Midday. The Louisiana sun beat down heavy over the city of New Orleans, scorching the black asphalt of the roads until you could grill an egg on them. Not that you'd want to, streets this dirty. Waste of a good egg. Everything by the waterfront was all black tar, hot steel, sand and sweat. Miserable day to be outside, but at least the sun wasn't beaming through the open windows anymore. The glorious Waterfront Condos and Hotel, which the team had taken up as their home base, had the kind of landscape view you'd see in some moldy old painting somewhere, a far cry from the brick alleys (or no windows at all) that some members of the team would be more intimate with. But it meant that even the top-notch climate control couldn't stop the nuclear heat waves cast by that damned star shining in the sky. Beautiful fraggin day to be holed up with a group of sweaty runners waiting for a call.

It had been a couple of days since they arrived at the city, and Recluse had left the house a whole one time to stuff himself with some hearty synth burgers before returning to hibernation. Not overly concerned with the comings and goings of his team, he had a date and time for their contact, and that was pretty much his only reason for waking up right now. Well, and the mildly annoying prodding of a certain teammate of his. He was seated comfortably in a posh-looking chair, folded on top of it as though he was made of gelatin instead of meat and bones. Not fancying the idea of staring any of his teammates in the face, his gaze remained firmly fixed on the plain white ceiling. [i]Far too clean for this, man.[/i] More than anything, he felt wiped. He'd been laying off the Long Haul since they got here - never knew what you missed on the stuff, after all - and all he wanted to do was go back to bed. Some vacation. Everybody knew that the next call they got was gonna be for work, and all Recluse could repeat in his mind was [i]Milk run. Milk run. Dear god. Milk Run.[/i]

His commlink went off suddenly, mercifully interrupting his thought process. Simultaneously, everybody in the room rang the same way. This was the call they were waiting for, no way it could have not been. [i]About time...[/i] He didn't know any details about who they were supposed to be reporting to. Whether they were male or female, who they worked for, anything like that. It was almost exciting, now they'd have the chance to find out. With a simple motion, he accepted the call, and a voice rang through the room.

[b]"Heeey, dem boys and girls. Mi hear you be wantin some work, yeah?"[/b] The voice over the comms was clearly female, with a jamaican accent that seemed both heavy and localized at the same time. [b]"Maybe ya be wantin sometin' eeeeeeeasy, yeah? Maybe ya be wantin sometin' be makin' ya rich, yeah? Faaaaaamous, yeah?"[/b] The woman drew out her words, embellishing everything heavily, for sarcasm or just to be dramatic. Recluse immediately found this habit annoying.

[b]"Well, mi tell ya, mi ent got [i]nuttin[/i] like dat! Mi work be booooorin' for a experienced group such as y'all. But she will pay, oh yes. And she keep ya busy, oh yes. and maybe ya get out this drek city wit' ya skins in one piece, oh yes."[/b] Without waiting for a pause, she continued on. [b]"Mi ent got no time for ya rasslin' me. Mi just tell ya what ya need to do."

"On da waterfront, dere be a handful o' unmarked warehouses. Receivin, yeah? We got stuff comin' in off a boat today. Big skids o' honest-to-Jah CDs, yeah? We be talkin' reeeal old-fashion biz. We dunna where dey goin to, where dey came from. But mi wanna know. Ya catch da plot mi hope. Ya boys get into da right warehouse, get dem CDs. Full price for a whoooooole skid, bonus nuyen for fudgin' da books a little, yeah? Maybe make dey never received dem shipment at all, yeah? Ah, but mi have some mercy, don't say mi dunna. So long as ya bring me couple dem CDs, ya get paid, yeah? Not full price, mind, but we work sometin' out. Zelda be an eeeeeasy girl to please, yeah?"[/b]

[i]The hell...?[/i] Might have been the sobriety talking, but Recluse was having an unusually hard time following what this woman was saying. [i]Well, maybe somebody else understood.[/i] Something about getting CDs from a warehouse... Who cares, even? So what? Well, a job was a job. What did it matter if he understood or not.

[b]"Ya gotta do dis tonight. Dey gon' be a black van, no license, parked in de area, da back door be unlocked. She be dere all night, but no later. De sun come up, de van be gone. Whatever be inside of she when she leave is what mi client get in de morning. So long as dey ain't be Lone Star fillin' de back of dat van, we still be friends, even if ya get nuttin at all. But ya come with high recommendation, so mi client be expectin' da world."

"Ya be happy to know de warehouse workers all de unnerpaid illegal type, yeah? Dey put up no resistance, else dey get fragged and nooooooobody care. No bonus points for playin da murder game, but nobody gon' dock your pay either. Ya be free to take dis however ya please."[/b]

Recluse's head spun, like it always did after the initial infodump of a job. Their regular Johnson knew to take it slow, some of the members of their team weren't the fastest signals in the grid, that was for sure. Of course, that included him. But this chick was firing on all cylinders, all business and things to do. Frankly it was a pain in the ass, and his head hurt already. If they had to wait until nightfall, he'd have time for some release beforehand, maybe dislodge himself from the incoming headache. But first this lady had to disconnect the comm.

[b]"Alright boys, ya got all de info now. Ya run free in ya playground, like dem bird inna sky. Ya question mi what ya will now, and we conclude our biz."[/b]