2072: Game World, IC thread for 2072: Recruitment always open! Options

[Notsoevildm]

@E:PL/Chi Town / All
[July 8th, 2072, 20:21 PM; CZ, Chicago]
PAN: Hidden, SIN: Charlotte Church

Copperhead sighs, blowing air out of the respirator with a mechanical hiss. The adrenaline burst from the fight and seeing the bug spirit is fading. As her heart rate settles back to normal she regards the ork hacker with a disdainful look, fortunately concealed behind her goggles and mask.

Great, I thought I was only babysitting a couple of teenagers, not a spacecase hacker and a ditzy blond. Who still hasn't responded to my ping!

She shakes Ælias roughly, pulling him to his feet.

"Hey, earth to BTL-boy! Dat was a fragging bug spirit dere. We gots to find da dumb blond and get da frag outta here before it comes back wid a few friends."

I am definitely charging Argent extra for this! she thinks to herself as she picks her way through the debris, scanning for any sign of their missing team-mate.

[Aria]

[Tuesday June 14th, 2072; Approaching Elliot Avenue West, Downtown Seattle, from the Sound]

Her heart beat faster as the nightrunner crested another swell. After the debacle in April on the Henry VIII she wasn’t keen on being on the open water again but they had agreed that this was the best approach to the target. If all went well they would hopefully waltz out of the front door when they left. Of course this was a shadowrun so the chances of that were slim, still they had planned for other eventualities.

The lights of Downtown were off to their right and she briefly allowed herself to feel the thrum of life from the sprawl. She noted with interest that the looming bulk of the Arc, vast even at this distance, had more lights on that it had the previous time she was coming in from the west. Perhaps the fear of the place was gradually receding and more was being occupied? She vaguely wondered if the bitter memories of that time would ever truly fade, and along with it the new found fear of the technomancers. She forcibly returned her attention to the dark shoreline ahead.

With a gentle scrape of the keel the nightrunner beached and the small team of runners dropped soundlessly into the wash. Silk felt rather than saw their spread and only the pings on her tactical feed allowed her to locate the others as they moved, cloaked, up the beach and across the now abandoned parkland before the railway tracks.

The smell of brine lingered with her as she crouched in some withered vegetation to do a last check on her equipment. She brushed her fingers lightly across her weapons, sensation only marginally reduced by the ultra-thin gloves she was wearing. The two layers of chameleon coating did an interesting little dance as they reacted to one another before she synced them through her ‘link. Hopefully she wouldn’t have to use them today. Although her natural inclinations had been drummed out of her with the death of her mother, and reinforced by Requiem’s training, she still felt reluctance to deliberately attack another. In particular she felt for the poor saps that they normally came up against in the course of their work; individuals who were trying to earn a living at the heartless beck and call of their corporate masters.

Diagnostics run, tools checked and ready, the team ghosted across the intervening land to their target. It was a four storey office building separated from the shore by the freight tracks that they crossed in sequence with the fast moving cargo trains. The noise, even at this late hour, would add an additional level of security to their approach. Their legwork suggested that on paper this was a low level facility for Sintec and that any resistance should be minimal…of course their other information courtesy of Fractal said that this would be anything but. If their quarry were inside they would be well guarded. Wards prevented an astral sweep so they were relying on a faded set of blueprints that would be verified by a radar sweep once they were on station.

Now for the most unnerving part of the operation, Silk unfurled the wing suit and felt the gentle tug as Bale’s magic boosted her into the air. Her skin tingled as she rode the aerial currents towards the roof. Her senses stretched to their maximum, she absorbed the patterns and let them guide her movements until she landed with a tiny scrunch of gravel.

***
The feed from the tiny drone ahead of her showed that the office below was clear. The duct was impossibly small but no trouble for her enhanced body to deal with. The fibre optic cable led back past her to the roof top providing a breach of the wifi protection that the corp had so carefully installed.
Her fingertips grazed the grille, testing for the minute vibrations that might indicate movement.

<<Breach in 10. Control confirm, do you have the alarms offline?>>
<<Confirmed, breach when ready>>

With Riptide’s reassuring voice in her ears she eased the grille out and with a whispery slither dropped to the floor, her chameleon coated armour making her barely visible in the muted night time lighting.

She set the ultrawideband radar unit down on its tripod and engaged the sweep mode. A rapid pass would hopefully go undetected and confirm the accuracy of their three dimensional model data. She watched as the results plotted themselves on her AR overlay, discrepancies picked out in orange and living personnel highlighted in red…so Fractal’s intel had been correct, this place was much more significant than an office unit.

***
The wind raced in from the Sound through the cut out pane of polyglass along with a flurry of rain drops. With Riptide in control of the alarm feeds to the security spider they had a window of opportunity to make their strike before they were detected. The others lowered themselves down from the roof and cautiously swept their weapons around the room. Silk glanced back from the doorway and slipped into the corridor past the motionless cleaning drone, the self-diagnostic light blinking where it had been put into a perpetual loop.

Taking point she moved at a smooth lope down the centre of the corridor away from the possibility of ricochets and to give her maximum time to respond to anyone stepping out of a side room. Her AR overlay scanned ahead and behind with sub windows for the recon drones and the viewpoints of her fellow runners.

They were three minutes into the insertion and everything was quiet…perhaps too quiet. No signs of wageslaves working late or any security staff. It was almost as if this level was unoccupied…the serried ranks of corp cubicles standing forlorn in the dim blue light.

In the emergency stairwell Silk dispensed with the stairs and simply dropped down the well, trusting in her magic to see her safely down. It was just as well she did as a security guard was heading back up the stairs and she caught a brief glimpse of his bemused face as he sensed the air movement beside him but failed to spot the illusive glimmer of the ruthenium working overtime to conceal Silk’s drop.

The guard turned away as her micro drone buzzed round the corner and she regretfully lined up the targeting reticule on his back and squeezed off a burst. The gun coughed and the gel rounds slammed into his back and hurled him forwards. Requiem, making a more conventional use of the stairs, eased the guard to the floor whilst slipping a tranq patch over his carotid to complete Silk’s handiwork.

<<One down. Start the countdown, we have two minutes to locate the package.>>

***
It was immediately obvious that this was the floor they needed to be on. Gone was the energy saving lighting, everything was bright and sterile, and on the third floor rather than the stereotypical underground lair.

Lab coated technicians looked up in surprise as the gas canisters bounced and rolled before beginning to hiss their intoxicating payload into the atmosphere. With the aircon set to recycle it would fill this level within seconds. One slightly more alert guard reached for a weapon and Bale executed him for his trouble. Silk winced as the lethal rounds abruptly and prematurely ended his existence. She briefly wondered who he was and whether anyone would miss him at the end of the shift…

<<Spider is on to me, I’m bugging out, virus propagating now – sever any connections to the on-site matrix>> Riptide’s alert ensured that they intensified their efforts, and in the next room Silk stopped worrying about what the sec guard’s family might think…they had been doing the world a favour…

[Trigger]

@E:PL/Chi Town / All
[July 8th, 2072, 20:21 PM; CZ, Chicago]

Ælias snaps back into focus, having spaced out again watching the trail of his message to the Refugees disappear up into the sky, off to bounce around satellite systems and land somewhere back in Seattle. It made him feel a little nostalgic for his studio and the wonder of the Resonance within it.

"Oh, drek, sorry Copper, there was a signal out there, ya know? Not far off, scrambled like soyeggs, but there. Maybe Jess found it too... but don't worry, I will find her, eazy sleazy," Ælias responds with a smile at the troll, silver cap on his tusk gleaming in his wide mouth.

Focusing back on the shadow at his side, the Crack, he gives the sprite the last task he owed him:

<< Hey buddy, here is signal signature of my friend. She wandered off somewhere, can you find her for me? >>

With a small pulse of acknowledgement, the sprite takes off again, leaving Ælias alone in his head with Tank, a comfortable, if intimidating sprite, who seemed content just waiting around, looking imposing. Ælias doubted Tank very much wanted to leave the confines of his bio-node anyways, the environment wasn't somewhere he would be without a lot of cred on the line either.

[mister__joshua]

@E:PL/Chi Town / All
[July 8th, 2072, 20:22 PM; CZ, Chicago]

Jess sighed. She was used to working alone, and liked it that way. She wasn't much for people pestering her when she was trying to concentrate. Still, for this job at least they were her team, and it was going to be better to use them than ignore them.

<<I'm fine. We've got 3 figures to our west, moving south. They look organised and well armed. They seem to know where they're going. I'm going to go out on a limb and say they're our competition>>

Jess looks at the lightly armoured 'wastelander' getup that she equipped herself in, at the figures in the distance, and then down at her teammates below.

<<Given our relative strengths and weaknesses I'm going to suggest that a frontal assault is definitely not the way to go here. I'm going to recommend we follow them from a good distance. They should lead us to where we want to go. Then we can look at a social engineered approach of their group and take them down at close range. We can't match them in a firefight. Fortunately, we don't look too threatening so we could be able to get quite close provided they're not operating 'shoot on sight'. Might even be worth setting Ælias up as a dummy target and have them come to us. They won't shoot at us if we stay close as they'd risk damaging their target. I'm open to ideas>>

[Notsoevildm]

@E:PL/Chi Town
[July 8th, 2072, 20:22 PM; CZ, Chicago]
PAN: Hidden, SIN: Charlotte Church

Copperhead considers the information her companions have provided. Well maybe these two aren't a complete waste of space after all.

<<Yeah, I ain't planning no frontal assaults. Especially as I'd end up leading da fragging charge. Following dem seems like a good idea. Dat way, at least dey is likely to flush out anything dat is waitin' ta jump us. But I ain't too keen on letting em get der hands on da kids. I'd prefer ta takes them out just before we gets where we're going. As for looking non-threatening, I can maybe summon enough juice ta change my appearance and maybe even get a little itsy bitsy snake spirit ta help us. An jes fer my info, can either of you two actually handle a gun?>>

Frag, I sure wish Dealer hadn't up and left at the last minute. I'm supposed to be magic support, not the fragging street sam.

[JxJxA]

@E:PL UK
[May 19th, 2072, 10:31:20; Heading towards Reading, UK]
PAN - Active ; SIN - Maximilien Danton

<<@ Lianne: My darling, you are too good to me. Next time I am in Marseilles, I shall indulge you with dinner, drinks, and your choice of entertainment afterwards.>>

Gemeaux looks up after sending his "thank you note" to his fixer.

"So it might be wise to get in touch with Mademoiselle Argent? I would do it myself, but I do not have her address. Perhaps I could have it?"

[RdMarquis]

@E:PL UK
[May 19th, 2072, 10:31:20; Heading towards Reading, UK]
SIN: Spencer Lovett, PAN: Active

Mordred displays the commcode she had contacted him with. Presuming it was actually hers, anyway. "There you go." Replacing the commlink in his pocket, the adept finds an empty spot of the garage floor and begins stretching. It was probably smarter to let Gemeaux (or anyone else who knew how to talk to people) explain that they police were after them. Which could be a bad thing or a terrible thing, depending on how badly the cops took the deaths of their own. Though they had successfully retrieved Collot and his son from the church.

[Aria]

@Fortune's Forecast
[April 18th, 2072, 00:31:20, Abandoned Wharf, 76th Pl W, Everett]

Scratch moved cautiously onto the dock, wary of the precarious timbers under foot and the creaking from the decayed wood. This place hadn't been used in what looked like centuries and once again she wondered what Col thought he was doing dragging her out here. If she wasn't so worried about Summer she would never have considered risking her neck like this. She just silently thanked the Gods that her gift enabled her to step lightly where others would fear to go...

...now where the hell was Col?

[Aria]

@E:PL UK
[May 19th, 2072, 10:47:20; Kreig's Motors, Reading, UK]

A surly looking dwarf who looks like a Tolkienesque sterotype of his race shows you where you can stash your ill gotten wheels. He mutters under his breath constantly and from what you can hear of it would make an interesting study in profanity. There is nobody else about and you get the distinct impression that this place doesn't normally see much business during daylight hours.

Mordred's comm number connects you almost instantly with Argent and her worried visage is projected into AR between you

"What has happened? My sources tell me that there was an incident when you reached the UK...? Are the Collots unhurt? Monsieur Hill, I trust that you were discrete in your entry into the country so there must be a leak - in your organisation or mine, who can tell? Don't tell me where you are, I'm not sure this link is secure. Do you need assistance to reach your target? I have contacts in the UK who might be able to assist you in getting where you need to go..."

[Aria]

@E:PL/Chi Town
[July 8th, 2072, 20:22 PM; CZ, Chicago]

With increased caution you begin to pick your way south once more. Bursts of encyrpted comm chatter come back your way but the interference is obscene and without getting closer you are not sure that you could make anything intelligable from it without hours of predictive software on a nexus.

Ælias' contacts back home do manage to break through the encryption on the data burst that was sent to them and they return the unscrambled version of the comm fragment. It's terse military jargon but seems to indicate that the team are heading south to a point somewhere near the Cermak blast site...singularly close to your target. A brief slip up from one of the voices, along with a number of choice expletives, does indicate that they aren't being paid enough to drag people out of this hellhole...

[Ears]

@Fortune's Forecast
Mark Freedland
[February 9h, 2072, 01:12:07 Seattle docks, near an abandoned warehouse]
PAN=OFF, SIN: Burt Price

Silvio tosses his cigarette, looks around and asks him Yo, Marcello, you really sure this is the place?

It's in the middle of the night, I'm cold, wet, have a fucking hangover, these damn druggies are late again and Silvio can't keep his trap shut.

Yes, I am sure. And stop playing with your shotgun. This is supposed to be a pickup, not a massacre. My name's Mark, for the hundreth time.

Might as well tease you a bit while we're waiting.

Mark has hit Silvio's two favorite topics, respect and respect, so he bites. See, that's where you're wrong. Look at you, no obvious cyber, no huge gun in your hand, your jacket doesn't even show a hint of those toy guns you're packing. These sons-of-bitches see you, they're not gonna show any respect. And then we will have to "massacre" them, as you put it. Bad for biz. Silvio lights another cigarette. Least you didn't come in a goddamn suit like last time! Don't matter it's armored if it don't look like it. And start getting used to that name; my uncle calls you Marcello, so that's your name. You don't wanna disrespect him, do you?

Silvio's uncle, a nice friendly guy, or so Mark had thought, until that night after the attack when he woke up to see Mr. Moltisanti stand next to his hospital bed - long after visiting hours -, grim look on his face, telling him how important family is and sticking together and not talking to outsiders, the police in particular. That had been the first time, he had been called Marcello - little Marcus. And the first time he had seen that kind of certified cred. For "his inconvenience." Getting more than a dozend rounds pumped into your arm and losing it on a dirty factory floor - yeah, really not that convenient.

Meanwhile, Silvio is still going on, unaware that Mark was lost in thoughts ... at least could've brought that SMG of yours. That's instant respect. Don't know why you ain't got a shotgun, though. You're a natural. First time I fired one of them buggers, I nearly...

Natural? Never felt anything that unnatural before. My arm and... that thing Mark punches the warehouse wall with his right fist, the armored plasteel easily taking a chunk out of the weather-worn concrete. trying to coordinate; while the smartgun system tells me everything I never wanted to know about it and a small lump of artificial nerves whispers in my ears, lying, telling me I had done that a hundred times before.

Mark feels likes vomitting but sees the approaching van just in time. No time for weakness. Gets you no respect. Bad for biz.

Showtime. Let's see if we can bill them for our time. 17 minutes in this weather should be worth something, no?

Fucking headache, I need a drink.

[JxJxA]

@E:PL UK
[May 19th, 2072, 10:31:20; Heading towards Reading, UK]
PAN - Active ; SIN - Maximilien Danton

"Ah, Mademoiselle Argent, I presume? I do not believe I have had the pleasure of making your acquaintance. I am Gemeaux, the bodyguard employed by Monsieur Hill for this particular expedition. The Collots are safe and sound, for the time being, and we have met up with the two other agents you have employed to bring them safely to their destination. Unfortunately, it appears we have attracted the attention of the local police. I believe I speak for all of us when I say that we would be grateful to meet with whatever allies you might have in this country."

[onlyghostdancesw...]

@Fortune's Forecast
[April 18th, 2072, 00:31:23, Abandoned Wharf, 76th Pl W, Everett]

"What are you looking for there darlin'?" A tight, thin voice seemed to screech out of the darkness around Scratch. She was so focused on the treacherous footing which threatened to send even a woman of her particular skills to an icy bath 15 feet below that the voice from out of the darkness took her by surprise; fear coursed through her at the unfamiliar voice until she located what appeared to be a wizened and grizzled old fisherman sitting on an oil can by the tall rectangular building occupying the end of the wharf, probably some old cannery or something similar from the machinery adorning the high walls.

"W..w..who are you?!" Scratch detested the obvious lapse of self-control that she displayed in that split second and it served to spur her to a fairly aggressive tone, perhaps aided and abetted by the frustration of not having found Col on the docks like she expected, in the middle of the night with Summer out in the city all by herself. "Whoever you are scram! I have no need for people tonight and I'm not the easy mark I appear to be..." She realized that probably wasn't the best tone but there was nothing for it, and it might serve to make this man not think of her as an easy repast to slake a hard days work.

"No, m'gel, who are YOU? It's not all the time that I see a young lady like yourself poking and blundering around my docks, not even in the day. Who are you and what are you looking for girl?"

[onlyghostdancesw...]

@Fortune's Forecast
[April 17th, 2072, 23:30:23, Dust 514, UCAS Server, Lounge]

<<All requests coming in on normal frequencies commander. ETA to mid-point capture three minutes fifty-two seconds and counting. Ground Commander Zhetof requests that you drop additional supplies by the armored battalion; they are taking heavier fire than expected.>>

The software which governed the game was crude by her standards but Lefey took a huge amount of pleasure at being able to play such an easy concept while asleep. She didn't come here every night, no the nights of true freedom were too precious to fritter away in virtual battles with blithely unaware opponents who's neural chemistry evoked comparisons of the plodding cart horse and the formula one race cars of the past century; it was the absolute ability to relieve stress in a warm bath of code that swam in and out of her mind's eye more rapid than light had any right to do under real word physics.

Mentally granting acceptance of the information and informing the commander that she had enough resource points to give him the needed armor Lefay's mood felt steadily more stable. It had been a bad day, Dad had come home from work, he had actually been SUMMONED to work in the meat, instead of telecommuting as always and the mood in the house had gone from calm and reassuring, if restraining, to combative and tense in a split-second. Something bad had happened but she had no idea what, and not knowing had a habit of driving Lefay up one wall and down another when you came right down to it.

So she had come to Dust, a world where she could mash electronic soldiers that held the electronic egos of underdeveloped boys with overdeveloped pride till she could figure out what had happened and also to follow up on her original goal, carried over from the previous night. Someone, no... some girl... it had definitely felt female in nature, had sent her a stream while she had been playing the game. Normally she would have passed over the game as just another fad for overly large amounts of testosterone but that undeniably feminine thread of resonance had her hooked. Something about it felt... familiar. Now all she could do was wait, wait and hope that the resonance would come again so she could trace her to her source, find out why she had contacted her, and what it could mean. That, most of all had driven her to play into the middle of the night, ruthlessly crushing battlefield after battlefield with all her resonant power.

@Fortune's Forecast
[April 18th, 2072, 00:31:42, Dust 514, UCAS Server, Lounge]

The thread crept into her vision from nowhere and yet everywhere, just as she launched another blistering assault to claim the last victory point. <<FINALLY!>> Lefay's mental exultation at having received the waited for thread of resonance reverberated back down the connection with more force than intended and the budding young techno had the definite impression of someone clapping their hands over their ears for a few seconds that seemed years before the connection once more resolved into a peaceful stream, crystal clear and yet immeasurably deep.

The pause stretched for a while and finally SHE, appeared, a small girl, probably no more than six or seven years of age, wearing a nightie and holding onto a stuffed teddy bear much larger than herself, improbably held up by one grubby little hand, who's expressions changed rapidly and would have normally been the stuff of nightmares; not a sleeping companion.

<< Why do you keep knocking?>> The girl motioned to a tangle of tendrils trailing off of Lefay that she had never quite noticed before, insignificant and ethereal when looked at head on, but strong like a spider's web when seen from the corner of her eye. <<I've been looking for them... have you too?>>

[onlyghostdancesw...]

@E:PL UK
[May 19th, 2072, 10:47:20; Kreig's Motors, Reading, UK]

Anselm nods in agreement with his bodyguard's statement, "I know you weren't aware of my taking another on in the task of aiding the Collots across to the destination but it has already been proved a more prudent decision; I did not properly reflect on the level of avarice which can be accrued by the less morally inclined... I vouch for his good behavior, as he comes well-recommended and vetted from my contacts. Moreover, my entry into the country was entirely unremarked, so I do not believe it to have been leaked from my organization... I told no-one of our destination besides Charles here," Anselm motioned curtly to the woozy ork, "and only just made the decision to redirect to the priory. I believe the source must lie with you and your organization or perhaps a third party as it seems your two agents new exactly where to find me... I must enforce how unpleasant it is to have been traced so easily. Assume from here on though, that none can be trusted..."

After muttering several strings of what appear to be latin, the mage brusquely turned to the two newly arrived members of the entourage. Anselm dropped all pretense of a pious, fumbling monk and instantly became a commanding professional, "I normally offer professional courtesy so I will ask you politely and of your own free will... Will you submit to the Lord's eye? He see's all, but sometimes his servants are given the ability to look into thoughts of their contemporaries in order to shine the light on darkness. I will not hold it against you if you don't, but I cannot trust any of you until I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that you are not servants of the Accuser." Anselm appeared to grow larger while speaking, not so much in size but in his absolute aura of force of character, not threatening but a promise of divine surety.

[Fairy]

@E:PL UK
[May 19th, 2072, 10:47:20; Kreig's Motors, Reading, UK]
PAN=Active; SIN:Nina Okada

It has been quite the trip to get this far. It also feels very nice to finally step out, stretch the legs, and finally enjoy some breathing room. No more cramped spaces and bumpy roads. Speaking of bumping into things, the woman will in fact bump shoulders with Mr. Collot. "So," There is a subtle smile on her face and a curious look in her eye. "Where is Mrs. Collot~?" The shadowrunner will be letting the sniper and the mage discuss via commlink with their employer. Tsubaki is interested in digging around elsewhere. It's a very important question to ask, isn't it? A father and son on the run and the mother is no where in sight. If anyone is concerned, Tsubaki certainly will be.

[onlyghostdancesw...]

@Fortune's Forecast
Mark Freedland
[April 12th, 2072, 23:30:24, Tacoma, Seattle, UCAS, Middle Waterway, King Salmon Marine, 700 E 11th st]
PAN=OFF, SIN: Burt Price

"There's always two stories... and then there's the truth..." The words echoed hollowly in Mark's ears as Silvio backed the Zemlya-Poltava Crest quietly into the slip, kicking up a faintly luminescent wave in the dim light cast more by the glow of an ever-awakened city than the faint sliver of a moon that was just reaching its zenith high above the darkened bay.

The past two months seemed to be summed by the phrase Judge Pendersen had uttered after hearing Mark's testimony in the dock. That had been an unfortunate bit of business, the truck showing up as planned, the drugs all there and complete, the money handed over... and then the drek hitting the fan in the most spectacular way... lights, camera and action all seemed to have been called at once as he had heard Silvio shout out to run, felt the bean bag rounds hit his head and arms, thought how life was a waste and then... nothing. The arrest records were the real downside, Mark had later learned that Uncle Moltisanti had sent a team of consultants to the first judge's house and the trial had been moved to another more attentive person, but where consultations could rearrange men's minds, the records were a point in Knight Errant's blackbook of keeping crime in check, and so were well isolated from the attentions of receptive individuals.

Mark hadn't cracked though, and the sentence was light, light enough to look good to the outside public but so light as to not really have mattered in the long run, not for that much contraband. Tonight though, only a week out of the slammer, so-called daisytown by the family for it's notorious luxury of a holding location, was to be Mark and Silvio's welcome home, as well as their test. Recent tensions between the Vory and the Yakuza immigrant populace had allowed Silvio's uncle to see a chance to get revenge for the family; naturally, Mark had been the first man picked to be Silvio's right hand man. Who better to help a shot against the people who had caused all the fighting in the first place? Not that it was precisely the outsiders that had caused it, but their intelligence, slipped to the traitorous Finnigan and Ciarnelli families.... that had given the blood traitors the ammunition they needed to kill Mr.Bigio. So tonight was payback, a load of goodies, sent with love, to be packed into the newest of the container ships that the Yaks loved so much for the ease of transporting human product from the rim of fire, for the delectation of the masses of Seattle, Salish, and worst perhaps of all, Tir Tairngire. Tonight was a night for blood and the welcome gift that Mark and Silvio had both been given to help the four other men in the boat escort their goods felt warm, as if the potential for violence cradled lovingly against his arms foretold of the violence that could erupt, given it's owners need: a brand new Heckler and Koch Urban Combat Series submachine gun.

Prison had changed the man, or perhaps the realization that he was now, like those he hated so much, a criminal. The revulsion that Mark felt, welled up inside him as the motor cut off and the quite lap, lap, lap of the waves took over the cadence of the night. The figures waiting on the docks stood motionless, calmly looking down, a line came into Mark's head, unbidden...

"My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie; Dulce et Decorum est
Pro patria mori."

[Ears]

@Fortune's Forecast
Mark Freedland
April 18th 2072, 22:39:12 in an armored limo pulling away from "The Blazers", Seattles in-restaurant of the week, maybe just half-week
SIN = OFF, ID Burt Price

Mark, after three doses of his favourite drink - if you don't count straight up Bushmill's -, Brandy Alexander, sinks comfortably happy into his seat inside the limousine. Silvio, hyper as always, tries to get him to smoke, while Mr. Moltisanti - he's got a first name, Johnny, but nobody uses it - looks at him, an unspoken question in his face.

It is him who addresses the problem first; of course, the alpha male - however well-mannered - never needs permission to speak his mind So, we're all happy with the agreeement?

Sivio, pushing a huge Cuban cigar into Mark's face, is happy to agree, can't take a hint Fucking A! We're gonna make a killing with those chips!

Moltisanti looks at Silvio, then at Mark, pauses a moment, seemingly disappointed by the fact that nobody disagrees, then continues So, we're all happy with getting ass-raped by ten percent by those fucking chinks?! He stresses the last few words, shocking Silvio into silence, unusual silence.

It is Mark, who speaks up as if he had expected that exact words... Well, fourteen point seven percent to be precise. I took the liberty of cross-referencing our expected revenue versus police crack-downs, estimated worth of merchandise in the greater Seattle area and general decline in expenditures on non-essential goods - such as BTLs - over the last decade while we were drinking to the continued health of Mr. Myagi and his offspring. My agent indicates there is a 17% chance that I might be off by around 2.3 percentage points, but nevertheless, I don't feel too comfortable with the intrusion into our profit lines. I guess non-verbal negotiation tactics are called for?

Mr. Moltisanti smiles while Mark can't help but think You did expect that kind of speech, didn't you? Smiled three years ago when I told you I was saving for business school, hoping I'd come back as a tool you could use for your criminal empire? Well, here I am.

Silvio finally catches up on the general drift this conversation is taking So, we gonna blow some Chinese shit up, or what?

Well, considering what we just did to that freighter a few days ago, let me be really polite.. D'uh, you fuckwit!

Even more polite than in his thoughts, Mark looks at Silvio, nods, and answers Not exactly, but we might want to persue some more aggresive negotiation tactics than is usually the case.

Mark understands Silvio, basically; they had both spent their time in prison and the recent action had been something completely different. It was horrible, granted, but also liberating. Strange, killing all those people aboard the Xilung didn't seem like the atrocity it was. Dozens of bodies - of the innocent, knowing and definately guilty varity all mixed up - floating around the sea didn't seem too bad, it was a neccesary action, like a corp buying up another, letting men go, dooming families to poverty and hunger. And somehow, like some kind of drug, it called for more.

Mr. Moltisanti just looks at Mark, smiles and continues , seemingly switching topics in mid-conversation I'll enjoy a few hours with my Goomah, peace, quiet, safety. For a few hours at least. Why don't you guys drop off here, Tony'll get you home or whereever. Enjoy a quiet night.

Nice. Might as well have said "Switch cars, Tony knows where Myagi's misstress lives, kill the sucker. With a silencer; sneak in and out, make them doubt their security." Smooth as always.

As the limo pulls over, Mark nods at Mr. Moltisanti, grabs Silvio by the arm Come on, Sil. Good thing I got my toys on me, right?

[RdMarquis]

@Fortune's Forecast
[April 17th, 2072, 00:31:42, Dust 514, UCAS Server, Lounge]
SIN: Morgan Senlis, PAN: Active

The whole time, LeFay had been preoccupied by the thought of meeting the girl who contacted her recently. Not that Dust didn't have its own charm. But Morgan was wanted to play with something other than virtual soldiers. A puzzle which had haunted her for six years now. That sudden, strange burst of energy she had just sent through the connection was more reminder of the mystery than she needed. Really hope no one noticed that.

"Huh?" Morgan regretted the word almost as soon as it came out of her mouth. She had so hoped to sound coherent in front of the sender. Maybe she would have asked an actual question, if she hadn't been busy staring at the girl and her plush demon. Just take a moment to compose yourself. And remember, words this time. LeFay stepped closer. "Because I need answers." She stared at a gloved hand and the thread trailing off each finger. "I don't know. Should I be looking for them?" The witch tapped into what had become a sixth sense, willing herself to see what the tendrils truly were, to look at the code that dictated their nature.

[Notsoevildm]

@E:PL/Chi Town
[July 8th, 2072, 20:22 PM; CZ, Chicago]
PAN: Hidden, SIN: Charlotte Church

Copperhead drops to the back of the trio of runners, letting the more stealthy members keep tabs on the other group while she focuses on trying not to give away their position.

Wish I could summon up an air spirit to conceal us, but I don't want to risk magic unless the drek really hits the fan.

Keeping her voice low, she whispers to the orc hacker, "Ssst, Ælias. Any luck in decoding their comms? I don't wanna start a shooting match only ta find out dey is one of da other extraction teams!>>

[Aria]

@Fortune's Forecast / Scratch
[April 18th, 2072, 00:31:23, Abandoned Wharf, 76th Pl W, Everett]

Scowling uselessly into the darkness Scratch tried to make out more details of the fisherman and whether or not he posed a threat. “I’m Beth…” taking the name that was being broadcast by her fake SIN “my friend Col said he’d meet me here…and when I catch up with him I’m gonna make him regret dragging me out here” she said that loudly enough that hopefully Col would hear her wherever he had hidden himself – and he’d bloody better be here!

[Aria]

@E:PL UK
[May 19th, 2072, 10:47:20; Kreig's Motors, Reading, UK]

Argent pales when Gemeaux steps into the view of the AR image… “Mes Dieux! Vous etes morts!*” barely picked up by the mic. “Monsieur Hill, you were not as discrete as you might imagine. I was looking for you coming into the country and the Collots were facial recogged at the airport, a quick extrapolation and that is how I knew to send your other companions to you at the church…of course I didn’t know they would be bailing you out quite so soon but I suspected that there would be trouble along the way. I am not doubting your skills, but many eyes will make for a safer journey. If you assume that every strangers’ pair of eyes are watching you then you will probably be at the level of paranoia required for the blighted Kingdom that you find yourselves in. Big Brother is very much a fact of life there and everyone spies on everyone else! I think I need to speak to you all in person. Can you send me a watcher to guide me to you? You know where I am, I do not have that luxury.”

As Tsubaki takes Collot aside he looks at her with a penetrating gaze and his son gurgles and tries to pat her face. “Mademoiselle Nina, I am sad to say that my wife could not cope with the fear of who and what I am, what I became. The persecution of my kind was not confined to the Americas or Far East, there are unenlightened throughout the world ready to prey on our fears.”

* I apologise to anyone who actually speaks French, but you get the gist?!?

[Ears]

@Fortune's Forecast
Mark Freedland
April 18th 2072, 22:43:07 Seattle, inside yet another Mercury Comet on these streets
PAN = OFF, ID = Burt Price

Tony, who had been trailing his boss's limo, picks up Mark and Silvio and takes the first one left. Letting the car's - hopefully upgraded - auto-pilot take over, he turns around to the other men. Ok boys, we got a little excitement planned for tonight. Hope you didn't get overboard with the drinking. The last sentence is clearly directed at Mark, whom he looks in the eyes for a moment before continuing. First, this car's just been sweeped. It's clean. So, that Chinese clown's finally out-lived everybody's patience and he's going for the long sleep tonight. Sucker's going to his misstress tonight, happens we know where she lives. I've been to your apartments tonight and brought your guns. He makes a pause for the protests that he is sure are coming.

Silvio, true to his hot-head nature, goes off first. You what?! You can't just break into my apartment! What do yot think you are, you little piece of shit. The fuck, you just can't do that!

Tony had expected to be insulted but he wouldn't take it Now listen up, it was your uncle, OUR BOSS, who ordered it. This thing has to be kept secret, so you didn't have to know about it until now. And we don't have the time to get your stuff now. Got it? How 'bout you, Marcello?

Silvio opens his mouth, shuts it again, looks out of the window.

Mark nods, Sounds logical. You didn't by any chance have the time to clean my place up a bit? Haven't gotten round to doing so since Cindy left.
Sure, you deal with criminals, gotta expect them to violate your rights just the same they violate everybody else's. As long as it helps the bottom line. Just another corp, really.

Tony decides there's no time for jokes Cute. Now, cut it. Plan's simple. Joker always spends the entire night at his girl's place, so we can hit him when he's asleep. Far as we know, it's just the guy and his girl inside, two very bored guards in a car in front. I disable the alarms and watch the backdoor, you two get inside. Marcello, you shoot the sucker with your silenced gun. Slitch wakes up, geek her too. Silvio, you watch his back. Things go smooth, you don't fire a shot. Shit hits the fan, you still don't fire a shot. Things go south so hard, they can't be handled silently, that's when you start firing, no sooner. And it's Marcello's call if that time has come, he's in charge for this one. Noticing the disappointment in Silvio's face, Tony adds Don't worry, you'll get your chance next time. Now for tonight's details...

Holograms showing their mark, his misstress and the location and schematics of her house appear in the car...

[Gortrek Bloodspl...]

@Fortune's Forecast
[April 17th, 2072, 21:25:30 Leaving Крымские дворце (The Crimean Palace)]

Jack gave the troll the once over. This was especially difficult as he was seeing two of them. This may have had something to do with a petty server who disagreed with some harmless pinching that occurred a while back when Jack first started out in the area. Occasionally she spiked the drink with something a bit harder, or perhaps the drink was hitting him on an empty stomach.
"Hey, you like you don't take crap from anyone. I reshpect that. Whass yer name my good man?"

Jack tasted something like copper. She did it to me again, great. Jack stopped with his drink to look around and see if he could spot the culprit. He moved very slowly and intentionally as to not cause the room to spin any faster than it was already going.

Somewhat pathetically, and quitely Jacked whimpered. "You get me there in one piece and I'll take a nap my good man. She spiked my drink again...I think..."

Jack heard Hawke let out a light chuckle. Jack made a mental note to watch who was pouring the drinks more carefully, and not be anywhere near the opposite sex after having as much as he did his first night out. He knew it would be a good half hour before this feeling would go away.

[JxJxA]

@E:PL UK
[May 19th, 2072, 10:47:20; Kreig's Motors, Reading, UK]
PAN - Active ; SIN - Maximilien Danton

Gemeaux cocks an eyebrow when he hears Argent's whisper.

I don't believe I've had the pleasure of meeting her... Must be some chatter from Shiawase's bloodhounds in Marseilles...

He gives Argent a reassuring smile, "Madame, I assure you that whatever nonsense spouted about my capture or death by third rate 'bounty hunters' is complete nonsense. Still, have we met before? I like to think that I never forget a face, especially one quite as charming as yours..."