Dub D chuckles, a rasping sound that subsides into a brief fit of coughing. "Heh. Tem'ted on th' whiskeeey. Bedder not. Maybe nex' tiiime."

"Thanks Tik," Wil says as he hands out a credstick to pay Ticker. "I might need another ride later in the morning, can I count on you?"

Wil nods at Ticker's response, then opens the cab door, climbing out, eyes open and scanning around to see if anybody followed. "Let's get inside, we can tend to Dub D, and try and make some sense of all this once we get safe." With that, Wil goes to an unadorned blue-grey metal door and raps three times, making more noise because of the door tapping against it's frame than from his gloved hand hitting the steel.

Ticker takes the nuyen and nods. Once everyone's out he drives off.

As Wil Goes to knock at the door a woman appears at the alley entrance. She stops and looks at everyone for a moment. The tension is palpable, then she sighs loudly and slouches, approaching quickly. "Geez, Wil, could you stick out more?" She stalks up to the door and unlockes it with an old fashioned key...a deadbolt style lock. Once open she stalks through the door and heads to the elevator, punching in the passcode and stepping inside when the door opens. SHe doesn't say a word. She just expects everyone to follow.

The elevator stops on the fourth floor. She walks to the office door and unlocks it, opening it and waiting for everyone else to get inside. "Well, you sure look in a bad way. You owe me big for this one. People will start showing up by 6am, so you've got about an hour and a half before you've got to be gone." She heads over to the coffee maker and starts up a pot. With the amount she put in the filter it's gonna be real strong!

"Thanks a mil, Huang, i'll make sure you get your due." Wil finds a clear spot to examine Dub D. The scent of antisceptics wafts into the room as Wil opens up the medkit from his dufflebag. Wil takes off his duster, hanging it on the side of a chair, then starts to tend Dub D. "When I get done here, I'm gonna check out that file. Maybe you guys should start sending out feelers to see if you can find out anything." Wil nods to his friends.

Sloan follows everyone out of the 'vator and makes a bee line for the coffee pot. "hey, is this real coffee? I haven't had real coffee in...," He crooks his dead to one side and gazes thoughtfully upwards for a moment. "Hell, in too damn long."

While waiting for the pot to finish Sloan digs out his Secretary and dials up Matt. "Hey omae, sorry for the false positive but I don't think I can make it there right now. I got some loose ends to tie up but we'll get together for lunch sometime. My treat. Later."

Pouring himself a steaming hot cup of the rich coffee, Sloan takes a deep breath of air through is nose to savor every subtle nuance of the aroma. "Anybody else want a cup?" He pours cups for all that answer the affirmative then goes back to his cell phone.

Call 1: the Team Fixer: "Hey omae, I think we need to talk about that guy that got us those concert tickets 'cause the show got canceled before we even saw the warm up band."

Call 2: Perry/ Cutters Lieutenant: " Hoi chummer! How's biz out your way? I'll cut right to the chase 'cause I'm a little pressed for time, I had a run in w/ some tuskers in a downtown coffee bar [describes the ork gunman]. You know anything about a crew like that?"

Finished w/ the calls, Sloan erases the numbers and pockets the secretary.

"Wil, once you get a line on what we got, lemme know. I got guy corp-side that might know something about it or who else'd want it."

The fixer grabs the phone and croaks out a sleepy, "Hello?" Once biz is mentioned, he's instantly alert.

"What do you mean? I checked him out. He was solid!" He pauses for a moment, then calms down, turning on his "buisiness mode." "Allright, chummer, we need a little face to face? It would be a shame to let one slight error end a profitable business relationship."


Huang discreetly steps out of the office after pouring herself a cup. Whatever the
trouble was, she didn't need to know. "Clean up any mess you make before you go." Then she's gone.

Wil nods to himself while examining Dub D. "You should be ok, your magic sealed you up nice, not much to do here. Just rest up I guess." Wil says as he repacks his medkit.

Setting an optical chip on a table nearby, Wil lays his cyberdeck nearby and begins to examine the data on the chip, eyes going dead, like a zombie, when he jacks in.

Jamal nods in agreement with Sloans comment about coffee and stands near the coffee pot as well. He takes out a black and mild, doesn't light it, just holds it in his mouth.

"This is definitely not what I had in mind for this run. I had thought it would have been over by now and I'd be sitting on next months rent." He scoffs. "I really should go back to teaching full time, but nope. That's too good for my taste..." He trails off, no point in complaining about stuff that isn't relevant.

Slaon grunts when heres the fixer's words. Then says, "Call ya back in ten." And disconects.

He turns to the group after putting the phone a way and fishes out a smoke. "Our friend, the fixer, want to do a sit down to straighten this mess out. I personaly don't think its a good idea. Maybe we one of those virtual meets like the corps alway do to us. Wil? You know anything about those?" Sloan says around the cigarette.

He looks for somewhere to ash and not finding a proper receptical, takes a quick peek toward the door Huang just disappeared behind, flicks the end of the smoke onto his jeans and smears the ash in to aviod messing up the floor.

"What do you guys think?"

Jamal shrugs. "He can trace us if we do a virtual meet can't he? I wouldn't trust anyone about now." Jamal takes the black and mild out and looks at it. "What a load of drek, I'm so anxious I can't even smoke." He puts the cheap cigar into his pocket.

Jamal looks around the room. "I say best thing to do would be the net conference, but you'd need to jack in at a public terminal or something.... Which of course could lead to other risk. So hell if I know, I'm practically crapping my pants over this."

Plugging in the chip, it takes a good 45 minutes to decrypt. Wil can see that the program was huge...not because of the data, but because of the encryption. There was a reproduction program, an infection program and a time release program. Basically it would, once uploaded, make copys of itself and send them to connected systems, then those copies would do the same. After 48 hours of this they would all simultaneously decrypt.

The information's scrambled and hard to break, but Wil manages to get a few tidbits...

An ork group of businessmen, blue collar workers and other similar interests have formed a group called Millenial Rage. It seems they're mad and want to do something about their racial plight.

There's scrambled pictures and names, but only one name is readable: Hamelin. No last name unless the decryption failed that part. Seems he's over 100 years old but looks like he's 25. He's the brains behind the organization...and the organization is not new...20+ years old. They have their fingers in all sorts of ork interests, including the Sons of Sauron and Ork Rights Commitee.
He's an initiate, but his power level is not known or still encrypted.

Seems the Millenial Rage intends to come out of the closet with a bang...some kind of ritual that will have some powerfull effect on humans in a wide radius, but exactly what you were unable to decrypt.

You get the impression that this program could do a lot of damage to Millenial Rage.

Dub D slowly shakes his head. "I *cough* wouldn't... trust... him. The Johnson... didn't sound like... himself. They *cough* got to him. They could have backtracked from him... to the fixer." Dub pauses to catch his breath. "Let's... wait until Wil... cracks that... chip. Then... we'll have more *cough* information. But I think, even if the fixer is... on the up-and-up... he could still have people... watching him."

THe seconds tick away...

Wil's eyes open, liquid hazel like emeralds laced with brown topaz. Detaching the jack from his temple, he turns to the group and relays what he discovered.

Wil continues, "From that, it seems as though the orks caught up with Johnson. Probably mind controlled him to take the call and used him to find out that we would be at the cafe. So now the orks have our meal ticket, and are likely sending out feelers to find out where we are now. Chances are high that our fixer is either being watched or about to get nabbed. We need to use him to find our Johnson, then let him know to drop outta sight for a day or two. Call him again, have him meet me online at this virtual meeting spot." Wil writes down an address and hands it to Slaon.

Wil continues, "I have another friend who can put us up for a bit. If anybody on our side knows about Millenial Rage, she will. We should leave here as soon as I have talked to our fixer friend. Unless somebody has a better idea, I will set that up."

Sloan takes the LTG and nods, "On it." He pulls out the secretary and calls the fixer back "Okay omae, here's the SportsCenter version of whats going on: you can consider the fan officially covered in drek. You need to get low--real low--and stay there for a few days. Here's an LTG to contact us at but make sure you wait a while before you try it." He puts the secretary away.

"Sounds like a plan, Wil. Lemme know what you need. By the way, do your pals here, " Sloan waves his arm to indicate the bar, "have some wheels we could borrow?"

"No, but Ticker can take us wherever we need to go." Wil starts speaking in a subdued voice, "We should probably leave here soon, knowing what we know now about the run, we may have intruded just by showing up, if you know what I mean."

Wil dials up Ticker, "Hey, your early morning fare here, we need a pickup in a few minutes where you dropped us off. Can you come get us soon?"

Ticker answers the phone. He seems to be in a good mood. "I thought ya might need me so I stayed in the erea. I can be there any time. If ya wanna have me chauffer ya for the day, I can swing that but it'll cost ya another 500 nuyen, plus gas...this ain't no GridGuide™ machine. I'll be waitin' out fron in a couple o' minutes.

"Thanks Tik. See you soon, omae." Wil disconnects, then dials another number.

"Helga? How's my sugarbunny this morning, yeah I know it's early, sorry about that. I have some info you will be interested in and maybe a couple favors to ask in exchange, but we need face to face, can we meet somewhere soon?"

A tired voice answers on the other end. After a few breaths the voice croaks out, "Dammit Wil, is that you? It better be good to get me up this early." THere's a quick pause then she says, "Crap! Coffeemaker's not even kicked in yet! Well, I'm up now, bastard, so whattayawant?" Obviously she's a morning person.

"Better to not talk about it over the phone, we will be driving by soon. We will be knocking at your back alley door in half an hour or so. Leave a chair out in the alley if you want to meet in the diner across the street instead. You wont be sorry I woke you up, I promise."

"We? You're brining others? To my place?!?! Are you out of your fragging gourd? The place is a mess. Restaraunt! Definitely the restaraunt. You're buying!" She doesn't even wait for a response, disconnecting with suddenness.

Wil rolls his eyes as he finishes the phone call. "As soon as Ticker gets here, we can go have breakfast with an angel." Wil then starts gathering his gear. Once everything is placed carefully and neatly in his dufflebag, Wil writes a small note and leaves it for Huahing. It says, "Think Old," making reference to a recent pop hit by Charli Feara, actress, singer, songwriter. The note also has a matrix address on it, is dated for tomorrow and signed, Sanitation.

Knowing Huahing's job and duties, since he used to perform them, Wil leaves the note with a stack of papers she will be examining in a couple hours. Nodding to the group, "Let's go wait for Ticker." Wil heads outside to meet the cabbie.

"Oh good. Breakfast. Its just not right for a man to get killed on an empty stomach." Sloan smiles warmly and claps Wil on the shoulder.

"Dub, whats your sitch? Can you roll or what? I know a ripper doc that can put you up for a few days if you want."

Gritting his teeth, Dub slowly rises, leaning against the bed he was lying on. He still feels like hell, but during the wait for Wil to crack the chip, the shock seems to have worn off at least. "Oh, I can roll." He chuckles, but his eyes are blazingly intense. "Even at death's door, I have enough mojo to ensure I have company to Valhalla. But resting up first would be smarter, eh? I have my place, still - the Johnson just knew how to contact us, nothing more. These creeps start leaning on everybody, they might start getting leads on us, but hopefully we will be safe for a while."

He grimaces. "The bad thing is, if we wait too long, these... terrorists, I assume... will unleash whatever they have planned. Just what we need, even more race riots. On the good side, they probably won't even care about the chip at that point. But I'm not about to let these guys set us up, try to kill us, then kill a lot more people. I say we figure out how to use this chip, and let it do what it's supposed to - mess them up."

Sloan nods in agreement. "aw'right omae. You're with me when we move."

As you are all heading out to meet Ticker, Dub D's phone rings. (Assuming he answers it) "Hey, man, It's me, Sykes! Just a heads up, someone's been askin' about ya by name at the station. Description's pretty good...good enough that the likeness the sketch artist made is pretty accurate. I hope it's not trouble. Stay frosty."

Dub's face softens slightly. "Thanks, John. It's trouble, but I already know who's behind it. It should blow over soon... one way or another. Might be a few weeks, though, so don't worry if you don't hear from me for a bit."

After he gets off the phone, he turns to the others with a thoughtful frown. "Well, it looks like they're already asking around for us. Cops or corps, maybe even street level, they're trying to find us. Nothing we shouldn't have expected, I guess."

Ticker pulls up in the taxi, calmly paralell parking beside the team. His passenger window is open and he says, "Well, I'm here. So, wanna keep me on retainer or this another one shot trip?"

Sloan shrugs and looks to Wil.

"Chances are good we will need to make a few more trips. Let's keep you on retainer for now." Wil gets inside the cab and gives Ticker the address of the restaurant.

"Allright. Pay up and I'm yours." He grins a toothy grin as everyone hops in, then speeds off to the restaraunt. Within about 20 minutes he pulls up in front of the place. "I'll be waitin' here with the sign off, boys."

It's pretty early in the morning, so the restaraunt is pretty empty. Helga's there allready with a pitcher of coffee on the table. She looks rather haggard and disheveled, yet still manages to pull off a rather attractive appearance. She doesn't even look up, staring into her mug whenever she's not sipping from it.

"Tick, we gotta stop meeting like this or people will talk," Sloan says with a smile to the cabby.

When the group gets in the diner, Sloan turns to Wil and out of the corner of his mouth says, "its your show, kid. I'm here if you need me."

"Thanks Tick, we will be a few. By the way, if you notice anything weird, give me a ring." Wil looks all around after getting out of the cab, then walks to the restaurant, eyes straight ahead and shoulders back, walking slow and confident.

Arriving at Helga's table, he leans over and shakes her hand with both hands, making strong eye contact and smiling affectionately before he sits next to her. "Thanks for meeting with us, Helga. I don't know if you've met my friends before," Wil motions with one hand indicating the group. "We came across some interesting material. I thought you might be particularly interested in it." Wil starts to speak softly, leaning close to Helga's ear. "Looks like something wicked is in the brew. An ork organization calling itself 'Millenial Rage' is planning it's coming out of the closet party soon. Looks like they plan some kind of big bad mojo drek. We have a name, Hamelin. Some kind of magical mystery leader, supposed to be an initiate and supposed to be very old. Also, it looks like somebody is planning to leak a bunch of info out about them real soon, and they are not pleased at all." Wil says with suprising candor.

"I know you're no friend of the piglets, so we wanted to know what info you might have. We seem to have gotten ourselves tangled in all this; cooked some ham already tonight and will likely do some more before the day is through. We need to know what you know about Millenial Rage, Hamelin, Sons of Sauron, the Ork Rights Commitee, possible locations, who may have leaked the info, or maybe a lead as to who we should be chatting up." Wil concludes, looking at Helga for any reactions to what he has said.

Sloan follows Wil two paces behind and a step to left, playing the bodyguard roll to the hilt, except he's smiling all the way.

At the booth, he waits for Dub to take a seat and then slides into the booth behind the team. Sloan scans the diner for possible hostiles and then turns his focus towards the door. He leans his head to one side so he can at least listen in on the conversation while watching their backs.

Dub D sits down gratefully, although he is also fuming inwardly at how weak he feels. He hides a wince at Wil's racist comments, hoping that it is mostly playing to his contact's biases.

Dub D smiles grimly as his dire suspicions are confirmed. Valhalla, he is coming.

Hector nods. "I think we need to meet this head on, Helga. Do you have any idea how we can find Millenial Rage?"

Jamil sighs. Pictures, the matrix is the most evil invention. If the awakening had happened just a hundred years earlier, at least the mages of the time would have stopped such a wild entity from being created. But unfortunately a mage-ocracy isn't something that is going to happen anytime soon.

"Whoa whoa whoa, maybe I'm not up on this Seattle Metahuman violence thing," Jamil says this, a slight bit of racism apparent. "So who are the Sons of Sauron, are they like the old Aryan Identity groups or something?"

Helga looks at Hector and shakes her head. "Nope. But if you have someone more troglidytic among you I could probably get ya the name of a Son of Sauron."

Hector looks thoughtful for a moment, then his eyes brighten a bit and he smiles at Helga. "We should go before somebody recognizes us here with you, I don't want to put you in harms way. You should take some precautions anyways, maybe go visit the zoo or something. Ok?" Hector says to Helga.

Turning to Jamil, "We can get more information on that soon."

"Thanks for your help with this, I will let you know how it ends up and what we find out, and if I need any other help I will call you." Hector continues, first speaking quietly to Helga's ear then leaning to politely kiss Helga's scarred cheek.

"We should go now." Hector says to the group as he dials Ticker, saying the same thing.

Ticker's voice message answers the phone after a single ring. The message says, "On my way." Within a minute he's right out front, waiting for the gang.

Helga stays seated and says, "Well, I'll just have the zoo come to me. I know a couple people who specialize in bodyguard work. But if they get shot you get to pay their benefits!" She punctuates the statement by taking a long drink of her coffee, then refilling the mug. Outside, Ticker's horn honks.

"Let's go guys, we have things to discuss." Wil says while going to the cab.

Once inside he tells Ticker, "Take us on a ride, doesn't matter where for now. You might wanna wear headphones, Tick, and play it kinda loud. You can use mine if you like, I have some of Gheden's newest stuff, I think I remember you like that."


Turning backwards to face the crew, Wilsays, "We need to decide what to do. I have some rough ideas forming, but would prefer to hear from you guys first."

Slaon scratches his neck, "like I said earlier, head for the Barrens. Find a hole, dig in, find out more about these fraggers, and do unto them before they can do unto us."

Ticker sets himself into a standard "holding pattern" cruise and conveniently turns up the tunes.

While everyone is thinking, Sloan looks for signs of a tail.

After a few minutes of driving about, with Ticker intentionally oblivious to the team, Sloan does indeed pick up signs of a tail...a motorcycle has followed the cab for 2 right turns. A single helmeted humanish sized figure rides it Ticker notices it too and pipes up. "Hey guys, any o you call for a buddy on a bike? 'Cause if ya didn't then I think I might just take a drive over to the local precinct and park in front of the station for a few minutes."

"No. Make a U-turn at the next intersection and then head to the nearest McHughes. I wanna have chat with this slot."

Sloan checks the action on the Browning.

"Wil, Jamal be ready. if he follows us into the parking lot we're gonna take him."

Wil nods.

Ticker nods and says, "Got it. McHughs." He makes a normal turn, following the rules of the road and drives to the nearest McHughs, heading for the drive through. The motorcycle follows for a little bit, then pulls ahead and speeds away into traffic as you turn into the order line.