What does it takes for a good team to do something compared to others?

That's a question alot of Marc's ask. Whether it be about watching a team work and seeing what they do that works or while on an op with a team a fixer put together and finding how well they mesh. It could be anything really. It is never clear.

It's been years now. Three? Four? Since Boots? Jorick isn't sure. It's been abit since he met these particular Edgerunners. Sinless souls. Slipped through the cracks. Dropped out from the Corps. It's all a different story. He's no different. His combat vest is almost fresh, like it's almost never been used. The tell tale stitching of a TTI sponsored gear company along the edge of one of the Kevlar plate pouches. Designed for the protection of a Truama Team paramedic. What the good Doctor wouldn't give for a TTI grade hard suit. But he will make do. Adjusting the ear piece he has on he taps it for the second time since they got there. He's not usually out here. He's usually at the clinic when the team goes out. Waiting in case someone gets popped or spanked, they bring him in and he patches them up on the cheap, regular customer discount kinda thing. He steps put of the car he'd come in looking around for the rest of the team.

His look screamed corporate, can't hide it. His gear is too new, too pristine. The twin Chao smart pistols at his hips almost gleam with polish and gun oil. His boots req'ed from a TTI quarter master, no questions asked, same with the vest and combat fatigues without TTI insignia. All of it almost sparkling new.

The wearer not so much, for his age Jorick is weathered. Working the Corp system isn't exactly gentle work as some people would try and lead you to believe. From clinic to clinic sometimes it can get pretty cut throat. Stealing patients from each other, trying to claim the prestige of tending to this or that notable member of society. Jorick wouldn't admit as he tries to help everyone he can, equally. But having Ziggy Q come by for check ups did give his clinic abit of greatness.

All of this aside Jorick looked up at the building, "And what the hell are we doing here...?" The doctor said. His eyes glowed as Jorick dialed up Top Gun, "It's Godricksson, I'm at the apartment, anything else you can tell us?" Jorick scanned the area trying to spot the rest of the team.

Another dry, sweltering Night City evening, filled with the sound of distant sirens and ever-present advertisements. There was no escaping them, people were always killing each other and companies were always trying to suck in customers. When Zen first came to NC she was confused by the constant stream of commercials blaring from every screen and speaker, the vast array of choices a little unsettling for someone used to the comparative dearth of options in Neo-Sov.

She adjusted once she figured out that any brand she could afford was trash, just like back home.

Zhenya spat derisively, attempting to clear the foul taste of synthetic food out of her mouth. No dice, the cheap-ass burrito she had polished off an hour ago wasn't giving up that easy. She'd have to treat herself to an actual meal once the job was over.

The gig itself was simple enough in the description, the actual execution likely trickier than the instructions implied. Find some chromed-up dickhead, shoot said chromed-up dickhead in the torso, rip the chip out of dickhead's skull. It was the sort of simple, no-bullshit job Mak liked. No corporation was going to miss this guy, the screamsheets would barely bother to put his death on the third page.

As long they could handle Rex and whichever of his chooms were hanging around they'd be home free.

The Doc's question was instantly analyzed and translated by the circuitry shoved in Zen's head, the Russian shrugging her bearish shoulders. "Same thing we always are: icing gonks and getting paid for it."

The cool, collected tone of her artificial English was incongruous with the wry smile she wore, eyes looking the younger man up and down. Pristine armor, two fancy guns that saw more recalibrations than they did magazine changes, clothing that didn't seem like it had even been worn in, new gear for a new field agent. Doc's shiny loadout stood in sharp contrast to the well-worn and much-mended armorjack she had on, the revolver holstered across her chest dinged up from years of use.

Doc was a good guy but he was probably better off in the operating room.

"Ask him what Rex looks like, and if he's a social type. I wanna know how many gonks I'm chewing through."

She had the fifty cal waiting and ready in the trunk of her Galena in case they were dealing with a proper gang hideout but she sure as shit wasn't about to load it up if she didn't have to. The thing went through ammo like monowire through flesh and it wasn't like she was firing off bulk surplus. At roughly two eddies per round careless use would see her eat through most of her take.

There were two big problems with his evening: the heat and the apartment.

It was a scorcher tonight, although that’s not a new thing for Night City. It made his optics suboptimal, but they were still working. More importantly, he got called to help the crew flatline some choob who snatched a chip off the wrong Militech’s suit. Days like this make him nearly miss TTI. At least they had air conditioning, plus decent life insurance. Still, this was infinitely more exciting than waiting to help some suit who wandered into a turf war. 20/20 hindsight’s a bitch, but it’s better here than a megacorp.

Fingers started pacing around while Jorick dialed Top Gun. It gave him a chance to think. On the one hand, assuming they all live, this’ll be the biggest payday of their lives. On the other hand, the choob’s apparently chromed to high heaven, and the goons outside the apartment didn’t seem like decorations. The odds seemed in their favor, which was rarely true. This could easily blow up in their faces, possibly in a literal sense if Rex ended up being psycho. It wasn’t exactly comforting to think about, so he didn’t linger on it. Better to think of the here and now.

What Zen said made Fingers almost stumble. It was almost funny how ready she was to ice people. Almost. ”Fumigating the place is a waste of ammo and time; I can see through walls. The only flatlines that matter in those apartments are Rex and the choobs up front. Everything else is gonna come out of our paycheck.”

He had the usual equipment for this job. A med bag slung on his shoulder, a fresh Kevlar vest under his shirt, Slide at his hip, and the cure in the bag, just in case. Troy was almost jealous of the Doc’s iron. All of it looked pristine, and also meant he had some TTI chooms. Lucky. However, Zen’s iron was something more worn, but clearly reliable. Then again, all that cyberware was probably enough to widen the gap. Speaking of cyberware…

Troy stopped pacing and looked at Zen and Jorick. ”Can you ask Top Gun about his chrome? I might salvage some when we’re done, assuming it’s worth a few eddies.”

If there was one thing that Maya disliked the most about the weather of Night City, it would have to be the scorching heat and bone dry winds that were all to common for this area of Southern California. She understood that the city was located within an arid climate, but at the same time the pacific ocean was right at the cities edge. Not all was lost though, for when there were hot days with dry winds, a high chance for cool weather and a storm with rain to follow presented itself. That type of weather on the other hand, was not only greatly welcomed but also very much enjoyed by the retired Trauma Team medic and pilot. Unfortunately for this early evening, it appeared that the heat and dry winds were here to stay for the time being, and they would all have to deal with the discomfort.

For Maya though, she had managed to get her hands upon a full set of fatigues that sort of helped regulate her body temperature in not only the heat but also the cold, which assisted with the discomfort brought on by bipolar weather conditions. As an added bonus, the fatigues had a digital urban camo pattern upon it, which was a personal favorite of hers. On the outside of this was her Trauma Team medic armor, which Maya had repurposed and also recolored a dark gray so that it would blend better with the fatigues. The only piece of armor that may have drawn the most attention to her was the helmet, apparently belonging to a TTI pilot at one time.

If it had not been for Top Guns call about the shard they were about to attempt to grab, Maya would have spent the night enjoying some R & R within her Japan Town apartment, doing whatever her heart desired. For better or worse, she now found herself standing among the rest of the crew, having decided to keep her mouth shut untill she felt it necessary to speak up. That did not take long though, for when Zen spoke about killing people and getting paid for it, she lifted the protective visor from over her eyes and was about to open her mouth when Fingers beat her to it. Once he had finished, Maya finely spoke up. "Depending on how we wish to approach this situation, we could lose more than ammo and time if someone decides to shoot everything that moves inside of the apartment complex. Speaking of which, how are we going to carry this out? Are we going to go in loud or are we going to try and use stealth? I am adaptable but would at least like some sort of plan to be laid out beforehand."

Perched atop a building on the other side of the road, Set Liu watched and waited.

He was used to the boisterous cyber-cacophony of Night City assaulting his eyes and ears 24/7. But up here, it was deathly quiet--at least for a netrunner. Surprisingly, it made him nervous. His brief time in the chaos of Indonesia's jungles taught him that the longer nothing happened, the more that something would. That didn't make any real sense, but neither did anything that had happened to him over the past two years.

Set brushed his fingers over the cold steel of the submachine gun concealed within his backpack. He had shot people before, but he was leagues better at sending chooms into comas before they even knew he was there. It was for that reason he hated jobs like this--no matter how excellent the team, shit would always find a way to the fan. And this--at least for Set in the meantime--was not an excellent team.

All Set could see now through his cybereyes were vague silhouettes and outlines in the interior of the apartment complex. There was nothing to see, if he didn't know what he was looking for.

The team's comms crackled to life.

"I, uh, concur with Maya. I don't like the idea of wading through all these chromed-up numbnuts starting from the ground floor up. After we get his room number, the team should try and enter from the roof." He spat out some gum. "I could meet you guys there."

"𝙽𝚘 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚏𝚞𝚌𝚔 𝚊𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍, 𝚐𝚎𝚝 𝚒𝚗 𝚐𝚎𝚝 𝚘𝚞𝚝. 𝚂𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚘𝚏 𝚏𝚕𝚘𝚠𝚗 𝚞𝚙. 𝙼𝚊𝚛𝚔 𝚒𝚜 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚞𝚒𝚕𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚒𝚗𝚏𝚘 𝚜𝚔𝚎𝚝𝚌𝚑𝚢 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚍𝚊𝚝𝚊𝚙𝚒𝚌 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚜𝚞𝚏𝚏𝚒𝚌𝚎. 𝙶𝚛𝚊𝚋 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝, 𝚣𝚎𝚛𝚘 𝚠𝚑𝚘 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚗𝚎𝚎𝚍. 𝙰𝚗𝚢𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚜 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚐𝚘𝚘𝚍 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚋𝚎 𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚍." 𝚃𝚘𝚙𝚐𝚞𝚗 𝚜𝚙𝚘𝚔𝚎, 𝚊𝚗𝚜𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚝𝚘 𝚊𝚛𝚖𝚜 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚕𝚎 𝚌𝚛𝚎𝚠 𝚘𝚏 𝚖𝚎𝚛𝚌𝚜. "𝙼𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚏𝚊𝚜𝚝, 𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚐𝚎𝚝 𝚍𝚘𝚗'𝚝 𝚜𝚒𝚝 𝚝𝚘𝚘 𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚐 '𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚜𝚑 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚌𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚊𝚝 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚍𝚘𝚘𝚛."

𝚃𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚊 𝚏𝚎𝚠 𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚑𝚊𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚜𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚎𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚊𝚜𝚜𝚊𝚞𝚕𝚝 𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚖𝚎𝚐𝚊-𝚊𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚋𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚝𝚎𝚍, 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚐𝚎𝚝, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚑𝚘𝚠 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚞𝚌𝚔 𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢 𝚐𝚘𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚐𝚎𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎? 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚌𝚒𝚛𝚌𝚕𝚎 𝚊𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚍 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚜𝚎 𝚠𝚑𝚘 𝚍𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚍 𝚍𝚎𝚎𝚙 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚡 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚌𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚏𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚘𝚠𝚎𝚍, 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚗𝚘 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚐𝚊𝚖𝚎𝚜. 𝙰𝚗 𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚘𝚘𝚏 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚔 𝚒𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢 𝚑𝚊𝚍 𝚊𝚗 𝙰𝚅𝟺 𝚘𝚛 𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚠𝚒𝚜𝚎 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚍𝚘𝚘𝚛 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚘𝚝𝚝𝚘𝚖 𝚘𝚛 𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚜𝚎𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚐𝚘𝚘𝚍 𝚏𝚒𝚝 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎. 𝙽𝚎𝚎𝚍𝚕𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚊𝚢, 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚎 𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚎𝚗, 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚕𝚍 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚕𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚞𝚙 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚒𝚗 𝚊 𝚐𝚘𝚘𝚍 𝚠𝚊𝚢 𝚊𝚗 𝙰𝚅 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚏𝚕𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚍𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚘𝚙 𝚊𝚜 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚑𝚊𝚍 𝚠𝚒𝚜𝚑𝚎𝚍, 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚒𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚜𝚗'𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚐𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚙𝚜. 𝙽𝚊𝚢, 𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚎𝚊𝚖.

𝚂𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚐𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚜 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚗𝚎𝚍, 𝚊 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚊𝚕 𝚛𝚎𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚠𝚊𝚒𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚍𝚒𝚖𝚎. 𝙾𝚏 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚜𝚎, 𝚃𝚘𝚙 𝙶𝚞𝚗 𝚙𝚞𝚝 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚗 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚝𝚎𝚊𝚖 𝚘𝚗, 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚊 𝚐𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚗 𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚊𝚗'𝚝 𝚋𝚊𝚗𝚔 𝚒𝚝 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚘𝚗 𝚊 𝚖𝚘𝚝𝚕𝚎𝚢 𝚌𝚛𝚎𝚠. 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚊𝚒𝚛 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚕𝚎 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚊 𝚜𝚒𝚐𝚗 𝚘𝚏 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚎, 𝚊𝚕𝚖𝚘𝚜𝚝 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚌 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚎𝚕𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚛𝚒𝚌𝚒𝚝𝚢 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚞𝚕𝚏𝚞𝚛. 𝙽𝚘𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚕𝚍 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚎𝚊𝚖 𝚑𝚊𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚍𝚎𝚊𝚕 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑.

"𝙱𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚐𝚎𝚝 𝚊 𝚖𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚘𝚗." 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚒𝚡 𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚎𝚎𝚝 𝚏𝚒𝚡𝚎𝚛 𝚜𝚊𝚒𝚍, 𝚋𝚎𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚞𝚙.

Troy loaded his pistol after giving it a final inspection. He looked over the thugs outside, using his optics to zoom in and search for anything unexpected. Still, Top Gun was right; it was either they got the chip, or some other chooms made off with it. And the payout wasn’t something he’d be willing to pass up easy. Besides, it was too hot outside to wait. Someone would make a move, and whatever happened next would be that.

“Alright, I have a plan. Well, a concept.” He said, keeping his voice down. Never such a thing as too careful. “We zero the choobs up front, and wait a bit for an apartment number. If Rex comes to us, we’ll be ready. If he doesn’t, we’ve got surprise on our side.”

He looked back at the group and holstered the Nue, ready for any other suggestions. Gods know he’s not a genius, but he’d try to get everyone through the door.