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TokyoPewPewGoonster's coat flew back, revealing the man's arms as the two appendages flew upwards aiming a .38 special at the two agents who were just merked by a disembodied shooter. His trench coat hit the ground as the man stood there in his suit, tie and dress pants. As the men dropped he let out an audiable sigh, holstering his pistol he went to go pick up his coat which he quickly puts his trenchcoat back on. His arms vanishing once again as he looks around to the crowd of people who'd shown up. Presumably called by the same - now dead corporate agents. The old man takes his time to look around his surroundings, specifically the people that appeared in the short time - besides the Russian he was staring down since he got here. He saw a few chicks and a couple fellas who look like mercs. Not necessarily the best people to call to take out, outnumbered a sub machine gun can only do you so well. The smell of death and blood began to pour out of the two men who laid dead on the ground in front of the group, maybe those around him didn't mind that the men had just eaten their own soul's thanks to some well-placed bullets. Goonster shuddered a bit, the death - death in real life was always the same. You never saw the person on the another side of the net it was just you Black ICE and the net ready to scramble any brains of silly deckers who wished to challenge the legend. Well, that's how it was on the net, in real life well? Things were different, everything was different in flesh escape and this was something Goonster wasn't too happy about. He was never happy, that's why he looked up to the stars - the dark gloomy skies of Night City. When was the last time the city had a clear sky, maybe it was the corporate smog or the way the atmosphere works (thanks to world war three). Yet no matter the day or time the skies never wanted to open, even for Goonster. It just goes to show, the world moves even if two scum bags get dropped.
His eyes stuck to the sky, the conversation seemed to drain out his ears as he focused on the sky. He brought his head back down to the woman who had just sent the two corporate agents to their graves. The woman was young, equipped - heavily equipped possibly augs. From a glance, maybe it wasn't evident but a woman - a normal woman couldn't possess the finesse, accuracy, and skill this woman had. Maybe, she wasn't a woman - a cyborg, possibly. The thoughts flooded his mind, there were many questions to ask - albeit, this was not the time. The TTI AV4 landed and two medics stepped off, it was evident she wasn't with Biotechnica if the medical mega-corp was here to escort them - to fly them wherever. It would be foolish to resist if that was even the option. Goonster looked around again, suspiciously eyeing the group of individuals. Each has their own intentions, motives, and allegiances. Who knows if this would end in bullets flying, in any case - he's fucked. A .38 wouldn't last long unless he reached for that subbie the Agent was cradling. It was pointless to even consider, the old man's legs were already shuffling the decrepit corpse to the helicopter.
It wasn't long before the man was already seated, locked in and ready to fly. He looked back out to the others, his face devoid of emotion.
He didn't really want to be here.
------
Damian hardly had a chance to react before a flurry of activity dropped the two would-be gunmen to the ground. Pathetic, he thought as he watched the blood pool out of them. If murder were their intent, Damian could think of several simpler ways to dispose of them. This group was obviously too highly trained for just two men with an excess of bullets to take out. No one had bothered to check for weapons or to restrict their movement or line of sight. Heck, even a simple low-power EMP grenade would have at least disabled a few of them.
Instead, the morons had intended to open fire and the group was to assume that this chivalrous knight who came charging in on a shining helicopter was their savior? For all anyone knew, she could have been the one to send the incompetent assassins, and likely was. Angel, identify, please. As Angel worked on crosschecking this Catherine, Damian stepped forward. ”I must say, Catherine, I don’t think most of us feel as if we would gain much from joining you at this point. Perhaps you should explain why we shouldn’t turn around and get back in our cars?”
------
Victor had a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach over these suits. Every one he's met has been rather lively and if this was supposed to be the welcoming committee for a new contract than this was a piss poor couple of guys to be in charge of it. No small talk, no life. Maybe it was just how Biotechnica rolled? Some kind of strange show of power despite them being the employer and a legitimate one at that. While he watched over the shoulders of the two chicks playing Bubble Battle and trying to figure out exactly what the objective was, he couldn't help but continue to keep tabs on the suits and think. There was something off but he couldn't exactly throw around accusations if he didn't know what to accuse them of. Could just be Biotechnica mercs in fancy suits but it didn't make much sense in his head. Why would a pair of mercs care about how they looked to a bunch of strangers? Then again, he didn't exactly ignore his own grooming when he got the call to come to the docks. Hm. That's some vanity right there. He perked up when the two spoke up but that sense of unease only intensified.There was something to that smirk that irked him, something about the way they seemed to be talking more to each, than to the group. Call it a "solo-sense" or just "paranoia" but either way, it made his gut turn.
When the other suit left, he looked around at the others to see if anybody else was as on edge as he was but found that nobody seemed to act as if anything was amiss. The suit that stayed was on his phone, silently nodding his head with the occasional acknowledging grunt. Victor took the opportunity to move his bag, putting the concrete pillar between it and the men. Getting up from his seat on the crate, he took a position leaning on the pillar. He laid a hand near his pistol, tucked safely on his right and simply observed the man on the phone. His apprehension wasn't subtly hidden away. The way he tapped his foot and his unbreaking stare made it pretty obvious to anybody near that he was not feeling right about the situation, like a guard dog that had heard some small bump in the night. When the other suit came back with a suitcase, he didn't move from his spot. Instead of calling the group together to start the briefing, the two men seemed to huddle over the case, putting their backs to the group and shielding the contents from view. He looked over at the two women on their phones, and made a motion of getting down before he looked up and saw the case being opened.
He didn't see from where but two shots rangs out. Fuck, he thought as he slid behind the pillar, placing the concrete between him and the action. In an instant his pistol was in hand, safety off. That was not the sound he expected. It was semi-auto from the sounds of it, one pull of the trigger, one shot. As he was about to duck out of cover to return fire, the pause after the first two shots were echoed with a second pair, keeping him behind the pillar. After a quick breath, he turned the corner with his own pistol out and pointed at the woman lowering her gun. The sound of a rotary craft faded in over the ringing in his ears. His pistol was trained on the woman as one of the fancy men began to question her. "I'm gonna have to agree. Security for this shindig was a bit of a shit-show, yeah?"
-------
Sariya remained almost preturnaturally still as the two men discussed. Her cloudy eyes were unmoving, locked onto their faces. She subconsciously rolled her right wrist as though loosening up the joint. It was fine; no jams. She often did this in situations where she felt there might be some danger to her person. The gun was functional, she'd tested it yesterday. From the looks of things, they were unaugmented. She doubted they could even begin to harm her unless they were packing a lot more than just the two of them. Danger can come from anywhere, anytime. The phrase rang through her head again. She silently began to contact her superiors in Russia, concerned. The dossier hadn't contained any information about these two. Their faces were unfamiliar, and the unfamiliar had a way of setting Sariya on edge. Then her paranoia ratcheted up even further. They were hunched over an open briefcase, and she surreptitiously raised herself onto the balls of her feet, ready to lunge forward or to the side if something started to go wrong.
Something always started to go wrong.
Two bursts, two bullets each. Sariya tossed herself to the side, wrist already disjointed and prepared to fire two perfectly-aimed shots of incendiary ammunition. Then she realized that, while the gunshots had indeed involved the suits, they certainly hadn't come from them. They slumped over, and from behind them stepped a woman. Older, she thought, though she couldn't quite tell because of the woman's augmentations. Or her own, for that matter. They had a tendency to distort the apparent age, especially the metallic plate embedded in her own forehead. The fact that she was over six feet tall certainly didn't clarify matters any. Her eyes focused, laserlike, on the other woman as she introduced herself only as Catherine. The helicopter's appearance did little to dissuade her exclusive target. There were too many variables here. She didn't know where anybody else stood, and she was wound up tight, a hair trigger ready to pull. For all she knew, the helicopter could've been drone-piloted and loaded with hidden explosives. Catherine herself could be an advanced android sent to lull them into a false sense of security and get them on the craft.
"Merely a name is insufficient," she spoke, clear and cold as ice. "I'll need more to go on than 'Catherine.' Who do you work for? Who did they work for?" She gestured at the dead suits."Where is this ride taking us?" The gun that was her wrist was aimed squarely at Catherine's face, a single mental impulse away from embedding a bullet into her brains. She felt another sting in her shoulder. The stress was pulling blood faster and faster, and her modamerizol was metabolizing far more rapidly than usual. She filed the information away, and remained impassive, staring at Catherine.
---------
When the first action that the suits took beyond lurking was to further isolate themselves from the group, Andrejs' suspicion began to rise again. He had calmed down since his initial entry, finding no sense in fuming while the rest of the group waited in relative silence, but this change in pace was cause for alarm. He corrected his posture and put a hand on his tie knot. A bit loose. He tightened it, and looked down at the pale purple fabric. Shame. Lilac doesn't go particularly well with red. He heard footsteps and looked up again. The suits were back. A quick glance around the room showed that Andrejs wasn't the only one on edge; everyone seemed a bit nervous as the two men reached into a suitcase—
—and fell over dead. Andrejs barely heard the gunshots over his own heartbeat, pounding and echoing in his ears. The conflicting instincts of an engineer and a soldier took over as he collapsed to the ground but simultaneously drew his pistol, fumbling with it a bit before establishing a firm grip around the handle. He expected shouting, gunfire, crashing, anything but the deafening silence that followed. "The name is Catherine," stated a woman Andrejs hadn't even seen enter. “That’s our ride, I suggest we hurry." One man headed over to the landing aircraft obediently, and Andrejs considered joining him, but the few that stood in opposition to this new threat compelled him to do something uncharacteristically stupid. Andrejs stood up, deliberately behind the Russian and the huge man—damn, was he huge—and raised his sidearm with a practiced artificial confidence. A gentle gleam bounced off of his ceramic fingers as they briefly unraveled and regripped the weapon's handle to establish a better grip.
"Merely a name is insufficient." Andredjs was inclined to offer an affirmative chime-in to the exchange, but reason caught him first. He looked around once again. Metal. Guns, big guns. Muscle. Most of the people here had some or all of these. He considered himself: a nice and meaty, but not imposing, target lacking any form of body armor, noteworthy armaments, training, helpful cybernetics, or any other items that could keep him from bleeding out on the floor like an idiot if he pissed off this trigger happy newcomer. All he had was an expensive, easily-stained suit. God dammit. Before he could say anything that might encourage the shooter to make an example of him, Andrejs lowered his weapon and began a somewhat ashamed scuffle towards the VTOL. As he walked past the Russian, he mumbled, "Maybe a name is 'insufficient' for you, but some of us are made of meat and are highly allergic to bullets," and then began to walk a bit quicker with the realisation that there were now two people who might shoot him in the back. His pace stuttered, however, as he passed the corpses of the fellow suit-wearers. He felt no empathy towards them, nor even a hollow, distant curiosity in their lives or purpose; he could save the philosophising for a time when he was less concerned about dying an embarassing death. Instead, he focused on the weapons that they had planned to turn on him. He looked at his pistol. Back to the submachine guns. Better than this. Grabbing one of the firearms and giving a quick look around like the nervous glance of a child stealing a cookie, he scuttled over to the TTI AV4 and sat down in a nervous silence, deliberately avoiding any potential eye contact with the old man across from him.
His eyes stuck to the sky, the conversation seemed to drain out his ears as he focused on the sky. He brought his head back down to the woman who had just sent the two corporate agents to their graves. The woman was young, equipped - heavily equipped possibly augs. From a glance, maybe it wasn't evident but a woman - a normal woman couldn't possess the finesse, accuracy, and skill this woman had. Maybe, she wasn't a woman - a cyborg, possibly. The thoughts flooded his mind, there were many questions to ask - albeit, this was not the time. The TTI AV4 landed and two medics stepped off, it was evident she wasn't with Biotechnica if the medical mega-corp was here to escort them - to fly them wherever. It would be foolish to resist if that was even the option. Goonster looked around again, suspiciously eyeing the group of individuals. Each has their own intentions, motives, and allegiances. Who knows if this would end in bullets flying, in any case - he's fucked. A .38 wouldn't last long unless he reached for that subbie the Agent was cradling. It was pointless to even consider, the old man's legs were already shuffling the decrepit corpse to the helicopter.
It wasn't long before the man was already seated, locked in and ready to fly. He looked back out to the others, his face devoid of emotion.
He didn't really want to be here.
------
Damian hardly had a chance to react before a flurry of activity dropped the two would-be gunmen to the ground. Pathetic, he thought as he watched the blood pool out of them. If murder were their intent, Damian could think of several simpler ways to dispose of them. This group was obviously too highly trained for just two men with an excess of bullets to take out. No one had bothered to check for weapons or to restrict their movement or line of sight. Heck, even a simple low-power EMP grenade would have at least disabled a few of them.
Instead, the morons had intended to open fire and the group was to assume that this chivalrous knight who came charging in on a shining helicopter was their savior? For all anyone knew, she could have been the one to send the incompetent assassins, and likely was. Angel, identify, please. As Angel worked on crosschecking this Catherine, Damian stepped forward. ”I must say, Catherine, I don’t think most of us feel as if we would gain much from joining you at this point. Perhaps you should explain why we shouldn’t turn around and get back in our cars?”
------
Victor had a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach over these suits. Every one he's met has been rather lively and if this was supposed to be the welcoming committee for a new contract than this was a piss poor couple of guys to be in charge of it. No small talk, no life. Maybe it was just how Biotechnica rolled? Some kind of strange show of power despite them being the employer and a legitimate one at that. While he watched over the shoulders of the two chicks playing Bubble Battle and trying to figure out exactly what the objective was, he couldn't help but continue to keep tabs on the suits and think. There was something off but he couldn't exactly throw around accusations if he didn't know what to accuse them of. Could just be Biotechnica mercs in fancy suits but it didn't make much sense in his head. Why would a pair of mercs care about how they looked to a bunch of strangers? Then again, he didn't exactly ignore his own grooming when he got the call to come to the docks. Hm. That's some vanity right there. He perked up when the two spoke up but that sense of unease only intensified.There was something to that smirk that irked him, something about the way they seemed to be talking more to each, than to the group. Call it a "solo-sense" or just "paranoia" but either way, it made his gut turn.
When the other suit left, he looked around at the others to see if anybody else was as on edge as he was but found that nobody seemed to act as if anything was amiss. The suit that stayed was on his phone, silently nodding his head with the occasional acknowledging grunt. Victor took the opportunity to move his bag, putting the concrete pillar between it and the men. Getting up from his seat on the crate, he took a position leaning on the pillar. He laid a hand near his pistol, tucked safely on his right and simply observed the man on the phone. His apprehension wasn't subtly hidden away. The way he tapped his foot and his unbreaking stare made it pretty obvious to anybody near that he was not feeling right about the situation, like a guard dog that had heard some small bump in the night. When the other suit came back with a suitcase, he didn't move from his spot. Instead of calling the group together to start the briefing, the two men seemed to huddle over the case, putting their backs to the group and shielding the contents from view. He looked over at the two women on their phones, and made a motion of getting down before he looked up and saw the case being opened.
He didn't see from where but two shots rangs out. Fuck, he thought as he slid behind the pillar, placing the concrete between him and the action. In an instant his pistol was in hand, safety off. That was not the sound he expected. It was semi-auto from the sounds of it, one pull of the trigger, one shot. As he was about to duck out of cover to return fire, the pause after the first two shots were echoed with a second pair, keeping him behind the pillar. After a quick breath, he turned the corner with his own pistol out and pointed at the woman lowering her gun. The sound of a rotary craft faded in over the ringing in his ears. His pistol was trained on the woman as one of the fancy men began to question her. "I'm gonna have to agree. Security for this shindig was a bit of a shit-show, yeah?"
-------
Sariya remained almost preturnaturally still as the two men discussed. Her cloudy eyes were unmoving, locked onto their faces. She subconsciously rolled her right wrist as though loosening up the joint. It was fine; no jams. She often did this in situations where she felt there might be some danger to her person. The gun was functional, she'd tested it yesterday. From the looks of things, they were unaugmented. She doubted they could even begin to harm her unless they were packing a lot more than just the two of them. Danger can come from anywhere, anytime. The phrase rang through her head again. She silently began to contact her superiors in Russia, concerned. The dossier hadn't contained any information about these two. Their faces were unfamiliar, and the unfamiliar had a way of setting Sariya on edge. Then her paranoia ratcheted up even further. They were hunched over an open briefcase, and she surreptitiously raised herself onto the balls of her feet, ready to lunge forward or to the side if something started to go wrong.
Something always started to go wrong.
Two bursts, two bullets each. Sariya tossed herself to the side, wrist already disjointed and prepared to fire two perfectly-aimed shots of incendiary ammunition. Then she realized that, while the gunshots had indeed involved the suits, they certainly hadn't come from them. They slumped over, and from behind them stepped a woman. Older, she thought, though she couldn't quite tell because of the woman's augmentations. Or her own, for that matter. They had a tendency to distort the apparent age, especially the metallic plate embedded in her own forehead. The fact that she was over six feet tall certainly didn't clarify matters any. Her eyes focused, laserlike, on the other woman as she introduced herself only as Catherine. The helicopter's appearance did little to dissuade her exclusive target. There were too many variables here. She didn't know where anybody else stood, and she was wound up tight, a hair trigger ready to pull. For all she knew, the helicopter could've been drone-piloted and loaded with hidden explosives. Catherine herself could be an advanced android sent to lull them into a false sense of security and get them on the craft.
"Merely a name is insufficient," she spoke, clear and cold as ice. "I'll need more to go on than 'Catherine.' Who do you work for? Who did they work for?" She gestured at the dead suits."Where is this ride taking us?" The gun that was her wrist was aimed squarely at Catherine's face, a single mental impulse away from embedding a bullet into her brains. She felt another sting in her shoulder. The stress was pulling blood faster and faster, and her modamerizol was metabolizing far more rapidly than usual. She filed the information away, and remained impassive, staring at Catherine.
---------
When the first action that the suits took beyond lurking was to further isolate themselves from the group, Andrejs' suspicion began to rise again. He had calmed down since his initial entry, finding no sense in fuming while the rest of the group waited in relative silence, but this change in pace was cause for alarm. He corrected his posture and put a hand on his tie knot. A bit loose. He tightened it, and looked down at the pale purple fabric. Shame. Lilac doesn't go particularly well with red. He heard footsteps and looked up again. The suits were back. A quick glance around the room showed that Andrejs wasn't the only one on edge; everyone seemed a bit nervous as the two men reached into a suitcase—
—and fell over dead. Andrejs barely heard the gunshots over his own heartbeat, pounding and echoing in his ears. The conflicting instincts of an engineer and a soldier took over as he collapsed to the ground but simultaneously drew his pistol, fumbling with it a bit before establishing a firm grip around the handle. He expected shouting, gunfire, crashing, anything but the deafening silence that followed. "The name is Catherine," stated a woman Andrejs hadn't even seen enter. “That’s our ride, I suggest we hurry." One man headed over to the landing aircraft obediently, and Andrejs considered joining him, but the few that stood in opposition to this new threat compelled him to do something uncharacteristically stupid. Andrejs stood up, deliberately behind the Russian and the huge man—damn, was he huge—and raised his sidearm with a practiced artificial confidence. A gentle gleam bounced off of his ceramic fingers as they briefly unraveled and regripped the weapon's handle to establish a better grip.
"Merely a name is insufficient." Andredjs was inclined to offer an affirmative chime-in to the exchange, but reason caught him first. He looked around once again. Metal. Guns, big guns. Muscle. Most of the people here had some or all of these. He considered himself: a nice and meaty, but not imposing, target lacking any form of body armor, noteworthy armaments, training, helpful cybernetics, or any other items that could keep him from bleeding out on the floor like an idiot if he pissed off this trigger happy newcomer. All he had was an expensive, easily-stained suit. God dammit. Before he could say anything that might encourage the shooter to make an example of him, Andrejs lowered his weapon and began a somewhat ashamed scuffle towards the VTOL. As he walked past the Russian, he mumbled, "Maybe a name is 'insufficient' for you, but some of us are made of meat and are highly allergic to bullets," and then began to walk a bit quicker with the realisation that there were now two people who might shoot him in the back. His pace stuttered, however, as he passed the corpses of the fellow suit-wearers. He felt no empathy towards them, nor even a hollow, distant curiosity in their lives or purpose; he could save the philosophising for a time when he was less concerned about dying an embarassing death. Instead, he focused on the weapons that they had planned to turn on him. He looked at his pistol. Back to the submachine guns. Better than this. Grabbing one of the firearms and giving a quick look around like the nervous glance of a child stealing a cookie, he scuttled over to the TTI AV4 and sat down in a nervous silence, deliberately avoiding any potential eye contact with the old man across from him.
