Living in the Shadows: IC, Jan 15th-21st Options

[Mister Juan]

19:48:58 Monday, 15 January 2063 - 4320 S. Mead Street, Downtown, Seattle

Across the roof the car, Ludmila watched Miki for a moment. She felt beat and dead tired, but did her best to bury it all deep down. That little spot between her eyebrows tightened as she adopted what she hoped was a mask of detached professionalism. She nodded to him, once, but her eyes reflected something that wasn’t as hard as the rest of her body.

Leaning back into the car, she looked at Vadim. Her lips parted briefly.

“You...”

She’d been a single breath away from asking him if he needed help getting out of the car before the words choked into her throat. With a now characteristic passivity, he glanced at her.

“Thanks. I owe you. I mean it.”

With a grunt, the big Russian leaned forward a bit and swung himself out of the car. On the backseat, the chemist was half passed out from sheer exhaustion, which brought the brooding back to Ludi’s face. What in the drek did he have to be tired about?

“Hey! We are here. You get out.” she said in her thick English.

[grendel]

19:53:27 Monday, 15 January 2063 - 4320 S. Mead Street, Downtown, Seattle

The chemist opens his mouth as if to protest, then sees the look on Ludi's face. Clutching the envelope to his chest, he scurries from the car. Pausing in front of Mikhail, he begins to stammer out an explanation. The Vory tsar waves it away, patting his arm and pointing towards the cluster of lab tables which make up the business part of the cookhouse.

Vadim steps out of the car as well, his movements still stiff although his wound has ceased to bleed.

"How many?" asks Mikhail as he approaches.

"Three less than they started with," replies the bulky Vory soldier. Mikhail nods, sliding a slim silver flask from the inner pocket of his suit coat. He drinks first, then offers it to Vadim, who accepts gratefully.

"Go get yourself patched up. I'll need you back out here when you're ready."

Mikhail takes the flask and offers it to Ludi, watching his soldier head off towards where his medical staff were clustered. The vodka was harsh in Ludi's mouth, and burned all the way down when she swallowed. It's heat was nothing compared to Mikhail's arm that he snaked around her waist, though, pulling her close.

"Thank you for bringing them back."

[Mister Juan]

19:54:03 Monday, 15 January 2063 - 4320 S. Mead Street, Downtown, Seattle

Ludmila bit her lower lip and smiled devilishly as Mikhail pulled her towards him. She forgot the fact she must have looked half horrible and that her body ached all over. She forgot the bruises and the fear. All she could feel was that hand on her lower back and the heat emanating from his body. She rarely allowed herself to be “seen” with Mikhail, even thought their relation was probably one of the most well known Vory “secret” in Seattle. She had spent years building her reputation in the organization, and the last thing she wanted (usually) was to have her skills put back into question. But right now, in this moment in time, the thought didn’t even cross her mind. She basked in the recognition. She felt safe and wanted; needed.

Holding Mikhail’s gaze, she smiled at him.

“Actually, I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for Vadim’s. I actually owe him a drink, if you can ever spare him.”

One of her hand slid upwards on his chest, hovering over his hearth.

“I promise I’ll be professional.” she added with another crooked smile.

As much as Ludmila wanted to live in this very moment, the thought of tonight’s run crawled back into her mind. She was due to a meet in an hour’s time... and she still hadn’t quite made the decision. She had a few stimpatchs, which would keep her up and running just long enough to see the night through... but then again, seeing the kind of day this was, the night could prove pretty rough.

She could also just call Zeyda and tell him a kind of version of the truth, and take the hit to her rep. But she knew she was already in hot water with the fixer, and standing up a job she herself had asked for was very bad etiquette. And there was the money. Those god damn creds she needed.

After a few seconds of silence, she cleared her throat and looked down.

“I got a picture of one of the guys, if it’s of any use.”

[grendel]

19:57:38 Monday, 15 January 2063 - 4320 S. Mead Street, Downtown, Seattle

Mikhail nodded absently, his concentration elsewhere. Ludi did her best not to fidget as she waited for him to finish whatever virtual business was distracting him. After a second he gave a slight nod, and squeezed her side with his arm.

"Yes, give it to Jaro so he can run it against our database. Then go home to your family. Make sure they are safe. But be ready, I will need you again tomorrow."

Guilt stabbed at Ludi as she nodded, slipping aside to take her leave of the Vory tsar. She hated sneaking around behind him like this, taking jobs on the side. But she so desperately needed the money, money that didn't stink of Vory and that wouldn't tie her down to the organization more thoroughly than she already was. As if she needed any more reminding, her commlink shivered to an incoming message.

Meet is at 2100 at Basil's Faulty Bar, Westgate Blvd and Pearl Street in Tacoma. Ask for Alloces. - Z

[Mister Juan]

20:00:12 Monday, 15 January 2063 - 4320 S. Mead Street, Downtown, Seattle

It took Ludi a few minutes to find Jaro in the crowd of Vory soldiers. She had never been to the warehouse... but then again, she hadn't been to about 95% of the Vory operations in Seattle. For all intent and purposes, Ludmila wasn't completely "in" the Vory yet. She was still somewhat of an outsider, a loose pawn to be placed on the board. Somehow, after today's events, she had a hard time picturing things the same. When she finally found Jaro, she gave him what little footage she had of the attack and bummed a smoke off of him. She pulled on it so hard, by the time she was back to her car, it was nothing but a crumpled butt on the concrete floor.

Inside the cocooned shell of he compact car, everything suddenly felt distant and quiet. As she slammed the door behind her, venting out what little she could, Ludmila was startled by the silence. Blood was rushing up to her head. She felt her teeth grind against each other, painfully. Her knuckles turned white on the unmoving steering wheel.

Breath. In and out. Slowly. God damnit.

Nothing had gone as planned. Nothing at all. The past week had been nothing but snow, drek and near miss. She had been almost killed so many times in such a short time, she'd almost lost track. And it wasn't anywhere near over.

Her hands began to shake. She flexed them a few times. When the bile started to rise up in her throat, the shaking eased off and disappeared. Everything was alright. She was going to pull through. Her knuckles cracked.

She glanced at the passenger seat. Vadim had done a pretty decent job of not bleeding too much all over the seat. She'd have to clean the blood out it once she was finally home.

Home. Now that was a novel idea. Sure, she had pretty much everything she needed in the trunk of the car, but going home before the meet would have been nice. Get a shower. A cup of tea. Chain smoke an entire pack of cigarette. What a dream.

Taking a second look at her commlink, she fired a minimal reply to Zeyda.

Spasiba.

With one last look toward Mikhail, Ludmila connected the car's datalink to her jack and put the car into gear. The hybrid motor kicked in, pushing the car into a slow and silent glide out of the warehouse and back unto the road.

[grendel]

20:09:37 Monday, 15 January 2063 - 4320 S. Mead Street, Downtown, Seattle

Vadim watched Ludi's car back from the warehouse and head out into the gathering darkness. He glanced in Mikhail's direction, finding the Vory Tsar occupied with a trid call along with a second physical conversation. He grimaced as one of the medics poked a particularly tender area before brushing off the man's efforts to bind his wound. He was fine. Ducking out of the med station, he strode to the armory. He had a decision to make and having something to do with his hands always helped. No one questioned him as he rummaged through the stack of ammo cans to find reloads for his shotgun. Nor did they say anything when he hefted one of the AK-98s racked along the wall, jacking a magazine into the well and dumping four more into the voluminous pockets of his greatcoat. He made sure the under barrel grenade launcher was loaded with HE rounds before slinging the weapon over his shoulder.

Out back of the warehouse, he found an Americar with the keys in the ignition. Firing the engine, he punched in the address that Mikhail had sent him to this afternoon, waiting for the navigation system to compute the most efficient route before jamming the engine into drive and accelerating into the night.

Northbound in her own vehicle, Ludi took a moment to scan through the local postings about Basil's Faulty Bar, finding elaborate descriptions of just how much of a dive bar it really was. Apparently, though, rumors abound that the owner is a former shadowrunner, and that the bar is a favorite meeting place of runners and Johnsons due to the staff's discretion. The slim Russian woman ran a hand through her hair, throwing away the idea of checking her appearance in the mirror. She already knew she looked ragged and there was nothing to be done about it now. Hopefully this Alloces, whomever he or she turned out to be, was telling the truth about it being strictly B&E. Ludi was in no condition to be working anywhere social niceties were required.

[grendel]

21:07:19 Tuesday, 16th January 2063 – Millennium Downtown Marriott, 333 South Figueroa St, Los Angeles, CFS

The party was, to put it simply, amazing. Cosmo might even have been able to enjoy herself had she not been there on a stolen invitation to conduct unknown nefarious business. At least she assumed it would be nefarious, in her experience very few legitimate actions took place in hotel penthouses around midnight. The thought made her smile and she sipped from her flute of champagne again. It was wonderfully cool and crisp, tasting slightly of tart apples, and she regretted that she would not be able to have more than one glass.

Shield stood next to her, stiff and uncomfortable. The suit fit him like a glove, tailored to show off his broad, muscular shoulders and trim waist, but he was utterly out of his environment in the middle of such a high society soiree. Cosmo, on the other hand, felt at home for the first time since she’d woken up on New Year’s day. The party atmosphere and movements were as familiar and comfortable as a favorite pair of shoes.

“Hey, I think that’s James Triton!” Shield craned his head to see over the crush of people.

“Relax,” murmured Cosmo, plucking another chocolate covered strawberry from her plate and popping it into her mouth. She’d been impressed with the buffet in any case; fresh fruit and vegetables, caviar, shrimp cocktail, finger sandwiches of prosciutto and roma tomatoes, asparagus spears wrapped in salmon, cheese cubes, and dipping sauces of all kinds. But when she discovered that they had fountains of both milk and dark chocolate for the fresh strawberries, she suppressed a shiver of delight. She’d sent Shield back three times for more. After all, it just wouldn’t do for a lady to go so often.

“He’s the light heavyweight MMA title holder two years running! I wonder if I could get an autograph.” Shield actually sounded hopeful. Cosmo glanced at her companion, concerned for a moment that he was serious. He shook his head, though, more to answer his own question than to reassure her, but she smiled anyway.

Cosmo had done her homework prior to the party, studying up on the faces of popular media. During their initial tour of the room she’d counted at least four simstars with top ten releases, three multi-platinum singers, four sports figures other than James Triton, including the quarterback of last year’s championship Blood Bowl team, as well as a host of runway models. Not to mention the dozens of producers, agents, actors, actresses, and simflick talent schmoozing around. Luckily, it seemed that her work with Shield was having the appropriate effect. No one looked twice at them, or if they did, it was to gauge how they might be exploited in the industry. She deftly turned aside several offers to appear in pictures, both legitimate and illicit, keeping the two of them moving and socializing, waiting for their inevitable midnight appointment.

[Vegas]

04:57:29 Monday, 15 January 2063 - 1400 Willow Heights Road #4, Tacoma, Seattle

Mac didn't like the sound of Isomer's message and she knew she needed to share it with Kovacs when she had the first opportunity. She unwound herself from the chair and made herself a little less comfortable as she studied the screens in front of her. She might not have know the exact ramifications of Isomer's prediction, but the fact that he could tell her they were Europeans flying over on falsified papers told her enough. They weren't just some two-bit street team and that made her shiver with a chill she couldn't quite shake. She had a feeling that something bad was going to come of all of this.

[grendel]

05:01:38 Monday, 15 January 2063 - 1400 Willow Heights Road #4, Tacoma, Seattle

Mac glanced over at Kovacs, trying to judge the moment. His eyes were closed, but his breathing was still active, his stillness not one of sleep. She cleared her throat.

"I just got a message from Isomer, think it's something you should see," she said, pitching her voice loud enough to wake him if he were dozing. He wasn't.

"Send it," he replied immediately. She forwarded the text to him. A minute passed. Kovacs opened his eyes, swearing bitterly underneath his breath.

"How are you feeling?" he asked incongruously. Mac blinked.

"Fine, I suppose, why?"

"When Drift gets back, I'm sending you and him out to find out more about this. We need to know if they're an isolated cell or if they're part of something larger. Specifically this larger thing that we're a part of."

[Vegas]

05:04:06 Monday, 15 January 2063 - 1400 Willow Heights Road #4, Tacoma, Seattle

Mac nodded her acceptance as her eyes snapped forward towards the screens, not wanting to look over at Kovacs, feeling like she was a disappointment. She watched the screens in silence as she tried to figure out something to offer that would be of value to the situation. She remembered the moments in the hotel, the conversation she overheard that led them to the warehouse in Renton.

"There were two that we knew of at the warehouse, two at the hotel room and I overheard them talking about four other "teams" who were sent out to pick up other girls I think. I suppose that means there could be up to eight others. Never figured out what their endgame was going to be, only that they said they'd use the girls as a distraction and whatever they had planned was happening in the very near future."

She frowned and shrugged slightly, "Not sure how much any of that helps at this point."

[grendel]

05:08:19 Monday, 15 January 2063 - 1400 Willow Heights Road #4, Tacoma, Seattle

Kovacs cursed again. "This is not good. We'll have to put out inquiries across the spectrum. I have a bad feeling that our current job may be linked to the information you've uncovered. And, if so, we will have to re-examine our plan of operations."

He stretched and rubbed his eyes.

"And if we're facing that many, we may need to acquire additional talent."

[Vegas]

05:16:29 Monday, 15 January 2063 - 1400 Willow Heights Road #4, Tacoma, Seattle

She could hear the frustration sewn with the underpinnings of hints of exhaustion in his voice. Turning away from the screens for a moment, she turned her attention on him, her head tilting slightly as she regarded him and the concern showed on her face. She reached over and gently brushed her hand over his.

"I've got this," Mac gestured towards the console, her voice laced with traces of worry. "Go back, get some rest please. I can wake everyone if necessary or I can wake you when Drift gets back. If it all shakes out the way you think it might we're going to need you in top form."

She turned away from him and drew her hand back to her lap.

"Please Kovacs."

[grendel]

05:21:06 Monday, 15 January 2063 - 1400 Willow Heights Road #4, Tacoma, Seattle

Kovacs frowns, looking like he's going to argue for a moment, before sighing. "All right. Wake me when Drift gets back. We'll tackle this then."

Standing, he leans over to kiss her, a brief but warm gesture, before disappearing into his truck. Silence descended onto the warehouse, a quiet broken only by the persistent hum of the electronics in front of Mac, and the lonely cries of the city waking to another work week. Mac brooded, her thoughts chasing themselves down dark, concave passageways, always returning to that last brutal flash of light, and the silent screams of the innocent dead. After an hour or so, an incoming text interrupts her.

Hey, it's Frankie. Hope you're doing okay. Could you stop by sometime if you're free?

[Vegas]

06:47:51 Monday, 15 January 2063 - 1400 Willow Heights Road #4, Tacoma, Seattle

Mac read the message and found herself hesitate to write her friend back instantly. She was worried about Frankie and was glad to see her reach out, but she was a little gun shy given all the events of the prior evening and the latest possible developments. Then again she couldn't stomach the thought of turning her friend away if she needed her.

Reluctantly she crafted a reply but was interrupted in hitting send by the approach of Drift's Roadmaster on the screens in front of her, followed by the rumble of the engine and the rattle of the rising garage door. She was grateful for his return, and managed a slight smile as the rigger made his way over towards the consoles.

"Welcome back. I don't want to dive right into the business end of things, but I'm guessing you're up to speed on tonight's earlier events?" She waited for a brief nod from Drift before she continued. "How secure is our network? Our links to one another? Links to the outside world?"

Given how completely sideways tonight had gone, the last thing she wanted to do was jeopardize their location or the plans the team had set in motion should both events be as intertwined as Kovacs was expecting.

[grendel]

06:56:32 Monday, 15 January 2063 - 1400 Willow Heights Road #4, Tacoma, Seattle

"As secure as I can make it," replied Drift. "I'm not a pure console cowboy, though, so it's not completely penetration proof. It's just a harder target than most. Sorry to hear about your friend."

Mac nodded. "Thanks. There's been some further developments. Kovacs thinks that what I found out last night might be related to our current mission. He wanted to call an all hands meeting and start canvassing for further information."

Drift grimaces. "I'm not surprised. There was something fishy about this from the get-go. All right, let me clean up the truck a bit and we can get this party started." The ork made his way to the rear of the Roadmaster, opening both doors and climbing inside. Mac stood and stretched, delaying as long as she felt she could before going to knock on Kovacs' door. Although she didn't imagine that he was unaware of Drift's return, a suspicion that proved correct when he emerged from the truck a minute later, drinking from a bottle of water. Despite the two day stubble dusting his cheeks and that he'd only had a couple hours of rest, he looked refreshed and alive, his face wolf-lean and hungry. He slid his arm around her waist and she let him pull her close, turning her face up to meet his kiss. She felt his other hand moving, and knew he was manipulating some virtual vision only he could see. The result was quickly apparent, though. Tristan stumbled out from the cots, rubbing his face.

"Morning already?" he grumbled.

"The perfect time for breakfast," replied Kovacs. "Afterwards, you and Mac have a couple of errands to run."

"Oh?" Beneath his sleep mussed hair, the swordsman managed to look suspicious.

"Based on info that she picked up last night in the search for her friend, I think our job is being complicated by outside operators. Mac overheard them talking about 'four teams' of possibly four individuals if what she ran across was a single unit last night." Kovacs turned to include Drift in the conversation, who'd stepped out from the back of the Roadmaster. "Isomer ran some analyses on the data and correlated an international arrival with those four individuals. He thinks the tactics fit those of Winternight."

Both Tristan and Drift swore, equally as colorfully as Kovacs had done when he first learned the information.

"We should drop this job," said Suda, appearing from around the console, still wrapped in her blanket. "If Winternight is involved that's more than we can tackle alone."

Kovacs shook his head. "We can't just drop it. Not at this point. We already know too much about what's going to go down. If we don't finish this, if de Medici's plans fall through, he'll spend the rest of his life hunting us down. And he knows a lot about who we are and what we're capable of. We either do this or we don't stop running, forever." The tall samurai looked at Drift. He already knew Tristan's answer, but he needed to gauge how the rigger felt, knowing that his wife and child were on the line as well.

"I know a couple of guys we can call," replied the ork. Kovacs nodded.

"Prep to close up shop here for the day, we're all going to have destinations to get to without anyone staying behind." He turned to Suda who was shaking her head.

"I need you to break out the big guns."

"They don't come cheap," she said, running a hand through her hair.

"Front it," replied Kovacs. "You'll get it back plus some on the back side." Suda nodded, turning back towards the cots to get dressed. Kovacs looked at Tristan.

"After breakfast go see O'Malley. Call in our marker."

The swordsman nodded. "Gonna be that kind of day, huh?"

"A red day," said Kovacs. "And the sun rises."

[Vegas]

07:00:13 Monday, 15 January 2063 - 1400 Willow Heights Road #4, Tacoma, Seattle

Mac shook her head as everything unfolded quickly around her. Comforted by Drift's words about the network, she decided to go ahead and send the text to Frankie.

I'm holding up alright. I'm more concerned about you. As soon as I can get free of things I'll come find you. Where will you be today? Will you be around the apartment?

She admitted she was testing her friend, they never called their rooms at The Stable apartments, always the dorms. She was feeling a little paranoid doing it, but seeing the reactions from the team when Winternight was brought up, she decided to be extra cautious. Her hand went reflexively to her right shoulder, rubbing at a phantom pain that lingered as she looked over to Tristan.

"I'm ready to go whenever you are."

[grendel]

07:24:19 Monday, 15 January 2063 - 1400 Willow Heights Road #4, Tacoma, Seattle

Tristan gestured towards his face. "Gimme a minute to clean up. I have to look presentable for this meeting." He disappeared back towards the cots, and Mac heard water splashing on the floor. Drift was powering down the surveillance console and packing it away, while Kovacs coiled the cables and stashed them at the base of the support column they ran down. The Roadmaster's engine was already idling. Suda reappeared, dressed once more in her jumpsuit and cloak.

"I'm leaving behind a couple of spirits to watch the place, they've got standard guard orders but they're only covering inside. I'll be back this evening."

"Be careful," said Kovacs, and meant it. Even in this atmosphere of tension, the cat shaman could still spare one of her sardonic little smiles.

"Aww, I didn't think you still cared." She blew Kovacs a kiss and then was out the door.

"I'll be as quick as I can," said Drift, one leg inside the Roadmaster.

"Be careful," said Kovacs. The rigger nodded. "You, too."

The garage door scrolled open, admitting the pale morning light along with a chill wind. Kovacs opened the rear doors of his truck, reaching into one of the lockers in the bed and pulling out several items, one of which was an Ares Alpha. He locked the assault rifle into a brace beneath the dashboard that left the buttstock of the weapon presented, ready for immediate use. He waited, though, until Tristan reappeared, clean shaven and fresh.

"You going to tell me to be careful, too?" he asked with a smile.

"No. I'm going to tell you to take care of her," Kovacs nodded towards Mac. "I already know you'll be careful."

The two men grasped hands, right to right, wrist to wrist. The moment stretched.

"This is the right path," said Tristan. "Whatever comes, you made the right call."

Kovacs grinned, and they parted. The tall samurai climbed into the truck and backed towards the open garage door. Just before, though, he rolled down his window.

"Be careful!" he called. Tristan gave him the finger before turning towards where Mac stood, next to the sleek lines of the Shadow.

"Ready?" he asked. She nodded, dropping into the passenger seat of the vehicle as the swordsman fired the engine. They accelerated out of the warehouse and into the morning as her commlink buzzed with an incoming message.

Yeah, Mario figured it would be better if we hung around here. We'll be at my place all day. I'm ok. A bit tore up inside. Mario's not doing well. Gulfen was a longtime friend.

[Vegas]

07:29:37 Monday, 15 January 2063 - 1400 Willow Heights Road #4, Tacoma, Seattle

A sharp frown marred her features as she read the latest message reply. Something was definitely off, something more than her friend dealing with shock or grief. It was setting off alarms in the back of her mind. She knew Frankie wouldn't have been "okay" just a few scant hours after Gulfen had died. She had seen the look in her friend's eyes in the hotel's parking lot when he climbed out of the truck. That wasn't something she'd just flip off like a light switch. She chewed at her lower lip while she tried to figure out what she could do, while she sent back another message.

I've got a few loose ends to wrap up this morning, I'll give you a call when I'm on my way over if that's cool? My friend wanted to check on how you're healing this morning, mind sending over a picture so they can take a peek?

Mac tossed her commlink into her lap and sighed heavily. They had barely left the industrial complex when she dove right into the heart of the conversation she needed to have with Tristan.

"So who's O'Malley, and bring me up to speed on the whole Winternight thing."

[grendel]

07:36:23 Monday, 15 January 2063 - I5 northbound out of Tacoma, Seattle

Tristan changed lanes, heading towards the freeway onramp. "Damian O'Malley is an underboss in the O'Malley mafia crime family. When we knew him he was barely a made man. Got himself into a heap of trouble during the Yakuza war and was headed towards a pair of concrete shoes and a long walk off a short pier. Kovacs and I bailed him out of trouble, made the evidence disappear. He gave us a marker that we could use as a favor someday."

The swordsman accelerated up the ramp, his face a mask of tension. Mac knew there was more to the story.

"The problem?" she prompted.

"He's a fragging psychopath." Tristan's tone indicated he was using the descriptor in the clinical sense of the term. "Dealing with him is like juggling armed grenades. Sooner or later everything's going to blow up in your face."

"Why'd you tell Kovacs that this was the right call then?"

"Because it is. If Isomer is right, we're outgunned. Winternight is a paramilitary terrorist group based out of Europe. They think they can bring about the end times of Ragnarok by destabilizing the social order. They're responsible for numerous attacks against high profile infrastructure targets, as well as anything they see as being integral to the status quo. We've tangled with them a couple of times, mostly be accident, and it's always been bad. They're fanatical, wholly dedicated to their cause and willing to kill themselves and anyone who gets in the way." Tristan laid out the details in a voice devoid of his usual humor. The news had clearly cast a damper over his demeanor. Mac could understand why. Her commlink distracted her with an incoming message, though. The picture showed Frankie sans make-up and top, the wound on her shoulder an ugly bruise but nothing more. Her face was drawn and tense, eyes puffy from crying.

You can drop by anytime. Mario and I ordered in. He's sleeping still.

[Vegas]

07:42:36 Monday, 15 January 2063 - I5 northbound out of Tacoma, Seattle

"Something's not right." She half-whispered her thoughts before she could stop herself and she could see Tristan's brow raise out of the corner of her eye. Mac pinched the bridge of her nose as the hits just kept on coming. Frankie would have to wait, as much as it pained her to think it, she needed to have her complete head in the game for the meeting that was about to take place and she had bought herself at least a few hours to figure things out.

"So if Winternight gets off on the idea of destabilizing social order, then they would probably get behind the idea of bringing a good portion of Seattle to its knees by flooding it don't you think? If that's really the endgame of this phantom team we're running up against?" She swallowed hard as the rest of the swordsman's description of the group sunk in and Tristan accelerated coming out of a tight curve.

"I'm guessing they don't leave loose ends, and they'll use any means necessary to tie them off... I'm worried that they may have gotten to my friends from last night, something isn't sitting right with me about the messages I've gotten from them today and how things were left hours ago."

[grendel]

08:29:36 Monday, 15 January 2063 - 718 North Park Blvd, Downtown, Seattle

Tristan shrugged, taking the Holman Road exit into Downtown off the freeway. "Maybe, maybe not. Depends on what kind of opsec they're running. If they think someone's on to them it maybe that the rest of the group is just going to go to ground like we did, drop off the radar until they can execute their mission. Then they'll think about erasing tracks on the backside. But if you're worried about your friend, we can stop by after we talk to O'Malley."

Mac recognized the signs for Crown Hill. "Tell me the Mafia doesn't live in Little Italy. Isn't that just too obvious?"

The swordsman shook his head. "The mafia doesn't live in Little Italy. They live in South Downtown, closer to the docks. But it's bad form to come calling this early in the morning without gifts."

The Shadow nosed into the parking lot of a narrow strip mall, stopping in front of Picolino's Bakery. Even inside the car, Mac could smell the heady scents of cinnamon and cream, sfogliatella, cannolis, and coffee. Her stomach grumbled. Tristan glanced at her in some surprise. "You sound as hungry as I am."

Mac nodded, following him into the small storefront. Tristan ordered extravagantly, eventually paying for over three dozen pastries as well as a large cup of coffee. Mac settles for a hazelnut filled croissant and a larger cup of coffee. She turns to the car, only to find Tristan stuffing a second cannoli into his mouth, his shirt front dusted with powdered sugar.

"You're a disaster," she said, matter of factly, and sipped her coffee.

"Pard of my tharm," replied Tristan, his mouth full. Stashing the boxes in back, he washed his pastry down with a gulp of coffee before pulling back out into traffic. Weaving his way south on surface streets, they left the commercial districts of Downtown behind for the old money residential areas of South Downtown. Eventually they pulled into a gated driveway in front of a well kept two story brick colonial. A pair of guards stepped forward, dressed in heavy greatcoats that helped to conceal the weaponry each was carrying. Tristan buzzed down the window.

"This is private property, sir, I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

"I have an appointment," replied Tristan, handing over a slim plastic card. Mac watched the guard turn away, consulting with someone over AR. It only took a minute before he returned the card and waved them through.

"Park anywhere in back." The gate cammed open, and Tristan followed the driveway around past a large three car garage to a cement parking pad in back. Two other vehicles, a Land Rover and a Toyota luxury sedan, were already parked there.

"Leave you gun in the car," he said, and Mac nodded, drawing her pistol from its holster and dropping it into the side pocket on the door. Bearing the boxes of pastries, they made their way to the door closest to the parking pad. It opened before they got there, although neither of the two guards waiting inside stepped out. Another pair waited further down the hall, submachineguns in hand. One of the guards roots through the boxes of pastries, making sure nothing lethal is tucked away, while the second one frisks both Tristan and Mac. It's a professional job, not just an excuse to run his hands over her curves. He finds, but doesn't remark on the pair of pistol mags still on her hip. He gives Tristan a look when he finds the long bladed knife tucked into the swordsman's belt, but leaves it be, taking one of the cannoli instead.

"Follow me," said the shorter of the two guards at the end of the hall, gesturing with his weapon. Tristan leads, trailed by Mac, and then the last two guards. They make their way down the hall, and down a set of stairs before turning left and entering a lavish indoor swimming pool. Walking along the pool deck, they come to a narrow wooden door. The guard knocks twice, loudly. A couple of minutes pass as they all stare at each other awkwardly before the door opens.

The man lounging against the jamb is clearly fighting a hangover, his hair is disheveled and his eyes are still bloodshot. Beyond that, though, he wears a mantle of casual, destructive power, even with a plain towel wrapped around his waist. He blinks in the bright light, but Mac can tell that his slow pace is a deliberate exaggeration of his condition.

"Tristan. Haven't seen you in a long time."

"Mr. O'Malley, thank you for seeing us so early." Tristan offers the open box of pastries. O'Malley raises an eyebrow, but picks one of the sfogliatella regardless, inhaling the sharp lemon of its frosting.

"You and Kovacs always did honor the old ways. It's the only thing that made doing business with you palatable. What can I do for you today?"

"We're calling in our marker," said the swordsman. "We need information and firepower. We've come across evidence that there maybe up to four Winternight cells operating in Seattle in the advance stages of an operation. We believe that operation will execute early on Wednesday morning."

O'Malley straightened at the news, his affected insouciance vanishing. "Winternight? In Seattle?"

Tristan nodded. "Their target isn't localized. We have reason to believe that they're going to cause widespread damage to Tacoma and Downtown."

A wry grin twisted O'Malley's lips. "You're coming to me with this not only because I owe you but because you know I'll act to protect my own interests. Very savvy. I honor our agreement. I'll put some men at your disposal, but it'll take me a couple of hours to make the arrangements."

"You have my number," replied Tristan. O'Malley nodded, and with that, the interview was over. Tristan and Mac were quietly escorted back to the side entrance.

"Thanks for the cannoli," said the tall guard, his expression softening somewhat. Tristan grinned, although Mac couldn't fathom why, and they both climbed back into the Shadow.

[Vegas]

08:43:17 Monday, 15 January 2063 - I5 out of south Downtown, Seattle

Reflexively, the first thing Mac did once she settled in the passenger seat was reholster her pistol, the weight now comfortable on her hip. She looked over at Tristan as he slid into the driver’s seat and shut the door and fired up the Shadow that purred beneath them. She had been expecting more fireworks given Tristan’s description of O’Malley on the drive over, but he seemed remarkably collected, especially when his personal interests were threatened.

“That seemed to go well?” Mac queried.

Tristan nodded his head once as he drove through the upscale neighborhood, his attention focused more on the happenings outside the car. He remained hyper vigilant, only letting himself relax once they were well and clear of the immediate neighborhood with no signs of tails or other surprises. Mac had sat quietly, re-reading the messages from Frankie and viewing the photo again trying to make heads or tails of it all.

“So, about my friends…” She hesitated a moment before sliding her fingers across her commlink, tossing the image to Tristan. “Does she look like someone who’s grieving, or does she look like she’s in trouble to you?” Mac left out her opinion because the fact she was asking alone made it rather clear.

[grendel]

08:58:39 Monday, 15 January 2063 - 1410 Walker St Suite B, Seattle

Almost as soon as he got on the interstate, he took the Charleston Street Exit.

"We caught him before he could get his drink on," amplified Tristan. "Although he was surprisingly lucid for this early in the morning. A couple of years ago I doubt he would have agreed to see us until later in the afternoon."

"He didn't like the mention of Winternight, either," commented Mac. "I hope these reinforcements will be up to the task."

"Probably not," Tristan ducked off the main thoroughfare and onto a narrow side street, clearly searching for something. "Most of them will be low level soldiers, not even made men, bruisers and gilettes just a step above gang quality. They talk a big game but they don't put in the practice necessary to get good. The Winternight cells will mow 'em down. But hopefully they'll slow them long enough that we can engage and eliminate them. Aha."

Tristan pulled into a narrow driveway, made even thinner by the accumulation of snow along the gutter, and parked in a rear parking lot. The faded sign on the door read 'Rising Lotus Dim Sum'. He grinned at Mac. "Second breakfast."

Debarking, he glanced at the picture she fed to his AR feed. "Dunno, people process grief in different ways. I've seen people lock it up tight, watch their friends get iced in front of them and move on like it was any other day. Could be the numbness hasn't worn off yet."

[Vegas]

09:07:29 Monday, 15 January 2063 - 1410 Walker St Suite B, Seattle

Mac shook her head and tried to hide her smile when Tristan mentioned second breakfast as they pulled into the lot and came to a stop.

"You know you should really have that tapeworm looked at."

As she stepped out of the Shadow, her shoes landed in the slush of the lot, instantly chilling her toes to the bone and brought a frown back to her lips. She pulled the zipper up on her jacket as they made their way to the door together. Walking inside, they were greeted by the rush of steamy heat and the intoxicating smell of ginger, soy and hot oil that practically wrapped around Mac like a blanket. An eclectic mix of bamboo and stainless steel steaming baskets were already being pushed around on carts as she followed Tristan past the large round tables that were mostly empty and he led her back to one of the many unoccupied booths.

She slid all the way in opposite Tristan and leaned up against the wall, kicking her feet up on the booth as the first cart came by and the swordsman wasted no time picking a multitude of baskets before Mac could even shake her head with a polite refusal.

"I want to believe that my friend is fine, or at least that she will be with time. I just can't shake the thought that something isn't right. And after Holly... " She stopped herself before she got caught back up in the emotion, shaking her head she cleared the thoughts and look up at Tristan pinning him with a look as he had a shrimp Shu Mai trapped between chopsticks.

"I just don't want to walk us into some kind of trap if we go and check on her."

[grendel]

09:12:15 Monday, 15 January 2063 - 1410 Walker St Suite B, Seattle

Tristan shrugs. "We'll be as careful as we can be. I think it would be pretty quick work, though, even for Winternight to be able to track down your friend so fast. After all, she didn't leave anything behind at the scene to identify herself."

He slid one of the bao on the steamer off onto Mac's plate before taking the other two for himself.

"Don't let me forget," he said between bites, "to get something to go. Kovacs would have my head if I didn't bring him something back."