<strong>In the Compound...</strong><br/><br/>Trance can easily deduce that the security system on the wall would normally be controlled by the compound's network, but is currently down - either deliberately or as a result of a hack; from here, it's impossible to tell which short of giving your rent-a-runner a call. Marking out the extent of the monowire is significantly easier than anything else; the duct-tape seems to eerily hover in the air, swaying gently with the breeze like miniature polymer kites.<br/><br/>The door has a swipe-card panel on the outside, as well as a keypad and a display. To the untrained eye it might look like fancy corporate security, but to the<em>trained</em>eye it looks decidedly odd; why would, for example, you need to have fire-extinguisher controls, lighting, and so on on the outside? Security on the house itself is discrete but clear; it looks - for those familiar with such places - more like an upmarket prison or supervised release facility. The windows themselves are easy to open from the outside; they have mechanical fasteners that aren't even locks. The trick, though, will be opening them quietly. Beyond the windows, the interior of the house is partly visible; it looks for all the world like gangers broke in and had a party - take-out food boxes and empty vodka bottles litter the work-surfaces of what would otherwise be a very decent kitchen. The only light in the kitchen is the SmartHome hub, which appears to be broadcasting a warning that "The Milk Is Five Days Out Of Date. Do You Want Me To Order More?"<br/><br/>From the position on the snow-dappled lawn - eerily lit by the high-quality screens built into the walls - everything is cast in bright light or deepest, darkest shadow. The walls do a surprisingly good job of keeping the ambient light out, meaning that the whole thing looks almost like a black and white photo of corporate-propaganda happiness. Also visible in the snow are paw-prints, but not many. It looks as though whatever canine security (or companionship) in the compound doesn't much like the cold. A quick check on IR reveals that yes, indeed, the kennels near the gate are heated and do seem to have two occupants. They look to be waking up...<br/><br/><div class="spoiler_container"><div class="spoiler_header" onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button">OOC</div><div class="spoiler_body">No check is necessary to open the windows from the outside, but doing so will be noisy. In the alternative, security / basic tech, or a convincing explanation of how to avoid the clanging and grating of metal on metal will work. <br/></div></div><br/><strong>And outside...</strong><br/><br/>"Nojudgement ... here. We allgottaearnayen." his words tumble out in the broken cadence of the brain-damaged.<br/><br/>Happy's expert assessment of the 'runner' is that he's suffering from a lot of different things, mostly neglect, but there's clear evidence in the way his hand shakes from speedware glitching, from the way his pupils are massively dilated of withdrawal symptoms from - well, it could be any number of things but most likely combat drugs. Oh, and he smells like he's crapped himself. They were apparently popular back in the day for edgerunners, and the military (both corporate and government alike). The thing that does catch Happy's eye - something that looks entirely out of place - is the smartlink in the palm of his left hand. The fine traceries of dermal conduction wiring is evident under the rough, fingerless gloves.<br/><br/>He manages to look disappointed that there are no drugs, but will eagerly take the coffee. He reaches out with his right hand towards Happy in what can only be described as a begging, pleading gesture.<br/><br/>"W-whateveryou can...sparedranksomuch soycaf... backinthedayIthinkImightbe... part soy"