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

[Morgannah]

19:38:26 Saturday 06 January 2063 - Los Angeles LTG

Slim took one last look at herself in the dressing room 'mirror,' admiring the simple cut of an iridescent trench-style dress that had been popular more than one hundred years ago, spinning around with a girlish flair before pausing to tilt her fedora dramatically over one eye. Shimmering fuscia hair tumbled down her back in stylish waves. The face was one she'd idolized from a very early age, purchased from the 'archives' at a dear price, indeed. In all, it was a look that was in perfect keeping with what Cosmo would wear, if given the chance.

This was her chance.

Twirling one last time on lime green stiletto heels before assuming Lauren Bacall's statuesque saunter, she took the tiny step that would put her right in front of Palatine.

[grendel]

19:41:33 Saturday 06 January 2063 - Los Angeles LTG

The digital columns guarding the entrance to Palatine disappear into the ground of the matrix, springing fully carved from the underlying information flow. Legionaries in full loraca segmentata stand idle, hard edged eyes raking over the icons flowing past. Cosmo touches her fedora in a moment of rare uncertainty and self-consciousness, standing on the step below the soldiers. The legionaries straighten, hands going to spatha. The pilus prior holds out his hand, though.

"You're early." The voice is quiet and urbane, at odds with his grizzled face. The soldiers stand aside, flanking the entrance hall into Palatine.

The interior gives the impression of torch-lit vastness, vaulted stone ceilings concealed by a haze of data. Figures fade in and out, clustering briefly about bronze braziers, trading megapulses of information like salt and coinage. One of them breaks away from its group, moving silently across the mosaic floor. As it approaches, Cosmo can see that it's a pale humanoid figure, faceless, with only the barest of shadows to suggest eyebrows and a nose. Its dressed in a simple leather jerkin and boots.

"Punctuality is an admirable quality. I've been expecting you. They call me Oracle."

[Morgannah]

19:42:57 Saturday 06 January 2063 - Los Angeles LTG

Cosmo was much too accomplished to appear stunned, though she did pause as she glanced at Oracle, head tilted to one side.

"A pleasure, Oracle, and thank you for agreeing to meet on such short notice. I trust our friend has appraised you of why I'm here?"

[grendel]

19:43:11 Saturday 06 January 2063 - Los Angeles LTG

Oracle shook its head.

"No, he said only that you wanted a meeting and required information. He said it had something to do with otaku. Perhaps you would like to go somewhere private to talk?"

The figure gestures, and a doorway appears out of the smoke.

[Morgannah]

19:43:28 Saturday 06 January 2063 - Los Angeles LTG

The lack of control she had at the moment was unnerving, a slow-moving chill across the fabric of her reality. It was not how she would have preferred to proceed but if this .. person was a friend of Tino then it was more than likely he could be trusted. To a point.

"That is enough for now," she smiled, heading toward the door with a relaxed stride that wasn't quite her own. "And yes, a place to talk would be lovely."

[grendel]

19:44:02 Saturday 06 January 2063 - Los Angeles LTG

Oracle steps through the doorway gesturing Cosmo to follow. The space revealed is a balcony on a palazzo, overlooking a busy street. Noises, indistinct from the distance, rise up in a curtain, isolating them from surveillance. Oracle spares a glance for the surroundings before turning its faceless visage to her.

"Now, what can I do for you?"

[Morgannah]

19:44:40 Saturday 06 January 2063 - Los Angeles LTG

Cosmo paused again, considering where, exactly, to begin.

"I'm curious about a lot of things, Oracle, and I could likely stand here and pick your brain for days without asking the same thing twice. Mostly, though, I need to know about an organization that's using a military hierarchy with a group of Otaku as their lieutenants. Does that sound like anything you've heard about recently?"

"Otaku." She strode over to rest one elbow on the balcony, peering into the crowded streets below. "I know it's a broad subject, but what can you tell me about them?"

[grendel]

19:44:55 Saturday 06 January 2063 - Los Angeles LTG

"Children of the Matrix."

Oracle pauses, seeming to collect its thoughts.

"No one is sure where they come from, or how it is that they gain their abilities. Of the otaku that have spoken openly, there appears to be no consensus among them, either. What is known is that they seem to be able to manipulate the form and function of the matrix at will, without requiring electromechanical interfaces and constructs. It goes without saying that this provides them an innate superiority at navigating matrix nodes and networks."

"Otaku tend to band together in hierarchical organizations known as tribes. They are almost directly analogous to the various gangs that populate the sprawl in reality. Tribal politics are dominated by the passions of the otaku, who are, despite their abilities, still children."

"Most tribes are very private, almost to the point of xenophobia. Otaku have been viciously exploited by the corporate world, resulting in a fanatical sense of secrecy and protection on the part of the tribes. Many of them feature strong anti-corporate leanings, and have been known to aid both revolutionaries and runners in their efforts against corporations."

[Morgannah]

19:45:38 Saturday 06 January 2063 - Los Angeles LTG

Nodding slowly as Oracle's words washed over her, she glanced over at him, still puzzled.

"Are the instances of any sort of long term contact with those not otaku likely? Or, more appropriately, would an otaku tribe, a group of gifted children, intergrate themselves as part of a hierarchy that included people not of 'their' world?"

Cosmo's eyes narrowed slightly.

"And if so .. would they answer to someone that was not otaku?"

[grendel]

19:47:11 Saturday 06 January 2063 - Los Angeles LTG

"It's possible. There's been cooperation before, but not on what you might consider a 'long term' basis. Most likely it would be dictated by what this outside force or forces could offer the tribe."

Oracle shrugged.

[Morgannah]

19:48:24 Saturday 06 January 2063 - Los Angeles LTG

"How large is the typical Otaku tribe? What would you consider appropriate incentive for a broad-scale operation?"

No easy answers yet, dammit.

[grendel]

19:48:50 Saturday 06 January 2063 - Los Angeles LTG

"The typical tribe is anywhere from ten to thirty individuals. As for incentive, I would imagine that it would vary based on tribe. In general, one could conjecture that an otaku tribe would bargain its services in return for goods or services it could not provide for itself. Why are you asking about this?"

Throughout the conversaion, Oracle's voice has not appreciably changed inflection, nor has its expression varied from what Cosmo has interpreted as respectful curiosity.

[Morgannah]

19:49:37 Saturday 06 January 2063 - Los Angeles LTG

Cosmo merely smiled, shrugging.

Know your enemy and know yourself; in a hundred battles, you will never be defeated. When you are ignorant of the enemy but know yourself, your chances of winning or losing are equal.

"If ignorant both of your enemy and of yourself, you are sure to be defeated in every battle."

"Suffice it to say, for now, that I need information. Tell me, Oracle, are you available to answer questions that are somewhat more pointed? Perhaps carry out some research? If the answer is 'no,' I'll thank you for your time and not involve you any further. If 'yes,' .. we can negotiate appropriate compensation."

Caska, I'm so sorry. You should have never been part of this, and now .. Spirits, I hope you're all right.

[grendel]

19:50:18 Saturday 06 January 2063 - Los Angeles LTG

Cosmo is under the impression that Oracle smiles.

"My primary purpose is as a research tool. You may employ my skills for a modest price and we can establish a regular meeting schedule. Or you may deliver a list of specific questions you desire answers to and I will contact you when I have a sufficiently detailed report. In either case, the cost is proportional to the time required to arrive at answers which satisfy you."

[Morgannah]

19:50:56 Saturday 06 January 2063 - Los Angeles LTG

Primary purpose .. research tool. Cost based on time spent rather than danger to life and limb. Has Oracle stated anything but fact? Why is this place so ..

Cosmo might as well have been on another planet for all she understood in Oracle's bearing and choice of words. Either he (it?) was a more accomplished actor than she was, or .. she wasn't sure, but she definitely recognized a script when she heard one.

"A short list and we will go from there."

"First, I have a list of serial numbers to identify with projections as to what these items, together, could be used to create."

"Second, there is an organization employing otaku to oversee meatbody operators in Los Angeles. The group is well-funded and with otaku in the equation, I'd assume they'd have a strong presence here. The name Kald may be of assistance as it's a title some of the otaku are using. I need any information you can procure on this subject but specifically who they are taking orders from, and why."

"Third." She looks at her folded hands. "Vessel registration number: N41335. Who does this cruiser belong to? Two children were on board yesterday. Who were they?"

"Fourth. I'm looking for someone but he may be difficult to find. His alias here, or one of them, was HardBitten. Last contact was October 29th, 2061."

"Can you help with these?"

[grendel]

19:51:44 Saturday 06 January 2063 - Los Angeles LTG

"Twenty four hours of research. Two days work. Fifteen hundred base price. An extra five hundred for any restricted databases that I must consult in pursuit of your answers."

Oracle replies, its expression unchanged by the revelations Cosmo has made in her questions.

[Morgannah]

19:52:16 Saturday 06 January 2063 - Los Angeles LTG

Cosmo nodded.

"Done. Contact me at this LTG when you have finished to arrange payment and delivery. It was a pleasure, Oracle."

[grendel]

19:52:39 Saturday 06 January 2063 - Los Angeles LTG

"Of course. Fortune's favor upon you."

Oracle bows, a semi-formal gesture, before disappearing in a rain of smoke.

[grendel]

21:48:13 Saturday 06 January 2063 - Shatter, 2815 Juneau St, Downtown, Seattle

Mackenzie tilted her head back and let the rest of the zombie slide down her throat, the burn of the alcohol competing with the burn of the eX through her veins. The industrial scream of Dhampir thrummed in her chest, a primal heartbeat that made her muscles itch to move, to bend, to hurt.

In front of her the dance floor of Shatter writhed like a living organism, bodies sheathed in gleaming latex, leather, and chrome twisting together in a frenzied orgy of passion, fueled by the electronic anthem blazing from the speaker piles. Ordinarily Mac would be out there among them, her hips twisting in time to the music, her hands drawing other, eager hands to her body, reveling in the rough caresses of the mob.

Tonight as a little different, though. Tonight she needed cash. The thought cooled her blood a little, her eyes refocusing on the prospects that leaned against the railing as she did. Her slow, subtle break-up with Wayne was proceeding according to her plan, but it was proving to be more expensive than she anticipated. The petty theft and scamming that built her initial nest egg was dropping off now that she wasn’t taking as many clients at The Stable. But if she took more clients, then she wouldn’t be able to devote the time she wanted to developing her other, more professional skills. It was a Catch-22 that she hadn’t quite worked her way out of yet.

Turning away from the floor, she set her empty glass on the railing and strode through the crowd. She’d been watching the watchers for the better part of half an hour now, and with the practiced eye of a veteran had picked her target. He was alone, having entered and remained that way for the entire time, broad shouldered with a full head of dark hair. His outfit said money, but didn’t scream wannabe, the leather pants and boots broken in without being scuffed and worn. Mac had quickly ID’d the commlink on his wrist as being one of the expensive TranSys models as well, and his glasses were brand new Iris Multi-views.

Smiling to herself, she pulled the wad of cherry bubblegum she’d been popping out of her mouth, sticking it beneath the table she was passing by, before rolling her shoulders back and exaggerating the roll of her hips.

It wasn’t hard, her thigh high stiletto boots, all black leather and chrome with their twenty centimeter heels and five centimeter platforms already pushed her hips forward. Placing a foot in front of the other, though, let the curve of her hips sway out even more. After only a few steps, she found his eyes on her, and smiled at him, preening beneath his gaze. She looked good and she knew it. The latex she wore left little to the imagination, a black V of panties that emphasized her hips and the rounded globes of her ass, while the transparent bra featured a pair of black X’s over her nipples. Over that was her fishnet teddy, more a shadow on her flesh than actual clothing. And she finished the outfit with a black leather collar festooned with rings and spikes.

Mac closed the last distance between her and her mark, sliding her body across his, inhaling the mixture of leather, sweat, and cologne that sloughed from his skin.

“Hey, sugar. You a good boy looking for a bad girl?”

Her mark smiles, an expression that twists his face into something unpleasant and feral. The warning bells go off in the back of Mac’s mind, but in her present state of eX fueled adrenaline, they only intensified her arousal.

Oh, this is gonna be fun!

“Naw, sweet thing. I’m a bad man looking for a bad girl.”

Mac pressed her body against his, feeling the bulk of his muscles beneath the compression shirt he wore, feeling his hand come to rest on her hip.

“Ooooo, those are the magic words, sugar. You down to party?”

The hand curves around to grope and maul one rounded cheek of her ass, the punishing grip ratcheting her higher on the pleasure scale. His eyes were a matte black, unreadable in the laser-lit half-light.

“I party pretty hard, little girl. You sure you can handle me?”

Mac slid a hand down his chest to where she could give his groin an answering squeeze. The bulk that filled her hand hinted at a pleasurable interlude ahead. She grinned.

“Those are the magic words, big boy. Gotta place in mind?”

He shrugged. “Anywhere’s fine. I bring the party.”

I’ll bet you do, sneered her mind while her mouth said “we’ll c’mon then, big boy. Let’s ditch this dive for some place private.”

Grabbing his hand, Mac lead him towards the front door, pausing only to retrieve her longcoat from the check before sliding into the passenger seat of his Westwind.

22:18:47 Saturday 06 January 2063 – Room 32C, Studio Milan, 5151 Castleton Way, Renton, Seattle

Mac thrust the naked swell of her ass back towards Platt, glancing over her shoulder as she knelt on all fours on the bed.
“C’mon, big boy, don’t keep me waiting.” Arching her back, she tossed her hair back, wetting her lips in preparation for her usual coitus commentary of ”oh baby, oh yeah, give it to me hard, yeah, unh, yeah, feels so good, baby, yeah!”. Her mouth could repeat variations of the inane babble while her mind was free to contemplate other, more distant, more important concerns than whatever sweaty body happened to be pressed against hers. She felt his hands slip around her waist, and grinned, readying herself for the inevitable.

What she didn’t expect was to find herself flying through the air. Mac let out a squawk of surprise and anger, hitting the wall painfully off balance. She staggered to her feet, going for the lamp on the bedside instead of for the door like she should have. Platt was on her before she’d taken a step.

“You ready, little girl? Ready for the hard party?”

His fist bounced Mac’s head off the wall hard enough to draw a series of jagged lines across her vision. She wove beneath his arms, shooting an elbow towards his groin. He took the shot squarely, laughing.

Mac realized she was in deep drek.

His knee collided with her shoulder, sending her into the wall again, and she came off the blow, fingers curled into claws, gouging for his eyes. Platt wrenched his head away, torquing his torso around to bring an elbow followed by an open hand slap. Mac slid away from the first, but caught the second full on her cheek. Amidst the sudden ringing in her ear, she tasted blood.

She couldn’t keep up with his speed, reeling backwards as he slammed a meaty fist into her ribs, twice, three times. She heard something pop, which she assumed was one of her bones, before losing a solid minute. She came back up lying on the floor, her vision hazy and out of focus. He must have hit her head again because her right eye refused to open.
She felt him close by, kneeling in front of her, his hand pulling her chin up, forcing her to look at him.

“Wakey, wakey! This is the party, you fraggin’ whore!”

Mac spit a gobbet of blood into his face. Platt grinned, standing. He stomped on her kidney as she lay on the floor, wringing the first scream of pain from her mouth. Winding a hand in her hair, he dragged her across the floor before flinging her against the bed.

Mac felt him kneel behind her. Final-fraggin-ly her mind supplied. In a moment he’d be done with the fragging and, in that moment of inevitable relaxation, she would find a way beneath his guard. And he’d be sorry.

She grunted at the first forcing violation, the beating had robbed her of her earlier arousal. His arms were around her neck suddenly, and she clawed at his skin frantically. The iron of his grip didn’t loosen as it remorselessly crushed her windpipe.

“That’s right, whore, struggle. Fight me. Fight for your life. Because I’m going to frag you to death. That last thing you’ll feel is my cock inside you before I break your neck.”

Mackenzie panicked, lashing out with what little strength she had left, her eyes wide as she struggled to breathe. Already she could see the gray at the edges of her vision, already she could feel the pounding in her temples as her body fought for oxygen. Platt’s laughter filled her ears, and she summoned the last breath of her body to curse the rotten world one final time.

Movement at the corner of her vision surprised her, and she felt the grip around her throat loosen. A sound akin to a sledgehammer meeting a watermelon reached her ears, and something wet sprayed across her back. She slumped to the floor, gasping for air, as bodies struggled nearby. In her oxygen starved view all she could see was an arm rising and falling, and light glittering off chrome and droplets of crimson.

More movement, footsteps rushing into the room.

“Jesus Christ!” A woman’s voice. “Goddamnit, Kovacs!”

“He was about to kill her. Calm the frag down. Get me some trashbags and bleach.” A man’s voice, strong, in command. A woman screaming.

“Christ. Heaven, shut the frag up! Go downstairs and get some trashbags. Louise! Cleaning supplies in the closet at the bottom of the stairs. Bleach and a mop. Oh, frag. Get Samsara up here fast. This girl’s in a world of hurt.”

Hands on her body, helping her sit up. Pain. All her world was pain.

“Easy girl, easy, we’re not going to hurt you, it’s okay.”

“Help me wrap him up.” The man again. “Somebody better go untie Emily, too. I’m going to take a shower. Get those trashbags on him before he starts to leak. I’ll dump the body once I’ve cleaned up.”

“Get the system card out of his commlink and flush it! We can wipe the rest of it and give it to Jorge. Sam, get over here with that first aid kit. He really worked her over.”

“’m fine,” slurred Mac, trying to sit up. Gentle hands held her down.

“You’re not fine, girl, just take it easy, let sweet Sam help you out.” The voice was soothing, but undercut by worry. Mac resisted only briefly before letting them lie her back on the bed. Whispers reached her, and she struggled to listen.

“Jesus, look at her jaw.”

“Look at her ribs!”

“That bastard, he got what he deserved.”

“Hand me the gel wipes, we’ve got to get her cleaned up.”

Mac wanted to tell them she would be all right. She was tough, a survivor. But the darkness swam up and swallowed her.

17:32:29 Sunday 07 January 2063 – Room 14A, Studio Milan, 5151 Castleton Way, Renton, Seattle

Awareness returned slowly and painfully. Mac opened her eyes, or at least she tried to. Her right was still swollen painfully shut. Her left cast about the dimness of the room for some indication of where she was. She didn’t realize she’d moaned aloud until the woman seated next to her bed closed the book she’d been reading and leaned over.

“Well, well, sleeping beauty awakes. Here.” She offered a glass of water with a straw for Mac holding it steady as she drank gratefully, her lips and mouth parched and dry. Her throat spasmed as she tried to swallow, though, sore from the brutal choke hold Platt had almost killed her with. She fought to keep the water down.

“Where am I?” she croaked. The woman set the glass of water down, seating herself on the bed next to where Mac lay. She was older, mid to late forties, but possessed of striking features which must have been beautiful in her younger years. Black hair was pulled back from her face in a tight pony-tail, revealing strong, aristocratic lines. Her eyes, though, spoke volumes. They had the world-weary gaze of someone who has seen too much at too young an age, of someone who has borne more than her fair share of hardships and heartaches. Mac knew that gaze well. She, herself, was well on the way to possessing it.

“Studio Milan still. My room, though.” The woman quirks a smile. “I’m Linda.”

“Josie,” replied Mac. The woman’s eyes told her she knew Mac was lying.

“Nice to meet you, Josie. How are you feeling?”

“Like I tangoed with an Ares Roadmaster,” replied Mac working up the courage to take an inventory on her injuries. She didn’t like what she felt. Linda chuckled.

“That’s not far from the truth. You’re in pretty bad shape. One of my girls is good with a medkit and she patched you up as best she could, but you’re not in any condition to be up and about. I think you should rest here for a couple more days. I’ll have Megan come in with some food in a while. The bathroom is right around the corner if you need it, there are fresh towels in there if you’d like to shower up as well.”

Linda stands, retrieving her book from the nightstand.

“If you need anything, I’m right outside.”

[Vegas]

17:58:02 Sunday 07 January 2063 – Room 14A, Studio Milan, 5151 Castleton Way, Renton, Seattle

“Thank you.” She managed to squeak out softly two simple words before Linda left the room that didn’t even begin to cover the debt she owed these people, these strangers who saved her life.

Mac tried to take it all in, every breath drew pain from multiple locations that made it hard to think. She blinked back the fogginess that threatened to force her to rest as she took stock of her injuries. Her eyes moved around the room, before resting on her hands, specifically her fingertips that were full of broken nails and remnants of dried blood.

With a grimace and an audible groan she raised her hand to her head and ran her fingers through her hair, ragged nails catching individual hairs before getting caught in a matted and tangled mess. The odor of dried blood lingered around her and she wasn’t sure if it was all hers. A wave of nausea washed over her as the memory of the sickening sound of bone and skin shattering overwhelmed her as she closed her eyes.

”Shower, first. Decisions second."

It took all her strength to swing her legs over the edge of the bed and each step she took to the very nearby bathroom felt like it would bring her to her knees.

Her hands trembled as she turned the faucets in the shower to as hot as it could go. Steam quickly filled the room and coated the mirror saving Mac a view of her bruised and beaten body. She slipped out of the generic boxers and t-shirt she had been wearing and stepped into the stream of hot water and for the first time since she woke, she felt a sense of calm and that she was “safe,” for now.

It felt like she was in the shower forever and yet when she stepped out, she still didn’t feel clean. She wrapped herself up in what was an amazingly fluffy and soft towel and shuffled like an 85-year old woman back to the bed.

She had just made her way back under the sheets when there was a soft but firm knock upon the door.

[grendel]

18:00:43 Sunday 07 January 2063 – Room 14A, Studio Milan, 5151 Castleton Way, Renton, Seattle

Mac had a sudden and irrational urge to cover herself with the blankets, hiding away the worst of her wounds from whomever was at the door. She grinned ruefully at herself, the corners of her mouth sticking painfully. These girls had seen her naked and beaten on the floor, there wasn't anything left for her to hide.

The door cracked open, admitting a head of bouncing strawberry blonde curls surrounding cornflower blue eyes and a cute button nose.

"Hello? Josie? Can I come in?"

Mac motioned the girl in, her voice still nothing more than a hoarse whisper. The girl swung the door wide to admit the tray she was carrying before closing it softly behind her. She was several centimeters taller than Mac even though she wore only a pair of white sneakers, yoga pants, and a loose sweatshirt that did nothing to conceal the heavy swell of her breasts. Her smile, though, was bubbly and genuine.

"Hey, you're looking better. How do you feel?" She set the tray on the nightstand and sat on the edge of the bed.

"I've seen better days," whispered Mac, feeling the sting of tears at the corner of her eyes. She could be honest with herself in front of another working girl, in a way that she couldn't in front of the madam who ran this brothel.

"Aw, sweetie, it'll be all right. I'm Sam, by the way." Sam held out her hand and Mac shook it.

"Nice to meet you, Sam."

"I've brought you some miso and a bottle of water," Sam gestured to the covered bowl on the nightstand, beaming at Mac like she was her long lost sister. "Ellie made it herself. She makes the best miso. You'll love it, I promise!"

[Vegas]

18:03:15 Sunday 07 January 2063 – Room 14A, Studio Milan, 5151 Castleton Way, Renton, Seattle

A soft and genuine smile played on Mac’s lips as Sam was just genuinely happy and caring about her wellbeing. There was an unspoken kinship of sorts between working girls that was almost universal, even with your direct competition.

“Tell Ellie thank you too.”

Truth was, the smell, even from the covered bowl was making her mouth water. She couldn’t remember when she ate last and by the looks of the remnants of the hazy sun that was lingering on the horizon she’d been here for a while. Whether that was one day, or more, she wasn’t quite sure and was almost afraid to ask. She felt cold, chilled to the bone and warm soup sounded like the perfect remedy to fight that lingering icy grip her near-death had on her.

A shaky hand reached over to the bottle of water and she took a sip of the liquid, the iciness of the water soothed her damaged throat temporarily. She felt vulnerable, after her brush with death, and that was a new sensation for her to deal with. She wanted to, no, needed to feel “safe” and staying here wasn’t exactly what she had in mind.

Too many questions, too few answers.

Her contemplative silence had given Sam the impression it was time to leave her new friend to rest and eat. Sam was almost to the door when Mac looked up and called out to her.

“Sam, the man…” she hesitated and Sam stopped in her tracks. “Who is he?”

She needed to know. She needed to know just how big of a debt she was going to owe when she was able to walk out of Studio Milan.

[grendel]

18:05:29 Sunday 07 January 2063 – Room 14A, Studio Milan, 5151 Castleton Way, Renton, Seattle

Sam paused at the door, turning back to Mac with a moment of confusion on her face.

"Hmm? The man? Oh, Kovacs! He's a rope top. He comes over to work with Emily. They kinda have a thing, ya know?"

Sam flipped her hand around in a casual manner to try and convey what she understood about a relationship that was probably a bit more complex.

"He's cool, I don't know him that well, though. He was in the military or something like that. Linda knows him better."

She smiled brightly at Mac.

"It was a good thing he got suspicious and checked out all the noise you were making. Somebody must have been looking out for you."

[Vegas]

18:06:02 Sunday 07 January 2063 – Room 14A, Studio Milan, 5151 Castleton Way, Renton, Seattle

A genuine soft smile played on Mac's lips, but a mischievous glint danced in her eyes as she nodded sagely.

"So that's his kink, good to know."

"Yeah, very good thing. I don't suppose you'd ask Linda if there was any way I could thank him, y'know...in person?"

[grendel]

18:26:38 Sunday 07 January 2063 – Room 14A, Studio Milan, 5151 Castleton Way, Renton, Seattle

Sam bobs her head happily, the mass of curls bouncing in time to the movement.

"Sure thing!"

Favoring Mac with one last smile she ducked out, closing the door behind her. With a sigh Mac worked herself upright, bunching the pillows behind her to provide a backrest. Leaning over, she carefully lifted the tray from the nightstand and set it on her lap. The muscles along her ribs and shoulders grated painfully, and she knew that it would take the better part of a week for the knots of bruises to loosen up.

Uncovering the bowl released a cloud of steam that swirled around her head, bearing the delicious aroma of miso and spring onions. Mindful of the temperature, Mac spooned some up and sipped it carefully. The hot broth was like manna from heaven, soothing her wounded throat and infusing her body with strength. She slurped greedily at it, constantly having to pace herself in order to prevent burning her mouth.

Finished with the soup, she opened the bottle of water and drank thoughtfully. She wasn't quite sure what her next move was going to be. A knock at the door interrupted her thoughts, and she sat up again as Linda poked her head in to make sure she was awake before entering and closing the door behind her.

"I see your appetite has survived," she remarked, setting the empty bowl on the nightstand so that she could sit at the foot of the bed. "Sam says you wanted to talk to me?"