Thread: The Evil behind the Mirror ( Shadowrun/Horror, Pazzo x DarkAngel76)

Marcus clenched his teeth... Unexpected, the little punk wasn't making this easy. The accountant looked to Tara, then back to Leo. His hydraulic fingers reflexively starting to crush the empty cup in his hand. A more detailed X-Ray scan of Leo revealed a credstick encoded to account number 1945XD-0-SW7634, along with a chipped door key, belonging to a nearby motel. Marcus's borged eyes could just make out the number through the soft material of the ganger's pocket 113. The latest few transactions revealed that a purchase of a weeks stay at a nearby cheap roach motel know as Shadys, popular with streetwalkers and other unsavory types. Marcus was quite familiar with it, as his regular Mr Jhonson occasionally arranged impromptu business meetings there. It was only two blocks down the road. Abruptly, The elven cashier had appeared with a fresh Mocha, her beautiful face marked with stark concern. She quickly took the empty cup from Marcus, and replaced it with the full one. Compliments of the house... The girl began softly, a hint of a pleading tone in her words ... for being such a valued and well behaved customer. Marcus took the hint. She was right. The last thing that he needed was to be recorded on the vid cams crushing a ganger's head into the white and black checker pattern tile floor of the Cheesecake Sisters coffee house. He smiled and nodded to the elf girl, and then to Leo, clapping him on the shoulder in a friendly manner with his free hand. Marcus quickly walked around them. An older gentleman in a heavy brown camo jacket smiled and held the door for Marcus as he left. The Marachi Wetwork contract could wait. He was a full week ahead of schedule... As soon as the cold Seattle night air hit him, his smile faded. His thousand yard stare returned, and his hyper focused mind began running thousands of possible scenarios per second, playing out many plans in his mind each second as he walked. His Midnight Blue BMW was parked nearby. No, its tags would be traced by the telenet, and records would be kept of its movements... He needed something more discrete. The wireless tracker he placed on Leo with that friendly gesture was transmitting nicely, allowing Marcus to track his where he was. Marcus sipped the hot coffee, trying to calm his wired nerves. No effect. Usually it was an intensified feeling of release when he drank his preferred Turkish blend mocha, but his current state of fight or flight ruined it. The accountant swore, and tossed the drink into a nearby dumpster. Now then, how to get to the Motel? A Taxi would work, and he had just enough cash on hand to make a traceless transaction, but as per city state law, he would be required to give a retinal scan. No, this had to be untraceable. Marcus reached out with the wireless link of his headware computer, and passively connected to the video feed of all securtron hover drones and stationary security cameras within 500 meters. This was a poorer area of town, and there were only 5 drones along with 8 cameras. There were huge holes in the video coverage, and that would make it that much easier to move without being traced. He had to walk an irregular zig zag pattern to stay out of the cameras field of view. Shady's was your standard issue single floor motor hotel, built in the early 2020's. It was run down and was popular with drug pushers as a temporary stop when traveling across the state into the upper Salish territories. There were a few degenerates here and there, but no one paid him any mind. He was just a company man out and about his business, not anyone worth stopping or harassing. Marcus stopped across the street, and waited for a Lone-Star police vehicle to pass by before crossing. Parked in front of room 113 was a large windowless van, rusted and dented with age and neglect. The license plate was likewise registered to Leo. This kid was obviously a rank amateur, using his own personal vehicle to run and move product. He must not have had enough pull for them to splurge on fake car tags for him. His feed from Leo's transmitter said he was still at Cheesecakes. The rear of the van was parked just outside of the door to room 113. Leo likely did this to quickly move whatever his cargo was from the van to the room and vice versa. Convenient. He could use the ganger's own vehicle to transport the bodies... Suddenly, Marcus began to hear this music in his mind. He had no idea why... Must have been a glitch in his headware computer system. He would have to go visit Doctor Brown for a checkup of his cyberware... Eerily, the music seemed oddly appropriate. He felt it tease his adrenal glands, and his awareness heightened. He decided to ride with it. Let the fun begin... A quick glimpse into the infrared spectrum penetrated the outer walls of the hotel , revealing the room to be vacant. The door lock was beyond old, still bearing a mechanical key lock. Marcus walked up to the edge of the door, Turned around, and rested his back against the wall. He opened up his leather trench coat, produced a cigarette, and placed it to his lips with his gloved hands. As he fished around into his jacket for a lighter with one hand, he subtly touched the outer surface of the door lock with the other. Mentally he engaged the electromagnetic coils in his fingers, and slid the bolt back with a quick turn of his wrist. Childsplay... The video feed from Leo's transmitter had just updated. The little orange blip on his tac-map was moving towards his location. He was coming. Marcus would have to work fast to make this clean. He quickly wiped the lit edge of the cigarette on the brick wall, and placed it back in his jacket pocket. No reason to leave Trace DNA here in the form of a used cigarette on the ground. He opened the door quickly, and silently slipped inside, and then locked the door behind him. To room was complete chaos and beyond filthy. The accountant quickly disabled his olfactory implants to avoid retching from the stench... Oh how he hated Shady's Motel.... The orange blip was now just across the street... Marcus began unscrewing the led lamps all over the trashed room, thrusting it into darkness. Activating his infrared overlay, Marcus found his way to the filthy bathroom where he hid, kicking a used dirty syringe out of the way. The orange blip was now just outside the door. Marcus could hear a key in the rusty old lock. From inside his jacket, the accountant drew what appeared to be a small handheld repeating crossbow, loaded with small hypodermic darts... Marcus felt the adrenaline surge hit him, the thrill of the hunt, the moment of satisfaction of taking a target. A faint trace of light glinted from his mirrored shades... This was a little improv for his taste, but he was a professional. It would be nothing less than art...