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[Doubloon-Seven]

404 nods, sitting down.
"So. We need to hurt the pest population, but not eradicate it?"

((OOC: Man, I forgot this even existed! Sorry about that.))

[cronos5010]

Mr. Johnson nodded vaguely at 404's direction before saying "Exactly, the pain and sorrow the pest will bring to the other pests while it recovers or slowly dies is something that rather unfortunately will not grant you a bonus".

The fixer slowly leaned back into his seat, which led to a few moments of what would be awkward silence if somebody wasn't playing a particularly annoying piece of old prog-pop music.
The man made a show of checking his old looking wrist watch before saying  "Right, I am going to give all three of you exactly five minutes to make a decision, and I can only say that you will get an advance of 500 nuyen, and a data package that should help trim the expenses for the information gathering phase a bit"

He took a slow and deep breath before continuing with "Of course there is nothing stopping you from simply refusing to take the job I have given you, although I must say that if word of this mission gets out to certain...interested parties, the person who uttered those words will have a rather terrible case of...cement poisoning"

((OOC: It's actually fine, I sort of forgotten about this myself....also for DemICE we will probably need to talk about where your character would be introduced, also don't worry about having to make longass posts, it uh...won't be necessary))

[Glass]

"Hm. Very well."

[Pancaek]

"I'm in. Tell me, what is our employer's stance on, ah, collateral damage?"

[Doubloon-Seven]

404 extends a hand toward the man, offering a handshake.
"I have no objections. I agree to the terms".

[cronos5010]

404, Muffin Man, Jack Frost
Mr. Johnson took the opportunity to shake 404's hand, it was a firm and practiced handshake, the kind that people use when they want to seem trustworthy "That is good to hear, I'll send each of you a real life address where you can find your data package and your advance later".

The man picked up the brick of tech and the bottle hidden underneath the table and slipped them somewhere inside of their coat before saying "And try not to leave too much off a mess while you're at it, the owner is fine with a few additional rats exterminated, but he really doesn't want any trouble with rent-a-cops" he winked at Muffin Man after saying that, and he started to walk away from the table.

While the three of you were having your meeting with the fixer, it seemed that the slightly intimidating looking Orc had already won the pool match against the inexplicable looking Elf, as the Elf was buying the Orc a rather small shot glass filled with an oddly red colored drink for her victory, although the bit where she started to cough profusely and ask the bartender to bring her milk suggests otherwise.

It was sometime around 8:00 PM, and it was nowhere near closing time. You seem to have a bit of free time until the Fixer sends you the address, what do you do with that free time?

Aerumna
You were simply minding your own business and playing an Old MMORPG you are quite fond of that evening. Your character was getting ready to face off against the Lesser Dragon living in the Dungeon of Fiery doom by grinding your character in the adjacent Cave of lettuce, when you were interrupted by a "Server has Crashed" error message, and the nausea inducing sensation of getting dumped back to meatspace.
You spend the next few moments feeling like absolute shit, although you do notice that your commlink is ringing, it is probably a better idea to get a drink or something first.

[Glass]

...um...

Research my mark. Maybe do some training in a virtual firing range. 1000 meters, 1 target, crowd of 200, targets move slowly.

[DemICE]

"Oh damn I sooooo hate disconnects!" He moaned aloud with one palm over his forehead and slowly making its way through the hair and towards the back of his head.
"The devs are so useless, this problem persists for almost a-"

Aerumna's rant was suddenly interrupted by the familiar sound of his commlink. 

Ughhh not noww.. I need a moment...

He threw the commlink on the bed without even watching the screen, muffled in the pillow, and went to get some water and splash some water on his face. Whoever was it, would call again if they needed him. And denying the call outright would be a diplomatically worse decision than what he did.  Missing a call is a better excuse.

He put his mouth under the tap and opened it. Who cares about glasses? After what felt like drinking a lake dry,  he went to the bath and after changing his initial decision of just splashing some water on his face, he took the showerhead and opened the tub, losing himself in the exhilarating feeling of the running water enveloping him, washing away his nausea, his worries, his constant maelstrom of thoughts... including the thought of that commlink call too...

[Doubloon-Seven]

Stand around crowds, ears open for interesting conversation.

[Pancaek]

"I'll give you guys a throwaway number, in case ya's need ta contact me. I have to go see a man about a dog."

Leave my fellow runners with a throwaway commlink number to contact me on.

Then go and see the person that supplies my weapons. See if they don't have some special ammo/a weapon that is sure to hurt someone without killing them instantly, optionally letting them die slowly.

[cronos5010]

((OOC: I apologize for any oddly written bits, my usual Editor isn't around tonight))
Jack Frost
(

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

It really didn't take much digging to get some information on your target, the woman's face practically jumped to the forefront of your commlink's screen when you typed in the words 'keytar, black trenchcoat, castor park band', some suit over at her record company must have done a good job for once in their life.

A publicity photo with her stage name"Shanelle Findler" written on the top shows a female dwarf holding a keytar in a vaguely threatening manner while dressed up in a not at all revealing trench coat that looked like it was edited on by some intern with access to a basic photo manipulator, the black trench coat looked almost two dimensional is what I am trying to say here.

The photo clearly displays her dark brown skinned face, it has two presumably decorative cybernetic eyes with neon pink pupils, and her mouth had a scowl to it.

Some more digging leads you to a forum thread about the various music personalities in the world today; at first all you can find out about her is that some people find the color of her eyes doesn't mesh well with her short and wavy blond hair, and the offensively racist person in the next post's comment about how her hair color does not match up with her race almost made you close the damn page. The next posts were mostly insults directed at the racist man's ignorance, although one of them did say that she apparently has a bit of German in her family line.

In general people seem to think that she and her 'alternative electronic' band 'the Summer Punch' are nothing but a bunch of posers enjoying their 15 minutes of fame.

You didn't manage to dig up her real name or any useful personal details about her, and a much more paranoid man would start to think that there is nothing about her online that wasn't planted by some suit in the "Tigertainment" record company.

(10)
After presumably going back to your house and obtaining a pair of VR goggles...somewhere; You fire up the Ares virtual firing range app and input the few bits of information you have about your target and the maximum amount of individual targets your device can simulate.
The amount of practice you put into that scenario seems to pay off, you don't know if you will hit, but when the time comes you won't hesitate to pull the trigger too much.
(+1 to the next roll involving shooting someone)

404
(3)
Try as you might the crowds of Seattle seems to not have anything interesting to say around you....and in fact the place seems to be slowly emptying. Perhaps you should try your luck else where?

Muffin Man
(
You successfully arrange a little meeting with your 'trustworthy' weapon supplier Plain Jane, an aging 40ish Human woman in a drab and generally uninteresting outfit carrying a duffel bag. She considers your question for a moment before saying "Well there ain't nothing you are trying to do that you can't already do with what you already have....but I feel like hollow points would help in this case, it causes internal bleeding and tissue damage like a flechette round, but you won't be doing as much collateral damage or experience problems with inaccuracy" she takes a few moments to cough rather loudly before continuing "It will set you back by 82 nuyen per 10 rounds though"

Aerumna
Your commlink stops chirping by the time you get back from your shower.

[killerhellhound]

Real Name: Yarrick
Shadowrunner Handle: SkyShark
Description: A human punk who didn't want to dress the part and was shunned for being subtle with his low level crimes he prefers to wear a hoodie and cargo pants stuffed with useful tools for crimes
Race: Human
Why: He wants to leave the streets and fly in the sky with out having to listen to anyone and he needs money to get a flying machine.
Equipment:
[Formats are:  Name of Equipment: Purpose|Rating|Ammo If Applicable|Firing Mode/Modes if Applicable]
[Rugged pistol: Ranged weapon| +1|Bullets|semi auto]
[Climbing gear: Agility gear| +1|Rope]
[Concealing clothes: +0]
[Knife: Weapon|+0]
[Homemade smoke bomb pouch|+0 |Smokebombs|Single throw]

[Glass]

Do we still have more time?
If yes, keep practicing.

[Doubloon-Seven]

Walk over to the park, examine the terrain, if anything is already being set up, and simple lay of the land sorts of things. After doing that,
 slip into the underbrush and call the commlink number.

Spoiler: Sheet (click to show/hide)

Name: Houston Powerless

Shadowrunner Handle: 404

Description: The everyman. Bland suit, cheap tie, nothing that suggests anything off from average.

Race: Human

Why: Being a little farther away from the government.

Equipment:
Suppressed Pistol: To quietly kill people|+1|12/12|Semi-Automatic
Cyberdeck: Hacks thingies|+1|Does not include hidden gun|Ain't a gun
Garrotte Wire: To kill people while conserving bullets|+0|Nah|It's a glorified rope
Datajack: Allows use of hackingstuff|+0|Nyet|Not applicable
Micro SMG: For when the cat has escaped it's bag|+0|25/25|Full Automatic

[DemICE]

"This was GLORIOUS",   he let out aloud as he was exiting the bathroom, with the feeling of having been reborn.
"Now to check if the incompetent devs managed to bring the server back up..."

As he was entering the room, he noticed his pillow in a different position that its usual. He went and picked it up to put it back,  and he noticed his commlink underneath. 

"Right... i forgot about that"  he groaned as he fiddled with his c-link trying to find out who was it.  An unknown ID huh... those were either new possible employers,  some acquaintance  that changed their ID or  just another of those annoying commercial calls that he was just hanging up on their face every time.
For the sake of the possibility of one of the first two cases though, he opted of calling that number back towards its owner.

Aerumna is calling the unknown number back