Decay: The Remnants of Earth


Vector’s Cyberbar
September 26, 2007, 6:44 pm
Filed under: Game Posts

The mid-day sun beats down upon their backs as the crew stands outside of the rickety building that sports the letters “VE - - ORS.” Imprints on the sun bleached, concrete walls imply that the signage once read “VECTORS”. A lanky fellow with dirty, scraggly hair emerges from the wooden door that barely remains on its hinges. He glares at the group with a paranoid snarl and clutches his grimy LinkDeck to his chest tightly, pushing past them as quickly as he can. Subdued thumps from within the structure suggest music.

Upon entering the dimly lit bar, the crew struggles to let their vision adjust to the sudden change of lighting. Loud, grungy, down-tempo techno music blares from blownout speakers just above the doorway. Moments later, they survey the place, both to get a feel for their surroundings, as well as looking for someone who might DeAngelo. The bartender, a portly man with screwed-up jowl and a greasy smock, nods his head to the group as they walk in. A few pathetic souls sitting at the bar glance over their shoulder before rolling their eyes and resuming their all-too-practiced activity of drinking themselves silly.

Lining the walls of the large room are an assortment of desks and tables with various ancient-looking computers on them. Wires and circuitry lay sprawled out over a couple of tables, clearly works-in-progress. A particularly nerdy looking kid sits hunched over some dusty computer cases, going to town on them with some makeshift tools. His overly thick glasses, caked with grime, make his eyes appear to bulge even-more so then they do naturally. He looks up at them only briefly before wiping a sinewy stream of drool from his chin and getting back to work.

Your crew has entered Vector’s Cyberbar. It’s a dingy hole-in-the-wall pub with a penchant for salvaging old technology. In addition to the standard cantina furniture – a bar, some booths, some dirty tables and chairs – the place is filled with all types of elderly electronics, dusty computers, dirt-caked monitors, crusty piles of wire, and a plethora of other strange items. Nobody but the bartender seems to be paying your group much attention.

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Transfixed by the electonics on display, Kaphred walks up to the desk and inspects the equipment. He tries to figure out what the dork is working on (Electronics check? Computer Use check?).

If the check fails (and Kaphred is perplexed), he nods approvingly and walks quietly back to his companions.

If the check succeeds (and Kaphred can determine the nerd’s purpose), he leans over and points to a component on the circuit board. “You won’t be getting far with a fried capacitor.” he comments. “I expected more from DeAngelo’s crew.” (Fishing for a response…)

Comment by K-Slacker

{Knowledge Tech Roll – 15+3=18. Success!}

Kaphred leans over the geek who has since become completely involved in his work. Kaphred’s shadow startles the young man, who in turn jumps and slides back in his chair a bit with a confused grunt.

“You won’t be getting far with a fried capacitor.” Kaphred says, pointing to a blackened cylinder that protrudes from the circuit board. “I expected more from DeAngelo’s crew.”

“Huh?!” the nerd seems perplexed by the audacity of the stranger. “I…uhh…”

{To be continued as other players comment…}

Comment by Sentience

He had just landed in the Den a day and a half ago. This was his first time outside of the Aeon Megaplex and it’s extended boarders. He was here because he needed money – fast.

The Den was thirsty for his drink. He sold his stuff in single doses at inflated prices, and he was charging double that today. He had activated that hunger, proved it’s value, got word around that a higher salvation had arrived – more pure and potent than anything seen in the region – uncut liquid gold from the tech labs deep in the greyzones of the ‘plex.

Mason was leaning against the wall in one of the cramp backrooms of Vector’s cyberbar. He had worked a deal out with the bartender to set up a temporary camp there in exchange for an updated soundtrack to the building, a flow of extra people through his building, and buying several rounds of cheap liquor at the bar.

The barkeep had to open up one of the chained doors in the back. There was nothing but broken stools and old milk crates filled with empty and broken bottles. There was a small broken window on the far side of the room, showing repeated signs of futile break-ins.

His telecom had been ringing off his wrist, the party in the abandoned factory the night before had given him a quick and extended network in this dirty little outpost.

It was the last cryptic message that irked him. “Watch out – They’re here!”

Mason didn’t know who sent this message, or who “they” were, but he was careful about warning signs.

He slipped his reflective aviators back on, shouldered his USA post-office courier bag, held his LinkDeck firmly, and marched out the building, storming past a group of three. He didn’t risk time for pleasantries.

Maybe someone leftover at the Factory across the street could help him. He had made his mark with that caste the night before, and he was sure that with a little persuasion he could find himself something useful.

[Mason heads across the street and goes to enter the building from the backdoor.]

Comment by Mr Meth

Tank takes a practiced look around, for danger you never know about these places. Also to see what kind of professional help “bouncers” may be on hand.

Turning to Ako, “Let’s get a drink why the funny looking guy sorts this out.”

Comment by Second Variety

Nodding her head in agreement, yes lets have that drink.

Comment by aneurysmd




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