Ghost awoke with a start, jerking his head up from the sweat stained sheets. The sound came again and he recognized the first chords of Beethoven's 5th that were programmed in as his ring tone. That much identified, he started looking for his comm link without getting off the rumpled bed. He remembered having to replace a comm link after stepping on the previous one during a prior scrambling search. It sounded like it was emanating from a pile of clothes beside the bed, and pulling aside a damp t-shirt, sure enough, there it sat on the pants he had been wearing.

"Hello?" Ghost said, noticing the time was a few minutes past noon. What kind of person would be calling at this hour he thought.

"Ghost?" the voice asked.

"Yeah," Ghost said, pretty sure he recognized the voice.

"Mr. Johnson would like to meet with you and 4 or 5 friends to discuss an employment opportunity."

Four or Five others Ghost thought, with that many people we should be able to cover all the bases. He was thinking of 3 people he would call, maybe they knew a person or two to fill out the group.

"Mr. Johnson wants to meet at Matchsticks at 4pm," the fixer said.

4pm? Is breaking in going to be a demonstration they could handle the job? Surely no bar was open that early.

"I'll tell him to expect Ghost, so don't be late. It's hard telling how many guys in Seattle are going by that handle and you don't want to lose a job to one of 'em by accident."

"Okay," Ghost said and terminated the call.

Ghost made a few calls, unhappy that he couldn't reach his favorite running buddy, probably had been sober enough after last night to remember to turn off his comm link to incoming calls. But he reached a few people and a couple of them assured him they knew just the person to bring along.



When he arrived shortly before four, Ghost was surprised Matchsticks was open. Not just open, but during happy hour, though the clientel looked anything but happy. The doorman/bouncer offered to take Ghost's coat and any weapons, but Ghost declined and after the troll looked down at a data display gave a slight smile and slight bow of his head. Ghost looked around and saw a face he had called earlier and headed their way.

Slyph was pulled from his daily meditation by the incessant chirping of his comlink with a sigh. Reaching over he thumbs the answer button and heard the familiar voice of Ghost.

"Greetings chummer," he said wondering what had dragged the nocturnal runner out of bed so early. Ghost filled him in on a possible job opportunity at the Matchsticks and that he should be there by 4pm. Glancing at the chrono Slyph judged that he had plenty of time to get in the rest of his meditation time and still get there a little early as he was want to do.

"OK I'm game who should I look for?" he asks. Ghost tells him "Me of course," and signs off.

After completing meditation Slyph gets dressed and heads down to the meet. Arriving about 30 minutes early he enters and is greeted by the standard troll doorman/bouncer who offers to take his coat and any weapons. Slyph refuses and beams a nice tip to the bouncers account. Upon seeing the trolls broad smile Slyph procedes into the bar and takes up a corner booth ordering a glass of wine to pass the time until Ghost arrives.

Noticing Ghost come in Slyph waves him over. "Hi there Ghost you look like crap want a drink?" Slyph says.

Scratching his head and readjusting the goggles perched on top, Ghost looked around the inside of Matchsticks with tired eyes. He was still a bit hung over from last night, and now that he was here he had almost forgotten who he called. The bouncer out front seemed almost as confused as Ghost looked when he walked up. He didn't have any weapons, and his messy hair and somewhat dirty long coat stained with what looked like blood definately wasn't the usual attire found in this part of town. But before any sort of complications could arise, the bouncer had noticed something on his display and waived Ghost through. Either he was just that famous that people recognized him on sight, or whoever arranged this meeting knew he wasn't going to change out of what he wore yesterday and was able to give a physical description.

Scanning the room, Ghost finally spots Sylph over by the bar waving for him. Recgonition finally clicked and Gohst walked over. He had worked with Sylph one (or was it twice?) in the past. While not totally chummy-chummer, Ghost was comfortable enough to trust him with his own personal safety while on a job.

"Hi there Ghost you look like crap want a drink?" Sylph asked.

"If you're paying," was Ghost's simple response as he plunked himself down on the seat next to his runner comerade. Flagging the bartender, he orders soemthing cheap, and drops on the bar with a loud 'thunk" as he waits for the meet to start. Any questions by Sylph are answeres with some muttering to himself and "..I think I sat down too fast."

Troll thrash fills the room, the sheer wall of noise being the only thing covering the sound of tools as the work continues. It's also the only thing covering the stream of obscenities flowing from Jill's mouth in a torrent of hatred and verbal abuse. But, despite her best efforts and consistant questioning of the drone's legitmacy of birth and parentage, the pilot doesn't innitiate.

Finally, growling in annoyance, Jill steps away from the dalmation, leaning against a table. At this point, the music quits, a sure sign of someone deciding to call. Shaking her head, Jill grabs the commlink.

"Hey, how's my drone doing?" JaSheed asks.

"It's glitched. What did they do? Use it for target practice with grenade launchers?" Jill asks.

"I suspect so. I'm not using that team again. Listen, I've got a job you may be interested in. Group of runners. I was supposed to go myself, but I can't make it. I don't know the particulars, but since you're my best client, I'll let you go in my place," the fixer offers.

"Normal ten percent?"

"Five for this one. Keep the extra as compensation for the drone work. Now, I'm sending you an address. Be there in an hour. Make sure to let the doorman know I sent you. Bring a gun to this one. I didn't have time to do legwork on the Johnson," comes the fixer's last comment before the call ends.

One hour later, Jill is standing outside the Matchsticks. She snorts derisively as she looks at it. Normally, she doesn't come here. It breaks the illusion of her life not being illegal. She walks up to the doorman and looks him in the eye. That is the biggest troll she has seen in her life. She's tall by human standards, but the troll simply towers over her. And those arms... She's almost tempted to ask him if he had some trees felled and made into cyberlimbs. Finally the troll speaks, an amused look on his face.

"Weapons? Coat?" the troll rumbles.

Jill looks down, her coat over a t-shirt and shorts, both black, with boots below that. The t-shirt has her favorite flying joke on it, the phrase "The key to flying is throwing yourself at the ground and missing." She looks back to the troll and shakes her head. The Alpha she's holding being the only weapon on her.

"JaSheed sent me."

The troll nods, reaching down to mark something on his screen, and says, "Talk to Ghost."

Once inside, she stops and looks at the faces, only stopping when she recognizes one from the file she had been sent. That must be Ghost. She smiles and approaches quickly, stopping once she's reached his table. Odd, he's with a friend.

"I'm Jumpin Jill. JaSheed sent me in his place. He was busy."

She takes a quick glance around with her eyes, noting anyone else in the room. And, she doesn't like this. Normally, one prefered an empty place for doing business. But with as little info as she has, this makes the elf nervous.

"I'm Jumpin Jill. JaSheed sent me in his place. He was busy." The unfamiliar voice caused Ghost to lift his head off the bar.

What, you can just call in sick from shadowrunning? I need to make a mental note of that. Ghost thought to himself. He turned his head to look at the newcomer, and waved slightly.

"Hi. I was going to say, you don't look like JaSheed. So, how much jumping do you do?" He motioned to one of the free stools at the bar.

"Anyway, have a seat until everyone else gets here. Apparently," he points over to Sylph, "he's buying."

Images flash by as Hayter sits quietly in his van, parked high above the Seattle sidewalks. AROs representing spelunking forums, newletters about ISpy, the hacker on trial downtown, e-mail correspondence with fellow "explorers", and on-line photo-galleries depicting rundown factories and sewers all float in Hayter's field of vision, each manipulated mentally. With all the clutter he almost doesn't notice his search-bot return from decretely collecting e-mail from dummy accounts that he had set-up. The bot drops a message smack-dab in his center of vision. Hayter sit perfectly still, huddled in a mass of blankets, careful issuing commands to the implanted modules in his head, poking and prodding for data bombs and viruses. When satisfied that the message is safe, Hayter opens it.

Inside is a short voice message from a runner he'd worked with only twice before. The clip mentioned a club named Matchsticks, so as Hayter climbed the back of his van to remove the sattelite uplink from the top, he searched for directions to the place. "A bar? This early? Not very smooth..." me mutters. "It just screams 'meeting with a Johnson' to everybody who cares to stop by. This better be good." In response to his skepticism, his personal e-ssistant reminds him of his meager funds.

<200¥ left>

Hayter sighs. "Oh yeah. Looks like I have to go...."

As Hayter arrives at Matchsticks, absent minded data-searches start up in his head, scoping out the history of the place, what exactly "jazz" was all about, and anything else that may be of use. After being hassled by the troll bouncer ("Are you even old enough to drink, young man?") Hayter makes his way in.

I see Ghost is already drinking... I hope that won't be a problem. Wait, is that Jill?

Seeing runners that he recognizes, Hayter makes his way over to the bar.

"Hi. I was going to say, you don't look like JaSheed. So, how much jumping do you do? Anyway, have a seat until everyone else gets here. Apparently," he points over to Sylph, "he's buying."

Jill smiles. "If I'm jumping, it means trouble's on the way. And then, I like to hop my want over to a rope and provide a little distraction. After all, some people pay good money for some quality hop-scotch."

She looks at the beer, and shakes her head. Clear senses are necessary. Especially when rigging four heavily-armed drones and a van at the same time. Drunk droners don't get very far in life.

She looks up and waves to Haytor as he comes in. Ah, yes, someone she knows. Good, good. Especially Haytor. She has fond memories of their last run together.

"Ah, yes, Grenade Magnet Haytor. Still attracting explosives, or have you since moved on to rockets?" she asks, teasing him. The way she remembers it, he had more grenades shot his way than she cares to count. The sammy they had along proved to be very excellent that day.

"Ah, yes, Grenade Magnet Haytor. Still attracting explosives, or have you since moved on to rockets?" she asks, teasing him.

"I'm still recooperating. Thank you for the reminder." The way he remembered it, that god damn sammie couldn't keep quiet and garnered the attention of nearby security. Never again.

Hayter scans Jill's shirt, compulsively looking up the reference he doesn't recognize. After learning a little about where her shirt's quote came from, he sits down at the bar and downloads copies of the "Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy". Hayter photo-reads the e-books in AR while ordering a drink and chatting with Jill about her drone work.

"You said something about a Lynx you were working on last time we met, dodn't you? Did you get that thing to work yet?"

Judith settled back in her chair with a sigh of relief. She had spent all last night hard at work, her fixer had been especially stingy about payment when she’d dropped off the swag that morning, and the bad traffic had tacked on an extra hour to her daily mid-morning trek through the city center. Now that she was back at her hotel room, looking out at the bay and listening to some Strauss on her commlink’s surround sound, she finally felt able to relax. Maybe she would go to Pike Place, pick up Vogelmann’s new novel at that bookshop, or watch those guys at the fish stall do their stuff, or–

The shrill sound of her ring tone cut into Judith’s thoughts like a serrated knife. The young human woman took a second to swear under her breath before she answered, muttering a resigned greeting to her caller. The caller explained his business succinctly, and a few minutes later Judith came out of the hotel’s main entrance, wearing a simple black T-shirt and jeans to match her scowl, and made her sullen way to Matchsticks.

Once inside the dingy establishment, she took a moment to give the area a cursory glance (it was always a good idea to know where the security devices in a room were) before heading over to the bar to join the other arrivals. “Hey, everyone,” Judith said offhandedly, taking the nearest free seat. “We expecting anybody else here?”

"I'm still recooperating. Thank you for the reminder."

Jill laughs. "Well, you have to admit, for a noisy runt, he managed to keep us both alive."

She grins as Haytor takes a seat. To her, it was fun and better than many of the runs she has to compare to. Of course, she's including the ones done in the Arc. Those tended to end very lethally when they went bad. And they usually did.

Of course, Jill doesn't know what book the phrase comes from. It made her laugh when she saw it in the store, so she bought it. Besides, she's told more than a few people to try learning how to fly since getting this shirt.

"You said something about a Lynx you were working on last time we met, dodn't you? Did you get that thing to work yet?"

Jill shakes her head, saying, "I'm not sure it's possible. Only time I've seen a drone that bad, it's had a few choice things said to it with explosives. I have no idea which problem it is, but one of them keeps the pilot system from working. JaSheed's taking less of a cut to reinburse me for my effort."

She looks up as the next woman enters, nodding to the girl. Nice to see she's not the only one. She pauses, and looks to Ghost at the question. His answer determines everything.

“Hey, everyone,” Judith said offhandedly, taking the nearest free seat. “We expecting anybody else here?”

"Good question," Hayter pipes up "I have no idea. Er, are you okay? You look pretty upset?"

"If you're paying," was Ghost's simple response as he plunked himself down on the seat next to his runner comerade. Flagging the bartender, he orders soemthing cheap, and drops on the bar with a loud 'thunk" as he waits for the meet to start.

The next couple of minutes passed by uneventfully with Slyph asking questions about how biz had been and if he had found any good new toys since the last time they had run together. Most of ghosts responses were simple muttering followed by "..I think I sat down too fast."

It was about the time Slyph decided Ghost needed something stronger to take the edge off whatever was making him look like hell that several other people who obviously knew him started arriving.

Slyph sits quietly listening and nodding hello as other team members arrive and greet each other. Its good to know that many of them know each other. The only other person Slyph recognizes is Hayter and its obvious Jill knows him too especially since she knows about his tendency to attract exploding ordinance so well. I wonder if he got his van fixed...

He takes in an astral peek here and there scoping the place out. Not noting anything unusual he returns his sense back to the real world.

Another woman arrives looking rather like she just broke up with her boyfriend...
“Hey, everyone,” she said offhandedly, taking the nearest free seat. “We expecting anybody else here?”

"Good question," Hayter pipes up "I have no idea. Er, are you okay? You look pretty upset?"

"Yes," Slyph agrees "something appears to be bothering you. Can I get you a drink Miss...?"

At this point he figures what the hell might as well spend it and try and cheer up this one especially since it looks as if Jill isn't going to be getting anything. No point in saving it as I don't have enough to make rent next month anyway. Besides a little change of pace from that hole in the wall might do me some good Of course Slyph isn't entirely sure how much if anything the dwarf drinks but meh no better way has been found of cementing friendships and teams than a little social interaction.

Hayter decides to give Judith her space. I don't need her sulking around on another run. I hope she perks up during the meeting. Sends bad vibes to the Johnson if we look like we're letting our personal lives get the best of us.

"Anyways, Jill. If you're having trouble with the pilot, maybe the drone brain housing needs to be replaced." He rattles off several other possible solutions that are in no way his own ideas. Between him and Jill are several windows of information regarding troubleshooting pilot system glitches.

The references are from an archive of online tid-bits Hayter has assembled for such an occasion. Files indexing the runners here in the bar with related Matrix sites based on their interests and areas of expertise were compiled after each run he went on with them. This way he could try and keep up in conversation with any of them. Spell-slinging with Ghost, drone mechanics with Jill, and even classical music with Judith. (bet she didn't know he hacked her comm just in case, did she?)

Hayter wasn't overly suspicious of his fellow runners, but it paided to scope out their comms ahead of time to ensure they hadn't been sent to double-cross him or the Johnson. He took the same precautions with most Johnsons, or course. Unless they were slick and ICed out. He was a hacker, after all. This sort of thing was expected of him, right?

Continuing conversation with Jill, Hayter accepts the drink Slyph hands to him, but only sips.

"Anyways, Jill. If you're having trouble with the pilot, maybe the drone brain housing needs to be replaced." He rattles off several other possible solutions that are in no way his own ideas.

Jill grins. Ah, yes, good old Haytor. She waits for him to finish rattling off his solutions before she speaks, saying, "The drone brain had to be replaced. It had a few too many holes. The internal power systems are seven years old, but I checked them and they worked. It's a pre-Crash drone that's been adapted to modern times. That means while it can be piloted wirelessly, the drone was meant for the old protocols. And, it's a custom build, not factory, so the internals use a standard I've never seen before."

Jill sighs, then says, "Oh well. It's still funny to refer to them as dalmations. So funny to see the Star or a rigger expecting one thing and being shot by another."

Jill giggles, then looks around. Calling lynxes "dalmations" is an old habit, from the Arc, that started when she misidentified a lynx as a dalmation. For an old habit, it's proven useful on occasion.

Ghost downs the rest of his beer, only pausing to think afterwards that maybe he should have ordered soykaf instead. He looks around at the motley crew that has gathered around him, noticing that one is still missing.

"Garrett isn't here yet. Hey Hayter," Ghost called out, "you remember Garrett, don't you?"

Ghost left the question open on purpose. He had only left a message on Garrett's commlink, and he was trying to remember if he was the Elf commando guy they had teamed with, or that Troll with the teddy bear.

The talk of drones and other technical stuff between Hayter and Jill just makes Ghost's head hurt, and this time it has nothing to do with the hangover. His head was usually stuffed with magical formulae, incantations, and memorized gestures, ready to use at a moment's notice. The thought of trying to learn something completely different on top of all that would probably make him throw up, though that was the alcohol this time.

Since their little corner of the bar has started to get more lively, Ghost sat up and does his best to shake himself awake, readying himself for when Garrett, and eventually their Johnson, shows up.

Garrett peers down from the neiboring fire escape behind Matchsticks. His bike already stashed behind a dumpster and a pile of boxes from foodstuffs in the alley. He was tipped off about a need for a peerson of his skill, and to meet at the Matchsticks by Sting. Him Sting went way back and were still frequent gang mates, although when it came to business she never disclosed her sourced for jobs.He was only wearing his cham suit turned on full with his long coat folded up in the pocket on the back, which made him feel much more at ease. He brought only his Pistol today, and although not expecting trouble he still felt somewhat naked without his rifle. Garrett waits until the bartender walks to take out a bag of garbage and climbs down the ladder and quickly sneaks into the bar's back door. Once inside, Garrett ducks into the mens room, and deactivatesd his cham suit and puts on the longcoat. He then proceeds out into the main area to do a visual. The fifty-year old, just reaching adulthood by elven standards, thinks to himself how hard it is to kick old habits, especially when being catious has saved his hide more often then not. He had seen many a chummer get to comfy out on the border and end up dead at the worst possible time. Come to think of it, he couldn't think of a time that would be worse off for the person that was doing the dying. Sticking to the subject at hand, Garrett resumes his scan for other runners he knows who may have also been brought in, the local "talent" he liked to call it.

"Yes," Slyph agrees "something appears to be bothering you. Can I get you a drink Miss...?"

"It's Judith," the young woman said curtly. "Just Judith. And I...Jesus, I'm sorry," she said, her expression and voice softening somewhat. "I've been having kind of a bad day lately, and I tend to be a bit of a slitch when I'm mad. It's nothing, really."

Ghost downs the rest of his beer, only pausing to think afterwards that maybe he should have ordered soykaf instead.

"Hey, are you sure you want to be drinking tonight?" Judith asked him, a note of tension in her voice. Ghost's alcohol-induced sluggishess made her anxious: she worried that it might give the Johnson a bad impression. "You look, uh, tired," she added, catching herself just in time. "You want to be on the ball when we meet with Johnson, don't you? I think you could use some water. You'll feel much better if you have some water, really you will."

"Hey, are you sure you want to be drinking tonight?" Judith asked him, a note of tension in her voice. "You look, uh, tired," she added, "You want to be on the ball when we meet with Johnson, don't you? I think you could use some water. You'll feel much better if you have some water, really you will."

Ghost waved off the comment, "Water is just a conspiracy by the manufacturing companies." No one at the bar has any idea what that means. He chuckled to himself and turned to Judith.

"But seriously nah, I'm good," he continued, "This is just way too early for me, I needed a little something to help pick me up, and this tastes better than soykaf," Ghost smiles and adjusts the goggles on his head once more.

"I promise not to blow your chance of getting some extra nuyen up front. I do know how to at least act sober when the situation calls for it. Though I have to say, I really wasn't expecting to be the one who had to organize all this," Ghost turned to address the group in general, "I didn't say anything stupid when I called you guys, did I?"

Judith looks for security equipment noticing only the weapon detector at the entrance. She is just in time to notice the damp elf coming from the restroom and heading to the bar, apologizing about getting caught in the pre-rush hour traffic. The elf raises his finger to signal the bartender, but the bartender makes a point of ignoring him and leans in toward Ghost, "MR. Johnson is waiting for you." The bartender nods toward the back wall and one of the two doors flanking the restrooms. He thanks the members who decide to leave a tip. A couple of people finish of their drink, another looks at their empty glass on the bar, and a couple of people take their drinks with them as the group makes its way to the designated room.

Ghost notices the room is warded. Hayter wonders if the room is so old it is equipped with a Faraday cage or if it simply has that new AR inhibiting paint because AR stops at the doorway. Almost everyone senses the undercurrent of the white noise generator as they enter.

Mr. Johnson sits at one end of a table flanked with three chairs to a side and one opposite him. His suit is stylish for a man his age, 50ish, and is unadorned with any little tell-tales that would suggest his affiliation or even a red herring to disguise an affiliation. Hayter is ready to hack his comm link until he realizes there is not one present.

"Please, sit down," Mr. Johnson says. "I asked the bartender to wait until 4:10 to show you back just to wait for those of you whom decided to be fashionably late. It seems common among some of the self employed like you. I am surprised there could even be a fashionably late time to arrive for a job or, more importantly when trying to make a best impression, a job interview or offer. Maybe I am supposed to see how little you need such work? For those of you who are interested, the job entails a B&E of a private residence in a C security rating neighborhood. I would be greatly surprised if the resident did not have his own security precautions in place, but they should hardly be anywhere near as tough as a corp zero zone.

"The actual target needs no special care, is light and portable enough for a single person to manage. There is a one week deadline, just so I know when to start looking for anyone that took the money and ran, but realistically the job should take no longer than two or three days. I can pay 5K nuyen each with 1K each up front. To make the numbers easier to swallow, I will agree that you may keep whatever else you loot, you can kill everyone on the street if it makes it easier for you, and you may feel free to torch the entire neighborhood to avoid detection and it will not matter to me. If you feel the need to blow the entire city up, I would appreciate a call so I can evacuate.

"After you have acquired the target, you may set up the meet at a time and place of your choosing. I will retain veto privileges.

The Johnson leans forward, "Do you want the job?"

Jill frowns, leaning back in her chair. The offer sounds cheap, but nice. She could get more by boosting cars, but this sounds easier than that. So, what's the catch? She pauses as she looks over the Johnson, then decides to get to business.

"If anything goes horribly wrong but we still get the object, can we make alternative arrangements for delivering it to you, or is the money simply gone?" Jill asks, sticking straight with the most important question to come to mind.

As Mr. Johnson began to speak, Judith took her seat and fixed him with a placid smile of polite interest. She managed to maintain this smile all through his proposal, though her eyes did harden during his brief rant on their "fashionable lateness." After Johnson finished, she cast glances at each of her fellow runners, trying to read their expressions.

"Speaking of things going horribly wrong," Judith interjected as Jill finished her question, "could this object be potentially hazardous to any of us? And if it is, what measures should we take to protect ourselves?"

"What," Mr. Johnson asked, "are you asking if you are in close pursuit, can you dump the problem you created in my lap? I have already said that when you have the item, you may set the time and place of the meet. I do retain the right to veto the meet if it seems to me you are endangering me, or perhaps setting a meet I can not possibly attend, like expecting me to travel 40 miles in 5 minutes, so that you may say I broke the deal and you may keep the item.

"If those terms are too generous, I can take some initiative and ask you to deliver the item to me a week from tonight at the Space Needle," Mr. Johnson said.

I n response to Judith's question, Mr. Johnson said, "When you accept the job, I will fill you in about the target as well as how to identify it. I am sure some of you here deal with similar items on a regular basis and will know its potential hazards as well as how to safeguard the item."

Jill blinks. Okay, this Johnson is either very smart, or very inexperienced. In other words, extremely dangerous. She'd have to be careful of this one. Very, very careful.

"I meant arrangements for third party delivery. In case something goes wrong and we need a line of separation between us and yourself for your safety. This way, you can feign ignorance of us," Jill says.

She then smiles. "And, I was wondering if we could have a bit of wiggle room on the cash. Maybe some expenses paid? Nothing extraordinary, of course, but a bit of extra cash for dealing with minor needs that crop up."

In truth, Jill doesn't trust the Johnson. At all. But, this is the only way to get the information. If she's going to take the money and run, at least it's low enough that she doesn't have to worry about someone being sent after her.

Let's just see where this goes...

"Sure, sounds fine. So long as the whole team agrees. With this setup I'm not concerned." Hayter replies.

Much

After being directed to the meeting room, Ghost sat back to listen to what the Johnson had to say. After the usual ranting that makes the Johnson somehow seem better than the runners, they get a little information on their job.

The thing that bothers Ghost, though is the Johnson's causal attitude towards random looting and property destruction. While random acts of criminal activity is part of the profession, this guy seemed too open to the idea of some extra explosions. In fact, it sounded like the fee he was giving them would be a bit low for the task involved, and he was expecting them to make up the rest through silverware.

The other comment, that the item is something those in this line of work deal with, also got him thinking. Then his headache set in again. Well, there was no point in trying to speculate, as just saying "yes" would yeild all the answers.

Ghost nods to the Johnson and speaks up, "Well, it sounds like we can probably handle it. I'm sure there's tons of juicy tidbits you'd love to tell us. So, if there are no objections, I'd like to hear more."