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Message: <blockquote data-quote="Andrew D. Gable" data-source="post: 766878" data-attributes="member: 4144">Sept. 8, 20607:00 PMThe runners entered Dante’s Inferno, the familiar smell of the place, a mixture of cigarettes (illegal, of course, but that law was practically unenforceable) and spilled alcohol, billowing out to meet them.  They quickly sought out Gunderson and picked up the payment for the last job they did for him, a little bounty hunt on some ghouls that had been bugging the orks in the Ork Underground."Hoi, chummers," called Gynt, the little dwarf who was running the bar tonight. "Message for ya." Ghost walked over to the bar while Rasta and Plunkett went back to get the money. "Someone’s been looking for you guys," Gynt said, polishing a glass. The ork and troll turned their heads, intrigued by this new development."Who’s lookin’ for us?" the dreadlocked troll asked."Dunno. Didn’t give their names. Big gents. Didn’t look like the type I’d wanna tangle with, if you catch my meaning. Asian guys.""Are they in here?""Yeah. They didn’t want to leave when I told ‘em you weren’t here, said they’d wait. They’re around here somewhere…" Gynt scanned the walls, and jabbed a pudgy finger at a booth on the other side of the dancefloor. "There they are.""Thanks for the tip."The three advanced through the crowd of people, over to the table where there sat two guys who looked like sumo wrestlers, and so much alike that they may as well be vat-clones. After the runners introduced themselves, the two rose in unison, bowed in unison, and introduced themselves in heavily-clipped Japanese accents as Eiji and Inoshiro. "Why d’you want us?" Plunkett asked, after he and Ghost took the seats they were offered. Rasta’s 10-foot frame made it necessary for him to stand."Our employer, he wishes to speak with you. He says you have worked for us before. You come with us, go meet him?" One of them - he thought it was Eiji - sat with his hands folded, and Plunkett noticed that his right hand was conspicuously lacking a thumb."Why can’t he come to see us?""He is well-known. And not well-liked. He fears for his safety.""And this is someone we’ve done work for before?""This is what he tells us." Both men inclined their heads slightly. "He specifically requests you, as you have skills he finds useful."Plunkett glanced at Rasta and then at Ghost. Without their saying a word, he could tell what his teammates’ opinions were. "What can it hurt? I guess we’ll hear him out.""Excellent." The two Japanese men rose and led the three runners to a car they had parked outside. "The ork and the elf may ride in here," Inoshiro - or was it Eiji? - said. "But the troll is too large, he must ride his bike.""Suits me fine," Rasta said as he heaved up onto his Rapier and revved the motor. He took off, following the car that carried the other runners.  ******The car parked in front of a high-rise building, the Seattle Hilton. Plunkett and Rasta - raised in the squalor of San Francisco - appraised the building approvingly."Follow us," one of the men said. He led the team into the expensive and ritzy lobby of the place. A yellow-and-white checkered floor - real marble, and polished to a near-mirror sheen - dazzled them. A middle-aged guy looked up from behind the desk. "I’ll need you guys to check your weapons," he said, walking into a small closet-like room. "Company regulations." The runners gave their weapons semi-freely - after all, they still had enough concealed stuff to do some damage - and the man buzzed the presidential suite.A few moments later, the gilded elevator doors opened with a ding. Out stepped a dapper gentleman, an elderly guy in a respectable gray suit. "Greetings," he said, bowing slightly. "Please, follow me." Eiji and Inoshiro nudged the runners forward, and the six men ascended through the elevator."You may know me as Mr. Johnson," the man said. Mr. Johnson, of course, being a code used when an employer who didn’t really want himself identified was contacting runners. "I am an employee of the Renraku Corporation." He pronounced this as the elevator dinged past 30. "We’ve heard of your dealings with Mr. Shotozumi, the chief of security. We have people dealing with the Deus situation. I wish to contract you for something more important."The elevator doors opened onto a room the likes of which the runners had never seen. Mr. Johnson gestured for them to be seated, offered them a drink (which they of course accepted, being semi-alcoholic mercs), and walked over to a hardwood desk - real wood, too. On the desk sat a little truncated pyramid, a squat mesa of black plasteel. Mr. Johnson hit a button on the device and a red holographic form took shape above it, a thin man. A Native American, with long hair and sunglasses. Typical Joe Cool type."This is a Mr. Jesse John," the Johnson continued. "Rabble-rouser and provocateur. He was instrumental in the forced withdrawal of Renraku corporate personnel from Tsimshian. We want the man very badly. He infiltrated one of our compounds here in Seattle and made off with a prototype.""What sort of prototype?" Plunkett asked.The man paused and licked his lips, and hit the button again. Another holograph, this one depicting a small, box-like machine, appeared. "This is a sub-sonic frequency manipulator, codenamed Gabriel. This is what Jesse stole from our facility." He sipped his drink and went on. "Based on research by Dr. Nathan Tomkins, on the effects of various frequencies of sound and how they affected human moods."We’ve heard from our contacts within City Hall that you uncovered evidence indicating that the Salish Reclamatory Front - an organization with which our corporation has clashed in the past - may seek to disrupt the November 15 meeting of the Sovereign Tribal Council. We also have information indicating that Jesse may be connected with the SRF, and we fear he may attempt to use the generator at the meeting. With likely disastrous results."We wish to contract you to retrieve the generator from Jesse. Use any means necessary. We would wish to question Jesse, but should you find it necessary to eliminate him, this would be an acceptable loss."After they heard the exhorbitant sum the Johnson was offering, the runners quickly agreed."Good. I’m glad to see we could so easily reach an agreement. Intelligence indicates that a ‘Ben Johnson’, a known alias of Jesse, crossed the border into Salish-Shidhe via the I-90 earlier today. He may be attempting to rendezvous with certain parties within the Ute Nation, in Las Vegas."The runners nodded and were shown out by Eiji (or Inoshiro). Next stop, Vegas.</blockquote>

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