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>>36314513

You can't help but wonder what's going on. All you did was tell him about a vault the miners found in the Old City underneath the Perfcor digsite, and the wildly-gesticulating happy drunk vanished, replaced by whoever this cigarette-sucking bundle of concentrated intensity is.

The man even forgot his tie, you notice as you follow his quick, sharp steps down the stairs to the bar. They're not unsteady, but they seem just a little too precise, as if he's having to consciously plan each one.

"Basil," Thomson says when he reaches the bottom, waving his cigarette in the general direction of the grizzled barkeep, "I need another dose of rocket fuel."

He's not joking. You saw him knock back some 95% twenty minutes ago, and that's the bottle Basil's reaching for now.

>No, you don't - he's not coming on your bike any more drunk than he already is
>Make it fast - you don't have all day
>Get me one too - full speed ahead with the bad ideas
>Write In

>>36314541
>No, you don't - he's not coming on your bike any more drunk than he already is
>Write in
"That or more money."

>>36314541
>>Make it fast - you don't have all day

He's the alcoholic who's some how the best information dealer.

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>>36314541
>META POST

Twitter(for quest news, not my political views): https://twitter.com/HaikuDeluge

Archive: http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/archive.html?tags=Cyberpunk%20Motorcycle%20Courier%20Quest

Questions: http://ask.fm/haikudeluge

LAST SESSION'S STATS:
Phone Numbers Obtained: N/A
Delivery Completed: N/A
Bonus Objectives Fulfilled: Smelling The Sty On Him; Crashing This Thread With No Survivors; I Like Bike, You Like Bike; Asking The Hard Questions; Swaying Thracian; White Like Russian Winter; Doubting Thomson; Trusting; Even On My Day Off;
Bonus Objectives Missed: He Seemed Familiar; Didn't Recognize You Without The Flashing Lights; Sometimes The Best Thing To Say Is Nothing At All; Advance Info; Look, You've Got A Problem; No, I Don't Trust You; Stiffing The Stiff

LIST OF KNOWN PHONE NUMBERS:
Dr. Morrison, Ryan, Greer (deceased), Alice, Paul, The Bookstore, Arty

LIST OF IMPORTANT-SOUNDING TOPICS:
Typhon Project; Dagon Core; The Seed

>>36314541
>>Make it fast - you don't have all day

>>36314593
>>36314541
This

>>36314513
>Fuck your motorcyc-
oh right

>>36314541
>>36314593
This

>>36314541
>>No, you don't - he's not coming on your bike any more drunk than he already is

Ask rocket juice about its sex life.

>>36314541
>>Make it fast - you don't have all day

>>36314541
>>No, you don't - he's not coming on your bike any more drunk than he already is

>>36314541
>No, you don't - he's not coming on your bike any more drunk than he already is

>>36314933
Easy answer - oral all the time.

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>>36314541

"Not unless you give me another dose of cash," you chime in, putting your hands on your hips and catching Basil's eye, "I don't want you falling off the bike."

Thomson turns around slowly, spinning on his heel like a weather vane in a weak breeze. You see the tip of his cigarette blaze angrily in front of his stiff face. It's burnt to the filter by the time he locks eyes with you, gray ash drifting toward the floor.

For a few seconds, you meet his stare.

Gray shirt, collar unbuttoned. Stubble spread aimlessly across the bottom of his face. Close-cropped brown hair. You wonder idly if he brushes it, or just claws at it with distracted fingers every so often.

Then his dark brown eyes flicker away. He turns slightly aside and blows a long stream of smoke into the center of the empty room.

"Your bike," he says gruffly, as he stabs the spent cigarette out in the bar's ashtray, "your rules. Save it for me, Basil," he throws over his shoulder at the barkeep, as he starts for the door.

"Where are we headed?" you ask Thomson, unchaining your bike.

"The digsite," he tells you, running a hand nervously through his short hair as he pulls out a beat-up looking phone.

>Burn rubber all the way there
>Take it at a reasonable pace
>Write In

>>36315463
>Write In
"Do we need to burn rubber to get there fast? If so you're paying for the tires."

>>36315463
Ask him how fast he wants to get there.

>>36315463
>>Burn rubber all the way there

>>36315498
This.

>>36315463

>>36315498
Seconded.

>>36315463
>Buy spacesuit

>>36315611
I'm afraid I don't get it.

>>36315744
Because of the nano mechines we could be faced with.

>>36315463
>>36315498
this, also

>>36315463

"Do I need to burn rubber?" you ask, mounting the bike. You shift a little in the seat, getting comfortable as you feel the powerful engine throb to life beneath you.

"I'd rather you didn't," the info broker tells you as he climbs on behind, "I've got a call to make."

You feel him put one arm around your midriff and brace for takeoff. Well, you think as you roll out onto the road, at least he's not getting grabby.

"Hello?" you hear him say, loudly enough to be heard over the road noise, "this is Thomson. Yeah, I've got tickets to the opera tonight," you feel him lean forward, trying to use your helmet as a windbreak for his phone, "no, they're putting on Orfeo ed Euridice. Come see it with me, I've got front row seats. The stage designer's the real deal - what?"

You feel his grip slack momentarily, as he almost starts gesturing with the arm that's keeping him on the bike. "No, ORPHEO and EURIDICE, you uncultured swine. Sure, make it a double date, bring your French girl. It'll be packed anyway."

So that's why he wanted you to go slowly. You're pretty sure he would have fallen off at least once by now if you'd been going at your usual speed.

"What?" he yells, finally letting go, left arm slicing through the air in a gesture of frustration. You barely manage to slow down before he overbalances, "Yeah, sure, bring the kids, toys too," he says emphatically, free hand gyrating, "don't want them getting too noisy and distracting the singers. See you there."

Even at the snail's pace you're having to take, his office is only a few minutes away from the Perfcor digsite.

>>36316387

"Fuck," he says, sliding both arms around you again, and you tense. Hopefully he's not that kind of drunk. Then he continues, slumping forward against your back, "leading an active high society life is so draining. Just drop me near Sadie's and I'll call you when I need you to pick me up."

>I thought you were going to the opera
>Sadie's is high society now?
>Sure you don't want me to stay? You said it was a double date
>Write In

>>36316417
>>Sadie's is high society now?

>>36316417
>So who's the lucky lady?

>>36316417
>>Sure you don't want me to stay? You said it was a double date
>wink
So he's decided to go in for himself. Interesting.

>>36316417
>Sadie's is high society now?
>Sure you don't want me to stay? You said it was a double date
and >>36316486

>>36316417
>>Sadie's is high society now?
>>Sure you don't want me to stay? You said it was a double date

>>36316417
>Sadie's is high society now?
>Sure you don't want me to stay? You said it was a double date

>>36316417
>>Write In
>Tell me what you find in there

>>36316496
I can think of only one reason why he is going himself: the think they dug up contains information.

>>36316417
>I thought you were going to the opera

>>36316638
He's not going in himself, that call was him calling in a team.

>>36316638
>>36316704
Just realized I misread it as him going in alone. My bad.

>>36316417
(1/?)

"Sadie's is high society now?" you ask the deflating info broker as you round another corner.

"No," he says, wearily, "but when your friend's fooling around with a waitress, you have to make with the arrangements. At least he's not fragrance of the trees; the wife of the dog's body eatery other in the friend; evening shade his three the other daughter with the grandfather clock on the flying over the city, side, while his orchard grapes with own the boat eating away by the wife takes no guff from anyone eating from with wild abandon the stolid dog. That was damn licking the diamond; plan alongside each skyscraper with social dunking events the three frenchmen around, while it lasted."

>>36317373
Uh-oh, Haiku snapped.

>>36317373
(2/?)

"What?" You're pretty sure you couldn't have heard that correctly. The gray buildings float past, pulled along by your roaring motorcycle. Much as you love the sound, it can make it a little hard to hear things sometimes. The gleam of razor wire winks at you from atop the distant digsite wall.

"The riich," Thomson says with the finality of the grave, if the grave slurred its words ever so little, "are not like us. Not like youu. You're all right, you know that?"

"Sure you don't want me to stay?" you ask, turning down the familiar street in the gray afternoon light, the high wall towering to your right, "you did say it was a double date."

"They're dubbling," he says, as you pull to a stop in front of Sadie's, "I'm a better dog than any of them; you're robot," he finishes steadily, and steps onto the sidewalk, staring fixedly at the diner's door.

You sit there on your idling motorcycle, watching him inch closer to the restaurant, step by labored step. His effort-laden movements give away his condition as much as a a stumble would have.

You wonder what he would be doing if you'd let him have the last drink.

He turns his head slowly toward you, and begins waving a limp hand around. "G'wan," he says, "call when, when," he says, then pauses, obviously laboring to pick the right word, "Sabine," he finally finishes, and takes another difficult step toward Sadie's.

>Wait nearby
>Head to your apartment - your jeans aren't bulletproof enough for this
>Write In

>>36317419
>Head to your apartment - your jeans aren't bulletproof enough for this

>>36317419
>Head to your apartment - your jeans aren't bulletproof enough for this

>>36317419
>Do a donut
>Then go to the apartment

>>36317419
>>Head to your apartment - your jeans aren't bulletproof enough for this

>>36317419
>>Head to your apartment - your jeans aren't bulletproof enough for this

>>36317419
>>Head to your apartment - your jeans aren't bulletproof enough for this
let's maybe pass by later to make sure he isn't too dead.

>>36317419
>>Head to your apartment - your jeans aren't bulletproof enough for this
Make it quick, we have no idea how long this is going to take.

>>36317419
>Sabine

There's too much Roman mythology floating around for this to be a coincidence.

We need to watch out for Italian rapists.

>>36317568
?

>>36317419
>>Wait nearby

>>36317568
Good life advice, that.

>>36317568
I thought Orpheys and Eurydice were Greek...

>>36317373
>>36317419
w
h
a
t
.

>>36317669
Seconding

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>>36317669
He's fuck as drunk, anon.

>>36317607
Rape of the Sabine women

>>36317419

You kinda like the guy, at least from what you've seen so far. He's been pretty straightforward with you, and his antics on the couch were eccentric, but not creepy.

Still, if he's gonna get like that, you don't need to stick around. He said he'd call, and if he's too far gone to do that, well, that's his problem.

All the same, you do glance over your shoulder as you drive away. Your last glimpse of Thomson shows him clinging to the diner's door handle, knuckles turning white.

Good luck to him, you think as you lean into the turn, feeling your bike throbbing with power between your thighs.

After Thomson's stuffy room, the chill breeze seems downright pleasant as you slice through it on your way back home. There's no way you're going on the second part of his job in your jeans. Something tells you that's a terrible idea.

Doorways, walls, and haulers slip past you in the cold, cloud-filtered light. The trip is faster without the human baggage along for the ride, and you're just beginning to enjoy it by the time you make it back to your apartment.

You almost ride your motorcycle into the hallway, but stop yourself just in time. That was the last time you saw Mr. Johnson, hopping mad in the corridor three months ago.

>Roll 3d33, best and worst of five

Cutoffs: 22, 53, and 81. Hope that bell curve treats you well.

Rolled 20, 19, 10 = 49 (3d33)

>>36317971
Odd dice choice

Rolled 10, 28, 20 = 58 (3d33)

>>36317971
ROLL

Rolled 22, 6, 33 = 61 (3d33)

>>36317971

Rolled 30, 1, 14 = 45 (3d33)

>>36317971

>>36317971

>>36317987
It's effectively a bell-curved 1d100.

Rolled 26, 8, 1 = 35 (3d33)

>>36317971
rollan

Rolled 1, 11, 31 = 43 (3d33)

>>36318029
Evidently not

Rolled 29, 12, 9 = 50 (3d33)

>>36317971

>>36317971

Speaking of Johnson, it looks like those two matching boxes are still blinking away. You wonder what they've got under their dull metal skin, and how someone would even try to open them, as you wheel your bike down the hall.

Your own locks are in good condition, except for the bottom one - it's still sticking. Of course, you have to remember to push in the secret stud on the top one before it will fully unlock.

Anyone with a blowtorch, or a highly motivated person with a sledgehammer could break in, you think as you push your bike through the open door.

The locks are there to tell you if you should expect unexpected guests when you get back.

You grab a meal bar off the counter and start crunching it while you re-secure all your locks. Once you finish with that, you wheel your motorcycle back to its shrine, then sit down on your apartment's single chair. It creaks welcomingly as you settle into it.

There's not enough time to get into the fuzzy pile of stuffed animals, no matter how comfy it looks.

The boots and socks come off, and you massage your sweaty toes with one hand, feeding yourself the meal bar with the other.

Of course that's when your phone rings.

You answer it with your clean hand.

"Hello?" you say, through teeth locked around the half-eaten meal bar.

"Laura?" a woman's voice says from the other end of the line, "is now a good time to talk?"

>It's never a good time to talk to this bitch, but she might have something interesting to say
>Well, it's not the worst time. Besides, you haven't heard from Eliza in forever
>Not as convenient as it could be, but you're still glad Lisa called
>It's never a bad time to talk to Beth

>>36318462
>Not as convenient as it could be, but you're still glad Lisa called

>>36318462
>Well, it's not the worst time. Besides, you haven't heard from Eliza in forever

>>36318462
>Well, it's not the worst time. Besides, you haven't heard from Eliza in forever.
So you're giving us the choice of who is on the phone? if so I want it to be our dead father calling to tell our bike to treat us right.

>>36318462
>Well, it's not the worst time. Besides, you haven't heard from Eliza in forever

>>36318462
>Well, it's not the worst time. Besides, you haven't heard from Eliza in forever

>>36318462
>Well, it's not the worst time. Besides, you haven't heard from Eliza in forever
>Not as convenient as it could be, but you're still glad Lisa called
>It's never a bad time to talk to Beth
>Write in
"Shit, why're you all on the line at once?"

>>36318462
>>Not as convenient as it could be, but you're still glad Lisa called

>>36318539
Second

>>36318462
I second this man >>36318539

>>36318539
This

>>36318518
Every name there is a nickname deriving from Elizabeth.

>>36318539
Seconded
I don't have any clue how he'd handle this but I want it so bad.

>>36318539
Wouldn't this make it Elizabeth?

>>36318570
>Every name there is a nickname deriving from Elizabeth.
So... multiple personality disorder?

>>36318570
Oh. OH. I feel kinda silly now. I mean I saw the connection with Eliza and Lisa and Beth threw me off.

>>36318539
Seconding this

>>36318494
>>36318518
>>36318530
>>36318537

We're fucked.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/ELIZA

>>36318539
Second

>>36318462
>>Not as convenient as it could be, but you're still glad Lisa called

>>36318462
>>Well, it's not the worst time. Besides, you haven't heard from Eliza in forever

>>36318751
>>36318614
>>36318574
>>36318567
>>36318553
It helps the QM to count votes if you link his post when you vote for something.

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>>36318866

Well, it's not the worst time, even if you don't know how long you have to talk. "I haven't heard from you in forever, Eliza," you say, then turn the phone so the microphone doesn't pick up the sound of you hurriedly crunching down the rest of the meal bar.

"I know, right?" she says, with that springy lilt in her voice, "work has been, well-"

"Busy? Yeah, mine's been snowing me under too," you agree, standing up from the chair, "how's the new job working out?"

"Oh," she says, as you start to pull one leg of your jeans off, "it's not exactly what I hoped it would be, but I've got an awesome new bike and they pay for all my gas!"

You can only imagine what that's like. "I'm envious," you tell her, balancing precariously on one leg, "wish someone would pay for mine. Maybe I should get a rich boyfriend or something?"

Of course, she doesn't have to mention the price. You both know that gas is bought with her sworn loyalty to her corp. It's that though that makes you frown at the crumpled pile of denim on the floor.

Well, it's a legitimate way to live life, even if it's not your chosen one.

"I'm not sure I can see you dating an exec," she says, laughter dancing just beneath her voice, "none of the ones I've seen could keep up with you."

>I'm sure I could find the right one if I look hard enough
>You'd know more about execs than I would
>I could slow it down, if it got me someone rich enough to pay for all the parts I want
>I thought only the fast ones stayed on the ladder?
>Write In

>>36319223
>>You'd know more about execs than I would

>>36319223
>I thought only the fast ones stayed on the ladder?
>Not three girls
Disappointed.

>>36319271
I know that feel

>>36319223
>You'd know more about execs than I would
>I thought only the fast ones stayed on the ladder?

>>36319223
>I thought only the fast ones stayed on the ladder?

>>36319223
>>I thought only the fast ones stayed on the ladder?

>>36319223
>>You'd know more about execs than I would

>>36319223
>I thought only the fast ones stayed on the ladder?

>>36319223
>>You'd know more about execs than I would

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>>36319223

"I thought only the fast ones stayed on the ladder?" you ask, as you grab your reinforced biking pants. There's just nothing like bulletproof pants, and they match the jacket so well.

"Well," she says, hesitating a little, "there's ladders and ladders, you know? Some of them don't go very high, and others take more work to climb."

"You'd know more about execs than I would," you tell her, "so I need to aim for the ones clinging to the tallest ladders?"

"Something like that," she says, without much color to her voice, as you finish pulling on your riding pants. The solid, supple fabric feels nice on your skin.

She doesn't sound happy about you aiming for one of the high climbers, does she?

"So," you ask jovially, pulling on one of your boots, "thinking of someone particular climbing one of those ladders, huh?" It's a long shot, but if it hits home it should be amusing.

"No, nothing like that!" she protests, sounding a bit flustered, then goes quiet for a while as you lace your boot. Well, if there really is someone, it'll come out eventually, you think, smiling to yourself.

"Hey, Laura," she finally starts, but just then your phone begins ringing again.

And you're holding it up against your ear. Ouch.

"Hold on a sec," you tell her, juggling the phone around, "I'm getting another call."

You finally get it in front of you and hit answer before the name processes through your mind.

"Hello?" you say, bending over to lace your other boot, "Uh, Lisa?" you say, parroting back the name you just read.

"I'm, um, still here Laura," Eliza tells you. Her voice sounds smaller than before, a little tinnier.

Wait a sec.

Then the phone goes off again. 'Beth' calling you.

"Fuck."

>Try not to panic
>Panic
>PANIC
>MAXIMUM OVERPANIC

Also roll 1d100.

Rolled 19 (1d100)

>>36320026
>PANIC
THIS ISN'T A GRAVE.
IT'S THE FUTURE YOU CHOSE.

Rolled 96 (1d100)

>>36320026
>>MAXIMUM OVERPANIC

Rolled 96 (1d100)

>>36320026
>Try not to panic

Rolled 80 (1d100)

>>36320071
>>36320084
DOUBLES

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Rolled 31 (1d100)

>>36320026
>MAXIMUM OVERPANIC

Didn't we use a payphone at one point because phone calls can be hacked?

>>36320026
Who is beth?

>>36320110
Yeah, and either someone is messing up at the other end, or we're being hacked by two establishments at the same time.

The troubles of being a popular girl.

Rolled 28 (1d100)

>>36320026
>>MAXIMUM OVERPANIC

>>36320161
OR You know, in the future people can be phoned more than once.

>>36320253
O, glorious future!

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>>36320026

You yank the battery.

Then you pull the SIM.

And the memory card.

Two seconds, maybe. You're in a rush. But you still take ten seconds to tie your second boot. Loose laces could fuck up your bike and get you killed.

Your mind races as you dump the pieces of your phone into a zip pocket. Five minutes on the phone, maybe? Plutonix would have you by now, you think as you grab the SMG.

Hell, they would have you from the cell tower information, you realize as you poke your head out into the hallway.

Clear.

Twenty-seven seconds. You shove the SMG into your jacket as you dash to your bike, collaring your helmet and messenger bag on the way.

By fifty seconds, you're in the hallway, and two of your three door locks are bolted. Fuck the one that sticks.

You run down the hallway, pushing your bike. Out of the building in under a minute. Not bad, you think, cranking the engine to life, but that gives you four damn minutes to work with until a neighboring sector can project force.

Maybe six, if they think they have to be covert about it.

>Get to Thomson - If something can go wrong, it will, and you're still on his retainer
>Get anywhere but here
>Fuck, what corp did Eliza go to work for?

>>36320502
>Get to Thomson - If something can go wrong, it will, and you're still on his retainer
>Fuck, what corp did Eliza go to work for?

>>36320502
>Get to Thomson - If something can go wrong, it will, and you're still on his retainer

Hate to leave the guy high and dry.
>Fuck, what corp did Eliza go to work for?

>>36320502
>>Get to Thomson - If something can go wrong, it will, and you're still on his retainer
>>Fuck, what corp did Eliza go to work for?

>>36320502
>>Get to Thomson - If something can go wrong, it will, and you're still on his retainer
>>Fuck, what corp did Eliza go to work for?

I hope we remembered to grab the Dagon Core info as we fled.

>>36320586
Check your (rolled) dubs:

>>36320071
>>36320084

You grabbed everything highly important.

Does this mean we are homeless for a while?

>>36320645
As long as we can spoon with our bike I'll be happy.

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>>36320502

Fuck, what corp did Eliza go to work for? You wrack your memory, trying to concentrate over the roar of your bike's engine as you shoot out into traffic.

Luckily, you miss the hauler's grille with inches to spare, as you burn down the avenue. If one thing's gone wrong, everything's about to fall like a wave of dominoes. Thomson paid you, even if he might not remember it tomorrow morning, and you're going to earn it.

Sadie's it is.

You've got three minutes until you get there, even at this rate of speed, probably enough time to dig up what you remember of those arguments with Eliza.

Dedicated corp courier, that's what she went for. Stability, gas money, and a new bike. Only one string attached: loyalty. Maybe keeping quiet about which corp she was signing on with was part of her deal with the devil.

You clench your teeth as you whip around a corner, then narrowly thread your bike between two big haulers speeding in opposite directions. The ghost of a "holey fook" from an open hauler window follows you down the street's centerline.

Was it even a mega Eliza went to? You're pretty sure it was. The smaller corps don't have enough volume to justify a dedicated courier.

And there's the telltale shine of razor wire in the distance. You're almost there. A minute and a half at least until whoever's after you hits your apartment, and you've got a decent head start on them.

Of course, if the gunfire you can hear is legit, you're just in time for the party at the digsite.

>Park somewhere, get your backup phone together, and try to raise Thomson
>Go in hard, go in fast
>Do a ride-by first, scope out the situation
>Write In

>>36320926
>Do a ride-by first, scope out the situation

>>36320926
>>Go in hard, go in fast

>>36320926
>Park somewhere, get your backup phone together, and try to raise Thomson

>>36320983
>>36320960
>>36320955
It seems we are at a Mexican standoff here boys.

Do a ride by, hard and fast, attempting to scope the situation while calling Thompson.

>>36320926
>>Do a ride-by first, scope out the situation

>>36320926
>Do a ride-by first, scope out the situation

>>36320926

There's a column of smoke rising from inside the digsite, almost invisible against the lead gray sky.

You need to figure out what's going on, and you don't think putting together your backup phone will be worth the time, since there's a good chance Thomson's passed out. Ramming straight on in sounds like fun, but it also sounds like a good way to get in too deep, and you're already in a good bit over your head.

Recon is the best option, you decide, and slacken your breakneck pace.

As you roll past the road's mouth, you look down it, between Sadie's and the concrete wall.

Or, rather, what's left of the wall.

Chunks of concrete litter the street, scattered outward from a huge rent in the razor-wire topped barricade. It looks like a giant punched its way out. A few corp cops are holed up at the other end of the street, plinking away from behind a squad car.

An overturned hauler shelters their targets, four or five heavily-armed merc types crouching behind the truck's thick steel. Masked. One of them's laying down covering fire, spraying the cop car with tracers, the rest are reloading or watching his back, guns pointed in your general direction.

You can smell the gunsmoke from here.

Sadie's looks almost unharmed. That's something to be thankful for, at least. The sirens you can hear behind you are not.

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>>36321539

You're just about to look back at the road ahead of you when you see the exoskeleton walk out of the hole in the wall, eyes glowing red, wreathed in smoke. Thick chunks of dark metal armor distort its silhouette.

Damn. You should have expected something like this, but you've never seen one of them up close before. Yeah, you're gonna call 'halfway down a long street' 'up close', at least when you're dealing with one of these walking war machines.

It's carrying a huge revolver in one metal fist, and a mid-sized duffle bag hangs from its other arm. As soon as it steps into the street, the cops light it up, pouring bullet after bullet into it.

They could be throwing darts for all the damage they're doing.

Almost lazily, it raises the revolver, a ugly, blocky weapon. You hear a deafening report, and the squad car jumps. Another shot, and you realize the skeleton's aiming for the gas tank.

The third round is an incendiary, fired straight into the pool of gasoline under the car.

It goes up like a cheap firework, shredding into a blazing mess as the skeleton turns its head toward you and holds up the duffle bag.

"COURIER," you hear echoing down the street in the wake of the explosion, loud enough to hear over the sirens at your back.

>Oh, fuck no
>Take the Package
>Write In

>>36321770
>>Take the Package
time to earn our pay

>>36321770
>Take the Package.

We need it, I guess? Might as well, we're getting paid.

>>36321770
>>Take the Package
Right, Tom is paying extra hazard pay for this

>>36321770
>Take the Package

>>36321770
>>Take the Package

>>36321770
>Take the Package
we need cash for a new crib and identity

>>36321770
>Take the package
"Where to, boss?"
This is fucked up and we shouldn't be here. But if I'm reading this right, whatever corp is about to follow up SEA Source with double Scorched Earth doesn't know where we ARE, only where we WERE.

This means being more not-there is a good thing.

>>36321894
Come to think of it, how much cash do we have saved away? I take it we've been courier-ing for a while now, we should have some dosh in the bank.

>>36321770
>>Take the Package

>>36321910
i agree, we don't seem to be spending much of our income either

>>36321910
we need to invest in a better place to call home, and better security, and better personal protection, both armor and guns

and of course invest in our bike more

with a retractable dildo seat

>>36321994
I definitely agree with that last one, but yeah we're going to need a new place to crash. I wonder where we can find a place that we can afford? Hopefully not in the sectors that want us dead, haha!

>>36322031
Strike a deal with Plutonix to give them back their stolen shit, in return for not being disappeared. If Eliza can make it as a corp courier, so can we.

Of course, then we'd have to deal with Thomson's friends trying to take it out of our hide.

>>36322046
yeah nah I don't want to go full corp yet, or ever

though getting in their good books without screwing all our friendlies would be very desirable

>>36322046
I was thinking of signing on with that chick with the sword. Sure she's likely not all there mentally, considering how she views things, but she's also the one most likely to actually hire us just because we kinda-sorta beat her once.

>>36322082
I want to make sure I know what the factions are before we fully commit to one of them.

Thomson might just be a facilitator for these goons.

>>36322105
I'd rather not fully commit to any of them.

Why not become the ultimate honorable trustworthy courier, work for all of them if they can afford us, nothing personal its just business

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>>36322100
Or we could try signing on with her disowned sister, who's probably twice as batshit but more fun to hang out with.

>>36322146
>metagaming this hard

Yo anons I just caught up with the thread, could anyone explain why Beth calling us was an indication that a corp was after our head?

>>36321770

This isn't how your days off usually go, you think as you slew your bike around in a smoking half circle, bruised side complaining, but at least you're wearing your bulletproof pants now.

Not that they'd help you against the skeleton's ridiculous pistol.

The maneuver gives you a really nice view of the three corp squad cars rocketing down the street behind you. They're probably responding to the digsite's call for help, but once you take the package, they'll probably be after you too.

Well, they can jockey for position with whoever tried to hack your phone, you think, as you drive toward the menacing exoskeleton.

"Where to, boss?" you yell as you come to a stop in front of it. You're going to have to strap the duffle bag down, and you can't do that in motion.

You've tried.

Up close, the thing's even scarier. You probably couldn't count the dings and dents in its slablike metal hide if you had a whole day, and each one represents someone's level best shot at killing it.

The skeleton doesn't bother to respond question. It just lays the heavy bag behind you on the motorcycle, then turns to face the approaching cop cars.

Its back is almost as comforting as its front is intimidating, you notice as you dismount and start strapping the duffle to your bike. You can't miss the ruggedized tablet, secured to one of the bag's D-rings with a carabiner. It's showing a map of the city, with a destination marked.

Well, you think, clipping it to your jacket, that solves one problem.

>>36322232
Hope he doesn't slaughter those cops, they are just doing their jobs.

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>>36322232

The thunder of a sudden explosion, not muffled nearly enough by your helmet, takes you by surprise.

Oh, it's just the huge pistol again.

You sneak a quick look around the skeleton, and see one of the squad cars veering off at a crazy angle, a huge hole punched through its windshield. You thank your lucky stars you can't see the driver.

As you cinch up the straps over the duffle bag's tough fabric, the mercs start running past you, retreating in good order. One of them flashes you a thumbs up as he passes. Another two explosive reports from the revolver, and you don't even turn to look at the damage.

Once you're satisfied with the tie-down job, you mount back up, revving the engine as you take one last look back.

You wish you hadn't.

The third cop car is almost on top of the skeleton. You see the driver's face, split wide with a manic grin, the cop riding shotgun in a full panic, the flashing lights on top of the roof.

And it's going to ram the skeleton straight into you.

At the last second, the exoskeleton lifts its front leg, then drives it straight down through the car's hood, smashing the engine block into the pavement with a scream of twisted metal. The driver, clutching a shotgun, smashes though the windshield, leaping straight for the exoskeleton's chest.

>Watch in horrified fascination
>Nope, fuck this, you're out of here
>Write In

>>36322363
>Nope, fuck this, you're out of here
"It was my off day goddamnit!"

>>36322363
>>Nope, fuck this, you're out of here
Haha, NOPE

>>36322363
>shoot the driver and gtfo

>>36322363
>>Nope, fuck this, you're out of here

>>36322363
>Write In
GTFO but look back to see what's happening.

>>36322387
This.

Psycho shotgun cop scares me.

>>36322363

>>36322363
>Nope, fuck this, you're out of here

I can see Laura being like John McClane in a sense when it comes to insane situations.

"Goddamnit Laura, what the fuck you are you doing?" As she rides into a firefight

Or "Oh yeah, 'Give me a ride' he said 'Just drop him off at Sadie's' he said, have a few laughs"

>>36322470
>in 15 years she'll be riding her beloved bike, which she will have married by now, through the ruins of Chernobyl NPP

>>36322363

Nope, fuck that noise, you're out of here. The roar of your engine almost drowns out the shotgun's reports, and the litany of curses you can only assume is the cop's warcry.

You're tempted to look back, of course, but that would be suicide right now. It takes all your attention to avoid the running mercs and weave your way through the burning wreckage of the exploded squad car.

It was supposed to be your day off, dammit! This isn't restful at all!

A quick turn onto the cross street, and then you open up the throttle. Tying the duffle down cost you some time, but it was time well spent if it lets you hit these speeds without an issue.

You do't allow yourself to look at the tablet until you've zigged and zagged for several blocks in an effort to throw off pursuit.

A quick glance shows you a simple streetmap, with a single red dot...

>Near the harbor, deep inside Nepcor Sector (Neighboring Sector, Relationship With Authorities: Hostile)
>Somewhere in the thick of Juptek sector, an unfamiliar area (Access Through Nepcor Sector, Relationship With Authorities: Neutral)
>On a suspiciously familiar building in Vulnex Sector (Neighboring Sector, Relationship With Authorities: Strained)
>In the ruined buildings of the Danger Zone (Access Through Nepcor Sector, Authorities: A Bad Joke)
>Nowhere near Plutonix Sector (Current Sector, Relationship With Authorities: THEY'RE FUCKING CHASING YOU)

>>36322583
>>On a suspiciously familiar building in Vulnex Sector (Neighboring Sector, Relationship With Authorities: Strained)

>>36322583
>On a suspiciously familiar building in Vulnex Sector (Neighboring Sector, Relationship With Authorities: Strained)

>>36322583
>>In the ruined buildings of the Danger Zone (Access Through Nepcor Sector, Authorities: A Bad Joke)

>>36322583
>>Somewhere in the thick of Juptek sector, an unfamiliar area (Access Through Nepcor Sector, Relationship With Authorities: Neutral)

>>36322583
>On a suspiciously familiar building in Vulnex Sector (Neighboring Sector, Relationship With Authorities: Strained)

>>36322583
>Somewhere in the thick of Juptek sector, an unfamiliar area (Access Through Nepcor Sector, Relationship With Authorities: Neutral)

>>36322583
>In the ruined buildings of the Danger Zone (Access Through Nepcor Sector, Authorities: A Bad Joke)

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>>36322583

It's over a building in Vulnex Sector. You can't quite remember why that part of the map looks so familiar, but you do have a lot on your mind right now.

Well, there goes your security deposit on the apartment. And all your tools and spare parts. And the money in your Plutonix Sector public fees account. And probably some things you can't remember off the top of your head right now.

You let out a long sigh.

Good luck ever getting back into the sector anyway. Not that there's going to be anything left here worth coming back for. Your're pretty sure Plutonix will confiscate everything, as payback for running off with their shiny new dig find.

And Thomson's probably unconscious in a pool of his own vomit right now, you think, as you barrel down a straightaway between two rows of high, mouldering buildings, beneath a grim leaden sky.

Then it hits you - he has the perfect alibi, and it fits with his reputation. The info broker's a little bit sharper than you gave him credit for.

You can only hope that his files in Dagon Core were collected with the same careful planning.

Swooping across a wide intersection, you let your eyes sweep across the rare view of the horizon, and catch a glimpse of the skeletal upper stories of the Mausoleum, as the sector inhabitants affectionately term Plutonix HQ, in the distance.

Then the thought strikes - you could deliver the bag to them, and keep living here, maybe even make a good deal for yourself.

>Yeah, that sounds good
>Nah, you've already been paid to transport the package
>Write In

>>36322850
>Write In

Keep our options open for now, mentally keep a note of this place, but keep our eyes out for other places we can lay low.

We need options, going with the first place we see is not smart.

>>36322850
>Nah, you've already been paid to transport the package

>>36322850
>>Nah, you've already been paid to transport the package
>Write In
But the price just skyrocketed

>>36322850
>>Write In
Call Thomson from somewhere, tell him that he's going to have to cover all of the expenses from us being burned in this sector because of his job and getting us set up somewhere new and safe, if not, then the package might not make delivery.

>>36322850
>Nah, you've already been paid to transport the package
but we totally need more cash from this

>>36322923
But we didn't put our phone back together, did we?

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>>36322903
>putting the screws to people who we just saw deploy a combat exoskeleton capable of wading in and out of a secure corp site

That sounds like a horrible idea.

I love it.

I'm all for driving around the Danger Zone while we try to spark a bidding war over this thing, pic very much related.

>>36322942
I guess that would be a problem.

And if we stop long enough to put it together, we're probably fucked.

>>36322987
not so much putting the screws to them, more making sure we're well looked after for this trouble, it's a hell of a lot of inconvenience towards us for this

>>36322942
>>36322987
we can put it together when we get where we're going

>>36322850

Nah, you've already been paid to transport the package. Paid fairly well, at that, although it could always be better, you think, deftly avoiding a heavy hauler trudging along at a snail's pace.

The going's a bit slow on these surface roads, since you have to be careful around intersections, and traffic freezes solid all too often.

Of course, you get around those blockages by lanesplitting or even riding on the wrong side of the road, but either of those could easily backfire. You've had a few close calls already.

However, you're a bit leery of the highways, since they're so easily cut off, and if you get trapped on one, you'd have to jump off.

Sure, you've tried that before, done it successfully too, but you'd prefer not to do it with who-knows-what strapped to the back of your bike.

There could be anything in the bag.

Anything at all.

You've probably go the most valuable single package in the city strapped to your bike right now.

And it might be covered in Seeds, for all you know.

Your blood runs cold at the thought. The merc who retrieved it was wearing a combat exo, and you didn't see any of the others get near it. There's a very real possibility you've already had a lethal dose.

Hell, you might just be spreading it across the sector as you drive. Fuck if you know how much of the stuff is necessary to kick off a full-on plague.

If you thought you were getting in over your head earlier, you can barely see the glow of the surface from your current depth.

Fuck, but you wish you had a working phone. Your backup's stashed somewhere in your messenger bag, but you can't put it together on the go, and you're afraid to stop.

>Stick to the surface streets
>Highways it is
>Write In

2d100, please.

Rolled 81, 81 = 162 (2d100)

>>36323137
>Stick to the surface streets

Rolled 41, 70 = 111 (2d100)

>>36323137
>Stick to the surface streets

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>>36323137

>>36323214
>mfw dem dubs

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>>36323214
Dece.

>>36323214
>Rolled 81, 81
How the hell did you manage that?

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>>36320071
>>36320084
>>36323214
>the doubles are real

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>>36323239
I rolled the dice

Rolled 31, 83 = 114 (2d100)

>>36323137
>>Stick to the surface streets

Rolled 2, 5 = 7 (2d100)

>>36323137
>Stick to the surface streets

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>>36323388

>>36323388
Wow, that's spectacularly fucking awful.

>>36323137

You'll take your chances with the traffic down here. They have their own problems, but the surface streets are at least hard to block.

Well, you admit as you dodge out into opposing traffic to pass a hauler, they're only hard to block intentionally.

The possibility that the package is contaminated with Seeds weights heavily on your mind as you slice through traffic toward the sector's edge. The more you think about it, the more sense the theory makes.

Maybe you should stop and sort that out before you spread the stuff through half the city. Maybe you're just a pawn in a complicated Plutonix plot to spread the plague into other sectors, creating a bigger market for their solution.

Maybe you're overthinking things. After all, there's no real support for the theory, even if it seems all too plausible.

Wait.

Something's wrong.

it's not the sky - that's still a dull gray sliver between the tall buildings, darkening as the sun goes down. It's not the buildings - they're still standing, flashing past in all their drab concrete glory, or lack thereof. It's not the road - that's still a smooth blur under your tires, or as smooth as the road ever is in this sector. It's not your bike - that's still throbbing along between your legs, humming with power.

You glance in your rear-view mirror - nothing strange there. Just haulers and vans you remember passing already, with a few flashing lights in the distance reminding you that the cops are still in pursuit.

Then you look up.

There's a helicopter following you, the noise of its blades barely audible above the roar of your motorcycle's engine and the rushing of the air breaking around your helmet.

>Continue as if nothing is unusual
>Evasive action
>Spray at it with the SMG
>Write In

>>36323576
>dropped my trip

>>36323576
>Evasive action

>>36323576
>>Continue as if nothing is unusual
>Write In
calmly lose it underneath something, double back or go an alternate route when we come out of cover

>>36323576
seconding anon here: >>36323606

>>36323576
>Evasive action

>>36323606
I will change my vote to the write-in, just to get things going.

>>36323576

This isn't a good time to panic. If you act calmly, maybe you'll be able to lose them under an overhang or something.

There's only one problem.

You don't remember any good overhangs between here and the edge of the sector.

However, you might be able to make due with some of the more closely-spaced buildings. You're pretty sure it can't squeeze down some of the really narrow roads after you.

So you start edging toward the side of the road. Not gaining very much ground on any given lane change, but getting closer and closer to the side each time you pass another hauler.

Suddenly, you make a sharp turn into a narrow street, wheels squealing as your bike fights for purchase on the pavement. The helicopter overshoots, and you hear its rotors die away into the distance as you speed down the cramped road, dodging an errant pedestrian.

It's only a matter of time until the helicopter comes back, over the top of the buildings, you realize. You're going to have to act fast.

So you turn, reversing your direction, attracting all kinds of attention. You wonder whether anyone's every come through here on a custom bike before as you look at the excited pedestrians. Hell, there are even a couple of adults holding kids up to see better.

If anyone wants to know which way you went, all they have to do is ask.

And a few seconds later, you realize they won't even have to do that - you can see the red and blue lights flashing on the walls as a squad car turns into the alley, following your tracks.

This was supposed to be your day off, not your day to get bumped off.

>Flee further into the alleys
>Charge the cops head-on
>Bullets, lots of bullets
>Write In

>>36323864
>>Charge the cops head-on
ramp off a cop car, our baby can take it

this anons fallins asleep here, thanks for the thread

>>36323864
This sounds amazing and stupid, lets give it a shot >>36323890

>>36323864
>Charge the cops head-on
we know bike-fu, we'll be alright

>>36323864

You got yourself into this mess by doing crazy things on your bike, and that's how you'll get yourself out.

Well, technically you got into this mess by agreeing to do a job without considering how it might spiral out of control, but that doesn't sound like it would help right now.

The squad car's deafening siren blares down the alley, reflecting back and forth off the hard walls. It's painful even through your helmet, and you see the pedestrians covering their ears.

You crank the throttle and rocket toward the oncoming police cruiser. Do they know how to play chicken?

Maybe so. They've certainly got rule number one, get a lead foot, down solid. You can hear their engine growling down the alley, roaring a challenge to your motorcycle.

The cops check out on rule two, point the car at your opponent, as well. You see pedestrians run for cover, cowering against the alley walls.

But you're the only one following rule zero: only play chicken if you know you're going to win.

Just before impact, you lean back and pour on the speed. The front wheel flies up, landing atop the cruiser, and then the back wheel grips their grille, sending you hurtling forward.

Your bike soars through the air after ramping off the squad car, and you burst out of the alley onto the wide avenue, no helicopter in sight.

Great. That was the plan, after all, even if things got a little complicated in there.

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>>36324059
Fuck yeah!

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>>36324059

You can see the sector edge from here, a badly-defined line that only matters to corp cops who care about the rules, or who need an excuse to stop pursuing and go get another donut.

Of course, you've always known which kind there are more of.

The transition from Plutonix to Vulnex is subtle, barely discernable, but you start seeing more streetlights and less bare concrete walls. More brown brick, too.

And then there's that tang of heavy industry in the back of your throat, a decidedly chemical scent.

You sniff as you barrel down the empty road. The smell seems worse than last time you were here. Is it the sector's smell, or do you have Seeds growing in your sinuses?

Wait, why is the road empty? Your eyes quickly scan your surroundings. Brick buildings, glowing streetlights, even a couple of telephone booths, and some strolling pedestrians.

And a sky that looks more red than gray.

But no haulers, no vans.

Not even a lonely bicyclist, glad to have the road to themselves.

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>>36324154
We're dead.

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>>36324154
That's not ominous at all.

>>36324167
I fucking hope not.

This quest was just getting good damnit.

>>36324176
My hope is that they at least take us alive and rope us in to working for the corp

>>36324167
We better not be. This long update has me scared.

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>>36324154

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>>36324154
Pretty sure I know what's going to happen next.

A cliffhanger.

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>>36324264
no...

>>36324264
Here anon now with music

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XVSRm80WzZk

>>36324154

One second there's nothing in your rear-view mirror.

The next second, there's still nothing in your rear-view mirror, or in front of you.

Huh. You really expected to get jumped any second there. A single suited figure, or an imposing exoskeleton, appearing suddenly in the middle of the street wouldn't have surprised you, and you're not sure which would be more terrifying.

Hell, you're surprised there isn't a high-powered motorcycle chasing you, roaring like a hungry beast looking to have you for dinner.

Another few blocks, during which even the pedestrians dwindle away one by one, and you're thoroughly creeped out.

>Stop in the middle of the road - this is too spooky
>Go flat out - Can't waste this opportunity
>Write In

>>36324352
>>pull over to the side of the road - this is too spooky
but be ready to gun it and floor it out of here

>>36324352
>Turn down a side road and take a less direct, less obvious route - something's wrong here.

>>36324352
>Stop in the middle of the road - this is too spooky
it's probably an ambush

>>36324352
>Stop in the middle of the road
>Take the time to put your backup phone together

>>36324352
>>Go flat out - Can't waste this opportunity
New episode of Twilight Zone or not, we have a job to do.

>>36324352
>>36324363
here, changing to >>36324364

>>36324375
The number one thing you do not do in an ambush is stop...

>>36324352
Yeah >>36324364

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>>36324352

Suddenly, you turn down a narrow side street, startling a flock of pigeons.

It's not much different than the main road, just a little darker and more claustrophobic. The brick walls on each side are closer together, and you see a few more pedestrians walking along. Your sudden appearance seems to startle them - a couple of them bolt for a nearby doorway, and one starts running.

Well, it's strange, maybe even ominous, but definitely not the most threatening thing you've seen today. You roar down tiny, winding streets until concrete turns to cobblestone, and the streetlights are casting more light than the dull red sky, a lone rat racing through a deserted maze.

While it's much slower going, you're still winding your way inexorably toward the dot on your map.

You've come to realize why the area looks so familiar.

>It's the fucking warehouses with that fucking basement
>It's the building Syfer Systems Research is located in

>>36324483
>It's the fucking warehouses with that fucking basement
ohh boy

>>36324483
>It's the fucking warehouses with that fucking basement

>>36324483
>It's the fucking warehouses with that fucking basement

>>36324483
>>It's the fucking warehouses with that fucking basement

>>36324483

The dot's on one of those fucking warehouses in the Korinyx compound. That's why the map looks so familiar. It should, considering the time and effort you put into getting familiar with the place's layout.

You've still got a ways to go before you reach it, especially if you stick to the back alleys like this. Bouncing over the slightly uneven cobblestone pavers wasn't fun to begin with, and it's just getting worse as you go on.

This is the longest time you can ever remember going in the city without seeing another human, and it's pretty damn spooky.

You really wish you knew what the hell's going on. This is beginning to feel more and more like a giant game of blind man's bluff every second, and you're getting awfully tired of being blind.

>Keep sticking to the backstreets - Gotta go discreet
>Back on the main streets - Gotta go fast
>Stop and put together your backup phone
>Write In

>>36324596
>Stop and put together your backup phone
>Back on the main streets - Gotta go fast

>>36324596
>Stop and put together your backup phone
Cut the engine and push the bike a distance to a hiding spot, but always keep an eye and an ear out.

>>36324596
>Back on the main streets - Gotta go fast
Jesus mang, do you even sleep HD?

>>36324596
>>Stop and put together your backup phone

>>36324596

You finally stop the bike, and then push it good distance, glad for a chance to stretch your legs, and a reprieve from the jolting ride over the uneven pavers.

Once you reach a likely looking alcove, you put down the kickstand and swing your messenger bag around to your front. Assembling your backup phone isn't a long or complicated process, as long as you're not zooming along at high speeds while you try to do it.

Leaning back against the bricks of an alley wall, however, is a completely different (and much easier) proposition, even while keeping an eye out for anyone trying to sneak up on you.

The most difficult part is waiting for it to connect to the network before you can use it.

When you finally have everything in order, you mount back up on your bike and head for the nearest main road.

>Who do you call?

>>36324794
>Mom
Who is Beth and why did we freak out that she called?

>>36324794
Wonder if Thomson's awake by now?

If it's a smartphone, can we look up news feeds for the past few hours, and any mentions of unusual activities in this area trending over social media?

>>36324794
Thomson

>>36324794
ghostb-

err, thomson, yeah

>>36324818
>>36324833
>>36324867
Ask about what the fuck we've been dragged in to?

>>36324894
more like what the fuck is going on here

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>>36324794

"Thomson?" you ask, after the phone stops ringing.

"Nah," a voice answers, one you don't quite recognize, "Thomson's unavailable right now. Indisposed. Oh, don't worry, he'll be fully disposed of shortly."

"Who the hell are you?" you ask, "and what the fuck's going on?"

"Oh, me?" the voice answers, and you swear you've heard it before somewhere, "I'm nobody important. As to what's going on, well, have you ever heard of an old siege tactic where attackers would catapult plague dead over the wall into an enemy city?" he pauses, and when he starts back up you're almost sure it's Paul, "we've moved on to using motorcycles and deception instead of catapults, and there really aren't that many walls anymore, but the end result's the same. Have a nice life, what's left of it."

>Rage
>RAGE
>FUCKING DROPPED

>>36324967
>RAGE

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>>36324967
>My brain is too full of fuck to rage.
>No, seriously, that tells me two things: Jack, and Shit. What the actual fuck is going on?

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>>36324967

>>36324967
>Call his bluff

>>36324967
>break down
this is way too soon this is a day off
we want to live, fuck!
there must be a remedy... yeah, we heard about one, we might not be completely fucked

>>36324967
nice try anon

>>36324967
Just stop, breathe. He could be bullshitting us, but I doubt it.
One of the Corps have the cure for nanomachines. We should get on their cock as soon as possible.

>>36324967
...Is that you HD?

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>>36325044

>>36324967
Rock Quest was 10 threads.

...Fuck. He's doing it again.

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>>36325044
>yfw Haiku just dropped his trip again

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>>36324794

It's nice to have a phone again, to be connected. Of course, since this is your backup, it's one of the dumbest (and therefore most reliable) phones money can buy.

You wonder if it would have held out better against the attack earlier. Hell, you're still wondering about what that attack actually was. Multiple connections from Eliza's corp to your phone, piggybacking off her call, each using a permutation of her identity files? That would explain the names, but raises the question of whether Eliza was complicit.

That's a problem for another day, though, you think as you turn onto a wide, empty street. Right now, you just want to know what the fuck's going on.

So you dial Thomson, who got you into this particular mess, and wait while the phone rings once, twice, three times.

"Thomson?" you ask, after it finally stops ringing.

"Hello?" a voice answers. A woman, sounds kinda familiar, "Thomson's not well right now, hun. Can a take a message?"

Oh, it's probably Sadie. Well, at least she's still alive.

>Ask more pointedly about Thomson's condition
>Ask about the restaurant, check to see if the staff and customers are fine
>Hang up and call someone who knows more than you do

>>36324967
>that'snotok.jpg

>>36325100
I was worried.
but now I'm flooded with joy and relief!
>Hang up and call someone who knows more than you do (Davey)

>>36325100
>Ask more pointedly about Thomson's condition
>Get on with the op

>>36325100
something tells me that anon post was you trolling us

>Hang up and call someone who knows more than you do
paul or the bookstore? we need info about what's going on here

>>36325100
>Explain that he asked you to do an urgent job, and that you need to consult him on it as soon as possible, so if he's not TOO out of it, could she please put him on the phone

>>36325100
>>Ask more pointedly about Thomson's condition
Tell her to kick his butt and get on the phone.

>>36325100
>Ask about the restaurant, check to see if the staff and customers are fine
to chek if this is Sadie

>>36325373
thats a good idea anon butI don't think we know enough about sadies.

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>>36325100

That's extremely convenient for him, isn't it? Stick you with a job like this, then fuck himself up enough that you can't ask any awkward questions.

"Is he unconscious?" you ask, opening the throttle wider on the clear road, "I need to talk to him urgently. Kick him awake if you need to."

"I'm afraid it's going to be a while before you can do that, dearie," she tells you, "he's still out, and I think the police are about to take him away."

Well, good riddance. "Thanks for your help," you say before you hang up. You wish you had more time for politeness, but the empty streets are only getting more unsettling as you drive along.

Luckily, Thomson's not the only info broker you know. You dial the bookstore, and wait impatiently as it rings once, twice.

"Hello?" Paul answers, "you've reached an emergency shelter. How may I assist you?"

"Paul," you say, "This is Laura. What the fuck is going on here?"

"They said there was a biological emergency," he tells you, in a tone that suggests he thinks nothing of the sort, "and everyone should get off the street. It's probably just a ploy to keep people off the streets because the corps are up to something under the table. Are you out there? What's going on?"

>Paul, I am the biological emergency
>Do you know who controls the warehouses I raided now?
>Could you help me auction off something to the megas?
>I'm looking for some information on an Eliza Messner

>>36325560
>Do you know who controls the warehouses I raided now?
Use: ">Paul, I am the biological emergency" as potential payment for the info

>>36325560

>Do you know who controls the warehouses I raided now?

>>36325560
>Do you know who controls the warehouses I raided now?

>>36325560
>>Do you know who controls the warehouses I raided now?

>>36325560
>META POST

I think that's all I've got in me today.

It's been fun. Hope you enjoyed it.

Continuation eventually, although I might be tied up for most of the holiday season.

Twitter(for quest news, not my political views): https://twitter.com/HaikuDeluge

Archive: http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/archive.html?tags=Cyberpunk%20Motorcycle%20Courier%20Quest

Questions (and statements, anything you want me to see regarding the quest): http://ask.fm/haikudeluge


SESSION'S STATS:
Phone Numbers Obtained: Thomson, Eliza
Delivery Completed: N/A, progress on Biohazard?!?
Bonus Objectives Fulfilled: Look, You've Got A Problem; Catching Up With A Friend; Even On My Day Off II; MAXIMUM OVERPANIC; Just In Time; Got Left Holding The Bag; JobJobJobJobJob; The World Is Your Ramp; The Gnawing Emptiness
Bonus Objectives Missed: It's My Day Off, I'm Going To Do What I Want; Opera Tickets; Who Moved My Cheese?; A River In Egypt; Botched Operation; Carry Your Own Damn Bag; Wiping The Smile Off Her Face; (a ton of potential ones that branch from where the bag's destination was); Returning What You Didn't Steal; Limited Access Means No Access; Spray & Pray

LIST OF KNOWN PHONE NUMBERS:
Dr. Morrison, Ryan, Greer (deceased), Alice, Paul, The Bookstore, Arty

>>36325951
thanks for running

>>36325951
Thanks for running, man. Great thread.

>>36325951
thanks mang, now get some sleep

Okay does anyone have Ideas on what these missed Objectives might be?
I'm Going To Do What I Want
Who Moved My Cheese?
A River In Egypt
Botched Operation
Limited Access Means No Access

>>36328748
> It's My Day Off, I'm Going To Do What I Want
Fuck doing jerbs

>Who Moved My Cheese?
Apartment was ransacked while we were out

>A River In Egypt
The Nile, De Nile, Denial

Probably either denying that our phone was hacked, or that Eliza could have had anything to do with it

>Botched Operation
Not being operator enough

>Limited Access Means No Access
Trapped on the highway

>>36329002
..... Our place was ransaced? can you link that post I think I missed that one.

>>36329098
Those were the possible ones, so none of those happened.

Shits fucked yo.

>>36329002
>A River In Egypt
>The Nile, De Nile, Denial

Crafty. Well done anon.

>>36330404
Admitteldy that's a pretty old joke.

>>36320026
Can someone explain what happened here?

>>36333566
The call was being monitored and hacked to pinpoint our location. Somebody messed up however, which lead us to notice that it was happenings time. So we bailed.

As a side note, I feel Eliza's call was bit too conveniently timed, so she knew what was going down. I think we're going to do something unreasonable when we next see her.

>>36334666
No need to do something reckless, but best to be on our guard.

So are we infected with the Seeds (presumably from the duffle bag), or are we not?

I want to know if I need to prepare my heart for Laura's agonizing death, and the fact that we might have just spread the stuff halfway over another sector.

>>36336128
>So are we infected with the Seeds (presumably from the duffle bag), or are we not?
We do not know, probably not.

>>36336128
Arty did tell us he thought the vault would be full of seeds, and HD gave us a good number of chances to back out.

We might be fucked.