"Nice thought, Yer Radiance, but it ain't gon' come ta that. Natcherly the staff shows up before any o' the esteemed clientele. We put 'em on ice as they show. The place never does open fer biz. Once we've done all the squeezin' we's set ta do, at some point we beat feet afore the powers that be tip to trouble and send in the heavies." The tiny, unshaven man managed to light a new cigarette without ever stopping his manic rasp of a speech.
"Now this place opens at eleven in the AM, so if'n y'all're in agreement on this, we got our work cut out fer us - we gotta git that contraption secured in the van in case we need to git outta Dodge quick, we gotta git the beer chute door ta look untampered with, an' we gotta be ready ta hit anyone comin' in either door, an' do it quick, cuz there's no tellin' how early they come in."

Ryan slumps back onto his stool after having been lying belly-down across the bar watching Al at work.

"Sounds like a plan. I'm thinkin' we should prob'ly be movin' the van ... and my ride, of course. Any suggestions on where t' stash 'em?"

::October 18, 2070 1030, Bar Krutenau, Tacoma::

The last several hours exemplified the hurry up and wait philosophy of the streets. After removing all the tags that could be found on the forge, Bubbles and Pesto placed it in the van which is parked around the corner in an alleyway. The motorcycle is stashed in the nearest parking garage to avoid suspicion.

Walking back from the bar, Al falls back a few paces downwind from the rest and vents out his airtank. While Bubbles hides the signs of the team's forced entry, Al scuffs the tracks from the alleyway and goes inside.

A pot of soykaf brews behind the bar, Al drinking cups of the stuff black as night. Ryan and Sun have spent most of the time, giving each other come hither stares as they idly flirt. So far, Sun seems to be winning, but the elf with a thousand faces has given in to a few of the gunslinger's requests. The majority of the team is amped up on Long Haul, watching the world slip by with a crystal clarity of synthesized adrenaline and neurotransmitters.

On the bar, cigarettes have become communal property with Lucky Strikes, Gauloises and Epique Menthols all tossed out. Two ashtrays, one for the elves and one for everyone else have dozens of butts littering them.

Most of the optical chips were encrypted, but between the hacker and rigger's combined efforts they have been decrypted. The encrypted files deal with medical treatises, chemical engineering, matrix design theory, and distribution schedules. What Al is able to glean is that Seattle is a test market, thus far positive results have outweighed the negative side effects of subject death. Substantial research on AIPS and references to a clinic in Georgetown are also listed. The unencrypted files appear to be receipts for the Bar Krutenau, schedules and invoices for delivery--all traditional business files.

As the time of opening gets closer, members of the team drop behind the bar and step into the office and restrooms to conceal their presence. The sound of a maglock unsealing, the front door opening, closing and the mock resealing alerts you to the first arrival for the day. Booted feet strike the floor in the steady cadence of a woman who is sure of herself. Image links show video footage from Pesto's flyspy of a woman in her late twenties. She's wearing platform combat boots, a short skirt and a blouse tied high to reveal gym perfected abs and nanotattoos crawling beneath her flesh.

She stank of beer.

Her bright Neon Yellow Tees were soaked and sticking to her torso. Blissfully ignoring the clinging outfit the troll happily twisted the final nuts on her third full re assembly of the beer taps and the mechanism of tubing and wires and controllers behind the bar. If she'd gotten this right, Bubbles thought there might be enough pressure to spray the green soybeer across the room from the leftmost nozzle.

"Georgetown clinic? Bound to have some blues and reds."

At the signal indicating an approaching target, she swallowed her gum with a strained gulp, and laid herself flat in a crunched position on the floor behind the bar.

Pesto passes the time eating some snack food and sipping on a couple of cocktails. In between sips of his drink the orc spends time cracking the encryption on some of the optical chips. Occasional he sneeks a peek at the flirting couple and cracks a smile.

When the time gets closer to zero hour the orc gets his pistol out, puts on the silencer and picks out the best place to hide.

At the signal of beer spraying the target, everyone clears out of their hiding places and waylays the new entrance.

Dark, foamy beer soaks and begins to stain the white blouse, as the woman screams. Her hand instinctively begins to drop towards the small of her back. A wide pool of beer begins to form near her feet.

A grinning Flintlock steps out from behind the office door and brings his twin Colt Americas to bear on the woman. Before his target can bring whatever weapon she is reaching for into action, the elven gunslinger lets loose with both guns.

Seeing the gunslinger step out of the shadows, the woman throws herself into a half cartwheel. She cleanly dodges the first shot which slams into a table. The second shot catches her thigh and she is unable to catch herself before the leg gives out under her weight.

Fortune's fickle smile causes the third shot to go wide, but the last round catches her shoulder. The woman splays out unceremoniously shot, her body twitching occassionally from smaller surges of electricity.

After taking a moment to admire the image of the woman on his commlink's plasma screen, Al started out of the office on Flint's heels, only to remember he'd left his shotgun on the desk. By the time he'd collected it and made it out to the corridor, the shooting had stopped, and the combat-booted beauty was in a heap on the floor in a pool of soybeer.

Approaching her, but careful to stay a few meters away in case she was playing possum, he rested his Remington back over one shoulder and admired the elf's handiwork. "Well, looks like that there new-fangled fake ammo's got some uses. We done won, an' no harm done."

Squatting down for a closer look, he continued, "Reckon we better git 'er trussed up, searched, an' in the office fer a chat. Now, about that, while it's true that more wimmin've been overcome by ol' Al's charms than kin readily be counted on the fingers of a hunnerd lawless men, well, this here filly's the type that could make me fergit my perfessional demeanor - left alone, things atween me an' her could git downright scandalous, yes they could. So in the interest o' workplace ethics, I'm thinkin' we turn Sunny loose on her fer the actual interrogationalizin'."

Once the signal is given Pesto starts his part of the show. he pops up a window in his AR field and attempts to look for and intercept any wireless traffic from their victim. Hopefully it will be over so fast that she will not have time to call in the calvary.

A slightly bloodthirsty smile paints the elf's features as he watches his target fall. Dropping to on knee just outside the office as Al moves forward, Ryan slips one of the pistols back into its holster on his right ankle. He shakes his head in response to the human's comment about the ammunition.

"Nah, feel's like cheatin'. You were right the first time."

Making his way back to his now-customary bar stool, he slides the other Colt into place up his left sleeve.

"Matters none t' me who does the questionin'."

Refocusing her eyes after her set of calculations Bubbles glanced at the wand in her hand, kept it pointed at the woman, then eyed the tap mechanism in her hand.

Looking back up at the team, "That was only 5 liters a second, I think I can boost it to at least 15!"

"Just need a smaller pipe and higher pressure."

With her other hand she starts scavenging behind the bar.

"Well we'll give are new friend here a little while to recover then I'll talk to her. I'll want her handcuffed in the office. Would some one, not you Al be willing to play bad cop? Pesto could you mock up a program that would make her see a police badges when we flash cards at her?"

Sun grins, she's starting to come up with an angle.

A wide and not altogether pleasant grin of anticipation lights up Ryan's face at the prospect.

"Bin down that street a few times. Usually worked out pretty good too."

The elf pulls a couple of small slap patches from his jacket pocket and winks as he flashes them to Sun.

"I'm thinkin' these jus' might come in handy."

"Stim patches? Or contraceptives for later?"

Sun's grin is suggestive and oh so wicked.

Ryan pauses for a moment, as if deeply contemplating something, then shakes his head decisively as if making a critical choice, he flashes the elf what he thinks is a rueful smile.

"Nah. First things first."

He wanders over to Sun and slips the patches into her hand.

"Never fails. 'S always bizness before pleasure, right?"

Seeing that everyone else on the team was either busy with tech stuff or handling the prisoner - or just flirting shamelessly - Al figured somebody'd better keep their eyes on the feed from Clara.

He grabbed a cold can of Grolsch from the fridge behind the bar, and since his earlier hiding place was about to become an interrogation room, he settled into a nice comfortable spot on the counter in the men's can, his back against the dirty mirror, one combat boot in a sink, the other dangling off the edge and not coming near reaching the floor. Strap around his neck, his shotgun rested on his lap.

He split the screen on his commlink between the drone's visual and the files he'd been reading, and sent the important ones with a summary to Sun. Then he filled the screen with the exterior feed, glued his lips to the beer can and his eyes to the commlink, and started reviewing the files he'd read in his mind.

Looking around, Ryan is surprised to see that nobody has moved to either search or secure their prisoner. Rolling his eyes skyward and heaving a dramatic sigh, he makes his way over to the fallen human.

"So, we got any rope?"

A slight mental command springs a slim stun baton into the elf's right hand from its hiding place up his sleeve. Warily, he kneels beside the woman and quickly searches her for weapons and other items of interest.

Bubbles tosses a roll of tubing over the counter.

"Need her to talk?"

The troll waves the beer hose suggestively, "After Knuckles and some of the boys get filled with this stuff, they can't shut up ever."

Wrinkling her nose slightly as she pauses, "Course, they also tell the most outrageous lies too."

Sitting on the bathroom counter, Al remembered the detail that had nagged at the back of his hyperactive mind. Quickly checking the data on his comm, he got up and poked his head out of the bathroom -
"Hey, y'all, looks from the bar's files like our chica's name is Tara, right on time fer work. Dunno how tied up she is in all this...no pun intended," he added as he saw Flint looking for rope.
"Anyhow, another skirt name o' Hayden is supposed ta be showin' up in the next thirty or so, so ya'd all best git this one inta the office and everyone git back outta sight."
And with that, he took his own advice and disappeared into the bathroom.

Discouraged that his cursory search turned up nothing of interest, Ryan begins stripping the clothing from the unconscious woman. He eyes the tubing offered by Bubbles for a moment, then casts a disapproving glance in the troll's direction.

"'Zat the best we can find? Any 'lectric cords or duct tape 'round?"

Ryan

You kneel down and run one hand over the woman's body. There are obvious calluses in the small of her back where it looks like she traditionally where's a holster and the gun rubs against her skin. No holster is present at the moment.

Strict professionalism takes over as you search the woman thoroughly to ensure that she is not hiding anything inappropriate. The skirt is a reversible one, a red plaid currently showing with a blue plaid pattern on the underside. You notice something out of place when examining Tara's bra through the soaked blouse. Peeling off her blouse, it becomes more obvious that the underwire is removable. As you pull it out, the underwire separates. The two pieces of the underwire serve as handles for a short length of monowire.

Aware that this woman is more than just a bartender, you check the rest of her clothing for similar modifications. You find that the platforms on her combat boots are removable. In one boot is an aerosol can and a separate electronic device. The other boot has a t-shirt, skirt and panties ultra-compressed to provide a change of clothes.

With a hurt look, Bubbles pushes her head against the ceiling tiles lifting a panel and looks around briefly, then uses her hand and pushes up a neighboring panel and moves her hand around.

A moment later she hunches down again and tosses over a coil of unused fiber cable she found.

Bubbles stares at the elf inquiringly.

The elf piles the clothing, detonator, and other items of interest on the bar. Turning, he is just about to pick up the tubing to secure their prisoner, still shaking his head in disgust, when Bubbles finds something better. Casting a small smile and brief nod her way, Ryan scoops up the cable and goes to work.

Looking over the pile of items on the counter, Bubbles carefully moves one out from the pile withthe tip of her fingernail.

"Remote activator. Not kind I work with, lots of standard safety features built in. Usually find in stuff that goes "..*** POP ***

Sun rolls her eyes.

"These should hold her," From her jacker pocket she pulls out a pair fur lined handcuffs and tosses the towards Flint, "Though removing the fur would make it more convincing. Once she's secure we're going to play undercover Star, just play it like what happens to her is just down to how much paperwork we can be bother to fill out. Assume that her surviving is more paperwork."

With that Sun starts examining the clothes, checking them for design, size and rfid tags.

Trying to hide his struggles in tying the prisoner, the elf is quite relieved for the assistance. Grabbing the fur-trimmed cuffs, Ryan cocks an inquiring eye at Sun, then smiles to himself as he sets about stripping off the fur and then properly securing the still-unconscious woman.

Sun's only reply to the look is an artfully arched eyebrow.

With the fur trimmed off the cuffs and the woman secured with cuffs and cabling, Ryan moves her into the office.

Pesto
With the signal decrypted, right now you are monitoring the carrier signal connecting Tara to the local grid. There is no active traffic, her commlink is none the less still connected despite the jamming.

Grumbling a bit to himself at how long it took him to get through the signal's encryption Pesto finally speaks up. "Ok guys sorry it took so long but I am finally through her signal's encryption. It looks like she is still connected to the grid. Bubbles is your jamming working?"

The orc then moves over to the pile of gear and looks for a commlink. Shaking his head he looks back at the prisoner while saying, "I think she has her comm implanted. We are going to have to hack into it to stop her from calling for help. Also if that detonator is wireless then she can still set it off."

Bubbles checks her jamming wand carefully by moving her head near the tip but not quite in front.

"Working. Must have good signal, better then mine."

After a glance at the device on the counter, "Let me disable or isolate this before you chat."

"Hrrmmff, then she probably has some good hardware and software in her head. I will wait for you to disable the device just in case something goes wrong with the hack", Pesto says to Bubbles.

The orc then moves one of the chairs near the wall so that when he is ready he can lean against the wall as he goes into full virtual reality. Once satisfied with his furniture arrangements, the orc waits on the troll to give the all clear.

With a wad of gum the troll sticks the wand onto the bar top pointed at the naked woman, then takes a closer look at the device.

Casually she holds out her hand and extends a razor sharp nail and with a swift motions stabs down on the devices case and twists.

It takes about ten minutes before Bubbles gives the thumbs up signal that the detonator had been deactivated. On the bar next to her lay several components that the rest of the team is fairly sure need to be inside and properly attached before a wireless signal could actually transmit.

At Ryan's feet, the woman rolls slightly, tossing fitfully as her mind wrestles with dark dreams in her forced unconsciousness.

Pesto

After getting the all-clear, you settle yourself into the chair and thrust your mind into VR. Looking at the node from the outside as you hammer away at the defenses, you see a giant spider web with millions of threads woven together. Carefully pruning away small fibers to not disturb the overall structure you make your way inside.

Within the system, there is a shifting of inertia as gravity rotates and you are standing on the underside of the web. From here you can look out across the infinite expanse that your systems are telling you is just an illusion. There are limitations within this node, but the sculpture makes for a discomforting metaphor.

"Welcome to my parlor" is scrawled across the air in gossamer letters.

Pesto
Tracking down the preference files takes a few seconds, but you are able to scramble the codes. Confident that this node could only be accessed after someone hacked into it, you give the signal to your team mates to wake her up and begin the interrogation.

Since you will have to stay inside the node to make sure no one comes in through a hack and tries to undo your work, you make yourself comfortable and pilfer the data storage. Logs show several incoming calls and messages from Three and Five. The numbers show as blocked IDs, but a partial Access ID is present to link them to individuals within the accepted users list.

No references to the drug are found. As you begin the data search using common key phrases for drug, narcotic, pharmaceutical, the webbing around you shakes. The vibrations resonate uncomfortably deep within your gut. Quickly looking around, nothing else is in the system with you, so thus far the system hasn't launched any IC.

The hidden connection looks to be a trap-door access to another node. Traffic patterns indicate that it is a one-way path from the parlor into the other node. Once inside you would have to find a different exit or hack a connection back out or face the unpleasant option of severing the connection manually. Dumpshock on a Cram rush, it'd be a new experience if nothing else.

Interrogation

Ryan carries Tara into the office after she is tied up. Dropping her into a chair, the gunslinger takes a position behind the woman with Sun in front. The stim patch takes a few seconds for the chemicals to work into the bartender's body before she starts to stir.

It takes about five minutes to cut through the bullshit that you are all horribly mistaken and that she is just a bartender, before you get to the crux of the matter.

"So you're the wastes of flesh sent to look in on us...I'm sure that you will kill me when I stop being useful, just as I'm sure that you don't have a clue how deep you are."

Questions come from the group with a collection of threats, insinuations, and turns to make it feel as if Sun doesn't want to have to do this. In the end, you all have your parts to play.

"I don't know what the files in Keith's office are about, that's why they are in Keith's office. My duties here are to serve drinks, play the role of overly flirtatious wench and deal some drugs to the people come to see me.

"South Seattle Medical Center? You say it's some kind of clinic? All I know about other facilities is that the boys in the lab made the base product after some tests. The boss modifies it to different forms as needed based on sales. Right now, we've had a run on pills.

"The fucking rag-man is a junky waste of flesh like you. Everyone who gets a taste eventually has a price to pay. The question is how soon everyone realizes the price."

Al
Looking at the quantities that are being mentioned in the distribution and what you've heard hitting the docks, the desktop forge wouldn't be able to cut it. You think it could probably supply 100 doses per day. Mitch took three doses before he started feeling anything...

The schedules seem to use the bar and "location bravo" as distribution points to dealers. Judging by their numbers, each dealer canvases an area of about 70 square blocks. The ability for the addicts to find the dealer, rather than the other way around, probably helps keep the dealer mobile.

Watching the feed from Clara with half an eye, you see another woman approaching. The flare-cut longcoat over black slacks is a fashionable choice for a woman in her early thirties. Her hands are full with a coffee cup and a covered platter. Balancing the coffee cup on her head like a model with a rigid book, she reaches deep within a pocket to pull out her magkey.

'Hmmmm', the orc thinks to himself as he examines the information he uncovered so far. He then sends a text to the rest of the team:

"Ok I will remain on look out in her comm until you guys are done with the questioning. There is a link to another node I want to check out when you finish."

While waiting for the team to finish up, Pesto makes a copy of all the women's text files and phone conversations that he can find saved on her link.

Eyes on the screen, Al disengaged himself from his Grolsch and spoke into the cheap device's pickup - <<Everybody outta sight an' look sharp - fake waitress number two about three seconds from entry! Front door. Reckon we do it same as last time.>>

Holding the commlink in his mangled left hand, the unshaven man dropped to the floor and moved to the door, his right hand holding the shotgun pointed at the ceiling.

Time to nab another dealer of demon drugs.

'Oh frag', Pesto thinks as the meaning of Al's message sinks in. With a quick mental command the rigger shifts out of full VR mode into AR. He then makes a bee line for the bar to hide behind it, hoping that he has enough time.

Upon receiving Al's message, Flintlock swiftly takes up his place near the office door, the Colt once again appearing in the elf's left hand. Looking back over his shoulder as he reaches down to draw the matching pistol from his right boot, he catches Sun's eye and nods towards their prisoner.

"Better gag the slitch."

"No time." Sun activates her shock gloves with a thought and grabs the prisoner over her mouth holding it shut until she passes out.

Ryan watches as Sun deals with the prisoner, and grins in amusement.

"Works for me!"

Sun
The woman collapses after a second. As Flint leaves to take his position for the next target, you quickly check her pulse. The shock has left her vitals thready but there.

Sun fishes a Trauma patch from her bag and holds it ready. She lets out a sigh as she finds what she was looking for.

Four empty kegs later she'd gotten the pump up to a good 100 liters a minute, the remaining half full keg would be plenty for a few seconds of long distance spray. In the meantime, between the recycling of compressed air charges, the young troll had marked the intended jammer area and spray zone with glow paint carefully. The markers carefully aligned to only be visible from the team's hiding places, and concealed from someone entering the area.

With the added pressure, Bubbles was going to need to use two hands to handle the hose accurately. The jammer was going to be preset and triggered on remote commands.

With the quiet hiss of the maglock unsealing, the tension in the bar cranks up a notch. Muscles tense, breaths are slowly released. A second goes by where the door doesn't open.

Image feeds from the fly-spy show Hayden shifting everything in her hands.

Then the back door slams open. Reflexively, people begin to turn to the new threat. The sound of a metal canister bouncing against tiles echoes down the hallway past the office. A grenade rolls into the center of the main room.

"Drek!"

Flintlock ducks back around the doorway crouching with his back against the office wall. Mind racing wildly, the elf drops the twin Colts with their stun-inflicting ammunition, instead drawing the mismatched pair of guns from the holsters on his hips.

"Jiminy Christmas!"

Like a runner sliding into home plate, Al dove feet first into the stall closest to the door. In an instant he was on his elbows, commlink clipped to his beat-up leather jacket's left cuff, Remington sighted along the floor toward the door. He was hunkered as best he could be behind the porcelain shitter, half his head exposed, shotgun butt tight against his shoulder, the point of his left elbow a pivot allowing him to easily swing the weapon side to side.

They may come in fast
May come in slow
Might could roll somethin' in
Blow ya a new asshole.
But 'tween the Baron Samedi
And the good Savior
Yer got the power ta teach 'em somethin'
'Bout bad behavior.

** tink tink tink ***

The sound was classic, just like in the sims, also familiar from long nights tossing empty soy beer cans with her drinking buddies.

Except it wasn't a beer can.

With a mental twitch she set the jammer on, it certainly wouldn't make things worse, not for her. With a contortion of her legs and hips she rolled from her crouched and huddled position to a fully prone and curled position position behind the counter with her hands clamped over her ears, and sucked in a huge lungful of air through teeth clamped tight over her wad of horse radish mustard bubble gum.

Having just ducked down behind the bar Pesto is trying to slow his breath as he pulls out his piece. When he hears something bouncing on the floor he takes a look over at Bubbles and then whispers, "Uh Oh!"