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

[sabs]

FREΣDOM
[April 15th, 2072 22:31; Somewhere in Touristville]

Fractal stepped towards the girl with the AK. "Child, You don't want to do that." The Walther Secura he kept on him sliding into his hand, already the Smart Link was calculating best angle to take her out if need be. He put as much ganger drawl into his speech as he could. "Aint no call ta be shootin'. And it culd end badly for yinz"

[Notsoevildm]

@ E:PL / Aria
[May 5th 2072; Outside Simon Finney's lodge, Stillwater]

Snakes twisted in Copperhead's guts as she regarded the haggard fixer.

Would I be able to hold it together as well as she is doing if something happened to Cutter?

"Appreciate dat I'm a hot potato right now, Argent. Getting out of town sounds like a good idea. I'll talk ta dis 'Toymaker' fella an disappear fer a while. But ya know I is Snake. We don't ferget shit and we don't let stuff slide. I owes him and dat means I owes you. You needs anything from me or da 'Crush, ya jus gotta asks. Your man, Ember, him..., him and da frenchie, dey was good peoples."

She breaks the link, wiping at her eyes. The data about Toymaker and the meet already downloaded to her link.

Frag, I need some time away from here. The memories are still too raw.

----

[May 15th 2072; Cougar Mountain, Horizon labs facility ]

She hated it here. She was pushing around the cart of cleaning supplies just like she had at Ares. The tag on her lapel read 'Mary Smith, External Maintenance Services'.

A fragging cleaning lady? I hated this job at Ares and here I am pretending to be one just to meet this Toymaker fragger.

Still she had resisted ripping him a new one when she realised he was on the level. His package was hidden in with the trash she had collected almost automatically on her way to the meet with him. Some habits truly did die hard. Just a few more meters and she would be out of this corporate shithole and on her way to Chicago to drop off what was obviously a magical focus - even to her dull senses, and pick up another package that needed to brought back to Seattle.

Easy enough right? Except I gotta travel under another stupid alias that Slater thought was funny at the time. And one that means I'm likely to arrive in the windy fragging city with little more than a change of undies and my fragging toothbrush. Not exactly the sort of gear I might need if the run goes south.

[Trigger]

[May 5th, 2072, 10:50 PM; Cathode Glow, 6th Ave & North Cedar St, Tacoma, Seattle.]
<Passive PAN: SIN - Alex Random, UCAS Citizen>

The Cathode Glow was just starting to pick up as Ælias was given his beer and shot, quickly downing the latter and chasing it with the former before sending the 8 (IMG:style_emoticons/default/nuyen.gif) to the bar's node, along with a 2 (IMG:style_emoticons/default/nuyen.gif) tip for the cute bartender with the last century techno falls in her hair. If she noticed, she didn't show any sign to Ælias as he sat, waiting for VectΩr's arrival.

After a few minutes of listening in on idle chatter at the bar, and about a quarter of his beer, the music changed from bass heavy electronica to something that actually contained words, a song that immediately caught his attention. It only took a moment for him to catch the subtext, and then he noticed the dwarf standing next to DJ. VectΩr was a stout, dark skinned dwarf with a unspiked blue mohawk, and a neon blue striped, faintly glowing, racing jacket over black cargo pants and a black shirt; he fit right in with the place.

VectΩr stood there for a minute, talking with the DJ before heading over to one of the smaller corner booths to the side of the small dance floor. It was another minute after that before Ælias took his beer and headed over to the small booth. The booth's cushions were surprisingly comfortable and Ælias sunk right into the seat across from his friend.

"I bet you're surprised to see me here," said Ælias with a smile and a swig of his beer.

"No more than I am to see your ever growing arsenal of facades," chimed back the dwarf with a wink, "But seriously, I am glad to see you out of your house. I know the place is place is awesome for relaxing and surfing the Matrix, but sometimes it's nice to get out and have a drink with friends. Can I get you another one of those?"

"If you're payin', I am always drinkin'."

The dwarf ran his hands through a few quick motions and sent off an order to the bartender, which promptly arrived a little under a minute later. Ælias gave a mental nod to his friend's connections within this place, the service sure was better then what he was used to. With two new beers on the table, VectΩr turned back to Ælias and changed the course of the conservation.

"So, let me tell you about the Stillwater Group..."

[JxJxA]

@ E:PL
[May 1st 2072; La Ciotat, at the Port d'Amoureux]
[Erika Elite, ID "Maximilien Danton"]

Gemeaux watches the sun set into the port with a cigarette in hand and a bottle of wine at his side. After the encounter with the bounty hunters, he had decided that it might be time for a sojourn from his adopted home. It had taken no small effort to comfort Jolene after the debacle, and his ribs were still hurting from the mostly pleasant outcome. He had used the excuse of a necessary business trip to Prague to cut their courtship short, which also provided cover for his not so distant trip from Marseilles. La Ciotat made for an ideal location---close enough to allow him to react to any new information, yet far enough that he would have time to flee if events did not develop in his favor.

<<[Vivienne]: Damien, you have an incoming message from Mlle. Orabelle. Shall I patch it through?>>

<<[Gemeaux]: Of course, my dear. Thank you for letting me know.>>

<<[Vivienne]: My pleasure, Damien. Patching her through now.>>

The image of his PAN's personality program disappears, and is replaced with the familiar figure of his French fixer, Lianne Orabelle. The elf is dressed in expensive formal wear---a chic black dress that accentuates her curves. He suspects that she has taken the time to call him in the middle of an important dinner arrangement.

<<[Lianne]: Gemeaux, my poor soul, I am so sorry that you were accosted by bounty-seeking brutes in the middle of a meal, no less. I take no pleasure in reminding you that this will always be an issue for you so long as you indulge in such a...shall we say...promiscuous lifestyle.>>

Gemeaux grins at the fixer.

<<[Gemeaux]: I take it your proposal still stands?>>

The elf giggles before replying.

<<[Lianne]: My girls are affordable, clean, and---most importantly---discreet. They have protection that some of your former flings simply do not have.>>

On that note, Lianne's disposition melts into one of melancholy and slight regret. Gemeaux takes note of the change, and suddenly grows serious.

<<[Lianne]: I managed to find out how those bounty hunters tracked you down. Do you remember Adriena?>>

<<[Gemeaux]: Of course...Adriena, a Czech refugee hoping to catch on as an amateur model... I take it they found her?>>

Lianne nods sadly.

<<[Lianne]: I'm sorry, my dear. I asked a few friends to search for clues regarding the bounty hunters, and one of my data sleuths stumbled across the police report. The location and time match up with where the brutes were staying. I know it doesn't mean much...but you managed to kill them all off. That was the one group that had managed to reach Marseilles.>>

Perhaps, but it won't be the last... Poor Adriena...she deserved much better than that...much more than I could have ever given her...

Lianne hesitates a moment before continuing.

<<[Lianne]: I know this is not the best of time, but we agreed on a favor for a favor. It looks like I have to call in my own much sooner than I had anticipated. An establishment like mine attracts a ...wide range of clientele. Most are agreeable, but every so often some of the fringe elements become bad for business. I have two former clients who do not realize that when a lady says "no" and means it. They have threatened my girls, and some have even had the poor form to threaten me. I cannot have this, and require your services in order to eliminate them and emphasize the point to the rest of my clientele that I am not to be treated in such an uncivilized manner.>>

As Lianne speaks, she becomes tense and her hands ball up into small, furious fists. Gemeaux has known the fixer for quite some time, and knows that it takes a lot to disturb the normally unflappable façade that shields Lianne's true feelings. Clearly, these former clients have done something especially atrocious to shake her so.

<<[Gemeaux]: I am, of course, at your disposal. However, may I ask what it is they have done? That way, I can be sure that that your message translates poignantly to those who seek to still do business with you.>>

She sighs before continuing.

<<[Lianne]: One of them attacked a girl in my employ. Do you remember Malika? This client coveted her, although my girl did not engage in escort services. I try my best to protect my people, but I usually give more protection to my escorts due to the nature of their business. I failed Malika, and this woman...this...monster...took her, had her way with her, and then killed her in an attempt to keep me from finding out what had happened.

Another refuses to repay a debt, despite records showing the outstanding balance. Now, you know me, Gemeaux, I am a forgiving woman. However, this little criminal thought it smart to attempt to hack my system and alter my records. One of my own people caught security footage of the attempt, and I showed it to him. Instead of apologizing and paying what he owed, he hired an assassin to kill me. I think it only fair to return the gesture, don't you?>>

<<[Gemeaux]: Consider it done, my love. Just send me the information, and I will compose an appropriate response. I only ask that you tell me the site of Adriena's grave. I owe it to her soul to visit her.>>

<<[Lianne]: Of course, my dear. And...I know of your...unique situation, and I appreciate that the world is still quite new to you. You cannot let these things haunt you. The shadows have plenty of ghosts already, and there is no need to bring more along with you as you walk within its domain. When you get back to Marseilles, we will share a glass of wine, yes? Preferably after you have disposed of those clients...>>

Well played, my dear. A neat segue back to business.

<<[Gemeaux]: I would be honored, and now I bid you goodbye. I have taken enough of your valuable time.>>

The elf smiles, waves, and then winks out of existence. The data package on her clients and Adriena's grave arrive immediately after her departure.

Gemeaux leans back, snuffs his cigarette, and holds his head in his free hand. He wants to smash his wine bottle, but that would do nothing for Adriena. Instead, he recalls the time he spent with her, how she enjoyed dancing, running along the beach at night, and collected pressed flowers. Daffodils were her favorite, as she loved the color yellow. He asks Vivienne to search for florist shops, and tries to ignore the macabre situation of asking one dead woman's memento to toil in finding one for another...

[onlyghostdancesw...]

@E:PL/ Gemeaux
[May 1st 2072; Marseilles, at the Abbaye de Saint Victor(Abbey of Saint Victor)]

"My son, I hear you have been engaging with the refugees and blessed souls most satisfactorily." The aging and apparently decrepit old abbot, a minor officiant in the fixture of the Roman Catholic Church, but in the shadows of Marseilles a power-house few would wish to openly cross, rose from the head table of the, at this hour, eerily vacant and silent refectory where he had been reading a dusty tome.

"I have a proposal of some interest for you, I think, Brother Anselm... your, talents at aiding these newly liberated and oppressed saints have not gone unnoticed, for all that I hear that you keep tabs on them a bit too much." The abbot paused to reflect and watch Anselm's reactions out of the corner of his eye as well he might, for it was rumored among the Benandanti that this aging old octogenarian was well placed within the ranks of the Templars and not much escaped his notice. "We have recieved word of a new organization of interest to His Holiness; a group combining both the demonic and the abomination in an unusual form."

The abbot turned with deliberate grace and grabbed a slim gray folio that had been sitting as if forgotten on the corner of the refectory dias table and, without so much as a glance to make sure he had selected the proper one from the neat stack behind him, passed it over to Father Anselm. "They are an unusually accepting group comprising a hodgepodge of refugees from various countries and sects with sorcerers of the most demonic nature rubbing elbows with the newly classified technomantic abominations and every other type of damned in between. Your contacts in the refugee community will be of great use to the Order and to His Holiness my son. Infiltrate them, gain their trust, even, indeed as you swore in your oath, act the villain against Holy Church and report back to us in the methods you have been taught so that we can return these lost and confused souls to God for purification."


"As it is, we have found a measure of ease in inserting your personage into their ranks quite nicely. They had a package bound for Seattle last Tuesday and, of course, the item in question was never theirs to begin with so Holy Church took it upon itself to create a deviation in it's delivery method. They have since recovered the package, thanks to one of our Eyes and Hearts of the World and are looking for more of a less, shall we say, obvious guard."

Anselm blinked, for a moment lost in his incessant habit to analyze every minute detail of a plot for treachery and then regained his normal composure, "How exactly do I enter into all of this? I easily understand that you wish me to be among the members guarding this package but I fail to see how I will not arouse suspicion... after all, I am but a humble Father, serving the Lord in all his precepts and needs..." And a few other masters to think of it....

"The matter is being arranged my son... Can you think of no way at all that this item might be entrusted to your care?" The abbot went on without waiting for a suspicious Anselm to reply, "No matter, we have taken to organizing the intricacies from a far. After all, the Lord is not without agents to work his Will is he not? Several things need to be laid out for you but they will be detailed in that folio now in your posession. Suffice to say that you are now a Mr. Hill, Holy Church has given you an especial place in the ranks of the damned, with many a woman of the night and many a barman willing and able to accuse you of many vile acts. After all, who is more trustworthy than a man ridden with vices, who is more expected to be able to combat the law than the man for whom there is no higher law? My son, I know it must pain you but you will do this for Holy Church, and have her blessing and redemption for it after..."

The abbot turned in dismissal and Father Anselm bowed low and turned to leave the shadowy refectory. As Anselm was almost on the threshold, the abbot spoke in a voice that carried far longer than it should, "A person you may wish to enquire about, should you need muscle for the job, one Gemeaux of Marseilles.... He is quite the popular fellow these days, a known philanderer and vice-ridden fellow himself, he has recently become a person of interest to Shiawase and is looking for a way out of the country, though he doesn't know it yet. You might do well to meet him on his nightly escapades... how you do it is up to you, but get him out of France my son, the Church has plans for him yet."

[AppliedCheese]

[b]@E:PL
[May 5th, 2072; Noble Roman's, Seattle]
[/b]

"I'm paid in full Zhukov. More than paid in full, actually, considering what you owe me for that last job. And I'm not talking about the yen."

The hiss of steam from the sauna, combined with some very advanced noise cancellation technology the small package on the ground used, made reasonably free talk a possibility. As did the fact that the place really wasn't worth setting up a full surveillance operation on. Theoretically, one could use a combination of mics, bugs, drones, and cameras to get at what got talked about in the steam rooms. But it'd have to be a lot of them, and they'd need some pretty expensive oversight. In the end, 99% of the even remotely interesting people would just be low level Vory muscle, or even wannabes. The juice just wasn't worth the squeeze.

Which made it occasionally useful for one offs between people who weren't just Russian strongmen.

"We can't take you here, not now. This organization...it is mostly a very boring organization at its core. Boring people with boring money, and many, many boring contacts to keep it that way, yes? Usually we pay you to keep it boring. You are not such a boring person at the moment. Even if I wanted to, there's nothing I could do for you right now."

"I'm one of the best you've got. And I've been working the system for a while now. I want up."

"Nyet. I cannot do this thing. There is no opening for such as you; I can get you out of town, and lined up with a new job. Expand your horizons some. Maybe you make some new friends. I'll see if maybe the boring old men would be alright with you having some real estate. Someplace business is expanding, mmm? An emerging market. I think that would suit your talents."

"I'm listening"

"Well, seeing as how you need to lie low, there is this one job, a bit further east. A milk run. We have a truck load of Tri-D chips heading that way, you can catch a ride soon. It does involve...mages..."

"Goddamit Zhukov..."

"Well, you know one of them from what I hear"

[Aria]

@E:PL Ælias
[June 27th, 2072; Apartment, Auburn]

Things have been going particularly well recently…not only have you progressed sharply in the Citadel (a fact perhaps more significant than it should be for a grown orc), but work has been coming in steadily and you have been making a name for yourself, albeit a small one, wouldn’t do to get too noticed! You feel the incoming call as a tug on your bionode’s senses as it diverts from your work commlink after a once over by Sphinx…pays to be careful and Sphinx can be especially protective of its runner.

The communiqué is from a fixer that VectΩr had told you about…an elf called Argent. She was relatively important in the grand, shadowy, scheme of Seattle and was rumoured to have her web cast wide, a reliable and discreet source of information and the occasional hirer of runners. More importantly she had links with the Stillwater group who VectΩr was keen that you contact…it would seem, unless this is one vast concidence, that wheels are in motion in the background.

<<Ælias: I have some work involving a trip out of Seattle in connection with some of your work with the Refugees charity. Please contact me if you are available in the next couple of days for a period of a couple of weeks and we can discuss the details in a secure node.A.>>

@E:PL Copperhead
[June 27th, 2072; Nr Chicago Midway International Airport, Chicago]

The rumble of a subcontinental shatters the night air as it takes off…the flights in and out are hardly regular since Chicago was abandoned by the rest of the UCAS but there are still reasons for people to come here, just more for them to leave…

Dealer should be around to meet you soon, it felt like it was time to go back home, surely the heat would have died out by now…missing Cutter was nothing compared with the nagging worry that he would get himself into a scrape without you to back him up…and now the fates have intervened and you’ve had a call from Argent with another courier job…the only snag being that the package is a pair of breeders, inside the crumbling core of Chicago, and they are bloody technomancers to boot! Technomancers that are being actively hunted if everything she told you is correct. Just to make things really rosy, Argent wants you to hook up with yet another one of their kind so that he can help them to mask their signatures or some such thing…

@E:PL Dealer
[June 27th, 2072; Nr Chicago Midway International Airport, Chicago]

Your strings are being tugged again. Bloody mages, you never seem to be free of them…that witch Argent wanted to drag you into another courier job, escorting some techno freaks back to Seattle. You felt no real guilt about the death of her husband but it felt like she had manipulated you into working for her on more than one occasion since. At least the money was good and you could be fairly certain she didn’t intend to screw you over. Copperhead would hopefully be waiting for you…grudging respect for her skills has only grown in the last two months you’ve worked together on and off.

So, you need to go to this Blackwater place, drag the package out by their heels, avoid the authorities and those hunting them, get them across multiple international borders back to Seattle and finally get them to the Stillwater community…water again…bloody, bloody mages!

[Aria]

freΣdom
[April 15th, 2072 22:31; Somewhere in Touristville]

The girl bridles at your tone

“Frag off…if I wanted you dead I’d have riddled the taxi before you even stepped out! He wants to see you so just put your weapons on the ground and Sammy will show you the way…twitch in a way I don’t like and I’ll end you! Don’t worry, nobody will run off with them, you have my word. I’m told you know why you’re here so you should know that we won’t tolerate any more attacks against us! Nobody gets to see Prospero without some security checks first…”

There’s a brief pause while she is clearly receiving a comm call…then she says reluctantly

“Forget the weapons…he obviously trusts your rep more than I do…Sammy will show you where to go…”

[AppliedCheese]

@E:PL
[June 27th, 2072; Nr Chicago Midway International Airport, Chicago]

Dealer grunted as information flowed across his commlink. Time out east had not particularly improved his social skills, which were not prize wining to begin with. Lay out a plan, point out the likelihood of death/success, transmit information in a tactically understandable manner...sure. B+, probably be an A with some formal training. Make people like him while he was doing it? Definitely a C. Fortunate then that it was definitely in text only mode.

Argent had called him in on this one, since he'd been working in the UCAS anyhow. She was, by far, not his favorite fixer. A little righteous, a little holier than thou, and all the while happily manipulating people as badly as any corp. And she never ever let you forget about Ember, who frankly, had died the same way people the world over did: by trying to grab more power than he could hold. Somehow that fact that it was "magic" was supposed to make it noble. And she all with the smug self-satisfaction of a holier than thou mage.

Actually, that was the worst part. Corps, generally speaking, people got to the top or near the top by being very smart, very cunning, and working their asses off for it. Sure, they could also be ruthless bastards, and there was nepotism in some places and just plain luck of being born into capital wealth in others. Hell, Dealer would readily admit that being born into the middle class stacked the odds pretty nicely in your favor for sarariman too. But at the end of the day, there was a way in, and a way up, and talent, guts, smarts, and a bit of luck - anyone could make it. And you know what? They didn't hide it. You knew that the corps would fight tooth and nail for power, but when it came right down to it, the people wielding that power were going to bloody well earn it.

Compare that to mages: you're either born with it or your frga out of luck chummer. Yet somehow they thought that this genetic freak of birth gave them wisdom and insight and some sort of hold on philosophy - and they almost always seemed to be anti-corp, anit-organization, anti-anything other than mages when the matter of who had the right do decide the future of anything went. Frag them. Double that for the ones who would speak cryptically about their little astral plane like it was something special and holy. Its just another part of science jackasses. Get over yourselves.

Anyhow, Argent was one of them. But as someone once said, to wage a war you need money and good soldiers, and Argent certainly had money. Dealer, in the mean time, was stuck with just being a very good soldier. And in this case that meant grabbing a pair of technos out of the containment zone for someone he pretty much despised.

He checked his ubiquitous duffel. Neatly full of stuff he would need in the city wastes. Not having to clear security or customs was definitely a saving grace to riding shotgun (more literally, riding assault rifle) on the occasional Vory shipment to get around the country. You got tired of CB radio though.

Then he saw Copper.

Well, at least it won't be boring...

[JxJxA]

@ E:PL
[May 5th, 2072; Marseilles, at the Saphir de la Côte d'Azur]
[Erika Elite, ID "Maximilien Danton"]

"Cheers, my good friend, to a job well done."

Lianne raises a glass of Cassis in a toast to Gemeaux. The assassin smiles humbly and accepts the gesture, clinking her glass with his own and indulging in the wine's full flavor. He takes a moment to savor his surroundings. Lianne had reserved a table at the upper class restaurant to celebrate his successful "dispatching" of the traîtres infâmes. They sit at a table for two on the balcony overlooking the port. A twilight sky boasting a full moon's light provides the perfect scenery, and Lianne's fashionably-cut, indigo evening gown certainly makes for an impressive view. A salade niçoise to share provides a light meal for both of them, allowing them indulge in the wine without fear of growing too tipsy.

"I live to serve, my lady, especially when the rewards are so fine. I have to admit, though, I am fairly surprised at my own successes given the...unique nature...of your ex-clients."

Lianne cocks a quizzical eyebrow, caught unprepared for Gemeaux's offhand comment.

"Whatever do you mean? I had my people give you everything I had on them."

"I did not mean to accuse you, and I doubt that you could have known. However, I do come bearing gifts that should help illustrate what I mean." Gemeaux reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small, crystal cylinder. He gives it to Lianne. She blanches slightly when she notices what they are.

"Oh my...are...are those teeth???"

"It appears that one of your clients was a vampire. The fangs are sealed in a crystallized polymer, and I had them thoroughly disinfected before encasing them. I think this might explain what happened to Malika. I nearly succumbed to the monster's seduction, but it seems that Providence is still looking out for me." He flashes Lianne a roguish grin before continuing.

"As for the other...I had no idea he was so wealthy. He hired not one, but three assassins to kill you. I suppose desperate men have no need for spare nuyen, but I was a bit surprised. Some of his hires were former rivals of mine. All eliminated, though."

"I still cannot believe it," Lianne remarks, still pale from the realization, "one of the infected in our midst...I even, ugh, I even shook her hand!"

"And, yet, here you are. Beautiful as always. It simply gives you another reason to celebrate being alive. This world that we have built for ourselves, it does its best to make us forget the simple pleasure of the moment."

"Oh my, you are terrible. But, at least terrible in a good way." She smiles, and they continue their evening of celebration, remembrance, and revelry. When the meal finally comes to an end, they part ways at the restaurant. Lianne has a "business meeting" to attend to, and Gemeaux decides to walk to his hotel room given the calm and comely nature of the night.

He takes a roundabout stroll along the waterfront, casually taking in the nightlife. He enjoys it so much that he does not mind discovering that he has picked up a tail or three. He tells Vivienne to release the safeties on his sidearm as he takes a turn into a dark alleyway. On the way, he passes a man of the cloth selling "indulgences" to the weak-willed and superstitious. He silently clucks his tongue at how even those who profess morality are quick bend over at the right amount of cash.

When he enters the alley, he hears the words he has been waiting for.

"All right, friend, put 'em up."

He smiles to himself, and turns around. However, his confidence takes a hit when he notices that his followers have apparently multiplied. Instead of the three original followers, he is greeted by eight goons with guns drawn. He laughs at his own hubris and begins to calculate his odds.

"I take it you are not willing to take 'no' for an answer..."

[onlyghostdancesw...]

@ E:PL
[May 5th, 2072; Marseilles, in a dark alleyway about 10 blocks from the Saphir de la Côte d'Azur]

"Get your indulgences! Step right up and let Holy Church absolve your sins! You sir! You look weary with life! Leave a penance for Holy Church and you or a loved one can be absolved in the life hereafter!" Father Anselm eyes his mark as Gemeaux passes on a leisurely stroll obviously quite aware that he has a very unskilled tail following a few hundred feet behind. The take from selling the priories weekly quota of indulgences had been quite good for the few hours that Anselm had been planted within eye-shot of Gemeaux's favorite brothel, perhaps in response to many a guilty conscience which the place produced, however well satisfied its clients may have been.

However, waiting was still waiting and as young as Anselm still felt, it was too long by half. The wait had paid off however, and quite possibly would turn out better than Anselm had anticipated if the open intentions written on the lead troll's face were accurate. He kept up his spiel, even attracting the attention for a moment of both Gemeaux and his overly conspicuous company before they passed on, one's rate of movement controlled by the other. Anselm mentally sighed and figured that perhaps he should have found Gemeaux a little earlier to avoid the coming trouble. He watched as Gemeaux rounded the corner and saw the group of orks coming up on the other side, the ones he had not noticed before, rushing up to join the three originally tailing the erstwhile shadowrunner.

Hmmm this may get a bit too interesting for my needs. Anselm silently activated his three foci which he was very thankful he had brought along and mentally uttered a quick prayer for an angel of vengeance, "My Lord, aid me against those that would disrupt your Holy work this night, send me one of your Legion, mighty with justice and wrath."

As Anselm hurried to the corridor which the party had rounded he sent several more prayers skyward, warding himself against the surprises of the devil and asking for divine intervention in the coming trial of faith. He paused for a moment to ascertain that the group had gone sufficiently far down the passage, about 20 meters and then rounded the corner as Gemeaux turned and replied to the order to put his hands up.

"Grant me your wrath my Lord" Anselm ordered the Angel to attack and destroy the party threatening Gemeaux and launched a stunbolt of his own, sending painful sleep coursing into the Trolls tiny, narrow mind.

[Notsoevildm]

@E:PL
[June 27th, 2072; Vory Warehouse, Seattle]

Copperhead swaggered boldly up to the eastern european with the bad crewcut and worse breath.

Slater had actually come through on this one, although it did mean working with the Vory. She thought back to her recent call with the elf.

"Vory?"

"Yes, Vory."

"But don't dey kill you and your family, and yer dog and...."

"No, that's the Albanians. The Vory are trying to go legit, so they keep their dodgy dealings quiet. Plus, your friend Dealer's in tight with them."

"Huh?"

"Here. Look!"

<<poor quality video of two men in a sauna, one of whom could possibly be Dealer>>

"I guess that could be him"

"And the other is Zhukov. He's a fixer, but he's also Vory."

Her attention is brought back to the present, as the man with bad breath grunts something in what she assumes is Russian, then repeats it in broken English.

Go 'way trog. You not welcome here."

The Russian is tall and probably cybered, but so is she. She draws herself up to her full height and stares squarely into his eyes, drawing just enough mana to activate her shamanic mask.

"Lissen up breeder. I'm sshotgun number two for a truckload of BTLs dat's going to ssshicago. So unlesss you wants to tell your boss why da sshipment iss late, youse better letss me in, neh?"

To his credit, the thug stands his ground and even manages to spit, although he carefully avoids hitting her. He mutters under his breath in Russian but lets her in.

She swaggers past him, spotting Dealer by the truck's cab.

Hey, Dealer. How's it hanging? You oughtta let yer boss know dat security in dis place is lousy. Day let any trog jus' walk in off da street."

[Aria]

@ E:PL
[May 5th, 2072; Marseilles, in a dark alleyway about 10 blocks from the Saphir de la Côte d'Azur]

The quiet of the night is shattered, not so much by the silent phutts of Gemeaux's pistol but by the hysterical screaming that follows the moment of stunned silence...they clearly hadn't been expecting much resistance against the eight of them...

From behind the air ripples with barely visible energy and the leader, a trog of gargantuan proportions, slams into the side wall of the alley with a messy display of blood and gore errupting from his nose, ears and eyes...although the spell was designed to stun, cast with that amount of ferocity was akin to being dropped head first off a five storey building.

Standing beside the shrouded figure of the priest is a figure straight out of legend, the angelic form is radiant in the dimmness of the alleyway. It gestures with an imperious finger and another of the assailants is rendered mute...

[sabs]

freΣdom
[April 15th, 2072 22:31; Somewhere in Touristville]

"What ever you say Girlie." He gives her a big toothy grin, and then holsters his handgun turning towards Sammy. "You must be Sammy. Lead the way young man."

Fractal follows along, his attention slightly distracted as he's using his mind's eye display to take over the Girl's commlink. It would be good to know exactly what kind of orders she is getting.

[Trigger]

@E:PL
[June 27th, 2072; Apartment, Auburn]

<<Ælias: I have some work involving a trip out of Seattle in connection with some of your work with the Refugees charity. Please contact me if you are available in the next couple of days for a period of a couple of weeks and we can discuss the details in a secure node.A.>>

Ælias looked the message over again as he browsed his upcoming schedule in one window, confirming that was indeed free for the next few weeks. There was a scheduled guild grouping for a stream ride next month, but he figured he might be done by then, if not there was always another one coming up sometime. He turned from the message for a moment as he reached into the exceptional resonance of his studio, compiling a being of pure Data before him. It appeared as floating head composed of millions of flickering, constantly changing images, each one a pixel of the face. It looked Ælias over and then at the vibrant 'Trix space around him, and nodded in approval, seeming content in the Resonance well that was the living room of Ælias' studio.

< What do you seek? It is my pleasure to delve the ether from here. >

< I seek information on the one who calls itself Argent. > Responds Ælias with a nod to the spirte as he works out a response to Argent.

<<Argent: I am interested in hearing the details. Where should we meet? >>

Ælias sends the response off with a thought and then turns his mind back to preparing a backup for the meeting. One could never be too safe. Enmeshing himself back with the currents of the Resonance, Ælias begins pulling together another being of coding, this one built from the remnants of destroyed programs, rended firewalls, and pure processing firepower; this was his bodyguard, Tank. The sprite appeared in a with an audible thump in the 'Trix, appearing in the guise of a stout Troll in a smooth black suit, like a professional bodyguard, except behind his black shades were spinning orbs of ones and zeroes, and what skin was exposed was laced with veins like fiber-optic cables. Tank gave Ælias a blank stare, simply standing and waiting for a command, but Ælias was not completed yet. He extended his mind into his link with Tank and fell into a meditative trance, locked in mind with the sprite. It was part contest of will, part restructuring of code, and part fistfight; he was registering Tank to himself, tying the sprite to him for more than just this day.

Six hours later and Ælias sat up, returned to himself, a little worse for wear but now with a very strong arm at his side for as long as he could keep the sprite compelled.

Now let's see if anyone has gotten back to me.

[JxJxA]

@ E:PL
[May 5th, 2072; Marseilles, in a dark alleyway about 10 blocks from the Saphir de la Côte d'Azur]
[Erika Elite, ID "Maximilien Danton"]

Gemeaux smiles in macabre satisfaction as his shots hammer home with adequate lethality. He swiftly slips into cover behind a collection of trash cans and an unfortunately pungent dumpster. He frowns in disgust as the odor assaults his nostrils.

Such is the price for discretion---of a limited level, it seems. He still is not quite sure what to make of the magician and his spirit. Strangely enough, it seems that the uninvited third party is the pandering priest. He does not have an answer to the question of whether or not the man is friend or foe, but he decides not to dwell on it right now. After all, the man is helping even out the odds. He might not even have to change clips at this current pace of goon culling.

He sees one of the voyous closer to him trying to line up a shot, and decides to explain to him why that is a very bad idea...

[JxJxA]

@ E:PL
[May 5th, 2072; Marseilles, in a dark alleyway about 10 blocks from the Saphir de la Côte d'Azur]
[Erika Elite, ID "Maximilien Danton"]

...and he grins wickedly as his salvos hit home. The goon goes down, and then he tallies two more having fallen to the mysterious priest and his summoned spirit.

This is damned peculiar. I don't often run across such bloodthirsty Good Samaritans. I wonder if this is simply a battle between bounty hunters. Tut, tut, Damien, you are becoming too popular for your own good...

He looks at the two remaining thugs, and stifles a chuckle. Their faces register defeat and their postures are those of defeated men. They look as if they are ready to flee the scene.

Too bad you will not get that opportunity, you stupid, petty fools...

[Aria]

@ E:PL
[May 5th, 2072; Marseilles, in a dark alleyway about 10 blocks from the Saphir de la Côte d'Azur]

Clearly stunned by the rapid escalation in violence the two standing bounty hunters make a bid for freedom. The first, a burly orc slams his back against the nearest door off the alley...the stale smells of warm bear that waft out indicate it is the rear entrance to one of the local bars...he is not without some fight left in him however as he unleashes a blast of shot from a sawn off shotgun down the alley to discourage persuit...

The other, a scrawny disheveled individual who was the screamer moments before, takes off in a more unlikely way, literally scrambling up the side of the alley wall and then impossibly disappearing from view...boiling out of a sewer grate a stream of rats cascade out and hurl themselves against the glowing angelic icon...

[JxJxA]

@ E:PL
[May 5th, 2072; Marseilles, in a dark alleyway about 10 blocks from the Saphir de la Côte d'Azur]
[Erika Elite, ID "Maximilien Danton"]

The assassin is taken aback by the screaming would-be bounty hunter who scrambles up the wall. The entire display strikes him as unnatural and arcane.

More mages...merde...

However, his training and Shiawase's hardware force him to zero in on the one remaining enemy he can actually affect. When the orc dashes for the doorway, Gemeaux leaps into action and gets ready to follow suit. As the orc levels the shotgun at him, he feels adrenaline start to surge through his body and time seems to slow down.

No. You. Don't.

He somehow weaves his way through the blast field unscathed. He levels his own weapon at the fleeing orc, and lets his smartgun system play across his vision. Various trajectory paths and models offer predictions on how to best guarantee a hit. Something within the shadows of his subconscious tells him to follow the third option. He goes with his gut, takes his two shots, and watches the exploding shells slam into the shocked voyou.

I do so love it when I am right.

With that one loose end cut free from the land of the living, he turns his attention towards the priest and his spirit. A swarm of sewer rats rush towards the ethereal angel. He wrinkles his nose in disgust at the thought of where those rats have been, and what that mage had to do to make them so vicious. Part of him thinks this would be the ideal time to give the priest---and potential "would be bounty hunter"---the slip. However, another part of him is curious as to why the priest took the time and effort to help him in his time of need. He looks around for the last of his would-be captors, but sees no sign of the wall-crawler. He pulls out a cigarette, deftly lights it with a stainless steel lighter which he slips back into his pocket, and casually leans against the cleanest part of a backalley building wall he can find.

"I am sorry, my friend, but I am all out of rat traps and I do not think I have enough bullets to dispose of that vermin," he says to the priest. "Though I think that your cherubic ally should be able to dispose of them without much trouble, oui? If you can point me towards their master, perhaps I can do something about him."

[onlyghostdancesw...]

@ E:PL
[May 5th, 2072; Marseilles, in a dark alleyway about 10 blocks from the Saphir de la Côte d'Azur]

The action seems to swirl around Anselm as he focuses on being a rod of Divine Wrath, invoking the powers of the souls to seperate the empty husks of the goons minds from their bodies. In what seems like minutes, the goons are either down, dead or reeling on the pavement, except for the screamer and a badly shaken ork with a shotgun.

Too rapidly to catch, the fleeing ork disappears in fine red mist and chunks on the bar door while the unexpected demon worshipper attempts to scamper up the wall, to be covered by an unholy swarm of rats, all seething towards Anselm's Angel.

The slightly bewildered and disheveled Gemeaux looks back and forth for the now apparently absent satanist and, in a change of mein which speaks to his experience in the shadows, leans up against a less foul section of wall, deftly lighting a somewhat worse for wear cigarette which has appeared in his hands with a stainless steel lighter.

"I am sorry, my friend, but I am all out of rat traps and I do not think I have enough bullets to dispose of that vermin, Though I think that your cherubic ally should be able to dispose of them without much trouble, oui? If you can point me towards their master, perhaps I can do something about him."

Anselm pauses for a split second to register the comment, still caught in the whirlwind of divine wrath and looks at the spot the demon spawn had just occupied, it took all his will but he caught sight of the mage about 6 meters up, climbing rapidly towards the top of the 8 story tenement and whorehouse.

Mentally commanding his soldier of the Lord to destroy the filth if he could not, Anselm points to the rapidly departing damned and begins chanting the framework for a lance of divine light to sear the scum before he could make good on his getaway.

[Aria]

@ E:PL
[May 5th, 2072; Marseilles, in a dark alleyway about 10 blocks from the Saphir de la Côte d'Azur]

The scurrying shaman can dimly be heard whimpering to himself as he flings himself up the side of the building. Reaching a likely window he thrusts out his hand and sends shards of glass whirling into the night air before he tumbles inside. Having pierced the fog of his concealment, however, Anselm is able to unleash the fury of the heavens against the fleeing scum and the air of the alley is burnt as the incandescent stream of light blasts into the retreating form.

The angelic spirit pursues with the rats defying gravity to run hotly up the wall behind him. As he reaches the window he is confronted by a single rat-like figure standing on its hind legs and chittering in a threatening way and blocking the path to it's shaman summoner.

[JxJxA]

@ E:PL
[May 5th, 2072; Marseilles, in a dark alleyway about 10 blocks from the Saphir de la Côte d'Azur]
[Erika Elite, ID "Maximilien Danton"]

Gemeaux looks up just in time to see the ethereal display. He nonchalantly shields his eyes and face from the shattered glass with his free hand, and squints as the bright effects of the priest's magic briefly flare about the alley. Seeing the shaman slip outside of his immediate firing range, he looks back to the alleyway where the angel is engaged with now two rats. Amidst the wizard's duel, the remaining thugs are groaning as they vacillate between life and death.

The fewer witnesses, the better. I hope you paid the priest for his services before you made this fatally wrong choice...

He raises his gun and begins the dirty business of killing the wounded...

[Aria]

freΣdom
[April 15th, 2072 22:31; Somewhere in Touristville]

You breeze through the negligible protection on the girl’s commlink and rifle through its contents. Seems to be very little on here, Sarah’s details, although the SIN is so blatantly fake that you wonder why anyone would bother with it (perhaps enough to ride a bus and not stand out in a mall), a few contact numbers and the call log – that’s about the only thing of interest because it shows that there haven’t been any calls received for three days and the only outgoing one seems to have been made by a Fetch. Either she’s got a transceiver on her, although that seems unlikely, or she’s got some magical way of receiving orders…or perhaps technomantic? That might be more probably given the nature of the gang.

Sammy looks you over nervously and then waves you onwards towards the centre of the gang’s influence…most of it is in the ‘trix but they still defend, defended, a small patch of turf centred around a group of apartment blocks. There is evidence all around you of gang violence, too much in fact, it looks planted and you are hardly a forensic expert. There are also bodies which your guide carefully avoids looking at…it seems there aren’t even enough of them left to clear their dead from the street…

You are led to one of the larger units and then down a service stairs towards the basement…seems like Prospero lives under a rock…

[sabs]

freΣdom
[April 15th, 2072 22:31; Somewhere in Touristville]

Fractal sighed to himself, Technomancers. He let his coprocessor collect all the information and record it for later analysis. He had a pretty good forensics program back home he might be able to run the information through.

The kid was amusing, young and obviously way over his head. "Lead on McDuff"

[Trigger]

@E:PL
[June 27th, 2072; Apartment, Auburn]

<I have found what you seek. Do you require another task of me?> The Data sprite queries as Ælias returns from his registration trance with Tank. It transfers the data package on Argent to the link on Ælias' hip, his external memory source for things he want to hold onto. Ælias browses through the collected data with a quick eye, picking out the important details as he scans... She's a straight shooter, hmm... married? Awakened husband, gotta be extra careful not to leave a trace behind... she seems legit though. Well, I will see what she has to say when she gets back to me.

Ælias turns back to the Data sprite after browsing the file, <Thank you for the good work, I have no other tasks for you right now.>, he responds with a nod the sprite as it begins returning to the Resonance, returning to the primary data forms it was created from.

Oh, crap, she said something about leaving Seattle for a few weeks for this run... I need some things before I go, if I go...

Ælias quickly summons up another window, this one to the tiny VPN that the Refugees created for easier mass guild communication.

<< Subject: Going Outta Town for a bit -
Hey guys, I got a job coming up, and I was wondering if any of you could help a brotha out with a couple of things.
First, if any of you have a spare, external simrig, I would like to borrow it for a few days. Seriously, just borrow. I heard about a new technique someone came up with, emulating the software of the thing into a form for us to use. I wanna try that out, I even have some change for a renter's fee and security deposit if you want (IMG:style_emoticons/default/smile.gif)
Second, this one is a bit more difficult, but I still got some savings, so if you can hook me up it will be worth it. I need another name if I'm leaving town, if you get my drift. Something that will pass inspection on a plane if needed. And I might need it ASAP.
Send me a message if you can help.

Thanks,
~Ælias >>

With his message sent off, Ælias finally pulls himself out of VR, back into his meat, and the small amount of blood dried on his upper lip and chin. He pulls himself up off his old, but comfortable, green couch and stumbles across the studio to the little closet that is his bathroom. Made up of a sink above a toilet across from a standing plexiglass box shower, the room is barely large enough for his small ork frame to turn around in, but at least the water is always hot. He washes his face off and runs his hands through his greasy black hair in a semblance of brushing it, and then nearly doubles over when his stomach wakes up with a mighty gurgle that reverberates throughout the studio.

<< You know, you might think about eating sometime. I hear that is a necessity for you living things. >> remarks Sphinx through the studio's CHN, the AI's digital voice projected from the 9.1 surround sound speakers Ælias had delivered for his 'premium' upgrade to his Trideo subscription. Wanderer, another Refugee, had pointed him towards the backdoor he had left in the providers node; he, like Ælias, liked to say 'why pay for something when you can just spoof it?'.

"Thanks Sphinx, I don't think I had realized that yet."

Glancing at the timestamp in his vision, he winced at the time: 10:46 PM. Where did all the time go? At least the Stuffer is still open.

Grabbing his armor underclothes and Greatcoat, Ælias tosses his link onto his wrist (loading up his Simon Trent SIN), and his Predator into the under shoulder hidden holster and heads out into the night to find something to eat.