The Sixth World RP (See Sign-Up)

[JeffBryant]

The year is 2063. Mega-Corporations rule the world through their control over information. What we see and hear is all sugar-coated to resemble the fantasy world that the Mega-Corps want us to believe we live in. A fantasy world created so that we will continue to buy their products and pay for their services without a thought about who is really pulling the strings. Everything is controlled, everything is monitored, everything is recorded. Everyone is a part of the system, tagged by the corporate System Identification Number used to keep track of the general populace. Anyone without a SIN does not exist.

Shadowrunners exist outside the system, SINless and non-existant in a sea of mindless automatons. They do the things no one knows about, the things no one wants to know about. Corporations wage secret wars to gain control over information, with Shadowrunners as their tools, used to wreak bloody havoc on the competition. Politics, religion, cause, these things mean nothing to a Shadowrunner, whose life is lived in the shadows cast by those for whom the system was created.

Anonymous - Shadowland Electronic Network, 2063

The place was a dive. Spectre could tell right away by the way the door nearly fell off its hinges as he entered the club. The door had hinges to fall off of, another hint that the place was long overdue for some remodelling, or maybe just condemnation. Still, Spectre had to admit that the club was a good place to meet. It was dark, and all of the booths that lined two of the walls had high walls for extra privacy. Spectre pulled out a thin, black nicostick and lit it with a silver lighter, an image of a skull etched into its dull metal surface. As he thoughtfully dragged on the nicostick, Spectre scanned the booths for the woman he was supposed to be meeting. He didn't know her, she didn't know him, it was better that way, but he did have a description. His contact told him she was a blonde, mid-forties, slightly under-weight, and a professional.

Spectre had no trouble finding her. Her tailored, up-town suit didn't fit the setting at all, but that was fine, no one else was in the dump anyways. He made his way to the booth, which was at the back, and out of the bartender's line of sight. Spectre slid into the booth across from the woman and crushed out the nicostick. Dropping his voice to a level that was only barely audible, Spectre greeted the woman.

"Miss Johnson? It's good to meet you. It has come to my attention that you require my services."

The Johnson nodded slowly, drawing in a deep breath before she answered.

"Yes, I do, and it is rather urgent. I represent a party which wishes to reamin nameless, but who have a great interest in the current state of cybernetic electronics. It has come to our attention that a subsidiary of Novatech Corporation has developed a new form of micro-circuitry that could revolutionize the industry. Needless to say, this interests and worries the people I represent. They have authorized me to hire someone to obtain all data and prototypes of the new technology. My clients are also calling for the destruction of all evidence of its existence."

Spectre turned the information over in his head very carefully. It was never good business to make enemies with a Mega-Corps, but it looked like he had little choice. The Johnson obviously represented another Mega-Corps, possibly Renraku, or Aztechnology Inc., so whether he took the job or not, he would be opposing someone with power. He took out an electronic datapad, tapped a couple of keys and slid it across the table. The Johnson picked it up and looked at his price, it was steep, always was, and Spectre could see her struggling with the decision. Eventually, she put the datapad down and slid it back to Spectre.

"That can be arranged."

"Half now, half upon delivery."

She nodded and picked up her briefcase, placed it on the table, and opened it. She took out a black cloth sack, and passed it across to him. Spectre opened the sack and removed one of the cred-sticks. It was black, which meant its spending limit was twenty-five thousand UCAS dollars. There were four more sticks in the sack. Also in the sack was a datapad that Spectre assumed would give him the details of the job. Spectre replaced the cred-stick in the sack, then stood up and looked at his client.

"One week. I'll get in touch with you before then to arrange a drop, after I've collected the rest of my fee."

He turned away from the table and left the club. The streets of New York were a hellish place, even more so now than in the past. The skies were permanently blackened due to the constant pollution from nearby chemical plants. It was so dark that it could be high noon and you wouldn't know it from midnight. Spectre looked carefully at a black sedan that was parked nearby, it was similar to cars he had seen following him the past few days. As if on cue, the car powered up and drifted silently into the night.

Spectre straddled his bike, a beautiful black and silver Phantom with all the extras. He pressed a thumb onto a small pad and listened with pleasure as the identification system verified his identity and caused the bike to start. He revved her up and took off down the street at top speed, heading towards a safehouse he shared with a couple other runners so that he could read the particulars of the job in private.

[DeviusZwei]

Devil slaved over a computer, smoking nicosticks one after another, a kind of blue light emitted by the computer's monitor lit up the room. Devil tapped the touchscreen monitor here and there, flipping through pages and pages of shadowrunners recent movement reports. These reports were sent to UCAS assassins once a week, filled with the latest scoops on all kinds of shadowrunners and their latest sightings. But Devil was only interested in one man right now, Spectre. Devil had been given the job of killing Spectre over a month ago, and he was getting anxious to find the target.

As Devil flipped through the reports, the letters S P E C T R E caught his eye. As he stopped to read the report, he crushed the nicostick into a tray overflowing with burnt up nicsticks, piled up from the day of staring into the computer monitor. As he read the report, he read aloud, but quietly, taking it all in. Spectre had been sighted going into a club in downtown New York only 2 days ago. Devil finished reading the report and smiled, pouring himself a tall glass of Michilarchy, a dirty and foul tasting liquor but strong in alcohol potency. As he drank the glass down, he thought of the target, how he would make a quick kill now that he finally had some information.

Devil moved across the room to his bed, a matress on the floor. This place was rediculous. A decorated agent such as himself should not be required to live in such condition, Devil thought. The room was bare, no paint, wood walls, an ancient living area called an apartment long ago. It was located in a building in downtown New York, an area where many shadowrunners hang out to find new jobs. This was home to many Mega-Corps, and therefor dirty as all hell, and crooked as any politician. Devil could not stand the place, but it seemed his jobs always brought him back here. But this job was so secret and important, that Devil was required to live in total secret. Nobody lived in this building but him, it was condemned long ago as "ancient" and "obsolete."

As Devil prepared for bed, he also prepared for the next day, when he would go to the club that Spectre had been seen at a few days ago. Spectre was probably meeting a contact or someone from a Mega-Corps concerning a new job offer, Devil thought. He sat on the edge of his matress, cleaning his 2 Glock 51s (heavy pistols) with a special gun barrel foam-spray and brush. When he finished cleaning out the barrels, he shoved in a new clip full of ammo, 32 rounds, attached the machine pistol attachment to make them automatic, adjusted safety to "off" position, and laid the pistols in their positions, one under his pillow, and one in his hand on his hip. The flak cannon lay beside the bed, next to a sack full of grenades and C4 explosive with detanators. The room was covered in bullets on the floor, Devil was not a very "clean" individual.

Devil switched his Energy-boost to "off" so that he could drift off to sleep. As he watched smoke swirl through the room, he adjusted his body into position to best suit ambushing someone coming through the nearby door. Facing the door now, with hands on pistols, he closed his eyes. Tomorrow I'll get this guy for good, put an end to this stupid chase, Devil thought. He soon fell asleep, leaving the liquor open on the desk, nicosticks smoldering in the tray.

[Thenician]

Thenician marched quickly down the hallway to the office of his direct superior in the Ares Mega-Corp, Mister Edward Paris. There was nobody else walking these halls at this time of night. He wouldn't be either if he didn't get the call. This job paid well, but you were always on call, he often thought if it was worth it. Finding the right door to the office, Thenician walked inside to find Mr. Paris eagerly awaiting him.

"What's the matter boss? You usually make me wait a while after I get here." Thenician commented.

"Normally yes, but we have an urgent matter we need you to attend to." Said Paris in a commanding tone. "Novatech is hauling some secret cargo from their development lab upstate to their HQ downtown. Our intel tells us that they're trying to be inconspicuous and only sending a line of three cargo vans. The mission is to disable all three targets, neutralize personnel, locate the cyberware and bring it back here."

"Sounds simple enough, but why does Ares have a sudden interest in cyberware?"

"It's not necessary for you to know that. But since you've earned a certain degree of trust I'll tell you. Our suspicion is that the prototype equipment is a new type of scanner. From what we know, it can point out structural weaknesses in any mechanical or architectural object. Now imagine that technology in a rifle scope. Imagine taking down a building in a few shots."

"Impressive. I doubt such technology would be quite that powerful, but surely useful enough. When does the convoy move?"

"It left half an hour ago, south on the New York Thruway get moving." With that, Thenician Dusk quickly turned and left the office.

"Fag." He muttered after he closed the door behind him.

After a few minutes, Thenician arrived at the basement parking facility for this building. It took him a minute to remember where he parked, but he soon found his work van. A few more wasted minutes as standard procedure needed to sign out all vehicles and employees and confirm all IDs. After that nuisance was over, he was on his way, through old Harlem, past what's left of the Bronx and pulled over on the side of the New York Thruway service road only a few miles from the Bronx border. Thenician was just going to wait now. He took to time to prepare his rifle, chacking all the scopes, and checked for ammo in the tube before loading. Once he finished examining the gun, he began loading a fourteen round clip with Anti-Vehicle bullets. Once done he waited, checking each of the very few vehicles that came down this road at three fifteen in the morning. From what Paris told him, Thenician expected to be waiting fifty to ninety minutes, depending how fast the target was moving. He lit a nicostick and got comfortable in the driver's seat.

[JeffBryant]

Spectre reached his safehouse without incident. The safehouse was an apartment on the 33rd floor of a high-rise in Manhattan. Spectre shared the place with three other Shadowrunners for safety purposes. It was big enough for all of them. Each of the four had their own room, and there was a bathroom and a large common area which served as a kitchen and living room. Spectre entered the apartment and quickly checked every room. No one was home, but Spectre took the time anyways just to make sure there were no intruders, then he activated the apartment's security systems and went to his room.

His room was very simply furnished as he had no need for excess. There were no windows, a bed along one wall, and a desk that he used for his business. He crossed the room to his desk and sat down in the chair. He opened one of the bottom drawers, the one that had a very high quality maglock, and threw the five black credsticks in among a multitude of other colors. He closed the drawer then turned his attention to the datapad. It contained all the details of the job, just as he had predicted.

The job was to retrieve the data and prototypes of a highly advanced microcircuitry that was said to mimic the electrical impulses of the human brain. Even with his limited knowledge of cybertechnology, Spectre could see the benefits of such technology. Cybernetic brains that could process and store more information than that of a normal human, and do it faster than anyone could imagine, literally. The technology was being developed by a company called NeuroCom, a subsidiary of NovaTech that specialized in head computers. It was being developed at a secret lab facility somewhere upstate, near Buffalo, but the file didn't pinpoint a location.

Well, I can just get Craft to jack in when he gets back, try to dig up a specific location. Regardless of where it is, it's bound to be heavily guarded, I might need some help.

Before he tried to find help however, Spectre decided to check the status of the rest of his up-front fee. A hundred and twenty-five thousand dollars was a good start, but it was no where close to half of his total fee. He flipped up the screen of the telecom that was sitting on the desktop, then tapped a couple of buttons to access his anonymous bank accounts. He smiled widely as he saw that the transfer had gone through, and felt a little giddy as he looked at all of those zeroes. He logged out of the account database and cleared the screen, then dialed Cynthia's number.

Cynthia was a fixer, and a damned good one too. If there was something one of her runners needed, she could get it. Firepower, gadgets, backup, even cyberware was within her means. But anyone who knew how this business worked, knew that nothing was free, so only the best of the best could afford Cynthia's services. Cynthia probably wasn't even her real name, but then again, who used their real name in a business like this one. Spectre couldn't even remember his anymore. It was Jack, or Jake, started with a J, or maybe a G, he couldn't remember.

Cynthia's face flashed onto the screen of Spectre's telecom and he stopped thinking about names. Cynthia was beautiful, nothing more could be said about it. She had flawless skin, pale, like alabaster, black hair, and the most startling green eyes. Spectre had always wondered whether or not the eyes were implants, but he couldn't tell, and she wouldn't tell. She flashed him a smile through the screen and cocked her head to one side, looking at him like someone who was seeing an old friend for the first time after years of separation.

"Spectre, what a pleasant surprise. I hadn't expected to hear back from you so soon. Did everything go well?"

"Everything went fine. They're going to meet my price, so I took the job. Thanks again for setting it up."

"Well what are friends for? So what do you need?"

"I need firepower, lots of it. And some help, but only the best."

"Understood, how long?"

"Three day. I need them in three days so that we have enough time to plan. I'm sending a list of weapons and equipment I'll need. Make sure anyone you hire knows that the money is good, but they'll need to bring their own gear."

"Got it. Is that all?"

"That's it, bye."

Spectre was about to disconnect when Cynthia held up a hand to stop him. For the first time since he had known her, Spectre saw something akin to real fear in her eyes.

"Something's troubling me Spectre. Someone's been asking around about you. He hasn't seen me directly, but I have eyes and ears everywhere."

"Who is it?"

"No clue. Best my sources can give me is that he's looking, I haven't even been able to get a reliable description out of anyone. Just be careful."

Spectre nodded and shut off the telecom. He had never heard Cynthia sound like that, like she was genuinely frightened for him. Spectre had no such fear, but double-checked all of the security systems before he went through his evening ritual gun cleaning before bed.

[Thenician]

It was almost five in the morning and there was not sign of the target vehicles. Thenician started getting impacient and traffic was slowly starting to grow. After a few more minutes of watching to highway, he made the call to Paris.

"Hey Ed, you there?"

After a short while, a reply came through the comm.

"Yea? What is it? Did you acquire the cyberware?"

"No. It didn't pass through here yet."

"Alright, they should be passin soon then. Keep an eye out."

"Yea sure, I'm gonna ask you a question you might know the answer to."

"Okay, shoot."

"What's NoveTech doing making this kinda thing anyway?"

"Not sure. We assume that they would use it to find flaws in cybernetic devices."

"It can find flaws on such a small scale?"

Before hearing any reply, Thenician noticed a white van coming into view. Then another right behind it, and soon after a third.

"I'll get back to you, Ed." he said quickly, then switching off the comm. He quickly clicked the sound supressor onto the rifle and leaned it on the door of his van. He used the magnifier in his cybernetic eye to get a close look at each one, then scanned them. The scan revealed nothing to identify one or the other as the target. Which could only mean one thing, check them all by hand.

As he took careful aim at the leader before they got ahead of him, the rifle's Thermographic scope revealed heat signatures from a driver, passenger, and two men in the back. He checked the other two and they were the same. Thenician re adjusted his aim on the lead van as it passed close to him and fired a shot at the driver. Then repeated with the following two before they knew what happened.

The first two vans swirved and crashed, but the third only accelerated and kept driving straight. Thenician quickly backed down the offramp and pulled over next to the wreckage of the lead van. He left his rifle on the passenger seat and grabbed his Machinepistol. Setting it to Burst-fire mode as he left his van and switching the safety while approaching the front of the target.

Thenician looked inside and saw the driver with a hole in his head and the passenger unconcious. Optical scan confirmed both dead. He quickly cheack the back of the fan to find the same, impact death. And no cyberware. He ran to the next van and checked, all the same. Quickly running back to his van, Thenician prepared for persuit. He jumped into the driver's seat and threw the van into drive before he could even close the door. Once close, Thenician flicked on the comm.

"Paris! Two targets neutralized! One is running! Should I continue persuit?" He shouted.

"Negative." came back a voice after a few seconds. "They'll be in the city by the time you catch up. I'll arrange an intercept."

"Alright, it'a a white Superkombi III with a broken driver's side window."

"Good, you can go home now."

"Thanks see ya round." Thenician clicked off the comm and drove back to the Ares HQ parking lot to pick up his car.

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Thenician exited the garage after parking his beautiful black Porsche and locked the rising door. When he first moved into this aparment complex, the neighbors were concerned when he came home on late nights with his arsenal. Now, most of them know what he does and they're pretty much okay with it. Of course now, some of them wake him late at night when they hear unusual noises outside.

After a short walk and an elevator ride, Thenician arrived at his apartment. He set down his keyes and weapons on the dinner table and went straight for the refrigerator. He made himself a huge sandwich, poured a quart glass of soda, and took the two to his personal computer. He set the plate and glass down next to the machine and began logging into his email. He took a large bite of the sandwich during the half second it took to log on. While he chewed, he began checking his mail.

[color=orange]"Spam, spam, spam, junk, spam, junk, junk... WHat's this?"[/color] he thought as his eyes landed on something unusual. He openned the message and began reading, while eating.

"Been a long time. I thought this would be the only proper way to talk to you since it's been so long. Anyway, I was wondering if you'd be interested in a run. Let me know."

Cynthia

"Short and to the point as usual." Thenician commented aloud. He hit the reply button, typed 'Sure' in the subject line and sent it. "Wow, Cynthia. Haven't talked to her for a long time. Since just before joining Ares. Damn, she started this so young." Finishing his sandwich, he shut off the computer, and began getting udressed to go take a shower. As Thenician was down to his underwear, his phone rang. He quickly reached for it and answered.

"Hello?" he said into the phone.

"Hi."

.

.

.

[JeffBryant]

Spectre woke early, as usual, and rolled out of bed. With no windows, it was hard to tell if the sun was shining or not, but Spectre already knew the answer. Years of pollution had left New York a desolate waste, as dark in the day as the in the dead of night. Spectre grabbed his clothes, a pair of armored black pants, and a white t-shirt. He left his room and went to the bathroom, noticing along the way that some of the security measures were offline, which meant that someone else was home. Faint music coming out of Craft's room confirmed that assumption.

In the bathroom, Spectre showered and relieved himself, then dressed and left. He went back to his room and grabbed one of the new black credsticks from his bottom desk drawer. He went to Craft's room and knocked on the door. Hearing a welcoming grunt, Spectre entered.

Craft's room was the opposite of Spectre's, filled as it was with every manner of technical gadget one could imagine. Spectre didn't even know what the majority of them were supposed to be used for. But what really got to Spectre was the sheer amount of shit that Craft had crammed inside his head. Craft had cyberware coming out of his ears, almost literally, and Spectre was pretty sure that Craft's ears themselves were implants. Spectre didn't know exactly what implants Craft had, but he knew that their street value was well over five million UCAS dollars. Despite all of that, or perhaps because of it, Craft was the best damned decker that Spectre had ever seen, even the deckers employed by UCAS Special Forces couldn't have touched Craft. Spectre crossed the room to Craft's cluttered desk and threw the credstick down.

"I need you to find something for me. A research facility upstate, somewhere near Buffalo, belongs to a company called NeuroCom, a subsidiary of NovaTech."

Craft let out a low whistle before he responded.

"Wow, NovaTech huh, that's pretty heavy chummer, gonna cost you more that twenty-five."

"I've got three more where that came from if you can get me an exact location."

"You've got yourself a deal."

And with that, Craft switched on a small box that was sitting on his desk. It was a dataline tap, Spectre knew that much, it allowed Craft to illegally access the world-wide information network called the Matrix. It also masked his signal so that no one knew he was doing it. The tap connected to Craft's home-made cyberdeck, a slick black and silver number that was almost definitely better than anything NovaTech had, or anyone else for that matter. Craft grabbed another cable and inserted it into a datajack on his right temple. Immediately his face went slack, like Spectre had seen it do dozens of times before. Craft's mind was otherwise occupied, so it didn't bother with something minor like muscle control. It was a little disconcerting, but Spectre was used to it.

Spectre knew that most of what was going on was happening faster than he could comprehend, all within Craft's mind, which was using the cyberdeck and Craft's head computer to translate all the data that the Matrix was feeding him. Every once in a while however, Craft would seem to come back to his body in order to tap a few keys on the cyberdeck, and once he came back for a few second to stick a small disk into a slot on the deck's side. After a very long couple of minutes Craft came back and pulled the cable out of his head, then turned off the tap.

"Did you get the location?"

Craft chuckled a little and pulled out the disk he had put into the cyberdeck.

"Yes I did, but I went ahead and did you one better. I got you blueprints, shift rotations for the next three weeks, patrol routes of the facility and surrounding complex, and over thirty-six hours of video feed from twelve different camera locations. All on this one little disk."

Spectre smacked the back of Craft's bald head in an amiable way.

"One better? Try five better. You are a genius my friend."

"Well, what can I say, everyone's got to have a gift. Yours happens to be breaking into heavily guarded places and killing lots of people. I take a more subtle approach to my work."

Spectre let out a laugh and reached for the disk, but Craft pulled it away.

"Now, about my money."

[DeviusZwei]

Devil awoke late in the afternoon as he usually did. He knew it must be between 1pm and 2pm, that was his usualy wake up time. Devil moved quickly, he moved to the bathroom, relieved himself, showered, and began to dress for "work." He put on his full suit of armor, every piece of clothing just about was armored, shirt, pants, boots, gloves, trenchcoat, all armored and all black. Then he slipped on a black skull cap, it was a bit chilly outside today, he could feel the cold coming from the windows.

Devil holstered his two glock 51s, put on his ammo belt (full of ammo for the glocks and his flack cannon), filled his deep trenchcoat pockets with grenades, and grabbed his flak cannon. He grabbed his thermalvision goggles just in case it turned into a long night. Then, heading down the 10 flights of stairs, Devil recieved a call on his cell phone from "the voice." "The Voice" was just that, nothing more than a voice, Devil never saw the person, never knew who it was, and it seemed the voice was altered with a machine. But "the voice" was his source of information, assigned to Devil by the UCAS Secret Intelligence Agency, and "the voice" always had the right info.

"Talk to me," Devius said as he put his earpiece for the cellphone in and clipped the phone to his ammo belt.

The reply came over phone, raspy and horrible, like a person suffering from throat cancer talking through one of those mics.
"The target has a contact we've been able to locate. Codename of the contact is Cynthia. Seems he or she is part of the job, but outside, a supplier possibly. Cynthia is to be neutralized as well, along with anyone else assisting the target.

"Not a problem. I'm heading to a club to get some info on the target right now, got anything else for me on the main target?"

"Yes. I've got a description for you. Approximately 27 years of age, height about 5'11", human caucasian male, black hair, grey eyes, pale skin. His real name is unknown, but rumor is he used to work for UCAS military, so chances are he also has some cyberware, special ops training, and quality equipment. That is all. God Speed."

The phone went dead, as Devil quickly memorized the information. It wouldn't be the first time he had killed an ex-military shadowrunner, and it damn sure wouldn't be the last. Devil reached the bottom floor of the building and made his way to a garage located nearby, towards the back parking lot. Inside was his baby, an ancient car, most likely the last of its kind, a 1969 black pontiac firebird, chrome all over, leather seats, black interior, all original, it was a real badass car. Devil got in and cranked her up, he called her Amy. He gave Amy some gas, revving her up and letting her roar. The old muscle car was just another part of the aura surrounding Devil, his appearance was definitely that of a bad man.

Devil cruised down to the club where Spectre had been last seen. As Devil walked in, he could sense that this was a breeding ground for crime, it was a filthy place, fit only for hiding out or meeting to make "deals." He went to the bar and ordered a scotch. When the barkeep handed him the scotch, Devil grabbed the man by his throat, shoving one of his Glock 51s down the mans throat. The man squirmed in terror.

"I want some answers, if I think you're lying, your brains will be painted all over that wall, and don't try anything stupid."

The club was empty so there was nobody else to worry about. The man tried to speak but could only mumble with the gun in his throat.

Don't talk yet, just listen. A man came in here two days ago. Black hair, grey eyes, 5'11", 27 year old white guy. He's ex-military. Now what do you know!?"

Devil cocked the gun, but pulled it out of the man's throat, just enough to let him speak, though it was still in his mouth. Devil laughed to himself as he could feel the man's teeth chattering on the gun.

"He came in here and went and sat at that booth over there!"The man pointed to a booth across the room.
"He was talking to a well-dressed woman, I don't know what it was about. But I heard him say he'd take the job. Then she gave him some credsticks, worth tons of cash. Said she'd give him the rest upon job completion. I don't know nothin else man, I swear. And I'm not in on anything that goes on here, I just work here man. Please don't kill me, I told you everything I know, I swear, Please..."

Devil lowered his pistol and placed it back into its holster. He could tell the barkeep didn't know much else. Devil checked out the booth the barkeep had pointed to, searching for anything left behind. There was a half smoked nicostick crushed on the booth table, it was black, the same brand Devil smoked himself. He picked it up and placed it into an airtight baggy.

Devil left the club, he could hear the barkeep crying as he walked out the doors, back onto the street. He jumped back into his car and sped off down the street. He hadn't gotten enough information to pursue the target just yet, he still had no idea where to find Spectre. But at least he had some more info, and maybe the crushed nicostick could get him a DNA match of someone in the military database.

Devil headed back to his safehouse. He would take the nicostick back to HQ tomorrow for testing, for now he needed to relax, have another drink and plot his next action.

[-Dark Knight-]

Nightcrawler was sitting inside his small one bedroom apt. It had hard wood floors, wood paneling for walls and the celling was cracking. It wasn't much but it was home. A place were he could est from a job or wait for the next run to come his way. He sat polishing his sword. It was a brilliantly designed katana. he had one it off a fellow in a street fight. The chummer didn't realize that Nightcrawler played by slum rules of any thing goes. As he patiently waited for the next job to come by. He wrist phone began to ring. "Speak to me" the night one said as he answered. "It is Mr. Johnson. I have a job for you chummer if you are up to it.". "Location?". "Meet me in front of the 93rd street subway station in 30 min.". Nightcrawler turned off his phone and grabbed the long coat sitting on the back of the chair he was on and the keys off the table. He walked down the stair to the garage were his bike was at. He placed the keys in the ignition and took off like a bat outta hell. He arrived with 5 minutes left to spare. Shortly after his arrival a black sedan pulled up. the windows were all tinted. He knew who it was. It was one of the Johnsons he had beed working for the last few years of his life. The rear passenger window rolled down. "Here is all of the info you will need. There is also some credsticks in with the info. I expect to here from you when you are finished for the rest of your pay." The widow rolled up and the sedan pulled away. Nightcrawler walked over to a bench near by to go over the job.


He was to act as security detail for Nova-Tech industries. They wished him to act more as Counter Intel. They wanted him to stop any and all that might want to steal or destory something he couldn't even begin to understand. Inside with the info was a number and 8 black credsticks. The night one hopped back on his bike and took off for the airport.

[-Dark Knight-]

The night one proceeded to the airport riding his bike. Thoughts of the new job ran through his mind. He had only skimmed the paper that Johnson had given him. He knew their would be plenty of time to review on the trip to New York. He opened the throttle on the bike wishing to get to his destination as quickly as possible. He watched the street lites fly by him while he rode. He enjoyed riding his bike. It took his mind off from things usually. But tonight was a different story. There was something that he did not like about this. It seemed run of the mill. But something didn't feel right. He decided to wait till the plane ride to think it over more. He was only a a few kilometers away. He weaved his way through the road to make it there as quickly as possible. He approached the security checkpoint for the airport. He managed to get through with little difficulty. He rode around the lot looking for a long term spot not knowing how long he would be gone. He found one that seemed to be a kilometer from the doors at least. This did not bother him as much as one would think. He wound his way through the lot with the package of papers under arm, proceeding to the customer service counter. He purchased his ticket and waited for the plane to seat. His wait was not that long gr as soon as he sat down his plane began seating. This slightly angered the night one. He made his way to his seat. Being nearly midnight he had no worries about any seeing the papers he pulled them out and began to study them. It turned out that his job would actually be with one of Nova-Tech subsidiaries. He was to locate and terminate any persons wishing to destroy or steal the new technology. It seams that it is something that could turn cyberware into something everyone could use. Its medical uses were endless also. The only piece of electronics that was any were near the power was the IMS. A rare and barely known piece of cyberware. The Invoked Memory Stimulator was used in delta clinics to invoke the power Cybersurgery/Cybermancy. It allowed the user to take his essence lower than that allowable by most means. He had seen signatures on the astral plain. The IMS had its drawbacks though. It had the habit of failing in its user and letting them die. This proved to possibly eliminate that. He was no cyberware expert by far but this could force Nova-Tech into the lead. This interested the night one. He worked his way through the paperwork. The rest was just info on the circuitry. He neatly placed the papers back in the folder he removed them from. He decided to rest the remainder of the trip.

[Craft]

Craft leaned back in his chair and thought long and hard on what had just happened. Spectre didn’t usually ask him for anything, especially something as dangerous as hacking into NovaTech. Craft knew something was up, something big. It wasn’t just that Spectre had come to him either, it was what Craft had had to do that was unnerving. Craft stood up then, and left his room. The common area of the apartment was well furnished with all the high-tech equipment anyone could want or need, though the four of them rarely used any of it. He crossed through the common area and knocked on Spectre’s door. A muffled sound from inside let Craft know he was welcome, so he pushed the door open and went in.

Spectre was sitting at his desk, which faced the door, looking at a datapad which Craft suspected contained the details of Spectre’s new mission. Craft grabbed the extra chair that was sitting in the corner, pulled it up to the desk and sat down across from Spectre, looking very serious. Spectre looked up from his datapad, saw the serious look on Craft’s face, and put the datapad down.

What’s up?

We’re friends right?

Why do you ask?

Just answer the question. Are we friends?

Spectre leaned back in his chair and looked at Craft very intently for a few moments as if he knew where this was going. Then he leaned forward again, put his elbows on the desk and linked his fingers in front of his mouth.

Yes, we’re friends.

Then tell me what’s going on. And don’t give me any bullshit about it being classified.

Spectre got that thoughtful look again, as if he was weighing out his options and trying to decide exactly how much to tell Craft.

Before I tell you what’s going on, tell me what you know.

I know that it has something to do with NovaTech and this subsidiary, NeuroCom. From what I know about NeuroCom I would guess that it has something to do with a new type of cyberware, probably something top-secret. I also know that NeuroCom’s server is on Orange-High security alert, very unusual for such a small company, which would probably function at a Green-Moderate normally.. And, there was something else, something I saw when I was jacked in to their server.

Spectre looked very interested now, and a little worried.

What was it?

Their security is beefed up, I gathered from their information that normally their security operates four daily six-hour shifts of twelve guards who are only moderately armed. But, when I was in there the files showed that they were currently operating on three eight-hour shifts of twenty-five guards, all of whom are heavily armed and probably juiced. There’s something going on down there, and I want to know what.

All right, I’ll tell you. NeuroCom has recently completed development of a new micro-circuitry that is supposed to mimic the electrical impulses of the human brain, only at a greatly increased speed. The circuitry is so far ahead of the competition that it is going to revolutionize cyberware brain implants, maybe even making it possible to replace an entire brain with a computer.

Craft just looked stunned for a moment, contemplating the ramifications of such a technological breakthrough. Someone with as much cyberware jammed into his head as Craft did would instantly be able to see the benefit of such micro-circuitry.

Then I assume that you job is to steal the technology and deliver it to one of NovaTech’s competitors?

That’s right.

Then I’m going with you. And before you say no, just think about it. You’re going to need a decker to pull this job off anyway, and you know how good I am. Plus, who better than someone you trust?

Spectre just sat there for a long time, looking at Craft intently. Craft could almost hear the thoughts zipping through Spectre’s brain, and could swear he heard a click as Spectre came to his decision.

Alright, you’re in.

[DeviusZwei]

Devil layed on his bed, eyes closed, but ear communicators on. Suddenly a voice came over the communicator and Devil sprung up, sitting upright on the bed. It was "the voice" once again.

"Cynthia has been located, you are to neutralize her at all costs, and gather any information from her living quarters that you may find. I'm sending the location to you now. Out."

The location popped into Devil's brain as though he had known about it forever, he could actually see the apartment and the street it was on. The Voice sure could make things easy. Devil thought about the nicostick he had planned to drop off at HQ for genetic testing, it would have to wait. He loaded up for combat, putting all his weapons in their holsters, and then covering his weapons and armor with a long black trenchcoat.

As Devil jumped into his car, he thought about the mission, his kill would have to be quick, he didn't want to get caught at Cynthia's apartment with company showing up. He slammed the pedal to the floor and sped off to the apartment building Cynthia would be in, if she wasn't home, he would stake it off as long as it took. Upon reaching the apartment building, Devil parked his car in the street, on the other side, away from the building he would be entering. Then the voice again.

"Devil, word is that Cynthia is looking to hire some people to work with Spectre, try to convince her to hire you instead of killing you, you can do that later. If she won't let you take the job, terminate her. Out."

Devil double checked his Glock 51s for ammo, and decided to leave the flack cannon in the car, he had to be subtle about this mission, but he did attach the machine attachments to his Glocks, making them as good as any assault weapon. Devil moved into the building and knocked on the first door, number 1, it was Cynthia's room. Soon a women could be heard through the door.

"I wasn't expecting any company, why are you here?"

"I'm just looking for work honey."

Silence for a moment...

"I don't know what you're talking about, now go away."

Devil wouldn't sit here and play games, he had to be quick and get out of there before any of Cynthia's friends showed up. He kicked the door open, knocking Cynthia to the floor, and quickly placing one of the Glock 51s on her forehead.

"Where's Spectre?! Tell me or you're dead!"

"Who are you trying to kid, you'll kill me either way, and besides, I don't have a clue."

Devil didn't want to do it like this, a close up shot to the face was no way for a beautiful woman to go, but he had no choice. As Devi started to squeeze the trigger, there was a knock at the door.

"Son of a bitch! Who is that?!

"I don't know, I swear!"

Cynthia trembled as Devil pulled her close to his body and held the Glock to her chest. He moved to the door.

"Got a package for ya, come on I haven't got all day."

Great, just what I need, an innocent bystander, Devil thought. He then shoved Cynthia into the bathroom, blocking the door off with a large table. Devil then answered the door, as though nothing was going on.

"Hey thanks, been waiting for this."

Devil reached for the package, but the man pulled it away.

"Where is she? You don't know her, what have you done with her?

The man reached for something in his pocket, but Devil was faster, he grabbed the man by the throat and threw him into the table. The table shattered as the man hit the floor, Cynthia came running out of the bathroom screaming.

"Dam it you bastards!"

Devil yelled as he squeezed off the trigger and put a clip into the "delivery man." Cynthia grabbed a sawed off shotgun and shot at Devil, hitting him in the chest. Devil flew to the wall and slid down to the floor, but raised a Glock as he fell, spraying the entire room with ammo. As Devil got back up, shook up from the shotgun blast to his chest armor, he saw Cynthia lying on the floor, in the middle of the room, which now had bullet holes covering all the walls. Cynthia was dying, she had been hit at least a half dozen times by the Glock. Devil moved to her, trying to get information from her before she died there.

"Tell me what you know, i'll take you to a doctor."

"Don't lie, theres no point in taking me to a doctor now. But I'll tell you what I know. I set up a job for Spectre, had him meet with a representative from a Mega-Corp. The Mega-Corp is a close competitor with NeuroCom, who developed a highly advanced cyberware for the brain. Spectre is going to steal the information for the Mega-Corp for top dollar. He said three days, I was supposed to supply firepower and good help, but now I cannot, so I'm sure the mission will be delayed unless he finds other help right away. That's all I know."

The blood and color drained out of Cynthia's face, and her eyes rolled back in her head. Devil pushed her eyelids shut and said a short prayer, then quickly left the room. He had to get out of there fast after causing such a scene. He had slipped up and made a mess of things, and it was incredibly loud. As Devil exited the building, civilians were lined up on the street, watching to see what happened. Devil covered his face and jumped into his car, quickly speeding off. Now he had some real information, it had cost two lives, but thats what happened in this line of work. Devil wasn't sure what day Spectre would be hitting NeuroCom, which was going to be a real problem. Devil decided to head back to HQ with the nicostick for genetic testing and try to get some more info on the situation. To top it all off, he had no idea where NeuroCom labs were located. He took off towards HQ.

[JeffBryant]

Spectre was worried. Craft had pointed out some things that Spectre had already thought about, but hearing someone else voice the issues made them more real somehow. NeuroCom was operating with increased security, and that made more problems than Spectre wanted to deal with. Craft was right about another thing, Spectre would need the best decker he could find if he wanted to pull the job off, so he was glad to have Craft on board. He looked down at his telecom, there was a message waiting, it would be from Cynthia. Sure enough, when he clicked the telecom on Cynthia’s face appeared on the screen.

“Hey Spectre, I found someone for you, he’s a good guy, and he knows what he’s doing. Call me back and we’ll arrange a meeting. Also, I’ve been able to get some of the gear you asked for, I don’t have it yet, but it’s on its way, swing by whenever you can and you can pick it up, should be here in about an hour.”

The image faded and Spectre dialed Cynthia’s number. It rang and rang, but she didn’t pick up. Spectre immediately began to worry again. Cynthia ran her entire operation from her small apartment, as far as Spectre knew, she never left, so her not answering was definitely cause for concern. Spectre turned off the telecom, stood up from his desk and grabbed his armored coat. He put it on then secured his two pistols in their holsters under his arms after checking their ammo clips. Spectre thought momentarily about getting Craft to go with him, then figured that it was probably nothing to worry about and decided to go alone.

He went to the garage and mounted his Phantom, started the ignition and took off at top speed. It was less than twenty minutes before he arrived at Cynthia’s, but he knew something was wrong before he even got off his bike. The door was slightly ajar and the lock was completely demolished, as if the door had been kicked in by someone very, very strong. Spectre drew one of his pistols and nudged the door open. The place was a mess, there were bullet holes in the walls and Cynthia’s table was smashed to pieces. Lying among the remains of the table was a deliveryman, his package still within arm’s reach, a package that was probably meant for Spectre. Near the bathroom was Cynthia herself, full of bullets, still clutching a sawn-off shotgun in her dead hands.

Spectre crossed to Cynthia and knelt next to her body. He touched her face, still warm, the scene in the apartment was very recent. He checked her pockets and found her datapad. Using her thumb, Spectre accessed the datapad and checked the most recent entries. Only one jumped out at him, dated the day before.

Contact Thenician Dusk about job.

Following that entry was a number that Spectre assumed belonged to this Thenician Dusk. He went to Cynthia’s telecom and switched it on, then dialed the number. An unfamiliar face appeared on the screen.

“Hi, you must be Dusk. You don’t know who I am, but we had a mutual friend who was trying to arrange a job for us to do together. Her name was Cynthia, I’ve just found her dead in her apartment, obviously someone doesn’t want this job completed. If you’re still up for it, meet me in Central Park at midnight, by the old fountain.”

Without waiting for the man to reply, Spectre turned off the telecom and walked back to the deliveryman. He picked up the package and opened it. Inside were two Ingram Smartguns with extended clips and a load of ammo. He secured these inside his coat and filled the pockets with the ammo. He checked the clock on Cynthia’s wall. It was 11:35 pm. He left her apartment and took off for Central Park. He arrived at 11:50 pm. In the ‘20s, a MegaCorp had tried to buy up the land that Central Park was built on. Many separate groups, all with the same goal had opposed them. The MegaCorp lost, and Central Park had been declared a historic site. After that it had fallen into disrepair and was now little more than an overgrown tangle of weeds and brush. It was also always perfectly deserted, perfect for a late night meeting.

Spectre parked his bike a short distance from the old fountain that was once the center of Central Park, dismounted and walked to the edge of the fountain’s basin. The fountain, like the park itself, had fallen into disrepair. It no longer worked, was cracked in more than a few places, and was almost completely overgrown with vines. Spectre settled himself on the edge of the fountain to wait.

[Thenician]

Thenician was just out of the shower and preparing for work when his phone rang. He ran to it quickly and turned it on. Before him was a motorcycle helmet talking to him.

"Hi, you must be Dusk. You don’t know who I am, but we had a mutual friend who was trying to arrange a job for us to do together. Her name was Cynthia, I’ve just found her dead in her apartment, obviously someone doesn’t want this job completed. If you’re still up for it, meet me in Central Park at midnight, by the old fountain."

The man hung up before he could answer. Immediately, three different thoughts popped into Thenician's head. One, this could be a trap, though who would want to trap him was unknown. Two, this could be the person that killed her and wanted to tie up loose ends she was working with. Or three, it could be the truth. Whichever it was, Thenician was going armed. He looked at the clock, it was 11:35pm. He called the idiot at work and told him he'd be unavailable for a week due to personal matters, then hung up before they could question. He knew that there would be endless messages when he go back, but it didnt matter at this point.

Thenician went to his equipment locker in his bedroom and put in his form-fitting layer of armor, then his armored jacket that was cleverly disguised as a stylish leather jacket. Pants, boots, and he was good to go. He grabbed his rifle, pistol, and keys from the table where he'd left them the night before, and proceeded to the garage. Here he checked the trunk of his Porsche to make sure there was all the necessary ammunition. He got three pistol clips and a rifle clip and stuffed them in his jacket pockets. He closed the trunk and set the house alarm on a one minute delay.

Thenician entered his vehicla and opened the garage door. He started the car and raced out toward central park as he garage door closed behind him. He checked the indash clock and it was now 11:46pm. It would take him only fifteen minutes to get there. Unfortunately, the contact was smart enuogh to set the meeting at a time where he would be unable to arrive early and set up precautions. The probabilities ran through his head. Just to make sure, he tried calling Cynthia from his car. It rang relentlessly but no answer. It really angered Thenician that he only just spoke to Cynthia after several years and that was the last time. He didn't want to believe it, but for the moment that's all the information he had.

He arrived at central park. Thenician's favorite feature about this place was that the paths were wide enough to drive trough. He found the entrance and drove down the path. After a short distance, he spotted the old fountain on his right on the parallel path. He revved the engine and sped up to go around.

Thenician made a sudden screeching stop right next to the fountain where he saw a man leaning on it. He leapt out of the car with incredible speed and pointed his machinepistol directly at teh man's face.

"I want a full explanation!" Thenician said. He glanced down for a second to find that the man had a pistol aim at his chest in return. Thenician took a deep breath and locked eyes with him. "I'm waiting!"

[DeviusZwei]

Devil arrives at HQ around 11:30pm. Just as he's getting out of the car, his earpiece communicator comes through with a transmission from "the voice."

"Good job taking down Cynthia. I've got some info for you, good stuff. We have reason to believe that Spectre used Cynthia's phone after you left the apartment. He'll be meeting someone codenamed Dusk in Central Park at midnight, by the old fountain. Get there fast. Out."

Devil immediately jumps back in the car and slams the gas, spinning the car around and taking off in the other direction, towards Central Park. As he drove with his knees, Devil reloaded his Glock 51s, rechecked the machine pistol attachments, and loaded the Flak Cannon. He dropped the Flak Cannon back into the backseat and pulled up to Central Park around 11:50. Parking the car just outside the park, in the street, Devil moves quickly towards the old fountain, leaving the Flak Cannon behind once again, this time so he could move faster and quieter. The plan would be to stake out the meeting, and hopefully get a shot at Spectre from a hidden location. As Devil moved towards the fountain, he could already see a man leaning up against it, on the other side away from him, it had to be Spectre. It was perfect, he could take the shot now and probably neutralize Spectre, but he had to wait for Spectre's contact to arrive. Devil camped out in the park, laying on an old bench like a homeless person. Soon after Devil had laid down, a Porsche drove through the park, Devil kept his eyes on it. The car came to the fountain, revved up, drove around, and stopped in front of Spectre. A man got out, wearing a black leather jacket. "The man must be Dusk," Devil thought. Dusk moved quickly, placing a pistol to Spectre's face, but Devil could see that Spectre already had a pistol to Dusk's chest. Devil could see that Spectre was fast, he had reacted to Dusk before Dusk had pulled his pistol. As Devil pulled out his two Glock 51s and got up from the bench, he heard Dusk asking some questions, he could not make out all the words though. Devil raised from the bench and moved on the fountain, pointing a Glock at each of the men, the target, and his contact. As he walked towards the men, he heard Dusk say something again.

"I'm waiting!" said Dusk. He seemed furious about something.

Devil reached the fountain, getting aim on both men, he got ready for a firefight. He crouched down a bit and waited to see the outcome of the standoff between Spectre and Dusk, with any luck one of them would take the other out, or in a fantasy land, they would wipe each other out. But Devil knew he wouldn't be so lucky. He kept his fingers on the Glock triggers, ready to spray the area.