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 Posted: Thu Nov 17, 2022 10:12 pm
 
Date: September 23rd, 2095
Location: The Afterlife
Time: 21:30
The Afterlife, a former mortuary turned bar with three different areas, "The Antechamber," "The Crypt," and "Hades", all of which housed hard-drinking, hard-fighting runners that gathered to enjoy the atmosphere and the camaraderie. As you dive deeper into the Afterlife, each successive chamber becomes darker and more dangerous, with Hades filled with combat veterans that command the highest prices.
The Afterlife may have been best described as a cross between a country-western bar and a motorcycle guild hall. The sound system played a variety of martial music and Gothic rock, and the closest thing to dancing was the occasional brawl. But this is a pro's club, no one needed to prove themselves; their presence was proof enough. Any brawls were strictly for fun.
As one moved through the Antechamber they'd find, off in a corner past the bartender, a set of stairs guarded by bouncers. Descending into the crypt, the reduction in crowd size was easily noticeable. It was here that more private business was taken care of. Business that required the talent of those with a reputation on the streets.
While the notoriety of each runner brought in on this gig varied, each was given entrance to the second level, on Mad Mike's recommendation. Mad Mike was old blood in Nightcity. Johnny Silverhand, Rogue, Morgan Blackhand? He'd tango'd with them. Nearly a living legend himself, but that was in his heyday. Too smart to go full borg, time caught up with the crazy b*****d. Wrinkles had long since rested on his dark complexion, the pitch black of his hair replaced by white and gray, and where hardened abs once rippled, a healthy sized gut now sat. Sitting in a closed off area of the crypt, the man waited. Aviators masked his eyes as he sat there with a confidence and wisdom that came from living through the impossible.
The man seemed to do little more than offer a drink to those that arrived, as the hired guns trickled into the meeting. Some noticeably later than others. Once the entire group gathered, Mike took a long moment to look at each of them. "So, this is the recommendations that came through this time." The man commented with a chuckle, "Should be interesting." He finished, before laying out a chip for each one of his guests. Each one contains information on the mission.
"As you're all well aware, gig's come through and for the price, y'all were given on recommendation." Mike began, his voice holding a bit of disappointment in what sat before him. "Simple lifting of some goods while they're in transit. Should be as easy as an old school train job. For a team of competent runners that is." Mike jabbed with a smirk, looking at a few of the group of Pacifica. "Then again, gettin' a Voodoo Boy outa Pacifica, and to work with a team? Might be this job gettin' done right, won't be the strangest thing this year."
The Haitian woman that was not far to his right scoffed as she looked him up and down. Her middle finger instinctively flipping up in response. "Tèt zozo." Rosita responded, wanting to let loose a verbal tirade on the man, but found restraint in the uncomfortable numbers that could be against her.
"Been called much worse, sweetheart." Mike responded with a bellowing laugh, seemingly familiar with her native tongue. "Now, your benefactor has paid a somewhat generous amount for the talent. But they're lookin' to stay clear from involvement. That means recon was included in the package. With this little band of misfits, I'm sure y'all be able to scrounge up some information between the corpos and the net jockies. That said, Target's gonna be leaving Tyrell Corp en route to SoCal. Drop off point is out in the Badlands. My suggestion would be to wait until the caravan is outside the city, and do what needs to be done from there. Maps, some people involved, and predicted times are loaded on the chip. If ya got any questions, I can toss in what little I got on the matter that's not on the chip." Mike finished, grabbing his whisky and tilting back.
It did not take long for the first voice to pop in with a question. "Any idea who is on the assigned transport team?" A well dressed woman with neon blue hair asked. "Lil company that goes by the name Cabal. Small arms dealer, and the occasional private security. Seems someone at Tyrell has a soft spot for 'em. That, or Tyrell's posturing to absorb 'em into the fold. But, that's just the talk of an old man." Mike responded with a shrug before finishing, "Wouldn't underestimate 'em though. Cabal may be small, but they've made some waves lately."
Before he could seemingly finish his thought, one of the men chimed in, "Do we have to go in quiet?" Mike's head turned with a raised brow. "I ain't gonna dictate how you do the mission, but ya might want to go in smart. Don't need repeats of the 70's." He said, with his vision lingering a bit longer on the man as if calculating the chance of his survival.
"Hey, where'd you get your shoes from?!" A perky voice rang out. Catching even Mike off guard, his vision shifted over to that of the rockergirl amongst them. "My shoes?" He questioned, "Yeah." Mike's brow raised further, as the confusion could almost be seen in his eyes behind the aviators. "Friend of mine, traded for some intel."
It was after that final question that Mike took a deep breath and stood. "My number's on chip if ya run into something you need. In the meantime, enjoy the night and get prepped for the gig. Maybe even get to know some of your new friends a little." The man told the group, before making his way out of the closed off area.
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Posted: Sat Dec 10, 2022 4:12 pm
†ђэмэ ร๏иφ : XXXX Spotify XXXX
ℓ๏¢ล†เ๏и : XXXX Afterlife XXXX
๏๏¢ : XXXX xxx XXXX
✧XXXXToday had started just as some other day off in her families eyes. Wake up, drills, emails, scheduling and they were off to the office. Celeste watched as her parents took off in the lift with the rest of their co-workers. A tight knit family unit in anyone else’s eyes. All three of them worked for Arasaka in in some way, though Celeste had a bit more freedom of movement. She enjoyed her job though, but there was a job floating through the brokers that had caught her employers ear, and she was being sent to deal with the possible problem. Today was the day of the meet up at Afterlife, so she would need to dry and blend in… she would have to go shopping it seemed.
✧XXXXAfter reaching out to Phin to confirm that he was going to be able to make it to the meet up, she had driven herself to the local. It hadn’t been that hard to find clothing that blended in with the area. Sure there were some Corprates around, but she didn’t want to stand out that much here. Taking a sip of her martini as she waited for the whole crew to assemble she raised a brow as the handler arrived and started to debrief them on the mission at hand.
✧XXXX"Now, your benefactor has paid a somewhat generous amount for the talent. But they're lookin' to stay clear from involvement. That means recon was included in the package. With this little band of misfits, I'm sure y'all be able to scrounge up some information between the corpos and the net jockies. That said, Target's gonna be leaving Tyrell Corp en route to SoCal. Drop off point is out in the Badlands. My suggestion would be to wait until the caravan is outside the city, and do what needs to be done from there. Maps, some people involved, and predicted times are loaded on the chip. If ya got any questions, I can toss in what little I got on the matter that's not on the chip." Mike finished, grabbing his whisky and tilting back.
✧XXXXMartini still in hand Celeste leaned forward to pick up one of the chips. "Any idea who is on the assigned transport team?" she asked, trying to think if she had crossed paths with anyone that may work with them in the past. Would aid in getting some sort of intel.
✧XXXX"Lil company that goes by the name Cabal. Small arms dealer, and the occasional private security. Seems someone at Tyrell has a soft spot for 'em. That, or Tyrell's posturing to absorb 'em into the fold. But, that's just the talk of an old man." Mike responded with a shrug before finishing, "Wouldn't underestimate 'em though. Cabal may be small, but they've made some waves lately."
✧XXXXFigures they would go with someone small and new for a job like this. She knew of the company, and he was right to say they were making waves recently. But she hadn’t ever crossed paths with anyone who used their services at a function yet. Which would only prove to be annoying. Glancing at the rest of the group as they asked their questions, only one was slightly productive the other was … she wasn’t even going to acknowledge it. Inserting the chip to her port she started to look over the information that was provided, when Mike spoke up once more she raised her glass in acknowledgement to him before leaning forward, still reviewing the information. “Any suggestions as to what plays into present strengths? I believe that going in as quiet as possible would be the best way to ensure success.” Celeste offered as she pulled the chip out of her port, tucking it into a pocket on her pants.
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Posted: Sun Jan 01, 2023 11:30 pm
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Posted: Thu Jan 05, 2023 9:16 pm
[̲̅l̲̅][̲̅o̲̅][̲̅c̲̅][̲̅a̲̅][̲̅t̲̅][̲̅i̲̅][̲̅o̲̅][̲̅n̲̅]: Afterlife | [̲̅c̲̅][̲̅o̲̅][̲̅m̲̅][̲̅p̲̅][̲̅a̲̅][̲̅n̲̅][̲̅y̲̅]: The troublemakers | [̲̅f̲̅][̲̅e̲̅][̲̅e̲̅][̲̅l̲̅][̲̅i̲̅][̲̅n̲̅][̲̅g̲̅]: Pissed at Ryu, sus of the corpos.
☣XXXXPacifica, a section of Night City that was once envisioned to be the money-making vacation resort for the ultra-wealth. It was to be a paradise with its golden beaches, luxurious motels, and unmatched entertainment. For a period of time, it was. By 2070 though, with the fear of Pacifica becoming a battleground between Night City and the New United States, investors and corporations fled away from the zone that lay on the border with South California. From then on, the district became overrun with poverty and criminal activity. Becoming the home of the gang known as the Voodoo Boys. The zone became nearly independent of Night City. A part of the city that even NCPD chose to avoid. Until 2077, when the mayor labeled it an official independent district. Allowing the city officials to exclude the crime statistics of Pacifica from their numbers. Relegating the protection of the district and its people to the reigning gangs that inhabited the area. It was in this area that a young Haitian woman by the name of Rosita resided.
☣XXXXGrowing up in Night City was not easy, unless you were born with a silver spoon in your mouth. For those in Pacifica, growing up was an affair that even the other districts were grateful to avoid. For Rosita, it was an alienating home. Though she was Haitian and had the blood to be a rightful member of the Voodoo Boys, she was mixed. Not with a member of one of the other gangs, no, she was the product of Pacifica and Corpo trash intermixing. Though her mother's name and brother's contributions to the gang would buy her safety in the area, more often than not, growing up was met with hostility and avoidance from the other members of the gang. Yet that never seemed to stop her from fighting for her rightful place among those she looked up to.
☣XXXXAs the rays of sunshine streamed across the ocean, beams of the bright light danced across the woman's form. Groaning as went to grab a pillow to hide under, noticing that her head was directly on the mattress, Rosita snarled slightly. Rolling over and violently snatching the pillow from under the head of her boyfriend. The woman held the pillow tightly to her face as the light was blocked out, drifting back to sleep. Though, the brief slumber would feel far too short as she would be unable to stay asleep.
☣XXXXFlinging the pillow onto where her boyfriend would have been. Rosita groggily noticed that he was no longer next to her in bed. Groggily she patted the area where he once was, with a raised eyebrow as her vision came into focus. Huffing, as she rolled to the edge of the bed. Rosita grabbed a dark bottle, shaking it to see if there was anything left. Setting the bottle back down, Rosita moved on to another one, and another after that until she found one that had something left. Tilting the bottle back, the woman finished off what was left of the beer from the night before.
☣XXXXLazily getting to her feet, Rosita dragged herself from the bed of the small apartment to the bathroom, shedding her loose-fitting clothes as she moved to the bathroom. Going through her morning, or afternoon in this case, routine. The day would seemingly slip by in the blink of an eye. Another argument with her brother over edgerunning, playing with her nephews, causing a bit of havoc in Pacifica, all-in-all another normal day for her. That was, until night fell, and she was to meet at the afterlife.
☣XXXXMaking her way down the steps, there was a bit of a spring in her step, as she walked towards the door. Refusing to get out of the way of anyone. Eventually her gaze met that of the bouncer as he stood to the side to let her through. "Bonjou gwo ti gason." She said, passing the man with a hefty pat on his arm. This was hardly her first time in the Afterlife. However, this was the first time that she was going to the second level.
☣XXXXWandering about the bar, Rosita was interested in scoping out the company that'd gathered that night. Rosita recognized a few faces, some friendly, some not so much. Though it was the back of one head that she noticed, talking to a blonde woman that boiled her blood. Looking around briefly, Rosita's impulsive nature took hold. Sending out a quickhack daemon. One of the automated morgue freezer doors, that should have long since been turned off, began to shake slightly. As it caught the woman's attention, the door that was at head level, flung open with great force. An audible thunk rang out, with the sound of broken glass, as the woman dropped to the ground.
☣XXXXWalking by the pair, Rosita spat on the ground, looking at her handiwork. The woman would be fine, unfortunately, a broken nose and concussion at worst. "Fatra" She commented, with venom in her tongue, as she moved on. Rosita knew that it was about time for the meeting, and being early was suddenly more appealing than being fashionably late.
☣XXXXThe meeting with Mike was much faster than she expected. Though Rin caught a glance from her that could kill, when the question about his shoes came up, Rosita quickly shook her head and went back to sizing up the rest of the group that she didn't know. Her attention on the woman with the blue hair. Something about her, Rosita did not like, whether it was her clothes or how she held herself. It screamed corpo, and the woman could not help but have a bit of disdain for her. Warranted, or not. Yet, Rosita could not help but agree with her more than the others.
☣XXXXHer eyes shifting over to Ryu as he spoke, an angry glare that he was all too familiar with, sticking to him even after he finished speaking. "Wi, and I make up for what little brains this one does have. Rosita." She said, her gaze shifting back to the blue haired woman. "Netrunner, damn good too. But on the job, you'll refer to me as Plague." Shifting in her seat, as Rosita tilted back cocktail as she eyed the other woman down. "You wreak of corpo." Rosita calmly said with disgust."Could be useful to have someone on the inside, I guess." She finished, with a little bit of interest in what made this corpo so special.
☣XXXXAs she sat there waiting, and taking in the strengths and weaknesses of the others. It was rather obvious, and almost like she intentionally put herself out there, where she was from. From looks, to speech, even her attitude. Rosita was from the Voodoo Boys, or acquainted with them. Yet there was an oddity about her. Voodoo Boys, despite their lightening up on xenophobia, rarely worked with outsiders. When they did, it was never on someone else's terms, and often couldn't be trusted.
[̲̅o̲̅][̲̅o̲̅][̲̅c̲̅]:
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Posted: Wed Jan 18, 2023 4:55 am
As Bad As You Think I Am, As Far As You Believe I'm Willing To Go To Protect That Which I Hold Dear.... ______________________________________________________________________ C.E.O (BlackBird Industries) / / Corpo Scumbag
 “C’monnnn. What’d ya even do with yourself if ya didn’t have Corpos to talk s**t about, eh?”
It’s not that he’d employed any kind of stealth, tactic, or tech in order to arrive upon their group. It was just that he was too damn smooth. He’d strolled right up to their little gathering as if he’d owned the place. His black-on-black suit blending seamlessly with the crowds and the environment of Afterlife. The only thing that might have given him away was the rather unnerving green-eyed Crow which was perched atop his shoulder. But what made it unnerving—as well as the reason it hadn’t given him away—was that it was silent and still as the grave.
It’s wings folded against itself. It’s eyes flickering between the faces of those at the table. As if it possessed every bit of sentience necessary to understand social cues and facial tics. Yet even the most cursory scan would reveal that it was a rather simplistic bestial automaton. A solar power supply, slots for holding/storing chips of varying purpose, and a pair of recording devices; both presently inactive. There was no shielding to prevent them or anyone else from scanning the creatures makeup. He was clearly inexperienced when it came to the whole “self-preservation” thing.
Another brief inspection of the man himself would reveal the same impression. His implants were only subdermal, optical, and arms. He had no real weapons on his person save the handgun in his belt. He was…fluffy. Plus the implants were of an up-and-coming brand of little notoriety; “Blackbird Industries.” The fact that he even felt confident enough to walk around in this place was evidence of his connections, his money, his naivety, or his idiocy. Undoubtedly some combination therein.
The big smug grin plastered across his face and the bourbon in his hand was enough to dash away any remaining doubt; this Corpo was a spoiled rich kid. Though he was handsome. The tattoos on his hands and collarbone worked well for his sharp-dressed visage.
“Although,” he added to his initial statement, “you oughta relax more. Don’t wanna get crow’s feet too young, do ya?” Almost as if on cue the crow on his shoulder let out a teeny little chirp, and raised on of its legs as if to indicate that it’s own foot was the topic of discussion. “Noo, Evs, not your feet.” He turned his attention back onto the table, his hands opened up a bit as if to say, ‘wasn’t that hilarious?’
After a few minutes of metaphorical cricket chirping the man waved his hand dismissively and got to the point. “Fine. Be that way. The name’s Crowe,” the creature let out a single mechanical caw as if to introduce itself, “and this is Evergreen. My partner is erm…well. The reclusive type. Like your buddy,” Crowe thumbed in the direction Mike had just disappeared, “I get the feelin' he ain’t really the social type either. But my partner? He is a businessman! Like me. Businessman know if somethin’ works…keep workin’ it. With that in mind,”
Gabriel reached into his suit jacket, and removed from it a small stack of cards held together by a rubber band. He removed one of the cards, and slid it across the table. A holographic engraving of his name, his business line, and his company—“Blackbird”—were all listed on the front.
“We've found plenty of great talent here at Afterlife, and if you folks can raise that bar even just a little bit…we’d love to keep you all on for awhile. Plenty of work to be done; and plenty of paydays to be had. We’d even be willing to slide any advancements in our tech designs your way before they hit the shelves. If Corpo money don’t stink too bad, that is.” The man called Crowe winked in Rosita’s direction, and stood up from the table. “Think about my offer; but dream--”
He used his pointer finger to lazily encircle his own face. “—about this.” With another chuckle at his own jokes he turned from the group, and melted back into the crowds of Afterlife. Strolling out as smoothly as he strolled in.
|| THEME: Kamikazee -- Missio ||______________________________________________________________________
You Can't Possibly Fathom How Deep That Well Of Mine Truly Goes....
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Posted: Tue Feb 07, 2023 10:48 am
†ђэмэ ร๏иφ : XXXX Spotify XXXX
ℓ๏¢ล†เ๏и : XXXX Afterlife : Private Room XXXX
๏๏¢ : XXXX xxx XXXX
✧XXXXCeleste stayed lounging back on her seat reviewing the information on the chip when the male spoke up, pushing the information over to one side of her view she nodded as he mentioned his name. The young Arasaka employee was still at odds with herself if she should offer her actual name or stick with her codename. Before she could respond though the male explained that he was more inclined for combat, the female chiming in stating that she made up for his lack of ‘brains.’ She would assume then that they knew each other, not many people would allow a complete stranger to discredit their intelligence unless they were friends of some sort. The female, Rosita aka Plague, was the netrunner. Which would be useful when dealing with their target she knew. That was when the Corpo comment came up, her blue eyes looking directly at Rosita past the floating panels in her vision. “Name’s CellSec, or just Cel.” she stated, though before she could address the comment any further, the door slid open and a man with a crow on his shoulder entered the room.
✧XXXXIt had been a bizarre interaction to say the least, the man had come in and started mentioning other jobs that could be offered as well as the possibility of eddies on the table. When his card projected the business above the table, she wondered if this was normal amongst handlers to steal their hired muscle from jobs that had been assigned. It wasn’t gone until the man left the room, leaving the business card on the table. Rolling her eyes, she leaned forward to flip the card over and end the holograph. They didn’t need a distraction. “Yes I am corporate, I specialize in private security and interrogation.” she stated before picking up the glass she had been drinking from earlier. “As for ‘someone on the inside’ I ain’t going to offer anything unless it would pertain to the job itself.” Taking a drink she leaned back on the couch. “Also, I’m at least not like that guy that just came in. I prefer to get my hands dirty and actually put in the work myself. So, hope that speaks to the kind of ‘Corpo’ I am.”
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Posted: Sun May 28, 2023 7:14 am
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