Zee keeps her eyes locked on the closest group of gangers. Tasha didn't seem to want to try talking her way out of this one, and Zee took that to mean that diplomacy was probably not an option, here. Even if Tasha and Zee did nothing to defend their property, these people seemed like they would kill one another fighting over which of them was going to steal the bikes. There was little doubt that people were going to die, over these bikes - the questions that remained were 'who?' and 'how many?' Zee resolved to make sure that Tasha would not be among the dead, and to try to contain the number of casualties it took to reestablish their safety.

"I'm tough." Zee suggested, as if Tasha's comment had given her the idea. "Let me handle this."

As Zee moves forward, confidently, Tasha notices her reach towards the small of her back and pull something small and cylindrical out from the back of her pants. Whatever it is, it disappears into the curve of her hand, as Zee casually lets her hand fall back to her side. Zee continued to approach the closest group, with slow determination, ready to spring into action if the locals turn violent. Her mimicry co-processers were working overtime to make sure her gait looked realistic, and that she moved her body, just right, to draw the gangers' attention away from her hand and towards the parts of her anatomy that they were already showing interest in.

"So, which one of you wants to go first?" She asks, raising an eyebrow, as she gets close.

Zee:

One of the gangers raises his eyebrows questioningly. "Go first? What are you, like a hooker or something?"

"Man, I'd hit that."

"Dude, I don't think she wants to fuck you. I think she wants to fight you."

"Haha, seriously?" He looks you over dubiously. "Well, I don't know about that. I don't like to hit girls."

"Oh please, that's bullshit, Connor. Last time I went over to your doss, your bitch was missing half her teeth."

The ganger laughs. "Oh yeah, forgot about that. Let's just say I don't like to hit girls who don't have it coming to them."

He rolls up his sleeves and cracks his knuckles. "But hey, if you really want to fight me, I ain't gonna back down."

"What the fuck is going on here?"

Careful to keep the gangers in your peripheral vision, you turn your head to see an enormous troll emerge from within the bar. You reassess the threat level of the situation...if this one is going to jump into the brawl, there might be one hell of a fight on your hands. He has dozens of scars etched across his face, and he has so much bulk on him that his biceps probably have biceps. He's wearing a pair of shock gloves on his hands and has a huge pistol slung across his gun belt.

"Nothing's going on, Sonny," the ganger says. "Just having a friendly chat with a couple of the neighborhood ladies."

The troll snarls. "Don't give me that bullshit, Connor. If you're up for a real fight, get your scrawny ass inside the bar and jump into the ring. Otherwise, if I catch you boys hassling potential customers again, I'm going to rip off your head and shove it up Jimmy's ass right here, and then I'll rip off his head and shove it up your ass. Got it?"

He glares at you and Tasha. "You are customers, right? If you are, you have my guarantee that these little fuckers aren't going to touch you or your property, at least until you leave. If not, you're on your own."

Zee watched, as the gangers discussed her - and was just a few processor cycles from releasing the weight on her whip and making an example out of the guy who seemed to become their unofficial volunteer. She didn't particularly want to do it, but she calculated that a quick and gruesome attack on one of their "alpha" members - especially a decapitation or a crippling laceration - followed up by attacks on any of his friends who dared to object, would have the best chance of clearing the area quickly - saving the lives of anyone smart enough to reconsider how badly they wanted a new bike.

The arrival of the troll made her hesitate, though. At first, she was concerned that he might weigh in if things got violent, or that crossing him would jeopardize their mission. Before she had made up her mind, the situation seemed to resolve itself. As soon as there was no immediate threat to either Zee or Tasha, the girl seemed to loose interest in the gangers.

Zee smirked, a facial expression that she believed appropriate for the situation and demeanor she wanted to portray. "I guess I'll see you, when we leave, then, Connor?" She turned her back to him, and his friends - still mapping their positions with her radar, in case any of them tried anything - and walked back to Tasha.

When she got close, she said. "Violence wasn't necessary. They are already intimidated."

She turned her head towards the squatters, who seemed to have grown slightly more confident now that the bikes had become off-limits to the gangers. The only reason some of them had not rushed the girls upon arrival was the idea that the gangers might fight them for anything valuable they found. A couple of them turned away, after hearing the troll's threats, slotting another chip or pulling a tattered coat over their faces - but a handful seemed to still be considering moving in, and only seemed to be waiting to see if the girls would leave their vehicles unattended - or if the troll was going to go back inside, first.

"Do you want me to guard the bikes, or stay with you?" Zee asked. It was going to be dangerous, either way - but Zee felt more confident, now, that the troll would not let anything bad happen to Tasha - at least not while she was in his bar.

Tasha wavers.

"I, uh, well, I think he intimidated anyone who doesn't want to die, but no one watching the bikes, you can bet some desperate or stupid punk might try anyways. I hate to keep sticking you with all the boring jobs, but... hey, wait a sec. When I first met you, you shot that one guy through a wall. Some kind of sensor, right? So how much range do you have on it? Maybe you could come in, but still keep an eye on the bikes? 'Course, it'll still look like no one's watching the bikes, so you'd have to stay near the door, to be able to rush out. At least you could come in, though, watch my back, get a drink... your call."

Zee shrugged. "I don't need a drink, but I am more worried about your safety, than either of the bikes'." She reached behind her and nonchalantly replaced her weapon in its concealed location. "Range is one-hundred meters, less if there is interference, or dense materials. Sensing neither, at the moment." She tilted her head in the direction of the nearest alley. "Like you said, though: It will still look like nobody is watching, so anyone desperate enough to try something, will, and I'll end up out here, anyway."

"If it is my call, I think it is best if I stay here, and keep an eye on you, through the wall. My presence might save some lives, if it dissuades them from coming closer, and it seems like patrons are not hassled, at least while they are in there, so I think you will be safe. If I see a problem, I'll abandon the bikes and back you up, and you can ping me if there is an emergency."

Zee seems to look Tasha up and down. "If you have any audio or visual sensors, link them to me. At the very least, we should keep a matrix channel open so we can talk."

The two girls spent a moment, exchanging digital handshakes and establishing a connection between their nodes. Zee encrypted the connection, and Tasha shared a link to her image-link, subvocal-mic, and the built in camera and microphone on her Novatech Airware. In her field-of-view, Tasha's contacts displayed two small windows - one showing the world through Zee's eyes (which, at the moment, showed Tasha) and the other showing a 3D mapsoft rendering of the immediate area. Two blips represented the bikes, and a number of fainter blips marked the positions of the people in the area, including a few patrons inside the building. It also provided a pretty high resolution map of the Rancid Rainbow - although Tasha had been there before, and already knew the layout.

As Tasha headed in, Sonny the troll called back to Zee, "You sure you wanna say out there, honey?" Zee nodded back, confidently, and the troll just shrugged and followed Tasha inside mumbling to himself, "... its your funeral."

Zee noticed some movement from the nearest group of gangers, as soon as the door close, and turned to see Connor had moved to the front of his group, and seemed to be sizing up Zee. "I guess this means I am not a potential customer, anymore," she said, leaning back on Tasha's bike to conceal the fact that she was drawing the haft of her whip into her hand, again.

She stared back, silently daring anyone to make a move, and secretly hoping they would have the good-sense not to.

After establishing a communications link with Zee, Tasha heads down the short flight of worn steps into the Rancid Rainbow. No one frisks her, or even asks if she's carrying. Most people here probably are. It's that kind of place. The bar is dimly lit, except for the day-glo psychedelic murals on the walls. Unlike the one outside, these ones are untouched by vandals.

There are some chairs and tables, but most people are either at the bar (smoking, drinking, or chipping their favorite mode of oblivion), or clustered around the ring, watching the fights. Spontaneous bar fights are discouraged here - it's considered rude not to give everyone else a chance to put their money down on it. Right now, two bedraggled squatters are howling and clumsily slashing at each other with cheap ceramic knives, with the crowd alternately laughing and shouting encouragement to them.

The bartender, Shotgun Shellie, is nonchalantly leaning on the counter at the moment, but Tasha has seen the six-armed changeling mix drinks with a dazzling speed and virtuosity. Good as she is, Tasha wouldn't want to go up against Shotgun Shellie. There's few things scarier than having six sawed-off shotguns all leveled at you.

She supposes she'll start out with Shellie, who is relatively reasonable, bribe-wise (although it's a flat fee, whether she knows anything or not), and work through some of the other low-lifes if Shellie doesn't know anything. She'll probably wind up buying Shellie's exotic drink concoctions (like the Rat's Nest Rainbow, a mix of habenero sauce, whiskey, scotch, and paint thinner) for a number of folks. They tend to prefer payment in booze over cred here.

Tasha:

Shellie spends a tick looking over the photographs of the gangers you hand her before sliding them back to you across the counter.

"Yeah, I know those guys," she says. "Unfortunately for you, my nephew happens to be in that gang of theirs, so if you want dirt, it ain't gonna come easy. I've seen your face around here a couple of times, but I know you're not from this part of town. Let me tell you something...here in Redmond, we look out for our own, because nobody else does."

She pauses, and laughs. "Ah fuck it, that's a crock of shit, we beat, stab, rob, and murder our own, but hell, we don't want outsiders coming in thinking they can just jump in for a piece of the action."

She nods in the direction of the ring where the two squatters are tussling. "Tell you what. Brock is currently on a break drinking down his winnings from the last fight, but he's going back in as soon as one of those sorry sacks of shit kills the other one. He's been winning fights all day, and his ego is getting a little bit too inflated. You look like a gal who could handle herself. If there's one thing Brock hates, it's getting beat by a woman. If you get in there and knock him down a peg, I'll tell you what you want to know."

One of the bar patrons sitting next to you laughs. "Hey Shellie, you still pissed at Brock for dumping you?"

Shellie shoots him a death glare, and his grin immediately disappears. Suddenly, the bar erupts in wild cheer as one of the squatters plunges his knife right into the other one's throat, opening up his windpipe. Bright red blood sprays out in a fine mist, and the squatter clutches his neck and crumples to the ground. He twitches a few times before his body stills.

"Well, looks like it's over," Shellie says. "You up or not? If you are, these are the rules: no guns, but all other weapons are fair game. Despite what you just saw, I would prefer it if it didn't end in someone getting ganked, because that means less customers for me. Winner gets a tall, cold glass on the house, but for you, the prize will be paydata on those razorboys you're hunting."

She shrugs. "On the other hand, I do need to replace my mixer. If you're too scared to fight Brock, I would be willing to trade you the info for...say, 1000 nuyen."

Zee:

Connor glares at you. "You know, for such a little girl, you have a mighty big mouth."

He takes a step forward, but one of his cronies grabs him by the arm. "Dude, remember what happened the last time someone pissed off Sonny? They had to bury the bastard without one of his arms, man, 'cause they couldn't find it."

"Fuck Sonny," Connor spits. "Someone needs to teach this bitch a lesson."

He reaches into the pocket of his long coat and draws an Italian stiletto. The blade springs out, razor sharp.

"I'm going to give you a new haircut, whore," he says.

He leaps at you.

Tasha mulls over the offer for a few seconds.

"Well, guns are my thing, I'm not much good without them. Zee might be up for it, though. How about I ask her? Same deal? Brock will still be getting beaten by a woman."

As she talks to Shellie, she notes (in one of her side displays) that Zee is about to get into a scrap with one of the gangers. No big surprise, there. She's not too worried about it.

"Well, Zee, let's see how you do against the prelim bum. The main event's coming right up," thinks Tasha.

Shellie raises a quizzical brow. "Who the hell is Zee?"

"She's my partner," responds Tasha. "She's outside, watching the bikes. I'll switch with her, and she can beat up this Brock guy who needs to be taken down a peg."

Zee's attention goes to the blade, the presence of even slight danger pushing her perception into slow-motion, and her first reaction is to use the whip to end the situation, quickly. However, this time, she is not surrounded and outnumbered. As long as the other gangers kept their distance, Zee was confident that she could end the situation without resorting to her secret weapon - and making an unnecessary mess.

She kept still until the Connor came within range, then rushed to meet him, her body moving in one fluid motion. One arm spun to intercept his attack, while she shifted her weight to bring her leg up to meet his neck.

Tasha:

Shellie shrugs. "Sure, why not. I don't really care which one of you fights him, I just want to see Brock's ass flattened to the tile."

The ring is now clear. The corpse has been dragged away, probably to the dumpster out back, and the squatter who won is sitting at a table with a huge smile on his face, surrounded by a group of his hobo friends. As you watch, a tall, burly ork with razor sharp tusks and eyes of flint climbs inside the ring. He has a monofilament long sword slung across his back, and his body armor is caked with dried blood, none of which looks to be his. He stares out at the bar, his eyes narrowed and defiant.

"Now that that scrub match is over, which one of you pussies wants to fight me?"

He receives no response. Shellie rolls her eyes derisively.

"In case you haven't already guessed, that's Brock. The guy's a pig, but he's also a damn good fighter. If you're gonna send your friend in there, she'd best be on her toes."

Zee:

You easily parry the ganger's clumsy knife swing, and your foot connects with his neck with a sickening crunch. His eyes bulge, and he oozes to the pavement, limp. His friends stare at his body in disbelief.

"Holy shit, I think she killed him!"

"Let's get the fuck out of here!"

They take off in the other direction with surprising haste. You look around. It seems like everyone who had been watching you before are now trying their hardest to avoid eye contact with you.

Zee finishes her move, by gracefully kneeling over Connor's body. "It was not Sonny you should have been worried about," she said softly to no one in particular. The way his neck was bent - Zee was quite certain the man could not hear her, and his friends had all began running away.

A quick scan of Connor's body revealed a still-beating heart, although his neck was fractured if not broken outright. Zee took a moment to shuffle her programming, and then set about applying pressure in the right spot to slow the internal bleeding and swelling. She couldn't do anything about the bones without better tools, but she might be able to keep his airways open.

Of course, it wouldn't do a lot of good. Even if an ambulance would come to this part of town, and was able to rush him to the emergency room, he would be paralyzed from the neck down. As far as Zee's medical programming knew, spinal replacements were still a few years off - and its not like this guy could afford a delta-clinic anyway.

He wouldn't be knocking anyone's teeth out, ever again.

Tasha quietly kneels down beside Zee, speaking softly as Zee finishes ministering to the ganger she has downed.

"Hey, Zee. I found someone who knows where the gangers are. Trouble is, to get it, we either need to pay more than the information's worth, or beat someone in one of the fights they're running in there. And it's no guns - other weapons are okay - so I'm out. Paying up would not only cost us, but make us lose face, too. If you can beat this guy, though, we get the information and some street cred. We also score points with someone who might be able to help us again in the future. Your call, but I wouldn't be asking if I didn't think you could handle it. Be careful, though. It's not some punk this time. Don't kill him if you don't have to, but if you do have to, don't hesitate."

She straightens up, slowly drawing out her Colt Government 2066.

"I'll stay and watch the bikes. But I'll keep an eye on the vid feed, too, so I got your back if there's trouble."

When Tasha comes outside, Zee seems calm and focused on her task - but Zee quickly turns and looks at her with wide eyes and heavy breathing. "I didn't kill him." She says, somewhat defensively. "He attacked, first." She then goes back to her task, but seems to now be more shook up by the event.

Tasha gives her pitch, and Zee doesn't speak for a moment.

"It is one thing to attack someone who attacks me first." Zee pulled the last of her makeshift bandages tightly, and stood up. "It is another to do this to a someone who hasn't done anything to me." She gestures down at the half-dead cripple at he feet. "... or anything else to deserve it."

Zee looked like she was still thinking about the offer, however. "Are you sure I should do this?"

Tasha's mouth quirks up in a slight smile.

"I wouldn't call the guy undeserving, Zee. He's someone who makes a living by violence - not just when he has to, like us, but for fun - and all of that blood covering his body armor isn't his. If anything, you'll be doing him a favor. He's starting to think he's invincible, and he needs a reality check."

That seemed good enough to Zee. "Keeping him alive will be problematic. I'm going to need something softer than I am, to hit him with." Her eyes drifted down towards the body at her feet, and Tasha could see Zee's focus shifting back-and-forth among his limbs in her AR window. Zee calculated that she would be handicapping herself by doing so. Once again, some aspect of her programming suggesting the whip would be a much more efficient weapon - and that getting the information quickly was what she should be focused on - but Zee suppressed the thought. If the fight went poorly, and it became a matter of her life, or his, she could resort to using something deadlier. "Promise me one thing," she said. "If he wins, get my body back, and do what you can to repair it."

Without waiting for a reply, Zee grabbed a hold of Connor's arm. "I don't mind saving some money, if it helps our mission, but it will probably cost a lot more to replace me - if I lose." Then, she lifted the body off of the group with one hand, and pulled it over her shoulder, before heading for the stairs.

"Hey," interjects Tasha, "you don't need to drag him in with you - if you leave him out here, I can watch him for you. Zee, if this guy's too tough, let me know before you answer his challenge, and we'll just... leave. And if you're more worried about keeping him alive, than winning the fight, forget about it. Don't ever go into a fight where you're not prepared to do whatever it takes to win."

Zee stopped at the top of the stairs. "If winning is my priority... I guess I wont need this." She set Connor down, gently, and continued down the stairs.

Once inside, she nodded towards Sonny. "Connor won't be bothering your customers, anymore," she said, before moving on into the main room. She walked, slowly, past the bar, watching the patrons, until her eyes caught sight of the six-armed woman. Zee's curiosity got the best of her, she didn't even notice the ring or the man inside. She was entranced by watching her prepare drinks, and continued right up to the bar.

As she got closer, Shellie spoke up. "You must be Zee. Brock's in the ring... waiting." She gestures with one of her free hands at the ring.

Zee's face lit up with amazement, as she got a good look at the woman behind the bar. She turned to follow the finger catching sight of the orc inside. She stepped forward, eyeing the orc - sizing him up - while her radar scanned his body to get some idea of what she was up against.

Zee:

Brock watches you with interest as you step into the ring. Your radar sensors comb over his body. Other than the sword he's carrying on his back, his only other weapon is a long survival knife sheathed inside his right boot. He appears to have no cybernetic implants other than a pair of cyber eyes.

He cracks his neck and walks up to you. The ork stands more than a full head taller than you, and he looks down at you as he speaks.

"So, you're the only one who wants to fight me, huh? What's your name, sweetheart?"

"I don't want to fight you - but I am willing to. You can call me, Zee. What's your name?" Zee took her place at the opposite side of the ring - not sure if the fight was going to begin, immediately, or if there would be some banter between them while bets were placed. The patrons sure seemed to be excited about whatever was about to happen.

"Who, me?" The ork grins. "You can call me Brock."

You hear some of the spectators shouting into the ring, but you keep your eyes trained on your opponent.

"Slap that bitch around, Brock!"

"Yeah, show that little girl how a man fights!"

Brock sighs. "It's too bad that you look so timid. I always bet on myself when I fight, and the more intimidating my opponent looks, the better odds I get. Looks like I won't be making much of a profit when I beat you, since every single asshole in this bar is going to put their money down on me."

His eyes harden as he takes a few steps back, reaching over his shoulder with one hand and drawing his sword in one fluid motion. "But all these drunks are underestimating you, aren't they? I heard how the floorboards creaked when you walked down those stairs, and they don't usually do that for anyone but Sonny. You've got metal in you, and from the way you move, I'm guessing you know how to use it."

He slowly eases into a combat stance. "I'm not going to hold back, sweetheart, and I advise that you don't either. If you've got a weapon, draw it now, and let's give these idiots the best fight they're going to see all day."

Zee nods, impressed at the amount of information the orc picked up about her, already. "I am mostly metal," she says, stepping back and releasing the weight on her whip - the thin monofilament wire goes unnoticed by most of the bar, but Brock's eyes clearly follow its movement - if he is impressed, or worried, it doesn't show on his face. "... and I have already been warned about holding back."

The sounds around her faded away as Zee launched herself into the combat with everything she had - determined to make a strong offensive, and to hold nothing back. In the time between beats of beer-mugs against the bar, her agile form flipped itself forward to cover the distance, coming to rest just outside of the orc's reach. The crack of her whip silenced the stunned onlookers as it ripped through the air, missing the orc's neck by a hair. He was fast - as fast as she was, and before anyone knew what had happened, he was somehow to her side, bringing his sword up at her face. Zee was able to follow his motions, but only just. His sword had missed her by less than she had missed him. Tasha's video feed of the action was a jumbled mess of randomly flashing images. This was new to Zee - fighting someone who could keep up with her. She switched up her tactics, fighting more defensively than she had ever had reason to, before. It was clear that this fight could end with a single attack - the question would be, who would land it, first.

The pair danced around the ring - weapons intertwined, shredding the old rope that was holding them in, and threatening to take the faces of those people standing too close. In the first few seconds, after the initial shock wore off, those patrons had begun to move backwards - stumbling to safety. Surprisingly, other than the rope, nothing got damaged by the whirlwind of monofilament and steel, as it made its way about the ring.

Then, it happened. A nick - it was just a scratch, but Zee's whip had manged to draw first-blood, and that was when the tide seemed to turn. Her next couple of attacks struck home, slowly weakening the orc - but, surprisingly, not severing his bones like a hot-knife through butter. Each attack seemed to weaken him, just enough - just at the perfect time, or place - that his own incoming thrust or swing was hampered, and failed to connect.

Zee had managed to evade the blade, but she was one of the only people in the room, besides Brock, who could tell it was mostly luck. She knew that he was tougher than she was - that her body would not survive even a glancing blow - and certainly would not have survived the sort of punishment she was handing to him. Her programming seemed to burn-hot with the absolute necessity of a flawless victory. It was no longer about getting information for Tasha or even about finishing the job so she could afford a new apartment and a new identity. She was fighting for her life, now - for her very existence. One misstep, and her body would be destroyed.

So, a little less than 6 seconds after they had begun - just as those people who had backed away from the ring had reached the next set of tables back - the two warriors stopped. They were now in the center of the ring, but had traded sides. Brock, panting heavily, bleeding from two deep gashes, and looking as though he might collapse at any moment - but still holding his sword. Zee, came to rest standing still as a statue, hardly breathing at all. To the onlookers, it probably looked as though she hadn't even worked up a sweat, but in reality, she had to suspend most of her mimicry-emulation processes to focus on the combat. Inside, her mind raced. She could not believe that she had won, and she felt a rush - a surge of some sort - course through her code.

It was over, though. Both fighters knew that. Brock had stopped fighting, and Zee had let him. It seemed to take the patrons a little bit longer to understand - but when they did, the place erupted in noise. Evidently, nearly everyone HAD put their money on the orc - however much these low-lifes had to squander on fights, anyway, and they were non-to-pleased about the outcome.

Zee stood still, eyes locked on her opponent - waiting for some further sign of submission. As long as his blade was drawn, and he was standing, she remained ready to continue the combat.

Zee:

Breathing heavily, Brock sheaths his sword with an unsteady arm and sits down, hard, leaning against the rope for support. He grimaces in pain and spits, splattering the floor with a wad of mucus thickened by blood. He blinks a few times to clear his vision and looks up at you with dazed eyes.

"Son of a bitch," he growls, his voice gruff, but weak. "I can't believe I just got whipped by a chick. Literally."

He shakes his head in disgust at himself. "I told myself not to hold back on you, but I couldn't help it. You sure showed me how wrong I was to underestimate you. Turns out that beneath that innocent little body of yours is a fucking lightning storm."

He shoots you a predatory grin. "You've got skills, girl, I have to give you that. Next time we fight, I won't hold anything back. And you can be sure there will be a next time. This ain't over, no way. I just sent you my personal commcode. Next time you're up for a good fight, give me a ring. I would appreciate it if you gave me some time to heal off these wounds first."

The ork takes a deep breath and stands up on shaky balance. He turns around and climbs out of the ring.

"Shellie, pour this girl a frosty one and put it on my tab. And wipe that grin off your face, you fucking she-octopus."

Zee retracts her whip, accepts the commcode, offering her own, out of politeness, and follows Brock out of the ring - breathing and facial expressions now back to their normal levels of realism. "I underestimated you, as well," she said to him privately as they were walking away. Brock has stopped to steady himself against one of the tables, and it seemed like a good time to mention it. "You appear to have very few synthetic parts - other than the eyes." She lifted a few fingers up to her own eyes. "I didn't expect you to keep up with me - but you did. You're strong, too. At least as strong as I am, but you're tougher - despite being flesh and bone." Zee smiled. "It took me three strikes to bring you down. It would have only taken you only one."

"The data I've collected on this fight, will help me improve my own future performance. Thank you."

She looked over at the bar, where a drink was being set down for her. "Why do you do it?" she asked Brock, out of nowhere.

"What's it to you?" He asked, spitting another glob of blood into a nearby mug. It was clear he was in no mood to be chatty.

Zee shrugged, "It will influence whether or not I accept your next challenge." She turned to leave. "You've got my commcode. Think about it, and when you're all patched up - let me know."

She then walked towards the door, passing the bar. "Is the transaction is complete?" Zee asked. Shellie nodded, sliding the mug forward, and Zee turned towards the door. "We're in a hurry. I'll send Tasha right in. She can have my drink." Zee then made for the exit, exchanging nods with Sonny.

Outside, Zee approached Tasha. "Thanks for the advice. It saved my life. If I had focus on subduing him, I would have lost."

"It was... closer than I thought it would be. I thought Brock would just be a local tough guy, not someone that skilled. But you did it! That's great!"

She gives Zee an exuberant hug, then asks, "So, did Shellie give you the info?"

When Zee tells her that Shellie is waiting for her, she shrugs, says, "Oh, all right, be back in a sec." and heads back into the bar.

Brock is sourly limping off, presumably to get his wounds treated. Tasha notes that even though the ork is barely on his feet, the other predators in the bar are still giving him a wide berth.

She walks up to Shellie, who is looking so smug that she is in danger of imploding, to get the information.

"Thanks, Shellie. For what it's worth, if anything, we only need information from these guys. We won't hurt anyone unless we have to."

She leaves, leaving her untouched drink behind her, where the scraggly figure sitting on a nearby bar stool is quick to nab it.

Tasha:

"Your friend did good in there," Shellie says with a huge smile. "Went way better than I had dared to hope...shit, Brock didn't even touch her once. He's never gonna live that down. You girls are welcome in my bar at anytime, so don't be strangers, okay?"

"Alright, here's what I know. Those hoodlums of yours, they call themselves the Black Stings. You can identify them by their flesh tag, the scorpion tattoo on the back of their hand, and they're usually wearing desert colors. They've been a part of Redmond for more than a decade running now, but they've always been a mid-sized gang, with a constantly revolving membership. They pick up promising young blood from a few of the smaller street gangs in the neighborhood, and their older members either get killed off or, if they're talented enough to survive that long, end up leaving to join one of the heavy hitters. They make their money running the standard lowlife operations, you know, robbery, BTLs, shake downs."

"Anyway, life has taken a turn for them recently. Very few people make it out of the Barrens except in a casket, and even fewer still go on to become corporate bigwigs, but one of their old members did. Strapping youngster by the name of Tommy. Never was a very good ganger, always had his nose buried in books, but I guess that was how he found his ticket out of this place. Anyway, he's been out of the gang for a few years now, but he came back about a year ago with money in his credstick and all sorts of, er, extralegal jobs he wanted the gang to do for him."

She laughs. "I'm surprised he came back for shit like that even after all the success he had, but I guess the way rich folk conduct their business isn't really all that different from the way we do. Anyway, the Stings have been living large ever since, picking up all sorts of new weapons and rides and expanding their operations, all on the dime of their new sugar daddy. They're getting a little too big for their britches, if you ask me. My nephew brought a few of them in here the other night, and they got a little too drunk and started acting up, but they simmered down after Brock and Sonny smacked them around a little bit."

She sets down the mug she was polishing and picks up a new one. "Well, that's that. I'm guessing you want to know where you can find them. They all live out of a collective house down in Village Square, three stories, electric blue. There's about twenty of them right now, so if you're looking to pick a fight, you'd better bring in some big guns."

"Oh yeah, my nephew is a scrawny little asswipe with red hair and zits all over his face. If you see him, could you try your best not to kill him? The kid's never gonna amount to anything, but hell, he's still family, and that's gotta mean something. Or so they tell me."

As you head up the stairs to leave the bar, you hear some brave soul call out, "Hey, Brock, what the fuck man, I put down good money on you! I can't believe you got your ass kicked by a g...."

You hear the sound of metal sliding out of metal, and the same voice howling in pain a split second later.

The hug caught Zee by surprise, but she recognized the gesture, and reciprocated - even blushing slightly, when Tasha pulled away and went inside.

When Tasha comes back outside, Connor is where she left him at the top of the stairs - barely breathing, and apparently forgotten about. Zee is standing beside her scooter, ready to move. "Do we know where they are keeping Peyton?" she asks.

Tasha shakes her head, looking a little off, either dazed or thoughtful, it's hard to tell. She answers Zee absently.

"No, but we know where their doss is, now. Too many for us, more guns than most gangers, we'd need an army. But I don't think we need to go there any more. So that's what Peyton was hinting at. Tommy... Thomas Osborne... holy shit. Our big, fancy suit is some ganger punk from the Barrens."

She seems to regain her focus.

"Looks like our next step is going to be paying Mr. Osborne a visit. We need to work out how to approach him, where to nab him, and we need to be careful. He can afford decent security, and he'll probably have at least a few of his old chummers uptown with him to watch his back. This is it. This is the end game. But if we get Osborne, we get Peyton. Or we can avenge him, at least."

Zee looks pleased that the information was leading them where they needed to go. "If we assume Osborne is keeping Peyton alive, somewhere, it would probably be at that 'doss' - not his office or home uptown. We're already in Redmond, we might as well check."

"Plus, if we're going to attack Osborne, we're going to want to do it someplace where the authorities won't interfere. That would be Redmond - and the only place we know of in Redmond where he is going to be going, is that 'doss'."

"If the gangers are more like him," and she gestures at the punk near the stairs, "than Brock, I'm confident we can clear them out - even if they are well-armed. They are not well-trained. If it is like you said, and Osborne keeps some of these men at his side for protection - they will be his best men. Meaning, the 'doss' is also the more vulnerable target."

"If we get my things, I can try to either get inside, unseen, and confirm whether or not Peyton is there, or take them out, from across the street. Its your call. If you would still rather confront Peyton, elsewhere, I'll have your back."

Tasha raises an eyebrow.

"I guess it wouldn't hurt to scout the place out, but it might not be the cakewalk you seem to be expecting. The Black Stings, which is what these losers call themselves, are a mid-sized gang, about twenty of the buggers, and they have big guns and fancy rides now. Even one punk with a cheapass TMP can mess up your day if he gets lucky. So you definitely want to bring your rifle."

Tasha sounds slightly distracted as she brings up her mapsoft of the Seattle metroplex, ignoring the pop-up ads for the Body Mall and Crusher 495 that open in a side tab as she scrolls over Redmond.

"Keep it in your bag until we need it, though. These guys are holed up in a three-story electric blue place in Village Square, which is practically in Touristville. The 'respectable' part of Redmond (she snorts). You might even see the occasional cop there. The only good side is that these guys are cocky, overconfident, and probably most of their neighbors wouldn't mind seeing them get slapped down nice and hard. Oh, but keep an eye out for this skinny redhead, lots of zits. He's Shellie's cousin, so she'd rather not have us gun him down, if we can help it. I've got some gel ammo, lucky him."

She suddenly grins.

"If nothing else, we might be able to upgrade your wheels for free... spoils of war and all that."

Zee nods, pleased that her argument had made sense. "My gear is pretty far from here. I think it makes sense for the faster of the two of us to go pick it up. If you don't mind, that would give me time to do a little long-range reconnaissance."

"All right," agrees Tasha. "I'm comming you with the location. I'll be back with the gear. Rick's Lockboxes, right? I'll need the combo you used - if you used the biometric ID, we'll just have to switch bikes, otherwise I should be there and back fairly soon."

"No biometrics," Zee said. "Let's get moving." She then sent the passcode to Tasha's commlink.

As soon as Zee sends her the combination, Tasha stows her commlink, puts on her helmet, and peels out of there, headed back to Tacoma. She doesn't anticipate any problems - Rick's generally assumes that if you can get it open, you're legitimately entitled to the contents - assuming you aren't using a MagLock passkey or a lockpick, that is.

Zee:

The sun has set, and darkness has overtaken the sky. Redmond is dangerous during the day, but Redmond at night is an entirely different beast altogether.

After a few minutes, you pull your scooter to a stop outside a house in Village Square that looks exactly like the one Tasha described to you. You take a few moments to assess your surroundings and assimilate them into your memory. Right across from the house is a seedy motel with a pink neon sign that says "Motel" on it, except the last two letters have been burnt out. Lounging around on the sidewalk near the entrance is a group of prostitutes standing in a circle around a burning log, smoking and chatting with each other as they wait out of the long, cold night. There are a few groups of gangers milling about on the street, drinking, slotting BTLs, and occasionally taking pot shots at some of the devil rats scurrying around the area. None of them fit the profile of the ones described to you. On either side of the blue house is a boarded up pastry shop and a YMCA gym, which is still open at this hour, though it's unlikely that it's being run by corporate management.

You activate your radio scanner to pick up some of the wireless signals zipping around the area, and you're immediately hit by a barrage of mismatched chatter from a slew of different nodes.

...so then she said to me, "Daddy, stop stealing money from my piggy bank!" and I said...

...hurry the fuck up with the pizzas, we're getting hungry here...

...know how much a '70 Comet can be fenced for? I found one with the door unlocked and it's just a matter of...

...ain't nobody disrespects me like that. Gear up, boys, tomorrow we're gonna...

...and then I pour whip cream all over your sexy body and lick it off with my...

There doesn't seem to be anything useful on the air waves. You scan the house with your radar sensors, but it doesn't penetrate through all the walls, and the image is unusually fuzzy. You can spot six humanoid figures in some of the outer rooms, but you can't make them out in detail, and there's probably more of them deeper inside the house. Suddenly, your visual display flickers once, twice, then scatters into static. It appears your sensors have crashed. The self-regulating maintenance program for your body informs you that it'll take a few hours before they can be rebooted.

You see a ganger step out from the YMCA, and his attire does fit the description you were given of the Stings. He walks a few feet to the blue house and goes inside, closing it behind him. You note that he doesn't appear to have used any kind of key or pass card to gain entry, which means that the outer door is probably unlocked.

Zee manages to notice the Sting-member enter the house, but her attention is primarily focused on her crashed sensor program. As far as she can tell, the hardware is fine, but the software that interprets the incoming wavelengths, and converts them into a spatial mapping had mysteriously gone offline, and was now undergoing diagnostics. The raw data she was getting was pretty much garbage so she disconnected the sensor. The glitch complicated her plan, but she was having trouble seeing beyond the first wall of the building, anyway. Her first-choice plan of attack would no longer work, so Zee would have to resort to her backup-plan. It had become much more relevant to know that the front door was unlocked.

She reviewed an AR partial-mapping she had managed to collect before her radar went on the fritz. The walls were fuzzy, and the shapes indistinct, but she had a rough count of the rooms on this side, and the locations of six of the occupants. She had not seen anything near the front door, but she was not certain about that, and had no way of knowing where that last ganger had gone after entering.

Zee looked towards the building again, doing a quick count of lit-up windows, zooming in on each window looking for shapes. No one was standing directly in front of a window, but she was fairly certain that the lit-up rooms corresponded with the ones where she thought she had seen people.

She spent the next half-hour or so idly considering her options, and the usefulness of the nearby people and structures, while recharging from the extra battery on her Scoot and directing the majority of her processing power towards debugging the error in her sensor software. The diagnostic would still take another hour or so to complete, but she wanted to make sure she was ready to bring the thing back online as soon as it was finished.

Zee attention was flagged by an incoming message from Tasha over their secure channel saying she was close by. Zee directed her to the alley where she had parked her scoot, and had been watching the area. When Tasha pulled her bike in, Zee forwarded the data she had collected so far.

<<Radar is offline. Software glitch. This would have been a lot easier with it, but I don't think its a deal-breaker.>>

Zee takes her bag from Tasha, with a smile.

<<Here's a rough map of the area, and some estimations of the interior [Attached].>>

She moves back, further behind a dumpster, and opens the bag, removing some gear and setting it aside in a relatively clean location.

<<Our options have been reduced. Give me a couple seconds to change.>>

Tasha can see that Zee has whipped her shirt off in a single quick motion, and was now working on her pants. It was unlikely that anyone besides Tasha could see her, but Zee didn't seem to be wasting much time with propriety.

<<Current plan is that I attempt to breach their security, undetected. Once inside, I'll do my best to find Peyton and confirm his status.>>

Zee pulls her form-fitting-body armor on, which is already altering its surface pattern and colors to match the texture and stains on the alley wall.

<<If he is alive, we need to clear the building before attempting to remove him. I can try to do this, discretely. If we're lucky, nobody will even know they were under attack until we are gone.>>

There is a slight rustling, as Zee finishes putting her rifle back together, and straps her holsters to various locations on her suit.

<<If he's not, I get myself out quietly. We can then consider nabbing the next Stinger to leave to question him, following them to Osborne, or setting up an ambush for him, here.>>

Tasha might have missed Zee's exit from behind the dumpster, except for the duffel-bag she was carrying with her, which she strapped to her Scoot, before re-joining Tasha at the mouth of the alley. It didn't take her very long at all, to change, but after seeing how fast the girl could move, Tasha was not surprised.

<<If that sounds good, I am ready to go, when you are.>>

Tasha nods.

"Yeah, I'm ready. Wish I could go in with you, but all I'd do is make a noise and alert them. Just don't hog all the fun when the shooting starts."

<<One of us has to guard the bikes.>>

Zee then pulls her hood tight, and moves quickly and silently, across the street - avoiding well-lit areas, and making her way to the door of the blue building.

Zee:

Moving with the soft-padded footsteps of a cat, you cross the street and hold your ear close to the door. Hearing nothing but silence, you take a deep breath and ease it open, slipping inside nimbly. You look around, and no one is in sight. Careful to keep close to potential hiding spots, you begin a slow and methodical sweep of the house, heightening your senses so you can move instantly if you run into one of the residents. The home base of the Stings is quite possibly one of the messiest dormiciles you've ever seen, with clothing, food, and beer bottles strewn all over the place, including a slice of pizza that's stuck on the ceiling. There are two stairways in the house, one near the side facing the street and one by a back door, which you find to be locked. There's a den on the first floor, which appears to be where most of the gangers are hanging out right now, drinking, slotting chips, gambling, playing Matrix games, and talking to one another. Most of the gangers are armed with either a pistol or a small submachine gun, though you see a few assault rifles propped up against the wall next to the couch. You notice a hell hound lying at the feet of one of the gangers...it perks up and growls when you pass by, but you quickly move on before it catches hold of your scent.

The rest of the first floor is pretty standard, with a bathroom, a kitchen, and several bedrooms, each with two beds, and as you work your way up the house, the other two floors seem to be designed in a similar manner. On the second floor, you find one ganger having sex with his girlfriend in the living room while two of his friends sit back, watch, and comment on his technique while they smoke a joint. They also seem to be debating hiring a couple of prostitutes and joining in on the action. There are a few more gangers eating dinner in the kitchen. You stop for a moment to listen in on their conversation, and they seem to be discussing plans to assassinate the leader of some rival gang called the Bloodhounds. On the third floor, you find a massive cache of weapons stored inside on of the rooms, from machine guns to heavy explosives. In the third floor kitchen is a small group of gangers playing cards while discussing who would win in a cat fight, Maria Mercurial or Nadja Daviar.

You've amassed a total head count of eighteen gangers currently inside the house. Peyton is nowhere to be found, but you remember seeing a door on the first floor leading to the basement level that's secured by a padlock. If the ork is being held captive, that would be the most likely place where he's being imprisoned.

Tasha:

As you stand outside waiting for Zee to come back out, ready to move in pistols a'blazing if she gives the signal, a squatter decked in frayed rags limps up to you and flashes you what he probably considers to be his most charming smile, and it probably would've been if it had any teeth in it.

"Hey missus," he says. A rancid stench blasts you right in the face as soon as he opened his mouth. "Can you spare some change for a fella down on his luck? A couple of guys are selling fresh devil rat shish kabob down the road and I could really use something to fill my stomach."

As she made her way through the building, Zee relayed the information, as she was seeing it. A series of popup messages scrolled across Tasha's field-of-view, in addition to the live-feed of Zee's eyes. When she completes the search she sends a consolidated message, including a summary of the number of gangers spotted, the hell-hound, the class of firearms to expect, the existence of the weapons cache, and the fact that the basement was locked. The weapon cache would have to be dealt with, one way or another, before Zee revealed herself. All of these weapons were dangerous, even in untrained hands.

<<If Peyton is being held here, it will be in the basement. If he's not, we still probably want to know what's down there. I'm going to try to check on that, before engaging anyone.>>

<<Keep alert. If I cannot remove the lock, quietly, I will have to do it loudly.>>

Zee returned, stealthily, to the weapon cache, and picked up two of the grenades. They were crude, archaic weapons, but after shuffling some programs around, she found one that had detailed specifications for how to use such weapons. If the people in the den discovered her trying to get into the basement, they might come in very handy.

Zee tucked the grenades away, and made her way, carefully, back to the basement door, picking up a discarded needle, and some sort of pin she found in one of the bathrooms, along the way. When she got to the door, she looked around to make sure nobody was coming - frustrated that her radar was still offline. She then set about pick the mechanical lock using her improvised tools and enhanced audio sensors, doing so slowly, carefully, and as quietly as she could.

Tasha smiles cynically. "Yeah, yeah. Just as long as you don't tell your buds I'm an easy mark."

She slots the tattered bum 10 Nuyen from her commlink, with a bit of grumbling and feigned reluctance, not relaxing her wariness as she does so. She's always had a bit of a soft spot for the down-and-outers; she's one mistake from going down that spiral herself. More pragmatically, she's not about to jeopardize a ten K run by having some squatter draw attention to her. Ten should be about right - enough for him to go get a drink, slot a chip, or maybe even do what he said and get some food. Any more, sadly enough, and it would either look suspicious, or mark her as a potential target.

Zee:

After a few moments, you hear a soft click and the shackles of the lock pop open. Glancing around to make sure you're still undetected, you open the door a few inches and peer into the crack. There's a flight of chipped wooden stairs descending down into the darkness of the basement below, and from the faint light leaking into the room from the hallway, you can make out a humanoid figure handcuffed to a pipe on the far wall at the bottom of the steps. He raises his head, and you recognize your quarry instantly. The ork is bruised and battered, and his face is covered with hardened streams of dried blood.

Peyton stares at you without saying a word.

Tasha:

The bum grins, thanks you, and rushes off quickly to spend his newfound currency, as if afraid that if he leaves it be too long, fate will conspire to take it away from him.

Suddenly, the door of the gangers' house swings open, and one of the Stings step out. His eyes search the street, and come to rest on the band of working women huddled around the fire outside the motel. He shuffles over to them, jams his hands in his pockets, and inclines his head politely towards their group. You're standing downwind from them, and you can just barely pick up their conversation at your post.

"Hey ladies. You wanna work a job?"

"Shove off, Jaime. Last time Melinda went in there with one of your boys, she came back out with two black eyes and a broken jaw."

"Aw come on, it's just Bobby, he's into the S&M stuff and sometimes he goes a little too far. We'll behave this time, I promise. We'll pay you fair, and it sure beats sitting around in the cold out here. What say you let us warm you up a little, eh?"

"Hmph. We'll think about it."

"You do that. You can come inside whenever you want. See ya later, girls."

The ganger crosses the street to return to the house. You wonder for a second why he would be so polite to the hookers, but the wind blows just right, and as the skirt of one of the girls carries up, you catch a glimpse of what looks like a light pistol strapped to her thigh.

<<Peyton spotted. [Attached]>>

A slightly more up-to-date map of the first-floor interior was attached to the message, and took its place where Tasha radar feed had gone before. The weapon-cache was highlighted in yellow, the basement stairs, in green, and the den in red.

Zee considered, briefly, the odds of sneaking Peyton out of the building, safely, but quickly discounted the idea. If Peyton so much as coughed, the gangers would be alerted. Zee might be fast enough to make it through such a situation safely, but Peyton might get shot - which would invalidate their whole mission. Unless Tasha gave instructions to the contrary, Zee intended to stick with her original plan of action: clear the house, so it is safe to extract Peyton. Until then, he was safest where he was.

She slowly closed the basement door, and with the slightest snick she reset the lock, and began to back away, putting her tools away for later. Even if someone heard the lock, this time, and came to investigate, nothing would look out of the ordinary.

<<Beginning phase two, from the top, down.>>

Zee climbed the stairs, and now had a better sense of which rooms she could safely pass through to get where she needed to go. She avoided the kitchen and the room where the foursome was going on, and continued to the stairs to the third floor, stopping outside of the third-floor kitchen. Three men sat at around a table, comparing women. Since these were the only people on this floor, and the smallest group she expected to encounter, it would be a good place to start.

<<If you hear or see anything, move up to the house, but wait for the den to clear before entering. If they come upstairs to deal with me, you might be able to get Peyton out, while I keep them busy. Otherwise, I'll signal you when it is clear to come in.>>

She then slips into the room, crouching low, and makes her way to the table. Zee is ready to lunge forward and slap all three men with her shock gloves, as soon as she is within range - or if any of them seem to notice her coming.

Zee:

You notice one of them turn towards you, his eyes widening as you move in close. You slap him across the neck, lightning quick, and he crumples immediately as his consciousness is fried by the electric current. You swivel and extend both arms to either side to graze the other two gangers simultaneously. You make contact, but fail to hit any of their vitals, and they leap back in opposite directions, reaching into their jackets to draw their guns.

Tasha grins cynically as she notes that the joygirls are packing heat. Good idea, in this neighborhood. She's been there.

When she gets the update from Zee, a low growl escapes her throat. Her preternatural control gives her the external appearance of calm, but she is wound up, ready to leap into action. It will be soon now... good as Zee is, she simply can't see her successfully taking out a house full of people without alerting any of them. She is ready to come in with both guns blazing. Whether it is to help Zee, or to get Peyton out of there first.

Zee:

Moving like a whip, you draw your Fubuki and open fire in one fluid motion. The round punches into the ganger's chest, and your mind registers the hit while you turn and fire again at the other remaining ganger. The second ganger ducks reflexively as the barrel of your pistol swings around, and your shot misses him by a hair. He levels his machine pistol at you and the muzzle flashes a split second later as a stream of lead is sent blazing your way. Out of the peripheral of your vision, you catch sight of the first ganger drawing a pistol from his coat and opening fire on you as he falls down the floor.

Tasha:

One of the windows of the house shatters as the staccato of automatic gunfire breaks out.

The hookers look up to see the glass raining down onto the street below.

"Well, looks like we're not going in there tonight," one of them says.