John Mosby and the Sword of Zhong Kui

Jian Chi, China - 8/26/2070 - 1345

Peasants till the fields in the grueling afternoon sun. The women, dressed in blue farmer's garb, and round peasant's hats, pause in their work and stand up straight staring at the commotion on the edge of the jungle.

Near a kilometer away a dirt bike - it's engine screeching at it's redline - crashes through the forest and lands hard under his weight in a patch of dry mud after a three foot drop. John Mosby - his chameleon suit covered with so much diret where it's next to useless - barely manages to keep the bike from crashing, swerving widely before regaining control. The precious contents of his leather satchel clatter against each other ominously.



Behind him he hears the sound of his pursuers - three of General Yuan Shikai's men on motorcycles and quite a few more further behind in rugged jeeps - follow him intent on robbing John of his prize. Or taking back their prize depending on who tells the story.

Johns aims his bike into the heart of Jian Chi, heading at full speed for his date with a cargo barge heading for more civilized ports. The three bikes jump out of the forest, one crashing into a boulder jutting into the ground throwing it's rider in one direction and the bike in another where it smashes against the ground and explodes in a ball of orange fire, the other two managing to steady their bikes and stay in hot pursuit.

The smaller chinese men are at a speed advantage on John - the much heavier orc - and slowly gain on him as he gets close enough to eye the barge. Zooming in confirms that they are untying from the dock and getting ready to depart. He ducks low close to the ground.

John looks behind him and sees the lead biker - red bandana whipping wildly in the wind - leveling his smg and opening fire.

Jian Chi, China - 8/26/2070 - 1345

John's grip on the accelerator is white knuckled and at full twist, crouched over the handles as the bikes rear tire skitters around precariously on the rocky trail. As the screaming chinaman with the SMG levels his gun, John instinctively reaches for his own piece, flapping in its holster against his thigh, then looses his balance just as the rear wheel hits another big rock.

"Ssshhhiiitttttttttt....................."



The chinaman's burst of SMG fire misses completely as John drops the bike and skids off the road into a millet field, sliding on his back - the assault rifle over his shoulder showering the road with sparks as the carry handle grinds down - and crashing into a pile of straw bails. His bike isn't so lucky, the rusty, worn fuel tank being ripped open on a rock and ending up in a fire that some poor peasant is toasting millet with.

Ouch.

John staggers to his feet just as the petrol catches fire, races into the tank and explodes, showering the field with a spray of flaming metal fragments and half melted cheap plastics.

He pauses for a moment to dust off some of the straw caked ontop of the mud, then he glances up and sees the two chinamen jumping their bikes over fence at the edge of the field and scything through the millet towards him. His AR overlay immediately provides ranges, target headings and highlights the cheap chinese clones of Ingram Smartguns they are holding.

My situation has not improved.

John dives for the meager cover offered by the hay bales, punches up an attack program and hurls it at the first bike's rider.

Jian Chi, China - 8/26/2070 - 1345



The soldier's meager computer defenses cannot hold up under the seize attack. He twists with seizures on the motorcycle and careens into a chicken coop sending a flock of hens onto the road. The other rider skids to a halt and dives behind a rusted plow while screaming profanities in Cantonese.

Jian Chi, China - 8/26/2070 - 1345

John grins as chickens spray out of the busted coup, then is snapped back to reality by the torrent of abuse from the unseen chinaman.




to those that can see the astral, a large muscular spirit appears, clad in ancient bronze armour and clutching a hoplites spear.

John screams telepathically to the spirit "Okay, get him!"

The ancient soldier materializes infront of the chinese man and lets out a fierce battlecry which breaks the will of the goon and sends him scrambling to get as far away as he can manage.

John can see the rest of the goons speeding towards him in a pair of jeeps, fortunately the last goon left a perfectly good bike behind and he should have enough time to make it to the barge both before they catch up and before the boat casts off.

Jian Chi, China - 8/26/2070 - 1345

John sprints for the bike as the spirit appears infront of the shoulder, feverishly kicking the starter as the jeeps close in. As the engine finally turns over, John shouts "Okay, get them!" at the statuesque spartan, who strolls onto the road, presenting his spear to the Chinese and shouting a challenge in greek as John tears off behind him towards the barge, having enough confidence to check the satchel with one hand to make sure his accident didn't break the valuables.

A few moments later, the sounds of battle echoing behind him, John pulls the bike up in a cloud of dust at the bottom of the footbridge, then charges the bike up onto the barge just as the crew pull up the bridge behind him, skidding the bike to a halt before he slams into a bulkhead. He heaves a huge sigh of relief and says to no-one in particular "Bloody hell, that was rather close."

Jian Chi, China - 8/26/2070 - 1345

The ship's captain runs over to John and his bike and starts interrogating him at breakneck speed, "what the hell are you doing here? Who are you? Do you know how much it'll cost to clean up those tracks? How about storage for that bike? Or food for your big mouth? Who told you you could get on my boat?" The questions fly at a higher rate of fire than those knockoff Ingrams could put out.

A quick injection of a paltry sum of Canton Yuans erases his need for any explanation and he orders a young deckhand to show him his room. As John turns to follow he gets an incoming encrypted pulse from Silias' mirror agent requesting confirmation that the goods are in route for delivery.

John is expected in Fozhou in 24 hours and this barge should get him there with time to spare.

John wheels the bike off the barge with a grin and a spring in his step, pleased to have got the 'gear' and be home free. He kicks the bike into life and drives slowly into the town, cruising around in the thick crowds and 'exciting' traffic to find a quite corner store selling cold drinks to kill the time, and buying a new jacket to go over his ill fitting Chinese sailors outfit, bought on the barge at an excellent price.

When the message eventually arrives John grunts in disgust. The place sounds like a real dive - and that increases risk. His instinctively pushes the satchel up behind his feet at the thought, then sighs, transfers enough Yuan's to cover his bill to the shopkeeper, before beginning some some hasty negotiations persuade the shop owner to mind John's assault rifle, then before plugging into the cities patchy 'gride guide' and 'Horizon online mapping system' to find the palour.

After another dangerous journey through the city traffic John parks the bike around the back, checks his SMG is well hidden and walks through the door, eyes plead and mouthing under his breath "Remember, Stay Alert, Trust No One, and Keep Your Laser Handy!"

Happy Fun Hour, China - 8/26/2070 - 1355

Happy Fun Hour is exactly what John thought it would be. The moment he walks near the place his AR is slammed with flurry of spam, a bit of which leaks through his filtering software before his firewall fully adjusts.

Traditional Cantonese music plays throughout the parlor in a vain attempt to add class to the establishment, but the crowd, pulled from the docks, ships, warehouses, whorehouses and nearby gutters hardly seems to care.

The tables are already packed at this early hour, sailors are drinking and grabbing at the working girls; a dockworker nearby accuses a merchant marine of cheating and knocks back his seat standing up, ready to start a fight; a big winner at another table rings a brass bell to a big cheer, indicating that the next round at the table is on him; and through it all a swarm of anthrodrones – new and old – carefully pick their way through the crowd with drinks and food, occasionally smacked out of the way by an inebriated patron.

Overall, exactly as John might have imagined before even opening the door.

A moment after he enters the parlor a passive AR indicator – coded specifically for John’s commlink ID – pops up in his vision. It is a bright green arrow snaking from his current position up the stairs and onto the second floor.

John sighs, pulling his jacket into place to make sure his gun is well concealed and flicking his AR filters into overdrive, toggling up some extra protection against the relentless assault of jingle programs. Another tweak of his DNI injects the knowledge of his desired direction directly into his brain.

Then he slips in stral percception, the world fading, the snapping back with an unnatural palette of colours and ghostly auras. Following the mental tugs, John finds Jessica's table, the aura instantly recognizable.

"I didn't expect to see you here. Not after berlin." Berlin was a gig that went south, and he was implicated as selling out the team. Not that he did, but someone on the project was a rat. John dispenses with "You've become a buyer now, or are you representing someone else?"

Jessica never liked cutting to the chase. "It has been a long time John," she says showing the barest hint of a smile, "I should say its more surprising that you are perfectly intact. Herr Mertzer was never one to forgive a rogue operative."

She gestures to the chair infront of her, "please, sit down, get yourself a drink." As she says this John notices a gesture from her indicating something to the discreet body guard.

Before John has a chance to even peek at the menu she says with an arched eyebrow, "you do have the goods I take it?"

John snorts as he pulls up the chair, flipping it around so he can lean on the back. "Yeah, if I was rogue operative I would have done the job properly and you'd be dead. You know I don't muck around like that." He pointedly ignores Jessica's question, holds the menu up and pretends to look at it - a completely futile task while using astral perception - and then orders a whiskey sour anyway.

Then he throws the menu down on the table with apparent disgust, leans forward menacingly, glares at Jessica and growls "That depends, do you have the money?" before sitting back and bursting into in laughter. After a moment he grins tuskily at Jessica "I think we can manage at least professional courtesy. Of course I have the gear, I mean, no thanks to General Shikai and it was a close round thing, but hey, I'm a professional" he closes with a broad wink, then accepts his drink from the automated drones, tasting it and making a face.

"This is bloody awful."

She smiles thinly in agreement, "this place is a dive but it's the best Jian Chi had to offer. A far cry from that restaurant in Europort where we were first told we would work together."

Jessica grabs her drink - Singha Light in a glass bottle - of a servodrone and says, "though truth be told, they did overcook their steak." She takes a small sip of her beer and changes topic back to the business at hand, "as far as your payment, I have it when I've verified that you have the right stuff."

She reaches below the table and pulls out a large leather purse meant to be carrier up on the shoulder on to the seat next to her and shuffles around for something. A moment later a dull metal box about six inch on each side and 2 inches tall with a trid lense on the top.

She extends her hand - her thin fingers extended - towards John on the table, "give me the compass and we'll get started."

John grins broadly at Jessica, then slides the compass out of his satchel. He watches the analysis device in fascination, first from the Astral, then sliding his vision back to examine it through AI, object recognition services, illegally obtained from an airline, from his MAD scanner automatically connecting into his AR and dialing up relevant service and security information, starting to display the procedure for examining the device if manning an LEO shot screening point before he mentally sweeps it away.

He takes another swill of the whiskey sour, shaking his head slightly, then asks Jessica "So, what brings you out here anyway?"