IC: Trails of Reflection Options

[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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21:00

"Gentlemen, last night was a complete success. We destroyed at least a quarter of a million :nuyen: in business material and and weapons. It will take them months to recover."

The speaker nods at another immaculately dressed man across the table, the suit so crisp it almost crinkled as he rose. A slight nod as he acknowledged the assembly, and his Japanese is unaccented and technically perfect.

"We have an established series of surgical strikes designed to further deplete and eliminate the original resource advantage they currently held in the city. I am assembling a group as we speak that will provide maximum efficiency and expendability. The strikes will move in successive momentum until they are left broken and ground under our collective heel."

He gives another small nod, and a smattering of applause accompanies him as he retakes his seat.
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Raton

He slid around the imposing iron door, covered in rivets and sharp spikes, and grinned to himself. There's no way he was going to lose, not in front of all those kids watching.

He surged deeper into the system, down twisting corridors and hallways, stopping just outside a door with light flooding from around the edges. He pushed the door open, raising a hand instinctively to cover his eyes as the light blasted out around him. Pulling out a pair of sunglasses, he slides them on, blocking out most of the glare and allowing him to see the room.

It's dominated by a spinning pillar of light, apparently random bits of data, pure 1's and 0's, flashing through the spectrum of colors. It doesn't read like data, and he can't make sense of the patterns before one of the colors lashes out, bathing him in read light, pinning his arms to his sides and holding him paralyzed. The pattern of data shifts, colliding together and forming an enormous face, data still streaming through the collage of colors and numbers as the face stretches out, mouth open wide as it descends on him...

Raton gasped as he woke up, twisted nightmares of his first decking run still bouncing off the inside of his skull. He snatched at the cell phone, snapping "Hello," at the caller before he even saw who it was. He cursed silently as the icon of a 1920's detective peered back, tipping a fedora and shrugging to re-adjust the trenchcoat. He always wondered who Geoff was...whoever he was, he was either Otaku, or he could afford to burn the bandwidth for a high-res icon.

"Got a job for ya, kid. Couple o' friends looking for help with some security computers, simple stuff, nothing complicated. Pay's alright. Meet's tomorrow night, China town, 10pm." He rattles off an address, and tips the fedora, strolling off out of the light of the streetlamp as a light rain starts to fall in the image.

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Lee

There's a shout, and Lee sighed, stepping to one side as he rounded the corner and fading into the shadows. A few moments later several figures come rushing by, crying out about a theft.

Why so much effort? It's not even like the thing was worth more then a couple of nuyen. The silver plating on it had sparkled under the street lamp though, and Lee hadn't been able to resist the urge to pocket it as he strolled by the stand. If the guy behind him hadn't stopped to buy something, the street vendor never would have noticed it was missing.

He stepped out of the shadows, blending in with the crowd and whistling quietly. Raccoon would be pleased. The value was in the act itself, and it always paid to keep the paws adept and light.

He was so pleased he couldn't help but give Lucy a grin as he recognized her face on the phone. "Evening."

She arched a brow, staring at him for a second. "Just stole something, didn't you?"

He just grinned wider.

She shook her head, fighting to keep the amusement off her features. "Hey, look, something right up your alley. Tomorrow night, China town, 10pm," and she rattles off an address.

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Countdown

He sits, crosslegged, in a classic meditation position, chanting the mantra in a low hum that seemed to vibrate through the very floor to draw him in line with the harmonics of Gaia herself.

He had been lucky to find an apartment with a studio space for meditation and training, and he was thankful once again as he rose, the blinking light on the telecom catching his attention.

It's Lynn, and her face looks slightly pinched as she leaves the message, Catonese flowing in a rapid string.

"Sorry to be so abrupt, but there are many concerns at this moment. There is work for you, if you're interested. The meet is tomorrow night in China town, at this address." She pauses, glancing away from the camera and then looking back, a forced smile coming to her lips. "I think you should take this one. It's good money, and the connections would be...useful."

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Maru-san

A soft thump, and the body collapsed against him. The van parked at the curb slid open it's doors, and Maru leaned the now unconscious body towards it, helping hands already reaching out to draw the gentleman in, making it seem as if they're helping him up into the vehicle. He climbed in behind, and the van pulled sedately away from the curb. It had taken less then six seconds to complete, but more then a week of legwork and planning.

He was toasting Jordan on the successful completion of yet another "trade" when his phone rang. He glanced at the number, holding up a finger as Jordan scowled.

Strings had the same smile she always had, probably the same one she'd worn even before she'd become a fixer, pushed out of her house by the Bigio family.

"I'll keep this brief. I've got a line on a series of jobs, and they want discrete, professional people. The pay's okay, but I'm asking, as a favor, for you to take it if it sounds even remotely okay."

Silent, Maru gazed off into the distance for awhile before responding. Strings never asked for favors. She had always been pure business.

She sighs softly in relief, the sound almost imperceptible, and rattles off an address in China town. "10pm. You'll want to make sure you make a good first impression, not that I have any doubts."

Jordan mumbled something about work always calling at the wrong time and flashed him a playful smile as she took another sip of wine.

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Irving

The steak was excellent, at least 6 inches thick, and every bite made Irving remember how good it was that in America, in Seattle at least, even people from humble beginnings could eat the finest foods and live in grand houses. Alright, perhaps it was an apartment, but at 1200' square feet, most people in houses in Seattle couldn't compete. He pushed the plate away, his third of the night, and cocked his head as he heard the patient beeping of the trid in the other room.

Other room, imagine that, he had eight! He'd come along way from the humble beginnings, and he almost thanked the miliary for their treatment, for it had paved the way for his new career in the shadows.

The image on the phone was Fred's flaming humanoid figure, supposed to be a fire elemental, but Irving wasn't sure they really looked like that. The clatter and thump of the heavy rock and roll played in the club Fred worked at came over the line as Irving opened it. A moment later Fred's face appeared, grinning madly. He'd always had a bit of an insane gleam in his eye, but his jobs always paid well, and he'd met a number of contacts he still kept in touch with.

"Irving, my man, how's it going? Hey, look, I've got another job for you." Questions or not, Fred rarely left room in the conversation for a word to get in edgewise.

"There's a couple of guys from that last run you did coming in too, and the pay's small at first, but it's supposed to scale up pretty seriously if the first run goes well." He rattles off an address, already nodding his head to the heavy bass beat behind him.

"Later!" He cuts the line before Irving had a chance to respond, but what else was new?

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Token

She was warming up, and he could tell. It was obvious, and it always happened. A long look, a quiet conversation, let them touch your ears...never failed. Except when work gets in the way.

She looked annoyed as the cellphone rang, and he shot her a smile as he cursed inside and drug the phone out of his pocket, turning slightly away.

"Hello?"

"Mr. Token, I presume?" A cautious yes followed the question, the elf leaning a little further away from the woman as he talked.

"My name is Yamarito Yamazika, and you were referred to me through a business associate of mine. I'm told you are a freelance appearance professional, is this correct? I have a lucrative contract job I believe will be off interest to you." The precise, Japanese accented voice rattled off an address in China town, and mentioned tomorrow at 10pm as a time when someone might be around.

Token plasters the smile back across his face as he turns back to the woman, already mumbling something about how his business was always calling, and realized she was on her way out of the door with some starched suit sarariman.

Probably billed himself as some kind of Shadowrunner, he snorted. Ah well, she obviously had no taste anyway. He ordered another drink.
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