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

[paul_HArkonen]

1210 Saturday, January 6, 2063 - On the road

(...From Salvation)

As he leaves he dials Max's number on his cell. "Hey, Max, It's Blaze."

"What can I do for you?"

"Last night I found the spot that Melissa had been hiding out in, but she was gone when I arrived. There was signs of a struggle and the place was pretty badly burned, looked like elemental work, and the Astral confirmed it. I need to find her, quickly. So I'd like you to keep your ear to the ground and find out who has out a job on her. I'll assume you still have the record of the info on her I gave you last time." Max would, he is the biggest Pack Rat Blaze knows, at least he is when it comes to information. "I also think it may have been either set up, or planned in the Paradigm Shift. As soon as you know something please let me know."

"Alright. You know the two of us really need to sit down and just chat sometime, not biz or anything else, just about life. Maybe find you some nice Chica."

"Funny you should mention that... We really should find some time to just talk. I'll give you a call when I get a chance to sleep and a break, it's been a long night."

"Alright, take care of yourself and give me a call when you find the time."

"I'll see you later Max." With that Blaze hangs up on his only real family. How long has it been since I've found time to just sit back, relax, spend time with Max or even with a chica? Maybe I'll get a chance after I find Melissa and finish this run.

[WinterRat1]

10:06:53 Sunday 07 January 2063 – Redmond Free-People's Housing Co-op

Heading back downstairs, John meets Judi at the door again. "Any luck Judi?," he asks. The ork shakes her head sadly. "Looks like a clue, maybe several, that's for sure, but this poor old woman ain't smart enough to figure it out. I'll remember what you told me though, and keep my eyes peeled and my ears open. I hear anything, I'm coming to you first chum."

John smiles. He hadn't expected much, but it was nice to know she still cared enough to try to help.

"Thanks, I'll see you around," he answers as he exits the co-op and into the gently falling snow. He had nothing more than a name, and maybe a place to find his niece. But he was going to find her. That much was for certain. He wouldn't, couldn't, let his family down again.

[Scrapheap]

17:03:43 Sunday 07 January 2063 – Redmond Center Mall, 6th Floor Food Court, Canfield's Cyber-Cafe

"Hey, chummer. I messed up this order, figured I'd see if you wanted it before I dumped it. Double mocha soy-latte. Interested?"

Scrapheap glanced up from the monitor he'd been staring at for the last 45 minutes. Standing next to his table was a beautiful elven girl, synth-leather-clad hip cocked, paper coffee cup thrust in his direction. He'd seen her when he came in of course, she was hard to miss, but that was from afar. Up close was another matter altogether. Long auburn hair framed a beautiful face, her pointed ears just peaking through on the sides. Shockingly green eyes stared out at him, full lips quirked in a half-smile. Simply put: she was stunning. He realized he'd been staring when she said, "Well? What do you say?"

Quickly checking her name-tag, he smiled back. "Sure thing, Kaitlyn. That'll really hit the spot. Let me know if I can do anything to repay you..."

She sat the cup down next to the keyboard, picking up the empty one already there. "Nul persp, mister. Just remember to tip." With a jangle of bracelets she turned and walked away to check on another customer. He watched her go, hair spilling down her back in lustrous waves almost to to point where her tight, sleeveless top and lowrider synth-leather pants left her lower-back bare.

Mister!?! Ouch. Probably thinks you're some dirty old perv, chummer. S'ok, though. You've got more important things to do. She's hot though. Real wiz. With a final appreciative glance, he turned back to the monitor.

He was waiting for the results of a very rudimentary search that he'd thrown together. His skillset didn't include much in the way of computers or programming, but his friend Finn had shown him a couple of tricks. He'd been trying to put those tricks to use here at this pay terminal, but the connection was so slow. He'd already tried a few different searches with no results so far. He did this knowing that the chances of finding anything useful on the public part of the matrix, especially with this turtle of a public terminal, were slim-to-none. Better than just setting here waiting for the phone to ring.

Scrapheap had spent the day walking all over Redmond looking for his niece, showing her picture to anyone who'd look. At first he had followed the same general path that Nora and her friends had taken the day that, many months previous, he had tailed them as they went on their daily "rounds." South and East from where the Co-op was located on the edge of Touristville, down side-streets and alleys, through abandoned buildings and across empty lots. The route led to some real drek-holes, including the Squatter's Mall and the old Taetzel Building, as well as your average, run-of-the-mill chip-houses. He knew that Nora was no angel, but he had a very hard time imagining her in some of those places, with some of those people. What has she gotten herself into?

Once, in the Squatter's Mall, he'd thought he was on to something. He was showing Nora's pic to a group of chipheads sitting around an empty fountain, when one of the raggedy fraggers had suddenly bolted. He'd given chase, the scene like something off of the trid, with the kid plowing into bystanders and running through shops. He even went so far as to pull merchandise down as he went to slow down the pursuit.

Despite the kid's best efforts, Scrapheap eventually caught him and, after a brief scuffle, he revealed that he hadn't seen Nora for a few weeks. He had claimed that he only ran because he assumed that John was Lonestar (Ha!), and he was dealing BTLs himself. Other than that, he didn't know anything useful. John tended to believe him too, as it was pretty hard to lie with the tip of a cyber-spur jammed into your ear.

John's path had eventually curved back around and headed North and then Northwest; a big loop. On the way he also hit every clinic and body-shop that he knew of, including Bob's Quick-Stitch, just to make sure Nora wasn't stuck as a "Jane Doe" patient somewhere. He skipped Hollywood Hospital though, as he gave that neighborhood a wide berth whenever possible. It was always smarter to avoid trouble.

Around 13:30 Finn had finally called: "Hoi, Johnny Standard! When'd you get back, chummer? How'd it go?"

"Last night/early this morning. The run went smooth; real clean. Listen, Finn. Nora's gone. She hasn't been home since New Year's Eve. Etta's really scared this time, and I have to say that for once I agree with her. It doesn't look good"

"Frag, John. What can I do?"

"She left a note, but it's pretty obvious that she couldn't say much at the time. It does contain a couple of things. Listen; I'll read it to you."

After listening intently while the note was read, Finn said "Ok, I got a few things. You want me to dig around on the Underworld and this Twiggy character, anything else?"

"Well, September Third is spelled-out, almost like a name instead of a date, so add that to the list. Underworld could mean Underworld 93. Know it? Get anything you can on that place too. Finally, check the hospitals and see if anyone matching her description has been admitted within the last week or so."

"Will do. I'll call you when I have something."

"Thanks, Finn. As if I didn't already owe you enough."

John was brought back to reality by the terminal's beeping. Glancing at the screen showed that his latest search had failed as well. Frag it! I can't even find an address. I've wasted enough time here. He pushed back his chair and stood, then reached over and took his credstick out of the slot on the terminal causing the screen to go into a standby mode. Pulling a few bills out of his pocket for the tip, he tossed them on the table and grabbed his coffee. He quickly checked to make sure he had everything, then turned and walked out.

Turning out into the main area of the mall, he noticed a couple of mall-cops leaning against a column. As he walked past them towards the down escalator, he casually checked the reflection in a shop window. He wasn't surprised to see them push-off the column and follow. Security in the Redmond Center Mall was always tight, and he had to admit that he looked out of place. They wouldn't actually throw him out (he might have nuyen to spend!) but they would keep close watch.

Let them look, I'm leaving anyway. Question is, where to now, chummer? Etta will be calling in a couple of hours, and I still don't have anything to tell her. Should I check at Redmond General? It's not too far away. No, I'll wait for Finn's call. Maybe I should drop by the Eater's compound? Slim Jim will be around by now.

John continued his internal debate all the way to the exit. Pausing before the automated revolving doors, he pulled out a cigarette and lit it. Glancing up, he saw that the mall-cops were standing with arms crossed a few meters away, and they had found some friends. With a smile and a wave he said, "Nice mall you got here, chummers. Maybe I'll come back tomorrow too!" Stepping into the next opening, he allowed the revolving door to lead him outside into the snow and cold.

He dodged late-afternoon traffic as he crossed the street, narrowly avoiding becoming street-pizza. The driver laid into his horn. Hey, that guy thinks I'm number one! Ok, I'll visit Slim and the Brain Eaters first, then grab a bus to Puyallup. If Finn hasn't called by then, I'll just drop by Loveland Quinn's and see what's holding him up.

As if on cue, his cell phone started to ring...

[grendel]

23:04:10 Saturday 06 January 2063 - Apartment 875, Parkewood Village Apartments, Tacoma

"Weisenberg," said the bored sounding voice over the phone.

"They're shooting at me!" hissed Todd. Oddly enough, in his mad scramble beneath the bed, he'd found the extra bridge and wheel set for his skateboard he'd been looking for.

"Take it easy kid, your's wasn't the only PanicButton that went off, I've got the report in front of me now. There's an HTR Team on the way, just keep your head down and you'll do fine."

Even as Barry reassured him, Todd could hear the wail of sirens growing steadily louder. Now that he listened, he also heard a slow, rhythmic tapping against his door. It was very faint, as if someone could barely muster the strength to knock.

[Ecclesiastes]

23:04:15 Saturday 06 January 2063 - Apartment 875, Parkewood Village Apartments, Tacoma

Whispering, Todd replies, "Someone is knocking on my door... I think whoever it is is hurt."

Slowly, Todd makes his way out from under the bed and over towards his door to look through the peephole.

[grendel]

19:54:02 Friday 05 January 2063 - Seattle, UCAS

"Now why would you assume that?" asked Tanisa, a playful smile dancing across her lips. "Couldn't Mioko have friends outside of work? Like you?"

"Stop it, Tanisa." Mioko turned to shoot her friend a look over her shoulder. Tanisa smiled, angelic innocence written all over her face. After a moment she sighed.

"I'm a freelance troubleshooter. I handle miscellaneous tasks that loosely fall under the heading of corporate security."

[grendel]

23:04:25 Saturday 06 January 2063 - Apartment 875, Parkewood Village Apartments, Tacoma

"Well whatever you do, don't open the door." Barry's voice is emphatic on the phone. Todd peers through the peephole, set at half the usual height so he can reach it without standing on a stepstool. Whoever was outside was blocking the viewport, though. Glancing down, Todd stares in horrified surprise. Blood is seeping through the crack beneath the door into his apartment.

[Ecclesiastes]

23:04:45 Saturday 06 January 2063 - Apartment 875, Parkewood Village Apartments, Tacoma

"Uhh... oh man... so much blood. Do your people know where to come? Oh man!"

Todd slowly backs away from the door, staring at the blood with eyes wide in terror. Images from the Arcology threaten to flood his brain, but he can't even focus his thoughts enough to pay attention to them. A tear starts to make its way down his cheek and a slightly, held back sob escapes his lips.

[grendel]

23:05:03 Saturday 06 January 2063 - Apartment 875, Parkewood Village Apartments, Tacoma

A harsh chuckle sounds over the phone.

"Trust me, kid, they know. They're professionals."

The hall suddenly fills with armored shock troops, harsh white light from their weapon lights stabbing through the dimness. Radio traffic crackles over helmet tactical comms as support units cordon off the area. Lost in the nightmare realm of unholy blue eyes and mechanical demons, Todd barely hears the pounding on his door.

"Lone Star! Open the door, citizen!"

[WinterRat1]

17:08:43 Sunday 07 January 2063 – Redmond Center Mall, 6th Floor Food Court, Canfield's Cyber-Cafe

Answering he says, "Hey." The voice on the other end is familiar, and brings him at least some relief. "Hey Cole, it's me, Finn."

Slightly exasperated, "It's John these days Finn, come on, you know that."

"I know man, but sometimes I think you let this repentance stuff go a little far. You are who ya are, you know? Changing your name ain't gonna change that."

Finn means well, but sometimes his sense of timing...well it isn't so good. Knowing this could turn into a full-fledged conversation he did not have the time for, John cut off his friend and said, "OK Finn, we can have this discussion another time, maybe when I'm not searching for my missing niece."

Clearing his throat a bit sheepishly, Finn replies, "Right, right, my bad sense of timing. Yeah anyway, I got something for you. That name, Twiggy, kid is known to hang out at an arcade called Virtual Daze. It's located down in near Touristville in Redmond, so it shouldn't be too far from where you're at."

Pausing, Finn muttered to himself for a few moments, going through some notes, John guessed. "Yeah anyway, let's see. Short, skinny kid. Guess that's why them call him Twiggy. Got medium length, spiky hair, and oh yeah, he's an elf. Figure he stands around 5 and a half feet or so, thin lanky build. That's about all I could dig up on short notice was a description, but you shouldn't have any trouble spotting him. If he's not there, he frequents the joint a lot, so you should at least have a good place to start. Hope that's a start for ya, I'll keep looking, but you didn't give me much to turn up."

"Thanks chum. I appreciate it, I'll be in touch." About to hang up, John stops suddenly and asks, "Hey, what about that Underground 93 place or whatever, anything on that?

"Oh yeah! Almost forgot that one." The sound of a palm smacking flesh echoes over the phone. "It's at 4819 96th Avenue East down in Puyallup. It's one of the hottest clubs in the sprawl. I can't believe you haven't heard of it!"

Maybe if I hadn't spent the last several years in a self-pitying, drunken haze, I would have, and maybe gotten there sooner... John thought, but he kept that to himself. "Anything else you can tell me?" he opted for instead.

"Nothing you'd want to know. Hottest of the hot, only top tier acts, better be dressed to impressed, that kinda stuff. Honestly, I don't know what kind of connections Nora would have with a place like that, no offense, but you know?"

Yeah, she spent all her time zoned out and chipping to the max, but at least Finn's nice enough not to mention that part.

Aloud, John answered, "No, but I'm going to find out." He was about to break the connection when Finn cut in, "Hey omae, if she somehow is mixed up from someone from there, this could get way ugly quick, you know? Watch yourself."

"I will Finn. Thanks." And then John cut the connection, leaving him alone in the street with a rapidly increasing snowfall.

[Ecclesiastes]

23:05:13 Saturday 06 January 2063 - Apartment 875, Parkewood Village Apartments, Tacoma

It takes a second for Todd to shake off the nightmares screaming in his head. He can hear Barry saying something on the phone

"Huh?" Todd says after a moment of confusion.

"Open the door Todd, its ok, I already let me people know you're waiting for them." He sounded distressed. Barry had always looked out for him. Helped him get setup with this place, paid off security to keep a special eye on the boy, and didn't even ask Todd any questions about where his money had come from. Barry was like the dad he'd never had.

"Oh. Ok."

He opened the door.

[Sedna]

1456 Saturday, January 6th, 2063 - Puyallup Street Clinic

... Ring ..."

Hello, this is Inleat

"Hello, Inleat. It's Virgil. Remember that drink at the --"

-- Firefire," continued the squeaky recorded voice, "researcher at the Dunkelzahn Institute of Magical Research. I'm not available to take your call right now --"

Virgil sighed, waiting for the recording to play itself out, the mage's voice grating against the background headache. He wished Juliette were here. Someone had said something -- who? -- about her being off-shift, or just coming on shift maybe? He shook his head, half at the phone spieling out Inleat's long list of caller options, more than half at himself. He'd never tried breaking through persona conditioning before. Knowing what he knew now, he wasn't sure if he'd ever dare it again. If the building's healing aura had decided that he was doing more harm than good, if that unexpected surge of power hadn't flowed into him at exactly the moment when the woman had almost succeeded in thrusting him out entirely --

"If's" were no use to a warrior, not unless there was something to be learned for the future.

"-- leave a message."

Finally. "Inleat," he said quickly, "this is Virgil. I --"

And for the second time found himself cut off as the phone on the other end was abruptly picked up: "Virgil! I just was trying to call you, but first I couldn't get through, and then your line was busy. And this connection is terrible -- where are you calling from? I know we had a date, my friend, but that investment opportunity will just have to wait. Can I get back to you to arrange a better time?"

Even though it was exactly what he'd been intending to do himself, the shaman hesitated. Inleat's planned calendar events, especially those involving an upscale meal, were very nearly sancrosanct. "Your other engagement and my investment opportunity," he said carefully, "they wouldn't happen to be related, would they?"

A short silence at the other end of the line told him that Inleat was at least thinking about the idea. The last time that the Draco Foundation mage had arranged a bounty payout for him had involved a blood mage. The familiar watcher-elemental tactics at the burnt-out gaming house. Some kind of ebola which caused its victims to haemorrhage from their eyes, ears, mouth. And a young girl who spoke Latin and wept bloody tears.

I suppose it could be coincidence, but I don't trust coincidences. And I really don't like where this is heading.

"There is a girl," Inleat said at last, "who was a thirty-minute wonder in religious circles. Along with her guardian, she seems to have gone missing. Does this coincide with your proposed investment?"

Virgil glanced over at where Father Bremen was sitting with the woman. The troll looked up curiously, then returned his attention to Cindy. "Quite well, in fact," answered the shaman at last. "Although I've got to admit that I'm curious."

"I'm sorry, what?" asked Inleat. "You're breaking up."

"I'm curious," repeated Virgil more loudly, causing both of them to look up this time. No problems with the phone on this end. "She just doesn't seem important enough for the Draco Foundation to take such an interest in her." And why are you telling me?

"Well," and Inleat sounded almost embarrassed, "it's not so much the Draco Foundation as the ASPS."

The Astral Space Preservation Society? Looking for Julia? Why? But Virgil already knew the mage had told him as much as he was going to, without a deeper commitment. Hearing again the slight embarrassment, a smile threatened to break out. Inleat isn't thrilled about whatever's going on there in the background. It'd be interesting to see the kinds of interdepartmental territorial spats that could arise in something on the scale of what a dragon could set up. He reconsidered. Once. Reconsidered again. Maybe.

"And since you're mentioning it to me, I take it this investment is well worth our further discussion."

A sharp bang at the other end of the line startled him, until he remembered Inleat's simple solution to all problems mechanical. "Ah, that's better. Please, repeat?"

Virgil did so, shaking his head. Inleat knew his organisation, had a grasp for the most detailed thaumaturgical operations that the shaman could only admire; but, as if in balance, the simplest of technology seemed to go out of its way to complicate his life. And that of others around him: one reason why it was usually Virgil alone who made any arrangements necessary. After the last incident with the Savalette, Dragon had mentioned he was seriously considering never stepping into the same room with the man again.

"I would be most pleased if you would consider taking it on, my friend." And Inleat sounded pleased, which wasn't easy with that voice. "After all, you are uniquely qualified."

Drek. They do suspect a blood mage. "Do you have details?"

Something must have showed in his voice, for Inleat hurried to say, "You understand, my friend, that it probably won't have anywhere near the same ... bottom line ... as the last business venture we discussed. Most likely it will end up as a small grant from the foveae research division." Virgil's eyebrows rose, but he said nothing. "We will discuss this further over supper," concluded the mage. "Shall we reschedule, say, to 1800, same place? And may I tell the interested parties that I have a reliable team on retainer?"

The shaman nods, and adds verbally, "Yes, consider us tentatively invested."

"Us? Oh, you must mean the one who shared the proceeds of your previous ... investment."

Dragon came around the corner at that moment; and the shaman waved him to silence before he could say anything. "Tonight, 1800, same place then?"

"See you there, my friend. If you have been fortunate and have some early results, it may be that I might come appropriately prepared? This would be good for both of us. Some powerful parties have been expressing interest in this, and at least one of them has not approached us first." But before Virgil could ask anything further, the line cut off.

"Our associate?" asked Dragon, with a glance at the other two.

"None other," said Virgil. "We rescheduled, and came to a tentative agreement. Some interesting stuff, going on here. We'll talk about it later."

Sybersnake, coming in then, decided not to compete for space in the already crowded room and wait instead in the hall. "Virgil, you ready to take us in back? Who's coming along?"

Her gaze swept along the small group, picked up the small nods from most of them, the very sharp one from Tiffany, and the definite shake of the head from the woman. At that Father Bremen hesitated: "But I'd better, though. It's me she got in touch with first. But" -- he stared down at his large shoes -- "I really don't get all this 'hitching' stuff. It's just not my element. And --"

"You'll do fine," said Sybersnake quickly, probably not even aware that she'd turned her distinctive sensuality on a priest. "Come on, time's wasting, and I want to get clear of this place sometime today."

As he's leading them upstairs to the small back office which was all this place had of an administrative centre, Virgil remembered that the Latina, along with Dragon, had already seen the reporter's recording. Well, after we finish this meet, we bury ourselves somewhere for a while and just swap information. They said they were going to ask Galina if she had a deck and could we borrow it, and I'm guessing the answer's yes, to both. I wonder if she'd mind if we took a quick swing by Shadowland?

And then the small procession, plus strong-smelling troll, arrived at the office, and Sybersnake tentatively opened the door. "Hi, I'm Sybersnake. Galina said I could ..."

She trailed off. So very withdrawn the small Caucasian man had been, even Dragon, for a moment, had thought the office empty. He could have been a messenger, or a pizza boy, or a store clerk: and he'd have been just as unnoticeable in any of those professions. "Uhm, hi," began Sybersnake again. "I'm here to ... uh ..."

He didn't interrupt her, as she'd obviously been half-expecting. He hadn't even jacked out of whatever he was linked into. After it was clear she wasn't going to say anything else, he stood up politely, bowed to them deeply (and correctly), and beckoned them over. Eyes of no particular colour noted those who had jacks and those who didn't quickly and efficiently, while his hands had already snapping together leads and "tortoises" to something still unseen beneath the arc of the table -- "Please, pull up chairs for yourselves, find something comfortable; sir" -- to Father Bremen -- "maybe you had better use Galina's chair." Trailing cables from the half-open deep drawer, he pulled out the main unit to connect them in -- drawing Sybersnake's analytic gaze at once -- placing it beside the ugly flowering plant on what passed for a desk. Two blinks: that meant that what she saw was either exceptional or -- exceptional in the other way. Or maybe, that she couldn't make heads or tails of it. Remembering that this electronic equipment had somehow appeared in the middle of a Puyallup street-level clinic, remembering some of the stories he'd heard about Matrix runs gone very, very wrong: Virgil found himself fervently -- yes, praying for the former.

At least the man seemed to handle his equipment like he knew what he was doing. Sybersnake was staring at him, fascinated: "I've never seen anyone cross-connect their primary leads like that before!"

Okay, so that wasn't what Virgil really wanted to hear, at that moment; or, particularly, the dull drone which sounded like it might have been some kind of explanation -- in Japanese, for all the good it was doing any of the rest of them. "Uh, Sybersnake?"

"In a minute," she said absently, her full attention on the man and the contraption in front of her. "Is that a double jackpoint?"

The man half-bowed, smiling, in the way that suggested embarrassment at a warranted compliment. "Please," he indicated the chair he had been sitting in for her, with another half-bow. "Galina mentioned you needed to be at the Carousel for 1500, and we have not much time. Is this everyone?"

"This is," said Tiffany, her voice trailing off uneasily. "And you are?"

He bowed again. "Bob," he said simply. "I have seen your reports, including the most recent one."

"That's not mine!" retorted the reporter sharply ... and again found the rest of what she might have intended to say trailing off against Bob's quiet, "I know."

"Who are you?" asked Tiffany finally, in a much softer voice.

He looked at her quizzically. "Bob," he said again, colourlessly, and walked around the desk to check each of the connnections. "Have any of you not used these before?"

Father Bremen held up a tentative hand. The man moved like a wraith to his side -- not that he was silent or stealthy, just ... colourless -- and helped him fit the tortoise around the horns, explaining what was about to happen in a low voice that only Dragon could really make out. Virgil swallowed uncomfortably.

Finally, finishing, the man settled into the fifth chair, across from the flower on the desk. Dragon noted silently that he'd given Sybersnake the "decker's" chair. Father Bremen had unconsciously started fingering his rosary, a gesture echoed, curiously, by Virgil. "Hey," said Tiffany suddenly, "that plant. Is that an orchid?"

Her words were caught by the Matrix world which rose up before them.

Sucked in.

Vanished.

[grendel]

23:05:25 Saturday 06 January 2063 - Apartment 875, Parkewood Village Apartments, Tacoma

The massive HRT trooper fills Todd's narrow doorway, weapons and gear slung from his tac-vest. A larger pool of blood stains the hallway, dark beneath the portable halogen floods. A body lies secured to a stretcher, faceless beneath a sheet. Todd looks down in some surprise, he's stepped on something as he opened the door. The trooper doesn't notice, though.

"Hey, kid, you ok? Are your parents here?"

[Shadowrunner13]

19:55:06 Friday 05 January 2063 - Seattle, UCAS

Shitoki nodded. "Long arm of the law, huh? I bet you've run into some choice people through your job..." he says with a smirk.

Shitoki leaned forward in his seat in order to see around the SUV beside him, to check if it was safe to turn. Seeing it was, he merged into traffic, heading for the restaurant.

[Ecclesiastes]

Todd lookds down at his feat, them up at the trooper, then back down at his feat. "No... I'm here by myself right now..."

Todd looks back up at the trooper, his eyes starting to shine with the threat of more tears, "Is he gunna die? Did you get the shooter?"

[grendel]

23:05:37 Saturday 06 January 2063 - Apartment 875, Parkewood Village Apartments, Tacoma

The trooper is somewhat surprised by Todd's answer, as it's eleven o'clock at night on a Saturday. He glances around the apartment over Todd's head before common sense overrules any protective instinct. Hell, he didn't want to have to deal with the paperwork.

"Don't worry, kid, we'll take care of everything. Lock the door and don't open it for any strangers."

The HRT trooper moves down the hall to the next door.

[grendel]

19:55:15 Friday 05 January 2063 - Seattle, UCAS

Tanisa didn't reply, simply shrugging and turning to look out the window. Mioko gave Tenmou's leg a squeeze.

"No shop talk tonight, hey? We're out to get away from work." She smiles to take any perceived sting out of the words. The rest of the five minute trip to the restaurant passes in companionable silence.

[Sedna]

1459 Saturday, January 6th, 2063 - Puyallup Street Clinic // Cyberspace

"Oh, great," says Sybersnake, or something that sounds like Sybersnake and feels like Sybersnake, but Dragon can't quite seem to make her out. "I can't believe you've got us looking like data packets."

"That is the default," Bob says without intonation. "It shifts to match the local paradigm. We have just enough time, something you should see."

Virgil, Tiffany, Father Bremen: we're all here, Dragon realises after a very disoriented few moments. Wherever "here" is. But he's not recognising them, really, through sight or even sound. It's definitely not sensory cut-off, but this version of sensory is something he's not equipped to handle except by translating it into familiar sight, familiar sound. I wonder if this is how Daedalus feels, when he's rigging?

"It's not really that different from astral space," Virgil is saying, "staring" around him. "And yet it is."

"What are you looking for?" asks Bob, and Dragon becomes aware of the slight struggle beside him at the same time as Tiffany laughs brittlely: "No independent freedom of movement, huh?" And then she checks: "But I can speak?"

"It is a customised slaved linkage," says Bob. "What are you looking for?"

"Datafiles. Juliette talked to me about some of it already, but Galina mentioned that Shadowland had been active on this."

"Do you have memory?"

"I --" And then the sense of it penetrated, and Dragon caught the sense of the reporter trying to shake a head that didn't exist, and over which she would have had no control regardless. "No cybermemory, no."

"I do," volunteers Sybersnake. "Not a whole lot, but as long as the files aren't too large ..." And then Dragon's entire existence -- shivers -- as she gasps: "You could have given me some warning! Or at least a filtre!"

"Sorry," says Bob.

Her temporary distraction had affected the others too, not as much -- but Father Bremen had already been struggling before; and now the determined silence beside him had the feel of sheer desperation. Dragon quietly hoped the priest wouldn't turn out to be one of those unlucky souls who were naturally prone to Matrix vertigo. As the man had said earlier, they needed him to legitimise their presence at the meeting.

"Here," says Bob. "This is what you need to see."

Wherever they were, they'd slipped through it so quickly and invisibly that Dragon had little more than a brief sense of space, and stars, and falling -- and then -- a mail sorting room? No, that had to be coincidence: and then he knew where he was. Sybersnake would have borrowed a temporary paradigm of a small Tenochtitlán coffeehouse, sitting down at a table with other chatters and obtaining what information she wished in the image of baristas and dark, strong decker coffee. Here, the information had been stripped almost entirely of its human element to its naked essence -- and yet the letters going through were hand-addressed, with colourful and exotic stamps. As the five of them sweep through the place Bob matter-of-factly picks up one of them and gives it to Sybersnake.

Some deep survival instinct in Dragon warns him. She's about to go ballistic.

Spontaneous combustion in mailrooms tends to be a destructive thing: but the five of them have shifted out of there even before the smoke alarms could sound. Smoke alarms? Dragon shook his head and decided not to worry about it. That's the useful thing about being able to take orders as well as give them: once someone else was in charge, just accept that you don't know what the frag's going on and jump whenever they tell you.

"Since you are here and I saw the condition of your deck, it would be safe to assume that was not you." Mostly a statement ... but just enough of an inflection to leave open the question that would have been sealed by adding the interrogative "ka".

Sybersnake's only smouldering a little, now: but the fire's not exactly out either. "It was not me."

Bob ... "nods". And "bows". It wasn't, and yet those were the only words that fit the communication that had just come across. And their environment blurs around them yet again while Dragon manages to ask her quietly, "What was that about?"

"Later. No, wait, let me see ..." She's testing the programmes loaded into this system, what they're capable of, what can be overwritten without disrupting the balance of the whole -- and words form on -- Dragon's image link? They're moving at their own rate -- no control, here, over the scroll, or else he'd have caught earlier on the list -- but Sybersnake takes him further down, and pauses him on the note that contains her street name.

To say that she wasn't happy seemed somehow redundant. He nodded understanding -- or tried to, having run into what Tiffany ran into earlier. The construct simply wouldn't do what he wanted it to.

"I know," said Sybersnake softly, recognising the intent behind his aborted action. "We can talk about this later. I'm okay now." She brushed him gently. It felt like nothing so much as a lingering kiss. "Thank you."

The world congeals into being around them. At first, the utter chaos leaves Dragon with some doubts about that.

"You know," says Sybersnake slowly, "this isn't an improvement."

She's standing beside Bob in troll-sized coveralls and build, an illegible laminated passcard on a lanyard around her neck, carrying a maintenance worker's bucket and mop. In the middle of a screaming, laughing, riotous chaos of an amusement park, they're the clean-up crew. Still, this time at least, everyone's got arms and legs, and more importantly eyes and ears. That isn't an improvement either, Dragon quickly discovers, because he keeps wanting to move them normally, and in here, he's got no control whatsoever. It's distracting, to say the least.

"Where do you want to go from here?" asks Bob.

Without answering him, Sybersnake starts walking toward the booth with INFORMATION written over it ... literally over it, in large, disembodied letters. "Hi," she calls out to the air, "looking for a message from Kiki. It's for Father Bremen. I'm Sybersnake, his go-between."

In front of them, more letters start forming: Roller Coaster. Third Car

Father Bremen is staring hard at the "ground", which looks to be hard and concrete and is in reality neither of the kind. Sybersnake stoops to hook her large fingers through his belt: "Well, come on! Faster you do this, faster you get it over with." Dragon notices, not without humour, that here, in the troll personafile, she's literally much bigger than him.

She leads the five of them inside a small, rickety wooden building, and then indicates a door. "According to the message, Kiki should be waiting for us here. After you, Dragon," she adds with a mischievous, tusked smile.

[Ecclesiastes]

23:05:58 Saturday 06 January 2063 - Apartment 875, Parkewood Village Apartments, Tacoma

Todd closed the door and set all the locks. He watched out the peephole for a moment as he filled Barry in on what happened. "He's gone now. Thanks for bein' there Barry..."

Walking over to flop down into his LayZMan chair, the boys curiousity starts to kick in and a plan starts to formulate in his head. I'll have to grab the video feeds from the hall before Lone Star moves them over to their server... See if I can match the guys face with anything. If someone starts shooting holes in my door, I wanna know why.

[Scrapheap]

17:15:19 Sunday 07 January 2063 – A sidewalk in Touristville, near the Redmond Center Mall

Finally a lead I can work with. If only Finn had called earlier I wouldn't have wasted all that time at the Mall. I walked right past that Virtual Daze place on the way here.

As Scrapheap walked through the rapidly rising snow, he flipped his phone back open. He dialed and then held the phone to his ear. After a second, he stuck the finger of the other hand into the opposite ear to block out the traffic.

"Stuffer Shak #4952, this is..."

Not waiting for the end of the familiar spiel, John said "Let me speak to Etta."

"Uh. OK, pal. Hold yer horses." He was then put on hold and subjected to a recording of this week's Shak-tacular specials. Finally, "This is Etta. How can I help you?"

"Hey, it's me. Listen, I have a lead on that Twiggy kid. I'm going to go check it out now. I'll call you again when I know more, OK?"

"OK, John, but be careful. Oh! I almost forgot. A couple of those gangers came in to collect the protection for this week. I told them that you wanted to talk to their boss. That's what you wanted, right?"

"Brain Eaters? Yeah, I'll head there after I find this kid. Did they say anything?"

"Not really. John, I get off work in about 2 hours. What should I do?"

"Just go home. Like I said, if you know any of Nora's friend's numbers you could call them and see if they know anything useful. Otherwise, just wait. I'll call you when I know something. Bye."

"But..."

John disconnected, closed his phone, and stuck it in his pocket...just in time to step off of the curb and into a slush-puddle. Frag! Just what I need. My feet are already killing me. I don't think I've done this much walking since I was in the service, and now they're cold too! That's just wizzer.

His mood was not improved when he reached into his jacket for his cigarettes, only to find an empty pack. Grumbling to himself, he tossed the empty package aside and slogged the remaining few blocks to the Virtual Daze. By the time he arrived, the snow was really coming down. He stopped with the arcade still across the street, standing in a doorway to get out of the weather as much as possible. He flipped up his collar, stuck his hands deep into his pockets, and stomped his feet.

Hopefully, I just look like some down on his luck sap trying to stay warm. Which actually isn't too far from the truth. I'll just scope the place out for a couple of minutes, see what's what, before going inside.

Concentrating, Scrapheap activated the zoom feature on his Fuchi cybereyes, and the entrance to the Virtual Daze leapt into closer view...

[banditf50]

1525 Saturday January 6th, 2063 - Redmond Barrens

Sloshing through the puddle of slush resting upon the final corner of his route Knight could feel the icy water that had been collecting on his boots finally begin seeping through to sting his feet. It was a sharp reminder to him that thus far the weather had barely been tolerable for so much foot transportation,

Reflecting back on what he had accomplished today alone Knight felt as if he was at least quickly adapting to landing so abruptly in a new city, not to mention without any cred and few local contacts. I've got myself some light work and a bit of cred, not to mention a free roof over my head for a time. This could be a golden opportunity to begin learning how this city ticks.

Raising his eyes down the street once again Knight's gaze spots the dilapidated building bearing the address that Jackson had given him. The structure was two stories high and some faded lettering on the side of the grey plascrete walls stated "-tronics." must have been an electronics warehouse at one time. The sparse exterior windows were barred from the outside and boarded up from the inside. Examining the front of the building Knight also noticed that it prominently displayed in bright red paint the same type of symbols that he had noticed occurring on buildings several blocks away. Those must be the symbols of the Sickles. Knight files that observation away with the resolution to start learning the politics of the local gang structure.

Stopping at the mouth of the alley along the east side of the building he spies a steal delivery door a few paces down the trash strewn space. Kicking through the piles of rotting garbage and trying his very best to keep his stomach in check against the onslaught of foul odors, Knight approaches the door and give it three solid knocks. Stepping back to wait, the smell of the alley only serving to insight his impatience Knight raises his knuckles to bang again when a small view slit on top of the door creaks open.

"You look like you can afford to purchase your own hospitality . . . beat it chummer."

"You misunderstand my intentions sir, I am Mr. Knightington, the man that Jackson sent. I am here to speak with Cao Jann.

The viewing slit quickly slammed shut and was followed by a louder creaking as the battered steel door swung open to reveal a stocky asian man who stood about two inches shorter than Knight.

"Come on in chummer, I've been expecting you."

"Cao Jann I assume?" Stepping through the doorway Knight was happy to be free from the grip of the stench ridden alley. He found himself standing in a small room that must have served as a shipping office when this building was a bustling trade center.

"Have a seat." Beckoned the man as he secured the several mechanical locks on the steel door. "I am sure that we have much to discuss . . ."

[banditf50]

18:55:41 Saturday January 6th, 2063 - Erebus's Milton Doss

His preparations for the night ahead are interuppted by the punctating beep of an incoming call. The caller-ID function was coming up blank, not uncommon considering the questionable employment of many of is associates. Punching the call button Erebus spoke in an even and professional tone, he was expecting a few important calls in across the night.

"Hoi"

Waiting to hear who was calling him before he gave his name Erebus was pleased to hear the sound of Elan's voice filtering across the line.

"Good evening. The items that you requsted can be made available without much undo effort. They can be in your hands before the night's close. I only need to know the quantity that you are in the market for."

[Shadowrunner13]

19:55:45 Friday 05 January 2063 - The Other Place, Seattle, UCAS

Finding the first available parking spot, Shitoki stopped his new BMW and pulled the key from the ignition.

"I have reservations, so we should be able to walk right in," he said, as he opened his door and stepped out. He quickly rounded the car to open the door for his passengers.

With a woman on either side of him, he walked to the front door of the restaurant and to the man by the door.

"I have a reservation under the name 'Shitoki'," he said.

[WinterRat1]

14:59:45 Saturday, January 6th, 2063 - Puyallup Street Clinic // Cyberspace

Not sure what to make of her mischevious grin, Dragon shrugged his shoulders and prepared to walk in the building. Although he'd been in the matrix before, like most people, he was still unprepared for this level of interaction with it. He typically concerned himself with the real world, and while he was well aware of the abilities and usefulness of deckers, especially in urban ops, he had always relegated himself to simple delegation and allowed them to execute in whatever way they thought was best to achieve the objective. After all, he expected them to shut up and let him do his thing in combat, it was only professional to extend that same courtesy to them in their area of expertise.

Hence, if Sybersnake said he should go through, well, no point in discussing or worrying about it. If she wanted to fry him in the Matrix, she could do so any time she wanted, since it's not like he had a chance in here. Besides, they had unfinished business, as her look in the hallway with Galina had so clearly stated. With a mental grin at the thought of what that discussion would probably entail, which he was careful to not show, he stepped through the doorway into the building as instructed, and braced himself for whatever might be on the other side.

[WinterRat1]

17:46:59 Sunday 07 January 2063 – A sidewalk in Touristville, near the Redmond Center Mall

Staring across the street at the arcade, John carefully examined the place for any sign of the unusual. The neon sign out front actually had all of its letters lit and intact, which was pretty unusual. On the other hand, it was an arcade, always a popular meeting ground as well as neutral zone for gangers, so maybe it wasn't that big of a surprise. Even gangers didn't destroy their own stuff; far better to destroy someone else's.

Despite the fact that technically it was a school night (as if most in Redmond cared about such things!), the place was reasonably crowded. In the last ten minutes or so, John had seen at least ten to fifteen people drift in and out of the place, and business was reasonably brisk. Still, he didn't detect anything or anyone that seemed out of place or screamed 'trap', and he was freezing out there, the metal in his body leeching the heat from the parts of him that were still meat.

Well, am I gonna stand out here freezing all night, or am I going to check it out? The thought of a place that was warm and not dumping snow on him was appealing, but he wasn't sure if there was anything else he wanted to look for just yet. Ah decisions decisions he thought ruefully to himself.