The party got settled into the Old Downtown district of the Dark City, taking a flat in the Camden Courts block rather than the tattered Meadowcreek Pines. The Court was OK, not least because it emerged that all the security team were ex-forces or law and tenants. 

Too tired to explore, they used their new PAN IDs to locate a street kid “Stuff Done, Trust Joey” to do the run to the MegaMarket for beer and Gueverra’s for Mexican. Joey turned out to be keen and reliable, but doubted his ability to pick up armour for them.  No-one would deal it to someone his age.

Wombat checked PAN, but there was no bounty on them. Odd, unless Cartiff’s were cleared out and couldn’t afford one. Feng started work on trying to evaluate their haul - though an expert was going to be needed. 

“We’ve blown up better places than this,” commented Nevada

Staerla City, Collace/268/Spinward, 056/1105

Joey

Enquiries led them back to Devel Wilson at Gueverra’s which was also the base of the district’s gunrunners. Some negotiation yielded some light polycarapace armour, much better for fitting in on the rough streets. They started gently probing via Devel about the prospect of some recreational meds, as Nevada wanted to gauge the street value of Bluey. “I know a guy,” said Devel. “After all, who likes paying tax?” “Frank Leyland, here’s a code, give him a call.”

Staerla City, Collace/268/Spinward, 058/1105

The armour arrived on spec, and everyone felt a bit safer wrapped in it.  They sent Joey out with a request to bring back a hit of Bluey; he said it was around the Cr100 mark so they gave him Cr110. He didn’t come back, and they gradually began to suspect him of skipping with the money.

Staerla City, Collace/268/Spinward, 060/1105

3rd Floor, High Rides Ground Car Park, Staerla City, Collace/268/Spinward, 061/1105, 23:46

Ganger

On reaching the designated spot, the PCs found scruffy punks sliding out of concealment all around them. Mohawked, tattooed, chromed and cocky, they carried magrail pistols. Their leader swaggered up to Nevada, and started haggling.

Midway through Feng asked sharply: “Ever heard of a lad called Joey?” The sudden question  caught them off guard; the leader’s eye twitched, but behind him she caught sight of a cruel smile on another. “Where is he?” she followed up. And the leader made his fatal error.

Turning back to Nevada, he hooked a thumb. “You let that woman talk for you?” he asked contemptuously. Nevada shrugged - and Feng put a laser bolt through the punker’s belly.

A blazing firefight erupted, with bullets, bolts and grenades in all directions. Thirty seconds later, all the punks were dead or dying. The leader was still gasping, and Feng, standing over him, judged that were she to apply swift first aid, he’d probably life. Instead she rammed her wrist dagger into his throat and watched him die. 

The party collected up their money, hand computers, the magrail pistols and the payload, 8 stimcones of Bluey.

After arranging the corpses into obscene poses, she wrote “Remember Joey” on the concrete floor in their blood and the party left the scene as the sirens approached.

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Session 13/03/2023