[IC] Neon Lights

[TrippyNightmare]

Studio City

♫
"So, we're really doin' this huh Fake?"

---

_{Studio City, Delmonica Theatre
0932HRs, January 1st 2020.}

The rain.

The rain never seems to get up, it's been raining non-stop for decades now. Nothing new in Night City, the sun never seemed to clip through the clouds. It always was dark out, except for the neon lights which glowed with a heavenly haze in the city streets below the movie theatre. The theatre itself has been abandoned for about five years, the mega corp - Belleview Pictures bought out all the small movie corps in Studio City leaving their mega-theatres to be the more prominent ones in coming years. The seats in the theatres had been rotting, the lobby trashed and full of graffiti and vandalism. If people didn't know that this was a movie theatre, then they wouldn't be able to tell. The theatre had seen its fair share of gang use, the smell of burned furniture, blood and lead fill the air along with a hefty aroma of drugs.

Things have changed though, the theatre is under new management.

A few gang members try to make a run for the doors but the cracking of an assault rifle cries out in the opposite direction of them. A Mexican man wearing a gunner's vest unloads into the group of four, dropping them immediately. The Mexican turns around checking other directions before turning back to the men who now lay on the ground. He walks up to one of them, an African-American man in his early thirties or so. He levels the muzzle to the man's head. "Tell Hellcat I send my regards." He snarls at him, pulling the trigger once - a flash and bang accompany it as the man's head jolts back with a powerful kick. He lays dead, a bullet between his eyes as his soul drifts off to the big body bank in the sky.

Hand on his phone, he speeds dials a number. "Sprint, I need clean up here - and call the gang. It's time we get this show on the road." Some hot pocket chewing and mumbling later, the conversation is over. He hangs up and makes another call, he speaks in a softer more westernized tone. "Hey, it's me. We're ready.". Body twitching was visible and some weak groans echoed out from around the movie theatre, it had been a costly battle that was for sure.

But the replacements were on the way, there wasn't anything to worry about.

---

_{Studio City, Delmonica street
1004HRs, January 1st 2020.}

The rain was still pouring down on the NCPD cruiser outside Delmonica Theatre, it had been parked there for a while. An idle drug deal was taking place in the alleyway adjacent to the sidewalk the cruiser was on, a few joy-girls walk the streets hollering and waving at the passersby on foot and to those that drive past. At the back of the movie theatre is a van "John's Cleanup" professionally painted on the side of the van, as men in white jumpsuits walk in and out with bags, chemicals, and cleaning tools. The front entrance to the theatre is plastered with a group of thugs gambling, throwing dice - playing cards for euro bucks.

News today spits on about the shootings that happened last night on Rockefeller Boulevard, The Slammers and Biff Hellcat still at large as NCPD presence increases across Studio City. In city news, the city council is looking into increasing the number of police androids on the streets, the project which is run by The Agency Corporation is to help reduce the amount of NCPD casualties while increasing the presence of the NCPD. This comes with the recent eco-terrorist attacks in the Upper Marina after SovWear allegedly abused animals in their testing of their new combat chip "The Shredder". The docks were bombed and fifty were killed, C-SWAT has been moved to a 24/7 watch on the docks until further notice.

On a NorCal level, State and Federal officials continue to argue over the legality of succeeding from the union. The Fed are ready to take action should the vote be unlawful, there is still time to debate on the legislature floor as lobby groups for and against the succession take the floor today. Both State and Federal Agencies are at a full time, heightened status as State Troopers are on the look out for FBI agents who are 'investigating' various parts of NorCal.

Coincidentally, counselor Jake Taggart of the Night City council is walking down the street with his bodyguard - a muscular looking man who stands at about seven feet tall in a suit. A man stands on the corner of the street in a full brown trench coat, he simply looks around the block as if someone were watching him.

Now, you've arrived at the street after getting a call to meet with the rest of the gang, it looks like a lot is going on.

Are you going inside?

[Lonewolf685]

[REDACTED]

[TheWendil]

N/A

[Wernher]

N/A

[TrippyNightmare]

Studio City

♫
"Your purpose here outweighs the purpose of a call-up death squad, Erin."

---

_{Studio City, Delmonica Theatre
1010HRs, January 1st 2020.}

Fake ID said, an old world cigar hanging on the thin flaps of skin that were his lips. He brings a zippo to the end of his cigar, the flames from within the device burst into a hue of orange as they ignite the end of the cancer stick. Fake takes the cigar out of his mouth briefly to blow smoke towards the trio. The Cleaners continue to work within the establishment, moving bodies - mostly Slammers but some unfamiliar. "I guess you could say, this is a meet and greet." He smiles, his thick Mexican accent somewhat falters in his speech but it could be chalked up to age, or the radiation. He gives a small curt bow to the women before walking off to sit down on one of the steps. The Cleaners, about a dozen of them, still work away at the stains while some carry bodies away. Two Cleaners begin to clear near the trio, but they don't violate their personal space. The gang of gamblers out on the front doors are still visible, someone one as he raises his arms and everyone stands up to start complaining about it before they get back to playing while some walk off.

"Besides, we needed the place more than Hellcat's crew did. Sprinter likes old world movies, I like the space. We have a big gang, well - we did." He looks over to the bodies being pulled out of the auditoriums. "Sometimes, asking people to leave is too much work. I'm sure you ladies know all about that. Regardless, the show will be on its way soon. Just don't eat the popcorn will ya?" The Theatre still reeks of blood and death, and now cigar smoke as the sounds of the Cleaners wane on into the back ground of the theatre. Fake's cigar emits a distinct black hue of smoke, his hand running over his light stubble.

"The gang could use a few more chicks anyway eh? Hard to work without a woman's guidance."

---

_{Studio City, Delmonica Street
1010HRs, January 1st 2020.}

"Nigga!"

Three black males approach the skinny pencil neck of a Russian in the alley adjacent to the police car, the men surround the man and all take turns giving the man a hand shake. In the midst of this, the Russian's trench coat explodes a small color of red. The man pushes the last man back "Boys! Boys! Not too rough!" chuckling the man waves the group to his old Darcy 98'. The four door stretched van is parked in the middle of the alleyway. "Lots of Dorph here for you and the boys, you think this is enough?" One of the men who wear about a dozen dreadlocks and a rasta beanie opens up one of the air hypos and inhales it. He immediately lunges for the man in a fit of rage, the other two - unprepared attempt to restrain him as the Russian applies a sedative.

"Aight PetersBURG, we'll take diz shits my man!"

The men continue to talk as they finalize the deal and the two men start reviving their compatriot.

"Ey yo fuck you bitch and your stupid ass fuckin' theatre who the fuck you think you is G? You walk thru a brothas' game? Fuck you, fuck your studio city holla wood lookin' ass you ain't got no movies, no juice, no fame. Fuck you, step on our cards again we'll merk you ya? Ya FUCK YOU."

Spits the largest black man in the group around the theatre as the entire group gets up as Sutherland walks through them to get into the theatre. The man shakes his head as he goes back to his card game, the group of about fourteen do the same as they pick up the dice once again.

---

_{Studio City, Delmonica Street
1015HRs, January 1st 2020.}

"Tag that fucker."

Barks the female blond who sits in the driver's seat, mirrorshades covering her eyes as she sits in the police cruiser. The windows roll down an inch as the other office, a brute looking male sticks a paintball gun out the window - aiming for a skinny man in the alleyway. He pulls the trigger, shooting a red paintball - nanomachines at the mans coat. "He's tracked, we'll pass it to vice." Says the male officer. The woman breaks out into laughter before she presses her head against the steering wheel "Fuck those guys." The brute looks over to her "Yea shut it Fusco, hey look at that joy girl going into the theatre - the tits on her!" Fusco groggily looks up at the officer before he grabs her face and turns it to the theatre. "I see! I see! Fuckin' let go Sloan." She yelps as he lets go of her face, rubbing the now sore part of her once pale cheek. Sloan grabs the shades of her eyes, revealing her blood shot pupils. He puts the shades on his face, picking up her joint which has been stinking the car up for the longest time.

"Why are we out here again?" Fusco complains, her eyes now adjusting to the bodyguard and counselor who are walking from the end of Delmonica Street. "The weed right?" Sloan points to the Russian, who they just bought drugs from and tagged for the Vice unit. "No it's like.. Shots fired or somethin' - Hey is that Counsellor Taggart?!" Fusco's jaw drops, despite her high.

"Fuck us, right?" Sloan manages to get out before choking on his next inhale.

[vietmyke]

Ray's Bar, Old Downtown

Music

---

Situated a mere half mile away from Studio City, on the outskirts of Old Downtown is Ray's Bar. A small dive bar built out of the remains of an abandoned R&D Building, refit with an industrial-and-tech aesthetic. Plas-steel panelled walls were browned with a mix of stylistic artificial rust, and real rust, for a very worn in look, and adorned with purely old-style air vents and gaudy neon lights. The small main room of the bar itself was populated by a mix of traditional synth-wood chairs and tables and jukeboxes alongside game tables and holodecks- some in better conditions than others, and some with chairs pulled up to them and turned into a pseudo table itself. The bar itself rested against a wall, with a rusted sign plainly stating 'First Aid & Alcohol'- an acquisition from the old R&D building's medical ward, and a big shotgun leaned next to one of the bartaps to ward off any hostile intentions.

Ray himself was an old hand: a retired military with the battle scars and missing limbs to prove it. With most of the left half of his body destroyed by a bomb, Ray's left eye, arm, and leg were all cybernetics, shiny black and grey steel holding hefty glasses as a flesh and blood hand wipes it down with a rag. Ray worked the bar he owned. There was no kitchen here, just shitty synth-alcohol. With only a few other staff members, Ray mostly ran this ship by himself, every day.

Currently, the bar had only a small crowd- only about a dozen patrons. The tattered jukebox in the corner played some sort of country blues type music, that only helped to make this place feel older than it was. Ray's bar wasn't really much for night life as it was for stiff drinks and shady deals. Of the people at the bar, only one sat at the counter- a man with white hair, a big cyberarm, and the look of a complete lack of empathy for his surroundings. Ray poured the man a short tumbler of cheap whiskey- about as real as it got around this part of town.

"Jack."

"Ray."

Jack exhaled a short plume of smoke as he propped a still burning cigarette against the lip of the nearby ashtray. Switching the cigarette for the glass, he lifted the tumbler to his lips and downed half of its contents. Ray reached back over from behind the bar with a half empty bottle of whiskey and filled the glass back up to the brim before putting the bottle back behind the counter- more specifically back into his leg. Ray always kept the good stuff close to him. Jack lifted the glass back to his face and took another sip, enjoying the strong kick of the alcohol and flavor before he put the glass back down and picked the cigarette back up.

"Those'll kill you, you know?" Ray chuckled as Jack pushed the pack of cigs across the bar. He pulled one out and lit it, taking a deep drag before he pushed the pack back over to his patron. Jack slipped the pack of cigarettes back into his pocket.

"Probably." Jack replied as he took another drag. "But a bullet will probably put me in the dirt before one of these do."

Ray gave the man a sad smile- a sort of exchange from one vet to another. "I could still use a bouncer. Pays not much, but its more reliable than a solo job. Safer too."

Almost in response to Ray, Jack's pocket made a ringing sound. He pulled out the black piece of plastic- a loaned burner from his current contact, a guy who went by the name of '1NT3RSPR1NT3R' or something like that. The pay was good, and if things went according to plan Jack got a shot back at the guys and gals who got him into this position in the first place. On the phone was a two word message: "Its time" followed by an address. Jack deleted the message and flipped the phone back into his pocket. Jack took another drag of his cigarette and ground it against the ashtray.

"Maybe after this, Ray." Jack replied as he stood up and fixed his jacket. He picked up the whiskey glass and downed the rest of its contents. Whiskey always tasted best with revenge on the mind.

---

Delmonica Theatre, Studio City

Jack stood across the street from the theatre, leaning against the wall under an overhand of an abandoned storefront. His binoglasses- which looked like big old mirrorshades obscured most of his face, and the taught grimace around the smoking cigarette in his mouth caused the homeless hobo sitting next to him to shirk away in a mixture of discomfort and worry instead of asking for spare eurobucks. Taking in the surroundings of the theatre, the cop car would have made a lesser man think the whole deal was a setup. Cops were stupid, but they weren't that stupid. Or at least, they didn't used to be.

With a sigh and a shrug, Jack stepped into the rain and crossed the street to the theatre. As far as the NCPD knew or cared, he was dead. He also had two arms last time they checked. The thugs gave Jack a dirty look as he walked through their recently interrupted game, but said nothing to the man. The sighed, and their remarks implied that interruptions were getting on their nerves, but with the cops right next to them, none of them must have felt like getting into a shootout just yet.

Jack stepped through the door to join the rest of the gang that was gathering in the theatre, his face illuminated by the orange glow of the cigarette in his mouth, the light reflecting off his mirrorshade-binoglasses. The only one in the theatre he recognized was Fake ID, his contact into this whole shindig, and even then, he didn't know much about the guy- just enough that he probably wouldn't get burned by the cops working with this guy. Probably.

The other occupants Jack didn't recognize. There were the members of Johns cleaning crew, removing bodies and cleaning up, and 4 women, only 3 of which were alive- the fourth one had just died, minute spasms of the body implied she wasn't long for this world unless someone decided to call up an auto-doc, and Jack didn't have the means of doing that. Of the three living women, one was older- not as old as he was, but not some tween joy-girl either. She was an attractive one, but was definitely someone used to this sort of lifestyle. He didn't recognize her, but he didn't have to to know she probably dealt with illicit goods. Not an uncommon field of work in the underbelly of Night City, but something told him there was more to her than met the eye.

The other two were quite young. They looked a bit young to be surviving on the street, but the way they carried themselves told Jack he didn't have to worry about keeping the pair out of trouble. An unlikely bunch, but probably a sight better than the thugs outside the theatre. Besides, if the individuals he was bringing in weren't up to snuff, ID probably would've just hired the thugs outside.

"So, what's the score?"