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(Setting)/burg/er Bar, 23rd & Main
| >some dude is metaphorically dying of wait in the line
"...Probably should have eaten somewhere else.."
>However he isnt in the back and thus is too far into waiting to not see it through to the end
>much to his dismay, However well he hides it
| >A black muscle car straight out of a previous era, with a white flaming bird on the hood, rolled up to the /burg/er joint and parked in a parking spot, engine rumbling deeply as if it were a beast being held in check. The driver's side door swung open quickly, as a tall and thick man with an ginger orange mohawk and goatee, a black LAZERIATHANOCALYPSE tank top and OD-green cargo shorts stepped out.
"I'm jus' *sayin,* I ain' heard from da crew in too long, I miss doin' jobs."
| >>588224
>The line moves a foot! There is hope yet!
"Paul, what do you want? You gotta eat to keep your strength up, man." >Comes a heavy accented line from the front.
"Ey, I’ll take a number nine, big boy."
"Give me a number nine, just like him."
"I’ll have a number six with extra dip."
>The cashier takes the time to write down this order as they state it to the large man in the front, when he starts himself, with a thick baritone:
"I’ll have two number nines, a number nine large, a number six with extra dip, a number seven..."
>The cashier curses and scratches out part of the list as she writes it, muttering apologies.
"I-I'm sorry, can you say that agai-"
>The line groans...
| >>588229
>he would Probably groan with them if he wasn't so quiet all the time
"..5 numb..i swear i heard that before.."
>ignoring the deja vu he continues waiting
>in metaphorical agony
| >>588232
>After what seemed like literal hours, it is FINALLY your turn to order.
>The cashier in front of you looks a little too big for her uniform, leading to a very tightly fitting polyester shirt and /burg/brand cap. She's rubbing her eyes, the cap hiding her face as she sniffles.
"It's too early in the fragging morning for this drek..." >She says to herself,
"Whattya want?"
>Behind her, someone yells out to the front with an authoritative tone.
"MANNERS, CLARISSA!"
>The woman bites her lip and forces herself to smile as she looks up. Underneath the freckles and smeared eyeshadow, her eyes are bloodshot.
"W-welcome to /burg/, home of the /burg/er, may I take your order?"
| >>588255
>upon seeing this girl having a morning as bad as he is, he attempts to be as kind as possible
>thus with the warmest smile he makes his order
"Ah hello, miss clarissa yes?
Quite the beautiful name.
Now then just a breakfast burger and a iced tea for take out please.
Apologies if i am unpleasant, its been a shitty morning.
I hope yours gets better"
>dear sweet jebus above, this dudes voice sounds like melted chocolate being dripped directly into ones ears
| >>588260
>She must have thought so too, because even though you're right in front of her she somehow manages to get your order wrong twice- given from the shaky scratches on the paper she's using.
"Hey bimbo! There's a cash register for a REASON, genius!" >Someone yells from the corner, holding a mop- its a punkish looking youth with three piercings in his lip and one in his eyebrow, his neck decorated with tattoos depicting skulls and a modestly inked pinup.
"I- I can't USE it," >She says, pointing emphatically to a datajack port on the side of the machine.
"That's your fragging problem, luddy!" >He says, sticking out his tongue at the woman- which had also been tattooed with numbers for some reason.
"GET BACK TO WORK ZEE!" >The authoritative voice yells again from the back, causing the boy to duck and the woman to cringe. She holds up the paper to you, shaking all the while.
"B-b-burger s-supreme, iced water-"
| >>588272
"No i said breakfast burger and iced tea"
>he just inhales deeply, then sighs
"Hahh look ok in the interest of everyone in this line, i must ask, whats this about the register not working?"
>he smiles again, trying his absolute best to be patient
| >>588274
"...fucking foreigners." >A customer mumbles behind you, as the woman corrects your order. The cashier blushes as they turn away and physically hand the chicken scratch to the cook in the back. There's some grumbling while he attempts to understand what the hell was ordered, before the woman runs off to run the "fresh" iced tea machine.
| "Le sigh." >Says a well to do looking yuppy- they simultaneously combs over the shaven part of their half cut hair with one hand while browsing through some kind of social network from their phone on the other, which projects upward and outward from the phone itself.
"The proper term is 'refugee' you know. Technically, we're all foreigners here- unless you're a lilim. They can't help but not be augged."
| "Fine then, smartass... fragging *offworlders.*"
"Better. Much better."
| >he sighs once again when his question was unanswered then shakes his head
"End my entire existence please i meed to get to work..."
>he simply turns around and gives the look that reads
>"is it always this slow!?"
>to anyone in particular
| >>588284
"No, school just started today for the kiddies so all we got left are these meatsacks." >The gruff man who uttered the expletives to begin with says. He wears a PowerPro T-Shirt and gruffly rubs a datajack on the side of his temple.
"I oughta complain about this."
| >>588287
"Ahhh yeah, i was about to head to one to give morning lectures..."
>he rubs his eyes a bit while waiting for the order
"Kinda forgot that would mean places like this was understaffed...
Oh well i think the equipment is more to blame.."
>then lightly slaps his cheeks to wake up
| >>588291
>The woman finally returns with both the iced... milk, and the breakfast /burg/ that you ordered.
"Th-that will be... 15.23nuyen, please." >She says, holding out the food.
| >>588294
>and for the...what..third? Time in the span of 10ish minutes he sighs
"Well you got it half right."
>he hands over a credstick and walks away with his food
"Keep the change"
>upon scanning...there is..645 nuyen?!?
| >>588297
>The woman can barely believe her eyes when she scans the credstick, and upon seeing how much money is inside of it, she frantically calls out to the customer!
"W-wait! Sir! I-I can't take-"
| >A tall, but slightly chubby man in a blue trenchcoat walks into the /burg/ and looks around for an employee based off of the job description he recieved.
| >>588298
"GET BACK TO WORK!" >The manager yells from the back, mixed with the frustrated, garbled noises from the customers themselves. The woman pockets the credstick and immediately gets to writing down the next order by hand.
| >>588303
>Before you is a *very* large line of angry customers from every walk of life, waiting impatiently as the lone cashier, a tall woman, appears to be taking their orders... by hand.
| >>588305
>He walks past the line of people and up to the cashier, ignoring the customers and talking to her directly.
"Excuse me, is there something wrong with the register?"
| >>588309
>She looks up from being surrounded by the next three customers, her face a mess of tears and ruined makeup.
"I'M SORRY I'M SORRY!" >She's saying, amidst the growing furor of the line.
| >The register, for its part, seems to be fine...
| >>588324
"Hmm..."
>The trenchcoated man thinks for a moment, before pulling out his deck. Not getting any answers from the cashier, he plugs a cable from the deck into the register's port to check on it.
| >>588326
>As soon as you plug in, you're immediately met with the device's cheap security ICE, a green colored one.
>It simply asks you for a username and passcode.
| >>588323
"Uh, excuse me, if I may ask, can I have your name and birthday?"
>The man asks, pulling out his phone and replying to something in the meantime.
>>588327
>After pocketing his phone away, he looks back on his deck, sending out some ESPs to break the ICE, allowing himself to create new login credentials.
| >>588348
"Well this register seems to be working just fine, so either you can't properly log in or you need a work around. I can fix either of those with uh..."
>He holds the deck up
"...this. So, name and bday if you will? I figured those would be easy for you to remember. Just number of month and day should be enough."
| >>588352
"Then I just have to make it so it lets you log in manually no? This thing has a numpad no? I can tie it to that. If you needed a jack to work in a burg then there would be a lot less burgs around, so let me help you out."
| >>588353
>The woman wrings her hands anxiously together- the manager seems to be busy and the crowd, by this time desperate for vittles, seems to be almost begging you to hack the cash register.
"O-okay..."
| >>588354
"Thank you."
>After getting the woman's semi personal info he puts it into the register and makes a new login, tying the input to the number pad of the register.
"Okay so write your name like if it was a phone numpad, hit confirm then type your bday."
| >>588356
>The woman gingerly taps the device as instructed, and in short order, she appears to be logged into the system... for now.
"IS IT FIXED!? BLOODY HELL!" >A customer roars from the queue.
| >>588358
>He does some last minute typing, hiding the backdoor a bit better under the ICE and unplugs it.
"There we go, long as no one goes snooping around you should be able to do that for this register no problem."
| >>588360
>The poor woman looks like she's on the brink of tears.
"T-thank you so much, mister, uh-"
| >>588362
"Um... Ryan is fine. It's no problem, though let me ask you one last thing. I was told to come to ask an employee here about an uh..."
>He whispers
"Combination. Would that happen to be you by any chance?"
| >>588365
"Combination...?" >The woman looks at you quizzically...
"Hey bitch, get back to work!" >A youth says from behind the back, in a sing songy manner. Its the punk from before- he's put away the mop and now carries a dust pan and broom in both hands. The woman cringes at his antics.
| >>588367
>He side glances the other coworker
"Mmm... nevermind. I'll let you work. Don't let them get you down okay? Have a good day."
>He walks away from the cashier and approaches the punk cleaning.
"Hey, I'm here for the combination."
| >>588369
"What combination? Fuck off porky, or I'll jam this handle where the sun ain't shining!" >The punk says as he tries to walk past you.
| >>588370
>He clicks his tongue
"Did your parents not teach you any manners or are you just pissed that you have to spend your day cleaning in a burg?"
| >>588371
"Hey how about you go boil your fragging head in some soypaste you slack jawed pizza roll!?" >He says, as he takes critical ego damage. He rounds on you as he says this, such that you get a full view of his... decorative piercings and tattoos. It's hard to miss his tattooed tongue, for example, on which something had been written.
| >>588376
"Is that why you're stuck cleaning out here? Kept coming up with bad recipe ideas back in the kitchen?"
>He tries to rise another reaction out of him, paining attention to the tongue tattoo when he opens his mouth again.
| >>588379
>He easily puts him arm up to block it with his trenchcoat sleeve, not even flinching in the process.
"Oh I see maybe it's just the attitude. Probably not a good idea assaulting all your potential customers. Maybe the taste of that ink on your tongue is getting to your head though, can't blame you for everything right?"
| >>588381
"What's that gotta do with anything!?"
>The boy spits at you as he pulls the dustbin away.
| >>588383
"I suppose nothing."
>He wipes the spit, thinking in retrospect the combination is not going to be on a workers tongue tattoo.
"At the very least though, I think you should treat your coworker with some more respect however."
| >>588384
"Psh." >He snorts, and makes an ahegao face mockingly with his tongue stuck out... which appears to show some numbers on it...
| "Fragging prick..." >He throws the dustbin and broom on a booth chair and heads toward the "Private" room.
| >>588387
>...Once again the city ceases to surprise him with the strangeness of these jobs. The man sighs, mentally remembering the numbers as he pulls out his phone to reply to a thread online as he checks to see how the line is doing now with the register now in operation.
| >>588389
>He looks around to see if he can enter into the private room inconspicuously without anyone noticing, slowly inching his way towards it.
| >>588399
>Inconspicuous or not, the customers certainly don't give a shit if you go into the "Private" room of a random /burg/.
>Upon entering, find a filthy common room for the employees, including their lockers and some chairs surrounding a cheap folding table. Everything in this room seems to be closed and most likely locked. The smell of e-cigarette vapors permeates the room.
| >>588225
>Another man had come out of the car, holding his neck with a rugged hand, he was a tall, bald man with almost bulging muscles under a slightly too small black T-shirt
"Yeah, I getcha Chummer, but sometimes things happen and you gotta lay low for a while, still had to set up a new safehouse around town see..."
>He walks in and sees the line
"Christ, just like cattle"
>Ludendorf whispers
| >>588401
>He looks around for the locker labeled with the name of the punk kid from earlier that matched his nametag.
| >>588225 >>588403
>The line seems to be moving a whole lot quicker now, and what at first seemed intimidating is about half way done within the first few minutes. A few customers who aren't in such a hurry take over the cheap tables to eat their /burg/brand foodstuffs while the cashier, still harried-looking but considerably less anxious, clears the ordering counter.
>>588404
>Doesn't take very long... you find a locker labeled 'Zee'.
| >>588410
>You open the locker... stuffed in here are a number of the usual paraphernalia for a young ne'er do well like Zee is, discarded school supplies, various knives of questionable utility, some broken bongs, photos of girls and women cut out of magazines and stuck on the walls of the locker. There's even a simsense rig here, still wrapped in its hypoallergenic polycarbonate packaging, brand new. So brand new that it even has the plastic wrap on it.
| >You also find a bag here, an old backpack that's mostly empty, save for a slip of paper with a note inside. The note is partly illegible- it looks almost as if it were stamped on with some kind of old fashioned printing press.
| >>588414
>He grabs the note and reads it best he can, feeling around the empty bag for anything hidden within the fabric.
| >>588415
"...ield Element... reet, ...ear engine, ...ent."
>The words say at first glance. As you feel around the bag, your hands brush over a magazine of a small handgun of some kind- a pocket pistol, more specifically.
| >>588417
>He leaves the gun alone, grabbing the rig and note and placing them in his bag, closing the locker and leaves before he hoping attracts any attention.
| >>588420
>You leave the bag and close the door- and just in time too, as it seems someone's coming in from the other side. You can either try and rush past them or exit the way you came in- through the Private door.
| >>588423
(...er, so you're going to exit through the "Private" door you first walked in through...?)
| >>588426
>You discreetly leave through the Private door and return to the dining hall proper... though the crowd by this time is far thinner than it was when you first entered.
>Nothing keeps you and >>588403 >>588225 from seeing each other.
| >>588432
>Ludendorf tugs Diesel's shirt and points to CN
"Looks like we're in luck, Yo there chummer"
>The tall old man approaches the Decker with a smile that is about as honest as a mortgage banker
| >>588438
"Hey Lude? You here for a burg too? Dont mind me im on my way out..."
>He does his best to move around them to exit.
| >>588446
>His hand grasps CN as he goes
"Yeah, and so were you eh chummer? now remind me who signed the job first hmm?"
| >Someone new enters this fine b/u/rg establishment. Kind of weirs, since it seems like everything's blown over, eh? The only thing notable about them is that they're wearing a motorcycle helmet.
| >>588447
"And what job are you preferring to? I dont remember doing any job recently on the board, at least one with my name on it."
| >Weirs? Oops. /Weird./ Definitely weird. They might just be looking for something.. They move around the thinning line, trying not to bump into anyone.
| >>588458
"Oh yeah and I'm dumb, nothing is about luck here, especially when the decker boy wonder comes out from the back of a burg"
| >>588458
>Diesel sees CN walking out of the /burg/er bar.
"Oi, chummah! Ya aren't goin' round stealin' good payin' runs from honest runnahs loik us, are ye?"
>He stands in front of CN, to block him.
"Ye wouldn' be doin' dat to us, would ye?"
(Still at work, replies will be slow for another couple hours)
| >>588460 >>588461
"Guys do you easily think theres a payout here? This whole thing is obviously tied to that timer thread online. That cant be anything good."
| >>588467
"And how do you know that?"
>Ludendorf's phone rings as he speaks, he makes an annoyed sigh and closes the phone within his pocket
"How about you tell us what you know eh? Maybe old lude could help you"
| >>588477
"There was a timer on cyb counting down to something. What it was, I dont know, but you can tell the guy running it didnt have anything good planned. Everytime you solved part of it the timer shortened. I noticed that when there was 12 hours left on it that there was only 12 on this job as well. Then I got this from the back."
>He pulls out the note
"I cant ready it completely, figure it's an address, but considering the last cipher in the thread gave an answer about bus stop 32, and that we are on main and 32 st., isnt coincidence either."
| >>588467
"I saw da timah tread, an dat ain't what we 'ere fo. We 'ere fo a combination from an employee. Ye know it?"
>Diesel did not move.
| >>588483
>CN sighs
"It's 4162, the punk cleanup guy has it tattooed to his tongue. Yes I know that's stupid. Can I go now?"
| >>588487
"Well, Chummer, what do you think we should do, let the geekboy leave? I'd hate it to lose work but it's your choice"
>Lude turns to Diesel, a scowl on his face
| "Well, considerin' he jus' gave us da combo, and he >>>knew which combo we wuz referrin' ta, how do we kno' he didn' take da contents fo' 'imself? I say we make sho' he don' 'ave it first, den let 'im go. If we's>>>really got separate jobs anyway, he would 'ave no problem wit dat, right chummah?"
>Diesel turned to CN.
"Howsabout ye show us yer bag?"
| >>588496
"Yeah no. I keep sensitive info here, plus what makes you think the thing you need to get is in the burg? How about you ask your client first before you snoop on my stuff. I already told you everything relevant I know."
| >>588513
"Last I checked the client said we just needed to talk to the employee, but it seems you beat us to it. But hey Diesel I trust him not to lie atleast"
>Ludendorf shrugs
"But that still doesn't explain what you said about a timer thread, what was that all about? how 'bout me and my good pal give you a lift and you can tell us?"
| >>588515
"I'm not going anywhere until I check the spot in the thread, the thing could be a bomb for all I know. Just cause it said it was deactivated doesnt mean it is."
| >>588515
"But we need ta see what's in da storage cache insoid, usin' da combo, right? If he knew da combo, what makes ya think he wouldn' use it 'imself?"
>Diesel turned to CN, and then back to Lude, thinking for a second.
"Alroight, got a plan. Let's all go open da cache togetha. If its empty, CN 'as it, an' we beat it off 'in. If it ain't, we give 'im a ride where he needs ta go for da trouble. Fair?"
| >>588517
"That's what I'm saying, we go and check together, it might be our undisclosed location after-all"
>Ludendorf smiles
| "But isn't da cache...in...da /burg/ bar?"
>Diesel asked confusedly.
| >>588519 >>588518
"*sigh* What was in the cache was note I showed you already! So unless you wants some kids empty bag and illegal piece we're gonna be wasting our time."
| >Ludendorf gets his phone out of his pocket, powering it back on and showing it to Diesel
"At the /burg/er brand fast food restaurant there will be an employee who will present you with a combination. This combination will lead to a locked storage cache at an undisclosed location."
>He quotes the thread, and puts off the phone
"Now we have that combination, but the storage is somewhere else, and I think Geeky is saying it's somewhere that timer bullshit is related to"
| >>588521 >>588524
"What?! I uh..."
>Diesel has a brain fart.
"R-roight, I knew dat! I wuz jus'...testin ya chummahs! Roighty-O, back to da cah, onto find dis timah!"
>Diesel straightens CN's shirt hastily as he does this, and grins a toothy grin before walking back to the drivers seat of the Black Vulture.
"We'll give ya a lift! Dis car goes fastah den any otha way ya got 'ere, unless ye can teleport or some drek."
| >>588531 >>588524
"No I can't... I appreciate the ride..."
>He sighs, internally struggling with who he finds a bigger pain in the ass to deal with.
| >Whatever nearest seat for a bite to eat is, well they've gone straight over. Nothing else in the dining hall seems to be distracting them, though they do give a once over at the potential roughing up near the private room.
>They rub their hands together - They're gloved, you see, and then they.. Well. They try and pick up the table.
>And presumably, throw it as hard as they can in the direction directly in front of them, napkins and condiments beware. There's no consideration or care put into where it's going
| >>588541
>Ludendorf and the gang:tm: prepare to leave but as they do the table goes flying, leaving destruction in it's wake
"Holy fuck!"
>Ludendorf screams
| >>588541
>Before Diesel could leave the cafe, a table literally goes flying.
"What in da bloody 'ell...?"
>He is clearly confused, as he looks to the perpetrator who threw the table.
| >>588541 >>588542
>Several of the haplessly hungry chummers scream in terror as the table is yeeted across the entire goddamn restaurant, causing a chain reaction that can best be described as an obscure reference to an even more obscure animated trideo show for adults-
>What was at first shocked silence devolves into violence as one unlucky person suddenly states: "I'm MAD!"
>...and dumps his hot coffee on the nearest patron.
| >>588541
"The hell!?"
>CN turns around at the commotion and spots Nano, highly confused when he got there.
| >>588548
>Motorcycle /guy/, now clearly identified, stands back and admires his handiwork. Seeing CN stare at him, he just shrugs, giving a "Oh, who me?" kind of vibe.
| >>588552
"Yeah you! you alright in the head chummer?"
>Ludendorf is exasperated, and ducks under an incoming punch from a patron!
| >>588543 >>588553
>Nano salutes to the confused and the exasperated, keying Ludendorf in with a confident thumbs up.
| >But should you really believe him..? That's a question.
| >>588555
"I never thought i'd say this, but Geeky is right"
>Ludendorf sighs at the guy showing him a brazen thumbs up and nods
| >>588559
>CN just starts heading out, taking one last look back at the cashier to make sure she is safe, before making his way out
| "Wait, you >>>KNOW dat fookin guy?!"
>Diesel dodged a flying chair to the head, and growled.
"Well dis ain' convenient roight now!"
>He quickly bowed through the crowd, dodging condiments and food being thrown, before pointing to Nano.
>>588557
"Yew! Crazy table-trowin guy! I loik yer style, yew comin' o' what?!"
| >>588564
>Aside from causing unlikely agreements, Nano can also avoid being stepped on. He does this when a particularly heated pair threaten the tips of his shoes. "..."
>He walks past Diesel, lowering his pointing finger for him. He holds up his own 'OK' gesture in it's stead, and proceeds to tail the group out of there without much delay.
| >>588563
>The cashier, for her part, takes this time to get out of dodge- by literally pulling herself through the drive through window.
This thread is permanently archived
| >The burger joint is sparsely staffed, the majority of its employees having returned to school now that summer neared its end. At this hour, the drive through is fully stacked with waiting cars, held up by a rather obese man ordering the entirety of the restaurant's menu.
>Within, the situation is not much better- three lines worth of hungry customers wrapping around the tables irritably watch as the employees take their orders. One is on "grilling" duty- more like reheating- while another mans the drive through window, and three man the cash stations.
>The furniture consists of cheap veneer and injection molded duraplastics, not meant to survive the lifetime of the store itself.