Shadowrock, Chapter 7 (Patreon)

Chapter 7: Ready to Play

“Well, look who the cat dragged in! Or, is the Pussycat dragging herself?”

I groaned at Cougar’s bad pun as I walked into the restaurant where we were meeting. A cab ride home, shower, change of clothes, and a few hours doing pop star things like working through emails and such, and so on. We’d worked through the basics of my having a Congressman as a contact through the group channel, but we wanted to meet in person to plan on how to deal with the upcoming meet. Which is why we were at the Naughty Schoolgirl Show Bar for ‘after-dinner drinks’. In other words, a strip club that, by necessity, had some larger tables, where one could talk, especially if you were in a corner booth and set up a White Noise Generator, which made it damn near impossible to eavesdrop on conversations. The things were so useful that I was the only member of the team that didn’t have one. Something I’d have to remedy at some point.

One benefit of using the strip club as a meeting place was that few people bothered looking at the attractive, but clothed, women in the corner sipping drinks when there were attractive women on the stage, showing off a lot more as they danced. This was especially true when the women involved were wearing normal clothes, lined coats, and the like. We were dressed for work, not fun, and we’d all come ready to get to work, once it got closer to time for the meet. And, so long as we paid for drinks, and didn’t cause trouble, it was unlikely anyone would remember us, here.

“Laugh it up, Cougar. We all agreed that a possible seduction was the best way to get to the target, and none of us expected them to be doing that kind of predator play, drugging people with elf-land drugs. That laésal wine isn’t exactly easy, or cheap, to come by here in the NCSA. Doing it without getting on someone’s radar is even tougher.”

“Now, now,” TechKat chuckled. “No need to go bringing any of that up. We should focus on the job, after all. I’ve arranged a nice selection of material that is nicely damaging, if not outright incriminating, starring the Congressman and his family. If the recordings were ever verified accurate, his reputation would never survive. Maybe not his career, either.”

Tigress leaned forward. “Which brings up some questions, honestly. Do we want to risk burning a fresh contact, a Connection 5 one, at that, to pick up a measly 2500 nucred each for the ‘post completion’ part of our payment?”

Lioness shook her head. “We’ll take a hit to our freshly-created rep if we back out of the deal. We might have a pre-built rep, but that doesn’t mean we’re just going to be rolling in job offers, especially if we ditch with the up-front payment.”

KittyKat took a breath, and said, “That’s assuming we get paid at all. With a target like a sitting Congressman, and our only having a small pre-built rep, not an iron-clad ‘don’t fuck with me’ rep, there’s a good chance that they may decide that cutting out the workers means there’s less chance of things being linked back to them. I’ve been thinking about the site for our handover. That parking deck is isolated, and there aren’t any cameras down there. No collateral to worry about, either, other than some SINless squatters, maybe. Good place for an ambush.”

That put a damper on things, but at least it refocused everyone. I took a breath, and said, “Well, we go in, expecting trouble. Same as we did in our ‘last lives’. We all have armor, and weapons. Even those of us who prefer to act in the Matrix or through drones are modded enough to have a decent Initiative, and three passes in the meat. I doubt the devs would throw a full corpsec strike team at us on the first gig back from death. That’s a great way to have players ragequit and drum up bad PR. Probably won’t give us an easy time, but I doubt we’re looking at a full assault squad, even if there is a double-cross.”

TechKat nodded slowly. “The area is home to the Blackhands. Gang that all wear black gloves, even in summer. They usually don’t carry more than a Predator and a knife or club, but they have numbers, and like using Cram when they are looking for a scrap. Not exactly top-tier players, but they’ll move quicker than any unaugmented person ought to. Not as fast as someone with more than the lowest level of wired reflexes, but still.”

Cougar shook her head. “And enough guns means they could be a problem. Even if they don’t have the armor-piercing ammo, they could probably afford at least EX-Ex, or maybe SnS. Enough stun damage would still put one of us down, even if they never managed to get through our armor.”

“All right, then,” I said. “We go in expecting trouble. That way, when trouble finds us, we’re ready to put it down. Now, what do we want to do about RoE?”

TechKat frowned. “Well, normally I’d say rules of engagement for people trying to kill us is to kill them back. However, that’s potentially a lot of bodies on the floor. We have the shock ammo, so maybe use that? Fewer bodies will mean less cleanup later.”

Cougar cleared her throat. “If it comes to cleanup, I can offer a couple suggestions. I do need to eat metahuman flesh, like any other ghoul. But I couldn’t really get through more than one body before things start going bad, and lose their effectiveness. However, I did pick up a member of Tamanous, the organlegging group that helps feed ghouls, as one of my contacts. They won’t pay terribly well for unaugmented streat meat, but it is still is a way to get rid of bodies.”

Lioness took a breath, and said, “I went ahead and spent some nucred after we got our initial payment. Picked up a second van. Nothing special, just basic black, no armor or real goodies, with the seats in back taken out, but it has rigger controls, spoof chips, run-flat tires, and a morphing license plate, so we could use that as transport for the bodies. And it is down to bare metal, so spraying it out and bleaching things should work for cleanup, even if the bodies leak a bit.”

The only problem with the new van was that it was basically unarmored, which meant that if it got caught up in a firefight, that would be immediately obvious. Not ideal. So, it was decided that Lioness would keep the second van parked a couple minutes away, and then we’d call it when the meet was done, one way or the other.

We did, however, decide to cut down on how many vehicles we brought to the meet, since that would cut down on the visibility of what we were doing. I rode with TechKat in her Tsarina, which was made to help her connect to the wider Matrix, as well as ensuring she had some protection. Cougar rode in Tigress’s Mercury Comet, because she only had a chopper and a sports car as options, and neither were exactly great for this. And KittyKat rode in the passenger seat of Lioness’s main van, the one that didn’t have room for more passengers than that, thanks to the drone racks taking up all the space in the back.

Pussycat’s Perception Test: 9d6 = 0 Hits, 0 Miss

TechKat’s Perception Test: 9d6 = 3 Hits, 2 Miss

Tigress’s Perception Test: 8d6 = 4 Hits, 0 Miss

Cougar’s Perception Test: 9d6 = 3 Hits, 3 Miss

KittyKat’s Perception Test: 4d6 = 0 Hits, 2 Miss

Lioness’s Perception Test: 8d6 = 5 Hits, 2 Miss

When rolling into a potential ambush, it was good to have time to stake things out. Which is why we rolled into the parking deck at 22:30, half an hour early. If there was going to be an ambush, then someone would be here early, to make sure that the prey had taken the bait. Of course, someone watching could just be security doing their job. Or a rival checking up on the competition, and watching to get dirt on them. Or someone completely unrelated. No way to know until an observer did something. However, spotting an observer was the first step to spotting the trap before it snapped shut.

Lioness: Heads up. We have someone in Blackhand colors, near one of the support columns next to the entrance. Human, male, teenager. Not doing anything, but looks like an armored vest, and some strap-on bracers for the forearms and shins. Probably the SecureTech stuff. Predator at his hip, and a mace hanging from his belt. Not threatening anyone directly, but it does draw the eye, once you see him. Looks like he’s talking to someone on his ‘link.

KittyKat: Now, the question of whether they’re a lookout, or wrong place/wrong time. Don’t know which would be worse.

Pussycat: Wrong Place, Wrong Time is worse. That means someone is just staking out an area like this, maybe because they have their own stuff planned, and they might bring people to push interlopers out of the district. At least with lookouts for a dedicated job, you can expect that they have a plan for that job, which means that they are more likely to try and escape, use area denial tactics, and probably are already ready to either snatch back or silence any of their people who get APD breathing down their necks too hard. Someone there for a job is more predictable, because everything is about the job. Wrong Placers are more likely to do something ‘for honor’, or vengeance. And likely make everything worse at the same time.

KittyKat: Can’t really argue with that. An active hostile is more predictable than a bystander who might decide that a situation needs handling.

TechKat: Do we deal with him now?

Cougar: No. We watch him, and wait. But if you feel like doing something to pass the time, you can always try cracking his commlink, and seeing if there’s anything interesting in there.

TechKat: Nah, not worth it. He probably has more viruses on that thing than a two-credit whore in a Marine barracks.

Tigress: Heads up, car approaching. Black SUV

I checked the time on my commlink. 22:55. Five minutes until the meet. We were in position, and a car was driving up. We got out of our vehicles, and got ready. No one aimed weapons, but we were all had at least a pistol in hand, either behind the back, or in a pocket, ready to use, if need be. I had my Sakura Fubuki in hand, safety off, but finger off the trigger as I used my coat to hide it from view.

As Tigress said, a black SUV was winding through the parking garage towards us. Looked like a fancy one, too. Not quite a luxury vehicle, but definitely something you were more likely to see in a high-end neighborhood than doing anything ‘sport’ or ‘utility’ related, even with it being a sport utility vehicle. But that just meant it was one of hundreds, maybe thousands in the sprawl. Nice enough to be noticed, common enough to not be remembered.

Lioness: More gang members showing up. Both exits, and the stairwell. Can’t get a firm count, since they’re moving, but they’re heading this way.

Pussycat: Lovely. Guess we’re going to do this the hard way. When things light off, try and use stun rounds on Mr. J. I think we’ll all be happier with someone to question.

The SUV pulled to a stop, about five meters from us short range, even for tasers. The door opened, and the man that stepped out was almost professionally unremarkable. Average height and weight. Glasses which were colored enough that they broke up the lines of his face, without being garish. Normal suit and tie. Briefcase. Sure, his dark skin was more identifiable than if he had been a basic bitch white guy, but even his skin color was the exact 50th percentile for black men in the NCSA. So, even that wasn’t really telling.

“Well,” he said, “since you called me, I assume that you have the information my client requested?”

“Yes,” I nodded, holding up the datachip TechKat put the files on in my free hand. “We were able to get information, and included the provenance, so it can be verified. Do you have the rest of our money?”

Mr. Johnson pulled a credstick out of his briefcase, and held it up. But then, he pocketed it as fifteen members of the Blackhands moved in to encircle us. “Unfortunately, my client was less than impressed with your extending the budget for this operation to the limits. And having a cold trail works better for my client than a live one. Business, you understand.”

Pussycat’s Attack Roll (Mr. Johnson): 16d6 = 6 Hits, 2 Miss

Mr. Johnson’s Defense: 3d6 = 0 Hits, 0 Miss (6 Net Hits)

Short, Narrow Burst: +2 DV (14S(e), -half AP)

Mr. Johnson’s Damage Resistance: 7d6 = 2 Hits, 2 Miss (12S(e) damage)

Mr. Johnson: 10/10 Stun Monitor (Unconscious)

Mr. Johnson: 2/9 Physical Monitor

I did not quip and then fire, like a two-bit trid villain. A three-round burst from my gun sent him to kiss the concrete, and then I quipped. “Guess the market crashed.”

Now, we just needed to deal with the gangers.