>>36798872
>"First off - thanks. But it'd be nice if I were a little less in the dark."
>Hang up

>>36798872
>Write In
"I think we should have a little chat."
>Hang up

>>36798872
>META POST
>LINKS

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

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

%20Courier%20Quest

Megacorps & Locations: http://pastebin.com/e0ZjmVJL
(More info pastebins should come eventually. There are too many moving parts to keep track of otherwise.)

Questions: http://ask.fm/haikudeluge

>LAST SESSION'S STATS:
PROFESSIONAL RANKING: Accounted
BONUS OBJECTIVES CLEARED: Up To Speed; Catching Up With A Friend II; Behind A Thousand Proxies; Rumors Of My Demise I; The Soft Truth; Asking The Hard Questions II; Raynard; What Is Truth?; Good Guest; Noncommittal; Nobody Cared Who I Was Until I Put On The Mask; Biohazard Rider I; Asking The Important Questions
STYLE POINTS: 1800

OVERALL RANKING: ACCOUNTED ARBITRAGE ANNIHILATION


TOTAL STYLE POINTS: 9000 (but not over)

>>36798872
>"How's the kid doing?"

>>36798872
"thanks for saving my ass, i guess.
is the kid ok?"

>>36798962
This, along with inquiries into young Phillips(?) health.

File: The Red Phone.jpg (25 KB, 600x374)

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>>36798872

"I think we should have a little chat," you tell the deadness at the other end of the line, "I'm thankful for you help, sure, but it'd be nice to be a little less in the dark. I'd at least like to know how the kid's doing."

You wait for a couple of seconds, in case it's some sort of call screening.

Nothing.

Hanging up, you place the phone on the table in front of you and lay your head on folded arms. The flannel pajamas have the clean smell of a recent washing, but you can smell your own sweat too - it's unseasonably hot out today.

You're a little surprised that R.Q. didn't say anything. Sure, corp types like calling people more than they like being called, but usually once they've done a favor, they don't' waste time telling you what they're looking for in return.

This is a bit beyond your experience so far. You feel like you've suddenly moved into an entirely new playing field, and nobody's bothered to tell you the rules.

Hell, nobody's even told you what game you're playing, and your only clue to your 'team' is the color of your phone.

>Make another call [Specify Contact]
>Time to hit the road

Contacts List: R.Q., Concierge, Ryan, Paul, Arty, Eliza, Thomson, Dr. Morrison, Greer (Deceased), Alice, Raynard

>>36799463
>>Make another call [Specify Contact]
Greer.

>>36799463
>Paul

>>36799463
>Make another call [Specify Contact]
Concierge
we have to know where to go, right?

>>36799474
i know that's really tempting, but that's probably a bad idea
at best you'll end up on a dead line, at worse you'll bother someone batshit insane

>>36799463
>Time to hit the road

>>36799463
>Make another call
Concierge

>>36799463
>META POST

For the record, you have unanswered messages from Paul (dinner invitation), Arty (something along similar lines), and Thomson (half-assed apology).

>>36799463
>>Make another call [Specify Contact]
Paul

>>36799463
>>Make another call [Specify Contact]
>Dr. Morrison
She handled our case when we were stage 3 with the nanoplauge right? That means she also worked on the kid. She'd know how he's doing.

>>36799463
>Ryan

This is a legacy from a joke in the first thread. I want to see OP have to write it.

>>36799463
>>Make another call [Specify Contact]
Paul

>>36799463
>>36799573
you make a good point, I'll back it.
Ignore >>36799503

>>36799463
>Make another call [Ryan]

If we lunch with him or something, we could still go out with one of the others for dinner.

>>36799463
yeah, we should probably call Ryan

>>36799463
Paul

>People want to get laid instead of get more details about what happened to Laura

>>36799860
But we already have our bike anon.

>>36799463

You wonder about calling Greer's number, but Alice would just have to answer it, and be reminded about her colleague's death again. That's not good service for a client.

Then there's Paul's invitation. Dinner with him would probably be pretty nice - an info broker isn't usually strapped for cash, and he'd probably know something about what's been going on. But if he's been waiting weeks for a response, what's a few more hours, or another day?

You take another look through the list as a fly buzzes lazily around the hanging light. The 'Concierge' entry looks interesting, but don't they usually do things for people? Calling into an extremely professional 'what do you require today?' without an actual request would be a bit awkward.

Then Ryan's name catches your eye. He's one of the live-in security guards at the building where you first met Dr. Morrison, right?

He's probably seen things. And he seemed like a pretty fun guy in his own right.

You dial before you can second-guess yourself. And hit the proxy wall out on general principles.

Two rings.

Three.

"Hello?" you hear from the other end, slightly muffled or groggy or something. Sounds like what you remember of Ryan's voice, though. Maybe it's just a bad connection, "who are you, and what do ya want?"

>Write in

>>36799918
Hey babe, you free tonight?

>>36799918
make a joke about delivering something to him

>>36799918
Fuck i need to go reread the first thread

>>36799918
"How is your love life?"

>>36799918
Sex life any better?

>>36799918
"Morning sunshine, is your sex life any better?"

>>36799974
Seconded. Not to start overusing it again, but we DID use it with him.

>>36799918
I'm the courier, and I want to know if you're free today.

>>36799952
Pretty sure he was on the night shift, so we'd have better luck doing something during the day.

>>36799918

"So," you ask innocently, laying on the tabletop in your pajamas, "how's your sex life?"

Was that a tool you just heard drop in the workshop? Probably nothing.

"God damn," Ryan says, and you hear a rustling noise, probably sheets, "you actually called. Sex life is pretty bad right now. Be a lot better if I got off on shooting fuckers. How's yours?"

"I've got a motorcycle," you deadpan, "been doing a lot of shooting lately?"

"If I'd been doing it with my other gun," he says, and you can almost hear his smile, "I'd have my own little army by now. Everything's been pretty crazy recently, but you'd know all about that."

Yeah, you would, unless it's gotten worse since you went down.

>How crazy?
>Let's talk about it over lunch or something
>Well, glad to hear your life's not boring
>Write In

>>36800178
>How crazy?

>>36800178
>How crazy?
>You free to hook up sometime soon?

>>36800178
>How crazy?
>Let's talk about it over lunch or something

>>36800178
>How crazy?

>>36800178
>Let's talk about it over lunch or something

>>36800178
>Let's talk about it over lunch or something

>>36800178
>>Let's talk about it over lunch or something

>>36800178
>>How crazy?
>>Let's talk about it over lunch or something

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>>36800178

"How crazy?" you ask, sitting up in the metal chair again, "too crazy to talk about over the phone?"

"Oh yeah," Ryan says, "definitely. Want to meet up somewhere for lunch?"

"Sure," you tell him. It's not like you have much to do today, other than go to the bank for a new one-time set and get caught up.

And it seems like Ryan can catch you up. And he won't charge for it, like an info broker might have.

He gives you the address of some favored restaurant of his in Juptek sector, and the two of you agree to meet there in about an hour or and a half.

As you hang up and prepare to slide the phone into your pocket, you feel the flannel under your hand, and realize that you're going to need something more protective than pajamas, especially if you're going riding.

Well, there's only one person around to ask about it, so you pad off down the linoleum of the corridor to talk to Matt. The clicking of a ratchet gives him away.

You find him working under one of the sports cars, tightening a bolt, and ask him.

"Oh," he says, turning to you and wiping sweat off his brow with the back of a gloved hand, "yeah, they left a set of riding gear," he finishes, gesturing at a folded pile resting underneath a helmet on one of the shelves.

Even from across the room, you can tell they're all a coordinated:

>Ballistic Black
>Raging Red
>Withering White
>Pattern of Black, Red, and White

META VOTE:

>I want point-buy upgrades and stats in this quest
>Oh, hell no

>>36800639
>>Raging Red
If we're going on a date.

>I want point-buy upgrades and stats in this quest

>>36800639
>>Raging Red
>>Oh, hell no

>>36800639
>Raging Red

Depends on what exactly the stats and upgrades would do

>>36800639
>Raging Red
>I want point-buy upgrades and stats in this quest

>>36800639
>Ballistic Black

>I'd be happy with eather.

>>36800639
>Ballistic Black
Sleek and professional.
>Oh, hell no
Im fine with how things have been handled so far. Choose for yourself.

>>36800639
>Ballistic Black
>I want point-buy upgrades and stats in this quest

File: zoey has startled the witch.jpg (241 KB, 600x750)

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>Withering White

>We're the biohazard rider.

>>36800639
>Raging Red
>Oh, hell no

File: Withering White.jpg (23 KB, 460x300)

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>>36800639
There's really not another viable choice here.

>>36800639
>Raging Red
>Oh, hell no

>>36800795
God damn, Laura is FLAT

>>36800639
>Ballistic Black

>Oh, hell no
I prefer it with a focus on narrative over gameplay

>>36800795

>Withering White

Some say, she's actually dead... But the Grim Reaper is too scared to tell her... All we know is she’s called the Biohazard Rider!

Some say she is illegal in 3 megacorp districts , and she blinks this way [sideways]. All we know is she’s called the Biohazard Rider!

Some say she naturally faces magnetic north, and that all of her legs are hydraulic... All we know is she’s called the Biohazard Rider!

>>36800639
>>Pattern of Black, Red, and White

>>36800915
ok, this is just amusing, but white stands out too much.

Shame we cant get a chameleon suit that can change between several colours and patterns.

>>36800639
>>I want point-buy upgrades and stats in this quest
No stats but upgrades are a good thing and are reaslistic in a capitalist economy

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>>36800956
>implying that isn't one of the point buy options

File: Raging Red.jpg (105 KB, 1000x1000)

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>>36800639

Raging Red.

You really can't call the color anything else. It looks and almost feels like fine, tough leather, but you're sure it's synthetic, and you can feel the hardened bulletproof panels.

Almost makes up for the zippers. Sure, having pockets is nice, but you're not sure what the point of a couple of these zippers even is.

Maybe that's just the price you pay for being in style, you think as you grab the gear, which is lighter than you'd expected, and the helmet, a plain red affair with a black-tinted chunk of what you hope is bulletproof Plexiglas in front.

There's even a pair of boots, very close in style to the ones you're used to wearing.

The spare room seems like the best place to change. Luckily, it has a lock, although Matt probably wouldn't barge in on you, not while he has cars to keep him occupied.

After you strip the pajamas off, you take some time to check yourself out. You've got some ugly scars now, reminders of the nanoplague infection, and whatever surgery they did to remove it.

Unusually susceptible to the Seeds, dammit. Terrible luck.

Changing in the spare room doesn't take much time. Everything fits surprisingly well, until you remember that they had all the time in the world to measure you for the suit while you were out.

You're not surprised anymore, but it still fits well. Loose enough to move well in, not loose enough to bag or snag.

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>>36801342

"Looks pretty sweet," Matt says when you step back into his workshop, suited up with the helmet under one arm, "that color's good on you."

"Thanks," you tell him as you stride toward your bike, "but I didn't have much of a choice about it."

"Life's like that," he offers, walking toward a panel of switches on the wall, probably controls for the garage's doors, "oh, it slipped my mind earlier, but I did make a modification to your bike. Just couldn't help myself."

>Nitrous Boost - For when you gotta go fast.
>Signal Jamming - For when you gotta go snowy
>Reinforced Frame - For when you gotta go hard.
>Economy Tuning - For when you gotta go long

(Pick only 1.)

Reinforced Frame, should come in handy since we keep feeding twats our front wheel.

>>36801395
>Signal Jamming - For when you gotta go snowy

>>36801395
>Reinforced Frame - For when you gotta go hard.

>>36801395
>>Reinforced Frame - For when you gotta go hard.
Because wheel to the face is always an adequate solution.

>>36801395
>"but I didn't have much of a choice about it."
Kek
>Reinforced Frame - For when you gotta go hard.

>>36801395
>Reinforced Frame
when you're killing Assets with your front tire, accept no substitutes.

>>36801395
>Reinforced Frame - For when you gotta go hard.
We use our bike like a battering ram allot.

Next upgrade is tire spikes?

>>36801395
>Nitrous Boost - For when you gotta go fast.

>>36801395
>Reinforced Frame - For when you gotta go hard.
to roll on even more stuff

>>36801395
>>Reinforced Frame - For when you gotta go hard.
If we're gonna smash bastards in the face with our bike, it's gotta be hard

>>36801395
>>Signal Jamming - For when you gotta go snowy

>>36801395
>Reinforced Frame - For when you gotta go hard.

>>36801395

"Reinforced the frame while I was putting it back together," he says, "and put some bulletproof fairings on," he finishes, gesturing at the bike's brilliant red armor.

Well, you do end up ramming into things a lot.

Intentionally.

The reinforced frame will definitely help with that, and the bulletproof fairings, which, you note, match the color of your new riding gear, will make close encounters of the cop kind even less stressful.

"Thanks," you tell him, as you wheel your bike off the stand, "looks like you've done a fine job."

"Anytime," he says, as he pushes a button and the door begins to rise, "and if you need anything else, just bring it back to me. Oh," he interjects as you put your helmet on, "before I forget, you've still got a couple weeks room and board paid for here."

He pulls out a key and tosses it to you. "That'll get you in," he tells you as you mount your bike, "have a good ride."

"Have fun with the cars," you tell him over you shoulder as you ride out of the garage.

It's great to be out on the street again. Matt's garage is in the bottom story of a multi-floor office building, a couple of rolling sectioned steel doors with a stenciled sign on them its only distinguishing features.

You note the position down on your map. The helmet functions much like your old one did, and you're getting used to the differences quickly. Taking a closer look, you realize that you're in Juptek Sector, only a few blocks away from the address Ryan gave you.

You've got plenty of time, and your bank probably has a nearby branch.

>Get to the meeting spot early
>Joyride down the streets
>Swing by the bank and get a new one-time set
>Write In

>>36802188
>Swing by the bank and get a new one-time set

>>36802188
>Swing by the bank and get a new one-time set

>>36802188
>Swing by the bank and get a new one-time set

>>36802188
>Joyride down the streets
>Swing by the bank and get a new one-time set

>>36802188
>Swing by the bank and get a new one-time set

>>36802188
>>Joyride down the streets
>>Swing by the bank and get a new one-time set

>>36802188
>Swing by the bank and get a new one-time set

>>36802188
>>Swing by the bank and get a new one-time set
Also, depending on how much rent is, I'd say we try and keep on living at Matt's. Always a good thing to keep near a fellow mechanic and he seems like a pretty cool guy.

Not at all suggesting this because he's hot and probably vehicle-sexual as well.

>>36802188
>>Swing by the bank and get a new one-time set

>>36802188

Of course, just swinging by the bank would be boring, and insulting to your revitalized bike.

You owe it one good run at least.

Throttle open wide, you tear down the avenue, new motorcycle leathers breaking through the wind. You lean forward against your throbbing mount, cutting wind resistance for even higher speed. The blast of air feels wonderful, pushing away the heat of the high sun.

Isn't it supposed to be winter?

Midday isn't the highest-traffic time, even in Juptek Sector, but there are still enough vehicles on the roads to make things interesting. Lanesplitting between two haulers still makes your heart race - a twitch from either driver, and you could be crushed.

Sidewalks and office building blast past. It's exhilirating. the speed, the fast response of your ride, the eye-catching figure you know you must make in your crimson riding clothes and matching bike.

But, if you're going to be living here for any length of time, it's best to not get on terrible terms with the cops. You round a corner and reign it it, meandering sedately down the street outside your bank's local office.

Ground floor, next to a corner store. Two cameras out front, bars in the windows.

You idle to a stop, dismount, and chain your bike to a bent bollard.

The helmet goes under your left arm before you pass under the two obvious cameras bolted to the building's concrete front. Banks don't take kindly to masks, and their guards are usually 'shoot first, maybe ask a question or two after the firefight' types.

File: A Comforting Mural.jpg (177 KB, 488x320)

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>>36802943

You walk in under the hidden third camera, probably thermal, maybe something more exotic.

Ice cream if you could tell him every camera that had caught the two of you on a walk, a grown-up scoop if you told him about the hidden ones too. He always made the same stupid joke about the reflection off his bald head blinding any surveillance directed his way.

Yeah, well, it didn't do Jack shit against the toughs that beat him to death in that bar fight.

Was he actually ever any good, or was it all just talk?

The bank is almost empty - a teller, a couple of guards, and five drones racked on the concrete wall to your right, resting in their charging stations. No other customers.

The concrete wall to your left is a mural, a fanciful interpretation of an old style credit card, with a tangle of unidentifiable things, maybe tentacles or feathers, in the center, and some initials that might have been the artist's on it instead of a name. You don't remember seeing one in the branch you usually use.

You stride toward the teller, flanked by the drones and the creepy reminder of past transfer methods. He's stashed behind thick bulletproof glass. The guards are lounging in a corner, leaning against the cool concrete wall.

You catch a glimpse of augmented hands clashing in a heavy metal game of rock paper scissors.

"What can I do for you today, ma'am?" the teller asks.

>Write In

I need to do a check on >our old bank account
and make a withdrawal for S2000.00

new guns don't buy themselves

>>36803221
Did our new employers/owners not give us a gun?

>>36803167
check account balance and renew that cellphone thing

>>36803167
We probably just need to hook our phone to the back and check our account balance

>>36803167
I need a new one-time set

I'm just waiting for MOTORCYCLE DEATHRACE 9001.

>>36803583
It'll be glorious

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>>36803167

"I need to check my account balance and get a new one-time set," you tell him. He's young, maybe working the bank as a part time job, but his smile's friendly.

"Sure thing, ma'am," he tells you, "we'll need to do your biometrics, though," he finishes, waving a hand toward a station set in the bulletproof window.

That makes your blood run a little cold, but you step toward the station anyway. You have no idea how much of you information's the same since your extensive treatment.

"If you could allow the machine to gaze deeply into your soul," he begins, but a glare from you shuts him down before he can really get going, "retinal scan first, ma'am."

You set your chin on the resting bar, and try to keep your eyes steady for what seems like an eternity.

Finally, he moves on to fingerprints, hand geometry, subsurface blood vessel configuration, and the rest. You could swear he's putting you through every test you had to go through to register for the account.

Then he gets on the phone with someone, backing away from the bulletproof glass wall so you can't hear even his side of the conversation.

You can't hear the clanging of augmented rock-paper-scissors either, and a quick glance to the room corner shows that the guards aren't leaning there anymore.

They're probably behind you, cutting you off from the exit.

But you haven't heard the drones yet, so there's still hope.

And the weight of the SMG zipped into your new jacket is comforting.

>Shootout time
>Ask what's going on
>Make a break for it
>Back into a corner
>Write In

1d100, please.

Rolled 98 (1d100)

>>36803991

Rolled 33 (1d100)

>>36803991
>>Make a break for it

>>36804040
Huh, i rolled well. sweet.

Rolled 16 (1d100)

>>36803991
>Ask what's going on

On >>36804040's roll, with double 40s and a 98, this'll probably result in us having won a cruise.

Rolled 19 (1d100)

>>36803991
>Ask what's going on

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>>36803991
Calmly ask if there is a problem.

>>36803991
>>Ask what's going on
Si vis pacem, para bellum

>>36803991
>Ask what's going on

>>36803991
>Ask what's going on

>>36803991

"Is there some sort of problem?" you ask, trying to keep your voice calm. It's your only good option - the augmented guards could probably crush your bones with their bare hands, and, while you can run an isolated drone over, you don't have your bike and these drones will be getting fed telemetry from every camera in the room.

"Oh," the young teller says, flustered, at the window again, one hand over the phone's mouthpiece, "your readings are really weird."

Great. You hadn't thought much about the biometric checks - they're standard procedure for getting a new one-time set, but usually only one or two. Getting the full battery did tip you off that there was something wrong, and you can only begin to imagine what might be showing up on their scans now.

"How so?" you ask, trying to stay casual. There's no point in panicking.

"Your iris scan is strange," he tells you, actually fairly collected for a boy his age, "and your subsurface blood vessels don't look like what we've got, and there's some odd scarring on your -"

He's obviously cut off by someone on the other end answering his call, and retreats away from the window to have his conversation.

What did they do to you? You'd never heard of anyone surviving the nanoplague before, so it must have been radical, radical enough to disrupt several of your biometric readings.

If they've augmented you, you're going to take them down, fancy phone or no fancy phone. You're proud of being all-natural.

You check the time. Still not late for your date with Ryan, at least.

>Write in a topic to think about while killing time

>>36804589
About what they could have done to you while you were under and if they did the same to the kid.

>>36804589
wonder were we will move to when we set up, are we going to enter that race since it was suggested? what else are the nanoplauge runner rumors? Davey will probably know.

>>36804589
Think about what Jack would have done in this situation

>>36804589
Plan how to go about figuring what they did to you.

>>36804589
Think about the kid, did they do to him what they did to you?

>>36804589
Think about Bike in a lewd way

>>36804589
the kid?

>>36804743
>>36804589
This

>>36804743
>>36804589
Seconding

>>36804589
"So, how is your sex life?"

>>36804589

Well, the last job certainly did a number on your life. A new place, a new-ish bike, new riding gear, and what you hope isn't a new body. You're pretty sure they can't do that.

Yet.

Of course, you know that whatever they did do scarred you extensively. It sounds barbaric, but the only procedure you can think of is them digging out every pocket of the seeds, and all the carbon shards. That would explain all the scarring, and even some reshuffling of the blood vessels under your skin.

No wonder it took so long. Your bank account's probably drained almost dry, after an impossible treatment like that.

But you're still alive.

You wonder how Phillip's doing, while you idly examine the wall mural. He wasn't exposed as long as you were, and you're particularly susceptible to the nanoplague.

Maybe he's alright, or at least only in massive debt, instead of dead.

Of course, you could look up a doctor to try and figure out what they did to you. You've probably got a business card for one saved somewhere.

Hopefully they migrated it over to the new phone with the rest of your stuff.

"Ma'am?" you hear from the other side of the glass. The teller's signalling you, so you walk back over.

"They've okayed your biometric data," he tells you, "since 'two out of three ain't bad', as they put it. And they saved the new scans, so you shouldn't run into this problem again."

"Great," you tell him, and you mean it.

>>36805092
In before we have a tracking chip in us

>>36805134
Probably flagged our benefactor and they did some damage control.

>>36805092

He's quick and efficient about copying the one-time set to your phone. It's a file of encryption mechanisms, each one different from the last. Only your phone and the bank have them, and a separate pair is used for every transaction. Even if someone listens in and breaks the encryption on one transaction, it won't do them any good. The same cipher can't be used twice.

At least, that's how you think it works. You've been told it's the only reason banking can still be done in an age where every connection is probably tapped.

Of course, it only really works for banking, since each transaction is time-sensitive, and isn't an important secret by itself.

By the time you're done reviewing your knowledge of the system, he's given you your phone back, displaying a ledger of your account.

It isn't pretty.

Each expense is meticulously documented - per hour rates for doctors and staff, drugs measured by the gram, equipment down to the scalpel blade.

Every one of them another drop (or gallon) of blood leaking from your hemorrhaging account.

When all's said and done, you're left with less than a tenth of your former wealth, years of work gone up in smoke.

Well, at least you're not in debt.

>Write in something to say to the teller
>Leave for the date with Ryan
>Write In

>>36805223
>Leave for the date with Ryan

>>36805223
>Leave for the date with Ryan

>>36805223
>Write in something to say to the teller
>"whats up with the creepy Mural?"

I'm looking at a multi-hour commitment coming up.

I should be back within the next six hours.

Hope you're enjoying it.

>>36805263
I always do, HD! Have fun!

>>36805223
>Leave for the date with Ryan

>>36805263
i am, thanks

>>36805223
>>Leave for the date with Ryan
Also, time to start thinking what
> Our Benfactors
will want besides money.

>>36805223
>Leave for the date with Ryan
Shouldn't medical be covered by whoever employed us at the time? We need to cash in on some insurance money.

>>36805263
I'll probably be gone by then. Thanks for running Haiku, always love these threads.

>>36805263
Sure am, looking forward to the rest of this thread.

>>36805413
Freelancers don't get benefits.

>>36805623
Couriers need to unionize

>>36805661
They're too busy competing with each other to see who can go faster.

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Soooo. How big is the cash prize for this Race?

>>36806365
Big enough to not be worth the trouble, hopefully.

>>36806388
Come on, it'll be a lot of fun

>>36806388
We're gonna need the cash.
>one way or another we're gonna do this thing.

>>36806446
.....I'm going to screen cap what you just said.

>>36806470
We can do other jobs.

>>36806587
Well, fun for me is not necessarily fun for you. As long as the story goes to interesting places and unfolds in interesting ways I find enjoyment in it, regardless of results to the characters in it.

>>36806724
Oh that kind of fun.

>>36806724
Your fun a shit.

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>>36807838
Your Waifu a shit.

>>36808569
WHAT DID YOU SAY ABOUT MY BIKE?!

Nah hes a husbando

>>36808977
My sibling of African descent

>>36805223

"So what's with the creepy mural?" you ask the young teller, gesturing at the painting on the wall. It's obviously been done directly on the unfinished concrete, in a fashion that reminds you of the better graffiti you've seen in the city.

"Well," the teller begins, "what I've heard is that there was a graffiti artist who did pieces about the evils of money or something like that, usually near banks, or on their front. One of the board members tracked him down, and sold the rest of the board on the idea of murals to decorate the bank branches," he tells you with a smile, "so once he got it in writing, he let the graffiti artist loose on the inside of the banks. The other board members were hopping mad, but they'd already signed the contract and didn't want to lose face. Some think it was a joke, the man himself apparently said it was to deter bank robbers by reminding them of all the evil they were going to take off our hands."

"That's quite the story," you say to the smiling kid, tucking your phone into one of your jacket pockets. He's no more than sixteen, you'd judge - it's the goofy grin that really settles it for you.

"Sure is," he says, "well, have a good day and thanks for your business!"

You can feel the eyes of the guards on you as you turn to walk out of the bank, and idly wonder who won the rock-paper-scissors game, or what they were playing for.

But neither of them makes a move, and you make it out of the bank in perfect condition, if slightly rattled. The sun blazes down on the avenue as you walk back to your bike, shining an angry red in the bright light.

It's still chained securely to the bent bollard, as you left it. A few flakes fall from the yellow paint on the metal post as you unhitch your steed.

Only a few minutes until you need to meet up with Ryan at a place you're sure from the name is a...

>Dive Bar
>Noodle Bar
>Coffee Shop
>Sidewalk Cafe
>Write In

>>36810133
>Noodle Bar

>>36810133
>Noodle Bar

>>36810133
>Noodle Bar

>>36810133
>Noodle Bar

>>36810133
>>36810164
changing this to burger joint. I want burgers.

>>36810133
Mmmmmmmmm... Burgers
>Burger Jointn

>>36810133
>Burger Joint

>>36810297
>>36810218
>>36810310
Backing burger joint.

>>36810218
>Burger Joint

>>36810133

'Greased Lightning' they call it. The name baffled you until you saw the place, glorying in a neon sign featuring a lightning bolt between two buns.

Well, there's no putting too fine a point on this one.

It's a burger joint.

Greasy meat between greasy fried buns served next to greasy fries on a greasy plate, best eaten hot before the grease congeals.

You can almost feel your arteries clogging, just looking at the sign.

But dammit, you've been living off a feeding tube for weeks. You owe yourself something for that at least.

So you chain your bike up outside, to a drainpipe running down an alley wall. Not as secure as the bollard, but you don't see anything better. Then you round the building's corner, walking toward the restaurant.

You see a familiar face coming the other way.

When Ryan sees you, a smile breaks out across his face, but his footsteps don't get any faster.

"Courier," he says, a sheepish smile on his face, standing across from you, a few beads of sweat reflecting the sign's glow, "I'm not sure I caught your name earlier."

"Laura," you tell him, "I'm not sure I told you back then. It's been a while, hasn't it?"

"Sure has," he says, one hand on the door, "glad you're not dead."

>Write In

>>36810679
Yeah, there's been one too many close calls these last few runs.

>>36810679
laugh, then tell him it was a really close call

>>36810679
So am I

>>36810679
It was touch and go and the medical bills destroyed my bank account but here I am, alive and well.

>>36810679
You and me both

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>>36810679

"Yeah," you tell him, stepping through the held door into the burger joint, "so am I. Too many close calls these last few runs."

The mouthwatering scent of frying burgers slaps you in the face like an iron glove. Small round tables, tops painted red, with metal chairs clustered around them. Burgers served on beds of fries in plastic baskets. Walls, even ceiling covered in framed and unframed glamour shots and magazine pages, so retro as to be truly ancient.

ZZ Top, ACDC, Def Leppard, Bruce Springsteen, and so many more. Names you barely recognize as those of an era some still point to as an old zenith of culture. Hot cars, hot men, hot women. Not enough motorcycles, you think.

But what few there are take center stage, gleaming masses of chrome. You can almost hear their roars, even through the faded ink.

"You and me both," Ryan grins at you, "like I said, things have been crazy lately."

Electric guitars scream from laminate-cabineted speakers, fake wood grain peeling from their corners. Persuasive, pleading, commanding, utterly masculine voices ride atop the hard riffs. Music to get wild to.

And that's exactly what the cooks are doing. A pillar of grease flame soars toward a vent hood as you and Ryan approach the counter, a fry cook yelling something about pyromania as he shoots one hand upward, as if coaxing the fire to greater heights.

There's a short shouting match between Ryan and the cashier, which ends in an exchange of cash for a poker chip with 44 carved into its face. By the time he turns back to you, you're perched on one of the tables, swinging your legs.

"Well," you say as he pulls out a chair, "my kind of crazy leads to doctors draining my bank account, but I'm still alive and well."

"Doctors are vampires," he tells you with a smile, "or at least Dr. Morrison is."

>Write In

>>36811065
Has the mean doctor been draining the blood out of you, big boy?

>>36811065
>44
hello there old friend

>>36811065
"So how much do you know about what happened?"

>>36811065
What has that doctor been doing to you?

>>36811065
>Tell me your story, then.

>>36811065

"Has the mean doctor been draining the blood out of you, big boy?" you ask him with a teasing smile.

"No," he says, "just draining your bank account. Maybe she's buying virgins' blood for a bathtub in the basement."

You lean forward to say something, but he suddenly continues: "the creepy thing is she doesn't sleep. Just works or paces around the building at night."

Huh. Well, she always looks and sounds tired.

"But doesn't staying awake too long kill people?" you ask, leaning back and looking at the ceiling. A pair of aviators and a naked face stare back at you, atop matching Harleys. It's a cheap trick, but it's effective.

"Like I told you, she's a vampire," he says, grinning "what's she been doing to you, bathing in your blood?"

>How do you know she's had anything to do with me?
>It wouldn't do her any good.
>I wouldn't know, I was out for all of it

>>36811594
>It wouldn't do her any good.
>I wouldn't know, I was out for all of it

>>36811594
>It wouldn't do her any good.
>How do you know she's had anything to do with me?

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>>36811594
Oh shit, we gave HD an excuse to make more classic rock references.

>>36811594
>How do you know she's had anything to do with me?
>I wouldn't know, I was out for all of it

>>36811594
>>It wouldn't do her any good.
>>I wouldn't know, I was out for all of it
Everyone knows you bather in the blood of a virgin

>>36811594
>I wouldn't know, I was out for all of it
>How do you know she's had anything to do with me?

>>36811594
>1
>3

>>36811594

"Wouldn't do her any good," you smile at Ryan, sliding off the table into a chair, "but I wouldn't know if she tried. I was out for all of it."

"Nasty crash or something?" he asks.

"You seem to know a good bit already," you say, raising an eyebrow at him, "how'd you know Morrison's had anything to do with me?"

Just then, the waiter comes by with two Thunderstrikes, the joint's signature burger. You'll have to wait for your answer.

Sizzling heart attacks in baskets, atop a mountain of fries. Sesame seeded buns, fried in the meat's drippings, crunchy lettuce, firm and flavorful tomato slices, and just a touch of mustard.

It's amazing.

As you chew the first bite, you look over the burger at Ryan. He's leaning back in his chair, flashing a big thumbs up at you. You're not sure what he's getting at, but his knowing grin is irritating.

But you're not going to give him the satisfaction of seeing you stumped, so you focus on enjoying your burger, in all its sensuous glory.

You finish the first bite, and start to go for another.

Then it hits you. The masked merc giving you the thumbs up as you secured the duffle bag onto your bike.

"That was you?" you ask, shock etched across your face.

Ryan starts laughing. "Yeah," he tells you, "that was us. Crazy cop did for Zeb, though. Got her shotgun right up against a weak point in his armor. Poor bastard."

Oh. You remember the cop's manic grin now, as she shot out of her squad car for the combat exo. You thought about shooting her, but decided a fast getaway was the best kind of getaway.

>How'd you get out?
>What the hell was going on there?
>I'm sorry
>Write In

>>36812122
>>What the hell was going on there?

>>36812122
>I'm sorry
>How'd you get out?

>>36812122
>What the hell was going on there?

>>36812122
>all the options
I'm confused, was he the merc or with the cops?

>>36812122
>Write In
"You would think they would have paid me for a job like that and not the other way around.

>>36812122

"So," you ask, "what the hell was going on there?"

"Simple smash-and-grab," he tells you, after finishing a bite of his own hamburger, "we kept security off Zeb while he busted in for the package. Then he gave it to you, and we got out."

"How?" you ask, pointing a French fry at him, "the sector was going into alert."

"But most of them were chasing the Biohazard Rider," he says, grinning at you, "didn't have any time to spare for a few guys in a stolen car."

That makes sense. You already know Morrison was involved, and this just cinches it, if her guards were the smash and grab team.

Of course, you're not quite sure what that information does for you. An info broker might be interested, but that'd be betraying client secrets.

Probably.

"You'd think they would have paid me for a job like that, instead of taking me to the cleaners," you say to him, picking up your burger again.

"How'd you rack up such a big medical bill anyway?" he asks, looking concerned for once.

>Nanoplauge
>Really bad crash
>I ran into the Gardener
>Write In

>>36812344
>I ran into the Gardener
>Write-In
"Son of a bitch screwed me up good, not to mention did some damage to my baby."

>>36812344
>Nanoplauge
tell him about the hypersensitivity

>>36812367
>let's tell this guy we barely know about how we caught and were cured of an incurable disease
>and that we're hypersensitive to it

Why?

>>36812344
>>Really bad crash
>>I ran into the Gardener

>>36812344

"Ran into the Gardener," you tell him, looking glumly at your mostly eaten burger, "son of a bitch messed me up good, and did some damage to the bike."

"Damn," Ryan says, "the Gardener? I thought he was a legend."

"So is the Biohazard Rider, I guess," you tell him, and take another bite of the delicious burger. It's no longer sizzling hot, but it's still wonderful.

The two of you sit for a while, contentedly munching on your lunch, listening the the loud music. The lunch rush is disappearing like your burgers, and the cooks are starting to clean the kitchen.

"Is the Biohazard rider going to ride the City Circuit?" Ryan asks, starting on his fries.

"Not sure yet," you say, licking the grease off your fingers, "I've never done it before, and I'm not sure if it'll be worth it."

"Well," he says, lowering his voice, "even if you're not in it to win it, you could still make some serious money. Just look like you're a promising competitor, get someone to place bets against you at good odds, then throw the race."

>I like your style
>If I'm going to enter, I'm going to try to win
>Or maybe get paid to knock someone else out?
>Write In

>>36812666
>If I'm going to enter, I'm going to try to win

>>36812666
>>If I'm going to enter, I'm going to try to win
>>Or maybe get paid to knock someone else out?
Cuz that sounds more like our style than throwing the race
I mean, it is hazardous to be on the same rode as us

>>36812666
>If I'm going to enter, I'm going to try to win

>>36812666

"Ryan," you tell him, suddenly serious, "If I'm going to enter, I'm going to try and win. Maybe I could get paid to knock a favorite out, though."

"That's a thought," he says, thoughtfully twirling a fry in his fingers as the rock 'n' roll blares through the restaurant, "I might know someone who would pay for that."

"I'm still not sure I'm entering, though," you tell him, and then your phone starts ringing.

Clipped, professional digitized sound. Clearly audible over the restaurant's music.

Insistent.

>Take the call here
>Take the call outside, where it's quiet
>Ignore it - you can deal with it later

>>36812809
check who's calling first?
hidden number? unknown number? someone in our contact list?

>>36812809

You pull the phone out, and catch Ryan looking at it intently. Oh, the alligator leather back is facing him, isn't it.

"Balling phone," he tells you, nodding at it, "you get it to match the gear?"

The number isn't in your contacts, but your phone's screen is flashing a nice big 'PRIORITY'.

It's also flashing 'Proxy Wall Active'.

Now that's a mixed message.

"Something like that," you tell him as the rock struggles with your phone's ring for supremacy.

>Take the call here
>Take the call outside, where it's quiet
>Ignore it - you can deal with it later

>>36812904
>>Take the call outside, where it's quiet
Excuse ourselves, this is somewhat private and might be important. Keep an eye out for eavesdroppers.

>>36812904
>Take the call outside, where it's quiet

>>36812666
>If I'm going to enter, I'm going to try to win
"You can't get very far in this game without proving you're the best at at least one thing."

>>36812904
Take the call outside.

>>36812904
>Take the call outside, where it's quiet

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>>36812904

"Gotta step outside for a second," you tell Ryan.

"Sure," he says, "you mind if I eat your fries?"

"Go ahead," you toss over your shoulder as you head toward the door, toward the outside, where things will be quiet.

You put the phone to your ear as you push through the door.

"MDF Transportation Services," you say, "can I help you with something?"

"Yeah," the voice says, gruff and out of breath, "I just lost contact with a package in transit. I need it picked up, probably a hot extraction."

Hot extraction, you think as you walk around the corner into the alley. Those words are a little scary, but they translate easily to 'lots of money'.

"Where?" you ask him, leaning against the drainpipe, admiring your bike. The red is certainly stylish.

"Just inside Nepcor's border," he tells you, "they'd almost made it out when they got jumped."

>No, this sounds bad
>Yeah, you've got to start again some time
>Write In

>>36813037
>Yeah, you've got to start again some time

>>36813037
I really want to say no but we need the dosh. Sooo...
>Yeah, you've got to start again some time

>>36813037
>Yeah, you've got to start again some time

we should text something to Ryan like
"sorry, G2G, it was fun tho, and i hope you dind't want to split the bill"
before we go

>>36813037
>Yeah, you've got to start again some time

Say goodbye to Ryan in person.

>>36813037

"Triple my usual rate, Danger Bonus, Speed Bonus, and Asset Elimination Bonus if applicable," you rattle off at him, "this sounds like it's going to be hairy."

There's a pause. You think you can hear muffled voices on the other end of the line as you scuff your boot on the ground. You make out a couple of sentences here an there: 'sure we can trust Alexis?' and 'what other options do we have?' stick out.

"Yeah," he finally says, "those terms sound good. I'll transfer the locations, and the tracker frequencies for the package."

"Great," you tell him, and hang up. You stay looking at the phone's screen for a second.

It uses a one-time set code on his transmission. Not a bank set, something else that was pre-loaded onto this phone.

Just who did you get into bed with?

>Get going, call Ryan to say work grabbed you
>Grab Ryan and offer him a cut - you could use some extra muscle for this job
>Write In

>>36813088
>Get going, call Ryan to say work grabbed you
ask him if he'd be ok with being our backup for a cut if we need it

>>36813088
>Get going, call Ryan to say work grabbed you

>>36813088
>Grab Ryan and offer him a cut - you could use some extra muscle for this job

If he was one of the mercs who raided that compound, then he's pretty decent.

>>36813088
>Get going, call Ryan to say work grabbed you

>>36813106
Pretty sure he wouldn't arrive in time, unless he's riding with us.

>>36813178
good point, let's directly
>Grab Ryan and offer him a cut - you could use some extra muscle for this job

>>36813088
>Get going, call Ryan to say work grabbed yo

>>36813088
Get going, call Ryan to say work grabbed you.

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>META POST

I'm going to call the thread here, and begin the next thread with whichever option has the most votes.

>SESSION STATS

PROFESSIONAL RANKING: ACCOUNTED!
BONUS OBJECTIVES CLEARED: Asking The Important Questions II; Who You Gonna Call?; The Traditional Question I; Let's Do Lunch; Raging Red; Reinforced Frame; Banked; Calm As A Clam; Deep Thoughts; 500 Spray Cans Of Paint On The Wall; Boiguhs; Rumors Of My Demise II; Common Ground; Vampires?; Lost It To My Bike; In It To Win It I
STYLE POINTS: 2000

OVERALL RANKING: SEQUESTRATE!


TOTAL STYLE POINTS: 11000 But there's no point buy system to use them.
>LINKS

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 (the best way to ask me things, and generally get things to me that I'm guaranteed to read): http://ask.fm/haikudeluge

Megacorps & Locations: http://pastebin.com/e0ZjmVJL (More info pastebins should come eventually. There are too many moving parts to keep track of otherwise.)

>OTHER STUFF

I'm intrigued by what appears to be a decision to not take backup/muscle into this next job.

>>36813308
thanks for running

>>36813088
Just caught up
>bring Ryan

For fucks sake guys, did you learn nothing, we need help for something this serious

>>36813193
If your changing your vote make sure you delete the first or refer to it so HD knows

>>36813651
oh, right, sorry

>>36813308
>I'm intrigued by what appears to be a decision to not take backup/muscle into this next job.
This is the QM saying "you guys are idiots refusing help on a dangerous run"
We just recovered and don't know what shape we're in and we're going up against nepcor, which means dragon core and you morons refuse help when we don't even know she the we're back in shape...

>>36813088
err, consider this post deleted, it was too late to do it
>>36813106

>>36813690
see: >>36813674
i can't delete a post that old, apparently

>>36813699
Yeah I saw it after I posted, I'm on my fone so it didn't update

>>36813088
>Grab Ryan and offer him a cut - you could use some extra muscle for this job
I just woke up, hopefully I can still vote, I reckon we'll be needing a helping hand on something this big especially when we're untested after our recovery.

>>36813088
>Get going, call Ryan to say work grabbed you
Ask if we can crash at his place after work

>>36813308
I really wanted the point buy system.
Not for necessarily for stats, mind you, but for upgrades for the bike like the reinforced frame.
I'd love to have another chance to vote for it, but I understand it's bad form to ask for such things, so all I'd like is for us to get the chance to get more upgrades in-story.

perhaps the Seed mutated within us and we got nanomachine based assimilation powers? It Wouldn't be that strange a thing to happen in a cyberpunk story.

>>36814665
>Not for necessarily for stats, mind you, but for upgrades for the bike like the reinforced frame.
That would be cool, otherwise I'm not seeing how we'd be able to get upgrades and better gear without taking forever in game

>>36814665
that i'd be cool with.

>>36814665
>perhaps the Seed mutated within us and we got nanomachine based assimilation powers? It Wouldn't be that strange a thing to happen in a cyberpunk story.
No. All natural or bust.

>>36813088
>Grab Ryan and offer him a cut - you could use some extra muscle for this job

Huh, the thread's still up.

>>36813670
>the QM saying you guys are idiots

Not really. There are some decent reasons for not taking him, everything from 'do you really trust this guy?', through 'will having him along just slow you down?', and 'will there be enough room for him and the package on the bike?'.

And the good old 'you work alone'.

Those are all the ones I can think of off the top of my head, and there are probably others.

I'm just interested in which of those the players are thinking of, but I can see how my statement could be interpreted another way. I probably shouldn't have said anything.


>>36814665
>point buy for bike parts

That's a thought.

I might do this, and call the reinforced frame a freebie.

>>36816645
>the Seed mutated within us

I've gotten fairly clear results on each of the two All Natural votes. I wouldn't betray that with 'NANOMACHINES, SON!'

>>36817589
>I've gotten fairly clear results on each of the two All Natural votes. I wouldn't betray that with 'NANOMACHINES, SON!'
damn, then we just need to come up with au naturale nanomachines

>>36817589
On the aug/mod front, is there any kind of noninvasive/very limited invasive interface thingy like in GitS? I just want to tell our bike how much we love him

>>36817764
Semi-autonomous AI capable of assisting with navigation and running network-related functions, and possibly auto-piloting the bike in a pinch?

>>36817764
> I just want to tell our bike how much we love him
But we do that daily, anon

>>36817828
Oh yes please

>>36817764
>non-invasive interface
That's what your phone and the linked in-helmet display are.

>that spoiler

I've been treating the bike as a completely mechanical system (except for telemetry), mostly so it can't be jammed, hacked, or EMP'd.

>>36817828
>AI

Current in-setting AI is pretty dumb. That's why drones need to be remotely operated to do anything beyond path patrols.

While a Knight Rider style bike is a really cool idea, I'm not sure I want to open up the can of worms that is decent AI, or that the space/weight the processing power would take up on the bike would be worth it.

>>36813088
>>Grab Ryan and offer him a cut - you could use some extra muscle for this job
Exactly 1/3 of the total cut we're getting max. We're too broke to offer 50/50 right now.

>>36813308
Thanks for the cool thread HD I hope I'm around for the next one.