Warren
Wednesday 3/20/70 15:48:03

Warren Hollanger stepped out of the locker area and into the Ready Room, where the on-duty teams waited for calls. From the waist up his heavily-muscled 2.5 meters were clad only in a T-shirt, the top half of his Kevlar-reinforced Doc Wagon jumpsuit hanging loose around his waist. As usual, he made a beeline for the weight pile in the corner, but as usual he was waylaid by his crewmates. Danielle was passing out Cokes from the vending machine. She was a beautiful woman, but she had the prematurely worn face of someone that spends a lot of time out of doors, or worries too much. In her case it was both - she had never gotten as jaded as her coworkers with the capriciousness of Death in the Seattle Sprawl.
Nick and Ray popped their cans, and as usual Ray didn't miss a chance to spice his drink up with the contents of the whiskey flask he always kept somewhere on his person. "Ray, you're gonna get caught one of these days," Nick chided the dwarf, "and then you'll get canned. Not that I care about not seeing your hairy ass in the locker room, but I'd hate to get grounded." What he meant was that once a week or so, all the teams with helicopter-rated drivers got a day of chopper duty. It was popular because it meant a lot of sitting around, as opposed to the usual call-to-call nature of meat-wagon duty. Today was chopper day, so they were all in good spirits.
Danielle tossed Warren his Coke. "So, tomorrow's the big tournament, hey? Ready to rumble?"

Carla
Wednesday 4/16/70 01:13:47

"Clear!"
Carla never got used to the way blood sprayed off some trauma patients when she shocked them.
"Still no pulse."
"Charge to 360."
For all the good it would do - even if she started this kid's heart, that would still leave the head trauma. It was only the second week of her ER rotation, and she felt decidedly unready for this moment. 16 traumas from a late-night multiple MVA. Rules strictly forbade students from leading treatments, but her attendings had chosen to prioritize saving lives over following regulations, and here she was - unprepared and uncertain.
The nurses stared at her with tension in their eyes. Maybe they cared about the victim, but more likely they were thinking of how much trouble their popular attending would be in if this kid died under an unsupervised student's care. He might or might not be fired, but Carla knew quite well what her fate as a student would be.
Well, the kid wasn't dead yet....

Gregory
Friday 4/25/70 16:50:34

"...high accuracy intelligence suggesting transport of radioactive materials through Newark docks. DoD's analysis of the residue suggests fissible material, people, and our own Middle East people see a real chance this is that IUM thing we have been getting occasional whiffs of."
This was far from Gregory Blaine's first crisis meeting, but he had never seen his boss, Eric Reston, so tense. Despite his efforts to stay calm and professional, there were patches of sweat forming around his armpits. This one seemed real, and Gregory suddenly realized, the way you think of random things at the most inappropriate moments, that he'd completely forgotten the annoyance he'd felt when this meeting was suddenly called right at quitting time on a Friday afternoon.
He looked around the room and saw everyone sitting at attention, a strange contrast to the T-shirts and polos worn on Casual Friday. They had dealt with some important shit over the years, but this time if they dropped the ball it could very well be their own families that paid the price, as opposed to some filthy peasants in a Third World backwater.
"Field teams say they are generating good leads, and we hope to have someone we can talk to within a day or so," Reston continued, looking at Gregory while he spoke.
"So if there aren't any questions, I want everyone to digest the file before leaving here today. Unfortunately, it's not very thick at this point. And I want everyone to get a good rest. There's not much we can do from here right now, so make your minds ready for the next week, and stay close to your pagers." He paused, and in a lower voice concluded, "And I don't need to remind you of the protocol regarding families and close associates in this situation."
He meant that it would be a criminal offense for any of them to risk security breach by moving their families out of urban areas - families of known intel assets were watched for that sort of thing.
As the meeting broke up, Gregory's partner Timothy Gray was fuming more visibly than the rest of the staff. The big ork said - "They're sending me out to assist the field teams with low-level interrogations. Leaving you here to mind the shop on your own. You ready for this?"

Electra
Saturday 5/10/70 13:15:56

"Bear thou mine hand, sweet wench, between thy teeth," intoned the middle-aged man in jeans and a flannel workshirt. That was Electra's cue, and as the actor continued his speech, she got on her knees and bent her head to the ground in an effort to pick the plastic appendage up off the floor using only her mouth. Mental note, never again wear such a short skirt to a rehearsal of this scene, was the last thought she had before the entirety of the Old Globe Theater was rocked about like a ship at sea. Lights fell from their hangings above the stage, narrowly missing a few of the players, and at the same time, bare moments after the shock wave hit the building, their ears were hit with a terrible roar - like a wall of sound that flooded the room in seeming disdain at the walls surrounding them.

Warren
Wednesday 3/20/70 15:55:43

Warren easily catchs the can of coke out of the air with one massive troll sized fist. As he walks up closer to the group he says, "You know it term! George St. Pierre is going to be a first round knockout, if he gives me any trouble he is going to wish he was a first round knockout. I've had to review some of his latest fights and his conditioning looks like crap. A couple of minutes with me in his face and he will be to tired to stand, little lone block punches heh. I sure hope you guys come to watch me fight with those tickets i got you but i understand if you cant or wont."

Trying to pull the tab on the can of soda and failing miserably he pulls out a small knife and uses it to pop the tab. "Hey Nick dont start in on Ray again, especially not right before a flight! If the little halfer needs something to steel his nerves im all for it, just dont get me to try and drink any of it. It might ruin my temple." he says while he uses his free hand to show off his body. "And Ray no fancy stuff this time, i nearly lost it the last time. I know i aint gotta remind any of you about that first day again.

Warren took another swig of his soda, crushes it in his hand, and tosses it into a garbage can. He then folds his massive arms over his chest. "So what kinda action do you guys think we will see tonight, some rich fragger who gets mixed up in something illegal or maybe a shadowrunner who ran out of luck? Just remember the big scary troll goes out first, then you guys follow. I know every second counts for these patients but it wont matter if you catch a bullet, of course you can always rely on my medical knowledge!" Warren is grinning from ear to ear.

Carla
Tisch Hospital, New York. Wednesday 4/16/70 01:13:50

As she often did when confronted with a problem, Carla momentarily froze as she evaluated her options. She couldn't walk away from this one - if she did, the kid would most certainly die, she'd be in trouble for disobeying the attending (despite following regulations), and the incident would most likely haunt her for the rest of her life. She couldn't call for help - there wasn't any available. Her only option was to give the case her best shot, though even if she succeeded, she still faced the possibility of castigation.

Though it only took two seconds for these thoughts to run through her head, those two seconds were critical moments in the ER. Carla snapped out of her brief daze and glanced at the nervous nurses assisting her. Why were they nervous? Because she was nervous? Carla realized that, despite her uncertainty or inexperience, she was going to have to act like she knew what she was doing if she was going to get the rest of the team to work efficiently.

"You heard me, charge to 360! Ready? 3...2..1...clear!"

The young patient's body convulsed as the electricity hit, causing blood from the open wounds to splatter across Carla face and glasses. By the time the patient's body landed back on the hospital bed, however, the ECG's constant whining had calmed to a semi-stable beeping. Glad to know the kid's heart was working, Carla felt her own heart resume beating as well. Her job was far from over though.

"Good job, team. Now what's the status on the head injuries?"

Warren
Wednesday 3/20/70 15:56:20

"You are more than welcome to go out the door first big guy. And as for biz tonight, nice peaceful medevacs from I-5 traffic jams will be just fine with me," answered Nick. "Now get over there and hit those weights. I'm not using up time off to go to that damned amateur hour fight club just to see you lose." He leans back with his hands behind his head and the bill of his Doc Wagon cap pulled down over his eyes. "Just let me know if you need a spot....I'll send Danni right over."

Carla
Wednesday 4/16/70 01:13:59

"Lot of blood, small amount of gray matter on the outside," replies a nurse. "Inside..." she pointed at the real-time CAT scan monitor and shrugged. Carla could see clearly enough there was a lot of bleeding in there, and if she didn't relieve pressure on the brain then she might as well have not restarted the heart in the first place.

Gregory
Friday 4/25/70 16:52:28

"I was born ready Tim" the big elf said wryly while easing out of his chair.

"I Just wasn't born ready to spend this particular Friday night holding down the fort. Ana is going to give me hell about taking a rain check on account of a few 'emergency I-9 forms.' Any rate, have fun with your bullet dodging and murder. I think I'm going to cozy up with some coffee, donuts and absolutely engrossing intelligence reports."

Gregory snapped the sizable binder of sensitive material shut for emphasis as he turned and prepared for the walk down the grey corridor leading to his cubicle, an agonizing phone call to his wife and a three long, tense hours of reading.

Carla
Tisch Hospital, New York. Wednesday 4/16/70 01:14:03

As Carla looked over the CAT scan images, she recalled a discussion she had with her mother many years ago.

"Ma, doesn't all the blood and guts bother you?"
"Well, yes, I suppose it does bother me a little, Carla. But after you've been doing this for a while, you get used to it. And when you're in an emergency, you just focus on the task at hand and stop getting caught up in the blood and gore.

That definitely wasn't the case for Carla. Despite the urgency of the situation, and despite all of her training up to this point, one part of her mind was still thinking "That patient is disgusting...and this room smells awful." But unpleasantness didn't hinder Carla; in fact, she felt it helped her stay on edge. Glancing back and forth between the CAT scan and the patient's head wound, she decided to proceed with treatment.

"Alright, looks like subdural hematoma. I need someone to monitor the oxygen flow and blood-pressure to the brain. You - hold the head there for me. After I remove the clot, apply pressure directly to the site of bleeding. Not too much - that's right. Okay, go!"

As Carla delved into the patient's bleeding brain, her ever-present inner voice momentarily lost its preoccupation with the goriness of the situation and noted, "Not bad, Carla, that almost sounded semi-convincing."

Gregory
Saturday 4/26/70 00:10:43

Gregory sat watching some ridiculous Japanese variety show on the satellite TV in the office. A Japanese actor whom he had previously liked for his ultra-cool Yakuza films was wearing a lab coat and a giant-nipple-hat and chasing skinny underwear-clad girls around the room with a plastic toy hammer. It was a sad comment on society that this was the best thing in the world that he could find to watch.
Anything to kill the boredom. The first three hours were the worst - wading through pages of analysts who were never allowed out of their dungeon offices debate whether this threat was really IUM, or the intuitively more likely NIJ. Whatever. Once they got him someone to talk to, things would become much more clear. The only thing all night that had sort of looked like it might be interesting were the ork cleaning ladies coming through, talking about some Edgar Allen Poe story they'd read. But even that hadn't been worth more than half an ear. They must be taking some community college class.
His reverie was broken by the arrival of the station chief, Dan Withers. "Get your butt home, Greg. If we catch a break, Eric wants you bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. Says don't even think about coming in until Monday unless we call you," he said. And then, in a less off-the-cuff tone: "Spend some time with your kids."

Electra
Saturday 5/10/70 13:15:59


Electra took a few moments to realise what had happened before adrenalin took her by the neck and shook her to semi sensibility.

"Wha? Who? Why?"

She staggered to her feet clutching her ears in pain, then looked around to see what was happening.

Electra
5/10/70 13:16:03

Which was exactly what everyone else was doing.
"Holy fuck, Livinia - oh, sorry," the tattooed young woman playing the Nurse covered her mouth with her hand in feigned embarrassment at her 'mistake.' "I mean, Electra. What in bloody hell was that, anyway?" Oh, how impressive - the little method actress 'forgot' that the play wasn't real (and "holy fuck" was sooo Elizabethan). That these twits could keep that crap up even at a moment like this...
Everyone milled about for a minute or so asking each other the same stupid questions, or just crying, when a young man on the crew burst into the rehearsal space, covered in dust and bleeding from his hairline.
"It's the Tate. It's bloody gone."

Electra
Sat 5/10/70 13:16:10

The Tate was gone Electra was still trying to make sense of this as she grabbed her stuff and filed out of the fire exit. She switched on her commlink and tuned into current news, pictures of the devasation already being broadcast on her AR Shades as news drones were pointing cameras quick as they could be ordered.

The Tate? Gone? How can the Tate be gone?
How can the Tate be gone?
How can the Tate be gone?

No matter how she phrased it in her mind it would not sink in. She had walked past it on a number of occasions as she had traveled round London, and never bothered to go in. She was shocked that she felt almost as upset that she would now never be able to go there as she was about the blast.

The Blast! Trevor! Rachel!

Please be alright please be alright please be alright

Electra frantically commed for her friends, praying for the green light that would signify a connection.

Carla
Tisch Hospital, New York. Wednesday 4/16/70 01:18:00

"Vital signs are beginning to stabilize," stated one of the nurses. "Oxygen levels are approaching normal, and the blood pressure is coming down. Looks like it's evening out."

Carla sighed with relief as she finished patching up the cranial wound. As she looked over the rest of the patient's body for other serious injuries, she asked her assistants, "anything else noteworthy in the patient's initial status report?"

Carla
Wednesday 4/16/70 01:18:35

"No, tox screen came back negative, and the EMTs didn't have much info on him. But vitals are all stable and surgery just called down to say they're ready for him."
Before Carla even had a chance to congratulate herself, however, her boss was screaming at her from the next treatment room - "If you've got that one dispo'd I've got a chest cavity for you to close in 3 and a head lac in 5!"
It was going to be a long time to dawn.

*****

Wednesday 4/16/70 09:25:00
It had rained overnight and the wet streets took the edge off the unseasonal spring heat. As always the shift had gone long. 34 patients in one night. She'd never lost a patient before tonight - never even seen anyone die - and tonight she'd had her gloved hands on four human beings as the life slipped out of them. She couldn't help wondering when the exact moment had been for each of them. The attending had pronounced a cut-and-dry time of death in each case, but of course it was not exact. Was it the moment the heart first stopped? Her medical training told her that that answer, however poetic, was not correct. It was the brain activity - but some people lived for years without that, too. She realized that in the pandemonium of the overloaded emergency room, for all practical purposes it was when someone decided to cut their losses and turn their attention to someone with a better chance to live. On slow days she'd seen the attendings work three times as long on patients with the same injuries.

She was too tired for all this conjecture. She had to be at her parents' clinic to hold down their reception desk in three hours. That gave her two to sleep, and she savored the thought as she trudged up the steps to the brownstone she shared with them.

Opening the door she was shocked to hear the trid. Had one of her parents stayed home? Entering the living room after passing through a ransacked kitchen, she saw the couch occupied by her older brother Gregor. Dammit - all but disowned by their parents, she knew there would be hell to pay if they happened to come home and find him here, or found any indication that he'd even been here at all.
She needed to get him out of the house, but she missed him and hadn't seen him since starting her ER rotation. And on top of all that she REALLY needed to sleep.

Electra
Saturday 5/10/70 13:17:00

Outside the Globe it was utter mayhem. The Tate stood barely 100 meters from the restored 16th century theater - or, it had stood there. Standing up on the cement railing of the walkway high on the south bank of the Thames, trying to get a better view over the chaos, Electra could see that the young stage hand had not been exaggerating. Where the old power station-cum-modern art landmark had once been, there was now nothing more than a smoking pile of rubble. No one inside could have survived, yet the injured and dying were everywhere - at this time on a Saturday the south bank was packed with tourists, and few of the thousands of people around her appeared unscathed.

The Millennium Bridge was packed with foot traffic fleeing the scene. Taking a deep breath, she nearly slipped and lost her balance. Looking down at her footing, she saw that she was standing on something red and viscous. Widening her view of the railing and the ground immediately around her, she saw amid the dust and debris generous swathes of crimson...the same color as the indicator lights next to the commcodes of both Rachel Frost and Trevor Brown.

Warren
Wednesday 3/20/70 15:59:41

Warren glances over at Danielle and Ray to see them rolling their eyes and smiling as he walks over to the weights. "Ohhhh, i get it. You need to see a demonstration of my talents to justify the bet you probably made?" Warren throws a few shadow punchs, jab jab cross uppercut knee. He stands over a barbell with 75 kilo weights on each end. Warren breathes in as he bends down and grabs hold of the bar and then exhales as he stand up with the bar at his waste and then begins to curl the bar letting his massive biceps bulge from the strain.

"These babies.." grunts with effort "are what allow me to.." more grunting "lug around that light machine gun with little to no effort."

Warren was nervous about the fight tomorrow despite what he told the others. Being in a job where you were constantly being shot at was always scary the day before a fight. All that training for weeks on end just thrown out the window if something bad happens the night before. Heck he didnt even have to get shot, he had seen a fare share of people who were just sick and dieing from only god knows what deseases. Thankfully he didnt have to handle people directly.

Warren drops the barbell and moves on to the bench and starts bench pressing 80 kilo's. The weight is low but he is doing lots of reps. "So Dani how did your date go with whats his name last night?? "

Carla
Upper West Side, New York. Wednesday 4/16/70 09:30:00

Carla tossed her jacket onto the coat hanger. With her AR gloves and smart glasses still on, she accessed her home's network and checked for any recent activity.

Hmm...looks like Gregor took a few snacks out of the fridge...everything else seems normal, though.

It wasn't that she disliked her brother in any way, but she had to be realistic: Gregor wasn't responsible, and he wasn't all that trustworthy. It was a shame that the sight of her brother obligated Carla to make sure that nothing in the house was damaged or stolen, but with Gregor's lifestyle, one could never be certain.

Satisfied that everything seemed to be in order, Carla collapsed onto the recliner adjacent to the couch and removed her glasses and gloves.

"Morning, Gregor. What brings you here?"

Electra
Saturday 5/10/70 13:17:00

Looking down at what, or come to think of it, whome she had trodden in Electra felt her bile rising. She did not even make it to the River as vomit filled her mouth, almost choking her before she could spit it out.

Oh good, the blood, the people...

She heaved until she was spent, then contined to retch, feebly waving the attention of concerned onlookers to those who could be helped. There was no way she could stop until she was away from the horror of the blast, and no way she could move until she had stopped retching.

GM- OOCish

Gregory
Saturday 4/26/70 6:32:54

Gregory groaned as he heavily sat up in bed. The sunlight leaking through the window indicated it was going to be a beautiful spring day, but that was lost on Gregory who, at the moment, was concerned only with fighting the urge to fall back asleep.

I'm getting too old for this. The things I do for my country ...

In spite of his lethargy, Greg finally grabbed his commlink then dragged himself out of bed and into his slippers and, began to stagger softly down the second floor hallway to begin his penance for the previous evening.

The first stop was his son's pale yellow room. Brian was still peacefully sleeping in his crib when Gregory walked through the door. He looked peaceful but Greg still held the known biter carefully to avoid becoming his next victim.

He walked back down the hall, beginning to gain some semblance of consciousness and picked his way down the catastrophe of wooden building blocks which had been strewn on the stairs and entered the kitchen. It was modern, user friendly and almost entirely baffling to Greg. He sent a basic command to the stove to begin heating and requested a pair of frying pans from the pantry icon then set his still sleeping son into the playpen in the family room.

Gregory spent a few minutes figuring out how to requisition eggs and, no sooner than had he started scrambling them, his daughter, Linda, blearily stepped into the family room and asked "Whatcha doing daddy?"

"Making breakfast, is there anything you want?"

"Waffles," she grinned toothily. "I'm gonna go watch Cap'n Lonestar and the crimefigtin kids 'K."

"Sure, you excited for the game this afternoon?"

"No, I don't have to go because I elbowed Carrie," she bellowed over the trid as it began displaying a large bulldog in a Lonestar outfit.

Greg had forgotten that his daughter had earned the only red card in the history of the 4-5 year old junior soccer league for clotheslinig another player. In spite of a stern talking to by her coach, her mother and himself, Greg's daughter simply didn't view the situation the same as everyone else. As appalled as he was at the results and his daughters attitude in public, Greg was secretly proud of his girl for decking the five inch taller ork who had been stepping on toes and kicking shins the entire game.

"That's alright, how does a trip to the science museum sound?" He asked as he laid out the bacon and sent a lightning fast request to the only machine in the house which he had truly mastered for one pot of decaf espresso and one pot of straight up, black as tar Aztech-Folgers.

Warren
Wednesday 3/20/70 16:00:00

Danielle opened her mouth to answer just as the bell rung signalling the official start of the swing shift. That meant eight hours to quitting time. Midnight was also when the semi-legal fight club where Warren was making a name for himself opened the flaps of its big tent where it straddled the line between Puyallup and Fort Lewis, near a hot gray-market club called Rain. Warren's four-rounder with a big French troll - who for some reason was running with an Aztlaner gang called Los Locos - was set for 2 am. Ten hours to go.

Danielle paused for the bell, and answered the question, sort of: It was a date. What's to tell?

NICK: ALL, that's what to tell. C'mon, it's just us girls here.

DANIELLE: There's nothing TO tell - he was a nice guy.

RAY (wincing): Ouch! Kiss of death.

DANIELLE: And what is THAT supposed to mean?

NICK: He MEANS that women all SAY they want a nice guy, but they only put out for dicks. (Immediate high-five from Ray.)

DANIELLE: I won't even TOUCH that double-entendre. (Blank looks from Nick and Ray. Danielle shakes head in resignation.)

And so it went, Warren joining in between sets.

Wednesday 3/20/70 21:07:55

Warren had just laid off his workout so as to give his muscles time to recover for the fight when the lighting in the room went red. Over the PA, Connie the dispathcher had her game voice on - "Air Three, Code R57, Code R57 - SCRAMBLE!"
The damned codes were a bitch, but Waren had gotten them down cold in training, especially the R for Red - High Threat Response. The 5 stood for Super-Platinum contract holder, which meant that - unofficially - they were expected to really take the gloves off and do whatever had to be done. Sometimes those were tough judgement calls. Especially considering the 7 - call originating from an extra-territorial corp site.
They were all on their feet before Connie finished her short announcement. All details would be in the onboard commlink, and if they weren't wheels up in 20 seconds the boss would have their asses.

Carla
Wednesday 4/16/70 09:30:09

Sprawled across the couch with the trid remote in one hand, a real chicken drumstick in the other, and a glass of juice levitating within reach, Gregor was as unkempt and thoughtless of his dignity as always. And as always, his pupils were threatening to swallow his irises. "Sis, you have to ask? You haven't called in two weeks. I was worried about you." The bittersweet part of it was - she knew in her heart that he was actually half sincere.

Electra
Saturday 5/10/70 13:19:00

Electra vomited until there was nothing left in her. And then she vomited some more. By the time she'd wiped her mouth and cleared the last of the burning bile from her nostrils, a seeming army of sirens was closing in from every direction - mostly from the south, but she could see emergency vehicles starting to stream across the London and Blackfriar Bridges. As they approached they leaned on their horns in a futile attempt to penetrate the fleeing throngs. Even when the panicked tourists got out of the way, they left in their wake a seeming carpet of injured, immobile and clogging all the streets leading to the smoking site.

Gregory
Saturday 4/26/70 6:40:30

Just as Gregory was throwing the eggs and bacon on three plates and congratulating himself on not totally botching the meal, Anastasia appeared in the kitchen, bathed in the morning sunlight pouring in through the bay windows. Even after two kids, her figure was glorious - he was sort of dreading the day the kids got too old for her to keep walking around the house stark naked.
She walked to a cabinet for some coffee mugs, pretending not to know how much he loved it when she showed off this way, but when he caught her eye she gave a naughty smirk. But just as it looked like he might forget breakfast and push her right back up the stairs, she held up a warning finger - "Slow down there Valentino - anything you want, after you feed the Johnsons' dogs."

Curses! Foiled again! The Johnsons were very particular about their prize show dogs, and it had been all he and Ana could do to get them to take a vacation, assuring them they'd follow the care regimen to the letter over the weekend. And he'd forgotten to pick up their special food last night. Nothing for it but to go pick up the damned doggie chow.

Carla
Upper West Side, New York. Wednesday 4/16/70 09:30:30

"Well, if you were so worried," Carla responded with a hint of irritation, "you could have called me."

"You're always busy with something or the other."

"Then leave a message and I'll call you back."

"How do you know I won't be busy when you call back?"

"Gregor, when was the last time you were busy?"

Gregor took a bite out of his chicken and chewed slowly. "Hey, what do you have to get so hostile for anyway? Your brother stops by to see you, and all you have to say is 'you're not welcome here'?"

"Gregor, you aren't welcome here," Carla explained, her patience wearing thin. "And don't try to make me feel guilty about it - this isn't my house. It's our parents', and technically they could call the cops on you if they wanted."

"Nah, Pa would just cut me up and sell my organs if h wa-"

"Enough!" Carla shouted, throwing her gloves at her brother's face. But Gregor just chuckled and tossed them back. Realizing that, after the long night in the hospital, she wasn't in the condition to have a civil conversation, Carla decided to wrap things up and head for bed. "Look...next time, just call me, okay? Now I have to get some sleep before work."

However, Gregor just gave her a funny look. "Say, what's with you? Did you fail a test? Did you get a bad grade in a class? Come on, you wanna tell me something?"

"No, Gregor, I just...," Carla hesitated - she was usually open with her brother, but she didn't want to talk about anything right now. "...I just had a long night at the hospital." As an afterthought, she added, "Is there something you want to tell me?"

Warren
Wednesday 3/20/70 21:08:14

Warren was already sitting up and resting from his little workout when the alarm sounded. With trained reflexes he jumped to his feet and slid his arms through the top half of his jumpsuit while zipping it up the front while running towards the launchpad doors. He might look like an escaped convict if it wasnt for the big red cross on the back of the jumpsuit instead of numbers and letters.

Its go time! Sure this job was dangerous as hell. But the cool part was it was NEVER the same thing twice in a row. Each and every recovery was unique which was addicting. There was also the fact that somebody out there needed help and he was in a position to provide it. Maybe he wasnt the one stabilizing their condition but he atleast attempted to make sure the people who could were safe enough to. Being able to help others was satisfying work.

Every second was crucial during these recoveries so he sprinted off to the chopper where he usually gears up in flight. As he reached the doors and jumped inside he yelled "4 GREEN TO GO!". Dani and Nick were right behind him. Dani, "2 GREEN TO GO!. Nick, "3 GOOD TO GO!.

And with that they were off. 19 seconds. Not bad, but not good either. Ray swung the chopped around, slanted the nose forward and cranked the blade speed up and they were off to save somebody. As Warren went about his business of slipping on the gear he uses Nick and Dani were getting details from Connie such as where the client was, what their condition was and forming a gameplan for what they may need.

Super platinum means doc wagon doesnt care where you are we will attempt to retrieve you. Meaning even if your in a corporate territory where they make their own laws. These were usually the worst. Whatever this poor fragger did the corp would not want to give them up, not before they could "interrogate" them. Thats exactly how warren got into this job. A simple little advertisment in a electronic newsletter saying "Metahuman Help Wanted". They had been recruiting metahumans who were mostly stronger and more durable than humans to train for combat so that these kind recoveries could be made.

Nick: "Connie can you try to get us a feed of the action?"
Connie: "Copy"

Warren had slipped on his armor and gotten his gyromount harness in place and snug. He then moved to sit directly in front of the light machine gun attached to a pintacle in the doorway. He leaned forward and pulled back the slide to make sure the belt fed ammo was in place. He then reached up to his helmet and tapped the button that allowed for AR overlays so he could see maps of the location, possable live feeds, the clients biometer data, and a little radar with the clients blip on it. The color of the blip corresponding to the biometer data. Currently it was red.

Warren: "ETA??"

Gregory
Saturday 4/26/70 6:42:50

Gregory stopped mid-stride as his wife's instructions about the groveling mutts down the street sunk in. Seeing that she had him, more or less literally, by the balls Anastasia decided to press her advantage.

She whispered, "Hurry back, I love a man who knows how to cook" as she stepped next to him and slid a hand along his waistline.

Greg was struck dumb and simply stared as she walked away before coming to his senses and rushed to the car.

Oh my God, how on earth did I get to be so lucky. I must have done something spectacular in a past life -- veritably oozing karma ...

As much as he wanted to take manual control and floor the vehicle, Greg decided that in his current, excited yet groggy, state it would be much wiser to have the autonav handle the familiar route to the nearest Stuffer Shack.

As the compact, useful vehicle pulled out of his single car garage and past his picket fence Greg was suddenly struck by the realization that a nuclear weapon might have been moved onto his block two days ago. Certainly, the understanding of the threat had been there since Eric Reston had nearly blown the contents of his colon all over his pants at the staff meeting, but the realization of just how close to home it was only sank in while Greg was listlessly watching traffic in the Saturday sunlight.

Within an instant of the first voice in his head sounding an alarm, a comforting and familiar process happened in his mind. Out of left field, the other half of his brain began spewing rationalizations:

Fissile material isn't a nuclear weapon.
We're either dealing with barbarians and radicals which means they're underequipped or with state sponsored tyeps which means they wouldn't be dumb enough to draw UCAS (and more importantly corporate) ire.
Unless Eisa is involved there won't be any religious extremists and he's quieted down in recent years.
...

The voice which calmed him was a familiar one and a favorite of his over the years.

As his instant of panic subsided the Stuffer Shack loomed close in the side window while his car was parallel parking. Leaving instructions for it to finish Greg sprinted into the store, skidding on his gray, fluffly slippers past the dog food aisle before catching himself and running down it to grab the Ares brand Mega Dog extreme. Not even bothering with the cashier he set his commlink to handle the purchase as he dived back into his vehicle before it settled fully into the curb.

The trip back was agonizingly slow and the wrestling match with the two excited labradors equally frustrating but Greg was entirely appeased when he arrived back in the bedroom he'd woken up in precisely half an hour before to find his wife just stepping out of the shower ...

Carla
Wednesday 4/16/70 09:32:00

"No, nothing new," Gregor replied in the half-hurt, half-relieved voice of a totally self-centered person simultaneously rejected and released from having to pay attention to anyone but himself. "Don't worry, I'll clean up and be long gone before our esteemed parents return to the castle. Go get some sleep."

Carla doubted the "clean up" part, but she was too exhausted to give it any more thought. She barely paused for a pit stop in the restroom before changing into her silk pajamas and crawling into bed. But no sooner had she laid her head on a pillow than Gregor's voice broke into her room - "SIS! Get out here quick! Oh my..."

She raced to the living room to find Gregor riveted to the images on the big trid.

The "LIVE" icon was flashing red over the K-NYC NEWS call sign in the upper right-hand corner of the image. There was a huge crowd of reporters and Winter Systems police officers outside a familiar-looking building. What? It was the building that housed her parents' clinic - she just hadn't recognized it right off because it was the seldom-used side entrance.

And there, being marched down the steps with a jacket pointlessly draped over cuffed hands, was their father. He was surrounded by hard-looking but handsome men in suits, with icons superimposed over the image identifying each as a Winter Systems plain-clothes officer - the models they trotted out for media-heavy arrests. Uniformed Winter Systems officers representing a statistically improbable mix of what appeared to be every metatype and ethnicity in the five boroughs held back a ravenous swarm of reporters as their father was thrust into a waiting car. As the car moved away, the camera swung up to the doorway, where it zoomed in on the tear-streaked face of their mother, supported by nurses from the clinic. The shot cut to a handsome elven woman whose face was well known to local viewers.
"Shock is sweeping though the Big Apple's medical community as we televise these live images of Dr. Antonio Sanchez being marched out of his swanky upper west side clinic, charged with organlegging. Although his wife and partner in the private practice, Sophia Sanchez, has escaped charges, our unnamed sources say allegations of complicity with her husband's unspeakable crimes could come at any time.
"Stay tuned as we follow the story of this butcher. At ten, we'll be bringing you footage of documented organlegging atrocities, any of which Dr. Sanchez may have been involved with. And at eleven, we'll talk with members of the New York Medical Association about the likely fall-out from this latest blow to the shady reputation of Manhattan doctors."

Warren
Wednesday 3/20/70 21:10:30

Connie's voice crackled over their radios - "Negative on that feed, Three. All the cameras in the surrounding area seem to be down. And get this, we now think there may be multiple super-platinum contracts broadcasting from the site, but we can't get a firm fix on anything due to heavy EW activity in and around the site. Prepare to lose contact with us as y..." Her voice was replaced with static.

"Damn," Ray said. "We're still 50 seconds out but our comm is blacked out. They have got SERIOUS jamming capability going on, and obviously don't care who they piss off by shutting down the entire neighborhood. Our own PAN should be secure as long as we stay in or near the bird, but stray far and we're gonna be outta touch."

Danielle chimed in - "Okay people - here's what dispatch sent us before they got cut off - the place is Matsuki Precision Instruments. Never heard of 'em, so they must be a wholly-owned of one of the megas to get their extraterritorial status. Check your displays for the layout we got from public records."

The AR display on Warren's helmet showed a big rectangle - the building - surrounded by a bigger rectangle - a wall or fence about 50 meters out from the building - surrounded by yet another rectangle, the surrounding streets. So the place was one block. Nice and neat.

As they approached, they could see the big, blocky, featureless tinted-glass facility - about three stories. The 50 meter space between it and the wall - HIGH wall - looked like nothing more than a kill zone; there was nothing in it but pavement and grass. Beyond the wall, the grounds were beautifully landscaped and manicured all the way out to the street.

BEEP BEEP BEEP
"Missile lock, people. Solid," Ray calmly announced. "They're sendin' us a clear message - we're dead if they want us dead. But I don't think they'll dare launch unless we cross over the wall - real bad publicity shooting down ambulances, especially if we crash into one of these houses around here and wipe out some family. But if you wanna go over the wall, you're gonna have to find yourself another pilot."

Now they could see four figures running across the grounds from the building to the wide open gate. No sign of security forces.

"Shit shit shit shit shit," cursed Danielle - "Have NO idea which of those people is a contract holder - everything's jammed. Not that it should matter, they're still people."

"And so am I," shot back Nick. "Anyway, this bird can only lift off with two...ONE if we take that troll!"

As they spoke, Ray made his final approach, hovering just beyond the gate. Meanwhile, blood suddenly exploded from the knee of one of the running figures, a woman, but the other three didn't seem to notice until they were out the gate. Three steps out and one of the fleeing figures sank to his knees - it was clear he'd lost a lot of blood. The other two turned and one - the troll - ran back toward the gates for his fallen comrade, whose hand exploded just as she stretched it out to try crawling for the gate.

"Warren," Ray's voice crackled through the headset - "You're tactical - what do we do?"

Gregory
Saturday 4/26/70 07:15:32

She tossed the wet towel over his head to thwart his first assault, running and jumping on the bed with a giggle. But as much as everything seemed perfect in his world right then, something clawed at the back of Gregory's mind as he extricated himself from the towel and looked at his wife.

At the Stuffer Shack, a couple of middle-aged men in expensive track suits. He didn't know them, but had often seem them in the convenience store. Both were covered in sweat and had obviously just stopped in to get sports drinks and check their comm messages. They were talking animatedly about some story they'd both read called the Cask of Amontillado. They finished their business and went outside, where one stretched while the other adjusted the internal pressure on his Mitsuhama Mercury running shoes. And then they were off.

Gregory felt there was something important about that scene, but was having a tough time pinning down exactly what. And there was certainly plenty right there in front of his eyes to distract him.

Carla
Upper West Side, New York. Wednesday 4/16/70 09:35:00

Carla stood dumbstruck by the news footage. She had first heard rumors about her father in the organlegging business when she was seventeen, but given that the source of the rumor was some lunatic who tried to kill her parents, she didn't take the accusations seriously at all. To fully debunk the rumor, her father voluntarily requested that the police run an investigation on his business and home - an investigation which turned up nothing.

Nevertheless, there were some questionable aspects of her parents' medical practice. First of all, there was little incentive anymore to go into private practice; most of the medical students Carla knew were planning on working in hospitals or large doctor-consortiums that allowed cheaper medical care (and thus, attracted more customers.) The only practical reason to go into private practice was if a doctor was particularly interested in...privacy.

Despite the disadvantages, her parents made out very well for a pair of private practitioners. Carla had always attributed this to the fact that her parents catered primarily to a privileged, high-paying clientele, the fact that they were able to attract both mundane and awakened patients (due to her mother's magic abilities), and the fact that Carla's parents (and herself) were relatively frugal spenders. Thanks to her parents' incomes, her family lived very comfortably, but Carla's father was always careful to avoid living extravagantly.

"Never show off your wealth," her father would say. "It only gets you the attention of thieves."

So while Carla's family certainly had nice things - a nice home, nice clothing, good food, etc. - they didn't throw money around on things like exotic vacations, expensive luxury cars, or state-of-the-art entertainment devices. In fact, the only thing that Carla's father was really willing to spend a lot of money on was security systems for the home, the clinic, and their respective networks. A lot of her parents' money went to Carla's education and to her old grandmother in Seattle. Other than that, the funds not used for everyday living expenses and bills, Carla was told, were saved in the bank for retirement.

Of course, the alternative explanation for her parent's success would be some underhanded, illegal medical procedures. To say Carla was fully surprised by the news would be a little inaccurate, for the old rumors about her father had always lingered in the back of her mind. Sure, Carla was shocked and horrified by this news, but part of her brain had always expected this to happen.

Suddenly, Carla was snapped back into reality as her brother started talking. "So...what now?" Gregor asked.

The last person to accuse Carla's father of medical crimes had decided to express his disapproval by throwing a grenade into their practice - an act of violence which had cost Carla her right arm and almost a year of her life in a sick bed. Now that there was supposedly proof of her father's illegal dealings, there was no telling how people might respond. Carla ran to the security panel by the front door and started punching buttons. Clicks were heard as the doors and windows around the home were electronically locked, the outsides of the windows were tinted, and all the lights in the house went out.

"What are you doing?!" asked Gregor, confused.

"I don't want any nutcases coming here asking questions - it's best if they think nobody's home," Carla explained. "As for the news or the police, they'll probably be here any minute, so clean yourself up and get some decent clothes on, Gregor. The last thing we need is the news to find out that Papa's son is a-"

"Is a what?"

"Just make yourself presentable, alright?"

Gregor picked up his food and retreated to his old bedroom, looking for any old clothes that might still be in there. Just before Carla went to get changed herself, she peered out the window into the street, looking for anyone who might be waiting outside the house.

Wednesday 4/16/70 09:36:31

Peering out the window, Carla saw three news vans pulling up in front of her house, all of which immediately disgorged swarms of media types. And right at that moment the trid started signalling incoming calls. The caller ID display was showing a rapidly increasing number of insistent cries for attention, all apparently from media sources. But hidden among the unknown numbers was her mother's personal commlink....

Carla
Upper West Side, New York. Wednesday 4/16/70 09:37:00

Carla was caught between keeping an eye on the approaching reporters, answering the trid, and getting changed into adequate clothing. However, after spotting her mother's number flash across the trid display, Carla forgot about her other tasks and immediately let her mother's call through.

"Ma! Are you alright? Is Papa alright? What's going on down there?"

Gregory
Saturday 4/26/70 8:30:21

An hour later, Gregory got out of the bed for the second time this day. He smiled broadly and stroked a piece of his wife's hair to the side of her head.

"Saturday morning cartoons will be wrapping up soon. I suppose we'd best be going."

Anastasia squinted at him and said, "Maybe you'd best take a shower first Cassanova. I swear, you're the only latin lover I've ever run into who smells like damp puppy chow."

"So you have had latin lovers. I was wondering who put thte oil slick on my pillow."

She proceeded to toss the pillow at him and said "Exactly, toss it in the wash would you?"

Greg obliged on his way to the bathroom and started running a shower. As he stepped into the hot water and started rinsing off dog hair and the sleeps dishevelment and tried to recall exactly what it was that had been bothering him this morning and what went on in The Cask of Amon Tillado.

Warren
Wednesday 3/20/70 21:10:40

Warren instructed Ray to squeeze the chopper down just outside the gate to screen the runners outside the compound from whoever had just shot the woman inside the compound twice. Ray activated the smoke generator on his own, and Warren took the intervening seconds to grab a riot shield. In the meantime, the troll on the ground had reentered the compound, and by the time Warren, Nick and Danielle were out the hatch, the troll had been shot once in the knee and once in the face - a glance out the window just before jumping showed Warren that the troll's jaw had been sheared away, but he was still crawling toward the downed woman.
As they hit the ground safely on the far side of the chopper from the compound, the last person standing pointed at his comrade there on the ground, yelled something they couldn't hear, and looked as though he too was about to head back into the compound after the troll.

Carla
Wednesday 4/16/70 09:37:10

"Carla, ma cherie, are you alright? Are those ghastly reporters there at the house? No, don't answer that - of course they are, the fiends. Call both Knight Errant and Lone Star and have them shoo them back as far as possible. I will be home forthwith. Don't let anyone else in except for Mr. Fitzgerald. And Carla, I have no idea how these ridiculous allegations keep coming up, but you must trust your mother when I tell you they are completely and utterly false. I will see you soon." And with that, she was gone, before Carla even had a chance to respond.

Carla
Wednesday 4/16/70 09:39:00

Despite her mother's assurances, Carla wasn't completely sure what to believe about this whole situation. Her mother might be telling the truth, but it was also possible that she had been just as unaware of this scandal as Carla. And then, of course, there was the possibility that her mother was flat-out lying. Regardless of what was true or not, Carla wanted these muckrakers away from her home - after all, she still needed to get some sleep.

However, Carla did not want to get the cops involved if she didn't have to, so she unlocked the front door and opened it just enough to shout through, "You have exactly one minute to leave until I call the police!" She then quickly locked the door and waited.

Carla
Wednesday 4/16/70 09:40:40

Unfortunately, all that got were immediate trid "reports live from the opulent Sanchez residence that someone inside, probably the mysterious and fragile Carla Maria Sanchez, had threatened the media with the police," - a typical tactic of the rich and pampered, they all but sneered.

Electra
Saturday 5/10/70 13:34:00

It took quite some time for Electra to regain some modicom of composure, by now she had manage to hunch herself up at the edge of the river. She had already waved away the rest of the cast, who had managed to keep a bit calmer than herself, and they had left at the command of a harried paramedic.

For a wile random medical-looking people would check on her, but by the time she managed to wire her biomonitor to open mode she had already been handed a foil blanket, and a pouch of electrolytes. She suspected it was tagged to show her as a low prioroity as she got left alone after that. There simply wasn't time to move the less serious cases.

Eventually it was shame that got her moving, as she saw a man with a heavily banadaged face walking from victim to victim calmly tagging them for level of treatment needed, presumably a doctor caught on his day off.

With that reality snapped back, and she noticed the blinking red lights by her friend's commcodes, and, forcing herself not to lose it again she started making her way back towards her house.

"The commnets must have been taken out by the blast, they'll be fine."

Electra
Saturday 5/10/70 15:11:19

It had taken somewhat more than the usual 45 minutes to walk from the Globe to her flat near Russel Square. The indicator lights were still solid red. Once in the door all she could think of was getting clean.

She was in the shower letting the scalding water scour the experience from her body - and hopefully her soul - when she was overjoyed to hear the familiar clop clop clop of Trevor's hoofs bounding up the steps to her third floor room. He must be in a real hurry to see her, to know she was all right. She was halfway to the door, dripping all over the floor, before he got to the landing, and as she approached the entryway he was already pounding both fists against the sturdy wood. His voice sounded panicked, and despite all the noise he was making with the pounding, he was shouting sotto voce - "Lex, Lex! Let me in. Now!!!"

Carla
Wednesday 4/16/70 09:45:00

Fragile? Carla thought in response to the media's assessment of her. I'll show them "fragile."

She immediately set to calling the local Lone Star and Knight Errant divisions with requests to remove the "rioters," as she called them, from the neighborhood street. After both services eagerly agreed to assist in the matter, Carla, not wanting to deal with the media any longer, proceeded to her bedroom to get dressed.

Once in her bedroom, she activated the wall panel that operated her automated closet. The combination of her night at the hospital, the stress from the current situation, and her lack of sleep was making Carla feel feverish. At least she had gotten to take a shower before leaving work.

She didn't want to bother with any stiff or stuffy clothes right now, so she selected the options, "light" and "casual" from the panel, and the automated closet handed her an outfit folded neatly on a hanger. The outfit included a white, button-up blouse and a pair of casual black pants and shoes. Satisfied with the closet's offer, Carla tossed her nightwear on the bed and started getting dressed.

As she put on her clothes, the "fragile" comment from the trid reporters lingered in her mind. Sure, Carla had a slight build and was a couple inches shorter than the average woman, but she was generally healthy and fit. As the daughter of two physicians, Carla couldn't count how many times she had been lectured on the link between physical health and mental health, so she made it an effort to periodically work out at the gym (though with her time heavily spent between school and work, she didn't go to the gym quite as often as she probably should.) Despite her healthy eating habits and and moderate exercising, however, Carla's body never really filled-out into what one might call a "womanly" figure. Her parents had postulated that the installation of a cyberarm in her late teens may have inhibited the final growth stages of her adolescence; regardless of what her parents thought, however, Carla was pleased with herself physically.

Well, except for her cyberarm. Having grown up in an age when most of her classmates were installing various forms of computers in their bodies, Carla was proud to be "pure." Additionally, as a child, she had always secretly hoped that she would Awaken one day. But when Carla lost her right arm and genetic engineers repeatedly failed to produce cloned limbs that worked, she had no choice but to accept a synthetic limb instead. Now, eight years after the operation, Carla had gotten over the initial disappointments of having a mechanical right arm, and though by no means did she keep her cyberlimb a secret, she preferred to keep it covered under long sleeves. When wearing short-sleeves, close inspection would reveal that her lightly tanned skin (a trait she inherited from her father) was just a bit lighter than the shade of her synthetic arm. Overall, however, her synthetic cyberarm looked real enough that most people (even those who knew she had one) took little notice of it. Unfortunately, the arm was obviously artificial to the touch, and so Carla wore a pair of gloves (usually her AR gloves) virtually all the time.

After buttoning up her blouse, Carla took a quick look in the mirror to straighten out her hair. Colored a rich shade of brown with just the slightest tint of red, Carla deliberately kept her hair short and flat for easy maintenance and minimal hassle. Satisfied with her appearance, she clipped her commlink onto her belt, put on the accompanying AR-gloves and smart-glasses, and proceeded back towards the living room to await the arrival of the police.

Gregory
Saturday 4/26/70 9:00:31

Greg stepped out of the shower and began towelling off the water and spare suds as he strolled towards the bedroom door. He was held up halfway by the large mirror in the corner opposite the shower. A short, pale, slightly overweight elf looked back at him. It was a strange combination in someone of his race, but genetics and a sedentary lifestyle had left him with a thick waist, broad face and rounded shoulders to complement his ears instead of the traditional lithe and slender elven physique.

He'd had that shape once, when he was just out of college and returning home from his foreign service assignment. The odd food, the stress and the pressure to be ready for anything kept Greg as fit as he had ever been -- his body had not been a finely tuned machine like the security staff but had posessed more of a well worn, easy to use feeling.

He'd met Ana when he was like that. She'd never said that it was his body that attracted her, but his eyes. He personally thought that they were dark green and that was about it. They were a highly serviceable pair of eyes, but when he and Ana were secreted away together she'd whisper about how they could "grab a person and freeze them in place." Greg had scoffed at this but in a rare moment of dead seriousness Anastasia hadn't responded with a jest but had said "They're glaciers, cold and myserious and far away."

Greg threw a sardonic look at the reflection trying to tease out the "glacial" nature of his eyes and almost broke out laughing when he saw the look of consternation on his face. He flashed his foggy double one of his patented wide grins and ran a cursory comb through his short hair, organizing it into rows pointing forward over his forehead and tucked behind his ears.

He stepped back into his room where his wife had donned a T-Shirt and some casual slacks for her weekend activities. Greg walked past her to his manual wardrobe in the closet as she wrestled with a particularly difficult earring dispensed by her automatic fashion coordinator. Greg had been puzzled by the hours she spent tuning the machine to her exact tastes, but he wasn't one to argue -- he was puzzled by some of the features of his trideo recording system which his four year old daughter had mastered. He carfully slid the armored longcoat and concealed pistol to one side, they were relics of a bygone, exciting and dangerous era when he was a soldier and a hero, and settled on the versatile ensemble he wore for both work and leisure: a casual pair of slacks and a light button down shirt.

Gregory
Saturday 4/26/70 9:45:16

Greg and Ana had finished dressing and after a quick kiss, headed downstairs to check on their children. As expected, things were fairly tame. The breakfast had mostly been eaten while Greg was out with the exception of the waffle being nibbled on by the four year old glued to the television, the eggs which the one year old glued to his building blocks had hurled onto the floor and a small neat plate set aside for Greg's consumption.

"I don't suppose you coudl get a cleaning drone or something like that to clean up the mess?" Greg tentatively asked.

"I would have had it done an hour ago if someone hadn't interrupted," Ana teased.

"You're the best."

Greg grabbed his tray of food and settled down in an easy chair with a view of the trid in order to try to keep some faint tabs on what propaganda was being poured into his daughter. While sitting there he ran a quick search of the second matrix for a copy of The Cask of Amon Tillado and read it cover to cover.

Half an hour later Greg was chilled to the bone, not by the mildly repellant story of revenge, wine and bricklaying but by a sudden dose of paranoia.

Edagar Allen Poe ... The janitors were talking about that when I was working late, and now the track men from the Stuffer Shack. Is it a coincidence? What story were the cleaning ladies talking about? ...

He took a deep breath, but his mind continued to run at a breakneck pace.

Carla
Wednesday 4/16/70 09:49:00

She didn't have to wait long. Before she was fully dressed she could hear sirens approaching, and by the time she peeked out the curtains two sets of police uniforms were herding media to a designated area cordoned off in a small park down the block. Of course the newshounds tried to provoke the police and get their reactions on film, but none of that ongoing game was any of her concern.

A pair of KE officers was in front of the house arguing with a pair of LS cops. Finally they seemed to agree on something and one from each pair approached the door. Gregor, who was looking much more presentable (and had obviously used those eyedrops she'd gotten him), spoke to them, and it seemed they were competing to be the most helpful and obsequious.


Wednesday 4/16/70 10:11:47


At last Carla's mother walked into the house. She shocked both of her children by drawing Gregor into a warm embrace, then stepped back and turned her drawn, tear-streaked face to them both - "Now our familee must be strong. We must bee together."

Gregory
Saturday 4/26/70 10:37:10

As Gregory puzzled over the problem, Linda bounded into the room with a stack of rumpled papers. One by one she held the primitive watercolors up for his inspection, announcing each in turn - Stegosaurus, Packycephalosaurus (HE couldn't pronounce that, what was it with little kids?), Brontosaurus, Dimetrodon.
A none-too-subtle hint that it was time to head to the Science Museum. At least she was interested in seeing something REAL and not virtual.

Carla
Upper West Side, New York. Wednesday 4/16/70 10:12:00

Carla gave her mother a reassuring hug, but not because she was glad to see her. In fact, she was just a bit uncomfortable hugging her mother, for their relationship had never been a particularly warm one. However, Carla couldn't think of anything else to do at the moment. She wanted to ask her mother questions - did she know about this? Was she involved? Was any of it true? But Carla knew these were all stupid questions. If her mother was actually innocent, she would simply deny all the accusations, and if she wasn't innocent, she'd still deny the accusations. There was simply no point in asking those kinds of things. So instead of questioning her mother's guilt or innocence, Carla opted to ask a more open-ended question.

"Ma, what happened at the clinic this morning?

Warren
Wednesday 3/20/70 21:22:47

Yeah sure thats all i need is a pile of bodies inside the obvious killing field of this building, i love getting shot at. Warren decked the guy before he could even turn his feet in the direction of the woman and the troll. Warren spoke into his helmet, "I just incapacitated this guy, dont load him up just yet"

Danielle came back over the radio, "Warren i know what your going to do and dont even think about it!! Those people are getting picked apart inside that courtyard, you wont make it"

Warren raised his shield and took off towards the woman in the courtyard, he could feel atleast one bullet go whizzing by as he made his way to her. Was that a warning shot? She was still alive but was in extreme pain from being shot in the back of the knee and having her hand blown off. "Dont worry mam im with doc wagon and we are here to save you." With that he reached down and picked her up to sling her over his shoulder. "I have the woman and am heading back, this one is definately gettig on the chopper". Nick replys, "Uhh Warren the guy you knocked out was one of our clients". Great, I hope the guy understands. As Warren struggled to cover both himself and the woman with the shield as he ran back out of the courtyard he felt a small nudge and then something warm and sticky started running down his skin.

Oh frag me i've been hit. "I think i was hit guys". As Warren approaches Dani and Nick who are waiting on him and the woman, he slowly lays her onto the stretcher and its then that he realizes that he wasnt the one who got hit. The poor woman had taken a bullet to the head and there was a gaping hole with blood and grey bits oozing out.

Warren slides his shield back into position on the chopper. "Thats a wrap, if i couldnt get the woman i sure as hell wont be able to get the troll. The people in that building are in a superior position." Warren reaches down and dumps the woman off the stretcher. "We're taking the client i knocked out and the other guy and bugging out." Warren knelt by the head of the stretcher and waited for them to load up the client before helping slide him into the chopper next to the other unconscience guy. Warren's face was filled with dispair and regret.

Nick and Dani didnt waste any time in loading up the client and helping warren stuff him into the chopper. After that they all strapped in and sounded off again, "two green, three, green, four green". Ray pushed the throttle forward making the blades on the chopper spin faster and create the lift they needed to get out of this small war.

Warren watched Nick and Dani begin to work feverously on the first guy who had fallen unconscience apparently from blood loss and then he glanced down at his arm that still had the womans blood on it. I should have been able to save her. Whats going to happen to the troll? Are they going to kill him? Torture him and then kill him? How can these people willfully run the shadows when this kind of thing happens more often than not?

Carla
Wednesday 4/16/70 10:12:00

"My dear, there is not much to tell. Winter Systems detectives came in with a representative from the district attorney's office. They had a warrant for your father's arrest, which they let us inspect but not copy. It listed a number of legal charges, but it added up to organlegging." She spat out the last word with disgust.
"Everything else we only know from the media." She paused to rub her eyes. "I am so tired right now. I am going to lie down, but wake me immediately when Mr. Fitzgerald arrives."

Wednesday 4/16/70 20:34:00

It had been such a dreadful day. The worst in seven years.
Mr. Fitzgerald had arrived within the hour, and he and their mother had cloistered themselves in Papa's office for some while.
By the time he left, Gregor was also long gone - she had tried to get him to stay, but although he wouldn't admit it, he needed a fix. At least he had had the presence of mind to slip out the side door invisibly as she pretended to open it to let the cat out.
After Mr. Fitzgerald left, Mama had explained that they were making plans to have Papa make bail at his arraignment. In the meantime they would try to keep a low profile but not be deterred from business as usual. To that end, she explained, they had upgraded their Knight Errant service, and uniformed officers would fetch her from home this evening to escort her to her night shift at the hospital.
Carla, took advantage of the fact that the clinic was closed, tried to get some sleep, but it came reluctantly. Later, they had ordered takeout, but the delivery men turned out to be paparazzi, the food containers hiding cameras. Within minute pointless pictures of Carla's shocked, squinting face were on the data networks, although the snoops had paid for their impertinence with copious bruises from the security out front.

Now, dressing for her night shift that started at 10, Carla felt apprehensive just at the thought of even going out the doors.

Warren
Wednesday 3/20/70 21:59:09

Warren couldn't help feeling relieved as they came in sight of their base. It had been a hell of a run.

Nick and Danielle had managed to stabilize the seriously hurt guy, although there had been a souple of real scares. Unconscious though he was, he had been gripping something tightly in his hand. When Dani had removed it, it was a small metal cylinder, and a smaller piece of metal had fallen off of it onto the deck. Without thinking Warren had snatched it from her and hurled it out the side hatch, where it fell about 20 meters before shaking the chopper with a huge explosion. Then, opening the man's shirt, Nick had found a thick envelope full of documents. But as soon as he picked it up, the man's eyes had shot open and a gun seemingly materialized out of thin air, pointed at Nick's face. The man's other hand snatched the envelope and then he apparently lapsed back into consciousness.
Exchanging meaningful looks, as soon as they had stabilized him successfully, they had put him in restraints before putting the envelope in a bag for clients' personal effects.
After checking the vitals of the guy Warren had tagged, they also put him in restraints for good measure.

Now, turning their charges over to the ground team and getting off the helicopter, they were surprised to see the boss waiting for them. "Great work, people. i've been reviewing the tapes. Two saves from an impossible situation. This one goes in your jackets."

Carla
Tisch Hospital, New York. Wednesday 4/16/70 20:35:00

So here she was again, back at the hospital, yet so much had changed since her last shift less than a full day ago. Even if the charges against Carla's father turned out to be bogus, the repeated accusation of the same crime was likely to tarnish her father's reputation for the rest of his career. Even if the courts proved him innocent, people would be suspicious about why these accusations kept cropping up. The best scenario Carla could see resulting from this situation was her father getting off clean and the clinic resuming business, though probably with a few less patients than before.

Though some of Carla's peers and co-workers considered her to be somewhat cynical, Carla had optimistic expectations about how her peers would react to the news. Although she certainly didn't expect anyone to approve of her father's supposed practices, she didn't expect her peers to lose respect for her over something that her father may or may not have committed.

After all, it's medical school. They're all smart, reasonable people, right?

Gregory
Saturday 4/26/70 10:50:32

Greg's indulgence in paranoia was cut short by his daughters entrance and the usual stream of rationalization spilled into his idle mind.

You're within spitting distance of the CIA, they'd know if another team were in town
Who would be specifically angry at me? I've only got level four clearance and still have to ump through all the security hoops
Who the hell would choose Edgar Allen Poe as a source for callsigns? A conspiracy of ravens! Quoth the strike team, Nevermore!

He chuckled to himself as he finished the thought but was still faintly troubled by the recent turn of events.

However, as his daughter attempted to sound out Archaeopteryx, he realized more pressing issues were at hand.

"You ready to get going?"

"eo-tricks-o-pe ... Yeah!"

"Alright get your shoes on and I'll go grab your mother."

Linda jumped up to reveal a pair of galoshes already strapped to her feet and yelled "Ready to go!"

Greg had to wonder how long it would be before he had to carry his daughter, but he was well aware that there would be no delaying her for something so trivial as proper footwear.

"Alright go to the car, I'll meet you there."

He poked his head into the kitchen to find his wife nibbling on his leftovers. "I promised Linda that we'd hit the science museum before you got up. You coming?"

"Sure."

"Could you warm up the car. I'll scare up toothy."

Greg rounded up his son and joined his wife and daughter in the idling car he'd been in an hour ago. The drive was uneventful, especially with Ana at the wheel. She clearly knew her way around the vehicle and Saturday afternoon traffic was light. Greg passed his time in the backseat playing peek a boo with his son and letting his daughter's cascades of information about dead reptiles roll over him.

The museums' greek facade was imposing but inspired suitable awe for its contents. Walking to the museum from the remote corner of the parking lot where Ana had squeezed her car afforded plenty fo time to enjoy the weather. The temperature gradient from the outdoors to the indoors was a bit surprising, but Linda's excitement was palpable.

Unfortunately, that excitement quickly butted up agains the end of the line which wound around the velvet lines strung behind the ticket counter. The science museum wasn't usually a terribly popular spot, but it was a weekend and several other families much like Greg's were lining the granite slabs of the lobby.

Time dragged, and the line inched forward and Greg waited.

[Deleted: Wrong Thread! Sorry for the Mispost!]

Carla
Wednesday 4/16/70 20:36:00

As if to confirm her thoughts, Carla had barely changed into her scrubs when a few of her classmates and a couple of the nurses cornered her and expressed their support for her.
Then, just as hand had been shaken and hugs exchanged and they went about their duties, a message came through on Carla's commlink. The Dean was still in his office, and his secretary was requesting that Carla come see him as soon as her ER duties allowed.

Gregory
Saturday 4/26/70 11:35:00

Eventually they made it inside and of course Linda led them straight for the Cretaceous Room. She was immediately immersed in the interactive displays, with Ana keeping a close eye on her. Linda has already made a couple of insta-friends, a couple of boys, looked like brothers, about her age and equally versed in paleontology. Gregory stood holding the baby and gazing up at the amazing rack of choppers in the skull of the big T Rex skeleton. Standing next to him was a human guy about his age - the father of Linda's two new friends.

"What is it about these things kids love so much? I was just as into these critters when I was a tyke, and my father says he was too."

"Yeah, I still remember all the names - I guess my daughter got it from me," Gregory affably replied.

"Yeah, I know exactly what you mean. Stan Reyes, I'm in building contracting," the man said, extending a hand.

"Greg Blaine, glorified file clerk," Gregory replied, shaking the man's hand.

"Huh, yeah, that's basically how I feel most of the time, too." The man paused, gazing up at the remains of the prehistoric beast. "You know, thinking of all those bones locked away in the sediment for all those millenia, I can't help but think of that poor Fortunato sap, walled up in those catacombs and left to die. Yeeww. Nasty way to go."

Gregory
Saturday 4/26/70 11:36:03

Greg kept himself from starting visibly and instantly decided to press his advantage, hoping that whoever Stan was didn't know what he had up his sleeve.

He cast the man a sidelong glance, attempting to memorize everything about him and replied, "It sure was. That's a hell of a story? How'd you come by it?"

Without waiting for the stranger's response, Greg tried as hard as he could to relax and let his eyes slide out of focus. He was always tense when this happened, what he was about to do would expose him to a world of problems. Gregory, while listening to the conversation, surreptitiously let his perceptions slide to the astral plane.

As always the mana crashed into him like a tidal wave. He found himself riding a wave of force with the voice of the earth, time, life death, vision, blindness, poetry and power echoing in his ears for a brief second before he was left alone filled with the drifting aether. He was one with the massive perception of magic and it for an instant rang through him, acknowledging his presence the same just as Greg would acknowledge the presence of an fly by trying to shake it off his arm.

Composing himself Greg spent another moment studying the man before him with his new eyes while keeping close track of the conversation and of his wife and child. His old danger sense, which had seen him healthy through the nightmare which was Ireland's underbelly, was reading off the charts.

Carla
Wednesday 4/16/70 20:36:00

Not wanting to have thoughts of the dean's request bug her at a time when she needed to be totally focused, Carla figured that it was best to see the dean sooner than later. She quickly sought out the attending physician and asked his permission to make a quick trip.

"The dean requested to see me, sir. Before I take on any assignments, may I go speak with him? I was asked to visit him as soon as possible, and I doubt he would have called me at this hour, let alone during my ER shift, if it wasn't somewhat urgent."

Warren
Wednesday 3/20/70 22:02:38

They all watched the boss walk off and then Nick turns to the group, "I'll second that. Great job people, once again i am in awe at your total lack of self perservation Warren." he says half laughing, half serious. "We only have an hour and fifty-seven minutes to go before the end of the shift, Ray and Warren you guys go start on your reports. Dani and I will go restock the chopper and then come join you."

Warren: "Sounds like a plan, come on Ray."
Ray: "Yea, Yea, im coming."

Having to fill out reports after each run was boring as hell and was sometimes very hard if it was as messy as this one had been, but it gave each person in the team a chance to chill out and let the adrenaline fade away. Warren went about filling out the report mindlessly moving the fingers of his AR glove to type away on an invisable keyboard while he began to think about the fight that was only hours away. He was about halfway through the report when Nick and Dani came back in and started in on their reports. They only gave curt nods as they entered because this was part of their job and not to be taken lightly. As Warren finished he hit the send button that would send the report flying through the matrix to the datastores where the info would be kept until needed.

Now that the report was done he could spend some time to relax and focus. Right about now he was thinking how much he would love to have one of those sleep regulator pieces of cyber. If 4 hours of sleep with one of those felt like a full nights rest then he would surely welcome only half of that. He knew he was going to be exausted after the fight tonight win or lose.

As the others finished they turned on the trid to see if the retireval they had just performed was being talked about at all on the news or to see if anything else was happening. It was the favorite after mission activity as it let them forget about what just happened and gave them things to talk about.

Warren took the lull in the trid watching to check to see if he had any messages from Kyle who should be at or heading to the venue he was going to be fighting at and setting things up.

Electra
Saturday 5/10/70 15:20:19
Electra responded to the urgency in Trevor's voice by grabbing her knife as she jogged to the door, anybody following him would not only have a piece of her mind to deal with. Readying herself for a rush she pulled open the door with her off hand, the blade behind her back...

Gregory
Saturday 4/26/70 11:36:06

"Aw hell, I don't remember. Some class, must've been - I'm not really much of a reader. More into fantasy sports. You do any of that?"

Carla
Wednesday 4/16/70 20:36:06

"No problem, Sanchez...And watch your step with that guy." In response to Carla's questioning look, her attending simply said, "No, no, nothing malevolent or anything - just, for his type the hospital comes first and the students a distant second."

With that he was off to see a patient, and Carla turned to almost crash into a gyrnie being pushed into the hall by an orderly. It held a corpse, the body completely covered, a wide and heavy blood stain at the head's position. And then the corpse sat up, the sheet falling away to reveal a man who had taken a bullet directly between the eyes. It lunged for Carla, missed, and fell to the floor at her feet, where it immediately started to get up, its dead-dull eyes riveted on her face the whole while. "SSSSan-chezzzz....."