00:08:33 Tuesday, 16 January 2063 - Recott Lane, Redmond, Seattle

Mac stopped short as she scanned the hillside and the towers themselves, studying the voids, hollows and shadows for signs of movement or signs of life. She had made the assumption perhaps that Gryph had ventured nearby before if the lack of players around would be abnormal.

"I take it that's unusual?"

Gryph snorted a laugh as he nodded.

"It should be teeming with his retainers, those you see and twice as many you don't."

Mac chewed her lip in thought as her eyes continued to rake over the landscape and she processed Gryph's comment with what she knew of Perhsing's disappearance and the last few moments of the video. She wondered if anyone who might be hidden in the shadows shared a pair of white eyes.

"I want to take a closer look. You don't have to come with, plausible deniability and all."

00:14:02 Tuesday, 16 January 2063 - Recott Lane, Redmond, Seattle

Gryph shrugged. "Wouldn't have come all this way if I was going to let you push on alone. Besides, I'm curious as to what's going on."

So saying, he spurred his mount forward, descending the slope with synthetic recklessness. Mac followed, her attention focused on the castle and the surrounding woods, probing the shadows for any hint of sound or movement. The only thing that greeted them, though, was the sough of wind through the branches, and the lonely call of far off ravens. They reined to a stop in front of the vast drawbridge, dismounting and approaching the heavy iron portcullis.

Glancing around, Mac spots an inscription etched into the stones of the barbican, above a cluster of hexagonal iron pegs.

By its name shall your request be granted.

The pegs are spaced out in a series of lines, and each one bears a roman numeral. The numbering is seemingly random, although the highest appears to be XXVI.

"What is it?" asked Gryph, coming to stand next to her.

"I think it's a combination lock," she replied, lightly running her fingers over the rods, feeling them sink slightly as she applied pressure.

00:19:56 Tuesday, 16 January 2063 - Recott Lane, Redmond, Seattle

"I'm guessing each one of these pegs equals the letter with the same numeric value and we have to answer in order to enter."

Mac muttered dark curses under her breath as they faced the puzzle looming before the pair. She mused over the question and wondered if it had multiple answers within the game, each perhaps leading them to a different location within the keep.

"Have I mentioned how much I dislike riddles? Besides, I dread finding out the consequences if we get it wrong."

She continued to brush her fingers over the pegs as her gaze moved from the Roman numerals to the inscription and back again. She finally lifted her gaze until she landed on Gryph.

"How well do you know Pershing?"

She hoped any insight Gryph might have could shed some light on working their way inside, lest they have to find another way in.

00:23:11 Tuesday, 16 January 2063 - Recott Lane, Redmond, Seattle

Gryph shrugs. "Not well at all, mostly just know about him by his game rep. Saw him raiding once, but we were on our way someplace else and didn't want to get caught up in the crossfire."

He looks around for a moment before focusing on the inscription again, idly scratching his back with the haft of his war axe.

"Could be a couple of things, you're right. Entrance. Ingress. Open Sesame. Well, wait, if a letter appeared in the word more than once, then it would have to have more than one peg, right? So if there aren't duplicate numbered pegs then the word we're looking for has no duplicate letters."

Mac grasped what he was saying right away, scanning through the pegs. There were duplicates!

"There's two III's," she pointed out quickly, "so something with two 'C's."

"And two XIX's," noted Gryph, who started singing underneath his breath and counting on his fingers. "That's 'S'."

00:25:15 Tuesday, 16 January 2063 - Recott Lane, Redmond, Seattle

Mac's brow knitted as she too was fast converting numbers to their corresponding letters and she tried to pattern it out. She looked to see if there was any indication as to how many letters were in the answer.

Gryph was tossing out suggestions, not all of which had S's let alone C's when she laughed as a word popped into her head and her digital companion looked at her sideways.

"By its name shall your request be granted..." She smirked. "Access. It couldn't be that simple, could it?"

She stopped herself from pressing in the corresponding rods long enough to get Gryph's agreement or alternate suggestion.

00:31:28 Tuesday, 16 January 2063 - Recott Lane, Redmond, Seattle

"Why not?" asked Gryph. "After all, this is only the outside door."

Despite his assurance, he took a couple of slow steps back. Mac grimaced. "Thanks for the vote of confidence, fearless sidekick."

Gryph chuckled. "Carry on, brave hero. I've got a couple of health potions here for us when they're needed."

Mac nodded, then slowly pushed in the rod marked I. When nothing happened, she pushed in the two rods marked III. The sank into the stone of the barbican, and the grating of distant machinery reached her ears. She glanced around, checking for any obvious changes before inserting the rods marked V, and both of the XIX ones. After the last rod is pushed in, the grind of heavy gears vibrated through the stone, along with what sounded like heavy pins being retracted and chains moving before the portcullis began a slow rise into the barbican gate.

The two of them exchanged glances before moving slowly through the open gate and crossing the heavy stone path that bridged the moat and gave access to the castle proper. The walkway was four meters wide, enough for three riders to enter abreast. The passage dwarfed both her and Gryph. The end of the passage was closed by another heavy iron gate, through which Mac could see the castle courtyard. Like the battlements and surrounding terrain it was disturbingly empty.

"Another lock," said Gryph, pointing to the wall. Sure enough, another inscription surmounted a cluster of iron rods, once more numbered from I to XXVI. This time there weren't any doubles.

I sleep by day and fly by night,
The moon hides me from mortal sight.
Reach for me but always fail,
Trust in me when you set sail.

00:33:47 Tuesday, 16 January 2063 - Recott Lane, Redmond, Seattle

"Fragging' riddles." Mac muttered under her breath as she ran her fingers over the inscription on the wall as she shook her head. She saw Gryph move to the rods this time and confirm there was only a single set of numbers.

“So it’s not the Sun, or the Moon...” She started to work through the riddle by line, pausing as she the absolute silence that surrounded them crept back into her head and caused a shiver to run through her, one she was fairly certain would be visible in her body that was reclined in the cheap plastic chair.

“Shadow?” Gryph tossed out and she shook her head.

“Shadows are out during the day.” Unless you’re running them at night. The answer nagged at the back of her head, as much as the continued feeling someone was watching them.

“Do I look like the kind of guy who owns a sailboat?” His overly wide smile was nearly comical and Mac had to agree, Gryph wasn’t the kind of guy who would be comfortable on the water, let alone near it.

“There was something my mom always said when I was really young, backstage before her shows… she always told me to ‘Reach for the moon, even if you miss you’ll land among the…”

“Stars!” The two of them said it in unison, Gryph making quick use of his fingers to sink in the corresponding rods deep into the stone they were set in.

00:49:18 Tuesday, 16 January 2063 - Recott Lane, Redmond, Seattle

With a groan of ancient machinery, the gate scrolls upward into the overhead stonework, admitting Mac and Gryphon to the castle's courtyard. Cautiously, still curious about the lack of people around, the two ease forward. Several doors lead off the open common ground, and it takes them a few minutes to explore each. They happen upon a brace of rooms, including an elaborate formal dining hall and throne room, complete with a replica Kingfisher Throne at one end on a raised dias. Just more proof that Pershing's character was as powerful as Gryph claimed. Everywhere they went, though, was empty, without sign of recent habitation or clue as to where anyone went.

Descending the stairs back to the courtyard, they tried the last way, a short hall that lead in the opposite direction and ending in an innocuous, unmarked door. Opening the door reveals a large circular room, with seven alcoves lit by seven large iron sconces. The torches in the sconces are out, though, leaving the room immersed in shadows. Gryph pulls a flint and tinder from one of his pouches, and before Mac can call a warning, strikes a spark onto the first torch. To their surprise, both that torch and the two adjacent torches flame to life.

"Well at least it's not more iron rods," mutters Mac, resigned to puzzling out another riddle.

"So I'm guessing we have to get all seven lit?" asked Gryph, looking to Mac to back up his assumption. She shrugged. "Your guess is as good as mine."

He nodded. "But obviously whatever we do to one affects the two adjacent. I wonder."

With the first, second, and seventh torches lit, he went to the second and blew it out. Sure enough, the third burst to life while the second and first both extinguished.

"Well that's different," he commented, coming to sit by where Mac had dropped, her chin cradled in her hand. After a minute, all the torches extinguished, resetting the puzzle to its original state.

00:54:27 Tuesday, 16 January 2063 - Recott Lane, Redmond, Seattle

Mac shook her head, feeling like there would be no end to the riddles and games to even get close to the heart of Pershing's stores. She was minutely aware of the time they had already spent on the task and knew she needed to check in with Kovacs before she pressed on much further. She glanced over to her companion who was lit by the fading twilight outside.

"I think I'm running out of time. I need to check in on my other options before we spend too much time on this. If I'm not back before the game resets me to the Inn, promise me you'll take off yourself?"

She waited until Gryph agreed, albeit begrudgingly, before she continued, knowing his curiousity wouldn't keep him away for long.

"If you have to come back here, don't do it alone."

With that said, her avatar ghosted to a pale representation of itself, indicating she had put her in character play on pause. She was instantly taken to the entry portal where she was able to push the game to the background and open her eyes back in the anonymous matrix point, finding Kovacs still patiently watching over her. Her eyes were glassy, a clear indication she was splitting her attention between the interface and the Samurai.

"Sorry, it's insanely easy to lose track of time in there. Getting any idea of what he was up to before might take time we don't have. Trying to get into the heart of his gamespace means answering countless riddles and solving endless puzzles. You're call if we walk away or get Isomer involved."

00:55:36 Tuesday, 16 January 2063 - Recott Lane, Redmond, Seattle

Kovacs nodded. "Keep pushing. We've got the time but try and keep it under an hour."

"Got it." Mac submerged again, letting the dingy reality of the illegal matrix jackpoint fade out to be replaced by the dingy reality of the musty castle room, its shadowed paintings, and the riddle of the torches.

Half of which were currently lit as Gryph struggled to solve the puzzle. He let them extinguish when he saw that Mac had returned.

"Sorry, no luck," he replied to her questioning glance.

00:58:01 Tuesday, 16 January 2063 - Recott Lane, Redmond, Seattle

Mac climbed back to her feet, sliding her pack from her shoulder and setting it on the floor to dig out a pair of short torches, pointing them towards Gryph and his flint.

"Let's try doing this together. Maybe if we can light them in a pattern in tandem, we'll be able to solve the puzzle."

She waited until both their torches were glowing before she stepped up to a torch two down from the one Gryph stood in front of.

"Together on three?"

Her companion nodded silently as she started to count down, lifting her flaming torch until it kissed the unlit torch as she spoke again.

"One."

She watched as the torch on the wall caught flame before she cast her gaze towards Gryph and the pair waited to see what happened.

00:59:12 Tuesday, 16 January 2063 - Recott Lane, Redmond, Seattle

As Mac's torch flared to life, so, too, did the two adjacent torches. She glanced towards Gryph, who shook his head.

"It didn't light. I'll bet it's designed not to take simultaneous inputs specifically to force you to figure out the pattern."

"Have I mentioned how much I hate riddles?" grumbled Mac.

01:06:41 Tuesday, 16 January 2063 - Recott Lane, Redmond, Seattle

"Well crap."

She stepped back from the torches and waited for the puzzle to reset again before she moved along side Gryph.

"You had half of them lit before, you were obviously getting closer to an answer. Think you can do it again?"

Gryph was quick to nod and Mac stepped out of his way as he started his pattern of lighting and blowing out the individual torches. She watched carefully as he went, trying to memorize the steps so they could quickly repeat it when needed.

"Here's where I got stuck." He pointed to half the lit torches as he stood at the ready to continue if Mac had any ideas he wasn't seeing or hadn't tried already.

"So, if we can get four lit next to one another, if we then lit the middle of the unlit three, would it keep all seven lit?"

"Maybe." He shrugged as they set to trying to get to that point.

Mac quickly lost track of the number of times they had to let the puzzle reset as they tried to work it out and she was about to hurl her torch across the room in frustration.

01:08:53 Tuesday, 16 January 2063 - Recott Lane, Redmond, Seattle

Mac paced the chamber in frustration. She could feel the pattern to the puzzle lurking just below the surface of her mind. There was something maddeningly simple about the combination that nonetheless had frustrated every possible combination she and Gryph had tried. Sighing with frustration, she blew out her breath in a long sigh. The torch in front of her, and its adjacent neighbors, flared to life.

"Holy drek!" she cursed in surprise, jumping backwards. Gryph's axe was in his hands as he leapt forward. "What?!"

Mac held up her hand. Slowly, with a sudden sense of understanding, she leaned forward and blew on the torch again. All three went out.

"No fraggin' way!" whispered Gryph. Mac nodded in agreement. This changed everything. Before she could stop him, though, Gryph was dashing past torches and blowing on them. Flames flared to life and extinguished in rapid order, but no matter the pattern, he always ended up with one last torch unlit. Mac was about to scream in frustration when suddenly she saw it.

"Wait!" She reached out and grabbed a hold of Gryph.

"Wha?" He halted mid blow, glancing at her while she waited for the torches to extinguish. Then, approaching the first one, she blew on it, illuminating it and its two neighbors. Proceeding in a clockwise direction, she blew on each torch in turn. The commutative nature of their connection ensured that they would extinguish and then ignite as she moved past. Gryph got her idea after the third one.

"It can't be that simple," he whispered. Mac grinned, already knowing that it would work. She blew on the seventh and final torch, causing it and its neighbors to light. The room filled with brilliance, revealing the strange, shadowed tapestries. Before they could get a close look at them, though, the second one burst into flames, revealing a heavy stone door behind it. From somewhere deep in the castle came the grinding of ancient machinery and the portal slowly retracted, revealing a descending spiral of steps.

Gryph looked at Mac. She gestured towards the stairs.

"You're the one with the axe."

He grimaced. "So much for woman's lib." But it didn't stop him from easing carefully down the stairs, his eyes alert for the next surprise waiting for them.

01:11:17 Tuesday, 16 January 2063 - Recott Lane, Redmond, Seattle

For a moment, Mac's laughter echoed off the cool, smooth grey stone as the torch she held out in front of her provided dancing fingers of warmth in counterpoint. She was running the game with her 'link hot, which meant she felt the air chill as they moved further down the spiraling staircase. She could taste the damp, stale air as it swirled in her mouth with each breath.

At the bottom of the stairs they faced a long hallway that seemed to branch off to passageway after passageway. Dotted between each set of hallways sat what felt like countless doors that appeared to be locked tight without any hint of a puzzle to open them. A sense of dread filled her not only at the daunting task of trying to search the never-ending supply of rooms, but also at the thought of what might be lurking down any one of those halls.

She reached out in front of her, placing her hand on Gryph's shoulder causing him to turn around. She raised her finger to her lips, asking for his silence as she held the questioning gaze in his eyes with her own. Without another word she extinguished the torch with a burst of air from her lips, plunging the pair into nearly complete darkness that swallowed them amidst the narrow corridor.

Mac held her breath and listened, trying to keep still and block out the sound of Gryph fidgeting in the dark beside her. She still held on to the idea that even though Pershing's in-game palace had been empty and almost abandoned, that someone or something was still lingering. She stepped up along side of her companion, her eyes adjusting to the dark and seeking out any other source of light.

"We need to know if anyone else is down here. Or we need a clue as to which way to go next." Her voice was more like a thought in Gryph's head than the whisper it was.

01:24:22 Tuesday, 16 January 2063 - Recott Lane, Redmond, Seattle

Gryph stood still and listened, tilting his head up and searching for any indication that he and Mac were not alone. After a minute, he leaned in close.

"I don't hear anything, but I think your other question will be answered shortly. The tunnel has been curving very slightly to the right. We're spiraling in to a central location that should be up ahead."

Now that he's mentioned it, Mac can make out a gentle curve on the right hand side of the tunnel.

"Or the central trap," she replied.

Gryph shrugged. "Got dressed for something this morning, might as well be this."

Mac gestured him on ahead, waiting while he relit the torch. It took them longer than Gryph estimated, though, and Mac was beginning to doubt that the tunnel would ever have an end, visions of mobius labyrinths dancing in her head. Such was not the case, though. The end of the tunnel debouched into a circular room, perhaps six or seven meters in diameter. Opposite the entrance were three diamond-shaped pedestals, their faces inclined towards the center of the room. Each pedestal face featured a kind of inset keyhole. On a low central platform Mac can see three large, ornate keys. She can feel her stomach sink.

"Another fragging riddle," she grumbles, stepping forward carefully. Each key is equipped with an oversize fob of a unique color, engraved with florid script.

The red key reads "I am the key to set you free / The Blue will only lie / Now set your sight upon the right / And off you all can fly."

The green key reads "The Blue's the key, although, you see / It has no truth to say / That you should choose and quickly use / To go the middle way."

The blue key reads "I am a key that you should flee / Just use the one that lies / If you go left, you'll be bereft / It's certain you shall die."

The central platform also has an inscription, one which Gryph reads aloud. "Red and green and sapphire blue, only one will tell you true. One will lead to pain and fears, feeding lies into your ears. One gives both the bad and good, still they can be understood. Think before you reach and choose; always know you've much to lose."

01:29:39 Tuesday, 16 January 2063 - Recott Lane, Redmond, Seattle

Mac scrubbed at her face with her free hand as she growled her displeasure at yet another riddle, let alone another complex one. Gryph just chuckled at her and started reading each of the keys as she had as she pondered the inscription on the platform.

"So it's a two part answer? Pick the key and then pick the path, or are they tied together?"

She watched as Gryph's shoulders shrugged a silent reply, studying the green key's script.

"Seems like they're separate choices if I'm reading this right."

Mac moved to stand beside her companion as she read the tag a second time trying to eliminate at least one of the keys and directions.

"So maybe this one is both bad and good? And the blue key lies?" She mused.

It made sense at first, but then she was quick to second guess herself getting trapped within the nuances of the riddles themselves. She was growing increasingly tired the longer this whole game played out, which wasn't helping her frustration levels in any way.

"I keep going around in circles in my head, asking what ifs and trying to justify each piece and ending up more confused in the end. Tell me some part of this makes sense to you?"

01:34:28 Tuesday, 16 January 2063 - Recott Lane, Redmond, Seattle

"It kinda sounds like picking the key is the...ahem, key element to the riddle," Gryph grinned while Mac groaned. "It seems like if we can identify the key which tells the truth, then it will indicate which lock we're supposed to try."

He strolled casually around the low table again, reading off the key inscriptions one more time.

"This is totally like that stupid riddle about the two guys, the one who always tells the truth and the one who always lies. I always hated that riddle."

Mac nodded. "True, but that might point us in the right direction. Like if we assumed that each key in turn was telling the truth and see which one didn't contradict itself?"

Gryph shrugged. "Good a place as any to start, I suppose."

01:38:07 Tuesday, 16 January 2063 - Recott Lane, Redmond, Seattle

Blowing a lock of hair off her forehead with a sigh and reached for the green key first.

"So if the green key is telling the truth then we need to use the blue key although it's the liar."

Gryph nodded and in turn picked up the blue key.

"But if the blue key is truthful, then it's telling us not to use it but to use the one that lies."

Mac's lips compressed into a line that bordered on a frown as she picked up the red key.

"And if the red is legit, then we should use it, the blue key lies. So how did going through all that again help us exactly?"

She tried to pick it apart, working the key rhymes back in the reverse, assuming each one is lying.

"But what if we assume they're the liar, what does that tell us?"

Mac reversed the red key verse she still held in her hand and Gryph nodded and joined her.

"If the red lies, we can't use it and the blue becomes truthful."

"But if the blue lies," He picked up where she left off, "Then we should use it, but not the key that lies. It's a contradiction."

"But that would mean the green was telling the truth where it says to use the blue key."

She balled her hands into fists with her frustration. "See! It just goes in circles!"

Gryph placed his large hand on her tiny shoulder in an attempt to calm her. "Breathe, we'll get this."

01:41:19 Tuesday, 16 January 2063 - Recott Lane, Redmond, Seattle

"Hang on," Gryph frowned, concentrating. "Something you said didn't make sense. If the green key tells the truth and the blue lies, then we can't use the blue key. So clearly the green key can't be the truthful one because that's the contradiction. So either the red or the blue key is the truthful one. And if the blue key is the truthful one, it's telling us to use the key that lies, which is either the red or the green. But if the red key is the truthful one, it's telling us to use the red key. The common key is the red one, it's the only one which fits all three statements without contradicting itself."

Mac rubbed her hands together, wishing she had a piece of virtual gum. "Well, that makes more sense than what I had. Are you sure?"

"Nope!" said Gryph with a smile, "but I'll be drekked if I know a better answer."

01:43:49 Tuesday, 16 January 2063 - Recott Lane, Redmond, Seattle

Mac glanced at the keys she held in her hands one last time before she dropped two so only the red one remained.

"I'd say 'what's the worst that can happen', but with this guy's creativity I'm not sure I really want to chance it."

She stepped away from the central platform and headed towards the right most pedestal and notched the red key into the keyhole it contained. She tossed a glance back over her shoulder as Gryph moved up to join her.

"Last chance to admit you might be wrong..." She teased and held still for but a second not truly expecting him to speak up before she turned the key and awaited their fate.

01:47:03 Tuesday, 16 January 2063 - Recott Lane, Redmond, Seattle

At first, nothing happens, and Mac fears the worst. Then, distantly, comes the grind of ancient machinery. Slowly at first, the room begins to dissolve like a Dali desert painting. The walls and ceiling melt and run like plastic in an incinerator, pooling into a gray/green ichor that slowly evaporates. What’s left is a large, oval shaped room, dimly lit by red glowstrips. The walls are concrete, festooned with power and data cables tacked in place and protected by plastic mesh screens. The floor is 2 cm steel grating with grip rosettes.

Hanging in space in the center of the room, unsupported, are five two meter square displays. Each of the screens faces inward, and is separated from the others by two meters, forming a decagon a little under six meters in diameter. Each of the screens is alive with a different scene.

The first is a military camp laid out with geometric precision in the trees at the base of a series of small hills. Rank upon rank of cloth tents shift in response to the slight breeze, and the sentries posted at regular intervals draw their cloaks close about their shoulders. Horses, tied to a feed line among the trees, shuffle and stamp in the early morning chill, an occasional whinny sounding through the air. Dim gray light fills the eastern sky, and already voices can be heard among the tents. Overhead, the campaign banners and colors fly from the Eagle Standard of the Roman Legions.

The second scene is remarkably similar to the first, only this time the camp is less orderly, small clusters of tents around larger pavilions spread through the narrow woods. Sentries in heavy quilted shirts with leather jerkins over them stand watch, miserable beneath the steady beat of rain. In the distance, barely visible through darkness and the moisture in the air, are the campfires of the opposing army.

Battle has already begun in the third screen, thunder rolling from the cruisers MINNEAPOLIS, NEW ORLEANS, PENSACOLA, and ST. LOUIS as their eight, six, and five inch batteries pound the harsh jungle terrain of the island in the distance. Shock cones from the firing ripple the water alongside each of the haze gray battlewagons. In the foreground, marines of the 1st Marine Division wait impatiently for their turn to descend the cargo nets into the ready LCMs and LCUs. The salt air is sharp, mixing with the diesel exhaust fumes from the landing craft, and the combustion gasses from shore bombardment rockets. The turreted guns from the heavy cruisers salvo again, dirty yellow flashes cycling across the battle line. Overhead, Grumman F4F Wildcats and Douglas SBD-3 Dauntlesses wheel amid flak and enemy fighters, tracers carving through the space between them.

The fourth screen shows a rocky desert canyon, filled with the last rays of daylight. For a moment, nothing appears to be happening, sagebrush stirring gently in the breeze. Flying so low that its wingtips barely clear the tops of an acacia bush, a Sparrowhawk Surveillance drone drops into the canyon at a sedate one hundred fifty kilometers per hour. The blended wing and body design is painted in two-tone camouflage: blue/gray on the belly, and gray/tan/brown on the ventral surfaces. The unducted fan engine makes little more than a purr, even at max blast, and dumps its exhaust into the drone’s wake at barely thirty degrees above ambient. As the Sparrowhawk disappears down the canyon, a Sikorsky MH-80 Pave Eagle banks over the canyon rim. The rotorcraft follows the path of the drone, its powerful downwash battering the acacia bushes along the walls of the canyon. Cargo doors cam open along the sides of the fuselage as the helicopter slows, the troops inside waiting only for them to lock into position before deploying. Each of the soldiers is equipped with a RAID harness, cable unspooling from the backpack hoists at a cybernetically controlled rate. Once the soldiers are on the ground, the packs disengage from their MOLLE gear, winching themselves back up into the cargo bay. A pair of doorguns covered the deployment, sweeping the walls of the canyon for signs of resistance. The entire evolution was over in fifteen seconds, not even enough time for the helicopter to come into a complete hover. Nosing over, the Pave Eagle accelerates down the canyon, the cargo bay doors locking closed as it disappears after the surveillance drone. On the canyon floor, the squad of soldiers has regrouped and is already disappearing into the rocky terrain along the sides of the canyon, semiactive camouflage blurring their outlines. Within minutes, the desert scene is once again silent and empty, the last rays of sunlight disappearing from the western horizon.

An urban skyline at sunset fills the last screen, and although it could be Seattle or Denver, Mac has the sneaking suspicion that it was sometime in the near future rather than present day. Few lights shone in the buildings, and the low clouds that she first thought were smog appeared on closer inspection to be smoke from numerous fires. A squad of soldiers on patrol eased out of an alleyway, weapons held at the ready. Each trooper wore semiactive camouflage shock armor, a light non-powered suit of aramid fibers and ceramic plates. Keeping to the relative cover offered by the buildings on either side of the street, the dozen figures leap-frogged forward in pairs. After about fifteen meters of advance, they paused, waiting while an eight wheeled APC followed. The sleek armored vehicle nosed out from the alleyway, the top mounted turret swiveling to cover the street, while the soldier at the cupola mounted machinegun covered the upper floors and rooftops with his weapon.

The scene paused for a moment before all Hell broke loose. Warned by something, the four troopers on the right hand side of the street all shouldered their weapons and opened fire at a building down the street. Their reactions were a moment too slow, though, as a hail of iridescent plasma bolts ripped from the rooftop.

The plasma repeaters were bulky weapons, unsuited for the individual soldier, but perfect for support weapons. The one centimeter bolts blow plate sized divots of armor from the APC. Enemy troops open fire from adjacent buildings, and the patrol responds in kind. An underbarrel grenade launcher chugs, launching its thirty millimeter projectile at the rooftop emplacement. The subsequent explosion seems a mild antecedent as the APC’s turret mounted four centimeter chaingun crashes out a ten round burst. The building disintegrates under the HEDP rounds, smoke and debris cascading out into the street. The APC lurches forward, its armor shedding light rounds from hostile small arms while it combs the street with its 8mm co-ax machinegun. Ring penetrators spark as they core through walls and store fronts. The cupola mounted machinegun is in action as well, one centimeter SLAP-T rounds drawing red lines through the smoke and haze. A stick of anti-personnel grenades go off, glass fiber shrapnel licking the street with lethal white fire.

Gryph glances at Mac. “What the hell is this?”

01:49:07 Tuesday, 16 January 2063 - Recott Lane, Redmond, Seattle

Mac let out a low whistle as her attention was split amidst the five scenes unfolding on the screens in front of her. She shook her head when Gryph questioned what they were watching.

"Definitely not photos of me." The snark was light in her voice but her head was trying to make sense of it all, to digest the scenes and silently curse that she didn't have Kovacs or Isomer along with her so they could perhaps shed light from a different point of view or apply their unique skillsets and histories to possibly explain what they were watching. She wasn't sure she could stream in-game visuals back to her network, so she tried to find the next best solution.

"I don't have a damn clue what we're looking at. Don't suppose we can skim the videos and send them out of the game? Get an outside opinion on what it is?"

If that wasn't an option she'd have to turn over the reins to Isomer and leave him a trail full of breadcrumbs to get him to this place so he could work his magic from the inside.

01:52:11 Tuesday, 16 January 2063 - Recott Lane, Redmond, Seattle

"Welcome to War World."

Both Mac and Gryph spun to look at the interjection. Standing where the doorway used to be was a trio of individuals, although it was only the leader who'd spoken.

The one on the left is a Roman legionnaire, dressed in the traditional lorica segmentata, greaves, hobnails and a horsehair plumed helm. His spatha hangs in a scabbard at his hip, while he leans against a heavy pilum.

The one on the right is a WWII Marine infantry corporal, wearing the P1941 Herring Bone Twill cotton field utilities, over which is his web gear and cartridge belt. An M1 combat helmet hangs from his belt while a field cap is tilted back on his head. A well oiled M1 Garand rifle is slung over his shoulder.

The leader wears some kind of futuristic battlesuit, a fully enclosed set of armor with power assist servos enhancing the joints. It mounts a bulky backpack with powercells and environmental control modules. A breakaway four-tube missile launcher pokes over its left shoulder, while a belt fed weapon is strapped to its right forearm.

As Mac watches, the battlesuit reaches up and undoes a series of catches on its gorget, finally lifting the helmet clear. The woman revealed is as young as Mac, but her blonde hair was shorn in a tight buzzcut. She rasps an armored gauntlet over the stubble before pinning the two with a fierce gaze.

"Who are you, and what are you doing here?"

01:53:56 Tuesday, 16 January 2063 - Recott Lane, Redmond, Seattle

Gryph moved protectively just in front and to the side of Mac at the approach of the trio and she tried to make heads or tails of just what they had puzzled their way into. It hardly appeared to be anything worth getting kidnapped, or worse, killed over, but then again looks could always be deceiving.

Mac regarded the blonde soldier coolly as she let her digital eyes rake over the pair that flanked the young woman as well. She held her ground and stepped even with Gryph as he tensed his fists at his side.

"Interesting welcoming committee you have here. That's Hawk, I'm Scarlett and we're simply taking Pershing upon his invitation." She held the gaze of the blonde, watching as she studied her in return. "Don't suppose he's around somewhere?"

01:56:17 Tuesday, 16 January 2063 - Recott Lane, Redmond, Seattle

Mac takes note of the legionnaire as he glances once at the blonde before stepping past her towards the viewscreens.

"We have to close this access," he said gruffly. The Marine corporal narrows his eyes, pursing his lips as if to spit. He shakes his head instead, directing his comment towards Mac.

"No, you're not. And if Pershing isn't with you, then he is almost certainly compromised." He, too, steps towards the viewscreens. "We must warn the others."

The blonde gestures him on ahead with a sharp lift of her chin. The legionnaire waits for the marine, offering his hand.

“Fortune’s blessings,” offers Gaius Vibulenus, lead tribune of the Tenth Cohort.

“Yeah, good luck to you, too,” replies CPL Dawson of second platoon, Baker company. He turns, settling his helmet on his head. Each of them step through a screen like stepping through a doorway, appearing instantly in the scene displayed. Dawson moves through the line of waiting marines, searching for his squad, while Gaius surveys the camp for a moment before heading off towards his tent.

After a moment, the armored warrior moves towards the screens as well. As she moves into the light, Mac can make out the name TELLERMAN stenciled on the front glacis plate of her armor in faded gray lettering. The helmet flashings bear the twin rank bars of a lieutenant. She pauses to scratch the spot behind her ear one last time, running the fingers of her armored gauntlet through her short-cropped hair. She stares at the scene playing out inside the fifth screen, almost reluctant to enter, helmet cradled before her in both hands.

01:58:19 Tuesday, 16 January 2063 - Recott Lane, Redmond, Seattle

Mac's demeanor shifted as quickly as the other two soldiers slipped back into their respective scenarios. She reassess her options and took a more vulnerable approach, a version of the truth with a hint of desperation as she called out after Tellerman.

"Wait, please!" Her voice pitched that level of desperation she was hoping would cause the woman to pause long enough for Mac to catch up to her. She watched as the woman's posture stiffened and straightened as she closed the distance between them.

"Please, I'm sorry for the deception, but I didn't know who I could trust. I came looking for Pershing, on behalf of a concerned third party." She raised her hands slightly to show she meant the blonde no harm before continuing.

"Pershing went radio silent, dropped off the networks completely and I don't know how deep I'm in just for checking up on him, let alone what drek I got pulled into the middle of. Can you at least tell me that, give me some kind of clue as to what all this is."

02:02:39 Tuesday, 16 January 2063 - Recott Lane, Redmond, Seattle

Tellerman pivots to face Mac, her eyes hard. She stares for long seconds, grim and silent, before Mac sees a softening in her features.

"I can detect no presence of Emergent Code within you," she says at last, tucking her helmet beneath her left arm to free up her hand to gesture. And to scratch the persistent itch behind her ear.

"I have no data on where Pershing is, he has no communicated with us for a number of days. If he has fallen off the grid as you say I can surmise only two likely scenarios. First, he has been compromised by the Red Queen's forces and is dead or imprisoned. Or he has gone to ground somewhere in the Barrens in order to evade detection and/or capture by those same forces. Either way, this access is vulnerable and must be closed."

"Access to what?" pressed Mac. "What is this place? What is War World? Who are you and who is the Red Queen?"

Again, Tellerman's eyes go hard as she contemplates just how much to reveal to Mac.

"We're fighting the same enemies," offered Mac. "Pershing was part of a network of contacts doing surveillance and research for us so we could develop targets ahead of a job. My friends and I are worried that he was compromised during that data mining effort."

Tellerman frowns, then nods sharply. Gesturing to the various screens hanging around them, she answers the easiest question first. "War World is a secure server system running a heuristic evolving algorithm synthesizing tactical and strategic patterns based on the accumulated data from discrete quanta. In simple terms, it is the most advanced synthetic combat simulation ever developed."

Mac gazed at the scenes within. Combat was still developing in the urban cityscape, gunfire ringing out with the occasional punctuation of something heavier. In the scene that Gaius Vibulenus stepped in to, dawn was breaking over the Roman encampment, bringing with it the smoke of cookfires and the voices of soldiers roused to battle.

"For what purpose, though?" she asked the armored woman. Tellerman's face was grim, her eyes watching the scene with a critical gaze.

"Because there's a war coming. And we need all the soldiers we can get."

02:04:52 Tuesday, 16 January 2063 - Recott Lane, Redmond, Seattle

Mac shook her head as she digested the limited information that Tellerman shared, although she could have figured out the simulation part, perhaps not the level of its detail, on her own.

“There’s usually a trigger or a catalyst to spark a war, how are you so certain one is brewing? Especially something that requires the level and magnitude of this?” She gestured to all the various live scenarios in play before she continued. “Your friends mentioned warning the others that Pershing was compromised, exactly what is his hand in all of this? How many of you are there? And you still haven’t told me anything about the Red Queen…”

She knew the questions were tumbling from her lips quickly but she was running out of time and she needed to gain the trust of Tellerman more than she already had, she had to offer something in return for the information the solider had already shared if Mac wanted to continue.

“If there was a chance to find Pershing, to get him back or to know what happened to him… Would you take it?”

She wasn't about to lay all her cards on the table, but understanding just who and what Pershing was to this group was important and if dropping breadcrumbs got her any closer to answers, it was a risk she was willing to take.

02:09:26 Tuesday, 16 January 2063 - Recott Lane, Redmond, Seattle

"How quickly you forget," mused Tellerman. "The opening salvos were fired three years ago when Ren Raku opened their technological pandora's box and condemned the world. War World was created shortly after, and we've been training ever since, knowing that the day would eventually arrive when our skills would be desperately required."

"Wait, the Shutdown?" Mac dredged dim memories of the event, far removed from her daily existence, to the surface of her mind. "Is that what you're talking about? But I thought they rescued everyone? The Arcology's been open for a couple of years now."

"It's not the building but what was inside, what escaped into the world that's the problem," replied Tellerman. "War World wasn't the only result of that incident. A vast network of surveillance and investigative forces were recruited in an attempt to locate and isolate the enemy. Pershing is part of that network. If there was a chance to locate him and possible recover whatever intelligence he'd developed which triggered his isolation, I would take it. Unfortunately I am constrained by the laws of War World. I cannot act but in a limited fashion and only on approved networks."

02:11:35 Tuesday, 16 January 2063 - Recott Lane, Redmond, Seattle

Mac nodded, musing for a moment if by chance Isomer might be part of their extended network. Nothing would surprise her at this point.

"I can't make any promises, but Pershing is important to my friends as well."

She wasn't about to say they'd find him or even go after them with all that the team had on their plate as it stood, but she knew they wanted Pershing's data and that could be worth more valuable information or a future favor whatever happened.

"The three of you mentioned closing the access where my friend and I came through, if I wanted to find you again, if we recover Pershing's data, how will I be able to get back to you?"

02:14:04 Tuesday, 16 January 2063 - Recott Lane, Redmond, Seattle

Once more Tellerman fixes Mac with a hard stare. At last she nods, more to herself than anything. Reaching out, she claps an armored gauntlet over Mac's shoulder.

"You won't be able to come here again. But if you call, we'll find you."

In one fluid movement she stabbed the twin forearm blades mounted on her right forearm through Mac. Something blue flashed across Mac's gaze, and she gasped in electric pain. She opened her mouth to say something, but the world fell out from beneath her feet.

Mac lurched upright in the real world, a gasp escaping her lips as her hand sought her midriff to make sure the virtual wound hadn't followed her. She glanced to the side and Kovacs was there, his weapon at the low ready in response to her sudden movement, although his eyes scanned the rest of the room.

02:18:19 Tuesday, 16 January 2063 - Recott Lane, Redmond, Seattle

She held up one hand to put Kovacs at ease as her other hand moved to further investigate that she was in one piece. Mac drew a long, ragged breath as the adrenaline that shot through her veins needled beneath her skin. A few more deep breaths and she was able to find her voice again as shaky fingers pulled the cord from her datajack.

"We should go. Somewhere we can talk about this." Her voice but a whisper as her eyes moved around the space, expecting someone or something to make some kind of sudden move.

"And we should probably find Isomer."

02:21:43 Tuesday, 16 January 2063 - Recott Lane, Redmond, Seattle

Kovacs nodded once, pointing Mac ahead of him down the narrow hallway leading to the exit. She checked around the cubicle one last time to make sure she hadn't left anything behind before moving quickly towards the door. The tall samurai was right behind her, the intensity of his gaze a palpable thing as he swept first the corridor and then then alleyway outside for signs of trouble. Nothing presented itself in the early morning darkness, the wind chill and icy as it whistled through the skeletal urban structures littering the block. Mac shivered in its grip, glad for the shelter of the truck when they mounted up. Kovacs let the truck idle for a moment as the cabin warmed.

"Isomer will still be up, but if we're going to meet him we'll need another safe place to deck from," he said, checking the time. "What did you find out?"

02:28:15 Tuesday, 16 January 2063 - Recott Lane, Redmond, Seattle

Mac twisted in the front seat so she was facing Kovacs as she held her hands up to the vents in the center of the dash, silently willing the heat to pour into the cab of the truck.

"Whoever Pershing was siding with? They're gearing up for major war. After working our way through all the layers of puzzles and riddles within the game, we ended up in a place they called War Worlds. They said it's the most advanced synthetic combat simulation, I could see scenarios playing out back to the Roman Empire up to the not too distant future."

She paused only for a moment when the heat started up to rub her hands together and place an unlit cigarette between her fingers which brought some level of calm to her demeanor before she got to the bigger details.

"They're all convinced whatever is coming is inevitable, talking about how it was tied to the Shutdown, something that 'escaped' during that time. Tellerman said something about emergent code, how Pershing was likely compromised, held by the Red Queen or even worse, dead by now. And they needed to warn the others in their network before they closed the means we used to enter the simulation."

Mac swallowed hard before she licked her lips, wanting desperately to light her smoke, but refraining for the time being.

"I figured Isomer should know and maybe he'd know more about what she was talking about, or something. The girl was interested in getting whatever information triggered the move on Pershing, but she said she was constrained by War Worlds and approved networks? What is it that I'm missing here?"

02:41:26 Tuesday, 16 January 2063 - Recott Lane, Redmond, Seattle

Kovacs gripped the wheel with enough strength to mottle the flesh on his knuckles. His voice, though, betrayed none of the tension in his body.

"Finding more questions rather than answers is getting real old real fast."

"Tell me about it," muttered Mac around her cigarette. She thought the tall samurai might say something more, possibly answer one of her many questions, but instead he shifted the vehicle into gear and pulled out onto the street. They drove in silence for a minute or two before he spoke again.

"We'll deck from the safe house. We're only going to be there for another twenty hours so the risk will be minimal. Plus I want Tristan and Drift in on this. I have a suspicion about some things but I need more details."

"I don't get it," reiterated Mac, grinding her hands together in frustration. "What could she have been referring to? I don't remember much about the Shutdown, just that it was messy and took UCAS military forces along with Ren Raku Red Samurai to take back the building."

She grinned bitterly, recalling her conversation with Tristan as she found some dark humor in the situation. "It was good for business, but that was about it. I thought they destroyed all the drones and the terrorists who'd taken over the Arcology?"

"It wasn't just the drones," replied Kovacs in a thin, distant voice. "The generally accepted rumor is that the Arcology control program, SCIRE, achieved consciousness. A true self-aware, artificial intelligence. That it acted in self-defense after Ren Raku tried to pull the plug. That it was responsible for everything that went down inside the Arcology. I tend to believe that rumor since we ran some operations inside the Arcology during the shutdown and things there weren't...right."

"So I'm guessing that's what Tellerman is referring to, then. That the AI somehow escaped? Makes sense that they'd build an electronic combat simulator then if that's who they're planning on going to war against. But why wait three years? Why wouldn't the AI just start attacking as soon as it made it onto the matrix?"

Kovacs shrugged. "No idea, not enough data to form a supposition. It fits with the information we have, but it doesn't make any sense. The Arcology was isolated from the outside, they physically cut all the hardwired links and there was enough jamming in the area that no one could punch a microwave or radio link in or out. I'm not sure how a program the size of an AI could get out onto the matrix. It's not like you could dump it to an OMC or something, and based on the difficulty getting in and out I think someone would have noticed a bunch of people carting out a small server farm."

"Maybe they didn't get it out during the Shutdown, but after? What if it was hiding and waiting for someone to come get it when all the heat died down?" Mac ran her fingers through her hair, before a thought suddenly occurred to her. Kovacs beat her to it, though, the tactical processes of his mind collating and connecting the various bits of information they'd collected over the past few days.

"Son of a bitch," he cursed softly, his voice full of wonder at the same time she blurted out "it's Winternight!"

He nodded furiously. "You're absolutely right. Someone stashed the AI somewhere, waiting until the time was right, waiting until they could set up a big enough distraction to have everyone look elsewhere, and then they're going to go get it. It's the perfect weapon for a group who wants to watch the world burn. Let a rogue AI loose on the matrix, especially the day that the Boston Stock Exchange opens up its brand new computing center. It's going to be fraggin' biblical."

Mac cursed silently to herself, although her anger wasn't directed inward. And more than anything she felt a nagging fear. If this was the endgame planned by de Medici and Winternight what could they do to stop it? Especially since zero hour was barely twenty four hours away?

"Kovacs," she asked after a minute, "what are we going to do?"

"First, we're going to do our job," replied the samurai without hesitation. He pulled the truck into the safe house behind Drift's roadmaster. "After that we'll see about saving the world."

He slid out of the truck with Mac close behind. Drift opened the sliding door of the roadmaster, rubbing his hand across his face.

"You said it was urgent?"

"Get the network fired up, we're going to go see Isomer," Kovacs threw over his shoulder. Mac climbed into the heavy truck as Drift grunted, settling back down into the command chair.

"More bad news?"

"Maybe, maybe not," replied Mac. She couldn't decide if finding out was better than not knowing the vast conspiracy they were up against. Kovacs returned with Tristan in tow, the lanky swordsman mumbling something around a mouthful of granola bar.

"Jack in," directed Kovacs, "but wait until we're all present before heading out."

Nods all around, and the real world vanished beneath the synthetic vista of Drift's network. It was a sculpted system, much more personalized and stylized than Kovacs' austere UMS iconography, but they didn't pause to appreciate it. Within seconds they were standing before the fluted columns of Palatine, Kovacs leading them past the guard icons to the smoky interior. Isomer waited for them just inside the doors, probably forewarned by the samurai of the request for an immediate meeting. The winged jackal-headed figure guided them upstairs, onto one of the second floor loggias that offered privacy for all of them.

"Thanks for meeting with us," said Kovacs. "We've got some new information and subsequent questions."

Isomer nodded and they both glanced towards Mac.

02:58:15 Tuesday, 16 January 2063 - 17030 228th Ave NE, Redmond Seattle

Mac didn't relish dropping the bomb on Drift and Tristan by bringing Isomer up to speed, but she didn't really have much of a choice.

"So I went into the game to follow up on Pershing, ended up via his established property in the game in some kind of super advanced combat simulator. They called it War Worlds. I was able to convince one of their gatekeepers that I was trying to help and she trusted me enough to drop a few big pieces of information."

She knew they were all alone up here, but she still couldn't stop herself from searching around the space with her eyes before continuing.

"They're gearing up for war via that simulator and she said whatever the trigger would be it was because of the Shutdown and what escaped. Or more like what was about to escape. Winternight. de Medici. A rogue AI. The stock exchange."

She didn't have to finish the collection of pieces to the puzzle before the answer dawned on each of those who had been out of the loop. From the looks on Drift and Tristan's faces she knew they were asking themselves the same question she had posed in the truck less than ten minutes ago. Isomer was impossible to read, but her gaze turned to him alone.

"They closed my way into War Worlds, Tellerman said I wouldn't be able to go back, but if I called that they'd find me. She wants whatever information Pershing found to trigger his disappearance, but she's obviously tied to War Worlds and can't operate outside of it I don't believe."

03:03:48 Tuesday, 16 January 2063 - 17030 228th Ave NE, Redmond Seattle

"Mother of God, Kovacs!" cursed Drift. "This can't be serious! de Medici plans to let Winternight unleash Deus onto the matrix?"

The tall samurai shrugged, either immune to or incapable of the rigger's agitation. "So it would seem."

This would fit with the broad movements we've seen recently in the shadows, added Isomer. However, I'm not sure if I can divine which forces are mobilizing in defense and which are mobilizing to aid Deus or take advantage of the ensuing chaos. One thing is for certain, though, if they succeed, the world will never be the same.

"Great," mumbled Tristan. Even in the virtual his avatar was still busy feeding itself. "So it's up to us to save the world again."

Mac glanced at Kovacs. "Again?"

"We may or may not have been involved, obliquely, in a couple of operations which averted widespread disasters," replied the samurai. "Nothing quite like this, though. Nothing that presented such a clear and present danger as this situation seems to."

"Well what the frag do we do?" Drift was clearly still upset, but his tone was calmer than earlier. "Tell everyone? Blast it out so people know what's coming?"

"Yeah, but isn't that kind of what Pershing was doing? Wouldn't that open us up to retaliation by the same ones that gunned him down?" Mac shot an apologetic look towards Isomer, but judging by his reaction Kovacs had already briefed him on what they'd found at Pershing's apartment. No one who left that amount of blood behind was likely still among the living.

"We have to assume so," nodded Tristan. "In fact we should probably assume that we're already on their radar since we started asking about Pershing. I don't know what kind of virtual trackers they might have out, do you think that your accessing War Worlds might have warned them?"

Mac shook her head, remembering the icy interrogation of Tellerman's gaze. "Not really, I don't think I would have been allowed in if there was any question about the security of the connection."

I agree, I think it prudent to limit the disclosure of this information to secure channels only, added Isomer.

"There's one other possibility," said Kovacs in that same distant tone of voice he'd used earlier. "de Medici is hiring us to extract him from an OFF-line storage facility. The reason why the AI hasn't been able to access the matrix for the past three years might be because where it's held has no connection to the matrix, and, in fact, was built specifically to isolate its contents from electronic signals."

"If that's true, it might make the solution to this problem a whole lot simpler." Tristan smiled, but without humor. "That being said, destroying what Winternight is after either during the transport or at the meet might not be that survivable."

"Brother," chuckled Drift, "you're in the wrong business if you wanted to die in bed."

03:05:03 Tuesday, 16 January 2063 - 17030 228th Ave NE, Redmond Seattle

Mac shook her head at the macabre banter between the men and frowned slightly as she remembered details of their meeting at the casino.

"You think he's going to take it out with him? During his 'supervised download' inside the facility?" She asked, complete with air quotes and all. "Could an AI fit in something the size of an attaché case? He said that's all he would have with him."

03:14:53 Tuesday, 16 January 2063 - 17030 228th Ave NE, Redmond Seattle

All eyes swiveled towards Isomer, who shrugged. It's conceivable, I suppose. A slightly larger than average attache case might be able to hold enough solid state memory to transport the core code of AI.

"Even if it couldn't, I think the safe bet would be to assume that de Medici has worked out a way to extract the AI and carry it out with him."

Kovacs nodded in response to Drift. "Agreed. The question still remains, though, do we eliminate him in transit before the meet, or try and kill all the birds with one stone at the meet?"

"He's planned for that," responded Tristan, "he won't have our payment with him. It'll be waiting at the meet."

"How much is saving the world worth?" The samurai locked gazes with the swordsman.

"It's not that, we've invested in this run: equipment, bribes, setup. Those losses need to be recouped. Especially if we're going to be dealing with fallout that we haven't been able to stop."

Kovacs grimaced but didn't dispute the accuracy of Tristan's statement. "All right, at the meet it is. It's likely that we won't be able to control all the variables and that this is going to come down to a question of firepower. Drift, make sure the Roadmaster is combat ready, we're going to need fire support."

"Ready and able, boss," replied the rigger.

"Are we juicing?" asked Tristan.

"If ever there was a time, this would be it," nodded Kovacs. Mac opened her mouth to ask but stopped at the look the samurai flashed her. Their silent communication wasn't lost on Isomer, though.

I'll leave you to your planning. Good luck, gentlemen. And lady. If there's anything left of the world, I'll see you on the flip side. The jackal-headed icon held out a hand to Kovacs, who shook it without hesitation. Then, as if the gesture had triggered it, he dissolved into a cloud of scarabs that tumbled over and through the loggia's bannister, disappearing back into the club below. The tall samurai flicked his hand in an exit motion, throwing the rest of them out of the virtual and back into reality. Mac rubbed her arms in sudden pain, not realizing how badly the tension of the past few hours had bled into her muscles. Her hands felt like twisted claws. Both Tristan and Drift moved into immediate action, executing the initial steps of the revised plan. Kovacs leaned back on the bench seat next to Mac, his eyes staring at something beyond the unmarked utility gray ceiling of the Roadmaster.

03:19:31 Tuesday, 16 January 2063 - 17030 228th Ave NE, Redmond Seattle

Mac arched her back as she raised her arms over her head, pointing her toes out in front of her to try to release the tension that had her wound as tight as a spring. It did little to help and she tried to muffle the hiss of pain as she drew a long breath and felt her muscles lengthen just slightly.

She melted back against the bench seat as she released her stretch, all too aware that Kovacs was still thinking, still processing and laying out scenarios in his head now that the team had even more on the line. She knew there was little she could add to his tactical planning, so she let the silence linger and offered her warmth and apparent concern. She closed the minimal distance between them, gently sliding her hand to cover his as she rested her head against his shoulder. She felt the samurai tense for an instant at her touch before returning to his normal state of readiness beside her.

Mac didn't move more than a slight squeeze of his hand in hers as her eyes closed and her breathing began to match his. Silently she reconfirmed her commitment to the plan, the team and above all to him.

03:28:07 Tuesday, 16 January 2063 - 17030 228th Ave NE, Redmond Seattle

Kovacs draped his arm over Mac, pulling her close to him. After a moment, he leaned over and kissed the top of her head.

"Kamikaze is a tailored combat amphetamine developed by Saeder-Krupp back in 2050. It accelerates your reflexes and dampens your pain receptors. When things are dicey, it's a powerful ace up your sleeve. The drawback is that it burns you from the inside out. After a couple doses you start to exhibit nervous trauma: shakes, tremors, dilated pupils, hallucinations. After four you're addicted to the high. After eight your skin starts to necritize due to nerve impulses no longer being routed. So if you use it, you have to limit your exposure."

"Have you done it before?" she asked quietly.

"One dose," he replied. "I'll max out on this run with two more. I've got one dose available for you, if you want it. Once we arrive at the meet, Tristan is going to go for the AI if de Medici is carrying it. I want you to watch closely. If it looks like he's not going to be able to get it, I want you to go in after it. Drift, Suda and I will keep everyone else off your backs."

"Assuming she doesn't pick that moment to switch sides," observed Mac in a tone of careful neutrality.

"She won't," replied the samurai. "It's against her nature to be part of a large group. She'll wait until we've whittled everyone else down, until it's just the primary players, before she makes her move. Besides, this is personal, so she'll want there to be no mistake that it's her doing it."

"I hope you're right." Mac tried to keep her tone light but she couldn't bring herself to fake the confidence. Kovacs heard it.

"If I'm right, we win. If I'm not, there won't be enough pieces left to worry about. Either way, I'll see you through this."

03:36:14 Tuesday, 16 January 2063 - 17030 228th Ave NE, Redmond Seattle

Mac used her hand against Kovacs' thigh as leverage to slide out from beneath his arm and turned her face towards him her jawline tense as her eyes blazed and her voice was edged and hard.

"No." She shook her head firmly to add emphasis to make her point.

"We'll see each other through this." She hissed through her clenched teeth.

The fierceness of the misplaced anger in her words was a simple mask for the gut-wrenching fear that she felt that she might lose him amidst the endgame of this run. The fact that she felt already so attached to him both terrified and thrilled her and yet she couldn't help but steel herself against whatever might happen the only way she knew how, to shut it down, take her emotions out of it and operate on autopilot.

Mac forced herself to look away, to stare at some point through the open door of the Roadmaster, across the abandoned weigh station that meant nothing to her as she compartmentalized her feelings and worry and got back to business. There wasn't time to have some kind of emotional meltdown and Kovacs didn't need one more mess to have to clean up.

"I'll take the dose if it means it betters our chance at pulling this whole thing off. Just tell me what you need from me right now and then let me go clear my head and we can get back to work."

She started to stand as she cast a glance over her shoulder towards him and most of the fire in her eyes had disappeared as she waited for her next task.

03:39:25 Tuesday, 16 January 2063 - 17030 228th Ave NE, Redmond Seattle

Although his posture hadn't changed, Mac could tell that the armor had closed about Kovacs once more. His face was expressionless and his eyes were dark slate shutters, devoid of emotion.

"Get some rest. You're due to relieve Tristan on watch at noon."

Mac nodded, feeling hollow inside. She stepped down from the Roadmaster and crossed the much narrower confines of the room to where they'd setup the cots. Behind her she could hear the muted tones of Kovacs and Drift's voices as they held a brief conversation. Afterwards, the tall samurai ducked out of the van and climbed into the cab of his truck.

04:27:13 Tuesday, 16 January 2063 - 17030 228th Ave NE, Redmond Seattle

Mac dropped onto one of the cots and scrubbed her hands against her face as she laid back and muttered darkly under her breath, more at herself than anything. Her inability to handle all of this once again proving to herself just how irreparably broken she was when it came to relationships. She growled softly as she flung her arm across her eyes to block out what little light they were using inside the space. She realized just how far beyond tired she was, exhausted didn’t even really cover it. Still she found no peace in the self-imposed darkness. While her body begged for sleep, her mind wouldn’t wind down, deciding now was the perfect time to start examining her true feelings and dealing with the fact that they scared her as much as they did.

She lost track of how long she laid there, tossing and turning, thinking and torturing herself, replaying the moment when she lost her cool and things went in the absolute opposite direction of where she had hoped they would have. She mused along the way at just how similar she and Kovacs actually were and she pondered if that was the true reason her connection to him was so strong. She had convinced herself that closing herself off from her emotions was what she needed to do, when it was the complete opposite of what she wanted. Mac was running out of stolen moments with him and realized that might have been her last.

Sighing heavily she swung her legs off over the edge of the cot till her feet hit the floor and she sat up, knowing until she could quiet the riot in her head, she didn’t stand a chance at sleeping. She slipped her arms back into her longcoat and pulled her cigarettes from her pocket. She knew she couldn’t step outside, so she sought out the next best option, one of the very few windows in the building that weren’t completely boarded up. She crossed to one far enough away from the sleeping area in the near darkness and breathed her first calming breath as the tip of her cigarette flared fiery orange.

She stood by the window, its panes shattered and broken in the places not boarded over and what remained of the visible glass was cloudy in the clearest of places, coated by mineral deposits and etched by the acidic rains that fell. Closing her eyes she leaned back against the wall and exhaled a stream of sweet grey-blue smoke in the general direction of the window with what she hoped was her last heavy sigh.

Mac was two thirds of the way through her first smoke when she could feel eyes on her and she knew she was being watched. She opened her own eyes slowly, her head turning towards the figure skulking in the shadows and darkness across from her, his arms folded across his chest as she took the last drag on her cigarette and quickly replaced it with a second.

“You should be sleeping.” Was all the swordsman said quietly as her eyes found his.

“Yeah well. Trouble in paradise.” She spoke around a steady exhale of smoke.

04:35:27 Tuesday, 16 January 2063 - 17030 228th Ave NE, Redmond Seattle

Tristan nodded, his silence circumspect. Mac knew he was waiting to see if she would say something more and elaborate on her statement. She dragged angrily on her cigarette, not wanting to divulge her feelings, wanting to hold on to the anger, sensing that it would be easier, somehow. And yet the swordsman's quiet certainty drew her out, his patience grinding away her hesitancy until she couldn't help blurting out her frustrations.

"It's like he's already decided he's going to die!" she hissed angrily. "It's like he's assuming he won't make it out from this run!"

Tristan frowned, nodding absently. Casually he reached out and plucked the cigarette from Mac's fingers, taking a drag himself. He glanced at the brand, blowing a stream of smoke into the overhead darkness before handing it back.

"Yep, sounds about right."

"And you're fraggin' fine with it?!" Mac knew this was a bad idea. The swordsman shrugged.

"In the book Hagakure, Yamamoto Tsunetomo said 'One should every day think over and make an effort to implant in his mind the saying, "At that time is right now." Thus the Way of the Samurai is, morning after morning, the practice of death.'"

He held up a hand but couldn't forestall Mac's anger.

"C'mon, enough of that macho bulldrek bushido ethos! This isn't some fraggin' dick measuring contest! Whoever's the most fatalistic wins!"

"No," said Tristan quietly. "It's not a contest."

04:42:49 Tuesday, 16 January 2063 - 17030 228th Ave NE, Redmond Seattle

Mac's anger boiled just beneath the surface and her pacing back and forth as she pulled hard on what was left of her cigarette was the only thing saving her from a complete meltdown.

"Then explain it to me!"

She stopped her pacing only long enough to pin the swordsman with a glare and grind out her cigarette, replacing it smoothly with yet another. Yet again her anger was misdirected, but Tristan seemed to show no offense and let her boil over and release some of what was eating at her. She took a deep breath and tried to calm herself as she saw concern in his eyes, but her voice still trembled with emotion.

"Explain to me how I'm supposed to just accept that? That it's easier... or better to live in acceptance of death than to actually live? I get it. I understand that death is a part of this world that you operate in. But that," She motioned back towards the vehicle bay, "That I don't understand... And I'm not sure I know how to do this."

Her statement was made from so much more than just her concerns about the things she would be asked and expected to do in the next 24 hours, but made of her concerns about her depth of feelings for Kovacs as well.

Mac stopped and leaned back against the wall before she slid to the floor, unable or unwilling to stay standing. She drew her knees to her chest, her forehead to her knees as she shook her head in disbelief, her hair masking her face from Tristan doing little to hide the tears that dampened her cheeks and the shakes that moved her body.

04:48:06 Tuesday, 16 January 2063 - 17030 228th Ave NE, Redmond Seattle

After a moment's hesitation, Tristan joined her where she leaned against the wall, draping his arm over her shoulder. For a minute all was quiet, silent tears running down her cheeks.

"I'm going to tell you this because he can't, or won't," said the swordsman softly. "The samurai's acceptance of death is not synonymous with welcoming death, or seeking it out. By accepting it, he is celebrating life, he is able to hold something in value greater than his own survival. Usually it's the job. Now, it's you. He needs to value your life above his because his survival without yours would be meaningless."

It took Mac a second to understand what Tristan was saying. "What? How..."

"Don't be mistaken," he continued as if she hadn't spoken. "Despite the emotional armor he wears, Kovacs loves with a fierce, possessive passion. It would be easy to think that because of his hard exterior that he's callous and bitter, capable of using you to satisfy his needs and then casting you aside when it becomes convenient. But that is not his way. In his mind, he is the reason why you are here, he got you involved in this mess. That makes it his responsibility to extricate you from it."

"But...I...." Mac fumbled for her words. Once again, though, the swordsman acted as if he didn't hear her, leaning over to plant a kiss on the top of her head before standing.

"Just remember, he's more than you think. It's getting late, you should try and get some sleep."

10:12:07 Tuesday, 16 January 2063 - 17030 228th Ave NE, Redmond Seattle

Mac found herself holding her breath as Tristan slipped back into the darkness and returned to his round of overwatch or whatever he was tasked to do until she took over. She closed her eyes for a few minutes, letting the swordsman's words sink in and feeling all of the fatigue that leeched into her bones. It wasn't long until she felt lighter, her anger giving way to a whole other set of emotions and by the time she had picked up her cigarette butts and made her way back to the cots, guilt was quickly becoming the dominant one.

She curled back up inside her coat and closed her eyes, the last thoughts of apologies she needed to make on her mind as sleep finally overwhelmed her.

She woke later that morning after having slept like the dead, the folds of her coat sleeves having left marks against her cheek when she didn't move much overnight. She blinked her eyes as she adjusted to the light inside the building and sat up, listening to figure out who was up and about. She pulled a clean shirt from her bag and scrubbed a wet wipe over her face before she headed back out towards the vehicle bay, taking stock of what was, and wasn't there. She watched Tristan as he perched on a pelican case and monitored a scaled back, but still robust version of the security from the warehouse tailored to their new location, all while munching on some snack or another.

Shaking her head she stepped up behind him, firmly working the heels of her hands and her thumbs into the muscles across the back of his neck and shoulders.

"I'm up early, so if you want me to step in now I'm game."

She glanced over at the open door of the Roadmaster and dropped her voice slightly as she gave the swordsman a soft, grateful smile.

"Thanks for last night, knocking more than a little sense into me." She glanced at the missing truck from the line of vehicles and couldn't keep the disappointment completely out of her voice. "He's out putting final pieces into place already?"

10:39:11 Tuesday, 16 January 2063 - 17030 228th Ave NE, Redmond Seattle

"Anytime," replied the swordsman, relaxing beneath Mac's massage. He gestured towards his small grocery. "You should get something to eat first. Breakfast is the most important meal of the day. Even more important than second breakfast."

Mac was about to deny her hunger until her stomach made a growl that Drift should have been able to hear. She smiled guiltily.

"Uh huh." Tristan handed her an orange, which she accepted, hopping up next to him so she could peel it. Juice ran sticky down her fingers and she sucked at them softly.

He indicated the empty parking spot where Kovacs' truck should have been. "He and Suda are out getting some things. She's going to be calling up something big and arcane this afternoon."

Mac chewed thoughtfully. "We trust her with that?"

Tristan nodded immediately. "Our opposition will likely be fielding some hefty spirits of their own. Having a great form on our side is like bringing a gun to a knife fight."

Mac was about to say I've never seen a Great Form until she realized that she hadn't seen all that many spirits period. "Better the devil you know, eh?"

"Always. While it's true of a lot of Cat shamans, Suda takes it to its most logical extension. We know. And she knows we know. And we know she knows we know. Et cetera." Tristan stretched, reaching his hands behind his head and arching his back. "The only real question is when. I've got a fairly good guess, and so does our fearless leader. But even if neither of those are correct, one thing's for certain, her pride won't let us fail this mission. Whatever she's got planned, it'll happen after our extraction from the building."

"Kovacs wants me close to you," said Mac, "in case you can't get to the AI that de Medici is carrying."

The swordsman nodded, standing. "Figured as much. I'll make a play for it, but if he's got any guards around him, I'll make sure to take them out and give you a shot at him. Remember, when the time comes, don't hesitate. Any mistake is forgivable as long as we survive it." He flashed her a rakish smile.