The Bay ‘Plex is a single contiguous metropolis that extends from San Rafael in the North, through Berkeley, all the way to San Jose and Paulo Alto. Most of it glitters like sea glass on the Pacific coast. Of course San Fran itself is the jewel nestled in the middle of the crown. Even Orkland and Dwarftown have their charms.

But, if the Bay ‘Plex had an armpit it would be Pacifica. Sure, the views are spectacular, if you can ignore the polluted beaches and skeletons of failed capitalism.

Early in the 21st century, this place was the centre of the surfer universe. But when the big shaker hit in ‘56, the tsunami that followed washed about half of the Great Pacific Garbage Patch ashore in CalFree, most of it ended up on Rockaway Beach. Now the place is swarming with scavs and a shanty town has formed up around the edge of the debris. The Sharp Park Market has some great deals on weird finds and out here in the D-zone, there aren’t any rules about what can be bought and sold.

While the California Rangers keep the Coast Highway open for traffic during the day, at night it becomes a free for all; raceway, drag strip, go-gang battle ground - anything goes.

Out on the water, things go from bad to worse. Imperial Navy warships keep the automated cargo ships and blue water luxury cruise lines safe, but the the littorals are filled with pirates and smugglers running from Mori Point down to the black markets of the free city of LA.

To top it all off, in winter, it rains everyday.

As you switch off, the sound of the Mirage’s engine fades, echoing off San Pedro Rock. In the sudden silence of the coast, the only sound is the lapping of the ocean on the beach.  Back before you were born, this would have been the perfect spot for some sunglasses, suntan oil and one of those Jimmy Buffet Margaritaville machines.

But paradise has given way to the smell of waste petroleum, dead fish and rotting muck.

How the hell did you find yourself out here?

@Midori: you are here. How the hell did you find yourself out here?

Midori sat astride the faithful Mirage, pausing to look out at the horizon of floating junk through the mirrored visor of her helmet, which was thankfully also excellent at keeping noxious scents out of her immediate breathing air. She wasn't expecting anyone's presence right away: a clever shadowrunner, she never set up appointments to meet until she was already there and had assessed the situation. She couldn't afford getting her contacts jumped any more than she could get jumped. She had two connections to make: one real, and one ostensible reason for her journey.

Pulling her pocketsec out of her left breast pocket, she sent the first of two messages:

I'm at the shore, you know where to meet me.

This message was sent to her Bliss connection - the Coast Highway was perfect for moving all sorts of products, including those that made life a little easier. She knew her contact would take some time to get to her, so she'd sort out the real reason for her visit in the interim.

A second message went out, this time to a contact who had requested they meet somewhere off of the PCH. She sent a message with coordinates that she'd be able to see from her position along the coast and a message that said she'd be waiting for the next hour, no longer. If they took longer than that to get to her, they weren't local or they were dumb enough to get caught by someone on the way and neither of those options were desirable for Midori.
This message was last edited by the player at 14:50, Fri 13 Oct 2023.

Moments tick by, waiting. Time always seems to move in slow motion when you’re waiting, and oddly, drug dealers aren’t known for their punctuality.  At least it’s not raining.

After a life time of listening to the foul water and watching the small fires burning in scav city, the silence is broken by the growling of street bike engines. From the PCH three headlights start making their way across the broken concrete of Rockaway Beach Ave. The riders picking their way carefully avoiding potholes and debris.

The anticipation of the score begins to take hold. A few moments more, a few nuyen on an untraceable credstick, the idea sets the heart racing.

One bike breaks away from the trio. Fresh off the showroom floor, a ‘60 Rapier making the distinctive whine of the new GSTR turbo.  Even without the benefit of streetlights, you know the bike will be painted red and white, the Rising Sun of the Empire emblazoned on the windscreen, just like the bike he trashed on that kill ride back in December.

Jimmy Ota, full-time lieutenant in San Fran’s most notorious go-gang, The Ronin. Like any career criminal Jimmy dips his toes in other pools, one of those being dealing prime pharma.

Switching off the bike, his voice calls out, ”Hoi omae, that you out there?”

Midori didn't seem to mind being on the coast, aside from the awful smell: while she'd come from a nicer place than this, she was just grateful it was the one place few people seemed to care she was a keeb. She put the kickstand for the bike down and swung her leg high off the back, patting the seat she'd been straddling to ensure the bike was solid before moving off towards where the Rapier sat on the broken pavement.

Hearing Jimmy's greeting made her smile and she flicked up her visor first to show him that it was, indeed, Midori in the flesh. There weren't many other five-foot-tall Elves willing to show their face this side of the Coast Highway without a bodyguard.

"Arctic bike, omae," Midori smiled warmly, her augmented eyes looking over the bike with obvious envy and pride that he'd done well for himself. She meandered his way, allowing his compatriots plenty of time to get a bead on her: it was just respectful, after all, when amongst friends.

"Gonna have to take me out on her one day," Midori teased, her eyes twinkling unnaturally, with small pink sparkles in the irises. She loved trying her luck and seeing what relationships she could build with the well-connected, and being a Face it was profitable to keep on everyone's good side.

Finally, within touching distance she unzipped her bike jacket, revealing a sequined croptop underneath, suggesting that her final destination that night was not back home but perhaps out to a club. The top clung to her figure attractively, but still obscured the weapons that Jimmy Ota would have known she had on her. From between her cleavage she pulled out a small silver credstick with a tiny star charm on it, though the elf didn't hand it directly to Ota. That wasn't how business was done, after all, and while she was more relaxed that she usually was, she was only a few metres from her bike and was ready to cut and dash should things go wrong.

"Thanks for meeting me here, looks like we got a break in the rain," Midori observed with a sweet smile. Talking about the weather meant that to her knowledge, she hadn't been tailed by anyone inconvenient, she'd given Jimmy the signal and hoped that he'd respond in turn, otherwise she was in danger.

You can almost feel the eyes of the two razors watching over Jimmy. Being a Ronin is dangerous biz and Jimmy never rides without some muscle to watch his six.

”Rain in the city today, but out here on the highway, nothing by clear skies, dry pavement and dangerous curves.” He says as his eyes flick to your gold sequins before locking into your pink sparkles. ”You like what you see?” he adds running his gloves hand over the Rapier’s seat suggestively. He is easily distracted…

…by the credstick you hold in your hand.

”Fuchi?” he says with great interest seeing the star on the credstick. ”Smart. Since the takeover their sticks are almost untraceable.” he muses, pulling out a small plastic bag. ”Ten pods, each good for six, maybe seven vape hits. This is nova hot, quality made in a Shiawase lab, not stepped on chem from some trog. But I’m sure you’ve got enough cred to slot for this.”

You do, but barely. This contact on the way better come with a pay day…

Midori visibly relaxes with Jimmy's friendly and harmlessly flirtatious nature: they had joked around with each other before and his behaviour was in line with what she knew of him. The manicured nails fondled the credstick before him, but behind the credstick was the pouting face of a pretty Elf.

"You're really gonna make a girl beg?" Midori smirked, hand on the hip of her tight bike leather pants. She leaned in towards Jimmy, lowering her voice so that way the razors could see she was harmless but they couldn't necessarily hear all the details. She leaned in, arching her back so only the upper half of her body was close to Jimmy, like she was going to whisper to him.

"Omae, I've got some business tonight and unless you want me sprawling in the barrens, you have to do better than that. How about I give you full price for eight and I owe you for the other two: creds or information. You know I'm good for it, Oniisan." Midori smiled as she referred to Jimmy as her 'big brother', an affectionate term which still showed quite a bit of respect for his position.

Midori tilted her dark head to the side, looking anxiously at Jimmy: he couldn't be seen as weak or easy to take advantage of, but Midori wasn't just anyone. Midori was a fiercely loyal shadowrunner and her intel was often valuable in a timely manner. If Jimmy was looking to advance in The Ronin, Midori could be a key piece of that puzzle if he kept the little elf happy. Plus, she hadn't asked for them for free, just to hold a few of her creds back until her next payday.

The razors would simply see Midori in front of Jimmy, as had happened often before, leaning in to speak to him personally. Her posture was deferential to the man and, while she still had the light tension in her body of being ready to spring away at a moment's notice, it was likely a hypervigilant subconscious reflex instead of her being worried about Jimmy or the other pair. Midori never looked like much of a threat, but that was what made her so valuable as a Face - that and her puppydog eyes were even more adorable in luminous pastels.

On the surface, it usually seems like you have the upper hand, but you’re too good at your job to believe your own hype. You know that oniisan lets you play him like a koto. Maybe he evens knows that you know.

But the dance is half of the fun.

Jimmy is a pro. Pros have ambitions. That’s why he loves cred more than he loves the flesh and he loves information more than he loves either.

Leaning back on his bike so you have to lean in even further. He slips the bag behind him, hiding it from you, letting the razors watch him play the big man. You’re good at reading people and know that he is using the moment to flex, but it’s not a flex directed at you. Your boundaries are clear and, despite your apparent submissiveness, you are dealing with each other as equals in a negotiation. You might look like you’re flirting, but neither of you has any doubts. You are ‘runner and a ganger who are talking shadow biz.

Otherwise, you’re almost doing Jimmy a solid by playing a convenient supporting cast member. The unspoken message, the flex, is directed toward his razor boy wingmen. It’s as clear as if he said it out loud: ‘Stick with me fellas, some perks are sure to come your way.’

”What kind of info are you offering, Midori-chan?” he says matching your quiet, playful tone.

Oniisan might let Midori play him like a koto, but Midori still had to dance to the music he made; after hearing his affectionate address of her, she did so happily. Smiling brightly and leaning over so the neckline of the loose crop top brushed against the front of Jimmy's clothes, she was willing to play her role, to arch her back and brush her fingers across Jimmy's chest as she spoke to him, twisting her hips playfully.

"You know I'll give you whatever you want," Midori purrs, keeping up the dance. Jimmy was handsome and dangerous, just the kind of guy Midori went for, but they had professional boundaries to respect and Jimmy being careful with her impressed the shadowrunner greatly.

"... for a fair price." Her words held the same deference for the man that he gave her, but there was no mistaking that she knew she was doing him a favour by letting him play the big man. She was an attractive elf, there was no doubt that even with the frothing, hateful rhetoric against metahumans that most would ignore her pointed ears for the chance to get close to her and she used that to her advantage whenever she could.

"Oniisan, you want me to have a good night tonight, don't you?" She purred teasingly, batting long eyelashes in his direction as she wiggled her hips.

"It's dangerous out here, you know." She added, as though either of them had ever forgotten the unspoken risk they were both taking. She was working tonight, which meant that creds could potentially get her out of a life or death situation should things go awry. While she was teasing, there was certainly an aspect of truth to her words.

"I'll let you have first pick of anything I come across at my next meeting, hm? I'll even deliver the details in person because you were so sweet to bring my stuff all the way here." Midori was nothing if not fair, and Jimmy could play it off like he was going to 'see' Midori later in whatever manner he chose.
This message was last edited by the player at 20:00, Fri 13 Oct 2023.

Jimmy lets his eyes drift over your body, watching the tight biker leathers reflect the moonlight as your hips swivel. Letting the loose collar of your top brush against him. But when he meets your gazes again, you have no doubt that  he is running the numbers. His hand resting on your hip is merely a fringe benefit of the negotiation, but his mind stays focussed on the biz.

”Yeah, I think we can take care of you,” Jimmy quips. ”Isn’t that right boys!” he adds calling over his shoulder.

Dropping his voice to the volume of hushed words between lovers, he whispers, ”Ten for eight is me at just about cost. That won’t square for me unless you bring me something I can really use.” he says passing you the bag and holding his hand out flat, waiting for the credstick.  ”First right of refusal on this one and the next.” he says with finality.

Midori nods, understanding the difficulty she was placing him in and appreciating that he'd offered her a good deal at the start. She doesn't mind Jimmy's hand on her hip, leaning into it gently so no one could accuse her of not playing the part fully.

"This one and the next," Midori agreed easily, knowing that Jimmy's goodwill was worth its weight in nuyen. "But you are gonna take me for a ride on her," she adds as she slides the credstick into Jimmy's hand, her silken fingertips running along his palm.

"I'll have something good for you," Midori promised with a genuine expression as she tucked the bag into her jacket. She offered him a wide hug and if he took it she'd give him a friendly squeeze.

"Once I'm back from this run I'll be in contact. In the meantime, stay safe omae.

Midori would remain where she was but would watch the three depart as though she was looking after family. Trust was precious and even if trust was on a superficial, business level, the Face treasured it. She knew it was inevitable that one day, her trust would be broken, she just didn't know how.