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This was a problem.

No, not the fact that the Governor of New Everrun was meeting with mercenaries. John Wilder was a man of the people; unafraid to walk the streets and rub elbows with every class of people, be their collars blue or white. The problem was the corpse on the autopsy table in front of him. A young man, mid-twenties at most, with jet-black hair that now stood in stark contrast to his pale skin. Holes where piercings had once been dotted his ears, lips, and nose. His expression was peaceful, but John knew his death had been anything but.

"Cause of death?" he asked the grizzled old medical examiner, though he already suspected the answer.

"Multiple organ failure," the man replied wearily, "I'll need to run blood work to know for sure, but it's consistent with all the others."

"Tranquil," John growled.

"Sixth one this week. And it's only Wednesday."

John sighed, "Why to people go for this shit? Are there not enough legal drugs on offer?"

"Tranquil's dirt cheap though," the coroner pointed out, "And there's no shortage of morons looking for a bargain high."

"Indeed," the governor thought for a moment before turning to leave, "This needs to stop. If The Sentinels can't find who's selling this shit, we'll go freelance."

"Just be quick about it," called the coroner, "Before I run out of freezer space."

"I'll be sure to mention it when I meet our prospective employee. If my schedule is correct, he should be arriving at my office shortly.


Edited by danzilla3

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It had been years...Since he left the game behind, and several more since he'd first entered it. Once upon a time, four teens discovered a new world, in which they flipped upside down as they took to the streets. They recruited, they resourced, outsourced, and after years of climbing to the top, they even overcame their greatest rivals. This abruptly came to an end though, when the Russian Meta discovered that the girl, no, the woman he fell in love with was with child. His child. It was then he threw it all away. The intergalactic drug and weapon smuggling in his corner of the market, the gang banging, he just up and walked away from it all in a matter of days, abandoning years of progress. While his purpose of making it to this world was linked directly to the death of one of his brothers, he knew that this was a one way trip by now. For even if he could return home across time and space, he wouldn't make it back to a place nor a family that he remembered. The toll of time, how it travels, and how ones aging is altered along the way. Either his family would be much older, or he himself would be. 

That's what brought him here. Regardless of the completion of vengeance he charged himself with getting in the spirit of old habits, he too was now interested in hitting one of these attractive ass cities in order to begin making his stamp in one of them. Last chance seemed to be the most eager to invite someone like him into the fold, followed hard by Palgard; Though it seemed that there was a newer city on the rise that was bound to have the most opportunity for him. Everrun. It already had an established economy both in way of what most called legitimate, and what most would deem illegal. Despite his original methods, he refused to believe an old dog couldn't learn new tricks. Not to mention this time around was different, he was the only one working on a start up and eventual come up, as opposed to having his other three brother's backing him up.

After catching a lift from Jade, he was delivered here from across the waters with plenty of time to get a glimps of the city as he lit up one of those lho sticks his old rivals and used to sell prior to his own syndicate claiming dominance over said rivals. The fact that this city was catering to advanced tech, and had such a healthy plethora of urchins was promising; Alas, it was a cause for reminiscing on old beefs. A reminder of the history he came from, and ultimately overcame. Despite being somewhere around his forties and having been out the game so long, his experience at the Feast of Blades in Predator's Keep had taught him that even after well over a decade of not regularly engaging in conflict both organized and not, he still had it in him. The joys of being a Meta, the joys of having been shot up with the V.

While his intentions were less than humble, just like the other world they took over the streets of, his beginnings would be; though likely not for the same reasons his employers would assume. What better way to learn the competition and get rid of it by working with The Man, only to ultimately shove a finger in the man's face too. Blue tinted smoke plumed from his lips, it also trailed from the perfectly rounded cherry on the lho. While it's aroma likely rivaled any other local herbs of it's likeness, it would be painfully obvious to anyone witnessing him that it was a foreign narcotic for sure. Cigarettes didn't help him ever, though chain smoking these things was the best way of keeping himself calm; Lest he wished to lose his shit at any given moment, for literally just about anything he found displeasing. The joys of suffering from a rather volatile disorder without having properly been medicated or coached to cope.

Perhaps a little later than they'd agreed to meet, to inevitably the Meta made it to the office he'd been invited to in order to discuss Governor's concerns and desires concerning an illegal product that was plaguing their legal drug utopia. Strings of bodies turning up at mildly increasing rates by the day. Whoever was responsible was apparently slick as dog shit. Fortunately, Bishop's original lines of work had a lot to deal with spying, espionage, infiltration, and in the latter days after he'd arrived at his first new world apart from this one, he was once known to be a Repoman, courtesy of one that was called The Giver. Not only did he have an impressive resume to compliment him as a prime choice for this job, but he had the years of experience to truly back the claims of skills he possessed.

Upon reaching his destination, the Meta kicked the door effortlessly open without causing any damage to it. He took a reassuring drag from the lho stick before plucking it from his lips with his right hand as his left loitered within the comfort of his pocket. His choice of wearing a sleeveless hoodie and black cargo pants, complete with his custom steel cleat boots, the Russian Meta was fully equipped upon arrival. His utility belt hosting all the tools of his trade; To his right hip was his custom morning star, with two apparent knives closer to the flank, the left hip hosting his wretched spiked cestus', and to his backside was a pistol grip which hosted a foreign handgun that one may or may not immediately notice hosted no clip for conventional ammunition. As he exhaled the plume in a mild sigh, the receptionist perked up with some alarm on her face.

"Sir, there's no smoking permitted inside the Governor's -"

"Shut th'fuck up, jus'do ya' job an' make sure he knows I'm her' yeah?"

"Sir, do you have an appointment!? You can just go barging........in"

By the time she was finishing her statement, it was too late. Bishop entered the man's personal office. Despite his tardiness, it seemed the Governor wasn't here yet himself. Bishop took the chance to take a seat in the man's chair himself. Leaning back in the chair he kicked his boots up on one corner of the desk, one ankle over the other. With his lho stick spent, he crushed the cherry out of existence with his fingers before aimlessly tossing the crushed filter tip onto the desk before him. His hand clasped behind his head as he made himself comfortable. His bloodshot, glassy, green hazel eyes scanning the office from the comfort of his chosen seat. Despite not getting a closer look at things of interest, nor digging though things physically, the Meta could see and perceive much more than the average person's eyes could. The joys of being hyperkinetic. 


Edited by Twitterpated

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A flood of data poured continuously over Takchi's connectors, scrolling across his black-eyed gaze with the persistence of a whore as dawn drew near.  Gods, it just never stopped.  It never frigging stopped.  

<..Breaking and Entering, 5th and Vernon ..Transport under the Influence, Main and Broadway.  ..Assault at the D3VNU11, Entertainment Sector..>

It just never stopped.

Takchi had emmigrated to the New Everrun PD from Last Chance's CDF, looking for an easier way and better pay, but damned if this place wasn't just a different six shades of hard work set against a background of neon lights.  He'd gotten the requisite enhancements and wetware, spent the last year pressing flesh and handing out titanium bracelets, and eventually worked his way up to Vice Under Chief of Drug Enforcement - third, basically, he was third in charge - but the goddamn days just got longer, and harder, until he was sitting outside the Governor's office in an armless metal accent chair waiting to get a new asshole punched in because his side gig couldn't stop cutting the product with some more profitable bullshit.  

Exhaling a heavy sigh, the man blinked three times in quick succession to shut off the Department roll, and pat down the pockets of his ocean blue suit jacket.  After a moment, he found what he was looking for and clawed out the contents of his inside pocket - a faded entry ticket to Freya's Tits, a mashed, paper-wrapped, piece of gum, and ah.. his pipe.  A faint smile pulled at Tak's lips as he tossed the trash haphazardly toward the nearest bin and lifted the cool glass-and-chrome cylinder to his lips, drawing thrice, before exhaling a lung full of some into the circling smog above his head.  

What, it was legal - he had a long day, everyone needed a pick me up every now and again.

The acerbic taste enveloped his tongue like a winter coat and in a few moments his irritation with the situation passed into a content awareness - still ready to work, but generally untroubled at how unhappy his predicament was.  When the door burst open a moment later, Takchi barely stirred - only his black eyes drifted up, viewing the ostentatious entrance from behind a shield of black bangs.  Mute and fading into the background, the man bore witness to the exchange between the Govenor's receptionist and the rather large, rather armed, mercenary.  It didn't take a rocket scientist to build a decent assumption, given his reason for being here. 

In the recesses of Tak's mind, current ran across capacitors and a buried, black-market comms unit flared to life, opening an encrypted vpn.

<Looks like the Gov called in some muscle, you should scatter.>

Across town, in a complex in the middle of nowhere, the message was received -- dozens of undocumented stim-cooks and dorph-runners began to do exactly what Tak suggested - - scatter.

Edited by Noko

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Sir, there's no smoking permitted inside the Governor's -"

"Shut th'fuck up, jus'do ya' job an' make sure he knows I'm her' yeah?"

"Sir, do you have an appointment!? You can just go barging........in"



The Ripper was infiltrating, and Jade was listening.

A one-way com was nestled into her ear, picking up every rattling sound Tzak Bishop made. She was surprised such a thing existed here. Her time in Valucre had taught her that technology only went so far—but here? It was almost like being home again.

She grimaced—whether it was her recollection of the Neo Shanghai Arcology or because of Tzak’s inability to open doors the normal way, she wasn’t sure. Jade was slouched in the cockpit of Stormcutter. Despite looking like a piece of junk, it was uncannily reliable for an air freighter. Her successful string of jobs allowed her to make the right sort of special modifications to boost its speed and maneuverability. Still, it had its flaws but—it got them to where they are, didn’t it? It was parked quietly in a hangar not far from where Bishop was lurking.

There was talk—the sort of talk Jade hoped to get away from, yet inexplicably kept getting involved with. She knew of Bishop’s past, but they didn’t talk about much—just as she didn’t talk about her past—or her world—very often. The Arcology was a broken promise. A cesspool. When she was little, she looked at the sky and remembered being envious of how far away the stars were. She became a pilot to get away from it all. She had her deep faults, but also her merits. Hopefully enough to bail Tzak out when he needed it.

Bishop wasn’t a proper human—at least she didn’t think so. So maybe he was perfect for the job. Idle hands began to fidget; Jade reached for a pack of cigarettes, meticulously pulling one out and rolling it between her lips. Jade didn’t smoke enough to for it to matter, only when she was feeling trigger happy.

Niao, y’got ‘nythin’ on th’reportss-yet?” She leaned over to call out behind her, mumbling by keeping her cigarette firm between her lips.  A gnarled old hand holding a tablet shot out, nearly smacking her in the face, and Jade recoiled, “Shesuz, Niao. Am righ'ere.” She irritably snatched the tablet and swiped through the wealth of information her reclusive old (emphasis on the old) shipmate provided. It wouldn't be complete without a long, inventive string of foreign profanity and griping from her companion about how ungrateful Jade (and all young people) was. Jade ignored her despite the shit-eating grin she wore to focus on the notes of why they were here.

“Tranquil…” She murmured thoughtfully, brows furrowing; her face was illuminated by the electronic glow of the reports while movement picked up in her ear and voices made themselves known.

“…shit’s sick. Bes’ be carefuh, biàn tài.” She talked to him like he could hear her. It was just another strange quirk of hers. This would be way less nerve-wrecking if she had a visual on what her Russian asshole was up to. If it got too hot she'd go in. Hopefully it wouldn't come down to that. She didn't feel like getting shot over someone else's bad manners.

Not that she had any good manners—perhaps that’s why they got on so well?

Jade grinned hard enough that her cigarette fell into her lap.

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It had been weeks since Fox had gotten a good story to sell and he was running low on funds. So like any good journalist he had been listening to police radio. Usually if he couldn't find anything himself he could always get a lead on a good story by listening to the feds. Eventually a pattern started to develop, corpses were being reported left and right but not from murder but from overdose. Eventually dozens were dying a day in such a manner and rumor has it that a drug named tranquil is the culprit. So far he didn't notice any signifigant individuals dying as a result but a lead is a lead.

He would go to John Wilder's office himself and see what info he could squeeze outta him regarding Tranquil because if anyone had details on this it had to be him. The journalist slipped through the crowd quickly for he had no time to waste. He couldn't let anyone else get this info before him or he would end up going broke. To his dismay, when he arrived there was already two people in his office; however, on the bright side they didn't seem like reporters or journalists. Although upon closer inspection maybe he would have preferred reporters.

One man obviously was foreign to the city. He carried his weapons openly even though usually soldiers keep their weapons concealed within the city and wore suits. Not only that but he carried a bizzare looking handgun that seemed to be very valueable. The other he only got a glimpse of when the door was open, but it was a cop, a damn cop. Seems like the situation had gotten bad enough to resort to bounty hunters, this info alone would be worth a bit, so he started to jot down every detail of the two people in John's office. 

The Journalist was desperate and although hesitantly, he did enter the office after the bounty hunter. Upon entering he saw the armed individual laying his boots upon Wilder's desk. 

"well would you have a look at this, seems like a meeting is going on here. I don't mean to intrude but is this about Tranquil? If so then I would love to hear what you two know if anything, or are you both as clueless as everybody else in the city regarding the details of it? If not that is fine, but another question who are you, stranger? I can tell that you're a bounty hunter but I've never seen nor heard of you before?"

Fox asked the bounty hunter in a manner like that of a news reporter. He turned on a recorder in his pocket and waited for his response. The journalist figured that if John decided to omit him from this meeting upon his arrival then he may as well get some info about the bounty hunter in his office, such info might sell for a low price. After entering he found a comfy chair to sit in while clutching his journal and tapping his foot.


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"well would you have a look at this, seems like a meeting is going on here. I don't mean to intrude but is this about Tranquil? If so then I would love to hear what you two know if anything, or are you both as clueless as everybody else in the city regarding the details of it? If not that is fine, but another question who are you, stranger? I can tell that you're a bounty hunter but I've never seen nor heard of you before?"

Who dat boy, who him is?

The Russian Meta grinned, exposing his chrome teeth in full; Complete with fanged tips on the canines of his top jaw, a small red gem in the pointed tip of each. He snickered a bit as his narrowed green hazel eyes settled on the probably younger man. His tattooed arms crossed over his chest  as his still leaned back in that expensive, and if he said so, comfortable chair. His gaze then shifted to the to the pig in the room.

"Y'ear th'mu'fuka? He thinks I'ma boun'y hunna."

He mused before kicking his feet down and standing up perhaps a bit too fast. He strolled around the desk as his arms dropped naturally to his sides once more. His grin refreshed as he approached the reporter more or less indirectly. Smacking the intercom button to the receptionist desk, he chimed into the mic: "A'yo Becky, hook m'up wit' a crown an' coke. Sloppy, on th'rocks." "Hey! My name is - - -" He turned off the speaker as he chuckled, his bloodshot, glassy eyes returning to the reporter as he continued to move about the desk, touching just about anything in his immediate reach, especially if it looked expensive. 

"F'now you can suffice t'say I'ma indepen'ent contracta'."

Despite the fame and reputation he had on at least one other world, he did nothing to actually try and educate the man on who he was or elude to his past. Finally reaching the man, the aroma of a mild musk,spiked with the smell of tobacco, marijuana, and stale booze. He looked the man in his eyes, standing at about 5'11", weighing maybe a buck fifty soaking wet. His ectomorphic frame, while toned somewhat nicely for a man that seemed to be in his late thirties, early forties, didn't look very imposing by any means; His ectomorphic build a facade masking the immense strength the Meta possessed. The power of the V.

"Jus' call me Bishop."


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"Bishop it is then"

Predators could always recognize another of their kind.

In the kind of environment where such creatures thrived, it was an essential skill if one wanted to remain the hunter and not the hunted. John instantly recognized Bishop as another of his kind; a killer, a thief, a liar. Were he as capable as he obviously thought he was, the merc in his chair would recognize that the former gang leader was the apex predator in this particular jungle. The political power he wielded as governor would be enough to make most think twice about seeking quarrel with him. Bishop would be able to tell that John was just lethal on a personal level, even if he'd never heard any of the stories about him.

As he entered his office he gestured to Takchi to follow him inside, and whispered to his assistant to take a break. Upon noticing the reporter he said nothing, paying him no mind for now. Once the doors were closed, he would start talking.

"You all know why you're here," he said, "Tranquil. We're losing to many people to this shit, and it needs to stop. Unfortunately, my own police force seem unable or unwilling to catch those responsible for these deaths."

He shot a quick look to Takchi before continuing, "So I'm going to split the difference. Chief Takchi, you are going to be working with... Bishop here to find the people manufacturing and distributing Tranquil. This is non-negotiable if you want the job my mercenary friend."

Now he turned to Fox, "If you agree to follow them, and document the proceedings, I'll let you be the first to break the story. Refuse, or publish before I say so, and the consequences will be... dire."

Having addressed everyone present, he finished, "Now if you'll excuse me, I'll be needing my office back."

The affable smile had never left his face as he'd laid everything out, but his voice was as cold as steel and just as sharp on the last order. Only a fool would think he meant anything other than, "Get out."

Edited by danzilla3

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It was with the most deliberate of motions that Takchi went fishing back in his pocket and emerged, after a short moment, with the paper wrapped piece of gum he'd discovered earlier.  As he did, he watched the reporter arrive - it was damn near a traffic jam in here today - followed in short order by the mercenary's posturing and then the Governor himself.  It was only then that Takchi peeled himself out of the silver accent chair and curled to his feet; it was then that folks would notice how tall he was - easily 6'5" - and thin enough that he swam in his ocean blue suit like fish in its namesake.  It was impossible to tell how well muscled he was or wasn't, but he had the sort of stoop necked posture common in someone who was taller than construction workers planned for.

Glancing at the other two, Takchi popped the piece of gum in his mouth and chewed, quietly, falling into step immediately behind the Governor.  Inside the office, he settled behind and off to the side of John Wilder - wrongly assuming that the Governor would dismiss the two interlopers before conferring privately.

"You all know why you're here," John said, "Tranquil. We're losing to many people to this shit, and it needs to stop. Unfortunately, my own police force seem unable or unwilling to catch those responsible for these deaths."

"Governor-"  Takchi began to interrupt, but the Governor rolled right over him, and his baritone faded as he gestured helplessly at Bishop and his various weaponry.  If they brought this man-ape along, they'd end up with just as many bodies full of bullet holes, all beautifully documented by the reporter they'd been saddled with.. but John was John, and just as soon as he laid out the rules he shut down the game.  The tone was familiar and Takchi sighed, then snapped his gum and turned to walk out.

"I'm going to go bang some doors down- if you're coming, take your own transport."


Love you, man-ape.  😆 

I'm only writing ICly - no offense!


Edited by Noko
Cars to transport, I forgot the setting lol.

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The freelance journalist was worried he may have offended John by the way he responded. However, it was hard to tell if he disliked Fox or if that was just simply the demeanor that the merc always had towards strangers. Either way the man was incedinly intimidating even though he was ectomorphic he was obviously an experienced killer and an inch taller than Fox.

Fox gulped and tugged at the collar of his white dress shirt as the bounty hunter or "independant contractor" came close enough that his scent became pungeant.

"Jus' call me Bishop"

Didn't exactly give him a lot of info, but he didn't feel like pressing for anything more would end well.

It was at that time that the governor arrived and began to lay down a plethora of information and directions. The cop didn't seem to happy to be working with the merc, but given that he was given a direct order from John fucking Wilder he didn't dare to contest. before suddenly he turned to focus on the journalist.

"If you agree to follow them, and document the proceedings, I'll let you be the first to break the story. Refuse, or publish before I say so, and the consequences will be... dire."

It was definitely a good deal if not also a terrifying proposition to follow two armed men into a drug traficking ring while being completely unarmed just to get a good story. However this could very well be what makes him a go to source of information and open the way to more jobs. 

"Sure thing Gov, I'll make sure to document every last detail and see it through to the end. I swear!"

The little sly fox promised before following behind the cop.

"Who's doors are you banging down? Do you got a warrant or are you just trying to blow off steam after the Gov basically told you that you're shit at your job?"

Fox asked while keeping his distance in case Takchi decided to swing at him in retaliation.



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It would be a lie for Bishop to not claim he felt some sort of connection with the Governor, from one alpha to another. While Bishop was obviously here along, he had already climbed the hierarchy of the streets before; More than once at that. He admired the Governor for who he was, though it was a short lived experience considering deep down inside, Bishop was already in the train of thought that would lead to him ruling the streets here with an iron grip. The difference being that he had no desire to sit in a pretty office with his face and name known on a legal, legit standpoint. His crown reigned best from the shadows. It was easy to lump the Russian Meta in with most like him, though one major difference is the fact that he himself was no liar. He either told the truth, or nothing, just as he did when introducing himself. The Governor made quick work of explaining what little they actually knew about the illustrious Tranquil, giving Bishop little to nothing more to go on than what he had known prior to his arrival. When the pig tried to cry to his Governor about the big bad wolf, Bishop merely grinned, chiming in just after him as they all more or less followed the directive given.

"Governor-" "A'ight."

While he had no interest in working with a cop, nor in being tailed by a reporter, he wouldn't gripe about it. As they left the office, the cop delivered the invitation to kick some doors open, though left the Meta to find a way to follow the man on his own. With a silent nod of compliance, Bishop allowed him to go to his ride without trying to so much as slow him down. Bishop might have been the thug, though he wasn't as dumb as this cop potentially made him out to be. As much as he loved kicking doors in, it was the beginning of the investigation for Bishop. Meaning he needed to gather more information first.

"Ya' got a ride? I can arrange f'one o' my own, but ya'might not lik'et. Eitha' way, I ain't ready f'kickin' doo's yet. Point me to one o'dem hotspots wher' I can buy some Tranq f'm'self."

In a world full of advanced techs and magics, what better way to kick things off than with some old school, old fashion methods. Bishop needed to find a seller while posing as a buyer. In tandem with his old ways, it was the easiest, quickest route to finding the answers he truly sought. Follow the product to the seller, the seller to the suppliers, and last but not least, the supplier to the source. Maybe that cop had leads as it were, though it didn't seem he was willing or trusting enough to share any of those details with this ruffian outsider. In which the Meta would be damned if he was going to blindly follow some smug pig blindly. After all, he'd seen and been guilty of setting up someone with less. 

"Wha's ya' name kid?"

@Noko @Peach

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Skender Andreescu's day had started six hours earlier than it should have.

Normally he would have gotten up somewhere around noon, but his comm link had started vibrating off the nightstand at nine in the morning. The first call was ignored easily enough by turning away and covering his head with a pillow. But the damn thing kept ringing, and ringing, and fucking ringing. Finally he picked the damn thing up; making a mental oath that he would slaughter the whoever was disturbing his well-earned rest. 

"Where the fuck have you been?!" came the panicked voice of Adam Petran, his second-in-command.

"Sleeping," he growled, "Why? What's going on?"

"Takchi's busting down doors man!"

Skender's blood ran cold, "Why the fuck is he doing that?!"

"Dunno, but he ain't alone," Adam continued, "He's got people with him! Some giant fucker and a reporter. They already trashed one place, and then took off! Boy's on the street say he's headed toward another safehouse!"

"Fuck," Skender spat. He considered his options for a moment before speaking again, "Okay, here's what we're gonna do. Get as many hitters as you can and send 'em to backup the boys at the safehouse. Ambush the motherfuckers. But leave Tak alive. We need answers, and I don't wanna have to go through the hassle of finding another bent cop."

"Gotcha boss, I'll let you know what he says."

Conversation concluded, Skender threw his comm onto the bed and got up to take a shower. He wanted to look good before he talked to the supplier.


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"Who's doors are you banging down? Do you got a warrant or are you just trying to blow off steam after the Gov basically told you that you're shit at your job?"

A sardonic smile and a raised middle finger, tossed in his wake, was Takchi's only reply to Fox.

Outside, Takchi's long strides carried him across the street to his transport, parked nearby.  In the daylight, these roads would be crowded - stuffed with citizens heading to work, or home, visiting the food trucks or heading to the club, but this time of the evening was no man's land.  The addicts and the clubbers were still sleeping off yesterday's high while the white collars and khaki pants were home, snug as bugs in rugs, crowded around the table watching vids with their kids.  The peace would be fleeting, he knew, and for the moment he closed his eyes and let it sink in before his predicament came flooding back.

What a fucking mess this was.

Sighing heavily, the man authenticated against the door panel of his personal transport and climbed inside.  The vehicle was a top notch hybrid, black with electric blue trim and able to shift seamlessly between ground and air travel, plus he'd recently had it retrofitted to include the newest and most responsive AI.  It was, in a word, ostentatious - certainly not the car he'd take if he didn't want to be noticed.  However, there was no time to swap, so ostentatious it would be.

The streets passed in a blur for Takchi.  Alone in the blue-lit interior of his car, he let the AI drive and took the time to think, to really consider how to escape with his skin intact - ideally, with his deal intact as well, but at the very minimum his skin.  He sent a few encrypted comms to his contact, signed with his handle and routed through the black-market chip in his head.  Hopefully, the comms would make their way up the chain to Andreescu before things got too out of hand.

<You're fucked.  I told you if you kept dropping corpses Wilder would make a point.>

...<<Don't you mean we're fucked?  You're supposed to be keeping them off of us.  Do your job.>>

<Fuck you.  We need a fall guy.  I got no choice.  I'm hitting Henderson then Neon Trails.  Got a crew of assholes and a fucking reporter with me.  Get ahead of this.>

Nothing followed, and Takchi severed the connection as angrily as one can do that sort of thing.

The streets flew by, just a blur of neon and concrete, until Takchi found himself in front of the Henderson safe house.  This house was a crash pad, for all intents and purposes- addicts purchased on the streets and came here to dose themselves, pull up a mattress, and let the world drift by in its drug filled haze.  It was just common sense that he'd find some Tranq'd up fools here and sure as shit, he did.

Even in its best state, the 'door' to Henderson was a suggestion-- one hinge, one knob, and a chain that had already been kicked through.  Takchi didn't have to kick it open, it wasn't even shut, but he did just to make the point.  The interior of the house was barely a shell.  There were walls, some intact, and for furniture only couches, tables, and mattresses haphazardly placed wherever it was convenient for whoever used it.  It had little rhyme or reason beyond immediate need.  There were bodies everywhere - most in sort of semi-conscious halfway point between reality and pure bliss - others were well on their rides, smiles pressed onto their faces like the crease in Takchi's pants.

The cop wasted little time, grabbing the first sprawled out half-conscious kid and lifting him to his feet, only to forcibly place him in a chrome-and-red-vinyl kitchen chair someone had discarded in the hallway.  Fishing around in his suit pocket, Takchi pulled out a hypo full of a sick yellow liquid and punched into into the boy's arm.  It immediately injected its contents and, in moments, the boy's hazel eyes were as wide as the hubcaps on Takchi's transport and just as shiny.


Takchi grabbed the boy's worn collar roughly and shook him, mugging hard.

"Shut up.  Where'd you get the Tranq - over at Neon Trails?  You get it over at that whore's den?  DID YOU?"

"FUCK-- I, yes?"  The boy agreed eagerly, frantic to get Takchi away from him.  The adrenaline needed to wake someone out of a Tranq-nap was substantial and often left the dosed vic vulnerable to panic attacks.  "Fuck man, let me go!  I just fucking crash here!"

The boy began to flail, helplessly hacking at Takchi's arms as the cop re-gripped his t-shirt.

"You want an assault charge?"  

The boy let his arms fell limp, tears welling as he looked toward Bishop and Fox, as if the two would help him out of this.  "Naw man, nah.  C'mon man.. I'm wiggin out here."  His young face began to redden, creasing as he struggled to hold back his emotions.  Strands of dirty once-blond hair fell forward as he looked down and mumbled, "..sorry, m'sorry.  Please kin I go..."

"Who sold it to you," countered Takchi, pressing verbally even as he released the boy.  Around them, the conscious occupants of Henderson had started to rouse themselves.  A few were stumbling out, forcing coordination from limbs they could barely feel.

"WHO.."  The dark-haired man began to repeat himself, only to have his victim stammer an answer before he finished.

"Uh, Daisy.. ?"  It was the only sensible answer, given Neon Trails.

Takchi nodded, then shoved the boy back into the crooked red chair and turned, his dark eyes swiveling as he looked for Bishop and Fox.  This would have to do - if Andreescu had any fucking organization at all, he would know where Takchi was heading.  If the breadcrumbs were any bigger, they'd be a fucking gingerbread house.  On his way out, Tak kicked over a table and swiped a discarded backpack from the junk-covered floor then threw it through the window, just to burn some of his own shakes.

Fucking John Wilder.

The way to Neon Trails passed much like the way to Henderson - with Tak's AI driving and Tak ruminating as anxiety and stomach acid combined for the mother of all heartburn.  He popped an antacid and thought about Neon Trails.  Its proprietor was Daisy Blueeye, a once-whore and now club owner, who had fucked/dated a string of criminals through her late teens and early twenties.  Those connections, combined with a shred head for business and a significant lack of morals, had served the woman well.  While she wasn't rich, she was better off than any former druggie with no education had expectations to be.  

Neon Trails was popular with a certain sort of clientele; its reputation well known, and well curated, to be a virtual necessity on any dope-fiend's nightly itinerary.  In the back of the club, past all the pleasure-tourist traps and trip-inducing strobe lights, was the 'safe house' Tak targeted.  There were two entrances - one, through the front of the club, and one staff entrance on the side which entered into a kitchen that only served ice-pops and high-nutrient chocolate-chip cookies designed to replace electrolytes and shorten the come-down period.  They tasted terrible.

The streets were starting to come alive when Tak pulled into the alley beside Neon Trails, but the alley was a ghost town.  Tak waited for Bishop, Fox, and any others to arrive before he exited his car, annoyed and chewing on a grape-flavored blow pop, bopping his head in time with the base thumping through the air.  The Trails had opened a half hour ago and while there shouldn't be many club-goers inside now, there would be some - there was always some.  The heavy push-bar door the staff used had been left open both in a futile attempt to air out the ever-present smell of sweat and artificial cherries and so the other staff wouldn't have to deal with the annoyance of opening the door for anyone who forgot their keys.

Tak's hands found his pockets as the rest of the group arrived.  He looked at them flatly.  "Should be quiet.  The meeting room and offices are in the back, east from this entrance.  We're looking for Daisy- black hair, usually braids, blue eye liner, pale, 5"7' around a buck forty.  Lots of curves.  You'll know her."  That was apparently enough information and Tak jutted his chin toward the side entrance, then turned to walk that way. 

Should the group not arrive after a reasonable time, Tak would simply approach - hands visible and a vaguely annoyed expression on his thin face.  He'd be looking for a staff member, someone to fetch Daisy and get her round ass out here to talk.

Edited by Noko
Just added the last two lines to account for the possibility that no one shows up.

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> 用户名: 财主
> 密码: ****************

欢迎, 余旭

* * * * * * * * *

Jade zipped up her suit and checked to make sure all her important bits were covered. These damned things were tight, but protective. She shimmied into a pair of black cut off jeans, pulled on a dark top and threw a canvas jacket on. She gave a quick check on the holsters of her EXL-TA pistol; charged and ready to fire if need be. There was something wholesome about firing a shot of energy at someone who misbehaved. Super illegal.

She picked up her toppled cigarette and returned it to her lips, "Am headin'on. Washa ship." She took the tablet with her, still reading as she carefully wove her way through the ship without consciously paying attention. Jade new every inch of her girl better than any man she'd run up on. She checked in with the bay attendant on the time they had left to dock there before heading out into the streets.

Everrun had been burnt to a crisp and rebuilt by this Wilder guy. There were plenty of articles that reflected the same thing. What had once been a humbler place had become this modern powerhouse--all because of this Wilder guy. If Jade new anything from her time at the Arcology--it was that when men came along with opportunity, it often came with dirt. Wrinkling her nose, Jade swiped left to read on.

Corporations. Private Military. Prostitution. Gambling. Drugs.

No wonder biàn tài likes it here. Jade mused silently. She paused to glance both ways before crossing a street, jogging half-heartedly along the way. Though her attention appeared on the tablet--and in some ways it was--she was scanning for another ride to skim. She had only brought enough money to get properly docked in the hangar, and perhaps food along the way. Bishop was sidetracked, and Jade wasn't about to lose the only avenue in the city that paid her. It couldn't be just any ride. A car was too big. and could get in the way A motorcycle too loud. and different It had to be something else...

Then she saw it. Sleek and sexy, purring like a kitten before the engine was choked. Jade tucked the tablet and cigarette away. Don't walk with purpose, slow down. She slowed down to a leisurely stroll and happened upon a man who was just dismounting his street bike. "Nice!" She called out casually, giving it a glance over, "Haven't seen one of these in a while." It caught his attention and he turned and grinned, "Thanks." Jade squatted to admire the paneling, "They make these here? Or important? I've been looking for a new set of wheels. This traffic is shit, know?" She stood again and dusted herself off, coming to stand next to him while they both admired the bike. "Yeah, there's a manufacturer here in the city, not far from here actually." Jade nodded thoughtfully, "Cool, cool." The man regarded her for a second before pulling his helmet off, "You heading in for work?" He cocked his head behind him, indicating the building behind them. Jade took a sweeping glance, her brows shooting up, "Why, you buyin'?" She asked automatically, catching the bright neon sign: Ssshh!...Don't Tell Mama.

He thought she was a stripper coming in for work.

"Gotta unload after a long day." He confessed and chuckled awkwardly. Jade chuckled with him, gently skimming a hand along the curve of his shoulder, "Well, thankfully I got here early. We've got some time. Maybe you can take me for a ride before the show?" She grinned wickedly, stepping back and gesturing him to follow her into the garage space underneath the joint proper. They stood outside one of the bathrooms, amusing themselves over which before exchanging furtive glances and quickly slipping into the women's bathroom. The air was electric with a hum of sexual tension, Jade unzipped her suit to unveal some cleavage and pressed the man against the wall, coming just to his chin, "Now, about that ride..." She purred, her lips skimming along his jawline with feather-light touches. Every inch of the man was tense before Jade cracked him across the temple with her elbow.

He recoiled, startled by the blow and slammed against the wall before crumpling for the floor. "Asshole." She spat, fishing for his keys and his helmet. No one would question why a man was knocked out in a woman's bathroom--and would probably say he deserved it and was probably a creep. No one would immediately look for a bike that was commonplace. Her jacket hid enough of her not to readily tell if she was male or female (she hoped), and could be discarded at any time. She pulled on his helmet, returned to the bike and slipped on.

Oh it felt right.

"I gotta get me one of these sometime," She murmured quietly to herself before changing course, "NEO, patch me through to VERONICA." Jade spoke out loud to no one, yet her command was quite clear.

Welcome back, Pilot Yu Xu. A pleasant female voice--clearly not human--spoke to her. "VERONICA, I need you to find someone. I'm sending you an audio file. Check surveillance for a Meta." Jade reached for the tablet again before pressing on her forearm. A small opening appeared and she pulled a wire out, connecting the jack. When the file was sent, she hastily disconnected and--for lack of better words--put herself back together.

Which audio signature shall I focus on?

"The one that sounds drunk." Jade replied dryly, still listening in on Tzak's whereabouts.


Jade cranked the bike up, her visor still flipped down and keeping her features obscure. The bike was quiet and perfect and she desperately hoped it was fast. She let it warm up beneath her. The helmet was stale and stank of sweat and who knows what else? She'd be sure to take a thorough shower later, lest the asshole give her lice. She really didn't miss her old life, and it was annoying how easy it was to slip back into fray of The Future.

Audio signature recognized. Matched. Sending you the coordinates now.

"These assholes are going to get me killed, one of these days."

Shall I amend your will to reflect your favorite song be played at your service?

"Thanks VERONICA, you're a peach. " Kicking the stand up and revving the engine of the street bike, Jade took off in search of Bishop.

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Perhaps the up and coming reporter was still a bit shook from the raising tension in the Governor's office. Prehaps it was just Bishop, not really giving the man his undivided attention unless he picked up on some key words to answer the questions he'd asked. To no avail, it seemed the report was too green horned to have experienced anything worth anyone's while. Sure he'd at least gotten his feet wet, though even in his line of work, one had to be willing to get their nose bloody and fight for the good shit. Fortunately for him, he was following a foreign Meta with a bad attitude. I was only a matter of time before Bishop started making waves in this city regardless of whether or not such was his intentions. It never failed, there was always someone there to make him mad. Placing his thumb and index fingers in his mouth, he produced a high pitched whistle that most, night any human was capable of. Waving his other hand he hailed for what undoubtedly even here resembled a taxi. When it arrived at his immediate convenience, the passenger door for the backseats immediately opened to allowed them entrance. 

"C'mon kid, lemme buy ya'a drink."

He mentioned as he entered ahead of the reporter. Once they were secured within the cab, the driver could be heard through some sort of bullet proof panel, speaking through a speaker. Bishop grinning menacingly as he thought about the old days, and how this ridiculous defense wouldn't even slow him down if he so chose to rob this cyka for any and all he had. 

"Where to?"

"Take m'to th'seediest bar'n town off th'top o ya'ead. I'm lookin' t'get fucked up, nah'mean? Lookin' f'a bad bi'h but'a goo'time, nah'mean?"

He mused with a chuckle and a wink as he made eye contact with the driver who undoubtedly took one look at his chrome teeth and decided he must have been some sort of synth or augmented human. Without question, the driver zipped off. Once merging speed was achieved, he effortlessly allowed the vehicle to hover into the floating highways of traffic. Bishop didn't try much for small talk with the reporter, though if the lad had it in him to strike up conversation, then the Meta was willing to entertain him to an extent. So far the only thing this cat really knew about him was that his proclaimed named was Bishop. If the lad had any idea how to finesse an interview, he'd be sure to use occasional, casual conversation to get him to say anything valuable. If he stuck around long enough to see him get intoxicated, then he'd really be in for a treat.

Regardless, they inevitably arrived at their destination. When the door opened to allow them to exit, a prompt to enter credits for payment. Bishop aggressively shoved the reporter out of the cab first and immediately followed him out. When the driver began to protest, Bishop waved him off casually, dismissing him with the words; "Bill'et t' LEPD, courtesy o' offica' Takchi." Without wasting so much as another second debating with the driver, he waved the reporter on to follow him as he moved to enter the club. Looked like things were quiet, slow. The crowds were just beginning to loosely gather outside for entry, and the bouncer had yet to open the doors to the public for the evening. The ectomorphic Meta bumped shoulder's with a few folks as he more or less pushed his way through to the front of the line. Even if anyone tired to resist or push back, they found that the rather slim fellow was much stronger than he appeared. So far, none seemed ballsy enough to try and start something with him. 

As soon as the doors were opened, Bishop was nigh the first to enter, perhaps with the reporter still in tow. He made a beeline for the bar, typical of any would be patron on any given night. Once he reached the bar, he took a stool with no particular choice in mind. Tapping the bar, he refreshed his grin. Without waiting for a bartender to actual greet or ask him what they wanted, he took the liberty of giving his order.

"Yo, hook m'up wit' fo'sho's o' th'stronges' vodka y'ave, somethin' fruity f' m'dude her', an' if y'ave a secret menu or somethin' li'tha' then y'can call m'a secret shoppa."

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