2200hrs Monday July 8th, 2070

The call was routed from your usual fixers dead drop. It was flagged with the correct ID and had the authenticatione codes in place. It was a legit offer from him, and from the sounds of it very good.

"Hey, got a sweet deal for you. 2k for meeting the guy, more if you take the job. He's a newb so he probably doesn't know what this sort of thing is worth. The meet is 0900 hours tomorrow. He said it was absolutly imperative you show up on time, as his window for the meet was short. Address follows, good luck."

The address, was as suprising as it was interesting, according to grid guide the meet was in the Burbs of Bellevue, some of the most expensive houses and apartments in the 'plex.

Touristville, Redmond Barrens, Seattle, UCAS - 2200 hours, Monday, July 8th, 2070

A spirit in the form of a shimmering, otherworldly cleaning lady finishes tidying up Gray's slightly too small apartment. One might call the place spotless, despite being in one of the crappier buildings in the neighborhood. In an all too human gesture, the spirit accidentally slams the front door as it leaves, awakening Gray with a start.

"It's too early for this racket. You just can't get good help these days."

Gray looks for the pillow to throw over his eyes, until he realizes it's still evening. A Shadowrunner's schedule can do that to a person. You kind of get your days and nights mixed up.

The call from the Fixer could not have come at a better time. Gray was still awake from the spirit's rude departure.

"Hey, got a sweet deal for you. 2k for meeting the guy, more if you take the job. He's a newb so he probably doesn't know what this sort of thing is worth. The meet is 0900 hours tomorrow. He said it was absolutly imperative you show up on time, as his window for the meet was short. Address follows, good luck."

The large red tabby leaps from the floor to perch upon Gray's shoulder with almost preternatural grace. The cat curls around his neck and appears to be trying to listen in on the comm.

"Sounds good. I'll be there. And on time too."

Gray read the incoming address. With some trouble he got the Grid Guide to work and show him where it was.

The High Rent district. Better wear my good clothes tomorrow.

With the conversation over, Willis drops to the floor and pads away to drink out of his water dish.

Oh, crap! I was supposed to meet Katie for breakfast tomorrow! Nice going, Gray. She's going to kill you. This time for sure. Even a shaman can't be two places at once. I better call her and see if she can make 7:00 instead of 8:00.

I-5 heading toward Downtown Seattle, UCAS - 2200 hours, Monday, July 8th, 2070

Lyssius felt his commlink buzz with the familiar ping of 'incoming message,' a text box popping up on one side of his field of vision. He minimized it quickly, swerving to avoid yet another wageslave filled Bison on the I-5. Fragging vacation going slots! Can't drive worth a goddamn yen!

As angry as the driving skills (or lack thereof) of your average corporate drone made him, he thrilled in the feeling of blazing down the highway at full speed, feeling the road as the bike, his senses hyperalert. Swerving in and out of traffic, ignoring trivial concerns such as a 'speed limit' and 'right of way' only amped up his adrenaline. He slows down enough to quickly scan the message that pinged him.


"Hey, got a sweet deal for you. 2k for meeting the guy, more if you take the job. He's a newb so he probably doesn't know what this sort of thing is worth. The meet is 0900 hours tomorrow. He said it was absolutly imperative you show up on time, as his window for the meet was short. Address follows, good luck."


Lyssius closes the window in time to barely avoid colliding with a DocWagon HRT barreling down the highway, with enough recklessness to warrant a rigger of their own. He curses to himself, putting on speed again, glad his spoof-chip broadcasts his location as five different places in the sprawl. He pulls off the I-5, driving down the 'bad' part of Auburn, until he reaches a decently respectable apartment complex.

He slows down into an underground lot, jacking out at the last possible moment, savoring the cool feel of gravel under his wheels and the soothing vibrations of his engine cooling down. The rigger headed to his apartment, a standard, midsize two bedroom flat. Uncle Travers must be working. He plopped down on the couch, flipping through channels on the trid, then deciding that yet another rerun of Karl Kombatmage 4 wasn't worth it, Lyssius headed to sleep.

Piece's Apartment, Seattle, UCAS - 2200 hours, Monday, July 8th, 2070

Piece noticed the buzzing in his pocket, and left the overpowering noise of the bar, for the relative quiet and privacy of the men's room. He read the message twice to make sure he got the address right. The bit about the client being new to the game worried him. He could underestimate the danger and difficulty of his request as easily as he could underestimate the going rate for Shadowrunners. The meet wasn't for over ten hours, though, so he had plenty of time to finish up another round of drinks, and call it a night.

Evidently, the "newb" client had already made his first 'faux pau'. Piece, for one, kept late hours, and from the sound of the message, he needed to be ready to rock at nine. He would be calling it an early night, tonight - but two grand for a single meeting was too tempting to pass up.

The rest of the night went by uneventfully, and despite having every intention of making it home by two, Piece's wild side got the better of him, and he was at least an hour late.

The sound of his alarm clock the next morning was like a screwdriver being stabbed into his ear - but he somehow managed to get himself in the shower, dressed, and out the door by 8:30. He would have to drive like the wind, but he didn't mind - for the first part of the trip, the security was light, and some near misses in the morning would help wake him up before he was center-stage.

Renton, Seattle, UCAS - 2200 hours - 7/08/70

Alistair activates the call from Brian, draining the mug of real coffee as he goes through the message three times. Pulling up the calender on his link, the elf double checks what he already knows; he has a 9:30 lecture on economics, and then his law study group is supposed to be going over contracts.

Shrugging, he looks around the coffee shop; an old, long-unused church that was now known as Holy Donuts, finally catching the young waitress' eye and holding up his mug for a refill before quickly adding the information for the 9 AM appointment. Closing the calender, he lights up a cigarette while he reads the fixer's message for a fourth time, trying in vain to pick out any hidden messages or meanings.

Sitting back with the fresh mug, a small smile slides across his features. This offer couldn't have come at a better time, as he was finding himself falling behind once again, and really needed the nuyen. There was no question of his skipping the lecture. It sure wouldn't be the first one he'd missed, and most likely won't be the last. Alistair felt a small twinge of regret about the study group, but he was sure he'd come up with a reasonable excuse for yet another absence. The elf's smile widens with the thought that at least with the meeting in Bellevue, he wouldn't have to get up any earlier than normal.

Seattle 0800 Tuesday July 9th, 2070

Morning is a typical July day. The sun filters throuh the clouds bringing the temp to 70 degrees before 9am. The rain of the previous day is remembered in puddles and dew coating everything. Traffic is typical, with both bridge over Lake Washington to Bellevue jam packed. The clock is ticking.

Bellevue, Seattle - 0850 hours - 7/09/70

Alistair climbs from the yellow and blue Cabalry taxi, not bothering to stifle a yawn as he stretches broadly in an attempt to ease the cramping in his still awakening body. Despite the electronic reminder he had programmed last night, the elf had still managed to sleep in, only waking in time to throw on some clothes and literally jog out the door. Luckily this isn't an uncommon occurrence, and Alistair is well-practiced in using his magic to quickly deal with most mundane preparations he may have skipped.

Looking down, he runs his fingers along the lapel of his long, deep purple duster, smoothing the collar as he admired the contrast between it and the immaculately pressed, stark white shirt and trousers he wore beneath. Smiling in satisfaction, Alistair examines the area as he slips on a pair of Oakleys that he pulls from his breast pocket.

As he checks the address his stomach rumbles in protest, reminding the spellslinger that not all things could be fixed with magic. He hadn't even had time to stop at one of the many small diners along the way, not even for a quick coffee to go. Shrugging, he sets off toward the entrance, hoping that there might be some refreshments served at the meeting.

Downtown, Seattle, UCAS - 0800 hours, Tuesday, July 9th, 2070

Katie was up early, working on a news story, so Gray had dodged a bullet. Early breakfast had actually worked out perfectly for her. She was impressed that he even wore his best attire. They didn't argue, even once. As usual, she sent her leftovers home with Gray to give to Willis. He hoped that Johnson wouldn't have a toady go through his pockets and find the two pieces of Canadian bacon wrapped in a napkin.

That would be embarasing.

Bellvue, Seattle, UCAS - 0850 hours, Tuesday, July 9th, 2070

Gray located the address for the meet, and luckily found a spot to park his Yamaha Growler. He gunned the engine, and then shut it down. It sounded okay. The Gremilins that had haunted Gray most of his life must have been asleep. As he dismounted the bike, he spotted a familiar face heading towards the entrance of the building. It was Gypsy, an acquaintance, and fellow practioner of the magic arts.

"Hey, Gypsy. How's it going?" Gray asked in greeting.

Bellevue, Seattle - 0840 hours - 7/09/70

Piece had underestimated the morning commute. It had been a while, he realized, since he had to be anywhere at this hour. He thought he had plenty of time to cross town, but he found himself stuck in traffic, furiously screaming over the music at the rest of the commuters who were shaving or watching TV while their vehicles' autopilots lazily delivered them to work. When he found stretches of open space, he sped up - but it wasn't doing much in terms of shaving off those vital minutes.

Once he got off of the highway, it wasn't as bad. The majority of traffic was going away from the residential sections of Bellevue, so the streets leading traffic in - while still full of cars - were moving along, nicely. Piece on the other hand, was blasting his way through. He broke a handful of minor traffic violations, which he was counting on his spoof-chip and grid-guide override to divert away from his own fake SIN. Some poor corporate sap driving a similarly colored Shin-Hyung would get stuck with fines for traffic violations he didn't commit, and the process of fighting them would cost him more than just paying them off - if the guy even noticed the automatic deductions from his account.

Piece wasn't really concerned with petty hundred-nuyen fines. Hell, he figured, if he didn't speed, and drive on the wrong side of the road occasionally, all the money he sank into staying off of the Grid would be for nothing. Damned car had to pay for itself, somehow.

Bellevue, Seattle - 0859 hours - 7/09/70

As he made the last turn, down the suburban road, Piece glanced at the AR clock. He was cutting it close, but if the J was going to be that much of a stickler about punctuality - it would be best to figure that out, up front. The gray vehicle tore down the road at well above the 55 kph speed limit, and screeched to a halt out front - missing the Growler by less than Piece had intended to. The vehicle then shifted colors, becoming blood red - then sat silently for a minute. Inside, Piece was grabbing a few handguns from various hiding places. His silenced Preds remained locked into the gun-slide he wore under his suit, opposite the snap-blades that he rarely left home without. Piece didn't really have any reason to suspect trouble, but according to his message, the client was new at this, and if things went bad, they would go bad quickly. He grabbed his holdouts, putting them back in his boots - popped open manual controls for the radio, revealing four taser-weapons. Piece took two of them, and tucked them into concealed holsters under his arms. Finally, he grabbed his custom silver set of revolvers, checked them quickly, and stuck them where they belonged on his belt. He needed to look his best, for the client. The rest of his toys could stay in the car.

The silent red car opened up, releasing a good amount of noise just before the music blaring within went silent. Piece stepped out, adjusted his coat, and then made his way towards the door. Behind him, the car door closed and then, a moment later, the car turned bright red for a moment and beeped, before returning to its previous color and silence.

Having just set foot on the first step, Alistair pauses for a moment as he hears, and then sees the Growler approach, tensing for just a second until he recognizes the bike. He takes a few steps back toward the curb, waiting for Gray to catch up.

"Could be worse! Good to see you here."

The elf pauses, once again searching the street before sighing and turning back to face the appointed building.

"Too bad there's no stores near by. I could really use a coffee or three."

0900 Bellevue

The house, if you could call it that, sat on it's own acre of land sorounded by a 2 meter tall fence. The drive that led up was open and ended in a small cul desac. The grounds were well manucred and kept. The house itself was three stories and easily 10 bedrooms. While some security is obvious there are no guards or watch dogs. Not even a cruiser drives by on the street. The gate stands open, a viewscreen is next to it, it flickers on and off.

The front door is a double solid oak affair with brass knockers and large handles.

Bellvue, Seattle, UCAS - 0852 hours, Tuesday, July 9th, 2070

"...Too bad there's no stores near by. I could really use a coffee or three," Gypsy said. He looked like he had a rough night. Or couple of nights.

"I just had breakfast with Katie, so my caffeine meter is on high. She sent some Canadian bacon for Willis, if you're that hungry," Gray said with a hearty laugh. "It's real. Not that soya crap."

Gray sized up the large double oak door as they apporached it. There was no bell, just old-fashioned brass knockers.

"I guess we knock?"

Another loud rumble emanates from Alistair's torso at the mention of bacon. And then once more upon hearing it was actually real pork. Considering for a moment, he pictures a scene where he greets the client, grease smeared all over his clothes and dripping from his mouth and hands, and then sadly but politely declines the offer.

The elf shrugs in response to Gray's question.

"Sounds like a plan. But be ready for anything. Seems too quiet, and I didn't like the look of that vidscreen back there at the gate."

Gray nodded in response to the elf's warning. He had already cast his "get ready" spell through his sustaining focus this morning, before leaving the apartment. He tapped the focus, an old, Native-American crafted hide and sinew belt, and replied, "I'm ready as I'll ever be."

Then, Gray swiftly rapped the brass knocker against the door.

Auburn, Seattle, UCAS - 0834 hours, Tuesday, July 9th, 2070

The feeling of being tossed across a room and slammed, however gently, into the opposing wall was not one that Uleso enjoyed waking up to. It was, however, something he'd gotten used to the past two years he'd lived with his Uncle Travers, and it usually meant he was late. For something.

"Morning sport!" a deep, jovial, voice bellowed in his ear. Uleso cracked his eyes open enough to see a nine foot troll, with a bluish tint to him, and wickedly curved tusks standing above him. "Uncle Travers? The drek did you wake me up for?" The troll grinned, revealing finger long pointed canines. "You've got work, unless I'm much mistaken. The meet was at...nine sharp, neh?"

Uleso blinked a couple of times, activating his commlink through his contacts. The message from last night was still minimized, and a flashing alarm popped up, neon yellow. "How you slept through that I have no idea. Anyway, get your butt moving. Rents due in a couple of weeks, and I think this job'll be good for you."

The rigger groaned, rushing through his morning routine of shower, dress, soykaf, soyburger. He took an extra minute to insure that his Predator was loaded and ready at hand, dashing out of the apartment and down the stairs. He jumped on and into his bike, gunning it as soon as he felt his senses shift, ripping out of the parking garage. He tore through Auburn, a little timer counting down to 0900. He set the gridguide address as his destination, following the AROs, grateful that the address didn't point to the barrens.

Bellvue, Seattle, UCAS - 0852 hours, Tuesday, July 8th, 2070

The navy blue Mirage slowed down as it entered a rich, burbclave neighborhood, killing the engine entirely and coasting to the entrance of the 'house.'
House? Looks like my old place... Lyssius thought, jumping off his bike, parking it next to a sleek looking sports car. Isn't that Piece's ride? Uleso recalled when he first saw the car, a street race that made him drool with want. He walked up to the door, straightening his hair and trying to make sure his clothes weren't overly dusty. He saw three figures at the door already, knocking.

"Heya chummers! Grey, Gypsy, Piece!" He nodded to each in turn, then looked at the door, smiling broadly. Uncle Travers was right. This is gonna be fun.

Piece walked past the flickering view-screen almost without noticing it. He did a double-take, and then glanced back at the Growler. That musta been Gray's bike. Drek-head probably tried to use the screen to call ahead. Ha! This better not come out of everyone's pay.... Despite his annoyed appearance, Piece was glad to see a familiar vehicle, and doubled his pace up the long drive towards the door. It had been a long time since he went for a morning jog, and it was kind of relaxing. The throbbing in his head subsided.

By the time he reached the door, Gray and Gypsy were already there, and appeared to have been waiting. Before he so much as opened his mouth to greet them, he heard Lyssuis call out behind them. Looks like the gang is all here.... He simply nodded silently, in greeting to the rest of the team, then looked at the door again.

Bellvue, Seattle, UCAS - 0890 Hours, Tuesday, July 8th 2070

At Oh Nine Hundred to the second the door swung open. The first thing you notice is the smell. The second thing you notice is the bathrobed fat lttle man standing in the doorway. Perhaps five and a half feet tall, he is middle aged and balding.

"Double you tee eff man, you guys are late. Get in so we get it on, I only have an hour."

He throws the door wide, turns and walks off to the side. The first adventures soul pokes to poke his head in the door is greated by an even worse smell, and trash, lots of trash. A pile of delivered pizza boxes is stacked next to the door as tall as a troll. The opposite wall has a mountain, a meter high and two or three meters wide, of discarded Mountain Dew cans.

Bellvue, Seattle, UCAS - 0900 hours, Tuesday, July 8th, 2070
Gray smiled at the the "gentleman" who greeted them at the door. The stench of the place was nearly unbearable, but he managed to keep smiling through gritted teeth.

I wonder when this chummer took a bath last? It smells like a barnyard in here.

Gray reached in his pocket and handed over the Canadian bacon to Gypsy with a wink.

"You do know we've been out here for nearly 10 minutes knocking on the door?" Gray asked their host.

Then he took a quick step inside the building so the others could follow and soak in the "incredible" aroma with him.

Piece pushes his way in, as if that would somehow make up time lost earlier in the morning - and he immediately regrets doing so.

From the outward appearance of the estate, Piece was beginning to think that two-thousand for a meeting was well within the owner's price range. However, having seen that the inside was basically a dump, he was quickly changing his opinion of the client.

"Let's make this quick," Piece said, with surprising diplomacy.

Gray's question falls on deaf ears. The client has allready passed through one doorway to the left that looks like it leads to the kithchen. The house itself seems like, once apon a time, it was very nice. It just hasn't been taken care of in twenty years. One odity, there are clocks everywhere, every wall, every surface has a clock.