Wackey Wax museum.
\a high pitched, and soft toned males voice/[8 MHz, English]: Anyone looking for work, meet me at the Seattle space needle.
\a high pitched, and soft toned males voice/[8 MHz, English]: *SMACK SMACK*..(static) This thing on? *whap whap*
A mysterious voice: Someone says, in English, "Shhhh."
Your physical body seems distant, as the astral plane slides into view.
A large armored cyclops, surrounded by a spell aura (invisible) (dual) is standing here.
After a while, noone else shows.
You say, "Well I guess it's just you bub."
Crash looks at you with a discerning look, and the glare on his face slowly fades as he sized you up. Eventually he says, "Alright, I think you'll do." He pulls out a pocket secretary and eyes it.
A large armored cyclops, surrounded by a spell aura shrugs. "So what's the gig tiny?"
There has been some dissapearances in Victoria around the wax museum, and I am supposed to find some runners to go investigate the dissapearances. The goal is to bring a stop to said dissapearances, and bring me evidence."
A large armored cyclops, surrounded by a spell aura looks around, then grins. "Kids stealing lawn gnomes again? Or do you got more than that for us to go on?"
Crash looks irritated. "look, if you aren't serious about the job, then frag off spug!" He is visibly flustered. "I wouldn't be supprised if some of 'your' kind came up missing as well."
A large armored cyclops, surrounded by a spell aura lets out a hollow laugh, not at all reflected in his eye or posture. "That'd be a neat trick, and hard to notice considering the lack of 'my kind' around these parts. But I'll humor you, what kind of info do we have to work with?"
Crash looks a little calmer, "Not much. People.. All kinds of people, have been disappearing. Some people on thier way to work, some on vacation, some people go to bed next to someone, and wake up with them gone!" He shows you some newpaper clippings. "Another string of missing persons" "More people gone missing" When will the disapearrances stop" clipping after clipping, showing more and more missing people. First a few, then dozens, then a stack of pages.
You say, "The only common denominator is that a couple of people were reported missing near the wax museum."
A large armored cyclops, surrounded by a spell aura browses through the clippings briefly, stopping at your mention of the wax museum disappearances. "Well then, how many is a couple? And if not all of them, then what makes the museum suspect." He pauses in thought for a moment before continuing. "And what's Lone Star's involvement?"
Crash looks at you supprised. "The lone aren't just going around checking into things you know. They aren't private investigators. There isn't even any corps near the wax museum. They probably don't give two dreks about the disappearances."
A large armored cyclops, surrounded by a spell aura rolls his eye dramatically. "That means no corp disappearances. So maybe the gangers down there are stocking up to ransom the poor fools. Got a starting point for us, or do we just go knocking door to door and asking people if they've seen any missing persons?"
Crash looks at his watch, and looks at you. "The starting place is the " he slowly anunciates with prejudice, "W. aaax... Mu. zee uuuummm
A large armored cyclops, surrounded by a spell aura sighs. "Fine shorty, and what's the plan?"
You say, "I guess, go investigate what's causing the disappearances. Once you find out, make them stop."
A large armored cyclops says, in English, "So two options that come to mind for a starting point are: A. Hire a decker to check the museum security cams. or B. Hang out on the roof forever and see if anyone walks by and goes poof. I'm pretty sure if it's been going on this long, nobody that actually works for the museum has seen anything or they'd have reported it. Or the museum employees are involved and aren't going to just tell us if we ask them."
You say, "I broadcast this job over the radio, and you were the only responder. Do you have decking skills?"
A large armored cyclops looks up at the ceiling, looking almost as you did a few moments before. "If I were able to do it, I'd not have said 'hire a decker'. And since I'm fairly sure now that you're not one either, I guess we go sit on a roof."
Crash starts laughing. "I'm not sitting on any roof." He kicks back and opens the newspaper clippings, looking for any other details. "I am supposed to do the hiring. If you die, I hire someone else to take off where you left off. So you see... "purchases a soda from the soda machine- you hear the change clink in, and the soda clank out... "I have to stay here."
After a while, the cyclops heads out to Victoria, and deosn't return. (ooc the guy went link dead and never came back)
\a high pitched, and soft toned males voice/[8 MHz, English]: That was a bust. Anyone else need a job?
\A fluid male Elvish baritone with a hint of impatience/[8 MHz, Unknown]: (something incoherent...)
\a high pitched, and soft toned males voice/[8 MHz, English]: I think my radio is messing up. Could you repeat that?
\A fluid male Elvish baritone with a hint of impatience/[8 MHz, English]: I could use a little something, chum.
\a high pitched, and soft toned males voice/[8 MHz, English]: I am hiring in the north part of the Seattle space needle lobby.
An average sized male Elf in a crimson skin-tight morph suit strolls in from the south.
You say, "Thanks for showing up. I guess my last guy is just another one added to the list of missing persons... So here's the deal.."
Crash gets out a newspaper clipping and shows it to you as he speaks. (Another string of missing people) (More people gone missing) (When will the disappearances stop) "There have been a lot of people coming up missing in Victoria. The only common denominator is that some of them were reported missing near the wax museum." He looks a little concerned. "My last runner came up missing as well." as he thumbs through the stack of newspaper clippings he looks back at you, "Your job is to head over to Victoria, and investigate the missing people. Make the disappearances stop, and bring me evidence on the situation, and I will pay you."
A large Male person wearing A dark blue lined duster ponders for a moment, stretching out his lithe arms and clearing his throat slightly he asks, 'Missing eh? Not a good place to find yourself... you got any idea exactly how many chums are missing over there? Inlcuding your little runner.'
Crash flips through the massive stack of newspapers, and says, "There are definately dozens of reported incidents just in the newspaper alone." His eyes widen, "My 'little runner' /was/ a huge ass cyclops."
An average sized male Elf in a crimson skin-tight morph suit gives a hidden smirk from behind his mask which extends up his face to his eyes, "Ah... a big slow feller... that might explain yer problems, he could've got hungry and wandered off." he states quietly, quickly changing the subject he continues, "Alright chum, name's Deadpool, I'll head down to Victoria and take a look. If you don't hear from me I'm having dinner with yer one eyed mate.". And with that he strolls nonchalantly from the lobby out into the street.
An average sized male Elf in a crimson skin-tight morph suit hails a taxi, directing the hapless chum to the docks. Upon arrival Deadpool jumps from the cab and runs off into the dockyards, stiffing the cab driver.
At the docks you see several customs officers lazily standing about looking bored. You hear the sound of a loud bell being rang on the beach at some kind of monument, and seagulls squaking. It's about noon, and the ferry terminal is quite busy. There is a small one room building near the terminal to change your money, and people are waiting in line. There is a string of cars waiting to load the ferry boat, as customs officers check for oddities. The ramp to load walk-on passengers is sparcly populated with only four or five people loading on a long ramp.
An average sized male Elf in a crimson skin-tight morph suit takes a closer look at the water to judge the current strength and temperature.
The water here is treacherous. It feels about 40 degrees farenheit. Waves smash into the side of the huge boat without mercy. There are a lot of barnacles on the side of the boat which would add to the injury if you were keal hauled along the side of the boat by thrashing waves. Even if you fell in and got out, the wind, rain, and grey weather would keep you cold for a long time.
A large Male Elf wearing A dark blue lined duster walks casually towards the line of people exchanging money and stands behind the last person there, he then begins to scan the five people boarding the ferry, taking in the information of the last passenger in the line and glancing towards the front of the line he's in to ascertain the race and weight of the person at the front.
The person in front is an average human, about 150lbs. He is dressed like a tourist in a hawaian shirt, and straw hat. He doesn't look very tough.
An average sized male Elf in a crimson skin-tight morph suit waits until his turn in line and asks the attendant for 1 return ticket to Canada eh?
The money changer says, "Oh. As long as you're a walk on it's free." He points to the people loading on the long ramp. "Just walk on with that ramp there."
An average sized male Elf in a crimson skin-tight morph suit nods towards the money changer, moving his hand instinctively towards his duster-concealed pistol holster he stops just short of whipping it out, in poor German he mumbles quietly, 'Have good day' and walks off towards the ferry. When he arrives at the ramp he intentionally bumps into the biggest guy there and keeps walking onto the ferry.
The biggest guy there is rather dopey looking. As you bump into him, he looses his balance and falls on the metal ramp splitting open his knee. "owch!" He looks like he's about to cry, but gets up and keeps walking. As you get on the ferry, a dock worker is seen throwing the ropes from the ship back to the dock, and the ramp is taken away. About fifteen minutes later you feel the ship start to move, and you hear a loud fog horn sound. *Hoooonk* *honk* *honk*
as the ferry approaches canada, the Victoria skyline is visible in the distance. There are many tall building that have been left to waste, and one is even currently on fire in a few places. Eventually the ferry pulls up the the dock, and a ramp is moved up the the boat for unloading.
An average sized male Elf in a crimson skin-tight morph suit makes his way down the ramp and out on to the street, hailing a cab he enters the back and asks the fellow driving if he knows where the wax museum is.
The cab driver responds, "Sure do. It's only about a block from here. You must be new around here, so I won't charge ya nothin' if you wanna go there."
A large person wearing A dark blue lined duster nods quietly, his concentration on his mission slipping... after about thirty seconds he snaps back to it and states jovially, "Sure chum! If ya wouldn't mind!". Having arrived at his destination Deadpool climbs out of the taxi to take in the area.
There is a lot of cobblestone streets, and in the distance you see a horse drawn carriage clip-clopping down the street. The wax museum is a HUGE victorian building, with very nice, yet slightly creepy designs. There is a lot of trash floating down the street, and a ticket booth out front seems abandoned.
An average sized male Elf in a crimson skin-tight morph suit decides to head straight towards the front of the building, strolling casually towards the front doors to check if they're locked.
As you push the door, it freely swings open revealing a plethora of human sculptures. Some are past presidents, some are other famous people you recognise, some are just really real looking sculptures. The details are imaculate, and there are plaques describing certain famous people, or ways of perfecting the realizm. There doesn't seem to be any 'real' people inside.
An average sized male Elf in a crimson skin-tight morph suit stolls in and throws his assault pack full of spare magazines at a wax sculpture of Abraham Lincoln, taking a look around for further exits or directions and any signs of struggle.
Abraham Lincoln crumbles to the ground, and you see a network of wires and sculping meterial meant to keep it's shape. There are hardly any signs of anyone using this building, next to the crumbled Abraham Lincoln, and then you find a door labeled "Chamber of Horrors." It is locked.
An average sized male Elf in a crimson skin-tight morph suit shouts in Spanish, 'Despierta compinches! (Wake up chums!)' before immediately attempting to kick down the door to the Chamber of Horrors.
The door blasts into the next room with a loud clatter, revealing a podium with a "visitors" booklet on it, and a hallway leading though some sort of torture chamber. The smell is horrible, and you hear creapy sound effects playing, imitating people being eternally torchured. There are glass display windows. In the first window, there is a dead person strapped to a table by thier wrists and ankels with a double sided axe swinging like a pendulum over the body. The blade has already lowered to the point of slicing the rib cage right up the center of the body about four inches deep. The blade has swung back and forth so many times that it doesn't even touch the flesh anymore. The next room has a body on a guillatine with a head in a basket. As you watch, a cord pulls the head back onto the body. The blade goes up, then drops, re-decapitating the head over and over. The next window has a hook hanging from the cieling with a body hanging on it. There is still blood dripping from this corpse of a cyclops.
A large person wearing A dark blue lined duster pulls out an AK-97 SMG from inside his duster with his right hand, aiming square at the eye of the Cyclops corpse he uses his smartlink camera to snap a picture into his headware memory. After contemplating the corpse for a few moments he casually examines the display setting further to ascertain how someone got it in there.
An average sized male Elf in a crimson skin-tight morph suit draws a tactical AK-97 SMG finished in digital camo from A dark blue lined duster.
There is some cheaply constructed one by one inch boards attached with screws in several key locations just enough to hold the glass in place. It looks like it could be broken easily, or taken down with a little work.
A large Male person wearing A dark blue lined duster mentally sets his AK-97 to semi-automatic and fires two rounds into the glass (aiming directly at the Cyclops' face).
The glass shatters, and the cyclops' head explodes splattering REAL brains and blood all over the wall.
An average sized male Elf in a crimson skin-tight morph suit grimaces slightly, the smell of a dead Cyclops hitting him smack in the face, he quickly turns around and runs through the first available exit that isn't the door he entered through, grabbing the booklet from the podium and stashing it in his duster as he goes.
You end up in a room at the end of the hall after passing a couple more torture room style displays with probably real bodies, and end up in a room with several rows of heads on shelves. As you enter you hear a monotone voice. "I was wondering when someone would come." A man wearing a suit covered in blood emerges from the shadows. "You would make a perfect display!"
An average sized male Elf in a crimson skin-tight morph suit aims his AK-97 SMG at the mans face and mentally sets it to full-auto, with a slight chuckle he states easily in clear English without a hint of sarcasm, 'Oh yes I saw your artwork! I was very impressed. And just who are you chum?' he finishes. (PASS)
Crash The man says, "I am the curator." calmly, as he lunges at you with a scalpel.
the curator plunges a scalpel into your arm causing some of your skin to peel back revealing a lot of blood for such a small wound (light wound)
An average sized male Elf in a crimson skin-tight morph suit grimaces beneath his mask and shouts angrily in German, 'Ihre Mutter war eine Ziege!' before releasing a full-auto stream of 20 bullets via his SMG aimed at the mans face.
Your spray of the AK hits, putting the curator on the floor bleeding out from multiple gunshot wounds. If he isn't aided, he will surely die.
A large Male Elf wearing A dark blue lined duster lowers his weapon and looks towards his bleeding arm, shrugging he walks over to where the curator lies perforated and mentally activates the recording function of his smartgun, 'So, feller, you got a name? Surely you want someone to remember your accomplishments and deeds! Such art needs an artist.' he states, suppressing the urge to pull the trigger.
The suit gurgles a bit, blood seeping through his lips. He makes a choking, coughing sound and clears his mouth of blood long enough to mumble Curator... Then his head slumps down in his own blood. The pool of blood grows in every direction.
A large Male Elf wearing A dark blue lined duster heaves with a sigh and turns to survey the room, weapon still aimed at the macabre scene on the floor he snaps a picture.
As you look around, it's hard to imagine so much evil could come from one guy, but the curator is the only one here, other than the shelves of heads. As you peer behind a shelf, you notice that there is a spot you could stand to make it look like your head is one of the heads on the shelf.
A large person wearing A dark blue lined duster moves back to the entrance of the room and gives it another once over, snapping multiple pictures. Once done he aims his AK-97 towards the back row of heads and empties the last ten rounds in a fully automatic spray, replacing his magazine and holstering his weapon back inside his duster he begins walking back towards the building entrance.
A large Male person wearing A dark blue lined duster slips a tactical AK-97 SMG finished in digital camo into a thigh holster.
As you walk out, you pass by the familiar torture chamber area. The wax bodies and the real ones are pretty close, but you can tell now that more than half of the bodies in the chamber of horrors are real corpses. This place reaks, and there are flies gathering on the cyclops' body now that they have access. You step over the smashed door into the lobby, past Abraham Lincolns smashed sculpture, and onto the street. There is a tourist curiously glancing into the museum.
An average sized male Elf in a crimson skin-tight morph suit surveys the street for any other people and strolls up to the tourist, stopping 10 metres short of him, 'Su madre era una cabra.', he queries the tourist.
The tourist smiles at you, and shrugs, then starts heading down the street.
An average sized male Elf in a crimson skin-tight morph suit shrugs, half-heartedly holstering his AK-97 and walking back to the ferry. Arriving at the ferry he casually attempts to follow the ramp onto the boat.
Without incident you get onto the ferry. You even notice a guard eyeing your gear, but not with intent to stop you, more like with envy. The ferry beggins to move away from the dock and you hear the fog horn again. *Hoooonk* *honk* *honk* The ferry heads out to sea. After a while, the ferry pulls in to Seattle and passengers unload quickly.
An average sized male Elf in a crimson skin-tight morph suit decides instead of ripping off another poor chum to just walk the 4 blocks back to the Space Needle, entering the lobby he spots his diminutive contact and makes his way over to him, 'Ho, chum!' he states enthusiastically, dried blood still clinging to his morph suit, and before there's a chance for a response his right eye rolls back in his head and an enormous image of a dead human full of holes flashes in between them, 'BAM!' he exclaims, 'And to think there was just one of him.'
Crash looks suprised, and a little wierded out. He brings himself to look at the gory photos, and says, "That's definately the wax museum." He holds out his hand, "Did you find anything with evidence on this guy being the reason for 'all' of the missing people?"
A large Male person wearing A dark blue lined duster gives a high uncaring shrug, 'He was mum on that.' he states casually, the image of the destroyed corpse still hanging eerily in the air. Deadpool makes a small 'hrm' sound before flashing the image to the dead Cyclops, 'The only thing I snagged while there was this brochure, courtest of our big friend here', he states, retrieving a wax museum brochure from his duster and forcing his eye back into normal position, ending the image stream, 'Maybe there's something in here,' he finishes, tossing the slightly blood stained brochure to you.
Crash opens the visitors booklet... The first few pages are signatures and things like "Elvis was here" but after a while of him flipping pages, you see scribbled writing. "unreadble..." "Why? I fucking hate my life! Noone cares about my art anymore!... Undreadable" "... The wax museum is going under and going to shut down. How could this be, after all the work I put into the place!..." "If I get people to come to the museum, they wont shut me down. I will get them here, even if it kills them...
after a while of reading, the johnson says, "OOO KAAAY. I think this is good enough. Here's your pay."
The Johnson pays Deadpool 39500 nuyen.
Crash throws a news paper at your chest the next day. "You're a hero you know?" *front page* Evidence reveals dissapearances linked to psycodic wax museum curator. After a lengthy investigation, the curator was found, and killed in self defence. Many missing people have been recovered, and a mass funeral will be held on the seventh for those people who were unidentified.