Not exactly the wake-up call that Trixi and Shortround were looking for. A pair of Knight-Errant terminators armed and armored to the teeth pointing some serious ordinance at the runners. After several grenades and a bunch of KE pawns getting geeked, the situation reached its peak in the hallway.
The Tacoma heist? For once, the runners were blamed for a crime that they legitimately had nothing to do with. At the station, they were individually interviewed by a dwarf and ork pair of KE lieutenants. Tried every trick in the book. The old good cop/bad cop routine. Telling them their partners flipped on them. No dice. Runners didn’t take the bait.
Got to spend some quality time with a strung-out junkie in a holding cell. That was fun. Thankfully, they didn’t need to make use of the filthy chemical toilet in the corner before legal council arrived. It took the form of a norm girl with neon pink hair and a splash of freckles on her nose. Looked all of fourteen, but she knew her drek. Called herself “Imaginary” Annie Goldsmith—bailed out the runners and took them to Soybuck’s to discuss some other business.
Hopped up on caffeine and sugar, and seriously in debt, they agreed to Annie’s job. Meet Mr. Johnson at a bar called the Banshee. More info on site.
Fetch and grab, this time for a Sony Emperor. Target was a drekhead ork named Oxycode—dealer, small time pimp, all-around scumbag. He had the comm at a no-tell motel called the Novelty Hills Sleep & Eat. On site, Shortround’s drone zipped around on recon; spotted the side entrance to the stairwell. No security to speak of. Walked right in and up to 312, where they found Oxycode chilled out on the floor.
Maybe a little too chill. As in not breathing. Shortround kicked in the door and the runners stepped into the cramped motel room. Sony Emperor was on the floor beside the body, along with another, much nicer comm. Hermes Ikon in black trimmed with lime green. Pretty wiz. Delivered the Sony to Mr. Johnson, who told them they could have the Hermes. Keep it. Sell it. Whatever.
Another job in the bag.