Smoke & Mirrorshades

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Smoke & Mirrorshades

Postby Proto on Wed Jul 26, 2006 11:23 pm

Genre: Cyberpunk
Gameworld: Near-Future, post-apocalyptic Earth

GMs: Proto
Chars so far: Ricky Neon, Richard Cole, Monsignor Raul
Notes: None for now.
Last edited by Proto on Thu Jul 27, 2006 7:10 pm, edited 2 times in total.
Proto
PA Layabout
and General Slacker®


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Postby Proto on Thu Jul 27, 2006 12:20 am

Ricky Neon scanned the crowded nightclub like a hungry owl scouting for prey. His audio-dampers were working double-overtime to tune out the 180 BPMs of electro synthpop which the crowd of Speedball-powered clubbers lapped up eagerly in their heavily altered state of consciousness. His senses bristled as a wide-eyed Rastafarian lurched out of the flailing scrum of sweat-drenched flesh that was the dancefloor and staggered towards him.

"Ey man, you wanna be takin yooself to a hiya level? Ah gots jus' what joo be'needin..."

Before the pusher could reveal his wares, Ricky had brushed him aside and was heading to the largest of the five bars he could see from his vantage point. A string of curses followed him but he ignored them. On another night, perhaps he may have indulged, but he was here on business and he knew well enough that the two didn't mix.

The barman had the kind of face not even a mother could love. This guy hadn't just hit all the branches of the ugly tree on the way down, he had stood up again and repeatedly rammed his face against the trunk for good measure. As Ricky manhandled his way to the bar itself, the barman turned and for the first time Ricky saw his cyberarm. An old Eastern-Bloc variant, heavy on the functionality but severely lacking in aesthetics. Yep, The Ice Cube had a bad reputation and with staff like this, it was easy to see why. The barman growled something unintelligible at him, which Ricky took to be a request for his order.

"Jack n Coke, no ice." Ricky watched as the lumbering behemoth poured his drink. A meagre measure. "Better make it a double". The barman glared and turned back to the bottle on the gantry, his surly eyes firmly rooted on Ricky's reflection in the mirror behind the bar. Slamming the drink down unceremoniously, the barman held up his good hand, palm facing Ricky, fingers outstretched. 5 NuYen. He'd paid more for less. Ricky lifted his drink and sipped. Synthetic, of course. The real stuff was limited to Corporates and the super-rich. From a concealed pocket he produced a gold coin, stamped on both sides with a twin-headed dragon. The barman looked at it, then at Ricky. They both knew exactly what it meant. Mumbling something, probably a curse, the oaf shoved a steel-plated thumb in the direction of a heavy-looking door marked "Private", flanked by two well-dressed gorillas that Ricky knew the look of well enough. Goons. Taking his drink, Ricky made his way through the jostling crowd and approached the door, flicking the coin into the air as he got within a few feet of the meat machines on guard duty. One of them grabbed the spinning coin in mid-air as the other pressed a burly thumb against a surreptitiously placed pad on the wall next to the door. It swung open soundlessly, just enough for Ricky to pass through. The gorillas were silent as he passed, neither of them giving him a second look.

As the door swung shut behind him, the drone of the music was reduced to a dull throb and he made his way along a short corridor lit by two humming snakes of tube lighting. He glanced up at the camera watching his advance. He took a larger sip of his drink, knowing he could drink them all night and feel no ill effects. His liver had been replaced by a biofilter for an undercover operation about 5 years ago and he'd never had the procedure reversed. He didn't miss being drunk and it had proved quite useful several times since.

The door at the far end of the corridor slid open revealing a dimly lit room dominated by a green-felt covered card table around which three figures sat. Ricky immediately switched his optics to low-light with a subvocalised command.

"Come on in Mr Neon, take a seat." None of the figures rose to greet him. None of them he recognised. No surprises there. In his business discretion was worth more than reputation in some parts. "The others have yet to arrive." Through the haze of cigar smoke (was that REAL cigars?!) Ricky could make out three immaculately dressed Asian men, concealed behind mirrorshades. "With luck your colleagues should be here shortly and we can get down to business..."
Proto
PA Layabout
and General Slacker®


Currently playing as:
RIFT
Duram - Destiny - Blightweald EU Defiant
Myrmidia - Tranquility - Blightweald EU Defiant
Cerridwen - Tranquility - Blightweald EU Defiant
Qi - Blightweald EU Defiant
Starcraft 2 - Proto#166
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Postby Goozo on Sat Aug 05, 2006 8:31 pm

Richard Cole snorted with disgust as he stepped out of his Light Hover Vehicle; the fumes emanating from the exhaust port were enough to make even the lowliest Slummer gag. However, holding a position of considerable importance at the mayoral office, he had to be seen doing his part in the fight against the global warming epidemic. The press would have a field day if a Government official were cruising around in a converter-less vehicle – the cabbage-manure-smelling side effect of a carbon-free output is less painful to endure than a mauling by the local tabloids. Waving his chauffeur a brief dismissal, Cole shuffled towards the hefty security doors of his downtown penthouse suite, barely registering the unfamiliar Sub-Light HV parked towards one edge of the landing pad.

A warm night breeze ruffled his greying hair as he stepped into the plush surroundings of his palatial home – whilst the décor was not entirely to his tastes, his wife ruled-supreme when it came to such matters.

Daddy?” A shrill voice beckoned, even before the security doors closed. The sound of boots. A teenager peers around the lounge doorway before committing herself entirely to the hallway. Behind her, another girl, perhaps a couple of years older.

Richard regarded his daughter with cold eyes; where there was once love, now laid suspicion and remorse. “Catherine – must you parade yourself around dressed as… as a… cheap slut?

Catherine smirked, looked at her companion before shifting her gaze to a nearby full-length mirror adorning the wall. A mixed of PVC, slashed synth-fabrics, and a thick layer of off-white makeup hid any childlike innocence the young woman once had. “Guess you’d know about sluts…”, she muttered to her sniggering friend. “I’m not here to argue Daddy, dearest. I just need 2,000 NYs and I’ll run along like a good little girl”.

Richard automatically reached for his wallet – anything for an easy life. “If it’s for another abortion, I couldn’t care less this time.” Catherine snatched the bundle of notes from her father’s hand before launching herself towards the door, tugging her companion by the wrist. Perhaps it was his imagination, but the unnamed young girl appeared to offer a lingering glance at Cole on her way out; the same look his PA gives when she closes his office door for a session of ‘oral note-taking’. A serial womaniser he may be, but the girl couldn’t have been older than 16… Carefully pushing any dark thoughts to the back of his mind, Richard made his way to the faux antique oak drinks cabinet and retrieved an unlabelled crystal bottle. He poured a shot into a nearby glass, took off his jacket, and sunk into an armchair, enjoying the moment of peace and solitude.

The silence is shattered as the videophone bleeps into life. Incoming call. Caller ID withheld. In two minds whether to answer, Cole succumbs to curiosity. “Hello?” A pause. “But… I was just with him 20 minutes ago?!” A tone of fear and panic filled his voice. “And the Police have been called?” Another pause. “No? Good – under no circumstances do we need them involved. You did the right thing calling me first. I’m on my way now – call Marcus and have him meet me there.
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