearing a Gibson Battlegear jacket of black and red, along with a dark red cross between a sports bra and a tank-top was clearly meant to draw ones eye to her well toned bare midriff. Wearing bright pink heart-shaped mirror shades, her platinum blond hair, slightly curly, slightly frizzed, from the moisture in the air, done up playfully and short, Casino could not help groaning to himself.

Frack there goes any hope of not being noticed, she stands out like a neon light crying pleasure's within. what kind of job is this?

However as he thought that, his eyes were drawn to her right hip and the 12" combat knife strapped there on her uniware utility belt and a Luigi Franchi shotgun tucked under her left arm quickly told Casino she might be flashy but she was no alley way hooker. With an extra large bivvy bag draped over her other shoulder and a small boom-a-rang shaped metal moon next to her left eye clearly indicating additional visual NuCybe alterations, Casino pegged her for a netrunner or possibly a medtech?

Next his gaze fell upon a young man as he entered behind he and Vegas of average build, wearing black city camo Gibson Battle gear fatigues and Ruf Tread Combat Boots. Casino could see, barely, black hair underneath a black Icon America head wrap. On top of that a battle mask printed with the face of a cracked skull and sculpted to match the design. Strapped to the outside waistband of his utility belt on the right side was an Armalite .44 much like Casino's two only he was unable to tell if they were smart linked. Casino's gaze was next drawn to the kid's bare hands where he could easily that the young man had some affiliation with the Edgerunner Alt-Cult backed up by the bracers on each of his hands. The telltale crescent moon sliver of NuCybe on each side of his eyes indicated to Casino either a visual splice, or some another alteration. First guess, a netrunner or rigger.

Finally the last of the ‘guests' arrived and Casino's attention was at once drawn to the slung Nomad .44 Lever Action Rifle with a scope over the right shoulder of a man of average build wearing black Icon America fatigues and stocking cap over his short cut red hair. A battle mask, pulled up to rest on top of his head, looked ready for action. Geez what is it with these battle masks T

The print however on this mask was that of a Native American Warrior's face paint, chipped and scratched with use. Besides the rifle Casino spotted a Colt AMT handgun strapped to his right hip and a Kendachi Monoknife strapped to his left. If he had to guess he'd peg him as another solo, or maybe with the Native American theme, a nomad.

Deciding to stand instead of sit Casino listened to the fixer, her name Starlight, and her job pitch.

"Handle's Starlight, you're here ‘cause you need cash. I'll tell ya straight; this is black-op, no questions asked. Should be cake, but there are rules. You can't live by the rules and you walk, savvy? Rules are simple. Don't ask after Saint Nick. I'm the Mouth of Sauron. Two: This is, as I said, black-ops. We're playing low-key, not Loki. Saint Nick don't want no media, and don't want the wind t' sing of the thing to those Inside. So, we operate on the low."

Casino could not help but look towards the female runner as Starlight made it very clear this run was "low key" Ahh ok yeah
"Payday is two grand apiece for delivery. Five large for information leading to recovery by Saint Nick's team, and three grand apiece if those that stole from Saint Nick wind up in a body bank. The gig should be cake. This is a recovery mission. May require some investigation—which is why you're here Pretty Girl,"

Interesting what did this fixer mean by 'investigation' and why a hot as hell model looking runner? Casino had to admit the girl for all her flashiness was a looker.

"So, that's the nutshell. Any of you who don't think this is fly, the Samurais'll show you out. Now's your moment."

After a time of silent consent, the little woman continues by reaching inside her inner coat pocket and producing an agent in a designer case that blocks the make and model. Setting the device on the table in front of her she gives a little head nod. "Download pending."

Once the others had placed their agents on the table, Casino not having one, hear an indicator sound telling of an info dump. Looking at Vegas's agent with him and seeing about the kidnapped boy, he brought his eyes up to look at the fixer trying to get a read on her.

((Using my awareness/notice skill))

"Now's the time you raise your hands like good little boys and girls. You got questions, spill ‘em. Otherwise, we get to work."

"What's the catch? run's supposedly this easy, always have a catch. What happens if we don‘t get the boy back or he dies during recovery?"

Casino knew this might not be the right question to ask, but he'd been burned to many times to not get as much info on a run as possible. Plus he wanted to gauge the fixer's reaction to the question, that in and of itself could be a big tell if she was on the level..........

Strangers In The Night [link to Frank Sinatra]

"Strangers in the night exchanging glances
Wond'ring in the night what were the chances
We'd be sharing love before the night was through

"Something in your eyes was so inviting
Something in your smile was so exciting
Something in my heart told me I must have you

"Strangers in the night
Two lonely people, we were strangers in the night
Up to the moment when we said our first hello little did we know
Love was just a glance away, a warm embracing dance away ... "


Vegas let his low crooning trail off, as he continued studying the alluring form of the young Asian beauty, already in the room, before he and his partner Casino had arrived at the scheduled meet.

He took notice of her ample assets: including her weapons and NuCybe Bracer on her left hand, then stared a few moments at her beautiful eyes, hidden behind her bright pink, heart-shaped mirror shades, noting the small boom-a-rang shaped metal moon next to her left eye, indicating additional visual NuCybe alterations.

Vegas slowly lowered his eyes until they fixated once more on her invitingly toned bare midriff, before once again retracing his casual gaze upward, briefly staring at her mirror shades, before allowing a slight smile to express his approval, then nodding to the Asian beauty as he politely tipped his fedora.

Then he closed his eyes in deep thought, smirking slightly as he continued humming the melody of the Frank Sinatra hit song, 'Strangers In The Night', amusing himself by remembering how Casino had marked his territory from afar, before the two partners made their way through the assembled Samurai Boosters, until they were finally escorted into this very room.

When the other two Edgerunners joined the threesome, Vegas made mental notes of their appearances and weapons, satisfied that the five would be able to work together, depending upon the contract.

Starlight finally entered the room and addressed the group of five from the head of the table, laying out the rules, before transmitting the info to their Agents; that is, all except for Casino, who had once again sold his Agent to cover some recently incurred gambling debts.

Vegas just grinned at his partner as they both studied the info on Vegas' Agent, while evaluating the responses of the other three Edgerunners, to the mystery of the vanished boy and their assignment to locate the boy, deliver him unharmed and quite possibly scrag those responsible for his disappearance.

He listened to the questions posed by the red headed man cradling his Nomad Rifle, studying intently the response from Starlight to his questions.

Vegas silently applauded the questions posed by his partner Casino, as he had the same questions and a few more for the Fixer.

He evaluated the response and accompanying body language, as the Fixer answered Casino's questions, before asking his own burning questions that were gnawing at his street-wise mind:

"Are there any possible Leads worth sharing about the boy's disappearance?

"Does Saint Nick's Team know about us ... and if so ... how do we contact them?

"Are there any Suspicious Rivals worth noting that may be involved with the boy's disappearance?"

Vegas listened intently to each of Starlight's responses, evaluating the Fixer's body language and any tell-tale facial expressions that might shed more light upon this mystery.

He had already decided to take the job when he had contacted Casino to meet him here, but his demeanor was intended to display no sense of urgency to agree to accept the hire.

((OOC: Vegas will continue to intently listen to any other questions and evaluate the responses of not only the Fixer's words, but her body language and facial expressions when answering or explaining further. He also is evaluating the other three Edgerunners, by both their questions and their reactions to the answers given by the Fixer, because his life will depend upon how effective or ineffective they may prove to be out on the streets of Night City.

He has other questions and comments that are meant only for the eyes and ears of his partner Casino, when and where they are able to discuss the matter further in private.))

Blossom waited for the goboys to asks their questions before she piped up with a couple of her own. "While I'm guessing Nick's wishing on a star this package was delivered yesterday, are we working with a countdown?" (Translation: Is there a time limit on this job?)

OOC: Assuming some reply.

"Cool. You got transport for us, something to load us and the kid in when we need to bomb out, or we got to make our own way in the city?"

OCC:Assuming some reply.

OOC: Sorry this is short... getting interrupted by kids here.

Meet - 11:30 PM Tonight - Night City Integrate | Undercity | OceanZone - x0002334 y 00000021 - Look for Gray Samurai.

The message had come like a gift from heaven for Bloodbank. For the past four months or so, he had been casting his contact info far and wide, hoping someone would contact him with a job that he could be proud of doing. Or, at the very least, a job where he didn't come away feeling like he hurt more people than he helped. Unfortunately, as he was to discover, there weren't too many jobs like that in his particular line of work. People that meant well didn't often turn to those who abided more by their own gun than the laws of the land. These people seemed to prefer to go to the police, or some other trusted authority, no matter how ineffective they may be at times.

Luckily, he had had enough steady work to be able to set enough aside to live off of during these past couple of unemployed months. He had been a repeatedly hired by group of mercenaries that had jobs for him almost bi-weekly; although, these jobs were almost always less than savory in nature. During these times, Bloodbank had participated in activities that now cause him cringe and hang his head in shame when their memories come, unbidden, into his mind.. Bloodbank had not cared at the time, though. He had been in it for the scratch, and the scratch alone, and it wasn't until he and the mercenaries went a step too far that he realized that he couldn't continue to be a part of such operations. The next time the mercenary group reached out to him, he had politely declined and left it at that. From then on, he always tried to make sure he knew what the job was before he accepted it. Although, most of the jobs offered to him were not up to par with his standards, and he would politely decline and wait for the next offer. Eventually, however, the offers just stopped coming. With his his small savings running on empty, Bloodbank had become desperate for work. He had reluctantly reached out to old employers, but found them unwilling to give him any work. "You're gutless," they had told him. "You don't have what we need, anymore."

Bloodbank had almost given up hope entirely of ever being employed again when his agent pinged with a message from Starlight, offering him a job. He replied in the affirmative immediately, trying very hard not to worry about what unfortunate acts this particular job might force him into. Despite his apprehension,though, he felt relieved and (for the first time in the past month of stress) he smiled a bit.

His good mood didn't last long, though, and as he approached the rundown fish-chopping warehouse the apprehensions grew. He didn't say anything to the armed boosters standing guard outside, but merely showed them the message from Starlight, all the while eyeing the nearest ones katana and submachine gun and keeping his hand close to his gun. Bloodbank needn't have worried, however, as he quickly found himself inside the warehouse.

The smell of fish overpowered Bloodbank, initially causing him to crinkle his nose slightly as he got used to the smell. "This entire job seems a little.... Fishy." He thought to himself, letting a bemused smile play its way onto his lips as he enjoyed the admittedly stupid joke. He paused only a moment longer to determine his path before starting forward and being directed several times to a sad looking, reinforced metal door flanked by four other boosters. He absentmindedly nodded his thanks as a Gray Samurai opened the final door to him, allowing him to walk inside and meet, for the first time, those that he assumed he would be working with.

Three people stood around an ancient, cracked and worn wooden table with rusted metal legs. The first person that caught his attention was a dazzlingly beautiful asian woman. She was about five foot seven inches with two inch heels on her knee-high combat boots. On her right leg she wore a camo stocking pulled up to mid-thigh while her left thigh was bare up to the hem of her black, Icon America boy-shorts. She had a 12" combat knife strapped to her crimson red Uniware Utility Belt on her right hip, and a Luigi Franchi shotgun tucked under her left arm hanging from a sling over her shoulder. Her Gibson Battlegear jacket was black and red, and she was wearing a dark red cross between a sports bra and a tank-top that left her toned midriff bare. She had bright pink, heart-shaped mirrorshades and slightly curly, slightly frizzed from the moisture in the air, platinum blond hair that's done up playfully and short. She had an extra large bivvy bag draped over her right shoulder, and the small boom-a-rang shaped metal moon next to her left eye indicated additional visual NuCybe alterations.

Bloodbank felt his eyebrows rise and his eyes widen slightly in surprise at the sheer beauty of the woman in front of him. After a brief moment, he realized that he had probably been staring a little longer than was appropriate at the woman (who he assumed must be Starlight) and nodded his greeting, before quickly casting his gaze over to the other inhabitants of the room.

The next that caught his eye was a dapper man. This fellow looked to be a leader. He oozed competent leadership from his expensive dark blue, pin striped fedora to the shiny black dress boots, and his highly expensive, French-made, three-piece suit and his stylish rich-man's top coat in between. Even his day bag is designer, and to boot, well, he looks like someone you've seen before, someone famous, Frank Senatra! That's who he looks like. He wore aviator-style mirrorshades, but you catch a glimpse of what could only be a NuCybe optic splice placement on the outside rims of his eye sockets behind the glasses. The Edgerunner Alt-Cult bracer wrapped about his left hand confirms it. It looked like he might have a handgun in a shoulder rig too.

"Part of a poser gang, perhaps?" Bloodbank asked himself silently, taking in the man's expensive looking garb and distinct style. Still, he had to admit that the man looked classy as hell. Nodding again, he turned his eyes to the final man in the room.

He was a big guy that was hanging out with Mr. Senatra. Looking at him, Bloodbank couldn't help but think of action movie heroes. He had a Reactmesh Smartbag over one shoulder, a submachine gun slung with easy access beneath his trench coat on the right side, and a throwing knife on his right thigh. He was decked out in Gibson. Gibson Armored-T, long black duster, and Jeans. He had Ruf Tread boots and was built like a brick wall. His cyberware was a mix between NuCybe and OldCybe with a cybernetic bracer on his left wrist (Bloodbank caught a glimpse of it when he moved his arm) and the full-fledged mirrored visor covering his eyes. He looked to have been around the block a few times from the looks of things.

Bloodbank eyed him closely, wondering vaguely if he was going to be the one that Bloodbank would be devoting most of his time to patching up if things got nasty. "At the very least," Bloodbank thought grimly, unhappy with the thought of a firefight. "He looks like he'll be able to dish out quite a lot of hurt on whoever he has to."

Bloodbank entered the room a little further and leaned against the closest wall, observing the others silently and trying to gauge what type of people he'd be working with. He was mildly surprised when the third man walked in, and turned his attention fully on him, soaking in the details of his appearance.

He was a man of average build wearing black Icon America fatigues and stocking cap over his short cut red hair. He had a battlemask pulled up to rest on top of his head ready for action. The print on that mask was that of a Native American Warrior's face paint, chipped and scratched with use. He had a Colt AMT handgun strapped to his right hip and a Kendachi Monoknife strapped to his left. Slung over his right shoulder within easy reach was a Nomad .44 Lever Action Rifle with a scope.
He nodded at Bloodbank, who returned his nod. Judging by the fact that he wore a long ranged weapon, Bloodbank figured that he might be one that would be out of the thick of things, providing support from afar and, therefore, might require a great deal less of Bloodbanks emergency medical attention.

After this final man, no one else entered the room for a bit of time, giving Bloodbank another opportunity to wonder just how hard his new morals and standards were going to be tested in this job. His first impression of his compatriots were not ones of cruelty, anger, and sadism (traits that had been prevalent among his previous companions) and that provided him with some, small measure of comfort. He knew as well, though, that first impressions can be deceiving. And as for the job itself, Bloodbank had no idea what it might be, and he wondered if the others in the room (with the exception of Starlight) knew either.

When it became apparent to Bloodbank that no one else was going to arrive, he turned his eyes to the asian woman in anticipation, waiting for her to begin the debrief and tell them all what they were going to be doing for this job. She seemed to be waiting as well, though. Bloodbank was only puzzled for a moment longer, however, as a moment later the door opened again and another woman entered the room.

She stood no more than five foot two inches natural, but her mid-calf-high indigo blue Doc Martins had heels that put her at five four. From her boots up, she was pure tough little petite. She wore DigitalFabric leggings, likely armored with synththread. One leg was a rich indigo blue to match her boots, and the other was white with indigo blue diamonds running in a jester pattern. She had on an oversized white Gibson Armored-T with a graphic anime girl in a classic schoolgirl uniform slicing her way through a bunch of strange monsters with a katana that glittered with digital emphasis. This shirt hung over what was obviously a utility belt with a tactical holster strapped to her right thigh containing an Automag that looked custom complete with a blue pearled grip. Her designer Enshiko coat was also a deep indigo color, likely made of DigitalFabric as well, cut with a heavy collar and a over-the-breast, two button closure that gave a designed angular opening to the bottom right edge. Her dark blue hair was cut pixie short, and looked to be TechHair® with small dots of light emitting from the ends. She was pale in color—natural, but enhanced with a little bit of white base—and was wearing black lipstick and eyeshadow. Underneath her left eye are three digital tattoos of slightly pulsating stars, the largest of which is no wider than two centimeters and the smallest of which (the one close to the outer corner of her eye) was less than half a centimeter in width. All of them are strategically placed outside of her peripheral vision so that the glow (no matter how dull) doesn't get in the way of her line of sight. She has further adorned herself with a labret piercing, both of her cheeks are pierced, her right nostril, and her left eyebrow as well; all with tiny, obsidian studs. On the outside of the right eye socket a small silver plate matches the contour of her bone. When she walked into the room, she had her hands tucked into her pockets and strolled with a casual, devil-may-care attitude. Placing herself at the head of the table, she stood there for a moment, surveying everyone.

"Handle's Starlight--" Bloodbanks eyes flitted quickly to the first woman in the room, the one he had originally thought to be Starlight, realizing that she too was just a mercenary. "--You're here ‘cause you need cash. I'll tell ya straight; this is black-op, no questions asked. Should be cake, but there are rules. You can't live by the rules and you walk, savvy? Rules are simple.

"Don't ask after Saint Nick. I'm the Mouth of Sauron. Two: This is, as I said, black-ops. We're playing low-key, not Loki. Saint Nick don't want no media, and don't want the wind t' sing of the thing to those Inside. So, we operate on the low. Payday is two grand apiece for delivery. Five large for information leading to recovery by Saint Nick's team, and three grand apiece if those that stole from Saint Nick wind up in a body bank.

"The gig should be cake. This is a recovery mission. May require some investigation—which is why you're here Pretty Girl," she nodded to the asian beauty.. "So, that's the nutshell. Any of you who don't think this is fly, the Samurais'll show you out. Now's your moment."

Bloodbank was quiet. His apprehension had quelled slightly as the job didn't seem too unreasonable for someone who was trying to do some good in the world. "Even if it had, though," Bloodbank was forced to remind himself. "I wouldn't really have much of an option."

After a time of silent consent, the little woman continues by reaching inside her inner coat pocket and producing an agent in a designer case that blocks the make and model. Setting the device on the table in front of her she gave a little head nod. "Download pending."

Like the others (except for the large man who was standing near the Frank Sinatra wanna-be) Bloodbank placed his agent on the table, picking it up again when it indicated a new file. Wondering briefly why the huge man didn't have an agent, Bloodbank diverted his attention to the file. Starlight gave everyone a moment to look the information over, sparse as it was, and then said, "Now's the time you raise your hands like good little boys and girls. You got questions, spill ‘em. Otherwise, we get to work."

All apprehension and doubt had flown from Bloodbank as he had viewed the received file. This child, Jase, had been taken, by the looks of it, and they were going to get him back. His personal standards, which he clung to so dearly nowadays, were not going to be tested too vigorously.

One question did still nag at Bloodbank, though. "Why hasn't not-so jolly ol' Saint Nick gone to the police, or some sort of other authority? Is there something preventing him that we might need to be concerned about?" He asked, eyeing Starlight closely.

Night City Integrate | Undercity | OceanZone - Day 1, 11:50 PM PST
Weather Conditions: High City (Thunderstorms, 15mph winds from the NE.) | Midcity (Rain, 10mph winds from the NE.) | Undercity (Fog and Rain, no winds.)
Air Quality Index: High City = 25 | Midcity = 42 | Undercity = 75 (masks required)

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The red-headed edger with the .44 Nomad and the stocking cap was the first to raise a question. He laughs derisively and says, "So lemme get this straight... some corp's son gets kidnapped, and you think that the best option is a handful of highly trained killers? I'm not one to turn down a job, Christ knows I need the cash, so I'm going to keep my opinions to myself. However, I would like to know, how much force is applicable here? How about degrees of escalation? And, should I engage with stealth and close-quarters brutality, or long-range cold-cut precision?" He sweeps his cap from his head with a hand through his shock red hair and accompanied his laugh with a half smirk on his smug face.

"What's the catch? run's supposedly this easy, always have a catch. What happens if we don‘t get the boy back or he dies during recovery?" The large blonde soldier added casually from his place next to the Dapper Dan.

"Hey Go-Boy," Starlight leans back in her chair and raises her pierced brow as she stares the superior solo down. "Who better to face off against bandits than those who pack heat and live the Life? As for the plan; well, that really depends on what's called for, Wakarimasuka? (OOC: Do you understand?)

"Right now, we know less than nothing about what we're facing. This cowgirl," Starlight hung a thumb in the Asian girl's direction. "Will be instrumental in figuring that part out, I imagine. It might take some meet-n'-greets with school staff, friends of the missing boy--hell, even the crossguard. But the key point in all of this is that whatever goes down does so without a spotlight.

"As for your question," Starlight turned her attention from the cocky gunslinger and addressed the Gibson Combat Gear advertisement. "I'd conjure the catch'd be something akin to every run. The ultimate failure could mean being flatlined. If the boy dies, well, I can't imagine that'll go over well either. So, I suggest you do everything in your power to keep the boy alive."

"Are there any possible Leads worth sharing about the boy's disappearance?" The suit asked.

"What I have available to download is in that file on your agent," the fixer pursed her lips. "Not much, I know. But runners have done more with less."

"Does Saint Nick's Team know about us... and if so... how do we contact them?" another question quick-fire from the man in the fedora.

"Saint Nick is keeping this situation close to the vest," Starlight shook her head. "Ain't no other team at this point. If Saint Nick needs to be talked at, I do the talking. You get in touch with me. And no. I won't be going along with you. But I am available through the Edge should you need something."

"Are there any Suspicious Rivals worth noting that may be involved with the boy's disappearance?" Another great question fell from the lips of the crooner..

"None that were given." Starlight leaned forward and began to play with her agent, rolling it about in her thin fingers.

"While I'm guessing Nick's wishing on a star this package was delivered yesterday, are we working with a countdown?" The beautiful Asian casually delivered.

"Sooner rather than later," the fixer replied, occupying her eyes with the device being turned in her hands. "A missing child ain't gonna stay off the media's radar for long when it's a Highcity kid with ties to a Collar. Work fast, but be good at what you do so it stays clean."

"Cool. You got transport for us, something to load us and the kid in when we need to bomb out, or we got to make our own way in the city?"

"Unfortunately, there's nothing doing as far as immediate rides, but if a need arises we can talk. Something is always available for a price."

"Why hasn't not-so jolly ol' Saint Nick gone to the police, or some sort of other authority?" The man with the skull battlemask finally spoke up. "Is there something preventing him that we might need to be concerned about?"

"Yeah," Starlight smiled prettily. "Saint Nick don't want the public to be aware of the situation, and is cautious in what news spreading could do.

"Any other questions, or are you all ready to hit the pavement?

"Like I said, I won't be joining you in the dirt, so I suggest you all think along the lines of who you want to take lead and figure out how you're going to get started. Time ain't no man's friend, chombattas."

Vegas let the information sink in as Starlight answered each question in turn.

He had a 'Couple More Questions' to ask the Fixer ... plus his new associates.

"Cowgirl got a name?"

Vegas directed his question to the Fixer, adding, "Any special reason why you chose us for this package delivery? Did you message anyone else ... or are we the only Edgers you got a response from to deliver the package?"

((OOC: After his and any other questions receive a response from the Fixer))

Satisfied that Starlight would offer no further enlightenment to his or anyone else's questions, Vegas turned to address the group.

"My Handle is Vegas. This here's Casino. About time we hit the Street and Make Bank. But first, what say we get acquainted with our specific talents of expertise and figure out a plan of action?"

Turning to Blossom he asks, "You got a special place where you can tap in to locate the information we need for the package delivery?"

Vegas pats the pistol secured in his shoulder holster and tips his fedora to Blossom with a smile and adds, "The rest of us can set up shop where you think is best ... where we can cover you ... to make sure no one disturbs your research ... so to speak."

Turning to the others he adds, "That is ... unless any of you have a better idea ... or plan of action ... for securing the delivery of the package?"

As he listened to Starlight's answers and Vegas's quick work to take charge of the group. Casino really did not have any real questions of his own but one.

"If getting this kid back is so important, do you have any extra gear we could use to help in completing this run successfully? Med gear, extra ammo, some grenades for my launcher? After all Miss Starlight its better to have something and don't need it then don't have it and need it."

Night City Integrate | Undercity | OceanZone - Day 1, 11:51 PM PST
Weather Conditions: High City (Thunderstorms, 15mph winds from the NE.) | Midcity (Rain, 10mph winds from the NE.) | Undercity (Fog and Rain, no winds.)
Air Quality Index: High City = 25 | Midcity = 42 | Undercity = 75 (masks required)

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Cowgirl got a name?" The suited solo casually asked.

"Well, ain't that snaaks," Starlight impulsively grinned as she used the Afrikaans word for funny. Dropping back into her chair once again she ignored the protesting squeak of the metal legs as they scooted slightly on the nu-concrete floor and shook her head slightly. "I do this all the time. You chombattas don't know each other from Adam, and here I go off expecting you all to just be chummy.

"Let's play the Get-t'-Know-You game so we can get on with business."

"My Handle is Vegas. This here's Casino."

(OOC: Assuming everyone pipes up with their intros,)

"You've a couple of other edgerunners who are running a bit late, but will be joining you shortly," Starlight informs everyone when the introductions are through. "As a matter-of-fact, one of them just arrived."

The door to the room is opened by the Gray Samurai standing outside admitting a man of approximately 5'7". His average build shows very little by way of fat on his body. He is wearing olive drab trousers with a black shirt and boots. His jacket is also an olive drab green color that matches his trousers and has a grey hood and zippers on each of the lower parts of the sleeves. Slung over his left shoulder is a dark brown leather pack. He is openly armed with an Uzi on a shoulder sling beneath his right arm under his jacket, barely visible as he moves through the door. More readily visible is a Militech Arms Avenger autopistol in an outside waistband holster on his right hip. His head is covered by a black watch cap and his hood is up. Over all, he's a pretty non-descript fellow.

"Team," Starlight intones with a slight derisive tone. "Meet Mathis."

(OOC: Mathis' first interactions with the party.)

Starlight rubs her left eye with her knuckles and raises her pierced eyebrows. "Like I said, you've one other latecomer pending. Her name is Echo. Just got a message from her that says she'll be here any minute.

"Echo will round out your team."

"About time we hit the Street and Make Bank." Vegas acknowledges. "But first, what say we get acquainted with our specific talents of expertise and figure out a plan of action?"

Vegas directed his question to the Fixer, adding, "Any special reason why you chose us for this package delivery? Did you message anyone else... or are we the only Edgers you got a response from to deliver the package?"

"I sent the invite to a few, but you all were the first to respond. After I filled the openings, I closed down the invitation. My agent is responding to each inquiry right now with a sweet little message letting other edgerunners who are interested know that the gig is off the market."

"If getting this kid back is so important," Casino piped up in his deep resonating voice. "Do you have any extra gear we could use to help in completing this run successfully? Med gear, extra ammo, some grenades for my launcher? After all Miss Starlight it's better to have something and don't need it then don't have it and need it."

"Well, Mr. Casino," Starlight answered back while affecting a Southern drawl. "You got the dough, I can get you what you need. But ain't nothing free sweetheart."

Satisfied that Starlight would offer no further enlightenment to his or anyone else's questions, Vegas turned to address the group. Turning to Blossom he asks, "You got a special place where you can tap into to locate the information we need for the package delivery?"

(OOC: Blossom's answer and the subsequent dialogue,)

Vegas pats the pistol secured in his shoulder holster and tips his fedora to Blossom with a smile and adds, "The rest of us can set up shop where you think is best... where we can cover you... to make sure no one disturbs your research... so to speak." Turning to the others he adds, "That is... unless any of you have a better idea... or plan of action... for securing the delivery of the package?"

The door swings open once again and the Gray Samurai steps aside long enough to allow a pale little woman to slip through the door. She stands a petite 5' 3" tall with dusty brown, chin-length hair contained beneath a brick red Balaclava. She's pretty, but not alarmingly so as most of the beauty is contained within her bone structure and soft features—more of the girl next door look than the fashion model that Blossom is, or even the Glam model Starlight could be. She wears a mottled, brown leather duster over similarly styled leather pants and a leather corset covering a red, black, and white plaid button-up shirt. Her boots are knee-high, riding boots with straps and antique-styled buckles. She has a brown canvas day pack slung over her left shoulder and a bolt action rifle across her back. A survival knife is strapped to her left thigh, and a H&K2020 Submachine gun can be seen under her right arm. The real unique touch to her whole look is what appears to be six small, red gemstones implanted just beneath her skin, three on either cheekbone.

"Well," Starlight quips. "It's about time. This is the last of your team—This is Echo.

"Now that you're all here and getting along, I'll be taking my leave. The night is young, and there's work to be done. You've my contact info if you need to reach me, chombattas. Upload your status on the hour, every hour, and keep me informed so that I can keep Saint Nick in the loop. Au revoir, my pretties."

Unless delayed, the gorgeous fixer makes her way out of the room, closing the door behind her and leaving the lot of you to figure out how you're going to locate Jace.

"Cowgirl got a name?" The suited solo casually asked.

"Well, ain't that snaaks," Starlight impulsively grinned as she used the Afrikaans word for funny. Dropping back into her chair once again she ignored the protesting squeak of the metal legs as they scooted slightly on the nu-concrete floor and shook her head slightly. "I do this all the time. You chombattas don't know each other from Adam, and here I go off expecting you all to just be chummy.

"Let's play the Get-t'-Know-You game so we can get on with business."

"My Handle is Vegas. This here's Casino."

"Handle's Bloodbank," Bloodbank said with a small smile. He was in a better mood than he had been for quite a while now. "I'm here to ensure that none of you die too quickly. I'd certainly appreciate it, though, if you made my job easy and just refrained from getting shot."

"You've a couple of other edgerunners who are running a bit late, but will be joining you shortly," Starlight informed everyone when the introductions were through. "As a matter-of-fact, one of them just arrived."

Bloodbank shifted his gaze to the door as another man entered the room. He was approximately 5'7". His average build showed very little by way of fat on his body. He was wearing olive drab trousers with a black shirt and boots. His jacket was also an olive drab green color that matched his trousers and had a grey hood and zippers on each of the lower parts of the sleeves. Slung over his left shoulder was a dark brown leather pack. He was openly armed with an Uzi on a shoulder sling beneath his right arm under his jacket, barely visible as he moves through the door. More readily visible is a Militech Arms Avenger autopistol in an outside waistband holster on his right hip. His head was covered by a black watch cap and his hood was up. Over all, he was a pretty non-descript fellow.

"Team," Starlight intoned with a slight derisive tone. "Meet Mathis."

Bloodbank nodded a greeting to the man, still with a small smile on his lips. He hadn't missed the derisiveness of Starlight's tone and couldn't help but wonder what had caused the man's lateness. He wasn't too concerned about it, though; he knew that transportation through the Undercity wasn't all too reliable.

Starlight rubs her left eye with her knuckles and raises her pierced eyebrows. "Like I said, you've one other latecomer pending. Her name is Echo. Just got a message from her that says she'll be here any minute.

"Echo will round out your team."

"About time we hit the Street and Make Bank." Vegas acknowledged. "But first, what say we get acquainted with our specific talents of expertise and figure out a plan of action?"

Vegas directed his question to the Fixer, adding, "Any special reason why you chose us for this package delivery? Did you message anyone else... or are we the only Edgers you got a response from to deliver the package?"

"I sent the invite to a few, but you all were the first to respond. After I filled the openings, I closed down the invitation. My agent is responding to each inquiry right now with a sweet little message letting other edgerunners who are interested know that the gig is off the market."

"If getting this kid back is so important," Casino piped up in his deep resonating voice. "Do you have any extra gear we could use to help in completing this run successfully? Med gear, extra ammo, some grenades for my launcher? After all Miss Starlight it's better to have something and don't need it then don't have it and need it."

"Well, Mr. Casino," Starlight answered back while affecting a Southern drawl. "You got the dough, I can get you what you need. But ain't nothing free sweetheart."

Satisfied that Starlight would offer no further enlightenment to his or anyone else's questions, Vegas turned to address the group. Turning to Blossom he asks, "You got a special place where you can tap into to locate the information we need for the package delivery?"

(OOC: Blossom's answer and the subsequent dialogue,)

Vegas pats the pistol secured in his shoulder holster and tips his fedora to Blossom with a smile and adds, "The rest of us can set up shop where you think is best... where we can cover you... to make sure no one disturbs your research... so to speak." Turning to the others he adds, "That is... unless any of you have a better idea... or plan of action... for securing the delivery of the package?"

The door swings open once again and the Gray Samurai steps aside long enough to allow a pale little woman to slip through the door. She stands a petite 5' 3" tall with dusty brown, chin-length hair contained beneath a brick red Balaclava. She's pretty, but not alarmingly so as most of the beauty is contained within her bone structure and soft features—more of the girl next door look than the fashion model that Blossom is, or even the Glam model Starlight could be. She wears a mottled, brown leather duster over similarly styled leather pants and a leather corset covering a red, black, and white plaid button-up shirt. Her boots are knee-high, riding boots with straps and antique-styled buckles. She has a brown canvas day pack slung over her left shoulder and a bolt action rifle across her back. A survival knife is strapped to her left thigh, and a H&K2020 Submachine gun can be seen under her right arm. The real unique touch to her whole look is what appears to be six small, red gemstones implanted just beneath her skin, three on either cheekbone.

Again, Bloodbank nodded his greeting. "So, this is the team." He thought, glancing around at the six other Edgerunners in the room. They all looked quite capable and, unless the looks were deceiving, he was holding on to a measure of tentative confidence that this job might actually be a quick and easy way to get some cash, and (more importantly) do some good.

"Well," Starlight quips. "It's about time. This is the last of your team—This is Echo.

"Now that you're all here and getting along, I'll be taking my leave. The night is young, and there's work to be done. You've my contact info if you need to reach me, chombattas. Upload your status on the hour, every hour, and keep me informed so that I can keep Saint Nick in the loop. Au revoir, my pretties."

Bloodbank nodded his farewell with another small smile before turning his attention fully to the job at hand.

Ghlahn waited for the door to close before saying, "Alright, let's establish a chain of command, some combat roles, and some non combat roles. I'll take second in command, overwatch, and 'stand by and looking ravishing' respectively, as I'm a good leader but not quite that good, a damn hot sniper, and a damn hot sniper." His smirk widens slightly and he waits for responses. While he does so, he loads his sniper rifle and chambers a round without looking at it.

"Cowgirl got a name?" The suited solo casually asked.

"Well, ain't that snaaks," Starlight impulsively grinned as she used the Afrikaans word for funny. Dropping back into her chair once again she ignored the protesting squeak of the metal legs as they scooted slightly on the nu-concrete floor and shook her head slightly. "I do this all the time. You chombattas don't know each other from Adam, and here I go off expecting you all to just be chummy.

"Let's play the Get-t'-Know-You game so we can get on with business."

"My Handle is Vegas. This here's Casino."

"Handle's Bloodbank," Bloodbank said with a small smile. He was in a better mood than he had been for quite a while now. "I'm here to ensure that none of you die too quickly. I'd certainly appreciate it, though, if you made my job easy and just refrained from getting shot."
"Sounds good to me." Blossom says, acknowledging Bloodbank's request. She unwraps a lollipop and proceeds to suck on the candy, as she eyes the men around the room. "You go-boys look like you know how to handle your heat, though, so hopefully this will be easy cake for us."

Taking the sucker out of her mouth for a moment, she introduces herself simple, "Blossom."

"You've a couple of other edgerunners who are running a bit late, but will be joining you shortly," Starlight informed everyone when the introductions were through. "As a matter-of-fact, one of them just arrived." ,

"Team," Starlight intoned with a slight derisive tone. "Meet Mathis." Blossom looks the man over. "Glad you could join the party, choomba."
,

Satisfied that Starlight would offer no further enlightenment to his or anyone else's questions, Vegas turned to address the group. Turning to Blossom he asks, "You got a special place where you can tap into to locate the information we need for the package delivery?"

Vegas pats the pistol secured in his shoulder holster and tips his fedora to Blossom with a smile and adds, "The rest of us can set up shop where you think is best... where we can cover you... to make sure no one disturbs your research... so to speak." Turning to the others he adds, "That is... unless any of you have a better idea... or plan of action... for securing the delivery of the package?"
"Nah, friend. We do this on the fly, man. I'm thinking paying a visit to Bartholomew might be a first stop of us. By the time we get there, I'll have sifted the Pool and we'll see what floats to the top. Make a plan along the way." Blossom gave Vegas a wide smile as she continued, "Once we get to the school, depending on how we flow, I might need you to play with your pearly piece." She gives him a wink.

The door swings open once again and the Gray Samurai steps aside long enough to allow a pale little woman to slip through the door. ,

"Well," Starlight quips. "It's about time. This is the last of your team—This is Echo."
When the young woman steps in, Blossom actually gets up and goes in to give Echo a hug. "Yay! Glad you could make it, sweetie! You had me thinking I was going to be running with these go-boys solo." Looking around the room with her arm still draped around Echo's shoulder, she made introduction. "Echo, meet the fellas. You got the high-rollers over there, Vegas and Casino. Hard to miss them. Ripdoc Bloodbank here to help keep your heart fluttering. Mathis over there, he just made it here too, so don't you worry a bit. And then there's this guy, " Nodding at Ghlahn. "I don't know his name yet. You haven't even said you name yet." Looking back at Echo, "He hasn't been introduced yet. See, you're right on time. We're just getting started. Hi, Echo! I'm Blossom! Glad you're coming along for the ride."

"Now that you're all here and getting along, I'll be taking my leave. The night is young, and there's work to be done. You've my contact info if you need to reach me, chombattas. Upload your status on the hour, every hour, and keep me informed so that I can keep Saint Nick in the loop. Au revoir, my pretties."
"Got it. Thanks." Blossom says, acknowledging Starlight's request as the fixer leaves.

Ghlahn waited for the door to close before saying, "Alright, let's establish a chain of command, some combat roles, and some non combat roles. I'll take second in command, overwatch, and 'stand by and looking ravishing' respectively, as I'm a good leader but not quite that good, a damn hot sniper, and a damn hot sniper." His smirk widens slightly and he waits for responses. While he does so, he loads his sniper rifle and chambers a round without looking at it.
Blossom rolled her eyes as Ghlahn started loading gun and talking about establishing chains of command. "Slick." Turning back to Echo, "See, Echo?! This is why I'm glad you're here to run this with me!"

Addressing Ghlahn again, she says lightly, "Silly joy-boy. Everyone knows girls rule the world."

"Seriously though, you want to play second-to-one, that's fine with me. I'm running the net for this gig, feeding your brains with as much info as you can handle and looking to get us clearance when we need it. Unless you chombattas got a better plan, I say we follow Starlight's lead and make bank. Jace ain't likely to walk in the door, so I say we start with the school and see if we can pick up this little bunny's trail. That pass for you, boys?"

James woke with a slight start as an alarm resounded through his ears, the proximity alarm of his agent being sent directly to his auditory link. His eyes sprang open to a man just about a meter away, the distance he had set his alarm to go off at. He had a knife in hand, approaching quietly with it drawn out. Though the lighting on the monorail was dim, James could see clear as day, his vision enhancements amplifying the ambient light. The young edgerunner pulled his Uzi Miniauto free of the sleeping bag that covered his sleeping form. James's smartgun link instantly registered that he had grasped the weapon, and a targeting reticle came into his field of visions to tell him where the bullets should hit. A suppressor would muffle the noise of the weapon firing if he needed to use it. Though he had no experience in an actual fight, it would not really matter at this close of range. This was not to be the easy score that the man thought it would be.

"You might want to reconsider this move, friend," the words came out of his mouth with surprisingly no shakiness or nervousness. James knew that he was not an intimidating person. One did not need to be real intimidating though when you were sitting behind a full auto weapon that could potentially riddle you full of holes. "Book it before you get lit up."

The man hesitated amount before backing off and then going further down into the monorail. James let loose a slight breath of release as he was once more left alone this late at night on the train as it wound its way through night city. A chirping through his phone splice let him know that he had a new message. Letting go of his Uzi and pulling his agent from his pocket, James quickly input his passcode and the device went to his homescreen. The message icon had a small one popping up from it, but at least it was something. So hard to get any work, the thought came through his mind. He had a score to settle and would not be safe until he did. To do so, he needed the skills and resources to settle the score. And for that, he needed work.

Starlight. The name of the sender. It was not a handle that he knew, but maybe his name had gotten around from previous work. James could only hope that they had heard of him through his handle and not his actual name. Fixer was the nickname given to him by Brayden, the old solo that had taken him in like if he was his own son. Plus, he did not need Narya to hear his name and know that he had not been zeroed out as she had planned. That is probably the one thing keeping him alive these last several months. That and keeping mobile. He just had to keep moving so that she did not know where he was. At least her actions had lost her access the enclaves, that was a major plus in his book for him. Not that it would keep her out if she drafted in the wake of another edgerunner. Best bet was to keep doing what he was doing and stay on the move, working to pay the necessities, and stay breathing.

Opening up the message, simple words popped up on the screen. 'Quick Run - Quick Cash - Interested?' After shooting back a quick affirmative, a second message came back to him.

'Meet - 11:30 PM Tonight - Night City Integrate | Undercity | OceanZone - x0002334 y 00000021 - Look for Gray Samurai'.

James checked his position right quick on his agent and how quickly he could get there using public transit. He would not be able to get there on time. Being late to a meet was never a good thing, but it would be better to let them know then just to walk in like that. '1130 no good. Be there ASAP.'

With that lest message broadcasted out, James slipped his agent back into his coat pocket.rnrn His sleeping bag was a bit aged, a pale and faded blue, but still holding it together and perfectly functional even if he just used it as a blanket. It did not take long get it rolled back up and strapped securely in a small roll. A quick inventory showed everything still in his ruck, an old leather pack of a light brown and one large main packet with a handful of smaller pockets on the outside. There were his tools, his spare ammo, extra clothing, his food, and his water bottles on the outside. James snapped shut the main pouch, slipped his now rolled up sleeping bag through the straps on top and cinched them down. A quick heft brought the pack to its normal position, James quickly shifting it a bit to improve the balance out the weight. A last inspection of his Uzi, pulling the charging slide back a bit, saw a round still in the chamber, ready to fire. It would have been bad if it had been otherwise, the situation with the knifer just a handful of minutes ago could have turned out completely different if that had been the case.

He was dressed in olive drab trousers and Kevlar jacket, black boots and short-sleeved shirt, and the grey hood of his jacket pulled up into place along with the black beanie. A pair of mirrorshades covered James's deep blue eyes, his coal black hair hid beneath hood and beanie. There was not much muscle on the slim man's body; he was lean with an average build, not athletic. He tried to keep hidden the fact that he was still kicking it out on the streets. James kept his Uzi tucked beneath his right shoulder with his magazines under the opposite side. His Avenger was holstered in an inner waistband holster on his right hip. Concealability is something he attempted his both of his firearms. It was best to not show everybody that he was packing and possibly draw attention and conflict to him.

The monorail stopped at his destination after a short bit. James's agent showed that he needed his mask, and the man pulled it up over his face, letting the filter do its job. The breathable air was still a bit tasteful of the pollution in the undercity, but at least it was clean enough to breathe through the device. He stepped out of the monorail and gave a quick glance; the platform was deserted this late at night. His agent told him the time was 2335, the meet had started five minutes ago. He knew was going to be late but had hoped to not make it real late. Benefactors did not care for late runners, and he knew people that had lost jobs due to the fact they had run late to a meeting.

The cool air felt good as the young runner took a brisk walk to the coordinates he had been given. Nearly a dozen boosters hung out by the entrance of an alley next to a pair of buildings. They all wore grey battle masks fixed into visages that were not at all pleasant to look at. A sword of some sorts hung on their back with SMGs in their arms. James did not care to know if they knew how to use what they were packing and planned on not finding out. They all wore a variety of military style clothing. Perhaps these were the samurai fellows that he was told to look for. He would not know unless he asked.

"Good evening, friends," the statement came out of his mouth in a collected manner. "Y'all know a starlight by any chance? I was told to show up here for some work."

A couple of the boosters glanced at each other, but James could not tell the look upon their faces due to their masks. One of those two grunted and shrugged for him to follow. It was not that great of looking of a place to be in. A layer of water coated the floors, but it was close to the ocean. He was glad now that he kept his guns oiled up, nobody like rust getting into a place where it should not be and locking up things that needed to be moving. (OOC: I remember a time training down by san diego, didn't have my 240 lubed up enough and the rust getting up in there. Had to break the charging handle loose. Definitely something you want to learn in training and not when it is the real deal.) The workers kept their eyes averted as the small entourage took him further into the building. They seemed as if they did not care to know the big boss's goings on. James wrinkled up his nose at the smell of the fish. He did not care too much for it himself and was glad his mask filtered out what it could. James was left standing before another small group of the boosters, the other two turned to go back to their post outside. One of the four opened the door, and James calmly strolled inside the next room.

James scanned the room and took in its occupants. There were six other occupants, one of them most likely the benefactor's representative. He spotted three other edgerunners. Two of them wore bracers that he noticed up front with one of those and another having crescent moon shapes next to their eyes that spoke of optic splices (correct me if I'm wrong please and don't know if James will have the same or not; said that optic splices could take the form of like contact lenses in the book). One that he did not care for too much off the bat was dressed in expensive style clothing that spoke of a middle but doubtedly upper level edgerunner if he was pulling work down here. He dressed flashy, possibly trying to pull off some look that he identified with. The second man wore just a .44 at his waist on the utility belt but wore black fatigues with a black bag slung over his left shoulder and a battle mask sitting on top of his head. James could appreciate the mask; anonymity was sometimes needed when pulling jobs that could make enemies. The last of the three was a beauty, Asian descent. Her height was matched with his with the heels she had on her boots. James did not know how he felt about operating in heels, figuring they would be a bit hard to run in if they had to bail rather rapidly. She must rather like to do things rather closely, noting the long blade on her hip and the shottie tucked beneath her arm.

His vision ran over the fellow that looked like he might be out of some vid. The man sported an old tech visor and no other cybe that James could see offhand, perhaps he like to keep it concealed so that others would think of him as less of a threat. He could see the submachinegun beneath the man's trench coat but could not make the model. The last man in the room appeared to be appeared to be a nomad, possibly a roller. He could respect working with one of them with the knowledge that he would most likely not ditch out on the run. The final member of the room was a short petite little thing with another pair of heeled boots. Her outfit was fairly colorful and on her right thigh sat a fully custom pistol that was most likely beyond James's humble talents to work up. She was a bit of a looker though.

"Team," Starlight intones with a slight derisive tone. "Meet Mathis."

James did not miss the woman's tone. He figured the woman was the benefactor's woman. He pulled down his mask and spoke up, "Better late than never, darling. You're the one that messaged me. Was a bit too far out to make it on your timeline. Now, my name's Mathis but the handle's Fixer. I'd prefer to keep my name off the streets if that aint gonna be a problem.

"Now, if one of yuns could let me know what the job entails, I'd be a tad appreciative." (OOC: assuming somebody lets him transfer the data to his agent) James looked at the details a bit as the rest deliberated the next move. (OOC: If anybody interacts with him, will edit the post from here.)

"Well," Starlight quips. "It's about time. This is the last of your team. This is Echo.

"Now that you;re all here and getting along, I'll be taking my leave. The night is young, and there's work to be done. You've my contact info if you need to reach me, chombattas. Upload your status on the hour, every hour, and keep me informed so that I can keep Saint Nick in the loop. Au revoir, my pretties."

James takes in the latest arrival. It appeared to be another nomad styled runner. She may or may not have been from the roller state as well. An extra glance was spent to take in the woman's features. She was good looking, but it was more of a natural beauty than a manufactured one, like your classic girl next door features. "Save the best for last?" he addressed the new comer in a questioningly manner. The three stones embedded on each check especially caught him attention.

(OOC: Okay, got this up and heading to bed. Will add a bit more to it as I get a git more down time.)

"Well, Mr. Casino," Starlight answered back while affecting a Southern drawl. "You got the dough, I can get you what you need. But ain't nothing free sweetheart."

Casino leaned over and whispered to Vegas about both the total some of their Night City Dollars. It was here that the two newcomers showed up.

"Well Miss Starlight this is sure a pretty big crew for an easy run."

The big man paused checking out the newcomers hardware. Though they both carried SMG's neither of them carried any heavy duty damage doers like his grenade launcher.

"Well we're hoping for some type of taser in case the boy gives us a hard time and three more grenades for my launcher as I see out of the seven of us I'm the only one packing artillery."

Grabbing a piece of paper he listed the grenade types ((1 HE, 1 Fragmentation, 1 smoke))
Handing it to her he moved back to his place by the door, covering it as he always did in case things went bad.....