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>>36185658

The wheels of your motorcycle crunch over a small snowdrift of medial equipment as you ride for the container's door, carefully avoiding the man laying on the floor. You've done enough to him.

You've decided to find somewhere else to hide until the two groups of mercs have settled things with each other. That will allow the winners to focus their efforts on you, but that sounds better than having both sides shooting at you.

You ride out of the container, headlight off, running dark. Nobody seems to notice. they're all too busy shooting at each other.

The room is the same as you remember it - concrete walls and high ceiling, knocked over worklights casting strange shadows and shining inconsistent beams of bright light, the shipping containers scattered singly around your end of the room, the five-foot cubes connected to the big server rack in the center of the room, and the three-high stacks of shipping containers at the other end of the room.

As far as you can tell, the Lady's mercs hold your end of the room, and the other group of mercs is holed up on the other side, around the stacks of containers.

All of them except one - the merc sitting atop the big server rack in the center, secure in the knowledge that nobody on the other side would risk shooting something that valuable.

>You head for another container on this side of the room
>You head for the nearby dark edges of the room
>You try to work your way across to the large stacks of containers at the other end of the room
>Write In

>>36185673
>>You head for the nearby dark edges of the room
We are a shadow.

>>36185673

Twitter(for quest news, not my political views): https://twitter.com/HaikuDeluge

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

Questions: http://ask.fm/haikudeluge

LAST SESSION'S STATS:
Phone Numbers Obtained: None
Delivery Completed: None [Progress On: The Old Man And The Look-See]
Bonus Objectives Fulfilled: The Descent; Calling Into The Night; Blinded By The Light, We Have Ways
Bonus Objectives Missed: 2Spook; Stone Cold Killer; Pigsticker; Ladykiller; The Scream; Grandpa In Distress; Eating Your Words

>>36185673
>You head for the nearby dark edges of the room

>>36185673
>You head for the nearby dark edges of the room

>>36185673
>>You head for the nearby dark edges of the room

>>36185673
>>You head for the nearby dark edges of the room

>>36185673
>You head for the nearby dark edges of the room

>>36185673

Any container you try on this side of the room will be as much of a trap as this one, and your throbbing shoulder reminds you what a good idea riding across the open space is.

So you take the only sensible option. You head for the nearby dark edge of the room.

Sure, your bike's engine roars loudly enough to echo all the way across the large underground room, but you stick to the darkest shadows, and it's not as if anyone can aim by sound.

Well, you wouldn't put that past some really high-grade corp gear, but you hope none of these clowns have it.

The motorcycle shoots toward the room's wall, then you see something in the darkness and haul your bike over, turning sharply to avoid it.

On closer inspection, it turns out to be a huge pile of trash bags, and as your eyes get used to the darkness, you spot several similar piles along the wall, a few of them merging into each other like mountains grinding into each other.

>Search through the trash
>Keep going
>Just call for Davey as you ride along, don't bother digging through the trash
>Write In

>>36186129
>>Search through the trash

>>36186129
>>Search through the trash

>>36186129
>Search through the trash

>>36186129
>Search through the trash
just a quick look

>>36186129
>>Search through the trash
And maybe hide under it yourself.

>>36186129
FUCK YEAH! I LOVE THIS QUEST!
>Search through the trash

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>>36186129

You stop near the trash pile, put your kickstand down, and yank the key.

Like hell you'd make it easy for someone to steal your bike. You dismount and walk toward the bags. There's a funny kind of off-scent in the air, but it's so cold down here you can barely smell it. You can't quite place it, but it gets stronger as you get closer to the bags.

You grab one halfway up the pile and try to lift it. It's unexpectedly heavy, so all you can do is swing it to the ground. As it hits the ground, you get a good whiff of that strange smell again. Must not have been sealed well.

"Davey?" you call, shifting another bag, "you in there?"

Nothing. Well, you tried, you think as you shift another bag off the pile.

Then you grab a bag wrong, and it splits as you drop it on the ground. The contents are semisolid and spill over your boots and the floor, accompanied by a slight tide of liquid. A scalpel catches the light - that must have been what what ripped the bag.

Oh, fuck.

It might be dim in here, but you can recognize dismembered meat when you see it. You look back at the rest of the trashbags, wrapping your mind around the fact that they're filled with dead meat, too profaned by surgery to even look human.

Well, if you didn't know too much before, you certainly know too much now.

>Too spooky - Get out while the getting's good
>Hide under the sacks of meat yourself
>Maybe you didn't call Davey's name loudly enough the first time - Try it again, louder
>This is a wash, go somewhere else
>Write In

>>36186855
>>This is a wash, go somewhere else
Surely no one would want to hide under human remains

>>36186855
>>Maybe you didn't call Davey's name loudly enough the first time - Try it again, louder
If this doesn't work than lets just bug out, this is getting ridiculous.

>>36186855
>>Maybe you didn't call Davey's name loudly enough the first time - Try it again, louder
So an OR and a buch of body parts. Obviously they were up to something. Big server board...
Could it be they are collating brains to stick into "AI"s?

>>36186855
>>Maybe you didn't call Davey's name loudly enough the first time - Try it again, louder

>>36186855
>This is a wash, go somewhere else
we should check all the containers, they're probably all mobile "surgery" rooms, maybe the old man isn't dismantled yet...

>>36186855
"SAR AH!"
I mean DAV EY!

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>>36186855

You've always heard about things like this, but this is the first time you've seen it first hand.

Damn, with all these bags, you can't even begin to estimate how much dead flesh is piled against the wall. You feel sick, and you're pretty sure it's not just the smell.

No one would want to hide under this stuff, you think, and start to turn away from the grisly evidence.

Wait.

Isn't the perfect hiding spot the spot where you assume nobody would hide?

You turn back to the bags and call out "old man, I'm here to get you out! You want to drink soup again, right?"

You hear the rustle of plastic bags moving, and see a couple shake, ten feet further down the pile, near the top. "Help get these off of me, then," you hear in a muffled voice, "I'm freezing in here."

The bags go sliding down like kids from a king of the hill match as you help pull them off the speaker, then help the old man out of the pile.

He's a reedy specimen, thin white hair matted with unspeakable fluids, wrapped in an old trench coat. You could have passed him without a second thought in any other pile of garbage, especially if there was a bottle of cheap wine in his hand.

"Paul must have sent you, then," he says in a thin, almost whispering, voice. He looks at you while he straightens his disreputable coat, "shall we be off?"

You'd like nothing better.

"Hop on," you tell him as you mount your bike and turn the key, "I've had enough of this place."

The engine roars to life as he clasps his thin arms around your abdomen. They're surprisingly strong for their thickness and the generally fragile impression he gives off.

"So have I," he says quietly, "body bags makes for a bad bed."

>Rush for the exit, try to slip past the van parked across
>Wait until the mercs are more distracted than usual
>Write In

d10s, please.

Also, anything you'd like to say to Davey? Write it, or at least the general gist of it.

Rolled 4 (1d10)

>>36188087
>Rush for the exit, try to slip past the van parked across

Rolled 4 (1d10)

>>36188087
>>Rush for the exit, try to slip past the van parked across

Rolled 4 (1d10)

>>36188087
>Rush for the exit, try to slip past the van parked across

Rolled 6 (1d10)

>>36188087
>>Rush for the exit, try to slip past the van parked across

Rolled 9 (1d10)

>>36188087
>Exit Rush

"What the hell's going on here?"

>>36188150
>>36188176
>>36188217
Pfft you gotta give us something for trips right?

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>>36188150
>>36188176
>>36188217

>>36188150
>>36188176
>>36188217
Beautiful.

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>>36188245
What, you want 44 to descend from the heavens and rescue us?

Rolled 7 (1d10)

>>36188087
>give him our leather jacket before he gets a stray bullet
>Rush for the exit, try to slip past the van parked across

>>36188306
Why not?

>>36188087
>>Rush for the exit, try to slip past the van parked across
Geronimo!

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>>36188306
Gotta love angels.

Rolled 7 (1d10)

>>36188087
>>Rush for the exit, try to slip past the van parked across
"I hope to high heaven that you don't have a job for me too, today has been a total clusterfuck."

>>36188087

"The hell's going on here?" you ask the old man, as you circle the bike around. He's light, and won't make maneuvering much more difficult. Well, as long as he hangs on tight.

Come to think of it, it's been a long time since anyone held you this closely. But there's no time for that now, in this cold concrete room full of dead bodies and living killers.

Speaking of killers, you throw a glance toward the server rack on the center of the room, expecting to see the same merc standing there.

Well, he's still there, but he's fighting someone in a white suit. They're using a sword. You guess that's a decent way of dealing with him while avoiding collateral damage, but really, a sword, in the 22nd century.

Someone's confident.

Oh, fuck, they're probably an Asset.

"I'll explain later," Davey tells you, in that light, breathy voice of his, as you gun the engine, "for now, it's some mercs fighting over a secret corp project that went rogue."

Well, that figures. Although a corp going for hired mercs instead of in-house muscle raises its own questions.

>>36189414

You speed along, racing parallel to the wall, sneaking looks at the battle atop the servers. White suit is fighting conservatively, confidently, acting like they have the luxury to pick their strikes. The pig is desperately aggressive, as if he fears that any letup in his rain of blows would be the opportunity his opponent needs.

He's right.

A momentary over-extension, and white suit is inside his guard. The long sword flashes through the large merc like a bolt of lightning, skewering his midsection. You can't help but watch white suit draw it out in horrified fascination, a pulling, diagonal slice that rips the pig's gut open.

Drops of blood rain from the tip of the sword as white suit swings it in a wide arc and kicks the crumpling merc off of the servers.

It's almost beautiful.

And then white suit is running for the same exit you're headed for, and thanks to their head start, they'll make it there first.

By the time you come level with the entrance to the spiral and turn toward it, white suit is standing in the only space left between the van's noze and the wall, sword at the ready.

"I told you I'd deal with you," the lady's voice says coldly in you ear, through the earpiece you took form her subordinate, "don't think you're going to make it out of this."

You see white suit's lips moving.

Oh damn, she's the lady.

And she's trying to block your path with a raised sword.

>Flat out, run her over
>Lay your bike down as you come in
>Tire to the face
>Write In

>>36189448
>Tire to the face
Fire at her while you're closing to through of her timing.

>>36189448
>Tire to the face
and shoot her while we're at it

>>36189448
>>Tire to the face

>>36189448
>>Tire to the face
"Please go away."

>>36189448
>Tire to the face
>Write in
Flirt while we do it.

>>36189448
>Tire to the face
+
Gun.

This is probably a fucking terrible idea, but hell.
Most people don't expect to be beaten to death with a bike.

>>36189578
>>36189572
>>36189448
This

>>36189448
>TURN AROUND
>She has a sword in a world where guns are the norm
>she must able a certified badass we do not want to tangle with her.
>find another exit.

Rolled 4 (1d10)

>>36189448
>>Tire to the face
plus lead poisoning... to the face

>>36189578
We could pass Davey our gun, and hope he's a decent shot.

>>36189448
>Tire to the face
Hasn't failed us yet

Rolled 5 (1d10)

>>36189448
MORE DICE

Rolled 3, 8, 6, 3, 7, 6, 3, 1, 10, 8 = 55 (10d10)

>>36189448

>>36190219
ALL THE DICE

>>36189448
(1/2)

As you lean into the turn, you stick one hand into your half-open jacket and grab the SMG.

You can almost ride your steed with just your legs, shifting your weight to guide it, so driving it one-handed is a cinch. You motorcycle rides cleanly through the turn, as you bring the SMG to bear on the Lady.

Controlling your motorcycle is easy - you've have plenty of practice, and you were always a natural. Controlling your SMG is not easy at all. You're not used to fully-automatic fire, and it's just an unfamiliar weapon in general.

"I see you know that the way to a man's heart is through his stomach!" you yell at the Lady. It's not a good jibe, nor particularly funny, but it's the best you've got right now, with the recoil from the angry little gun jarring your hurt shoulder as you try to hold it on target.

"Bursts, bursts," the old man's breathy voice says from behind you, as your shots fly wild, a few of them hitting the van's windows, sparking spiderwebs of cracks across the glass. You let go of the trigger.

The Lady stands there and sheathes her sword, then drops into a crouch with one hand on its hilt, and the other gripping the scabbard.

You'd heard of drawing techniques before.

You never thought one would happen to you.

>>36190637
You're safe. Iaido is not a real combat style.

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>>36190733
Maybe not, but it's rule of cool as fuck, which means Haiku's probably using it.

Besides, this is the future.

>>36190733
we are fucked.

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>>36190637
(2/2)

Bursts then, you think as you brace the SMG against the handlebar. It's a straight shot through the gap from here.

You squeeze off a few shots at a time, pulsing the trigger as you close. You can even swear you see a couple of them connect, and the Lady almost winces, but acts like they're no more threatening than bee stings.

Why do so many people have to wear bulletproofing?

You hear more gunfire, and realize that the rest of her crew must be firing at you now. Well, there's nothing you can do about that, you think as you grind your teeth. You fire another burst at the Lady, hoping it hits somewhere unprotected, like her smug face.

Then you feel a change in Davey's grip - he only has one arm around you now, and he's leaning to the other side. You instinctively correct your balance, irritated that he doesn't know how to be a good passenger, when you see the ugly nose of a revolver out of your peripheral vision.

There isn't enough time to prepare yourself for the report, but your helmet does muffle some of the sound. The van jumps a little, and you see a neat bullet hole appear in its side. You stash the SMG back in your coat - gonna need two hand for this.

Davey waves his pistol to the side, and you see the Lady glance at the van. Some of her smugness vanishes, and when Davey points the pistol back at her, she ducks behind the van's engine block.

That leaves you a clear path out.

>>36191322
(3/2)

Just in case she tries anything, you crank the throttle up and rear the bike back, doing a wheelie as you pass the front of the van.

Good idea.

She tries to clothesline you with the sword as you pass. It would have worked - if the biek had booth wheels on the ground. Instead, the sword strikes the hardened steel frame of your bike, and twists from her grasp as you rocket past.

"Impressive," you hear her say coldly before she cuts the connection again.

Now it's just a jaunt up the spiral and out of the empty Korinyx compound, and you're home free.


>That's a quite the gun you have there
>So, what were you doing down there?
>Paul was quite worried about you
>Call Paul
>Write In

>>36191360
>>Paul was quite worried about you
>>Call Paul

>>36191360
>Call Paul
>Paul was quite worried about you

>>36191360
>Thank Davey for saving our ass
>Call Paul

>>36191360
>So, what were you doing down there?
>Paul was quite worried about you

>>36191360
>>Paul was quite worried about you

>>36191406
To be fair, we probably could have taken her ourselves.

The bike would have fouled her slash, and by then we would have been close enough to try for headshots.

>>36191360
>That's a quite the gun you have there
>So, what were you doing down there?
>Paul was quite worried about you
>Call Paul
ALL OF THE THINGS!

>>36191360
>>That's a quite the gun you have there
>>So, what were you doing down there?
>>Paul was quite worried about you
>>Call Paul
>>36191474
ALL THE THINGS INDEED

>>36191474
>>36191516
What's the point of giving us options if we just choose all of them anyways?

>>36191608
pick what you want to say. I want to say all of these. there for I pick all of the options

>>36191360


"Paul was really worried about you," you tell Davey as you drive up the spiral.

"I was in a bit over my head this time," he tells you, in his soft, breathy voice, as he re-holsters his pistol, "I usually don't have to hide in a pile of cold dolphin guts."

Wait, dolphin guts? So those weren't... Well, suddenly you feel a lot better about all of this.

"Of course, going too far underground for my signal to reach was bad too," he says, "I assume you heard my mayday beacon? I'll have to get another phone - they smashed it when they found the source of the signal and I wasn't there."

"All in all," he finishes, "a bit of a bad job."

"I agree with that," you tell him, as you drive up the ramp and out into the warehouse, "mind if I call Paul for you?"

"Go ahead," he says, "I'm content to just ride." You're a little worried that he's going to fall asleep, and you can feel him shivering as he leans into you.

You switch your radio back on, now that you're out of the range of those strange whistling noises.

"Paul," you say, "you there?"

"What's going on?" he asks, "is Davey alright?"

"Yeah. He's on the bike with me, and we're coming back," you tell him, "anything happen since I lost contact?"

"Nothing I know about," he says, "I'm just glad he's alright. I'll be waiting for you at the bookstore."

>Anything further you want to say to or ask Paul
>Anything further you want to talk to Davey about
>Write In

>>36192187
>Anything further you want to talk to Davey about
Why was he there?
What were they fighting over
Who was the asset?

>>36192187
>>Anything further you want to talk to Davey about
Now that we're out of trouble, want to explain what was going down there? Or wait until we reach the bookstore.

>>36192187
>>Anything further you want to say to or ask Paul
"Are you free tonight? I have had a hell of a day and could use some fun."

>>36192187
not really.
but the question is how should we ride?
fast as we can, to get safe asap
or
carefully because you have an old man with no gear behind you

>>36192187
Ask them both "So, how is your sex life?"

>>36192306
I like this idea only as long as her idea of fun is non-lewd. mostly because I'd think it's be funny to blueball him.

>>36192812
A chess game?

>>36192967
Reading books together under a blanket while eating soup.

>>36192985
Yes, he must read us a story.

>>36193030
OH at our house so we can be on our stuffed animal bed!

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>>36192187
(1/2)

"Great," you tell Paul, "I'll bring him back in one piece. See you in ten."

You think about asking him more frivolous things, but you'll have time enough for that after you get back to the bookstore, so you kill the connection instead.

"So, Davey," you ask the old man shivering behind you, "what was going on back there, and how'd you wind up in the middle of it?"

"You're being paid, aren't you?" he asks, with no bite in his voice, "information's my business. You'll have to pay for anything more than I've said already."

That's, well, you probably should have figured he'd say that, you think as you ride out of the compound, back on the open streets. It part of the way Paul got you into this job, at any rate.

"You gonna be ok back there?" you ask the old man, listening to his teeth chatter.

"I should be," he tells you, weakly, "I should be more careful of getting cold at my age. Especially in this weather. "

"Could you even say who that Lady was?" you ask, "she did try to kill me."

"She seemed to be the leader of one of the groups of mercs," he says, and you're almost certain he's smiling, "fighting over the server and those strange cubes in a secret underground room. She also seemed skilled with a sword. Is that enough information for you?"

It's all things you'd observed for yourself. He's just messing with you now, but it's keeping him awake. For all his obstinacy, you're feeling pretty protective of the fast-fading old man.

That's not to say that his pointed refusal to tell you anything isn't frustrating. You try a different tack, hopefully more likely to get some information out of him for free.

"So," you ask, cruising along the road, "how's your sex life?"

>>36193665
>GET THIS MAN A COAT!

>>36193716
Isn't he already wearing a trench coat?

>>36193766
he needs a better one. Sick old people is not fun.

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>>36193665
(2/2)

Now that takes him off guard.

"What?" he asks, startled, "I'm an old man. Good, hot food, a thick book, a drink, and a warm room means more to me than any of life's other pleasures. I'm sure Paul would have an interesting answer for you, though."

"What do you mean?" you ask. You wonder idly whether the old man's implying that this information has no value, or if he's too cold and tired to care. Well, at least he's not coughing.

"He's a strange one," the old man tells you in his small, breathy voice, as you race down the streets, "helpful and caring to everyone, but I'm not sure it's because he actually cares for any of us. It's like he cares for any specific person because he thinks he should care for people in general."

You're not quite sure what the old man's going on about, or why he's telling it to someone he's barely met. Well, at least you're almost back at the bookstore.

"Sometimes I worry about him," he finishes slowly, and then you pull into the first-floor antechamber crammed with bikes.

Paul's waiting there, and he starts helping Davey up the stairs while you lock your bike up.

By the time you're done, they're long gone. You really don't want your bike to get stolen.

Well, you may as well wait in the bookstore and think about what happened.

You didn't finish your dinner anyway, your stomach reminds you.

The bookstore is warm and homey as usual. Kids, and a few adults, are reading or eating at the tables.

>Get food
>Browse the books
>Talk to someone

>>36194235
>Browse the books

>>36194235
>Browse the books

>>36194235
>Browse the books

>>36194235
>>Get food

>>36194235
>>Browse the books

>>36194235
>>Get food
When have you last eaten?

>>36194235
>>Get food

>>36194235

>Get food
No fainting in the library eat.

>>36194235
>private concerns about someone he's close to
>told to someone he literally just met

Does this strike anyone else as odd?

>>36194235
>Get food

>>36194613
Yeah, that is kinda strange.

>>36194613
He got a touch rambley and was complaining about being cold. Maybe he was injured?

>Order food, browse books while we wait.

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>>36194235


You left for the job a couple of hours ago, and you didn't get to finish your dinner before you left. Finish? Hah, you barely managed to start it before Paul got that call.

Now that you think about it, your dinner might still be sitting in the alcove - it looks like people bus their own tables here, judging by the pile of dishes on a clearly-marked counter by the sink.

You weave between the tables, then, on a whim, take a turn through the bookshelves on your way to the curtained alcove. They're efficiently constructed, as Paul told you, racks of pipe holding long slats of sheet steel, everything welded together.

The books themselves are a strange collection, skewed toward positively ancient authors. There's an entire shelf of various translations of Homer's epics. Well, it would be an entire shelf if some of the readers at the tables weren't attempting the easier adaptations.

An entire set of Gibbon here, a swastika-jacketed volume of Shirer there, and most of the Greeks and Romans anyone ever thought worth reading, all clustered together. Mein Kampf, Marx's Manifesto, and a dozen other books written either for or against them are on the top shelf of one set, above history books describing the period of time they influenced.

It's a common arrangement for the books here - histories on lowers shelves, and the works that influenced people to make that history arranged above them. It looks almost more like an educational curriculum than a bookstore.

You decide that you're too hungry to take a look through the fiction section before heading to the alcove, but you're very curious about how it's arranged.

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>>36195403

Sure enough, everything is as you left it before leaving. You didn't realize how much the sense of danger was drowning out your hunger until now. In a safe place, with good food in front of you, your appetite comes rushing back, and not even the memory of the bagged dolphins can stop your enjoyment.

The soup is still good at room temperature, and the bread, while no longer warm, still has a crisp crust and a moist interior. The thick, hearty broth, with chunks of meat and vegetables floating in it (although you have no idea how much of it is artificially-produced substitutes), is so much better than the efficient and quick meals you eat so often.

So you've got better things to do with your time than cook. Lots of people do.

You're just finishing up, sopping the last dregs of the soup with your bread, when Paul pushes aside the curtain and plops into the seat opposite you.

"So-"

"How-"

You both begin speaking at the same time, interrupting each other and stopping short.

>You first
>How's Davey doing?
>What's with those books?
>What the hell did you send me into?
>Write In

>>36195432

>You first

>>36195432
>>You first

>>36195432
>You first

>>36195432
"So, how is your sex life?"
Priorities

>>36195432
>What the hell did you send me into?
You definately need owe me hazard pay for this.

>>36195470
Stop

>>36195470
Nope

>>36195500
No? not trying to be lewd, just having fun. If you do not like it, down vote it or vote for a more popular option.

>>36195432
>>You first
then
>How's your sex life?

>>36195583
My brother!

>>36195432
>You first

>>36195432
>>You first

>>36195470
nope.

>>36195665
the man's always keeping me down.

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>>36195432

"You first," you tell him, and pop the last bit of bread into your mouth.

"Well," he says, "Davey's warmed up and in bed now. He got pretty chilled out there, and he subscribes to the old method of warming one's self up."

Paul pulls out a hip flask and taps it on the chessboard-patterned table. It sounds very empty.

"He was probably pretty sloshed by the time you found him," he continues, "I'm sorry on his behalf if he said anything untoward."

Well, that explains a couple of things. Alcohol makes you feel warmer temporarily, but makes you colder in the long run. And maybe that's why he started rambling at the end.

"No," you tell Paul, "he was one of the best passengers I've had," well, maybe that speaks more to the usual quality of your passengers, "even helped shoot our way out."

"I'm glad to hear it," he says, "although I'm not sanguine about him shooting in that condition. What happened in there, by the way?"

Wait. Maybe Davey had being trying to shoot the Lady, and hit the van by mistake? It wasn't a calculated threat, just a missed shot that he capitalized on?

Huh. You kinda like the old guy.

>That's information, and I don't give information away for free
>Tell him
>Write In

>>36195893
>>That's information, and I don't give information away for free

>>36195893
>That's information, and I don't give information away for free

>>36195893
>Tell him as long as willing to give a little.
He'll hear most of it from Davey later anyway.

>>36195893
>That's information, and I don't give information away for free
>Trade "i'll tell you all about but you have to then answer a few questions for me" HOW IS YOUR SEX LIFE?

>>36195893
>Tell him
Davey already knows, don't be a jerk.

>>36195971
>spoiler
As a compromise, I suggest the question is fine when we aren't talking business or on a job, as a general rule.

>>36196037
Good point.

>>36195893
>That's information, and I don't give information away for free
let's trade!

>>36195893
>he was sloshed

Well, that answers my question in >>36194613

>>36195893
>>36195971
I will withdraw the how is your sex life question for now. This beautiful bastard here >>36196037
makes a great point.

>>36195893
>>That's information, and I don't give information away for free

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>>36195893

"That's information," say with a smile, "and information isn't free."

Paul looks at you for a second, like he's trying to decide what to do, then he sags down into the seat and starts chuckling. "Well," he says, "I guess I deserve that. But information is a business, and it's my business. What do you want to know? Nothing too extreme - Davey should remember everything when he wakes up. I'm just paying for the convenience of knowing sooner."

"What do you have on a mercenary crew leader who wears a white suit and uses a sword?" you ask, "they call her the Lady." He probably knows as little as you do about the secret project in that underground room, but he might know this one.

"Oh, her?" Paul asks, sitting up straighter, and taking a sip from his glass. The liquid inside is a light amber color - whiskey, maybe? "Nicole Himura. She's the daughter of a high level Vulnex exec. Decided to run a merc band for some reason, back when she was a teenager. A lot of exec's kids try it once for fun, but it wasn't like that for her. Saw something more in it, perhaps. She's been doing it for years now - leverages her connections pretty ruthlessly to get good jobs, I've heard."

"Well," you start, "I'm not sure you'd call what I pulled Davey out of a 'good' job."

Than you tell him the story, or at least the important or interesting bits. Paul listens, sipping his drink at intervals, and sometimes asking a question of two when things aren't clear.

When you're done, he pulls out a wad of cash.

>>36196842

"This is the balance of the payment we contracted for," he tells you, sliding it across the chessboard, "And I'll tell you what I've managed to find on Qui."

"He's a Nepcor Asset," he continues as you count the money, "but he hasn't been with them for more than a few years. As far as I can tell, he's been with Dagon Core almost since he got augmented," he looks at your blank expression and throws in "Dagon Core is a Nepcor group under direct control of Raynard Eriksson, one of their upper level executives. They're effectively an in-house merc group, and specialize in smash-and-grabs."

"So," he finishes, eyes flickering between your face and the money, "was it worth it?"

>Yeah, I'd say this was a good night's work
>No, there's some more information I'm looking for (Write In)
>Was getting Davey back worth all this to you?
>Write In

>>36196857
>>Yeah, I'd say this was a good night's work

>>36196857
"Fuck if I know."

>>36196857
>>Yeah, I'd say this was a good night's work, if a bit more exciting than I was hoping.

>>36196900
This

>>36196857
Nicole Himura and Dagon Core, are they likely to hold a grudge and come look for me?

>>36196857
>>Yeah, I'd say this was a good night's work, but after this day, I need a freakin' drink.

>>36196857

"Yeah," you say, "I'd say this was a good night's work, if a bit more exciting than I was hoping. You think Nicole or Dagon Core are likely to hold a grudge and come looking for me?"

"I've heard Nicole has," he pauses for another sip, as if buying time for his thoughts to collect, "some strange ways of viewing the world. She's recruited people who've opposed her in the past, precisely because of how well they opposed her. Dagon Core is another matter entirely. If Qui was on a job when you took him down, and there's anything tying you to it, you might not be a priority target, but you should probably steer clear of anywhere they can operate freely without repercussions."

Well, at least you don't live in Nepcor's sector.

"I could probably use a drink, too," you say, stuffing the wad of cash into a jacket pocket, next to the SMG.

"Sorry," he says, "I'm not being a good host, am I? I'll go get the bottle and another glass."

He collects your used dishes and leaves, closing the curtain behind him. He'd probably make a good waiter, or maybe a barber, with those fine, dexterous hands of his.

>Well, that seems to be the end of it
>This day probably still has something crazy to throw at you


Additional choice:

>Explore the alcove
>Stay seated

>>36197299
>>Well, that seems to be the end of it
>>Explore the alcove

>>36197299
>Well, that seems to be the end of it
>This day probably still has something crazy to throw at you
it's 2:40 here so i'm a little brain fried, what does these options do?

>>36197299
>This day probably still has something crazy to throw at you

>Explore the alcove

>>36197299
>>This day probably still has something crazy to throw at you
>>36197299
>>Stay seated

>>36197351
If the day still has something crazy to throw at you, something more happens.

>>36197299
>>This day probably still has something crazy to throw at you
>Explore the alcove

>>36197299
>This day probably still has something crazy to throw at you
>>>Explore the alcove

>>36197299
>This day probably still has something crazy to throw at you
>Stay seated
He's being a good host, we should be a good guest.

>>36197299
>>This day probably still has something crazy to throw at you
>Explore the alcove
We are going to sleep well tonight.

How are we doing for cash? We've done two well paying jobs today. How much cash do we need to be pulling to support ourselves?

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>>36197299

There's more to the alcove than the booth with its chessboard table. A narrow path leads behind Paul's side and around the back of the booth to another curtain. You get up from your empty place and lightly vault over the back of the booth.

Ooh, that was a bad decision, as all your aching bruises scream into your nerves. They stiffened up again while you were seated.

Well, whatever they say, you're over the back of the booth. You pull the curtain in front of you back a little, and peek through the gap.

It's a tiny room, rather like a monk's cell. Or, rather, two of them, back to back. On one side is a magnficent computer setup, monitors surrounding the central chair. Locked and presenting a "security device not present" screen, of course. On the other side of the room, an old wooden writing desk, with manuscripts piled on it.

The wall they share is nothing but shelves, with more piles of manuscripts, written on paper of all descriptions, weighting them down. There are colored tags sticking out of the piles, probably helpful if you had a specific topic of person you were trying to find.

On a whim, you walk over to the writing desk. There's a sheet of paper in a cleared area in the middle, a capped pen just to the side of it.

It's a description of your and your motorcycle, along with an account of the job you pulled in the Danger Zone, some notes about a motorcyclist of your description being pursued in Nepcor's sector, and a note about your 'observant and suspicious' demeanor.

There's a heading titled "Korinyx Extraction", with a description of your actions on the job until you lost contact with Paul by going too far underground.

Well then.

>Destroy the paper
>Take the paper
>Leave it alone
>Write In

>>36197824
>Leave it alone
Let the man do his job. We don't want to make an enemy out of him.

>>36197824
>>Leave it alone

>>36197824
>>Leave it alone

>>36197853

I'm wondering where the job ends and the man begins, though. If we waifu this guy, how much of that is going to get written down?

>>36197824
>>Leave it alone

>>36197911
>already contemplating waifuing Paul
>Ryan's face when we never call him, ever

>>36198022
That's what his name was, I was trying to remember.

>>36198022
Look, it's an if.

Didn't Haiku say something about a "husbando buffet" a few threads ago?

I get the feeling it hasn't even begun.

Besides, Ryan's a bad option, if only because he's live-on-site security for some small corp researching something crazy. He's going to die the second their experiment inevitably goes rogue.

>>36197824

You aren't surprised. Information, as you've been reminded several times, is his business.

Still, this time the fact is practically slapping you in the face. It's a bit disconcerting to know that you, or at least your information, is being sold by someone you barely know.

You turn and head for the curtain. You need to be sitting in that booth by the time Paul comes back.

But on your way back, you hear voices. Someone's talking, outside the second curtain. You stop and listen

"Let's talk business," a hard woman's voice says. You know that voice. It's Nicole Himura. You hear her sweep the curtain back, and then the creak of leather as she and another person, probably Paul, settle into the booth.

"I'm looking for information on a motorcyclist who was at the Korinyx facility forty-five minutes ago," she continues, "Female, wearing a black helmet, reinforced biking jacket, and blue jeans."

"Did she make any quips?" Paul asks, and you hear him pour a drink.

"Yes, thank you," Nicole responds, and you're pretty sure she's sipping on the drink he just poured.

That was supposed to be your drink.

"What are you offering?" Paul asks, "information about the Korinyx compound?"

"No," she says, "that would break my contract. Here's my offer." You hear something, probably cash, thump on the table.

"I'm afraid our information isn't worth quite that much," Paul says, "she only began operating in Vulnex sector recently."

Well, he's wrong about that, but you haven't done anything very high profile here before today.

"Is half acceptable?" Nicole asks him.

"That sounds good," Paul says, "the courier's name is..."


>Laura Hocking
>Kara Treadway
>Sam Driver
>Write In (don't make me regret this)

>>36198206
>Kara Treadway

>>36198206
Erica Levesque

>>36198206
>Name choice 6 threads in
Haha wow, didn't expect this one.

>Laura Hocking
The rest seem a little too unsubtle for me.

>>36198206
>Kara Treadway

>>36198206
>Laura Hocking

>>36198206
just to make sure, this will be our name, not just a fake trail he's giving her, right?
>Laura Hocking

>>36198206
>>Kara Treadway
Also, who tries to give money back to someone after its been offered to you?

>>36198329
someone too kind for their own good
or someone insanely rich

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>>36198261
Name choice 6 threads in, early morning, near the end of a thread at the conclusion of an mission that's been dragging on for several threads already.

The plan was to do this at a time when only people who cared about the quest were left.

>>36198318
Yeah, this is a name choice.

He sells good information.

>>36198261
This

>>36198206
>Laura Hocking

>>36198329
Try that one on the ask.fm.

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>>36198400
>6 threads in, early morning, near the end of a thread at the conclusion of an mission that's been dragging on for several threads already.
I see. So everyone would be too tired to bother coming up with write-in names and would just go along with the names provided, instead of suggesting weird bullshit like Häku DeLuch or Carmen Rider.

Add to that two out of three names containing overly blatant puns or references pertaining to vehicles that people too tired for this shit would avoid like the plague, and you'll have the players choose the canon name for the MC that you already have in your head, without them being any the wiser.

Very cunning indeed.

>>36198206
>Laura Hocking

>>36198580
>implying I ever had a canon name in my head

Nobody was ever named in Rock quest.

Honestly, I just randomed some names together, which explains why 2/3rds of them are vehicle puns. Now that I think about it, every one of the given names is someone I've had to talk to on the phone at work during the past week.

I am an unintentional keikaku master, and I probably should have done this earlier in the day.

>Carmen Rider

I'd vote for that. That's wonderful.

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>>36198206

"Laura Hocking," he tells her, then proceeds to recite what you just read in his file on you.

Since you're stuck in this room, you may as well look around. Your eyes don't have to scan the wall in front of you for very long before they find a small hole. It looks oddly purposeful, and you walk quietly toward it.

You put your eye up to it and realize it's a peephole into the booth area of the alcove, perhaps hidden behind a two-way mirror on the other side.

Nicole, clad in her usual white suit, is leaning back in the seat you were sitting in a few minutes ago. She's let her long, black hair down, and it frames her distinct, aggressive features.

Those eyebrows look like someone took a magic marker to her face.

Paul is leaning forward, listing off your known actions, law enforcement record, and talents. This one strand of hair keeps trying to sweep down in front of his face, and he keeps having to push it back.

Listening to someone describe you and list your accomplishments is rather strange, especially when they make you sound like a big deal. You're not just a courier, you're a courier who burns Assets to death if they get in her way, and sorts through bags of dead dolphin chunks for her package. You sound pretty hardcore.

"That's quite the resume for a single day," Nicole says, setting her glass down, "what do you think of her?"

"I'm an information broker," Paul tells her, "not an analyst. Is there something else you need?"

"No," she says, rising from her seat and pulling aside the curtain, "the drink was good. Tell Davey that his liquor cabinet is as impeccable as usual."

And with that, she's off.

>Step out into the booth area and tell Paul you were there the whole time
>Wait until Paul clears the glasses, then go to the bookshelves. Act like you've been there the whole time.

>>36198709
And, as always,

>Write In

>>36198709
>Wait until Paul clears the glasses, then go to the bookshelves. Act like you've been there the whole time.

>>36198709
>>Step out into the booth area and tell Paul you were there the whole time
He probably knew anyway or will know soon since I am guessing he should of put cameras or sensors around in case of troubles.

>>36198709
>Step out into the booth area and tell Paul you were there the whole time
"That was awkward, its funny that she was about to cut Davey up not to long ago"

>>36198709
>Step out into the booth area and act as if nothing is out of place
>"I'm honestly surprised you didn't tell her everything, though I suppose a murder in the middle of this fine establishment would have put everyone off their meals."

>>36198709
>Step out into the booth area and tell Paul you were there the whole time
infos are his job, yep

>>36198709

Once you're sure she's gone, you walk out of the office.

Paul fixes you with his eyes as you come through the curtain. "It's not polite to eavesdrop," he says, stuffing the wad of cash into his pocket, "and it's even less polite to go poking around a private office. What do you have to say for yourself?"

Well, what do you have to say for yourself? You're a curious person, sure, but information is his business, and you could have helped yourself to any of it by this time.

"I wanted to be out of the way for your discussion," you tell him, as you walk around the back of the booth, "It's funny that she was about to cut Davey up not too long ago, and now she's here buying information."

"As I told you before," he says, then sips some more whiskey, "she has an interesting way of looking at things. If she was supposed to 'secure' that facility, and you left the facility, then you're no longer her problem, unless you took something important."

"Makes sense," you say, your eyelids drooping on their own, "if she hired me to transport a package, I wouldn't have any hard feelings. I'd prbably take the job. It's all just business. So," you finish, "how much was my information worth to her?"

"That's information," Paul starts, as he gets up from his seat.

"-And information isn't free," you finish, "I'd love to stay for a drink, but I'm just too tired. Goodnight, Paul."

"Night, Laura," he says, holding the curtain aside for you, "if you need to know anything else about Vulnex sector, you know where to come."

Yeah, you do. And if you need to sleep, you know where to go. And that's home.

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>>36198966

>META POST

Alright, we're done here.

As usual, all questions are welcome on my ask.fm, and/or right here (although my ask.fm has a significantly higher chance of answering them, since I usually hit the sack after I finish a thread).

Questions: http://ask.fm/haikudeluge

Twitter(for quest news, not my political views): https://twitter.com/HaikuDeluge

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

SESSION STATS:
Phone Numbers Obtained: None
Delivery Completed: The Old Man And The Look-See
Bonus Objectives Fulfilled: Grandpa In Distress; Dolphins In Trash Bags; Drive-By Shooting; The Steel Horse Is Mightier Than The Sword; Dropping Eaves Like Skrillex Drops The Bass; Hello, My Name Is;
Bonus Objectives Missed: The Scream; Relationship Counselor; Bookish; Erasing Your Record

>>36198998
>Relationship Counselor;
Trying to talk down the two merc bands?

>>36199014
Maybe it's talking about Davey and Paul?

>>36198998
thanks for running

>>36199021
Also a posibility

>>36199040
You're welcome, thanks for playing.

This quest would be nothing without its players.

>>36199014
>>36199021
>>36199042
Man, watching you guys try to solve these is so much fun.

File: You robbed the wrong hous(...).webm (2.79 MB, 480x362)

2.79 MB WEBM

>>36199069
Glad we're able to amuse you.

>>36198400
that hurts man. that really hurts.