Friday, September 11, 2071, 08:22, Parking lot of coffin motel
PAN Hidden

Deep in the matrix, Ferret ignores the buzzing in his ear for a few milliseconds. He tweaks the search paramaters of his FindIt4U browser program and sets it off and running. Then with a quick check that his stealth program is online and his firewall is green, he opens his eyes. Slick chrome and primary colours give way to the dim and grubby interior of the van.

Focus, Ferdinand, focus. You need this. Don't screw it up and don't let him rip you off.

Closing or minimizing most of his AR windows so he hopefully won't get distracted, he accepts the call.

<@Beetle: Hey chummer, that was quick. Didn't expect to hear back from you so soon. You got something interesting for me, omae?>

Friday, September 11, 2071, 3:28 AM, Jovan's home, Tacoma

Jovan logged off the Matrix and found himself back in the familiar comfort of his darkened study, a single hairless eyebrow cocked and his mouth open slightly in an expression of mild surprise. I didn't expect for her to understand the reference. Perhaps that one is not as unsophisticated as I originally took her for. He dismissed the thought as absurd. It was far more likely that she had simply done a data search of the phrase while she had been standing there staring at him.

The nosferatu rose from his chair and began pacing the basement, considering his options. Or rather, he tried to consider his options. After approximately thirty seconds, his train of thought was quite rudely interrupted by the incoming message alert from his comm. It seemed that at least one of the runners was still awake at this hour - or rather was now awake, judging by his or her word choice. And what's more, he or she was even so kind as to provide some information about the roles of each of his new "companions." Good. I'm going to need information to work with this situation. Since becoming Infected two years ago, Jovan's preferred mental modus operandi had been, instead of choosing a path to victory, to try to choose in such a way that all paths led to a victory. He needed to get this job done for the valuable experience and nuyen it would yield, but he also needed to ensure that his team never realized what he was. To obtain both, he would need more information.

It was some time after this that he received another message, this time from the one who was apparently "actually awake." Oswald, this one called himself. The one pulling the night shift, and the team's rigger and hac... Wait. I have an idea.

He began perusing the information contained on their private message board to make sure he knew where he would be going with this. So the original team had stolen three megacorporate truckloads containing explosives, armor, and small arms. That team had access to magical support. A rigger in that team had taken the trucks with him into Redmond, and that rigger, who apparently was a crane operator in older times, was now looking for a new identity. In Redmond. How sickening. Now suddenly the three trucks have apparently dropped off the face of the earth, hidden from the local syndicates, Ares, and our employer. Oh, and someone apparently tried to end the initial job meeting of this current team with a bomb. How delightfully crude.

He spotted at least two places in this information where things just didn't quite add up, and another where more research could prove useful. But that would come a bit later. Right now, he needed to prepare. He typed up responses to the two messages from the team as he took off his good shirt and put on his face mask.

<@Yacht Club: I am a mage. My abilities are directed towards eliminating traces. I'm also quite magically capable when it comes to preventing individuals from escaping; 'take it in what sense thou wilt.'>

<Jovan@Oswald: Lucky you then. Night shifts are my preference as well. I have no vehicular transportation, but give me half an hour and I can provide some astral assistance at your location.>

3:35 AM, Jovan's study, Tacoma
PAN mode: Hidden
Now wearing only his suit pants and a mask, Jovan walked to the back corner of his study and began running his fingers along the wall. Once he had found the tiny knob that he was looking for (easily mistaken for a minor deformity in the concrete wall), he pushed simultaneously on it and the wall, and was rewarded with a narrow section of the wall moving inwards, revealing itself as a cleverly disguised doorway too narrow for one to enter in any way except sideways. Closing the door behind him, his eyes quickly scanned over the tiny three by five room and the tightly-secured steel grate in the middle of the floor. Satisfied that no intruder had managed to get in, he turned off the maglock on the grate with his commlink and opened it, revealing a badly rusted metal ladder leading down into darkness and the soft sound of running water. Jovan descended that ladder then, closing and wirelessly locking the grate above him and chanting softly to himself one of his most clever perversions of Shakespearean prose, this one adopted from King Lear:

"Mark it, nuncle:
Be more intelligent than thou showest,
Speak more fly than thou knowest,
Sell drugs for what thou owest,
Use more swag when thou goest,
In vampires thou trowest,
Use the mojo when thou throwest;
Thou art a nosferatu of yore,
And if thou keep nuyen in the door,
Then thou shalt have more
Resources than twelve tens to a score.
Act I, scene iv."

Oswald's GTS Tower, "Sky-pod," hanging roughly 80m over lower Redmond, 3:35 am

"Well, that didn't work..." Oswald mused as he observed only static coming from the blimp's stolen feed. "Guess it's back to the store for supplies."
Oswald dropped back into VR and dialed up his programmer contact.
<<"Oh Softy! Hey Softy-bear... I've got some more funbux for you! I ran into a crypto problem, and seeing as how you're the guy who knows the secrets of the video game champions, I figured I could maybe get a cheat code off you... How's 1500¥ sound? Heh heh ha ha..">>

While Oswald kicked back, he thought about what to do with his time. It was fun floating in this sling, high above the world, and the music helped the feel, but it was a pale comparison to the weightlessness of VR. "That's for sure." He should be fixing something, or building something, or maybe programming. The Sky-pod could keep an eye on this guy easy enough. Maybe he should see if Softy will give him time in code land. The programming environment made everything so much quicker. Not to mention Ol' Softy usually let him borrow his Programming Tools.. but that's more of this Jap scratch he'd be out of if he wanted to hire its use for the night. Besides, he'd probably be interrupted 5 minutes in by..
*bloop*
"Oh, hello new message!" Oswald perked up. "Are you going to be from Softy or the Javaman, Joeman, er.. that guy?" Oz opened the message. "Hey hey! It's that guy! Hocus-pocus, hunh? Sounds good. Just because I think this guy is on his lonesome, that doesn't make it so."
<<Oswald @ Jovan "Good thinking Joe! If this guy is connected with that other team, he could possibly have some magical support that you could flush out. It's in the realm of possibility, and would be quite the nasty surprise on my end.>>

Friday, September 11, 2071, 08:00, Professor's pad

He's not sure whether it was the commlink or the smell of coffee, bacon and eggs that woke him first. As his mind came into focus, he checked the messages. "Well, one in the driveway, a new one out in the ether somewhere, and yet another dead one to be replaced. What a job!"

He dresses quickly and heads to the kitchen, alerting the house, "Invite Thirty in."

<<@Heka: Up. Eating. Thirty here, with vehicle. Any developments not messaged?>>

Friday, September 11, 2071, 8:01 A.M., Thirty's Comet

Thirty awakens to the sound of another J-pop song blaring on his car stereo. He opens his eyes and realizes it's a new day, so he turns the volume down to a reasonable level and shuts off his commlink's message alert. Groggily, he rubs the sand out of his eyes, then snaps his fingers to open an AR window.

Nothing happens.

Must have dislodged the trodes in my sleep, he thinks. Sure enough, when he feels around the base of his skull with his fingers, he finds his ponytail has loosened, so he cinches his hair up and re-ties it, which seats the electrodes against his scalp again, restoring his AR environment. Now when he snaps his fingers, a window appears as expected.

With the invite from Professor blinking at the top of his inbox, he decides to avail himself of his new teammate's hospitality. He checks the location of his weapons; Predator in shoulder holster, taser in right jacket pocket, and Kanjin under passenger seat. He grabs his commlink from the car's docking port and checks the area outside the car reflexively before he gets out. Rather than taking a look around the neighborhood like he wants to, Thirty heads straight for entrance to the house, his stride brisk and businesslike. Professor's neighbors tolerate a dwarf, but an ork may be another story, he thinks.

When Professor answers the door, Thirty gives him a courteous nod and a friendly smile, and says, "Good morning. I'd like to take you up on that offer of breakfast."

Friday, September 11, 2071, 8:01 A.M., Thirty's Comet

Professor answers the door and smiles ... up ... at his teammate. "Hey, chummer, it's a good day to be alive. Half the original six who showed up on Mr. J's boat are dead this morning. Makes you wonder. Let's eat up like it's the last time."

In the dining room the automatic service has set up breakfast for the two, and in the background some Indian ragas are playing softly. Professor pauses a moment in silence over his plate and then digs in heartily. In between bites, some business comes out. "Oswald has been working on intercepting data traffic with that ID at the coffin motel. Seems like something special has come through. He's still decrypting it I think. After breakfast we should probably head over to be ready for an interception. I'll message Heka that since you're here, he may as well go over there directly. Save some time." He sends this addendum to his last message to Heka. A glance out the window tells him how to describe Thirty's vehicle. "Nice ride. Half the families in this neighbourhood have something like it. Well done."

Friday, September 11, 2071, 08:23, Parking lot of coffin motel

Beetle sounds extra gruff at this hour,<<Beetle@Ferret: Yea, you ain't the first slot today to think this is a resonable hour to be awake. Listen, It's interesting to hear from you this morning. I'm knuckles deep in somethin right now. A close friend o' mine is missing. Some new players rolled into town, flashing big cred. My friend got in on it and vanished. Now these same folks are hiring like crazy agian. Would you be interested in signing up? They pay good, and I'll throw in some extra nuyen if you keep me in the loop. I gotta find out what these folks are all about.>>

Ol' Softy couldn't be more pleasant. The mere mention of video games always made him smile <<Not a problem, try this out, If it doesn't cut the mustard let me know.>>
Softy didn't disapoint. His program went at the encryption like a sledgehammer. It still took a while, maybe a minute. But the static quickly turned into a pretty clear picture. <<Your funds cleared, Your new SIN is in place. We're sending you the files now>>

Oswald's GTS Tower, "Sky-pod," hanging roughly 80m over lower Redmond, 3:45 am

Oswald smiled as he checked out the dense little program he'd just acquired. Even if he knew jack-all about running radio operations, he liked Softy's work... "I'll debug it later," he thought with a chuckle. Copying it from his com to the drone-blimp, he activated it and commanded the machine to break the target com's cypher and show him what had been streaming since he'd arrived. The machine worked diligently, making fast work of the encryption and grabbing the incoming signal.

Instantly Oswald regretted it. Well, not quite instantly. It took him a couple beats for his brain to make sense of what he was experiencing, and within moments he was sent reeling as his mind rejected it. He jacked out instinctively and found himself hunched over in the hanging sling, his mind still fresh with the taste of... "Jesus.. Fuck! What kind of gonzo shit! Ughhh!" He tried to free his brain from the sense impression of the sliding-perspective Troll-on-Dwarf BTL, but it was burnt in. Somewhere in his mind, forever, he would remember.. that.. pulsing.. "Oh fuck you! I'll give you something to stuff up.. your.. gaping.. Shit!"

Oswald tapped back into AR and brought up his targeting menu. He swung the blimp around to the window side where the signal sat, unmoving, and he just stared at the room, zooming in closer and closer with the blimp's magnification. The sound of The Electrician soaring through his head. Just a thought and he could have a cooperating, dead witness. He wouldn't say much, but then again. What the hell could that son of a bitch say that's worth hearing. Pacify the surrounding area with White Phosphorous. Yeah. He'd call Danny and have him switch out the Kull's load.

<<Oswald @ Danny:"DANNY! Get up off your lazy backside and load the Kull with Willy Pete! Full amount! I've got to powder a roach motel!">>
<<Danny @ Oswald:"Can't.">>
<<Oswald @ Skypod:"Oh, what the hell Danny! Did I forget to fix your legs?!">>
<<Danny @ Oswald:"Hell, yes, I've been sitting here all night!">>
<<Oswald @ Skypod:"Oh... well.. Sorry Danny.. I'll be by later..">>
<<Danny @ Oswald:"Alright. Cool off.">>
"Humph." Oswald sighed in defeat.

<<Oswald @ Skypod: "Monitor that feed and let me know if anything changes.">>
"Guess I'll read a book or something.."


Oswald's GTS Tower, "Sky-pod," hanging roughly 80m over lower Redmond, 8:22 am

<<Skypod @ Oswald: "New signal. Decrypting...">>
"Hunh? Oh shit!" Oswald was startled out of his research. He'd been combing through the code on his new Decrypt Program, trying to get at the heart of its operation.
<<Skypod @ Oswald: "Decryption successful, acquiring.. error. Acquiring.. error.">>
"Come on you son of a bitch.." Oswald took control of the drone's Radio Signal Scanner and tried to apply his meager understanding of Electronic Warfare to the situation.
"Ha! There we go!" He cheered. "Stupid gas-bag can't even grab a signal that it's already decrypted..."

<<Oswald @ Yacht Club:URGENT "Alright boys! We've got a hit on that ID tip. Data follows.>> He attached the captured message and its contents to the mass broadcast.

Heka's Pad, Bellevue - 8:30 AM - September 11, 2071

The moment the clock hit 8:30, the blinds opened on the windows and unseen speakers began playing music from his library. This morning he came to as "Take It To Mister" began playing. At a motion from his hand the volume came down--it was just a little too loud for his head, pounding from too much wine, not enough sleep, and the comedown of his mescaline.

He sat up, legs hanging off the edge of the bed, and tried to put his head together. Figure out the day. Figure out a plan. As the second verse started--Maria Mercurials voice singing "Then, as they will, all these things changed their way / The ones who guarded you proved false,"--he slid from the bed and padded to the kitchen. He set the soykaf to brew and told the soy processor to set up some shaped sausage-flavored patties and scrambled "eggs," a little rationing to help stretch his food nuyen. While it was prepared he hit the shower.

By nine he was getting in his Hyundai with a cup of 'kaf and a thermos-ful for later. He brought up his AR so he could get the Professor's address to the car so it would drive, and noticed the wall of messages waiting. Team's been busy, he thought. And I thought I was a night-owl. Heka reads over the news, and although he's beginning to get very worried at how fragile his new teammates seem, at least there's a replacement all ready to go. He sees the new change in plan from the Professor and sends out a quick message before he gets the Hyundai moving.

<<@Yacht Club: Up and about. Moving to the coffin location and will see you there.>>

Friday, September 11, 2071, 08:23, Parking lot of coffin motel
PAN: Hidden

<<@Beetle: I'm always interested in big cred and could sure use the work, but something sounds fishy here. Anyways I still owe you a couple, so I'll look into it for ya and see whats going down. So tell me, what's the deal with this buddy of yours? Someone I know? Send me anything you got on him and I'll get right on it. Will you set up a meet, or do I need to contact the Johnson myself. I'd prefer to do it online. Oh and one last thing, I don't suppose you could front me some of that bonus for keeping you in the loop?>>

Frag, I don't like the sound of this at all. But it sure beats playing delivery boy.

Friday, September 11, 2071, 8:23 A.M., Professor's pad

Professor is wiping away the crumbs when Oswald's urgent message comes through. "Waddaya say we take off now, Thirty? It looks like things are coming to a head."

He orders the kitchen to clean itself, and gets his gear.

Friday, September 11, 2071, 8:05 A.M., Professor's Pad

Thirty digs in to breakfast like a man half-starved. In answer to Professor's comment on his vehicle, he grins and says jokingly between bites, "I had my heart set on a Eurocar Westwind, but couldn't quite get the cred together, so I had to settle."

As he mulls over their plans for the morning, he says, "You know, it might not be a bad idea for Heka to join us before we head into Redmond. From what I hear, the gangs might try to mess with us on the way in, and some illusions might come in real handy, if he's got that kind of mojo." After chewing on another bite, savoring the flavors, he continues, "Once we get there, my guess is that this guy is one of Big Daddy's team from the original run. If you don't mind, I'll let you handle the initial questioning in a friendly manner. You know, try to convince him it's in everybody's best interest if he helps us find those trucks. If he decides not to cooperate, I'll play bad-ork and press him for the info." As an afterthought he adds, "Don't worry, I'm not going to kill him, but he won't know that."

8:23 AM

Thirty says, "Allright. Heka will have to meet us there. Thanks for the breakfast, chummer." He heads out to the Comet with Professor and gets in, unlocking the door for his companion. After he sets the car's destination and starts it going, he composes a quick message to the team. <@Yacht Club: Professor and I are inbound in my vehicle. Heka, if you'd rather have company on your trip, we can rendezvous, just let me know.>

Friday, September 11, 2071, 8:25 A.M., Thirty's ride, on the way to Glow City

Professor settles into his seat and waits for Thirty to do the messaging. "Any thoughts on the new guy, Jovan?"

Friday, September 11, 2071, 8:25 A.M., Thirty's ride, on the way to Glow City

Thirty's eyebrows jump, and he says, "I completely forgot about him! I dimly recall he came on board last night when- drek, Caper's dead, isn't she?" He checks the VPN while silently chiding himself for his failure, and reads that Jovan is a mage that specializes in making sure his targets can't escape. "Oh yes," he says, "Jovan could come in handy. I think he was up all night with Oswald, so he may have gone to sleep; I suppose we'll find out when we get there."

Friday, September 11, 2071, 3:45 AM, streets of Tacoma

A man was walking in a dark alleyway, freshly intoxicated from a night of heavy drinking at a nearby pub. He stumbled along, mumbling to himself about the slitch of a wife and ungrateful kids that he now had to return to. "Fraggin' family, makin' me go home. When I get back, imma beat thems up some. Yeah, that'll teach those bitches a lesson. Beat 'em up like I's one of them trog freaks. Why's I gotta go back anyway? I is tired a' this nonsense. Hey... ah just says 'nunsense.' Heh heh heh. Man, I must be pretty smart." And so on.

In his drunken stupor, the man was utterly incapable of suspicion when a thought came into his mind, even though it was very much unrelated to his current train of thought. This thought was to retreat from the street in whose direction he was heading, and turn around and go deeper into the alley and its shadows. He thought he had seen an unopened bottle of whiskey down there. If he found it, he could sit in the alley and drink a little longer. Yes, he would gladly do that. Anything to put off returning to the family that he detested. It was with these somewhat unusual thoughts in mind that the man turned around and stumbled half-blind into the long shadows that draped themselves over the alleyway. They hid him like a raven hiding its newborn chicks under its black wings. Even if there had been others walking by on the street, they would have been none the wiser as the man suddenly found himself unable to move his body any further. Even if they had peered into the alley from the street, they would not have seen a thing as he fell to the ground, unable to scream as his mouth and body refused to respond to the signals from his brain. They would have continued about their business as a deathly-white figure turned him onto his back and crouched over him, filling him with a powerful and unnatural terror. They would have driven home for a few hours of sleep, joked with their friends over drinks, danced, played VR games, and an assortment of other normal activities as the figure bent forward, bringing its head so close to his that he could feel its hot breath on his face. There was disgust written over its hairless face, its amber eyes staring back at him with a coldness he'd never seen before.

"'Alas, you are slain,'" Jovan whispered in the man's ear. Then the man was filled with unbelievable pain as Jovan put a hand over his chest and began sucking out his very soul. Those minutes that followed felt like an eternity of torment, but after that he knew no more. He knew nothing as Jovan retreated into the shadows and the sewers, dragging his body behind. He heard nothing as his body dropped into the filthy water with a splash. He felt nothing as he was torn limb from limb by a hungry ghoul some time later. He knew only darkness.

4:10 AM, Jovan's home, Tacoma

Jovan typed a message on his comm as he sat back in his cozy chair in his study, a bit of blood still on his mouth from when he tore out his meal's throat. He felt more alive now than when he had left.<Jovan@Oswald: I am ready now. How and where shall I find you? In the meantime, while you wait for my arrival, there is something I think you should check out. You mentioned on the private board of yours the report of the original heist of the trucks, which detailed the retreat of the Ares recovery team from an air spirit. I want to know why an Ares team sent to recover three stolen shipments of heavily restricted items did not have any magical support, especially if you can find any overt use of magic by the runners in the original operation. I imagine knowing the capabilities of that recovery team would also prove useful, should we come into conflict with similar teams in our search.>

Oswald's GTS Tower, "Sky-pod," hanging roughly 80m over lower Redmond, 4:12 am

Ozzy was barely into the history of the block cypher when Jovan's message arrived. Hanging up his cryptographic research for the moment, he responded.

<<Oswald @ Jovan: I'm 80 meters up. Near Duthie hill road by Glow City. Just head on towards the shittiest, most fucked up place you can possibly find and, when you get there, look up. I can dig into the spirit thing, but I don't know that it'll go anywhere. Way I figure this previous crew was roughly as attached as we are. I don't know that one would have anything on another. If Johnson thought contacting them would be necessary, or that they were involved in the missing cargo, he would have sold them down the river with BDLL. Logically that leaves BDLL alone in this mess, at least according to the guy with the best view of the situation. I figure it's an outside chance that our target has his previous magical support. I'll check Shadowland anyway. A guy who can sling mojo hard enough to beat off an Ares Fast Responder team should stick out if he's local to Redmond. No harm in trying to find another lead. In the mean time, seeing as how this place is a magical crap sack of atomic energy, I'm still concerned about the neighbors. Poisoners and Toxics, ya'know. Some boogity-boogity jumps out at me and I can only pray my blaster takes it down. Com guy might have other friends in the area. Why else would he stay in this cesspit?>>

Friday, September 11, 2071, 9:02 A.M., Heka's driveway

The car was warming up and just about to pull out into the street as Heka checked his final couple of messages. Thirty and the Professor had left nearly 40 minutes ago to head in to Redmond, which should be a substantial head start--but with the Metroplex's morning traffic problems, chances were good he could catch up.

<<Heka @ Thirty: I'm en route. Let's meet up at <GPS coordinates>, in Tourist Town, and we can go in together. I should be there in twenty minutes.>>

He changed his car's destination address and sat back while it began to drive.

Friday, September 11, 2071, 9:02 A.M., En Route to Redmond

Thirty cups his hands behind his neck and takes a deep breath, then exhales slowly. Traffic outside is at a near standstill. Since he isn't actually driving, he's not as angry as he could be, but his desire to be prompt and professional makes the delay irritating. With some exasperation, he says, "Hope the guy Oswald is tracking takes his sweet time to get going in the morning."

Just then, Heka's message pings in. After reading it, Thirty looks up the destination and plots a route that takes them off the freeway. "Glad to see Heka's still alive," he says, only half joking.

<@Heka: We'll meet you there.>

The mapsoft shows their off-ramp is just a half kilometer ahead, and Thirty is tempted to take manual control of the vehicle in order to drive down the shoulder, but decides against it. With my luck, I'd get pulled over, and I can't afford any more delays, he thinks. Instead, he settles in for more waiting, and tries to pass the time making conversation with Professor.

Oswald's GTS Tower, "Sky-pod," hanging roughly 80m over lower Redmond, 4:12 am

Oswald killed a couple of minutes poking around for a Wizkid in Redmond. He found a few shamans that were possible, but nothing that really stood out. It was hard to gauge much about their power from the gossip.

Friday, September 11, 2071, 08:24, Parking lot of coffin motel

Beetle wasn't in the mood for haggling <<Look chummer, I'm trying to get info from you , not the other way around. And I'll pay you when I get some. Don't worry, these guys are rainin cred. I got the Johnson in virtual right now, says she can meet you. what do ya say?>>

9:22 am Tourist Town, Redmond

As soon as Thirty's car exits the highway, it finds the roads much more manageable. It wasn't long before they reached the coordinates. It wasn't clear if this was the intentional destination(sometimes mapping in the barrens is a joke), But Thirty and Professor found themselves at a bus station you would expect to get murdered at in broad daylight. The fact that it was still functional, however, was a sure sign they were in Tourist Town. There was a good amount of broke wage slaves trying to think up a lie for the wife when they got home. A couple of eurocars drive by, seemingly out of place, but everyone knows a mob car when they see it. Heka wasn't far behind.

Friday, September 11, 2071, 08:24, Parking lot of coffin motel
PAN Hidden

Note to self: haggling with your fixer when he has just been hauled out of bed by Mr J and is probably still hungover or coming down from whatever he was drinking, snorting or both the previous night is not a smart idea.

<<@Beetle: Well, let's hope it rains some of that cred on me then. Gimme a sec to get my game face on and then you can link me through.>>

Even while he is talking to the ork, Ferret is working. AR windows spring up around him as he loads programs, checks his firewall settings and re-routes his connection though several nodes. Keeping the audio link live he settles into his chair and goes deeper into the matrix, his icon wrapping around him like a second skin.

<<@Beetle: Okay chummer, wish me luck and hook me up.>>

Friday, September 11, 2071, 9:22 A.M., Redmond's Touristville District

As Heka's car pulls up, Thirty messages him, and CC's Professor. <Nice ride. You mind joining us in my car? I've got some gear under the seat, and even though we're in Redmond, transferring it to your car might draw unwanted attention. Still, if you'd prefer to take yours that's fine, I can understand not wanting to leave your Shin parked here.>

Friday, September 11, 2071, 9:22 A.M., Redmond's Touristville District

"I'm not familiar with this part of town," Professor says. "Or for that matter, any part of this town. I should get a map/info book and memorize it." "Is there a garage or storage facility we can temporarily use?"

Friday, September 11, 2071, 9:22 A.M., Redmond's Touristville District

Heka reads the message sent to him by Thirty and, after checking the area, has his car park itself in a near-empty parking lot. He grabs his things and gets out, locking the Hyundai and turning on the alarm system. And then he activates the real deterrent.

Reaching with his power, he connects with one of the little demons under his control. Come to me, he thinks, and feel's the creature's assent moments before it appears before him in the astral. It was taller than him by about a foot, its features a mix of human and lizard. Its red, scaled skin glowed softly, like steel placed in the heat of a forge.

"Stay here," Heka said to the demon. "If anyone approaches this car, manifest and warn them off. If they persist, destroy them. Do you understand?" The demon hissed its response, circling around the Hyundai.

"I will be back soon," Heka said to the demon, and headed to Thirty's vehicle. The dwarf clambered into the back seat and did up his seatbelt. "Morning, gents," he says. "We all set?"

Friday, September 11, 2071, 9:22 A.M., Redmond's Touristville District

"We are now," Thirty replies as he punches in the coordinates of the coffin motel and tells his Comet to go.

Once they are en route, he says, "So, our rough plan was to have Professor here start off with a little questioning, and if the guy won't budge, I'll lean on him some. Nothing lethal, but I can be frightening if I need to be." He flashes an evil grin, then continues, "I figure we send Oswald a message when we get there, he tells us where to look, and hopefully we catch the guy unawares. I'm open to other suggestions if either of you have any."

Friday, September 11, 2071, 9:23 A.M., Redmond's Touristville District

Professor watches Heka set defenses for his vehicle. "Hmm... spirit works, too. In some ways better than a hideaway."

"I'm sure we can find a way to get through his door quickly before he bolts, out a window or whatever." He grins at Thirty. "Heka, is there any way you can make us less obvious as we approach his room?

"We can play 'good cop - bad cop', and I will emphasize our initial desire not to harm him. With the three of us there I suspect he will see reason and answer our questions."

Friday, September 11, 2071, 4:13 AM, Jovan's home, Tacoma

Jovan had been waiting patiently in his favored armchair for the response. After reading through the reply from Oswald, he let himself get into a comfortable position. Then his eyes closed and his body relaxed, and he found himself flowing like ethereal mist through the astral plane towards the toxicity of Glow City and what he guessed was an astral shadow where Oswald was flying, with thoughts of Ares conspiracies and double entendres from Romeo & Juliet drifting through his mind.

Friday, September 11, 2071, 9:23 A.M., Redmond's Touristville District

On the spur of the moment, professor decides, "Might as well figure out something about my teammate." As Thirty starts to drive away, Professor opens himself to the astral and checks out the spirit defending Heka's car. Then he takes a close look at Heka the next time Heka speaks. He keeps himself open to the astral as they approach the target unless something horrible tries to eat his soul.

Friday, September 11, 2071, 4:13 AM, The Coffin motel in Astral space

Jovan flies with great alacrity to Oswald's location. He finds himself in a shadowy jungle of intangible concrete, glowing slightly in a sheen of mold and bacteria. dim flashes of rats and insects seem to light up the place like a galaxy of distant stars below his feet. The people here glow in dark colors of despair and sadness. there's a chilling braze of pain that moves through the whole area, maybe an emotional stain from years of crime and decay. Jovan moves among the souls undetected. He finds no sign of another awakened being.

Friday, September 11, 2071, 08:26am, Parking lot of coffin motel

Beetle sends Ferret an address and passkey. Ghostserve is a black chat for super private conversations. A fact that Ferret is experiencing first hand. His reality filter is overwhelmed as soon as he logs on. The sculpting of a New York brownstone in the late 1940's has his commlink bogged down trying to sort it. He's ushered in to a sitting room with the Johnson. A tall blond in a black dress and a black rum and coke,"Good evening mr...?" She waits for a response as Ferrets Analyze program works its way through the room. The node has some heck of a stealth program running, telling him the chair is a chair, and the fireplace is warm. Annoying. The woman however isn't so guarded. She lights up like the load out on a military Jet. The Black Hammer she's got in her hand being the most disturbing, unless you consider the Analyze program thats watching the hacker like a hawk.

Friday, September 11, 2071, 9:23 A.M., Redmond's Touristville District

Professor watches Hecka with, what some cultures refer to as, his third eye. Heka's aura glows bright. It doesn't seem as intense as professor's own aura, He also notices the presence of a sustaining focus. The road gets rougher as the three make their way towards Glow City. Pot holes keep expanding until the road is actualy in broken sections. The car loses contact with the grid and the pilot program is struggling to decipher where the road is.

Friday, September 11, 2071, 9:24 A.M., Redmond's Touristville District

Thirty grabs the wheel and takes over from the pilot program. His experience as a driver is very limited, but he doesn't trust the car to handle itself in the absence of a road. To his team-mates, he admits, "I'm not much of a wheel man, and I'm not too proud to let one of you guys take over if you've got some training." Concentrating intently, he tries to keep his car from getting stuck or damaged as they continue towards their destination.

Friday, September 11, 2071, 9:24 A.M., Redmond's Touristville District

Professor recalls that one road in the Yucatan... the ten hour drive from Hell. "I've had some experience on rough roads. I can take over if you like."

He concentrates a moment and draws the mana into himself, focusing it into his reactions. After a second or so, he can feel his body move more smoothly and see the terrain go buy in more detail. "I'm ready."

Friday, September 11, 2071, 08:26am, Parking lot of coffin motel

Ferret gives an involuntray squeak as his worldview shifts. His long whiskers become a waxed moustache and a pair of horn-rimmed pinz-nez appear on his nose. He is wearing an old-fashioned pinstriped three-piece suit and a black bow-tie. A suit. Hell, I haven't worn one of these for real in what five, six years.

He takes a moment adjusting his tie to cover his discomfort and looks around the node. Nothing. He checks his Analyze program to make sure it's running, taking off the glasses and wiping them with a handkerchief before returning them to his nose. It's running fine but the node is blocking his scans. Man, I hate these tailored systems but I gotta admire the workmanship on this one. Is that wood polish I can smell?

Turning his gaze to the blonde woman, he almost recoils. Her icon positively glows with active programs. Wow, talk about show of force. There goes plan A. No way I'm gonna try anything while she's pointing that attack program at me.

Nice 'ware. he whistles, although it's not clear whether he is talking about the node, the woman's programs or both.

You can just call me Ferret. I ain't been Mister anything in a long time. Our mutual acquaintance said you needed talent and in a hurry. Lucky for both of us, I am currently seeking employment. I can offer broad skills in matrix operations. In particular, I am rather good at finding things that have been lost, stolen or hidden. However, it looks like you would be more than capable of handling that side of any project yourself. Perhaps you seek deniability, or are there other skills you need that I can offer?

His spiel done he takes a moment to scan the room, his eyes lingering for a moment on the icon of the butler, before returning his attention to the woman and her menacing drink.

Friday, September 11, 2071, 9:24 A.M., Redmond's Touristville District

"I have a couple of different options, yes," Heka says after a few moments of mulling the question over. "I believe direct spirit intervention will work best for our purposes. Let's me focus on other things if need be."

As the road deteriorates, Heka realizes it's a good thing he caught up with these two--once GridGuide cut out he would have had a hell of a time getting his car anywhere. He'd heard how rundown Redmond was but had thought it was all hyperbole, it couldn't actually be this bad... now he was starting to see the truth. And what else might he have underestimated?

"So, Professor," he asks, trying to make light conversation. "What is it you study, then?"

Friday, September 11, 2071, 9:25 A.M., Redmond's Touristville District

It's now Professor's turn to ponder a question. He uses the roughness of the road as he drives as an excuse to be silent while he figures out a response. Within moments the vehicle feels more in control.

The thing is, how much can he trust this new team yet? How much can he tell them? The funny thing about this job is, anyone who is still in it isn't going to be scared off by the possibility of some death squad showing up on their doorstep looking for a short archaeologist. Last night fixed that. And it's not like any of them work for the Blind Man. He'd already be dead if that were the case. "Though, don't know about the two replacements we haven't met yet."

The other thing is, Professor hasn't had any success here in Seattle looking for clues to his prey's whereabouts. The guy is good. Professor has few connections in this town, and without those, one doesn't get anywhere. He decides. "Shit. I survived last night. It must be a sign."

"I used to be an archaeologist. I looked for patterns and clues in the remains of ancient people, to learn about their lives and cultures. I was damn good at it. Then some shit of a smuggler framed me and destroyed my career. I've followed him to Seattle. To get proof of my innocence, and to get some revenge.

"I find work now, like this, using my talents to figure things out, find patterns, predict actions, pick out details others don't see. In the meantime I look for clues about the smuggler. The better I get at this kind of job, the better I will be at finding him. When I do, I might be able to convince any teammates I have that there is one more job that could pay off handsomely. He has something ancient I found in India, or at least knows to whom he has sold it. But I am convinced he has a lot of other valuable material one could sell or use. My plan is, when I'm done with him, he won't have any use for those things."

Well. there it is. Out in the open in this town, too. Death might just have gotten a little closer.

Friday, September 11, 2071, 08:27am, Ghostserv virtual chat

"Well Ferret," Her own Analyze program has picked up on Ferrets actions as they talk. She smiles slightly,"Aren't you the inquisitive one. I can assure you this site's securities are here for your protection. As for me, a girl can never be too careful. I do commend your style though, and your directness. I have a team tracking down a rogue rigger with several Hijacked trucks that belong to me and my associates. He has crawled back into a hole somewhere in Redmond. We need these trucks by the end of the week. The team I hired originally has lost a member already. It was an unrelated, freak accident. but I'm trying to fill the vacancy. As for myself, I have too many other matters to attend to, plus this work will be more hands on than I care for. I can offer 10,000 nuyen. "

Friday, September 11, 2071, 4:14 AM, The coffin motel in astral space, Redmond

Jovan tried to keep his focus away from the misery of this place. Getting bogged down by the suffocating misery of Redmond would do no good to anyone. Jovan made a mental note to himself to add purifying Redmond to his list of affairs to attend to after he crushed those who would sow chaos and hatred among metahumanity. Cleansing this part of town would have to be a decades-long project anyway, so there wasn't much use in worrying about it now. He had plenty of time to do that later.

It wasn't difficult to spot what he was looking for through the pollution of astral space. But what he found was not what he had expected. Is... is that a blimp? That man is running surveillance on the target in a blimp? Ridiculous! But... at least he's got a bit of style, I suppose.

With a thought, Jovan flew through the hull of the Tower and into Oswald's cockpit; with another, he called his consciousness elemental to his side. You are to act as communications liaison between that man in meatspace and me. You are also to conceal my astral form from the notice of others. Go now.

He waited for the elemental to materialize where Oswald could see it before speaking through it. "'How dost thou Oswald?' Fear not my spirit; he is here to act as medium between you there in your cockpit and I here in the astral. What would you have me do here?" He felt ludicrous for speaking so nicely, but this one would play an important role in his plan to conceal his nature from the rest of his new team.

At the same time, he took the opportunity to closely inspect the man's aura. Best to stay aware of the entire situation, including information on these people.

Oswald's GTS Tower, "Sky-pod," hanging roughly 80m over lower Redmond, 4:14 am


"Sweet shitbubbles!! It's Marley's ghost!!"
Oswald had thought he heard someone say his name. He didn't expect the source to peaking it's head into the 8 inch clearance between his face and the armored wall of the rigger cocoon. He dropped his AR projection and swatted feebly at the spirit, which had manifested while he was combing through his old music collection for a (not-so) fresh set of tunes. "Fuck! ..I'm glad I've got 'breathing optional' bugs in my blood.." He mused through his hyperventilation. "Oxyrush... I sometimes forget to breathe for a minute or ten... Hoooo.. So you're Joe? Hmmph. Right." He exhaled forcefully, hoping to calm himself down, and maybe blow this thing out of his personal space.

"My situation is this," he started. "I've been here a little over an hour, keeping an eye on some scum-sucker holed up yonder in the 2nd floor room, twelve o'clock position, roughly 380 meters straight ahead. Eighth from the left, twelfth from the right. Don't know if it's our guy, or just someone who picked his gear off the corpse of our guy, but he's setting up to make a data exchange, and I'm going to be here to intercept it... hopefully. That's where you come in. See, if this happens to be our guy, and he happens to see me floating out here in the digital ether, he could call up some local talent to blast me out of the sky before I had a hope to respond. I'm sort of keeping an eye on any electronic traffic which might be headed my way, but I'd be grateful if you'd snoop the area for me, or at least the building. Maybe put a watcher on the guy.. I don't know. I'm just going to be spending my night hanging from a seat, strapped to a balloon, and the situation has got me on edge." Oswald took a moment to swallow. "So, what do you say we make this a buddy system thing? For instance, is there anyway to warn me that something is going to happen like what you just did? I mean, if I were a man of swifter bowels... you could have just made this the worst stakeout ever."

Friday, September 11, 2071, 08:27am, Ghostserv virtual chat
While Ferret's meat body twitches and almost falls out of his chair at the offered amount, here in the digital he simply raises an eyebrow and a lets a hint of a grin slide across his face.

"Madam, it is my inquisitiveness that will enable me to find your rogue rigger and your missing trucks. While your deadline is tight, your offer of reward is such that I believe I can help. You say this fellow disappeared down a hole in Redmond. Luckily, I have some contacts in that area, including our mutual colleague. This plus any additional information you or the other members of the team can provide will help speed my search. I assume you can also provide me with contact details for the other team members and will inform them that I will be in contact? Good. Then I think we have a deal."

"There was just one final matter. You have quite an impressive suite of 'ware. I would be interested in gaining copies of some of your programs or at the very least, the name of someone who could supply me with such fine code."

Friday, September 11, 2071, 9:26 A.M., Redmond

As the Comet rolls and bumps down the remains of the road, Thirty keeps his eyes peeled for a possible ambush. When Professor is finished with his tale, Thirty remarks, "That's a hell of a story, chummer. My theory is that all of us in this biz had something bad happen that pushed us into it. I guess that smuggler's frame job was your Bad Thing."

For a moment, he recalls the day when his own life was transformed. He hadn't seen it coming, and how could he? He had been a human his whole life, and had no reason to suspect that the appearance of a comet in the sky would have any effect on him. But the rise in ambient mana levels that accompanied Halley's Comet had caused recessive orkish genes to express and throw his world into chaos. He had tried to hold on to his former life, but it was gone, and there was nothing he could do to get it back, a fact it had taken him many years of rage and violence to accept. Now, here he was, riding another Comet into another broken world.

Snapping back to the present, Thirty chuckles at the Universe's sense of humor, and says, "If we survive this run, I'll tell you about my Bad Thing some time." He resumes scanning the area around the car, looking for any sign of trouble.

Friday, September 11, 2071, 08:27am, Ghostserv virtual chat

The woman ponders her glass for a moment,"If these particular programs are of interest, I could crack the copy protection on them, and send you a copy. I'll only charge you for my time" She looks back to the mustachioed man with a small grin. "If you're looking for a more comprehensive collection, I can introduce you to a site I use. They move around a lot, but they keep their 'wares pretty clean. Here's the cotanct info for the team."

She hands Ferret a manila envelope containing the teams contact sheet and the data file on the rigger. Then,she sends notice to the group about the new hire,"I hope we'll be in touch"

Friday, September 11, 2071, 9:26 A.M., Redmond

Professor chuckle right back. "Well, then. I have an incentive to survive the job."

Friday, September 11, 2071, 8:27am, Ghostserv virtual chat

"Sounds fair. You can just deduct your costs from my final payment. I assume that will be acceptable. And I would certainly appreciate the introduction to that site."

He gives a brief grimace as he accepts the manila envelope, but it passes quickly as the data streams into his mind.

Waving the envelope, he grins, "But right now I guess I better get to work."

Logging off the node, Ferret gives a sigh as his reality filter reasserts itself and he reassumes his familiar shape. He takes a moment to cover his trail and then drops out of hot sim. He lets out a long sigh of relief, then punches the air. Go me!

Friday, September 11, 2071, 8:35am, Parking lot of coffin motel
Ferret takes a few minutes to compose himself and do an initial scan of the data, ingoring his rumbling stomach. Then he opens a couple of AR windows, composing and transmitting a few messages, before settling down again into hot-sim to do some data mining.

<<@Beetle: Buddy, I'm in. The Johnson mentioned that one of the original team was lost in an 'unrelated, freak accident'. Sounds suspicious, but it might be your buddy. I didn't want to push her too hard on it in the initial meet, but I'll do some digging and get back to you. By the way, you ever heard of a troll rigger goes by the name Big Daddy Long Legs? I'm also looking for someone who might be trying to shift a significant amount of merchandise, as in a couple of truckloads. Let me know if you hear anything.>>

<<Broadcast@Team: This is Ferret. I was given your contact details by the Johnson who recently hired you. She has asked me to assist you in finding Big Daddy Long Legs and her missing merchandise. I have begun queries through a number of channels available to me, but would appreciate any additional leads you can provide.>>

Friday, September 11, 2071, 8:36am, Oswald's GTS Tower, "Sky-pod," hanging roughly 80m over lower Redmond

"Hmm, another message.. Hopefully someone talked some sense into Heka.. Trying to drive down to mutant town alone in a new suit and shiny car is suicide. ..Oh, Nope. It's just another new guy. ...Caper's replacement. I wonder if they made this guy ride ten miles out into the middle of the bay too..."

<<@Ferret: Oswald here. Logistics and long-range support. Just closing up the nightwatch operation. We got a hit this morning on a lead in Glow City. All the info and pictures are in our VPN log. I'll send you a key. In the mean time, how are you set on transport? Or, are you not so good on the ground?>>

Friday, September 11, 2071, 8:37am, Parking lot of coffin motel

Looks like someone else is up early...or late.

<<@Oswald: I guess that makes me matrix support then. Sounds like you guys have already been busy doing my part of the job. Glow city...oh you mean Redmond. Heh, I know that part of town pretty well. And while I am no rigger, I do have my own wheels.>>

There is a short pause as Ferret logs into the VPN and starts downloading data.

<<@Oswald: You have got to be frakking kidding me chummer. Can you confirm the target's location, cause if he's where you say he is, I am parked practically outside his window.>>

Friday, September 11, 2071, 8:36am, Oswald's GTS Tower, "Sky-pod," hanging roughly 80m over lower Redmond

<<@Ferret: Yep. 100% on that. Some sort of large-insertion BTL freak in that room I marked just bought a new name with an 'Trix ID associated with our missing truck driver. The boys are coming by to shake our new Jack Jameson down for info. In the mean time, I guess it's up to us to keep him isolated. My current plan was, if he leaves the motel, I shoot his leg off at the knee with a fragmenting round. If you're on site, that offers better options. Like, you could tie off his leg so that he doesn't bleed out afterwards! Hahaha! Oh, I'm just joking. Though I did tag a suspicious number of Nodes on the lot last night during my scan run.. Is.. that.. your van? If so, I guess I'd better find a different "most likely target" to get a sensor lock on! In the mean time, I'll send you his encryption keys in case you want to try and grab up his traffic. Maybe you could even keep tabs on the guy while I shepherd the rest of our crew in? Nothing tells a bunch of pig-shit-dumb gangers to back off like getting their heart blown out the back of their chest from half a mile away. That's a lesson I learned on the 405 up north...>>

Friday, September 11, 2071, 8:37am, Parking lot of coffin motel

<<@Oswald: Haha, good one. You had me going there.>>

Oh great, this guy's a nutjob! Wonder what he meant about 'the 405 up north'. Need to look that up later.

<<@Oswald: If you're looking at a white step van with a Dobson's Electronics AR sign then it is indeed mine. Don't shoot me, okay. Hmm, you know there are not that many vehicles here that can still go anywhere. I'll see if I can spot which one is his. Looks like you have done all the hard work to find him, so I guess I can keep watch while you check on the rest of the team. Just don't expect me to go toe-to-toe with him if he decides to make a move before you get back.>>

Ferret blinks through his open AR windows, cancelling his search on Dig Daddy Don't need that anymore. and adding a new query on '405 up north' to the searches he is already running on Beetle's missing chummer Otto and on possible locations in Redmond that could be used to hide three trucks. As he does so, he climbs back into the front of the van and pulls a sports bag out from under the passenger bench. He puts on his armor vest and pulls a grubby grey hoodie over it. Then he checks his gun is loaded and puts it back in the bag, which he leaves on the seat next to him. Finally, he taps into Oswald's data and overlays it on his view out the van's windows, trying to match the nodes the rigger detected with the vehicles in the parking lot and their target in the motel.

Friday, September 11, 2071, 9:27 A.M., Redmond

"Hey, I haven't heard anymore from our new guy, Ferret, in the last hour."

<<@Ferret: Hoy chummer, three of us moving in on target location. Where are you?>>

<<@Oswald: You have a fix on the new guy Ferret, and any idea about the other one, Jovan? Has anyone actually met either of them?>>

It's the archaeologist in him. Professor likes to actually pick up or at least touch the things he is learning about. This virtual reality drek has never sat well with him. He has spent a lifetime accessing it and communicating through it, so... useful... oh, yes. But squidgy.

Friday, September 11, 2071, 9:27am, Oswald's GTS Tower, "Sky-pod," hanging roughly 80m over lower Redmond

<<@Professor: Oh, Ferret's already here waitin' for ya. He's going to keep an eye on our mark while I provide a bit of overwatch for your journey in. Not as cagey as Jovan, but he seems like he's on a permanent cringe. Gotta have some kind of balls though. He was sleeping in a van right in Glow City where some freakshow monster could have torn him open and wore his guts for garters.. Anyway, if you let me know your route, I can tell you which streets are blocked off and when you're coming up on a toll. I don't know who controls this part of town, but I hope you boys brought something shiny to placate the little savages. If not, I can always crack a few shots off, and scatter the roaches.>>

Friday, September 11, 2071, 9:28 A.M., Redmond

<<@Oswald: I think stealth would be more appropriate than nukes from above. Here's our location {coordinates} and rough plan of approach {route}. Thanks for the overwatch.>>

"It seems our new guy, Ferret, is already at the coffin motel. Oswald is overwatching our route to help us avoid trouble."

Friday, September 11, 2071, 9:28 A.M., Redmond

Ferret is startled from the matrix by the incoming call. My, is that the time. Where does it go?

<<@Professor: Hello Professor, this is Ferret. You must forgive me for going offline. I was reviewing some of Oswald's data and simply lost track of the time. I am currently awaiting your arrival at the target location. Look for a white truck with a Dobson's Electronics AR logo, a little away from the main entrance. Hmm, let me check...yes, our target is still here. At least I can still detect his commlink signal, although there has been no data traffic over it in a while. I suspect he is busy putting the finishing touches to his new identity. Perhaps it would be a good idea if you got here quickly. Which of the other team members are with you and what is your ETA?>>

Ferret digs in the bag at his side. He pulls out a nearly empty can of Instashower and sprays it on his face, hair and hands. With an afterthought he sprays some of it around the inside of the van. A faint lemony, pine smell permeates the van overriding the smell of stale sweat, soy pizza and solder. With a shrug, he returns the can to the bag. Well, I wasn't really expecting any company, today.

Friday, September 11, 2071, 9:29 A.M., Redmond
PAN: active

Professor turns to his teammate beside him in the front seat. "Thirty, how long do you think till we reach our destination? Ferret is there and thinks there may be activity soon."

He connects his commlink globally to the team. <<Contact with potential target coming soon. We might as well switch to vocal.>>