Living in the Shadows: IC, your run might be over... Options

[Sedna]

0441 January 2, 2063 - Anne's doss

Struggling, pinned against the floor, trying to fight, failing. Pain ripping through her. Heavy hands around her throat. A buzzing in her ears, louder and louder --

She bolted awake to the persistant signal of an incoming call. "What?!" And then, as she blearily picked up on the caller identification, far too tired to realise just yet that he must have specifically keyed her telecom to identify him, "Damn it, Grail, do you know what time it is?"

"0442:38, your local time. ... Oh. Right. Were you sleeping?"

"I'm awake now." She struggled to one elbow, then swung her feet to the floor to blindly feel for footware -- at least, she tried to. Overbalanced, the front half of her body pulled her forward and down, and she ended up half-rolling, half falling out of the narrow bed with a moderately-sized thunk. She had been running on empty for far too long.

"You okay, Lance?" asked Grail into her ear.

"Yeah. Just banged into something." It was a struggle to pull her thoughts together. Soykaf. Soykaf would help. She groped toward the small kitchen, set the strength to nuclear, and hoped the water would run more or less clear this time. And then she remembered: "Grail -- how come the trace picked up Anne?"

"Oh, that. He was just working off prints, right? So first thing I always do is to spoof prints across the board. You can't just frame it either, you wouldn't believe where some of yours tracked to --"

She froze with the soykaf pot in her hand. "Grail --" Anger? Demand? Pleading? Damned if she knew.

"Hey, null sweat. I took care of it. And stealthed the flags on them. There's no punch-line scheduled. You're pretty hot, huh?"

"Grail --"

"Hey, chill, Anne-type person. I owed Hobbes a favour anyway, and the two of you are paying enough for this one. It's a question of relative value, you see."

Her brain was refusing to shift properly into gear. "What?!"

"Will you chill? Of course they don't keep those booths wired. That'd just lead to a bug/counterbug arms race, and what's the point of that? Not that it keeps anyone and everyone from bringing mega-bugs and counterbugs to the meets anyway. They're a paranoid bunch."

She laughed, wishing silently for some long haul. "This from the man who watched the whole thing through the cameras behind the trid. Of course you'd have access: you probably set the system up too."

Background trumpet fanfare in her ear; she winced, and tried to will the soykaf to kick in more quickly. "I am the wizard of all things Matrix," he proclaimed, "and there are some who call me ... Tim?"

She was trying desperately to remember: had her back been to the counter the entire time? It would have been set up so that anyone who insisted on keeping their back to the wall would have their face in full view ... "And then you ran the footage through a lip reader program."

"Right in one. Very good, young Skywalker."

"What?"

"Nothing. I know a couple of Teresa's ex-partners, sort of. Real piece of work, that one. Did you want me to check out the chip he gave you?"

She sighed. "Why, do you think he beetled it? But if you'll do it for exchange for his number ..."

"I've already got his number. ... Oh right, you're still deck-challenged. One thing is for sure, the sheep is not a creature of the air. Well, slot it in the local, and I'll stealth it." She closed her eyes and did as he suggested, hearing the soft whir of the electronics as he accessed it through the Matrix, wishing without much hope that the conversation might reach out enough to shake hands with sense. "Oh wow," he said suddenly, laughing. "You didn't slot this yourself, did you? No one ever expects the Spanish Inquisition."

"What?" She seemed to have been saying that far too much in the last few minutes.

"Oh right, Calvin mentioned that you probably didn't have headware memory. Saved you this time for sure. It's got his number on it, all right. It's also got this neat worm that downloads into your memory and tracks all your on-line activity. I think I'm saving this one." He hesitated. "I'd better tighten up the SIN a bit since he's marked you, Lance ..." -- and she could almost hear the mischief creep into his voice -- "if you answer me these questions three. What ... is your name?"

She sighed. "Mariah Anne Tenisat. You knew that."

"What ... is your quest?"

"To find the holy Grail," she snapped sarcastically, not at all sure where this was going, not at all sure she wanted it to go there, but, at a depressing hour of morning framed by far too little real rest on the longer side of at least a month, no longer really caring. So it took her far too long to register his silence, and then the delighted laugh that followed it: "Oh, very, very good. One more question and you're home free."

"Go ahead," she growled.

"What ... is your gender?"

She stared stupidly into the darkness. "What?"

"Well, I'd been cleaning up the fake SIN you got me earlier -- shoddy piece of work, that was -- and I'd already got it mostly cleaned up when Hobbes sends through this other SIN for you, name of Anne. And I'd only spotted you a couple of times around the kiddie boards, Lance, and I'd only heard you the once before and you've got this kind of neutral voice, and, well, I sort of assumed you were a guy?"

He sounded distinctly flustered, so much so that it almost forced a smile from her. "Don't sweat it, Grail. The Kevin SIN's just for emergencies anyway. But for the record, I'm female."

"The clarity is devastating," and she heard the relief in his voice. "But where is the ambiguity? Over there in a box." No. She would not say it again. But then he asked suddenly, "You free now to go on a date to Shadowland?" and almost reflexively she did say it after all: "What?"

"Well, Hobbes suggested I should show you the ropes ..."

And then, as the meaning slowly registered: "You can get me onto Shadowland?"

"Null sweat. Well, er -- but I'm sure they've forgotten all about that."

[Kurukami]

1841 January 2, 2063 - Cheng's doss in May Creek (Bellevue)

So many potential resources. It's all information, the Matrix is filled with it, and who knows just how accurate these things are, but... it's a valuable resource all the same. Cheng had pored over files and datathreads, investigated records, and tracked clues and hints and rumors for nearly half an hour -- an eternity in the digital timespan of the Matrix -- and still she felt she'd barely nicked the surface of the useful data stored in the Shadowland nodes. I'll have to come back, just... later.

With a reluctant sigh, she jacked out.

Her lower back twinged at her as sensation from her body trickled back into her consciousness. She straightened up slowly, flexing the vertebrae and feeling the tight knot of tension dig in just above her hips as she moved. That won't be worked out with just a little stretching. Ah well... a shower sounds like a good idea anyways.

She flowed up from her cross-legged posture gracefully and began the first few steps in an aikido kata, picking her way across the living room all the while. Aikido usually brought her some measure of peace -- though managing the patterned steps while avoiding the electronic hardware, chip casings, duffel bag, this morning's newsfaxes and the (now empty) Zachary's Pizza box that cluttered the floor between the sofa and the trid was a challenge. The thought of the pizza made her stomach grumble hungrily, but she set that aside. Shower first, then dinner.

An idle glance confirmed the security bar was still in place against the front door. Reassured, Cheng set the holstered Predator-III beside the sink in the bathroom and twisted the shower's faucets. The water was almost too hot, hovering on the border between warm and scalding. At least it's not freezing cold this time, but who knows how long that'll last? She quickly ducked under the water, scrubbed, shampooed and conditioned her hair back into something other than tatterdemalion-chic, and then stood with the heated stream bathing her shoulder and back until she felt the temperature begin to ebb.

With the window nudged open, the steam hadn't fully clouded the mirror, and she caught a glimpse of herself as she stepped out. Habitually, she struck a come-hither pose -- musculature well-defined, in a broad-shouldered but lanky frame, midriff flat with muscle from hours of crunches, attractively wide features, near-black hair tinged with purple and cut in the recently re-popularized pageboy style. Hell, the overgrown lower canines that most orks also had were scarcely even noticeable, as long as she was careful when she smiled. The only thing that threw off the image was the fist-sized yellowish-black bruising high on her left shoulderblade.

Be happy, it's only a bruise. Bruises heal much quicker than the alternative. The Triad ganger's bullet could've punched through the kevlar and plating instead, and then where would you be? Two meters below with worms eating your face. Cheng shook herself free of her reverie and bustled out into the apartment to dress. Clean underwear, form-fitting body armor, cut-resistant denim jeans with lots of pockets, sky-blue collared blouse, and steel-toed combat boots. The Predator's holster nestled under her left arm, and the Ceska's hid neatly against her lower calf under the denims. The armored leather jacket went over it all, and she completed the outfit with the purple wool cap with the radiation-symbol on the front -- after all, it was cold out tonight. She smiled winsomely at herself in the mirror and admired the effect.

Not bad. Not bad at all, thought Elena -- no, it was Cheng now. Not Elena Yuen anymore, not until things were finally settled with the past. For now she was Lady Cheng.

She flipped open her cellphone as she moved to check the external security feeds before stepping out of the apartment. "Hey, Ember, it's Cheng. Hey, I'm in the neighborhood, and I was wondering if you wanted to hook up for some dinner? Oh, really? No, I haven't been to that Thai place yet -- is that the one down on 26th? Hey, if you say it's good... Wiz. I'll meet you there in, say, twenty?"

Smiling, she hung up and briefly interfaced with the security system to set the default surveillance parameters before she left. Behind the closed door, the security bar thunked reassuringly into place, holding the door stable against potential intruders. A few turns down the indoors staircase took her to the private garage-shop she kept below, and before she pulled out of the door in her Auslander SUV she made sure all the entrances to the workshop were locked good and tight. I won't be back this way for days, after all. Have to get back to Lower Queen Anne Hill and make sure U-Dub still thinks I'm just another indecisive student with a trust fund and an undeclared major, after all. Besides, there is that one guy... mmm...

She slipped an ancient rock disc out of its sheath on the visor and set it in the stereo's tray. The opening drum-patterns blended with the sound of the Auslander's engine, and the electric guitar wailed into the intro as Roth's voice filled the car.

"T-t-teacher stop that screaming, teacher don’t you see?
Don’t wanna be no uptown fool.
Maybe I should go to hell, but then I’m doin’ well,
Teacher needs to see me after school..."

Cheng grinned at the inanity of the lyrics, as she drove south and let the energy of the music fill her up. But what kind of album title is "1984", anyways?

[SentineloftheMou...]

1000 January 1, 2063 - Andie's Low Lifestyle apartment

Another day, another nuyen, Andie thinks to himself as he starts to wake up and gets out of bed. He looks over at the clock for the time. 10 am. ... I never was much of an early riser.

After getting dressed and eating some breakfast Andie takes a look around his meager apartment. I know it's not much, but that will change; especially if all goes well..... He cleans up a little and prepares for the days to come; packing his backpack with his notebooks and magic books. Something told him he would not be back for a while.

Locking up Andie heads out the door and goes to the Land's End magic shop to see Sara Lansing, Andie's teacher and mentor in magical. Sara hinted she had a special project for Andie at her shop; a kind of graduation project. It would take commitment to finish it on his part; something he did not like doing.

His parents were committed to their bar and look what's it got them; working 60 hours a week, a low to medium income, and never allowed vacation day. Andie had not seen much of his parent's outside the bar growing up. The bar took up too much of their time if they wanted to be successful.

Yeah...I know all about commitment... I guess I have chosenn a commitment, Andie muses to himself walking to the bus stop. I committed myself to the art of magic. I just hope it pays off. Someone is going to have to take care of my parents in their old age and that someone looks like it's going to me. He sighs to himself.

The bus pulls up to the curb and several passengers get off and on the bus including Andie. Well...Here we go...

[Sedna]

0515 January 2, 2063 - Anne's doss

Scarcely worth trying to grab any more sleep at this point, even if the sounds of the Ancients' choppers had faded away hours ago. Anne still had a vague headache from the earlier exchange. Come to think of it, the previous conversation she'd had with Grail had had exactly the same effect.

At least non-meatbody interactions came with an "off" button.

With a sigh she stood up, stretched. She'd slept in her clothes too much of late and last night had been no exception, but now she shed them completely, let them slip to the floor and puddle around her feet as if shedding a skin of water. The icy draught bit at her bare skin. She ran her fingers over the length of her body, feeling for telltale scars or the flaring of a new infection, found a vague pleasure in finding nothing but goosebumps. Finally she was in the clear. She stooped to gather the bundle of clothing into the dry-washer: a welcome surprise that had been, a luxury she had not expected to find in this place. Against the soft sound of the sonics in the background she moved into the remainder of the sun salutation and then took the stretch routine a bit further to finish in a full sideways split with her breasts and her chin touching the floor and her arms stretched out in front of her. It placed her directly at eye-level with the cockroach just in front of her. She flicked it away absently, then brought her legs together and pushed up with her abdominal muscles alone to arch her back, drawing her arms back, before shifting into push-ups in earnest.

She'd hoped -- well, she didn't really know what she'd hoped to find on Shadowland. Data -- yes, there certainly was a lot of that. Newscast spins and counterspins and commentary. Flaming arguments up and down the boards, kept just short of icing arguments by the sysop. A couple of spell formulae she could make neither heads nor tails of. A useful background file she'd be assimilating for some time yet. A couple dozen attempts by posters to self-advertise. A couple dozen backdoor LANs she'd have absolutely no luck making use of without equipment she didn't have and couldn't afford, and that would almost certainly have been plugged by the time she could.

Her arms were trembling. Already. Irritated, she shifted into a routine of alternating leg-lifts and flat dumbbell flies and crunches and hammer curls, using a pair of light weights improvised from the combat boots Ripper had scared up for her, until she was drenched in sweat and breathing far too quickly, and then she slowed once again into the sun salutation until her heart rate had steadied and she was no longer gasping for air.

Data was useful, certainly, even essential -- but by itself all the data on Shadowland meant nothing whatsoever. When you really got down to the heart of it, it was nothing more than a collection of people talking about things. Its usefulness, its meaning, had to lie in the viewer's ability to context all that talk against personal experience. She'd thought she had experience. Now she knew she was a babe in the Barrens.

Into the third part of her morning routine, the least familiar: but here space was against her, and even though she'd deliberately truncated most of the movements to allow for the restricted environment the chain in her left hand took out a lamp she'd not noticed until she heard it land -- but at least not break, this time -- on the linoleum. After that she abandoned the chain altogether and confined herself to the isolated techniques, hoping that despite the butchered form at least some part of the movement might begin to make itself second nature to her atrophied muscles. For this as well, she'd eventually have to find a larger space, if she wanted to refine her skill. Enter it into the growing list of "wants".

She was startled to find herself planning for a future.

She finally gave up on the still-unfamiliar forms -- resentfully, she needed those skills -- and shifted into a gratifying series of punches and snap kicks at the 20 kilo bag of rice she'd hung from the ceiling as a makeshift punching bag until she was shaking with fatigue, the sweat dripping into her eyes suddenly too irritating to ignore. After a last half-hearted swipe at the bag, she let herself drop, fold from the hips to touch her ankles and wrap her fingers around her toes ... and swayed for the third time into the slow, formulaic movements of the invocation to the sun.

To have coincided that third salutation with sunrise would have been nice, maybe -- but this was Seattle, and midwinter, and she'd be lucky to feel the sun at all behind its cloud cover, even after its rising, still hours away.

She stepped into the shower and turned it on full-blast -- and gasped as the icy water scoured away the sweat. She'd heard the heating was done with solar panels, something about the building owner being environmentally conscious. Between the combination of Seattle's persistent cloud cover, the low temperatures outside, and a dying rechargeable battery, the water's heat hadn't a hope in hell of surviving the night. Maybe the reverse would be true when it hit high summer. Still, maybe one of these days the building would surprise her and the morning "hot" water would still be at least tepid?

[SentineloftheMou...]

1100 January 1, 2063 - Land's End magic shop

Andie steps off the bus at the Land's End magic shop run by a dear friend and mentor, Sara Lansing.

Well. Let's see what I can learn today..., Andie thinks to himself as he enters the shop.

He peruses the aisles a little to see if there is anything new or on sale, bargain hunter extrodinare, and makes his way to the back counter looking for Sara. "Hello... Sara...", Andie calls out towards the back of the store.

Sara Lansing, human owner of the Land's End magic shop, was in her late thirties, about 6 ft tall, and mind like a steel trap. She didn't miss much and comes out from the store room in the back. "Come on back, Andie. I have some work for you to do.", she says.

Andie heads to back of the shop to the material preparation area and looks around. Sara turns back to Andie and says, "To help pay for the magic training we have been doing over the years I have a favor to ask of you since I feel you are ready for this test. I know it would help you, me, and your parents; a win-win situation for everyone."

Andie replies, "OK. I'm game. What did you have in mind?"

"Over the next lunar cycle I want you to create Orichalcum units. It's a long, tedious process and you will be here most the time monitoring the batch, so don't expect to do much of anything else until it's finished. Think you're up for it?", Sara asks Andie.

Andie replies, "Well, I'll have to let my folks know I will not be able to help them out at the bar for a month, but they should be OK with that once I explain why. Let's do it."

Sara comments, "That's responsible. Call them now and explain everything while I prepare the ingredients. The phone is on the wall over there."

Andie goes over the wall phone and calls his parents at the bar. "Hi, dad. It's Andie. Listen. Sara wants me to help her with something for the next month, so I will not be able to help out much at the bar. Is that OK? ... She did say it would cover the tuition costs for a while, so it sounds like a good deal. ... Thanks, dad. Ask one of the cousins to fill in for me, OK. Take care. Bye."

He turns back to Sara and the preparation table; seeing Sara organizing packets of materials and started measuring ingredients. "OK. Let's do it."

"Excellent.", Sara replies. "Here is the formula. Follow the directions precisely and I'll leave you to it. The furnace is warming up and will be ready for you when you get to that point in the recipe. Have fun." She leaves the room to handle other tasks in the shop.

Andie nods to himself. Let's get to work..., and starts measuring and mixing the ingredients according to the recipe. Once that is done he takes the mixture to the furnace to heat it up and starts to monitor the process; using his magic to help control the reaction. Have to remember. This is a marathon and not a sprint. Patience...Have to have patience...

He takes a look around the room and notices a cot laid out against the wall; presumeablely for him, and nods his head. Well, looks like I am in this for the long haul., and gets into a routine for the coming weeks. Monitoring, stirring, cooling, heating, eating, sleeping...

[Sedna]

0655 January 2, 2063 - in transit ... and about to be late to work

But the Westwind was sitting there, just asking to be stolen.

Asking?

Swept along in the crowd of transferring commuters returning to work after their day-after-the-night-before holiday, one anonymous face among hundreds, Anne was able to take a surreptitious second glance at the lone curb-parked vehicle which seemed to pull at her attention -- why? An odd intensity, for a piece of inanimate plastic. And it so didn't belong there, out of place the way a watery tart with a sword would be out of place in the Sound (-- oh frag, she'd picked that one up from Grail --) Maybe if it were about to be used as a getaway car, or as --

Bait.

Now that she knew they were there, she spotted the Lone Star sting operation readily enough: not even gold shields, these, but a bare step above beat cops. A less than competent snare and the incompetents were all it would ensnare -- and, she suddenly realised, that was exactly the fragging point. Joe Q Wageslave gets a glimpse of what's out there on the scary, scary streets. Then he gets a privileged close-up-and-personal of Lone Star working to make those streets safer. Warm and fuzzy feelings all around.

She vaguely wondered if the whole operation would make the evening COPs! trid feed. Not that she cared, much. She flowed briskly with the crowd, more or less average movement, more or less average height in a sea of standard deviations and some others. No one talking, no one interacting, everyone staring neutrally ahead or with their eyes slightly downcast, more than a few still with hangovers. A couple of newbie gutterpunks making to check out the car, not knowing or not caring that they had been under surveillance even before the sting picked them up and began to close on them. From Shadowland, she had learned where all the intersection and PATH and odd private security cameras were. Biometrics hadn't a hope in hell of making her.

Welcome to the sunny side of Auburn.

[WinterRat1]

1957 January 1, 2063- A Warehouse somewhere in the Barrens

After paying the doctor and sending him on his way, Cao Jaan spends the next few hours trying to fix the toilet as well as the rest of the warehouse. Sanitary? He'd be lucky to make sure it wasn't deadly. Still, he'd do his best. After a while, the woman on the cot stirs slightly. Groaning, she places a hand on her head and tries to sit up.

Immediately Cao rushes to her and gently lays her back down. "Don't try to get up. You need to rest." Groggily, she replies, "Who are you? Where am I? What happened?"

2030 Jan 2 2063 - Aztecha International

About an hour into his date with Daisy, Klaus is absolutely smitten by her. She's smart, articulate, entertaining, kind, funny, easy to talk to, yup yup, the whole package...not to mention pretty freaking gorgeous he thinks to himself.

She is in the middle of discussing how she got started as a talismonger, Klaus listening with rapt interest, when he gets a phone call. Checking the caller ID, he sees that it's Lucy. Briefly excusing himself, he heads out to the lobby. "Hello Lucy."

"Klaus. There's a job for you if you're interested. Seems like it'd be up your alley, some sort of humanitarian effort. The meet is happening in a few days, at a place called Paradigm Shift. It's a new club out in Touristville, Redmond. If you want in, be there at 2300 on the 4th. Tell the bouncers up front that Mr. Fan sent you. Got all that?"

2340 January 1, 2063 - Home (Blaze's Doss)

After an evening of making the necessary calls and then waiting, endless, seemingly interminable waiting, Blaze was getting annoyed. I'm so close. So close to family. Why won't the stupid phone ring? Argh! Go figure, when you can't wait for something, each minute just drags and drags and... *Ring* *Ring* Well speak of the devil...sometimes wishing does pay off...

The voice on the other end speaks nearly as soon as Blaze picks up. "It's Squall. I got the info you wanted. First, that lady Margaret, all I got was confirmation of what you sent me. Nothing that goes against her story or otherwise raises any red flags in my book. Either her cover is vacuum sealed, or she's telling the truth. Your call on what you want to believe. Her daughter, Melissa, same deal. Everything you told me checked out. Again, same deal, either she's covered every which way, or your info is on the up and up. Not too much as far as a location, although I managed to pick up a police report stating that a woman who seemed to fit that description was being assaulted down in the Barrens. The dispatcher didn't really care, in fact the report doesn't even list which one, although if I had to guess, I'd put my money on Redmond, but that's just cause it's closer to her point of origin. That's all I've got for you. Payment delivered in the usual way?"

Blaze nods. "You did good Squall, real good. I'll get you the payment ASAP. Thanks again, and if you manage to find anything more about Melissa Walker, drop me a line, ok?"

The voice on the other end speaks an affirmation and disconnects. Blaze is mulling over the info when the phone rings again.

"Hey kid, it's me, Max. I wasn't able to find anything on that girl you asked me about, but I did manage to turn up a lead for a job. Not your usual anti-corp stuff, but I scan that there should be a chance to take on people at least similar to that type. Mr. Johnson's calling the shots at a place called Paradigm Shift. It's a new club out in Touristville, Redmond. No RSVP required, if you want more info, be there at 2300 on the 4th. Just let the guards up front hear that Mr. Fan sent you and you're in. Any questions?"

1905 January 2, 2063 - Cheng's
Car

The phone rings, cutting through the lyrics blasting in Lady Cheng's car as she sped up the interstate back towards college. On the other end is Jack Finch. "Hey girl, I got some news you might be interested in. If you're looking for a way to score some nuyen, I hear about a job that's going down soon that may fit your interests and abilities. If you have the time and need the money, I hear there's a meet happening in a few days, at a place called Paradigm Shift. If you haven't heard of it yet, it's a new club that just started in Touristville, Redmond. If you want to check it out, be there at 2300 on the 4th. If the bouncers up front stop you, just tell them that Mr. Fan sent you. You gonna be ok hooking yourself up?"

2200 January 1, 2063- Key to the Future

Later that evening, as Avalanche is taking a break from modifying his customer's deck, he is kicking back with a warm drink and enjoying the fact that he actually has heat in his apartment when the phone rings. On the other end is Zigzag. "Yo, Av, got word about a little job you might be interested about. Definitely up your alley, helping out some metas from some jacked up Humanis type thugs. If you want to know more, check out the Paradigm Shift out in Touristville, Redmond at 2300 on the 4th. Tell the goons up front you're looking for Mr. Fan and they'll set you straight. You scan?"

0715 January 2, 2063 - in transit ... and about to be late to work

Now officially late for work, Alleycat is a bit surprised when she walks in and instead of yelling at her, Hobbes takes her into the back. Surprisingly, the woman is a bit uncomfortable. "Hey sweetie, I know you've been in need of some money...well I got word about something that might help you get a bit more on your feet financially, you might say. I don't know much about you, but if you want to take a stab at it, I heard there's a meeting happening at the Paradigm Shift in two days, on the 4th at 2300. No RSVP's required, just tell the guys up front that Mr. Fan sent you."

She shifts a bit uncomfortably and holds up her hands. "Now I don't know too much about you, I admit, so I don't even know if this is the kind of thing you do. But while I respect your privacy, I know that sometimes people need to...jump start themselves, you know? I just figured that maybe this might help. What do you say?"

[Sedna]

0720 January 2, 2063 - the Last Drop, and startled

Sweetie?

And then Alleycat felt the cold adrenalin wash through her as she realised she'd not been properly "Anne" since she'd been street-named yesterday -- or maybe even earlier, maybe at least since Teresa had caught her out. She spared the moment of self-irony: no doubt he'd been hassling her as one of his street contacts, the person you razz to get the low-down on the gang buzz. That would also explain the abnormally large tip. And the early hour talk with Grail couldn't have helped ... although she was honest enough with herself to admit that she'd been off-balance long before she'd known there was such a creature on this sixth world as Grail. But for Teresa to have picked up that much, for Hobbes to be vibing this way: she was slipping, and slipping badly.

Without a word she accepted the mug of hot soykaf the woman held out to her -- and half of it slopped over the side, her hands were shaking so badly. Hobbes reached out to take them in her large ones and steady them. She could feel their warmth against her cold skin. She couldn't move, not in the slightest. If she moved, she would begin shaking again, and she'd never stop.

No wonder Hobbes was uncomfortable, not quite sure how to approach this. The woman was dangerously perceptive. Right about now she'd know she was seeing Sedna, who'd had to become Anne, and who'd already talked the idea out with her as something she felt she'd have to do -- but her gut would be telling her -- what?

Or maybe Hobbes was just being gentle about it, trying to ease her way into that "jump start" into the shadows they'd both agreed was necessary. That was a possibility too. She didn't know. She hated not knowing.

She stared at the floor, frozen. "Anne" would stare at the floor. Why would Anne stare at the floor? Because the whole thing was new to her, there's a start. Because -- oh, let's assume Hobbes was just being nice to her. Anne's had a difficult few years, she'd be almost afraid of niceness. It's for sure she wouldn't trust it. It's when people are nice that the other shoe drops. But Hobbes is absolutely right, she's got to get on her feet somehow ... jump start herself, pay off all the debts she's got on her back and the new ones she's been incurring with Hobbes and Grail. But yesterday it was still kind of abstract, and here the moment's upon her. Is it the kind of thing Anne does?

"I guess I'll find out," Anne said at last, still not looking up. "Yes. I'll go." She downed the rest of the soykaf in a hard gulp, managed a brave smile. "Hey, thanks."

[Kurukami]

2006 January 2, 2063 - Cheng's Auslander SUV, driving on I-90.

1905? Cheng said to herself, looking at the digital chrono on the SUV's dash. I left my doss just past 1900, and I know I was eating dinner with Ember for at least forty minutes. Wrench must've misentered the time while he was reconnecting the battery, after he installed the transponder library and cham-plate. She leaned over in her seat to tinker with the clock's settings as she replied to Finch and the SUV drove west on I-90.

"Yeah, I'm up for it. I'll make sure my schedule's clear. Quick question, though -- are they looking for a rigger or for a decker? I'd like to have some guess as to what they expect of me when I walk in the door."

"I'll do some poking around and see what I can find out, and I'll tell the interested parties you're willing to hear their bid."

"Much appreciated," Cheng replied. "Oh, and have you heard anything from my old man?" Any further communication from my father?

"Nothing recent, kiddo. Last message I got was the one I told you about, just over two weeks ago. But you know how nuts things can get in that city."

Cheng bit her lip. Yes, I'd imagine that Wuxing's agents in Hong Kong are being very thorough in their search. It's highly probable that he had to go deep into the shadows to avoid drawing their attentions. His reasons are much the same as mine, despite our being separated by thousands of miles of ocean. "Yeah, I do. Thanks for keeping an ear to the ground for me."

"Not a problem, girl. I'll give you a call if I dig up anything concrete on what the employers are looking for, OK?"

"Thanks much. Catch you later." Cheng disconnected, pulled the earbud phone off, and dropped it on the passenger seat. The phone skittered down the fabric of the seat and hid in the shadows next to her backpack as she crossed over the seamed concrete of the freeway where I-90 joined with I-5 North. The pack held innocuous school supplies -- notebooks, texts, pencils and pens, her p-sec, and other miscellanea -- but it also had a well-concealed, padded compartment to hold the slim casing of her cyberdeck or RCD. Currently, her 'deck was nestled within the compartment's folds.

I'll have to do some opening research tonight after I get back to Knight of Swords, to see just who has a controlling interest in Paradigm Shift. A half-smile crept onto her face, thinking about it, as she took the 7th Avenue exit and hung a right on Marion. It'll actually be somewhat relaxing to do such an everyday datasearch.

The Cabrini Tower's sign appeared ahead, and she proficiently wove the car through the evening traffic to pull into the long-term parking structure's driveway. A few nuyen's deposit from her Elizabeth Turner ID's credstick served as entry fee for long-term parking. She circled upwards to the third level to park, then locked all the doors, retrieved her backpack and earbud cellphone, and descended the stairwell back down to street level. Cabrini Tower was in a decent part of town, and they had fairly good security, but still... Maybe this job will be worth enough to invest in some shock-security for both my cars.

The idea was appealing, but she had second thoughts as she walked west. Don't get ahead of yourself. Hear what they've got to say, then decide whether or not you're interested. A few blocks west on Marion, then a few north on 8th Avenue, and a left turn onto Union took her to the Ranier Square Garage. En route, she pulled off the purple knit cap and stuffed it in her jacket pocket, fluffed her pageboy haircut forward over her ears, and snagged the non-prescription glasses from her backpack. Voila, instant transformation from punky riot-grrl to bookish academic out for a night Downtown. She still didn't know whether or not to buy Finch's advice for changing her appearance between stops, but it could hardly hurt.

She climbed the stairs quickly, feeling the pleasant burn in her thighs and calves as the exercise took hold, and glanced around the garage for possible threats before moving over to her sky-blue Honda 3220. After a quick look-over to ensure it hadn't been tampered with, she unlocked the door, slid into the driver's seat, and pulled out of the parking space. Elizabeth Turner's red-banded stick went back into an inner pocket, and out came the blue-banded one belonging to Katerina Jones.

So many identities. It's a wonder sometimes I can keep them all straight, Cheng thought as she slotted the fee for Ranier Square's long-term parking and drove away into the cool night air.

[Madda_Gaska]

2000 January 1, 2063- A Warehouse somewhere in the Barrens

"Relax, I'm Cao Jaan and you're in a safe place."

Jaan looks around.

Okay, so it isn't that safe, but it's better than being outside.

"You were attacked by some go-gangers. I'm afraid I don't know why."

While she takes all this in, Jaan fishes around in his bag then offers her a ration bar.

"Are you hungry?"

[SentineloftheMou...]

0900 January 2, 2063 - Land's End magic shop



"What a night. Uneventful and boring." Andie says to himself and gets off his cot. "Time to check the goo."

Andie walks over to the furnance to check the orichalcum batch's progression and stokes the furnance for the coming day.

Day 2...., he thinks to himself.

[Sedna]

1630 January 2, 2063 - the Last Drop

As busy a shift as ever and maybe a bit more so, still at least five hours yet to go and the supper crowd not yet arrived, the work so steady and demanding that Anne had no time to think, only to be.

Morning staggered rush of commuters blended almost seamlessly into mid-morning hurried brunchers, few of whom spared any more time than to grab the styrofoam cup of soykaf and maybe a bagel and take off, even fewer thinking to leave anything resembling a reasonable tip. To those, she was little more than automated machinery. She'd already noticed that those paying with coins were much more likely to leave her their change than those slotting credsticks. She'd made a point, second day on this job, to focus a genuine smile on each separate person as she took their money and gave them their soykaf. The few that took the moment to catch it did drop some extra nuyen her way.

Around 1030, more or less, there'd be a break in the flow and she'd find a large plate of seasoned eggs or something waiting for her at the counter. Real eggs too, lightly dusted with rosemary, pepper, and paprika. The place generally served a subtle mix of real food and soy, but it seemed to be a matter of pride for Johnny that those working at the Last Drop should be well fed. The only time he was not in the kitchen by choice seemed to be when he had to oversee some delicate piece of magical manipulation over an extended period of time. He honestly seemed to enjoy the process of cooking -- and he was also very good at it. Maybe it had something to do with the meticulous nature required for enchanting. Maybe not. After the first couple of minor disasters, Anne had been banished from the kitchen except in a dish-washing capacity whenever the automats died.

She'd have maybe fifteen minutes or so to bolt those eggs. Sometimes she spared the time to sit. Today, not.

The lunch crowd mostly did spare the time to sit, spaces at the counter being occupied almost as quickly as they were freed up. Still mostly wageslaves, but there were also a few scattered students, they'd started making an appearance around brunch. The tips here remained relatively low, but much more reliable than with the breakfast crowd. Sometimes Anne could even spare the time to exchange words with one of the regulars. As with the breakfast menu, lunch choices were limited -- although they did include the near-compulsary stir-fry -- but easily the most popular, and the reason for so high a percentage of returning clientelle, was the stew. To the best of her knowledge, that pot never left the burner.

Another break mid-afternoon, this one a bit longer, when a bowl of that stew and its accompanying hunk of white, crusty bread made an appearance for her. It involved real onions, she knew that much: she'd smelled them when he'd been chopping them earlier. Besides that? There might have been meat involved at some point, if certainly much less than the aroma suggested. Potatoes, definitely real: she'd asked once and gotten an expression in response that suggested she'd just commited sacrilege. A couple of carrots, freeze-dried, stretched to go a long long way. Some other unidentifiable green things floating around.

She usually did sit for this one. The stew deserved it.

[Kurukami]

2037 January 2, 2063 - Cheng's Honda 3220, headed north.
Mood: intrigued but relaxed.

The drive north from downtown had been quick, but refreshing nonetheless. Cheng had rolled down her window to feel the flow of air across her face, trusting to Lone Star's presence amongst the skyscrapers and the Predator in her shoulder holster to dissuade any random carjackers. Now, as she made the turn from Queen Anne Drive onto Aurora Avenue North and approached Western Yacht Harbor, she took a few moments to mentally list her priorities for the night.

[Sedna]

1930 January 2, 2063 - the Last Drop: We Never Close

As nearly as Anne could tell, the place never did, not completely.

She herself worked irregular shifts, usually between 12 and 14 hours at a stretch, usually days, almost always topside. She'd have been willing to work those straight through the week, but Hobbes had explained to her about hourly-wage labour law and accounting, and, perhaps more relevantly, the ability to store up extended periods which she could take away from the job when she needed to -- and, Hobbes emphasised, if she went through with what they had talked about, she would need to.

Sometimes Hobbes would be there when she got there in the morning. Sometimes not. Hers were unpredictable hours, much more so than Anne's, although she could usually be relied upon to turn up sporadically between the supper rush and the upper level lock-up, the latter usually around 0200 or so, although it could be earlier if biz was running exceptionally slow, or -- as very recently -- considerably later.

Then again, her biz had rather less to do with the details of food preparation and accounting than one might expect of an eatery owner.

It was Johnny who took care of all those details; Johnny who'd be keeping the ledgers for the IRS audits and the -- others; Johnny whose cursing she'd occasionally heard coming from the small back office just over the kitchen, directed sometimes at the numbers and sometimes at the trid and sometimes at the computer that persisted in allowing the kitchen steam into its innards and then objecting to it. She'd fixed it a couple of times for him now, a fairly straightforward job, first cleaning off the unused jack connections so that at least those would function properly and let her get a sense for what else was not. (She was a bit surprised there were jack connections at all. Neither of the orks had one.) Wasn't the equipment's fault. Nice, basic, reasonably durable machine -- but the things just weren't intended to function for extended periods in a kitchen environment.

She'd felt the mana wash over her the first time as she tinkered, losing herself completely in the familiar circuits, first cleaning and then trying to tease a system interestingly empty of any meaningful data into restoring its connections just this once (again, again).

The second time, the files hadn't been emergency-purged from the system before she was called up to help. As before, she'd not copied or backdoored anything ... but in fixing it, she had seen everything he kept on the computer. What she did do was to overwrite the RAS override. How else, while jacked in, to follow his description of the funny noise it made when he did this and then that?

He was a morning person, a cheerfully dour one. She'd heard that at least one Seattle judge had found being in the presence of a morning person sufficient evidence to constitute self defence in a homicide case. After yesterday's marathon shift, she might have come close to agreeing. He also knew how to make decent soykaf, which saved him.

The other regular dayshift person she'd seen in the kitchen -- and only in the kitchen, he never once ventured counter-front -- was Mouse. Street kid or maybe former street kid, barely tall enough to stand over the burner on which he was holding the wok, Cityspeak so thick that Anne had difficulty understanding him at all. Although he didn't talk a whole lot. He'd stared through Anne for a rude amount of time when she first began working at this place before he finally pronounced, "You're weird," and she'd laughed and tossed the pink-tinged curls and said, "Yup." Mostly, though, he ignored her. It was easier to do since he didn't spend all that much time in the kitchen, really; mostly he was somewhere in the back with Johnny. Besides his cooking skills, he helped Anne with the dish-washing when it was necessary.

There were a couple of other staff around below and she knew someone else usually oversaw the night shift, but she'd yet to see them.

Hobbes was back -- early, considering the Johnson hadn't returned and the supper crowd hadn't settled yet. On her way in, the woman stopped to talk to the people sitting at a couple of tables, smiling in a way that lit up her whole aura -- and then she snagged Anne and took her once again into the back kitchen area. Twice in a single day ...

[SentineloftheMou...]

2000 January 2, 2063 - Land's End magic shop

Andie makes a phone call to his parent's bar to make sure everything is OK. They found someone to work Andie's shifts at the bar for the next month.

Sara checked up on Andie a couple of times today to see how thngs were going. She suggests keeping a journal of notes on his observations through out the process. Something tells me that is just something to keep my mind off being bored., he thinks to himself. But sometimes you have to do boring things to prepare you for the exciting ones.

[Kurukami]

0803 January 3, 2063 - in bed, onboard Knight of Swords
Mood: warm, snuggly, and contented

The sun's brilliant light shimmered across the surface of Lake Union, peeking through Seattle's usual January cloud cover like a laughing gamine peering out through a boarded-up window. Cheng rolled over in bed, still half-asleep, and gazed up at the fluid patterns of light bathing her room's ceiling.

What time is it? With a relaxed sigh, she idly accessed her math SPU's chronometer and routed the result through her image link. The result made her blink awake and sit up. 0804? I slept for almost four hours? Must've been more tired than I thought.

She swung her legs out of bed, mind already flitting back to the equations and lines of code she'd been tinkering with late into the night. The foundation for the Camoflauge program was already there in the program plan, she was sure of it. She could feel it like a humming in her bones, the certainty that if that piece went there and that conditional went there then the structural plan would form a proper framework to create the program on. Always the same, programming is -- like a puzzle that I have all the pieces to but can assemble in dozens of different ways. As long as I can imagine the result, I can find a starting place and build from there step by step.

Cheng longed to immediately jump back into the challenge of laying out her program's blueprint, but habit pushed her away from the study door where her desktop waited. Morning routine first. Then you can jump back into the challenge of planning. She washed her hands, then combed damp fingers through her hair to pull it back under control before changing into bike shorts, a tight T-shirt, and running shoes. The level-B form-fitting armor hid almost imperceptibly beneath her apparel. A hooded sweatshirt completed the outfit, to keep her warm and somewhat dry if Seattle's whimsical weather decided to drop a few liters of rain on Lower Queen Anne Hill.

She hadn't had the opportunity to get out and exercise for the past several days, cloistered as she'd been in May Creek, keeping a quiet profile while tracking down information as to why the Triads had been antagonistic about her last meet. The neighborhood, despite her association with Ember and his gang, was much too rough to risk the exposure. Lower Queen Anne Hill, on the other hand, was a AA-class neighborhood, and the part where the harbor was located was particularly quiet. Here, despite whatever conditions might exist elsewhere in the sprawl, she was relatively safe. She descended the gangplank and headed towards the pedestrian entrance for the morning's run.

Thirteen minutes later, out of breath but feeling exuberant from the two-mile run, she walked down the marina's dock back towards Knight of Swords. She'd pushed faster than normal the last hundred meters or so, to see whether her body would still respond to a need for speed even when she was already tired. Her forearms and calves tingled with what felt like tiny pinpricks as capillaries that normally saw little activity throbbed in time with her pulse. Not bad, she thought. Hardly world-class by any rate, but certainly not bad. Now for the rest of the regimen, and then off for a shower and some breakfast.

While she'd been running, the sun had slipped upwards into the veil of the clouds, and the diffuse light reflected by Lake Union was a grey shadow when compared to the sight that she'd woken to. Cheng quickly went through the sets of crunches, push-ups, and pull-ups that was her usual routine, then stripped down to rinse off the sweat from her exertions. The shower's temperature here on Knight of Swords, at least, was dependable -- the SunCell batteries that warmed the water had taken in several days' worth of sunlight while she'd been away in May Creek. After shampooing her hair, she lingered for a few enjoyable seconds with the heated water bathing her face, then stepped out to towel off and wrap herself in her burgundy terry-cloth robe.

For some unidentifiable reason, she felt almost... guilty. I may be hiding out under a false name, with those Wuxing gao yang zhong de gu yang and God knows who else trying to find me, but my life's still fairly comfortable. There are so many out there that are worse off than I am right now. She made a mental note to see what charities or causes she might find amenable to her own views. After all, it wasn't as though the corps were particularly interested in seeing to the welfare of people stuck in bad living conditions. What they seemed to care about was their own profit margins and the power they were able to exert on society. Cheng had seen the reports on the Redmond and Puyallup Barrens, where people mostly had to scavenge for what they could get and corp enclaves were armed fortresses usually devoted to heavy industry that environmental laws elsewhere prevented. The thought of people having to breathe the effluvia that such factories dumped as waste knotted her stomach.

Calm. Find your center. She took a deep breath and let it slowly leak out, trying to let the tension go with it. If the meeting at Paradigm Shift tomorrow is legitimate, you may be able to help some of them. For now, put it out of your mind.

Cheng found much of her appetite had vanished, but nonetheless fetched a muffin and a mug of soykaf from the yacht's kitchen as she made her way towards her study. She set aside the unpleasant thoughts, segregating them from the logical progressions and equations of code-creation. That ability to focus had always been an advantage she'd possessed, one that had helped her in achieving goals in the past. There was no point in getting caught up in pondering things that she couldn't immediately change.

Soon, though. We'll see what "Mr. Fan" has to say, and then see what might be done. Cheng sat down in front of her tabletop, reopened the file with the program plan for the new utility, and began to work.

[WinterRat1]

2002 January 1, 2063- A Warehouse somewhere in the Barrens

The woman nods slowly, tentatively. "Thank you." Chewing slowly, she looks up at him. "Why did you help me? What do you want? Where am I?" The questions come rapid fire at him, and although she's obviously shaken, her mind is clearly functioning on all cylinders.

1015 January 3, 2063 - in bed, onboard Knight of Swords

After several hours of hunting the Matrix for data, Lady Cheng pushes herself away from her deck, sighs, and runs a hand through her hair. Looking at the printouts of data she's uncovered, she reviews what she's learned.

1. She has absolutely NO idea who Mr. Fan is.
2. Paradigm Shift is apparently owned by a small group of private, individual investors. That's all she could turn up, and nothing solid. No one seems to have much on the place yet, since it opened maybe a week or two ago.
3. Redmond Barrens is a BAD place to be. However, Touristville is where the corpers go to slum it, and as such has a 'C' security rating. So while dangerous, at least Lone Star actually shows up there and the gangs don't run overly rampant.

Not a lot to go on. At least the place is reasonably secure. And it seems that this Paradigm Shift place has solid security. That's a plus, at least. Well, on to that Camo utility...

[paul_HArkonen]

2350 January 1, 2063 - Home (Blaze's Doss)

"Thanks Max." Good, a job means work, and work means money. I'm going to need that money to find out where Universal is keeping Melissa, and I will find her. Now to begin working, actually as Blaze works to supress a large yawn, time to get some sleep work starts tomorrow.

[Madda_Gaska]

2003 January 1, 2063- A Warehouse somewhere in the Barrens

"I helped because you needed help. You're still in the barrens. It isn't much, but I like to think of it as home."

Plenty of rest? It sounds like I'll need plenty of rest!

"As for my desires, I would like you to rest for a time. You were badly hurt and shouldn't strain yourself. Oh, and I wouldn't object to knowing what to call you."

Jaan smiles amiably, the effect somewhat spoilt as a section of shelving behind him suddenly gives way and crashes to the floor, scattering a collection tools across the room.

Jaan lets out a sigh and turns to begin his hunt among the debris for a hammer and some nails.

[banditf50]

0800 January 3 2063 - Virgil's Shop in Touristville

Virgil gets up from his desk and begins an agitated pace about his shop floor. He never did see how deckers could sit in front of a computer for hours on end. He'd heard and seen a lot of strange occurences here in the barrens, living here one's entire life has a desentizing effect, but a girl crying blood was something warranting concern.

As Virgil paced his shop floor he stopped in one of the pools of light created by one of the few frosted glass windows, taking a deep breath perfumed with the tangly metallic scent of molten copper he racked his brain.

"Open Arms soup kitchen" huh . . .I know that I've been by there before.

[Sedna]

1940 January 2, 2063 - the Last Drop, small bit of storage shelving enclave just to one side of the kitchen

"You know," Hobbes began uncomfortably, "there's a couple of things -- well -- what do you know about Touristville?"

Anne shrugged. "Can't be worse than Puyallup, if the corpers let their kids go slumming there."

A sharp laugh from over by the stove from Johnny. "She's got something there."

Hobbes grimaced. "A meet's not the same thing as keeping your head down. For one thing, it'd be wise to make yourself look a bit different -- the coat'll do, but lose the spectacles, maybe, style your hair different? Meets go down all kinds of ways. You're always hoping for the best of course, but, just in case -- you'd not want to lead someone straight back here, you scan?"

The girl neck-bowed in the reflexive gesture of acceptance and understanding: hai, wakarimasita.

"And you'll need something, I picked this up for you today --" The woman held it out to Anne. She took it, a bit gingerly, her hand lowering a little with the weight. "Do you know how to use one of these?"

Her hand locked around the cold, blued metal of the haft. As she pulled it out of its holster, slowly, she bent her head in a single, short nod.

"This is the basic street heavy pistol," Hobbes was saying, "for a reason. Everyone's shot one of these at some point, everyone's modded theirs their own way, and everyone knows how to trouble-shoot one if they need to. Not that they need a whole lot of trouble-shooting. This one's a bit modded -- not smartlink-fancy, but it'll give you clean single action, you can get it adapted for burst fire action later if you want. Caseless ammo, again nothing fancy. Oh, and I had the magazine and clip modded, I usually work it so there's a couple of extra shots in the clip. What with so many people knowing a Pred shoots 15 -- here, hold up your arms."

She held up her arms, the heavy pistol still in her hand, while the woman began to fit the shoulder harness around her: "Kibo, you're skin and bones! I thought we'd been feeding you better than that! Maybe I should have gone for the 18 mil instead." She spared a glance at Johnny, who shrugged without looking up from what he was doing. "You're right-handed, ka? Watch me now, how this goes on, and then the coat goes overtop --"

She had the girl pull the harness on and off a few times, and then walk a little with the Predator in its holster until she'd got out of the instinct of visibly balancing against its weight.

"You'll be practicing drawing at home and at the range -- oh, I've covered your first five hours at Teaser Rat's for target practice, you're due there at 21, so you may as well take off now, ... no, on second thought you might as well take the next two days off too and get really familiar with it -- no, don't take the harness off, I want you to get used to wearing it, and you won't be hassled for it as long as it stays concealed and you stay off corp territory. Wait, you'll need to take the clips with you, did you think I'd give it to you loaded? I just get it for you and walk you through the wearing. He'll take you through the basics. He's expecting you to be fairly new at this, so don't worry about asking stupid questions." The woman paused. "If you're really having a problem with its recoil, let me know. It's not too late to get something lighter."

With the overcoat on, over her waitress outfit, Anne stretched a little, feeling the weight, how it shifted her balance, how it bunched the cloth beneath the coat. "I owe you," she said softly.

"Tanstaafl -- there ain't no such thing as a free lunch. It's all going on your tab, sweetie, but it'll hold until you get a bit more on your feet. I mentioned to Grail you're running deadlined, he said he'd have the "Anne" SIN ready day after tomorrow. Don't know if you caught the weather reports, but tomorrow'll be a respirator day, what with the wind shifting around to the southwest later on. Renraku's issued a level 1 air alert for later tomorrow afternoon."

Johnny coughed, catching her attention and directing it up to the outdoor camera monitor in the corner. "We've got trouble."

"What the -- oh, good." Considering the sudden shift in her mood, the irony in her voice had been surprisingly light. "I suppose I should be glad Teresa's not here."

Johnny had turned the burners down and was already moving to the kitchen door, still swinging from her sudden departure. "Mouse, can you cover in here for a bit?"

"Yeah, sure." The kid's eyes were big. "But I could --"

"Don't you dare." Blunt. Flat. And more than a bit distracted.

Anne glanced at Johnny. "Want to tell me what's going on?"

He gestured at the screen. "Look for yourself. Don't you recognise him?"

"Recognise who?"

She had to ask twice before she got a response, all his attention focused on whatever was going on beyond those doors. "That's Gianelli's messenger," he finally said, irritable for the fraction of attention the answer cost him. "Familia, Bigio, and half of Lone Star outside. She's dealt with them before, of course, and she's good enough to keep anything from happening now -- probably. It's dicey, but she can handle it."

"So?"

"So we're not in bleedin' Family territory. We're in yak." He paused, heavily. "And that bloody blow-in knows it."

[banditf50]

0810 January 3rd 2063 - Virgil's Shop, Touristville

As Virgil paced his shop contemplating he realized it was time to get on with the rest of the day. After a cold shower (the only way to know your alive chummer) he donned a pair of black jeans and a white collared shirt. Going to his work bench a lovingly placed his brother's rosary around his neck.

Rest in peace Jeremiah, you will never be forgotten.

Virgil's breath caught in his chest as a vivid picture of his brother's death assaulted his mind. Virgil could see himself walking into the church hall at the moment his brother collapsed. . .
Brushing back a tear Virgil grabbed his long coat and a wool hat and began the six-block walk to St. Margret Mary. The shock of the cold air was refreshing, the cold always got his blood going . . helped him to focus on the task at hand. As Virgil sloshed through the grey slush coating the sidewalk he ticked off a mental tally of tasks to accomplish . . .

1. Talk to Father O'Grady and see what he knows about Sister Perkins. Also see what tasks he needs help with today.

2. Go the the rectory library and see if there is any religous or occult basis for
Julia's bloody tears and latin ramblings. That just reeks of a possion or some
other divine touch.
3. Pay a visit to Juliette. I haven't seen her in a few days and she always has use for a helping hand. Plus I need to see what is going in the Plastic Jungle of late.

0915 January 3rd, 2063 - St. Margret Mary Church, Touristville

Approaching the stone stairs of St. Margret Mary Virgil took a second to take solace in the statues of St. Michael and St. Peter flanking the oaken double doors. He'd never been a religous man as Jeremiah had, but Virgil had to admit that even he felt safer when on the church grounds. Upon reaching the great woriship hall Virgil removed his hat and blessed himself with the perfumed holy water. There was a time when the thought of him at a church would've have caused a snicker, but now simple things like observing the Catholic traditions of his brother made Virgil feel closer to the memory of his brother. Stopping at the foot of the Virgin he paused to light a candle for Jeremiah.

"Good morning Nicholas," the rumbling voice of Father O'Grady chimed in behind Virgil. Even if the voice wasn't so distinctive, there were only two people alive who knew his birth name and called him so.

"Good morning to you Father. I hope that the morning is finding you well." replied Virgil

"Tell me Nicholas," inquired the priest, "Every morning you come to this place to observe Jeremiah and to offer your services to the Church. You take the name of a man who guided another to salvation, yet you do not accept God into your heart. How is this?"

"Ah, Father. Every time you haved asked this of me I provide the same response. Some of us must go through Hell so that others may be saved. I accepted that a long time ago as my duty." Virgil shifted his weight before continuing, "Today I bring with me a request for your advice and council"

"Of course, of course. How can I be of service?" Father O'Grady chimed in.

"I need to use the library in the rectory for a few hours to do some reading," Virgil asked. "Then I was hoping that you could tell me what you know about Sister Perkins of the Open Arms Soup Kitchen."

"Of course you can use the library," responded Father O'Grady. "Let's walk there now because I am due at confession shortly. I hope when you are finished that we can discuss what it is that you are seeking."

"I would like nothing more than to gain from your knowledge, but until I do some reading of my own, it would be but a one-sided lecture as opposed to a discussion" chuckled Virgil.

The two men proceeded down a long stone hallway lined with the stations of the cross until reaching a security door. Virgil had used this library before, but he always hated seeing how the metal door and associated keypad marred the tradional architecture of the church's interior.

Sign of the time we live in, when even a house of faith requires security.

"I'll check on you in a few hours and will ponder your question about Sister Perkins. Have a good day Nicholas," spoke the old priest.

Virgil hung up his coat and sat down at one of the computer terminals.
Time to get to work . .

[Sedna]

2105 January 2, 2063 - at Teaser Rat's

So it hadn't been about to explode into violence at the Last Drop after all. Anne still wasn't quite sure how it hadn't exploded into violence. Even Mouse had been prepared for something to happen, for someone to be too quick off the trigger. There had been absolutely no love lost between the cops sitting outside and the mobster. There had been tension. There had been a moment when she had been absolutely certain someone was going to do something unfortunate ... but somehow it never happened, and the mobster left, and life went on.

She'd made it here a couple of minutes late, at least in part because she couldn't find the place. Boarded up, a couple of broken windows: she'd really thought it was deserted. Maybe she'd have been on time had she run that last block ... but, somehow, that hadn't seemed a particularly good idea while carrying a concealed, unregistered Predator.

The one-eyed dwarf barely glanced at her as he waved her over. "Well, get on with it, girl! Time's nuyen."

"She said you'd be expecting --"

"Ctchaa! Alleycat, right? I'm the Teaser, but that shouldn't be no surprise. And you're carrying so obvious I'm amazed you weren't stopped. If I was amazed any longer about anything in this whole world. Which I'm not. Well, frag, girl, you just going to stand there, or are you going to draw the thing? It doesn't bite -- much."

She drew it, then gave it over to him when he began to tap his foot impatiently. "Well, well, I see Hobbes's done her usual good job. Like that's a surprise. Well girl, you just going to sit on those clips all day or are you going to show me how to load it?"

At one and the same time he seemed to expect her to know everything and nothing about the weapon she was handling -- and yet somehow in there she was getting a detailed and incredibly condensed weapons safety overview and instruction that could probably have rivalled anything Lone Star had to offer. Only when he was absolutely satisfied she understood the relevant parts and could load and unload the clip even when seriously distracted -- including the extra bullet in the chamber -- did he shove her toward one of the target stalls.

"Er -- Teaser?" She waved her hand at the one next to where he had placed her. "Could I use that one instead?"

"What? Oh, sure. Ask if it's okay with the target before shooting at it too." Then added, "Fine, fine, whatever. Tank's not going to be in here shooting at his wife again anyway." At her half glance, "pictures! He sticks a picture of her up on his target before he goes at it. But he's out of town on biz, so go for it. And watch that recoil!"

[Kurukami]

1814 January 3, 2063 - at a counter, in a plywood stall, facing an open expanse with eyes closed.
Mood: trying to relax and let limbs move fluidly.

Breathe. Start by just... breathing.

Don't let the tension make your motions jerky. Keep breathing. Relax.

Feel that? That's a part of your arm, just like your hand. It is an extension of your hand. It's not something you just picked up off the countertop. It's warm, like flesh. You know what it can do, just as you know what your fingers can do. You'll know if you're doing something wrong, just like any other part of your body.

Ignore the noises around you. They do not distract you from using this part of your arm. Still breathing? Good.

Remember, exhale slowly as you lift your arm. Ready? Don't tense up. What does that part of your arm tell you? Go ahead and ask.

[WinterRat1]

1815 January 3, 2063 - at a counter, in a plywood stall, facing an open expanse with eyes closed.

Before she could pull the trigger again, the phone rang. It was Finch. "Sorry it took me a bit to get back to you. That Mr. Fan, or whoever is backing him, has tight security. I had to leave a message with a flunky, and they got back to me. I'm under the impression they'll be looking for both your skill sets, so be ready to bring your 'A' game. Good luck."

He disconnects, and lets Cheng get back to practicing, mulling over this new revelation in her mind.