July 23, 2004
.07.23.04. - gathering information [spider] *ac

[forums/chat]

(james)
true to his word, Spider didn't like to waste time
shortly after the meeting dispersed James' phone rang
the unfamiliar Garou's voice telegraphing across digital lines
shortly after the phone call ended, James was at the appropriate corner
weight leaning blithely against a streetlamp's base
pony-tailed dreads pillowing skull against unforgiving steel post
smoke coiling up into the yellowed light filtered from dish above
quietly passing the time until the Glass Walker arrived
idly contemplating the sliver moon high above in Chicago's early morning hours
grateful of nightfall's dropped temperatures chilling ever-present breeze
keeps him from cooking in the oversized fatigue jacket way too warm for the season

a moment, perhaps, coveted after the legwork convened
collection of papers folded neatly lengthwise in the palm of one hand
regardless of his packmate's opinions of Spider
the guttermutt's looking past that to abilities offered for the city's sanctity
let's hope he's as good as the Tribe's reputation for hacking promotes

"Gotta list've all th' cab 'n limo serv'ces 'roun town." spoken once the lanky fullmoon has settled into the passenger seat of the car *, once more tempering cadence and structure to assure the least amount of repeating himself for clarity "Ref'd th' pap'rs a narrow it down a four tha' had ads f'r hirin' in th' las' two month'."

a pause allowing Spider's perusal of the top sheet
listing in order the names and addresses of all alleged companies and DMV satellites in the area
James doesn't bother divulging his methods of accessing the library's periodical archives far beyond business hours
though safe bet it's related to what's in store for later

"You get us where y' think's best place a star', 'n I'll get'cha to their rec'rds a grab wha' we need 'n bail f'r th' nex' place if we need."

all drivers have photograph identification on file - it's common knowledge
limosine services theoretically holding to higher standards of operation than a cab company
but in either event, there will be records to be found - of some sort
ethnicity already providing the primary perameters of their search
Gaia's grace hopefully following the two Garou on their quest
offering something that will be of use to narrowing down the avenues of pinpointing their quarry

are they good enough to find the company that hired a man fitting the description?
the ID's photograph cannot obscure a driver's appearence and skin color.....
are they lucky enough any other information hasn't been falsified?
the guy's got to have some valid details for payroll....
..... would it matter if they matched a photo and company and knew whom to track?
if an assault's expected, would the city's Garou succeed in striking each potential member individually?
would their only chance be a balls out simultaneous attack?
James doesn't think about that on the ride through Chicago's streets
focusing instead on the task presented once parked several blocks beyond their first stop

(one step at a time, Jamey-boy)

in the alley one corner away from the back of their first chosen site
there's a pause beneath powerline's connection at the top of a wall to service the block
one thing he couldn't find out was the level of security within
(.....too bad cutting power to cameras would negate the ability to use the computers... damn technology)
and deciphering a fuse box's complication is not amongst his repetoire
at least both Garou knew enough to come prepared to cover their asses

the band's pulled and dreadlocks tumble shaggy mane about James' face
features obscured further by the shift pushing animal a step infront of man
he doesn't have the black moon's gifts to blend away his presence
nor does he possess the means to mangle technology with a thought
James does, then, work with what Gaia and Mother Rat gave as blessing upon birth
Glabro enhancing (.... destroying?) his profile to unrecognizable on low-grade cameras
head tilting to swing heavy ropes into make-shift moply curtain
gloves intentionally oversized protesting the presence of talons by tiny rips of fingertip seams
but their constitution holds to keep printable pads covered
the deliberately too-big jacket finally having purpose beyond sloppy poverty style

keys jangle on a six-inch ring which appears from yet another pocket
enough shiney brass trapped on the loop to make a janitor feel inferior
moment's concentration ends the seemingly aimless sorting of endless keys
tumbler's willingly give as the suddenly right key slides home and door swings open
glad to avoid forced entry even if he was prepared for it - missing doors tend to draw attention
Ahroun entering ahead only far enough to stop before the security alarm's wallmount
fist curling to strike and smash the keypad to bits in ghetto-style disarming

a pause and sideways glance - does he need to go through with it or is there a more...... subtle method?
easier to dump the files onto disk than grab the hard drives and hopefully correct documents and make a break for it before authorities arrive
a nod - once alarm's taken care of.... time for Spider to work a little computer magic and access the information they need

----
* I'm totally guessing on Spider having a car much less it's kind, so, uh, edit as necessary. Heh. Name of the actual place they broke into up to Spider's choice of the best start (cab or limo company, dmv, etg). Assume their exit is neat unless the alarm starts going off and they have to run. Same process for any further stops needed.

Lost Keyring Fetish:
Fri 05:33AM CST Dice Validated: 2D10 Dice Roll: 6; 5
Assuming the door has a generic 4 tumbler keyed lock.


(spider)
The car's digital clock turned, advancing one number later in the evening, as Spider pulled up to the meet. "Hey," he replied, looking out the open window of a pitch black 1985 Monte Carlo SS. "Come on.. we'll talk on the way."

Spider nodded slowly as James rattled off the information he had already. A conscious gesture, intimating that he understood what the guttermut was saying through his twisted lip and tongue. Sometime in the ride, James hands over the top sheet, and Spider pulls over for a second, staring at it -- burning holes in it, more likely, the way he looks at it with such intensity.

"Let's start with the DMV." The biggest target, the one with the most information, and the one the police have the most interest in protecting. Spider smirks at himself, and hands the paperwork back to James before pulling out into the flow of traffic.

Outside the DMV, Spider pulls into a dark and forgotten niche of the city, a block away from their prey. He slips free, slips out, and starts preparing himself as James does the same. A black leather carrying case is pulled out of the backseat, about the size of a laptop, and knowing the Glass Walker, probably carrying one inside. A plastic bag from any one of a thousand stores in Chicago provides the rest of what he needs: latex gloves, a baseball cap, and a can of spraypaint. The spraypaint (black, of course) is tossed at James, "For the cameras."

And they're leaving, walking across the neglected sidewalk and street in hurried pace to the DMV building. James tends to the door, while Spider looks around, red-tinted eyes slipping across the urban landscape: empty. Tumblers fall into place, the door opens, and Spider moves right on the heels of James.

"Wait.."

Pulling out a pocketknife, he flips open a small blade and motions for James to let him. "The good news is, if its armed, the cops already know we're here.." The knife is wedged into mounted control pad, prying open the cover to expose the alarm system's innards. [Downloading Program.. Leonida>Electronics 1.0] Wires are brushed aside, a red one grabbed (its always the red one), and then sliced in half. "Let's go.."

Spider slips through the DMV almost like he knows where he's going. Past the counter where citizens were hassled and abused, to the back office cubicles were semi-educated workers labored away for the State's low wages. Spider slipped through the aisles of desks and plastic half-walls, toward a computer in the back. With a press of a button, Spider flipped on the terminal; while it booted up, Spider produced his own laptop, pushing aside desk-top clutter to make space for it, and turning it on as well.

[Uploading Program.. Leonida>Electronics 1.0]
[Downloading Program.. Leonida>Investigation 4.0]

Latex gloved fingers crack with anticipation. Wires are mounted to the laptop, quickly; a line running between laptop and DMV terminal, another from laptop dial-up modem to a cellular phone. Knuckles crack, again. The DMV signon manifests, and Spider starts working.

Behing the black tint of his sunglasses, Spider eyes turn pitch black, and then glow with a subtle green stream of data.

[Connecting to network.. 291.38.49.481..]
[Connection dropped..]

He shakes his head, tries again..

[Connecting to network.. 291.80.21.119..]
[Establishing connection with proxy server..]
[Connection Established.]

A knowing smile creeps up Spider's features that the devil himself would be proud to wear. Fingers fly across the keyboard, as search windows and command prompts pop up, close down, switch back and forth.

[Searching Database.......]


---------------------------------------------

Security Disarm (Dex + Crafts): 5D10 Dice Roll: 5; 4; 5; 7; 2

Network Terminal: 6D10 Dice Roll: 2; 1; 2; 6; 8; 8 (Connection is severed by Spider)

Network Terminal (2nd Attempt): 6D10 Dice Roll: 7; 7; 7; 9; 2; 9 (5 suxx.. huzzah!)

Database Search (Intelligence + Computer + NT Connection): 12D10 Dice Roll: 2; 4; 9; 2; 7; 3; 6; 8; 1; 10; 8; 4

(st)
The Urrah arrive at the DMV building and, thank Gaia, have the fortune of finding that the security in this branch happens to be behind the times. It's nothing knew: The Government is a Beaurocracy and thrives on red tape. Equipping this DMV against even rather basic attempts of breaking and entering seems to be low on the list.

There's just one little hitch: The process of hacking RealWorld is taking too damned long. Perhaps it is Jukebox who first begins to feel a little nervous... perhaps Spider himself gets an itch at the base of his spine.
tingle, tingle
Low security. But not non-existant security.

And, by the way, who brought the spray-paint? Hmmm... did we actually use it? And Hey, wait a minute... wouldn't the camera's see us before the lense was coated?

Perhaps they begin to wonder about these things...

Spider, TechnoTheurge, is managing to hack into the system in half the required time. But half the usual time is still two hours.

How many things can go wrong in two hours?

(spider)
[Processing....]

"This is taking too long." Spider's fingers punch quickly at the key, showing signs of irritation and impatience. It hasn't even been that long.

"Plan B. Did you take care of the cameras?" He's not really worried about being identified. Between his sunglasses, baseball cap, and gloves, he's just another white male, average height, average build - one of ten thousand other people living in Chicago. Spider looked up from his computer monitor toward the camera mountings in the ceilings to see if they were taken care of (if they weren't, Spider would do it himself).

He's not worried about being identified, or even the slim possibility of a live person watching the opposite end of that camera.. he's worried about a tape catching what comes next. "I'm gonna hack it umbral.."

With the cracking software still at work, Spider made a final check to see that all the cameras were covered. If they were..

Spider grabbed the can of spraypaint for himself, and sprayed a thick, dripping puddle onto the ground. A latex forefinger dipped into the puddle like a fine quill pen into an ink well, and began to inscribe Gaian glyphs into the ground into a circle: Cockroach, Weaver, Kilakac'n. Concentric circles were drawn inside these glyphs and outside these glyphs, creating a summoning circle. In the center, a simple offering, a small piece of a candybar.

Pressing his palms together, Spider began to center himself, touching the One and breaking the barrier of worlds through sheer force of will. (WP Spent)

(Gnosis to pierce Gauntlet: 6D10 Dice Roll: 4; 6; 1; 10; 4; 7)

And through quiet invocation, summoned the Kilakac'n - Gaffling of Cockroach.

(Gnosis to summon Gaffling: 6D10 Dice Roll: 5; 7; 4; 3; 6; 7)

Spirit Speech: "Kilakac'n.. I have summoned you - Spider, a Theurge of Cockroach and servant of Leonida. You have battled the Wyrm for many years, hunting crucial information and striking efficiently at its weakest. You have fought wisely, with secrecy, and powerful insurgency. Now, I beseech and command you to help us kill your enemies with the same wisdom you have used all these years. Inside this local network is a database. Inside this database are a list of men applying for a chauffer's license in the city of Chicago. Search this database for all these men, with racial parameter black, in descending order, for the last thirty days. Print this list to my laptop hard-drive." Pointing toward his laptop on the desk. Subtly, Spider looks toward Jukebox, and runs his gloved nails across the ground. (Scratch your nails). "For your service, I offer you this.. victory against the Wyrm and food for a half-moon. But you must act quickly."

(st)
A summons made and a summons answered.
[...stirrings of electricity in the air...]
The gaffling manifests itself in the form of not one but several small, synchronized cockroaches of copper-glinting metal. A ticking sound and between twitching attenea, little currents of electricity snap-crackle-pop!.
[...you can feel the hair on your arms perk up...]

"No." It says, and for a moment the counterparts spread outwards as though they might scatter, but then pull back together. "I cannot do this. Danger." With each word, which will sound only as garble to Jukebox surely, but comes acroos clearly to Spider, the electric current between their atenea strengthens and flexes only to die away once more with a pause. Then the seperate-parts-of-a-whole converge together. Anteneas touch and the electricty connects and webs out around them forming rough, flashing geometric designs.
"For the same payment we will take you to who can."


(james)
it hasn't been that long
but who can blame two Garou already up for B&E?
bare minutes pass and they're getting twitchy....

then there's a wordless grunt of affirmation - the cameras were taken care of as Spider set his own digs up, but that didn't stop the few seconds of film capturing approach and spray by some daaamn tall guy who's wearing a.... mop?.... on his head to obscure features much less the busybody average guy obviously tampering with the network on properly aimed rigs

not the most seamless of plans - but this was low-tech
and seemed to work for what was of utmost importance
attention remained on the creepily empty office
guarding watch habitual for the Ahroun as Theurges worked magic
even if an occassional rotation of his head caught what Spider was doing
such mystical fantastical things an enigma to the raggedyman
he cannot help the surface curiosity
deeper understanding, however, is for another time

talons trail scratched furrows in ground on cue
(the hell did you just get yourself into, Jamey-boy?)
thickened skull tipping canidly as the spirits offer garbledspeech
it's more the tesla coils of their antenna that's caught deep umber eyes
(neat-o....)
which then shift back to the Theurge, brow lifting behind the roped curtain of dreads
(ready when you are)


(spider)
[I cannot do this. Danger.]

Behind his dark sunglasses, an eyebrow lifts, curiously. The facial expression unseen by Jukebox and the cockroach spirits falls away.. the impotus behind it is not so fleeting.

"Wise Kilakac'n.. I have worked with your brood many times, successfully. This doesn't seem like anything that is outside of your ability. What danger? .. and who do you intent on taking us to?"

(st)
sizzle-sizzle. crack!.pop!
The electricity between the attenea of the various little copper-sheen roaches that make up the manifest form of the gaffling go off once more as they congregate, spread a measured distance and then join together once more.

"Geomids rule here and allow no intrusion outside of those accepted. Countering brings the eight-legged ones and the Killers. Jealous, these spirits. Cross and you will see."

(james)
this is.... so out of his league
James, while curious, settles to keep guard and half-listen
idly tapping talon-tips on the floor in drummer's habit
however not loud enough to cause any distracting or interrupting noise

(spider)
This is the look of growing impatience. This is the look of somebody that wants the job done, yesterday.

"I was under the assumption Cockroach and the Weaver had come to an understanding." Which apparently does not hold water inside the Department of Motor Vehicles. Spider breathes out mild irritation. This is already taking too long.

"Who are you taking me to? And how long will this take, Kilakac'n? Time is very important.. a powerful strike is neither slow nor hindered."

(st)
SIZZLE

Now the current charges all around the roaches and they meld into one, forming a bronze insectoid figure that makes a sharp, meaty clicking noise as the blue-energy surges around it.

"Demanding, this Summoner. Help sought and help granted, but Summoner is not happy. Perhaps Summoner wishes to proceed alone?"

Whoever told you that Spirits, even allied Spirits, are all complacent and complying little things... lied.

Even so, a pact is a pact and once again the gaffling seperates its manifest form into several small versions of itself.

"Come then. You will provide the destraction, you and Son-of-Rat."

(spider)

"It would help to understand what you are trying to bring us into, Kilakac'n."

Simple. Calm. Dead.

Disembodied prose. This is the sound of somebody in perfect control (or about to lose it). Binary's personality must be rubbing off.

"And with whom.. There are rupercusions on this side of the barrier."

(james)
not.... a whole lot the Ahroun can do at this point
at least Spider's remaining calm
while in most company that may beget dire consequence
he's been in enough situations such contol could be good or bad sign

James would be worried if the notably sedate Walker got.... stressed....
still biding his time evenly between keeping guard and learning by Spider's example

(st)
"You go to the Source. To abide by its Rules and Regulations - Kilackac'n does as Kilackac'n does and comes back to Summoner and Son-of-Rat with that which Summoner seeks. This way is fastest, Summoner."

Now one aspect of the spirt spread away fruther from the rest. It buzzes - vibrates mechanically - for a moment and then returns to the host.

"Summoner sure drags for one so pressed for time. And one soon to have company."

(spider)
"We have company." Human language. The imperfect noise of a creature trying to rationalize its own existence through its tongue.

"Hide the computer in the ceiling of the men's room." Somewhere between rebuilding a fence, planning a defense, preparing two offenses, and protecting the interests of his own tribe Spider just hasn't found the time to dedicate his newest laptop. Pity. "Inside those panels. Hurry.. We have to cross and they can't find that. Meet me on the other side."

(james)
company. it was about time.
..... f'in peachy
at least they were speaking something James could understand
acknowledgement comes in the form of a short, huffed grunt

he waits until the computer is disconnected properly before grabbing it to go
(he'd been around Rune long enough to learn there were proper ways of doing these things)
men's room found during the earlier camera spraying - it's not long to backtrack now
toilet leveraging lanky form up enough to push aside a panel and stow the laptop
far enough behind the panel to assure it won't fall back into the toilet if things went terribly wrong
(learned enough that computers don't swim well, too)
and soon as the ceiling's arranged neat enough to cover his presence
James is making full use of those nice and shiney and - wow, DMV employees must be vain, lookit this wall to wall shit... - wonderfully reflective surfaces to push through

praying whatever's on waiting on the other side to catch him didn't take going down the shitter literally

(st)
In the meantime the gaffling fades away from existence in this realm.

"Gotta check out the comps, Sammy."
Footsteps sound on the hall and the glow of a flashlight swivels in a lazy spread, beaming from down the hall and around a corner.
"Naw, c'mon... we've got some time. Lemme get you into Brackman's office, you've gotta see this..."

The light pauses, illuminating the door of the womens restroom down the way... and then turns back and the footsteps cease.

Safe.
For now.

Enough time bought for the pair to cross over...

On the Other Side...

It isn't an easy cross. Not with the Weaver prescense here, but the Garou make it, more than likely with greater ease and none of the distaste those of other tribes might experience. The building isn't old enough - not at all - to have left its mark on this side. But off to their left is a steady, strong glow of blue-white tones and a humming like that a large, constantly running mechanical device might make.

Waiting for them is the Gaffling, an insectoid mist now still with its electric charge that now shimmers through it and connecting pieces within like copper wiring.

"Go left, to the glow. It will not hurt you -- if you do not hurt it. Kilackac'n will meet you there with Summoner's information."

(spider)
[It will not hurt you -- if you do not hurt it.]

Spider looks at the shimmering cockroach, and then at James. Peeling off his black sunglasses, Spider looks at his partner with two incredibly worn eyes. Tired. Irritated. With small bags from lack of sleep.

Black sunglasses are replaced by red ones serving to elminate the signs of wear and tear along the Theurge's face. Turning, he walks in the direction told, motioning with a nod for James to do the same. "Don't touch it. We have to wait here.. see what happens."

(james)
he can't help the pause and look at the gaffling spirit
that? is downright cool.
that? is about all the comparative thought it gets
nodding to follow Spider's lead towards the white-blue glow
it's illumination casting strange shadows on the Fostern's face
though he doesn't look half as worn out as the Theurge

easy enough the Gnawer's ground-devouring stride
it's only through the set of his shoulders the tension shows
constantly wary for whatever may come after them spirit-side
he can dig not touching anything - it's the waiting to see what happens
this is certaintly not the defensive vantage point of his choosing
the feeling of being set-up has him instinctively jittery
but when bargaining with spirits..... what can you do?

breaths forced through eights to bide his time and focus that excess energy

(st)
They move off to the left and towards the glow...

...and find themselve in a curious imbodiement of the DMV: Umbral side. It is... like a waiting room. But entirely made up of intricate, dusty webbing around which crawl tiny, dusty, tin-coloured spiders. There are chairs made up of the same webbing and a counter top. Behind this counter is the source of the glowing. Behind the counter is what one must presume was the spirit the Gaffling refered to as the Source.

Binary codes cascade along its surface. Its smooth, flat, geometrical surface. It is, in short: A giant, three dimensional prism. Along it and within it and around it those codes race and chase and combine. The humming comes from this prism.

As Jukebox and Spider view all of this they will notice that a web-formed ticket-dispender stands before them. Hanging from it a metal placard with engraved words, highlighted in red:
PLEASE TAKE A NUMBER

The eyes wander, then, to a noticable surge of motion as a multitude of the tiny tin spiders are converging on one chair.

Upon this chair, covered in dust, is a skeleton, composed in a sprawled out poise as of one fully agonized in tedius, boring Waiting. In one curled up hand is a ticket.
B-117.

Just when the implications of that sight are sinking in, a nasal, flat, piercing voice cuts into the room.

"B-116....BEE-ONE-ONE-SIX??"

The voice - like that of some calloused and dull, pince-nosed, tight-assed, haughty middle-aged sexless person - seems to be coming from the prism.

(spider)
James. Prism. Cadeavor.

Red tinted eyes take all this in, and blink, blankly. Spider finds a place to sit, next to the dust Cadeavor, and waits there. Legs fold into a semi-lotus, hands fold quietly inside his lap, and Spider just waits.

(james)
a brow most certianly lifts towards tangled dreadlock mane
they've stepped out of the Matrix and into Beetlejuice..... mostly
it's enough to get James to pause
You've got to be shitting me
not. quite. sure to laugh or not.

if only for a moment
he's been to Wonderland, after all, why not a Burton flic?
Spider gets a look, also breif - If our counsellor's name is Juno I'm so objecting once we're back Realmside. - as deep umber eyes take it all in: the number, the spiders, the skeleton, then the voice...


sensitive animal audio winces at the crackling buzz of noise
lip beginning to curl in objectionary distaste.....
but all he protests is a shrug of muscular shoulders
settling with the strange spirit version of the DMV
taking a number - B118 - and sitting next to Spider

if a Gnawer can do anything - it's adapt

(st)
"Bee.... Bee eleven-six.... "

The voice is a monotony of high-pitched sinuses. It seems heedless of anything beyond speaking the number...

...over and over again.

"bee one-sixteen..."

In a place like this, time can easily begin to play tricks on you. What feels like an hour can be naught but two minutes.

"Bee-One-One-Seven?... Bee-One-One-Seven???.... Bee-One-Seventeen??....Bee-Eleven-Seven?"

Now that moment of anticipation: You're up next!

Any second now...

...here we go.

Riiiiiiight.... now!

Then, upon a counter which is before the prism, a golden sign is placed up with the words "On Break".

...the spiders make naught but a faint clicking sound and they seem to completely ignore the two Garou. Beyond that, there is naught but the resonant sound of the prisms buzzing.

(spider)
The golden sign lights up and Spider can't help but just laugh. Its tension, really. A thick line of nerves tightening and tightening up his spine and neck, to the point that something was eventually going to snap. Until that sign.

"Goddamn incredible.." he mutters to himself.

Then glances at his watch. "If the cockroaches don't show up in five minutes then we'll take a peek around for them. If there's nothing in ten minutes I'm going to jump across the counter, force the information from that Geomid, break it over my knee, and then leave."

"This is taking too long.. "

(james)
James.... is not surprised
he's been at the DMV before

if you're not touching anything and risking being turned away by not having a number to begin with
if you're not offending a spirit by stealing it's apparently useless number cause it seems dead and gone
then you're taking the number that comes up right before break
typical.

by the time the voice even got to B-one-seventeen
the Ahroun had slouched down in his webbychair to some semblance of comfortability
dreads easily disarranged enough to provide a sheild of sorts from the glow
casually waiting his turn like a well-behaved Garou and not some nightmare war-machine of death
dark eyes closed to half-mast as ears pitch themselves for sounds of return and subsequent numbers
it's not that hard to imagine James tipping a hat up to watch Spider from under the brim
fullblood amazingly calm compared to the sketchy Theurge

"What happen' a not touchin' nothin'?"

criminy. all he needs is Decker's drawl.

(st)
"Yes, Summoner, what ever happened?"

The gaffling has returned, but it stands just outside of the entrance to this sterile and stable... hell.

"Come. Quickly."
The electric-chraged copper-wire that embodies its misty isectoid form glistens like so much gold filagree in foggy ivory. The spirit seems to be... nervous.

"Come!"

----

to Spider, Jukebox: ooc: Righto. Okay. The gaffling will tell Spider that it has found 14 names that fit his criteria and will send the information to the laptop as requested. There is something interesting, however: One of the names cross-entries with a person of caucasion race, same social security number and the whole nine yards...
But that person died 20 years ago.
Matthew P. Johnston is the name. Address, social, DoB, and the taxi company that hired him are all given.

Posted by james at July 23, 2004 12:00 AM