I'm working on a large run with a lot of small parts; so, I will just be posting the bits and pieces as I have a chance to run them. Obviously, in a MUSH environment, people pop in and out as RL allows; so, some of these may be a bit disjointed.

Mickey walks toward The Skeleton, scanning the people for someone in particular.
Mickey approaches Myobu, "Pardon me chummer, do you know Grace?"

Myobu is lingering just outside of place, getting some fresh air, or maybe waiting for someone, kind of hard to tell. The ebony skinned lady is leaning against one of the walls, arms folded across her chest. She looks up as Mickey approaches, "I know a Grace, yes." she says softly. She eyes him curiously.

Mickey relaxes, apparently finding whom he was looking for. "The name's Mickey. Ms. Kearnsley-Walthorn is a friend of a friend. I'm looking for someone to do a quick job for me. What's your name? I'd like to be sure I'm talking to the right person."

Myobu nods and relaxes a little as she hears the rest of Grace's name and dips her head, "Ah, well if Grace arranged things, I am known as Myobu, it is a name that is as good as any."

Mickey smiles after the confirmation. "I have a small delivery. Do you have any 'ware installed?"

Myobu shakes her head, "no, nothing artificial, though I do have enhancements, they are of a different sort." she says softly, "which is why I have some ties to Grace."

Mickey nods, "Good. I just had to confirm that with you before I went into more detail. I need someone to enter a warehouse without any metal on them. I have an envelope that I need exchanged inside the warehouse. Job pays 1000. You interested?"

Myobu nods, "I can do that," she says and smiles a bit, "Without metal? hmm?" it does have her curious but she doesn't linger, "Alright, sounds simple enough." she thinks for a moment, "Details?"

Mickey glances once to the side, and then pulls a large 12"x14" envelope, handing it to Myobu. "The address is in here. Inside, there is only one office. There should be a print-out on the desk that looks similar to the contents of this envelope. I need you to switch the two. Bring back the original print-out as proof the jobs done. One of the main security defenses deals with metal detection. It's not my specialty; so, I don't know the exact name of the system."

Myobu nods, "Know how many guards or do they rely on the rest?" she asks, "Or for me to figure out?" she raises a brow.

Mickey scans the area again, "Guards should be light. Maybe 2. They can't see you make the switch, and if they see you, try to make it look like you were going for something else."

Myobu has disconnected.

The Mickey Mouse Club returns with the assassination of a serial killer. Once Cobalt and Jack check with their police contacts, they wait for the killer in a lonely intersection. A couple initiative dice rolled differently could have resulted in a very different outcome.

Mickey looks up from some trash he was digging through as the new comer arrives. Everyone else here looks much dirtier than the clean ork.

Heading into the nest it should come as no surprise that Cobalt is on alert, at least so much as the way in which he keeps an eye out on his surroundings and always keeps at least one hand near his guns in case he needs to use them. Nothing like letting the local populace know that you're willing to use force to protect ones self, and he does stick out like a sore thumb here. He reaches up and rubs his chin with one hand, scratching at a rough patch of skin before he looks around for the individual he was sent to meet.

Mickey freezes for a moment, a piece of garbage still in his hand. Then he stands up, watching the stranger curiously for two seconds. Then he drops the garbage and begins to walk toward the clearly-armed ork.

You say "Hoi chum. You're obviously new here. Can I help you with something?"

Cobalt nods, "Lookin' fer a chummah by th' name o' Mickey. Friend o' a Friend told me ta look 'im up." He says back, absently checking Mickey over for any weapons either obvious, or not so obvious. "Not 'xactly my neighborhood yanno?"

Mickey isn't carrying any visible weaponry, but there is an unusual shape in the right sleeve of his leather jacket. "I'm Mickey. Welcome to the Rat's Nest. Are you a doctor, capital DR, looking for an operation to perform? I have a sick friend who could use some help right now."

"I've been known ta excise a tumor now n' again when tha time, an' tha price, is right." Cobalt says in answer to that. "Who's tha sicko in need o' m'attentions."

Mickey smiles, his teeth unusually clean for the environment. "A friend of mine. I'll tell you about him in a minute. What's your name chum?"

Cobalt answers, "Cobalt. What's tha sitch."

Mickey nods to himself, blinking slowly once. "I heard you might be coming around. You fit the description, but I like to be sure." He lowers his voice a little and glances around, checking the distance of the various squatters. "I have a problem I need your help with."

Jack enters the Rat's Nest.

Cobalt flicks his gaze around and amps up his hearing to see if any of the other squatters might be chatting about anything they might be overhearing but then he nods towards Mickey and steps closer so their words do not have to carry as far, even going so far as offering, "Jus' whisper chummah, I'll hear yah."

Mickey raises his left hand, flat toward Cobalt to signal peace. With his right, he waves to Jack, "Jack, come meet my friend."

Jack strides up to Cobalt and Mickey, already with a lit cigarette in his mouth. "Believe we've already met," Jack eyes Cobalt. "That delivery job a short while back, ne? Took out that van and drone nicely."

Cobalt nods, "Hai chummah, that be me." He says to Jack simply with no bragging or the like as he turns his attention back to Mickey, apparently not bothered to be working with Jack again, should it turn out that way.

Mickey nods to both, "Good. I'm glad you already know each other. Jack, I was just telling Cobaly about a job I need help with. This is related to the one we discussed, but not that exact piece."

Mickey checks for any eavesdropping squatters once more before continuing. "I have a simple job. Wetwork. One target. In the open. Here in the Barrens. Interested to hear more?"

"Hm." Jack takes a drag off of the cig and exhales, the smoke blending in with the other sundry smells of the dump. "Sure, who's the target?"

Cobalt inclines his head a touch, "Listenin'." He answers simply.

You say "The target won't be known until the moment it's time to execute. The pay is 4000 for one of you, 6000 for the other."

You say "One of you will be disguised and waiting for the target in plain sight. The other will be on an adjacent roof. Once the target is identified, you take him out. The one in plain sight gets the 6000."

You say "Should I go on?"

Cobalt shakes his head, "Nah chummah, I don' be doin' random wetwork on unnamed targets." He says simply. Jerking a thumb to Jack, "No be sure where he be standin' but I don' need th' cred tha' much. Ya gimmie who it be an' I might considah it."

Mickey shakes his head, "It's not random. Let me tell you the rest of the story, and I think you'll change your mind."

You say "The target is a serial killer. He looks for vagrants sleeping the Barrens, and he kills them. Then he throws the bodies in his truck and delivers them somewhere else. We don't know the identity of the killer, but we know his usual route and that he's on duty tonight."

Mickey looks between the two men, waiting for a change in their reaction.


Cobalt listens to Mickey's story and he grunts, looking over at Jack, "You got a longarm chummah? My best range is 75 meters, all I got for firepower at the moment is these." His fingers tap the grips of his pistols. "I got no beef wit' bein' the bait, even split ya kill tha fraggoff b'fore he shoots me scan?"

Jack rummages in his duster and whips out a commlink, tapping out a message as he listens to Mickey. Soon he hears a 'blip blip' noise and reads the message. "Ok, sounds legit. I don't do random targets either, but a serial killer, I'll make an exception." Jack shrugs and reveals the holster underneath the coat he wears. "Same boat, chummer. My rifle shootin's a little rusty, to boot."

Mickey nods, "We can compensate. What if Jack sits on top of the building Cobalt is lying against? That would cut the range down to less than 10 meters."

You say "That also insures the truck won't be in between Jack and the killer. That would be bad for Cobalt here."

Cobalt hmmms and looks to Mickey, "Anythin' 'gainst the bait ventilatin' this fragger?" He then considers, "Hell, as long as it's not over max range, I'll peg 'im in the fraggin' eye."

Mickey nods to Cobalt, "You just have to wait until he draws. Then you can both open fire. Kill him as quickly as possible. I don't want him messaging someone about a trap."

Cobalt nods, "I'm in." He looks to Jack, "You wan' be the bait or wan' me ta do it." He then looks towards Mickey, "This fragger have any racial pref'rence fer who he kills?"

Mickey nods, more to himself than anyone else. "We think he has quotas, but you'll want to have your head and face concealed anyway. He has to think your a nobody or he won't stop.

Mickey motions around the Rat's Nest. "The bait should have plenty of material right here to work with. The most likely route is not more than a couple miles from here."

"I can do the shootin'," Jack says to Cobalt, taking another drag.

You say "There's an extra 500 each if he goes down without getting a message out. Like I said before, 6000 for the bait, 4000 for the backup. Don't fire until he draws. Until you see a gun, we don't know if it's a good samaritan or the serial killer."

You say "Also, he's going to have transportation. He plans to take the body with him. If some punk tries to mug you, that's probably not him."

You say "Any questions?"

Cobalt nods as he listens, "Yeah yeah, tusker always gets ta be covered in trash." He says with a toothy smirk at Jack then he looks around for 'materials'. "Yeah, where yah wan' us ta set up." He goes about hunting at that point, rather than digging through the garbage he is eyeing the other squatters perhaps trying to think of a trade or a way to buy some of the stuff they're wearing to do the job.

Jack exahales smoke through his nose. "You're the one who offered," Jack grins. "Besides a setup spot I think we're good."

Mickey transmits an intersection about 2 miles a way to both Cobalt's and Jack's commlinks. "Right there. We've put a lot of work into making sense of patterns, and we think that intersection is the most likely."


The moon is nearly full, but it is the only illumination of this dirty intersection. The streets are two lanes with parking spaces on either side, about 11 meters wide. The stores are boarded up, but some of the windows are broken anyway. From store to store, across the street, is about 15 meters. Cracked sidewalks line all the streets here, but filth and garbage is the dominant decor. The buildings are two-story on the street corners.


Fortunately for Cobalt, sunglasses aren't exactly uncommon. He's had better days of course, being wrapped in smelly clothes he's 'borrowed' from a trog in order to wear them over his clothing and armor and hide his pistols isn't exactly pleasant. He has the hood of the blanket/cloak pulled up and another cloth is wrapped around his face in a wood be mask against pollution and hiding his features from view. He's also gone about dirtying up his footwear as well to hide their quality and make and overall, is a pretty smelly individual at the moment! The rags he wears are baggy and loose enough to hide his pistols and he has his arms hidden underneath where he can get to his pistols if need be, and slits cut in the rags so he can reach out if need be as well. At the moment he is sorta shuffling like one of the half dead souls of the barrens that are oh so common, currently picking his way through one of the corner garbage cans near the setup location subvocalling to Jack about how lucky that fragger is to not have to be wearin' and smellin' this drek.

Jack sits on the roof of the building nearest Cobalt, in a spot where he has the best view of the intersection from every angle. He has his display link glasses on, despite the utter lack of things to see in AR. a Colt Manhunter is kept within easy access next to him. He grins as he listens to Cobalt, keeping his eyes peeled for any sort of vehicle.


The intersection is pretty quiet. Jack can see some movement about a block away, but it appears to be foot traffic and is not approaching. The wait stretches out for a couple hours, cars pass infrequently, but don't slow. A black van, very dirty rolls down the street with the headlights off. You guys are on the Southeast corner. The van is approaching from the North. It's not driving quickly, but slowly.


The black van slows down and then stops just past the intersection, on the southbound road adjacent to Cobalt.


As the van comes rolling on by Cobalt seems to ignore it, giving it nothing more than a cursory glance. After all that garbage can might have some nice stuff in it! Or at least that's the image he is trying to convey. Pulling out something at random tho he holds up... a soycaffe cup and examines it in the direction the van is stopping in as if trying to get a better look at it while he checks out the van.

Using his vision ehancements, Cobalt sees a well-groomed, almost good-looking, troll sitting in the driver's seat, looking back at him. When Cobalt doesn't react much, the troll opens the door of the truck and steps out. He is wearing a long black overcoat.


Jack eyes the van, taking his loaded gun and watching the troll intently.

The trog's hair is slicked back with great care. His appearance is very clean. As he steps away from the truck toward Cobalt, Jack gets a visual for the first time. It's hard for Jack to make out details in the moonlight, but he sees the form clearly. The driver is about 5 meters from Cobalt, walking toward him.


As the driver is walking towards him Cobalt will hunch down and try to make himself appear smaller, dropping whatever it was he was digging into back in the trash. He pulls his arms back into his coverings and quickly wipes the grime of he doesn't want to know what off on the inside of the rags. Moving away from the can and a bit off the intersection towards the far wall which gives Jack an easier bead on the trog if need be. His right hand slips down to rest on the grip of his Ex-Ex loaded Ruger in case this is the one then he goes about slumping against the wall pretending to be a beat, worthless, bum.


Jack removes his glasses and levels his gun at the troll. Lone Star training resurfaces in his brain, and Jack sure he has a steady aim before he opens fire. The laser sight projects a red dot on the troll's body.


The troll driver continues walking toward Cobalt and stops 2 meters away. "Evening chum, I'm a little lost. Could you help out?"

Cobalt looks up as if he was startled to be approached by this clean cut fellow and spoken too, which he actually is surprised he's being spoken to. He makes his voice as dry and raspy as he can, "What's in it fer me?" He rasps out in answer.

The tidy troll smiles, his teeth shiny white. He exudes charm and confidence. "I'll give you fifty nuyen if you can tell me how to get to <insert local bar about 1 mile east>."


Cobalt pushes a dirty grimy left hand out of his rags, "Alri'." He seems to agree in his raspy voice while subvocalling to Jack, <Not sure if this is the guy, but fifty cred for directions is stupid if it is>. "Cred firs'." He says in what is hopefully a greedy tone of voice.

Jack listens to Cobalt but keeps the gun trained on the troll, ready to fire if the trog tries anything.

Still smiling, the troll reaches into his coat and pulls out an Ares Predator IV.


The sound of the first shot scares the troll and he flinches out of the way somehow.


The troll takes the second shot across his right shoulder, but it just grazes through.


Jack squeezes the trigger of his Manhunter as soon as he sees the Predator being drawn, the sound of semi-automatic fire cutting through the general silence of the surrounding area. He spits as the troll manages to avoid his shots. "Frag!"


Even as gunfire rings out from the manhunter in Jacks hand a fraction of a second later as Jack's shells go slamming into the plascrete nearby Cobalt is firing his own pistol. The rag that was covering it is ripped apart, tissue paper or less than in comparison to the high powered ammunition blasting through it. All six bullets slam into the trog's center mass, but it's a trogg and apparently he didn't get both hearts, or something <Fraggin' 'ell chummah! Ya almos' got me!> He sends to Jack, <So much fer da bonus...> as he prepares to get the hell out of dodge as best he can, if he can.


The troll fires two shots with absolute shock and surprise on his face. He seems to mutter something under his breath as the first shot blows through a part of the disguise that doesn't contain Cobalt, and the other shot goes wide.

Cobalt gauges the Trog's reaction to being shot, absently noting the position of the firearm and in true gunkata fashion he shifts to the side, just enough that the first round rips through clothing and knicks his armor but not enough to do any significant damage, the change in position allows him to cleanly avoid the second shot even as he's adjusting to fire again. Damned Ork Grammaton Clerics...


Even before the trog can take another bead Cobalt is straightening up and his arm snaps forwards nearly putting the barrel of the ruger into the troll's chest where the killer can see the gyromount out of his wrist, "Bad choice chummah." He says dryly and then pulls the trigger. Oh the troll -tries- to get out of the way, he's even pretty good at it, but not good enough. All three rounds tear through the trolls chest leaving nearly fist sized holes behind from the high powered ammunition. Even as the troll is falling he steps over and fires another three rounds, point blank, into the trog's face just to make sure he doesn't get up. Ever again. Over the subvocal he says to Jack <He got a message off I think. Fraggit.> And with that the ork starts walking cooly away as he replaces clips into the ruger, pulling off the rags as he goes and leaving them behind.


Jack runs down through the building to the street, looking at the dead trog's body. "That was drek shooting on my part." He grunts. "Guess we should get back to Mickey."

Cobalt rolls his shoulders at Jack, "Drek happens chummah. Jus' no bonus." He says in conversational tones after having just blasted down someone, but then again it was a serial killer who drew on him first. With that the pair head off to meet with Mickey.


Mickey walks briskly toward the new arrivals, clearly anxious for news. He takes note of Cobalt's appearance. "Welcome back boys. Cobalt, are you okay?"

Cobalt has discarded the grungy clothes back at the scene and otherwise just has a tear in his shirt which shows the form fitting armor underneath, "Null persp chummah. Tink 'e got a message off tho. Was a fraggin' trog, took more 'n normal ta put down." He explains, not mentioning any of the particulars however.

Jack fishes out a pack of cigarettes, letting Cobalt do the explaining.

Mickey nods, "That's too bad about the message. I don't know what the consequences of that will be. But I'm glad you're both alive."

Cobalt rolls his shoulders in a shrug, "Dunno omae." He says back, "Might be more, might be no more. All I be knowin' is dat I put 9 into 'is chest, and three inta 'is brainpan. Dat partic'lar trog be ghoul bait."


Mickey transmits the cred to each of the runners. "That sounds like one tough dude. I'm can't tell you how glad I am that he's gone. I hope you two will consider working for me again. This is bigger than just one serial killer."

Cobalt considers, "Ya might wan' know, 'e was wired, or magic'd, sumtin', moved lot quicker den a trog s'posed ta move. If 'e was no workin' lone, they got money. Was nae Jet or Cram, wasn' twitchy."


Cobalt adds, "An ya look me up iff'n ya need anymore o' dem wiped off da face o' da earth."

"So long as you keep payin'," Jack replies. "Pleasure doin' business, Mickey."