IC: TANGO DOWN!, In the pipe, 5 by 5 Options

[Callidus]

"Poor Deke, looks like it gonna be nasty eh?"

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February 1st, 3:00pm Seattle

Paying the taxi driver and walking into her apartment, Ophelia quickly runs through the gear she's gonna take and fills up the beat up duffle from her army days. Putting on the matching ear-rings she feels the connection to the foci kick back in and leaving the spells uncast she heads back out on to the frozen street to head to Mike's.....

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February 1st, 3:45pm Seattle

Walking up to Mike's apartment with a duffle of her kit Ophelia paused just a second to quickly scan the corridor on the astral before ringing the bell. Heading inside when he opens the door she turns to Mike "You want me to pump up the wards around here? They're starting to get a little thin again, although if we gonna be shipping out tomorrow might not be a prob."

[Shadow]

"Hey Pavlov, c'mere boy," Danny says to the cybered dog. He spends a few minutes rubbing the pet behind the ears and playing with him. When he has a moment he pulls out his Pocket Sec and tosses it on the table. "I got my gear list ready, it's pretty long but nothing to exotic."

[CardboardArmor]

Friday, February 1, 2315 Zulu (1515 Seattle Time)

Leaning against the door, Yoko finally closed it and sighed. She looked down at her hands, still shaking, the pre-mission jitters that even years hadn't really made her numb against. Good, she thought, means I'm more girl than code still.

She looked at the laptop-sized cyberdeck sitting on the low table, surrounded by the detrius of long nights on the Matrix. The lightly pocked and nicked casing, painted lovingly with leaves of all colors from the light greens of new sprouts on the branch to the fiery oranges of autumn lended to and drew from the deck's nickname: Fukai Mori - Deep Forest. Grumbling in frustration, she launched into her pre-mission routine.

All her picture frames went face down, no sense in having the family see what she becomes when she works. Heading to her still-messy room, she picked her way through the piles to her raised futon. Reaching under the bedding platform, she pulled out two drab olive lockboxes, one a little bigger than a cigar humidor and the other clearly a rifle case. Her codename written across the tops of both in yellow Sperethiel immediately under the symbols for 'Tir Tairngire Special Forces'. Shoving junk away, she leaned the rifle case, one of two, against the wall of her room and put the humidor case on the ground.

With a click, the maglock disengaged at her code-word. Yoko had to suppress the smile, it was a good vox-recognition system, able to pick out her vocal sample from even a hushed whisper, with nothing being able to stop it from recognizing her patterns except save a life-threatening cold or someone punching her in the larynx. Flipping up the cover, she crinkled her nose at the fresh smell of gunoil.

Her H&K Mark 23, a holdover relic from the days before the Awakening and the new Sixth World. A pistol designed especially for the now-nonexistant United States' Special Operations Command. It fit snuggly into its niche in the shock foam, and was well-cared for. It wasn't to mean that Yoko had some strange fetish for her weapons or even some sort of twisted, stereotypical Japanese attachment to her tools of death. The elf was pragmatic about a lot of things and this was one of them; take care of your tools and they'll take care of you. A craftsman didn't love his hammer or love his saw, but he damn well knew that if he wanted them to hammer or cut for him then he maintained them properly. She gave the pistol a quick spot check and making sure it still worked as she knew it should.

Closing the box, took the rifle case and repeated the process. Inside lay another relic of a gun. A Colt M4A1 carbine, carrying strap and everything. It was rhythmic, the repetition of the testing process. But her nerves calmed. Putting the weapons cases holding the guns with their small stores of pre-loaded ammunition in their clips, in case she ever needed either weapon in a hurry, into a long duffle she then reached over her head to the shelf over the futon. Behind the cage with her pet-rock and the stacks of opchips in their protective sleeves containing music ranging from 20th century Asian pop to hardcore gangsta rap to music from the Jazz age was the ballistic nylon and hardened synthleather thigh sheath she knew was there. Drawing a precious few inches of the fineblade, she looked at the reflection of her almond-shaped eye before sheathing the weapon and throwing it in the duffle.

"Break's over." She said to the empty air. Her hands weren't shaking anymore.

Emerging from her apartment with a neutral expression, the duffle packed with her changes of clothing enough to last a week of circulation before laundry along with her tools on her back. The satchel containing her cyberdeck hung near her shapely hip.

The trunk got popped, the duffle went in, and she hopped into the car.

Better drop that off with the Ares boys first... She thought as she regarded the duffle.

The elf girl closed the trunk.

Friday, February 1, 2345 Zulu (1545 Seattle Time)

No sense in losing who I really am in the stress of the moment. She thought.

Yoko knocked on Mike's door, the satchel still at her hip. When Mike answered the door, she smiled winningly and held up the big party-bag of chips.

"I hope I'm not late!" She said, her voice happy as always.

[Digital Heroin]

February 1st, 2345 Zulu (15:45 Seattle Time)

It had taken longer than Illian would have liked to return to his downtown loft. Such was the problem with relying upon a limosine service. While he was paid up to the month, and had no complaint about their service, they would not do in a true rush. The delay, however, had given the slender elf time to indulge one of his hobbies, albeit a hobby which proved useful to his line of work. Illian was an ametuer linguist, and the Azeri language instructional chip, even at its poor quality, proved to be at least amusing to him. He would no doubt have the fundamentals in good time.

After tipping the driver of the limo, the required amount and no more, Illian rides the lift up to his loft, and steps out to regard the room. Everything mundane in his life was already packed, and had been for several months. This left only the tools of his trade to assemble and stow for overseas travel. On silent feet he strides up the spiral stair to where his personal gym had been located. In the back of the space, hidden behind a few already packed exercise machines, stands a large wardrobe with a palm scanner and voice authorization device hidden beneath a sliding panel, crafted so as not to ruin the antique look of the piece. He steps through the measures, and opens the waredrobe to reveal its armor lined interior. Within the wardrobe there sit the tools of his chosen trade. To one side hang his armored clothes, shy the form fitting suit which he is currently wearing, to the other are hanging his weapons. Straight in front of him rests the most recent addition to his armory: The Blade of the Golden Dragon. The simple black sheath of the katana, with its subtle inlaid dragons, belies the power held within the the blade. A legend forgotten by those who held it dear, and now entrusted to his care. He removes the weapon from the wardrobe, moving to a clearer area. He has only possesed the blade for a few weeks, yet it is already an extension of his body, as a proper katana should be. In one smooth motion he draws the blade from the confines of the sheath, it's yellow gold length glimmering in the light from the large windows of the loft. Illian moves with the blade, weaving an intricate and practiced motion, a pattern taught to him by the man who gifted the blade upon him. To hold the blade, to execute such elegent motion, brought peace to his mind. No time for such meditations, however, he had places to be, and preperations to make beforehand. In another smooth motion he sheathes the blade, and he places it reverantly upon a nearby box.

Back to the wardrobe he goes, removing from it each of his weapons in turn. First comes the H&K MP5KA4, devoid at the moment of its supressor. In short order he removes two pins, and field strips the weapon, taking a small cloth and some oil to coat the working parts, and to check for any built up carbon. Of course, there is no such carbon, nor a real need to coat the weapon, as he had thoroughly cleaned it after each use. Still, ritual needed to be followed in due course. After re-assembling the weapon, he takes down the nylon harness for it, removing from within the supressor, so he can add a drop of water from a bottle he'd carried up from the limo. The supressor was of the wet variety, and proper maintanence for best performance called for such replenishment after each use. Next, he checked all three magazines for the weapon, which at the moment were empty, testing the springs, and oiling them as needed. In rapid sucession he loads each of the magazines; sub-sonic for the two 15 round mags, and armor peircing depleted uranium for the 30 round one. The later would never be used, unless things were truly bad. After organizing the nylon harness for the MP5, and adjusting it a few times, he sets it aside, and moves on. Next he removes the holster which holds his Glock 32; the compact pistol had served him quite well over the years. The pistol was again threaded for silencer, being as stealth was a prerequisite of his trade. He quickly stripped, oiled and re-assembled the sturdy compact. He then checked both clips for the hangun, and loaded them with sub-sonic amunition as well. Next came his backup pistol, another contingency weapon for when stealth was no option. This was one of the newest on the market, the Ares Predator III ERASe. Bleeding edge, and his thanks to being an insider. This weapon bore no silencer, nor did he bother with standard ammunition. For the two Predator magazines he loaded 10x24mm armor peircing depleted uranium ammunition, because if he needed to use the pistol, nothing less would do. After securing the Predator, he removes from the case his Ranger X bow, testing the pull, he sets it down, and checks his arrow count. Next comes his brace of throwing knives, ten in all, each a deadly dikote. Lastly he removes from the case the Kris he was given by his Pentjak-Silat master, he reflects on the time it took to earn the blade, and smiles softly. Having packed each of the weapons with care, he moves on to his armor. In quick sucession he stows his urban camoflague suit, and his second set of form fittin armor, this one bearing a set of sensors and a Ruthenium Polymer inlay; his stealth suit. Armor packed away, he checks over his gear, loading the first of his load bearing harnesses, leaving the one inlaid with Ruthenium Polymers for when he needs it. Having secured his gear in two military kit bags, he steps back, and considers a moment.

After running a mental checklist he takes up his cellphone, the one which will be cancelled this evening, and calls the movers whom he had made a prior arangement with. He gives them permission to come this evening, and to move his boxes into storage. He shall not be staying here this night, regardless. Such is the cost of having the Japanese Imperial family out for his head, until it is resolved, he shall never have a home for more than three months at a time.

February 2nd, 00:50 Zulu (Febuary 1st, 16:50 Seattle Time)

Again, the limo had taken longer than anticipated, however this time there was another reason for the delay. En route to Micheal's, Illian had stopped to make a purchase. He came to the door bearing a bottle of vintage Californian wine, pre-Awakening, and a box of cigars from his private stock. Another of his rituals, for any who would indulge, a cigar before embarking on the mission; he would have to remember to save one for Deke. When admitted to the house, he sheds his winter jacket, and sets down first the two kit bags in turn, then the still sheathed katana, an item which none of them had seen before. He nods to everyone in turn, silently taking a seat after offering the wine to their host, and takes up a slice of pizza.

[CardboardArmor]

Yoko chatted idly with the rest of the team. She always enjoyed these moments before the mission. She had grown to like her teammates. All of them save him.

When Illian walked in, it took all of Yoko's willpower not to snort derisively. The way he moved, the way he talked, everything about him was a disgusting elvish stereotype that resounded over and over like a grenade shockwave in a confined area. His seeming fetish for things Japanese didn't sit well with her, either. Despite her official nationality and pointy ears, her parents still raised her Japanese...without the gratuitously slanted racial views, of course, but she knew where her roots were.

The katana in his hand made her stomach churn. She hated how her culture's relics were relegated to such show toys; so much costume jewelry for the stupid. She respected Illian's work, but the respect ended at a certain point and the vitriol still churned in her. You have no business bearing that blade... she thought venemously.

Still, her parents raised her well. Though she had no fantasies of 'samurai blood' or whatever else those high in Japanese society claimed, her parents still taught her how to act in public like a proper gentlewoman.

She smiled and waved at Illian as he walked in. <Sperethiel>"Hey Illian!"</Sperethiel> She called to him in their shared tongue. She respected all her cultural roots, it was only the proper thing for a gentlewoman to do.

Of course, all a gentleperson was was a person who could think one thing and say another.

[Panzergeist]

Muramasa Kenjiro takes this opportunity to write up a list of supplies he will need. He wouldn't need much in the way of weapons, and light camoflagued armor should be enough, but he was in sore need of more elementals. His list contained the following:

1 full suit of camoflagued armor
1 pair of forearms guards
1 security helmet with integral smartlink-2 system
1 vibroblade
1 ares alpha combat rifle with suppresor
6 clips of regular bullets for the alpha
2 clips of gel rounds for the alpha
1 clip APDS for the alpha
1 clip glazer for the alpha
1 clip EX explosive for the alpha
16 IPE HE minigrenades
1 Ares Predator with smartlink-2, laser, silencer, and quickdraw holster
4 clips regular ammo for the predator
2 clips gel for the predator
4 concussion grenades
2 neuro-stun canisters
rating 8 microtranceiver with rating 8 encryption
Respirator with pressure regulator
1 parachute
1 force 4 expendable health spell focus
a rating 6 conjuring library
materials for summoning a force 4 air elemental, a force 4 water elemental, and two force 4 fire elementals
1 survival kit

[Shadow]

"Glad to see everyone alive and kicking, we didn't get much time to catch up at the office," the last part is said with a smirk. "Anyone know anything off the top of there head about Azerbaijan, about all I know is what Deke spilled in the briefing."

[gobogen]

As usual, Max is the first to speak up as a ressource of general knowledge.

"Let's say that I know some of the basics about Azerbaijan... " he says with a smile.

"About its economic strength, well, it lies mostly in its reserves of oil. Of course, it is its number one export is oil. Azerbaijan's oil production declined through 1997 but has registered an increase every year since. Negotiation of production-sharing arrangements (PSAs) with foreign firms, which have thus far committed $60 billion to long-term oilfield development, should generate the funds needed to spur future industrial development. Oil production under the first of these PSAs, with the Azerbaijan International Operating Company, began in November 1997. Azerbaijan shares all the formidable problems of the former Soviet republics in making the transition from a command to a market economy, but its considerable energy resources brighten its long-term prospects. Baku has only recently begun making progress on economic reform, and old economic ties and structures are slowly being replaced. One obstacle to economic progress is the need for stepped up foreign investment in the non-energy sector. A second obstacle is the continuing conflict with Armenia over the Nagorno-Karabakh region. Trade with Russia and the other former Soviet republics is declining in importance while trade is building with Turkey and the nations of Europe. Long-term prospects will depend on world oil prices, the location of new pipelines in the region, and Azerbaijan's ability to manage its oil wealth.

"It's also good to know that Iran has always coveted it's northern neighbor. Lately, there have been a LOT of ambassadorial visits to AZ from Iran. Also, in the continuing conflict with Armenia, Azerbaijan has been offered military aid by Iran. However, the Azeri people do not want Iranian armed forces in their country.

"I want to point out, too, that, unlike many other primarily Islamic countries, Azerbaijan is a very secular state. This has much to do with it's former occupation by the soviet union. Though that ended over 70 years ago, most of the sentiment still remains. Azerbaijan people look, dress, and act more like the people from eastern europe rather than those from the middle east.

"I know a little bit about the geography of Azerbaijan, too. It consists of the large, flat Kur-Araz Ovaligi (Kura-Araks Lowland), much of it below sea level, with Great Caucasus Mountains to the north, Qarabag Yaylasi (Karabakh Upland) in west; Baku lies on Abseron Yasaqligi (Apsheron Peninsula) that juts into Caspian Sea. The terrain is mostly steppes with sparse forests.

"I think that covers quite a lot, but I want to hear from everyone else..", says Max proudly. He likes it to be a good ressource on all sorts of info like this. It's not that he is a braggart, it's just that he is proud of his vast knowledge and good education.

[Shadow]

"Wow, you ever consider playing on Jepordy Max? Ok looking at the chips Deke provided is a good place to start," Danny moves over to the holo projector and slots the chip in. The three maps spring to life in the air over the desk. "Cool," he says as he he grabs a pizza and sits down.

[Grey]

By 1600 hours, everyone had eaten a few slices, downed a couple beers, and made themselves comfortable. Eventually they move into the War Room to start going over what intel they already have. Michael is just about to speak up, when he stops and puts up a finger, letting everyone know he must have an incoming telcom call.

Michael motions for them to go ahead and start. He listens to Max fill everyone in, but still has that distant look like he is still on the phone. Just as Max is finishing up, Michael stands up and takes the floor.

"Nice report Max, that checks with everything I know of the region. I'd like to add a few things though...

"First off, Azerbaijan is predominantly Muslim, while it's neighbor Armenia is predominantly Christian. This has caused a lot of conflict between the two nations, and they have been fighting border skirmishes for many, many decades. This is also a reason that Iran is wanting to get involved, its not just about oil, its also a small scale holy war.

"I've actually seen a few new items on all this stuff lately and there is something very fishy about this Amadov character. For someone who stays as hidden as he does and has managed to stay out of every database, he sure loves to show his face. He likes to show off in front of the camera, and has even popped up in live footage of engagements being fought between PUMA and government troops. For someone who is the ring leader of a terrorist organization, he sure does have a lot of face time with the media.

"There's not too much out there on PUMA. Supposedly, the are a loose knit group of dissident muslims in Azerbaijan who are pushing for a theocracy. This is a bit unusual because the Azeri people are not known for being rabidly Muslim. I've got a line on some more intel, but I'll get to that in a minute...

"Just from what we've seen so far, I've come to a few conclusions. PUMA has to be getting funding from somewhere. I'm guessing drug smuggling and possibly outside help, with Iran being the most likely suspect. Secondly, it looks like Amadov has something he is holding over the Azerbaijani government. The fact that he shows up so much and hasn't been capped yet is a sure sign that they don't necessarily want him dead. Also, the government blocking the corps' offers to come in and deal with these rebels adds more evidence to that line of thought. A big priority is going to be figuring out just what card he has up his sleave."

He stops and lets that all sink in before moving on. Leaning forward and taking a breath, he glances around to get a read from everyone, then moves on.

"I've been in touch with Jack Henley. You guys should remember him, he was the agent that feed me some of the intel we used the last time we were in his neck of the woods. Well, this time his help isn't going to come for free. There is a certain arms dealer that he needs to get some intel on in exchange for getting some stuff from him."

Michael presses a button on the holoprojector and a few images of a middle aged middle eastern man start to rotate above the table.

"This is Mohammad Reza Aref-Yazdi. He is an Iranian arms dealer who happens to be currently operating in Azerbaijan. We need to gather as much intel on him as possible. Personally, I've love it if we could capture him to turn over. That would put the agency in our debt, which is always a very good thing. Now, there is a little bonus for us here. He has definite ties to PUMA, meaning that what we gather on him may lead us to other intel that we can use. Once we've gathered a good amount on Yazdi, I'll take it to Jack and he'll be giving us the agency's entire data dump on PUMA."

Once more, Michael stops and looks around the room.

"Any questions? Anyone else have something they want to chime in with?"

[Grey]

As one of the news video's play on the projector of Amadov, Michael frowns, then quickly leans foward and replays his speach a few times.

"This guy isn't from Azerbaijain. His accent isn't right... I can't place it yet, but maybe with some work and cross comparing I can figure that out."

[A Clockwork Lime]

I listened intently as Michael gave us the low-down. But it wasn't until Yazdi's name came up that I had anything worthwhile to add. If I could just remember why that name rang a bell. Yazdi... Yazdi... Ya...!

I snapped my fingers and then gave a bit of a sheepish look as I realized I was interupting Mike. But since the damage was done already, I figured I'd continue.

"Say, remember that Ras al-Hashmir guy? He was that sleazy hobgoblin we had to deal with during that stint in Iraq when we needed to get our hands on an old Leopard II. Yeah, well anyway, I seem to recall him talking about this Yazdi character a few times back in the day. I can't quite remember what it was all about, but my gut is telling me that they might be rivals. We might be able to tap him and use him to score some intel as well as resources to use in capturing him if we gotta.

"The only crutch is that Hashmir never talks on the wire. We'd have to meet up with him face to face if we want to get anything outta him."

[Grey]

"Not a problem."

Michael smiles... "I prefer it that way anyhow."

I don't have these pheromones for nothin... he thinks to himself.

[A Clockwork Lime]

"Right. Once we touch down and get things settled, I'll try and arrange a meeting."

[Digital Heroin]

Illian greets Yoko pleasently enough, and in Sperethiel as she greeted him. He settles into the group's conversations before the briefing, knowing that these are the good times.

When Micheal begins the briefing, he listens, absorbing as much as he can about the political scene in the region.

`We might want to consider that Amadov has an agenda aside from politics. His associates would seem to indicate that forwarding the Muslim faith isn't the foremost of his concerns. Of note is that one of Amadov's leuitenants frequents Tir Tairngire. From what I've been watching, in the past few years there has been more focus in the middle east from the Council than I'd seen before. If Ilham's been making inroads in Tir political circles, it may be a way to track him.`

With the language lesson chip still fresh in his mind, Illian listens to Amadov's public adress, and he tries to place the accent as well.

[Grey]

"Wonderful. This just keeps getting more and more convoluted..."

[CardboardArmor]

Yoko feigned interest during the background information on Azerbeijan. It wasn't that she was rude or such, her mind was just absorbing and clicking away at the information as it was presented. Standing smoothly, she heads to the holo-table.

"Well..." She starts slowly, waiting until Michael and Nikolai had finished their plan. "...From what you've all said, this is what I figure. We're looking at a brewing government overthrow in progress. Amadov, shadow that he is and all, shows his face cause he wants the people to become familiar with the 'brilliant new revolutionary'. Politicians are demons and people prefer the ones they think they know to the ones they don't."

Taking a drink to refresh herself, Yoko continued. "Our soon-to-be 'gracious' hosts, the current Azerbeijan government, has its reasons for wanting to keep our kind out-of-country and I don't think it has anything at all to do with blackmail. No, it's all about image. If they suddenly allowed corporate strike teams to run loose on the streets of Baku, think about what that would do to their credibility in the eyes of the electorate? It's political suicide: not only are you admitting weakness but you're also defaulting to a foreign power, foreign powers in this case, for help. You lose stock in the eyes of the people and probably piss off your military in the process."

"In the end, Amadov wins that way too. Now then, this is a pretty assumption but we gotta look at motive. Contrary to what Gaeatronics' ads say, people still love that oil. For Amadov and his goons, control of a country and its key natural resource and accompanying pipelines. For those under him, well lookie-lookie, he claims to institute a new Islamic theocracy that just so happens to walk the fine line between the conservatism his followers want while still being lucrative to those that want petrochemicals so Amadov can pad out a nice nest egg in Zurich-O."

"Thanks to your plan, guys," Yoko nods towards Nikolai and Michael, "we'll have our in on finding where Amadov is so we can get to him. The hitch, of course, is in not martyring him, but that's a bridge we can burn when we come to it, right?"

"Anyway, that's my take on this situation. I'm still a little worried about Amadov's lieutenants, though," Yoko paused a moment, thinking about the elf Ilham Aliyev, but shoved the thought away and continued, "we don't know a lot about them so I'm going to go dive into the old PNIA records if they're still online. We find a link between PNIA members and PUMA and we got another motive: flat out xenophobic nationalism. We got a lead in on Aliyev, though. Telestrian Industries. I think some friends and I are going to pay their databases a visit, maybe ask some questions there?"

"Finally, it's my suggestion that we neutralize the leadership all at once, ASAP. We miss a single one of them when the hatchet comes down and they'll burrow deep. I suggest that if Deke rings up anything on S-K's boys or the Seraphim in the region, we'd be squared into asking them for help with dropping the hammer if PUMA doesn't cooperate and decentralized their leadership. Also, I'm thinking Ares'll have a few Keyhole-ELINT sats overflying that region every so often. I can get you guys feeds as needed."

Her disertation completed, she takes her seat again.

The cheeryness in her tone is even more mildly disconcerting now. "So whata you think, guys? Good? Bad? I haven't done that in a while so I think I'm out of practice!"

She blushes sheepishly.

[Digital Heroin]

While he listens to Yoko's assesment with one ear, Illian keeps listening to the speach loop as well. He stops a moment, however, to regard her with a nod.

`The oil would seem to be a perfect lure for the type of man we're looking at. Religion for profit, not an uncommon historical theme.`

He catches the accent then, a smile crossing his face.

`Tblisi. I recall hearing the accent in country, it's Georgian. Might have been some of the locals had it, but I'm pretty sure that's what we're hearing here.`

[Grey]

"Georgian? I don't like flashback like that."

He shakes his head and then looks to Yoko.

"Care to jump online for us and see what you can dig up? I doubt he was at Tblisi when we were there, but its worth looking into. You can use my matrix feed over there in the corner."

[CardboardArmor]

"No problem, boss." Yoko says with a nod. Opening her satchel, she pulls out her baby, her favorite tool, the leaf-motifed deck known as Deep Forest. Plugging it into the 'trix feed, she lines up her hands with the induction pads on the deck.

She spoke quietly so only the vox pickups in the deck would hear. "Go."

And the real world faded away.

Flatline opened her eyes. The full moon glowed pale beyond the open sliding latice door of rice paper and bamboo. There were no heavy robes about her body this time, nor an immensely long train of hair. No. Such items wouldn't do in this scenario. Her persona wore her hair short, like she did in the real world. A simple sleeveless dark lavender wrap, short with the hem at mid-thigh and closed with a stout cotton belt was what she wore when she went to work. The ninja sword weighed in its sheath against her left thigh, the same body area where the bracer of slim throwing daggers was strapped.

Stepping outside into the cool night, she pulled the slim bamboo flute from the small cloth bag at her hip. Moistening her lips, she played a scant few notes and the owl flew down to her. Tying the small slip of rice paper onto the bird's leg with some twine, Flatline released it to deliver the message. Another few notes and her horse, a stallion of dark brown color and Mongolian stock, came forth from the stables.

She galloped over the pastoral feudal Japanese landscape, staying off the main thoroughfares and highways until she came to the clearing. Dismounting, she looked around, there was something wrong...the breeze was off...

With a bloodthirsty cry, a pirate straight out of an early 21st century movie about their activities in the Carribean and a pearl of some sort leapt at her from behind a rock! Drawing his cutlass in midair, he descended on the ninja-girl who likewise drew her own steel and parried the strike, shoving the corsair away.

The sounds of combat, of parry and riposte, strikes, kiyah-ing and cursing echoed through the forest until finally each had the points of their respective weapons at the other's throats.

"Heya Flatline, nice night, isn't it?" The bucaneer said, grinning to reveal a golden sparkle amidst slightly stained natural teeth.

Flatline smiled, easing off as the pirate did and sheating the sword. "You're getting slow, Live. What's the matter? Too much whoring and rum?" Mock cybercombat was always a ritual amongst them as was the taunting.

"Too much rum, yes. But without you around, no whoring." Livewire grinned. "I got the message, what do you need, babe?"

Flatline proceeded to describe what she needed help on. Information searches, cross-checks, the works. She was careful not to leak too much. She trusted Livewire with her life, but still...

"I gotta get going on a trip tommorow, encode and drop off what you find at the usual spot if you're in, aye?"

"Hai hai." Livewire said with an exagerated Japanese style bow and a smile.

Flatline watched him go, the breeze stirring her hair. It was all fake, she knew that. But what she did in here could affect the real world. Still...better not to get stressed out. She watched the moon, mounted up, then rode to a nearby town to ask around the sake and tea houses. Nothing like a few search operations to dig up information.

[Shadow]

"Well," Danny says during the pause, "that is a lot of info to digest." The wiry Ork yawns before continuing. "Does anyone else have any hard facts to add?" He glances around to all who are gathered. "I think we need to get some rest then till we can get our eyes on the ground. Deke said we leave o'dark early, and if I remember it's about a 24 hour flight, unless Ares sprang for the SB, which," he says sarcastically, "I am more than sure they did. So we should be getting some shut eye soon."

[Grey]

"Agreed. I just wanted to see if Yoko could come up with anything hard and fast. Once we see whats shes got, we'll break for the night. I'll get the equipment requests to Deke tonight, so everyone leave your list with me."

[CardboardArmor]

Flatline crouched on the rocky outcropping in the middle of the pampas grass plains. Scanning the documents by moonlight, she frowned. They weren't much, but she had paid off other informants. They'd ask questions for her. Rolling up the parchments, Flatline stashed them in her belt pouch and closed her eyes.

The pampas russled loudly as a gust of wind blew up, the leaves bending to the force of the gale. As the front of wind reached the outcropping, Flatline vanished into it, leaving behind a windswept plain.


Yoko took her hands off the induction pads and blinked her eyes to shake off the reality shift. "Oh, hey, you guys waited up for me! Here's what I got real quickly, I'll do longer searches at home and check on my SK's."

She called up the records on the deck memory.

"I checked on the PNIA, maybe see if there were some leads there? Turns out there might be something there after all. Sabir Rustamkhanly and Rasul Quliyev, the PNIA party's two leaders, walked out of the Assembly with their party and ghosted, poof," Yoko makes a 'poof' hand gesture to emphasize this, "two days later. Told their families they had to leave for a few days to attend a 'secret meeting', whatever. Anyway. They were missing for about two weeks and that's when the motorcade got attacked if you'll all remember. Amadov and PUMA showed up at that time and we've got nothing more on Sabir and Rasul."

"Now if Sabir and Rasul being party leaders doesn't get you guys thinking, check this out. Between the both of them, they had a pretty decent stash of money. Investments in businesses too. Course, that doesn't really matter since all the assets they could move were cashed out of the banks they were in a couple of days after the walk-out."

Yoko unplugs her deck from the matrix jackpoint and puts the thing in standby mode, slipping it into its satchel case. "Now then, you guys think about that. I'm guessing one of these two is our buddy Amadov and his partner is currently pushing up daisies; cosmetic surgery can do wonders on a guy nowadays. Course, the other idea might be that both these guys are dead and Amadov's a third party. And that's all I got. I'll want to be heading home soon so I can keep working, you guys got any requests?"

[Digital Heroin]

Illian considers a moment, running a whisp of his hair from his face with one hand; an unconscious gesture.

`Even with plastic surgery, in that short a time they couldn't do anything too drastic. Maybe running a facial recognition point match would help narrow down which of the two, if either, we're dealing with.`

Surgery doesn't change a person's personality, so that would be a great help.

[Grey]

"Alright. Thats all for now folks. Head home, get some rest. We'll meet up at the airport tomorrow and have another debrief and anyone finds anymore info. Now get outta here and enjoy your last night in the sprawl."