"Yo Ghorua, I got a job for you," the private CryptNet message began, Hacks stood front and centre for the camera. The room behind her hinted at the rough lifestyle she lived. Exposed durasteel beams crossed the roof. Paint peeled from century-old planks that had been neglected by maintenance. Roughly drawn posters were pinned against the walls, advertising local bands and underground gigs. The flickering of dying fluorescent lights cast shadows across the room.
"Target is Daiya, she's got connections in the Darkwire network. Sounds scary, I know, but she's built like a twig with the temper of a brat, a big shark like you shouldn't have trouble," Hacks said, "I've got business to take care of, don't got time to play detective and find where she's holed up, but I've got the credits to hire you to do that for me, a little something as thanks for Coruscant."
"She's got intel I want," Hacks' brow furrowed, something grim had crossed her mind, "And a lesson I need to teach her about trying to dig up dirt on my past." The slicer tossed out a casual hand in dismissal, "I know we don't know each other well, but do this for me, I'll owe you something big. Bring her in alive, and we'll talk shop after." Hacks turned to look over her shoulder at a sudden and violent crash of noise, "I've got to bounce," she remarked, looking back into the camera, "I'll send you my deets and organise a pick up. Make sure she's blindfolded and cuffed. Peace."
The transmission cut. It's source location placed it somewhere along the Twilight Belt on Denon but further triangulation became near impossible in the dizzying dystopian maze of Denons ecumenopolis.
