The woman just smiles at him as Rat grins and scampers to the fridge. He roots past the imported German stuff and grabs a Foster's oil can. "Aw yeah! 20 ounces of frosty goodness!" He's heard that Foster's these days is canned by rabid meta-roos from Brisbane, but he's not much of an roo-rights activist.

The beer is everything Rat expected -- cold and beerlike. "Mmmmmmm...." he mumbles as he gulps it down. "I feel better already!" He drops onto one of the oversized plush couches, gazes at the stunning elf lady, and then lets his eyes wander up to one of the trid screens showing an Urban Brawl match in the old Atlanta dome, the one with all the squatters living in it. Looks like some kind of exhibition game where they didn't bother to tell the squatters first. "Second-stingers..." he mumbles to himself. He knows they'd never risk first-rate talent in an unsecured exhibition game.

Blackout's eyes dart around the room eagerly, and he is overwhelmed. He isn't usually an alcohol man, but hey, what can you do? He grabs the nearest cold beverage and downs it without even gazing at the label.

Blackout and Rat drop onto a comfy couch and look around the room. The elf lady says, "My name is Ilian. Welcome to the lounge. Please let me know if I can do anything to make you more comfortable."

Kayla and Lou arrive at the door frame and peer inward. Lou can't help but raise an eyebrow at the whole affair, but Kayla staggers past him to the nearest couch. "Ugh," she comments, nodding her head vaguely at the woman and laying down with a big sigh. She doesn't seem to care where she is -- that couch is calling her name.

Lou had a pithy comment on the tip of his tongue, but he just can't remember it now...

The scene inside the room hit him and he lost whatever it was he was about to say. he takes two steps in the room and looks around. when he's finished looking everything over, he picks up where he left off and everything in the room gets a second study. something is definitely wrong here, but for once, he thinks he'll just go with it, because this time he just doesn't want to know about the 20 foot tall behemoth elemental standing right behind him, or that the couch is really some manifest spirit out to eat them all. he plops on the overstuffed couch along with the rest of the crew, closes his eyes a moment and rubs his temples. he didn't realize just how tired he was until he saw the couch. His throat starts feeling like sandpaper again after seeing the others drinking, but for now he's just content to sit and doesn't bother asking or getting up for anything.

The room goes quiet except for the Urban Brawl match on the overhead trid and Kayla's quiet snoring. Ilian simply smiles pleasantly at the team from her couch.

Rat leans back comfortably, idly scratching himself as he watches the game. After his first beer, he grabs another one from the fridge, getting some munchies as well this time. He considers asking the friendly elf lady if she knows where the geezer is, but decides to let the kid (Kayla) sleep a bit more before he brings up biz again. At least until the game's over, he decides. Taking a big swallow, he lets out a loud burp, then grins at Ilian. "Man, that was a good one. That had to have impressed her." thinks Rat.

Blackout grabs the beer closest to his hand, and sits cross legged on the floor, resting his back against the nearest chair, then turns to the television, becoming engrossed in the urban brawl match.

The urban brawl games turns out to be better than Blackout expected. "Ooh!" he shouts, as one of the players get tackled from behind and slammed into a brick wall. "Daaa-aamn. I woulda sei-nage'd that guy..."

When Rat lets out his belch, Ilian raises an eyebrow at him. "I presume you are here to see the Master. Do you have an appointment, or should I inform him of the nature of your business?" she asks politely.

Kayla snorts in her sleep. She appears to be dreaming of eating, smacking her lips and chomping in her sleep.

"Whoa. Did ya call that old guy "master"? Damn. And I gotta pay for that kinda stuff." A vision of Ilian in "slave girl" garb suddenly pops into his head, but Rat tries to focus. "Um, anyway, yeah, we need to see the dude. Don't worry, we ain't here ta hurt him or nothin', we're just messengers. We gotta talk to him face to face, though - in person-like. Is he around?"

Ilian smiles at Rat's comments and nods her head slightly. "He is here. I will let him know you are waiting to deliver your message. One moment." She stands up from the couch, the very picture of grace in motion.

She must be some kinda dancer or somethin' thinks Rat. I bet she's real flexible... His mind starts to drift again.

She starts to walk toward the refrigerator of beer, and then stops to look back. "May I pass on a name to the Master? Who do you represent?" she asks Rat.

"Huh? Oh, yeah. Tell him Goldie sent us." Rat pauses, then leans forward conspiratorially. "But the thing is, I kinda suspect that might not be her real name. That's how it goes in the shadows - pro runners like us, we don't use our real names, and the shady folks who pay us, they use fake names a lot too. I mean, there were these two guys hirin' some legbreakers by the docks, and they both called themselves "Mr. Johnson", and they didn't look like they were related at all." He puffs out his chest a bit. "And I'm Rat... maybe he's heard of me, 'cept my rep is mostly local, in Seattle."

She nods her head seriously. "Yes, sir. Rat the runner, on behalf of Goldie, petitions the Master with a private message. I shall let him know." She turns to address the whole group, although most of them aren't paying any attention. "Please continue to make yourselves at home, so to speak."

With that, Ilian turns and walks toward the bar, behind it, and right through the wall. Rat sits up straight when she does that. "Wha..? Hey, did you guys see that? She just disappeared through the wall!"

Rat shakes his head slightly. "Damn, what are they putting in this beer?" He is jittery, with butterflies dancing in his stomach - this is the moment, when they can become heroes or zeroes. He turns to Blackout: "Hey, um, boss dude. When this Ehran dude comes out, remember... don't make with any threats. Last thing we need to do is give this old geezer a heart attack." He grins, an attempt at a cocky grin that winds up looking closer to constipated. "Just leave the schmoozin' to ol' Rat - I got an angle, and I think I know just how to snooker this old fart."

One of the beautiful dark wood panels slides to the side, revealing a hidden hallway. An old elf shuffles into the room in what looks to Rat's eyes like a bathrobe, although obviously a very expensive bathrobe. It has a design of trees which grow gemstones like fruit. The elf is also wearing fuzzy green slippers that look warm and cozy. It's the first time anyone in the team has ever seen an old-looking elf. I sorta that they didn't get old... thinks Rat.

"Gentlemen," says the elf without a trace of irony as he enters the room. "I'm a busy man, so please be straight to the point. Why is it you have come?"

Blackout and Rat exchange glances. Rat thinks, Well... I wonder... "You wanna 'splain?" he says to Blackout.

"Wah?" says Blackout, half watching the trid still. "Ah, go ahead..."

"Yeah... so like, uh..." says Rat. Damn, what was I gonna say? It was super slick too....

[OOC: Bump]

Blackout tries his best to conceal his purpose, but the gravity of the situation gets the better of him. Before he knows what he's done, the thumbprint reader falls from his hand, and clatters onto the ground. Overwhelmed by the social situation, he stutters something incoherent before bending to pick it up.

His cheeks turn bright red.

[OOC: As far as a screwed social roll goes, that was it.]

The imposing elf glares at Blackout and hisses something under his breath. Blackout's eyes flash, his embarrassment channeling into his usual defensive thought process. Is he making fun of me? he thinks.

Rat sees the eyes too. Aw drek... gotta move fast 'fore it hits... "Um, we as hired to get yer signature for this thing, um, I mean, a thumb print or something. Some kinda package. I dunno, yer elf wine of the week or somethin'. Anyhow, Blackout here's got the, uh, the thingie... "

Blackout stands back up with the "thingie". Deciding that punching the old man isn't yet his best move, he decides to take on a tone of authority. "Simply place your thumb right here," he says seriously, holding the print-reader out. When the elf makes no move at all, Blackout says, "Your thumb, sir, right here."

The elf continues to stand stone-statue-still, glaring at Rat and Blackout. He glances across the room briefly, gazing into the distance as if they were actually outside and he caught a whiff of something unpleasant. The air seems to get a little thicker and warmer in the room.

Rat doesn't wait for an escalation -- he decides to move his little plot along. "But, but... but she needs ya to sign it, or they can't... aw, dammit." He looks down at his shoes, dejected. These shoes are really crappy. he thinks to himself in an unrelated thought, and sighs heavily. "Is there a way outta here where we don't have'ta go 'round that freaky statue thingie? It almost beat up Kayla here, an' she's just a kid."

The elf looks over at Kayla again. He shakes his head -- pity? Disgust? Rat isn't sure. "Please inform Goldie that I shall be drawing up a bill for my time speaking to her messengers, as well as damage they caused breaking and entering into my vacation home and disturbing my pets. Ilian will show you out."

Another wood panel slides open on the far side of the room, revealing the beautiful woman Ilian in a stone hallway. "This way, gentlemen and lady, if you please."

"Yeah, and what if I don't please," mumbles Blackout under his breath. Then he shouts loudly, "Fine! I'm done with this stupid job anyway. I'll be sure to tell my employer about your rude treatment. I'm sure she'll take, uh, appropriate actions." He hopes he sounds threatening.

"Oh! Hey!" shouts Rat, distracting everyone from Blackout's comments. "Uh, I, um... found this, um, book. Uh, is it yers?" He pulls the magical book from the other room out of the front of his pants. "Oh, whoops, lemme just clean it off..." he comments, and uses the front of his greasy and fluid-stained shirt to wipe it down, revealing his pale and hairy belly at the same time.

The elf's face is strained with disgust at this performance. Rat suddenly lurches forward and shoves it into the elf's hands. "There ya go!"

"Gah!" the elf yells. He hot-potatos it back to Rat. "By all that's sacred! Keep the blessed thing! Take it out of here with the rest of your grubby possessions!"

Rat deftly snatches the book out of the air. "Gee! Thanks, mister!" He has a huge grin on his face. The elf is busy, making some kind of sigil over his own chest as a pale green glow washes over him. He shakes his head and shakes his hands as if flicking water off.

"We'd better go, kids," says Rat. He struts out of the room toward Ilian. Blackout, confused, follows along.

Lou rouses Kayla from her nap and escorts her to the hallway, supporting her as they go. She staggers confusedly along.

The hallway goes straight along for several dozen meters, and the wood panel swiftly closes behind them. It's stone on their side, and once it's closed, there is no sign a door was ever there. Not surprisingly, when they reach the far end of the hallway, it also has no sign of a door. Ilian waves her hands in the air and says, "Franost!" The terminating wall of the hallway slides down into the ground, revealing a familiar room.

It seems like the team was here months ago, instead of just the couple of hours that have actually passed. To the right is the big steel door with the maglock that Kayla shorted out, and directly across from them is the dumbwaiter that leads to the surface, disguised there as a stone bench. To the left, the stone staircase they came in on goes upward to the storm-celler-style doors that lead to the surface.

"Travel well, fair wanderers," bids Ilian. The team shuffles out into the lobby, Ilian waves, and the heavy stone wall that blocked the hallway slides back into place. There are left alone.

Rat still has a huge grin on his face. "Hey Blackout, run that thingy over the book, wouldja? Think we got a nice set of prints on it."

Blackout runs the fingerprint reader over the book. Sure enough, it beeps happily and the LED lights green. A little "OK" with and thumbs-up symbol lights up, a visual pun built into the reader design that no one in this exhausted group would realize. Somehow, corporate marketing just doesn't seem as hip when you've been getting your ass beaten all day.

"Well, I'll be damned," says Blackout. "We did it."

"I did it, actually," says Rat, beaming. "Oh yeah... hoosier daddy..." Rat never understood that phrase, but it seems appropriate with his little victory dance.

Too tired to kick his ass, Blackout just shrugs and starts walking down the mountain. Rat continues his dance. "RAT! Is in the house! Yeah yeah! Unh!"

Lou helps Kayla along behind Blackout, and they start down the trail. Rat keeps dancing until he realizes he's about to lose sight of them, and he really doesn't want to be alone out here. "Unh unh... yeah yeah yeah... It's the Rat-man... Oh! Hey guys! Wait up!"

It's takes almost an hour to walk down the mountain to Cougar again, especially with Kayla's staggering condition. Eventually, they stumble into Blue Mountain tours covered in trail dust, bat guano, and a bit of blood. Blondie's casual conversation with the helicopter pilot trails away as they come in, and Rat sees her count the team members with her eyes.

"What happened?" she says, all professional in demeanor, but her eyes linger on Kayla briefly as Lou helps her into a chair.

Blackout straightens his posture a bit. "Old dude had some pets. Some kinda crazy flying cats or something, and a magic statue, and... aw drek, you don't even wanna know."

"But we spanked that fat cat! Ka-ching!" says Rat, raising a fist-to-resist in the air and vaguely mimicing the metaphorical slot machine that he's never seen.

Spanked that fat cat? thinks Blondie. Ew. "So I take it that means you got the prints?"

"Yes, ma'am," says Blackout. "Signed, sealed, and delivered." He hands the print-reader over to her.

Blondie takes a look at it and nods. She smiles now. "Good job, guys! I am impressed." The team beams proudly. "Does Kayla need medical assistance?"

"I'm... alright..." Kayla slurs.

"She'll be okay," says Lou. "She got smacked around pretty good, and she's just out of energy. I think she needs the city life. She just seems not all here, out here."

Blondie nods. "Okay, no problem." She turns to the pilot. "Fire up the bird, and we'll be out in a moment."

"Will do," he says, draining the rest of his coffee. He grabs his jacket and heads out of the room.

"Feel free to clean up," says Blondie. "I'm going to upload the print data and get your sticks ready."

Sweet! thinks Rat, already dreaming of his next shopping trip.

Food.... thinks Lou. That 2000 will put us in the food for a good while...

Must sleep.... thinks Kayla, dreaming of the city lights.

Must get clean.... thinks Blackout, heading to the bathroom to wash up and refresh himself. He splashes water on his face, stretches like a cat, and then drops for a quick set of push-ups. He throws a few punches in the air and jumps around, getting his energy back up.

From outside the bathroom door, Rat hears the energetic movement. "Hey, geez, Blackie, could ya wait till you get home for that?"

"I'm just waking up!" responds Blackout from inside the bathroom. "And don't call me Blackie. That's a girl's name."

"Waking up eh? It always puts me to sleep. Oh, unless you only go halfway... that's an old trick."

"What?" says Blackout. Then he realizes what Rat is thinking of. "I... good god, man, I'm exercising." He opens the bathroom door.

"Exercising! Yeah, sure!" says Rat. "Gettin' your heart rate up! I know how it is. You didn't leave any exercise on the floor, didya?"

Blackout shakes his head and walks past Rat. "It's all yours, buddy."

"Hey, I'm just gonna pee!" insists Rat.

"Whatever!!" shouts Blackout, a bit too energetically. He shivers once and tries not to get any imagery.

Lou just sits with Kayla -- he's not feeling too bad, all things considered, and he wants to make sure she's okay. I think when we get back, I might take a little break from all this craziness.... spend some time with the candles. Maybe teach Cindy how to meditate.

When Rat is out of the bathroom and Blondie has finished up her transactions, the team heads out onto the helicopter pad. The blades are already spinning, which makes everyone duck reflexively -- even those that are barely over a meter tall. They hop on board, and the lift off is smooth and reassuring. Even Kayla brightens a little. Back to the city... she thinks.

"Alright, kids, kudos for a job well done. Especially in light of the pets and so forth."

"Yeah, the old dude was no match for my wit," says Rat. "You shoulda seen the look on his face when I touched him. Oh, he was disturbed."

"What?" says Blondie. "You mean, Ehran was actually there?"

"Yeah, he was there," says Blackout. "None too polite, either."

"Actually, he was alright," chimes in Lou. "He just didn't want to put up with us, but he tossed us out politely enough."

"But that's where I got clever!" says Rat. "I made him touch this book I stole from him and then rubbed on myself, and then he didn't want to touch it, so he was like Ew! and I was like Yeah! and so then we were like taking the book and stuff and the prints were on it. Oh, it was sweet!"

"Wow," says Blondie. "Amazing. You're lucky to be alive."

"Well, you know, the Rat just works it out!" says Rat.

Blackout rolls his eyes and gives Blondie a please-excuse-him look.

"You're a resourceful crew," she announces. "You've earned your pay, and I might call you again sometime or drop a message at the Rogue. You might have a future as shadowrunners." Might as well stroke 'em a little. If they'll go through all that for me with a smile, they're worth something. "Here are your credsticks, 2000 nuyen apiece as agreed." She hands the sticks over.

The team's eyes glaze over, dreaming of all they buy...

The helicopter floats over the border without incident, and soon enough, the dirty brown air of modern Seattle envelops the aircraft. It's raining, again, but the team isn't depressed. To the contrary, it feels comforting to get back home.

The most noticeable effect is on Kayla -- suddenly she's wide awake. She looks out the window, shakes her head, and bounces in her seat. "The city..." she mumbles to herself, staring down as if she'd been gone for a century. "I never wanna leave again..."

The helicopter sets down at Sea-Tac, and everyone bounces out on the tarmac. Blondie lingers inside, speaking with the pilot for a moment, and the team wanders into the indoor parking garage next to the terminal to wait for Blondie to bring the black van up.

"So, guys, ready for our next job?" grins Rat. "Dat was da Bomb!"

"Um, I dunno, Rat. I need to get back to my sister for a bit," says Lou. "She's hungry. I'm hungry too."

"Yeah," says Kayla chipping in. "It's time to eat! I'm getting me some good food and maybe a blanket from the Army." She means the Salvation Army, of course.

"Aw, come on guys!" says Rat. "Normally, I'd agrees with yas, but geez, we're just getting our career on! We got to make it happen now!"

"Hey, call me later maybe, 'kay?" says Lou. "I'm not saying I'm out... just, not now."

Rat makes a sort of woofing noise and crosses his arms grumpily. "What about you?" he says to Blackout.

"I'm still in," he replies. "Despite the way you smell, there's fightin' to be done." He smiles now. All tensions are forgiven. "We'll be the Dynamic Dwarven Duo."

"Yeah..." says Rat, stroking his greasy chin. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad... Blackout and I can handle ourselves. No need to get the kids hurt. Rat's good at justifying going along with whatever is happening anyway. That's a survival skill for him.

The black van pulls up and the doors slides open. "Hop in, kids. I'll ride you back to the Rogue and you can scatter to the four winds from there."

"What is the Four Winds?" asks Kayla.

"It's like everywhere," says Rat.

"Like Visa?" says Kayla, jumping in the van.

"Nah, that's everywhere you want to be," replies Rat, following her.

"What if I want to be everywhere?" says Blackout, climbing into the back seat.

"Then you need a visa for the four winds," says Rat. It doesn't make any sense, but it sounds good to him.

Everyone nods silently at the pseudo-wisdom for a moment. "Aw hell," says Lou. "I don't even have a driver's license." Everyone bursts into laughter, and Blondie pulls the van away from the curb after Lou gets in and buckles his seatbelt carefully.

The van falls into silence again as everyone loses themselves to their thoughts. While Blackout imagines how he would fight that stone statue next time, Rat starts fantasizing about his shadowrunner team concept...

Rat stares out the window. Man, people ain't gonna take two dwarves seriously though. We can rock the house, but we need a team if we're gonna get respect and get big-time. 'Sides, how we can gonna handle the specialist stuff? I need to get ahold of that Jimmy kid, so we got some technology backin' us up. He seemed handy with the A/V, which I certainly ain't. Damn stuff hates me.

Okay, so that's good, we got the brain in me, the brawn in Blackout, the tech in Jimmy... we need some mojo too. Lou's got his obligations -- we need some kinda mojo freak that's full time. I wonder if Martin or Marcus know anybody....

"Blondie, just go ahead and drop me at the Rogue," says Rat, forgetting that she's dropping them all off at the Rogue.

"Sure, thing, Rat. I'll do just that," she says cheerfully. Type 15: Born schemer who can't pay attention she thinks to herself.

The van pulls up at the Rogue and the team tumbles out. The day is turning darker as the sun sets somewhere beyond the gray skies -- the only evidence is that the gray turns to a darker shade of gray. The Rogue is open, and as Rat has "important business to attend to", as he says, he waves at the team and wanders in. Gotta save a few yen from this haul for some new gear... but first, a couple of drinks are in order. "Marcus!" he shouts as he walks in, waving generally to the room. "Two frosty ones please!"

"Sure, Rat. You have money this time?" replies Marcus smoothly.

"Yeah, baby!" says Rat, slapping the bartop as if there were money in his hand. Of course, he would never wave his stick around. "And by the way, I got some important business happening." This last sentence he adds as he gets close to the bar, in a conspiratorial voice.

"No kidding?" says Marcus mildly.

"Can you give Jimmy a message for me? I want to put together a deal, and I need his help."

"A deal?" says Marcus. Rat, don't you set Jimmy up or I'll feed you to Bertrum. He pauses with that thought to figure out how to express it politely. "You scammin' my boy Jimmy?"

"Nah, no scam. We're brothers, man. I want to cut him in on some action. I'm working deals, making things happen. Just tell him I want to talk, 'kay?"

Marcus nods slowly. "I'll let him know." He wants to say more, but there's no way to say. Just don't be stupid, Rat. Jimmy's still a kid. He decides he'll give Jimmy fair warning, and then it'll be up to the kid to make the right call.

"Also, I need somebody else. You know any mojo-slingers?"

"I use Lou."

"Yeah, I know, but Lou's out."

"Is he okay?"

"Yeah, yeah, he's fine. I guess he's just tired or somethin'. Said he wants to take care of his sister."

Smart boy thinks Marcus. He likes Rat, but he doesn't entirely trust his judgement or his loyalty to friends. "Well, I can ask around for a finder's fee." You have to just put it on the table with people like Rat.

"Finder's fee... yeah, sure. How about 50 yen?"

Marcus suppresses the urge to roll his eyes. "It'll buy what it buys," he says evenly.

"Oh," says Rat. "Okay, how about 75?"

"I'll see what I can do."

"Thanks, man. I appreciate it. I owe you one."

"You owe me 75."

"Right. 75."

Outside, Blackout gives his number to Kayla and Lou in case they want in on whatever Rat cooks up, and they all part ways. He doesn't bother to follow the Rat in -- he knows it won't be hard to find him later. For now, he needs a good jog to take the stress off.

Web sifts through the dumpster listlessly. His stomach hurts from not eating, but he knows that whatever he eats is also going to hurt. He finds a box with 4 soy-mcnuggets in it. He mentally shrugs to himself as he picks them up.

He's been depressed lately, and he knows it. He just hasn't felt a lot of momentum -- direction is unclear. He's cast his feelers out widely, trying to open his mental and social channels to get some indication of what to do, but to little avail. He felt a perk of interest in himself when Howard said he wanted to meet after work to talk something over.

The astral tug on his shoulder lets him know that the watcher spotted something. It's barely a watcher, so "something" is about as specific as it gets. He's not too fond of chatting with the foolish things anyway, so standing orders are to just tug when his attention is required.

He looks up from the dumpster, pockets the soy nuggets (he'll take the stomach cramps later, thank you), and wanders out of the anonymous alley at the edge of the Barrens. Howard is sitting across the street on a worn and gang-tagged bench. He looks up to see Web drifting across the street toward him like a ghost, as normal. He's not flying or anything, but he has a shuffle step that combines well with his pale skin and spooky demeanor.

"Slick, Web. Right on time, as usual. You always time it just right."

Web doesn't bother to tell him that he's usually got nothing else happening, so he's scrounging around the area for hours before the arrival time. The watchers let him now when his quarry is near.

"You might not want to sit there. Some couple bumped the grind there for two hours last night." Web deadpans the comment. It's his way of saying hi, but also his way of de-railing the conversation and keeping control of the pace. He pulls his coat around his shivering frame.

Howard leaps up like the bench was on fire. "Ew. Thanks."

"So what's happening?"

"So, there's this guy I used to work for, who knows a guy who looking for some magical support for his next mission."

"Mission? What is he, some kind of soldier?"

"No, I mean, what do shadowrunners call it?"

"A job. It's just a job."

"Huh. Alright, a job. Some dude needs magical support for his next job and is asking around."

Web just stares at him silently, thinking. Most people get pretty disconcerted by that, but Howard is used to it. He doesn't like it, but he knows it doesn't mean anything.

"He's paying, I guess," says Web finally.

"Yeah, I guess," says Howard. "Your old buddy Howard gets dinner if you show up, so I guess you get a lot more than that."

"A lot more," repeats Web flatly. A lot more than dinner... hard to imagine right now. I wonder if my stomach is permanently damaged now, or if I can actually enjoy good food? "I'll think about it."

"Sure you will. I knew you'd say that. Actually, you don't even have to tell me. Just show up tomorrow night, if you like, at the Red Rogue bar. This dude is taking interviews. His name is Rat, and the bartender can direct you to him."

"Hm," says Web non-commitedly. A silence ensues. Web senses that Howard might be about to ask him about his life or how he's doing or something, which he really doesn't want to get into right now. "Well, I must go."

"...ah, sure," says Howard. "Good to see you again. You look... good." Not really, of course.

"Sure. See ya." Web wanders off without a glance back. A job with a shadowrunning team? Seems a little crazy, but... Spider binds what falls into the web. I just need to think this through.

The master's voice echoes through Chen Wu's mind. "The purpose of power is accomplishment, and accomplishment is measured by response. Response comes more from precision than strength. Therefore, the secret to power is precision." This words run through his mind as he brings his mind into total, precise focus on the task at hand. Chen Wu annoits the Q-tip in the rubbing alcohol solution. Like seeking pressure points with a needle, he follows the contours of the stolen and bloody Uzi III, wiping the grime and identifying forensics from the grooves and channels like a pure energy washing away the past karma of violence and replacing it with the brilliance of intentional care. Precision yields accomplishment, and accomplishment is power. After several minutes, the gun positively glows, and he sets it in a wooden case to his right before picking up the next one.

Chen Wu detects a slight imbalance in his body, so he inhales, shifts his pelvis, and activates a pressure point in his left elbow with his right thumb. Balance is achieved, and he prepares for the next task in his dimly lit backroom in Martin the fence's storage area.

Ding-ding! goes the shops front door chime as Rat walks in. "Yo Mar-tiiiiiiiin!" he shouts. "The Rat is in the house!" The dissonance shatters the outer silence of the shop, but not Needle's inner stillness.

"Ooh, we're all so impressed!" shouts back Martin, but in a friendly way. "How's your day been?"

"It's been sweet!" says Rat. "I got the girl, the horse, and the cash!"

"Just don't mix up the girl and the horse, and everything will be okay," says Martin.

"Woo!" replies Rat, high-fiving Martin pointlessly.

"Yo Chang!" shouts Martin, getting the name wrong again. "Bring out one of them pieces you're working on."

Needles rises from his chair with grace and scoops up a newly cleaned Uzi III for inspection. He smoothly enters the room and hands it to Martin.

"Check this drek out, bo-oy," says Martin. He holds out the Uzi III for Rat. "Nice work, eh?"

"Hey, that's a shiny gun!" says Rat. "How much?"

Martin shakes his head. "Dude! You sold me this piece not 8 hours ago! I ought to sell it back to you for twice the price just for making that fool statement!"

Rat blushes with embarassment and then tries to cover. "I know! Geez, man, you can't take a joke."

"Sure, sure. I got this new kid helpin' me out, and he's amazing. Now you see what the markups are for -- I gotta pay me people."

"Hey, whassup?" says Rat to Needles. Needles bows slightly and brings his hands together in response.

"Hey, that's neat," says Rat. "You remind me of my friend Blackout. He's all Japanese like that too. I think he's turning Japanese, I really think so."

Needles loses his internal equilibirium for a moment. "I am Chinese," he emphasizes.

"Oh." Rat was about to say whatever, but something in the tone and body language said otherwise. "I'm sorry," he says sincerely. "Chinese. You look like you could fight."

"A true master does not fight," replies Needles, quoting his master.

"Yeah, but ain't no true masters to be found here, neh? Har har har..."

Needles cracks a thin smile. "That is true."

"Martin, you got any of those new Ares XJ5-13 rounds?"

"The what?" says Martin. "I've never heard of those."

"Never heard of 'em? Whaddya mean? There were two clips of 'em with those Uzis I brought in this morning."

"There were?"

"Hell yeah. But I need 'em chambered for my pistol. You got any of those."

"Um... let me go back and look. Hang on." Martin is stressed at the idea that some hardware slipped into his shop without him knowing -- and thinks maybe by checking the Uzi rounds he'll know what Rat is talking about. He dashes off to the back, leaving Rat and Needles alone for a minute.

Chen Wu watches as Martin hurries into the back room. "I do not know how he will find what he seeks, with such clutter back there. " He shrugs, a small smile playing across his lips, "You are a friend of Martin's? I am Chen Wu. As you suspected, I can fight, though that is not my sole focus."

Chen Wu leans against the counter, and idly figets with his bracelet as he talks with the Rat.

Blackout smiles as he hands over his credstick, smiling at the brand new jogging suit sitting on the Outdoor Funtime! He smiles at the sales attendant who eyes him as though he just crawled off his shoe.

"Where was I? Ahh well, eitha way, I kicked everyone's asses and pocketed the big nuyen. Hell of a tournament, pity nobody could stand up to me though. A challenge would have been nice. You mind if I use a change room to put this on, figure I might try it out jogging home."

He doesn't wait for a reply, and heads for the change rooms. This new Renraku jogging suit looks totally awesome on me, not to mention I look like some superstar, or the president or something. he smiles to himself in the mirror, and leaves the store. After a quick run in with store security which is cleared up at the counter, he heads off to find someone he knows to show his suit to.

He pulls the hood over his head, and throws a few punches at the air, before deciding to show them to the bartender from the Red Rogue, Marcus.

Rat looks at Needles appraisingly. "So.. Chen (surprisingly, he gets the name right the first time, unlike Martin), ya got yourself regular-type work here, huh? That's a sweet setup, but lissen, tomorrow, at the Red Rogue, I'm gonna be interviewin' some people. See, I'm trying to put together a real runner team. Guys who can do the big jobs, ya know? And we set our own hours, so ya might still be able ta work here, long as yer available when we need ta roll. I mean, if ya think ya might be interested. Wouldn't hurt nothin' ta show up, right? And it's not a shoo-in, neither. Ya gotta convince me ya can handle yerself. But think about it... ya can squeeze by yer whole life, like I use'ta do, or ya can grab an opportunity, and go places." Rat hears Martin coming back, so he quickly finishes his little sales pitch. "Just think it over, 'kay?"

Looking to appear as if he's innocently browsing, Rat wanders over to a table. But the act quickly turns real when he spots some porno mags. "Hey, cool! I lost that November issue on the run, now I can get some replacements!" He tucks the two magazines under his arm and continues to browse. "I don't really need anything" he thinks to himself. "Hell, I talked with Lou and Marcus and they gave me some good advice on gettin' my own place. Damn, just think, rationed water instead of gettin' it from a fire hydrant, a shower right down the hall - man, I couldn't have imagined it a few weeks ago."

He picks up a few other knickknacks, grinning at the novelty of having spare cash. He likes just looking at all of the neat stuff Martin has - now he can buy whatever he wants. Maybe when he has another run or two under his belt, and he's a veteran runner, he'll ask Martin about the back room again. Only this time, he'll be getting some cyber put in, instead of selling a bloody body part. His grin gets wider, then he suddenly gets thoughtful again. "Hell, when did it become 'Martin"? It was always 'Mr. James' for me, now I'm calling him 'Martin'." Rat gets the strange sense that he has crossed another rubicon in his career. It's almost scary how everything has changed. Sometimes it almost seems unreal - like tomorrow he'll wake up in a dumpster, and it will have all been a drunken dream.

Chen straightens some papers sitting on the counter as he watches the Rat wander about Martin's shop. Thinking over Rat's offer, he realized that this might be just what he needs, and so catches the Rat's eye as Martin rings him up. Nodding slightly, he silently indicates that he'll be at the Rogue.

"Hmm," thinks Chen. "I must finish today's work, and perhaps find something else to do, so I will not be hurried tomorrow." Having finished cleaning the last of the UZI IIIs, Chen retreats to the back room and sits at his small work table. Straightening his Q-tips and rubbing alcohol, he then takes a few items from the box of things remaining to clean. A wristwatch, a cracked picture frame, a Fuchi mini-boombox, and a toaster. He'd seen odder things, Chen reflects. Arranging the items on the table, Chen wonders if they have good feng shui - he has no training in it, but at least he feels satisfied and more calm.

Unscrewing the lid of the rubbing alcohol again, Chen wets a Q-tip and picks up the wristwatch. There's some caked on grease and grime, and what could have been blood. It looked like someone had washed it in the gutter before bringing it to Martin. Taking a deep breath, Chen starts cleaning, hoping to finish all of the cleaning by the time he left that evening.

DJ Slyce sits in the lounge of the Happiness Hotel, adjusting his shades. His cloak attempts to billow in the non-existent wind, and instead ends up awkwardly de-pixelating as it hits the lounge chair. Damn, I gotta tighten the collision 'rithms he thinks. Of course, he only had time to crank 3 Mps on it, so he doesn't expect much. Maybe I should just stand. He leaps gracefully to his feet, and the cloak billows up behind him as it was designed to do.

He adjusts the shades again as he skims over the icons in the lounge. The shades are one of his better creations, and he lifts basic specs on the were-chick, the talking trash can (or whatever it's supposed to be), and the chicken. The quality of the icons in this joint testify to the economics of the establishment. Back in atomland (otherwise known as real life), Jimmy got a one-time demo pass for fixing the e-pimp's p-sec. He's never done the online-hooker thing before (or the real-life verison for that matter), so he's curious, but his expectations are low. I just hope it's not a 'bot. he thinks. Or... I dunno... maybe I should hope it is a 'bot. At least bots are programmed to be nice.

He's been sitting in this lounge for way too long now, and he's starting to worry that his passcode with timeout. The door on the other side of the lounge opens and a plain looking elf lady walks out. She's pretty hot, but then Jimmy realizes that she a poorly re-animated frame-grab from a trid commercial. Somehow, thinking of the toilet cleaner commercial she was in drains the arousal factor. She waves at the chicken, and it jumps up off its chair. "Hell yeah!" the chicken shouts in a very non-chicken-like fashion. It flies across the room to the doorway, also in a way that chickens don't do.

Drek thinks Jimmy, dropping back into a chair. He scans the room for possible valuable data, just out of boredom, even though he would never risk trying to crack the place. Aside from the fact that he'd probably fail, he doesn't need anyone showing up at his parents house from an online porn factory, looking to kick his ass.

Finally, the mechnical elf-bot comes back into the lounge and waves to him. Suddenly, his heart starts pounding -- 'bot or not, he's going into unfamiliar territory. He tries to imagine what people act like at whorehouses. He settles on his usual swaggering DJ Slyce persona. "Yeah baby!" he shouts.

The 'bot leads him down a well-lit hallway, much cleaner than any real-world vice den would be. She leads him to door #4 and starts explaining the rules. He's not listening.... a familiar feeling has started. Not now! Aw, geez, bad timing... Tune it out, tune it out...

The elf-bot finishes up. "Have a pleasurable experience!"

"Yeah, baby, that's the whole idea, right?" responds Jimmy. He knows he's talking to a 'bot who listens about as well as he does, but he's trying to get into character so he can have a good time. The itch is starting to increase its power though.

He swaggers into the room to find a totally hot girl about his age, scantily dressed in some kind of fur bikini. It's a reasonable icon, so long as you don't look her in the eye. "Hey baby..." she purrs.

"Hey baby," he replies. "How about you and me... GAH!" The itch breaks though his concentration and he loses composure for a minute, scratching madly at his icon's head. Of course, that doesn't help at all.

"What wrong baby?" replies the girl.

"Fraggin jack itch..." he mutters under his breath.

"They got cream for that, you know."

Not a 'bot, apparently thinks Jimmy. "Not jock itch, you dumb ho. JACK itch." He'd never be brave enough to say that to her face, but he's got his DJ Slyce persona on right on.

"Frag you, buddy!" replies the sim-hooker.

"Yeah, well, that's the idea, baby. Come on over here."

She shifts gears abruptly, back into seductress mode. "Sure, baby." She slides to her feet.

"Ah frag!" he shouts again, scratching at his head. "Frag frag frag!" he adds.

She pauses. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine! Just... get on with it."

"Um... okay, however you like it..." She moves closer and places her hands on his chest.

"Nooo!" he shouts. It's too much -- it feels like there's a hamster running around inside his skull making a nest out of his brain. He jacks out violently, and the dumpshock smacks him back in his chair. Luckily, it was a weak host, so he rides it alright. Suddenly back in his dingy room, he jumps up to his feet scratching his head. "Frag frag frag! Unbe-fraggin-lievable! AAAARRRGHH!" He screams as a combination of frustration and the maddening itch, now fading away.

Footsteps approach, and his mother opens the door, her eyes wide with an artificial high. "Oh my baby... if you're not having fun playing those games, maybe you should take a little break, hm?" She has no idea what she's talking about, and her use of the term "baby" sickeningly reminds him of where he just was. The context contrast makes him physically ill... or maybe that's just the dumpshock.

"I'm fine, mom," he mumbles. "Just frickin' fine."

"Oh, okay," she nods and smiles. "That's good." She wanders out of his room and closes the door.

"Whatever," he says to no one. "Damn."

He waits a couple of minutes for the jack itch to fade, and plugs back in, desperate to not be at home. His mail icon pops up. It's from Marcus, the Red Rogue barkeep.

"Jimmy, I've got a message Rat asked me to pass on. Maybe you remember him -- the kind of sketchy dwarf from Fight Night at the Rogue. Not the fighter, the drinker. I guess he's trying to put together some kind of a gig, and he wants a decker on tap. I told him I'd pass it on, for tomorrow night, so now I have. Between you and me.... use your head. Rat seems alright, or I wouldn't pass it on, but I trust him only about as far as I can throw him. Or maybe not even quite that much. Anyway, look out for yourself, you know what I'm sayin'? -- Marcus"

Jimmy reads the message three times to soak it all in. It lifts his spirits somewhat -- someone actually called him a decker!

Decker.

The word echoed through Jimmy's head as he ran his virtual eyes over the message a fourth time.

Someone actually called me a decker!

In his excitement Jimmy actually manages to let out a whoop from his meat body, just before he jacks out. He closes his eyes a long moment after the plug leaves his skull, mentally chiding himself.

Graceful log off next time, graceful log off...

Once his head clears a bit, he uncoils the tangle of chords plugged into his jury rigged CMT Comet, and winds them into their respective housings. He slides the deck into his backpack, reaching past it to check for the hold out he's still managed to keep his mom from finding, and he grins. He's going on an honest to ghost run. That means rep, it means danger... it means actual cred instead of e-passes to cheap online cybersex rooms.

He's almost out the door when he remembers he's kind of not wearing pants. He grunts, and slips into a slightly less than dirty pair, then shoulders the pack, slaps on some shades and a visor, and he bolts. As he passes, his mom assails him with questions and nagging, and he answers in a stream of words so fast they become one.

`I'mfinemomdon'tworryI'llgettoclassokandyesIrememberedtobrushmyteethbye...`

Spotting his nemesis, the city bus, chugging down the street, he pulls the lead out to get to the stop before it.

Blackout steps into the Rogue, bouncing and throwing punches. To Marcus' eye, he looks like a short, hairy version of LLCoolJ III, that ork old-school synthrapper. In other words, he looks pretty silly. "Hey Marcus! Have I got a story for you!"

Marcus smiles. Blackout's got a lot of spirit, in any event. He'll never forget watching him fight Bertrum. He shakes his just remembering. "I bet you do, my friend. Fight anyone 3 meters tall lately?"

"As a matter of fact, I did! I fought this guy made of solid rock. I don't mean he was built like he was made of rock -- I mean, actually made of rock. But when it came to rockin', it was he who was rocked! We went toe-to-stone, and my fists of blazing fury cut him down to size."

"No kidding?" smiles Marcus. "Grab a stool and tell us all about it." He gestures toward a stool, and some of the other patrons turn around to hear Blackout's tall tale. It's early yet in the Rogue, and people are mostly sober, but they still like a tall tale from a short guy. Blackout hops enthusiastically up on the stool and starts in, refusing beer so he can stay sharp.

The bartop is mostly dwarves from the construction sites up the road -- the humans usually start in around 7 pm. There are of course the representative smattering of humans and orks, the ones who seem to live in the Rogue. They're already several beers into their evening.

Blackout doesn't need to exaggerate much, except for his own performance. The story is plenty fantastic as is -- in fact, he leaves out some of the weirder details, like the bat-guano-stairs, because he can't come up with a suitably heroic role for himself. Nobody believes a word he says, of course, but it's fun to listen to his peppery style and self-aggrandizing flow.

Blackout doesn't notice Web enter the bar -- in fact, none of the patrons do. He manages to be something of a non-presence, despite his spooky appearance. If anyone actually looked up from their beer, they would probably look twice. Bertrum sniffs him twice, but then lets him pass.

Web already has Gecko Crawl up and focused -- he can feel his amulet warm against his chest, helping him channel Spider's power of wall-walking. He grabs a chair at a table alone, and sits to observe the room. Although he doesn't know Blackout, the kokoboruku's presence fills the room. He wonders what the significance of the little man will be.

Chen Wu pauses outside the Red Rogue, glancing around the neighborhood. It's not the nicest looking place, maybe on par with Martin's shop area. He's used to that sort of thing. He pauses for a moment and invokes an old family protection mantra in his mind Chen ch'an t'ai shan. He feels the presence of his ancestors briefly, focusing him on the moment. Focus has always been his family's gift -- "The Chen concentration is a mountain to heaven" is the mantra.

Then he remembers.. I am not Chen Wu to these people. That is not their way. I am Needles. He resolves to refer to himself that way going forward.

He notices Bertrum for the first time, lurking just inside the doorway. What creature is this? he thinks. He approaches cautiously, and then realizes the misshapen troll is actually working the door. He's seen that sort of thing in Hong Kong as well.

Bertrum doesn't speak when Needles approaches, but looks him up and down. Finally, he decides he is no threat and waves him in.

When he first walks in, the loud-mouthed dwarf on the barstool reminds him of Rat, but then he realizes it's a dramatically different person. He looks around the bar, at the patrons, and at the bartender. His eyes fall on Web sitting alone in the corner, and although he avoids staring, it is obvious that this is not the gaunt albino's usual watering hole. I wonder if he's here for an interview as well?

Ultimately, he decides to listen to the kokoboruku speak, to provide cover for his non-drinking and lingering. He sits on a stool nearby and focuses his gaze on the attention-seeking storyteller. He quickly realizes that the man is a martial artist of some sort -- a harder style than Needle's own. As he speaks, he demonstrates kata and movements that he used in the story. Although Blackout clearly has a natural affinity for the movements, they don't always seem totally appropriate to the story he's telling. Might be interesting to ask him about his style, if I get a chance... Needles thinks.

"You there!" says the Chinese man sitting next to Needles, obviously soaking his misery in beer.

"Yes?" says Needles, turning around. The man spoke in Chinese with an accent similar to Needles home region.

"You look like a strong sort. Do you study the ancient arts of war?"

Their conversation is relatively private, even if it is at the bar, since Needles figures few of the people here speak Chinese. Many of them probably barely speak anything. "Ah, I am trained in the arts, yes. Thank you."

"Fantastic!" says the man, slurring his words a bit. "I am Sowei, and I need help!" This much was already evident. "I have to provide a gift to my employer, you see, a very honored man, if not an entirely honorable one, ha ha."

Your indiscretion is staggering thinks Needles. You have no idea who I am!

The man continues. "I hired some rough types to retrieve the gift for me, but now they are extorting me for additional pay! We had an agreement, but now they think they can take me because I am in a difficult situation! This makes me very sad and angry."

Needles nods, realizing what this might be leading to.

"I am scheduled to meet these people tonight, to receive the gift, but they will also attempt to negotiate and hold it hostage. As well, I am afraid they might try something if I don't give in to their demands! I need someone to protect me, to show them they can't just push me around."

"I see," says Needles carefully.

"I'm willing to compensate you honorably in dealing with these dishonorable scum. If only you would accompany me, I would be quite grateful and generous!"

Needles blinks and thinks. "I understand your situation, Mr. Sowei. My name is Chen." Ah crap! he thinks. Covering, he goes on. "Actually, these people know me as Needles." He uses the English word there, as it's a name. "I too am meeting some people tonight, and perhaps we could help you together. If you can wait until I speak with them, I can provide an answer."

"Certainly, certainly, Mr. Chen! Ah, I mean, Needles, of course. I await your answer, and nurse my sorrows in the delights of alcohol in the meanwhile."

"Yes," replies Needles. He looks thoughtfully into the distance. "Excuse me," he says, seeing Rat enter the bar.

"Ah, Mr. Rat!" he shouts in English, drawing some amused looks from the crowd. He shakes his head to himself -- the habitually polite language of Chinese lingered in his mind and altered his speech. He makes an effort to shift his mental state to the street-style favored here. "Yo, Rat!" he says now, sounding a bit artificial but more local.

"Hey Needles!" says Rat, waving from the doorway. "Grab that table over there! I'll be right over!"

Needles bows slightly to the intoxitated Chinese man, and gets up from his chair. Threading his way past several tables, he grabs the table Rat had indicated. Near the edge of the bar, the table was out of the way, and looked big enough to fit five or six people easily. Best of all, it still commanded a good view of the rest of the bar. Guessing that Rat would want the seat that best faced the room, Needles takes the seat next to it. Sitting down gracefully, he surveys the rest of the room.

His attention drifts between Rat and the loud dwarf at the bar as he waits for Rat to come over.

Web sits in silence, observing the other patrons in the bar and gazing longingly at their drinks. It's been so long since I had a proper drink... maybe they will buy me one for the interview. Or maybe I can steal someone's drink when they aren't looking.

Feeling the strain of the spells he's holding up, Web tries to spot someone who looks like they deserve to loose their drink. Then his eyes fall the huge mass of flesh and bone at the door again and he reconsiders.

He closes his eyes and relaxes, opening his senses to Spider, and the bar around him shifts and changes as the astral energies of the place grow visible. Might as well see if there's any competition for the job, he thinks and starts scanning the crowd...

The mana-web unfolds around Web, and he tries to let his eyes soft-focus on the room while he holds the spells up. Unfortunately, the spells themselves obscure his vision -- he can see his own aura burning bright and the two spells circulating around him in pulsing purple and green shards. He has some sense of the various living beings in the room, and no major mana slinging around, but he's just not able to focus enough to get a good read on anybody but himself. He sighs, shaking his head. Even in serving Spider, he has so far to go.

It does occur to him at least that probably no one else in the bar is assensing, or they'd have given him a few more looks, with all the color in his spells. That's good, at least.

He does manage to notice the kid who runs into the bar -- his aura is beaming with excitement, although no actual power.

"Yo Rat!" says Jimmy. "I made it, bro!" He runs right by Bertrum, which the hulking bouncer allows. Jimmy is a known quantity here.

"Yo Jimmy! Grab a seat by Mr. Needles over there. I'm a-bringin' the beers!" By now, Rat has ordered and received 7 beers from Marcus and is trying to figure out how to carry them all at once.

Blackout hops off his stool. "And that's the way it happened! Chip-truth! Rat, let me help you, man. You're gonna have beer all over the place in a minute."

"Nah, just all over my pants."

"Nah, just in your pants, where you stick everything else."

"Stick it in your own pants!" Rat replies in good cheer. Blackout smiles and grabs three beers, and Rat the other four. They head over to the table together and sit down.

"Greetings, gentlemen, runners," says Rat. He passes a beer to Needles (who doesn't usually drink) and Jimmy (who is clearly underage). He keeps two for himself, and Blackout places the rest in the middle of the table. On second thought, he pulls one back for himself.

Beer! thinks Web. Time for me to make my entrance. He slips from his table over to the wall and gingerly begins to crawl up it on hands-and-knees. Though he's not always the best at this, today is a good day. He seems to sink into the wall itself, a combination of his camoflauge and enhanced adept stealth. No one notices as he makes his way up toward the ceiling, a lump in the cheap wood and plaster.

"So, boys, here's our story. I'm puttin' together a team, see, and I need a few good men. We've all got our pasts, but we're professionals and here to see it through to the end. Together, we can make a splash." Rat takes a swig of beer from each hand as Web transitions to the ceiling nearby.

"Now, Blackout and I go waaay back. We've been in more fights together than I can count." That's not really saying much, of course. "I know he's a stalwart fellow." Rat looked up the word stalwart specifically for this occassion. "Jimmy, he's the tech slinger. And, he keeps his nerve in a fight."

Please say decker... thinks Jimmy. Just say the word...

Rat continues. "I know that Jimmy can get the job done for us on the technical side. He's one of them..."

Say it! Say it! thinks Jimmy, leaning forward.

"..one of them hackers," says Rat.

Close enough! "Decker!" Jimmy corrects, a little too enthusiastically.

"Right, decker. Jimmy the decker. He's our guy there."

Yes! thinks Jimmy. It's official!

"So we got the muscle, and the smarts, and the decker... damn, where's our mage? I asked around for some kinda magical help."

"I'm right here," says Web from the ceiling directly overhead.

Everyone looks around wildly. "Who said that?" says Rat. "Where are you?" Blackout puts his beer down and his fists up. "Are you invisible? I hate that!"

Jimmy is the first to look up and see the distended plaster lump on the ceiling overhead. There is definitely some kind of something up there, and it makes him a little uneasy.

Web is very pleased. He grins widely. "I'm right here," he says.

Rat finally looks up. "Drek!" he shouts, spilling beer on his pants.

Jimmy's mind finally sorts out what he's seeing -- he's got the superior visual sorting algorithms from his time in the Matrix. It's a mage, alright, stuck to the ceiling and color-shifted to look like part of the masonry. He whistles in appreciation -- reminds him of some of the better Cloak programs he seen. "Nice Cloak," he says.

Rat blinks twice. "That's a nice trick! Okay, you're in, buddy. You earned yourself a beer."

"Yessss..." hisses Web. "Beeerrr..." He slinks his way back over to the wall and down. He wanted to do a dramatic drop from the ceiling, but he realized he would probably have ended up embarassing himself and ruining the effect so far. Better to keep some class. With those thoughts, he scrapes his knee on the wall on the way back and several bar patrons start to catch on to the crazy gaunt albino wall-climber. Well, to hell with them, thinks Web, I got beer.

He saunters over to the table, pulls up a chair, and grabs a beer. "Mmmmmm...." he says out loud.

"So we're all set! We got brains, brawn, magic, and tech. Needles, I'm not sure what you can add. What do you do? You fight, right?"

Needles takes a deep breath. I do not want to be known for fighting. "I have something none of you have right now," he says, taking a gamble that Rat is flying by the seat of his pants.

"Oh yeah? What's that?" says Blackout arrogantly, sipping on beer again.

"I've got the customer," Needles smiles, gesturing vaguely at the half-drunk Chinese man at the bar. Mr. Sowei waves back nervously.

Blackout looks at Rat quizically, then leans over to him in order to whisper something to him. "Who was the brains?"

Web smiles, sighing softly as he looks at the beer in front of him. This is surely my lucky day - beer and work! Now, as soon as I get a decent meal everything will be perfect.

He lifts the beer glass to his mouth - using both hands so he won't tremble and spill the precious liquid - and takes a small sip. It takes all his willpower to not drain the glass immediately. Now is not the time to be sick. Giving thanks to Spider, he caresses the amulet through his clothes and mumbles to himself, almost forgetting the others at the table.

"I'm Web," he says, looking at the others as if that should explain everything.

Jimmy's feeling the euphoria of the true Decker label pulsing through his veins, and his sesnes are hyperkinetic at the moment, so when he catches the whisper he's quick to answer Blackout's query, even if it isn't directed his way.

`The brains'd be me...`

He trails off a second, and tips his head to look to Rat.

`Riight?`

Ok, so maybe he's not the brains. Maybe he's the mascot. Then again a decker's gotta be the brains, right? He blinks a second, and looks to Web, beer stopped halfway to his own mouth now. Ok, so maybe that guy's the mascot.

Rat scowls momentarily, wondering if his brand-spanking-new shadowrunning team is going to be derailed by its egos before they even have their first run. But then he smiles genially and pats Jimmy on the shoulder. "We're all the brains, kid. You know all that techie stuff, what buttons to push and whatnot, an' Blackie here, he's all over figurin' out people's moves and takin' them down hard. And the Rat, here, is about street smarts, and connections. Like my man Needles here... stand-up guy in a fight, and he's got an offer from a client for us."

Rat turns to Needles now, more intently. "Now, Needles, why don't'cha tell us all about the guy and his job. Full details, man. If it sounds good, then we're in, and yer in, too. But don't skimp the details. Last run me and Blackout were on, we ran into lots more than we was expectin', like this walkin' statue Blackout had ta beat up, and these friggin' lightning bolts shootin' from the walls... anyway, give us the spiel, then we'll see if we got any more questions for the dude before we take his job."

Needles nods in reply. He realizes he really doesn't have a lot of detail yet. He looks over to Mr. Sowei and nods slightly. Mr. Sowei gets the subtle gesture, and jumps off his barstool. He attempts to compose himself as he approaches the table. "Nihao," he says as sits down. Still speaking Chinese, he says, "I am pleased to meet you. My name is Sowei. I am looking for some assistance."

"Huh?" says Rat in English.

"Komban wa," says Blackout. He knows the man is speaking Chinese and not Japanese, but it's as close as he gets. He bows slightly in his chair, and Mr. Sowei reflexively bows back.

"I will translate," Needles announces. "Mr. Sowei, I will translate your honorable wishes."

"Ah, thank you!" he replies. Addressing the table, he continues in Chinese. "Gentlemen, I am looking to hire bodyguards from some extortionists who are trying to press me for fees beyond their due."

"Mr. Sowei is threatened by some people he hired to help him, who now want to demand more money. He wants to pay us to protect him while he negotiates with them," says Needles in English.

"The meeting is in just a few hours, at a junkyard near here. The junkyard is closed for the evening, but I have a key. We will meet these people at midnight, and I must negotiate for a precious object from them."

"The meeting is tonight at midnite at a.. ah, car-wreck place. Place for wrecked cars. It is nearby. Mr. Sowei will have us accompany him and then he will try to get his object from these people when they come," explains Needles.

"I can pay 1000 nuyen per person for your services, which will be concluded as soon as we leave the junkyard," says Mr. Sowei.

"He will pay 1000 nuyen per person for our work," says Needles in English.

Rat strokes his chin. Seems to be the going rate... I just hope Needles isn't keeping a cut for himself. Who knows what that Chinese guy is really saying?

"What about the decking?" wonders Jimmy aloud.

"Overwatch, Jimmy," says Rat. "That's what they call it -- you'll get into the place's electronics systems and keep an eye out for incoming threats, keep us all warned. Man, we gotta get some radios. Hm."

"Do any of you have questions for Mr. Sowei?" asks Needles. Do I have any, for that matter? he thinks to himself.

As the others ponder the situation, Needles realizes that he knows nothing about who Mr. Sowei is supposed to meet. "I'll ask him what he can tell us about these dishonourable thugs," Needles announces to the group. Mr. Sowei, can you tell us anything more about these honorless thugs?"

Momentarily, his master's words ring in Needles' thoughts. To show me all of your tiles lets me know too much. This is not the way of Mah-Jongg. Keep your hand secret to all but you and the gods. Now watch as I reveal only a few tiles, and you are deceived as to my true strategy. Needles' quickly follows his first question with a second, "If they expect to extort you for more money, would you prefer that we keep our numbers hidden, or meet them under the moon with an equal show of force?"

"A little of information is available, Mr. Needles. The gang is three -- a large Filipino human, a Mexican ork, and a black elf mage who goes by the name Arleesh. She's in charge. The other two seem to be only gunmen in her employ. They are rabid dogs, and although the elf is civilized enough, she seems barely able to control them." Mr. Sowei pauses to think. "With regard to tactics, I think that perhaps a split of the army is intelligent. Perhaps the strongest fighters among you can flank me, to keep me well-guarded and provide a show of force. The more clever can act as snipers or sweep in from concealment in case of trouble. You, Mr. Needles, I would like to keep safe and in reserve in the background. You seem like a clever sort, and although I'm sure you can fight, I'd feel better with you watching over the whole situation from a good vantage point."

Web lets his spells dissipate and looks over the team astrally. Hm.. clearly I'm the only magician here. It doesn't surprise him too much. Magical types are rare, and Rat implied as much earlier. In fact, none of the people at the table stand out much, astrally speaking. Jimmy the Decker has the expected essence-dent for a datajack, and not much else. Rat, Needles, and Blackout are all just regular guys trying to get by. They seem honest and focused on the conversation at hand (which Web isn't). He's pleased to see that no one seems to be scheming too heavily. Rat seems to be made nervous by all the Chinese conversation. Web can understand that, but being from a country with dozens of regional dialects, it doesn't bother him. He knows they'll tell him what he needs to know. If they don't, Spider will see him through anyway. Or he'll die. That's always an option he keeps in mind.

Meanwhile, Needles share what we heard. "Sounds like there are three people coming to speak with Mr. Sowei, one of whom is a mage. Hopefully, the situation will not break down into violence. The speaker might not be able to control the gunman, according to Mr. Sowei."

"But if it does break down, then I'll be all slam!" says Blackout, flexing for the table.

"Perhaps this one can be a bodyguard," says Mr. Sowei. Needles nods in agreement.

"It sounds as if Arleesh needs to be convinced that extorting Mr. Sowei is more trouble than it's worth. Her hired men sound as if they might be ruled more by emotion and greed, while she reigns them in with her intellect, and so I think it is her we should focus on. Mr. Sowei suggests that we do not all stand beside him, but rather hide some of our number."

Needles nods briefly in Blackout's direction as he continues, "He would like some of our strongest fighters beside him, as a show of force, while the rest of us conceal ourselves in order to ... shoot from hidden places, should we find trouble. Your suggestion [nodding to Rat] about radios is good, for it is always wise to be able to communicate with allies. I am not certain, but I think I remember seeing a box with a few radios in Martin's shop."

Blackout visualises himself beating on the elf mage, then quickly snaps out of it as Needles suggests that he stand with Sowei. "I don't think that's a very good idea, not if he wants to negotiate, wouldn't want my reputation scaring them away now would we?"

1000!

The number racked around in Jimmy's head. Ok, so this was what payday smelt like. Definitly good, definitly smooth, definitly cool. They want him to play overwatch too? He tries to contain his excitement, and look super cool while quaffing off the top of his beer.

DJ Slyce goes bigtime...

((Edit: Ok... until I corrected the typo, Jimmy was drinking beef...))

Needles looks at Blackout, and grins slightly. "On the contrary, friend. What Mr. Sowei needs most is the image of strength, so that those he deals with will not attempt to cheat him out of what they have already agreed to. If anything, your reputation might be just what he needs. The elf and her friends are trying to steal from Mr. Sowei, and we are there to remind them that it's a bad idea."

Rat frowns thoughtfully. As he ponders, he absent-mindedly picks a dirty straw off the table to get the last dregs of his beer. "All right now *SLUUURK*, so we got a few hours before showtime. Should be 'bout 'nuff time for me ta shimmy on down to Martin's ta get some radios. Three outta do it. One fer Jimmy, who's gonna be doin' overwatch, *SHLOOORP* one fer the bodyguards up front lookin' mean, and one fer the rest of us, waitin' in ambush. Then, when I get the radios, we still got plenty of time ta scout out the place. *SCHLAAARP* Find some hiding spots, know where all the exits are."

He absently scratches his crotch. "Damn, I hate ta miss bein' up front. I'm kinda the team 'face'; I do all the shmoozin' and fast-talkin'." He grins and belches. "But I'm also the only one - correct me if I'm wrong - with some decent firepower, gun-wise. I'm better off with Web - who can zap that Arleesh chick if it all hits the fan - hidin' in the shadows, ready ta ambush those guys. We're the long guns. Needles, you and Blackout are the best at in-yer-face-an'-personal, so that puts ya up front. Be nice if we had an extra bruiser on the team, but fer five guys, we got the bases covered pretty good, and anyways, 1,000 Nuyen each five ways is better than havin' ta split 1,000 Nuyen each six ways."

Jimmy perks up, about to point out 1000 six ways is still a grand each, but he holds it in. He didn't want to blow this. Hell, they were getting comm gear and everything. He just downs the last of his beer, and lets out an unrestrained belch. He grunts, and looks to their employer. Ok... next time, he'll hold it in.

Nodding at Rat's analysis, Needles says, "If you have firepower, I can see why you'd want to hide someplace. If they see us with guns, they might feel intimidated, but if they don't know what firepower we have, they might be even more cautious. Please excuse me while I translaet for Mr. Sowei."

Needles turns back to Mr. Sowei, and tells him what they have decided so far - Blackout and himself as bodyguards, while Rat and Web take up ambushing positions, and Jimmy works the security setup.

After translating, Needles remembers Rat's comment about scouting the place. He asks Mr. Sowei, "Can we get to the junkyard early, so that we might explore it and find good hiding spots? That should also give Jimmy more time to work with the security system."

Web shifts his focus back to the physical world, pondering what he has seen and what he has heard. One thousand nuyen - I wonder exactly what I can get for that much money. A life in luxury... real, fresh food!

He perks up at Rat mentioning his name, and starts thinking about the situation at hand - he doesn't have the money yet. "We need to look for ways in and out of the junkyard. Ways of escape. Ask mister Soy if any gangs hang there," he says. "Maybe I can go early? Check things."

Long gun... Rat doesn't expect me to use a gun, does he? I don't like guns...

Web puts a hand on the front of his shirt, clutching his amulet, and mumbles softly to it "We don't need guns, now do we? That is not our way, no."