>>37263324
First for bike-love!

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>>37263324

But you're still not going in the OR unless it's truly necessary. Definitely not after your last experience with nanoconstructors.

"Where's the observation room?" you ask the red-haired hostage.

"Next door down," he tells you, nodding his head down the hallway, "I'm afraid it's rather barebones."

That's not an issue for you right now. You're just here to see the blonde Asset you brought here in your arms getting the treatment she needs, not getting butchered into chunks of meat. Besides, you're almost a Plutonix Sector native. An unfinished room is nothing compared to what you've seen and lived in.

There's a short flight of steps up to the observation gallery, bare concrete grating against your boots. They aren't worn - looks like they don't see much use. Reginald opens the steel door at the top easily.

The observation window dominates the room, an entire wall of the narrow space. There's a row of cheap, but padded, office chairs on the linoleum floor, and a desk with some computer monitors in it, graphing vital signs.

Well, at least she's got vital signs to track.

The table is the center of a knot of activity, masked and hairnetted figures swarming around the Asset.

Didn't Reginald call her Elanor earlier?

It looks like she's in one piece from the window, but they've got one of those surgical sheets over everything but your hasty patch-job. You see tubes running to her from some sort of device with bag of fluids hanging on it - probably a transfusion.

And of course there's an anesthetic mask covering her fine features.

"If you need the play-by-play," Reginald says, pulling out one of the chairs, "I can probably help, although I've only got the thousand-foot overview."

>Write In

>>37263596
I honestly can't remember why people even cared about this random girl's well-being. We've been payed so there's no reason to stick around.

>So why me, instead of a Juptek employee?

>>37263659
Damsels in distress, they get /tg/ every time.

But we may as well try to get as much info as possible out of this guy.

>>37263764
Fuck, meant to reply to >>37263596

>>37263764
Yeah, /tg/ are suckers for a helpless chick; unless she has done anything that could ever be closely interpreted as a slight, of course.

>>37263596
>So why me, instead of a Juptek employee?

Darn, bad timing for me, I won't be able to quest except randomly for at least three more hours...

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>>37263596

You don't know enough about medicine to quite understand what's going on down there, but you keep staring out of the window because there's nothing more interesting to look at.

"So," you ask Reginald, keeping an eye on his reflection in the observation glass, "why me, instead of a Juptek employee?"

He's too well trained to let his jaw drop, but he doesn't manage to fully hide his surprise. "You were," he starts, then pauses, choosing his words carefully, "a more secure choice."

"I'm not sure I understand." you tell him, eyes tracking a couple of medtechs removing a metal cylinder from what appears to be a small freezer.

"Haven't had much to do with this sector yet, I guess," he says, "every mega's got its groups and their conflicts, but Juptek's worse than the others."

"And all the other choices were in opposing factions?" you ask, glancing sideways at him as the question hangs in the air.

He nods silently, eyes fixed on the metal cylinder, as the techs secure it to the top of the transfusion pumping machine.

>Is Ishtar Ward one of those opposing factions?
>What's in the cylinder?
>Well, I've been payed, so there's no reason for me to stick around.
>Write In

>>37264158
>>Is Ishtar Ward one of those opposing factions?
>>What's in the cylinder?

>>37264158
>>Is Ishtar Ward one of those opposing factions?
Since he's willing to talk might as well pump out some info, just in case it is worth some money. Or becomes useful later.

>>37264158
>Is Ishtar Ward one of those opposing factions?

>>37264158
>Is Ishtar Ward one of those opposing factions?
>Well, I've been payed, so there's no reason for me to stick around.
>If you need me again you know my rates.

>>37264158
>>Is Ishtar Ward one of those opposing factions?
This might actually matter to us later

>>37264158
>Is Ishtar Ward one of those opposing factions?
>Well, I've been payed, so there's no reason for me to stick around.
>If you need me again you know my rates.

>>37264158
>Is Ishtar Ward one of those opposing factions?
Also FUCK YEAH! CYBERPUNK MOTORCYCLE COURIER QUEST!

>>37264158

"Is Ishtar Ward one of those opposing factions?" you ask quietly.

"Iscar and I," Reginald says, leaning back in his chair, hand gripping the armrests tightly, "don't quite see eye-to-eye. Ishtar Ward's definitely not on my side, whatever side it might be on."

"So," you ask, and let it hang while you contemplate exactly what you want to know. There are a lot of questions to ask, but there's always the greater question of how far this guy will let you push him.

And why he's answering a courier like this anyway.

"You want to know why I'm bankrolling Elanor's rescue and reconstruction," he says, giving you a question, "if her group isn't one I work with?"

You nod slightly, the bubble of your red helmet inclining forward. The cylinder's in place now, and the techs are hard at work with a computer terminal hooked to the pumping machine.

"Well," he says, looking out the observation window, eyes sweeping the operation, "I've got my reasons, not the least of which is one-upping Iscar. But she won't come to any harm because of it."

That's probably the best you could hope for. "Alright," you say, turning to face him, "well, I've been paid, so there's no reason for me to stick around."

"The guards should let you out," he says,

You walk the five steps toward the door, then turn around, hand on the handle. You catch a glimpse of him leaning forward, knuckles white as he stares intently down at the operating theater.

"If you need me again," you tell him, and he suddenly swivels to face you, consciously trying to relax, "you know my rates," you finish, acting as if you hadn't seen the concern etched on his figure a moment before.

"And now I know about the 'post-delivery package safety information' bonus too," he says, smiling quickly at you, one hand extending in a casual gesture, "I'll be sure to account for that next time."

>Any last things to say before you go

>>37264992
not really

>>37264992
>"It's more of a 'crazy-underling-fucking-with-me information' bonus

"just make sure to give the receptionist his chill pill before my delivery"

>>37264992
This >>37265100

You guys think we should hit up the security guard or the miner after this op?

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>>37264992

"It's more of a 'crazy-underling-fucking-with-me information' bonus," you tell him.

"That's fair," he says as you open the door, "I'll make sure he gets his chill pill before your delivery."

Good thing he took that view, you think as you walk down the concrete stairs. Most clients aren't that understanding, especially once you've held them at gunpoint.

And why did you hold him at gunpoint anyway? Even if Thad's horrible tale had been true, you'd already made the delivery and been paid. It's just a job, after all.

You just deliver a package - you don't get to care about what happens to it afterward.

You can't quite pull that one off. You spent the better part of an hour with her dying by inches in your arms.

Of course you care. Perhaps that's unprofessional.

But you can recall one late night when the bald man, the very man who taught you the importance of being professional, told you about some of the things he'd done on the side during his career. Overheard confessions, unspeakable crimes glimpsed from the shadows, things he'd heard and seen that pushed him over the edge, led him to take out someone who wasn't his target.

You tense up as you walk past the warning-papered door again, perhaps listening for screams or the muffled curses of a doctor who's botched something. But you don't hear anything, and you've got enough thoughts to keep you company in the corridor.

It was different from the stories he usually told you about his past life, a tale of 'collateral damage' and 'accidents' committed from purely personal motives, unprofessional but deadly assaults on those who just happened to brag about their foul deeds when he was stalking through the shadows nearby. The work of a man in the moments he felt like a just and avenging angel.

The guards let you into the elevator without issue. You'd worried that Reginald might have called them after you left, but either there were truly no hard feelings, or he's playing the long game.

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>>37265797

Raising a child's a long game, you think as the elevator counts down the floors. And a single mistake can undo years of training.

Was it a mistake, or something he thought he had to do to balance your education?

Who knows.

He'd been drunk that night, like he was so much his last few months. But that time, there was only half a bottle left, and no chance of getting more. Just enough to get him loosened up.

Neither of you said anything about it afterward. Maybe he had been too far gone to remember it. Maybe he hoped you didn't remember. Maybe he didn't want to soberly admit to something he obviously considered a failing.

The elevator doors open into the white garage, your motorcycle still parked in the middle of the room, the bright lights reflected off its brilliant crimson to tint the walls pink.

Thad's nowhere to be seen, and the door on the opposite wall is closed. A quick look around the room reveals a large red button. A quick tap, and the garage door begins to roll up into the ceiling.

Of course, you don't take off at once. You've got to check your bike, make sure nobody's tampered with it. That takes a few minutes, but the peace of mind is definitely worth it.

When you finally roll out onto the street, it's only a few seconds before the door begins to shut, and you see Thad at the wall button. He waves once, slowly.

>Flip him off
>If it's Boring Thad, he won't care

>>37265961
>"How's your sex life?!"

>>37265961
Ignore him

>>37265961
>wave back
No need to be an asshat to the mentally unstable.

>>37265961
yeah, let's just ignore the guy

>>37265961

You ignore him as you sweep off into traffic. It's more civil than he deserves, you think, with some heat.

But the irritation vanishes quickly. It's great to be on the road again, without anybody chasing you, without insane Assets spinning horrible lies to you, without someone dying in your arms.

You've made some serious money today, and maybe that makes it all worthwhile. You fulfilled your contract, even if things did get tense at the end, and you managed to run away from Dagon Core.

Not bad, for your first day conscious in weeks.

On that note, you wonder how long Elanor's going to be out for. The rip in her stomach probably wasn't her only injury, just the most obvious and immediately dangerous.

You ride aimlessly through Juptek's streets, cruising between the office buildings, swerving around adventurous pedestrians, glancing at the ground-floor shops. It's a more colorful sector than the others, especially in on this unseasonably warm day, which seems to have drawn people outdoors.

And there are still a few hours of daylight left, hard as it is to believe. It feels like weeks since you went to the bank.

The bank. Didn't they say something about a medical anomaly back there?

Well, you've got a lot of choices about how to spend the rest of the day.

>Return to Matt's auto shop
>Hit a bar
>Find a doctor
>Call someone

>>37266410
>Find a doctor
Oh, and bring our medical bills along. They should be able to translate exactly what happened.

>>37266410
>Call someone
yeah, we should find a doctor, but i'm not sure showing up to some random doc with possible signs of nanoplague scarring is a bad idea...

so the plan is, call someone to find a trustworthy (or already "in") doctor for us

>>37266410
>Call someone
Elise
>Find a doctor

>>37266410
>Call someone
Find out what happened to the kid

>>37266410
>Call someone
>Elizabeth
"Hey, how's your se- ohh right."

>>37266410
>>Return to Matt's auto shop

>>37266576
>>37266731
Didn't we talk to her earlier in the day?

Shouldn't we give her some time?

Talking to her after that stunt might give away that we're the red rider.

>>37266789
Calling to show we care about her by makeing sure we didn't hurt her last op will surely mend our friendship.

>>37266856
She doesn't know we were involved in that.

Is that something we really want to reveal to her right now?

>>37266410
> Find a doctor

Preferably one that we trust to keep their mouth shut, as any half-decent doc should realize immediately that we were infected by the Dust or whatever it was called.

> Call someone
I forget the cop's name, but we should call him after the doc and find out what happened since our drive from his perspective

>>37266410
>>Find a doctor
>>Call someone
The very same insomniac doctor who gave us such huge medical bills. If you're going to drain someone's bank account, you can at least give them a receipt afterwards.

>>37266877
She'll find out eventually, better sooner than later.

>>37267074
Rather later anon,
later means less time spent being shot at.

>>37266410

You briefly consider calling Eliza, but you did talk to her this morning. She probably needs time and space to come to terms with what happened.

And you might give away your involvement in the op this afternoon.

You're not sure whether that's a good idea. You would like to know that your improvised tripwire didn't hurt her (although it shouldn't have), but that concern could betray your new identity.

Speaking of new things, you're a little bit excited to have a reason to dial the new 'concierge' contact. It seems like a good place to start in your search for a discrete doctor.

One ring. Two. Three, and then a man's deep voice answers, "How can I be of service?"

You're not sure anyone has ever addressed you in such tones. It's like his voice is a thick carpet, rolled out from the front of a splendid residence, so you don't even have to step on the concrete.

>Who are you?
>Are you the concierge?
>I need a doctor who can keep his mouth shut
>Is there a fee for this service?
>Write In

I think I'm seeing 'find a doctor' win. Other calls can still be made on the way to the doctor.

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>>37267208

>>37267208
>Who are you?
>Are you the concierge?
>Is there a fee for this service?
>I need a doctor who can keep his mouth shut

>>37267208
>I need a doctor who can keep his mouth shut
>Is there a fee for this service?

>>37267208
>I need a doctor who can keep his mouth shut
>Is there a fee for this service?

>>37267208
>>I need a doctor who can keep his mouth shut
>>Is there a fee for this service?

>>37267208
>>Is this the concierge?
>Is there a fee for this service?
>I need a doctor who can keep quiet

>>37267208
>>I need a doctor who can keep his mouth shut
>>Is there a fee for this service?

>>37267208

"Is there a fee for this service?" you ask him. His tone caught you a bit off guard, but not enough to make you forget the important questions.

"Your use of this service has already been covered," he assures you, "I can assist you in finding places to acquire specific goods or services, or, with a somewhat greater delay, make all the arrangements for you. You'll still have to pay for them yourself, though."

That sounds pretty helpful, in a city as big and confused as this one.

"Of course," you tell him, "right now, I need to find a doctor who can keep his mouth shut."

"Ah," he says, and you can hear pages flipping in the background, "that is something that wasn't provided for you. What an oversight, to be sure. Although I think she felt it would be best to let you make your own decision on that head."

>What should I call you?
>While you're at it, where could I get [Write In]
>She?
>Write In

>>37267655
>She?

>>37267655
>>What should I call you?

>>37267655
>She?
>What should I call you?
>What happened to the boy?

>>37267655

>What should I call you?

also:
>>37267711
The boy.

>>37267655

You listen to him flipping pages and tapping keys for a few seconds, then ask "What should I call you?"

"Oh," he says lightly, "just call me Concierge. We still don't know each other well enough for names - just talked on the phone in the way of business."

That's an interesting attitude to take, but he's not the most eccentric person you've come across in the past few hours.

And definitely not the most irritating one, you think as the buildings and cars pour by.

But he talks as if he knows something about your new employer, and the decisions that were made while you were unconscious.

And that means he might know about Phillip.

"Concierge, then," you say, it sounds funny, calling him that title as a name, "do you know anything about the boy who was with me?"

"Boy?" he asks, and you can almost hear raised eyebrows through the telephone, "I'm afraid I'm not privy to all of madame's decisions, and I fancy that was dealt with before I was involved in the case."

That's, well, not helpful at all. And 'dealt with'? Hopefully that's just a strange turn of phrase, and not a euphemism.

"But I do have a list of discrete doctors here," he says, in a conciliatory tone, "What sector are you interested in?"

>Plutonix Sector
>Vulnex Sector
>Juptek Sector
>Nepcor Sector
>Danger Zone

This doctor will probably be your primary care physician and medical consultant from now on, so the location you decide on here kinda matters.

>>37268155
What sector do we currently live in? I think we should go for that one.

>>37268155
Could we get a link to the pastebin which describes all the locations and sectors in the quest? I can't find the link for it anywhere in this thread.

>>37268241
We don't have a place yet, I don't thinl

>>37268155
>Danger Zone

>>37268290
everything should be there: >>37182887

>>37268364
We're crashing with the mechanic for the time being, probably should look into a more permanent arrangement.

>>37268418
So if I recall correctly we've pissed off both Nepcor and Plutonix, that leaves us Vulnex or Juptek.

>>37268155
>>37268416
I didn't notice this option at first, but it seems like a good idea since it's the most neutral sector.

>>37268416
>>37268528
Why? It's the most inconvenient location to get too

>>37268155
>Juptek Sector

>>37268566
who knows? but maybe a doctor working there will have some... interesting things
and maybe he'll need a courier more than the other ones

>>37268155
>Danger Zone

>>37268290
>META POST

Forgot the boilerplate links, oops:

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

Questions: http://ask.fm/haikudeluge

>>37268416
Thanks for linking that.

>>37268503

Currently, since you've changed your look, there are no corps out to get you.

Dagon Core is only a subgroup of Nepcor (and they've just got personal beefs with you), and Plutonix is looking for the Biohazard Rider, not the red rider.

>>37268770
Is the Danger Zone always as heavily guarded as it was the first thread?

>>37268155
>Vulnex Sector

not going to lie, I only voted danger zone because the song

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>>37268984

>>37268853

No.

That only happens when there's something going on out there (in that case, the struggle for the artifact.)

>>37268155
>Danger Zone

>>37268155
>>Juptek Sector

>>37268155
>>Danger Zone

>>37268155
>Juptek Sector
Let's not be retarded and go looking for trouble, we need to keep our head down currently.

>>37268155
>>Juptek Sector
Probably the best for our new base of operations, at least for now.

>>37268155
>>Juptek Sector

I just woke up and caught up, this looks like the safest option, I hope the vote is still open.

Danger Zone:

>>37268416
>>37268528
>>37268738
>>37269135
>>37269358

vs.

Juptek Sector:

>>37268660
>>37269329
>>37269372
>>37269396
>>37269410

Huh.

Vote's still open.

>>37269500
>Danger Zone

Let's not get tied down to the corps.

>>37269500

Juptek Sector

Lets end this tie.

>>37269500
>Juptek
I don't want to be visiting the Danger Zone for a while after the brush with death we had because of it

It might be best to roll.

>>37269500
Roll?

>>37269500
changing this >>37268914
to Juptek sector

>>37269500
Lets just discuss this rationally. What sort of doctor would you expect to find in the danger zone? I think odds are we'd get some shady back-alley surgeon likely to leave us with infections and bad scars.
Compare that to the sort of reliable professional you'd find living in the classy Juptek sector and there really isn't much of a choice.

>>37269639
yeah but danger zone isn't under anyone's control, so if we piss off the juptek we won't have to find a new doctor.

>>37269639
Yeah, thats why I voted for Juptek, we want an actual doctor not someone who got run out by thecorps because he botched one too many jobs.

>>37269668
Laura have lived all her life in a company controlled zone have had no problem maintaining her independance.

>>37269639
>>37269674
just because it's danger zone doesn't mean it's going to be a shit doctor

>>37269639

Any doc the concierge will refer you to will be about the same level of quality, no matter how crazy they are.

>>37269686
and then we started playing her....

>>37269707
Still, a good Doctor living in the danger zone has to have pissed off someone very important to be hiding out there. Best not risk getting any more heat.

>>37269789
no, he might just not like having to live under a corp

>META POST

Alright, I'm calling this for Juptek, since that seems to be the consensus.

TFW no crazy survivalist doctor living in the wasteland to prepare for the end of civilization. TFW no ostracized genius, driven into the irradiated wilderness to pursue their ever-more transgressive research.

>>37269846
Don't worry HD, this is only for our primary doc, who knows when we'll need a secondary one.

>>37269871
Are you saying you'll vote for danger zone when we need a secondary one?

>>37269846
i fucking knew it
i feel with you, comrade

>>37269887
I'm saying we should always have a backup plan for our backup plan.

>>37269871
>>37269888

I'm only thinking along those lines because I thought I was going to need to write a Danger Zone Doctor.

Not disappointed at all that it's going to be a city doc.

"You have anyone in this sector?" you ask the smooth-voiced concierge. It'll definitely be convenient while you're staying at Matt's auto shop, and you haven't pissed off anyone in this sector.

Yet.

You think.

"I do, in fact," the concierge tells you, as traffic flows past in a rainbow flood, " a particularly excellent one, very close to your current location."

"Great," you say, as the coordinates hit your map, burning another of your employer's one-time codes, "what should I expect?"

"Well," he starts, as you turn sharply toward the flashing dot,

>"He's...
>"She's...

This is going to be a new character, no matter how you slice it. Morrison's got an academic doctorate - she's not the kind of doctor you'd trust with a scalpel.

>>37270040
>>"She's..

>>37270040
>>"She's...

>>37270040
>"She's...

>>37270040
>"He's...

>>37269500
Why doesn't we hear a little summary about the possible doctors. Zone counts of course, but perhaps a little bio would help in the decision process.

>>37270182
A bit late to the party there

>>37270040
>"He's...

>>37270040

>"He's...

>>37270040
>He's...

>>37270040
>"He's...

>>37270040
>>"She's....

how hurt are we that we need a doctor?

>>37270284
The doctor's not for hurts.

>>37270040
>>"She's...

>>37270284
Just going for a checkup after being cured of an incurable disease by unknown means.

>>37270040
>"She's...
Just for privacy's sake

>>37270056
>>37270066
>>37270081
>>37270281
>>37270325
>>37270345

vs.

>>37270096
>>37270212
>>37270244
>>37270250
>>37270272

Calling it for "She's..."


>>37270284

I think the idea is to find a doc now, so that when you do get hurt, you don't have to waste time finding one.

Also >>37270326

>>37270326
yeah, especially after what happened at the bank

>>37270412
Yeah, that was weird

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>>37270040

"She's one of the best for your needs," he tells you, as the map guides you along, "runs a very tight ship."

The streets get narrower and finally turn into alleys, lit by the smallest slices of sky. Whatever this doctor's like, she doesn't seem to place much value in appearances.

"I said I was looking for a quiet doc," you tell the concierge, idling to a stop about a block away from the flashing dot, "not a back-alley butcher."

"This is where you get discretion," he tells you, voice still smooth, "back here where money talks louder than the corp cops. Back where the cameras lose you at an alley half a mile away."

"Alright," you say, pushing off again, "I'll try it. But I'm glad I'm not going in injured."

"I'm glad you're not injured at all," he says, "please, let me know if I can do anything else for you," he finishes, then cuts the connection.

The front is a plain steel door set in the back wall of a building next to an unassuming garage door. You can't imagine a place like this having an ambulance, but the door certainly suggests it.

There's nowhere to secure your motorcycle out here, which makes you a bit nervous as you walk up to the door.

The door's nice and solid. Three knocks later, you hear a muffled yell that might have been a "come in".

>Enter (taking the bike in if possible)
>Wait for someone to open it for you

>>37270817
>Enter (taking the bike in if possible)

>>37270817
>>Enter (taking the bike in if possible)

>>37270817
>>Enter (taking the bike in if possible)
Mentally steel yourself to the sight of a back-alley butcher's shop.

>>37270817
>Wait for someone to open it for you

>>37270817
>Enter (taking the bike in if possible)

>>37270817
>>Enter (taking the bike in if possible)

>>37270817
>Enter (taking the bike in if possible)

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>>37270817

That's all the permission you need to turn the handle on the door, steeling yourself against the sight of a back-alley butcher's shop.

The door sticks a little, so you give it a kick with your boot. It swings open, revealing an unfinished room brightly lit with florescent bolted to the naked concrete ceiling.

The couches against the walls look like repaired dumpster rejects, but they're empty. Seems like you came at a slow time.

There isn't even anyone behind the solid-looking desk facing the door.

There's a good bit of clear floorspace behind the roll-up garage door, so you walk your motorcycle inside and set it on its kickstand near a wall. Hopefully nothing will happen to it there.

A set of double doors occupies the wall opposite the garage door, mural in black pain splashed across them. It depicts a muscular and winged nude posing, with the words "we're all gonna make it" stenciled below him. Perhaps it's an angel or patron saint? You never knew much about religion.

Still, despite their dynamic mural, you can't help but think of a gurney passing through them, an insensible victim strapped to it. Or perhaps a conscious one, with those celestial pecs the last thing they see before the operation.

Upon closer investigation, the scuff marks leading toward it seem to bear out your theory.

Well, nobody's come out to greet you yet, but you can't hear screaming.

That's probably a good sign.

>Flop down on one of the couches
>Yell for service
>Snoop around the desk
>Write In

>>37271329
>Flop down on one of the couches

>>37271329
>Flop down on one of the couches
We're not in a hurry.

>>37271329
>Flop down on one of the couches

>>37271329
>>Flop down on one of the couches
Any old magazines lying around to read?

>>37271329
>>Flop down on one of the couches

>>37271329
>>Flop down on one of the couches

>>37271329
>Flop down on one of the couches
mhmm, the doc is probably busy with a real emergency

>>37271329

Well, you're not in a hurry.

You flop down on one of the couches. It's surprisingly comfortable, as if it was restuffed at some point during its like. Of course, it smells strongly of antiseptic. That's certainly better than some of the other options.

This particular couch has a good view of the double doors and their single mural. The angel's abs are even more impressive than Matt's, and you can't deny there's something in the combination of those arrogantly spread wings, and the upraised, sculpted arms that lends weight to the simple reassurance below them.

We're all gonna make it.

It's certainly a much different message than the warning stickers plastered over the OR door earlier today. A cheesy message of hope for the patients, instead of a deadly chest-beating boast about how dangerous the doctor's toys are.

There's something much more human about the unfinished aesthetics of this place than the mechanical sterility of the secret corp hospital, too.

You wonder how Elanor's surgery is going, and how bruised Eliza is after her run-in with your tripwire.

Hopefully it wasn't too bad.

>>37271797
>Hopefully it wasn't too bad.
God damnit HD stop doing this to us.

>>37271893
Girl's in a bike version of a tank, if she got more than a mild headache out of it i'd be surprised.

>>37271905
But its like the fifth time HD has specifically said it, so he probably cut her in half with it just to fuck us over.

>>37271930
he's just messing with us
maybe he should take his chill pill

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>>37271797

Then the double doors fly open around a young man.

The first thing you notice is the blood. He's got spatters of it on his white shirt, on his face, running down his arms from the shining scalpel in his hand.

The scalpel - he holds it with a graceful ease, as if it's simply another finger, an extension of his being as your motorcycle is of yours. His purple coat waves as he gives a gesture of greeting with his free hand.

"Yo," he says to you, then turns his head to yell over his shoulder, "doc, we got another patient!"

Well, at least he's not the doctor, but you can't help but wonder who would take on a student or a nurse like this.

"I'll be there in a minute," a hoarse woman's voice calls from inside the swinging doors, "you know the drill."

The boy looks back at you, an honest grin on his face, "so," he asks, waving the scalpel through the air, "what appears to be your problem?"

>You are. I want to talk to a doctor, not a butcher.
>I'd prefer to talk to the doctor about it.
>I'm just here for a check up
>Who's that on the door?
>What isn't my problem?
>Write In

>>37271957
I hope he's not running drunk again.

Speaking of, can someone repost the drinking game rules from the last thread? I think we're up to three shots this thread.

>>37271968
>I'm just here for a check up
>I'd prefer to talk to the doctor about it.

>>37271968
>>I'm just here for a check up
>Who's that on the door?

>>37271968
>I'm just here for a check up
>Who's that on the door?
I was cured of something supposedly uncurable and now I want to make sure it sticks.

>>37271968
>I'm just here for a check up
>I'd prefer to talk to the doctor about the details.

>>37271930
Nah, rigging the sharp stake lost its vote. (That would have resulted in an injury.) Laura's been thinking about it because of the thread chatter about it earlier. And just generally being concerned about a friend.

>>37272001

Not sure if I'll drink tonight.

I think this was it:

>take a shot whenever Laura fantasizes about her bike
>take a sip whenever Laura feels her bike pulsating between her thighs as she rides it
>take a shot whenever we are offered a dangerous job with no intel
>take a shot whenever an old friend turns up on the opposite side of a job
>take a shot whenever a job goes sideways
>take a shot whenever the client was lying to Laura
>finish the bottle whenever Laura finishes a job and gets paid

>>37272053
there was also

>take a shot whenever we ask about someones sex life

>>37272053
> take a shot whenever there is a high speed motorcycle chase

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>>37271968

"I'm just here for a checkup," you tell him, glad he can't see you eyeing the scalpel, "and I'd prefer to talk to the doctor about the details."

"Oh," he says, understanding dawning on his face, "one of those checkups?"

"Uh, no," you tell him, "it's more about the scalpel. And all the blood."

"Ah," he says, and glances down in surprise, "I do look like a serial killer, don't I?" he asks, innocently, "but I've taken the oath. The Greek one," he assures you, waving his hands around, "the one that says you can't harm patients."

He looks so at home with the blood on him, and a scalpel in his hand. There's no doubt he's found his niche, like you found yours, you think, watching him turn to a steel sink basin set in the wall behind the desk.

Well, at least riding your motorcycle doesn't make you look like a psycho.

"Who's that on the door?" you ask, more from distaste of silence than true curiosity.

"Aesculapius," he says with a laugh, scrubbing his hands together, "struck down by the gods for giving eternal life to mortals, or so the artist said."

"The artist?" you ask. The words spark something in your memory.

"Yeah," the assistant says, after splashing water on his face, "damn, that's cold. But yeah, the artist - doc found him about to graffiti the garage door, and talked him into doing the double doors instead. We try to keep a low profile, you know. He's a strange guy, not much older than me."

That sounds oddly like the story the teller told you about the mural in the bank. Well, a graffiti artist probably isn't someone you'll run into in the line of business.

"If Luke hasn't scared you off yet," the woman's voice calls from behind the double doors, "I'm ready for you."

"The doctor," Luke tells you, gesturing at the double doors with one dripping hand, "will see you now."

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>>37272735

Walking through the mural, you notice a set of initials scrawled inside a wing feather. Maybe the same as the ones on the bank's mural. You didn't pay enough attention to remember.

The doors lead into a small hall, lit by a single florescent fixture, with a gurney parked against one wall, next to a locker labelled 'cleaning supplies'. There's another set of double doors in front of you, but there's an open single door to your left, opposite the gurney.

"Come in," the woman's husky voice says from within, "and you can shut the door after you."

You step into the small office, pulling the door closed behind you. The box-like room is lit by a single low-watt bulb, set naked in the ceiling.

Hell, the doctor's cigar throws almost as much light as the bulb.

She's taking a pull as you enter, the red end illuminating her face. Most of it's beautiful, fine features framed by long, blonde hair.

But there's a horrible burn scar down the right side, disappearing into her collar. You can only imagine how far down it goes.

"Siddown," she says, blowing a cloud of smoke to the side. It hangs in the air, further obscuring the medical license hanging on the wall behind her, the glass face of the frame shattered by a vicious blow that makes the name unreadable.

"I'm Doc," she says, leaning forward and looking at you sharply, "now, what can I do for you? You're in better shape than most people I see leaving here already."

>What were you two doing back here?
>How'd you get that burn?
>I just need a check up
>What happened to your medical license?
>What's with your assistant?
>Write In

>>37273091
>I just need a check up

>>37273091
>I just need a check up
Survived the unsurvivable and I want to make sure there were no other things added in while I "survived"

>>37273091
>I just need a check up
>What were you two doing back here?
>What's with your assistant?

>>37273091
>>I just need a check up
>What's with your assistant?

>>37273091
>>I just need a check up
There's some funny stuff...

>>37273091
>I just need a check up
>What's with your assistant?

>>37273091
>I just need a check up
>i survived the plague

>>37273091
>>I just need a check up
if she asks how we found her
>Concierge recommended you.

bump for life

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>>37273091

"I just need a check up," you tell her, leaning back in the stiff chair, "I survived something I shouldn't have, and don't know who did the repair work. I know my biometrics got messed up, and I want to know what else they did."

She stares at you for a couple of seconds before suddenly standing up.

"Alright," she tells you, hand snaking out to a switch on the wall, "strip and get on the examination table," she finishes, as four high-watt bulbs snap on.

She grabs a small towel and a bottle a disinfectant, then gets to work on the surface of her huge desk. It's obviously where she plans to examine you.

You're not quite so sold on it.

"Look," you start, but she cuts you off.

"You want a checkup," she says, left arm pumping back and forth as she wipes the desktop, "I'll give you one, but it's either here or the operating table. And that still has blood on it."

Well, that settles it, you guess, and set your helmet down on the chair. Next is the jacket.

"So what's up with your assistant?" you ask, undoing the zipper and laying the tough red jacket down carefully. That's only partially for its sake - you don't want the SMG to clunk.

"He gets like that when he's holding a scalpel," she tells you, cigar glowing as she polishes the desk with jerky movements, "I was running him through practice on some animals when you got here. Not exactly," she pauses, switching the cigar to the other side of her mouth, "med school methods, but it's the best I've got," she finishes, staring you down as if she expects you to challenge her, eyes locking to yours.

>>37274068

Only the left one moves correctly - the right eye's a glass fake or something, you realize as you strip off your tough riding pants.

"So what'd you survive?" she asks, pulling on a pair of exam gloves, "a crash?"

"The Nanoplague," you tell her, stripping off your shirt to reveal the scars. The traces of carbon shards impaling you from the inside out didn't erase easily.

"Damn," she says, glancing at you as you sit down on the desk. "doesn't look like you're lying."

She holds your hand up to the light, examining it closely. "Fingerprints defaced with small scars," Doc pronounces, pulling an eye examination tool out of a desk drawer, "try not to blink at the light," she tells you, holding it up to your face.

The light is blinding, and Doc's whistle are she uses the tool to stare into your eyes isn't comforting at all. "Retinal blood vessel have been extensively rerouted with microsurgery, probably during a retinal reconstruction. I'd guess they had to do the same sort of thing to some of your other veins, too, while they were digging out the shards. You'll definitely read as a different person to some of the most popular biometrics out there, but hand and facial geometry still works."

Well, that explains why the bank still accepted you, unless that was papered over by a call from your new employer.

>Have I been chipped?
>What kind of side effects will that surgery have?
>Can you tell if they did anything else to me?
>Write In

>>37274324
>Can you tell if they did anything else to me?

>>37274324
>Can you tell if they did anything else to me?
>Have I been chipped?
>What kind of side effects will that surgery have?
In roughly that order.
I see no reason not to ask any of these.

>>37274324
They do anything else to me chips, control collars, augs, anything neural, biometrics?

>>37274324
>>Have I been chipped?
>>What kind of side effects will that surgery have?
>>Can you tell if they did anything else to me?

>>37274324
>>Can you tell if they did anything else to me?

>>37274324
>Have I been chipped?
>Can you tell if they did anything else to me?
>What kind of side effects will that surgery have?

>>37274324
>I've got the receipt for the operation, if you're interested

>>37274324
>Have I been chipped?
>What kind of side effects will that surgery have?
>Can you tell if they did anything else to me?

>>37274324
>>Have I been chipped?
>>What kind of side effects will that surgery have?
>>Can you tell if they did anything else to me?

thanks for running today HD , this thread and you are aces!

>>37274324

"Can you tell if they did anything else to me?" you ask her, "have I been chipped?"

"I'll test for that," she says, rummaging in her desk again, "lay back down, this should only take a minute."

After a few seconds, she digs out a portable RFID reader and starts running it over you.

"Got any implants?" she asks, clenching the cigar between her teeth.

"No," you tell her, "I'm an all-natural girl."

"I can tell," she says dryly, and you wonder if you only imagined that quick glance at your breasts, "I'm not reading any chips on this thing," she tells you, "but we'll need an X-ray to be sure about any implants. Luke!" she yells, turning toward the door, "Is the OR clean?"

"Yeah," you hear him call back cheerily, "just finished with it."

"Alright," she yell back at him, "stay in the front room."

"Sure," he says, and you hear a door shut.

"The X-ray's in the OR," she tells you, "we're a little short on space here."

"I can tell," you say dryly, "Can I put my clothes back on?"

She steps around the desk, then bends down and pinches the leather of your vest between her fingers. "No," she tells you, "this stuff would be a problem for the machine. It shouldn't be too long," she finishes, opening her office door.

>>37275106

You follow her out of the tobacco-scented office into the operating room. It's as Spartan as the rest of the office, nothing like the gleaming white polish and swarming confusion of the room you saw Elanor in earlier.

Concrete is the decorating theme here. Spotlights on joined arms hang over a naked steel table. There are metal lockers against the walls, each labeled with their contents, and a few pieces of medical machinery on a cheap table.

But your destination is the X-ray machine in the corner, hanging from the concrete ceiling. You know the drill, although these X-rays are a bit more thorough than any set you remember having before, and Doc's lead apron bears the name of a nuclear power plant on the front.

You're really tired of standing on the bare concrete in your underwear by the time Doc finally finishes with a gruff "you can get your stuff back on now," in her smoke-roughened voice.

Everything but your helmet is back on by the time she comes in with a tablet in her hand.

"There's good news," she says, leaning against the wall, favoring her left leg, "and there's bad news."

>Good news first
>Bad news first

>>37275133
>Bad news first

>>37275133
>Bad news first

>>37275133
>>Bad news first

>>37275133
>>Bad news first
Hit it, doc.

>>37275133
>Bad news first

>HaikuDeluge @HaikuDeluge
>The bad news is you have two weeks to live.
>
>The good news is that's another year of questing.

What.

I really really hope you're trolling HD, expecially after your mistakes and the shitstorms of late.

You better be fucking trolling.

>>37275498
...

He never fucking learns. For fucks sake, another quest down the drain by retarded QM'ing sadly.

>>37275498
>mistakes and shistorms
>thread 15 has the highest votes on suptg since the interlude

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>>37275498
I have no fucking idea how he thinks that bullshit is a good idea. He better be messing with us and that not be true.

>>37275535
It was actually upbotted very heavily, before the upbot got started, it was the lowest thread HD ever had.

>>37275535
Funny how all those upvotes came suddenly after the massive outrage, shitstorm and downvotes the thread received.

Yeah totally legit...

>>37275576
Seriously Haiku, what the fuck are you smoking, drinking, snorting and injecting to make you think that raillroaded crap will fly?

Fuck you, time and time again you pull this complete bullshit, fuck you.

>>37275498
>>37275576
Looks like he's also made his ask.fm non-anon questions only...

What the hell are you doing OP?

>>37275133

"The bad news is that I only know a few of labs that would try anything this insane, and none of them are run by particularly benevolent people," she says with a sigh that blows another cloud of smoke into the room's dim air, "and that makes the good news more worrisome."

"The good news is that you look completely clean," she says, and takes a puff of the cigar, "nothing came up on the X-ray. Of course, we'd need an MRI to be absolutely sure, but do you see one of those lying around?" the tip of her cigar glows red again, "thought not. Well," she continues, "here's what I can figure out: someone deactivated the nanoconstructors, probably with a huge jolt of electromagnetic radiation. It probably felt like they microwaved you to death, if you were awake for it."

You can't quite keep your face from giving it away, and she frowns slightly. The inflexible burn scar makes her expression look truly demonic, even though she's just knitting her brows.

"That's about what I expected," she says, switching the cigar from side to side again, "Then they performed the finest microsurgery over practically your entire body, to remove the carbon shards and nanoconstructor pockets," she continues, "even re-routing blood vessels to make sure none of your tissue went necrotic. There's hundreds of hours of surgery there, and they must have either spread it out or had multiple surgical teams working in shifts," she says, and takes another pull at the cigar.

>>37275535
>implying those votes were not a upvote spammer in response to the outcry

>>37275654

"Will that have any side effects?" you ask her, nervously. Rerouting blood vessels sounds like something that might have serious issues down the road.

"If you haven't torn the splices already," she says, "you probably won't ever tear them. They must have kept you sedated during the recovery, so the tissues had time to heal. I can't imagine," she says, staring at you intently, "why they would take that much trouble, and not even chip you afterward. Who the hell are you?"

It looks like you've got another one in the 'corp heiress' camp.

>I'm nobody, really
>It happened to me on a job, and I think it was an apology
>I'm still trying to figure it out
>Well, they did wipe out my life's savings
>Write In

>>37275654
Seriously HD, don't fucking troll us like that, you nearly gave me a heart attack.

>>37275674
>>Well, they did wipe out my life's savings

>>37275674
>Well, they did wipe out my life's savings
>It happened to me on a job, and I think it was an apology

>>37275674
>It happened to me on a job, and I think it was an apology
>I'm still trying to figure it out
>Well, they did wipe out my life's savings

>>37275674
>I'm still trying to figure it out
>Well, they did wipe out my life's savings
>There was a kid with me too, but I have no idea what happened to him.

>>37275687
Yeah, provoking us and messing with us like that is a pretty dick move.

>>37275674
>>I'm still trying to figure it out
>>Well, they did wipe out my life's savings

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>META POST

>>37275535
This makes no sense to me, and I'm inclined to think it's agitators upvoting a shitstorm becasue it's a shitstorm.

>>37275576
>lowest thread

No, that was CMCQ thread 10. It was at negative votes that night, but got better in the morning.

>>37275687
>>37275732

I'll try to keep it under control.

It's far too fun to watch the thread bounce back and forth between ridiculous bumps like >>37274895 and people calling for my head.


>>37275621

This is some hardcore L&M, pic related.

Check http://ask.fm/HaikuDeluge if you're not sure, I just asked myself an anon question, and it worked.

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>>37275829
>This is some hardcore L&M, pic related.
Probably because you're signed in, but on any device the moment I click in the box to ask a question, it asks me to sign in or make an account.

>>37275829
>No, that was CMCQ thread 10. It was at negative votes that night, but got better in the morning.
Huh don't know what happened then, but when I saw it, it was at like -4 after like 10 votes, maybe LL reset the votes?

>>37275955
Huh.

I tried it from an incognito window (so it wouldn't load my cookies), while logged out of my account, and didn't get that prompt. (and the question went through.) I'm not sure what else to try or say.

Take it up with ask.fm - it's their site that has the issue. I have gotten anon questions with the settings I'm using now.

>>37275990

Huh. Says it's +8 after 8 votes on this end, weirdly enough.

>>37276060
>Huh. Says it's +8 after 8 votes on this end, weirdly enough.
Either LL reset the votes or I was as drunk as you were from the drinking game and mistook it for something else.

>>37275674

"They did wipe out my life's savings," you tell her, sinking back further into the hard chair. Knowing Doc's only got one eye seems to just make her stare more intense.

"And how much was that?" she asks, raising an eyebrow.

"I've got a receipt on my phone," you tell her, pawing through menus to get at the bank document.

She puffs out another cloud of smoke while waiting for it, but finally you hand her the phone, with the document on the screen. She squints as she scrolls through it.

"I'm a freelance courier," you tell her, attempting to explain why you had that much money there in the first place.

"Did you only take the most dangerous jobs?" she asks, the side of her face pulling back in a wry smile, "that's a ton of money to have socked away. I do still think they undercharged you a good bit, but it's not quite as suspicious as I'd thought. They probably used you to test some experimental technique, and called it even. That's what I would have - well never mind that. Anything else, before we talk about my payment?"

>Write In

>>37276259
"Yeah, what conditions to you have, opening hours and rates and such."

>>37276259
this -> >>37276283 , then
"I don't expect to get hurt, but it's good to know where to go when I am."

>>37276259
"Can I expect you to test out unproven and experimental techniques on me if I come to you needing to be stitched up?"

>>37276379
"yeah, but I'll give you a discount if/when I do."

test

>HaikuDeluge @HaikuDeluge
>Looks like 4chan's down. Just when I'd finished an update, too.
>
>That's too bad. I hoped to salvage this thread, but I might just go to bed.

Posting works you big dummy.

>>37276636
Well hopefully Haiku saw that before heading to bed, if not, can anons keep the thread alive? I can later but have to leave my PC now.

File: Clapping_Canibal.gif (2.2 MB, 610x350)

2.2 MB GIF

>>37275829
Fantastic work HD.

>>37276694
Thread's already at 200+, it's not worth keeping if Haiku's gone.

>>37276761
212 to be precise, plenty of life still left in it.

>>37276636
Well if this is the end of the thread, then thanks for running HD.

So HD, what's going on? You going to archive the thread?

Oh well, I'll go get some work done if the thread is finished, thanks for the thread.

Well thanks for the thread HD.

>>37276259
Thanks for running.

>>37276259

"Yeah, what conditions do you have, opening hours and rates and such?"

"We're open all the time, if you're hurt badly enough to need it," she says, "although rates are higher if you wake me up."

"That only makes sense," you tell her, "I don't expect to get hurt, but it's good to know where to go when I am."

"Well," she says, eyeing you carefully, "if you're mixed up with who I think you are, you've got a pretty good chance of needing me for more than just a checkup."

"If I come to get stitched up," you say, spreading your hand in inquiry, "are you going to test out experimental techniques on me?"

"That was," she begins, taking her cigar with two fingers and gesturing in the air, "that was a different time, a different life. Maybe I'd try a new stitching technique, but only if I thought it'd be best for you. Oh," she says, and sticks the cigar in her mouth, "if you bring someone here, and I think they need treatment," she tells you, smoke-hardened voice rasping, "I won't let you take them away before they're out of danger."

>A different life?
>Pay and leave without prying
>Write In

>>37278290
Posting has been back up since right after your tweet...

>Pay and leave without prying

>>37278290
>Pay and leave without prying

>>37278290
>Pay and leave without prying
she probably doesn't want to talk about it

>>37278314

You settle the bill with her, using a quick transfer from your phone. It burns another few entries in your one-time set, but that is what they're there for, and you're in no danger of running out.

The pricing's very reasonable, especially for an X-ray and a quality consultation. It barely puts a dent in the cash you raked in from Reginald's job earlier today.

You idly wonder whether Elanor will be as lucky as you were with her surgery. Sure, it wasn't as horrible as Thad's lies would indicate, but they might chip her at the very least.

But they didn't chip you, you think, turning the thought over in your mind as you wheel your bike out of the back alley doctor's office. Was it a ploy to make you feel indebted? Did they feel some guilt about your infection?

Standing in the dim alleyway, beneath a sliver of darkening sky, you remember Morrison being shocked at how fast the Seeds had sprouted.

Maybe they did the operation to correct some misjudgment, an unforeseen flaw in their plan.

Whatever their plan was.

You kick off and cruise down the alleys in a random direction, enjoying the bike beneath you and the wind against your cycling leathers.

Juptek's alleys are much easier on your bones than Vulnex's cobblestone horrors. It's actually pleasurable to cruise down them, at the end of your first day back up.

You've been productive for your first day, haven't you? Picking up a new one-time set, having lunch with Ryan, executing a challenging (and well-paid) job during the afternoon, and finally making a visit to an independent doctor to make sure everything was alright.

Quite a lot to accomplish on your first day off the slab.

Just as you're thinking these self-congratulatory thoughts, your phone rings.

R.Q.

And it's flashing PRIORITY at you.

>Ignore it - you're done for the day
>Pick it up - you've got one more meeting in you

>>37278654
>Pick it up - you've got one more meeting in you

>>37278654
>>Pick it up - you've got one more meeting in you
nothing saying we have to accept whatever this is

>>37278654
>>Pick it up - you've got one more meeting in you
"You know, every time I try to take a day off some urgent job comes up and I end up near dead."

>>37278654

You pick up the call at the second ring. "You know," you say conversationally, "every time I try to take a day off some urgent job comes up and I end up near dead."

"And you wouldn't have it any other way," you hear from the other end of the line. A familiar voice, but you can't quite place it. Sounds like a woman, maybe. Perhaps it's the phone line's distortion making it sound like someone else. Or maybe they're using a voice scrambler, "it pays well, and it's exciting. But I'm just looking for your company, not a dangerous delivery. Are you free tonight?"

That's rather baldfaced, especially from a stranger, but, unless you miss your guess, this lady paid for your bike's rebuild, the new cycling suit, and the phone itself.

Might be worth it to see what she wants, but she has given you a way out.

A polite way out.

>Are you the Red Queen?
>I'm afraid I'm busy
>Who are you?
>Sure, I've got nothing better to do
>Write In

>>37278951
>Are you the Red Queen?
>Sure, I've got nothing better to do

>>37278951
>Are you the Red Queen?
>What does my company for the night entail?

>>37278951
>Are you the Red Queen?
>Sure, I've got nothing better to do

We may go on dates, but our true love will always be our motorcycle.

>>37278951
>Are you the Red Queen?
>Sure, I've got nothing better to do

>>37278951
>Are you the Red Queen?
>Sure, I've got nothing better to do
"To what do I owe the pleasure?"

>>37278951
>Sure, I've got nothing better to do

For fucks sake guys can we at least ask what the job is before agreeing?

>>37278951
>>37279029
>>What does my company for the night entail?
This please.

>>37278951

Suddenly, recognition snaps into place. You remember where you heard that voice before, in a drugged miasma of pain.

The 'creepy chess bitches', as your barely-conscious mind termed them.

"Are you the Red Queen?" you ask, pulling a sharp turn into an alley that should get you out of this warren. You're pretty sure that wherever she wants you, you probably can't reach it from the back alleys.

"So you were awake for that," she says, a note of something like pride in her voice, "yes. I am the Red Queen, and I'd appreciate your company tonight."

"What would that entail?" you ask her, finally reaching a main street. On a guess, you turn toward the high towers of Juptek's corporate headquarters.

Olimax, the garden-festooned skyscrapers.

This gets you a laugh. "Oh," she replies, " I just want to talk. I've seen your performance, but I don't really know you at all. Don't worry - I wouldn't put anything else on your plate after that mess you cleaned up today."

"Sure then," you tell her, "I've got nothing better to do."

"Great," she says, and a set of coordinates burn through another one-time code to roost on your map as a flashing dot, "I'll be expecting you," she finishes, and cuts the connection.

Hopefully you can finally get some of your questions answered tonight.

You lean forward over your motorcycle, slicing through traffic toward her address, a penthouse atop one of the skyscrapers surrounding Juptek HQ proper. With the dimming of the day, the car lights glow brighter, each its own celebration of speed, a constellation of brightly colored stars, cold and close enough to touch.

They dance around you as you blaze down the avenue, a red comet soaring toward the heart of the sector itself.

>>37279303
>META POST

Well, I hope you enjoyed the thread. You've got a mechanic, a doctor, a concierge, and info brokers in two sectors. I'd say Laura's almost set for support staff.

I'm calling it here tonight. Too tired to run further with any decent quality.

Hopefully I'll be able to run again within the next few days.


>LINKS

Twitter(for quest times, not accurate plot information): https://twitter.com/HaikuDeluge

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

Megacorps & Locations: http://pastebin.com/e0ZjmVJL

Questions: http://ask.fm/haikudeluge (Sorry if you're having problems with it. I've done what troubleshooting I can on my end, send me questions to test it.)

>>37279381
Thanks for the thread HD.

>>37279381
>send me questions to test it.
I can't, though it seems to be an issue site wide, it doesn't work for any other QM either for me.

Oh well, thanks for the thread.

>>37279381
Thanks for running

>>37279121
>Wanting to know what you're getting into
You're funny mate