Living in the Shadows: IC, Jan 8th-14th Options

[WinterRat1]

World IC Thread.

This is the IC thread for the Living in the Shadows Campaign, for the period of Jan. 8th-14th. Once your character begins Jan. 8th, you should begin posting here. The OOC thread will still be used as normal. This first post will consistently be edited to include all current IC sub-games. Think of it as a table of contents. All remaining posts after the first should be considered to be World IC posts.

Additionally, here are the links for the OOC, Shadowland IC, and the Guidelines thread, which has the character creation requirements, as well as various GM rulings on numerous topics.

General LITS Information

Living in the Shadows: Guidelines
Living in the Shadows: Recruitment 1 (closed; see LITS: Recruitment 2)
Living in the Shadows: Recruitment 2
Living in the Shadows: Special Projects

Main LITS Threads

Living in the Shadows: SR 3 OOC
Living in the Shadows: SR 4 OOC
Living in the Shadows: IC Jan 1st - Jan 7th
Living in the Shadows: IC Jan 8th - Jan 14th
Living in the Shadows: Shadowland OOC
Living in the Shadows: Shadowland IC

Useful LITS-related Links

Living in the Shadows: Story Index Page
Useful Calendar Link for 2063
Seattle Sprawl Map

LITS Run Index

Living in the Shadows: The Warehouse Job OOC 1 (closed)
Living in the Shadows: The Warehouse Job IC 1 (closed)
Living in the Shadows: Running Over the Edge OOC 2 (closed)
Living in the Shadows: Running Over the Edge IC 2 (closed)
Living in the Shadows: Salvation OOC 3
Living in the Shadows: Salvation IC 3
Living in the Shadows: A Short Victorious War OOC 4
Living in the Shadows: A Short Victorious War IC 4

00:00:00 (Specific Day) January 1, 2063
Let's start each post with a date and Location. Please post it in Orange.
I will see how things are moving along and sychronize the dates periodically.

Please put names in BOLD, a character's thoughts/internal dialogue as well as anything being emphasized in ITALICS, and spoken words in QUOTES. Oh, and don't forget to turn off signatures for all IC posts please. Thanks! :)

[WinterRat1]

This space will contain a list of the GMs, players under them, and the characters (and names thereof) the player is playing. Think of it as a directory so you know who's out there to interact with. (We have decided to leave out what the player is, as it is info they may wish to keep private.)

Player GM: grendel

• Avalanche (Shev)
• Todd (Ecclesiastes)
• Marquis Cooper (Bastard)
• Cosmo (Morgannah)
• Tenmou (Shadowrunner13)
• Eyes (The Eyes)

Player GM: Sedna

• Andie (SentineloftheMountain)
• Dragon (WinterRat1)
• Virgil (bandit50)
• Daedalus (TiredRonin)

Player GM: WinterRat1

• Alleycat (Sedna)
• Blaze (paul_HArkonen)
• Max (Slipshade)
• Scrapheap (Scrapheap)
• Tin Star (Digital Heroin)

Player GM: Banditf50

• Knight (Moirdryd)
• Erebus (Cedric Rolfson)

[Slipshade]

05:45:33 Monday 08 January 2063 - 6 Bellevue Way, One Lincoln Tower - 41st Floor - Penthouse

Max awoke to the gentile shaking of Jeeves’s hand on his arm. “You requested that I awaken you just before dawn Master Steiner. Am I free to go?”

Waking up slowly, Max rolls over and looks into the wrinkled face of the hearth spirit standing at his bedside. “Yes of course Jeeves, and thank you,” he says groggily.

The ghostly form of the butler slowly fades from Max’s view as the disembodied voice of Jeeves replies. “Just doing my job sir.”

Max sits up in bed, letting the covers fall off his torso and pool around his waist and stretches. Just the right amount of predawn light spills through the self-polarizing glass of his bedroom wall. Last nights storm had abated leaving the morning not much more than a grey drizzle. Max extracts himself from his bed and moves to a long dresser on the south wall. The dresser is covered with picture frames, their pictures a montage of people and places. One inparticular catches Max’s attention. The frame is nothing special, silver with an engraving at the bottom. “Department of Magic - Class of 2062.” It was probably the best class Max had taught. Quite a number of the students showed real interest and talent. Sandy and Mark, Rita and James, Antoinette and Cassius among others were standing in the quad at the University and in the background of the picture was a young man with short blonde hair and blue eyes. He was dressed in slacks, a black sweater and a sports jacket. He was a good-looking young man that still bore a resemblance to the man now staring at the picture. Max looks into the gold-filigree framed mirror mounted above the dresser. The blue eyes were still the same, but not much else was. The man staring into the mirror had delicate features with the distinct upswept ears and high cheekbones of an elf. His skin was no longer the pale pink of a Caucasian, but a light grey tone, the color of white granite. The short blonde hair faded almost to the point of being white and now grew to the length of his shoulders overnight, no matter how many times he cut it. He was still an attractive man, but it was an exotic beauty, it was as if someone had carved and chiseled his body from the rock that he so resembles, a statue Pygmalion would have been proud of.

‘It still just seems so strange’ he thinks as he runs his clawed hand through his hair, yanking out a knot and tying it back with a rubber band. Taking his eyes off of the reflection in the mirror Max pulls a pair of boxers and black sweatpants from the drawer and puts them on.

Again moving downstairs Max makes his way to his workout room. The room had pretty much gone to waste when he was employed at the university as most of his time was spent in research or teaching his classes. Now that he is unemployed he figures it is a good time to test out all of the equipment he had purchased over a year ago. A rack of free weight and three different benches adorned the East wall. The western and southern walls contained a number of weight machines ment to target specific muscular regions. In the center of the room was a contraption Max dubbed “The Torture Rack.” He was sure it had a real name, like the Cardo-shuttle or the Abo-lizer, but Torture Rack was infinitely more appropriate. Locking himself into the machine Max set its program to level 3 or moderately debilitating as he referred to it.

After an hour of shear torture Max crawls out of the ‘rack and makes his way…slowly…very slowly to the bath, where he strips off his workout wear and steps down into the steaming pool in the center of the bathing room.

“Music…Classical, random”

The soothing sounds of Mozart’s Serenade in Bb Major drift through the room as Max’s lets the warm waters of the bath loosen his muscles.

[Sedna]

1200 Tuesday, January 9, 2063 - Land's End Magic Shop

"Hmm," says Solomon slowly, that hint of mischief back in his voice as he nods acknowledgement to Andie's security shopping list, "do you have any idea how much what Sara has, costs?"

The young mage studies him astrally, trying to determine what lies behind the comments, especially the previous one; but most of Solomon's attention is fully on the plans, with a degree of concentration that Andie had never seen in anyone except himself and his teacher (and he sometimes had his doubts about Sara). Oh yeah, and the fixer's definitely Awakened, couple of levels of initiation there for sure.

Like that's really a surprise to someone like Andie. Maybe he's just jealous I thought of it first?

"You will need something at least two or three metres wide for the mechanical room," Solomon was saying. "Ventilation, cooling space behind the coils, human-space room to fix the machinery if you have to. If you move your chimney there ... hmm ... I thought you mentioned earlier that you were thinking of having a small public reading room with a fireplace? But since you have moved your chimney to the opposite side of the warehouse, maybe you have reconsidered."

Solomon's wristphone rings. He glances at the screen, then at Andie, who hasn't moved. "Just bear in mind that 10 metres square is a very large space," he says softly. "You will not feel at all cramped in your living space. You might also wish to sketch in the furniture for your store, get a feel for just how much space you have to work with there. Now, if you will excuse me for a moment ...?"

[Slipshade]

07:50:12 Monday 08 January 2063 - 6 Bellevue Way, One Lincoln Tower - 41st Floor - Penthouse

Washed and dressed, Max heads to the desk in his study and flips the switch on the computer.

‘Time to look for some work.’

[WinterRat1]

08:35:30 Monday 08 January 2063 - 6 Bellevue Way, One Lincoln Tower - 41st Floor - Penthouse

After some browsing on Shadowland, Max logs off and begins taking care of some minor matters around the house that need his attention. At about 8:35 or so, his phone rings. Not his house phone either. The other phone. Such a quick response, I wonder who it could be... Max thinks to himself as he debates whether to pick it up or let it ring.

[grendel]

21:27:31 Monday 08 January, 2063 - Seattle Class Bravo Airspace

"Seattle Center, Windmill Six One One and flight, with you level three thousand."

"Windmill Six One One flight, Seattle Center, radar contact."

"Windmill Six One One flight, contact Sea-Tac approach, one one niner point two."

"One one niner point two, Windmill Six One One flight switching."

"Approach, Windmill Six One One and flight, with you level three thousand."

"Windmill Six One One flight, Sea-Tac Approach, radar contact, descend and maintain one thousand seven hundred, say request."

"One thousand seven hundred for Windmill Six One One, we'd like the ILS runway three four right."

"Roger, Windmill Six One One, turn right three five five, vectors for final."

"Three five five, Windmill Six One One."

"Windmill Six One One and flight, you're cleared for ILS three four right approach to Sea-Tac. Weather is five hundred and one, with an RVR of fifteen hundred in snow. Braking action is fair. Altimeter is three zero two two, temperature four degrees, winds are three two zero at twenty five gusting thirty."

"Cleared full stop runway three four right, altimeter three zero two two, Windmill Six One One."

"SEA-TAC, WINDMILL SIX ONE ONE, MAYDAY, MAY-"

"Windmill Six One One, Approach, say again."

"Windmill Six One One, Approach, understand you're declaring an emergency?"

"Windmill Six One One, Sea-Tac Approach on guard, if you can hear switch to my frequency one one niner point two or two eight four point seven."

"Windmill Six One One, Sea-Tac Approach on guard."

"Windmill Six One One, Sea-Tac Approach on guard."

"Windmill Six One One, Sea-Tac Approach on guard."

[bclements]

0840 Monday, 08 January, 2063-Capitol Hill Terrace Apartments

Slowly hearing the incessant beeping that penetrated his dream, Tony slowly opens his eyes, lying still in bed, and feels around in his head for the telltale sinuslike headache the spells “Hangover”. Finding no headache, nor any other discomfort except for dry mouth and the annoying alarm on the trideo, he swings over an sits on the edge of the bed. Realizing that the dream was about Andie almost brings on a headache of its own. “I wonder if she made it out of Atlanta in one piece” Tony thinks to himself. Shaking the thought out of his head, Tony reaches over to his psec and makes a note to call Zeyda up and see if there’s any work out there. “Get some cred together and hire a decker to find her and Ricky”, Tony thinks to himself, before turning his attention to the alarm.

Standing up, he yells "ALARM OFF!", thinking to himself “Why the hell do I even turn this on? It’s not like I’m heading off to the office”. Grimly smiling to himself at that, he walks over to the bathroom and rinses his mouth out, then settles into his living room for his morning exercises. Looking out the window at the bleak drizzleing cityscape while stretching, Tony thinks to himself “…one of the few things I miss about the CAS: you can count on it to be sunny and dry some of the time. Not so up here…”

An hour later, with exercising and a shower and shave making him feel mostly human again, Tony gets dressed in his normal attire. Checking himself out in the mirror, he remembers what Sam always said to him. “Boy, you dress like you’re a stockbroker. Some ganger is going to get an idea that you’re an easy mark”. Smiling to himself at the memory of the old ork's needling, Tony makes a note on his psec to call up Sam and have a drink this afternoon. Satisfied with his looks and grabbing his credstick, Tony walks down to the street for some real coffee and a scan of the business screamsheets.

[Slipshade]

08:35:31 Monday 08 January 2063 - 6 Bellevue Way, One Lincoln Tower - 41st Floor – Penthouse

Max hesitates for a second. He really didn’t want to blow Keira off today, but the phone ringing is the number he gave out on Shadowlands

‘It could be work and right now you need that more than anything.’

Max picks up the receiver.

“Hello, how can I help you?”

[bclements]

0955 Monday, 8 January 2063-"The Grounds" coffeeshop, Capitol Hill, Seattle
"...tall real, black, and a danish, right?" the female Elf barista repeated back to Tony. "Right", he acknowledged, and slotted his credstick. Picking up his breakfast, Tony scans the sparsely populated seating area. The morning rush over and the lunch crowd still awhile away, its easy for Tony to get a booth toward the back.

Sitting down facing the door, he takes a sip of coffee, pulls out his psec, and makes a call to Zedya's drop. "It's Tony. If you've got anything available, I'm up for it. Depending on what you have, I've got a request as well". Tony hangs up, and dials Sam. Getting his voice mail he leaves a message: "Sam, you old fragger. Unless you've got a good reason, you're having a drink or several with me later on this evening. Holler back for a time".

Having gotten something productive done, Tony settles in with the business page and his breakfast. "Renraku Posts Loss, Sites Ongoing Arcology cleanup" was the headline. Well, no drek. Not like having a mulit-hundred million nuyen PR disaster on you're hands to cause the balance sheet to be off. Scanning the rest of the sheet, Tony digs into his danish.

[Bastard]

1130 Monday January08, 2063- Marquis Cooper's Apartment

Marquis sits in his chair daydreaming a bit, cleaning a Ares Preditor that he has taken on. The owner loves the classic model, but wants it upgraded to Preditor III capabilities. Marq understands the owners feelings, as he looks out the window at his sunset orange 2005 Cadi. A combination of old and new has always been better than SOTA, at least to those in their respected industries.

Standing to get a "wake up" stretch, Marq sets the weapon onto what has become his work desk. He double checks that he has everything before heading outside. With him he carries small dufflebag containing his overalls and lunch, just in case he is at the shop longer than expected. Today Chavez needs an extra hand droping an engine into an old Brumbry. It should only take about an hour to help him out, but you know how things go. There is always one bolt, usually the last you get to, that is stripped out.

[WinterRat1]

08:36:19 Monday 08 January 2063 - 6 Bellevue Way, One Lincoln Tower - 41st Floor – Penthouse

"I would like to speak to the Professor please," the voice at the other end answers. A slight hint of an asian accent is present in the precise, measured tones of the speaker.

"This is him," Max answers in a precise, professional tone of voice. At least, he hoped it was. As a relative newbie to shadow biz, he hadn't been exposed to very much 'real' running, working more as a freelancer on a wide variety of projects rather than limiting himself to blowing up labs and jumping off skyscrapers onto helicopters.

"A party that I represent has heard of your credentials. You seem to be an expert in parazoology and the more, shall we say, 'arcane' areas of science, yes? This party is looking for a man like yourself, one with exceptional scientific credentials and a willingness to work in more...'grey' areas of science. This party wishes me to meet with you to discuss terms of employment in regards to a special research project. Are you interested in meeting with me to learn more?"

The voice pauses, waiting for an answer.

[Slipshade]

08:38:30 Monday 08 January 2063 - 6 Bellevue Way, One Lincoln Tower - 41st Floor – Penthouse

The thought of a job was a relief to Max, but what the man ment by the more grey areas of science he didn't know and that bothered him.

'Well, no harm in hearing what this gentleman has to say'

"I would be happy to set up a meeting with you. Where would you like to meet and on what date?"

Figuring it was best to treat this conversation as if it was one of his old faculty meetings, Max kept the tone business-like and polite.

[WinterRat1]

08:38:59 Monday 08 January 2063 - 6 Bellevue Way, One Lincoln Tower - 41st Floor – Penthouse

"How about this evening, at 2200 at the Paradigm Shift. It is a new club in town, in Touristville, Redmond. Tell the bouncer out front that you are there for Mr. Fan, and he will direct you from there. Is this acceptable to you?"

[grendel]

10:12:55 Monday 8 January 2063 - The Grounds coffeeshop, Capitol Hill, Seattle, UCAS

Tony flips closed the last page of the Journal just as his phone lights up with an incoming call. The caller ID spit out the number he'd just dialed for his fixer half an hour ago.

"Tony," he answered.

"Hey, it's Zeyda. I got your message earlier. Why don't you stop by Miner's Landing tonight, say seven? I'll brief you on what I've got then."

"Sure." Tony made a note in his electronic datebook. "I'll see you then."

"Be careful out there." Zeyda cut the line. Tony pocketed the phone, his eyes glancing across a headline buried in the very back of the local news section. Pioneering computer programmer shot dead.

[grendel]

11:48:30 Monday January 08, 2063 - Cooper's Automotive Shop, Seattle, UCAS

Chavez was standing by the open garage door as Marq walked up to the shop, wiping his hands on a rag. He hooked his thumb towards the back office.

"Hey, some guy was here this morning when I opened up. Says he wants to talk to you about something. I told him you'd be by later and he said he'd wait. That was two hours ago. Something's not right about this ese, watch yourself."

[Bastard]

1150 Monday January 08, 2063-Cooper's Automotive, Downtown Seattle, UCAS

Ok, what did I get myself into... Checking his twin gold Savalette Guardians, Marquis pulls the one for his left hand holding it low against his leg. Turning the corner into the office, he drags the gun behind him, hidden behind the wall. Standing in the doorway he is prepared to pull his other pistol, and swing the other from behind the door way.

[bclements]

1015 Monday, 08 January 2063 The Grounds Coffee shop, Capitol Hill, Seattle UCAS

Somehow, I don't think that suicide's involved. But who wants to kill an old computer guy now? Tony thought to himself while scanning the story. Dismissing the thought and finishing with the paper, Tony gets up and smooths his clothes, and makes his way into the drizzle back to his apartment to get his car. Now with a plan for the day, and some time to kill before this evening, he decides to pick up the car and some gear, head over to Sung's dojo for a bit, then off to his Bellvue safehouse to drop off some clothes. Maybe that old man needs some help cleaning up the place. And with a job on the way, the retreat may get some use out of it soon.

[grendel]

11:51:18 Monday January 08, 2063 - Cooper's Automotive, Downtown Seattle, UCAS

Standing in Marquis' office is a young man dressed in an expensive tres chic suit. He carries an attache case in his right hand and makes a show of checking a very expensive chronograph on his left wrist. Apart from his shaved head, the only notable thing about him are the pair of obvious cybereyes revealed when he removes his sunglasses. They are opaque and pale white, giving the impression that he has no eyes at all.

"Mr. Cooper." It's a statement rather than a question, more of an opening to the conversation than anything else. Marquis gets the impression that this man doesn't ask questions to verify information he already knows. It doesn't reassure him, though.

"Who's asking?"

"I have a business proposition for you. I understand you have a business that deals with weapon modifications and customizations. I have a weapon that needs to be modified."

[Slipshade]

08:39:28 Monday 08 January 2063 - 6 Bellevue Way, One Lincoln Tower - 41st Floor – Penthouse

“That is acceptable. 2200 at the Paradigm Shift.” After hearing Max’s response the voice at the other end of the line thanks him and hangs up. Before he forgets, Max jots down the time and location for the meet and downloads directions to the Paradigm Shift from the matrix to his P-Sec.

‘Good this still gives me time to help out at the Respite before my meeting. I’ll have to remember to ask Keira if she has heard of this place.’

It has been a while since Max had been to a nightclub. The last time was just before his transformation. While he had been out to fundraisers and such since his surge, he had stayed away from clubs and bars. Fundraisers were controlled events, he had a purpose their and more importantly he knew most of the people involved. They are at least somewhat used to the changes that had occurred to Max, maybe even more so than he was.

‘It’s about time I give it a go.’

[bclements]

11:00:40 Monday 8 January 2063 – Capitol Hill Terrace , Capitol Hill, Seattle, UCAS
Tony checked his bag. clean clothes, and some food. Never have a enough food, and running to the Stuffer may not be the best idea if I’m having to use the place. Grabbing his Browning and making sure that the clip was loaded with gels, Tony puts it in his holster and walks down to the car to check on Sung-Kwan

14:45:11 Monday 8 January 2063- Kwan’s Dojo Capitol Hill, Seattle, UCAS
Tony walks out of the door toward his car, shaking his head at the old man. After helping him clean up the dojo, Sung gave him another of his philosophy lessons in lieu of a sparring match. Having made the mistake of taking off his holster while sweeping the floor, Sung launches in. “Why are you carrying that gun around? You’ve got to remember kid, you are the weapon. That thing is just a tool. You’d laugh your hoop off at a worker that carried a hammer everywhere.” “The reason I’m carrying it, grandpa, is that I’m heading to a part of town where they might shoot you if you look at them funny, even more so if you laugh at them. You said I was the weapon, but what about the armor? And where’s Sam by the way?” “Don’t know kid. He’s not supposed to come in ‘till the 3:00 class” “Tell him to call me back, I’ll need a drink later on” Tony only got to leave after promising to come by tomorrow afternoon for a workout, without the gun.

15:26:31 Monday 8 January 2063- 4054 East Gate Dr, Bellevue, Seattle UCAS
Pulling up a couple of blocks from the flat-house after circling it once, Tony checks to see if anything is amiss on the block. Nothing out there. Tony thinks to himself. Getting his bag from the trunk and walking quickly toward the building, Tony keeps an eye out for anything out there. Quit being paranoid. Not like you’re in the Barrens for God’s sake Tony thinks to himself while unlocking the front door. Feeling his psec ring, he drops the bag by the secondhand couch and pulls it out. Seeing that it’s Sam, he answers “Bout time you called me back pops. How’s the class going?” “Not bad kid. There’s one tough Troll here, but he don’t have anything I can’t handle. What time do you want to start?” “Meet me at 8 at the Spirit. Don’t let the kids beat you up too bad, kay?” “Frag off. You’re buyin, kiddo” Sam said as a way of a signoff. Getting back to his task, Tony puts away the food and clothing, and checks to make sure that the hot water still runs. Satisfied, he heads back to his car. time enough to drop off this piece, watch Awakened World for a bit, take a shower, then to Miner’s Tony thinks to himself while driving through a McHugh’s for lunch.

18:45:31 Monday 8 January 2063 – Miner’s Landing, Downtown Seattle, UCAS
One of these days, I’m going to get a limo and a driver. And that fragger is going to drop me off at the damn doorfront with an umbrella instead of me parking two blocks away in a garage and walking in this goddamn never-ending drizzle. Tony thought to himself on the walk towards the club. At least this place has good bourbon.

[grendel]

18:47:04 Monday 8 January 2063 – Miner’s Landing, Downtown Seattle, UCAS

Downstairs, Miner's Landing was packed with couples and families eating dinner, voices raised above the clink of silverware and glasses. Outside the boardwalk was empty, the driving snow and cutting wind having pushed even the most ardent of shoppers back indoors.

Upstairs, the conversation was hushed, voices low and conspiratorial. Above them rose Aria's throaty contralto, the elven singer whispering dulcet secrets into the old fashioned microphone. The music calmed the ragged edges of Zeyda's nerves after eight hours of negotiations, allowing him to keep the same even tone. His eyes flickered across the club, registering Tony as he came up the stairs. A simple hand gesture passed him off to the bar for the next couple of minutes, however long it took to finish the current business.

Tony ordered, sipping from his drink when it arrived and letting the smoky ambiance of the club curl about him. As always, the bourbon chased away the January chill.

Halfway through the drink, Zeyda motioned him over.

"Glad you could make it, omae, some weather out there, neh? Listen, there's movement out on the streets, more than usual and stranger than usual so watch your back, ok? I've got a Johnson who wants to meet with you about a bodyguard job. Ten p.m. tonight, the Exxon-Mobil station West Van Medter and 30th Street. It's on the edge of the Barrens, so walk soft."

[Bastard]

1152 Monday January 08, 2063-Cooper's Automotive, Downtown Seattle, UCAS

It isn't normal for people to stop by unannounced, usually one of Marquis's fixers gives him a heads up. Maybe this is just a sign that his business is going to take off.

Still standing in the doorway, Marquis asks, "What do you have in mind?"

[bclements]

18:55:22 Monday 8 January 2063 – Miner’s Landing, Downtown Seattle, UCAS

In the time that Tony had known Zeyda, he'd never even seen him rattled. "You're not paranoid if they're really after you. Anything in particular I need to worry about? And on the job, pay's high, medium, or low?"

[grendel]

11:52:50 Monday January 08, 2063 - Cooper's Automotive, Downtown Seattle, UCAS

"Destruction, actually. I need this rendered unusuable and untraceable." The pale-eyed man reaches into his attache case and withdraws a plastic flimsy. It's a close-up color photograph of an upper reciever and barrel of a rifle. Marquis glances at it, and has a difficult time concealing his surprise. The parts pictured belong to a Gepard M4(B) 12.7mm anti-material rifle.

[grendel]

18:55:52 Monday 8 January 2063 – Miner’s Landing, Downtown Seattle, UCAS

"No, I don't have any specific threats to warn you on. Just that there's been an unusual amount of activity lately. Pay on this job was good, between two and three thousand for a couple days work."

Zeyda consults his pocket secretary for the details.

[bclements]

18:56:03 Monday 8 January 2063 – Miner’s Landing, Downtown Seattle, UCAS

"Mark me down for it" Tony says. Making a note in his psec, he repeats "10:00 P.M at the Exxon-Mobil station West Van Medter and 30th Street." To Zeyda "After this job's over, I'll give you a call. I'm going to need a decent decker, nobody real fancy though, for some personal work. I'll give you more details in a couple of days."

Downing the rest of his drink, Tony gets ready to leave. "If there's nothing else, I'll get out of your hair. Take care hombre. Call me if you need me."

[grendel]

18:56:25 Monday 8 January 2063 – Miner’s Landing, Downtown Seattle, UCAS

"All right, I'll have a name for you when you check back in. Keep me posted, omae." Zeyda nods as Tony stands and makes his way downstairs and into the frigid night.

[bclements]

18:59:41 Monday 8 January 2063 – Outside Miner’s Landing, Downtown Seattle, UCAS

"...no Sam, probably won't be able to meet you till after 11 now, if then. Somethin's come up. Have Rebecca put what you get on my tab till I get there, and only get the cheap stuff" Tony shouts into his phone to overcome the high wind coming off the Sound and the higher noise coming from Sam's end of the phone.

"What you think I've been doin? You stand me up, and I'll buy the house a round of the best on your fraggin tab. Get your hoop back here in one piece." Sam shouts back over the no-name Elven neo-soul band in the background.

Hanging up and walking back to his car, Tony starts to think about the meet. I'm no expert bodyguard, but I would have picked a place that has, I dunno, an enclosed area to meet in. Especially that close to the Barrens. I'll need a piece and a change of clothes. Turning up his coat coller to the wind and keeping an eye out for obvious tails, Tony walks quickly back to the garage.

21:22:25 Monday 8 January 2063 – Capitol Hill Terrace, Capitol Hill, Seattle , UCAS

A shower, a Nuke-n-Eat meal and a call to a cab company later, Tony waits outside in the wind and light snow for his ride. A flask of whiskey would be good right now. One of those Dunkelzahn ones with him breathing fire on the front. At this point, I wouldn't even mind that. Of course, if you weren't so paranoid, you'd be in a warm car right now Tony thinks idlely to himself. Even in the normally warm securetech outfit he had on, the wind was biting; Tony could even feel the Browning in its holster getting cold. Grabbing his knife would probably hurt him just as much as the fragger he was going to use it on, if it came to that.

Just as he was pulling out his psec for an angry call to the cab company, he saw his ride round the corner. Getting in, he told the Dwarf cabbie: "One block east of West Van Medter and 30th Street. An extra 30 nuyen if you wait for me." "It's your dime, chummer" the cabbie answers back as they drive off into the night.

[grendel]

21:50:46 Monday 8 January 2063 - One block east of West Van Medter and 30th Street, Seattle, UCAS

The streets are white, even here on the edge of the Barrens where working streetlights are few and far between. The wind, driven hard from the west, cuts right through Tony's thick longcoat and armor. Visibility is almost as low as the temperature, thick veils of blowing snow drifting across the street. Pulling the coat close about him, Tony glanced up and down the street, being careful to include the building faces as well as rooftops in his scan. Or, at least, he tried to, in this weather it was difficult to tell what was a trick of the blowing snow and what was the shadow of a sniper hunched against the roof coaming. If it comes to that, at least it'll be as bad for them as it is for me. The thought, while true, brings little comfort. Approaching the address for the meet, Tony is surprised to see another figure standing in the snowstorm, gray longcoat buttoned up and hat pulled down low over his eyes. The figure lights a cigarette as Tony watches, the flame from the lighter momentarily illuminating a harsh, weathered face.

[Bastard]

1153 Monday January 08, 2063-Cooper's Automotive, Downtown Seattle, UCAS

Marquis enters the room, holstering his golden Savalette Guardian, but not before letting the client get a good view of its craftsmanship. The polished pistol finds its resting spot on the side of Marq's thigh, hidden underneath the unzipped coveralls. Taking a close look at the photograph, he steps toward the bald man.

"So you want the whole weapon destroyed, never to be seen again, or do you want the rifle back, with new barrel, new bolt and firing mechanism, different exterior, and of course, no serial number? Not that it has one now," Cooper smiles.

[grendel]

11:54:03 Monday January 08, 2063 - Cooper's Automotive, Downtown Seattle, UCAS

"I'm sorry, perhaps I was unclear. I require the destruction of only this portion of the weapon." The pale-eyed man taps the picture to emphasize his point. If he noticed the Savalette in Marquis' hand before it was holstered, he gives no indication.

[Bastard]

1155 Monday January 08, 2063-Cooper's Automotive, Downtown Seattle, UCAS

"No problem, I would like to do more with it, but if all you want me to do is destroy that portion, I can do that. You dont neen any new parts then? When can you get it to me?"

[grendel]

11:55:45 Monday January 08, 2063 - Cooper's Automotive, Downtown Seattle, UCAS

The pale-eyed man cocks his head to the side as if considering the implications of Marquis' statement. After a moment, he nods.

"Before we make delivery arrangements, I would like to talk fee. I am willing to pay 100 :nuyen: per hour for the destruction, and a flat 1000 :nuyen: for disposal of the remaining pieces. Is this acceptable?"

[Bastard]

1156 Monday January 08, 2063-Cooper's Automotive, Downtown Seattle, UCAS

"Some of those other parts I will have to modify or destroy, before they are 'disposed'- that is if you want them untraceable. Don't worry about the time, I spend a lot of extra time on my work. A flat fee of 3,000 :nuyen: will cover everything."

[Slipshade]

09:00:05 Monday 08 January 2063 - 6 Bellevue Way, One Lincoln Tower - 41st Floor – Penthouse

Knowing he would be getting his hands dirty, Max throws on a pair of boots beat up denim jeans and a long-sleeve, black Futura shirt and black soft leather gloves. Figuring on heading to the meet after his day at the Respite is done, Max packs a nice beige pair of Zoe’ slacks with a matching sports coat and black sweater in a travel bag alone with a pair of black dress shoes. Max slings the bag over his shoulder and grabs his ID off of the mahogany end table before entering the foyer and punching his passcode into the elevator keypad. A few seconds later the elevator doors open. Max enters his private elevator and places his hand on the palm pad.

“Good morning Mr. Steiner,” a soft feminine voice emanates from the elevator speakers. Max had never physically met the security rigger, but her voice was wonderful. “Good morning Roxy. How is everything?”

“Boring as usual Sir, just the way we like it,” Roxy replies in a playful tone.

Max appreciated their little conversations, since he absolutely hated elevator rides. It wasn’t that he was claustrophobic, it was just being incased in cold, dead metal. The only astral presence, his own. It just feels uncomfortable.

The ride doesn’t take long and the elevator doors whoosh open revealing the underground parking garage.

“Have a good day, Mr. Steiner.”

“You as well, Roxy.”

[grendel]

11:57:15 Monday January 08, 2063 - Cooper's Automotive, Downtown Seattle, UCAS

Again, the pale-eyed man tilts his head to the side, considering Marquis' counter-offer.

"That is acceptable. I can deliver the parts to any location you specify. How soon can you begin work?"

[bclements]

21:52:09 Monday 8 January 2063 - Exxon-Mobil station, Corner of West Van Medter and 30th Street, Seattle, UCAS

Tony approaches the man, continuning to scan discretely at obvious sniper positions. Picking them out in the wind-whipped snow and reflected light was almost an exercise in futility, though. Even keeping his eyes on a location for enough time to determine anything was difficult in these conditions. If that's the Johnson, then he's either stupid or daring someone to kill him. I don't know which is worse. This is a perfect place for a hit Tony thought to himself. Stopping a few feet from the man, Tony clinches his teeth and gets ready for business. "Mr. Johnson, I presume?" Tony asks while getting a face-full of secondhand smoke.

[grendel]

21:53:20 Monday 8 January 2063 - Exxon-Mobil station, Corner of West Van Medter and 30th Street, Seattle, UCAS

The man takes another drag on his cigarette before exhaling to the side. He knocks the ash from the end with a careless gesture as his eyes rake over Tony. Finally, after another long drag, he flicks the cigarette away into the shadows.

"Radian."

He motions towards the boarded up gas station.

"Step into my office."

Someone inside opens the door as the two men approach, but the interior remains dark until they are both through, and the worn plastic panel is closed again. Only then does someone unshutter a portable lantern. The light provided is dim and red, barely enough to see by, but it won't interfere with anyone's night adapted vision nor is it likely to be seen from outside. Four other figures crouch within the abandoned gas station. All of them wear hooded insulated ponchos, white with digital gray camouflage. Beneath the winter wear, Tony catches a glimpse of black and gray patterned urban camouflage jumpsuits, tac vests, and suppressed submachineguns. Radian takes his hat off, brushing snow from the shoulders of his longcoat. Tony blinks in some surprise at the face revealed. The flesh of his face is covered in scars and patches of too-smooth skin indicative of vat-grown replacement. The scars begin on the left side of his chin and travel outward in straight lines that disappear beneath his hairline. Extensive reconstructive surgery has obviously already been completed, but it looks as if the cosmetic reconstruction was stopped halfway through. The result is nothing short of horrific. Tony wonders briefly at the state of mind of the individual who would chose to wear a mask such as that. Radian smiles, a gesture which twists his face into a gruesome facsimile of the expression.

"Don't look so surprised, you're off the map now, omae, here there be monsters. But the job isn't difficult. A day and a night. I've got a couple of packages which need to be delivered to a dock in Everett. The truck is parked in the garage. You drive it out of here, sit on it for twenty four hours, drive it to Warehouse 414B at the Everett docks tomorrow night at midnight, and I pay you 3000 :nuyen:. We have a deal?"

[bclements]

21:55:57 Monday 8 January 2063 - Exxon-Mobil station, Corner of West Van Medter and 30th Street, Seattle, UCAS

Wierd people on the streets. Well, they're not on the streets anymore. They're right in front of me and I'm way outgunned. And Scarface here wants something I'm not here to do. That flask sounds really good right now, Tony thought to himself.

"I think there's been a misunderstanding. I'm supposed to be here for bodyguard duty, not as a postman. I can be a postman, but I'll want more than 3000 nuyen for that. Also, if you want me to haul stuff, I'll need some more info on the cargo. "Tony said to Radianwith a lot more confidance than he felt. 5 guys? Submachine Guns? No fraggin way I'm doing anything other than talking my way out of this. At least I didn't drive. Keeping his hands at his side and staring at Radian with a gleam of annoyance in his eyes and voice that didn't match the feeling in his stomach, Tony waited for a response, spoken or not.

[grendel]

21:56:11 Monday 8 January 2063 - Exxon-Mobil station, Corner of West Van Medter and 30th Street, Seattle, UCAS

Radian flicked his left hand, as if to brush aside Tony's concerns.

"Bodyguard, escort, delivery boy, same thing. I pay, you play. 3K is the going rate for a cake job like this. Why should I pay you more when I've done all the work for you? The cargo's inert, pre-packaged, sealed, and signed for. Just don't go nosing around in the rear compartment and everything will be fine."

[bclements]

21:57:51 Monday 8 January 2063 - Exxon-Mobil station, Corner of West Van Medter and 30th Street, Seattle, UCAS

"Fine, show me the truck, and I hope to God you don't need a rig to run this thing. Or else you really are going to need someone else. Anything I need to know if the Star pulls me over or if summer breaks out tomorrow?" Tony said with a mirthless smile. Where the hell am I going to hide a truck?

[grendel]

21:58:04 Monday 8 January 2063 - Exxon-Mobil station, Corner of West Van Medter and 30th Street, Seattle, UCAS

Radian laughs, a rasping, brutal sound.

"Don't sweat it, I told you I had everything covered. It's a standard Ford Workhorse with an enclosed cargo bed. The cargo is marked as foodstuffs, if anyone asks, just tell 'em you're on your way to a BBQ."

He moves to the connected garage, opening the door to reveal a beige Ford Workhorse parked next to an idling Ares Roadmaster.

"Keys are in it."

[bclements]

22:00:10 Monday 8 January 2063 - Exxon-Mobil station, Corner of West Van Medter and 30th Street, Seattle, UCAS

"Half now, half on delivery, and don't give me any lines about delivery-boy vs bodyguard. That part isn't negoiatiable. And at least 20% extra for expenses, if needed and proved upon delivery." Tony said. Remembering a line from an old movie about something like this, he added "Anything I need to know about the truck? Break lights out, GridGuide corrupted, Star knows this truck, stole it from the Yaks? I get this bad boy out on the road, and anything happens, I need to know that. I may know of people that can get rid of that stuff, but they don't get by on a smile, kay?"

[grendel]

22:00:49 Monday 8 January 2063 - Exxon-Mobil station, Corner of West Van Medter and 30th Street, Seattle, UCAS

"Truck is factory standard, clean record, legitimate VIN, plates, and registration...." Radian is about to say something else when one of the white ponchoed men leans through the door.

"Boss, Wheels says we have hostiles moving up, crossing three hundred meters." He holds out a submachinegun, butt first. Radian snatches the weapon, not bothering to cycle the bolt to check the load since his smartgun link performs that function automatically. He turns back to Tony, tossing him a credstick and moving to the garage door.

"Fifteen hundred plus expenses. Get that truck out of here. NOW." He throws the garage door open, as two of the men in ponchoes duck out the back.

[Bastard]

1158 Monday January 08, 2063 - Cooper's Automotive, Downtown Seattle, UCAS

"I can start as soon as you can bring them to me. I will be here for two or three hours. Or you can bring it by tomorrow morning around eight."

[grendel]

11:58:35 Monday January 08, 2063 - Cooper's Automotive, Downtown Seattle, UCAS

The pale-eyed man nods, reaching in to his attache case for a certified credstick.

"My associates will be by in an hour with the parts. Here is the agreed upon fee."

He nods his head slightly, before putting his sunglasses back on.

"It's been a pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Cooper."

[grendel]

10:03:40 Monday 08 January 2063 - Apartment 875, Parkewood Village Apartments, Tacoma

With a tired sigh, Todd leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms over his head. His eyes were bloodshot and the lids felt as if they were made of sandpaper. The sunlight streaming into the apartment through the cracks in the blinds didn’t help, either. A glance at the master chronograph on his display confirmed that thirty two hours had passed since he began the extensive information search. At last he had the answers he was looking for, although he had to admit that they offered only additional questions.

The troll’s name was Crash, and although it sounded like a street handle, it appeared on all of his records starting back with his first juvenile conviction for battery. That was sixteen years ago, when Crash was only eight. His early years were spent drifting from foster home to foster home, involved in a gang called Burndown. Most of his juvenile convictions stem from that, minor stuff that saw him doing two weeks to three months in various detention centers. As his street education progressed, though, so did his criminal exploits. Several drug charges appear on his record, as well as armed robbery and auto theft. The last entry in his Lone Star record, though, was what sent him away for three and a half years: assault with a deadly weapon, kidnapping, and armed robbery. He was paroled early for good behavior, and seems to have had something of a revelation while in prison.

When Crash got out of jail eighteen months ago, he sought out and joined a small church group in northern downtown called The Church of the Lord’s Way. Crash apparently worked as some kind of missionary or relief worker for the church, although not in the traditional sense. Crash and a team of five other individuals were responsible for several “Robin Hood” type shadowruns which seemed to benefit various people around the metroplex. They shut down a brothel that the Mafia was operating which employed underage girls. They destroyed a Terra First! cell which was operating in Puyallup. A vicious street gang charging protection for local merchants was burned out of its safehouse. The last mention of the team is just over a year ago, something about an operation against Novatech where the team was betrayed by someone else inside the Church. In the resulting firefight, half the team was killed along with the informant, and the church building burned to the ground. Since then, Crash has been off the grid, probably lying low and waiting for any residual heat left to blow over.

Lone Star’s records are pitifully incomplete, listing no next of kin, or home address, or any details of schooling. The name Crash is only associated with the criminal SIN assigned by Lone Star, so Todd is unable to utilize population statistics or demographics to assist in the search for any of Crash’s family. His medical record really wasn’t much of a help either. Somewhere along the way he’d picked up a datajack, some headware memory, a math SPU, although only a rating 1, and a second-hand cyber-forearm with a cyberdeck already built in. Todd thought the last part was a sign of clinical insanity.

In the end, the questions he had about the troll’s identity had been answered, but that didn’t solve the greater mystery of what he’d been doing at the apartment building, nor why he was so brutally gunned down.

Cross checking with information about the Church of the Lord's Way provided no additional information, either. Started two years ago by an ex-shadow runner named Gabriel, it operated on a shoe-string budget and offered the usual comforts of food and shelter to those less fortunate on the streets. The actual faith practiced at the Church appears to be a modified Unitarian approach, more common these days in the smaller denominations. It was registered as a legitimate faith with the UCAS government. No mention is made of any of Crash's fellow teammates, or what happened to them after that fateful night.

[Bastard]

1159 Monday January 08, 2063 - Cooper's Automotive, Downtown Seattle, UCAS

"Thank you, the same to you sir."

Marquis watches the man leave, then returns to the garage to assist Chavez. What a strange guy, but I guess we all are.

"Well lets get to work then."

[bclements]

22:01:35 Monday 8 January 2063 - Exxon-Mobil station, Corner of West Van Medter and 30th Street, Seattle, UCAS

Pocketing the credstick with his left hand and drawing his Browning with his right in one smooth motion, Tony moves toward the drivers side door of the truck. "Which way are they coming from?" he asks Radian as he chambers a round.

[grendel]

22:01:41 Monday 8 January 2063 - Exxon-Mobil station, Corner of West Van Medter and 30th Street, Seattle, UCAS

Gunfire snaps in the night, muzzle flashes reflecting brightly off the blowing snow. The submachineguns are caseless and suppressed, their three round bursts nothing more than a sharp rattle. Louder reports sound from the rear of the building, and a bullet whines peevishly overhead.

"Threat axis 110! We'll cover you. Move!" Radian has his weapon butted against his shoulder, turning to shout at Tony before facing the oncoming hostile force. The engine growl from the Ares Roadmaster parked next to the Workhorse deepens, and somewhere outside the heavy hammer of an automatic weapon opens up.

[Slipshade]

09:05:26 Monday 08 January 2063 – I450, Highway 520 Interchange

Minutes later Max was speeding along the I450. Luckily traffic heading into the barrens is light and by the time he turns his midnight blue Westwind onto Highway 520 towards Touristville he has a majority of the road to himself. Max pulls off the 520 at the NE. 24th Street Exit and heads east.

09:10:18 Monday 08 January 2063 – Redmond - Touristville - The Respite Soup Kitchen on the corner of NE 24th Street and 156th Ave NE

Located one block from the old Eastside Hospital and two blocks from the old Microdeck Campus, The Respite soup kitchen does a brisk business. There is no shortage of sinless and hungry, even in the Touristville district of Redmond.

Max parks his Westwind in a side alley next to The Respite and exits the vehicle, his foot splashing in a large puddle left over from last evenings storm. The rainbow hue of oily asphalt mixed with a toxic green swirl of astral warping was almost nauseating to look at. It wasn’t always easy for him here. The astral haze of despair and desperation usually gave him a splitting headache, but his headache was a minor inconvienience compared to the problems that the SINless that visited the Respite on a daily bases faced everyday.

Pushing away the pain in his head, Max reaches out to the presence that he knows is lurking nearby.

“I know your there Gloom. I could use your help if you don’t mind.”

The shadowy figure of an old homeless man, seems to materialize from behind a dumpster farther down the alley. As he approaches it is readily apparent that there is something very different about this old timer. His clothes were not out of the ordinary for a homeless man they consist of a mish-mash of rags and thrown away clothing. A long patchwork coat covers his slouching shoulders. I was his face that is odd. His skin looks like cracked asphalt and his eyes are the color of the oily puddle Max had just stepped in. His long white hair, beard and mustache are wisps of smoke, like the steam that issued forth from a sewer manhole on a cold morning.

“That you Professor?” The spirits voice, much deeper than the voice of a man the age it appeared, rumbles dully, like the sound of a big rig passing under your window at night.

“It’s me Gloom. How have you been lately?” Max replied.

“Couldn’t be any worse,” Gloom replied. Max could almost swear he saw the hint of a smile tug at the ever-present frown on Gloom's lips.

[bclements]

22:02:01 Monday 8 January 2063 - Exxon-Mobil station, Corner of West Van Medter and 30th Street, Seattle, UCAS

Tony gets in the truck, ducking at the high whining sound of another heavy caliber round passing close overhead. Starting the truck up and hitting the Auto-Down on the driver's side window, Tony slinkes low in the seat. Keeping the lights off, he eases the truck out onto Van Medter, turning right as soon as he gets to the street. Staying low in the seat, driving with one hand and holding the Browning ready in his left, Tony thinks to himself Snow on the road. Don't accelerate too fast or break too quickly, and I may just make it out of this. Of course, one stray round to the tire would just ruin my day, noticing the thudding/tearing sound of automatic weapons increasing in frequency.

[WinterRat1]

09:10:28 Monday 08 January 2063 – Redmond - Touristville - The Respite Soup Kitchen on the corner of NE 24th Street and 156th Ave NE

"Actually," Gloom's frown deepens. "Things could get a lot worse, very quickly Professor. I suggest you do the right thing immediately."

"What's that Gloom?" Max asks, puzzled.

'Disappearing' back into the alley, Gloom whispers as he fades away, "Get the hell under cover."

In the wake of the spirit's hasty exit, Max senses only impending violence in the air...but to whom? And where?

[grendel]

1305 Monday January 08, 2063 - Cooper's Automotive, Downtown Seattle, UCAS


After an hour's work, Marquis hears a horn sound from out front. Standing outside is a commercial courier with a meter and a half long circular plastic shipping tube.

"Hey, delivery for the auto shop. Need your John Hancock right here." He offers the portable datapad.

[grendel]

22:07:44 Monday 8 January 2063 - Exxon-Mobil station, Corner of West Van Medter and 30th Street, Seattle, UCAS

As the battle in the streets of the Barrens fades behind him, Tony relaxes minutely. Embraced by the streetlights and traffic of Seattle proper, he feels marginally safer. But the questions remain, who is Radian working for? Why would they fight to defend it? It must be valuable to someone, because they sent someone willing to kill to get it back.

[Bastard]

1307 Monday January 08, 2063 - Cooper's Automotive, Downtown Seattle, UCAS

Marquis grabs a rag and wipes away some of the grease before jogging out to the truck. He grabs the pad, scribbles some illegible lines, circles and dots, then thanks the man for the package.

Returning to the shop he tears open one end to take a look inside.

[grendel]

13:07:50 Monday January 08, 2063 - Cooper's Automotive, Downtown Seattle, UCAS

The barrel revealed is massive, a full 115 cm of hammer forged chrome-moly steel. The upper receiver appears to be machined from a single billet of high strength aluminum, reinforced with titanium inserts along the breech. The bolt carrier group has been removed from the weapon. The end of the barrel features a horizontal tubular flash suppressor and muzzle brake. The serial numbers on all of the weapon parts have been abraded off, then re-etched to eliminate the possibility of acid reconstruction.

[bclements]

22:08:15 Monday 8 January 2063 - Exxon-Mobil station, Corner of West Van Medter and 30th Street, Seattle, UCAS

Hitting the auto up on the window and putting the gun away, Tony takes a second to come up with a plan. I need a place to stash this truck and take a look at the “food” in the back. I need bigger guns. And I need to find out who Scarface and his friends were back there, and why people are trying to kill him, and now me. And I need a fraggin drink!.

Pulling out his psec, he calls Zeyda’s drop. “Its Tony. We need to talk omae, like right now”. Hanging up and calling Sam. “It’s Tony. Get me a double-shot of the good stuff and a coffee. And ask Rebecca if she knows of anyone she can trust with a garage. I'll be there in about 20 to 30 minutes. ”

Hanging up, Tony sits more upright in the truck,cranks up the heater, and heads for his apartment for some more guns, the wind buffetting the truck as it continues on the snowy road.

[grendel]

22:22:31 Monday 8 January 2063 - Capitol Hill Terrace Apartments, Seattle, UCAS

As Tony pulls up in the alleyway behind his apartment, his P-sec vibrates with an incoming call. Zeyda doesn't pass a visual component on his transmissions, but the caller ID checks good.

"Hey, what's up?"

[bclements]

22:22:45 Monday 8 January 2063 - Capitol Hill Terrace Apartments, Seattle, UCAS


"What's up is that I'm driving a truck full of God knows what coming from a minor military action in the Barrens that didn't have a damn thing to do with bodyguarding anybody." Tony said, letting a little of his frustration through. Taking a deep breath to calm himself, he continued, "What I need to know is what exactly the job presented to you was, who it was presented by, and what you know about them. 'Cause they probably lied or at least misrepresented themselves to you, and I don't think you'd like that at all."

OOC:Edited to change location to match what's actually occuring

[grendel]

07:05:40 Monday 08 January 2063 - Unit 303, Winlock Apartment Complex, Tacoma, Seattle, UCAS

The faint electronic noises and rhythmic clicking penetrated to the depths of James' dreamless sleep, pulling him relentlessly to wakefulness. Grumbling, he pulled the covers over his head. It was cold in his apartment, colder than it had been last night, and the light peeking through the window was dim and gray. It was strangely quiet, the usual snarl of traffic through the streets outside absent. All he could hear was the window shuddering beneath the fist of wind and snow, and the odd electronic beeps. Did I leave the trid on last night? With a sigh, James reached out from beneath the blanket, fumbling for his sweatshirt and hat. His glasses were on the bedside table, he scooped them up as he made his way towards the front room. His breath plumed in the chill air, and he rubbed his hands together. His plans for a warm breakfast came to a screeching halt, though, as he finally cleared his eyes of sleep. Sitting on the floor in front of his trid screen, playing his hacked copy of Midnight: Runner was Carmen. She paused the game, turning to look over her shoulder as he stumbled into the room. She gave him a coquettish smile.

"Morning, Eyes. You're out of OJ. Don't make any plans for tonight, you're taking me to see Speed Coma at Bluefish."

[grendel]

22:23:17 Monday 8 January 2063 - Capitol Hill Terrace Apartments, Seattle, UCAS

"I told you to walk soft. If you didn't trust it, why didn't you bail? Anyway, stand by, let me check my notes. Meeting was virtual, took place yesterday, Johnson was someone I'd heard was ok to work for. Nothing special about him, paid well, reasonably trustworthy. Let's see, he said he needed one, maybe two runners to guard a couple of bodies for no more than forty eight hours. Probably more like twenty four, but just to be on the safe side to have them available for the full two days. 3K pay, all in. Are you rolling hot? Do you need backup?" Zeyda's voice drops to avoid the casual listener, but Tony can tell he's deadly serious.

[Bastard]

1430 Monday January 08, 2063 - Cooper's Automotive, Downtown Seattle, UCAS

After finishing up some work with Chavez, Marq gets to work on the barrel. First thing, he using the machine saw to cut the nearly four foot long barrel into six eight inch pieces. A large bore hand drill is used on the smaller sections to tear up the rifling inside the barrel, just in case someone is good at jigsaw puzzles and has a lot of free time. After all the six sections have been stripped of their innards, Marquis finishes cutting them down to a series of one inch to two inch rings.

The finished product does not resemble a high powered gun barrel what so ever, but just in case, the mechanic rubs them down with some grease, and drops in some old motor oil to soak, and age.

Returning to the front of the garage, where Chavez has that old Brumby purring like a kitten. "Beautiful!" Chavez looks up from looking down on the engine. "Now it just needs some body work."

"Its a strong engine, everything seems right, but the timing sounds a bit off. I should have it ready to roll shortly though. You want to grab a beer after that?"

"Sounds good. How about that place up the street, where their non-soy selection is more than a half a page."

[bclements]

22:23:38 Monday 8 January 2063 - Capitol Hill Terrace Apartments, Seattle, UCAS

Virtual meet. The wonders of modern technology. Tony thought to himself.

To Zeyda“I didn’t bail because of the 4 guys with submachine guns that were with with the Johnson.” Tony said. “I’m actually lucky that I got there early. The bad guys showed up when I was supposed to." and I hope that fraggin cabbie didn't bother to hang around "They may have been lucky, but I’m paranoid enough to think that coincidences don’t happen. No, not rolling hot that I know of. Don’t need any backup now that I know what I’m up against, but I will need a garage to stash this truck. I’ve got a friend looking, but I don’t know if they’ll come up with anything useful.”

[grendel]

22:23:38 Monday 8 January 2063 - Capitol Hill Terrace Apartments, Seattle, UCAS

"Really? They threatened you? That's unprofessional. Anyway, I've got a place where you can park something that won't raise any eyebrows. Drive to SeaTac and park in Satellite Lot 4. It's part of the long term parking cluster. Tell the attendent that you're looking for spot 17 alpha. He'll know what you're talking about."

[Slipshade]

09:10:58 Monday 08 January 2063 – Redmond - Touristville - The Respite Soup Kitchen on the corner of NE 24th Street and 156th Ave NE

Gloom’s hasty exit catches Max off guard and with dread, a thought springs to mind…

‘Idiot! Who goes to the barrens and forgets to wear their body armor? I guess that would be me.’

Max thumbs the security button on his keychain, activating the tire guards, auto-deflate and electro-shock defenses on his Westwind and quickly exits the alley.

‘I need to make sure Keira and her people are safe and get out of the open until whatever this is blows over,’ but the closer Max gets to the front door of The Respite the worse his feeling of impending doom.

[WinterRat1]

09:12:18 Monday 08 January 2063 – Redmond - Touristville - The Respite Soup Kitchen on the corner of NE 24th Street and 156th Ave NE

Despite his feelings of danger, Max neither hears, sees, nor senses anything out of the ordinary as he hurries to the soup kitchen. Maybe Gloom is just being his usual paranoid, gloomy self. After all, he is a spirit of these streets, and they aren't exactly what I'd call condusive to garnering trust in mankind. Maybe everything is just fine. Yeah, that's it. Everything seems normal around here. Everything is just peachy...

Max's attempts at self-reassurance come to a halt as he arrives at The Respite a few minutes later. Well, do I just walk in like everything is normal, or should I check around first? he thinks as a sudden rush of paranoia comes flooding back as he stands before the cold, grey door of the Soup Kitchen. Meanwhile, the snow picks up, swirling around him and obscuring his vision. A howl of wind cuts through the street, chilling him to the bone. Yeah, if something bad did go down, this weather is just fragging perfect for that kind of thing...

[Slipshade]

09:12:50 Monday 08 January 2063 – Redmond - Touristville - The Respite Soup Kitchen on the corner of NE 24th Street and 156th Ave NE

Max reaches out towards the door, but stops just short of touching the handle.

‘Maybe I should check this out first.’

Focusing hard against the haze of magic covering the area Max searches for any loose strands of mana to weave for his spell.

[bclements]

22:23:38 Monday 8 January 2063 - Capitol Hill Terrace Apartments, Seattle, UCAS

"More of an implied threat than a spoken one. Thanks for parking spot. Watch your back, omae, cause if they knew about the meet, then they might know who you are. You see a guy with a lot of scars on his face, run in the opposite direction" Tony says, ending the call and getting out of the truck. Time to bring out the heavy artillery and a medkit. The bad guys didn't mind going full auto.

[The_Eyes]

07:10:20 Monday 08 January 2063 - Unit 303, Winlock Apartment Complex, Tacoma, Seattle, UCAS

"Ran?" James blinked, trying to get his eyes to focus. Decidedly unsurprised at Carmen showing up at seven in the morning, he glanced at the front door, confirming that it was indeed still locked, both the cheap maglock the landlord had installed and the slightly better one he had put in himself. "You know, Ran, you don't have to hack my front door every time you want to drop by. I do have a phone, remember?" For a moment James tried to straighten one of the many piles of electronic junk into something more company-acceptable, but quickly gave up the effort as useless.

Carmen's grin widened into a smirk. "Cheh, it's more fun to let myself in. Oh, and you don't have any cereal either."

James grinned back. "That's because I'm broke right now, and the very idea of soy-based cereal had to have come from the eleventh circle of hell. I'll scramble us some eggs in a sec, or at least a reasonable facsimile thereof." Sliding around Carmen, James stopped for a second and tapped a few keystrokes on a nearby computer.

The screen flickered to life, showing the digital features of Jane, James's search agent program. "Up a little early, aren't we Eyes?" Jane 'spoke' through the computer speaker, a pixellated eyebrow upraised.

From her seat near the trid, Carmen turned her head and said, "Morning, Jane." The computer's mike must have picked up her voice, because Jane replied to her, "Morning Ran. Guess that explains why the Eyes are open this early." In a slightly lower voice that still managed to reach accross the room, Jane 'whispered', "You know, you've got to stop shacking up with the teenagers, Eyes; you're gonna ruin your reputation."

Doing his best not to laugh, James finished keying up the commands for Jane to gather some news reports and check his messages, paying particular attention to anything from Zeyda, for whom he had left a message the previous evening. "Oh get going," he chided the digital woman, who immediately disappeared into the ether of the Matrix leaving her grin behind in the way only magical cats and women can, and turned back to the giggling meatspace one next to him. "Villians. Mutineers, all of you," he muttered in a voice that tried--and failed miserably--to sound offended, and stumbled off to his tiny apartment kitchen to start on breakfast.

James's eyes narrowed mischievously. "So, Speed Coma. That a new trid movie or something?"
Carmen snorted. "It's a band, trog-brain. We went to see them play like a month ago, remember?"
"Ugh, yes, as much as I want to forget. Well they can't be as popular as they were last time, can they? Please?"
"Wow, you really do need do get out more. And when I say that, keep in mind who I live with."
James chuckled, as he loaded the coffee maker with soykaf extract and a very small amount of his last bag of real coffee. At least hanging out with a good friend somewhat offset the prospect of, you know, actually having to go Out There. But not by much.

[grendel]

10:15:12 Monday 08 January 2063 - Apartment 875, Parkewood Village Apartments, Tacoma

Wandering around the apartment couldn't break Todd out of the mobius loop of his reasoning surrounding the troll. His equation still had too many variables and not enough known values. It was time to try another approach.

Leaving the mystery chip slotted into his desktop, he clipped the cable into his datajack, closed his eyes, and stepped into the reality of the matrix. Before him, in the unsculpted world of his desktop, the datachip was a sphere of shifting quicksilver arc segments. Todd looked closely at the construct, realizing that not only were there three layers of moving pieces, the segments themselves were slowly changing shape. Whoa, I've never seen encryption like this before. Reaching out slowly, he tapped two different pieces, watching as they froze in place momentarily, causing the shifting pattern around them to distort as well as flouresce a bright blue. After a delay of several seconds, the pieces resumed their normal speed and pattern. This time Todd touched the same two places, followed quickly by a third. Again, the pieces froze, the patterns shifted, this time a space irised open, allowing him to view the second layer of segments, but the orb flouresced a nasty brown-red color. Todd frowned for a minute, then gasped in astonishment. It's encryption designed to defeat automatic decryption methods! It has to be broken by a person because an algorithm doesn't understand what looks 'good' and what looks 'bad'. I've never seen anything like it before in my life. It must have cost hella much to develop, not to mention code. Fascinated, Todd calls up a series of windows to take notes in and goes to work.

Five hours pass before he can get the second layer of segments to open. It goes a little quicker once he begins to understand the relationships between the patterns of the pieces and their shapes. But reaching the third level changes all the rules. These segments move in the opposite direction, and change into different shapes than the first two layers. Todd spends three more hours in a futile attempt to open the third layer before he understands that he has to begin again from the first layer in order to reach a different aspect of the third layer to open it successfully. Thirteen hours after he first began, he finally defeats the encryption on the datachip. Touching the last sequence on the third layer, he's rewarded with a soft golden glow suffusing the construct. The sphere begins to collapse in on itself, segments cascading to the ground. They grow into a semi-circle of rough stone benches, centered around a circle of stones and firewood. On the benches sit three icons.

The first is a Roman legionnaire, dressed in the traditional lorica segmentata, greaves, and hobnails. His horsehair plumed helm rests on the bench next to him, while two pilum are leaned against it.

Second is a WWII Marine infantry corporal, wearing the P1941 Herring Bone Twill cotton field utilities. His M1 combat helmet and field cap are sitting on the bench next to him, but he still wears his web gear and cartridge belt. He holds the issued field cup that came with his canteen in both hands, but his M1 Garand rifle is close at hand.

Last is some kind of futuristic battlesuit, a fully enclosed set of armor with power assist servos mounted on the joints. It mounts a bulky backpack with powercells and environmental control modules. A breakaway four-tube missile launcher is mounted over its left shoulder, while a belt fed weapon is strapped to its right forearm.

All three figures look up at Todd, but its the Legionnaire who speaks.

"We've been waiting for you. Why don't you start the fire and we can begin?" He gestures to the firewood piled in the center of the benches.

[grendel]

07:30:18 Monday 08 January 2063 - Unit 303, Winlock Apartment Complex, Tacoma, Seattle, UCAS

Halfway through a breakfast of scrambled eggs with ham, toast, and coffee, Jane returns. She puts the flag up on her desk to signify completion of her morning tasks, then retreats to the overstuffed leather chair behind the desk to pick up where she left off in Crime and Punishment.

"...and when Zuu went in, it was just like Short Round said, only this time they'd done the whole thing in purple polka dots! So we trashed their MSP account, sold off all their BW2 gear and characters, then donated the profits to the Young Troll Republicans." Ran managed, somehow, to keep up a never-ending dialogue about her tribe's exploits while at the same time shoveling an amazing amount of food into her mouth. She downed her orange juice in two long gulps before smiling at James.

"Thanks for cooking. I gotta run, but I'll be by at seven. Show's at eight. Wear black. Bye, Jane!" The last is called over her shoulder as the door closes behind her.

"Bye, Ran, thanks for stopping by. Come again soon, don't be a stranger, my poor Eyes needs all the socialization he can get. Although don't think for a moment that I don't know what's going on behind those innocent doe-eyes of yours. I'm wise to your ways, you hussy...."

"Jane!" James was beginning to regret making her persona female. "Shut it off and just tell me what you've got."

"Fine, fine. I've got all your messages collated here, the newsnet reports are indexed according to your preferences, and Zeyda left a message for you. He says if you're not busy to stop by Miner's Landing tonight around eighteen hundred. Possibility of work."

[WinterRat1]

09:12:50 Monday 08 January 2063 – Redmond - Touristville - The Respite Soup Kitchen on the corner of NE 24th Street and 156th Ave NE

Opening his senses to the world around him, Max tries to locate anything unusual in the vicinity. However, it appears that despite Gloom's warnings and his own feeling of dread, everything appears normal within the soup kitchen.

The usual morning murmur of the homeless and downtrodden dragging themselves in from their latest hangover or binge, and the volunteers' always industrious work and cheerful smiles are the only things that he can detect, even with the heightened senses provided by his spell.

Perhaps I am just being paranoid, too long living in the shadows. Sometimes things are just normal... muses Max.

[bclements]

22:28:38 Monday 8 January 2063 - Capitol Hill Terrace Apartments, Seattle, UCAS

Taking a good look around, Tony walks quickly out of the apartment building, with a duffle bag containing his Semopal and MP5 both loaded with real ammo. These guys don’t seem like they’re packing gel rounds spare clips for each, his sword, and a medkit, Tony tosses the bag into the passenger floorboard of the truck. Hopefully, Sam put my drink order in. Tony thinks to himself as he pulls off toward the bar.

22:36:44 Monday 8 January 2063 – The Unbottled Spirit, Capitol Hill, Seattle, UCAS

The Unbottled Spirit is bigger than it looks. The bar takes up 3 storefronts, with the door on the leftmost area. Rebecca, the owner, in some sort of practical joke on potential customers and already drunk returning ones, had left the other two storefronts intact, just putting curtains over the doors and windows and leaving the original awnings and signs over the storefronts. I always have wondered how many people try to get in that old computer shop during the day Tony thought to himself as he walked in the main door out of the freezing wind and got assaulted by a wailing guitar rift from the neo-soul band he had heard earlier on Sam’s phone.

Raz, an Ork bouncer that handled the door when a band was in, immediedly came over. “Hey Tony, Sam’s waiting for you over by the far side of the bar. Rebecca had to take care of something else, but she told me to tell you that she couldn’t find what you were looking for, to call her for anything, and not to charge you a cover. That make sense?” “Yeah, man. Null sweat. How’s the band?” Tony asked. “Eh, not my kind of music, but not too bad. Not fast enough for me, but some girl said they put on a wizzer astral show,” Raz says with a grin wrapping itself around his tusks, walking back to his seat by the door. Tony made his way through the tables toward Sam’s spot on the end of the bar as the band wraps up its set, noticing some people apparently passed out in the booths to the left of the bar. Could be projecting, or just had way too much to drink this early. Both look pretty similar to me Tony thought to himself as he got to Sam’s stool .

“Got that drink order for me, old man?” Tony says as he walks up. “Here you go kid, sure you can handle it? You need a chaser of milk or anything?” the old ork said, grinning. As Tony downed the drink in one smooth swallow, Sam kept up the questioning “So what made you late? Hot date?” “I wish,” Tony said, savoring the sweet flavor that was now burning its way down to his stomach. “Actually, It’s the same thing that’s making me run off right now and not get plastered with you. Tell Sungthat I won’t be by tomorrow, but I should be by the next day, assuming I don’t get shot up in the meantime.” “Shot up?” “Yeah,” Tony said, tossing the keys to his Americar to the ork “here’s my car keys. I may need you to pick me up tomorrow night around 10ish.” “Kid, I’m out of that line of work now” Sam said, tossing the last of his drink down and motioning the bartender for another.

“You want me to keep buying you drinks, old man, keep your phone on you and wait for my call. Tell ya what, I’ll need a good meal after this run. Day after tomorrow, maybe, I’ll take you out for a good dinner.” Tony said. “Alright kid, you’re on, but I ain’t gettin shot up for this. You sure you don’t want that milk?” Sam said as Tony slotted his credstick for the amount of his and Sam’s drinks, picked up the coffee, and walked toward the door and back into the snowy night.

23:41:38 Monday 8 January 2063 – Sea-Tac International Airport, Long Term Parking Terminal entrance, Seattle, UCAS

The brightly lit parking lot seems to glow from the lighting reflecting off the snow as Tony pulls up to the long term parking terminal’s attendant booth, after an uneventful ride to Sea-Tac. The snow’s got even the go-gangs packed in. Must not be fun to ride in the freezing cold Tony thought to himself. “Excuse me, sir” he says to the dwarf manning the well lit booth “I’m looking for spot 17 alpha. Can you direct me to that?”

[Bastard]

1530 Monday 08 January 2063-Mickey's Pub, Downtown Seattle, UCAS (about two blocks south of Cooper's Automotive)

After the timing is set, Chevez parks the Brumby out front, while Marq cleans up the tools. Chavez leaves the Brumby's owner to come by and pick up the truck whenever, its parked out front, then locks up.

The two walk down the street and around the corner to Mickeys Pub. Its dark, lit only by neon beer signs and pool table lights. Dim track lighting runs across the top of the bar, leaving the tables in the shadows. Chavez pulls up a seat at the bar and orders a cold pitcher of non-soy Alaskan Amber. It costs nearly twice as much, but Marq is allergic to all soy, plus it tastes a thousand times better.

Marq dumps five nuyen in the computer for a couple of songs. Hmm...they actually have some classics, even stuff from way back. Here's a good one. Marquis makes his selections after scanning through the computerized list by date. Walking back to the bar, the heavy bass guitar of Cybermancie's Penetrator, pounds his chest. They had only found this pub a while ago, and didn't realize the great sound system.

"Hey barkeep, can we get a plate of hot wings? Non-soy please, Im allergic to that drek. Do you have any non-soy dipping sauce, like ranch or downtown sauce? Thanks."

After the bartender heads to the back to prepare the wings, Chavez asks the question hes been dying to all day. "So a business transaction you can talk about?"

"Not really, just get rid of something for someone. I was hoping he would let me rebuild it, though. It was a beaut."

The heavy metal fades out and is followed by a lighter song, well comparatively. This one is a bit more classic, jumping back another 25 years from the last song to Megadeth's Die Dead Enough. Chavez turns to check out the computer dressed up like an old style juke box. "Good Selection, got anything I would like?"

"They got everything, the list is two million songs long. Its a wonder they dont do more business here."

Jack, the bartender, refills their pitcher, overhearing the end of the conversation. "Come in on Thursday, Friday, and Saturdays after nine. Live bands, mostly locals, but once in a while we get big names, some has beens, some up and coming."

"Where the hell do you put them?" Marquis says jokingly, looking around the bar.

"See that back wall with nothing on it?" the barkeeper points past the tables. Those slide open, and there is stage back there, but during the week its not so busy, so we keep it closed.

Welcome to my Nightmare is next on the playlist, jumping back 30 more years to an Alice Cooper classic. "I told you that would like this place," Chavez gives Marq a friendly punch in the shoulder.

Marquis gives a quick smile and continues his conversation. Chavez was right, but the soon to be runner has some wheels turning in his head right now. "What kind of crowd do you usually see in here?"

"We get a real good mix. During the week its mostly laborers and workers coming in after a hard day earning cred, later the crowd goes to more college aged kids and street crowd. You know the type. On the weekends though, its pretty gritty in here, with the music selection and all. You wont see too many suits in here, ever."

Chavez returns from selecting a few more songs, some real old stuff, Led zeppelin, Black Sabbath and the likes.

"I see you two really like the classics."

"Well you can hear the new stuff anytime."

They finish their second pitcher, tip the bartender, for the food and the conversation, and head on back to the shop. Heading out they notice the crowd has picked up a bit, with some more patrons entering, as they are trying to exit.

[The_Eyes]

07:40:19 Monday 08 January 2063 - Unit 303, Winlock Apartment Complex, Tacoma, Seattle, UCAS

Glancing through the morning news, James ran across something interesting and posted it up. He also noted Zeyda's message. Six o'clock, at a bar that's about a forty-five minute drive away from his apartment. James sighed. One appointment at 6 that he needed to make; one appointment at 7 that he didn't particularly want anything to do with but already agreed to, and nothing to do until then.

Nothing is ever easy, he thought. Picking up his p-sec, James dialled the familiar LTG number with barely a thought. "Hi," the phone chirped, "you have failed to reach Ran... so talk to this machine instead. *beep*" Guess her phone ran out of batteries again James thought to himself, and said, "Hoi Ran, it's me. It seems I have another thing to do before I meet up with you, work-related I hope. I might be able to make it back before 7, but if I can't now you know why. I'll try to call you later though to confirm or cancel for sure. Sai."

Hm. So, about nine hours before I need to go anywhere. So what do I do in the meantime? James stood for a moment, looking at the extreme clutter of his apartment, almost a living entity around him. His eyes travelled to his weak and frail muscles, severely deteriorated after years spent halfway comatose in a programmer's chair. His mind travelled back over the litany of useful skills he had acquired back in his days as a youthful revolutionary, sure to become useful again, all of which had faded in the hazy womb-like existence of suckling the corporate teat.

Then he saw the flickering lights on his cyberdeck. Hey, I had this great idea for an upgrade to my Analyze utility; now that I'm done upgrading Jane I can get right on that, he thought, slipping into the only decent chair in his apartment and jacking in. Silently his unconscious wept.

[grendel]

23:42:06 Monday 8 January 2063 – Sea-Tac International Airport, Long Term Parking Terminal entrance, Seattle, UCAS

The dwarf nods, reaching into a separate compartment below the desk and withdrawing an unmarked plastic card. Running that across the license plate scanner, he checks to make sure the fake vehicle registration is accepted. With a nod, he motions Tony through.

"Park in the back, section twelve. The shuttle will be by in fifteen minutes, it'll take you to the main terminal. From there you can catch a cab or the tube into downtown. Keep your eyes out, though, ever since that yokel got run over the traffic-nazis are out in force."

[Ecclesiastes]

10:15:15 Monday 08 January 2063 - Apartment 875, Parkewood Village Apartments, Tacoma

Man this is some freaky drek...

Todd nods to the Legionnaire. "Sure thing."

He steps into the circle of benches and gathers wood into a small log-cabin formation at the center of the group. He reaches into his backpack and pulls out some old notes that he didn't need anymore and used the paper to get things started. Once the fire is going at a good burn, Todd glances around, then takes a seat at an empty bench.

"So what's next?"

[grendel]

23:39:16 Monday 08 January 2063 - Apartment 875, Parkewood Village Apartments, Tacoma

The fire sputters and dies out. The hopeful looks on the faces of the soldiers fade back to the grim neutrality they wore previously. The battlesuit turns towards Todd.

"The fire is going to require a steady source of fuel and oxygen," she says.

[SentineloftheMou...]

1200 Tuesday, January 9, 2063 - Land's End Magic Shop

Andie considers everything that Solomon said and ponders over the sketch floor plan which is getting worn thin with all the changes made on it.

He walks back into the workshop area to check on the circulation. Doing a repetitive task will help my subconscious mind filter through all the details better.

[Ecclesiastes]

10:15:17 Monday 08 January 2063 - Apartment 875, Parkewood Village Apartments, Tacoma

Oh man... this is some risky stuff. But damn if this ain't one of the coolest things I've ever seen! Yeah... you know you wanna...

Todd makes a quick systems adjustment, turning the desktop's network card on and connecting it to the appartment's matrix feed. He quickly reacts, scanning all data that passes in or out of the system, doing his best to see where the data is going or where it came from.

[bclements]

23:48:01 Monday 8 January 2063 – Sea-Tac International Airport, Long Term Parking Terminal garage, Section 12, Seattle, UCAS


It takes a good five minutes to get the the spot at the back of the enormous parking garage. Pulling into the back corner section marked “12” in green letters, under a broken light, Tony backs the truck into the parking space. Dammed Westwind parked too close to the line Tony thinks to himself as he cracks the door open and slinks out of the truck. Thinking about why someone would fire off guns over this truck, Tony decides to check on the contents. Walking to the back of the truck, Tony inserts the key into the locked, covered truck bed…

[grendel]

23:48:23 Monday 8 January 2063 – Sea-Tac International Airport, Long Term Parking Terminal garage, Section 12, Seattle, UCAS

Strapped down to the rear cargo deck of the truck are two large coolers, seventy five centimeters square by two meters long. Undoing the straps, Tony gently lifts the lid on one of the coolers. Inside, beneath a thin layer of crushed ice, are packs of soy burger patties. He lifts one up to examine it, dislodging the one stacked beneath it. Glancing down, he drops the lid of the cooler in surprise. Resting beneath the packages in the bottom of the cooler is the body of a young man.

[Bastard]

1715 Monday 08 January 2063-Cooper's Automotive, Downtown Seattle, UCAS

After Chavez heads off for home, Marquis recovers the rifle rings from the oil, being sure to miss none of them. He finds a metal coffee can, fills it with some water and drops the once shiney barrel into it, peice by peice. It probably wont rust them too much, but should make them look older and more like discarded automobile parts then something suspicious.

Loading the coffee can and the upper receiver into the trunk of his Cadillac, Marquis is carefull to make sure that it is well secured in plastic wrap so it cannot accidently leak or dirty his baby. He leaves the coveralls behind, afterall, they didnt get too dirty, and he could probably use them later in the week.

The sunset orange classic roars to life, then settles into a loud, but soothing purr. Alowing the engine to warm, Marq scans the radio dial, seeking for something on the AM dial. Nothing really there, but the engine is now ready to go. Traffic is usually heavy and slow this time of day, but Marquis doesnt have far to go, and knows the backstreets to get to his destination.

The well polished STS jumps onto the road, wheels wanting to spin, but the grip of the performance tires on the road doesnt let them. The rebuilt auto flies up and down the backstreets, slipping through the cracks in traffic, in and out of alleyways, arriving at Cooper's Firearms within a few minutes. Marquis applies the breaks and the car stops on a, well tenth of a nuyen. Hidden from view from the main road, the driver exits the vehicle.

[grendel]

23:40:19 Monday 08 January 2063 - Apartment 875, Parkewood Village Apartments, Tacoma

As the network connection LEDs switch over to green the campfire sparks to life, flames licking upwards among the carefully stacked logs. The soldiers gathered around relax visibly, grim smiles appearing on the faces of the legionnaire and the Marine. The battlesuit reaches up and disengages a series of latches on her helmet, the hiss of an overpressure internal environment accompanying its removal. The woman revealed is young, perhaps mid-twenties. Her dark hair is cut short, almost shaved on the sides so as not to interfere with the life support systems of her helmet. A neural amplifier is mounted to the back of her neck, probably interfaced with some kind of cybernetic connection as well in order to overcome the feedback delay in her suit's power assist servos. She scratches behind her left ear with the battlesuit's armored gauntlet, a sigh of relief escaping her lips.

The Marine drinks from his canteen.

"Thanks kid. It's been a while."

Todd nods, unsure as to what to say. He glances around the circle at the various faces, and then back to the fire. He blinks in surprise. Hanging in the air above the fire, written in smoke, are a series of four equations. Pulling a datapad from his pocket, he copies down the equations. They're sophisticated: four variables modeling something.

What variables, though?

Todd glances around again.

Four of us, four variables. But what about us?

Working quickly, Todd creates a program to run as many variables about the three figures and himself through the equations. It references his own personal data, but he has no data on any of the other icons. Glancing up, he finds them all looking at him. He points to the legionnaire.

"Name, rank, serial number!"

Todd quickly enters the information as each soldier provides the data. The program sets to work, running numbers through the equations based on the raw numbers of dates and ages, sums of days alive, or length of names, or the sum of the numbers in names. After a couple of seconds, a stream of values pour out.

What the Hell good is this drek? Todd stares at the numbers. After a moment, he frowns. Pattern recognition is a skill present in any good programmer, and the results of his program are not random. Pulling up a a topo map of Seattle, he divides the numbers up into rows of six digits followed by seven digits. He ends up with six sets of numbers. Plotting them as lattitudes and longitudes, only one of the six appears anywhere close to Seattle. Changing them up, he pairs up the first with the third, second with the fourth, and so on. These results are a little better, with two of six appearing on the map. Todd frowns, collapsing the list of numbers to a single long string. After a minute, he creates a grid of thirteen rows of four. He repeats the exercise of dividing them up into sets of six and seven digits. The results, this time, are just what he's looking for. All six locations appear on the map of the metroplex. The three lines of position which result intersect at a location somewhere in the Redmond barrens.

[The_Eyes]

17:35 Monday 08 January 2063 - approaching Miner’s Landing, Downtown Seattle, UCAS

James yawned as his motorcycle threaded its way up the highway. Thankfully the bike was in fairly complete control of itself; James himself hardly knew how to drive the thing, and even if he did his mind wasn't really on the task anyway. Drekking meatspace, he thought, trying to ignore the protests of his knees and back which had not moved much over the past eight hours, Icons have all this drekking sensory output, and none of it useful.

Gliding to a stop near the front of Miner’s Landing, James parked the bike in a decently-lit place on the curb near all the other bikes. Hopefully the area was public enough that no one would try to hotwire a bike right in front of the bar. James dismounted, glanced in the windows, and grimaced. Even worse than the interface, though, he thought ruefully, is that there's so many other people in it. He sighed, deliberately adjusted his glasses, and walked into the bar, determined to make the visit as short as necessary.

[bclements]

23:48:25 Monday 8 January 2063 – Sea-Tac International Airport, Long Term Parking Terminal garage, Section 12, Seattle, UCAS

Jesus Christ! Tony thought to himself.. I didn’t really think that they would use the term bodyguarding quite so literally. Carefully opening the other cooler and removing some of the soy burger packages, Tony sees another body of another anonymous young man. Not wanting to spend too much time inspecting dead bodies in a public parking garage, Tony takes out his psec and snaps a picture of the faces of the dead men. This may come in handy later on, at least to find out what the hell is going on. Tony thought to himself.

Carefully replacing the soy burger packages in the cooler, strapping it back down, and locking the cargo bed, Tony walks quickly away from the truck back to the shuttle stop, thinking better than to run around an airport with a bag full of guns. What did Radian say if I got stopped? Going to a barbecue? Maybe for ghouls. Tony thinks to himself as he starts on the long walk back toward the shuttle bus stop at the entrance of the parking garage. Tony gets to it just as the shuttle pulls up.

“Main Terminal, please” he tells the driver as he steps into the warm, unoccupied bus. Got enough time this evening for a nightcap, then a good nights sleep. If I’m lucky, I may even wake up from it.

[Ecclesiastes]

10:15:30 Monday 08 January 2063 - Apartment 875, Parkewood Village Apartments, Tacoma

Todd, thankful for his Math SPU, stores the data into his system memory, then turns to the gathering, "Location received. Was there any other message or information you were to give me?"

[grendel]

17:27:14 Monday 08 January 2063 - Cooper's Firearms, Downtown Seattle, UCAS

The metal rings left over from the barrel of the heavy weapon have a uniform bakelite finish, the bonded polymer coating was fantastic at resisting surface corrosion and pitting. Marquis was very familiar with the compound, and cursed its effectiveness as he stares at the dozen or so cylinder segments lying in the shallow pan of water in his shop. He could leave them in there for a week and be no better off. Frowning thoughtfully, he crosses the room to the shop's expert system and clicks through the index until he finds the entry under 'anodic/cathodic corrosion'.

[grendel]

23:45:27 Monday 08 January 2063 - Apartment 875, Parkewood Village Apartments, Tacoma

The Marine, LCPL Dawson, smiles humorlessly.

"Watch your back, kid, the key is likely to have guardians. We'll see you back here when you're ready."

LT Dvora Tellerman, the woman in the battlesuit, nodded in agreement. She'd pulled some kind of self-heating ration pack from her support pack and was stirring the pale gruel with a disposable spoon.

"Stay frosty." She smiled at Todd.

[Ecclesiastes]

10:15:30 Monday 08 January 2063 - Apartment 875, Parkewood Village Apartments, Tacoma

Todd questions, "What does the key open?"

[grendel]

23:45:32 Monday 08 January 2063 - Apartment 875, Parkewood Village Apartments, Tacoma

All three soldiers stop what they are doing and exchange glances. Finally, the legionnaire, Gaius Vibulenus, speaks.

"We're not authorized to answer that question."

[Ecclesiastes]

10:15:32 Monday 08 January 2063 - Apartment 875, Parkewood Village Apartments, Tacoma

Todd smirks, "Yeah, I figured you'd say that. See ya on the flip side."

Todd disconnects the network feed and watches the fire die before logging out of the system. His mind churning, he steps over to his LayZMan and flops into it.

What the drek? The Key? Super encrypted contruct just to give an address? This is just... ugh!

Frustrated, Todd grabs his dataline and jacks in, set to find out what he can about this alusive address.

[grendel]

23:45:50 Monday 08 January 2063 - Apartment 875, Parkewood Village Apartments, Tacoma

Calling up the old Redmond municipal plans, the last accurate map available before the area was abandoned to the whims of squatters and shadowrunners, Todd drops his lat-long display over the resulting map grid.

Well that's about par for this course.

The lat-long of the location is square in the middle of the Sacred Heart Cemetery in Redmond.

[grendel]

17:37:40 Monday 08 January 2063 - Miner’s Landing, Downtown Seattle, UCAS

Eyes takes a deep breath, settles his coat about his shoulders, and plunges into a small version of Hell. The noise of the restaurant washes over him, and he quickly waves off the waitress, heading upstairs. Unfortunately, the bar is equally crowded, as it's just the end of happy hour. Chill sweat collects at the small of his back as he tries to find a relatively open area to wait: Zeyda is deep in conversation with another person.

[Ecclesiastes]

11:45:55 Monday 08 January 2063 - Apartment 875, Parkewood Village Apartments, Tacoma

Man, a kid just can't catch a break these days... Oh well, there goes that grand I just made, cause there ain't no way I'm backing out of this stuff now.

Todd puts together a quick message and shots it off to Zeyda

[bclements]

00:31:15 Tuesday 9 January 2063 – The Unbottled Spirit,Capitol Hill Seattle, UCAS

“And the piasma says “What’s it to ya, chummer?” Rebecca says, while Tony tries not to spray whiskey out of his nose at the punchline of the joke. Since the band had left, the place had gotten far quieter and less populated; mostly only the hardcore drunks and regulars were left, the rest having departed soon after the band.

Recovering a little, Tony swallows his mouthful of the good Kentucky bourbon in his mouth and snatches a few soynuts from the bowl on the bar. “So Rebecca, where were you earlier? I did find the place I needed, by the way. Thanks for looking around for me, though,” Tony said. “Sorry I couldn’t find anything for you, sweetie, but no one I know has a place to be able to park something without drawing a lot of attention. I thought you drove an Americar anyway?” Rebecca asked, dodging the first question by asking one of her own. “I usually do, but I really didn’t have much of a choice in my ride tonight. How did the band night go? And you didn’t answer my first question, either” Tony said, enjoying the exchange.

“I was out, that’s all. Actually,” Rebecca said “I was checking on a band over on the far end of Bellevue, turned out to be a waste of my time. I like to keep my furnature in one piece. That band turned out pretty good, looks like we’ll have them back if they want to.” As Tony downs the remainder of his drink and reaches for his pocket, Rebecca waives him off. “No need to pay for this round,” she says. Getting up and smiling, Tony says “Why don’t you do that when Sam’s drinking on my tab?” “What, you want me to go out of business sweetie?” Rebecca says with a smile as she moves toward another customer. Tony walks out into the freezing night. At least the snow has stopped. Still fragging cold, though. And I still don’t know what I’m up against. Tony thinks to himself on the three block walk back to his apartment building.

[grendel]

00:35:21 Tuesday 09 January 2063 – Capitol Hill Terrace , Capitol Hill, Seattle, UCAS

Halfway home, Tony's phone buzzes. Zeyda's number blinks on the small screen.

"Hey, I know you're in the middle of a job, but I think I just may have the solution to two problems. You need a decker. I've got a decker who needs a bodyguard. A real bodyguard this time. You interested?"

[The_Eyes]

17:38:00 Monday 08 January 2063 - Miner’s Landing, Downtown Seattle, UCAS

There was a red-haired, green-eyed dwarf sitting at a nearby bar table. She was chatting animatedly to her companion, an African-American woman in her mid-twenties. They were wearing an identical earring, those pairs of friendship earrings that became popular when piercings could be made or healed in an instant. Maybe they met at a corp social, or at school, or somehwere else entirely?

At another table an older chinese troll was drinking alone. His clothes were well-tailored, but unkempt and dirty, a sign of a successful man gone to seed even if the red-rimmed eyes hadn't said the same thing. Was he an attorney whose practise had just gone belly-up? A middle-management wageslave who'd seen better days? A guy who had inherited a drekload of money, and was now just coming to the end of it?

Belly up to the bar sat a muscle-bound ork ganger. Snake tatoos covered his exposed forearms, their red eyes glistening, their mouths open to the ports on his hands where the cyberspurs would extend. For all the tough-guy exterior, the ganger seemed near tears from watching the trid, a news program counting off the long lists of deaths from yesterday. Perhaps he had lost someone important to him? Or was it something less important, like a dry spur socket that's been bothering him for awhile?

A hand on his shoulder caused James's head to whip around, a momentary look of shock and surprise on his face. "Whoa, hey chummer," said the bartender, backpeddling a little, "Just wondering if you needed a drink; you look a little fragged up there."

James blinked and shivered inwardly; he had almost gotten up to walk over to the dwarf woman and ask her how she had met her other friend, or even worse ask the ork or troll why they looked like they were going to cry. History and common sense taught him that any of those were sure signs of disaster, but it was just so easy to get distracted; the tide of knowledge and collected experiences of the crowd drew him like a moth to a flame. Just, so... drekking... many of them, James thought tiredly.

"Uh, yeah... I think I could use something to drink," James replied lamely, putting down some nuyen for something not too intoxicating. Pondering for a moment, he plugged into his pocsec and loaded up a copy of his most recent programming project. He knew he wouldn't get anything meaningful accomplished here, but the drink and the program combined would help distract him from other people's problems and other people's lives, and keep him from either zoning out or asking invasive, dangerous personal questions to strangers again.