On Ice, Session One

February 7, 1998

Logging began well into the session. The setting is New York City, December 28, 2198. Slapdog (Slapdoglll), an assassin with exotic biotech and cybertech enhancements, was recruited by a Belarussian criminal contact and instructed to contact Ky Remington at Club XXI. Grey (Broonsey) is an informant and investigator in the employ of the World News Service, a company which owns much of the New York real estate; Grey was contacted through an intermediary and likewise was asked to meet Ky Remington at Club XXI, though he was given other (secret) information as well. Before the meeting Slapdog staked out the club from a position in hiding across the street.

Slapdoglll: I'll use my telesopic site on my bow if I need to.

Croaker Jr: People go into the place pretty regularly, and nobody really catches your eye.

Slapdoglll: I'll keep an eye out for big dogs as well.

Croaker Jr: Small-time workers and dealers, looks like. Not like you're a judge of character, anyway...

Slapdoglll: Nope, not me.

Croaker Jr: Grey, what time are you going, and with whom?

Broonsey: At 3. With a couple loyal goons.

Croaker Jr: Slapdog, around 2: 30 you see a car pull up. Pull down, more like it: it's a luxury-sedan

Croaker Jr: model grav aerodyne.

Broonsey: I have a luxury car? Cool.

Croaker Jr: Nothing too flashy. Lots of quality, you'd think if you knew jack about machines.

Slapdoglll: Hmm...look like somebody's slumming.

Broonsey: Course, it's probably not me.

Croaker Jr: It lands slowly, and a ground car pulls around it honking.

Croaker Jr: The hum of grav-drive lessens as it settles on its tires. It parks not directly in front

Croaker Jr: of the door to Club XXI, but a few yards away.

Slapdoglll: Anybody get out?

Croaker Jr: The front doors open. A man steps out of the driver side, a woman from the passenger side.

Slapdoglll: I'll look 'em over to see if they're packing.

Croaker Jr: The man is average height and build, looks like. Light armored jacket, street-fashionable.

Croaker Jr: Caucasian, short dark hair, deepset dark eyes. He looks around briefly.

Croaker Jr: The woman is taller than the man, but skinny. Very professional-looking. Kind of like a

Croaker Jr: solo, but not the same attitude.

Slapdoglll: I'll look 'em over to see if they're packing.

Croaker Jr: Also caucasian, straight dark hair tied back, mirrorshades despite the weather--probably

Croaker Jr: enhanced.

Croaker Jr: She wears a coat, too, that looks bulletproof, though a different make.

Croaker Jr: Hers is a jacket, his more like a trenchcoat.

Croaker Jr: Neither is carrying any obvious weapons. You can't tell if there's anything small under the

Croaker Jr: coats.

Slapdoglll: I don't get to roll?

Croaker Jr: No, there's nothing to see.

Slapdoglll: Ok. Just for future references, though, does combat sense add to awareness?

Croaker Jr: They close the doors to the car and head for the Club.

Croaker Jr: In some circumstances.

Slapdoglll: Ok, I'll continue to watch until 2: 50.

Croaker Jr: 2: 50 gets there a few minutes later.

Slapdoglll: Ok, I'll come out of the shadow, fur changing from that of a panther to something more tiger

Croaker Jr: Nobody else has gone inside. A couple did come out--different couple. They walked west.

Slapdoglll: like, and head across the street.

Croaker Jr: OK. Is there any way to conceal the bow, or are you bothering?

Slapdoglll: No. It's big. I'm assuming I can check it at the door.

Croaker Jr: You get across the street, drawing a few looks as you emerge from the alley.

Croaker Jr: But no attention pass that. People go on their way.

Slapdoglll: I'll approach the bouncer.

Croaker Jr: Down a few steps to the door to Club XXI. Big guy stands at the door.

Slapdoglll: 'Is there a cover?;

Slapdoglll: I mean, "Iz der un covuh?"

Croaker Jr: Graft-job, of course. Black, bulky, hairless. Silvery cornea and blue retina in each eye.

Slapdoglll: Hey, looks like Tyrannus.

Croaker Jr: A little, yeah.

Slapdoglll: But not as big...

Croaker Jr: Nope.

Croaker Jr: He looks down at you with a sneer and nods at a closet just inside the door.

Croaker Jr: "Put up your weapons and coat in there."

Slapdoglll: I'll hapilly comply.

Slapdoglll: I still have my knives concealed beneath my shorts, though.

Croaker Jr: He watches you close all the while. Can't tell what he's thinking, of course.

OnlineHost: Croaker Jr rolled 1 10-sided die: 9

Slapdoglll: Hope it a'int lust.

Croaker Jr: "Hey," he grunts as you step away from the closet.

Slapdoglll: "Da?"

Croaker Jr: "Take them knives out of your pants and put them in the closet."

Slapdoglll: Slap gives a wryful grin, "Yu preddy goot. Da, it's unly fare."

Croaker Jr: Grey, you walk up to the steps about now.

Slapdoglll: I'll put them in as well. "Yu just be carefull. Dem goot nives."

Croaker Jr: The bouncer reflects your grin, though his has less humor. He still watches you close.

Broonsey: I'll go in, look around.

Croaker Jr: "Sure, nobody'll touch em."

Slapdoglll: I'll shake my little booty.

Slapdoglll: And then go inside.

Croaker Jr: Grey, you and your buds meet a big and irritated-looking bouncer.

Croaker Jr: He turns his attention from an exotic who just entered, and looks down at you.

Broonsey: I'll nod and go in.

Croaker Jr: He looks you and your friends over. "Coats and weapons in the closet."

Broonsey: I segue on in.

Croaker Jr: Club XXI is long and narrow. You enter at the south end of the room, and it stretches north

Croaker Jr: into the building.

Broonsey: I step against the wall, letting my eyes adjust, waiting on my boys.

Croaker Jr: Small tables, booths, lots of holograms, human staff and bartender.

Broonsey: I'll sit at the bar, order something sealed, look around.

Croaker Jr: The place is maybe 1/4 full.

Slapdoglll: I'll find a table alone. Preferably in the corner.

Croaker Jr: Meaning, about 30 people in groups of 2 to 4.

Broonsey: Anyone waving at me?

Croaker Jr: Not yet.

Broonsey: Fine. I'll order for my goons.

Croaker Jr: Slapdog, from your corner you see the couple that went in a few minutes before.

Broonsey: And wait.

Slapdoglll: I'll order something from a waitress and keep my eye on them but in a low profile

Croaker Jr: They are talking. That's about all you're able to tell about their mood.

Slapdoglll: They are lambs beneath the scythe.

Croaker Jr: Waitress takes your order, Slapdog, and moves off to the bar. Same for you, Grey.

Croaker Jr: Different waitresses.

Croaker Jr: Slapdog's comes back first. She puts the drink(?) down, then says, "Umm... the couple over

Croaker Jr: there say they'd like to buy you a drink, if you'll sit with them...?"

Slapdoglll: "Ah, dank yu," replies Slap.

Slapdoglll: I'll head over to the other table, stepping gingerly.

Croaker Jr: The woman watches you with curiosity and caution. The man turns and looks up. He smiles.

Croaker Jr: "Hello there," he says. "I'm Ky Remington."

Slapdoglll: I'll sit cautiosly, my fur a darkened tiger by the dim light.

Croaker Jr: Grey, your waitress brings your seal-a-meal box, freshly heated.

Slapdoglll: "Hello."

Croaker Jr: Or was that just a drink? Either way, she gives the same story.

Croaker Jr: "The couple over there... where the... cat just sat down...say they'd like you to join them.

Croaker Jr: "Uh... they didn't say about your friends, though."

Broonsey: It was a drink. But whatever.

Broonsey: "Guys, hang here. Biz. Keep your heads up, pretty please." I go.

Croaker Jr: A man and a woman, both wearing fashions not quite of the street, are at the table.

Croaker Jr: So is a cat. Big cat. Wearing shorts.

Broonsey: Do I recognize anyone? Education/City Knowledge -3

Broonsey: Int 7.

Croaker Jr: Grey, what do you look like?

OnlineHost: Croaker Jr rolled 1 10-sided die: 2

Croaker Jr: You don't recognize any of them.

Broonsey: I sit, look at everyone, wait for someone to speak.

Slapdoglll: I'll keep an eye on the new guy.

Slapdoglll: Is he packing?

Croaker Jr: The man speaks first. He nods with a smile, says again: "I'm Ky Remington. Glad you could

Croaker Jr: make it."

OnlineHost: Croaker Jr rolled 1 10-sided die: 9

Broonsey: I need to go in about 10 minutes, guys. We've been on 2.5 hour.

Croaker Jr: Yeah, Slap, looks like his coat is bulging just right for a small pistol of some sort.

Broonsey: What do you have?

Slapdoglll: Are you asking me?

Broonsey: No, Ky.

Croaker Jr: Ky says, "You've both been screened by my employer, so I'll just dive right in."

Broonsey: I sit back.

Croaker Jr: "This is going to be a sneak." He looks at Grey. "You're Grey. You'll be doing the asking."

Croaker Jr: "So far, you know more than I do about the subject matter."

Croaker Jr: "I'll handle logistics." He nods to the woman. "This is cloud. She's electronic security."

Croaker Jr: He looks at Slapdog last. "And this is Slapdog. Physical security."

Croaker Jr: "We've all been around enough that I don't have to explain what all the euphemisms mean."

Croaker Jr: "I have access to an anonymous account with a balance of fifty thousand dollars pay and

Croaker Jr: operating expenses for each of you. I've been hired for 24-hour a day service for the next

Croaker Jr: four days."

Croaker Jr: He looks at Grey again. "So, we're on the job. What's the move?"

Slapdoglll: "Vait. Bak up. Vat is de mission?"

Croaker Jr: Ky keeps looking at Grey. "That's what Grey here is about to tell us."

Slapdoglll: Slap move her look to Grey.

Broonsey: I look back. I'm not saying shit.

Broonsey: And I have a Cool of 10. I'm UNruffled.

Slapdoglll: I'm aint trying to ruffle. I just want some answers.

Croaker Jr: Ky raises an eyebrow. "No comment, Grey? Are we wasting my bosses' time, here?"

Broonsey: "Who's that? And I don't even know any of you. You thnk I'm going to tell you something?"

Slapdoglll: "Vat de fuck iz dis? I did not cum here to zit und chat!"

Croaker Jr: "Yeah, I do. Otherwise they wouldn't have sent me. But look, you want ID for me? Sure

Croaker Jr: thing." He reaches into his jacket.

Broonsey: "Look, I don't care if you're the Pope. I have nothing to say to you."

Slapdoglll: Slap tightens as he reaches in his coat.

Croaker Jr: His hand comes up with a card. Circuitry glints from the side of it.

Broonsey: I look at it, unimpressed.

Broonsey: "Who'd you get that from?"

Croaker Jr: On its face is a hologram with Ky's image, front and side. Signature below that.

Croaker Jr: WNS logo is prominent. Another hologram

Croaker Jr: shows a retinal pattern.

Croaker Jr: "You want ID, run that pattern and check the name."

Broonsey: "That might help."

Broonsey: I take the card and get up. "Wait here."

Croaker Jr: "Sure thing. Keep the card and run it on your own, if you want. But don't take long."

Broonsey: Does he do anything?

Croaker Jr: No, he sits back, prepared to wait.

Broonsey: OK. I leave through the back.

Slapdoglll: I'll be simmering in the uncomfortable silence.

Broonsey: From there, I call in the card on my phone.

Croaker Jr: OK... if it's a standard phone its video receiver can run the scan, if the person or system

Croaker Jr: on the other end of the line can do anything with the data.

Broonsey: I want to know just who the hell this guy is.

Broonsey: I call it in to the Company.

Broonsey: Anonymously.

Croaker Jr: Make a Resources roll: INT + Resources + 1d10

Croaker Jr: Type: //roll -dice1 -sides10

OnlineHost: Broonsey rolled 1 10-sided die: 7

Broonsey: 18.

Croaker Jr: The databank you called takes the scan and runs it for five seconds while Muzak plays.

Croaker Jr: Then: "Employee identification confirmed: Horton Kresh, Production Resources Department."