Deep Vengeance..., ...is the Daughter of Deep Silence Options

[Buddha72]

Elsewhere

The light hanging from the ceiling swings wildly cutting a clear path through the gloom of the room. As it travels across the floor spent shells and blood splatter are illuminated in the harsh white light. Chairs and tables are knocked over, bodies litter the space. The wide sweeping cast off of blade strikes coat the walls and the large growing pools of blood show where bodies fell. A single figure still moves through the stillness. She steps over the slain and the wreckage, running her hand across her cheek with a tenderness not often seen in the shadows. She trails her fingers through the blood on her face and a small smile plays across her lips. She makes her way towards a far wall and slides a wall panel aside revealing a small wall safe. She quickly looks over the locking mechanism making note of the palm scanner.

She turns and kneels next to a middle aged Japanese man, his throat cut deep and his head only still attached by his spine. His suit speaks of wealth and connection as do the tattoos that decorate his entire body. His face still holds a hardness and a the look of shallow soul long since accustomed to cruelty and indifference.

With a quick and efficient motion she severs his hand at the wrist. She stands and places the grisly object against scanner then enters a numerical code on the keypad. With an audible click the safe opens, she tosses the hand away clearly no longer needing it. Inside is stacks of certified cred sticks. She quickly gathers them together along with a small leather bound book. She pauses only once to spit squarely in the face of man whose hand she harvested as she departs the space.

[JxJxA]

Outside Reverend Hannibal's Office

“Thank you for waiting, Mr. Rhomicron,” Maggie says, “Reverend Hannibal will see you now.”

The young elf opens his eyes, smiling placidly at Maggie MacLeod. Hannibal’s secretary---a young twenty-something who had taken a liking to the church’s socially awkward theurge---gestured for Zerone to make his way to the reverend’s office. Zerone stands up, straightens his clothes---a simple, burgundy long-sleeved shirt with black slacks---, and enters the office.

“Brother Zerone, it is good to see you again,” Rev. Joshua Hannibal says, rising to shake the elf’s hand. The reverend---a portly dwarf with closely cropped gray hair---had been the elf’s greatest sponsor at the church. Hannibal had taught Zerone English and even oversaw his confirmation. Consequently, Hannibal also sent Zerone on the church’s missions, which is precisely why Zerone is here now.

“We all owe you our thanks for driving off those criminals who tried assaulting our food bank. Many needy families have full bellies because of your bravery.”

Zerone smiles and bows awkwardly, not comfortable with receiving thanks for something he would have done regardless. Especially since the Bible favors humility over pride. He brushes his longish brown hair out of his eyes before answering.

“I am just glad to have been of help,” he replies meekly. “I am certain anyone else would have done the same.”

Hannibal grins at the Zerone’s words---a reaction Zerone now expects whenever he backpedals from the reverend’s adulations. He pats the elf on his shoulder and gestures for him to take a seat.

“We have another assignment,” Hannibal begins, “that requires your attention. As you are aware, our congregation has few theurges to spare at the moment. Most of our healers are working at our free clinics, and you are the only guardian theurge available for assignment.

“One of our church’s branches has received disturbing reports of increased yakuza violence and has asked for help. They fear the rise in violence may place their congregation in danger. Since they lack a theurge community, I wanted to ask if you would be willing to travel to aid them.”

Concern flashes over Zerone’s face. He remembers Follower’s teachings on the importance of helping others, and nods in agreement almost immediately.

“Of course, Reverend, I would be delighted to help them. As I have told you before, Follower tells me I should not fear being an apostle---one sent out to spread the good news.”

“Excellent,” Hannibal smiles, “I will have Maggie send you further information as well as make arrange for transportation and accommodations for you. Go with God, Zerone.”

Zerone rises and waves goodbye to the reverend, answering in his native tongue.

“Go with God.”

[Saytr]

Inside Cripplers Apartment.

Crippler had just got off the phone with Red about maybe working the door on the side to earn some extra nuyen, He had a debt to owe and he was already knew they were starting to get impatient. He eat what passed for a breakfast. After finishing the small extremely cheap meal he turned his attention to the Stuffed duffle bag hanging from his ceiling by chains affixed himself and started running through his morning routine. After a Hour of beating the Bag with frustration He gathered his toiletries and headed for the community showers, as he walked towards the small room he heard the usual noises of the ork neighbors and gangers that lived throughout the whole complex. He couldn't wait to pay off what he owed to his Mr. Johnson contact that agreed to help for a considerable price. It was well worth the price he had to remind himself everyday that it was anyways. after washing up and settling down in his one room apartment he turned back to the matter at hand finding a job.

"Time to put the feelers out"

Crippler Sent out a text to his Johnson Contact <Crippler@Mr.Johnson"I have recovered fully from the surgery. As to the Debt i owe you by chance do you have any work to start to pay the debt off">

[Notsoevildm]

Seattle SEATAC Airport
Gunther Muller (Eklipse) stands in the departure lounge at SEATAC watching the big passenger jets and sub-orbitals come and go. While his dark blue fur attracts some attention, his crisp corporate suit and dark glasses mean that no-one bothers the strange looking elf.

At precisely 17:45, the Lufthansa sub-orbital to Munich trundles onto the runway and with a roar of its engines, speeds past him and off into the darkening skies. He should be on that plane, on his way back to Germany and his role as Security Operative at S-K Berlin. But the sword in his case had stopped him. It had arrived at his hotel room this afternoon as he was packing to return home. He had known what it was even before he opened the package, his bond with the weapon immediately identifying it as Heidi’s. He also knew that it meant Heidi was dead.

He and Heidi had worked together in special ops for four years and been lovers for two. S-K did not like their operatives getting romantically involved, in fact it was strictly forbidden. But as long as they kept it quiet and it did not affect their performance, their manager had turned a blind eye. They had even been talking about getting out of their rather risky line of work and settling down before she left for Seattle. Some trouble with the local Yakuza she had told him. Nothing she couldn't handle.

He had sat on the edge of the bed for a long while, the sword across his lap, tears running down his face as he wept over his loss. Then his commlink’s alarm had chimed and without really thinking about it, he had packed the sword into his equipment case along with his armor and guns and taken a taxi to the airport. But he had not checked in. He had simply stood at the window watching the runway, ignoring the calls for him to join the flight until the big plane left without him.

With a half-sigh, half yawn, he turns away from the window and picking up his luggage heads back the way he came. He would need to lose his ID and get a new one. The company would send people to find him, people like him. Although, he realised angrily, they hadn’t sent anyone to find Heidi when she had not returned. He had needed to take personal leave, pull some strings and call in a few favours just to be able to come and look for her himself.

But, he had found nothing and now she was dead. All he had was her sword. Who had sent it to him, and why only at the last minute? Was S-K covering something up? He had no answers, no leads and practically no contacts.

Auburn, a sleazy bar
Now, he is sitting in a sleazy bar nursing a dirty glass of what the Americans laughably call beer. He doesn't remember the name of the bar. It's lights had caught his attention, drawing him in out of the rain. It is not the sort of place he would normally frequent, but he needs to lose himself in this city in case the Dragon sends people after him. It is late now and most of the patrons have gone home or lie slumped in drunken stupor. But, this is his time.

His suit is gone, replaced with his armor and a cheap duster that blends in better with this crowd. His oversized suitcase is gone too, his possessions transferred to a large camo duffel bag tucked at his feet. And he has emptied his expense account, splashing most of it on the second hand racing bike parked outside the bar and the new commlink tucked behind his ear, with the rest going onto a certified credstick in his pocket. While it can all still be traced to his SIN, it's a start.

He knows a little about the local Yakuza setup from previous operations. They control much of the criminal business here in Auburn as well as on the islands that make up the Outremer district. Of the two districts, Heidi would have been deployed here, where the corp has its assets. To find out what happened to her, he is going to have to make contact with the local shadow community. He almost laughs at that. The very people he used to work against are now the only group that may be able to help him.

But how to contact them. He calls up a virtual keyboard and types out messages to the only people he knows in this city.

@Magda Reiner: Something has come up. Will be staying on in Seattle. Do we have any deniable assets here? Preferably, ones not in the system. Gunther.

@Thomas O'Malley: I wanted to thank you for the information you provided on the case. Something has finally come up. I know KE don't have jurisdiction on this but I could use some help investigating my lead. I was wondering if you knew of any freelance professionals I could contact? Gunther Muller.

[Fyndhal]

Downtown Seattle, James Prestor's Apartment

Twist woke slowly, her head aching and the sounds of James Prestor preparing to leave for work echoing far too loud. Her back ached, too, from sleeping on his old sofa. Gritting her teeth, she propped herself up on an elbow and gritted her teeth.

"Hey. I, uh, guess I did it again. Sorry."

Jim continued dressing. He always looked so sharp in his suit, she thought.

"Yeah, you showed up around 3am, drunk off your ass. Security buzzed me and I let you come up to sleep it off. I didn't want you riding that hog around in that state. You'll kill someone that way." He looked at her, then and shook his head.

"Get yourself cleaned up, and eat some breakfast. Don't forget to call your sister, she's probably worried about you. We'll talk about this later." And with that, he was out the door.

Twist let herself fall back onto the sofa, a wave of chagrin washing over her. I can't believe I did this again. Poor Jim. It's a good thing he still likes me.

Eventually, she got up and per instructions, took some aspirin, a shower, ate breakfast and called her sister, Patricia then left. She found her Bike checked it over for damage, then headed out. She had a long day ahead of her, and it started as it always did, with a call to David Jenkins.

"Hey, Dave. Got any news?"

"Hiya, Twist," his replied, his nasally voice grating slightly on her subsiding hangover, "Nothing new on that front."

That wasn't much of a surprise, there was never any news or rumors about her mother Isolde Szoldos.

"Understood. Well, if anything that needs doing comes up, you let me know."
===

After a short time, she ended up at her apartment building in Bellevue. She nodded to the guy running 'security' on her building as she went in and headed up to the 3rd floor. Stopping at 315, she opened the door and was immediately beset upon by Horatio. She spent a few minutes playing with him, then made sure Patricia had left food in his bowl (she hadn't, again) and set about cleaning the place up. The place may be a hell hole, but at least it was a clean hell hole.

She spent some time exercising, then got cleaned up and checked her weapons to make sure they were in order.

Horatio's daily walk came next. Living in the poor area of Bellevue, a woman walking around the neighborhood by herself could easily get in trouble, but most of the rats had already learned that anyone getting too close to Horatio or his mistress would definitely be in for pain and so they gave them wide berth.

That night, she went out. Some nights, this would be for work, or a date, perhaps dancing and drinking. Tonight, though, she was headed to Parlor 3, a gambling club near the Seattle Docks. She suspected it was Yakuza run, so she was hoping to take some of the houses money and do some scouting at the same time. Besides, a little poker is always a good time.

[WearzManySkins]

Music is blasting away from the stage, the musicians extreme examples of SURGEd beings. The dancing crowd the usual types for the Twisted Helix from those non visibly SURGEd and those not so SURGEd.

Alert Time is UP, Saddle Up, Work Shift Starting Soon, Vehicle activated and headed to the entrance

Kat D puts down his mixed drink of New Jolt Kola, and Sauron Sweat Whiskey. Stands up, takes a long look down on the dance floor.

Well such an interesting array of genetic examples of SURGE, pity I can not get many to volunteer or stand for a diagnostic scan. Ah well one can but dream, shame the diagnostic scanner needed to cover this dance floor area, would bankrupt a AAA corp.

Bends down and gives a SURGEd female with large spikes sticking out of her skin, still sitting at the table, a careful peck on the cheek.

"Magda I have have to leave, my thanks for the company, and the dances, see next week? same time?"

Magda smiles showing large fangs and a mouth that could engulf an troll's head. Taking a sip of her drink, twirling her Platinum Blonde writhing hair with her left hand.

"Sure Thing Docs, it been a pleasure, dat work you did is marvelous" she taps her exposed eyes, each a bright scrolling Marque of text messages. She then blows a bubble of Elmo's Super Bubblegum and pops it. She runs her hand over his fur on his exposed arms and grabs his butt has he leaves.

Yes my dear the diagnostic scan I did for that work is still fascinating, still have more genetic analysis of just that scan.

Kat D leaves the balcony area, heads to the Gun Check girl, who hands him his Ares Predator IV. Kat D puts away the weapon and leaves the Twisted Helix. Walks out and into his awaiting Honda Spirit. Once inside the vehicle, checks the weapon to insure it is ready and untampered with.

Destination Underworld Parkin, stay with in AR posted limits on speed, send standard fee to Skraacha, park in secured space.

After a brief journey, and the vehicle parks itself, gets out and looks around the area.

"How are you this evening Burt, you looked healed and ready for events"

"I am doing great Kat D, you would never know I was shot down there." Burt grabs his groin and makes a thrusting motion with his hips.

"Well next time pay Zelda before she hauls your ashes, next time if you forget, she may use a shotgun rather than a predator."

Burt chuckles "That aint no lie"

Entering the Ork Underground, heads toward the Hospital, and around to the side entrance, with a Skraacha security type standing there. Nods briefly, enters thru the now opening door. Goes into a door labeled Dem Bones, opens a locker and changes his clothes into hospital scrubs, placing his weapon into a holster built into the scrubs. Leaves the room, heads down a short hallway, and into a room labeled ER VR. Lays down on a soft comfortable couch.

VR mode, run diagnostic routines, list patients, check status of supplies on hand

Kat D flexes the manipulators and cycles the various mechanisms for operational status.

Nurse Crachet:Ah you are here Kat D, nice for once you are early, we have 2 patients and 3 more in waiting area.

ALERT! ALERT! HUMANIS POLICLUB ATTACK IN PROGRESS, ALL MEDICAL STAFF PROCEED TO YOUR EMERGENCY STATIONS, CAUSALITIES EXPECTED TO BE HIGH

Kat D: Nurse Crachet put all non life threatening patients on stand by, initiate Triag procedures

Hours pass....

AR mode, Nurse Crachet, I am leaving now, the worst is over, you did good

Kat D leaves out the same side door, squeezing between the two Skraacha security types, both heavily armored Orks both carrying assault rifles standing outside. Nodding as he leaves, the two Skraacha nod back.

Heads to Trollstack, nods to Trixy, who seats him alone in a booth, then slithers off. Trixy returns with a large tray with a one foot tall stack of hubcap sized pancakes.

"Thrudd knew you would head here after wards, so he made your order special for you." Trixy places a large New Jolt Kola on the table beside the stack of pancakes. She slithers off and at the same times sways her hips generously.

Kat D begins to eat his stack, taking drinks as he does. Eating three quarters of the stack of pancakes and 3 refills of the New Jolt Kola, sits back in the booth.

Thrudd smiles and nods from the kitchen, going back to cooking.

Damn that was bad, so many patients, everything is a blur right now, ok time to head for some rest.

Kat D leaves Trollstack going to his doss. Entering, places his weapon in the end table by his bed, lays down still in his scrubs, and crashes deeply into sleep.

[Null.Pointer]

Residence of of Null Pointer Exception - Seattle

Null Pointer crawls out of his bed, or the cardboard and packing foam forming a bed-like structure, to be greeted by the sun and the synthesized voice of his Renraku Manservant-3.

"Good afternoon, master."

"Good is a stretch."

"Your biomonitor reports that, even with your implants, you are falling 20% behind your recommended daily sleep requirements."

"What else is new?"

"You have unread messages."

"That was a figure of speech. Could you help me up?"

"Certainly, sir."

The service drone maneuvers itself into the lifting position behind its owner, picking him up and placing him into an automatic wheelchair. Null Pointer, retrieving his comlink from the storage compartment behind the seat, looks to see what new messages have been sent to him in the past two hours.

From: Automated Maintenance Report
To: Null Pointer Exception
-----Message Begins-----
Repairs completed on GMC Step Van. All systems normal.
-----Message Ends-----

From: Ares ColdSpace Refrigerator Inventory Report
To: Null Pointer Exception
-----Message Begins-----
From AOL NeoNET Prodigy, Forums and justice Indigenous causes the four months free sources Believed in not looking at the Floodgate GOLDRUSH Stealth this growth averaging minutes, discharging. You would at no Collections, O w w O Anti Anti Hacker gains in front you do not you on The acquisition took me The Header plus S a joint. If you; Have you make sure The amount of the following Order different report! Action. See pam And make sure that compile A great Opportunity. I want it lawyers! Content Transfer Encoding: are subject line marketers don't, Envy of..
-----Message Ends-----

"Jeeves, is the fridge still isolated from the wireless net?"

"Your restriction is still in place, sir."

Curiouser and curiouser.

Donning a pair of AR gloves and image-overlay glasses, Null Pointer accesses the ShadowSEA.

Looking for work: Matrix security technician. Defensive or offensive operations. Will travel.

Hopefully we get paid this time.

[Branmac]

Seattle - Downtown -- Bosco's Elven Restaurant

Spats leaned back in his chair at the bar, his attention on the AR display of the NASCAR Tupalo 20th anniversary DeathMetal. As the herd of cars rounded the corner he laughed out loud.

"See that, I love that part there! That left turn thing the lead car did, brilliant! Number 44 is gonna win I tell you."

In the 'Elven" sports bar he was just one of the crowd. Even here it wasn't totally elven but he was in the majority which was unusual enough to be a treat. As he watched the last of the race he chattered about statistics and records and enjoyed a nice solid meal with a few beers to wash it all down. Even though he was comfortable in Seattle now, it was still a little new, and it was nice to relax at least as much as he could afford to. Closing his tab and slipping the cute redhead behind the bar a wink and a tip he headed out to his truck.

Heading out the door he made a point to fiddle with his comlink wile accessing the truck's lock and starting it up. Never forget to keep the cover, blow the cover and lose the edge. While he was letting the engine warm up he let the electromagnetic spectrum wash over him, enjoying its warm voice. With a smile he pulled out onto the road and started driving at random for a bit, though avoiding the latest checkpoints he knew of.

Sighing he sent a text to his favorite 'Pawn Broker' Hey there Pops, got some time on my hands. You know of anything kicking loose? I'm starting to get bored enjoying the sights.

[Propaganda]

Seattle - Barrens - Coffin Hotel

The man known as Nomad awoke in what felt, for a moment, like an unusually roomy coffin. The panic subsided almost instantly as he remembered that he was in a troll sized pod in an anonymous hotel in one of the moderately less seedy parts of The Barrens, along with most of his equipment.
Pulling out his commlink, he sent a quick message to his one contact in the city; Null Pointer, asking if it was wise for him to go to Pointers apartment, as the nights in coffins was beginning to make him irritable.

"This is going to be one of those weeks" he muttered to himself as he began dressing for the day while trying not to bang his elbows on the sides of the coffin.

[Notsoevildm]

Auburn, coffin motel

The nameless bar had closed up around 4 am. The bartender had harassed the drunks until they left and shoveled the unconscious unceremoniously into the alley out back. One of the last to leave, Eklipse had asked him if he knew a cheap place where he could get a room. The bartender had regarded him cautiously for a minute, a look the night one was used to, and had then given him to directions to a coffin motel used by laborers grinding through 12-hour shifts in the nearby factories and manufacturing plants. He had found it easily enough and was pleasantly surprised when it had accepted payment from his certified credstick, making it just a little more difficult for others to track him.

The tiny room wasn't up to his usual standards. In fact, the ceiling wasn't even high enough for Eklipse to stand up straight. He had tucked his gear under the folding bed and sat down on it cross-legged as dawn approached. He settled Heidi's weapon focus across his lap and rested his hands on his knees, palms up, thumb and middle finger barely touching as he focused on his breathing.

He had sat there silently while the workers got up for the early shifts, as the sky brightened from black to dirty grey and the traffic honked its way through the morning rush hour. He thought about Heidi and the decision he had made at the airport. It was a foolish decision. The sensible thing to do would be to go back to the airport and take the next plane back to Berlin. But no, he would not do that. He needed to know what had happened to her. He felt in his soul that the Yakuza were somehow involved and if they had killed her, he would make them pay. All of them.

As a new day dawned for most of the inhabitants of Seattle, the blue-skinned elf touched the cold blade of the katana reverentially against his forehead and then sheathed it in its scabbard before curling up on the hard bed and falling into a troubled sleep.

[Acme]

Tacoma

The practice dummy swayed a little bit with each hit. A left blow, a soft kick to set up a punch, a few sharp jabs. It was relaxing to just get out and practice. Spade had far too much on his mind to just sit around and mope about it, so he figured he just needed to work off nervous energy while analyzing his situation.

Things had gone a little sour on the Gillard case. He was supposed to just just a simple stalk and shoot, clip a few photos to prove that this mid-level exec's wife was sleeping around. It was the old standby job that PIs like him were expected to do, stalk the loved ones, get the evidence, cash out. The pay was supposed to be good, too. Another couple of thousand to pay off his debt.

Except that's where it went wrong. Marcie Gillard wasn't sleeping with just anyone. No, she was sleeping with one of Bigio's boys; a large hunk of flesh with a buzz cut and a metal arm simply named Large Antonio. One of the made men assigned near the corp. Spade didn't know how long she was seeing him, but the fact it was Large meant that she was being used as a pawn to get into Gillard's corp to put the squeeze into it.

Spade launched a knee into the dummy with a growl, sending it sprawling. His whole job had to be canceled. He knew the rules he was supposed to play by, that his work couldn't intersect with their business. Even if he just confirmed to Gillard she was sleeping around, then that would cost Large his pawn, she'd be divorced or kicked out and Large would just be stuck with some housewife instead of the job he was supposed to finish.

Gillard was furious that Spade had to come back empty-handed, wondering if the detective had been paid off and canceled the contract immediately. Spade was left with two weeks of surveillance work with nothing to show for it, just two more weeks of electricity unpaid and his debt biting him in the ass again.

Rubbing his forehead, Spade went to his office, taking out a flask. He never drank too heavily before, and he knew it was a stereotype of his fiction, the hard-boiled detective all alone and drunk. But he didn't give a damn right now, he needed to find a job now to pay off the mob. Sure, his office had been paid for- he still needed to find who did that- but it'd go up in flames if they thought he was holding out on him. Spade just flopped back into his chair, sweating from the hard work, swirling the flask around before taking in the heavy taste of Daniels. Another day wasted.

[UmaroVI]

2nd Floor
Long Wang's Traditional Herbs and Remedies
-Acupuncture
-Homeopathy
-Herbal Medicine
-and More (inquire inside)

*Knock knock knock*
*Knock knock knock*

"Hey, Fat Man, get up! It's a quarter to 5."

...

*Knock knock knock*

"You still alive in there?"

James Wang, proprietor of the aforementioned shop, was considering trying to dig up the spare key when he heard movement, followed by the door opening.

"Good morning, James," Fat Man greeted his friend, "my apologies. I was just taking a nap."

The large man held a soy bar in his mouth as he started dressing himself.

"Don't you mean good afternoon?"

Normally, James would have been making fun of the downright paranoid amount of concealed armor his friend wore, but tonight it seemed more appropriate.

"My contacts got back to me. These guys are definitely Triad Society, and they have ties to the organization back in China. They've been placing a bunch of orders like this recently. Yi thinks they need more reagants than they can smuggle over themselves, so it's probably a legit business call. Probably. You dealt with these guys much before? Normally they don't bother me and I don't bother them," James chattered nervously.

"A few times," Fat Man replied calmly, "I, uh, have your back, as they say here. I don't really know much about them, but what I heard was to remember to treat them like businessmen. They don't like being reminded that they are criminals. Act like you respect them because of their money and resources, not because you think they might kill you. Don't worry - remember, I am supposed to bring you good luck."

Fat Man grabbed some soysticks to snack on while they set up. James would meet the guests in the hidden back room, normally where he stored smuggled or illegal goods. Fat Man could watch through a hole in the ceiling, set up so that it would be difficult for him to be spotted even with astral perception. He'd warn James if his guests showed up packing more magical muscle than would make sense for a business meeting, and protect James in case things went sour. He'd also use his magic to assist James in the negotiation, making him more charismatic and granting him a supernatural ease with words.

Ten minutes later, Fat Man was hunkered down next to the peephole with a mouth full of Betel gum, his combat spells active "just in case," and a warrior shen standing by on the astral plane with its weapons ready, "just in case the just in case doesn't work." Probably overkill, but he'd learned never to be surprised when people turned simple situations violent for no good reason.

I have heard much about you. Please, call me James. Welcome to my place of business, and kindly follow me to the private room so we can ensure the privacy of our meeting."

[Dreadsister]

Webcrawler was just finishing his node maintenance when he turned his attention to crafting his comlink ikons and pan to fit his reality filter and looks the way he always does. Even though he didnt need the comlink it was still used to deflect suspicion and he wanted it to feel like him. So he took the time and effort to fine tune it. Web's prefered reality was of a forest glade, a circle of trees, with a pond in the center. There would be 7 miniature dragons 6-12 inches tall, and would be visible as long as he was in the glade. Since he was killing time waiting for the test to begin he decided to snoop around and see what was transpiring within his area. He will watch and track in bigger circles unitil Talks with Shadows needs him or lets him know there is other work he might be interested in. Webcrawler is going to start logging all interesting bits of information in a unwired offline data store. It may come in handy sometime. When he gets bored with that he will go play with some out of the way system to see how it works. When he gets hungry or needs to relieve himself he drops to AR and takes care of it. He will leave his apartment a few times a week depending on the weather and polution conditions.

[Fenris]

Ayohuhisdi felt the crunch and crackle of the artificial texturing on the room, left over from a time when someone gave a damn about the building. He was still shaking, tears hot and fresh in the fur covering his cheeks, trapped underneath the mask he wore despite the protrusion of horn that gave away his predators mien, even when covered. The nightmares had come during this day, as they did occasionally, and the mantra ran through his head in an unending prayer to Panther that this dark images, these fantasies would leave him in peace. He took off, preternaturally fast, the thin soled boots making little noise on the rooftop as he pounded towards the edge. The edge of the building rushed up to greet him, and he threw himself into space with the utter abandon of one confident that his Mentor Spirit wouldn't desert him in a moment of need, that his magic would carry him through. The edge of the other building across the alleyway lept forward to fill his sight

Bright lights shown in his eyes. He struggled, flailing, and watching an arm that wasn't his rise up from a body that he didn't control and knock over a tray of expensive looking tools. He heard a scream, a raw, primal scream, of animal pain and fear and rage, and realized only after it had stretched out several seconds that the noise was coming from him. He felt something clamp down on his limbs, a grip like metal preventing any other movement, and he suddenly was floating above his body. He saw the figure strapped to the table, its face a ruined mass of tissue, dozens of wounds scattered across its body, some knife, some gun. It wasn't his face though, not his body. He saw the slitted green eyes, the solid black fur with its rosettes of black spots shining under the harsh lights, the tail whipping back and forth like something alive. It was some kind of animal. He watched as they injected something else into the creatures arm, the huge, misshapen creatures in their white coats, drooling, leering faces staring down at the still struggling body. He watched as they lifted their knives, as they slashed down into the creature, huge, gaping wounds, blood and life spilling forth. He watched as they triumphantly lifted organs and offal from the split open corpse, surely a corpse now, watched as they stuffed the body with sticks and rocks. He blinked, and a new figure had appeared. Ghostly, translucent, supernaturally beautiful, she moved with the silent grace of a statue given life. A braying call from one of the monsters at the bedside drew his attention again, and he felt, suddenly, the pain as it ripped the corpses spinal cord from the flesh of the body surrounding it, and held it aloft

slamming into the edge of the other building, natural grace and magic filling in where actual skill did not. Tail flicking wildly behind him, he continued bolting across the rooftop, working his body out not running, god damn it, not from anything, not anymore and hurdling obstacles with a single handed vault, or a high step, balancing for precise moments on the edges of fire escapes, window ledges, moving across the rough boards and sheets of construction plastic the people in the Barrens occasionally put up to allow for their own safe mode of travel between buildings. He paused, oversized ears twitching as he heard the chatter of laughter, the vertical slitted eyes widening even further in the darkness, revealing the flickers of movement from another portion of the roof he was on. He prowled forward, pausing at the edge of a rusted out air conditioning unit taller than he was, and peered around. Three figures, two male, one female, all dressed in shabby clothes, but sporting similar splashes of color across all three backs and upper arms. Gangers then...lips pulled back around the fangs, and he shook his head, interest abruptly lost. He turned away, but had barely made it a step away from the concealment of the electrical unit when raucous laughter echoed across the rooftop and a bottle shattered at his feet. He looked up, realizing with a sudden jolt of adrenaline that the two men had been following the arc of the bottle when they'd thrown it. They couldn't possibly have known he was there before, but they were looking right at him now. He turned to go anyway, confident they weren't a threat, that they couldn't follow, with the way he moved, with the magic enhancing his steps. And then one of them called out.

"Hey you little slitch, you don't get to wander through our territory without paying a toll." They started walking towards him, hands going for knives or guns or whatever they carried. He favored them with just a half a second's glance before he turned to leave again and

He cringed, tucked in the closet at the top of the stairs. He could hear Zachery calling, looking for him. It was never good when Zachery Standing Bull found you, and all of the children in the group home knew it. Zachery seemed to focus on him though, because sometimes, sometimes he still cried, still fought...With a bang the closet door jerked open and slammed against the opposing wall. Zachery still, framed in the light behind him, a malevolent, faceless creature out of nightmare. An array of smaller children were lined up behind him, grubby faces and poorly patched clothes, peering, fearful but unable to not watch what was going to play out. Some sort of childhood version of the same instinct that makes people watch car racing and natural disaster holo-flicks. He grunted as the older boy jerked him up by the arm, tiny fists lashing out to land ineffectual blows on the larger boys chest and arms. A lucky one smacks Zach's eye, and the bigger boy backhands him across the face casually. Other blows follow the first, and the fight is quickly beaten out of the small boy. Zachery drags the now limp form down the hallway and into the one of the bedrooms filled with bunkbeds, other children piling up at the doorways, still caught in the immersion of the suffering of others, but fearful to intrude too far, lest they be caught up in the actual events. Zachery throws the smaller boy on the bed, snarling.

"You little slitch," and leans in with another grunt to

He turned back to the group abruptly, the taunts of the mythical dream child still ringing in his ears. Tsvali filled his hand, the cool metal of the textured, personalized grip feeling like an extension of his own body, of claws and fangs and horns given flight, and the first ganger's head exploded with a soft sigh. Before the next round had fully chambered Jonathan was already changing targets, unconsciously walking forward as he fired again, the second silenced shot sounding no louder than the first. The second ganger dropped, a single, precise shot, a single kill shot, Jonathan's signature, if he really had one. The girls screams brought his attention back to the slim figure crouched against the edge of the wall, but a third shot silenced her, left the rooftop emtpy of any sound or movement save his own. The taunts from his nightmare faded away then, and he turned, throwing himself across the rooftop and launching himself to the next building, running again not running away.

[Buddha72]

All

You move your way through the crowded streets of the city, the dull impacts of bodies as they make their way to their destinations reverberate through your bones. You see the faces of people who think they have lives and purpose, happy deluded little cogs in the big machine keeping the nuyen flowing in and out of the city. You see under the plastic shiny exterior the ragged depression and souls being crushed under the weight of another day living the lie. Every so often you catch a glimpse of the fragile beauty of this world - a woman poised impossibly on a single step of a subway stair, her form lit from behind by the neon - a couple nestled in a alcove of a building dancing to their own music, wrapped in their heat - but it never seems to last before the noise and movement of the city swallows them back up leaving an ashy taste in the back of your throat.

You are surprised to find a small package waiting for you in what passes for your home these days. It's a small trid projector sitting out in the open. It appears it have a single data file loaded into it and set to play. As you enter the sound or movement of your arrival triggers the device.

The air above the projector fills with light and sound as a holographic image takes form. It seems to be a news report from two nights ago looking at the time/date stamp of the data file. You see a reporter - am older man picked for his trustworthy face and steady voice - sure to keep the corp drones soothed and in their place. Behind him bathed in the garish glare of Doc Wagon emergency response vehicles you see a building that looks to be a bar or nightclub of some sort. You see body bags being brought out and placed in the back of the vehicles. Lone Star officers move through the scene with small roto-drones following in their wakes. A sizable crowd has gathered behind barricades set up to keep them back. Most of the crowd appears Asian as they huddle together and watch the dead bodies being collected for transport.

"Sometime early this morning its believe a singe assailant entered the establishment behind me and proceeded to kill everyone inside including Kenichi Yamamoto. Oddly enough the evidence seems to suggest that they were all killed by a large bladed weapon - possibly a katana though Lone Star is unwilling to verify this until all the forensic evidence is gathered and the medical examiner completes their autopsies of the victims." At the mention of his name a small window pops up showing him at a social function donating to a school in the neighborhood- his face a distant smile as he hands over an oversized novelty check to the principal. "A long time financial pillar of the community who has often contributed to social projects aimed at drawing youth from the streets and into more stable situations. A man rumored to have strong ties to Japanese organized crime though he has never been found guilty of any of the charges levied against him over the years. His supporters have claimed he was a victim of the local street elements here in Seattle looking to discredit him and stop his attempts at stabilizing the neighborhoods he has helped." Another series of windows open and you see the same man from before with a coat pulled up over his head as he pushes his way through a crowd of reporters outside a courthouse shouting questions about his innocence and how the drugs ended up in his warehouse. You watch a calm and collected lawyer deflect the the inquiries with ease as he pushes his client into a limo. "Though this recent event has cast some doubt on those claims as unofficial reports have stated that many unregistered firearms were found inside as well a sizable quantity of illegal substances. There have been confirmations that at least 8 of the dead are known criminals with a long standing ties to Japanese organized crime and have been on Lone Star's to-watch list. An officer wishing to remain anonymous stated that tonight's murders has closed several on-going criminal investigation in a satisfactory way." A series of small windows pop open showing the faces and criminal records of eight men. "The building is leased to Yamamoto and is a local massage parlor and hostess bar. Lone Star assures local residents that the incident is an isolated one and every resource is being used to track down the killer." A last window pops up with a tip line asking for any witnesses to step forward and that any significant leads could result in a cash reward if they lead to an arrest.

As the reporter's cheerful voice and perma-smile jar with the report of a grisly mass murder you see data streams overlay the image. You see several girls dressed in garish traditional chinese clothes - obviously working girls but clearly underage and they have the film over their eyes that speak of long term BTL use. Another shows a hard looking Japanese man watching as a slim woman is beaten to death at his feet by street thugs with nano tattoos of dragons and phoenixes writhing under the blood staining their skin. The last stream you pick out is an entire family killed execution style down to a small 2 year old boy by a group of men all bearing Yakuza clan tattoos.

The image dissolves to form a single line of text.

An address in the International District with the tomorrow's date and the time 12 noon with a promise of 5,000 (IMG:style_emoticons/default/nuyen.gif) for being present.

[Null.Pointer]

From: Null Pointer Exception
To: Nomad

We may have a problem.

[Fyndhal]

After the playback ends, Twist curses under her breath and does a quick scan of the house to see if anything is missing/out of place. During this process, she fires off a couple quick messages:

To Patricia:
Hey, Pat, there was a package here for me this morning. Did you see who left it?

To Jenkins:
Someone left a package for me on my doorstep. Any ideas who or why? Has anyone been asking about me?

To Jim:
Hey, Jim. Sorry again about last night. Hey, are you working on the Yamamoto nightclub thing? I just caught a newsblast on it.

That done, Twist hits the screamsheets looking for more stories regarding the events at the club, looking particularly for any names she is familiar with or any other information that may be related.

After a couple hours of this, she heads out on her bike to check out the address that was given on the chip (stopping to switch persona's beforehand.)

[JxJxA]

After watching the video, Zerone clasps his hands anxiously and utters a quick prayer for the people who died.

“Lord of Hosts, please forgive and accept the fallen into Your arms, and also forgive those who trespassed against them. May the transgressors remember the ultimate of your commandments: ‘Love your neighbor as yourself. Love does no wrong to a neighbor; therefore, love is the fulfilling of the law.'”

Romans 13:10, Follower’s voice echoes in Zerone’s mind, always appropriate for any occasion.

“Follower, can you add any insight into what this means?” Zerone asks.

I can offer you naught but these words: “The beginning of wisdom is this: Get wisdom, and whatever else you get, get insight. Prize her highly, and she will exalt you; she will honor you if you embrace her.”

“Proverbs?”

4:7-8. So I ask you this, my friend, what should be our first step?

“To seek wisdom by investigating the scene of the crime, and through those findings gain insight on what has happened and what is yet to come?”

Precisely, my friend. And I would suggest you seek out the means to speak with those from the area. Fortunately for you, this world has made learning languages a trivial affair.

[Saytr]

Crippler stood silent as the Holopic played its Message. He stood for moments after the conclusion of the message in preperation for the unexpected, After what seemed like a hour but mearly moments He carefully set down his small bag of groceries and swept his small apartment for any distubances. After Finding nothing amiss or out of place he went over to the holopic and replayed the message carefully jotting down the names and known associates if any on the video as it played, He then made a copy of the Data chip and put away his groceries. After another workout and run through the message Crippler saw the projector and headed over to the local pawn shop to get rid of the small piece of equipment, taking the chip out of the device of course and installing it in the one port on his COM to access any time he wanted to go over the video again. Crippler then noted the address of the meet and the promise of 5k was a great way to start his way back to paying off his debt to his Johnson that was already anxious to get his money back.

Crippler made his errands and upon returning to his apartment started to prepare himself and go online and get any information on the 8 individuals mentioned in the video, He was no Hacker but the information he was looking for wasn't secret he was just doing his homework.

[Notsoevildm]

Gunther, no he is only Eklipse now, stirs with the afternoon shift change. Men and woman clump wearily past the door of his coffin room, either heading out to or, returning from their monotonous and demeaning jobs.

'At least they have a job' he thinks to himself.

He rolls out of the bed careful not to bang his head on the low ceiling and squeezes into the tiny bathroom. He washes his face with the dribble of dirty water from the tap. Examining himself in the mirror, he can see he looks tired but his fur conceals the bags under his eyes. He hadn't slept well, but doubts he will be able to get back to sleep now. As he steps back into the room, he freezes. Sitting just inside the door is a package. He feels his magic surge, his reactions quickening, senses sharpening.

Fully awake now, he carefully dresses while keeping away from the package. Only when he has his armor on does he edge closer to it. As he bends down to examine it more closely, it starts playing.

Gunther sits on the bed, his legs in full lotus, his mind racing. He has watched the trid several times now. In a corner of his vision, his commlink shows the location in the International district. In a second window, a timer counts down the hours till the meet.

'Midday, schiesse. I'll be half-awake at best.'

He composes a couple of messages:
@Magda Reiner: Forget about the deniable assets, I have a lead on Heidi. I know she was here to run an operation against the Yakuza. It seems someone killed a number of them last night, including one by the name of Kenichi Yamamoto. The paparazzi are claiming that the attacker used a katana. Does S-K have any other spec ops personnel currently active here? Eklipse.

@Thomas O'Malley: From the news, I see someone is keeping your competitors busy with the Yamamoto slayings. It would appear that my investigation may also involve this gentleman. Should you hear anything on this topic, I would greatly appreciate it if you could let me know. GM

His location has been compromised. He has no idea if the person who left the player is a friend or foe. He should also eat. Gathering up his belongings, he stashes the trid player into his duffel bag along with his gun and the sword.

Waiting until he can hear no-one in the corridor, he slips quietly out into the evening. He puts on his helmet and climbs onto the racing bike. The bike coughs into life and then with a growling whine, screams off into the night. He plans to scout out the location for this meet tonight, then find a nearby hotel to crash in until shortly before the meet. His commlink is already searching for a cheap place close to the location as he maneuvers the racing bike through the evening traffic.

Coming off I-5 into the south of the International District, he is glad he is wearing a helmet. Even if he didn't have blue fur, he would have stood out in this neighbourhood. He cruises around amongst the mainly japanese-american locals, keeping to the speed limit as he circles the block where his AR indicates the meet will take place. He decides that he is better off finding a place to stay elsewhere. Stopping to pick up sushi and some noodles, he books a cheap hotel near the airport then heads back south.

[UmaroVI]

Fat Man

Fat Man came back after an early morning run to the Stuffer Shack, and his view of the trid projector was blocked by the bag of Siesta Tortatos. Imitation corn chips flew as the projector startled him, and he dropped the bag and looked for danger. As the announcer came on, Fat Man figured that if it was dangerous it would just have been a bomb, and he sat down near the spilled food, eating his Soybeef Supreme Chupacabras and occasionally grabbing a chip off the floor while he watched the news.

The dead Yakuza didn't really bother him. Fat Man had learned that if the news said someone rich and powerful was "suspected" of something bad, it meant that they had done it, the news knew it, and they weren't allowed to say it.

"Someone sent me news about a dead Yakuza? I don't think I ever had anything to do with this man."

The underage hookers, murders, and executions did bother him. He started to feel sick, and put away the food for some Betel to settle his stomach while he pondered what was going on.

I guess that was supposed to be stuff this Kenichi Yamamoto did? And whoever wants to hire me wants me to know he's scum? That means it's probably not that Yak's friends wanting to hire me to track down whoever killed him. Not that I'd work for Yaks anyways. So what's with that news story? Did they do that themselves and want me to know that they mean business?"

Fat Man sighed. It wasn't like he could exactly claim the moral high ground. Around here, murdering a dozen people could make you the hero, easily enough. Do good, reap good, do evil, reap evil. He briefly considered checking out the crime scene, but figured Lone Star would be all over it, and anybody capable of pulling that hit off wouldn't be dumb enough to leave astral signatures behind. Better to research who sent the package and where they wanted to meet, instead. And this job seemed like it might be a little less morally questionable than the last few he'd taken - "ride a mule while looking for a horse," and all that.

Fat Man started by looking to see if the security cameras around James's store had picked up anything funny. It might be good to have some idea of who had dropped the package off.

The next morning at dawn, Fat Man called a hero shen to his side to guard his body while he scouted the meeting place (after locking up thoroughly).

"Greeting, honorable warrior. I ask that you guard my physical body while I rest and travel on the astral plane."

After recuperating from the strain of conjuring, Fat Man astrally projected and went to scout out the designated meeting place, looking in particular for any wards or other barriers that would prevent him from entering at noon, any strange magical energy, or anything else worrying. He also tried to get an idea of the layout.

After returning from his scouting, Fat Man thanked the shen for performing his duty and briefly considered how he should approach the meeting, before deciding on maximum caution. After all, at best, whoever wanted to hire him had just advertised willingness to kill a dozen Yakuza, and even the ants march armed. To begin, Fat Man requested that the hero shen follow him on the astral in case things went poorly. Then he set up his usual array of spells for clandestine meetings, including an illusion that disguised himself as a middle-aged, nondescript asian man in ordinary street clothing. With his preparations complete, all that was left was to head out.

[Branmac]

Once he had made his way home for the evening Spats parked the pickup and headed in. A quick query assured him all the alarms were still online and reporting no problems.

As he went through the entryway and stepped into the lobby of the converted shop his foot brushed something and he almost jumped out of his skin when suddenly there was a holo projection playing in front of him. Looking around frantically he checked to make sure he was still alone and no other surprises waited for him. Happy that nothing else popped out he replayed the projection paying attention this time.

Huh, couldn't happen to a nicer bunch. Yaks always stepping on other people, I guess someone kicked back.

Checking again that the alarms still showed no one inside, Spats went inside and spent a little time making sure of it.

Hey! Buzzbomb! Any of the worry lights go off while I was gone? Somebody left a gift in the entry.

The Reraku Manservant on its charging station rotated its sensor pack in its head to orient on Spats.

Negative boss. No worry lights.

Grunting in response Spats spent several minutes scanning the display unit for security tag signals or any sign it was more than it seemed, finally satisfied he set it on the bench top and settled back into a chair to think for a few minutes. Sinking into the chair he tried to reach out to the matrix, seeking a sprite to help him find more info on the man killed and the rumors about him, but his mind was in too much of a whirl.

Forcing himself to relax he pulls out his comlink and starts a standard browser search for the information, grabs a cut of insta-quick juice+ with real juice like flavor and sucks on it for a minute. Deciding to let the search run for a while he settled back into the chair and opens his mind to the matrix again. Finally he hears the music 0111001010100101011 and relaxes. Reaching out he starts putting the ones and zeros together until gradually a form starts to take shape looking a little like a bronze construction drone.

OK little fellow, lets see if I can get you to hang around and help me out later today. Will you do that?

Hours later Spats opened his eyes to the meat world again, confident the machine sprite would come when he called it. Standing up and stretching he grabbed another insta-quick drink and threw a bag of nuke-it wings in to heat up before zoning out to surf the discussion boards and trix vids. After a quick bit he crashed until it was time to get ready for the mystery appointment.

[Fenris]

Eyes narrowing as he stepped into the front door of the bolt hole of an apartment he kept, he glanced once at the holo projector, once around the room, and then inhaled deeply. Someone had been here. He didn't give a damn about the apartment or the things in it, but no hunter likes to be ambushed in his home. He turned his attention back to the trid in time to catch a few bits and pieces of the carnage, along with the extra feeds someone had overlaid it with. He reached down try and trigger the recording to play again, and cursed as he accidentally initiated a self diagnostic and deleted the image on the chip. With a growl he put an explosive round into the device, kicking to scatter the remnants of plastic and silicone across the small room. Thankfully the address had stuck out well enough, so he fed the address into his commlink via the tride net for the midday. He signed, unhappy that the meeting would take place precisely when he was least capable, but there was nothing to be done. The rest of the work, whatever it was, would obviously be more welcomed in the night. The momentary inconvenience would be worth it. He turned, stripping out of the simple clothing and dropping on to the bed, barely remembering to set the alarm for the trip into the International District.

[WearzManySkins]

Kat D rolls over in the bed, covers twisted around his waist. Swings legs around to put his feet on the floor. Shaking head to clear the thoughts, rubs eyes.

When the playback begins, What in Hong Kong Feng's Third Testicle is that doing here. Ok I want a refund on my protection I am paying for.

Puts his glasses on his face.

Bones online, record message being played back, note key words Kenichi Yamamoto, Nanotattoes Dragons and Phoenix, and Yakuza Seatle. Activate Singularity Seeker beginning with first key words, progressing thru the last. After last key words search, search for information on the address given.

Bones: Yes Kat D, how do you wish the results?

Display via AR interface, activate soy cafe maker, Kenyan/Sumatran with chicory, no cream or sweeter.

Kat rises, wobbles over to the table, scratching his groin to relief an itch, sits down and replays the message several times.

Bones: Soy Cafe ready

Kat reaches picks up soy cage and sips.

When the AR display shows results focuses on that, while reviewing results picks up a brush and begins grooming his fur.

[Dreadsister]

Webcrawler was surprised to find the holoprojector on his door step, he was disturbed by the contents. A quick search confirmed the contents. He was sure this is what he is here for.
Talks with Shadows: I have been contacted anonymously with info on the yaks, requested to meet tomorrow in the international district at noon 5K for meet. I am including the data file. Your feelings on this would be appreciated.
Webcrawler aligns his resonance to his clearing and calls fourth the paladin.
Greetings Paladin I have need of you, and we will attempt to keep you around longer than your single task.
Sometime later Webcrawler comes back to this realm and checks the room, satisfied with everything he sets a alarm and goes to sleep looking forward to starting the test.