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[Fenris]

02:16
The night was crystal clear, uncommon for Seattle, stars glimmering through the open sky, throwing dim illumination across the docks. Two men waited on the docks, occasionally glancing around, cradling snub nosed submachine guns, sunglasses tossing back reflections of the men moving around behind them. The similarly cut Italian suits, black loafers, and slicked back black hair were like the twisted uniform for a modern day secret army.

What was that 21st century pop song, I wear my sunglasses at night?

There was a shout, and both heads swiveled in unison, body's twisting as they turned to sprint towards the noise. Automatic fire rings out, brief stacatto bursts of death filling the previously empty night.

An explosion rings out, lighting up the darkness, illuminating the ranks of men moving towards the warehouse, darting between boxes, moving vehicles, and trucks, occasionally drawing rifles up to their shoulder to fire off another burst.

One man stands in the front, waving smaller groups forward, his hands gesturing towards the warehouse as faint outlines hovering over the docks slowly gain resolution, two towering pillars of flame materializing. They sweep towards the beleaguered defenders, pausing only to send jets of flame washing over the pier. The bursts of fire die off, replacing by the sizzle of flesh and the occasional pop of ammunition cooking off in the blaze. A grim smile touches the leaders lips, a sad, resigned satisfaction tinging the expression.

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20:47

A fist slams down on the table, rattling the plates and glasses covering the surface, several of the men flinching back, not so much from the fist as the expression on the mans face.

"I DIDN'T TAKE THIS CITY JUST TO HAVE SNATCHED BY THOSE FRAGGING SLANT EYES!" he roars, palpable anger radiating out as he swivels his gaze across the gathered group.

"Vinnie," and one of the shorter men at the table flinched again, leaning back even further, tipping his chair up on the legs.

"Take care of this. I don't care how, but I want them bleeding."

The shorter man slides his hand over a growing bald spot, nodding and pushing back from the table, giving the rest of the assembly a nod and turning for the door.

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Nameless:

Styx's icon fuzzes onto the screen, Charon's visage glaring through the electronic media. The droning monotone of his voice blared through the speakers of the 'trid unit.

"No-Name? You there? One of these days you're going to actually answer the 'trid when I call, just to let me know you're there. Anyway, I've got a job. Nothing spectacular, but it'll pay the bills. Tomorrow night, Tacoma docks."

He rattles off an address, the monotone consistent with the same electronic voice that used to grace the phone lines on disconnected numbers. The click and hum of the dead line after he hangs up is almost a relief.

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Jake

A light touch on Jake's shoulder draws his attention away from his conversation. Not that Jake couldn't tell when Stephan was moving through the club.

A business card is slid over his shoulder, the white linen paper contrasting sharply with Jake's shirt.

"Tomas would like you to attend an...acquaintance of his, at the Tacoma docks tomorrow eve." Another soft pat, and Stephan glides away into the crowd, aways moving in the club, looking, nodding, working the crowd at Extassis without lifting a finger.

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Diesel

Earl pounds on the door, cursing constantly, a stream of expletives accompanying the heavy slams of the meaty fist on the door. The white shirt is open halfway down his chest, gold chains dangling through curly black chest hair as he begins to kick the solid door, still cursing the day the first chink got off the boat.

Diesel jerks to the door open, glaring down at the relatively tiny man. Earl sneers, never did seem to have any sense of self preservation, and crams a transparent flimsy into the trolls hand, still biting off curses as he spins and stomps off down the hall, the focus of his cussing swapping from the run down tenement Diesel lived in as he kicks at a squatter sleeping in the hall.

Glancing down at the crumpled flimsy, it gives an address, indicates the Tacoma docks, and 5k :nuyen:


Earl was always so professional.
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Loki

The phone rings, and Loki scrabbles through the litter of fast food containers scattered across the floor, grabbing the offending object and making to fling it across the room. A second later it's dragged under the covers, and a muffled, "Hello?" answers the offensive sound.

"Loki? It's Casey. Look, I know I don't usually call, but this guy I know's looking for someone for a few acquisition type propositions. Interested?" A non-committal response is the only reply, and Casey plunged on.

"Look, if you're interested, here's the address. The guys name is Vinnie, and he works out of the docks." His nervousness is obvious, even over the phone, and he barely spits out a "Bye" before the phone goes dead.

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Steel

"Look, all I'm saying is that with a little work, I'll be we could find a pump that could push the water around the entire building. We'd have to get a few more tanks, but imagine how nice it would be to have hot water all day." He wrapped a length of spaghetti around a fork and scooped it off the plate.

Shinobu chuckled, shaking her head as she sprinkled more cheese over the pasta. "You never quit, do you? I mean, you've build up these apartments way above anything else out here, and you still want more?"

He shrugs, tousled hair and perfect teeth making her smile again. "And why do you keep wearing that when it's only the two of us?"

"Makes people feel comfortable."

The ringing phone cuts off her response, and she holds up a finger, turning way and taking a few steps towards the window as she answers.

"Steel."

"Hey babe, it's Vinnie. Look, I've got some stuff going down you might be interested in. Up for a little violence?"

She smiled, Vinnie wasn't much for social niceties.

"What time and where?"

"My office, tomorrow night, 10:00. There be a few other people, so be prepared for some new faces."

She clicks the the phone closed, a savage grin touching the corners of her mouth. Society be damned, she liked her job. Besides, she'd just got the Blitzen tuned, and she was betting she could top 220 on the highway to Vinnie's.

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Iblis

A tiny, white furred form stumbles into the room, still blinking her eyes open, still not completely adapted to the sudden shift between sleep and waking provided by the regulator. She leans against the faux fur covered fridge, eyeing a box of custom Pop-Tarts sitting on the counter, advertising colors that should be toxic just because of the combination.

Why didn't I pawn more of those off on those guys?

The phone rings, the business line, and the last strains of the theme song are dying away as she lifts it to her ear.

"Your dime."

"Hey Candy girl." End-Run's voice was unmistakable, and he never used names. The file was already downloading, and a moment of meaningless chatter filled the seconds before it completed.

Hanging up the phone and plopping down on a bean bag chair, Iblis pulls her backpack to her and plugs in, sifting the data in the blink of an eye.

End-Run had a run for her, and he hadn't slouched in his normal legwork. The run was being put together by a local Mob middle man, linked directly to the big family through some convoluted chain of marriage and blood. No specifics about the run were given, by it was indicated that satisfactory performance would be rewarded with additional work. Several notes highlight recent Yakuza/Mafia clashes that had spilled out into the streets. The file also contained an address and a time at the Tacoma docks. Tomorrow night, 10pm.

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