Shadowrun: Interview with an Angel

The seedy dive bar, deep in the wilds of Redmond, was jumping, tonight.  Gangers, and gutterpunks drank cheap soybeer, danced, got zoned on drugs, and generally were having a rowdy good time.  They didn't care that the floor was worn through with age, that the paint was peeling, or even the general lack of trideo to show the local sports.  Booze, drugs, ready companionship, that's what they cared about, tonight.

In the back, though, was one person who wasn't out for a good time.  The woman sat in the back, in a corner booth, with her back to the wall.  She was dressed like everyone else, in leather and denim, pockets for her hacker's hardware, and a slight bulge on her left side showing that, like most everyone here, she was packing heat.  Her cybereyes scanned the crowd, her left arm, a cybernetic replacement, tapping a cheap cigar's ash into a nearby tray, as she took a sip of the rotgut that the place served.  Every now and again a denizen would come over and talk with her.  She'd look at them appraisingly, speaking with them for a while, before they went on their way back to their scheduled debauchery.  Some went away angry, others, thoughtful.  Soon word went around the bar that the woman in the back booth was a fixer who was looking for talent to keep on her call list.  Apparently some of her talent had a run go sideways on them, and they ended up geeked and sold to a body shop.  She wanted to find replacements, send them on some milk runs to get their proverbial cherries popped, before sending them on the big runs.

After a while a human female walks up and helps herself to a seat across from the Fixer. She had short black hair with bright blue and purple highlights, accompanied by bright violet eyes. The woman wore black cargo pants crossed by chains, a black tube top under a mesh shirt, and an open leather jacket. As the jacket swayed, occasionally the strap to a holster could be spotted. She swirled a drink in her hand and eyed the Fixer before introducing herself. "Hey there, good lookin'. Heard you're lookin' for some firepower. Names Sam."

The fixer looked amused, running chromed fingers through her own short black hair, and chuckled.

"Do you flirt with all your prospective bosses or just the ones you find attractive?" she asked with a lazy grin. "And it's not firepower I'm looking for, it's talent. If your talent is firepower, then I may have a place for you on my go-to list. So, honey, favorite first question of every interview: Do you have any skills?"

Sam winks. "The ones I find attractive. And yes, I do, you won't find a better shot in the city. Plus if it was ever created to harm, maim, or kill someone, I can build it and make it better." She swirls her drink then takes a sip.

"Not sure if flattered or intimidated... So you're a gunsmith shash blacksmith? Could be useful, especially if we got hot merch, and need it altered. How good are at being stealthy? Conducting investigations? Doing surveillance on a possible mark? Can you shoot as well as you build? And can you make non-lethal ordnance? Sometimes you need to make an extraction, leaving as little trace, as possible. And leaving a trail of dead bodies is not the way to go about it. Could you stun, put to sleep, and otherwise incapacitate the security forces between you and your mark without seriously maiming them?" the fixer asked.

Sam grins and sips on her drink again. "I'm the finest shot around. Yes I can be stealthy, and yes I can make non-lethal ordnance. I just need the materials. Anything else?"

"Hm.  Former security by the look of you.  Yeah yeah you're dressing down, but you've got that posture," the fixer said with a wave of her hand.  "And you said your name was 'Sam'...  Not good.  Now let's see..."  The fixer tapped the side of her head, and if Sam had any AR visuals active, she'd see the woman across from her manipulating data streams like virtuoso playing a musical instrument. Otherwise it looks like the woman's waving her hands in the air. One time, she waved her cyberhand in the general direction of Sam, herself, and smirked.  "Samantha Grimm.  Former Knight Errant.  Ouch.  Whole team gunned down...  Hold the comm...  Oh come on...  The setup, here, is obvious.  Geez.  Where did that asshole get the nuyen to pay both those go-gangers, and pay off those lazy-assed investigators?  Guess that was the only way an ork could move up in oh-so-conservative 'mom-and-apple-pie' Ares Macrotechnology.  Also you're wearing red Bodyline panties.  The lacy little number made of nusilk."

Sam raises a brow as she watches the Fixer wave her hands about, and sips her drink. She pauses mid-sip as the woman begins spouting off all the information. She smirks slightly. "You're good...but if you really wanted to know what color they were, you could have asked."

"Yeah, but it was quicker to scan the RFID chip," she replied with a smirk.  "In the shadows tagged clothing, or foodstuffs can be a big ping on the radar.  And you've got a big freaking ping going on, from the get-go.  But thankfully, I'm a full-service fixer, and I can help you erase that nasty little trail that could have that big ork deciding to tie up the loose end.  I'll need a small, say twenty percent, cut from your earnings, for a month or so to cover my expenses of course.  Also, you need an alias.  For now, I dub thee 'Lacy'."

Sam leans forward. "Twenty percent? Are you nuts? Fifteen, and I can handle the Ork. He's a coward."

"Well obviously, or else he wouldn't have hired the gutterpunks to shoot down your team.  But you've left trace, honey, and lots of it.  You can be tracked, and erasing your trail isn't going to be easy, and I can't do it by myself.  And those nasty little tracks will keep you from getting work, especially if your face comes up on a recognition program.  The jobs that you'll be going on will be illegal, you realize that, right?  Grabbing paydata, extractions, wetwork.  You have to be able to disappear, when you need to, and right now... Well if I can find you, others can too.  You get me?" The fixer sighed. "Also, included in the twenty percent is Shadowrunning 101, and your starter with Doc Wagon. I'll give you the down low on how to keep yourself from getting caught, and how to impress the Mr. Johnsons the corps use to hire shadow operatives like you want to be. Never mind the skinny on the better safehouses in the Seattle Metroplex. Just because I'm your Guardian Angel, honey, doesn't mean I do it for free."

"Yea yea....you got a point. Do you need to call me Lacy though?"

"Hey, it's your starter alias.  Like the Spanish Inquisition, nobody expects a sharpshooter to be called 'Lacy'," Angel replied with a smirk. "Anyway we've got plenty of idiotic names, out there. You should hear some of the monikers I've been subjected to."

Sam sighs. "I guess you could say that." She finishes off her drink. "So now what? When do we get started?"

"Right now, actually," Angel said getting up. "I'll probably need to find more talent, but we need to get you trace free, and set up in a safehouse, for now. I'll see about getting you a couple of fake SIM's later, for mingling with the wage slaves. Maybe check into doing something to change the face, and fingerprints... Your twenty percent is going to be well-spent, honey. Just don't fall asleep during the lectures. There are always tests. 'How do I know I've passed?' Simple. You don't need to A. Disappear off the grid for months on end. B. Worry about the security agencies from four or five of the Big Ten coming after your ass. And C. You're still breathing."

"Lectures? Tests? Wonderful.  Fine.  Twenty percent.  Make me vanish.  Anything you need me to do on my end?" She remains seated, following Angel with her eyes.

"Yeah. Follow me. We're getting started right now. And the sooner we get the tags on you fried, the better," Angel said. "Also, after we do that, we need to head to wherever you are living now, grab your gear, scan and burn the tags on your stuff, and put it in storage until we can get you a fake SIN. I did say this wasn't going to be easy. I wouldn't be surprised if that trog has your place bugged."

"If you say so...." She frowns, now looking a bit bothered and stands, following Angel.

The next night, the fixer known as the Guardian Angel was at another dive bar in Redmond. "Lacy" was safely stowed for now, and Angel was having her hacker and technomancer contacts take care of her traces. The girl still hated that alias, though.

So Angel sat in the back, corner booth, watching the dancing writhing mob, tapping her foot to the beat, as she waited for brave souls to interview for her talent pool.

After a while, a woman would emerge from the crowd, keeping to the edges of the room best she could as she made her way towards Angel's booth. She wore a long black trench coat, with a high-collar shirt under it, black slacks covered her legs, with matching boots. She was 5"9', her hair long, coming down to her shoulders, and as black as the night, with skin rather pale, and a body thin, but generous in the right places. Her dark blue eyes barely visible behind the hair that half covered them. Her only visible weapon was a rapier, attached to her hip. She'd take a seat in the booth across from Angel, tugging her black gloves off as she settles in.

Angel looked her over, and then leaned back and over to get a good look at the rapier. She then sat back up, shaking her head, and sat back, steepling her fingers as she rested her elbows on the table.

"Well, mademoiselle musketeer, what can I do for you?"

She smiles, leaning back a bit, reaching up to move a strand of hair from her face, "I heard you're looking for talent. I'm not a musketeer, mind you."

Angel chuckled.  "You came in wearing a rapier," She said with a smile, and she looked the other woman over, making note of anything unusual that would be missed in an initial look-over.  "You do have a rather flamboyant air about you, though.  Very stylish. I have to ask you, though, what kind of skills you have."

"Thank you. I try." She chuckles. "I'm good at hacking, infiltration, and the occasional assassination. Mostly getting information that's difficult to get. Or otherwise ruining someone's life."

"It'll be good to have a hacker in the field," Angel said, thoughtfully. "I'm pretty good, myself, but I've retired from actively running. Ended up with one too many corp bounties on my head, and had to lay low until the heat died down." Angel looked thoughtful. "Though your other skills would be handy, too. Got a handle?"