White Out [Cosmic Era RP]

#1

Johnson is a nervous, thin man, with a face like a dyspeptic catfish and overly large eyes. He checks through his list of contacts again, finding a team on such a short notice was difficult. It was even more difficult because unlike many other middle and high level fixers he lacked the extensive rolodex of mercenaries and professionals. The job could be easy if he could tap a pair of John Rambos, a Terminator, and a River Tam combat savant. Maybe one of those high dollar bullet artists could be useful. But he didn't have any of them in his encrypted list.

He took a drink. He was going to be doing some traveling over the next three days to pull this job off. He reread the coded message and double checked his decyphering. It was bad, it was real bad.

(OOC - This is the set up, each character will meet up with Mr. Johnson over a period of three days in game. This will function as character introduction formally, and since Johnson will be traveling, everyone can pick where they meet, since everyone will be meeting a secondary location hopefully before the end of the first page.)

Re: White Out [Cosmic Era RP]

#2

Brian Bolles was running low on money. He had barely enough to live comfortably for two days and still be able to leave Washington, D.C. at a moment's notice. And he had the perfect plan to remedy this situation- a rich neo-ethnic with a security system that wouldn't stand a chance against Brian Bolles. Especially because said security system was going through a reboot in the Alpha Two sector. Brian was going to redistribute the wealth a little. Them d**ned mutants were less worthy of money than he, Brian, was. He would hit the neo-ethnic's house tonight. But in the mean time, since Brian had all ready done his homework on the house, he was relaxing in his hotel room, watching old Holovids and checking his email.

The protagonist on-screen had just gotten into the climatic fightscene with the villain ("Go Dr. Evil!" cheered Brian) when his laptop beeped. Brian saw that he had gotten mail. He opened it up, saw that it had been encrypted, and bore the seal of one of his contacts, a guy called... Oh, what was his name? Brian didn't memorize all his contact's names, especially the low level fixers. Maybe it was Jackson? Jolson? No, Jolson had a different seal... Johnson! Yeah, that was it. And so Brian loaded up his decryption program and set it to work on the email. Maybe he wouldn't have to rob that mutant's house, or have time to.

But he was d**ned if he wasn't going to throw a Molotov Cocktail through the mutant's window if he would have to leave right away. Pass up such a perfectly good opportunity? Ha.

Re: White Out [Cosmic Era RP]

#3

Johnson sat in an aeroport terminal waiting for his flight. He accessed his datafeed and noticed that Bolles had accepted his email. He typed a quick reply:

Special job in Alaska. B&E on government industrial arcology. $300k pay out

Re: White Out [Cosmic Era RP]

#4

Brian read Johnson's email with equal parts delight and dismay. Yes, $300k was good amount of money, but Alaska... Why did it have to be Alaska? Brian would have to buy cold weather gear. Or maybe he could convince Johnson to pay for that. Brian grinned to himself, and started typing up his acceptance, as well as questions to the tune of the particulars. When and where would they meet? Would Johnson pay for any necessary gear? If Johnson allowed neo-ethnics and augmens into their group, would Brian get a bonus for working with such wastes of human flesh?

Re: White Out [Cosmic Era RP]

#5

Tappity tap tap tap. Scratch tap thud tap.
It was code what Blue was sending, and a simple one at that. Nothing special there. Yet when it's your mind drumming against a receiver located a block away, which you just happen to see through that tiny window, it's something else alright.
Surveillance cannot intercept pure thought yet, even though said thought is telling reality to bend over and be a good bitch.

Whistling, Blue strolled along the delapidated promenade, bought a noodle soup from a Chinese vendor so wrinkled that prunes envied his face, and thought about the last months.
The Eureka arcology was seedy, and the quarter Blue called "my turf" even seedier - just the way the Draenei liked it. As for external surveillance, it was entirely off the grid - and Blue enjoyed tossing any scout drones that barged in into the trash. Best pitch so far? A single prod, and the probe landed square in the middle of the trashcan, mangled - without cheating and adjusting its course. Same happened to any newly installed cameras - 'mysterious malfunction'.

Ever since escaping, Blue was irate at the thought of being watched. Sure, the system had to go offline, and the recordings had to go. Sven, the head of security? He was a boon, especially as Blue barged in on him whacking off to the footage of 'Master' playing one of his games in the middle of the lobby - with Blue no less.
He might have been a creep, but all blood is beautiful.

They'd drill into the armories soon, in utter silence, melting through the floors with chemicals, without tremors or noises to give them away. Where fine touch was needed, Blue would step in. Nothing like levitating a slab of floor to get you going.
And with Blue's way of giving orders, no one would ever expect it until it was too late.

***

Blue's den was modest and secluded - as is wisest for a would-be revolutionnaire. Nadia was still there, spent, gazing at the roof and playing with ice cubes inside a glass of irish cream.
"Eric left?"
"You wonder?" the readhead asked, chuckling.
"I'll drag him back, fear not."

Screens were buzzing with information in the 'headquarters', occupying almost all wall space in the tiny room, connected to a plethoira of feeds.
What was that? A work offer?
"Johnson."
What an ironic name for a humble fixer - especially considering his income would be paid by Johnsons, he'd be yelled at by Johnsons, do work for Johnsons and curse Johnsons all day.
"300k?" Blue mused. The money's good - and playing a corp off against another, coupled with property damage, perhaps personnel loss? Who knew if there was a possibility to make both lose? And if not, 300k bought a lot of bang, from people who could not care less where said bang was used, and who was to be banged.

Back in the bedroom, Nadia's head rested in Blue's lap, the psychic mused: "We strike tonight - then I leave for Alaska. Oversee the storage of the arms, and lay low. There aren't enough yet. But soon..."

Re: White Out [Cosmic Era RP]

#6

Brian read Johnson's email with equal parts delight and dismay. Yes, $300k was good amount of money, but Alaska... Why did it have to be Alaska? Brian would have to buy cold weather gear. Or maybe he could convince Johnson to pay for that. Brian grinned to himself, and started typing up his acceptance, as well as questions to the tune of the particulars. When and where would they meet? Would Johnson pay for any necessary gear? If Johnson allowed neo-ethnics and augmens into their group, would Brian get a bonus for working with such wastes of human flesh?

Johnson was exasperated as he responded to Bolles, the young man's value as a hardware hacker was tempered by his unprofessional attitude and blatant xenohuman racism. Johnson typed a response, that his expenses would be comped after the job. He also sent a reminder that any extraneous expenses incurred unrelated to the job would not be comped, such as designer drugs, augmentations, sex parlor visits, it was all cut and paste work. Their guide would meet and assemble the team at Anchorage.

Re: White Out [Cosmic Era RP]

#7

Tappity tap tap tap. Scratch tap thud tap.
It was code what Blue was sending, and a simple one at that. Nothing special there. Yet when it's your mind drumming against a receiver located a block away, which you just happen to see through that tiny window, it's something else alright.
Surveillance cannot intercept pure thought yet, even though said thought is telling reality to bend over and be a good bitch.

Whistling, Blue strolled along the delapidated promenade, bought a noodle soup from a Chinese vendor so wrinkled that prunes envied his face, and thought about the last months.
The Eureka arcology was seedy, and the quarter Blue called "my turf" even seedier - just the way the Draenei liked it. As for external surveillance, it was entirely off the grid - and Blue enjoyed tossing any scout drones that barged in into the trash. Best pitch so far? A single prod, and the probe landed square in the middle of the trashcan, mangled - without cheating and adjusting its course. Same happened to any newly installed cameras - 'mysterious malfunction'.

Ever since escaping, Blue was irate at the thought of being watched. Sure, the system had to go offline, and the recordings had to go. Sven, the head of security? He was a boon, especially as Blue barged in on him whacking off to the footage of 'Master' playing one of his games in the middle of the lobby - with Blue no less.
He might have been a creep, but all blood is beautiful.

They'd drill into the armories soon, in utter silence, melting through the floors with chemicals, without tremors or noises to give them away. Where fine touch was needed, Blue would step in. Nothing like levitating a slab of floor to get you going.
And with Blue's way of giving orders, no one would ever expect it until it was too late.

***

Blue's den was modest and secluded - as is wisest for a would-be revolutionnaire. Nadia was still there, spent, gazing at the roof and playing with ice cubes inside a glass of irish cream.
"Eric left?"
"You wonder?" the readhead asked, chuckling.
"I'll drag him back, fear not."

Screens were buzzing with information in the 'headquarters', occupying almost all wall space in the tiny room, connected to a plethoira of feeds.
What was that? A work offer?
"Johnson."
What an ironic name for a humble fixer - especially considering his income would be paid by Johnsons, he'd be yelled at by Johnsons, do work for Johnsons and curse Johnsons all day.
"300k?" Blue mused. The money's good - and playing a corp off against another, coupled with property damage, perhaps personnel loss? Who knew if there was a possibility to make both lose? And if not, 300k bought a lot of bang, from people who could not care less where said bang was used, and who was to be banged.

Back in the bedroom, Nadia's head rested in Blue's lap, the psychic mused: "We strike tonight - then I leave for Alaska. Oversee the storage of the arms, and lay low. There aren't enough yet. But soon..."

Feel free to skip ahead to going to Anchorage, the Iditarod Inn.

Re: White Out [Cosmic Era RP]

#8

Muldoon was staring at a herd of humans centered 171.2 meters from his current position. He wished he didn’t know them. He was 26 meters above the ground, grasping the trunk of Sitka Spruce. He put one of the smaller humans in his cross hairs, and chambered a rifle round. It was the male juvenile who always smelled of feces and sugar. Muldoon didn’t have to remember him that sent though, he could still smell the boy on his coat. That child called, Thomas Paine Worthington, was one of several of the underage humans who insisted on touching him. This kill would be a useful culling of the herd. Muldoon brought his cross hairs in line with the boy’s chest. He could see the boy’s chest spasm as he coughed heavily, the boy had been sick ever since his family moved him out of the Archology and to this Alaskan wilderness. “This kill would be a useful culling of the herd.“ Muldoon said aloud. He wasn’t sure if he had mimicked Ryce’s voice (Muldoon could mimic many voices and sound) or if he just heard it. With a thought Muldoon’s internal servos pulled the hammer back on his built-in rifle, but he couldn’t take the shot.

A shot here would spook the herd and a human herd often doesn’t scatter properly. They might even take the boys carcass with them and he would never be able to claim a trophy. Besides they had been his pack or so he had thought. “But if you want to kill a member of your pack, then perhaps you aren’t part of the pack” he thought. He unchambered the rifle. This group of 154 humans had fled their arcology and hired to him guide them into the Alaskan wilderness, and help them set up a new community. He had helped them kill moose, haddock a squirrel and other animals. He explained to them how to eat and prepare meat, how to drink water from natural sources and how to dispose of their own waste safely. It had been time consuming but it had not been a challenge. Plus these humans wished to talk with Muldoon about other things: About siebertronian rights, archologies and democratically elected governments. They were his employers, but they under used his skills. They also were not hunters. He had preferred his last job in Kamachtka, even though it had been illegal. It had paid better and it presented more of challenge. The human he had killed, had been some of the most difficult beasts he had ever stalked. But Muldoon had been lonely. What is the point of a kill or a trophy is Mr. Ryce does not share in it? But he had been able to buy a boat once the job was done.

He had taken this job because it paid and it was to his knowledge legal. Illegal jobs ran the risk of imprisonment or execution which he had thought outweighed the positive aspects of the job. But he underestimated the weight of caring for a herd of humans. He crawled around the tree like ant and turned his view away from the camp. Muldoon looked east, and consulted a map. He looking east, towards the ocean waters underneath Alaska’s chin. His boat was secure down on the shore. He would go cancel his contract with these Archology refugees, “they are more prey than predator, and I belongs in a pack not a herd,” he thought. Did he think it or had Mr. Ryce told him that long ago? He would look for a new pack and new prey, and more money.

Re: White Out [Cosmic Era RP]

#9

The split hooves conferred excellent footing on ice, spreading, adapting to the uneven surface, cutting into the frost with their sharp edges - a welcome side effect of someone's fancy.
The rest of the Draenei was wrapped in layers of fur, thermo-cloth... an Arco-dweller could never be too careful when plunging into te heart of winter.

The Iditarod Inn was built in a rustical fancy, hinting at pioneers and gold-diggers with its massive wood and trophies - and inside, it was warm.

Logs, logs everywhere. One of them approached, clad in a flanel shirt though, and a beard instead of moss. Looking at Blue's digitigrade legs, he chuckled: "What will it be, deerbutt?"
"A can of tea, dear chimp - and venison, if you have, I am in mood for some canibalism tonight."

He brought some tea promptly enough, slices of deer in a thick sauce, and a joint and lighter.
Blue looked at it positively puzzled, before chuckling and proceeding with the meal.

Re: White Out [Cosmic Era RP]

#10

Anchorage is flat, a strip of mud and volcanic sand sticking westward into the sea. The land mass of Anchorage was more fill and man made support pylons heading to the bed rock than anything else these days. Muldoon's 12 foot red and white schooner rounded the Northern most point the massive Joseph Hazelwood Memorial Air Frieght center. A Dangeroulsy loud transorbital roared off over the sound, Muldoon peered up out of the tiny cabin. The trans-orbital was freight craft, no passengers, Mr. Ryce and he would often take Transorbital flights to seek out their various targets...of course Muldoon travelled with the freight. Muldoon was powering the boat with the its ethanol engine so he could charge his own internal batteries.

The only other surface traffic in the sound, besides ice, was large rust colored barge hulling petro-salvage. Mr. Ryce owned several petro salvage interests. "The petro was gone, but those that had pursued it left a civilizations worth of material behind, not just the obvious stuff either. The real worth is in the trace metals and rare minerals, if I can get 500 kilos of coltan from 500 tons of salvaged rust and plastic than I can turn a profit. Mr. Ryce would talk to Muldoon, when they were in the blinds or on the trail. But unlike the Archo refuges he never expected a response.

Muldoon consulted his maps, a good hunter's map had overlays, because prey generally don't read road signs, and you learn a lot about the land from looking at was once there. The volcanos had changed this land scape a great deal, as he could by overlaying a map file from 1871 with a map file from 1991, we was heading for an area that was called Turnagain in 1962, than his 1991 map stated that it was called Earthquake park. Today it was Rededit Corp. Gold Rush village. He found the location on the map and climbed out of his tiny cabin and looked southeast towards the shore. He could see the Iditarod Inn was built in a rustical fancy made of wood or a wood like substance. Out of habit Muldoon thought to pull up his records of fire codes in Alaska, to see if Mr. Ryce could stay in such an Inn, but then realized he didn't have such records. He hadn't done any research....he didn't know what he would be hunting.

He would have to take his boat North east to but in the Marina. He zoomed in on the Inn, its doors facing the bay. A large hooved by-bed wearing a massive amount of cloth was pushing through the door. Behind the Inn was a stand of Sitka spruces, older than the Inn itself. Muldoon would next in those spruces until his new pack assembled. He made sure his internal comlink was turned on, and took his boat towards the marinia. All the while keeping a precise tally of his fuel expenditure. He would be preparing an expense report.

Re: White Out [Cosmic Era RP]

#11

The first thing Brian did when he stepped out of Anchorage's aeroport was curse the cold. He then proceeded to a nearby store and purchased some quality cold weather gear. Good thing he had time to liberate the rich Washington mutant's money from his home. He threw on his new thermo-cloth coat (a nice blue color, Brian thought to himself, congratulating himself on his most excellent choice), slipped on his new boots (who knew where this job would take them. He checked a piece of paper he had printed out, detailing the directions to the Iditarod Inn. He gazed out of the shop's window at the frost-covered streets and the clouds issuing from passer-by's lips, and sighed. He would have to go out into the cold. Alaska. Why did it have to be Alaska?

Brian nodded to the clerk in farewell, and left the store. Amazingly, the thermo-cloth actually did a good job keeping him warm, and his new boots gripped the frost well. He took out his map and turned left, left, right, straight, right, and was soon enough staring at the sign above the door of the Inn. Brian opened the door and looked around at the jumble of faces. He saw a collection of mostly human (who knew how many of them were secretly augmen mutants) patrons, and two neo-ethnics. One had apparently thought the green skin and pointed ears and an elfin chin made her look hot or something. The other was eating venison, and had went with blue skin, horns, hooves, a tail, and of course red eyes. Brian rolled his eyes. Mutants.

Brian approached the man in charge of the place and inquired about a Mr. Johnson's party. Finding multiple such groups, Brian ordered a plate of scrambled eggs, venison (when in Rome...) and a nice reindeer sausage. He sat down at a table in the corner that was empty. It was (regretfully) adjacent to that mutant's, the one with the blue skin, table. Brian took out his laptop as he ate, and started researching miscellaneous info on Alaska.

Re: White Out [Cosmic Era RP]

#12

Food finished and Johnson nowhere in sight, Blue began to grow... antsy.
Soon an e-book reader was providing distraction. "The Prince" was solid reading, true, but...
Not enough to occupy all the corners of Blue's mind.

Two tables away, the lid of a salt shaker began to unscrew.

Re: White Out [Cosmic Era RP]

#13

Jacobim Prewett strode into the Iditarod Inn like he owned the place. He hung his neoprene jacket on a hook by the door and strode up to the bar and ordered a scotch neat and turned to survey the common room of the inn. A dozen holovid screens were playing an assortment of news updates, entertainment streams, and advert streams. He had scanned the dossier of his incoming team and he liked what he saw. Johnson had apologized for the lackluster talent and hoped that Prewett wouldn't hold it against him in future dealings. Prewett had disagreed. He saw something different, he saw rugged, determined individuals, heroes who hadn't had their chance to shine, and oh, the auto-waitress presented him with his scotch. He drank it in a few sips.

The xenohuman was the easiest to pick out with his impressive horns and blue coloration. Muldoon the sentient hunting 'bot would have been the second easiest, but there was no indication that the mechanical creature had made it's appearance yet. Bolles was more difficult to pick out, but he was a normal human, the most unobtrusive member of the team. He scanned the room again and then checked his contacts, Johnson was still blank on the street samurai and that was a dissapointment. Prewett had been looking forward to what an goodness to gigabytes street sam could do in a fight.

He ordered a walking scotch and brought all of the present team members to the same table, his table, lucky #17.

"Good morning gentlemen, I trust everyone's travel was acceptable?" he would stall for a few minutes to give the missing team members time to show up

Re: White Out [Cosmic Era RP]

#14

Brian would have to work the mutant? Well, at least his group had someone to take all the hits if they got discovered. And someone to blame for the discovering, though Brian as he took in the height and the horns of the neo-ethnic in front of him. Brian turned to his Jacobim Prewett chap. Hmm. Rugged. Johnson had called him a guide, so he was either someone who knew the layout of the place they were going to hit, or someone who knew the terrain. Brian suspected the latter, based on how he looked. And he was slightly superstitious, too- why else be at table 17? But Brian could overlook that. Courteous, too, based on the greeting- or was this a pre-doctrined greeting, designed to put us at our ease? Brian decided to be blunt with this man. And maybe try to find out why there was a waste-of-flesh mutant gene-whore in the group.

"Morning. Yeah, travel was decent. So, who else is accompanying us on our, ah, expedition? Hopefully not anymore damn mutants?"

Re: White Out [Cosmic Era RP]

#15

*outside the inn*

Muldoon sends a text only message to Mr. Johnson

Muldoon: At the location Latitude: 61.1978, Longitude: -149.9708, Iditarod Inn, please advise

Johnson: Excellent, we already inside

Muldoon: I rarely enter human recreational or residential structures. Please advise.

Re: White Out [Cosmic Era RP]

#16

*outside the inn*

Muldoon sends a text only message to Mr. Johnson

Muldoon: At the location Latitude: 61.1978, Longitude: -149.9708, Iditarod Inn, please advise

Johnson: Excellent, we already inside

Muldoon: I rarely enter human recreational or residential structures. Please advise.

What's the damned problem? Johnson asked. (He has only glanced at Muldoon's dossier and is assuming that Muldoon is a humanoid seibertronian)

Re: White Out [Cosmic Era RP]

#17

Brian would have to work the mutant? Well, at least his group had someone to take all the hits if they got discovered. And someone to blame for the discovering, though Brian as he took in the height and the horns of the neo-ethnic in front of him. Brian turned to his Jacobim Prewett chap. Hmm. Rugged. Johnson had called him a guide, so he was either someone who knew the layout of the place they were going to hit, or someone who knew the terrain. Brian suspected the latter, based on how he looked. And he was slightly superstitious, too- why else be at table 17? But Brian could overlook that. Courteous, too, based on the greeting- or was this a pre-doctrined greeting, designed to put us at our ease? Brian decided to be blunt with this man. And maybe try to find out why there was a waste-of-flesh mutant gene-whore in the group.

"Morning. Yeah, travel was decent. So, who else is accompanying us on our, ah, expedition? Hopefully not anymore damn mutants?"

As far as a I know, there aren't any mutants in our merry band of warriors. Prewett looks at Blue, I see a pinnacle of genetic engineering, a self determined individual. I also see a valedictorian of the mean streets and school of hard knocks, he looks a Bolles. Our super soldier is apparently running late and our man Johnson has pipped me that our local geographical guide is as we speak just meters away waiting for us outside. The thing I love about working with Seibertronians is their meticulous nature, and communication skills.

Re: White Out [Cosmic Era RP]

#18

Blue had to laugh at Brain's ... suicidal tendencies.
Luckily, the years where Blue delighted in inflicting injury for minor insults, for entertainment, or for show were past. Mostly.

Instead, Blue flashed the hacker a gleaming smile, in true American fashion from ear to ear, and giggled.
"You must be our resident hater! Every team should have one - for the constructive criticism, for example - it helps to hear a second opinion."
There might have been some sarcasm in that statement, more or less thinly veiled.
Blue winked, candidly so.
"But you must be prepared to take some criticism in turn."
Blue sipped from the cup, savouring the mix of dark tea, dark honey and bitter lemon.
"And if everything fails, we can always hate our foes to death."
Blue said it with such conviction that it seemed likely that the 'deerbutt' indeed had some experience in this regard.

Turning to Prewett, Blue nodded. "I am in no hurry - and from your short primer on our samurai, he certainly is one worth waiting for."

Re: White Out [Cosmic Era RP]

#19

Muldoon: My current configuration is not optimized for human ergonomics. Please Advise

Johnson: Are you physically incapable of entering?

Muldoon: My specifications are not incompatible. Please see attached.

*While waiting for Johnson's reply, Muldoon moved around from the back of the building towards the front, the artificial brain in the mobile dumpster pinged him a a greeting, he ignore it. He was walking on his front four legs which were distributed between his front two load baring points. His wings were at his side rather than folded over his back, the tips of the feathers dragged in the snow, and his third load bearing region, the posterior, was elevated slight, and his two rear legs were held up in the air making an arch over him. He was was carrying a small blue nitrile bag he picked up from the delivery drop office on his way over to the inn. *

Johnson: I think that would be acceptable, they are waiting for you inside the Inn.

Muldoon paused, he ran through a physical status and logic check.

Muldoon moved out of the alley and on to the street of the corp designed tourist trap. He skirt around a trio of young men hauling cooling vests and sporting side arms. Their uniforms pinged him with an Ad for "Dax Fabrics… for Warrior Men", he ignored it, and the beer in their guts pinged him with ads "Duff brew…for the Simple times" and simultaneously with an investment prospectus for investment Omni-Consumer Prospect's "Modular Venture Investments ". Muldoon did not realize that his PAN still bore some of the prefix codes associated of the mega rich. A closer inspection would realize he was of a servant class, but the ad AIs worked on a cycle of nanoseconds. Beside most of the mega rich took efforts to disguise their PANs, so the AIs had to play the odds.

He pause in front the Inn, it looked just like the VTOL port entrance to Mr. Ryce's New Foundland estate. Wide stone stairs, neo-slavic stone working…Mr. Ryce loved design.

OCC: I will wait until Brian makes his next remark before entering, then try to enter just when the tension starts to build a little more.

Re: White Out [Cosmic Era RP]

#20

"As much as I would like to not be in a hurry, time is not on our side gentlemen." Prewett said, he cracked his knuckles and picked up his scotch glass again. "Three days ago, the Inuksuk arcology went offline. I don't know how much, if anything you know about it, so I'll go over the quick version. Inuksuk is property of the Pacific Rim Coalition, an industrial arco, it is a government run lab. Not many people know what goes on inside, it's hush hush and black budget." He surveys the team, letting the words sink in. This was no smash and grab on a mid level corp, or raid on a CogNet data node. This was the big leagues, the kind of job that if they pulled it off they would be legends.

"The arco mainframe sent a single ping, indicating there was a security breech and then the building and it's AISC went into lock down mode. It cannot be reached through any network connection. Any contact will have to be made physically." He swirls the ice cubes around in his glass. It was just goddamned beautiful, it couldn't be more perfect if it was a scripted holovid.

"We're going in, and like I said, time is not on our side. The PRC brass is already organizing a expeditionary group, but they have been sidetracked by weather and other...incidents. This will only slow them down. So, we have to get there first, and be in and out before General Mulvanery arrives with her 331st Tactical Brigade. The good thing about the military doing this is that they are about as slow as the glaciers up in the mountains."

Re: White Out [Cosmic Era RP]

#21

"So, what did our beloved government manufacture there, for the benefit of the people and humanity? What did they research for the ennoblement of mankind?"
Blue was curious, and every new conspiracy and juicy secret was pure bliss.

"I believe we are to retrieve something before it can be claimed by the military - or blown to dust to hide evidence. What is it, then? If it is as dangerous as it seems, we cannot have the mission target in one man's mind. Men are fragile. So are minds."

Re: White Out [Cosmic Era RP]

#22

"Weapons my good man, weapons. Inuksuk is a weapons research facility", Prewett said. "What sort? The sort they felt had to be developed in Alaska, in an arco on an island. If it was more remote it would have drawn more attention. Juneau is as remote as you can get before it gets obvious."

Re: White Out [Cosmic Era RP]

#23

Luckily for Muldoon the Inn had a pair of automatic doors, keeps the heat in, and Muldoon has trouble with heavy things, even when they are on hinges

He walks across the wooden floor, suprised that this place looked nothing like the New Foundland estate. His long low body only reaches 3 feet above the ground at his "shoulder" and little higher in the posterior reaches as he has it raised carrying the cheap blue nitrile bag. His the tips of wings brush the ground. His comm link points him to the PAN that Johnson had directed him to find, and he sees the trio gathered around the table. "All flesh and blood men, good"

He telescopes out his bird like neck and directs his eyes to hostess. "Could you please have a stool or backless chair brought over to that table, thank you" he gestures with a nod of his head. He follows the hostess over to the tables, the hostess's PAN pings his PAN, and before he can switch off his PAN the ad catches his attention. "Siebertronian Chasis upgrades, custom fits for all enviornments. " He saves the link, and finally shutsdown his PAN. The Hostess place the stool at the table, and he looks up at her in a nod of thanks. Their eyes meets and series subtle pupil dialations communicate relays a second greeting. This tall, lean, symetircal and femine humaniod is a constructed being like Muldoon.

Muldoon reachs on to the table with a mars black appendage and places the blue bag on the table, the is the slap of dense plastic on wood. He then jumps in the air pumping his wings twice before perching on the stool, his long body now pointed up wards, the wing folded on to his back, his head twisted downward to look at the trio that he now rose a foot or two above.

"Good Day Sirs, I am Muldoon, I am at your service."

Re: White Out [Cosmic Era RP]

#24

"A Seiberton. I'll be damned, another useful (and here Brian gives a pointed look at Blue's horns) member of our group," Brian said. "So, Jacobim, what sort of weapons are we talking here? Like, personal weapons on the scale of assault rifles, or the big boys that make large, pretty explosions? Did the PMC go down the path of the old, what do ya call 'em, Nazis! Did they experiment with Zero-Point Energy?"

Weapons! Thought Brian to himself. If he could get his hands on such a thing, it could revolutionize the criminal world. Brian could make some serious money. But no- from ol' Jacobim's little "pep talk," they were the "heroes." And as such, Brian couldn't be a "villain." Brian smiled to himself. Let's see how things go. And get my hands on those plans. Just in case. For bribe material (if the PRC military got their hands on some of Brian's favorites among the group- naturally taking out the gene-whore mutant from Brian's favorite list), and of course, for late-night reading material.

Re: White Out [Cosmic Era RP]

#25

Muldoon makes a close inspection of what everyone is wearing, assessing whether or not it will be appropriate for a 24-48 hour period of exposure in Alaska this time of year.

Re: White Out [Cosmic Era RP]

#26

Muldoon makes a close inspection of what everyone is wearing, assessing whether or not it will be appropriate for a 24-48 hour period of exposure in Alaska this time of year.

Their apparel is sufficient for 24-48 hours of outdoors exposure, but that is provided there are no storms, no one falls in the water/ice, or there are no environmental incidences worse than an average pleasure hike

Re: White Out [Cosmic Era RP]

#27

"A Seiberton. I'll be damned, another useful (and here Brian gives a pointed look at Blue's horns) member of our group," Brian said. "So, Jacobim, what sort of weapons are we talking here? Like, personal weapons on the scale of assault rifles, or the big boys that make large, pretty explosions? Did the PMC go down the path of the old, what do ya call 'em, Nazis! Did they experiment with Zero-Point Energy?"

Weapons! Thought Brian to himself. If he could get his hands on such a thing, it could revolutionize the criminal world. Brian could make some serious money. But no- from ol' Jacobim's little "pep talk," they were the "heroes." And as such, Brian couldn't be a "villain." Brian smiled to himself. Let's see how things go. And get my hands on those plans. Just in case. For bribe material (if the PRC military got their hands on some of Brian's favorites among the group- naturally taking out the gene-whore mutant from Brian's favorite list), and of course, for late-night reading material.

"Our intel is limited, but there is a very good chance that this facility was a principle center for arcanotech weapons. Keep in mind these are the same lunatics who created the blitzhammer and copied the Federation hyperedge blades. What can find, well who knows. Part of the contract is you can have what you can carry. The mission isn't about stealing samples." He looks at Bolles, "Our primary objective is retrieving a copy of their data core"

Re: White Out [Cosmic Era RP]

#28

"where is the target ground located? Do we have preferred mode of approach? What is our preferred timeline?"

Re: White Out [Cosmic Era RP]

#29

"where is the target ground located? Do we have preferred mode of approach? What is our preferred timeline?"

"The ground target is the 1700 meter tall Inuksuk arco. If you stand on the roof of the light house you can see it from here," Prewett says. "Mode of approach is limited, nothing is getting near the arco in an aircraft. The lock down has activated the active air defense system. That leaves us with going by land or by water. So, snow mobiles, or a snow cat, or a boat. Foot is possible, but we need to be there as soon as possible. The Alaskan army is likely going to be on the move too."

Re: White Out [Cosmic Era RP]

#30

"I have a small boat, the use of which for this mission can easily be added to my expense listings. It would not be able to carry a back a great deal of cargo, and all four of us. Do we have a map of the area?"

Also Muldoon opens his PAN up again and checks the weather forecast for the next week.

Re: White Out [Cosmic Era RP]

#31

Blue sipped on the tea, occassionally licking or sucking on the provided lemon halves.
"Why don't we get a bigger boat, then? This is Anchorage, buying or stealing something larger shouldn't be a problem."

Re: White Out [Cosmic Era RP]

#32

"I have a small boat, the use of which for this mission can easily be added to my expense listings. It would not be able to carry a back a great deal of cargo, and all four of us. Do we have a map of the area?"

Also Muldoon opens his PAN up again and checks the weather forecast for the next week.

Weather for the next three days is clear, but there is a long range forecast plotting storms for the three days after that. Temperatures are expected to plummet, and conditions are expected to worsen into blizzard warnings

Re: White Out [Cosmic Era RP]

#33

"We will also need to better prepare each you for your extended stay in sub-zero environment. I can make the necessary purchases with regard to supplies and cold weather gear immediately. Do any of you have dietary restrictions and are we expecting any additional pack...party members. If so what are their physical specifications?"

Muldoon gestures at the blue bag on the table.
"Also there are biomonitors in the blue bag on the table. They will monitor your vitals and produce a particulate that I will be track and respond to. If your vitals signs stop or fluctuate significantly I will be able to smell it. It will also help me track you if you get lost. Do not worry about the EM signature they produce it is no greater than if you were to rub your feet vigorously on a carpet. With your permission, I would like to begin acquiring the afore mentioned goods and I have charted a course towards the target range." *forwards the course this to every* "It will keep us close to the shore, the action of the waves should lessen any disturbance our boat engine may make to the environment."

Muldoon spreads his wings slightly and turns on his heat sinks. It is warm in here.

Re: White Out [Cosmic Era RP]

#34

"Well then, feel free to get us some sub-zero garb, then. My color doesn't mean I'm cold-resistant."
Then, Blue grabbed one of the provided bio-monitors, prodding it to see what functions it had.
"Quis custodiet ipsos custodes?" the neo-ethnic murmured, then turned back to Muldoon.

"While we wait for our fourth man, why don't you share some good Seibertronian jokes?"

Re: White Out [Cosmic Era RP]

#35

Without changing the tone in his melodic artificial and nonthreatening voice Muldoon replies

"A denovoneuroligist decides to put his latest bot brain into a robot and take it hunting. He explains to the bot "We are hunting doves with rifles, you need to balance speed with aim" He brags to his human friends that his bot will be faster and have a better aim than any human hunter. As soon as the hunting party walks into the field a flight of doves takes off the. Seibertronian grabs a rifle, takes aim and pulls the trigger. The denovneurologist screams 'Wait you have to load the rifle first.' The Seibertronian replies 'Unacceptable, by the time I load the rifle the birds will be out of range.' "

I know other jokes mocking Seibertronian logic if you are so interested, but my first priority is of course getting us to the hunting range ahead of the weather."

Re: White Out [Cosmic Era RP]

#36

Blue chuckled, gave Muldoon a thumbs up, and turned to Prewett: "So, when is that promised delectable hunk of killer meat coming along? Last I heard, bullets are no good against a blizzard."

Re: White Out [Cosmic Era RP]

#37

"We will also need to better prepare each you for your extended stay in sub-zero environment. I can make the necessary purchases with regard to supplies and cold weather gear immediately. Do any of you have dietary restrictions and are we expecting any additional pack...party members. If so what are their physical specifications?"

Muldoon gestures at the blue bag on the table.
"Also there are biomonitors in the blue bag on the table. They will monitor your vitals and produce a particulate that I will be track and respond to. If your vitals signs stop or fluctuate significantly I will be able to smell it. It will also help me track you if you get lost. Do not worry about the EM signature they produce it is no greater than if you were to rub your feet vigorously on a carpet. With your permission, I would like to begin acquiring the afore mentioned goods and I have charted a course towards the target range." *forwards the course this to every* "It will keep us close to the shore, the action of the waves should lessen any disturbance our boat engine may make to the environment."

Muldoon spreads his wings slightly and turns on his heat sinks. It is warm in here.

Brian grabbed one of the biomoniters after the cursed neo-ethnic took his. He turned it over and examined it, noting the electronics, and pondering possible modifications he could add to his. If he was going to have a biomoniter, it was going to be a pimped-out biomoniter. Maybe add some flashing red highlights? That can, naturally, be turned off when they reach wilderness or other situations that require it to be off. And not harm the other, necasary, keeping-Brian-alive stuff. That was important. And maybe he could tinker with that mutant's biomoniter, and have it play a prank on him... Non-lethal, of course. Brian was always pro-survival, and anyone willing to aid him in that quest, even mutants, gained a gold star in his book. But mutants, naturally, got enough negative stars to take 'em back down to zero.

Brian put up his feet and relaxed. Food on the table, a roof over his head, and waiting for the next party member. A street samurai. He'd probably be good for keeping weaponry from hurting Brian. Life was good. And Seibertons usually knew what they were doing. Probably a side effect of having electronics for a brain (well, naturally, discounting replacement brains from this whole line of reasoning). Life was good.

He let the sway of the conversation pass him by, though he did keep his ears open for certain key-words, words that were important to either the mission, Brian's survival, or an interesting topic.

Re: White Out [Cosmic Era RP]

#38

Compulsively, Blue eyeballed picture frames, and now and then gave one a light mind-shove and tilted it slightly.
It was a way to keep control of the surroundings.
Still no sight of the samurai. But then, with those boosted reflexes, he could storm in any second.

"So. Do we have any more intel about the site? Possible entrances, human and automated security, power supply, comm access?"
Blue hummed, then proceeded. Another frame was askew.
"What about the leadership? Any tasty secrets we can exploit - provided they're still alive?"

Re: White Out [Cosmic Era RP]

#39

João Matos checked his pad again. It was as hopeless as before: no jobs that would meet the criteria. Sure, there were some that paid plenty, but he could not reconcile them with his do: dishonorable employers, unworthy targets, unsavory purposes. The ones he could reconcile to his path did not pay. He wondered if the ancient rōnin had this same problem.

A pair of small feet pattered into the room. The boy bowed. "Sensei," he said, not rising until his master would acknowledge him.

Matos stood. "Hai," he nodded to Gustavo. Even at only ten, he had learned proper manners better than most young favelados who studied at the dojo.

When Gustavo rose, Matos saw the fear in his eyes. Fear was something he had yet to master at so young an age, even if the rough life of the streets demanded it. "A man is here," he said, his voice barely steady. "He says it is for the rent."

A black eyebrow rose on João's face. "Show me him."

João followed his student out from the back room of the McDojo and through the main training hall. A few students hung around, though it was late in the day for them to be there. A few practiced their Capoeira ginga, others loitered apparently in need of shelter before the night fell. Matos didn't like the younger students especially to make it a habit, lest they attract too much unwanted attention and be accused of some unsavory trade, but he'd been lenient on it in the past and now hardly seemed like the time to drive them out.

Gustavo led him out the door, into the darkening alleyway the dojo occupied. Novo São Paolo glittered above, the setting sun making the acros look like glorious golden castles above the languishing filth of the favela. The traffic was light in the alleyway this time of day, most heading back for the shelter of their homes or enclaves before the worst of the gangs took to the streets. Gustavo pointed to an unusually well-dressed man leaning against a wall opposite his doorway. Matos nodded. So it was him. "You may go, Gustavo," he said evenly. The boy barely bowed before he bolted down the packed earth street.

As João, the other man looked up and smiled from beneath a colorful cap. "Obutsu," he greeted in Nipponese. "It has been a long time."

"Long enough," he answered back in the same tongue. "Why are you here?"

The middle-aged Nipponese man sniggered. "Oho, such quick words. Would you be done with an old benefactor so quickly?"

Matos waved a shining jet-black arm. "We have been long done. Two years done, Senpai."

The smile disappeared. "Yes, two years indeed. Two years that you have not yet paid back your debt!" He spat in the ground. "You have earned your name well, Obutsu, living among filth and acting the part!"

João crossed his metal arms across his chest, their roughly humanoid form obviously artificial even beneath his tattered gi. "I considered our contract done the day Ken-sama was arrested and your branch here fell. I fulfilled all that could be done."

"Not all," the Nipponese corrected with a wag of his finger. "A true bushi would have gone to the death. You still owe Tsurogi corporation that."

Matos snorted. "Shall I die now for you, Takeda-san? I do not suppose that would pay your debts." He nodded, the stiff queue his course black hair was tied in bobbing. "That is your only real concern, is it not?"

Takeda shrugged. "We must all pay our debts. And since yours is left unpaid and, as you say, your death would be sadly unprofitable, I come to collect otherwise."

"By what measure?"

"Your training was incredibly expensive," he noted, producing a pad from somewhere and running through a spreadsheet. He set it to project the numbers for Matos to see. "Not to mention all these expensive enhancements! Your arms, the power supply, subdermal armor... Very expensive, Obutsu." He highlighted a total, a sum enough to buy most of the favela as chattel.

Matos waved an arm through the image, the numbers wavering. "I told you, my contract is over."

Takeda sneered. "It is not!" He punched a few more commands in and a copy of the contract appeared. "Section VI, Paragraph 3, third clause," he declared, the pad obediently highlighting the section. "'Services shall be rendered to Tsurogi Industries and its Subsidiaries, Officers, and Executors until the Company absolves the contract, or after the act of death.' The wording is clear, Senhor Matos. You broke contract, and you owe me."

"There is no Tsurogi Industries in these states!" Matos finally exploded, cutting a swift arm across to the hum of servomotors. "The law is on my side, Takeda!"

"But not honor! Not your code!" His face was red hot for a few silent moments, then he shook his head sadly. "Appeals to law, then," he said, shutting off the pad. "How sad." He turned as though to walk away. "If that is your way, then it shall be. I can appeal to the laws." He stopped and looked behind him to see Matos' reaction. There was none, but he spoke one. "Your authorities still seek out zaibatsu men. In fact, they offer a healthy bounty on any who dodged the 'zaibatsu busts'. This contract seems a solid piece of evidence, does it not? I suppose if you will not pay your debts, your government can do it for me." He shrugged and began to walk off.

Several moments passed. "Wait."

Takeda smiled.

* * *

João checked the message once more before sending it.

"Mr. Johnson:

My plans have changed. If the offer still stands for the Anchorage job, I will fill the position you requested.

I am due to arrive in Juneau tomorrow. I have chartered a boat from there to Anchorage. If I do not meet you at the docks, I will seek you out.

Regards,
João Matos"

It was curt, more than he might give another potential employer. But he had no real inkling of Johnson's motives, and little patience. He hit send.

João picked up his cheap carry sack, which carried his few necessities, and checked his weapons. They were licensed, and a well-placed bribe would easily slip them past any securit measures. Kumorigachi, strapped safely to his hip, would raise more eyebrows than the firearms but Matos doubted anyone would have the spirit to try and remove his sword.

He walked out of the back room of the McDojo and through the main hall, where one of his renshi was leading a kata demonstration. He nodded and waited as the assistant gave an order before jogging over to Matos. "Hai, Sensei?"

"I am leaving now, Isaura," he said plainly. "I entrust the dojo to you. Have you any questions for me before I go?"

The dark-haired young woman shook her head. "No, sensei, I understand all the orders. I wish you fortune on your journey." They exchanged bows and Matos moved to leave. "When do you think you'll come back?" she called out.

He paused in the doorway. "Soon, I hope," he said honestly. He walked out into the alleyway.

Re: White Out [Cosmic Era RP]

#40

The trip to Alaska for Matos is a long one. One of the anomalies of the age is that it is easier and faster to often leave the Earth completely about a semi-ballistic shuttle, reaching the lower edge of space and using the rotation of the Earth to reach the destination faster. The flight from LAA (Los Angeles Acroplex) to New NYC heads not east over the Rockies, but instead heads out west, over the Pacific ocean into a low orbit of the planet to reenter above Newfoundland and land at the aerodrome. North-South travel lacks this special arrangement. Matos' shuttle left Nuvo Sao Paulo and landed later in Brasilia before heading to the main aerodrome in North America, Atlanta, CSS.

From there, Matos flew on another low velocity shuttle to MegaChicago and then the dull ride on the Chigaco-Portland bullet train.

It seemed like ages later, after sitting in cramped seats with little room for physical exertion, and the endless inspection of his papers, his hardware registrations, he was ready to be out of transport craft. The last leg of the journey was an electric rotorcraft that ferried him to Anchorage. It had been expensive, but the payout would cover the cost of the trip, as well as supporting the dojo back home.

He stepped out of the rotorcraft into the harsh light of Alaska, the gleaming snow and the mirror like water. It was nothing like home, it was cold, the air was crisp and had a sharp bite to it. There was no familiar musk of the favelas, or churascarias, it was like the air was dead, cold and dead.

The Iditarod Inn was not far away