Oh, where have you been, my blue-eyed son?
Oh, where have you been, my darling young one?
I've stumbled on the side of twelve misty mountains,
I've walked and i've crawled on six crooked highways,
I've stepped in the middle of seven sad forests,
I've been out in front of a dozen dead oceans,
I've been ten thousand miles in the mouth of a graveyard,
And it's a hard, and it's a hard, it's a hard, and it's a hard,
And it's a hard rain's a-gonna fall.

Oh, what did you see, my blue-eyed son?
Oh, what did you see, my darling young one?
I saw a newborn baby with wild wolves all around it
I saw a highway of diamonds with nobody on it,
I saw a black branch with blood that kept drippin',
I saw a room full of men with their hammers a-bleedin',
I saw a white ladder all covered with water,
I saw ten thousand talkers whose tongues were all broken,
I saw guns and sharp swords in the hands of young children,
And it's a hard, and it's a hard, it's a hard, it's a hard,
And it's a hard rain's a-gonna fall.

And what did you hear, my blue-eyed son?
And what did you hear, my darling young one?
I heard the sound of a thunder, it roared out a warnin',
Heard the roar of a wave that could drown the whole world,
Heard one hundred drummers whose hands were a-blazin',
Heard ten thousand whisperin' and nobody listenin',
Heard one person starve, i heard many people laughin',
Heard the song of a poet who died in the gutter,

Heard the sound of a clown who cried in the alley,
And it's a hard, and it's a hard, it's a hard, it's a hard,
And it's a hard rain's a-gonna fall.

Oh, who did you meet, my blue-eyed son?
Who did you meet, my darling young one?
I met a young child beside a dead pony,
I met a white man who walked a black dog,
I met a young woman whose body was burning,
I met a young girl, she gave me a rainbow,
I met one man who was wounded in love,
I met another man who was wounded with hatred,
And it's a hard, it's a hard, it's a hard, it's a hard,
It's a hard rain's a-gonna fall.

Oh, what'll you do now, my blue-eyed son?
Oh, what'll you do now, my darling young one?
I'm a-goin' back out 'fore the rain starts a-fallin',
I'll walk to the depths of the deepest black forest,
Where the people are many and their hands are all empty,
Where the pellets of poison are flooding their waters,
Where the home in the valley meets the damp dirty prison,
Where the executioner's face is always well hidden,
Where hunger is ugly, where souls are forgotten,
Where black is the color, where none is the number,
And i'll tell it and think it and speak it and breathe it,
And reflect it from the mountain so all souls can see it,
Then i'll stand on the ocean until i start sinkin',
But i'll know my song well before i start singin',
And it's a hard, it's a hard, it's a hard, it's a hard,
It's a hard rain's a-gonna fall.

The run went smooth as ice. Quiet in, quiet out. It wasn't easy though...breaking into a govornment host and uploading that much data was a dangerous job. Now they were all on the way back to the rendezvous point: a matrix cafe that never closed in the downtown section named Neon Green. From there they would contact the Johnson that hired them. Ah, sweet nuyen...50 000 of 'em to divide among them. And all that remained to be done was call the Johnson to claim it!

Neon Green was a dark place. All the furnature was made from neon tubes that glowed a dull green, giving the place an eerie glow. It had a large, clean washroom...one of the things that made the place attractive to meet at. Lots of space to change and clean up after a night's work. There was a human man behind the counter and 2 customers jacked in. Other than that, the place was quiet at 3:07am. A good place to rendezvous.

Jamal walked out of the bathroom, finishing the wiping of his face, and still carefully bringing a damp hand rag of his across his shining brown scalp. The tattoo of the feathered serpent adorning his head seemed to crawl across his head in the low light.

He quickly rolls the black sleeves of his silk shirt down, and adjust the bangle which mirrors the shape of the feathered serpent tattood on his head. His arms show an equal amount of tattoo's, and obviously he's making a point out of showing his metaphorical "occult wealth" to all those around.

He rubs his hands together, and moves towards a table. He always prefered to split up after meets, and tonight was no different. He dropped by the house of a friend of his, although he hated former gang members trying to go back to a normal life, they were scum, it was good to misdirect any searches for him. He sat at the table, preferring not to drink anything when he anticipated pay, anything in his system tended to make him more anxious.

Jamal glanced over at the clock. 3:07 and twenty seconds. If only he'd looked at the clock at 3, things would have been far more poetic. No matter, being on time to the rendevous was a bad habit, if something bad went down, but Jamal hated being late. Something about his parents he always hated.

Jason walks out a few minutes later. In stark contrast to Jamal, you wouldn't know he was awakened without assensing him. With his worn duster and slightly unfashionable clothes, it would be easy to mistake the thin, ascetic-looking man for a meek corporate drone out to knock down a few tall ones after a dull day of coding and filing. But there is a curious intensity to his eyes, and a restless, dangerous energy that seems to coil around him.

Pursing his lips slightly, he moves to a table next to Jamal's, then orders a club soda. He grimaces as he slowly sips it. A nice cool lager, preferably one of the dwarven microbrewery ones, would go down very well right about now. His philosophy, though, is that the run is not over until you get paid.

It was a very successful run, but he finds it difficult to get too excited about it. There was no fighting the forces of corruption, just a job to do to get by. Nothing that offended his scruples, but nothing to really motivate him, either. And no major conflicts to get the blood stirring, either. The money would be most welcome, though. He would be able to buy some spell formulas from Mort, finally, if they hadn't been sold already. He wanted to expand his role a bit, learn a few spells that would make him more versatile.

He shifts slightly in his seat, drumming his fingers lightly against one of the dull neon tubes. He wants the Johnson to get here, so he can go home, curl up with some coffee, and read a bit more of that fascinating article on the latest mana warp theory.

Olanis applied a small amount of wax to his bald head, starkly contrasting the image of a slim-looking Troll. He patted the spot with his trusty Predator, then moved out silently. He took a table in a dark corner so he could watch everybody easily. He quickly glanced at the coat room, noting his staff was still there.

Quietly he stood, and quietly he went. He arrived at the bar, asking for a glass of water. He took it without a word and walked back to his table. He sat, and began drinking. So, drink he did. After the payment there would be time for a real drink, but not now.

Mentally, he disabled his reflexes. He didn't want to blow the head off of some poor slob who decided to make a bad move.

He went over the list of gangs that he knew about, trying to remember if this was any of their territory. After all, he didn't want to have to kill any of them just to get away with his smooth credstick.

Sloan cracked his knuckles as he walkes in, an old habit. He unzipps his jacket to make access to the MaxPower behind his hip easier. Bee-lining his way to the bar, he scans the room and notes the location of the rest of his team and the two deck heads. He pays a little closer attention to the people he doesn't know--trying to descern if they were here by coincidence, design, or because they just had no lives.

He gets a soycaff from the tender and strolls to one of the terminals. Fishing a datacord out of hs pocket he jacks in and pretends to check his email but uses the reflection in the screen to keep an eye on the door.

Smiling, Wil runs his fingers through his red hair as he walks in the cafe. Obviously pleased with himself, he sits at the bar, setting a duffle bag on the floor beside him, then swivels the stool to face the rest of the bar. He makes eye contact with the rest of the group and when they seem to be looking he brings his hand up slightly, thumb and pinky outstretched like a phone, shrugs and cocks his head to the side as if to say 'Shall we call?.'

A black line, barely visible, runs from Wil's ear down the side of his neck and face to dissapear under the collar of his grey italian wool duster. He slips off the barstool and walks to the wall near Olanis while typing in the 50,000 number. He keeps facing the wall as the line connects, tapping out the beat of Little Bear's remake of "Sugar Sugar" by the Archies, released just three days ago.

"The children are nestled, all snug in their beds. It was a silent night," says Wil to the phone.

The call is answered, the Johnson's voice responding, "The babysitter will be paid upon the parent's arrival. I'll be home soon." He disconnected immediately after. All there was left to do now was to wait for delivery.

"Something seems wrong with John." Wil says softly, motioning for the rest to approach. "He wasn't his usual self - he seemed, well ... entirely emotionless. He said he was coming to pay us, so maybe I am just being paranoid, but something feels bad." Wil continues when the group was all within earshot of his subdued voice. "What do you think?"

Jamal grabs his lips and pulls them a bit, showing his impatience, and slight amount of stress. He walks over towards Wil, and nods as he says it. He takes out a stick, looks like it just came off a tree, and bites down on it holding it in his molars as he talks. "If you get a premonition, we surely can't go wrong in trusting it. I'd just get ready, one person talks, everyone else makes sure their index finger can pull a trigger worse comes to worse." Jamal pats his chest, presumably where his shoulder holster should be.

Olanis nods to the two at the bar, he stands and walks over, glancing at the door every few seconds.

"I don't like this ordeal. Everything reeks of a setup."

He looks around the place, giving it a once-over with his eyes and ears. Afterwards, he sits down and turns his back to the bar, facing the majority of the people.

Sloan jacks out and joins the group. He shakes his head slightly back and forth, "I don't like it. I say we walk." His normally calm face replaced with the creased brow of frustration.

He scratches his ribs, fingers just inches from the butt of the Browning. "We pull back to a safer location, keep this place under surviellence and ready an evacuation plan. If Johnson shows and it looks legit, no prob. Biz as usual. If the HTR teams roll up in unmarked cars I don't want to be stuck in a coffee shop."

Having said his piece, he turns to face each of the team in turn. His gaze lingers on Olanis long to convey the I'm with you, brother look before scanning the rest of the bar again. His eyes coming to rest on the main entrance.

It's not long before a pair of orks enters the place, both wearing trenchcoats. They both turn left and sit at one of the jackpoints in the back. Then a bunch more rush in all at once! All of them pull out guns...some kind of SMG's! They all bolt for cover except for two of them who block the door. The two in the back move to the back door at the same time, pulling out their SMG's. The guy behind the counter freaks and drops to the floor. The two deckers are jacked in, oblivious to the danger.

Sloan explodes in to action. Making a leap to dive behind the bar and yanking the the Browning from its holster. He comes up blasting, eyes quickly focusing and drawing a bead on the tusker by the door. The frustration that creased his brow a moment ago replaced w/ a cold resignation for the task at hand.

Speaking into the subvoc mic he left tapped to his throat beneath his sweater, "Big A, we gotta clear the door!"

Olanis read him loud and clear.

"Yeah, no drek! Lucky for these punks that I turned off my reflexes, huh?"

On that note, he went right for his Predator, then leapt over the bar, taking a few potshots at the two guarding the door.

Wil reaches into his grey coat and withdraws an Ingram SMG. Stepping behind some cover he aims for a moment. "Lucky bastard" Wil whispers, remembering his SMG is loaded for nonlethal. TAT TAT TAT.

Dub D crouches behind the twisted tubes that comprise his "table", but his face takes on a steely-eyed cast, and a faint glow flickers around him, as he channels his magical energies into trying to even the odds, aiming at the teeming mass of orks at the front door first.

Jamal, not being the athletic type, climbs over the bar quickly, but clearly losing some time, and uses his wrist to push down the sleeve on his left arm revealing a bangle on his wrist shaped like a feathered serpent. He quickly checks it, and yells out "Aseta'xeste!" perhaps it's some esoteric command that mages use.

His brow shines with sweat as he does this, and hopefully for something. He presses his back against the bar, and prepares to move.

As the orks pour in and a few of you bolt to the cover of the bar, Olanis lands on the poor working stiif who was hiding there, cowering for his life. He turtles as a half ton of troll meat squashes him into pancake.

Dub D responds with cool professionalism, unleashing his mystical might in a spectacular display of magery. The two orks at the front door and three more that took cover behind the first set of terminals drop like stones. At almost the same moment Rook Unloads on the one on the left covering the door. The bullets punch through the ork's neck, the second penetrating it's armour.

Will yanks out his SMG, spraying a burst that pounds into one of the three that went to the second row of terminals, just before he drops behind it. It's hard to tell if he's staying down because he's wise or because he can't move.

While Jamal Struggles with his foci, jamming astral energy through them, Olanis stands up, planting a big foot on the working stiff he fell on and squeezing off two rounds, one for each ork at the front door. Mercifully, the two door guards fall to the floor, a large pool of blood forming around them. The glass behind the left ork has a bullet hole in it, having gone through the ork's neck...hopefully no bystanders got hit!

Two orks are close to Will, using the terminals for cover. They pop up one at a time and blast away at Dub D with crazed, frightened expressions on their faces! The two at the back door look at the carnage in front of them and bolt out the door, spraying their SMG's quietly. It closes behind them as the bullets fly toward Olanis. Big troll in the erea the mojo was slung from drawing fire!

"Drek!! DEEE!!!" Sloan yells in a deep voice. His momentary victory stolen from him by the cruel spinning of the Karma wheel. Rising fluidly to clear the barrel over the top of the counter Sloan swings the Browning to bear on the remaining tuskers, he pulls the trigger rapidly before dropping below the relative safety of the bar.

"Action Item, Jamal: take them out!"

*Free Action* "Frag! Let me focus!"

Rook, the lucky bugger, has a direct line of sight to the two orks facing off with Wil. The third is indeed down and staying there. Sighting down the barrel of his pistol he targets the one closest to him and squeezes the trigger. He hits center mass. The ork grunts from the impact and buckles, bending foreward. His bending opens a little breach as his armour slides up. The second bullet hits this breech, going into his side. He falls to his knees holding his side. "Frag! ...I been...got!" He holds his SMG weakly in one hand, his wrist limp, turning to see who shot him.

Worried for Dub D, Wil steps around the terminals to get a clear shot at one of the offending orks. Slippery, sweaty fingers grip the SMG as the orks full body comes into sight. Better to hit once than miss twice. Karl's voice fades into his mind. Wil takes aim and fires, hoping to spare his friend.

Olanis' voice comes over the radios of those that have them. His voice sounds a little tense and brimming with anger.

"Let's get out of here guys. They're done, and soon we'll have the Star all over the place. No use getting caught over these punks..."

"Hold the phone, Big A. We got a man down. Jamal, see what you can do for him."

Nods to Olanis, "Cover the back, I'll keep an eye on the front." He's a little out of breath but more from adrenaline than exertion. "You're our security specialist. How much time do you think we have? At the bare minium I'd like to make sure there's no sec cameras. At best, I'd like to check the orks for ID." He cracks a wry grin, "never underestimate the predictability of stupidity, right?"

Olanis' voice is heard over the racket.

"We don't have the time for this! The Star's gonna be here quicker than I could geek these last two Orks, and no doubt SWATs gonna be bringing down the house too!"

With that said, he stands up and takes one shot each at the two Orks.

Wil is about to move to get better position when the ork makes it easy. His head pokes over the terminal. Sprat-at-at! Tho ork twists comically as he falls to the floor, blood spraying about the place. One of the bullets flys past the ork, slamming into the terminal one of the oblivious deckers is using. He sits bolt upright, eyes wide, then curls over, restching all over the floor and clutching his head.

((Figures the fights as good as done)) Jamal stops with the foci, realizing how effective brute force is. He sighs, and you swear that tattoo on his scalp moves. "Okay, samples of blood. Lots of bullets fired, and a privatized police force. You guys wonder why populism is so popular in the Confederated States." He looks around the room again, at the dying orks and blood puddles. "We should kill those damn Orks, give that drek-head of a Johnson a special 'frag you'. Then we should probubly mix some blood, and then try and clean it up. It'll throw them off a bit. We better act in the course of two minutes, and then hault our booties out of this be-yi-yotch." Jamal seems to beam when he talks about killing dying Orks, but besides that speaks callously. He has this odd tendancy to try and display leadership qualities although he fits more the image of the esoteric mage.

"Two minutes? Yeah fragging right. Whoever was on patrol heard this and is already blocking up the place. They've called backup, and no doubt SWAT is on its way. We do what we can to reduce our tracability to this, and then haul ass."

"Deal. You convinced me, big guy."

Sloan bites his lip looking around. "Big A, can give Dub a hand? I think we should get out the back."

He then turns his attention to all the blood on the floor and starts rummaging around behind the counter for cleaning products [preferably, Windex or the 2060 equivilant of an industrial strength cleaner] to dump on the blood.

"Yeah, I got it."

He walks around the bar and over to Dub, then gives him a boost up.

"I think we need to get the last of these damn gangers to forget about existance. Oh, and either of you mojo slingers know how to alter memories? We got two that might just need it."

He nods to the bartender who he managed to leap on earlier and the now dumpshocked decker puking his guts out.

Sure enough, there's a spray bottle of NERPS™ that was used to keep the surfaces clean. It gets emptied onto Dub D's blood while Olanis hefts Dub D painfully over his shoulder. Dub's healing magic stopped the bleeding, but he was still badly hurt. His Shamanic Mask was impressive when he cast...he could put a lot if juice into his mojo.

"We gotta take one of the orks with us so we can make sense of all this. Somebody load him into my car outside while i start stitching up Dub D; his wounds are all gel wounds." Wil walks over to help Dub D.

Sloan smiles, "looks like thats my job." He stands, brushes the hands on his jeans to get the rest of the NERPSTM off and walks around the corner to the last ork.

Fixing the wounded tusker w/ a steely glare, Sloan gives him a crooked grin, "Nothing personal, chummer. Just biz." And unloads a punch straight to the Orks chin. Shoan smirks and says, "man, I've always wanted to say that. Good bye shadows. Hello, Trid deal."

He grunts under the weight but mangages to haul the Ork towards the door. "Wil, which is your car?"

Dub D shakes his head weakly at Olanis. "No... nothing. I think if we explain we could be back, they'll stay quiet." He chuckles, which sets him off coughing. "We're... we're gonna have'ta call in some favors (his voice now slightly slurred). Don't even have time ta clean up my sig, Lone Star gonna have my.. my.. autograph right there fer the forensic mage..." He all but collapses at that point, although he is able to smile weakly at Wil; "Naw, took care of it, see..." before his eyes glaze over again. Although he still seems badly wounded, at least his wounds seem to have been sealed by his act of self-healing.

Wil nods to Dub D, still concerned. "My car is the Eurocar Westwind 2000 Turbo down the street." Clearing his mind with a sigh he then walks over to the deck-head retching on the floor, searching him for some kind of ID. "Hey Mr. [Name, and Address if he finds it too], you didn't see anything or anybody, k?" Wil whispers in his ear. The Wil heads to the front door to take a peek at the street.

Jamal nods to the bartender and gives him one of those evil smiles. Jamal walks to the bar, and grabs a towel. He dabs it in some of the Ork blood, and then dabs it where Dub D had been standing when he'd gotten hit. "This should misdirect them a bit. At least long enough for us to buy us a bit of time." He looks around the bar, and then walks over Dub D. "You know, I'm clairvoyant." He presses his hand against the wall and starts to focus.

*makes "what the frag" face "Westwind 20K?!" *gasp* "Whaddya want me to do?" *gasp* Ride on the hood?" Sloan says, breathing heavily under the weight.

But he continues hauling the 100 kilos of out cold ork towward the door as he shakes his head...

"What about the other sleepy heads?" Sloan cocks his head toward the unconcious orks that got nabbed by the Stunball.

"Maybe we should just go out the back and hoof it down the alley for a bit, I don't want anybody seeing us leave here, especially in my car." Wil says, begining to feel the stress of the situation.

*gasp* "Out the front, out the back. We're stayin, we're goin'...." *gasp* "Tell ya what: lets all go out the back right now. I'll put," nods to the ork he's holding, "Down for a second and find us some wheels we can all fit into. Sound good?" *gasp* "Once get rollin I know a guy that can staple up Dub," *gasp* "I just have to make the call"

Olanis seems to be kind of grunting under Dub's weight. He isn't entirely strong, but he is a Troll.

"Yeah. Sounds great. Hurry the frag up! Did I not say the Star would be on us in no time at all?!"

"Okay people, move out. Jamal, gimme a scan of the back alley" *gasp*

[assuming its clear]

"Wil, you got point. Then me and my new friend, then Big A and Dub. Jamal you got rear guard. Once we all outside, I'll scout ahead and find us some quick wheels, then zip back and pick you up. We'll try and put as much distance between us and this place as we can before have to ditch the wheels. I was thinking one of the Barrens." Slaon smirks then gives a little half shrug, "I hear Loveland is beautiful this time of year. Questions, comments, concerns?"

[If its not clear. We'll make a new plan ]

For a moment, Wil wishes he could just cut the head off the zonked ork to take for questioning instead of carrying the whole body. Instead he follows Slaon out the back door and down the alley, duffle bag in hand and SMG back inside his coat.

Luck may finally be with the runners. There's a bottled water delivery van in the alley. Noone appears to be in it. Perhaps the firefight's noise made anyone afraid to go into the alley. The driver must have gotten lazy because not only is it unlocked, the radio is still on and the motor is running. Several large jugs of water are in the back...there's only two front bucket seats...and no datajack port. Pure driving skill is all that works on this thing. The rotor noise starts to get louder, coming from the south. Rook has no trouble getting into the car and backing it to the matrix cafe's back door.

He does notice tread marks in the alley, as if someone floored it from a dead stop in their vehicle. They could be recent or not. Noone heard a car peeling away before, but the noise of a gunfight could have covered that.

A the van is driven to the back exit, sirens get louder, then stop! The Star has arrived and will be set up for a combat entrance in 2 minutes or less...there may be a roadblock to bust through by now.

"Alright, let's move, and get the frag out of here quickly! Star's gonna be on us in no time!"

Olanis, lugging Dub D, makes a break for the back of the van. He jumps in and sets Dub down in the corner.

"You'll be fine here, omae. Plenty of water if ya need it."

To whoever is listening to him, he also adds: "We got no less than two minutes, tops. Either we do this or we get fragged. Got it?"

Jamal runs out the back for the van, all the while fumbling with his Pistol, trying to check that the safety is off it. "I'll stick to the back, I guess it would be better to have a real shooter riding shotgun." He pushes in, and if nessary, knocks out a few water jugs.

"Hey, hey, leave those in! I got a plan for those if we need 'em against Star..."

He hops out and points to the jugs.

"I'll scream back what to do if we need to do it. Otherwise, don't fret about it."

He hops in shotgun and makes sure his gun is ready to go. Safety off, check; majority of ammo, check; extra clips, check.

"Alright. Whenever everybody's in, let's get our rears in gear."

Wil climbs in behind the driver seat.