East Point, Atlanta: Saturday 01-MAR-2070 - 2200

Thank you, Mark. Hello out there! It's a typical day for this time of year here in Atlanta - humid. However, that goes without saying doesn't it. I suppose the dry days are what people talk about. The temperature today was near normal at 12.8 C or if you are still hanging on to the old ways, it was 55 F. The storm front that is moving through the area has left some rain and clouds that will be around a bit for tomorrow and should clear out by Saturday.

Frank turns off the weather on the trid and yells, "Hey, Honey, get me a beer would ya?". He then turns his attention to the news section of the trid and reads about the lightning storm that blew out the MARTA substation near their apartment. Damn, I'll have to drive to work tomorrow. I hate how whenever the city is tearing up the roads, I have to drive. He then looks over the political section and reads up on the race for Senator. To Frank it looks like his choice, Terry Fulerton, of the Southern Conservative Party is going to win, though it's still early in the year to make predictions. All the better. Someone needs to teach those metas where their place is.

Honey walks in with the beer. "Thank you baby," says Frank.

East Point, Atlanta: Saturday 01-MAR-2070 - 2200

Thank you, Mark. Hello out there! It's a typical day for this time of year here in Atlanta - humid. However, that goes without saying doesn't it. I suppose the dry days are what people talk about. The temperature today was near normal at 12.8 C or if you are still hanging on to the old ways, it was 55 F. The storm front that is moving through the area has left some rain and clouds that will be around a bit for tomorrow and should clear out by Saturday.

Stella turns off the weather on the trid and flips over to the news section. She scans for the political race and reads up on how Mark Roloven is doing against Terry Fulerton. She is a bit dismayed that the bigot of the Southern Conservative Party is doing so well. It's too bad that the American Coalition isn't doing so well. Mark is going to need some cash to win this thing and I don't see any help coming his way. I can't imagine what this neighborhood is going to look like if Terry Full-of-himself gets elected.

Stella reaches over and pets her cat. At least it feels like she does. Ever since the new landlord decided that pets had to go, she has been making do with her Virtual Pet.

East Point, Atlanta: Saturday 01-MAR-2070 - 2200

Thank you, Mark. Hello out there! It's a typical day for this time of year here in Atlanta - humid. However, that goes without saying doesn't it. I suppose the dry days are what people talk about. The temperature today was near normal at 12.8 C or if you are still hanging on to the old ways, it was 55 F. The storm front that is moving through the area has left some rain and clouds that will be around a bit for tomorrow and should clear out by Saturday.

Doug snaps of the trid. Man, that guy's horrible. Listen, Mark, you have to go on the offensive. I counted three attack ads in the past hour. Terry is eating your lunch out there. Look, I know that you don't want to be seen as the mudslinger, so let me tell you what I am thinking ...

Saturday, March 1st, 2070; 22:00 CST; Atlanta, CAS

Eric returned the book to the shelf; It was a dissertation on the nature of beast spirits written by a Sioux owl shaman at the University of Cheyenne who went by the name Robert Running Bear. It was a good read and the text was only eighteen years old so it was very relevant, despite the stereo-typical name used by the author.

He had laid out all the materials in his lodge for the summoning and binding. The steak would make good bait during the summoning and appease the spirit as he called it and bound it to him for service. Looking at his com he figured he should be right in the middle of the binding ceremony at midnight, just as he wanted it.

The loft apartment suited Eric fine. He needed a lot of open space for his lodge and he lived alone so the books and various objects of his tradition were not a eyesore to a roommate or girlfriend. Looking around this shaman's loft, he made the final preparations to begins his summons....

Atlanta: Sunday 02-MAR-2070 - 1537

@ Jazz

The comm alerts you that you have an incoming video message from Cole:

<Hello there sweetie. You are probably stuck in some section of the trix I've never heard of. Anyway, there is some work if you are interested. Get over to the Krispe Kreme, back room in East Point by 7:00 pm. Oh yeah, bring that mage friend of yours. You know, the one that they call Worm... or whatever. Yeah, I need to meet him at some point. Chao, sweetie.>

Typical Cole, he couldn't completely wipe the leer off his face or out of his voice for that matter.


@ Sundown

You comm alerts you to text message. No identification can be found.

<Work. East Point Krispe Kreme back room. 1900 tonight.>

Sunday, March 2nd, 2070; 15:38 EST; Zoë's Flat, Atlanta, CAS

< [Jazz] We'll be there. >

Geez, what is this guy watching while he records these messages... Jazz thinks, as she studies Cole's face in the message. Seven... that's still enough time.

With that, she sinks back onto her bed, where she was lying before, letting the simsense wash over her again, and her mind is off.

Lessee what section of the 'trix he has never heard of I can dig up...


Sunday, March 2nd, 2070; 18:12 EST; Zoë's Flat, Atlanta, CAS

"Crap!" Jazz calls out, as she checks the time. Quickly, she dumps the clothes she is wearing and hops under the shower. In the meantime, she calls up Book.

With the commlink lying some few meters away, her voice sounds a bit distant, and there is that constant background noise of splashing water, too.

"Hey Worm..." Oh, dear! "... Book, I mean, Book. Hey! What? No, it's not raining. What? No, I don't think the comm is broken; the camera is off. Listen! We got an appointment. Yes, yes, exactly. Nineteenhundred, sharp. Yes, I know that this is a little on short notice, but sometimes things are that way, okay? Krispe Kreme, East Point. That's where we need to be. I can pick you up on the way. In... let's say... twenty five? How does that sound?"

Sunday, March 2nd, 2070; 02:00 EST; Atlanta, CAS
The spirit of beasts was ferocious and at first did not take well to the attempts to bind it, but finally after four hours, Eric was able to wrest it under control. He was bouyed by his success. So much so that he set to work to re-establish a circle, this one for a spirit of man.

Sunday, March 2nd, 2070; 06:15 EST; Atlanta, CAS
The second spirit of the night proved far more tricky. Eric had to reach deep to pull the conjuring out. He mispoke, made several mistakes but in the end it done. He was triumphant. He dismissed the second spirit and went to bed.

Sunday, March 2nd, 2070; 13:45 EST; Atlanta, CAS
Eric rolled out of bed and looked around. The sun was peeking in around the thick, dark shades that blocked his loft from the light of the day. The chalk markings covered the floor, remaining signs of the previous night's conjuring.

He grabbed a pocket burrito from the freezer and nuked it. As he ate, he gathered the last of the precious materials he had purchased over the last week. After he laid them out, he opened the windows to let the sun and the skiy shine in and he started anew...

Sunday, March 2nd, 2070; 17:50 EST; Atlanta, CAS
The last spirit bound, this spirit was pleasant. It longed to come to the material world and in offered many services to Eric. He was pleased... and he was hungry. He went to change and headed out to the little cafe just down the street,

Sunday, March 2nd, 2070; 18:12 EST; Atlanta, CAS
He'd no more than sat down and his com beeped. It was Jazz.
<[Jazz]Hey Worm... Book, I mean, Book. Hey!>
<[Book]What the-? I think my comm is broken..>
<[Jazz]What? No, I don't think the comm is broken; the camera is off. Listen! We got an appointment.>
<[Book]An appointment. As in a job? Your fixer? When?>
<[Jazz]Yes, yes, exactly. Nineteen hundred, sharp.>
<[Book]Nineteen hunred? That's less than than forty-five minutes! I'm starved, I haven't even eaten yet...>
<[Jazz]Yes, I know that this is a little on short notice, but sometimes things are that way, okay?>
<[Book]Fine. I need the work.. After Lucias went and got those new shoes, I need to hook up with a new fixer. Where is the meet?>
<[Jazz]Krispe Kreme, East Point. That's where we need to be.>
<[Book]Oh hell no. That's pretty low rent... I'll get food to go from here. You know I don't have wheels though..>
<[Jazz]I can pick you up on the way. In... let's say... twenty five? How does that sound?>
<[Book]Ok. I'll be at Demarco's down the block from my loft. And don't wear that stripper get up to his meet. Its really beneath you..>

He tended to refer to the skimpy clothes she wore clubbing as stripper outfits. In his opinion, she demeaned herself ripping off fools who came blubbering after her like housecats cats chasing down an aley cat in heat. 25 minutes...

He places a rush order to go. Fried catfish, baked beans and dirty rice.. and got it several minutes before she arrived.

Sundown relaxed into the deep plush chair that ordained the rather empty studio apartment. It was the only chair he found that didn't cause his back to hurt every minute he sat in it. He held a semi transparent brown RX bottle in one hand, and a glass of water in the other. He shook the bottle gently, the sound of to few pills rattled back at him.

Well... I guess I am going to work.

Work, the thought rattled around his brain like the pills in the bottle. His last few jobs had been little more than legg breaking. Not exactly the kind of job he craved. His true calling was miles away and might as well be continents away. If he went anywhere near the Azzie border both governments would be all over him.

He droped the next to the last pill out of the bottle and threw it back with a smoot, practiced motion. He chased it with the water, leaning back and trying to think through the pain in his knee. He glanced at the time imbedded in his right eye. He had two hours to get there. He decided he would be a little early, which left him time for a quick bite to eat at the IN and OUT down the street.

Atlanta: Sunday 02-MAR-2070 - 1537

@ Belle

The comm alerts that Ernesto has left a message.

<Hola chica! Tengo trabajo para ti. Vete a Krispe Kreme en East Point a las siete de la noche. El cuarto posterior. Llamame algun dia. Adios!>

Friday 02-MAR-2070 - 15:40 : Atlanta
PAN = Passive [LTG, Datajack, Touchlink] SIN = Mary Ann Cauthers

Belle slowly awakes with the buzzing she feels at her temple, the setting she set her comm to if she got a message. Funny how one little peice of cyber in her spine could let her feel AR like nothing before.

She brushed the sheets off her slim body as she sat up and brought up the message in her eyes, quickly reading through it and then sending one back Ernesto's way.

<[Belle]: Hola Ernesto. Mucho Gracias. I will call you later man.>


Belle slowly rises out of bed, her long strawberry blonde hair flowing around her bare shoulders as she strode through the large condo apartment she had inherited from her ex when he had died...Poor bastard...he was slowing me down though. He had uses....

Belle steps into the bathroom and the shower starts up automatically, cueing to her preferred temperature as she slid into it to gte ready for the meeting later that night.

Sunday, March 2nd, 2070; 18:38 EST; Outside Demarco's, Atlanta, CAS

< [Jazz] Closing in. ETA 2 minutes. >

Her speedbike whizzes through the streets, past cars and other bikes, while Jazz sends the message to Book. If she had taken the car, they would likely be coming late, the bike was simply faster.

2 minutes later, the sound of her bike echoes off the nearby buildings, as she stops in front of the little food store that Book was so fond of.

Sunday, March 2nd, 2070; 18:38 EST; Demarco's, Atlanta, CAS
Eric Debois aka Book; PAN=Passive[LTG]; SIN=Eric Smith (Not Broadcast)

Timing being what it is, Eric is just paying and collecting his to go order when Jazz's message beeps in. He takes a moment to look around the interior of the little sidewalk cafe. The booths starting to fill with patrons, the waitresses going to and fro serving food & taking orders. When he gets bored, Eric sometimes works in little places like this to pass the time but not for long.

Even as he heads for the door, she is there in the back of his mind... nudging him to turn over the perverbial stones... Root out more secrets...

Standing in the street waiting for the his inbound ride, he takes a last longing look. This shadowrunning business is a dangerous one. One mistep, one miscalculation and a person can end like Lucias.. Swimming with the fishes.. Permanantly.

Ah hell... First she tells me the meet is at a Krispe Kreme, now she's riding that two wheeled death machine. I think I'd rather go out with a swim than get peeled off the pavement with a spatula... I shoulda just summoned a big ass earth spirit and had him run me there..

Friday 02-MAR-2070 - 16:30: Atlanta
PAN = Passive [LTG, Datajack, Touchlink] SIN = Mary Ann Cauthers

Belle finally steps from the shower almost an hour later, completely clean, her strawberry blond hair tied up with a towel while she towels the rest of her body off.

Time to get ready for work

Belle is no stranger to the shadows. She was introduce onto the scene a year ago, coming out of the blue as the partner to the then slightly established runner James Mathers, also called Curve. He introduced her to the shadows and got her right into the game, helped her build her rep and get herself augmented by reputable street docs. They were rumored of becoming the Bonnie and Clyde of the '70's but almost a month ago James had been murdered, a hit that carries all the signs of revenge by corporation. Since then Belle has gone out on her own.

She quickly gets strapped up into gear, tight black pants with a red leather corset on top. She pulls her hair back into a tight ponytail as she adds her more concealed gear to her person. Her Raecor Sting is hidden the concealed holster on her ankle and her Predator is nestled safely in a similar holster position in the hollow of her back. She adds a couple of extra clips to the pockets of her coat as she grabs the saddle bag of her bike from its resting place in her closet, making careful note that all of her B&E gear and equipment is stowed safely inside. Lastly she grabs her full length white armored duster from its position on the coat rack by the door, pulling it on along with a pair of sunglasses from one of the pockets.

With herself set and prepared and she slid out of the condo's front door, locking it carefully on her way out. Her bike was parked in the garage downstairs and she mentally cued up the skillwire programming for driving into the front of her head as she made her way down the two flights of stairs to the parking garage.

Her bike is a sleak white Suzuki Mirage with red rose decals winding along the body. With a thought the bike roared to life and she revved out of the garage towards the donut shoppe that called to her.

Thanks again James, I wouldn't be here without you....

Sunday 02 March 2070, Crazy Dave's Used Cars, Atlanta 1530


Just about.... yeah... that's got it! Finally! A ridge of metal mated with a divot in another piece of metal and slid nicely into place. Now just hold that while I tighten...

WHAM!

Carron's world went sideways... and the rear differential he was holding up came down on his arm while his nose was smashed under the road oil and dirt covered fuel tank. "FRAGGING DREKHEAD!!! WHAT'S THE FRAGGING IDEA?! YOU TRYING TO KILL ME?" He's cursing the whole 3 seconds it takes him to push the differential off his arm and slide out from under the Patrol-1 with the biggest wrench he can reach in his had. The "biggest" being a 12mm box wrench that looks slightly more threatening than a pencil. Wishing for a track wrench or, even better, one of the big hammers that they used to pound the dents out of the armored skirts of the big panzers he used to crew, he rounds on the chortling tweed clad devil that apparently want's his life cut unnaturally short by a falling autopart. "What the hell, Dave? I didn't know they added murderous to the Crazy you've already got in front of your name! What's the problem?"

Wiping tears from his eyes "Crazy" Dave finally straigtened out of the laughter that had doubled his portly frame over. "Got some work for you Dalton m'boy!" He sounds like an old plantation owner, but looked the farthest thing from. Clad in the steroetypical tweed of the 'business" Crazy Dave fit the bill of "Used Car Salesman" to a T. Complete with bad hairpiece barely glued in place. Dave took some getting used too, but once you became "one of the boys." You discovered there was a lot more to Dave then pushing 15 year old lemons off on old ladies for grins. Dave was connected to just about evey chop-shop and weapons dealer in the city and was somewhat of a clearing house of vehicle related illegal mods and "upgrades." Good guy to know when he's not kicking your roller around glowered Carron. Carron has been using Dave's garage ever since Dave noticed a couple of the "non-standard" additions to Carrons set of wheels. That was a few weeks ago, about the time Carron had gotten into town. "Normally I'm not into the whole "fixer" gig, but since you owe me a little for all the shop time and I like you and all, figured I'd pass this along. You need to be at the Krispy Kreme in East Point at seven tonight. MY rep is on this so don't screw it up okay?" He grins at Carron to soften the implied insult, but ends up looking like the cat that ate the canary instead.

"Yeah, okay... thanks. Can I get back to work now? Cause it's gonna take me the rest of the time to put my car back together so I can get there. Especially if somebody keeps kicking the drek outta my roller every fifteen minutes."

He puts action to his words and rolls back under the car before Dave can reply.


Sunday 02 March 2070, Crazy Dave's Used Cars, Atlanta 1830

After the fourth doughnut half on the street and half up on the sidewalk Carron is staisfied the new rear diff is performing to spec. Time to see what this "job" is all about. He glances over his shoulder into the cluttered backseat. He's been more or less living in the car since he "retired" from the military a few weeks ago. The seat is covered with a variety of clothes, hardware (mostly MilSpec), and personal weapons. Yep, everything still there. He grabs a pair of AR goggles (MilSpec) and slides them down over his head and in front of his eyes, dials up the Smartlink and ties into the cars' sensors. Wish this thing had a turret, or something... he mentally shakes himself and focuses back on the driving. It's just a point to point so he hasn't jacked in, besides there's still a few connections to make and double check before he's sure the control rig will be up to speed. The prospect of action though is exhilirating in and of itself after so much time travelling and laying low. Almost as exhilirating as the punch of acceleration he gives the Nissan as he rockets off toward East Point.

Atlanta: Sunday 02-MAR-2070 - 1600

@ Dean & Vick


<[Mr. No-name]Hey ya'll! Sorry for the late notice, but I got back from a late dinner and found this on tha machine. Ya'll need to head over to tha Krispe Kreme in East Point at 7:00 pm for some work. Look in tha back room.>

Back Room, Krispe Kreme, East Point, Atlanta: Sunday 02-MAR-2070 - 1803

Doug, I'm just not sure about this ... I mean this isn't exactly legal ...

Listen, Mark, I know that you have some reservations about this but look ... we know that Terry is guilty but can't prove it. He knows that. A normal leak won't do it. The guy is too slick for that. We need proof that he can't deny with a paper trail to go with it. Listen, let Clive do this and we will get the edge that we need to get back into this thing. Once we have the proof, it can be anonymously leaked to the media. No harm to you, the truth comes out, and the public good is served ...

Alright, Doug. Alright.

Sunday, March 2nd, 2070; 18:40 EST; Outside Demarco's, Atlanta, CAS

The characteristic sound from her machine isn't hard to make out, as Jazz directs her sleek black and silver bike to the parking area near Demarco's. She kicks the stand down and dismounts, leaning against the machine's body to wait for Book.

Dressed in her biking leathers with her short coat on top, Jazz looks reasonably modest, even though the tight-fitting clothes make her feminine form stand out rather well. Her bag looks jam-packed, she probably has an extra set of normal clothing in there, in case they have to start immediately, and the leathers simply are not appropriate everywhere.

Across the street from Krispe Kreme, East Point, Atlanta: Sunday 02-MAR-2070 - 1855

After driving past the KK(and giving the parking lot a good once over), Carron finds a good place to park where he (and the car's sensors) can see most of one side and the back of the meeting point.

Well, this much at least is the same. Time to get some Intel... Oh, and don't forget the SigInt El-Tee. With that thought he brings up the car's RF scanner and sets it to go over the building and surroundings. While the car is busy doing that he cycles his goggles through Thermal and then to Magnetic while slowly scanning the interior of the store and back room. Hmmmm.... what have we here?

Sunday, March 2nd, 2070; 18:40 EST; Outside Demarco's, Atlanta, CAS

Book watches as Jazz pulls up on her bike. There is something about her form that pulls at the feral side of his nature. The leathers complementing her form, teasing about what they hide more than what they show. I wonder, perhaps, if this outfit is not worse than the other outfits due to the distraction and temptation...??

Book squints his eyes a little and refocuses. Job. Job. Job.

Eric has little in the way of gear. Under his well worn, but bulky duster is the same suit he wears to every meet. A small gym bag slung over his shoulder loaded with a change of clothes and his poncho, he never carries a gun.

He calls Jazz as he walks towards her, <[Book] Catfish?> as he sticks another nugget into his mouth.

Sundown paused in front of the Kispy Kreme, possibly hell or heavin on earth depending on your will power, or lack there of. He looked up and down the street for anything odd. Nothing really caught his attention. An errant wafe of air circled its way toward him. He decided now would be a good time to summon. He twitched his right hand a bit and sneazed. Summoning always seemed to make him sneeze.

Sunday, March 2nd, 2070; 18:50 EST; Transit station near the Krispy Kreme

Vick surveys the neighborhood as he steps out onto the sidewalk. He'd been dependent on the tube and bus since his old Americar was stolen. He just couldn't spare the cred for a set of wheels right now, because work hadn't been coming his way. He turned down his last offer because of a bad vibe he got from the Johnson. The job before that was a bust because a rookie on the team got sloppy. The last two months had seen no job prospects at all, and then to cap it off, two weeks ago his '59 Ford gets stolen.

The old decade had closed; the new one opened. . . and Vick's luck hadn't changed a bit.

For some reason, ever since Vick got the call from Mr. No-name a couple hours ago, he had a feeling of deja vu that he couldn't shake. Maybe it was because he'd gotten a haircut. That was SOP for him when going to a meet. He couldn't go to his regular place due to the short notice, and the stylist had used a different kind of aftershave. Maybe that was it.

Armed only with an extendable baton concealed beneath his armored jacket, Vick walked into the Krispy Kreme.

Sunday, March 2nd, 2070; 18:41 EST; Outside Demarco's, Atlanta, CAS

"Eww. No, thanks."

With Book on his way, Jazz swings back onto the front seat of her bike, ready to go.

"C'mon, we don't want to be too late..."

Sunday, March 2nd, 2070; 18:41 EST; Outside Demarco's, Atlanta, CAS

Book sticks another nugget in his mouth as he puts the sack in his bag. He mounts up without giving the bike a second look. There are days when you get a choice and days you don't. Today appears to be one of the latter.

@ Sundown

The Spirit pops into existence and then speaks in English, "Bless you, Master. How can I be of service?"

@ All

The inside of the Krispe Kreme is well lit and clean. Not just clean for the neighborhood - that would not be a difficult feat - but really clean - high end hotel clean. There are some older men - a human and an ork - playing dominoes in the corner booth sipping some coffee with half eaten doughnuts in front of them. The air smells sweet and a bit sticky. The young dwarf behind the counter looks up and asks, "Can I help you?" with a remarkable smile on his face. Upon hearing the words "back room", he directs you through a side door to the back of the store. The sign above the room reads:

NO Weapons
NO Cursing
JUST Business

An older human, with a bit of white at the temples, sits in the room smoking a cigar. He motions for you to sit down and then resumes smoking.

Sunday, March 2nd, 2070; 18:57 EST; Krispy Kreme, Atlanta, CAS

"I know that look on your face! Hey, we made it in time, alright? It's not like we had an accident," Jazz says with a wink. Of course, they didn't have an accident, she knew how to ride her bike after all.

As they stand before the Krispy Kreme, two tiny flying drones detach themselves from Jazz's pack and take position across the street, so she can monitor the parking place and what else is going on outside at the front of the building.

Inside, once they are led to the back, she immediately notices the sign and turns to the dwarf.

"Is that no carrying or no using?"

Sunday, March 2nd, 2070; 18:57 EST; Krispy Kreme, Atlanta, CAS

I've forfeit at least two years off the end of my life. There's no mistaking it. Two solid years...
Book steps off the bike, slowly, deliberately placing each foot on the ground, insuring that the ground itself is solid and not some flightly, intangent piece of fluff. I should make the sign of the cross or kiss the ground or something symbolic of my thanks at having made it to the end of the gauntlet with my life and limb... He says not a word though.

Momentarily ignoring Jazz's comment, Book takes out his poncho and unrolls it. He puts it on and pulls the hood over his head. He summons the mana around his body and begins following Jazz, slowly changing as they approach the Krispe Kreme entrance.

By the time he reaches the door, the shade of his suit is darker and pinstriped, topped with a red power tie. His jacket no longer appearing like a duster, rather an Armani overcoat. His face clean shaven and his features now stronger, sharper jawline. The facial change is not dramitic, but enough that he will not be recognizable. He pulls his hood back and it disappears into the illusion. Jazz has seen this face before. It is a common one for Book. Well memorized and eay to maintain, no sense a Johnson seeing his real face unless need be.

He switches his gaze to that of the astral world around them and summons a watcher from the fabric of space. Patrol around this building. Warn me of spells or spirits entering this building after me.

As she reaches for the door handle, he says in a low voice, "No. No accident.. It just sent me to my next life..". Her snicker telling him she got it, regardless of whether it was genuine or faked for the social reasons. He knew her drones had already informed her of the change anyway.

As she stops to question the dwarf, Book calls forth a second watcher. Follow me and watch over me from astral space. Alert me of danger by whispering to me, but insure I hear you.

Sunday- 2 March 2070; 1900 EST; Krispy Kreme, East Point, Atlanta

Nothing, just a fancy car from out of town, must be the employer... boring after all. After a quick glance at the empty RF Scanner, Carron slides on his concealed holster and drops the Predator into it. He steps out of the car and shrugs on his Camo (UCAS Pattern) Jacket. Slips two spare mags into the outside pockets of his jacket. Before he closes the car door he flips a blanket over the gear in the back seat. He locks the door and heads across the street.

Oddest doughnut shop I've seen... he thinks when he sees the interior with his Mk.I Eyeball.

As he gets into the back room he glances around at the 'runners already present appraising them. Damn, wish all my teammates were that good looking. Hope her capabilities match her looks. His gaze slides from the girl in leather over to the two suits in the room; Fraggin' poufs he thinks and dismisses them.

"I'll stand thanks" he says to the gesture to sit and moves into the corner opposite the door and waits, slowly scanning the room.

Sunday- 2 March 2070; 1900 EST; Krispy Kreme, East Point, Atlanta

Vick walks through the Krispy Kreme, snapping pictures of each person he comes in contact with using his cybereyes. Putting on his best poker face, Vick steps into the back room, nods to the seated man, and takes a seat directly across from him.
Four so far. . . looks to be a sizable team, and I don't know anybody yet. Not a good start.

March 1, 2070 O-Dark-Thirty EST; CavalryArm Condos, Atlanta

Buzz. . . . .Buzz. . . . Buzz. . . . .

Dean lifts his head from his sweat damped pillow and stares with bleary alcohol fogged eyes at his commlink as it continued to vibrate spitefully at him. His head ached and his eyes refused to focus properly after yet another night of drowning out his current existence at the Cube with Digger. Not feeling up to an AR interaction he spoke out loud in a whiskey roughed voice.

"Commlink connect, voaux only." He paused for a second to let the connection hit.

"Ya?"

The voice that answered was that of Digger, only it was modulated and changed enough to suggest he was using some kind of program to prevent anyone from tracing his voice or using stress analysis.

"Get up chummer, I got you some real work!"

Dean sighed, and pulled himself out of bed, if his friend actually had real shadow work for him to do he had to get himself up and moving, he'd better be ready and professional when the time came.

"Okay guy, give me twenty to get moving and I'll comm you back for the info." He closed the connection without waiting for a reply, since if he gave Digger half a chance the fixer would bury him in data before Dean had a chance to wake up.

Time for a shower and some real coffee. Some real strong coffee.

Back Room, Krispe Kreme, East Point, Atlanta: Sunday 02-MAR-2070 - 1900

The smoking man looks at Jazz and says, "Normally sweetheart, its no carrying; however, for someone as cute at you, we'll make it no using."

The dwarf from behind the counter brings in a plate of doughnuts and some coffee. He sets them on the table and them looks at the smoking man and asks, "Will there be anything else Mr..."

Before he can finish the man's name, the smoking man smoothly cuts in, "No. That is enough for now. He then turns to those at the table and says, "We will get started here in a bit. There are several more coming and here in the South we don't get as uptight as those damn Yankees up north."

Krispe Kreme, East Point, Atlanta: Sunday 02-MAR-2070 - 18:30

Belle had arrived almost a half hour early for the meet, first scoping out the area and then taking a seat inside the shop. She ordered a small cup of soykaf and a couple of donuts, eating through them slowly as she pretended to be browsing the matrix, controlling it with her AR gloves while actually scoping the joint and everyone in it out.

As it got closer to the time the others started to show, each of them in turn moving to the back room of the establishment. After watching them all enter the room Belle rose from her own seat and discarded the remnants of her donut into the trashcan and made her own way into the room, taking a seat at the table after nodding to each of the others.

Back Room, Krispe Kreme, East Point, Atlanta: Sunday 02-MAR-2070 - 1900

Carron stiffens slightly as the suit mentions "damn yankees."

Easy, not good to piss off the boss before the job begins...

He relaxes, lets the comment pass and resumes watching the others silently.

Sunday, March 2nd, 2070; 19:00 EST; Krispy Kreme-Back Room, Atlanta, CAS

The watcher on his shoulder as they proceed into the back room of little shop, Book keeps his sight in the astral assensing each of the individuals therein. Once completed with that he pulls even more mana to himself and silently, motionlessly weaves it around himself. No sense being caught unaware today.

He takes a seat next to Jazz and quietly awaits the briefing to begin.

Sunday March 2, 2070: 19:00:15 - Krispe Kreme - Atlanta
PAN: Passive

A Krispe Kreme shop? Jesus, this place probably attracts more cops than a corpse attracts flies.

Dean made sure that his electronic glasses and respirator were securely in place before proceeding towards the door. He already had his agent program spoofing away at his electronic trail, just in case, and his AR gloves effectively prevented any fingerprints.

He surrepticiously felt at his neck, where a small tooth hung on a pure silver chain, the tooth carved with tiny Futhark runes symbolizing health and magic. On his left hand he wore what looked to be a simple wedding band in white gold but it too glowed with Power to those who could See. He activated his power focus, the ring boosting his own magical abilities enough to make them worthwhile, and then activated the medallion's spell sustaining powers, tracing discrete runes in the air and casting his spell.

Back Room, Krispe Kreme, East Point, Atlanta: Sunday 02-MAR-2070 - 1905

The smoking man smiles as everyone takes their final seats. "You all come recommended for your various skills. Some more highly than others. I have a proposition for you. I have an opponent who needs to be removed." He hesitates for a moment and grimaces. He waves his hands as if trying to clean something off them and continues, "No, not wetwork. That is a nasty business that I will not be involved with. I need a political assassination. I can not abide a certain Senatorial candidate. I am offering two thousand per person with half up front. Before we divulge details, I will need to know who is interested."

Sunday, March 2nd, 2070; 19:05 EST; Krispy Kreme-Back Room, Atlanta, CAS

Eric takes a moment, looking around the room and taking a slow, deep breath. He looks back at Mr Johnson, maintaining good posture and looking eye to eye to play his role. "Senatorial candidate and you are offering two thousand per person?" He pauses for effect then continues, "I dare say that our expenses alone will run that high.... Whew... Perhaps I've just misunderstood the basic premise of what you are asking for. Is this a dirt finding mission or is there a specific time bound assignment?"

The smoking man looks at Eric for a moment and then says, "I suppose I had that comming. What I am proposing is a two part assignment. The first is dirt finding as you have said. The other part is indeed time dependent; however, the specifics of that will have to wait. And yes, there is more money for part two. That point will have to be negociated once I know if you are interested or not." He leans back in the chair, folds his hands together and bows his head slightly.

Sunday, March 2nd, 2070; 19:07 EST; Krispy Kreme (Back Room), Atlanta, CAS

"Everyone in this room is interested, that's the reason we are sitting here after all," Jazz explains. "I at least havn't heard anything yet, that would negate that. Two kay doesn't get you very far, but you know that already. I'm sure we will be able to come to a mutual agreement, though."

Sunday, March 2nd, 2070; 19:08 EST; Krispy Kreme-Back Room, Atlanta, CAS

Nodding to Jazz, Eric adds another bit, "I agree. My presence is indicative of interest, but I have great concern about our ability to complete task one, getting the dirt, in a suitable timeframe to you." Wth a small, momentary smile, "Getting dirt is a specialty of mine," Returning to a poker face, "but people tend to spend lots of money to keep their dirt secret and it usually takes more money than they spent to hide it to uncover that dirt..." another pause for effect, "and a senatorial candidate has a lot of money to spend hiding their dust as well as a lot of deadly people invested to keep that dirt hidden.... That equates to exponential risk..." Moving his left hand to his chin to rub it as if he has just had an epiphany, "and the value of the derailment of one's opposition in these things in the savings of advertising alone must be high six figures...." Lowering his hand and looking back to the Johnson, "This seems prime runner class work and the initial offer is street runner pay... unless I again misunderstand the role you are seeking us to play?"

Sunday, March 2nd, 2070; 19:08 EST; Krispy Kreme-Back Room, Atlanta, CAS

Vick twitches when Mr. Johnson explains the run.
Well that explains the deja vu. . .

Gesturing to Eric with a nod of the head, Vick enters the conversation, saying, "The man's right; two will get you an in-and-out grab-slash-planting of previously identified or provided material. You want us to dig up his skeletons for you, that'll cost you extra. You want us to be quiet about it, well that's extra too. If you need dirt fabricated, that's also extra. And if you want him coerced into a 'dirty' situation, well, that's an extra zero. So, if you could be a bit more specific, we'd appreciate it."

Sounds like it is within my abilities. Sundown munches another bight ouf the soft creamy donut. The greatness that is Krispe Kreme fills his mouth with a little bit of heaven.

The smoking man's head snaps back and he lets out a laugh that sounds as if he were completely unhinged. "Damn, boys that was intertaining ... and ladies." He puts out his cigar, stands up, closes the door and returns to his seat. "I was hoping that the fixers that I contacted hadn't sent me a bunch of street thugs and I see that they haven't. Alright, let's get back to business. I would like any and all dirt dug up in the next ten days. Also I want to plant some evidence of his ... involvement, with the Azzies that can come to light later. I'm paying two grand each for the run to plant evidence with a bonus if everything is completely quiet. The dirt digging pays ten with half up front. Certain expenses will be payed by anonymous donors via credstick, provided, of course, that you keep me in the loop. Any questions?"

Sunday, March 2nd, 2070; 19:10 EST; Krispy Kreme (Back Room), Atlanta, CAS

"Now we are getting somewhere," Jazz then says. "Do you have all the data you already have collected about the candidate available? Saves time, if we do not have to put everything together again."

Sunday, March 2nd, 2070; 19:11 EST; Krispy Kreme-Back Room, Atlanta, CAS

Book nods in agreement and relaxes his face to signal an end to negotiations and moving on to business, "Any information on his movements over the next ten days, family, friends, rumors that could be substanciated... any and all would greatly increase our chances of success..". He smiles a little as he ends and adds a little lift in his voice, "and success for us is success for you."

As an afterthought he adds, "An of course we need your preferred method of communication.." Looking at the man, Book takes this moment to study his aura to enable him to send a watcher on a messenger task in the future...

Sunday March 2, 2070 19:11 EST Krispy Kreme - Back Room - Atlanta

Dean sat quiet while the others spoke, having slipped in and found a seat at the back of the room as unobtrussively as possible.

The run seemed pretty reasonable, just planting the evidence and digging dirt, now that the price was getting closer to right. He was worried about having cattle call of runners show up and do the job but everyone seemed competent enough.

"With those numbers, I'm interested."

He actually liked the idea of playing politics, even if they weren't able to earn that bonus, there was likely to be all sorts of important people rubbing shoulders with a senatorial politico and most would be willing and able to make a reasonable blackmail payment. Besides, most of them deserved all the drek that could be heaped upon them.

The cigar smoking man says, "Ok, on the issue of communication, use this comm-code." He pulls out a simple model and transmits the code to everyone in the room with a comm on active or passive mode. "A few of you don't have comms or are a bit shy... Anyway, I suppose that you can share later. Now, Miss, I don't have anything on him at the moment as he is very careful to cover his tracks. I'll tell you that I am convinced that he is in with the Azzies and I'll get that out if I have to plant it myself. Other than that, lets see... he plays up the need to keep metas in their place, whatever that means, and I've heard rumors that he pays a visit to a local ork girl - if you know what I mean - about once a week. Don't have the exact address but the rumor says its here in East Point somewhere. Two, he is taking kickbacks from Ares who isn't in very good with the CAS government. Other next week he will be politicing here in East Point for the Southern Conservative nomination. I figure he's a shoe-in and so does everyone else as no one is truly opposing him. Some nut-job from the coast has mounted a campaign so the primary is still needed. Ok, last thing, I hear there is a fund raising dinner in a week at his headquaters in downtown. I figure that you can catch Ares info there. Ok, that's what I got."

Sunday, March 2nd, 2070; 19:15 EST; Krispy Kreme (Back Room), Atlanta, CAS

"Hey, I wasn't asking you to do our job. I just meant regular data, like work schedules, representatives, secretaries, names, pictures, addresses, etc. Anything you got we do not have to collect ourselves," Jazz explains, then goes on. "So he likes to beat up metas? Geez. Can't we - for once - get someone normal to apply for senatorship? I don't even dare to think about how fragged up you need to be to get elected as president. Anyways, what you just listed sounds good. There seem to be plenty angles from which we could go about this. There must be something to find."

Sunday, March 2nd, 2070; 19:16 EST; Krispy Kreme (Back Room), Atlanta, CAS

Eric switches his PAN to passive in order to receive the com code and then back to hidden. His passive mode is locked down pretty tight and his real SIN isn't loaded so he feels pretty safe, besides few can outwiz Jazz in the Matrix. Satisfied that Cigar Smoking Man believes this to be the truth, he listens to Jazz as well before replying.

Happy that his magically altered appearance is hiding his elation at the terms, Eric restates his understanding of the assignment to insure the entire team is clear, "That's six K upfront, another K when the dirt is planted, another 5K if we uncover any dirt in under ten days and a bonus if its all done quiet. As I understand it, while we dig for dirt the connection to the Azzies is the info to be planted... unless of course we can simply substantiate that connection and provide proof to you. I assume that if we can substantiate the connection to the Azzies, there is no need to plant a fake connection and we will collect the 1K for planting by default. Did I get it all straight?"

"No ma'am, I don't think that you understood me correctly. He doesn't hit this young lady he ... enjoys her company. I'm willing to bet that his wife knows and doesn't care as long as she is able to ride the fame by extension. However, if the Southern Conservatives were to get that information then things wouldn't go so well for him. Now, general information on this guy is available all over the matrix. When it comes to the information that you are seeking ... I can give you what I have." He transmits a file to those with open comms.

File Information:


Turning to Eric he says, "Yup, you got it. On all acounts I might add." Looking at the group he asks, "So, do we have a deal?"

Wow, a canidate whos a perv, and doesn't believe what he says... how original. Yeah I'm in. My only question is this, and for the record I don't really care what the answer is. If we eliminate this guy, who takes his place?