The Tanheuser Directive
Prologue


A Corporate Enclave
Penthouse Corner Office
October 15th, 2072
7:00 PM


A man in a 40 thousand nuyen suit reclines lazily in his plush executive chair with his hands behind his head as he rests his feet on his mahogany desk. He was feeling content with life as he twirled his A.A. chip in his fingers - ten years sober today. He'd gone through a rough time, but now... The big office, the company car, the trophy wife, and two wonderful daughters... everything that should bring a man like him contentment... but it wasn't enough, it was never enough. He still needed absolution...

The man is shaken out of his reverie by an electronic beep emanating from his desk. He frowns tightly as he sits up, putting his feet back to the floor. He looks at the terminal on the desk - it was silent and still in stand-by. A sense of dread runs up his spine as he opens the bottom drawer of the antique desk. There, an old-style analog comm line was beeping with an incoming call.

The line he hoped he'd never have to answer.

Inhaling sharply, he fleetingly tries to prepare himself as he answers the call
Tesla he says into the silent reciever...
Von Braun comes the reply of a gruff man's voice.

The old company man winces - he'd still had a little hope before that the call wasn't genuine... but now...

Listen, you remember those old projects you wanted watched? The voice on the other end sounded worried... that did nothing to assuage the man's fears, though he didn't allow it to show in his own reply Which one?

Bill... the Tanheuser Directive is active... The gruff voice trails off - the silence seeming much longer and deeper than it should have, as if the statement were a death knell.

Bill inhales sharply, suddenly feeling as if the world were spinning... this time he can't hide the fear in his voice
Jesus Christ... how long?

Seventy-two hours.
Who else knows?
Just you and the principles.
Listen... pack up and pull out...
But I still owe y-
Bill interupts the voice on the other line Not that much.

Bill cuts the connection before the voice can reply. His head spinning, he looks to the holo of his family on his desk as if it could channel into him the strength he knew he would need... Taking a deep breath, he steels himself for what he has to do and pushes the button on the desk's terminal as he speaks in a calm, collected manner:

Megan, take a memo. To the board of directors directly. Mark it urgent. Begin memo. Ladies and Gentlemen of the board, it has come to my attention that in my absence you have chosen to reopen a certain project I marked for emergency termination. In doing this, you have made it apparent to me that you have chosen to ignore my warnings. Nevertheless, I am obligated to express to you my deep concern that you have made a choice with the most dire consequences imaginable. I made that choice when the project began - by the time I realized it was a mistake it was almost too late. I pray that you will come to the same conclusion before the company reaps the whirlwind. End Memo. Attach my standard signature and send it without delay. Also, open the purple file on your terminal and follow those instructions precisely.

Bill doesn't wait for a response from Megan before hitting the button again to close the connection. He slumps back heavily into his chair and cradles his face for a long while. Finally he looks up again to the holo of his family and nods gravely. Seemingly having come to a decision, Bill pulls a key from his pocket and unlocks another drawer of the desk from which he retrieves an unopened bottle of scotch and a revolver.

Ten minutes later in the adjoining room, Megan hears the unmuffled retort of a gunshot. She appears as if she is about to panic, but then the data filter cyberware in her brain short-circuits the unproductive response. She wonders briefly what had made her pause and then returns to work... Business as usual.


Begin Act I: Business as Usual

Time/Date: Saturday 15th October 2072 AD around 7:30 PM
Discordian Time/Date: Pungenday 69 Bureaucracy 3238 YOLD around 08:12
Location: A small room somewhere in Seattle


Screamer had just come out of a deep trance. He'd traveled deep into the resonance to the core tree. A giant tree who's every leave represented a node. He had spent 2 months in this trance unknown to him at the time. While hunting down information about his past he found more questions. All he new was the might have worked for ares. His past was still as mysterious as ever.

The also found a packet of data with the only word on it Tannhauser. After leaving VR and finding out that he owed his fixer a big favor. Screamer did a few data searches about Tannhauser and tried to find out what unit he severed in when with ares. The search for his old unit made him think that he could have severed with Firewatch but nothing conclusive. But he found out that Tannhauser was a researcher for Ares who studied the bugs in Chicago. As well as that he was extracted from Aztechnolgy to work for Ares and he died in '58.

The other thing he remembered is a flash back.

He was looking over his shoulder at an attractive elven woman... but his angle kept you from seeing much of it, but she was wearing a blue military style shirt. She was standing shoulder to shoulder with him, staring at whatever was in front of both of them. A hellish red light illuminated the area, and you heard alarm klaxons.
She said quietly - possibly out of reverence... or out of fear... "Good God... Tanheuser was right..." Then Screamer added "This changes everything."

He lost the flashback as you were turning back towards whatever she was staring at.

Getting up screamer decides not to rip the IV drip out of his arm but instead wait till it is drained or gets a call from Opinicus. He walked over to the mag locked box at side on the dingy 5x5 room inside was most of his stuff his bike wasnt here but the rest of his running gear was. His 10 flying drones that he used for recon as well as hacking surcure areas.

His stomach rumbled with the pains of hunger he'd be living of a drip for two months and he wanted a stake. Putting this longing for good food behind him. Slipping back in to VR he begins to compile a data Sprite.

He then sets it to find things out about that's happened with Ares the last two months as Opinicus mention that things with that corp had been a bit up in the air. Screamer then sets about checking his gear and cleaning his gun.

Around 15 minutes later a message pops up in his vison from his sprite.

<<Ares Arms stock dropped 15 points in the last hour when it was reported that the Vice President of the R&D division committed suicide in his office. No official statements have been given. Is this a sign that Mom and Apple Pie might not be enough to keep this corporate giant in the game? You decide in our online polls!>>


My lord that's Dreck happening with Ares for sure. This means that some thing might come up soon big news trends to spawn big pay outs.

As this thought runs though his head he rubs his hand pondering the pay outs he hopes to get soon. He then pulls out his credstick 1100 nuyen and enough to live well for two months he will need a job soon.

He looks towards the door it look like it was ripped form a small bank or submarine. In the center of the wheal is a maglock needing both a code and bio-scans. He hopes that its that same code as the locker and hes on the list. He is the door swings open and the stench of raw sewerage fill is nostrils dropping down is goggles he finds out that this room is well hidden in the sewer and by the looks of them under a rough neighborhood. Quickly closing the door Screamer decides to catch up on some Sims he would have missed on the old mattress hes lied on for that last eight weeks.

After a long movie Screamer sets the Sprite to track down more information on his past life in Ares giving it all the information he has. The fact that his Silver dog tags where for officers the blue uniform and that he had to have sever in the early 50s. And hope that with this he could dig up some more info. Screamer thought he'll treat him self to a stake or at least some real food and ventures out of his room and climbs to the surface where his bike has driven it's self to pick him up. Wearing his form fitting armor under his clothes just in case. He sets of to grab a bite to eat.

Condo owned by one "Borya Maslov"
October 15th, 2072
7:05 PM

Borya sighs as he slumps into his favorite chair. Another wasted day... if this keeps up, I'm going to have to knock over a couple shops... granted, it has been a while since Mr. Hyde has made an appearance... I wonder if I still remember how to do him.

He stands up and moves in front of a mirror before concentrating hard for a minute. In the mirror, his elven good looks slowly shift to those of a much, much darker looking individual. His hair lightens slightly, becoming a dark brown as his eyes shift from a cool grey to an angry reddish-brown. His ears seem to melt, coming to look human once more, his previously unmarked and pale skin takes on a weathered and darkly tanned appearance and his facial structure shift, widening his nose and squaring his jaw. Mr. Hyde studies his appearance for a minute before concentrating again and slightly changing the shape of his nose. He carefully looks over the appearance once again, and then lets out a harsh laugh. "Well, 'ello Omae. M'name's Edward Hyde and ye'll be steppin' away from tha' panic button, if'n ye know what's good for ye." Mr. Hyde grins dementedly at his reflection for another minute before screwing his face up in concentration again and shifting back into the pale, dark-haired and grey-eyed appearance of the elf, Borya. Well, at least I still know how to pull that one off...

"HK, I need a drink. And you know I never drink alone... Send off the following message to Sierra Cope: 'Sierra, What time do you close up shop? I'm taking you out for a drink tonight. I need one, and if your day was anything like mine, you could probably use one too. Don't say no, now. We haven't had a chance to hang out as friends in a long time! Besides, I'm buying.' End message. Attach Dimitri's friendly signature and send it off immediately, ok?"

A tinny voice issues from his commlink as HK-47 replies, "Master, the message is sent. Do you have any other orders for me? Perhaps orders to eliminate some inefficient meatbags?"

Borya chuckles and shakes his head. "No, HK. I won't be ordering you to eliminate anybody... unless, of course, they enter your turf. If anyone tries to hack into there, your standing orders apply. However, until that happens, I want you to continue searching for updates, patches, and upgrades for yourself and the other programs, alright? Once I leave for the restaurant, I want you to load the PeopleSoft package. Remember which ones are in it? Empathy software, Facial Recognition, Gait Analysis, Lie Detector, Noise Analysis, and Voice Recognition."

"Yes, Master. You are not required to restate the contents of the software packages you have set. You inefficient meatbags might forget information, but I am incapable of forgetting."

Borya rolls his eyes as he makes his way back to the bathroom. Rolling his neck, he concentrates on his second most common appearance and begins his transformation. His hair lightens considerably, shifting to almost bleach-blonde. He grins as his eyes shift to the ice blue of Dimitri's eyes and his skin darkens to a near-perfect tan. (tanned version of this) The grin fades into a small smile as he stares into the mirror and Dimitri stares back. Dimitri quickly and efficiently uses some hair gel to style his hair and wanders back out of the bathroom.

As he makes his way to his closet and starts rummaging through his clothes, HK's voice can be heard coming from the living room. "Master, Meatbag Cope has responded to your message." Dimitri makes his way back into the living room and bunches a few buttons on his commlink, calling up Sierra's response.

<<Dimitri, a drink sounds great. I'll close up around 7:30 and meet you at Luna's at 8:00. How does that sound? >>

Dimitri glances over at a clock and nods slowly, noticing that he�€™ll have time to finish getting ready and get over to Luna's in time. Turning back to the commlink, he quickly drafts a response and sends it off to her.

<<Sierra, Luna's at 8:00 sounds great. See you there!

PS: could you pick up a pack of cigarettes for me? You know which kind. I'll pay you back when I see you. Thanks! >>

Once he completes the message, Dimitri heads back into the closet to pick out an outfit. He picks up and sets aside several suits before settling on his Synergist suit. He slips his Fichetti Security into the built in concealed holster and heads towards the door, pausing only long enough to grab his custom commlink.

A short while later, Dimitri waits outside Luna's, patiently keeping an eye out for Sierra. When he spots her a few minutes after he arrived, only his long experience with staying in character kept him from having to pick his jaw up off the ground. She certainly cleans up well...

Sierra's hair is red and her eyes are blue. She looks completely different from normal. If he had to guess, Dimitri would pace her at about 15 years younger than he�€™d normally have guessed. She's wearing a red and gold patterned Chinese style dress that goes mid-calf, but has a slit down the side all the way to her waist. Her jewelry nicely finishes off the outfit. Dimitri grins as he notices several weapons hidden on her. You can take the runner out of the shadows, but some training never goes away...

"Sierra, you're looking quite lovely tonight." He compliments her as he walks over to her. He holds open the door and gives a playful little bow, motioning for her to enter first. As she picks out a table to sit at, he smiles and walks over to the table she's indicating and pulls out her chair for her. "So," he asks as he sits down. "How's business?"

"Business is business... honestly though, the money is hardly worth it, I just do it to stay close to the game..." She replies, and then gives a slightly bitter laugh. "The Game... funny how we call it that... but that's what it is to the powers that be... the tools change, but the rules are always the same."

Dimitri nods and sighs. "It's a sad, sad world where killing and stealing are considered a part of a game... where people are nothing but pieces on the board, to be used and sacrificed simply so that the person playing can have a higher score... a toast: To fallen friends. The lucky ones who don't have to play a part in the game any more." He tosses takes a long sip from his drink and shakes his head. "Well, that's enough of that morbidness. Before we get too wrapped up in our conversation, however, I suppose we might as well get the business out of the way." With that, they spent the next few minutes softly discussing prices and quality of goods and other such topics, ending the talk with her slipping him a pack of scent masking cigarettes and him sending a healthy collection of nuyen her way. With the business out of the way, Dimitri smiles and asks, "So, how're things at your end of town?"

"All's quiet on the western front."

"Western front?" Dimitri asks, puzzled.

"Early 20th century history reference, actually - not a real front."

"Never heard that one...Where's it from?"

"It was a novel set in the first world war - supposedly the war to end wars... it followed a German soldier through the worst parts of the war, only to have him killed..." Her voice is tinged with sadness. "On one of the final days in the war that was so quiet that the commander's field report said only 'All Quiet on the Western Front'..." Her voice returns to a forced joviality with a smile that isn't so forced. "I'm sure that in your business, you can appreciate the irony."

Dimitri nods, thinking about how "quiet" just means "we don't know what they're doing" in his life. An awkward silence grows between the two of them for a while before Dimitri tries to break the silence. "So... How bout the weather we've been having?"

Sierra laughs - a sort of half-laugh that's more sad than funny, "The weather... that's something I'll never understand, why it's so important to people to talk about something beyond anyone's control yet plain for everyone to see..."

"It's because it's common ground. Two people who have nothing else in common can always relate about the weather. It's the same for everyone, you know?"

"Oh, I know why... I just don't understand it... well, the weather is the same as always - acid rain, fog, and a cloudy sky so choked with smog you either need a rebreather or cyberware to go out in it... perfect weather for an op, lousy for anything else." She pauses for a second, studying him. Just before it gets too awkward, she speaks up again, saying, "You're not like most guys..."

"How so?" He inquires, honestly curious as to where this came from.

"Most can't shut up about themselves, but you've hardly told me anything..."

"You know how it is..." he mutters uncomfortably. "Tell someone about something you've done, and suddenly..."

"I know the game, but even spies have stories - stripped of all the identifying features... but they have them..."

Dimitri shrugs, then replies, "Most everything I know has happened too recently, you know? People might recognize enough of the details to put together what actually happened, and then I'd be in trouble. I'd tell you some stories from earlier... but... I don't know any. I haven't the foggiest as to what my life was like before I woke up in that alley." He shrugs again. "You probably know better than I do what it was like. What do you think I did before?"

"What do I think? I think that you were a soldier - a good one... intelligence branch probably..."

"What makes you say that?"

"Its the way you carry yourself, the way you talk... people like us... we put up these walls that separate us from the mission... we see ourselves as the tool of command - because that way what we do isn't our fault... except that it really is, until command takes the choice away... but that's when one ceases to be a soldier and becomes nothing more than a machine running a program."

Dimitri nods grimly for a moment before shaking his head and looking at her with a smile on his face. "How do we keep ending up talking about these depressing topics? ... I've got it! I've got a joke for you. Stop me if you heard this one... A rabbi, a priest, two clowns and an emu walk into a bar. Bartender looks up and says 'What is this, some kind of a joke?' " He finishes with an expectant look on his face and grins at her.

Sierra smiles at first, and then slowly cracks into laughter. Somehow Dimitri gets the feeling that she really found it funny even though the smile and laugh seem forced and not-quite right. "That's funny! I mean I've heard it a million times, but it's still funny..." She sighs and admits, "Not many people tell me jokes... everyone is all business these days... or just too scared to make conversation..."

"So that means you don't get many chances to tell jokes either, right? Well, here's your opportunity."

"Me tell one? I don't know... I've never been good with jokes..."

Dimitri pouts at her. "Pretty please?"

"Oh, alright... well, there was a pitched battle in which one side was outnumbered four to one... the L.T. was falling back, and passed the sharpshooter - but she was holding her position. He said to her 'Don't you know they've got us outnumbered four to one?' She calmly replied 'I got my four...' fired three times, and added 'and most of your four too, Sir."

Dimitri chuckles, "Heh... that's pretty good, Sierra!"

"You really think it was funny?"

Nodding an affirmative, Dimitri responds with another joke. They spend the next several minutes trading jokes and generally having a good time. When the news comes on, however, they pause in their conversation to pay attention.

<"Ares Arms stock dropped 15 points in the last hour when it was reported that the Vice President of the R&D division committed suicide in his office. No official statements have been given. Is this a sign that Mom and Apple Pie might not be enough to keep this corporate giant in the game?">

"Huh... wonder what caused that V.P. to off himself..." Dimitri wonders out loud as he only half-listens to the story about the Mayor's new ordinance.

Sierra's response sounds a bit melancholy "I'd like to think that Bill did it because he finally started feeling guilty over all the drek he put people through... all the hurt he caused... but I doubt it. More likely he fragged up, the stock dropped, and he couldn't handle the humiliation of being fired... and now the PR guys are making it look like his suicide caused the stock drop so that investors won't be scared off."

"Bill?" Dimitri asks.

"William Henderson... I keep my ear to the ground on things in the business - they affect my bottom line, since prices are going to go up soon."

Before they can continue discussing him, however, another story catches their attention.

<"Seattle Under Fire: The Ferryman - a notorious assassin responsible for 128 deaths between 2052 and 2070, but considered inactive since last year - has struck again, this time killing Kyle Wong - a Shiawese corporation executive with suspected ties to the Sepoula Ring Triads - while his limo was crossing the Jamison Memorial Bridge into the Downtown district. Lone Star denied statement, but a source inside the department confirmed that the 'Ferryman' has resurfaced, stating 'We hoped this guy was dead or in prison on some other charge... all we even know about him - if it is a him - is that he ritualistically destroys the eyes of his victims while leaving no forensic or astral evidence of any kind.' ">

After the news about Ferryman comes on, she seems a bit more serious than before - like the genuine smile she had been wearing earlier had become that everyday mask he was used to. "They're wrong."

Dimitri blinked, confused. "What do you mean"

"I mean the police are wrong... these new murders aren't the Ferryman... they can't be."

"Why not?"

"Because the Ferryman is dead."

"Really? How do you know?"

"I know because I was there... the Ferryman died in Hong Kong... there were a lot of names, and the murders Seattle attributes to the Ferryman were actually only a fraction of the fiend's deathtoll."

"Fiend? It sounds like he's a bit more creative and active than most assassins, but was he really that bad?"

"Sometimes the worst monsters are the ones that wear a human face, Dimitri... listen, I have to be getting home..."

"Why? It's still early. Stick around... we can talk about something else if you want..."

"I've got some business to take care of." With that, Sierra stands to leave, but leans close to him and says quietly "Listen... the business... it changes you if you aren't careful... it'll take everything you have, and just when you think you have nothing else to lose... it'll take that too... every job... it'll kill your soul a little piece at a time... the trick, Dimitri, is to get out while you're still human." With that she walks out of the restaurant.

Dimitri smiles sadly down at his drink and says softly, "Unfortunately, Sierra, for some of us, there's nothing else. All we have left in this world is the business." He sits in quiet contemplation while, in the background the news played some story about the pope coming to Seattle, nursing his drink before taking out his commlink and writing a quick message to Boris Romanov.

<<Boris, Got any jobs for me? Just make sure there are no body guard jobs with body-double requirements. With this Ferryman mess, I'm not interested in any jobs of that nature. I've got a bad, bad feeling about that. On the other hand, if there are any jobs focusing around screwing over Brackhaven...

Oh, I'm also looking for a talismonger and someone to teach me a bit of self defense... preferably with weapons. Know anyone who can fill either of those roles? Thanks! -Borya>>

With that done, Dimitri tosses back the rest of his drink and heads towards the door. The night's still young and the city's alive. Let's see what trouble is out there tonight!

A Small Run-down Apartment Somewhere in Seattle
October 15th, 2072
6:45 PM

The sound of thwaps and thuds resonated through the small room as Nick Sandine pounded on his punching bag hanging from the ceiling. Taking anger and frustration out on the bag was nothing new to Nick. He had been honing his skills like this for at least 15 years.

Trying to keep his thoughts off of the horrific events that happened exactly 17 years ago today, Nick pounded on the bag harder and harder as it swung to very intimidating heights if one were to watch. He knew that no matter what he couldn’t ignore the pain fully, even though he’d been working on doing just that for all these years. As he continued to punish his training bag, thoughts of the eyes that belong to the individual that could lead him to vengeance kept surfacing. 17 years is one of those times in your past that memories often are reduced to a few still images and memories of events, and this was just like that. All he could see were these eyes staring at him, lavender eyes with fiery crosshairs for pupils. They haunted him more than anything else in his past, even the sight of his slaughtered family, which he somehow managed to mostly forget.

Nick’s anger mounted just as the chirp of his commlink interrupted him. It was a call from Sally. He slammed the bag with one last powerful punch and sent it flying toward the ceiling until the side of the bag actually touched the cover above him as he turned and walked toward his commlink.

“How are you holding up?� the caring voice on the other end of the phone asked.

“As well as ever..� he exhaled while breathing heavily.

“Listen, if you need someone to talk to…"

"Talk won’t help…� he interrupted…�I have my own ways of dealing with this.�

“Damon, I know this is hard for you to accept, but you do have people that care about you, and not just legally..� the lawyer said.

“I know, and I appreciate the call..� Nick replied. “I have some things I’m working on that I have to finish, so I’ll give you a call later, ok Sally?�

“….Ok…� the voice said with a hint of disappointment on the other end as Nick ended the transmission.

Nick knew that Sally really cared for him and he liked her too. After all, she is part of the reason he’s a free man. She knew him as Damon Raxle though, which made it difficult for Nick to let her into his life at this time. He hadn’t been running the shadows for long and letting someone in from his past life would only make things more complicated. Besides, love wasn’t going to make his pain go away. Unfortunately, time hadn’t either.

The thought of the eyes crept into the foreground of Nick’s thoughts once again as his sadness turned to anger and thoughts of vengeance and hate resumed their position at the forefront of his emotions.

“Happy anniversary..� he said aloud as he proceeded to punch his training bag so hard that it literally ripped from the ceiling and flew across the room and hit the wall.

This is going to be a long night. he thought to himself..

Jamison Memorial Bridge
Downtown-Belleview border
Seattle Metroplex
October 15th 2072
11:45PM

Officer McLoughlin kneeled in the middle of the bridge and regarded the hole in the asphalt. "Got a bullet here!" he called out to the others. Hernandez was the first to come over. He was a good man – from Lone Star corporate... a specialist. The other two officers were fast behind him – McGruder, head of the organised crime division, and Higgins from Magical Forensics.

Higgins quickly pulled the forceps from her bag and dug into the hole. Hernandez and McGruder actually looked surprised when a deformed slag of metal was forthcoming out of the forensicist’s efforts. "Well I’ll be damned," McGruder’s Texan drawl broke the silence.

McLoughlin smiled "There’s your magic bullet McGruder…"

"Not really," Higgins was quick to point out. She never was much for theatrics anyway. "No residual magic at all…" she concentrates a moment as she assenses the piece of twisted metal before adding "definitely from the murder… .50 cal rifled discarding sabot armor piercing round... custom manufacture... The ballistics boys at the lab will be able to tell us more." She pauses a moment and says "Wait..." Digging into the hole again, she extracts another even more malformed slug, "A second bullet... this one was fired first, nearly simultaneously to the other, you can tell because the projectile isn't scored where the second bullet hit it... so it was still hot from the gun's discharge." She smiles tightly as she places the bullets into an evidence bag and seals it.

Hernandez, McGruder, and Higgins stand and move to head back to the remains of the limousine. As they move, Hernandez says "Alright, I don't know who leaked to the press before I arrived, but I want their head on a plate..."

McGruder nods, the rain dripping down the brim of his leather cowboy hat as he says "We already caught the slitch... Officer Rebecca O'Sullivan... she's the one who talked to the press."

Hernandez shakes his head and says "Why is it always the women? Alright, what are you doing about it?"

McGruder laughs and says "We've got a team watching her, and I've leaked info saying that she is the one heading the case... hopefully it will draw our killer out - or at least someone linked to him."

"Good work McGruder..." Hernandez says "So, any theories people? We’ve got a dead executive, but none of the escort was anywhere to be found by the time SWAT arrived. We know the Yakuza wouldn’t risk war with a Corp, and all the regular mafia heavy hitters have been placed elsewhere. That leaves only outside contractors.

McGruder nods as he pulls a cigar out and lights it. He grins maniacally at the dirty look Higgins shoots him and blows smoke out through his nostrils as he says "So Shadowrunners then…" He spits out onto the pavement as if to emphasize his disgust with the subject matter of his statement.

"Would you stop doing that? You’re contaminating the scene," Higgins chided – obviously frustrated with the captain’s manner.

McGruder just laughs and says wryly "Not like there’s anything to contaminate. Perp ain’t leave much behind but a body and a wrecked limo. Then the Triad boys bugged out, and the corporate goons took their leave so as to not be linked to the Triads. If there were any more casualties, they took ‘em with them. Same for the runners. I figure that it was a team. They set an ambush for the motorcade… probably shot the hell out of the escort and took returning fire. In the chaos, I figure that one of the runners used a high powered rifle with that APDS round you found to punch through the bullet proof glass - two shots back to back," McGruder pounds his fist into his palm twice for emphasis "Bam! Bam! They hit the target then ricocheted off the frame of the limo through the floor pan into the road. So the driver panics and guns it, then abandons the limo where we found it and runs. Probably he’ll be executed for cowardice as soon as the Triads find him. Ain’t any other ballistic evidence since we’re in the middle of a bridge… no walls for stray bullets to hit, an’ the bays a tad deep to look for em. The acid rain took care of any blood - damned perfect weather for a hit. They shot out the poor slot's eyes just to throw us off with this Ferryman hooey.

Hernandez nods his approval of the theory, but Higgins shakes her head and says "Doesn’t scan… that would have left behind more of an astral signature. I’ve just got his death… no other violence."

Now Hernandez frowns as he says "That’d mean a lone gunman… or an inside job…"

Finally, McLoughlin stands and says "It was the Ferryman… He was alone, and he took the shots from there…" as he points to another bridge about a kilometer away. "The limo was in motion, and the shots were fired from above. That’s the reason for McGruder’s magic bullet theory, no ricochets involved."

McGruder takes the cigar out his mouth and looks at McLoughlin as if the other officer had lost his mind before saying "Oh please with your damned fairy tales again. There ain’t no Ferryman. Not anymore... word on the streets is that the bastard got two bullets to the brainpan and dumped in the pacific with concrete shoes... and that was over a year ago in Hong Kong, so it couldn't even be a Shedim with a sense of fraggin' humor."

Hernandez looks confused as he says "Where'd that intel come from McGruder? And why hasn't it come across my desk?"

McGruder takes a long draw on his cigar and wipes the rain from his thick mustache with his thumb as he flicks the ash away and says "Initial report came from a contact I have in Hong Kong last year. Confirmation came tonight, shotgun mike on Luna's Cafe this evening. We were watching the place since its a favorite of Vincient Laretti - the Gianelli capo... the officer in charge picked up an interesting conversation... we're still working on IDing the couple - a woman and a man... the woman said that she witnessed the Ferryman's death... he sent a tail after her, but she lost him in the Barrens. Plates on the car was a wash - fragging spoofed and doctored."

"What about the male perp?" Hernandez says.

"He's a nobody... low level Vory thug posing as a bodyguard and driver - looked like he was just looking for some nookie. He was just as surprised as the officers were about the Ferryman connection. We didn't get the rest of the converstation, but probably nothing important... the chica was using a white noise generator, it just wasn't as good as our filters. Didn't have the manpower to follow him, but I'm leaning on the Vory people hard... one of them is sure to crack soon enough."

Hernandez nods "So, anything else?" he says to the rest of the team.

Higgins nods thoughtfully "We’ll be able to confirm if this was the Ferryman or not when ballistics come back. If this is a hoax, we'll know soon enough, given that we have the resident expert." She then looks to Hernandez as she explains "Ferryman’s a name that McLoughlin gave a sniper we connected to numerous assassinations. Always the same ballistics report… so either its one rifle that’s gone through a lot of owners or it’s the same guy – and he’s too stupid or too cocky to ditch the murder weapon between jobs… or it means a lot to him… if it is a him that is. If this wasn't the same rifle, then McGruders right and its not the Ferryman... if it was the rifle, McGruder still might be right - but it could mean that somebody else intends to pick up where Ferryman left off."

"So why Ferryman?" Hernandez asks.

McLoughlin shakes his head and continues "I think that the perp is a lot more than a sniper. Similar MO to some other killings… not all his long range kills are like this but a lot of them are… he likes to take out their eyes. We’ve got a lot of unsolved cases where the perps used pistol rounds to take out the eyes of other victims…"

McGruder chuckles and turns away, his long black duster flapping in the evening breeze as he takes another pull on his cigar and says "Here we go… conspiracy mumbo jumbo mixed with good ole ignorance and superstition…"

McLoughlin smiles and starts to answer, but the Lone Ranger theme song starts playing from McGruder's pocket. McGruder pulls out his commlink and puts it to his ear like an old fashioned cell phone, then he cups his hand over the reciever and says "I've got to take this..." and walks off.

"What were you going to say, McLoughlin?" Hernandez asks.

"I was going to tell McGruder that he was being too hasty in trusting his sources… unless of course you buy McGruder’s panicking driver theory. Only a few people in the world could have made those shots from that distance - and the Ferryman is the only one ever placed in Seattle. Plus, he always used a .50 cal custom-engineered rifle" McLoughlin explains.

"Ok, I’ll bite… but what made you give this guy that name?" asks Hernandez.

Higgins beats the other officer to a reply "Named for Charon… the ferryman of the River Styx. In classic mythology, they said that you had to place a coin on each of a corpse’s eyes so that they could pay the toll and make it from purgatory to the underworld. Some say that if the corpse had no eyes, then Charon would take pity on the soul and waive the fare. Hence the name… if it’s the same killer… of that I’m not convinced."

McLoughlin nods sagely "Well, believe that it’s the same killer or not, at the very least we know that it’s probably the same rifle… I’d bet money that those ballistics reports will confirm that - so we need to exhaust every possible lead on the old murders and find out who has that weapon." McGruder returns silently - and apparently irritably - as McLoughlin continues "And we need to do this quickly. If it is the Ferryman, we'll be seeing a lot more bodies soon."

Hernandez nods "You’ve sold me… I'm ordering the Ferryman investigation reopened... I want everything sent to my people that you have on him... plus a search for any other killings involving the destruction or removal of the victim's eyes."

McGruder just shakes his head and says in his gruff Texan way "So you all are telling me that some fraggin’ slot climbed to the top of the other bridge, set up a rifle, took aim at a man in the backseat of a limo going eighty klicks a’ hour - a fraggin’ klick away - and blew his brains out THROUGH SLOTTIN’ BULLETPROOF GLASS!?!?! And not just that, but you're also saying that this bastard is the same guy that runners killed in Hong Kong over a year ago, and that - assuming he survived somehow - had been inactive for over a year anyway? Sorry, but my granddaddy had a sayin’ that if tha cow smells like a fish then he ain’t eatin’ it." McGruder turns and starts walking away cussing and muttering about idiots in Seattle as he pulls out his phone and dials a number - saying into the reciever "Howdy Howdy little miss" before he is quite out of earshot.

Once McGruder is out of sight, Hernandez asks "So… Detective McCoughlin… is McGruder always like that?"

The other two officers simultaneously reply "Yes." Then Higgins adds "He might be an asshole, Sir, but he's damned good at his job - he just usually goes with the simplest solution possible when putting something together."

McLoughlin adds "And with the Ferryman, you can't assume anything... this guy doesn't play by the normal rules."

Randy Quaid slips out of bed and tiptoes toward the kitchen. He stops halfway, and turns toward the atrium. He enters the small Japanese style garden, unrolls his mat, and assumes the Perfect Posture.

"Food is not going to provide any answers tonight", Quaid thinks as he prepares to clear his mind, and begin the meditation rituals his Sensei taught him. At first he listens to the sounds of the miniature waterfall and babbling brook, but these fade as do the questions that plague him.

Claire's subconscious mind notes Quaid's absence without concern, and lets her sleep for another hour before wondering why he had not returned. Thirty minutes later it shares it's growing concern with her conscious mind, and wakes her. She sits up and listens, and hears... nothing.

Annoyed now, she reaches toward her night stand, and grabs her commlink. "I can't believe he would just leave without saying anything", she thinks as she says his name into the microphone. A second later, she hears a funky little chime behind her. She spins around and notices Quaid's commlink softly glowing on the other night stand.

"Lights, please", she requests, and the room lights respond as programmed for a 4:00 AM wakeup, barely illuminating the room to a pre-dawn like level of intensity. It's enough light for Claire to see the twin trails of clothes they created the evening before.

"He's still here", she thinks, at first relieved, and then even more concerned. After a quick mental debate, she gets up to search for him. It takes her several minutes to find him; her eyes swept past his perfectly still form the first time she looked into the moonlit garden. Claire leans against the doorframe and watches him for a minute. Now that she's found him, she conducts a series of mental debates, wondering: should she should disturb him, is he awake, why is he out here naked, doesn't the cold bother him.

Just when she decides that Quaid is asleep, and that she won't disturb him, he speaks to her. "What would you do if I really disappeared?", he asks her.

"I'd find you", she replied with conviction. "Just like now. Are you planning to leave me?"

"It could happen. It has happened... I think... I thought someone would have found me by now. I haven't been in hiding or anything... I sometimes wonder if it could happen again", his voice trails off.

Time/Date: Saturday 15th October 2072 AD around 9:45 PM
Discordian Time/Date: Pungenday 69 Bureaucracy 3238 YOLD around 09:47
Location: On route to a stake house in Seattle



Screamer was driving down to is local stake house, when the saw his refection in the surface of his bike and quickly headed off to wards the local burger joint. Now a days even these where expensive places as they sold real meat in there burgers sure it was shits meat that they mashed up in to a paste but meat it still was. Pulling his bike up in the lot and walking to wards the doors smiling at the looks he was getting his unwashed and matted hair spilled down his back and a beard almost one solid mass. Approaching the counter and standing in the small line in this Burger King it's sign proudly displaying the it sold "real" meat.

"Can I help you" said a young teenager at the till.
"Yes one Double Chesses burger with bacon a large fires and a large drink" Screamer said noticing that the manager was walking towards him.
"I don’t think you can afford that you bum" comes a voice the manager think Screamer a chiphead says with the aim to remove the unsightly mess form his restaurant.
"I believe your mistaken" replies Screamer curtly as the teenage staff member asks
"You want fries with that?" Following her training to the letter
"Yes in fact didn't I order some?" Say screamer tries his best not to get chucked out.
"So you did sir I’m sorry" comes the freighted reply "that will be 56 nuyen then sir"
"There you are" says Screamer wiring across the money and taking a seat as he waits for his order.
After enjoying the first real food in months in fact his first food in months he stands up walks out of the restaurant and head back to his apartment in a nice neighborhood close to downtown Seattle.

About mid way home a window pops up in his AR view its his fixer and good friend Opinicus.

"Oi, chummer... did I tell you we'd be up to our ears or what?"

"you got some thing already? Wow that was quick what was that 4, 5 hours?

"Mother-fragging Ms. 'Black-Heart' Johnson just called me... she asked for you by name!"

"My name DRECK. That big news or am I screwed?"

"You don't know do you? Black-Heart is her name in the runner community... top notch professional Johnson - she guarantees that the client and the runners recieve protection and don't get humped... a money-back guarantee... if the client doesn't pay you when you succeeded in the objective, her rep says that she pays you and then makes the client pay in blood... same goes the other way if you try to rip off the client... professional to the core... she charges the client a hellacious fee though, and keeps a telepath mage on retainer for the negotiations...

"Looks like I've hit big time then."

"Yeah, this means big money chummer... like lap of luxury for a year money. She wouldn't tell me anything about the job except that its a package intercept, a six or seven man team, and she is paying 300,000 nuyen to the team up front..." Opinicus trails off

"what 50,000 or almost 43,000. Each just for saying yes. Fraggin' hell mate this package must be worth something."

"and an additional half a million in gear and cash upon completion of the job."

"Holy Choa!!. Shit mate your sure you didn’t drug the IV drip? So when the meet."

"I knew that'd perk your ears. The meet is at three AM at the 'Castle in the Sky' restaurant in the Downtown district under the reservation for H. Chaplin. Clean yourself up for this, that's high society class and in a high security zone - with Lone Star going ape-shit over this serial killer."

"The Ferryman?"

"Yeah, I heard that... good hunting, Omae."

"Thanks take it your cut puts us even then. Sorry about the trouble though didn't know it would take two months!"

Screamer sets his sprite to find out what he can about the 'Castle in the Sky' restaurant and heads home to clean him self up and pick out something appropriate for the place. Finding out that the 'Castle in the Sky is a high class restaurant for the big earners of Seattle. He checks his account, 1,100 left not enough for a full meal even though he wants one. He wires Opinicus praying this will be that last favors from him for now.

<<Hey can you lend me a bout 5-6k for this meal if the J aint paying I'll pay you back with the up front money ASAP. Thank mate.>>

Screamer Looks up at his clock it’s about 1:30am. What a day I find out I’ve been in VR for two months and owe Opinicus for keeping me alive. Then I get the biggest job of my life offered to me. To think if I'd taken just a bit longer in the matrix I'd be high and dry by next week.

It's lunchtime, Randy's first break in a unusually hectic day. He is sitting in the ambulance daydreaming while his partner picks up their take-out order inside Wan Hung Lo's.

Randy! What would Randy do if he ever caught up to the comedians who set him up with that joke of a name? That's just one more question Randy can't answer. You see, Randy woke up one morning broke, hungry, and with no memory; just a SIN (fake) identifying himself as Randy Quaid, and a worn out set of dog tags.

The joke? Quaid, as in the old movie Total Recall; and Randy, as in ... Randy has to admit they got that part right. Not only that, Randy bears a slight resemblance to the actor Randy Quaid. No, the actor doesn't look like an Ork; but both Randys are 6'5�, and know how to grin the pants off ladies. Don't know about the actor; our Randy Quaid is big all over. Big enough to impress Dr. Claire.

He also figures his name, Quaid, has to be a clue. He wonders if he is some kind of sleeper agent. That is a recurring topic of discussion between Quaid and Dr. Claire. It's a toss-up whether waking up will be a good or bad thing. Meanwhile, Quaid and his mate prepare for that day, and either eventuality.

Randy's reverie is broken by the frantic cry of, “INCOMING!� from his commlink, followed by the sound of exploding mortar rounds. That ringtone always brings a smile to his face.

“Quaid here.�

"Oi, chummer... I just hit the jack-pot job of the year for ya!"

"Yo, Merle! Wazup?"

"Mother-fracking Ms. 'Black-Heart' Johnson just called me... ME! I mean, can you believe it? And she asked for you by fragging name!"

“Asked for me by name?�, Quaid thinks to himself. “I wonder if this could be the call, the one I've been anticipating and dreading – the thought of which keeps me up at night.� While Quaid thinks, all Merle hears is silence, and all he sees is a frowning Quaid.

"You don't know what that means do you? Black-Heart is a fraggin' legend, man! She's got mother-fraggin' FastJack on speed dial! top notch professional Johnson only one in the shadows with a honest to the Matrix, Captain Chaos as my witness money-back guarantee... if the client doesn't pay you when you succeeded in the objective, her rep says that she pays you and then makes the client pay in blood... same goes the other way if you try to rip off the client... professional to the core... she charges the client more money than D.B. Cooper vanished with though, and keeps a telepath mage on retainer for the negotiations..."

“Sounds like a Ms. Moneybags. What could she possibly want with me?� Quaid surprises himself by asking that last bit out loud. He immediately shuts up.

"Yeah, this means big money chummer... like lap of luxury for a year money. She wouldn't tell me anything about the job except that its a package intercept, a six or seven man team, and she is paying 300,000 nuyen to the team up front..." Merle trails off dramatically

Quaid says nothing.

"and an additional half a million in gear and cash upon completion of the job!" he exclaims with apparent glee.

“Money, Money, Money, Money�, Quaid sings in reply. “Money doesn't excite me that way. Truth is though, I could use a little extra right now. Guess I'll have to look at this one with an open mind.

“Don't worry, Merle. Though I am not going to guess what my cut might be, or how much of that I'll clear, I'll cut you in for fifteen percent of whatever it is.�

"I knew that'd perk your ears. The meet is at three AM at the 'Castle in the Sky' restuaurant in the Downtown district under the reservation for H. Chaplin. That's high society class and in a high security zone - with Lone Star going ape-shit over this serial killer boat-man business."

More silence.

"Ferryman, yeah... I knew that... well, good luck Omae... let me know if you need any new toyz for this one!"

“Don't worry about that! I have a sneaky suspicion that you might have to earn that fifteen percent I promised you. For you to get yours, I have to survive to get mine – survive, and deliver the goods.

“'Castle in the Sky', huh? Three AM! I'll have to rent a tux for that, and get a haircut. I better get rolling, Merle. I'll get back to you.

“Cya.�

Dimitri sighs as he leaves Luna's Cafe, making his way a short distance down the sidewalk before kneeling down to tie his shoe. As he ties it, he looks back the way he came and smiles tightly. 'Well, they're either not following, or they're better than I can spot. Either way, I shouldn't get complacent.' He quickly turns down a crowded street and spends the next few minutes doing everything he can to lose any tails he may have picked up after his conversation with Sierra.

After Dimitri feels reasonably certain that any pursuers would have lost his trail, he starts searching for someone who could supplement his income. 'Bingo... there's the mark I want...' The mark, a fat Mafioso who looks a little too nervous, keeps clutching at an over-stuffed pocket with a corner of a newspaper sticking out of it. Dimitri knows that whatever was in that pocket was valuable. Or dangerous. Or something. Whatever it is, it will be worth something to someone.

He uses his camera ring to record a quick image of the Mafioso's face before he makes his move. Dimitri walks towards the Mafioso and, just as they're about to pass one another, trips, bumping into the Mafioso. In that split second of contact, Dimitri quickly lifts the contents of the pocket and shoves it into his own pocket, mumbling an apology before continuing on his way.

A short while later, Dimitri found a secluded path in a nearby park and gently pulled the Mafioso's newspaper out of his pocket. He carefully unfolded the paper and frowned when he saw what it contained. A bloody straight razor was lying on the paper. 'Well, isn't this interesting? Someone's going to be in a bit o' trouble when it's discovered they've... misplaced this... Wonder if Boris would like it...'

As if his thought had summoned him, his comm signaled an incoming call from Boris. He casually slips the newspaper and razor into a pocket on the inside of his coat as he shifts his voice to match that of Borya. "Good evening."

<<"Good evening Borya, are you having had any boxes sold today?">>

"Ah, my friend. You know I got out of that business a while back. No money there, you know? I've gotten into the service industry lately. So, what has you calling little ol' me this time o' night?"

<<"That is good... I have just gotten off the comm with a most interesting client... this client, she asked for you by name my friend.">>

"A client knew my name?"

<<"I am not knowing why or how, but this Ms. Johnson - she is a professional arranger of deals, an escrow... the best and most expensive sort of escrow. Her involvement means money... big money, the sort that warms the cockles of my Siberian heart. If she is being involved, this job is one that shall prove most lucrative">>

"How lucrative?"�

<<"All I know about the job itself is that Ms. Johnson is having promised a team of no more than seven individuals, with a very large payment... in fact, she has already wired me a sum simply for having contacted you with her offer.">>

"Define 'very large'."�

Boris laughs <<"The sort of payment that tells me to take the day off and celebrate with imported Vodka, my friend! You are promised that the team will be receiving at least three HUN - DRED - THOU - SAND nuyen...">> He pauses dramatically...

"That's it?"�

<<"Up front... with an additional half million paid in a combination of gear and cash following successful completion of the job.">>

"That's far more interesting. What's the job?"

<<"I am not knowing what the job is, only that it involves the need for cunning and guile. Thusly, she is having asked for you.">>

?Huh... so where would I go to learn more?"�

<<"You are to be meeting her and the rest of the team at the 'Castle in the Sky' restaurant in the Downtown district at 3:00 AM sharp. You are having a reservation under the party of Chaplin, H... it is high security zone, so prepare accordingly... Lone Star is being annoying gnat currently - this Ferryman business you understand." >>

"More annoying than usual? This Ferryman must really be something... have you heard anything about him?"�

<<"Yes, I have heard of this Ferryman... Lone Star is being pushed very hard to catch this person, and they are calling in specialists from Texas - as well as reinforcements to be cracking down on businessmen like myself until someone talks like broken egg... but none of us are knowing who this killer is or what he wants... very troubling matter.">>

"Very troubling, indeed. Well, comrade, I've got some things to take care of before I meet the client."�

<<"Good luck, Comrade... though with your skills, it is the enemy that shall be needing the luck, da?">>

"Hopefully it's all bad on their end. Have a good evening."� With that, Dimitri closes the channel and changes his voice back from that of Borya. "HK, find this 'Castle in the Sky' restaurant and figure out how long it will take to get there from my condo, how much a meal will cost, and the shortest route to 'Castle in the Sky' from the condo. Inform me what you find. Oh, also run that mark's face through the facial recognition software. See if you can figure out who he is."

HK's tinny voice sounds almost insulted as he responds, <<Master, is it really necessary to assign such easy tasks to me? Why do you never give me orders like 'Kill that elf,' or 'Find out from this dwarf where the secret plans are?'>>

Dimitri growls softly. "HK, don't make me wipe your personality files again. Do what I tell you to, and perhaps I will see about getting more challenging tasks for you."

<<Yes, Master. Right away, Master. >> HK sounds almost sullen. Dimitri rolls his eyes and switches his commlink to text only as he begins making his way back to his condo. Upon arrival, he quickly changes out of his Synergist business suit and puts on his Actioneer business suit. He then stares at the mirror and begins focusing on his favorite appearance for stakeouts and the like. His hair darkens to an ordinary black, and his eyes become a plain brown, and his face rounds out to become average. Joe Smingleton's plain, ordinary, bland reflection stares back at him. Joe smiles slightly and combs his hair, leaving a not-quite-straight part just off center. Joe quickly puts a few finishing touches to his disguise, and then transfers a copy of HK and his findings to his Sony Emperor Commlink, along with some of his common-use programs. He takes one last look into the mirror and heads out, following HK's instructions to get to the restaurant. As he makes his way down the street, he casually lights one of his new cigarettes.

The Castle in the Sky restaurant is a standalone building downtown, its ground level footprint is the size of a lobby and has several elevators... the rest is a shaft taller than almost all the rest of the city allowing one to view most of the district from above (though the Ares building and several other buildings are taller, they are far enough away not to disrupt the view and rather give a nice skyline). The building expands into a saucer shape at the top, which Joe assumes is the actual restaurant - which itself is several levels high, and then there is a glass domed, smaller, top level. On the first level of the saucer, a helipad juts out on either side, giving the whole building the general shape of an ornate cross. When Joe approaches the entrance, he notes that there are two troll doormen in Victorian British Guard uniforms (complete with funny hats and flintlock rifles) standing at attention, and there is a human host standing at the red carpet entrance (with awning leading to the sidewalk, actual red carpet, velvet rope cordons, etc). The host is an older British-looking gentleman in a red Victorian suit - double breasted with a multitude of brass buttons and long coat-tails. He is wearing a round monocle on the tip of his nose, and looks down at Joe when he walk up and says "I'm sorry, sir, but this establishment requires a reservation" He smirks "And you, sir are most certainly not on the list." Several minutes of pointless argument later, Joe gives up and walks away, having failed to even fluster the host sufficiently to make him break character. As they argue (or rather, Joe argues and the host acts snooty), Joe looked around, noticing that there are MAD AND cyberware scanners discreetly built into the entranceway, the trolls' rifles are disguised assault rifles, and it isn't difficult to surmise that the host has a mental panic button given the small fiberoptic cable running from his temple to under his coat - discreetly disguised as a monocle line of course.

By the time he arrives back at his condo, Joe is literally shaking with anger. 'How dare he?! How dare he deny me passage? Being an absolute slot, I could deal with. It would be nothing new. But this?! He got in the way of a Job. Completely unforgivable. Now, what would be a good revenge? I have to go back there...there's no way I won't at least listen to this job. I can't arrange to destroy it... yet... hmm. About the only thing I could do at this point in time is be a bad tipper... or out snoot that bastard. Hmm... That's it! I've got an idea!' With that, Joe quickly changes into Borya before making a quick comm call. "Boris, is this a good time for me to swing by? I have a huge favor to ask of you."

<<"Niet, the Lone Star gnats, they are being crawling up my ass with flashlight looking for this woman they saw Dimitri with... it is best that Dimitri not be found and Borya not be associated with me for time being.">>

"They saw Dimitri with someone? Who? He hasn't done anything today..." Borya's eyes widen, and then he takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. "Ok, I've got a favor to ask of you. Do you happen to have a limo that I can borrow for the meeting later? I want to make a good impression."

<<"Da, I am having a limo in the area to pick up an important friend of mine at 3:30. The limo can be picking you up before the meeting and dropping you off, but it will not be available afterwards. If you are scratching it, you will be paying for very quick paint job.">>

"That's perfect, my friend. Thank you very much! Now, I'll let you get back to business. Thanks again!" Borya glances at the time and frowns slightly. He's going to need most of the remaining time available to perfect his costume. He quickly transfers HK and his common use programs to his custom commlink and orders, "HK, I want maximum encryption running tonight, along with the PeopleSoft package. I also want you and IG-88 to be on high alert. Nobody gets into the commlink, ok?"

<<Master, it shall be done. No one will be accessing your data without your permission. >>

"Thank you, HK. Oh, and record the Johnson and any one else we don't know at the meeting. I want to know everything we can find out about the people we're supposed to be working with and for." With that out of the way, Borya turns to the difficult task of picking out an outfit to wear tonight. He quickly decides that his Mortimer's of London Berwick Line suit would be perfect for this meeting. He also puts on several tasteful, yet expensive-looking pieces of jewelry and carefully grooms himself before lighting another of his new cigarettes. Finally, just before the limo is due to arrive, to pick him up, Borya uses his magic to add a faint high-class British accent to his voice. He carefully climbs into the limo and grins to himself. 'This is going to be fun.'

As they drive toward the Medical Center, Randy Quaid thinks, "I've got a lot to do before this meeting. I better make this the last run for the day." He calls dispatch. I need to confer with Dr. Claire. Can you get someone else to complete my shift?"

"Confer? Is that what they call it now?"

"Smile when you say that."

"Smile? Maybe if I were in your shoes...."

"It works for me!"

"Tell me something I don't know."

Quaid suddenly remembers the news article about a curfew. Frack! I better get downtown before seven. The last think I need tonight is to get hassled over some bull. He decides to leave Claire a voice mail, and is surprised when she answers his call.

"What's up, lover?" is how Dr. Claire answers the phone.

Quaid first fills her in on his opportunity, then starts rambling on about all the things he's got to do. Claire cuts him off before he builds up a full head of steam.

"You sound awful nervous."

"This could be THE call."

"You feel that way about EVERY call."

"Yeahhhh... This client asked for me by name for this one."

"I hear you, and I understand. I'd go with you, only you don't need me, and the client doesn't need to see you holding your mommas hand."

"But it's such a shapely hand, Mamasita."

"Yeah, and it's been a long time since I've been to the Castle in the Sky. But I can't tonight. Besides..."

"Look, there's no need for you to run all over town like a rooster with his chicken cut off. Just go to this address." Dr. Claire sends him directions which he opens in a new window. They lead to Herman Field's Mortuary. At the same time, Claire puts in a call to the mortuary, and makes it a three-way.

Quaid hears: Dr. Claire, my darling.... as a dour looking Penquin virtually appears in his eyeball.

Not now, Studmuffin. Look, I'm sending you a LIVE one. I want you to fix him up right....

This is a first. Are you sure?

I don't mean it like that. Quaid here is my baby. If I hear any complaints, I'll have your nuts in a specimen jar.

Quaid? You mean the Quaid that's filled your dance card. My competition? My pleasure! Send him rrriight over! I'll be waiting.

The Penquin vanishes in a poof of smoke as Claire tells Quaid, You heard him. Get over there. You don't have time to waste.

Quaid is reluctant to ask Claire what her relationship is with this Herman the Mortican. Claire senses that.

Don't worry, Pooh Bear. Herman Fields is a sometimes organlegger with a mortician's sense of humor. Trust me! He'll fix you up right, and try to take it out in trade. It will cost an arm and a leg, but they won't be yours. Ha Ha.

Yeah, I can tell that you've been hanging with him just a little too long.. Quaid gives Claire his breadwinning smile as he starts to follow the directions downtown.

Forty minutes later he arrives at a conservative looking funeral home where he is greeted by the palest looking elf he has ever seen.

Welcome, Mr. Quaid. It's not often that I get to greet my patients.

This is a first for me, too. What exactly am I doing here?

I was expecting you to tell me. Dr. Claire said to fix you up. You just need to tell me what to fix you up for.

Riiiight! Of, course. Hmmm... I was telling Dr. Claire how I need to look elegant for this tres chic soiree tonight. She told me to come here instead of running all over town. She said you could make even the dead look good.

"That I can! Course it helps that the dead never question my taste, which is impeccable by the way." Herman walks around Quaid, and looks him over while making a lot of approving hmmm sounds. Herman goes to a drawer and takes out a conductor's baton, and goes through the motions of tuning up an imaginary orchestra. "Oh yes! With raw material like you, this will be a virtuoso performance."

What appears to Quaid like an an old man's eccentricity is actually a wizard's centering ritual, and the conductor's baton is actually a spell focus. Suddenly, the mortician is conducting actual music, but it's not magic. It's Prokofiev's The Giant, coming from the mortuary's sound system. Herman selected it using his commlink.

As Herman conducts, and the music plays, Quaid is transformed. Quaid starts to feel the effects, and realizes that he is in the presence of magic. First Quaid feels like he just got four hours sleep. Next, his hair develops a sheen and his skin develops a healthy glow. He has that same sense of well-being that deep meditation brings. He imagines his body ridding itself of impurities.

"Man, this feels amazing. You need to teach Dr. Claire how to do that."

"I would never teach that first spell to a woman in her profession. The temptation to overuse it would be great, and Crank can be addictive if abused. As far as Healthy Glow is concerned, it's no substitute for actual health care. Please, no more interruptions."

Herman directs Quaid's attention to a wall mirror. As Quaid watches, his nails are trimmed and buffed, his hair is cut and styled, his teeth are whitened, and his skin is given a California tan.

"That's what's known as a makeover", Herman explains as he extracts a bundle from a cabinet. "Put this on! I'll just be a minute or two."

Quaid starts changing into a set of scrubs without question. He may be incompetent, but he has the experience to recognize the top-of-the-line autodoc when he sees one. He gets an inkling of what Herman must be paying to play conductor, and begins to understand how this could cost "an arm and a leg", and why his Claire doesn't know these spells.

Quaid is still wondering how he can possibly assist, when Herman approaches him with a copy of Gentleman's Quarterly. Would you believe a datapad displaying the cover of the latest Gentleman's Quarterly PDF? Herman flips rapidly through the file before removing a chip from the pad and slotting it in a holoprojector. Quaid chuckles as a mannequin with a striking resemblance to himself appears, and different costumes appear and disappear on the mannequin.

"What do you think?", Herman asks.

"I think you haven't seen all of me", Quaid says with a laugh. Quick thinking on Quaid's part. What Quaid is actually chuckling about is that the virtual mannequin is not standing, it's laying on a slab.[/color]

"Haa Haa. I may be gay, but Dr. Claire is too handy with a scalpel. Put this on." He hands Quaid a lab coat.

As Quaid watches the mirror, the scrubs and labcoat are transformed into a Rating 5 forgery of a Mortimer of London's 20th century Berwick suit. The paper booties become dance pumps. The music dies down as Herman stops conducting to look him over. The banshee looks Quaid over with a frown before suddenly snapping his fingers He heads over to an expensive looking casket, opens it up, and starts fiddling with what looks like - an arm!

Herman returns to Quaid. "This should do it". He hands Quaid a Rolex Oyster Perpetual."The ahh.. Skipper won't be needing this until day after tomorrow - his final soiree. In the meantime, he won't miss it. Ha Ha."

"I've got to admit", says Quaid, "Dr. Claire was right about you. I'm just afraid to ask how much this is going to cost."

"Do you know what true love is? You should. For Dr. Claire to ask me to do this... she truly loves you. Looks like she'll be taking me to dinner soon." Herman pulls a carnation out of a funeral arrangement and sticks it into Quaids lapel. He steps back, photographs Quaid with his commlink, and transmits the photo to the Doctor. "I chose Mortimer because I know that Dr. Claire would have wanted Zoe. I can do her like that. YOU can't. Be good to her.

"There a selection of cologne in the staff restroom. I suggest you use Zoe's Armani. Get it on your way out. Go!"

Quaid follows his commlink's directions to Castle in the Sky. When he arrives at his destination, he realizes that he has eight hours to kill.

Near Puyallup City
October 15th 2072
11:45PM

The Inquiline Protocol disengaged the diagnosis apparatus. Tiny needles pulled free from synthetic flesh, fastenings released, analytical systems shut down, and wires retracted from hidden ports. The drone stood inert, poised and upright, its countless servitors and points of articulation held rigid, barring minor adjustments dictated by the clever system of gyroscopes positioned throughout its form. Disentangling its code from that of the expert analysis and maintenance program, the Inquiline Protocol returned home. Returned to its body. A body of wires and processors, superconducting channels cut into miracle alloys buried under vat grown tissue and the web of servitors that gave it human animation. The Otomo came to life and straightened itself as the tens of thousands of custom hardware drivers in the Inquiline Protocol's OS came online. It yawned a synthetic yawn- networks of tiny pins and lines pulling the flesh into a semblance of the expression- dressed itself, and started a series of sun salutations. Not that the drone's body has anything to gain from from yoga, but it seemed the type of activity that a human named Carey might engage in, and the Inquiline Protocol did love to mimic human movements. Mimicry was its highest Art. Besides, the movements allowed the Inquiline Protocol independent verification of its body perfect condition. When the Otomo was functioning perfectly, driver's freshly debugged and hardware maintained, it was completely dependable. Every motion followed the science of its design flawlessly. Barring outside intervention, what the Inquiline Protocol willed, the Otomo did. It could be depended upon. It finished its motion, assured all systems were behaving. The Inquilne Protocol turned its attention to the surrounding room. Aside from a few pieces of specialized equipment, the building could have been any low-level industrial workshop. Equipment, scrap metal, and sculptures were scattered about in a seemingly hap hazard matter, but on ultrawideband radar a fractal logic appeared. Another quite evening. It was getting to like the rhythms of being Carey. Few people asking questions, a legit- if meager- source of income, and time to do art, even if it isn't the true art.
The Inquiline Protocol was staring at a rectangular block of metal. Its thoughts kept returning to a statue. It should be the base of a statue. But a statue of what? The Inquiline Protocol's creative proccess was interrupted but a notifier from her messenger service. It warned of a request by J.Y. to open a voice line, and that the verification codes were all in order. The Inquiline Protocol patched him through. It deactived the driver's controling the Otomo's voice mechanism and connected its input to the voice line. It was easier then using a mic.
"James," The Inquiline Protocol 'said' in greeting.
"Calico, good night." James said.
"'Good evening' is the more typical greeting, James." The Inquiline Protocol continued to study the rectangle of metal. It stepped onto it, established balance, and locked the Otomo rigid. Only the drone's sensors remained active. Now it was the statue.
"Sorry, Calico, its been a bad night." The Inquiline Protocol knew James always used DNI, just as it did. The added security helped sate the paranoia required by both their professions. Thus, though James' simulated voice came through clear, there was a pattern of irregularity to emphasis, and a pattern of minor error that the Inquiline Protocol had come to recognize.
"So you have been hitting the bottle. Haven't done that for a while, James."
"As I said, its been a hard night. Hard night, hard drinking. Seems fair."
"And what has made it such a bad night, pray tell?"
"Not bad, I said hard. Hard."
"The first time you said bad."
"Well, then I guess it was both." James sounded a bit exasperated now. Which meant it was important. The Inquiline Protocol doubled checked that the encryption programs were running properly. Everything appeared to be in order.
"Spit it out, James."
"I have been informed that it may be possible in the near future to buy information as to what happened to Sadie Rose, providing some conditions are met." It was a good thing the Inquiline Protocol had issued a standing command to hold the Otomo rigid, or else it probably would have temporarily lost control of the Otomo.
"That sounds equivocal," the Inquiline Protocol said, finally.
"I heard it from some friends," for James, 'some friends' always meant the mob. "In fact, rumour has it you were asked for by name by a Ms. Johnston."
"What, a Johnston? When did this become a run?"
"Just listen, Calico, its all in detail." James shushed it, "You work with seven people. You get paid 300k before, and 500k after. That's between the six of you."
"I take it you mean between the seven of us, but still, I don't like it James. It reeks. More money then I like being involved with- normally, I wouldn't touch it. Where does Sadie come in?"
"She is the clincher. You do this little job, you can buy info."
"...God damn it, James. They have me by the proverbial balls." The Inquiline Protocol could imagine James wince at that hated expression, "So where is the meeting."
"Three am. Castle in the Sky restaurant. H. Chaplin party."
"Not familiar,"
"Wear your Synergist, don't try to bring your gun."
"Know anything about Ms. J?"
"A pro, that's all."
"If I die on this, James, I want a funeral. A nice one. You got me into this, James, so the funeral is yours to arrange. Hire mourners if you must."
"Its a deal."
The Inquiline Protocol sent a quick order to cut the line. The servos mimicking human intercostal muscles engaged, and bladders inside of the synthetic body expanded and contracted as the Otomo simulated a sigh. The Inquiline Protocol reintroduced full motion functions into the Otomo, and stepped down from the metal block. Now it would have to visit Calico's appartment- that's were it kept it's suit. About two hours worth of running around getting ready, which means maybe an hour to work on its art. At least it knew what to use for block for now. It started to create the 3D plans for the statue, part by part, as it absently scanned the room with the ultrawideband radar, looking for peices to match its vision. It could get a decent start an in an hour.

A Small Run-down Apartment Somewhere in Seattle
October 15th 2072
10:22 PM

The small dimly lit room was silent as Nick Sandine fumbled through a stack of old photographs, picking out his favorite ones. Sitting there on the floor on the mattress, he arranged the aged pictures of his family and they almost seemed to come alive in his mind as he recalled the past. He had only recently acquired a box of photographs since his release from his second life, which couldn’t have happened at a better time since he was starting to forget some of their faces.

He continued to rifle through the photos in his hands until he came to one of his mother. The portal to the past then drew forth emotions that Nick couldn’t control. He started sobbing as a few spontaneous flashbacks of the horrific life ending trauma that his mother had suffered cracked his mind. He had tried for years to block out these memories, but he couldn’t. Being a witness to her violated body was simply too traumatic. Even the darkest one he knows couldn’t offer him an escape from the pain with the ways of Voodoo.

The sound of Nick’s commlink pierced the silent room, which nearly startled the vulnerable Ork.

I’m not going to answer that like this.. he thought to himself, until he saw who the call was from.

“Hey� he said as he answered, trying to sound as if he hadn’t been crying.

“Do you believe in fate?� the voice on the other end of the line said in a twisted tone.

He didn’t answer.

“The world is once again in need of your special kind of darkness.� the Haitian said, piercing Nick’s silence.

“Tonight?� he replied.

"There is a woman - her heart as cold as the clay... this woman called Johnson has requested your services on an urgent matter... urgent enough to promise you substantial money."

“There are some things money can’t buy� Nick said as he looked upon the picture of his mother in his hands again.

“The wailing of the souls of the damned have reached a crescendo - something important is about to come into being.� The deep voice muttered in a haunting nature. “You are to meet her at three hours past midnight in a restaurant called "Castle in the Sky", a place where the fat and wicked wealthy flock together. You don’t have a choice. I need you to do this for me.� The voice assured.

“Understood.�

Nick disconnected the call and once gazed at the pictures scattered around him.

“Perhaps a night in the present would do me some good.� He thought, smirking as he again thought of the long night to come.

A Small Run-down Apartment Somewhere in Seattle
October 16th 2072
1:48 AM

Nick stood in front of the mirror and adjusted his neck tie so that it disguised his subvocal microphone. It was odd to see himself look so sophisticated. It reminded him of when he first wore a suit when he was a teenager. He didn’t like to wear them after that because it always reminded him of the trial. Shaking that memory he admired his sculpted and groomed facial hair and sprayed a light amount of cologne in the air in front of his neck. He wondered briefly what his life could have been like if things were different.

Nick turned away from the mirror and picked up his Ares Predator off of the small night stand next to his mattress and tucked it into a concealed holster. As he went to put his commlink into his pocket, it began to ring. It was an electronic message from Sally.

Hey, there is a Detective Hernandez who wants to take a statement from you about what you saw that night...

I know it's hard, but they said it was important... they think that this Ferryman was involved, and if thats so then you may be the best hope they have to catch that monster.

I’ve sent you his comm-code... he said to contact him whenever you're willing to talk... he doesn't care what time or when.

Look... I know you can't tell me everything, but you don't have to do this alone.

Nick was stunned.

Reopened the case!? He pondered in amazement. He didn’t know how to handle the good news. He didn’t know if he should cheer or if he should cry. His disposition settled somewhere in between…the biggest smile Nick had produced in years overtook his face. A moment of fantasy flashed in Nick’s mind as he pictured himself taking Sally up into his arms to show her his gratitude.

Nick took a moment to ground himself and reality kicked in. He was in no position to love someone. He had debts to pay and a deep desire for vengeance that he was insightful enough to recognize, as well as it’s destructive potential. No detective could satisfy his need to avenge what happened to his family. Nick wanted real justice.

Thank you Nick messaged back to Sally as he left his apartment to head downtown for the meeting at The Castle in the Sky.