Life on the Mesa Verde

It's a bright, cloudless afternoon outside. Even though the breeze makes the weather seem comfortable the mountain air makes the actual 110° heat of the day dangerously deceptive.

The lunatics clubhouse is on a side street off of the business spur of old highway 50 not far from a small shopping area in a large Adobe structure that still has peeling paint advertising the livestock feed store and ranch supply it used to be long ago before the sixth age.

As you enter the darkness inside makes it hard to see who all is in here, but you can see Hank, the club president in the back corner near an old camping lantern. It's amber light shining on his beard making the dwarfs face seem like a monochromatic death mask. You can hear movement inside the clubhouse, and grumbling from the hangarounds and whatever club members are in attendance.

When he sees you, Hank slams his beer bottle on his table and barks at you

"Bout fraggin' time youse got here, siddown and talk to me."

Hank Leans back in his chair, and props his stout dwarven feet in engineer boots up on the table and grins at Gwynplaine before taking a long pull off his beer bottle

"you're damn right about that. now listen up, I'm sick as hell of sitting around here in the dark like a damn fool, plus, the battery for the fridge is about to quit working and the beers getting warm. I want you to find out what the hell's going on, and fix it, because we damn sure paid the electric bill."

he puts down his drink and leans forward, grinning at Durango and chuckles a bit, but theres no doubt in his dark eyes that he's dead serious.

"hey, and this isn't the trids, right prospect? and you ain't Neil the Barbarian. if you can manage to not rip anyones arms off on this little errand, that'd be just swell, now be a chummer and go grab a brew for me and one for 'ol Wires here"

while Durango goes and gets the drinks Hank leans in closer to Gwynplaine

"ive got a good idea this is those Eternity Merchants screwing with us, but let the prospect try and piece it together himself if it's not that hard to. I'd like to see if his head's good for anything but a blunt instrument before we vote on patching him in. it's been awhile now and we're about due to make a decision on if he's in or out. If it gets too tough though, pipe up and help him out though."

when Durango returns Hank waves you out

"you need any extra hands or eyes call up a few of the boys, Jimmy and Krevin aren't doing anything I believe, and that one other guy, ... shoot, cant remember his name."

"ah well, you know who I mean, now go on and take care of it"

he turns away and takes a drink, cursing loudly

"Fragg it all, warm as piss! fragging deckheads!!"

There's nothing visibly wrong with the wiring around the clubhouse, as you switch to AR though it's like your sitting in a great dark crater, with small blips of wireless devices and cyberware moving around, probably club members with chrome. Further analysis will look like a grid of houses in your area are all black. Cut off from some choke point further up the power supply, looks like it's coming from north of you, In the Belmont neighborhood