:: Rumi smiles and looks down and to the side at Sully as she follows him up the stairs. ::

"Of course. I am at your disposal. I apologize if I have given you an impression contradictory to that."

"No need. Just making sure I don't step on any toes. Crimson seems a woman possessed of certain whims. Please feel free to bend my ear whenever."

"Great," he says enthusiastically. "I'm starving." He leads her out of the room into the main club area. He stops a moment to look around, no Sully, so he heads out. The place he had in mind was a few blocks away. The morning rush of Seattle life had yet to come into swing. The early bird commuters clustered the roads, but the side walks were nearly deserted. A few years back he had been in Seattle investigating some disappearances, his partner at the time insisted in stopping at a hole in the wall restaurant called Sylvan's. Since he had moved to Seattle he ate there once a week if he could.

The small restaurant was crowded with breakfast gowers who had discovered the cornucopia of joy that was served on a daily basis here. There was a dull roar from the patrons accompanied with the usual sounds of grilling bacon and the occasional dropped glass.

Trace led them to a small booth out of the way, in the back near the restroom. The place was barely wide enough for the booth. "They have the best breakfasts in Seattle here, bar none. And the added convenience of covering conversations really well." Trace keeps the conversation menial until after the waitress disappeared with their order. "Ember, don't freak out, but I need to talk with you without the possibility of eavesdropping okay? So don't blast me or anything.

Trace closes his eyes for the briefest of moments, gathering his will. The spell was simple, but he was very tired. He opens his eyes and says, "Speak."

Can you hear me okay? I can't read your mind or anything, only hear the thoughts you direct at me. It's like using a comlink, only far more secure.

Ember's face remains neutral as she plays absently with the salt shaker, but you can sense the amusement in her words.

Blast you? Has my reputation preceded me?
So, tell me about our mark.

Sully:
:: Rumi smiles and gently touches your back as he shows you into what you assume to be Crimson's office. As before, her hounds watch you enter with ears pricked forward, but make no move or sound as you take your seat. Your host, however, appears to be absent. Almost the same moment that the door is shut behind Rumi, your phone vibrates subtly at your hip. ::

Just my luck. Sully quickly fishes the phone out and answers. "Sully here."

Reputation? No, I just figured your awakened, and people have a tendency to react badly to mind spells, even benign ones. Heres the job as layed out to us. We need to enter a company called Factor Five Apparel and steal a proto-type armor they are working on. We also have to download all the research and then upload false data. It is important that part isn't detected. Cowboy Jack, our decker will handle that part. Wraith, our b&e guy will get us into the compound. You, me and Sully will deal with any threats that come up as magical as well as mundane. So far our idea is to do it on a sunday night when the least amount of guards are present. Crimson has also warned us that should the watcher who guards the place be alerted, a mage more powerful than the two of us combined will be summoned, so we need to take out the watcher as well. Any qyestions?

Sounds pretty straightforward. What do we know about the watcher?

Ember realizes, silently, that she was never truly given the opportunity to accept or reject the job. Crimson seemed to feel it was a given, and not open to discussion. That chafed at her. Still, it had been too long since her last job, and not only would the money be welcome, she missed the excitement of a run.

Wraith starts getting ready for bed, while rolling everything around in his mind. An idea hits him and he sends out a message to Jack.

Jack, when you get time, do a search for every MagLock model that Ares makes that includes a retinal scanner. I bet there aren't too many of them and I'll just have to familiarize myself with each one.

Trace smiles at the waitress as the food arrives. He digs right into his Omelet, bacon, hash browns, and toast with generous amounts of strawberry jam lathered on everything. He washes all that down with a gallon of freshly squeezed Orange Juice.

Sorry, I have been up for two days with little or no food. As for the watcher it's a typical dumb servant I imagine. It will have to be dealt with, i.e. overwhelmed and destroyed, before it can return to it's master to warn them.

Trace finishes his meal, he seemed to inhale it. Reaching in his pocket he removes a small note book. He writes a quick note on it and slides it over to Ember, it contains the cell phone numbers he collected from the team.

Were meeting today, I don't know when. Probably later on cause I need some sleep. I would get some to if you need it. Any other questions?

Sully:
:: The unmistakable voice of Weasel assualts your ears. You can hear his enthusiasm reflected in the speed in which he speaks to you. ::

"Heya Sully-girl. Weasel-man here...got some info, and I hope it's soon enough cuz I could REALLY use the cred capice? Anywho...word has it that your friend turned up in Redmond with stars in his eyes, a body at his feet and not a clue as to how he got there. The gang in the area, The Locusts tried to roll him, but after he zapped a third of them, they became all nice and cozy, until Finnegan's goons showed up and collected our John Doe because apparantly, his cold buddy is a known mafia snitch so no one's crying over his exit from this world, but the boys he reports to have been trying to figure out what happened so they are sitting on him while they try to unravel whatever wiped his mind clean."

:: He takes a deep breath giving you a moment to get in a response. ::

"Thanks much for the speedy work. I'll send you 2k in certified stick to the usually spot. There's a follow up bonus if you let me know what happens to Mr. Doe going forward and Weasel now would be the time to let caution not greed motivate you. I have a hunch who's pulling the strings on this meat puppet. You want to stay below their radar. I have to go, be safe."

Ember takes Trace's hand. Using his pen, she scribbles her own number on his palm and taps her ear.

Typical dumb servant, hmm? Alright, I think that should suffice for now. Speaking of sleep, I only got fourteen hours last night. Let me know when the pow-wow is.

With that, she rises from the table and disappears out the front door to catch a taxi home.

Sully:
:: You're not kept waiting long as you have just enough time to secure your phone and shift slightly in the couch before the door opens to emit Crimson. She smiles at you and heads towards the bar, her shoulders drooping with the slightest hint of weariness which is reflected stronger in the sigh that escapes her lips as she pours the brandy. Turning, she joins you on the couch and pauses a moment to sip at her cordial before speaking. ::

"I thought we might touch base regarding the changes in personel."

"I noticed. I hope Trickster didn't do anything that put the rest of the team at risk." Sully lets the fatigue creep into her voice. " I've been up all night with Trace, and not in the nice sweaty way either. Trace seems to be taking to the leadership role with no problems. I decided to share with him my additional duties. He seem to take it in stride and I assured him that the team comes first, which I know you can understand. They need to trust me and me them. Mynce I'm sure has told you that I can walk a pretty thin line. I spoke with her by the way. You seem to be dabbling far and wide. But enough with the 'I did my homework' speech. Is there anything you can tell me about the newest asset?" She looks to Crimson, body language open and relaxed.

Sully:
:: Crimson drapes her arm over the back of the couch as she sips from her sniffer. ::

"Young Mr. Trickster was unfortunately not quite what I had hoped. It seems he was still too young and too incapable of taking this business seriously. He was gone for less than an hour before he was drinking with a mafia snitch, exposing both my operations and your team over free cheap whiskey. He even had the gall to drop hints as to your target and was mulling over an offer to sell whatever info your team collected. In order to protect your mission and my assets - your team included - this snitch had to be disposed of. I gave Trickster a parting gift however, despite the considerable expense, and left him with his life. Unfortunately, that meant wiping just about everything from his memory. He will no longer pose any threat, however he's in the care of the Finnegan's so his future is tentative at best. Regardless, you will not interfere. If anyone comes to his rescue, then it will reveal a trail that someone with talent may lead back here. He knew the risks of this business and was warned about conducting himself in this manner."

Trace admires the sway of the girls hips as she leaves. He settles back into the booth, leaning his head against the syntha-wood backing. Man, all these gorgeous women, and I have the dumb-luck of working with them. Trace dropped a sizable bill on the table and headed for the door. It didn't take long to find a cab and get home. Once he was there, he made sure is wards were in place. He didn't bother removing his clothes he just collapsed into bed, before drifting off to sleep he set his cell to it's loudest ring. I wonder how far that dragon goes down... was his last thought before blackness.

"He won't get any help from me and I'll make sure the rest of the team understands to let it go if it comes up. The new addition I hope will work out better?"

The puppy nosed at his arm, and he swatted it irritably away for a third time as he tinkered with the frame. The AI was limited, but damn it was hard to build the proper responses. He growled under his breath, setting down the circuit coated cube that was a piece of the frame's core, and glanced down at the puppy, now wagging and holding the note in his mouth.

Why'd ah program those like that again? Somethin' uglier ah coulda ignored...

He reached out for the note, unfolding it and scanning over the quick message. He sighed, long and loud, and wiped his hands off before rising, packing up the tools taht represented his limited programming suite, and closing the door of the shed behind him.

Can't wait till I finish this frame...this datasearch crap is monotonous as hell...

He gathers up his tools again, checking the ancient looking watch on the fob tucked into his waistcoat, and saddling up again to ride out.

This search is faster though, with a brief stop at Ares' public node, scanning through the catalog of products Ares' lists for corporate clients, checking for the maglock features. Since they sold to the public, general specs, like features, could be selling points, and it made sense that they should be listed where people could find them.

With a list of model numbers he found, he sent the program out again, tweaking the brim of the Stetson a little further back on his head as he watched the hound set out again.

PD's alarm gets him at 9am. Blinking to get the crust of sleep from the corners of his eyes, he stretches and jumps out of bed. Taking a quick shower and grabbing a low-carb soy-bar for breakfast, He dresses in casual cloths, but professional enough to get by at the Times if he does get in to see Alex today. Throwing his secure vest on over his shirt, he leaves it open. Attaching his knives to his leg, he shakes his head at how comfortable he's become with them. Musing to himself for a moment, I should really get those non-metallic knives put together for me, he thinks. Easier to sneak into places with those.

Pulling the optical chip that he burned yesterday with this weekend's column on it, he grabs it and slots it. He also slots his Journalism chip and the Seattle Streets Map. He also rings Trace, but gets no answer.

Heading out of his place and towards Uglucks, he looks around and doesn't see his friend. Deciding to catch him later, PD opens the garage door, pulls his car out, and then closes the garage door behind him, remembering to lock it with his key, marvelling again that Ug only has a old lock-and-tumbler contraption on his place.

He goes to the Times office building and shows his building ID to the receptionist. Heading to the archives, he sits down in front of a paper-owned matrix terminal and fires up its browse utility. He starts looking for anything that deals with Factor Five. Then he expands to include anything about Ares subsidiaries in sports-wear. He also looks for any stories that mention anything about the response time for the authorities in the district where the Factor Five building is located. Letting the browse utility go to work, PD gets a soy-cola and sits back, mentally writting his column for this weekend in head memory hoping to finish it before he meets with Alex.

PD:
:: The paper is bustling, but not half as much as it will be on Saturday. The Friday edition - the one that's currently being completed - is relatively light, so the staff is relatively relaxed. Down in the archives, it's very quiet and so when the phone rings, it sounds more like a fire alarm than the standard ring tone. ::

"Heya PD, how's business?" Mike's voice is casual and friendly.

PD stretches a moment looking back and forth through the archives for anyone listening. Deciding to play it save, he pulls the dataline out of his phone and jacks it into his datajack. Running the rest of his side of the conversation through the transducer and setting the volume of the phone to low so now one without something special can hear the conversation, PD begins:

"Business was pretty light. But, I've got a new prospect in line. And, they gave me an interesting lead on a story. What do you know about a small apparel corp named Factor Five? Some of my other sources have mentioned that their funded by Ares."

:: Mike grunts in a verbal shrug. ::

"Professionally, not a whole lot. Though my ski suit is a Factor Five. They're sorta the hot thing to wear when it comes to extreme sports apparal. I wasn't aware of their affiliation with Ares, then again, what small corp DOESN'T have big corp hands in their pockets?"

((BTW: Time = 10am, Thursday))

PD pauses for a moment, concidering his words, "And not-professionally? The streets are talking about a new type of bodyarmor that they're working on and I don't think they mean elbow and knee pads for combat biking."

:: Mike chuckles. ::

"I wouldn't know much about that, Im sure Knight Errant will be wearing them before they make it available to us cops. By not professional, I meant my only knowledge of them is the ski suit I mentioned."

"You have a point, although you also gave me idea. Say hi to Helen and the kids for me. I'll talk to you later." PD says before closing the connection.

Taking a moment to pause and check on the browse operation the archives are running he begins to think to himself: I could call Ares .... They can refuse to comment and it puts me on their radar. I'll hold that thought for now..

Thinking a moment, PD sends a message to Grog, his Underground arms dealer and fixer. The message reads: Grog. PD. Two things: 1) you hear anything about a new type of bodyarmor in the works. Bodyarmor may or may not be connected to Factor Five Apparel. 2) Are you aware of any well-balanced, non-metallic throwing knives that might beat a MAD. If so, can you give me an estimate? Thanks. Contact me through Ugluck, please.

Turning back to the computer he waits to be contacted by Alex.

12pm

:: The data that you're pulling up is fairly unhelpful. It's mostly marketing pamphlets or reports on Sponsored events. In fact, they sponser a LOT of events. After about an hour or reading through news blurbs about various sports events, you do find something unusual. It seems a party was attacked while trying to scale Mt. Rainer and the only two who survived insisted that it was only because their survival tent was impenitrable by the paranormal critter that made lunch meat out of their companions. The story sure is good publicity for the durability of Factor Five's Survival Shelter. ::

:: Just as you are finishing up with that story, your phone buzzes. ::

"PD, it's Alex. Come to my office."

"Be up in a moment, boss."

Setting the station to simply look for any stories detailing response times for any type of emergency service (fire, emergency medical, lone star) for the area around the factor five building, PD locks the terminal so that no one can pre-empt his search. Leaving the computer to run, PD leaves the archives and heads for the elevator.

Hitting the button for four, PD ponders the bast way to go about this without giving away too much information to Alex.

Reaching the fourth floor, he exits the elevator and makes a left. Heading down the carpeted hallway, PD nods to Alex's secretary as he says, "Alex is expecting you, Joe. Go right in."

Entering Alex's office he sees his boss working away at something. Alex holds up one finger, telling PD to hold on a moment and motions for him to take a seat. PD sits and waits for Alex to finish with what ever he was putting together. About ten seconds later, Alex looks up, "What can I do for you, PD. Something wrong with the Orator for this weekend?"

"Oh no. That'll be ready on schedule. Might be early -- not much is happening in the Underground this week and there hasn't been any metahuman related hate crimes of note for a while. Therefore, the voice of the downtrodden masses is not crying with its usual fervor." Liking that turn of phrase, PD makes a note of it in his headmemory -- reminding himself to use it at some point in print. "Anyway, what I came to ask you about is right now off-the-record, at least as far as the Orator goes. I heard a rumor about Factor Five Apparel. They've been a small, but very active, sports wear production corporation for extreme sports. However, my sources tell me that they're branching out into some new line of bodyarmor. Apparently they even have a prototype, but I can't get any confirmation of that. Usually, I'd try going to the horse's mouth, so to speak, but in this case, the horse -- being Factor Five -- is funded by Ares. And I'm not sure I want to go there, yet."

Alex looks interested, but a litle confused: "So what do you want from me?"

PD smiles, "I thought you'd never ask. Can you offer me the protection of the Times in this matter? I'd like to go to Factor Five and see if they'll let me talk to their PR people. If I get anything, the Times might have a scoop on the story. And if it's nothing, they'll probably just try to sell me some kind of jogging suit. Usually, I wouldn't worry this much, but since Ares might get involved, I'd rather keep you abreast of my activities. If I can get any information out of them, I'll write it up for a short block somewhere and we can see what happens."

:: Alex chews on a pencil for a moment as he considers your proposal. Then he shrugs as he pulls the pencil back out from between his lips. ::

"Sounds fine by me, but keep it above board. If you're going to be thrown the Times name behind your pitch, try to keep it cordial. Hey...you might even land a hot scoop and make more of a name for yourself outside the metahuman circles."

"Excellent! I'll keep you informed of anything that I'm going to have to put together and I'll get you all the details -- if I can get anything out of the people over at the Factor Five place. Thanks for the leap of faith." PD smiles as he shakes Alex's hand, fills in some space with a little small talk, and heads out of the office. Pausing for a moment and sticking his head back into the door, "Say hi to Alice for me!"

PD heads back downstairs to the archive computer to look in on his search. He also brings up the phone directory and looks for the number for Factor Five Apparel. Finding it, he dials them on the phone in the archive room.

:: The smooth yet synthetic voice answers your call and after about 3 minutes of pushing buttons, you get another voice that is just as serene, yet not the least bit faux. ::

"Good afternoon, Factor Five Corporate Offices, how may I direct your call?"

Time: 12:30 PM

Jack shrugged. None of the information made any sense to him anyway...he dumped it over to Wraith's LTG and got back to work.

"Hello. My name is Joseph Dawson. I am a reporter with the Seattle Times. I was wondering who I should contact within your organization for a brief interview. The questions that I have should take no more than a half hour."

PD is cordial and polite -- very professional -- and uses his full name for only like the second time in his life!

Wraith notices the incoming message alert light up in the corner of his vision. Checking the message, he sees that Jack has some more data for him to go over. He downloads it into his on-board memory and scrolls through it, seeing what he can make of it.

:: The smooth emotionless voice answers. ::

"Please hold while I transfer you to Marketing."

:: The hold music is high energy and interspersed with info-news about their latest spring releases, seems this year they are concentrating on the biking market, and gearing up to be one of the sponsers for the Tour de France. ::

:: After about a 3 minute wait, a cheerful voice answers. If your telecom has visual, the woman is in her early 20's with bleach blonde hair, perfect skin and a deep tan. Her halter top shows plentiful cleavage and she seems so bubbly-enthusiastic, that it almost sets your teeth on edge. ::

"Afternoon! Im Marci in Marketing, I was told you are interested in an interview? We are ALWAYS happy to entertain the media, but I'll need to know more about the nature of your questions so that I can make ABSOLUTELY sure that you will meet with the right person."

:: She ends her little spiel with a blindingly white smile. ::

"Well. I was interested in any information about your new line of ... " PD goes on to describe information that he gleaned from the Times articles in the past stringing information from the different stories together to make a plausible story. He also mentions the para-critter-proof-tent incident hoping to score a few brownie points by flattering them.

"I don't think my questions should take longer than about a half-hour to complete, and then I should be out of your hair. Incidentally, I saw from the information displayed while I was on hold that you're organization is focused on the Tour de France this year. I'd be interested in a little information on that as well."

PD is careful to mention nothing about the bodyarmor, figuring that (A) this woman may not know anything useful anyway and (B) if he tips his hand too early, they may not even let him in the building.

:: Smiles wide as she looks back up after apparantly checking a schedule. ::

"I can set an appointment for tomorrow at 3pm with Derrick LaBonte. He's the gentleman coordinating this years activities surrounding the Tour de France and would be happy to entertain the media. By the way, which organization did you represent?"

PD, "I represent the Seattle Times. Is Mr. LaBonte located at your office in Seattle at ... " PD rattles off the address of the office that the team was given from Crimson.

"I can do that if she's willing. We'll see what happens. Was there something more you needed to tell me or discuss?"

"Actually, I was wondering how things are going. You've been working as a team for a day now. How are things shaping up?"

Sully leans back into the couch and takes a deep breath. "I think Trace can and will be the leader that you want. The rest of the team seems to be falling in behind him, taking his lead and going with it. The others seems to be fairly independent and professional. No hand holding has been needed. They're all still cautious but I think that's encouraging. It means they know what the real deal is, that life is not all rainbows and sunshine. I think this can work but I'll know more after the first job is over. I still need to see the chemistry we have when working. At this point, without meeting the newest addition, I think we're on track."

:: Crimson smiles and rises from her seat, pausing to pet one of the hounds before moving towards a small cabinet in the corner. All four of the hounds rise eagerly and approach her as she pulls out four very large dishes and proceeds to mix scoopfulls of dry dog food with something that looks like large chunks of red meat. ::

"Excellent. What kind of time table are you looking at for hitting the facility?"

"Not sure yet. The team is gathering intel on the site and about the company. Jack is running the matrix looking for info for Wraith to review and give us the best plan for entry into the facility. I think the plan is for us to all meet and come up with the final plan."

:: Crimson looks up in the middle of preparing the fourth bowl of dinner and smiles genuinly. ::

"My, my! You really are working well together. I'm very pleased. If all goes well, we might get ahead of schedule for once."

3:00pm
Midafternoon, after spending a few more hours trying to eak information out of the Times archive, PD packs up his stuff, turns off the machine, and heads out of the office. Waving to the receptionist, he walks toward his car and hops in. Driving back to Uglucks, takes him a little longer because of an accident, but other than that it's not too bad.

"Ugluck, did Grog get in touch with you?" he asks when he arrives.

Sully gives a warm but tired smile back. "Glad we meet with your approval. If there's nothing more I need to get my beauty sleep and probably meet with the team tonight to discuss our plans in more detail." Sully rises and gives Crimson a nod as she slowly heads for the door, giving her ample time to fire off any more questions.

PD:
:: Ugluck looks up from a oil stained ledger book as you approach. ::

"Yeah, he said he'd look into it."

Sully:
:: Crimson turns back to her task and hums slightly as you exit. ::

Sully works her way back outside. She pauses in the open air of the bar, taking a slow and even breath. So Trace met with a woman. She follows the scent out the door. Ok sleep time for the big bad street sam. She digs out her phone and calls for a cab. As she waits she changes her outgoing message. "Hey all, let's meet tonight to go over everything. Trace will call the time and place. Leave me a message if you can't make it." She waves at the approaching cab. After a short ride to Renton she walks towards her place.

Entering the front door, she runs her hand along the wall. Following the mircoscopic bumps that lead to the bedroom. She runs her hand over the tel-com unit, no messages. She peels her gear off piece by piece. Reaching into the closet, she runs her hand over the hanger tops. Finding the ones that hold each bit of armor, she puts them back. With her foot she drags out the roll-away storage bin to put her batons away. She drops onto the bed and reaches out with her right hand and sets the alarm for 9pm.

Jack rubbed his eyes and peered down at the old fashioned pocket watch. Between all three searches, he'd only slept 3 hours in the last 36...a soft sigh and he's staring out of the window in the apartment again, peering through the grey cloud that perpetually covers the skies in the Seattle/Tacoma area.

He stumbled back to the bed in the corner of the studio, stiff from sitting perched on the windowsill since before dawn. He punched 8 o'clock into the alarm clock near the bed...another 4 hours or so would do him for awhile, and fell asleep.