>>36552398
>>The professional tapping of the accountant they sent along with you to look over the deal
A deal? Let's go with that.

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>>36552398
>META POST

Oh boy, an interlude. Time to see this crazy world from a slightly different angle: on top of it.


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

>>36552398
The professional tapping of the accountant they sent along with you to look over the deal

>>36552398
>The nervous knock of your cute secretary

>>36552398
>>The professional tapping of the accountant they sent along with you to look over the deal

>>36552398
>The finicky knock of your metrosexual personal assistant

>>36552398
>The finicky knock of your metrosexual personal assistant

>>36552398
>The professional tapping of the accountant they sent along with you to look over the deal

>>36552398
>The resolute pounding knock of the sailor who was detailed to attend you during the voyage

i wonder if this accountant has a guitar...

>>36552398
>The nervous knock of your cute secretary

>>36552398

>The professional tapping of the accountant they sent along with you to look over the deal

What does CMC stand for?

>>36553298
cyberpunk motorcycle courier

>>36553364
B-but then that makes it cyberpunk cyberpunk motorcycle courier quest

>>36553364
Oh. Thanks.

>>36553390
Brought to you by Department of Redundancy Department.

>>36553415
>Next thread
>Cyberpunk CCMCQ Quest
WHERE DOES IT END

>>36552398
>>The nervous knock of your cute secretary

>>36553446
We must go deeper.

>>36553390
>>36553415

The first cyberpunk describes a quality of the quest.
The second describes a quality of the motorcycle courier.

It's a completly fine title in structure.

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>>36552398

You'd recognize that noise anywhere by now. The rapping on your door is bland, colorless, like a drone executing its 'knock' command for some half-bearded operator ten miles away.

Not even an interesting gray, like the ocean spread out before you.

"Come in," you say, loudly enough to echo off the half-circle window in front of you. You're not going to turn around until he step into the room. He's not important enough.

The door opens noiselessly. They probably hit it with a dab of oil in preparation for your trip. Yellow light spoils your view, the silhouette of the man in the doorway reflecting off of the polished glass in front of you.

A middleaged man in a suit, the accountant they sent with you to look over the deal. Two hundred pounds of number-crunching, inoffensive, and utterly whipped beta male. Not the worst traveling companion you could have had, but nothing like the underlings you've got back in the city.

At least he nips through the door fast enough. That's not a silhouette you want splashed across your vision of your mistress, the ocean.

"They just finished decoding the message for you, Mr. Eriksson," he says, fidgeting in the dark office, "I've got it right here for you, sir."

You wonder idly when he comes due for his midlife crisis.

>Tell him to leave it on your desk
>Stay still and silent
>Tell him to read it to you
>Write In

>>36553504
>Tell him to leave it on your desk
I'm tempted to gesture at the view and ask him what he thinks of it.

>>36553504
>Write In
"Are you enjoying the cruise?"
Keep him off balance

>>36553504
>>Tell him to leave it on your desk
>>36553541
I can get behind that. Secondin.

>>36553541
>>36553542
>>36553504
Something along these lines.

Let's not be an asshole.

>>36553504
>>Tell him to leave it on your desk

>>36553541
Seconded.

>>36553504
>>36553541
this

>>36553491
No it itsn't

>>36553504
>>Tell him to read it to you
>>36553581
No, let's always be an asshole

>>36553491
>completely fine title

I'm inclined to agree with >>36553601, I messed the title up.

>>36553491
Isn't cyberpunk a genre? How would it describe a courier?

Besides, then it would have to be CMC Cyberpunk Quest, so it parses properly.

>>36553639
You are henceforth expected to number your threads by the length of the acronym in the title.

>>36553504
>Tell him to read it to you

>>36553639
>Isn't cyberpunk a genre? How would it describe a courier?
The same way you can have things like "streampunk fashion". It works as a discription word.

>Besides, then it would have to be CMC Cyberpunk Quest, so it parses properly.

That's also fine on a technical level but it sounds a but off.


When you put Cyberpunk infront of the CMCQ it modifies all of the title. A cyberpunk genre quest with a cyberpunk motorcycle courier.

>>36553838
>A cyberpunk genre quest with a cyberpunk motorcycle courier.
But it is already a cyberpunk genre quest as indicated by the cyberpunk in front of motorcycle courier.

HD messed the title up, he's already said so, so stop sperging out about it and being an idiot.

>>36553504
>Tell him to read it to you
this way we can still watch the ocean

>>36552398
Is OPs pic Joseph Joestar?

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>>36553958
Yes it is

>>36553891
Diffrent intent but still a valid title.

No clue why your so asspained about it though.

>>36553504

Unhurriedly, you unclasp your hands and make an expansive gesture. "Lovely evening, isn't it?" you ask him, as if he was a fellow guest at a fair weather garden party.

It's been simply too long since you went to a good garden party. The last one you tried to attend got rained out horribly, a bad show, even if did lead to a scintillating tête-à-tête with that Juptek Asset.

Those wisps of her blonde hair, liberated from her tight bun by the insistent wind's assistance -

"You've got quite the view of it up here," the accountant tells you, bringing you out of your reverie. He paces forward, footfalls deadened by the heavy carpet, "but it's horribly cold on the deck. Wet too."

"Enjoying the voyage?" you ask with a quizzical lift to your voice. The sea's a strange mistress, with her own interesting tastes, and, from what you've seen, he doesn't share them.

She probably shoved him right out of the bunk on their first night, you think.

"It's been," he starts, and pauses, eyes sweeping across the vista, "interesting. This is my first time sailing."

He didn't need to say that - you saw it the moment you laid eyes on him.

"Throw it on the desk," you tell him, turning from the window. You'd like to keep watching, but the sun's nearly down. Show's almost over for tonight, anyway.

"What?" he says, buying time in confusion, "oh, the message," he realizes, and pads across the carpet to place it on...

>A stately carved mahogany desk
>The stack of work already piled high on your desk
>The seat of your comfortable leather chair - who uses a desk nowadays?
>The fully-stocked bar that dominates the center of the room. It's not a true desk, but it has its advantages
>An efficient sheet metal desk
>Write In

>>36554302
>>The fully-stocked bar that dominates the center of the room. It's not a true desk, but it has its advantages

>>36554302
>The stack of work already piled high on your desk

Does this guy like the ocean the same way Laura likes motorcycles?

>>36554302
>The stack of work already piled high on your desk

>>36554302
>A stately carved mahogany desk
But not just any Mahogany!

>>36554302
>The fully-stocked bar that dominates the center of the room. It's not a true desk, but it has its advantages

Hmm...

>>36554302
>>A stately carved mahogany desk
and
>The fully-stocked bar that dominates the center of the room. It's not a true desk, but it has its advantages

we're the best exec, so we get all the desks

>>36554388
you can't fuck the ocean anon

so this guy has to have a squeeze on the side, the ocean understands of course

>>36554302
>>A stately carved mahogany desk

>>36554302
>The fully-stocked bar

I mean, is there another choice?

>>36554388
>>36554485
He thinks of the ship as his giant steel cock, plowing into his mistress the sea, and also reminisces about some Juptek Asset.

I think he's just into it. All of it.

Maybe he's a smut quest protagonist.

>>36554302
>>A stately carved mahogany desk
If we're a cyberpunk exec, we gotta have style.

>>36554388
[Considering the OP described thrusting our metal cock (dock) into the ocean... I'll go with yes]

>>36554514
>and also reminisces about some Juptek Asset.
I hope we get to fuck her

>>36554514
>that spoiler

I'm operating under the assumption that we'd be halfway through a sex scene right now if we'd opted for the cute secretary. Or maybe even the metrosexual assistant.

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>>36554388
GET AWAY FROM MY WIFE!

>>36554617
I hope we have the cute sexcretary too somewhere on the ship

I hope she's still asleep in our bed after an awesome night

>>36554302
>The fully-stocked bar that dominates the center of the room. It's not a true desk, but it has its advantages

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>>36554302

The accountant places the tablet carefully on the bar in the center of the room, next to a few of the work-related odds and ends that have built up there while you've been using it as an impromptu desk.

'Office' is something of a misnomer. This is the Thetis' one and and only corporate entertainment lounge, a place to socialize and network. The rich carpet, gorgeous view, and fully-stocked bar sold you on it the second you realized you could claim it for your own on this little voyage.

There was simply no contest between it and any of the little cubbyholes billed as 'offices' down in the belly of the ship. The lounge was designed from top to bottom to impress guests from other corps, and it shows, you think, sliding your hand across the polished wood of the bartop to pick up the tablet.

Since there are no guests to impress right now, the fruit bowls are empty and some of the shelves, usually stocked with perishables, are bare, but the fine alcohol is still here, and that's what counts.

You notice that the accountant has taken up your spot in front of the window, as the little screen flickers to life in your hands, asking for your personal password.

>Ask him to leave the office
>Leave him be - he's not doing any harm
>Flick on the bar lights to spoil his view of the sunset

>What is your password?

>>36555198
>Leave him be - he's not doing any harm
>password
8008135

>>36555198
>>What is your password?
[encrypted Nepcor corporate level transmission]

>>36555198
For clarification, whatever password you choose here will be the correct one.

This isn't a sadistic guessing game.

>>36555198
>Leave him be - he's not doing any harm

>/a7l7An715;l057_3mP1r3

>>36555198
>>Leave him be - he's not doing any harm
>What is your password?
Accesscode

>>36555198
>Leave him be - he's not doing any harm
>IThinkMyAccountantIsASpyHELPME

>>36555198
>Flick on the bar lights to spoil his view of the sunset

>lna8ctr4ekje7usa

>>36555277
I'll second this option.

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>>36555198

If someone's enjoying the beauty of the sunset over the ocean, far be it from you to rob them of that. The sea may be your mistress, but you learned a long time ago that she takes who she wants, how she wants, when she wants.

The sea just takes and takes, you think, but that's not a path you're drunk enough to let yourself go down right now.

Sliding into a barstool, you start keying your password.

'8008135', you type in, then hit the next line.

'/a7l7An715;l057_3mP1r3' in the next box, then 'Accesscode', 'IThinkMyAccountantIsASpyHELPME', that's a new one you added since this trip began, just for kicks, and finally 'lna8ctr4ekje7usa'.

You lean an elbow on the bar as you proceed to the next page of passwords. It's going to take a while, you realize when confronted with the spiderweb.

How did you weave your way around that, again?

By the time you finish unlocking the thing, there's half of a scotch on the rocks sitting next to you on the counter, the sun has finally set, and the accountant is gone. The only lights left are the floods and signal lights on the deck, each staking out its territory in the darkness, screaming "I'm the brightest!" to everyone who has eyes.

You read the header of the message carefully, squinting at the glowing screen. The Thetis picked it up hours ago, a bloated multi-megabyte file, padded with junk data and encrypted over and over. It had taken hours of processing to decode, even with the proper passwords and keys.

Anyone else who picked it up shouldn't get any meaning out of it for another day, at least.

>>36556306

The message is simple: "Triton VIP," it begins. Triton, you think, that's name of the ship you're supposed to be on right now.

Who would keep their travel plans predictable these days? Only someone without enough pull to change them at a moment's notice.

"Qui dead," it continues. Now that gives you pause.

The Young Dragon, as he wanted people to call him, wasn't the most skilled Asset in Dagon Core, but his oversized ego and flippant turns of phrase were, well, you'll miss them. And you're not sure you have a better stealth operative.

You'll have to deal with whoever did him in. Nobody messes with your crew and gets away with it.

You take a sip of your scotch and look back at the message.

"Hounds on it," you read, and nearly spit your drink out with an oath.

Nearly.

Even news that bad isn't worth wasting good whiskey over. The hounds were on an important investigation for the harbor district, tracking down missing munitions shipments. They're your best investigators, and you'd pitched them to the harbormaster as his best shot of figuring out who was orchestrating the thefts.

If they've gone AWOL in the middle of it over a personal vendetta, that's going to hit Dagon Core's rep, and yours, pretty hard. The last thing you need is for the other directors to start losing confidence in your in-house team and start hiring outsiders.

They weren't around back then, but you know from bitter experience that's a terrible idea.

You drum your fingers on the bar, contemplating your next move.

>You're out here for a meeting, and you haven't attended it yet
>You need to reign your people in. Leave the meeting to the accountant and head for the city in a VTOL
>Get the captain to turn the ship around. If you've got to go back, you're bringing enough firepower to make a difference
>Write In

>>36556600
>You need to reign your people in. Leave the meeting to the accountant and head for the city in a VTOL

>>36556600
>>You're out here for a meeting, and you haven't attended it yet
If we do anything else we lose face. Set events in motion from here.

>>36556600
>You're out here for a meeting, and you haven't attended it yet

>>36556600
>>You need to reign your people in. Leave the meeting to the accountant and head for the city in a VTOL
Those incompetent doofuses. Seems if you want to have anything done right, you have to do it yourself.

>>36556600
>You need to reign your people in. Leave the meeting to the accountant and head for the city in a VTOL

>>36556677
I really wanna see what happens when the hounds find Laura

Hm. What kind of meeting are we going to have, exactly? Some minor deal we could leave to the accountant.

>>36556705
Good point. I should specify.

Please wait warmly, motorcycles are preparing.

>>36556600

You haven't been looking forward to this meeting. Leading a merc crew is your true passion, finding and training the best, and the real projects too. Turning someone who's never hurt a fly into an Asset-quality killing machine is, well, it's like creating a fine wine.

But you stayed on as a director, and that means you're on the hook for things like this every so often. It's the price you pay for the first pick of Nepcor merc contracts, and being able to requisition the best Nepcor property, as long as it didn't upset anyone else's executive applecart.

Sometimes, the board makes you go do things like sail to a small platform in the middle of the ocean to negotiate drilling rights and other sea resource agreements with other marine-focused megacorps.

Llyrind, in this case. You don't' know much about them.

Except their logo, two swinging bells.

Yeah, that's what was on the side of that ship twenty years ago. The day you finally learned that once you get far enough up the ladder, you have to make your own rungs.

And climb them before the rigor mortis wears off.

Christ, you think, clinking the ice in your glass and staring off at the invisible dark sea, you didn't think you'd had quite that much to drink. You shouldn't be nearly to the regretful reminisces phase yet.

You're not that old.

>You're out here for a meeting, and you haven't attended it yet
>You're out here to torch as much Llyrind property as you can, under guise of a meeting
>You need to reign your people in. Leave the meeting to the accountant and head for the city in a VTOL
>Get the captain to turn the ship around. If you've got to go back, you're bringing enough firepower to make a difference
>Write In

>>36557062
>>You need to reign your people in. Leave the meeting to the accountant and head for the city in a VTOL
Delegate! We need to put things in priority, and right now we need to give precedence to reining in some rabid dogs.

>>36557062
>You're out here to torch as much Llyrind property as you can, under guise of a meeting
yaaaay fire!

>>36557062
>we're here to torch
On done so can't post well

Whatever we do we should order for the dogs to be reigned in, whether we stay or not, we're director, so lets direct shit

>>36557185
>>36557062
>head back in a VTOL

Delegate torching Llyrind's shit to the accountant. Maybe he needs a good midlife crisis.

Man this quest makes me wish they made more syndicate games, fuck me the latest was awesome despite its shortcomings

>>36557337
This.

>>36557062
>You're out here to torch as much Llyrind property as you can, under guise of a meeting

>>36557062

You weren't born yesterday. You know why the board picked someone with your history to go meet with Llyrind, even if they never explicitly stated it.

Another drink, the cheap, strong stuff this time. You've savored the good stuff already, and this is just to fortify you for what's coming next.

Llyrind.

There's bad blood there, blood spreading in red rings through the water, blood soaking into snow, blood freezing on ice. Blood you loved, blood you hated, blood you respected.

Blood they spilled.

If the board sent you here, it wasn't to negotiate. It was to torch as much Llyrind property as you could. But you've got other fish to fry, you think ruefully as you dial the accountant's pager. You have to grab the Hounds' leashes before they get into too much trouble.

So you'll have to delegate, to the hapless stooge Vinny, the Accounting VP, stuck you with. You don't know if he was deliberately trying to get your goat, or he actually thought this was going to be a legitimate meeting.

You page him to come back up to the lounge, finish your first drink, and pour another.

>Physically assault him when he arrives - get that fight-or-flight going before you give him the assignment
>Lay out a bunch of hardware on the bar - any man (and some of the ladies) will go for the hardware
>Pretend it's a legit briefing session before a totally normal business negotiation, then suddenly drop the truth on him
>Write In

>>36557926
>Physically assault him when he arrives - get that fight-or-flight going before you give him the assignment

>>36557926
>>Pretend it's a legit briefing session before a totally normal business negotiation, then suddenly drop the truth on him
You know, when you get there just kill em all, ok?

>>36557926
>Physically assault him when he arrives - get that fight-or-flight going before you give him the assignment

>>36557062
>Turning someone who's never hurt a fly into an Asset-quality killing machine is, well, it's like creating a fine wine.

>>36557926
>they never explicitly stated it

Wait a sec. is it possible that this was supposed to be a legitimate meeting, the board doesn't know our history as well as we think they do, and we're about to send this white-collar guy on a murder spree for no reason at all?

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>>36557926

Five minutes, if that. All the time you have to prepare before the accountant shows up, if he stays true to form. You finish your drink, then set your glass on an empty shelf behind the bar, stretching from the stool over the counter, more than far enough to strangle a bartender whose drinks are too weak.

Then you swing yourself down and stalk across the thick carpet, rolling your shoulders as you go. You poise yourself on the hinge side of the door, cracking your knuckles.

No witness excep the uncaring sea. The floodlights on the deck cast a dim illumination over the room, just enough to fight by.

Nothing like a good, sudden scrap to turn even the most drone-like businessman into a howling berserker. Or send him into a week-long blue funk.

They can't all be success stories.

The minutes trickle by, and you lose yourself in your breathing, in cataloging everything in the room that could be used to facilitate violence.

Finally, he knocks, with the same precise, professional tapping he always uses.

"Come in," you call out, softly enough that it sounds like you're still in the center of the room.

He opens the door, steps through with that perfunctory, uncertain tread, and tilts his head toward the bar, where he saw you last. His eyes haven't adjusted from the bright lights in the corridor yet. Now that you can examine him at close range without being noticed, you realize that he carries his weigh decently well.

It might not all be flab.

>What do you yell as you jump him from behind?

>>36558412
RRAAAAAAAGH

>>36558412
"Fight me, now."
Nice and simple, then kick his ass

>>36558412
BOO

>>36558412
>Think fast!

>>36558412

>>36558467
>>36558875
>>36558928
>>36558951

Your choice I guess

>>36558412

"RRAAAAAAAGH!" you roar, cannoning into him from behind. Your shoulder slams into his ribcage. Your face inches from the back of his suit coat.

To his credit, your unexpected assault doesn't take him straight to the ground. He stumbles and turns in a drunken quarter-circle, but doesn't quite lose his balance.

There's a moment of shock. He has no idea what you're doing or why, and his first reaction isn't to fight back.

Disappointing, but expected.

"Fight me," you growl, "coward."

And then you punch him, a solid shot to the shoulderblade. Probably hurts your hand more than it hurts your back. Pushes him a bit more off balance.

That gets a reaction, flips a switch.

He turns, faster than you've ever seen him move before, swinging a wild haymaker at your head. You let it take you on the shoulder. Good feedback for him, not much pain for you.

Better than breaking a couple of fingers on your think skull, anyway, you think, stepping back.

>>36559204

"So," you say, lazily jabbing at him, stalling his advance for a moment, "what'd you do to piss off Vinny? He doesn't send his scum to me for rest cures."

"Fuck you," he yells, and he comes in again, swinging without any science, just trying to get fists into flesh. A few of them even connect. "Fuck Vinny." You're holding back, otherwise he'd have been through the window in the first ten seconds, but it's still fun.

"I run the numbers," he grunts, slacking off his furious advance to think about where he's placing his shots, "I do it pretty well. But I can't," he yells, trying to drive his knee into your groin, "play office fucking politics to save my life. Fuck those games, I'm getting the goddamn work done!"

You dodge, you intentionally take a few hits on places toughened up over years of rough and tumble life. The smell of sweat in your nostrils, and the savage joy of battle on your face, you dance just out of reach.

This guy's great.

"And what do I fucking get for it?" he asks, hammering blows at you one after another, working himself up into a rage, "stuck on a boat with a fucking psycho who drinks and stares at the sea all day! Because I won't get my tongue as far up Vinny's ass as he wants it!"

He's angry, sure, but he's tiring himself out, slowing down. You see an opening and yell "Think fast!" as you throw a sharp right to his gut. He bends over, stumbling back...

>Toward the bar
>Toward the window
>Toward the wall
>Toward the door
>Write In

>>36559224
>>Toward the bar
I hope that bottle is empty.

>>36559224
>>Toward the wall
Pin him, tell him this is his chance, yadda yadda yadda

>>36559224
>Toward the wall

"You like getting shit done? Well so do I."

>>36559224

There's just something about violence in a room this nice that pushes a button or two. The juxtaposition of barbarism and civilized elegance always puts a smile on your face.

The accountant stumbles back toward the wall, sucking wind. "I work hard enough my wife leaves me," he gasps, retreating even further, "and THIS is my fucking reward?"

As he yells, he grabs a painting off the wall and swings it at you. A nice, hard wood frame, with a big, thick plate of glass inside it. Civilized elegance gives barbarism such great toys.

And he suckered you in by pretending to be more winded than he was.

Nice.

You still manage to duck under it, getting a great view of the rich, woolly carpet. Then you shoot up, getting inside his guard. You hands wrap around his throat, and you shove him into the wall with a satisfying thump.

"You feel better now, dontcha?" you ask him, as his sweaty neck slides under your fingers. He's probably trying to nod, but that's pretty useless with the hold you have.

So you drop your hands. "Care for a drink?" you ask, and he follows you over to the bar, where there's still a good half-bottle of the cheap stuff.

You pour some, splashing it into the glasses from a couple feet about the counter, just because you can. And you don't bother offering ice. The two of you lean on the bar, standing up. The stools just look too confining right now.

"You like getting shit done, I hear," you tell him, sliding one of the glasses at him along the bar, "and there's some shit I need you to get done."

"Anything like what you wanted five minutes ago?" he asks, cracking a small smile as he picks up the drink, "I crunch numbers, not heads, I'm afraid."

>>36559708

"I need you to crunch a sea platform," you say, looking straight at him under your brows, "the Llyrind platform we're supposed to be having a meeting on. I can't come, or I'd do it myself, with pleasure," you say slowly and distinctly, rolling the words on your tongue like a fine merlot. It would indeed have been a pleasure, "but I need to be back in the city to deal with some of my people, so I'm delegating it to you."

"Crunch a platform?" he asks, jaw a bit slack slack and eyes wide, "how?"

In answer, you stump toward the window and sling an expansive hand in the direction of the floodlights on the deck. "This is a warship, son," you say, turning to face him, gesturing at him with your drink, "and they're expecting a meeting. Give 'em the meeting. And give 'em everything we've got on board Thetis, and Triton too. Torch their platforms," you say, throwing your arms wide, "kill their leaders, do everything you could never do to Vinny. Just don't let on what you're going to do until you do it, then do it hard and fast and as long as you can," you finish, stabbing the air with your finger.

"Now if you'll excuse me," you say, as you stalk past the shocked accountant, "I've got a flight to catch."

>>36559727
>META POST

So that's Raynard Eriksson for ya. Hope you're enjoying your time with him.

It was fun running this for y'all. I wish I'd been a bit less tired, and thus been able to type faster.

>SESSION STATS:

PROFESSIONAL RANKING: EUPHEMISTIC!
BONUS OBJECTIVES CLEARED: No Accounting For Taste; Starred And Barred; Penta-Pass; Carrying A Torch; Primal Roar; Beating It Into Him; Passing the Torch
STYLE POINTS: 1100

OVERALL RANKING: COMPLICIT!

>STUFF:

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

>>36559832
Thanks for running

>>36559832
Thank you Haiku!

>>36559832
Thanks for running. I like the new MC.

>>36559832
Just caught up on the thread, I'm at work on phone so I couldn't vote, but thansk for the thread HD, was fun