Exiles Hope, Sometimes, the only way out, is through! Options

[Shadow]

The Shalish Shidhe Council Federal Courthouse, Spokane Washington.

“Jason Montgomery Feathers, you are sentenced to banishment for the rest of your natural life.” A hush filled the tribal room as the Elder passed down the judgment. Banishment was a rare punishment used sparingly, but to great affect.

“This is an outraged,” yelled Jason’s Father, William Feathers. The large imposing man stood, grasping the rails to haul up his bulk. “How dare you do this, you are serving justice? I say you are serving politics!”

“Sit down mister Feathers or I will have you removed, your son has committed multiple acts of terrorism against the people, it will not be tolerated.” Fuming William sat down, not believing his ears. His poor son, just a boy really, paying for the enemies his father made.

“You will serve out your sentence on the Island of Iski-ahe. If you choose to leave, your sentence will be death. You have 15 minutes to prepare young man, I hope the rest of your life will be used to reflect upon the madness of your youth. The council has spoken.” With that the elderly native man rose, as did the rest of the room, with the notable exception of William Feathers, and left. None saw the faint smile on his lips as he departed the room.

Stunned and in shock, Jason turned to his father, “you must believe me Dad, I did none of this, please don’t let them do this, Dad, PLEASE!” William stood holding his son at arms length, “Be strong my son, and face your punishment like the warrior you are.” It pained to say these words to his son but he had no choice, not here, not now. “Remember, I will always come for you.”

William embraced his son, then turned and left without a look back. The bailiffs came and dragged a stunned Jason away, the whole time the poor boy muttered, “but, I’m innocent”.

Once outside William hailed his limousine. A sleek grey Mitsubishi Nightsky. The door opened automatically and the man in his late 30’s seemed much older as he slid inside. The air conditioned interior was very comfortable after the brutally hot interior of the council chambers.

William looked to his friend, Johnny Blaze for support. “They did it Johnny, the bastards did it, just to trash my campaign, they sentenced him to banishment.”

Blaze nodded in reply, not surprised at all by the conviction of his friends enemies. His reaction was consistent with the 34 year old man that he was. A brutal and cunning mercenary trained on the battlefield of life. His response was just as William though it would be. “I can have Casper and Eclipse meet me in Seattle in 48 hours, once there, Virus can get us transportation, will have to use a local to get to the island, but I think we can have your son back in less than 72 hours Sir.”

William though about it for a moment, and as much as it pained him to say so, “No. Sorry Blaze if your team did it they could trace it back to me. As much as I would like you to, we just can’t.” William thought things over for a few minutes as the car glided along the streets of Spokane. “Tell the driver to head to the airport, I am going to grieve the lost of my son in our cabin in the Cascades. You will, of course come with me. I will stay there for a period of two weeks, that’s how long we have before they start to suspect.” The scenery shifted as the limo turned and headed for the airfield.

Blaze replied with a cold smile, “Understood”. Was all he said as he reached for his cell.

……

“Understood,” said the electronically filtered voice of Blaze. A man leaned back in a chair, an old cigarette in his hand and a smile on his face.

[Shadow]

The Hughes Stallion hovvered a few meters off shore of the small island. the whup-whup of the rotors resonated throughout the hull of the aircraft giving it a very ominous feal. "alright kid this is it, you got to jump out or we push you out," the tall officer said to Jason. They had already thrown out some basic survival gear, Jason could see the orang buoy floating below him. They weren't even dropping him off on the land, instead they were dumping him 20 meters off shore.

All Jason was had were the close on his back. The 18 year old kid stepped up to the door, his dad's words echoing in his unprotected ears. "Don't be too long dad," then he jumped.

The fall was quick and ended with a cold shock. Jason submerged underwater, the cold October water freezing his limbs. He tried to scream but ended up swallowing the bitter sea water. Finally, his limbs worked, he struggling clawing his way up to the surface. He broke free and inhaled as much air as he could. Looking around he spotted the orange buoy and swam for it. He was young and strong and able to plow through the water as it crashed toward the shore. He reached the buoy and held on tight. Using his feet to kick and maneuver the buoy to the shore. It didn't take long to get there. Jason staggered up the rocky beach, soaked and exhausted he hauled the buoy up.

He knew he didn't have much time before hypothermia kicked in, 15 minutes or so. He opened the container and found the fire kit. He then looked around for some dry wood, the rain had soaked most of the wood on the beach so he struggled to the sparse tree line. A dead tree provided his haven from the wind and rain. He put together as much fallen wood as he could find. He held the firestarter underneath the wood and waited. It didn't take long for the flame to burst from the logs.

He basked in the heat for a few minutes, enjoying the warmth for all the cold around him. Piling a few more pieces of wood on to make sure it didn't go out, Jason headed back down and dragged his survival kit up to the tree. Huddled over the fire shivering he waited for the rescue he hoped was coming.

[grendel]

0800 PDT 04 Nov 2063, Tacoma

Amber rolled off the couch, taking most of the covers with her. It took her a minute to realize that the lights in the warehouse were still set on full illumination. Rubbing her eyes, she wrapped the blanket around her shoulders and stumbled to the railing overlooking the lower level. She called out to the figure hunched over the workbench, the composite body sections of a drone strewn about him in various support cradles.
“Why are you still here?”
“The system is still experiencing a point one three percent target resolution inaccuracy. I’ve eliminated all network-based losses, and the MCM is tuned to within one percent of optimum. I’m working on receiver/sensor integration losses, and I think I’m on to something.” Grendel answered her in an offhand manner, his hands deep in the guts of the Wolfhound.
“Point one three percent?” Amber cleared the last of the sleep from her mind, moving down the stairs to the shop floor with deliberate caution. “That’s less than the factory assured quality by an order of magnitude! It’s probably the range targeting sensors themselves.”
“No, I reformatted your system and upgraded the alignments on all laser and sensor targets because they weren’t capable of the accuracy I wanted. Your range is now registering target locks within plus or minus three millimeters.”
“How long have you been up?” She curled onto the workbench next to the lanky elf, careful to avoid the hot soldering iron in its holder.
“Thirty five hours, seventeen minutes. I’m fine for another eight hours before I’ll have to go down for a full eight. Zoe called me yesterday with news of a job and the network’s been needing this maintenance for a while.” Flat screen displays flickered, three dimensional images rotating in response to Grendel’s cybernetic commands. “I think it’s the 1553 databus between the BattleTac module and the main sensor trunk. If I move the sensor ports further back on the line and rework the timing, I can get priority processing for the targeting array.”
“Even if you manage that, you’re only going to get another point oh one or point oh two percent out of the thing.” She peered at the specs he had on the main display, running quick numbers through her mind.
“My models show a point zero four improvement in target lock gain. That puts me below the zero point one benchmark that I set for myself. Why are you awake?” Parts within the Wolfhound clicked in mechanical synchrony. Amber yawned.
“No reason, had a hard time sleeping lately.”
Grendel opened up a new window in his field of view, accessing the personnel file he’d compiled on his mechanic contact.
“Worried about Mitch?” he asked, his voice devoid of inflection. She shook her head.
“No, not so much. He can take care of himself. Anyway, I’m going for breakfast. Want anything?” Amber examined her reflection briefly, frowning at the shadows beneath her eyes.
“Sure,” he replied, “something warm and soy.” Amber nodded, heading off to the part of the warehouse where her vehicles were stored. Grendel closed out his text window, bringing the network feed to the forefront in order to clear the exterior for Amber. The Condor’s sensors showed nothing outside the range of normal traffic, both vehicular and pedestrian. He shifted the feed to a forty percent mask, looking through the ghostly image at the silicon and fiber optic guts of the drone. His hands, frozen in place during the network operations, resumed their surgery. Eight hours. He had to complete this upgrade and run the system through the evaluation cycle again, then tune the other three drone’s sensor modules. Not to mention that spending eight hours down was far too long without back-up. Grendel let out a mental sigh. Silver would be willing to look after him while he slept. As much as he didn’t want to go that route, there weren’t any other good alternatives. Finishing the last of his connections in the Wolfhound, he double checked the mounts against their respective wiring diagrams. All points checked, and he began the relatively simple process of reassembling the drone. At the same time, he brought his comm interface live, routing a call to Silver. No time like the present to take care of bad business.

[TinkerGnome]

The steady buzzing of the apartment's central computer brought Scott to wakefunless. Whatever had been bothering him in the dreams slowly faded into a murky background as his systems began to hum to life one by one. As soon as his body registered conciousness, a small window appeared in his view of the insides of his eyelids. A geometric layout of the inside of his apartment etched its way across them in a cool cyan while a single green triangle with longitude and latitude coordinates displayed beside it, the most insignificant digits rippling slowly as he released the grip his hand had on the pistol under the pillow and he rolled over.

His eyes opened and the flare compensation kicked in, screening out the bright light coming from the lights above and saving him a headache. Sleeping deeply was a lurxury and a habit he knew he couldn't aford to keep. Work had been slow lately, and he'd fallen into bad habits he hadn't suffered from for a decade. His eyes open, the world came into focus instantly. A multitude of colors danced across his view, each one with its own special meaning. The mottled ceiling showed patterns of heat and texture which is mechanical senses translated into lines and colors. He sighed and stifled a yawn. He'd been asleep to long to be sleepy, he felt, though his body had other ideas.

He rolled to the side and stood up, stretching again. His arms showed more muscle than most, and it looked to be the type of strength gained from a vat instead of a gym. As he stretched, more 'ware became apparent. He did a bit of limbering up and then collapsed back onto the mattress, his arm groping for the rifle down beside the bed. When he found it, he thumbed the safety off and set it on the bed beside him. The damn thing had slipped off its hook again in the middle of the night. It was a miracle that it hadn't blown massie chunks out of the floor.

He gripped the handle of the weapon, his other hand caressing the Ares logo on the side. As his hand touched the grip, it almost seemed to melt into his hand and a small target designator appeared in his field of vision. He gave a mental command and the clip popped out into his waiting hand, the end of the clip banded in green to show that it was non-lethal ammunition.

He took another clip from under the bed and slid it in, the red and black checkerboard around the base indicating it was explosive ammunition. He stumbled off to the shower, the gun in hand and completely nude. While he washed, the weapon sat on a little shelf inside the shower and above the water line. The weapon was obviously military issue, so the steam was not likely to cause problems with it.

Finally done, he shook off the water and dried himself before sliding into a set of comfortable clothes and pulling on a bullet proof vest. Once dressed, he retrieved the handgun from under his pillow and found its mate in the beside drawer. The pair went around his shoulder and across his back. He checked the clips in each of them, as well, making sure the simple red bands of regular ammunition were around their bases before sliding a couple of the small clips with the red and back checkerboards into his pocket. He took another smaller gun and strapped it to the inside of his leg, where it was hidden by his boot. He slid on an armored overcoat and walked toward the door. He fished a couple of credsticks out of a small plastic dish on the table and pocketed them, along with a pager and a pocket secretary. He plugged the secretary into a small device about the size of a golfball which he then detached a thin datacord from and inserted into the plug at the base of his skull. The transducer translated text and sound, providing him with a weather report and his appointment calendar.

Sighing, he looked around the room, trying to make sure he had everything he would need. As an afterthought, he stepped to the refrigerator and fished inside, coming out with a grenade which he pocketed. It was only smoke, of course, but it was better to be safe than sorry. That done, he stepped out the door, the electric strike lock clicking reassuringly closed behind him. He checked the time displayed in the small window of his vision and grunted as it read 0815.45. He was going to be a bit early, but that was fine. With the clunk of his boots, he made his way to the elevator and down to his car in the subteranean garage. It was a short ride across town, but at this hour, it might well take all day.

[TinkerGnome]

The soft roar of the Brumby's diesel engine was quickly drowned out by the steady pattering of rain as Scott sloshed his way onto the street outside. The smoke grenade had been tossed into the glove box the second the weather report came through. There was no need to bother carrying it in this type of weather.

The tires sent up dual plumes of water as he bounced his way onto the street proper and started rolling his way out of Tacoma and toward downtown. With a deft movement, he unplugged the pocket secretary from his neck, the device automaticly going back into voice mode once freed from the transducer interface. A bit of fishing behind the seat produced a second cable which replaced the first. As he stopped at an intersection, the virtual dashboard sprang into being.

Navigation became easier as he progressed across the city map in his head toward Tony's Diner downtown. He pulled his pocket secretary from its pocket and glanced at the vid screen long enough to make sure it was in the right mode. "Phone on. Call Ziggy." The little device beeped a few times and started ringing. After three, it was picked up.

"Yo."

"Hey, Zig," he said, smiling a bit, though he knew it wouldn't be seen.

"Oi, chummer, we still on for breakfast in thirty?" Scott had a mental image of the other guy sitting around in his cluttered shop looking groggy.

"Yeah, might be a bit late with all the rain and all. You might want to consider moving uphill, if the weather casters are right."

"Nah, my place don't leak. Catch you in thirty."

He continued his drive in the pelting rain, hoping that the storm would just blow south. This kind of weather always ended badly for some reason.

[Shadow]

@ Grendel

1600 hours (U) 04Nov63

The telacom insistent beeping grabs your attention as you are getting ready to lay down. The answer light flares to life, Zoe’s professional, but attractive face appears on the monitor.

“Hoi Gren, good news for you. I think I have lined up a highly lucrative job offer for you. I am arranging for some of my regulars, including you to hear his offer. I’m telling you now omae, this could be a sweet deal for you. 0600 hours, Fifteen Troll Bar it’s just this side of the border in Issaquah. I’ve loaded the direction into your chip. It’s about a 45 minute trip so give yourself plenty of time. This is the big time omae, so watch your back.”

The message ends with a beep letting you know that something has been uploaded into the phones memory.

[Shadow]

@Warpath

1605 hours (U) 04Nov63

The message light flashes on your phone. Activating it, a sweet voice with a hint of a southern accent rolls out.

“Hoi ‘Path, enjoying the weather? I know I haven’t thrown you a bone in a while but the market’s been down, but I am about to make it up to you. I’ve got a sweet deal for you, I am putting together a team as I speak for a very respectable Johnson. The meet is at the Fifteen Troll Bar out in Issaquah, I’ve loaded the directions to your chip. 0600 tomorrow. Don’t be late, like I said, sweet deal.”

The message ends with a beep letting you know that something has been uploaded into the phones memory.

[Shadow]

@Delacroix

1615 hours (U) 04Nov63

The gloom outside matches your mood as you stand by the window watching the rain fall in sheets. It’s been only a few weeks since your last job and already money is getting tight. As if reading your thoughts the Trid rings. Not feeling particularly chatty you let the voice mail pick. A petite, good looking blonde with shoulder length curly hair materializes on screen.

“Hoi chummer, I got your name from a friend of mine, a guy named Arden. He said you were the man with Major mojo to be had at a price. My names Zoe, and I have a pretty lucrative offer for you. If your interested the meet is at a place called Fifteen Troll Bar, just outside of Issaquah on the NAN border. I hope to see you there.”

The Troll bar again, oh boy…

[Shadow]

@Sedryk
1620 hours (U) 04Nov63

Somewhere a phone rings, pulling you out of your slumber. A high pitched voice speaks, you realize it’s Mellow voice yelling from downstairs.

“Dad, DAD,” she yells to you, “PHONE!! Make it quick please I’m expecting a call!”

The telecom lights up with Xanders smiling mug, “Hoi Sed, you look like I feel, rough night?” The night before there had been a street battle, it had taken a significant amount of force to keep the neighbor hood safe.

“Anyways omae have I got a deal for you. A friend of mine named Zoe passed along a sweet deal. Could be big bucks, and definitely some street cred. The meet is at the Fifteen Troll Bar just outside of Issaquah, it’s just shy of the border and about a 45 minute trip. This could be your ticket my brother. This ones on the house, but if you do hit the big time, I want to be your exclusive ok? Take care and watch your back. Out.” The telecoms memory light flashes, letting you know that a data package has been uploaded. The words “big time” echo in your head.

[Shadow]

@Jesse

1625 hours (U) 04Nov63

Your sure you got the right address. Two hours you have been waiting for the contact to show. Two hours in the most miserable weather imaginable. Nothing. “Rats must all be waiting out the storm, like I should be,” you muse to yourself. The beep inside your head notifies you of an incoming call. There’s a click and some slight static as the other end connects.

“Hoi Jesse, Zoe here. Hey listen I may have a great job for you, no wetwork, just a strait up rescue mission. If your interested come to the Fifteen Troll Bar at 0600 tomorrow. I am loading directions into your mem as we speak. See you around.” The phone disconnects abruptly, Zoe never was one for conversation.

[Shadow]

@BlackJack

1635 hours (U) 04Nov63

The wind slams against your house again and again as you sit by the fire. The power had gone out an hour ago so you decided a good book, a warm fire, and a bottle of wine was in order for the evening. The wind rattles your house again and then followed by the Trid ring. Not wanting to get uncomfortable you let the voice mail answer. There’s a click and you here the familiar voice of Zoe speaking,

“Hoi BJ, got a great job for you. I am not sure how much decking is involved but it has the potential to be a lot. This is a high profile piece of work, you have a great opportunity for some street cred. The J wants a face to face at 0600 tomorrow morning in a joint called the Fifteen Troll Bar. This could be good for you girl, don’t pass it up, soka?”

The line dies. Zoe has been a very reliable fixer for you in the past, you think. High profile eh…

[TinkerGnome]

Back at his flat after lunch with Ziggy, Warpath, aka Scott, looks up from cleaning his weapons at the blip from the pager. He fishes out his pocket secretary and jacks it in through the transducer. Seconds later, he is listening to the message inside his head. He nods in recognition and downloads the directions into his headware. The Seattle map he was chipping only vaugely covered the area outside the boarder, but the directions showed the way to a glowing orange triangle just outside the city borders.

He panned the map around a bit, trying to get a feel for the best route, and nodded. Getting into Issaquah shouldn't be difficult, and the place didn't look too far out, either. If this was an ambush, they had certainly waited a long time to spring it. If it were something else, it could be good money.

He turned back to the arsenal arrayed on the table and started selecting things at random and inspecting them. 0600 meant a departure time from base of 0400 at the bare minimum, and he had work to do before then.

[Grey]

Jessie sighs, figuring the contact is never going to show up... Screw it... I'm going home... Damn this weather... At least tomorrow may prove to be a little more interesting than today was... I wonder what is going on this time...

[Shadow]

@Danny

1700 hours (U) 04Nov63

“Danny, Danny, wake up, you got a phone call.” The sweet feminine voice wakes you from your dreary oblivion. You role over and look up to see the trid unit on the coffee table, a good looking women with shoulder length curly blonde hair and soft brown eyes looks back. “Morning Danny, I apologize for contacting you like this, I received word you got in Seattle last night, and I was excited to here this. I know you don’t know me, my name is Zoe, I’m a friend of a friend who recommends you highly as a healer and cool head. Two qualities I am in the market for. I have a very lucrative offer for you and if your interested, meet me at a place called the Fifteen Troll Bar tomorrow morning at 0600. Trust me omae, it will be well worth the trip. I hope you make.” The call fades and the words lucrative roll around in your head, lucrative means money.

[Grey]

After a good nights rest, Jessie wakes up and goes through her morning ritual of showering, followed by some light stretching and exercises. She takes some time durring the day to check through all her gear and make her everything is in working order. She packs everything into her backpack and puts that into the Americar. She then goes out for a quick jog to get the blood flowing and follows that up with another shower. After drying off its time to get dressed, struggling into the form fitting bodysuit, and stacking on the stylish, secure clothing and long coat. Fitting her Predator into its concealed holster within the long coat, she heads out the door, wanting to get to the meet at least 30 minutes early...

[Leowulf]

Blackjack perks up and pauses reading her book to listen to her fixer's message. A sly grin comes to her face as she hears about the opportunity her fixer has just hooked her up with. She turns and faces the phone, listening intently to every word.

Finally! my big break!!, she thinks to herself.

After the message ends, Blackjack settles back down into her place on the couch, giddy with excitement. She quickly reads another chapter of her book before going to bed. The bad weather would make sleeping a bit difficult for her anyway. Just one more chapter, since she had to get up early. She also looks up the driving directions to the bar before turning in for the night.

In the morning, Blackjack gets up early and showers and dries herself, making sure to get all the water out of her cyberarms. Wearing only her light purple bathrobe, she has a quick bagel with light cream cheese, a bit of honeydew melon, and some coffee to drink.

Fifteen minutes later, Blackjack is putting on her underwear and form-fitting armor half suit. She dresses herself in some stylish high heeled black calf boots.

Need something black to wear with my boots...No, I don't wanna wear those!

She takes off the high heeled boots and grabs some designer hiking boots instead. Finding her pair of nice blue stretch jeans, she puts them on under a tight red tank top and then laces up the hiking boots. Then, she brushes her teeth, puts on her makeup, and fixes her hair, which has started to dry a bit now, even though the natural curls hold moisture well.

Ok. Jewelry!..

She selects her all occassion white gold ear studs with single diamonds, a matching gold beaded bracelet, and a golden crucifix pendant, which hangs down just above the neckline of her top, settling itself between the tops of her breasts.

She gives herself a final look in the mirror and then straps on her gun holster with the Ares Predator II in it. She straps on her forearm guards and puts on her modified Ulysses Line coat, then she grabs her deck and pocket PC and puts them into one of the long pockets. Grabbing an umbrella for the rain, she locks up her front door and makes her way to her Eurocar Westind 2000 Turbo sportscar, which is parked in the driveway. Starting it up and jacking the optic cable to one of the dataports at the base of her skull, Blackjack turns on the lights and wipers and heads out to the meet at the Fifteen Troll Bar, using the directions she looked up on the Matrix the night before.

This post has been edited by Leowulf: Nov 2 2003, 11:29 AM

[grendel]

040000U4NOV63

The last second of Grendel’s required rest ticked away, and the artificial organ grafted deep within his brain brought him from sleep to wakefulness instantly. Heartbeat and respiration increased, as well as endostructural temperature. Epinephrine and dopamine levels rose while serotonin levels dropped, reabsorbed into the glands of the hypothalamus. Adrenaline began to filter back into his system as the animal mind prepared itself for battle once again. He could feel Silver curled against him, her naked skin warm against his. Instead of opening his eyes, he brought the network interface live. His field of view sectored into multiple visuals, status reports and surveillance feed dominating. Bringing the recorded feed of the eight hours he spent resting to the forefront, he ran it at eight times speed, updating the rest of the network simultaneously. Seventeen minutes passed.

“You’re awake. I can feel your heartbeat.” Silver stretched, catlike.

“We have to stop meeting like this. Sooner or later Paul will become suspicious.” Grendel opened his eyes, his vision automatically adjusting for the dimness in the room, the sensor feeds ghosting into a fifty percent mask.

“He knows that there are…aspects of my old life that still affect me, things that he won’t fully understand.” Silver smiled at him, and he wondered casually if she believed that lie. In the end, he didn’t suppose it would matter. Sooner or later, the past would catch up to them and one, or both, would pay. Grendel’s face hardened at the thought, and Silver misunderstood the tension she felt in his body.

“Don’t worry, I told you before, no strings.”

“I’m sorry for causing this inconvenience, but you know there aren’t very many alive who I can trust to stand the watch.” He rose smoothly from the bed, pausing only to stretch briefly before reaching for his combat gear.

“I don’t mind at all. I’m glad you called, actually.” Silver tucked the sheet up under her chin, watching the bulky elf suit up. Grendel shook his head.

“No, you wanted out and I got you out. It should stay that way. The more often I am around you, the more dangerous it is for you.” His weapons disappeared beneath his long coat, and he ran through a quick double check.

“I’d like you to be around more often,” whispered Silver, almost to herself. Almost was enough for him to ignore it. He turned at the door, his black eyes unreadable.

“I’ll see you.”

“Be careful,” she said, but he was already gone.

0330, I90, Seattle

In the darkness of the early morning, the Condor drone slipped quietly over the treetops. It’s synthetic lifting body was painted a random pattern of mottled grays and blacks, blending perfectly with the night sky. The unblinking eyes of the sensor package recessed in the drone’s belly scanned the highway below, data from multiple spectrums recorded and transferred across the network.

Grendel watched the feed on the main virtual screen inside the Bison, parked in a rest area nine kilometers outside Issaquah on I90. Information flowed down the sides of the view, targets indexed and collated on the BattleTac network, EM signals crossfixed and annotated in strength and modulation. He wanted all the advantages possible considering he was outside friendly territory and working without backup.

On the second virtual screen, a 3-D topographical map of the area, covering 30 square kilometers surrounding the border city of Issaqah. Orange lines, dotted with GPS waypoints, squiggled across the green terrain. The maps, downloaded off the UCASGS servers, were accurate to within .5m for elevation and terrain features, but what he needed to know was water depth. His third escape route from the meet location, should anything go wrong, was cross-country to Issaqah creek, then north to Lake Sammamish. He checked the time index again. Soon, now. He issued another directive to the drone, watching as it altered its course to south, giving him the requested view. Soon.

[TinkerGnome]

Warpath

Morning broke with the accustomed buzzing of the central computer. Another struggling rise showed the world in multihued textural, temperature, and light patterns. Systems which had to be shut off or grown acustomed to again every morning. Shaking his head to clear the sleep, Scott performed his morning absolutions groggily. Only the shower seemed to have the power to revive him from the edge of sanity, and after doing so he had a few minutes to collect his thoughts and check the weather and news before getting down to business.

Arrayed before him was his potential working gear. All one hundred kilos of it.

This was a meet, so going in quiety was the best option. Non-lethal if possible.

He looked over the gear again. The Predators were a no-brainer. As was his Morrisey Elan in its ankle holster. Moving to the closet, he pulled out his "meet gear", a nicely tailored Armantè suit with discreet armoring. It went well with the Securetech™ long coat over top and did well for social situations. To the growing pile, he added his pocket secretary, pager, radio gear, his bug scanner and micro-camcorder, and a few odds and ends of pocket gear. To the top of the pile, he tossed a couple of smoke grenades.

He looked over the two piles and nodded. Everything he'd probably need was in the meet pile, though everything he might need was still in the other. He pulled out a large rucksack and started piling in stuff he might need. His shotgun was still out in the Brumby, and to the sack he added a couple of suits of camoflague (urban and woodland), a respirator, a handful of grenades of more offensive types, an OXSYS mask, and the basics of a survival kit. It was overpreparing, of course, but the cases of dead runners who had overprepared didn't even register against the pile of them who hadn't.

Finally, dressed in his suit and long coat and lugged a heavy rucksack, Scott made his way to the Brumby being extra careful to avoid being seen unessarily. The Yellow triangle of the meet point was blipping on the topographical map arrayed inside his artificial eyes, and his current point showed an easy drive to get there.

As the Brumby rolled out of the garage, the time display on the virtual dashboard clicked over to 0445.

[Jr. Woodchuck]

This was it, there was no turning back. Delacroix had become something he feared most. Trapped in isolation, in his own self loathing, pity...he became depressed. He saw everything he loved die that day. That day, he became a husk with no spirit left to command it he felt he should just let it wither and die.

Delacroix looked in the mirror sitting on his bed, his hair a mess and tears welling up in his eyes. Delacroix commanded for the Ares Predator on his night stand. The gun hearing the call flew to Delacroix’s hand in an instant. The single bullet in the chamber called to him. It was a bullet especially made for his passing. Silver plated, the soft metal allowed him to engrave it with the words Tralel fol ditck forshaw! (For those I love!)

Hearing the bullets call, Delacroix put the barrel in his mouth and began to squeeze on the trigger. His heightened sense of hearing could pickup the small grindings of metal on metal as the hammer was being pulled back. This time Delacroix wasn’t going to mess it up. The bullet will pass thru his upper pallet into his brain, he’ll die instantly.

The vidscreen began to ring. Tears fell down on his shirt as he looked to see who it was. “Out of Area” came up for the Caller ID. Delacroix ignored the call letting it go to voicemail.

The gun groaned as the trigger was pulled back a little bit more.

The vidscreen flashed on, it was an older Elven woman. She called out to her son by name. He listened to her finish leaveing a message in their native tongue. He dropped his gun, unable to go thru the act yet again, he walked towards the window. Closeing his eyes he yanked the drapes open, welcomeing the bright sunlight into his room. Yet there were none.

The gloom outside matched his mood perfectly, as he watched the rain fall in sheets. The vidscreens unwelcome rings chimed thru the apartment again. Not feeling particularly chatty the elf let the voice mail pickup again. A petite, good looking blonde with shoulder length curly hair materializes on screen.

“Hoi chummer, I got your name from a friend of mine, a guy named Arden. He said you were the man with Major mojo to be had at a price. My names Zoe, and I have a pretty lucrative offer for you. If your interested the meet is at a place called Fifteen Troll Bar, just outside of Issaquah on the NAN border. I hope to see you there.”

“A troll bar? Haven’t been to one of those in awhile,” thought the elf. “Perhaps this will help me get the closure I so desire in my life.”

[Fortune]

0430 PST 11/04/63

Danny had spent most of the previous evening thinking about the mysterious comcall from Zoe. Having only arrived in Seattle for the first time two days ago, he hadn't even had time to get acclimated to the weather, let alone gain much knowledge about the sprawl or make any local contacts. Surely his reputation could not have spread as far away from home as this, yet here he was with not only a job offer, but an enthusiastic one at that, mere moments after he stepped off the plane.

Crushing the butt of his smoke out in the overflowing ashtray on the scarred night stand, he takes a last look around the dingy hotel room. Finding nothing he had missed on his previous inspections, he jams his Stetson firmly on his head and hefts the large, well-worn military-style duffel bag onto his left shoulder.

Shaking off any last minute hesitations, he closes the door behind him and heads out into the pre-dawn, drenched in what seems like the ever-present rain of the sprawl. Thankfully it's only a short walk to the taxi stand near the corner, so both the bag's, and his dark brown bomber jacket's waterproofing doesn't get too much of a workout before he finds the relative shelter of one of Seattle's many cabs.

After several minutes spent in negotiation, Danny agrees to a figure almost twice as much as he seems to think reasonable, then settles back for what turns out to be a long drive out to Fifteen Troll Bar, which seems to be located somewhere outside of the normal city haunts near some place called Issaquah. Blatantly ignoring the neon No Smoking signs plastered about the cab, he fishes out a cigarette and touches the flame of his Zippo to the tip.

[Chance359]

Sedryk rose from his slumber and hit the bathroom for a quick shower, shave and tusk polishing. Walking back to his room with a towel around his waist, he began laying out his clothing for tonight meet. Silk boxers were covered by his form fitting body armor, to which he clipped the concealed knife sheaths, one to each wrist. Next came the tailored black suit with collarless white shirt, and his holsters for each of his weapons. Smiling to himself, he kissed his finger tips and brushed them against his poster of James Dean as he headed down to the living room.

[Shadow]

0400 (U) 5Nov63

The drive outside the sprawl leaves you in unfamiliar territory, following the signs that say NAN border. Seracrete towers are replaced by hills and trees, lampposts by shrubbery and the falling rain limits visibility to only a hundred feet. Traffic is light as you get close to the border, mostly early morning freight runs. At 1 klick to go from the border an old green sign says Food next right with a painted trolls head above the letters. The cracked paved road may have once been in good repair, but not anymore.

The Fifteen Troll Bar is not hard to find at all. A two story building made of pine wood, not painted just stained. Eight foot tall panoramic windows are set in the top, and a ten foot tall double door makes the front look like home for a giant. An old wooden sign loudly proclaims in green and blue,Troll Bar Truck stop, Trolls welcome. The parking lot is mostly dirt with vast, lake like, puddles. A few semi-trucks are parked in the back but mostly the place is empty. A beat up orange pickup truck that has more rust than paint is parked in front of the entrance.


@Grendel
The condor slips through the night like a thief, silent and invisible. Your advanced sensor array reports back normal traffic for the area. Stored in your computer are advanced 3d topographical maps of the area, created with GPS precision. At 0500 a Red Westwind Turbo roles off the highway and turns into the parking lot for the bar. A stunning blonde women steps out, she dressed for biz. You use your scanners to zoom in on her, you instantly recognize her as Zoe. She walks up the steppes to the bar and there in the shadows you see a man waiting for her. He is tall, and of Amerindian descent, dressed smartly for the wheather. The move inside before your scanners pick up much more.

(OOC) since you got here first you can see all the others as they arrive.

@ Warpath[b]
The drive out goes well, you pull your Brumby into the pot holed parking lot, finding a nice sheltered area with some thick pine trees to act as cover in a emergency. The wind has let up slightly and the rain is falling strait down. You can see the entrance of the bar, not many other vehicles are present.

[b]@ Jessie
The road out isn't as safe as your used to driving. Several time you were forced to slow down as wind and rain shook your car so bad you felt it might tip over! Once at the bar you park near the entrance. Your 15 minutes early and not entirely sure what to do next. Beside the orange truck and a few semis it's hard to tell if there are any other vehicles around do to the intense rainfall, thankfully the wind has seemed to die down some.

@ BlackJack
Your street slicks don't handle so well in the 2 inches of water that seem to be covering everything. On a couple of occasions you even had to drive on the shoulder to avoid puddles deeper than your engine. Once out in Issaquah your Westwind handles a lot better and it doesn't take you long to make up the lost time. The offramp looms and you turn, the truck stop is pathetically easy to find. Parked in the lot already are several vehicles, including a Westwind thats the same make and model as the one your driving, though a different color.

@ Danny
The cab pulls up in front of the giant building labeled the troll bar. The rain is falling but the wind has let up enough to see what your getting into to. The driver gives a look as you get out, "I'm not waiting for you," he says, practically speeding off before your done unloading. The doors loom in front of you, impossibly tall.

@ Delacroix

The drive out is almost relaxing, almost. The drive brings out some pleasant memories of camaraderie and friends. Those memories quickly turn dark and lead down a path you wish not to travel again. The bar looms up ahead. There seem to be several nice cars parked there as well as a couple of beat up trucks. You find a spot to park, out of way, and sit and wait for the clock to hit 6.

(OOC) It is still dark, sunrise isn't until 8, and even then there will be a %100 cloud cover.

@ Sedryk

The stepvan handles well in the rain and mud, the weather nothing more than an annoyance as you drive out. Though you can definitely see a few people stuck in the mud, oh well. You arrive a few minutes before the meet, the bar seeming to be a good location. The road and surrounding are is so deserted you could see someone coming a mile away, if you could see that far in the rainfall.



[I](OOC) Next I will go ahead and post a description of the inside of the bar. That way you can make a longer post other than "I go inside".[I/]

This post has been edited by Shadow: Nov 3 2003, 10:48 PM

[Shadow]

The bar is huge, the ceilings are almost twenty feet up, the barstools are the size of small dinner tables, everything here from the bath-towel size napkins to the half keg sized glasses are made for trolls, you feel like a hobbit in a giants cave. Behind the bar an old troll with a kaleidoscope of scars and one sawed of horn nods at you. A dim grey light shines in from the huge windows on the top floor. Not actually a two story building, just lot’s of head room. The back of the bar is filled with booths and tables, everything is wood and vinyl. There are only a handful of patrons and they are at the bar eating and drinking.
Sitting by herself, looking for all the world like a doll in an over sized doll house is Zoe. Her usual MO is not show herself, but from her call you get the feeling that this job is special.


(OOC) Post your entrences now.

[Chance359]

Sedryk enters the, shaking the rain off his shoulders, making sure to keep his long coat closed.

"Hell of a storm out there," he points with his thumb over his shoulder "Let me have a beer, something like, don't wanna get too messed up to drive."

Seeing Zoe sitting be herself, Sedryk takes his fishbowl sized mug and causally walks over to her. "A friend told me taht you might have something you needed done."

[Fortune]

Danny removes his hat as he pushes the door open, shaking the Stetson free of water and then using it to brush the excess moisture from his jeans and leather jacket. Dropping his duffel bag, his green eyes scan the interior while he runs his hand through his close-cropped black hair, then straightens the small pony-tail at the back before returning his hat to his head at a jaunty angle.

Having easily spotted the woman from yesterday's comcall, he retrieves his bag and strides directly to her table. After a brief nod of acknowledgement to the orc present, and indicating to the old barman his desire for coffee, he turns his full attention to the woman.

His eyes never leave Zoe as he places his bag on the floor beside the table, settles himself on to one of the over-sized stools, then sparks up a cigarette.

"Ah reckon you be knowin' more 'bout me th'n maht be normal. Ah'm of a mind t' find out just how that came t' be."