Elsewhere
The light hanging from the ceiling swings wildly cutting a clear path through the gloom of the room. As it travels across the floor spent shells and blood splatter are illuminated in the harsh white light. Chairs and tables are knocked over, bodies litter the space. The wide sweeping cast off of blade strikes coat the walls and the large growing pools of blood show where bodies fell. A single figure still moves through the stillness. She steps over the slain and the wreckage, running a her hand across her cheek with a tenderness not often seen in the shadows. She trails her fingers through the blood on her face and a small smile plays across her lips. She makes her way towards a far wall and slides a wall panel aside revealing a small wall safe. She quickly looks over the locking mechanism making note of the palm scanner.

She turns and kneels next to a middle aged Japanese man, his throat cut deep and his head only still attached by his spine. His suit speaks of wealth and connection as do the tattoos that decorate his entire body. His face still holds a hardness and a the look of shallow soul long since accustomed to cruelty and indifference.

With a quick and efficient motion she severs his hand at the wrist. She stands and places the grisly object against scanner then enters a numerical code on the keypad. With an audible click the safe opens, she tosses the hand away clearly no longer needing it. Inside is stacks of certified cred sticks. She quickly gathers them together along with a small leather bound book. She pauses only once to spit squarely in the face of man whose hand she harvested as she departs the space.

Blood... Everywhere there was blood.... So much blood.... There she is, her throat slit so deep she was nearly beheaded. He became frantic. He began calling out. Running room to room. Nothing.....
He stumbled back to the room of blood. Then he saw the little hand, behind the chair. His heart stopped and he couldn't catch his breath. Inside his head he screamed 'No!' as he dropped to his knees. He wanted to go, but his legs would not work. He sobbed, his forehead on the floor. Finally, he brought himself to look into the astral..
Pain. Murder. Death. The astral was polluted. Dark. Twisted.
He raised his head and slowly looked across the room. Nothing. All life force had left the hand. It is now just a broken vessel.

Screaming he sat straight up in bed, acid oozing from his fingertips. Slowly his conscious mind took control and dismissed the mana forming on his fingertips, mutating into the toxic liquid. Months ago he had already dealt with having the condo sound proofed. Acid proofing would need to be next.

Mindlessly, he made his way to the bathroom to splash water on his face. Another night. Another nightmare. It no longer came every night, but it usually still came at least once a week. It was a defining part of his life. It marked the night he died inside.

Each time it came, he felt his sanity slip a little farther away. He struggled to retain his identity as it was. He had spent so many years in the shadows and had so many different names. He wondered what was keeping him in this world.

Today... Yes... he thought as he sipped his morning cafe mocha, Today is a good day to die....

The brunette exhaled in a deep half moan, tinged with pain as Rayne's fangs pierced his flesh. Around them, music blasted and reflections of their souls shone through the dark sensor of the Looking Glass. The hologram showed a demon with sweeping black wings knelt over pre-pubescent boy. Anyone looking at the couple and then the image would see the sharp contrast of appearances but the metaphor was accurate. As accurate as any could be when showing lost possibilities and the drug addled visions of technomancers.

She bit the boy harder. The blood rolled across her tongue like sweet, copper candy. Hunger rose within her--fueled by the blood, fueled by her anger. The black scales of the demon and sweeping horns resembled her former master much more than her own Victorian complexion and maroon hair. Perhaps that was what her soul looked like, she was no less of a monster than the ones she killed.

Only when she begins to suck at the wound, actively coercing the blood from the boy's veins does he fight back. Instinct roars against years of training and discipline as the scent of fear wafts off him. Rayne blows a cold breath against his skin. Pulling herself away from the wound, she runs her tongue up the length of his neck to place a kiss behind his ear.

"You taste good," she whispers.

Just as she pulls far enough away to look him in the eyes, the nineteen year old passes out. It wasn't the blood loss, more likely the stream of chemicals that he had in his veins mixing with the tranq patch that she put on his wrist. In the morning, he'd have muddled memories and one hell of a hickey. Licking her lips, she blends back into the crowd of dancers and loses herself in the rythmic grinding of flesh and leather, scale and feather.

The patrons of the Looking Glass accepted her without question--many were changelings, virtuakinetics, and outcasts from normal society. The never-ending rave lifestyle suited them with a transient population that formed a community beyond the square life of the outside world. She enjoyed the night, it would be her last here until her master's death was avenged. Two years had gone by and now rumors had found their way to her ears.

The Yakuza had connections to the Ito Clan. The Clan which had slain her sensei. He was never a father to her, but he taught her to control the hunger and to have her vengeance on the bloodline that sired her.

Shiver had taught her the application of terror, now she would teach the Yakuza what terror truly was.

It had been some time since the hissing stopped, the cloud should have dispersed by now. Krossfire approached the three figures lying on the ground in the darkened and deserted alley. Should they be awake the moonlight reflecting off of the puddles gave him an unnerving light, surely they would have seen the grim reaper approaching - a tall heavily muscled troll clad in a black cloak, the hood and mask hiding his identity but revealing two glowing red eyes. It had been easy enough to chase them down here, the sight of seeing their friend's head explode was quite the motivator. He looked back to the window where he took the shot, some 800 m distant, too easy. You were warned. No drugs, no chips. Not here or anywhere near the school. You break the rules there's no detention, you deal with me…

Eddee had been approached by The Family to keep a neighborly watch for some Yakuza pushers who were brave enough to infiltrate the school grounds. He was asked to convey a message for them with extreme prejudice, the kind of message Eddee was good at. It was easy enough to take the job, Marleen's kid went to this high school. Ambi was a good kid, smart just like his dad. Luther had been a friend to Eddee when he first came aboard the Shadowriders, took him under his wing and watched his back. It's the least he could do, he'd watch after the family in his absence. But that was almost a year ago…

The bodies laid there motionless as Krossfire approached, the neuro stun gas had done its job and all three were unconscious. They were helpless, sprawled out in the gutter sludge and refuge that littered the alley, waiting to be sentenced for breaking the law - his law. With the tip of his boot he rolled each one of them over, he wanted to see there faces. You're weak and corrupt, you pray on the innocent- a quality I find irredeamable in the eyes of the court. The Ares Predator fired, the expanding gases from the barrel suppressed as to muffle the sounds of the shots. Drek this one can't be more than 14. Snip, snip, snip. Always three shots, one in the head and two in the chest- center mass. After policing up his remains he departed back into the darkness from which he came, message sent. I'm watching you, and I'll be there soon enough. Best you make peace with whatever gods you pray to now, justice will be served.

Around the corner.. clear, down the street... clear, down the back ally... clear, everything was ready for the deal. The leader of the Yakuza group stepped forward, away from his group, holding a briefcase made of a solid looking metal. From the group standing opposite a large man steps forward.. too large, far too large to be a man... The troll, large even by his kind's standards steps forward, towards the Yakuza man, overshadowing him greatly, though he shows no sign of worry at this.

As the Yakuza man took another step forward and held up the case for the troll, all hell broke loose. Without warning BOOM!BOOM! two large explosions shook the shady allyway, leaving not even bloody messes where two gang members had stood, one from each group, merely a small crater, as well as sending the rest of the group flying, most dead, the living ones with terrible burns and concussions. The two leaders looked at each other, suspecting the other for only half a moment before realizing that both gangs had been struck.

They quickly spun, looking around for the source of the attack, though the didn't get much of a chance, moments later a bullet flew through the Yakuza's head, making an exceedingly clean hole, causing the Yakuza to stay standing for a moment, looking as if he hadn't yet realized he was dead, before falling heavily to the ground.

The troll looked for a split second at the metal case, the reason he had come, but quickly thought better of it, instead turning and running to the side ally, hoping to reach cover before a bullet could pirce his own skull. It appeared however that the unknown assailant had other plans, as moments later another even stronger explosion shook the ally, leaving a crater several feet deep where the metal briefcase had fallen to the ground.

That's the last time I deal with the Yakuza... thought the troll as he ran for his life... exactly what the assailant wanted.

Every Ending Has a Beginning

Thwack, the daggers blade imbeds itself firmly in the wall in front of the Yak's face. With a start he and his companions stop and turn, their motions slow and sluggish after a night of drunken debauchery. The harsh glare of the strip clubs signs off in the distance only serve to deepen the shadows.

“How have you lived your lives?� A simple question with a difficult answer.

The yakuza turn toward the voice, reaching for guns and pointing them towards the shadows.

“I said, How have you lived your lives?� A bit of an otherworldly tone enters his otherwise calm voice, the crisp japanese resounding in their ears.

The shadows seem to unfold as Munkir steps forward out of the shadows, whisps of shadows clinging to him, pure black blades springing from his arms without a sound. He stares at them, his eyes drawing them in as they get a feeling that something else is looking at them as well, judging them. Feeling sudden despair they know that they will not pass.

“ONI!�

The yell breaks the silence, followed by the staccato burst of pistols and machine pistols firing. Followed by silence. Blood runs down Munkir's spurs as the sounds of pistols hitting the ground echo's through the silence. 3 of the Yakuza slump over and fall to the ground dead. The forth falls to his knee's as the demon walks in front of him.

“I asked you how you have lived your life, you don't have very long to live, you may want to answer quickly�

With a sigh, the yakuza looks up and locks gazes with Munkir a look of understanding, sadness, and pain filling his eyes before his gaze breaks, only to stop at the blade at Munkir's] side. Nodding wordlessly he hands the blade to the yakuza. He watches closely and with a quick motion he severs the Yakuza's head when he falters, preserving his honor. Retrieving his blades he carefully wipes them clean before replacing them in their sheath's.

........At least one of them had the decency to die with honor; or at least their perverted sense of honor. To bad it had to end that way, that one could have lived a different life......
Everyone chooses their own path's, remember that my dear. Yours is the path of vengeance.....
I feel something large brewing on the winds. It draws closer...

Munkir grins at the voices inside his head as he walks into the moonlight.

Soon......

Soon.............

Every Beginning has an End

The wing doors of the Eurocar opened on his approach with a sound much like a puckered kiss. As he slid into the leather seat the door closed behind him. Who am I today..? Oh yes. Derrick.... Derrick Smith.... As he sat there in the car, noticing his reflection in the windshield, his mind drifted to a time several days after he found the bodies. A time when he looked into a mirror and saw a reflection not his own......

Passing through the entry way of the tea house, he glanced his reflection. He wore her face, unpainted. His body looked like her body, though in the white dress. His hair looked like her hair, up and tightly bound.

He bowed and smiled at the hostess who assumed he was meant to be here. He was dressed as a geisha after all. The customers either ignored him or stole elongated glances with barely contained lust. Wouldn't I be a real surprise to them..?

He stepped towards the back room, smashing the magical ward as he did so without any apparent effort. The pair of huge, viscous beast spirits watching over him in astral space were only with him for a few more moments before they snarled, howled and tore into the astral form of the security mage who came to investigate his smashed ward. It was like two ravenous great hounds tearing into a rabbit. Should have called in sick today... Fatal mistake for him.

He moved into the room with the Japanese men kneeling around the table. They were unaware of what had just transpired in the astral and sat proudly... arrogantly with their shirts off, displaying the tattoos that were their badges of honor. They were definitely unaware that they had mere moments left in this world.

The men laughed and called out to him, taking him for a whore. "A geisha is not a whore." He said in her voice, in clear English. The head man realized something was wrong. Perhaps he saw through the mask. Perhaps he recognized her face. It didn't matter. It was too late.

The mana exploded from his fingertips like the blast wave of a nuclear detonation. He had over cast the spell and he felt the mana burn his his body, but he didn't care. The yakuza soldiers, the tea cups, the sake, the plates... everything flew through the air and slammed against the far wall.

Every one of them were stunned, dazed, unable to understand what just happened. With a gloved hand, he drew the samurai sword from the wall and dispatched them. The artery of the neck, for each one. He then used the blood of the last, the head man, to leave his mark on the paper door.

Carrying the sword, he faded from sight, an invisibility spell now shrouding him from vision. Some people stood around in awe of the hell unleashed. Several others rushed forward, oblivious of the invisible shaman slipping through their midst. As the shaman slipped through those left alive, he heard several of them murmur in with fearful voices as they read the writing, "Godzilla"

He sighed out, letting his eyes drift closed as he focused, his head hanging down on his chest. As he inhaled, his head lifted, eyes opening as his arm swung up. His hand spasmed, and the sleek shape of the next-gen Ceska Scorpion sprang into his palm. He was already sighting, squeezing the trigger and sending a stream of rounds downrange. The AR target danced in his view, numbers trickling up the side as rounds scored against the target.

In the corner of his vision, a flicker of movement caught his attention, and he flinched away as a pair of jaws larger then his head darted towards him, 6 inch long fangs glinting in the dim light of the deserted shooting range. A sharp slap to the back of his head told him that he'd forgotten to keep an eye on his surroundings.

He turned, exasperated, to face Rikutakau. His face, still slightly predatory despite being human, showed no remorse. He simply arched a brow, and spoke.

"While I agree that you cannot always depend on your magic, you must still learn to pay attention to your surroundings while you're playing with that thing."

The familiar let a sly grin slip across his face as he stepped up close behind Bakatare, looking over his shoulder into the view of his glasses at the virtual target.

"Besides," he almost purred, "you weren't hitting anything anyway. Come, you've played with your toys, we've more important matters to attend to."

"We've no proof the Yakuza will have what we're looking for." Still exasperated, the mage turned, tilting his arm up and letting the machine pistol slide back into the concealed holster.

"That may be true, but you've no complaints if we have to kill a lot of them to find that out."

A sharp smile touched Bakatare's lips at the words. "No tears will fall from my eyes at their passing..."

He glanced up at Riku as they moved out onto the street, still surprised that the spirit had elected to stay with him. It had been almost a year since he broke down. He'd spent almost 4 weeks literally out of his mind after astral quest during a previous run. One of the spirits on that quest had completely disassembled the building blocks Bakatare had built his life around, and had cursed his magic. It had taken a few days for the implications to sink in, but once it had, he'd come unraveled. Weeks in his apartment, screaming, sobbing, stretching the limits of how far he could project into space. His ally spirit had spent the weeks caring for him, feeding him, and gradually he'd come back, found himself.

He'd been so grateful he'd offered to turn the spirit free, but it had refused, and wouldn't tell him why. To show his gratitude, he'd instead spent months building formula's and laying out a thirteen layered ward, finally investing the spirit with such a large portion of his energies that it almost felt like part of him. In many ways, the spirit was now smarter and stronger then him, and he was sure it stayed with him out of choice, rather then the bond of magic. It had been Riku that had suggested the Yakuza, after he'd exhausted every other option searching for a way to remove the curse on his magic.

The last weeks had been spent collecting data, plumbing both the matrix and the contacts he had within the Yakuza themselves, always collecting information on their rival clans within the organization. He was nearly ready, and Winter had mentioned she might have found someone with a goal that was...compatible with his own.

Godzilla
The day starts as much the ones before, the aching nothingness in you chest gnawing at your bones. Your dreams fragmented as you struggled to find a place where things were like before. You wake to the sound of an incoming message on your commlink. You access the incoming messages and a familiar handle of Victor scrolls by.

<< Morph I have a request from a potential employer on a series of jobs that might be ideally suited for you, They asked that you look at the attached file - let me know. >>

Bakatare
As your return home, you can't quite shake the strangeness of the situation. As far as you know Winter isn't the type of fixer to call and round up talent. Her niche in the shadow ecology is to answer needs and fills wants had by clients. Yet there it is - the blinking icon indicating the promised message from her. You scan it over and scroll it past your eyes.

<< As I had mentioned the other day I think I have a friend in common with you and she's looking for some help on a project she's putting together. See the attached file for more information. >>

Rayne
As you stand in the small cluster of rooms that has been home for as long as you can remember, you let your eyes travel over the wall of former operatives. You see items that have no meaning for you - a small mirror, three I-Ching coins, twine with wood beads strung on it - when you reach the section that brings the anger and hunger into your limbs. You see the simple pair of sunglasses and the head of what was once an ornate cane. You hear the subtle noise of the door behind you opening, you turn to see Mynce beckoning you into her office. You've never been sure if the wall being where she sees it everyday was a punishment or affirmation for her.

She steps aside to let pass, she begins to speak as she closes the door. "I have found the person I think that can lead us to the people we want. The Society has officially banned anyone from taking action against them - they themselves are no greater threat to the world we shepherd but I have decided that I have no knowledge of your activities for the forseeable future. I have the data I was collecting on my desk and I must oversee the training of potential new operatives." As she walks away she puts her commlink squarely in front of you with a file waiting to be accessed. "Good hunting."

Hads
As you make your way from the area, confident that Lone Star will spin the incident to their advantage. A vigilante is a PR man's early christmas present - criminals dead and no one to fight you for the credit. You let the irony and shallowness of this world snuggle up to you like an old familiar lover. You find your thoughts interrupted by your commlink - a new message has arrived from Patric

<< I think I've found someone you should meet, rumor has it she is your kind of woman. Check it out. >>

Krossfire
You make your way through the night club to Whiskey Jack, he sees you making your way to the bar and nods towards the door to the employee area. You feel the bodies against you as you make your way through the people, so small and light compared to yours. You reach the owner and he hands you a small storage device.

"A woman came in and handed this over to one of the staff saying it should get to you. I pulled up the footage from the security system and I've never seen her in here before. Is everything ok?" His voice is concerned and pitched low to prevent it from traveling far.

Munkir
After a brief face to face with Sadie - collecting from a previous job - she mentioned that she may have something new for you and would send the file over for you to look at. At her mention of the work you feel something stir in you, the call of voices just past your ability to make out swells around your head. You taste blood at the back of your throat and phantom pains dance along your limbs to remind you of that moment when things ended. You feel your body go through the motions required for social niceties as you turn to leave, already feeling the need to look at the file.

Everyone
You access the file and watch as video streams in from a news report. You see a reporter - am older man picked for his trustworthy face and steady voice - sure to keep the corp drones soothed and in their place. Behind him bathed in the garish glare of Doc Wagon emergency response vehicles.

"Sometime early this morning its believe a singe assailant entered the establishment behind me and proceeded to kill everyone inside including Kenichi Yamamoto. A man believed to have string ties to Japanese organized crime. Unofficial reports have stated that many unregistered firearms were found as well a sizable quantity of illegal substances. The building is leased to Yamamoto and is a local massage parlor and hostess bar. Lone Star assures local residents that the incident is an isolated one and every resource is being used to track down the killer."

At the end of the clip is an address in the International District with the tomorrow's date and the time 12 noon.

[Edited formatting.]

The early morning light, weakly filtering through the papered loft windows, barely illuminated the living space. The throbbing rumble of factory machinery on a lower floor kept time as a lone man leapt and thrust and about the room without apparent pattern. With a flip and flourish he finished, and walked to the open shower stall.

Another day, another job, he thought as he washed under the fitful spray of the showerhead. Has it been only a year? So much has changed, life is so different than it was then... than it was supposed to be....

He grimaced as the tears came, too easily, and punched the wall just hard enough to hurt. Stop the maudlin reminiscing already, it's not helping. Get out there and DO something. Petty revenge in the night, a couple of bloody bodies, what use is that? Hit them where it hurts.

He dried himself and crossed to a night-table, picking up a framed holograph. He studied the woman in it, caught in mid-leap, graceful even in suspension. He struck a pose and smiled self-mockingly as he spoke aloud the thoughts forming in his head.

"I will perform a new work, Halle, for you. An epic choreograph on life's seedy stage, though the players may not even be aware, telling the ancient stories of tragedy, revenge, and redemption."

His features softened as he contemplated the holograph in silence a moment longer, then pressed it gently to his lips and replaced the frame on the table.

He dressed, unremarkable street clothes hiding the finely honed machine of his body. A wry smile came to his face as he contemplated himself, seems like there's not many original parts left in the old clunker. As always, art demands sacrifice... and for this, a life's work what sacrifice could be too much?

He walked out the door with purposeful stride, locking it behind him, and set out to research his next, finest, and final, production.

Godzilla
Messages in the dark... Meaningless sounds... As his conscious mind begins to take over, he begins to have more coherent thoughts.... Morph. I kinda like that name... Perhaps I've used it too long....

He replied back to Victor's message with a simple confirmation ARO. He wasn't in the mood to talk today. In fact, he went the entire day without saying a single word. He spent it summoning and binding. Literally all day.

When the day was done he'd bound two large spirits. The first came in the form of a huge wolf, jaws like a steel trap saliva dripping drop by drop into the circle of the lodge. The second came in the form of a medicine man, young and strong, feathers and amulets hanging off his clothes.
-----------
The next morning he awoke without having had the dream. Mornings like that he almost missed it. The dream was a double sided curse. The dream was his last link to them.

He considered another summoning, but decided against it. Not enough time. Instead he sips his mocha and turns his agent loose to find information about his destination this morning.

Krossfire

Eddee locked up his car and set the security program, glancing over at the crack in his dashboard fouled his mood. He had work at the club tonight but was running late because things went sour after dinner with Marleen. Over and over in his mind he could hear the words that came rambling out of his mouth but each time he listened in stunned silence. ...because I may be dead tomorrow!

Living in the shadows everyone knows what eventually happens, the worms come to claim your corpse. But there was something liberating about saying it out loud, like shaking off the shackles of destiny and taking control of your own life. His training had tought him how to harness his fear and use it against others, but this was different. He no longer feared his own death, what he had hoped to achieve was far more important. He felt more focused and determined to see this thru to the end.

Turning the corner to the club he wondered how he was going to patch things up with Marleen, he didn't want to see her get hurt again if something would happen to him. He made his choices, now just wasn't the right time. Up ahead he could see the entrance to the club, the lines were already long and the evening traffic made the street congested, busy night ahead. Marvin, the doorman, told him Jack was looking for him so he made his way through the buzzing crowd towards the bar.

Whiskey Jack, the club owner, saw you making your way to the bar and nods towards the door to the employee area. You feel the bodies against you as you make your way through the people, so small and light compared to yours. You reach the owner and he hands you a small storage device.

"A woman came in and handed this over to one of the staff saying it should get to you. I pulled up the footage from the security system and I've never seen her in here before. Is everything ok?" His voice is concerned and pitched low to prevent it from traveling far.

eh? Women... he lets the comment slide off his tongue with the inflection he's not in the mood to talk about it. Jack takes the not so subtle hint, grins and mumbles something about his third wife. What was said after that he lost as he accessed the device with his image link and started the playback of the recording. Immediately he reached out and grabbed Jack by the wrist, he could think of only one word Escalation. She looks like trouble Jack.

He told Jack it might be best if he erased that video footage of the stranger and added a few more security this weekend in case someone came looking for her. I got a bad feeling about this. First he downloaded the security video to the device hoping he could get a lead on the newcomers identity, then he went about making the calls to help Jack cover his schedule.

He looked at the address of the meet and the video footage again, he needed information. It wasn't going to be an easy call to make but he needed her help.

Rayne

Quickly tapping the buttons to copy the data to her own commlink, she puts Mynce's 'link back on the desk. It was time to go off the reservation.

Moving down passageways between the training rooms, Rayne can hear the sounds of sparring and full-contact combat drills happening. Familiar scents tell her who is on the winning and losing ends of each fight. The cloying scent of incense and sulphur which her master exuded could only be picked up by her nose, same with the sharp metallic odor of Sully-iron and sandalwood. Neither of them would ever be in the weaving catacombs.

Small pieces of them still existed in her own veins. That was their only legacy. Blood for the bloodkeeper. Mynce had the wall, Rayne carried her wall pumping through her heart. Only a few agents were carried there, the fact that most were dead or gone may have spoken to the practice.

Finally she arrived at the 12" thick steel door behind which Weaps worked. The ward clawed at her mind, actively hostile and wantonly destructive even to those who crafted it. Once inside, she looked at the dwarf who tinkered with death to find a way to kill things which claimed to be immortal.

"I need my bag."

He didn't even register her approach. Killing him wouldn't even cause her to break a sweat, but the very thought of killing the man who made her weapons always made her physically weak. Weaps slid across the room on his stool, adjusting to move around her as if she was another counter or table to grab some tools. Wheeling back, he nimbly dodges her again to keep tinkering.

"I need my bag, please."

Looking up as if to see her for the first time, the dwarf smiles at the changeling.

"Of course, everything should be patched up since the last time. Mynce hasn't forwarded anything about a new mission, so it's just the usual. What are you working on this week?"

She scoops up the bag and heads for the door.

"No job, just a vacation."

-=Later=-

The flat certainly wasn't luxurious. She had flopped here a time or two before when her anger with the Society and their politics drove her out. Within a week, she always came back--none of them ever mentioned the time away. Each of them had their own way. Sully took a lover and stayed with him, Shiver looked down from his shining penthouse--within her mind's eye she could see them, feel their calm when they were away. Calm wasn't an emotion Rayne knew how to deal with--everything was hot and cold, just "being" was difficult for her.

She places the call to Mama Spider, attaching the file she had taken from Mynce's commlink.

"I'm hoping that you can tell me what I'm looking at."

Munkir

The candles flickering in the room cast an otherworldly shadow on the room. The animated statue of an ancient warrior kneeling in front of vid screen watching the news footage over and over. Finding nothing in the video of note, Nakir turns and peers over at his friend before opening himself up to the world and asking the oracles for a glimpse of the future.

In the center of the room sits Munkir, across from him the ghostly image of a woman dressed all in black, her pale skin translucent in the flickering light. Her hands come to rest on his knee's as SHE helps to calm him and prepare him for the next day. His commlink feeds information directly into his brain as he searches for anything that may shed light on the situation. Wordlessly the trio communicates and plans. They will be ready.

Tomorrow is a new day

Spider

You move your way through the crowded streets of the city, the dull impacts of bodies as they make their way to their destinations. You see the faces of people who think they have lives and purpose, happy deluded little cogs in the big machine keeping the nuyen flowing in and out of the city. Every so often you catch a glimpse of the fragile beauty of this world - a woman poised impossibly on a single step of a subway stair, her formed lit from behind by the neon - a couple nestled in a alcove of a building dancing to their own music, wrapped in their heat - but it never seems to last before the noise and movement of the city swallows them back up leaving an ashy taste in the back of your throat.

Your commlink chirps letting you know a new message has been received. You pull up the message.

<< Check your right front pocket, I think you'll find something of interest. - Kleiner >>

You check and discover a small data storage device - how long it's been there who knows but once again Kleiner has proven his mastery of this city's shadows. You're never sure if he treats all his clients this way or just plays to your innate need for drama. You access the file and watch as video streams in from a news report. You see a reporter - am older man picked for his trustworthy face and steady voice - sure to keep the corp drones soothed and in their place. Behind him bathed in the garish glare of Doc Wagon emergency response vehicles.

"Sometime early this morning its believe a singe assailant entered the establishment behind me and proceeded to kill everyone inside including Kenichi Yamamoto. A man believed to have string ties to Japanese organized crime. Unofficial reports have stated that many unregistered firearms were found as well a sizable quantity of illegal substances. The building is leased to Yamamoto and is a local massage parlor and hostess bar. Lone Star assures local residents that the incident is an isolated one and every resource is being used to track down the killer."

At the end of the clip is an address in the International District with the tomorrow's date and the time 12 noon.

Spider
Still leaning on the side of a building just inside an alley where he stopped to view the clip, he saved the address on his commlink, slipped the datachip out of its slot and casually dropped it to the ground where he crushed it underfoot, smiling at Kleiner's message. He casually wondered which of the dozens of bodies who had brushed up against him among the throngs earlier had slipped it in his pocket without him noticing, and made a mental note - not for the first time - to stay on Kleiner's good side.

Change of plans, then. I think I'd better check out exactly which lion's maw I'll be sticking my head into tomorrow. First, some supplies.

He headed off to pick up some food for the next 24 hours and returned home. Tossing the crinkly plastic wrappers, he rewrapped the food in cloth, bundled it up in a small belt pack and packed the rest of his working equipment. Thus set, he went out to his motorcycle, saddled up and rode off towards the International District.

He spent a few minutes finishing up the series of commands that would send the agent out and searching across the Matrix for information.

<Yamamoto, Kenichi>
<address in the International District>
<local massage parlor/hostess bar>

Satisfied that this would pick up any of the readily available information, he turned back to the summoning circle Riku was setting up.

"Not done yet?" he chided, smiling, as he gingerly stepped among the holographic projectors, pausing here and there to slightly adjust the beams. Satisfied, he sank into a lotus position in the center, the extended staff across his knees. Facing him and only a few inches from him, Riku sat in a similar position. He nodded, and activated the last of the holographic projectors, completing the construction of the three dimensional dome of light beams above them that would contain the summoned elementals while they were bound.

In a formal tone, he asked the spirit, "Will you assist me in the tasks I have laid out before me willingly and of your own accord?"
The spirit snorted, shaking his head.

"I don't know why you even bother asking anymore."

"Because that's the formula, that's how it's done." the mage replied, defensively. "Besides, the intent was to prevent conflict between a mage and his ally. I'm sure you can appreciate that. I know it's painful if I have to lean on you."

Riku held up his hands in surrender. "I understand, I get it, but sometimes it's good to be conscious of your actions instead of rotely repeating scripts. Let's get started. Besides, I'll heal, and even faster then you will." The spirit bowed his head, and Bakatare felt the sudden rush of power that came with linking with Riku, wielding their wills in tandem while manipulating the streams of mana.

The low, reverberating tone of the ritual chants in Latin pour forth, filling the room and helping Bakatare to gather the mana that would bind the spirit that would appear at the end of the ritual.

An hour passes as Bakatare wrestles with the Earth Elemental, the dark stain of bruises spreading across his aura as power backlashes along the connecting threads of mana, the spirits struggles to be free no small thing to be ignored.

Riku hisses as the pain is shared through their link, amplified by the spirits own connections with the astral plane. "Is it really necessary to have one this powerful?"

Gasping as he ties down the last threads, safely tying the last of the binds on the spirit, Bakatare nodded.

"Just one. The others will be much, much smaller. It's good to have an ace in the hole if things get out of hand."

Riku grimaces. "Good. I'm done. You should be able to handle the rest. I'm going to sleep."

Nodding, the mages pulls the hair from his eyes and settles into to meditate before beginning the other binding tests.

Godzilla

You receive the notification from your commlink that the agent has completed the data search as requested. You access the files compiled and quickly realize the meet is at a Buddhist temple called the Naiteki Assarishita Retreat Center. An attached translation informs you the name means inner light. It has been in the International District for several decades. The temple offers several classes in meditation, Buddhist philosophy, and rents space for retreats and workshops. There seems to be no connection to any underworld elements in the records of the temple. The agent was also able to find some shadow talk - there were rumors of a whacked out woman living in the gardens who modeled herself after some sort of ronin and posters claim she was some sort shapeshifter.

Munkir

As you try to remember anything you know about that area you realize the meet is the same location as that old Buddhist temple in the International District, you often see nuns and monks in the area from the temple. As you think back you've never heard of any connection with the Yakuza and the temple but you seem to remember there being a runner who supposed lived in the garden in the back of the temple in some sort of small house but she was never a big player of any sort in the underworld - she went by the name of Onna.

--------------------

Your seeking on the flows of mana brings back a vision of small japapese style house in a tranquil garden setting. You can hear the chants of nuns and monks, you sense no feelings of malice or menace. You sense a single soul focused on a goal but nothing that threatens you.

Krossfire

You pull up Marleen's contact info as you look over the address. You seem to remember a small Buddhist temple on that block in the International District, they run classes and help run retreats. It's always been a place free of organized crime and it's entanglements - a strange place to hold a meet. Your call is picked up and you wait the few seconds for Marleen to secure the call. "Hi, everything ok?" You can feel the worry in her voice, every since her husband died you've been the one constant in her life and you know she has concerns about your line of work. "Ambi can you please take this trash out now?" Her voice sounds slightly tense as she nags her son. "Sorry about that..."

Rayne

The old woman's face is like old beaten leather and crisscrossed with line and wrinkles. her voice is raspy and seems to carry every year of her long life in it "I had heard something had happened to Yamamoto. He was the man to talk to about the Yakuza's drug and flesh markets. So far no other crime syndicate is taking credit for the hit and of course a large reward has been offered for the soul responsible for the massacre. Is this your work dear?"

Fenris

As you feel the strain and fatigue of having channeled that much mana through your body and spirit, you pull up the files compiled by the agent you left running while doing your rituals. You see a series of files about failed criminal proceedings against Yamamoto brought by the city and private citizens. He appears to be connected to the drug trade and prostitution in the Seattle area. His lawyer is on the Yakuza payroll and has made a career of defending them. There are accusations of witness tampering and intimidation but nothing has ever been proven. The hostess bar has a solid reputation as a gentlemen's club for the Yakuza and their honored guests, apparently Yamamoto runs most of his business out of it. There have been a few reports filed with Lone Star about illegal activities taking place but each report seems to stop dead in its tracks.

The address is to the Naiteki Assarishita Retreat Center in the International District and was the former home of Onna - you know she has since left the city though where is unknown. She had suggested at you r last parting that she was s going to seek others of her kind and hoped one day to return. The temple has a established history of charitable works in the area, running food drives and raising money for various local non-profit agencies. There is a community of nuns and monks that live on site and maintain the structure. They offer classes and help run retreats at the temple. You see no sign of organized crime being involved with them, in fact the local crime syndicated appear to be leaving them alone. The financial records for the temple shows several large anonymous donations made to them over the years and you're fairly certain {b]Onna[/b] was the one responsible.

Spider

You weave your way through the streets of the city, making your way towards the International District. As you drive you ponder the name Yamamoto, if you remember correctly he was the man in charge of the narcotic and flesh trade in the Seattle area for the Yakuza. He had a ruthless reputation for keeping their territories and ensuring that the Yakuza got their share of the money. His death would certainly shake things up for awhile and a shadow war was going to start over the areas that fell under his control. People were going to die trying to snatch pieces of the Yakuza market.

You pull your attention back to the present as you slide past a large structure, you see a small sign reading Naiteki Assarishita Retreat Center as you drive past. You see several groups of nuns and monks moving in and out of the entrance. Their clean and open faces seems out of place in this jaded city. As you pull down a side street running along the temple you see the space just behind the building is given over to some sort of meditation garden that takes most of block up. A low fence acts as a perimeter to the area and a small japanese style house sits in the center of it, gracefully perched in the center of a small pond. The house looks to be a single room affair. You see several nuns or monks moving through the area, some meditating at spots set aside just for that purpose while others seem to be working to keep the garden in good order. You see very little in the way of external security.

Godzilla

Sipping his drink, Morph reviews the information about the Naiteki Assarishita Retreat Center. A shape shifter. Now THAT is promising... He placed the empty mug in dish washer and headed to his wardrobe, selecting a pair of black slacks and a simple, dark top.

He climbed into the Eurocar Westwind and started the engine. The car was completely out of character for him. It stood out, it made it statement. It simply did not blend in. I simply need a new identity to go with this car. Some would call the car an affirmation of life. Others would call it an indulgence. He preferred to think of it as you can't take it with you...

As he pulled out of the garage, he made sure all his licenses were in place. He made two quick stops along the way. The first was to pick up an upgraded firewall for the car. He hadn't had the car very long and a brief conversation with Tsunami, one of his few true friends, had convinced him to upgrade the firewall.

His second stop was at the Men's Warehouse. The men's clothing store chain had started a century ago selling quality men's suits, tailored while you wait, and in the sixth world also sold form fitting armor for the discriminate executive.

His purchases made and his discretionary funds reduced more than he liked, Morph made his way lazily through the city streets towards the temple. He'd be a little early, but that was ok, it would give him a little time to meditate.

Krossfire

Eddee sat back in the tall leather chair behind Jack's desk, using his office was the only place he could hear himself think. The band was about to start their set and the noise of the crowd, which was near capacity, was steadily rising as they anxiously waited for curtains up. He waited for the line to go secure, "Marleen, ...yeah everything's wiz babe. Need some info ..."

He went on to describe the strange Buddhist temple and the mysterious courier, passing along the video of her visit at the club, wondering what Marlene might dig up on short notice. Her concern was understandable but she knew how the game worked, vetting a prospective employer was all part of the gig. Even still, he couldn't help to worry, " Stay frostie Omae, watch your hoop. Don't take no chances buzzing the Star, babe. They ain't righteous. So ka?"

He waited for her acknowledgment before disconnecting, then started making mental preparations listing equipment he'd pack later that night when he was interrupted by the cheers of the crowd as the band began to play. They had the hottest act in all Seattle tonight, strange though how he'd never really heard their music before... he stepped out of the office and onto the balcony to watch.

I close both locks below the windows
I close both blinds and turn away
Sometimes solutions aren't so simple
Sometimes goodbye's the only way

Something struck a chord in Eddee as he listened to the lyrics, moments of his past flashed by like a video montage. Turning points in his life came to him like snapshots of people from his past, and how they were torn away from him. The path that he had chosen was strewn with so many dear friends he said goodbye to.

And the sun will set for you
The sun will set for you
And the shadow of the day
Will embrace the world in grey
And the sun will set for you

Eh? What do they know? waving his hand as he descended the stairs and out through the back exit. The night air felt good, washing over him like a plunge in the pool. Must be comin down with somethin, yeah that's it.Edde went back to his diggs and prepped his gear then packed the car. The plan was to get to the temple an hour before the meet and meditate, maybe even some tai chi to clear his mind. He wanted to stay focused.

Munkir

The light of dawn finds Munkir already in action. What little light slips through the blinds glints off of the black blades as he moves through the beginning forms of the Ars Cybernetica. His spurs cut effortlessly through imaginary attackers while weaving a defense to protect him from any retaliation. The blades become extensions of his arms, of his body, of his mind, of his will.

Are you ready my dear? her voice in his head asks him. A fierce thrust through an imaginary target is his only reply as he concentrates on the form. He can feel her grin as she responds Good. Remember to be ever watchful. Though we sense no malice anything can happen. She pauses momentarily before continuing. And get her a present. Us girls like presents, especially from young men like you. A plant perhaps? Something for her garden.

With that she is gone, and he is left to finish getting ready for the day.

Nakir enters his body and the 2 begin preparations for the day. He feels the mana flow through his veins as he channels the spell through his bracer's. He grunts as he feels the backlash of the finished spell hit him. He stretches and smiles as he feels the unnatural speed at which he is now capable of moving. One more for now. He opens his mind and becomes more aware of the minutia around him. He feels the spell settle into place around his neck and smiles.

Now to find a place to get a plant............

Rayne

"Thanks for the info. How much is being offered? I'm on the hunt for whatever did this, she is standing between me and my own vendetta."

With the information from Mama Spider, Rayne begins to lay out her gear from the bag. The flat's small interior helps keep her focussed as she moves around the room. Guns and drugs were left behind--all items which could have been sold on the black market. The attacker is cold, methodical and pissed off to have done this kind of damage at a Yakuza owned building. Definitely a woman--men would have taken the guns and the money.

She sets a small lamp in the corner which begins to cast shadows where nothing blocks the light and light where shadows should be. Weaps always had an odd taste in what would be useful, but the lamp "showed the truth" according to her odd craftsman so she kept it. Once the last of her gear is laid out and double checked, she sleeps.

A few hours later, Rayne wakes up refreshed. She contemplates a shower to save time, but the pain caused by that wouldn't be worth it. Instead, a sponge and a bowl of water suffice to wipe off the scent of the day and grime of the city. The changeling pulls her too bright hair back into functional braids and applies the creams which would keep her alabaster skin from burning. Lipstick the color of fresh blood and eyeliner to darken things and bring her brilliant blue eyes into contrast finish the look.

Layers of cloth and polyflex armor go on, then the snapblades and pistols. Over everything goes her long coat. The coat itself has enough posts, rivets and loops that metal detectors three meters away will begin to beep, the zippers along the arms blend in with the rest of the goth punk motif. Kick starting the bike, she pulls her helmet on.

Blazing through mid-morning traffic, she is a blur of black and red--Long braids trailing behind her where the helmet can't contain them.

Krossfire

Your commlink issues an alert letting you know you have an incoming call. You see the ID is Marleen.

"Hey there so I did some checking around and as far as I can tell the temple is legit. They been operating for several decades, when I combed through their financials and the only strange thing I found was several large anonymous donations to the temple over the years. They run retreats and offer classes in meditation and the like. They don't seem to have any connection to any organized crime activity in the area, in fact they all seem to leave the place alone. There was a file in the Lone Star database mentioning there was a runner living on the temple grounds but it was not certain the individual was even human."

You watch the streams of data transfer over to your commlink as she speaks.

"As for the woman in the video feed, she seems to be a runner as well though not the same one linked to the temple. She goes by the name Ikari which means wrath. She has some sort of connection to the Yakuza but before the purges that wiped out the Koreans in the organization. She disappeared for awhile and there are wild rumors of where she might have been ranging from being kidnapped by the triple As to be become a brainwashed assassin to being protected by some sort of prime runner mage under a terrible curse so who knows what the truth is at this point. She seems to have severed all ties with the Yakuza after the purge and seems to be working for herself now. Does that help?"

Godzilla

As he pulled out into traffic, he engaged GridGuide No sense in getting a ticket for speeding or any other such non-sense. This was, of course, a mixed blessing. It meant that his mind was no longer occupied and was now free to wander.

The gardens at the University of Portland were lush and thriving, as one mind expect at a school with a strong theomatrical department. He wasn't familiar with the names of the plants and flowers, he just liked to sit amongst them. Made him feel somehow more connected to nature. Maybe his totem was waiting for him to commune and sometime it would then make itself known to him.

The pressure was mounting. The classes were heavily skewed towards the hermetics and he just didn't grasp magic that way. It isn't a formula on a musty tome. To him it is a voice on the wind or the smell of room. It is the feeling of fear or pride, the swell of emotions at doing something right or just knowing it has to be done. He was failing several classes and the damn Alpha-Pi-Alpha's hazing his shamanistic style was getting really old.

The final straw came when the news arrived of his mother's death. She had been caught in the crossfire last night at her job cleaning offices. A group of runners got caught inside. Knight Errant responded with overwhelming force. They called it 'Friendly fire'. What the hell was so friendly about a drunk cop shooting a custodian in the face?

He was sitting in the garden when the Dean found him, gave him the news. It made him numb inside. She had been his last real tie to anything or anyone. He remembered walking off the school grounds, he'd only been there for her anyway. Remembered summoning the earth elemental to carry him off into the night. Remembered the pain from the drain from over summoning. Remembered wondering yet again why no totem would answer his call.....

He snapped his ming back to the present. He is different now. Stronger. He never did seek out that cop, perhaps if he had his rage would be less now. He did not seek out the cop then, but he would make others pay this time. How does that saying go...? Oh yea.... Screw me once shame on you, screw me twice shame on me.....