NEEDLES VIEW continued

It takes a few days for Needles to work up the bravery to open gear negotiations with Martin, but he finally does it. "Mr. Martin, I would like to discuss some purchases with you. Perhaps we can take this out of my pay."

"Eh? In kind, huh? Yeah, I'm sure we can work that. What're you interested in?" Martin looks up from the synthetic jewelry he is adjusting to look more real.

"I am thinking of a vest with hard parts, and maybe some block pads." Needles pantomimes a forearm slam to indicate what he means there. "Forearm guards, they are also known as."

"Yeah, I know 'em. We can swing that. That all? Just a little protection for the rough neighborhood?"

"I also need 2 clips for a Hammerli, and about 20 bullets," Needles continues politely.

"I see. Hammerli, nice. I can do that. Just 20?"

"Ah, yes, I hope that will be plenty."

"Hey, you never know. Some sams out there go through 20 before you can get out of your chair. But, Hammerli's semiauto and all, and you're no sam. It's cool. That it?" says Martin, braced for some outrageous request still to come.

Needles hesitates. He could try to one-stop-shop here, but he thinks he can do better on Medkit pricing from Jack. "Ah, yes, that is all."

"Alrighty." Martin swings away from the plastic rubies and synth-emaralds and grabs a calculator. "Alrighty, the Armored Vest with Plates retails at 720 nuyen, the Forearm Guards for 300. The clips are 6 each, and the bullets 24 for a 10-pack. That's 1080, divided by your hourly rate of 25, means... 43.2 hours to work that off."

"Oh," says Needles. I guess this is where I negotiate.

"But, I can help you out a little. First off, the AresArmor version of that vest is overpriced for the same protection that SecureTech puts out. And let's face, the sprawl is no fashion show."

"No," says Needles. "It is not."

"Right, so let's swap that puppy out... price cut, divided by your labor... 31.2 hours. Hey, I saved you 12 hours already! That's almost a week around here."

"Yes," says Needles. "It is."

"But I can do better, 'cause you're helping me out, and besides, we don't have to pay the taxes on in-kind donation." Martin winks, as if he pays taxes anyway. "So, let's round it down for you to 26 hours. That's another coupla days off around here."

"Yes." Needles is totally confused by all the math. "Um..."

"So it's good?"

"How about 25 hours?" Needles wanted to negotiate for something after all the time he spent thinking about this conversation. He grasps for some reason to shave another hour off. "This is, ah, a more auspicious number." Perhaps that will work. He probably does not know Chinese culture.

"Sure!" Martin beams. "No problem, my friend. 25 hours of labor over 2 weeks, nice even numbers, and you're all caught up. Plus two weeks gives me plenty of time to get the gear together. I'll have it to you then."

"Ah, thank you, Mr. Martin." Needles bows once and returns to work. That was not so bad... he thinks to himself.

NEEDLES VIEW final

The conversation between Jack and Needles is even easier. After all, Jack is a soldier and medic, not a hustler or fixer. They grab some food at a Chinese bar and restaurant one night, and Needles asks him about it. "I have started some work where I may be around injuries."

"Oh good, give 'em my card," says Jack, stuffing rice in his mouth.

Needles smiles. "Yes, of course. That may be required. But also, I would like to get a medkit so that I can perhaps help also."

"Yeah, ya gotta do that sometimes, to keep 'em alive long enough to pay their bills. Oh, I mean, of course, to save lives. That's why we're all here, right?" Jack smiles. He plays at being bitter, but he's really a compassionate man at a certain level. "I can get you a medkit. Be warned, they're pricey. Med gear has never been cheap. Especially in the shadows. For some reason, us folks seem to need it more."

"I understand." Needles worked off his gear with Martin before calling Jack, so he's actually even got a little cash. The first month at Martin's let him pay his meager lifestyle costs, pay off his gear obligation, and still save up 400 nuyen. "I have 400 nuyen on hand."

Jack nods and shoves more food in his mouth. "Sure. Sorry to say, that's just a good down payment. They're running around 700 most places. I got a guy who can get one for 600."

"Oh." Needles is starting to use "oh" as a standard negotiating tactic. "Jack, can you help me? I'll be referring business to you. I have little money." He gestures with open palms, indicating his relative state of poverty.

"Hey, who's flush? Let me know so I can mug them. We're all tight. I can't do much for you, really. Buy dinner tonight, slide me 300, and I'll see how cheap I can go, but I think it'll come in close to that." He hesitates and thinks. "My price is actually 580 on the 'kits, so I'll move it to you for that."

"Oh, I appreciate this very much." Needles transfers 300 nuyen over to Jack's stick. "Very much."

"I'll line it up, and when you get the other 280, you can pick it up."

"Of course. Maybe two more weeks that should be ready."

"Okay, cool. Let me know. And pass the hot mustard."

WEB VIEW

Web felt a little out of his element at Topless Tate's at first, but a burger and three beers later, he felt very relaxed. Rat turned out to be a pretty generous guy when it came to beer and women, and though the girls tried their best to avoid Rat and Web's table, he was appropriately assertive in getting their attention. More so than Web would ever be on his own, in any event. They had a great time.

It really gave Web pause to consider developing his social self a bit more. Ever since leaving home at a young age, he'd spent most of his time in an inward world. His body was always frail and his mind underdeveloped from malnutrition, so his hope in life has always been to seek solace in Anansi. Gradually, however, Anansi seemed to leading him back to the outside world.

Rat's beer-fest removed a lot of pain in both the physical and mental realms. The companionship awakened a part of Web long-dormant and believed dead. Of course, the physical pain came back in spades the next morning, reminding Web that nothing is free. Needles stepped in with his craft of acupuncture and provided Web a bit of hangover relief -- even as Rat encouraged a shot of vodka to take the edge off.

Once again, Web was moved by the compassionate of his new associates. Needles' hands worked effectively and efficiently, and without any sense of revulsion at Web's twisted, unhealthy, and pale form. He felt almost normal for a brief moment.

After that, he was determined to develop some semblance of outside world personality. Over the next few weeks, he practiced making small talk with the rats and grubs in his alley, just to get a feel for how it's done. Finally, he felt brave enough to reach out to someone and approached Martin to ask about acquiring shamanic lodge materials.

He planned to conversation for days beforehand, but it still came out awkward and stilted. Martin couldn't understand him half the time, and it turned out he really didn't carry anything in that line, although he swore he could get anything with time and money.

Money was a problem though. Shamanic lodge materials are expensive, Web discovered, and beyond his means. He would need several thousand nuyen to pull together the right items, and that seemed totally out of reach. After asking several times if there was any work he could do like Needles, and Martin ignoring it, the fence seemed to come to an idea. He left Web waiting in the lobby while he disappeared in the back, presumably to make some phone calls.

Perhaps 30 minutes later Martin took Web out to lunch (more free food!) with a nameless associate. The man was clearly a fellow African to Web's eyes, although he spoke fluent English like a native. The story that unfolded revealed that the man was a street doc, and he was willing to use Web as an astrally endowed assistant to search for cyberware in corpses brought in for processing. Web thought about it for some time, mainly because he didn't like to make decisions in haste. Body processing is a distasteful trade, but he was assured that he wouldn't be ask to hurt anyone -- just observe the dead and mark the cyberware locations with a UV marker. In exchange, the doctor would apparently pay Martin, and Martin would acquire shamanic lodge materials for Web.

Web ultimately agreed to put in 10 hours a week looking at corpses and marking them. He was shown where to go -- a burned-out shop front on the other side of the building from Martin's pawn shop -- and given a dirty warehouse to work in. The arrangements suited him fine.

WEB VIEW continued

"Do you have a name?" asks Web dryly as the African-born Seattle-raised street doc leads him through the ash and rubble to the hidden door in the back.

"Sure I do, but you can call me Dr. Black," he replies.

"Dr. Black," mumbles Web. Well, I guess he is.

"You'll be working in Receiving." Dr. Black smiles a big gleaming white smile at that. It occurs to Web that the doctor has good nutrition, given his teeth. The doctor continues. "I've had a backlog lately, so some of these have been around awhile. Sorry about that. Once you're up to speed, that won't happen anymore. I look forward to that. If the smell is overwhelming, there's a bathroom in the back."

As Dr. Black opens the door-concealed-as-a-bookshelf that leads to the warehousing area, Web is immediatelly struck by what he meant. The smell of death is almost intolerable to a normal person, and it's even irritating to an alley-dweller like Web. Four stainless steel tables sit in the middle of the room, although "stainless" is a misnomer in this case. There are a couple of bodies on each one, of various ages and races, stripped naked and just piled up. In some cases, the cause of death is evident by missing pieces. In other cases, they look intact enough.

Web is mildly shocked. The shock is mild because of what he's seen in his own life, but this is callous by any standards. Dr. Black smiles. "Yeah, I know what you're thinking. I just process them. These folks rot more slowly here than in some gutter somewhere, and at least I dispose of them when I'm done. Think of it like recycling. It's better for everyone."

Web nods.

"So you're clear on your job? Mainly, I don't deal in organs, although if you see something exceptional, let me know." Web has to wonder what that even means, but he doesn't ask. Dr. Black continues. "Mostly this is a second-hand cyber shop, and we do a brisk business. Your job is to assense these poor bastards and use the green markers over there to just put an X wherever you spot an implant. There's nothing I hate more than rooting around in some skanky corpse looking for my next meal, metaphorically speaking, so this will be a real time and aggravation-saver for me. If you get a real dark-skinned guy, use the white-out to mark him. It's easier to see that way."

Dr. Black pauses to see if Web has any questions. He doesn't particularly, although he is still forming an opinion about this whole situation.

"Alright, good. I've adjusted your hours and the delivery hours so you should never see anyone else back here. If you do, hit the alarm on the wall over there. Otherwise, when you come in, the bodies should already be here, fresh from the field. Once you get through the backlog, we can Fabreze this place or something. And, if you get low on Devil Rat poison, let me know and we'll restock." He gestures toward a corner that has a half-dozen dead Devil Rats piled up. "I'll ask the delivery crew to take those out tomorrow." He wrinkles his nose once in distaste.

WEB VIEW final

Time passes for Web with less pain than usual, and he's surprised when he realizes a couple of months have passed with his new routine. He gets some time in with the boys, mostly Rat and Needles, spends his afternoons marking corpses in the Receiving area of Dr. Black's used cyber clinic, and tries to to smile at least a little through it all. He mostly fails at that last point, but he at least thinks of smiling sometimes.

Dr. Black treats him well, because he is genuinely pleased to have someone who will work with the bodies. Web is good at it only because he doesn't get disgusted easily, and he went numb to death a long time ago. Dr. Black never reveals anything about himself personally, nor does Web ever see the inside of the clinic proper, but they get along well in their limited relationship.

Web is especially pleased at the bond he manages to create with his new friends. He tells Howard about them when he stumbles into him near the park again, and Howard remarks that Web looks two steps from death, which is an improvement. Web thinks about smiling on that occassion too. Maybe next time I'll try the smile. He practices in the mirror at work sometimes, but it still looks like a grimace.

In his offtime, he figures out how to bind a spider-servant watcher from Anansi semi-permanently to his alley. They last for a week at a time or so, and then he refreshes them, but he's pleased to have someone to watch over the place when he's away. Even if that someone has no physical form and the little intelligence to speak of.

Halfway through his third month with Dr. Black, Martin stops by the Receiving area. He just walks right in through the door from the clinic side, where Web never goes. Web considers whether he's supposed to hit the alarm or not, but he guesses that someone coming from that side is allowed.

"Hey Web! Wow, you've really improved things in here. This used to be the nastiest place in the Sprawl, next to that portapoddy abandoned on 38th street."

"Thank you," says Web carefully.

"Hey man, your time is come. You've worked enough to earn a lodge. I've got a friend talisplace that I'm watching over for the weekend, and I think it's time to let you pick out some items. I've already cleared with the good doctor to get you the afternoon off. Wanna ride with me?"

Web blinks. Why does everything happen with no warning around here? "Ah, can you give me an hour to freshen up? I'd like to be focused when choosing my gear."

Martin is taken aback for a moment, but then appears to recognize something. "Oh yeah, sure, I guess that makes sense. This is pretty important an' all. Okay, an hour. I'll come get you."

"Thank you," says Web again. Despite his calm exterior, he is very excited about the prospect of custom-building his lodge.

By the time Martin returns in an hour, Web has worked extra hard to finish processing the two shotgunned trolls and the road-rash-torn elf on the tables now. He's already imagined all kinds of trinkets and goodies he'd like to acquire for his lodge.

They go outside together and hop inside Martin's low-rider Americar, with the spoiler on back. They roll a couple of dozen blocks across town to The Cat's Cradle, a shaman-shop that seems to be a mix of street style and corp glitz. Web isn't sure which of those is the real root of the place and which is affected for style.

Regardless, the store is closed, but Martin has the key. They park up front and get out, Web glancing around at the nice neighborhood. "Yeah," comments Martin, "Ya don't see too many magic joints in the Z-zones, but I got connections all the way up into the C-strips. This 'hood is slouching toward apocalypse itself, and it'll probably go D soon enough, but whatever. It's sure classier than home. I wouldn't want to pay the rent for this kind of luxury, but it's good to know a few folks over this way. Come on in." Martin unlocks the steel security gate in front and let himself and Web in, deactivating the wall alarm as he goes.

Web is shocked at the variety of stuff inside. There are endless rows of trinkets, jewelry, and art. It just goes on and on. He immediatelly starts pawing through it.

"Hey, hey, don't mess with that stuff!" says Martin.

"Oh, sorry," says Web, straightening up.

"That's drek. Come on back and mess with the real stuff."

"Oh!" says Web, surprised. He follows Martin past the up-front displays and around the counter, into a second shop behind the first. This one is a little more low-key, but the objects inside are decidedly more nicely crafted. In fact, most are handmade. Web switches to astral vision and immediatelly sees the difference. These items are not foci of course, but they have been built with care. They have a pure quality to them that will make them excellent for assembling a powerful, working lodge. He won't even have to purify most of this stuff.

"Wow..." mumbles Web. He's never been in an authentic magic shop before.

"Yeah, so, uh, do what you do and load it up," says Martin.

"What's my... ah, how much can I have?"

"What? Oh, uh..." Martin looks at his watch. "I guess we got about 6 minutes or so. Whatever you can carry out to the car in 6 minutes." He says that very casually but firmly.

"What?! I can't choose these objects in 6 minutes!"

Martin cracks a grin. "Yeah, I know. I was just kiddin' ya. Actually, you got all day. I'm not gonna stand here, I got business to attend to. I'll lock you in and let you have the run of the place. Don't let anyone in until I get back, and if anyone comes in, hit the alarm on the wall over there." Web nods, familiar with that concept. "I'll be back in.... 7 hours."

Web nods again. That's more like it. "Good. I am happy." He smiles for the first time.

"Oh, drek, man, don't do that. Keep your mouth closed. Ghost... remind me to talk to the doctor about a dental plan for you."

Web smiles again, with his lips closed this time. "I will see you soon," he says.

"Yep." Martin smiles too. "Have fun, kid." He slips out to the front, and Web listens as he leaves and locks the front gate.

Web turns his attention to the treats and items before him. "My pretties... we have so much to discuss!"

BLACKOUT VIEW

Blackout's always been small, even for a dwarf. At times, he wondered if it was because of his kokorobuku status, but doctors assured him that while hairiness and feelings of social awkwardness were common, size and strength potential was equivalent to that of the dwarven primary subspecies. Blackout was forced to accept that he was just a small guy even among small guys.

Years of working out brought a little tone to his muscles, and despite his smaller-than-average thickness, he got a kind of wiry strength. If it wasn't for the furry body, he'd look quite well-defined even at what is usually considered average strength for dwarves.

Lately, he's felt the need to go even beyond that. Dwarves are strong among the races, just as much so as orks (though most people don't give the credit for it). Still, hitting people gets a lot easier the harder you can hit, and Blackout still remembers the difficulty he had affecting someone like Bertrum. Though such opponents are rare, they always crop up at inconvenient times.

The few months before this last job he'd been working out, but it just hadn't seem to come together. Somehow, the last job brought him into focus. He's not sure if it's the adrenaline of the fighting, or just the increased self-assurance from beating that ork down, but he feels stronger these days.

It filled out his appearance a bit too -- the musculature is visible even through the fur. Although he doesn't look anything like a professional bodybuilder, Blackout has become a powerful force in the muscle department.

With that in place, it only adds to his focus at the dojo. Blackout continues to spend several hours a week there, and enjoys Needles company tremendously. Needle's presence as a sparring partner gives Blackout the variety and the focus that he needs to advance, and within a couple of months of training together, Blackout can tell that both he and Needles have gotten substantially better. He knows that will boost the whole team.

In his off time, jogging, drinking, daydreaming, and telling stories at the dojo or the bar occupy him. He takes a sort of Zen approach to all these activities, and by the time a few months goes by, he's actually quite good at them. The money he's come into lately has enabled him to actually spend more time drinking and entertaining himself than usual, and he makes good use of it. Along the way, he gets a chance to teach a few martial arts classes at the dojo for some spare change. The net effect is that three months later, he's in great spirits -- stronger, more talented, and with no less money than he started with. In fact, thanks to Blondie's bonus, he's positively rolling in it! He picks up some home training gear, including a rubber training dummy in child-size for his stature, and enjoys training all the more back at his squat.

BLACKOUT VIEW black belt test

Blackout steps onto the mat, focused and calm. He knows he is about to earn his black belt, to take it through trials of arms. Next to the mat, 10 attackers wait, all black belts. Five of them are armed with knives. Blackout bows to them, and they bow back in acknowledgement, and then he steps onto the mat.

“Alright,” says Sensei. “Team A, go!!” The five unarmed black belts charge Blackout ferociously, but subtly staggered so they will reach him one at a time. The first attacker, an anglo human woman in her early twenties, launches a well-placed kick to his midsection. Blackout was not as ready as he thought he was – it takes all his focus and a quick scramble to get out of the way. He manages it just barely, stepping back and to his left side, outside the kick, and punches it the offending leg as it goes by. The woman spins off to the right, just as a scarred anglo human man is launching in.

The man’s attack is a little off, and he’s attempting to grab Blackout’s right arm. Blackout lets the grab happen, because it overbalances the attacker. Than he pulls back even more, bending his legs to pull the human down low on his balance point, and punches him in the gut hard. The guy tries to ride it back a bit, but because of Blackout’s excellent setup, he’s not able to go as far. The punch doubles the attacker over at the gut, and with a rush, his air comes out. The man falls to the mat gasping for air.

“Slow down… more control!” calls out Sensei. They’re not supposed to really hit people that hard in training. The human scrambles off the mat, just as the third attacker comes in. The rest of this group is all anglo women, and two of them are orks. This is one of them.

The ork lady throws a right hook punch to Blackout’s head, and Blackout slips under it and inside, gently tapping the attacker on the inside of one knee. Everyone knows that’s a stand-in for a horrible knee-breaking strike, and attacker back-peddles out of the fight. Sensei nods approvingly.

The fourth attacker is human, and tries to tackle Blackout. He leaps backward and brings a knee up sharply. He could have demolished the woman’s face, but he kindly puts it into a shoulder with moderate force. The young lady grunts and obligingly falls off to the side, rolling out of the way.

The last attacker, another big ork in her late twenties, grabs Blackout by the gi jacket and launches a very fast punch at his nose. Blackout’s feet come off the ground as he high blocks and swings his legs backward to take her balance. As he gets to the ground again, he runs forward as she’s catching her balance, kicking her in the leg. The leg sweeps out from under her, and she falls to the ground. Round one is successfully completed. Sensei says, “Team B, go!!”

The next 5 rush in with knives. The knives are just training knives, but it will be clear enough if Blackout gets slashed. The first knife cut lashes out as his torso, and he leaps back, clearing it, and then leaps back forward with a punch to the elf’s groin. The man crumples immediately. “Careful!” yells Sensei.

A human woman attacks him with an overhead slash and gets the same treatment – punch to the crotch. She weathers it a little better, but she’s still forced to backpeddle painfully off the mat. Next up is a huge anglo ork wielding what looks to Blackout like a small (wooden) sword. He slashes out with it, and Blackout tries to slip outside, but the initial attack was a fake. The man stops the slash mid-way and lunges forward on long legs, trying to make a shish-kabob out of Blackout. Blackout leaps straight up, the blade passing between his legs, and lands on top of the ork’s arm. He surfs the arm down to the floor before the ork can retract it, and then kicks him in the nose. The ork yells and blood squirts out from what is probably a break, and Blackout leaps away to deal with the next attacker.

This one is a Japanese human, one of Blackout’s friends here and a very fast fighter. The wooden training blade leaps out so fast that Blackout is caught flat-footed. He stumbles back a step, just barely out of reach, and swipes at the back of hand wielding the knife with a cat’s paw strike. The hand disappears as fast as it came, and as Blackout tries to follow it, it lashes out like a cobra toward his throat. Blackout high-blocks the arm, spins into it, and tries to wrench it around. His friend leaps over Blackout, reversing the arm lock, and passes off the knife to his other hand just as Blackout stomps on his foot. The foot stomp causes him to lose his concentration at a critical moment. The knife fumbles and falls to the floor. Blackout kicks it out of the way and grabs the man in a low wrestling stance, jerks him to one side, and yanks him harmlessly off his feet. The man tumbles to the floor and the crowd bursts into applause.

It only buys Blackout a second, because a Korean ork that joined the school only recently from a street gang grabs him from behind, intent on stabbing him in the back. Blackout spins into the grab, instinctively sensing the closeness of his opponent, and slams an elbow into the ork’s groin. The man buckles, drops to all fours, and then crawls toward the bathroom.

“Team C, go!” shouts Sensei. Blackout knows he’s two-thirds complete. Team C is the same group as Team A, with one exception – one of the first members, who Blackout punched in the gut, is apparently not able to get up. He has been replaced by Sensei himself.

The human woman who kicked at Blackout comes back again. Blackout’s adrenaline fires, and he loses it. He ducks under her attempted punch, spins around behind her, and punches her in the kidneys. She squeaks once and collapses to the floor, possibly unconscious.

The two female orks on the team break the rules at this point and charge him at once, one punching to the head on his left and one kicking at his mid-section on the right. He spins into the kicker, grabs her just below the knee, and swings her around into the other one. They collide, but the punch lands, knocking Blackout backwards and causing him some confusion. A small cut on his right eye bleeds a bit.

The one he swung around goes down and rolls away unharmed, but the second one comes in again and lands an upper-cut to Blackout’s chin as he’s backpeddling. It hurts, but it doesn’t knock him down, as he’s able to partially ride it. He charges back in, smacking her punching hand out of the way, and leaps onto the side of her body. He grabs flesh and skin and starts climbing her like a crazed monkey. She screams and tears at him to get him off, and he kicks at her arms to propel himself upward even more. Within a second, he’s made it to her head, where he grabs on and hurtles himself off of her, over her back, while cranking her neck. To protect herself, she spontaneously backflips, and for a moment, both of them are suspended in space, fighting for position. The backflip terminates short as she lands in a crouch, Blackout right beside her. He launches toward her again, and she slaps him away and fends him off. “Tap!” she shouts, giving in, but his adrenaline is pumping and he can’t stop. He chases her to the edge of the mat and is just about the punch her again when a heavy hand falls on him and yanks him backward.

He spins out onto the mat, partially out of control, the taste of blood in his mouth. As he regains himself, he sees Sensei on the mat in front of him. As soon as he makes eye contact, Sensei lets out of a roar that shakes Blackout’s bones. He seems to fly toward him with all four limbs leading, and Blackout panics and goes into a defensive flurry of blocks. Kicks and punches fly in toward him, and though he’s keeping them at bay, Sensei is one step ahead of the game. After five or six exchanges, Blackout slips a punch and launches his own counter-offensive, and they work back across the mat. Blackout throws his most vicious strikes as fast as he can, panting heavily, and Sensei effortlessly deflects them while floating across the space of the dojo.

It seems to go on forever, until Blackout’s adrenaline edge starts to fade. He finds himself struggling to keep the flow of blocks and strikes that Sensei gives out. Suddenly, just over Sensei’s shoulder, he spots one of his friends washing blood off of his face from Blackout’s strikes. His mouth opens slightly as he realizes that he did that, and a moment of hesitation develops. Sensei capitalizes on it instantly. A flash of movement is all Blackout sees, and then he’s on the floor. The room is spinning around him and he can barely see.

“Get up,” comes Sensei’s voice. Blackout tries to comply, but he falls back down again.

“Get up,” comes the master’s voice again. Blackout struggles to regain his feet, but ends up panting on all fours. He tries again, and falls flat on his butt. His head feels like he got hit by a car.

“Last chance, Blackout. Get up.” Sensei’s voice is giving him a headache, but it’s compelling. Blackout forces himself to his feet, finding strength he didn’t know he had. His vision gradually focuses on Sensei standing before him, perhaps to deliver the final blow. “Congratulations, Blackout,” says Sensei. “You pass. I present to you your black belt.”

Blackout isn’t sure if the roaring he hears now is from the crowd of his peers, or from the blood pounding in his head. He drops to his knees, bows once, and says “Domo arigato gozaimasu.” Then he passes out.

RAT VIEW

The sign reads "Billy Barrens Xtreme Xterminations". This is the place Rat heard about -- target shooting for free. He cruises into the lobby of the old burned out hotel in the Barrens with his Steyr rifle in an old bag. There are about half a dozen folks gathered in there -- 3 members of the Ancient, from the look of them, a mailman with a shotgun, an old lady with a pistol half the length of her arm, and a 10 year old girl with an Uzi. Rat double-takes on that last one, thinking maybe it's Kayla, but no. It's just some other 10 year old girl with an Uzi. He shrugs and unwraps his rifle.

His arrival was timely. Before he can even start to get suspicious of the other volunteers, Billy Barrens himself comes out of the back. A tall ork pushing around 2.5 meters, Billy Barrens is in excellent shape and style himself as some kind of urban safari hunter. Rat sees that there are two trids playing behind him with Billy's own self-produced commericals on them. The ghostly image of the trid-Billy throws out his pitch. "Got Devil Rats in your basement? Hellhounds going through your garbage at night? Parabats in your attic?" Rat winces at that, remembering the para-bats under Mt. St. Helens. "Call X-treme X-terminators!" Billy hammers on the "X" in those words. "We'll kill anything, for just the price of the bullets and a modest service charge! Yee ha!" An announcer voices over in the background. "Targets must not be sentient beings, or something resembling sentient beings. Any beings later found to be sentient are the fault of the client and not Xtreme Xterminators, Billy Barrens, or XX Volunteers. Property damage and incidentals are likewise the responsiblity of the client."

While Rat checks that out, the real Billy Barrens loads up his Remington 950, decker out with the latest in ultrasonic and thermographic scopes. "Alright, everybody shut up!" he yells out. The folks in the lobby turn their attention toward him. "Now, I'm a-gonna review the rules. You are all volunteers of Xtreme Xterminators. As such, we supply the bullets and the targets, and you supply the adrenaline. Our clients have paid us to clean out some of the filthiest vermin in the Sprawl, and our volunteers make that happen and have a real good time blasting holes in a wide variety of critters. We here at Xtreme Xterminators make it all happen for a modest fee from our clients. You fine people get to shoot holes in things for free. Sure beats the range, neh?"

The crowd cheers and lifts their guns in the air.

"Now, quick legal thing, none of this is even slightly legal. Anybody got a problem with that?" He leers around the room, holding his sport rifle menacingly. "Of course you don't!" He laughs now. "You wouldn't live in this filth-hole we call the Barrens otherwise! Now, with no legal backing, no one is responsible for you but you. Do not shoot the other participants. Do not shoot me, or I will shoot you back. The clients have been evacuated. All other targets are fair game, although we prefer that you don't intentionally shoot up the client's house. IF you can avoid it." He laughs, and everyone laughs with him. He's working the crowd.

"Alright, got that covered. Now, load on up with the ammo of your choice. We run normal loads to keep things under control and inexpensive, but we have a variety of calibres. You are certain to find something to suit your weapon."

Rat ambles over to a bin nearly his size filled to the brim with 7.62mm ammo. Sweet... he grabs a fistful of it and drops it in his pants before starting his clip load-out. No one seems to notice. Rat notes that the crate says "Ares Arms" on the side and still has the shipping invoice. He doesn't look, but he's guessing that the ship-to address does not say, "Xtreme Xterminators, broken-down piece of crap hotel in the middle of the Barrens, Seattle, UCAS."

Once his rifle is ready to rock, Rat hops in line with the rest of the urban safari residents. A battered, bullet-hole-ridden, smoking Blue Bell school bus from a previous century rolls up in front of the hotel, and Billy Barrens boards first. "Come on, guys, let's go!" The group enthusiastically pounds aboard, the old lady first, and grabs what seats there are. Rat almost sits on a spring before noticing the condition of that seat, and moves to another one.

Billy Barrens continues his spiel. "Folks, today we are hunting Gabriel Hounds. These hounds have the unnerving ability to shift between a human-like form and a dog form, while getting into everyone's garbage, eating their pets, and occasionally smacking the homeless around. We've cordoned off three city blocks, with the help of the Ancients." He nods to the three gang members, who flash a gang sign in the air. "We've asked anyone coherent enough to understand spoken English to get out, so you can shoot anything on two or four legs. If you see dogs... well, I tell you what, better to just shoot it. You never know about these Gabe hounds. They're tricky bastards. Like I said, just shoot everything unless it can fly. Probably best for us to stick together so we don't shoot each other, neh? We'll use the patented Billy Barrens circle-together-facing-outward-shoot-everything-that-moves technique to move along safely. Well, safe for us, anyway." He laughs again, and the whole bus laughs with him.

The bus pulls up a few minutes later in front of a whole row of motorcycles and tough-looking elves, surrounded by a bunch of Barrens residents looking on nervously. The elves on the bus enthsiastically flash signs at the elves on the bikes, and then the XX Volunteer team assembles. Billy Barrens gets right in with them, and Rat is kind of honored to be shoulder-to-shoulder with the well-known (sorta) urban adventurer.

The cluster staggers into the urban combat zone. With no group training, they move together awkwardly, more like a bunch of kids at the mall than a combat team. On the other hand, they are very well armed. Only half a block in, a wind blows down the street and kicks up some paper clothes that were abandoned after use. Three people blast holes in the clothes and quickly reload.

It isn't long before the first dogs are seen. It's not clear if they are actually para-dogs or not, but the scruffy hounds are spotted between two dumpsters. The group enthusiastically lets loose, killing all three hounds in seconds. Gee thinks Rat it's almost hard to tell where my shots are going.

Lucky for him, shortly thereafter a whole pack of dogs emerges from two alleys. The ones on the left might be special or might not, but the ones on the right are clearly staggering on two legs. "Holy crap! Gabe hounds! Blast 'em!" shouts Billy Barrens, and he and Rat start firing away. Rat goes into the video-game zone, and soon enough, he's busting furry heads just as soon as they pop up. He reaches down his pants to reload on occassion, and then continues the fun.

Twenty minutes later, sweaty and covered in the smell of cordite, the action seems to be over. Rat has emptied his pants of bullets, and the team high-fives in the middle. The apartment block behind the primary firing zone is perforated with hundreds of bullet holes, and everywhere lay the bodies of dead canines, rats, birds, cats, and things shot so much it's hard to tell what they used to be. What a great way to practice! thinks Rat, grinning from ear to ear.

"Another Xtreme adventure with Xtreme Xterminators!" says Billy Barrens as they get back to the busted-up bus. Rat notices Billy slyly accepting an envelope from the Ancients' leader. Wonder what that was about? he thinks. Hey, are we in Spikes territory?

"Well, time for this bus to roll on!" says Billy as the thunder of heavy Harley bikes is heard in the distance. He speaks casually and with the same spirit of adventure, but he steps a little more quickly. "And I do mean right now!" He smiles and laughs, and the bus laughs with him. For some reason, the 3 Ancients who rode over decline a ride back, and Rat boards the bus with the old lady, the little girl, and the mailman. "Ta ta!" waves Billy at the Ancients as the bus pulls away.

About a block later, Rat can hear the gunfire in the distance, and he nods and chuckles to himself. Okay, maybe this wasn't the safest way to use an afternoon.... but it was a good time!

RAT VIEW continued

After being thrown out by the doorman of Penumbra for the third time, Rat is starting to feel dispirited. If I can't get into the hot clubs, how'm I gonna score the jobs? We're doomed. I'm gonna be a loser again. He decides to head back to Topless Tate's to lift his spirits. It seems like he's there more and more these days. At least I got the nuyen to keep myself comfortable for a little while while I work ta get the career rollin'...

He gets his usual seat, his usual drink, and his usual waitress. "Hey Kate!" says Rat half-heartedly to the surgically enhanced DD elf girl. Last time he was here, with Web, she told him all about her Laser Cyberbra, which lifts and seperates from under the skin. Kate is one of Tate's daughters, so she does pretty well here and enjoys some benefits for her work. She's got more cyber than me... thinks Rat glumly. Not that I need a Cyberbra.

"Hi Rat!" she waves. "Your usual?"

"Nah, I dunno.... usual beer, I guess. Just bring me some celery and pork rinds tonight."

"You feelin' okay?"

"I'm just havin' career troubles. You wouldn't understand."

"Oh, okay," she smiles, moving away. Rat doesn't even notice the hotties around him today as he stares at the table thinking about his brief moment in the limelight of the underworld. Almost a runner...

He looks up from the table and sees Kate and one of her less-endowed peers pointing at him, nodding to each other, and laughing. Rat perks up and tries to look tough for the girls. He flexes, but it makes him sneeze, which he half-blocks with the back of his hand. He glances at his hand, noticing that the snot pattern looks a little like a walrus, and then flicks his hand, flinging the snot into the distance.

Kate and her friend come bouncing up to the table, literally. "You're right! He's perfect!" gushes her friend.

"Perfect?" echoes Rat, scratching at that spot on his hand where the snot was. Now he's just confused.

"Yeah!" says the young bare-chested ork girl. She pulls up a chair and sits down. "Can you teach me how to be crass?"

"What?" says Rat, even more confused.

"You know, crass, gross, inappropriate. I'm working on this play for a local theatre house, and they need me to be, like, really socially inept, but, like, I've always been pretty classy, you know?" She tosses her pony tail with that last statement. "So, like, I don't even know how to do it."

Rat is offended. "You're doing it right now!"

"Oh, come on, Rat, don't be curmudgeony!" says Kate.

"Don't be what?" says Rat. When did the naked girls learn all these big words?!? "I'm not... whatever that is!"

"Come on! Pick your nose like you always do!" says Kate. "Do it for me...."

"What? No! What are you talking about?"

"I dunno, Kate. Maybe he's no good for this," says the ork girl.

"No, I'm sure of it. He does it, like, all the time. Rat, put something in your pants. Come on. Steal the silverware. You're always doing that."

"Oh my God!" says Rat, horrified. "Is that all I am to you?"

There is a moment of awkward silence, which is less awkward than the awkward talking. Rat stares at the girls. His nose starts to run, and he instinctively reaches down and wipes it on his sleeve.

"Yes! There you go!" yells Kate.

"Aaagh!" Rat yells, betrayed by himself. "No!"

"Yeah, that was awesome!" says the other girl. "Oh, I should write this down! Where are my notes? These hot-shorts don't have any pockets, and I'm all spilling out of them... I'll be right back. Keep it up!" She smiles at Rat and dashes off to the kitchen for a notepad.

Rat puts his head down on the table. "Ugh." What a drekky day.

"Rat..." says Kate softly. "Are you really upset?"

"Um... how about... YES!"

"Geez, I'm sorry..." She sees her friend coming back and tries to subtly wave her off. Her friend doesn't get it, so she gestures, and Kate gestures, and they end up frantically waving hands at each other for a moment before the other girl understands that something weird is happening. She withdraws. Kate continues, "Rat, I mean, I just assumed that part of your, like, mystique."

"Yeah, whatever," says Rat's muffled voice from the table.

The pork rinds are brought out by the cook at this point, a fat human in a greasy apron. "These were getting cold," he says bluntly, dropping them on the table and then walking off.

"Okay, so, like, lemme get this straight... you don't mean to be a gross-out?" asks Kate.

Rat looks up at her with sad eyes. "No."

She suddenly sits up straight. "Alright, look, the pork rinds are on the house. I'm sorry I embarrassed you. Let's talk after I get off work, okay?"

"Um, okay," says Rat. He's not so offended as to turn down a date with a topless teenage girl.

"Alright, and I'll show you how to be a little smoother. We'll have some fun."

"Uh, okay..." says Rat, forcing a smile. "What about the beer? Is that free too?"

RAT VIEW continued yet more

It turned out not to be a date with Kate after all. She got off work and met him outside Tate's with a shirt on, much to Rat's disappointment. Her breasts aren't exactly a mystery to him or anyone else at this point, but he still likes them better bare.

By then, emboldened by beer and over the social shock of having people make fun of him, he was in a pretty good mood. He spent the first half of their "first date" grabbing her breasts and butt while she tried to explain to him things that are inappropriate, including grabbing people's breasts and butt while they are talking. The second half of the "date" he spent telling her about how she really needs a protector to keep her safe from people who might try to grab her or do "other things".

For whatever reason, she decided to stick with him anyway. He didn't absorb much of her attempt at etiquette training that first night, but he eventually adjusted to her presence enough to calm down. By their third night of after-work hanging out, he realized he wasn't going to get to take her to bed, and starting actually hearing what she was saying about what to do and not do. Well, she might not take me to bed herself, but she might help me figure out how to take her friends to bed! thought Rat.

Gradually, over a few weeks of hanging out and sharing humor, Rat started to listen. Meanwhile, she took an interest in self-defense after all. Rat thought about getting her a pistol, but then it just seemed too serious for a young sweet girl like Kate. In the end, he decided to buy her a pepper-spray cannister from Martin's place and train her on it. It turned out to be useful for him too. They spent a few evenings dousing the Devil Rats together just to watch them run around shrieking.

Over time, it dawned on Rat that this girl, and her friends at Tate's, see a lot of the movers and shakers in the sprawl. They also have a unique way of getting people to confide in them, Rat realized. Something about the dress code, I think. Regardless, he realized that Kate was a potentially useful information source if he played his cards right. He started to take her a lot more seriously, and listened to her social training lessons if only as a way of getting her good graces.

Three weeks after their first hang-out after work, Rat found himself in an unexpected opportunity. He still hadn't scared up any actual shadow-work, but the business manager of Topless Tate's Catering Service was suddenly down with the SURGE. While he was out growing extra eyeballs and feathers, TTCS was in desperate need of a shrewd negotiator who wasn't afraid to talk to some of the more street-style clients they get. Rat stepped in with a vision and a passion -- not only would he meet more people this way and get to sharpen his social skills, but he'd earn Kate's trust even more. He soon promoted her to Assistant Business Manager of TTCS, with her father's approval, in order to maximize the social skill training. Turned out, there was no actual pay for the job, per se, but at least for a little while, Rat felt like he was expanding his social circles.

Besides that, how bad could it be to work around half-naked chicks and beer all day? Rat figured, he could always quit when he gets bored of it.

RAT VIEW final

“Yo Martin!” shouts Rat as he enters the fixer’s shop. “It’s time for some serious biz.”

“Yeah, what’s up?” grins Martin. He’s been a little perkier since Rat has been actually spending cash lately.

“It’s all about the bang-bang, buddy. I need some upgrades.”

“Could be I’m in the upgrade business. What’re we talkin’ about?” says Martin, acting casual but eyes bright.

“Well, a coupla things. I got a few weapons I want to smartlink and dwarf-grip.”

Martin tilts his head quizzically. “Dwarf-grip? That’s a rebuild, not a mod. I mean, I got a guy, of course, but if you really want that, it’s a matter of buying new pieces altogether.”

“Oh…” says Rat. “Well, drek…” He scratches his head. His crotch itches too, but he forces himself to avoid scratching himself. He’s trying to practice Kate’s advice.

“And about the smartlink, I didn’t know you were smartlinked, Rat.”

“I’m not, and that’s the other thing.”

Martin smiles. “No drek? Well, now, that’s kickin’. Guess the back shop inspired ya a bit.”

“That, and not being able to hit moving targets in the dark as well as I like. ‘Sides, I’m for real now, and for-real people need for-real ‘ware. For real.”

“Uh-huh. So you given any thought to options yet?”

“Options?” echoes Rat blankly.

“That’s what I figured. Okay, lemme break it out for you. It’s mostly a budget issue, but also a style thing. First, off you gotta choose between smartlink version one and smartlink version two, ‘cause they’re not the same. Version one does the job, but version two is for the serious bang-bang and the sniper-at-heart.”

“Oh yeah, I’ll all about the two.”

“Good choice my man. Thing is, two is expensiver. Is that a word?”

“I dunno. How much expensiver?”

“Like more than double. But at long-range, it’s tres worth it. And with grenade launcher and missiles and drek, if you’re into that. Military stuff. And then you got the grade issue.”

“Whazzat?” says Rat.

“Well, you got standard grade, alpha grade, and sometimes we even pick up a beta of last-year’s model. And it can all come used too, which is good ‘cause it’s broken in that way and a lot cheaper.”

“Ew! Used?! You mean, like, someone else’s parts all up in my parts?”

“Yeah…” says Martin. “You got a problem with that?”

“Hell yeah I do. Nasty!”

“You eat hamburgers?”

“Why?” asks Rat suspiciously.

“Cause if you do, then see the protein from that dead cow is now what your muscles are made of. Old parts make new parts. It ain’t no thing, man.”

Rat shivers involuntarily. “No fraggin’ way. I’m gettin’ factory fresh or nothin’.”

“Suit yerself, but now you’re talkin’ bank for quality. What’s yer budget?”

“Drek, Martin, I know better than to tell you that right up front. You’ll find a way to use every milliyen. Let’s just say, I’m doin’ alright. I can put a few K on the table to make it happen.”

Martin chuckles at that. “Alright, buddy, you think you’re game, let’s talk turkey with the good doctor. Don’t embarrass me now. You better stick by whatever you tell him you can do, ‘cause I ain’t in the business of getting’ played.”

“I’m cool, Martin.” Rat is smiling inside. I’m in the door! First step completed! Good thing I sold that whatever is was to these guys before. “I brag a little, whatever, but I don’t lie to associates.”

Martin nods in agreement. He seems to believe it. “Let’s go down and see him,” is all he says.

Martin and Rat walk through the back room full of familiar stuff. Rat notices Needles isn’t in today, which is too bad because he was all ready to wave and look cool heading to the secret cyberclinic in the back. Martin continues chatting as they walk, “So what kind of guns are you looking to ‘link?”

“Uh, Remington, Savalette, and a Steyr rifle,” replies Rat.

“Rat, I love to take your money, but smartlink is standard on Savalette. I think it’s even standard a two.”

“Yeah, I know,” Rat says defensively, even though he didn’t know. How the frag would I know that? I don’t have the interface. “I was just naming what I’ve got, you know, to organize my mind.”

“Okay, so you figured out if you want smartlink one or two?”

“Well, run the numbers both ways,” says Rat.

“Alright, alright….” Martin calculates in his head as they walk. “I’d have to look up the particulars, but basically, internal upgrade, we gotta send the weapon off to my boy. Those depend on the gun. The Remington would probably only be a few hundred to a thousand, depending on SL-one or two. The Steyr, those are real tricky, what with all the different configs. That would be many thousands, way too much, to internally SL. I’ve never even seen it done. Drek, I don’t even know if it can be done. So on that one, I’d say get the external optics-driven mount option, which for SL-one is like 750 I think and SL-two is like two grand. What, you probably use the Steyr as a sniper piece, right?”

“Uh, yeah,” says Rat, bewildered. One, two, internal, external, alpha, beta, gamma, delta… yeesh, ya gotta have a Phd in weapons around here….

“Right, okay. So I think it’s okay if it’s a little bulky. You’ll probably want external mount SL-2 on that. So maybe say three-grand-ish for the SL-upgrade on the two pieces. Pending, I gotta check my numbers and stuff.”

“Oh, okay,” says Rat. “I mean, maybe that’s okay. I gotta check my numbers. And stuff. Also.” Now I see why runners charge what they do! I got expenses.

By now, Rat and Martin are descending the stairs behind the unassuming door, leading to the shiny metal door. Once again, Rat marvels at how clean the doctor keeps his hidden clinic. Must be a full-time job just wiping things down.

Inside, Martin takes Rat past the waiting lobby to the doctor’s small office. There’s no blood and screaming this time – just the doctor hunches over a tortoise and typing at a laser-holographic keyboard. As they walk in he smacks the suspend key suddenly, making the holo-projector go blank and the laser keys vanish. “How can I help you boys?” he asks.

“Rat here is interested in discussing some implant options, around smartlink technology.”

“Oh, okay, we can discuss that. Have a seat, Mr. Rat.”

Mr. Rat! thinks Rat. Classy joint. Customer service. Rat fidgets slightly as the doctor looks him over in detail with the look a mechanic uses for an engine. It’s not at all the glance of a warm human being – rather, it’s entirely technical.

“I think I can work with you,” the doctor announces. He looks at Martin. “Have you discussed options and prices?”

“No, no, that’s your territory. I mentioned some options, but no prices. I’m stayin’ out of that, unless you need some rare parts or somethin’.”

“No, I think we’re okay for smartlinks. Mr. Rat, we work around here for payment-in-advance only. There are several areas of charge, which I’ll walk you through. First of all, we like to start with building a medical profile. My work can be much more accurate and healthy for you if I have a complete scan of your body. I also have good data that way in case something unexpected happens on the table, I am more likely to make accurate decisions. Building the profile will take about 6 to 12 hours of your time, and then several days of my time to correlate all the data. There is a slight charge of 110 nuyen for this service, which considering the time is a token. It goes toward secure memory storage, which I take very seriously to keep your personal information private. If you want to save the money, we can proceed without such a profile, but I don’t recommend that, for your own health. By the way, all my prices are non-negotiable. Let’s not waste time debating that part. There are enough choices to make here already.”

“See, that’s why I don’t get involved,” says Martin.

“After the medical profile, or skipping it if that’s your choice, we’ve got the surgery plan itself. That plan basically consists of me mapping out how exactly we’ll do the implant. It takes me several days’ work to complete it, and I’ll go over the risks with you at that time, based on what I know of your health and body, and the specific implant we’re working with. You’ll even have a little say in what risks you want me to take. The basic price for the surgery plan is 7920 nuyen. That’s the same for all standard grade surgeries. It doubles for an alpha-ware plan, and it quadruples for the rare occasional beta-ware plan.” The doctor grabs a drink of his coffee and lets that sink in for a moment.

“Wow…” mumbles Rat. Almost 8000 just for the plan!

“That plan cost also includes setting up the clinic with all required gear, drugs, support staff, etc. etc. The cost applies whether or not you actually go ahead with the surgery, because I have to get it all ready whether or not you show up on cutting day. The good news is, that’s almost all-inclusive, exceptions about to be noted.”

“Wait, doc, is there any way to get that price down? I know you said your prices are non-negotiable, but wow, that’s steep. Especially if I wanted something quality, like alpha, we’re talkin’… well, a lot.”

The doctor grimaces and then sighs. “Well… I hesitate to mention this, but ‘ganger style’ has been increasingly popular these days, what with the economy and all.”

“I’m no ganger,” says Rat, “but tell me what that’s about.”

“Real simple,” answers the doc. “No plan, no staff, no cleaning, no drugs, no monitoring gear. I just give you what looks like a good dose of knock-out gas, based on how much it looks like you weigh. Then I start cutting, and send you out the door as soon as you wake up. The upside is, you save a bunch of money, and it’s low time-investment for me. The downside is, you could die, the ‘ware could get installed wrong, it could break later, etc etc. I take no responsibility for that kind of stuff, but if you want to pinch yen, there it is. Sometimes we do mass upgrades that way.”

Rat thinks about that for a moment. Sounds awful, but it is a really money saver.

The doctor continues. “For the actual cost of the cyberware part itself, you have numerous options. In the world of smartlinks, anything I can get I can get in a few days at most. Our most popular option is used ware. In fact, I have some used smartlinks in the back right now.”

“Not used. For Ghost’s sake, not fraggin’ used.” Rat shivers again.

“Okay, that’s fine. We’ll take used off the table then. Smartlink one, new, is 2750. Smartlink two, new, is 7040. Alpha-ware is readily available and doubles the price. Advantage is more durability in case of impact, and a slimline design with a little less impact on the body. On the other hand, it’s a little harder to install and assimilate, so if you’re going to make that investment, I highly recommend the surgery plan and not ganger style. Beta-ware is hard to come by, and I don’t know anyone who can get beta smartlink two right now. I do have access to a couple of discount-rate beta smartlink ones. Those go for 11,000 nuyen. Again, surgery plan highly recommended on such a thing, or you almost defeat the whole point of quality ware.”

The doctor takes another sip of coffee. “The surgery fee is minor. It’s a 200 nuyen flat fee for my time. It doesn’t take long to install, whether we have a plan or not. The plan just makes it more likely to take. But that’s up to you. Then you’ll need to arrange for recovery time. You can lay here until the gas wears off enough to stagger home, but then you’ll need a ride somewhere. I’m guessing you live frugally, so you might want to find a classy hotel for a few days, or the surgery wounds aren’t going to heal right. I don’t have room for you here, and you’ll be pretty fuzzy-headed afterward, so I recommend you have something worked out for that. If you pick a clean, comfortable spot with a good bed and plenty of ice, and follow the post-op directions, you should recover within a couple weeks – maybe just a week if you’re healthier than you look.”

“So that’s your choice of options. I need to know profile or not, surgery plan or not, smartlink one or two, and the grade you want. Then we can start scheduling the procedure.”

RAT VIEW surgery time

"Like I said, I'm no ganger. Let's do this right and be serious about it. An' I'm all about the performance hardware, so smartlink-two me. I got the cred, let's do it. I don't think I need the alpha tho... I take care of myself, I'm a pretty healthy guy. I can handle the standard load." Rat figures alphaware is for people with weak bodies, or immune system problems, like those special earrings that are designed to avoid infections.

Dr. Black nods. "Okay, great. I'm glad to hear it that you're going to do the surgery right. I feel much better about my work that way, and you'll be pleased too. Your total will be..." He pauses for a moment and appears to look off into empty space, as if the answers were floating by the back wall. "14,540 nuyen." Apparently, for him, the answers were floating by the back wall.

Rat just nods. Pricey, but I'm worth it. I wonder how we start?

"We start with the medical profile. Come on back to the scanner room, strip down, and I'll ready the probes."

Rat slots his credstick into the doctor's pay system and pays the fees and then heads to the backroom. Martin bids him good luck and heads back up to the shop, while Dr. Black readies the equipment. Something occurs to Rat as he undresses. "Uh, where do these, um, probes go?"

Dr. Black smiles at him. "They go everywhere. Here, take this pill. It'll help you relax."

Several hours later, Rat leaves the clinic feeling awkward and a little sore. That man has seen more of me than anyone else in the world. Even my mom. He shivers, and vows the drink the memory out of his system. Ya gotta sacrifice to play in the big leagues. I guess.

Rat's next appointment is a full two weeks out, because Dr. Black needs time to acquire the parts, plan the surgery, and process Rat's medical profile. Those two weeks pass with his usual hanging out with Kate and working at TTCS, but he can hardly contain his excitement and fear at getting actual cyberware.

Meanwhile, he gives Martin his weapons plan -- an internally smartlink-II'd dwarf-adjusted heavy pistol, and an externally smartlink-II'd dwarf-adjusted rifle or carbine. According to Martin, factory-built dwarf-adjusted weapons are rare and usually of poor quality, so Martin recommends he has "his boy" work up some custom jobs for Rat. As a bonus, Martin scan Rat's hand-shape and passes it off to the firearms-smith for a personalized custom grip. "I tell ya, Rat, personalized custom weapons are the way to go for the serious shooter. You're gonna love the feel of these babies." The plan is for the custom guns to be ready by the time the healing from the smartlink implant is finished. Rat will trade his current guns in for a credit toward the new ones.

When Rat goes back to Dr. Black's clinic, he is fully freaked out. It's almost a let-down when he discovers that this visit is just to review the surgical plan and go over risks. Basically, the risks come down to the possiblity of fragile or broken cyberware, or cyberware that has an adverse effect on his overall health and metabolism (whatever that means). Dr. Black seems confident that thanks to the detailed scan and plan, these are very unlikely problems. He's just obligated to share the possibility. They set another appointment for the next day, which gives Rat a whole new 24 hour cycle of fear and anticipation.

Finally, the day comes. Rat has arranged for Kate to pick him up in a taxi and ferry him over to a hotel afterwards. He goes down into Dr. Black's clinic trying to be cool, but nearly shaking. The nurse staff, a male ork and a female human, do little to make him feel comfortable. They are instead briskly efficient in their tasks, just like Dr. Black himself. Rat strips down and lays naked on the surgery table, shivering under a paper blanket while they hook up monitoring machines to him. Dr. Black hands him a mask. "Breathe deeply, and count backwards from 100..." he says.

Rat starts counting. 100...99....98....ninety-sever... no, not sever... hee hee... that's funny... I wonder what I was..... .... ...

RAT VIEW onward

Rat wakes up. "Wha....?"

"Oh, good, you're awake. That always makes me feel better when that happens," comments Dr. Black from nearby, closing up a notebook tortoise.

Rat pauses, confused, and then remembers that the last thing he remembers is surgery prep. "Oh.... did it go well?"

"Yes, it went perfectly well. I congratulate you on your new Smartlink-II and your wisdom in planning the surgery in detail. There appear to be no complications."

"That's good," says Rat, staring at the ceiling as it spins around him. "How long was I out?"

"About 4 hours," answers Dr. Black.

"Wow. I don't think I can walk yet." Rat isn't sure he can even maintain effective consciousness yet, let along walk. At least there is no pain.

"Sure, sure. Most people can't when they first wake up, and the ones who can shouldn't. Go ahead and relax here for until you feel able to move. Your bladder will let you know when it's time to get up." The doctor pauses to gather his stuff up. "If you need anything, hit the call button. I'll be in the next room." He smiles his big white smile and is gone.

Rat falls asleep this time, a deep comforting sleep. He wakes up again because someone is pushing a drill-bit through the palm of his hand, pounding on his head with a hammer, and sending electrical signals up his arm. At least, that's what it feels like. He is unforunately sharp-minded now, and the pain is all he can notice. It feels like he's been shot.

"Ugh..." he grunts, and swings his legs over the side of the trolley. His possessions and clothes are in a box, and he starts getting dressed painfully and slowly. Finally he hits the call button.

Dr. Black comes shuffling in. "Well, look at you. About time! Guess you want some aspirin."

"Or heroin," quips Rat.

"No, no heroin. That would interfere with the healing process," says the doctor seriously. "Here's some painkillers. You have a ride?"

Rat does have a ride. The doctor escorts him out through Martin's shop, and Kate picks him up in a taxi. The wooziness and grogginess have worn off from the anaesthesia, but the pain still makes him wince, even through the painkillers. "Ugh" comprises the bulk of his vocabulary.

He gets checked into a mid-level hotel -- very swanky by his standards -- where they bring you ice and food if you just ask. Kate visits him frequently, but mostly he just lays in bed and tries to operate the trid. It's somewhat frustrating. It's even more frustrating when a week into it, he's got some kind of horrible infection and swelling in his hand. It's all purple and puffy and not healing properly. Luckily, he paid the money for proper service, and Dr. Black looks at it without any further charge. He lances and drains the infection, gives some more drugs, and the swelling goes down after a few more days. Two weeks into his hotel stay he finally get the chance to test out the nerve bonding when Martin stops by with a care package....

RAT VIEW guns

“Rat my man, I’m glad to see you’re healing up. I got my boy to put together a personalized weapon proposal for you.”

Rat raises an eyebrow. “What’s that mean?”

“Buddy, if you wanna be king of the mean streets, you gotta have a personalized piece. That means a friend who looks out for the way you use your tools, and puts together a little somethin’ just for you. You got just that kind of friend, and I’m gonna show you what we got in mind.” Martin unpacks a suitcase with a trid projector.

Rat figures this is going to end in some outrageous price tag. On the other hand, a little gun fashion show is better than watching these so called “reality trids” of people trying to survive in prison or fend off rabid parasharks with tasers or whatever.

Martin whistles while he sets up. “Feast your eyes on….” He dramatically flips the switch of the portable trid, projecting the image of a small, sleek looking handgun into the air of the room. “…the Noisy Cricket!”

“The Noisy Cricket? What kind of stupid name is that?” says Rat.

“Ah-ah-ah… you doubt, but check out the specs on this baby. You’re gonna love her. You’re gonna cradle her lovingly when you go to bed each night, and then you’re gonna put a pillow over her and sleep better than ever before. First, note that she shoots .45 FMJ with just as much power as yer basic pistol-next-door.” Speed and penetration statistics leap into the air. Rat understands a little of it, enough to know that this gun is in the same class as his Remington or Savalette. “However, note that she is also the size of a hold-out!” As Martin says that, he calls up an overlay image of an Ares Predator for comparison – this gun is almost half the size of that.

“I gotcha. So she just disappears into the ole’ concealable holster,” comments Rat from his bed.

“Exactly. More than that, she can still pack 10 rounds to the clip, 2 more than your Remington, and carry flechette loads if you want. Plus, the grip is dwarf-scale, the hardware is internal smartlink-2 to take advantage of your new ‘ware, and she’s made with the latest composites. This lady is literally half the weight of most pistols in her class.”

Wow. Rat has to admit to himself that while the Remington was the weight he expects in a big pistol, it was a tad large. The Savalette was a downright lead weight in his pocket. “How’s she compare to my old Streetline?” Rat remembers that gun is light as a feather.

“Well…. She’s not quite that light, but on par with an L36,” says Martin, referencing the popular Colt light pistol model. Rat is familiar with that and nods. Martin continues. “She’s completely barrel and top mount compliant, and my boy is willing to grip-up a personalized balance for you to keep her on task when the action is hot.”

“Wow,” says Rat out loud. It’s an impressive package.

“Better than that, she’s yours alone. This is a completely custom job, tailored to your lifestyle. This is the way the big boys play, when that extra little edge could be the difference between life and death.”

Rat nods enthusiastically, and then winces at the pain. “So how much?” The pain in his arm and head reminds him of the likely wallet pain.

“Oh, let’s not talk about that yet. First, I want to show you your new sniper piece.” Martin fiddles with the trid projector. “Meet Ma Bell, for when you want to reach out and touch someone.” An image of a long, slender rifle appears. “Ma Bell is the matron of the Noisy Cricket. Where Cricket is good for a night out on the town and some fun in the bedroom, Ma Bell gets business done and knows how to make her presence known. The children listen when Ma Bell speaks. She uses your standard hunter-loads, in the same tradition as the Remington 750, but with some serious advantages. First of all, we’ve set the trigger assembly back to fit your arm length comfortably. Secondly, we’ve extended the barrel out so you can squeeze an extra 10% range out of her. Thirdly, to keep it balanced and comfortable, we’ve used the same high-end material as in Cricket, to shave Ma Bell’s weight down to close to your Savalette – way lighter than most heavy rifles. My boy is more than willing to personal-grip this one too, and he found a way to integrate the Smartlink-II hardware for half the price of what it would cost you to bolt it on to the outside, plus the profile stays slim.”

Rat is impressed. Ma Bell is as long as he is tall, so there’s no concealing her, but she does have a sleek line with minimal distractions. The light-weight is a major bonus to him too – he had already noticed that carrying a big rifle and a pistol, along with armor, bullets, and the rest of his kit, was weighing him down. Ma Bell looks like an internal top-down load, unlike the Steyr clip, but he expected that. Most sport rifles work that way.

“Well, now can we talk price?”

“Sure, buddy. I just wanted you to understand the quality we got goin’ on here. Now, before we get all in this, I just want to brace you, ‘cause quality is, you know, demands some yen. The external smartlink II I’ve sold before for almost two-grand – just for the circuits. Now, I’m cuttin’ you some slack here, ‘cause I think I see good things in your future and I want in on that. Total, for Cricket and Ma Bell, we’re looking at around 5150 nuyen.”

Rat snorts orange juice out of his noise. “Holy drek!” he shouts, snot and juice dribbling down his chin. Forgetting his manners for a moment, he wipes his face on the blankets. “Five-fraggin’-thousand?”

“I know, I know. Like I said, the smartlink II is steppin’ up to it. That drek alone is almost four thousand of it. The rest is just some bent metal. This is actually close to cost for me.”

“Wow. I guess I just never realized that it’d, like, not just the ‘ware cost, but all this crazy drek in the pieces too.”

“Oh, but it’s worth it, boy-o,” says Martin. “That’s what the sammies say. And I see you headin’ that way. These are the big leagues, buddy. Right place, right time, you get right rich and this small investment is just a drop in the bucket. They got billionaires out there, and the first step is thinkin’ like one. You think they worry about this drek?”

“No….” says Rat trailing off.

“Of course not! It’s only the finest for them.”

“Still, dude, what about, like, I dunno, 4500 nuyen for the batch. I mean, 10% off. This is great stuff, I love it, it’s just, you know, wow.” Rat looks at Martin, trying to give him the hard street-op look.

“Aw, gee, buddy, I’m sorry. I just can’t go there. Tell you what – what are we, pretty close here – let’s split the difference. 4750.”

Rat rolls his eyes, but more for dramatic effect. He’s already sold now – he’s just negotiating for position and pride. “4700.”

“No can do, but I’ll split the difference with you one last time. That’s 4725.”

“Can we do 4719?” asks Rat. “I just like 19. It’s my lucky number.”

Martin smiles. “Pushin’ your luck as usual, but yeah, sure, we can do that. I’m not one to break a deal over a soy-burger. 4719, sold.”

Rat smiles and nods. Damn, personalized super-weapons. I am the bomb. “So, how close to that can we come on trade-in?”

“Huh?” says Martin. “Oh, yeah, the other stuff. You got like a Savalette, a Steyr carbine, and a Remington right?”

“Yeah. And I’m keeping that funky ammo I showed you last week.”

“Oh, yeah, I looked that drek up. Dude, incendiary rounds. Those things light drek on fire.”

“No drek?” Rat raises an eyebrow.

“No drek. So careful with ‘em, but yeah, them’s sweet load. Them’s no-can-get load, restricted military non-Geneva and all.”

“Nice!” Rat smiles again. He’s got 24 shots of those fire-starters, and being in possession of something rare and exotic makes him feel more powerful and hard-core. “Hey, can you engineer the Cricket so it’s Savalette-clip compatible?”

“For a few extra, sure.”

“Nah, forget it. Just go generic.”

“So….” says Martin. “I can give you 220 nuyen for those three guns, and I’ll throw in a spare clip for the Cricket if you hand over the Savalette and Steyr clips.”

“220? Geez, man…. Didn’t I like pay you more than that for the Remington, like a couple of months ago?”

“Well, a little, but I got expenses, and ‘sides, the Steyr probably isn’t worth anything.”

“Oh, well, cool, then I guess I’ll just keep it,” says Rat.

“Well, no, I mean, it’s not worth actually nothing. I’m just sayin’.”

“Oh, uh-huh. Yeah, well, me too. I mean, I paid like 300 for the Remington, and it’s hardly used, an’ the Savalette’s gotta be worth that, so give me 600 and you can have the Steyr for your expenses. I keep the tracers in it.”

“Rat, you know it don’t work that way. I can give you 350.”

“The hell it don’t work that way. I’m about to give you 4719, so you’re not even talkin’ real money here,” responds Rat. “I appreciate you brokerin’ the whole special weapons thing, I do, but I expect at least double what you just said.”

“Rat, double would be more than you just asked me for. I just offered you 350, and double that is 700, but you just asked for 600, so you’re just being pouty.”

“No I’m not!” says Rat, pouting. “Fine, then…. Just give me double your original offer.”

“440? Fine. 440. We’re good then.”

“Yeah,” says Rat smiling. He’s more than good. Just gotta work it, ‘cause every day is Saturday. That’s what they say.

“Okay, so, 4719 minus 440 is 4279. You good with that?”

JIMMY VIEW beginning

Jimmy sneaks back into his parents' place with cotton stuffed up his nose and a smile on his face. Sure, that guy at Blackout's dojo hit him a little too hard, but still, it was a fun night. He gets a kick (literally) out of just being around so many good fighters, even if he himself still stucks. Eventually, I'll get good. That's how it works. In the meanwhile, he's realized that if you already look beat up when you're walking through the Barrens, less people seem interested in beating you up. I guess that's like how it's more fun to pee on clean snow. No fun to mess up what's already messed up. It never occurred to him before to use "already been beat up" as a defense mechanism.

He slides into his room without his parents seeing him. He wonders if he should tell them he’s searching for a place, or just disappear. He figures he might as well tell ‘em. He’s already put in an order on HackerHouse for a new top-of-the-line PC with 1000 Mp of memory, an actual Hot ASIST cyberdeck, a microtronics kit, and a decent chip burner from Novatech. He’ll have everything he needs to build his own decks from scratch and code the whole package, and he’ll have a real deck to work with and upgrade. It’s like a dream come true. I got the skillz… now I got the goods. It’s just a matter of time from here. He’s been holding off on giving the ship-order to HH until he gets the new address. No need to let mom sell my deck for BTLs.

Tonight’s the night Jimmy has set aside to track down what he can on the mysterious elven woman from the junkyard. He’s stocked up on Mountain Dew II: New and Dewproved. He’s ready to deck all night – with appropriate itch breaks. It’s disruptive to his searches that he has to logout every few minutes, but then he’s gotta drink MD2:NAD sometime. It’s a routine he’s adjusted to, as long as nobody watches.

He starts off with the usual places – search engines to news articles and footage, websites, that kind of thing. They head the name “Arleesh”, but of course that won’t be her real name. He also runs a search of public graphics through the public interface of the face-pattern recognition database to see if anyone looking like the stills from his video has been in the news lately.

Within a few hours, he’s mined a big pile of junk, but as he sifts through it, none of it really looks like her. There are a couple of newscasters that look vaguely like her, but without the hard eyes and physique. He is a little surprised to discover that the name “Arleesh” is used by a great dragon, but he’s guessing that this runner chica just stole the name. He’s guessing his crew is not yet outwitting great dragons who just happen to slum around junkyards with a mad on for old oriental men.

He’s not too surprised that this line of inquiry runs dry. Shadowrunners are not exactly public figure. But, you have to check. Next stop is Shadowland and the information lounge. He realizes this is gonna cost a little cred, but luckily he’s got a little to slide around. The lounge has a 3-drink minimum and 10-nuyen drinks, but the drinks are digital (with or without drunken simulator code). It’s just a nuyen-generation mechanism for the info-barons that spend time here. Jimmy has an inferiority complex about being a real decker, but at least on Shadowland, he knows how to fake it and stay out of trouble. DJ Slyce ambles into the virtual bar with aplomb and tries to act that his de-rez icon is because he’s too cool and too good to waste time on cosmetic issues. Of course, the opposite is actually true – Sophie is cranking full cycle to provide what special effects she can.

Turns out, Arleesh wasn’t that careful. It’s only a few minutes in the lounge before he gets a hit on someone who’s heard about her, and they’re willing to spill the basics for a couple of sim-whiskeys.

“Yeah, Arleesh the-non-dragon is a mage-runner,” says the inebriated emu. “Her crew mostly does B&E, ya dig?”

“I dig,” nods DJ Slyce groovily.

“Yeah, so they work the Seattle area like half the running world. Nothin’ special, I hear, but they get it done, and maybe that’s just what’s it’s about in the end anyway. I don’t know why she picked the name Arleesh… guess she just liked the wyrm’s style. Dangerous if you ask me. I wouldn’t want to irritate something like that. But to each her own.”

Randomly, DJ Slyce wonders about the gender of the metahuman behind the inebriated emu. Then he remembers that it may not even be a metahuman behind the emu. It could be an actual emu, for all he knows. That’d be ironic, he thinks.

He drives the emu for more information, but it dries up after that. The drunken bird gives out an email address to contact Arleesh for work, and mentions that she posts to the boards sometimes. Awesome… thinks Jimmy. I’m all over it.

A few hours, a few dozen yen, and a few strange conversations later, Jimmy’s gathered up the basics on the woman they dealt with. She’s in her mid-30s and was relatively undisguised that night. She leads a crew of two, an ork and a human, both gun specialists. Jimmy knows that’s outdated information, but it hasn’t hit the street yet and he’s sure not going to share it. Her rep is solid – supposedly she deals straight and just tries to get the job done. She’s right in there with that batch of solid, semi-anonymous, disposable runners the corps so love.

He feels his blood sugar crash and realizes he’s been jacking in between MD2:NADs for several hours now, and it’s almost dawn. He calls it a night and plans to get back to it later.

Later ends up being a couple of days. He gets distracted practicing his coding and packet-dodging, and then spends some virtual-dojo time in an online brawling sim to warm up before hitting the real thing at Blackout’s place. He knows he could do it all online, but he’s enjoying some kind of power in the real thing. It feels good to feel himself, for once.

The next day he continues building his profile of Arleesh, sniffing around the info-lounge and cruising the Shadowland posts. She logs in as Arleesh, it turns out, so he finds her quickly enough. She is apparently completely not worried about the dragon taking offense at the identity theft. Her posts are pretty boring – inquiries into spells and formulae, tactical discussions on spirit-killing and creative uses for spirits, that sort of thing. Most of it goes right over Jimmy’s head, not being a magical specialist. She seems pretty practical and to-the-point in her writings.

On a pretense, asking for stuff he knows she’s interested in, he gets someone to give him her cellphone number. He thinks about spamming her with annoying telemarketer calls, just because he can, but he resists. There might be more to do with her than just annoy her. He finds some other miscellaneous stuff that can be gleaned from posts and comments here and there: she has a sister, her menstrual cycle is very regular, she had some money problems last year she got cleared up, she worries sometimes about controlling “Andy”, apparently one of her crew. The other one seems to be named David, and he posts to Shadowland too sometimes. Jimmy hoards all that data away, never sure what will be useful later.

At the end of the second day of cyber-stalking, he wonders if that’s enough or if she should keep digging. He could buy a short-term pass to the MagickNet section of Shadowland and some of the other member’s clubs, now that he knows which ones she frequents. He could also pay some of the online expert-system bots to parse way more data for patterns and return it to him. He mulls it over that night, and then decides to give it a go after a DJ gig he has the next day to start pulling together rent money for a new place. After all, can’t have too much data, and he’s only down 70 nuyen so far.

On the third day, he logs in to MagickNet with his temp pass for 100 nuyen more and starts browsing the system. He immediately discovers that Arlessh is an outstanding theorist and mana-artist. She contributes frequently to theoretical conversations on magic in this age and the previous ages, including dragon-magic. The conversation immediately goes over his head in mage-technical data, but he records it all. She apparently practices magic mainly involving mind control and combat enhancements. He starts to get the idea that his team was very, very lucky. Geez, at one point I had this chica in my sites. She probably had some anti-bullet mojo anyway. Good thing I kept it at a bluff. He then feels a sense of pride that he pulled one over on somebody of this stature.

He gradually puts together a personality profile on her. She really likes people, and seems to have social inclinations. At the same time, she’s very intellectual about death, freedom, and personal issues. She’ll talk about anything with a clinical air, including issues of personality or anatomy that most people avoid. She seems to enjoy a good debate more than anything. He starts to understand why she seemed to work to prevent things from going violent at the meet.

He hits paydata when he finds some inquires from Arleesh about an object she’s recently come into contact with. Her posts mention that a “deal gone bad” left her with a magical artifact of unknown power and origin. There is a picture of a statue of some kind of pink lizard-like figure crouched down and holding a bright blue sphere. She says it appears to be made of stone and possess power focus qualities, but in an unusual way that Jimmy fails to understand. He gleans from his reading that she’s able to use it without “bonding” it, and that this is very rare. The other board posters respond with a mixture of curiosity and warnings. Could this be the item that she was hired to retrieve for Mr. Sowei? wonders Jimmy. The timing fits.

He takes another break for yet another DJ gig, and doesn’t get back to his research for a few more days. He finds confirmation in a “fallen heroes” chat room for downed runners that she lost one of her crew, Andy, and that David the ork survived. It sounds like her and David have gone into hiding while they wait for the heat to blow over. It amuses Jimmy to think that his team forced runners like this into hiding. If only they knew what they weren’t really up against.

He’s able to dig up some further employment history. It seems they’ve worked for the Triads before here and there, and developed some good relationships based on Arleesh’s fluency in Chinese. She’s worried about backlash from the Triad community on this job, even though it seems Mr. Sowei is a little bit of an outcast among them. She apparently has a couple of friends in the runner community in Seattle, who she’s using for safehouses and medical care for David.

With a little bit of cross-referencing, Jimmy gets lucky. He’s able to pick up a reference for where she was at a certain lunchtime, based on her witnessing a fire that broke out in Tacoma, the time of day, and the vantage points that would have allowed her to see that. Based on that, he’s able to buy the credstick records for the café that lunch hour from one of the script kiddies who routinely cracks local businesses for their everyday records. It doesn’t cost much, and then it’s simply a matter of narrowing down her food preferences by observing her icon in the Shadowland virtual restaurant. He doesn’t bother to approach her yet, but at the end of the 5th day of sporadic research and 300 nuyen of bribes and passes, he has a real prize: her real name is Loraine Singletary.

RAT VIEW final for real

Rat nods to Martin. "I think we good. Oh, a coupla little things... I'd like a silencer for Ma Bell, just the screw-on kind, and I'll need to round out the ammo for her. I don't want to use tracers from the other gun for sniping."

"Silencer, yeah, I just happen to have one in my briefcase here. I'll add it to your order. And as for bullets, whaddya need?"

"Let's say like 80, just so I have a good stash."

"Check." Martin calculates. "5500 brings it all together."

Rat is beyond negotiating now. He's getting tired after all this conversation. "Sure, yeah, sounds about right." He slots his stick to Martin's portable reader.

"Anything else?" asks Martin.

"Not to after my next job... you done cleaned me out!" Rat grins, and Martin grins too.

"Well, that's my job, you know. Go steal some more drek so I can sell you some more stolen drek."

"Yeah, that's the way it is. Dude, I'm fallin' asleep here.... Let's catch up next week when the pieces are ready and do the trade."

"You got it, buddy, I'll see you then."

Martin heads out, Rat passes out, and everything is in place. Rat finally gets out of his hotel 3 weeks after checking in, which just a dull ache in the palm from the implant. His credstick balance is down to 9250 nuyen from that windfall from Blondie, but it's been worth it. Martin delivers the new pieces and picks up the old ones per their agreement, and Rat gets his first taste of the Smartlink sensation outside of the diagnostic equipment at the doctor's office.

"Go ahead, wave it around, just not at me," says Martin, referring to the Cricket that Rat has just picked up. It looks just like the sims showed, except shinier and more solid.

As soon as Rat gets within a centimeter or so of the handle, he feels this odd tugging sensation in his hand, like a magnetic field drawing him forward. When he actually grabs the pistol grip, the gun comes alive. His mind is filled with a rush of intense sensations. A small, unobtrusive crosshairs appears in his vision in a deep thermal red, along with an ammunition counter. Better than that, he feels a stream of energy flowing out the end of the barrel of the weapon, like an invisible water hose. Even without the cross hairs, he has a sense of where the "water" from that high-velocity invisible hose is falling -- as he directs it way off into the distance, he can easily visualize the ballistic arc, and he waves his hand back and forth, he can see how his movement affects the trajectories. He feels like he could shoot the balls off a gnat at 50 meters.

"It's.... it's.... beautiful...." He almost chokes up. "This is the most beautiful thing I've ever seen...."

Martin smiles, knowing he has another satisfied customer. "I'm so glad you went with smartlink-II, man. They say it's so much more intense. Never done it myself, but I've chipped the sims from the product-demo lab. Good ride. You'll be happy every time you pull the trigger. Actually, I hear they have chips for that too, for conditioning spec-ops types."

Rat's not even listening. He reluctantly holsters the Cricket, aware of the sumptuous way it slides into the concealable holster -- so comfortable and light! -- and picks up Ma Bell. The feeling is even more extended here. He aims out the window of the abandoned warehouse where he and Martin met to do the exchange and let Rat try out the new gear. The "water hose" effect extends way, way out until it's lost in the pervasive brown smog of the Barrens. Rat feels like he can touch everything that can be seen. "I am the master of my domain, all that I survey..." he whispers to himself, awe-struck at his own power. This was way worth any amount of money.... Now I just need a job!

JIMMY VIEW lifestyle

Jimmy looks up at the sign on the side of the decrepit, brick-face, two-story building. "Yui-Hao Dry Cleaning," he reads aloud. He looks up and down the block. There aren't too many people about on a Sunday night. Half of the store front here are boarded up or barred shut, now used as warehouses and ghost-knows-what. The other half of the stores are liquor stores, chip shops, and consumer services like hair braiding, a troll-specialty skin-care store, and this dry cleaning place.

Jimmy scans the front windows of the dry cleaning shop. It looks like it really is one -- glass windows reveal those automated racks that rotate around, covered in clothes. The racks are about half-covered, so these people do okay. Rent is probably cheap around here. A hand-written sign in the window reads, "Now specializing in blood stains!" Another sign, smaller and neatly typed, reads, "Have your clothes blessed for good luck by an authentic wu-jen! Cheap rates. Inquire inside." Nice, thinks Jimmy sarcastically.

No one is visible up front, but there is a doorbell, so he rings it. He shifts from foot to foot, and feels the weight of his ubiquitous backpack shift around behind him. From the dimly lit back area, barely visible behind all the clothes, a large human approaches. As he gets to the door, Jimmy sees a Chinese man in excellent physical shape, with scars on his face. His clothes are clean and freshly pressed. Incongruously, he smiles at Jimmy, bows politely, and opens the door. "For the room?" he inquires with an accent similar to Needle's accent.

"Hai!" replies Jimmy brightly. He knows the guy isn't Japanese, but Jimmy just accustomed to answering that way from the corporate culture his parents grew up in and passed on to him.

The man winces as if in pain, and then replies. "Ah, right this way."

Jimmy follows him in, glancing around. It doesn't even occur to him that this might be dangerous. He is led to a back room where two very old Chinese men are playing mahjong with actual tiles. Jimmy's never seen an actual physical version of the game before, but he recognizes the tiles from what's loaded on the p-secs these days. One of the men looks up, signals to his friend, and stands to greet Jimmy. As his friend nods and starts packing a pipe, the man extends his hand to Jimmy. "Welcome! For the room?"

"Yes," nods Jimmy.

"Welcome, welcome. Ah, let me show you the way."

The man shows him up to the one-bedroom flat upstairs. There is an entrance to the second floor from the dry-cleaning shop, through rickety stairs concealed in a closet, and at the top of the landing he sees there are stairs which go out the back of the building into a nearby alley. "Your entrance," says the man as they stand on the landing, gesturing toward the alley door.

He unlocks the door to the flat, revealing a simple 5 meter by 5 meter room with 3 adjoining rooms -- a tiny kitchen, a tinier bathroom, and a small bedroom. You wouldn't want to raise a family in it, but it looks great to Jimmy.

"Nice! How much?" he says.

"600 nuyen per month," replies the old man.

"Six-hundred?!" answers Jimmy, incredulous. "In this 'hood?"

"Ah, there are many benefits here!"

"Like what?"

"Premium Matrix, security guard downstairs from local family friends, and free dry cleaning."

"Whoa, can you repeat that first one again?" asks Jimmy, suddenly interested.

"Free dry cleaning!"

"No, no, the first one, I don't care about the dry cleaning. About the Matrix."

"Premium Matrix?"

"Yeah, what's that all about?"

"Ah.... business use host downstairs for Matrix site and other business. Partitioned for renter use also. Big benefit. However, no hacking allowed!"

Jimmy suddenly realizes how old this guy must be. "They call it decking now, pops."

"No decking allowed!"

"Yeah, yeah, no problem. But you get, like, fat-pipe uplink and premium stream?"

"Premium Matrix," the man agrees, nodding.

Jimmy realizes he probably won't get more detail out of this guy, but he'd bet they have the more-or-less standard business package from the local MSP. Hell yeah! "And you said there's a guard? Like, all the time?"

"Yes, all the time guard. And maglocks. Good security from friends."

That's the second time he mentions friends, and the meaning starts to trickle in to Jimmy's brain. He almost opens his mouth to ask more, but then realizes what a breech of etiquette that would be. So I'd be like the quiet decker upstairs from some crazy Triad op fronting as a dry-clean business, and I get to sip their 'Trix pipe on the QT, plus squat their phys-sec, which keeps my IC-busters safe. "And you said free dry cleaning too?"

"During business hours," the man agrees.

This is starting to sound pretty good after all. "What about utilities? Water, power?"

"Incruded."

"Sold," says Jimmy. Free at last! His heart skips. "I got yer first month right here," he says, holding out his credstick.

"Ah, so happy to do business with you." The man bows, and they proceed downstairs to do the cred transfer and give Jimmy a swipe-card for the back door of the building.

Now I just gotta round up some milk crates and sneak my bed out my bedroom, and we're run-time!

JIMMY VIEW final

Jimmy is a little concern when he turns into his alley only to see an armored GMC Bulldog parked there. Then he reads the lettering on the side. "Bond Arms Couriers" is the name of the shipping company carrying his HackerHouse gear. He smiles and skips to the driver's side door, waving at where the driver probably is behind the bulletproof tinted glass.

The door opens and a 220 cm ork slides out, with a Ruger Super Warhawk on his hip and a heavy armored jacket over his brown uniform. A passenger sits behind him with a shotgun, but Jimmy see much of him.

"You DJ Slice?" says the ork with a grunt.

"Yeah," says Jimmy.

"Sign here." The ork thrusts a digital pad to him, and Jimmy scrawls an intentionally illegible signature symbol across it. "Where you want it?" says the ork.

"Upstairs. On the landing is fine."

The ork touches his ear. "Cert-17, code 12." Jimmy hears a squawking sound back, but can't make out any words. The ork shuts the Bulldog door and works around to the back, glancing down the alley and up to the rooftops.

These guys take delivery seriously! thinks Jimmy.

The ork slides open the back door to reveal two more mercenaries in the back, guarding their shipments. There are several boxes for DJSlyce. One by one, the ork carries them up the back stairs while Jimmy holds the door, and minutes later, the Bulldog is pulling out, leaving Jimmy standing with his loot.

Hours later, he's forgotten to eat, drink, or go to the bathroom. He's positioned his new tabletop PC, configured it just the way he likes, and networked it to the Blue-4 host on the backup (with appropriate firewall software and a hardware quick-discon). He's booted the new Allegiance Sigma and run all the diagnostics. He's spread his microtronics kit components all across the floor and already half-stripped Sophie for the Icon, Bod and Sensor chips he'll need for the Allegiance. Sophie is just a straight terminal now, although a nice one. He's even unpacked the Novatech Burner and started fooling with the settings. I got it all, and a 3300 nuyen credit left on HackerHouse.

Over the course of the next couple of weeks, he digs in to programming whenever he's not at a club. His parents barely even noticed that he moved out, although his mom asked him to visit sometimes. I guess they half-expected it.

Jimmy always felt like he was a good programmer, but punching out code on Sophie was so slow and awkward that he could never really cut loose. This time, he decides to do it right, now that he has the good hardware to back it up. He sits down to write his first ever program plan, for his most ambitious program yet -- rating 2 Validate software to help him crack password lists and plant accounts. It only takes him 8 hours to crank through the plan. Emboldened by that, he cranks out the Validate software in HoloLISP in just 4 days of part-time coding.

HoloLISP is sort of the default for coding languages. He toys with the idea of writing it in Oblong (hard to code, but very robust) or Renraku Teng (quick to program, but buggy). In the end, he figured HoloLISP was a good place to start feeling out his preferences.

From there, he gets on upgrading his old Deception and Cloak software. The Deception planning goes well enough, although not as tight as his inspiration for Validate. The Cloak planning sort of flops. He scratches around at ideas for a couple of days and then decides to just move on and code on the fly like he did the first version.

The coding itself goes fast -- way faster than he expected. He takes a couple of days off other projects to focus, and gets Cloak upgraded in a day. Deception takes even less time, and he's left with time over that day to fit his Bod, Sensor, and Icon chips into the Allegiance. Man, I should really think about cooking up some Masking for this puppy sometime... let alone Evasion.

He's not really in the mood to write persona-ware right now, though. He more inspired by an idea he's had for years but never had the memory to attempt -- coding up his own programming suite. Since the utility coding went so fast, he figures he may as well try this out.

He tries to plan the programming suite out, but after several days of looking up programming suite theory, thinking about it, and frustrating himself trying to visualize, he decides to just rip into it. He leaps into the HoloLISP coding environment and starts through icons together -- grabbing a little low-end predictive algorithm here, coding up his own custom grabbag memory structures there, and defines a few holographic classes along lines he knows are needed for IC-response routines and legitimacy-spoofing. The days fly by as he builds, tears down, and re-builds. In truth, he's not shooting for anything too aggressive, compared to his skill and the memory he has to play with, and he makes progress quickly just on intuition and decking experience. 17 days after he starts, he finds himself the proud owner of a Rating 3 Programming Suite, saving himself many thousands of nuyen at HackerHouse. Not bad! I can really sling the code! he thinks to himself. I need a more extensive project list now... with this suite I'll be twice as fast!

April 19th, 2064

Rat is almost skipping as he cruises into Martin's shop. "Needles, dude, we gotta talk!"

Needles looks up from the armored vest he was wiping down with alcohol, trying to remove this strange greenish-yellow stain from it that smells like honey mixed with gasoline. "One moment," he says. He carefully wraps up his current pass while Rat impatiently hops from one foot to the other. Martin is not evident.

"Dude," says Rat conspiratorially, leaning in. "We got a job."

"Oh really?" says Needles with interest. "From who?" He's heard Rat think they have a job on a couple of previous occassions now.

"Oh, some clan from your 'hood. The Wu-Tangs or Wu-Shus or something. You know them?"

"Ah...." Needles reflects on the fact that "wu" in Chinese is preposterously common. "Was it the Wu-Tai?"

"No, not that."

"The Wu-wei?"

"No, no, don' think so."

"The Wu-lung?"

"Nope. Come on, how many Wus can there be? Wu wu!" Rat makes little train engine noises and pantomimes pulling an invisible train whistle string. Of course, he has no idea that he's pantomiming a 19th century train engineering motion. He just knows that when you say "Woo woo" like that you pull down on some invisible thing in the air next to your shoulder. That's what you do.

"Too many Wu," says Needles, shaking his head.

"Yeah, I'm feeling all Wu-zy. Heh. Get it?"

"Yes."

"'Kay. So, we're gonna meet 'em tonight at their gaming shop."

"Gaming shop? Oh, dangerous...." says Needles.

"Whaddya mean? It's just a buncha kids havin' a good time."

"Rat, it's not that kind of gaming. To Chinese people, gaming shop means gambling. Sometimes dangerous gambling."

"Dangerous gambling?" echoes Rat. "Count me in!"

"Some people bet their organs."

"They what?!" startles Rat. "Ew! Count me out!"

"The house pays 15,000 nuyen on the liver roulette, and you can grow a new one, they say. If you get enough good food."

"Really?" Rat contemplates that for a minute. "No, no, not going there. Well, look, we're not there to gamble the family jewels away. We're there for biz. We talk, we walk, we get paid. It's like that."

Needles nods. "Do you want me to call the team?"

"Yes! Of course! I was just about to do that myself, but seein' as how you offered an' all, I'll let you do it." They both know that Rat would only embarrass himself with a phone and probably call Lone Star instead of Jimmy and Blackout.

"Do you want to go find Web?" asks Needles.

"Yeah.... I can do that. I'll go track him down. So, 7 pm tonight at the Wu-something gaming-shop. It's on 89th, 'bout half a klick past the EZGlide Lubricant Mart."

"Alright. Thank you, Rat. Sounds exciting!"

Rat nods, looks around, fidgets with a couple of items on the shelf without even processing what they are, and then sets them down and leaves to find Web. Needles picks up the phone and starts calling Blackout and Jimmy at his new place. Sound be very interesting. I wonder if it's Triads again?

Rat saunters around back. looking for Web. "Hmmm... not too many places the kid hangs out in. If he's not back in that disgusting warehouse working, he should either be in that alley or in that park." His first choice seems correct, as he finds Web intently staring at the corpse of a young ork.

"Hey yo, Web-ster, man, stop doodling on the dead guys a sec. I got some biz to talk about." As Web looks up, Rat winces at the skepticism on his face. "Oh come on, now, this time it's for real. Got a time and a place this time. All we gotta do is show up ready to talk biz. Uh, can we talk someplace where there ain't dead naked people around?" Rat fidgets as Web fussily finishes making a few "X" marks on the ork, then walks out with him.

Rat explains the deal to him. "...So why don't ya meet me around that park you hang out at, the bench by the fountain, and we can all meet the others at the place; Needles is givin' them the call. I suppose ya want somethin' to eat again. C'mon, I'll get ya one of those Soyberry Sour Bars ya like so much." Rat scowls at the looming vending machine before meticulously selecting his purchase. He then squacks as it eats 50 Nuyen instead of the 0.50 he was trying to enter, and starts shooting out a variety of food items. Web happily grabs an armfull before a small mob of squatters descends to abscond with the rest of it.

Rat grumbles as he goes off to prepare for the meet. He reluctantly uses his shower before putting on his armor clothing and concealing his gun and a spare clip of ammo. He also takes a can of pepper punch. It's good to have something that can take care of trouble, but isn't lethal. Plus, if they search him for weapons, maybe they will take the pepper punch and assume that's all there is. Some hair goop to slick back his hair, all cool-looking, some manly cologne (he loves his 'Ode de Lumberjack'), and the pair of silvery mirrorshades that he got to replace the ones cravenly stolen by those bat-pidgeon thingies on that big run. His good mood returns as he checks out his badass self in the cracked mirror. Oh yeah, the Rat is ready to roll!

Web slowly saunters back to his alley, methodically eating everything Rat bought for him, although the dwarf seems less and less happy about buying food. Not outwardly — the dwarf has seemingly gone to great lengths to appear more pleasant. Web wonders if he should try harder as well. He almost has the smile down now, after weeks of practicing in front of the mirror, and he can talk quite efficiently with the corpses at work. But when someone like Rat comes along it never seems like he gets the opportunity to talk. Once Web has figured out what he wants to say, the subject has changed three times over.

All these unnecessary words people use. Inefficient.

When he reaches his ally, he sits down for awhile, sharing his food with the rats to keep them away from the restaurant's kitchen - at least momentarily. He checks the hiding places where he keeps the parts of his medicine lodge, moving things around for the second time today. Then he gathers his meagre possessions and sets off down the alley, headed for the park.

"Hello," he says as his little spider scout comes crawling down the side of he building. He tries his smile at it, and the spirit watches indifferently with it's eight little eyes. "Come along now, there's a meeting."

And so Web starts off across the streets, a little less filthy and with nicer clothes then he had a few weeks ago, leaning on his staff and mumbling — sometimes to himself, and sometimes to the little spider scurrying along after him on the astral.

I hope I get to the park early enough to scope it out a few times. Too many open spaces...

Contacting Jimmy and Blackout is easy enough for Needles. Blackout answers his wrist-phone and agrees to the meet with his characteristic shrug. Jimmy is always online and fires back a multimedia icon which grins and nods its head vigorously. They agree to the meet and time, packing up their usual kits of gear. Needles holsters his relatively new Hammerli 610S, for its first potential field trial.

Rat picks up Web at the park, and then hires a taxi to run them over to the address in question, arriving at 6:55 pm. Rat pays the cabbie while Web stares vacantly off into the distance, and then they climb out onto the curb. "Better wait for the rest of the crew before goin' in... never know what's up down in them places." Rat gestures to the dark stairwell that leads underground. The only way it reveals its address is by lack of address -- 512 is mysteriously missing between 514 and 510, and this forbidding literal entrance to the underworld is the only thing in its place. A small sign covered in handwritten Chinese characters is tacked to the wall. "Guess that says 'illegal organ gambling room' or something," comments Rat.

Needles arrives a few minutes later. "Hey, Rat, what's happening?" he asks, an smile crossing his face. Inside, he is nervous, but he works to project an upbeat fascade. He nods to Web as well, adding, "You're looking well, too, Web."

As they wait, Needles translates the sign on the wall for Rat and Needles.

"Heavenly Door, members only, no waiting, no guests," reads Needles. "Heavenly Door must be the name of the club."

"Guess that makes this the stairway to heaven, eh?" says Rat, looking down the dirty steps. "Hey, wait a minute, that reminds me of Heaven's Gate. I remember something about them and organs."

"Sure, it could say that," says Needles.

"What do you mean 'could say'? What does it say?" asks Rat.

"Something about heaven and doors or gates. Chinese is very different. Any of those meanings is possibly true."

"Wait, wait, Heaven's Gate is that other group -- they call 'em the original comet cult. They claim all the recent comet cults are posers, just 'cause they were around for the last Halley's comet pass. That just makes 'em more wrong in my book. But what was the name of that Chinese group....?" Rat scratches his head. "Oh, yeah, Stargate I think. Could ya call those funny symbols Stargate?"

"Sure, Stargate works too," replies Needles.

"Now, Stargate, that would make sense. They're an organ smuggler Triad group I heard about. They bless you before they take your parts, and sometimes they even heal you afterward. They were some radical-action offshoot of that repressed Falun Gong movement."

Needles starts. "Wow, Rat, I didn't expect you to know anything about China or Chinese people."

"Yeah, well, they had a whole war last year with the Tanamous, and it was organ-hunters everywhere. We were all steppin' lightly here in Redmond. If it's not the bugs, it's the ghouls, and if it's not the ghouls, it's the crazy wu-jen. Everyone wants a piece of you. These guys were kinda better than the other groups, though, 'cause they only took 'lucky' organs, whatever that means. They had a whole math thing goin' on to figure out which organs were the best ones to use for whatever they use 'em for."

Needles nods and wonders if that's some kind of geomancy combined with organ-transplantation or even cybermancy. He could almost imagine it... almost. "That's.... very unusual," he finally says.

"Yeah," says Rat. That's the conversation killer, and the team resumes staring off into the distance, waiting for Blackout and Jimmy to arrive.