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[Synik]

To the north-east of Magdalene, the giant man-made river of Washport cuts through the snow bound land. The river slices through terrain as if some mad god had dragged a laser-knife across the country. The river runs in an almost perfect straight line to the salty slush of the Linconshire wash and finally to the North sea. Ice hangs from fallen road bridges. Collapsed towns, smothered under the weight of winter, pepper the banks of the massive watercourse. Ruins one and all.

In places the waterway is solid with ice and clans and outlanders risk their lives crossing the deadly surface. Submarine transports bring in cargo via this route, safe under the frozen barrier, they purr through the depths towards the giant port to safety and profit. Occasionally, an ice breaker will gouge its way through the crust, leaving behind a wave of steaming water and the scream of ice-skimmers that flank it like a swarm of protective insects.

As the transports draw close to the towering glassteel pyramids and cliffs of Magdalene, the ice abates and fog clouds the waterway. Heat discharged from the plasma generators floods the area and the ice is kept at bay. Transport leviathans slip under the security perimeter, smooth shadowy forms pregnant with goods: products or people. They all have a price. To the north, the Heat Dump Forest sheds the city's heat into the air. A black forest of fractal trees shimmer in their own heat haze.

Inside the massive port, subs circle before rising from the depths to the noise and freezing splutter of Washport Gate. Cranes and cargo lifters draw the goods out. Crew, mercenaries and handlers shout. Occasionally, a crew or power-lifter rises from one of the massive flat lifting plates than come from the bowels of the planet. There are subs rarely see the light of day, even their unloading takes place below water. The pale crew shield their eyes from the misty greyness that saturates Washport Gate. Arms raised, they don glasses and slope off to unknown business.

Away from the maze of waterways and jettys, spin-off industries collect and process the goods. Skimmer repair shops bark and flash as robot rigs repair assaulted craft. The eco-system of mech-heads and mercs meets head on. Sometimes it goes sour, mostly its just brutal. The waterway breeds this mentality. It is not always safe - even for the subs. Depth charges and snag nets are not unknown. Sometimes it's piracy, sometimes corporate politics. The crews and mercs are caught between. Whatever the source, a cut-up merc or broken skimmer can be repaired. All it takes is money. Washport is no place for the poor or the weak. The Gate, as some call it - Hell's Gate at that - will crush the unwary.

Nae's map brings you out of a service lift into one of the rock walls that surround the giant watery basin. Curtains of fog, steam and exhaust drift across the scene. Fabs - prefabricated buildings - stack and jostle against each other for the prime positions between the hulking factories. Hawkers of all types work their way between the motorised transports. Catcalls and sales pitches looking to seperate the crews from their cash.

Beneath you a set of wet metal steps sprayed with red plastic spiral down to a nearby alley. At the end of them - 10 metres down - a large and battered gate leads on to a thin road. The road is perhaps six people wide and you hear rowdy singing and laughter between the deep whines of hydraulic lifters and grav-lifts. Two pros are working the street corner, even they are dressed for the cold. That must say it all.

You remember Eve showing you the location for the meeting with Shift: The Hammer and Pipe - a navigator bar. Hopefully nowhere near any of the merc dives or drug pits you've seen on Stim. The bar is on Swine Gate, about half a kilometre from where you are now. A trek through the fun and games of Washport. Trent's directions echo in your mind: head straight down the circle road of Phoenix Loop and it's the fifth road - the one with the statue of the Old Man looking out to sea. Right next to the meat packing district. Trent said you'd know it by the smell. You look away from the water and there's the lazy arc of Phoenix Loop. It runs from one end of Washport Basin to the next.

The fog changes direction as some grav-lifter flies overhead to land on one of the ships berthed on a giant rock pylon. The stink of breedbeasts. The hulking artificial brutes that provide steak, milk and beef to Magdalene - are culled in the meat district. Or, perhaps more accurately, are partially culled - they're not designed to be slaughtered, but harvested. The meat cut from their bodies and processed. The finer cuts will go to up to Nest and beyond, the waste? To the Stack. You hope that the talk about Meathouse rats is just talk. Then again, Crispy Ken's famous "rat-a-2-E" wasn't half bad. At least he could say what the meat was. Breedbeasts? They don't feel pain, they live only to consume and grow. There have been days when you have felt like that yourself.

In the distance a loud siren sounds as a cargo sub rises to the surface. The steaming waters of Washport swirl and eddy as the massive ship is pulled towards the robo-lifters by unseen gravity motors. You feel a small vibration hum through the steel plating as the behmoth docks. Pods open on the skin of the craft and like ants, the crew pour out.

Edited by Synik, 25 April 2009 - 07:25 PM.

[Dehoffren]

Fi stepped out of the lift and looked forlornly down at the shoes that Eve had found for her. Plain, comfortable and practical all the things she never looked for in footwear. The surrounding seem to invade all her senses at once, there was so much to take in. Hawkers demanded attention from every direction and Fi would have loved to have browsed around each and every one of them but that wasn’t why they were here she had to keep reminding herself “So who’s got the directions to this bar then” she asked nearly shouting to make herself heard over the hustle and bustle

[Early Bird]

Ophelia followed Fi out of the lift, immediately looking all round her to gauge the scene. "What a dump" she muttered quietly. "Makes the Stack look like luxury apartments".

"Down there" she said in answer to Fi's question pointing towards the long sweeping road. "That must be Phoenix Loop, we want the 5th road. Swine Gate".

[Synik]

Your breath swirls around you as you talk. Man, it's cold. Far colder than the heat enjoyed - or occasionally, endured - in the Stack. Doesn't this city have any decent tempreatures? Wait, yes it does: Nest, Heartland and St. Marys. Beyond the lazy loop of the Phoenix road, a giant wall of fabs loom through the mist like iron grey cliffs. They provide storage, processing and some act as pillars to the city levels directly above you.

The wall of factories isn't there by luck. The perimeter security of Washport is high. Magdalene Security are twitchy about having an open - albeit heavily guarded - entrace into the city and then there are the mercs who wander around well armed. Trucks and people are checked on the way out of Washport if they want to enter the city proper. Luckily for you, you've got in without any checks... and you know how to get back out. You wonder what other shortcuts Nae and Trent know about.

[fury]

Cass actually feels pretty much at home in this enviroment, but keeps that to herself. She grew up in an area very like this one. She had on her leathers again but with some extra layers over to keep in the warmth. It was good to feel normal again, not to have the buzzing of the numbers in her brain. She looked at Fi's rear and pondered what it was like to service a trix it was something she'd never done.

[currymaniac]

"It is a dump, but I suppose it's good for our purposes, I doubt many would think to look here for us, especially when we were last seen up in the nest," Hayden said as he walked out of the service lift. That smell, it was horrid, he almost felt that the numbers would come back, he'd be able stand that more, but hopefully he would get used to it....eventually. "If that's the way we have to go, let's head off, I don't think I can stand that smell much longer."

[Early Bird]

"The smell's going to only get worse I gather" warned Ophelia. "We were told that's how we'll know we're near the bar, by the smell from the meat packing area". What that was going to be like she dreaded to think. Hayden was right, it smelled pretty ripe now, it must be horrendous there.

[currymaniac]

"Well we'd best hope that we get used to it," he said resignedly, "Thankfully I doubt we'll be noticed here, in all my years as a detective I've never come down here, and I doubt that this Hopton would think to look for us here, if he is still looking for us that is."

[Early Bird]

"Still too busy getting his pretty face fixed I shouldn't wonder" replied Ophelia with a malicious smile. Having said which, she kept forgetting that they had been out of it for 3 days. The kind of medical service Hopton could afford, he was probably seen, treated and out of there withing hours. "Although you can make book that he'll be right after us as soon as he can be. I can't see him letting that little confrontation go too easily. I can't imagine this being the first place he'd think to look for us, but we don't know how much he knows and you have to remember that we were on our way down here when this whole thing kicked off. Someone might think to check it out, and is Hopton hand in glove with the security lot that were trying for us or is he working alone?"

[Dehoffren]

“Guys like Hopton always have someone of the pay roll” piped up Fi as she eyeballed the surrounding “Jeez its cold” she vigorously rubbed her hand up and down her arms to cause a bit of friction “Making certain bits and pieces very prominent”

[Synik]

Another lift-craft circles overhead and you feel a ripple of energy push against your skin from its engines as it does so. The four lift pods stick out of the machine giving the vehicle the look of a strange mix of rotorless helicopter and a pond skater. A large orange crate hangs from its underbelly. The rush of air that follows it brings in a gust of frozen mist. At least that dispels the stink of meat. Perhaps you will be lucky and the previous stench was just bad luck.

Hayden's comments about people coming down here rings true. Getting in and out of Washport Gate isn't easy. Security don't like the idea of people being able to leave the city without the proper authorisation, so only the mercs and the dock staff have the right permits. Given that you didn't get in via any security gate, there should be no record of you being here. In a small way, the thought it quite liberating.

[Dehoffren]

“This place has all the advantages don’t it, freezing temperatures, fetid atmosphere and the most alluring of population.” Stated Fi sarcastically as they navigated their way through the filth of the sector “How far is it to this place?” she whined like a small child “Even I feel superior down here” she muttered not caring whether or not they had the freedom of the city, she just wanted out of this place

[Synik]

The roads - if you can call them that - are grimy and slick with grit. Your boots crunch and grind against the stained surface. You pass a row of rusty metal grilles wedged in the roadway. One of them belches steam into the frigid air, the others gurgle as unknown fluids pour into them from tracks carved into the concrete.

The buildings are dark and shadowy doorways hide sinister activities. In one, the flash of a pipe lighter and the smell of cheap narcotics. Another, two bodies grind against each other in either a lewd or violent act. You move on, your street smarts telling you not to look too closely.

A five minute trudge later and pedestrian traffic begins to increase. You've reached Phoenix Way. Red neon advertises Washport Finance Services opposite you. A gang of Breed mercs lean on a skimmer. The ones that aren't sporting full fur have dark green - almost black - croc skin. Everyone else is wearing coats, these guys wear vests and shorts. Three of them are carrying assault rifles. The leader - a guy with a face more like a Lion than a man - has a web vest with four pistols hooked into it. He seems to be arguing with a dark skinned man over a large crate of ammo that sits at the foot of the skimmer.

People of all types weave their way through the crowds and the smell of deep fried food wafts towards you. To the right, a gaggle of food vans hang food up on spits. Fried rat - Washport style. Plenty of spice and a side order of sticky rice cakes. Everything a growing Merc needs.

A large woman walks by you wearing a gaudy longcoat and a gold turban. Behind her she trails four metal leashes which in turn are attached to four people. No, not people. They're walking wrong and their faces are stiff. They're only partially dressed and any standard human would be frozen in this climate. They must be sollies or sex dolls. The once perfect faces of the dolls are bruised and not even the inch of cheap make-up can mask the swelling on the lead one's cheek. The two female forms wear shorts that would make a trix blush. They walk bare foot through the dirty street - you notice one of them has a toe missing. At the rear the beef-cake male versions follow. One of them looks like the stim star Jack Ruger. His legal team would flip if they saw this. Sollies - for clients who want to do things that no hooker would do. At least the skin seller isn't trailing kid models. Even Washport has standards.

Two of the mercs peel away from the arms deal and approach the woman. Another street deal starts to take place. You turn away and try to gather your wits. Right seems the best way to go. In the distance you can hear the dull thump-thump-thump of music from a bar and rowdy shouting. Way over the heads over the crowd, you can make out the blocky shapes of the meat district's factories.

Edited by Synik, 28 April 2009 - 08:38 PM.

[Early Bird]

Ophelia walked along with the others, pretending not to see but missing nothing, every new aspect of this place making the Stack seem ever more luxurious. So long as they walked these streets like they belonged here they shouldn't get hassled by anyone she reasoned. Ophelia glanced up at the shadowy outlines of the meat factories. "Shouldn't be too far now" she said in a low voice to her companions.

[Dehoffren]

Alarm was written all over Fi’s face, she wasn’t the sort that was easily shocked or didn’t know how to behave on the street but some of the sights were actually causing her to shake her head. The body language to survive on the streets was to walk purposely, never make eye contact and never ever show vulnerability, Fi was doing a fine job of ignoring all these nuggets of wisdom. “Oh, please never let me drop so low that I have to do that” she said more to herself than anyone else as she eyes the sollies, the possible future that the poor wretches embodied was as frightening as it got.

Ophelia’s voice proved a thankful distraction “What? Sorry I was miles away” she replied the scene before her having washed away her usual bluster and quips. “There some bad, bad stuff going on down here,” she nodded towards the Mercs and then instantly regretted making such an obvious move. “Lets shift purselves, this place gives me the willies”