voice;

[hanzer]

[There's very little preamble before the network gets an earful of the distinctive, raspy tones of a certain ex-cop. Guy sounds like he smokes his cigarettes and eats them too. He also doesn't sound exactly comfortable to be speaking on the network, but anyone who's met him in person in the past few days knows that that forced impassivity is kind of his thing.]

I'm looking for someone who can work with cybernetics. Some know-how with computers or engineering would probably help, but I figure some of that comes with the territory. [A pause, and then:] Discretion preferred.

[The way he says it, one kind of gets the sense that he'd gladly find a way to make even the most indiscreet person suddenly learn the meaning of patient confidentiality– but it's just as easy to believe that that's just the way he talks.

There's another longer pause and then, at length, he adds:] I'd also be interested in speaking to anyone who can talk about the crewman we've got in the hold.

[Spooky, scary, skeleton-like – you've probably heard of Ploiatos. Adam certainly has, and (being the security-minded guy he is) he'd love to know what having a literal skeleton in the closet entails.

And since Adam Jensen's never exactly been known for ending conversations gracefully, that's where he chooses to cut the message off.

Certainly, no one can say he isn't to-the-point.]

text //

[diamondhack]

[If in case you don't know Isha, she's pretty much a serial texter. Even if you're about two feet away from her, she's going to text. It's inevitable.

And probably for the best, considering her rising irritation about a very peculiar matter...]

Now, I would start this off by saying something about my vents, my territory, my rules, and so on, but that would be inaccurate. None of this is mine, but it should might as well be by proxy.

That being said.

Here's a rule I would like to impose. It's a very simple rule, really, almost a logical one that even I, a professional lawbreaker, would follow.

Don't put a gun in the vents. I don't care if you're hiding evidence or you're just that paranoid. In fact, I don't even care why you put it there. Keep it out of my vents.

[Just because she's not the biggest fan of this job doesn't mean she has to half-ass it.]

If this happens to be your gun, which I am holding right now, please get it before I decide it's better in more capable hands or in the great vacuum of space. I'm very inept with these things, so you might have to deal with the fact that this may go very wrong in my hands.

Thank you and good day, night, or whatever time it happens to be. You all owe me a coffee or ten for working your vents in this terrible lighting. Q says hello, for those of you who know him. He wanted to end this note nicely.