So I’m going to make this one short. I got pulled into this crew and I’m half-regretting the decision so far. The Johnson was an Ares type, with all the vibes and the overly fancy dinner where he gave us our job was damn near painful. Just about injected myself with some slab to make my way through it. He told us that Sonya, a troll adept of some sort , was our leader. I had some reasonable reservations on that one, starting with fuck you, but I kept my tongue bit.
The rigger, a guy named Scrounge is quiet, the doctor doesn’t seem to be too much of an idiot, and I was on astral and spellcasting. We also had an elf. I forget her name. My earbuds must have been screwing up, everytime she spoke I kept hearing obscenities. Hmm. I don’t own earbuds. Strange.
The job was a protection gig, should be easy. Elf-Bitch bargained with the Johnson to use up more than her share on a jet ski, which was subsequently forgotten on the docks. We were to hop on a ship, pretend to be normal security, get to Houston and deliver a guy back to Havana. I’ll slip the details and names at the bottom.
So we headed to the beach to discuss plans. Sonya tried to prove herself to be the leader here and took the bitch seat on my bike. I was trying to play nice – didn’t do too well I think. Anyway, not much was needed for planning, not much warning to begin with. We were to be on the ship the next day. The basic plan was to get a keg of Guinness onto the ship, keep the mark drunk (He’s Irish, put Guinness in front of him and he’ll do the rest) and let him and the doctor compare brobdingnagian brainboners for the rest of the trip.
The first bit was fairly uneventful. Met people, walk around the ship and don’t get shot. Elf-Bitch filled her bunk with grenades, managed to piss off the locals who had the cushy lookout jobs, and made a huge fuss in every way. Sonya took to catching fish, I took to catching fish better and cooking it in the med bay. Elf Bitch took half a dead fish to the kitchens and, unable to speak Spanish, started gesticulating until things were thrown at her. The captain punished her with a 36 hour shift, 12 on guard duty, 12 cleaning, then 12 on guard duty. She skipped the 12 cleaning and as a result the kitchen didn’t have pans in the morning, so no breakfast. A manhunt started as the captain’s dick size was questioned and the sailors were damn hungry.
I eventually found a life sign somewhere strange and found her, and chose to call it in (I’ve tried to keep my tone neutral so you may not have noticed I disliked the elf. Nothing too much against elves in general, just this one.) The crew thought she was stealing, or at least up to something nasty. The ship was pretty obviously up to some illegal activities, something that our first stop to pay tribute to a pirate fairly well confirmed (This occurred previous to the breakfast incident, but was uneventful.) The captain might have thought she was a spy. Either way, the rest of the group threw her under the bus, and let her take a few knives for the team before being sacrificed for posterity’s sake. Good riddance.
Target: Rodger McGafrey
42 years old, born and raised Ares type. No accolades, never excelled, never fired, never transferred. Robotics expert. Uncle of Bryce McGafrey, a candidate for Ares Space who has been in the program for 2 years (currently 17).
Captain: Enrico Gonzollas
Head of Security: Arturo Diego, ex-pit fighter from Aztlan under stage name of “Diego Savage”.
Ship Rigger: Todo
First Mate: Carlito, a tuskless 6’4" ork.
The ship previously has been hit by the Slaughter House, but nothing too specific was taken. Hard to get info on the matter. First leg of the current trip is to get to Houston and pick up a shipment of drones.
Just for shiggles, we looked into the bounty prices of the Slaughter House crew.
Hackjob – 500,000 million nuyen bounty, 2 million alive.
Crawler: 250,000 nuyen. Dead Or Alive
Oh, and there was something about a code, I really wasn’t paying attention at this bit, brain aneurysm from Elf Bitch, but here’s the code: 578234516