[center][img]https://i.pinimg.com/564x/68/a8/99/68a8996be7e4d9bdc0e9e95d4ea87796.jpg[/img]
[h3] [color=9e0b0f][b]G[/b][/color]oonster [color=9e0b0f][b]N[/b][/color]ato [/h3]
[code] "So, this is where it begins?" [/code]

[hr]

Goonster's apartment wasn't anything special, the smell of the old man continued to reek within the small crevice of a living space. Packed together in the apartment, Goonster was living on the small stuff - small time. Even though he was richer than most would think from looking at a man who had been living off the net and small time jobs for the longest time. He was right in saying he was the king of the net, he had been frying lobes and scooping up Corporate data for the longest time. The man was a legend in his own right, to some at least and maybe the best for some of those who wanted him on their corporate pay roll.

He never thought he would end up on Biotechnica's payroll though, involuntarily after he killed a prominent Decker among them he was forced to take up his spot. Now he was jacked in the net once again, his head limps as the blue burning screens from his computer in front of him continue to blaze on his old pale skill. The about fifty something-year-old powered through the net in front of him, code, data it was all surreal. He was going fast - too fast and that's something people who never touched the net feared the most. A fast, thrill seeking net runner especially at his age? It was uncommon, to see him alive at this age was a feat. Well, maybe those who run corps at this age not so much, but him - a Decker still at this age? Funny to some, intriguing to others and to those who don't know too much about it? Who cares, right?

Goonster was checking the net specifically for information on Biotechnica, regarding what little plans they were up to. It was always good to do a back ground check on your employer, right? Besides, he had a little stock in the company too and they were doing better than before... Regardless, it was probably a coincidence or Wall Street that helped the company grow better this term. His stocks were in other companies as well, Arms, Research, and Minerals. Things that would grow, especially in the One and Twenty. It's not like it mattered, the stocks anyway. The real EB was in jobs to be done, and he knew that he would have to take that call eventually - to be sent up to work. 

He didn't expect it to be today though.

While blasting through the net, he found something about Biotechnica - archaic in nature. Before he had a chance to really process it, he was locked out of his net and found himself jolting back into reality with a gasp. Blinking groggily he noticed the read outs on his blue screens, the computer screens. Something about a dock, address and how he needed to get there ASAP. It wasn't a joke, it looked serious and after a few minutes of trying to bypass the system, he failed. Just his luck, he has stuck in RealSpace once again. It was probably the corporation being funny, a funny way of having him meet up with them - or it was another Decker warning him. Probably the former, what Decker would want to associate with an old man who plays for keeps and thrills - right?

He got up, the older gentleman got up. He was wearing simple casual clothing, pajamas actually. His bald head glowed under the neon lights in his apartment. Besides the small lighting, the small space was quite small actually. Regardless, he got himself dressed in his [i]buisness clothes[/i] which were a trench coat, dress shirt, pants and a black tie. He could call himself a corporate, maybe - he had a shoulder holster on his left breast as well. For his .38 snub nose - old world shit, it stocked a .38 speed loader as well if he needed to - put off twelve shots. His deck sat in its case, the hard case - which he picked up. He'd need it that's for sure.

The door slammed behind him and he headed off, the world wasn't as kind as it was in the early 2010s. People were violent, especially in Seattle. He didn't have to worry long though, walking the streets was just the challenge as he dodged the homeless, some rowdy boosters and the cops. His head kept down, he power walked his way to the speed-tram. The late night one that heads up to NorCal, to Night City. It wasn't called that before, back when he was born it was Monterey. That's before the cops put their foot down when they started to spread out and infect the western seaboard with their influence.

The docks, the old smell of the sea water hit his nose. Goonster waddled up to the warehouse, behind a woman was looking chromed up chick. His eyes fell adrift for a moment before they raised up to the back of her head. His arms were on the inside of his trench coat, as the sleeves of the trench coat laid bare and devoid of appendages. He simply stood ten or so feet behind the woman, silently observing the situation.[/center]