The rundown strip mall on the outskirts of Bellevue had obviously seen better days. The pavement was cracked, several of the parking lot lights were busted, and most of the store fronts were dingy and uncared for. Tourists through Bellevue and yuppies out for kicks occasionally stopped by the Stuffer Shack in the strip, which advertised itself as being "Last 'Shack Before the Barrens!"

One double wide set of glass was different, however. It was clean, as close to pristine as one could hope for in that setting. Most mornings, the overly tall and heavily muscled form of a troll in business casual button up shirt and slacks could be seen either out front or inside, polishing the glass with a large rag and a bottle of something.

MJM Services, read the sign above the door. It was obvious that the offices occupied several of the storefronts along the strip. Most of the other businesses had folded up shop, and the gleaming glass was a stark contrast to the grungy Stuffer Shack.

This morning was all hustle and bustle outside MJM. A steady flow of people coming into and out of the offices was apparent, and there must have been a dozen people inside at any particular time. Most stayed in the lobby, which took up most of what must have been another store. The furniture was simple, and sturdy, about as stylish as it could be and still be fairly cheap. Two vending machines in the corner dispensed drinks and a variety of food products, and a couple of arcade booths with attached trode nets stood in another corner, the screens outside showing someone blasting their way through "Rio and Jox: The Aztechnology ShadowRun!" The rest of the office was several clusters of chairs and tables, dotted around the space to create a few almost separate locations. A sturdy looking metal door was inserted into the far wall, and occasionally the troll in the shirt and slacks would step out with someone, wave goodbye, and call one or more names to follow him back in.

Outside the offices, hanging around outside the Stuffer Shack, a hard eye group of youths from all different races eyes the offices and those arriving and leaving. Several of them are obviously armed, from rippers to pistols to submachine guns. Most seem to be sporting some sort of armor, and all of them wear patches or tattoo's that depict a grinning skull with chains wrapped around it.

Atreus

"Tomorrow morning. MJM Services. Bellvue." Link had been brief in her voice message, obviously a sign of her anger at Atreus. He knew he'd been out of sorts for the past few weeks, but until a person takes a few moments to stop and look back you never really realize how much.

Atreus had done a pretty good job in the recent past of burning bridges and driving away friends and family. There comes a time when you have to bite the bullet and smooth things over. Last night was one of those nights. He made a personal visit to see Link and thank her for making the connections for him. Agoraphobia on her part insured that it would be in at her place.

When he left her this morning their relationship was repaired again, at least for the moment. She was sleeping soundly and he left quietly, as he usually did. The ride in the early morning gave his time to clear his head.

When he arrived in Bellvue, the sun was rising and the wage-slaves who were on the early side of a flex-schedule were beginning to clog the city's arteries. He moved the bike through the traffic gracefully with years of practiced ease. He parked and locked the bike at the edge of the current fill in the lot. He considered parking farther out, but that would stand out. Closer would bring him in to the range of considerably more surveillance.

As he walked towards the buildings, he breathed in deep as if to inhale the aura of the place. He took note of the architecture. The old buildings, the onset of decay, the spacing and structures. He began to formulate his run in his mind. As he closed in on the buildings he stepped out into a jog, then a run. As he reached the first building he jumped towards the building, the stepped off the wall. His other foot connected with the commercial trash container beside it and propelled even higher. Another step and a light vault and he was on the roof.

The next hour was spent traversing the neighborhood, moving from place to place, up and down. When he was done, he felt in tune with the surroundings as well as worked out his nervous energy. He made his way to the stuffer shack and then to the bathroom. Once there, he entered a stall and changed into the black street clothes he felt more comfortable in. He unrolled his jacket, removed the short blond wig and after reversing the colorful backpack to the black side, packed the clothes away.

Exiting the bathroom, Atreus kept his head down and avoided the cameras just as he did entering the stuffer shack. The end of the morning rush was still in progress and it was easy for him to get lost in the crowd as he went out.

Walking down the street he looks towards MJM Services. Now. Now I'm ready.

Finn

At six in the morning, the alarm went off. He waited until the third chirp before reaching over and disabling the alarm. Rising from bed, Finn slid into the running shorts and t-shirt that he had set out the previous night. Beside his shoes is a one liter bottle of water infused with 27mg of salts to restore his electrolytic balance throughout the run.

Exactly 6,561 steps later, the blonde haired man returned to his porch. Nine more steps led him to the counter where he returned the bottle of water for refilling this evening and he scooped up the six vitamin supplements that had to be taken every third day. His body ran hotter than most humans, a metabolic shift forced by implants from before he retired.

Later, dressed in press-flats, Finn arrives at MJM Services. The Suit had mentioned that a semi-legitimate job was possible, which, given his recent return to the shadows, would serve him just fine. The Ford Americar he drove is almost a decade old and shows it in the fading paint job and small dents that cars always collect. Stepping out of the car, he locks the door and approaches the storefront.

Sweetness

Mastering his discomfort at the brightness outside, the bane of any morning walk, Gregor continued his stroll through the area. For some the silk suit, polished shoes and lace cravat would have instantly marked them as out of place. He'd been born to it, amongst other things best not to mention in polite company, and his comfort in his dress was his armor against the world. That and his engaging smile full of tusks. Milton had dropped him off some distance away, muttering about not wanting to repaint his limousine, and sundry other remarks about insurance coverage not applying in this area. The memory caused him to smile, recalling the thought that the bullets holes in the limo would cause as much consternation to Milton as it would if it had been his own skin. Which wasn't far from the truth of it. Speaking of skin, he made a mental note to ensure his supply of sunblock get replenished, the last tube was barely enough to protect him from the searing sun this day.

A cheery nod and smile to the ruffians sufficed to get past them, and with a bit relief he entered the MJM Services.

Words are easy, like the wind; Faithful friends are hard to find. The Passionate Pilgrim (XX, l. 33)

Atreus

Moving with confidence, Atreus is too well aware he is currently alone on this one. He looks them over as he approaches and does his best to keep from making eye contact. Strength without challenging them; That is the aura I need to project.

Noticing Gregor ahead of him, he has a sense of comfort knowing the like minded ork is amongst the team being assembled. He strolls onward, into the offices.

Dervish

The elf had waited until he saw at least one person enter the building. Of course it had been the Ork Sweetness. Dervish rolled his eyes slightly. The other meta was as odd as he was good. And Atreus meant that they would possibly be doing some heavy fighting. No time like the present I suppose he thought to himself. He detached himself from the small shadow he had been concealing himself in and walked toward the door.

MJM Tank's Office

A man in his early 20s apparently of mixed Asian descent sits across from a young Troll dressed in the last season's business casual. His clothing is severe, conservative and straight from the latest designers collections. His hair is immaculate and his posture perfect. The Japanese flowing from his lips is fluid, crisp and clearly carries the the stamp of speaking to a person of lesser station.

"My employer has asked me to look over these..candidates you have provided. They are looking for a solid group of individuals to carry out special assignments for private clients. I must stress that these assets need to be able to follow the directives laid out for each assignment and possess enough creativity to improvise as needed while still accomplishing the goals outlined. The last collection had to be liquidated after a botched assignment and cost my employer a significant amount of nuyen to placate the client. Have I been clear?"

As he speaks he looks over a flow of data in his field of vision - images of runners and their connections in the shadows.

Finn

Looking across the group of people coming and going from MJM Services, the years settle onto Finn. With the exception of the last few years, he'd been killing people regularly since some of them were suckling at their mother's teat--even earlier for the younger ones. Medication and implants could keep his muscles lean and firm, training to keep his shots straight, but none of that could keep the stretched thin feeling of years adding up.

I never should have promised The Suit that I'd be here. Though it's not as if retirement was really suiting me...

When he was younger, he had pictured himself moving to a small town where crime was low and he could be the crazy old vet on the block that got involved when the violence got out of hand. Life's not a trid. He and his team retired--a few of them went on to open shops and put their skills to honest use. There wasn't a big call for honestly putting holes in people and he didn't have the patience to teach.

That's why he was here. A few runners found him, dragged him into a clinic to get his secrets out of him with chemical persuasion. They are dead now. A weapon in hand, drawing down on a moving target had reminded him what it felt like all those years ago. Now he hoped he could keep up with these kids and their damned technology changes.

Vertigo rushed from her bike and slid through the parking lot like a shade.

Late again as usual...

Her body ached all over and she had at least one bruised rib on her left side from diving out an open window onto a fire escape. It wasn't the most graceful maneuver, but she made it out with the goods and that was all that mattered... to the buyer anyway. She used to make up stories- narratives that supplied some kind of reason or meaning to her work. Sometimes she imagined a rich corporate exec that needed just the right gift for his wife's birthday or maybe for his mistress. Other times she imagined herself as the pawn in an elaborate game of personal vendetta between high-powered rivals. But after awhile she stopped caring about the "why" and the "who". It was the "what" and the "how much" that payed the bills. The previous night's foray into an expensive art gallery helped her make rent. If she could land a decent paying run before the bills came due she might actually get a little ahead this month...

MJM Services... This is the place.

Moving past the gangers in the parking lot she focused on quieting her breathing until her own heart beat was almost too faint to hear and willed them not to notice her. She had grown up dodging pimps and psycho's on the rough streets of Redmond. Blending into her surroundings to go unnoticed was a defense mechanism she had long ago perfected, even before she learned how to turn invisible.

She entered the building quietly, just in time to hear the stiff Asian youth deliver his not-so-veiled threat. It certainly didn't set her mind at ease. She surveyed the assembled group, giving particular scrutiny to the familiar looking elf in the blond wig...

McCoy

He had been curious when he had gotten the call from Harry. He was initially suspicious, as this was a little different from the typical. Change was something that could kill you if you weren't careful and without much history, it was far more unsettling. But he decided to pursue it regardless. Most of his days were filled with things like this.

It would certainly make a man keep walking forward, if he only had darkness behind him. He picked up on the gangers, but didn't pay them too much attention. He had an Uzi on a slide waiting for anyone who wanted to give him any trouble.

McCoy looked fairly rough for the business that he had been heading towards. Short cropped black hair with simple matte black armored clothing. His eyes were constantly playing extra information over the ever disappointing flesh reality. Walking into the building he found himself in motely company.

The interviews have been going most of the day, and the sun sits low on the horizon. Most of the runners have been sent home, but a few were asked to stay. Those form a small group in the waiting room of the office. The games are a few nuyen richer, and the vending machines are mostly empty by the time things wrap up.

"Crystal. I don't think we'll have any problems with my guys." he says, responding to Kukyo's question. The troll, lean for a troll but still massive by human standards, rises up from behind the desk and steps around behind Kukyo to open the door. He glances behind him briefly before shutting the door and speaking in a firm but low tone to the assembled runners.

"Vertigo, McCoy, Atreus, Sweetness, Finn, Dervish, front and center. Come meet the man that's going to be your best friend for the next few months."

As the group assembles, Tank slips past them to personally talk to the last few runners there and send them home with a handshake. That done, he closes the doors and locks them. Turning, he strides up to speak to the group that's left, pitching his voice even lower and putting his back to the office door.

"Alright, this is the deal. You've done some work together before, and while you're not an established team, you work well together. I'm telling you, and that's what you're going to tell anyone that asks. This guy Kukyo works for Watanabe, and they're looking to hire guys that can work together as a team. You answer to him. He says jump, you say "in front of which bullet." You'll practically be a sarariman, with a paycheck every two weeks. The deal is though, no moonlighting. You work for Watanabe only. You got some personal business you need to deal with, you take a leave, deal with it, and then come back. Personal life does not overlap with business, wakarimasen?"

"Anybody got any questions before I introduce you?"

Atreus listens to Tank as he speaks, mulling the sararimen comment unsure whether to let it pass or give the troll an earful. Much too close to a gang mentality. Didn't fly when the Ancients tried and its not flying over well right now. In the end, silence is the wiser path. I deal with problems, but I'm no one's body shield.

He's here for the money after all, that bringing a question to mind. "I don't remember a number being provided..?"

Vertigo rises from her chair and stretches. Sitting all day in the cheep office furniture certainly didn't help her aching muscles. She glances around the room at the assembled group, noting the number of infiltration specialists and then back to the lean troll.

"Watanabe... they do security consulting right? What exactly are we being hired to do?"

The troll swings around to Atreus, obviously working to speak clearly around the tusks jutting up from his mouth.

"Pay is 2k a week, whether you're working or not. Additional expenses for equipment can be discussed. You're also free to grab anything your employer ok's as an "Acquisition Bonus". Periodically, the jobs you're doing will have "Bonus Objectives", that will carry appropriate additional cash rewards with them. The pays not amazing, but the bonuses are there, and it's steady work. Every week, no more scrabbling for jobs or trying to figure out whether your next employer is going to stab you in the back.

As for the nature of the jobs, Watanabe security tests corporate security for corporations. They basically show them what they're doing wrong by actually running against the facility with "freelance operatives that simulate , to a high degree of accuracy, the actual types of operatives that might be sent against you". The idea is that he's using 'runners to teach corps better security, since no stuffed suit in an office is going to be able to anticipate the crazy drek you guys pull."

Atreus wasn't a math wiz, but 8k per month sounded reasonable... assuming they didn't get themselves killed. He looks around the room, his only current questions now answered.

Her suspicions confirmed, Vertigo nods to the lean troll, doing her best not to show any premature reaction to the offer.

Her mind races...2000 a week would definitely help keep a roof over my head, and it would be nice to have a steady stream of employment... Her brow furrows despite her best efforts ...but who's to say these "simulations" are going to be entirely safe for us guinea pigs??

"Do those bonuses include hazard pay? Medical expenses?"

She looks around nervously to see if anyone else has questions.

Gregor waited patiently, during the day he'd been careful to lose a little money on the impromptu card and dice games, even if in the end the players often couldn't help but reveal their hands. The proposal sounded good, though he'd have to cut back a bit initially on some personal expenditures. He smiled and let the others ask their questions initially, none of them would be here if they never accepted the risks.

McCoy didn't like the tone, but the work did appeal if they were being honest about it. Which was a toss up when these things are concerned. But he would go along with things for now.

Besides the money was decent and the not running from the law would be nice as well.

"There will be additional bonuses based on the complexity or inherent level of complication. For instance, if we need you to make a complex run on short notice, there's a bonus.

As for medical expenses, I said like a sarariman. We're still 'runners here. Best medical you're going to get from the company is "duck more".

Any other questions?"

Medical expenses? Must be used to corporate work.

At the query for additional questions, Atreus wanted to inquire about the first assignment. He was a patient elf though. Everything in its own time... So he waited for the introduction to the big boss and the other formalities.

With a tip of his head at the woman and a genial smile, "My dear lady, I know a good doctor should her services be required. And for the rest of you, if there are other special services or needs to support I will be happy to enquire on your behalf."

Gregor holds out a stack of creamy card stock cards labeled with "Sweetness" and a commcode in golden handwritten ink.

Turning his focus to the troll, Tank, "The Bargain seems fair. I have only one concern. There will be risk to all parties, and consequences, while I accept my own risk for my actions, does Watanabe accept the consequences of placing such individuals as ourselves in such a situation that may result in death or serious injury to all parties despite our best intentions?"

Striving to better, oft we mar what's well. King Lear Act I. Sc. 4

"I'm in, but since we're contract labor--we can walk at anytime. I'm not saying I'll leave you in the dust, but if week one goes south, don't expect me for week two."

The money would cover the lifestyle he was used to living--and still leave money for ammo. Looking over the rest of the team, he starts sizing people up. Rough categories from the old day--sams, faces, covert ops, etc. His skill set generally required other people dealing with support personnel while he took care of the target.

"Is tusks here," gesturing to Sweetness "speaking for the rest of you? Are you the accidental killing type?"

"We'll just say that 'accidental deaths' are frowned upon, but it'll be decided on a case by case basis. Before we get to the buddy buddy you guys like to do, let's get you introduced to the guy that's got the word from the Johnson."

Tank turns, pushing open the door to the office and leaning inside.

"Mr. Kukyo, if you'll step out here?"

He glances back over his shoulder, voice as low as it can get and still carry. "Introduce yourselves and tell the nice man your specialty."

Standing with an efficient grace and an economy of movement, Kukyo moves from the small office to the small gathering. He takes a moment to look over each person present, it's a slow and measured gaze that glides over each individual. His eyes seem to devour details while maintaing a flat and empty shine. After the visual inspection he bows just deep enough to avoid direct insult but clearly expresses his opinion of his superior standing in the present company. His English is crisp and precise, an obvious indication of higher education or an excellent skillsoft.

"Good evening."

Atreus stands straight, but relaxed, as he usually does. He maintains eye contact on Kukyo the entire time he sizes up the team. He'd taken enough Asian martial arts to recognize the difference in bows. He let it slide though. Not my job to set every self righteous Johnson straight.

He elects a simple reply other than silence, still maintaining eye contact. "Evening."

Vertigo does her best not to look edgy, despite how unnerving it is to be scrutinized so... especially without the cover of a good mask spell.
After all, going unnoticed was her stock and trade.

But with practiced grace and confidence, she bows low enough not to offend and returns his gaze with a smile.

"Konbanwa, Kukyo-sama. Otsukaresamadeshita, ne?"

McCoy bows respectfully, as others are doing but he does not let on that he is aware of the Japanese language. Not everyone is. But best to be polite.

"Good evening sir."

Gregor straightened up, not much to move since he stood erect to begin with, but the appearance of straightening was important in this kind of game. Without apparent struggle he tilted his head down and bent slightly at the waist, making sure to lower his eyes at the right moment.

Straightening upright again he quietly introduced himself, "I use the name Sweetness."

"You can call me Finn."

No bow, the old aryan stood stock straight. His eyes crossed over the people, glance at the door, look at the people.

"My specialization is longarms and ranged support."

Tank shrugs and turns back to Kukyo.

"Specifics aren't necessary at the moment, you can trust I have the bases covered. There's two more assets I've picked up to fill in some holes, and they'll be arriving shortly. In the meantime, I think that's it?" He looks at Kukyo in a way that observant people would have called 'hopeful'.

The neutral faced Asian man nods to Finn as he speaks, but saves his words for Tank.

"I think this group will do. If it turns out they're not as competent as you've put forth, we'll know fairly quickly and I'll simply seek more assets elsewhere. That said," he turns to the assembled group, "I would still like an actual test of your abilities."

As he speaks, he withdraws a slim black cloth from his pocket, and proceeds to tie it around his eyes as a blindfold.

"I'm going to walk across the parking lot to the car that just pulled up outside. I expect to not be hurt, and I expect for all of my assailants to be alive when all is said and done." With a final nod in Tank's direction, the now blindfolded Johnson turns and begins walking a calm and measured pace towards the front door of the office space.

Beyond, at the far end of the parking lot, everyone can see the sleek shape of a Westwind 3K pulling up. To the right of the door, down by the Stuffer Shack, the gang is still loitering.

With a muttered comment about Johnsons and their games, Finn steps just outside the door. He draws his pistol from a rear holster and keeps it close to his body.

Looking across the gangers, he picks the biggest ugliest one.

"Kneecaps are still alive. Big guy, put the Johnson in the car. Everyone else, protect the J and the ork."

Atreus follows the human out the door and steps to the side, noticing the Johnson vanish from sight as begins his visual sweep of the gangers. Simultaneously, he summons mana though his body moving with super-metahuman grace then flexes his muscles, feeling the mana welling up tight, like a stretched rubber band across all the muscles of his body. Time to party, he thinks.

With a start, Vertigo swings into action following the stiff asian gentleman toward the front of the building. What the hell is wrong with this guy!?

She glances out the front window to where the Chained Souls are loitering down the way, hoping they are paying more attention to the Westwind than the front of MJM Services.

Focusing her concentration she begins to weave an illusion around the Johnson, erasing his presence from the visual light spectrum...

McCoy currently wishing he had brought some gel rounds for his SMG, realized that he could probably use some more diversity in his attack methods. Lighting up his AR, he starts scanning the group for open NAN's. Gangers never got the good security on their ware, and if one them happened to have anything fun like wired reflexes...well accidents can happen.

Gregor mildly shook his head, then with his right hand on his walking stick, raised his left hand and summoned his will.

The Chained Souls are obviously paying more then a little attention to MJM. Apparently assuming the door wouldn't be an issue, Kukyo steps through the opened door and into the parking lot, walking at a slow and measured pace towards the car in the distance. All of the gangers turn from looking at the Westwind as a shout goes up from the orc in the front, and he sprints towards the 'runners and the Johnson, the sun glinting off 8" long spurs extending from the backs of his fists. Simultaneously, several of the gangers raise weapons and begin moving towards the offices.

As the Johnson disappears from the sight of some, some of the gangers look around, obviously confused.

A low grating and rumbling sound comes out of the doorway in the office, where a collection of tables, chairs, and a vending machine seem to pull themselves together in a vaguely humanoid shape. The shape stands crouched next to the orc, obviously awaiting orders.

Even as the gangers take their first few steps, Finn's arm begins to rise and level the pistol. With the cross-hairs lining over the anticipated position of each ganger's kneecaps, the assassin counts to three and pulls the trigger. A quiet exhalation of gases accompanies the act.

Movement in his peripheral triggers and instinctive shift to the person carrying the largest weapon. With another exhalation from the pistol, Finn targets the ganger pulling an automatic weapon from his coat.

Shattered kneecaps wouldn't prove fatal while the Johnson was standing here. His experience told him that blinding pain made it harder to aim.

With a raised voice to carry across the parking lot, "Anyone who wants to be able to walk, leave now."

Atreus breaks into a run, moving to place the ork between himself and the rest of the gangers. His adrenaline surging, mixing with raw mana. He feels like he is running on pure jet fuel. He closes the distance between himself and the ork in the blink of an eye. Running straight towards the ork then at the last moment he lurches into the air to the ork's left, spinning and bringing his right fist around into the ork's face - a combination of gymnastics and karate.

Two of the gangers scream as joints explode in a pink haze. Barely clutching the SMG's, they drop to one knee, simultaneously screaming curses.

The orc that was rushing at the group glances backward for only a moment at the screams and abruptly stops as Atreus' arrives suddenly in front of him, blocking his path.

Surprisingly, none of the gangers seemed phased at all by the image of Kukyo rushing away from the car and the gang.

For McCoy, the world is much more about the ebb and flow of data moving through the air around him. The only obvious, unhidden commlink in the area of the gangers seems to be centered around the troll that is currently leveling the shotgun at the group.

One.

Moving with the speed of skill, unhumanly augmented, Finn transitions between threats. The ganger bearing a shotgun becomes the first priority. Aiming for the soft tissue just above the knee joint, he fires a single round.

Two.

The mental counting was running on a completely different track of thought than his threat selection. By fifteen, they needed to be moving. Screaming gangers and shots fired were nearly as effective at calling Lonestar as turning on the hot light at the donut shop.

In the back, a ganger moving without weapons registers as a higher threat than punks with guns. Can't kill them. The barrel shifts from center mass to kneecap. Another quiet shot.

Three.

"Take your wounded and leave or bleed out and die."

The ache in Vertigo's side intensifies into a stabbing pain that radiates across her chest and arms. The illusion was too draining and didn't seem to be effective anyway. The phantasmic image of Kukyo shimmers and disappears with a flash as she refocuses her concentration on sustaining the invisibility spell keeping the real Kukyo hidden from sight.

She glances over her shoulder to the lanky troll Tank while drawing her Colt Manhunter. "Are there any other exits from this building?"

Chaos erupts across the parking lot as shots are fired and people go running.

The odd construction of desks and tables strides out into the parking lot, letting out a roar that sounds like car brakes and monorail alarms all jumbled together. One of the gangers, the heavily muscled human with the baseball, goes from casually sauntering towards the group to running away screaming as a slug from Finn's pistol punches through his leg, and the monstrosity pushes out into the parking lot.

Tank chuckles, still closing window blinds as Vertigo talks. "No other way out, I'm afraid. But good luck." This last is spoken as he swings the door shut and pulls the blinds on the inside after the woman's form as she darts out into the parking lot and tumbles behind a nearby car.

The troll ganger, standing head and shoulders above the rest, roars as another shot from Finn cracks bone and sinew in his leg. Still dragging himself along, he works the pump on the shotgun with one hand, the gun looking almost miniature in his hands as it roars twice.

Further back across the parking lot, two of the wounded gangers have refocused their efforts. Leaning against the side of a beaten up sedan, they both shout and leveling the SMG's at Finn, the calm and patient sharpshooting seeming the biggest threat at the moment. The air is filled with the whine of automatic gun fire, ricocheting off pavement and building alike.

In front of Atreus, closest to the group, the orc looks staggered but not out. He takes half a step back, still obviously a little dazed, and lunges forward, both of the blades across the back of his hands digging for flesh from Atreus.

Atreus' feet hit the ground and he spins as the ork's spurs reach furiously for his head. He has no time to be amazed that the ork is still standing. He steps back with his left foot, shifting his hips and bringing his right arm from right to left across his face. The block barely deflects the spurs from his face and a tuft of his long, thin hair falls to the ground, a casualty of the ork's rage. Oh! Now its REALLY on!

Flicking his fingers Gregor felt the streams of energy, energy he couldn't see, as they did their work. The spirits of the place manifested, oozing out of the cabinets and chairs, and stood obedient before him.

With a slight smile he pointed out the door, and along with a push of his will, gave the command, "Find me a Coward would you?" for "Cowards die many times before their deaths, The valiant never taste of death but once." Julius Caesar (II, ii, 32-37)

Mentally he shook his head as he realized everyone else was already moving, and had already taken action, someday he would have to look into some ritual Bargains to enhance himself, but as usual, it was better to let others do the dirty work. This way he wouldn't ruin his suit.

should be over by the time I get to the door

Four

Dodging to one side, the assassin does a half flip and combat rolls behind one of the vehicles in the parking lot. Bullets spray the air around him. Returning to his firing position, the shotgun blast gives a glancing blow to his side, shredding the press flats and revealing an armored vest.

One more shot like that and he wouldn't care about keeping the gangers alive.

Despite being obviously off-balance from Atreus' previous blow, the orc seems nothing if not persistent. With a roar, he throws himself at the slim elf again, the blades flashing in the glow of the streetlights as he jabs and swipes.

Atreus watches as the large ork telegraphs his impending attack. His feet rooted to the ground, the elf executes a classic, but simple rising block, easily stopping the larger opponents attack. He holds the ork on the tip of his toes, suspended for a moment that seems to freeze in time and space, before dropping the blocking hand back to his hip and whipping the other into the ork's solar plexus with a yaka-zuka (reverse punch strike). That's for my hair...

Atreus - The orc seems to hang, frozen in a single moment, before suddenly flying backwards, off his feet and obviously unconscious as his limp body hits the ground.

Finn - Still cocky, the troll strides forward, already pumping the shotgun for his next shot. As the orc's body hits the ground, he gives a shout and ducks low, charging forward. The bullet meant for his kneecap catches him in the upper torso instead, spinning the tall form around in a spray of blood as his momentum carries him forward, sprawling the corpse near the limp form of the orc and Atreus

The ganger with the SMG yells as he clasps a hand to his midsection, a bit of blood bubbling up past his lips as he scrabbles frantically to hold in the blood flowing freely from the entry wound. The gun clatters to the ground.

Five

Finn watches as the troll leans into the path of oncoming death. The ganger had obviously chosen poorly, but there was little he could do to alter trajectories of bullets in midflight. Raising his voice to carry over the gunfire, the assassin gives the gangers their last chance to get out of this alive.

"Alright kids, we've moved from walking to breathing. Anyone who wants to keep breathing beyond the next thirty seconds needs to be somewhere else. NOW!"

Six

In a solid firing position, he aims the pistol at the other ganger with an SMG. The barrel waves slightly as if to shoo him away.

The attack on the ork is no more completed than Atreus spins and bounds towards the two remaining gangers. He selects neither, instead sliding between the both of them, squatting and spinning in position. He whips his leg out at the knee of the first and reaches out with his hand striking with the edge of the hand into the back of knee of the second. His intent is to take the final two off their feet before they have a chance to do anymore harm.