Roleplaying > Moderated Freeform

White Out [Cosmic Era RP]

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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.)

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.

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

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?

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 &^%$@.

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?
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..."


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