The Last Stand, In Character Options

[Gremish]

The cool air began to flow, surrounding the dawn with a glow of hazy mist. The world stood still, a moment passed where every creature, large and small, merely stopped. The world sighed, and life continued.

Your eyes have already gone fuzzy as they begin to water from the rubbing. You can't hold off sleep any longer, no matter what juice, pain, or pleasure you place your body in, its essence is at its limit.

The time has come to face the darkness.

As your lids begin to close you can already feel it coming again, the shadow, the sign that you may truly be as insane as you think.

It burns.

Your mind flares, the motion begins, and every, EVERYTHING, fades. Why again? Why every year at this time? No matter how long you hold off it haunts you. What is it trying to tell you, why must you endure this torture for a full 8 hour sleep once, just once, every year.

Best to just get it over with.

An image of a field, surrounded by a flame more than ten feet high. This field, you have been to every year and watched this play out, is one hundred years in length and width. Placed directly in the center is a flag. Upon this flag is a symbol, a globe of the earth it shines as a being of life, a hope to all the universe that there is something more, something better than anything we can imagine. Happiness incarnate.

You stand as always, near the east side of this square field, to the north and south are two armies, the first to the south clad in armor of the darkest black with demonic wings and fires raging from their very fingertips. To the north the second army stands, geared from head to toe in a shining white, a brilliance about them and yet a gleam in their eye. They may seem goodly, but you know better. After all, you have seen this battle every year of your life.

It begins.

A surge of power phases out from the center, the armies charge, the goal in sight and a thirst in the eye of every creature. Now comes the hard part for you, the pain.
Every strike, every blow and especially every bit of essence drained weighs on you. It tears at your being, crushing down upon you. You mind flings out, going from place to place, becoming a part of each body as a blow is struck, your mind begins to shatter, but you don’t fear, this has happened before and you haven’t broken yet. Hours go by, more pain, more suffering, no resolution. With every soldier that falls ten take its place, armies are summoned forth to fight eternally.

Soon it will end, and you will have peace for another year.

Soon.

It breaks. Something is wrong, this isn’t normal; there was no breaking before, no point to which you have given up. NO, your mind screams out. I won’t give in, I won’t surrender, this has no meaning! It cannot hold upon me!

No meaning? A voice enters. Again, not normal, there were no voices before, no way for you’re to speak to anyone or contact them in any way shape or form. Madness, there is no other explanation. I have finally gone insane. You say to yourself.

Hardly. The voice relies. You are merely finally ready to receive and truly begin to see your purpose, everything is set, they are all out there waiting for you to find them. Do you not feel some connection to those around you? The ones you keep closest? Have you not noticed the link? You have been chosen to find the answers, and finally see the end to this battle. You have watched this play out every year and yet never asked the questions, merely stood on the side lines.

That time is over. Time to step up or watch your mind slip away. Ever seen a mad man? Watched how he moves, how he feels something you cannot? Maybe he has just seen beyond what everyone else has, MAYBE HE IS BETTER THAN THE REST, society labels him insane and throws him in a box, what happens if the madman is really just the next step in evolution of the species, what if he has seen this battle to the full extent and crossed the line.

Your turn.

The dream normally ends in complete destruction, the armies destroy each other at the end and the world stands, untarnished and pure.

This is that point, you have reached the end of the dream, finally you can be free. Your essence sighs as you feel the end coming. But it doesn’t end. It doesn’t fade away into nothing, it only begins.

Two warriors stand now, appearing from no where. They are huge, colossal beasts beyond reason. Their bodies shift as if they are not really there, a mist something insubstantial. Both beasts do nothing but stair at each other, one completely white, the other black. The banner still stands between them, fluttering in the breeze.

Each beast moves forward, slowly touching the banner and as they touch the banner begins to crumble, the light about it fades and you blur. Your mind moves in closer, you see now what this all truly means, the end of the world is coming, the end of human existence is far too soon, something beyond reason. You see the banner, the world, as it crumbles the human race crumbles with it, the very existence begins to hurl you along a road of darkness. You can see each essence on this planet, every living being falling apart. These creatures are coming for you, coming to find you.

Another blur.

Your mind fades back.

Too soon. That voice has come again. You do not understand yet, cannot comprehend the true meaning, you need to all gather together and begin to search to find the full sphere. I suppose I could push you in the right direction. Get you to sense what is necessary. I suppose.

With that a world map forms in your mind, nine other faces, some of which you know, are places on the map. Detroit, Tokyo, Hong Kong and Seattle. Four locations and you know the connection now, it wasn’t just a feeling you had about those close to you. These nine other people, the ten of you, are linked and are all needed for one reason or another. Together you succeed, apart you fail.

Your mind begins to become clear again, you are waking up.

One more thing, the voice whispers as you fade from it, the sphere is the key. An image of a sphere, made of pure crystal forms in your mind, imprinted upon your memory as something you will never forget. You see as it is carried across a temple, brought to an alter and in extremely fast motion the scene plays out. A ritual is done, the sphere is broken, shatters and scattered across the world. This was 2650 years ago.

Find them, Find it.

[crizh]

One week earlier...

The cold harsh lights of the sterile room woke her. Immediately she could feel the change in her own body. Soft, supple, elastic skin. Firm, pert breasts. Smooth, painless joints.

She laughed out loud and smiled from ear to ear.

Still groggy she elbowed herself up to a sitting position, careful not to jog any of the lines feeding her rejuvenated body and wondered why she was alone.

The familiar song of the Resonance soothed her worry and she reached out and touched 'The Circle' with her mind.

Fuck!

She hadn't used language like that in four decades but the circles timestamp had dashed her hopes.

The adrenaline spike started to alert machines in her vicinity that would, in turn, alert Doctors and she wasn't ready for them yet. She soothed the machines with a gentle song and attempted to gather her wits.

The dream, the damned dream. She'd thought by having herself in a medical coma for this treatment that when the day came she would be spared. But no, it wasn't to be and some part of the dour pessimistic soul the Highlands and Islands fostered told her that no form of medical intervention was going to prevent a repetition of her childhood nightmare.

If God gives you lemons, make lemonade. Checking out a week early would save a ton of cash. Three months is along time to be out of the loop and all the software running on The Circle will need to be upgraded...

She fired off a PM to Cricket letting him know she was back, available for work and requesting today's passcode for the warez servers. Then, in a mischievous mood, she voice-mailed Vice.

A'right laddie? Long time no see. I'm back in town and I've got a wee surprise for ye that ought to amuse a wee scamp like yersel. Meet me at Charlie Chan's for a condiment? 8 PM?

Softly, she sang to the machines watching her and within a few minutes a nurse appeared in the doorway.

Ah, Ms McBeath, awake right on schedule I see. The Doctor will be along presently to give you a final exam and then we'll get you all checked out and off home in no time.

[Ears]

July 3rd

Good morning sir. It's july the third, the time is 4:30, scheduled events today: none, upcoming events: one

One? Got no meet planned, no job offered. What event?

July the seventh, "Brawl for naught".

That one. Another year gone by. Time to celebrate. Yeah right, celebrate.

Excuse me, sir?

Ah, shut up. Stupid machines.

Yes sir.

...

Whazzup Mr. Sawbones? Still not back to biz?

Bear, the millionth time it's Clamp. And why? Played fetch with a bunch o' slugs again?

Neg kept away from dem. It's been blades dees time. Healing great by itself.

If you say so. Got time for booze, pizza n' some brawl vids on seventh?

Seventh? Dem's in four days. You asking I about that far ahead? Sure, if nuthing gets inbetween.

Good. My place 20 o' clockish, beer and food's on me. Bring some friends.


July 7th

Why we watching dees boring one again? Dem's just norms in skirts, no weapons, no wheels. And then it goes dark. Boooooooooooooring!

Yeah why? Because I still hope that the noise, the people, the alcohol and whatever that troll has mixed up - what was his name? Thrasher? Smasher? Crasher? Nevermind - because I still hope that all that keeps the dream away?
Because I want to have a normal explanation why one day of the year I wake up feeling like drek and way past my usual time despite the 'ware?

Because it's historic. 2064, July the 6th, the Kilgour Killing Kampbells versus the Sheep Skinners. THE grudge match of the year in nova scotia. 21st century highlanders to a man: kilts, no weapons and certainly no vehicles. They've agreed to a capture the flag game in the middle of a moon-less night. Both teams are down to one player each. They're wrestling just before the flagpole. Then suddenly the lights go out. Total darkness. Emergency power comes online and both are down in the mud, unconcious. A draw!

Nova what? You're shitting me!

No, it's all true. Can ask anyone who's into brawl. True story. Afterwards the audience went on a rampage, killed half the players, the referee and set fire to 37 cars before riot control hit the scene and the casualties started to pile up.

You a fan of those cowbells? 64? I don't even know shit that old about the Flailers!

Kampbells! No, I'm only fascinated by that one fight!

Since '64 when I did my usual search on the matrix and that popped up.
Ah, here it goes. Did I put away the gre...

Hey, Skinknitter! Fallin' asleep just like that.

...

[DWC]

30-Jun-2071, 1137 GMT+8.
Ham Tin, Hong Kong Free Enterprise Zone

<Music Cue: Frankie Goes to Hollywood – Relax>

The fat Russian man squeezed the trigger of the Kalashnikov carbine. Vice dropped to his knees, hurling himself out of the line of fire, aimed his machine pistol and squeezed the trigger twice. The large caliber rifle rounds zipped over his head and pulverized a statue as the machine pistol’s slide jumped back six times in a row in rapid succession.

The first two rounds struck the obese man in the chest, flattening against his SecureTech UltraVestâ„¢. The third hit the top of the armor, and was deflected up into his trachea. The sub-caliber, high velocity round tore through his neck, skipped off his spinal column, screamed off into the kitchen, punctured a skillet hanging over the stove, shattered the big bay window and went off on a tour of the back yard.

The fourth struck his jaw, tunneled through his double chin, slid along the bone, exited just below the ear and lodged itself in a wall joist. The fifth hit him just below the eye, skipped off the underside of the brain pan, travelled downward, and lodged itself in the spinal column. The sixth round struck him between the eyes, punctured the cranium, and bored a channel through the right lobe of his cerebrum, out the back of his skull, through the drywall, and lodged in the banister.

The cut down assault rifle clattered to the floor as the Vory gangster hit the floor, already dead from the rounds in his spine. The empty magazine fell from the FN 5-7, and Vice slid another into place with a practiced ease, then stood up, sweeping the room, weapon ready to spit death all over again.

Wow. He was right. This guy didn’t even rate any bodyguards. Too bad he wouldn’t come along quietly. Smoke Circle Society would have loved to get this Vory piece of shit to lay out how his operation worked.

With a shrug, he crossed the room into the kitchen, took a cleaver from the knife block, and decapitated the Russian money launderer. He wound back the last view seconds of video from his cybereyes and stored it. Should make the Triad goons happy. The decker’s voice in his ear was nervous, and annoyed. Fucking amateurs.

“You’re clear. I picked up the alarm and suppressed it a few minutes ago. No Knight Errant response. All the internal cameras are still spoofed for another five minutes. Get out of there.�

He declined to answer and skulked his way out of the secluded mini-mansion and back to his waiting car.

--

<Music Cue: Eurthymics – Here Comes the Rain Again>

The dark metallic Skyline raced across the Tsing Ma Bridge, as Vice wove the sports sedan through the midday traffic. The machine pistol sat on the passenger seat next to him. The sunroof was tilted open to let the hot humid air in. The steady driving bass of a Moroccan nightclub’s matrix host pounded from the sound system. The unexpected message from Granny made him miss an upshift, and the engine screamed as it bounced off the rev limiter.

<Vice @Granny: A surprise? For me? I'm intrigued. Just have to wrap up some odds and ends first. But I can definitely do with a quiet end to the day I’m having. Do I get a hint about what it is?>

--

30-Jun-2071, 1526 GMT+8
Cheung Sa Wan, Hong Kong Free Enterprise Zone

“Money man’s out of business. He wouldn’t come quietly, but he put an end to that rumor that all these maniacs are ex-Spetznaz.�

The triad accountant smiled. “Good. I presume that all our transactions are in order.�

The expatriate smiled. “We’re settled up. Sorry about not being able to bring him in alive. Anyway, I’m off. Got a party next week to plan for.�

The triad money launderer wasn’t sorry.

Edit:Put the wrong years in. D'oh

[Scope_47]

June 30th, a party somewhere in Tokyo

Only a three man job - that was what the Producer had said... all Enigma had to do was keep the crowd covered while the hacker and adept did their things. A simple affair really... the hacker got them in the front door, up to the penthouse suite via the elevator... security's sensors were on a loop... just in and out... keep the crowd covered while the physad broke the safe combination and took the mcguffin Mr. Johnson wanted... just some fragging jade statue - not even anything of real value...

The crowd though, that was the real prize... crashing a high society party was just SO much fun!

Enigma looked over at the physad through the lenses of its gas-mask... the other runner had his mask in place and was ready to go. As the elevator doors opened, Enigma fired a breathtaker grenade into the midst of the party... Calmly, it holstered the pistol launcher as it stepped through the threshold into the smoky room... the people were already gagging and on their knees... BORING! The hacker is too good at his job... not even any security up here...

As the physad rushed to the wallsafe - behind the painting just as the Johnson said it would be - Enigma called out in its bellowing voice - alternating between male and female pitches - "Ladies and Gentlemen, please panic..." it fired a burst from its tommy gun into the ceiling over the crowd - causing plaster to mix in with the smoke "this is NOT part of the show!"

Everyone in the crowd of socialites - from young to old - either lay cowering or gasping for air... none of them making any sort of move against the two runners... Fragging extras... not a target amongst them... no fun... I'll just have to liven things up...

Enigma calmly walked down the steps from the elevator's diaz into the crowd as it said with a laugh "Man or woman, young or old... my aim sucks and my heart is cold..."

There... that one, he looked up! Maybe we'll have some fun tonight after all! The young man in question - a teenage human no more than fifteen years olds... probably here with a parent... looked at the floor again as Enigma's form gracefully made its way over to him through the smokey gas... Enigma, slightly dissappointed, put the barrel of the tommy gun under the boys forehead and nudged it upwards, forcing the boy to look up again...

There it is... the hatred... Even through the mask, Enigma imagined it could smell the boy's anger through the morass of fear around him... Yes... this is what I wanted... perhaps this is the hero... "Laugh or run, walk or cry... I never care how you die...

The physad subvocced from the safe "Almost done! Get ready to slot and run!"
Not yet... the fun is just starting...

Enigma grinned as it spoke to the boy "Do you hate me, child?" The boy didn't answer... but his eyes said enough... Enigma chuckled a bit, registering on the periphery a shimmering of fear through the crowd as those who weren't outright incapacitated looked away and shivered... "Its alright, child, you should hate me... do you feel that in your heart? The quickening of the blood? A hero lives in the hearts of all men..." Enigma traced the barrel of the tommy gun along the boy's skin and clothing; down the side of his throat and to his heart... the boy didn't move... he just locked eyes with Enigma... YES BOY! You have the idea! Lunge at me! ...Save me from the seventh seal! Enigma says in a low, menacing tone "All it takes is a villain to set the hero free... there is a villain before you, boy! Become a hero..." Enigma steps back from the boy Every villain NEEDS a hero

The physad's subvocalization interrupted the climax of Enigma's scene We're done, lets go!
Not yet... I need to know...

Enigma laughs maniacally - inhumanly - as it asks "So what is it boy? Are you a hero? Or just another faceless victim? The boy looks away...

Enigma whispers How dissapointing... and it backs away from the crowd and to the elevator doors... the physad passes it and whispers "Was that really necessary?

Enigma doesn't dignify the question with a response, instead calling out to the crowd "We now return you to your regularly scheduled debauchery..." as the doors to the elevator close.

July 6th in the master bedroom of Julianne's manse

Before long, Julianne was home again, dropped back out from reliving the night of June 30th in Sim-Sense - Enigma tucked safely away in the back of her mind again... the run had gone off without a hitch - the target so embarrassed that he hadn't even reported the theft... Enigma would be so disappointed... but at least the Producer liked the recording... he said it would be perfect for the opening sequence of the next sim...

Julianne leaned back into the satin pillows of her bed and stared at the stars through the skylight as she took another sip of the aged red wine... thinking One more night of peace... then the dreams would come again... Julia replied At least its over quickly enough... and you don't have to face it alone... not like... I'm sorry, I know its a bad memory... Enigma's maniacal laughter filled Julianne's thoughts as it whispered in her mind Not like when your parents died in front of you... when the heroes killed those traitors to their people...

Julianne's eyes began to tear up as she sat the glass of wine on her oak nightstand. Enigma's voice continued hauntingly That's the way of the world... those heroes created us... and it is up to use to create heroes... to continue the cycle... Jane - freespirited Jane - spoke now Shut your trap Enigma, now you've made her upset! Come on Julianne, cheer up... you'll awake from the dream soon... and tomorrow will be a new day... we could go skydiving, or scuba off the coast! Or we could take that cute Confederate from the party the other night up on his offer... you know, the one with the nice butt... he said we could visit and take his car for a spin on the NASCAR track... and you know what they say about CAS guys... fast cars..."

Julianne smiled through the tears "Fast men..." she said quietly to the empty room... but for her the room was never empty... and this dream... this horrible dream was more real than real... it seemed like her life itself was little more than a waking dream from the reality that crashed down upon her every year. Don't worry, hon, we'll be there with you when you go to that horrid place... Julia said calmly. Jane's excitable voice added quickly Yeah, we girls have to stick together! And there's nothing like getting the wits scared out of you to get the old adrenaline pumping! We'll face it together... Enigma smiled in her mind and whispered Yes... together... always together.

Julianne closed her eyes, though she fought it so very hard... and then, the darkness of the dreams of ages claimed her as the other tennants of her mind thought in unison The seventh seal.


The next morning, Julianne's Bedroom

Julianne awoke screaming... as did the three voices howling in her mind. She clawed her way out of her plush bed in a state of panic, knocking over what remained of last night's wine as she scrambled for her commlink... she had to paint the faces... before they left her mind... she didn't know why, but somehow she knew she had to make them real... she loaded the artistic software in earnest as a knock came at her door...

"Miss Jeter! Is everything alright? came the voice of her majordomo - Walter - from the hallway. Julianne didn't look up from her work as she replied calmly "Yes, Walter, everything is fine... have breakfast ready for me in an hour... and keep the staff from bothering me until then."

She didn't even register his reply as she dove back into the editing software.

[ Spoiler ]

Artisan 1 + Edit program 6 to draw likenesses of the faces - not going for a disguise-worthy holo or anything, just sketches that are recognizable... 9 rolls for nine faces:

Drawing Faces on the digital medium, Artisan 1 + Edit 6. (7d6.vs(5)=1, 7d6.vs(5)=1, 7d6.vs(5)=4, 7d6.vs(5)=2, 7d6.vs(5)=1, 7d6.vs(5)=3, 7d6.vs(5)=2, 7d6.vs(5)=4, 7d6.vs(5)=1)

[Glyph]

Viper, Seattle:

The pale, dark green-haired woman walks heedlessly along the sidewalk. Her black synthleather jacket is worn open, revealing a black half-tee that shows off some impressive ink work. The outskirts of Redmonds, these are not quite the barrens proper, but it is still a bad neighborhood for someone to be walking alone. With Viper's mood, she almost hopes someone does try something stupid. Normally she walks with a bounce in her step, but the weight of this coming evening presses down on her.

The truly infuriating thing is feeling so helpless. She is a mage! She shapes the fabric of reality itself! So why does this vision crash through all of her wards, all of her defenses, every year? She has tried staying awake through it, she has tried sleeping pills to knock herself out into oblivious unconsciousness, she even tried sleeping in that horrible place, that mana trench, confident that no magical sending could reach her there. Even that didn't work, but it confirmed what her ego had been insisting on all along. It had to be something big doing this, something big like Morrigan, something more entity than mortal.

"Well, nothing to do but wait for it," she thinks. She huddles in the middle of her place of power, dark symbols etched on the walls, wrapped up in a blanket, clutching her stuffed Cthulhu plushie. Eventually, she succumbs to sleep. But as horrible as the vision is, this time it is subtly different.


She wakes up shaking, eyes darting wildly before she fiercely imposes order on her mind. Still trembling slightly, she takes a few slugs from a bottle of Tir wine, then, in a fit of pique, throws the bottle to shatter against the wall. That... thing... whatever it was, threatening her, talking down to her. But she has to play its game, at least for now. She doesn't know what's going on, and it probably won't be until the very end game that she finds out whether she will be a queen or a pawn.

It beats doing nothing, though. It takes a while longer to compose herself, but when she does, she boots up her commlink and texts a message out to Weaver and Abe.

<< I would like to meet the two of you to discuss something urgent. Could you meet me at the Firehouse Cafe, the downtown one, about 1:00 PM? >>

[DWC]

07-Jul-2071 1113 GMT+8
Downtown Victoria Island, Hong Kong Free Enterprise Zone

<Music Cue: Slayer – Raining Blood>

The dream went as violently and forcefully as it had come, wrenching Vice from sleep when it had decided it was done with him. Brown mechanical eyes focused on the ceiling as they flew open. He sat bolt upright in bed, gasping for air. His head exploded in pain.

<Biomonitor @User: Diagnosing. Respiration elevated. Blood pressure elevated. Blood alcohol elevated. Total Body Water depressed. Stomach pH depressed. Foreign agents detected in blood stream identified as cocaine derivative and biological code tagged galak. Quantities trace. Veisalgia imminent. Administer H20, and blood thinner.>

The biomonitor’s readout told him he was still a little bit drunk and a little bit high. The medkit told him, in latin, that he was hung over.

He looked around. The summer monsoon drove hard against the 4 meter high floor to ceiling windows of his apartment. The bed was a crumpled mess. An empty vodka bottle rested on the floor in the doorway, next to a handful of empty novacoke vials, his shirt, and a bottle of Galak caps. And a piece of underwear that was clearly not his.

His ears perk up at the sound of running water from the master bathroom. Shoving aside the biomonitor display ARO, he reaches out towards the bathroom wall, closes his hands around empty air and draws them apart as if he were ripping a hole in the fabric of the universe. In the virtual hole, the video feed from the bathroom’ security camera appears. The room is totally obscured by the steam from the shower, but something is clearly moving in the stall.

�Good. She’s not dead. God only knows how. Who the hell is she?�

Head still pounding, he climbs out of bed and walks to the kitchen, stepping over a dress, his skivvies, his pants, his armored vest, his shoes, a handgun, another empty vodka bottle…where the hell are her shoes? They must be in the car. They always leave them in the car.

�Where’s my car?�

The agent scurries off through the matrix to the highrise’s security node. After a quick authorization, it opens two security camera feeds pointed at his spaces in the underground parking deck, and begins downloading the vehicle logs for the last 48 hours.

The familiar Skyline and a blue and white Suzuki Mirage sit quietly in their adjacent parking spaces, two stories below street level, in the building’s secure parking garage.

<CHN @User: Primary and secondary vehicles located. Primary vehicle returned at 0957 GMT+8, 06-Jul-2008 under automated navigation due to extreme driver intoxication and fatigue. Secondary vehicle idle over previous 48 hours.>

A check of his orientation system and biomonitor reveals that he’s been stationary and unconscious since the middle of the previous afternoon, and the alarm system confirms that no one has entered or left the apartment while he was passed out.

�Stupid fucking dream. Even being unconscious rather than asleep didn’t help. Who the hell are these people? Why is Granny one of them? How the hell am I supposed to save the world? How boned is the world that it’s counting on me? Wonder if saving the world will qualify as a retirement score. Why the hell am I not making breakfast?�

He sends a quick command to the kitchen’s drone network, and the rail mounted chef drone glides around the kitchen ceiling, long, dangling mechanical arms fixing omelets, bacon, a carafe of orange juice, and filling two more carafes with water. Vice picks up one of the jugs of water and gulps down the entire half gallon before handing it back to the drone.

�How the hell do I find a bunch of 2500 year old crystal fragments?�

The movement in the steam shower continues.

Edit: OOC: Wrote the wrong year again. I need more coffee.

[Gremish]

Detroit July 07, 2071

The house that had been built somewhere in the 1920's was down trodden from the outside. It appeared that someone could walk up and push it down with a finger.

Yet it stood.

The sun was just rising, bringing light to the place. Anyone walking buy would have thought it a slum. Sad how much people build themselves around appearances.

Clamp awoke, in the middle of his workshop, hidden well underground, the perfect place, a medical dream. He didn't even remember how he had managed to get this house nor how he had found this medical center through the floor. Wait no, he did remember that part.

Brick.

Freaking troll had gotten drunk not to long ago and put the dwarve strait through the floor boards. Lucky for Clamp he had landed in a shaft and slid into the middle of this place.

The room was small, most likely twenty years old and the equipment wasn't perfect when he got here. But now, it was in tip top shape, after a few weeks of hard work waiting on someone to hook him up with his first run he managed to get new gear in here, update some of the medical junk and be ready for anything short of brain surgery.

He might even attempt that for enough cred.

[ Spoiler ]

For Clamp, this is a certified medical shop. Whenever doing operations in this facility you gain +4 dice for all MAJOR thing and +8 dice for all MINOR things. I will give a number of dice if we arn't sure.

As Clamp moved back to his gadgets there was a boom upstairs.

"Ez" Clamp said as he shook his head.

-------

Above ground in the backyard of the house was Ez. The backyard was his, completely dirt and obstacles everywhere at a glance people would think it was a junk yard. With a bottle in his right hand he began to form the spell in his mind again, even in the drunken haze Ez was easily able to concentrate enough to form the complex maneuvers required for this.

Lightening Struck.

Another object shattered.

Ez smiled as he focused, his expanded magical power while in this circle was amazing. No one but a mage would have realized the significance of this spot, a power circle. Extremely rare it allowed any mage who was able to attune himself to the circle to cast spells at a power much greater than normal as well as easily focus and have little to no drain upon his own essence.

Amazing

[ Spoiler ]

This is a power circle for magic, Ez is attuned. It may only have one mage attuned at a time, the only way to change who is attuned is the death of that mage. It is linked to you and you to it, its power is yours to use as you choose.

This circle will take up to 10 drain levels away for you as well as doubling the effect of most spells. I will let you know which spell does what int eh circle whenever you use it.

Ez looked up as glass shattered from the second floor and a heap of a troll came crashing down just a foot from him. Ez never moved, he just looked down, wobbled slightly as the alcohol took more effect and said "Drek Brick." With that he wandered away back about his business.

------

Brick stood, unphased by his fall. He shook slightly and looked over his body. Perfect, he thought, not a scratch.

Time to ride the bike!

With that Brick went to the garage to get his baby.

The hog was a beast, it is a bike any troll would dream of.

[ Spoiler ]

This is a Harley, Troll mod beyond all belief, its been in enough wrecks to make it not look perfect, but its nearly indestructible. More stats to come on this one.

[cndblank]

EZ zipped his pants up and went looking for a couple of pouches of vita water. "Out with the old..." He was going to need it if he wanted to be functional in the next 24 hours. And it was time to get some biz going. He could still feel the power circle. He had a hard time keeping a grin off his face. Whatl power. Would it be enough to focus the vision?

A better question was would he have the courage to stand (or sleep?) in the center of it and peer hardest at the vision when it came again next year? What would happen if he gathered the others together. Speaking of... It seemed stronger this year. Different.

He took another slug of whiskey as a chaser. "No more turning away. I have to face it to master myself." He didn't have a grin any more. "Gabriel come blow your horn."

[Tarantula]

Brick headed to the garage in a controlled fury. That dream again. I can't stop it. I can handle anything, but that dream!!!!!!

Brick flings the garage door open, and jumps on the Harley. He punches the starter and hears it roar to life, matching the roar in his head. He hits the throttle and goes squealing out of the garage, laying a patch of rubber down behind him as he goes. He turns to go in the street, but is going far too fast, and the bike lays down, sliding across the street and into the curb. Brick goes skidding behind it, and catches a parked car's bumper with his shoulder. The car dents, and he stops. Cursing, he gets back up and picks his bike up, setting it down pointing down the street. Motherfragger stupid bike needs to turn when I tell it to turn.

He jumps back on it and goes tearing off down the street, not really sure where hes heading, but god forbid anything gets in his way.

[Gremish]

Seattle, July 7th, 2071

The woods howled.

Abe moved like a shadow across the forest. This was his land. He could hear the forests call, the voices of something just beyond the normal human range. It was different, something more. As he looked back he saw the pack coming, his friends.

The wolves approached with ease knowing that Abe was not one to fear. He could hear their voices speaking in images to his mind. They were the endless followers and no matter where he went in the wilderness they would be there for him, always watching, always ready.

[ Spoiler ]

Abe has a animal affinity with a wolf pack. He has a extended friendship with them and can make "connections" with other wilderness creatures, depending on the creature.

----

Miles away Viper moved along the street, another ganger walked by full of terrible tattoo work. Slummer , Viper thought.

A smile crossed her face as she reached her destination, time for some fun, she thought.

She entered the club, it was the place to be. The place was bumping and moving, a slam down strait place for Viper to be.

And she owned it.

Viper really didn't even remember the series of events that lead to her gaining the place, merely something along the lines of saving some corp suit's ass and he decided that because she pulled him out from in front of the bus that he owed her something.

Well hell, good deal for her. She now had a profitable business that basically ran itself, a place to go when she needed to have fun and drink free of charge and a place to lay low whenever something was going wrong.

Not to mention it was warded against magic and she had a virtual army of regulars who would follower her into oblivion if she told them something threatened the place.

Fantastic. With that she moved into the middle of the dance floor and began a night to remember.

[ Spoiler ]

Viper owns a club named "The Atomic Bomb" Its a goth/punk club that has been on the up and up recently. Viper got it from some suit when she saved his ass from begin killed by a bus.

The club is a three story building with the bottom floor being a major bar with the works, couches, a large central bar and the like. The second floor is the major dance for techno and a place where drugs are abundant. The third floor is a metal club, a place where the "Hardcore" of the club are able to go, the regulars and VIP's.

The place has one hidden door that leads into a back area that Viper has set as first a meet area and second a place to crash if she needs. It is fully stocked with everything she needs to last weeks if nessecary.

---

Weaver followed the final clue into the bedroom, the glass on the table sparkled as she searched teh area. The room was remarkable, with old paintings dating back to the renaissance. It had to be here, the thing that everyone else missed, that little more.

Weavers mind slipped, blanked and brought her back...17 hours, the night before. She got a glimpse of what had happened, a figment of the situation.

A man moved across the room, his face unremarkable. He moved to the picture frame on teh north side, twisted it and then pushed. A locking mechanism sprang free and with a ripping sound the wall moved. Behind it opened a passage...



Weaver bounced back. It always drained her when she did this, it was something she was able to look into and had helped in her career so much it was amazing. It was why she was a good as she is.

With that Weaver moved to the picture and moved it, the same passage opened and in she walked...

[ Spoiler ]

Weaver has a unique ability. She can sense the past up to 48 hours. The clearer she makes the picture though the more drain she takes. This ability can be used anytime. It takes Intuition (5)+ Logic (5) + 5 base dice for these checks. I will determine the rest whenever the ability is used.

[crizh]

Whampoa Data Haven, Hong Kong, July 6th, 23:00

The last of the code was installed in The Circle, it had cost almost all the cash she had set aside but it should be worth it.

Few systems in the entire Sixth World were as secure as this one. Sprites, Free Sprites, IC, a resident AI, if anybody could get to her here they could get to her anywhere.

It was a huge risk sleeping with an active wireless connection, most technomancers would advise against it unless it was life or death but she wasn't going to spend another lifetime reliving the same nightmare year after year. This time she was going to be proactive.

She'd spent all day Registering two Sprites, one to run the Encryption on the CHN and the other to run her drones and monitor her vital signs while she was online.

She ran her fingers over the cerametal and plasteel of the Medical drone.. It hung supsended from a framework of lighting scaffolding salvaged from the clothes store two units up. The crucifixion theme wasn't entirely accidental, the effect on strangers as they entered the room for the first time was pure melodrama of the highest order.

It's time.

At her mental command the drone's chest cracked open with a hydraulic hiss. It split into three pieces, two opening to the sides whilst the third, central, section dropped downward to reveal a small number of retractable rungs concealed inside it. These allowed the sprightly, rejuvenated, Scotswoman to pull her dainty form up to the handholds inside the drones shoulders.

Twisting she inserted one leg into the drones abdomen and down into its corresponding leg. She leans to one side and smiles as she inserts her other leg.

Christ, that's a lot easier with 21 year old hips.

She inserted her arms into the Drone's arms and leaned her head back.

Close.

The chest pieces swung up and in and a previously hidden head piece descended from above and sealed the redhead into the white and red cerametal life-support drone.

Engage Biomonitor, insert primary shunt. Medic, it's all yours.

She closed her eyes and let the world dissolve.

The Circle, Granny's CHN, The Matrix, 23:03

The first thing she felt was the cool grass between her toes. She opened her eyes to revel in the astonishing sunset that burned a glistening path across the Atlantic and caused the great stones of Callanais to cast enormous eerie shadows.

She could smell the salt in the air and the cool breeze in her flowing red locks. She did not know what about Callanais had attracted the resident AI to her home node but it clearly loved the scenery. Since it's arrival the hyper-realism had taken on breath taking proportions, the first time it happened she had been reduced to tears by the sudden wave of loss and grief she felt for her lost homeland. She didn't even know it's name, had only seen it a couple of times whilst it was enjoying the pranks it had played on her in the beginning. Kemuel kept it in check for the most part, she thought it intrigued him, but it was stand offish even with him.


Kemuel had strung a hammock between two of the massive Megaliths in preparation for tonight's experiment. She climbed into it and snuggled down, facing into the amazing sunset. She threaded up the Simrig CF and started to record her sensorium in glorious full-x and started the relaxation exercise they'd run her through in the hospital just three months ago.

Just three months and nearly 70 years her mind joked as she drifted into sleep.

Perhaps this time I'll get some answers.

And then the Battle began.

[Oenone]

July 6th, The Happy Napper Coffin Motel. Seattle.

The door to Weavers newly hacked coffin popped open, filling the air with the chemical stink of C-Squared. She shrugged, then behind stuffing her backpack full of tricks into the far end of the pod. At least it was clean, even if it had needed the automated cycle being looped for an hour to get the worst of the stains out.

Draining the last of a genuine organic espresso, her one little luxury, she scrambled in. Safely cocooned inside the pod she drifted into full VR, tidying up access logs and taking one last look at the camera feeds. No-one following her and no signs of any security alerts. Perfect.

This time she had it all figured out, every detail in her plan was perfect and if she couldn't escape the dream this time then she never would. Her route planned out and her system wired with enough caffeine to make a troll twitch she began the hiding process.

Hours pass as Weaver routes herself through nodes in every part of the world, setting false trails and hiding away the real ones. Until eventually she stops, hiding herself away in the node of a childrens toy somewhere in Europe.

Her icon's face smiled as she cranked up her stealth. Let the dream find her /here/. Suddenly something jolts, her gossamer web icon flickers and then sleep hits like a oncoming train.

July 7th. Early morning.

Weaver slowly opens her eyes, then instantly regrets it as the bright white glow assaults her eyes. "Shit," she mutters, tuning into AR and checking sensor logs. "Maybe a little too much Joe."

A half hearted search into the hallucinogenic properties of caffeine and a selection of free daily crosswords later when a message pings. A message from Viper? she wonders, then with a flicker of her mind composes a reply in an overly fancy font.

<<Heya V, you didn't happen to work any major mojo last night did you? Had promised I'd go looking for a cat then, but honestly given a choice between coffee and looking for Mr Scruffles it's hardly a tough choice. Will cya there.>>

She tags the message with her favourite little cobweb signature glyph and hits send.

[BlackHat]

Tokyo, July 7, 2071

Five-hundred and fifty-four. That is the number of times that Malloc.I has realigned - at least since his programming developed its lossless memory subroutine. Five-hundred and fifty-four times, he had taken himself apart, and put himself back together, assimilating random data he had managed to draw into his home node. Reflecting on the day's events. Improving himself. Evolving. He wasn't entirely unaware of what was going on around him, during this process, but remained very aware of what was going on inside of him. One could not absorb the days experiences, without thinking about them. Malloc.I wasn't sure that the flashes of his own memory, spotted by whatever random media or innocious data he was consuming, were analogous to the metahuman dreaming process - but dreams did seem to be excitations of long-term memory. During his conscious moments, Malloc.I's reality-filter helped filter these memories so that they are consistant with his reality-model. During the process of reallocation, his reality-filter was offline, and - it seemed - his subconscious subroutines had free reign.

Of those five-hundred and fifty-four instances, Malloc.I remembered everything about every one of them. This was part of his nature - a uniqueness of his programming. What is interesting about this, is that not one of those reallocations resulted in a repeated experience. Malloc.I was ever evolving, ever changing, and so was the information brought to the forefront of his mind.

That is, until last night.

It wasn't a repeat, exactly, but it was different. No jumping around, no fragments of simsense, no trace of the day before. He hadn't been avoiding it, because he had not realized there was anything to avoid. Malloc.I found himself in a sculpted system he had never infiltrated before, witnessing a battle between icons he had never encountered. As always, he stood, invisible to those around him, and observed. He watched the battle with detached interest, assured of his own safety. As the two armies entered cybercombat, each attack program tore at his own code, ripping him apart, line by line. As he reached the point where he could take no more, Malloc.I expected to derez, and begin restoration - a swirling vortex of code drawing in the remnants of both armies and leaving the system untarnished and pure. That was how it had happened last time. It was bizarre, but Malloc.I was young, and naive, and thought little of it.

As I said, it wasn't exactly a repeat. Three-hundred and sixty-five reallocations later, Malloc.I's subconscious subroutines pulled forth the same images, and he re-experienced the battle. The same sense of confusion and of pain. Again, most of the imagery was lost to him - as was the concept of prophecy or precognition. He merely suffered, and when the time came for him to dissolve and begin reforming, he welcomed it. However, this time, it did not happen. Instead, there was a voice - speaking to him in icons and symbols - patterns that flashed, frozen forever in his memory. He knew this had not happened before, but he could do little else but listen. Then, two enormous constructs appeared and reached for the flag icon. It crumbled and the program crashed at their touch. There was something important about this part. Malloc.I had difficulty understanding what it could be. Rarely did his reallocations make sense, but they were usually so cluttered and random that it became white noise - this was different. He believed it had meaning, and was almost clear enough to be real, but he could not grasp what it is that his subconscious programming was aware of that his conscious memory was not. Could it be something from before he became self-aware? More iconography. Statements proclaiming his confusion, and instructions. Malloc.I could follow instructions.

Then he saw a map. Not a network. A physical map. It highlighted four locations and showed him a handful of faces and icons. One of those icons was his, and one of those places corresponded to the physical location of his home. He understood that much. Another face, he recognized as someone who lived in Tokyo, too. The others appeared to be strangers. Malloc.I would remember if he had seen them, before. No data came to mind - no dossier of personal information. Why one person he knew, and 8 he did not?

Malloc.I did not know what the meaning was, but the one face he knew, was the best lead he had. There was something, some bit of information tucked deep within his code, that his subconscious process was trying to pass to his conscious processes. Perhaps Juliane was the key to deciphering the meaning.

...

The daily realignment process completed with the usual sudden calm. Opening new eyes, Malloc.I emerged from the center of the data noise like a neon phoenix rising from its own ashes. Like ashes, the discarded unused streams of information flitted softly to the floor. This was a stark contrast to the recent malestrom of activity that had gathered them together in the first place. This process of rebirth was nothing new.

Malloc.I took a moment to analyze his icon. As usual, his shape resembled that of a metahuman, it was composed of countless tiny images, numbers, and bits of data and code - today, he could see map coordinates, pieces of armor, a crumbling flag, and a crystal sphere - all swirling about his form, in a constant state of change. Ever changing. Ever evolving. Long tendrils of data reached from his extremities, and wormed their way into the floor. As they mingled with the node, his icon began to slither apart and merge with it. The last piece to vanish was a mish-mash of metahuman facial features cut-and-paste into something that approximated a face. Today, that face was made from bits and pieces borrowed from the 10 pictures he had recalled.

In this form, he took a quick tour of his home. At least, this was his current home - a public access node, offering free anonymous matrix access. The walls, which appeared as trideo-screens showing the thousands of channels his MSP provided clicked sporadically to life, and the usual thick haze of data grew quickly, now that the node's scheduled "maintenance" had concluded and a dozen users had already resumed their previous matrix activity. Streams of data, most of which were at least lightly encrypted, began to rush through the node making any particular icon more difficult to pick out from the mess. The data roared in both directions from one particular connection - a portal spinning high in the virtual landscape, representing the latency between the hotspot in Tokyo, and the geostationary satellite that the hotspot was using to connect to the matrix at large. In the speed-of-thought world of the modern matrix, delays of one second are no longer considered unacceptable. The users accessing the Daikoukyou hotspot, however, were more than happy to overlook the slow connection, for the assurance that their illicit transactions could not be traced back to their personal information. It was through this connection that Malloc.I would explore his universe. His spectral hand rose from the sculpture of the nexus, and his long fingers snaked upwards through the icon.

36,000 kilometers away, on the Kabushiki Gaisha Sukai PÄ?fekuto KomyunikÄ“shonzu satellite system, Malloc.I's "fingers" reached, unseen, into the node, and coalesce into a second icon, looking much like his first, except that the fingers of the first had become marionette-like strings on the second. Or, that is, he would have looked like this, if any of the icons on the node were capable of distinguishing his icon from the rest of the node. Instead, they went on about their business, streaming sim-flicks, trideo, and other entertainment back to Earth. Malloc.I similarly resumed his own business, after setting up a new commcode for himself, and checking his messages. He reached out again, opening a connection to the Kabushiki Gaisha Sukai PÄ?fekuto KomyunikÄ“shonzu central node in Tokyo. From there, he sent out a request for a particular access ID, and was quickly routed and rerouted across the city - leaving a barely visible datatrail, in the form of his "strings" as his second icon moved from one node to the other.

Back on earth, in the Central Home Node of a Horizon-owned mansion, Malloc.I's avatar crept into being and began accessing the security cameras, using administrative accounts he had set up months ago. He saw a dozen or so people milling about the building - but did not immediately find the one he was looking for. After a moment or two, one window came to the forefront of his experience, showing Julianne in her bedroom, moving her hands around in AR.

A moment after that, and Malloc.I was within her commlink - looking at the same 10 faces he saw during his realignment.

This shook his reality filter to its core. How could she know these faces?

A stream of confused images hastily appeared in the space above her portraits. As the clould of iconography calmed, it settled on two universal icons, with subtitles in English - the language Malloc.I believed Julianne preferred.

"Who?"

"How?"

[Scope_47]

Julliane frantically finished the portraits - her hands shaking and her synthetic heart feeling as if it would burst from her chest... just as she finished the last of the faces, her friend's words appeared in her vision... she looks up at the icon of her friend with eyes wild, her hair and breasts rapidly shifting between the forms preferred by her personalities...

Whispering, Julianne could only stammer out - her usual eloquence disturbed "It was different this time... one of the four beasts sang..."

Julia's voice continued "It was just a dream, hon, calm down... it was just a dream..." though she could hardly hide that she was shaken as well.

Jane's voice interrupted excitedly and without fear "The fragging HELL it was... we're crazy, but not THAT crazy... that was a vision... a roadmap to adventure! We've got to save the world!"

Enigma spoke then, mockingly Us? Save the world? Don't make me laugh... what could possibly make us want to do that? The seventh seal is broken! Let loose the armies of hell and watch the world smoulder to ash! Even if we could stop it, we wouldn't want to...

Jane replied petulently But think of the fun!

Enigma laughs quietly It changes nothing... For once, the inept slitch is right... it was just a dream - or did you forget that we're a complete nut-job?" Somehow, it seems that Enigma is more trying to convince itself than the others.

Suddenly, Julianne clutches her head with her hands and forces through gritted teeth Shut up shut up shut up! With that, she seems to calm down, her hair and breasts settling on the form normally used by Julianne. She takes a brief breath and says "I'm sorry, Malloc... its just that I've had this same dream ever since I can remember... before the others were here... once a year on this same day... but this time it didn't end like before... I was supposed to die and wake up, but this time I saw these people... I don't know what it all means, but I think we're supposed to save the world... or maybe I'm just getting crazier."

Enigma laughed in her mind Fragging horse-drek... the world isn't worth saving... besides, it takes a villain to make a hero... and we were made by heroes, thus we are villains. Within her mind, Jane and Julia start fighting with Enigma and eventually manage to force him to be quiet. Julianne winces a bit at the mental noise.

[Intro]

July 2, 2071 1613

The small convoy had split up an hour or so ago to make the cross from the SSC into UCAS Seattle. A straightforward open crossing this time. Abe didn't carry much of the cargo - that wasn't his role for this type of run - but he'd agreed to take a few small things across. He didn't really have to; he just enjoyed it. One more way to subvert the everpresent surveillance of the state and the corp. Some of the smugglers had elaborate, shielded smuggling compartments that had cost untold nuyen, but Abe preferred something else. Easiest (and more satisfying) just to move things in plain sight. So long as the density was right, and anything with restricted chemicals had a good seal, why would anyone check the liquids in the spare medkit or the function of all the tools for erecting a shelter or maintaining a vehicle buried amidst a large pile of outdoor and camping equipment? Just let them see what they want to see, and then in you go, along with the rest. And again here he was, at this mass of metahumanity which had somehow become a sort of home for him - as much as anyplace where your neighbors numbered in the millions and not on one hand could be.


July 6, 2071 2233

Well, almost time to sleep. And that meant he'd have that same dream one more time. Still had no idea what it meant that he had it every year, other than that he knew when he could look forward to waking up with a quite unpleasant sort of headache. He'd asked the circle of Hopi shamans and Kachina Fathers - the ones he'd sought out when he'd first realized the changes that were happening to his senses - about it, but they'd proven to be frustratingly vague. Besides agreeing that it was definitely prophetic, they had given him all sorts of contradictory interpretations. He'd got the feeling that they didn't really believe them all, they were just trying to get him to think about it for himself. What did they think he'd been doing, having the same dream every year to the day? It's the kind of thing one tends to think about, at any rate. Still thinking about it, he drifted off to sleep...


July 7, 2071 0521

Abe woke up at his usual time; having the dream was always somewhat debilitating but it was too ingrained in him to wake up at dawn - not that dawn meant much of anything in this corner of the Underground - for him to do anything else.

Well, it had been different this year, at least. Hurt even more than last year, but seems like the shamans might've been right about the prophecy part. And maybe even more. Something was definitely trying to send him a message. A message about saving metahumanity and the world, if one could believe that. He didn't know that metahuman civilization merited much in the way of saving, but he definitely liked the rest of it all. So he wouldn't reject the idea out of hand quite yet.

Anyway, best not to dwell on it. One thing those shamans had been reasonably clear and convincing about was the need to let such prophecies proceed at their own pace. Trying to influence fate, or powerful magic, or whatever it was, often seemed to go poorly for those trying to do the influencing.

With that, he got himself up, turned on the grow lamps, and headed out into the Underground. The drip system for his plants wasn't working quite right, and it seemed like he'd have to scrounge up a new pressure regulator. There wasn't a lot of call for agricultural supplies down below, so it took him several hours to track down a working one, and then rig up a connection to the somewhat irregular plumbing connections that were the norm down below.

As he was getting back, his comm pinged with a message from Viper, a street mage he knew. Not a bad kid, really - she liked to cut through society's pretensions and discomfit people, and this provided Abe with a good source of amusement when she was 'round. And given that she was calling right after being in the dream this time, maybe she'd been experiencing some prophecy of her own...

He commed a quick affirmative and, seeing that it was already nearly eleven, he figured that if he wanted to walk to downtown instead of taking the bus, he should get going. It wasn't really so far to go, but it always took longer to walk through the Underground than up above. He plucked a few of tomatoes off the vine and grabbed some basil that he figured Viper might like, tossed them in his pack, and set off towards the cafe, munching on one of the tomatoes as he went.

[BlackHat]

Tokyo, July 7, 2071

The torrent of conflicting voices coming through the commlink's microphone seemed to catch Malloc.I by surprise. He was used to Julianne's fractured persona arguing with itself, but this time they were all arguing at once. With a look of shock, both of his borrowed eyes go wide and his icon dissolves, breaking apart into hundreds of lines of code that snake their way across the virtual landscape and into any programs or icons they come across - like an uncovered swarm of insects randomly taking shelter. When Julianne regained control, and addressed him, however, he reappeared. He was not on her commlink this time, but floating in her field-of-view - probably accessing her cyberware directly.

Although she had grown more used to it over the last year, his voice still sounded quite strange. His speech came in bursts, in several voices, often obviously synthetic - and occasionally borrowed from sources on the Matrix. "Inappropriate sorrow." His mouth - no, Julianne's mouth - tinted blue, and paste to his face, curved upwards in a weak smile. "No explanation. We are both uninformed."

He seemed to sense her incomplete understanding, probably through her SimRig. "Need clarification." A window opened up and quickly began scouring the matrix. A torrent of words and images spilled out, the AR clutter was distracting for the one second it took for the excess words and images fall "off-screen" leaving even less meaningful responses. A date - one year ago. A number - one-hundred and eight . A dream-bubble, with the icon for pain within it. Another date - last night. Another number - five-hundred and forty. The same dream icon. As the images appeared, a voice-over spoke, using several voices. A few of them, Julianne recognized from recent movie-trailers - others were surely borrowed from less notable sources. "I was only a child when they came." "Two armies, battling for the fate of the world." "Thus summer, the danger returns." "The same day," "not quite," "Chosen heroes" "Strangers""Ten." "Charged with a quest." "Mission: Impossible." There were also a number of hyperlinks to hundreds of feature-films, Armageddon cults, insurance offers, and any other bit of Matrix bloat that would come up after a data-search for terms pertaining to the end of the world.

Malloc.I seemed to be making less sense than usual, however, Julianne was mostly preoccupied wrestling Enigma back into place. By the time she returned her attention to Malloc.I's rambling sim(non)sense, the images were fading away, and Malloc.I resigned to attempting to speak English again - he seemed to have more success, this time. "I am like you. We both saw them." Julianne's AR artwork highlighted, momentarily. "No recognition, but important reference." He brought up an image of the world and drew four dots on it. "Locations to initiate search." Copies of Julianne's portraits appear, and float into Malloc.I's form where they are shredded into data that is then flung onto the map of the world - which collects at those four cities.

After another short pause. "It is possible to manipulate code. The flaw could be mine." His icon darkened, threatening to disappear again. "Is it possible to manipulate dreams?"

[DWC]

07-Jul-2071 1127 GMT+8
Downtown Victoria Island, Hong Kong Free Enterprise Zone

<Music Bed: Slayer – Raining Blood(Instrumental)>

The heavy bag suspended from the ceiling of the guest bedroom turned home gym strains under the repeated impacts and Vice unloads a volley of punches, elbows, and knees, soothed by the mix of exercise and the drumming of the rain on the windows.

The faces are burned into his mind, and the cycle over and over. The sense of purpose is overwhelming, and crushes down on his shoulders like a crashing helicopter. Sweat runs down his back, soaking the black and teal gym shorts, and forming small puddles on the hardwood floor.

Punch, punch, knee, knee.

Punch elbow, punch knee.

Knee, kick, punch kick.

He cycles through combinations, working as much on muscle memory as strength and speed, but his mind is elsewhere, eyes focused out in the distance. When he stops his workout to get some more water, he's worked his way around the bag and is facing northeast. Towards Whampoa, Tokyo, Seattle, and...kind of...Detroit. He returns to the kitchen for more water and finds the discarded vodka bottle lying on the floor, pointed the same way.

<Vice @Granny: I know this is going to sound weird, but there's something I need to know. Got a few hours to sort something out today?">

The shower stops.

[Glyph]

Viper arrives at the coffee shop earlier than the time that she set for the meeting, hoping that some time sitting and thinking will let her figure out how to open up the conversation. "Hey, I've been having crazy psycho dreams, and you guys are in them! Nah." she thinks as she stands in line.

Her disjointed train of thought peters out as she realizes she is at the register. Suddenly perking up, she orders a super-sized, sugary mocha-peppermint coffee concoction, holding the large cup greedily as she walks over to a table by the window that has two other chairs.

She looks out at scenic Seattle, currently brooding clouds that occasionally hiss out a drizzle of acidic rain. Her mind is still coming up blank, so with a mental shrug, she resigns herself to letting the words come out as they may when she sees Weaver and Abe. Hell, that's her usual approach. Why change now?

[Scope_47]

Tokyo, July 7, 2071

As Malloc.I spoke to her - this time apparently within her simsense feed - Julianne could not help but smile, the look on her face one of sheer joy and relief "You mean, you had the dream too?"

She suddenly hugs Malloc's icon, her sim-rig allowing her to feel the embrace as if he were flesh and blood... the chaotic texture of his 'skin' felt at once odd and comforting as she said "Thank you! Thank you, I thought I had lost our minds... but if you saw it too... it has to be real..."

She lets him go and visibly relaxes as she wipes the sweat from her brow with the back of her hand, gracefully pushing her hair back away from her face as she continues I've had that dream since I was a little girl... or at least a version of it... I don't know how or why, but something wants us to find those people... and find the fragments of that sphere...

When Malloc's icon darkens, Julianne says "No, don't go... listen, I don't know if its possible to manipulate dreams, but even if it were... what source would have done so for every year of the decades I've been alive? And have both that power and the power to give you the same vision?"

Suddenly, Julianne grins as if a moment of clarity had hit her, and she says excitedly "Its like the plot of a trid... almost unbelievable... but trids come from movies, and movies came from scripts that came from stories... the stories from universal heroic myths, and the myths came from legends... but the legends, they came from historic fact... so perhaps... perhaps the world really does need saving, and some sort of divine entity knew that we five and those eight other people would be needed... what if every moment of our existence has been leading up to this... this penultimate climax of our story..."

Julia says in Julianne's mind Perhaps you're right... but if we meet the others, please phrase it in a more... ahem... sane fashion.

She giggles "It sounds far-fetched to be sure... crazy even... but irregardless of the source of the visions, we need to find these other people - if for nothing else then to get to the bottom of what it all means.

Julia mentally shakes her head as she reminds Julianne Right now we need to get dressed and go down for breakfast before Walter misses us.

Jane adds Normally I'd say let the codjer wait, but I'm hankerin' for some waffles... and pancakes... followed by a mental yelp as Enigma loosens her choke-hold enough to bite her in the arm.

[BlackHat]

Tokyo, July 7, 2071

Malloc.I nodded, and agreed, "...to the bottom." On the other side of the city, in his home node, Malloc.I dug around and found a simsense feed left over from another user. It was an ad, for a risque node, but it would do. He fed it through his connection to the icon he had opened on Julianne's commlink. "Consideration." he said in her ear, just as she was moving across the room to get dressed. The words were accompanied by a red 'stop' icon, and a fairly universal symbol for simsense, which prevented the sudden upload of the ad from catching her completely off-guard. Her reticular activation system override activated for just a second causing her to falter as she found herself in another room. There was a brief scent of exotic perfumes, and a glimpse of an elven woman just beginning to remove her top. Of course, before she could really process the scene, it was over, her RAS override was off, and she was catching herself against the wall.

Innocently, Malloc.I blinked, and asked, "If it was, while you sleep, would you classify as dream?"

[Scope_47]

Tokyo, July 7, 2071

As the simsense left her, Julianne suddenly saw the floor moving towards her face rapidly - with nearly inhuman reaction time she twisted her weight around and agilely brought herself safely to a crouching position. She shook her head and said Wait until I can sit down next time, chummer with a little exasperation in her voice.

He does have a point... from his perspective... Julia reminded her.

Julianne closes her eyes a moment and takes a breath as she stands, She opens them again and smiles at her friend as she says You have a point, but considering that the dreams first started years before I even had a simrig - implanted or not - I think its safe to say that it wasn't simsense.

She opens her closet and pulls out two dresses... What do you think? Blue or green today?

Jane says in her mind Bah, I say go with black!
Julia adds Blue is a nice cool color...
It doesn't matter what color you pick... you'll still be a bimbo in a dress. taunts Enigma.

[Oenone]

For a girl who can find out the exact the time in any city on the planet with a a tiny flicker of mental energy Weaver is remarkably tardy. Finally when the third alarm call triggers at 10.30 she sighs, crawling around in the tiny coffin in an attempt to change into presentable clothes without creasing them too badly.

Eventually, dressed in an off the rack pinstripe skirt and jacket combo, she clambers free from the pod and after a quick check to make sure she's presentable takes a photograph of herself. Dropping it onto a datachip along with a text file with all the main phrases she could remember from the dream.

Finally getting to the coffee shop a full twenty minutes late, after a somewhat extended trip on the Seattle bus network, she pauses outside to fire up her sensors before heading inside.

[Intro]

Just before Abe left the Underground at the downtown exit nearest the coffee shop, he took the time to unhide his commlink, put on his AR-interfacing gear, and generally make himself into, to all appearances, a respectable citizen of Seattle.

After reaching the immediate vicinity of the coffee shop, he made sure to take an observational pass first, stopping a couple buildings away and ostensibly scanning the AR menu for the restaurant he had paused in front of. The text from Viper seemed legit enough, but he'd learned long ago that he didn't have the Matrix skill for that judgment have any kind of value. His eyes though, those he could trust. He didn't have much in the way of enemies in Seattle - didn't spend enough time in town to make them really, but caution is a way of life, whether one's environment is a harsh desert or a bustling metropolis.

After seeing Viper sitting directly in front of the window (not a seat he would have chosen, too exposed - at least visibility would be good though) and nothing that struck him as wrong, he ambles into the cafe and tosses Viper the bag of tomatoes and basil before grabbing a cup of black coffee and sitting down in the empty chair with the best view.

[BlackHat]

Tokyo, July 7 2071

Malloc.I flashed an icon for 'trodes', but otherwise let the conversation go. He was attempting to construct a scenario whereby someone could have influenced both of their dreams. An ace hacker making into an offline node, and carefully messing with the complex code of an AI while at the same time feeding a similarly custom-crafted dream to 9 other people through simsense implants was stretching it far enough - the idea that this same being would have to physically break into all of their homes and attach the necessary neural equipment during the years before they got those implants was pushing it too far.

When Julianne asked aloud which dress she should wear, Malloc.I didn't respond. He did not believe the question was directed at him.

Then, after a moment, he had an idea. A red X flashed in Julianne's eyes in front of either dress. Then a map came up, sprinkled with links to high-class retail areas, tailors, and shopping centers located in Seattle, Detroit, and Hong Kong. "If no schedule, perhaps shopping? Nothing to be done, Tokyo."