Similar to what we did before (borrowing liberally from Thanee's original instructions):

Let's write some one-post stories about the less prestigious jobs here to fill in the blanks between the chapters.

Everyone can make exactly one post here (no must, fully optional) with a short description about one of the smaller SIS jobs.

You do not have to rush anything, there is time until the end of the next interlude to add something, if you want to.

These little jobs should happen somewhere between the IC calendar dates of May 20th (a Saturday, the day after our return from Denver) and May 27th (one week later).

There should be no relevant nuyen reward for the job. Payment to SIS will be represented by the teamwork test we do at the end of the IC month to cover our lifestyle expenses.

Making use of the other PCs should be fine, but treat them with respect. This is meant to fill in the blanks and add a little fun.

If you do, your reward is a single knowledge skill specialization. Ideally it will be for a skill that is featured in the job, but it is not strictly required.

<<Saturday Morning - 08:00 - May 20, 2079 - SIS Redmond, Touristville>>

The team returns from Denver late Friday night. They are understandably tired from the journey and sleep is a priority. But Mato doesn't need much sleep, and is up early the next morning and out the door to go check on the Redmond HQ.

Right at 08:00, an urgent knock on the front door. Outside, there is a young ork couple, probably in their early 20s. Mato is accustomed to making people uncomfortable, but when he opens the door he sees a visible wave of relief wash over their faces. They're both blue collar but dressed in what are probably their best clothes. They have bags under their eyes and they haven't showered in a while. Mato's olfactory boosters can clearly detect the cloying smell of fear. He ushers them inside to the conference room and serves them English breakfast tea.

"It's our little girl..." the man begins.

"She's gone missing!" the woman exclaims.

"We're SINners, but we're orks." The man gives Mato a poignant look.

"Knight-Errant will take the report but won't actually investigate."

"We tried coming a couple days ago but you were out of town."

"We can't afford much but, please, can you help us?"

Something about it pulls at something deep within Mato. Maybe it's the fact that there's a child involved. Maybe it's the obvious concern and care of the parents, something that he had little experience with while growing up. Before even discussing particulars or payment, he has agreed to help.

-----

<<Saturday Evening - 20:00 - May 20, 2079 - Touristville>>

That is how Mato finds himself walking down the hallway of a Touristville tenement twelve hours later, looking for one little Susie, age 4. His intense investigation has revealed that she may have been picked up by Silas Blackwood, a Touristville local known to be a chiphead. Blackwood has no criminal record as a child predator, so the working theory is that he took Susie while under the influence of a BTL. The question driving Mato's sense of urgency is, But which BTL?

The hallway is dark, dirty, and Mato's feet crunch ominously as he walks along the carpet. The lights flicker, not that he needs them to see. He reaches the end of the hallway and finds the door for Blackwood's apartment. Putting his ear against the door, his cyberears pick up sounds of conversation between an adult and a little girl. His radar sensors sweep through the wall and confirm the presence of two people inside.

"Blackwood, open up," he says, knocking firmly.

The door opens up slightly, held by a flimsy chain extending from the door to the door frame. A wild-eyed man greets Mato with, "There's no Blackwood here!" The voice is artificially high-pitched, like a man immitating a woman. Even through the few centimeters of open doorway, Mato can see that this is indeed Blackwood.

"Who might you be, ma'am?" Mato asks politely.

"Lady Loretta Fortescue-Smythe!"

Mato can't believe it. Lady Loretta is one of the characters from the British trid miniseries, Inside the Gilded Cage. The character tragically loses her young daughter to VITAS and descends into madness, completely breaking from reality. I didn't even know there was a BTL version, Mato thinks to himself, wondering idly if it would be that much better.

"Lady Loretta, I need to come in," he says. He knows better than to argue with a chiphead. He reaches through the door crack with his left hand. Blackwood slams the door on his hand, or at least tries too. The force doesn't even phase the carbon-fiber-and-titanium cyberhand. Mato just sighs, activates his snake fingers, and bends them backward at an impossible angle to unhook the door chain. He pushes his way into the apartment, which is so clean and tidy and in such contrast the hallway outside that Mato wonders if Blackwood does betameth too. Little Susie is there, obviously unharmed, clutching a stuffed rabbit. She's sitting at a low table in a clean sun dress at what appears to be a tea party. From the appearance of it, Blackwood had been sitting across from her on a child-sized chair, pouring Earl Grey tea and serving cucumber sandwiches. Mato finds it strangely touching.

"Susie, my name is Miguel," he says, offering his little-used SINner name. "Your parents are worried about you. I'm here to take you home."

"But she IS home!" Blackwood insists with a high-pitched screech. In the show, Lady Loretta is insane to the point of violence, and Mato isn't sure how to cut through the fog of the BTL. He's tempted to use his infrasonic generators to frighten Blackwood, but he knows they will frighten Susie too, and Mato needs her to trust him.

"You can't have her!" Blackwood cries, charging at Mato with what looks to be a butter knife. Mato has no difficulty in catching the man's wrist with his right hand. Blackwood continues to struggle, hissing and spitting while his wrist is trapped in a vice. Mato exhales, not wanting to hurt Blackwood, who is clearly not in his right mind, but also unsure of how to restrain him. Sighing, Mato discharges his shock hand. Blackwood's muscles lock and he tips over backward. Mato catches him before he falls and places him gently on the couch. He finds the BTL chip slotted into Blackwood's data jack - unusual, since most BTLs are wireless these days. Mato fries the chip with his shock hand and tosses it aside.

He turns to find Susie looking up at him with trusting, saucer-shaped eyes. "Lady Loretta needs a little nap," Mato explains, giving his best attempt at a friendly smile, which he is working on in his spare time. "Who do you have here?" he asks of her stuffed animal.

"This is BunBun," Susie answers innocently.

"It's a pleasure to meet you BunBun," Mato says politely. "Susie, would you please gather your things?"

Susie stands and does as asked. She brings some denim overalls, a long-sleeve pink t-shirt, and dirty shoes. From her parents' description, Mato knows that those were the clothes Susie was wearing when Blackwood picked her up. Mato then realizes that Blackwood must have provided the sunny yellow dress that Susie is now wearing, along with the pastel Mary Jane shoes.

"Are you ready?" Mato asks, unsure of how to feel about Blackwood's misplaced care.

Susie nods. "Can I ride on your shoulders?" she asks.

The question almost floors Mato. He can't remember the last time someone requested, or sought out, physical contact with him. He won't count Blackwood trying to stab him.

"Lady Loretta says that it isn't proper. But Mom and Dad pick me up all the time!"

Mato nods, dumbstruck. He scoops up Susie and BunBun, places them securely on his shoulders, and takes care to duck when passing under the door frame. He turns and closes the door behind him, using his snake fingers to reattach the chain between the door and the door frame. Then he gently shuts the door all the way, and walks Susie down the hall.

"Faster, horsey!" Susie says playfully. "Giddyup!"

Mato dutifully complies. Walking down the hallway and outside in the fresh springtime evening air, Mato can't help but feel an unfamiliar tugging sensation at the corner of his eye.

The Honeytrap

<<Monday Evening - 20:00 - May 22, 2079 - The Gravity Bar, Downtown>>

"You do know, I am not the one to be honeytrapped here, yes?"

In an effortless combination of flattery and humor, Alain gets up from his chair to welcome Rachel, who looks stunning as always. Dressed like one of those corporate secretaries in the trids, dark skirt, just a little bit shorter than it should be, white blouse, just a little bit tighter than it should be and not completely buttoned-up, her brunette hair bound back neatly, with high-heeled pumps and fancy glasses to complete the outfit, her dark blazer casually slung over one shoulder. The femme fatale of the office. Alain's eyes are certainly not the only ones that look her over.

"What a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Moore. Please, have a seat."

Like a gentleman, he pulls back the other chair for Rachel and only after she sits comfortably, he moves back to his own. She nods and smiles in appreciation.

In his mid-thirties, Alain Beaumont is tall and handsome, dressed in a nice dark suit. He is a member of the Democratic party, working with Nikola Taul in Downtown. Of french-canadian descent, his accent is still coming through a little. SIS was approached about a honeytrap and this meeting was scheduled to discuss the details.

"Also ..." he continues. "it's about a woman."

"Oh. Well, does she like girls?" Rachel winks at him. "But that is not a problem, if anything, I'm adaptable. I can show you later."

That remark certainly piques his interest.

Rachel laughs lightly. "No, not like that. That would be unprofessional, wouldn't it?"

Anyways, the meeting proves to be delightful. Alain is charming and great company. He also, casually, mentions that he is single. Smooth.

After a while, Rachel suggests one of the back rooms. Once again, they are going through the routine of it not being like that, being unprofessional, and so on.

As they are alone, she says in a deep, husky voice, maybe a bit theatrical: "So, I will be The Raven then!" As she works her magic, her appearance changes and she transforms into a dashing young man, wearing a light-gray suit. Even her voice and smell match her new appearance now. Alain's eyes widen in surprise, but he calms down quickly. Not everyone is used to magic.

"Impressive. But will she see through it?" The young man shrugs. "Can you?"

He turns around, then holds out an arm, so Alain can inspect him. He cannot see through the illusion, even when he touches the arm.

After a moment, Rachel lets the spell fade and turns back into herself. "Okay, this is a little weird, right?"

"Yes, a little." He agrees nervously, still holding her arm.

Then he retreats back out of her space. "I also like you much better this way." Then a thought crosses his mind. "But how do I know that you are real?"

"I guess, you have to take my word for it."


<<Thursday Afternoon - 14:00 - May 25, 2079 - Seattle Golf Club, Downtown>>

During the week, Alain met Rachel a few more times. No, still not like that. She had requested some training in political jargon. Some gossip. Some harmless details to use in conversation. Alain was happy to oblige. Her target is a woman that has been showing up at the Seattle Golf Club a few times in the past, Helen St. Clair. It didn't take Rachel long to figure out, that Alain fell for her charms and likely provided her with some details he really shouldn't have during the occasional tryst. The problem is, that Helen is still around, gathering intel and likely waiting for another opportunity, and he wants her gone. So, he needs something solid to prove what she is doing there. In flagranti being the name of the game here. Being decently good at golf by now, Rachel shows up at the club disguised as Randall, a young democrat working his way up the political ladder here in Seattle. Alain managed to get the club management onboard, which was necessary for "Randall" to even be able to play there for some time. If they could provide proof of Helen's schemes, the club would revoke her membership and expel her. Burning her persona should at least set her back for quite some time. And Alain would get a little bit of payback as well.

Long story short, with a bit of truth and a lot of deception, connecting Randall to some more prominent figures in Seattle's political landscape, Helen gets hooked into aiming for him hoping for some juicy intel, and thanks to some carefully concealed surveillance gear, Rachel is able to get all of it on record.


<<Friday Night - 22:00 - May 26, 2079 - Infinity, Downtown>>

A day later, Alain and Rachel meet again in the restaurant part of Infinity. This time, she wears a classic black mini dress. He probably had to pull some strings to get them in there. She hands over the footage and Alain has what he needs to get rid of Helen St. Clair now. The payment was transfered into the SIS account, already.

"I remember you mentioning that you like to dance," Alain remarks. "They have multiple dance floors in the club."

"Would you still deem it unprofessional now that we have concluded our business?"

Rachel smiles. "Let's find out."

It was the answer he wanted to hear.

<<Tuesday - 09:00 - May 23, 2079 - SIS Redmond, Touristville>>

Bobby was at his usual post - the reception desk at their office, reading a scientific article on flatworms and their genetic memories. His reading was interrupted by the insisting ringing of the door bell. Bobby didn't bother to check the camera and buzzed the visitor in, straightening up in his chair - only to slump back down when he saw who it was:

A man in his late thirties, cheap, slightly dirty clothes, a shaggy beard and hair style, that was overdue for a haircut. By smell alone, Bobby knew the guy had to work at McHughes as the distinct mixture of soy and de-hydrogenated corn oil wafted around him like an aura.

Still, a customer was a customer. Bobby gave a semi friendly wave to the guy: "Welcome to SIS. I'm Bobby, how can we help you today?"

The man looked around somewhat bewildered: "I... Is this the detective agency? I mean... I never before visited one and..."
"... it's not how you imagined it to look like?" Bobby finished the stammering sentence with a bit of exasperation.
The man nodded, still looking around the entrance with the sleek chrome finished desk and the featureless, creme colored walls - adorned only by AR-Art, which this man apparently couldn't see since he wore neither glasses, a trode net or an obvious datajack.

Bobby waited for the man to continue - which he did, but only after the pause had become pretty awkward.

"Right. So, how does this work?"

"Well, it's customary for our customers to introduce themselves and tell us about their problem. After that I can tell you if we take your case and how much it's likely to cost you."

At the mention of cost the man involuntarily made a face. 'Doesn't seem like this guy will bring us enough business to tide us over the month...' Bobby mused, while the guy seemed to strain his brain to find an answer.

"I'm... Fred, yeah, so and I, I need you to find something for me." Bobby just raised an eyebrow but didn't interrupt. "I kinda lost my wedding ring. And if I go home without it, my wife's going to kill me."

Bobby nodded and began jotting notes down on a pad:
"Alright. So, what does the ring look like and where did you lose it?"

Once again the awkward pause, while "Fred" moved from one foot to the other, before he bleated out in a rush: "A friend took me to Madam Sasha's for his birthday party. It was fun - a bit too fun, if you know what I mean. Lot's of drinks and some pills... and some more. I wanted to put the ring in my pocket, because of the girls, you know? But then we kinda got in a fight and the bouncer threw us out. And now my ring's gone. It must be somewhere in there on the floor..."

Bobby interrupted: "You took your ring of your finger, because you didn't want the working girls to think you were married? And now you want me to go there, find your ring and bring it back to you, so your wife doesn't find out you went out to party at a brothel, am I getting this right?"

Fred just nodded, hanging his head in shame.

"Alright. Give me a number under which I can reach you. 50 Nuyen per hour + expenses. Send me a picture of your ring and I'll see what I can do."

"But..."

"You had enough butts last night. That's the deal. Now get moving."
As usual, Bobby's patience had run out half way through. Thankfully, Fred had no desire to stay and talk more and left almost in a run.

<<Tuesday - 10:00 - May 23, 2079 - SIS Redmond, Touristville>>

Bobby left a note for the others and opened the window upstairs, leaving in his trusty crow form, heading towards Madam Sasha's. This early, the place was likely closed and only the cleaning people were around.
So, Bobby flew a sharp turn around the corner building, landing in the back alley on top of one of the large dumpsters. The contents reeked of sick, lube and bodily waste. With satisfaction Bobby saw he was just in time: An ork in a grey jumpsuit had just come out to empty another bin, leaving the back entrance propped open. Mid flight, Bobby changed form and when he landed, a small calico cat wandered into the building. After a short corridor, Bobby reached the backroom of a bar and another open door to the main floor.
Another ork - heavily tattooed - was busily vacuuming in here, whistling atonally. For a moment Bobby wondered why this job wasn't done by a drone, but then gave himself the answer: The ork was probably cheaper. Likely an ex-fellon with little other job prospects.

Jumping up on the bar, Bobby let his cat eyes scan the area. Yes, over there was the clear sign of a fight. Someone had lost a tooth and managed to spray blood on the wall. Probably Fred's friend, since Fred hadn't looked like he had gotten punched in the face recently.
Avoiding the ork, Bobby slunk around the furniture until he reached the spot. The smell of fresh blood permeated the location - even more than the smell of cheap booze and barf. Fred looked like he wouldn't dare to enter a place like this alone - he most certainly would have kept close to his friend. And when the altercation took place, he would have...

Bobby looked around and purred - right there, a corner between the wall and the booth - just the place where a not particularly brave man would instinctively retreat. And there it was - a small glint of a gold ring...

Bobby wanted to pounce, but the Ork with the vacuum suddenly stepped over and bend down, picking up the ring with a smile and put it in his breast pocket.

Bobby couldn't help himself and a frustrated hiss escaped his mouth. The ork didn't notice and turned back to his job. For a moment, Bobby considered his options.

Option one: Knock the guy out and take the ring.
- Pro: Quick
- Con: Potentially starting a fight and drawing attention - as well as harming someone who technically hadn't done anything bad

Option two: Stalk the guy and pickpocket the ring back
- Pro: Less violent
- Con: Difficult and would take a while to stalk and wait for an opportunity

Option three: Get human and fast talk the orc
- Pro: Left the opportunity to use option 1 and 2 if necessary
- Con: Talking...

Bobby sighed inwardly. Violence was an easy answer, but he had meant it when he said, he wanted to get better and enhance his repertoire.

He waited for the ork to turn around, before dropping his transformation and applying quickly an illusion over himself to appear as a suit wearing gentleman with the face of Belenky.

Confidently he strode forward and tipped the ork on the shoulder.

The worker jolted and turned around alarmed:
"Hey there." Bobby smiled holding up his hands in a calming gesture. Sorry, I didn't want to scare you."

The orc pulled two ear-pieces out of his ears, using the opportunity to wiggle his pinky in his left ear and grunting "What?"

"Sorry man, didn't want to surprise you. I just came down because I lost my wedding ring here yesternight. You wouldn't have found it per-chance, would you?"

"Don't know anything about no rings." The denial was as automatic as it was transparently a lie. Even if Bobby hadn't witnessed the find, the way the orc's hand shot up protectively to his breast pocket as well as the guilty look on his face was telling a story as clear as day.

"Come on, I need the ring or my wife will have my hide tonight. For how much do you think you can pawn it? 20 Nuyen? 15? Tell you what I give you 25 right now and we call it even."

A very long moment, the orc looked at Bobby with an expression that changed from confusion to understanding, to malice, to greed.
"50!"

"Alright, deal, 50 it is. Show me the ring."

The ork hesitated, but greed got the better of him. He pulled out the ring from his pocket holding it up. Bobby nodded. He made as if he was pulling out a stick from his pocket, palming instead a random lighter from the table behind him. With a smooth motion he drew the ork's attention to his left hand, gripped the ring with his right and pressed the lighter into the ork's waiting hand.

"Pleasure doing business with you. Have a very nice day." Bobby patted the ork overly familiar on the shoulder while striding past him with utter confidence.

The trick worked, all of two seconds, before the ork noticed that he had been duped.

"HEY!"

Bobby didn't wait or look back, he sprinted towards the bar, flanking over the counter top while putting the ring in his mouth. Even while he ran down the short corridor, watching the other cleaner standing with a nick-stick next to the dumpster, he accelerated out of the open door, almost slipping on the wet ground outside and sprinting full throttle out onto the street. Running footsteps behind told him, he had only little time to get out of here.

Once again he turned into a crow, the ring in his beak, flying up and away, while below two very confused cleaners looked up and down the street.

<<Tuesday - 11:20 - May 23, 2079 - SIS Redmond, Touristville>>

"... Here's your ring back as well as your invoice. 50 Nuyen for the time and 50 Nuyen for expenses. Please sign here. Take one of our bonus cards - the 10th case we solve for you is 50 percent off."

Bobby waved Fred goodbye and took the note he had written of the desk - an easy 100 Nuyen towards rent and food. Bobby leaned back in his seat and resumed his reading. All it had cost him was his breakfast break.

The client was the sort of puffed up man who is always dangerous. Too little to absorb much in the way of losses without a fall in position, but too full of his own importance to accept such a fall. Right away she felt that Mr. White could be dangerous.

Sure enough, he dropped a name to show how important he was "The thing is, Katsua-san sends an awakened in every few months to check the auras of the staff, and their all scared enough to play it straight, at least that was the last report. But the last few weeks, when The Tiger is working the roulette wheel we are losing more than we are making. There can always be an off night, customer gets lucky and is smart enough to walk out. But this is different, three different people have worked the machine for a while, just betting red or white, and come out ahead by a small pile before leaving. All of them just below the point where I'd expect the croupier to call the floor manager."

"I'd hate to think The Tiger had gone bad on me, but even worse would be not figuring that out before Katsua-san does. I'm about ready to fire the guy just to be safe, but I'm willing to spend a little bit to try and make sure."

Yah, a mafia owned gambling room in Touristville. There was a client you could feel good for helping. Still, bills to pay ...

===============================================================

AM had handled the negotiations, then gone to check auras, and hadn't found anything but the greed, depression, and so on that one would expect. Finally she'd done a quick hack of his link, but found no incriminating messages.

Bobby had checked The Tiger's apartment for signs of new wealth or magical influence, and even spent an hour at the casino one evening to look for signs of magic being used on the wheel. Also all blank.

Tamarind also had two tasks: using drones to follow The Tiger, and going over the recordings from the camera watching the table.

The Tiger turned out to be a particularly big troll. Tall, strong, and also well fed. I'd hate to live in the apartment under him. Which made drone surveillance easy, there just was not many others around he could be confused with, and he was easy to spot from a distance. Tamarind made use of most of her fleet, and concluded that if he lost his job that at least three cheap Touristville restaurants may lose their biggest customer. But while the troll seemed well liked, she didn't see anything that looked suspicious.

She used the times when he wasn't on the go to run faces through the software Mato had subscribed the agency to, and going through the recordings of the floor. Of course Mr. White had already done that, after his chief security bruiser had done the same. And they'd know better than me what to look for.

That was the real kicker, trying to prove that he was on the take was chancy, as it all could have been arranged a while ago, with no ongoing contacts. But if he was somehow cheating then someone should be able to spot how.

To educate herself, Tamarind did some matrix searches on how to cheat a roulette table. Most of it seemed to involve the house being crooked and installing ways to tamper with the wheel, but that wasn't the case here. A miracle really that the house isn't cheating. So she dug deeper, and then she found reference to a systematic ring -- but it was a pre-crash 1.0 story and the actual article was missing. So she dug farther, and finally found some other references to the case, and how they'd done it.

Of course.

Looking back through the footage, the pattern was clear. When she showed Mr. White his cursing was impressive. But as she pointed out, it meant that The Tiger wasn't guilty, and the solution was easy.

===============================================================

Tamarind and Bobby went the next evening, just before The Tiger was set to take his place. Tamarind because she wanted to see the person whose job they'd saved, even if he didn't know it. Bobby came along for her protection. So she got to see how it all went down in the end. When The Tiger came in, Mr. White came out to greet him, and show him the troll-grade ergonomic pad they'd installed for him behind the roulette wheel. "A guy your size, your feet must get sore standing for long, right?"

Tamarind saw it coming then, but Mr. White wasn't as quick on the uptake. The Tiger slapped his boss across the room, and turned and ran for the door. Only, he wasn't a very fast runner, and Bobby was along his route. Sheer bulk and strength has its advantages in a fight, but when your opponent is far faster and has lightning crackling across their skin, strength and bulk only go so far. To be precise, The Tiger made it to the floor in under ten seconds, with Bobby none the worse for wear.

================================================================

Mr. White was not happy about his injuries, or that SIS hadn't figured out that The Tiger was dirty. True, Tamarind had spotted that the big winners had waited until Tony moved a step to one side to start betting, and would stop when he moved back. It had taken getting their hands on a laser level, but buy Bobby turning into a gorilla they'd determined that enough weight in just the right spot tilted the table slightly. Not a lot, but enough to change the odds on red versus white if you knew how to take advantage of it.

Tamarind had assumed that some keen eyed gambler had noted the shift and organized a group to take advantage of it. But The Tiger had eventually confessed, he'd noticed it, and had arranged the whole thing. Two more weeks and he'd been going to take a runner, collect his cut, and move out of Redmond.

"He wouldn't have lasted a month." said Mato.

AM salvage a certain amount of pay, but the whole affair probably hadn't paid enough to be worth the time they'd put in.

================================================================

A week later, Tamarind noticed that one of The Tiger's favourite restaurants had closed. Restaurants in Touristville come and go all of the time. Must be coincidence, right?

Friday, May 19, 2079 Evening
An excerpt from AM's personal diary, Top secret.
I am a liar. A coward.

Not in the way people usually mean it — I handle pressure well enough. But I lie to my mother. She thinks I’m a secretary, living the safe, stable life she always wanted for me. A clean life, after Iktomi turned everything upside down — crushed my marriage, my dreams — and left me emotionally bleeding, forced to fend for myself.

And I did.

I stepped into her apartment again. I love my mother, but I don’t… like her. I visit rarely, and when I do, conversation dies before I even cross the threshold. Her house smells like heartbreak and regret. And eucalyptus. Always eucalyptus. Some things never change.

Anna — my mom. Or Andrea. Or Roberta. Or Chelsie. She’s had many names over the years, working dirty jobs to keep my hands clean. SINless people in Cheyenne don’t have many options. This time I’m calling her Anna. She’s aging, worn down by years of hardship, worry etched into her face.

And here I am — sitting on her old sofa, my skin flawless, my smile ageless, my body magically reshaped into what I always wanted. Prime of my life. And instead of being happy, she’s suspicious.

A teapot sits between us. Herbal tea, of course. We didn’t always have food on the table, but there was always tea — eucalyptus, of course. We never agreed on herbs. Among other things.

I hold the cup near my lips but don’t drink. Just savor the warmth. Bracing myself for the cold look I know is coming once I finally woman up and speak the truth. It’ll hurt. But it beats the lies.

“You’ve barely touched your dinner,” Anna says, concern hanging in her voice like a worn-out coat.
“Is something bothering you, Emma?”

I flinch. I instinctively reach for my spiderweb earrings — a little grounding ritual. Cold metal against my skin. It reminds me who I am.

“It’s… there’s something I need to tell you, Mom.”

“What about it? Is everything alright? You always seemed happy about working at the detective agency. What could possibly go wrong? Did you lose your job? Are you moving back in with me?”

I wince. That suggestion hurts more than it should. She doesn’t know who I’ve become — only who I was.

“It’s not… I don’t actually work at a detective agency.”

Anna frowns, confused.

“What do you mean? That’s what you told me. That’s why you moved to Seattle.”

Only the Trickster knows what’s going through her mind. Maybe she thinks I’m a prostitute. I wouldn't blame her — I've done a terrible job at pretending otherwise.

“I’m sorry I lied. I… do work for a detective agency, but I’m not a secretary. And we’re not exactly detectives. I mean — we are, but that’s mostly a front. We’re problem solvers. At least, solving problems is what pays the bills, while detective work keeps us from killing each other out of boredom.”

I’m rambling. Of course I am.

“I wanted to tell you sooner, but I didn’t think you’d understand.”

“Understand what, Emma?”

There it is again. Emma. She named me Amy. But she’ll never call me that unless my SIN says so. Not even when we’re alone.

It stings. I hate how much it stings.

“We… solve problems.”

“Solve problems? You keep saying that. What kind of problems?”

She leans forward. I can see the confusion. The betrayal.

“Sometimes it’s legal. Sometimes it’s not. There’s always danger.”

And now the words just come.
Everything I kept inside spills out —
“We deal with corporations. Gangs. People who don’t follow the rules. A colleague of mine got blown up. We had beef with a gang called the Halloweeners. I’ve spoken to dragons. Crime bosses. I’ve done things I’m proud of… and some I’m not.”

Anna stares at me.

“Emma… are you involved in something dangerous? Something… illegal?”

“Yes, Mom. Completely illegal. From the moment I wake up to the moment I go to bed. I break SINner laws brushing my teeth. I use a fake SIN. I own…”

I stop. I reach into my bag. I don’t show her the device yet — I just hold it, stroking the smooth plastic for reassurance.

“I’m building a life for myself.”

“By breaking the law?” Her voice burns with pain.
“Emma, how could you? I worked so hard to get you out of that mess. To make sure you were different.”

“I had my reasons.”

“What reasons could possibly justify this?”
“The danger. The lies. Is this what you wanted? For yourself? For us?”

“I… I never wanted to lie to you, Mom. But I needed to get away. To build something of my own.”

“By becoming a criminal?”
Her voice cracks, tears in her eyes.
“I raised you better than this, Emma. I thought you were better than this.”

What I feel isn’t rebellion. I’m not seventeen anymore.
“This life… it’s not just about breaking the law. It’s about owning my future. On my terms.”

Anna turns away.

“I don’t understand you,” she whispers.

I almost reach for her. But I stop. Instead—

“Do you want to see my cyberdeck?”
I say it softly, like I’m dropping a 50k nuyen bomb on the table.

She looks at the case in my lap. Hesitates.

“What’s that?”

I open it.

Inside: Erika. MCD-1. My partner in crime. My pride.

The lights cast a low glow over my face. Anna leans in, trying to process it.

“A… deck?” she asks, hopeful.
“Like… for music?”

I chuckle.

“A cyberdeck. Like in the trids. I can hack comlinks, servers, maglocks. Fun but very illegal things.”

“Erika’s my contribution. Our team — we’re all weird in our own ways. We’ve got a shapeshifter adept, a chromed-up orc with matte-black cyberhands, a sexy full mage, and a drone wrangler who treats her bots like family. If she had to choose between saving one of us or a drone… she’d hesitate. Probably measure which of us she likes better.”

Anna’s not laughing.

She’s staring at the deck, jaw tight.

“Emma, this is serious equipment. This must’ve cost a fortune.”

I nod.

“She’s mine. Debt-free.”

“Debt-free?”
There’s disbelief. And relief.
“But… you were barely making ends meet.”

“Those misfits I mentioned? We work well together. Magic and tech. With a side of existential dread by me, like mother like daughter.” I say in a desperate attempt to lighten the mood.

She reaches out. Her fingers brush against Erika’s cold casing.

“Emma…”
Her voice is thick with emotion.
“This life… it frightens me.”

I close the case.

The click echoes between us.

“I know, Mom.” I pause, “But it’s my life. You don’t have to ask about it. But I’m done making up fake stories. I want to talk to you like a person. Not like a checklist I need to complete.”