New Job, New Team

The calls you all got were different, but as varied as they were, they all boiled down to much the same thing. "Hoi. Yes, I realize what time it is, but this is too important to hold on to. I have a job for you. I need you to be in the Diamond Rabbit in the Sprawl in 2 hours. There's a VIP pass waiting for you at the front door, along with a little cash up front. Pick it up when you get there. Mr' Johnson's giving away 10k for you just for showing up!"

That's why now, at 3am, you're sitting around a table in the back room of a club named the Diamond Rabbit. It wasn't very well known. In fact, you had to call in a little help just to figure out exactly where it was. The combination of those two things leaves you a little less than comfortable. The club is a nice enough place for the Sprawl. But then again, that's not saying much.

Five others are seated at the table with you. None have spoken to you, but then again, none of you need to. All of you carry the air which says Shadowrunner. No further introduction has yet been necessary. Glancing at your watch, you notice the time. 3:05. Mr. Johnson is late....

Randy Dewdrops sits atop an overturned whiskey glass on the table. He idly spins a toothpick in his hands; for him, the implement is the length of his forearm. He ignores any stares that he’s getting from the primitive screwheads in the bar around him. Living among the larger races of metahumanity had made him accustomed to such attention. Pixies are rare enough that most people go their whole lives without seeing one. Consequently, Randy got eye-fucked a lot when he was in public. Still, the miniature runner periodically glances about, giving everyone a look that says he’s gonna suck out your eyeballs and eat them.

Randy is a tiny caucasian man with two pairs of iridescent wings, like those of a dragonfly, folded across his back. The transparent wings have a sheen similar to gasoline, reflecting the neon lights of the bar in a rainbow of colors. His brown hair is shaved in the sides and long on top, while his eyes are little pinpricks of magenta. He is dressed in clothing appropriate to his size: ripped jeans, a white tank top, and boots. He’s 45 centimeters of sex, violence, and rock n’ roll. The pixie would be considered classically handsome if he weren’t one-sixth the size of an adult human, and if he wasn’t covered in prison tattoos. His tiny arms and neck are sleeved with tattoos of gang symbols and Sperethiel characters. He’s dangerous-looking, albeit in an incredibly adorable kind of way.

Randy rubs his stubble-covered chin and motions one of the servers for a drink. He can’t afford to be away too long; he is out passed his curfew. His parole officer was known to make surprise visits even in the middle of the night, so Randy was taking a risk being here. But he needs the work. No one makes a living off of minimum wage. Screw that drek. I could use the nuyen.

Just as you're beginning to wonder if there actually is a Mr. Johnson, the door opens a human woman in her mid-thirties walks in. She's dressed in a white and black corp suit, which screams "ALL BUSINESS." Without speaking, she walks to the empty chair at the table, her heels clicking on the hard floor. Once there, she removes her mirror-shades with both hands. One of her eyes is bright green; the other is a cybereye inscribed with a hologram of a DNA strand.

She sets her glasses softly on the table, pulls out the chair to what seems to be an exactly measured distance from the table, and steps around it before lowering herself into it.

Once seated, she calmly fixes each of you with her stare, and then speaks in a powerful, silky voice. "Did any of you have any problems making your way here?"

Mr. Johnson, you've heard of her; this is far from the first time she's ever hired runners, but all you've heard are rumours. No one's ever worked for her, just known people that have. What little you've heard tells you that she's usually only brought in for the big stuff.

Reina, likewise, your searches reveal nothing on her, but they do turn up a few reports of helos with the same symbol that's in her eye being spotted heading northwest from the city on a semi-regular basis.

Randy Dewdrops picks up a shot glass of soykaf and Bailey’s, bracing it in his arm like it’s a giant tub of popcorn. He takes a quick chug and wipes his mouth with his hand.

The pixie nearly shouts when he speaks, trying to make sure he doesn’t get drowned out by the background noise of the bar. His high-pitched voice is gravelly like Clint Eastwood... if Clint Eastwood took a hit of helium. "Don’t mean no disrespect or nothin’, but if it’s all the same to yous chummers, I’d like to skip the pleasantries and get down to some biz. Why are we here?"

Ness follows the conversation showing little reaction until the pixie speaks up. That's when the corner of his mouth turns up in disgust again. He appreciates someone trying to get things moving along a bit quicker, especially after they had to wait, but what's the point of having a face if you don't let him do the talking.

Your Mr. Johnson's eye twitches, the helix going a bit off-kilter. Perhaps she too would have wanted this to be a more relaxed meeting. However, she nods, and pulls herself up even straighter than she already was. "It's fine. I'll get straight to the point. My corporation, has a... slight embarrassment that needs resolving. We've lost contact with one of our research sites.

"Yesterday night, the plant's automatic security functions all activated. Since that time, no transmissions have been received from the plant, and none have been able to get in. Apparently, the external matrix connections have also been cut. As a consequence, it is believed that the plant's full security system is active, and the plant may have been compromised.

"Your objective would be threefold. One: Make your way into the plant and deactivate the security system. Two: Eliminate or contain any unauthorized personnel. Three: Get the central server back on-line. If objectives one and two cannot be completed, your final objectives change: Get to the server. Download all research records. Destroy the plant.

"Because the run involves potential hazards, I am authorized to pay each of you 35,000 nuyen. If the plant is recovered intact, each of you will receive a 100,000 nuyen bonus.

"However, there are two stipulations. The first is that each of you will be required to wear a microcam on your shoulder throughout the job. The recordings will be given to me at the end of the job. The second is that I will provide your transportation to and from the site via helicopter. The outer defense systems will shoot you down if you use other transport. When you are ready to leave, simply flip the recall switch on your microcam. The helicopter will arrive within five minutes of the recall request.

"Any questions?"

Mr. Johnson slides back from the table, putting her hands in the air as if in defeat. "Alright. For the record, I don't like doing things this way. That was the track I was told to take. The good news is, there's no spirit bugs. This is a genetics lab though. The researchers were trying to unlock latent genes in small mammals. The security functions..." - she makes air quotes with her finely manicured golden nails - "... are quarantine protocols. Given that, I can give you each an extra fifteen kay up front, and another thirty kay if the base is recovered. That being said..."

Her voice changes, sounding more suddenly more street. "If the base isn't destroyed but you frag the crap out of it... That extra is gone."

Ness had followed the exchange between the Johnsons with the slightest hint of approval showing on his face, that is how this should be done, he thinks to himself. But then the male Johnson's pass at the female one puts that look of disgust on Ness' face again.

Randy Dewdrops strokes his tiny chin with his tiny hand and considers the job. It sounded easy enough: genetics lab, quarantine protocols, no bug spirits... but when was anything ever actually easy? Still, the pixie needed the money.

"Honestly, Lady... you had me at 100,000 nuyen. But is there anything we need to be knowing about the animals in that lab? Am I gonna be wrestling dinosaurs or giant rats or some drek? Do I need to worry about critters of the Awakened variety?"

Mr. Johnson just placidly stares at Mister J, waiting for him to be done with his approach. She then ignores it like it didn't happen. All. Business. "I don't care if you kill some animals. It's the research and the lab that's important. In that order."

She glances over at Moloch a bit quicker than necessary. "They're all small mammals. Doggish-size at most, from what I've been told. Let me know if that's not true."

Randy looks up at Mister J. "You can buy me some drinks. But I don’t put out on first dates; you’ll have to work for it..."

The pixie turns to look at the corp representative. "What’s the time table? How long do we have to prepare?"

"What can you tell us about the security systems? Any automated guns, or drones that might not distinguish between us and the...animals in the compound?"
When Ness speaks, he elocutes clearly, but with a slight German accent.

"Wheel's are going to up in one hour. You shouldn't need a lot of time to prepare, though. As I said, I'm authorized by the corp to provide you with anything you need that's not part of your standard package. Just don't get crazy.""As far as security goes, it's quarantine protocols. It's not going to care who or what you are."

Mr. Johnson shakes her head with a frown at Reina's comments. "I can get you the main system passcode. That'll get you in the door. After that... The labs were modular, designed to be reconfigurable for whatever they thought they needed. As a result, the system is somewhat compartmentalized, and there hasn't been enough time to figure out how to get ahold of those codes."

As she's saying this, she pulls a stack of credsticks out of her jacket's breast pocket, and tosses them on the table. They clatter out of the pile across the surface. "That's half, not including the bonus."

She answers her phone, and turns away, subvocalizing into the phone. She's cautious. Then she swivels back toward the table for just a moment, motioning to you all that it's time to go.

---

As she heads out of the bar, the sky is suddenly filled with a loud roar. She seems to expect it, and exits out the front of the bar, in a hurry if not exactly a rush.

You follow Mr. Johnson out of the bar, and the roaring grows louder. Glancing up, you see an Ares Dragon preparing to land in the middle of the street - apparently she's in a big hurry. Moments after the chopper lands, a side door on the helicopter opens, and Mr. Johnson climbs in. She gestures for the group of you to follow.

When you enter the chopper, Mr. Johnson points to a series of boxes lined up against one wall. "That's what you asked for. Dig in." The boxes include not only any wishlist items that meet the requisites she mentioned, but also the microcams you're required to wear. As soon as everyone is on board, the Dragon takes off.

Mr. Johnson keys on her phone again. "We're en route."

Her device's screen - for those with keen eyesight, or who happen to be at the right angle to her at the right time - pulls a data stream that's just been sent to her. She reads it, her helixed eye flashing. After she keys the device back off again, she starts speaking. "The lab is currently set up for attempts to awaken paranormal genes in rodents. The primary animal being experimented upon was the rabbit. However, there were some experiments involving rats, squirrels, and other rodentia. There was also one department attempting to expand some of this work into the primates, by working with monkeys.

"Several of the areas have apparently acquired a certain degree of success. Preliminary reports indicated that several of the specimens had potential military/security applications. I don't have precise details on these. I'm going to assume based on the fragments of reports I have that the creatures' abilities might include astral sensing, neurotoxins, and some degree of body armor. The most accurate information is of course in the laboratory computers, which no one has access to.

"Speaking of..." She pauses as she digs in a pocket that you could swear wasn't there before. "Here's the main base codes. It should also allow you access to the mainframe, to get it back on line. However, as I said before... this may not access all of the individual labs. Anything that was reconfigured since the last security update will have its own temporary passcode."

Half an hour later, you can look out of your window to see the coast, lined with huge pine trees that cut through the mist like a million soldiers in a chaotic phalanx. In the distance, a small island is visible. It too is covered in forest, barring one spot on the beach.

Before you get there though, the helicopter moves to set down on the coast, in a small clearing. When it lands, Mr. Johnson steps down from the helicopter. "The pilot will take you the rest of the way. I'll be monitoring from here. Keep your microcams open and broadcasting. Good luck."

Without waiting for any further conversation, she turns and heads to a black four-wheeled SUV that's been upgraded to an odd-looking limo, and the helicopter takes off once again. Now devoid of any passengers but yourself, the pilot feels free to fly a little faster. His compartment up front is separated and sealed, so if you're getting motion sickness, you'll just have to bear with it.

He turns, heading to the island you saw earlier. Now that you're closer, you may notice two things. The first is that there is clearly a scientific outpost on the island. It actually occupies almost all of the visible surface behind the first stretch of trees. The second item of note is that there is a large dark cloud rapidly approaching your helicopter.

Mister J, it's magical, that's about all you get from that. Astral Perception will tell you more if anyone has that.

The cloud moves faster than it should be able to. It slams into the helicopter, and you realise that this isn't an ordinary cloud. Maybe a spirit of some kind? There's not very much time to think about it.

As the cloud hits, metal snaps and sparks fly. You feel a lurch as you see remnants of the helo's blades flying away from the craft. The cloud keeps going. You were either not important enough to be a target, or it did what someone asked it to do. That problem is over, but you have a new one now. You need to get out of this thing before it slams into the water.

Enough people have noticed now that it makes sense for everyone to cotton on to what they've found. There's some square yellow boxes in the back with wave symbols on them. It looks like it could be equipment that you could use in a situation like this, and sure enough, if you grab one and jump with it, it self-inflates to let you land in the water without fear of sinking or losing your equipment.

As for the cloud, it's up and out, and doesn't even turn around once to see what havok it's caused. For your part, you're in the water, about 150 feet from the shore of the island. You're about a half mile from land, so there's really only one good choice: the island.

Once you've dragged yourselves to the shore of the island, you can survey your surroundings. The main gate of the complex is plainly visible about twenty yards up from the shore. A gravel path leads up the double security doors. On either side of the path, is a nicely trimmed hedge. Above the doors, a red light flashes, with the word "Quarantined" plainly visible.

The island itself is about 750 feet in diameter, and roughly egg shaped, with you on the more angular side of the egg. A pier extends about 50 feet out into the water from this end of the island. The complex itself is only one floor, and is about 100 feet on a side. The portion of the island that the complex does not occupy is covered with scrub brush, and the occasional small tree.